When Artie caught sight of Westy breaking into a run up the trail, he
thought intuitively that he was going for help. Instantly he was warmed
with good feeling and hope that they would return soon and find a way to
effect his escape. He sat silent and rigid within the hollow, for the
birds had put in their appearance now, frantically strutting back and
forth over the precipice, evidently searching for some trace of their
lost young.
One or the other kept guard on the precipice continuously, screeching
with such terrific force that Artie felt as though the echo itself would
all but ruin his hearing. His muscles were stiff and sore from the
cramped position he was crouching in, and not only that, but he was
getting hungry. He had had nothing to eat since breakfast, but tried to
cheer himself with the thought that it was better for him to be hungry,
and keep quiet about it, than to let the birds in on it.
At times when the eagle was stalking on the very edge of the cliff, the
sun would reflect the bird’s shadow upon the jagged rock in front of
him, worn smooth and glass-like with age. Then, poor Artie would sit in
a state of nervous terror until the shadow had passed.
His legs were aching violently, even though they seemed to be numb when
he would try and relax them. His back felt almost as if it had become
brittle and would snap in two, should he get the chance to stand
upright. He was beginning to doubt very much that the chance would come,
for whole months had passed in those hours since Westy went out of his
life. What he would give, he thought, for one glimpse of the athletic
young figure swinging furiously down the trail!
His vision was becoming blurred from the strain of watching so intently
from such a distance. He was beginning to fancy at times that some of
the pine trees along the trail were moving a little. Then he tried to
reason that the lethargic state he was in from the hours of waiting, was
responsible for his double vision. He did not want to admit that his
nerves were giving way under the tense strain.
The sentry on guard was still screaming at intervals, and poor Artie
began to think he was screeching when he wasn’t, and wasn’t when he was.
Then he tried to muster up his ebbing courage and with renewed hope
looked down upon the trail once more. Surely, he thought, Westy could
not be much longer! What on earth was keeping him?
The afternoon wore on and it began to get damp and chilly in the hollow
after the sun had left. Slowly, ever so slowly, it was withdrawing its
warm friendly rays from all about him. Then, finally, the last lingering
light that had cast sort of a farewell shadow down upon the lake, died
away and Artie felt now that he was surely deserted and left completely
alone in the unfriendly chill of near-twilight.
A dozen times he had examined the smooth rocks over which he had slid
into the hollow. Nowhere had he found a foothold with which to brace
himself over the cliff. But, as hope springs eternal and the screeching
had ceased now for quite a while, Artie arose to a stooping position.
With eager eyes he sought once more some hidden crevice that perhaps he
had overlooked. He felt cautiously of the smooth surface and with a
gesture of despair resigned himself to the knowledge that without help
it could not be done.
A deep silence now reigned and it gave Artie hope, thinking that perhaps
the birds had given up the watch and gone back to their aerie. He
stretched his aching body and getting to his feet boldly, carefully
raised on his tiptoes, throwing his arms upward and running his fingers
along the wall of rock. It was maddening, he thought, that his fingers
couldn’t grasp something! Oh, if only he were a few inches taller!
In this cogitative state of mind he heard a distinct rustle--silk-like;
maybe the wind. Then again--nearer. He listened intently as it came
closer, and suddenly he felt something touch his fingers ever so
lightly.
His warm blood seemed suddenly turned into an ice-like substance. For,
peering above him, he found that he was looking directly into the face
of an eagle!