The
trees were very tall and large. The streamers of pale gray moss hung
thickly from the branches of the live-oaks, and when many trees thus
draped stood close together they bore a strangely mournful and desolate
look.
We finally found the queer little hut of the Mexican goat-herder in the
midst of a grove of giant pecans. On the walls were nailed the skins
of different beasts, raccoons, wild-cats, and the tree-civet, with its
ringed tail. The Mexican's brown wife and children were in the hut, but
the man himself and the goats were off in the forest, and it took us
three or four hours' search before we found him. Then it was nearly
noon, and we lunched in his hut, a square building of split logs, with
bare earth floor, and roof of clap-boards and bark. Our lunch consisted
of goat's meat and _pan de mais_. The Mexican, a broad-chested man with
a stolid Indian face, was evidently quite a sportsman, and had two or
three half-starved hounds, besides the funny, hairless little house
dogs, of which Mexicans seem so fond.
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