CHAPTER VII
AT FALCONHURST AGAIN—BAGGING A BUFFALO
The first thing to be done on the following day was to return to the Calabash Wood, to fetch the sledge with the dishes, bowls, and baskets we had made.
Fritz alone accompanied me. I desired the other boys to remain with their mother, intending to explore beyond the chain of rocky hills, and thinking a large party undesirable on the occasion.
Passing through the wood of evergreen oaks, we observed our sow feasting on the acorns, evidently not a whit the worse for the fright we had given her the previous day—in fact, she appeared more friendly disposed toward us than usual, possibly considering us as her deliverers from the jaws of the savage dogs.
Many birds tenanted this grove, and were undisturbed by our movements, until Fritz fired and shot a beautiful blue-jay and a couple of parroquets, one a brilliant scarlet, the other green and gold.
Fritz was in the act of reloading his gun, when an unaccountable noise struck our ears, and put us instantly on the alert, because it appeared like the dull thumping sound of a muffled drum, and reminded us of the possible presence of savages.
With the greatest caution we drew nearer the sound, concealing ourselves among the low bushes and thick grass and creepers, until we reached an open glade; where, standing on an old prostrate log, was a beautiful bird, about the size of a cock, of a rich chestnut brown color, finely mottled with dark brown and gray. On the shoulders were curious tufts of velvet black feathers, glossed with green. He was ruffling his wings, erecting his tail and neck feathers, strutting and wheeling about in a most strange and stately fashion. After maneuvering for some time in this manner, greatly to the edification of a party of birds resembling him, but without any ruff, who, assembled round the stump, were enjoying his performances, he spread out his tail like a fan, stiffened his wings, and began to strike with them in short, rapid beats, faster and faster, until a rumbling sound like very distant thunder was produced, and the whirring wings enveloped him as in a cloud. This was the drumming noise which had alarmed us, increased, as I imagine, by the wing strokes falling at times on the decayed and hollow stump on which the curious pantomime was acted.
I was watching it with the utmost interest, when a shot from behind me was fired, and in a moment the play was at an end; my over-hasty son had changed the pretty comedy into a sad and needless tragedy. The enthusiastic drummer fell dead from his perch, and the crowd of admiring companions fled in dismay.
The cruel interruption of a scene so rare and remarkable annoyed me extremely, and I blamed Fritz for firing without my leave. I felt sure the bird was the ruffed grouse, and a very fine specimen. We placed it on the ass, which was patiently awaiting our return, and went on our way.