Chapter Eleven.

Chapter Eleven.The Chain of Destruction.Directly in front of the tent, and at no great distance from it, a thick network of vines stretched between two trees. These trees were large tupelos, and the vines, clinging from trunk to trunk and to one another, formed an impenetrable screen with their dark green leaves. Over the leaves grew flowers, so thickly as almost to hide them—the whole surface shining as if a bright carpet had been spread from tree to tree and hung down between them. The flowers were of different colours. Some were white and starlike, but the greater number were the large scarlet cups of the trumpet-vine (bignonia).François, although listening to his brother, had for some time kept his eyes in that direction, as if admiring the flowers. All at once, interrupting the conversation, he exclaimed,—“Voilà! look yonder—humming-birds!”Now the sight of humming-birds is not so common in America as travellers would have you believe. Even in Mexico, where the species are numerous, you will not see them every day. Indeed, you may not notice them at all, unless you are specially looking for them. They are such small creatures, and fly so nimbly—darting from flower to flower and tree to tree—that you may pass along without observing them, or perhaps mistake them for bees. In the United States, however, where only one species has yet been noticed, the sight is a rare one, and generally interesting to those who witness it. Hence François’ exclamation was one of surprise and pleasure.“Where are they?” inquired Lucien, starting up in an interested manner.“Yonder,” replied François, “by the trumpet flowers. I see several, I think.”“Softly, brothers,” said Lucien; “approach them gently, so as not to fright them off—I wish to make some observations upon them.”As Lucien said this, he walked cautiously forward, followed by Basil and François.“Ah!” exclaimed Lucien, as they drew near, “I see one now. It is the ruby-throat (Trochilus colubris). He is feeding on the bignonias. They are fonder of them than any other blossoms. See! he has gone up into the funnel of the flower. Ha! he is out again. Listen to his whirring wings, like the hum of a great bee. It is from that he takes his name of ‘humming-bird.’ See his throat, how it glitters—just like a ruby!”“Another!” cried François; “look above! It is not near so pretty as the first. Is it a different species?”“No,” replied Lucien, “it is the female of the same; but its colour is not so bright, and you may notice that it wants the ruby-throat.”“I see no others,” said François, after a pause.“I think there are but the two,” remarked Lucien, “a male and female. It is their breeding season. No doubt their nest is near.”“Shall we try to catch them?” inquired François.“That we could not do, unless we had a net.”“I can shoot them with small shot.”“No, no,” said Lucien, “the smallest would tear them to pieces. They are sometimes shot with poppy-seeds, and sometimes with water. But never mind, I would rather observe them a bit as they are. I want to satisfy myself upon a point. You may look for the nest, as you have good eyes. You will find it near—in some naked fork, but not among the twigs or leaves.”Basil and François set about looking for the nest, while Lucien continued to watch the evolutions of the tiny little creatures. The “point” upon which our young naturalist wished to be satisfied was, whether the humming-birds eat insects as well as honey—a point which has been debated among ornithologists.As he stood watching them a large humble-bee (Apis bombylicus) came whizzing along, and settled in one of the flowers. Its feet had scarcely touched the bright petals, when the male ruby-throat darted towards it, and attacked it like a little fury. Both came out of the flower together, carrying on their miniature battle as they flew; but, after a short contest, the bee turned tail, and flew off with an angry-like buzz,—no doubt, occasioned by the plying of his wings more rapidly in flight.A shout from François now told that the nest was discovered. There it was, in the fork of a low branch, but without eggs as yet—else the birds would not both have been abroad. The nest was examined by all three, though they did not disturb it from its position. It was built of fine threads of Spanish moss (Tillandsia), with which it was tied to the branch; and it was lined inside with the silken down of the anemone. It was a semi-sphere, open at the top, and but one inch in diameter. In fact, so small was the whole structure, that any one but the sharp-eyed, bird-catching, nest-seeking François, would have taken it for a knob on the bark of the tree.All three now returned to watch the manoeuvres of the birds, that, not having seen them by the nest, still continued playing among the flowers. The boys stole as near as possible, keeping behind a large bunch of hanging vines. Lucien was nearest, and his face was within a few feet of the little creatures, so that he could observe every motion they made. He was soon gratified with a sight that determined his “point” for him. A swarm of small blue-winged flies attracted his attention. They were among the blossoms, sometimes resting upon them, and sometimes flitting about from one to another. He saw the birds several times dash at them with open bills, and pick them from their perch; so the question was decided—the humming-birds were insect-eaters.After a while the female flew off to her nest, leaving the male still among the flowers.The curiosity of the boys was now satisfied, and they were about to return to the tent, when Lucien suddenly made a motion, whispering the others to remain silent. François first caught sight of the object which had caused this behaviour on the part of his brother, and then Basil saw it. A hideous object it was!Crouching among the leaves, now crawling sideways, now making short springs, and then hiding itself, went a fearful-looking creature. It was about the size of one of the birds, but far different in appearance. Its body consisted of two pieces, joined about the middle, and covered all over with a reddish-brown wool or hair, that stood upright like bristles. It had ten limbs—long, crooked, and covered with hair, like the body—two curved claw-like antennae or feelers in front, and two horns projecting behind, so that, but for the sharp fiery eyes of the creature, it would have been difficult to tell its head from its hinder part. Its rusty colour, its ill-shaped body, and hairy legs, combined with the piercing look from its eyes, gave it a most vicious appearance, such as belongs, less or more, to all of its race—for it was of the racearanea, or spiders.“Theleaping tarantula!” whispered Lucien to his brothers. “See,” he continued, “it is after the ruby-throat!”This was evident. Step by step, and leap after leap, it was approaching the cluster of blossoms where the humming-bird was at the moment engaged. Its eyes were bent eagerly upon the latter; and whenever it flew up from the flowers and whirred idly about, the tarantula squatted itself closely, hiding behind the leaves or shanks of the vines. On the other hand, when the bird settled a moment and appeared busily feeding, the skulking creature would advance a stage nearer, either by a quick run or a leap, when it would again conceal itself and await a fresh opportunity. As the bird flitted about a good deal, the spider had frequently to change its direction in following. The former after one of its short flights, settled into a pet-flower directly in front of where the latter lay crouching. It did not enter the cup of the flower, but remained at the mouth—poised upon its whirring wings—while with its long prehensile tongue it drew out the honey. It had scarcely been a moment in this position, when the tarantula sprang forward and clutched it round the body with his antennae. The bird, with a wild chirrup, like that of a distressed cricket, flew outward and upwards. Its wings were still free, and all expected it would carry off the spider that was now seen clinging around it. Not so, however. On getting a few feet from the flower its flight appeared to be suddenly checked; and, although it still kept in the air, flying first one way and then another, it was evident that something restrained it from getting clear off. On looking more attentively a fine silk-like line was seen stretching from the trees to the fluttering creature. It was the thread of the spider, and this it was that prevented his victim from carrying him into the air.The little wings soon ceased to move, and both bird and spider fell to the end of the thread, where they hung for a moment suspended. The boys could see that the bird was dead, and the mandibles of the tarantula were buried in its shining threat!François would have rushed forward to kill the destroyer; but Lucien, who was too ardent a naturalist to have his lesson thus interrupted, restrained his more impetuous brother, and all three remained quiet as before.The tarantula now commenced reeling in his line, for the purpose of carrying his prey up among the branches, where he had his nest. The boys looked upward to discover the latter. There, sure enough, was the web, in a shaded corner, stretching its meshes from a large liana to the trunk of the tupelo; and towards this point the spider now slowly progressed with his lifeless victim.As they watched his motions, their eyes were caught by a shining object that moved along the wrinkled bark of the liana. As the vine was nearly a foot in diameter, and of a deep ferruginous colour, this object was the more apparent against its dark ground, for it was a creature of brilliant hues. It was an animal of the lizard species; and if any lizard could be considered beautiful, this one might have been so called. But the hideous, half-human form of these animals, their piercing looks, their stealthy and predatory habits, and, above all, the knowledge that the bite of several of their species is poisonous, combine to render them objects that excite disgust and awe, rather than admiration.This one, as we have already said, was of the most brilliant colour. The whole of its upper surface was a golden green, vivid as the hues of an emerald; while its body underneath was greenish-white. But this part, as it lay along the liana, was not seen; and a pure, uniform green was the apparent colour of the whole animal. There was one conspicuous exception—the throat. This was swollen out, as though by inflation, exhibiting a surface of the brightest scarlet, that appeared in the sun as if painted with vermilion. The eyes of the animal shone like flame—for the irides were, in fact, the colour of burnished gold, with small pupils, sparkling like diamonds, in their midst. Its arms and limbs were of the same colour as the body; and its branching feet exhibited the peculiarity of having small knots or tubercules at the ends of the toes. These tubercules, together with the loose dewlap of the throat, told the genus to which the animal belonged,—ananoliusof the familyIguanidae, and the only species of the anolius found in the territory of the United States.These facts were communicated by Lucien to his brothers in a whisper, while they were observing the creature on the liana. Basil and François had often seen the species before, and were familiar with it under the names of “green lizard” and “chameleon,”—both of which names are applied to it in common phraseology. The animal was not over six inches in length; and its long coffin-shaped head, and slender, whip-like tail, were at least two-thirds of this extent. When first noticed, it was passing up the liana, for the latter slanted upwards between the trees. It did not see the boys; or, at all events, did not regard their presence—for the chameleon is a bold little animal, and is not afraid of man. Up to this time it had not seen the tarantula either. As it was passing onward, its eyes fell upon the latter as he climbed up his silken ladder. All at once the lizard stopped, and put itself into a crouching attitude. Its colour suddenly changed. The vermilion throat became white, and then ashy pale; and the bright green of its body faded into dark brown or rust colour, until it was difficult to distinguish the animal from the bark of the liana! Had the eyes of the spectators not been already fixed upon it, they might have supposed that it had disappeared altogether. After crouching for a few seconds, it seemed to have formed its plan of attack—for it was evident that it meant to attack the spider—such, with flies and other insects, being its natural food and prey. It passed to the opposite side of the liana, and then proceeded upward, making for the nest of the tarantula. It reached this point by a single run, although its back was downward as it crawled. This it could easily do by means of the tubercules upon its toes—which enable lizards of the genus anolius to walk upon perpendicular walls, up glass windows, or along the smoothest ceilings.For some moments it lay quiet in a crouching attitude, waiting the approach of the spider, that, busied with his own affairs, did not dream of a lurking foe so near him. The tarantula was, no doubt, in high spirits at the moment, exulting at the prospect of the banquet of blood he should have, when he had carried the ruby-throat to his dark, silken cave. But he was destined never to reach that cave. When he had got within a few inches of its entrance, the chameleon sprang out from the limb, seized the spider in his wide jaws, and all three—lizard, spider, and bird—came to the ground together. The bird was let go in the fall, and became separated from the others. Between these there was a short struggle over the grass—for the tarantula fought fiercely; but he was no match for his antagonist; who, in a few moments, had ground off his legs with his powerful jaws, and left him a helpless and motionless trunk. The chameleon now seized his victim by the head, sunk his sharp, conical teeth into its skull, and thus killed it outright.What appeared singular to all was, that the moment the lizard had first sprung upon his prey his bright colours returned like a flash, and he again appeared with his green back and red throat, if possible more brilliant than ever.He now commenced dragging the body of the spider over the grass, evidently making for some decayed logs, half covered with vines and briars, that formed a heap near the spot. Here, no doubt was his retreat.This time François did not attempt to interfere. He had no desire to do so. He looked upon the death of the tarantula as a just punishment; moreover, the chameleon, from its fine colours, its sportive habits, and its harmlessness—so far as man is concerned—is a general favourite with all; and it was so with François. In fact, François, as well as his brothers, who had often watched this little creature gambolling among the leaves, and feeding upon flies and other small insects, had never seen it exhibit so much ferocity before. Notwithstanding this, they all applauded it for killing the hideous tarantula; and so far as they were concerned, it might have carried the body to its hole without being molested. It was destined, however, to meet with interruption from another quarter. François, whose quick eyes were wandering about, suddenly exclaimed,—“Look—brothers, look! Ascorpion-lizard!”Basil and Lucien cast their eyes where François pointed—up to the trunk of a tree that rose over the spot where the chameleon was crawling. About twenty feet from the ground was a dark, round hole, evidently the former nest of the red-bellied woodpecker (Picus Carolinus). The birds, however, who made that nest had deserted it; for it was now occupied by a creature of a far different kind—a scorpion-lizard—whose red head and brown shoulders at the moment protruded from the hole.All who have travelled the great American forests are familiar with such a sight—for this animal may be often observed in similar situations. A more disagreeable sight is rarely met with. The scorpion-lizard, with his red head and olive-brown body, is a hideous-looking reptile at best; but when thus peering from his gloomy tree-cave, moving his pointed snout from side to side, his dark eyes glancing all the while with a fierce, malignant expression, it is difficult to conceive a more vicious-looking creature.His head was in motion when François spake—for it was this that had caught the eye of the boy. It was moving from side to side, protruded out from the hole, the snout pointing downwards. The animal was watching the ground below, and evidently preparing to issue forth, and come down. The chameleon, rustling over the dead leaves, had attracted his attention.As quick as lightning his whole body appeared upon the tree, and lay flat along the bark, head downwards. Here he halted for a moment; then, raising his shoulders, he ran nimbly down the trunk, and rushing outwards, sprang upon the chameleon. The latter, thus suddenly attacked, dropped the spider; and at first showed an intention of retreating. Had he done so the scorpion would have followed him no farther—as its only object in attacking him was to rob him of his prey. The chameleon, however, is a courageous little animal; and seeing that his assailant was not much bigger than himself—for the animal in question was one of the smallest of the skink family—he turned again and showed fight. His throat swelled to its largest extent, and grew brighter than ever.Both now stood facing each other, and about twelve inches apart, in threatening attitudes. Their eyes sparkled; their forked tongues shot forth, glittering in the sun; and their heads at intervals rose and fell, in a manoeuvring manner, like a pair of pugilists “coming to the scratch!”After a short while they sprang at each other open-jawed; wriggled over the ground a moment—their tails flying in the air—then separated, and again assumed their defiant attitudes, manoeuvring as before. In this manner they met and parted several times, neither seeming to have gained much advantage.The weakest part of the green lizard lies in his tail. So tender is this appendage that the slightest blow of a small switch will separate it from the body. The skink seemed to be aware of this fact, as he several times endeavoured to get around his antagonist, or, in military phraseology, to “turn” him. It was evidently his intention to attack the tail. This the chameleon dreaded; and was equally desirous not to be “outflanked.” In whatever way the skink manoeuvred, his antagonist met him with his scarlet front.For several minutes the battle raged—these little creatures exhibiting as much fury and fierceness as if they had been a pair of great crocodiles. The chameleon at length began to show symptoms of giving out. The throat grew paler—the green became less vivid—and it was evident that he was getting the worst of it. The scorpion now made a rush, and threw the other upon his back. Before the chameleon could recover himself, his antagonist seized his tail, and bit it off close to the body. The poor little fellow, feeling that he had lost more than half his length, scuttled away, and hid himself among the logs.It was well for him, as it proved afterwards, that he got off, even thus mutilated; and it would have been better for the skink had he remained in his hole. The battle between the two had carried them some distance from the spot where it first commenced, and under the leafy, spreading branches of a mulberry-tree. While the fight was raging, a slight movement in the leaves above had attracted the attention of the boys. The next moment a red object was thrust downward, until a foot or so of it appeared hanging clear of the branches. It was about the thickness of a walking-cane; but the glistening scales and the elegant curving form told that this singular object was a serpent.It did not remain stationary. It was slowly and gradually letting itself down—for more of its body was every moment becoming visible, until a full yard of it hung out from the leaves. The remainder was hidden by the thick foliage where its tail no doubt was coiled around a branch. That part of the body that was seen was of a uniform blood-red colour, though the belly or under side was much the lightest.“Voilà!” muttered François, “what a red snake! I never saw such before.”“Nor I either,” added Basil.“Nor I,” said Lucien, “but I have heard of it. I easily recognise it from the description. It is the ‘red snake’ of the Rocky Mountains (Coluber testacea).”“Oh,” said Basil, “I have heard trappers speak of it.”“Yes,” added Lucien. “It is a rare species, and only found in the Far West. See! the scorpion has whipped. The chameleon is running off, and, as I live, without its tail!”The skink at this moment perceived the long, red body of the serpent dangling above him; and knowing from experience a terrible enemy, ran off, endeavouring to hide himself in the grass. Instead of making for a tree—where he might have escaped by his superior nimbleness—his confusion and terror led him out into the open ground. The snake dropped from the mulberry and glided after, with his head raised high in the air, and his jaws wide open. In a second or two he overtook the lizard; and striking forward and downward, killed it upon the spot.Lucien was in raptures with the interesting lesson he was receiving; and again restrained François from rushing forward. They all, however, crept a little nearer—so as the better to observe the further movements of the serpent. They kept as well as possible behind the screen of leaves and bushes.The snake, after having killed the lizard, remained out in the open ground; and, stretching himself along the grass, commenced devouring it. Snakes do not masticate their food. Their teeth are not formed for this, but only for seizing and killing. The blood-snake is not venomous, and is, therefore, without fangs such as venomous snakes possess. In lieu of these he possesses a double row of sharp teeth; and, like the “black snake,” the “whip,” and others of the genus coluber, he is extremely swift, and possesses certain powers of constriction, which are mostly wanting in serpents of the venomous tribes. Like all the others, he swallows his prey just as he kills it—whole. So with the one in question. Having placed the nose of the lizardvis-à-viswith his own, he opened his jaws to their full extent, took in the head, and commenced gradually sucking the body down his throat. It was a curious operation; and the boys watched it with feelings of interest.But other eyes were bent upon the reptile. His bright blood-coloured body lying along the grass had caught the far-seeing eye of an enemy, whose dark shadow was now seen moving over the ground. On looking up, the boys beheld a large bird wheeling in the air. Its snow-white head and breast, the far spread, tapering wings, but, above all, the long forked tail, told them at a glance what bird it was. It was the great Southern kite (Falco furcatus).When first seen he was sailing in circles,—or rather in a spiral curve, that was constantly contracting downward and inward. The centre of that curve was the spot occupied by the snake.It was a beautiful sight to behold this creature cutting the thin air. His flight was thebeau idéalof ease and gracefulness—for in this no bird can equal the kite. Not a stroke of his long pointed wings betrayed that he needed their assistance; and he seemed to glory that he could navigate the air without them. Besides, the motion of these, had he used them, might have caught the eye of his intended victim, and warned it of the danger. I say it was a beautiful sight to watch him as he swam through his aery circles, at one moment appearing all white—as his breast was turned to the spectators—the next moment his black back and purple wings glittering in the sun, as sideways he guided himself down the spiral curve. It was a beautiful sight, and the young hunters stood gazing with silent admiration.Basil and François wondered that he did not at once pounce upon the snake, for towards it his flight was evidently tending. They had seen other hawks do this—such as the red-tailed, the peregrine, and the osprey—which last sometimes shoots several hundred feet perpendicularly down upon its prey. Lucien, however, knew better. He knew that that feat can be performed only by those hawks whose tails are full and not forked, as the bald eagle, and the species already named—their spreading tails giving them the power to suddenly arrest the downward motion, and prevent them from dashing themselves against the earth. The kites, on the other hand, have not that power; and in this arrangement Lucien could perceive a beautiful adaptation of Nature—an equalising of advantages between these two kinds of birds. He reasoned thus:—The hawks, although swift of wing, and capable of extended flight, cannot remain long in the air. They grow weary and need rest, which they take, perching themselves upon some tree. It may be observed, moreover, that they choose dead trees that overlook an open space. They do so, in order that the leaves may not obstruct their vision—thus giving them a wider range, and, consequently, a better chance of espying their prey. But even with this advantage their chances of seeing their prey are circumscribed, when compared with that of hawks upon the wing; and they are frequently compelled to take to the air in order to discover it.Now the kites are always in the air, or nearly so. They, in fact,live upon the wing, eating their food as they fly, from their claws. Living thus, they have many more chances ofseeingtheir prey than their cousins of the hawk species; and were they possessed of the power topounceupon it with as much certainty as the latter do, it is evident they would have greatly the advantage. The want of that capability, however, brings them upon an equality; and, as I have said, Lucien perceived in this that peculiar equilibrium, or “balance of power,” which constantly presents itself to the student of Nature.These thoughts passed through his mind at the moment. They occupied but a moment however—for it was but a few seconds from the time the kite was first noticed wheeling high in the air, until he swept along the tops of the low trees, so close that the boys could distinguish the red iris of his glistening eyes.Now, for the first time, the snake caught sight of him. Hitherto it had been too much occupied with its own prey, which it had succeeded in swallowing. The shadow of the broad wings fell upon the sunlit sward directly before its eyes. It looked up, and saw its terrible enemy. It seemed to shiver through its whole length, and turn paler in colour. It struck its head into the grass, endeavouring to hide itself. It was too late. The kite swooped gently downward; and, with open claw, poised himself a moment over the spot. As he rose again, the reptile was seen wriggling in his talons!A few strokes of his bold wing carried the kite upward, above the tops of the tallest trees; but he was observed to fly heavily. As he rose higher, the flapping of his wings became more hurried and irregular. It was evident that something was impeding his flight. The snake was no longer hanging from his talons. The reptile had twined itself around his body; and its glistening folds, like red bands, could be seen half-buried in the white plumage of the bird!All at once the kite began to flutter—then one of his wings disappeared; and, notwithstanding the hurried flapping of the other, both bird and serpent fell heavily to the earth!They fell close to the spot from whence they had risen. Neither was killed by the fall, nor, to all appearance, hurt; for, the moment after they had touched the ground, both were seen engaged in a violent struggle—the bird evidently endeavouring to free himself from the folds of the reptile, while the latter seemed equally bent upon holding him! The snake knew well that this was its only hope; for, should it unfold itself and endeavour to escape, it would only give the kite an opportunity of clutching it a second time, when he would be certain to do it with more fatal effect. It was because the reptile had buried its head in the grass that the kite had failed in seizing it properly by the neck, and putting an end to it at once.This, no doubt, was the idea of the snake; but it is probable that its antagonist at the moment would have been delighted to “cry quits” with it, for the bird was in a worse “fix” than it was. As things stood, the serpent had undoubtedly the advantage.It was likely to prove a protracted struggle; for, although there was much twisting and wriggling over the ground, and flapping of the odd wing—that was still free—very little change for a long time appeared to take place in the relative position of the combatants. This could be seen, whenever they paused to rest themselves—which they did every two or three minutes.How was it to end? The kite could not kill the snake, for he could not get at it, either with his beak or talons. The hold which he had at first taken he had lost, in his attempts to save himself from falling; and he was now unable to renew it, so closely was the reptile warped around him. The snake, on the other hand, could not kill the kite; for, although possessed of considerable powers of constriction, they were not sufficient. It was strong enough to hold, and, perhaps,squeezeits antagonist, but not strong enough to crush and kill him.Though each, no doubt, at the moment wished to be far enough from the other, they could not separate with safety to both. The kitecould not get away, and the snakedared not let him go!How, then, was the affair to end, in the event that no third party should interfere? This was the conjecture of our adventurers, as with curious eyes they watched this singular contest. The train of reasoning was as follows:—By one or the other dying of hunger. But which would starve first? It was well-known that the kite could live for days without food. Ha! but so too could the snake,—nay, more, for every day the bird could go without eating, the reptile could fast ten; besides, the snake had just dined—dined sumptuously upon the scorpion-lizard, that was now lying undigested in his stomach; whereas the kite had not tasted dinner,—nay, it was very certain he had not breakfasted either—and must have been very hungry indeed to have attempted preying upon a blood-snake full four feet long—for, as is well-known, his usual prey is the locust, the chameleon, and the little green snake (Coluber aestivus). Under every view of the question then, the snake had the advantage of the bird, and would easily outstarve him. Thus, then, the affair would end, if the combatants were left to themselves.The young hunters arrived at this conclusion; and, having watched the contest until their curiosity was satisfied, were about stepping forward to put an end to it, when a new manoeuvre on the part of the combatants caused them to remain still. The kite had got his beak close to the head of the serpent, and was striking with open mandibles, endeavouring to seize the jaw of the latter. He was upon his back—for these birds fight best in that position. The serpent, on the other hand, was trying his best to bite the bird; and for this purpose at intervals extended its jaws, showing the double rows of sharp conical teeth. At one of these intervals, while its mouth was open, the kite struck quickly upward, and seized the lower jaw of the reptile in his beak. The latter closed its mouth on the instant; but the horny mandible was impervious to its sharp teeth, and the bird regarded them not.The kite continued to hold fast with his powerful beak. He had now gained the advantage, for which he had been all the while contending. He had got a “fulcrum for his lever,” and he was not slow in using it. Suddenly turning back upward, with the aid of his wing and one of his claws, he held himself fast to the ground, while with his strong neck he drew the head of the serpent close under him until it lay within reach of his other claw. Then with a quick fierce stroke he planted his talons, so as to encircle the throat of his adversary, clutching and holding it like a vice.This manoeuvre put a period to the contest. The red coils were seen to loosen, then fall off; and, although the reptile still writhed, it was only in its death-struggles. In a few moments its body lay along the grass, powerless and without motion.The kite after a short rest drew his beak from the jaws of the serpent, raised his head, extended his wings—to assure himself they were free—and, with a scream of triumph, rose upward, the long carcass of the reptile trailing after him like a train!At this moment another scream reached the ears of the young hunters. It might have passed for the echo of the first, but its tones were wilder and louder. All eyes were turned to the direction whence it came. The boys knew very well what sort of a creature had uttered it, for they had heard such notes before. They knew it was thewhite-headed eagle.They caught sight of him the moment they turned. It was not difficult to see him soaring upward—his great tail and broad wings expanded, seven feet in extent, against the light blue sky.When first seen his flight was nearly in a straight line, slanting up in the direction of the kite—for that was the object that had started him. He was evidently bent upon robbing the latter of his late-gotten booty.The kite had heard the cry that echoed his own; and, knowing its import, at once plied all the power of his wings to rise higher into the air. He seemed resolved to hold on to his hard-earned plunder; or, at all events, not to yield it, without giving the more powerful robber the trouble of a chase. The fresh remembrance of the peril he had passed through in obtaining it, no doubt stimulated him to this resolve.Birds of his species will sometimes outfly and escape the eagle—that is,someeagles, for these bird-kings differ in degrees of swiftness as hounds or horses. So, too, do the kites; and the one in question having, no doubt, full confidence inhiswings, thought he would make trial of those of his pursuer—who, being personally unknown to him, might be some individual too fat, or too old, or too young, perhaps, to possess full powers of flight. At all events he had made up his mind to have a “fly” for it—believing that if overtaken he could easily put an end to the pursuit by surrendering the snake, as his cousin, the osprey, often has to do with his fish. Up, therefore, he went, in a spiral curve of about fifty yards in diameter.If the kite entertained the idea that his pursuer was either a very old or young bird, or too fat a bird, or in any way a “slow” bird, he was likely to be soon undeceived. That idea was not shared by those who watched him in his flight. On the contrary, the young hunters thought they had never seen a more splendid specimen of his kind,—of full feather, snow-white head and tail-tip, and broad clean-cut wings. He was one of the largest size, too; which proved him not to be a “him,” but a female—for, strange to say, Nature seems to have reversed her order with these birds—the females being universally brighter in plumage, larger in body, swifter of wing, stronger, and even fiercer than the males. It may be inferred, that in the social life of “eagle-dom” the fair sex have their “rights,” and perhaps a little more. One thing is certain, and it seems to be a consequence of this (in compliment to the sex I say it) that nothing like polygamy is known amongst them. Woe to the eagle husband that would even dream of such a thing!Voilà! up goes the kite, straining every pinion of his pointed wings—up the spiral curve,screwinghimself towards the zenith. Upward follows the eagle, spirally as well, but in wider gyrations that embrace and seem to hold the curvatures of the other within their circumference. Both birds circle concentrically. Now their orbits cross each other—now they are wheeling in parallel curves. Still upward flies the kite—still upward goes the pursuing eagle. Closer and closer they appear to come; narrower grow their soaring circles—but that is because they are more distant and seem so. See! the kite is but a speck, and appears stationary—now he is lost to the view. See! the eagle is but a speck! She, too, disappears! No, not altogether—the little spot like the fragment of a white cloud, or a piece of snow upon the sky—that is her tail-tip. Ha! it is gone too—they are beyond the reach of our vision.Hark!Ish–sh–ish! Did you hear that sound, like the whistling of a rocket? See! Something has fallen upon the tree-top, breaking several branches! As I live it is the kite! Dead he is, and the blood is spurting from a wound in his shoulder!Hark, again!Whush–sh–ush! It is the eagle. See! she has the serpent in her talons!The eagle had shot down from her elevation, though no eye could have followed her in that arrow-like descent. When within two or three hundred yards of the ground, her wings flew out, her tail was spread, and, suddenly lowered, fan-like to its fullest extent, arrested her downward course; and, with a few measured strokes, she glided slowly over the tops of the trees, and alighted on the summit of the dead magnolia.Basil seized his rifle, with the intention of having a shot. There was not much cover on the ground that encircled the tree where the eagle had perched herself; and the young hunter knew from experience that his only chance of getting near enough was to make his approach upon horseback. He therefore drew the picket that fastened Black Hawk; and, flinging himself upon the horse’s back, rode off among the bushes. He had been gone but a few minutes when a sharp crack was heard, and the eagle was seen tumbling from her perch.This was the last link in thechain of destruction!

Directly in front of the tent, and at no great distance from it, a thick network of vines stretched between two trees. These trees were large tupelos, and the vines, clinging from trunk to trunk and to one another, formed an impenetrable screen with their dark green leaves. Over the leaves grew flowers, so thickly as almost to hide them—the whole surface shining as if a bright carpet had been spread from tree to tree and hung down between them. The flowers were of different colours. Some were white and starlike, but the greater number were the large scarlet cups of the trumpet-vine (bignonia).

François, although listening to his brother, had for some time kept his eyes in that direction, as if admiring the flowers. All at once, interrupting the conversation, he exclaimed,—

“Voilà! look yonder—humming-birds!”

Now the sight of humming-birds is not so common in America as travellers would have you believe. Even in Mexico, where the species are numerous, you will not see them every day. Indeed, you may not notice them at all, unless you are specially looking for them. They are such small creatures, and fly so nimbly—darting from flower to flower and tree to tree—that you may pass along without observing them, or perhaps mistake them for bees. In the United States, however, where only one species has yet been noticed, the sight is a rare one, and generally interesting to those who witness it. Hence François’ exclamation was one of surprise and pleasure.

“Where are they?” inquired Lucien, starting up in an interested manner.

“Yonder,” replied François, “by the trumpet flowers. I see several, I think.”

“Softly, brothers,” said Lucien; “approach them gently, so as not to fright them off—I wish to make some observations upon them.”

As Lucien said this, he walked cautiously forward, followed by Basil and François.

“Ah!” exclaimed Lucien, as they drew near, “I see one now. It is the ruby-throat (Trochilus colubris). He is feeding on the bignonias. They are fonder of them than any other blossoms. See! he has gone up into the funnel of the flower. Ha! he is out again. Listen to his whirring wings, like the hum of a great bee. It is from that he takes his name of ‘humming-bird.’ See his throat, how it glitters—just like a ruby!”

“Another!” cried François; “look above! It is not near so pretty as the first. Is it a different species?”

“No,” replied Lucien, “it is the female of the same; but its colour is not so bright, and you may notice that it wants the ruby-throat.”

“I see no others,” said François, after a pause.

“I think there are but the two,” remarked Lucien, “a male and female. It is their breeding season. No doubt their nest is near.”

“Shall we try to catch them?” inquired François.

“That we could not do, unless we had a net.”

“I can shoot them with small shot.”

“No, no,” said Lucien, “the smallest would tear them to pieces. They are sometimes shot with poppy-seeds, and sometimes with water. But never mind, I would rather observe them a bit as they are. I want to satisfy myself upon a point. You may look for the nest, as you have good eyes. You will find it near—in some naked fork, but not among the twigs or leaves.”

Basil and François set about looking for the nest, while Lucien continued to watch the evolutions of the tiny little creatures. The “point” upon which our young naturalist wished to be satisfied was, whether the humming-birds eat insects as well as honey—a point which has been debated among ornithologists.

As he stood watching them a large humble-bee (Apis bombylicus) came whizzing along, and settled in one of the flowers. Its feet had scarcely touched the bright petals, when the male ruby-throat darted towards it, and attacked it like a little fury. Both came out of the flower together, carrying on their miniature battle as they flew; but, after a short contest, the bee turned tail, and flew off with an angry-like buzz,—no doubt, occasioned by the plying of his wings more rapidly in flight.

A shout from François now told that the nest was discovered. There it was, in the fork of a low branch, but without eggs as yet—else the birds would not both have been abroad. The nest was examined by all three, though they did not disturb it from its position. It was built of fine threads of Spanish moss (Tillandsia), with which it was tied to the branch; and it was lined inside with the silken down of the anemone. It was a semi-sphere, open at the top, and but one inch in diameter. In fact, so small was the whole structure, that any one but the sharp-eyed, bird-catching, nest-seeking François, would have taken it for a knob on the bark of the tree.

All three now returned to watch the manoeuvres of the birds, that, not having seen them by the nest, still continued playing among the flowers. The boys stole as near as possible, keeping behind a large bunch of hanging vines. Lucien was nearest, and his face was within a few feet of the little creatures, so that he could observe every motion they made. He was soon gratified with a sight that determined his “point” for him. A swarm of small blue-winged flies attracted his attention. They were among the blossoms, sometimes resting upon them, and sometimes flitting about from one to another. He saw the birds several times dash at them with open bills, and pick them from their perch; so the question was decided—the humming-birds were insect-eaters.

After a while the female flew off to her nest, leaving the male still among the flowers.

The curiosity of the boys was now satisfied, and they were about to return to the tent, when Lucien suddenly made a motion, whispering the others to remain silent. François first caught sight of the object which had caused this behaviour on the part of his brother, and then Basil saw it. A hideous object it was!

Crouching among the leaves, now crawling sideways, now making short springs, and then hiding itself, went a fearful-looking creature. It was about the size of one of the birds, but far different in appearance. Its body consisted of two pieces, joined about the middle, and covered all over with a reddish-brown wool or hair, that stood upright like bristles. It had ten limbs—long, crooked, and covered with hair, like the body—two curved claw-like antennae or feelers in front, and two horns projecting behind, so that, but for the sharp fiery eyes of the creature, it would have been difficult to tell its head from its hinder part. Its rusty colour, its ill-shaped body, and hairy legs, combined with the piercing look from its eyes, gave it a most vicious appearance, such as belongs, less or more, to all of its race—for it was of the racearanea, or spiders.

“Theleaping tarantula!” whispered Lucien to his brothers. “See,” he continued, “it is after the ruby-throat!”

This was evident. Step by step, and leap after leap, it was approaching the cluster of blossoms where the humming-bird was at the moment engaged. Its eyes were bent eagerly upon the latter; and whenever it flew up from the flowers and whirred idly about, the tarantula squatted itself closely, hiding behind the leaves or shanks of the vines. On the other hand, when the bird settled a moment and appeared busily feeding, the skulking creature would advance a stage nearer, either by a quick run or a leap, when it would again conceal itself and await a fresh opportunity. As the bird flitted about a good deal, the spider had frequently to change its direction in following. The former after one of its short flights, settled into a pet-flower directly in front of where the latter lay crouching. It did not enter the cup of the flower, but remained at the mouth—poised upon its whirring wings—while with its long prehensile tongue it drew out the honey. It had scarcely been a moment in this position, when the tarantula sprang forward and clutched it round the body with his antennae. The bird, with a wild chirrup, like that of a distressed cricket, flew outward and upwards. Its wings were still free, and all expected it would carry off the spider that was now seen clinging around it. Not so, however. On getting a few feet from the flower its flight appeared to be suddenly checked; and, although it still kept in the air, flying first one way and then another, it was evident that something restrained it from getting clear off. On looking more attentively a fine silk-like line was seen stretching from the trees to the fluttering creature. It was the thread of the spider, and this it was that prevented his victim from carrying him into the air.

The little wings soon ceased to move, and both bird and spider fell to the end of the thread, where they hung for a moment suspended. The boys could see that the bird was dead, and the mandibles of the tarantula were buried in its shining threat!

François would have rushed forward to kill the destroyer; but Lucien, who was too ardent a naturalist to have his lesson thus interrupted, restrained his more impetuous brother, and all three remained quiet as before.

The tarantula now commenced reeling in his line, for the purpose of carrying his prey up among the branches, where he had his nest. The boys looked upward to discover the latter. There, sure enough, was the web, in a shaded corner, stretching its meshes from a large liana to the trunk of the tupelo; and towards this point the spider now slowly progressed with his lifeless victim.

As they watched his motions, their eyes were caught by a shining object that moved along the wrinkled bark of the liana. As the vine was nearly a foot in diameter, and of a deep ferruginous colour, this object was the more apparent against its dark ground, for it was a creature of brilliant hues. It was an animal of the lizard species; and if any lizard could be considered beautiful, this one might have been so called. But the hideous, half-human form of these animals, their piercing looks, their stealthy and predatory habits, and, above all, the knowledge that the bite of several of their species is poisonous, combine to render them objects that excite disgust and awe, rather than admiration.

This one, as we have already said, was of the most brilliant colour. The whole of its upper surface was a golden green, vivid as the hues of an emerald; while its body underneath was greenish-white. But this part, as it lay along the liana, was not seen; and a pure, uniform green was the apparent colour of the whole animal. There was one conspicuous exception—the throat. This was swollen out, as though by inflation, exhibiting a surface of the brightest scarlet, that appeared in the sun as if painted with vermilion. The eyes of the animal shone like flame—for the irides were, in fact, the colour of burnished gold, with small pupils, sparkling like diamonds, in their midst. Its arms and limbs were of the same colour as the body; and its branching feet exhibited the peculiarity of having small knots or tubercules at the ends of the toes. These tubercules, together with the loose dewlap of the throat, told the genus to which the animal belonged,—ananoliusof the familyIguanidae, and the only species of the anolius found in the territory of the United States.

These facts were communicated by Lucien to his brothers in a whisper, while they were observing the creature on the liana. Basil and François had often seen the species before, and were familiar with it under the names of “green lizard” and “chameleon,”—both of which names are applied to it in common phraseology. The animal was not over six inches in length; and its long coffin-shaped head, and slender, whip-like tail, were at least two-thirds of this extent. When first noticed, it was passing up the liana, for the latter slanted upwards between the trees. It did not see the boys; or, at all events, did not regard their presence—for the chameleon is a bold little animal, and is not afraid of man. Up to this time it had not seen the tarantula either. As it was passing onward, its eyes fell upon the latter as he climbed up his silken ladder. All at once the lizard stopped, and put itself into a crouching attitude. Its colour suddenly changed. The vermilion throat became white, and then ashy pale; and the bright green of its body faded into dark brown or rust colour, until it was difficult to distinguish the animal from the bark of the liana! Had the eyes of the spectators not been already fixed upon it, they might have supposed that it had disappeared altogether. After crouching for a few seconds, it seemed to have formed its plan of attack—for it was evident that it meant to attack the spider—such, with flies and other insects, being its natural food and prey. It passed to the opposite side of the liana, and then proceeded upward, making for the nest of the tarantula. It reached this point by a single run, although its back was downward as it crawled. This it could easily do by means of the tubercules upon its toes—which enable lizards of the genus anolius to walk upon perpendicular walls, up glass windows, or along the smoothest ceilings.

For some moments it lay quiet in a crouching attitude, waiting the approach of the spider, that, busied with his own affairs, did not dream of a lurking foe so near him. The tarantula was, no doubt, in high spirits at the moment, exulting at the prospect of the banquet of blood he should have, when he had carried the ruby-throat to his dark, silken cave. But he was destined never to reach that cave. When he had got within a few inches of its entrance, the chameleon sprang out from the limb, seized the spider in his wide jaws, and all three—lizard, spider, and bird—came to the ground together. The bird was let go in the fall, and became separated from the others. Between these there was a short struggle over the grass—for the tarantula fought fiercely; but he was no match for his antagonist; who, in a few moments, had ground off his legs with his powerful jaws, and left him a helpless and motionless trunk. The chameleon now seized his victim by the head, sunk his sharp, conical teeth into its skull, and thus killed it outright.

What appeared singular to all was, that the moment the lizard had first sprung upon his prey his bright colours returned like a flash, and he again appeared with his green back and red throat, if possible more brilliant than ever.

He now commenced dragging the body of the spider over the grass, evidently making for some decayed logs, half covered with vines and briars, that formed a heap near the spot. Here, no doubt was his retreat.

This time François did not attempt to interfere. He had no desire to do so. He looked upon the death of the tarantula as a just punishment; moreover, the chameleon, from its fine colours, its sportive habits, and its harmlessness—so far as man is concerned—is a general favourite with all; and it was so with François. In fact, François, as well as his brothers, who had often watched this little creature gambolling among the leaves, and feeding upon flies and other small insects, had never seen it exhibit so much ferocity before. Notwithstanding this, they all applauded it for killing the hideous tarantula; and so far as they were concerned, it might have carried the body to its hole without being molested. It was destined, however, to meet with interruption from another quarter. François, whose quick eyes were wandering about, suddenly exclaimed,—

“Look—brothers, look! Ascorpion-lizard!”

Basil and Lucien cast their eyes where François pointed—up to the trunk of a tree that rose over the spot where the chameleon was crawling. About twenty feet from the ground was a dark, round hole, evidently the former nest of the red-bellied woodpecker (Picus Carolinus). The birds, however, who made that nest had deserted it; for it was now occupied by a creature of a far different kind—a scorpion-lizard—whose red head and brown shoulders at the moment protruded from the hole.

All who have travelled the great American forests are familiar with such a sight—for this animal may be often observed in similar situations. A more disagreeable sight is rarely met with. The scorpion-lizard, with his red head and olive-brown body, is a hideous-looking reptile at best; but when thus peering from his gloomy tree-cave, moving his pointed snout from side to side, his dark eyes glancing all the while with a fierce, malignant expression, it is difficult to conceive a more vicious-looking creature.

His head was in motion when François spake—for it was this that had caught the eye of the boy. It was moving from side to side, protruded out from the hole, the snout pointing downwards. The animal was watching the ground below, and evidently preparing to issue forth, and come down. The chameleon, rustling over the dead leaves, had attracted his attention.

As quick as lightning his whole body appeared upon the tree, and lay flat along the bark, head downwards. Here he halted for a moment; then, raising his shoulders, he ran nimbly down the trunk, and rushing outwards, sprang upon the chameleon. The latter, thus suddenly attacked, dropped the spider; and at first showed an intention of retreating. Had he done so the scorpion would have followed him no farther—as its only object in attacking him was to rob him of his prey. The chameleon, however, is a courageous little animal; and seeing that his assailant was not much bigger than himself—for the animal in question was one of the smallest of the skink family—he turned again and showed fight. His throat swelled to its largest extent, and grew brighter than ever.

Both now stood facing each other, and about twelve inches apart, in threatening attitudes. Their eyes sparkled; their forked tongues shot forth, glittering in the sun; and their heads at intervals rose and fell, in a manoeuvring manner, like a pair of pugilists “coming to the scratch!”

After a short while they sprang at each other open-jawed; wriggled over the ground a moment—their tails flying in the air—then separated, and again assumed their defiant attitudes, manoeuvring as before. In this manner they met and parted several times, neither seeming to have gained much advantage.

The weakest part of the green lizard lies in his tail. So tender is this appendage that the slightest blow of a small switch will separate it from the body. The skink seemed to be aware of this fact, as he several times endeavoured to get around his antagonist, or, in military phraseology, to “turn” him. It was evidently his intention to attack the tail. This the chameleon dreaded; and was equally desirous not to be “outflanked.” In whatever way the skink manoeuvred, his antagonist met him with his scarlet front.

For several minutes the battle raged—these little creatures exhibiting as much fury and fierceness as if they had been a pair of great crocodiles. The chameleon at length began to show symptoms of giving out. The throat grew paler—the green became less vivid—and it was evident that he was getting the worst of it. The scorpion now made a rush, and threw the other upon his back. Before the chameleon could recover himself, his antagonist seized his tail, and bit it off close to the body. The poor little fellow, feeling that he had lost more than half his length, scuttled away, and hid himself among the logs.

It was well for him, as it proved afterwards, that he got off, even thus mutilated; and it would have been better for the skink had he remained in his hole. The battle between the two had carried them some distance from the spot where it first commenced, and under the leafy, spreading branches of a mulberry-tree. While the fight was raging, a slight movement in the leaves above had attracted the attention of the boys. The next moment a red object was thrust downward, until a foot or so of it appeared hanging clear of the branches. It was about the thickness of a walking-cane; but the glistening scales and the elegant curving form told that this singular object was a serpent.

It did not remain stationary. It was slowly and gradually letting itself down—for more of its body was every moment becoming visible, until a full yard of it hung out from the leaves. The remainder was hidden by the thick foliage where its tail no doubt was coiled around a branch. That part of the body that was seen was of a uniform blood-red colour, though the belly or under side was much the lightest.

“Voilà!” muttered François, “what a red snake! I never saw such before.”

“Nor I either,” added Basil.

“Nor I,” said Lucien, “but I have heard of it. I easily recognise it from the description. It is the ‘red snake’ of the Rocky Mountains (Coluber testacea).”

“Oh,” said Basil, “I have heard trappers speak of it.”

“Yes,” added Lucien. “It is a rare species, and only found in the Far West. See! the scorpion has whipped. The chameleon is running off, and, as I live, without its tail!”

The skink at this moment perceived the long, red body of the serpent dangling above him; and knowing from experience a terrible enemy, ran off, endeavouring to hide himself in the grass. Instead of making for a tree—where he might have escaped by his superior nimbleness—his confusion and terror led him out into the open ground. The snake dropped from the mulberry and glided after, with his head raised high in the air, and his jaws wide open. In a second or two he overtook the lizard; and striking forward and downward, killed it upon the spot.

Lucien was in raptures with the interesting lesson he was receiving; and again restrained François from rushing forward. They all, however, crept a little nearer—so as the better to observe the further movements of the serpent. They kept as well as possible behind the screen of leaves and bushes.

The snake, after having killed the lizard, remained out in the open ground; and, stretching himself along the grass, commenced devouring it. Snakes do not masticate their food. Their teeth are not formed for this, but only for seizing and killing. The blood-snake is not venomous, and is, therefore, without fangs such as venomous snakes possess. In lieu of these he possesses a double row of sharp teeth; and, like the “black snake,” the “whip,” and others of the genus coluber, he is extremely swift, and possesses certain powers of constriction, which are mostly wanting in serpents of the venomous tribes. Like all the others, he swallows his prey just as he kills it—whole. So with the one in question. Having placed the nose of the lizardvis-à-viswith his own, he opened his jaws to their full extent, took in the head, and commenced gradually sucking the body down his throat. It was a curious operation; and the boys watched it with feelings of interest.

But other eyes were bent upon the reptile. His bright blood-coloured body lying along the grass had caught the far-seeing eye of an enemy, whose dark shadow was now seen moving over the ground. On looking up, the boys beheld a large bird wheeling in the air. Its snow-white head and breast, the far spread, tapering wings, but, above all, the long forked tail, told them at a glance what bird it was. It was the great Southern kite (Falco furcatus).

When first seen he was sailing in circles,—or rather in a spiral curve, that was constantly contracting downward and inward. The centre of that curve was the spot occupied by the snake.

It was a beautiful sight to behold this creature cutting the thin air. His flight was thebeau idéalof ease and gracefulness—for in this no bird can equal the kite. Not a stroke of his long pointed wings betrayed that he needed their assistance; and he seemed to glory that he could navigate the air without them. Besides, the motion of these, had he used them, might have caught the eye of his intended victim, and warned it of the danger. I say it was a beautiful sight to watch him as he swam through his aery circles, at one moment appearing all white—as his breast was turned to the spectators—the next moment his black back and purple wings glittering in the sun, as sideways he guided himself down the spiral curve. It was a beautiful sight, and the young hunters stood gazing with silent admiration.

Basil and François wondered that he did not at once pounce upon the snake, for towards it his flight was evidently tending. They had seen other hawks do this—such as the red-tailed, the peregrine, and the osprey—which last sometimes shoots several hundred feet perpendicularly down upon its prey. Lucien, however, knew better. He knew that that feat can be performed only by those hawks whose tails are full and not forked, as the bald eagle, and the species already named—their spreading tails giving them the power to suddenly arrest the downward motion, and prevent them from dashing themselves against the earth. The kites, on the other hand, have not that power; and in this arrangement Lucien could perceive a beautiful adaptation of Nature—an equalising of advantages between these two kinds of birds. He reasoned thus:—

The hawks, although swift of wing, and capable of extended flight, cannot remain long in the air. They grow weary and need rest, which they take, perching themselves upon some tree. It may be observed, moreover, that they choose dead trees that overlook an open space. They do so, in order that the leaves may not obstruct their vision—thus giving them a wider range, and, consequently, a better chance of espying their prey. But even with this advantage their chances of seeing their prey are circumscribed, when compared with that of hawks upon the wing; and they are frequently compelled to take to the air in order to discover it.

Now the kites are always in the air, or nearly so. They, in fact,live upon the wing, eating their food as they fly, from their claws. Living thus, they have many more chances ofseeingtheir prey than their cousins of the hawk species; and were they possessed of the power topounceupon it with as much certainty as the latter do, it is evident they would have greatly the advantage. The want of that capability, however, brings them upon an equality; and, as I have said, Lucien perceived in this that peculiar equilibrium, or “balance of power,” which constantly presents itself to the student of Nature.

These thoughts passed through his mind at the moment. They occupied but a moment however—for it was but a few seconds from the time the kite was first noticed wheeling high in the air, until he swept along the tops of the low trees, so close that the boys could distinguish the red iris of his glistening eyes.

Now, for the first time, the snake caught sight of him. Hitherto it had been too much occupied with its own prey, which it had succeeded in swallowing. The shadow of the broad wings fell upon the sunlit sward directly before its eyes. It looked up, and saw its terrible enemy. It seemed to shiver through its whole length, and turn paler in colour. It struck its head into the grass, endeavouring to hide itself. It was too late. The kite swooped gently downward; and, with open claw, poised himself a moment over the spot. As he rose again, the reptile was seen wriggling in his talons!

A few strokes of his bold wing carried the kite upward, above the tops of the tallest trees; but he was observed to fly heavily. As he rose higher, the flapping of his wings became more hurried and irregular. It was evident that something was impeding his flight. The snake was no longer hanging from his talons. The reptile had twined itself around his body; and its glistening folds, like red bands, could be seen half-buried in the white plumage of the bird!

All at once the kite began to flutter—then one of his wings disappeared; and, notwithstanding the hurried flapping of the other, both bird and serpent fell heavily to the earth!

They fell close to the spot from whence they had risen. Neither was killed by the fall, nor, to all appearance, hurt; for, the moment after they had touched the ground, both were seen engaged in a violent struggle—the bird evidently endeavouring to free himself from the folds of the reptile, while the latter seemed equally bent upon holding him! The snake knew well that this was its only hope; for, should it unfold itself and endeavour to escape, it would only give the kite an opportunity of clutching it a second time, when he would be certain to do it with more fatal effect. It was because the reptile had buried its head in the grass that the kite had failed in seizing it properly by the neck, and putting an end to it at once.

This, no doubt, was the idea of the snake; but it is probable that its antagonist at the moment would have been delighted to “cry quits” with it, for the bird was in a worse “fix” than it was. As things stood, the serpent had undoubtedly the advantage.

It was likely to prove a protracted struggle; for, although there was much twisting and wriggling over the ground, and flapping of the odd wing—that was still free—very little change for a long time appeared to take place in the relative position of the combatants. This could be seen, whenever they paused to rest themselves—which they did every two or three minutes.

How was it to end? The kite could not kill the snake, for he could not get at it, either with his beak or talons. The hold which he had at first taken he had lost, in his attempts to save himself from falling; and he was now unable to renew it, so closely was the reptile warped around him. The snake, on the other hand, could not kill the kite; for, although possessed of considerable powers of constriction, they were not sufficient. It was strong enough to hold, and, perhaps,squeezeits antagonist, but not strong enough to crush and kill him.

Though each, no doubt, at the moment wished to be far enough from the other, they could not separate with safety to both. The kitecould not get away, and the snakedared not let him go!

How, then, was the affair to end, in the event that no third party should interfere? This was the conjecture of our adventurers, as with curious eyes they watched this singular contest. The train of reasoning was as follows:—

By one or the other dying of hunger. But which would starve first? It was well-known that the kite could live for days without food. Ha! but so too could the snake,—nay, more, for every day the bird could go without eating, the reptile could fast ten; besides, the snake had just dined—dined sumptuously upon the scorpion-lizard, that was now lying undigested in his stomach; whereas the kite had not tasted dinner,—nay, it was very certain he had not breakfasted either—and must have been very hungry indeed to have attempted preying upon a blood-snake full four feet long—for, as is well-known, his usual prey is the locust, the chameleon, and the little green snake (Coluber aestivus). Under every view of the question then, the snake had the advantage of the bird, and would easily outstarve him. Thus, then, the affair would end, if the combatants were left to themselves.

The young hunters arrived at this conclusion; and, having watched the contest until their curiosity was satisfied, were about stepping forward to put an end to it, when a new manoeuvre on the part of the combatants caused them to remain still. The kite had got his beak close to the head of the serpent, and was striking with open mandibles, endeavouring to seize the jaw of the latter. He was upon his back—for these birds fight best in that position. The serpent, on the other hand, was trying his best to bite the bird; and for this purpose at intervals extended its jaws, showing the double rows of sharp conical teeth. At one of these intervals, while its mouth was open, the kite struck quickly upward, and seized the lower jaw of the reptile in his beak. The latter closed its mouth on the instant; but the horny mandible was impervious to its sharp teeth, and the bird regarded them not.

The kite continued to hold fast with his powerful beak. He had now gained the advantage, for which he had been all the while contending. He had got a “fulcrum for his lever,” and he was not slow in using it. Suddenly turning back upward, with the aid of his wing and one of his claws, he held himself fast to the ground, while with his strong neck he drew the head of the serpent close under him until it lay within reach of his other claw. Then with a quick fierce stroke he planted his talons, so as to encircle the throat of his adversary, clutching and holding it like a vice.

This manoeuvre put a period to the contest. The red coils were seen to loosen, then fall off; and, although the reptile still writhed, it was only in its death-struggles. In a few moments its body lay along the grass, powerless and without motion.

The kite after a short rest drew his beak from the jaws of the serpent, raised his head, extended his wings—to assure himself they were free—and, with a scream of triumph, rose upward, the long carcass of the reptile trailing after him like a train!

At this moment another scream reached the ears of the young hunters. It might have passed for the echo of the first, but its tones were wilder and louder. All eyes were turned to the direction whence it came. The boys knew very well what sort of a creature had uttered it, for they had heard such notes before. They knew it was thewhite-headed eagle.

They caught sight of him the moment they turned. It was not difficult to see him soaring upward—his great tail and broad wings expanded, seven feet in extent, against the light blue sky.

When first seen his flight was nearly in a straight line, slanting up in the direction of the kite—for that was the object that had started him. He was evidently bent upon robbing the latter of his late-gotten booty.

The kite had heard the cry that echoed his own; and, knowing its import, at once plied all the power of his wings to rise higher into the air. He seemed resolved to hold on to his hard-earned plunder; or, at all events, not to yield it, without giving the more powerful robber the trouble of a chase. The fresh remembrance of the peril he had passed through in obtaining it, no doubt stimulated him to this resolve.

Birds of his species will sometimes outfly and escape the eagle—that is,someeagles, for these bird-kings differ in degrees of swiftness as hounds or horses. So, too, do the kites; and the one in question having, no doubt, full confidence inhiswings, thought he would make trial of those of his pursuer—who, being personally unknown to him, might be some individual too fat, or too old, or too young, perhaps, to possess full powers of flight. At all events he had made up his mind to have a “fly” for it—believing that if overtaken he could easily put an end to the pursuit by surrendering the snake, as his cousin, the osprey, often has to do with his fish. Up, therefore, he went, in a spiral curve of about fifty yards in diameter.

If the kite entertained the idea that his pursuer was either a very old or young bird, or too fat a bird, or in any way a “slow” bird, he was likely to be soon undeceived. That idea was not shared by those who watched him in his flight. On the contrary, the young hunters thought they had never seen a more splendid specimen of his kind,—of full feather, snow-white head and tail-tip, and broad clean-cut wings. He was one of the largest size, too; which proved him not to be a “him,” but a female—for, strange to say, Nature seems to have reversed her order with these birds—the females being universally brighter in plumage, larger in body, swifter of wing, stronger, and even fiercer than the males. It may be inferred, that in the social life of “eagle-dom” the fair sex have their “rights,” and perhaps a little more. One thing is certain, and it seems to be a consequence of this (in compliment to the sex I say it) that nothing like polygamy is known amongst them. Woe to the eagle husband that would even dream of such a thing!

Voilà! up goes the kite, straining every pinion of his pointed wings—up the spiral curve,screwinghimself towards the zenith. Upward follows the eagle, spirally as well, but in wider gyrations that embrace and seem to hold the curvatures of the other within their circumference. Both birds circle concentrically. Now their orbits cross each other—now they are wheeling in parallel curves. Still upward flies the kite—still upward goes the pursuing eagle. Closer and closer they appear to come; narrower grow their soaring circles—but that is because they are more distant and seem so. See! the kite is but a speck, and appears stationary—now he is lost to the view. See! the eagle is but a speck! She, too, disappears! No, not altogether—the little spot like the fragment of a white cloud, or a piece of snow upon the sky—that is her tail-tip. Ha! it is gone too—they are beyond the reach of our vision.

Hark!Ish–sh–ish! Did you hear that sound, like the whistling of a rocket? See! Something has fallen upon the tree-top, breaking several branches! As I live it is the kite! Dead he is, and the blood is spurting from a wound in his shoulder!

Hark, again!Whush–sh–ush! It is the eagle. See! she has the serpent in her talons!

The eagle had shot down from her elevation, though no eye could have followed her in that arrow-like descent. When within two or three hundred yards of the ground, her wings flew out, her tail was spread, and, suddenly lowered, fan-like to its fullest extent, arrested her downward course; and, with a few measured strokes, she glided slowly over the tops of the trees, and alighted on the summit of the dead magnolia.

Basil seized his rifle, with the intention of having a shot. There was not much cover on the ground that encircled the tree where the eagle had perched herself; and the young hunter knew from experience that his only chance of getting near enough was to make his approach upon horseback. He therefore drew the picket that fastened Black Hawk; and, flinging himself upon the horse’s back, rode off among the bushes. He had been gone but a few minutes when a sharp crack was heard, and the eagle was seen tumbling from her perch.

This was the last link in thechain of destruction!

Chapter Twelve.The White-Headed Eagle.Basil returned, bringing with him the great bird. It was a female—as Lucien knew—and one of the largest, being over twelve pounds in weight, and measuring seven feet between the tips of the wings when expanded. The bird of this species rarely exceeds eight pounds in weight, and is proportionately small in other respects.The white-headed eagle (Falco leucocephalus), or “bald eagle,” as he is generally called because his white head gives him somewhat of a bald appearance—has been adopted by the United States as the emblem of their Republic. If his disposition be considered, he would be a more fit emblem for a band of robbers—for a more absolute robber and tyrant does not exist among the feathered races. He robs the osprey of his fish, and the vulture of his carrion; in short, lords it over every creature weaker than himself. Now this is not the character of the nation he represents—far from it. It is true they have shown a desire to extend their territory, and have made conquests to this end. But what is the motive of these conquests? Is it to enslave and render tribute? No. They conquer notto enslave, but tomake free! There are two motives for Anglo-American—I may say Anglo-Saxon, conquest, fortrueEnglishmen feel these motives as much as Americans do. They wish to bring the whole world under a liberal form of government—one that will bear the scrutiny of reason—one that in time may extinguish crime, and render poverty a thing of the past—one that is not a patent usurpation and a robbery—a robbery perhaps more criminal in the eyes of God than waylaying on the highroad, or piracy on the high seas—more criminal, because more extensive in its fatal effects. Anglo-Saxons wish to destroy despotism, lest they or their descendants might again become what their ancestors once were—its victims. This, then, is one motive of their conquests, and it is nothing more than the naked instinct of self-preservation. But there is another motive—a nobler and more generous one. They have drunk from the cup of Liberty—the draught has pleased them, has given them happiness and joy; and, urged by that better part of our nature, they wish to share that sweet cup—ample for all—with all men. This is the true motive of the conquest of civilisation; and under the banner of such a cause, it is a question whether war and anarchy and confusion be not preferable to the deceptive peace andapparentprosperity of despotism, that, like the death-dealing vampire, soothes while it destroys.I do not say thatallAmericans norallEnglishmen are entitled to the glory of such a holy motive for conquest. No. Too large a proportion, alas! are actuated only by the ignoble idea of selfish or national aggrandisement. The robber is often found in the same camp, and fighting under the same banner, with the soldier of Freedom. It is not strange, therefore, that thetruesons of Liberty should sometimes be associated with itsbastardchildren of the shackle and the whip.But, I shall not weary you with any more political science. Not that I consider it of small importance to you. On the contrary, I deem that science themost important of all others that have ever occupied the attention of men. Its influence extends to almost every object around you. It shapes the carriage in which you ride, and the ship in which you sail. Its knowledge modifies the nature of your soul, and decides whether you shall be a slave or a freeman. It even extends to the form of your body, giving it the abject attitude and gloomy aspect of slavery and guilt, or the bold, upright carriage and joyous look of virtue, which God gave to the first man when He made him after His own image.But come, boy reader! I have promised not to weary you with these things. Such teachings I must reserve for a future opportunity; when, God willing, I shall present them to intellects older than yours. Perhaps you yourselves may then be old enough to take an interest in them; and if so, you may learn some truths that for long years have been the study of your friend—the author.Now let us return to the eagle. I am thinking what a pity it is that the Americans should have chosen this tyrant-bird as the emblem of their liberty; for, although he ismost appropriateforone portionof their people, he is far from being a fit emblem of the principles of the great republic. So thought the wise Franklin. There are many other animals, peculiar to the territory of the United States, far more deserving of the distinction. There is the bold but harmless buffalo, the stately elk, and the industrious beaver; or if a bird must needs be upon the banner, where could one be found better suited to that end than the wild-turkey, possessing as he does a combination of good qualities—grace, beauty, courage, and usefulness? Thus reasoned Franklin; and it might be yet worth the while of the American people to give consideration to his reasoning, and discard the eagle; or, at all events, change the species—for peculiar to the United States territory there is another bird of the kind, far nobler, as well as larger and more beautiful.It is curious to observe how many countries have adopted this rapacious bird for their emblem; and it forms a sad index to the motives that have hitherto actuated nations. In ancient times it was seen upon the banners of Persia and Rome. In modern days Napoleon spread its wings like black shadows over France. It is the emblem of Russian despotism and American freedom. Austria, Prussia, Poland, Sicily, Spain, Sardinia, and many of the small governments of Germany, look up to the eagle on their standards; while, upon the other side of the Atlantic, it waves over the great nations of the United States and Mexico, as well as several of the smaller republics. Why, a general war among the nations of the world would be almost exclusively a war among the eagles! It is not improbable that thelionwould insist upon having a claw in the quarrel; although his honesty and nobility of disposition are very much doubted, particularly by the jackal and some other animals. He is, therefore, no better qualified to act as the representative of a pacific people than the very worst of the eagles; but he fortunately has a wise keeper, called Public Opinion, who of late has held him under some restraint.“What a chain of destruction!” exclaimed Lucien. “One creature preying upon another.”“Ay,” added François; “and how curious it should begin with a bird and end with a bird. Look at the two together. Ha! ha!”As François made this remark, he pointed to the little humming-bird and the great eagle—which had been laid side by side upon the grass, and, sure enough, presented in size and appearance a most singular contrast to each other.“You forget, François,” said Lucien, “there were two other links to the chain, and perhaps many more.”“What other links?” demanded François.“The humming-bird, you remember, when attacked, was himself a destroyer. He was killing the little blue-winged fly.”“That is certainly another link, but—”“Who killed the eagle?”“Ah, true! Basil, then, was the last link in the chain of destruction.”“Perhaps the most criminal, too,” said Lucien, “because the least necessary. The other creatures were but following out their instincts to procure food, whereas Basil’s only motive was one of wanton destruction.”“I beg to differ with you, Luce,” said Basil, interrupting his brother, sharply, “it was no such thing. I shot that eagle because he killed the kite, and robbed him of his prey, instead of using his industry and getting food for himself. That’s why I added a link to your chain.”“In that sense,” replied Lucien, smiling at his brother—who seemed a little ruffled at being thus charged with unnecessary cruelty,—“in that sense you were, perhaps, justifiable; though it is difficult to understand why the eagle was more guilty than the kite himself. He took only one life, and so did the kite.”“But,” rejoined Basil, “in addition to taking away the life of his victim, he robbed him. Robbery and murder both. Now the kite was guilty only of the latter.”“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed Lucien and François together. “Thereisa distinction with a difference!”“But, brother Luce,” inquired François, “what did you mean when you said there might be many more links to this chain?”“Why, who knows but the blue-winged fly was preying upon some other creatures smaller than himself? And these again, upon others still less; who, though invisible to our eyes, possess life and organisation as well as we. Who knows to the contrary? And who knows the reason why a mysterious Providence has created those beings to be the food of each other? That is a question about which we can arrive at no satisfactory conclusion.”“Who knows, brother,” said François, “since you are speculating—who knows but there may be an extra link at the other end of the chain? Ho, Basil! what say you? Suppose we fall in with grizzly bears.” And François laughed as he put the question.“And supposing we do,” replied Basil, “youare as likely to form that link as anybody else.”“Heaven forbid!” exclaimed Lucien. “I hope that in all our travels we shall see neither a grizzly bear nor an Indian.”“And I hope for nothing of the sort,” rejoined Basil. “I long to have a crack at a grizzly; and as for Indians, I haven’t the least fear of them, so long as I carry this.”As Basil made this remark, he drew out the little beaded case from his bosom, held it up a moment, and then returned it to its place again.“Now, brother,” cried François, “tell as about that pouch, and how it is to save us from Indians. I am really curious to know.”“Not now, my boy,” replied Basil, with a patronising air. “Not now. We must prepare our supper, and get to sleep. We have lost half a day drying our rags, so we must make up for it by an early start in the morning. Then for the prairies!”“Then for the prairies!” echoed François,—“the prairies—the wild horses—the big-horns—and the buffalo!”

Basil returned, bringing with him the great bird. It was a female—as Lucien knew—and one of the largest, being over twelve pounds in weight, and measuring seven feet between the tips of the wings when expanded. The bird of this species rarely exceeds eight pounds in weight, and is proportionately small in other respects.

The white-headed eagle (Falco leucocephalus), or “bald eagle,” as he is generally called because his white head gives him somewhat of a bald appearance—has been adopted by the United States as the emblem of their Republic. If his disposition be considered, he would be a more fit emblem for a band of robbers—for a more absolute robber and tyrant does not exist among the feathered races. He robs the osprey of his fish, and the vulture of his carrion; in short, lords it over every creature weaker than himself. Now this is not the character of the nation he represents—far from it. It is true they have shown a desire to extend their territory, and have made conquests to this end. But what is the motive of these conquests? Is it to enslave and render tribute? No. They conquer notto enslave, but tomake free! There are two motives for Anglo-American—I may say Anglo-Saxon, conquest, fortrueEnglishmen feel these motives as much as Americans do. They wish to bring the whole world under a liberal form of government—one that will bear the scrutiny of reason—one that in time may extinguish crime, and render poverty a thing of the past—one that is not a patent usurpation and a robbery—a robbery perhaps more criminal in the eyes of God than waylaying on the highroad, or piracy on the high seas—more criminal, because more extensive in its fatal effects. Anglo-Saxons wish to destroy despotism, lest they or their descendants might again become what their ancestors once were—its victims. This, then, is one motive of their conquests, and it is nothing more than the naked instinct of self-preservation. But there is another motive—a nobler and more generous one. They have drunk from the cup of Liberty—the draught has pleased them, has given them happiness and joy; and, urged by that better part of our nature, they wish to share that sweet cup—ample for all—with all men. This is the true motive of the conquest of civilisation; and under the banner of such a cause, it is a question whether war and anarchy and confusion be not preferable to the deceptive peace andapparentprosperity of despotism, that, like the death-dealing vampire, soothes while it destroys.

I do not say thatallAmericans norallEnglishmen are entitled to the glory of such a holy motive for conquest. No. Too large a proportion, alas! are actuated only by the ignoble idea of selfish or national aggrandisement. The robber is often found in the same camp, and fighting under the same banner, with the soldier of Freedom. It is not strange, therefore, that thetruesons of Liberty should sometimes be associated with itsbastardchildren of the shackle and the whip.

But, I shall not weary you with any more political science. Not that I consider it of small importance to you. On the contrary, I deem that science themost important of all others that have ever occupied the attention of men. Its influence extends to almost every object around you. It shapes the carriage in which you ride, and the ship in which you sail. Its knowledge modifies the nature of your soul, and decides whether you shall be a slave or a freeman. It even extends to the form of your body, giving it the abject attitude and gloomy aspect of slavery and guilt, or the bold, upright carriage and joyous look of virtue, which God gave to the first man when He made him after His own image.

But come, boy reader! I have promised not to weary you with these things. Such teachings I must reserve for a future opportunity; when, God willing, I shall present them to intellects older than yours. Perhaps you yourselves may then be old enough to take an interest in them; and if so, you may learn some truths that for long years have been the study of your friend—the author.

Now let us return to the eagle. I am thinking what a pity it is that the Americans should have chosen this tyrant-bird as the emblem of their liberty; for, although he ismost appropriateforone portionof their people, he is far from being a fit emblem of the principles of the great republic. So thought the wise Franklin. There are many other animals, peculiar to the territory of the United States, far more deserving of the distinction. There is the bold but harmless buffalo, the stately elk, and the industrious beaver; or if a bird must needs be upon the banner, where could one be found better suited to that end than the wild-turkey, possessing as he does a combination of good qualities—grace, beauty, courage, and usefulness? Thus reasoned Franklin; and it might be yet worth the while of the American people to give consideration to his reasoning, and discard the eagle; or, at all events, change the species—for peculiar to the United States territory there is another bird of the kind, far nobler, as well as larger and more beautiful.

It is curious to observe how many countries have adopted this rapacious bird for their emblem; and it forms a sad index to the motives that have hitherto actuated nations. In ancient times it was seen upon the banners of Persia and Rome. In modern days Napoleon spread its wings like black shadows over France. It is the emblem of Russian despotism and American freedom. Austria, Prussia, Poland, Sicily, Spain, Sardinia, and many of the small governments of Germany, look up to the eagle on their standards; while, upon the other side of the Atlantic, it waves over the great nations of the United States and Mexico, as well as several of the smaller republics. Why, a general war among the nations of the world would be almost exclusively a war among the eagles! It is not improbable that thelionwould insist upon having a claw in the quarrel; although his honesty and nobility of disposition are very much doubted, particularly by the jackal and some other animals. He is, therefore, no better qualified to act as the representative of a pacific people than the very worst of the eagles; but he fortunately has a wise keeper, called Public Opinion, who of late has held him under some restraint.

“What a chain of destruction!” exclaimed Lucien. “One creature preying upon another.”

“Ay,” added François; “and how curious it should begin with a bird and end with a bird. Look at the two together. Ha! ha!”

As François made this remark, he pointed to the little humming-bird and the great eagle—which had been laid side by side upon the grass, and, sure enough, presented in size and appearance a most singular contrast to each other.

“You forget, François,” said Lucien, “there were two other links to the chain, and perhaps many more.”

“What other links?” demanded François.

“The humming-bird, you remember, when attacked, was himself a destroyer. He was killing the little blue-winged fly.”

“That is certainly another link, but—”

“Who killed the eagle?”

“Ah, true! Basil, then, was the last link in the chain of destruction.”

“Perhaps the most criminal, too,” said Lucien, “because the least necessary. The other creatures were but following out their instincts to procure food, whereas Basil’s only motive was one of wanton destruction.”

“I beg to differ with you, Luce,” said Basil, interrupting his brother, sharply, “it was no such thing. I shot that eagle because he killed the kite, and robbed him of his prey, instead of using his industry and getting food for himself. That’s why I added a link to your chain.”

“In that sense,” replied Lucien, smiling at his brother—who seemed a little ruffled at being thus charged with unnecessary cruelty,—“in that sense you were, perhaps, justifiable; though it is difficult to understand why the eagle was more guilty than the kite himself. He took only one life, and so did the kite.”

“But,” rejoined Basil, “in addition to taking away the life of his victim, he robbed him. Robbery and murder both. Now the kite was guilty only of the latter.”

“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed Lucien and François together. “Thereisa distinction with a difference!”

“But, brother Luce,” inquired François, “what did you mean when you said there might be many more links to this chain?”

“Why, who knows but the blue-winged fly was preying upon some other creatures smaller than himself? And these again, upon others still less; who, though invisible to our eyes, possess life and organisation as well as we. Who knows to the contrary? And who knows the reason why a mysterious Providence has created those beings to be the food of each other? That is a question about which we can arrive at no satisfactory conclusion.”

“Who knows, brother,” said François, “since you are speculating—who knows but there may be an extra link at the other end of the chain? Ho, Basil! what say you? Suppose we fall in with grizzly bears.” And François laughed as he put the question.

“And supposing we do,” replied Basil, “youare as likely to form that link as anybody else.”

“Heaven forbid!” exclaimed Lucien. “I hope that in all our travels we shall see neither a grizzly bear nor an Indian.”

“And I hope for nothing of the sort,” rejoined Basil. “I long to have a crack at a grizzly; and as for Indians, I haven’t the least fear of them, so long as I carry this.”

As Basil made this remark, he drew out the little beaded case from his bosom, held it up a moment, and then returned it to its place again.

“Now, brother,” cried François, “tell as about that pouch, and how it is to save us from Indians. I am really curious to know.”

“Not now, my boy,” replied Basil, with a patronising air. “Not now. We must prepare our supper, and get to sleep. We have lost half a day drying our rags, so we must make up for it by an early start in the morning. Then for the prairies!”

“Then for the prairies!” echoed François,—“the prairies—the wild horses—the big-horns—and the buffalo!”

Chapter Thirteen.Three Buffaloes with Wings.Our travellers next morning resumed their journey, and for several days continued on without meeting any incident worth recording. They crossed many large streams, among which may be mentioned the Neches and Trinity of Texas.On the “divide,” between the Trinity and Brazos rivers, an adventure befell them that came near having a painful result.In hot weather it was their custom to halt during the noon hours, both to refresh themselves and rest their animals. This is the custom of most travellers through these wild regions, and is called “nooning.”With this intention, one day, they drew bridle by the edge of a tract of prairie, and dismounted. Behind them was the forest through which they had just passed, and before them lay the prairie, which they intended to cross in the cool of the evening. The surface of the latter was quite level, covered with a green mantle of young buffalo-grass, with here and there an island of low timber that broke the monotony of the view. In the distance a thick forest of live oak bounded the prairie on the other side; and although the latter appeared only two or three miles distant, it was not less than ten—so deceptive is the pure atmosphere of these upland regions. The country in which they now were was what is termed “timber prairie”—that is, a prairie interspersed with groves and copses.I say our adventurers had just dismounted, and were about to take off their saddles, when an exclamation from François drew the attention of his brothers.“Voilà!” cried he, pointing out to the open ground. “Buffaloes—buffaloes!”Basil and Lucien looked in the direction pointed out. Three large dark objects were seen on the crest of a low swell in the prairie. They were moving about; and one was evidently smaller than the others.“Ofcoursethey are buffaloes,” continued François. “Look at their size! Two bulls and a cow, no doubt.”His brothers agreed with him. None of the three had ever seen buffaloes in their native wilderness; and of course had but an indistinct idea of how they might appear from a distance. Buffaloes they must be—elk or deer would look red—wolves red or white; and they could not be bears, as these last would not likely be out on the prairie in threes, unless, indeed, they might be grizzly bears—who do sometimes go out into the open ground to dig for the “pomme-blanche” and other roots. This, however, was not probable, as the grizzly bears are seldom or never found so far to the eastward. No. They were not “grizzlys.” They were not wild horses neither, that was plain enough. Buffaloes, then, they must be.Like all who see buffaloes for the first time in their native pastures, our young hunters were filled with excitement—the more so, since to meet with these animals was the object of their expedition, of the long and perilous journey they had undertaken.A hurried consultation followed as to how they should capture these three. It was true that none of them was awhitebuffalo; but no matter. Our hunters wanted to taste buffalo-beef; and the chase after these would give them practice, which might serve them afterwards. How, then, were they to set about it?“Why, run them, of course,” counselled the ready François, with the air of an experienced buffalo-hunter.Now, there are several methods of hunting buffaloes, practised upon the prairies, both by whites and Indians. The most common is that of which François spoke, “running.” This is done by simply overtaking the buffalo, galloping alongside of him—the hunter, of course, being on horseback—and shooting him through the heart while he runs. Shoot him in the region of the heart you must; for you may put twenty bullets into his great body elsewhere, and he will still manage to get away from you. The hunters aim a little above the brisket, and behind the fore-shoulder. The white hunters use the rifle, or sometimes a large pistol—which is better for the purpose, as they can load it more easily while going in a gallop. The Indians prefer the bow—as they can shoot arrow after arrow in quick succession, thus slaying many buffaloes in a single “run.” So expert are they with this weapon, that their arrows have been known to pierce through the bodies of large buffaloes, and pass clear out on the other side! At times the Indians use spears with which they thrust the buffaloes, while galloping alongside of them.Another method of hunting these animals, is termed “approaching.”“Approaching” buffaloes is nothing else than creeping stealthily on them until within range, when the hunter fires, often loads again and fires, and so on, until many of them are killed, before their companions take the alarm and scamper off. Indeed, the hunter will sometimes crawl up to a herd; and concealing himself behind the bodies of those he has already killed, fire away until many have fallen. In doing this he takes care to keep to leeward; for if otherwise, and these animals—who have much keener scent than sight—should happen to “wind” him, as it is termed, they are off in a moment. So keen is their scent, that they can detect an enemy to windward at the distance of a mile or more. In “approaching,” the hunter sometimes disguises himself in the skin of a wolf or deer; when the buffaloes, mistaking him for one of these animals, permit him to get within shooting distance. An Indian has been known to creep up in this manner into the midst of a buffalo herd, and with his bow and arrows, silently shoot one after another, until the whole herd lay prostrate! “Approaching” is sometimes a better method than “running.” The hunter thus saves his horse—often a jaded one—and is likely to kill a greater number of buffaloes, and get so many more hides, if that be his object, as it sometimes is. When he is a traveller only, or a beaver-trapper, who wants to get a buffalo for his dinner, and cares for no more than one, then “running” is the more certain mode of obtaining it. In this way, however, he can kill only one, or at most two or three; for, while he is shooting these, and loading between times, the herd scatters, and runs out of his reach; and his horse is apt to be too much “blown” to allow him to overtake them again.A third method of hunting buffaloes is the “surround.” This is practised only by the Indians—as the white hunters of the prairies are rarely ever in such numbers as would enable them to effect a “surround.” The name almost explains the nature of this hunt, which is practised as follows:—When a hand of Indian hunters discover a herd of buffaloes, they scatter and deploy into a circle around them. They soon accomplish this on their swift horses, for they are mounted—as all prairie-hunters are sure to be, whether whites or Indians. As soon as the circle is formed, the Indians ride inward with loud yells, and drive the buffaloes into a thick clump in the centre. They then dash upon them with bows and lances—each hunter killing as many as he can. The buffaloes become confused, run to and fro, and but few of them in the end get off. A herd of hundreds, and even thousands, is sometimes slaughtered at one of thesebattues. The Indians make this wholesale destruction for two objects; first, to get the meat, which they preserve by “jerking”—that is, by cutting into thin strips and drying in the sun—and, secondly, for the skins with which they cover their tents, make their beds, and part of their clothing. Many of them they barter at the trading-houses of the whites—established in remote regions for this purpose—where they receive in exchange knives, rifles, lead, powder, beads, and vermilion.Another method the Indians have of hunting the buffalo, is not unlike the last, but is still more fearful to witness.Most of the region where the buffaloes range consists of high upland prairies, such as in Asia are called “steppes,” and in Mexico and South America “mesas,” or “table-lands.” Such plains are elevated from three to six thousand feet above the level of the sea. In many places on these table-lands there are deep rifts called “cañons,” or more properly “barrancas,” that have probably been formed by running water during rain-storms. These are often dry, and look like vast fissures opening down into the earth—often for a thousand feet or more—and extending away for scores of miles across the prairie. Sometimes two of them intersect each other, forming a triangular space or peninsula between; and the traveller on reaching this point is obliged to turn back, as he finds himself almost encircled by precipices yawning downward into the earth. Whenever the Indians get a herd of buffaloes near one of these cañons, they surround them on three sides, and guide them towards the precipice; and when they are near enough, gallop forward with wild shouts, causing the buffaloes to dash madly and blindly over. A whole herd will sometimes leap a precipice in this way—those in the front being forced over by the others, and, these in turn pressed, either to take the leap or be thrust by the spears of the pursuing horsemen. Sometimes when the Indians are not insufficient numbers to make a “surround” of buffalo, they collect buffalo chips, and build them in little piles so as to represent men. These piles are placed in two rows, gradually converging towards each other, and leading to one of the aforementioned bluffs. Between these two rows they drive the buffaloes, that, mistaking the piles of their own “chips” for Indians, are guided onwards to the edge of the precipice, when the hunters make their noisy rush, and force them over.There are other methods of buffalo-hunting, such as pursuing them in the snow, when the hunters in their snow-shoes easily overtake and slaughter them. Some Mexican buffalo-hunters (in the southern prairies called “ciboleros”) capture the buffalo with the lasso; but this method is not often practised, except when they wish to catch the young calves alive for the purpose of raising them.Now, all these methods were familiar to our three young hunters—that is, familiar from descriptions—as they had often heard about them from old trappers who came down among the settlements of Louisiana, and who sometimes spent the night under their father’s roof—for the Colonel liked very much to entertain these old trappers, and get a talk out of them. It was from this source then, that François derived his ideas of buffalo-hunting, which led him in the pride of his knowledge to exclaim, “Run them, of course.”Basil and Lucien took a little time to consider it, all the while keeping their eyes fixed upon the three buffaloes. There was just one a-piece, which they could separate, and run down—they were far from any cover, and it might therefore be difficult to “approach” them—moreover the horses were fresh, for the day before had been Sunday, and our adventurers had always made it a rule to lie by on that day, to rest both themselves and their animals. This they did in accordance with a command given to them by their father at starting. All things considered, then, “running” was the best plan, and it was the one they resolved to adopt.Jeanette was tied to a tree, and left behind with her packs, that had not yet been taken off. Marengo, of course, was taken along with them, as he might prove useful in pulling down one of the old bulls if wounded. Everything that might encumber the hunters was left with Jeanette; and all three rode out upon the prairie, and made direct for the animals. It was agreed that each should choose one of them, and then do his best with gun and pistols. François had put buck-shot into both barrels, and was full of confidence that he was about to “throw” his first buffalo.As they drew nearer, a lustrous appearance upon the bodies of the strange animals attracted their attention. Were they buffaloes, after all?The brothers rode quietly onward, observing them with attention. No, buffaloes they were not. The rough shaggy bodies of these would not shine so, for they glittered in the sun as they moved about. Buffaloes they could not be.“That they are not,” said Lucien, after a deliberate look through his fingers.“What are they then?” inquired François.“Listen!” replied Lucien; “do you hear that?”All three had drawn bridle. A loud “gobble—obble—obble,” proceeded from the animals, evidently uttered by some one of the three.“As I live,” exclaimed François, “that’s the gobble of an old turkey-cock!”“Neither more nor less,” replied Lucien, with a smile. “They are turkeys!”“Turkeys!” echoed Basil, “turkeys taken for buffaloes! What a grand deception!”And all three at first looked very blank at each other, and then commenced laughing heartily at the mistake they had made.“We must never tell of this,” said Basil, “we should be laughed at, I reckon.”“Not a bit of it,” rejoined Lucien, “such mistakes are often made, even by old travellers on the prairies. It is an atmospheric illusion very common. I have heard of a worse case than ours—of a raven having been taken for a buffalo!”“When we meet the buffaloes then, I suppose we shall mistake them for mammoths,” remarked François; and the disappointed hunters now turned their attention to the capturing of birds instead of buffaloes.

Our travellers next morning resumed their journey, and for several days continued on without meeting any incident worth recording. They crossed many large streams, among which may be mentioned the Neches and Trinity of Texas.

On the “divide,” between the Trinity and Brazos rivers, an adventure befell them that came near having a painful result.

In hot weather it was their custom to halt during the noon hours, both to refresh themselves and rest their animals. This is the custom of most travellers through these wild regions, and is called “nooning.”

With this intention, one day, they drew bridle by the edge of a tract of prairie, and dismounted. Behind them was the forest through which they had just passed, and before them lay the prairie, which they intended to cross in the cool of the evening. The surface of the latter was quite level, covered with a green mantle of young buffalo-grass, with here and there an island of low timber that broke the monotony of the view. In the distance a thick forest of live oak bounded the prairie on the other side; and although the latter appeared only two or three miles distant, it was not less than ten—so deceptive is the pure atmosphere of these upland regions. The country in which they now were was what is termed “timber prairie”—that is, a prairie interspersed with groves and copses.

I say our adventurers had just dismounted, and were about to take off their saddles, when an exclamation from François drew the attention of his brothers.

“Voilà!” cried he, pointing out to the open ground. “Buffaloes—buffaloes!”

Basil and Lucien looked in the direction pointed out. Three large dark objects were seen on the crest of a low swell in the prairie. They were moving about; and one was evidently smaller than the others.

“Ofcoursethey are buffaloes,” continued François. “Look at their size! Two bulls and a cow, no doubt.”

His brothers agreed with him. None of the three had ever seen buffaloes in their native wilderness; and of course had but an indistinct idea of how they might appear from a distance. Buffaloes they must be—elk or deer would look red—wolves red or white; and they could not be bears, as these last would not likely be out on the prairie in threes, unless, indeed, they might be grizzly bears—who do sometimes go out into the open ground to dig for the “pomme-blanche” and other roots. This, however, was not probable, as the grizzly bears are seldom or never found so far to the eastward. No. They were not “grizzlys.” They were not wild horses neither, that was plain enough. Buffaloes, then, they must be.

Like all who see buffaloes for the first time in their native pastures, our young hunters were filled with excitement—the more so, since to meet with these animals was the object of their expedition, of the long and perilous journey they had undertaken.

A hurried consultation followed as to how they should capture these three. It was true that none of them was awhitebuffalo; but no matter. Our hunters wanted to taste buffalo-beef; and the chase after these would give them practice, which might serve them afterwards. How, then, were they to set about it?

“Why, run them, of course,” counselled the ready François, with the air of an experienced buffalo-hunter.

Now, there are several methods of hunting buffaloes, practised upon the prairies, both by whites and Indians. The most common is that of which François spoke, “running.” This is done by simply overtaking the buffalo, galloping alongside of him—the hunter, of course, being on horseback—and shooting him through the heart while he runs. Shoot him in the region of the heart you must; for you may put twenty bullets into his great body elsewhere, and he will still manage to get away from you. The hunters aim a little above the brisket, and behind the fore-shoulder. The white hunters use the rifle, or sometimes a large pistol—which is better for the purpose, as they can load it more easily while going in a gallop. The Indians prefer the bow—as they can shoot arrow after arrow in quick succession, thus slaying many buffaloes in a single “run.” So expert are they with this weapon, that their arrows have been known to pierce through the bodies of large buffaloes, and pass clear out on the other side! At times the Indians use spears with which they thrust the buffaloes, while galloping alongside of them.

Another method of hunting these animals, is termed “approaching.”

“Approaching” buffaloes is nothing else than creeping stealthily on them until within range, when the hunter fires, often loads again and fires, and so on, until many of them are killed, before their companions take the alarm and scamper off. Indeed, the hunter will sometimes crawl up to a herd; and concealing himself behind the bodies of those he has already killed, fire away until many have fallen. In doing this he takes care to keep to leeward; for if otherwise, and these animals—who have much keener scent than sight—should happen to “wind” him, as it is termed, they are off in a moment. So keen is their scent, that they can detect an enemy to windward at the distance of a mile or more. In “approaching,” the hunter sometimes disguises himself in the skin of a wolf or deer; when the buffaloes, mistaking him for one of these animals, permit him to get within shooting distance. An Indian has been known to creep up in this manner into the midst of a buffalo herd, and with his bow and arrows, silently shoot one after another, until the whole herd lay prostrate! “Approaching” is sometimes a better method than “running.” The hunter thus saves his horse—often a jaded one—and is likely to kill a greater number of buffaloes, and get so many more hides, if that be his object, as it sometimes is. When he is a traveller only, or a beaver-trapper, who wants to get a buffalo for his dinner, and cares for no more than one, then “running” is the more certain mode of obtaining it. In this way, however, he can kill only one, or at most two or three; for, while he is shooting these, and loading between times, the herd scatters, and runs out of his reach; and his horse is apt to be too much “blown” to allow him to overtake them again.

A third method of hunting buffaloes is the “surround.” This is practised only by the Indians—as the white hunters of the prairies are rarely ever in such numbers as would enable them to effect a “surround.” The name almost explains the nature of this hunt, which is practised as follows:—When a hand of Indian hunters discover a herd of buffaloes, they scatter and deploy into a circle around them. They soon accomplish this on their swift horses, for they are mounted—as all prairie-hunters are sure to be, whether whites or Indians. As soon as the circle is formed, the Indians ride inward with loud yells, and drive the buffaloes into a thick clump in the centre. They then dash upon them with bows and lances—each hunter killing as many as he can. The buffaloes become confused, run to and fro, and but few of them in the end get off. A herd of hundreds, and even thousands, is sometimes slaughtered at one of thesebattues. The Indians make this wholesale destruction for two objects; first, to get the meat, which they preserve by “jerking”—that is, by cutting into thin strips and drying in the sun—and, secondly, for the skins with which they cover their tents, make their beds, and part of their clothing. Many of them they barter at the trading-houses of the whites—established in remote regions for this purpose—where they receive in exchange knives, rifles, lead, powder, beads, and vermilion.

Another method the Indians have of hunting the buffalo, is not unlike the last, but is still more fearful to witness.

Most of the region where the buffaloes range consists of high upland prairies, such as in Asia are called “steppes,” and in Mexico and South America “mesas,” or “table-lands.” Such plains are elevated from three to six thousand feet above the level of the sea. In many places on these table-lands there are deep rifts called “cañons,” or more properly “barrancas,” that have probably been formed by running water during rain-storms. These are often dry, and look like vast fissures opening down into the earth—often for a thousand feet or more—and extending away for scores of miles across the prairie. Sometimes two of them intersect each other, forming a triangular space or peninsula between; and the traveller on reaching this point is obliged to turn back, as he finds himself almost encircled by precipices yawning downward into the earth. Whenever the Indians get a herd of buffaloes near one of these cañons, they surround them on three sides, and guide them towards the precipice; and when they are near enough, gallop forward with wild shouts, causing the buffaloes to dash madly and blindly over. A whole herd will sometimes leap a precipice in this way—those in the front being forced over by the others, and, these in turn pressed, either to take the leap or be thrust by the spears of the pursuing horsemen. Sometimes when the Indians are not insufficient numbers to make a “surround” of buffalo, they collect buffalo chips, and build them in little piles so as to represent men. These piles are placed in two rows, gradually converging towards each other, and leading to one of the aforementioned bluffs. Between these two rows they drive the buffaloes, that, mistaking the piles of their own “chips” for Indians, are guided onwards to the edge of the precipice, when the hunters make their noisy rush, and force them over.

There are other methods of buffalo-hunting, such as pursuing them in the snow, when the hunters in their snow-shoes easily overtake and slaughter them. Some Mexican buffalo-hunters (in the southern prairies called “ciboleros”) capture the buffalo with the lasso; but this method is not often practised, except when they wish to catch the young calves alive for the purpose of raising them.

Now, all these methods were familiar to our three young hunters—that is, familiar from descriptions—as they had often heard about them from old trappers who came down among the settlements of Louisiana, and who sometimes spent the night under their father’s roof—for the Colonel liked very much to entertain these old trappers, and get a talk out of them. It was from this source then, that François derived his ideas of buffalo-hunting, which led him in the pride of his knowledge to exclaim, “Run them, of course.”

Basil and Lucien took a little time to consider it, all the while keeping their eyes fixed upon the three buffaloes. There was just one a-piece, which they could separate, and run down—they were far from any cover, and it might therefore be difficult to “approach” them—moreover the horses were fresh, for the day before had been Sunday, and our adventurers had always made it a rule to lie by on that day, to rest both themselves and their animals. This they did in accordance with a command given to them by their father at starting. All things considered, then, “running” was the best plan, and it was the one they resolved to adopt.

Jeanette was tied to a tree, and left behind with her packs, that had not yet been taken off. Marengo, of course, was taken along with them, as he might prove useful in pulling down one of the old bulls if wounded. Everything that might encumber the hunters was left with Jeanette; and all three rode out upon the prairie, and made direct for the animals. It was agreed that each should choose one of them, and then do his best with gun and pistols. François had put buck-shot into both barrels, and was full of confidence that he was about to “throw” his first buffalo.

As they drew nearer, a lustrous appearance upon the bodies of the strange animals attracted their attention. Were they buffaloes, after all?

The brothers rode quietly onward, observing them with attention. No, buffaloes they were not. The rough shaggy bodies of these would not shine so, for they glittered in the sun as they moved about. Buffaloes they could not be.

“That they are not,” said Lucien, after a deliberate look through his fingers.

“What are they then?” inquired François.

“Listen!” replied Lucien; “do you hear that?”

All three had drawn bridle. A loud “gobble—obble—obble,” proceeded from the animals, evidently uttered by some one of the three.

“As I live,” exclaimed François, “that’s the gobble of an old turkey-cock!”

“Neither more nor less,” replied Lucien, with a smile. “They are turkeys!”

“Turkeys!” echoed Basil, “turkeys taken for buffaloes! What a grand deception!”

And all three at first looked very blank at each other, and then commenced laughing heartily at the mistake they had made.

“We must never tell of this,” said Basil, “we should be laughed at, I reckon.”

“Not a bit of it,” rejoined Lucien, “such mistakes are often made, even by old travellers on the prairies. It is an atmospheric illusion very common. I have heard of a worse case than ours—of a raven having been taken for a buffalo!”

“When we meet the buffaloes then, I suppose we shall mistake them for mammoths,” remarked François; and the disappointed hunters now turned their attention to the capturing of birds instead of buffaloes.

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