56 
THE CONDOR 
Vol. XVI 
would be a decided help if we could have a law that would impose a slight fine 
on the fumigator for every bird so killed, — merely a nominal sum, say five cents 
a bird. This would be sufficient to make the workmen swing a lantern in among 
the foliage and shake the tree gently in order to scare out the feathered lodgers. 
In order to obtain results, it would of course he necessary for a warden to make 
occasional and unexpected visits to the orange groves during the fall of the year. 
Covina, CaiiforJiia, January ly, 1^14. 
AN ASIONINE RUSE 
By WILLIAM LEON DAWSON 
I N her excellent article, “With Asio in the Greenwood”, in a recent number of 
Bird-Lore, Elorence Rlerriam Bailey describes the behavior of a Long-eared 
Owl which she had been watching closely for some time in the vicinity of its 
nest. The old Owl stood guard so quietly one afternoon that she seemed on the 
point of going to sleep. “The next moment”, Mrs. Bailey records, “to my great 
astonishment, she darted to the ground as swiftly as a Kingfisher dives for a fish 
he has been carefully locating from above. A shriek — and then a silence ! Up 
she flew surrounded by a noisy mob of Bronzed Crackles, three Orioles and a 
Blue Jay. When the excitement had subsided a little the Blue Jay flew 
off with a sad reflective cry”, due to the proximity of her own 
brood. “And yet”, concludes Mrs. Bailey, “the victim was probably a wood 
mouse, or some such small vermin”. 
This episode reminds the writer of an experience enjoyed by him while in 
camp on the banks of the Walla Walla River in Washington — Alay 3rd, 1907, it 
was — and a recital of the circumstances may possibly, although not certainly, 
throw some light on the identity of Mrs. Bailey’s “mouse”. I was seated at a 
height of twelve or fifteen feet from the ground in a willow tree beside a nest of 
young Long-eared Owls, — one of a line of four nests which I had been watching 
•for several days. The youngsters were “freezing” faithfully, as usual, all except 
the runt, which still favored the cowering pose. The male parent had delivered 
himself of a series of quaint execrations, “M orach moraaaouw, zacrek zvcrck 
zoraaozc; zvrcck zvraaa”, and had quitted the scene in disgust. 
The female had caterwauled and cajoled and exploded and entreated by 
turns, all in vain. Matters seemed to have reached an impasse, and silence had 
fallen over the landscape. I had time to note the sage-pinks bright with morn- 
ing dew, and the subtle, soothing gray-greens of the sage itself, as it rose in bil- 
lows over the slopes of the closely-investing hills. All of a sudden the Owl left 
her perch, flew to some distance, and pounced upon the ground, where she could 
not well be seen tbrougb the intervening foliage. Upon the instant of the pounce 
arose the piercing cries of a creature in distress, and I, supposing that the bird, 
in anger, had fallen upon a harmless Elicker, which I knew dwelt in that neck of 
the woods, scrambled down instanter and hurried forward. The prompt binocu- 
lars revealed neither Elicker nor mouse. There was nothing whatever in the 
Owl’s talons. The victor and the victim were one and the same, and I was the 
dupe. Yet so completely was the play carried out that the bird fluttered her wings 
and trod vigorously with a rocking motion, as though sinking her talons deeply 
into a victim. I was astonished. Nor should I believe the evidence of my eyes 
to this day if I had not witnessed the same play repeatedly thereafter. The Owl 
