A little later in the fall I saw those same loons do an astonishing
thing. For several evenings they had been keeping up an unusual racket
in a quiet bay, out of sight of my camp. I asked Simmo what he thought
they were doing.--"O, I don' know, playin' game, I guess, jus' like
one boy. Hukweem do dat sometime, wen he not hungry," said Simmo,
going on with his bean-cooking. That excited my curiosity; but when I
reached the bay it was too dark to see what they were playing.

One evening, when I was fishing at the inlet, the racket was different
from any I had heard before. There would be an interval of perfect
silence, broken suddenly by wild yelling; then the ordinary loon talk
for a few minutes, and another silence, broken by a shriller outcry.
That meant that something unusual was going on, so I left the trout,
to find out about it.

When I pushed my canoe through the fringe of water-grass on the point
nearest the loons, they were scattered in a long line, twelve or
fifteen of them, extending from the head of the bay to a point nearly
opposite me. At the other end of the line two loons were swimming
about, doing something which I could not make out. Suddenly the loon
talk ceased. There may have been a signal given, which I did not hear.
Anyway, the two loons faced about at the same moment and came tearing
down the line, using wings and feet to help in the race. The upper
loons swung in behind them as they passed, so as to watch the finish
better; but not a sound was heard till they passed my end of the line
in a close, hard race, one scarcely a yard ahead of the other, when
such a yelling began as I never heard before. All the loons gathered
about the two swimmers; there was much cackling and crying, which grew
gradually quieter; then they began to string out in another long line,