Jungle crimes include (1) making fire by night in jungles subject to raids; (2) “hi-jacking,” or robbing men at night when sleeping in the jungles; (3) “buzzing,” or making the jungle a permanent hangout for jungle “buzzards” who subsist on the leavings of meals; (4) wasting food or destroying it after eating is a serious crime; (5) leaving pots and other utensils dirty after using; (6) cooking without first hustling fuel; (7) destroying jungle equipment. In addition to these fixed offenses are other crimes which are dealt with as they arise. Men are supposed to use cooking cans for cooking only, “boiling up” cans for washing clothing, coffee cans to cook coffee, etc. After using, guests are expected to clean utensils, dry them, and leave them turned bottom side up so that they will not fill with rainwater and rust. They are expected to keep the camp clean. To enforce such common-sense rules, self-appointed committees come into existence.[3] Exclusive camps are usually the result of the efforts of the older residents to enforce discipline. Most “jungle buzzards,” men who linger in the jungles from season to season, take an interest in the running of things. For the most part they are parasitic, begging food from others, but they are generally on the alert to keep the place clean and orderly. The following description of a day in the jungles was written by a migratory worker, a man who knows the life from years of experience. His narrative presents a faithful picture of an average day in an average jungle. A DAY IN THE JUNGLES 1.[4] This jungle is on the edge of a strip of timber. A stream fed from a spring runs into the lake near by. The empty box cars on the railroad siding close by offer protection against rain and a place to sleep. Half a mile away is the junction of two railroads where all trains stop, and a mile and a half further on is a small town. At one o’clock in the morning a few men step off a freight train. One speaks up: “Does anyone know if there is a jungle in this place?” “Yes,” someone answers, “The jungle is up in that direction,” pointing towards a woods, “but what’s the use in going over there now? You can’t build a fire at this time of night. I am going to hunt up a box car for a flop.” After a moment of silence someone else asks, “Any town close by?” “Yes, there it is,” replies another, pointing to some lights showing in the distance. The men form groups according to acquaintance and talk in a low tone. “Come on, let us hunt up a place to flop till daylight.” The different groups start off. One starts out for the town, one goes towards the box cars, and one makes for the jungles. I was with the group bound for the jungles.