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 his moss-curtained house as still as a bird carved out of black marble.

His ordeal was only momentary. In a fraction of a second the owl had passed the anhinga's cypress and, swerving suddenly in the air, had shot upward with increased velocity along a steep incline towards the outermost limb of the wide-spreading oak.

Along this limb, heading towards the outer end, raced one of the gray squirrels. The owl's wide wings darkened over him, long needle-pointed talons were reaching for him when he leaped—wildly, aimlessly—out into the air. The horned killer's momentum carried him fifteen feet beyond the limb; and just as he checked his course and turned, he saw the squirrel hit the water with a splash, disappear for an instant, then strike out awkwardly but bravely for the shore.

The big owl circled over the lagoon, spiraling gradually down towards the surface. There was no hurry now. The squirrel was at his mercy and he would take his time, for he was not especially skillful at plucking his prey from the water. Suddenly, five feet behind the swimming squirrel, a black hideous object burst from below through the thin film of duckweed. As it lunged forward, huge jaws studded with long teeth opened and engulfed the squirrel. For a moment the whole head and two-thirds of the body of the saurian king of the lagoon