The dog seemed to understand.  He leaped up and trotted to the yard, turning his head and silently coaxing his master to follow him.  Sundown, with a childish and most natural faith in Chance’s intelligence, followed him to the fence, scrambled through and trailed him out on the mesa.  In a little hollow Chance stopped and stood with crooked fore leg.  Sundown stalked up.  At his feet fluttered his red rooster and not far from it lay the body of a full-grown coyote.  Chance ran to the coyote and diving in shook the inanimate shape and growled.  “Huh!  Showin’ me what you done to him for stealin’ our rooster, eh?  Well, you sure are goin’ to get suthin’ extra for this!  You caught him with the goods—­looks like.  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.  Don’ know what them hens’ll think, though.  You sure ain’t no Anner Dominus no more.  If you was a lady hen, you could pertend you was wearin’ evenin’ dress like—­low-neck and suspenders.  But bein’ a he, ’t ain’t the style.  Wonder if you got your crow left?  You ain’t got a whole lot more to tell you from jest a hen.”

With Jimmy installed in a box of straw in the kitchen, the pigs fed, and Gentle Annie grazing contentedly, Sundown felt able to relax.  It had been a strenuous day for him.  He drew a chair to the stove, and before he sat down he brought forth from beneath the bed a highly colored cardboard box on which was embossed a ribbon of blue sealed with a gold paster-seal.  Chance watched him gravely.  It was a ceremony.  Sundown opened the box and picking out a chocolate held it up that Chance might realize fully that it was a ceremony.  The dog’s nose twitched and he licked his chops.  “Tastes good a’ready, eh?  Well, it’s yourn.”  And he solemnly gave Chance the chocolate.  “Gee Gosh!  What’d you do with it?  That ain’t no way to eat candy!  You want to chew her slow and kind o’ hang on till she ain’t there.  Then you get your money’s worth.  Want another?”