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He
who
has
travelled
across
the
plains
of
Southern
Texas
can
not
fail
to
have
witnessed
a
spectacle
of
common
occurrence
--
a
flock
of
black
vultures
upon
the
wing
.
An
hundred
or
more
in
the
flock
,
swooping
in
circles
,
or
wide
spiral
gyrations
--
now
descending
almost
to
touch
the
prairie
award
,
or
the
spray
of
the
chapparal
--
anon
soaring
upward
by
a
power
in
which
the
wing
bears
no
part
--
their
pointed
pinions
sharply
cutting
against
the
clear
sky
--
they
constitute
a
picture
of
rare
interest
,
one
truly
characteristic
of
a
tropical
clime
.
The
traveller
who
sees
it
for
the
first
time
will
not
fail
to
rein
up
his
horse
,
and
sit
in
his
saddle
,
viewing
it
with
feelings
of
curious
interest
.
Even
he
who
is
accustomed
to
the
spectacle
will
not
pass
on
without
indulging
in
a
certain
train
of
thought
which
it
is
calculated
to
call
forth
.
There
is
a
tale
told
by
the
assemblage
of
base
birds
.
On
the
ground
beneath
them
,
whether
seen
by
the
traveller
or
not
,
is
stretched
some
stricken
creature
--
quadruped
,
or
it
may
be
man
--
dead
,
or
it
may
be
dying
.
*
*
*
On
the
morning
that
succeeded
that
sombre
night
,
when
the
three
solitary
horsemen
made
the
crossing
of
the
plain
,
a
spectacle
similar
to
that
described
might
have
been
witnessed
above
the
chapparal
into
which
they
had
ridden
.
A
flock
of
black
vultures
,
of
both
species
,
was
disporting
above
the
tops
of
the
trees
,
near
the
point
where
the
avenue
angled
.
At
daybreak
not
one
could
have
been
seen
.
In
less
than
an
hour
after
,
hundreds
were
hovering
above
the
spot
,
on
widespread
wings
,
their
shadows
sailing
darkly
over
the
green
spray
of
the
chapparal
.
A
Texan
traveller
entering
the
avenue
,
and
observing
the
ominous
assemblage
,
would
at
once
have
concluded
,
that
there
was
death
upon
his
track
.
Going
farther
,
he
would
have
found
confirmatory
evidence
,
in
a
pool
of
blood
trampled
by
the
hooves
of
horses
.
