“What is it? What is it, Nix?” came in muffled cries from the cave.
“Only a screech owl; it’s unusual to find one so far in the woods as this!”
As it happened two ruddy screech owls, faithful lovers and monogamists, which had dwelt together as Darby and Joan in the hollow of an old apple-tree in a distant orchard, being persecuted both by boys and blue jays, had eschewed civilization, isolating themselves, at least from the former, in the woods.
As dawn broke between the tall pines and a pale river of daylight flowed along the logging-road, they were seen, both together, upon a low bough, with the dawn breeze fluffing their thick, rufous plumage, making them look larger than they really were, and their heads slowly turning from side to side, trying to discover the meaning of a camp-fire and other strange doings in this their retreat.
“Oo-oo! look at them,” hooted Colin softly, creeping out of the cave and stealthily approaching their birch-tree. “They have yellow eyes and faces like kittens. Huh! they’re more comical than a basket of monkeys. Oh, there they go.”
For even as his hand was put forth to touch them, they vanished silently as the ebbing shadows in the train of night.
“This must be a great place for owls,” said Leon, blinking like one—not until far on in the night had he slept owing to the wrenching pain in his ankle. “Listen! there goes the big old hooter—the great horned owl—the Grand Duke we call him. Hear him ’way off: ‘Whoo-whoo-hoo-doo-whoo!’ Sounds almost like a wolf howling! Ou-ouch!”
“Is your ankle hurting badly, Starrie?”
“It’s—fierce.”
“Daylight is coming fast now; I’ll be able to find the spring and wet those bandages again—and bring you a drink too”; this from the scout.