118 A-BIRDING ON A BRONCO. 



the meadow bordering it was full of haycocks, 

 and a rabbit ran out from under one of them, 

 frightened by the clatter of Billy's hoofs. That 

 morning the tree was fairly alive with blackbirds 

 and doves — what a deafening medley the black- 

 birds made ! In the fields near the sycamore 

 flocks of redwings went swinging over the tall 

 gleaming mustard. This was a great place for 

 blackbirds, for the big tree was on the edge of 

 the one piece of marsh land in the valley, and 

 they were quick to take advantage of its reeds 

 for nesting places. 



The cienaga — as they called the swamp — was 

 used as a pasture. It was pleasant to look out 

 upon, from under the branches of the great tree. 

 A group of horses stood in the shade of a cluster 

 of oaks on the farther side of it, while the cows, 

 a beautiful herd of buff and white Guernseys, 

 waded through the swamp grass to drink near 

 the sycamore, and the blackbirds wound in and 

 out among them. I had been in a dry land so 

 long it was hard to believe there was actual 

 water in the marsh till I saw it drip from their 

 chins and heard the sucking sound as they 

 laboriously dragged their feet out of the mud — a 

 noise that took me back to eastern pastures, 

 but sounded strangely unfamiliar here in this 

 rainless land. One of the pretty Guernseys with 

 a white star in her forehead strayed up under 

 the tree, and the shadows of the leaves moved 



