, still, I would hear the strong silken rustle of 

 his wings as he passed. At midday I would 

 Cloud-^inds S6S \vv!Vi. poised over the highest mountain- 

 ^^tfie top northward, at an enormous altitude, 

 " ■^ ^ where the imagination itself could not fol- 

 low the splendid sweep of his vision ; and at 

 evening he would cross the lake, moving 

 westward into the sunset on tireless pinions 

 — always strong, noble, magnificent in his 

 power and loneliness, a perfect emblem of 

 the great, lonely, magnificent wilderness. 



One day as I watched him, it swept over 

 me suddenly that forest and river would be 

 incomplete without him. The thought of 

 this came back to me, and spared him to 

 the wilderness, on the last occasion when I 

 went hunting for his life. 



That was just after we reached the big 

 lake, where I saw him robbing the fish-hawk. 

 After much searching and watching I found 

 a great log by the outlet, where Old White- 

 head often perched. There was a big eddy 

 hard by, on the edge of a shallow, and he 

 used to sit on the log, waiting for fish to 

 come out where he could wade in and get 



