of 



was unmistakable and that was also meaningful. It 

 had discovered me in the distance, and while still in- 

 visible to my eyes, had started down to perch upon 

 that giant stub in order to watch me. Its eye had told 

 it that I was not a workman upon the track, nor a 

 traveler between stations. If there was a purpose to 

 its movements that suggested just one thing to me, 

 there was a lack of purpose in mine that meant many 

 things to it. It was suspicious, and had come because 

 somewhere beneath its perch lay a hollow log, the 

 creature's den, holding the two eggs or young. A 

 buzzard has some soul. 



Marking the direction of the stub, and the probable 

 distance, I waded into the deep underbrush, the buz- 

 zard for my guide, and for my quest the stump or 

 hollow log that held the creature's nest. 



The rank ferns and ropy vines swallowed me up, 

 and shut out at times even the sight of the sky. 

 Nothing could be seen of the buzzard. Half an 

 hour's struggle left me climbing a pine-crested swell 

 in the low bottom, and here I sighted the bird again. 

 It had not moved. 



I was now in the real swamp, the old uncut forest. 

 It was a land of giants ; huge tulip poplar and swamp 



193 



