74 A-BIRDING ON A BRONCO. 



he loosened its claws and dropped it down to me. 

 What would the poor old mother woodpecker 

 have thought had she seen these first flights of 

 her nestlings ! 



I hurried the little scared brothers under my 

 jacket, my best substitute for a hollow tree, and 

 called chucM-ah to them in the most woodpecker- 

 like tones I could muster. Then the boy shoul- 

 dered the ladder, and I took the carving-knife, 

 and we trudged home triumphant ; we had res- 

 cued the little prisoners from the tower ! 



When we had taken them into the house the 

 woodpeckers called out, and the cats looked up so 

 savagely that I asked the boy to take the birds 

 home to his sister to keep till they were able to 

 care for themselves. On examining them I un- 

 derstood what the difference in their voices had 

 meant. One of them poked his head out of the 

 opening in my jacket where he was riding, while 

 the other kept hidden away in the dark ; and when 

 they were put into my cap for the boy to carry 

 home, the one with the weak voice disclosed a 

 whitish bill — a bad sign with a bird — and its 

 feeble head bent under it so weakly that I was 

 afraid it would die. 



Three days later, when I went up to the lad's 

 house, it was to be greeted by loud cries from the 

 little birds. Though they were in a box with a 

 towel over it, they heard all that was going on. 

 Their voices were as sharp as their ears, and they 



