Nov., 1907 



THE PRAIRIE FALCONS OF SADDLE-BACK BUTTE 



183 



both birds winged away. In moments incredibly brief they had disappeared, nor 

 did they return. It mattered not. My work was done. What good is a rope, in- 

 tended for twelve-foot work, when the twelve feet are lengthened into fifty? 



But in May, 1906, I was fore-armed. There was 500 feet of inch-and- 

 a-quarter rope, several hundred feet of smaller, and a "tackle" warranted to hold 

 up a dead weight of 500 pounds, and to stop, without slightest danger, at any de- 

 sired point. What an ideal arrangement for photography /// situ! A helper? — 

 yes, of course. Masonic request, sent out at random, brought cordial reply. 

 "Harry H. is just the man you want." 



Long before I reached the base of saddle-back the male Falcon had sensed me. 

 Instantly he swept down the heights in a long, incredibly swift sweep, rising at 

 end of his tilt, in one slow curve. The tremulous warning cry, now so well-known, 

 rang out again and again. This entire feint was twice or thrice repeated; and then 

 the slender creature went his swift way to an apparently favored perching crag, on 

 the north side of the butte. 

 Then did the unexpected 

 happen. Out into the sun- 

 light, with strong, excited 

 cries, came the sitting female 

 falcon, from a huge pot-hole 

 not ten feet below the very 

 highest crest of Saddle-back. 

 Down she swept, far past the 

 butte-bottom, and almost to 

 the level of the deep gorge 

 below. Rising again she 

 seated herself beside her mate. 

 Thru the field glass I watched 

 them. Erect sat he, without 

 apparent care. Not so, she: 

 with body low-crouched and 

 head hither-turned , she seemed 

 the incarnation of maternal 

 anxiety and vigilance. 5 



Shortly she came hurtling' 

 back to the ledges near the 

 nest. The shadow of a hawk- 

 ing Say Phoebe flitted across her body, and she quickly ducked her head. A 

 Sparrow Hawk, whose eggs lay safe hidden in a west-end cranny, made a swift 

 pass at her, but she heeded not the playful challenge. To the photographer the 

 hours of early light are precious. Soon were camera and man both perched upon 

 the steep crags; the camera swathed to a projecting node; the man hanging on by 

 sheer tenacity. No fairer scene ever soothed a fevered sense. Away to the east 

 lay a most beautiful valley. Trees grew there, in cultivated masses. Broad 

 swards, rich of green, stood out in strong contrast with the already blanching 

 growths of the open ranges. Scattered everywhere, were red-roofed barracks and 

 the cottages of the garrison. It was the Fort. 



The tackle was a dismal failure. It just tangled up, balked. Then we gave 

 up the situ-photography, and went after eggs. An hour of work gave us the ropes 

 untangled, ready for use. Then, while I was preparing a steadying rope for Harry 

 to use in crossing the saddle-hollow, a slight sound made me look upward; and, 



EGGS OF THE PRAIRIE FAI.CON IN SIMULATED SITE 



