82 Bulletin ,\'o. 2g. 



Creek in a high valley oi Western Wyoming. Patches of unmelted 

 snow still dotted the valley and the surrounding hills. For the rest, the 

 whole region had been closely cropped or " sheeped " by numerous 

 flocks, and thus added desolation wrought in this alrealy barren land. 



During our stay the sun shone kindly and the birds made the most of 

 the meager fare afforded by creek and cliff. The creek was nothing but 

 a spring run of snow water, sparsely clad with dwarf willows. The 

 most uninviting clumps of willows, however, sheltered many birds, 

 mostly, no doubt, in transit. The cliffs, on the other hand, were an 

 imposing sight and their population was of a substantial sort. Prairie 

 Falcons screamed loftily and Buzzards and Eagles showed themselves on 

 occasion, while Sparrow Hawks filled up the interstices of vision. Along 

 their frowning fronts many birds of prey were nesting. A pair of Golden 

 Eagles, in particular, had chosen for their eyrie a cranny in the very 

 middle of the wildest of the fossil-bearing cliffs, at this point some 300 

 feet high. The nest was practically inaccessible even by rope, for the 

 cliff is perpendicular and deeply fissured, while the flying buttresses 

 thus formed are ready to collapse at a breath. 



The Falcons, (/'". mexicanns), who have a nest in the "next block," 

 persecute the Eagles unmercifully, and apparently for mere pastime. I 

 saw one of the Eagles launch out from his nest for a course across the 

 valley. Soon a Falcon spied him and took after him, though the Eagle 

 had a big lead. " A race ! " I cried. Woof, woof, woof, went the Eagle's 

 wings, clip, clip, clip went the falcon's. Inside of a mile the smaller 

 bird made up the distance, scratched his majestie's crown with his noble 

 toes, and was up in the ether a hundred feet or so before the Eagle could 

 do a thing. This operation was repeated until the gentle pair was out of 

 sight across the checkered hills, but a few minutes later the Falcon re- 

 turned to his nest, chuckling hugely. 



The Prairie Falcon's nest was a tempting morsel but just a wee bit 

 gouty. I worked over the face of the cliff till I could touch the bunch 

 of sticks which marked the entrance to the cranny, but could not trust 

 the surrounding rocks enough to make the final rise. 



The horizon given below was taken between May 21st at g a. m. and 

 May 23rd at the same hour, iSgg. 



THE FOSSIL HORIZON. 

 Least Bittern. Intermediate Sparrow. 



Spotted Sandpiper. Western Chipping Sparrow. 



Mourning Dove, Brewer's Sparrow. 



