34 THE AUDUBON BULLETIN 
their feet upon the frozen ground. Occasionally, one in his exuberance 
would rise from the arena and alight upon the tar paper roof of our 
blind, his fast moving feet sounding as though a dozen pileated wood- 
peckers were trying to riddle our ceiling. 
It was apparent that this performance in unison was for the de- 
light of the female, because the antics were different when the ladies 
were absent. Then the grouse would run at each other as though to 
die in mortal combat but they invariably backed away without touch- 
ing each other. Frank Schmidt said they actually fought earlier in 
the season, however. They would crouch, eyeing each other, as though 
to make sure no one should attack them; oftentimes three or four 
birds were in groups upon the ground, and then one or two would be- 
come wearied of the inactivity and would rise, stretch out their wings, 
and dance away for a short distance. 
The females came to this performing place to be mated and it was 
evident by the enthusiasm with which the actors played their part, 
that they were attempting to excite the interest of the lady. 
That bit of prairie country adjacent to Babcock is a reminder of 
what our western country was in early days; beaver have dammed the 
little streams meandering through the willow marshes, blue-winged 
teal and shoveller ducks sat about in pairs waiting the time to start 
housekeeping, red-wings called from the marshes and the meadow- 
larks answered from prominent knolls about our biind. It was a 
gray day, for the rising sun had been unable to penetrate the dark 
mantle above, and the dull wind whistling over the lowlands made us 
wish we had been better prepared. But the birds did not seem to 
mind—our grouse danced on, or went through their pseudo combats 
until far later than they would have had the sun been shining; the 
loud resonant booming of their cousins, the pinnated grouse reverbe- 
rated through the air (it was hard to tell the direction from which the 
sound came) and from a reedy marsh not far in front of our blind 
echoed that most wonderful call of all birds of the wild—the far-reach- 
ing, plaintive challenge of a pair of sandhill cranes. Springtime on 
the prairies in the olden times must have been a constant delight to 
the pioneer. As I think of young Frank Schmidt, a naturalist of 
great promise who had accomplished so much in a short time, I am 
reminded of other young naturalists of this region of an early day, 
who saw the prairie at its best—Robert Kennicott, who, like Frank, 
was not destined to live the allotted three score ten, but died in the 
midst of his studies. They were of the same breed as were Edward 
Nelson and Robert Ridgeway, workers of our area who were allowed 
to live eventful lives, and to pass on to coming generations the results 
of their years of activity. In.Wisconsin, Frank Schmidt had been 
carrying on an intensive study of the grouse and I like to think that 
his energetic work will be continued by others, and will result in an 
understanding of our prairie forms that will enable us to preserve 
them for all time. 
