GATHERING BIRDS’ EGGS IN FLORIDA 167 
being seen. Suddenly the hounds opened together with 
a wild chorus of noise. 
‘‘Confound it all,’’ I thought, ‘‘that big racket means 
they have scented a cat. All we'll get to-day will be 
scratched-up hounds and no venison to eat.” 
Wildcats are clever. They don’t lie still and jump 
like a deer in front of the dogs and trust to speed for 
safety. At the first sign of danger, when there are no 
large trees to climb, a cat is up and away. This one 
probably had departed from its night’s bed long before 
the hounds scented him and knew perfectly well that 
only luck and his own legs would save him. Thecat 
by now would be a mile ahead of the hounds, possibly 
more, and liable to come in sight at any moment. 
I was idly scanning the line of scrub bushes infront of 
me when, without the slightest sound, a wildcat came 
into the open. It was a picture of grace asit stopped to 
listen, with one foot raised and head turned backward 
in the direction of the dogs. The dry sand had failed 
to carry the scent and all was still. Suddenly some- 
thing, some warning or sound of danger, came down 
wind and the cat came bounding over the sand straight 
towards me. I hated to shoot, so rising to my knees 
I clapped my hands together and gave the old maids’ 
war-whoop—‘‘scat.”” The effect was magical—a cloud 
of sand and a streak of wildcat shot off at a tangent 
straight for the Captain’s stand. Then came a shot, 
a shout, and I knew it was the funeral oration. 
The month of April was well under way ; the winter was 
over and the bow of our boat was pointed northward. 
The shore birds in tens of thousands were coming in 
fast from somewhere farther south on their northern 
migration. The boat, sailing close to the beach, 
would scare the birds up fifty yards ahead and they 
