THE BUZZARD OF THE BEAR SWAMP 81 



My buzzard now was hardly more than half a mile 

 away, and plainly seen through the rifts in the lofty 

 timbered roof above me. As I was nearing the top 

 of a large fallen pine that lay in my course, I was 

 startled by the burrh ! burrh ! burrh ! of three par- 

 tridges taking wing just beyond, near the foot of 

 the tree. Their exploding flight seemed all the more 

 like a real explosion when three little clouds of dust- 

 smoke rose out of the low, wet bottom of the swamp 

 and drifted up against the green. 



Then I saw an interesting sight. The pine, in its 

 fall, had snatched with its wide-reaching, multitudi- 

 nous roots at the shallow bottom and torn out a giant 

 fistful of earth, leaving a hole about two feet deep and 

 more than a dozen feet wide. The sand thus lifted 

 into the air had gradually washed down into a mound 

 on each side of the butt, where it lay high and dry 

 above the level of the wet swamp. This the swamp 

 birds had turned into a great dust-bath. It was in 

 constant use, evidently. Not a spear of grass had 

 sprouted in it, and all over it were pits and craters 

 of various sizes, showing that not only the partridges 

 but also the quail and such small things as the 

 warblers bathed here, though I can't recall ever 

 having seen a warbler bathe in the dust. A dry bath 

 in the swamp was something of a luxury, evidently. 

 I wonder if the buzzards used it? 



I went forward cautiously now, and expectantly, 

 for I was close enough to see the white beak and 



o 



