Then he'd hang by his chin an' beat his wings; an' it's these frenzied efforts he makes to stay with the game that evolves them alarmin' flutterin's.
"'Jule--who don't own chickens an' who ain't no patron of cockfights neither--is for settin' the shawl-necks on the fence an' pickin' 'em up as we trails back from the Gander-Pullin'.
"'"As long as it's dark," says Jule, "they'll stay planted; an' we rounds 'em up on our return." "'But I ain't that optimistic.

I knows these chickens an' they ain't so somnolent as all that.

Besides it's a cinch that a mink or a fox comes squanderin' 'round an' takes 'em in like gooseberries.

'Leven shawl-necks! Why, it would be a pick-up for a fox! "'"You're a fine Injun to take a girl to a dance!" says Jule at last, an' she's full of scorn.
"'"Injun or no Injun," I retorts a heap sullen, "thar ain't no Gander-Pullin' goin' to jestify me in abandonin' my 'leven shawl-necks an' me with a main to fight next month over on the Little Bloo!" "'At that I corrals the chickens an' imprisons 'em in the r'ar of the side-bar an' goes a-weavin' back for camp, an' I picks up three more shawl-necks where they sets battin' their he'pless eyes in the road.
"'But I shore hears Jule's views of me as a beau! They're hot enough to fry meat! Moreover, Jule tells all Sni-a-bar an' I'm at once a scoff an' jeer from the Kaw to the Gasconade.

Jule's old pap washes out his rifle an' signs a pledge to plug me if ever ag'in I puts my hand on his front gate.