corner of S's wheat, near the first dead furrow," a location that sounded sufficiently definite until we drove over to investigate. Five people in all proved the wisdom of the owl's selection of. a nesting site. It was the first nest the farmer had ever heard of in the wheat, but its proximity to the lane of the dead furrow made it seem possible, and as the wheat had not attained its full growth when the nest was reported to have two eggs--on June 19--the close level-topped stand of grain had risen around the nest with its increasing need for protection. An old owl who was presumably interested in the nest was seen hunting over the brushy shore fiats at high noon, before there were impatient young to call for such an un-owl-like proceeding; and when the men were tramping the dead fur- row at sundown, a fl?mmeus hunting over the undulations of the grassy prairie turned back and flying in, lit on the ground and stood solemnly gazing at the exploring party.
Later in the season (July 8 and 9, 1912), between Stump Lake and Devil's Lake, we saw a number of Short-eared Owls flying about freely in the daytime. A dark-colored yo?mg one flying low over the ground in the strong morning light was apparently doing its own hunting, but a family of grown young in another place was sitting around on stone piles as if waiting to be fed. One of the old light-colored hunters whom we saw beating over the ground, as we watched made a suggestive pounce, stretching forward drolly as if sliding to a base. Another flammeus whose premises we ate a camp supper perched spectacularly on top of a telephone pole watching us for some time, but finally flew out over the fields to get its own supper.
While the owls were easily recognized at quite a distance, when pin-heads in the big prairie landscape they had to be distinguished from Marsh Hawks; for, while a few families of owls might be seen in a twenty-mile drive across the prai- rie, Marsh Hawks were seen so frequently that it seemed as if their territories must sometimes overlap.
While Asio and Circus were landscape features, two of the largest, most characteristic, and perhaps generally distributed birds of the prairie region, the Prairie Hen and Sharp-tailed Grouse, were rarely seen unless by some lucky acci- dent they were flushed from cover--a sore disappointment to me, for the thought of being among them had been one of the strongest allurements to my journey to North Dakota.
What bird student, out of their range, has not looked upon the pictures and museum groups of Prairie Hen dances with rapt wonder and dreamed fondly of witnessing them some day for himself? We were too late for the dances in North Dakota, but on our way north had one memorable experience in Minnesota.
"There are the Prairie Hens crowing!" the men would interrupt themselves to exclaim over what seemed to my unaccustomed ears only faint squeaky sounds and a hint of low booming. As the birds are at their best in the early morning, we were called at 4:30 with an urgent, "The Prairie I-Iens are crowing now!" and were soon driving between meadows white with dew, drinking in the cold invigorating air, mountain air compared with what we had escaped from. Keep- ing our field glasses ready to sweep every plowed field that came in sight and our ears strained for the low occasional booming, we turned corner after corner in the direction of the sound till suddenly the horses were reined in with the exclamation, "There are two hens!"
The female was walking about demurely, but the male---was there ever such a droll figure ? As I gazed spellbound, the cocks of the National Museum group rose before me. It was their exact pose---body hanging head down, tail cocked
