or) neye peaee hace we FY 503 Ti s a0 we ee ee £4) arg . of re es ey a: Pie oe Ay ra Jae aL age eT aa Y ee Pe “48 nd = - ‘i . ir ok ae ity fee ire ws , : Foner te F ‘ ene sg el see rou? a vee een, J Ta yay fo Fs eS “| ae oe he ey, ' It clad y ay L Bee z) ‘ hard — ‘a Copyright, 1898, by Ernest Seton Chompson - =, —™ v , r/ ' bt 2, « « + <-> Q € en ofr ' ¢ N ( a ait ee « « ‘ ~. eo @) \ Cc. r \ oO * ~— eo 5 Rik ‘ Te Jim This Book is Dedicated A List of the Stories in this Book And their Full-page Drawings Page Lobo, tiz King of Currumpaw. . - - 15 Lobo Showing the Pack How to Kill “2 EE). 0 a 2 eRe a am aa Na ~~ Tannerey, with his Dogs, came Gallop- Merete Canon @— s F Bebe exposing the Traps - . . . . 38 eee Blanes 5 | Se Monee Crrrampe . 2, es 5S Silverspot, the Story of a Crow . . . 57 PERU i, eS BE The Handle of a China-cup, the Gem M@ecwaiccion 2... 93 Roost in a Row, like Big Folks. . . 78 The Track ofthe Murderer. . . . 85 See een ot ollyetspot =. . =. . . 89 5 A List of the Stories in this Book Page Raggylug, the Story of a Cottontail Rabbit . C = gt Face to Face with an Enormous Black Se@GMeN Gs = (tn eee \ . (eee Rag Followed the Snow-white Beacon 118 The Hound came Sniffing along the Log. 26.0 3 ee ee No Chance-to: Turn Now > 333 eeae Bingo, the Story of My Dog. . . . 145 Frank Retreated Each Time the Wolf dburned me ea scar . 5h Se ae Bingo and the She-wolf. . . . 167 Bingo Watched while Curley Feasted 172 Tail-piece“. 33. «21 ee The Springfield Fox A) Root ae 185 They Tussled and Fought, while their Mother Looked On with Fond De- HOE 6 aes )5, cae 196 Vix Shows the Cubs How to Catch Mice 202 There She had Lain—and Mourned . 218 Vix 2°30. 6 leis 05 ee A List of the Stories in this Book Page Ghe Pactng Mustang . . - - - . 227 Away Went the Mustang at his Famous eee ies eh ieee meh cy em Ye. or ODOT Gully, the Story of a Yaller Dog . . 273 mone three Maroons .°.*—- ge ag Once more a Sheep- pe in Charg of PEMOCK Meee ans Sie uae oy, Wally. Studied ‘her Calm Face. . 299 Redruff, the Story of the Don a Partridge. . . . : 305 Mmmerne Moonlight ©2502 ys 331 Redrit, saving Runtie . . 2. 6.2 340 WENO eae Os ib ahe @housht- (Vail-piecé) .° 2 2. 3509 Note to the Reader THESE STORIES are true. Although I have left the strict line of historical truth in many places, the animals in this book were all real characters. ‘They lived the lives I have depicted, and showed the stamp of heroism and personality more strongly by far than it has been ‘in the power of my pen to tell. I believe that natural history has lost much by the vague general treatment that is so com- mon. What satisfaction would be derived from a ten-page sketch of the habits and customs of Man? How much more profitable it would be to devote that space to the life of some one great man. ‘This is the principle I have en- deavored to apply to my animals. The real personality of the individual, and his view of life are my theme, rather than the ways of the 9 Note to the Reader race in general, as viewed by a casual and hos- tile human eye. This may sound inconsistent in view of my having pieced together some of the characters, but that was made necessary by the fragmentary nature of the records. There is, however, al- most no deviation from the truth in Lobo, Bin- go, and the Mustang. Lobo lived his wild romantic life from 1889 to 1894 in the Currumpaw region, as the ranch- men know too well, and died, precisely as re- lated, on January 31, 1894. Bingo was my dog from 1882 to 1888, in spite of interruptions, caused by lengthy visits to New York, as my Manitoban friends will re- member. And my old friend, the owner of Tan, will learn from these pages how his dog really died. The Mustang lived not far from Lobo in the early nineties. The story is given strictly as it occurred, excepting that there is a dispute as to the manner of his death. According to some testimony he broke his neck in the corral that IO Note to the Reader e he was first taken to. Old Turkeytrack is where he cannot be consulted to settle it. Wully is, in a sense, a compound of two dogs ; both were mongrels, of some collie blood, and were raised as sheep-dogs. The first part of Wully is given as it happened, after that it was known only that he became a savage, treacher- ous sheep-killer. The details of the second part belong really to another, a similar yaller dog, who long lived the double life—a faithful sheep- dog by day, and a bloodthirsty, treacherous monster by night. Such things are less rare than-is supposed, and since writing these stories i have heard of another double-lived sheep-dog that added to its night amusements the crown- ing barbarity of murdering the smaller dogs of the neighborhood. He had killed twenty, and hidden them in asand-pit, when discovered by his master. He died just as Wully did. Redruff really lived in the Don Valley north of Toronto, and many of my companions will remember him. He was killed in 1889, be- tween the Sugar Loaf and Castle Frank, by a II Wote to the Reader creature whose name I have withheld, as it is the species, rather than the individual, that I Wish to expose. Silverspot, Raggylug, and Vixen are founded on real characters. Though I have ascribed to them the adventures of more than one of their _ kind, every incident in their biographies is from life. The fact that these stories are true is the rea- son why all are tragic. ‘The life of a wild ani- mal always has a tragic end. Such a collection of histories naturally sug- gests a common thought—a moral it would have been called in the last century. No doubt each different mind will find a moral to its taste, but I hope some will herein find emphasized a moral as old as Scripture—we and the beasts are kin. Man has nothing that the animals have not at least a vestige of, the animals have nothing that man does not in some degree share. Since, then, the animals are creatures with wants and feelings differing in degree only from our own, they surely have their rights. This 12 *SUOOIL IW) ood | ou ave aa a i! ote al! “ = ee Note to the Reader fact, now beginning to be recognized by the Caucasian world, was emphasized by the Buddh- ist Over 2,000 years ago. THIS BOOK was made by my wife, Grace Gallatin Thompson. Although the handiwork throughout is my own, she chiefly is responsible for designs of cover, title page, and general make-up. Thanks are due her also for the lit- erary revision, and for the mechanical labor of seeing the book through the press. Ernest Seton Chompson. gs 144 FIFTH AVE., NEw York City, August 14, 1898. ‘| Lobo Boatd The King of a§| Currumpaw Lobo The King of Currumpaw I == URRUMPAW is a vast cattle range in northern New Mexico. It is a land of rich pastures and teeming flocks and herds, a land of rolling mesas and precious running waters that at length unite in the Currumpaw River, from = which. the whole region is named. And the king whose despotic power was felt over its entire extent was an old gray wolf. Old Lobo, or the king, as the Mexicans called him, was the gigantic leader of a remarkable pack of gray wolves, that had ravaged the Cur- rumpaw Valley for a number of years. All the shepherds and ranchmen knew him well, and, 17 Lobo wherever he appeared with his trusty band, ter- ror reigned supreme among the cattle, and wrath and despair among their owners. Old Lobo was a giant among wolves, and was cunning and strong in proportion to his size. His voice at night was well-known and easily distinguished | from that of any of his fellows. An ordi- nary wolf might howl half the night about the herdsman’s bivouac without attracting more than a passing notice, but when the deep roar of the old king came booming down the cafion, the watcher bestirred himself and prepared to learn in the morning that fresh and serious in- roads had been made among the herds. Old Lobo’s band was but a small one. This I never quite understood, for usually, when a wolf rises to the position and power that he had, he attracts a numerous following. It may be that he had as many as he desired, or perhaps his ferocious temper prevented the increase of his pack. - Certain is it that Lobo had only five followers during the latter part of his reign. Each of these, however, was a wolf of renown, most of them were above the ordinary size, one in particular, the second in command, was a 18 Lobo ; veritable giant, but even he was far below the leader in size and prowess. Several of the band, besides the two leaders, were especially noted. One of those was a beautiful white wolf, that the Mexicans called Blanca ; this was supposed to be afemale, possibly Lobo’s mate. Another was a yellow wolf of remarkable swiftness, which, according to current stories had, on several oc- casions, captured an antelope for the pack. It will be seen, then, that these wolves were thoroughly well-known to the cowboys and shepherds. They were frequently seen and oftener heard, and their lives were intimately associated with those of the cattlemen, who would so gladly have destroyed them. There was not a stockman on the Currumpaw who would not readily have given the value of many steers for the scalp of any one of Lobo’s band, but they seemed to possess charmed lives, and defied all manner of devices to kill them. They scorned all hunters, derided all poisons, and continued, for at least five years, to exact their tribute from the Currumpaw ranchers to the extent, many said, of a cow each day. Ac- cording to this estimate, therefore, the band had 19 Lobo killed more than two thousand of the finest stock, for, as was only too well-known, they selected the best in every instance. The old idea that a wolf was constantly in a starving state, and therefore ready to eat any- thing, was as far as possible from the truth in this case, for these freebooters were always sleek and well-conditioned, and were in fact most fastidious about what they ate. Any ani- mal that had died from natural causes, or that was diseased or tainted, they would not touch, and they even rejected anything that had been killed by the stockmen. Their choice and daily food was the tenderer part of a freshly killed yearling heifer. An old bull or cow they disdained, and though they occasionally took a young calf or colt, it was quite clear that veal or horseflesh was not their favorite diet. It was also known that they were not fond of mutton, although they often amused themselves by killing sheep. One night in November, 1893, Blanca and the yellow wolf killed two hundred and fifty sheep, apparently for the fun of it, and did not eat an ounce of their flesh. | 20 Lobo These are examples of many stories which I might repeat, to show the ravages of this destructive band. Many new devices for their extinction were tried each year, but still they lived and throve in spite of all the efforts of their foes. A great price was set on Lobo’s head, and in consequence poison in a score of subtle forms was put out for him, but he never ds failed to detect and avoid it. One thing only x he feared—that was firearms, and knowing full sg eae Loe well that all men in this region carried them, Ky he never was known to attack or face a human being. Indeed, the set policy of his band was to take refuge in flight whenever, in the day- time, a man was descried, no matter at what distance. Lobo’s habit of permitting the pack to eat only that which they themselves had killed, was in numerous cases their salvation, ana ihe keenness of his scent to detect the taint of human hands or the poison itself, completed their immunity. : On one occasion, one of the cowboys heard the too familiar rallying-cry of Old Lobo, and stealthily approaching, he found the Currum- paw pack in a hollow, where they had ‘ round- 21 Lobo ed up’ asmall herd of cattle. Lobo sat apart on a knoll, while Blanca with the rest was en- deavoring to ‘cut out’ a young cow, which they had selected ; but the cattle were standing in a compact mass with their heads outward, and presented to the foe a line of horns, un- broken save when some cow, frightened by a fresh onset of the wolves, tried to retreat into the middle of the herd. It was only by taking advantage of these breaks that the wolves had succeeded at all in wounding the selected cow, but she was far from being disabled, and it seemed that Lobo at length lost patience with his followers, for he left his position on the hill, and, uttering a deep roar, dashed toward the herd. The terrified rank broke at his charge, and he sprang inamong ihem. Then the cattle scattered like the pieces of a bursting bomb. Away went the chosen victim, but ere she had gone twaity- five yards Lobo was upon her. Seizing her by the neck he suddenly held back with all his force and so threw her heavily to the ground. The shock must have been tremendous, for the heifer was thrown heels over head. Lobo also turned a somersault, but immediately recovered 22 Lobo e himself, and his followers falling on the poor cow, killed her in a few seconds. Lobo took no part in the killing—after having thrown the victim, he seemed to say, ‘‘ Now, why could not some of you have done that at once with- out wasting so much time?’”’ The man now rode up shouting, the wolves as usual retired, and he, having a bottle of strychnine, quickly poisoned the carcase in ~ three places, then went away, knowing they would return to feed, as they had killed the animal themselves. But next morning, on go- ing to look for his expected victims, he found that, although the wolves had eaten the heifer, they had carefully cut out and thrown aside all those parts that had been poisoned. The dread of this great wolf spread yearly among the ranchmen, and each year a larger price was set on his head, until at last it reached $1,000, an unparalleled wolf-bounty, surely ; many a good man has been hunted down for less. Tempted by the promised reward, a Texan ranger named Tannerey came one day galloping up the cafion of the Currumpaw. He had a superb outfit for wolf-hunting—the best 25 ‘< “aYEs “a Xe, s), at tia & Wl, a Cf ‘a ob “ Lobo of guns and horses, and a pack of enormous wolf-hounds. Far out on the plains of the Pan-handle, he and his dogs had killed many a wolf, and now he never doubted that, within a few days, old Lobo’s scalp would dangle at his saddle-bow. Away they went bravely on their hunt in the gray dawn of a summer morning, and soon the great dogs gave joyous tongue to say that they were already on the track of their quarry. Within two miles, the grizzly band of Cur- rumpaw leaped into view, and the chase grew fast and furious. ‘The part of the wolf-hounds - was merely to hold the wolves at bay till the hunter could ride up and shoot them, and this usually was easy on the open plains of Texas ; but here a new feature of the country came into — play, and showed how well Lobo had chosen his range; for the rocky cafions of the Currum- paw and its tributaries intersect the prairies in every direction. The old wolf at once made for the nearest of these and by crossing it got rid of the horsemen. His band then scat- tered and thereby scattered the dogs, and when they reunited at a distant point of course all of 26 A = Ln =: Atay etianrrg e elie gS RR pe PS ae te P as SS Sy owe a Tannerey, with his Dogs, came Galloping up the Canon. Lobo the dogs did not turn up, and the wolves no longer outnumbered, turned on their pursuers and killed or desperately wounded them all. That night when Tannerey mustered his dogs, only six of them returned, and of these, two were terribly lacerated. This hunter made two other attempts to capture the royal scalp, but neither of them was more successful than the first, and on the last occasion his best horse met its death by a fall; so he gave up the chase in disgust and went back to Texas, leaving Lobo more than ever the despot of the region. Next year, two other hunters appeared, de- termined to win the promised bounty. Each believed he could destroy this noted wolf, the first by means of a newly devised poison, which was to be laid out in an entirely new manner ; the other a French Canadian, by poison as- sisted with certain spells and charms, for he firmly believed that Lobo was a_ veritable ‘loup-garou,’ and could not be killed by or- dinary means. But cunningly compounded poisons, charms, and incantations were all of no avail against this grizzly devastator. He 29 Lobo made his weekly rounds and daily banquets as aforetime, and before many weeks had passed, Calone and Laloche gave up in capa and went elsewhere to hunt. In the spring of 1893, after his unsuccessful attempt to capture Lobo, Joe Calone had a humiliating experience, which seems to show that the big wolf simply scorned his enemies, and had absolute confidence in himself. Ca-~ lone’s farm was on a small tributary of the Currumpaw, in a picturesque cafion, and among the rocks of this very cafion, within a thousand yards of the house, old Lobo and his mate se- lected their den and raised their family that season. There they lived all summer, and killed Joe’s cattle, sheep, and dogs, but laughed at all his poisons and traps, and rested securely among the recesses of the cavernous cliffs, while Joe vainly racked his brain for some method of smoking them out, or of reaching them with dynamite. But they escaped entirely unscathed, and continued their ravages as before. ‘‘ There’s where he lived all last summer,’’ said Joe, pointing to the face of the cliff, ‘‘and I couldn’t do a thing with him. I was likea fool to him.”’ 30 Lobo II Tuis history, gathered so far from the cow- boys, I found hard to believe until in the fall of 1893, I made the acquaintance of the wily marauder, and at length came to know him more thoroughly than anyone else. Some years before, in the Bingo days, I had been a wolf-hunter, but my occupations since then had been of another sort, chaining me to stool and desk. Iwas much in need of a change, and when a friend, who was also a ranch-owner on the Currumpaw, asked me to come to New Mexico and try if I could do anything with this predatory pack, I accepted the invitation and, eager to make the acquaintance of its king, was as soon as possible among the mesas of that region. I spent some time riding about to learn the country, and at intervals, my guide would point to the skeleton of a cow to which the hide still adhered, and remark, ‘‘ That’s some of his work.’’ It became quite clear to me that, in this rough country, it was useless to think of pur- 31 | Lobo suing Lobo with hounds and horses, so that poison or traps were the only available expe- dients. At present we had no traps large enough, so I set to work with poison. I need not enter into the details of a hun- dred devices that I employed to circumvent this ‘loup-garou’ ; there was no combination of strychnine, arsenic, cyanide, or prussic acid, that I did not essay ; there was no manner of flesh that I did not try as bait; but morning after morning, as I rode forth to learn the result, I found that all my efforts had been useless. The old king was too cunning for me. A single instance will show his wonderful sagacity. Acting on the hint of an old trapper, I melted some cheese together with the kidney fat of a freshly killed heifer, stewing it in a china dish, and cutting it with a bone knife to avoid the taint of metal. When the mixture was cool, I cut it into lumps, and making a hole in one side of each lump, I inserted a large dose of strychnine and cyanide, contained in a capsule that was impermeable by any odor; finally I sealed the holes up with pieces of the cheese itself. During the whole process, I wore a 322 A Lobo pair of gloves steeped in the hot blood of the heifer, and even avoided breathing on the baits. When all was ready, I put them in a raw-hide bag rubbed all over with blood, and rode forth dragging the liver and kidneys of the beef at the end of a rope. With this I made a ten-mile circuit, dropping a bait at each quarter of a mile, and taking the utmost care, always, not to touch any with my hands. Lobo, generally, came into this part of the range in the early part of each week, and passed the latter part, it was supposed, around the base of Sierra Grande. This was Monday, and that same evening, as we were about to retire, | heard the deep bass howl of his ma- jesty. On hearing it one of the boys briefly re- marked, ‘‘ There he is, we’ll see.’’ The next morning I went forth, eager to know the result. I soon came on the fresh trail of the robbers, with Lobo in the lead—his track was always easily distinguished. An or- dinary wolf’s forefoot is 434 inches long, that of a large wolf 434 inches, but Lobo’s, as measured a number of times, was 514 inches from claw to heel; I afterward found that his 33 Lobo other proportions were commensurate, for he stood three feet high at the shoulder, and weighed 150 pounds. His trail, therefore, though obscured by those of his followers, was never difficult to trace. The pack had soon found the track of my drag, and as usual fol- lowed it. I could see that Lobo had come to the first bait, sniffed about it, and finally had picked it up. Then I could not conceal my delight. ‘I’ve got him at last,’’ I exclaimed ; ‘‘I shall find him stark within a mile,’’ and I galloped on with eager eyes fixed on the great broad track in the dust. It led me to the second bait and that also was gone. How I exulted—lI surely have him now and perhaps several of his band. But there was the broad paw-mark still on the drag ; and though I stood in the stirrup and scanned the plain I saw nothing that looked like a dead wolf. Again I followed—to find now that the third bait was gone—and the king-wolf’s track led on to the fourth, there to learn that he had not really taken a bait at all, but had merely carried them in his mouth. Then having piled the three on the fourth, he 34 Lobo e scattered filth over them to express his utter contempt for my devices. After this he left my drag and went about his business with the pack he guarded so effectively. _ This is only one of many similar experiences which convinced me that poison would never avail to destroy this robber, and though I con- tinued to use it while awaiting the arrival of the traps, it was only because it was meanwhile asure means of killing many prairie wolves and other destructive vermin. About this time there came under my obser- vation an incident that will illustrate Lobo’s diabolic cunning. ‘These wolves had at least one pursuit which was merely an amusement, it was stampeding and killing sheep, though they rarely ate them. The sheep are usually kept in flocks of from one thousand to three thousand under one or more shepherds. At night they are gathered in the most sheltered place avail- able, and a herdsman sleeps on each side of the flock to give additional protection. Sheep are such senseless creatures that they are liable to be stampeded by the veriest trifle, but they have deeply ingrained in their nature one, and 35 Lobo perhaps only one, strong weakness, namely, to follow their leader. And this the shepherds turn to good account by putting half a dozen goats in the flock of sheep. The latter recog- nize the superior intelligence of their bearded cousins, and when a night alarm occurs they crowd around them, and usually are thus saved from a stampede and are easily protected. But it was not always so. One night late in last No- vember, two Perico shepherds were aroused by an onset of wolves. Their flocks huddled around the goats, which being neither fools nor cowards, stood their ground and were bravely defiant ; but alas for them, no common wolf was heading this attack. Old Lobo, the weir-wolf, knew as well as the shepherds that the goats were the moral force of the flock, so hastily running over the backs of the densely packed sheep, he fell on these leaders, slew them all in a few minutes, and soon had the luckless sheep stampeding in a thousand differ- ent directions. For weeks afterward I was al- most daily accosted by some anxious shepherd, who asked, ‘‘ Have you seen any stray OTO sheep lately ?’’ and usually I was obliged to 36 » Lobo | ff say I had; one day it was, ‘‘ Yes, I came on some five or six carcasses by Diamond Springs; ’’ a small ‘ bunch’ running on the Malpai Mesa ; or again, ‘‘ No, but Juan Meira saw about twenty, freshly killed, on the Cedra Monte two days ago.”’ At length the wolf traps arrived, and with two men I worked a whole week to get them properly set out. We spared no labor or pains, I adopted every device I could think of that might help to insure success. The second day after the traps arrived, I rode around to inspect, and soon came upon Lobo’s trail running from trap to trap. In the dust I could read the whole story of his doings that night. He had trotted along in the darkness, and although the traps were so carefully concealed, he had in- stantly detected the first one. Stopping the onward march of the pack, he had cautiously ‘scratched around it until he had disclosed the trap, the chain, and the log, then left them wholly exposed to view with the trap still un- sprung, and passing on he treated over a dozen traps in thesame fashion. Very soon I noticed 39 Lobo — that he stopped and turned aside as soon as he detected suspicious signs on the trail and a new plan to outwit him at once suggested itself. I set the traps in the form of an H; that is, with a row of traps on each side of the trail, and one on the trail for the cross-bar of the H. Before long, I had an opportunity to count an- other failure. Lobocame trotting along the trail, and was fairly between the parallel lines be- fore he detected the single trap in the trail, but he stopped in time, and why or how he knew enough I cannot imagine, but without turning an inch to the right or left, he slowly and cau- tiously backed on his own tracks, putting each paw exactly in its old track until he was off the dangerous ground. ‘Then returning at one side he scratched clods and stones with his hind feet till he had sprung every trap. This he did on many other occasions, and although I varied my methods and redoubled my precautions, he was never deceived, his sagacity seemed never at fault, and he might have been pursuing his career of rapine to-day, but for an unfortunate alliance that proved his ruin and added his name to the long list of heroes who, unassail- 40 : ‘vouvig puv Oqo’y] : Lobo able when alone, have fallen through the indis- cretion of a trusted ally. Iil Once or twice, I had found indications that everything was not quite right in the Currum- paw pack. There were signs of irregularity, I thought ; for instance there was clearly the trail of a smaller wolf running ahead of the leader, at times, and this I could not understand until a cowboy made a remark which explained the matter. ‘‘T saw them to-day, ’’ he said, ‘‘ and the wild one that breaks away is Blanca.’’ Then the truth dawned upon me, and I added, ‘‘ Now, I know that Blanca is a she-wolf, because were a he-wolf to act thus, Lobo would kill him at once.”’ This suggested a new plan. I killed a heifer, and set one or two rather obvious:traps about the carcass. Then cutting off the head, which is considered useless offal, and quite beneath the notice of a wolf, Iset it a little apart and around it placed six powerful steel traps proper- 43 Lobo ly deodorized and concealed with the utmost care. During my operations I kept my hands, boots, and implements smeared with fresh blood, and afterward sprinkled the ground with the same, as though it had flowed from the head ; and when the traps were buried in the dust I brushed the place over with the skin of a coyote, and with a foot of the same animal made a number of tracks over the traps. The head was so placed that there was a narrow passage between it and some tussocks, and in this pas- sage I buried two of my best traps, fastening them to the head itself. Wolves have a habit of approaching every carcass they get the wind of, in order to ex- amine it, even when they have no intention of eating of it, and I hoped that this habit would bring the Currumpaw pack within reach of my latest stratagem. I did not doubt that Lobo would detect my handiwork about the meat, and prevent the pack approaching it, but I did build some hopes on the head, for it looked as though it had been thrown aside as useless. Next morning, I sallied forth to inspect the traps, and there, oh, joy! were the tracks of 44 Lobo the pack, and the place where the beef-head and its traps had been was empty. A hasty fos study of the trail showed that Lobo had kept the pack from approaching the meat, but one, a small wolf, had evidently gone on to examine rt 4 ee the head as it lay apart and had walked right ; Lae into one of the traps. We set out on the trail, and within a mile discovered that the hapless wolf was Blanca. se Ge Away she went, however, at a gallop, and al- q : though encumbered by the beef-head, which weighed over fifty pounds, she speedily dis- Eo) tanced my companion who was on foot. But = Ki we overtook her when she reached the rocks, fag? SFI for the horns of the cow’s head became caught a oe and held her fast. She was the handsomest ie wolf I had ever seen. Her coat was in perfect 5 ‘ condition and nearly white. m Ls &: & Lu She turned to fight, and raising her voice ‘ae? = in the rallying cry of her race, sent a long vhs cs howl rolling over the cafion. From far away fa upon the mesa came a deep response, the cry Ps of Old Lobo. That was her last call, for now owe we had closed inon her, and all her energy and "eB" breath were devoted to combat. 6 BA 45 ht Mi 5 ss VU ese (s40-.. 7 49 ; &, = Sy Pwr ance i © f Fi Lobo Then followed the inevitable tragedy, the idea of which I shrank from afterward more than at the time. We each threw a lasso over the neck of the doomed wolf, and strained our horses in opposite directions until the blood burst from her mouth, her eyes glazed, her limbs stiffened and then fell limp. Homeward then we rode, carrying the dead wolf, and ex- ulting over this, the first death-blow we had been able to inflict on the Currumpaw pack. At intervals during the tragedy, and afterward as we rode homeward, we heard the roar of Lobo as he wandered about on the distant mesas, where he seemed to be searching for Blanca. He had never really deserted her, but knowing that he could not save her, his deep- rooted dread of firearms had been too much for him when he saw us approaching. All that day we heard him wailing as he roamed in his quest, and I remarked at length to one of the boys, ‘¢ Now, indeed, I truly know that Blanca was his mate.’’ As evening fell he seemed to be coming tow- ard the home cafion, for his voice sounded con- tinually nearer. There was an unmistakable 46 Lobo note of sorrow in it now. It was no longer the loud, defiant howl, but a long, plaintive wail ; ‘¢ Blanca! Blanca!’’ he seemed to call. And as night came down, I noticed that he was not far from the place where we had overtaken her. At length he seemed to find the trail, and when he came to the spot where we had killed her, his heart-broken wailing was piteous to hear. It was sadder than I could possibly have be- lieved. Even the stolid cowboys noticed it, and said they had ‘‘ never heard a wolf carry on like that before.’’ Heseemed to know ex- actly what had taken place, for her blood had stained the place of her death. Then he took up the trail of the horses and followed it to the ranch-house. Whether in hopes of finding her there, or in quest of re- venge, I know not, but the latter was what he found, for he surprised our unfortunate watch- dog outside and tore him to little bits within fifty yards of the door. He evidently came alone this time, for I found but one trail next morn- ing, and he had galloped about ina reckless manner that was very unusual with him. I had half expected this, and had set a number of ad- 47 Bla of —— u ~. : , Mee ’ hes ca ey Noe s “ &, / Oy - ~ of feaNtexeas ys aie , 4 nen . oY : a Gee * =e > oie rs a s 2. <= xs N ~~ Peis }, .- ‘ ase. “4 \ ee We % Sy We Lobo ditional traps about the pasture. Afterward I found that he had indeed fallen into one of these, but such was his strength, he had torn himself loose and cast it aside. I believed that he would continue in the neighborhood until he found her body at least, so I concentrated all my energies on this one enterprise of catching him before he left the region, and while yet in this reckless mood. Then I realized what a mistake I had made in killing Blanca, for by using her+as a decoy I might have secured him the next night. I gathered in all the traps I could command, one hundred and thirty strong steel wolf-traps, and set them in fours in every trail that led into the cafion ; each trap was separately fastened to a log, and each log was separately buried. In burying them, I carefully removed the sod and every particle of earth that was lifted we put in blankets, so that after the sod was replaced and all was finished the eye could detect no trace of human handiwork. When the traps were concealed I trailed the body of poor Blanca over each place, and made of it a drag that circled all about the ranch, and finally I took . 48 Lobo off one of her paws and made with it a line of tracks over each trap. Every precaution and device known to me I used, and retired at a late hour to await the result. Once during the night I thought I heard Old Lobo, but was not sure of it. Next dayI rode around, but darkness came on before I completed the circuit of the north cafion, and I had noth- ing to report. At supper one of the cowboys said, ‘‘ There was a great row among the cattle in the north cafion this morning, maybe there is something in the traps there.’’ It was after- noon of the next day before I got to the place re- ferred to, and as I drew near a great grizzly form arose from the ground, vainly endeavoring to escape, and there revealed before me stood Lobo, King of the Currumpaw, firmly held in the traps. Poor old hero, he had never ceased to search for his darling, and when he found the trail her body had made he followed it reckless- ly, and so fell into the snare prepared for him. There he lay in the iron grasp of all four traps, perfectly helpless, and all around him were nu- merous tracks showing how the cattle had gath- ered about him to insult the fallen despot, without 49 Lobo daring to approach within his reach. For two days and two nights he had lain there, and now was worn out with struggling. Yet, when I went near him, he rose up with bristling mane and raised his voice, and for the last time made the cafion reverberate with his deep bass roar, a call for help, the muster call of his band. But there was none to answer him, and, left alone in his extremity, he whirled about with all his strength and made a desperate effort to get at me. All in vain, each trap was a dead drag of over three hundred pounds, and in their relentless fourfold grasp, with great steel jaws on every foot, and the heavy logs and chains all entangled together, he was absolutely powerless. How his huge ivory tusks did grind on those cruel chains, and when I ventured to touch him with my rifle- barrel he left grooves on it which are there to this day. His eyes glared green with hate and fury, and his jaws snapped with a hollow ‘chop,’ as he vainly endeavored to reach me and my trembling horse. But he was worn out with hunger and struggling and loss of blood, and he soon sank exhausted to the ground. 50 Lobo “ Something like compunction came over me, as I prepared to deal out to him that which so many had suffered at his hands. ‘Grand old outlaw, hero of a thousand law- less raids, in a few minutes you will be but a great load of carrion. It cannot be otherwise.”’ Then I swung my lasso and sent it whistling over his head. But not so fast; he was yet far from being subdued, and, before the supple coils had fallen on his neck he seized the noose and, with one fierce chop, cut through its hard thick strands, and dropped it in two pieces at his feet. Of course I had my rifle as a last resource, but I did not wish to spoil his royal hide, so I gal- loped back to the camp and returned with a cowboy and a fresh lasso. We threw to our victim a stick of wood which he seized in his teeth, and before he could relinquish it our lassoes whistled through the air and tightened on his neck. Yet before the light had died from his fierce eyes, I cried, ‘‘ Stay, we will not kill him ; let us take him alive to the camp.’’ He was so completely powerless now that it was easy to 51 Lobo put a stout stick through his mouth, behind his tusks, and then lash his jaws with a heavy cord which was also fastened to the stick. The stick kept the cord in, and the cord kept the stick in so he was harmless. As soon as he felt his jaws were tied he made no further resistance, and uttered no sound, but looked calmly at us and seemed to say, ‘‘ Well, you have got me at last, do as you please with me.’’ And from that time he took no more notice of us. We tied his feet securely, but he never groaned, nor growled, nor turned his head. Then with our united strength were just able to put him on my horse. His breath came evenly as though sleeping, and his eyes were bright and clear again, but did not rest on us. Afar on the great rolling mesas they were fixed, his passing kingdom, where his famous band was now scattered. And he gazed till the pony descended the pathway into the cafion, and the rocks cut off the view. By travelling slowly we reached the ranch in safety, and after securing him with a collar and astrong chain, we staked him out in the past- ure and removed the cords. ‘Then for the first 52 Lobo time I could examine him closely, and proved how unreliable is vulgar report when a living hero or tyrant is concerned. He had wot a collar of gold about his neck, nor was there on his shoulders an inverted cross to denote that he had leagued himself with Satan. But I did find on one haunch a great broad scar, that tradition says was the fang-mark of Juno, the leader of Tannerey’s wolf-hounds—a mark which she gave him the moment before he stretched her lifeless on the sand of the cafion. I set meat and water beside him, but he paid no heed. He lay calmly on his breast, and gazed away past me down through the gateway of the cafion, over the open plains—his plains— with those steadfast yellow eyes ; nor moved a muscle when I touched him. When the sun went down he was still gazing fixedly across the prairie. I expected he would call up his band when night came, and prepared for them, but he had called once in his extremity, and none had come; he would never call again. A lion shorn of his strength, an eagle robbed of his freedom, or a dove bereft of his mate, all die, it is said, of a broken heart ; and who will SB) dee? Lobo aver that this grim bandit could bear the three- fold brunt, heart-whole? This only I know, that when the morning dawned, he was lying there still in his position of calm repose, but his spirit was gone—the old king-wolf was dead. I took the chain from his neck, a cowboy helped me to carry him to the shed where lay the remains of Blanca, and as we laid him beside her, the cattle-man exclaimed: ‘‘ There, you would come to her, now you are together again.’’ 54° sai jd © Qu. MN & A) > SS 7p) The Story of a Crow Silverspot The Story of a Crow 7OW many of us have ever got to i know a wild animal? I do not mean merely to meet with one once or twice, or to have one in a cage, but to really know it for a long time while it is wild, and to get an ingietett into its life and history. The trouble usually is to know one creature from his fellow. One fox or crow is so much hke another that we cannot be sure that it really is the same next time we meet. But once in awhile there arises an animal who is stronger or wiser than his fellow, who becomes a great leader, who is, as we would say, a genius, and if he is bigger, 59 Silverspot or has some mark by which men can know him, he soon becomes famous in his country, and shows us that the life of a wild animal may be far more interesting and exciting than that of many human beings. Of this class were Courtrand, the bob-tailed wolf that terrorized the whole city of Paris for about ten years in the beginning of the four- teenth century ; Clubfoot, the lame grizzly bear that in two years ruined all the hog-raisers, and drove half the farmers out of business in the upper Sacramento Valley; Lobo, the king- wolf of New Mexico, that killed a cow every day for five years, and the Soehnee panther that in less than two years killed nearly three hun- dred human beings—and such also was Silver- spot, whose history, as far as I could learn it, I shall now briefly tell. Silverspot was simply a wise old crow; his name was given because of the silvery white spot that was like a nickel, stuck on his right side, between the eye and the bill, and it was owing to this spot that I was able to know him from the other crows, and put together the parts of his history that came to my knowledge. 6a Silverspot. Silverspot e Crows are, as you must know, our most in- telligent birds—‘ Wise as an old crow’ did not become a saying without good reason. Crows know the value of organization, and are as well drilled as soldiers—very much better than some soldiers, in fact, for crows are al- ways on duty, always at war, and always de- pendent on each other for life and safety. Their leaders not only are the oldest and wisest of the band, but also the strongest and bravest, for they must be ready at any time with sheer force to put down an upstart ora rebel. The rank and file are the youngsters and the crows without special gifts. Old Silverspot was the leader of a large band of crows that made their headquarters near Toronto, Canada, in Castle Frank, which is a pine-clad hill on the northeast edge of the city. This band numbered about two hundred, and for reasons that I never understood did not in- crease. In mild winters they stayed along the Niagara River; in cold winters they went much farther south. But each year in the last week of February Old Silverspot would muster his followers and boldly cross the forty miles of 63 Silverspot open water that lies between Toronto and Ni- agara ; not, however, in a straight line would he go, but always in a curve to the west, whereby he kept in sight of the familiar land- mark of Dundas Mountain, until the pine-clad hill itself came in view. Each year he came with his troop, and for about six weeks took up his abode on the hill. Each morning there- after the crows set out in three bands to forage. One band went southeast to Ashbridge’s Bay. | One went west up the Don, and one, the largest, went northwestward up the ravine. ‘The last Silverspot led in person. Who led the others I never found out. On calm mornings they flew high and straight away. But when it was windy the band flew low, and followed the ravine for shelter. My, windows overlooked the ravine, and it was thus that in 1885 I first noticed this old crow. I was a new-comer in the neighborhood, but an old resident said to me then ‘‘ that there old crow has been a-flying up and down this ravine for more than twenty years.’’ My chances to watch were in the ravine, and Silverspot dog- gedly clinging to the old route, though now it 64 Silverspot was edged with houses and spanned by bridges, became a very familiar acquaintance. Twice each day in March and part of April, then again in the late summer and the fall, he passed and repassed, and gave me chances to see his move- : ments, and hear his orders to his bands, and so, little by little, opened my eyes to the fact that the crows, though a little people, are of great wit, a race of birds with a language and a social system that is wonderfully human in many of its chief points, and in someis better carried out than our own. One windy day I stood on the high bridge across the ravine, as the old crow, heading his long, straggling troop, came flying down home- ward. Half a mile away I could hear the con- tented ‘A//’s well, come right along!’ as we No. 1. Caw Caw ; should say, or.as he put it, and as also his lieu- tenant echoed it at the rear of the band. They were flying very low to be out of the wind, and 65 Silverspot would have to rise a little to clear the bridge on which I was. . Silverspot saw me standing there, and as I was closely watching him he didn’t like it. He checked his flight and called out, ‘Be on your guard,’ or No. 2. =| Caw and rose much higher in the air. Then seeing that I was not armed he flew over my head about twenty feet, and his followers in turn did the same, dipping again to the old level when past the bridge. Next day I was at the same place, and as the crows came near I raised my walking stick and pointed it atthem. The old fellow at once cried out ‘ Danger,’ and rose fifty feet higher No. 3. Ca than before. Seeing that it was not a gun, he ventured to fly over. But on the third day I 66 Silverspot took with me a gun, and at once he cried out, “Great danger—a gun.’ His lieutenant re- cacacaca Caw peated the cry, and every crow in the troop began to tower and scatter from the rest, till they were far above gun shot, and so passed safely over, coming down again to the shelter of the valley when well beyond reach. An- other time, as the long, straggling troop came down the valley, a red-tailed hawk alighted on a tree close by their intended route. The leader cried out, ‘ Hawk, hawk,’ and stayed Caw Caw his flight, as did each crow on nearing him, until all were massed in a solid body. Then, no longer fearing the hawk, they passed on. But a quarter of a mile farther on a man with a gun appeared below, and the cry, ‘ Great 67 Silverspot danger—a gun, a gun; scaiter for your lives,’ at once caused them to scatter widely and tower No. 6. it ’ CERES RII Sa EES \. fs |e Ye (ad) OS A oe oe ee ee | bl 4 Sa a cacacaca Caw till far beyond range. Many others of his words of command I learned in the course of my long acquaintance, and found that sometimes a very little difference in the sound makes a very great difference in meaning. Thus while No. 5 means hawk, or any large, dangerous bird, this means ‘ wheel around,’ evidently a Caw Caw § Cacacaca combination of No. 5, whose root idea is dan- ger,and of No. 4, whose root idea is retreat, and this again is a mere ‘ good day,’ to a far away fting Along the Log. i sn The Hound Came ee é 2 Silverspot comrade. This is usually addressed to the ranks and means ‘ aftention.’ oe doings among the crows. Some new cause of excitement seemed to have come on them. They spent half the day among the pines, in- stead of foraging from dawn till dark. Pairs and trios might be seen chasing each other, and from time to time they showed off in various feats of flight. A favorite sport was to dart - down suddenly from a great height toward "some perching crow, and just before touching ‘” it to turn at a hairbreadth and rebound in the air + ‘. fast that the wings of the swooper whirred with a sound like distant thunder. Sometimes one crow would lower his head, raise every feather, and coming close to another would gur- gle out a long note like No. ro. C-r-r-r-a —-wW Silverspot What did itall mean? Isoonlearned. They were making love and pairing off. The males were showing off their wing powers and their voices to the lady crows. And they must have been highly appreciated, for by the middle of April all had mated and had scattered over the country for their honeymoon, leaving the som- bre old pines of Castle Frank deserted and silent. II The Sugar Loaf hill stands alone in the Don Valley. It is still covered with woods that join with those of Castle Frank, a quarter ofa mile 4% off. In the woods, between the two hills, is a wa pine-tree in whose top is a deserted hawk’snest. | Every Toronto school-boy knows the nest, na i excepting that I had once shot a black squirrel | on its edge, no one had ever seen a sign of life about it. There it was year after year, ragged and old, and falling to pieces. Yet, strange to tell, in all that time it never did drop to pieces, like other old nests. One morning in May I was out at gray dawn, and stealing gently through the woods, whose 7° Silverspot dead leaves were so wet that no rustle was made. I chanced to pass under the old nest, and was -. surprised to see a black tail sticking over the edge. Istruck the tree a smart blow, off flew a crow, and the secret was out. I had long ~- ee suspected that a pair of crows nested each year about the pines, but now I realized that it was Silverspot and his wife. The old nest was theirs, and they were too wise to give it an air of spring-cleaning and housekeeping each year. Here they had nested for long, though guns in the hands of men and boys hungry to shoot crows were carried under their home every day. I never surprised the old fellow again, though I _ Several times saw him through my telescope. « a One day while watching I saw a crow crossing the Don Valley with something white in his beak. He flew to the mouth of the Rosedale Brook, then took a short flight to the Beaver Elm. ‘There he dropped the white object, and looking about gave me a chance to recognize my old friend Silverspot. After a minute he picked up the white thing—a shell—and walked over past the spring, and here, among the docks - and the skunk-cabbages, he unearthed a pile of 71 aa) Silverspot shells and other white, shiny things. Hespread them out in the sun, turned them over, lifted them one by one in his beak, dropped them, nestled on them as though they were eggs, toyed with them and gloated over them like a miser. This was his hobby, his weakness. He could not have explained why he enjoyed them, any more than a boy can explain why he collects postage-stamps, or a girl why she prefers pearls to rubies ; but his pleasure in them was very real, and after half an hour he covered them all, in- cluding the new one, with earth and leaves, . flew off. I went at once to the spot and ex- amined the hoard ; there was about a hatful in all, chiefly white pebbles, clam-shells, and some bits of tin, but there was also the handle of a china cup, which must have been the gem of the collection. That was the last time I saw them. Silverspot knew that I had found his treasures, and he removed them at once; where I never knew. During the space that I watched him so closely he had many little adventures and escapes. He was once severely handled by a sparrowhawk, and often he was chased and a The Handle of a China-cup, the Gem of the Collection. Silverspot e worried by kingbirds. Not that these did him much harm, but they were such noisy pests that he avoided their company as quickly as possible, just as a grown man avoids a conflict with a noisy and impudent small boy. He had some cruel tricks, too. He had a way of going the round of the small birds’ nests ~ each morning to eat the new laid eggs, as regularly as a doctor visiting his patients. But we must not judge him for that, as it is just what we ourselves do to the hens in the barn- yard. His quickness of wit was often shown. One day I saw him flying down the ravine with a large piece of bread in his bill. The stream below him was at this time being bricked over asasewer. ‘There was one part of two hundred yards quite finished, and, as he flew over the open water just above this, the bread fell from his bill, and was swept by the current out of sight into the tunnel. He flew down and peered vainly into the dark cavern, then, act- ing upon a happy thought, he flew to the down- stream end of the tunnel, and awaiting the re- appearance of the floating bread, as it was swept 75 Silverspot onward by the current, he seized and bore it offin triumph. Y Silverspot was a crow of the world. He was truly a successful crow. He lived in a region that, though full of dangers, abounded with food. In the old, unrepaired nest he raised a brood each year with his wife, whom, by the way, I never could distinguish, and when the crows again gathered together he was their acknowledged chief. is The reassembling takes place about the end of June—the young crows with their bob-tails, soft wings, and falsetto voices are brought by their parents, whom they nearly equal in size, and introduced to society at the old pine woods, a woods that is at once their fortress and col- lege. Here they find security in numbers and in lofty yet sheltered perches, and here they begin their schooling and are taught all the secrets of success in crow life, and in crow life the least failure does not simply mean begin again. It means death. The first week or two after their arrival is spent by the young ones in getting acquainted, for each crow must know personally all the 76 Silverspot others in the band. ‘Their parents meanwhile have time to rest a little after the work of rais- ing them, for now the youngsters are able to feed themselves and roost on a branch in arow, just like big folks. In a week or two the moulting season comes. At this time the old crows are usually irritable and nervous, but it does not stop them from be- ginning to drill the youngsters, who, of course, do not much enjoy the punishment and nagging they get so soon after they have been mamma’s own darlings. But it is all for their good, as the old lady said when she skinned the eels, and old Silverspot is an excellent.teacher. Some- times he seems to make a speech to them. What he says I cannot guess, but, judging by the way they receive it, it must be extremely witty. Each morning there is a company drill, for the young ones naturally drop into two or three squads according to their age and strength. The rest of the day they forage with their parents. . When at length September comes we find a great change. ‘The rabble of silly little crows have begun to learn sense. ‘The delicate blue 79 Silverspot iris of their eyes, the sign of a fool-crow, has given place to the dark brown eye of the old stager. ‘They know their drill now and have learned sentry duty. ‘They have been taught guns and traps and taken a special course in wire-worms and greencorn. ‘They know that a fat old farmer’s wife is much less dangerous, though so much larger, than her fifteen-year-old son, and they can tell the boy from his sister. They know that an umbrella is not a gun, and they can count up to six, which is fair for young crows, though Silverspot can go up nearly to thirty. “They know the smell of gun- powder and the south side of a hemlock-tree, and begin to plume themselves upon being crows of the world. They always fold their “wings three times after alighting, to be sure that it is neatly done. They know how to worry a fox into giving up half his dinner, and — also that when the kingbird or the purple mar- _ tin assails them they must dash into a bush, for © it is as impossible to fight the little pests as it is for the fat apple-woman to catch the small boys who have raided her basket. All these things do the young crows know ; but they have taken 80 Silverspot no lessons in egg-hunting yet, for it is not the season. They are unacquainted with clams, and have never tasted horses’ eyes, or seen sprouted corn, and they don’t know a thing about travel, the greatest educator ofall. They did not think of that two months ago, and since then they have thought of it, but have learned to wait till their betters are ready. September sees a great change in the old crows, too. Their moulting is over. They are now in full feather again and proud of their handsome coats. Their health is again good, and with it their tempers are improved. Even old Silverspot, the strict teacher, becomes quite jolly, and the youngsters, who have long ago learned to respect him, begin really to love him. He has hammered away at drill, teaching them all the signals and words of command in use, and now it is a pleasure to see them in the early morning. ‘ Company 1 /’ the old chieftain would cry in crow, and Company 1 would answer with a ‘great clamor. ‘Fly /’ and himself leading them, they would all fly straight forward. SI Silverspot ‘ Mount /’ and straight upward they turned in a moment. ‘ Bunch /’ and they all massed into a dense black flock. ‘ Scatter /’ and they spread out like leaves before the wind. ‘ Form line /’ and they strung out into the long line of ordinary flight. ‘ Descend !’ and they all dropped nearly to the ground. | ‘ Forage !’ and they alighted and scattered about to feed, while two of the permanent sen- tries mounted duty—one on a tree to the right, the other on a mound to the far left. A minute or two later Silverspot would cry out, ‘A man with a gun!’ The sentries repeated the cry and the company flew at once in open order as quickly as possible toward the trees. Once be- hind these, they formed line again in safety and returned to the home pines. Sentry duty is not taken in turn by all the crows, but a certain number whose watchfulness has been often proved are the perpetual sentries, and are expected to watch and forage at the same time. Rather hard on them it seems to 82 Silverspot us, but it works well and the crow organization is admitted by all birds to be the very best in existence. Finally, each November sees the troop sail away southward to learn new modes of life, new landmarks and new kinds of food, under the guidance of the ever-wise Silverspot. ,/ Itt There is only one time when a crow is a fool, and that is at night. There is only one bird that terrifies the crow, and that is the owl. When, therefore, these come together it is a woful thing for the sable birds. The distant hoot of an owl after dark is enough to make them withdraw their heads from under their wings, and sit trembling and miserable till morning. In very cold weather the exposure of their faces thus has often resulted in a crow having one or both of his eyes frozen, so that blindness followed and therefore death. There are no hospitals for sick crows. 83 Silverspot But with the morning their courage comes again, and arousing themselves they ransack the woods for a mile around till they find that owl, and if they do not kill him they at least worry him half to death and drive him twenty miles away. In 1893 the crows had come as usual to Cas- tle Frank. I was walking in these woods a few days afterward when I chanced upon the track of arabbit that had been running at full speed over the snow and dodging about among the trees as though pursued. Strange to tell, I could see no track of the pursuer.. I followed the trail and presently saw a drop of blood on the snow, and a little farther on found the part- ly devoured remains of a little brown bunny. What had killed him was a mystery until a care- ful search showed in the snow a great double- toed track and a beautifully pencilled brown feather. Then all was clear—a horned owl. Half an hour later, in passing again by the place, there, in a tree, within ten feet of the bones of his victim, was the fierce-eyed owl himself. The murderer still hung about the scene of his crime. For once circumstantial evidence had not lied. Pete in ieentn Setenetnceneedinadieetiadenbaael | WOIPANW oy} JO Yury sy nang, Mosyacoy) Woz ro PSU Ae ; je wa ; ‘ ’ Silverspot | . At my approach he gave a guttural ‘ grrr-o0’ and flew off with low flagging flight to haunt the distant sombre woods. Two days afterward, at dawn, there was a great uproar among the crows. I went out early to see, and found some black feathers drifting over the snow. I followed up the wind in the direc- tion from which they came and soon saw the bloody remains of a crow and the great double- toed track which again told me that the mur- derer was theowl. All around were signs of the struggle, but the fell destroyer was too strong. The poor crow had been dragged from his perch at night, when the darkness had put him at a hopeless disadvantage. I turned over the remains, and by chance unburied the head—then started with an ex- clamation of sorrow. Alas! It was the head of old Silverspot. His long life of usefulness to his tribe was over—slain at last by the owl that he had taught so many hundreds of young © crows to beware of. The old nest on the Sugar Loaf is abandoned now. The crows still come in spring-time to Castle Frank, but without their famous leader 87 Silverspot their numbers are dwindling, and soon they will be seen no more about the old pine-grove in which they and their forefathers had lived and learned for ages. | 88 Ses Rageylug ante The Story of a NH | s ss Cottontail Rabbit Rageylug The Story of a Cottontail Rabbit RAGGYLUG, or Rag, was the name of a young cottontail rabbit. It was given him from his torn and ragged ear, a life-mark that he got in his first adventure. He lived with his mother in Olifant’s swamp, where I made their acquaint- ance and gathered, in a hundred different ways, the little bits of proof and scraps of truth that at length enabled me to write this history. Those who do not know the animals well may think I have humanized them, but those who have lived so near them as to know some- what of their ways and their minds will not think so. Truly rabbits have no speech as we under- stand it, but they have a way of conveying ideas by a system of sounds, signs, scents, whisker- © 93 ay Raggylug touches, movements, and example that answers the purpose of speech; and it must be remem- bered that though in telling this story I free- ly translate from rabbit into English, 7 repeat nothing that they did not say. — = —= SSS SSS =SSSSSSS The rank swamp grass bent over and con- cealed the snug nest where Raggylug’s mother | \ had hidden him. She had partly covered him with some of the bedding, and, as always, her last warning was to ‘lay low and say nothing, whatever happens.’ Though tucked in bed, he was wide awake and his bright eyes were 94 Rageylug | : taking in that part of his little green world that was straight above. A bluejay and a red- squirrel, two notorious thieves, were loudly be- rating each other for stealing, and at one time Rag’s home bush was the centre of their fight ; a yellow warbler caught a blue butterfly but six inches from his nose, and a scarlet and black ladybug, serenely waving her knobbed feelers, took a long walk up one grassblade, down another, and across the nest and over Rag’s face—and yet he never moved nor even winked. After awhile he heard a strange rustling of the leaves in the near thicket. It was an odd, continuous sound, and though it went this way and that way and came ever nearer, there was no patter of feet with it. Rag had lived his whole life in the Swamp (he was three weeks old) and yet had never heard anything like this. Of course his curiosity was greatly aroused. His mother had cautioned him to lay low, but that was understood to be in case of danger, and this strange sound without foot- falls could not be anything to fear. The low rasping went past close at hand, then to the right, then back, and seemed going 95 Raggylug away. Rag felt he knew what he was about ; he wasn’t a baby; it was his duty to learn what it was. He slowly raised his roly-poly body on his short fluffy legs, lifted his little round head above the covering of his nest and peeped out into the woods. ‘The sound had ceased as soon as he moved. He saw nothing, so took one step forward toa clear view, and instantly found himself face to face with an enormous Black Serpent. ‘‘ Mammy,’’ he screamed in mortal terror as the monster darted athim. With all the strength of his tiny limbs he tried torun. But in a fiash the Snake had him by one ear and whipped around him with his coils to gloat over the helpless little baby bunny he had secured for dinner. ‘¢Mam-my—Mam-my,’’ gasped poor little - Raggylug as the cruel monster began slowly choking him to death. Very soon the little one’s cry would have ceased, but bounding through the woods straight as an arrow came Mammy. No longer ashy, helpless little Molly Cottontail, ready to fly from a shadow: the mother’s love was strong in her. The cry of g6 ’ Face to Face with an Enormous Black Serpent. Raggylug her baby had filled her with the courage of a hero, and—hop, she went over that horrible reptile. Whack, she struck down at him with her sharp hind claws as she passed, giving him such a stinging blow that he squirmed with pain and hissed with anger. ‘*M-a-m-m-y,’’ came feebly from the little one. And Mammy came leaping again and again and struck harder and fiercer until the loathsome reptile let go the little one’s ear and tried to bite the old one as she leaped over. But all he got was a mouthful of wool each time, and Molly’s fierce blows began to tell, as long bloody rips were torn in the Black Snake’s scaly armor. Things were now looking bad for the Snake ; and bracing himself for the next charge, he lost his tight hold on Baby Bunny, who at once wriggled out of the coils and away into the underbrush, breathless and terribly fright- ened, but unhurt save that his left ear was much torn by the teeth of that dreadful Serpent. Molly now had gained all she wanted. She had no notion of fighting for glory or revenge. Away she went into the woods and the little 99 By te. VT vy Raggylug one followed the shining beacon of her snow- white tail until she led him to a safe corner of the Swamp. II Old Olifant’s Swamp was a rough, brambly tract of second-growth woods, with a marshy — ‘pond and a stream through the middle. A few ~ ragged remnants of the old forest still stood in it and a few of the still older trunks were lying about as dead logs in the brushwood. The land about the pond was of that willow- grown sedgy kind that cats and horses avoid, but that cattle do not fear. The drier zones were overgrown with briars and young trees. The outermost belt of all, that next the fields, was of thrifty, gummy -trunked young pines whose living needles in air and dead ones on earth offer so delicious an odor to the nostrils of the passer-by, and so deadly a breath to those seedlings that would compete with them for the worthless waste they grow on. = All around for a long way were smooth fields, and the only wild tracks that ever crossed 100 Raggylug e these fields were those of a thoroughly bad and - SS a fox that lived only too near. “The chief indwellers of the swamp were Molly and Rag. Their nearest neighbors were far away, and their nearest kin were dead. This was their home, and here they lived to- gether, and here Rag received the training that made his success in life. Molly was a good little mother and gave him a careful bringing up. ‘The first thing he learned was ‘ to lay low and say nothing.’ His adventure with the snake taught him the wis- dom of this. Rag never forgot that lesson ; af- terward he did as he was told, and it made the other things come more easily. The second lesson he learned was ‘ freeze.’- It grows out of the first, and Rag was taught it as soon as he could run. ‘Freezing’ is simply doing nothing, turning into a statue. As soon as he finds a foe near, no matter what he is doing, a well-trained Cot- tontail keeps just as he is and stops all move- ment, for the creatures of the woods are of the same color as the things in the woods and catch the eye only while moving. So when Iol Ragegylug enemies chance together, the one who first sees the other can keep himself unseen by ‘ freez- ing’ and thus have all the advantage of choos- ing the time for attack or escape. Only those who live in the woods know the importance of this; every wild creature and every hunter must learn it; all learn to do it well, but not one of them can beat Molly Cottontail in the doing. Rag’s mother taught him this trick by example. When the white cotton cushion that she always carried to sit on went bobbing away through the woods, of course Rag ran his hardest to keep up. But when Molly stopped and ‘froze,’ the natural wish to copy made him do the same. But the best lesson of all that Rag learned from his mother was the secret of the Brierbrush. It is a very old secret now, and to make it plain you must first hear why the Brierbrush quarrelled with the beasts. 102 Raggylug Long ago the Roses used to grow on bushes that had no thorns. But the Squirrels and Mice used to limb after them, the Cattle used to knock them off with their horns, the Possum would twitch them off with his long tail, and the Deer, with his sharp hoofs, would break them down. So the Brierbrush _ armed itself with spikes to protect its roses and declared eternal war on all creatures that climbed trees, or had horns, or hoofs, or long tails. This left the Brierbrush at peace with none but Molly Cottontail, who could not climb, was hornless, hoofless, and had scarcely any tail at all. fn truth the Cottontail had never harmed a Brierrose, and having now so many enemies the Rose took the Rabbit into especial friend- ship, and when dangers are threatening poor Bunny he flies to the nearest Brierbrush, cer- tain thatit is ready with a million keen and poisoned daggers to defend him. x, (4 103 Raggylug So the secret that Rag learned from his mother was, ‘ The Brierbush is your best friend.’ Much of the time that season was spent in learning the lay of the land, and the bramble and brier mazes. And Rag learned them so well that he could go all around the swamp by two different ways and never leave the friendly briers at any place for more than five hops. It is not long since the foes of the Cotton- tails were disgusted to find that man had brought a new kind of bramble and planted it in long lines throughout the country. It was so strong that no creatures could break it down, and so sharp that the toughest skin was torn by it. Each year there was more of it and each year it became a more serious matter to the wild creatures. But Molly Cottontail had no fear of it. She was not brought up in the briers for nothing. Dogs and foxes, cattle and sheep, and even man himself might be torn by those fearful spikes: but Molly understands it and lives and thrives under it. And the further-it spreads the more safe country there is for the Cottontail. And the name of this new and | dreaded bramble is—the barbed-wire fence. »/ 104 Raggylug Ill 7 f " Molly had no other children to look after now, so Rag had all her care. He was unusu- ally quick and bright as well as strong, and he had uncommonly good chances; so he got on remarkably well. All the season she kept him busy learning the tricks of the trail, and what to eat and drink and what not totouch. Day by day she worked to train him; little by little she taught him, putting into his mind hundreds of ideas that her own life or early training had stored in hers, and so equipped him with the knowledge that makes life possible to their kind. Close by her side in the clover-field or the thicket he would sit and copy her when she wobbled her nose ‘ to keep her smeller clear,’ and pull the bite from her mouth or taste her lips to make sure he was getting the same kind of fodder. Still copying her, he learned to comb his ears with his claws and to dress his coat and to bite the burrs out of his vest and socks. He learned, too, that nothing but clear 105, Raggylug dewdrops from the briers were fit for a rabbit to drink, as water which has once ouched the earth must surely bear some taint. Thus he began the study of woodcraft, the’oldest of all sciences. © | ‘As soon as Rag was big enough to go out alone, his mother taught him the signal code. Rabbits telegraph each other by thumping on the ground with their hind feet. Along the ground sound carries far; a thump that at six feet from the earth is not heard at twenty yards will, near the ground, be heard at least one hundred yards. Rabbits have very keen hear- ing, and so might hear this same thump at two hundred yards, and that would reach from end to end of Olifant’s Swamp. A single s#ump means ‘look out’ or ‘freeze.’ A slow thump thump means ‘come.’ A _ fast thump thump means ‘danger ;’ and a very fast thump thump thump means ‘run for dear life.’ At another time, when the weather was fine and the bluejays were quarrelling among them- selves, asure sign that no dangerous foe was . about, Rag began a new study. Moily, by flattening her ears, gave the sign to squat. ‘Then 106 Raggylug : : she ran far away in the thicket and gave the thumping sigvial for ‘come.’ Rag set out at a run to the piace but could not find Molly. He thumped, but got no reply. Setting carefully about his search he found her foot-scent and following this strange guide, that the beasts all know so well and man does not know at all, he worked out the trail and found her where she was hidden. Thus he got his first lesson in trailing, and thus it was that the games of hide and seek they played became the schooling for the serious chase of which there was so much in his after life. Before that first season of schooling was over he had learnt all the principal tricks by which a rabbit lives and in not a few problems showed himself a veritable genius. ~ He was an adept at ‘tree,’ ‘dodge,’ and ‘squat,’ he could play ‘log-lump,’ with ‘wind’. and ‘ baulk’ with ‘ back-track ’ so well that he scarcely needed any other tricks. He had not yet tried it, but he knew just how to play ‘ barb-wire,’ which is a new trick of the brill- jant order; he had made a special study of ‘sand,’ which burns up all scent, and he was 107 Raggylug deeply versed in ‘change-off,’ ‘fence,’ and ‘double’ as well as ‘ hole-up,’ which is a trick requiring longer notice, and yet he never forgot that ‘lay-low ’ is the beginning of all wisdom and ‘ brierbush’ the only trick that is always safe. He was taught the signs by which to know all his foes and then the way to baffle them. For hawks, owls, foxes, hounds, curs, minks, weasels, cats, skunks, coons, and men, each have a different plan of pursuit, and for each and all of these evils he was taught a remedy. And for knowledge of the enemy’s approach he learnt to depend first on himself and his mother, and then on the bluejay. ‘‘ Never neglect the bluejay’s warning,’’ said Molly; ‘‘he is a mischief-maker, a marplot, and a thief all the time, but nothing escapes him. He wouldn’t mind harming us, but he cannot, thanks to the briers, and his enemies are ours, so it is well to heed him. If the woodpecker cries a warning you can trust him, he is honest ; but he is a fool beside the bluejay, and though the bluejay of- ten tells lies for mischief you are safe to believe him when he brings ill news.’’ 108 ee Ve al Ae Se ES ar | Raggylug * The barb-wire trick takes a deal of nerve and the best of legs. It was long before he vent- ured to play it, but as he came to his full pow- ers it became one of his favorites. ‘It’s fine play for those who can do it,”’ said Molly. ‘‘ First you lead off your dog on a straightaway and warm him up a bit by nearly letting him catch you. ‘Then keeping just one hop ahead, you lead him at a long slant full tilt into a breast-high barb-wire. I’ve seen many a dog and fox crippled, and one big hound killed outright thisway. But I’ve also seen more than one rabbit lose his life in trying it.’’ Rag early learnt what some rabbits never learn at all, that ‘hole-up’ is not such a fine rusé as it seems ; it may be the certain safety of a wise rabbit, but soon or late is a sure death- trap toa fool. A young rabbit always thinks of it first, an old rabbit never tries it till all others fail. It means escape from a man or dog, a fox or a bird of prey, but it means sud- den death if the foe is a ferret, mink, skunk, or weasel. , > There were but two ground-holes in the Swamp. One on the Sunning Bank, which was 109 'IN ODD CATLIKE Positions Raggylug a dry sheltered knoll in the South-end. It was open and sloping to the sun, and here on fine days the Cottontails took their sunbaths. They stretched out among the fragrant pine needles and winter-green in odd cat-like positions, and turned slowly over as though roasting and wish- ing all sides well done. And they blinked and panted, and squirmed as if in dreadful pain ; yet this was one of the keenest enjoyments they knew. Just over the brow of the knoll was a large pine stump. Its grotesque roots wriggled out above the yellow sand-bank lke dragons, and under their protecting claws a sulky old wood- chuck had digged a den long ago. He became more sour and ill-tempered as weeks went by, and one day waited to quarrel with Olifant’s dog instead of going in so that Molly Cotton- tail was able to take possession of the den an hour later. This, the pine-root hole, was afterward very coolly taken by aself-sufficient young skunk who with less valor might have enjoyed greater lon- gevity, for he imagined that even man with a gun would fly from him. Instead of keeping 110 Raggylug . Molly from the den for good, therefore, his reign, like that of a certain Hebrew king, was over in four days. The other, the fern-hole, was in a fern thicket next the clover field. It was small and damp, and useless except as a last retreat. It also was the work of a woodchuck, a well-meaning friendly neighbor, but a hare-brained youngster whose skin in the form of a whip-lash was now developing higher horse-power in the Olifant working team. ‘« Simple justice,’’ said the old man, “for that hide was raised on stolen feed that the team would a’ turned into horse-power anyway.”’ __ The Cottontails were now sole owners of the holes, and did not go near them when they could help it, lest anything like a path should be made that might betray these last retreats to an enemy. There was also the hollow hickory, which, though nearly fallen, was still yreen, and had the great advantage of being open at both ends. This had long been the residence of one Lotor, a solitary old coon whose ostensible calling was frog-hunting, and who, like the monks of old, ae ; IIt Ragegylug was supposed to abstain from all flesh food. ', But it was shrewdly suspected that he needed ; - but a chance to indulge in diet of rabbit. When at last one dark night he was killed while raid- ing Olifant’s hen-house, Molly, so far from feel- ing a pang of regret, took possession of his cosy nest with a sense of unbounded relief. IV Bright August sunlight was flooding the Swamp in the morning. Everything seemed soaking in the warm radiance. A little brown swamp-spatrow was teetering on a long rush in the pond. Beneath him there were open spaces of dirty water that brought down a few scraps of the blue sky, and worked it and the yellow duckweed into an exquisite mosaic, with a little wrong-side picture of the bird in the middle. On the bank behind was a great vigorous growth of golden green skunk-cabbage, that cast dense shadow over the brown swamp tussocks. The eyes of the swamp-sparrow were not trained to take in the color glories, but he saw what we might have missed; that two of the ~ Ii2 Raggylug | : numberless leafy brown bumps under the broad cabbage-leaves were furry living things, with noses that never ceased to move up and down whatever else was still. It was Molly and Rag. They were stretched under the skunk-cabbage, not because they liked its rank smell, but because the winged ticks could not stand it at all and so left them in peace. Rabbits have no set time for lessons, they are always learning; but what the lesson is de- pends on the present stress, and that must arrive before it is known. They went to this place for a quiet rest, but had not been long there when suddenly a warning note from the ever-watchful bluejay caused Molly’s nose and ears to go up and her tail to tighten to her back. Away across the Swamp was Olifant’s big black and white ‘dog, acaes straight toward them. “« Now,”’ said Molly, ‘‘squat while I go and keep that fool out of mischief.’’ Away she went to meet him and she fearlessly dashed across the dog’s path. ¢ ‘¢ Bow-ow-ow,’’ he fairly yelled as he bound- 113 cak peas» } taut By ea c Agger: y ———-——e Ragegylug ed after Molly, but she kept just beyond his reach and led him where the million daggers struck fast and deep, till his tender ears were scratched raw, and guided him at last plump into a hidden barbed-wire fence, where he got such a gashing that he went homeward howling with pain. After making ashort double, a loop and a baulk in case the dog should come back, Molly returned to find that Rag in his eagerness was standing bolt upright and craning his neck to see the sport. This disobedience made her so angry that she struck him with her hind foot and knocked him over in the mud. One day as they fed on the near clover field a red-tailed hawk came swooping after them. Molly kicked up her hind legs to make fun of him and skipped into the briers along one of their old pathways, where of course the hawk could not follow. It was the main path from the Creekside Thicket to the Stove-pipe brush- pile. Several creepers had grown across it, and Molly, keeping one eye on the hawk, set to work and cut the creepers off. Rag watched her, than ran on ahead, and cut some more that 114 Raggylug were across the path. ‘‘ That’s right,’’ said Molly, ‘‘ always keep the runways clear, you will need them often enough. Not wide, but clear. ’ Cut everything like a creeper across them and some day you will find you have cut a snare. ‘‘ A what?’’ asked Rag, as he scratched his right ear with his left hind foot. ‘© snare is something that looks like a creeper, but it doesn’t grow and it’s worse than all the hawks in the world,’’ said Molly, glanc- ing at the now far-away red-tail, ‘‘ for there it hides night and day in the runway till the chance to catch you comes.’’ ‘*T don’t believe it could catch me,’’ said Rag, with the pride of youth as he rose on his heels to rub his chin and whiskers high up on a smooth sapling. Rag did not know he was doing this, but his mother saw and knew it was asign, like the changing of a boy’s voice, that her little , one was no longer a baby but would soon be a grown-up Cottontail. . 115 Raggylug V There is magic in running water. Who does not know it and feel it? The railroad builder fearlessly throws his bank across the wide bog or lake, or the sea itself, but the tiniest rill of run- ning water he treats with great respect, studies its wish and its way and gives it all it seems to ask. The thirst-parched traveller in the poi- sonous alkali deserts holds back in deadly fear from the sedgy ponds till he finds one down whose centre is a thin, clear line, and a faint flow, the sign of running, living water, and joy- fully he drinks. There is magic in running water, no evil spell can cross it. ‘Tam O’Shanter proved its potency in time of sorest need. The wild-wood creature with its deadly foe following tireless on the trail scent, realizes its nearing doom and feels an awful spell. Its strength is spent, its every trick is tried in vain till its good angel leads it to the water, the running, living water, and dashing in it follows the cooling stream, and then with force renewed takes to the woods again. 116 ve anne eit pt Ne Wi BH Rag Followed the Snow-white Beacon Raggylug There is. magic in running water. * The hounds come to the very spot and halt and cast about ; and halt and cast in vain. ‘Their spell is broken by the merry stream, and the wild thing lives its life. And this was one of the great secrets that Raggylug learned from his mother—“ after the Brierrose, the Water is your friend.’’ One hot, muggy night in August, Molly: led Rag through the woods. The cotton-white cushion she wore under her tail twinkled ahead and was his guiding lantern, though it went out as soon as she stopped and sat on it. After a few runs and stops to listen, they came to the edge of the pond. The hylasin the trees above them were singing ‘ sleep, sleep,’ and away out on a sunken log in the deep water, up to his chin in the cooling bath, a bloated bullfrog was singing the praises of a ‘jug o’ rum.’ ‘« Follow me still,’’ said Molly, in rabbit, and ‘flop’ she went into the pond and struck out for the sunken log in the middle. Rag flinched but plunged with a little ‘ouch,’ gasping and wobbling his nose very fast but still copying his mother. The same move- 119g pees? Raggylug ments as on land sent him through the water, and thus he found he could swim. On he went till he reached the sunken log and scrambled up by his dripping mother on the high dry end, with a rushy screen around them and the Water that tells no tales. After this in warm black nights when that old fox from Springfield came prowling through the Swamp, Rag would note the place of the bullfrog’s voice, for in case of direst need it might be a guide to safety. And thenceforth the words of the song that the bullfrog sang were, ‘ Come, come, in danger come.’ This was the latest study that Rag took up with his mother—it was really a post-graduate course, for many little rabbits never learn it at all. VI No wild animal dies of old age. Its life has soon or late atragic end. It is only a question of how long it can hold out against its foes. But Rag’s life was proof that once a rabbit passes out of his youth he is likely to outlive his prime ' 1IZ0 Raggylug and be killed only in the last third of life, the downhill third we call old age. The Cottontails had enemies on every side. Their daily life was a series of escapes. For dogs, foxes, cats, skunks, coons, weasels, minks, snakes, hawks, owls, and men, and even insects were all plot*:ng to kill them. They had hun- dreds of adventures, and at least once a day they had to fly for their lives and save Haeals ive es by their legs and wits. More than once that hateful fox from Spring- field drove them to taking refuge under the wreck of a barbed-wire hog-pen by the spring. But once there they could look calmly at him while he spiked his legs in vain attempts to reach them. Once or twice Rag when hunted had played off the hound against a skunk that had seemed likely to be quite as dangerous as the dog. Once he was caught alive by a hunter who had a hound and a ferret to help him. But Rag had the luck to escape next day, with a yet deeper distrust of ground holes. He was several times run into the water by the cat, and many times was chased by hawks and owls, but IZI eee s Raggylug for each kind of danger there was a safeguard. His mother taught him the principal dodges, and he improved on them and made many new ones as he grew older. And the older and wiser he grew the less he trusted to his legs, and the more to his wits for safety. Ranger was the name of a young hound in the neighborhood. To train him his master used to put him on the trail of one of the Cot- tontails. It was nearly always Rag that they ran, for the young buck enjoyed the runs as much as they did, the spice of danger in them being just enough for zest. He would say: ‘*Oh, mother! here comes the dog again, I must have a run to-day.”’ “You are too bold, Raggy, my son! ’’ she might reply. ‘I fear you will run once too often.’’ ‘¢ But, mother, it is such glorious fun to tease that fool dog, and it’s all good training. I'll thump if I am too hard pressed, then you can come and change off while I get my second wind.’’ On he would come, and Ranger would take the trail and follow till Rag got tired of it. Then TZ2 Raggylug he either sent a thumping telegram for help, which brought Molly to take charge of the dog, or he got rid of the dog by some clever trick. A description of one of these shows how well Rag had learned the arts of the woods. He knew that his scent lay best near the ground, and was strongest when he was warm. BS = Bay. in -s KL eee \ oN oe. > Creskside tus se Wao ee a 2 = Seg eee oe Pee ( ‘4 ir - Bees <7 et a Pasta a Re t L = Se ehen T ae t - a ae = . =e Se ; EELS Ay Se E les < ee eee : ie 4 aha woe eet J “\ 1 = a Pal -" . “7 hick € t; :\ Hi Sen— ne s See \ he oe : cee ox n- ry * i Se { Gs... ms \ Nees ts- = 7 a Se ae Le heey yui \ Ly af G So if he could get off the ground, and be left in peace for half an hour to cool off, and for the trail tostale, he knew he would be safe. When, therefore, he tired of the chase, he made for the Creekside brier-patch, where he ‘wound’— that is, zigzagged—till he left a course so crooked that the dog was sure to be greatly delayed in working it out. He then went straight to D 123 “~ Raggylug in the woods, passing one hop to windward of the high log E. Stopping at D, he followed his back trail to F, here he leaped aside and ran toward B. Then, returning on his trail to J, he waited till the hound passed on his trail at I. Rag then got back on his old trail at H, and followed it to E, where, with a scent-baulk or great leap aside, he reached the high log, and running to its higher end, he sat like a bump. Ranger lost much time in the bramble maze, and the scent was very poor when he got it straightened out, and came to D. Here he be- gan to circle to pick it up, and after losing much time, struck the trail which ended sud- denly at G. Again he was at fault, and had to circle to find the trail. Wider and wider the circles, until at last, he passed right under the log Rag was on. Buta cold scent, ona cold day, does not go downward much. Rag never budged nor winked, and the hound passed. Again the dog came round. ‘This time he crossed the low part of the log, and stopped to smell it. ‘Yes, clearly it was rabbity,’ but it was a Stale scent now ; still he mounted the log. It was a trying moment for Rag, as the great 124 ' i | * re Raggylug e hound came sniff-sniffing along the log. But his nerve did not forsake him; the wind was right ; he had his mind made up to bolt as soon as Ranger came half wayup. But he didn’t come. A yellow cur would have seen the rabbit sitting there, but the hound did not, and the scent seemed stale, so he leaped off the log, and Rag had won. Vil Rag had never seen any other rabbit than his mother. Indeed he had scarcely thought about there being any other. He was more and more away from her now, and yet he never felt lonely, for rabbits do not hanker for com- pany. But one day in December, while he was among the red dogwood brush, cutting a new path to the great Creekside thicket, he saw all at once against the sky over the Sunning Bank the head and ears of a strange rabbit. The new- comer had the air of a well-pleased discoverer and soon came hopping Rag’s way along one of his paths into Azs Swamp. A new feeling rushed over him, that boiling mixture of anger and hatred called jealousy. 127 Rageylug The stranger stopped at one of Rag’s rubbing- trees—that is, a tree against which he used to stand on his heels and rub his chin as far up as he could reach. He thought he did this simply because he liked it ; but all buck-rabbits do so, _ and several ends are served.» It makes the tree a < rabbity, so that other rabbits know that this “ swamp already belongs to a rabbit family and is not open for settlement. It also lets the next one know by the scent if the last caller was an acquaintance, and the height from the ground of the rubbing-places shows how tall the rabbit is. ' Now to his disgust Rag noticed that the new- comer was a head taller than himself, and a big, stout buck atthat. This was a wholly new experience and filled Rag with a wholly new feeling. The spirit of murder entered his heart ; he chewed very hard with nothing in his mouth, and hopping forward onto a smooth piece of hard ground he struck slowly : ‘ Thump—thump—thump,’ which is a rabbit telegram for, ‘ Get out of my swamp, or fight.’ The new-comer made a big V with his ears, sat upright for a few seconds, then, dropping on 128 Raggylug his fore-féet, sent along the ground a louder, stronger, ‘ Zhump—thump—thump.’ And so war was declared. They came together by short runs side-wise, each one trying to get the wind of the other and watching for a chance advantage. The stranger was a big, heavy buck with plenty of muscle, but one or two trifles such as treading on a turnover and failing to close when Rag was on low ground showed that he had not much cunning and counted on winning his battles by his weight. On he came at last and Rag met him like a little fury. As they came together they leaped up and struck out with their hind feet. Zhud, thud they came, and down went poor little Rag. In a moment the stranger was on him with his teeth and Rag was bitten, and lost several tufts of hair before he could getup. But he was swift of foot and got out of reach. Again he charged and again he was knocked down and bitten’severely. He was no match for his foe, and it soon became a question of saving his own life. Hurt as he was he sprang away, with the stran- ger in full chase, and bound to kill him as well 129 Raggylug as to oust him from the Swamp where he was born. Rag’s legs were good and so was his wind. The stranger was big and so heavy that he soon gave up the chase, and it was well for poor Rag that he did, for he was getting stiff from his wounds as well as tired. From that day began a reign of terror for Rag. His training had been against owls, dogs, weasels, men, and so on, but what to do when chased by another rabbit, he did not know. All he knew was to lay low till he was found, then run. Poor little Molly was completely terrorized ; she could not help Rag and sought only to hide. But the big buck soon found her out. She tried to run from him, but she was not now so swift as Rag. The stranger made no attempt to kill her, but he made love to her, and because she hated him and tried to get away, he treated her shamefully. Day after day he worried her by following her about, and often, furious at her lasting hatred, he would knock her down and tear out mouthfuls of her soft fur till his rage cooled somewhat, when he would let her go for awhile. But his fixed 130 Rageylug e purpose was to kill Rag, whose escape seemed hopeless. There was no other swamp he could go to, and whenever he took a nap now he had to be ready at any moment to dash for his life. A dozen timesa day the big stranger came creeping up to where he slept, but each time the watchful Rag awoke in time toescape. To. escape yet not to escape. He saved his life in- deed, but oh! what a miserable life it had be- come. How maddening to be thus helpless, to see his little mother daily beaten and torn, as well as tosee all his favorite feeding-grounds, the cosy nooks, and the pathways he had made with so much labor, forced from him by this hateful brute. Unhappy Rag realized that to the victor belong the spoils, and he hated him more than ever he did fox or ferret. How was it to end? He was wearing out with running and watching and bad food, and little Molly’s strength and spirit were breaking down under thelong persecution. The stranger was ready to go to all lengths to destroy poor Rag, and at last stooped to the worst crime known among rabbits. However much they may hate each other, all good rabbits forget 131 <* 42 40, I > “er ed {" peed Se Rageylug their feuds when their common enemy appears. Yet one day when a great goshawk came swoop- ing over the swamp, the stranger, keeping well under cover himself, tried again and again to drive Rag into the open. | Once or twice the hawk nearly had him, but still the briers saved him, and it was only when ON SR the big buck himself came near being caught that he gave it up. And again Rag escaped, but was no better off. He made up his mind to leave, with his mother, if possible, next night and go into the world in quest of some new home when he heard old Thunder, the hound, sniffing and searching about the out- skirts of the swamp, and he resolved on playing a desperate game. He deliberately crossed the hound’s view, and the chase that then began was fast and furious. ‘Thrice around the Swamp they went till Rag had made sure that his mother was hidden safely and that his hated foe was in his usual nest. Then right into that nest and plump over him he jumped, giving him a rap with one hind foot as he passed over his head. | ‘* You miserable fool, I kill you yet,’’ cried 132 Raggylug e the stranger, and up he jumped only to find him- self between Rag and the dog and heir to all the peril of the chase. On came the hound baying hotly on the straight-away scent. The buck’s weight and size were great advantages in a rabbit fight, but now they were fatal. He did not know many tricks. Just the simple ones like ‘ double,’ ‘wind,’ and ‘ hole-up,’ that every baby Bunny knows. But the chase was too close for doub- ling and winding, and he didn’t know where the holes were. It was a straight race. The brier-rose, kind to all rabbits alike, did its best, but it was no use. The baying of the hound was fast and steady. The crashing of the brush and the yelping of the hound each time the briers tore his tender ears were borne to the two rabbits where they crouched in hiding. But suddenly these sounds stopped, there was a scuffle, then loud and terrible screaming. | Rag knew what it meant andit sent a shiver through him, but he soon forgot that when all was over and rejoiced to be once more the master of the dear old Swamp. 133 Raggylug VIII Old Olifant had doubtless a right to burn all those brush-piles in the east and south of the Swamp and to clear up the wreck of the old barbed-wire hog-pen just below the spring. But it was none the less hard on Rag and his mother. The first were their various residences and out- posts, and the second their grand fastness and safe retreat. They had so long held the Swamp and felt it to be their very own in every part and suburb, —including Olifant’s grounds and buildings— that they would have resented the appearance of another rabbit even about the adjoining barnyard. Their claim, that of long, successful occu- pancy, was exactly the same as that by which most nations hold their land, and it would be hard to find a better right. During the time of the January thaw the Olifants had cut the rest of the large wood about the pond and curtailed the Cottontails’ domain on all sides. But they still clung to the dwindling Swamp, for it was their home and 134 Raggylug e they were loath to move to foreign parts. Their life of daily perils went on, but they were still fleet of foot, long of wind, and bright of wit. Of late they had been somewhat troubled by a mink that had wandered up-stream to their quiet nook. A little judicious guidance had transferred the uncomfortable visitor to Oli- fant’s hen-house. But they were not yet quite sure that he had been properly looked after. So for the present they gave up using the ground- holes, which were, of course, dangerous blind- alleys, and stuck closer than ever to the briers and the brush-piles that were left. That first snow had quite gone and the weather was bright and warm until now. Molly, feeling a touch of rheumatism, was somewhere in the lower thicket seeking a teaberry tonic. Rag was sitting in the weak sunlight on a bank in the east side. The smoke from the fa- miliar gable chimney of Olifant’s house came fitfully drifting a pale blue haze through the underwoods and showing as a dull brown against the brightness of the sky. ‘The sun-gilt gable was cut off midway by the banks of brier- brush, that purple in shadow shone like rods of 135 Ragegylug blazing crimson and gold in the light. Beyond the house the barn with its gable and roof, new gilt as the house, stood up like a Noah’s ark. The sounds that came from it, and yet more the delicious smell that mingled with the smoke, told Rag that the animals were being fed cab- bage in the yard. Rag’s mouth watered at the idea of the feast. He blinked and blinked as he snuffed its odorous promises, for he loved cabbage dearly. But then he had been to the barnyard the night before after a few paltry clover-tops, and no wise rabbit would go two nights running to the same place. Therefore he did the wise thing. He moved across where he could not smell the cabbage and made his supper of a bundle of hay that had been blown from the stack. Later, when about to settle for the night, he was joined by Molly, who had taken her teaberry and then eaten her frugal meal of sweet birch near the Sunning Bank. Meanwhile the sun had gone about his busi- ness elsewhere, taking all his gold and glory with him. Off in the east a big black shutter came pushing up and rising higher and higher; 136 Raggylug : it spread over the whole sky, shut out all light and left the world a very gloomy place indeed. Then another mischief-maker, the wind, taking advantage of the sun’s absence, came on the scene and set about brewing trouble. The weather turned colder and colder ; it seemed worse than when the ground had been covered with snow. ‘ oe Ag Bingo and now in utter disgust he decided to for- sake even her stable door, and from that time he attached himself exclusively to the horses and their stable. The cattle were mine, the horses were my brother’s, and in transferring his allegiance from the cow-stable to the horse-stable Bingo seemed to give me up too, and anything like daily companionship ceased, and, yet, whenever any emergency arose Bingo turned to me and I to him, and both seemed to feel that the bond be- tween man and dog is one that lasts as long as life. The only other occasion on which Bingo acted as cowherd was in the autumn of the same year at the annual Carberry Fair. Among the dazzling inducements to enter one’s stock there was, in addition to a prospect of glory, a cash prize of ‘two dollars,’ for the ‘ best col- lie in training.’ Misled by a false friend, I entered Bingo, and early on the day fixed, the cow was driven to the prairie just outside of the village. When the time came she was pointed out to Bingo and the word given—‘ Go fetch the cow.’ It 156 Bingo was the intention, of course, that he should bring her to me at the judge’s stand. But the animals knew better. They hadn’t rehearsed all summer for nothing. When Dunne saw Bingo’s careering form she knew that her o only hope for safety was to get into her stable, and Bingo was equally sure that his sole mission in life was to quicken her pace in that direction. So off they raced over the prairie, like a wolf after a deer, and heading straight toward their home two miles away, they disappeared from view. That was the last that judge or jury ever saw of dog or cow. ‘The prize was awarded to the only other entry. IIT Bingo’s loyalty to the horses was quite re- markable; by day he trotted beside them, and by night he slept at the stable door. Where the team went Bingo went, and nothing kept him away from them. ‘This interesting assumption of ownership lent the greater significance to the following circumstance. Bingo I was not superstitious, and up to this time had had no faith in omens, but was now deep- ly impressed by a strange occurrence in which Bingo took a leading part. There were but two of us now living on the De Winton Farm. One morning my brother set out for Boggy Creek for a load of hay. It was a long day’s journey there and back, and he made an early start. Strange to tell, Bingo for once in his life did not follow the team. My brother called to him, but still he stood at a safe distance, and eying the team askance, refused to stir. Sud- denly he raised his nose in the air and gave vent to a long, melancholy howl. He watched the wagon out of sight, and even followed for a hundred yards or so, raising his voice from time to time in the most doleful howlings. All that day he stayed about the barn, the only time that he was willingly separated from the horses, and at intervals howled a very death dirge. I was alone, and the dog’s behavior inspired me with an awful foreboding of calamity, that weighed upon me more and more as the hours passed away. About six o’clock Bingo’s howlings became 155 Bingo unbearable, so that for lack of a better thought I threw something at him, and ordered him away. But oh, the feeling of horror that filled me! Why did I let my brother go away alone? Should I ever again see him alive? I might have known from the dog’s actions that some- thing dreadful was about to happen. At length the hour for his return arrived, and there was John on his load. I took charge of the horses, vastly relieved, and with an air of as- sumed unconcern, asked, ‘‘ All right ?’’ ‘*Right,’’ was the laconic answer. Who now can say that there is nothing in omens ? And yet, when long afterward, I told this to one skilled in the occult, he looked grave, and said, ‘* Bingo always turned to you in a crisis ?’’ Sess! ‘‘Then do not smile. It was you that were in danger that day; he stayed and saved your life, though you never knew from what.’’ 159 Bingo IV Early in the spring I had begun Bingo’s education. Very shortly afterward he began mine. | Midway on the two-mile stretch of prairie that lay between our shanty and the village of Carberry, was the corner-stake of the farm; it was a stout post in a low mound of earth, and was visible from afar. I soon noticed that Bingo never passed with- out minutely examining this mysterious post. Next I learned that it was also visited by the prairie wolves as well as by all the dogs in the neighborhood, and at length, with the aid of a telescope, I made a number of observations that helped me to an understanding of the matter and enabled me to enter more fully into Bingo’s private life. The post was by common agreement a regis- try of the canine tribes. Their exquisite sense of smell enabled each individual to tell at once by the track and trace what other had recently been at the post. When the snow came much 160 Bingo more was revealed. I then discovered that this post was but one of a system that covered the country ; that in short, the entire region was laid out in signal stations at convenient inter- vals. These were marked by any conspicuous post, stone, buffalo skull, or other object that chanced to be in the desired locality, and ex- tensive observation showed that it was a very complete system for getting and giving the news. Each dog or wolf makes a point of calling at those stations that are near his line of travel to learn who has recently been there, just as a man calls at his club on returning to town and looks up the register. I have seen Bingo approach the post, sniff, examine the ground about, then growl, and with bristling mane and glowing eyes, scratch fiercely and contemptuously with his hind feet, finally walking off very stiffly, glancing back from time to time. All of which, being inter- preted, said : ‘‘ Grrrh! woof! there’s that dirty cur of McCarthy’s. Woof! I’ll’tend to him to-night. Woof! woof/’’ On another occasion, after 161 Bingo the preliminaries, he became keenly interested and studied a coyote’s track that came and went, saying to himself, as I afterward learned : ‘“¢A coyote track coming from the north, smelling of dead cow. Indeed? Pollworth’s old Brindle must be dead at last. ‘This is worth looking into.’’ At other times he would wag his tail, trot about the vicinity and come again and again to make his own visit more evident, perhaps for the benefit of his brother Bill just back from Brandon! So that it was not by chance that one night Bill turned up at Bingo’s home and was taken to the hills where a delicious dead horse afforded a chance to suitably celebrate the reunion. At other times he would be suddenly aroused by the news, take up the trail, and race to the next station for later information. Sometimes his inspection produced only an air of grave attention, as though he said to him- self, ‘‘ Dear me, who the deuce is this?’’ or ‘« Tt seems to me : met that fellow at the Por- tage last summer.’ One morning on approaching the post Bie ¢ “Wh es = ° Me divce us this? “+ 4 Bingo go’s every hair stood on end, his tail dropped and quivered, and he gave proof that he was suddenly sick at the stomach, sure signs of terror. Heshowed no desire to follow up or know more of the matter, but returned to the house, and half an hour afterward his mane was still bristling and his expression one of hate or fear. I studied the dreaded track and learned that in Bingo’s language the half-terrified, deep- gurgled ‘ svrr-wff’ means ‘ timber wolf.’ These were among the things that Bingo taught me. And in the after time when I might chance to see him arouse from his frosty nest by the stable door, and after stretching himself and shaking the snow from his shaggy coat, disappear into the gloom at a steady trot trot, trot, I used to think : «Aha! old dog, I know where you are off to, and why you eschew the shelter of the shanty. Now I know why your nightly trips over the country are so well timed, and how you know just where to go for what you want, and when and how to seek it.’’ 163 Bingo Ve In the autumn of 1884, the shanty at De Winton farm was closed and Bingo changed his home to the establishment, that is, to the stable, not the house, of Gordon Wright, our most intimate neighbor. Since the winter of his puppyhood he had declined to enter a house at any time excepting during a thunder-storm. Of thunder and guns he had a deep dread—no doubt the fear of the first originated in the second, and that arose from some unpleasant shot-gun experiences, the cause of which will be seen. His nightly couch was outside the stable, even during the coldest weather, and it was easy to see that he enjoyed to the full the complete nocturnal liberty entailed. Bingo’s midnight wanderings ex- tended across the plains for miles. ‘There was plenty of proof of this. Some farmers at very remote points sent word to old Gordon that if he did not keep his dog home nights, they would use the shotgun, and Bingo’s terror of firearms would indicate that the threats were 164 Bingo not idle. A man living as far away as Petrel, said he saw a large black wolf kill a coyote on the snow one winter evening, but afterward he changed his opinion and ‘ reckoned it must ’a’ been Wright’s dog.’ Whenever the body of a winter-killed ox or horse was exposed, Bingo was sure to repair to it nightly, and driving away the prairie wolves, feast to repletion. Sometimes the object of a night foray was merely to maul some distant neighbor’s dog, and notwithstanding vengeful threats, there seemed no reason to fear that the Bingo breed would die out. One man even avowed that he had seen a prairie wolf accompanied by three young ones which resembled the mother, ex- cepting that they were very large and black and had a ring of white around the muzzle. True or not as that may be, I know that late in March, while we were out in the sleigh with Bingo trotting behind, a prairie wolf was started from a hollow. Away it went with Bingo in full chase, but the wolf did not greatly exert itself to escape, and within a short dis- tance Bingo was close up, yet strange to tell, there was no grappling, no fight! ae a W ia NG 2, Bingo Bingo trotted amiably alongside and licked the wolf’s nose. We were astounded, and shouted to urge Bingo on. Our shouting and approach several times started the wolf off at speed and Bingo again pursued until he had overtaken it, but his gentleness was too obvious. ‘“