horse and tie him where the grazing is 

 good and then start on our search. We 

 first make our way down to the river's 

 edge and, lying flat on the sand and 

 rocks, drink to our content of the cool 

 water fresh from the snow of the Sier- 

 ras. The river is about five hundred feet 

 wide and varies from two hundred to a 

 thousand at this point. It is not high 

 now, for the spring floods come later, 

 with the melting of the snow, and in its 

 deepest part is not probably over eight 

 or ten feet, but it is swift — terribly swift. 

 It is a good swimmer that can hold his 

 own with the current for five minutes, 

 and in the swiftest part it is impossible 

 for a man to make any headway. The 

 bottom is of shifting sand and the chan- 

 nel is ever changing. It is a deceitful 

 and treacherous river, though laughing 

 and sparkling in the sun to-day. It has 

 taken value for value for all the gold it 

 has given up. Here and there in the 

 deep places under the shadow of the bank 

 we can see catfish and big carp moving 

 lazily about. The catfish and a fish known 

 as the river trout can be caught with a 

 hook and line, but the carp never touches 

 bait, but there is considerable sport in 

 spearing them. 



We pass up the stream with our eyes 

 directed at the tree tops, but now and 

 then at the ever-changing aspect of the 

 river, taking in all the beauties of 

 nature and the curious formation of the 

 steep sides of the bluff. The face of the 

 bluff represents excellently the different 

 geological layers of soil and stone, here 

 chalky, there slaty, and here gaudily 

 daubed with all the brilliant hues of a clay 

 formation. The Cottonwood and the wil- 

 lows are just beginning to show green. 

 Now and then we come upon a nest in 

 the cottonwood trees, far out over the 

 water. Sometimes it is an old one, but 

 often we are convinced otherwise by the 

 sudden departure of a screaming hawk as 

 we throw a dead limb in that direction. 

 Then comes the hard climb, the toilsome 

 shin to reach the first limb, with knees 

 and elbows hugging tightly the smooth, 

 slippery bark, taking advantage of every 

 little knot and twig, and then, the limb 

 gained, up from limb to branch, up into 

 the air, into the cooling breeze, feeling 

 for the instant the life of the birds, up 



into the swaying lesser branches, up to 

 the tip-top, where the big, rough nest of 

 sticks is firmly placed, the nether end of 

 a jackrabbit carcass half hanging over the 

 edge, and numerous ears, paws and small 

 bones along the rim, and inside four 

 handsome, large, speckled brown eggs of 

 the squirrel hawk. Into our little sack 

 they go, regardless of the remonstrances 

 of the angry hawk, which is circling 

 around overhead, and with the sack firm- 

 ly held in our teeth we descend to the 

 ground, pack the eggs into our case and 

 go on. Sometimes in the distance huge 

 clumps of mistletoe on the river oaks look 

 like nests, but nearer approach shows the 

 difference. Mistletoe is very plentiful 

 here. What a place for a party of girls 

 and boys to spend Christmas. Now we 

 come upon a bend in the river where the 

 ground is all strewed with driftwood left 

 by some winter freshet. There is enough 

 to keep many families in fuel for a long 

 time, but it lies there untouched, inac- 

 cessible, to be carried on at the next flood 

 — on to where ? Who knows the ending 

 of the travels of a piece of driftwood 

 that starts from the mills far up in the 

 Sierras? The wood is washed smooth 

 and round and into every conceivable 

 shape. At places we pass through thick- 

 ets of rose bushes, blackberry vines, and 

 elderberry, which grow profusely all 

 along the river. In a many-limbed wil- 

 low tree, an easy climb and not a high 

 one, we find the nest of a horned owl, 

 with five round white eggs within. The 

 old bird stayed on the nest until we were 

 nearly to it and then, with a peculiar cry, 

 scrambled over the side and fell to the 

 ground as if shot, then arose to a neigh- 

 boring branch and sat there, uttering a 

 cry like a cat and swelling out her feath- 

 ers angrily, but all in vain. Further up 

 the river ran in close to the bluff on our 

 side, and as the traveling was rather dif- 

 ficult along land that lay at an angle of 

 only five or ten degrees from the vertical, 

 we scrambled to the top, at times slipping, 

 and often pulling ourselves up by the 

 weeds, so steep it was. A misstep would 

 have sent us rolling into the river below. 

 In the face of the bluff squirrels had their 

 hemes, and we found the dwellings there- 

 in of two handsome big snowy owls, but 

 they had wisely chosen them in places 



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