THE LE CONTE THRASHER 197 



eral pairs, but if one song rewards you it may be 

 counted as a red-letter day. At least this has 

 been my experience of nine years in particular. 

 For some time I doubted the statement made 

 by some writers that the Le Conte thrasher was 

 a fine singer, but I was finally shown by the bird 

 himself. While standing one evening on a high- 

 drifted hill of white sand about two miles west 

 of the rim of the ancient Salton Sea, I heard the 

 sweet strains of a new bird song and began to 

 look for the singer. I expected to find a mock- 

 ing-bird whose individuality had been devel- 

 oped by the desert solitudes and who had 

 learned a new song. On an adjoining sand- 

 hill, perched on the exposed tip of a sand- 

 buried mesquite, I saw the singer — a Le Conte 

 thrasher. Perhaps environment enhanced the 

 music, for the spot was a most lonesome, for- 

 saken one, near an ancient Indian encampment 

 and burial-ground, but I have heard no sweeter 

 bird song and the memory still lingers. Since 

 then I have heard the song a few times, but not 

 of tener than once or twice a year, though I have 

 frequently been among the birds. Not only do 

 they seldom sing, but the whistling call note is 



