324 
WILD WINGS 
What sane person would dare deliberately “to break up” 
a pair of Great Horned Owls, above all birds ? But people 
are not all like me. 
There was nothing to do but begin the search anew, and 
for days and days I vainly explored the cold and silent wintry 
woods. Meanwhile, all unknown to me, a dozen miles away, 
another man was in the woods. He was not looking for owls, 
but vigorously wielding the axe that cold first day of bluster¬ 
ing March. The fierce winter of 1903-04 showed no sign 
of abatement; evervthing was locked in ice and snow. As 
he worked, he noticed that a flock of crows kept up a great 
racket in a neighboring grove of heavy deciduous timber. 
After a time he decided to go and see what was the trouble. 
Walking quietly up, he saw the black rascals swooping 
excitedly about a certain chestnut tree. In its top fork was 
a platform of sticks, from which projected a dark mass which 
ended in two peculiar knobs. A closer approach revealed 
two round yellow eyes gazing fixedly down at him. He was 
a trained woodsman, and knew well what it all meant. The 
crows were mobbing a Great Horned Owl on its nest. Most 
men would have shot the owl, but he possessed the instincts 
of a true naturalist, and preferred to watch it from time to 
time. After some two weeks it occurred to him that he had 
promised to write to me should he find anything of interest. 
So one night, after a day of unremunerative owl-hunting, 
I received a very welcome letter. 
As soon as possible, early on March 19, I started with 
a vouth in mv sleigh for the locality, which was some eight 
miles from my home — the longest eight miles I ever drove. 
It was uphill all the way, some places at an angle of forty-five 
degrees. Now it was partly frozen mud or bare rocks, and 
jwesently we floundered through a softening drift, in depth 
up to the horse’s ears. Eight such miles was a morning’s 
