The Hunters Feast | Page 8

was observed in securing against such a result. There was no guard kept, though we knew the time would come when that would be a necessary duty.
CHAPTER THREE.
BESANCON'S ADVENTURE IN THE SWAMPS.
The prairie traveller never sleeps after daybreak. He is usually astir before that time. He has many "chores" to perform, unknown to the ordinary traveller who rests in the roadside inn. He has to pack up his tent and bed, cook his own breakfast, and saddle his horse. All this requires time, therefore an early start is necessary.
We were on our feet before the sun had shown his disc above the black-jacks. Lanty had the start of us, and had freshened up his fire. Already the coffee-kettle was bubbling audibly, and the great frying-pan perfumed the camp with an incense more agreeable than the odours of Araby.
The raw air of the morning had brought everybody around the fire. Thompson was pruning and cleansing his nails; the Kentuckian was cutting a fresh "chunk" from his plug of "James's River;" the doctor had just returned from the stream, where he had refreshed himself by a "nip" from his pewter flask; Besancon was packing up his portfolios; the zoologist was lighting his long pipe, and the "Captain" was looking to his favourite horse, while inhaling the fragrance of an "Havannah." The guides stood with their blankets hanging from their shoulders silent and thoughtful.
In half an hour breakfast was over, the tents and utensils were restored to the waggon, the horses were brought in and saddled, the mules "hitched up," and the expedition once more on its way.
This day we made not quite so good a journey. The roads were heavier, the country more thickly timbered, and the ground more hilly. We had several small streams to ford, and this retarded our progress. Twenty miles was the extent of our journey.
We encamped again without any of us having killed or seen game. Although we had beaten the bushes on both sides of our course, nothing bigger than the red-bird (scarlet tanager, Pyranga rubra), a screaming jay, or an occasional flight of finches, gratified our sight.
We reached our camp somewhat disappointed. Even old Ike and Redwood came into camp without game, alleging also that they had not met with the sign of a living quadruped.
Our second camp was also on the bank of a small stream. Shortly after our arrival on the ground, Thompson started out afoot, taking with him his gun. He had noticed a tract of marsh at no great distance off. He thought it promised well for snipe.
He had not been long gone, when two reports echoed back, and then shortly after another and another. He had found something to empty his gun at.
Presently we saw him returning with a brace and a half of birds that looked very much like large snipe. So he thought them, but that question was set at rest by the zoologist, who pronounced them at once to be the American "Curlew" of Wilson (Numenius longirostris). Curlew or snipe, they were soon divested of the feathery coat, and placed in Lanty's frying-pan. Excellent eating they proved, having only the fault that there was not enough of them.
These birds formed the topic of our after-supper conversation, and then it generalised to the different species of wading birds of America, and at length that singular creature, the "ibis," became the theme. This came round by Besancon remarking that a species of ibis was brought by the Indians to the markets of New Orleans, and sold there under the name of "Spanish Curlew." This was the white ibis (Tantalus albas), which the zoologist stated was found in plenty along the whole southern coast of the United States. There were two other species, he said, natives of the warm parts of North America, the "wood-ibis" (Tantalus loculator), which more nearly resembles the sacred ibis of Egypt, and the beautiful "sacred ibis" (Tantalus ruber), which last is rarer than the others.
Our venerable companion, who had the ornithology of America, if I may use the expression, at his fingers' ends, imparted many curious details of the habits of these rare birds. All listened with interest to his statements--even the hunter-guides, for with all their apparent rudeness of demeanour, there was a dash of the naturalist in these fellows.
When the zoologist became silent, the young Creole took up the conversation. Talking of the ibis, he said, reminded him of an adventure he had met with while in pursuit of these birds among the swamps of his native state. He would relate it to us. Of course we were rejoiced at the proposal. We were just the audience for an "adventure," and after rolling a fresh cigarette, the botanist began his narration.
"During one of my college vacations I made a botanical excursion to the