I have never made a study of the cries and calls of wild animals, but I did the best I could. Clearing my throat, I began a low-voiced howling, such as one hears in the Zoo at feeding-time.
The dog only barked the louder, and then came voices.
“Coyote ——!” cried someone.
“That’s a banshee with bronchial trouble, Sandy.”
I stopped howling, the dog stopped barking, and then we heard:
“I’ve a hunch, Micky. Give me them shells loaded with number sevens. This ain’t no buckshot party.”
“Ah! Thank goodness, the barrier is removed!” exclaimed Middleton, and I heard the chain fall.
Middleton gave the gate a shove, and it creaked open.
“Sic ’em, Shep!” cried a voice.
It is likely that the dog misunderstood orders, as I feel sure that its master meant us when he said “’em,” but the dog circled us and went through the fence after the sheep.