230 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDERNESS 
wings a trifle separated, letting through the 
light. All brown has disappeared from his plu- 
mage—he looks jet black now, save his splendid 
white head and neck, and the great white fan of 
his tail. His domineering eyes are still visible, 
too, as he banks and swings in soaring loops above 
the hole of the river gorge, keeping his head down, 
his vision fixed below him. How superbly easy 
is his flight, over what spaces he seems to float on 
the buoyancy of air, with spread wings motion- 
less, what power to strike would be his if sud- 
denly those wings were folded and the thunder- 
bolt fell! A great, brave bird, for battle born, 
his very cry achallenge! So splendid a sight was 
Baldy, as he swung his loops over the gorge, and 
suddenly saw his prey below him, a prey totally 
invisible to the human eye from the top of the 
precipice, even with powerful glasses, and, fold- 
ing his wings, dropped a dead weight through 
space to snatch from the river—a dead fish. 
Yet Baldy, the eagle, had his battle, his long, 
incessant battle—his battle to rear his young and 
perpetuate his breed; only it was not waged with 
other birds or other beasts, but with man, with 
