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Blacky the Crow wasted no time with Old Man Coyote after he heard Old Man Coyote laugh. There was a note in that crazy laugh of Old Man Coyote's that told Blacky he might just as well talk to the rocks or the trees about helping Bowser the Hound.
As soon as the scramble is really on I'll have a half dozen brokers buying for us." It was half-past two when the next message came. It was exultant, triumphant. "Down like an avalanche. Am grabbing every share offered. We've got 'em, sure!" And, as three o'clock struck, came the final crow. "Hooray for our side! They're dead and buried!
Yet Henrietta Hen never looked the least bit interested. Indeed, she began scratching for worms while he was talking. And that made the old fellow angrier than ever. "Don't you dare eat another kernel of corn!" he thundered. "If you do, I'll have to tell Farmer Green." "He feeds me corn every day cracked corn!" said Henrietta. "Well, I never!" cried Mr. Crow.
Still smoothing the road to Old Crow! He had been fumbling with one hand for the key, the while he kept the other on her arm. She was so terrified a creature now that he did not trust her not to break blindly away and run. He unlocked the door, pushed her in, closed and locked it. Then he dropped the key in his pocket and went back to the wood road.
While the Sioux sat in council to determine that butchery, some objected, on the ground that such crimes would be punished, but Little Crow, leader of the war party, quieted their fears by saying: "White man no like Indian! Indian catch white man, roast him, kill him! White man catch Indian, feed him, give him blankets," and on this assurance they acted.
Nothing in the world to-day has feathers excepting the birds, and in this "ancient winged thing," for this is the significance of its name archæopteryx we have perhaps the most remarkable link in the world between two distinct sections of the animal kingdom. Here is a creature half reptile, half bird; perhaps one-third reptile and two-thirds bird. It was about the size of the crow.
"He has never told me he had any tin spoons. Are you sure you saw them?" "Just as sure as I am that I see you now, Mr. Possum," said Mr. Crow. "But, of course, they would not have anything to do with your spoons. I was wondering if his were like yours. If they are I could take a look at them, and then if in my travels I saw any like them I would know they were yours and bring them back to you.
It was Friday night, and there would be no session until the following Monday. Mr. Crow was very sleepy for a detective. He snored all the way home. The next morning two farmers drove madly into Tinkletown with the astounding news that some one had been murdered at schoolhouse No. 5. In passing the place soon after daybreak they had noticed blood on the snow at the roadside.
They wondered how she was going to cut up today, and whether it would not end for her by getting herself sent to jail, along with that scatter-feathered young crow whom she seemed to have taken into her heart. Ollie was present, although Joe had not expected to see her, he knew not why. She was sitting in the first row of benches, so near him he could have reached over and taken her hand.
Old Mr. Crow often remarked that if Grumpy Weasel really wanted to be of some use in the world he would spend his time at the sawmill filling knot holes in boards. "He's so slender," Mr. Crow would say, "that he can push himself into a knot hole no bigger round than Farmer Green's thumb." Naturally it did not please old Mr.
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