Prairie Powwow

There was no orchestra, but the dancers' legs moved with the precision of an expert ballet. The three men in the automobile on a dirt road cleaving an expanse of brown Saskatchewan prairie all saw the same thing--20 dancing prairie chickens.

In double file with every one in step the 20 pouch-necked, rufous, black & white-streaked grouse strutted forward, keeping perfect time. As one they hopped as neatly back. Forward again, and with heads bobbing the two front couples swung to left and right, wheeled fanwise, fell in at the rear. Four times the figure was repeated, until the rear couples were once more in their places. Now odd couples did a left face, even couples a right face, and the two lines moved apart. An about face brought them back together. Then all faced front and again the double file moved forward--one, two, three, four; one, two, three, four; one, two. . . .

Every sensible Saskatchewanian knows that the tribal powwow of the prairie chicken is a myth. He has heard it from his grandfather, who heard it from his grandfather, who heard it from the Indians. The Indians believed it. Had not their ancestors long ago seen it with their own eyes and learned from it to do their own tribal dances? But hard-headed Saskatchewanians knew better. Up for re-election last month was Saskatchewan's Premier James Thomas Milton Anderson. Few days before election he returned to Regina, the capital, from a campaign swing through the sparsely settled northern districts of his province. Then he told his story. Motoring one day through a lonely stretch of prairie, he had stopped by the roadside, seen with his own eyes the tribal dance performed by 20 prairie chickens. He had his chauffeur and a man named Fairley for witnesses. Saskatchewanians listened respectfully, pondered, went to the polls, voted James Thomas Milton Anderson out of office.

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