A Sierra Nighthawk Family 45 



They wobbled like Owls on their weak little feet, raising their wings 

 to steady themselves. When I went to catch one of them he tripped over 

 a pine-cone, and rolled over and over like a ball of feathers till I was afraid 

 he would fall ofi the cliff. The other youngster, when nearly caught, 

 opened wide his big mouth and hissed, throwing up his long wings 

 threateningly in a way that might well have frightened a saucy chipmunk. 



The distracted mother, after trailing, had thrown herself prone upon 

 the ground, with wings outstretched by her side; but when I put my hand 

 over the little one and it gave a frightened cry she raised her head high, 

 and, as I came closer, trailed again in distress. 



The youngster's agitation was of much shorter duration. In fact, he 

 apparently went to sleep in my hand, and when put down ran only a few 

 feet, then stopped, shut his eyes and promptly dropped asleep, looking 

 like a round stone on the sand. 



The third day after I found them, the little tots were trotting over the 

 rough ground fairly well, by holding their white-spotted wings outspread 

 for balance. 



The old birds never fed them while I was watching in the daytime, so, 

 remembering their crepuscular habits, we went to visit them just after 

 sunset. Both old birds were away when we got there, and the young 

 were not by the pine-cones this time, either; but as we turned to look for 

 them something stirred almost under our feet, and there they were, sitting 

 side by side on the ground. We hurried by to a boulder from behind 

 which we hoped to watch them unobserved, and had not waited long 

 when the mother flew in over the rocks. To our chagrin, she discovered 

 us instantly, passed right by over the youngsters' heads, and, after flying 

 around, lit on a rock and sat silently facing us, looking like a most unbird- 

 like black stone in the dim light. 



After a little she flew down to the ground nearer the young, calling 

 them with a low, soft chuck, chuck. They raised their heads and answered 

 with their odd little hissing note and started toward her, half running and 

 half flying. On reaching her they stretched out their necks, and she 

 opened her capacious bill and fed them with what seemed unnecessary 

 violence, for, as my husband explained in an undertone, the crop is close 

 under the bill — he had once found one filled with live, squirming insects. 



When the mother had flown, the male came, discovered us, gave a 

 sharp peent, peent , and circled around, hovering close to inspect us. The 

 young were fed once more while we stayed; but this time it was so dark 

 we could barely see them through the glass, so we rose from our hiding- 

 place and carefully made our way down over the boulders to camp. 



