by one of their number. Once it was a deep musical whistle, much like
the _too-loo-loo_ of the blue jay (who is the crow's cousin, for all
his bright colors), but deeper and fuller, and without the trill that
always marks the blue jay's whistle. Once, in some big woods in Maine,
it was a hoarse bark, utterly unlike a bird call, which made me slip
heavy shells into my gun and creep forward, expecting some strange
beast that I had never before met.

The same love of variety and excitement leads the crow to investigate
any unusual sight or sound that catches his attention. Hide anywhere
in the woods, and make any queer sound you will--play a jews'-harp,
or pull a devil's fiddle, or just call softly--and first comes a blue
jay, all agog to find out all about it. Next a red squirrel steals
down and barks just over your head, to make you start if possible.
Then, if your eyes are sharp, you will see a crow gliding from thicket
to thicket, keeping out of sight as much as possible, but drawing
nearer and nearer to investigate the unusual sound. And if he is
suspicious or unsatisfied, he will hide and wait patiently for you to
come out and show yourself.

Not only is he curious about you, and watches you as you go about the
woods, but he watches his neighbors as well. When a fox is started you
can often trace his course, far ahead of your dogs, by the crows
circling over him and calling _rascal, rascal_, whenever he shows
himself. He watches the ducks and plover, the deer and bear; he knows
where they are, and what they are doing; and he will go far out of his
way to warn them, as well as his own kind, at the approach of danger.
When birds nest, or foxes den, or beasts fight in the woods, he is
there to see it. When other things fail he will even play jokes, as
upon one occasion when I saw a young crow hide in a hole in a pine