206 LAND BIRDS 
separate, each pair preémpting a quarter section of land 
and setting up a homestead claim. Anywhere in the 
open, sometimes close to a clump of sage, sometimes 
almost in the travelled wagon road, the little nests are 
made in a saucer-like hollow in the ground. The only 
material used is dry buffalo grass or fine vegetation, a 
small quantity of which usually lines the nest for the 
earliest brood. In the second brood, however, whether 
because of the warmer season or the carelessness of cus- 
tom, the eggs are often laid on the bare ground, with 
no attempt at nest-building. 
While the mother prepares the cradle, the father 
indulges in aerial concerts. You may hear the sweet, 
tinkling music while yet he is a mere speck in the blue, 
tumbling and turning with the rapture of his song. He 
calls to his mate; she hears, you may be sure, and in 
a moment she too is frolicking through the sunny air 
as if life held no such word as care. But when the 
snug little nest holds eggs, she foregoes the fun of a chase 
over the fields and sits patiently for nine days, in heat 
so intense that she gasps with open bill. It has seemed 
to me the eggs would be cooked if left too long exposed 
to the hot desert sun, and that her brooding was fully as 
much to shield them from his fiery rays as to preserve 
them from the cool night air with her body. If sur- 
prised on her eggs, the mother runs a few yards and 
begins feeding as unconcernedly as possible ; but if there 
are young in the nest, both parents exhibit great dis- 
tress. Back and forth over the field they fly, crying 
“tseet, tseet!” in pitifully appealing tones, and trying 
