“THE LAST AMERICAN ” 303 
fying. Once he found the body of a rabbit killed 
by a weasel in the woods. Again he spied five 
fish in a pail on the bottom of a boat drawn up on 
the shore, and the fishermen nowhere visible. (It 
was noon and hot, and they had retired to a cool 
spring in the woods.) When they returned the 
pail was upset, the fish gone, and not a track but 
their own in the muddy margin around the bow 
of their boat. They still discuss the mystery. 
Yet again, coursing over a pasture early one 
morning, while the sun, visible enough to Baldy 
from his aerial pathway and casting a rosy light 
on his snow white neck, was still hidden by the 
mountain wall from the valley farm, he saw a dog 
stalk a flock of sheep, cut out a lamb, and kill it. 
Baldy was excessively hungry that morning, and 
his young back in the eyrie, were, he knew, call- 
ing pathetically for food. Below him was a dead 
sheep, and none to dispute possession but a brown 
and black dog, which even now was craftily 
dragging the little carcass toward a thicket where 
he could feast unseen. Made bold by need, 
Baldy swooped, uttering his cac-cac-cac like a 
battle ery, and struck for the carcass. The aston- 
