The River. 13 



when so near the birds they would probably become 

 alarmed. At last you get within shooting distance, the 

 signal is given, the horse stops, and, cocking your gun, 

 you stand up. The relief to your cramped and aching 

 back is so great that for a moment you stay stock still and 

 survey the birds to which the cabestro and his master have 

 brought you so cleverly and so successfully. Now the 

 unsuspected danger suddenly dawns upon the flock — there 

 is a straining of necks and a flutter of wings. Raising 

 your gun you fire over the horse's back, or, if there is 

 time, rush out from behind him and fire in the open. 

 The well-trained cahestro never moves while you shoot. 

 Drooping his head, he remains like a block of wood until 

 the spoil is collected and you return to him. 



These beloved cabestros were our constant companions 

 during our stay in the marismas and many were the birds 

 we watched, photographed and shot from behind them. 



