226 THE CONDOR Voi,. X 



of the tree, the food supply being greatest there, and the birds consequently more 

 abundant. 



Some low spurs of the mountains project into the valley, and deep ar- 

 royos often cut its surface. Where fire and the machete have not reached, a dense, 

 thorny chaparral, woven with strong string-like vines, still remains. It is a safe 

 refuge for the birds, and birds shot in its midst are usually beyond recovery. Its 

 edges however make an excellent collecting ground. Several birds not seen else- 

 where occur here. 



One is the Rose-breasted Thrush {Rhodinocichla) . It is a bird of remarkable 

 beauty, its throat and breast being a deep pink. But what makes the bird interest- 

 ing to me are the circumstances relating to its capture. While softly walking by 

 the edge of the thickets above described, a strange rustling was frequently heard in 

 the dead leaves under the bushes. Steal up as quietly as I might I could never 

 get a glimpse of what might be causing it. My first thought was a snake, then a 

 mouse, and for a time I believed it might be a huge beetle whose laborious walking 

 might have produced the faint rustling sound. Often the sound began but a few 

 feet from me and apparently in a spot which I could see perfectly. The experience 

 was becoming actually uncanny, when at last one of many patient vigils had its 

 reward. The strange sound this time came from a comparativel}^ open area, and 

 by putting my eye near the ground, I could get an uninterrupted view for some 

 distance into the brush. At last the sound and its mysterious cause were asso- 

 ciated. For an instant I saw a dark bird about the size of a towhee bunting, and 

 quickly fired. The slatey black plumage of the bird was all I saw as I painfully 

 made my way thru the thorns and vines, but when I took the bird in my hand I 

 saw the exquisite pink of the breast and throat. L,ater I discovered why the bird's 

 actions in the brush were so mysterious. It has the scratching habit of the towhee, 

 but frequently stops only long enough to scatter a few leaves, and then a few noise- 

 less hops take the bird to a different quarter where the scratching may be heard 

 again. Thus the bird dodges hither and thither within a small area and while its 

 presence is constantly betrayed to the ear, the eye cannot penetrate the dense 

 thicket and discover the bird. Several other thrush-like birds have this habit, and 

 all told, I was put to much vexation and loss of time in getting a few of these tor- 

 menting creatures. 



One day while walking among the forlorn, brush}^ hills I was surprised to 

 flush a covey of quail (^//^5jr//o;'A'.v). As they darted away they looked much 

 like our own Bob white. To my despair the flock sought safety in a patch of the 

 densest shrubbery, and I had to give up the pursuit with keen regret, as these 

 quail seemed strangely out of place, so like our own bird, and j^et so far from 

 home. Fortunately my curiosity was satisfied; for a few days later I again flushed 

 a flock, and this time took my chance at a wing shot, in the endeavor to keep my 

 quarry from gaining the thicket. My surprise and delight were equal to each 

 other, when the bird I singled out fell to the ground. At the time the bird seemed 

 strikingly suggestive of both the California Valley Quail and the Bobwhite. On 

 its head is a long tuft of tawny feathers, and on its breast a patch of chestnut, 

 while its general body markings are quite similar to those of the Bobwhite. All 

 their habits that I observed were typically quail-like. 



A very dainty, curious bird is the tiny green paroquet {Psittaciila sp.). It 

 flies about the cultivated fields and among low trees, uttering a high-pitched note 

 which is the subdued screech of its larger relatives. It climbs nimbly up and 

 down weed stalks while feeding upon their seeds. These birds are tenacious of 

 life, like all parrots, and unless killed outright, they will wriggle in among the 



