In One Hand He Carried A
Washleather Bag By Its Handle, And Holding A Pebble In His Right Hand
He
Watched the birds, the small parties of crested song sparrows,
yellow house sparrows, siskins, field finches, and other kinds, and
From time to time he would hurl a pebble at the bird he had singled
out forty yards down below us on the rocks. I did not see him actually
hit a bird, but his precision was amazing, for almost invariably the
missile, thrown from such a distance at so minute an object, appeared
to graze the feathers and to miss killing by but a fraction of an
inch.
I followed him for some distance, my wonder and curiosity growing
every minute to see such a superior-looking person engaged in such a
pastime. For it is a fact that the natives do not persecute small
birds. On the contrary, they despise the aliens in the land who shoot
and trap them. Besides, if he wanted small birds for any purpose, why
did he try to get them by throwing pebbles at them? As he did not
order me off, but looked in a kindly way at me every little while,
with a slight smile on his face, I at length ventured to tell him that
he would never get a bird that way - that it would be impossible at
that distance to hit one with a small pebble. "Oh, no, not
impossible," he returned, smiling and walking on, still with an eye
on the rocks.
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