In fact, the old fellow was beginning to see that his recognition of his gobbler had been premature. A patch of blue uniform was visible through the brush. The rebel stopped, and drew up his gun. As Hamlet killed Polonius for a rat, so would he kill a Yankee for a turkey. Click! the piece was cocked and aimed.
"Here, you old clodhopper, you; don't you shoot! don't you shoot!" screamed Seth Tucket, rushing wildly out of the bushes just as the rebel pulled the trigger.
THE SECESSIONIST'S TURKEYS.
In the mean time the boys watching from their ambush, and seeing that the rebel had gone off with Frank, but left his dog and negro behind, armed themselves with clubs. When all was ready, Winch gave the word, and forward they dashed at the doublequick, clearing more than half the space intervening between them and the barns, before they were discovered by the enemy. Then the dog bounded out with a bark, and the old negro began to "holler," and the rebel's wife and daughter ran out and screamed, and an old negress also appeared, brandishing a broom, and adding her voice to the chorus.
At this moment the report of a gun came from the direction in which the secessionist had gone off with Frank.
John Winch heard it, just as the dog met the charging party. Who was killed? Frank or Seth? John did not know, but he was frightened. He had come for fun and poultry, not for fighting and bullets. Neither was he particularly ambitions to be bitten by that monstrous dog. He lost faith in his club, and dropped it. He lost confidence in the prowess of his companions, and deserted them. In short, Jack Winch, who had been one of the most eager to engage in the adventure, took ignominiously to his heels.
He reached the thicket before venturing to look behind him. Then he saw that his comrades had frightened away the negro, beaten back the dog, and taken the turkey-pen by storm. He would now have been but too glad to join them; but it was too late. Having accomplished their undertaking, they were returning, each bringing, pendent by the legs, a flopping fowl.
It is better to be a brave man than a coward, even in a bad cause. Fortune often favors brave men in the wrong in preference to aiding cowards in the right, for Fortune loves not a poltroon. John Winch felt at that moment that nobody henceforth would love or favor him, and he began to frame excuses for his shameful conduct.
"Hello, Jack Winch," cried Ellis, coming up with a turkey in one hand and a chicken in the other, "you're a smart leader—to run away from a yelping dog like that!"