AMONG THE WATER-FOWL 



THE SUBMERGED TENTH 



(Grebes and Loons) 



HE seventh day of a recent June found 

 me, with a companion, driving over 

 the sun-baked, fire-scorched prairie of 

 North Dakota, within a few miles of 

 the international boundary. For miles 

 no settler's shack had been sighted to break the 

 solitude. No pioneer had yet overturned the sod and 

 sown his wheat, or erected the ugly barbed wire 

 fence to compel travel "on section lines." Not 

 even a wagon-trail offered its suggestion of a better 

 way. We were free to consult the compass, and lay 

 our course, as though at sea, over the virgin prairie, 

 that had remained just as the Buffalo had left it. 

 Though the scenery was monotonous, there was a 

 certain fascination in jogging along over this billowy 

 grass in the crisp, stimulating air, with the frequent 

 glimpses of birds and animal life. Ducks flew out 

 from the little wet depressions. A covey of cock 

 Pinnated Grouse whirred away from a weedy spot. 

 Meadowlarks, Longspurs, Sparrows or Prairie 

 Horned Larks were nearly always in sight, with 

 Black Terns flitting about. At any time we were 

 liable to see a Coyote slinking off in the distance, 

 a Badger dozing by its hole, or to start a Jack- 

 Rabbit and see it speed away with surprising leaps. 

 Gophers scurried to their burrows, and disappeared 

 with that comical little whisk of the tail that always 

 forces me to an inward smile. 



