A Day With the Birds in Southern Arizona 187 
Hawk. Flying about such a cactus, was a pair of Western Martins, which had 
taken possession of a deserted Woodpecker’s hole. There were several holes 
in this branched trunk, which towered some forty feet high, and it is within the 
range of possibility that the Gila Woodpecker, the Gilded and Red-shafted 
Flickers seen near, and Pygmy and Elf Owls, in addition to the Martins, had 
a peculiar interest in it. From the rigid, leafless, though strangely attractive 
paloverdes along the roadside, the Black-capped Plumbeous Gnatcatcher hurried 
her brood; from the mesquite, the grayish but strictly upright, an Ash-throated 
Flycatcher flew leisurely, uttering his Crested Flycatcher-like note of defiance; 
out of the inhospitable looking chollas cactus, the somber Cafion Towhee made 
silently away; and, hopping about in a vicious ‘cat’s-claws’ shrub, a brood of 
Desert Sparrows watched me pass. They look so dusty that one thinks they 
never bathe; but they know what water is, for I watched one take twenty-three 
mouthfuls from a drinking-pan near my house, one hot day. 
The telephone posts were frequently guarded by a White-rumped Shrike, 
and the single wire held more than one Rough-winged Swallow. 
Birds were not the only life along the road. Lizards dashed away a few yards 
and stopped to see what they had run from—little amber fellows with barred tails 
curled up over their backs (zebra-tails), big scaly gray ones (Clark’s and collared 
swifts), and striped and spotted road-racers, with several others. The flowers, 
too, would be noticed by any true bird-lover; the red to yellowish green ones, 
protected by the inch-long spines of the five species of chollas or tree opuntias; 
the waxy white wreaths of the fluted giant cactus or siguaro; but especially 
a startling group of agaves, which thrusting their pure white inflorescence through 
the green mesquite of an arroyo, caught the eye from afar. 
Leaving my bicycle at the end of the old side-road, and, taking my binoculars, 
I entered the cafion. Within its rocky walls there is a little kingdom, held to- 
gether by the presence of water. About the springs grow huge cottonwoods, and 
higher up, evergreen oaks, both of which swarm with life. I threw myself grate- 
fully in the first shade. While resting, a song suggesting somewhat that of Audu- 
bon’s Hermit Thrush, but more that of the Western Meadowlark’s “ I-want-to- 
speak-to-you”’ call, broke out clearly and sweetly. The lemon-and-black author 
(Scott’s Oriole) was clinging to the wand-like stems of the candlewood or ocotillo. 
Nearer at hand, came in an undertone a rippling flow of music, which strikingly 
resembled a Bobolink’s when heard from a distance. It was the first, though 
not the last time that I have heard the Arizona Hooded Oriole sing this sweet 
undertone song. Its ordinary one is quite loud, and reminds one at once of 
the notes of the Yellow-headed Blackbird. The finding of links connecting the 
songs of the Meadowlark, Baltimore Oriole, Yellow-headed Blackbird and the 
Bobolink, in the songs of other members of the family, is of great interest. 
A short distance farther, a brood of Verdins caught my eye. The yellowish 
crowns and rumps were more than ordinarily noticeable against the dark back- 
ground of grape leaves. From the lower part of the same clump, a Golden 
