the foot of the lower mountains that form the
portico to Pike's Peak. Early the next morning I was out for a stroll
along the bush-fringed mountain brook which had babbled me a serenade
all night. To my delight, the place was rife with birds, the first to
greet me being robins, catbirds, summer warblers, and warbling vireos,
all of which, being well known in the East, need no description, but are
mentioned here only to show the reader that some avian species are
common to both the East and the West.

But let me pause to pay a little tribute to the brave robin redbreast.
Of course, here he is called the "western robin." His distribution is an
interesting scientific fact. I found him everywhere--on the arid plains
and mesas, in the solemn pines of the deep gulches and passes, and among
the scraggy trees bordering on timber-line, over ten thousand feet above
sea-level. In Colorado the robins are designated as "western," forms by
the system-makers, but, even though called by a modified title, they
deport themselves, build their nests, and sing their "cheerily,
cheerily, cheer up," just as do their brothers and sisters of the land
toward the rising sun. If there is any difference, their songs are not
so loud and ringing, and their breasts not quite so ruddy as are those
of the eastern types. Perhaps the incessant sunshine of Colorado
bleaches out the tints somewhat.

But in my ante-breakfast stroll at Manitou I soon stumbled upon
feathered strangers. What was this little square-shouldered bird that
kept uttering a shrill scream, which he seemed to mistake for a song? It
was the western wood-pewee. Instead of piping the sweet, pensive
"Pe-e-e-o-we-e-e-e" of the woodland bird of the Eastern States, this
western swain persists in ringing the changes hour by hour upon that
piercing scream, which sounds more like a cry of anguish than a song. At
Buena Vista, where these birds are superabundant, their morning concerts
were positively painful. One thing must be said, however, in defence of
the western wood-pewee--he means well.

Another acquaintance of my morning saunter was the debonair Arkansas
goldfinch, which has received its bunglesome name, not from the State of
Arkansas, but from the Arkansas River, dashing down from the mountains
and flowing eastwardly through the southern part of Colorado. Most
nattily this little bird wears his black cap, his olive-green frock,
and his bright yellow vest. You will see at once that he dr