And look here!"--and
Sundown deposited the lantern on a knoll and sat down facing the dog.
"What I'm goin' to give you that extra for ain't for killin' the
coyote. That is your business when I ain't to home. You could 'a'
finished off Jimmy"--and he gestured toward the rooster--"and the
evidence would 'a' been in your favor, seein' as you was wise to show
me the coyote. I got some candy put by for--for later, if she likes
it, but we're goin' to bust open that box of candy and celebrate. Got
to see if I can repair Jimmy fust, though, or else use the axe. I
dunno."
Jimmy was a sad spectacle. His tail-feathers were about gone and one
leg was maimed, yet he still showed the fighting spirit of his New
England sires, for, as Sundown essayed to pick him up, he pecked and
squawked energetically.
They returned to the house, where Sundown examined the bedraggled bird
critically. "I ain't no doc, but I have been practiced on some meself.
Looks like his left kicker was bruk. Guess it's the splints for him
and nussin' by hand. Here, you! Let go that button! That ain't a
bug! There! 'T ain't what you'd call a perfessional job, but if you
jest quit runnin' around nights and take care of your health, mebby
you'll come through.
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