ley, as Bub proudly arranged his collar and left the tree.
“The choking sound was a young crow being choked to death,” he explained. “The minute a crow heard it he gave the signal and the warning was cawed from crow to crow. ‘Come-and-bring-help,’ was what the first feller said. The next came on the jump, sending back word over his shoulder. If I’d kept on I’d had every crow in the plantation here.”
“But why did they leave?” puzzled Stanley.
“Why, when I slapped my leg they thought it was the flap of a wing. Then I hooted like an owl and they felt sure Mister Owl was in their midst. Funny thing, a crow is mighty curious and smart, but they are easily fooled. They know when a man has a gun and all that. But they ain’t learned that owls hunt at night. Queer, eh?”
“What’s that?” whispered Stanley, nervously clutching his companion’s arm and pointing into the underbrush. “I saw something move.”
For an answer Bub picked up a stick and threw it into the thicket. Then he dashed forward, only to soon return carrying in his arms a stupid looking fowl, dark of body and barred with darker colors.
