Sylvester took to him at once, and in their day-long walks over the lonely, uninhabited mountains he learned many curious things from the man who, engaged as a servant, at once became a friend.
It was during one of these walks that, peering over a precipitous cliff, they saw a golden eagle standing on a ledge below them. They lay watching it for a long time, the almost vertical sun smiting their prone bodies.
“Its nest is sure to be somewhere near, Draco. I would give a hundred drachmæ to get a photograph of the female sitting on her eggs.”
“That is the female,” said Draco, who was examining the bird through Sylvester’s field-glasses.
Presently, the great bird rose, flapped its heavy, bright wings, and flew upwards until it had reached a ledge thirty feet below the two watchers. There, just visible, was its nest.
“Ah!” breathed Sylvester, drawing himself away, and sitting down well out of sight of the eagle. “Can it be done, Draco? Can we get down to her?”
Draco was still looking down at the bird, his face alive with excitement. He stayed there a long time. When, at length, he joined Sylvester, his face and bared chest and arms were covered with sweat. He pressed his hands to his forehead.
“Yes, it can be done. But we shall want ropes. I could climb down with the camera, fix it up a yard or two from the nest, return here and pull up the rope. After that, it’s simply a matter of waiting for her to settle again. The only thing is—have you got enough tubing? I reckon you’ll want about thirty-five feet.”
“Oh yes: I’ve plenty of tubing. It’s a great find this, Draco. If only we can pull it off, see? Now, what do you say?—shall we leave it till to-morrow, or go back home now, get our ropes and tubing, and come back this evening an hour or so before sunset?”
“Just as you like. But this evening would be a splendid time; for we shall then have the sun shining straight on the nest.”