THE ‘ FIGHTER FROM FIGHTERSVILLE.’ 153 
two inches away, and the slug being evidently 
at its last gasp. From which it will be sur- 
mised either that the coach-horse of Satan 
was the owner of poisoned jaws, or that he 
possessed a very shrewd knowledge of anatomy, 
or both. Here we leave him, because beetles 
have different tastes from men as regards what 
they eat and how they eat it. They are not 
polite at the table, you know. 
Later that day we discover our beetle seated 
on a dock-leaf, enjoying the rays of the red- 
dening sun. Something must have turned 
him out of his hiding-place in the first instance, 
perhaps, for I don’t think he was a lover of 
light much. Be that as it may, as he sat there 
he suddenly ‘froze.’ A shadow crossed the 
sun, wings filled the air with a rushing sound, 
and a beak—it was longer than himself—came 
down at him out of the sky. 
Any one watching would have said that 
that beetle had better say what few prayers 
he knew, if he had time to, for the bird who 
owned that beak looked as big as St Paul’s 
Cathedral beside him. But the ‘horse’ knew 
better. He was neither fool nor coward. He 
ran sideways. He cocked his tail. He clashed 
his jaws. Every line of him spoke of defiant 
fury. And—holloa! The bird went—drew 
back its head and went, it did. It had recog- 
3.W. K 
