138 A-BIRDING ON A BRONCO. 



number of owls sitting in a crevice where the 

 earth had caved ; and he had seen about a dozen 

 of them fifty to a hundred feet underground, at 

 the bottom of the mine shaft. 



I did not wonder the birds wanted to keep out 

 of sight in the daytime, knowing what happened 

 to those that stayed out. A pair nested in the top 

 of a high sycamore on my neighbors' premises, and 

 when one stirred away from home, it did so to 

 its sorrow. One morning there was such a com- 

 motion I rode down to see what was the matter. 

 A big dark brown form flew down the avenue of 

 sycamores ahead of us, followed by a mob of all 

 the feathered house owners in the neighborhood. 

 They escorted it home to the top of its own tree, 

 where it seated itself on a limb, its big yellow eyes 

 staring and its long ears dropped down, as if home 

 were not home with a rout of angry bee-birds and 

 blackbirds screeching and diving at you over your 

 own door sill. Two orioles started to fly over from 

 the next tree, but went back, perhaps thinking it 

 wiser not to make open war upon such near neigh- 

 bors ; while a sparrow hawk who came to help 

 in the attack was judged too dangerous an ally 

 and escorted home by a squad of blackbirds 

 dispatched for the purpose. The poor persecuted 

 owl screwed its head around to its back as if 

 hoping to see pleasanter sights on that side ; but 

 the uncanny performance did not seem to please 

 its enemies, and a blackbird flew rudely past, close 



