or animals--in fact, any hunted game
belonging to the _fauna_ of the American Continent: furthermore, that
each should contribute his _quota_ of information about whatever animal
should chance to be the subject of the narration--about its habits, its
geographical range; in short, its general natural history, as well as
the various modes of hunting it, practised in different places by
different people. This, it was alleged, would render our camp
conversation instructive as well as entertaining.

The idea originated with the old hunter-naturalist, who very wisely
reasoned that among so many gentlemen of large hunting experience he
might collect new facts for his favourite science--for to just such men,
and not to the closet-dreamer, is natural history indebted for its most
interesting chapters. Of course every one of us, guides and all, warmly
applauded the proposal, for there was no one among us averse to
receiving a little knowledge of so entertaining a character. No doubt
to the naturalist himself we should be indebted for most part of it; and
his mode of communicating was so pleasant, that even the rude trappers
listened to him with wonder and attention. They saw that he was no
"greenhorn" either in woodcraft or prairie knowledge, and that was a
sufficient claim to their consideration.

There is no character less esteemed by the regular "mountain-man" than a
"greenhorn,"--that is, one who is new to the ways of their wilderness
life.

With the design of an early start, we once more crept into our several
quarters, and went to sleep.

CHAPTER FOUR.

THE PASSENGER-PIGEONS.

After an early breakfast we lit our pipes and cigars, and took to the
road. The sun was very bright, and in less than two hours after
starting we were sweltering under a heat almost tropical. It was one of
those autumn days peculiar to America, where even a high latitude seems
to be no protection against the sun, and his beams fall upon one with as
much fervour as they would under the line itself. The first part of our
journey was through open woods of black-jack, whose stunted forms
afforded no shade, but only shut off the breeze which might otherwise
have fanned us.

While fording a shallow stream, the doctor's scraggy, ill-tempered horse
took a fit of kicking quite frantical. For some time it seemed likely
that either the doctor himself, or his saddle-bags, would be deposited
in the bottom of the creek, but after a severe spell