*

We are told that Alexander sighed for other worlds to conquer. So it was
with the Chieftain, who was not Alexander.

After his wife had gone a-hunting eastward--a wonderful and gigantic
silhouette floating and dwindling into the furnace of the rising sun--the
Chieftain sat upon his ledge of rock, staring across the gleaming,
painted, glassy expanse of Loch Royal, southward, to the dominions of his
son.

He had seen his son, a speck in the dawnlight, invisible to our eyes,
sailing from peak to upflung peak. He had seen him suddenly check and
circle downwards. And then--he had not seen him.

He had waited two hours, with that patience which birds and reptiles
have, and still he had not seen him. Yet, if during that time he had
risen, the Chieftain must have seen him. And the Chieftain knew that.
He knew also that a golden eagle very rarely makes a "kill" so big that
he has to remain with it two hours. The alternative, therefore, would
seem to be death or carrion; and the way in which he had circled down
would seem to suggest carrion. And it is written among the laws of the
king of birds that when carrion is about, the strict rules and
regulations as to the inviolability of the frontiers may be, in some
degree, broken.

Therefore the king unfurled his overshadowing vans, and launched himself
down the lake with mighty, slow, powerful strokes, like the steady thrust
of marine engines. He would go and see.

Five minutes later the Chieftain was as motionless as his son, perched,
like him, too, upon a rock, watching the highwaymen and footpads of the
moors squabbling over the bait--they had no eyes to see what they were
doing, for they had to keep one eye upon each eagle--and about two
hundred yards away on the other side.

This may have hurried matters somewhat, for within only about another
half-hour the Chieftain's son rose, and, with heavy wing-flaps, flew down
to the bait, sending the ravens and the crows up in a cloud, like blown
bits of burnt paper, as he came to anchor. And it was curious that, in
stooping to meanness, the royal bird's aspect was no longer grand. He
flew heavily and clumsily to the spot. He settled without grace, and
almost overbalanced on to his Grecian nose. He clutched, and tore, and
gulped, and gorged like a vulture. Thus Nature always dresses her actors
for their parts. You may have noticed it.

[Illustration: "He clutched, and tore, and gulped, and gorged"]

But Pig H