had once more to record a failure!

Ossaroo, bearing the bearcoot under his arm, had climbed the ladders up
to the highest ledge that could be attained. From it he had "flown" the
eagle--freely dealing out all the cord in his possession. That was a
perilous experiment for the shikaree to make; and came very near proving
the last act in the drama of his life.

Thinking that the bearcoot would rise upward into the air, he had not
thought of anything else; and as he stood balancing himself on that
narrow shelf, he was but ill prepared for what actually came to pass.
Instead of soaring upwards, the eagle struck out in a horizontal
direction, not changing its course till it had reached the end of its
tether; and then not changing it, nor even pausing in its flight, but
with the fifty yards of rope trailing behind it--which, fortunately for
Ossaroo, he was himself no longer at the end of--it continued on across
the valley towards the cliffs on the opposite side--the summit of which
it would have no difficulty in attaining by following the diagonal line
in which it was making that unexpected escape from the clutches of the
shikaree.

Not without chagrin did Karl and Caspar behold the spectacle of the
bearcoot's departure; and for a while they were under the impression
that Ossaroo had bungled the business with which he had been entrusted.

Ossaroo's explanations, however, were soon after received; and proved
satisfactory. It was evident from these, that had he not let go in the
right time, he would have been compelled to make a leap, that would have
left him no opportunity for explaining the nature of the eagle's escape.

CHAPTER FORTY.

FRITZ AND THE FALCONS.

With feelings of sad and bitter disappointment did our adventurers turn
their backs upon these ladders--that had once more deluded them--and
make their way towards the hut.

As upon the former occasion, they walked with slow steps and downcast
mien. Fritz, by his slouching gait and drooped tail, showed that he
shared the general despondency.

They had arrived nearly at the hut, before any of the three thought of
speaking; when the sight of that rude homestead, to which they had so
often fancied themselves on the eve of bidding farewell--and to which as
often had they been compelled to return--suggested a theme to Karl:
causing him to break silence as they advanced towards the doorway.

"Our true friend," said he, pointing to the hovel, "a friend, wh