RED SLAYER AND THE TERROR 263 
times directly overhead, angry at the loss of his 
quarry. 
It was a big bird, more than twenty inches 
long, a grayish white below, slate colored above, 
almost a gun-metal color as he banked against the 
dull sky. He had powerful yellow talons, and 
a wicked gray beak and fierce, piercing eyes with 
red irises. He flew, Red Slayer could see, with 
tremendous power, and, as the weasel well knew 
now, he dropped to strike with terrific speed. It 
was a bird he had never seen before, and one he 
never wanted to see again. He did not know 
what it was, for no goshawks had come down here 
from the north before in his lifetime, but the fact 
that it was here was self-evident, and for the first 
time in his life terror entered into Red Slayer’s 
heart. Nothing on earth had saved him then but 
the black tip to his tail. Seemingly making his 
otherwise white body conspicuous on the snow, it 
had in reality caught the eye of the hawk so 
strongly that he couldn’t help striking at it, and 
as a result the main portion of Red Slayer, so to 
speak, was past the danger point. But this pro- 
tection would not always work. Hereafter there 
