Then with a loud scream he rose into the air, with the squirrel struggling in his talons.
His triumph was a short one.

The crack of a shot gun was heard from behind, and both hawk and squirrel fell heavily to the earth.

Another crack followed, almost instantaneously, and his mate, the great hen-hawk, came tumbling down with a broken wing, and fluttered over the grass, screaming like a cat.

She was soon silenced by a stroke from the butt of Francois' gun--both barrels of which were now empty--for it was Francois that had done the business for the red-tails.
What was most singular of all, the squirrel was not killed either by the shot or the fall.

On the contrary, as Lucien was deliberately stooping to pick it up--congratulating himself all the while upon his prize--it suddenly made a spring, shook itself clear of the claws of the dead hawk; and, streaking off into the woods, ran up a tall tree.