Frank's relaxed a little, too; for, serious as his dilemma had seemed a minute since, he could not but be amused by the man's undoubting recognition of that gobble.
"All turkeys make a noise alike," said Frank.
"No they don't, no they don't!" said the man, positively,—no doubt fearing a plot to get the fowl away from him, and anxious to set up his claim in season. "I reckon I know about turkeys. Hear that?"—as the sound was heard again, still at a distance. "That's my bird. I should know that gobble among five hundred."
Frank suppressed his merriment, thinking that now was his time to get away.
"Well," said he, "unless you'll sell me the bird, I don't know that there's any use of my going any farther with you."
He expected a repetition of the refusal to sell, when he would have the best excuse in the world for making his escape. But Buckley was still suspicious of some trick,—fearing, perhaps, that Frank would run off and get help to secure the turkey.
"We'll see; we'll see. Wait till we get the bird," said the man. "You've done me a good turn telling me about him, and mayhap I'll sell him to you for your honesty. But wait a bit; wait a bit."
They were fast approaching the bushes where the supposed turkey was.
"Quit, quit, quit! Gobble, obble, obble!" said the pretended fowl.
"He must know now," thought Frank, with renewed apprehension; but he dared not run.