132 On the trail of vanishing birds 



friends at once and, after the usual period of prenuptial dancing, 

 they mated, built their nest (this time out on the open salt flat), 

 and arranged to deposit therein a single egg. This was in April, 

 1950, incubation apparently getting under way on the morning of 

 the twenty-second. As it proceeded, word was relayed to me at my 

 home, and when the day of reckoning drew near I again hit the 

 road for Texas, reaching Aransas on May 23. 



The very next day there was a marked change in the behavior 

 of the pair. Josephine took over the job of brooding shortly after 

 10 A.M., and from then on scarcely moved. This was estimated to 

 be the thirty-second day of incubation, and we guessed that she 

 could then both see and hear the chick, for the egg must have 

 already pipped. We scarcely slept that night. Early on the twenty- 

 fifth we climbed the tower and waited impatiently for the light 

 to increase enough so that we could see what had happened. From 

 the behavior of both parents it seemed certain that the miracle 

 we had been hoping for had actually taken place. They both 

 stood alongside the nest, giving rapt attention to something that 

 lay hidden in the shallow depression of grass and leaves in the 

 center of the mound. Throughout that day we took turns at watch- 

 ing through the telescope, but were unable to confirm without 

 any question that the object in the nest was a chick. We couldn't 

 actually see it! The following day, which was May 26, at a few 

 minutes past six-thirty in the morning, I saw him. He was so tiny 

 I could scarcely believe my eyes, but there he was, a rusty-colored, 

 downy little thing, moving about on the nest on wobbly legs and 

 being dutifully cared for by both parents. The miracle had hap- 

 pened! "Rusty/* the first whooping crane ever hatched in cap- 

 tivity, had entered the world at an unknown hour during the 

 night of May 24-25. Officially, we called it May 25. The only 

 previous hatching date then on record (in Saskatchewan) had 

 been May 29. 



On the third day of his brief existence, Rusty was out of the 

 nest, as a young whooping crane more than forty-eight hours 

 old is supposed to be. He was very active. As Crip leaned over to 

 feed him, I saw Rusty trot across his father's big feet, running 

 with the tottering friskiness of all small precocial birds. Then he 



