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 226 THE CONDOR VoL. of the tree, the food supply being greatest there, and the birds consequently- more abundant. Some low spurs of the mountains project into the valley, and deep ar- royos often cut its surface. Where fire and the machete have not reached, a dense, thorny chaparral, woven with strong string-like vines, still remains. It is a safe refuge for the birds, and birds shot in its midst are usually beyond recovery. Its edges however make an excellent collecting ground. Several birds not seen else- where occur here. One is the Rose-breasted 'I'hrush (tri',odinocic,Ja). It is a bird of remarkable beauty, its throat and breast being a deep pink. But what makes the bird interest- ing to me are the circumstances relating to its capture. While softly walking by the edge of the thickets above described, a strange rustling was frequently heard in the dead leaves under the bushes. Steal up as quietly as I might I- could never get a glimpse of what might be causing it. My first thought was a snake, then a mouse, and for a time I believed it might be a huge beetle whose laborious walking might have produced the faint rustling sound. Often the sound began but a few feet from me and apparently in a spot which I could see perfectly. The experience was becoming actually uncanny, when at last one of many patient vigils had its reward. The strange sound this time came from a comparatively open area, and by putting my eye near the ground, I could get an uninterrupted view for some distance into the brush. At last the sound and its mysterious cause were asso- ciated. For an instant I saw a dark bird about the size of a towbee 'bunting, and' quickly fired. The slatey black plumage of the bird was all I saw as I painfully made my way thru the thorns and vines, but when I took the bird in my hand I saw the exquisite pink of the breast and throat. Later I discovered why the bird's actions in the brush were so mysterious. It has the scratching habit of the towhee, but frequently stops only long enough to scatter a few leaves, and then a few noise- less hops take the bird to a different quarter where the scratching may be heard again. Thus the bird dodges hither and thither within a small area and while its presence is constantly betrayed to the ear, the eye cannot penetrate the dense thicket and discover the bird. Several other thrush-like birds have this habit, and all told, I was put to much vexation and loss of time in getting a few of these tor- menting creatures. One day while walking among the forlorn, brushy hills I was surprised to flush a covey of quail (Eupsycorlyx). As they darted away they looked much like our own Bobwhite. To my despair the flock sought safety in a patch of the densest shrubbery, and I had to give up the pursuit with keen regret, as these quail seemed strangely out of place, so like our own bird, and yet so far from home. Fortunately my curiosity was satisfied; for a few days later I again flushed a flock, and this time took my chance at a wing shot, in the endeavor to keep my quarry from gaining the thicket. My surprise and delight were equal to each other, when the bird I singled out fell to the ground. At the time the bird seemed strikingly suggestive of both the California Valley Quail and the Bobwhite. On its head is a long tuft of tawny feathers, and on its breast a patch of chestnut, while its general body markings are quite similar to those of the Bobwhite. All their habits that I observed were typically quail-like. A very dainty, curious bird is the tiny green paroquet (rsillacula sp.). It flies about the cultivated fields and among low trees, uttering a high-pitched note which is the subdued screech of its larger relatives. It climbs nimbly up and down weed stalks while feeding upon their seeds. These birds are tenacious of life, like all parrots, and unless killed outright, they will wriggle in among the