Frisky started toward the place where he had heard that whistle. He
called to Jasper Jay; but there was no answer. Nor did he hear the
whistle again. He hunted all around; but no Jasper Jay could he find.
And he was just going to give up the search when there was a sudden
rush through the air.

Frisky dodged just in time; and a big body, grayish-brown, with a
rusty-red tail, went tearing past him. He had been mistaken. It wasn't
Jasper Jay he had heard whistling, but this fierce red-tailed hawk.
Here was even more fun than Frisky had hoped for!

As soon as Mr. Hawk could stop his swift flight he turned and came
back again. And there followed the liveliest sort of dodging for
Frisky Squirrel. It was well for him that he had had plenty of
practice all the spring, or I am afraid he would never have escaped.

He was not afraid. And now and then he laughed at Mr. Hawk. And now
and then he shouted "Robber!" at him, and "Thief!" And he asked him
how many of Farmer Green's chickens he had stolen lately.

But Mr. Hawk never once answered--except to whistle sometimes as he
went sailing past. He paid strict attention to what he was doing. And
he seemed to have no idea of stopping until he got Frisky Squirrel in
his claws.

After a while Frisky began to tire of the sport. But not Mr. Hawk! He
kept flying back and forth, back and forth, past Frisky. And his cruel
eyes glared terribly every time he came near.