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”
[Illustration: THE WOLF.
“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.
[Illustration: THE MOLE.
“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.
After the young ones learned to hunt for their own food it was not
long before they had found and eaten every worm and grub and beetle
anywhere near. The old and new tunnels ran in every direction, curving,
zigzagging, and criss-crossing through the ground. There was hardly a
spot of solid earth under all the grass in that meadow.
Now and then on cool nights the whole hungry family crept outside and
prowled about, looking for lizards, snails, or frogs. Once in a while
one of them found a dead bird or mouse or small snake. He sprang on it
and tore it to pieces in an instant. The moles always ate as if they
were starving. Drawing back their heads and hunching their backs they
stuffed the food into their mouths with their clawed hands.
As summer passed on the young moles began to grow discontented. They
were tired of staying at home. They were too big to crowd upon the nest
in the nursery. Whenever two met in any of the narrow tunnels one had
to back into a side track to let the other pass. The water was stagnant
in the wells. Food was getting more and more scarce. Many a time there
was a sound of scratching and fighting in the long dark halls of that
underground home.
Soon each little mole began to think of having a home of his own,
where there would be nobody else to crowd him, or quarrel with him, or
snatch the best of everything to eat. So presently, one by one, they
wandered away to find pleasanter places. One prowled into a garden, and
tunnelled ridges all over the green lawn. One stumbled into a pond,
but he did not drown, for he could swim with his webbed feet. He swam
across to a small island and dug his house under a bank where he could
catch plenty of frogs.
The three others strolled into a field that had been freshly ploughed.
The soil was not wet nor hard nor stony, but just what they liked best.
Each one chose a corner, and ran his main tunnel from end to end of the
space to be used for his hunting-ground.
The five new homes were much like the old one. Each had a domed
underground room with a nest of leaves and grasses in it, and several
outlets to allow escape in case of danger. Each had one or more main
tunnels, with smooth-pressed sides and many zigzag side tracks leading
in all directions. Each one had tiny wells of water, and little
storerooms for the winter supply of earthworms.
When winter came, and the ground was frozen hard above, each little
mole, alone by himself, dived down into his safe deep nest and stayed
there till early spring softened the soil. Then, livelier than ever,
he shovelled his way out to the surface to find a mate. Soon in every
pleasant little home under the ground there was a new family of soft,
round babies, with their specks of eyes deep hidden in their satiny
gray fur.
CONCLUSION
CONCLUSION
COUNTLESS years have passed since that day, long, long ago, when the
first tiny living creature began to grow in the new world of rocks
and water. All this time things have been moving and changing. The
earth keeps whizzing around the sun, while the sun itself rushes
blazing through space. Brooks are rippling; rivers are flowing; seas
are rolling their waves against the shores. Now the trees toss their
branches in the wind; now the rain sprinkles down from gray clouds, or
snow drifts silently over the prairie.
In the spring all the wilderness is green with growing leaves and
flowers and grasses. The world is alive with animals. In the water sea
creatures are feeding in their places, or floating and swimming here
and there. On land there are worms and insects, creeping reptiles and
flying birds.