i88 Bird -Lore 



Pileolated Warbler peered daintily at me, showing his shiny black cap to let all 

 know that he is only a bright relative of Wilson's Warbler. 



A ragged, tired-looking Bendire's Thrasher hopped and ran from a shade 

 near the small pool. This bird, with many others, rears its young in the midst of 

 the dry fore-summer. One wonders why it does not wait until the rains come, 

 in July, when food is much more abundant, as the spick and span russet-brown 

 Crissal Thrasher does. 



About the pools were scores — almost hundreds — of White-winged Doves, 

 which had gathered, perhaps for miles around, to spend the heat of the day near 

 water. Many of the worthy citizens of the Southwest think it great sport to 

 slaughter them, at all seasons, and, unless one or the other change their habits, 

 there will be far fewer 'Cactus Pigeons' before long. 



On the crest of a low rise ahead, a long-tailed, long-billed, streaked bird of 

 considerable size stood preening its feathers. The Road-runner is an oddity 

 at anv time, but especially so when standing on one leg, with his crested head 

 twisted and his red eyes gleaming. 



One never does become entirely accustomed to an Owl. A Spotted Screech 

 Owl, which flew from the dense shade of a sycamore into a live oak, caused me 

 to seat myself to watch him. A peculiar whir was heard, and, turning my head, 

 I beheld a beautiful Broad-billed Hummer, not five feet away, probing into the 

 scarlet trumpets of a pentstemon. Of course, while the Hummer had my attention, 

 the Owl disappeared. 



Lying on a small patch of sand near a tiny pool, I dozed, and enjoyed the songs 

 of my new friends — the flood of ascending notes of the Canon Wren, the plain- 

 tive whistle of the Wliite-crowned Sparrow, the happy outburst of the Lazuli 

 Bunting, with many others. As is so often the case, when one lies still, the birds, 

 and other animals, come close around. A Blue-throated Hummer, after drinking 

 daintily, rested on a very nearby twig, panting, but with only the tips of the bill 

 apart. An inquisitive Phainopepla lit on a swaying vine only a couple of yards 

 distant, and, as he swayed, raised his crest, flirted his wings (showing the 

 white patch) and puttered softly while his lead-black eyes shone on me. 



It is useless, however, to try to do the day justice; and as I close this sketch 

 I find that I have mentioned onlv a few more than half the birds seen. 



