The White-throated Swift 
canyon itself tempts the climber to pause at every solid foothold. The 
Swifts resent our intrusion in fashions we dare not consider, midway. 
So also do the Cliff Swallows, humble tenantry of all upended acres; 
and so, to our pleased surprise, do a half dozen of those gentle squires, 
the Violet-green Swallows. 
Arriving at the crest, after a tortuous detour to get directly above 
our quarry, William shucked off his shoes and stockings, took a life-line 
about his waist, and a hand-line snubbed about an oak, and went over. 
He soon reported a Swift in the crevice and succeeded in dislodging 
her by dropping pebbles down. She took her revenge by cutting didoes 
about the cliff, and especially some fierce upper cuts which made a hard¬ 
ened offender like myself wince. The lad returned bravely to the charge, 
but found the crevice too deep, too narrow, too tortuous, and quite 
impossible of approach. Dynamite might have done it, but we were 
after eggs, not dreadnoughts. 
Another crevice with an external aspect, nearly horizontal, was 
reached half an hour later. This was our best “prospect,” for we had 
seen a bird enter it repeatedly; but William’s arm could not negotiate 
the first passage, let alone the sharp turn upward which it presently 
took. Nesting in Tibet! 
On the 15th of May we saw Swifts careening across a rock cliff in 
the Santa Susana country. Although they were not definitely traced 
to any one crevice, they made such frequent passes at a certain portion 
of the cliff, some twenty feet up, that one felt sure of a prospect. By 
dint of good fortune and the comforting recollection of our life insurance 
policies, we succeeded in clambering up to it with no greater penalties 
than come from the proximity of a colony of wild bees. But sure as fate, 
the suspected crevice was only large enough to admit the arm; and at 
a point about three feet in began to taper and turn. After vain groping 
with the arm, I rammed a pike up into the darkness and a Swift followed 
it out, double quick. Of course we renewed our efforts, but the quest 
was futile. Score three for the Swifts. 
On the 22nd of May in the San Jacinto Mountains, William reported 
three locations made in a great dobe wall facing north. In each 
case birds had been seen entering narrow crevices behind sprung “scales” 
of indurated earth, such as mark the stage of erosion just previous to 
collapse. The wall was 180 feet in height, and our longest rope only 120, 
barely sufficient to reach the lowest prospect. But between this station 
and the next, twelve feet above it, there was a slight slope, and it was upon 
this margin that we pinned our faith. Briefly, we spent a day and a half 
under a broiling sun, with ax and pike digging a pathway along this 
ledge before we could connect up with the dangling rope, which we had 
