Mar., 1920 A RETURN TO THE DAKOTA LAKE REGION 71 
close procession, back and forth in well practiced unison, as if for better team 
work in the sky. Back and forth they swam over a beat only a few rods long, 
running from opposite the Crow roost on the island to a point opposite a fox- 
tail bank on the shore below. At the end of the line they would break ranks 
and ride at case, doubtless to avoid the difficult maneuver of wheeling. When 
at ease they opened their close ranks, each doing what he pleased for the mo- 
ment, some with heads erect and bills drawn in, some preening head down 
and bill extended horizontally; two or three, perhaps, at the end of the line 
fishing in a desultory manner, the sun lighting up their orange throat patches: 
while, most picturesque sight of all, one occasionally stretched out his black- 
bordered wings to the full extent of their ten feet, canopying the heads of a 
long row of his brothers. 
After being at ease for a few moments, those at the north front would 
start and the line straighten, the birds ‘‘falling in’’, as nearly as | could see, 
in ranks of two; after which they would start off, swimming slowly, silently, 
like the white swan of Lohengrin. Once the flock split, the two parts swim- 
ming in opposite directions, by two’s. But their one idea seemed to be good 
team work, and back the two divisions swam till they faced each other, on which 
one division made a right-about-face and the restored file again swam ahead 
asa unit. Another time when opposite the foxtail bank, one at the end started 
to fish; but when the middle ranks broke and started back toward the Crow 
roost, the fisherman turned and followed, quickly acquiescing in the will of 
the majority. An individualistic brother at one time mounted a rock and stood 
for a few moments looking like a giant as the others swam below. But then, 
as if compelled by the socialistic law that governed them all, raising his wide 
wings he flapped back down the line, a striking figure, his bright orange feet 
showing, his immense black-bordered wings flapping over the white ranks fill 
he again took his place in the procession. 
At one time the great birds shook out and ruffled up the feathers of their 
wings till they suggested Swans with plumes high on their backs—possibly to 
let the sun in—and nearly the whole line rode for some time in this unusually 
beautiful pose. For an hour or two the great birds kept up their maneuvers— 
attention, dress, forward-march, by two’s, at ease. At times the whole file 
would face us, then all face the island opposite; then all north, then all south, 
swimming back and forth—swimming slowly, silently, in a close, white pro- 
cession, sometimes mirrored in the lake. 
Finally, however, the leader rose at an angle, and after a Jittle hesitation, 
as 1f surprised by the action, one and then another rose along the line to fol- 
low his behest; and, wholly unconscious of our presence, circled around almost 
over our heads with a swish, swish, of their enormous wings, the sun on the 
underside of their bodies making them look almost saffron, and their bills and 
feet orange. Swinging, circling, and mulling, they shifted their lines so rap- 
idly it was difficult to count them, gradually rising higher and higher, going 
on through the sky beyond our field of vision. That night we again went down 
to the lake hoping that the Pelicans might return, hiding ourselves in the yel- 
lowing willows lit up warmly by the setting sun. A lovely golden light lay 
over the marsh, turning the green mats a vivid green, the bases of the stalks a 
golden yellow, warming up the trees on the island, especially the cottonwoods 
of the Crow roost, and beyond lighting up the straw-colored stubble fields: 
