THE AMERICAN LONG-EARED OWL. 375 
in Ohio, altho they certainly bred here in Audubon’s time, I may perhaps be 
pardoned for drawing upon my experience in a region where they are now 
much more plentiful, namely, in Eastern Washington. There nests containing 
eggs were found indifferently in April, May, or June, altho those found in 
June probably contained second broods. Deserted nests of the Magpie or Crow 
were invariably used by the Owls, and then only those to be found at moderate 
heights in swamp willow thickets. The eggs, from four to six in number, are 
normally a delicate, clear white, but they soon become nest-stained and are 
often blood-marked. Both parents are usually at home and actively interested 
in their nest. One instance will suffice. Having noticed a likely looking 
Crow’s nest about ten feet high in a willow clump I made toward it. Upon 
my approach the female slipped noiseslessly from the nest and left me to plan 
the ascent through an ugly tangle. As I started in I heard the preliminary 
notes of a caterwauling contest, just as when Thomas remarks, ‘‘)/’e-a-o-o- 
a-ow,” and nature catches her breath to hear what Maria will say. I paused 
and canvassed the morale of my contemplated action; then I hastily reviewed 
the chances of wild-cats; and then—I reached for my gun. Not until I had 
actually seen the mother bird emitting one of those gruesome squalls could I be- 
lieve that the noise came from an Owl. Even after doubt was set at rest the 
cry seemed not less like the snarl of an angry feline. ‘To add to the terrors of 
the defensive, the husband and father came up and literally proceeded to spread 
himself. Wungs and tail were spread to the utmost and every feather was rut- 
fled to its fullest extent,—all in a manner calculated to strike terror to the 
boldest heart. The bird-man managed to control his nerves long enough to 
note five eggs resting upon the accumulated refuse of a last year’s Crow’s 
nest; then hurriedly sought more congenial company. 
At another time while I was picking my way across a willow-skirted brook 
in the Yakima country I became aware of, rather than discovered, a wee, shriv- 
elled, craven, ill-fed Owl, a bird which evidently, at the time, desired noth- 
ing so ardently as to be able to find a ready-made hole in the atmosphere and 
to crawl into it. I debated with myself whether it might really be an under- 
sized Long-eared Owl. ‘There was nothing but the ear-tufts to show for it, for 
the very face of the bird was pinched and wizened. I gazed until the bird 
made sure of detection. Presto, change! ‘The India rubber creature resumed 
her natural appearance and made off with a great clatter, only to fall upon the 
ground in the well known “‘last stages.”” The interest of the bird-man always 
lies in the opposite direction from that being pursued by a self-wounded bird. 
The owdet sat about ten feet back of me in a clump of willows. Tho only half- 
grown, it countenance bore an expression of imperturbable gravity. After I 
had had my laugh out at his absurd solemnity, I approached the little fellow. 
Psst! Instantly there were about six of him. Every feather stood on end,— 
wings extended, eyes blazing, bill snapping. Goodness gracious! Suppose 
