WEEK-ENDS WITH THE PRAIRIE FALCON 



621 



Plugstreet was so located that to sight 

 the camera I had to kneel in front of it, 

 leaning over as if praying to Mecca. While 

 I was in this devotional attitude, with the 

 camera pointed back between my legs, a 

 trial pull on the line started the movie ma- 

 chine. The result was 20 feet of film that 

 shows a puzzled group of young falcons 

 framed between and half hidden by a pair 

 of abnormally large boot heels. 



Shortly before 1 1 , however, the lines were 

 successfully adjusted and I crawled into the 

 blind across the gulch. 



A LONG WAIT IS REWARDED 



For an hour and a half there were no 

 developments. It was hot and flies buzzed 

 sleepily. Ten minutes more and I would 

 have been sound asleep; but precisely at 

 12:25 the male sailed in past the front of 

 the cliff and screamed musically, but did 

 not land. His approach brought a loud 

 chorus of appeals from the cliff, but they 

 gradually died away as he departed. In 

 five minutes he was back, and lit near the 

 nest to look things over. The young were 

 placing breakfast orders at a great rate, 

 and just as I was about to spring one of the 

 cameras he went off again. 



At 12:55 he reappeared and, with a few 

 screams to announce the meal, lit on the 

 ledge. He had a meadowlark and, scuttling 

 up to a point between Plugstreet and the 

 young, was promptly surrounded by the 

 whole yelling mob. 



When they continued their eager crowd- 

 ing, he picked up the game in his beak, 

 dodged back, holding it as high as he could 

 reach, and ran in a half circle around the 

 group to the nest. During this circuit he 

 looked like a pouter pigeon in action. They 

 swarmed about him again, and he had to 

 step lively to avoid being tramped on by his 

 vigorous family. 



BLACKIE's character WARRANTS HIS 

 NAME 



My tugging at the camera lines finally 

 parted them, and a loose end, whipped in 

 front of the ledge, sent the watchful bird 

 into the air in an instant. Inspection 

 showed that the regular camera had not 

 gone off, due to the line fouling on a point 

 of rock, but that the movie had nearly run 

 down. 



The young, which by this time were 

 familiarly known by the colors of their re- 

 spective bands, hissed as usual and for the 



first time clawed at me ineffectively when I 

 caught them for weighing. Blue was the 

 tamest. Red nearly departed around the 

 corner to the farther extension of the ledge, 

 and Blackie, who on my preceding visit had 

 been found on the bottom of the pile and 

 had shown an evil temper, now yelled vocif- 

 erously, again displaying the mean char- 

 acter that was his outstanding trait in all 

 the time I knew him. 



By May 16 life on the ledge had changed 

 radically. Instead of huddling together, the 

 young were wandering about. Out on the 

 extreme end of the shelf, seven or eight 

 feet from the nest, was Blackie, who had 

 adjourned from the main party with a 

 meadowlark's wing, which he was indus- 

 triously picking. The remains of one or 

 more ground squirrels were scattered about 

 and all the young were "full to the eyes." 



Blackie, gathered in with a butterfly net, 

 was deposited in a black bag that I hoped 

 would quiet the birds during weighing. 

 When placed on the scale platform, how- 

 ever, he did a war dance and considerable 

 time passed before quiet was restored. 



ALWAYS HOPING FOR A MEAL 



To say they hated that butterfly net was 

 putting it mildly; but, after each one was 

 weighed in turn, they stood around at my 

 elbow and "watched the other boys get 

 theirs." Hope still sprung eternal in their 

 downy breasts that some time I would pro- 

 duce a ground squirrel or meadowlark, and 

 then a general feed would be in order. 



The young found their voices for the first 

 time for other uses than calling for food, 

 and tried to answer back the old ones, as 

 they cursed us from the cliff and tree. 



As I was weighing the youngsters a gopher 

 snake came gliding along the rock just be- 

 low the edge of the shelf, and I rolled him 

 over down into the brush at the bottom, 

 where he would do no harm. 



Within half an hour after I had rigged 

 the cameras and lines and taken my station 

 in the blind, on the foggy morning of May 

 20, one of the old birds came in with food. 

 A strong pull on the lines exposed the still 

 camera and ran the movie for the full time, 

 but a final tug again broke one of the strings 

 and routed the proprietor of the free-lunch 

 counter. 



After this feeding the young all wandered 

 down to the end of the shelf (see page 615) 

 for a snooze. Captured in the butterfly net 

 for weighing, they seemed to hate it more 



