104 MUTTON BIRDS 



had to outwit, not a single bird or pair, but many 

 Dotterel working together. 



Time after time without result I left the 

 vicinity, and retreating, was kept in view, until 

 at a safe distance. Besides the precautions taken 

 by each bird, there seemed also to be a sentinel 

 chosen, to represent the whole party. 



At last by a successful stalk and a breathless 

 rush up the steepest peak I just managed to 

 catch a glimpse of a tiny chick, rather blown 

 along like a woman half propelled by weight of 

 wind on her skirts, than moving voluntarily. 

 This chick, but an hour or two old, and with 

 senses not developed enough to know of danger, 

 made no attempt to hide although passing quite 

 suitable cover. In the roar of the gale and the 

 rush of blinding sand, it could probably hardly 

 hear or see. At any rate it ran, or was blown, 

 in front of me until exhausted with the gale and 

 the misery of the cold. Then at the first pause 

 it was instantly overwhelmed by the flying grit. 



For perhaps a minute I watched the little 

 creature lying like a dead thing, the sand piling 

 up behind its body as a barrier, till the tiny 

 frame could hold no more and only a grey 

 hummock broke the course of the racing drift. 

 It lay a derelict heap, to all appearance dead, 

 except that at intervals a dark perfectly 

 defined luminous circle appeared in the sand. 

 It was the little fellow from time to time 

 opening an eye and — if egotism of this sort is 

 allowable, — I must say I was delighted with 

 myself for the detection of so minute a fact. 



The parent Dotterel was now becoming very 

 anxious, and when I touched the chick, I found 

 what the mother bird, too, knew well, that it 



