The
brave woodpeckers were clinging to the snowless sides of the larger
boles and overarching branches of the camp trees, making short flights
from side to side of the grove, pecking now and then at the acorns they
had stored in the bark, and chattering aimlessly as if unable to keep
still, evidently putting in the time in a very dull way. The hardy
nuthatches were threading the open furrows of the barks in their usual
industrious manner and uttering their quaint notes, giving no evidence
of distress. The Steller's jays were, of course, making more noise and
stir than all the other birds combined; ever coming and going with
loud bluster, screaming as if each had a lump of melting sludge in his
throat, and taking good care to improve every opportunity afforded by
the darkness and confusion of the storm to steal from the acorn stores
of the woodpeckers. One of the golden eagles made an impressive picture
as he stood bolt upright on the top of a tall pine-stump, braving the
storm, with his back to the wind and a tuft of snow piled on his broad
shoulders, a monument of passive endurance. Thus every storm-bound bird
seemed more or less uncomfortable, if not in distress. The storm was
reflected in every gesture, and not one cheerful note, not to say song,
came from a single bill.
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