AMERICAN ORNITHOLOGY. 165 



During the latter part of February they begin to come regularly to our 

 cedar trees. 



Horned Larks are abundant. They fly over the country in flocks, 

 usually flying high, and uttering a note that sounds like "p-t-t-t-two," 

 that is as near as I can spell it. They roam about as if they had no 

 special destination. We may see flock after flock pass over, all going 

 southeastward. Last winter as I came through a meadow, just at dusk, 

 a flock in which there must have been several thousand settled down 

 near me. I presume they spent the night there. 



The Bobwhite is often heard, but rarely seen. They are hanted so 

 much it is a wonder they show themselves at all in the day time. They 

 are not as abundant as in days gone by, but I think there need be no fears 

 of their extermination, at least not for years to come. Now and then a 

 flock of Mourning Doves stay with us through the cold weather. They 

 subsist on grain gleaned from the straw stacks, and from cornpens. 

 Whenever the hunter discovers their resort, woe be to them, for he 

 usually exterminates the flock. 



Of our birds of prey, the Marsh Hawk is to me the most interesting. 

 I never tire of watching him as he quarters the meadow and stubble 

 fields, ever on the lookout for moles. Frequently we see him strike. 

 Sometimes, owing to the dense grass and weeds under which the mouse 

 escapes, he fails to get his prey, but when a mouse does find himself 

 in the clutches of this Hawk, he may as well say goodbye to this world. 

 Another of our hawks is the American Roughleg. From my observa- 

 tion, I gather that they do not seek their prey after the manner of the 

 Marsh Hawk, buf'rather perch on the top of some isolated tree, in or 

 near a meadow. From this point they keep a sharp eye on all the sur- 

 rounding country. I have seen him fly nearly two hundred yards and 

 pounce upon a mouse he had in all probability seen before leaving his 

 perch. 



On moonlight nights we hear the "hoo-o, hoo, hoo," of the great 

 Horned Owl. If it sounds so great and menacing to us, what shudders 

 of apprehension it must send through the hearts of the little wild people. 

 I should think this great bird would be the most feared of all the birds 

 of prey. One evening just after sunset, I was in the orchard and heard 

 his cry. It sounded so near I looked in the trees over my head to see 

 the bird. Finally, I located him in the top of a tall cottonwood, a hun- 

 dred and fifty yards away, sharply silhouetted against the dying glow 

 of the western sky. He sat there quite a while uttering over and over 

 his characteristic cry, which was always answered by another Owl down 

 in the field. Though his cry was low, it seemed so near, and so full 

 of volumn, that the earth and every thing seemed to tremble with it. 



