appeared above the surface as, with an upward toss of his head, he swallowed his victim whole. Then gradually the long body sank out of sight again until the circling owl saw only the periscope eyes.
A hundred yards from the shore of the lagoon, in a dense thicket of cassena, the cottontail came to a halt. He had seen the owl as the big bird turned in the air after stooping at the squirrel, and he had not stopped running until he had gained his cassena fortress which no owl or hawk could penetrate. The anhinga on his nest had already forgotten the tragedy he had witnessed. High above the opening in the flooded woods a female snakebird, her fawn throat and breast gleaming white in the sun, was planing down to Anhinga Town.
Somehow, even at that distance, he recognized his mate. He stirred on the nest, half-opening his wings. His turn of duty was over for a while. In a few minutes he would be circling upward above the cypresses and heading away to his favorite fishing ground—a large lagoon five miles to the northward—leaving his mate to warm the blue-white eggs in the moss-curtained nest and wile away the hours by watching the varied activities of Anhinga Town's inhabitants.
