It would have been better for the ibex had he kept to his fore-feet altogether; as in that attitude he might have held his ground a little longer—perhaps until he had either beaten off his winged assailants, or wearied them out by a prolonged defence.
But to fight on “all fours” did not chance to be his fashion. It was contrary to the traditions of his family and race—all of whose members, from time immemorial, had been accustomed, when battling with an enemy, to stand erect upon their hind-legs.
Following this fashion, he had raised himself to his full perpendicular, and was about aiming a “butt” against the breast of one of the bearcoots that was tantalising him in front, when the other, that had made a short retrocession in order to gain impetus, came swooping back with the velocity of an arrow, and seizing the ibex under the chin, by a quick, strong jerk of its talons, it struck the head of the animal so far backward that it lost its balance, and went toppling over the cliff. In another instant the ibex was in mid-air—falling—falling—through that same fearful space that had just been traversed by his own victim.
The spectators looked to see him strike the ground without receiving further molestation from his winged assailants. Not so, however, did it result. Just as the ibex had got about half-way down the face of the precipice, the second eagle was seen shooting after him with the velocity of a flash of lightning; and before he could reach the ground, the bearcoot was seen striking him once more, and causing him to diverge from his vertical descent. The body came to the ground at length—but at a considerable distance from where the other was lying—the eagle descending with it to the earth, and even remaining over it with wings and limbs extended, as if still clutching it in his talons!
Why the bearcoot was thus retaining the ibex in his clutch was not quite so clear: for the animal was evidently dead; and apparently had been so long before reaching the earth. There was something strange about this proceeding on the part of the bird—as there had also been in its mode of descent through the last forty or fifty yards of space. From the manner in which it had extended its wings after striking its prey, and from the way in which it still kept exercising them, the spectators began to think that its singular descent, and its remaining over the carcass in that cowering attitude, were neither of them voluntary acts on its part.
The truth was soon made clear—proving the contrary to be the case: for as the bearcoot continued to flap its wings, or rather, flutter them in a violent irregular motion, it became evident that instead of desiring to remain by the fallen body of its victim, it was doing its very best to get away from it! This was all the more easily believed, when it commenced uttering a series of wild screams; not as before indicating rage or menace, but in tones expressive of the greatest terror!
The spectators, who had already risen from their seats, ran towards the spot—surmising that there was something amiss.
On getting close up to the still screaming and fluttering bird, they were able to understand what had appeared so incomprehensible.
They saw that the bearcoot was in a dilemma; that its talons were buried in the body of the ibex, and so firmly fixed, that with all the strength of its sinewy legs, backed by the power of its elastic pinions, it was unable to free itself!
In striking the ibex in his descent, the bird had buried its crooked claws deeply into the soft abdomen of the animal, but in attempting to draw them out again, had found—no doubt to its great chagrin—that the thick coating of “poshm” which covered the skin of the ibex, had become entangled round its shanks; and the more it fluttered to free itself, turning round and round in the effort, the stronger and tighter became the rope which it was twisting out of that celebrated staple—the shawl-wool of Cashmere!