Perched on the top of a dead spar, they were always interested observers of the geese when they were being shot at.

I once noticed one of the geese compelled to leave the flock on account of being sorely wounded, although it still seemed to fly pretty well.
Immediately the eagles pursued it and no doubt struck it down, although I did not see the result of the hunt.

Anyhow, it flew past me up the Valley, closely pursued.
One wild, stormy winter morning after five feet of snow had fallen on the floor of the Valley and the flying flakes driven by a strong wind still thickened the air, making darkness like the approach of night, I sallied forth to see what I might learn and enjoy.

It was impossible to go very far without the aid of snow-shoes, but I found no great difficulty in making my way to a part of the river where one of my ouzels lived.

I found him at home busy about his breakfast, apparently unaware of anything uncomfortable in the weather.