4 THE CONDOR Vol. XXI 
A Sora Rail was frequently heard along the marshy border of the Coulee 
and once when its song came from the high, partly-lodged marsh grass almost 
under my end of the Bridge, I mechanically whistled the scale after it. In- 
stant response in loud ringing tones surprised me so that, without stopping to 
think, I craned eagerly forward over the Bridge, projecting my shadow over 
the marsh—a bad break for an old observer! Again I whistled, but there was 
no response, and the next song was well down the Coulee. Not until I had re- 
crossed the Bridge on leaving did the loud clear scale come again in the same 
place, and never on any of my subsequent visits was I able to see that disillu- 
sioned Sora. 
A few yards from the Sora’s hiding ground, one day, I found the Yellow 
Warblers feeding young. The father of the family, with strong reddish breast 
streakings flew up into a conspicuous position on a dead willow where he sang 
loudly, trying to hold my attention while his duller mate, with food in her bill, 
flew in the direction of small voices down among the roadside weeds. Near 
the singing station of the Warbler, in a dead bush, two male Cowbirds faced 
each other, shining, glossy, and respectable looking in spite of their bad family 
reputation. Going on with an interrupted conversation, perhaps, they pointed 
their bills skyward, making themselves look very thin and sleek. 
Passing Ducks, now a handsome Mallard, Shoveller, or Blue-winged Teal, 
occasionally dropped into the Coulee, a Black-crowned Night Heron flew over 
with neck drawn in, a Marsh Hawk pursued by a Redwing hurried by with a 
flash of white rump and red epaulettes, Black Terns skimmed past, and twit- 
teriig Barn Swallows with their steely backs and buffy underparts swung 
arcund under the Bridge and over the water, in and out and round about. 
There were so few passersby on this prairie Bridge ten miles from town 
that it proved an excellent observation station, and after discovering this, 
when not engrossed by birds in the sloughs, I came down to take advantage of 
what it offered. During my visits, at rare intervals I had to pick up my camp 
stool and shrink back into the willows, once to let some four horse grain wag- 
ons pass. Some days no one came to disturb me, and one morning during a 
two hour vigil only two passersby came, the crippled Rural Route mail carrier 
with his old white horse and bulging bags and a virile youth whose automobile 
was heard far across the prairie and who, bare-headed, flashed past full of the 
enjoyment of racing over the big prairies. ; 
The only foot passengers were a family of pretty young ‘‘flicker-tails”’ 
which came up from their hole at my end of the Bridge and used the smooth 
level boulevard as a playground. One touched my foot as he came up through 
the grass, one day, and then calmly taking his stand about six feet from me 
where his bright eyes, spotted back, and sandy underparts could clearly be 
seen, bent over and taking his head in his paws, proceeded with a cat-like bath. 
While so engaged, a young brother came up, and with a slap of the paw they 
were off, scampering down the length of the Bridge, tails flickering. On the 
way back they sobered up enough to stop now and then and stand up on their 
hind legs, stretching up on tip toe to see better. Once when they had chased 
noisily down the Bridge past me, one of the pair came back inquisitively, and 
standing up close in front of me, calmly looked me over. 
From the raised platform of the Bridge I looked down on the birds of the 
Joulee and got delightful hints of family histories unguessed before. In the 
sloughs, day after day, the gray Coots had run to cover before me, and when 
