16 THE LAST FORAY. 
He had flown right down a line of wild- 
fowlers in wait to ambush the morning ‘ flight’ 
of the wild duck back to the sea. 
A week later a man, while tramping along 
the shore a hundred miles south, picked up 
the spotless and still warm corpse of a magni- 
ficent gerfalcon. 
Blowing back the beautiful soft feathers, he 
discovered in the breast one tiny shot-hole, 
just one little puncture—that was all. And 
the bird itself was mere skin and bone. 
The wild-fowlers never knew, of course. 
