umph it would be to leave Sanute's severed head on the doorstep of a certain cottage that night as proof that when Cameron Reppington uttered a threat he would swiftly make it good.
Sanute knew nothing of rifles. But he knew as much as a bird can know about shotguns and he was serenely aware that no shotgun roaring at him from Red Cam's yard could possibly hurt him or any of his flock at the height at which they were traveling. Nevertheless, when his quick eye caught a spurt of flame and a tiny puff of white smoke far below him at the corner of Cam's house, the big bird seemed to rear and stagger in the air. Yet he did not fall. Instead, he evidently rose; for in an instant he was hidden from Cam's view by the vanguard of the ibis army rushing past beneath him.
Not all of them passed. A young ibis, a bird of the year, which had been flying directly behind Sanute, his bill almost touching the tips of the leader's extended feet, crumpled and dropped like a stone.
Cam growled an oath. Old Sanute had proved his cunning, halting in the air at the flash of the rifle and swerving upward so that even if the bullet had been perfectly aimed it would have passed harmlessly in front of him. Cam cursed himself and Lady Luck impartially. He did not bother to pick up the dead ibis where it plumped to earth beside a clump of yuccas. It was a young bird, he
