326 THE CRANES 



antelope-shooting on the prairie my companion — a 

 good hunter — and myself saw what we took to be an 

 antelope standing quietly feeding with his broad white 

 stern toward us and only about five hundred yards off. 

 We attempted for at least fifteen minutes to flag the 

 creature up to us, waving a handkerchief on a ramrod 

 in the most approved style. This proving unavailing, 

 my friend proceeded to stalk the game, and crawled on 

 his belly for about half the distance before the * ante- 

 lope ' unfolded his broad black-tipped wrings and 

 flapped off, revealed at length as a whooping crane." 



I was once shooting mallard on the margin of a 

 Western lake, with an army ofihcer. The day was 

 warm and bright, and, after a short morning flight, the 

 ducks ceased to move about, and we retired to a slight 

 elevation, ate our luncheon, and reclined in the grass 

 to smoke our pipes and tell tales of shooting game of 

 all sorts. A large flock of white cranes arose from the 

 marsh and flew directly toward us, ascending, however, 

 as they came, far beyond our range. When quite 

 overhead, in the azure sky, their white feathers gleam- 

 ing in the sunlight, they proceeded to go through 

 many graceful evolutions, flying about in a circle, 

 forming sides and crossing over and back and dancing 

 in mid-air to their own loud music. We were much 

 entertained by their performance, and observed them 

 until the exhibition was ended and they continued 

 their flight until quite out of sight. 



I have upon other occasions observed these birds 

 feeding about the margins of rivers and ponds, and 

 have tried a long shot at them but never with success. 



