On mesquite plains and barren hot hillsides, a true note of Spring joy is given to the arid places by these sandy-toned minstrels. With outspread wings they quiver aloft, voicing a sweet tremulous song. Mrs. Bailey says that during a night march from Camp Grant to Bowie, scarcely five minutes intervened between songs. Ere fairly out of hearing of one performer, the plaintive strain was carried on by another musician and continued until just before dawn.