“A morepoke don’t walk about whoopin’ like that,” muttered Tom, “’specially this hour of the night. ’Sides he’s down in the corn. I never heard a morepoke in the corn before.”
A thought struck the elder pirate.
He slipped to the window, and putting his mouth to the shutter, called: “Mo’poke! Mo’poke!” softly.
“Mo’poke! Mo’poke!” came the answer.
“Mo’poke! Mo’poke! Mo’-o-poke!” repeated Tom.
This time he varied the call, putting in an emphasis where no night owl was ever known to place it.
“Mo’-poke! Mo’-poke! Mo’-o-poke!” came the reply.
“By gosh, it’s Dave!” cried Tom, excitedly.
He put his mouth to a crack in the wall and repeated the cry.
Dave answered, drawing nearer and nearer.