CHAPTER V 



THE MESQUITE WILDERNESS 



HEN our excursions began to take in a 

 wider field, leaving behind the corn- 

 stubble and ditches and even the semi- 

 desert wastes beyond, we found ourselves 

 in a trackless wilderness of mesquite and cactus. Wher- 

 ever one stood he seemed surrounded with an open 

 growth of the dry and dusty trees just too high to see 

 over. A few steps farther they appeared less in height. 

 When these were reached, the same monotonous 

 glimpses of more mesquite, moi-e gnarly cactus, was all 

 that was seen, and for mile upon mile one was alter- 

 nately stimulated with the hope of a more extensive 

 view and disappointed by the result. No low vegetation 

 covered the white earth, no water was to be found for 

 leagues around, yet at times the spiny, dry-leafed trees 

 swarmed with birds, all — with one exception — garbed 

 in gray or earthy hues, in perfect tone with their sur- 

 roundings. 



The exception — the Vermilion Flycatchers — more 

 than made up for the sombre colours of the other birds. 

 In such a place, in middle March, dozens of the color- 

 aditos, — little red ones, — as the Mexicans call them, 



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