The plantation owner had a _ watermelon 
patch, and the buzzards’ cave was near the 
edge of it. Along in the early summer when 
the watermelons began to get ripe old Pete 
Wagstaff made up his mind one moonlight night 
that he would like to have one of them. So, 
waiting until Celia was sound asleep, he opened 
the cabin door and stepped out. Down the 
road he went, climbed over the fence that ran 
along the edge of the cornfield, and at length 
arrived among the watermelons. Selecting one 
that suited his fancy, he started away by a short- 
cut. Upon reaching the edge of the patch he 
walked up to a tall stump and raising the melon 
in both hands struck it against the wood. He did 
not know it, but twenty feet above his head sat 
old Bill Buzzard, while his mate and two nearly 
grown young were down in the cave. The noise 
of the bursting melon aroused the bird. With 
a sudden flop he raised his wings to fly, and 
then paused. Pete heard the noise, and looking 
up saw sharply outlined against the sky the 
broad black expanse of a buzzard’s body and 
wings. In the moonlight he could see that two 
116 
