BALD PEAKS AND GREEN VALES 



55 



"Oh, de-e-e-ar, de-e-ar, Whittier, Whittier," some- 

 times adding, in low, caressing tones, "Dear Whit- 

 tier" one of the most melodious tributes to the 

 Quaker poet I have ever heard. Here I also saw 

 my first mountain bluebird, whose back and breast 

 are wholly blue, there being no rufous at all in his 

 plumage. He was feeding a youngster some- 

 where among the snags. A red-shafted flicker 

 flew across the vale and called, " Zwick- 

 ah ! zwick-ah ! " and then pealed out his 

 loud call just like the eastern yellow- 

 shafted high-holder. Why the Rocky 

 Mountain region changes the lining 

 of the flicker's wings from gold to 

 crimson who can tell ? A robin 

 the western variety sang his " Cheer- 

 ily," a short distance up the hollow, 

 right at the boundary of the timber-line. 



About half-past five I found myself a few 

 hundred feet below timber-line in the lone 

 valley, which was already beginning to look shadowy 

 and a little uncanny, the tall ridges that leaped up at the 

 right obscuring the light of the declining sun. My pur- 

 pose had been to find accommodations at a mountaineer's 

 cabin far down the valley, in the neighborhood of the 

 Seven Lakes ; but I had tarried too long on the moun- 

 tain, absorbed in watching the birds, and the danger 



"Dear Whittier 



White-Crowned 



Sparrow 



