124 A-BIRDING ON A BRONCO. 



hordes moving about my treetops. There was a 

 bee's nest in one of the sycamores, and one day 

 the buzzing mob ' took after me ' so madly that 

 I had to whip up Canello and beat about with 

 my hat to get clear of them. 



Another day, when we stopped under a syca- 

 more, such a loud shrill whistle sounded suddenly 

 overhead that the horse started. A big bird in 

 black sat with feathers bristled up about him like 

 a threatening raven, croaking away sepulchrally 

 directly overhead, bending down gazing at us out 

 of his yellow eyes as if to see how we took it. 

 It was a laughable sight. Blackbirds seem such 

 human, humorous birds one can almost fancy 

 them playing such pranks just for the fun of it. 



The blackbird colony was a busy one nesting- 

 time. The builders would fly down to the road to 

 get material, stepping along quickly, looking from 

 side to side with an alert, business-like air, as if 

 they knew just what they wanted. Some of them 

 used the button-balls to line their nests. 



A pair had built in one of the round mats of 

 mistletoe at the end of a branch, and while look- 

 ing at the nest one day I was amazed to see a 

 butcherbird come flying in a straight line toward 

 it. He did not reach his destination, for while 

 still in air both blackbirds darted down at him 

 and drove him back faster than he had come. 

 The guardian of the nest escorted him almost 

 home, and when the victorious pair were returning 



