It was down, and there was something in it which fluttered its wings against the bars and made the most frantic efforts to escape.

Don knew it was not a quail, so he did not stop to see what it was.

He threw back the slide, thrust his hand into the opening and when he clutched the bird received a severe bite from it.
"I have half a mind to wring your little neck for you," thought Don, as he brought the fluttering captive, a beautiful red-bird, into view.

"Not because you have bitten me, but because you will make it your business to come here and spring this trap every day.

Red-birds and blue-jays are perfect nuisances when a fellow is trapping, and I wouldn't blame Dave for shooting every one he sees." But Don did not injure the bird.