ceeds in eluding tlie butcher. One of the most interesting incidents of all my 

 bird observations was that of the attempted capture by a northern shrike of a 

 small brown creeper. The scene of the action was near the south end of the 

 Lincoln Park lagoon in Chicago. The crecjjcr was nimbly climbing a tree bole, 

 industriously picking out insects, as is its custom, when a shrike dropped down 

 after it from its high perch on a tree which stood close and overshadowed the 

 one from whose bark the creejier was gleaning its breakfast. The shrike was 

 seen coming. The creeper, for the fraction of a second, flattened itself and clung 

 convulsively to the tree tnink. Then recovering, it darted to the other side of the 

 bole, while tlie shrike brought up abruptly and clumsily just at the spot where 

 the creeper had been. The discomfited bird went back to its perch. The creeper 

 rounded the tree once more, and down went the shrike. The tactics of a moment 

 before were re]xrated. the shrike going back to its perch chagrined and empty 

 clawed. Five times it made the attempt to capture the creeper, and every time 

 the little bird eluded its enemy by a quick retreat. It was a veritable game of 

 hide and seek, amusing and interesting for the spectator, but to the birds a game 

 of life and death. Life won. I ever have believed thoroughly that the creeper 

 thought out the problem of escape for itself. The last time the shrike went back 

 to its perch the creei)er did not show round the trunk again, but instead flew 

 away, keeping the bole of the tree between itself and its foe. It reached a place 

 of safety unseen. The shrike watched for the quarry to reappear. In a few 

 moments it grew impatient and flew down and completely circled the tree. Then, 

 seemingly knowing that it had been fooled, it left the place in disgust. 



Of the boldness of the northern shrike there can be no question. It allows 

 man to approach within a few feet and looks him in the eye with a certain haughtv 

 defiance, showing no trace of ncr\'0usness, save a flirting of the tail, which is a 

 characteristic of the bird and in no way attributable to fear or uneasiness. One 

 morning early in March, when the migration had just started, I saw two shrikes 

 on the grass in the very center of the liall ground at the south end of Lincoln 

 Park. They were engaged in a pitched battle, and went for each other much after 

 the manner of game cocks. The feathers literally flew. T looked at them through 

 a powerful field glass and saw a small dark object on the grass at the very point of 

 their fighting. Then I knew that the battle was being waged for the possession of 

 an unfortunate bird victim. The birds kept up the fight for fully two minutes. 

 Then, being anxious to find out just what the dead bird was which had given 

 rise to the row, I walked rapidly toward the combatants. They paid no heed to 

 me until I w^as within twenty feet of the scene of their encounter. Then they 

 flew away. I kept my eyes on the much-ruffled body of the little victim lying on 

 the grass, and walking toward it I stooped over to pick it up. At that instant. 

 as quick as the jiassing of light, one of the shrikes darted under my hand, seized 

 the quarr)', and made ofl' with it. It was an exhibition of boldness that did not 

 fail to win admiration. I did not have the chance to learn what bird it was 

 that had fallen a victim to the shrike's rapacity and had been the cause of that 

 battle royal. 



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