"Yes!" said Turkey Proudfoot. "I expect we'll have a merry time." Still he made no move to attack the geese, who stood motionless, facing him like soldiers.
"Well!" the rooster said impatiently. "Aren't you going to punish these geese?"
"Certainly not!" Turkey Proudfoot cried. "Why did you tag after me across[p. 18] the yard if it wasn't to fight them? I've often heard that you were usually spoiling for a fight. So here's your chance!"
It was true, in a way, that the rooster was always ready to fight. Not one of the cockerels on the farm dared to speak to him. But he always took care to fight only such as he knew he could whip. Certainly he had no desire to fight six geese all by himself. He drew back a little and shook his head.
"This is not my quarrel," he declared.
"But you suggested it," Turkey Proudfoot reminded him. "And now I suggest that you take it up. I did my part. You must do yours."
A wild look came into the rooster's eyes. He wanted to run away. But he was a proud bird. He thought a great deal of the looks of things. And he didn't know just what to do.
Then something happened that suddenly made him act—and act quickly. The six geese all took one step forward.
The rooster turned tail and dashed around the barn, out of sight. And Turkey Proudfoot found himself facing the six geese, who soon took one more step towards him and hissed louder than ever.