s for miles up and down the shores. And of course the little
perchers are past all counting in the arching trees of the river-bank.

In the forests the fleet, under-sized Floridan deer is watchful and
furtive because of the activities of that tawny killer, the "catamount"
of the frontier; and the black bear sometimes grunts and soliloquizes
and gobbles persimmons in the thickets. The lynx that mews in the
twilight, the raccoon that creeps like a furtive shadow through the
velvet darkness, the pink-nosed 'possum that can only sleep when danger
threatens, and such lesser folk as rabbit and squirrel, weasel and
skunk, all have their part in the drama of the woods. Then there are the
game-birds: wild turkey, pheasant, and that little red quail, the Bob
White known to Southern sportsmen.

Yet the Ochakee country conveys no message of brightness and cheer. Some
way, there are too many shadows. The river itself is a moving sea of
shadows; and if the sun ever gets to them, it is just an unhappy glimpse
through the trees in the long, still afternoons. The trees are mostly
draped with Spanish moss that sways like dark tresses in the little
winds that creep in from the gulf, and the trees creak and complain and
murmur one to another throughout the night. The air is dank, lifeless,
heavy with the odors of vegetation decaying underfoot. There is more
death than life in the forest, and all travelers know it, and not one
can tell why. It is easier to imagine death than life, the trail grows
darker instead of brighter, a murky mystery dwells between the distant
trunks.... Ordinarily such abundant wild-life relieves the somber,
unhappy tone of the woods, but here it some way fails to do so. No
woodsman has to be told how much more cheerful it makes him feel, how
less lonely and depressed, to catch sight of a doe and fawn, feeding in
the downs, or even a raccoon stealing down a creek-bank in the mystery
of the moon; but here the wild things always seem to hide when you want
them most; and if they show themselves at all, it is just as a fleet
shadow at the edge of the camp-fire. These are cautious, furtive things,
fleet as shadows, hidden as the little flowers that blossom among the
grass-stems; and such woodsfolk as do make their presence manifest do
not add, especially, to the pleasure of one's visit. These are two in
particular--the water-moccasin that hangs like a growing thing in the
wisteria, and the great, diamond-back rattlesnake