140 
WILD WINGS 
YOUNG LITTLE BLUE HERONS 
submerged forest. The trees were unclimbable, and the birds 
wary. 
The region is one of malarial fever, and no white man 
dares remain there past sundown during the warm season. 
Even the overseer always drives back to town after the day’s 
work. So soon we, too, had to quit, take the long jaunt to 
the yacht, and return early next morning. My friend thought 
he had had enough of it, so I left the party, put up with the 
overseer, and drove with him on his buckboard drawn by 
a little runt of a mule, employing him as guide to the rookery 
and other interesting localities. 
It was nine o’clock before we could reach the swamp again. 
The guide and a negro paddled, while I was perched up in 
