But this was the wrong reply. It should have been only the last half. The imitation was perfect, except, perhaps, on the last note, which was a trifle too human. But the signal was well done; it was an expert calling, either an Indian or some thoroughly seasoned scout; yet Quonab was not deceived into thinking it an owl. He touched his cheek and his coat, which, in the scout sign language, means “red coat,” i. e., Britisher.
Rolf and his partner got silently out of sight, each with his rlile cocked and ready to make a hole in any red uniform or badge that might show itself. Then commenced a very peculiar duel, for evidently the enemy was as clever as themselves and equally anxious to draw them out of cover.
Wa-wah-wa hooo-aw called the stranger, giving the right answer in the wrong place. He was barely a hundred yards off, and, as the two strained their senses to locate him, they heard a faint click that told of his approach.
Rolf turned his head and behind a tree uttered again the Wa-wah-a—hoo which muffled by his position would convince the foe that he was retreating. The answer came promptly and much nearer:
Wa—wah—wa—hoooo-aw.
Good! the medicine was working. So Rolf softened his voice still more, while Quonab got ready to shoot.
The Wa—wa—hooo-aw that came in answer this time was startlingly clear and loud and nearly perfect in intonation, but again betrayed by the human timbre of the aw. A minute or two more and they would reach a climax.
After another wait, Rolf muffled his voice and gave the single hooo-aw, and a great broad-winged owl came swooping through the forest, alighted on a tree overhead, peered about, then thrilled them with his weird:
Wa—hoo—wa—boo
Wa—hoo—wa—hooooooooo-aw, the last note with the singular human quality that had so completely set them astray.