CHAPTER III

THE COMBAT ON THE CLIFF

Lying on his back in the narrow trail, with his eyes continually roving over the jagged side of the cliff, Ralph became drowsy, in spite of his desire to catch sight of the eagles when they rose to stretch their wings in the first flight of the day.  Along the eastern rim of the hills the sky was paling into a yellow glow without a cloud to mar its perfect clarity.

How long the young hunter dozed he could not tell, but he roused with a start, and sat bolt upright, glancing around him impatiently.  Directly over his head, soaring high over the trees, was one of the great birds, evidently in search of prey:  perhaps an unwary rabbit, squirrel, or fat woodchuck, for breakfast.

Catching sight of the bird as it hung poised in mid air, Ralph muttered: 

“If that’s the male, hunting alone, the female must be on the nest—–­which will make matters twice as difficult for me.”

Even as he watched it, the solitary bird made a sudden swoop downward, sailed closer over the tops of the highest trees, and then suddenly dived into their midst, emerging after a few minutes with a small limp form seized in its talons.  With this prize the eagle now flew swiftly and silently to a ledge on the side of the cliff, and uttered a curious loud whistle of invitation.  In response, the larger bird, the female, appeared on the ledge, and the pair forthwith began their meal.

Very cautiously, so that his slow movements might have the least possible chance of being observed, Ralph reached out for his rifle, and—–­shifting his position by crawling forward until the feasting eagles were within range—–­fired.  At the report, one big bird toppled over the precipice to a ledge not ten feet above the foaming water, on the other side of the stream.  Its mate, with a harsh scream of alarm, darted up into the air, circled once over the spot where Ralph crouched, and flew hastily away.  It was so swift in its flight from the place that Ralph was unable to get a second shot.

Nevertheless, even in his vexation at apparently losing it, Ralph could not refrain from giving a shout of triumph.  Hurriedly securing his pony, he made a detour of about half a mile in order to cross the mountain stream; for to cross it at the spot which he had chosen for his ambush would have been impossible, owing to the depth and swiftness of the current.

After fording the stream at the further point—–­under protest from Keno, who picked his way very carefully and grudgingly over the treacherous rocky bed—–­Ralph dismounted and tied the horse to a tree.  Then he walked carefully along the base of the cliff, crawling or jumping from one rock to another, taking advantage of every slight projection, and holding his breath for dread lest he slip and hurl himself into the foaming water.  At last he came to the foot of the rock where, but a short time ago, the eagles were devouring their breakfast.  There he paused to get his wind and to look for the fallen bird.