166 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDERNESS 
limb, or now and again trying to beat its way to 
another tree, but still holding the dead crow it 
had captured in its talons, the great owl, half 
blinded now by the daylight and the incessant 
swarm of live crows that attacked it, was 
plainly visible—and plainly uncomfortable. 
Neither one crow nor all the crows together 
dared risk open combat. But they all beat in 
waves around it, made dashes for its head, its 
back, drove it again and again to cover, and 
again and again worked it out of cover by at- 
tacks from above till it had to fly, giving them 
fresh opportunity to strike at its head from the 
air. All the morning the battle raged, the moun- 
tain echoed to the hoarse roar of the myriad caw- 
ings, till at last the battered owl] managed to find 
an old tree that was hollow, and get inside, where 
he could easily defend the opening. Still hun- 
dreds of crows remained on the scene, and it was 
not till darkness again fell that he could make his 
escape. The next morning the farmer’s boy 
heard only the usual friendly and cheerful and 
familiar caws of the crows that lived about his 
farm, and the distant forest was quiet. The owl 
