A BUNCH OF BRIGHT BIRDS 267 



as so many of its Northern relatives have the 

 unhandsome trick of being. If I saw it, ever so 

 hm-riedly, I should recognize it. 



Well, I did see it, and almost of course at a 

 moment when I was least looking for it. This 

 was on the 5th of February, my fifth day in 

 Tucson. I had crossed the Santa Cruz Valley, 

 west of the city, by one road, and after a stroll 

 among the foothills opposite, was returning by 

 another, when a bit of flashing red started up 

 from the wire fence directly before me. I knew 

 what it was, almost before I saw it, as it seemed, 

 so eager was I, and so well prepared ; and as the 

 solitary's, companionable habit is, I spoke aloud. 

 " There 's the vermilion flycatcher ! " I heard 

 myself saying. 



The f eUow was every whit as splendid as my 

 fancy had painted him, and to my joy he seemed 

 to be not in the least put out by my approach nor 

 chary of displaying himself. He was too innocent 

 and too busy ; darting into the air to snatch a 

 passing insect, and anon returning to his perch, 

 which was now a fence-post, now the wire, and 

 now, best of all, the topmost, tUting spray of a 

 dwarf mesquite. Thus engaged, every motion a 

 delight to the eye, he flitted along the road in 

 advance of me, till finally, having reached the 

 limit of his hunting-ground, — the roadside 



