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Jan., 19o8 NESTING OF THE WESTERN HORNED OXVL IN COLORADO '1.5 .est was some sort of a myth or that a charm of some kind protected it from discovery, and it was with a decided lack of confidence that the search was renewed for another year, early on the morning of March 10, 1907. A brisk ride of ten miles brought us to our field of operations: a typical prairie creek with a wide sandy bed, over which very little water was flowing, and bor- dered on either side by low bluffs and occasional groves of cottonwoods and scrub willows. Practically the only signs of spring discernible were a few scattered Robins, new arrivals from their winter homes, an occasional blade of green grass and a flock of noisy Red-winged Blackbirds at the very top of a tall naked cottonwood, each apparently trying his best to outdo the melodious "kong-ker-ee" of the rest. After following the course of the creek about a mile we came to a grove which filled every requirement for an ideal nesting site of our friend Bubo. The grove lay between the creek bed and an abrupt bluff protect- ing it from the north, and at the foot of which lay a slough overgrown with tules, cattails and rank grass, now dead, dry and yellow but furnishing ex- cellent cover for a variety of small bird life. The timber was very dense in places and more open in others, affording a welcome retreat for almost any type of bird and thus an abun- dance of food for any pre- datory birds hunting in the grove. We had almost completed a thoro search of the grove without results when out flopped a big owl from a dense scrub willow tree within a few feet of us. A close scrutiny of the tree WESTERI'? HORNED OWL ON NEST failed to reveal a nest, so a systematic search of the grove was begun. As no dead trees of any size were seen we concluded that the nest must be in one of the old magpie's nests which abounded all thru the grove. So arming ourselves with sticks we began an animated bombardment of each nest. After considerable hard work and as we were nearing the outer edge of the grove a nest was encountered which was so small and dilapidated in appearance that it hardly seemed worth while to throw at it, but as the second stick thrown crashed heavily against the nest Mrs. Bubo rose clumsily from the nest and launching herself slowly into the air silently flapped out of sight. Just how long it took the writer to climb that tree is not part of the story but it was pretty close to 0:00 flat, and as his head came to a level with the nest there