OFF FOR NEW TRAPPING GROUND
The morning seemed a long one to Jack, and the hide seemed to stick
very close to the old bear. As the day advanced, the sun broiled down
hotter and hotter, while Jack cut and pulled and sweated over the
carcass, and seemed to make very slow progress. Gradually, however, the
hide fell away more and more from the flesh, until it only clung to
the body under the line of the back. Jack worked as far under the body
on either side as he could, and then pushing the carcass over, freed
the hide from it almost everywhere, except under the shoulders. Try as
he might, he could not lift the body so that he could make the final
cuts here. At last, however, it occurred to him to call his horse to
his aid, and tying his lariat about the forelegs of the bear, he took
a turn of it about the horn of his saddle and started Pawnee away,
dragging the carcass a few feet to one side, and then leaving his horse
standing there to hold the carcass in position, he went back and with a
few more cuts separated the hide from the carcass, and then dragged the
latter off the hide. It had been a hard job, and Jack was covered with
bear's oil and perspiration, but he felt that it would not do to stop
here, so turning the bear's hide flesh side down upon the grass, he
went down to where the cub lay. First, however, he looked to see where
the balls had gone from the other shots that he had fired at the bear.
One of them he found slightly imbedded in the muscles of the foreleg,
but there was no trace whatever of the other, which must have been a
clean miss. He could hardly believe that a ball from his powerful gun
would have stopped and flattened on the muscles of the bear's leg, as
he found this one had done, but the evidence was plain there under his
eyes.
The work of skinning the little bear was trifling, compared to the
labor that he had put on the old one. Its skin was thinner and its fat
softer, and it took him only about an hour to get the hide off. When he
had done this, he took it up and spread it out by the old one.
He was just about to get on his horse and ride up to the top of the
bluff to see whether he could see anything of Hugh, when down in the
valley below him he heard a sound of breaking sticks and crushing
undergrowth, and a moment later, to his amazement, a little bunch of
buffalo broke out of the willows, raced across the valley, plunged
into the stream, crossed it, and, with the activity of cats climbed
the bluffs and disappeared. There were five of them, two old cows with
their calves, and another that looked like a heifer. At no time had
they been within easy rifle shot, and as a matter of fact, Jack was
so astonished at their appearance that he did not think of shooting.
Afterward he was very glad that this had been so, because at that
distance he might well enough have wounded an animal which he could not
afterward recover. Besides that, they did not need the meat.
Before he had recovered from his astonishment at the appearance of
these buffalo, Jack saw Hugh approaching, and he saw that each of the
pack horses that followed him had a load, and when he saw it Jack
almost groaned at the thought of having to do more skinning. When Hugh
had come close, Jack mounted and they rode over to the place where they
usually did this work, and on unloading the pack horses it was seen
that there were six beaver.
"Well, Hugh," said Jack, "it seems to me we're having a little too much
luck."
"More than you bargained for, eh, son?" said Hugh with a smile. "Well,
it's certainly a fact that everybody in this world has got something to
growl about. It's either not enough, or the wrong kind, or sometimes
it's too much. Now, suppose I'd told you before we left the ranch that
we'd get more beaver than you would feel like skinning; I guess you
would have laughed at me a little, wouldn't you?"
"Of course I would!" exclaimed Jack. "We've got to learn about all
these things by having them happen to us, I suppose. I never would have
believed that we could catch more fur than we wanted."
"No," said Hugh, "I reckon not."
"Well, at least," said Jack, "I've got the skin off both these bears."
"So I see," replied Hugh, "and you did mighty well. I didn't suppose
you'd have skinned more than one of them; in fact, I didn't feel sure
but that the old one would tire you out, and I might have to help you
when I got back. You stuck to that job well, son, and I'm glad you did."
It made Jack feel good to have Hugh say that, for he was not much
accustomed to speak words of praise.
"Did you have any trouble with your traps, Hugh?" said Jack. "I thought
you were gone a long time, but perhaps it was only because I got so
tired of what I was doing."
"Well," said Hugh, "it took quite a while to make the rounds and to
pick up the traps and get the beaver out, and then one of those traps
you set yesterday wasn't very well fixed, and the beaver had pulled
up the float-stick and got ashore on a mud bank, and got away, just
leaving his paw in the trap. If we were going to stop here and trap for
a while, you would see that that would make quite a difference in our
trapping. That beaver will warn all the others in his pond, and maybe
all the others in other ponds, and they'll be a heap shyer from now
on. Then there was one trap that hadn't been sprung. However, we've got
six beaver, and it will take us till pretty near night to skin them; so
we better start in and not spend any more time in chinwhack."
"Good enough," said Jack; "but I mean bad enough." In a few moments
they were hard at work and before they had finished their task the sun
had sunk close to the tops of the western mountains. The beaver skins
and the traps were packed on one of the horses, and then taking the
other pack animal up to the top of the knoll, Hugh tied his coat over
his head. They made a bundle of the bears' skins and lashed them on the
pack saddle. When they had finished, Hugh said, "Now tie up this rope,
son, and let me start on with the other pack horse and you stay behind
and watch this fellow. Likely he'll buck when we take the blind off,
but after he gets tired he'll follow." Hugh mounted, holding the rope
of the other pack horse, and then riding up to windward of the blinded
horse, took his coat from its head and rode on. The horse started
quietly enough, until a turn in the trail carried to its nostrils the
scent of its load. When it realized that the hateful thing that it
smelt was on its back it was panic stricken for a while, and began
to try to get rid of it by bucking. But after tiring itself out by
pitching and by running, first in one direction, and then in another,
it followed the other horse toward camp. Jack, who had stayed behind
it, had to do some riding from side to side to keep it from running off
over the prairie, or up the stream. When they reached camp it was not
easy to catch the pack horse, the more so because none of the other
horses was willing to go anywhere near it, especially from the leeward
side.
"Well," said Jack, after they had finally got the load off and turned
the horses loose, "this business of packing green bear hides on horses
doesn't seem to be all that it is cracked up to be."
"It's always so," replied Hugh. "No horse likes to pack a bear hide, or
rather no horse likes a bear or the smell of a bear. Of course there
are some old plugs that will tote 'most anything, but these young
horses haven't had experience enough to be willing to pack bears."
"Well, Hugh," said Jack, that evening after supper, "we've got a day
more to spend here, anyhow, for we've got to dry these hides."
"Yes," replied Hugh, "we've go to do that, of course. We'll do well
if we get off the day after to-morrow." A little later Hugh said, "By
the way, son, I saw tracks of a little bunch of buffalo down the creek
to-day. I knew there were a few down here in these parks, and I thought
maybe we might see some of them, but I didn't expect to run on them
right here."
"Oh!" exclaimed Jack; "I meant to speak to you about that. I saw five
buffalo to-day. They came out of the brush and crossed the creek right
below where I was skinning the bear."
"You did, eh?" asked Hugh interestedly. "Were there two calves with
them?"
"Yes," said Jack: "two calves and two cows, and I thought a heifer."
"That's the bunch," declared Hugh. "The tracks I saw were right fresh,
and there were two calves and two cows and one smaller track. Now, I
wonder where they came from. I reckon the fire must have driven them
out of the mountains, and they must have crossed over and got into
the brush below here, and just been working up the creek, sticking to
the timber all the time. You know, these buffalo down here are what
mountain men call bison, that is, they're buffalo that live in the
timber. There used to be lots of them all through the mountains."
"Are they just like the plains buffalo, Hugh?" asked Jack, "or are they
different?"
"Well," said Hugh, "most people say they are different, but I never
could see any more difference between them and the plains buffalo than
there is between a mountain beaver and, say, a Missouri River beaver.
These bison are darker and look to be a little heavier set than the
plains buffalo, but I don't think that except for the color there is
any great difference, and the difference in color is easily accounted
for, because they live in the timber and don't get sunburned as the
plains buffalo do, which are always out in the sunlight. Maybe we'll
kill one before the trip is over, and then you can look at it and
compare it in your mind with the buffalo you've seen on the prairie.
I'd like to know what you think about it yourself."
The next day immediately after breakfast Hugh and Jack stretched the
bear hide, and while Hugh went over it with a dull knife and scraped
from it all the fat that he could, Jack busied himself in stretching
the beaver hides and hanging them up to dry in the shade. This work
occupied them both till noon, and after dinner they sat about and
rested, for now they had been hard at work for a number of days.
"I reckon, son," said Hugh, "that we'll not make a very long march
to-morrow. We can't do anything toward packing our fur until morning,
and likely enough we won't get started until about noon. Then, however,
we can make a march that will at least take us to another creek. I've
half an idea that the best place for us to go now is back to the
Platte, and perhaps, from there to the Michigan."
"What's the Michigan, Hugh--a place or a stream?"
"It's a creek," said Hugh, "and a good-sized one, that comes down out
of the mountains from the east. There are some beaver on it. Maybe
you'd like to stop there and trap."
"I don't know," said Jack; "but I've an idea that I've had trapping
enough to last me for two or three days. Maybe I'll look at it
differently, though, when we get on the Michigan."
The next morning Hugh looked at the bear hide and declared that he
believed that by noon it would be set sufficiently so that they could
take it up and pack it and move on, and that the last of the beaver
hides could be handled in the same way. During the morning they took
the beaver pelts that were already dry and folding them once made a
pack of them, which, when tightly lashed, they covered with gunny
sacking. These, with the first bear hide, were to make a top pack for
one of the animals.
About the middle of the day the pins which held the bears' hides were
pulled up, the hides folded over, and after the beaver pelts had been
taken from the hoops and each one folded once, these were put together
to make a second pack, which also was to go on top of a load. The hides
were not dry, but could be spread out again at the next camp.
The morning had been dull and lowering and by the time their packs
were made up and dinner eaten, a heavy mist was creeping down the
mountainside toward the valley. Jack brought in the horses and saddled
them all, and the work of packing was soon accomplished. By the time
the little train was in motion a heavy mist was upon them, which
sometimes was almost a rain.
To one who is used to travel on the plains or the mountains it makes
but little difference whether the march is through rain or sunshine. If
it rains, the traveler protects himself as well as possible, and goes
on his way as cheerfully as he can, consoled by a certain philosophy
which may be only habit, or may be a disregard for discomfort which he
knows is but temporary. If the sun is clear and bright, on the other
hand, he is still more cheerful; but under no circumstances are his
spirits greatly lowered. Men who have not had experience in life out of
doors are likely to be depressed by a march through rain. One becomes
more or less wet, and it seems hard not to have a house to go into to
dry one's self. Tents have to be pitched on wet grounds, blankets are
damp, meals must be cooked in the rain and are likely to be cold and
wet, so that for one who is not used to outdoor life a rainy day is a
real misfortune.
On the open prairie a low hanging mist makes objects at a distance
look like something quite different from what they are. Antelope seen
through fog appear as large as horses, and a coyote may be taken for a
gray wolf. If the fog is confusing to the human being who rides through
it, it is, sometimes, not less so to the game. Even the keen eyes of
the antelope are sometimes deceived at such a time.
Jack was just riding over a low ridge behind the pack horses when over
another ridge close at hand appeared two antelope cantering briskly
toward him. They did not see him until they had come within a hundred
yards, and then instead of turning and running away, they put on a
burst of speed and ran directly in front of him, passing between
himself and the last pack horse, and not more than thirty steps from
him. Just as they were about to pass in front of him, Jack shouted at
them and one of the two turned and ran directly toward him, crossing
before his horse so close that it almost seemed as if the horse would
run over it. Again Jack shouted just as the antelope was in front of
him and the animal turned sharp to the right, and darted by him, going
like the wind. If his rope had been free Jack could have easily caught
the antelope, or if his gun had been in his hand he could have touched
it with the barrel.
Hugh did not loiter on the ride, but kept his horse going at a little
jog-trot, and generally Jack kept the pack horses close behind him. By
the middle of the afternoon the rain had ceased and the fog lifted, and
when they rode down among the willows at the bottom of the Platte they
were warm and dry again. The valley was plentifully dotted with feeding
antelope. After a camp had been made Jack asked Hugh if it would not
be well to kill something, for the last of the fresh meat had been
consumed that morning, and unless something was killed they would have
to eat bacon to-night.
Hugh agreed that meat was needed, and as soon as the horses had been
attended to and the tent put up, he advised Jack to go off and get a
buck, saying that he himself would attend to the hides and spread them
out to dry for the few hours of daylight that still remained.
Down below the camp there was a large group of antelope which were
widely scattered out, so that the prospect of getting within range
was not very good, but after a little careful maneuvering Jack found
himself on the creek bottom with about thirty yards of level grass
land to cross before he could reach the willows, under cover of which
the herd might be approached. A single old doe was staring at him very
intently, and he wished to wait until she should move out of sight.
The other animals, however, were already beginning to feed toward the
bluffs, and after waiting for a few moments he saw that if he was
to get a shot he could delay no longer. He dropped on his hands and
knees, therefore, and crept through the grass toward the willows. He
was in plain sight of the doe, which continued to look at him, and
he could only hope that she might take him for some animal feeding
in the bottom. There were numbers of cattle along the creek, and it
was altogether possible that the antelope might take him for a cow
or a calf. What he had hoped for happened, and before he had reached
the willows he saw that the old doe was feeding once more. He crept
carefully through the willows and got up close to a big buck, and
feeling absolutely sure of it, threw up his gun to his shoulder and
fired, making a clean miss, shooting well over the antelope. He was
much mortified at his failure, so much so that he returned to camp
depressed in spirit, and when Hugh asked him where his meat was he
replied only by the Indian sign for "all gone," and did not speak until
supper was ready.
After the dishes were washed up and they were sitting by the fire
taking the comfort that follows a day's travel, Jack burst out, "Say,
Hugh, I don't suppose you ever make a perfect fool of yourself; but did
you ever do so when you were a young man?"
"Why, yes, lots of times, I expect, son," said Hugh. "What do you mean?"
"Why," said Jack, "this afternoon I crawled up within fifty yards of a
big fat buck and had a standing broadside shot at him, and I thought
the work was all done, except carrying in the meat, and when I shot at
him the ball must have gone four or five inches above his back."
"How?" said Hugh. "I reckon I know how it was. You were so sure of him
that you didn't take the trouble to sight your gun."
"Yes," said Jack; "I guess that's just about what happened. I never had
any question but that I would kill him, and I suppose I was so sure I
forgot to look at my sights."
"Well," said Hugh, "I guess that has happened to all of us at one time
or another, but after it's happened a few times, we get to understand
that you can't hit things with a rifle ball unless you shoot straight
every time."
"My! I felt cheap when I missed," said Jack. "It was not so much that
I should have to come and tell you what a stupid thing I had done, but
it was the change from being so sure and so confident that I had what I
wanted, to seeing it slip through my fingers and skip off."
"Well," said Hugh, "I was astonished to hear your shot and then see you
come into camp without anything, because, of course, I know as well
as you do that usually you shoot pretty carefully, and you've been
mighty lucky in your hunting. I sort o' fixed my palate for some fried
antelope liver to-night, and it seemed like quite a drop to come down
to bacon."
"Well, the next shot I fire," declared Jack, "you bet I'll take care
and try to send the ball where it belongs. I don't want to have this
thing repeated."
"Well," replied Hugh, "if you are going to shoot a rifle you've got to
give it your attention first, last, and all the time. You never can be
sure of hitting anything unless you keep your mind fixed on what you're
doing. A careless man is neither a good hunter nor a good rifle shot."
"Well," said Jack, "you bet I'm going to remember that after this."
During the afternoon Hugh had spread out the green hides in his bundle
and given them an opportunity to dry a little more, and then had
repacked them, so that bright and early the next morning they were
on their way again. Soon after noon they reached the crossing of the
Michigan, and on the way there Jack got a shot at a fine buck antelope
and killed it, and put the hams and sirloins on his horse. They made
a pleasant camp in a grassy bottom of the Michigan, and after eating,
Jack set out to walk a little distance down the creek in search of
adventure.
While strolling along the bluffs overlooking the narrow river bottom,
he came upon a little slough in and near which was several sorts of
water birds. Of these the most interesting was a family of green-winged
teal, an old mother, followed by eight tiny young. As soon as the old
bird saw Jack she swam to the margin of the pool and ran off into the
grass with the eight little ones strung out in a line and pattering
over the mud behind her. The scene was a pretty one, and much as Jack
would have enjoyed seeing one of the little fellows closer at hand, he
did not go near the grass which she had entered, to disturb the small
family. A little further down the river in a quiet pool he saw, a
hundred yards below him, a duck swimming about in plain sight. Making
a little round back from the water, so as to get out of sight of it,
he crept up and tried to see the bird in order to find out what it
was, but it had disappeared. Going on down the river, he happened to
look back and he saw in the same place what seemed to be the same duck
doing the same things. Again he went away from the water and returned
to the place, and tried to see the bird, but again it disappeared. Jack
wondered if it might not be one of the medicine birds about which the
Indians had talked, a spirit which took the form of a bird and then,
perhaps, changed into some other object of the landscape.
It was not nearly supper time when he returned to camp. He found that
Hugh had spent the afternoon busying himself about the hides, and
that these, except the bear's skin, were by this time all dried. Hugh
declared that there was no reason now why they might not go on and make
a full day's march, because the bear hide could finish drying at any
time.
"If we're going into the mountains, son," said Hugh, "there is a good
road into them not far from here. I don't know what game we'll find.
Very likely nothing, except a few deer, or possibly, if we get up high
enough, a sheep or two, but anyhow I mind that it's a pretty country on
the Michigan, and we might as well go up there as anywhere else."
"I would like to do it, Hugh, and if you say so, we will."
"Let it be so," said Hugh. "Now, son," he continued, "down here in the
park is one of the greatest summer ranges for antelope that ever was,
but we've got meat enough to do us for a few days, now, and unless you
see something extraordinary in the way of a head, it seems to me I
wouldn't bother with these antelope."
"No," said Jack, "I don't think it's worth while to, and I don't mean
to. The only reason for shooting at them now would be to see whether I
could hit them, and if I want to find out about that I can stick a chip
up against a tree and shoot at it."
"That's right," said Hugh. "Of course, if you need an animal, kill
it, but don't kill it just to gratify your curiosity or your love for
hitting things."
After an early start next morning a hunter's trail was followed
up toward the mountains. The way led through dense pine forests
alternating with pretty, park-like openings, and some miles nearer to
the main range they camped by some little springs. As Hugh had said,
the antelope here were extremely abundant and very tame. In the timber
there were many signs of deer, occasionally a snowshoe rabbit was seen,
and more than one brood of blue grouse was startled from its feeding
ground among the low brush. The young were about the size of quail, and
after being flushed the first time lay very hard. Jack amused himself
several times by getting off and walking in the direction which the
birds had taken, and then finding them, one after another, crouched
close to the ground, looking almost like so many stones or sticks and
permitting him to come quite near to them before again taking wing.
The timber on the Michigan was burning in several places, but the
rains of the past few days had for the most part extinguished the
flames. Now only a few smoldering logs sent up their pillars of smoke
through the still, clear air. In some places the fire had run down the
mountains out onto the plain, burning the sage brush and sometimes even
crossing the creek bottom, killing the willows which everywhere grew
very thickly. In one place, as Jack was riding down the bluffs into the
brush, a large bob-cat or bay lynx ran out from the bushes, stopped and
stared at him when it saw him, but before he could draw his rifle from
the scabbard it bounded back into the willows and was not seen again.
They had some trouble in crossing the Michigan where it came out from
the mountains. The bottom was wide and level, and was full of old
beaver meadows and ditches. Everywhere it was so thickly overgrown
with willows that it was with difficulty that the horses could be
forced through them. At every few steps they came upon mud holes,
beaver sloughs, and other evidences of old beaver ponds, and it was
necessary to wind about to avoid these obstacles. There are few things
more troublesome and even dangerous than to ride through an old beaver
meadow, for if one's horse gets fairly mired in a beaver slough it may
be very difficult to get him out again.
Hugh and Jack spent more than two hours in crossing from one bank to
the other, though the distance was only about half a mile.
A little beyond this they went into camp, but just before passing into
the little park where they were to camp, Hugh stopped his horse and
said to Jack: "There's a queer looking antelope; ride on ahead, son,
and see if you can't kill it."
As he reached the edge of the little park, Jack stopped in the fringe
of timber and looking through, saw a half a dozen antelope scattered
about feeding. The head of one of the bucks that was nearest to him had
an odd appearance, and even looked as if it had two sets of horns. It
was a good-sized animal, and Jack slipped from his horse, and creeping
out to the edge of the timber, where he had a clear, open sight, raised
his rifle to shoot. The motion caught the buck's eye and he turned
about and stood facing Jack, looking at him. Jack drew a careful sight
and fired, and the antelope reared up straight on his hind legs and
then fell over backward. Jack reloaded, and going back, mounted and
rode out to the buck, which he found dead, the ball having passed
lengthwise through the body. The curious appearance of the animal's
head was explained as soon as he reached it, for this buck actually had
four horns; the two usual ones, and, growing from the skin behind each
one, at a distance of a couple of inches from the horns, were two other
stout, black horns about three inches long and an inch thick. These
were not attached to the skull, but were mere outgrowths from the skin
and moved about with the skin when it was moved.
Jack had seen nothing like this before, and he was very much surprised
at it. While he was preparing the antelope to take into camp, Hugh
and the animals came along and passed him, stopping at the edge of
the stream not more than a hundred yards from where he was skinning
the antelope. Jack stripped the hide from the beast, and, cutting off
the skin of the neck low down at the breast and shoulders, placed the
carcass across his saddle, and carrying the head in his hand, walked
into camp.
The horses were already unpacked and feeding about, dragging their
ropes, and Hugh had started his fire and brought the water. It took but
a short time to put up the tent, and then to picket the horses.
"I want to tie up the horses for the present, son," said Hugh,
"because here in the timber it's pretty easy for us to lose them. They
may wander off only a short distance, but if they keep quiet in the
brush or timber it may take us a long time to find them. It's different
down on the open prairie, where you can see a long way." Each horse,
therefore, was tied up, either made fast to a picket pin driven firmly
in the ground, or to some stout tuft of sage brush.
After supper Jack brought out his antelope head and asked Hugh about it.
"Yes," said Hugh, "I've seen antelope like this before, but I don't
know that I can explain to you why this fellow has these extra horns.
I reckon they're something like the horns you'll often see on a doe
antelope. Some does--maybe most of them--have no horns at all, but
others will have a little knob of horn, perhaps not more than half an
inch long, just sort o' capping the little bunch on each side of the
head that corresponds with the big bony cores of the buck antelope's
head; and others may have right long horns, maybe four or six inches
long, with a little sign of a prong on the horn, but I've never seen a
doe's horns that were firm on the skull and that had a bony core inside
them as a buck's horns always have. The doe's horns always seem to just
grow on the skin like these extra horns on this head. I have often
seen buck antelope that had little, hard, black bunches looking just
like the stuff the horns are made of, growing on the skin of the head
somewhere near the horns, but I don't know what it means, no more than
I know what it means when a rabbit has a horn or a pair of horns."
"What do you mean, Hugh?" said Jack. "Do rabbits ever have horns? I
never heard of anything like that."
"Oh, yes," said Hugh; "sometimes they have horns, but I don't know why,
nor do I know what the horns mean. I've had rabbits with horns, both
jackrabbits and cottontails, shown to me a good many times."
"What!" said Jack; "real horns, you mean, growing out of the head like
an antelope's horns or a cow's horns?"
"Well, yes, and no," said Hugh. "The horns look like real horns, that
is to say, they seem to be made of horny matter, but they don't always
grow on the head. Sometimes they grow on the neck, sometimes in the
forehead. I've heard of cases where there were four or five growing on
different parts of the animal's body. I never saw more than two on one
animal, one of them grew out of the top of his head and another from
the side of his neck."
"Well," said Jack, "that beats me entirely."
"This whole business of horns," said Hugh, "is something that, as I
say, I don't understand. Now, of course, we know that a deer sheds his
horns every spring or winter, and that an antelope sheds his horns
every autumn, but, of course, the way an antelope sheds his horn is
very different from the way a deer sheds his, just as an antelope horn
is different from a deer's horn. I was talking about this with your
uncle one time and he told me that the antelope was the only animal
that had a bony core to the horn that regularly shed the horn, but,
as I say, the antelope don't shed his whole horn, like the deer; the
sheath that covers the horn core just slips off. When it slips off you
find the core of the horn covered with skin and all over this skin
grow long, white hairs, except at the very top, where there's a little
black knob of horn. After the sheath has been shed, the skin and the
white hairs covering it seem gradually to turn into the black horn, the
change traveling down from the tip of the horn to the animal's head.
Often at the base of the horn you can see where the hairs of the head
join the horn and seem to be mixed up with it. In other words, there's
a place where the horn sheath is part horn sheath and part antelope
skin and hair. Your uncle once told me that hair, horns, hoofs, scales,
nails, claws, and feathers were all different forms of the same thing,
and it seems to me that in the antelope's horn sheath and the way it
changes from the time the old sheath is shed until the new sheath is
formed we can see hair changing into horn."
"Of course, it's easy to see," said Jack, "that horn and nails and
hoofs are the same thing; they are just the same substance put on
different parts of the body. I can understand, too, how feathers are
the same, because we can look at the quill of a feather and see that
that isn't very different from the fingernail or the claw of a small
animal, but scales seem to me a little different."
"Well, I don't know," said Hugh. "You take the scales of a beaver or a
muskrat tail, and in places they're all mixed up with the hair, and the
hair seems gradually to change into scales. Look at a beaver's foot and
you'll see the same thing going on. Anyway, I guess if your uncle said
that was so, it is so, for I don't think he's the kind of a man to talk
positively about things that he doesn't know of."
"No, indeed, he isn't, Hugh, and he knows a whole lot, and yet,
you'd never find it out unless you get talking to him and asking him
questions about things."
"That's so," said Hugh. "He's a mighty quiet man, but he knows a heap."