CALIFORNIA FISH AND GAME 367 



We were up and about at dawn and hurriedly gulped down a 

 hastily prepared breakfast, anxious to see all that was being done. 

 Senor Jose Felix, the chief trapper, informed us, however, that we 

 hurried needlessly, for the trappers wanted at least an hour's start ere 

 we appeared upon the scene. They left camp as he spoke, in two 

 battered, topless touring cars loaded down with rolls of wire and other 

 quail trapper's accoutrements, and soon vanished to the eastward in a 

 cloud of dust. Wliile waiting for our hour of departure we had time 

 to look about us and noted that we were in a wide valley that narrowed 

 rapidly to the eastward as the low, rolling foothills of the San Pedro 

 Martir encroached upon it. We were in a barren land, treeless and 

 drab, but none the less magnificent because of those very qualities. 

 Low shrubs of various species, few over 12 inches in height, comprised 

 most of the vegetation. Here and there were interspersed clumps of 

 cholla and, less frequently, the pithaya or organ pipe cactus. We were 

 camped in a group of larger shrubs, similar in appearance to the creo- 

 sote bush, and these, together with the ever-present mescal, or maguay, 

 completed the picture that was spread before us. 



As we sat there drinking in the scenery the time passed quickly 

 and soon we were trudging eastward in the wake of Senor Felix, a 

 tall, powerful man with an ornate buckskin overcoat and, best of all, a 

 fair speaking acquaintance with the English language. As we jour- 

 neyed up the valley we met with several coveys of quail, for it was 

 still early and the birds were busy feeding. The several hundred birds 

 that comprised each covey evidenced little alarm at our approach, 

 merely moving out of our path and continuing their search for food. 

 We also observed at various points large Vs of piled brush and were 

 told that these were the remains of quail traps that had been in use 

 prior to our visit. This prompted Senor Jose to embark on a detailed 

 account of quail trapping methods, but in the midst of his discourse he 

 stopped short and raised his hand for silence. We ceased our chatter- 

 ing and in the dead silence that followed we heard a faint but incessant 

 clicking noise coming from a point not far distant. 



Quickening our pace we soon arrived at the source of the strange 

 sound and saw before us five of the trappers advancing slowly across 

 the floor of the valley in a semicircular skirmish line. Each of the 

 boys held a stick or stone in either hand and by striking them rapidly 

 together produced the clicking noise that had piqued our curiosity. As 

 we drew still nearer we could see that the line of trappers partially 

 surrounded a large covey of quail that was being slowly driven toward 

 the mouth of a brush V, similar to those we had observed on our walk 

 from the encampment. As the covey approached the trap, the pace 

 of the drivers became perceptibly slower though still accompanied by 

 that incessant clicking. The birds gradually entered the V, milled 

 about for a few moments and then flushed, flying over and beyond the 

 trap. This galvanized the trappers into instant action and we, like- 

 wise, rushed forward, unwilling to miss a single step in the procedure 

 we had come to witness. We found the apex of the V was open and 

 led into a long tunnel of wire mesh, in which a number of birds were 

 fluttering madly. This tunnel, the functional part of the trap, had 

 been constructed by unrolling the wire and securing the edges to the 

 ground with wooden pegs. Enough slack remained to allow the wire 



