AN UNSUCCESSFUL HUNT 



I REACHED Paso Robles toward evening, 

 after a nine-hour ride along the coast from 

 Los Angeles. One of the first things to be done, 

 after getting a bit settled, was to inquire of the 

 hotel clerk whether there was any one in the 

 town who might be supposed to know something 

 about the birds of the neighborhood ; not game 

 birds necessarily, I explained, but birds in gen- 

 eral. He looked thoughtful for a moment ; then 

 he rang for Victor, one of the bell-boys. 



Yes, the boy said, there was a man named 

 Smith, who kept a bicycle-shop and a garage. 

 He took hunters out, and might be able to give 

 me some information. 



To Mr. Smith I went, therefore, the next morn- 

 ing. Did he know where I might possibly find 

 any band-tailed pigeons or yellow-billed mag- 

 pies ? His answer was less discouraging than I 

 had feared it would be. The pigeons, he thought, 

 might be found up by the Sand Spring. And the 

 Sand Spring } Why, that was about five miles 

 out, on the road to a certain mine. I might go 

 out on the stage, and walk back. As for magpies, 

 he had n't seen one for several years. 

 Ill 



