What would this
patient, tireless, splendid animal do then? What if another man, his
enemy, were the object, the quarry?
The rest time at last was over. Insidiously into the air had crept a
suggestion of coolness, of approaching night. In the background the pony
ceased feeding, stood patiently awaiting the return of its rider. Far in
the distance, the herd, a darker blot against the brown earth, were once
more upon their feet. The flock, that heretofore like a group of
barnyard fowls in the dust and the sun had remained indolently resting
and preening their plumage, grew alert. One after the other they began
wandering here and there aimlessly, restlessly. The subdued chatter
became positive. Two great ganders meeting face to face hissed a
challenge. Here and these a big bird spread its great wings tentatively,
and folded them again with distinct reluctance. The cycle was all but
complete. The instinct that in the beginning had bid them south, that
had for this brief time sent them to earth, was calling again. In
sympathy the restless head of the sentinel went still. Another minute,
another second even, perhaps, and they would be gone. Through the filmy
screen the stalker saw it all, read the meaning. He had ere this drawn
unbelievably near. Barely the width of a narrow street separated him
from the main flock--less than the breadth of a goodly sized room the
motionless sentinel. It was the moment for action.
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