I’ve always been reluctant to take a partner along when I hunt the singing windmill arroyo, whose loveliness and loneliness seem to demand solitude. Still, sometimes I relent and feel I have to share it.

In desert country during quail season, the sun is warm and the air is moist and smells sweet and tart. The cheerful call of the gambel’s quail—con-chi-ta, con-chi-ta, con-chita— is a characteristic sound reminiscent of many soundtracks in western b-movies. This native bird’s popularity in desert country is equal to the bobwhite’s in the Midwest and the Southeast. Sportsmen travel hundreds of miles specifically to hunt the gambel’s quail, and thousands of acres of public land in the Southwest make this resource available to all.