For a long minute the yellow eyes stared intently at the
gruesome bird. They saw Ska dive and rise again to continue his
ominous circling and in these movements their woodcraft read that
which, while obvious to Sheeta, would doubtless have meant nothing
to you or me.
The hunting cat guessed that on the ground beneath Ska was some
living thing of flesh--either a beast feeding upon its kill or a
dying animal that Ska did not yet dare attack. In either event it
might prove meat for Sheeta, and so the wary feline stalked by a
circuitous route, upon soft, padded feet that gave forth no sound,
until the circling aasvogel and his intended prey were upwind. Then,
sniffing each vagrant zephyr, Sheeta, the panther, crept cautiously
forward, nor had he advanced any considerable distance before his
keen nostrils were rewarded with the scent of man--a Tarmangani.
Sheeta paused. He was not a hunter of men. He was young and in his
prime; but always before he had avoided this hated presence. Of
late he had become more accustomed to it with the passing of many
soldiers through his ancient hunting ground, and as the soldiers
had frightened away a great part of the game Sheeta had been wont
to feed upon, the days had been lean, and Sheeta was hungry.
The circling Ska suggested that this Tarmangani might be helpless
and upon the point of dying, else Ska would not have been interested
in him, and so easy prey for Sheeta.
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