A Trip on the Prairie. 211 



round where he wished and slake his thirst, I took the 

 rifle, strolled up the creek valley a short distance, and 

 turned off out on the prairie. Nothing was in sight in the 

 way of game ; but overhead a skylark was singing, soar- 

 ing up above me so high that I could not make out his 

 form in the gray morning light. I listened for some 

 time, and the music never ceased for a moment, com- 

 ing down clear, sweet, and tender from the air above. 

 Soon the strains of another answered from a little distance 

 off, and the two kept soaring and singing as long as I 

 stayed to listen ; and when I walked away I could still 

 hear their notes behind me. In some ways the skylark is 

 the sweetest singer we have ; only certain of the thrushes 

 rival it, but though the songs of the latter have perhaps 

 even more melody, they are far from being as uninterrupted 

 and well sustained, being rather a succession of broken 

 bursts of music. 



The sun was just appearing when I walked back to the 

 creek bottom. Coming slowly out of a patch of brush- 

 wood, was a doe, going down to drink ; her great, sensi- 

 tive ears thrown forward as she peered anxiously and 

 timidly round. She was very watchful, lifting her head 

 and gazing about between every few mouthfuls. When 

 she had drunk her fill she snatched a hasty mouthful or 

 two of the wet grass, and then cantered back to the edge 

 of the brush, when a little spotted fawn came out and 

 joined her. The two stood together for a few moments, 

 and then walked off into the cover. The little pond at 

 which they had drunk was within fifty yards of my night 

 bed ; and it had other tenants in the shape of a mallard 



