114 A-BIRDING ON A BRONCO. 



birds flying up into it was lost among the 

 branches. 



The ranchman knew the sycamore as the ' swal- 

 low tree/ because in former years, before the val- 

 ley was settled, swallows that have since taken 

 to barns built there. Between three and four 

 hundred of them plastered their nests on the 

 underside of the big limbs, about half way up 

 the tree, where the bark was rough. They built 

 so close together that the nests made a solid mass 

 of mud. For several seasons, it was said, " they 

 had bad luck." They began building before the 

 rainy season was over, and all but a few dozen 

 nests which were in especially protected places 

 were swept away. The number of nests was so 

 enormous that the ground was covered several 

 inches deep with mud. 



Billy used to improve his time by nibbling 

 barley while I watched birds in the sycamore 

 corridor. We had not been there long before I 

 discovered a bee's nest in the hollow of one of the 

 trunks. The owners were busily flying in and 

 out, and a pair of big bee-birds flew down from 

 their nest in the treetop and saved themselves 

 trouble by lunching at this convenient ground 

 floor restaurant. As I sat on Billy, facing the 

 nest, one of the pair swept down over the 

 mouth of the hole, caught a bee and settled back 

 on the branch to swallow it. This seemed to be 

 the regular performance, and was kept up so 



