The danger animates them and they rush directly toward each other, but a pace apart they check themselves with fixed gaze and bristling plumage.

At that moment their little heads are filled with a rush of blood, their anger flashes forth, and they hurl themselves together with instinctive valor.

They strike beak to beak, breast to breast, gaff to gaff, wing to wing, but the blows are skilfully parried, only a few feathers fall.

Again they size each other up: suddenly the white rises on his wings, brandishing the deadly knife, but the red has bent his legs and lowered his head, so the white smites only the empty air..

Then on touching the ground the white, fearing a blow from behind, turns quickly to face his adversary.