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 great 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 
Barbudo—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 
1 The white on a bustard’s plumage exceeds in its intensity that of almost any other bird we 
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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