CHAPTER III 



SEEKING THE SANDHILL CRANE 



ONE evening in May found us quietly moving 

 along the east shore of Lake He a la Crosse, when 

 the sun was lowering in the west and a soft, damp- 

 tempered haze hung around the bottom of the 

 dome of the sky. We were paddling along easily, 

 enchanted in a measure, by the scene and sound 

 of our unbounded surroundings. The setting 

 sun still lit the shore ahead, enriching with the 

 colour of gold the fresh young leaves and the 

 white trunks of the cottonwood trees, till they 

 were fair and fantastic as fairyland should be ; 

 while, on the lake, moved the low murmuring 

 lap of gentle waves coming and going in company 

 with the light northern breeze, and that made a 

 laughing trickle as they broke on the prow of 

 the canoe. So intense was the mystic hush of 

 evening, and unpeopled northland, that we 

 almost felt guilty that we would be discovered in 

 our quest that quest that was not for fairies, 

 but for something almost as elusive : the haunt 

 of the Sandhill Crane. 



To-day, to-morrow, or the next day, we hoped 

 to have luck and find that which we were search- 

 ing for, but who could tell ! 



Until an hour after sunset we kept on, listen- 

 ing, hoping that the lone call of a crane might 



33 



