A-Birding on a Bronco Part 2

The young were chattering inside the nest. They all talked at once as children will, but one small voice a.s.sumed the tones of the mother; probably the oldest brother speaking with the air of authority featherless children sometimes a.s.sume with the weaker members of the family. When a parent came, I saw the big brother's head pop up from behind the wall,--the nest was in a pocket below,--and by the time the old bird got there with food the big throat blocked the way for the little ones down behind. Sometimes I could see a flutter of small wings and tails, when the birds were being fed.

As nothing happened, I went off to watch another nest, but in an hour was back to make sure of seeing the small wrens when they left the nest.

A loud continuous scolding met me on approaching, and one of the old wrens, with bill full of insects, flew--not up to the nest--but down in among the weeds! In less than an hour that whole brood of wrens had flown, and were three or four rods away in the high weeds--safe! I was taken aback. They had stolen a march on me. Surely I had not been treated as was fit and proper, being one of the family!

It was amusing to see the young ones fly. They whirled away on their wings as if they had been flitting around in the big world always; but their stubby tails sadly interfered with their progress, and they came to earth before they meant.

Weak cries came from the young hidden in the weeds. They could fly, but it was different from being safe inside a tree trunk! I hardly recognized their weak appealing voices, after the stentorian tones that had issued from the old nest.

The weeds were a most admirable cover, and the dead stalks sticking up through them served as sentry posts, from which the old birds scolded me when I followed too close on their heels. The youngsters sometimes appeared on the stalks, and looked very pert on their long legs with their short tails c.o.c.ked over their backs.

In the afternoon I went again to see the little family to which I had become so much attached and which were now slipping away from me. They had been led farther up the canyon, where, at a turn in the dry bed of the stream, the thick cover of weeds was still more protected by brush and overhanging trees, and the whole thicket was warmed by the afternoon sunshine. The old birds were busily flying back and forth feeding their invisible young. They scolded me as they flew past, but kept right on with their work.

There was little use trying to keep track of the brood after that, and I thought I had given them up quite philosophically, reflecting that it was pleasant to leave them in such a sunny protected place. Still, day after day in riding along the line of sycamores on my way to other nests, it gave me a pang of loneliness to pa.s.s the old deserted wren tree where I had spent so many happy hours; and though the sycamores were silent, I could always hear and see the little lover singing to his pretty mate.

III.

LIKE A THIEF IN THE NIGHT.

WHEN watching the little lover and his brood, I heard familiar voices farther down the line of oaks, voices of little friends I had made on my first visit to California, and had always remembered with lively interest as the jauntiest, most individual bits of humanity I had ever known in feathers. So, when Mountain Billy and I could be spared by the other bird families we were watching, we set out to hunt up the little bluish gray western gnatcatchers.

The (sand) stream that widened under the wren's sycamores narrowed up the canyon to a--dry ditch, I should say, if it were not disrespectful to speak that way of a channel that once a year carries a torrent which excavates ca.n.a.ls in the meadows. Billy and I started up this sand ditch, so narrow between its weed-grown banks that there was barely room for us, and so arched over in places by chaparral that we could get through only when Billy put down his ears and I bowed low on the saddle.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Nest of Western Gnatcatcher.

(From a photograph.)]

We had not gone far before we heard the gnatcatchers, bluish gray mites with heads that are always c.o.c.ked on one side or the other to look down at something, and long tails that are always flipping about as their owners flaunt gayly through the bushes: At sound of their voices I pulled Billy up out of the ditch, and, slipping from his back, sat down on the ground to wait for the birds. Eureka! there, in a slender young oak on the edge of the stream not a rod away, one of the pair was gliding off its nest, a beautiful lichen-covered, compact little structure such as I had admired years before. I was jubilant. What a relief! I had fully expected it to be inside the dense brush, where no mortal could tell what was going on; and here it was out in the plain light of day. What a delightful time I should have watching it! Before leaving the spot, in imagination I had followed the brood out into the world and filled a note-book with the quaint airs and graces of the piquant pair.

When insinuating yourself into the secrets of the bird world, it is not well to be too obtrusive at first: it is a mistake to spend the day when you make your first call; so contenting myself with thinking of the morrow, and fixing the small oak in my memory, I took myself off before the blue-gray should tell on me to her mate. As I rose to go, a dove flew out of the oak--she had been brooding right over my head. Another nest, and a mourning dove's, one of the most gentle and winning of birds! Surely my good star was in the ascendent!

The next day, forgetful of this second nest, I rode Billy right up under the oak, and was startled to find the pretty dove sitting quietly over our heads, looking down at us out of her gentle eyes. It was a pleasant surprise. She let me talk to her, but when I had dismounted Billy tramped around so uneasily that the saddle caught in the oak branches and scared the poor bird away. I had hardly seated myself when the jaunty little gnatcatcher came flying over and lit in an upper branch of the tree. What a contrast she was to the quiet dove! With many flirts of the tail she hopped down to the nest, jumping from branch to branch as if tripping down a pair of stairs. When she dropped into her deep cup her small head stuck up over one edge, her long tail pointed over the other.[2]

I looked away a moment, and on glancing back found the nest empty.

On the instant, however, came the sound of my small friend's voice.

Such a talkative little person!--not one of your creep-in-and-out-of-the-nest-without-anybody's-knowing-it kind of a bird, not she! Her remarks sounded as if made over my head, and when Billy stamped about the brush and rapped the saddle trying to switch off flies, I imagined guiltily that they were addressed to me; but while I wondered if she would keep away all the rest of the morning because she had discovered me, back she came, talking to herself in complaining tones and whipping her tail impatiently, even after she stood on the edge of the nest, evidently absorbed in her own affairs, quite to the exclusion of the person down in the brush who thought herself so important!

My doves were attending to me, however, altogether too much. The brooding bird was anxious to go to her nest. After flying out where she could see me, she whizzed toward it; but, fearful, hesitated and talked it over with her mate--both birds cooed with inflated breaths. After that the branches rattled overhead, but even then, though my back was turned, the timid bird dared not stay. She must make another inspection.

From an opposite oak she peered through the branches, moving her head excitedly, and calling out her impressions to her mate. Meanwhile, he had flown down the sand stream and called back quite calmly. I, also, cooed rea.s.suringly to her, and soon she quieted down and began to plume her feathers on the sunny branch. As the gnatcatchers did not honor us with their attention even when Billy stalked around in plain sight, I moved a little closer to their nest to give the dove more freedom; and soon the gentle bird slipped back to her brooding.

Before leaving I went to see the dove in the oak, and spoke caressingly to her, admiring her soft dove-colored feathers and shining iridescent neck. She was on her own ground there, and felt that she could safely be friends, so she only winked in the sun, paying no heed to her mate when he called warningly. It was especially pleasant to watch this reserved lady-like bird, after the flippant tell-all-you-know little gnat.

On going away, Billy and I took a run up the canyon. Billy was in high spirits, and went racing up the narrow road, winding and turning through the chaparral, brushing me against the the stiff scrub oak and loping under low branches so fast that the sharp leaves snapped back, stinging my cheeks. We had a gay ride, with a spice of excitement thrown in; for on our way home, in the thick dust across our path, besides the pretty quail tracks that made wall-paper patterns on the road, were the straight trails of gopher snakes, and the scalloped one of a rattlesnake we had been just too late to meet.

At our next session with the blue-grays, when she was on the nest, her mate came back to relieve her and cried in his quick cheerful way, "Here I am, here I am!" Either she was taking a nap or didn't want to stir, for she didn't budge till he called insistently, "_Here_ I am, _here_ I am!" Then he hopped down in her place, and raising his head above the nest, remarked again, as if commenting upon the new situation, "Here I am!"

It was quite a different matter when she came back to work. She only called "h.e.l.lo," not even hinting that he should make way for her, but he hopped off at the first sound of her voice, flying away promptly to another tree and calling back like a gleeful boy let out of school, "Here I am!"

She was no more eager to go to the nest than he, however, and once when she came flirting leisurely along from twig to twig, she stopped a long time on the edge of the nest and leaned over, presumably to arrange the eggs; perhaps she and her mate had different views as to their proper positions. The next time I visited the gnats, she acted as if she really could not make up her mind to settle down to brooding on such a beautiful morning. The fog had cleared away and the air was fresh and full of life; goldfinches and lazuli buntings were singing merrily, and light-hearted vireos were shouting _chick-a-de-chick'-de-villet'_ from the brush. How much pleasanter it would be for such an airy fairy to go off for a race with her mate than to settle down demurely tucked into a cup! "Tsang," she cried impatiently as she flew up to catch a fly. She flirted about the branches, whipped up in front of the nest, couldn't make up her mind to go in, and flounced off again. But the eggs would get cold if she didn't cover them, so back she came, hopped up on the edge of the nest, and stood twisting and turning, glancing this way and that as though for a fly to chase, till she happened to look down at the eggs; then she whipped her tail, dropped in and--jumped out again!

During the morning when she was away and her mate was waiting for her to come back to 'spell' him, he too got impatient. He hopped out of the nest crying, "Now here I am, quick, come quick!" and as he flew off, sang out in his funny little soliloquizing way, "Well, here I go; here I go!"

His restless spouse had only just settled down when a wren-t.i.t--a wren-like bird with a long tail--flew into a bush near her oak, and she darted out of the nest to snap her bill over his head. I thought it merely an excuse to leave her brooding. Calling out "tsang," she again flew at the brown bird who was hopping around in the bush, so innocently, as I thought. Conqueror for the moment, she flaunted back to the nest, and after much ado finally settled down.

For a time all was quiet. Hearing the low cooing of doves, I went to talk to the pretty bird in the oak, and she let me come near enough to see her bluish bill and quiet eyes. As I returned to the gnatcatchers, a chewink was hoeing in the sand stream. Again the wren-t.i.t approached stealthily. I watched with languid interest till he got to the gnat's tree. The instant he touched foot upon her domain, she dashed down at him, crying loudly and snapping her bill in his face. The brown bird dodged her blows, held his footing in spite of her, and slowly made his way up to the nest. I was astonished and frightened. He leaned over the nest, and--what he actually did I could not see, for by that time the blue-gray's cries had called her mate and they were both screaming and diving down at him as if they would peck his eyes out; and it sounded as if they hit him on the back good and hard.

A peaceful lazuli bunting, hearing the commotion, came to investigate, but when she saw what was happening held back against the side of a twig as though afraid of getting struck, and soon flew off, having no desire to get mixed up in that affray.

When the wren-t.i.t had at last been driven from his position, the gnatcatchers flew up into a tree and, standing near together, talked the matter over excitedly. Then one of them went back to the nest, reached down into it and brought up something that it appeared to be eating. Its mate went to the nest and did the same, after which one of them flew away with a broken eggsh.e.l.l. When the little creatures turned away from the plundered nest they broke out into cries of distress that were pitiful to hear. I felt indignant at the wren-t.i.t. How could a bird with eggs of its own do such a cruel thing? But then, I reflected, we who pretend to be better folks than wren-t.i.ts do not always spare our neighbors because of our own troubles. When the poor birds had carried away their broken eggsh.e.l.l, one of them came and tugged at the nest lining till it pulled out a long horsehair and what looked like a feather, apparently trying to take out everything that the egg had soiled.

When the little housekeeper was working over her nest, a brown towhee flew into the tree. On the instant there was a flash of wings--the gnat was ready for war. But after a fair look at the big peaceful bird, she flew to the next tree without a word--she evidently knew friends from enemies. I never liked the towhee so well before. But though the blue-gray had nothing to say against her neighbor sitting up in the tree if he chose, her nerves were so unstrung that when she lit in the next tree she cried out "tsang" in an overburdened tone. It sounded so unlike the usual cry of the light-hearted bird, it quite made me sad.

Whether the poor little gnatcatchers did not recover from this attack upon their home, and took their nest to pieces to put it up elsewhere, as birds sometimes do; or whether the stealthy wren-t.i.t again crept in like a thief in the night to plunder his neighbor's house, I do not know; but the next time I went to the oak the nest was demolished. It was a sorry ending for what had promised to be such an interesting and happy home.

My poor dove's nest had a tragic end, too. What happened I do not know, but one day the body of a poor little pigeon lay on the ground under the nest. My sympathies went out to both mothers, but especially to the gentle dove, now a mourner, indeed.

FOOTNOTE:

[2] As this little pair dressed like twins, I could only infer which was which from the song and the actions of the two, which were quite distinct.

IV.

WAS IT A SEQUEL?

AFTER the wren-t.i.t stole in like a thief in the night and broke up the pretty home of the gnatcatchers, I suspected that they took their house down to put it up again in a safer place, and so was constantly on the lookout to find where that safer place was. At last, one day, I heard the welcome sound of their familiar voices, and following their calls finally discovered them flying back and forth to a high branch on an old oak-tree; both little birds working and talking together. Mind, I do not stake my word on this being the same pair of gnats; but the nest followed closely on the heels of the plundered one, which was a point in its favor, and, being anxious to take up the lines with my small friends again, I let myself think they were the birds of the sand ditch nest. It was such a delight to find them that I deserted the nest I had been watching, and went to spend the next morning with my old friends. The tree they had chosen was a high oak in an open s.p.a.ce in the brush, and they were building fifteen or twenty feet above the ground--so high that it was necessary to keep an opera-gla.s.s focused on the spot to see what was going on at their small cup.

As the birds worked, I was filled with forebodings by seeing a pair of wren-t.i.ts on the premises. They went about in the casual indifferent way sad experience had shown might cover a mult.i.tude of evil intentions, and which made me suspect and resent their presence. How had they found the poor little gnats? It was not hard to tell. How could they help finding such talkative fly-abouts? But if birds are in danger from all the world, including those who should be their comrades and champions, why should not builders keep as still at the nest as brooding birds, instead of heedlessly giving information to observers that lurk about taking notes for future misdeeds? But then, could gnatcatchers keep still anywhere at any time? No, that was not to be hoped for. I could only watch the little chatterers from hour to hour and be thankful for every day that their home was unmolested.

It was interesting to see how the jaunty indifferent gnats would act when settling down to plain matters of business. Strange to say, they proved to be the most energetic, tireless, and skillful of builders.

Their floor had been laid--on the branch--before I arrived on the scene, and they were at work on the walls. The plan seemed to be twofold, to make the walls compact and strong by using only fine bits of material and packing them tightly in together; while at the same time they gave form to the nest and kept it trim and shipshape by moulding inside, and smoothing the rim and outside with neck and bill. Sometimes the bird would smooth the brim as a person sharpens a knife on a whetstone, a stroke one way and then a stroke the other. When the sides were not much above the floor, one bird came with a bit of material which it proceeded to drill into the body of the wall. It leaned over and threw its whole weight on it, almost going head first out of the nest, and had to flutter its wings to recover itself. The birds usually got inside to build, but there was a twig beside the nest that served for scaffolding, and they sometimes stood on that to work at the outside.

At first they seemed to take turns at building, working rapidly and changing places quite regularly; but one morning when seated under the oak I saw that things were not as they had been. Perhaps a difference of opinion had arisen on architectural points, and Mrs. Gnatcatcher had taken matters into her own hands. At all events, this is what happened: instead of rapid changes of place, when one of the gnats was at work its mate flew up and started to go to the nest, hesitated, and backed away; then unwilling to give up having a finger in the pie, advanced again.

This was kept up till the little bird put its pride in its pocket, and gently gave over its cherished bit of material to its mate at the nest!

Now as these gnatcatchers had the bad taste to dress so nearly alike that I could not tell them apart, I was left to my own surmises as to which took the material. Still, who could it have been but Mrs. Gnat?

Would she give over the house to Mr. Gnat at this critical moment? She doubtless wanted to decorate as she went along, and men aren't supposed to know anything about such trivial matters! On the other hand, it might easily be he, for, supposing he had come of a family of superior builders, surely he would want to see to the laying of substantial walls; and unquestionably a good wall was the important part of this nest. Alas! it was a clear case of "The Lady or the Tiger." To complicate matters, the birds worked so fast, so high over my head, and so hidden by the leaves, that I had much ado to keep track of their exchanges at all. If I could only catch them and tie a pink ribbon around one of their necks!--then, at least, I would know which was doing what, or if it was doing what it hadn't done before! It is inconsiderate enough of birds to wear the same kind of clothes, but to talk alike too, when hidden by the leaves--that, indeed, is a straw to break the camel's back. If small gray gnatcatchers up in the treetops had only been big black magpies low in the brush, my testimony regarding their performances might be of more value; but then, the magpies of my acquaintance were so shy they would have none of me; so although life and field work are full of disappointments, they are also full of compensations.

Not being able to do anything better with the gnat problems, I guessed at which was which--when I saw No. 2 go to the nest and No. 1 reluctantly make way as if not wanting No. 2 to meddle, I drew my own conclusions, although they were not scientifically final. I did see one thing that was satisfactory, as far as it went. One of the birds came with big tufts of stiff moss sticking out from either side of its bill like great mustachios, and going up to the nest, handed them to its mate--actually something big enough for a person to see, once! Whatever had been the birds' first feeling as to which should put the bricks in the wall, it was all settled now, and the little helpmate flew off singing out such a happy good-by it made one feel like writing a sermon on the moral effect of renunciation. After that I was sure the little helper fed his (?) mate on the nest, again singing out good-by as he flitted away. Once when he (?) brought material he found her (?) busy with what she had, and so went to the other end of the branch, and waited till she was ready for it, when he flew back and gave it to her.

It was a real delight to watch the little blue-grays at their work. Once as one of them started to fly away--I am sure this was she--she suddenly stopped to look back at the nest as if to think what she wanted to get next; or, perhaps, just to get the effect of her work at a distance, as an artist walks away from his painting; or as any mother bird would stop to admire the pretty nest that was to hold her little brood. Another time one of the gnats,--I was sure this was he,--having driven off an enemy, flipped his tail by the nest with a paternal air of satisfaction.

The birds made one especially pretty picture; the little pair stood facing each other close to the nest, and the sun, filtering through the green leaves over their heads, touched them gently as they lingered near their home.