"She will get him, she will get him!" the falconer cried, seeing his
hawk now flying with determination, and a moment after the bustard
was struck down.
As far as sport was concerned the flight was not very interesting,
but the bustard is so rarely seen and so wary a bird that even the
Arabs, who are not sportsmen, will talk with interest about it, and
Owen rode up curious to see this almost fabulous bird, known in the
country as the habara, a bird which some ornithologists deny to be
the real bustard. Bustard or no bustard, the bird was very
beautiful, six or seven pounds in weight, the size of a small turkey,
and covered with the most beautiful feathers, pale yellow speckled
with brown, a long neck and a short, strong beak, long black legs
with three toes, the fourth, the spur, missing. That a hawk should
knock over a bustard had not happened often, and he regretted that
he knew not how to save the bird's skin, for though stuffed birds
are an abomination, one need not always be artistic. And there were
plenty at Riversdale. His grandfather had filled many cases, and this
rare bird merited the honour of stuffing. All the same, it would
have to be eaten, and with the trophy hanging on his saddle bow Owen
rode back to the encampment, little thinking he was riding to see
the flight which he had been longing to see all his life.
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