“Let me get him for you,” said Rob. “The heavy shot in my gun will do surer work than your fine shot.” But before Rob could get aim, the great bird began to move about in such a peculiar way that both boys could only stare in wonder. Stepping out upon the sandbar the heron crouched or squatted down, and began to go around and around, backward and forward, in a sort of hop and skip. Then the boys saw coming down the sand from out the shadows the cause of all this strange bowing and scraping by the big bird. A second heron, not bright blue as the first, but clad in more somber garments of bluish-grey, walked solemnly toward her prospective lord and master. Approaching each other, both birds stood perfectly still—as motionless as statues, their long bills pointing straight up, and each balancing upon one foot. They stood this way for a full minute, as if in solemn contemplation, and then both joined in the mysterious gyrations. Approaching each other with wings out-stretched, in the indescribably funny waltz step, they would touch the tips of their bills and bow to the ground two or three times. Then they would separate and go waltzing past each other with the hop and skip, back and forth, around and around, finally to come and touch bills and go to bowing again.
The whole performance was so comical that the boys rolled over in the grass shaking with merriment, and Rob, unable to restrain his hilarity, gave a loud “ha! ha!” At once there was a flap of wings and the female bird went sailing over the tops of the trees. The blue heron, he of the royal plumes, however, after one upward spring, settled down and stood in dignified stolidity, apparently gazing at the sky.
“Shoot! Rob, shoot!” cried Dauphin. “Get him before he can get away.”
“No, no,” said Rob. “Don’t you see he’s fast some way? He’s wound some of that tough grass around one of his legs. Let’s catch him alive. Think of the money we can make taking him around showing him. Or maybe we can sell him to the professor in your college for a big sum. Surely a live bird will bring more than a mere specimen.”
The boys threw down their guns and made a rush in the direction of the great bird. But the ground where the dancing party had been held was more adapted to bird than human feet, and their progress was slow as they sank half way to their knees in the soft earth and water.
“You stay on this side while I’ll go around behind, and we’ll make a grab at him together. We can hold him all right,” said Rob.
“Now,” said Dauphin, “catch him around his wings, and I’ll hold his legs.” And both boys made a rush. The big bird made another unavailing attempt to rise, then, awaiting the attack, drew back the long neck, and with the white plumes standing straight out behind, sent his bill like a sword-thrust straight at Dauphin’s breast. There was a sound of the impact of the blow, a moan from the boy, who sank crumpled up to the ground, and, with another mighty lift of the huge wings the Great Blue Heron was free.
Plunging through the rushes and mud, Rob reached his chum, carried him up the bank, and opened his thick hunting jacket and shirt. The long bill of the bird had evidently broken a rib, but had not penetrated the flesh. In a moment Dauphin opened his eyes. “My! what was it? I can’t breathe. Who would have thought that pesky bird could strike like that?” And, indeed, Dauphin was fortunate to have escaped with the discomfort of a broken rib, that would be “as good as new” in a couple of weeks. The strength and thickness of his buckskin jacket probably saved his life, for less than a fortnight later a young Indian of a nearby camp, struck upon the bare side by the bill of a “sandhill” crane, a much smaller bird than the Great Blue Heron, was pierced to the heart and instantly killed.
“Well,” said Rob, “we didn’t get any specimens, but we did get to attend the heron’s ball.”
“Yes,” replied Dauphin, “but I think the next time I go will be when I am an invited guest.”