The man who had come out of the barn was evidently accusing the soldiers to whom he was talking of having taken his chicken. They denied it, and offered to be searched. They could easily afford to do this.
The farmer, getting little satisfaction, came back to appeal to the company commander, who heard his story—one to the effect that a chicken had been stolen.
As looting was strictly forbidden, and as orders had been given to make good any loss met by civilians on account of the soldiers, it was necessary to conduct an inquiry.
The captain started to question his men, but he had not proceeded far when he came to Pug.
“Did you take his chicken?” the scrapper was asked.
“Naw! What would I want of a raw chicken?” was the answer.
Just then Jerry gave a loud sneeze, ending with an exclamation of “Ker-choo!” which sounded a bit like a rooster’s crow.
There was a laugh at this, but Jerry had not done it intentionally, and the officer seemed to know that. But Jerry had been standing near Pug Kennedy when this happened, and the sneeze must have brought the hidden chicken to its senses. It suddenly began to struggle inside Pug’s shirt, and cackled. Perhaps it thought it heard the call of a comrade fowl in Jerry’s sneeze.
“Ah, I think we have what we want,” said the officer. “Kennedy, bring the chicken here!”