“Honk! honk!” Sonorous, elusive, came the sound.  It was within a half mile now, and there was no mistaking the destination, the intent of its makers.  “Honk! honk! honk! honk!” from many throats, in many keys, louder and louder, confused as children’s voices at play; then in turn diminishing, retreating.  Very mystifying to one who did not understand would have been that augmenting, lessening sound; but to that waiting human boulder it was no mystery.  As plainly as though he could see, he knew every movement of that approaching triangle.  As certainly as the broncho near by and the herd in the distance had responded to the sunshine and the time of day, he knew they were responding.  To all wild things it was the rest hour, and to those a half mile high in the air as inevitably as to the beast on earth instinct had said “halt.”  They were still going southward, still drawing nearer and nearer; but it would not be for long.  Already they were circling, descending, searching here and there for a place to alight, to rest.  Suspicious even here, they were taking their time; but distinct now amid the confusion was the sound of their great wings against the denser air, and the “Honk! honk! honk!” was a continuous chatter.

Circle after circle made the flock.  Once their noise all but ceased, and the listener fancied for an instant they were down, but in a moment it was resumed louder than before, and he knew they were still a-wing.  “Honk! honk! honk! honk! honk! honk!” They were very near indeed, so near that the sleeping pony was aroused at the clamour and, lifting its head, looked about curiously.

“Honk! honk! honk!  Flap! flap!  Swish!” Between the sun and the watcher there fell a moving shadow and another—­then a multitude.  The clamour was all-surrounding, the flap of great wings a continuous beating, the whistle of air like that in a room with a myriad buzzing electric fans.  Temporarily the prairie breeze was lost; swallowed up in the greater movement.  Surprised, for the moment frightened, the broncho sprang to his feet—­paused irresolute.  For an instant the sky was hid.  Overhead, to right, to left, all-obscuring, was nothing but a blot of great grey bodies, of wide wings lighter on the under surface, of long, curious necks, of dangling feet; then, swiftly as it had come it passed; the sun shone anew; the cloud and the shadow thereof, going straight in the face of the wind, wandered on.  “Honk! honk! honk! honk! honk! honk!” they repeated; but it was the voice of departure.  The thing was done.  There on the level earth, fair in view, they had passed overhead within twenty feet of their arch-enemy, man; and had not known.  Now less than a quarter of a mile away they were circling for the last time.  One big gander was already down and stretching his long neck from side to side.  Another, with a great flapping of wings, was beside him; and another, and another.  The prairie wind carried along the sound of their chatter; but it was subdued now, entirely different from the clamour of a bit ago.  Against the blue of the sky where they had been a blot only, the curling, dancing heat waves arose.  One and all had answered the siesta call.