The occupants of the boat took no notice. Here he stopped,
and, with a couple of dexterous turns of the wrist, pegged the bird on its
back with outstretched wings. As was only natural, the crow began to shriek at
once and beat the air with its claws. In a few seconds the clamor had
attracted the attention of a bevy of wild crows on a shoal a few hundred yards
away, where they were discussing something that looked like a corpse. Half a
dozen crows flew over at once to see what was going on, and also, as it
proved, to attack the pinioned bird. Gunga Dass, who had lain down on a
tussock, motioned to me to be quiet, though I fancy this was a needless
precaution. In a moment, and before I could see how it happened, a wild crow,
who had grappled with the shrieking and helpless bird, was entangled in the
latter's claws, swiftly disengaged by Gunga Dass, and pegged down beside its
companion in adversity. Curiosity, it seemed, overpowered the rest of the
flock, and almost before Gunga Dass and I had time to withdraw to the tussock,
two more captives were struggling in the upturned claws of the decoys. So the
chase--if I can give it so dignified a name--continued until Gunga Dass had
captured seven crows. Five of them he throttled at once, reserving two for
further operations another day.
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