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THE NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC MAGAZINE 



FLASHES OF A FALCON FAMILY 



Mother at the top tucks in her babies, covering 

 them with her warm breast. Just below, father 

 glances around with an air of vigilance before 

 sheltering the young in his turn. Next, he gently 

 feeds the weak, eight-day-old youngsters. At the 

 bottom he loafs. Later the parents are in an end- 

 less rush to obtain food for their offspring. 



This fright soon wore off, however. The 

 youngsters decided that the one being 

 marlied and weighed was also being fed, 

 and all crowded forward to get their share. 



FALCONS UNDISTURBED BY "pLUGSTEEET" 



When finally set in place, Plugstreet 

 faced the nestlings at a distance of six feet; 

 but, although about the size of a cracker 

 box, it did not appear to us greatly out of 

 place against the gray sandstone of the 

 ledge. Whether the old and wary falcons 

 would view it in the same light was another 

 question. 



As we anxiously watched from a distance, 

 we were delighted to see them both sail in 

 and alight almost on top of Plugstreet 

 without giving this new addition to their 

 furniture the slightest attention. 



After a few moments they both sailed 

 out, circled twice, and then the female, re- 

 turning to the ledge, scuttled over to the 

 young. They had long been milling around, 

 hungry and chilly, and were happy enough 

 when she gathered them under her. It was 

 interesting to note that she seemed more 

 anxious to warm them than to feed them. 



On my arrival on May 9 the young were 

 much more warlike and had developed more 

 than during any period so far. The two 

 on the outside of the pile — on the side to- 

 ward me — were suspicious and full of fight, 

 a third was screened by their bodies and 

 hence neutral, while a fourth was completely 

 buried under the pile and did not seem to 

 know that I was around until I finally 

 dragged him out for weighing. The surprise 

 was too much for his disposition, which, by 

 the way, early in life developed a set toward 

 peevishness. He yelled all during weigh- 

 ing, while he was hobbling back to the nest, 

 and then turned and kept on cursing me. 



As a gentle introduction to the sounds 

 which might be heard the next week-end, 

 a fully wound alarm clock was concealed 

 in the rocks just in front of Plugstreet. 

 Steadily ticking, it made a noise not far 

 different from the well-muffled whir of a 

 movie motor; also, the trip lines for the two 

 cameras were strung from the ledge to a 

 brown canvas blind under an oak across the 

 gully. 



"Up and at 'em!" was the slogan on the 

 following Sunday morning. It was May 13, 

 and before 9 we were on the ledge and at- 

 taching the camera lines, to the tune of 

 angry screams and hoarse cackling of the 

 parents. 



