292 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDERNESS 
instead of passing on and up over the crest of the 
divide. 
As a matter of fact, far up at the head waters 
of this cafion brook, almost two thousand feet 
above sea level, and surrounded by dense forest 
and laurel hells, was a small mountain tarn, a 
spring-fed pond of a dozen acres, its waters look- 
ing almost black from the accumulation of leaf 
mould on the shallow bottom. Just back from 
the rocky shore of this pond, rising a trifle above 
the other hemlocks so that its top commanded a 
view of the water, stood a great hemlock. It was 
not yet dead, but it appeared to be dying. In the 
last strong fork of its top was a big structure of 
sticks. It was toward this nest that Baldy 
dropped, cac-cac-cac-ing as he sank. His call 
was answered by a lower toned, broken call from 
a tree close to the shore, a sound which, coming 
suddenly in the silence of the forest, was as 
startling as the laughter of a maniac, which it 
somewhat resembled. At the same _ instant, 
Baldy’s mate rose from the limb where she had 
been watching the water. And at the same time, 
too, a noise arose from the huge lump of sticks 
