Up this I clambered.

It hid me perfectly, and on its top was a carpet of soft pine needles, on which I could lie at my ease.
Hour after hour passed by.

A little black woodpecker with a yellow crest ran nimbly up and down the tree-trunks for some time and then flitted away with a party of chickadees and nut-hatches.

Occasionally a Clarke's crow soared about overhead or clung in any position to the swaying end of a pine branch, chattering and screaming.

Flocks of cross-bills, with wavy flight and plaintive calls, flew to a small mineral lick near by, where they scraped the clay with their queer little beaks.
As the westering sun sank out of sight beyond the mountains these sounds of bird-life gradually died away.