April, 1919 
FOREST AND STREAM 
163 
It was metal arithmetic in egret hab- 
its. The location of a rookery could be 
determined by the hour of the day, for 
egrets go to their nests on the dot. Mr. 
King quietly took this all in. 
Tipley and Captain Flynt were almost 
unconscious of the presence of their new- 
found friends. The sudden appearance 
of the flocks had put them quite off their 
guard. There they stood, immovable, 
staring into the sky — and reasoning it all 
out with calculative shrewdness. 
“Plenty of little whites,” said the Cap- 
tain, “LOTS of them.” 
“That rookery is near or on the Fick- 
ihatchee,” muttered Tipley, “they could 
just about make it by roosting hour.” 
“Its a wonderful sight!” cried John, 
who had never seen an3rthing so inspiring 
before, “what do they eat, Mr. Flynt?” 
“Crawfish — minnows — small snakes ” 
returned the Captain, “the feeding 
ground is generally along a big shallow 
slough. Rock surface breaks the water. 
The birds reach in the crevices after 
what they can And.” 
Whereupon Flynt and Tipley, lighting 
their pipes, walked around the point, side 
by side, talking in undertones. Once 
John poked his father in the ribs but 
was warned not to take notice of what 
was happening. 
The supper was as good as Hendry 
promised, what with fried fish and duck 
and appetizing coot, to say nothing of a 
great pan of the guide’s best biscuit. But 
four sturdy men discovered, quite acci- 
dentally, how habit can play the master. 
Through a mix-up of instructions, as to 
what supplies should be brought, coffee 
was forgotten in the rush to get away 
from Round Key. It made no difference 
to John, but the others were unconsol- 
able. Your true hunter MUST have his 
pot of aromatic coffee at the end of a 
hard day. It seems to be an essential 
part of an outdoor camp. 
A t six sharp they were up and do- 
ing. Hendry had the fire in tip top 
condition and rushed through a 
breakfast of bird and fish. He had deter- 
mined to go after deer again and wanted 
to try it alone. That was Hendry’s way. 
Bad luck had come to him so far and he 
attributed it to “too much company 
along.” 
The lake was dimpled by fish. Bass, 
gar, mullet, sun-fish and chub kept things 
splashing, as they rose to nab the legion 
of insects that were astir at this hour. 
It was fresh-water haven for all the 
finny members that John could wish for. 
Stately wood-ibis, seemingly unafraid, 
stalked along the muck shore and limp- 
kins invited marksmanship. 
As plans were arranged, another day 
would be spent up the Thickehunahatchee. 
Mr. King and Tipley were after deer and 
other excitement to the eastward, with 
hammocks beyond the saw grass area as 
an objective, some four miles away. Hen- 
dry would consider only his own deer ex- 
pedition in his own way to the northward, 
whilst John and Captain Flynt decided to 
remain in and around camp; the latter 
arranging his traps for coons. 
That Tipley might wish to look for 
something more important than deer — 
rookeries, for example, was a logical sup- 
position. 
The following of these three game 
trails is not without interest. And suc- 
cess came from an unexpected quarter, 
as we shall see. Mr. King and Tipley, 
armed with a .44 and a 12-gauge pump, 
traversed the mangrove and cypress and 
at last came to the saw-grass country, 
where wading into water and muck up 
to the waist was a necessary evil. Two 
and a half miles from camp they came 
upon a rather tall water oak and Tip- 
ley, for all his weight, shinned up it un- 
til he had a fair view of the surrounding 
country, which he viewed most method- 
ically with his field glasses. Suddenly 
he called down: — 
“Saw a doe just rounding the cypress 
on that bib hammock two or three miles 
east. I knew it. She was a little 
beauty!” 
But upon gaining the cypress strand, 
no trace of the animal was discovered. 
Mr. King worked his way cautiously in 
through the hammock, while Tipley 
skirted it for a distance of at least three 
miles. The former found that picking a 
path through cypress “knees” is about 
the most hazardous and thankless job on 
earth. They project upward from the 
floor of the hammock, awkwardly, stub- 
bornly, in a strangely human way and 
form. Once he came upon tracks of bear 
— tracks in the black soil at least eight 
inches long, and indicating a bruin of 
considerable size. There are parts of 
Big Cypress that have never been ex- 
plored and rumors come from the 
boundaries, of black and brown fellows 
that grow to prodigous size — for this 
section of the country. And once, in the 
dim aisles of the hammock, Mr. King saw 
a sprightly parroquette. They are ex- 
ceedingly rare and must find refuge in 
the swamp. 
It seemed a rather hopless quest, with 
danger from snakes increasing, and Mr. 
King back-tfacked to th^ edge of the 
strand, caUifig- to Tipley. There was no 
answer for quite a while, but the meeting 
was finally negotiated and they waded 
out and — ^homeward, with one last adven- 
ture to pay them for their efforts. In 
crossing a small hammock, at its tapered 
end, they found what had recently been 
a Seminole camp for two people.. buck 
and squaw. Everywhere were the bright 
chips, hewn from a cypress log and back 
a pace, in the myrtle, the upright poles 
of the primitive sleeping quarters. When 
an Indian wants a new canoe, he scouts 
about until he finds a likely cypress. 
Then he brings his squaw and they take 
up their abode until the arduous, exact- 
ing task is finished. 
I T was five o’clock when they gained 
the camp. Tipley was thoroughly dis- 
gruntled at not bagging anything 
worth while, and this condition of mind 
and temper was not improved when Hen- 
dry broke through the hammock shortly 
afterward, bearing a young doe slung 
over his sturdy shoulders. The guide’s 
.30 had made a neat job of it, when the 
animal sprang up along the edge of the 
western cypress strand. The camp had 
broiled venison that night for a change 
and Hendry and the Captain cut all that 
remained in strips and smoked it for “fu- 
ture reference.” 
Flynt’s traps had caught a number of 
coons and John, faithful to the rod and 
line, had caught sunfish, bass and mullet, 
galore. “It is so easy I get tired, pulling 
them in,” was the boy’s laconic comment. 
Flynt, however, had been a sort of good 
Samaritan, for he took John along the 
game trail, or narrow path between the 
cypress and the saw-grass that had been 
(CONTINXJED ON PAGE 182) 
The few adventurous sportsmen who navigate the Thousand Island streams, find 
that the shore foliage meets overhead or brushes the boats as they glide along 
