The New Sport of “Hawking” 
hawk soon darted like a flash, so quickly 
that the mighty trapper missed his shot. 
The nest was only fifteen feet from the 
ground, a neat, typical structure of small 
twigs, without any soft lining whatever for 
the four beautiful, boldly-marked eggs. 
Taking these, I set a small, round, steel 
trap in the nest, covered it with a few 
twigs, and we withdrew. In a short time 
the female hawk was fast in the trap, 
which ended the raids on the chickens, as 
the male deserted the dangerous locality. 
About a mile from here a pair of marsh 
hawks were each year accustomed to nest 
in a most villainous tract of tangled 
swamp. Water was knee deep amid the 
spongy moss and grass, which together 
with tangled acres of alder, hackmatack, 
611 
and other shrubbery, made progress next 
to impossible. Some seasons I have plod- 
ded through it for hours, reeking with 
sweat, before success came; but this time 
I was in luck. Hardly half an hour had I 
been beating, before a large brown bird 
sprang from the grass close beside me with 
fierce cries, and there was the rude nest of 
weed-stems, containing three bluish-white 
egos. As I examined them, the female 
marsh hawk swooped at me, screaming 
with rage, almost striking me with her tal- 
ons, while the light gray male hovered at a 
safe distance, watching the fray. 
Now came into play a little piece of 
woodcraft. Not far from here another 
farm was troubled with the depredations 
of some Cooper’s hawks. Where might 
Young Red-tail Hawk. 
