Mr. Ridgway regards this Magpie as one of the most characteristic and conspicuous birds of the interior region, distinguished both for the elegance of its form and the beauty of its plumage. While not at all rare in the fertile mountain cañons, the principal resort of this species is the rich bottom-land of the rivers. The usual note of the Magpie is a frequently uttered chatter, very peculiar, and, when once heard, easily recognized. During the nesting-season it utters a softer and more musical and plaintive note, sounding something like kay´-e-ehk-kay-e. It generally flies about in small flocks, and, like others of its family, is very fond of tormenting owls. In the winter, in company with the Ravens, it resorts to the slaughter-houses to feed on offal. The young differ but little in plumage from the adult, the metallic colors being even a little more vivid; the white spotting of the throat is characteristic of the immature bird.
The nests were found by Mr. Ridgway in various situations. Some were in cedars, some in willows, and others in low shrubs. In every instance the nest was domed, the inner and real nest being enclosed in an immense thorny covering, which far exceeded it in bulk. In the side of this thorny protection is a winding passage leading into the nest, possibly designed to conceal the very long tail of the bird, which, if exposed to view, would endanger its safety.
Dr. Cooper first met this bird east of the Cascade Mountains, near the Yakima, and from there in his journey northward as far as the 49th degree it was common, as well as in all the open unwooded regions until the mountains were passed on his return westward.
Dr. Kennerly met with these birds on the Little Colorado in New Mexico, in December. He found them in great numbers soon after leaving the Rio Grande, and from time to time on the march to California. They seemed to live indifferently in the deep cañons among the hills or in the valleys, but were only found near water.
Dr. Newberry first met with these birds on the banks of one of the tributaries of the Des Chutes, one hundred miles south of the Columbia, afterwards on the Columbia, but nowhere in large numbers. He regards them as much less gregarious in their habits than Pica nuttalli, as all the birds he noticed were solitary or in pairs, while the Yellow-bills were often seen in flocks of several hundreds.
All accounts of this bird agree in representing it as frequently a great source of annoyance to parties of exploration, especially in its attacks upon horses worn down and galled by fatigue and privations. In the memorable narrative of Colonel Pike’s journey in New Mexico, these birds, rendered bold and voracious by want, are described as assembling around that miserable party in great numbers, picking the sore backs of their perishing horses, and snatching at all the food they could reach. The party of Lewis and Clark, who were the first to add this bird to our fauna, also describe them as familiar and voracious, penetrating into their tents, snatching the meat even from their dishes, and frequently, when the hunters were engaged in dressing their game, seizing the meat suspended within a foot or two of their heads.
Mr. Nuttall, in his tour across the continent, found these birds so familiar and greedy as to be easily taken, as they approached the encampment for food, by the Indian boys, who kept them prisoners. They soon became reconciled to their confinement, and were continually hopping around and tugging and struggling for any offal thrown to them.
Observers have reported this bird from different parts of Arizona and New Mexico; but Dr. Coues writes me that he never saw it at Fort Whipple, or elsewhere in the first-named Territory. He found it breeding, however, in the Raton Mountains, in June, under the following circumstances, recorded at the time in his journal.
“Yesterday, the 8th, we were rolling over smooth prairie, ascending a little the while, but so gradually that only the change in the flora indicated the difference in elevation. The flowery verdure was passed, scrubby junipers came thicker and faster, and pine-clad mountain-tops took shape before us. We made the pass to-day, rounding along a picturesque ravine, and the noon halt gave me a chance to see something of the birds. Troops of beautiful Swallows were on wing, and as their backs turned in their wayward flight, the violet-green colors betrayed the species. A colony of them were breeding on the face of a cliff, apparently like H. lunifrons, but the nests were not accessible. Whilst I was watching their movements, a harsh scream attracted my attention, and the next moment a beautiful Magpie
flew swiftly past with quivering wings, and with a flirt of the glittering tail and a curious evolution dashed into a dense thicket close by. In the hope of seeing him again, and perhaps of finding his nest, I hurried to the spot where he had disappeared, and pushed into the underbrush. In a few moments I stood in a little open space, surrounded on all sides and covered above with a network of vines interlacing the twigs and foliage so closely that the sun’s rays hardly struggled through. A pretty shady bower! and there, sure enough, was the nest, not likely to be overlooked, for it was as big as a bushel basket,—a globular mass, hung in the top of one of the taller saplings, about twelve feet from the ground. The mother bird was at home, and my bustling approach alarmed her; she flew out of the nest with loud cries of distress, which brought the male to her side in an instant. As I scrambled up the slender trunk, which swayed with my weight, both birds kept flying about my head with redoubled outcry, alighting for an instant, then dashing past again so close that I thought they would peck at me. As I had no means of preserving the nest, I would not take it down, and contented myself with such observations as I could make whilst bestriding a limb altogether too slender for comfort. It was nearly spherical in shape, seemed to be about eighteen inches in diameter, arched over, with a small hole on one side. The walls, composed entirely of interlaced twigs bristling outwardly in every direction, were extremely thick, the space inside being much less than one would expect, and seemingly hardly enough to accommodate the bird’s long tail, which I suppose must be held upright. The nest was lined with a little coarse dried grass, and contained six young ones nearly ready to fly. Authors state that the American Magpie lays only two eggs; but I suppose that this particular pair lived too far from scientific centres to find out what was expected of them. Other birds, noticed to-day, were Steller’s Jays among the pines and cedars, a flock of Chrysomitris, apparently pinus, feeding on willow-buds along the rivulet that threaded the gorge, and some Robins.”