It took him but a few minutes to reach the place, and as he paused and
looked keenly around for the nest, an infuriated mass of great wings
and feathers hurled itself upon him. Taken by surprise, Reynolds
staggered back, and lifted his stick to ward off the attack. How he
saved himself from being torn to pieces by the talons and beak of that
angry bird he never could tell. It was a mystery to him that he was
able to defend himself at all. But do it he did, and used his stick in
such a skilful manner that he kept the creature from tearing at his
face. Fortunately he had a good footing, which enabled him to retreat
at each desperate onslaught, and to meet the bird with a furious blow
as it wheeled and circled close above his head. But he realised that
he could not endure the strain much longer, for he was weak through
lack of food and hard climbing. The energy of the eagle, on the other
hand, seemed just as keen as ever, and it might continue the fight for
hours. Reynolds grew desperate as he thought of this, and he was
determined that he should not leave his body there as food for his
opponent.

He watched as the bird again circled and once more swept to the attack.
But he was ready, and as it swooped close enough he threw his entire
remaining strength into one great swinging blow. The stick struck the
eagle fair on the head with a resounding crash, and so great was the
force of the impact that the cudgel snapped like a pipestem, and the
broken end hurtled over the ledge. The eagle's fight was done. It
swerved from its course, and frantically tried to recover itself. But
all in vain. Far out over the hillside it swung, and then a helpless
and inert mass, it dropped down, and crashed into the tops of the firs
and jack-pines, which lifted their heads like pointed spears to receive
the victim.