198 OUT WITH THE BIRDS 



cattle across the water into lordly bison, to have 

 it all just as when La Verendrye first set his ad- 

 venturous foot upon the plainland of the North- 

 west. 



Just as I entered the old cow-trail into the 

 strip of woods, I saw him. A lone whooper was 

 winging majestically back across the marsh and 

 heading out toward the bare pasture. Here he 

 took a circle and then dropped down along the 

 open shore and remained hidden from view by 

 the rushes. What this lonely vigil meant, I 

 could not know. Possibly it was one of the 

 three, or it may have been a solitary bird, but 

 the sight of one alone always brings a twinge of 

 sorrow that this royal bird is all but gone from 

 the earth. 



There was not a yellow warbler left in the 

 place to greet me. All had fled off through 

 the August nights into the Southland. But as 

 I slipped along the wooded rim — this strip was 

 over a mile long, but a horse-shoe in shape and 

 nowhere wide — I soon met other warbler cousins 

 who had replaced him. A blackpoll was ob- 

 served working through a maple, and later in 

 the heavier woods, the plaintive call of a red- 

 start led me to the little flitting fire-brand. 



