CHAPTER XXIV 



THE GREAT BUSTARD 



Over the vast expanse of those silent solitudes, the corn-growing 

 steppes of Spain — all but abandoned by human denizens — this 

 grandest and most majestic of European game-birds forms the 

 chief ornament. When the sprouting grain grows green in 

 spring, stretching from horizon to horizon, you may form his 

 acquaintance to best advantage. And among the things of sport 

 are few more attractive scenes than a band of o-reat bustards at 

 rest. Bring your field-glass to bear on the gathering which 

 you see yonder, basking in the sunshine in full enjoyment of their 

 mid-day siesta. There are five-and-twenty of them, and immense 

 they look against the green background of corn that covers the 

 landscape — well may a stranger mistake the birds for deer or 

 goats. Many sit turkey-fashion, with heads half sunk among 

 back-feathers ; others stand in drowsy yet ever-suspicious attitudes, 

 their broad backs resplendent with those mottled hues of true 

 game-colour, their lavender necks and well-poised heads contrast- 

 ing with the snowy whiteness of the lower plumage.^ The 

 bustard are dotted in groups over an acre or two of gently sloping 

 ground, the highest part of which is occupied by a single big 

 Barbuda — a bearded veteran, the sentinel of the pack. From that 

 elevated position he estimates what degree of danger each living- 

 thing that moves on the open region around may threaten to his 

 company and to himself. Mounted men cause him less concern 

 than those on foot. A horseman slowly directing a circuitous 

 course may even approach to within a couple of hundred yards 

 ere he takes alarm. It was the head and neck of this sentry 

 that first appeared to our distant view and disclosed the 



^ The white on a bustard's plumage exceeds in its intensity that of almost any other bird \vc 

 know. It is a dead white, without shade or the least symptom of any second tint so usual a 

 feature in white. 



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