The California Condor 



we note unmistakably the 

 great white patches under the 

 wings and the golden head of 

 each. The unfulfilled desire 

 of decades has been met. We 

 have seen the fabled bird and 

 pronounced him genuine. But 

 there is business afoot and 

 scant time for reflection. The 

 birds drift over toward us, un- 

 doubtedly upon a tour of in- 

 spection. And there is a pretty 

 passage at arms between them, 

 a discussion of our demerits, 

 perhaps, in animated sign lan- 

 guage. They retire to a pin- 

 nacle perch and cogitate; but 

 not for long. The morning 

 advances, and duty rides the 

 Gymnogypsian conscience. A 

 saucy Prairie Falcon pursues 

 each ancient bird in turn, but 

 the Condor always avoids the 

 stroke by a downward swerve 

 which seems absolutely beyond the Falcon's power to 

 judge or speed to follow. The Falcon's stroke is light- 

 ning itself, and I have seen one punish a Golden Eagle 

 unmercifully, but there are three birds that he cannot touch, a Raven, a 

 Turkey Vulture, and a Condor. 



As we watch the evolutions of this pair, they are suddenly joined 

 by another bird, an all-black fellow, as large, to all appearance, as a 

 Condor, — a youngster, perhaps, only a decade or so of age. These three 

 gyrate together amicably enough at first, but presently the stranger (?) 

 is hustled off the stage. The father recalls that an elder son has no proper 

 place in contemporary family life. Later, one of the original pair is lost 

 to sight behind an angle in the cliff whose recesses we cannot discern, 

 although we see the wall beyond. We hold our breath. But no; he, 

 or she, soon emerges, and there is more gyration, a little tedious now. 

 O La! La! when will they get down to business? They disappear over the 

 mountain instead. 



But later, one returns — makes straight for the recess already noted 



'AN APPARITION OF THE 

 ELDER WORLD" 



1/2, 



