tty sight to see the black satiny birds perched on one of
the delicate sprays of the willowy pepper-trees, hanging over the
grape-like clusters, to pluck the small pink berries. The birds soon
grew very friendly, and, though they gave a cry of warning when the cats
appeared, became so tame they would answer my calls and let me watch
them from the piazza steps, not a rod away.

When they first began to linger about the house we thought they were
building near, and when one flew into an oak across the road, almost
gave me palpitation of the heart by the suggestion. But no nest was
there, and when the bird flew away it rose obliquely into the air
perhaps a hundred feet, and then flew on evenly straight across to the
small oaks on the farther side of a patch of brush that remained in the
centre of the valley, known to the ranchmen as the 'Island.' The flight
looked so premeditated that the first thing the next morning, although
the phainopeplas were at the peppers, I rode on ahead to wait for them
at their nest. We had not been there long before hearing the familiar
warning call. Turning Billy in the direction of the sound, I threw his
reins on his neck to induce him to graze along the way and give our
presence a more casual air, while I looked up indifferently as if to
survey the landscape. To my delight the phainopepla did not seem greatly
alarmed, and, throwing off the assumed indifference that always makes an
observer feel like a wretched hypocrite, I called and whistled to him as
I had done at the house, to let him know that it was a familiar friend
and he had nothing to fear. The beautiful bird started toward me, but on
second thought retreated. I turned my back, but, to my chagrin, after
giving a few low warning calls, my bird vanished. Alas, for the
generations of murderers that have made birds distrust their best
friends--that make honest observers tremble for what may befall the
birds if they put trust in but one of the human species!

[Illustration: THE PHAINOPEPLA'S NEST IN THE OAK BRUSH ISLAND]

It was plain that if I would get a study of these rare birds I must make
a business of it. Slipping from the saddle, I sat down behind a bush and
waited. When the bird came back and found the place apparently deserted,
to my relief he seated himself on a twig and sang away as if nothing had
disturbed his serenity of spirit. But presently the warning call sounded
again. This time it was for a schoolgirl who had staked o