192 



NATUKE FOB ITS OWN SAKE 



beasts and Indians have about departed, but 

 the prairie pond in its wild rice circlet still 

 exists; at morning and evening the red 

 of the sky, the pale yellow of the rice, the 

 green of the flag gleam upon its waters ; and 

 at night the moon and the stars are reflected 

 from its shining surface. It seems about the 

 only surviving feature of a nature that has 

 rapidly passed away before the axe and the 

 plough. It belonged to the Indians, and is 

 associated with them. I can see them now, a 

 band of fifty or more, bonneted and painted 

 for war, dashing down a divide and plunging 

 into that prairie pond to let their hard-ridden 

 ponies drink. They pause for only a moment, 

 the ponies pushing their noses deep under the 

 water, and then, at a signal yell they come 

 rushing out of the pond, through the rice, 

 through the tall prairie grass, and vanish like 

 dusky spectres over the next divide. They 

 come and go no more. The prairie grass has 

 turned into a wheat field, and the prairie pond 

 is the watering-place for herds of cattle. 



Almost any little pond or basin of water 

 adds to the interest of the landscape, however 

 humble or even mean it may be intrinsically. 

 It is always a bright surface and can reflect 



