We were standing at the window watching Lion, the house-dog, burying a
bone in the dead leaves near the fence.
"Why does he do that?" asked my little cousin.
"Animal instinct," replied my father, to whom the question was
addressed. "He has more dinner than he cares to eat just now, and so
puts away some for the next time. Other animals do the same thing
sometimes. I once knew an old lady who when a child had a singular
adventure in connection with this same instinct."
Of course there was an immediate demand for the story. Father teased us
for a little while, and then he told it, as follows:
"Sixty or seventy years ago, my friend's father was a pioneer in the
region bordering on the Ohio River. He and his son were cutting wood in
the forest one day, and Polly, then a little girl of five years old or
so, was playing near them while they worked. When the time came to go
home, Polly was nowhere to be seen.
"'That's strange,' said her father. 'She always obeys so well. I don't
see how she could have strayed off.'
"'She wouldn't have gone home without telling us,' said her brother.
'Look! here's her sun-bonnet full of nuts. She must be somewhere
around.'
"They looked again and again in every direction, calling, 'Polly!
Polly!' all in vain. There were no Indians living near, but wolves and
panthers were plenty, and only the winter before the father and son had
killed two bears in an attack on the cow-house. So they began to feel
seriously alarmed.
"Presently the brother, looking anxiously about, espied an odd-looking
heap of leaves on the farther slope of the hill, where no wind could
possibly have tossed them. He went to have a closer look at it.
Carelessly throwing aside a portion of the heap, he uncovered, to his
joyful surprise, a bit of Polly's red frock.
"'Father, come here,' he called, and in a moment more they had the child
safe and sound, but fast asleep, in their arms.
"'That's strange,' said her father once more. 'John, take Polly home.
I'm going to stay here, and see if I can't find out what this means. She
never covered herself up this way, I'm certain. Come back as quick as
you can, and bring your rifle with you. Here, hand me mine before you
go.'
"So saying, he piled the leaves up neatly once more, putting a small log
of wood into the place where the child had lain. He then crouched down
behind a fallen tree near by to see what would happen.
"He did not have long to wait. John had scarcely had time to return,
almost out of breath with the haste he had made, when the soft patter of
paws was heard on the dry leaves, and they saw three gray wolves
approaching at full trot, with another slightly in advance leading the
way.
"The wolf in front led his comrades straight to the heap of leaves, and
scratching eagerly, quickly uncovered the buried log. His dismay was
almost comical to behold. He sniffed and smelled and turned his head
this way and that in utter bewilderment. How a dainty little girl, plump
and soft, and just suited to the taste of a wolf who enjoys a good
dinner, could suddenly turn into a great uneatable log of wood was too
much for him to understand. He finally gave the problem up in despair,
and turned to his companions, cowering like a beaten hound.
"There were some sharp barks of disappointment, followed by snarls, as
the three guests, who had evidently been bidden to a feast which was not
forth-coming, expressed their indignation at the supposed hoax.
"The other wolf only whined dolefully, but in vain, for the three fell
upon him, and in less time than it takes to tell of it, tore him into
pieces, and began to devour him. They did not finish the meal, however,
for the two rifles behind the log cracked once and again, and all three
wolves lay dead beside the comrade whom they had punished so terribly.
"I have every reason to believe this story literally true," continued my
father; "and the other day I told it to Mr. E. S. Ellis, the well-known
writer of stories of Western adventure.
"'I have no doubt it happened just as you heard it,' he said. 'The
incident is uncommon, but not unknown in natural history. My grandfather
knew a lumberman who went to sleep in the woods in Northern New York,
and was awakened by a panther covering him with leaves. He lay still
till the animal got through and went off, when he jumped up and left
too. He didn't wait for the panther to come back.'"