"I--I ax your pardon," went on Gunner Sobey, still slightly unhinged.
"The fact is, I mistook you for another person."
The jackass drew back a little. It seemed to Gunner Sobey to be
breathing hard, but otherwise it betrayed no emotion.
"Soh, then! Soh, my beauty!" said Gunner Sobey, and having clambered
the ditch, reached out a caressing hand.
The donkey retreated, backing, step by step: and as Gunner Sobey
stared a white blaze on the animal's face grew more and more distinct
to him.
"Eh? Why, surely--soh, then!--you're Jowter Puckey's naggur? And if
so--and I'll be sworn to you, seein' you close--what's become of th'
old mare I sold him last Marti'mas?"
The beast still retreated. But Gunner Sobey's wits were now working
rapidly. If Jowter Puckey pastured his jackass here, why here then
(it was reasonable to surmise) he also pastured the old mare,
Pleasant: and if Pleasant browsed anywhere within earshot, why the
chances were she would remember and respond to her former master's
call.
I repeat that Gunner Sobey was a ready man and a brave. Without
pausing to reflect that the French might hear him, he put two fingers
in his mouth and whistled into the night.
For a while there came no reply. He had his two fingers in his mouth
to repeat the call when, happening to glance at the jackass, he
perceived the beast's ears go up and its head slew round towards the
ridge.
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