January, 1919 
FOREST AND STREAM 
15 
Hendry admitted that they could not 
go far enough to secure deer on their 
own, and after a final exchange of local- 
isms with the negro, they retraced their 
steps, arriving at camp at eight o’clock. 
Every mile of the way interested John, 
who felt well repaid for the expedition. 
Thickets were alive with strange birds, 
and ’gators croaked along the shallow, 
murky waterways. Swarms of insects 
droned upon the heavy, steaming air. 
Mr. King had filled several pages of 
his diary with interesting data. Having 
gone in the launch to the headwaters 
of the Harney, he was surprised to find 
visiting the place when it was deserted. 
Dawn found the calm waters unbroken 
by boat of any kind. Several ducks 
winged against the bright sky and a 
wood ibis stood sedately upon a fallen 
log. One lone heron, spotlessly white, 
flapped lazily past the camp. 
During the night Mr. King had spread 
a net, for mosquitoes were bad, but of 
excitement there was none. The rest that 
was needed so badly was theirs, in all 
its serene fulness. 
J OHN Jr. and Hendry decided to go 
on a short expedition out from camp 
in search of deer, while Mr. King 
made a scientific study of the country. 
It was just such a trip as the boy hun- 
gered for and the guide insisted that he 
could not live another day without veni- 
son. Indians had told him, said Hendry, 
that deer could be found in the vicinity 
of the Harney, and as the ’Glades were 
approached. 
That it was a Sabbath morning may 
account for the ill fortune of the ex- 
pedition. Some sportsmen are supersti- 
tious. Certain it is that Hendry, late 
that night, observed solemnly as he set 
about cooking supper: “No day for gun 
or fish hook. Deer in church.’’ 
The two of them, taking the glade boat, 
poled up the river and out of Tarpon, 
in the general direction of the ’Glades. 
Saw grass began to appear, and large 
areas of flat, marshy ground, dotted oc- 
casionally with tiny hammocks that were 
one solid mass of close-knit myrtle and 
cypress foliage. 
Finally the boat was drawn up on the 
shore of a larger hammock and they 
alighted. For an hour Hendry did his 
best to stir up big game. They had come 
out from behind a cluster of trees, when 
lazy coils of smoke a half mile beyond 
attracted their attention. The guide was 
on the alert in a moment and seemed 
much perplexed. 
“Indians?” queried John, his voice a 
bit tremulous. 
Hendry shook his head. 
“Woods on fire, then?” John persisted. 
But again the guide shook his head. 
He made straight for that haze of dusty 
smoke, his misfit jaws clicking. 
W HAT they found was an old negro 
in the act of drying or smoking 
venison, which was all new to 
John. The dirty flap of a tent had been 
poled up into place, both as a protection 
from the light breeze and a scoop for 
the smoke. From a sturdy cypress pole, 
stuck in the ground between the two 
outer supports, a fine carcass was sus- 
pended .... the carcass of a buck. The 
wood fire nearby sent dull rolls of arom- 
atic smoke over and into the meat — a 
process old in the ’Glades. 
The negro confided that he had come, 
with three white hunters, from Loss- 
man’s River way, primarily after tarpon 
but the day previous, while reconnoiter- 
ing out from the Lake, they had run 
upon deer. Three had been brought 
down, a fine old buck and two smaller 
specimens. His companions were down 
the Harney after gasoline. It was Hen- 
dry who explained to John that the veni- 
son was being “buccaned.” Buccaneers 
of the old Spanish days in that terri- 
tory probably were so called because they 
had smoked all meats, in order to pre- 
serve them. Florida guides still use the 
old Spanish term to describe an ancient 
process. An old box, half filled with 
camping equipment and a tin over the 
fire, in which coffee brewed, indicated 
that the sportsmen intended to try their 
hand at the new game for some days 
to come. 
