The eagle was now pacing to and fro on the ledge, giving Westy cry for cry.
It was a decidedly difficult thing for Westy to do, running up-hill at the pace he was and using his lung power to the limit besides.
By the time he reached the cliff he was exhausted. His throat was sore and he thought that perhaps when he finally got through shouting, he would certainly never be able to yell again. That, in itself, would be a tragic calamity to a scout such as Westy Martin.
CHAPTER XXXI—WESTY MAKES A SACRIFICE
Quickly and quietly, with a discerning eye around him, Westy picked a spot near the edge of the precipice in which to carry out his plan. At the foot of a giant tree in the moss-covered earth, with trembling but dexterous fingers, he dug into the ground, tearing away small rocks and dirt with a will that was born of strong determination.
The eagle, meanwhile, had been joined by its mate and together they screamed for vengeance, while the shadows gathered around them.
At last, apparently satisfied with the depth of the hole he had dug, Westy carefully lowered the dead bird into it, making sure it was so placed as to allow the tip-end of its wing to reach just above the top of the excavation. He then set to the task of refilling the grave and went about it with a diligence that his frenzy for Artie’s safety inspired.
Making sure there was ever so little of the bird’s wing exposed, he packed the mound of earth around it, but not too hard, and covered it high with pieces of broken rock of a certain size, and over the whole he placed a larger rock than those which he had placed around the mound.
All this time the birds seemed to be holding a sort of pow-wow as to what to do with Artie, who was anxiously wondering what Westy’s scheme would bring about. In one breath he would mutter “good old Wes,” and in the next one he would silently beseech him to hurry. It was awful, he thought, the time Westy was taking to do whatever he was at, when in reality it had not covered the whole of ten minutes. That one half hour of Artie’s life, he afterward recalled, seemed to have covered a span of years. Undeniably he was no end thankful that the bird hadn’t bothered him, and he realized it was Westy’s timely return that saved him from a fate he shuddered to think of.
Westy had managed until now to keep his presence concealed from the ferocious birds. He wanted to; but now that his purpose was accomplished, he stood in full view of them, having crawled out to the edge of the precipice on his hands and knees.