Through the Lost River Valley 35 



richer color than his Eastern brother. When the sun strikes 

 his back, it is positively red ; then, too, there seems to be a 

 deeper shade to the brown spots and stripes upon the breast 

 of our Western bird. The sparrow had been gleaning the 

 roadside in company with a lot of juncoes, otherwise and 

 more lengthily known as slate-colored snowbirds. The 

 juncoes flitted leisurely along in front of the wagon, flirting 

 their tails and showing the snow-white feathers which are 

 their distinguishing mark. I believe that the juncoes are 

 inordinately proud of these white markings. Certain it is 

 that never one of them takes wing without making a great 

 showing of the snowy feathers. There must have been five 

 hundred of the juncoes all told, with here and there in the 

 flock some cinnamon-crowned Canadian tree sparrows. 



The thoughts of the whole flock were bent on food. 

 Suddenly there came from far over the field a piercing 

 "Killy, killy, killy." The snowbirds and the sparrows were 

 stricken with an awful fear. There was a moment of fright- 

 ened crouching, and then the flock rose as one bird and 

 dashed into the heavy undergrowth beyond the roadside 

 fence. A shadow passed over the ground, and from above 

 again came the repeated and suggestive scream, "Killy, killy, 

 killy." A sparrow hawk was abroad in search of his break- 

 fast. It is the smallest as it is the most beautiful of all the 

 hawks. It may be that our presence at the foot of the big 

 cottonwood-tree, on which the hawk took its perch, saved 

 the life of one of the trembling juncoes. At any rate, the 

 bird made no attempt to strike feathered quarry, but with a 

 farewell scream, flew off to a point above the center of a bare 

 field. There it hovered gracefully for a moment after the 

 manner of the northern shrike. Then it dropped down like 



