life, leaving its shadow dark behind it. He 



who was king of all he surveyed from the old 



blasted pine on the crag's top, who had always C/oud-lOin^s 



heretofore been the hunter, now knew what it me^^a^/e 



meant to be hunted. And the fear of it was 



in his eyes, I think, and softened their fierce 



gleam when I looked into them again, weeks 



later, by his own nest on the mountain. 



Simmo entered also into our hunting, but 

 without enthusiasm or confidence. He had 

 chased the same eagle before — all one sum- 

 mer, in fact, when a sportsman whom he was 

 guiding had offered him twenty dollars for 

 the royal bird's skin. But Old Whitehead still 

 wore it triumphantly ; and Simmo prophe- 

 sied for him long life and a natural death. 

 " No use hunt-um dat heagle," he said simply. 

 " I try once an' can't get near him. He see 

 everyt'ing ; and wot he don't see, he hear. 

 'Sides, he kin feel danger. Das why he 

 build nest way off, long ways, — O, don' 

 know where." This last with a wave of his 

 arm to include the universe. Cheplahgan, 

 Old Cloud-Wings, he called the bird that 

 had defied him in a summer's hunting. 



