Soon the tamanes were bustling about and making necessary arrangements for Yermah’s comfort, while he and Akaza were intent upon examining the covert from which the road-runner started. A shout brought Setos and Orondo to his side, and after them, one by one, the whole party. “I am of opinion,” said Setos, “that this strange bird, or beast, intended to eat the rattlesnake it had killed.” “Not so,” returned Akaza. “The body has been pecked full of holes and the bird was evidently about to abandon it when disturbed by Oghi.” “See how well the creature has outlined a circle in laying these pieces of cactus leaves around the snake,” remarked Orondo, intently examining the crude architectural plan. “Dost thou know anything about its habits?” inquired Yermah, turning to one of the piloting tamanes. “Yes, my master. This bird is the natural enemy of rattlesnakes. It remains concealed until the reptile is fast asleep in the warm sand. With its sharp bill it is easy to take off part of a cactus leaf, as thou seest. Instinct teaches how to place them in a circle. This done, it throws caution to the wind and rouses the snake. Then there is a battle royal. The snake can not crawl over the cactus needles and finally dies of its own bite.” “Does the bird eat any portion of its victim?” asked Setos. “Nothing except the eyes. The remainder of the body is scattered about in the sand, as thou seest.” “Oghi will bring him back captive, but, I fear me, badly mutilated.” “The ocelot will never catch him. These birds outfoot a thoroughbred. They are quicker, shyer, more alert even than Oghi. Besides, the smell of them is quite enough for a fastidious animal.” It was long after, and when the column was once more on the move, that Oghi came back—with his tongue hanging out; his tail between his legs; evidently disgusted and thoroughly fagged. Arriving at what is now called Cold Springs, the party began the ascent of the Chowchilla Mountains. Trees begin here—Sequoia gigantea,—of world-wide fame, but their habits were not new to the men of this expedition. Long before there were written words to express the ideas of man, the forest has furnished symbols of the various stages of human existence. The pliancy of youth, the exuberant strength of maturity, the decay of age, have suggested eloquent parallels between man and the tree. In contemplating the monarchs of the woods the greatest poets and the denizens of the untracked forests have risen together to the same heights of imagery and the same tokens of emotion and sentiment. Who can resist the silence, the whispering, the soughing, the writhing, the twisting and groaning of a pine tree, from the first flicker of a needle until the whole growth is in a Titanic struggle with the vagrant wind. The onset tests the strength of root, bole, branch and tendril to their utmost, then suddenly departs, leaving each needle erect and still as if listening to the music of the stars.