‘THE KILLDEER. 630 
on the banks of the Walla Walla River, near Wallula. A grove of yellow- 
green willows sheltered our tent, but there were abundant reaches of level, 
grass-covered alluvium hard by. In crossing one of these areas I was inter- 
cepted by a Killdeer who pleaded with me against careless steps. A few min- 
utes search availed nothing, and I retired to the shelter of the willows some 
fifty yards away ;—retired and spied upon the little mother as she stole back 
softly to her eggs. 
When I started to return, in guilty possession of the secret, she first 
slipped away and fed nonchalantly in the distance. But when it became clear 
that the giant would really traverse the pasture, she summoned her mate and 
flew to the defense. The male was a timorous fowl and contented himself 
with wallowing impotently some sixty feet away; but the mother bird 
arranged a brilliant series of tableaux at twenty. Her object was to distract 
attention, but as I pursued my purpose relentlessly she dashed up, flung herself 
at my feet, and floundered painfully away. 
At four feet she lost control of herself altogether, and fairly shrieked her 
solicitude. “Oh, please, Mister! Look out! You'll step on those eggs! Here, 
look at me! Iam dying! Come, eat me!” And so, with frightened eyes, in 
which pain and a sort of tenderness strove for mastery, she paraded her 
charms again and again in a vain endeavor to lure me away. 
The situation was very inviting for a camera-man (albeit a green back- 
ground proved to be impossible for instantaneous work at close range), and [ 
returned again and again during the brighter hours of the day. Not once did 
the little mother omit the preliminary tactics of swooning, pretended lameness, 
and inviting distress cries. But it became evident that she feared the blunder- 
ing step more than premeditated mischief. If I walked boldly toward the 
eggs, as though unaware of their presence, she fairly threw herself upon me 
in an effort to turn my course. And when I crouched, camera in hand, within 
a few feet of the eggs, each motion of mine brought out fresh shrieks and 
renewed posings; whereas the play flagged whenever the tormentor became 
quiet. 
Of course the prime object of the posings was to excite cupidity and to 
enlist pursuit. To this end the tawny markings of wings and tail-coverts were 
flashed incessantly, while the body was painfully dragged away. As often as 
the ruse failed, the bird whirled about, charged forward with drooping wings, 
as close as she dared (twice actually touching my knees), paused an instant 
to catch my eye, and started off again, coaxing, tittering, and trembling, as in 
an ecstasy of invitation. So acute was the need and so absolute the bird’s 
devotion to the imperilled cause, that she was able to put on a mask of 
coquetry over her heart-break of fear, and to beam enticingly like a maiden 
to her lover. 
Again and again I humored her plea and followed the lure; and as often, 
