"He'll do that, anyhow," mumbled Professor Scotch, gruffly.
They could now see long, soldier-like lines of herons stretched out along the reedy swales, standing still and solemn, like pickets on duty.
They were not particularly wary or wild, for they had not been hunted very much in the wild region which they inhabited.
Little green herons were plentiful, and they kept flying up before the canoe constantly, scaring the others, till Frank grew very impatient, declaring:
"Those little rascals will scare away a golden heron, if we are fortunate enough to come upon one. Confound them!"
"Let me shoot a few of th' varmints," urged Barney, reaching for one of the guns in the bottom of the canoe.
"Not much!" returned Frank, quickly. "Think what the report of a gun would do here. Keep still, Barney."
"All roight!" muttered the Irish lad, reluctantly relinquishing his hold on the gun. "Av ye soay kape still, kape still it is."
Frank instructed the professor to take in his paddle, and Barney was directed to hold the canoe close to the edge of the rushes. In this manner, with Frank kneeling in the prow, an arrow ready notched on the string, he could shoot with very little delay.
Beyond the heron rookery the waterway wound into the depths of a dark, forbidding region, where the Spanish moss hung thick, and the great trees leaned over the water.