Having transacted my business and procured a good supply of
ammunition, I started homeward. From the car windows I saw two eagles
circling over the cliffs of the lower Highlands, and with the rashness
and inexperience of a boy I determined to leave the train while it was
under full headway. I passed through to the rear car, descended to the
lowest step, and, without realizing my danger, watched for a level place
that promised well for the mad project. Such a spot soon occurring, I
grasped the iron rail tightly with my right hand, and with my gun in my
left I stepped off into the snow, which was wet and slushy. My foot
bounded up and back as if I had been india-rubber, and maintaining my
hold I streamed away behind the car in an almost horizontal position.
About once in every thirty feet my foot struck the ground, bounded up and
back, and I streamed away again as if I were towed or carried through the
air. After taking a few steps of this character, which exceeded any
attributed to giants in fairy-lore, I saw I was in for it, and the next
time my foot struck I let go, and splashed, with a force that I even now
ache to think of, into the wet snow. It's a wonder I didn't break my
neck, but I scrambled up not very much the worse for my tumble. There
were the eagles; my gun was all right, and that was all I cared for at
the time. I soon loaded, using the heaviest shot I had, and in a few
moments the great birds sailed over my head.
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