258 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDERNESS 
The goshawk swung upward with the limp 
white form in his talons, the black tail tip 
dangling and swaying in the wind of the flight. 
On strong, steady wing beats, he mounted higher 
and higher, and his steel gray body, outlined a 
moment against the rosy flecks of dawn sky and 
the sweet, pale blue, grew indistinct against the 
dark wall of the mountain forest as he headed for 
some secret perch in a gnarled tree up the crags. 
