Then I pulled on
my string.
With the first rustle of a leaf he whirled and poised forward, in the
intense attitude an eagle takes when he sights the prey. On the
instant he had sighted the cap, wriggling in and out among the low
bushes, and swooped for it like an arrow. Just as he dropped his legs
to strike, I gave a sharp pull, and the cap jumped from under him. He
missed his strike, but wheeled like a fury and struck again. Another
jerk, and again he missed. Then he was at the thicket where I stood;
his fierce yellow eyes glared straight into mine for a startled
instant, and he brushed me with his wings as he sailed away into the
shadow of the spruces.
Small doubt now that I had seen my assailant of the night before; for
an owl has regular hunting grounds, and uses the same watch towers
night after night. He had seen my head in the thicket, and struck at
the first movement. Perceiving his mistake, he kept straight on over
my head; so of course there was nothing in sight when I turned. As an
owl's flight is perfectly noiseless (the wing feathers are wonderfully
soft, and all the laminae are drawn out into hair points, so that the
wings never whirr nor rustle like other birds') I had heard nothing,
though he passed close enough to strike, and I was listening intently.
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