210 Dance of the Prairie Chicken. 



there came a perfect babel of sounds. Creeping slowly forward I 

 noiselessly pushed the willow boughs aside, when my glance fell on 

 a covey of some fifty prairie chickens covering the top of a small 

 dome-shaped mound. They were running about and per orming 

 all sorts of strange movements. Every now and then, one would 

 jump into the air for a foot or two, with all its feathers ruffled, the 

 air-sacs on its neck inflated, and pouncing down, strike at another, 

 who either stood his ground to receive the attack, or turned tail 

 and fled, to be pursued by his antagonist. Here and there a hen 

 was rushing through the throng, followed by two or three male 

 birds, who stopped at intervals to combat with great fierceness. 



The scene was indescribably funny. At times they gathered 

 in a cluster near the centre of the hillock, struggling, fighting 

 and making each others' feathers fly, all the time emitting a 

 series of peculiar sounds, cooings and sharp angry cackles 

 mingled with drumming. For a time they were motionless and 

 quiet, when a single individual pranced out from the others and 

 began strutting about, with his head bobbing up and down, his tail 

 opening and shutting rapidly with a rustling noise. Suddenly he 

 broke into a jumping, stamping, sort of jig-dance, beating a quick 

 time on the ground with his feet, moving them so rapidly that a 

 sound was produced like that resulting from the strumming on one 

 string of a banjo, and joining to this a flapping of his wings and a 

 rapid whirr of his tail. He then capered about, jostling against the 

 others, for by this time the whole assemblage was imitating him, 

 and it soon became a question of the " survival of the fittest." It 

 was for all the world like an Irish cutting-out jig, or the celebrated 

 Red River jig, only that, instead of two or three dancers taking 

 part, the whole party took the floor. Suddenly, as if tired out, they 

 separated and scattered over the mound, the hens apparently mak- 

 ing for the brush and the cocks following, until two of the latter 

 came together, when a pitched battle at once took place. 



By the time they had once more gathered in the centre of the 

 ball-room floor the pangs of hunger had again attacked me, so I 

 gave up enjoying the sight, quickly levelled my gun and fired into 

 the midst of the crowd, knocking over for one the floor-manager 

 as he once more began to lead the dance. Consternation seemed 

 to strike them motionless, and it was not until I rose upright that 

 they began to scatter and fly off with an abrupt cackle, obtaining 



