“Precisely so; and this at once accounts for the fabulous stories of vultures scenting carrion at the distance of miles—none of which stories are true, but have been propagated by men who, perhaps, never saw a vulture in the air, but who, in order to make their books amusing, have readily adopted the exaggerated tales of every Munchausen they could meet with.”
“Your theory is certainly the more probable one.”
“It is the true one. It has been proved to be so by numerous experiments with vultures; all of which have gone to show, that these birds have anything but a keen sense of smell. On the contrary, it is remarkably weak; and I think it is well for them it is so, considering the sort of food they live upon.”
“This flock must have gathered from all parts,” remarked François; “we see them coming in from every point of the compass. No doubt some of them have travelled fifty miles.”
“As likely an hundred,” rejoined Lucien. “Such a journey is a mere bagatelle to them. Now, if I knew the precise moment at which the carrion was discovered by the first one, I could tell how far each of the others had come—that is, each of them whose arrival we are now witnessing.”
“But how could you do that, brother?” demanded Basil and François, in astonishment; “pray tell us how?”
“I should make my calculation thus:—In the first place, they have all started at the same time.”
“At the same time!” interrupted Basil; “how can that be, if some of them were an hundred miles off?”
“No matter what distance,” replied Lucien; “it is all the same. They have all commenced their flight hither, not exactly, but nearly, at the same moment. Is it not plain? These birds, while hunting for their food, sweep through the air in great circles. Each of these circles overlooks a large tract of the earth’s surface below. Their circumferences approach or intersect each other—so that, in fact, the whole country is under a network of them. Now, as soon as one of the vultures, thus sailing about, discovers with far-seeing eye the carrion below, he immediately drops from his high orbit, and wings his way downward. He is observed by that one circling nearest him; who, well knowing the cause of the altered flight of his companion, at once forsakes his own orbit and follows; and he, in his turn, is followed by another; and so on to the end of the chain.”
“But how can one of them tell that the other is gone in pursuit of prey?” inquired François, interrupting Lucien in his explanation.