70 AMERICAN GAME BIRD SHOOTING 
from the scrubby bushes near the trail, and the neat, 
trimly-built little fellows carried on their small affairs 
with little regard for our presence. While riding at 
the head of the pack train, I frequently found them 
scratching in the sandy trails, dusting themselves, or 
searching for food. At such times it was amusing to 
note the pretty air of doubt and hesitation with which 
they awaited my approach before finally moving rather 
deliberately a few yards to one side when I came too 
near. Now and then the male could be heard uttering 
little querulous notes, as if in subdued protest at being 
disturbed. After entering Chiapas the coast was left 
behind, and we passed into the interior through a se- 
ries of beautiful open valleys ornamented with scat- 
tered bushes and belts of trees. It was during the 
rainy season, and the vegetation was growing luxuri- 
antly ; everywhere were myriads of flowers, and the in- 
numerable plumelike heads of tall grasses nodded grace- 
fully in the passing breezes. In these valleys the bob- 
whites were very common. It generally rained during 
the night, but the clouds broke away at dawn, leaving 
a brilliantly clear sky. We were up and on our way at 
sunrise, amid the invigorating freshness of early morn- 
ing, when every leaf and twig bore a pendant water- 
drop that sent out quivering rays of light with the first 
touch of the sun. On every hand were new flowers and 
strange birds. Now and then the Central American 
mockingbird, in full-throated ecstasy, poured out its 
rich song, and over it all, at short intervals, the clear 
call of boebwhite arose from a bush or low tree. At 
