SHARP-TAILED GROUSE 259 
“Before the winter is over many of the birds, by con- 
tinuously pulling off frozen browse, have so worn their 
bills that when closed there is a large opening right 
through, immediately behind the hook. Early in April 
the few that have survived the rigors and perils of their 
winter life spread over the prairie once more and soon 
scatter to enter on their duties of reproduction.” 
No one has written about this bird more charmingly 
than Dr. Elliott Coues, whose article on the prairie 
form is well worth quoting. He first heard the call of 
the sharp-tailed grouse in North Dakota, when he was 
alone in camp, not far from Fort Randall—at the time 
his home—where he had gone to shoot water fowl. He 
says: 
“Awakened before it was light by the sonorous cries 
of the wild fowl making for the reedy lake where I had 
encamped, I arose—there was no need to dress—pushed 
off into the expanse of reeds in a light canoe I had 
brought with me, and with my gun across my knees 
sat quietly waiting for light to come. The sense of 
loneliness was oppressive in the stillness that preceded 
morning, broken only by the quack or plash of the wild 
duck, and the distant honking of a train of wild geese 
winnowing their sinuous way afar. I felt desolate— 
almost lost—and thought how utterly insignificant man 
is in comparison with his self-assertion. The grand 
bluffs of the Missouri, rising past each other intermina- 
bly, were before me in shadowy outline, that seemed to 
change and threaten to roll upon me; all around 
stretched the waste of reeds, secret, treacherous, limit- 
