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I wrote it down in the "hen tracks" of short-hand which are now difficult to decipher.

At the first rehearsal of Goldman's own band, the players found their parts a mass of hen tracks in red ink, detailed instructions for phrasing, etc.

"By jigger, now, I wonder what those hen tracks mean?" he uttered musingly.

And right where the mat had lain—so near that we could reach out and take it—was a letter; and the letter was addressed, in big scrawling characters that looked very much indeed like "hen tracks," to Miss Bessie Rathbun, Featherdale.

“If you didn’t know my name was Braxton, I’ll bet you wouldn’t recognize these hen tracks.”