ng over, wouldn't I knock their
heads off,--wow! once more you'll have it, will you? See the feathers
fly! I b'lieve they're weakenin' some, sure I do; but what about me?
I'll bleed to death yet, if they keep on tapping me like that."

So Step Hen went on, shouting and whacking away, doing the best he was
able under the circumstances. Nobody could ever say at any rate, but
what he put up a strapping good fight of it, he kept thinking; but all
the same he cast an anxious eye upward whenever he could find a
chance, hoping to see a pair of human legs heave in sight, and
discover the welcome face of either Davy Jones or the guide.

"Bring a gun! Bring a gun!"

That was about the burden of his shouts. He hoped those above
understood what he was saying. The eagles seldom went far outside a
given circle, so that they could only be glimpsed from above
occasionally; and it was like shooting at a disappearing target in the
gallery, to try and hit them under such circumstances.

Step Hen had knocked one of the great birds down for the sixth time,
and was dismayed to see that he had not even then disabled it, since
it immediately started to fly again, no wing having been broken by his
club; when he thought he caught the sound of a human voice close by.

Then some loose stones rattled down beside him, giving him a thrill of
joy; for he knew now reinforcements were on the way, and it nerved him
to fight on.

Another minute, and some one dropped down beside the crouching Step
Hen, who was breathing hard from his exertions, but still full of
pluck, as a true scout should always be.

"Toby!" he called out, in a quavering voice, and looking very grim,
with his face so scratched, and streaked with blood; "I'm sure glad to
see you; but gladder to notice that you've got your gun! Look out!
there they come again! Dodge, Toby, dodge; they're on to you!"

But the guide had snatched his gun from about his back, where it had
been securely fastened with a stout cord. He had no time to aim or
fire just then, only to swing the barrel around, and strike viciously
at the swooping bird, that threw its claws forward as it pounced upon
him, just as a fish-hawk might do on striking the water.

The attack was quickly parried, and now Toby also had a streak of
blood on his cheek, where one of those furious wings had struck him.

Now he turned the gun quickly around in his hands.

"Leave one for me, Toby!" pleaded the boy, eagerly. "I ought to h