24 THE STORY OF A BIRD LOVER 



first fall in Ithaca, I borrowed a gun of some one 

 and went up Cascadilla Creek. After a little I 

 came upon a belted kingfisher sitting on a dead 

 limb overhanging the bank of a mill pond. I 

 tried my best to get near him, but he was shy 

 and wary, and anticipated every effort I made 

 to approach him. Finally, however, he flew up 

 toward the head of the pond. I hid myself on 

 the bank, and presently he came flying by not 

 very far away. Fearing I might not get another 

 chance, I fired at him as he passed. I could not 

 see that I had hit him, for he pursued his course 

 quietly to a branch of a tree, some two hundred 

 feet away, near where I had first seen him. Here 

 he gave his characteristic " rattle " as he alighted. 

 I watched him for a moment and saw him reel 

 like a drunken man, and then fall from the limb 

 and strike the ground just at the edge of the 

 water. The watchman of the stream was dead. 



I went to him and took him in my hand ; and 

 though he was stone-dead, there was not a mark 

 or sign of a wound anywhere ; not a drop of 

 blood soiled his feathers, nor was there any appar- 

 ent about his mouth ; there was nothing to show 

 in any way the catastrophe that had overtaken 

 him. The whole thing was to me a marvel. I 

 recall the shock now. What had I done ? Was 

 it possible to frighten a wild bird to death ? 



I have seen the same thing happen many times 



