50 On the trail of vanishing birds 



only slightly dampened. When it was light enough to see any dis- 

 tance I stood and began peering through the two peepholes, mov- 

 ing the creature very slowly so as to scan the horizon. No cranes 

 were in sight. Nearly two hours later, half asleep, I was startled to 

 hear the clear ker-lee-oo of a crane. Jumping up so suddenly that 

 the bull tottered in a drunken fashion, I stuck my head in its nose 

 and stared through the peepholes. Two adult cranes were in sight, 

 far to the east. I could scarcely see them at all without using my 

 binoculars, which were difficult to handle because of the close 

 quarters and the small size and spacing of the nostrils. After a lit- 

 tle, with more whoops, the two birds disappeared beyond some 

 tall grass near the bay. I was convinced that they had been call- 

 ing to other cranes beyond my vision, and not at me, but I couldn't 

 be sure. 



The next day I tried the same procedure, but never caught even 

 a glimpse of the cranes. As I was swinging my canvas beast so as 

 to look across the salt flats toward Middle Pond, a large dark ob- 

 ject suddenly appeared a few yards away. It was a live bull, and a 

 red one at that! His head was lifted, as if he was trying to catch 

 my scent, and his little eyes seemed to me to be glowing with 

 sheer malevolence. I held my breath, while my heart pounded 

 wildly. What to do? It occurred to me that perhaps a total lack 

 of sound or movement might cause him to lose interest. For sev- 

 eral awful minutes I stood perfectly still and stared into his un- 

 charitable eyes, scarcely breathing and unwilling to look away for 

 fear he would charge. If I saw him about to come at me, I thought, 

 I might be able to move fast enough to sidestep him. Movies I 

 had seen of bullfights flashed through my mind, and something I 

 had read about the weak eyesight and lack of agility of a charging 

 rhino, which seemed perfectly relevant at the moment. The words 

 "Death in the Afternoon" kept going through my mind and I de- 

 cided that it was a great misfortune that this should sound so 

 much better, somehow, than "Death in the Morning." It was only 

 10 A.M. at the time. I was composing newspaper headlines BIRD 

 WATCHER GORED BY BULL, and so on when my silent adversary 

 suddenly turned and walked away. His expression, which had 

 seemed so venomous a moment before, now appeared to be one 



