:::::::::^v TWO BIRD -LOVERS IN MEXICO aje:::::::: 



a living stream of birds, — Mourning Doves, — perhaps 

 already restless with the first hints of the drawing 

 northward, or this might have been their regular even- 

 ing gathering. They came by dozens and scores from 

 far and near in the mesquite, stopping a moment to 

 dip their bills, dove-fashion, deej) in the clear waters 

 of the brook, and drinking long and thirstily, then 

 hurlinir themselves over the barranca wall to some 

 roosting-place, far below the surface of the tableland. 

 And now as the sun's disk silhouettes the upraised 

 arms of an organ cactus on the opposite summit, scat- 

 tered squads of another army of birds appear and focus 

 to their nightly rendezvous — the White-necked Ravens 

 of the whole world seem to be passing, so great are 

 their numbers. As far as the eye can see, each side of 

 the canyon gives up its complement of black forms ; 

 one straggling ahead uttering now and then a deep, 

 hoarse-voiced croak. From all the neighbouring coun- 

 try they pour in, passing low before us, one and all 

 disappearing in the black depths of a narrow, boul- 

 der-framed gorge. A raven comes circling down from 

 above and instantly draws our eye to v.'hat we have 

 not noticed before, a vast black cloud of the birds soar- 

 ing above the barranca with all the grace of flight of 

 vultures. The cloud descends, draws in upon itself, 

 and, becoming funnel-shaped, sifts slowly through the 

 twilioht into the "orcre where the great brotherhood 

 of ravens is united and at rest. 



«4 104 ^ 



