Nov., 1904 I 
THE CONDOR 
149 
after I shall not try to exceed the bounds of magpie propriety by laying more than 
the five to nine allowed me by the books. 
Morrison Ranch, Lewistown, Mont., May 25. — Strange that I cannot over- 
come being so startled at the report of a little gun! It would seem that a matronly 
Bartramian sandpiper of several seasons’ experience should be accustomed to such 
a noise, but to this hour I am unable to control myself under such circumstances, 
and at last it has been my undoing. I was sitting snugly in my nest in a clump 
of grass which I found ample for my accommodation, apparently safe against the 
prying eyes of any Homo collector. Safe, I say, because that nightmare of sitting 
birds in this locality, Silloway, had been prowling around my nest several times, 
on chase of long-billed curlews I believe, and though he had passed within twenty 
feet of me, he had not spied out my crouching form in the herbage. At length, 
though, when I knew he was at a safe distance from my home, he fired a little gun 
at a longspur that was hovering near my nest. At the report I fluttered from the 
grass tuft, alighted some sixty feet away, and immediately realizing the magnitude 
of my mistake, attempted to elude him by “teetering” and waving my wings up 
and down. He did not give the least heed to my demonstrations, however, but 
went straightway to my turf, peered into the open top, and saw my four pointed 
treasures in their grassy bed. “A great find,” he exclaimed. “Who would have 
thought that I should find my first set of Bartramian sandpiper in far away Mon- 
tana, when I have searched hours and hours for it in old Illinois.” Well, if it 
gave him so much pleasure to find the nest, he is welcome to the eggs. I can hunt 
another grass tuft, lay another set, and rear my brood in peace while he goes 
“hiking” after eggs at Flathead. 
Borgh Grove, Lewistown, Mont., June 7. — My voice is always the cause of 
my undoing. It is well known that a red-naped sapsucker is not gifted with mus- 
ical ability worth mentioning, but I am sure that my voice is pleasing enough to 
me and to my better half, and hence I am prone to exercise it much when the joys 
of domestic bliss impel me. When I fle^ screaming from our coz}^ cavity in our 
stout cottonwood this afternoon, I little dreamed that that bane of nesting birds in 
this region, Silloway, was looking around in the grove. He immediately appeared 
on the scene, and with no delay he located the entrance to the cavity. It had 
been made low, only twelve feet from the ground, and though I understand he is 
no climber, he shinned up to the place. I do not think he had come out for sap- 
sucker eggs, though, for he seemed quite puzzled how to proceed in examining 
our newly-made establishment. It was in a live tree, you understand, for we sap- 
suckers prefer such for our nesting sites, the books say. He tried to work his way 
into the cavity, hacked at the entrance with his pocket knife, and at length ap- 
peared to give it up, for he slid down the trunk and went away. I hastened back 
to the nest and settled upon the six white eggs. Soon a rude shock aroused me, 
and upon flying out, screaming lustily as usual, I found the egg-hog armed with a 
big axe he had borrowed at a nearby house. There is no trying to evade an egg- 
crank, anyway, and though scolding angrily while he chopped open the cavity, I 
was powerless to prevent the despoiling of the nest. One after another the six 
handsome rosy-fresh eggs were rolled in cotton, placed carefully in a baking-pow- 
der box, and thus disappeared from my sight. “My first set of red-naped sap- 
sucker,” he murmured, “and six eggs too, regular beauties.” I am glad they were 
quite fresh, for I had not become so “sot” on them as I should if it had been a 
week or two later. Even this evening I noticed a nice site for a new nest, and 
with only two or three days’ trouble we can have as cozy a cavity as before. It 
doesn’t pay to cry over lost eggs. 
