Red Cam's burly, brown-shirted figure rise among the willows on the tongue of land near the tree in which the ibis had been perching and heard his hoarse shout of triumph.
The little old man's sun-tanned face flamed with the fury that possessed him. His blue eyes narrowed and glittered like sword-points; his breath came short and fast.
Yet instantly he realized his helplessness. There was nothing that he could do. He had no weapon and Cam had his shotgun. Later, he said to himself through clamped teeth, there would be a reckoning. For the present he stood still on his oak stump and watched. Unseen himself, he could see all that happened; and he saw that the ibis had not been killed but was swimming towards a little island in the lagoon formed by the reed-covered carcass of an ancient cypress which had fallen many years before.
Red Cam, thrusting the willow branches aside, peered out over the water to find his victim. He knew by the manner of the big bird's fall that its wing had been broken, and if this was the ibis's only injury the bird might yet escape him. Without stopping to replace the spent cartridge, he leveled his gun for a shot with the other barrel. But when he tried to draw his bead the swimming bird shimmered and danced before his eyes.
Cam swore, swaying on his feet as he strove to
