THE DESCHUTES RAVEN 31 



wild creature, besides the osprey, was here to 

 listen? The softly rounded buttes, towering above 

 the river, and running back beyond the cliffs, were 

 greenish gold against the sky, with what seemed 

 clipped grass, like to some golf-links of the gods ; 

 but no creature of any kind moved over them. 

 Bend after bend, mile after mile, and still no 

 life, except a few small birds in the narrow wil- 

 low edging where the river made about some 

 sandy cove. That was all — until out from his 

 eyrie in the overhanging rim-rock flapped the 

 raven. 



The canon was no longer empty, the towering 

 buttes no longer bare. This was the domain of the 

 black baron, and he held it all. No lesser land, 

 no tamer, gentler country would fit him, som- 

 ber, suspicious, unsociable, uncanny croaker of 

 the strong black wing! It was here that I had 

 hoped to find him, knowing that to such remote 

 and rugged regions he had withdrawn to make 

 his nest and live his life. How his silent flight, 

 his black body on the shelf of the rock high up 

 in the canon wall, gave shape and substance to 

 the spirit of the place! If the fir trees are a house 

 for the stork, and the high hills a refuge for the 



