THE GRIFFON VULTURE 19 
dozen of their bigger cousins, who, when themselves 
well fed, have allowed even the despised crows 
to have some pickings from the feast. 
Being tied up to a bank for two or three days 
during the Hamseen wind, which was blowing 
a perfect gale right in our teeth, I saw a 
curious sight of Vultures turning themselves 
into a sort of coroner’s jury on a dead buffalo. 
In the centre of a little sheltered bay was the 
“dear departed,” who was being closely examined 
and overhauled by a gaunt, sandy-coloured native 
dog. There he sat like a coroner growling out his 
observations, whilst the twelve—there were just a 
dozen Vultures—sat placidly waiting their tum 
for a closer study of the remains. They sat 
so long and patiently that one was surprised 
they did not end the matter in force, drive away 
the presiding officer, and get to real business, but 
we left them still waiting and seemingly discuss- 
ing what was to be the verdict. 
Whenever one has been taken to see a Vulture 
in captivity, either in hotel or other gardens, it 
has usually been this, the Griffon Vulture, that 
has been the unhappy captive. 
