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BIRDS AT BAILEY'S. 



L. S. KEYSER. 



Bailey's is one of the many summer re- 

 sorts in the South Platte canyon, Colorado, 

 and may be reached by a railway journey of 

 55 miles from Denver. Nestled in an open 

 valley, the village is one of the pleasantest 

 places in the Rocky mountains. I was 

 pleased to find this valley the summer 

 home of many birds, as well as an attrac- 

 tive resort for human pleasure seekers. 



In the Rockies you must not expect to 

 find many of the birds common in the East. 

 While following a ravine that led from the 

 village up into the mountains, my ear was 

 greeted by a song that sounded familiar, 

 but that I felt sure must come from the 

 throat of a bird that was new to me. So 

 it proved, for my field glass soon brought 

 into view a gorgeously clad bird, whose 

 back, wings and tail were black ; head, scar- 

 let or crimson, the same color running 

 down over the chest in diluted tints; rest 

 of plumage, bright yellow, gleaming almost 

 like amber in the sunshine. 



Observers in the East are familiar with 

 a little bird whose suit of scarlet, trimmed 

 with black wings and tail, make him a 

 conspicuous object in the woods; also with 

 another beautiful bird which wears a suit 

 of rosy red or vermilion throughout. 

 These are the scarlet and summer tanagers. 

 You will not find them in Colorado, but in 

 their stead you will make acquaintance 

 with the brilliant bird just described. He 

 is called the Louisiana tanager, and for 

 beauty of plumage has few, if any, rivals 

 in the Rocky mountains. 



However, his song, as far as I am able 

 to judge, is just like those of his Eastern 

 kinsmen, a kind of drawling tune that is 

 pleasing enough, but can not be called bril- 

 liant. Although I had been rambling sev- 

 eral weeks up and down the mountains 

 from the foothills to the crests of some of 

 the highest peaks, I saw my first Louisiana 

 tanagers at Bailey's. At daybreak my 

 half-waking dreams were pleasantly broken 

 by the matins of this bird, proving him an 

 early riser. He is as fond of a pine forest 

 on the mountain side as his Eastern rela- 

 tives are of a woodland of oak in their 

 own longitude. His mate, who is not so 

 brilliantly clad as her lord, saddles her 

 nest on the horizontal branch of a pine 

 tree, usually some distance out toward the 

 end. Lovers of the mountains, these birds 

 rear their broods between 7.000 and 10,000 

 feet above sea level, avoiding the plains 

 during the breeding season, although seen 

 there frequently in the periods of migra- 

 tion. 



Another interesting bird seen in the hol- 



low above Bailey's was the pygmy nut- 

 hatch, which you will not find in the East- 

 ern or Middle States, where you know only 

 the white breasted nuthatch as a resident 

 and the red breasted nuthatch as a mi- 

 grant. Three or 4 of these pygmies were 

 flitting about among the pines, clambering 

 up and down the branches and boles in true 

 nuthatch fashion, now head upward and 

 now the reverse. They seem shy and nerv- 

 ous little creatures, always moving about 

 among the twigs or glancing from tree to 

 tree, so that they were difficult to watch 

 with the field glass. All their movements 

 were accompanied by a half musical little 

 chirping, which was sometimes prolonged 

 almost into a song when the birds became 

 especially excited over my presence, as they 

 did when I followed them about and ogled 

 them with my glass. As their name sig- 

 nifies, the pygmies are tiny birds, scarcely 

 more than half as large as the white 

 breasted nuthatches, and spend the breed- 

 ing season exclusively among the moun- 

 tains, ranging 5,000 to 10,000 feet above 

 sea level. 



Among the Rockies you look in vain for 

 the common blue jay, but in its stead you 

 find the long crested jay, so called because 

 of the long, black crest that adorns his 

 shapely head. He is rather a handsome 

 fellow, with his coat of navy blue. He was 

 met with almost everywhere among the 

 mountains from the foothills to timber 

 line, and is especially fond of the steep 

 and bushy acclivities, the pine forests, and 

 the bushy valleys, where he hides his nest 

 in such a manner that, though large, it is 

 extremely difficult to find. 



In the ravine, of which mention has been 

 made, there was a family of these birds, 

 the parents feeding their young, which a 

 week before had grown too large to remain 

 in the nest. A great variety of sounds 

 came from the throats of the adult birds. 

 They uttered a harsh, . grating call which 

 seemed meant as a warning to the young- 

 sters to be on their guard. When I pur- 

 sued them, one of the birds, perhaps the 

 male, played a little tune on his trombone, 

 which might be represented as follows : 

 "Ka-ka-ka, k-wuit, k-wuit, k-wuit," the 

 syllable "ka" repeated rapidly, while the 

 "k-wuit" was pronounced more deliberate- 

 ly, with a kind of guttural and gurgling 

 intonation. This song, if song it may be 

 called, bears some resemblance to the com- 

 mon blue jay's liquid outburst. It was 

 succeeded by a grating call that sounded 

 like a file drawn over the edge of sheet- 

 iron. Then the birds chattered in a low, 



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