re that had hold
of him were broken off, and that his leg should have been caught in the
gap thus formed. Moreover, the trap had not been looked after; it was
rusty, and did not shut quite properly. The spring was weak, or some
grit had got in, or something, and a smart rat would have got out of it
easily, but a rat is not a gull, and knows too much.

Thereafter, nothing happened for a long while. Cob's first delirium
seemed to have spent him, and perhaps taught him how much a leg can
hurt when tugged by the full lift of sixty-nine-inch wings, especially
when one tries to whirl round upon it when it cannot turn.

The raven sat on his lichen-decorated, snow-draped bowlder, hands in
pockets, so to speak, abominably untidy, with a pessimistic hunch of
the shoulders, but a light in his eyes, a strangely malignant,
devilishly roguish leer, that belied his appearance. Perhaps he was
waiting to see if Cob during his struggles obligingly touched off any
further deadly surprises that might lie hidden in the vicinity. One
never knows. He had seen a gray crow double-catch himself in two traps
lying close to one another--once.

Nothing happening, however, that raven presently sailed in on his fine
work. He broke his neutrality with a sudden dry rustle of wings, and
clumsily half-hopped, half-heavily napped, down to Cob, lying there
still and silent, but very much awake, upon the snow. He almost seemed
to be rubbing his hands, or, rather, his claws, that ebon rascal. This
was, indeed, a game after his own heart.

Cob never moved when the raven arrived. I suppose he knew all about
ravens, and what one may expect from them. He only stared at him with
one cold eye, a tense, lop-sided stare; and he mouthed a little--if one
may be permitted the expression--with his beak, like a man moistening
his lips.

The raven looked him over critically, leeringly, insolently, with a
hateful air of ownership. Then the raven sharpened the gouge thing
which he called his beak--wheep-wheep--upon a stone, as birds do, and
tightened his feathers, as if almost visibly tucking up his sleeves
for--well, for the job.

Then he tweaked Cob's tail, apparently just to see how much alive he
was. But Cob did not move, beyond drawing one webbed leg--the free
one--up under him.

Then the raven dug him under the wing--punched him in the ribs, so to
speak. But Cob did nothing more than cringe--cringe from head to
hind-toe, like a worm.

Then sud