The cassowary went down, while the other two flapped off in a wild burst of speed, using their wings to aid their legs. Dwight rushed out, intending to finish off his bird with the knife, as he did not wish to injure the skin of the specimen with a close-up shot. The great bird lay in the grass as he came up, its fiery eye looking at him, unconquered, like a rooster that has been worsted in a fight. As he rushed up it flew at him, squawking discordantly. Dwight beat him off with the barrels of his gun. The air seemed full of the great black wings of his adversary, blinding him with blows of the coarse, double-quilled pinions. It never occurred to him that a cassowary could be really dangerous, and he laughed confidently as the heavy bird fell to the ground and prepared to spring again. With the second leap its long blue neck lunged out and its blunt bill caught his shirt collar and held on like a snapping turtle, while its stout legs drummed fiercely on his chest. Dwight felt the canvas of his coat being ripped, and then a sharp pain seared down his breast to the belt like a hot iron. He was now fighting off the cassowary desperately, stabbing blindly, and warding off the blows of the wings on his head with his left arm. The tearing and rending of its legs on his chest kept up with increasing violence, and he was forced to bring his elbows in close to protect his stomach, dropping his knife and grabbing with his hands at the stout feet of the cassowary--anything to prevent being disemboweled! [Illustration: THEN A SHIVER WENT THROUGH THE BIRD, ITS EYES FLUTTERED CLOSED, AND THE GRIP OF ITS BILL LOOSENED, WHILE THE BOY TUGGED HIMSELF FREE] Then a shiver went through the bird, its eyes fluttered closed, and the grip of its bill loosened, while the boy tugged himself free. He jumped for his knife in a battling rage, intending to close in and finish his adversary, who was now kicking feebly, when he heard a shout, and turned to see Sadok and the curator come running across the swales. A sumpitan dart sticking in the bird’s side told all! “Did he hurt you?” yelled the curator, sprinting toward him. “Don’t ever go near a wounded cassowary, you darn fool!” he exploded, wrathfully, as he came up. “Don’t you know they’re more dangerous than a kangaroo? Look!” He stooped and held up the bird’s claw. On the inside toe was a long hooked talon, curved and sharp as a tiger’s claw. “Did he get you with it?” demanded the curator, looking at him anxiously, for Dwight still stood looking at him, speechless, holding to his chest with his left hand. “Guess he did!” gasped the boy, swaying weakly. He lifted his hand and his fingers ran red with blood. “Catch him, Sadok!” warned the curator as his own hand dove for the first-aid in his hip pocket. Dwight leaned against Sadok’s strong shoulder, while the curator opened his shirt and examined the wound hastily. Two long gashes in his chest bled rather freely, but nothing serious had been cut.