WILD LIFE ON THE WING 
mad flight from the fir grove to the river, 
Fionog-liat would sweep suddenly away at right 
angles to his course, and then as the last of the 
band wheeled aside in response to his leader's 
warning croak, as often as not he saw in a clear- 
ing far below the black squat figure of the game- 
keeper, fingering his gun. But before he could 
bring the " sights " to bear, the crows were a 
furlong away, the wind purring through their 
tail feathers with the swiftness of their flight. 
Later, they dropped into the Scotch fir one by 
one. All round them in the pine-trees, the 
plump, wary wood-pigeons perched in rows, 
grunting a little as the wind swung the branches 
to and fro beneath them. But if a belated 
pigeon, bewildered by the darkness, settled in 
the fir-tree, she clattered out again quickly at 
the stir of soft heavy breathing in the gloom. 
Then would be heard a sinister rustle as a dozen 
bills were unsheathed from the puffed-out 
feathers, and a dozen pairs of eyes glared fiercely 
into the darkness. Sometimes as the pigeon 
dashed away she heard half a score of clamour- 
ing devils behind her, who, empty stomached, 
all dreamed of a full gorge, and had awakened 
hoping to find the dream true. But when they 
heard a living thing fly from them, they 
blundered back to their perches, croaking dis- 
contentedly for dead meat. 
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