228 THE STORY OF A BIRD LOVER 



out for half a mile on the trail, the burros and 

 their drivers were in advance, the riding party in 

 the rear. At the end of a long day over steep 

 places, following the dizzy edge of a precipitous 

 gulch, or crawling along a " hog-back," the end of 

 the journey was reached. Under the giant pines, 

 by the side of a tumbling mountain brook, camp 

 was made, the animals turned out to graze, and 

 a savory supper of flapjacks, venison steak, and 

 steaming coffee soon prepared by the skilful hand 

 of our jovial cook " Billelyut," as Castro called his 

 Irish son-in-law. Then followed a dreamless sleep 

 on a bed of fragrant pine branches, under the star- 

 lit sky ; and with the dawn of morning we awoke 

 refreshed, and eager to begin our day's explora- 

 tion. 



I will now endeavor to picture something of 

 the bird life out of doors at the various seasons, 

 altitudes, and conditions that existed on the sides 

 of these mountains. 



Besides the orioles, the warmer months discov- 

 ered just at the "Little Palace" a coterie of 

 feathered denizens to which I can do little more 

 than allude. The mocking-bird was of course 

 conspicuous ; the hepatic tanager bred in the 

 live oak trees and Boucard's sparrow was the 

 commonest finch inhabiting the grassy slopes. 

 Throughout the deep ravines were many rock- 

 wrens, while the little canon wren sang its un- 



