116 



THE NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC MAGAZINE 



CYCLONE, TRAINED PRAIRIE FALCON, CLUTCHES THE LURE 



To call him back from a flight, the trainer swings in the air a padded horseshoe 

 with meat attached. Cyclone's ferocity in striking this lure suggested his name. 

 Sometimes he knocks it several feet along the ground. The trainer then picks up 

 the bird, whose talons grasp the torn padding of the horseshoe. 



lively sluggish in flight, and they rarely 

 hunt anything but rats, frogs, and snakes. 

 Even these hawks can be trained, however, 

 and we have found that owls, as well as 

 hawks, can be taught to do man's bidding 

 (pages 1 13 and 124). 



A FEATHERED THUNDERBOLT STRIKES 



Of all the hawks we have trained, the 

 duck hawk remains our favorite. One of 

 the best stoops or dives we have ever seen 

 a trained bird make was shown us by 

 Ulysses, one of our duck hawks, when chas- 

 ing a crow (pages 114 and 117). 



In flying our falcons we usually put two or 



more birds in the 

 air at once. They 

 circle above our 

 heads anywhere 

 from a hundred 

 to several thou- 

 sand feet and 

 then drop on 

 their quarry as it 

 passes beneath 

 them. 



Ulysses had 

 been soaring for 

 almost a n hour 

 and was barely 

 perceptible to the 

 human eye. But 

 he could easily 

 distinguish the 

 crow that came 

 flying past, three 

 or four hundred 

 feet above us. 



For a few sec- 

 onds we thought 

 the crow was go- 

 ing to pass un- 

 molested, but 

 when Old Corvie 

 was in the exact 

 center of the 

 field, and farthest 

 from cover, Ulys- 

 ses banked and 

 started down, 

 dropping earth- 

 ward in a per- 

 pendicular dive. 

 As he gathered 

 momentum he 

 pumped his 

 wings in a few 

 short, powerful 

 strokes that seemed to double his already 

 terrific speed. 



He dropped so fast that from directly 

 beneath hiin it looked as if a speck had 

 suddenly expanded into a large, hurtling 

 wedge of streamlined feathers. His feet 

 were back against his tail, which was closed: 

 his wings were half closed to his sides; his 

 beak cut the air, and his eyes seemed to 

 blaze straight ahead at the seemingly mo- 

 tionless crow. 



The whistling and whining sound of the 

 diving hawk's wing feathers warned the 

 crow, and he turned over to head for the 

 safety of the ground. But so great was the 



