Francois soon finished dressing his pigeons, and plunged them into the
boiling-water. A piece of dried meat was added, and then some salt and
pepper, drawn from the store-bag, for it was the intention of Francois
to make pigeon-soup. He next proceeded to beat up a little flour with
water, in order to give consistency to the soup.
"What a pity," said he, "we have no vegetables!"
"Hold!" cried Lucien, who overheard him. "There appears to be a variety
of green stuff in this neighbourhood. Let me see what can be done."
So saying, Lucien walked about the glade with his eyes bent upon the
ground. He seemed to find nothing among the grass and herbs that would
do; and presently he strayed off among trees, towards the banks of a
little stream that ran close by. In a few minutes he was seen returning
with both his hands full of vegetables. He made no remark, but flung
them down before Francois. There were two species--one that resembled a
small turnip, and, in fact, was the Indian turnip (_psoralea
esculenta_), while the other was the wild onion found in many parts of
America.
"Ha!" cried Francois, who at once recognised them, "what luck!
_pomme-blanche_, and wild onions too, as I live! Now I shall make a
soup worth tasting."
And he proceeded with great glee to cut up the vegetables, and fling
them into the steaming kettle.
In a short while the meat and pigeons were boiled, and the soup was
ready. The kettle was taken from the crane; and the three brothers,
seating themselves on the grass, filled their tin cups, and set to
eating. They had brought a supply of hard bread to last for a few days.
When that should give out, they would draw upon their bag of flour; and
when this, too, should be exhausted, it was their intention to go
without bread altogether, as they had often done on like excursions
before.
While thus enjoying their pigeon-soup and picking the bones of the plump
birds, the attention of all three was suddenly arrested by a movement
near one side of the glade. They had just caught a glimpse of something
that looked like a flash of yellow light shooting up in a straight
direction from the ground.
All three guessed what it was--the lightning passage of a squirrel up
the trunk of a tree; and there was the animal itself, clinging flat
against the bark, having paused a moment--as is usual with squirrels--
before making another rush upward.
"Oh!" cried Lucien, in a suppressed voice, "it is a fox-squirrel, and
such a beauty! See! it is marked like a tortoise-shell cat! Papa would
give twenty dollars for such a skin."
"He shall have it for far less," rejoined Francois, stealing towards his
gun.
"Stop, Francois!" said Lucien. "Let Basil try it with his rifle--he is
a surer shot than you."
"Very well," replied Francois; "but if he should miss, it's no harm for
me to be ready."
Basil had already risen, and was silently making for the guns. On
reaching them, he took the long rifle, and turned in the direction of
the game. At the same moment Francois armed himself with his
double-barrel.
The tree up which the squirrel had run was what is termed a "dead-wood."
It was a decaying tulip-tree--scathed by lightning or storm--and stood
somewhat apart from the others, out in the open ground. There was
little else standing but the naked trunks, which rose like a column to
the height of sixty feet. The branches had all been swept away by the
wind, with one exception; and this was a long limb that stretched
diagonally upward from the top of the trunk. The limb, although crooked
and forking in several places, was not very thick. It was without twigs
or leaves, being of course, like the tree itself, dead.
Whilst Basil and Francois were preparing their guns, the squirrel had
made a second rush to the top of this limb; where it sat itself down in
a fork, and appeared to contemplate the setting sun. No better mark
could have been desired for a shot, provided they could get near enough;
and that they were likely to do, for the little animal did not appear to
regard the presence either of them or their horses--thus showing that it
had never been hunted. With its bushy tail erect, and spread like a
fan, it sat upon its haunches, appearing to enjoy the warm beams that
came from the west.
The boys moved softly around the glade, Basil going foremost. When
within range, as he thought, he raised his rifle, levelled it, and was
about to pull trigger, when the squirrel, that up to this moment had not
noticed him, gave a sudden start, dropped its tail, and ran down the
limb as if terrified. It did not stop until it had reached the main
trunk. There it halted, a foot or two from the head, and lay flat
against the bark.
What could have alarmed it? Not the boys, for it had not minded them
before; moreover, it still kept upon their side of the tree, offering as
fair a mark as ever. Had it feared them it would, as all squirrels do,
have hidden from them behind the trunk. But no, it was not afraid of
them; for, as it lay horizontally along the bark, its head was turned
upward, and showed, by a peculiar motion, that it dreaded some enemy
from above. And this was the fact, for high up and directly over the
tree, a large bird of prey was seen circling in the air.
"Hold!" whispered Lucien, laying his hand upon Basil's arm--"hold,
brother! it is the red-tailed hawk. See, he is going to swoop down.
Let us watch him."
Basil lowered his rifle, and all three stood waiting. A leafy branch
was over their heads, so that the bird did not see them, or, intent upon
striking his prey, did not care for their presence at the moment.
Lucien had scarcely spoken, when the hawk, that had hitherto been
sailing with his broad wings expanded, suddenly narrowed his tail, drew
in his wings, and came down with a loud "whish-sh-sh!" He dropped
almost perpendicularly, grazing the squirrel so closely, that all three
looked for it in his talons as he flew off again. Not so, however. The
squirrel had been upon his guard; and, as the hawk swooped down, had
doubled around the tree with the quickness of a flash of lightning. By
the guidance of his rudder-like tail the hawk soon turned, and flew
round to that side of the tree on which the squirrel had now settled. A
few strokes of his powerful wings soon enabled him to reach the proper
elevation; and again he swooped downward at his intended victim. The
squirrel avoided him as before, and came back on the other side of the
trunk. Again the hawk doubled, rose, darted downward at his prey,
missed it, and swept on. A fourth attempt met with like success, and
the bird once more flew back into the air, but still kept circling over
the tree.
"It's a wonder old foxy doesn't take to another tree," muttered
Francois; "one with branches enough to shelter him, or to his own tree
where his hole is. There he would be safe."
"That's exactly what he wishes to do," replied Lucien. "But see! his
enemy is directly over him. There's no tree near enough, and if he
attempted to run along the open ground, the hawk would be down upon him
like a shot. You saw how suddenly he dropped before?"
This was, in fact, the situation in which the squirrel was. It was
evident he regarded the trees at some distance with a wistful and
anxious look; for, although he had succeeded so far in baffling his
enemy, he still appeared to suffer from suspense and fear.
As soon as the hawk had risen a dozen yards or so above the tree, he
again commenced wheeling in circles, uttering a strange cry as he flew.
It was not a scream--as is often heard with these birds--but a cry of
different import, as if a call to some comrade. It was so in fact, for
in a moment it was answered from a distant part of the woods; and the
next moment, another hawk--red-tailed like himself, but much larger--was
seen soaring upwards. This was evidently his mate--for the female of
these birds is always much larger than the males. The two soon came
together, and wheeled above the tree, crossing each other's orbit, and
looking downward. The squirrel now appeared doubly terrified--for he
well knew their intent. He began to run around the trunk, looking
outward at intervals, as though he intended to leap off and take to the
thick woods.
The hawks did not allow him long time to make up his mind. The smaller
one swooped first, but missed the squirrel as before, driving him around
the trunk. There the frightened creature had scarcely halted, when the
great hen-hawk came at him with a whistling rush, and sent him back to
the other side. The male bird had by this time turned and now darted
with such suddenness and precision, that the squirrel, unable to pass
round the tree again, sprang off into the air. Guided by his broad tail
the hawk followed, and before the squirrel could reach the ground, the
bird was seen to strike. Then with a loud scream he rose into the air,
with the squirrel struggling in his talons.
His triumph was a short one. The crack of a shot gun was heard from
behind, and both hawk and squirrel fell heavily to the earth. Another
crack followed, almost instantaneously, and his mate, the great
hen-hawk, came tumbling down with a broken wing, and fluttered over the
grass, screaming like a cat. She was soon silenced by a stroke from the
butt of Francois' gun--both barrels of which were now empty--for it was
Francois that had done the business for the red-tails.
What was most singular of all, the squirrel was not killed either by the
shot or the fall. On the contrary, as Lucien was deliberately stooping
to pick it up--congratulating himself all the while upon his prize--it
suddenly made a spring, shook itself clear of the claws of the dead
hawk; and, streaking off into the woods, ran up a tall tree. All three
followed as fast as they could run; but on reaching the tree--an oak
five feet thick--they saw, to their mortification, the squirrel's hole
about fifty feet from the ground, which, of course, brought that
squirrel hunt to its termination.