I shot a long-tailed pigeon on the wing (I use that expression to mean that the bird was on the wing and not that that was where I shot him) and the air was so quiet that the feathers knocked from its breast des- cended and formed an aurora over my head and shoulders. As I looked at the ruined bird I thought of a good way one might end an intimate novel of a bird collector, and handed it to Ona for his supper. Before we left the summit we shot a thrush. As it was the only bird it had to become gradually the justification for the day's climb, and by the time we had reached the camp it had expanded, in the queer way little tings have, into that full office. January 23rd. Our intention of sending down anoth- er shipment of birds today vanished with the morning. Lutnineva could not find boys enough to carry for us. He came into camp with this information and departed immediately in the hopes of securing them for tomorrow. We may have more trouble than we expect in moving our- selves, bags, baggage, and birds out of here. This week is our last week- it is not easy not to be senti- mental about it. Dr. Drowne and I had a day's work at the skinning bench, for Bakki and one or two of the other boys had shot around the camp yesterday afternoon. Bakki's shooting has had a direct effect on enlarging our series. He shot the only two blackheads taken so far, nine of the ten purple-backed kingfishers, three of the six small cuckoos, and any number of the valuable smaller