28 University of California Publications in Zoology [ Vou. 17 
earth, so easy are its movements. When hurrying, the tail is used 
in turning quickly, being thrown from side to side with a jerk, accord- 
ing to the direction to be taken. On gaining the cover of bushes, the 
bird’s safety seems assured, and it usually pauses in the first cover 
and stands with head erect, the tail vibrating nervously while it holds 
itself in readiness to recommence its flight. 
As a rule, this bird is shy and suspicious, but its inquisitiveness 
sometimes so overcomes this character that it appears tame and con- 
fiding. The species is not at all gregarious, no more than single indi- 
viduals or pairs being ordinarily seen at one time. 
Roadrunners kept in captivity by Sutton (1915, p. 58) refused 
to bathe in water, but continually took dust baths. The operation is 
described thus: ‘‘Shaking all over, and creeping along the ground 
by flapping their wings inwardly, they make the dust fly into all 
their feathers.’’ 
The small amount of water needed for sustenance probably 
accounts for the facet that this species thrives on the hottest deserts 
where the nearest water is several miles distant. In captivity the 
roadrunner rarely drinks more than twice a week. When thirsty long 
measured draughts are taken and the breast is dampened by the 
proceeding (Sutton, 1915, p. 60). 
Quick of action, the roadrunner is expert in catching its prey, 
be it insect, lizard or mouse. When pursuing insects the bird will 
often leap into the air eight or ten feet and catch them on the wing. 
The commonest note of the roadrunner is a low ‘‘ br-r-r-r-r,’’ which 
does not carry to any great distance. More often the only sound to 
be heard from the bird is a snapping of the mandibles. During the 
nesting season a sort of song much like the cooing of a dove is regu- 
larly heard. This song is thus described by Holterhoff (1883, pp. 
182-183) : 
Standing near the summit of the hillock amidst his favorite cactus, and 
with outstretched neck and head bent down, he would utter, as if by pro- 
digious effort, the lugubrious notes I had wrongly thought the cooing of the 
dove. At each iteration of the cry he seemed to make a renewed effort as 
if to rid himself of the troublesome ‘‘whooo,’’ and when finished would stand 
motionless, perhaps marveling at the sweetness of his own voice, or more 
likely awaiting a response. 
These peculiar notes of the roadrunner sound, as near as I can word it, 
much like the prolonged syllable whooo—aspirating strongly the wh and giving 
the vowel as a soft guttural. This note—not so prolonged as the ‘‘coo’’ 
of the dove—is repeated some five or six times in distinctly separate utter- 
ances... 
