Tom Slade on Mystery Trail | Page 8

there," Hervey said.
"Here's one of them now," commented Tom, pointing upward.
High above them in the dusk and with a background of golden-edged
clouds, which gave the sun's last parting message to the earth, a great
bird hovered motionless. It seemed to hang in air as if by a thread. Then

it descended with a wide, circling swoop. In less than ten seconds, as it
seemed to Hervey, its body and great wings, and even its curved, cruel
beak, were plainly visible circling a few yards above the tree. It seemed
like a journey from the heavens to the earth, all in an instant.
"Watch him, watch him," Hervey whispered.
But Tom was not watching him at all. He knew what that savage
descent meant and he was looking for its cause. Stealthily, with no
more sound than that of a gliding canoe, he stole to the trunk of the tree
and looked about with quick, short, scrutinizing glances, away up
among its branches.
Then he placed his finger to his lips, warning Hervey to silence, and
beckoned him into the darker shadow under the great tree.
"Did you see anything beside the bird?" he whispered.
"No," said Hervey. "Why? What is it?"
"Shh," Tom said; "look up--shh----"
It was the most fateful moment of all Hervey Willetts' scout career, and
he did not know it.
CHAPTER VII
THE STREAK OF RED
"Look up there," Tom said; "out near the end of the third branch. See?
The little codger beat him to it."
Looking up, Hervey saw amid the thicker foliage, far removed from the
stately trunk, something hanging from a leaf-covered branch. Even as
he looked at it, it seemed to be swaying as if from a recent jolt. At first
glimpse he thought it was a bat hanging there.
"See it?" Tom said, pointing up. "You can see it by the little streak of

red. I think the little codgers head is poking out. Some scare she had."
Then all in an instant Hervey knew. It seemed incredible that the great
bird, hovering at that dizzy height, could have seen the little songster of
the woods which even he and Tom had failed to see. And the thought
of that smaller bird reaching its home just in time, and poking its head
out of the opening to see if all was well, went to Hervey's heart and
stirred a sudden anger within him.
"I didn't know they could see all that distance," he said.
"Well, that's one thing you've learned that you didn't know before,"
Tom said in his matter-of-fact way.
Scarcely had he spoken the words when the foliage above shook and
there was a loud rustling and crackling of branches, while many leaves
and twigs fell to the ground.
The monarch of the mountain crags, having circled the elm, had found
a way in where the foliage was least dense, and had thus with
irresistible power carried the outer defenses of that little hanging
citadel.
And still the little streak of red showed up there in the dimness of those
invaded branches, and one might have fancied it to be the colors of the
besieged victim, flaunting still in a kind of hopeless defiance. Down
out of the green twilight above floated a feather, then another--trifling
losses of the conqueror in his triumphal entry.
"You're not going to get away with that," said Hervey in a voice tense
with wrath and grim determination; "you're--you're--not----"
What happened then happened so quickly as almost to rival the descent
of the destroyer in lightning movement. Before Tom Slade realized
what had happened, there was Hervey's khaki jacket on the ground, his
discarded hat was blowing away, and his navy blue scout scarf was
plastered by the freshening breeze flat against the trunk of the tree.

Hervey Willetts, who had dreamed and striven all through the vacation
season of "capturing the Eagle," as they say, was on his quest in dead
earnest.
CHAPTER VIII
EAGLE AND SCOUT
Up, up, he went, now reaching like a monkey, now wriggling like a
snake. Now he loosed one hand to sweep back the hair which fell over
his forehead. Again, unable to release his hold, he threw his head back
to shake away the annoying locks. Tom Slade, stolid though he was,
watched him, thrilled with amazement and admiration.
The great bird was embarrassed in the confines of the foliage by its big
wings. But the freedom and strength of its cruel beak and talons were
unimpaired and every second brought it nearer to the hanging nest.
But every second brought also the scout nearer to the hanging nest. Up,
up he went, now straddling some bending limb, now swinging himself
with lightning agility to one above. Once, crawling on a horizontal
branch, he slid