188 Bird - Lore 
Pileolated Warbler peered daintily at me, showing his shiny black cap to let all 
know that he is only a bright relative of Wilson’s Warbler. 
A ragged, tired-looking Bendire’s Thrasher hopped and ran from a shade 
near the small pool. This bird, with many others, rears its young in the midst of 
the dry fore-summer. One wonders why it does not wait until the rains come, 
in July, when food is much more abundant, as the spick and span russet-brown 
Crissal Thrasher does. : 
About the pools were scores—almost hundreds—of White-winged Doves, 
which had gathered, perhaps for miles around, to spend the heat of the day near 
water. Many of the worthy citizens of the Southwest think it great sport to 
slaughter them, at all seasons, and, unless one or the other change their habits, 
there will be far fewer ‘Cactus Pigeons’ before long. 
On the crest of a low rise ahead, a long-tailed, long-billed, streaked bird of 
considerable size stood preening its feathers. The Road-runner is an oddity 
at any time, but especially so when standing on one leg, with his crested head 
twisted and his red eyes gleaming. 
One never does become entirely accustomed to an Owl. A Spotted Screech 
Owl, which flew from the dense shade of a sycamore into a live oak, caused me 
to seat myself to watch him. A peculiar whir was heard, and, turning my head, 
I beheld a beautiful Broad-billed Hummer, not five feet away, probing into the 
scarlet trumpets of a pentstemon. Of course, while the Hummer had my attention, 
the Owl disappeared. } 
Lying on a small patch of sand near a tiny pool, I dozed, and enjoyed the songs 
of my new friends—the flood of ascending notes of the Caton Wren, the plain- 
tive whistle of the White-crowned Sparrow, the happy outburst of the Lazuli 
Bunting, with many others. As is so often the case, when one lies still, the birds, 
and other animals, come close around. A Blue-throated Hummer, after drinking 
daintily, rested on a very nearby twig, panting, but with only the tips of the bill 
apart. An inquisitive Phainopepla lit on a swaying vine only a couple of yards 
distant, and, as he swayed, raised his crest, flirted his wings (showing the 
white patch) and puttered softly while his lead-black eyes shone on me. 
It is useless, however, to try to do the day justice; and as I close this sketch 
I find that I have mentioned only a few more than half the birds seen. 
