"Came down by that high stub!" exclaimed Halstead. "Pounced upon something there! I'll run in and get the shotgun. The folks aren't up yet. We'll go over. Perhaps we can get a shot at it."
Addison had gone on an errand to the Corners that morning. Halstead got the gun, and setting down our milk pails, we ran across the field, and so onward to the pasture. "'Twas near that stub," whispered Halse, as we began to see the top of it over the crest of the ridge. We peeped over. Down in the hollow at the foot of the stub was the great bird, flapping and tugging at something—one, two, three animals, lying stretched out on the ground! The sight gave us a sudden shock.
"The colts!" exclaimed Halse, forgetting the eagle. "Dead!"
The big bird raised its head, then rose into the air with mighty flaps and sailed away. We watched it glide off along the ridge, and saw it alight in an oak, the branches of which bent and swayed beneath its weight.
"All dead!" cried Halstead, gazing around. "Isn't that hard!"
The eagle had been tearing at their tongues, which protruded as they lay on the ground. There was a strong odor from the carcasses.
"Been dead some time," Halse exclaimed. "What killed them?"
We examined them attentively. Not the slightest mark, nor wound, could be detected. But a lot of fresh splinters lay at the foot of the pine stub, close by them.
"Must have been lightning," I said, glancing up. "That's just what it was! They were struck during that big shower."
We went to the house with the unwelcome tidings. At first the folks would scarcely believe our account. Then there were rueful looks.