A hollow, booming, ominous cry, a great voice of shadowy doom, rang out
suddenly and startled the dark edges of the forest. It sounded across the
glimmering pastures, vibrating the brown-violet dusk, and made the lame
old woman in the cabin on the other side of the clearing shiver with
vague fears.
But not vague was the fear which shook the soul of the red squirrel where
he crouched, still for once in his restless life, in the crotch of a
thick spruce-top. Not vague was the fear of the brooding grouse in the
far-off withe-wood thicket, though the sound came to her but dimly and
she knew that the menace of it was not, at the moment, for her. And least
vague of all was the terror of the usually unterrified weasel, from whose
cruel little eyes the red flame of the blood-lust faded suddenly, as the
glow dies out of a coal; for the dread voice sounded very close to him,
and it required all his nerve to hold himself rigidly motionless and to
refrain from the start which would have betrayed him to his death.
“_Whoo-hoo-oo-h’oo-oo!_” boomed the call again, seeming to come from the
tree-tops, the thickets, the sky, and the earth, all at once, so that
creatures many hundred yards apart trembled simultaneously, deeming that
the clutch of fate was already at their necks. But to the Boy, as he let
down the pasture bars with a clatter and turned the new-milked cows in
among the twilight-coloured hillocks, the sound brought no terror. He
smiled as he said to himself: “There’s Hushwing again at his hunting. I
must give him a taste of what it feels like to be hunted.” Then he
strolled across the pasture, between the black stumps, the blueberry
patches, the tangles of wild raspberry; pushed softly through the fringe
of wild cherry and young birch saplings, and crept, soundless as a snake,
under the branches of a low-growing hemlock. Peering out from this covert
he could see, rising solitary at the back of an open glade, the pale and
naked trunk of a pine-tree, which the lightning had shattered.
The Boy’s eyes were keen as a fish-hawk’s, and he kept them fixed upon
the top of the pine trunk. Presently it seemed as if the spirit of the
dusk took shadowy form for an instant. There was a soundless sweeping of
wings down the glade, and the next moment the pine trunk looked about two
feet taller in the Boy’s eyes. The great horned owl—“Hushwing,” the Boy
had christened him, for the ghostly silence of his flight—had returned to
his favourite post of observation, whereon he stood so erect and
motionless that he seemed a portion of the pine trunk itself.
The Boy lay still as a watching lynx, being minded to spy on Hushwing at
his hunting. A moment more, and then came again that hollow summons:
_Whoo-hoo-hoo-who’o-oo_; and the great owl turned his head to listen as
the echo floated through the forest.
The Boy heard, a few paces distant from him, the snap of a twig where a
startled hare stirred clumsily. The sound was faint; indeed so faint that
he was hardly sure whether he heard or imagined it; but to the
wonderfully wide and sensitive drum of the owl’s ear it sounded sharply
away down at the foot of the glade. Ere the Boy could draw a second
breath he saw great wings hovering at the edge of the thicket close at
hand. He saw big, clutching talons outstretched from thick-feathered
legs, while round eyes, fiercely gleaming, flamed upon his in passing as
they searched the bush. Once the great wings backed off, foiled by some
obstruction which the Boy could not see. Then they pounced with
incredible speed. There was a flapping and a scuffle, followed by a loud
squeak; and Hushwing winnowed off down the glade bearing the limp form of
the hare in his talons. He did not stop at the pine trunk, but passed on
toward the deeper woods.
“He’s got a mate and a nest ’way back in the cedar swamp, likely,” said
the Boy, as he got up, stretched his cramped limbs, and turned his face
homeward. As he went, he schemed with subtle woodcraft for the capture of
the wary old bird. He felt impelled to try his skill against the
marauder’s inherited cunning and suspicion; and he knew that, if he
should succeed, there would remain Hushwing’s yet fiercer and stronger
mate to care for the little owlets in the nest.
When Hushwing had deposited his prey beside the nest, in readiness for
the next meal of his ever-hungry nestlings, he sailed off again for a
hunt on his own account. Now it chanced that a rare visitor, a wanderer
from the cliffy hills which lay many miles back of Hushwing’s cedar
swamp, had come down that day to see if there might not be a sheep or a
calf to be picked up on the outskirts of the settlements. It was years
since a panther had been seen in that neighbourhood—it was years, indeed,
since that particular panther had strayed from his high fastnesses, where
game was plentiful and none dared poach on his preserves. But just now a
camp of hunters on his range had troubled him seriously and scattered his
game. Gnawing his heart with rage and fear, he had succeeded so far in
evading their noisy search, and had finally come to seek vengeance by
taking tribute of their flocks. He had traversed the cedar swamp, and
emerging upon the wooded uplands he had come across a cow-path leading
down to the trampled brink of a pond.
“Here,” he thought to himself, “will the cattle come to drink, and I will
kill me a yearling heifer.” On the massive horizontal limb of a willow
which overhung the trodden mire of the margin he stretched himself to
await the coming of the quarry. A thick-leaved beech bough, thrusting in
among the willow branches, effectually concealed him. Only from above was
he at all visible, his furry ears and the crown of his head just showing
over the leafage.
The aerial path of Hushwing, from his nest in the swamp to his
watch-tower on the clearing’s edge, led him past the pool and the
crouching panther. He had never seen a panther, and he had nothing in his
brain-furnishing to fit so formidable a beast. On chance, thinking
perhaps to strike a mink at his fishing on the pool’s brink, he sounded
his _Whoo-hoo-hoo-who’o-oo!_ as he came near. The panther turned his head
at the sound, rustling the leaves, over which appeared his furry
ear-tips. The next instant, to his rage and astonishment, he received a
smart blow on the top of his head, and sharp claws tore the tender skin
about his ears. With a startled snarl he turned and struck upward with
his armed paw, a lightning stroke, at the unseen assailant.
But he struck the empty air. Already was Hushwing far on his way, a
gliding ghost. He was puzzled over the strange animal which he had
struck; but while his wits were yet wondering, those miracles of
sensitiveness, those living telephone films which served him for ears,
caught the scratching of light claws on the dry bark of a hemlock some
ten paces aside from his line of flight. Thought itself could hardly be
more silent and swift than was his turning. The next moment his noiseless
wings overhung a red squirrel, where it lay flattened to the bark in the
crotch of the hemlock. Some dream of the hunt or the flight had awakened
the little animal to an unseasonable activity and betrayed it to its
doom. There was a shrill squeal as those knife-like talons met in the
small, furry body; then Hushwing carried off his supper to be eaten
comfortably upon his watch-tower.
[Illustration: “HE STRUCK THE EMPTY AIR.”]
Meanwhile the Boy was planning the capture of the wise old owl. He might
have shot the bird easily, but wanton slaughter was not his object, and
he was no partisan as far as the wild creatures were concerned. All the
furtive folk, fur and feather alike, were interesting to him, even dear
to him in varying degrees. He had no grudge against Hushwing for his
slaughter of the harmless hare and grouse, for did not the big marauder
show equal zest in the pursuit of mink and weasel, snake and rat? Even
toward that embodied death, the malignant weasel, indeed, the Boy had no
antagonism, making allowance as he did for the inherited blood-lust which
drove the murderous little animal to defy all the laws of the wild
kindred and kill, kill, kill, for the sheer delight of killing. The Boy’s
purpose now in planning the capture of Hushwing was, first of all, to
test his own woodcraft; and, second, to get the bird under his close
observation. He had a theory that the big horned owl might be tamed so as
to become an interesting and highly instructive pet. In any case, he was
sure that Hushwing in captivity might be made to contribute much to his
knowledge,—and knowledge, first-hand knowledge, of all the furtive
kindred of the wild, knowledge such as the text-books on natural history
which his father’s library contained could not give him, was what he
continually craved.
On the following afternoon the Boy went early to the neighbourhood of
Hushwing’s watch-tower. At the edge of a thicket, half concealed, but
open toward the dead pine trunk, was a straggling colony of low blueberry
bushes. Where the blueberry bushes rose some eight or ten inches above
the top of a decaying birch stump he fixed a snare of rabbit wire. To the
noose he gave a diameter of about a foot, supporting it horizontally in
the tops of the bushes just over the stump. The cord from the noose he
carried to his hiding-place of the previous evening, under the
thick-growing hemlock. Then he went home, did up some chores upon which
he depended for his pocket-money, and arranged with the hired man to
relieve him for that evening of his duty of driving the cows back to
pasture after the milking. Just before the afternoon began to turn from
brown amber to rose and lilac he went back to the glade of the pine
trunk. This time he took with him the body of one of the big gray rats
which infested his father’s grain-bins. The rat he fixed securely upon
the top of the stump among the blueberry bushes, exactly under the centre
of the snare. Then he broke off the tops of a berry bush, tied the stubs
together loosely, drew them over, ran the string once around the stump,
and carried the end of the string back to his hiding-place beside the
cord of the snare. Pulling the string gently, he smiled with satisfaction
to hear the broken twigs scratch seductively on the stump, like the claws
of a small animal. Then he lay down, both cords in his hand, and composed
himself to a season of patient waiting.
He had not long to wait, however; for Hushwing was early at his hunting
that night. The Boy turned away his scrutiny for just one moment, as it
seemed to him; but when he looked again there was Hushwing at his post,
erect, apparently part of the pine trunk. Then—_Whoo-hoo-hoo-who’o-oo!_
sounded his hollow challenge, though the sunset colour was not yet fading
in the west. Instantly the Boy pulled his string; and from the stump
among the blueberry bushes came a gentle scratching, as of claws.
Hushwing heard it. Lightly, as if blown on a swift wind, he was at the
spot. He struck. His great talons transfixed the rat. His wings beat
heavily as he strove to lift it, to bear it off to his nestlings. But
what a heavy beast it was, to be sure! The next moment the noose of
rabbit wire closed inexorably upon his legs. He loosed his grip upon the
rat and sprang into the air, bewildered and terrified. But his wings
would not bear him the way he wished to go. Instead, a strange,
irresistible force was drawing him, for all the windy beating of his
pinions, straight to an unseen doom in the heart of a dense-growing
hemlock.
A moment more and he understood his discomfiture and the completeness of
it. The Boy stood forth from his hiding-place, grinning; and Hushwing
knew that his fate was wholly in the hands of this master being, whom no
wild thing dared to hunt. Courageous to the last, he hissed fiercely and
snapped his sharp beak in defiance; but the Boy drew him down, muffled
wing, beak, and talons in his heavy homespun jacket, bundled him under
his arm, and carried him home in triumph.
“You’ll find the rats in our oat-bins,” said he, “fatter than any weasel
in the wood, my Hushwing.”
[Illustration: “SETTLED HIMSELF, MUCH DISCONCERTED, ON THE BACK OF AN OLD
HAIRCLOTH SOFA.”]
The oat-bins were in a roomy loft at one end of the wood-shed. The loft
was lighted by a large square window in the gable, arranged to swing back
on hinges like a door, for convenience in passing the bags of grain in
and out. Besides three large oat-bins, it contained a bin for barley, one
for buckwheat, and one for bran. The loft was also used as a general
storehouse for all sorts of stuff that would not keep well in a damp
cellar; and it was a very paradise for rats. From the wood-shed below
admittance to the loft was gained by a flight of open board stairs and a
spacious trap-door.
Mounting these stairs and lifting the trap-door, the boy carefully undid
the wire noose from Hushwing’s feathered legs, avoiding the keen talons
which promptly clutched at his fingers. Then he unrolled the coat, and
the big bird, flapping his wings eagerly, soared straight for the bright
square of the window. But the sash was strong; and the glass was a marvel
which he had never before encountered. In a few moments he gave up the
effort, floated back to the duskiest corner of the loft, and settled
himself, much disconcerted, on the back of an old haircloth sofa which
had lately been banished from the sitting-room. Here he sat immovable,
only hissing and snapping his formidable beak when the Boy approached
him. His heart swelled with indignation and despair; and, realising the
futility of flight, he stood at bay. As the Boy moved around him he kept
turning his great horned head as if it were on a pivot, without changing
the position of his body; and his round, golden eyes, with their piercing
black pupils, met those of his captor with an unflinching directness
beyond the nerve of any four-footed beast, however mighty, to maintain.
The daunting mastery of the human gaze, which could prevail over the gaze
of the panther or the wolf, was lost upon the tameless spirit of
Hushwing. Noting his courage, the Boy smiled approval and left him alone
to recover his equanimity.
The Boy, as days went by, made no progress whatever in his acquaintance
with his captive, who steadfastly met all his advances with defiance of
hissings and snapping beak. But by opening the bins and sitting
motionless for an hour or two in the twilight the Boy was able to make
pretty careful study of Hushwing’s method of hunting. The owl would sit a
long time unstirring, the gleam of his eyes never wavering. Then suddenly
he would send forth his terrifying cry,—and listen. Sometimes there would
be no result. At other times the cry would come just as some big rat,
grown over-confident, was venturing softly across the floor or down into
the toothsome grain. Startled out of all common sense by that voice of
doom at his ear, he would make a desperate rush for cover. There would be
a scrambling on the floor or a scurrying in the bin. Then the great, dim
wings would hover above the sound. There would be a squeak, a brief
scuffle; and Hushwing would float back downily to devour his prey on his
chosen perch, the back of the old haircloth sofa.
For a fortnight the Boy watched him assiduously, spending almost every
evening in the loft. At length came an evening when not a rat would stir
abroad, and Hushwing’s hunting-calls were hooted in vain. After two hours
of vain watching the Boy’s patience gave out, and he went off to bed,
promising his prisoner a good breakfast in the morning to compensate him
for the selfish prudence of the rats. That same night, while every one in
the house slept soundly, it chanced that a thieving squatter from the
other end of the settlement came along with a bag, having designs upon
the well-filled oat-bins.
The squatter knew where there was a short and handy ladder leaning
against the tool-house. He had always been careful to replace it. He also
knew how to lift, with his knife, the iron hook which fastened—but did
not secure—the gable window on the inside. To-night he went very
stealthily, because, though it was dark, there was no wind to cover the
sound of his movements. Stealthily he brought the ladder and raised it
against the gable of the loft. Noiselessly he mounted, carrying his bag,
till his bushy, hatless head was just on a level with the window-sill.
Without a sound, as he imagined, his knife-edge raised the hook—but there
_was_ a sound, the ghost of a sound, and the marvellous ear of Hushwing
heard it. As the window swung back the thief’s bushy crown appeared just
over the sill. “_Whoo-h’oo-oo!_” shouted Hushwing, angry and hungry,
swooping at the seductive mark. He struck it fair and hard, his claws
gashing the scalp, his wings dealing an amazing buffet.
Appalled by the cry and the stroke, the sharp clutch, the great smother
of wing, the rascal screamed with terror, lost his hold, and fell to the
ground. Nothing was further from his imagination than that his assailant
should be a mere owl. It was rather some kind of a grossly inconsistent
hobgoblin that he thought of, sent to punish him for the theft of his
neighbour’s grain. Leaving the ladder where it fell, and the empty bag
beside it, he ran wildly from the haunted spot, and never stopped till he
found himself safe inside his shanty door. As for Hushwing, he did not
wait to investigate this second mistake of his, but made all haste back
to his nest in the swamp.
The frightened outcry of the thief awoke the sleepers in the house, and
presently the Boy and his father came with a lantern to find out what was
the matter. The fallen ladder, the empty bag, the open window of the
loft, told their own story. When the Boy saw that Hushwing was gone, his
face fell with disappointment. He had grown very fond of his big,
irreconcilable, dauntless captive.
“We owe Master Hushwing a right good turn this night,” said the Boy’s
father, laughing. “My grain’s going to last longer after this, I’m
thinking.”
“Yes,” sighed the Boy, “Hushwing has earned his freedom. I suppose I
mustn’t bother him any more with snares and things.”
Meanwhile, the great horned owl was sitting erect on the edge of his nest
in the swamp, one talon transfixing the torn carcass of a mink, while his
shining eyes, round like little suns, shone happily upon the big-headed,
ragged-feathered, hungry brood of owlets at his feet.
[Illustration: A TREASON OF NATURE]