“How can he be so confident of finding game?” Dick asked, with a note of incredulity in his voice.
“I don’t know,” answered Larry, “but it’s nine chances in ten that he’ll do it. He’s the wiliest hunter I ever knew, and with all his chatter, he never says a thing of that kind without meaning it; especially he never gives a positive promise unless he is confident of his ability to fulfill it. So I expect to see him back here before we have breakfast ready, with a turkey gobbler slung over his shoulders.”
“Why ‘gobbler,’ Larry?” Dick asked, looking up from the mortar in which he was pounding the coffee.
“How do you mean, Dick?”
“Why, it wasn’t just a turkey that Cal promised us, but specifically a gobbler, and now when you speak of it you also assume that the bird he is to kill will be of the male sex. Why may it not be a turkey hen?”
“Why, he wouldn’t think of shooting a turkey hen at this time of year. They’re bringing up their chicks now and they won’t be fit to eat for a month yet. So if he brings any turkey with him it’ll be a bearded old gobbler as fat as butter.”
At that moment a shot was heard at some distance. The next instant there was another, after which all was still.
“I say, Larry, I don’t like that,” said Tom uneasily.
“Don’t like what?”
“Why, those two shots in quick succession. Maybe Cal has met some of that gang and they’ve shot him. Hadn’t we better go to his assistance?”