“But what on?”
“Oh, on our nerve now,” the older boy replied grimly.
“That railroad is not far ahead,” said Herbert.
“Half an hour ahead. We’ve got to camp by that track to-night or—”
“Or what?”
But George had turned to help the dog head off some runaways.
Herbert, picking up a lump of frozen leaves and snow, began to break this in front of the flock to tole them on.
He had hardly started the birds again, when a long-legged gobbler brushed past him and went swinging down the road, calling, “Quint! quint! quint!” to the flock behind. The call was taken up and passed along the now extended line, which, breaking immediately into double-quick, went streaming after him.
Herbert got out of the way to let them pass, too astonished for a moment to do more than watch them go. It was the roosting-cry! An old gobbler had given it; but as it was taking him, for once, in the right direction, Herbert ordered back the dog that had dashed forward to head him off, and fell in with George to help on the stragglers in the rear.