Sept., 1919 189 
A RETURN TO THE DAKOTA LAKE REGION 
By FLORENCE MERRIAM BAILEY 
(Continued from page 162) 
2 
N days when there was a strong east wind, a good many birds collected at 
the east side of the lake for the shelter of the wide band of tules and the 
tree-bordered bank above. On one such morning I was delighted to find 
a large motherly Canvasback with nine nearly grown young among the number. 
The straight Grecian nose line was enough to identify the family on sight, 
while the mother’s head was light compared with the reddish heads of the 
young, her throat being almost white in contrast to the cinnamon of her body. 
A small blue-billed Ruddy Duck got in among her brood when they were swim- 
ming about one of his feeding grounds, and she promptly swam at him, chas- 
ing him until he dived ignominiously ; proud lhttle Ruddy, who had driven a 
Pied-bill off these very premises not long before! The mother Canvasback 
dived easily, but the young made hard work of it, giving a porpoise-like hop as 
they went down, showing their white under tail coverts as they disappeared. 
By a quarter past eight the young Canvasbacks were sitting with their heads 
on their backs resting, early though it was; while their mother sat with her 
head up looking at me. 
Another morning I was greatly pleased to discover a small mother Ruddy 
swimming along the tules with eleven newly-hatched little ones, leaving a wake 
of bubbles behind them when they swam fast. While I was watching the popu- 
lation of the eastern shore, flocks of Ducks, with whistling wings would pass 
over my head, the Blue-winged Teal with their free, tilting flight, in the morn- 
ings coming in from their roosting lakes, in the afternoons passing out to them. 
One morning in the middle of August it was so hot that there was very lit- 
tle going on. The lake was a mirror spotted with resting water fowl, its tule 
islands softly hazy, hazily reflected in the lake, white spots here and there 
marking the heads of Ruddy Ducks. Little was heard but the occasional eall 
of a Pied-bill or other Grebe. 
An interesting figure often seen wandering around by itself on the east 
side of the lake, was a little Horned Grebe, with light cheeks and a reddish 
brown throat, either a brooding bird taking her daily outing, or her mate try- 
ing to pass his time during her absence. And one red letter day, August 15, 
out beyond the wide tule band I saw four species of Grebe at once—the light- 
headed Horned, the chunked little Pied-bill, a Holbcell with its long reddish 
brown neck, who gave a kruk of warning, and at last a partly grown family of 
the white-throated Western Grebe that I had been looking for ever since I came 
to the lake; their low distant calls having teased my ears with memories of the 
beautiful flock on Devil’s Lake. The length of the neck was what struck me 
first, and then the whole white front. A soft ker’r’r’r-ree again recalled the 
flock and made clear the difference between the cry of the Western and the 
Holbell. The next day I found one of the Western again in the same place, 
diving and apparently rising only far enough to put up its bill for air. Finally 
it flew, away across the lake, showing its white wing patches and its feet held 
out behind as it disappeared, its low quavering call resounding over the water. 
After that I scanned the lake eagerly for the silvery throats, but the large 
