"Bob!" I shouted, "there are young ones!"
"Hooray!" cried Bob. "That's better yet. Throw 'em down, and I'll catch 'em in my hat."
Much as I hated to do it, I thrust in my hand again, and out came a young hawk, biting, scratching, and screaming. I didn't hold it long, but in less time than you can say "Jack Robinson," down it went into Bob's hat.
Just as I threw down the third and last bird I heard Bob shout, "Look out! the old one's coming." Then something hit me on all sides of my head at once, just as if half a dozen school-teachers were boxing my ears at the same time. I put up my hands to defend my eyes, lost my balance, and, crash!— I didn't know anything more for the next five minutes.
When I came to myself Bob was dashing water in my face by the hatful. I could just manage to say, "Don't drown me."
"Then you're not dead!" exclaimed Bob. "You gave me an awful scare. Why, I couldn't make you speak a word. Don't ever go and do it again."
"I'm not dead yet, Bob, but it was a pretty ugly fall, wasn't it? Where are the young hawks?"
"Oh, they're all right. I've got 'em tied up in my handkerchief. Try and see if you can stand up."
I did try, but the minute I bore my weight on my right ankle such a sharp pain went through it that down I fell, and fainted away again.
When I came to, the second time, I heard a man say, "Guess we'd better carry him right down to the house, and get the doctor to 'tend to him." Bob had gone to a farm-house near by, and had brought two men to help him take care of me.