I 1RD LIFE. 121 



ticularly prominent bush, the Patagonian mockingbird, Mimus patagonicus, 

 would at intervals take his stand and burst forth in joyous song with such 

 sweet melody and in such volume as would quite fill the entire valley, and 

 reverberate throughout the narrow defiles of the cafton walls. The reper- 

 toire of this little songster appeared unlimited. For hours at a time I 

 have sat listening to one of these birds as, perched on a convenient bush, 

 he poured forth at frequent intervals, but apparently quite at random, 

 numerous strains from his seemingly inexhaustible supply, never repeat- 

 ing but always regaling his audience with something new. Flocks of 

 the red-breasted meadow lark, Trupialis tni/itaris, were common, while 

 the black-throated, yellow-breasted sparrow, Phrygilus tttc/anodcrus, was 

 everywhere. In the early morning from secluded places came the plain- 

 tive voice of the dove, Zenaida auriculata, so like the notes of that 

 related species with which I had been familiar in my youth, that for an 

 instant, forgetful of my surroundings, I fondly imagined myself transferred 

 from our camp at the bottom of this deep cafton, more than a hundred 

 miles from any habitation, to a comfortable bed under the paternal roof of 

 my childhood and listening to the mournful sounds given forth by one of 

 these birds perched safely on the limb of a tree above my window. The 

 fond delusion, however, was but brief, for on thrusting my head from be- 

 neath the tarpaulin, I would discover not only that I was still in Patagonia, 

 where in fact I was only too glad to be, but that daylight was at hand 

 and with it had arrived the hour when we should be up and on our way. 

 In the early evening a small burrowing owl, Speotyto cunicu/aria, might 

 be seen flying about from one deserted burrow to another, while as dark- 

 ness settled down, the yellow, or short-eared owl, Jtsio accipitrinus, and a 

 gray species of similar size appeared in considerable numbers, as they 

 glided in low, noiseless flight back and forth over the meadow lands of 

 the valley in quest of such nocturnal rodents as might come within their 

 grasp. And indeed there seemed no limit to this source of their food 

 supply, for not only was the surface of the ground literally covered in 

 many places with the well-used trails of these small mammals, which 

 crossed each other in every conceivable direction, but in many places the 

 earth beneath the surface was honeycombed to the depth of a foot or 

 more with their subterranean burrows, in such manner that our horses sank 

 at each step half way to their knees and the wheels of our cart plowed 

 great ruts in the surface of the ground. Wherever there was a tract of 



