keeping always just at the edge of the water. Never were they forced to
wing; yet never did they permit the distance to widen between themselves
and the inrushing or outrushing wave. There were also sundry ducks. These
swam just inside the breakers, and were carried backward and forward by the
surges. Always they faced seaward. At the very last instant, as a great
curler bent over them, they dipped their heads and dived. If the wave did
not break, however, they rode over its top. Their accuracy of eye was
uncanny. Time after time they gauged the wave so closely that they just
flipped over the crest as it crashed with a roar beneath them. A tenth of a
second later would have destroyed them. Keith reined up the horse to watch
them and the sanderlings.

"It _is_ a game," he agreed after a while, "just like the pelicans. It
isn't considered sporting for sanderlings to get more than three inches
away from the edge of the wash; or for a duck to dive unless he actually
has to. It must be a game; for they certainly aren't catching anything."

At this moment the sanderlings as though at a signal sprang into the air,
wheeled back and forth with instantaneous precision, and departed. The
ducks, too, dove, and came up only outside the surf.

"Good little sportsmen," laughed Keith; "they play the game for its own
sake. They don't like an audience."

After a few miles they came to a cliff reaching down to the beach and
completely barring the way. Off shore were rocky islets covered with seals
and sea lions. A lone blue heron stood atop a sand dune, absolutely
motionless.

"I don't know where we are, or how we get out," said Keith, "but I'm going