Jan., 1916 
CHARACTERISTIC BIRDS OF THE DAKOTA PRAIRIES 
19 
sac three Long-billed Marsh Wren nests were in sight, two old ones and one 
just begun, pretty domed structures with a round side entrance, woven of 
brown tules, cat-tail, cane leaves, and grass, with a soft lining of cat-tail down. 
Another marsh of this series was close behind the farmhouse. A Chinese 
wall of high tules and reeds hid the open water behind it unless you looked 
down from the terrace above, and myriads of birds lived there in happy 
security although automobiles passed along the highway only a few rods from 
the wall. Enticing, irresistible Marsh Wren songs came from within till, 
perforce, I sallied out to gaze through the chinks in the wall. 
The edge of the marsh was dry and skirted by cow trails, beyond which 
I made a short essay into the interior, using both hands to part the tules, for 
their crown of nutlets slap your cheeks with stinging blows as you crowd 
through them. While the footing was still firm enough to hold, I set up my 
camp stool and with the tules high above my head looked about my cage. 
The cool dark green waving rods were interwoven into a dense grill work 
with meshes so fine that, peer and twist and turn as you might— clumsy mor- 
tal — you could only guess at what was happening a foot from your nose ! 
A pair of Tule Wrens that came clambering along till close to my face, 
stood staring at me, their black wiry legs clinging to tules so far apart it 
seemed as if they must hinge outward. When satisfied with their scrutiny 
they walked away again absolutely out of sight behind the network in a foot 
or two. The miniature forest was full of the tantalizing talk and noises of a 
large invisible population. Ducks quacked so plainly I could see them (with 
my mind’s eye), and heavy-bodied waterfowl went splashing into the water 
right there ahead of me — I knew just how they were lighting down. The flat 
tub-tub of Coots came so close I could picture their dark gray forms forging 
along between the tule rods in their business-like way. And, oh, that ecstatic 
outburst of the Sora, that loud clear musical run down the scale close to my 
ear, and not a tule turned ! The Sora, the quaint, the droll, the surprising 
Sora ! How good it was to hear him again ! 
Looking overhead I could see Swallows and Black Terns skimming along 
over the top of the marsh, and envied them their advantage. They could see 
down inside, perhaps, as they passed. But what were Rails to them? It was 
too aggravating. I must see ! Rising with determination I crowded through 
the tules and crashed and crackled through the canes. A screeching, thunder- 
ing railroad train might as well expect to surprise a Hermit Thrush ! I had 
obtruded. Unbroken silence ensued. The moral was all too plain. Would 
you see? Cultivate a philosophic spirit, be content to sit and listen to the 
voices of the marsh ; let the fascinating, mysterious, bewildering voices encom- 
pass you and — hold your peace. Spirits of the marsh — it is their magic forest. 
Let no mortal intrude. 
But a marsh like a mountain will not be exorcised and, “when the Red 
Gods mix their medicine”, calls so insistently that you can but obey its sum- 
mons. That open water in the center of the marsh called me imperatively — 
many a Duck had I seen curving over to settle down where it must be. The 
residents had not been encouraging. One said that you might take a step 
and go down up to your neck. Another, less conservative, told of a man who 
had driven into the marsh adjoining this and been sucked down by the bog, 
man. horses, and wagon disappearing forever! To prevent such an unpleas- 
antness, one familiar with bogs gave me a few careful directions: “always 
step ahead of yourself, never put down a foot so you can’t draw it back, and 
