The White-Winged Fleet 



a considerable wagon journey only to find that the 

 Gulls had been so persecuted that they had not 

 returned that season, but had moved off somewhere 

 else. This was very disappointing, and to this trial 

 was added being caught on the return trip in the 

 most terrific thunderstorm I was ever out in, or ever 

 wish to be. The wind blew over houses, and the 

 rain almost filled the body of the wagon. If ever 

 we were soaked it was then. We had to sleep in a 

 barn that night and two nights more ere we got 

 back to headquarters. Much further search had 

 already been in vain. 



This only served to whet my desire the more 

 for the Franklin's Gull, and when I decided last 

 season to visit Dakota again, I redoubled my in- 

 quiries. Finally I heard of a young man who prob- 

 ably had the desired information. Imagine my 

 delight when I received one day a note to the effect 

 that he knew of a large colony of thousands of the 

 Franklin's Gull, and would guide me there if I 

 would come to his house. 



At the earliest possible moment we started off, 

 three of us, with broncos and buckboard, — this 

 time without the boat, — for the drive of fifty miles. 

 The site the Gulls had chosen was at one end of a 

 large lake a number of miles long. At length we 

 approached the timber on its margin. On the left 

 a settler was ploughing, and about twenty Gulls 

 were following him close behind, and feeding in 

 the furrows. On the right, down a steep bank, lay 

 the lake, a long area, over a mile wide, with some 

 open water and grass growing from it in extended 

 tracts. The distant murmur of many bird-voices 



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