284 Old White Wing 
the haystacks and barnyards, much against the pro- 
test of Old White Wing. But what could he do 
against the gnawing pangs of hunger, when day by 
day he saw his loved ones starving? It would have 
been better had he and his band migrated far south 
to the Delaware. 
But a yet greater peril awaited them! A demand 
for crows’ wings had been steadily increasing, and 
all known schemes for the capture of these birds were 
being used. Old White Wing was constantly on the 
watch for danger, but his strength, too, was fast 
failing, and unless the snow and cold soon broke, 
spring would come too late to relieve his distress, even 
if he escaped snare and gun. 
For three days a storm had been raging and the 
crows were unable to leave their roost. The morn- 
ing of the fourth day broke clear and crisp and cold, 
and the birds started on weary wing in search of 
food. Not far from the hemlocks in an open meadow 
stood a small barn, directly in the line of one band 
of crows as they left for their feeding ground—the 
band in command of Old White Wing. As they 
neared the barn, the hindmost ones were aware that 
something unusual was taking place in the front 
ranks. The cause was not far to seek; for near the 
barn, on the snow, lay the carcass of a calf. Old 
