338 
FOREST A N D 
STREAM 
A third attempt only resulted in an additional 
loss of corn with a possible improvement in the 
condition of the turkeys. Twice I went with 
Jordan to the trap, and on the last visit marked 
the surroundings well. On the fourth morning 
I arose long before it was light and with bow 
and well filled quiver started away to the trap. 
At a few yards behind it, a pine tree, long ago 
upturned by the wind, had upheaved a bank of 
clay about six feet high. In the pit behind it 
some huckleberry bushes had grown up. In 
these, and behind the uplifted earth-covered roots 
I took my stand and waited with the patience of 
a lynx. With daylight came the turkeys. 
Three of them, all hens. I heard the “pit! pit!” 
of a turkey cock off in the woods, but he did 
not come near. Through the small opening I 
had allowed myself I could see only the ground 
immediately in front of the trap, and the birds 
were slow in approaching that space. I could 
hear the sound they made when plucking up the 
.grains of corn and I began to fear that they 
would gorge themselves and leave, and I had 
begun to debate the question of shifting my po¬ 
sition when all three of them ran together in 
front of the trap. My arrow was already half 
drawn and trained on the space they occupied, 
and with my heart beating like a hammer 
against my ribs, I slowly drew the string under 
my right jaw, aimed at the nearest of the three, 
and dwelling scarcely a second upon the aim, 
loosed the string. At the moment the three 
turkeys had their heads together near the 
ground, their bodies radiating like spokes from 
the hub of a wheel. I have never known which 
turkey I killed. When the arrow struck, there 
was a roar of wings and two turkeys disap¬ 
peared in the cypress woods. The third showed 
nearly as many gyrations as did the cat. But I 
saw that its head was almost severed from its 
body, being held only by the lower skin of the 
neck. When I brought the fine bird to camp, I 
was greeted with a cheer that silenced the wran¬ 
gling of the jays in the branches overhead. 
South of Billy’s Island and quite near to it, 
lay another large island, which we visited and 
found to be much like that of our sylvan home. 
It was long from east to west and narrow from 
north to south. From the south side of it, the 
view was wonderfully beautiful. Tens of thou¬ 
sands of odorous white water lilies stood with 
lifted heads and outstretched palms in the shal¬ 
low water that spread away for miles to the east 
and south and west. Far away could be seen 
other islands and, beyond them, the dark cypress 
wilderness that seemed to extend indefinitely. 
Across the level miles a sweet south wind was 
blowing, but the waveless wilderness of lilies 
showed no emotion. There was not a cloud to 
blur the blue above. The sunlight was at flood 
and the marsh was a vast splendor. Two slowly 
moving flecks against the sky were soaring kites, 
their long, pointed wings and forked tails as 
clearly outlined as if cut from sheet silver. 
Three monstrous guardians of this garden of 
Castalia Odorato, clothed in plate armor, lay 
stretched upon a slope of black mud, their 
hideous snouts and corrugated tails hinting of 
dragon ancestry, and adding a final touch of ro¬ 
mance and unreality that seemed to half veil and 
half illumine every picture that Okefinokee un¬ 
covered to our vision. 
Upon our return from this island we found 
Jordan frying a panful of red-eyed bream, 
which he had caught in a narrow waterway off 
tlie northeastern point of Billy’s Island, using 
sawyers and snails for bait. We found these to 
be excellent table fish, and, as they fought hard 
when -struck, we made more than one expedi¬ 
tion against them. 
At that time most of the quails upon the island 
were from one-half to two-thirds grown, were in 
the finest possible condition, and when toasted 
upon the prongs of a long-forked stick, or 
baked in the Dutch oven, were as sweet as they 
were fleet. 
The only even partial success we had against 
them with the bow was upon a dull, cloudy 
morning, after a night of rain, when we fol¬ 
lowed many of the narrow trails through the 
saw palmettos and found flocks upon nearly all 
of them. They would not fly nor enter the wet 
cover, but ran in close column down the paths, 
paying no attention to the arrows that hurtled 
through their ranks. We sometimes got more 
than fifty shots at a single flock, while follow¬ 
ing it for half an hour, bagging only three or 
four birds, but our enjoyment of the sport was 
intense. We brought eight or nine birds into 
camp. 
In the present day of reformed outdoor sport, 
after the breech-loaders and the trained dogs 
have done their desolating work, I pray you not 
to revile the memory of Jordan because I here 
betray the fact that much of the wheat he had in¬ 
duced us to bring was used to lure the unso¬ 
phisticated quails into certain “figure-four” traps 
that he set along these paths. And we, even we, 
good sportsmen as we claimed ourselves to be, 
ate them with a relish as keen as did the black 
man, and the memory of their well-browned 
breasts and thighs masks my compunction now. 
One deed of recompense to the Bob White 
colony gave me more real gratification than any 
other of my life upon the island. One afternoon 
I accompanied Jordan on a round of his traps. 
We approached the second trap from behind a 
screen of tall huckleberry shrubs, and did not 
see it until we were within thirty feet of it. It 
had been thrown, and within it were fourteen 
quails. Four or five of them were racing des¬ 
perately about the interior of the trap, thrust¬ 
ing their heads through the openings between 
the slats, and sending out pitiful cries of fright. 
The others lay dead and headless. 
Perched on the trap was a big red-shouldered 
hawk that, seeming not to notice us, was claw¬ 
ing at the out-thrust heads of the quails. The 
sudden, lifting of my bow and the drawing of 
the string attracted its attention, but instead of 
taking.flight it half lifted its wings and shook 
them in a spasm of anger. Its yellow eyes 
glared with demoniac hate, and its whole atti¬ 
tude presaged assault rather than retreat. It 
was so near to me, and my whole thought was 
so concentrated upon its death, that the arrow 
perfectly obeyed my will. Straight through the 
hawk’s breast bone and out at its back the mis¬ 
sile went. I heard the grind of the rent vertebra 
and. knew that the assassin had mangled his last 
victim. 
As I rushed forward to make sure of my game 
Jordan’s ecstatic, “Thank de Lord you done 
stroved him!” rang in my ears. 
The raptor needed no second stroke, but he 
died hard, as do all the bandits of the earth 
and air. 
The days went by all too quickly now, for wr 
had grown to love Okefinokee. At dawn thr 
sweet-voiced birds charmed us with many twit¬ 
terings. At dusk the eerie cries began, but they 
seemed to have grown softer now. Even the 
bellow of the alligator had lost its harshness, 
and its boom chimed with the tenor voices of 
the marsh. The chatter and squeak of little 
beasts in the thickets disturbed us no more, and 
the steady luminousity of eyes that stared in the 
outer darkness had ceased to seem uncanny. 
The deep and lonely cry of the great barred 
owl did not startle us, and the snarl of a lynx 
was but a string at fret on a vast instrument 
swept by the fingers of the night while Okefino¬ 
kee dreamed. 
Sand-hill cranes were daily visitants to two 
cypress ponds near our camp, and were also fre¬ 
quently found in the huckleberry thickets. These 
ponds were shallow depressions in the ground, 
filled with water from a few inches to three 
feet deep, in which grew cypress, sweet-gum 
and Spanish oak trees, and where could be 
found in the warm and shallow water great 
numbers of tadpoles and the unhatched spawn of 
frogs. Of these the cranes were very fond. 
About the noon hour we could count on finding 
from two to a dozen cranes in each of these 
ponds. Ordinarily they were shy birds, but at 
this hour of the day did not seem to be alert. 
Maurice killed three during our stay and 1 
killed one, and we failed in many chances to kill 
others by reason of the perversity of our ar¬ 
rows in striking where there were no cranes. 
One of Maurice’s lucky noons was spent in 
watching beside a small lagoon on the east side 
of the island where I left him about ten o’clock 
in the forenoon. He was well placed, both as 
to concealment and opportunity to freely use 
the bow. The narrow lagoon was green with 
lily-pads and water-weeds, and little boggy side 
puddles were alive with tadpoles. 
Near The Okefinokee. 
Returning to our camp about two o’clock in 
the afternoon, I saw him coming with a large 
feathery burden across his shoulder, from which 
dangled three very long necks. He had an ibis, 
a blue heron and a crane. By the light of the 
