WILD ANIMALS AT HOME +---------------------------------------+| || BY THE SAME AUTHOR || || || THE BOOK OF WOODCRAFT AND INDIAN LORE || || WILD ANIMALS I HAVE KNOWN || || TWO LITTLE SAVAGES || || BIOGRAPHY OF A GRIZZLY || || LIFE HISTORIES OF NORTHERN ANIMALS || || ROLF IN THE WOODS || || THE FORESTERS' MANUAL || |+---------------------------------------+ [Illustration: I. A Prairie-dog town_In N. Y. Zoo. Photo by E. T. Seton_] _WildAnimalsAt Home_ _by_ _ERNEST THOMPSON SETON_ Author of "_Wild Animals I Have Known_, ""_Two Little Savages_, " "_Biography of a Grizzly_, ""_Life Histories of Northern Animals_, ""_Rolf in the Woods_, " "_The Book of Woodcraft_. " Head Chief of theWoodcraft Indians _With over 150 Sketches andPhotographs by the Author_ _Garden City New York__Doubleday, Page & Company__1923_ _Copyright, 1913, by_ERNEST THOMPSON SETON _All rights reserved, including that oftranslation into foreign languages, including the Scandinavian_ PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATESATTHE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, N. Y. Foreword My travels in search of light on the "Animals at Home" have taken me upand down the Rocky Mountains for nearly thirty years. In the canyonsfrom British Columbia to Mexico, I have lighted my campfire, far beyondthe bounds of law and order, at times, and yet I have found no placemore rewarding than the Yellowstone Park, the great mountain haven ofwild life. Whenever travellers penetrate into remote regions where human huntersare unknown, they find the wild things half tame, little afraid of man, and inclined to stare curiously from a distance of a few paces. But verysoon they learn that man is their most dangerous enemy, and fly from himas soon as he is seen. It takes a long time and much restraint to winback their confidence. In the early days of the West, when game abounded and when fifty yardswas the extreme deadly range of the hunter's weapons, wild creatureswere comparatively tame. The advent of the rifle and of the lawlessskin hunter soon turned all big game into fugitives of excessive shynessand wariness. One glimpse of a man half a mile off, or a whiff of him onthe breeze, was enough to make a Mountain Ram or a Wolf run for miles, though formerly these creatures would have gazed serenely from a pointbut a hundred yards removed. The establishment of the Yellowstone Park in 1872 was the beginning of anew era of protection for wild life; and, by slow degrees, a differentattitude in these animals toward us. In this Reservation, and nowhereelse at present in the northwest, the wild things are not only abundant, but they have resumed their traditional Garden-of-Eden attitude towardman. They come out in the daylight, they are harmless, and they are notafraid at one's approach. Truly this is ideal, a paradise for thenaturalist and the camera hunter. The region first won fame for its Canyon, its Cataracts and its Geysers, but I think its animal life has attracted more travellers than even thelandscape beauties. I know it was solely the joy of being among theanimals that led me to spend all one summer and part of another seasonin the Wonderland of the West. My adventures in making these studies among the fourfoots have been verysmall adventures indeed; the thrillers are few and far between. Any onecan go and have the same or better experiences to-day. But I give themas they happened, and if they furnish no ground for hair-liftingemotions, they will at least show what I was after and how I went. I have aimed to show something of the little aspects of the creatures'lives, which are those that the ordinary traveller will see; I go withhim indeed, pointing out my friends as they chance to pass, adding a fewcomments that should make for a better acquaintance on all sides. And Ihave offered glimpses, wherever possible, of the wild thing in its home, embodying in these chapters the substance of many lectures given underthe same title as this book. The cover design is by my wife, Grace Gallatin Seton. She was with me inmost of the experiences narrated and had a larger share in every part ofthe work than might be inferred from the mere text. ERNEST THOMPSON SETON. Contents PAGE =I. The Cute Coyote= 1 An Exemplary Little Beast, My Friend the Coyote 3 The Prairie-dog Outwitted 5 The Coyote's Sense of Humour 8 His Distinguishing Gift 11 The Coyote's Song 13 =II. The Prairie-dog and His Kin= 17 Merry Yek-Yek and His Life of Troubles 19 The Whistler in the Rocks 22 The Pack-rat and His Museum 23 A Free Trader 25 The Upheaver--The Mole-Gopher 27 =III. Famous Fur-bearers--Fox, Marten, Beaver and Otter= 29 The Most Wonderful Fur in the World 32 The Poacher and the Silver Fox 35 The Villain in Velvet--The Marten 47 The Industrious Beaver 48 The Dam 51 The Otter and His Slide 52 =IV. Horns and Hoofs and Legs of Speed= 55 The Bounding Blacktail 57 The Mother Blacktail's Race for Life 59 The Blacktail's Safety Is in the Hills 62 The Elk or Wapiti--The Noblest of all Deer 63 Stalking a Band of Elk 64 The Bugling Elk 66 Snapping a Charging Bull 69 The Hoodoo Cow 72 The Moose--The Biggest of all Deer 75 My Partner's Moose-hunt 76 The Siren Call 77 The Biggest of Our Game--The Buffalo 80 The Shrunken Range 81 The Doomed Antelope and His Heliograph 83 The Rescued Bighorn 85 =V. Bats in the Devil's Kitchen= 89 =VI. The Well-meaning Skunk= 95 His Smell-gun 98 The Cruelty of Steel Traps 99 Friendliness of the Skunk 100 Photographing Skunks at Short Range 101 We Share the Shanty with the Skunks 103 The Skunk and the Unwise Bobcat 104 My Pet Skunks 106 =VII. Old Silver-grizzle--The Badger= 111 The Valiant Harmless Badger 112 His Sociable Bent 115 The Story of the Kindly Badger 116 The Evil One 118 The Badger that Rescued the Boy 119 Finding the Lost One 123 Home Again 125 The Human Brute 129 =VIII. The Squirrel and His Jerky-tail Brothers= 133 The Cheeky Pine Squirrel 134 Chipmunks and Ground-squirrels 137 The Ground-squirrel that Plays Picket-pin 137 Chink and the Picket-pins 139 Chipmunks 141 The Ground-squirrel that Pretends It's a Chipmunk 142 A Four-legged Bird--The Northern Chipmunk 143 A Striped Pigmy--The Least Chipmunk 147 =IX. The Rabbits and Their Habits= 151 Molly Cottontail--The Clever Freezer 152 The Rabbit that Wears Snowshoes 154 The Terror of the Mountain Trails 156 Bunny's Ride 158 The Rabbit Dance 160 The Ghost Rabbit 163 A Narrow-gauge Mule--The Prairie Hare 164 The Bump of Moss that Squeaks 165 The Weatherwise Coney 169 His Safety Is in the Rocks 171 =X. Ghosts of the Campfire= 175 The Jumping Mouse 177 The Calling Mouse 179 =XI. Sneak-cats, Big and Small= 185 The Bobcat or Mountain Wildcat 186 Misunderstood--The Canada Lynx 187 The Shyest Thing in the Woods 189 The Time I Met a Lion 191 In Peril of My Life 194 The Dangerous Night Visitor 196 =XII. Bears of High and Low Degree= 201 The Different Kinds of Bears 202 Bear-trees 203 A Peep Into Bear Family Life 204 The Day at the Garbage Pile 208 Lonesome Johnny 210 Further Annals of the Sanctuary 210 The Grizzly and the Can 216 =Appendix: Mammals of Yellowstone Park= 221 List of Half-tone Plates A Prairie-dog town _Frontispiece_ FACING PAGE Chink's adventures with the Coyote and the Picket-pin 8 (a) The Whistler watching me from the rocks (b) A young Whistler 9 Red Fox 32 Foxes quarrelling 33 Beaver 48 Mule-deer 49 Blacktail Family 60 Blacktail mother with her twins 61 A young investigator among the Deer at Fort Yellowstone 64 Elk in Wyoming 65 Elk on the Yellowstone in Winter 68 The first shots at the Hoodoo Cow 69 The last shots at the Hoodoo Cow 76 Elk on the Yellowstone 77 Moose--The Widow 80 Buffalo groups 81 Near Yellowstone Gate 84 Mountain Sheep on Mt. Evarts 85 Track record of Bobcat's adventure with a Skunk 98 The six chapters of the Bobcat's adventure 102 My tame Skunks 103 Red-squirrel storing mushrooms for winter use 134 Chink stalking the Picket-pin 135 The Snowshoe Hare is a cross between a Rabbit and a Snowdrift 150 The Cottontail freezing 151 The Baby Cottontail that rode twenty miles in my hat 162 Snowshoe Rabbits dancing in the light of the lantern 163 Snowshoe Rabbits fascinated by the lantern 170 The Ghost Rabbit 171 The Coney or Calling Hare 178 The Coney barns full of hay stored for winter use 179 (a) Tracks of Deer escaping and (b) Tracks of Mountain Lion in pursuit 186 The Mountain Lion sneaking around us as we sleep 187 Sketch of the Bear Family as made on the spot 198 Two pages from my journal in the garbage heap 199 While I sketched the Bears, a brother camera-hunter was stalking me without my knowledge 206 One meets the Bears at nearly every turn in the woods 207 The shyer ones take to a tree, if one comes too near 210 Clifford B. Harmon feeding a Bear 211 The Bears at feeding time 218 (a) Tom Newcomb pointing out the bear's mark, (b) E. T. Seton feeding a Bear 219 Johnnie Bear: his sins and his troubles 222 Johnnie happy at last 223 * * * * * I The Cute Coyote * * * * * I The Cute Coyote AN EXEMPLARY LITTLE BEAST, MY FRIEND THE COYOTE If you draw a line around the region that is, or was, known as the WildWest, you will find that you have exactly outlined the kingdom of theCoyote. He is even yet found in every part of it, but, unlike his bigbrother the Wolf, he never frequented the region known as EasternAmerica. This is one of the few wild creatures that you can see from the train. Each time I have come to the Yellowstone Park I have discovered theswift gray form of the Coyote among the Prairie-dog towns along theRiver flat between Livingstone and Gardiner, and in the Park itself haveseen him nearly every day, and heard him every night without exception. [Illustration] Coyote (pronounced _Ky-o'-tay_, and in some regions _Ky-ute_) is anative Mexican contribution to the language, and is said to mean"halfbreed, " possibly suggesting that the Coyote looks like a crossbetween the Fox and the Wolf. Such an origin would be a verysatisfactory clue to his character, for he does seem to unite in himselfevery possible attribute in the mental make-up of the other two that cancontribute to his success in life. He is one of the few Park animals not now protected, for the excellentreasons, first that he is so well able to protect himself, second he iseven already too numerous, third he is so destructive among thecreatures that he can master. He is a beast of rare cunning; some of theIndians call him God's dog or Medicine dog. Some make him the embodimentof the Devil, and some going still further, in the light of their largerexperience, make the Coyote the Creator himself seeking amusement indisguise among his creatures, just as did the Sultan in the "ArabianNights. " [Illustration] The naturalist finds the Coyote interesting for other reasons. When yousee that sleek gray and yellow form among the mounds of the Prairie-dog, at once creating a zone of blankness and silence by his very presence ashe goes, remember that he is hunting for something to eat; also, thatthere is another, his mate, not far away. For the Coyote is anexemplary and moral little beast who has only one wife; he loves herdevotedly, and they fight the life battle together. Not only is theresure to be a mate close by, but that mate, if invisible, is likely to beplaying a game, a very clever game as I have seen it played. Furthermore, remember there is a squealing brood of little Coyotes inthe home den up on a hillside a mile or two away. Father and mother musthunt continually and successfully to furnish their daily food. Thedog-towns are their game preserves, but how are they to catch aPrairie-dog! Every one knows that though these little yappingGround-squirrels will sit up and bark at an express train but twentyfeet away, they scuttle down out of sight the moment a man, dog orCoyote enters into the far distant precincts of their town; anddownstairs they stay in the cyclone cellar until after a long intervalof quiet that probably proves the storm to be past. Then they poke theirprominent eyes above the level, and, if all is still, will softly hopout and in due course, resume their feeding. THE PRAIRIE-DOG OUTWITTED [Illustration] This is how the clever Coyote utilizes these habits. He and his wifeapproach the dog-town unseen. One Coyote hides, then the other walksforward openly into the town. There is a great barking of all thePrairie-dogs as they see their enemy approach, but they dive down whenhe is amongst them. As soon as they are out of sight the second Coyoterushes forward and hides near any promising hole that happens to havesome sort of cover close by. Meanwhile, Coyote number one strolls on. The Prairie-dogs that he scared below come up again. At first each putsup the top of his head merely, with his eyes on bumps, much like thoseof a hippopotamus, prominent and peculiarly suited for this observationwork from below, as they are the first things above ground. After abrief inspection, if all be quiet, he comes out an inch more. Now he canlook around, the coast is clear, so he sits up on the mound and scanshis surroundings. [Illustration] Yes! Ho! Ho! he sees his enemy, that hated Coyote, strolling away offbeyond the possibility of doing harm. His confidence is fully restoredas the Coyote gets smaller in the distance and the other Prairie-dogscoming out seem to endorse his decision and give him renewed confidence. After one or two false starts, he sets off to feed. This means go ten ortwenty feet from the door of his den, for all the grass is eaten offnear home. [Illustration] Among the herbage he sits up high to take a final look around, thenburying his nose in the fodder, he begins his meal. This is the chancethat the waiting, watching, she-Coyote counted on. There is a flash ofgray fur from behind that little grease bush; in three hops she is uponhim. He takes alarm at the first sound and tries to reach the havenhole, but she snaps him up. With a shake she ends his troubles. Hehardly knows the pain of death, then she bounds away on her back trackto the home den on the distant hillside. She does not come near itopenly and rashly. There is always the possibility of such an approachbetraying the family to some strong enemy on watch. She circles around alittle, scrutinizes the landscape, studies the tracks and the wind, thencomes to the door by more or less devious hidden ways. The sound of afoot outside is enough to make the little ones cower in absolutesilence, but mother reassures them with a whining call much like that ofa dog mother. They rush out, tumbling over each other in their glee, sixor seven in number usually, but sometimes as high as ten or twelve. Eagerly they come, and that fat Prairie-dog lasts perhaps three minutes, at the end of which time nothing is left but the larger bones with alittle Coyote busy polishing each of them. Strewn about the door of theden are many other kindred souvenirs, the bones of Ground-squirrels, Chipmunks, Rabbits, Grouse, Sheep, and Fawns, with many kinds offeathers, fur, and hair, to show the great diversity of Coyote diet. [Illustration] THE COYOTE'S SENSE OF HUMOUR To understand the Coyote fully one must remember that he is simply awild dog, getting his living by his wits, and saving his life by thetireless serviceability of his legs; so has developed both these giftsto an admirable pitch of perfection. He is blessed further with a giftof music and a sense of humour. When I lived at Yancey's, on the Yellowstone, in 1897, I had a goodexample of the latter, and had it daily for a time. The dog attached tothe camp on the inner circle was a conceited, irrepressible little puppynamed Chink. He was so full of energy, enthusiasm, and courage thatthere was no room left in him for dog-sense. But it came after a vastnumber of humiliating experiences. [Illustration] A Coyote also had attached himself to the camp, but on the outer circle. At first he came out by night to feed on the garbage pile, but realizingthe peace of the Park he became bolder and called occasionally by day. Later he was there every day, and was often seen sitting on a ridge acouple of hundred yards away. [Illustration: II. Chink's adventures with the Coyote and the Picket-pin_Sketches by E. T. Seton_] [Illustration: IV. (a) The Whistler watching me from the rocks. _Photo by E. T. Seton_(b) A young Whistler_Photo by G. G. Seton_] One day he was sitting much nearer and grinning in Coyote fashion, whenone of the campers in a spirit of mischief said to the dog, "Chink, yousee that Coyote out there grinning at you. Go and chase him out ofthat. " Burning to distinguish himself, that pup set off at full speed, andevery time he struck the ground he let off a war-whoop. Away went theCoyote and it looked like a good race to us, and to the Picket-pinGround-squirrels that sat up high on their mounds to rejoice in thespectacle of these, their enemies, warring against each other. The Coyote has a way of slouching along, his tail dangling and tanglingwith his legs, and his legs loose-jointed, mixing with his tail. Hedoesn't seem to work hard but oh! how he does cover the prairie! Andvery soon it was clear that in spite of his magnificent bounds andwhoops of glory, Chink was losing ground. A little later the Coyoteobviously had to slack up to keep from running away altogether. It hadseemed a good race for a quarter of a mile, but it was nothing to therace which began when the Coyote turned on Chink. Uttering a gurglinggrowl, a bark, and a couple of screeches, he closed in with all thecombined fury of conscious might and right, pitted against unfairunprovoked attack. And Chink had a rude awakening; his war-whoops gave place to yelps ofdire distress, as he wheeled and made for home. But the Coyote could runall around him, and nipped him, here and there, and when he would, andseemed to be cracking a series of good jokes at Chink's expense, norever stopped till the ambitious one of boundless indiscretion was hiddenunder his master's bed. This seemed very funny at the time, and I am afraid Chink did not getthe sympathy he was entitled to, for after all he was merely carryingout orders. But he made up his mind that from that time on, orders or noorders, he would let Coyotes very much alone. They were not so easy asthey looked. [Illustration] The Coyote, however, had discovered a new amusement. From that day hesimply "laid" for that little dog, and if he found him a hundred yardsor so from camp, would chase and race him back in terror to someshelter. At last things got so bad that if we went for a ride even, andChink followed us, the Coyote would come along, too, and continue hisusual amusement. At first it was funny, and then it became tedious, and at last it wasdeeply resented by Chink's master. A man feels for his dog; he wasn'tgoing to stand still and see his dog abused. He began to grumble vaguelyabout "If something didn't happen pretty soon, something else would. "Just what he meant I didn't ask, but I know that the Coyote disappearedone day, and never was seen or heard of again. I'm not supposed to knowany thing about it, but I have my suspicions, although in those days theCoyote was a protected animal. HIS DISTINGUISHING GIFT The scientific name of the Coyote (_Canis latrans_), literally "BarkingDog, " is given for the wonderful yapping chorus with which they seldomfail to announce their presence in the evening, as they gather at a safedistance from the campfire. Those not accustomed to the sound are veryready to think that they are surrounded by a great pack of raveningWolves, and get a sufficiently satisfactory thrill of mingled emotionsat the sound. But the guide will reassure you by saying that that greatpack of howling Wolves is nothing more than a harmless little Coyote, perhaps two, singing their customary vesper song, demonstrating theirwonderful vocal powers. Their usual music begins with a few growling, gurgling yaps which are rapidly increased in volume and heightened inpitch, until they rise into a long squall or scream, which again, as itdies away, breaks up into a succession of yaps and gurgles. Usually oneCoyote begins it, and the others join in with something like agreementon the scream. I believe I never yet camped in the West without hearing this from thenear hills when night time had come. Last September I even heard it backof the Mammoth Hot Springs Hotel, and I must say I have learned to loveit. It is a wild, thrilling, beautiful song. Our first camp was atYancey's last summer and just after we had all turned in, the Coyotechorus began, a couple of hundred yards from the camp. My wife sat upand exclaimed, "Isn't it glorious? now I know we are truly back in theWest. " The Park authorities are making great efforts to reduce the number ofCoyotes because of their destructiveness to the young game, but ananimal that is endowed with extraordinary wits, phenomenal speed, unexcelled hardihood, and marvellous fecundity, is not easily downed. Imust confess that if by any means they should succeed in exterminatingthe Coyote in the West, I should feel that I had lost something of verygreat value. I never fail to get that joyful thrill when the "MedicineDogs" sing their "Medicine Song" in the dusk, or the equally weird andthrilling chorus with which they greet the dawn; for they have a largerepertoire and a remarkable register. The Coyote is indeed the Patti ofthe Plains. THE COYOTE'S SONG[A] I am the Coyote that sings each night at dark; It was by gobbling prairie-dogs that I got such a bark. At least a thousand prairie-dogs I fattened on, you see, And every bark they had in them is reproduced in me. _Refrain_: I can sing to thrill your soul or pierce it like a lance, And all I ask of you to do is give me half a chance. With a yap--yap--yap for the morning And a yoop--yoop--yoop for the night And a yow--wow--wow for the rising moon And a yah-h-h-h for the campfire light. Yap--yoop--yow--yahhh! I gathered from the howling winds, the frogs and crickets too, And so from each availing fount, my inspiration drew. I warbled till the little birds would quit their native bush. And squat around me on the ground in reverential hush. _Refrain_: I'm a baritone, soprano, and a bass and tenor, too. I can thrill and slur and frill and whirr and shake you through and through. I'm a Jews' harp--I'm an organ--I'm a fiddle and a flute. Every kind of touching sound is found in the coyoot. _Refrain_: I'm a whooping howling wilderness, a sort of Malibran. With Lind, Labache and Melba mixed and all combined in one. I'm a grand cathedral organ and a calliope sharp, I'm a gushing, trembling nightingale, a vast Ĉolian harp. _Refrain_: I can raise the dead or paint the town, or pierce you like a lance And all I ask of you to do is to give me half a chance. Etc. , etc. , etc. (Encore verses) Although I am a miracle, I'm not yet recognized. Oh, when the world does waken up how highly I'll be prized. Then managers and vocal stars--and emperors effete Shall fling their crowns, their money bags, their persons, at my feet. _Refrain_: I'm the voice of all the Wildest West, the Patti of the Plains; I'm a wild Wagnerian opera of diabolic strains; I'm a roaring, ranting orchestra with lunatics be-crammed; I'm a vocalized tornado--I'm the shrieking of the damned. _Refrain_: [Illustration] FOOTNOTES: [Footnote A: All rights reserved. ] * * * * * II The Prairie-dog and His Kin * * * * * II The Prairie-dog and His Kin MERRY YEK-YEK AND HIS LIFE OF TROUBLES The common Prairie-dog is typical of the West, more so than the Buffalois, and its numbers, even now, rival those of the Buffalo in itspalmiest days. I never feel that I am truly back on the open range tillI hear their call and see the Prairie-dogs once more upon their mounds. As you travel up the Yellowstone Valley from Livingstone to Gardiner youmay note in abundance this "dunce of the plains. " The "dog-towns" arefrequent along the railway, and at each of the many burrows you see fromone to six of the inmates. As you come near Gardiner there is a steadyrise of the country, and somewhere near the edge of the Park theelevation is such that it imposes one of those mysterious barriers toanimal extension which seem to be as impassable as they are invisible. The Prairie-dog range ends near the Park gates. General George S. Anderson tells me, however, that individuals are occasionally found onthe flats along the Gardiner River, but always near the gate, and neverelsewhere in the Park. On this basis, then, the Prairie-dog is enteredas a Park animal. [Illustration] It is, of course, a kind of Ground-squirrel. The absurd name "dog"having been given on account of its "bark. " This call is a high-pitched"yek-yek-yek-yeeh, " uttered as an alarm cry while the creature sits upon the mound by its den, and every time it "yeks" it jerks up its tail. Old timers will tell you that the Prairie-dog's voice is tied to itstail, and prove it by pointing out that one is never raised without theother. As we have seen, the Coyote looks on the dog-town much as a cow does ona field of turnips or alfalfa--a very proper place, to seek forwholesome, if commonplace, sustenance. But Coyotes are not the onlytroubles in the life of Yek-yek. Ancient books and interesting guides will regale the traveller with mostacceptable stories about the Prairie-dog, Rattlesnake, and the BurrowingOwl, all living in the same den on a basis of brotherly love andChristian charity; having effected, it would seem, a limited partnershipand a most satisfactory division of labour: the Prairie-dog is to digthe hole, the Owl to mount sentry and give warning of all danger, andthe Rattler is to be ready to die at his post as defender of thePrairie-dog's young. This is pleasing if true. There can be no doubt that at times all three live in the same burrow, and in dens that the hard-working rodent first made. But the simple factis that the Owl and the Snake merely use the holes abandoned (perhapsunder pressure) by the Prairie-dog; and if any two of the threeunderground worthies happen to meet in the same hole, the fittestsurvives. I suspect further that the young of each kind are fair gameand acceptable, dainty diet to each of the other two. [Illustration] Farmers consider Prairie-dogs a great nuisance; the damage they do tocrops is estimated at millions per annum. The best way to get rid ofthem, practically the only way, is by putting poison down each and everyhole in the town, which medieval Italian mode has become the acceptedmethod in the West. Poor helpless little Yek-yek, he has no friends; his enemies and hislist of burdens increase. The prey of everything that preys, he yetseems incapable of any measure of retaliation. The only visible joy inhis life is his daily hasty meal of unsucculent grass, gathered betweencautious looks around for any new approaching trouble, and broken by somany dodges down the narrow hole that his ears are worn off close to hishead. Could any simpler, smaller pleasure than his be discovered? Yet heis fat and merry; undoubtedly he enjoys his every day on earth, and isas unwilling as any of us to end the tale. We can explain him only if wecredit him with a philosophic power to discover happiness within inspite of all the cold unfriendly world about him. THE WHISTLER IN THE ROCKS [Illustration] When the far-off squirrel ancestor of Yek-yek took to the plains for arange, another of the family selected the rocky hills. He developed bigger claws for the harder digging, redder colour for thered-orange surroundings, and a far louder and longer cry for signallingacross the peaks and canyons, and so became the bigger, handsomer, moreimportant creature we call the Mountain Whistler, Yellow Marmot orOrange Woodchuck. In all of the rugged mountain parts of the Yellowstone one may hear hispeculiar, shrill whistle, especially in the warm mornings. [Illustration] You carefully locate the direction of the note and proceed to climbtoward it. You may have an hour's hard work before you sight theorange-breasted Whistler among the tumbled mass of rocks that surroundhis home, for it is a far-reaching sound, heard half a mile away attimes. Those who know the Groundhog of the East would recognize in the RockWoodchuck its Western cousin, a little bigger, yellower, and brighter inits colours, living in the rocks and blessed with a whistle that wouldfill a small boy with envy. Now, lest the critical should object to thecombination name of "Rock Woodchuck, " it is well to remind them that"Woodchuck" has nothing to do with either "wood" or "chucking, " but isour corrupted form of an Indian name "Ot-choeck, " which is sometimeswritten also "We-jack. " In the ridge of broken rocks just back of Yancey's is a colony of theWhistlers; and there as I sat sketching one day, with my camera at hand, one poked his head up near me and gave me the pose that is seen in thephotograph. THE PACK-RAT AND HIS MUSEUM Among my school fellows was a boy named Waddy who had a mania forcollecting odds, ends, curios, bits of brass or china, shiny things, pebbles, fungus, old prints, bones, business cards, carved peach stones, twisted roots, distorted marbles, or freak buttons. Anything odd orglittering was his especial joy. He had no theory about these things. He did not do anything in particular with them. He found gratificationin spreading them out to gloat over, but I think his chief joy was inthe collecting. And when some comrade was found possessed of a noveltythat stirred his cupidity, the pleasure of planning a campaign to securepossession, the working out of the details, and the glory of success, were more to Waddy than any other form of riches or exploit. [Illustration] The Pack-rat is the Waddy of the mountains, or Waddy was the Pack-rat ofthe school. Imagine, if you would picture the Pack-rat, a small creaturelike a common rat, but with soft fur, a bushy tail, and soulful eyes, living the life of an ordinary rat in the woods, except that it has anextraordinary mania for collecting curios. There can be little doubt that this began in the nest-building idea, andthen, because it was necessary to protect his home, cactus leaves andthorny branches were piled on it. The instinct grew until to-day thenest of a Pack-rat is a mass of rubbish from one to four feet high, andfour to eight feet across. I have examined many of these collections. They are usually around the trunks in a clump of low trees, and consistof a small central nest about eight inches across, warm and soft, with agreat mass of sticks and thorns around and over this, leaving a narrowentrance well-guarded by an array of cactus spines; then on top of all, a most wonderful collection of pine cones, shells, pebbles, bones, scraps of paper and tin, and the skulls of other animals. And when theowner can add to these works of art or vertu a brass cartridge, a buckleor a copper rivet, his little bosom is doubtless filled with the samehigh joy that any great collector might feel on securing a Raphael or aRembrandt. I remember finding an old pipe in one Rat museum. Pistol cartridges areeagerly sought after, so are saddle buckles, even if he has to cut themsurreptitiously from the saddle of some camper. And when any of thesearticles are found missing it is usual to seek out the nearest Rathouse, and here commonly the stolen goods are discovered shamelesslyexposed on top. I remember hearing of a set of false teeth that werelost in camp, but rescued in this very way. A FREE TRADER "Pack" is a Western word meaning "carry, " and thus the Rat that carriesoff things is the "Pack-rat. " But it has another peculiarity. As thoughit had a conscience disturbed by pilfering the treasure of another, itoften brings back what may be considered a fair exchange. Thus asilver-plated spoon may have gone from its associate cup one night, butin that cup you may find a long pine cone or a surplus nail, by whichtoken you may know that a Pack-rat has called and collected. Sometimesthis enthusiastic fancier goes off with food, but leaves something inits place; in one case that I heard of, the Rat, either with a sense ofhumour or a mistaken idea of food values, after having carried off thecamp biscuit, had filled the vacant dish with the round pellets known as"Elk sign. " But evidently there is a disposition to deal fair; not tosteal, but to trade. For this reason the creature is widely known as the"Trade Rat. " [Illustration] Although I have known the Pack-rat for years in the mountains, I neversaw one within the strict lines of the Yellowstone sanctuary. But theguides all assure me that they are found and manifest the samedisposition here as elsewhere. So that if you should lose sundry brightthings around camp, or some morning find your boots stuffed withpebbles, deer sign, or thorns, do not turn peevish or charge the guidewith folly; it means, simply, you have been visited by a Mountain Rat, and any _un_eatables you miss will doubtless be found in his museum, which will be discovered within a hundred yards--a mass of sticks andrubbish under a tree--with some bright and shiny things on the topwhere the owner can sit amongst them on sunny days, and gloat till hislittle black eyes are a-swim, and his small heart filled with holy joy. THE UPHEAVER--THE MOLE-GOPHER [Illustration: Pack-rat nest] As you cross any of the level, well-grassed prairie regions in theYellowstone you will see piles of soft earth thrown up in littlehillocks, sometimes a score or more of them bunched together. Thedrivers will tell you that these are molehills, which isn't quite true. For the Mole is a creature unknown in the Park, and the animal thatmakes these mounds is exceedingly abundant. It is the commonMole-gopher, a gopher related very distantly to the Prairie-dog andMountain Whistler, but living the underground life of a Mole, though noteven in the same order as that interesting miner, for the Mole-gopher isa rodent (Order _Rodentia_) and the Mole a bug-eater (Order_Insectivora_); just as different as Lion and Caribou. The Mole-gopher is about the size of a rat, but has a short tail andrelatively immense forepaws and claws. It is indeed wonderfullydeveloped as a digger. Examine the mound of earth thrown up. If it is a fair example, it willmake fully half a bushel. Next count the mounds that are within aradius of fifty paces; probably all are the work of this Gopher, orrather this pair, for they believe in team play. Search over the ground carefully, and you will discern that there arescores of ancient mounds flattened by the weather, and traces ofhundreds, perhaps, that date from remote years. Now multiply the size of one mound by the number of mounds, and you willhave some idea of the work done by this pair. Finally, remembering thatthere may be a pair of Gophers for every acre in the Park, estimate thetons of earth moved by one pair and multiply it by the acres in thePark, and you will get an idea of the work done by those energeticrodents as a body, and you will realize how well he has won his Indianname, the "Upheaver. " We are accustomed to talk of upheaval in geology as a frightful upset ofall nature, but here before our eyes is going on an upheaval of enormousextent and importance, but so gently and pleasantly done that we enjoyevery phase of the process. [Illustration: The Mole-gopher] * * * * * III Famous Fur-bearers-- * * * * * III Famous Fur-bearers FOX, MARTEN, BEAVER, AND OTTER Fair Lady Multo Millionaire riding in the dusty stagecoach, comparing asyou go the canyons of the Yellowstone with memories of Colorado, Overland, and Stalheim, you, in your winter home, know all about fur asit enters your world with its beauty, its warmth, its price--its gaugeof the wearer's pocket. Let me add a segment of the circle to round yourknowledge out. When nature peopled with our four-foot kin the cold north lands, it wasnecessary to clothe these little brethren of ours in a coat that shouldbe absolutely warm, light, durable, of protective colour, thick in coldweather, thin in warm. Under these conditions she produced _fur_, withits densely woolly undercoat and its long, soft, shining outer coat, onefor warmth, the other for wet and wear. Some northern animals can storeup food in holes or in the fat of their bodies, so need not be out whenthe intensest cold is on the land. Some have to face the weather allwinter, and in these we find the fur of its best quality. Of this classare the Marten and the Northern Fox. They are the finest, warmest, lightest, softest of all furs. But colour is a cardinal point whenbeauty is considered and where fashion is Queen. So the choicest coloursare the soft olive brown with silver hairs, found in the Russian Sable, and the glossy black with silver hairs, found in the true Silver Fox ofthe North. THE MOST WONDERFUL FUR IN THE WORLD What is the Silver Fox? Simply a black freak, a brunette born into ared-headed family. But this does not cast any reflection on the motheror on father's lineage. On the contrary, it means that they had in theman element of exceptional vigour, which resulted in a peculiarintensifying of all pigments, transmuting red into black and carryingwith it an unusual vigour of growth and fineness of texture, producing, in short, the world-famed Silver Fox, the lightest, softest, thickest, warmest, and most lustrous of furs, the fur worth many times its weightin gold, and with this single fault, that it does not stand long wear. [Illustration] [Illustration: V. Red Fox_Captive; photo by E. T. Seton_] [Illustration: VI. Foxes quarrelling_Captive; photo by E. T. Seton_] Cold and exposure are wonderful stimulants of the skin, and so it is notsurprising that the real Silver Fox should appear only in very coldclimates. Owing to its elevation the Yellowstone Park has the winterclimate of northern Canada, and, as might have been predicted, theSilver Fox occurs among the many red-headed or bleached blonde Foxesthat abound in the half open country. You may travel all round the stage route and neither see nor hear a Fox, but travel quietly on foot, or better, camp out, and you will soondiscover the crafty one in yellow, or, rather, he will discover you. How? Usually after you have camped for the night and are sitting quietlyby the fire before the hour of sleep, a curious squall is heard from thedark hillside or bushes, a squall followed by a bark like that of a toyterrier. Sometimes it keeps on at intervals for five minutes, andsometimes it is answered by a similar noise. This is the bark of a Fox. It differs from the Coyote call in being very short, very squally, muchhigher pitched, and without any barks in it that would do credit to afair-sized dog. It is no use to go after him. You won't see him. Youshould rather sit and enjoy the truly wildwood ring of his music. In the morning if you look hard in the dust and mud, you may find histracks, and once in a while you will see his yellow-brown form driftingon the prairie as though wind-blown under sail of that enormous tail. For this is the big-tailed variety of Red Fox. But if you wish to see the Fox in all his glory you must be here inwinter, when the deep snow cutting off all other foods brings all theFox population about the hotels whose winter keepers daily throw outscraps for which the Foxes, the Magpies, and a dozen other creatureswait and fight. From a friend, connected with one of the Park hotels during the early'90's, I learned that among the big-tailed pensioners of the inn, thereappeared one winter a wonderful Silver Fox; and I heard many rumoursabout that Fox. I was told that he disappeared, and did not die ofsickness, old age, or wild-beast violence; and what I heard I may tellin a different form, only, be it remembered, the names of the personsand places are disguised, as well as the date; and my informant may havebrought in details that belonged elsewhere. So that you are free toquestion much of the account, but the backbone of it is not open todoubt, and some of the guides in the Park can give you details that I donot care to put on paper. THE POACHER AND THE SILVER FOX How is it that all mankind has a sneaking sympathy with a poacher? Aburglar or a pickpocket has our unmitigated contempt; he clearly is acriminal; but you will notice that the poacher in the story is generallya reckless dare-devil with a large and compensatory amount ofgood-fellow in his make-up--yes, I almost said, of good citizenship. Isuppose, because in addition to the breezy, romantic character of hiscalling, seasoned with physical danger as well as moral risk, there isaway down in human nature a strong feeling that, in spite of man-madelaws, the ancient ruling holds that "wild game belongs to no man tillsome one makes it his property by capture. " It may be wrong, it may beright, but I have heard this doctrine voiced by red men and white, asprimitive law, once or twice; and have seen it lived up to a thousandtimes. Well, Josh Cree was a poacher. This does not mean that every night inevery month he went forth with nefarious tricks and tools, to steal theflesh and fur that legally were not his. Far from it. Josh never poachedbut once. But that's enough; he had crossed the line, and this is how itcame about: As you roll up the Yellowstone from Livingston to Gardiner you may notea little ranch-house on the west of the track with its log stables, itscorral, its irrigation ditch, and its alfalfa patch of morbid green. Itis a small affair, for it was founded by the handiwork of one honestman, who with his wife and small boy left Pennsylvania, braved everydanger of the plains, and secured this claim in the late '80's. Old manCree--he was only forty, but every married man is "Old Man" in theWest--was ready to work at any honest calling from logging or sluicingto grading and muling. He was strong and steady, his wife was steady andstrong. They saved their money, and little by little they got the smallranch-house built and equipped; little by little they added to theirstock on the range with the cattle of a neighbour, until there came thehappy day when they went to live on their own ranch--father, mother, andfourteen-year-old Josh, with every prospect of making it pay. Thespreading of that white tablecloth for the first time was a realreligious ceremony, and the hard workers gave thanks to the All-fatherfor His blessing on their every effort. One year afterward a new event brought joy; there entered happily intotheir happy house a little girl, and all the prairie smiled about them. Surely their boat was well beyond the breakers. [Illustration] [Illustration] But right in the sunshine of their joy the trouble cloud arose to blockthe sky. Old man Cree was missing one day. His son rode long and far onthe range for two hard days before he sighted a grazing pony, and down arocky hollow near, found his father, battered and weak, near death, witha broken leg and a gash in his head. He could only gasp "Water" as Josh hurried up, and the boy rushed off tofill his hat at the nearest stream. [Illustration] They had no talk, for the father swooned after drinking, and Josh had toface the situation; but he was Western trained. He stripped himself ofall spare clothing, and his father's horse of its saddle blanket; then, straightening out the sick man, he wrapped him in the clothes andblanket, and rode like mad for the nearest ranch-house. The neighbour, ayoung man, came at once, with a pot to make tea, an axe, and a rope. They found the older Cree conscious but despairing. A fire was made, andhot tea revived him. Then Josh cut two long poles from the nearesttimber and made a stretcher, or travois, Indian fashion, the upper endsfast to the saddle of a horse, while the other ends trailed on theground. Thus by a long, slow journey the wounded man got back. All hehad prayed for was to get home. Every invalid is sure that if only hecan get home all will soon be well. Mother was not yet strong, the babyneeded much care, but Josh was a good boy, and the loving best of allwas done for the sick one. His leg, set by the army surgeon of FortYellowstone, was knit again after a month, but had no power. He had noforce; the shock of those two dire days was on him. The second monthwent by, and still he lay in bed. Poor Josh was the man of the placenow, and between duties, indoors and out, he was worn body and soul. Then it was clear they must have help. So Jack S---- was engaged at theregular wages of $40 a month for outside work, and a year of strugglewent by, only to see John Cree in his grave, his cattle nearly all gone, his widow and boy living in a house on which was still $500 of theoriginal mortgage. Josh was a brave boy and growing strong, butunboyishly grave with the weight of care. He sold off the few cattlethat were left, and set about keeping the roof over his mother and babysister by working a truck farm for the market supplied by the summerhotels of the Park, and managed to come out even. He would in time havedone well, but he could not get far enough ahead to meet that 10 percent mortgage already overdue. The banker was not a hard man, but he was in the business for thebusiness. He extended the time, and waited for interest again and again, but it only made the principal larger, and it seemed that the last ditchwas reached, that it would be best to let the money-man foreclose, though that must mean a wipe-out and would leave the fatherless familyhomeless. [Illustration] Winter was coming on, work was scarce, and Josh went to Gardiner to seewhat he could get in the way of house or wage. He learned of a chance to'substitute' for the Park mail-carrier, who had sprained his foot. Itwas an easy drive to Fort Yellowstone, and there he readily agreed, whenthey asked him, to take the letters and packages and go on farther tothe Canyon Hotel. Thus it was that on the 20th day of November 189--, Josh Cree, sixteen years old, tall and ruddy, rode through the snow tothe kitchen door of the Canyon Hotel and was welcomed as though he wereold Santa Claus himself. [Illustration] Two Magpies on a tree were among the onlookers. The Park Bears weredenned up, but there were other fur-bearers about. High on the wood-pilesat a Yellow Red Fox in a magnificent coat. Another was in front of thehouse, and the keeper said that as many as a dozen came some days. Andsometimes, he said, there also came a wonderful Silver Fox, a sizebigger than the rest, black as coal, with eyes like yellow diamonds, anda silver frosting like little stars on his midnight fur. "My! but he's a beauty. That skin would buy the best team of mules onthe Yellowstone. " That was interesting and furnished talk for a while. In the morning when they were rising for their candlelight breakfast, the hotel man glancing from the window exclaimed, "Here he is now!" andJosh peered forth to see in the light of sunrise something he had oftenheard of, but never before seen, a coal-black Fox, a giant among hiskind. How slick and elegant his glossy fur, how slim his legs, and whata monstrous bushy tail; and the other Foxes moved aside as the patricianrushed in impatient haste to seize the food thrown out by the cook. "Ain't he a beauty?" said the hotel man. "I'll bet that pelt would fetchfive hundred. " Oh, why did he say "five hundred, " the exact sum, for then it was thatthe tempter entered into Josh Cree's heart. Five hundred dollars! justthe amount of the mortgage. "Who owns wild beasts? The man that killsthem, " said the tempter, and the thought was a live one in his breast asJosh rode back to Fort Yellowstone. [Illustration] At Gardiner he received his pay, $6, for three days' work and, turningit into groceries, set out for the poor home that soon would be lost tohim, and as he rode he did some hard and gloomy thinking. On his wristthere hung a wonderful Indian quirt of plaited rawhide and horsehairwith beads on the shaft, and a band of Elk teeth on the butt. It was apet of his, and "good medicine, " for a flat piece of elkhorn let in themiddle was perforated with a hole, through which the distant landscapewas seen much clearer--a well-known law, an ancient trick, but it madethe quirt prized as a thing of rare virtue, and Josh had refused goodoffers for it. Then a figure afoot was seen, and coming nearer, itturned out to be a friend, Jack Day, out a-gunning with a . 22 rifle. Butgame was scarce and Jack was returning to Gardiner empty-handed anddisgusted. They stopped for a moment's greeting when Day said: "Huntin'splayed out now. How'll you swap that quirt for my rifle?" A month beforeJosh would have scorned the offer. A ten-dollar quirt for a five-dollarrifle, but now he said briefly: "For rifle with cover, tools andammunition complete, I'll go ye. " So the deal was made and in an hourJosh was home. He stabled Grizzle, the last of their saddle stock, andentered. [Illustration] Love and sorrow dwelt in the widow's home, but the return of Joshbrought its measure of joy. Mother prepared the regular meal of tea, potatoes, and salt pork; there was a time when they had soared as highas canned goods, but those prosperous days were gone. Josh was dandlingbaby sister on his lap as he told of his trip, and he learned of twothings of interest: First, the bank must have its money by February;second, the stable at Gardiner wanted a driver for the Cook City stage. Then the little events moved quickly. His half-formed plan of gettingback to the Canyon was now frustrated by the new opening, and, besidesthis, hope had been dampened by the casual word of one who reported that"that Silver Fox had not been seen since at the Canyon. " Then began long days of dreary driving through the snow, with a noonhalt at Yancey's and then three days later the return, in the cold, thebiting cold. It was freezing work, but coldest of all was the chillthought at his heart that February 1st would see him homeless. [Illustration] Small bands of Mountain Sheep he saw at times on the slope of Evarts, and a few Blacktail, and later, when the winter deepened, huge bull Elkwere seen along the trail. Sometimes they moved not more than a fewpaces to let him pass. These were everyday things to him, but in thesecond week of his winter work he got a sudden thrill. He was comingdown the long hill back of Yancey's when what should he see there, sitting on its tail, shiny black with yellow eyes like a huge black catunusually long and sharp in the nose, but a wonderful Silver Fox!Possibly the same as the one he saw at the Canyon, for that one he knewhad disappeared and there were not likely to be two in the Park. Yes, itmight be the same, and Josh's bosom surged with mingled feelings. Whydid he not carry that little gun? Why did he not realize? Were thethoughts that came--$500! A noble chance! broad daylight onlytwenty-five yards! and gone! The Fox was still there when Josh drove on. On the next trip he broughtthe little rifle. He had sawed off the stock so he could hide it easilyin his overcoat if need be. No man knew that he carried arms, but theFoxes seemed to know. The Red ones kept afar and the Black one came nomore. Day after day he drove and hoped but the Black Fox has cunningmeasured to his value. He came not, or if he came, was wisely hidden, and so the month went by, till late in the cold Moon of Snow he heardold Yancey, say "There's a Silver Fox bin a-hanging around the stablethis last week. Leastwise Dave says he seen him. " There were soldierssitting around that stove, game guardians of the Park, and still moredangerous, a scout, the soldiers' guide, a mountaineer. Josh turned notan inch, he made no sound in response, but his heart gave a jump. Halfan hour later he went out to bed his horses for the night, and peeringaround the stable he saw a couple of shadowy forms that silently shifteduntil swallowed by the gloom. Then the soldiers came to bed their horses, and Josh went back to thestove. His big driving coat hung with the little sawed-off rifle in thelong pocket. He waited till the soldiers one by one went up the ladderto the general bunk-room. He rose again, got the lantern, lighted it, carried it out behind the lonely stable. The horses were grinding theirhay, the stars were faintly lighting the snow. There was no one about ashe hung the lantern under the eaves outside so that it could be seenfrom the open valley, but not from the house. [Illustration] A faint _Yap-yah_, of a Fox was heard on the piney hillside, as he laydown on the hay in the loft, but there were no signs of life on thesnow. He had come to wait all night if need be, and waited. The lanternmight allure, it might scare, but it was needed in this gloom, and ittinged the snow with faint yellow light below him. An hour went by, thena big-tailed form came near and made a little bark at the lantern. Itlooked very dark, but it had a paler patch on the throat. This waitingwas freezing work; Josh's teeth were chattering in spite of hisovercoat. Another gray form came, then a much larger black one shapeditself on the white. It dashed at the first, which fled, and the secondone followed but a little, and then sat down on the snow, gazing at thatbright light. When you are sure, you are _so_ sure--Josh knew him now, he was facing the Silver Fox. But the light was dim. Josh's handtrembled as he bared it to lay the back on his lips and suck so as tomake a mousey squeak. The effect on the Fox was instant. He glidedforward intent as a hunting cat. Again he stood in, oh! such a wonderfulpose, still as a statue, frozen like a hiding partridge, unbudging as alone kid Antelope in May. And Josh raised--yes, he had come for that--heraised that fatal gun. The lantern blazed in the Fox's face at twentyyards; the light was flung back doubled by its shining eyes; it lookedperfectly clear. Josh lined the gun, but, strange to tell, the sights soplain were lost at once, and the gun was shaking like a sorghum stalkwhile the Gopher gnaws its root. [Illustration] He laid the weapon down with a groan, cursed his own poor tremblinghand, and in an instant the wonder Fox was gone. Poor Josh! He wasn't bad-tongued, but now he used all the evil words hehad ever heard, and he was Western bred. Then he reacted on himself. "The Fox might come back!" Suddenly he remembered something. He got outa common sulphur match. He wet it on his lips and rubbed it on themuzzle sight: Then on each side of the notch on the breech sight. Helined it for a tree. Yes! surely! What had been a blur of blackness hadnow a visible form. A faint bark on a far hillside might mean a coming or a going Fox. Joshwaited five minutes, then again he squeaked on his bare hand. The effectwas a surprise when from the shelter of the stable wall ten feet belowthere leaped the great dark Fox. At fifteen feet it paused. Those yelloworbs were fiery in the light and the rifle sights with the specks offire were lined. There was a sharp report and the black-robed fur wasstill and limp in the snow. Who can tell the crack of a small rifle among the louder cracks of greenlogs splitting with the fierce frost of a Yellowstone winter's night?Why should travel-worn, storm-worn travellers wake at each slight, usual sound? Who knows? Who cares? * * * * * And afar in Livingston what did the fur dealer care? It was a greatprize--or the banker? he got his five hundred, and mother found it easyto accept the Indians' creed: "Who owns wild beasts? The man who killsthem. " "I did not know how it would come, " she said; "I only knew it wouldcome, for I prayed and believed. " We know that it came when it meant the most. The house was saved. It wasthe turn in their fortune's tide, and the crucial moment of the changewas when those three bright sulphur spots were lined with the livinglamps in the head of the Silver Fox. Yes! Josh was a poacher. Just once. [Illustration] THE VILLAIN IN VELVET--THE MARTEN This beautiful animal, the Sable of America, with its rich brown fur andits golden throat, comes naturally after the Silver Fox, for such is therelative value of their respective coats. The Fox is a small wild dog; the Marten is a large tree Weasel. It is acreature of amazing agility, so much so that it commonly runs down theRed-squirrel among the tree tops. Its food consists mainly of mice and Squirrels, but it kills Rabbits andGrouse when it can find them, and sometimes even feasts on game of a farmore noble size. Tom Newcomb, my old guide, has given me an interesting note on theMarten, made while he was acting as hunting guide in the ShoshoniMountains. In October, 1911, he was out with Baron D' Epsen and his party, huntingon Miller Creek east of Yellowstone Park. They shot at a Deer. It ranoff as though unharmed, but turned to run down hill, and soon the snowshowed that it was spurting blood on both sides. They followed for threeor four hundred yards, and then the Deer track was joined by the tracksof five Marten. In a few minutes they found the Deer down and the fiveMarten, a family probably, darting about in the near trees, making theirpeculiar soft purr as though in anticipation of the feast, which wasdelayed only by the coming of the hunters. These attempts to share withthe killers of big game are often seen. [Illustration] THE INDUSTRIOUS BEAVER In some respects the Beaver is the most notable animal in the West. Itwas the search for Beaver skins that led adventurers to explore theRocky Mountains, and to open up the whole northwest of the UnitedStates and Canada. It is the Beaver to-day that is the chief incentiveto poachers in the Park, but above all the Beaver is the animal thatmost manifests its intelligence by its works, forestalls man in much ofhis best construction, and amazes us by the well-considered labour ofits hands. [Illustration: VII. Beaver: (a) Pond and house; (b) Stumps of tree cutand removed by Beaver, near Yancey's, 1897_Photos by E. T. Seton_] [Illustration: VIII. Mule-deer_Photo by E. T. Seton_] [Illustration] There was a time when the Beaver's works and wisdom were so new andastounding that super-human intelligence was ascribed to this fur-cladengineer. Then the scoffers came and reduced him to the low level of hisnear kin, and explained the accounts of his works as mere fairy tales. Now we have got back to the middle of the road. We find him a creatureof intelligence far above that of his near kinsmen, and endowed withsome extraordinary instincts that guide him in making dams, houses, etc. , that are unparalleled in the animal world. Here are the principaldeliberate constructions of the Beaver: First the lodge. The Beaver wasthe original inventor of reinforced concrete. He has used it for amillion years, in the form of mud mixed with sticks and stones, forbuilding his lodge and dam. The lodge is the home of the family; thatis, it shelters usually one old male, one old female and sundryoffspring. It is commonly fifteen to twenty feet across outside, andthree to five feet high. Within is a chamber about two feet high and sixfeet across, well above water and provided with a ventilator through theroof, also two entering passages under water, one winding for ordinarytraffic, and one straight for carrying in wood, whose bark is a staplefood. This house is kept perfectly tidy, and when the branch is strippedof all eatable parts, it is taken out and worked into the dam, which isa crooked bank of mud and sticks across the running stream. It holds thewater so as to moat the Beaver Castle. [Illustration] But the canal is one of this animal's most interesting undertakings. Itis strictly a freight canal for bringing in food-logs, and is dug outacross level ground toward the standing timber. Canals are commonly three or four hundred feet long, about three feetwide and two feet deep. There was a small but good example at Yancey'sin 1897; it was only seventy feet long. The longest I ever saw was inthe Adirondacks, N. Y. ; it was six hundred and fifty-four feet in lengthfollowing the curves, two or three feet wide and about two feet deep. Three other Beaver structures should be noticed. One, the dock or plungehole, which is a deep place by a sharply raised bank, both made withcareful manual labour. Next, the sunning place, generally an ant-hillon which the Beaver lies to enjoy a sun-bath, while the ants pick thecreepers out of his fur. Third, the mud-pie. This is a little patty ofmud mixed with a squeeze of the castor or body-scent glands. It answersthe purpose of a register, letting all who call know that so and so hasrecently been here. The chief food of the Beaver, at least its favourite food, is aspen, also called quaking asp or poplar; where there are no poplars there areno Beavers. THE DAM Usually the Beavers start a dam on some stream, right opposite a goodgrove of poplars. When these are all cut down and the bark used forfood, the Beaver makes a second dam on the same stream, always with aview to having deep water for safety, close by poplars for food. In thisway I found the Beavers at Yancey's in 1897 had constructed thirteendams in succession. But when I examined the ground again in 1912, thedams were broken, the ponds all dry. Why? The answer is very simple. TheBeavers had used up all the food. Instead of the little aspen grovesthere were now nothing but stumps, and the Beavers had moved elsewhere. [Illustration: Beaver using his Tail as a Trowel] Similarly in 1897 the largest Beaver pond in the Park was at ObsidianCliff. I should say the dam there was over four hundred yards long. Butnow it is broken and the pond is drained. And the reason as before--theBeavers used all the food and moved on. Of course the dam is soon brokenwhen the hardworking ones are not there in their eternal vigilance tokeep it tight. There are many good Beaver ponds near Yancey's now and probably made bythe same colonies of Beavers as those I studied there. Last September I found a fine lots of dams and dammers on the southeastside of Yellowstone Lake where you may go on a camera hunt withcertainty of getting Beaver pictures. Yes, in broad daylight. Let me correct here some popular errors about the Beaver: It does not use its tail as a trowel. It does not use big logs in building a dam. It does not and cannot drive stakes. It cannot throw a tree in any given way. It finishes the lodge outside with sticks, not mud. THE OTTER AND HIS SLIDE [Illustration] Every one of us that ever was a small boy and rejoiced in belly-bumpingdown some icy hill, on a sled of glorious red, should have a brotherlysympathy for the Otter. While in a large sense this beautiful animal belongs to the Weaselfamily, it has so far progressed that it is one of the merriest, best-natured, unsanguinary creatures that ever caught their prey alive. This may be largely owing to the fact that it has taken entirely to afish diet; for without any certain knowledge of the reason, we observethat fisherfolk are gentler than hunterfolk, and the Otter among hisWeasel kin affords a good illustration of this. We find the animals going through much the same stages as we do. First, the struggle for food, then for mates, and later, when they have nocause to worry about either, they seek for entertainment. Quite a numberof our animals have invented amusements. Usually these are mere games oftag, catch, or tussle, but some have gone farther and have a regularinstitution, with a set place to meet, and apparatus provided. This isthe highest form of all, and one of the best illustrations of it isfound in the jovial Otter. Coasting is an established game with thisanimal; and probably every individual of the species frequents someOtter slide. This is any convenient steep hill or bank, sloping downinto deep water, prepared by much use, and worn into a smooth shootthat becomes especially serviceable when snow or ice are there to act aslightning lubricants. And here the Otters will meet, old and young, maleand female, without any thought but the joy of fun together, and shootdown one after the other, swiftly, and swifter still, as the hill growssmooth with use, and plump into the water and out again; and chase eachother with little animal gasps of glee, each striving to make the shootmore often and more quickly than the others. And all of this charmingscene, this group and their merry game, is unquestionably for the simplesocial joy of being together in an exercise which gives to them thedelicious, exhilarating sensation of speeding through space withouteither violence or effort. In fact, for the very same reason that youand I went coasting when we were boys. Do not fail to get one of the guides to show you the Otter slides as youtravel about the lake. Some of them are good and some are poor. The verybest are seen after the snow has come, but still you can see them withyour own eyes, and if you are very lucky and very patient you may berewarded by the sight of these merry creatures indulging in a game whichclosely parallels so many of our own. * * * * * IV Horns and Hoofs and Legs of Speed * * * * * IV Horns and Hoofs and Legs of Speed THE BOUNDING BLACKTAIL When Lewis and Clark reached the Big Sioux River in Dakota, on theirfamous journey up the Missouri, one hundred and ten years ago, they met, on the very edge and beginning of its range, the Mule Deer, and addedthe new species to their collection. It is the characteristic Deer of the rough country from Mexico toBritish Columbia, and from California to Manitoba; and is one of thekinds most easily observed in the Yellowstone Sanctuary. [Illustration] Driving from Gardiner, passing under the Great Tower of Eagle Rock onwhich an Osprey has nested year after year as far back as the recordsgo, and wheeling into the open space in front of the Mammoth Hot SpringsHotel, one is almost sure to come on a family of Deer wandering acrossthe lawn, or posing among the shrubbery, with all the artless grace ofthe truly wild creature. These are the representatives of severalhundred that collect in fall on and about this lawn, but are nowscattered for the summer season over the adjoining hills, to come again, no doubt in increased numbers, when the first deep snow shall warn themto seek their winter range. Like the other animals, these are natives of the region and truly wild, but so educated by long letting alone that it is easy to approach withina few yards. The camera hunter should not fail to use this opportunity, not onlybecause they are wild and beautiful things, but because he can have thefilms developed at the hotel over night, and so find out how his camerais behaving in this new light and surroundings. [Illustration] This is the common Blacktailed Deer of the hill country, called MuleDeer on account of its huge ears and the shape of its tail. In Canada Iknew it by the name of "Jumping Deer, " from its gait, and in the Rockiesit is familiar as the "Bounding Blacktail"--"Bounding" because of thewonderful way in which it strikes the ground with its legs held stiffly, then rises in the air with little apparent effort, and lands some ten orfifteen feet away. As the hunters say, "The Blacktail hits only the highplaces in the landscape. " On the level it does not run so well as theAntelope or the Whitetailed Deer, and I often wondered why it hadadopted this laborious mode of speeding, which seemed so inferior to thenormal pace of its kin. But at length I was eyewitness of an episodethat explained the puzzle. THE MOTHER BLACKTAIL'S RACE FOR LIFE [Illustration] In the fall of 1897 I was out for a Wolf hunt with the Eaton boys in theBadlands near Medora, N. D. We had a fine mixed pack of dogs, trailers, runners, and fighters. The runners were thoroughbred greyhounds, thatcould catch any four-foot on the plains except perhaps a buck Antelope;that I saw them signally fail in. But a Wolf, or even the swift Coyote, had no chance of getting away from them provided they could keep him inview. We started one of these singers of the plains, and at first he setoff trusting to his legs, but the greyhounds were after him, and when hesaw his long start shrinking so fearfully fast he knew that his legscould not save him, that now was the time for wits to enter the game. And this entry he made quickly and successfully by dropping out of sightdown a brushy canyon, so the greyhounds saw him no more. Then they were baffled by Prairie-dogs which dodged down out of reachand hawks which rose up out of reach, and still we rode, till, roundinga little knoll near a drinking place, we came suddenly on a motherBlacktail and her two fawns. All three swung their big ears and eyesinto full bearing on us, and we reined our horses and tried to check ourdogs, hoping they had not seen the quarry that we did not wish to harm. But Bran the leader gave a yelp, then leaping high over the sage, directed all the rest, and in a flash it was a life and death race. Again and frantically the elder Eaton yelled "Come back!" and hisbrother tried to cut across and intercept the hounds. But a creaturethat runs away is an irresistible bait to a greyhound, and the chaseacross the sage-covered flat was on, with every nerve and tendonstrained. [Illustration: X. Blacktail Family_Photo by E. T. Seton_] Away went the Blacktail, bounding, bounding at that famous beautiful, birdlike, soaring pace, mother and young tapping the ground and sailingto land, and tap and sail again. And away went the greyhounds, lowcoursing, outstretched, bounding like bolts from a crossbow, curving butlittle and dropping only to be shot again. They were straining hard; theBlacktail seemed to be going more easily, far more beautifully. Butalas! they were losing time. The greyhounds were closing; in vain weyelled at them. We spurred our horses, hoping to cut them off, hoping tostop the ugly, lawless tragedy. But the greyhounds were frantic now. Thedistance between Bran and the hindmost fawn was not forty feet. ThenEaton drew his revolver and fired shots over the greyhounds' heads, hoping to scare them into submission, but they seemed to draw freshstimulus from each report, and yelped and bounded faster. A little moreand the end would be. Then we saw a touching sight. The hindmost fawnlet out a feeble bleat of distress, and the mother, heeding, droppedback between. It looked like choosing death, for now she had not twentyfeet of lead. I wanted Eaton to use his gun on the foremost hound, whensomething unexpected happened. The flat was crossed, the Blacktailreached a great high butte, and tapping with their toes they soared somefifteen feet and tapped again; and tapped and tapped and soared, and sothey went like hawks that are bounding in the air, and the greyhounds, peerless on the plain, were helpless on the butte. Yes! rush as theymight and did, and bounded and clomb, but theirs was not the way of thehills. In twenty heartbeats they were left behind. The Blacktail motherwith her twins kept on and soared and lightly soared till lost to view, and all were safely hidden in their native hills. [Illustration: XI. Blacktail mother with her twins_Photo by E. T. Seton_] THE BLACKTAIL'S SAFETY IS IN THE HILLS That day I learned the reason for the bounding flight, so beautiful, butnot the best or swiftest on the plain, yet the one that gives themdominion and safety on the hills, that makes of them a hill folk thatthe dangers of the plain can never reach. So now, O traveller in the Park, if you approach too near the Blacktailfeeding near the great hotel, and so alarm them--for they are trulywild--they make not for the open run as do the Antelope and the Hares, not for the thickest bottomland as do the Whitetail and the Lynxes, butfor the steeper hillsides. They know right well where their safety lies, and on that near and bushy bank, laying aside all alarm, they group andpose in artless grace that tempts one to a lavish use of films and givesthe chance for that crowning triumph of the art, a wild animal group, none of which is looking at the camera. One more characteristic incident: In 1897 I was riding, with my wife, from Yancey's over to Baronett's Bridge, when we came on a young buckBlacktail. Now, said I, "I am going to show you the most wonderful andbeautiful thing to be seen in the way of wild life speeding. You shallnow see the famous bounding of the Blacktail. " Then I spurred out afterthe young buck, knowing that all he needed was a little alarm to makehim perform. Did he take alarm and run? Not at all. He was in theYellowstone Sanctuary. He knew nothing of guns or dogs; he had lived allhis life in safety. He would trot a few steps out of my way, then turnand gaze at me, but run, bound, and make for the high land, not a bit ofit. And to this day my fair companion has not seen the Blacktailbounding up the hills. THE ELK OR WAPITI--THE NOBLEST OF ALL DEER The Rocky Mountain Elk, or Wapiti, is the finest of all true Deer. Thecows weigh 400 to 500 pounds, the bulls 600 or 800, but occasionally1000. At several of the hotels a small herd is kept in a corral for thepleasure and photography of visitors. The latest official census puts the summer population of Elk in theYellowstone Park at 35, 000, but the species is migratory, at least tothe extent of seeking a winter feeding ground with as little snow aspossible, so that most of them move out as snow time sets in. Smallherds linger in the rich and sheltered valleys along the Yellowstone, Snake and nearby rivers, but the total of those wintering in the Parkis probably less than 5, 000. STALKING A BAND OF ELK [Illustration] In the summer months the best places in which to look for these Deer areall the higher forests, especially along the timber-line. I had aninteresting stalk after a large band of them among the woods of TowerFalls in the June of 1897. I had found the trail of a considerable herdand followed it up the mountain till the "sign" was fresh. Then I tiedup my horse and went forward on foot. For these animals are sufficientlyacquainted with man as a mischief-maker to be vigilant in avoiding him, even in the Park. I was cautiously crawling from tree to tree, when outacross an open space I descried a cow Elk and her calf lying down. Alittle more crawling and I sighted a herd all lying down and chewing thecud. About twenty yards away was a stump whose shelter offered chancesto use the camera, but my present position promised nothing, so I setout carefully to cross the intervening space in plain view of scores ofElk; and all would have been well but for a pair of mischievous littleChipmunks. They started a most noisy demonstration against my approach, running back and forth across my path, twittering and flashing theirtails about. In vain I prayed for a paralytic stroke to fall on mysmall tormentors. Their aggravating plan, if plan it was, they succeededin fully carrying out. The Elk turned all their megaphone ears, theirfunnel noses and their blazing telescopic eyes my way. I lay like a logand waited; so did they. Then the mountain breeze veered suddenly andbore the taint of man to those watchful mothers. They sprang to theirfeet, some fifty head at least, half of them with calves by their sides, and away they dashed with a roaring sound, and a rattling and crashingof branches that is wonderfully impressive to hear, and nothing at allto tell about. I had made one or two rough sketches as I lay on the ground, but thephotographs were failures. [Illustration: XII. A young investigator among the Deer at FortYellowstone_Photo by E. T. Seton_] [Illustration: XIII. Elk in Wyoming: (a) "Dawn" _Photo by E. T. Seton_(b) "Nightfall" _Photo by G. G. Seton_] This band contained only cows engaged in growing their calves. Accordingto Elk etiquette, the bulls are off by themselves at a much higherelevation, engaged in the equally engrossing occupation of growing theirantlers. Most persons are surprised greatly when first they learn thatthe huge antlers of the Elk, as with most deer, are grown and shed eachyear. It takes only five months to grow them. They are perfect in lateSeptember for the fighting season, and are shed in March. The bull Elknow shapes his conduct to his weaponless condition. He becomes as meekas he was warlike. And so far from battling with all of their own sexthat come near, these big "moollys" gather in friendly stag-parties on abasis of equal loss, and haunt the upper woods whose pasture is richenough to furnish the high power nutriment needed to offset theexhausting drain of growing such mighty horns in such minimum time. They are more free from flies too in these high places, which isimportant, for even the antlers are sensitive while growing. They areeven more sensitive than the rest of the body, besides being lessprotected and more temptingly filled with blood. A mosquito would surelythink he had struck it rich if he landed on the hot, palpitating end ofa Wapiti's thin-skinned, blood-gorged antlers. It is quite probable thatsome of the queer bumps we see on the finished weapons are due tomosquito or fly stings suffered in the early period of formation. THE BUGLING ELK During the summer the bulls attend strictly to their self-development, but late August sees them ready to seek once more the mixed society oftheir kind. Their horns are fully grown, but are not quite hardened andare still covered with velvet. By the end of September these weapons arehard and cleaned and ready for use, just as a thrilling change sets inin the body and mind of the bull. He is full of strength and vigour, hiscoat is sleek, his neck is swollen, his muscles are tense, his horns areclean, sharp, and strong, and at their heaviest. A burning ambition todistinguish himself in war, and win favours from the shy ladies of hiskind, grows in him to a perfect insanity; goaded by desire, boiling withanimal force, and raging with war-lust, he mounts some ridge in thevalley and pours forth his very soul in a wild far-reaching battle-cry. Beginning low and rising in pitch to a veritable scream of piercingintensity, it falls to a rumbled growl, which broken into shorter growlsdies slowly away. This is the famed bugling of the Elk, and howevergrotesque it may seem when heard in a zoo, is admitted by all who knowit in its homeland to be the most inspiring music in nature--because ofwhat it means. Here is this magnificent creature, big as a horse, strongas a bull, and fierce as a lion, standing in all the pride and glory ofhis primest prime, announcing to all the world: "I am out for a fight!Do any of you want a F-I-G-H-T----!-!-!?" Nor does he usually have longto wait. From some far mountainside the answer comes: "Yes, yes, yes! _Yes, I Do_, Do, Do, Do!" A few more bugle blasts and the two great giants meet; and when they do, all the world knows it for a mile around, without it being seen. Thecrashing of the antlers as they close, the roars of hate, the squeals ofcombat, the cracking of breaking branches as they charge and charge, andpush and strive, and--_sometimes_ the thud of a heavy body going down. Many a time have I heard them in the distant woods, but mostly at night. Often have I gone forth warily hoping to see something of the fight, forwe all love to see a fight when not personally in danger; but luck hasbeen against me. I have been on the battlefield next morning to seewhere the combatants had torn up an acre of ground, and trampledunnumbered saplings, or tossed huge boulders about like pebbles, but thefight I missed. One day as I came into camp in the Shoshonees, east of the Park, an oldhunter said: "Say, you! you want to see a real old-time Elk fight? Yougo up on that ridge back of the corral and you'll sure see a hull bunchof 'em at it; not one pair of bulls, but _six_ of 'em. " I hurried away, but again I was too late; I saw nothing but the trampledground, the broken saplings, and the traces of the turmoil; the battlinggiants were gone. [Illustration] Back I went and from the hunter's description made the sketch which Igive below. The old man said: "Well, you sure got it this time. That'sexactly like it was. One pair was jest foolin', one was fencing and wasstill perlite; but that third pair was a playin' the game for keeps. An'for givin' the facts, that's away ahead of any photograph I ever seen. " Once I did come on the fatal battle-ground, but it was some time afterthe decision; and there I found the body of the one who did not win. Theantlers are a fair index of the size and vigour of the stag, and if thefallen one was so big and strong, what like was he who downed him, pierced him through and left him on the plain. SNAPPING A CHARGING BULL At one time in a Californian Park I heard the war-bugle of an Elk. Hebawled aloud in brazen, ringing tones: "Anybody want a F-I-G-H-Tt-t-t-t!!" I extemporized a horn and answered him according to his mood. "_Yes, Ido; bring it ALONG!_" and he brought it at a trot, squealing and roaringas he came. When he got within forty yards he left the cover andapproached me, a perfect incarnation of brute ferocity and hate. [Illustration] His ears were laid back, his muzzle raised, his nose curled up, hislower teeth exposed, his mane was bristling and in his eyes there blazeda marvellous fire of changing opalescent green. On he marched, grittinghis teeth and uttering a most unpleasantly wicked squeal. Then suddenly down went his head, and he came crash at me, with all thepower of half a ton of hate. However, I was not so much exposed as mayhave been inferred. I was safely up a tree. And there I sat watchingthat crazy bull as he prodded the trunk with his horns, and snorted, andraved around, telling me just what he thought of me, inviting him to afight and then getting up a tree. Finally he went off roaring andgritting his teeth, but turning back to cast on me from time to time thedeadly, opaque green light of his mad, malignant eyes. A friend of mine, John Fossum, once a soldier attached to FortYellowstone, had a similar adventure on a more heroic scale. While outon a camera hunt in early winter he descried afar a large bull Elk lyingasleep in an open valley. At once Fossum made a plan. He saw that hecould crawl up to the bull, snap him where he lay, then later secure asecond picture as the creature ran for the timber. The first part ofthe programme was carried out admirably. Fossum got within fifty feetand still the Elk lay sleeping. Then the camera was opened out. Butalas! that little _pesky_ "click, " that does so much mischief, awoke thebull, who at once sprang to his feet and ran--not for the woods--but_for the man_. Fossum with the most amazing nerve stood there quietlyfocussing his camera, till the bull was within ten feet, then pressedthe button, threw the camera into the soft snow and ran for his lifewith the bull at his coat-tails. It would have been a short run but forthe fact that they reached a deep snowdrift that would carry the man, and would not carry the Elk. Here Fossum escaped, while the bull snortedaround, telling just what he meant to do to the man when he caught him;but he was not to be caught, and at last the bull went off grumbling andsquealing. The hunter came back, recovered his camera, and when the plate wasdeveloped it bore the picture No. Xiv, b. [Illustration: XIV. Elk on the Yellowstone in winter: (a) Caught ineight feet of snow; _Photo by F. Jay Haynes_ (b) Bull Elk charging_Photo by John Fossum_] It shows plainly the fighting light in the bull's eye, the back laidears, the twisting of the nose, and the rate at which he is coming isevidenced in the stamping feet and the wind-blown whiskers, and yet inspite of the peril of the moment, and the fact that this was a handcamera, there is no sign of shake on landscape or on Elk, and thepicture is actually over-exposed. THE HOODOO COW One of the best summer ranges for Elk is near the southeast corner ofthe Yellowstone Lake, and here it was my luck to have the curiousexperience that I call the "Story of a Hoodoo Elk. " [Illustration] In the September of 1912, when out with Tom Newcomb of Gardiner, I hadthis curious adventure, that I shall not try to explain. We had crossedthe Yellowstone Lake in a motor boat and were camped on the extremesoutheast Finger, at a point twenty-five miles as the crow flies, andover fifty as the trail goes, from any human dwelling. We were in theleast travelled and most primitive part of the Park. The animals hereare absolutely in the wild condition and there was no one in the regionbut ourselves. On Friday, September 6th, we sighted some Elk on the lake shore atsunrise, but could not get nearer than two hundred yards, at whichdistance I took a poor snap. The Elk wheeled and ran out of sight. I setoff on foot with the guide about 8:30. We startled one or two Elk, butthey were very wild, and I got no chance to photograph. About 10:30, when several miles farther in the wilderness, we sighted acow Elk standing in a meadow with a Coyote sneaking around about onehundred yards away. "That's my Elk, " I said, and we swung under cover. By keeping in a little pine woods, I got within one hundred yards, taking picture No. 1, Plate XV. As she did not move, I said to Tom: "Youstay here while I creep out to that sage brush and I'll get a picture ofher at fifty yards. " By crawling on my hands I was able to do this andgot picture No. 2. Now I noticed a bank of tall grass some thirty yardsfrom the cow, and as she was still quiet, I crawled to that and gotpicture No. 3. She did not move and I was near enough to see that shewas dozing in a sun-bath. So I stood up and beckoned to Tom to come outof the woods at once. He came on nearly speechless with amazement. "Whatis the meaning of this?" he whispered. [Illustration: XV. The first shots at the Hoodoo Cow_Photos by E. T. Seton_] I replied calmly: "I told you I was a medicine man, perhaps you'llbelieve me now. Don't you see I've made Elk medicine and got herhypnotized? Now I am going to get up to about twenty yards and take herpicture. While I do so, you use the second camera and take me in theact. " So Tom took No. 4 while I was taking No. 5, and later No. 6. "Now, " I said, "let's go and talk to her. " We walked up to within tenyards. The Elk did not move, so I said: "Well, Bossie, you have callers. Won't you please look this way?" She did so and I secured shot No. 7, Plate XVI. "Thank you, " I said. "Now be good enough to lie down. " She did, and Itook No. 9. I went up and stroked her, so did Tom; then giving her a nudge of myfoot I said: "Now stand up again and look away. " She rose up, giving me Nos. 8, 10 and 11. "Thank you, Bossie! now you can go!" And as she went off I fired my lastfilm, getting No. 12. [Illustration: XVI. The last shots at the Hoodoo Cow_Photos by E. T. Seton_] By this time Tom had used up all his allowable words, and was fallingback on the contraband kind to express his surging emotions. "What the ---- is the ---- meaning ---- of this ----?" and so on. I replied calmly: "Maybe you'll believe I have Elk medicine. Now show mea Moose and I'll give you some new shocks. " Our trip homeward occupied a couple of hours, during which I heardlittle from Tom but a snort or two of puzzlement. As we neared camp he turned on me suddenly and said: "Now, Mr. Seton, what _is_ the meaning of this? That wasn't a sick Elk; she was fat andhearty. She wasn't poisoned or doped, 'cause there's no possibility ofthat. It wasn't a tame Elk, 'cause there ain't any, and, anyhow, we'reseventy miles from a house. Now what is the meaning of it?" I replied solemnly: "Tom! I don't know any more than you do. I was asmuch surprised as you were at everything but one, and that was when shelay down. I didn't tell her to lie down till I saw she was going to doit, or to get up either, or look the other way, and if you can explainthe incident, you've got the field to yourself. " THE MOOSE, THE BIGGEST OF ALL DEER The Moose is one of the fine animals that have responded magnificentlyto protection in Canada, Maine, Minnesota, and the Yellowstone Park. Formerly they were very scarce in Wyoming and confined to the southwestcorner of the Reserve. But all they needed was a little help; and, receiving it, they have flourished and multiplied. Their numbers havegrown by natural increase from about fifty in 1897 to some five hundredand fifty to-day; and they have spread into all the southern half of thePark wherever they find surroundings to their taste; that is, thicklevel woods with a mixture of timber, as the Moose is a brush-eater, and does not flourish on a straight diet of evergreen. The first Deer, almost the only one I ever killed, was a Moose and thatwas far back in the days of my youth. On the Yellowstone, I am sorry tosay, I never saw one, although I found tracks and signs in abundancelast September near the Lake. MY PARTNER'S MOOSE-HUNT Though I have never since fired at a Moose, I was implicated in thekilling of one a few years later. It was in the fall of the year, in the Hunting Moon, I was in theKippewa Country with my partner and some chosen friends on a campingtrip. Our companions were keen to get a Moose; and daily all hands butmyself were out with the expert Moose callers. But each night thecompany reassembled around the campfire only to exchange their storiesof failure. [Illustration] Moose there were in plenty, and good guides, Indian, halfbreed andwhite, but luck was against them all. Without being a very expert callerI have done enough of it to know the game and to pass for a "caller. " Soone night I said in a spirit of half jest: "I'll have to go out and showyou men how to call a Moose. " I cut a good piece of birch-bark andfashioned carefully a horn. Disdaining all civilized materials as"bad medicine, " I stitched the edge with a spruce root or wattap, andsoldered it neatly with pine gum flowed and smoothed with a blazingbrand. And then I added the finishing touch, a touch which made theIndian and the halfbreed shake their heads ominously; I drew two "hoodooMoose"--that is, men with Moose heads dancing around the horn. [Illustration: XVII. Elk on the Yellowstone: (a) In Billings Park;(b) Wild Cow Elk _Photos by E. T. Seton_] THE SIREN CALL "You put that on before you catch one Moose, Moose never come, " theysaid. Still I put them on, and near sundown set off in a canoe, with one guideas paddler, and my partner in charge of the only gun. In half an hour wereached a lonely lake surrounded by swamps, and woods of mixed timber. The sunset red was purpling all the horizon belt of pines, and the peaceof the still hour was on lake and swamp. With some little sense ofprofanity I raised the hoodoo horn to my mouth, gave one or twohigh-pitched, impatient grunts, then poured forth the softly rising, long-drawn love-call of a cow Moose, all alone, and "Oh, so lonesome. " The guide nodded in approval, "That's all right, " then I took out mywatch and waited for fifteen minutes. For, strange to tell, it seems torepel the bull Moose and alarm him if the cow seems over-eager. There isa certain etiquette to be observed; it is easy to spoil all by trying togo too fast. And it does not do to guess at the time; when one iswaiting so hard, the minute is like twenty. So when fifteen minutes really had gone, I raised the magic horn again, emitted a few hankering whines, then broke into a louder, fartherreaching call that thrilled up echoes from across the lake and seemed tofill the woods for miles around with its mellifluous pleading. Again I waited and gave a third call just as the sun was gone. Then westrained our eyes and watched at every line of woods, and still werewatching when the sound of a falling tree was heard far off on ahillside. Then there was a sort of after-clap as though the tree had lodged thefirst time, and hanging half a minute, had completed its fall withbreaking of many branches, and a muffled crash. We gazed hard that way, and the guide, a very young one, whispered, "Bear!" There was silence, then a stick broke nearer, and a deep, slow snort washeard; it might have been the "woof" of a Bear, but I was in doubt. Thenwithout any more noises, a white array of shining antler tips appearedabove the near willows, and swiftly, silently, there glided into view ahuge bull Moose. "How solid and beefy he looks!" was my first thought. He "woofed" again, and the guide, with an eye always to the head, whispered to my partner:"Take him! he's a stunner. " Striding on he came, with wonderful directness, seeing I had not calledfor twenty minutes, and that when he was a mile or more away. As he approached within forty yards, the guide whispered, "Now is yourchance. You'll never get a better one. " My partner whispered, "Steadythe canoe. " I drove my paddle point into the sandy bottom, the guide didthe same at the other end, and she arose standing in the canoe andaimed. Then came the wicked "crack" of the rifle, the "pat" of thebullet, the snort and whirl of the great, gray, looming brute, and asecond shot as he reached the willows, only to go down with a crash, andsob his life out on the ground behind the leafy screen. It all seemed so natural, so exactly according to the correct rules ofsporting books and tales, and yet so unlovely. There were tears in the eyes of the fair killer, and heart wrenches werehers, as the great sobs grew less and ceased; and a different sob washeard at my elbow, as we stood beside the biggest Moose that had beenkilled there in years. It was triumph I suppose; it is a proud thing toact a lie so cleverly; the Florentine assassins often decoyed andtrapped a brave man, by crying like a woman. But I have never called aMoose since, and that rifle has hung unused in its rack from that to thepresent day. [Illustration] THE BIGGEST OF OUR GAME--THE BUFFALO "Yes, that's a buffalo-bird, " said the old Indian, pointing to someblack birds, with gray mates, that flitted or ran across the plain. "Pretty bad luck when the Buffalo gone. Them little birds make theirnest in a Buffalo's wool, right on his head, and when the Buffalo allgone, seem like the buffalo-bird die too; 'cause what's the use, no gotany nest. " This is a fragment that reached me long ago in Montana. It seemed like alusty myth, whose succulent and searching roots were in a bottomlessbog, with little chance of sound foundation. But the tale bore thesearchlight better than I thought. For it seems that the buffalo-birdfollowed the Buffalo everywhere, and was fond of nesting, not in theshaggy mane between the horns of the ruling monarch, but on any hugehead it might find after the bull had fallen, and the skull, with maneattached, lay discarded on the plain. While always, even when nesting onthe ground, the wool of the Buffalo was probably used as lining of theblack-bird's nest. I know of one case where an attendant bird that wastoo crippled to fly when autumn came, wintered in the mane of a largeBuffalo bull. It gathered seed by day, when the bull pawed up the snow, and roosted at night between the mighty horns, snuggling in the wool, with its toes held warm against the monster's blood-hot neck. In most of the Northwest the birds have found a poor substitute for theBuffalo in the range-cattle, but oh! how they must miss the wool. [Illustration: XVIII. Moose--the Widow_Drawing by E. T. Seton_] [Illustration: XIX. Buffalo Groups (a) Bull and Cow at Banff; (b)Yellowstone Bulls _Photos by G. G. Seton_] THE SHRUNKEN RANGE It is not generally known that the American Buffalo ranged as far eastas Syracuse, Washington City, and Carolina, that they populated theforests in small numbers, as well as the plains in great herds. Iestimate them at over 50, 000, 000 in A. D. 1500. In 1895 they were down to800; probably this was the low-ebb year. Since then they have increasedunder judicious protection, and now reach about 3, 000. In the June of 1897, as I stood on a hill near Baronett's Bridge, overlooking the Yellowstone just beyond Yancey's, with an old timer, Dave Roberts, he said: "Twenty years ago, when I first saw this valley, it was black-speckled with Buffalo, and every valley in the Park was thesame. " Now the only sign of the species was a couple of old skullscrumbling in the grass. In 1900 the remnant in the Park had fallen to thirty, and theirextinction seemed certain. But the matter was taken up energetically bythe officers in charge. Protection, formerly a legal fiction, was madean accomplished fact. The Buffalo have increased ever since, and to-daynumber 200, with the possibility of some stragglers. We need not dwell on the story of the extinction of the great herds. That is familiar to all, [B] but it is well to remind the reader that itwas inevitable. The land was, or would be, needed for human settlement, with which the Buffalo herds were incompatible; only we brought it onforty or fifty years before it was necessary. "Could we not save theBuffalo as range-cattle?" is the question that most ask. The answer is:It has been tried a hundred times and all attempts have been eventuallyfrustrated by the creature's temper. Buffalo, male or female, are alwaysmore or less dangerous; they cannot be tamed or trusted. They are alwayssubject to stampede, and once started, nothing, not even suredestruction, stops them; so in spite of their suitability to theclimate, their hardihood, their delicious meat, and their valuablerobes, the attempts at domesticating the Buffalo have not yet been madea success. [Illustration] A small herd of a dozen or so is kept in a fenced range near the MammothHot Springs, where the traveller should not fail to try for pictures, and with them he will see the cowbirds, that in some regions replace thetrue buffalo-birds. Perched on their backs or heads or running aroundthem on the ground are these cattle birds as of yore, like boats arounda man-o'-war, or sea-gulls around a whale; living their lives, snappingup the tormenting flies, and getting in return complete protection fromevery creature big enough to seem a menace in the eyes of the old timeKing of the Plains. THE DOOMED ANTELOPE AND HIS HELIOGRAPH The Antelope, or Pronghorn, is one of the most peculiar animals in theworld. It is the only known ruminant that has hollow horns on a bonycore as with cattle, and also has them branched and shed each year as inthe Deer. It is a creature of strangely mixed characteristics, for it has the feetof a Giraffe, the glands of a goat, the coat of a Deer, the horns of anox and Deer combined, the eyes of a Gazelle, the build of an Antelope, and--the speed of the wind. It is the swiftest four-footed creaturenative to the plains, and so far as known there is nothing but a bloodedrace horse that can outrun it on a mile. But the peculiarity that is most likely to catch the eye of thetraveller is the white disc on its rear. [Illustration: The Heliograph] The first day I was in the Yellowstone I was riding along the uplandbeyond Blacktail Creek with T. E. Hofer. Miles away to the southeast wesaw some white specks showing, flashing and disappearing. Then as far tothe northeasterly we saw others. Hofer now remarked, "Two bunches ofAntelope. " Then later there were flashes _between_ and we knew thatthese two bands had come together. How? When you have a chance in a zoo or elsewhere to watch Antelope at shortrange you will see the cause of these flashes. By means of a circularmuscle on each buttock they can erect the white hair of the rump patchinto a large, flat, snow-white disc which shines in the sun, andshows afar as a bright white spot. [Illustration: XX. Near Yellowstone Gate: (a) Antelope _Photo by F. JayHaynes_(b) Captive Wolf _Photo by E. T. Seton_] [Illustration: XXI. Mountain Sheep on Mt. Evarts_Photo by E. T. Seton_] This action is momentary or very brief; the spread disc goes down againin a few seconds. The flash is usually a signal of danger, although itanswers equally well for a recognition mark. In 1897 the Antelope in the Park were estimated at 1, 500. Now they havedwindled to about one third of that, and, in spite of good protection, continue to go down. They do not flourish when confined even in a largearea, and we have reason to fear that one of the obscure inexorable lawsof nature is working now to shelve the Antelope with the creatures thathave passed away. A small band is yet to be seen wintering on theprairie near Gardiner. THE RESCUED BIGHORN At one time the Bighorn abounded along all the rivers where there wasrough land as far east as the western edge of the Dakotas, westerly tothe Cascades, and in the mountains from Mexico and Southern Californiato Alaska. In one form or another the Mountain Sheep covered this large region, andit is safe to say that in the United States alone their numbers weremillions. But the dreadful age of the repeating rifle and lawlessskin-hunter came on, till the end of the last century saw the Bighorn inthe United States reduced to a few hundreds; they were well along thesunset trail. But the New York Zoölogical Society, the Camp Fire Club, and othersocieties of naturalists and sportsmen, bestirred themselves mightily. They aroused all thinking men to the threatening danger of extinction;good laws were passed and then enforced. The danger having beenrealized, the calamity was averted, and now the Sheep are on theincrease in many parts of the West. During the epoch of remorseless destruction the few survivors were thewildest of wild things; they would not permit the approach of a manwithin a mile. But our new way of looking at the Bighorn has taught thema new way of looking at us, as every traveller in Colorado or theprotected parts of Wyoming will testify. In 1897 I spent several months rambling on the upper ranges of theYellowstone Park, and I saw not a single Sheep, although it wasestimated that there were nearly a hundred of the scared fugitiveshiding and flying among the rocks. [Illustration] In 1912 it was believed that in spite of poachers, Cougars, snow slides, and scab contracted from domestic sheep, the Bighorn in the YellowstonePark had increased to considerably over two hundred, and the travellercan find them with fair certainty if he will devote a few days to thequest around Mt. Evarts, Washburn, or the well-known ranges. [Illustration] In September, 1912, I left Gardiner with Tom Newcomb's outfit. I wasriding at the end of the procession watching in all directions, when farup on the slide rock I caught sight of a Sheep. A brief climb brought mewithin plain though not near view, to learn that there were half a dozenat least, and I took a few shots with my camera. I think there were manymore hidden in the tall sage behind, but I avoided alarming them, so didnot find out. There were neither rams nor lambs with this herd of ewes. The rams keeptheir own company all summer and live, doubtless, far higher in themountains. On Mt. Washburn a week later I had the luck to find a dozen ewes withtheir lambs; but the sky was dark with leaden clouds and the light sopoor that I got no good results. In winter, as I learn from Colonel Brett, the Sheep are found in smallbands between the Mammoth Hot Springs and Gardiner, for there is goodfeed there, and far less snow than in the upper ranges. I have justheard that this winter four great rams are seen there every day withabout forty other Sheep; and they are so tame that one can get pictureswithin ten feet if desired. Alas! that I have to be so far away withsuch thrilling opportunities going to waste. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote B: See "Life Histories of Northern Animals, " by E. T. Seton. ] * * * * * V Bats in the Devil's Kitchen * * * * * V Bats in the Devil's Kitchen It is unfortunate that the average person has a deep prejudice againstthe Bat. Without looking or thinking for himself, he accepts a lot ofabsurd tales about the winged one, and passes them on and on, nevercaring for the injustice he does or the pleasure he loses. I have lovedthe Bat ever since I came to know him; that is, all my mature life. Heis the climax of creation in many things, highly developed in brain, marvellously keen in senses, clad in exquisite fur and equipped, aboveall, with the crowning glory of flight. He is the prototype and therealization of the Fairy of the Wood we loved so much as children, andso hated to be robbed of by grown-ups, who should have known better. I would give a good deal to have a Bat colony where I could see itdaily, and would go a long way to meet some new kind of Bat. [Illustration] I never took much interest in caverns, or geysers, or in any of theabominable cavities of the earth that nature so plainly meant to keephidden from our eyes. I shall not forget the unpleasant sensations I hadwhen first, in 1897, I visited the Yellowstone Wonderland and stoodgazing at that abominable Mud Geyser, which is even worse to-day. Theentry in my journal of the time runs thus: "The Mud Geyser is unlike anything that can be seen elsewhere. One hearsabout the bowels of the earth; this surely is the end of one of them. They talk of the mouth of hell; this is the mouth with a severe fit ofvomiting. The filthy muck is spewed from an unseen gullet at one sideinto a huge upright mouth with sounds of oozing, retching and belching. Then as quickly reswallowed with noises expressive of loathing on itsown part, while noxious steam spreads disgusting, unpleasant odours allaround. The whole process is quickly repeated, and goes on and on, andhas gone on for ages, and will go. And yet one feels that this is merelythe steam vent outside of the huge factory where all the actual work isbeing done. One does not really see the thing at all, but only standsoutside the building where it is going on. One never wishes to see it asecond time. All are disgusted by it, but all are fascinated. " * * * * * No, I like them not. I have a natural antipathy to the internalarrangements of Mother Earth. I might almost say a delicacy about gazingon such exposure. Anyhow, we shall all get underground soon enough; andI usually drop off when our party prepares to explore dark, horrible, smelly underground places that have no possible claim (I hold) for thenormal being of healthy instincts. But near the Mammoth Hot Springs is a hellhole that did attract me. Itis nothing else than the stuffy, blind alley known as the Devil'sKitchen. There is no cooking going on at present, probably because it isnot heated up enough, but there is a peculiarly hot, close feelingsuggestive of the Monkey house in an old-time zoo. I went down this, notthat I was interested in the Satanic cuisine, but because my ancientantipathy was routed by my later predilection--I was told that Bats"occurred" in the kitchen. Sure enough, I found them, half a dozen, sofar as one could tell in the gloom, and thanks to the ParkSuperintendent, Colonel L. M. Brett, I secured a specimen which, to mygreat surprise, turned out to be the long-eared Bat, a Southern speciesnever before discovered north of Colorado. It will be interesting toknow whether they winter here or go south, as do many of their kin. Theywould have to go a long way before they would find another bedroom sowarm and safe. Even if they go as far as the equator, with its warmthand its pests, they would probably have reason to believe that thehappiest nights of their lives were those spent in the Devil's Kitchen. [Illustration] * * * * * VI The Well-meaning Skunk * * * * * VI The Well-meaning Skunk [Illustration] I have a profound admiration for the Skunk. Indeed, I once maintainedthat this animal was the proper emblem of America. It is, first of all, peculiar to this continent. It has stars on its head and stripes on itsbody. It is an ideal citizen; minds its own business, harms no one, andis habitually inoffensive, as long as it is left alone; but it will faceany one or any number when aroused. It has a wonderful natural abilityto take the offensive; and no man ever yet came to grips with a Skunkwithout being sadly sorry for it afterward. Nevertheless, in spite of all this, and the fact that several othercountries have prior claims on the Eagle, I could not secure, for myview, sufficient popular support to change the national emblem. From Atlantic to Pacific and from Mexico far north into the wilds ofCanada the Skunk is found, varying with climate in size and colourindeed, but everywhere the same in character and in mode of defense. It abounds in the broken country that lies between forest and prairie, but seems to avoid the thicker woods as well as the higher peaks. In Yellowstone Park it is not common, but is found occasionally aboutMammoth Hot Springs and Yancey's, at which latter place I had muchpleasant acquaintance with its kind. HIS SMELL-GUN Every one knows that the animal can make a horrible smell in defendingitself, but most persons do not realize what the smell is, or how it ismade. First of all, and this should be in capitals, it has nothing atall to do with the kidneys or with the sex organs. It is simply a highlyspecialized musk secreted by a gland, or rather, a pair of them, locatedunder the tail. It is used for defense when the Skunk is in peril of hislife, or thinks he is. But a Skunk may pass his whole life without usingit. [Illustration] He can throw it to a distance of seven to ten feet according to hispower or the wind. If it reaches the eyes of his assailant it blinds himtemporarily. If it enters his mouth it sets up a frightful nausea. Ifthe vapour gets into his lungs, it chokes as well as nauseates. Thereare cases on record of men and dogs being permanently blinded by thisawful spray. And there is one case of a boy being killed by it. Most Americans know somewhat of its terrors, but few of them realize theharmlessness of the Skunk when let alone. In remote places I find menwho still think that this creature goes about shooting as wildly andwantonly as any drunken cowboy. THE CRUELTY OF STEEL TRAPS A few days ago while walking with a friend in the woods we came on aSkunk. My companion shouted to the dog and captured him to save him froma possible disaster, then called to me to keep back and let the Skunkrun away. But the fearless one in sable and ermine did not run, and Idid not keep back, but I walked up very gently. The Skunk stood hisground and raised his tail high over his back, the sign of fight. Italked to him, still drawing nearer; then, when only ten feet away, wassurprised to see that one of his feet was in a trap and terriblymangled. [Illustration] I stooped down, saying many pleasant things about my friendliness, etc. The Skunk's tail slowly lowered and I came closer up. Still, I did notcare to handle the wild and tormented thing on such short acquaintance, so I got a small barrel and quietly placed it over him, then removed thetrap and brought him home, where he is now living in peace and comfort. I mention this to show how gentle and judicious a creature the Skunk iswhen gently and judiciously approached. It is a sad commentary on ourmodes of dealing with wild life when I add that as afterward appearedthis Skunk had been struggling in the tortures of that trap for threedays and three nights. FRIENDLINESS OF THE SKUNK These remarks are preliminary to an account of my adventures with afamily of Skunks in the Park. During the summer I spent in the littleshanty still to be seen, opposite Yancey's, I lost no opportunity ofmaking animal investigations. One of my methods was to sweep the dust onthe trail and about the cabin quite smooth at night so that any creaturepassing should leave me his tracks and I should be sure that they wererecent. [Illustration] One morning on going out I found the fresh tracks of a Skunk. Next nightthese were seen again, in fact, there were two sets of them. A day or solater the cook at the nearby log hotel announced that a couple ofSkunks came every evening to feed at the garbage bucket outside thekitchen door. That night I was watching for them. About dusk one came, walking along sedately with his tail at half mast. The house dog and thehouse cat both were at the door as the Skunk arrived. They glanced atthe newcomer; then the cat discreetly went indoors and the dog rumbledin his chest, but discreetly he walked away, very stiffly, and looked atthe distant landscape, with his hair on his back still bristling. TheSkunk waddled up to the garbage pail, climbed in, though I was but tenfeet away, and began his evening meal. [Illustration] Another came later. Their tails were spread and at each sharp noise rosea little higher, but no one offered them harm, and they went their waywhen they were filled. After this it was a regular thing to go out and see the Skunks feed whenevening came. PHOTOGRAPHING SKUNKS AT SHORT RANGE I was anxious to get a picture or two, but was prevented by the poorlight; in fact, it was but half light, and in those days we had nobrilliant flash powders. So there was but one thing to do, that was trapmy intended sitters. Next night I was ready for them with an ordinary box trap, and evenbefore the appointed time we saw a fine study in black and white comemarching around the cow stable with banner-tail aloft, and across thegrass toward the kitchen. The box trap was all ready and we--two womenincluding my wife, and half a dozen men of the mountaineer type--werewatching. The cat and the dog moved sullenly aside. The Skunk, with thecalm confidence of one accustomed to respect, sniffed his way to the boxtrap with its tempting odorous bait. A Mink or a Marten, not to say aFox, would have investigated a little before entering. The Skunkindulged in no such waste of time. What had he to fear--he the littlelord of all things with the power of smell? He went in like one goinghome, seized the bait, and down went the door. The uninitiated onlookersexpected an explosion from the Skunk, but I knew quite well he neverwasted a shot, and did not hesitate to approach and make all safe. Now Iwanted to move the box with its captive to my photographic studio, butcould not carry it alone, so I asked the mountaineers to come and help. Had I asked them to join me in killing a man, shooting up the town, orotherwise taking their lives in their hands, I would doubtless have hadhalf a dozen cheerful volunteers; but to carry a box in which was a wildSkunk--"not for a hundred dollars, " and the warriors melted into thebackground. Then I said to my wife, "Haven't _you_ got nerve enough to help withthis box? I'll guarantee that nothing will happen. " So she came and wetook the box to my prepared enclosure, where next day I photographed himto my heart's content. More than once as I worked around at a distanceof six or eight feet, the Skunk's tail flew up, but I kept perfectlystill then; talked softly, apologizing and explaining: "Now don't shootat me. We are to be good friends. I wouldn't hurt you for anything. Nowdo drop that fighting flag, if you please, and be good. " [Illustration] Gradually the tail went down and the captive looked at me in merecuriosity as I got my pictures. I let him go by simply removing the wire netting of the fence, whereuponhe waddled off under the cabin that I called "home. " WE SHARE THE SHANTY WITH THE SKUNKS [Illustration] The next night as I lay in my bunk I heard a sniffing and scratching onthe cabin floor. On looking over the edge of the bed I came face to facewith my friend the Skunk. Our noses were but a foot apart and justbehind him was another; I suppose his mate. I said: "Hello! Here youare again. I'm glad to see you. Who's your friend?" He did not tell me, neither did he seem offended. I suppose it was his mate. That was thebeginning of his residence under the floor of my cabin. My wife and Igot very well acquainted with him and his wife before the summer wasover. For though we had the cabin by day, the Skunks had it by night. Wealways left them some scraps, and regularly at dusk they came up to getthem. They cleaned up our garbage, so helped to rid us of flies andmice. We were careful to avoid hurting or scaring our nightly visitors, so the summer passed without offense. We formed only the kindestfeelings toward each other, and we left them in possession of the cabin, where, so far as I know, they are living yet, if you wish to call. THE SKUNK AND THE UNWISE BOBCAT [Illustration] As already noted, I swept the dust smooth around our shanty each nightto make a sort of visitors' book. Then each morning I could go out andby study of the tracks get an exact idea of who had called. Of coursethere were many blank nights; on others the happenings were trifling, but some were full of interest. In this way I learned of the Coyote'svisits to the garbage pail and of the Skunk establishment under thehouse, and other interesting facts as in the diagram. I have always usedthis method of study in my mountain trips, and recall a most interestingrecord that rewarded my patience some twenty years ago when I lived inNew Mexico. [Illustration: XXII. Track record of Bobcat's adventure with a Skunk] During the night I had been aroused by a frightful smell of Skunk, followed by strange muffled sounds that died away. So forth I went atsunrise and found the odour of Skunk no dream but a stern reality. Thena consultation of my dust album revealed an inscription which after alittle condensing and clearing up appeared much as in Plate XXII. At A aSkunk had come on the scene, at B he was wandering about when a hungryWild Cat or Bobcat Lynx appeared, C. Noting the promise of something tokill for food, he came on at D. The Skunk observing the intruder said, "You better let me alone. " And not wishing to make trouble moved offtoward E. But the Bobcat, evidently young and inexperienced, gave chase. At F the Skunk wheeled about, remarking, "Well, if you will have it, here goes!" At G the Lynx was hit. The tremendous bound from G to Hshows the effect. At J he bumped into a stone, showing probably that hewas blinded, after which he went bouncing and bounding away. The Skunkmerely said, "I told you so!" then calmly resumed the even tenor of hisway. At K he found the remains of a chicken, on which he feasted, thenwent quietly home to bed. This is my reading of the tracks in the dust. The evidence was so clearthat I have sketched here from imagination the succession of eventswhich it seemed to narrate. [Illustration: XXIII. The six chapters of the Bobcat's adventure. (a)The Bobcat appears on the scene; (b) "Ha, " he says, "A meal for me. ""Beware, " says the Skunk; (c) "No! Then take that, " says the Skunk; (d)"Ow-w-ow-w"; (e) "I told you so"; (f) "How pleasant is a peaceful meal"_Sketches by E. T. Seton_] MY PET SKUNKS It would not be doing justice to the Skunk if I did not add a word aboutcertain of the kind that I have at home. For many years I have kept at least one pet Skunk. Just now I have aboutsixty. I keep them close to the house and would let them run looseindoors but for the possibility of some fool dog or cat coming around, and provoking the exemplary little brutes into a perfectly justifiableendeavour to defend themselves as nature taught them. But for this Ishould have no fear. Not only do I handle them myself, but I haveinduced many of my wild-eyed visitors to do so as a necessary part oftheir education. For few indeed there are in the land to-day thatrealize the gentleness and forbearance of this righteous little brotherof ours, who, though armed with a weapon that will put the biggest andboldest to flight or disastrous defeat, yet refrains from using it untilin absolute peril of his life, and then only after several warnings. By way of rounding out this statement, I present a picture of my littledaughter playing among the Skunks, and need add only that they arefull-grown specimens in full possession of all their faculties. PlateXXIV. [Illustration: XXIV. My tame Skunks: (a) Mother Skunk and her brood; (b)Ann Seton feeding her pets_Photos by E. T. Seton_] * * * * * VII Old Silver-grizzle--The Badger * * * * * [Illustration] VII Old Silver-grizzle--The Badger A brilliant newspaper man once gave vast publicity to the story that atlast a use had been found for the Badger, with his mania for diggingholes in the ground. By kindness and care and the help of an attachedlittle steam-gauge speedometer plumb compass, that gave accurate aim, improved perpendicularity, and increased efficiency to the efforts ofthe strenuous excavator, he had been able to produce a dirigible Badgerthat was certain to displace all other machinery for digging postholes. Unfortunately I was in a position to disprove this pretty conceit. But Ithink of it every time I put my foot in a Badger hole. Such lovelyholes, so plentiful, so worse than useless where the Badger hasthoughtlessly located them. If only we could harness and direct suchexcavatory energies. [Illustration] This, indeed, is the only quarrel civilized man can pick with the honestBadger. He _will_ dig holes that endanger horse's legs and rider'snecks. He may destroy Gophers, Ground-squirrels, Prairie-dogs, insects, and a hundred enemies of the farm; he may help the crops in a thousanddifferent ways, _but he will dig post-holes where they are not wanted_, and this indiscretion has made many enemies for the kindest andsturdiest of all the squatters on the plains. THE VALIANT, HARMLESS BADGER From the Saskatchewan to Mexico he ranges, and from Illinois toCalifornia, wherever there are dry, open plains supplied withGround-squirrels and water. [Illustration] Many times, in crossing the rolling plains of Montana, the uplands ofArizona and New Mexico, or the prairies of Manitoba, I have met withMittenusk, as the redmen call him. Like a big white stone perched onsome low mound he seems. But the wind makes cracks in it at places, andthen it moves--giving plain announcement to the world with eyes to seethat this is a Badger sunning himself. He seldom allows a near approach, even in the Yellowstone, where he is safe, and is pretty sure to dropdown out of sight in his den long before one gets within camera range. The Badger is such a subterranean, nocturnal creature at most times thatfor long his home life escaped our observation, but at last a fewparagraphs, if not a chapter of it, have been secured, and we find thatthis shy creature, in ill odour among cattlemen as noted, is a rare andlovely character when permitted to unbend in a congenial group. Sturdy, strong and dogged, and brave to the last ditch, the more we know of theBadger the more we respect him. Let us pass lightly over the facts that in makeup he is between a Bearand a Weasel, and that he weighs about twenty pounds, and has a softcoat of silvery gray and some label marks of black on his head. He feeds chiefly on Ground-squirrels, which he digs out, but does notscorn birds' eggs, or even fruit and grain at times. Except for anoccasional sun-bath, he spends the day in his den and travels aboutmostly by night. He minds his own business, if let alone, but woe be tothe creature of the plains that tries to molest him, for he has theheart of a bulldog, the claws of a Grizzly, and the jaws of a smallcrocodile. I shall never forget my first meeting with Old Silver-grizzle. It was onthe plains of the Souris, in 1882. I saw this broad, low, whitishcreature on the prairie, not far from the trail, and, impelled by thehunter instinct so strong in all boys, I ran toward him. He dived into aden, but the one he chose proved to be barely three feet deep, and Isucceeded in seizing the Badger's short thick tail. Gripping it firmlywith both hands, I pulled and pulled, but he was stronger than I. Hebraced himself against the sides of the den and defied me. With anythinglike fair play, he would have escaped, but I had accomplices, and thedetails of what followed are not pleasant reminiscences. But I was veryyoung at the time, and that was my first Badger. I wanted his skin, andI had not learned to respect his exemplary life and dauntless spirit. In the summer of 1897 I was staying at Yancey's in the Park. Daily I sawsigns of Badgers about, and one morning while prowling, camera in hand, I saw old Gray-coat wandering on the prairie, looking for freshGround-squirrel holes. Keeping low, I ran toward him. He soon sensed me, and to my surprise came rushing toward me, uttering sharp snarls. Thisone was behaving differently from any Badger I had seen before, butevidently he was going to give me a chance for a picture. After that wastaken, doubtless I could save myself by running. We were within thirtyyards of each other and both coming strong, when "crash" I went into aBadger hole _I_ had not seen, just as he went "thump" down tail firstinto a hole _he_ had not seen. For a moment we both looked very foolish, but he recovered first, and rushing a few yards nearer, plunged into adeep and wide den toward which he evidently had been heading from thefirst. HIS SOCIABLE BENT The strongest peculiar trait of the Badger is perhaps hissociability--sociability being, of course, a very different thing fromgregariousness. Usually there are two Badgers in each den. Nothingpeculiar about that, but there are several cases on record of a Badger, presumably a bachelor or a widower, sharing his life with some totallydifferent animal. In some instances that other animal has been a Coyote;and the friendship really had its foundation in enmity and intendedrobbery. This is the probable history of a typical case: The Badger, being amighty miner and very able to dig out the Ground-squirrels of theprairie, was followed about by a Coyote, whose speed and agility kepthim safe from the Badger's jaws, while he hovered close by, knowingquite well that when the Badger was digging out the Ground-squirrels attheir front door, these rodents were very apt to bolt by the back door, and thus give the Coyote an excellent chance for a cheap dinner. So the Coyote acquired the habit of following the hard-working Badger. At first, no doubt, the latter resented the parasite that dogged hissteps, but becoming used to it "first endured, then pitied, thenembraced", or, to put it more mildly, he got accustomed to the Coyote'spresence, and being of a kindly disposition, forgot his enmity andthenceforth they contentedly lived their lives together. I do not knowthat they inhabited the same den. Yet that would not be impossible, since similar things are reported of the British Badger and the Fox. More than one observer has seen a Badger and a Coyote travellingtogether, sometimes one leading, sometimes the other. Evidently it was apartnership founded on good-will, however it may have been begun. THE STORY OF THE KINDLY BADGER But the most interesting case, and one which I might hesitate toreproduce but for the witnesses, reached me at Winnipeg. [Illustration] In 1871 there was a family named Service living at Bird's Hill, on theprairie north of Winnipeg. They had one child, a seven-year-old boynamed Harry. He was a strange child, very small for his age, and shywithout being cowardly. He had an odd habit of following dogs, chickens, pigs, and birds, imitating their voices and actions, with an exactnessthat onlookers sometimes declared to be uncanny. One day he had gonequietly after a Prairie Chicken that kept moving away from him withouttaking flight, clucking when she clucked, and nodding his head orshaking his "wings" when she did. So he wandered on and on, till thehouse was hidden from view behind the trees that fringed the river, andthe child was completely lost. There was nothing remarkable in his being away for several hours, but aheavy thunderstorm coming up that afternoon called attention to the factthat the boy was missing, and when the first casual glance did notdiscover him it became serious and a careful search was begun. Father and mother, with the near neighbours, scoured the prairie tilldark, and began the next day at dawn, riding in all directions, calling, and looking for signs. After a day or two the neighbours gave it up, believing that the child was drowned and carried away by the river. Butthe parents continued their search even long after all hope seemeddead. And there was no hour of the day when that stricken mother did notsend up a prayer for heavenly help; nor any night when she did not kneelwith her husband and implore the One who loved and blessed the babes ofJerusalem to guard her little one and bring him back in safety. THE EVIL ONE [Illustration] There was one neighbour of the family who joined in the search that hadnevertheless incurred the bitter dislike of little Harry Service. Thefeeling was partly a mere baby instinct, but pointedly because of theman's vicious cruelty to the animals, wild or tame, that came within hispower. Only a week before he had set steel traps at a den where hechanced to find a pair of Badgers in residence. The first night hecaptured the father Badger. The cruel jaws of the jag-toothed trap hadseized him by both paws, so he was held helpless. The trap was champedand wet with blood and froth when Grogan came in the morning. Of whatuse are courage and strength when one cannot reach the foe? The Badgercraved only a fair fight, but Grogan stood out of reach and used a clubtill the light was gone from the brave eyes and the fighting snarl wasstill. The trap was reset in the sand and Grogan went. He carried the deadBadger to the Service house to show his prize and get help to skin it, after which he set off for the town and bartered the skin for what evilindulgence it might command, and thought no more of the trap for threedays. Meanwhile the mother Badger, coming home at dawn, was caught byone foot. Strain as she might, that deadly grip still held her; all thatnight and all the next day she struggled. She had little ones to carefor. Their hungry cries from down the burrow were driving her almostmad; but the trap was of strong steel, beyond her strength, and at lastthe crying of the little ones in the den grew still. On the second dayof her torture the mother, in desperation, chewed off one of her toesand dragged her bleeding foot from the trap. [Illustration] Down the burrow she went first, but it was too late; her babies weredead. She buried them where they lay and hastened from that evil spot. Water was her first need, next food, and then at evening she made for anold den she had used the fall before. THE BADGER THAT RESCUED THE BOY And little Harry, meanwhile, where was he? That sunny afternoon in Junehe had wandered away from the house, and losing sight of the familiarbuilding behind the long fringe of trees by the river, he had lost hisbearings. Then came the thunder shower which made him seek for shelter. There was nothing about him but level prairie, and the only shelter hecould find was a Badger hole, none too wide even for his small form. Into this he had backed and stayed with some comfort during thethunderstorm, which continued till night. Then in the evening the childheard a sniffing sound, and a great, gray animal loomed up against thesky, sniffed at the tracks and at the open door of the den. Next it putits head in, and Harry saw by the black marks on its face that it was aBadger. He had seen one just three days before. A neighbour had broughtit to his father's house to skin it. There it stood sniffing, and Harry, gazing with less fear than most children, noticed that the visitor hadfive claws on one foot and four on the other, with recent wounds, proofof some sad experience in a trap. Doubtless this was the Badger's den, for she--it proved a mother--came in, but Harry had no mind tosurrender. The Badger snarled and came on, and Harry shrieked, "Getout!" and struck with his tiny fists, and then, to use his own words, "Iscratched the Badger's face and she scratched mine. " Surely this Badgerwas in a generous mood, for she did him no serious harm, and though therightful owner of the den, she went away and doubtless slept elsewhere. [Illustration] Night came down. Harry was very thirsty. Close by the door was a pool ofrainwater. He crawled out, slaked his thirst, and backed into the warmden as far as he could. Then remembering his prayers, he begged God to"send mamma, " and cried himself to sleep. During the night he wasawakened by the Badger coming again, but it went away when the childscolded it. Next morning Harry went to the pool again and drank. Now hewas so hungry; a few old rose hips hung on the bushes near the den. Hegathered and ate these, but was even hungrier. Then he saw somethingmoving out on the plain. It might be the Badger, so he backed into theden, but he watched the moving thing. It was a horseman galloping. As itcame near, Harry saw that it was Grogan, the neighbour for whom he hadsuch a dislike, so he got down out of sight. Twice that morning men cameriding by, but having once yielded to his shy impulse, he hid again eachtime. The Badger came back at noon. In her mouth she held the body of aPrairie Chicken, pretty well plucked and partly devoured. She came intothe den sniffing as before. Harry shouted, "Get out! Go away. " TheBadger dropped the meat and raised her head. Harry reached and graspedthe food and devoured it with the appetite of one starving. There musthave been another doorway, for later the Badger was behind the child inthe den, and still later when he had fallen asleep she came and sleptbeside him. He awoke to find the warm furry body filling the spacebetween him and the wall, and knew now why it was he had slept socomfortably. [Illustration] That evening the Badger brought the egg of a Prairie Chicken and set itdown unbroken before the child. He devoured it eagerly, and again drankfrom the drying mud puddle to quench his thirst. During the night itrained again, and he would have been cold, but the Badger came andcuddled around him. Once or twice it licked his face. The child couldnot know, but the parents discovered later that this was a mother Badgerwhich had lost her brood and her heart was yearning for something tolove. Now there were two habits that grew on the boy. One was to shun themen that daily passed by in their search, the other was to look tothe Badger for food and protection, and live the Badger's life. She brought him food often not at all to his taste--dead Mice orGround-squirrels--but several times she brought in the comb of a bee'snest or eggs of game birds, and once a piece of bread almost certainlydropped on the trail from some traveller's lunch bag. His chief troublewas water. The prairie pool was down to mere ooze and with this hemoistened his lips and tongue. Possibly the mother Badger wondered whyhe did not accept her motherly offerings. But rain came often enough tokeep him from serious suffering. Their daily life was together now, and with the imitative power strongin all children and dominant in him, he copied the Badger's growls, snarls, and purrs. Sometimes they played tag on the prairie, but bothwere ready to rush below at the slightest sign of a stranger. Two weeks went by. Galloping men no longer passed each day. Harry andthe Badger had fitted their lives into each other's, and strange as itmay seem, the memory of his home was already blurred and weakened in theboy. Once or twice during the second week men had passed near by, butthe habit of eluding them was now in full possession of him. FINDING THE LOST ONE [Illustration] One morning he wandered a little farther in search of water and wasalarmed by a horseman appearing. He made for home on all fours--he ranmuch on all fours now--and backed into the den. In the prairie grass hewas concealed, but the den was on a bare mound, and the horseman caughta glimpse of a whitish thing disappearing down the hole. Badgers werefamiliar to him, but the peculiar yellow of this and the absence ofblack marks gave it a strange appearance. He rode up quietly withintwenty yards and waited. After a few minutes the gray-yellow ball slowly reappeared and resolveditself into the head of a tow-topped child. The young man leaped to theground and rushed forward, but the child retreated far back into theden, beyond reach of the man, and refused to come out. Nevertheless, there was no doubt that this was the missing Harry Service. "Harry!Harry! don't you know me? I'm your Cousin Jack, " the young man said insoothing, coaxing tones. "Harry, won't you come out and let me take youback to mamma? Come Harry! Look! here are some cookies!" but all invain. The child hissed and snarled at him like a wild thing, andretreated as far as he could till checked by a turn in the burrow. [Illustration] Now Jack got out his knife and began to dig until the burrow was largeenough for him to crawl in a little way. At once he succeeded ingetting hold of the little one's arm and drew him out struggling andcrying. But now there rushed also from the hole a Badger, snarling andangry; it charged at the man, uttering its fighting snort. He fought itoff with his whip, then swung to the saddle with his precious burden androde away as for his very life, while the Badger pursued for a time, butit was easily left behind, and its snorts were lost and forgotten. HOME AGAIN The father was coming in from another direction as he saw this strangesight: a horse galloping madly over the prairie, on its back a young manshouting loudly, and in his arms a small dirty child, alternatelysnarling at his captor, trying to scratch his face, or struggling to befree. The father was used to changing intensity of feeling at these times, buthe turned pale and held his breath till the words reached him: "I havegot him, thank God! He's all right, " and he rushed forward shouting, "Myboy! my boy!" [Illustration] But he got a rude rebuff. The child glared like a hunted cat, hissed athim, and menaced with hands held claw fashion. Fear and hate were all heseemed to express. The door of the house was flung open and thedistracted mother, now suddenly overjoyed, rushed to join the group. "Mydarling! my darling!" she sobbed, but little Harry was not as when heleft them. He hung back, he hid his face in the coat of his captor, hescratched and snarled like a beast, he displayed his claws andthreatened fight, till strong arms gathered him up and placed him on hismother's knees in the old, familiar room with the pictures, and theclock ticking as of old, and the smell of frying bacon, his sister'svoice, and his father's form, and, above all, his mother's arms abouthim, her magic touch on his brow, and her voice, "My darling! mydarling! Oh! Harry, don't you know your mother? My boy! my boy!" And thestruggling little wild thing in her arms grew quiet, his animal angerdied away, his raucous hissing gave place to a short panting, and thatto a low sobbing that ended in a flood of tears and a passionate "Mamma, mamma, mamma!" as the veil of a different life was rolled away, and heclung to his mother's bosom. [Illustration] But even as she cooed to him, and stroked his brow and won him backagain, there was a strange sound, a snarling hiss at the open door. Allturned to see a great Badger standing there with its front feet on thethreshold. Father and cousin exclaimed, "Look at that Badger!" andreached for the ready gun, but the boy screamed again. He wriggled fromhis mother's arms and rushing to the door, cried, "My Badgie! myBadgie!" He flung his arms about the savage thing's neck, and itanswered with a low purring sound as it licked its lost companion'sface. The men were for killing the Badger, but it was the mother'skeener insight that saved it, as one might save a noble dog that hadrescued a child from the water. It was some days before the child would let the father come near. "Ihate that man; he passed me every day and would not look at me, " was theonly explanation. Doubtless the first part was true, for the Badger denwas but two miles from the house and the father rode past many times inhis radiating search, but the tow-topped head had escaped his eye. It was long and only by slow degrees that the mother got the story thatis written here, and parts of it were far from clear. It might all havebeen dismissed as a dream or a delirium but for the fact that the boyhad been absent two weeks; he was well and strong now, excepting thathis lips were blackened and cracked with the muddy water, the Badger hadfollowed him home, and was now his constant friend. [Illustration] It was strange to see how the child oscillated between the two lives, sometimes talking to his people exactly as he used to talk, andsometimes running on all fours, growling, hissing, and tussling with theBadger. Many a game of "King of the Castle" they had together on the lowpile of sand left after the digging of a new well. Each would climb tothe top and defy the other to pull him down, till a hold was secured andthey rolled together to the level, clutching and tugging, Harrygiggling, the Badger uttering a peculiar high-pitched sound that mighthave been called snarling had it not been an expression of good nature. Surely it was a Badger laugh. There was little that Harry could askwithout receiving, in those days, but his mother was shocked when hepersisted that the Badger must sleep in his bed; yet she so arranged it. The mother would go in the late hours and look on them with a littlepang of jealousy as she saw her baby curled up, sleeping soundly withthat strange beast. It was Harry's turn to feed his friend now, and side by side they sat toeat. The Badger had become an established member of the family. Butafter a month had gone by an incident took place that I would gladlyleave untold. THE HUMAN BRUTE Grogan, the unpleasant neighbour, who had first frightened Harry intothe den, came riding up to the Service homestead. Harry was in the housefor the moment. The Badger was on the sand pile. Instantly on catchingsight of it, Grogan unslung his gun and exclaimed, "A Badger!" To him aBadger was merely something to be killed. "Bang!" and the kindly animalrolled over, stung and bleeding, but recovered and dragged herselftoward the house. "Bang!" and the murderer fired again, just as theinmates rushed to the door--too late. Harry ran toward the Badgershouting, "Badgie! my Badgie!" He flung his baby arms around thebleeding neck. It fawned on him feebly, purring a low, hissing purr, then mixing the purrs with moans, grew silent, and slowly sank down, anddied in his arms. "My Badgie! my Badgie!" the boy wailed, and all theferocity of his animal nature was directed against Grogan. "You better get out of this before I kill you!" thundered the father, and the hulking halfbreed sullenly mounted his horse and rode away. A great part of his life had been cut away and it seemed as though adeathblow had been dealt the boy. The shock was more than he couldstand. He moaned and wept all day, he screamed himself intoconvulsions, he was worn out at sundown and slept little that night. Next morning he was in a raging fever and ever he called for "MyBadgie!" He seemed at death's door the next day, but a week later hebegan to mend and in three weeks was strong as ever and childishly gay, with occasional spells of sad remembering that gradually ceased. He grew up to early manhood in a land of hunters, but he took nopleasure in the killing that was such sport to his neighbour's sons, andto his dying day he could not look on the skin of a Badger withoutfeelings of love, tenderness, and regret. This is the story of the Badger as it was told me, and those who wish toinquire further can do so at Winnipeg, if they seek out ArchbishopMatheson, Dr. R. M. Simpson, or Mrs. George A. Frazer of Kildonan. Thesewitnesses may differ as to the details, but all have assured me that inits main outlines this tale is true, and I gladly tell it, for I wantyou to realize the kindly disposition that is in that sturdy, harmless, noble wild animal that sits on the low prairie mounds, for then I knowthat you will join with me in loving him, and in seeking to save hisrace from extermination. * * * * * VIII The Squirrel and His Jerky-tail Brothers * * * * * VIII The Squirrel and His Jerky-tail Brothers You remember that Hiawatha christened the Squirrel"Adjidaumo"--"Tail-in-air" and this Tail-in-air was chattering overheadas I sat, some twenty-five years ago, on the shore of the Lake of theWoods with an Ojibwa Indian, checking up the animals' names in thenative tongue. Of course the Red-squirrel was early in our notice. "Ad-je-_daw_-mo" I called it, but the Indian corrected me;"Ah-chit-aw-_mo_" he made it; and when I translated it "Tail-in-air" hesaid gravely, "No, it means head downward. " Then noting my surprise, headded, with characteristic courtesy, "Yes, yes, you are right; if hishead is down, his tail must be up. " Thoreau talks of the Red-squirrelflicking his tail like a whip-lash, and the word "Squirrel, " from theLatin "_Sciurus_" and Greek "_Skia-oura_" means "shady tail. " Thus allof its names seem to note the wonderful banner that serves the animalin turn as sun-shade, signal-flag, coverlet, and parachute. THE CHEEKY PINE SQUIRREL [Illustration] A wonderfully extensive kingdom has fallen to Adjidaumo of the shadytail; all of Canada and most of the Rockies are his. He is at homewherever there are pine forests and a cool climate; and he covers somany ranges of diverse conditions that, responding to the newenvironments in lesser matters of makeup, we have a score of differentSquirrel races from this parent stock. In size, in tail, in kind ordepth of coat they differ to the expert eye, but so far as I can seethey are exactly alike in all their ways, their calls and theirdispositions. The Pine Squirrel is the form found in the Rockies about the YellowstonePark. It is a little darker in colour than the Red-squirrel of the East, but I find no other difference. It has the same aggressive, scoldingpropensities, the same love of the pinyons and their product, the samefriends and the same foes, with one possible partial exception in thelist of habits, and that is in its method of storing up mushrooms. [Illustration] The pinyons, or nuts of the pinyon pine, are perhaps the most deliciousnuts in all the lap of bountiful dame Nature, from fir belt in thenorth to equatorial heat and on to far Fuego. All wild creatures revelin the pinyons. To the Squirrels they are more than the staff of life;they are meat and potatoes, bread and honey, pork and beans, bread andcake, sugar and chocolate, the sum of comfort, and the promise ofcontinuing joy. But the pinyon does not bear every year; there are offyears, as with other trees, and the Squirrels might be in a bad way ifthey had no other supply of food to lay up for the winter. [Illustration: XXV. Red-squirrel storing mushrooms for winter use_Sketched from life in the Selkirk Mountains, by E. T. Seton_] [Illustration: XXVI. Chink stalking the Picket-pin_Photo by E. T. Seton_] A season I spent in the Southern Rockies was an off year for pinyons, and when September came I was shown what the Squirrels do in such anemergency. All through autumn the slopes of the hills were dotted withthe umbrellas of countless toadstools or mushrooms, representing manyfat and wholesome species. It is well known that while a few of them arepoisonous, a great many are good food. Scientists can find out which iswhich only by slow experiment. "Eat them; if you live they are good, ifyou die they are poisonous" has been suggested as a certain method. TheSquirrels must have worked this out long ago, for they surely know thegood ones; and all through late summer they are at work gathering themfor winter use in place of the pine-nuts. [Illustration] Now if the provident Squirrel stored these up as he does the pinyons, inholes or underground, they would surely go to mush in a short time andbe lost. He makes no such mistake. He stores them in the forked branchesof trees, where they dry out and remain good until needed; and wiselyputs them high enough up to be out of reach of the Deer and low enoughto avoid being dislodged by the wind. As you ramble through the Squirrel-frequented woods, you will often comeacross a log or stump which is littered over with the scales fresh cutfrom a pine cone; sometimes there is a pile of a bushel or more by theplace; you have stumbled on a Squirrel's workshop. Here is where he doeshis husking, and the "clear corn" produced is stored away in someunderground granary till It is needed. The Pine Squirrel loves to nest in a hollow tree, but also builds anoutside nest which at a distance looks like a mass of rubbish. This, oninvestigation, turns out to be a convenient warm chamber some six incheswide and two or three high. It is covered with a waterproof roof of barkthatch, and entered by a door artfully concealed with layers and fringesof bark that hide it alike from blood-thirsty foes and piercing winterblasts. [Illustration] CHIPMUNKS AND GROUND-SQUIRRELS The Red-squirrel is safe and happy only when in the tall trees, but hiskinsmen have sought out any and every different environment. Oneenormous group of his great grandfather's second cousins have abandonedtree life altogether. They have settled down like the Dakota farmers, tobe happy on the prairie, where, never having need to get over anythinghigher than their own front doorstep, they have lost the last vestige ofpower to climb. These are the Ground-squirrels, that in a variety offorms are a pest in gardens and on farms in most of the country west ofthe Mississippi. Standing between these and the true Squirrels are the elegant Chipmunks, the prettiest and most popular of all the family. They frequent theborderland between woods and prairie; they climb, if anything is to begained by it, but they know, like the Ground-squirrels, that MotherEarth is a safer retreat in time of danger than the tallest tree thatever grew. THE GROUND-SQUIRREL THAT PLAYS PICKET-PIN Conspicuous in its teeming numbers in the Yellowstone Park is thePicket-Pin Ground-squirrel. On every level, dry prairie along the greatriver I found it in swarms. [Illustration] It looks much like a common Squirrel, but its coat has become moremud-coloured, and its tail is reduced by long ages of neglect to a merevestige of the ancestral banner. It has developed great powers ofburrowing, but it never climbs anything higher than the little moundthat it makes about the door of its home. The Picket-pin is an interesting and picturesque creature in some ways, but it has one habit that I cannot quite condone. In this land of sunand bright blue air, this world of outdoor charm, it comes forth tardilyin late spring, as late sometimes as the first of May, and promptlyretires in mid-August, when blazing summer is on the face of the earth, and the land is a land of plenty. Down it goes after three and one halfshort months, to sleep for eight and a half long ones; and since duringthese three and a half months it is above ground only in broad daylight, this means that for only two months of the year it is active, and theother ten, four fifths of its life, it passes in a deathlike sleep. Of course, the Picket-pin might reply that it has probably as many hoursof active life as any of its kind, only it breaks them up into sections, with long blanks of rest between. Whether this defense is a good one ornot, we have no facts at present to determine. [Illustration] It has a fashion of sitting up straight on the doorway mound when itwishes to take an observation, and the more it is alarmed by theapproach of an enemy the straighter it sits up, pressing its paws tightto its ribs, so that at a short distance it looks like a picket-pin ofwood; hence the name. Oftentimes some tenderfoot going in the evening to stake out his horseand making toward the selected patch of grassy prairie, exclaims, "GoodLuck! here's a picket-pin already driven in. " But on leading up hishorse within ten or twelve feet of the pin, it gives a little "_chirr_"and dives down out of sight. Then the said tenderfoot realizes why thecreature got the name. The summer of 1897 I spent in the Park about Yancey's and there haddaily chances of seeing the Picket-pin and learning its ways, for thespecies was there in thousands on the little prairie about my cabin. Ithink I am safe in saying that there were ten families to the acre ofland on all the level prairie in this valley. CHINK AND THE PICKET-PINS As already noted in the Coyote chapter, we had in camp that summer thelittle dog called Chink. He was just old enough to think himself aremarkable dog with a future before him. There was hardly anything thatChink would not attempt, except perhaps keeping still. He was alwaystrying to do some absurd and impossible thing, or, if he did attempt thepossible, he usually spoiled his best efforts by his way of going aboutit. He once spent a whole morning trying to run up a tall, straight, pine tree in whose branches was a snickering Pine Squirrel. The darling ambition of his life for some weeks was to catch one of thePicket-pin Ground-squirrels that swarmed on the prairie about the camp. Chink had determined to catch one of these Ground-squirrels the veryfirst day he came into the valley. Of course, he went about it in hisown original way, doing everything wrong end first, as usual. This, hismaster said, was due to a streak of Irish in his makeup. So Chink wouldbegin a most elaborate stalk a quarter of a mile from theGround-squirrel. After crawling on his breast from tussock to tussockfor a hundred yards or so, the nervous strain would become too great, and Chink, getting too much excited to crawl, would rise on his feet andwalk straight toward the Squirrel, which would now be sitting up by itshole, fully alive to the situation. After a minute or two of this very open approach, Chink's excitementwould overpower all caution. He would begin running, and at the last, just as he should have done his finest stalking, he would go boundingand barking toward the Ground-squirrel, which would sit like a peg ofwood till the proper moment, then dive below with a derisive chirrup, throwing with its hind feet a lot of sand right into Chink's eager, openmouth. Day after day this went on with level sameness, and still Chink did notgive up, although I feel sure he had bushels of sand thrown in his mouththat summer by the impudent Picket-pins. [Illustration] Perseverance, he seemed to believe, must surely win in the end, asindeed it did. For, one day, he made an unusually elaborate stalk afteran unusually fine big Picket-pin, carried out all his absurd tactics, finishing with the grand, boisterous charge, and actually caught hisvictim; but this time it happened to be a _wooden_ picket-pin. Any onewho doubts that a dog knows when he has made a fool of himself shouldhave seen Chink that day as he sheepishly sneaked out of sight behindthe tent. CHIPMUNKS Every one recognizes as a Chipmunk the lively little creature that, withstriped coat and with tail aloft, dashes across all the roads andchirrups on all the log piles that line the roads throughout thetimbered portions of the Park. I am sure I have often seen a thousand ofthem in a mile of road between the Mammoth Hot Springs and Norris GeyserBasin. The traveller who makes the entire round of the Park may see ahundred thousand if he keeps his eyes open. While every one knows themat once for Chipmunks, it takes a second and more careful glance to showthey are of three totally distinct kinds. THE GROUND-SQUIRREL THAT PRETENDS IT'S A CHIPMUNK First, largest, and least common, is the Big Striped Ground-squirrel, the Golden Ground-squirrel or Say's Ground-squirrel, calledscientifically _Citellus lateralis cinerascens_. This, in spite of itslivery, is not a Chipmunk at all but a Ground-squirrel that is tryinghard to be a Chipmunk. And it makes a good showing so far as manners, coat and stripes are concerned, but the incontrovertible evidence of itsinner life, as indicated by skull and makeup, tells us plainly that itis merely a Ground-squirrel, a first cousin to the ignoble Picket-pin. I found it especially common in the higher parts of the Park. It isreally a mountain species, at home chiefly among the rocks, yet is veryready to take up its abode under buildings. At the Lake Hotel I saw anumber of them that lived around the back door, and were almost tamedthrough the long protection there given them. Like most of these smallrodents, they are supposed to be grain-eaters but they really areomnivorous, and quite ready to eat flesh and eggs, as well as seeds andfruit. Warren in his "Mammals of Colorado, " tells of having seen one ofthese Ground-squirrels kill some young Bluebirds; and adds anotherinstance of flesh-eating observed in the Yellowstone Park, where he andtwo friends, riding along one of the roads, saw a Say Ground-squirreldemurely squatting on a log, holding in its arms a tiny young MeadowMouse, from which it picked the flesh as one might pick corn from a cob. Meadow Mice are generally considered a nuisance, and the one devouredprobably was of a cantankerous disposition; but just the same it givesone an unpleasant sensation to think of this elegant little creature, inappearance, innocence personified, wearing all the insignia of agrain-eater, yet ruthlessly indulging in such a bloody and cannibalfeast. A FOUR-LEGGED BIRD--THE NORTHERN CHIPMUNK The early naturalists who first made the acquaintance of the EasternGround-squirrel named it Tamias or "The Steward. " Later the NorthernChipmunk was discovered and it was found to be more of a Chipmunk thanits Eastern cousin. The new one had all the specialties of the old kind, but in a higher degree. So they named this one _Eutamias_, which means"good" or "extra good" Chipmunk. And extra good this exquisite littlecreature surely is in all that goes to make a charming, graceful, birdy, pert and vivacious four-foot. In everything but colours it is Eutamiasor Tamias of a more intensified type. Its tail is long in proportion andcarried differently, being commonly held straight up, so that thegeneral impression one gets is of a huge tail with a tiny striped animalattached to its lower end. [Illustration] Its excessive numbers along the roads in the Park are due to two things:First, the food, for oats are continually spilled from the freightingwagons. Second, the protection of piles of pine trees cut and cast asidein clearing the roadway. There is one habit of the Eastern Chipmunk that I have not noted in themountain species, and that is the habit of song. In the early spring andlate autumn when the days are bright and invigorating, the EasternChipmunk will mount some log, stump or other perch and express hisexuberant joy in a song which is a rapid repetition of a bird-like notesuggested by "Chuck, " "Chuck, " or "Chock, " "Chock. " This is kept up twoor three minutes without interruption, and is one of those delightfulwoodland songs whose charm comes rather from association than from itsinherent music. If our Western Chipmunk is as far ahead in matters musical as he is inform and other habits, I shall expect him to render no less than thesong of a nightingale when he gives himself up to express his wildexuberance in a chant. I shall never forget the days I spent with a naturalist friend in an oldmill building in western Manitoba. It was in a pine woods which waspeopled with these little Chipmunks. They had hailed the mill and itswood piles, and especially the stables, with their squandered oats, asthe very gifts of a beneficient Providence for their use and benefit. They had concentrated on the mill; they were there in hundreds, almostthousands, and whenever one looked across the yard in sunny hours onecould see a dozen or more together. The old mill was infested with them as an old brewery with rats. But inmany respects besides beauty they were an improvement on rats: they didnot smell, they were not vicious, and they did not move by night. [Illustration] During the daytime they were everywhere and into everything. Our slenderstock of provisions was badly reduced when, by mischance, the tin boxwas left open a few hours, but we loved to see so much beautiful lifeabout and so forgave them. One of our regular pleasures was to sit backafter a meal and watch these pert-eyed, four-legged birds scramble ontothe table, eat the scraps and lick all the plates and platters clean. Like all the Chipmunks and Ground-squirrels, this animal haswell-developed cheek-pouches which it uses for carrying home seeds androots which serve for food in the winter. Or perhaps we should say inthe early spring, for the Chipmunk, like the Ground-squirrel, goes intothe ground for a long repose as soon as winter comes down hard andwhite. Yet it does not go so early or stay so late as its big cousin. Octoberstill sees it active, even running about in the snow. As late as October31st at Breckenridge, Col. , I saw one sitting up on a log and eatingsome grass or seeds during a driving snowstorm. High up in theShoshonees, after winter had settled down, on October 8, 1898, I saw oneof these bright creatures bounding through the snow. On a stone hepaused to watch me and I made a hasty sketch of his attitude. [Illustration] Then, again, it is out in the spring, early in April, so that it isabove ground for at least seven months of the year. Its nest is in achamber at the end of a long tunnel that it digs under ground, usuallyamong roots that make hard digging for the creatures that would routthem out. Very little is known as yet, however, about the growth ordevelopment of the young, so here is an opportunity for the youngnaturalist who would contribute something to our knowledge of thisinteresting creature. A STRIPED PIGMY--THE LEAST CHIPMUNK Closely akin to this one and commonly mistaken for its young, is theLeast Chipmunk (_Eutamias minimus_), which is widely diffused in thegreat dry central region of the Continent. Although so generally foundand so visible when found, its history is practically unknown. Itprobably lives much like its relatives, raising a brood of four to sixyoung in a warm chamber far underground, and brings them up to eat allmanner of seeds, grains, fruits, herbs, berries, insects, birds, eggs, and even mice, just as do most of its kinsmen, but no one has proved anyof these things. Any exact observations you may make are sure to beacceptable contributions to science. * * * * * IX The Rabbits and their Habits * * * * * [Illustration: XXVII. The Snowshoe Hare is a cross between a Rabbit anda Snowdrift_Captives; photo by E. T. Seton_] [Illustration: XXVIII. The Cottontail freezing_Photos after sunset, by E. T. Seton_] IX The Rabbits and their Habits [Illustration] If the Wolf may be justly proud of his jaws and the Antelope of hislegs, I am sure that the Rabbit should very properly glory in hismatchless fecundity. To perfect this power he has consecrated all thesplendid energies of his vigorous frame, and he has magnified hisspecialty into a success that is worth more to his race than could beany other single gift. [Illustration] Rabbits are without weapons of defense, and are simple-minded to thelast degree. Most are incapable of long-distance speed, but all have anexuberance of multiplication that fills their ranks as fast as foe canthin the line. If, indeed, they did not have several families, severaltimes a year, they would have died out several epochs back. [Illustration] There are three marked types of Rabbits in the Rockies--the Cottontail, the Snowshoe, and the Jackrabbit. All of them are represented on theYellowstone, besides the little Coney of the rocks which is a remotesecond cousin of the family. MOLLY COTTONTAIL, THE CLEVER FREEZER [Illustration: Molly Freezing] I have often had occasion to comment on the "freezing" of animals. Whenthey are suddenly aware of a near enemy or confronted by unexpectedsituations, their habit is to _freeze_--that is, become perfectly rigid, and remain so until the danger is past or at least comprehended. Molly Cottontail is one of the best "freezers. " Whenever she does notknow what to do, she does nothing, obeying the old Western rule, "Neverrush when you are rattled. " Now Molly is a very nervous creature. Anyloud, sharp noise is liable to upset her, and feeling herself unnervedshe is very apt to stop and simply "freeze. " Keep this in mind when nextyou meet a Cottontail, and get a photograph. In July, 1902, I tried it myself. I was camped with a lot of SiouxIndians on the banks of the Cheyenne River in Dakota. They had theirfamilies with them, and about sundown one of the boys ran into the tepeefor a gun, and then fired into the grass. His little brother gave awar-whoop that their "pa" might well have been proud of, then rushedforward and held up a fat Cottontail, kicking her last kick. Another, asmaller Cottontail, was found not far away, and half a dozen youngredskins armed with sticks crawled up, then suddenly let them fly. Bunnywas hit, knocked over, and before he could recover, a dog had him. [Illustration] I had been some distance away. On hearing the uproar I came back towardmy own campfire, and as I did so, my Indian guide pointed to aCottontail twenty feet away gazing toward the boys. The guide picked upa stick of firewood. The boys saw him, and knowing that another Rabbit was there they camerunning. Now I thought they had enough game for supper and did not wishthem to kill poor Molly. But I knew I could not stop them by sayingthat, so I said: "Hold on till I make a photo. " Some of them understood;at any rate, my guide did, and all held back as I crawled toward theRabbit. She took alarm and was bounding away when I gave a shrillwhistle which turned her into a "frozen" statue. Then I came near andsnapped the camera. The Indian boys now closed in and were going tothrow, but I cried out: "Hold on! not yet; I want another. " So I chasedBunny twenty or thirty yards, then gave another shrill whistle, and gota fourth snap. Again I had to hold the boys back by "wanting anotherpicture. " Five times I did this, taking five pictures, and all the whilesteering Molly toward a great pile of drift logs by the river. I had nowused up all my films. The boys were getting impatient. So I addressed the Cottontail solemnlyand gently: "Bunny, I have done my best for you. I cannot hold theselittle savages any longer. You see that pile of logs over there? Well, Bunny, you have just five seconds to get into that wood-pile. Now git!"and I shooed and clapped my hands, and all the young Indians yelled andhurled their clubs, the dogs came bounding and Molly fairly dusted theearth. "Go it, Molly!" "Go it, dogs!" "Ki-yi, Injuns!" The clubs flew and rattled around her, but Molly put in ten feet to thehop and ten hops to the second (almost), and before the chase was wellbegun it was over; her cotton tuft disappeared under a log; she was safein the pile of wood, where so far as I know she lived happy ever after. [Illustration] THE RABBIT THAT WEARS SNOWSHOES The Snowshoe Rabbit is found in all parts of the Park, though not invery great numbers. It is called "Snowshoe" on account of the size ofits feet, which, already large, are in snow time made larger by fringesof stiff bristles that give the creature such a broad area of supportthat it can skip on the surface of soft snow while all its kinsmen sinkin helplessness. [Illustration] Here is the hind foot of a Snowshoe in winter, contrasted with the hindfoot of a Jackrabbit that was nearly three times its weight. Rabbits are low in the scale of intelligence, but they are high enoughto have some joy in social life. It always gives one a special thrill ofsatisfaction when favoured with a little glimpse into the home ways, thegames, or social life of an animal; and the peep I had into the Rabbitworld one night, though but a small affair, I have always rememberedwith pleasure, and hope for a second similar chance. This took place in the Bitterroot Mountains in Idaho, in 1902. My wifeand I were out on a pack-train trip with two New York friends. We hadseen some rough country in Colorado and Wyoming, but we soon agreed thatthe Bitterroots were the roughest of all the mountains. It tooktwenty-eight horses to carry the stuff, for which eighteen were enoughin the more southern Rockies. [Illustration] The trails were so crooked and hidden in thick woods, that sometimesthe man at the rear might ride the whole day, and never see all thehorses until we stopped again for the night. THE TERROR OF THE MOUNTAIN TRAILS [Illustration] There were other annoyances, and among them a particularly dangerousanimal. The country was fairly stocked with Moose, Elk, Blacktail, Sheep, Goats, Badgers, Skunks, Wolverines, Foxes, Coyotes, MountainLions, Lynx, Wolves, Black Bears and Grizzly Bears, but it was none ofthese that inspired us with fear. The deadly, dangerous creature, theworst of all, was the common Yellow-Jacket-Wasp. These Wasps abounded inthe region. Their nests were so plentiful that many were on, or by, thenarrow crooked trails that we must follow. Generally these trails werealong the mountain shoulder with a steep bank on the upside, and a sheerdrop on the other. It was at just such dangerous places that we seemedmost often to find the Yellow-Jackets at home. Roused by the noise andtrampling, they would assail the horses in swarms, and then there wouldbe a stampede of bucking, squealing, tortured animals. Some would beforced off the trail, and, as has often happened elsewhere, dashed totheir death below. This was the daily danger. [Illustration] One morning late in September we left camp about eight, and set off inthe usual line, the chief guide leading and the rest of us distributedat intervals among the pack-horses, as a control. Near the rear was thecook, after him a pack-horse with tins and dishes, and last of allmyself. At first we saw no wasps, as the morning was frosty, but about ten thesun had become strong, the air was quite mild, and the wasps becamelively. For all at once I heard the dreaded cry, "_Yellow-Jackets_!"Then in a moment it was taken up by the cook just ahead of me. "Yellow-Jackets! look out!" with a note almost of terror in his voice. At once his horse began to plunge and buck. I saw the man of potsclinging to the saddle and protecting his face as best he could, whilehis mount charged into the bushes and disappeared. Then "_bzz-z-z-z_" they went at the pot-horse and again the bucking andsquealing, with pots going clank, clink, rattle and away. "_Bzz-z-z-z-z_" and in a moment the dark and raging little terrors cameat me in a cloud. I had no time to stop, or get off, or seek anotherway. So I jerked up a coat collar to save my face, held my head low, andtried to hold on, while the little pony went insane with the fierybaptism now upon him. Plunging, kicking, and squealing he went, and Istuck, to him for one--two--three jumps, but at number four, as Iremember it, I went flying over his head, fortunately up hill, andlanded in the bushes unhurt, but ready for peace at any price. It is good old wisdom to "lay low in case of doubt, " and very low I laythere, waiting for the war to cease. It was over in a few seconds, formy horse dashed after his fellows and passed through the bushes, so thatthe winged scorpions were left behind. Presently I lifted my head andlooked cautiously toward the wasp's-nest. It was in a bank twenty feetaway, and the angry swarm was hovering over it, like smoke from a venthole. They were too angry, and I was too near, to run any risks, so Isank down again and waited. In one or two minutes I peered once more, getting a sight under a small log lying eight or ten feet away. And as Igazed waspward my eye also took in a brown furry creature calmly sittingunder the log, wabbling his nose at me and the world about him. It was ayoung Snowshoe Rabbit. [Illustration] BUNNY'S RIDE There is a certain wild hunter instinct in us all, a wish to captureevery wood creature we meet. That impulse came on me in power. There wasno more danger from wasps, so I got cautiously above this log, put ahand down at each side, grabbed underneath, and the Rabbit was myprisoner. Now I had him, what was I going to do with him--kill him?Certainly not. I began to talk to him. "Now what _did_ I catch you for?"His only reply was a wobble of his nose, so I continued: "I didn't knowwhen I began, but I know now. I want to get your picture. " And again thenose wobbled. I could not take it then as my camera had gone on with my horse. I hadnothing to put the Rabbit in. I could not put it in my pocket as thatwould mean crushing it in some early tumble; I needed both my hands toclimb with and catch my horse, so for lack of a better place I took offmy hat and said, "Bunny, how would you like to ride in that?" He wobbledhis nose, which I understood to mean that he didn't care. So I put theRabbit on my head, and put the hat on again. [Illustration] Then I went forward and found that the cook had recovered his pots andpans; all was well now and my horse was awaiting me. I rode all the rest of that day with the Rabbit quietly nestling in myhair. It was a long, hard day, for we continued till nightfall and thenmade a dark camp in a thick pine woods. It was impossible to makepictures then, so I put the little Rabbit under a leatheroid telescopelid, on a hard level place, gave him food and water, and left him foruse in the morning. THE RABBIT DANCE About nine o'clock that night we were sitting about the fire, when fromthe near woods was heard a tremendous "_tap-tap-taptrrr_, " so loud andso near that we all jumped and stared into the darkness. Again it came, "_tap-tap-tap trrrrr_, " a regular drum tattoo. "What is that?" we all exclaimed, and at that moment a large Rabbitdarted across the open space lighted by the fire. Again the tattoo and another Rabbit dashed across. Then it dawned on methat that was the young Rabbit signalling to his friends. He was usingthe side of his box for a drum. Again the little prisoner rolled his signal call, and then a thirdSnowshoe Rabbit appeared. "Look at all the Rabbits!" exclaimed my friend. "Where is my gun?" "No, " I said, "you don't need your gun. Wait and see. There is somethingup. That little chap is ringing up central. " "I never saw so many together in all my life, " said he. Then added:"I've got an acetylene lantern; perhaps we can get a picture. " [Illustration] As soon as he had his camera and lantern, we went cautiously to therabbity side of the woods; several ran past us. Then we sat down on asmooth place. My friend held the camera, I held the light, but we restedboth on the ground. Very soon a Rabbit darted from the darkness into thegreat cone of light from the lantern, gazed at that wonder for a moment, gave a "thump" and disappeared. Then another came; then two or three. They gazed into this unspeakably dazzling thing, then one gave the alarmby thumping, and all were lost to sight. But they came again and in ever-increasing numbers, 4, 5, 7, 8, 10 atlast, now in plain view, gazing wildly at the bright light, pushingforward as though fascinated. Some two or three so close together thatthey were touching each other. Then one gave the thumping alarm, and allscattered like leaves, to vanish like ghosts. But they came back again, to push and crawl up nearer to that blazing wonder. Some of the backones were skipping about but the front ones edged up in a sort ofwild-eyed fascination. Closer and closer they got, then the first onewas so near that reaching out to smell the lantern he burnt his nose, and at his alarm thump, all disappeared in the woods. But they soonreturned to disport again in that amazing brightness; and, stimulatedby the light, they danced about, chasing each other, dodging around inlarge circles till one of the outermost leaped over the camera box andanother following him, leaped up and sat on it. My friend was justbehind, hidden by the light in front, and he had no trouble in clutchingthe impudent Rabbit with both hands. Instantly it set up a loudsquealing. The other Rabbits gave a stamping signal, and in a moment allwere lost in the woods, but the one we held. Quickly we transported itto another leatheroid box, intending to take its picture in the morning, but the prisoner had a means of attack that I had not counted on. Justas we were going to sleep he began with his front feet on the resoundingbox and beat a veritable drum tattoo of alarm. Every one in camp wasawakened, and again, as we were dropping off, the camp was roused byanother loud "tattoo. " For nearly two hours this went on; then, aboutmidnight, utterly unable to sleep, I arose and let the drummer go abouthis business, do anything or go anywhere, so only he would be quiet andlet us attend to ours. [Illustration: XXIX. The Baby Cottontail that rode twenty miles in myhat_Photo by E. T. Seton_] [Illustration: XXX. Snowshoe Rabbits dancing in the light of the lantern_Sketch by E. T. Seton_] Next morning I photographed the little Bunny, and set him free to joinhis kin. It is a surprising fact that though we spent two weeks in thisvalley, and a month in those mountains, we did not see another wildRabbit. This incident is unique in my experience. It is the only time when Ifound the Snowshoe Hares gathered for a social purpose, and is the onlyapproach to a game that I ever heard of among them. THE GHOST RABBIT An entirely different side of Rabbit life is seen in another mysteriousincident that I have never been able to explain. At one time when I lived in Ontario, I had a very good hound that wastrained to follow all kinds of trails. I used to take him out in thewoods at night, give him general instructions "to go ahead, and reporteverything afoot"; then sit down on a log to listen to his reports. Andhe made them with remarkable promptness. Slight differences in his bark, and the course taken, enabled me to tell at once whether it was Fox, Coon, Rabbit, Skunk, or other local game. And his peculiar falsetto yelpwhen the creature treed, was a joyful invitation to "come and see foryourself. " [Illustration] The hound's bark for a Fox was deep, strong, and at regular intervals asbefitted the strong trail, and the straightaway run. But for a Rabbitit was broken, uncertain, irregular and rarely a good deep bay. [Illustration] One night the dog bawled in his usual way, "Rabbit, Rabbit, Rabbit, " andsoon leaving the woods he crossed an open field where the moon shonebrightly, and I could easily see to follow. Still yelping "Rabbit, Rabbit, Rabbit, " he dashed into a bramble thicket in the middle of thefield. But at once he dashed out again shrieking, "Police! Help!Murder!" and took refuge behind me, cowering up against my legs. At thesame moment from the side of that bramble thicket there went out--_aRabbit_. Yes, a common Rabbit all right, but it was a _snow-white_ one. The first albino Cottontail I had ever seen, and apparently the firstalbino Cottontail that[C] Ranger had ever seen. Dogs are not supposed tobe superstitious, but on that occasion Ranger behaved exactly as thoughhe thought that he had seen a ghost. A NARROW-GAUGE MULE--THE PRAIRIE HARE [Illustration] One has to see this creature with its great flopping ears, and itsstiff-legged jumping like a bucking mule, to realize the aptness of itsWestern nickname. As it bounds away from your pathway its bushy snow-white tail and thewhite behind the black-tipped ears will point out plainly that it isneither the Texas Jackrabbit nor the Rocky Mountain Cottontail, but theWhite-tailed Jackrabbit, the finest of all our Hares. I have met it in woods, mountains, and prairies, from California toManitoba and found it the wildest of its race and almost impossible ofapproach; _except_ in the great exceptional spot, the Yellowstone Park. Here in the August of 1912 I met with two, close to the Mammoth HotSprings Hotel. At a distance of thirty feet they gave me good chances totake pictures, and though the light was very bad I made a couple ofsnaps. Fifteen years ago, when first I roamed in the Park, the PrairieHare was exceedingly rare, but now, like so many of the wild folk, ithas become quite common. Another evidence of the efficacy of protection. This silvery-gray creature turns pure white in the winter, when the snowmantle of his range might otherwise make it too conspicuous. THE BUMP OF MOSS THAT SQUEAKS No matter how horrible a certain climate or surroundings may seem to us, they are sure to be the ideal of some wild creature, its very dream ofbliss. I suppose that slide rock, away up in cold, bleak, windy countryabove the timber-line, is absolutely the unloveliest landscape and mostrepulsive home ground that a man could find in the mountains and yet itis the paradise, the perfect place of a wonderful little creature thatis found on the high peaks of the Rockies from California to Alaska. It is not especially abundant in the Yellowstone Park, but it was therethat first I made its acquaintance, and Easterners will meet with it inthe great Reserve more often than in all other parts of its range puttogether. [Illustration] As one reaches the Golden Gate, near Mammoth Hot Springs, many littleanimals of the Ground-squirrel group are seen running about, and fromthe distance comes a peculiar cry, a short squeak uttered every ten orfifteen seconds. You stop, perhaps search with your eye the remotehillside, but you are looking too far afield. Glance toward the tumbledrock piles, look at every high point. There on top of one you note alittle gray lump, like a bump of moss, the size of your fist, clingingto the point of the rock. Fix your glasses on it, and you will seeplainly that the squeak is made by this tiny creature, like aquarter-grown Rabbit with short, round, white-rimmed ears and novisible tail. This is the curious little animal that cannot be happyanywhere but in the slide rock; this is the Calling Hare. "Little ChiefHare" is its Indian name, but it has many others of much currency, suchas "Pika, " and "Starved Rat, " the latter because it is never fat. Thedriver calls it a "Coney, " or "Rock Rabbit. " In its colour, size, shape, and habits it differs from all other creatures in the region; it isimpossible to mistake it. Though a distant kinsman of the Rabbits, it isunlike them in looks and ways. Thus it has, as noted, the veryun-rabbit-like habit of squeaking from some high lookout. This isdoubtless a call of alarm to let the rest of the company know that thereis danger about, for the Coney is a gregarious creature; there may be ahundred of them in the rock-slide. Some years ago, in Colorado, I sketched one of the Coneys by help of afield glass. He was putting all the force of his energetic little soulinto the utterance of an alarm cry for the benefit of his people. But the most interesting habit of this un-rabbity Rabbit is its way ofpreparing for winter. [Illustration] When the grass, the mountain dandelions, and the peavines are at theirbest growth for making hay, the Coney, with his kind, goes warily fromhis stronghold in the rocks to the nearest stretch of herbage, and therecuts as much as he can carry of the richest growths; then laden with abundle as big as himself, and very much longer, he makes for the rocks, and on some flat open place spreads the herbage out to be cured for hiswinter hay. Out in full blaze of the sun he leave it, and if someinconsiderate rock comes in between, to cast a shadow on his haya-curing, he moves the one that is easiest to move; he never neglectshis hay. When dry enough to be safe, he packs it away into his barn, thebarn being a sheltered crevice in the rocks where the weather cannotharm it, and where it will continue good until the winter time, whenotherwise there would be a sad pinch of famine in the Coney world. Thetrappers say that they can tell whether the winter will be hard or openby the amount of food stored up in the Coney barns. [Illustration] Many a one of these I have examined in the mountains of British Columbiaand Colorado, as well as in the Park. The quantity of hay in them variesfrom what might fill a peck measure to what would make a huge armful. Among the food plants used, I found many species of grass, thistle, meadow-rue, peavine, heath, and the leaves of several composite plants. I suspect that fuller observations will show that they use every herbnot actually poisonous, that grows in the vicinity of their citadel. More than one of these wads of hay had in the middle of it a nest orhollow; not, I suspect, the home nest where the young are raised, but asort of winter restaurant where they could go while the ground wascovered with snow, and sitting in the midst of their provisions, eat totheir heart's content. It is not unlikely that in this we see the growth of the storage habit, beginning first with a warm nest of hay, which it was found could beutilized for food when none other was available. The fact that thesebarns are used year after year is shown by the abundance of pellets inseveral layers which were found in and about them. THE WEATHERWISE CONEY [Illustration] A very wise little people is this little people of the Rocks. Not onlydo they realize that in summer they must prepare for winter, but theyknow how to face a present crisis, however unexpected. To appreciate thefollowing instance, we must remember that the central thought in theConey's life is his "grub pile" for winter use, and next that he is astrictly daytime animal. I have often slept near a Coney settlement andnever heard a sound or seen a sign of their being about after dark. Nevertheless, Merriam tells us that he and Vernon Bailey once carriedtheir blankets up to a Coney colony above timber-line in the SalmonRiver Mountains of Idaho, intending to spend the night there and tostudy the Coneys whose piles of hay were visible in all directions ontheir rocks. As this was about the first of September, it was natural toexpect fair weather and a complete curing of the hay in a week or so. But a fierce storm set in with the descending night. The rain changed tohail and then to snow, and much to the surprise of the naturalists, theyheard the squeak of the Coneys all night long. These animals love the sunshine, the warmth and the daylight, and dreadcold and darkness as much as we do. It must have been a bitterexperience when at the call of the older ones every little Coney had totumble out of his warm bed in the chill black hours and face the drivingsleet to save the winter's supplies. But tumble out they did, andovertime they worked, hard and well, for when the morning dawned theslide-rock and the whole world was covered deep in snow, but everyhaycock had been removed to a safer place under the rocks, and thewisdom of the Coney once more exemplified, with adequate energy to makeit effective. [Illustration] [Illustration: XXXI. Snowshoe Rabbits fascinated by the lantern_Sketched in the Bitterroot Mts. By E. T. Seton_] [Illustration: XXXII. The Ghost Rabbit_Sketch by E. T. Seton_] HIS SAFETY IS IN THE ROCKS No one has ever yet found the home nest of the Calling Hare. It is sosecurely hidden under rocks, and in galleries below rocks, that allattempts to dig it out have thus far failed. I know of several men, notto mention Bears, Badgers, Wolverines, and Grizzlies, who have essayedto unearth the secret of the Coney's inner life. Following on the trailof a Coney that bleated derisively at me near Pagoda Peak, Col. , I beganat once to roll rocks aside in an effort to follow him home to his den. The farther I went the less satisfaction I found. The uncertain trailramified more and more as I laboured. Once or twice from far below me Iheard a mocking squeak that spurred me on, but that too, ceased. Whenabout ten tons of rock had been removed I was baffled. There were half adozen possible lines of continuation, and while I paused to wipe the"honest sweat" from my well-meaning brow, I heard behind me the "weak, ""weak, " of my friend as though giving his estimate of my resolution, andI descried him--I suppose the same--on a rock point like a moss-bumpagainst the sky-line away to the left. Only, one end of the moss-bumpmoved a little each time a squeak was cast upon the air. I had not timeto tear down the whole mountain, so I did as my betters, the Bears andBadgers have done before me, I gave it up. I had at least found out whythe Coney avoids the pleasant prairie and the fertile banks, and Ifinished with a new and profounder understanding of the Scripture textwhich says in effect, "As for the Coney, his safe refuge is in therocks. " FOOTNOTES: [Footnote C: It proved later to be an albino domestic Rabbit run wild. ] * * * * * X Ghosts of the Campfire * * * * * [Illustration] X Ghosts of the Campfire It is always worth while to cultivate the old guides. Young guides areoften fresh and shallow, but the quiet old fellows, that have spenttheir lives in the mountains, must be good or they could not stay in thebusiness; and they have seen so much and been so far that they are likerare old manuscript volumes, difficult to read, but unique and full ofvalue. It is not easy to get them to talk, but there is a combinationthat often does it. First, show yourself worthy of their respect byholding up your end, be it in an all-day climb or breakneck ride; thenat night, after the others have gone to bed, you sit while the old guidesmokes, and by a few brief questions and full attention, show that youvalue any observations he may choose to make. Many happy hours and muchimportant information have been my reward for just such cautious play, and often as we sat, there flitted past, in the dim light, the silentshadowy forms of the campfire ghosts. Swift, not twinkling, but loominglight and fading, absolutely silent. Sometimes approaching so near thatthe still watcher can get the glint of beady eyes or even of a snowybreast, for these ghosts are merely the common Mice of the mountains, abounding in every part of the West. [Illustration] There are half a dozen different kinds, yet most travellers will beinclined to bunch them all, and pass them by as mere Mice. But they areworthy of better treatment. Three, at least, are so different in formand ways that you should remember them by their names. First is the _Whitefooted or Deer-mouse_. This is the one that you findin the coffee pot or the water bucket in the morning; this is the onethat skips out of the "grub box" when the cook begins breakfast; andthis is the one that runs over your face with its cold feet as you sleepnights. It is one of the most widely diffused mammals in North Americato-day, and probably the most numerous. It is an elegant little creature, with large, lustrous black eyes likethose of a Deer, a fact which, combined with its large ears, thefawn-coloured back, and the pure white breast, has given it the name of"Deer-mouse. " It is noted for drumming with one foot as a call to itsmate, and for uttering a succession of squeaks and trills that serve itas a song. Sometimes its nest is underground; and sometimes in a tree, whence thename Tree-mouse. It breeds several times in a year and does nothibernate, so is compelled to lay up stores of food for winter use. Tohelp it in doing this it has a very convenient pair of capaciouspockets, one in each cheek, opening into the mouth. THE JUMPING MOUSE He glides around the fire much as the others do, but at the approach ofdanger, he simply fires himself out of a catapult, afar into the night. Eight or ten feet he can cover in one of these bounds and he can, anddoes, repeat them as often as necessary. How he avoids knocking out hisown brains in his travels I have not been able to understand. This is the New World counterpart of the Jerboa, so familiar in ourschool books as a sort of diminutive but glorified kangaroo thatfrequents the great Pyramids. It is so like a Jerboa in build andbehaviour that I was greatly surprised and gratified to find myscientist friends quite willing that I should style it the Americanrepresentative of the African group. [Illustration] The country folk in the East will tell you that there are "sevensleepers" in our woods, and enumerate them thus: the Bear, the Coon, theSkunk, the Woodchuck, the Chipmunk, the Bat, and the Jumping Mouse. Allare good examples, but the longest, soundest sleeper of the wholesomnolent brotherhood is the Jumping Mouse. Weeks before summer is endedit has prepared a warm nest deep underground, beyond the reach of coldor rain, and before the early frost has nipped the aster, the JumpingMouse and his wife curl up with their long tails around themselves likecords on a spool, and sleep the deadest kind of a dead sleep, unbrokenby even a snore, until summer is again in the land, and frost and snowunknown. This means at least seven months on the Yellowstone. [Illustration] Since the creature is chiefly nocturnal, the traveller is not likely tosee it, excepting late at night when venturesome individuals often comecreeping about the campfire, looking for scraps or crumbs; or sometimesother reckless youngsters of the race, going forth to seek theirfortunes, are found drowned in the tanks or wells about the hotels. [Illustration: XXXIV. The Coney or Calling Hare_Photo by W. E. Carlin_] [Illustration: XXXV. The Coney barns full of hay stored for winter use_Photos by E. T. Seton_] Here is a diagram of a Jumper in the act of living up to its reputation. And at once one asks what is the reason for this interminable tail. Theanswer is, it is the tail to the kite, the feathering to the arrow;and observation shows that a Jumping Mouse that has lost its tail isalmost helpless to escape from danger. A good naturalist records thatone individual that was de-tailed by a mowing machine, jumpedfrantically and far, but had no control of the direction, and just asoften as not went straight up or landed wrong end to, and sometimes on asecond bound was back where it had started from. It is very safe to say that all unusual developments serve a very vitalpurpose in the life of the creature, but we are not always so fortunateas in this case, to know what that purpose is. THE CALLING MOUSE One day fifteen years ago I was sitting on a low bank near Baronett'sBridge across the Yellowstone, a mile and a half from Yancey's. The bankwas in an open place, remote from cliffs or thick woods; it was high, dry, and dotted with holes of rather larger than field-mouse size, whichwere further peculiar in that most of them went straight down and nonewas connected with any visible overland runways. All of which is secondary to the fact that I was led to the bank by apeculiar bleating noise like the "weak" of a Calling Hare, but higherpitched. As I passed the place the squeakers were left behind me, and so at lastI traced the noise to some creature underground. But what it was I couldnot see or determine. I knew only from the size of the hole it must beas small as a Mouse. [Illustration] Not far away from this I drew some tracks I found in the dust, and laterwhen I showed the drawing, and told the story to a naturalist friend, hesaid: "I had the same experience in that country once, and was puzzleduntil I found out by keeping a captive that the creature in the bank wasa Grasshopper Mouse or a Calling Mouse, and those in your drawing areits tracks. " At one time it was considered an extremely rare animal, but now, havingdiscovered its range, we know it to be quite abundant. In northern NewMexico I found one species so common in the corn-field that I couldcatch two or three every night with a few mousetraps. But it is scarceon the Yellowstone, and all my attempts to trap it were frustrated bythe much more abundant Deer-mice, which sprang the bait and sacrificedthemselves, every time I tried for the Squeaker. In the fall of 1912 I was staying at Standing Rock Agency in NorthDakota. On the broken ground, between the river and the high levelprairie, I noted a ridge with holes exactly like those I had seen onthe Yellowstone. A faint squeak underground gave additional andcorroborative evidence. So I set a trap and next night had a specimen ofthe Squeaker as well as a couple of the omnipresent Deer-mice. Doubtless the Calling Mouse has an interesting and peculiar lifehistory, but little is known of it except that it dwells on the dryplains, is a caller by habit;--through not around the campfire--it feedslargely on grasshoppers, and is in mortal terror of ants. * * * * * XI Sneak-cats Big and Small * * * * * [Illustration] XI Sneak-cats--Big and Small You may ride five hundred miles among the mountains, in a country wherethese beasts of prey abound, and yet see never a hair of a livingWildcat. _But how many do you suppose see you?_ Peeping from a thicket, near the trail, glimpsing you across some open valley in the mountains, or inspecting you from various points as you recline by the campfire, they size you up and decide they want no nearer dealings with you; youare bad medicine, a thing to be eluded. And oh! how clever they are ateluding us. If you turn out the biggest Lynx on the smoothest prairie you ever saw, he will efface himself before you count twenty. The grass may be butthree inches high and the Lynx twenty-three, but he will melt into it, and wholly escape the searching eyes of the keenest. One would not thinkan empty skin could lie more flat. Add to this the silent sinuosity ofhis glide; he seems to ooze around the bumps and stumps, and bottle uphis frightful energy for the final fearsome leap. His whole makeup issacrificed to efficiency in that leap; on that depends his life; hisvery existence turns on the wondrous perfection of the sneak, of whichthe leap is the culmination. Hunters in all parts where these creaturesabound, agree in calling Wildcat, Lynx, and Cougar by the undignifiedbut descriptive name of Sneak-cat. THE BOBCAT OR MOUNTAIN WILDCAT The Wildcat of Europe, and of literature, is a creature of almostunparalleled ferocity. Our own Wildcat is three times as big and heavy, so many persons assume that it is three times as ferocious, andtherefore to be dreaded almost like a Tiger. The fact is, the AmericanWildcat or Bobcat is a very shy creature, ready to run from a very smalldog, never facing a man and rarely killing anything bigger than aRabbit. I never saw but one Bobcat in the Yellowstone Park, and that was not inthe Park, but at Gardiner where it was held a captive. But it came fromthe Park, and the guides tell me that the species is quite common insome localities. It is readily recognized by its cat-like form and its short or bob-tail, whence its name. [Illustration: XXXVI. (a) Tracks of Deer escaping and (b) Tracks ofMountain Lion in pursuit_Photos by E. T. Seton_] [Illustration: XXXVII. The Mountain Lion sneaking around us as we sleep_Sketch by E. T. Seton_] MISUNDERSTOOD--THE CANADA LYNX The southern part of North America is occupied by Bobcats of variouskinds, the northern part by Lynxes, their very near kin, and there is anarrow belt of middle territory occupied by both. The Yellowstone Parkhappens to be in that belt, so we find here both the Mountain Bobcat andthe Canada Lynx. I remember well three scenes from my childhood days in Canada, in whichthis animal was the central figure. A timid neighbour of ours wassurprised one day to see a large Lynx come out of the woods in broaddaylight, and walk toward his house. He went inside, got his gun, openedthe door a little, and knelt down. The Lynx walked around the house atabout forty yards distance, the man covering it with the gun most of thetime, but his hand was shaking, the gun was wabbling, and he wastormented with the thought, "What if I miss, then that brute will comeright at me, and then, oh, dear! what?" He had not the nerve to fire and the Lynx walked back to the woods. Howwell I remember that man. A kind-hearted, good fellow, but oh! sotimid. His neighbours guyed him about it, until at last he sold out hisfarm and joined the ministry. The next scene was similar. Two men were out Coon-hunting, when theirdogs treed something. A blazing fire soon made, showed plainly aloft inthe tree the whiskered head of a Lynx. The younger man levelled his gunat it, but the other clung to his arm begging him to come away, reminding him that both had families dependent on them, and earnestlyprotesting that the Lynx, if wounded, would certainly come down and killthe whole outfit. The third was wholly different. In broad daylight a Lynx came out of thewoods near a settler's house, entered the pasture and seized a lamb. Thegood wife heard the noise of the sheep rushing, and went out in time tosee the Lynx dragging the victim. She seized a stick and went for therobber. He growled defiantly, but at the first blow of the stick hedropped the lamb and ran. Then that plucky woman carried the lamb to thehouse; finding four deep cuts in its neck she sewed them up, and after afew days of careful nursing restored the woolly one to its mother, fullyrecovered. [Illustration] The first two incidents illustrate the crazy ideas that some folks haveabout the Lynx, and the last shows what the real character of the animalis. I have once or twice been followed by Lynxes, but I am sure it wasmerely out of curiosity. Many times I have met them in the woods atclose range and each time they have gazed at me in a sort of mild-eyedwonder. There was no trace of ferocity in the gaze, but rather ofinnocent confidence. The earliest meeting I ever had with a Lynx I shall remember when allthe other meetings have been dimmed by time, but I have used theincident without embellishment in the early part of "Two LittleSavages, " so shall not repeat it here. THE SHYEST THING IN THE WOODS--MOUNTAIN LION, PUMA OR COUGAR Reference to the official report shows that there are about one hundredMountain Lions now ranging the Yellowstone Park. And yet one is verysafe in believing that not twenty-five persons of those living in thePark have ever seen one. By way of contrast, the report gives the number of Blackbear at thesame--about one hundred--and yet every one living in the Park or passingthrough, has seen scores of Bears. Why this difference? Chiefly owing to their respective habits. TheCougar is the most elusive, sneaking, adroit hider, and shyest thing inthe woods. I have camped for twenty-five years in its country and havenever yet seen a wild Cougar. Almost never are they found without dogsspecially trained to trail and hunt them. Although I have never seen a Cougar at large, it is quite certain thatmany a one has watched me. Yes! even in the Yellowstone Park. Rememberthis, oh traveller, sitting in front of the Mammoth Hot Springs Hotel!you are in sight of two famous Cougar haunts--Mt. Evarts and BunsenPeak, and the chances are that, as you sit and perhaps read these lines, a Cougar lolling gray-brown among the gray-brown rocks of the mountainopposite, is calmly surveying all the world about, including yourself. [Illustration] If you consult the witching contraband books that we of a bygone ageused to read surreptitiously in school hours, you will learn that "theCougar is a fearsome beast of invincible prowess. He can kill a Buffaloor an ox with a blow of his paw, and run off with it at full speed orcarry it up a tree to devour, and he is by choice a man-eater. Commonlyuttering the cry of a woman in distress to decoy the gallant victim tohis doom. " If, on the other hand, you consult some careful naturalhistories, or one or two of the seasoned guides, you learn that theCougar, though horribly destructive among Deer, sheep, and colts, rarely kills a larger prey, and never is known to attack man. I have had many persons take exception to the last statement, and givecontrary proof by referring to some hair-lifting incident which seemedto be a refutation. But most of these attacks by Cougars have failed tostand the disintegrating power of a carefully focussed searchlight. There is no doubt that the Cougar is addicted to horseflesh, as hisscientific name implies (_hippolestes_=horse pirate). He will go a longway to kill a colt, and several supposed cases of a Cougar attacking aman on horseback at night prove to have been attacks on the horse, andin each case on discovering the man the Cougar had decamped. This creature is also possessed of a strong curiosity and many times isknown to have followed a man in the woods merely to study the queercreature, but without intent to do him harm. Nevertheless the timidtraveller who discovers he is "pursued by a Cougar" may manage topersuade himself that he has had a hairbreadth escape. THE TIME I MET A LION A newspaper reporter asked me once for a story of terrible peril fromour wild animals, a time "when I nearly lost my life. " [Illustration] My answer was, "I never had such an experience. Danger from wild animalsis practically non-existent in America to-day. " "Did you never meet a Grizzly or a Mountain Lion?" he asked. "Yes, many Grizzlies, and one or two Lions. I've had one look me overwhile I slept, " was the answer. And now the thrill-monger's face lighted up, he straightened his paperand stuck his pencil in his mouth by way of getting ready, andejaculated: "Say! now you're getting it; let's hear the details. Don'tspare me!" "It was back in September, 1899, " I said. "My wife and I were camping inthe high Sierra near Mt. Tallac. At this season rain is unknown, so wetook no tent. Each of us had a comfortable rubber bed and we placedthese about a foot or two apart. In the narrow alley between we put awaterproof canvas, and on that each night we laid the guns. "We had a couple of cowboys to look after the outfit. A fortnight hadgone by with sunny skies and calm autumn weather, when one evening itbegan to blow. Black, lumpy clouds came up from the far-off sea; thedust went whirling in little eddies, and when the sun went down it wasof a sickly yellowish. The horses were uneasy, throwing up their noses, snorting softly and pricking their ears in a nervous way. "Everything promised a storm in spite of the rule 'no rain inSeptember, ' and we huddled into our tentless beds with such preparationas we could make for rain. "As night wore on the windstorm raged, and one or two heavy dropsspattered down. Then there was a loud snort or two and a plunge of thenearest horse, then quiet. "Next morning we found every horse gone, and halters and ropes broken, while deep hoofprints showed the violence of the stampede which we hadscarcely heard. The men set out on foot after the horses, and by goodluck, recovered all within a mile. Meanwhile I made a careful study ofthe ground, and soon got light. For there were the prints of a hugeMountain Lion. He had prowled into camp, coming up to where we slept, sneaked around and smelt us over, and--I think--walked down the alleybetween our beds. After that, probably, he had got so close to thehorses that, inspired by terror of their most dreaded foe, they hadbroken all bonds and stampeded into safety. Nevertheless, though thehorses were in danger, there can be no question, I think, that we werenot. " The reporter thought the situation more serious than I did, andpersisted that if I dug in my memory I should yet recall a reallyperilous predicament, in which thanks to some wild brute, I was neardeath's door. And as it proved he was right. I had nearly forgotten whatlooked like a hairbreadth escape. IN PERIL OF MY LIFE It was on the same Sierra trip. Our outfit had been living for weeksamong the tall pines, subsisting on canned goods; and when at length wecame out on the meadows by Leaf Lake we found them enlivened by a smallherd of wild--that is, range-cattle. "My!" said one of the cowboys, "wouldn't a little fresh milk go fineafter all that ptomaine we've been feeding on?" "There's plenty of it there; help yourself, " said I. "I'd soon catch one if I knew which, and what to do when I got her, " heanswered. Then memories of boyhood days on the farm came over me and I said: "I'llshow you a cow in milk, and I'll milk her if you'll hold her. " "Agreed! Which is the one?" I put my hands up to my mouth and let off a long bleat like a calf indistress. The distant cattle threw up their heads and began "sniffing. "Another bleat and three cows separated from the others; two ran like madinto the woods, the third kept throwing her head this way and that, butnot running. "That one, " I said, "is your cow. She's in milk and not toorecently come in. " [Illustration: Milk Lady] Then away went the cowboys to do their part. The herd scattered and thecow tried to run, but the ponies sailed alongside, the lariats whistledand in a flash she was held with one rope around her horns, the otheraround one hind leg. "Now's your chance, Milk-lady!" they shouted at me, and forward I went, pail in hand, to milk that snorting, straining, wild-eyed thing. Shetried to hold her milk up, but I am an old hand at that work. She neverceased trying to kick at me with her free hind leg, so I had to watchthe leg, and milk away. The high pitched "_tsee tsee_" had graduallygiven place to the low "_tsow tsow_" of the two streams cutting the foamwhen a peculiar smell grew stronger until it was nothing less than adisgusting stench. For the first time I glanced down at the milk in thepail, and there instead of a dimpled bank of snowy foam was a greatyeasty mass of yellowish brown streaked with blood. Hastily rising and backing off, I said: "I've got plenty of milk nowfor you two. The rest of us don't care for any. Hold on till I get backto the trees. " Then, when I was safely under cover, the boys turned the cow loose. Ofcourse, her first impulse was revenge, but I was safe and those mountedmen knew how to handle a cow. She was glad to run off. [Illustration] "There's your milk, " I said, and pointed to the pail I had left. Evidently that cow had been suffering from more than one milk malady. The boys upset the bloody milk right there, then took the pail to thestream, where they washed it well, and back to camp, where we scalded itout several times. THE DANGEROUS NIGHT VISITOR That night about sundown, just as we finished supper, there came fromthe near prairie the mighty, portentous rumbling roar of a bull--thebellow that he utters when he is roused to fight, the savage roar thatmeans "I smell blood. " It is one of those tremendous menacing soundsthat never fail to give one the creeps and make one feel, oh! so punyand helpless. We went quietly to the edge of the timber and there was the monster atthe place where that evil milk was spilt, tearing up the ground withhoofs and horns, and uttering that dreadful war-bellow. The cowboysmounted their ponies, and gave a good demonstration of the power ofbrains in the ruling of brawn. They took that bull at a gallop a mile ormore away, they admonished him with some hard licks of a knotted-ropeand left him, then came back, and after a while we all turned in for thenight. Just as we were forgetting all things, the sweet silence of the camp wasagain disturbed by that deep, vibrating organ tone, the chesty roaringof the enraged bull; and we sprang up to see the huge brute striding inthe moonlight, coming right into camp, lured as before by that sinisterblood trail. The boys arose and again saddled the ready mounts. Again I heard thethudding of heavy feet, the shouts of the riders, a few loud snorts, followed by the silence; and when the boys came back in half an hour werolled up once more and speedily were asleep. To pass the night in peace! not at all. Near midnight my dreams weremixed with earthquakes and thunder, and slowly I waked to feel thatponderous bellow running along the ground, and setting my legs a-quiver. [Illustration] "_Row-ow-ow-ow_" it came, and shook me into full wakefulness to realizethat that awful brute was back again. He could not resist the glorious, alluring chance to come and get awfully mad over that "bluggy milk. " Nowhe was in camp, close at hand; the whole sky seemed blocked out and thetrees a-shiver as he came on. "_Row-ow-ow-ow_" he rumbled, also snorted softly as he came, and beforeI knew it he walked down the narrow space between our beds and thewagon. Had I jumped up and yelled, he, whether mad or scared, might havetrampled one or other of us. That is the bull of it; a horse steps over. So I waited in trembling silence till that horrid "_Row-ow-ow-ow_" wentby. Then I arose and yelled with all my power: "Louie! Frank! Help! Here's the bull. " The boys were up before I had finished. The ready ponies were put incommission in less than three minutes. Then came the stampede, the heavythudding, the loud whacks of the ropes, and when these sounds had diedin the distance, I heard the "pop, pop" of side arms. I asked noquestions, but when the boys came back and said, "well, you bet he won'tbe here again, " I believed them. [Illustration] [Illustration: XXXVIII. Sketch of the Bear Family as made on the spot_By E. T. Seton_] [Illustration: XXXIX. Two pages from my journal in the garbage heap_By E. T. Seton_] * * * * * XII Bears of High and Low Degree * * * * * [Illustration: The Snorer] XII Bears of High and Low Degree Why is snoring a crime at night and a joke by day? It seems to be so, and the common sense of the public mind so views it. In the September of 1912 I went with a good guide and a party offriends, to the region southeast of Yellowstone Lake. This is quite thewildest part of the Park; it is the farthest possible from humandwellings, and in it the animals are wild and quite unchanged by dailyassociation with man, as pensioners of the hotels. Our party was carefully selected, a lot of choice spirits, and yet therewas one with a sad and unpardonable weakness--he always snored adreadful snore as soon as he fell asleep. That is why he was usually putin a tent by himself, and sent to sleep with a twenty-five footdeadening space between him and us of gentler somnolence. He had been bad the night before, and now, by request, was sleeping_fifty_ feet away. But what is fifty feet of midnight silence to aforty-inch chest and a pair of tuneful nostrils. About 2 A. M. I wasawakened as before, but worse than ever, by the most terrific, measuredsnorts, and so loud that they seemed just next me. Sitting up, I bawledin wrath, "Oh, Jack, shut up, and let some one else have a chance tosleep. " The answer was a louder snort, a crashing of brush and a silence that, so far as I know, continued until sunrise. Then I arose and learned that the snorts and the racket were made, notby my friend, but by a huge Grizzly that had come prowling about thecamp, and had awakened me by snorting into my tent. But he had fled in fear at my yell; and this behaviour exactly shows theattitude of the Grizzlies in the West to-day. They are afraid of man, they fly at whiff or sound of him, and if in the Yellowstone you runacross a Grizzly that seems aggressive, rest assured he has been taughtsuch bad manners by association with our own species around the hotels. THE DIFFERENT KINDS OF BEARS [Illustration] Some guides of unsound information will tell the traveller that thereare half a dozen different kinds of Bears in or near the YellowstonePark--Blackbear, Little Cinnamon, Big Cinnamon, Grizzlies, Silver-tip, and Roach-backs. This is sure however, there are but two species, namely, the Blackbear and the Grizzly. The Blackbear is known by its short front claws, flat profile and blackcolour, with or without a tan-coloured muzzle. Sometimes in a family ofBlackbears there appears a red-headed youngster, just as with ourselves;he is much like his brethren but "all over red complected" as they sayin Canada. This is known to hunters as a "Little Cinnamon. " The Grizzly is known by its great size, its long fore claws, its hollowprofile and its silver-sprinkled coat. Sometimes a Grizzly has anexcessive amount of silver; this makes a Silver-tip. Sometimes thesilver is nearly absent, in which case the Bear is called a "BigCinnamon. " Sometimes the short mane over his humped shoulders isexaggerated; this makes a "Roach-back. " Any or all of these are to belooked for in the Park, yet remember! they form only two species. All ofthe Blackbear group are good climbers; none of the Grizzly group climbafter they are fully grown. BEAR-TREES There is a curious habit of Bears that is well known without being wellunderstood; it is common to all these mentioned. In travelling alongsome familiar trail they will stop at a certain tree, claw it, tear itwith their teeth, and rub their back and head up against it as high asthey can reach, even with the tip of the snout, and standing on tiptoes. There can be no doubt that a Bear coming to a tree can tell by scentwhether another Bear has been there recently, and whether that Bear is amale or female, a friend, a foe or a stranger. Thus the tree serves as asort of news depot; and there is one every few hundred yards in countrywith a large Bear population. These trees, of course, abound in the Park. Any good guide will pointout some examples. In the country south of the Lake, I found them socommon that it seemed as if the Bears had made many of them for meresport. A PEEP INTO BEAR FAMILY LIFE When we went to the Yellowstone in 1897 to spend the season studyingwild animal life, we lived in a small shanty that stood near Yancey's, and had many pleasant meetings with Antelope, Beaver, etc. , but weredisappointed in not seeing any Bears. One of my reasons for coming wasthe promise of "as many Bears as I liked. " But some tracks on the traila mile away were the only proofs that I found of Bears being in theregion. One day General Young, then in charge of the Park, came to see how wewere getting along. And I told him that although I had been promised asmany Bears as I liked, and I had been there investigating for six weeksalready, I hadn't seen any. He replied, "You are not in the right place. Go over to the Fountain Hotel and there you will see as many Bears asyou wish. " That was impossible, for there were not Bears enough in theWest to satisfy me, I thought. But I went at once to the Fountain Hoteland without loss of time stepped out the back door. [Illustration] I had not gone fifty feet before I walked onto a big Blackbear with hertwo roly-poly black cubs. The latter were having a boxing match, whilethe mother sat by to see fair play. As soon as they saw me they stoppedtheir boxing, and as soon as I saw them I stopped walking. The old Beargave a peculiar "_Koff koff_, " I suppose of warning, for the young onesran to a tree, and up that they shinned with alacrity that amazed me. When safely aloft, they sat like small boys, holding on with theirhands, while their little black legs dangled in the air, and waited tosee what was to happen down below. The mother Bear, still on her hind legs, came slowly toward me, and Ibegan to feel very uncomfortable indeed, for she stood about six feethigh in her stocking feet, and I had not even a stick to defend myselfwith. I began backing slowly toward the hotel, and by way of my bestdefense, _I_ turned on her all the power of my magnetic eye. We have allof us heard of the wonderful power of the magnetic human eye. Yes, _we_have, but apparently this old Bear had not, for she came on just thesame. She gave a low woof, and I was about to abandon all attempts atdignity, and run for the hotel; but just at this turning-point the oldBear stopped, and gazed at me calmly. Then she faced about and waddled over to the tree, up which were thecubs. Underneath she stood, looking first at me, then at her family. Irealized that she wasn't going to bother me, in fact she never seemedvery serious about it, so I plucked up courage. I remembered what I camefor and got down my camera. But when I glanced at the sky, and gaugedthe light--near sundown in the woods--I knew the camera would not serveme; so I got out my sketch book instead, and made the sketch which isgiven on Plate XXXVIII; I have not changed it since. [Illustration: XLI. While I sketched the Bears a brother camera hunterwas stalking me without my knowledge_Photo by F. Linde Ryan, Flushing, L. I. _] [Illustration: XLII. One meets the Bears at nearly every turn in thewoods_Photo by E. T. Seton_] Meanwhile the old Bear had been sizing me up, and evidently made up hermind that, "although that human being might be all right, she would takeno chances for her little ones. " [Illustration] She looked up to her two hopefuls, and gave a peculiar whining "_Er-r-rer-r_, " whereupon, like obedient children, they jumped as at the word ofcommand. There was nothing about them heavy or bear-like as commonlyunderstood; lightly they swung from bough to bough till they dropped tothe ground, and all went off together into the woods. I was much tickled by the prompt obedience of these little Bears. Assoon as their mother told them to do something they did it. They did noteven offer a suggestion. But I also found out that there was a goodreason back of it, for, had they not done as she had told them, theywould have got such a spanking as would have made them howl. Yes, it isquite the usual thing, I find, for an old Blackbear to spank her littleones when in her opinion they need it, and she lays it on well. She hasa good strong paw, and does not stop for their squealing; so that onecorrection lasts a long time. This was a delightful peep into Bear home-life, and would have been wellworth coming for, if the insight had ended there. But my friends in thehotel said that that was not the best place for Bears. I should go tothe garbage-heap, a quarter-mile off in the forest. There, they said, Isurely could see as many Bears as I wished, which was absurd of them. THE DAY AT THE GARBAGE PILE [Illustration] Early next morning I equipped myself with pencils, paper and a camera, and set out for the garbage pile. At first I watched from the bushes, some seventy-five yards away, but later I made a hole in the odorouspile itself, and stayed there all day long, sketching and snapshottingthe Bears which came and went in greater numbers as the day was closing. A sample of my notes made on the spot will illustrate the continuity ofthe Bear procession, yet I am told that there are far more of theseanimals there to-day than at the time of my visit. Those readers who would follow my adventures in detail will find themfully and exactly set forth in the story of Johnny Bear, which appearsin "Lives of the Hunted, " so I shall not further enlarge on them here, except to relate one part which was omitted, as it dealt with aphotographic experience. [Illustration] In the story I told how, backed by a mounted cowboy, I sat on thegarbage pile while the great Grizzly that had worsted Old Grumpy, camestriding nearer, and looming larger. [Illustration] He had not quite forgotten the recent battle, his whole air wasmenacing, and I had all the appropriate sensations as he approached. Atforty yards I snapped him, and again at twenty. Still he was coming, butat fifteen feet he stopped and turned his head, giving me the side viewI wanted, and I snapped the camera again. The effect was startling. Thatinsolent, nagging little click brought the wrath of the Grizzly ontomyself. He turned on me with a savage growl. I was feeling just as Ishould be feeling; wondering, indeed, if my last moment had not come, but I found guidance in the old adage: "when you don't know a thing todo, don't do a thing. " For a minute or two the Grizzly glared, and Iremained still; then calmly ignoring me he set about his feast. All of this I tell in detail in my story. But there was one thing I didnot dare to do then; that was show the snaps I made. Surely it would be a wonderful evidence of my courage and coolness if Icould show a photograph of that big Grizzly when he was coming on--maybeto kill me--I did not know, but I had a dim vision of my sorrowingrelatives developing the plate to see how it happened, for I pressedthe button at the right time. The picture, such as it is, I give asPlate XL, c. I was so calm and cool and collected that I quite forgot tofocus the camera. LONESOME JOHNNY [Illustration] During all this time Johnny had been bemoaning his sad lot, at the topof the tree; there I left him, still lamenting. That was the last I eversaw of him. In my story of Johnny Bear, I relate many other adventuresthat were ascribed to him, but these were told me by the men who livedin the Park, and knew the lame cub much better than I did. My ownacquaintance with him was all within the compass of the one day I spentin the garbage-pile. It is worthy of note that although Johnny died that autumn, they havehad him every year ever since; and some years they have had two for thesatisfaction of visitors who have read up properly before coming to thePark. Indeed, when I went back to the Fountain Hotel fifteen yearsafterward, a little Bear came and whined under my window about dawn, andthe hotel folk assured me it was Little Johnny calling on his creator. FURTHER ANNALS OF THE SANCTUARY All of this was fifteen years ago. Since then there have been someinteresting changes, but they are in the line of growth. ThirteenBears in view at one time was my highest record, and that after sundown;but I am told that as many as twenty or twenty-five Bears are now to beseen there at once in June and July, when the wildwood foods are scarce. Most of them are Blackbears, but there are always a few Grizzlies about. [Illustration: XLIII. The shyer ones take to a tree, if one comes toonear_Photo by E. T. Seton_] [Illustration: XLIV. Clifford B. Harmon feeding a Bear_Photo by E. T. Seton_] In view of their reputation, their numbers and the gradual removal ofthe restraining fear of men, one wonders whether these creatures are nota serious menace to the human dwellers of the Park. The fundamentalpeacefulness of the unhungry animal world is wonderfully brought out bythe groups of huge shaggy monsters about the hotels. At one time, and for long it was said, and truthfully, that the Bears inthe Park had never abused the confidence man had placed in them. But oneor two encounters have taken place to prove the exception. An enthusiastic camera-hunter, after hearing of my experiences at thegarbage pile, went there some years later, duly equipped to profit bythe opportunity. [Illustration] A large she Bear, with a couple of cubs appeared, but they hovered at adistance and did not give the artist a fair chance. He waited a longtime, then seeing that they would not come to him, he decided to go tothem. Quitting that sheltering hole, he sneaked along; crouching low andholding the camera ready, he rapidly approached the family group. Whenthe young ones saw this strange two-legged beast coming threateninglynear them, they took alarm and ran whining to their mother. All hermaternal wrath was aroused to see this smallish, two-legged, one-eyedcreature, evidently chasing her cubs to harm them. A less combinationthan that would have made her take the war-path, and now she charged. She struck him but once; that was enough. His camera was wrecked, andfor two weeks afterward he was in the hospital, nursing three brokenribs, as well as a body suffering from shock. There was another, an old Grizzly that became a nuisance about thehotels, as he did not hesitate to walk into the kitchens and helphimself to food. Around the tents of campers he became a terror, as hesoon realized that these folk carried food, and white canvas wallsrising in the woods were merely invitations to a dinner ready andwaiting. It is not recorded that he hurt any one in his numerous raidsfor food. But he stampeded horses and broke the camp equipments, as wellas pillaged many larders. [Illustration] One of my guides described a lively scene in which the Bear, in spite ofblazing brands, ran into the cook's quarters and secured a ham. The cookpursued with a stick of firewood. At each whack the Bear let off a"whoof" but he did not drop the ham, and the party had to return to FortYellowstone for supplies. Incidents of this kind multiplied, and finally Buffalo Jones, who wasthen the Chief Scout of the Park, was permitted to punish the oldsinner. Mounted on his trained saddle-horse, swinging the lasso that hascaught so many different kinds of beasts in so many different lands, theColonel gave chase. Old Grizzly dodged among the pines for a while, butthe pony was good to follow; and when the culprit took to open ground, the unerring lasso whistled in the air and seized him by the hind paw. It takes a good rope to stand the jerk of half a ton of savage muscle, but the rope was strong; it stood, and there was some prettymanoeuvring, after which the lasso was found over a high branch, with acouple of horses on the "Jones end" and they hauled the Bear aloftwhere, through the medium of a stout club, he received a drubbing thathas become famous in the moving-picture world. [Illustration] Another of these big, spoiled babies was sent to Washington Zoo, wherehe is now doing duty as an exhibition Grizzly. The comedy element is far from lacking in this life; in fact, it isprobably the dominant one. But the most grotesque story of all was toldme by a friend who chummed with the Bears about ten years ago. One day, it seems, a Blackbear more tame than usual went right into thebar-room of one of the hotels. The timid floating population moved out;the bar-keep was cornered, but somewhat protected by his bar; and whenthe Bear reared up with both paws on the mahogany, the wily "dispenser"pushed a glass of beer across, saying nervously, "Is that what you areafter?" The Bear liked the smell of the offering, and, stooping down, lapped upthe whole glassful, and what was spilt he carefully licked up afterward, to the unmeasured joy of the loafers who peeped in at doors and windows, and jeered at the bar-keep and his new customer. "Say, bar-keep, who's to pay?" "Don't you draw any color line?" "If Icome in a fur coat, will you treat me?" "No! you got to scare him todrink free, " etc. , etc. , were examples of their remarks. Whatever that Bear came for, she seemed satisfied with what she got, for she went off peaceably to the woods, and was seen later lying asleepunder a tree. Next day, however, she was back again. The scene in thebar-room was repeated with less intensity. [Illustration] On the third and fourth days she came as before, but on the fifth dayshe seemed to want something else. Prompted by a kindred feeling, one ofthe loafers suggested that "She wants another round. " His guess wasright, and having got it, that abandoned old Bear began to reel, but shewas quite good-natured about it, and at length lay down under a table, where her loud snores proclaimed to all that she was asleep--beastlydrunk, and asleep--just like one of the lords of creation. From that time on she became a habitual frequenter of the bar-room. Herpotations were increased each month. There was a time when one glass ofbeer made her happy, but now it takes three or four, and sometimes evena little drop of something stronger. But whatever it is, it has thedesired effect, and "Swizzling Jinnie" lurches over to the table, underwhich she sprawls at length, and tuning up her nasophone she sleepsaloud, and unpeacefully, demonstrating to all the world that after all a"Bear is jest a kind o' a man in a fur coat. " Who can doubt it thatreads this tale, for it is true; at least it was told me for the truth, by no less an authority than one of Jennie's intimate associates at thebar-room. THE GRIZZLY AND THE CAN When one remembers the Grizzly Bear as the monarch of the mountains, theking of the plains, and the one of matchless might and unquestioned swayamong the wild things of the West, it gives one a shock to think of himbeing conquered and cowed by a little tin can. Yet he was, and this ishow it came about. A grand old Grizzly, that was among the summer retinue of a Park hotel, was working with two claws to get out the very last morsel of someexceptionally delicious canned stuff. The can was extra strong, itsragged edges were turned in, and presently both toes of the Bear werewedged firmly in the clutch of that impossible, horrid little tin trap. The monster shook his paw, and battered the enemy, but it was as sharpwithin as it was smooth without, and it gripped his paw with the fellclutch of a disease. His toes began to swell with all this effort andviolence, till they filled the inner space completely. The trouble wasmade worse and the paw became painfully inflamed. All day long that old Grizzly was heard clumping around with thatdreadful little tin pot wedged on his foot. Sometimes there was a loudsuccession of _clamp, clamp, clamp's_ which told that the enragedmonarch with canned toes was venting his rage on some of theneighbouring Blackbears. The next day and the next that shiny tin maintained its frightful gripon the Grizzly, who, limping noisily around, was known and recognized as"Can-foot. " His comings and goings to and from the garbage heap, by dayand by night, were plainly announced to all by the clamp, clamp, clampof that maddening, galling tin. Some weeks went by and still theimplacable meat box held on. The officer in charge of the Park came riding by one day; he heard thestrange tale of trouble, and saw with his own eyes the limping Grizzly, with his muzzled foot. At a wave of his hand two of the trusty scouts ofthe Park patrol set out with their ponies and whistling lassoes on thestrangest errand that they, or any of their kind, had ever known. In afew minutes those wonderful raw-hide ropes had seized him and themonarch of the mountains was a prisoner bound. Strong shears were athand. That vicious little can was ripped open. It was completely fillednow with the swollen toes. The surgeon dressed the wounds, and theGrizzly was set free. His first blind animal impulse was to attack hisseeming tormenters, but they were wise and the ponies were bear-broken;they easily avoided the charge, and he hastened to the woods to recover, finally, both his health and his good temper, and continue about thePark, the only full-grown Grizzly Bear, probably, that man ever capturedto help in time of trouble, and then set loose again to live his life inpeace. [Illustration] [Illustration: XLV. The Bears at feeding time_Photos by F. Jay Haynes_] [Illustration: XLVI. (a) Tom Newcomb pointing out the bear's mark. _Photo by E. T. Seton_(b) E. T. Seton feeding a Bear. _Photo by C. B. Harmon_] * * * * * Appendix Mammals of the Yellowstone Park * * * * * Appendix Mammals of the Yellowstone Park A LIST OF THE SPECIES FOUND IN THE PARK IN 1912 BY ERNEST THOMPSON SETON _With assistance from the U. S. Biological Survey, and Colonel L. M. Brett, in charge of the Park. _ Elk or Wapiti (_Cervus canadensis_) Abundant. By actual official count, and estimate of stray bands, they number at least 35, 000, of which about 5, 000 winter in the Park. Mule Deer or Rocky Mt. Blacktail (_Odocoileus heminus_) Common. The official census gives their number at 400, of which at least 100 winter about Fort Yellowstone. Whitetail Deer (_Odocoileus virginianus macrourus_) A few found about Gardiner, on Willow Creek, on Indian Creek, at Crevasse Mt. And in Cottonwood Basin. The official census gives their number at 100. Moose (_Alces americanus_) Formerly rare, now abundant in all the southerly third of the Park. In 1897 they were estimated at 50. The official census gives their number at 550 in 1912. Antelope or Pronghorn (_Antilocapra americana_) Formerly abundant, now rare; found only in broad open places such as Lamar Valley, etc. Their numbers have shrunk from many thousands in the '70's to about 1, 500 in 1897, and 500 in 1912. Mountain Sheep or Bighorn (_Ovis canadensis_) Formerly rare, now common about Mt. Evarts, Mt. Washburn and the western boundary. In 1897 there were about 100, perhaps only 75; in 1912 they are reported numbering 210 by actual count. American Buffalo or Bison (_Bison bison_) Steadily increasing. In 1897 there were about 30; they now number 199 by actual count. These are in two herds, of 49 wild, and 150 in the fenced corrals. Richardson Red-squirrel (_Sciurus hudsonicus richardsoni_) Abundant in all pine woods. Northern Chipmunk (_Eutamias quadrivittatus luteiventris_) Extremely abundant everywhere. Least Chipmunk (_Eutamias minimus pictus_) Common about Mammoth Hot Springs. Golden Ground-squirrel (_Citellus lateralis cinerascens_) Common. Picket-pin Ground-squirrel (_Citellus armatus_) Abundant on all level prairies. Prairie-dog (_Cynomys ludovicianus_) Gen. Geo. S. Anderson told me long ago that the Prairie-dogs, so abundant on the Lower Yellowstone, were sometimes seen as far up as the Park at Gardiner. [Illustration: XLVII. Johnnie Bear: his sins and his troubles_Sketches by E. T. Seton_] [Illustration: XLVIII. Johnnie happy at last_Photo by Miss L. Griscom_] Yellow Woodchuck, Rock Chuck or Marmot (_Marmota flaviventer_) Abundant on all mountains. Rocky Mt. Flying Squirrel (_Sciuropterus alpinus_) Said to be found. I did not see one. Beaver (_Castor canadensis_) Abundant and increasing. Grasshopper Mouse (_Onychomys leucogaster_) I found a typical colony of this species on the Yellowstone near Yancey's but did not secure any. Mountain Deer-mouse (_Peromyscus maniculatus artemisiae_) Abundant everywhere. Mountain Rat, Pack-rat or Wood-rat (_Neotoma cinerea_) Said to be found, but I saw none. Redbacked Vole or Field-mouse (_Evotomys gapperi galei_) Not taken yet in the Park but found in all the surrounding country, therefore, probable. Common Field-mouse (_Microtus pennsylvannicus modestus_) Recorded by Vernon Bailey from Lower Geyser Basin in the Park. Long-tailed Vole (_Microtus mordax_) Vernon Bailey records this from various surrounding localities, also from Tower Falls. Doubtless it is generally distributed. This is the bobtailed, short-eared, dark gray mouse that is found making runs in the thick grass, especially in low places. Big-footed Vole (_Microtus richardsoni macropus_) Not yet taken in the Park, but found in surrounding mountains, therefore probable. Muskrat (_Fiber zibethicus osoyoosensis_) Common and of general distribution. Mole-gopher or Gray Gopher (_Thomomys talpoides_) A Gopher of some kind abounds in the Park. I assume it to be this. Rocky Mt. Jumping Mouse (_Zapus princeps_) Found in all the surrounding country, and recorded by E. A. Preble from near Yellowstone Lake. Yellow-haired Porcupine (_Erethizon epixanthus_) Somewhat common in the pine woods on the Continental Divide. Coney, Rock Rabbit, Pika, or Calling Hare (_Ochotona princeps_) Abundant in all slide rock. Rocky Mt. Cottontail (_Sylvilagus nuttalli grangeri_) Plentiful about Gardiner and in some of the lower regions of the Park, but not general. Snowshoe Rabbit (_Lepus bairdi_) Common and generally distributed. White-tailed Jack Rabbit (_Lepus campestris_) Common and generally distributed. Mountain Lion, Cougar or Puma (_Felis hippolestes_) In 1897 it was considered extremely rare; probably not more than a dozen were then living in the Park; since then it seems to have increased greatly and is now somewhat common in the mountainous parts. Their numbers are given officially at 100 in 1912. Canada Lynx (_Lynx canadensis_) Common. Bobcat or Mountain-cat (_Lynx uinta_) Somewhat common. The Big-tailed Fox (_Vulpes macrourus_) Common. Timber Wolf (_Canis occidentalis_) Very rare, noticed only at Hell Roaring Creek and Slough Creek. On August 25, 1912, Lieut. M. Murray saw two in a meadow two miles southeast of Snow Shoe Cabin on Slough Creek. They were plainly seen in broad daylight; and were nearly white. Coyote (_Canis latrans_) Abundant everywhere, although officially reckoned they numbered only 400 in 1912. Otter (_Lutra canadensis_) Common, particularly around the Lake and the Canyon. Mink (_Lutreola vison energumenos_) Common. Long-tailed Weasel (_Putorius longicauda_) Said to be found. I did not see any. Short-tailed Weasel (_Putorius cicognanii_) Included because its range includes the Park. Marten (_Mustela caurina_) Found throughout the Park, but not common. Pekan or Fisher (_Mustela pennanti_) Rare. Gen. G. S. Anderson tells me that in the early '90's he took the skin of one from a poacher. Wolverine (_Gulo luscus_) Of general distribution, but not common. Northern Skunk (_Mephitis hudsonica_) Rare, but found at Mammoth Hot Springs and Yancey's. Badger (_Taxidea taxus_) Common. Raccoon or Coon (_Procyon lotor_) Said to occur. Fifteen years ago at Gardiner I was shown one that was said to have been taken in the Park, but it was not certain. Grizzly Bear (_Ursus horribilis_) Common. The official count gives 50 in 1912. Blackbear (_Ursus americanus_) Abundant and increasing. The official count gives 100 in 1912. Common or Masked Shrew (_Sorex personatus_) Never taken, but included because its known range surrounds the Park. Marsh Shrew or Water Shrew (_Neosorex palustris_) Probably occurs there, since its known range surrounds the Park. Long-eared Bat (_Corynorhinus macrotis pallescens_) A few were seen in the Devil's Kitchen, Mammoth Hot Springs, and one sent to the Biological Survey for identification. This is the only Bat taken, but the following are likely to be found, as their known range surrounds the Park: Little Brown Bat (_Myotis lucifugus_) Silver-haired Bat (_Lasionycteris noctivagans_) Big Brown Bat (_Eptesicus fuscus_) Great Hoary Bat (_Nycteris cinereus_) * * * * * Transcriber's Notes Bold text is indicated by equal symbols: =text=. Italic text is indicated by underscores: _text_. Moved some illustrations from their original positions to avoidbreaking up paragraphs of text. The List of Half-tone Plates displaysthe original page numbers. Some apparently missing plates may havebeen edited out of the original version. Corrected minor punctuation errors. Page 61: Clomb could be a typo for climb: (rush as they might and did, and bounded and clomb, ) Page 123: Changed pased to passed: (men had passed near) Page 155: Changed Bitteroot to Bitterroot: (This took place in the Bitterroot Mountains) Page 157: Added missing exclamation point: (I heard the dreaded cry, "Yellow-Jackets!") Page 165: Changed conspicious to conspicuous: (might otherwise make it too conspicuous. ) Page 176: Changed inclinded to inclined: (travellers will be inclined to bunch them) Page 196: Changed go to to: (We went quietly to the edge of the timber) Page 210: Plate XL was not included in the original book. (The picture, such as it is, I give as Plate XL, c. ) Page 213: Manoeuvring had an oe ligature in the original book: (it stood, and there was some pretty manoeuvring, )