Chapter III: Part 3

All the while the blue jays and the thrifty chipmunks were gathering nuts and corn, and hiding their stores away for the winter. That seemed so interesting that the squirrels gathered some too. The smallest one stuffed his cheeks full of nuts and scampered back to his latest home in a hollow stump. The next mouthful he brought was hidden in a fork of a tree and covered with leaves. Then he tucked away a few chestnuts in the cracks of the bark on an oak-tree. By that time he was tired of working at this, so he scurried around to find out how many nuts the other young squirrels were saving for the winter.

Autumn passed away, and the days grew colder. In the woods the leaves were all fallen and the branches were stripped bare of nuts. Every morning when the squirrels poked out their heads the air nipped their noses. Frost sparkled on the dead grass. The chipmunks had crept into their holes for the winter, and most of the birds had flown away south.

The squirrels were not quite so gay now as in the autumn days, when they danced upon the branches and whistled and chuckled over the good things to eat and the curious sights to see. They slept with their warm tails wrapped over their noses. They still ran busily through the tree-tops, except when snow or icy rain kept them shut within their holes. They ate all the nuts they could find, and dug up the buried pine-cones. They climbed the hemlock-trees and ate the seeds. Sometimes they found a delicious frozen apple or some forgotten acorns. Once the smallest squirrel happened to dig up a heap of chestnuts from between two stones under the snow. He could not remember whether he had hidden them himself or not. How he snickered and danced when he saw them!

Late in the winter the squirrels had eaten all the nuts and cones within reach. They were so hungry on many a day that they tried to creep into a chipmunk’s hole and steal his store of food. However he was smaller than they were, and he had wisely made one bend in his tunnel too small for them to pass. Then they had to live on buds and barks and seeds as best they could till spring started the tender green plants to growing.

The squirrels gnawed the bark of the maple-trees and drank the sweet sap that came oozing out. Later there were elm buds to nibble and birds’ eggs to suck. The woods were once more green with juicy leaves. All the squirrels went to housekeeping. Soon in almost every tree there was a new family of wondering little squirrels peeping out of their hollow with their round, bright eyes.

VIII

THE BEAR

“ONE THAT SLEEPS ALL WINTER”

ONE THAT SLEEPS ALL WINTER

OUT in the woods the snow fell deeper and deeper. It piled higher and higher around the hollow tree in which the mother bear and her two little bears were sleeping. The snow had drifted over the opening and made it all dark inside.

Once in a while the two babies woke up and whimpered for more milk, as they tumbled clumsily about on the bed of leaves. Then the old bear opened her sleepy eyes and licked their glossy little black bodies while she nursed them. After that they all fell drowsily quiet again, and slept and slept.

So the weeks slipped away while the babies sucked milk, or slept, snuggled close to their big, warm, furry mother. She had been sleeping all winter. The autumn before she had crept into the hollow tree to stay until spring. She did not eat a mouthful in all that time.

Now as the days grew warmer outside the old mother bear began to feel more wide awake. One morning she pawed a hole through the snow at the opening of the hollow and crawled out to find something to eat. The two little bears had their eyes open at last. They lay still on the nest and blinked at the light that shone dimly in through the hole.

Now and then they heard the soft plop of a bunch of snow dropping from the evergreen trees in the woods. The bare branches of the aspens clicked together in the March wind. They heard the gurgle of water lapping over melting ice. The tap-tap-tap of a woodpecker on the bark of their hollow tree sounded like thunder inside. Once a red squirrel ran squeaking over the snow outside.

Before very long they heard footsteps thumping softly up to the hole, and their mother’s big black body came scrambling in. The two cubs whined for joy, and rubbed against her legs. They were hungry again, and wanted their dinner. The thin old bear had not found much to eat herself. It was too early in the year for berries, and the ants were still in their underground homes. She had caught a frog in the brook, and found a few blades of grass to munch.

After that she went out every day, for it seemed as if she grew hungrier and hungrier. Once she found a frozen deer. After eating all she could of it she covered the rest with leaves until the next day. Sometimes she caught a chipmunk under a log. It was only in the early spring that the old black bear ate much meat, for usually she liked fruit and roots and nuts better.

Meanwhile the two little bears stayed safe in the den till their teeth were cut and the claws grew sharp and strong. Then they played outside for a little every day. They wrestled together and tumbled about in the sunshine, like clumsy puppies. They were careful not to creep too far away from the den. At any strange sound or smell away they scampered head first into the hole, with their little wrinkled black feet kicking out behind them.

At last they were strong enough to set out on their travels with the old mother. Very likely she gave them each a good washing and combing before they started. She could use her fore-paws like hands. When the cubs squealed and tried to bite, while she was brushing them, she slapped them with her big paw. She could use her paws for digging, and for carrying food to her mouth. With the sharp claws she could tear meat or logs to pieces.

The two little ones must have been delighted to think of leaving the tiresome den in the hollow tree. Like all bears they loved to travel. Down the valley they ambled, stepping clumsily on the flat soles of their feet. Bears do not walk lightly on their toes, as do the graceful animals who belong to the cat family.

The old mother moved on with her head held low, while the babies waddled after her. They did not look around much at the wonderful mountains, with the dark evergreens and rocks scattered over the yellow gravel. They did not notice the blue sky above, for their close-set eyes were rather nearsighted. Though they could not see very well they sniffed keenly at every strange smell.

There were many new delicious smells of warm earth and green plants and furry rabbits and squirrels and birds and strawberry blossoms. The cubs imitated their mother in everything she did. They stepped in the same foot-tracks, and jumped over the same logs at the same places. Whenever she stopped to sniff they rose on their little hind-legs and twitched their pointed brown noses in the air.

Once they came to a footprint in the gravel. It was a footprint of a grizzly bear ever so much bigger than the old black bear. The cubs looked at their mother to see how she was acting. Then they copied her. They drew back their lips from their white teeth and growled baby growls, while their little eyes gleamed, and the hairs on their backs ruffled up stiffly. Grizzlies sometimes killed black bears.

Soon they reached the spruce grove where the red ants lived. Scattered over the gravel there were rounded hills, with tiny red creatures hurrying in and out of their holes, and around and to and fro. The little bears looked at the ants and then watched their mother as she sat down beside a hill and licked up a mouthful. After a minute down they sat, and scraped their pointed tongues over the ant-hills.

The ants tasted as sour as vinegar, and made the young ones wrinkle their noses just at first, because they were used to drinking sweet milk. More than once a fierce little ant gave a nipping bite to the red tongues that squirmed over the gravel. That made the babies squeal, and rub their mouths with their paws. When some ants crawled up on their fur the bears licked them off without getting any gravel mixed in.

As the morning sunshine grew warmer the cubs began to feel tired and sleepy. It had been such an exciting day ever since starting out from the old den at sunrise! The mother walked off to a shady spot under thick evergreens, and they all curled down for a nap. The babies snuggled close together, curling their paws and tucking their noses into their fur. Closing their eyes, while their fat little sides heaved in a long sigh of content, they fell fast asleep. Those ants had tasted so good!

Very early every morning the two cubs set off with their mother to find something to eat. In the heat of the day they took a nap. Late in the afternoon they went out again and feasted till dark, or even later, when berries were plenty. Sometimes they slept in a hollow log, or in a cave, or in a sheltered thicket.

Before lying down the old bear was always careful to walk several hundred yards in the same direction in which the wind was blowing. If any enemy happened to follow their trail while they were asleep they could smell him in the wind and get away in time. One night they really did smell a wolf coming nearer and nearer. They stole off through the woods. The old mother showed the cubs how to step softly, setting down each big padded foot where it broke no stick and rustled no leaf.

The bears learned to eat all sorts of food. There were the delightfully sour ants in their hills or hidden under rocks and old logs. The cubs soon grew strong enough to turn over the rocks and logs for themselves. Leaning on one fore-leg, each little fellow raised the stone with the other fore-leg, and gave it a shove backward, so that it would not fall on his toes. Away rolled the stone, and down went the greedy head to lick up every ant in sight. Then a sweep of a paw uncovered the beetles and worms and crickets that had run to hide deeper. Sometimes the old mother gripped her claws in both sides of a rotten log and tore it open. The little bears gobbled up the worms and insects inside as fast as they could.

All the spring and early summer the three bears hunted for worms and insects in this way. They dug up wild roots with their noses, just as pigs do. One day the cubs smelled a delicious smell near a flat stone. They hurried to push the stone away, and there they found a heap of nuts. They stuffed their mouths full at once, while the little chipmunk, to whom the nuts belonged, squeaked angrily at them from under a heavy rock.

Later in the summer the berries were ripe. That was the time for little bears to be happy! First the fragrant red strawberries grew red in the fields. The berries were so small, and the hungry mouths were so large, that many a bite was mixed with leaves and grass. However, the cubs did not object to that, even when a fat white grub or two was pulled up with the roots of the strawberry plants.

After the strawberries other berries ripened along the bank of the river at the edge of the woods. The mother bear knew just where the biggest ones grew. Many a happy day they spent picking the fruit. When the weather was cloudy and cool they did not stop for naps. Each one walked along from bush to bush, raising his head and wrapping his tongue around a branch. Then with a downward pull he stripped off leaves and berries and all, and munched and munched. They could stand on their hind-feet to reach the higher branches.

The bears had broad grinding teeth in the sides of their jaws, and so they could chew their food. Animals like the cat and the dog have only cutting teeth. They tear their food into pieces small enough to swallow, and then gulp it down without chewing.

At noon they went down to the river for a drink. First they snuffed around carefully, and then lapped up the water. If the day was very warm the cubs waded in and lay down to cool off. Sometimes the old mother took her nap lying in the water. Once in a while they caught a frog or a live fish by giving a jump and quick slap before it could swim away.

In late summer the wild plums ripened in the woods. The old bear shook the trees and sent the red fruit hailing down upon the scrambling cubs. On one specially delightful day they found a hollow tree in which bees had been storing honey for the winter.

They saw the bees buzzing around a hole high up on the trunk. One of the cubs climbed up. Wrapping his hind-legs around the tree he held on with one fore-paw, while with the other he dipped out the honey and stuffed it into his mouth. All about him the air was gray with bees. They stung him on his nose and ears and eyelids. He did not mind that much, except when one bit his tongue. Then he thrust out his tongue and mumbled and growled for a moment. He had never before eaten anything so delicious as honey.

After the pleasant summer came the frosty autumn with its ripening nuts. The cubs climbed trees and sat on the branches, with their black legs dangling. The old bear shook the trees to bring down the nuts. Once she shook so hard that one of the little bears lost his hold and fell. He tumbled down in such a limp soft heap that he was not hurt at all, but bounded up again like a rubber ball.

At another time the mother saw a big grizzly bear coming through the woods. When the cubs heard her warning grunt they shot up the tree like jumping-jacks, and hid in the thick leaves near the top. There they were safe, for the grizzly was too heavy, and its claws were too long, for climbing. Grizzly bears are the largest beasts of prey in the world. Sometimes when very hungry they will eat their cousins, the black bears.

The days kept growing colder little by little, and twilight came a few minutes sooner every evening. The air was frosty at night, and somehow the three bears felt drowsier and drowsier. Their naps lasted longer every afternoon. On some cold days they curled up on dry ledges in the sunshine and slept from morning to night. They were sleek and fat from their feasts of acorns and nuts.

All this while the old mother bear was becoming more and more cross. When the cubs tried to play with her she slapped them, and pushed them away whimpering. It was time for them to take care of themselves. Very likely she did not want to be bothered with them all winter long.

So one day the two little bears walked off by themselves. They roamed through the woods, looking for some place which would be a warm den. One of them dug a cosy hole under a big root and curled down for his winter’s sleep. The other crept between two rocks that almost touched over his head.

Outside the snow began to fall. It blew in through the cracks and powdered down upon the little bear’s thick fur. Very soon it had stuffed all the cracks and drifted higher over the rocks and logs. It went whirling from the ledges into the valleys; it fell deeper and deeper over the three dens and shut out the cold.

The little bears breathed more and more slowly, with their noses warm in their furry fore-arms. Their little fat sides rose and fell ever so faintly. Their hearts beat more softly. They were fast asleep for the winter, while the snow fell and the icy winds blew on the mountains without.

IX

THE FOX

“THE WISEST ONE”

THE WISEST ONE

ALMOST the first thing that the smallest baby fox remembered was being carried in his mother’s mouth from one den to another. His woolly little red body hung limp between her long white teeth. That was the safest way; for if he had held stiff or wriggled she might have closed her jaws tighter and pinched him.

It was very early in the morning, and the rising sun was just lighting up the tops of the trees. The birds were singing their gayest May songs. Here and there dewdrops sparkled, where the level sunbeams glinted across the leaves. Under a bush a rabbit sat up very still, and stared with round, frightened eyes at the mother fox.

The mother fox did not see the rabbit. She stepped along swiftly. Her slender paws hardly rustled a leaf or snapped a twig. She looked like a graceful red dog, with pointed ears and yellow eyes and beautiful plumy tail. This plumy tail seemed to float out in the air behind her, as if she were blowing lightly before the wind.

When she reached the new den she did not stop an instant at the front door. The freshly dug earth was scattered around there in plain sight. In digging this new burrow she and the father fox had left the dirt there on purpose, to make their enemies think that this hole was the real entrance to the den. A few feet underground they had closed the tunnel with a heap of earth. At the other end they had made a new opening hidden behind gray rocks in a thicket.

To this secret door the mother fox carried the baby, and set him down on his four thick legs. He looked like a little red lamb with yellow eyes. Into the hole he scrambled, and crept through the tunnel to the dark den at the end. On the nest of leaves inside he found his four brothers and sisters snuggling together. The old mother had carried them there one by one.

The day before, when a big dog came nosing about the old den, the father fox led him away through the woods. He could run the faster, and so he kept on, with the dog chasing him, till the dog was tired out. Then he and the mother hurried to dig this new den and move the babies before the dog came back to the old place again.

In going from one den to the other the old foxes were careful not to walk in a straight path. If they did that of course the dog could follow them by smelling their trail. They took a roundabout path every time. They trotted around a swampy meadow and crossed a brook by stepping from stone to stone. The wet ground hid the scent of their paws.

This journey to the new den was the first time that the young foxes had been outdoors. As they were carried by the neck they could not twist their heads around to see very much. But still, they must have enjoyed the light and the fresh air. They did not want to keep on staying all the time in the dark den. So early one morning they came scrambling out after their mother.

The smallest baby fox crawled out last of all. For a moment he stood very quiet on all four paws. Then he sat down and cocked his little head on one side while he looked around. The old father was lying down in the sunlight just outside the thicket. Two of the babies trotted over to him and began to play with his tail. Two others climbed upon the mother’s back and pushed each other off. There they wrestled, rolling over and over in each other’s paws.

The smallest baby wanted to make the others pay him some attention. He lifted his sharp little black nose and opened his mouth and began to bark—bow-wow-wow, bow-wow-wow—till the others stopped playing. They came running over to ask what was the matter. He told them something in the fox language by rubbing his cool wet nose against theirs. Then they all five trotted about and explored the thicket by smelling of everything within reach.

They poked their noses into the grass and against the trees and bushes and over every stick and stone and leaf on the ground. To their keen nostrils everything had a different smell. When the smallest baby smelled a stick he could tell which little brother or sister had been smelling it just before him.

As the sun rose higher and the air grew warmer the little fellows sat down and rested, with their tongues lolling out of their mouths. Like all foxes and wolves and dogs they perspired through the tongue and the soles of their feet. After a while the mother gave a low growl to say that it was time to go back into the den. In they scampered head first, and curled up for a nap, with their fluffy tails over their noses.

When the babies cut their teeth the mother stopped feeding them with milk. After that she and the father fox were kept busy hunting for food for the hungry young ones. Sometimes they hunted in the daytime as well as at night. Oftener, however, the old mother stayed near the den to keep guard when the little foxes came out to play every afternoon.

Such fun as the five little ones had together! They ran round and round, chasing their tails. One hid behind a tuft of grass and jumped out to scare the others. Another climbed upon a rock and then was afraid to slide down. One went rolling down a small hill while another capered beside him and pretended to snap at him.

Once the smallest baby saw a grasshopper whizz past. He saw where it was hiding under a leaf. He crouched down as low as he could and crept toward it. Without making a noise he crawled from bush to stone, from stone to tuft of weeds, till he was near enough to spring and catch it in his paws. All the others ran to see what he had caught. The mother came, too, from the place where she had been watching him. She was proud of him because he was learning to hunt while so young.

As evening came on and the shadows lengthened under the trees the mother fox sent the babies into the den and walked away to hunt for a supper. The smallest fox happened to be the last one in. He turned when just inside and poked his pointed nose out to watch her as she trotted away into the woods.

A few hours later, when they heard her low call at the mouth of the burrow, out they came tumbling. Sometimes she had a rabbit hanging in her mouth, with its long legs on one side and its long ears on the other. Sometimes she had a young turkey thrown over her shoulders, or a fringe of field-mice hanging by the tails from her lips. Once she brought a wood-chuck, and at another time a string of little chickens held by the necks.

The babies always ran and snatched for a piece. Then each trotted off alone to eat it. When they were not hungry they played with the food. They nibbled the bits, first tossing them into the air and then springing to catch them. They could not use their fore-paws so freely as animals like the cat. They growled and shook the mice to and fro in their mouths. Sometimes they snatched from one another and snapped and snarled crossly. Once the smallest fox had a fight. Every time he flew at his brother the other whisked his bushy tail in front of his face, and all the little one got was a mouthful of fur.

By and by the young foxes were taken out to learn to hunt for themselves. There was ever so much to learn because every different animal must be hunted in a different way. The main lesson was to keep their eyes open and their ears alert and their noses keen for smelling. They must be quick to jump and wise at all sorts of tricks.

They learned to catch chickens by hiding near the place where the flock was feeding. When a chicken strayed near enough quick as a flash out jumped the fox and caught it by the neck. They chased rabbits and pounced on busy squirrels. They hunted meadow-mice in the grass, and stole silently upon careless woodchucks.

The smallest baby caught a chipmunk in almost the same way as he had caught the grasshopper. He saw the little brown animal feeding near its hole. Very slowly and carefully the fox began to walk up to it. Every few moments the chipmunk sat up and looked around. When he did this the fox stood still, and so the chipmunk did not notice him. As soon as the chipmunk dropped down on all four feet and began to nibble again, the young hunter crept several steps closer. He held his tail pointing out straight behind. At last, with a rush and a jump, the fox had the chipmunk between his teeth.

All summer long there was plenty to eat in the woods. The five young foxes grew as strong and tall as their parents. They left the old home and scattered to dig new dens here and there in the woods and fields. They all knew how to take care of themselves.

“Now and then the fox stopped to listen.” _Page 131._]

Even as babies they had learned to hold still as a stone at any strange sound. If they heard it again they ran to the den as fast as they could scamper. More than once while they lay blinking comfortably in the sunlight they saw the old father fox spring up with his ears pricked forward and his eyes gleaming. With his tail erect, his fore-feet planted in front, and his hind-feet on the spring, he listened to the sound that had startled him. Perhaps it was the bark of a dog or the scream of a blue jay over a newcomer in the woods. It was always safer for grown foxes to run from an enemy than to try to fight, for they were swift-footed creatures.

Once the smallest fox was really chased by a dog. The dog smelled his trail near a flock of chickens. He ran on with his nose to the ground till he saw the fox sitting under a tree with his tongue hanging out of his mouth. At the sound of the bark the fox looked back. Then off and away he ran lightly over the hills and through the fields. His fluffy tail floated in the wind.

Now and then the fox stopped to listen to the baying of the dog far behind him. Two or three times he whirled around, chasing his tail and capering. He knew that he could run the faster. He picked his way from stone to stone across a brook because he did not like to wet his feet. Then he ran up a tree that had fallen in a slant. He jumped from the end far over to a dead log and scampered across a rocky field. From the top of a hill he looked back and watched the dog trying to find the scent over the brook and around the slanting tree. When he was tired he hid in a hole.

When autumn came the young foxes gathered on many a frosty night for a romp before going to their hunting. They galloped to and fro, jumping over one another and springing from log to log. It was almost the same as if they were puppies again, frisking before the old burrow. They wrestled and rolled and whirled around after their tails. Then away to their silent hunting!

When the snow fell and the cold winds blew life was harder for the foxes. Through the day generally they slept in their dens, with their tails curled over their noses and fore-paws. Out they crept at sundown to hunt for a rabbit or unwary squirrel, to trap a partridge, or snatch a squeaking mouse at the edge of a stone.

Many a night some young fox went home hungry. Often he lay in the snow hour after hour till his legs were stiff, while he waited for a rabbit that stayed safe in its hole. More than once he made a dive into the snow after a partridge, only to see the bird flutter up before his very nose and fly into a tree. Very likely, as he sat looking hungrily up to the branches, he wished that he could climb trees. Undoubtedly the partridges and the squirrels did not wish any such thing.

Before spring came at last the foxes were hungry enough to eat anything. Indeed one day in early March, while the smallest one was roaming through the woods, he happened to spy a garter-snake coiled on a rock in the sunshine. He jumped for it and gulped it down in a hurry. The next day he caught a turtle and a frog. The frog was so stiff and sluggish from its winter’s sleep that it could not hop at all.

By that time it seemed that spring was really at hand. As the foxes never ate grass or leaves they did not care about the fresh green plants and buds through the woods. Nevertheless they knew very well that rabbits liked roots, and squirrels nibbled twigs, and field-mice were hungry for the sprouting seeds. When these small animals came out to eat, the foxes could hunt them more easily than in winter.

Once more the soft winds blew among the branches and the leaves flickered in the sunlight. The birds were singing overhead in the tree-tops. And here and there in the hidden thickets new broods of little red foxes were frisking together at the mouths of the burrows.

X

THE WOLF

“THE FIERCEST ONE”

“It was the father wolf coming in.” _Page 137._]

THE FIERCEST ONE

THE old mother wolf came home from her hunting, licking her black lips. Her four woolly babies scrambled out of the den among the rocks, and ran to meet her. They wagged their little tails, and barked joyous baby barks. They rubbed against her legs, and reached up their little faces to kiss her on her cool nose.

After smelling them all over the old wolf lay down beside them in the den to give them their dinner. The strongest little wolf was getting tired of milk. When he had nursed for a few minutes he began to play, climbing up his mother’s shaggy back and rolling down again, with his legs waving in the air.

Soon he pricked up his ears at the sound of a footstep outside the den. Then he sniffed the air. Sure enough! It was the father wolf coming in with something furry in his mouth. The cubs ran to smell it. Somehow the smell made the strongest little fellow feel so hungry that he tried to bite it with his new sharp teeth. He snapped and snarled when the old wolves dragged it away from him.

Very likely this reminded the parents that they must now teach the young ones to eat meat. So on the next evening they left the babies safe asleep in the den and trotted away together. They looked like two fierce dogs, with shaggy gray and black hair, pointed ears, and bushy tails. Their yellow eyes were set more slanting than the eyes of dogs.

They caught a rabbit by taking turns in chasing it till it was tired out. Then they trotted home. At the mouth of the den the mother gave a low call. There was a rustle of woolly bodies over the leaves and grasses of the nest back in the dark. And out tumbled the cubs, wriggling with joy. The father wolf, with his big teeth glittering behind his whiskered lips, tore the rabbit into pieces, and showed the young ones how to eat. Each snapped at his piece, and ran to one side alone to gnaw and pull it into bits small enough to swallow. They did not chew their food, because like other flesh-eating animals, except bears, they did not have any grinding teeth.

After the strongest baby had finished his piece he tried with a rush and a snap and a snarl to snatch from another little fellow. But the other cub held on tight with his little jaws. Then, growling and rolling his yellow eyes to watch his greedy brother, he dug a hole with his nose in one corner and buried the rest of his piece. He did this without being taught at all. Every wolf that ever lived knew enough to bury his food when he did not want to eat any more.

After their dinner the mother led the babies down the valley to lap water from the brook. It was dark by this time. Stars were twinkling in the sky. The shadowy trees swayed to and fro in the night wind. One little cub sat down on his haunches, pointed his nose at the sky, and howled. The little ones trotted here and there, smelling every stick and stone. The scream of a far-away panther on the mountain made the old wolf growl and bristle the hairs on her back. She hurried back to the den and sent the cubs in to sleep, while she stole off to hunt for her own supper.

In the morning the little wolves crept out to play about in the sunshine. They rolled and tumbled and wrestled in much the same way as the young foxes. Like the foxes the wolves belonged to the dog family of flesh-eaters. The little wolves were stronger and larger and fiercer than the little foxes. They did not have such bushy tails.

One young wolf found bits of the rabbit’s fur. He tossed and worried them, and gnawed so hard that the fur flew in his throat and nose and made him sneeze. Another saw a butterfly, and went plunging after it on his unsteady little legs. He jumped up at it, and opened his mouth to snap at it. He did not try to slap at it, as a little panther might have done, for he could not use his fore-paws like hands so easily as animals of the cat family.

All summer long there was plenty to eat. The deer in the mountains were fattening on the green grass. They could not fight very well then, because their new antlers were too soft. There were flocks of sheep on the plain. The old parent wolves prowled about every night, and often hunted in the daytime. It kept them busy enough to supply the four hungry cubs.

The two hunted together. Sometimes one hid beside a deer trail, while the other chased the deer nearer and nearer. When the deer passed the spot where the first wolf was hiding he sprang out and caught it from behind. Sometimes they took turns in chasing a deer till it was tired out. The deer could run the faster, but it always lost time by looking around to see how near the wolf was getting. Once in a while one escaped by running into the middle of a patch of cacti. The wolves could not follow there without getting their feet full of thorns. But the deer’s tough hoofs protected its feet.

Later in the summer the young wolves were taken out to learn to hunt with their parents. Their legs were so long that they were good runners, though they could not climb or spring very well. The nails on their toes were short and blunt from walking, for they could not be drawn back and so kept sharp, like the claws of animals belonging to the cat family.

The cubs wore thick coats with soft under-fur beneath the coarse shaggy hair. Their yellow eyes were keen, and their sensitive noses were quick to catch every smell of the wilderness. Their jaws were strong for snapping, and their many teeth were sharp for biting and tearing. They could scent the wind and howl when a storm was coming.

About sunset, one summer day, the little wolves followed the old ones away from the den. Down the canyon they trotted silently, winding in and out among the rocks like gray shadows. Far up the mountain-side a flock of wild sheep went leaping away in terror at sight of the wolves.

On the plain below rabbits scurried off, bounding from hillock to hillock. Prairie-dogs dived, squeaking, into their holes. A fox looked around in fright, and dodged into a clump of underbrush. A small herd of buffaloes, on their way to the river, ran close together and stood with their horns outward, while the wolves skulked past.

Perhaps, just at first, it seemed strange to the cubs to see all other animals afraid of their parents. At home the two shaggy old wolves were gentle and warm and soft toward the little ones. They fed them and watched over them and taught them all they knew. The babies whimpered when the old wolves left them alone in the den; and they barked and frisked with joy to see them come home again.

Out here on the plain it was different. The sight or smell of a wolf sent all the timid wild creatures flying in a scramble and hurry-skurry to get safely out of the way. The sound of the hungry howling made them tremble with fear, for they knew what it meant. It meant something shaggy and gray, with gleaming eyes, galloping swiftly nearer and nearer. It meant the glitter of long teeth behind grim black lips. It meant a spring and a snarl and tearing pain, and then a crunching of bones.

The first lesson that the young wolves learned was to take the trail and run it to earth. The father wolf showed them how to do it. He led them over the plain toward a cluster of trees along the river. He lifted his nose and snuffed the air. He smelled something in the wind that was blowing toward him from the woods. It was not the smell of trees or grass or flowers or birds or squirrels. It was the smell of deer.

The four cubs followed the old one as he galloped under the trees. They saw him stop and go sniffing here and there with his nose to the ground. Yes, he could smell the place where the slender hoofs had been pressing the grass a few minutes before. He ran on, with his nose to the ground. The others galloped after him, their heads low, their tongues hanging out, their tails held straight behind.

Once the father wolf howled. The young ones looked up for an instant. There, far away in the dusky woods, the deer were bounding lightly over the dead logs. They turned their pretty heads now and then to look back, till they vanished from sight. The wolves kept on for a few miles, learning to pick up the scent on the run. Then they found a half-eaten buffalo in a hollow, and stopped there for supper.

Through the late summer and early fall the young wolves hunted with their parents. During the day they stayed up in the mountains and slept in sheltered places. Sometimes they were scattered miles apart. At nightfall they called to one another with piercing howls, till they finally gathered about the old father wolf. Then they all set out to hunt together.

Sometimes they moved single file, stepping in one another’s tracks. They swam across the river and stole noiselessly through the woods. The timid sheep were easiest to kill because they could not fight. When they found a calf or sick old buffalo one sprang at his head while the others attacked from behind and bit his hind-legs. If the wolves went too near a herd the old buffaloes tried to hook them. Once a cub started to catch a young elk, but he was chased away by the old mother elk. They butted at him with their heads and struck at him with their sharp hoofs, while he ran with his tail tucked under him.

Autumn was pleasant enough with its bright days and frosty nights. The busy little creatures of the woods were gathering in their winter stores. Buffaloes and deer were fat from their summer’s feeding, and could not always run fast to get out of the way when chased by the wolves. Plump rabbits and prairie-hens were everywhere for the catching. Many a night the cruel wolves killed more than they could eat.

But soon winter came with its shortening days and gray storms lowering above the horizon. Snow fell, and icy winds blew across the frozen land. The deer and elk and antelope gathered in sheltered valleys. The wolves wandered down from the mountains, and roamed far and wide, hunting for food.

So long as the fresh snow lay soft and powdery in the gullies they could not run fast enough to catch anything, but when the snow packed hard, and an icy crust formed over the drifts, their spreading feet did not sink in deeply. Then they could go out and hunt the elk and the deer, whose small hoofs cut through the crust at every bound.

The young wolves felt hungry all the time. Sometimes, when a blinding storm shut them into their den among the rocks, they went without eating day after day. The fine snow sifted down upon their glossy winter coats as they lay close together, snuggling their cold noses into one another’s fur. Many a night they dreamed of eating, and snapped and swallowed greedily in their short, uneasy sleep. Once, in nosing about hungrily, the strongest little wolf happened to find a bone that he had hidden and forgotten weeks before. With a spring and a snarl he crunched it between his white teeth and gulped it down in a hurry.

One winter evening the four cubs, with their parents and five or six others, were following a herd of buffaloes. On galloped the buffaloes over the frozen plain. Behind and around them the dark forms of the wolves seemed to rise from the bushes and follow noiselessly. There was not a sound of a snap or a snarl. Now on this side, now on that, now lost in the shadows, the wolves galloped tirelessly on and on.

Here and there two eyes gleamed in the dim circle of a head, or bared white teeth glittered for an instant. Then again lost in the dusk, without the patter of a footfall on the snow, they edged nearer and nearer. Finally there was a sound of snarling and yelping. The wolves were fighting together over a dead buffalo. They ate him, and then broke away over the plain at a full jump, howling as they went.

Winter was over at last. The wolves were thin and fiercer than ever. Their grim black lips were always ready to curl back over their teeth at the smell of food. They felt such a dreadful gnawing emptiness inside that they were frantic to eat anything. When they began to grow weaker and weaker from hunger the welcome spring brought them new life.

Now in the time of pleasant weather and the plentiful food it was no longer necessary for the pack of wolves to hunt together. They were strong enough to look out for themselves. So the wolves scattered to make their summer homes in the loneliest spots among the mountains.

The weeks passed by, and soon there was many a new family of woolly little cubs frisking about the rocky dens. The fathers and mothers watched them lovingly. The black lips seemed almost smiling and the fierce eyes grew soft. They were gentle and happy there together, though so cruel and hateful to all the world outside.

XI

THE MOLE

“THE ONE THAT DIGS THE BEST”

THE ONE THAT DIGS THE BEST

DEEP down in their dark room underground the five mole babies lay fast asleep on a soft bed of leaves and grasses. The bed was not much bigger than a robin’s nest. The little moles cuddled together, with their pointed pink snouts resting on one another’s satiny bodies. Their little hind-feet sprawled behind them, and their big flat hands, with the pink palms turned outward, were spread close to their necks.

Presently the fattest little mole opened his black specks of eyes, though they were not of much use down there in the dark. He wriggled his pointed snout as he sniffed the air. The faintest of breezes floated toward him through one of the round openings in the wall. It was a breeze caused by something running toward the nursery. Tiny feet came galloping nearer and nearer. There was a light rustle of fur brushing along the tunnel. It was the mother mole hurrying back from her hunting.

All the little moles jumped wide awake in an instant when their sensitive bodies felt the quiver around them. It seemed to them that the earth shook under the mother’s pattering feet. Of course they were not afraid, because they knew from the smell who was coming. And then, just as soon as they smelled the worm that she was carrying in her mouth, they began to tumble over one another to snatch at it.

The greedy young ones shoved and pushed and fought as if they were starving. They pulled at the worm with their claws, and snipped off bits with their sharp teeth. Even after it was all eaten they went nosing around in the dark and squeaked for more. The fattest little fellow crawled so far into one of the tunnels that he almost slipped into the tiny well which the parent moles had dug when they made this underground home.

The poor old mother lay down to rest for a few minutes. It seemed as if she did not have time to eat or sleep since the babies had cut their teeth and learned to eat worms. They were always hungry. As for herself, though the old father helped her hunt she was really growing thinner every day. The young moles were six weeks old now, and it was time that they learned to hunt for themselves.

“The greedy young ones shoved and pushed and fought as if they were starving.” _Page 152._]

The babies were eager enough to learn to dig and hunt. They were tired of staying in that dark nursery, even if it was so comfortable, with its domed roof and soft, dry bed. Perhaps they wished to poke their heads above ground just once and find out what the world was like. They did not know the difference between day and night yet, for where they lived it was always dark.

When at last the five young ones started out to learn to dig they followed the mother in single file along the main tunnel. This main tunnel was long and straight. Its walls were pressed smooth by the bodies of the old moles in their many journeys to and fro. Branching off in every direction from the main road there were side tracks zigzagging and curving hither and thither. These side tracks had been dug by the parents when they were chasing worms or hunting for grubs and beetles.

The babies scampered on to the end of the main tunnel. There the ground happened to be soft enough for their little claws. They crowded against one another, and squeaked and twitched their short tails impatiently. Their pink snouts were already bending and twisting in eagerness to be a-digging.

The fattest little fellow was in such a hurry to begin that he did not wait to be told. He nosed along the wall till he found a good place to start. Then planting his small hind-feet down flat, to brace himself, he set his tough snout against the dirt and pushed as hard as he could. At the same time he dug his claws into the wall and shovelled away with both his big broad hands.

There they went—the five babies—digging five little tunnels in five different directions. The dirt flew thick and fast as they shovelled it out and tossed it aside. But the specks of eyes were safely hidden under the fur, and the invisible ears and nostrils were kept closely covered too. When the dirt clung to their satiny gray fur they shook it off clean with a quick shrug of the skin. The hairs of the fur grew straight out, and so it made no difference whether it was rubbed one way or another. It was never bristly or rough.

It must have been fun to go scrambling through earth almost as birds fly through air or fishes swim through water. The moles had such tough snouts and strong arms and powerful hands that they could burrow better than any of the other mammals.

One little mole burrowed on till his arms were so tired that he gave it up. He crept backward down his new tunnel to the spot where the old mother was waiting. Another kept on digging faster and faster till he ran his pink snout bump against a stone, and almost made it bleed. A third pushed on and on till he reached a patch of slimy mud that caved in over his back and sent his feet slipping and sprawling. The fourth dug till he came plump upon a fat white grub curled among some roots of grass. The little mole gave a jump and gobbled it down quick as a wink.

The fattest baby burrowed farther and farther till he felt the soil crumbling above him. Something warm was shining on his gray fur. He lifted his head and poked his long snout up into the sunlight. He blinked his twinkling, tiny eyes and sniffed the strange fresh air. But he stayed there only for a minute, because he did not like it the least bit. The light dazzled him, and the warmth dried his cool, pink hands and made his head ache and his snout twitch uneasily. So after that one disagreeable minute he turned and kicked up his little hind-feet as he dived back into the moist, cool, dark, delightful places underground.

After this first lesson in digging the five young moles were running in and out of the nursery every few hours, night and day. It was easy enough to burrow away in search of the stupid white grubs or the beetles lying sleepy and still in the soil; but it was harder and much more exciting to hunt earthworms, because they always tried to wriggle off as fast as they could go.

Then how the dirt flew as the little hunter burrowed madly in pursuit! Now in this direction, now in that, he chased, pushing with his snout and tearing with his claws. Once in a while he stopped quiet to listen and feel the ground for the faint quivering caused by the worm in its squirming hither and thither.

An hour or so of such lively work was enough to tire even a stout young mole. After eating what he had caught, sometimes he ran back to take a nap on the soft bed in the nursery. Sometimes he lay down in the main tunnel to rest; but that was not so pleasant, for it seemed as if one or another of his brothers and sisters was forever trying to scramble over him.

The busiest time for hunting was at night, or in the early morning, because then the worms began to move about after lying quiet all day. In dry weather the worms went deeper into the ground to find moisture. In wet weather they wriggled toward the surface, swallowing bits of dirt as they went. The little moles liked rain best because it was much easier to push through the light soil above than to tunnel through the hard ground below.