The Prairie Falcon 



time and the birds are 

 showing off. The fe- 

 males are the larger 

 birds, but it is their turn 

 to sit in the boxes while 

 the aspirants perform. 

 The doughty males are 

 not really contending — 

 only renewing their vows 

 as they come hurtling 

 out of the heavens, 

 screaming like all pos- 

 sessed and cutting parab- 

 olas whose acuteness is 

 a marvel of the unex- 

 pected. The female 

 screaks in wild approval, 

 or takes a turn herself 

 because she cannot con- 

 tain her fierce emotions. 

 The rock walls resound 

 with boisterous music, 

 and the observer feels as 

 though he were witness- 

 ing the play of elemental 

 forces — riotous, exultant, 

 unrestrained, the very 

 passion of freedom and 

 conquest. 

 Photo by the Author The Falcon is king 



of birds and he knows it. 

 Ferocity gleams in his eye and menace quivers in his talons. Mastery 

 is his element; his very wings flash confidence; and caution is to him a 

 thing unknown. The much-vaunted Eagle is a craven beside him, and 

 nothing affords the smaller bird greater delight than to hector his lethargic 

 kinsman. 



The Prairie Falcon is doubtless something of a tease at best. One 

 observed at a northern lake made life miserable for an inoffensive Red-tail 

 who chanced to occupy the same ledge ; and he also took elaborate pains 

 to chase the Great Blue Herons out of bounds. The Falcon would make 

 repeated dashes at the passing hulk, but he could hardly have intended 

 bodily injury to the herons, for he permitted them to evade each time by 



1612 



Taken in San Luis Obispo County 



A HURRIED DEPARTURE 



