Chicken Coop Massarcre

“Ah,” remarked Trace, inhaling a deep breath of fresh, spring air.

“Ah, what?” demanded Spejj, somewhat amusingly.

“The air.”

Spejj looked around and took a daring sniff. “Yep, it’s air.”

“No…”

“It’s not air?” interrupted Spejj, “Huh, I could’ve swore that it was.”

“No,” started Trace once more.

“There you go again with that no. You shouldn’t make a habit of that you know.”

There was a moment’s silence as Trace considered his next move.

“I just like to appreciate spring. The trees, the flowers, the green grass. Something about it, I guess it makes me feel good. Isn’t it the same for you?”

“I reckon, except, I ain’t real fond of all the back-breaking work that goes along with it.”

A bark of laughter followed as the two of them mounted their horses, heading for the fields.

Suddenly, the screen door of the ranch house burst open, admitting Tim Copex, the ranch owner. The air was filled with curses as he stormed off to the chicken house.

“What’s got him riled?” asked Trace.

“I don’t know,” said Spejj cautiously, “but I bet we’re fixing to find out, whether we want to or not.”

Another curse erupted from the chicken house, the hen house door slamming shut with a bang. Soon Tim was visible again. He was coming in their direction.

“Looks like troubles a brewing,” remarked Spejj.

“Looks as if it’s already brewed and ready for drinking,” stated Trace.

“How many times,” started Tim, “Just how many times did I tell y’all that I wanted those chickens secured?”

“I think…” Traced hushed as Spejj gave him a quick shake of the head.

“What seems to be the problem,” asked Spejj.

Trace was amazed by the older man’s ability to stay calm at all times.

“The problem is that coons got in the chickens and killed two of ‘em! That’s the problem!”

“I’ll go have a look,” said Spejj.

“Spejj,” Tim said, almost regaining his temper, “I want you to fix it!”

Sure enough. The coons had gotten in. There was an evident hole where they had dug underneath the coop. Feathers were scattered around.

“Looks like our furry friends feasted well last night,” remarked Spejj.

“I don’t think Tim sees it that way,” added Trace, with a lingering smile.

A chuckle was evident in Spejj’s throat. “I think not.”

“How are we gonna stop them from doing the same tonight?”

Spejj pondered this for some time. Presently he spoke, “If we set some traps, with some real good bait, maybe we can trap them rascals before they even get to the chickens.”

“Hey, you might be onto something.”

Might thought Spejj. Youngsters. Always think they’ve got the better idea.

By the time they got the steel traps set-up and the hole filled in, the sun had advanced high in the sky. When they were satisfied with their work, they started out to the fields again. A long, hard day awaited them.

Trace awoke to the crow of the rooster. He pulled on his pants, along with his boots, and started for the chicken house, his lever-action rifle tucked beneath his right arm. As he approached the chicken coop, the sound of a coon in agony reached his ears.

He hastily ran towards the racket.

“Got ya’ fella,” he said.

The coons front foot was caught fast in the jaws of the steel trap. He shouldered his rifle and put the coon out of its misery.

Then curiosity got the better of him. He circled the hen house, observing the ground around it. Then he found it.

“Agh!” he shouted, “They got in!”

Running around to the other side of the coop, he opened the door and began counting chickens.

By that time Lee, another of the young ranch hands, was standing beside him.

“I heard the shot,” he started excitedly, “Did you get him?”

“Yeah, he’s over there in the trap. But there’s three chickens missing this time!”

“Huh, you sure?”

“Counted them three times.”

All was silent as they each counted them once more, just to be certain.

“Three or four,” said Lee, concluding his figures.

“Let’s stick with three.”

“I guess,” started Lee, “there were more than just one. Coons that is.”

Just then Mrs, Copex rang the dinner bell. It wasn’t exactly dinner, but it meant the same thing.

They discussed the chicken house matter over the breakfast table. Tim wasn’t quite so furious when he heard that one coon was dead. Mrs, Copex remarked that, if this didn’t stop soon, then they would be running short of eggs. After breakfast, Trace and Spejj were back at the chicken coop.

“This is perfect,” stated Spejj, “These coons left us a perfect spot to set a trap.”

“Just don’t let Tim hear you say that,” remarked Trace, amusingly.

Spejj glanced around suspiciously; making sure that Tim wasn’t anywhere near.

“Now as I was saying. If we put a steel trap right here near the hole we should end up solving this problem.”

“That’s what you said last time.”

Spejj shook his head in disapproval. These young fellas these days, he thought to himself again. “Just you wait until morning.”

It wasn’t long before next morning rolled around. Twenty-four hours to be exact. Trace, along with Lee and Spejj, headed for the chicken coop. They examined the trap.

“Were’s the coon?” asked Lee.

“Maybe they didn’t come last night,” observed Trace.

They opened the chicken coop door and counted the fowl.

“Two missing,” stated Lee, “How’d they get in?”

After encircling the chicken house, they found another entryway that had been dug that night. The dirt was still moist.

“Does that answer your question?” remarked Spejj, pointing at the fresh hole.

“I reckon it does.”

Spejj uttered a string of curses as he kicked the henhouse wall. “Them devils!”

“Well, what now?” asked Trace.

“How ‘bout this?” said Spejj, “We wait up tonight on the porch. When we hear the racket, we’ll run out and shoot ‘em.”

“Hey, that might work,” stated Trace, looking at Lee, “How about it?”

“Count me out,” said Lee, both hands in front of him, “I am heading for the Swaneast’s tomorrow, and I need plenty of sleep.”

“Alright,” began Trace, “Suit yourself.”

Deciding not to say anything about the missing chickens at breakfast, they headed for the house. Cooking bacon filled the sunlight room with a greasy, meat aroma. Freshly baked biscuits sat in a woven basket on the large oak table.

After breakfast, all the ranch hands headed for the fields or anywhere else they were needed.

The day ticked by so fast. The ranch hands were just finishing supper as the last of the light faded behind the western horizon. Darkness covered the landscape as the work hands headed for the bunkhouse.

“Ah, there we go,” declared Hew, his gray, unshaven face glowing in the light of the brightening lantern.

Hanging the lantern on a wooden peg, he sat down on his firm bed and pulled off his boots. “I’m plumb worn out,” he commented, rubbing his sore feet with his fingers and stretching his back.

“You think your the only one?” taunted Spejj.

“Hey, where you boys going with those rifles?” demanded Hew excitedly, “Is there something going on? Here, wait, I’ll be right there.” He hurriedly stuffed his feet back in his boots and sprang for his own rifle.

“Now hold on!” cautioned Spejj, “It’s nothing to get worked up about. Just sit back down and I’ll explain.”

“Whatever it is, I’m coming,” remarked Hew.

“Just hold on,” commanded Spejj once more, “Now, me and Trace are gonna wait for those coons. It isn’t gonna be…”

“Coon hunting!” Interrupted Hew, “My favorite! I’ll get my gun!”

“No, hold on.” It wasn’t any use. Hew was coming, and that was the end of it. He glanced at Trace, who shrugged his shoulders. Shaking his head, he started out in the dark. Trace and Hew followed.

“Where we going?” asked Hew as they walked into the night.

“I figure we can sit on the house porch while we wait,” replied Spejj, “That is, as long as you don’t keep Tim awake.”

“Who me? Since when would I do a thing like that?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe like Christmas eve.”

“I can explain that,” erupted Hew, “I was simply talking to the fella and…”

“And that’s all it took,” added Spejj, humorously.

“Well, yeah. I mean no!” he said, immediately correcting himself.

Spejj chuckled to himself for being so clever. Hew was always a fun one to trip up, in his opinion.

The second-story bedroom window was still lit when they settled themselves in the rocking chairs on the rough, wooden porch. Spejj leaned his gun up against the wooden siding of the house. Then crossing his arms, he leaned his head back and shut his eyes.

Hew and Trace took a seat as well. Their guns also leaning against the house. Hew shut his eyes, although Trace, still young and hard to wear out, stared out into the darkness of the night.

Time passed slowly as he traced the path of the stars as they moved across the sky. An unnerving snoring erupted from the chair beside him. He gave Hew a sudden kick to the feet. The snoring ceased with an abrupt snort.

Orion moved farther across the sky, Trace tracking his every movement. Presently, the snoring started once more. Spejj was breathing deep as well. Trace got up, taking his gun with him, and checked the chicken coop. There was no recent activity so he returned to the porch. The bedroom light had gone out hours ago.

He listened to the older men sleep. The deep in and out, in and out. This followed by an occasional slap at a fly or mosquito that landed on their face.

“Well, looks likes I’ll have to keep watch and let these old men sleep,” he said to himself.

Trace awoke with a start, wondering why he had chosen to sleep in a chair. Rubbing his eyes, he stood up, stretching his aching back. Suddenly, he remembered the chickens. Kicking both Spejj and Hew, he grabbed his gun and dashed for the coop. Two chickens were missing.

“Why’d I go to sleep?” he scolded himself.

He heard heavy footsteps as Spejj and Hew approached.

“how many?” asked Spejj, assuming that Trace had fell asleep on the job.

“Two,” he responded.

“Again? You know, these chickens won’t last much longer if you let this continue.”

“Why me?” Trace asked in dismay.

“You fell asleep didn’t you?”

“You did too!”

“You’re young. You don’t need sleep.”

Trace remained silent, deciding not to proceed.

“I’ll take it from here,” stated Spejj impudently, “I don’t want anyone messing up my plans anymore.”

Trace wasn’t quite sure how to react. Spejj was an unpredictable sort. Never knew what he would do or say next. Trace nodded once or twice in thought. Then displayed a genuine smile. “Good luck,” he said cheerfully. And headed for the house.

Hew lingered behind a couple seconds, before following. Spejj however went immediately to work on, whatever it was he didn’t want messed up.

Breakfast was over within another hour and everyone was starting their usual work. Trace and Lee took on the job of repairing one of the wagon wheels. It had busted last week sometime and now was the first time they’d gotten around to it. It also gave them a good vantage point in which they could spy on Spejj, and see if they could solve his mysterious method of ending the chicken coop massacre.

Before the day was half through, they were finished with the wagon and were forced to head out to the fields. Leaving Spejj, and his mastermind plan, to fend for themselves.

As the sun set low in the western sky, the ranch hands returned from their exhausting work. They rubbed their horses down and put them in the barn; feeding each of them a bucket of oats and tending to their water.

As they started for the house, they were astonished to find Spejj sitting on the front porch.

“You through?” Asked Lee.

“Yep,” he responded confidently, “through, and ready for coons.”

“What’d you rig up?” asked Hew.

“You’ll have to wait until morning,” he stated, quite enjoying himself.

There was a lot of mumbling and grumbling as the men, not quite as dirty as before washing in the pump, started in the house.

This time Hew did not join them as they headed for the ranch house porch. Their guns leaned up beside them as they rocked back and forth, the floorboards squeaking under the weight of the chairs. Presently, the second-story bedroom window turned out, leaving only the light of the stars and the half-moon to illuminate the night sky.

Tonight Traces eyes were heavy. He strained every muscle in his eyelids, trying to keep them open. He slapped himself once but it did little good. Making one last attempt he raised his head and looked at Orion.

“Spejj,” he said sleepily.

“Hmmm,” Spejj mumbled in reply.

“Is this really worth it?”

There was no answer. The two of them were asleep within the minute.

They were asleep as time passed slowly. They were asleep as the coons came upon the porch, checking for any scraps that had been set out for the cat. They were asleep, as the coons raided the chicken house, one last time.

Trace erupted into action, springing from his chair, wondering what had just happened. Spejj went over backwards, smashing his head upon the hardwood floor. A thundering sound echoed through the still night air. A mushroom of black smoke rose from the chicken coop.

Trace was stunned, not knowing what happened, and not sure what to do next. There was a thud from the second-story bedroom, followed by a stream of curses. Someone stumbled down the stairs and crashed into something else inside the house. The door flung open, catching Spejj in the head, who was laying on his back with his hand already on his head.

Tim Copex charged out the door, dressed in his white long johns. He stumbled down the three steps leading down from the porch, Mrs, Copex following close behind.

Trace retrieved his gun and followed. Spejj, still stunned from the double blows to the head, followed to the best of his abilities.

When they reached the chicken coop, they found that it was nonexistent! There was splintered wood scattered around.

“Thunderations!” roared Tim, “Where’s my chicken house?”

Trace was silent, unable to think of anything to say. Mrs, Copex was just as worked up as her husband.

Tim whirled around, staring at Spejj. “Don’t tell me that coons did that!” he shouted, pointing at the rubble.

Presently, the whole ranch was up and joining the confusion.

To save you from hearing all the horrible things Tim said, and all of the confusion that went on at such an early hour that morning, I will enlighten you with as much information that I myself have gathered. I don’t swear by it but here is what I have put together.

Spejj, such a character is he. Sometimes, as in this instant, he can get rather worked up and ignore all logic and reasoning.

He had gotten the idea in his head to kill, or scare off the coons by means of explosion. He hadn’t had much experience with such things but that wasn’t enough to inhibit him. He had gotten the black gunpowder from the storeroom. Tim always kept some on hand just in case.

Now, this is where it gets rather tricky. No one knows exactly what happened. Either he put too much gunpowder, or he had forgotten to remove the keg of powder from the chicken coop. I tend to agree with the latter but I will leave that decision up to you. But either way, you put it, he managed to blow Tim's chicken coop into bits. Encluding his chickens!

Believe me, when I say, Tim Copex never let Spejj near his chickens from that day forward!

*Authors notes*

I apologize if I have offended anyone. I understand that some would not agree with the fashion in which Spejj treated Tim's chickens. And I am deeply sorry for his actions. But Spejj seems to do whatever he pleases, no matter what I say. Just because I am the author, doesn’t mean I have control over my characters.

I hope you enjoyed.