172 Hunting the Grisly 



fish swam slowly just beneath the surface of 

 the water. Once my two companions stopped 

 to pull a mired cow out of a slough, hauling 

 with ropes from their saddle horns. In places 

 there were half-dry pools, out of the regular 

 current of the river, the water green and fe- 

 tid. The trees were very tall and large. The 

 streamers of pale gray moss hung thickly 

 from the branches of the live-oaks, and when 

 many trees thus draped stood close together 

 they bore a strangely mournful and desolate 

 look. 



We finally found the queer little hut of the 

 Mexican goat-herder in the midst of a grove 

 of giant pecans. On the walls were nailed 

 the skins of different beasts, raccoons, wild- 

 cats, and the tree-civet, with its ringed tail. 

 The Mexican's brown wife and children were 

 in the hut, but the man himself and the goats 

 were off in the forest, and it took us three or 

 four hours' search before we found him. 

 Then it was nearly noon, and we lunched in 

 his hut, a square building of split logs, with 

 bare earth floor, and roof of clap-boards and 

 bark. Our lunch consisted of goat's meat 

 and pan de mats. The Mexican, a broad- 

 chested man with a stolid Indian face, was 

 evidently quite a sportsman, and had two or 



