"It was in the middle of the winter. A light snow had fallen upon the
ground--just enough to enable us to follow the trail of any animal we
might light upon. Of course, the snow filled us with the idea of
hunting; and Harry and I started out upon the tracks of a brace of elk
that had passed through our opening during the night. The tracks were
very fresh-looking; and it was evident that the animals had passed in
the morning, just before we were up. We concluded, therefore, that they
had not gone far off, and we hoped soon to come up with them.
"The trail led us along the side of the lake, and then, up the left bank
of the stream. Castor and Pollux were with us; but in our hunting
excursions we usually led them in a leash, so that they might not
frighten the game by running ahead of us.
"When about half a mile from the house, we found that the elk had
crossed to the right bank of the stream. We were about to follow, when,
all at once, our eyes fell upon a most singular track or tracks that led
off in the direction of the woods. They were _the tracks of human
feet--the feet of children_!
"You may fancy the surprise into which we were suddenly thrown. They
were about five inches in length, and exactly such as would have been
made by a barefooted urchin of six years old. There appeared to be two
sets of them, as if two children had passed, following one another on
the same trail. What could it mean? After all, were there human beings
in the valley besides ourselves? Could these be the footprints of two
young Indians? All at once I thought of the Diggers--the _Yamparicos_--
the root-eaters,--who are found in almost every hole and corner of the
American Desert. Could it be possible that a family of these wretched
creatures existed in the valley? `Quite possible,' thought I, when I
reflected upon their habits. Living upon roots, insects, and
reptiles,--burrowing in holes and caves like the wild animals around
them,--a family, or more, might have been living all this time in some
unexplored corner of the valley, without our having encountered any
traces of them! Was this really so? and were the tracks before us the
footmarks of a brace of young Diggers, who had been passing from point
to point?
"Of course, our elk-hunt was given up until this mystery should be
solved; and we turned off from the trail of the latter to follow that of
the children.
"In coming out to an open place, where the snow lay smoothly, and the
footprints appeared well defined, I stooped down to examine them more
minutely, in order to be satisfied that they _were_ the tracks of human
feet. Sure enough, there were the heels, the regular widening of the
foot near the toes, and the toes themselves, all plainly stamped upon
the snow. Here, however, arose another mystery. On counting the toes,
I found that in some of the tracks there were five--as there should have
been,--while in others there were only four! This led me to examine the
print of the toes more carefully; and I now saw that each of them was
armed with a claw, which, on account of some hairy covering, had made
but a very indefinite impression in the snow. The tracks, then, were
_not_ the footmarks of children, but those of some animal with claws.
"Notwithstanding that we had come to this conclusion, we still continued
to follow the trail. We were curious to see what sort of a creature had
made it. Perhaps it might be some animal unknown to naturalists,--some
new species; and we might one day have the merit of being the first to
describe it.
"We had not far to go: a hundred yards, or so, brought us in sight of a
grove of young cotton-woods; and these we saw at a glance were `barked'
by a porcupine. The whole mystery was cleared up,--we had been
following in the trail of this animal.
"I now remembered that the porcupine was one of the _plantigrade_
family, with five toes on his hind feet, and only four on the fore ones.
The tracks were undoubtedly his.
"My companion and I were somewhat chagrined at being thus drawn away
from our hunt by such an insignificant object; and we vowed to take
vengeance upon the porcupine as soon as we should set our eyes upon him.
We were not long in doing this,--for as we stole quietly forward, we
caught sight of a shaggy animal moving among the branches of a tree
about fifty yards ahead of us. It was he, of course. At the same
moment, however, another animal `hove in sight,' in appearance as
different from the porcupine as a bull from a blue-bottle.
"This creature--tail and all--was not less than a yard and a quarter in
length, and yet its body was not thicker than the upper part of a man's
arm. Its head was broad and somewhat flattened, with short, erect ears,
and pointed nose. It was bearded like a cat, although the face had more
of the dog in its expression. Its legs were short and strong; and both
legs and body denoted the possession of agility and strength. It was of
a reddish-brown colour, with a white mark on the breast, and darker
along the back and on the legs, feet, nose, and tail. Its whole
appearance reminded one of a gigantic weasel--which in fact it was--the
great marten of America, generally, though improperly, called the
`fisher.' When we first saw it, it was crouching along a high log, that
ran directly toward the tree, upon which was the porcupine. Its eyes
were fixed intently upon the latter; and it was evidently meditating an
attack. We stopped to watch it.
"The porcupine had not yet perceived his enemy, as he was busily engaged
in splitting the bark from the cotton-wood. The marten, after
reconnoitring him for some moments, sprang off from the log, and came
running toward the tree. The other now saw him; and at the same instant
uttered a sort of shrill, querulous cry, and appeared to be greatly
affrighted. To our astonishment, however, instead of remaining where it
was, it suddenly dropped to the ground almost at the very nose of its
adversary! I could not at first understand the meaning of this artful
movement on the part of the porcupine, but a moment's reflection
convinced me it was sound policy. The marten would have been as much at
home on the tree as himself; and had he remained among the branches--
which were slender ones--his throat and the under part of his body--both
of which are soft and without quills--would have been exposed to the
teeth of his adversary. This, then, was why he had let himself down so
unexpectedly; and we noticed that the instant he touched the ground, he
rolled himself into a round clew, presenting on all sides the formidable
_chevaux-de-frise_ of his quills.
"The marten now ran around him, doubling his long vermiform body with
great activity--at intervals showing his teeth, erecting his back, and
snarling like a cat. We expected every moment to see him spring forward
upon his victim; but he did not do so. He evidently understood the
peril of such an act; and appeared for a moment puzzled as to how he
should proceed. All this while, the porcupine lay quiet--except the
tail. This was, in fact, the only `feature' of the animal that could be
seen, as the head and feet were completely hidden under the body. The
tail, however, was kept constantly in motion--jerking from side to side,
and flirted occasionally upwards.
"What would the marten do? There was not an inch of the other's body
that was not defended by the sharp and barbed quills--not a spot where
he could insert the tip of his nose. Would he abandon the contest? So
thought we, for a while; but we were soon convinced of our error.
"After running around several times, as we have described, he at length
posted himself near the hind-quarters of the porcupine, and with his
nose a few inches from the tail of the latter. In this position he
stood for some moments, apparently watching the tail, which still
continued to oscillate rapidly. He stood in perfect silence, and
without making a movement.
"The porcupine, not being able to see him, and perhaps thinking that he
was gone, now waved his tail more slowly; and then suffered it to drop
motionless.
"This was what the other was waiting for; and, the next moment, he had
seized the tail in his teeth. We saw that he held it by the tip, where
it is destitute of the thorny spines.
"What would he do next? Was he going to bite off the end of the
porcupine's tail? No such thing. He had a game different from that to
play--as we soon witnessed.
"The moment the marten caught the tail, the porcupine uttered its
querulous cries; but the other heeding not these, commenced walking
backward, dragging his victim after him. Where was he dragging it to?
We soon saw. He was pulling it to a tree, close by, with low branches
that forked out near the ground. But for what purpose? thought we. We
wondered as we watched.
"The porcupine could offer no resistance. Its feet gave way, and
slipped along the snowy ground; for the marten was evidently the much
stronger animal.
"In a short time, the latter had reached the tree, having pulled the
other along with him to its foot. He now commenced ascending, still
holding the porcupine's tail in his teeth; taking good care not to brush
too closely against the quills. `Surely,' thought we, `he cannot climb
up, carrying a body almost as big as himself!' It was not his intention
to climb up--only to one of the lowermost branches--and the next moment
he had reached it, stretching his long body out on the limb, and
clutching it firmly with his cat-like claws. He still held fast hold of
the porcupine which was now lifted into such a position, that only its
forequarters rested on the ground, and it appeared to stand upon its
head--all the while uttering its pitiful cries.
"For the life of us, we could not guess what the marten meant by all
this manoeuvring. _He_ knew well enough, as he gave proof the moment
after. When he had got the other as it were on a balance, he suddenly
sprang back to the ground, in such a direction that the impetus of his
leap jerked the porcupine upon its back. Before the clumsy creature was
able to turn over and `clew' itself, the active weasel had pounced upon
its belly, and buried his claws in the soft flesh, while, at the same
time, his teeth were made fast in its throat!
"In vain the porcupine struggled. The weasel rode him with such
agility, that he was unable to get right side up again; and in a few
moments the struggle would have ended, by the porcupine's throat being
cut; but we saw that it was time for us to interfere; and, slipping
Castor and Pollux from the leash, we ran forward.
"The dogs soon drove the marten from his victim, but he did not run from
them. On the contrary, he turned round upon them, keeping both at bay
with his sharp teeth and fierce snarling. In truth, they would have had
a very tough job of it, had we not been near; but, on seeing us
approach, the animal took to a tree, running up it like a squirrel. A
rifle bullet soon brought him down again; and his long body lay
stretched out on the earth, emitting a strong odour of musk, that was
quite disagreeable.
"On returning to the porcupine--which our dogs took care not to meddle
with--we found the animal already better than half-dead. The blood was
running from its throat, which the marten had torn open. Of course, we
put the creature out of pain by killing it outright; and taking the
marten along with us for the purpose of skinning it, we returned
homeward, leaving the elk-hunt for another day.
"All this, as I have said, occurred afterwards. Let us now return to
the narrative of our fishing excursion.
"As soon as the porcupine had been disposed of, we were reminded of the
sufferings of our dogs, who had ceased their howling, but required to be
relieved of the barbed spines with which their lips were sticking full.
We drew them out as easily as we could; but, notwithstanding this, their
heads began to swell up to twice the natural size, and the poor brutes
appeared to be in great pain. They were fairly punished for their
inconsiderate rashness; and it was not likely that they would run their
noses against another porcupine for some time to come."