Life Histories of North American Cuckoos, Goatsuckers, Hummingbirds, and Their Allies (continued 2)

“While this is doubtless true in certain parts of the ani’s range, I have watched them in the neighborhood of cattle from Panama to Guatemala and only once in three years have I seen an ani alight on a cow. Since the ani associates so much with cattle without alighting upon them, and the giant cowbird, another black bird of approximately the same size, does frequently perch upon them and relieve them of their vermin, it seems likely that the ani may be often credited with the acts of the cowbird, especially since the latter is shier and less known. I have occasionally questioned one who informed me that the ani plucks ticks from the grazing animals, only to find that he was unaware of the existence of the giant cowbird. At a little distance such a person might easily suppose that the birds upon the animal’s back were the same as those about its feet, and since his closer approach would leave only the latter, the illusion would probably persist.”

He has also seen a group of anis excitedly following a battalion of army ants, probably not to feed on such fiery morsels as the ants, but to pick up “the cockroaches, spiders, and other small creatures driven from their retreat among the dead leaves by the relentless hordes.” Again he says: “After the first heavy rain of the season has sent the winged brood of the termites forth from their nests in countless millions, one can watch the anis everywhere feeding like flycatchers, making ungraceful darts, not exceeding a few feet, from low twigs and fences; but the insects are so numerous on these occasions that they can catch many without quitting their perches.”

Major Bendire (1895) quotes Dr. Richmond as saying: “The food of those examined by me on banana plantations consisted almost entirely of small grasshoppers, the stomachs being much distended with these insects. From the fresh earth found on the bill and feet of these birds, I should judge they also feed on the ground.”

Prof. A. L. Herrara, of the City of Mexico, wrote to Bendire that “it is a social bird, being usually found in small companies of from six to fifteen individuals, absolutely monogamous, sedentary, and of semidomesticated habits, frequenting the haciendas and the fields and pastures in their vicinity, and as it is considered very useful because of its habit of destroying large numbers of parasites infesting the cattle, it is not molested by the inhabitants, and becomes very tame. It extracts the Ixodes and other Acaridans with remarkable skill, without causing ulcerations which might result from the proboscis or sucker remaining in the fibres of the skin, and it must be regarded as one of the most useful birds of Mexico, especially in warm regions, so abounding in parasites of all kinds.”

Behavior.—Dr. Richmond (Bendire, 1895) says:

At Mr. Haymond’s plantation, on the Escondido River, above Bluefields, this species was unusually plentiful, owing, no doubt, to a large number of cattle kept there. The birds follow these animals as they meander over the pastures, hopping along on each side of an animal, catching grasshoppers and other insects which the cow disturbs as it moves along. Frequently the cow moves too rapidly and the birds lag behind, when they make short flights to the front again, passing over one another after the manner of the Grackles when feeding in a field. Only half a dozen birds or so follow a cow usually, and not many congregate in a flock, except when roosting. On this plantation, where the species is more abundant than usual, the birds appear to roost in numbers. An orange tree near the house was a favorite place where thirty or forty birds came to pass the night, flying in from the surrounding pasture about dusk, and after a few short flights from one tree to another, passed into the roost one or two at a time, hopping about as if seeking a favorable perch, uttering their peculiar note meanwhile. Out of this roost I shot seventeen birds one evening, and the males greatly predominated; there were only five females in the lot. The note of this species reminds one somewhat of the Flicker, Colaptes auratus, but may be better represented by the combination “plee-co,” rapidly repeated, with the accent usually on the first syllable, but sometimes on the last. I have frequently found one of the small flocks resting on a bush or bamboo along the water’s edge, perfectly silent, until my near approach started them off, one or two at a time, scolding as they went. Their flight is even, slow, as short as possible, and consists of a few flaps of the wings, followed by a short sail, then a few more flaps, etc.

Mr. Skutch writes (MS.): “Their flight is as perfectly characteristic of the birds as any other of their peculiar habits. A long journey, say anything much in excess of a hundred yards, is seldom made by a continuous flight, but the bird advances with frequent pauses in conveniently situated trees and bushes. As he alights on one of the lower branches, the momentum of the long tail carries it forward above the head with an abrupt jerk. Recovering his balance, he remains here for some moments, looking around with caution and calling in his high-pitched voice. Then, satisfied that the path ahead is clear, with a tuc tuc tuc, pihuy pihuy pihuy, he launches himself upon the next stage of his journey. A few rapid beats of his short wings serve to impart the requisite momentum, and he sets them for a long glide. In this manner he can cover surprisingly long distances, on a slightly descending course, without further muscular effort. If his ultimate destination is a certain perch in a tree or bush, he will often arrest his flight on another considerably below it. By a few queer, rapid, sideways hops along the branch, and some bounds, or better bounces, from limb to limb, he gains the desired position where, as likely as not, he spreads his wings to the morning sun.”

Mr. van Rossem (1938) says: “They feed side by side with never a sign of friction or argument over the choicer insects, and at night roost in low trees or bushes, pressed shoulder to shoulder to the limit of available space. We not infrequently found them thus when hunting at night. During the time just preceding nesting it was noticeable that they were inclined to roost two and two instead of in a long line. In some cases the pair was sitting in close contact, even though there might be plenty of room to perch comfortably.”

Voice.—Dr. Richmond’s impression of the note of the groove-billed ani is mentioned above. Señor Alfaro says, in his notes given Mr. Cherrie (1892), that, in Costa Rica, it is “known as ‘Tijo, tijo’ (tée-ho) in imitation of its peculiar notes which seem to repeat the word tijo over and over again.” Dr. Chapman (1896) says: “Its note is a prolonged chee-wyyah, easily distinguishable from the single whining whistle of C. ani.” Mr. van Rossem (1938) says: “The ordinary or ‘conversational’ notes are a series of very liquid and what can best be described as ‘contented’ bubblings and cluckings. The louder, often repeated ‘chee-múy-o-chee-múy-o’ is the alarm note.”

DISTRIBUTION

Range.—Lower Rio Grande Valley of Texas and Baja California, south to northern South America.

The range of the groove-billed ani extends north to southern Baja California (San Pedro and Santiago); southern Sinaloa (Mazatlan); southern Texas (Lomita and Corpus Christi); and Yucatan (Progreso and Chichen-Itza). East to Yucatan (Chichen-Itza); British Honduras (Cayo); Honduras (La Ceiba); Colombia (Santa Marta); and Venezuela (Altagracia, Curaçao, and Caicara). South to Venezuela (Caicara); and Peru (Chachapoyas and Lima). West to Peru (Lima and Cutervo); Ecuador (Tumbez); Costa Rica (San Jose and La Palma); El Salvador (Sonsonate); western Guatemala (Lake Amatitlan); southwestern Chiapas (Tapachula); Nayarit (San Blas); and southern Baja California (San Jose del Cabo and San Pedro).

The birds found in the cape district of Baja California have been separated subspecifically and are known as the San Lucas ani, C. s. pallidula.

Casual records.—In Louisiana a specimen was collected near New Orleans about 1890; another was taken at Ostrica during the winter of 1919; a third was obtained without date of collection near Houma; a fourth was taken at Cottonport on December 11, 1932; while a fifth was collected on Grand Isle on April 23, 1935. A specimen was taken at Huachucas, Ariz., 10 miles from the Mexican border, in May 1888, and it was noted at a point 20 miles north of Tucson on August 21, 1932. About November 1, 1904, a specimen was taken near Emporia, Kans., and on October 12, 1913, one was killed on an island about 9 miles north of Red Wing, Minn. A specimen was obtained at Jupiter Inlet, Fla., during the first week in January 1891, and there is also a somewhat indefinite record of its occurrence in the early part of January in the vicinity of Kingston, Jamaica.

Egg dates.—Central America: 4 records, May 27 to July 29.

Baja California: 6 records, April 1 to September 3.

Mexico: 40 records, March 20 to August 14; 20 records, May 16 to June 30, indicating the height of the season.

Texas: 7 records, March 17 to July 15.

CROTOPHAGA SULCIROSTRIS PALLIDULA Bangs and Penard

SAN LUCAS ANI

HABITS

The groove-billed ani of the Cape region of Lower California, Mexico, was described and given the above name by Bangs and Penard (1921), based on a series of 18 specimens from San José del Cabo. It is said to be⁠—

similar to Crotophaga sulcirostris sulcirostris Swainson of Mexico, and of about the same size, but much paler and with less purplish iridescence; the U-shaped iridescent markings of the back and breast paler and duller greenish, not so brilliant; the dull purplish bronze of the head and neck of true sulcirostris replaced by paler, more grayish bronze; the lustreless parts of the body-feathers grayish brownish black instead of dull black. * * *

Eighteen adults of this new form, laid out beside a series of nearly double that number from various points in Mexico and Central America, are strikingly different; the pale, dull colors of the Lower California bird cannot be matched by any specimen in our series of true sulcirostris. The difference is noticeable at a glance but rather difficult to describe. Brewster (1902), in his account of the birds of the Cape Region of Lower California, states that the Groove-billed Ani is not known to occur in central and northern Lower California, and that the colonies which have become established in the Cape region were probably originated by birds which came from western Mexico. However this may be, the isolated colony of Cape St. Lucas has developed into a very distinct form, worthy of recognition.

Griffing Bancroft writes to me, on August 6, 1937, that he is “as nearly satisfied as it is possible to be from negative evidence” that this form of the groove-billed ani is extinct.

Nesting.—Lyman Belding (1883) writes: “The 1st of April I discovered four of these birds in a marsh, in which was a rank growth of tule, flags, and reeds. Having shot one of them, and the others were not molested, they remained in the marsh until May 15, or later. A nest found April 29 contained eight eggs. It was fastened to upright reeds, and was composed of coarse weed stalks and mesquite twigs, lined with green leaves. The female, while incubating, was very wary, slipping quietly away from the nest and returning to it very stealthily, below the tops of the reeds.”

William Brewster (1902) says that the nest “taken by Mr. Frazar was in a willow about twenty feet above the ground. It is a flat-loose, but withal rather neat structure, formed outwardly of dead twigs and very substantially lined with cottonwood and willow leaves, which look as if they must have been dry when gathered. * * * This nest measures about six inches across the top, and the cavity is nearly an inch in depth. * * * Mr. Frazar met with the Groove-billed Ani only at San José del Cabo, where a flock of about thirty frequented some thick brush about pools of water near the mouth of the river.”

Eggs.—The eggs of this race are apparently just like those of the species elsewhere. The measurements of 9 eggs average 31.99 by 24.00 millimeters; the eggs showing the four extremes measure 33.5 by 23, 31.8 by 24.9, and 30.5 by 23 millimeters.

GEOCOCCYX CALIFORNIANUS (Lesson)

ROADRUNNER

Plates 3–6

HABITS

Contributed by George Miksch Sutton

Most ornithologists are to some extent acquainted with the roadrunner. They have read about him. They have heard strange stories about him. Perhaps, driving along some road in the Southwestern United States, they have even seen him. But he who really knows the roadrunner has risen morning after morning with the desert sun; thrilled at the brilliance of the desert stars; seen day turned to sudden night by the dust-storm; pulled cactus spines from his shins. He who knows the roadrunner, he who has measured the breadth and the depth of this unique bird personality, has lived with him—not for an hour or so, not for a day, but week after week after week.

First impressions almost invariably give us an inadequate concept of this strange bird. We hear him scuttle through dry leaves ahead of us, catch a glimpse of him as he slips back of a rock, know from the flight of a grasshopper that he has gone a certain way, and that is all. Or, coming upon him suddenly, we surprise him into flight; note his short, rounded wings, long tail, and coarsely streaked plumage; watch him sail down the arroyo; and marvel that with the shutting of his wings and reckless plunge into the thicket he is so instantly lost to view.

Sometimes, traveling in a motorcar, we come upon him perched on a fence post or telegraph pole close to the highway. Now we have opportunity to observe how slim he is, how long his legs, how noticeable his crest. But as we pass he leaps to the ground, swings off through the cactus clumps, and is gone. Once more only a glimpse! Once more only the retreat of a timid desert creature that appears to be half bird, half reptile.

But lie in wait for the roadrunner! Watch him race across the sand, full speed, after a lizard. Watch him put out a wing, change his course, throw up his tail, change his course again, plunge headlong into a clump of cactus, and emerge, whacking his limp victim on the ground. Watch him jerk a slender snake from the grass, fling it into the air, grasp it by the head or neck, pummel it with his hard mandibles, and gulp it head first. Watch him stalk a grasshopper, slipping quietly forward, making a sudden rush with wings and tail fully spread, frightening the doomed insect into flight, then leaping 3 or 4 feet in air to snatch it flycatcherwise in his long bill. Watch the roadrunner for an hour at his daily business of catching food and you will deem him among the most amazing of all the desert’s amazing creatures. Snake-killer indeed! Chaparral cock! Not by sitting quietly on fence posts, not by slipping shyly from the path, has the roadrunner earned for himself these bloodstirring names!

So odd, so even funny a creature is the roadrunner that it is natural to caricature him a bit in describing him. This J. L. Sloanaker (1913) has done when he writes:

Of all the birds on our list the Roadrunner is doubtless the most unique; indeed, he is queer, and would certainly take first prize in the freak class at the Arizona state fair. He is about two feet in length, with a tail as long as his body, color above brown streaked with black, bare spaces around eyes blue and orange, feathers of head and neck bristle-tipped, eyelids lashed, * * * his whole plumage coarse and harsh. Could you imagine such a looking creature? Try and think of a long striped snake on two legs, a feather duster on his head and another trailing behind; or a tall, slim tramp in a swallow-tailed coat, a black and blue eye, and a head of hair standing straight on end! There you are!

Elliott Coues (1903) describes roadrunners as “singular birds—cuckoos compounded of a chicken and a Magpie.” Mrs. Bailey (1902) considers them among the “most original and entertaining of western birds.” Other writers call them “odd,” “anomalous,” and “unique.” They are.

Throughout much of his range the roadrunner is known as the chaparral cock, or merely the chaparral. He also is called lizard bird, ground cuckoo, cock of the desert, and, as we have stated above, snake killer. The Mexicans call him the paisano or the correo del camino. The first of these names means compatriot or fellow countryman; according to some writers it expresses affectionate regard, and is to be freely translated “little friend.” The latter is almost the equivalent of our name roadrunner.

That the roadrunner has at times been known as the churca we learn from an interesting note by Elliott Coues (1900) who quotes from an anonymous Franciscan priest the following description, published in 1790: “The Churca is a kind of pheasant which has a long bill, dark plumage, a handsome tail and four feet. It has these latter facing outward in such fashion that when it runs it leaves the track of two feet going forward and two going backward.”

Coues himself calls attention to the fact that the word “toes” must replace the word “feet” in the above paragraph if the description is to fit the roadrunner. The error may well have been the translator’s. At any rate, anyone who has observed a roadrunner’s tracks in the sand knows how faithfully these record the zygodactylism of the bird’s foot.

Many a fanciful tale is told of the roadrunner. According to the best known of these, the bird builds a fence of cactus spines about a sleeping rattler, letting the doomed reptile buffet itself to weariness until finally, in desperation, it is impaled on the spines or bites itself to death! According to other stories (some of which probably have a grain of truth in them), the bird will deliberately race the swiftest horse across the plains!

The speed of the roadrunner is remarkable. Not when he is flying—a flying roadrunner is as much out of his element as a swimming chicken—but when he is afoot. A. W. Anthony (1892) tells us of a pair of birds that apparently enjoyed being chased by a hound that could never catch them. He says:

At Hatchita [New Mexico] a pair came regularly to one of the mines for water, a small pool having been formed near the shaft, from the pumps. The visit was made at nearly the same hour each forenoon, and was eagerly looked forward to by a foxhound owned by one of the workmen. The dog never failed to give chase as soon as the birds were sighted, and the race was as much enjoyed by the birds as by the dog; they seemed to have no difficulty whatever in keeping well out of danger without taking wing, and usually found time during the chase to stop at the water hole and get their daily drink, after which they quickly disappeared.

H. C. Bryant (1916) quotes from Heermann that the roadrunner “may, however, be overtaken when followed on horseback over the vast open plains,” and Heermann is known to have seen “one captured by a couple of dogs.”

Richard Hunt (1920), who was able to check with a speedometer the actual speed of a roadrunner encountered “en route from Soledad to the Galiban Range” in California, writes: “At the top speed to which we provoked our victim, the famous runner was moving at the tremendous rate of 10 miles an hour on a practically level piece of road.”

H. H. Sheldon (1922a), who also checked the roadrunner’s running speed with a speedometer, writes of the incident: “The car gained on the bird until about five yards separated us, and I saw it was running at its utmost speed. I instructed my friend, who was driving, not to press him further, and for fully three hundred yards the bird ran from the big monster in pursuit, the while the speedometer registered exactly fifteen miles per hour. When finally we approached very closely, the bird gave up and flew into a palm, where I plainly saw it, beak agape and apparently very much fatigued from the unusual exertion.”

There is no doubt in my own mind that a fully adult roadrunner, can, for short distances, run faster than 15 miles an hour. Athletic directors tell us that an average man (not an athlete) can run 9 yards a second, or about 18 miles an hour. I know I can run as fast as the average man, and I know I have failed many a time to gain on a roadrunner that happened to appear on the road a short distance ahead of me. I distinctly recall catching two young roadrunners (with tails 7 or 8 inches long) in a little gully near Fort Worth, Tex., in about the year 1913. I had quite a chase and might never have caught them had they not been forced to run up a steep embankment.

Spring.—We have seen the roadrunner sneak off through the weeds—a frightened bird. We have seen him capture lizards, snakes, scorpions, centipedes, tarantulas—a veritable monster. But not until we have heard him sing do we know the finer side (as Aldrovandus of old would say) of his nature. On fine spring mornings he sings as the sun rises, and he may continue his fervent if somewhat monotonous performance for an hour or more. His favorite songperch is the eastern rim of a mesa where, full in the fresh sunlight, he can see far and wide. If there is no mesa, he chooses a dead tree or a high cactus. Here, directing his bill downward until it almost touches his toes, he begins to coo. Coo, coo, coo, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, he calls, pumping out the syllables in a hoarse, throaty voice, his head rising a little with each coo, until the bill points upward, the pitch of the song meanwhile dropping gradually lower. So he starts with head low and coo high, and ends vice versa. Cattlemen say that before he begins his song he “lays his beak on the rock.”

The pumped-out series of coos we have just described doubtless is the roadrunner’s love song. Before giving it he may parade in a prominent place, strutting with head held stiff and high, and wings and tail drooping. On May 2, 1914, I witnessed what I believe were certain courtship antics of the male before the female not far from Fort Worth, Tex. According to the published account (Sutton, 1922) of this performance, the bird’s “wings were spread, and he may have been preening and taking a sun bath, but circumstances * * * led me to think otherwise. Now and then he bowed, and affected a close examination of his feet, only to raise his head again, drop his wings, lift them again and spread his tail. * * * Before I knew it [I] was discovered * * * and then, without wings spread, leaped from the dead branch to the next lower one, whence on outstretched wings he sailed to the ground. I rushed up to where he had been, and was surprised to see two birds scuttling * * * off through the vines.”

Nesting.—The nest, which usually is situated in a low tree, thicket, or clump of cactus 3 or 4 to 15 feet from the ground, is a rather compact, though not deeply cupped affair, about a foot in diameter and 6 to 8 inches high, with foundation of sticks and lining of leaves, grass, feathers, mesquite pods, snakeskin, roots, and dry flakes of cattle and horse manure. It is sometimes well hidden, sometimes not. In the Black Mesa country of the far western Oklahoma Panhandle John Semple and I found several nests in small cedar trees that grew on the mesa sides. Here the nests were well hidden, and since cedar trees were numerous our usual method of locating nests was watching the parent birds.

Rarely the nest is built on the ground. Such a nest, containing six eggs, was found by W. W. Brown in Sonora, Mexico, on May 15, 1905. This nest is preserved in the John E. Thayer collection.

A. C. Bent writes me of a nest found by F. C. Willard in Cochise County, Ariz., on April 23, 1916, “7 feet from the ground on a packrat’s nest in a dense thicket of hawthorn.” This nest was “merely a few leaves, etc., in a slight hollow in the rubbish of the rat’s nest.” While Mr. Bent was hunting ravens’ nests among the abandoned oil derricks in the Kettleman Hills, Calif., his companion, J. R. Pemberton, told him that roadrunners sometimes built their nests in the lower parts of the derricks, using the sticks dropped by the ravens. Griffing Bancroft (1930) describes a nest with complete set of two eggs found in Lower California in the heart of a date palm * * * so well concealed that it could not be seen until much of the foliage had been cut away.

Eggs.—Roadrunner nests contain, as a rule, three to five or six eggs. Occasionally two eggs comprise a complete set; and sets with as many as 12 eggs have been recorded. Where large numbers of eggs are found in one nest it is supposed that more than one female has deposited them. Coues (1903) describes the eggs as “ovate or elliptical, white in ground color with an overlying chalky film which may take a slight yellowish tint, ranging in length from 1.45 to 1.75, averaging 1.55 x 1.20. They are laid at considerable intervals; incubation begins as soon as a few are deposited, and is believed to last 18 days for each egg. The development of the chicks is rapid; perfectly fresh eggs and newly-hatched young may be found together; and by the time the last young are breaking the shell the others may be graded up to half the size of the adult.”

[Author’s note: The measurements of 55 eggs average 39.2 by 30.1 millimeters; the eggs showing the four extremes measure 44 by 30, 41 by 32, and 34 by 27.5 millimeters.]

William L. and Irene Finley (1915) describe a typical nest in which there were “one fresh egg, one egg just ready to hatch, two featherless, greasy, black young, and two young ones about grown and ready to leave home.” These authors were in a position to watch this nest almost continuously for several days. They did not observe more than one female parent. If, then, the several eggs were laid by more than one female, it may be supposed that the species is to some extent parasitic or promiscuous in this regard, as the yellow-billed and black-billed cuckoos also are thought to be.

Frank L. Burns (1915) also gives the period of incubation as “18 days.” It is supposed that only the female incubates. That incubation sometimes begins with the laying of the first egg rather than “as soon as a few are deposited” (see above quotation from Coues) has been observed by M. French Gilman (1915), who tells us of a nest with four eggs in which “one hatched July 20, the others on the three succeeding days.” In cases of this sort it is natural to suppose that all eggs are laid by the same female.

Eggs are usually laid in April and May. W. E. D. Scott (1886) tells us, however, of several nests found on the San Pedro slope of the Catalina Mountains in Arizona, the earliest of which, discovered March 17, 1885, at an elevation of 3,000 feet, contained two fresh eggs. That two broods of young are sometimes, if not frequently, reared in one season has been reported by numerous authors, though I believe it has not been proved beyond doubt that fresh eggs found in July are laid by females that have already succeeded in bringing out one brood.

Young.—Newly hatched young are odd, “featherless, greasy, black” creatures with a reptilian appearance. I had a good deal to do with young roadrunners in the vicinity of Fort Worth, Tex., as a boy, so I quote my own description here (1922):

The nestling bird, be it ever so young, has an unmistakable cuckoo-like expression in its face, though its eyes, upon which a good portion of the facial expression depends, are quite different from those of the adult, being of a deep dull brown with a bluish pupil. * * * The eyelashes are small, in fact scarcely apparent. Its whole external appearance is very sombre, and rather dirty-looking, as though the creature had been bathed in some unrefined oil, which had not been properly administered. The white hairs, each of which marks a coming feather, all lie in rows and look as if they had been rudely combed into place. The rather large, pale blue-gray feet are strong in the toes, but very weak at the heel, so that the birds cling to the fingers or the twigs of their nest with some power, but are quite unable to rise. Whenever there were very many young birds in the nest they presented a peculiarly scrambled appearance, due, I believe, to the constant disturbance at feeding time more than to restlessness, for they usually lie quite still. By May 1 [the birds were taken from the nest on April 29] feathers were appearing rapidly on my young birds, first on the top of the head, back, and wings, and then on the belly, tail, and throat. Once the blood-quills had started to burst, development was very rapid. On May 4 the birds were quite well feathered, the tails being one and one-half inches long, and they were quite able to walk unsteadily. It is at this period, or a little before, that the young leave the nest, though there must be innumerable dangers for the rather weak-legged creatures. Several times I have come across young birds able to run well, but still in trees, which leads me to believe that the young may, like young Green Herons, spend a portion of their early active life climbing about from branch to branch.

During the spring and summer of 1914 I reared these two young roadrunners, feeding them uncounted hundreds of grasshoppers, cave crickets, tarantulas, centipedes, scorpions, lizards, snakes, mice, cotton rats, and small birds. They were the most entertaining pets I ever had. Eventually they learned to capture their own food. Concerning this period of their life I have published the following paragraphs (1936):

After three weeks they became sturdy enough to catch part of their own food. With patient coaxing they were taught to pick up grasshoppers tossed to them, and finally to run after and capture crippled insects. Content at first, perforce, with sluggish, wingless nymphs which were abundant, they stole about through the weeds, wings pressed neatly against their slender bodies, snapping up the insects as fast as they could find them. Grasshoppers, often still alive and kicking, they swallowed with a toss of the head and a hollow gulp. Large green or gray cave crickets, which live in piles of boards, or in damp, shadowy places, were especially prized. When a yellow- or coral-winged grasshopper rose noisily from the path, the birds crouched in momentary fear, but soon began to mark the return to earth of the clackety aeronaut and to steal up behind clumps of grass, intent upon a killing.

Finally they learned to capture the biggest, noisiest, and wariest grasshoppers on the prairies. They would watch a coral-wing in his courtship flight and, running stealthily, wait until the performer dropped to the ground. With a bound over low weeds, a dart across the open, and a final rush with outspread wings and tail, they would frighten their prey into the air, leap nimbly after him, nab him unerringly with their bills, and descend gracefully on outspread wings to beat him to insensibility with a whack or two on a stone.

Once they had learned to capture grasshoppers, their food problem was largely solved and, since they showed no inclination to run away, they were at liberty most of the time. They ran about the yard, playing with each other, or catching insects. In the heat of mid-day they sought the shelter of broad, cool leaves, and sprawled in the sand. Daily, often many times daily, I took them for a walk across the prairie. Following me closely or running at my side, they watched the big world with eyes far keener than my own. Grasshoppers which I frightened from the grass they captured in side expeditions. If I paused near a flat stone, they urged me on with grunts, bit gently at my hands, and raced back and forth in an ecstasy of anticipation.

I entertained misgivings concerning these flat stones. What savage creatures might not they conceal? Could young Road-Runners manage swift-tailed scorpions, sharp-toothed mice, or poisonous spiders? Under the first stone there were scorpions. The Road-Runners hesitated an instant, as if permitting an untried instinct to take possession of their brains, then rushed forward, thrust out their heads, and attacked the scorpions precisely at their tails. Perhaps these venomous tails received more than the usual number of benumbing blows, but the scorpions were swallowed with gusto.

I had not supposed that a Road-Runner would capture and devour a tarantula. One day, however, we paused at the tunnel of one of these big, furred spiders. Somewhat in the spirit of experimentation, and following the method known to all Texas boys, I teased the black Arachnid from her lair by twirling a wisp of grass in her face. She popped out viciously and jumped a good ten inches to one side. With a dash one bird was upon the monster before she had opportunity to leap a second time. A toss of the bird’s head and one of the eight legs was gone. Free again, the spider leaped upon her captor. The other bird now entered the combat, snatched up the spider, and flicked off another leg. One by one the legs went down, and finally the two birds pulled apart and gulped the sable torso.

Plumages.—The newly hatched roadrunner’s only plumage is coarse, long, white or whitish hairs. These do not by any means cover the dark-skinned body, but they apparently give the bird all the protection it needs. At this stage the light-colored egg tooth is noticeable, the feet are dark colored like the rest of the body, the mouth lining has a peculiarly blotched appearance, and the irides are dull brown.

As blood quills replace the long white hairs, the egg tooth disappears, the legs and feet turn blue-gray, the skin about and back of the eye lightens, and the blotching of the mouth lining becomes less conspicuous. The sprouting feathers now bear at their tips the white hairs of babyhood. Some of these hairs cling to the plumage long after the bird leaves the nest.

When young roadrunners begin to capture their own food they wear a plumage that is much like that of the adult. J. A. Allen (Scott, 1886) describes this plumage thus: “The chief difference in color consists in the broad shaft stripes of the feathers of the neck and breast being less sharply defined in the young than in the adult, and in the brown edgings bordering the shaft stripes being paler.”

At this stage the bare skin about the eye becomes pale blue, and the naked patch back of the eye light orange. Too, the eye itself changes, a light-colored ring, which contrasts sharply with the brown or gray-brown of the rest of the iris, forming about the pupil. As the bird becomes older the bare skin of the face brightens. Fully adult males, at the height of the nesting season, are fairly resplendent with their high, steel-blue crest, brilliant eye, and bright orange patch back of the eye.

The plumage worn by the young bird after it loses its natal hairs is apparently the first winter plumage. Judging from such specimens as I have seen, the postnuptial molt is the only complete molt of the adult bird. Whether there is a partial prenuptial molt in young or adult birds I cannot say. The roadrunner’s life is so strenuous that he doubtless loses feathers frequently. Spring birds with half-grown tail feathers may therefore not be performing a molt in the usual sense of the word.

Food.—Lizards (including the armored horned “toad”), small snakes, scorpions, tarantulas and other spiders, centipedes and millipedes, mice, cotton rats, ground-inhabiting small birds and their eggs and young, young quail, insects of all sorts, various fruits and seeds, including pricklypears: all these are eaten by the roadrunner; and this considerable list but hints at the rapacity and digestive powers of the gaunt bird. One of the most thorough-going reports on the roadrunner’s food habits is that by Dr. Harold C. Bryant (1916). Informing us that animal food makes up slightly over 90 percent of the total food of the species in California, Dr. Bryant says:

Almost any animal, from the smaller rodents down to tiny insects, appears to be relished by this bird. Although the stomachs examined showed no large percentage of vertebrates, other published records show that reptiles sometimes form a large part, if not the entire diet. Even these larger elements of food are usually swallowed whole at one gulp. That the digestive apparatus is powerful is evidenced by the fact that bone, hair, and feathers pass through the digestive tract, and are not thrown back out through the mouth in the form of pellets, as is the case with some hawks and most owls.

A diagram in Dr. Bryant’s paper makes it plain that grasshoppers and crickets form a considerable part (36.82 percent) of the roadrunner’s food in California. Beetles form 18.2 percent; and seeds and fruits, cutworms and caterpillars, bugs, ants, bees, wasps, scorpions, lizards, mammals, fly larvae, birds, and “miscellaneous” items go to make up the rest.

Game officials are usually opposed to the roadrunner, for the bird is reputed to be an enemy of young quail. Regarding the bird’s reputation as a quail destroyer, W. L. McAtee (1931) tells us that “the Road-runner is persecuted almost throughout its range * * * as an alleged destroyer of Quail eggs, and state bounties are even paid for its destruction. Yet the Road-runner never has been known to be a special enemy of Quail,” and it doubtless “eats more scorpions, centipedes, and tarantulas, those poisonous nuisances of the Southwest, than it does Quail eggs.”

Aldo Leopold (1922) writes of shooting a roadrunner “with a light-colored object in his bill.” Examining the spot where the bird had fallen he “found a dead [quail] chick, still limber and warm but unmutilated * * * still in the downy stage, with ⅛-inch pin feathers on the wing—smaller than a domestic chick when hatched.”

S. S. Visher (1910) writing of birds found by him in Pima County, Ariz., tells us that roadrunners “have been seen leaving the nest of Gambel’s Quails carrying an egg in their beak.”

That the roadrunner will occasionally capture birds as large as a mockingbird is apparent from several published accounts including that by Robert S. Woods (1927a) who tells us of “an immature but full-grown mockingbird” captured though not actually killed by a roadrunner near Azusa, Calif.; and that by Dr. W. K. Fisher (1904) who reports that a roadrunner was seen to “remove from a nest a young mockingbird and devour it” in Mission Valley, near San Diego, Calif.

In a letter to A. C. Bent, Mr. Woods (who is quoted above) speaks of a short article written by the late Rev. St. John O’Sullivan, of San Juan Capistrano Mission, “describing a roadrunner’s method of killing a swift by lying in wait in a creek-bed near Palm Springs and suddenly springing into the air to knock down one of the birds which passed within its reach.” This capturing swifts in air seems perfectly plausible to me, for I recall seeing my captive roadrunners capturing English sparrows in much the same manner. Walking about with a noncommittal air that was comically suggestive of the chickens that fed nearby, they gradually grew nearer to a sparrow, then with a dash to one side and a tremendous leap snatched the fleeing victim from the air.

A. W. Anthony (1896) tells us of suddenly coming upon a roadrunner that had just finished despatching a wood rat (Neotoma). “The bird reluctantly withdrew as I came upon the scene,” he writes, “leaving the rat, which I found to be quite dead.”

My own captive birds caught and killed a cotton rat (Sigmodon) that lived in a stone wall near our house in Fort Worth, Tex. Two or three times a day this rat scurried across a gap in this wall, and the birds came to look upon him as a possible meal. At first his speed and considerable size kept the enemy at a safe distance, but their interest sharpened daily, and eventually they formed the habit of loitering near the runway. One day I heard a squeal of terror and ran up in time to see the bewildered animal running this way and that, trying to escape two lightning-quick demons who never really held him, but pinched him, tossed him, dealt him blows, buffeted him, made him weary with fighting for life. Over his limp form the roadrunners had an argument. He was heavy. No sooner would one bird start to swallow than the other would be tugging at the hind foot or tail, and down he would drop. I finally cut the rat in two.

Carroll Dewilton Scott has contributed a note concerning roadrunners that catch half-grown “gophers” in his garden at Pacific Beach, Calif. Describing one of the birds he says: “Finally, after ridiculous gulpings and twistings of his neck he got the gopher down, balanced his tail, and ambled away from another conquest.”

Mrs. Bailey (1928) tells us of two roadrunners observed at Carlsbad, N. Mex., that “snapped their bills and chased each other up into a cottonwood on the bank where there were caterpillar nests. To determine what they had been eating, one was shot and its gizzard was found to contain not only caterpillar skins but a number of large grasshoppers, a large black cricket, beetles, a centipede six inches long, and part of a garter snake a foot long. The rest of the snake was down in the crop and the barely swallowed end up near the bill.”

Regarding the economic status of the roadrunner in California, Dr. Bryant (1916) says: “A preponderance of evidence favors the bird. The destruction of such unquestioned pests as grasshoppers, cutworms, caterpillars, and wireworms and of such rodents as mice is to be desired even if the amount of destruction be relatively small. The taking of this sort of food on wild land is evidence that this bird when feeding in cultivated fields is likely to be distinctly beneficial.”

Behavior.—Anyone who has observed the roadrunner closely knows what an entertaining creature it is. Its voracity keeps it on the alert for food. To capture a grasshopper one moment, a race-runner lizard the next, and a tarantula the next requires strength, speed, and prowess. If nymph grasshoppers are numerous, the bird has no trouble in obtaining a meal. But flying grasshoppers are difficult to overtake; lizards escape because of the brittleness of their tails; and tarantulas have burrows into which they can pop when danger threatens.

Not often does one see a wild roadrunner capturing its food. I recall watching one a year or two ago, not far from Packsaddle Lake, a small, artificial body of water in western Oklahoma. I had climbed a sandy mound. Peering through the sagebrush, I saw a roadrunner under a bush not far away, busy feeding. He ran out into the sunlight now and then, but his attention was directed principally to grasshoppers that must have been feeding on the leaves. These he snatched, with nimble leaps upward, in the tip of his bill. To reach the insects that were in the midst of the bush, he scrambled noisily through the twigs, caught a few, then sprang back to the ground to catch those that had fallen or jumped out.

W. E. Allen (1932) gives us a breezy description of the capture of a small bird by a roadrunner that had been running just ahead of him. He says:

Before we had gone as much as a hundred yards, however, his [the roadrunner’s] pacing routine was broken by a sudden dash from a slouchy pose and the development of a brown streak across the road which ended in his emergence on a bank beyond a parked automobile. Somewhere beneath the car he had struck a full-fledged young bird (probably a “California Linnet”) at full speed * * *. The victim appeared to have been caught by the neck, which probably accounts for the fact that it made no outcry. It must have been badly stunned also by the stroke of the heavy beak because it struggled only feebly.

After becoming satisfied that I was not disposed to interfere, the captor moved on to a point about 10 feet farther away. Here he hammered the hard ground two or three times with the body of his victim, evidently destroying all signs of life. Then he dropped it, grasped a wing near its base, and with a skilful jerk stripped nearly every feather from it * * *. After stripping the wing he spent three or four minutes in picking at the birdling’s body with some hammering and jerking mixed in. Apparently this was for the purpose of getting rid of feathers. At any rate, they were thrown around profusely, and the movements were different from those a little later which seemed to be devoted to mauling and crushing the body into a shapeless mass.

Finally this mass (which seemed to be about as large as the roadrunner’s head) was picked up with a kind of tossing motion which landed it in the back of his mouth. The first effort at swallowing, consisting of tossings of the head and spasmodic movements of the jaws and throat, only resulted in getting the mass started into the throat. After a short rest another series of these movements shifted it along to a visible extent but it was not till the fourth series was finished that the food appeared to have been swallowed completely. After this was accomplished the bird turned toward me and slouched into a curious pose of indifference mixed with satisfaction.

A roadrunner’s program is full enough with only himself to feed. But when he has a nestful of hungry young he must indeed wear himself ragged catching insects and lizards and snakes. These he brings from near and far, going and coming in such a way as to keep himself hidden. With what satisfaction must he start a foot-long garter snake on its way down the gullet of one of his offspring, knowing that one voice at least will be stilled so long as any of that snake remains to be swallowed!

Many an interesting account has been written of the roadrunner’s foraging activities. A. Brazier Howell (1916) tells us of difficulties he had in retrieving small bird specimens before roadrunners stole them. He writes:

While I was out collecting, these abundant birds would often be seen skulking about with eyes open for any opportunity, and it was always necessary, in such cases, to make a dash for a specimen after it was shot. On two occasions a roadrunner darted in and grabbed a bird when I had almost reached it, once hopping two feet in air to nip a sparrow that had lodged in the branches of a bush. At another time I was watching a small flock of sparrows as they busily fed in the brush, when I noted a roadrunner stealing up like a cat, taking advantage of every bit of cover. When at the proper distance, it rushed out and sprang into the air at the retreating sparrows.

J. Eugene Law (1923) tells us of a roadrunner that tried to pull a dead golden-crowned sparrow through the ¾-inch-mesh wire of a sparrow trap. This writer states that he did not actually see the roadrunner kill the sparrow, though an autopsy showed “the entire brain area” to be “dark with blood infusion.”

My pet roadrunners did not capture horned “frogs” unless other food was difficult to obtain. They killed and ate these well-armored reptiles, however. A horned lizard, confronted by its ancient foe, would flatten out, rise high on its legs, and sway back and forth as if about to leap or inflict a dangerous bite. But a roadrunner is not to be bluffed. Grasping his tough victim by the head or back he beat it against a convenient stone. Thirty or forty blows were needed to render it sufficiently quiescent for ingestion. If swallowed while yet alive it had to be coughed up for further battering.

When not engaged in pursuing food a roadrunner may rest, seeking either a cool spot on the ground or the shadowy heart of a tree. In the morning it sometimes takes a sunbath. Henry W. Henshaw (1875) tells us that “it loves to meet the first rays of the rising sun, ascending for this purpose to the top of the mesquite trees, and, standing erect on the topmost branch, loosens its feathers, and appears to catch all the grateful warmth possible, remaining in this attitude for many minutes.” My captive roadrunners took sunbaths every day, spreading their wings and exposing the featherless tracts of their backs.

The roadrunner has a streak of domesticity in his nature. Mrs. Bailey (1922) has given us a delightful account of a remarkably tame though uncaged bird that lived about camp. Concerning this bird (which was known as “Koo”), Mrs. Bailey says:

It was not his potential usefulness as a camp watchman or killer of “varmints” but his ready friendliness and attractive ways which attached us to our rare camp visitor. If we were busy when he came he would call koo, koo, and then wait for us to discover him. Sometimes we would look hard before finding him and finally make him out standing on the mesquite slope above us, his feathers puffed out spreading the streaks on his chest till they and his light underparts toned in perfectly with a background of straw-colored ground and dry weed-stalks—completely camouflaging him. It was astonishing to see how such a large, marked bird could disappear in its background. And what a contrast that round, bird-like form made to the grotesque running figure we were familiar with—long neck, slender body, and long tail, one straight line.

J. K. Jensen (1923) tells us of a pair of roadrunners that fed “with the chickens on a ranch near Santa Fe,” that “came regularly for a ‘hand out’ and often went to roost in the poultry house.” This author does not specify what the “hand out” was. Needless to say, it hardly could have been corn or wheat.

Frightened from the nest a roadrunner may scuttle off to remain hidden for some time. Again, it may stay close by, attempting to lure the intruder away. M. French Gilman (1915) describes a mother bird that was “very anxious about the eggs,” that “ran around close to me in a mammalian sort of way, flat on the ground, tail dragging, and head stretched out in front only about three inches from the soil. She did not look like a bird at all, and though making no fluttering demonstration, her antics were calculated to excite curiosity and distract attention from the nest.”

J. R. Pemberton (1916) describing a “variation of the broken-wing stunt” by a roadrunner, writes:

As I was climbing near the nest the bird hopped to the ground. Immediately it began to squirm, scramble, and drag itself away across an open space and in full view. The bird was simulating a broken leg instead of the conventional broken wing! The bird held its wings closed throughout the demonstration though frequently falling over on its side in its enthusiasm. The whole performance was kept entirely in my view, the bird gradually working away from the tree until it was some 35 feet distant when it immediately ran back to the base of the tree and repeated the whole show. I had been so interested up to now that I had failed to examine the nest which when looked into contained five young probably a week old. When I got to the ground the bird continued its stunt rather more frantically than before and in order to encourage the bird I followed, and was pleased to see it remain highly consistent until I was decoyed to a point well outside the grove. Here the bird suddenly ran away at full speed and in a direction still away from the nest.

Voice.—We have already described the spring song of the roadrunner. Howard Lacey (1911) tells us that the bird “makes a loud chuckling crowing noise * * * and also a cooing noise that might easily be mistaken for the voice of some kind of dove; it also makes a sort of purring sound in its throat, perrp, perrp, perrp.”

As for this “purring sound,” I am not at all sure that it is vocal. One of the roadrunner’s most characteristic alarm sounds is not a cry at all; it is an incisive, clackety noise made by rolling the mandibles together rapidly and sharply. Even young birds just out of the nest can produce this sound, though the softness of the bill muffles the sharpness somewhat.

Young birds in the nest make a buzzing sound when begging for food. Well do I remember a nestful of these “infant dragons” that I found in April 1914. Concerning these I have written (1936): “Accidentally I touched an upturned beak and four great mouths, wobbling uncertainly on scrawny necks, rose in unison. I jerked back my hand—the pink-blotched lining of those mouths had an almost poisonous appearance. From the depths of the small frames came a hoarse, many-toned buzzing which gave the impression that a colony of winged insects had been stirred to anger.”

Enemies.—There is little doubt in my mind that the roadrunner’s worst enemy is man. Man wants quail to shoot. Man sees a roadrunner chasing young quail or finds a young quail in a roadrunner’s stomach and lo, thumbs turn down, another name goes on the black list, and the roadrunner’s doom is sealed. In many a southwestern State there have been chaparral-cock drives and contests, bounty on roadrunners, newspaper stories and editorials defaming the bird. Too, there are those who eat roadrunners, or who chase and shoot them for “sport.” In populated sections the roadrunner has a hard time. Where man appears the roadrunner all too frequently disappears.

Certain predatory birds and mammals doubtless prey occasionally on the roadrunner, though adult birds usually are swift or wary enough to evade such enemies as coyotes and hawks. Crows and ravens doubtless eat some roadrunner eggs and young. Even the snakes themselves may take a hand in keeping the snake killer tribe from becoming too numerous. Remains of a roadrunner were found in the stomach of a red-tailed hawk collected by Dr. Josselyn Van Tyne in Brewster County, Tex., February 28, 1935 (Van Tyne and Sutton, 1937).

W. L. McAtee (1931) in his timely “Little Essay on Vermin” so justly states the case of roadrunner versus mankind that his comments are of special significance here:

The Road-runner is persecuted almost throughout its range * * * as an alleged destroyer of Quail eggs, and state bounties are even paid for its destruction. Yet the Road-runner never has been shown to be a special enemy of Quail, and it cannot eat their eggs except during a brief season. The Road-runner is as nearly omnivorous as any of our birds, eating anything in its habitat that is readily available and swallowable. No doubt it will eat Quail eggs, but it is equally certain that not one meal in a thousand of all the birds at all times consists of Quail eggs.

The Road-runner actually lives up to its repute of killing rattlesnakes; without doubt, it eats more scorpions, centipedes, and tarantulas * * * than it does Quail eggs, and it is a voracious consumer of grasshoppers. It is a unique bird, not only in our fauna but in that of the world, has extremely interesting habits, and in its choice of food in the long run undoubtedly does more good than harm. Its persecution is all but baseless and is thoroughly unjustified.

DISTRIBUTION

Range.—Southwestern United States south to central Mexico.

The range of the roadrunner extends north to north-central California (Navarro River, Owens River, and Death Valley); Colorado (Meeker, Cañon City, and Las Animas); and southern Kansas (probably Caldwell and Arkansas City). East to Kansas (Arkansas City); central Oklahoma (Norman); Texas (Fort Worth, Kerrville, and San Antonio); Tamaulipas (Matamoras, Soto La Marina, and Tampico); and Pueblo (San Salvador). South to Puebla (San Salvador); Mexico (Tenango); and Jalisco (Zapotlan). West to Jalisco (Zapotlan); Baja California (Cape San Lucas, San Cristobal Bay, and Rosario); and California (San Diego, Mentone, Santa Barbara, Sebastopol, and Navarro River).

Casual records.—The roadrunner is not known outside of its normal range, but a remarkable occurrence was the finding of a specimen at Marshall Pass, Colo., at an elevation of about 10,000 feet, on October 12, 1907.

Egg dates.—Arizona: 20 records, April 5 to June 24; 10 records, April 20 to June 3, indicating the height of the season.

California: 73 records, March 4 to July 16; 37 records, March 25 to May 2.

Mexico: 5 records, April 16 to May 16.

Texas: 57 records, March 18 to July 5; 29 records, May 3 to June 1.

COCCYZUS MINOR MAYNARDI Ridgway

MAYNARD’S CUCKOO

HABITS

The mangrove cuckoo (Coccyzus minor minor) long remained on the A. O. U. Check-list, including the third edition, based on Audubon’s record of a specimen taken on Key West and figured in his Birds of America. Ridgway (1916) examined this specimen and identified it as the Jamaican mangrove cuckoo (C. minor nesiotes). Now the 1931 Check-list makes the statement that all Florida records prove to be referable to C. minor maynardi, and excludes both of the above races from the list.

The mangrove cuckoo, of which Maynard’s is a subspecies, is well named, for all races of the species seem to be confined almost exclusively to the mangroves. The only one I ever saw was encountered on our way to Alligator Lake through the mangrove forests near Cape Sable, Fla. Arthur H. Howell (1932) collected the only two he ever saw “in a black mangrove swamp near the mouth of Allens River, below Everglade.”

Nesting.—Audubon (1842) says: “The nest is slightly constructed of dry twigs, and is almost flat, nearly resembling that of the Yellow-billed Cuckoo.” Mr. Howell (1932) says that “a set of two fresh eggs (now in the Florida State Museum), which the female was beginning to incubate, was taken at Chokoloskee, June 4, 1903, from a nest 7 feet up in a red mangrove.”

Oscar E. Baynard tells me that he took two sets of two eggs each, on May 25 and 26, 1912, in a dense stand of extra large mangroves in Pinellas County, Fla.

Eggs.—The eggs of Maynard’s cuckoo are practically indistinguishable from those of the yellow-billed cuckoo. The measurements of 20 eggs average 30.77 by 23.18 millimeters; the eggs showing the four extremes measure 33.1 by 22.6, 31.4 by 24.3, 27.9 by 22, and 30 by 21.6 millimeters.

Young.—Audubon (1842) says that this cuckoo “raises two broods in the season, and feeds its young on insects until they are able to go abroad.”

Plumages.—I have seen no nestlings of this species, but a fully grown juvenal, taken in the Bahamas on June 23, has the upper parts everywhere “buffy brown” to “wood brown,” including the crown, which in the adult is grayer than the back; there are narrow white tips on the secondaries, tertials, and all the wing coverts; there are still narrower white tips on the primaries, which soon wear away; the black space below and behind the eye, so conspicuous in the adult, is lacking; the central tail feathers are paler grayish brown terminally than in the adult, and the lateral tail feathers are pale “wood brown,” instead of black, with whitish, instead of pure white, tips, which are also less clearly defined than in the adult. I have seen young birds in this plumage in July, August, and September. The body plumage is probably molted during the fall, but the juvenal wings and tail are apparently retained until the following spring or summer; I have seen young birds molting wings and tail in February, June, and August, thus assuming a fully adult plumage.

Food.—The food of Maynard’s cuckoo consists mainly of caterpillars, spiders, moths, flies, grasshoppers, and other insects; probably a few small fruits and wild berries are eaten at times. Mr. Howell (1932) says: “The stomachs of two birds taken at Everglade, Florida, in March, were examined in the Biological Survey; the food in one consisted mainly of hairy caterpillars (Arctiidae), the stomach being well lined with caterpillar spines; the remains of 3 mantids (Stagmomantis) composed the remainder. The other stomach contained 4 long-horned grasshoppers, lepidopterous larvae, locustid eggs, mantids, and spiders.”

Behavior.—Maynard (1896) says of the habits of this cuckoo in the Bahamas:

They frequent thickets near fields, and often venture into the open grounds to feed, but usually when taken by surprise in such places, quickly retreat to the thickets, into which they glide easily. Once within the cover of the shrubbery, their movements are quite deliberate, but when approached, they will jump from branch to branch, and although not appearing to hasten, will manage to elude their pursuer, and become quickly lost in the foliage.

The flight of this Cuckoo is rapid, the wings being moved quickly, much more so than in the Black or Yellow Billed Cuckoos. They generally move straight forward, without doubling, and when they wish to alight, they do so suddenly without any preliminary lessening of their speed, and as soon as their feet touch the branch the tail is dropped perpendicularly. As a rule, this Cuckoo is rather shy, especially when in open fields, but I once came across one near Mathewstown, Inagua, that was feeding in an old field, that was very tame, allowing me to approach within ten feet of it, as it deliberately searched for food among the remains of partly decayed stubs of trees which stood in the clearing.

Voice.—On this subject Maynard says:

All through the winter Maynard’s Cuckoo is rather silent, but as spring approaches they begin to utter their singular cries, and at times, more especially before rain, are quite noisy. The notes may be represented by the syllables “ou, ou, ou, ou, qua, qua, qua, coo, coo, coo.”

The “ous” are given very rapidly, with a decided Cuckoo-like intonation.

The “quas” are harsher, more like the notes of the Bahama tree frog, and are not hurriedly given. The last three notes are more Cuckoo-like than any of the others. The first four notes are often omitted, then the harshly and gravely given “quas” begin the song and on occasions these quaint sounds are not followed by any other notes, then it is sometimes difficult to distinguish the notes uttered from some of those uttered by the large Andros Island Cuckoo, Saurothera andrea. This varied song is uttered in the early morning with rather more energy than at any other time in the day.

Field marks.—The Maynard’s cuckoo might easily be mistaken for a yellow-billed cuckoo, as it doubtless often has been, the tail markings being practically the same. But the underparts are decidedly washed with “pinkish buff” and “cinnamon-buff,” though these parts are not so deeply colored as in the mangrove cuckoo. If clearly seen at close range, the grayish crown and the black area behind and, narrowly, below the eye are good field marks.

DISTRIBUTION

Range.—Northeastern South America, Central America to central Mexico, the West Indies, and southern Florida.

The range of the mangrove cuckoo extends north to Nayarit (Tres Marias Islands and San Blas); Tamaulipas (Alta Mira); Yucatan (Izamal, Temax, Chichen-Itza, Cozumel Island, and Mujeres Island); western Cuba (Isle of Pines); Florida (Anclote Keys and Cape Florida); the Bahama Islands (Berry, Eleuthera, and Watling Islands); the Dominican Republic (Monte Cristi, Sosua, and Seibo); Puerto Rico (Desecheo, Culebra, and Vieques Islands); and the Virgin Islands (St. Thomas, Tortola, and Virgin Gorda). East to the Virgin Islands (Virgin Gorda); the Leeward and Windward Islands (Antigua, Guadeloupe, Dominica, Martinique, Santa Lucia, St. Vincent, and Grenada); and Trinidad. South to Trinidad; northern Venezuela (Aruba Island); Panama (Chiriqui); and Costa Rica (San Jose and Puntarenas). West to Costa Rico (Puntarenas, Pozo del Rio Grande, and Pigres); Nicaragua (Greytown and Chinandega); Honduras (Roatan Island and Puerto Caballo); El Salvador (La Libertad); western Guatemala (near Ocos); Oaxaca (Cacoprieto); and Nayarit (Tres Marias Islands).

The range as outlined is for the entire species, which has been separated into several subspecies, only one of which is found in North America. This race, known as Maynard’s cuckoo, C. m. maynardi, is found in the Bahamas, Cuba, and the southern part of Florida, including the Florida Keys.

Migration.—Apparently only Maynard’s cuckoo is migratory, and this only in the Florida part of its range. Early dates of arrival in Florida are: Gator Lake in Monroe County, March 22, and Punta Rossa, March 29. A late date of departure from Key West is September 19.

Egg dates.—Florida and the Keys: 13 records, May 17 to July 10.

COCCYZUS AMERICANUS AMERICANUS (Linnaeus)

YELLOW-BILLED CUCKOO

Plates 6, 7

HABITS

The yellow-billed cuckoo, with its western subspecies, covers practically all the United States and some of southern Canada. It is mainly a bird of the Austral Zone, being much commoner in the Southern States than in the northern portions of its range. In New England it is not so common as the black-billed cuckoo, though in some seasons it seems to be a familiar bird. Originally it was probably a woodland bird, but, like many other species, it has learned to frequent the haunts of man, where it is not molested and where it finds an abundant food supply in our shade trees, orchards, and gardens. Its favorite haunts are still the woodland thickets, where the tree growth is not too heavy, brush-grown lanes, shady roadsides, dense thickets along small streams, and apple orchards in rural districts. In dense, heavy woods it is seldom seen.

Nesting.—Unlike the European cuckoo, both of our North American species usually build their own nests and rear their own young, though they are very poor nest builders and are often careless about laying in each other’s nests or the nests of other species. Major Bendire (1895) gives the following very good account of the nesting habits of the yellow-billed cuckoo:

The Yellow-billed Cuckoo is one of the poorest nest builders known to me, and undoubtedly the slovenly manner in which it constructs its nest causes the contents of many to be accidentally destroyed, and this probably accounts to some extent for the many apparent irregularities in their nesting habits. The nests are shallow, frail platforms, composed of small rootlets, sticks, or twigs, few of these being over 4 or 5 inches in length, and among them a few dry leaves and bits of mosses; rags, etc., are occasionally mixed in, and the surface is lined with dry blossoms of the horse-chestnut and other flowering plants, the male aments or catkins of oaks, willows, etc., tufts of grasses, pine and spruce needles, and mosses of different kinds. These materials are loosely placed on the top of the little platform, which is frequently so small that the extremities of the bird project on both sides, and there is scarcely any depression to keep the eggs from rolling out even in only a moderate windstorm, unless one of the parents sits on the nest, and it is therefore not a rare occurrence to find broken eggs lying under the trees or bushes in which the nests are placed. Some of these are so slightly built that the eggs can be readily seen through the bottom. An average nest measures about 5 inches in outer diameter by 1½ inches in depth. They are rarely placed over 20 feet from the ground, generally from 4 to 8 feet upon horizontal limbs of oak, beech, gum, dogwood, hawthorn, mulberry, pine, cedar, fir, apple, orange, fig, and other trees. Thick bushes particularly such as are overrun with wild grape and other vines as well as hedgerows, especially those of osage orange are most frequently selected for nesting sites. The nests are ordinarily well concealed by the overhanging and surrounding foliage and while usually shy and timid at other times, the Yellow-billed Cuckoo is generally courageous and bold in the defense of its chosen home; the bird on the nest not unfrequently will raise its feathers at right angles from the body and occasionally even fly at the intruder.

Of five Massachusetts nests, on which I have notes, the lowest was only 2 feet above the ground in some bushes, and the highest was 12 feet up in a crotch near the top of an oak sapling in a swampy thicket near a brook. Owen Durfee mentions in his notes a nest 5 feet up in a juniper on the edge of a swamp. The others were at low elevations in thickets along brooks.

A. D. DuBois has sent me his notes on five Illinois nests; one of these was on the end of a branch of an apple tree, 8 feet from the ground, near a country schoolhouse; this nest contained 3 eggs of the cuckoo and a robin’s egg. Another was near the end of a branch in an osage-orange hedge, 10 feet up; still another was in an isolated clump of willows, between a field and a pasture, 6 feet from the ground.

But cuckoos do not always nest in such low situations; there are several records of their nesting well up in elm trees. Grant Foreman (1924) tells of a pair that nested on his place in Muskogee, Okla., for one or two years, high up in an elm tree; he says: “The next year after nesting in this inaccessible place, they built their nest in a little elm tree in the parking, in a low limb overhanging the curb on an asphalt street where hundreds of automobiles were passing every day, and here in this exposed, noisy place they raised a brood of young. This year they built their nest in a little hackberry tree in the parking along the side of my lot; but here also the nest was on a low limb overhanging the curb on a paved street, and the ice wagon stopped every morning directly under this nest, which was so low down that the driver might have put his hand in it.”

George Finlay Simmons (1915) mentions a nest that he found near Houston, Tex., on the horizontal limb of a young pine near the edge of some woods. He says of it: “The nest was a slight platform about eleven feet up, through which I could see with ease; it was composed of small pine twigs, about an eighth of an inch in diameter and averaging six or eight inches long, and was much more concave than I had expected. This shallow saucer was neatly, though quite thinly lined with a few pine needles, a small quantity of Spanish moss and several tiny buds.”

George B. Sennett (1879) says that in the Lower Rio Grande region of Texas “ebony trees near the ranch, mesquites among cactuses, thorny bushes in open chaparral, and open woodland, were favored breeding places.”

Wright and Harper (1913) found a well-made nest in Okefinokee Swamp, in a tupelo tree at the margin of the Suwannee. “It was placed in a cluster of mistletoe on a horizontal branch four feet above the water, and consisted of sticks interwoven with Spanish ‘moss’ (Tillandsia usneoides).”

Dr. Harry C. Oberholser (1896) gives the measurements of four nests; the average height of the nests was 4 inches, and the greatest outside diameters averaged 7.63 by 6.25 inches.

Both species of North American cuckoos often lay their eggs in each other’s nests. The eggs of the yellow-billed cuckoo have been found several times in nests of the robin and catbird. H. P. Attwater (1892) writes: “In 1884 I found a Dickcissel’s nest which contained five eggs and one Yellow-billed Cuckoo’s egg. The next year some boys brought me three Black-throated Sparrow’s eggs and one Yellow-billed Cuckoo’s, from the same field, which they said they found all together in one nest.” J. L. Davison (1887) says: “I also found a nest of Merula migratoria, taken possession of by Coccyzus americanus before it was finished, which was filled nearly full of rootlets; and in this condition the Robin laid one egg and the Cuckoo laid two and commenced incubation, when a Mourning Dove (Zenaidura macroura) also occupied it and laid two eggs and commenced incubation with the Cuckoo. I found both birds on the nest at the same time, when I secured nest and eggs. The eggs of the Robin and Cuckoo were slightly incubated; those of the Mourning Dove were fresh.”

Bendire (1895) adds the wood thrush, cedar waxwing, and cardinal to the list of birds that have been imposed upon, and says: “Such instances appear to be much rarer, however, than those in which they interlay with each other, and the majority of these may well be due to accident, their own nest having possibly been capsized, and necessity compelled the bird to deposit its egg elsewhere. Such instances do occur at times with species that can not possibly be charged with parasitic tendencies.”

Marcia B. Clay (1929) thus describes the cuckoo’s method of gathering twigs for her nest:

Flying into an adjacent apple tree containing a considerable quantity of dead material, the Cuckoo landed on a limb, selected a dead twig, and grasping it in her bill bent it back and forth until it snapped from the limb, whereupon she flew with it to her nesting-site in the next tree, arranged this twig and quickly returned for another. As she tugged at a stubborn twig, her back was arched and her long tail curved under or waved about. If a twig resisted too well her attack, the bird desisted at once and tried another. Always she worked rapidly with great energy, attacking a twig as soon as she landed in the tree, never carrying more than one twig at a time, holding it squarely at right angles to her bill and flying rapidly with long tail streaming.

The Cuckoo’s concentration in the work, coupled with her indifference to observers, was remarkable. Not once did she descend to the ground for material. Not once did she gather material in the tree in which her nest was located. With two exceptions the twigs were all gathered from the same tree. Working thus off and on for an hour or two at a time, the bird completed the nest. The third night the Cuckoo was sitting on the nest at dusk, but after two days she deserted.

Eggs.—The yellow-billed cuckoo lays ordinarily three or four eggs, sometimes only one and rarely five; as many as six, seven, or even eight eggs have been found in a nest, but these larger numbers may be the product of more than one female. The eggs vary in shape from elliptical-oval to oval, oftener nearer the former, and about equally rounded at both ends. The shell is smooth, but without gloss. Bendire (1895) says that the “color varies from a uniform Nile blue to pale greenish blue when fresh, fading out in time to a pale greenish yellow.” Eggs that I have examined in collections vary in color from “pale glaucous green” to “pale fluorite green.” The measurements of 53 eggs average 30.4 by 23 millimeters; the eggs showing the four extremes measure 34.64 by 23.11, 33.53 by 25.40, 27.43 by 22.86, and 29.21 by 20.83 millimeters.

Young.—The period of incubation is said to be about 14 days; it is shared to some extent by both sexes, but is probably performed mainly by the female. The eggs are sometimes laid on succeeding days, but oftener at more or less infrequent intervals; the young, therefore, frequently hatch at irregular intervals, and young of different ages are often found in the nest.

Snyder and Logier (1931) say of a brood of young that they examined: “The young were quite active when disturbed. They scrambled about the bush, using the wings and bill for climbing. One young which was brought to our camp demonstrated a remarkable reptile-like behaviour. When it was placed on the table and one reached to pick it up, it erected its somewhat horny plumage and emitted a buzzing hiss like the sound of bees escaping from a tunnel in dry grass. This performance was certainly unbirdlike in all respects.”

Francis H. Allen writes to me: “I found a young one in an open field on the ground. I was attracted to the spot by its loud rasping cry. It fluttered along when I approached, but it could not fly from that position, in rather long grass, though wings and tail were pretty well fledged. When I picked it up, it pecked at my finger angrily. It seemed as fierce as a young hawk, and its rasping cry was probably calculated to inspire terror in its enemies. I placed the bird on a bough of a Norway spruce, where it took a characteristic cuckoo attitude and seemed much more at home than on the ground.”

Dr. Lawrence H. Walkinshaw has sent me some notes on the weights and development of young yellow-billed cuckoos. One “well-grown” young was weighed for three days in succession before it left the nest, at 6 a. m. each morning. It weighed 28.8 grams the first morning, 31 grams the second, and only 26 grams on the third, August 6. The interesting point is that the loss of weight came with the sudden development of the plumage, of which he says: “When I visited the nest on August 5, at 6 a. m., his feathers resembled the quills of a porcupine, long and bluish, stretched out over his wings and back. At 7 p. m., these quills had all opened and the bird had taken on the resemblance of an adult cuckoo. Correspondingly, the following morning, he had lost 5 grams in weight. He left the nest on August 6.”

At another nest a young bird weighed 25 grams on August 25, 27.6 on the 26th, 32.9 on the 27th, and only 28.9 grams on the 28th; this bird left the nest on August 29, with feathers unsheathed. He says that during the unsheathing process the young bird dressed its feathers continually; “the wings, the tail, the scapulars, the rump, and breast all shared alike, then with the feet he would work about the head and throat. When hungry he would pause and call a low cuk-cuk-cuk-cur-r-r-r-rrr. If the parent did not come soon, these calls increased in number. While feeding, his wings would vibrate rapidly, and after the parent left his call was more of contentment, a short curr, or a cuk-currrrr. When excreting, he simply backed up to the edge of the nest.”

Plumages.—Bendire (1895) says: “The young when first hatched are repulsive, black, and greasy-looking creatures, nearly naked, and the sprouting quills only add to their general ugliness.” This is a very good description, and the young birds do not improve much in appearance during the period of early growth. The body is well covered with the long, pointed feather sheaths until the young bird is more than half grown. But the sheaths burst, the juvenal plumage appears, and the young bird is well feathered before the time comes to leave the nest.

Dr. A. H. Cordier (1923) describes this process very well as follows:

At the end of seven days the young Cuckoo resembled a porcupine more than a bird. I now cut the limb holding the nest and brought it to the ground. Within three feet of it I then put up the umbrella tent that I might at close range observe minutely the rapid transition of the porcupine-looking object into a fully feathered, beautiful Rain Crow. * * *

The first picture was made at nine o’clock. * * * This shows the young by the unhatched egg; the horny, sheathed feathers were fully two inches long, making the bird look like a porcupine. About ten-thirty the sheaths began to burst, and with each split a fully formed feather was liberated. This process took place with such rapidity that it reminded me of the commotion in a corn popper or a rapidly blooming flower. All the while I was within three feet of the bird, and could see every new feather, as it blossomed, so to speak.

At three p. m., six hours after the first picture was taken, I made another photograph, showing this same bird in the full plumage of a Cuckoo, except the long tail.

In this first plumage the young cuckoo looks very much like the adult, perhaps slightly paler above and with a slight wash of tawny or pale buff on the throat and breast; but the tail is quite different, lacking the conspicuous black and white markings so prominent on the sides of the adult tail; in the young bird the dark spaces in the tail are not black, but dark gray or lighter gray, variable in different individuals or in different feathers in the same individual; the light spaces are not so sharply defined as in the adult and are grayish white instead of pure white.

The juvenal body plumage appears to be molted in fall, from August to October; but the juvenal wings and tail are worn through the first winter at least; I have not been able to detect this plumage in spring birds, so I suppose that a more or less complete molt occurs while the birds are in their winter homes, producing a practically adult plumage before they return in the spring. Adults have a complete molt between July and October, and possibly a more or less complete molt in spring before they arrive here, but winter specimens to show it are lacking.

Food.—Cuckoos are among the most useful of our birds, mainly because of their fondness for caterpillars, which are some of our most injurious insect pests and which constitute the principal food of these birds during their seasons of abundance. Edward H. Forbush (1907) writes:

The Cuckoos are of the greatest service to the farmer, by reason of their well-known fondness for caterpillars, particularly the hairy species. No caterpillars are safe from the Cuckoo. It does not matter how hairy or spiny they are, or how well they may be protected by webs. Often the stomach of the Cuckoo will be found lined with a felted mass of caterpillar hairs, and sometimes its intestines are pierced by the spines of the noxious caterpillars that it has swallowed. Wherever caterpillar outbreaks occur we hear the calls of the Cuckoos. There they stay; there they bring their newly fledged young; and the number of caterpillars they eat is incredible. Professor Beal states that two thousand, seven hundred and seventy-one caterpillars were found in the stomachs of one hundred and twenty-one Cuckoos—an average of more than twenty-one each. Dr. Otto Lugger found several hundred small hairy caterpillars in the stomach of a single bird. The poisonous, spined caterpillars of the Io moth, the almost equally disagreeable caterpillars of the brown-tail moth, and the spiny elm caterpillar, are eaten with avidity.

He says elsewhere (1927):

When, in time, the inside of the bird’s stomach becomes so felted with a mass of hairs and spines that it obstructs digestion, the bird can shed the entire stomach-lining, meanwhile growing a new one. * * * Mr. Mosher, a competent observer, watched a Yellow-billed Cuckoo eat 41 gypsy caterpillars in fifteen minutes, and later he saw another consume 47 forest tent caterpillars in six minutes. * * * Dr. Amos W. Butler [1897] says that he has known these Cuckoos to destroy every tent caterpillar in a badly infested orchard and tear up all the nests in half a day. This species frequently feeds on or near the ground, and there gets an enormous number of locusts and other pests. In summer and autumn it feeds to some extent on small wild fruits, such as the raspberry, blackberry and wild grape.

The fall webworm is a destructive pest on certain trees, but few birds will eat it. Dr. Sylvester D. Judd (1902) noted that, on a Maryland farm, “a pair of yellow-billed cuckoos continually extracted them from the webs. The destruction of this insect is an habitual practice with the cuckoo. In a single stomach of the species examined by Professor Beal there were 325 of the larvæ.”

Henry C. Denslow writes to me that he fed many hairy caterpillars to a cuckoo that he had in captivity, and says: “Many of these this bird sheared the hairs from by slowly moving them from end to end through its beak by a side-shifting motion of the mandibles. The removed hairs collected in a little bunch and, at the end of the caterpillar, fell to the floor. Most of the hairs were thus shorn from these caterpillars. Other caterpillars were swallowed entire, as I gave them to him, hairs and all.”

Walter B. Barrows (1912) says that this cuckoo feeds freely on elderberries and mulberries and that “large quantities of beetles and bugs also are consumed, and both species of cuckoo seem to be very fond of grasshoppers, eating especially such forms as frequent shrubbery and trees, among these the destructive tree crickets (Oecanthus). Ten specimens examined by Professor Aughey, in Nebraska, contained 416 locusts and grasshoppers, and 152 other insects.”

Audubon (1842) writes: “In autumn they eat many grapes, and I have seen them supporting themselves by a momentary motion of their wings opposite a bunch, as if selecting the ripest, when they would seize it and return to a branch, repeating their visits in this manner until satiated.”

In addition to those mentioned above, yellow-billed cuckoos have been known to eat many other insects, such as armyworms, ants, wasps, flies, and dragonflies. Several of the earlier ornithologists accused this cuckoo of eating the eggs of other small birds and produced some evidence of the bad habit, but some modern observers seem to think that they do very little, if any, nest robbing. C. J. Maynard (1896) writes:

This species in company with the former [black-billed cuckoo] are the terror of other small birds during the nesting season for they will constantly rob their nests. I have frequently seen a Cuckoo enter a thicket in which a Robin or a Cat Bird had built a home and in a moment the air would resound with the shrill cries of distress given by the parents, causing all the small birds in the immediate vicinity to rush to the spot and as each joins in the outcry, the noise produced is apparently enough to frighten away a bolder bird than a Cuckoo.

But in spite of all this din, the glossy thief nearly always succeeds in accomplishing his purpose and emerges from the thicket, carrying an egg impaled on his beak. He does not always escape unscathed, however, for he is pursued by a motley crowd consisting of Robins, Cat Birds, Thrushes, Warblers, etc. that follow him closely, harassing him on all sides, and some of the more courageous will even assault him with blows from their beaks so that he frequently leaves some of his feathers floating in the wind behind him. As the long and broad tail of the Cuckoo is a prominent object and as it is also a portion of the bird which its enemies can seize with comparative safety to themselves, this member often suffers in these forays, in so much, that by the middle of summer, it is quite difficult to find a Cuckoo of either species which has a full complement of tail feathers.

On the other hand, Major Bendire (1895) says: “I am aware that this species has been accused of destroying the eggs and even of eating the young of smaller birds, but I am strongly inclined to believe that this accusation is unjust, and in my opinion requires more substantial confirmation. I have never yet had any reason to suspect their robbing smaller birds’ nests, and the very fact that they live in apparent harmony with such neighbors, who do not protest against their presence, as they are in the habit of doing should a Blue Jay, Grackle, or Crow come too close to their nests, seems to confirm this view.”

But then he goes on to quote from a letter from William Brewster, who says: “While I have never seen either of our Cuckoos destroy the eggs of other birds, nevertheless I think they do it occasionally. One of my reasons for this belief is that many of our small birds, Warblers, Sparrows, etc., show great anxiety whenever the Cuckoos approach their nests, and they pursue and peck at them, when they take wing, behaving toward them, in fact, exactly as they do toward the Crows, Jays, and Grackles, which we know eat eggs whenever they can get a chance. My other reason is that one of my friends once shot a Cuckoo (C. americanus, I think it was) whose bill was smeared all over with the fresh yolk of an egg.”

Yellow-billed cuckoos sometimes eat tree frogs and other small frogs, and, in the Southern States, an occasional small lizard. Marcia B. Clay (1929) relates the following incident: “For an hour a Cuckoo searched about the dead under limbs of a huge untrimmed apple tree, peering and gliding noiselessly around and around. At last, after long and patient search, it dashed to the ground and began to walk directly toward me through the scant grass and weeds, and only then did I see a frog trying to slip away unseen. The bird followed the frog a rod, pecking its victim and gloating softly Cuk, Cuk. Having vanquished its prey, the Cuckoo deftly gathered it into its bill and flew away, the frog’s legs sticking out stiff and straight together, exactly like the dead twigs which the Cuckoo carries to its nest.”

Behavior.—Mr. Forbush (1927) has described the quiet, retiring behavior of the yellow-billed cuckoo very well as follows:

The cuckoo is a graceful, elegant bird, calm and unperturbed; it slips quietly and rather furtively through its favorite tangles and flies easily from tree to tree in the orchard, keeping for the most part under protection of the leaves, which furnish excellent cover for its bronzy, upper plumage, while the shadows of the foliage tend to conceal the whiteness of its under parts. It has a way also of keeping its back with its greenish satiny reflections toward the intruder in its solitudes, and while holding an attitude of readiness for flight it sits motionless, and its plumage so blends with its leafy environment that it does not ordinarily catch the eye. In the meantime it turns its head and regards the disturber with a cool, reserved, direct gaze, looking back over its shoulder, apparently unafraid and giving no indication of nervousness or even undue curiosity; but if the observer approaches too closely, the elegant bird slips quietly away, vanishing into some leafy, cool retreat where it may enjoy the silence and solitude, dear to the woodland recluse.

The flight of the cuckoo is rather swift, easy and graceful, exceedingly direct and horizontal, but turning frequently from side to side as it threads its way through the branches of the trees, giving occasional glimpses of its white under parts and the telltale black-and-white markings in its tail; it is stream-lined to perfection and glides noiselessly through the air with its long tail streaming out behind. It is very quiet in its movements in its shady retreats; it seldom perches in a conspicuous place but sits motionless for long periods in the dense foliage, watching, or moves about stealthily in search of its prey. It might easily be overlooked, were it not for its characteristic notes, which lead the observer to look for it.

About its nest it is rather shy, while incubating on its eggs, slipping away cautiously when approached, but when there are young in the nest its behavior is quite different. It then becomes quite solicitous and will often remain on the nest until almost touched, and then perhaps throw itself down to the ground, fluttering and tumbling along, feigning lameness, after the manner of many ground-nesting birds, uttering loud, guttural cries of distress.

Voice.—We hear the voice of the cuckoo much oftener than we see the bird; the well-known sound comes to us, like a wandering voice, from the depths of some shady retreat, but we cannot see the hidden author. We can recognize it easily as the voice of a cuckoo, but it is not always so easy to identify the species by its notes, though some keen observers claim that they can do so. Certain songs are characteristic of each of the two species, but both have a great variety of notes and many notes that are much alike in both. The notes of the yellow-billed cuckoo may be a trifle harsher and a little louder, but they are not always recognizable. The characteristic note of the yellow-billed cuckoo is well described by Charles J. Spiker (1935) as follows: “What may be considered the song of this species is a series of rapid, wooden-sounding syllables resembling the following: Kuk-kuk-kuk-kuk-kuk-ceaow-ceaow-ceaow-ceaow; the kuks being given rapidly, the ceaows more deliberately and with longer intervals.”

Bendire (1895) writes:

One of their commonest notes is a low “noo-coo-coo-coo;” another sounds more like “cow-cow-cow” or “kow-kow-kow,” several times repeated; others resemble the syllables of “ough, ough, ough,” slowly and softly uttered; some remind me of the “kloop-kloop” of the Bittern; occasionally a note something like the “kiuh-kiuh-kiuh” of the Flicker is also uttered; a low sharp “tou-wity-whit” and “hweet hwee” is also heard during the nesting season. Though ordinarily not what might be called a social bird, I have sometimes during the mating season seen as many as eight in the same tree, and on such occasions they indulge in quite a number of calls, and if the listener can only keep still long enough he has an excellent opportunity to hear a regular Cuckoo concert.

Various other interpretations of the different notes have been given by other writers, but the above quotations cover fairly well the ordinary variations. The song, as given by Mr. Spiker above, is sometimes more prolonged by lengthening the series of kuks, with increasing speed of utterance and adding to the series of ceaows, with slowly decreasing speed. I believe that the black-billed cuckoo never gives this prolonged song, accelerated during the first half and retarded during the last half; its song is given in more even time, and is generally shorter. The song of the yellow-billed cuckoo is often heard during the night, and its notes are often uttered while flying.