“It’s hard to tell from here,” Artie said sagaciously. “Whatever it is, I’d like to know what kind of a stunt it’s trying to pull off.”
“Gee, so would I,” Westy said with enthusiasm.
The minutes passed and still the stately young bird clung tenaciously to the precipice. The boys decided that it must be clinging with its sharp talons to the luxuriant undergrowth that wound itself around the cliff.
They still sat in silence and watched every move. It was swaying now, swaying dizzily, as if it was losing its grip.
“Why, I wonder,” Artie spoke up, “doesn’t he fly?”
“Search me!”
Suddenly, then, a harsh scream pierced the air as the unfortunate bird lost its hold and dropped—into the hollow just under the precipice.
Another scream; more shrill than the one before, a scream of pain—then Eagle Pass lapsed into its usual deathlike silence.
CHAPTER XXIV—ARTIE AS A MODERN DANIEL
“Well,” said Westy, jumping to his feet, “we ought to try and save that bird. I think its wing was broken!”