Even one day's idleness made them slack in starting the next morning. Neither would it be possible for any man, whatever his title, to retain long his control over free men, if it is suspected that he cares first for his own.
Our difficulties here were somewhat mitigated. The rains, although almost incessant, were warm, and youngsters, like the writer, were out with their guns nearly all the time we were water-stayed at Black Vermillion. The passenger pigeons were flying in flocks southward. It was the last time I ever saw that wonderful sight. Some of the boys (this means all the unmarried men) tried to get some with the rifle, but the birds rarely alighted. A German and myself had fowling guns; he killed many and I some. My special delight was in roaming the country by myself. Among other things I made a very thorough examination of the Blue Mound, and if it had not been such an immense mass should have left it believing that it was the work of man. In one of my rambles I started a couple of red deer, but found no sign of having hit either of them. They were the only deer I saw on the trip. On the whole the country was remarkably clear of game, and I found that my destructiveness was very much lowered by the effect of the surroundings—the joy of freedom in the rich and beautiful country making me indifferent about killing things. On the Nimahaw bottoms, for instance, I saw at a distance a very large turkey run from cover to cover. I did not attempt to beat the thicket I had seen the turkey enter. Later I came to a beautiful grove, mostly iron wood, and stopping to enjoy the scene, flushed a hen turkey (as I suppose), and shot carelessly with one barrel with small shot, which I hoped had not touched the bird the moment I lowered my gun. We were then near the most western range of this royal game bird.
