sher, or
fisher-cat, is the common name among hunters for Pennant's marten, or
the _Mustela canadensis_, a very fierce carnivorous animal, of the
weasel family, growing from three to four feet in length, called also
"the black cat."

The fisher had doubtless been the assailant, though both had now that
intent, tired-down air which marks a long fray. He had probably crept
up from behind, while old long-shanks was quietly frogging along the
shore.

But he had found his intended victim a game one. The heron had a
character to sustain; and although he might easily have flown away, or
even waded farther out, yet he seemed to scorn to do either.

Not an inch would it budge, but stood with its long, javelin-like beak
poised, ready to strike into the fisher's eye, uttering, from moment
to moment, that menacing, guttural _quock_, which had first attracted
our attention.

This sound, mingling with the eager snarling and fretting of the cat,
made the most dismal and incongruous duet I had ever listened to. For
some moments they stood thus threatening and defying each other; but
at length, lashing itself up to the proper pitch of fury, the fisher
jumped at his antagonist with distended jaws, to seize hold of the
long, slender throat. One bite at the heron's slim neck would settle
the whole affair. But this attempt was very adroitly balked by the
plucky old wader's taking a long step aside, when the fisher fell into
the water with a great splash, and while struggling back to the log,
received a series of strokes, or, rather, stabs, from the long,
pointed beak, dealt down with wonderful swiftness, and force, too; for
we distinctly heard them _prod_ into the cat's tough hide, as he
scrambled upon the log, and ran spitting up the bank. This defeat,
however, was but temporary, as any one acquainted with the singular
persistence and perseverance of the whole weasel family will readily
guess. The fisher had soon worked his way down the log again, the
heron retiring to his former position in the water.

Another succession of quocks and growlings, and another spring, with
even less success, on the side of the cat. For this time the heron's
bill wounded one of his eyes; and as he again retreated up the log, we
could see the bloody tears trickling down over his shaggy jowl.

Thus far the battle seemed favorable to the heron; but the fisher
again rallied, and, now thoroughly maddened, rushed down the log, and
leaped blindly upon his fo