THE KINGBIRD 



By T. GILBERT PEARSON 



^^t Jl^ational Si&fiociation of Slutiubon ^otittU0 



EDUCATIONAL LEAFLET No. 81 



As I made my way one spring morning among the clumps of reeds along 

 the margin of a southern lake, keeping a sharp lookout for the deadly water- 

 moccasin snakes, I was startled by an unusual sound. It seemed to come from 

 overhead, and just a little behind me. Turning, I beheld a hawk darting sharply 

 downward, and only a few feet in front of it a little Spotted Sandpiper was 

 fleeing for its life. By the smallest fraction of a second the Sandpiper avoided 

 the murderous clutch of its enemy, and then dashed into a thin growth of 

 grass. The Hawk veered sharply upward, wheeled around, paused an instant 

 on outstretched wings, and then, catching sight of its prey, was in the act of 

 plunging again, when, like a bolt from a clear sky, something struck it in the 

 back. This something proved to be a small black-and-white bird, which, with 

 sharp, clattering notes and snapping bill, struck continually at the great Hawk 

 many times its size. 



The Hawk at once forgot how hungry it was, and lost sight of the panting, 

 frightened Sandpiper, which lay almost helpless on the ground below; for all 

 at once another idea had taken possession of its mind, and that 

 „ , was to escape this infuriated bundle of feathers with a sharp 



beak that was snapping at its back. So it departed across the 

 shallow lake as fast as its big wings could carry it, and its pursuer, a little 

 Kingbird, urged it on with every stroke. The hunter had suddenly found itself 

 the hunted one, and, judging by the haste it used and the way it dodged, one 

 would think it was as badly frightened as the poor Sandpiper had been a few 

 minutes before. For fully a quarter of a mile the Kingbird kept up the chase, 

 ceasing the pursuit only when the Hawk had entered the woods. Then, evi- 

 dently satisfied, and, no doubt, pleased with its exploit, it returned with ex- 

 panded tail and rapidly fluttering wings, lighted on the dead top of a small 

 bush near the shore, and in a most unconcerned manner again took up its 

 watch for passing insects. 



The Kingbird was the sentry and also the fighting warrior for all that arm 

 of the lake. He was the self-constituted guardian over the destinies of all the 

 small birds round about, and woe to any large bird that came near. Later, I 

 saw him several times, and he was ever on the alert. Once he drove off a great 

 Turkey Vulture, actually alighting on its back where evidently he held on to a 

 feather with his bill. On two occasions I saw him make life miserable for 

 Crows that ventured into his kingdom. 



I found his nest, too, and this was a discovery worth while. A button- 



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