The White-throated Swift 
one-third of the time (it probably does nearer half), it would do off 
some 2000 miles per diem. Eight years of life would give the bird 
some 5,000,000 miles of travel—ten round trips to the moon; two hundred 
times around the world—a trip every ten days if need be. Given the 
right psychological impulse, Swifts could undoubtedly accomplish such 
a journey, and they are probably the only birds that could. A night 
and an early breakfast at Hawaii, and another at Wake Island would 
bridge the Pacific; and as for enemies, no one who has ever seen a White- 
throated Swift box a Prairie Falcon about, will have any fears on that 
score. 
Our hero is no such bold rover, however. Although northern 
breeding birds have to fall back a thousand miles or so in winter, there 
is every reason to suppose that our southern birds are resident, or nearly 
so. They roost, therefore, the year around in the same crevices which 
harbor their nests, and one who knows their habits can summon them out 
of the rocks, if not out of the sky, to figure in a day’s “horizon.” The 
birds, nevertheless, exhibit great confidence in their rocky fastnesses, 
and it is by no means certain that they will all come forth when called 
for, especially if you are inconsiderate enough to knock at the sacred 
hour of siesta. 
Behavior differs, of course, with the time of the year. Wintering 
birds from the north appear to rove about the country in considerable 
companies. For the most part their hunting is carried on in the upper 
air, where their lighter colors soon render them indistinguishable. Lakes 
or ponds of water will, however, lure them earthward at frequent in¬ 
tervals, since it is to such localities that they must look for an unfailing 
supply of insects when the upper currents are chill and barren. Laguna 
Blanca, near Santa Barbara, offers almost irresistible attractions on such 
occasions. When the birds come they come so suddenly, and they 
hawk for their prey with such fierce-winged zeal, with such intricacy 
of evolution, and are so soon gone again, that it would seem as if Mistress 
Blanca were some magician, who, having summoned from the sky a 
hundred scimitars, proceeds to juggle furiously with them. Then, tiring 
of the sport, she tosses the flashing blades back into heaven, and awaits 
our applause. 
At other seasons the White-throated Swift appears to be much 
less sociable. Intent, it may be, on family affairs, it disregards the 
presence of its fellows, and meets only at the appointed rendezvous of the 
cliff side. At any real remove, therefore, one may expect to see a solitary 
bird plying his trade with characteristic energy. He is not devoid of 
curiosity, either, and several times I have cringed before the unexpected 
