ut ain't you got the grit! I'd like to know who it was served
this trick on you. But don't you fret. I'll get you out o' this, ef it
takes a year's arnings to do it! You wait an' see!" And with his jaws
set resolutely he turned and strode from the gardens. That bird should
not stay in there another night if he could help it.

Horner's will was set, but he did not understand the difficulties he
had to face. At first he was confronted, as by a stone wall, by the
simple and unanswerable fact that the bird was not for sale at any
price. And he went to bed that night raging with disappointment and
baffled purpose. But in the course of his efforts and angry
protestations he had let out a portion of his story--and this, as a
matter of interest, was carried to the president of the society which
controlled the gardens. To this man, who was a true naturalist and not
a mere dry-as-dust cataloguer of bones and teeth, the story made a
strong appeal, and before Horner had quite made up his mind whether to
get out a writ of _habeas corpus_ for his imprisoned friend, or commit
a burglary on the cage, there came a note inviting him to an interview
at the president's office. The result of this interview was that
Horner came away radiant, convinced at last that there was heart and
understanding in the city as well as in the country. He had agreed to
pay the society simply what it might cost to replace the captive by
another specimen of his kind; and he carried in his pocket an order
for the immediate delivery of the eagle into his hands.

To the practical backwoodsman there was no fuss or ceremony now to be
gone through. He admired the expeditious fashion in which the keeper
of the bird-house handled his dangerous charge, coming out of the
brief tussle without a scratch. Trussed up as ignominiously as a
turkey--proud head hooded, savage talons muffled, and skyey wings
bound fast, the splendid bird was given up to his rescuer, who rolled
him in a blanket without regard to his dignity, and carried him off
under his arm like a bundle of old clothes.

Beyond the outskirts of the city Horner had observed a high, rocky,
desolate hill which seemed suited to his purpose. He took a street
car and travelled for an hour with the bundle on his knees. Little his
fellow-passengers guessed of the wealth of romance, loyalty, freedom,
and spacious memory hidden in that common-looking bundle on the knees
of the gaunt-faced, gray-eyed man. At the foot of