THE HOODED CROW 
At dawn the same strange roll-call was held. 
Before it was light enough to distinguish 
Fionog-liat's ash-coloured breast from his sable 
poll, the crows were swinging over the woods 
together, not in silence as at night, but with a 
clamour which made the woods resound. But 
before the sky was streaked with the hard 
gleams of sunrise, which shone through the 
eastern cloud-rock like coals between the bars 
of a grate, the flock had broken up, and 
departed to seek their different foraging 
grounds. 
Fionog-liat recruited his band from the roosting 
tree, for often one or other of the starving 
birds would elect to throw in his lot with those 
marauders on the mountain slopes. Fionog-liat 
himself never resented the appearance of these 
strangers, and the gang never took any notice 
of a newcomer unless he were by chance a 
weaker bird, and could be thrashed away from 
the killing. There was no spirit of comrade- 
ship among the crows. Each distrusted his 
fellow, and looked upon him merely as a tool 
by which to find food. They obeyed no law 
but that which gives the largest share of the 
spoil to the strongest, and this share always fell 
to Fionog-liat. There were, however, two 
crows who invariably remained constant to the 
leader and his chosen beat. They were young 
"5 
