the tree at once joined the chase, leaving the lynx free to stretch his
cramped muscles and descend from his perch. That morning he was
fortunate in finding the half-devoured carcass of a doe which a panther
had killed and left unguarded, and he ate greedily of the life-giving
food. His fur had grown ragged and his sides gaunt with hunger, but
after this satisfying meal new life and courage seemed to flow into his
veins.
For some reason the panther did not return to its kill and the flesh of
the deer kept the lynx in food for several days. All too soon, however,
it was gone, and starvation again stared him in the face. Then he
remembered the settlements, with their many dangers, but also with their
promise of food. So he drifted southward and found a new den not far
from the edge of the wilderness.
Thus it was that, late one afternoon, as the Hermit and Pal were
returning to the cabin after a tramp through the woods, the dog became
suddenly uneasy and the man again experienced the unpleasant sensation
of hostile eyes staring at him. Not caring to have darkness overtake him
in the woods, unarmed as he was, he whistled to Pal and went steadily
on, watchful but unafraid. The lynx, from the shadows of the trees,
watched him hungrily, longing to attack the small, harmless-looking
animal but afraid of the man.
Day after day the lucivee watched for a time when the dog might follow
the trail alone, but the Hermit did not permit Pal to wander off
unaccompanied, and he was careful to arm himself on his infrequent trips
into the forest. Though he was often aware of the presence of the lynx,
he caught only one glimpse of him, a dim gray shadow among the grayer
shadow of the woods. The animal hunted wide. He would occasionally grow
so bold as to approach the outlying farms under cover of darkness, and
make a raid upon a sheep-pen. This was always sure to bring pursuit, and
after the lynx had received a painful flesh wound he grew wary of the
abode of man.
Thus the days passed, sometimes marked by plenty, but more often by
hunger, until at last the winter came to an end, as even the longest
winter must do. When the wild geese returned to their northern breeding
places and food grew more abundant, the lynx, too, turned his face to
the vast solitudes, far from the dangers of the settlements. With him
far away, Pal was once more allowed the freedom of the trails, while his
master, about his work in the woods, was no longer aware of that grim,
unseen haunter of his footsteps.
WHERE WINTER HOLDS NO TERRORS
In a small reed-girt pool near the source of a forest stream which
emptied into the Little Vermilion not far from the Hermit's cabin, stood
a rough dome of grass roots, lily stems, mud and sticks. Standing at a
bend in the stream, it resembled a mass of driftwood deposited by the
freshet, yet it was the snug home of a fat old muskrat.
The roof of the lodge sloped somewhat toward the south, thus permitting
the sun's warmth to penetrate the one loose place in the mass, the
muskrat's ventilating shaft. In a snug room about a foot down from the
roof of the dome, and well above the water line, he had made his bed of
leaves and grass, where he could sleep snugly even when the winter gales
shrieked overhead and the snow drifted deep.
The muskrat, as is usual with his tribe, had two entrances to his lodge,
one a tortuous passage opening under water and leading inward about a
foot, then slanting upward five or six feet, the other leading to the
open air, its exit cleverly concealed by a tussock of coarse grass. Here
he lived a life of ease and also of adventure, feasting on sweet-flag
root, rushes and lily stems, of which there was always an abundance
close at hand, and taking his exercise in the water or in his many
runways in the long grass bordering the stream. The muskrat had adopted
the modern slogan of "Safety First" and had, in addition to his lodge,
made a burrow in the bank not far away, a retreat in time of trouble.
One warm summer day the muskrat emerged from the lower entrance to his
lodge. Swimming lazily across the little pool, he paused under the shade
of a mass of overhanging roots where it was safe to thrust out his nose
for a breath of air. Though the air of the wilderness was warm and
oppressive, the water of the stream was pleasantly cooled by a number of
springs. The sun shining down upon it served only to intensify the green
of overhanging grass and leaves, so that the muskrat seemed to be
basking in a dim green world. Gnats hovered in a thick swarm in the
sunlight close above the calm surface, and a group of birches, leaning
over to look at their reflection, trailed their tender green branches
in the clear mirror. Occasional flecks of foam from the falls above
drifted by, or a leaf fell softly, floating like a fairy boat on a sea
of glass.
Lured by the peacefulness of the scene the muskrat ventured forth into
the sunlight to comb his fur, about which he was extremely fastidious.
He had just begun his toilet when a shadow drifted between him and the
sun. Without looking upward, he plunged back into the pool, carrying
with him a number of tiny bubbles of air which gleamed like silver amid
his thick fur. Under the shadow of the root he lay quiet for some time,
having no means of knowing that the shadow had been but that of a summer
cloud drifting by overhead.
As the muskrat lay quiet, something dropped with a light plash upon the
surface of the pool and, looking up, he beheld the flutter of bright
wings as a butterfly struggled with the strange element into which it
had so suddenly dropped. The next moment there was a swirl of water as a
vigorous young trout rose to the surface, and the butterfly disappeared.
The pool was now quiet and, as a muskrat's memory is short, he once more
decided to take an airing. At a place where a little sandy beach sloped
to the water he climbed out and, seating himself, began a leisurely
toilet. With his claws he combed out his fur until it was dry and fluffy
and shone with a silky luster where the warm sun touched it. Then he
began on his face and ears, rubbing them with both paws in a comical
manner. Suddenly, however, his toilet was interrupted in a way which all
but put a period to the muskrat's story.
[Illustration: The hawk dropped like a thunderbolt and caught him in
its talons.]
He had just finished washing his face when, without warning, there came
a sweep of great wings just over his head. The muskrat dodged and
turned to the pool, but he was too late. The hawk dropped like a
thunderbolt, caught him in its talons and rose swiftly into the air far
above the quiet pool. For a moment the big muskrat was stunned with the
force and suddenness of the attack; very soon, however, his wits
returned, and he squirmed sharply until the hawk had difficulty in
holding his prize.
A thoughtful Providence, in fashioning the muskrat tribe, has clothed
them in a skin which seems several times too large, a fact that is often
the means of saving their lives. The claws of the hawk had caught only
in the flabby, loose flesh, and with a sudden twist the big muskrat
pulled himself loose from the cruel grasp just as they passed over a
woodland stream. Fortunately for the rat, his captor was flying low and
before the hawk could again secure its prey the muskrat had fallen into
the stream. He sank like lead to the bottom and hid under an overhanging
bank. As for the hawk, with a scream of baffled rage it flew away,
knowing it would be useless to wait for the quarry to reappear.
For a long time the muskrat lay trembling in the darkness, with only
the tip of his nose above water. Then he swam warily to the edge of the
shadow and looked about. The stream was one that he had, at infrequent
intervals, visited before. As it held none of the attractions of the
home pool, he had always returned to his original haunts, relieved when
the journey by land was safely accomplished. Now he waited until sure
that his enemy had gone; then he climbed warily from the water,
crouching among the grass roots or under fallen logs at the least hint
of danger, but traveling as straight as if guided by a compass to his
own stream. There he slid happily into the water and entered his waiting
home, glad to rest and recover from his fright.
One day, not long after his adventure with the hawk, the big muskrat sat
in his favorite retreat under the birch roots, just below a spot where a
cold spring bubbled from the sand of the stream bed. He kept under water
as much as possible, only coming up to renew his supply of air. While he
idly watched the placid surface above, a gaudy fly dropped lightly upon
the water and lay still. As on that other day when the butterfly had met
its fate, a big trout rose at once to the lure.
The fly disappeared but, instead of swimming away, the trout began what
seemed to the muskrat a series of exceedingly queer antics. He made a
rush downstream near the surface, shaking his head from side to side,
while the muskrat could see a long, thin line trailing behind him. Then
the fish leaped several times into the air, the sunlight flashing upon
the bright carmine spots on his olive-green sides. Next he tried sulking
on the bottom of the pool, jiggling from side to side, only to rise
gradually to the surface. A net dipped for a moment into the water and
the trout vanished as if spirited away. The muskrat watched with bulging
eyes but the trout did not again return to the pool.
After a time the muskrat bestirred himself and crossed the pool to a
spot near his own front door. But instead of entering it, he rose toward
the surface, having decided to take a brief journey in one of his many
runways. A surprise was in store for the big rat, however, a surprise
which drove all thoughts of a journey from his mind.
As he approached the surface, he looked up and found himself staring
directly into a pair of pale, savage eyes set in a round face,
surmounted by a pair of tasseled ears. The lynx lay upon a half
submerged log, its face close to the surface of the water, in order that
the reflections might not interfere with its vision of the clear depths.
As the muskrat came near the surface, a great paw armed with long, keen
claws was thrust into the water, but the lynx was a moment too late.
With a suddenness which caused him to turn a backward somersault, the
big muskrat arrested his upward motion and dived for his subterranean
doorway. He did not pause in his swift flight until the long passage was
traversed and he crouched, shaken and panting, in the darkest corner of
his house. Nor did he venture forth again that day.
One day he had a narrow escape from a huge snapping turtle which entered
the pool on a foraging expedition. At the time, the muskrat was dozing
in his favorite retreat, all unconscious of the invader until he felt
his right hind foot taken in a vise-like grip which made him squeak with
pain. He twisted about until he could look at his ugly captor, at sight
of whom his heart sank. Pull as he would, he could not loosen his foot
from the cruel jaws. All would have been over with him had not the
Hermit at that moment chanced upon the pool and, seeing his plight, come
to the rescue. The muskrat entered his den with a bleeding foot but a
thankful heart.
It must not be supposed, however, that the muskrat's life was one
continual round of sudden dangers and narrow escapes. For weeks at a
time no enemy visited the quiet pool, and he played about and fed,
occasionally with other muskrats who had their homes in the same stream.
They are sociable folk, as a rule, and like to live in colonies. The big
muskrat, however, kept much to himself, leading his own life,
independent of the colony.
The drowsy summer days passed and with a swirl of snowflakes the Frost
King descended upon the world. The muskrat's playground was roofed over
with ice, blue as steel, and the wilderness lay under a glistening white
mantle. For the fat old muskrat, however, the winter held no terrors. He
slept for long hours, curled up snug and warm in his soft, dry bed,
while the wind howled and the snow drifted but a foot above his head.
Many of the wilderness creatures began to feel the pinch of hunger but
not the big rat. Just outside the subterranean entrance to his abode
grew plenty of sweet-flag and succulent lily stems and roots, his for
the taking.
The whole pool was his playground, the season which brought distress to
so many creatures proving a blessing to him. The snapping turtle had
burrowed into the ground for the winter; the hawk had vanished; and
minks, those deadly enemies of the dwellers of the pool, were seldom
seen. The muskrat had nothing to fear. The water under the thick ice was
comfortably warm and, as it fell below its summer level, it left an air
space of several inches along the bank. There the muskrat could travel
long distances or seat himself comfortably and look out upon the wintry
world from which he was so well protected.
It was indeed a changed world upon which he looked one wintry morning.
The depths of the pool were as calm as a summer day, but above the ice
the bare branches of the birch trees were lashed by a cutting wind
straight from the ice fields of the north. Snow covered the forest
floor. Now and then a rabbit, looking like an animated snowball in its
white winter coat, drifted past the muskrat's hiding-place, but most of
the wilderness folk had denned up, waiting for the storm to pass.
The muskrat now bestirred himself and began a leisurely journey
downstream, stopping when an unusually succulent root showed itself
above the oozy bed. He had traveled far, lured by tempting food always
just ahead. Suddenly his heart seemed to stand still and he gazed down
stream with bulging eyes. Coming swiftly toward him, swimming with a
sinuous ease which struck terror to the muskrat's heart, was a long,
brown animal whose keen eyes seemed to bore into every nook and corner
of the stream. The one enemy had arrived.
The muskrat knew that he could never hope to reach his home ahead of the
bloodthirsty mink. Glancing wildly about, he discovered a small haven
under the bank, a doubtful hiding place, but his one chance of escape.
Squeezing his big body into the cavity as best he could, he waited with
wildly beating heart.
It was indeed fortunate for him that the mink was intent upon other
game, or his hiding-place would have been quickly detected. The mink was
in pursuit of a big trout and had no eyes for other inhabitants of the
stream. He forged swiftly ahead in the wake of the fleeing trout and
soon passed from sight, though the muskrat remained for some time in
his retreat, afraid to venture forth. As the animal did not return, he
at last slid out and turned upstream, keeping near the shore, ready to
dart into hiding at the least sign of danger. He reached home without
mishap, and drew a breath of relief as he settled for a nap on his warm
dry bed.
About a week later the big muskrat was again feeding some distance down
stream. His fright was forgotten and he was happy as could be, digging
in the oozy stream bed for flag roots, raising his head occasionally,
his face and whiskers covered with soft mud through which his eyes shone
comically as he contentedly chewed a juicy root. Having eaten his fill
he climbed out into an air space where the water had receded and the ice
made a thick protection over his head, and proceeded to make his toilet.
His fur was soon as clean and dainty as if it had never come into
contact with the soil. He was thinking of returning home, when a number
of small trout darted past him in a frenzied manner and vanished
upstream. The muskrat gave one look, then he, too, took to the water,
swimming with long powerful strokes, fear seeming to lend him power.
The mink steadily gained upon him, and when the muskrat at length
reached his subterranean entrance his enemy was close behind.
Now the mink, though a powerful swimmer, cannot hold his breath long
under water and, at the time he sighted the muskrat, he was feeling the
need of replenishing his supply of air. Knowing, however, that he would
never be able to overtake his game if he paused now, he forged steadily
ahead, his lungs feeling as if they would burst. As the muskrat darted
into his passage, the mink was close behind, his bloodthirsty jaws not a
yard from the feet of the pursued. There the mink hesitated a moment. He
had entered many of these tortuous, subterranean passages and knew that
if it were very long, he would not be able to hold his breath to the end
and would perish in its darkness. Moreover, the muskrat would have the
advantage of being on familiar ground.
Meanwhile the big rat had reached his den, where he quickly refilled his
lungs, and having more courage than most of his tribe, turned, prepared
for defense. He did not have long to wait. The mink had wisely risen to
the surface to replenish his air supply and now, with fresh vigor, he
hastened to the attack, his mouth watering at thought of the meal ahead.
He had reckoned without the strength and courage of his adversary,
however. The muskrat charged suddenly upon him while he was still in the
submerged part of the passage, the force of the onslaught knocking the
breath out of him. Before he could recover, the muskrat was upon him.
There, in the darkness under the water, was fought a terrible battle
which lasted until even the muskrat was laboring for breath and the mink
could stand the strain no longer. He gulped and his lungs instantly
filled with water.
The fight was over. The muskrat, torn and bleeding, reeled back to his
lodge to refill his aching lungs. Then, having carried out the body of
his enemy, he proceeded to lick his many wounds and make a long and
thorough toilet. This done, he curled up into a furry ball and went to
sleep, well content at having rid the stream of so relentless an enemy.
BROWN BROTHER
For some distance the silvery thread of the Little Vermilion crept
between low banks lined with half-grown fir and spruce, and clumps of
wild cherry, through which the sunlight sifted to the ground in
innumerable flecks of light and shadow. On the north bank, in the
densest part of the thicket, lay a fawn, his dappled coat like a garment
of invisibility against the sun-flecked background of brown leaves. The
little animal lay as motionless as the mossy old log at his back, but
the brown eyes looked out upon the forest world with wonder and keen
interest.
Suddenly the sensitive ears came forward at the crackling of a twig and
the fawn half rose to his feet. The newcomer was not the mother deer,
however, and the fawn shrank noiselessly back, though he continued to
watch with interest. He had never seen a man before and the sight filled
him with wonder.
[Illustration: Instantly the fawn thrust out his delicate muzzle and
licked the outstretched hand.]
The Hermit, with his bag of roots on his back, would have passed by
unheeding had not a troublesome gnat crept into the fawn's nostril,
causing him to sneeze. The faint sound caught the man's keen ear and,
like one of the wilderness folk, he instantly became immovable, every
sense alert. His glance at once sought the thicket, but it was several
moments before he saw the fawn, so closely did the little animal's
colors blend with the background. The man found himself staring into a
pair of great, appealing brown eyes, wide with interest but containing
no fear.
Very slowly, pausing at every step, the Hermit moved forward until he
stood close to the little creature. Then he stretched forth his hand.
Instantly the fawn thrust out his delicate muzzle and licked the
outstretched hand, finding it very palatable with its faint taste of
salt. The Hermit then drew from his pocket a lump of sugar which the
fawn eagerly devoured, nosing about for more.
As the Hermit sat on the end of the log, gently stroking the velvety
ears of the fawn who nestled confidingly against him, he suddenly became
aware of another figure in this little woodland scene. Looking up he
encountered the gaze of a pair of great brown eyes, wide with terror.
The doe had returned to find her baby being fondled by one of the
dreaded man-creatures, a sight which caused her to tremble in every
limb.
Instantly, with a hoarse cry of danger, she threw up her head and
bounded away, her tail carried high, showing the white flag as a signal
to the little one to follow. From the time a fawn comes into the world
he learns to obey this signal and now, instinctively, he sprang to his
feet. Then the Hermit held out his hand and the fawn stopped perplexed.
Again came the warning cry but the little animal was licking the man's
palm and made no movement to obey.
The Hermit felt a thrill of pride at the trust shone in him by this
beautiful woodland creature. He was sorely tempted to prolong the
pleasure of the moment but, knowing that the fawn's life might some day
depend upon his instant response to the doe's signal, he felt that he
had no right to allow the little creature to remain. Accordingly, with a
last pat he sprang to his feet, clapping his hands sharply. Fear leaped
at once into the brown eyes which had been raised so trustingly to his,
and the Hermit felt a stab of pain at the sight; yet, knowing that trust
in mankind is scarcely an asset to a fawn, he hardened his heart and
said aloud, "Go, little Brown Brother. Never desert the flag."
At sound of his voice the fawn bounded away, his own flag raised, and
the man had the satisfaction of seeing the doe join him and lead the way
into the wilderness, their progress marked now and then by a flash of
white in the green gloom.
Brown Brother grew fast and soon became wise in the ways of the
wilderness. He learned when to lie still and trust to his peculiar
marking and color to remain invisible, and when to rely upon his long
legs to carry him away from danger. And in spite of the enemies all
about him his life was far from being one of fear.
Once, as the mother deer and her small companion roamed the woods
together, a fawn not much older than Brown Brother ran up to them and
nestled tremblingly against the doe. At the same instant there sounded
the crackling of a twig and away the three bounded, keeping together and
never stopping until the invisible danger was left behind. The lonely
orphan became one of the family, following the doe as if she had been
his own mother.
Late one afternoon as the three were drinking from a clear forest
stream, they were joined by a lordly buck, his antlers bristling like a
thicket, each point needle-sharp. At once he took command of the little
herd, showing them the best feeding grounds and protecting them from
danger. One night he led them southward to the very edge of the
wilderness. Immediately before them a low stone wall bordered a garden
patch, the rows of peas and beans and round heads of cabbage bathed in
the bright moonlight.
The low wall was no obstacle, even to the fawns. With graceful leaps
they cleared it and found themselves in a land of plenty. They sampled
everything, but soon came back to the long rows of peas, sweet and
tender in their green pods. Here they gorged themselves until the first
light of day appeared, when they returned to the wilderness, leaving the
garden a sorry sight indeed.
The next night the enraged farmer lay in wait with a gun but the wily
old buck knew better than to return to the same place. He again led his
family southward, but this time they left the wilderness at a point
several miles east of the spot where the man lay in wait.
Here they paused at an old rail fence to stare curiously at a cabin
bathed in the moonlight, and a much smaller cabin set upon the top of a
tall pole. The old buck sniffed the wind suspiciously. As no danger
seemed to threaten, he decided upon a closer investigation and led the
others a short distance along the fence which terminated in another low
stone wall. The next moment they were stepping daintily between the
Hermit's rows of beets, stopping here and there to browse upon anything
that took their fancy.
Perhaps the Hermit's garden also would have suffered greatly, had not
Pal soon discovered the visitors and advanced upon them barking shrilly.
The buck lowered his head and pawed the ground threateningly, inclined
to defend his position and his herd, while the dog paused uncertainly
before the bristling array. His continued barking soon aroused his
master who leaped from his hammock and hurriedly rounded the corner of
the cabin.