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 Saturday is the only available day and magnificent distances must be traversed in this region to cover the ground, two sets of this species may represent a fair day's work. I am disposed to make the statement even stronger, for the following Saturday was spent in a fruitless tramp up one "coulee" and down another, a gentle blizzard prevailing most of the time; and upon my return, worn and weary, I passed most of the following evening reading about the taking of Horned Owl's eggs and congratulating myself that the excursion of the previous Saturday had resulted so satisfactorily. Early in the morning of March 16, we set out for a drive along the creek which hurries through our home town, forming a narrow bottom, set here and there with cottonwoods overtopping the haw and willow thickets. Most of the hawk's nests along our route were well-known to me, and this fact presented a well defined method of procedure,- the inspection of all the old nests within reach that day. Owing to the heavy condition of the roads and other hindering circumstances, about eleven o'clock we found ourselves not more than ten miles from home, but near a promising grove containing a nest that formed a huge black spot among the naked branches of the cottonwood clump. We approached the place with that indefinable feeling known only to the egg-crank when he is nearing what mav be a good thing but is yet of doubtful outcome, anticipation crowding to the front only to be met by the ghost of disappointment. But see! there on the rim of the nest stands the lord of the household, and above the dark outline of the structure projects the tell tale tufts of the sitting house-wife. A moment later we can see her eyes staring upon us with angry defiance, and her plumicorns flutter in the wind as she raises her head to glare upon the intruders of the wildwood premises. Alarmed at the invasion, the male drops downward and flaps down the creek, and in another moment the female deserts her home and flies across the stream to another grove, leaving us master of the situation. The nest was in a triple crotch in the main part of the tree, which was a medium-sized cottonwood (medium- sized for Montana, not Illinois), the lover half of which was thickly grown with sprouts and deadened branches. One of the boys ascended to the nest, while I occupied the anxious seat and gave sundry directions to the climber. In a short time he drew himself up over the nest and shouted, "Four eggs, bigger than hen-eggs." Giving him repeated suggestions regarding the packing and lowering of the eggs, I danced around upon the ground below, until presently I reached up and grasped the lard pail containing the treasures. Ah, what relief when the spoils were placed safelv beside the lunch basket, and the notes hastily jotted in my tablet! A chip was knotted into the chalk-line at the brim of the nest, and when measured with a five foot tape line showed a height of thirty-two feet nine inches from the ground. The nest was one of last season's use by either Swainson's Hawk or the Ferruginous Rough-leg, and had been prepared by a scant supply of downy feathers, probably furnished by the present occupants of the nest. The next objective point was a nest about three miles back toward home: Having eaten our lunch, we turned and followed the water course until we reached the second nest, which like the first was a conspicuous mark, being in a lone cottonwood leaning directly over the water. Riding forward with the mad gallop common to Montana cowboys, the boys returned and announced, "She's on there all right. Them horns give her away." Sure enough, there sat the angered mistress of the Bubo mansion, with head reared to face the unusual visitors. This Mrs. Bubo required more demonstration to cause her to desert her home, but when the climber began to scratch among the