10 THE CONDOR Vol. XXI 
few days later—August 26—in crossing the Bridge again I happened on the 
concluding chapter of the Ruddies’ history—a mother Ruddy leading five tiny 
ducklings up the Coulee—so, in spite of its unavoidable gaps, my Bridge work 
came to a satisfactory conclusion. 
In following the marsh-bordered windings of the Coulee from the Bridge 
to the northeast, one day, I came to a small open lake, evidently connected with 
the Coulee in high water, over which two white Terns and a large white Guli 
were hunting. Commanding the lake was a brushy ridge probably used for 
hunting cover as the Ducks were hopelessly wild. When I appeared in sight a 
flock of perhaps a hundred Scaups rose, and soon after all stragglers of what- 
ever kind departed. Beyond the lake, as I followed a cow path overlooking the 
Coulee and the adjoining pastures, filled with horses and cattle, an old Nor- 
wegian woman having a handkerchief tied over her head, and wearing a for- 
eign looking cloth jacket and a big blue apron, came laboriously trudging up 
the path toward me, followed by two dogs. The dogs, like some of the horses 
and children I met in my unfamilar field costume, completed by camp stool 
and glass, shrank away afraid of me, but the weary old woman, after our greet- 
ing, motioned me to open my camp stool for her to rest. When I questioned her 
about the waterways in sight she pointed to the Coulee and making bends 
above and below, said ‘‘Lak, lak’’, going on in Norwegian with explanations 
that were lost on me. 
Farther north, three miles east of the farmhouse across the prairie, and near 
the family tree claim, as I discovered later, was a second Bridge over the Coulee, 
and one afternoon about the middle of July, taking a child with me, I drove over 
in the family two-wheeled cart. As we approached, no water was in sight, but 
the high black frame of the iron Bridge loomed up from the surrounding 
greenness. A grass grown road led to it and the Bridge floor itself was earthed 
and green. ‘‘No automobiles go over that road once in six months’’ I had been 
assured when told to hitch old Polly to the Bridge—no fence being within 
reach—and I could well believe it when looking up the dim road beyond to the 
farmnouse on the horizon. 
A flock of pretty little Bank Swallows almost flew into us at the end of 
ihe Bridge as if surprised by our presence, and fluttered and hesitated so close 
to us that the dusky bands on the white breasts were conspicuous. Barn Swal- 
iows were flying about the Bridge, now over, now under, and small voices 
from below us hinted that they were feeding young in safe niches of the foun- 
dation. A pedestrian—a Franklin ground squirrel, quite different from the 
‘*flicker-tail’’ in having a dark back and long tail, came trotting across the 
Bridge with pretty confidence. | 
Though the Coulee was here on its way down to the second Bridge, its eur- 
rent was so sluggish that it seemed to end in the green marsh grass. Coots had 
splasned away through the green on our approach and through the water weeds — 
| could just make out a blackish head stretched cautiously around a bend of 
cane. Along the borders of narrow waterways glimpses were had of other 
swimmers, and once I caught sight of the snaky head of a Pied-billed Grebe, 
my first in several years, but it quickly dived and did not reappear. A brown 
Bittern rose from the edge of the canes and flew away, a pair of Black Terns 
were evidently feeding young in the marsh, one of them with food in its bill 
hesitating and scolding over our heads. Yellow-headed Blackbirds and Red- 
wings were also apparently feeding young, the Yellow-heads going down again 
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