THE STREETS OF THE MOUNTAINS 



looked north and south on the mesa for 

 their migratory passing, and wondered that 

 they never came. Busy little grosbeaks 

 picked about the kitchen doors, and wood- 

 peckers tapped the eves of the farm build- 

 ings, but we saw hardly any other of the 

 frequenters of the summer canons. After 

 a while when we grew bold to tempt the 

 snow borders we found them in the street 

 of the mountains. In the thick pine woods 

 where the overlapping boughs hung with 

 snow - wreaths make wind - proof shelter 

 tents, in a very community of dwelling, 

 winter the bird-folk who get their living 

 from the persisting cones and the larvae 

 harboring bark. Ground inhabiting spe- 

 cies seek the dim snow chambers of the 

 chaparral. Consider how it must be in a 

 hill-slope overgrown with stout - twigged, 

 partly evergreen shrubs, more than man 

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