and wings clashed together. In a moment feathers were flying and blood
was running. But the hens never paused in their love dance. Again and
again the feathered fighters dashed at each other, only to drop apart.
Then, facing each other with drooping wings, ruffled plumes, extended
necks, lowered heads, and gaping bills, they would gasp for breath. A
moment later they would spring into the air and strike viciously at
each other with bill and wing, then separate again. The sand was soon
strewn with feathers and sprinkled with blood, yet the belligerents
kept renewing the deadly conflict. Unconcernedly, all the while, the
stupid hens tripped to and fro in the evolutions of their love dance.

"Already the intruder's scalp was torn; the left wing of the cock of
the dance was broken; and both were bleeding copiously. It was a great
fight, my son, and the end was near. At the next rush the intruder
knocked the cock of the dance down, and leaping upon him, drove his
bill into his skull, killing him.

"After a brief rest to recover breath, the victor jumped over his late
rival's body, took a short leap into the air, gave a back kick of
contempt, flew up on the log, and looked round as though seeking for
female applause. But the hens, with apparently never a thought of him,
still kept up their dancing. Presently he, too, sounded his love call
and drummed his accompaniment. Then, strutting up and down, he
inspected the dancers. When he had made up his mind as to which was
the belle of the dance, he made a rush for her.

"But, my son, at that very moment a lynx sprang through the air, seized
him by the neck, and bounded off with him among the bushes. In the
confusion that followed, the hens flew away and I, seizing Ojistoh,
kissed her. Startled, she leaped up, and with laughter ran away, but