fluttering of strong wings beating the ground and the grass; then, as silently as he had fallen on his prey, the big owl floated upward, empty-clawed. An instant he hovered ten feet above the spot where the raccoon crouched, growling, on the quivering body of a young marsh rabbit. Next moment the owl was gone.
Mat Norman, invisible against the black trunk of his oak, grinned delightedly.
"Quick work, Lotor the Lucky," he exclaimed under his breath; "quick work and your usual luck. It's a smart coon that can make a horned owl catch his supper for him. . . . Hello! What now?"
Behind and just above the raccoon the impalpable air had suddenly taken form. A ghostly, big-headed shape hung there momentarily, then dropped apparently upon the raccoon's back. Wide, powerful wings buffeted Lotor the Lucky; long, needle-pointed claws ripped and raked his hide; a piercing, strangling scream stabbed his ears. Taken utterly by surprise, the little coon leaped sideways out of the path and into the rushes. When, a moment or two later, his quick wits had taken stock of the situation and he bounced out into the path again to reclaim his booty, the big ow] had already lifted the rabbit fifteen feet into the air.
Mat Norman laughed softly as his imagination
