160 A-BIRDING ON A BRONCO. 



canyon and so on through the centre of this 

 grove, feeding the oaks and spreading out to 

 enrich the valley below. In summer, like the 

 rest of the canyon streams, only its dry sandy 

 bed remained. Then, when the meadows were 

 oppressively hot, my leafy garden was a shady 

 bower to linger in. Its long drooping branches 

 hung to the ground, dainty yellow warblers flit- 

 ted about the golden tassels of the blossoming 

 trees, and the air was full of the happy songs 

 of mated birds. 



The trail from the ranch-house to the oaks 

 was a line through the low grass in which grew 

 yellow fly flowers and orange poppies ; and over 

 them every spring, day after day, processions 

 of migrating butterflies drifted slowly up the 

 canyon. At the entrance of the garden was a 

 sentinel oak whose dark green foliage contrasted 

 well with the yellow flowers in the grass outside. 

 It was the chosen hunting-ground of many birds. 

 Its dead upper branches offered the bee-birds 

 and woodpeckers an unobstructed view of pass- 

 ing insects, and gave the jays and flickers a 

 chance to overlook the brush and take their 

 bearings. The lower limbs offered perches 

 where doves might come to rest, finchea to chat- 

 ter, and chewinks to sing; while its hanging 

 boughs and elm-like feathered sides attracted 

 wandering warblers and songful wrens. 



The happy days spent among these beautiful 



