the canyon the quails made their way down to 
the level desert and about noon arrived at a 
dry creek bed which is called an arroyo. When 
the winter rains came, a rushing stream flowed 
down the arroyo, but at this time of year there 
was no water in it. Even the few water-holes 
that for a time remain in some of the washed- 
out hollows were all gone. So now it was just 
a river of sand and rock along the banks of 
which grew thorn bushes and cacti. Over it all 
the hot rays of the sun poured down, and the 
heat rose and danced and zigzagged in the air, 
while the voices of all birds were stilled. 
Here in the warm, loose earth they scratched 
little beds and lay down -to dust themselves 
and relax their tired legs. It was good sport 
to kick up the sand and feel it trickle down 
all through their ruffled feathers, so they re- 
mained here some time. 
II 
PRESENTLY a young jack-rabbit came hopping 
along, but it seemed not the least interested in 
the birds. It paused behind a low, wide-leafed 
197 
