w 
 
 n the Edae 
 
 of the 
 
 Wilderness 
 
 BY 
 
 : WALTER PRICHARD EKiON 
 
Albert R. Mann 
 Library 
 
 G3RNELL University 
 
 Gift of 
 
 Wiliatn E. Davis, Jr. 
 
CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY 
 
 3 1924 090 281 308 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 tlie Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924090281308 
 
On the Edge of the Wilderness 
 
Books by 
 WALTER P. EATON 
 
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 Colored frontispiece. 313 pages. 
 
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 Colored frontispiece. 320 pages. 
 
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 336 pages. 
 Cloth bound. Price, $1.75 net eacji 
 
He snarled a defiance, but he circled the little herd 
 and trotted away 
 
On the Edge of the 
 Wilderness 
 
 TALES OF OUR WILD 
 ANIMAL NEIGHBORS 
 
 -By 
 WALTER PRICHARD EATON 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BT 
 
 CHARLES LIVINGSTON BULL 
 
 W. A. WILDE COMPANY 
 
 BOSTON CHICAGO 
 
 r 
 
Copyrighted, ig20. 
 
 By W. a. Wilde Company 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
 On the Edge of the Wilderness 
 
Note 
 
 T^HE author acknowledges indebtedness to 
 "*■ more than one acquaintance for observed 
 records of animal behavior, which he has incor- 
 porated in these tales. His thanks are especially- 
 due to William Sargood, Deputy Game Warden 
 for Southern Berkshire (Massachusetts), to 
 Hamilton Gibson, to Walter King Stone, and to 
 Warwick S. Carpenter, of the New York State 
 Conservation Commission. The primary object 
 of the stories being, however, to reconstruct 
 imaginatively the life of the wild creatures while 
 they are not under observation, but living out 
 their normal existence, the author would not seem 
 in any way to shift the responsibility for the 
 
 natural history herein contained. 
 
 W. P. E. 
 
 Tmn Fires, 
 
 Sheffield, Massachusetts. 
 
Contents 
 
 I. 
 
 " The Return of the Native " 
 
 II 
 
 II. 
 
 Big Reddy, Strategist . 
 
 43 
 
 III. 
 
 The Odyssey of Old Bill 
 
 71 
 
 IV. 
 
 The Life and Death of Lucy 
 
 164 
 
 V. 
 
 General Jim 
 
 142 
 
 VI. 
 
 The Mating of Brownie 
 
 173 
 
 VII. 
 
 The Taming of Ol' Buck 
 
 200 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Red Slayer and the Terror . 
 
 234 
 
 IX. 
 
 Rastus Earns His Sleep . 
 
 259 
 
 X. 
 
 " The Last American " . 
 
 . 287 
 
Illustrations 
 
 PAGE 
 
 " Old Bill stood upon a bare, rocky mountain shoulder 
 
 and looked into Vermont " {Cover) . . . loi 
 
 " He snarled a defiance, but he circled the little herd 
 
 and trotted away " . . . . . .34 
 
 " As their paths met, they both dropped to a trot, side 
 
 by side "....... 62 
 
 " Lucy cufFed the kittens back out of sight, and sneaked 
 
 out of the den" 133 
 
 " The great owl was plainly visible — and plainly un- 
 comfortable " . . . . . .166 
 
 "Suddenly, both their ears and noses got unmistakable 
 
 warning ".. = .... 220 
 
 " Father soon got back to the mountain cliffs and was 
 later privileged to see his five offspring, among 
 whom was Rastus " 262 
 
 The nest in the hemlock . . . • . 292 
 
 9 
 
On the Edge of the Wilderness 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 "THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE" 
 
 •' I ^HE trouble with Swif tfoot, the big gray tim- 
 "*- ber wolf, undoubtedly was that he didn't 
 know he was extinct in that part of America. All 
 the wise books said he was, so, quite obviously, he 
 had ' no business there. As a matter of fact, 
 neither he nor his companion was making any 
 public display. Swiftfoot had nothing to fear in 
 the deep woods. There were no panthers. The 
 Canada lynx might snarl at him, or fight him if 
 he tried to take away its kill — but he never tried. 
 From the lumbering black bears he could easily 
 run away, if there were any occasion. There 
 wouldn't be, of course, unless he attempted to se- 
 cure a little juicy cub steak. For the rest, he 
 was master of the forest. But there was one 
 
 thing he dreaded, dreaded with an abiding fear, 
 
 11 
 
12 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 and that was a high-power rifle, the shining black 
 stick which men, those slow, two-legged creatures 
 with the peculiar smell, carry in their hands, and 
 which make a great noise, spit fire, and kill from 
 a long way off. 
 
 Swiftfoot's earliest grown up recollections had 
 to do with men and rifles. He was one of a pack, 
 a fine, strong pack of nine gray wolves which 
 hunted and traveled together, well knowing the 
 value of union. They ranged a different forest 
 from this one where he now was, a forest of low 
 evergreens, with numerous bogs overlaid by a 
 shaking carpet of sphagnum moss, far up in the 
 cold north. The nine of them, tongues but, teeth 
 gleaming, eyes dilated, would run a young moose 
 or a deer for hours through this land, driving him 
 if they could to some bog at last where he broke 
 through, and Swiftfoot and his fellows, held up 
 on the shaking moss, caught him on flank and 
 throat and shoulder, and killed him, and feasted. 
 Then, one day, the two-legged creatures came, 
 with the funny smell. One of them had discov- 
 ered something yellow in the ground, and all the 
 rest followed, and began to dig the earth, and cut 
 
" THE EETUEN OP THE NATIVE " 13 
 
 the trees. Winter followed, the game grew 
 scarce. The great horned owls and the goshawks 
 got most of the rabbits before Swiftfoot and his 
 pack could round them up. The pack grew lean. 
 They closed in around the trail over which the 
 two-legged animals came, driving dog sleds. 
 When the dogs smelled the wolf pack they barked 
 and snarled and became ridiculously excited, and 
 the men animals got out their black sticks. 
 
 Swiftfoot remembered how old Whitefang, the 
 leader of the pack, grew cautious, and tried to 
 hold the other eight back, but they were lean with 
 hunger, and the dog meat smelled good, and even 
 the queer-smelling meat of the two-legged crea- 
 tures. So the pack followed, one mile, two miles, 
 three miles, just in the fringe of the evergreens 
 by the trail, waiting to close in when the whipped 
 and straining dogs should be too tired to fight, 
 and the queer creatures too tired to make those 
 strange noises. 
 
 At last Whitefang could hold them no longer. 
 With a snarl and a bark, they closed in out of the 
 dark woods, into the starlight of the snowy trail. 
 Izistantly there were half a dozen flashes, half a 
 
14 ON THE EDGE OP THE WILDERNESS 
 
 dozen loud reports, and even as he leaped at the 
 throat of a dog, Swif tfoot saw Whitefang rolling 
 over on the snow, and another wolf half leap into 
 the air and tumble back with blood spouting from 
 its mouth. But he kept on and had his teeth in 
 the woolly throat of a dog, harnessed and unable 
 to fight, while the air resounded with snarls, 
 barks, cries, and the terrible, loud explosions. 
 Suddenly something stung Swiftfoot in the tail, 
 near the base, the pain infuriating him. It 
 couldn't have been the dog he had by the throat. 
 He let go his hold to turn on his new adversary, 
 and at the same instant something hit him on the 
 head — a shining black stick swung by one of the 
 two-legged creatures. He fell down unconscious. 
 When he came to he was conscious of the smell 
 of blood, wolf blood. Staggering up, he looked 
 about. The snow was stained where he himself 
 had lain, and his tail ached and was clotted with 
 frozen blood. He sat down again and licked the 
 wound. The bullet, a small automatic pistol ball, 
 fortunately for him had only entered the tail 
 (where it was still lodged, as a matter of fact) , 
 and had not injured the muscles of his hind quar- 
 
"THE EETUEH OF THE NATIVE" 15 
 
 ters. When he had licked the frozen blood away 
 and could feel the soothing of his own warm 
 tongue, Swiftfoot got up again and poked 
 around. There was no scent nor sound of the 
 men and dogs. The sleds had moved far on. 
 The bodies of four of his companions lay on the 
 snow. He sniffed them. Three were dead, the 
 fourth — Softfur, the mate of Fang — was alive. 
 Swiftfoot crouched beside her and began to lick 
 her face. She wasn't his mate, but she was alive, 
 and he hated to be alone. You don't fare so well 
 when you hunt alone. Suddenly he pricked up 
 his ears, and elevated his muzzle, baring his teeth 
 with an angry snarl. There was an answering 
 growl from the undergrowth by the trail, and the 
 gray form of Fang suddenly emerged. Swift- 
 foot's ears went down, his tail moved, like a dog's, 
 causing him a twinge of pain, and he resigned the 
 task of resuscitating Softfur to Fang, turning his 
 attention again to his own wound. 
 
 Softfur, like him, had been knocked uncon- 
 scious by the butt of a rifle. Fang was unhurt; 
 he had fled. If Swiftfoot had been a dog, he 
 would have called Fang a coward, and despised 
 
16 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDEENBSS 
 
 him. But he was a wolf, and respected the in- 
 stinct of self-preservation. Beside, he was glad 
 enough to have companions. When Softfur had 
 recovered consciousness, the three of them, seeing 
 but three dead bodies, howled a signal to the other 
 three, the missing ones. There was no answer. 
 Fang had been the only one, so far as he knew, to 
 escape. One other, attempting it, had been shot 
 down. Evidently the two-legged creatures had 
 carried off three of the bodies. Without further 
 ado, the starved survivors fell on the carcases of 
 their own recent companions, and got back their 
 strength. 
 
 Even as they were eating, a flock of great 
 horned owls went by overhead, flying south. 
 Northward lay deeper snow, harder hunting, and 
 northward the terrible two-legged creatures with 
 guns had gone. Southward the owls must know 
 there was game, rabbits and partridges, anyway, 
 or they wouldn't be flying that way. The three 
 wolves rose, shook themselves, slunk off the 
 trail into the timber, and trotted south. 
 
 They traveled and hunted chiefly at night, and 
 rested by day in dry caves or under thick stands 
 
" THE EETUEN OP THE NATIVE " 17 
 
 of little balsams or spruces, where the snow was 
 light. Food was scarce, and often they went for 
 long periods with nothing at all to eat. Finally 
 they came to a great river, barring their south- 
 ward march. This river was partly frozen, but 
 in mid-stream a belt of open current shone black 
 under the cold winter moon. Sof tf ur howled her 
 disappointment, and there came an answering 
 howl from some dog not far off. They were 
 amid the homes of men now, with danger on 
 every side. Fang trotted deliberately out on the 
 ice, to the edge of the black water. Softfur and 
 Swif tf oot followed him. He was the leader, and 
 where he went, they went. 
 
 Then he moved up-stream till he came to a spot 
 where great floating ice cakes, like rafts, were 
 swirled in close by the current. He watched the 
 direction these cakes took after leaving the edge 
 again. Satisfied with what he saw, he gave a 
 short, sharp bark and leaped to a big cake, the 
 others following him. Standing on this raft, the 
 three wolves floated down-stream in the still moon- 
 light, till the opposite ice edge began to draw 
 near. When it was evident that the cake they 
 
18 ON THE EDGE OP THE WILDEENESS 
 
 floated on was as close as it would get, Fang went 
 off into the water, and swam. A few strokes, 
 and he was struggling out, and shaking the water 
 hastily from his coat before it should freeze. The 
 other two followed, and then the three of them 
 trotted rapidly over the ice, to the wooded banks, 
 warming themselves with brisk motion. 
 
 The St. Lawrence was behind them. 
 
 Still they moved south, through a snow-buried 
 world. There was far less cover than they liked. 
 Great stretches of open country had to be 
 crossed, where there were strange, box-like things 
 full of lights and creatures with the odd smell. 
 There was little game in the woods. Hunger 
 drove them on, southward, after the owls, and the 
 goshawks, too. Once, on their tracks, they heard 
 a dog, a siiigle dog. They fanned out, Fang and 
 his mate swinging back to the left, Swiftfoot to 
 the right, galloping rapidly, and reunited behind 
 the dog. 'Now the pursuer was pursued. The 
 three gray wolves, with a speed greater than his, 
 closed in on the cruising hound, so that he became 
 aware of it, and ran for his life. But he lacked 
 their speed and their wind. Before he reached the 
 
"THE EETUEN OP THE NATIVE" 19 
 
 fields about his house, they were upon him and 
 dragged him down, and his master never knew 
 why he didn't come home. 
 
 That meal helped them on their southward 
 way. 
 
 They came presently to something quite new 
 in their experience — mountains. These moun- 
 tains, low at first, but soon getting higher and 
 higher, were covered with forests or scrub, and 
 though the valleys between held farms and roads 
 — the dreaded signs of the two-legged creatures 
 with the fire sticks — S^viftfoot and his two com- 
 panions learned speedily that by keeping well up 
 on the ridges they could travel long distances in 
 perfect safety. These ridges, too, led steadily 
 southward. And the hunting was good again ! 
 
 In fact, they had scarcely entered this moun- 
 tain region before they picked up the fresh track 
 of a deer, and were off in full cry. It gave them 
 a long, hard run, taking them finally far up on a 
 rocky ledge, Avhere they pulled the buck down, 
 and feasted royally on fresh venison, the first they 
 had tasted for three weeks. That day they slept 
 up in the warm rocks, on the southern slope of the 
 
20 ON THE EDGE OP THE WILDEENESS 
 
 moiintain ledges, and went on again at night with 
 renewed energy. Swiftfoot's tail had quite 
 healed by now, his coat was thick and soft, his 
 wind was good, he had attained his full size, meas- 
 uring four feet, nine inches from nose to tail, and 
 the prospect of deer meat spurred him on, some- 
 times ahead of his little pack. He was even 
 thinking of disputing the leadership with Fang. 
 The himting was so good, in fact, that they didn't 
 get much farther south that season. There came 
 a day when the deep snow on the mountains be- 
 gan to get very wet and heavy, and like rock salt. 
 The brooks roared down over the rocks. In the 
 valleys below they could see great stretches of 
 bare earth, and men moving about. The sun was 
 hotter day by day, and one's fur got damp and 
 sticky from the sloshy snow. 
 
 Then Swiftfoot grew unaccoimtably restless, 
 and so did his two companions. It wasn't that he 
 wanted to hunt. He didn't quite know what he 
 wanted, but it angered him to see Fang and Soft- 
 fur together, and once he even sprang at Fang. 
 But Fang knew his rights, and fought for them, 
 and Swiftfoot withdrew, nursing a torn throat 
 
" THE EETURN OF THE NATIVE " 21 
 
 mxiscle. He was still a young wolf, who had 
 never mated — and there was no mate for him. 
 He felt lonely and unsatisfied. 
 
 Then, one day. Fang and Softfur disappeared 
 altogether. He sniffed along their trail, out of 
 curiositj^ until he came to a warm ledge where, 
 under an overhanging rock, they had excavated a 
 hole. Being a gentleman, as such things go 
 among wolves, and also having a wholesome re- 
 spect for Fang's jaws, Swiftfoot withdrew, 
 springing up the ledge to the top. Here the 
 timber was all below him, and he looked out over 
 a wide expanse of earth, over valleys and towns, 
 and other ranges of green mountains and a big 
 sheet of silvery water in the distance, with a wall 
 of blue peaks beyond it, that were, of course, the 
 Adirondacks. Well, if his pack was to den here, 
 he might as well spend the coming warm season 
 somewhere about, also. Trotting off, he finally 
 found himself a little half cave, under a ledge, 
 Avhere last autumn's leaves had blown in and 
 made a soft bed. He pawed them up a bit to 
 get the coolness of the under leaves next to his 
 skin, and lay do^vn to sleep. This, he resolved. 
 
22 ON THE EDGE OP THE WILDERNESS 
 
 should be his home for a while. He was tired of 
 wandering. 
 
 In the weeks that followed, Swiftfoot saw little 
 of Fang, and nothing at all of Softfur. It was 
 Fang's task to hunt for his mate and the care of 
 his family was his own particular business, which 
 he shared with nobody. As summer came on, the 
 game, for some reason, grew scarcer, and Swift- 
 foot more than once met the other going down or 
 coming up the mountain; he was hunting now on 
 dangerous ground, aroimd the clearings of the 
 two-legged creatures. Once he had a chicken in 
 his mouth, once a piece of juicy calf meat. They 
 both smelled good to Swiftfoot, but with only 
 himself to look after, he preferred to go a bit 
 hungry rather than take such chances. StUl, he 
 did go down at night to the upper edges of the 
 pastures, in the hope that he might cut a calf out 
 of the herds, and once he came on a fox carrying 
 a chicken, and ran it for a mile, till the fox had to 
 drop his load in order to escape. That was an 
 easy meal! 
 
 All went well for some time, until one moon- 
 light night, while he was cruising through the 
 
" THE EETUEN OF THE NATIVE " 23 
 
 mountain timber, Swiftfoot heard a great baying 
 of dogs down by the pastures, and which came 
 rapidly up the slope. He pricked up his ears, 
 elevated his nose, assured himself that the dog- 
 pack could not be on his scent, and then trotted 
 swiftly toward the sound, impelled by a great 
 curiosity. The dogs were evidently moving up 
 toward Fang's den. Keeping carefully down 
 wind, and above the dogs on the slope, Swiftfoot 
 drew in. Would Fang get to his den in time to 
 rouse Softfur and the two cubs (there were two, 
 he knew, for he had seen them playing in the sun 
 in front of the den), and start them quickly 
 enough to escape? Of course, the old wolves 
 could outrun the dogs easily, but the cubs 
 couldn't. Or would they stay and fight? 
 
 Suddenly the hunt swerved off, and came to- 
 ward him. Hello, old Fang Avas going to give 
 the dogs a run! Well, he could do it, all right, 
 but Swiftfoot didn't propose to have the trail 
 cross his. It was too hot a night for such violent 
 exercise. He ran back on his own tracks, till he 
 came to a brook, and trotted up that a way, a trick 
 he had learned from the foxes. 
 
24 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 Fang, however, turned down the mountain 
 again, evidently intending to keep the dogs a long 
 way from the den. Suddenly a shot rang out. 
 It hurt Swiftfoot's ears, even from this distance. 
 There was a cry such as the two-legged creatures 
 make, a sudden yelping and snarling of dogs — 
 and then silence. Somehow Swif tf oot knew that 
 Fang was dead. He hunted no more that night, 
 but on padded feet sneaked up to the very top of 
 the moimtain and lay under a rock in the dry 
 moss. 
 
 It was evident that Fang had gone once too 
 often down the mountain after fresh calf meat. 
 Now the two-legged creatures and their dogs 
 would be making life miserable. Swiftfoot felt 
 like moving on at once, but Softfur and the two 
 cubs held him back. Not that he any longer had 
 a curious feeling when he looked at Softfur — that 
 feeling had passed with the spring. But she was 
 of his pack, and the two cubs, which would be 
 growing fast now, were of his pack, and one 
 hangs with the pack. Sooner or later, Softfur 
 and her cubs, big enough to hunt for themselves, 
 would come to him, and the four of them would 
 
" THE RETUBN OF THE NATIVE " 25 
 
 go out together and pull doM'n a fat buck. By 
 himself, he tackled only does. That was why 
 Swiftfoot still remained in the neighborhood, 
 often meeting poor Softfur as she hunted for her 
 young at first, and later hunted with them, teach- 
 ing them to run, to follow the scent, to spring for 
 the throat or the flank. 
 
 It was one hot August morning that Swiftfoot 
 was awakened from his nap under a thick balsam 
 near timber line by the baying of dogs again. 
 They were once more headed for the den, evi- 
 dently on Softfur's tracks of a few hours before. 
 Swiftfoot roused and trotted along a ledge from 
 which he could get a view of the woods and rocks 
 below. Softfur was out, bounding toward the 
 mountain top, the cubs behind her; but the cubs 
 could not keep her pace, and now and then she 
 had to stop and Avait for them. Two dogs, three 
 dogs, broke out of the woods a moment later, a 
 hound with his nose on the trail, a poAverful Aire- 
 dale, and a big, rangy collie. The collie caught 
 sight of Softfur and her cubs high above, and 
 sprang into the lead, abandoning scent altogether. 
 Softfur was in a place Avhere she could retreat in 
 
26 OS THE EDGE OP THE WILDEBNESS 
 
 no direction without encountering rocks too steep 
 and high for the cubs to take at one spring, and 
 in a few moments the dogs were on her. She 
 faced the oncoming rush, teeth bared, hair bris- 
 tling, the cubs behind her, and as the dogs arrived, 
 she went into them. The hound slipped past her 
 and closed on the he cub, which tore at him as he 
 was about to seize Softfur's hind quarter. But 
 the collie and the Airedale went straight at her 
 throat, as she at theirs. The Airedale, like all his 
 breed, was too reckless, and it was Softfur who 
 got him, not he her. With lightning speed and 
 accuracy, she caught him just under the collar, so 
 her teeth could sink into his throat, and his scream 
 resounded over the lonely rocks of the mountain 
 as she laid him over. But that instant was the 
 collie's chance, and he took it. He went through 
 Softfur's ruff and got the hold he wanted, and as 
 she fought frantically to shake his strangling 
 grip, the hound, which had finished off the cub, 
 closed in on the other side. The three of them 
 rolled over and over on the rocks, one mass of 
 snarl and blood and foam. 
 
 Swiftfoot had seen it all begin from his perch 
 
"THE EETUEN OP THE NATIVE" 27 
 
 a quarter of a mile away. It was not his fight. 
 Yet it was his fight. There were no men there 
 with fire sticks — only the hated dogs. It was his 
 pack being attacked. Suddenly he let out a 
 long, snarlmg, terrible scream and came down the 
 rocks like a gray arrow, an arrow that flew 
 straight to its mark, the throat of the hound. 
 The hound let go its hold on Softfur, and tried to 
 meet its new antagonist, but Swiftfoot had the 
 advantage of Aveight and strength and initiative. 
 He had the hold he wanted, and slowly he laid the 
 hound over, his fangs sinking deeper in, till the 
 dog died beneath him. Then he sprang for the 
 collie. But the collie didn't wait. He let go of 
 Softfur, and as Swiftfoot's fangs bit for his 
 throat, getting tangled in the thick, protective 
 ruff, he ducked his head, slipped sidewise and 
 down, and bounded for the woods below. Swift- 
 foot didn't follow him. He wasn't fighting be- 
 cause he Avas hungry; he was fighting to defend 
 the pack. The enemy was driven off. He 
 turned to see the Airedale struggling to his feet, 
 and with a savage snarl, bowled him down again 
 and tore his throat half open. Then he went 
 
28 ON THE EDGE OP THE WILDERNESS 
 
 over to Softfur and her cub. Both lay still on 
 the rocks. He licked them again and again. 
 They were dead. Swiftfoot lifted his muzzle to- 
 ward the blue horizon and howled. 
 
 There came an answering whine from up the 
 moimtain. He changed his tone abruptly, and 
 the second cub came creeping back. It was a she 
 cub, a little, part-grown Softfur. It was all that 
 was left of his pack. It would grow up and be 
 his mate when the spring came roimd again. 
 Something inside of Swiftfoot made him lick the 
 cub, with his bloody tongue. It drew close to 
 him, with a whine like a little dog, after it had 
 sniffed the dead body of its mother. Swiftfoot 
 tore off a piece of dog meat and oflPered it food. 
 
 That night he moved south along the range, 
 the cub following him, after a good deal of urging 
 and some physical coercion. The place was get- 
 ting too hot, and he longed for some peaceful for- 
 est where men and their hated dogs — ^hated 
 doubly because they were really renegade wolves 
 who had submitted to the slavery of the man crea- 
 ture — did not know of his presence, and he could 
 hunt in peace. For two nights he traveled, part 
 
« THE RETUEF OF THE NATIVE " 29 
 
 of the time encountering signs even up here on 
 the range of the two-legged enemy — a dim blazed 
 trail through the woods, old camp fires, and once, 
 even, a fresh camp fire and men around it. He 
 and little Softfur gave that fire a wide berth, 
 going around it on soft, silent feet, while the 
 campers slept, secure in the knowledge that there 
 were no wolves in New England, and hadn't been 
 for almost a hundred years. 
 
 At last he found the spot he wanted — a wild 
 mountain ravine, with a spring that showed tracks 
 of partridges, deer, coons, and other prey on the 
 margin, with good forest cover all about, and all 
 signs of man far away and far below. Here he 
 and little Softfur had immediate good fortune in 
 running down a rabbit, and then found them- 
 selves a cosy den of leaves under a big, fallen log, 
 and decided to call it home for a while. 
 
 Little Softfur soon forgot her mother, and 
 grew rapidly in size, strength and cunning. She 
 grew so rapidly, in fact, that one day in the crisp 
 autumn Swiftfoot decided, with her aid, to try 
 cutting away a fawn from its mother. They ran 
 the pair several miles before they got the doe cor- 
 
30 ON THE EDGE OP THE WILDEENESS 
 
 nered, and then closed in for the operation. The 
 doe, alive to the terrible danger, kept the fawn 
 behind her, almost between her hind legs, and by 
 whirling and threatening with her powerful and 
 cruelly sharp hoofs stood the wolves off. One on 
 one side, one on the other, they snarled and 
 leaped, jjist out of reach of those plunging hoofs, 
 trying to get at the fawn's throat or shoulder. 
 Swiftfoot knew ^he game, and had no trouble in 
 escaping. He was willing to take his time, well 
 aware that his wind and strength would outlast 
 the deer's. But little Softfur, impetuous and 
 tremendously excited, made one dash too close, 
 and down came the lance-like hoofs, crash on her 
 spine and ribs. She crumpled up. With a wild 
 snarl, Swiftfoot was at the doe's throat, but it was 
 too late. One hoof had gone right through the 
 little wolf's back and into her heart. She was 
 dead, 
 
 Swiftfoot, in a kind of blind fury, killed the 
 deer, but the meat was without savor. He stayed 
 near that spot for several days, till the deer was 
 finished, yet not so much to finish the meat as be- 
 cause he felt a dumb grief, a sense of loneliness. 
 
<' THE EETUEN OF THE NATIVE" 31 
 
 He was without any companions now, any sense 
 of the comfort and protection of the pack. And 
 what would he do when the snows began to soften, 
 when the south wind came through the forests 
 and a warm mist gathered around the mountain 
 tops, and that gi-eat longing for a mate came over 
 him? 
 
 At last, up here on the ridges, three thousand 
 feet above the sea, what was rain in the valleys 
 was snow that settled over the rocks and sifted 
 down out of a cloud through the trees. The 
 north wind blew cold, and Swiftfoot was filled 
 with restlessness again, the wanderlust was upon 
 him. He would go on, and on, until he found 
 some other pack he could join. Perhaps because 
 it had become a habit, perhaps because he knew 
 the way was so long back to the northland he had 
 come from, across the great river, he turned 
 southward once more. 
 
 For many nights he traveled, keeping always 
 to the cover of the forests and ridges. Now and 
 then he had to cross a road, but for a long distance 
 he was practically in wilderness. Then, one 
 moonlight night, he came upon a broad road, run- 
 
32 ON THE EDGE OP THE WILDERNESS 
 
 ning east and west right over the big ridge. In 
 the distance he heard a great roaring, and caught 
 a strange, pungent odor. He shrank back into 
 the bushes, crouched and waitmg. Two blinding 
 lamps, like huge eyes, came around a bend. An 
 iron thing, with the xnen creatures sitting in it, 
 thundered by, leaving the strange smell behind. 
 
 Swif tfoot rose and crossed the Mohawk Trail, 
 and no Mohawk that sneaked along that path 
 when it was a dim track in the ancient wilderness 
 ever stole with softer footsteps or vanished more 
 like a ghost into the dusk of the forest. 
 
 More than ever now Swif tfoot missed the pack. 
 The deer were numerous everywhere. Never 
 was such good hunting in his experience. Yet 
 for one lone wolf it was hard and dangerous 
 work. The fawns were getting their growth, to 
 be sure, and when one wandered away from its 
 mother he could pull it down easily enough. But 
 as yet they stuck pretty close still to the old deer, 
 and a solitary wolf has to work sometimes for 
 hours at a stretch to cut out a fawn, or even take 
 to his heels if the buck appears. There weren't 
 many rabbits nor grouse. The hawks and owls* 
 
" THE EETUEN OF THE NATIVE " 33 
 
 the i^revious winter, had attended to them. With 
 a great hatred for all dogs in his heart, Swiftfoot 
 grew bold, sometimes even reckless, in running a 
 lone dog when he picked up the trail in the woods, 
 or even in the half-abandoned fields which ran in 
 and out of the broken hill country in which he 
 now found himself. All his savagery he vented 
 on these dogs, killing sometimes merely for the 
 sport of it, for the zest of battle, and licking his 
 own wounds well for a day or two thereafter, in 
 some nest of leaves under a mountain rock. 
 
 But he encountered no wolves, and no sign of 
 wolves. He was alone, in a strange land. 
 
 Then, suddenly, as he was trotting along 
 through a young forest of spruce, having earlier 
 that night skirted the hills to the east of a strange 
 light Avhich seemed to steam up from a bowl in the 
 hills (it Avas a city) and crossed a railroad track, 
 he came on familiar tracks which he had not seen 
 nor smelled since he left his far northern home. 
 One, two, three tracks, a bull moose and two 
 coAvs ! Moose meat ! His tongue lolled out, and 
 drops of saliva trickled from his jaws ! Oh, for a 
 pack to help him hunt ! Alone, he was helpless. 
 
34 ON THE EDGE OP THE WILDBENESS 
 
 Surely there must be a pack somewhere, if there 
 were moose again. Moose belong to the big 
 woods. He trotted down the tracks, to have a 
 look at the quarry. As he drew in close to the 
 big creatures, feeding in a deep swamp, himself 
 having to leap from tussock to tussock, the bull got 
 his scent and reared angry antlers with a snort. 
 Swif tf oot, alone and unaided, had no intention of 
 a contest with those horns. He snarled a defi- 
 ance, but he circled the little herd and trotted 
 away, intent on finding a pack to help him. 
 
 As he moved off, from four or five miles away 
 came a thin whistle. It meant little to Swif tfoot. 
 He did not know it was a night freight leaving 
 the Lenox station. He was unaware of the start- 
 ling contrast between his pi'esence here, and that 
 town of expensive villas and modern, luxuriant 
 civilization, so close beside him. He still trotted 
 southward. But he met no wolf pack. He did 
 not know there had been no wolf pack here for a 
 hundred years, that he, and he alone, was return- 
 ing now over the high hill ridges where the pio- 
 neers had built their villages and cleared their 
 farms, returning because protective laws had at 
 
" THE EETUEN OF THE NATIVE " 35 
 
 last brought back the deer for him to hunt, and 
 even, as we have just seen, a few moose; but re- 
 turning still more, perhaps, because railroads and 
 trollej^s, the opening of the great western farms, 
 the exodus to the cities, have all combined to 
 throw back to wilderness again the hilltop land 
 our forefathers cleared. When the wilderness 
 comes back, the citizens of the wilderness come 
 back as well. Swiftfoot, the wolf, was returning 
 to his own. 
 
 But not quite to his own. He had just snug- 
 gled down to sleep the next morning, at day- 
 break, when he was awakened by the report of a 
 gun, far off, then quickly of another nearer him. 
 Like a dog, he was wide awake and on his feet in 
 a second, every sense alert. It Avas the first INIon- 
 day in December, the beginning of " deer week," 
 Avhen, for six days, deer can be hunted in Massa- 
 chusetts, but only with shotguns and without 
 dogs. It was for the baying of dogs that Swift- 
 foot listened first. Hearing nothing, nor scent- 
 ing men near by, he was about to creep deeper into 
 his lair, when he caught both the scent and sound 
 of a deer. It was running as fast as it could. 
 
36 ON THE EDGE OP THE WILDERNESS 
 
 with blood flowing from its side, and it went past 
 Swif tf oot without being aware of hun, eyes blood- 
 shot, chest heaving, a pitiful sight. Swiftfoot, 
 however, did not pity it. He trotted into its trail 
 and loped easily after it. There was no great 
 hurry, — it couldn't last long, and hp could puU it 
 down when it was too exhausted to fight. 
 
 After a mile or so, the deer did f aU, weak from 
 loss of blood, and Swiftfoot was upon it. He 
 scarcely had it well by the throat, however, before 
 he got the scent of his deadly enemies, the two- 
 legged creatures, drawing near. With an 
 angry snarl, he slvmk quickly into the imder- 
 brush. 
 
 When the men came up, he could hear their 
 strange noises, though he could not know they 
 were cursing the dog which had torn their game. 
 If Swiftfoot had known they thought him a dog, 
 his rage might have got the better of his pru- 
 dence. To him, that was the one imforgivable 
 insult. The men — there were three of them — 
 carried his quarry away, which did not add to his 
 good nature, especially as he had tasted just 
 enough to make him hvmgry. Instead of going 
 
" THE EETUEN OP THE NATIVE " 37 
 
 back to his den, he trotted gloomily toward a high 
 hill he saw to the south, with the guns sounding- 
 all around him in the woods, and found a cave 
 into which he crawled till he Avas in complete 
 darkness. Here he felt safe from the guns 
 
 The firing ceased at sunset. It was a cold, 
 clear night. He was hungry, and crept forth. 
 All that night he hunted, in vain, till nearly morn- 
 ing. Not even a rabbit crossed his path. But 
 toward daybreak, from far off, he suddenly heard 
 a familiar sound — familiar yet almost forgotten. 
 It was the honk of a wild goose! Turning 
 abruptly, his gi'ay legs took him swiftly and si- 
 lently toward the sound, till the smell of \vater 
 came to him. 
 
 And then he came face to face with a high, 
 thick wire fence. The ground Avas frozen hard, 
 and he could not dig under it. He trotted along 
 it till at last he found a fallen log from which he 
 could leap and clear the wire. One bound, and 
 he was on the other side, and moving once more 
 toward the smell of water. 
 
 But he had not gone far when he caught an- 
 other scent, the j)ungent, unpleasant scent of 
 
38 ON THE EDGE OP THE WILDEENESS 
 
 men. Turning, he went back to the fence and 
 made sure of a place where he could leap it from 
 this side in case of need. Then, stealthily, craft- 
 ily, keeping covered by shrubs and undergrowth, 
 he stalked back, impelled by his hunger, and his 
 curiosity. 
 
 It was dawn now. But though he heard dis- 
 tant shots, very far away, there was no gmi fired 
 on this side of the wire fence. Once or twice a 
 deer went past him, but he didn't dare give chase, 
 because the men were always somewhere about. 
 Dodging them, keeping them to windward, he 
 finally got near the water — a small pond, half 
 frozen, half open. On the frozen side, inside a 
 wire fence which stretched out over part of the 
 ice, were the wild ge^se, the very same birds he 
 knew from his early days in the far north. Fat 
 and good they were, too ! His mouth watered at 
 the smeU of them — ^but here they came in and out 
 of a strange, box-like structure evidently built by 
 the man creature, and only two hundred yards 
 away, over a knoll, smoke was rising, with that 
 pungent smell which comes from the fires the man 
 creature makes. 
 
" THE EETUEN OF THE NATIVE " 39 
 
 Swiftfoot slunk cautiously into the blueberry 
 bushes on the farther shore, and lay do^vn to await 
 the coming of darloiess. He had got to have one 
 of those geese ! He was hungry, and the thought 
 of them, beside, filled him with memories. All 
 day he lay in his cover, growing hungrier and 
 colder, yet not daring to sleep with more than 
 half an eye, for he was aware of the men creatures 
 around him. At last, as the sun set behind the 
 low evergreens to the west, and twilight stole 
 down through the gray beeches above the goose 
 pen, he saw one, two, three men come from dif- 
 ferent directions, and move over the ridge toward 
 the thin wood smoke that curled up in the still, 
 cold air like the wraith of a twisted column. He 
 waited five minutes more. No other men crea- 
 tures appeared. He smelled none. The ice on 
 the pond, covered with a light snow powder, 
 gleamed white. A big gander ^^as Avalking out 
 over it, behind the wire. Swiftfoot rose, circled 
 the pond swiftly, but keeping well to cover, and 
 came silently down through the gray beech grove, 
 himself the color of the beech trunks, and ghostly 
 in the twilight. 
 
40 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 Skirting the fence rapidly and cautiously, he 
 came to a place where a good leap would carry 
 him to the top. Here he clung till he could get 
 a grip with his hind paws, and draw himself up 
 and over. As he dropped to the ground, there 
 was a great flutter and squawking and cackle of 
 ducks and geese. Quickly he sprang out on the 
 ice, straight for the great gander, a fifteen-pound 
 bird, and dove for its throat. The gander, with a 
 loud noise, half rose and tried to escape over the 
 fence, but Swiftfoot had his tail, and pulled him 
 down. Then the bill struck at him, the big wings 
 beat powerfully in his face, and he was busy 
 enough for the next two minutes, before he could 
 finally get that throat into his jaws. He had it 
 at last, he felt the bird's resistance cease, and he 
 started to pull the heavy burden over the ice to- 
 ward the spot in the fence Avhere he had climbed 
 over. He had, meanwhile, been only vaguely 
 aware of the tremendous uproar in the pen. In- 
 deed, his back had been toward the bank. 
 
 Now, as he faced about, the body 'of the goose 
 dangling from his jaws and trailing on the ice, he 
 suddenly saw the gate of the pen open and a man 
 
" THE EETUEN OF THE NATIVE " 41 
 
 creature dash in, armed with one of those shining 
 sticks. Swiftfoot didn't wait to sling his prey 
 over his shoulder, or even to make for the low part 
 of the fence. He dropped the goose and sprang, 
 with a lightning turn, back toward the nearest 
 piece of fence, on the ice, and leaped. 
 
 His powerful leg muscles would have taken 
 him over, too, had he been springing from 
 ground. But he leaped from ice, with only an 
 inch of powdery snow on it. His feet slipped as 
 he sprang, and he hit the fence only half-way up, 
 falling down on his back. With a snarl, he 
 righted himself and turned for another dash. 
 But now the man was upon him. He was fairly 
 cornered. All his savagery, all his rage, boiled 
 up. Baring his fangs, with a loud, deep, snarl- 
 ing growl, he sprang full at the man creature, his 
 blazing eyes fixed on the patch of white throat. 
 
 But even as he rose, mouth open, the shining 
 stick rose, too. There were two shattering re- 
 ports, so close they were almost one. The top of 
 Swiftfoot's head was blown clean off. He 
 dropped dead on the snowy ice, close to the goose 
 he had killed, his blood making a black pool in the 
 
42 OS THE EDGE OP THE WILDEENESS 
 
 gathering darkness. His southward journey had 
 ended. 
 
 The gamekeeper of the reservation was rather 
 pale, and trembled a little. When you enter 
 with a shotgun to kill a gray fox in your wild- 
 fowl pen, and are attacked by a hungry timber 
 wolf instead, an animal you never saw before in 
 your life, it is rather disconcerting. But the 
 gamekeeper took the body to his house over the 
 ridge, and he and his two special assistants, called 
 in for that one week to guard against deer poach- 
 ing, skinned it. Later, he showed the skin to a 
 visitor, who went away and told a newspaper re- 
 porter about it. 
 
 Then the newspaper told the public how a wolf 
 had been shot in Western Massachusetts, the first 
 one killed in the Stq,te, so far as anybody knew, for 
 a century. And the public laughed, and said it 
 was another " newspaper story " ; there couldn't 
 be any wolves in Massachusetts. Wolves are ex- 
 terminated in that part of the world. Which 
 only goes to prove that Hamlet was quite right in 
 his remarks to Horatio. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 BIG- KEDDY, STRATEGIST 
 
 AT'OU may talk about environment all you 
 ■*- please, and doubtless most you say will be 
 true; but there's a lot in heredity, just the same. 
 There. is no question in my mind, for instance, but 
 Big Reddy, the fox who very nearly gave most of 
 our dogs nervous prostration, inherited his humor 
 as well as his fearlessness from his father, who, to 
 my certain knowledge, was a wag; and a good 
 deal of his peculiar cunning and his bravery — for 
 he could be brave as a dog — from his mother. 
 As for " prenatal influences," of course he was 
 born in a den in my sugar grove, not four hun- 
 dred yards from the barns (and, I might add, the 
 chicken coops), Avhich may have explained his 
 complete ease and comfort near the haunts of 
 men and dogs. I suppose, however, it is only 
 fair to state that my barns are not in a village, 
 but out in the open country, close to the big 
 
 woods. I don't want you to think Big Reddy 
 
 43 
 
44 Ol!f THE EDGE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 was a gutter snipe, tliough I verily believe he 
 could have crossed the Fifth Avenue traffic with 
 more skill and nonchalance than some dogs I've 
 seen try it! 
 
 But let me go back of Big Reddy to his father, 
 first. A true novelist would begin with his great- 
 grandfather, no doubt; but as this is only a short 
 story, his father is far enough back. Sometime 
 before Big Reddy was bom, this parent, who was 
 also a big fox, with a magnificent brush (more 
 heredity, you see) , used periodically to raid Zach 
 Corliss's chicken yard. Zach set traps, he bought 
 a dog, he kept one gmi by the kitchen door, an- 
 other in the barn. But the old fox walked past tlie 
 traps, he outran the dogs, when he couldn't make 
 friends with them, and he kept out of gunshot. 
 Zach was gTOwing pretty desperate when, one 
 day, well after sim up in the morning, too, as he 
 was coming do^vn the lane from shooting at a 
 woodchuck up in the new rye field, whom should 
 he meet, trotting toward him between the stone 
 walls, but the old fox. Aha! he had him cor- 
 nered! The fox couldn't retreat without going 
 into the barnyard, and there were men there. On 
 
BIG EEDDT, STEATBGIST 46 
 
 either side was open field or jjasture. Zach be- 
 gan to run toward him, so he'd get a shot at close 
 range. The fox saw him and sprang up on the 
 stone wall. On the wall — and Zach will swear to 
 this with his hand on the family Bible — he faced 
 Zach, bared his teeth and laughed. " Laughed 
 right out loud," Zach says. Then, before Zach 
 could raise the gun, he leaped to the farther side. 
 Zach siJrang to the Avail to fire. 
 
 He didn't fire. The old fox had jumped 
 square into the middle of Zach's flock of prize 
 Shropshire sheep, and was stampeding them 
 across the pasture, safe in the middle ! 
 
 TsTow Zach understood why he laughed. And 
 maybe you can see where Big Reddy, his son, got 
 his sense of humor. 
 
 Big Reddy's mother, too, is not to be ignored. 
 In fact, if it had not been for her bravery, Reddy 
 would never have groA\Ti to man's estate a free 
 agent. It was this way. When the boys discov- 
 ered the den, on the far edge of the sugar bush, 
 they were all for digging the foxes out, for pets. 
 Considering the fact that there M^as a pile of 
 chicken bones beside the den, I consented. They 
 
46 ON THE EDGE OP THE WILDEENESS 
 
 dug in from the entrance, one of them holding a 
 big sack constantly open to catch mother fox if 
 she tried to jump out. But she didn't jump, and 
 before long the diggers reached the chamber, and 
 there were three little, round, furry, blinking, 
 frightened foxes, the prettiest pups you ever saw. 
 But no mother. There was fresh earth about, 
 and the hole went on ! 
 
 " She's digging her way out! " the boys cried, 
 and attacked the new tunnel. The groimd was 
 hard and full of roots from the maple trees, so 
 they couldn't dig very rapidly, not so rapidly as 
 the mother moved, for they had to get down two 
 feet to reach her hole. 
 
 I saw what she was up to, but said nothing to 
 the boys. They followed her from behind as she 
 swung a loop, and made for the entrance to her 
 old den. The boys realized this at last, and 
 sprang to head her oflp. But they were too late. 
 Before they could snatch up the bag and get it 
 opened, she suddenly pawed her way frantically 
 through into daylight, one pup — all she could 
 carry — in her mouth, and sprang out. As the 
 dog had been carefully left at home, of com^e 
 
BIG EBDDY, STEATEGIST 47 
 
 there was no catching her. Off she went with 
 Big Reddy in her mouth. 
 
 "Gee, I ain't sorry!" exclaimed young Bill. 
 " Some pep, she's got! " 
 
 The boj'^s took the three other little foxes home, 
 and kept them that summer in an old chicken 
 coop — but that is another story. This is to be 
 the tale of Big Reddy. 
 
 Reddy was apparently none the worse for this 
 exciting adventure of his early youth, for he grew 
 rapidly in the warm, dry hole which his father 
 and mother dug in an old, abandoned marble 
 quarry about a mile away, playing all day in the 
 sun before the door, and justifying by his thick 
 fur, his deep chest, his wonderful, snapping, alert 
 eyes, his mother's choice of him out of all her fam- 
 ily to save. By August he was learning to hunt, 
 and by the time the leaves fell in the woods and 
 you could see a rabbit far off as well as hear or 
 smell it. Big Reddy was able to shift for himself, 
 which he proceeded to do, learning every foot of 
 the land for several miles around. Both his 
 mother and his father impressed this lesson upon 
 him. The very first secret of success in securing 
 
48 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDEENESS 
 
 game or escaping enemies is to know your coun- 
 try. Run your rabbit into a blind alley, run the 
 pursuing dog to a steep hill that will take his 
 wind, or to a brook where he will lose the scent, or 
 to a big, flat rock where you can circle all around, 
 springing off and on again from various points, 
 finally to dash away with a long bound. That 
 leaves the dogs, when they arrive, baying madly 
 round and round the rock, like wound-up toys on 
 a table-top. It's really rather amusing. 
 
 Big Reddy was certainly a handsome fellow. 
 His fur was rich and red gold, his legs were coal 
 black, his brush was magnificent, almost sweeping 
 the ground, he had a deep chest, splendid speed, 
 sharp ears that pricked up straight at the slight- 
 est interesting sound, and eyes that snapped with 
 intelligence. His ears were so good that if he 
 was crossing a field at night and a mouse 
 squeaked in the grass two hundred feet away — ^a 
 sound you or I couldn't hear unless we were al- 
 most on top of it — ^he would freeze to a statue, 
 listening, and when he had the exact bearings, he 
 would steal softly, on padded feet, toward the 
 sound, keeping to any cover that was there, and 
 
BIG EEDDY, STEATEGI8T 49 
 
 with the aid now of his keen scent and keen eyes 
 as well as his ears, he Avould suddenly go up in 
 the air, clear off the ground, and come down with 
 his two front paws on the mouse. A mouse, of 
 course, wasn't more than a mouthful, but it 
 helped, between meals. 
 
 It didn't take Reddy long, either, to learn what 
 dogs in his part of the Avorld to fear, what dogs 
 to respect, and what dogs merely to laugh at. He 
 may have made still further distinctions, for all I 
 know, but these three he certainly conveyed by 
 his actions so even a man could see. The only 
 dog in the whole town he really feared was Lucjs 
 a smallish fox hound belonging to a " gentleman 
 farmer " down the road, who occasionally hunted. 
 Lucy came from Kentucky, and she was a thor- 
 oughbred in every bone and sinew. She had a 
 nose that knew no other smell when once it was 
 laid to a track. She had a challenging, trium- 
 phant, trumpet bay, and she had as nmch speed as 
 Reddy, on the level at least, and almost as much 
 endurance. Her he undoubtedly feared, and so 
 did every other fox in the region. 
 
 Then there were perhaps three or four more 
 
50 02S" THE EDGE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 dogs which he respected; that is to say, he ran if 
 they were on his track and used some strategy to 
 get rid of them, while he avoided, so far as pos- 
 sible, letting them get on his track. Two of them 
 were" locally bred fox hounds, one was a beagle, 
 one was an Airedale who hunted with the hounds 
 and was a pest because he'd go right into a hole 
 and dig you out — ^Reddy knew of one case where 
 he did this, and so was careful never to let himself 
 get denned in when this dog was at his heels. 
 
 But, as for the rest of our dogs. Big Reddy 
 laughed at them. . They were, to him, most cer- 
 tainly a joke. This was especially the case with 
 a big, handsome, valuable collie owned by no less 
 a person than myself. Poor old Barney, he was 
 a show dog, a family pet, an adornment to any 
 rug or any garden, but as a himter he was foolish, 
 and he had no nose ; and Big Reddy knew it. He 
 knew it so well that when he couldn't think of 
 anything else to do, he'd come down to the edge 
 of the woods at twilight, or, still better, at mid- 
 night when we were all abed and asleep, and bark, 
 a peculiar, rasping, annoying bark. The collie 
 would leap out of his kennel with an answering 
 
BIG EEDDY, STEATBGIST 61 
 
 yip, yip, yip, that would have waked the Sleep- 
 ing Beauty, and go tearing off toward his tor- 
 mentor. Then Reddy, Avith a kind of chuckle, 
 would slink up the slope through the laurel, make 
 a wide loop, and while the collie was up on the 
 mountain somewhere, would resmiie his barking 
 close to the edge of the garden again! Back 
 would come the collie, and the whole operation 
 would be repeated, till Reddy's sense of humor 
 was satisfied or somebody fired a gun. He had 
 an entire and Avholesome respect for a gun, — not 
 for a man, mind you, but for a man's gun. If 
 the man didn't have a gun, Reddy didn't hesitate 
 sometimes to follow along behind him, through 
 the woods or even across an open field, out of 
 sheer curiosity to see where he was going. If the 
 man turned, he was behind a tree or a tussock or 
 a bush before you could have clapped eyes on him. 
 Everything in the woods interested Reddy; he 
 thoroughly enjoyed life every mmute. 
 
 But after Christmas, the first winter of his 
 adult life, a deep snow came, and it grew bitterly 
 cold. Reddy didn't mind the cold so much — he 
 had a warm den under some rocks well up the 
 
52 OS THE EDGE OP THE WILDERNESS 
 
 mountainside amid the laurel and limestone 
 ledges, and he made two entrances to it through 
 the snow, a direct front door, and a back door, 
 ^reached by a twenty-foot tunnel. From this den 
 he could work down the slope, under cover of the 
 laurel (in fact, he had a regular little path trod- 
 den down in the deep snow) and come sneaking 
 aroimd to the south side of every boulder and 
 pounce on any ruffed grouse or pheasant that 
 might be sheltered there. No, the trouble was 
 that the deep snow, the cold, and the big flight of 
 goshawks from the north had seriously dimin- 
 ished the number of grouse and pheasants, as well 
 as the rabbits. Reddy hated the three great 
 horned owls which had come from the north to 
 the big dead hemlocks on his mountainside and 
 hunted rabbits all night long. He used to yearn 
 for the power to climb a tree and get the great, 
 sleepy fellows when, by day, they were occasion- 
 ally visible, roosting close to the brown trunks, on 
 a dead limb. Reddy had already raided about 
 all the chicken yards in the neighborhood, and 
 after one, or at most, two raids, he was shrewd 
 enough to know that traps would be set, and men 
 
BIG EEDDT, STEATEGIST 53 
 
 watching with guns. Clearly, he'd have to aban- 
 don his warm, familiar den for a time, and move 
 on to new hunting grounds. So one evening, 
 just after sundoA^Ti, he started off. 
 
 He traveled about twenty miles that night — 
 that is, he reached at dawn a place twenty miles 
 from his starting point — and never got a thmg, 
 though he tracked a cottontail a long way, only 
 to find it in a hole between t^vo hemlock roots, too 
 small for him to enter. At dawn, however, he 
 came upon a farm on a back road, well up under 
 a mountainside. He heard the hens and rooster 
 from afar, and slunk up cautiously. Xo dog 
 barked. The farmer was up, for there was the 
 smell of wood smoke in the air and — yes, he heard 
 it now, the ring of milk in a pail. But that came 
 from the barn. The hens were in a house behind 
 the barn. In front was a high wire fence. Big 
 Reddy, from behind a bush, studied the situation. 
 The hen-house roof sloped do^m behind, and he 
 could jmnp to it from the snow. But how about 
 the other side? How would he get out again? 
 He sneaked a little farther around, till he could 
 see into the yard, a look of crafty satisfaction 
 
54 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDEENESS 
 
 spread over his face, he listened sharply a mo- 
 ment, sniffed, went back to the rear, and sprang 
 on the roof. A second later he landed with all 
 fours on a fat Rhode Island Red, got his teeth 
 into its neck while the rest of the fowls flapped 
 wildly about and set up an alarmed cackling, and 
 with a yank of his head flung the body over his 
 shoulder and went up a broken ladder which 
 leaned against the hen-house, left there by the 
 farmer after he patched the shingles in the au- 
 tumn. Reddy was down on the snow again and 
 well away toward the woods when he heard the 
 farmer behind him, shouting in the pen. He laid 
 the hen down and bit its neck again, softly, to 
 make sure it was dead. Looking back, he saw 
 the farmer coming on his tracks now, followed by 
 a boy with a gun. Reddy slung the heavy fowl 
 over his shoulder once more and started rapidljj^ 
 off. He had cover for a few feet, but then had 
 to make a break across the open. There came a 
 cry, a report, the ping of shot near him, but he 
 was untouched, and a second later the woods 
 wrapped him. Up and up he went, over rocks 
 and through dense laurel, till he came at last to a 
 
BIG EEDDY, STEATEGIST 55 
 
 cosy little cave under an overhang on a southern 
 exposure. Here he dropj)ed his burden, investi- 
 gated carefully, found no odor of Avildcat, and 
 dragging in his game, sat down to a square meal. 
 After that he curled up in a ball and slept. 
 
 How long he had slept he didn't know. It 
 seemed but a few moments, for he was weary with 
 his night's tramp over the deep snow, when he 
 was roused by the baying of hounds. His ears 
 were instantly up, and he was out in front of his 
 den, listening. The sound came nearer. There 
 were one, two, hounds, and two other dogs. Yes, 
 they were undoubtedly on his trail. Reddy cast 
 his eyes around deliberately and his eyes nar- 
 rowed in thought. He was in a strange country, 
 so they had him at a certain disadvantage. No 
 doubt that same farmer and the boy ^\'ith the gun 
 — perhaps more men with gims now — would be 
 behind the hounds, waiting for them to run him 
 into view. He didn't propose to be run into 
 view. He thought of the first principle his par- 
 ents had taught him, and, making sure he had 
 time for the manoeuvre, he sprang straight up the 
 ledges above his den for two hundred yards, then 
 
56 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 returned in his own tracks to the den again, took 
 a long leap out and downward to one side, so he 
 cleared twenty feet or more before he landed, and 
 then trotted deliberately off along the mountain- 
 side, keeping always in the most tangled laurel. 
 He heard the dogs presently, baying and yipping 
 excitedly above the den, where he had turned 
 back in his tracks, and grinned to himself. 
 
 Reddy had no intention of getting wearied, so 
 he moved at a quiet trot. It was some time be- 
 fore his ears told him the dogs had picked up his 
 real trail again, and would be hot at his heels in 
 a moment. He lengthened his stride and once 
 more turned up the mountain, at a steep incline, 
 meanwhile looking sharply about for strategic 
 aids. The dogs were nearing him again, their 
 barks showing signs of short windedness, when 
 Big Reddy suddenly saw something that made 
 him increase his speed. It was a white, gleaming 
 slide, on an extremely steep pitch of slope, per- 
 haps two hundred feet long and twenty feet wide. 
 On either side was a tangle of laurel and broken 
 tree trunks. The snow on the slide had been 
 crusted with water from some spring above, and 
 
BIG EEDDT, STEATEGIST 57 
 
 was almost glare ice. But at the bottom was a 
 big snow-drift. Reddy sprang to this drift, and 
 tried the slide. He slipped back, unable to climb 
 it. But by making a huge spring, he could reach 
 a bit of projecting rock eight feet up, and from 
 there leap to the side. This he did, climbed to 
 the top, and sat down on his haunches, behind a 
 tree, where he could peek out at the dogs coming 
 up from below. They reached the snow-drift, 
 and there, of course, lost the trail. Presently, 
 however, one of the hounds found it again, at the 
 point where Reddy had landed after his spring 
 from the rock, and up they all came, panting 
 through the tangled laurel and over the fallen 
 trees. Reddy waited quite calmly, till they were 
 almost on him. Then he sprang out before their 
 astonished eyes and crouching on all fours, 
 slipped over the icy lip of the slide and tobog- 
 ganed like a shot to the bottom. From the drift 
 below he looked up to see the four dogs, barking 
 madly, trying their front paws on the slippery 
 rim, and pulling back in terror. Reddy waited, 
 quite calm. A second later the four dogs were 
 in full cry after him, coming do^^^l through the 
 
58 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 tangle at the side. When they were at the bot- 
 tom, he leaped to the rock, to the bank above 
 them, and went up the side to the top again. The 
 dogs had to turn and once more pant up after 
 him. A second time he slid down, a second time 
 they followed, scrambling over the logs at the 
 side. A third and a fourth time this was re- 
 peated, each time Reddy having plenty of chance 
 to get his wind at the top, but the dogs having no 
 chance at all. 
 
 They were well fagged by the end of Reddy's 
 fifth slide, and he suddenly saw that only three 
 of them were following him down. Whether 
 that was because the fourth dog was too winded, 
 or had suddenly learned sense, Reddy didn't 
 know. Anyhow, that particular sport was up. 
 He sprang out along the mountain at top speed, 
 ran for half a mile as fast as he could go, turned 
 up the slope again, then, still at top speed, 
 reached the bare, wind-swept ledges on the very 
 top of the mountain, ran back and forth over a 
 bare ledge three or four times, sprang far off 
 through the air, and trotted down on the other 
 side. 
 
BIG EEDDY, STEATEGIST 59 
 
 Then, panting, he sat doAvn and listened. 
 There was no sound, even to his keen ears ! The 
 dogs had given up the chase. Reddy hunted out 
 a warm hole in an old fallen log, and finished his 
 nap. To tell the truth, he was rather pleased 
 with himself. 
 
 A few nights later, having found poor hunting 
 elsewhere and being hungry, he was impelled to 
 go back over the ridge and have another try at 
 that same chicken yard, especially as he now felt 
 confident of being able to outwit and outrun the 
 dogs. Besides, those dogs didn't live at that 
 farm, he felt sure. They had been brought in by 
 the farmer. Reddj^ may have seemed reckless, 
 but he really never was. He was merely self-con- 
 fident. He never relaxed his alertness for a 
 second. 
 
 Now, as he drew near the farm, from the rear, he 
 Avas suddenly aware of man tracks, and the smell 
 of meat. Investigating, he detected the presence 
 of a bone, buried under the snow beside the path 
 he had taken when he carried off the hen. Very 
 carefully he walked all around the spot, and there 
 was no smell at all there but meat. He thrust in 
 
60 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDEENESS 
 
 a paw, two paws, dug quickly, and two feet below 
 the surface unearthed a nice ham bone. There 
 was no need of running further risks. The bone 
 in his mouth, he trotted back up the slope. 
 
 The next night he thought he'd see if there was 
 any such luck again. Sure enough, in the very 
 same place, he smelled more meat! This time it 
 was a chunk of lamb bones, with good, warming 
 fat on them, too! Reddy was delighted. He 
 returned a third, a fourth, a fifth night, and each 
 trip was rewarded. His belly was getting quite 
 rotimd, and he slept heavily all day long. On 
 the sixth night, however, as his nose sniffed the 
 magic snow-drift, his eyes went narrow, and he 
 didn't dig. Around and aroimd the spot he 
 trottedj, and down the man track toward the 
 house, where he discovered the ladder had been 
 removed from the coop, then back to sniff again. 
 There was meat under the snow, all right, but 
 there was Something else, too, he couldn't quite 
 tell what at first. Then it came to him; he'd en- 
 countered it once or twice near a barn — it was 
 rusty iron. What was rusty iron doing there? 
 Yes, and a man's fingers had touched it. Reddy 
 
BIG EEDDT, STEATEGIST 61 
 
 suddenly remembered a fox he'd seen caught in a 
 trap — that was made of rusty h'on, too. He 
 turned tail and trotted away. It was better to 
 have four sound legs than one full belly! 
 
 This bit of wisdom on Reddy's part gave him 
 quite a reputation in those parts, and the next 
 day another hunt was organized, and he was 
 wakened once more by the hounds on his trail. 
 Well, he'd had about enough of this particular 
 neighborhood. He didn't like it as well, anyhow, 
 as the land of his birth. Maybe there was good 
 hunting at home again now. Besides, he'd been 
 thinking of late about a certain girl fox back 
 there, and it filled him with funny feelings. 
 Reddy rose, shook off the sleep, and without 
 further ado headed for home as fast as his legs 
 would carry him. That was so fast that he had 
 no need of strategy until, after four miles, he had 
 to come down into open country. Here, if the 
 hounds weren't to run him into somebody's gun, 
 he needed to throw them off. He cast about for 
 a way, smelled water, made toward it, and found 
 a small river half frozen over. Running out on 
 the thin ice, he trotted cautiously along till his 
 
62 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDEENESS 
 
 sure eye told him he could make the leap to ice 
 that would bear up his few povmds, on the other 
 side. Then he jiunped. After that he trotted 
 south again much more leisurely, crossed the river 
 once more at a bridge, and never heard more from 
 the dogs. 
 
 It was one clear, starlit night in February, 
 when Reddy was roaming the woods, restless he 
 knew not quite why, that he heard a curious fox 
 bark not far away. It was the bark of Whitetip, 
 the she-fox he had been thmking about. It 
 seemed to call him. He answered with a blood- 
 curdling yell that would have done credit to a 
 panther (and was, indeed, thought to be a wildcat 
 by the people it woke up in a house by the edge of 
 the woods a quarter of a mile away), and leaped 
 into a bounding gallop. His tracks converged 
 upon Whitetip's. As their paths met, they both 
 dropped to a trot, side by side, with little whines 
 and barks into each other's ears. Thus they 
 trotted on, courting, over the snow, under the 
 leafless trees and the cold stars, till Whitetip, coy 
 at first, was won. 
 
 Dawn was coming when, still side by side, they 
 
AS THEIR PATHS MET, THLY BOTH DROPPED TO A TROT, SIDE BY SIDE 
 
BIG EEDDT, STEATEGIST 63 
 
 continued their trot in among the rock Ledges of 
 a hillock in the woods. Here Reddy knew of a 
 spot where sun and leaves protected the ground 
 from frost, and he could dig. He set at once to 
 work, and far quicker than you would have 
 thought possible a hole went in under a stone, far 
 in to a little warm, safe, snug chamber. Side by 
 side he and Whitetip curled down together. The 
 funny, restless feeling had gone. He was filled 
 with a great content. He slept. 
 
 The next few months of Reddy's life were 
 filled full with the routine of domestic cares and 
 responsibilities. He was a kind father, a loving 
 husband, and a good provider, though it required 
 no little effort to feed his voracious family. Dur- 
 ing the warm season, however, when his fur was 
 light, he had less to fear from traps and hunters, 
 and there was more game to be had. He and 
 Whitetip certainly raised a fine litter, and at last 
 saw them shifting for themselves. 
 
 After that, Reddy felt as if he had earned a va- 
 cation. It wasn't that his affections had gone 
 wandering, that he was fickle — ^not at all. But 
 there was a sudden charm about bachelor free- 
 
64 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 dom ; doubtless you know how it is ! The upshot 
 was that he drifted off again by himself for a 
 while, and had a little den a mile or so from the 
 recent family home. He was here when the win- 
 ter snows came, and living rather a solitary life, 
 finding his chief amusement inranning European 
 hares, which had suddenly appeared that winter 
 in large nimibers, coming over from a neighbor- 
 ing State — ^great, swift, long-legged and long- 
 eared creatures like our western jack-rabbits. 
 He also kept in practice leading dogs astray, and 
 made several successful chicken raids. 
 
 It was midwinter sometime that he was startled 
 early one morning by the sound of a gun, and 
 presently detected sounds of distress. Galloping 
 
 « 
 
 swiftly toward the sound, he found poor White- 
 tip with one hind foot crippled and torn with shot, 
 and bleeding. She was hobbling along on three 
 legs, trying to reach her den. When she saw 
 Reddy, she gave a little moan of greeting, and 
 sank in the snow, half exhausted, while he licked 
 her paw. 
 
 But he had scarcely got the clotted, frozen 
 blood off before they both heard a deep, warning 
 
BIG EBDDY, STEATEGIST 65 
 
 bay. It was Lucy, the one hound they dreaded! 
 The den was two miles or more away! And 
 Whitetip had only three legs to run on! 
 
 She struggled bravely to her feet, and hobbled 
 on as rapidly as she could behind her mate, while 
 he made his plans. It was plain Lucy was on 
 Whitetip's trail. How to get her off was the 
 problem. At the head of an open pasture slope 
 Reddy stopped, just behind a big boulder which 
 concealed both foxes from the view of anything 
 following them. Lucy was now not more than 
 three hundred yards behind. He sent Whitetip 
 on up into the scrub, and waited. 
 
 On came Lucy, working in her own wonderful 
 way, burying her muzzle up to the eyes in the 
 snow for a step or two, then emerging to emit a 
 deep, trumpet bay, then down again in the scent, 
 and never stopping her steady progress. Reddy 
 waited till she was within fifteen feet of the boul- 
 der, then he suddenly stepped out directly in 
 front of her, so that she could not help seeing him. 
 Out of the snow came her muzzle, out of her 
 mouth came a silver challenge, and at him she 
 sprang. He was away like a shot, at an oblique 
 
66 ON THE EDGE OP THE WILDERNESS 
 
 angle from the course his mate had taken, with 
 the hound in mad pursuit. Now she had him in 
 sight, the dog could let out every notch of her 
 wonderful speed, and Reddy knew he'd have to 
 run as he never ran before. For a mile or more 
 he kept in open fields, on the level, so he would be 
 in full view, and was hard put to keep a safe lead. 
 Finally, as his wind began to faU, he cut up a 
 sharp pitch, into timber, and kept on up tUl he 
 felt the dog drop back and lose sight of him — as 
 he could tell by her bay. Then he doubled around 
 on a loop, reached his old track, and raced back 
 in it for some distance. Then he took to cover, 
 and made for his starting point as fast as he 
 could go. 
 
 Behind the same boulder, he once more waited 
 Lucy's coming, lying down to get all his wind 
 back possible. He well knew she would return 
 to this spot anyway, if he threw her off his scent, 
 and the only safe thing was for him to be here 
 again, lest she pick up the other track, and run 
 down Whitetip before she could den in. Sure 
 enough, Lucy, only temporarily delayed, was on 
 his scent once more, and coming on fast, her md- 
 
BIG EEDDT, STEATEGIST 67 
 
 low bay resounding over the winter fields. As 
 she came up on the other side of the boulder, 
 Reddy sprang to the top of it, where she did not 
 see hiin, because her muzzle was in the snow. He 
 watched her every move with narrowed eyes. 
 Where he and Whitetip had stood, she stopped, 
 and sent out a perplexed, resounding bay or two. 
 Then, as he feared, she picked up hfer original 
 trail, and turned up Whitetip's track. 
 
 Reddy made a tremendous spring, right over 
 her head, his hind feet almost grazing her ears as 
 he came down, and before her astonished eyes he 
 actually turned his head and looked at her ! This 
 was too much for any dog! With a tremendous 
 enraged uproar she was after him again. 
 
 Once more Reddy shot off at a tangent to his 
 mate's track, and leaped down the slope, over the 
 snowy fields. He had very little lead, and he 
 badly needed more. There was no thin ice any- 
 where near by, and no hill except that up which 
 Whitetip had gone. But half a mile away was a 
 road, packed hard by sleighs, and perhaps confus- 
 ing to the scent. At any rate, it led to possibili- 
 ties, if he could increase his lead sufficiently. 
 
68 ON THE EDGE OP THE WILDBENESS 
 
 Reddy was four hundred feet to the good at 
 the road, thanks to the snow, which held him up 
 better than the dog, and to his brief rest. He 
 leaped a stone wall on the farther side, ran out a 
 hundred feet and back again, and crouched down 
 close. Over the wall sprang Lucy, and out on 
 his track. Like light he was up and over into the 
 road again, while the hound bayed her perplexity 
 at the dead end of his track. He made up the 
 road, hidden by the wall, and was out of sight 
 around a bend before the dog was once more on 
 his trail. 
 
 Far up the road just passing around the next 
 bend, Reddy saw an empty lumber sledge, jan- 
 gling along at a trot, the driver, of course, with 
 his back to the rear end. Reddy leaped ahead 
 with redoubled energy. As he caught up to the 
 sled, he made a long, light spring, and landed si- 
 lently upon it. The driver never heard him. 
 Crouching down, one eye on the driver, one on 
 the road behind, he could see Lucy come into 
 sight around the bend, and then suddenly lose the 
 track. She emitted again her bay of perplexity, 
 which Reddy surely thought would attract the 
 
BIG EBDDY, STEATEGIST 69 
 
 driver's notice. But he paid no attention at first. 
 Human ears are poor things, anyway. At last, 
 however, he did turn slowly around, for a gust of 
 wind brought the hound's deep call with sudden 
 added loudness. Reddy was still crouched low, 
 but all his legs were poised for action, and one eye 
 never left the two-footed enemy. 
 
 The man saw him, his mouth opened, sounds 
 came forth, that resembled very much, "Well, 
 I'll be damned!" Then he reached for one of 
 the sticks that stood at the side of his sled to hold 
 the wood in. Reddy didn't wait. He was off 
 the sled and over the wall before the man could 
 even stop his horses. He heard the man calling 
 loudly to Lucy now, but Lucy wasn't his dog, 
 and paid no attention, even if she heard him 
 against the wind. She was busy trying to puzzle 
 out the mystery of that vanished scent. 
 
 'Now, at last, Reddy grinned, a broad, pleased, 
 amiable grin, and trotted leisurely to the woods, 
 and then made directly for Whitetip's den, which 
 he felt sure she had reached by now. He still 
 heard Lucy's perplexed bay as he crested the 
 ridge. 
 
70 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDEENESS 
 
 Whitetip lay in the den, licking her injured 
 paw. Again she gave a little whining moan 
 when Big Reddy entered. He lay down beside 
 her and applied his warm tongue. She was his 
 mate. She was hurt. He had just saved her 
 life. Why had he saved her life? He could 
 hardly have told you that, but he knew the time 
 was drawing on when the snow would soften, the 
 wind at night would pull in from the south, and 
 •that strange, powerful feeling would come over 
 him. He slept the rest of that day by her side. 
 At night he went out. The stars were hidden. 
 A south wind was soughing through the pines. 
 There was a peculiar smell in the air. The snow 
 was a little damp. Reddy tipped up his head 
 and emitted a long-drawn scream that would 
 have done credit to a panther. It was a warning 
 to all in the woods that his mate lay there, in the 
 den, and he. Big Reddy, was prepared to defend 
 her. Then, because she was injured, he went 
 forth into the dark, to get her meat. It was a 
 characteristic touch that he headed for the chicken 
 coops of Lucy's master. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 THE ODYSSEY OP OLD BILL 
 
 /^LD BILL, the biggest bull moose in Massa- 
 ^^ chusetts (and perhaps you will be surprised 
 to hear that there are any moose in Massachusetts 
 — ^most people are) , was born in ignominious cap- 
 tivity. I say ignominious, because it is igno- 
 minious for any wild animal to be a captive, and 
 especially for so splendid an animal as the moose, 
 that great, deep-chested, powerful-limbed, 
 mighty-antlered survival of some giant race of 
 deer which inhabited the globe before the dawn 
 of any history we know, doubtless before the ad- 
 vent of Man at all. And yet, if Old Bill's par- 
 ents hadn't been led away into captivity in Mas- 
 sachusetts there would now be no moose in that 
 State, so there you are. 
 
 A moose does not take kindly to copfinement. 
 You may give him everything in the world he 
 
 likes to eat, from rolled oats to spruce bark, but 
 
 7X 
 
72 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 if he is shut up in a few acres, he presently dies 
 of a disease with a learned name, which in plain 
 language is indigestion. In his wild state he 
 roams thirty miles to get a meal, browsing here 
 and there, and thus keeps in condition. But the 
 rich man who caused Old Bill's potential parents 
 to be captured had more than a few acres to con- 
 fine them in. He owned 14,000 acres of forest 
 and mountain just across the valley of the Housa- 
 tonic River from Lenox, up in the Berkshire 
 Hills. On a preserve of 14,000 acres you can 
 take quite a stroll, even if you have the legs of a 
 moose. This same rich man — ^he was a very rich 
 man indeed — ^wiped out all the farms which had 
 once made clearings on his 14,000 acres, leaving 
 only one or two houses for his gamekeepers to live 
 in, and building a " lodge " for himself, though 
 he never hunted the moose, and infrequently even 
 fished the brooks. Then he built a great fence 
 all around his property. High up on the moun- 
 tain at the centre of the reservation was a deep 
 swamp of spruce and hemlock and alder, with a 
 pond in the midst for which you might hunt hours 
 in vain. It was ideal moose country. Into this 
 
THE ODYSSEY OF OLD BILL 73 
 
 swamp plunged the old bulls and several cows 
 which comprised the captive herd. The elk, or 
 wapiti deer, were tamer, and used to hang around 
 the gamekeeper's house, like cows. Not so the 
 moose. They made for the deep swamp, and 
 finding plenty to eat and plenty of room to roam, 
 they escaped the fatal indigestion, and presently 
 into the world came a gawky, stiff-legged thing, 
 with a hump on his back and a tassel under his 
 chin, who was destined to be our hero. 
 
 It must be admitted that his father paid very 
 little attention to him, but his mother was ex- 
 tremely proud, and gave him the best of care, 
 teaching him, as soon as he was old enough, how 
 to spring into thickets that concealed at the ap- 
 proach of danger, how to nibble a bit of fresh 
 moosewood twig and then trot on maybe a mile 
 before reaching up and with pendulant upper lip 
 drawing down and into the mouth a cluster of 
 succulent hemlock, never eating too much in one 
 place lest one get lazy, with flabby muscles and 
 poor digestion. She taught him too, by example, 
 to sniff the wind before lying doAvn to rest or even 
 before feeding, to sniff strange tracks in the earth 
 
74 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 or the snow, to be ever alert, watchful, ready. 
 His was the Boy Scout motto — " Be prepared." 
 If she had been rearing him in the deep woods, 
 far from mankind, he would have learned, no 
 doubt, to flee from the smell of a man on the 
 wind, or even from a man's tracks in the mud — 
 to flee, perhaps, miles and miles to another forest. 
 But here on the Berkshire reservation a few men 
 — the keeper, his assistants, the owner and his 
 friends — were always passing about, and no harm 
 came from them. Indeed, in winter when the 
 snow was very deep, the men would come into the 
 swamp dragging loads of hay on a sled, and leave 
 it there for the moose to eat. Besides, there was 
 no way to flee very far, because of the great fence. 
 So Old Bill (of course, he wasn't called Old Bill 
 then, nor even Willie) was never taught to flee 
 actively from man, nor greatly to dread him — 
 only to be cautious and slip into cover when the 
 man scent came down wind. 
 
 But one day strange things began to happen, 
 alarming things. Many men — strange men — 
 appeared on the reservation, and many and 
 strange horses, and there was running and shout- 
 
THE ODYSSEY OF OLD BILL 75 
 
 ing and beating of the bush and woods, while 
 frightened animals of all sorts, deer, elk, moose, 
 and all the rest, were driven in toward the central 
 enclosure. None of them knew why, though the 
 reason was that the rich man. had died, as even 
 very rich men have to do, and now all the captive 
 animals were going to be rounded up and carried 
 away to another rich man's reservation. The 
 moose, because by nature they are the wariest and 
 craftiest of all big animals, perhaps, though you 
 might suppose they would find it hardest to con- 
 ceal themselves, were the most difficult to round 
 up. Old Bill's mother, especially, with the care 
 of her child on her mind, was tremendously 
 alarmed, and kept dashing into low, dense spruce 
 thickets with a warning bellow to Bill to follow 
 her, which he always did, with more speed than 
 grace. As they dashed over the mountain and 
 through the swamps and forest, always seeking to 
 avoid the scent of danger, they encountered Bill's 
 father and another cow, employing successfully 
 the same tactics. The four of them kept together 
 after that, and presently they were roused sud- 
 denly from the bushes on the bank of a swampy 
 
76 OE THE EDGE OP THE WILDEENESS 
 
 brook by the warning noise of the beaters some 
 distance off. The old bull led the way with a 
 tremendous leap into the thickets, away from the 
 noise, and brought them up sharp against the 
 eighteen-foot-high wire fence. The bull, in fact, 
 was going at such a gait, and was so excited with 
 alarm, that his horns actually collided with it, and 
 it sagged away from him. As it gave before the 
 impact of his great body (his antlers alone prob- 
 ably weighed fifty poimds or more), there was a 
 crashing noise, as of wood breaking. The bull 
 pulled back, and looked. Yes, one of the chest- 
 nut posts which held the fence up had rotted, and 
 cracked at the ground! He drew back with a 
 short, sharp snort, and then went into the fence 
 again, deliberately this time, and close to the 
 post. It gave completely, and the post sagged so 
 far out that the top of the fence was only six feet 
 above the ground. Once more the bull drew 
 back, gathered his great muscles for the spring, 
 and cleared it. The second cow followed, and 
 then Bill's mother, with a kind of tooting noise 
 which Bill knew meant, "Come on!" gathered 
 herself and sprang. 
 
THE ODYSSEY OF OLD BILL 77 
 
 Poor little Bill uttered a protesting bellow, or 
 rather two bellows, like two raps with an ax on a 
 hollow tree. He couldn't make that jump. He 
 just loiew he couldn't. He ran up and down be- 
 hind the half -fallen fence, looking for a lower 
 place, and seeing his father, the other cow, even 
 his mother, vanishing into the woods outside. 
 Yes, even his mother, she felt so sure he would 
 follow! But he couldn't follow! If Bill had 
 been a boy, he would certainly have burst into 
 sobs. But he wasn't. He was a young bull 
 moose, and behind him, on the wind, he suddenly 
 caught fresh and strong that man scent his 
 mother had taught him to be wary of. It was 
 coming nearer. Over there, his mother was going 
 farther away. Little Bill drew back, made a 
 mighty dash and a spring with all the power of 
 his gawky, stiff, long legs, and though his hind 
 heels hit the wire and half spilled him, he stag- 
 gered up to find, to his surprise, that he was over 
 the fence! Then he kicked up those same hind 
 hoofs with a prance of joy and pride in his 
 achievement, and dashed madly off on the trail of 
 his parents. 
 
78 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 His achievement had given him such a good 
 opinion of himself, in fact, that he didn't even 
 whimper when he couldn't seem to catch the 
 others, but only redoubled his efforts, ducking his 
 head craftily imder low branches and dashing on 
 with astonishing speed. At last he did catch 
 sight of them, ahead in an open glade in the 
 woods, and with a final prance and kick of delight 
 he ran panting up to his mother. His father was 
 evidently satisfied that they were at least tem- 
 porarily safe here, for he was nibbling some hem- 
 lock shoots.: Not long after, however, they 
 moved on, going down a rough, wooded slope of 
 the mountain. 
 
 At the bottom of this slope they came suddenly 
 upon a strange thing, with a yet stranger odor — ^a 
 kind of roadway (they were famUiar with road- 
 ways), but with eight shining steel strips nailed 
 to it, upon wooden crossbars. With a snort, the 
 bull turned tail and began to climb the slope 
 again, the rest after him. They had gone but a 
 few feet, however, when a tremendous noise 
 smote their ears, and turning to see the cause, 
 they beheld a terrible monster coming down this 
 
THE ODYSSEY OP OLD BILL 79 
 
 strange road, belching smoke. They all sprang 
 higher up the ledges, and beneath them the 20th 
 Century Limited (the Boston and Albany sec- 
 tion) thundered by. Men and women were sit- 
 ting at the windows of the parlor cars, in great 
 easy chairs, hurtling luxuriously through the 
 landscape. But they did not see the four wild 
 creatures bounding up the rocks above, their nos- 
 trils stung with the acrid coal smoke smell, their 
 eyes big with alarm. 
 
 Yet the strange monster had not hurt them, 
 apparently it had not tried to hurt them. It had 
 stayed right on that shining roadway. Even 
 little BiU realized this. It was their first lesson 
 in the new freedom. 
 
 However, it takes more than one lesson to 
 teach a cosmic truth even to so clever an animal 
 as a moose, and Bill's father, the leader, was still 
 wary. He did his best to keep his little herd to 
 the cover of the woods. The trouble was, they 
 were always getting out of the cover of the woods, 
 and never knowing when it was going to happen, 
 either. In the next few days they stumbled on 
 roads, on houses, on odd animals which they didn't 
 
80 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDEENESS 
 
 in the least fear, which men call cows, and once 
 they were chased by a dog. It was Little Bill 
 that the dog really chased. Bill had dropped 
 behind the rest a little, to feed on a succulent 
 young birch tree, for his appetite was good these 
 days; he was a growing boy. The dog, a huge 
 mongrel creature which he, of course, supposed 
 was one of those wolves his mother had told him 
 of, came suddenly at him, and he quite naturally 
 bolted for the maternal protection. It chanced 
 that the little herd was to the windward, with a 
 half gale blowing, and they didn't get the dog 
 scent. Into the swampy glade where they stood 
 Bill burst without warning, the dog in full pur- 
 suit, and just as Bill broke into their midst, the 
 dog fastened on his rear leg. Bill turned about, 
 with a snort of pain, trying to reach the dog with 
 his bare little forehead. But there was no need 
 of that. Bill's father stepped into the breach. 
 With lowered head and eyes that blazed, he made 
 one lunge, one toss of his great, strong neck, and 
 impaled on his pronged antlers the dog was torn 
 with a wild cry from his grip on Bill, and then 
 tossed into the air. Even as he fell, the antlers 
 
THE ODYSSEY OF OLD BILL 81 
 
 again struck him, and when he reached the ground 
 a great, sharp hoof went crashing through his 
 chest. Then the old bull, with a short snort, led 
 the way rapidly into the deeper woods. Bill limp- 
 ing along behind. When they paused again. 
 Bill's mother licked his wounds, and he lay down 
 stiffly to sleep that night, wishing he, too, had big, 
 powerful antlers. 
 
 Their escape together from the reservation, 
 and their subsequent wanderings, in the face 
 daily of the unknown, of threatening, strange 
 perils, always searching for some way out of the 
 ring of roads, houses, clearings, which seemed to 
 hem them in, had kept the tiny herd together, just 
 as common danger keeps men and women to- 
 gether. Yet the worst peril they had actually 
 faced was a dog, which the old bull feared no 
 more than an insect, and gradually the fear of 
 danger left them, and Bill's father wandered 
 away by himself, after the manner of his kind, 
 looking no doubt for male companionship, while 
 Bill, though tempted to go with him, still clung 
 to his mother, who, in turn, browsed with the 
 other cow. Thus the days passed, while Little 
 
82 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDEENESS 
 
 Bill grew and grew till his forehead began to itcH 
 and he rubbed it on trees, thus making the joyous 
 discovery that his antlers were growing! It 
 was not until autumn that he saw his father 
 again. 
 
 He well remembered the night. It was twi- 
 light, fast deepening into dusk, when his mother 
 stood up suddenly on the shore of a lonesome 
 pond, where the summer campers had departed 
 from t heir cottages in the woods, and elevating 
 her head emitted a long-drawn, strange call. It 
 echoed faintly, and again yet more faintly, from 
 the woods on the farther banks. Twice, three 
 times, four times, she repeated it, and a little 
 farther along the shore the other cow took it up. 
 Bill had never heard his mother make this noise 
 before, and he listened full of wonder. 
 
 It seemed a long time after that his sharp ears 
 heard a sound like two blows struck on a tree 
 across the lake, or like a double cough, and then 
 the unmistakable swish of something large enter- 
 ing water, and swimming. This watery swish 
 came nearer. Bill heard now the panting of 
 breath. His mother called once more, excitedly. 
 
THE ODYSSEY OP OLD BILL 83 
 
 The breathing grew louder, the swish more rapid. 
 A few minutes later, across the dim surface of the 
 lake. Bill saw the great, palmated antlers of a 
 bull moose, rising above the ripples, and just 
 below them, nose almost in the water, the splen- 
 did head. The bull reached bottom with his feet. 
 He began to struggle faster. Then he got to 
 knee depth, shook himself, and came, like a great, 
 black ghost risen from the deep, splashing up to 
 the shore. That was how Bill saw his father 
 again, and how he learned the meaning of the cow 
 moose call, the call that brings the fathers back 
 to the herds. 
 
 After that, the bull stayed with them again, as 
 the first snow came, and they continued their 
 wanderings, still looking for some escape into 
 deeper woods where men and roads and other 
 strange things did not annoy. So far, guns, how- 
 ever, were not in their experience of terrors. But 
 now, all suddenly, as they woke one morning and 
 set out to browse through a yoimg second growth 
 hard wood, they ran full into a party of three men 
 whose presence they had not scented because of 
 the direction of the strong wind. The bull saw 
 
84 ON THE EDGE OP THE WILDERNESS 
 
 the men before he was seen, and turning, with a 
 swish of his antlers under the branches, made for 
 shelter. Bill was right after him, for by now he 
 was big and swift, too. Bill's mother turned, 
 also, but before the second cow could get into 
 cover there were three terrific noises behind them, 
 and even as he looked back from a comer of his 
 eye to see the cow fall headlong. Bill heard a 
 strange whistle in the air around him and a ter- 
 rifying ripping in the foliage. He put on even 
 more speed, and soon the three of them were out 
 of danger. But they were only three now. They 
 waited for the other cow, but she did not come, 
 and presently the bull led the way, with long 
 strides, back toward the reservation. They had 
 never been shot at there. It was all he could 
 think of as a means of escape. 
 
 They reached the reservation fence in a few 
 hours, driven on by the sound of guns in the 
 woods about them, and discovered the spot where 
 they had jumped it a few months before. It had 
 not been repaired. In fact, two more parts had 
 now sagged over so far that they could step across 
 with their long legs, back into the familiar spruce 
 
THE ODYSSEY OP OLD BILL 85 
 
 swamps. Here they had never been molested, 
 and here there was no sound of the terrifying 
 gmis, except from a great distance. They looked 
 for the other moose who used to be there, the elk, 
 the deer, but none appeared, except a white-tailed 
 deer or two who were not familiar, and two elk, 
 who, like them, had escaped the round-up. The 
 three moose retreated to their old browsing 
 grounds by the pond, where, a day or two later, 
 the one keeper who still lived on in the white 
 farmhouse discovered their tracks. But it was 
 too late now to try to catch them and ship them 
 away. Instead, he smiled to himself, and got his 
 sled out to be ready with hay when the deep snows 
 came. 
 
 Meanwhile, something had happened to the 
 three men who had killed the cow moose. Bill 
 and his parents knew nothing about this, but aU 
 the other hunters heard of it. The State game 
 warden for the district, Bill Snyder, on his rounds 
 through the forests, had come upon these men, 
 red handed, as they were trying to get their booty 
 out. As moose are absolutely protected in 
 Massachusetts, Bill hauled them into court, and 
 
86 ON THE EDGE OP THE WILDERNESS 
 
 the judge gave them each a fine which was far 
 larger than the value of the moose. It was so 
 large that it quite effectively discouraged any 
 other hmiter from wanting to take a chance on a 
 moose. It made the three remaining anmials 
 comparatively safe from rifles for some time to 
 come. The warden's friends began to speak of 
 the moose as " Bill's pets." And now, perhaps, 
 you begin to see how our hero came, later, to get 
 his name of Old Bill. The countryside chris- 
 tened him that, in honor of Bill Snyder. 
 
 Bill Snyder himself came up on the reservation 
 that first winter, to see the moose, and to help 
 feed them after the big blizzard. Little Bill, 
 hidden in a thicket, saw him pulling a sled load 
 of hay. He was a big, smiling man, and some- 
 how Bill wasn't afraid. He was alone at the 
 time, and in his eagerness to get the hay, he moved 
 in his cover before the man had gone far away, 
 and Snyder caught a sight of him. The smile on 
 his face grew broader. 
 
 Spring came with no adventures to Bill's credit 
 except another tussle with a stray dog, which 
 evidently mistook Bill for a deer and ran him 
 
THE ODYSSEZ OP OLD BILL 87 
 
 into a corner of the old fence, where Bill was 
 forced to turn and fight. He was alone, but 
 found himself already equal to the emergency. 
 lie finished off that dog in two tosses and a 
 stamp, but tossed him a couple more times just 
 for the fun of it, because it felt so good. As a 
 rule, his temper was of the best, but nobody likes 
 a dog that chases you. In spring, too, another 
 little moose was added to the herd, making their 
 number four again, and Bill's mother quite for- 
 sook him, for the care of her new offspring. So 
 then, at last. Bill cut away entirely from the 
 maternal apron strings, as it were, and went 
 wandering off with the old bull, quite a little man 
 now, and left the females (the new arrival was a 
 female) to themselves. 
 
 Having been quite unmolested all winter again, 
 the fear had left them, and once more now they 
 wandered out of the old reservation, where that 
 winter they had pretty well used up the tenderest 
 feed, over a fence falling still more into decay, 
 and into the free woods and wilder uplands. 
 They met men, but nobody fired at them. They 
 crossed roads and even browsed into rye and oat 
 
88 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDEENESS 
 
 fields near houses, at night, but no harm befell 
 them. Still, they were ever cautious, and kept 
 deep out of sight except on the rare occasions 
 when the man scent had not reached them in time. 
 Crossing everywhere so many man tracks, how- 
 ever, gradually broke down a good deal of their 
 instinctive shyness. Bill came to know the coun- 
 try for many mUes around, and more than once 
 it was only the greater caution of the older bull 
 which kept him from following the promptings 
 of his native bump of curiosity and exposing him- 
 self to plain view. 
 
 That year Bill and his father were in a deep 
 swamp, quietly browsing, when far, far off they 
 heard the cow call, which, a year before, had 
 startled Bill's ears as his mother soimded it be- 
 side the lake. Now it stirred him curiously. 
 His muscles tightened, he raised his head and 
 coughed loudly, he drew his forefeet from the 
 mud, and started for the firmer land. But the 
 old bull was ahead of him. As Bill came up to 
 the open woods on the bank, intent on rushing 
 toward the call, he saw the bull face round upon 
 him, with lowered antlers. Bill was surprised 
 
THE ODYSSEY OF OLD BILL 89 
 
 and a little frightened. But he was angry, too. 
 His nostrils expanded, for an instant he saw red, 
 and lowering his own smaller antlers, which were 
 still mere prongs, with only a suggestion of the 
 palm formation, he charged full at the older 
 animal, who met his rush with another. The 
 result was inevitable. The stronger, heavier bull 
 knocked the smaller one back down the bank, 
 where poor Bill was content to remain, seeing his 
 father turn and with long, powerful strides and 
 a great swish as his triumphant antlers swept the 
 foliage, disappear toward the far-off call. 
 
 Presently Bill rose and followed deliberately. 
 He was young. He had plenty of time. Some 
 day his antlers would spread sixty inches, and 
 then 
 
 But it was not the next year, nor the next, nor 
 even the next. Three years passed when Bill did 
 not challenge his father's supremacy. But he 
 grew — he grew in stature, and he grew in bold- 
 ness. Perhaps because he was born with such a 
 hump of curiosity, and a sense of humor, too. 
 Bill in his summer wanderings practiced less and 
 less sly concealment, till many people in the up- 
 
90 OTS THE EDGE OF THE WILDEENESS 
 
 land hamlets and farms and even a few in the 
 valleys came to know him by sight, and because 
 he was now so large, and Bill Snyder's pet boast, 
 he was universally called Old Bill. When any- 
 body saw him, he would call up Snyder on the 
 telephone, and tell the place and hour. Snyder 
 kept these records, and that was how he knew that 
 on some days Old Bill would travel as much as 
 thirty-five miles — that is, he was reported from 
 points thirty-five iliiles apart; he probably actu- 
 ally covered considerably more ground. As he 
 came to fear man less and less. Old Bill grew 
 more and more bold, and, a north woodsman 
 would say, less and less moose-like. One of his 
 favorite tricks, when he happened to be crossing 
 some back roadway up in the hill country and 
 chanced to hear or scent humans approaching, 
 was to stop in his tracks, head erect, aritlers 
 spreading into the air, and look toward the sound 
 or scent. Presently, perhaps, around the bend 
 in the road would come a man in a wagon, or two 
 women on foot. If it was the former, the horse 
 would probably get up on his hind legs, or start 
 backing, much to the discomforture of the driver. 
 
THE ODYSSEY OF OLD BILL 91 
 
 which amused Bill greatly. If the horse showed 
 a proper degree of alarm, he would often take a 
 step or two forward, tossing his great antlers, and 
 then watch the driver try to turn around and go 
 the other way. If it was foot passengers he met, 
 he would raise one front hoof and paw the 
 ground, whereupon the humans would turn and 
 start rapidly in the opposite direction. Then 
 Bill would clump-clump, clump-chimp after them 
 a way, to hear them scream. But if they hap- 
 pened to be Avise, and didn't run from him, but 
 stooped as if to pick up a stone, he would leap 
 the roadside wall with a great bound, and trot 
 away. 
 
 Old Bill spent a good bit of his time on the 
 former reservation, especially in winter, for then 
 Bill Snyder put out hay, when the snow was deep, 
 for him and for the dozen or more other moose 
 that now composed the herd, and there in deer 
 season, Avhen the guns popped, he was safe from 
 annoyance. However, it took some vigilance 
 to keep the reservation free of poachers, and one 
 autumn Bill Snyder Avas asked by the owner to 
 secure a special deputy for the shooting season. 
 
92 ON THE EDGE OP THE WILDERNESS 
 
 Snyder bethought hhn of Tim Coakley, star first 
 baseman of the only professional team in the 
 county, who was just then loafing. Tim was six 
 foot one, tough as hickory, and reputed to be 
 afraid neither of man nor devil. 
 
 " Sure," said Tim, " Oi'U come. The guy that 
 mistakes me for a deer'll go to his own funeral." 
 
 So, on the day before the season opened, Sny- 
 der led Tim up the mountain, and then took him 
 out into the deep cover to show him the likely 
 places to watch. But Snyder had a sneaking 
 idea that Old Bill and some of the other moose 
 might be aroxmd, so he left Tim in a little clear- 
 ing, and went on, alone, into the densest part of 
 the swamp to see if he could get a peep at them, 
 his pets and pride. He hadn't gone very far 
 before he heard the voice of Tim calling frantic- 
 ally. Snyder turned and hurried back. As he 
 drew nearer, he heard not only his own name, but 
 various and sundry adjectives attached thereto 
 which are not proper for publication. The voice 
 seemed to be coming, also, from a greater height 
 above the ground than even the normal position 
 of Tim's mouth. 
 
THE ODYSSEY OF OLD BILL 93 
 
 Peering through the bushes, Snyder beheld the 
 giant first baseman of the Berkshire Tigers, the 
 dauntless hero who feared neither man nor devil, 
 astraddle the limb of a chestnut tree, which he 
 grasped with his arms as though it were his long- 
 lost sweetheart, while below him, horns almost 
 touching his dangling boots, stood Old Bill, 
 coughing and pawing the ground, and lowering 
 and then tossing up his fifty pounds or more of 
 pronged antlers. 
 
 Snyder emerged from the bushes, shouting 
 with laughter. Tim saw him and redoubled his 
 stream of adjectives. 
 
 " Hi, call off your blasted pet poodle," he 
 shouted. " You'll fine me two hundred and fifty 
 dollars if Oi shoot him, and he'll kill me if Oi 
 don't, so's it'll cost me three hundred dollars for 
 me funeral. Where do Oi get off, you blasted 
 old " 
 
 " Whoa, son! " Snyder laughed. " You don't 
 get off, apparently." 
 
 " Say, this limb's gettin' sharp, Oi tell you. 
 Shoot the darn thing, quick, or Oi'U fall off." 
 
 " Shoot a tame moose ! " cried Snyder. 
 
94 ON THE EDGE OP THE WILDEENESS 
 
 " Tame, your grandmother! Oh, yes, he's real 
 tame, he is. He's a dear little, gentle, tame dar- 
 lin', Oi don't \\an^\" 
 
 Meanwhile' Old Bill kept on pawing the ground 
 and coughing and tossing his great antlers. He 
 was thoroughly enjoying himself. So was Sny- 
 der. Tim was a suffering minority of one. 
 
 " Well," the warden remarked, after a moment 
 more, " to stop your swearing, and save your soul 
 from perdition, Tim, here goes." 
 
 He kicked up the mould, found a stone, and 
 tossed it at Old Bill, who suddenly sprang half 
 sideways six or eight feet and vanished like smoke 
 into the dense brush. 
 
 Tim came down. 
 
 He rubbed his legs, he felt of himself as if to 
 make sure he was all there. Then a look of ex- 
 treme sheepishness spread over his face. 
 
 " Say, Bill, for the love o' Mike, don't let this 
 get out ! " he said. 
 
 " I won't tell," Snyder answered, " but you 
 can't trust Old BUI — ^he does love a joke." 
 
 It was at the approach of the rutting season 
 the next year that Old Bill pulled off his most 
 
THE ODYSSEY OF OLD BILL 95 
 
 spectacular stunt. No human could explain 
 just why he did it, and probably Bill couldn't 
 himself. He had been getting more and more 
 restless for several days, wandering far afield 
 from the home browsing on the reservation, and 
 mulling over what he at last knew was the ap- 
 proach of the great crisis, when he would seriously 
 challenge the old bull, his father, for the su- 
 premacy of the herd. Twice, now, he had chal- 
 lenged, once as a mere boy of eighteen months, 
 once as a three-year-old, and both times he had 
 been defeated. But now it was different. He 
 knew his time had come. So he could not be 
 quiet. On the fateful morning, he was thirty 
 miles from the reservation, and with feet spread 
 wide apart and antlers threatening, stood a proud 
 figure in the centre of the road down which Tom 
 Shook desired to drive with a load of milk, and 
 refused to budge. As Tom's horse showed a 
 strong inclination to upset the milk and go home, 
 Tom decided the east road, which branched off 
 half a mile back, was, after all, the better way to 
 the village. 
 
 At noon Old Bill seared two children, fifteen 
 
96 ON THE EDGE OP THE WILDEENESS 
 
 miles farther north, by trotting along the road 
 behind them. 
 
 At six o'clock, while it was still daylight, he 
 suddenly, and as unexpectedly as an earthquake 
 or the oif er of a cocktail from William Jennings 
 Bryan, made his appearance on the streets of 
 Lenox. Lenox is not unused to Rolls-Royce 
 limousines on her elm-arched streets, nor has she 
 quite forgotten the aspect of fine horses, stepping 
 high with the flash of silver harness. But when 
 a big bull moose suddenly emerged from the 
 woods behind the French Renaissance " cottage " 
 of one of her wealthiest residents, and proceeded 
 up the macadam toward the post-office, Lenox 
 had considerable of a start. The village wireless 
 (an ancient and still unexplained mystery of the 
 science of transmission) crackled, and by the time 
 Bill reached the well-kept green in front of the 
 Episcopal church, there was a crowd already as- 
 sembled, most of them on the opposite side of the 
 fences, however. 
 
 Bill trotted up on the green, raised his head, 
 and surveyed the assemblage — which was grow- 
 ing momentarily — with some'contempt, and just 
 
THE ODYSSEY OP OLD BILL 97 
 
 a bit of alarm. It was a trifle thick, even for him. 
 He tossed his antlers, and made a stamp or two 
 on the precious turf. The sexton rushed into the 
 church for the telephone, 
 
 Snyder was at his home, in the next town. 
 The sexton got him, his voice trembling with ex- 
 citement. The moose was rampaging. The chil- 
 dren were in danger. Couldn't he, the sexton, 
 shoot him? This was a bit too much, really — and 
 pawing up his lawn, too. Besides, he might dash 
 right into the crowd any minute and 
 
 " Look here," came the voice of Snyder, " you 
 tell the crowd to go home, if they're afraid. If 
 anything happens to that moose, I'll have you 
 arrested. Go out and chuck a stone at him. 
 Remember now — the fine's two hundred and fifty 
 dollars!" 
 
 The sexton went back — as fdr as the church 
 door. Finally he edged down on the drive, 
 picked up a stone, and threw it. 
 
 " Go 'way," he said. 
 
 Old Bill made a break for the October Moun- 
 tain road. He had a brief glimpse of several 
 posteriors disappearing over fences on either side. 
 
98 ON THE EDGE OP THE WILDERNESS 
 
 and a horse climbing a tree. Presently he passed 
 a farmhouse on the road to the reservation. The 
 farmer called Snyder on the telephone. 
 
 " There was a dog chasing him," he reported. 
 
 " Poor dog," said Snyder. 
 
 But Bill wasn't running from the dog. He 
 was running in answer to a challenge in his blood, 
 an instinct which told him that night he would 
 hear the cow moose call. Leaving the road, he 
 sprang up the wild, steep ravine of Roaring 
 Brook, leaving the baffled dog far behind, and 
 came crashing and swishing into the spruces and 
 hemlocks of the reservation swamp. 
 
 It was twilight now, with the hint of a moon 
 aglow in the east, and presently, from the other 
 side of the shadowy water of the little, hidden 
 pond, came the thrilling call of a cow. Old Bill 
 coughed, loudly, like a challenge, his head up, his 
 nostrils expanded. He heard an answer, off to 
 the left, and swished his antlers under the low- 
 hanging limbs as he made toward it. 
 
 The big old bull was standing in an open glade, 
 awaiting him. There were no preliminaries — 
 only a mutual charge, a crash of locking antlers. 
 
THE ODYSSEY OF OLD BILL 99 
 
 the thud of hoofs, the strain of bone grating on 
 bone, the hiss of breath through straining nostrils. 
 Back and forth the battle went, even weight 
 against even weight, neck strength and endurance 
 counting. As long as the two pairs of antlers 
 were locked, the great animals swayed and 
 crashed against the bushes, the trees. Cedars six 
 inches in diiameter were snapped off. The turf 
 was torn and churned into mire. Then the old 
 bull wrenched his horns free, drew back, and 
 charged once more. Bill was cleverer than of 
 old., He side stepped, like an agile boxer, and 
 reared on his hind legs. As the lowered head of 
 his opponent went past, doAvn came his forefeet 
 like a pointed sledge-hammer on the other's neck. 
 Blood spurted. The old moose wheeled with a 
 roar of rage and pain, and again Bill side 
 stepped, and this time gouged his side. Then, 
 once more, the great antlers locked,- the two 
 bodies, more than a ton of bone and muscle, 
 crashed against the trees, the panting breath, the 
 smothered roars, resounded through the still 
 forest. 
 At last the older neck gave way, the head went 
 
100 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDEENESS 
 
 sideways, then down, the great body, pried from 
 its balanced purchase in the miry loam, slipped, 
 toppled, and the vanquished leader of the herd 
 went down on his knees, with a bleeding head, 
 with a red woimd slit across the neck, with a 
 gouged flank, beaten at last, uncrowned, laid low. 
 
 Bill wrenched his locked antlers free, butted 
 his opponent once more for full measure, stood 
 up and proclaimed his triumph, and then went 
 through the gathering night toward the call of the 
 cow. 
 
 But, as has been laiown to be the case with 
 humans, victory did not bring content to Old 
 Bill. Just at first it did, perhaps, as he piloted 
 the herd, young bulls and all, around the winter 
 feeding with a new sense of dignity and im- 
 portance. But it wasn't long before restlessness 
 came upon him, a strange restlessness that seemed 
 to come from some whisper of the north wind. 
 The north! What was to the north, anyway? 
 Bill, since that first escape from the reservation 
 and the terror of the smoking monster on the iron 
 road, had never crossed the tracks in all his wan- 
 derings. He had been south to Connecticut, 
 
THE ODYSSEY OP OLD BILL 101 
 
 west to New York, east till he glimpsed the Con- 
 necticut River plains, but never north across 
 those shining rails where the monster thundered. 
 But now, with two cows and a calf, he wandered 
 down the rocky slope to a wild ravine where it 
 was only a jump across the tracks to a rocky 
 slope on the other side, drove his charges, re- 
 luctant, across, and browsed north into a new 
 country. They pushed on, with good cover and 
 plentiful feeding for a day and a night, until, at 
 dawn, with the rising sun just flushing the snowy 
 summits and night still lying like pools of dark- 
 ness in the deep ravines. Old Bill stood upon a 
 bare, rocky, mountain shoulder and looked into 
 Vermont. 
 
 He saw a tumbled world of mountains, higher 
 than those behind him, forest clothed, and stretch- 
 ing, ever taller, into the far distance, blushed pink 
 at first by the rising sun, then misty blue and 
 beckoning. Were there other and bigger bulls 
 there to challenge? Was it the spell of the north 
 that was laid upon him, the colder north which is 
 the natural home of the moose, all the way to the 
 Arctic Circle? Was it instinct that made him 
 
102 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDEENESS 
 
 sniff the frozen wind, blowing down from those 
 far summits, or dreams that filled his dark, un- 
 blinking eyes? At any rate, he plunged down 
 the mountainside, nipping a few twigs of striped 
 maple for breakfast as he went, and followed the 
 banks of a brawling little river that was foaming 
 southward — ^up-stream. 
 
 That next simimer, from a camp in the wilder- 
 ness of the lower Green Mountains, moose were 
 reported, the first reported in the State for many 
 years. There were scoffers who said it couldn't 
 be so. But these moose were shy. Nobody was 
 chased up a tree, nobody was challenged on any 
 of the few rough roads which cross the range. 
 It was evident that Old Bill, penetrating deeper 
 into a wilderness where men were fewer, was him- 
 self lapsing into a condition of greater wUdness. 
 That next autumn deer hvmters up in the big 
 range to the east of Manchester, Vermont, the 
 beautiful valley village where the golfers revel, 
 reported " a huge black deer, bigger than a cow." 
 They fired at this strange " deer," but they didn't 
 hit it. That cow moose escaped, to call across the 
 brown mirror of some mountain t^m, pungent 
 
THE ODY^EY OP OLD BILL 103 
 
 witK the odor of autumn leaves in the water, to 
 call for the chief of the herd, and to hear from the 
 opposite shore, or the rocky forest above her, the 
 answering coughs of Old Bill, and presently the 
 swish in the low-hanging branches of his great 
 pronged antlers as he came to his mate. Some- 
 where in those high, wild mountains, three thou- 
 sand, four thousand feet above the sea. Old Bill 
 goes browsing, up hill and down, thirty miles, 
 forty miles, on his long, powerful legs, between 
 sleep and sleep, no longer meeting men on his 
 journeys, nor wanting to, but avoiding them now, 
 the shyness, the alertness of the wilderness sink- 
 ing deeper and deeper into his consciousness, the 
 northward urge toward yet deeper forests, yet 
 wilder country, coming to him when the winds 
 are up and tearing southward Avith a race of cloud 
 and sting of sleet over the summit ledges. Will 
 it be the antlers of some rising young champion 
 in his own herd, or the broader horns of some 
 wilderness-bred bull of the great north ranges 
 that finally teaches him when his time of old age 
 is come? The way is long, the dangers many, to 
 those free ranging herds above the St. Lawrence. 
 Old Bill may never get there. All one can say is 
 that his nostrils quiver to the keen north wind. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE LIFE AND DEATH OP LUCY 
 
 T UCY was bom with a price on her head. 
 ■*-^ Lucy doesn't sound much like the name of 
 a fugitive from justice, of a vicious character 
 hunted for the legal reward. Nevertheless, Lucy 
 is what she came to be called by all the country- 
 side, no doubt just because Lucy is such a foolish 
 name for a wildcat. Lucy is a nice name for the 
 heroine of a poem by William Wordsworth, but 
 as the Christian appellation for twenty-five 
 pounds of gray-black and dirty white fur and 
 muscle and claws roaming the rocky, precipitous 
 slopes of one of the highest of the Berkshire Hills, 
 seeking what it may devour, the name has suf- 
 ficient incongruity to please the Yankee taste. 
 
 I hesitate a little to tell the entire story of 
 Lucy's career, lest I be called a " nature fakir." 
 
 It is all true, but those who raise the ciy of nature 
 
 104 
 
THE LIFE Aim DEATH OP LUCY 105 
 
 faking will never believe anything true about 
 animals which goes contrary to what they them- 
 selves have seen, or the way in which the average 
 run of animals behave. Nevertheless, you caiinot 
 always predict animal conduct from the average 
 run, any more than you can predict human con- 
 duct. There is more of the animal in humans 
 than we used to suppose (before 1914, for in- 
 stance), and there is more of the human in ani- 
 mals. Anyhow, I'll take a chance, and tell Lucy's 
 story in defiance of the scoffers. 
 
 But first I wish I could take you into the cotm- 
 try where Lucy was born and brought up. I 
 could, very easily, if you were here, and your 
 wind was good, for it isn't more than a mile be- 
 hind my house — or, rather, above my house. You 
 may have been past the spot, indeed, purring 
 along in your motor, on your way to Stockbridge 
 and Lenox. But going past it and going to it 
 are quite different things. Leaping directly up 
 from the State highway is the steep wall of the 
 mountain, a long wall, or, rather, series of jutting 
 shoulders, stretching north and south for ten 
 mUes or more, with the summit a mile behind 
 
106 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDEENESS 
 
 them, and beyond that more forest? and scrub 
 land, and then a precipitous, wild drop into New 
 York State. This wall runs up for some distance 
 timbered heavily with birches and chestnuts and 
 other hard woods, and then enters a belt of fallen, 
 fern-covered boulders, with hemlocks wedged be- 
 tween, and, finally, the almost sheer precipices 
 which lead, in a series of steps, to the top of the 
 shouldei', where there is a forest of storm-dwarfed 
 pitch pines. In this forest herds of deer winter, 
 going up and down the mountain for water at the 
 springs below, and for feed when the snow is 
 lighter. On top of the ridge the snow is always 
 blown thin, and some food is available there in the 
 worst weather. Just under this ridge, at the 
 base of the precipices and among the fallen 
 boulders below them, are numerous little caves 
 or dens. Into these dens the fallen leaves drift. 
 They are more or less protected in winter, and 
 cool in summer. You might suppose it would be 
 a likely spot for wildcats. 
 
 It is. 
 
 For one thing, almost no people ever get there. 
 There is no trail except the dim paths used by 
 
THE LIFE AND DEATH OP LUOT 107 
 
 the deer, which are known only to a few hunters 
 and trappers. The undergrowth is a dense mass 
 of laurel, through which progress is difficult and 
 even painful. Going my best, it takes me one 
 and a half hours to make the fifteen hundred foot 
 ascent to the top of the ridge. Now, the wildcat 
 is, after all, a cat, and you know that the most 
 domestic of pussies seldom cares for human 
 society as such. It hangs around you because 
 you feed it. (Of course, if you have a cat, you 
 won't admit this — your cat is an exception!) 
 It prefers to mind its own business, and often 
 resents interference. The wildcat has these 
 traits raised to the nth power. Furtive, sly, 
 aloof, it wants to be let alone, to avoid contact 
 with men, to go its own way. Though often 
 heard yowling in the woods at night — it has a 
 blood-curdling yell, a sort of meow — yang-yang- 
 yang — it is seldom seen, and when it is seen, it is 
 generally alone, sneaking along by itself, the 
 very epitome of wild self-sufficiency. Hence, if 
 a mother cat wished to retire from all danger of 
 contact with man and other disturbing things, she 
 could, in our country, hardly pick a better place 
 
108 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDEENESS 
 
 than the dens amid the boulders far up on the 
 steep mountain shoulder, with a half mile of 
 trackless laurel and dense forest below, and two 
 hvmdred feet of precipice above, and all around, 
 for concealment, the dense hemlocks, the ferns 
 which drape the rocks, the dead, fallen tree 
 trunks, the caked masses of last year's leaves still 
 upheld on the fallen limbs which always litter a 
 virgin wood, making little thatched roofs under 
 which to creep. 
 
 This is the spot that Lucy's mother chose late 
 one winter for her home, running far from the 
 male cat who was Lucy's father, because the male 
 wildcat is anything but a gentleman and has a 
 fondness for killing his offspring after they are 
 bom, if he can find them when their mother is out 
 foraging. If the mother is at home, he is wise 
 enough to leave them alone! Lucy's mother, 
 however, had no intention of bringing her family 
 into the world where father would be likely to 
 find them. She ran away from him ten miles, 
 crossed a river on the ice, a swamp on the has- 
 socks, and went up the mountain till she came to 
 the fallen boulders. There, in a nice warm den. 
 
THE LIFE AND DEATH OP LUOT 109 
 
 lined with dead leaves, under an overhanging 
 rock and facing to the southward, she decided to 
 establish her home, and there Lucy and three 
 brothers and sisters were ultimately bom. 
 
 There was no great family resemblance be- 
 tween them. Lucy was a decided brunette, very 
 dark, which is the accepted type of beauty among 
 wildcats, while her two sisters were gray and 
 dirty brown, and her brother was more or less 
 mottled, half-way between. Had you come upon 
 them playing in front of their " door," however, 
 on a warm spring day, while mother lay on her 
 side, paws lazily outstretched, purring content- 
 edly (but with one ear up and both eyes watch- 
 ful), you would have said it was a pretty picture 
 they made, and you might have called, " Come, 
 kitty, kitty " — and then beat it, as mother coiled 
 with a spitting snarl, and leaped off the rock ! 
 
 But, like Wordsworth's Lucy, few knew, and 
 few could know, how this Lucy grew, beside ways 
 even less trodden than those " beside the springs 
 of Dove." In fact, none loiew. Only twice that 
 summer did any human being come up past the 
 den, and on both occasions Lucy's mother heard 
 
110 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 them coming, and had the kittens far out of sight. 
 A stray dog or two, to be sure, trailed her up the 
 mountain after she had been down the slope and 
 across the road into the swamp stalking pheas- 
 ants. But a lone dog, without a hunter behind 
 him, had no terrors for her. She did not court 
 trouble, to be sure, relying on speed to escape it. 
 But if she was forced to fight, she knew how, and 
 if the dog got away, he was a sadder and a wiser 
 pup. So Lucy grew, umnolested, with her 
 brother and sisters, and learned the needed les- 
 sons of life in the vocational school at first con- 
 ducted by her mother, and later by that sfiU more 
 ancient schoolmistress. Dame Nature. 
 
 The children were brought up, in fact, much 
 like domestic kittens, except they were taught to 
 avoid human beings, to keep out of sight of all 
 strange things, to hide from strange noises. But 
 even domestic kittens are thus brought up if their 
 mother has gone wild. They were taught to fight 
 in play, amid the dead leaves in front of the den, 
 and to bare their claws and strike quick and hard 
 when the mother cat pretended to resent their 
 attempts to play with her, and made lightning 
 
THE LIFE AISTD DEATH OP LUOT 111 
 
 dabs at them with her powerful paw. They were 
 taught to climb a tree, and to conceal themselves 
 amid the branches. They were taught, by watch- 
 ing their mother, how to lie out on a fallen log 
 across the deep bro^vn pool in the brook at the 
 foot of the slope, motionless as a statue, and make 
 a sudden plunge with one paw, claws out and 
 curled upward, as a trout came past, catching it 
 under the belly and tossing it to the bank. They 
 learned, too, how to creep up on partridges sitting 
 on their nests, or sleeping; how to crouch behind 
 a bush along the rabbit paths and wait patiently 
 till a cottontail came by, or even, in favorable 
 spots, how to lie out along a limb over the path 
 and drop on the rabbit from above. They learned 
 how to run through the forest, too, as well as 
 how to wait, always zigzagging, nose near the 
 ground, ready to pounce on any deer-mouse that 
 might be there. At night, as their mother went 
 hunting through the woods, she would every now 
 and then raise her head and emit the startling, 
 raspy, snarling yell — meow — yang-yang-yang — 
 which often caused some sleepy animal or bird to 
 start in fright and betray its hiding place. Lucy 
 
112 our THE EDGE OF THE WILDEENESS 
 
 and her brother and sisters practiced this yell, 
 rather feebly at first, but with growing confidence 
 and volume. All these things they learned first 
 from watching their mother, and then from prac- 
 tice, after their mother drove them with cuffs 
 from the maternal food supply and made them 
 hunt for themselves. 
 
 It was considerably after the self-sustaining 
 point had been I'eached that they saw their mother 
 do a strange thing. It was early morning, not 
 yet sun-up, and in the half light you couldn't see 
 far through the night mists which still enveloped 
 the mountain at the altitude of the den. The 
 kittens were all asleep, and so was the mother cat, 
 having just come in weary and also hungry, after 
 a long trip to the plain for food, a trip which was 
 unrewarded by anything satisfying to a healthy 
 appetite. The previous winter had been a hard 
 one, with deep snow and extreme cold. As a 
 result, the partridges and pheasants were few, the 
 rabbits had been largely killed off by great homed 
 owls and goshawks which descended from the 
 north, and now the picking for wildcat was pretty 
 poor. Indeed, the mother cat that night had 
 
THE LIFE AND DEATH OF LUCY 118 
 
 been so hungry that twice she had attempted to 
 raid a hen yard, being driven off by dogs both 
 times. Now she suddenly started up from her 
 first sleep, ears pricked up, white teeth just show- 
 ing, yellow-green eyes intense. Her action 
 roused the kittens, who also started up. On soft 
 feet the mother cat went to the entrance of the 
 den, the kittens following. 
 
 Something was coming down the precipice 
 above. It swished through the bushes like a 
 deer, and a second later they all caught the deer 
 smell, though, of course, by comparison *with a 
 dog or fox, their powers of smell were slight. 
 But it was evidently a small deer, from the sound 
 it made. Even at that, the kittens were surprised 
 to see their mother sneak one paw out, then an- 
 other paw out, till she glided almost like a snake 
 up over the top of the boulder above the den, and 
 from that to another, and so to another, till she 
 was crouched directly over the deer trail down 
 the mountain. She had never hunted a deer be- 
 fore, and the kittens knew it was because she 
 dreaded those terribly sharp hoofs, and the 
 sharper hoi-ns of the buck. 
 
114 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDEENESS 
 
 Scarcely had, she reached her post over the 
 trail than a fawn appeared, a bit more than half 
 grown, trotting and leaping down the dim game 
 trail, evidently seeking his mother. As he drew 
 near the old cat, his nose told him there was 
 danger, and he suddenly reared, and then swerved 
 toward the thicker bushes. But with a yowl the 
 cat sprang far out from the rock, and landed 
 squarely on his shoulder. The deer gave a 
 frightened bellow and began to rear and plunge 
 as he ran, endeavoring to batter the cat off liis 
 neck by diving sideways against trees. The cat, 
 however, with incredible speed and agility, shifted 
 from one side of his back to the other, keeping 
 her forepaws around his neck, claws simk in 
 deep, and tearing with her powerful, razor-like 
 teeth. The kittens saw her disappear down the 
 mountain on her wild ride, and as fast as they 
 could, they scampered after. 
 
 It was down in the chestnuts that they found 
 her. The fawn' had tripped and fallen, and that 
 gave her the chance to get in a death grab at a 
 vital artery. The little deer was breathing its 
 last. The mother cat snarled and cuffed her 
 
THE LIFE AND DEATH OF LUCY 115 
 
 hungry kittens away as they came eagerly up to 
 the meat, but presently she let them feed, too, and 
 all that day, their little stuffed bellies as round 
 as balloons, they slept in the sun at the mouth of 
 their den, their mother sleeping beside them. 
 Once or twice they woke up and purred. Life 
 is certainly worth while when you are filled up on 
 young, tender venison! 
 
 The kittens all grew rapidly, but Lucy fastest 
 of all. She was destined to be a big cat, with 
 dark fur, almost black, which thickened up as the 
 frosty autumn nights came on, till she was worth 
 to the hunter not only five dollars for the bounty, 
 but another ten for her skin. Having no means 
 of knowing this, however, Lucy was not vain. 
 But she shared with her brother and sisters a 
 memory of venison that made her, and them, rash 
 with the rashness of youth. Their mother had 
 departed now, they did not know where. They 
 had attempted to follow, but she had turned, with 
 a spit and a bristle of fur, and driven them back. 
 The truth is, probably, she was weary of maternal 
 cares for a time, and wanted to be rid of them, 
 now they were large enough to shift for them-^ 
 
116 ON THE EDGE OP THE "WILDEENBSS 
 
 selves. But they stayed on together in the old 
 den, knowmg no other home, and hunted the 
 mountain, sometimes scattered, sometimes in a 
 pack, and often going hungry for all their efforts. 
 Hence it was that Lucy and her brother, coming 
 upon a fawn one day apart from its mother, 
 sprang at it without hesitating. The brother 
 missed it, but Lucy succeeded in landing on its 
 •back. It dove madly into the scrub, with the 
 other cat at its heels, and almost before Lucy 
 knew what was happening she was knocked from 
 its shoulder by a terrific blow. Even as she 
 landed, she saw her brother rise in the air and go 
 spinning into the bushes as the mother doe caught 
 him with her hind heels. Two sore and sick cats 
 retired to the den and nursed their wounds for 
 several days, before they were fit for hunting 
 again. Experience is a hard teacher, but it had 
 taught them not to tackle a small deer unless sure 
 that it is quite alone. 
 
 It was in December, when air four of them 
 were hunting together, that they did come upon 
 a young doe, hardly more than a fawn, quite 
 alone. It was amid the pitch pines on the top of 
 
THE LIFE AND DEATH OP LUCY 117 
 
 the I'idge above the den. All that day the cats 
 had heard distant gunshots, both from the 
 swamps on the plain below, and even from the 
 mountainside, and had noticed that the deer were 
 breaking up the slope in unusual numbers. But 
 they didn't know it was the opening day of the 
 deer hunting season. They only knew the deer 
 were up on the mountain in great numbers by mid 
 afternoon. On discovering the little doe, they 
 tried their best to stalk it close enough to make 
 a sure spring, but the deer was too quick for 
 them, and bolted, over the ledge. The four cats 
 bounded in full pursuit. 
 
 DoAvn went the deer, over the precipitous 
 rocks, twenty feet at a jump, the cats, with Lucy 
 in the lead, only a jump or two behind. Below 
 the ledges came the belt of tumbled, fallen 
 boulders and rock fragments, and here the doe 
 had a harder time, as she had to work between the 
 rocks, while the cats could leap from top to top. 
 Lucy almost had her once. In fact, her claws 
 did draw blood from the deer's hind quarters as 
 she sprang from behind. But the deer just got 
 through, and broke into the dense laurel. Here 
 
118 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDEENESS 
 
 she could spring over, when the cats had to work 
 under, and she increased her lead. Once below 
 the laurel, into the more open woods, she rapidly 
 left the four pursuers behind. 
 
 Lucy was the last to give up the chase, but 
 finally she turned back, too, when the terrified 
 deer broke out of the woods into an open field 
 behind a house, and made her way back up the 
 mountain, busily looking for mouse tracks in the 
 light snow as she went. If one couldn't have a 
 deer, a mouse would do! Lucy was nothing if 
 not philosophical. 
 
 But, as it turned out, there was a greater 
 tragedy lurking in this exploit than the mere loss 
 of a venison supper. The craftiest hunter and 
 trapper in all that section of the country had been 
 hidden in a leaf blind beside a deer trail at the 
 base of the upper ledges, thinking that the deer 
 frightened by the' hunters in the swamps below 
 would be coming up this way. Two or three had 
 passed him, but he was waiting for a fat buck, and 
 didn't shoot. He had heard the racket, then the 
 little doe came plunging over the ledges, and had 
 seen her go by, just out of gunshot, with the four 
 
THE LIFE AND DEATH OF LUCY 119 
 
 cats in full pursuit. Then he had waited 
 patiently, and he had seen the four cats come 
 back, first one gray one, then a gray and a mottled 
 one, then Lucy herself, so dark and fine furred 
 that his finger itched on the trigger. None of 
 them, however, got near enough for a shot. They 
 were headed, of course, for their den, some dis- 
 tance off around a point. As sly as they, this 
 hunter watched them disappear, nor did he at- 
 tempt to follow. Instead, he went down the 
 mountain as darkness gathered, and got down his 
 rusty steel traps from their peg in the wood- 
 shed. 
 
 He didn't tell anybody what he had seen, for 
 two reasons. The first reason was that he didn't 
 want anybody else to get those cats; the second 
 reason was that he felt sure nobody would believe 
 him, it being an accepted fact that wildcats hunt 
 alone, not in packs, and never chase deer, anyhow. 
 But he had seen Avhat he had seen, just the same. 
 
 He didn't set his traps at once. Instead, he 
 waited till deer hunting Aveek was over, and then 
 he went fishing through the ice. When he had 
 accumulated several pickerel, he journeyed up 
 
120 ON THE EDGE OP THE WILDEENESS 
 
 the mountain with his traps, picked up the cat 
 tracks in the snow, and close to their ranging 
 trails he set his fish-baited steel jaws. Then he 
 went down the mountain again, his pale blue eyes 
 seeing far through the winter woods and taking 
 in details that would quite escape your attention 
 or mine, or reading records on the snow — the 
 book he knew best. 
 
 Now, Lucy and her brother and sisters loved 
 fish above all other food, just as a domestic cat 
 does. Their noses might not be keen on a scent, 
 as a dog's nose is, but they could certainly smell 
 fish a long way off. Waking from her doze that 
 afternoon, Lucy sniffed the frosty air and emitted 
 a sharp, excited meow. The other three cats 
 awoke, too, and they also sniffed and grew ex- 
 cited. Out of the den all four of them wentj and 
 headed straight for the odor. Of course, if it 
 had been Big Reddy, the fox who lived down near 
 the plains below, who had smelled some unex- 
 pected delicacy in the neighborhood, he wouldn't 
 have made directly for it at all. He would have 
 trotted in a big circle all around the smell, looking 
 for the joker. He would have come, at some 
 
THE LIFE AND DEATH OF LXJOY 121 
 
 point ill the circle, upon the tracks of the man 
 who took the bait in, and that would instantly 
 have intensified his suspicion. He would prob- 
 ably have followed down these tracks, and at 
 some bush or other the trapper's carelessness 
 would have allowed the bait to touch a twig and 
 the fox would have connected the bait smell with 
 the man track. That would have made him even 
 more suspicious, and if, ultimately, he found the 
 bait at the end of the man track, no matter how 
 hungry he might be, the chances are Big Reddy 
 would turn away. Hence the adjective " foxy." 
 But Lucy and her tribe had no such keenness of 
 nose, nor keenness of reasoning powers. Fish 
 meant food — that was the extent of their logic — 
 which is aU right so far as it goes. With a snarl 
 and a cuff, Lucy drove away her brother and 
 poimced at one fish. The other sisters each 
 sprang for the fish they spotted. 
 
 An instant later there was a terrific yowling 
 and screaming and thrashing of bodies. 
 
 Lucy, because of her incredible speed of action, 
 had twitched up her paw as she felt it descend on 
 something cold and metallic, and the jaws of the 
 
122 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 trap had got her by one toe only. With a snarl 
 and a lunge, she tore herself free, and diving into 
 the thick bushes, snarling with pain and anger, 
 began indignantly to lick the bleeding stub of 
 her amputated toe and claw. The brother, cuffed 
 away at first, now reaped the reward of meekness, 
 and ate the fish in safety. But the other two cats, 
 each caught fast in a trap, were howling and 
 plunging, trying to wrench themselves free by 
 main strength. The log drags, to which the traps 
 were fastened, were pulled about, till they caught 
 in the bushes and held fast. The snow Was 
 churned up. The lonely forest resounded to 
 their cries. But all their efforts availed them 
 nothing. Their heartless brother sneaked around 
 and ate their fish, too. 
 
 The next morning Lucy, nursing her wounded 
 paw in the den, heai'd two gunshots not far away, 
 and pushed deeper into the shadows, snarling at 
 her brother. There were no sounds from the 
 trapped sisters after that. But presently there 
 was the smell of fish again. The brother, re- 
 membering only his feast of yesjerday, sallied 
 forth. But Lucy was, like Peter's wife's mother. 
 
THE LIFE AND DEATH OF LUCY 123 
 
 sick of a fever, and lay still, licking her paw. 
 Presently she heard her brother screaming, but 
 still she did not budge. She slept fitfully that 
 day, his cries now and again awaking her, and at 
 nightfall felt a little better, and very hungry, for 
 it had been two days now since she had tasted 
 food. The fish smell was still in the air. She 
 went forth, her foot bleeding again as the crusty 
 snow cut it, and ate first the fish at her brother's 
 trap. Then she sniffed. There was more some- 
 where about. But Lucy was capable of learn- 
 ing by experience. She approached it warily. 
 The thing which had hurt her before had been on 
 the ground almost under the fish. The fish was 
 placed at the base of a rock. Lucy climbed up ■ 
 on the rock, lay flat on her belly, and cautiously 
 lowered her well paw down, down, tUl one claw 
 caught in the fish, and she could hook it up. 
 Seizing it in her mouth, she went back to the den 
 with it hastily, and ate it there at her leisure. 
 Then she slept. 
 
 She was waked by a single shot, and of course 
 became instantly alert. This time her senses told 
 her, presently, that danger was approaching, and 
 
124 ON THE EDGE OP THE "WILDEENESS 
 
 gliding out of the den in the dim morning light, 
 for the sun was not yet up, she sneaked like a 
 ghost over the snow, and between the rocks, up 
 the precipices above. After a time, crouched in 
 a thicket on the topmost ledge, she peered back 
 and saw one of the feared and hated race of men 
 standing alert near the mouth of the den, and 
 then coming on as if to follow up her trail. She 
 turned once more and headed through the brush 
 toward the summit of the mountain. She found 
 a warm spot on the south side of a rock, and slept 
 all day in the sun, letting her paw heal, and when 
 night came she hunted, but in vain. The next 
 day instinct led her back to the old den. 
 
 As she came once more to the top of the ridge, 
 the fish smell greeted her. This time the fish 
 was close to the den, and at the base of a straight 
 faced rock too high to reach down from above to 
 the fish. But Lucy had other resources. She 
 climbed a smallish hemlock, crept cautiously out 
 on a lower branch till it sagged far down with 
 her weight, and again sneaked up the fish on her 
 claw. She nearly fell into the trap, to be sure, 
 but managed to land on her feet at a safe dis- 
 
THE LIFE AND DEATH OP LUCY 125 
 
 tance. Then she took her meal back up the 
 ledge, having no desire to be wakened by a gun 
 barrel poked into the den. 
 
 Now, our trapper friend, having already three 
 cats to show by way of proof, had told his story 
 at last (and collected his bounty) , and he didn't 
 hesitate to add as new embellishment the tale of 
 the fourth cat, Lucy, who could steal bait out of 
 a trap, and was minus a toe on her off front paw, 
 thanks to her first lesson. Naturally, since traps 
 seemed of no avail, somebody suggested a hunt. 
 That was how it happened that as Lucy was re- 
 turning one morning from pheasant hunting 
 down in the young pine thickets at the base of the 
 mountain, taking the stone wall for a path, as it 
 was easier going, she heard suddenly the deep, 
 purposeful baying of two hounds on her trail. 
 
 Well, if the dogs were after her, they would 
 have considerable of a jaunt! Lucy's idea of 
 getting away from a dog was simply to run and 
 run till she had gone so far the dog gave up in 
 despair. So now she headed straight up the 
 mountain, on over the ledges, through the scrub 
 above, over the bare, wind-swept summit cone. 
 
126 ON THE EDGE OP THE WILDERNESS 
 
 down the other side, across the sunny fields of the 
 table-land hamlet which lies up there behind the 
 dome of the big mountain, and, avoiding the few 
 scattered farms, into the dense woods on the far- 
 ther side. These, however, were no ordinary 
 dogs, she began to realize. They weren't mere 
 stray hvmters; they were trained, hard-working 
 hounds. Ever they came baying steadUy on her 
 trail, not getting dangerously close yet, but cer- 
 tainly not dropping behind. Lucy rested. She 
 was weary, and her paw hurt her, for it wasn't 
 yet completely healed, nor the sickness all gone 
 from her. Her rest let the dogs up too close for 
 comfort. She plunged quickly down the cliffs 
 ahead of her, where they drop into New York 
 State, the dogs now in full cry behind, for one of 
 them had caught sight of her. 
 
 Lucy was going it blind now — she was in a 
 spot where she had never been before. Leaping 
 along in a deep gorge beside a brook, the dogs 
 almost at her heels, she suddenly found herself 
 at the jumping-off place. The brook simply slid 
 over a lip of rock and plunged straight down 
 sixty feet! There was no turning back, for the 
 
THE LIFE AND DEATH OF LUCY 127 
 
 only way back was up the gorge. Lucy didn't 
 want to fight two dogs. She saw a tree, one of 
 three or four pine trees down here beside the 
 brook, growing close to the face of the cliff abovje 
 her, and rising fifty feet without a limb. Just 
 as the first dog was ahnost on her, she sprang for 
 this tree, and went up the trunk just as you've 
 seen your cat go up a tree when the neighbor's 
 dog came into the yard. 
 
 This was exactly what the hounds expected. 
 Having treed their quarry, they began to bark 
 excited signals to the hunters who were coming 
 on behind (a long way behind, by now)', and {o 
 jump around the base of the trunk. 
 
 But Lucy kept on up into the branches. Once 
 in their protection, she looked about her. Higher 
 up a branch leaned out and almost touched the 
 cliff face. Lucy went up to it, out along it, and 
 measured the distance to the little ledge she saw 
 on the cliff face. Then she sprang. The dogs, 
 seventy-five feet below, didn't see her spring, nor 
 hear her soft, padded paws land on the ledge. 
 From this ledge a slanting crevice of the rock, 
 or small chimney as a momitaineer would caU itj 
 
128 Oif THE EDGE OF THE WILDEENESS 
 
 led up another thirty feet to the top of the preci- 
 pice. Lucy got mto this crevice, and with the 
 help of the frozen moss and mould lodged in it, 
 worked her way to the top. There she crouched 
 a moment, looking over the rim with her yellow- 
 green eyes at the dogs below, and then slipped 
 quietly and easily into the forest. 
 
 When the hunters came, they found the dogs 
 still baying the tree. But there was no wildcat 
 in the branches. After a while, they worked 
 around to the top of the cliff, and found out how 
 she escaped. But it was too late to put the dogs 
 on the trail again. They were a dozen miles 
 from home, with a mountain between. 
 
 After that, Lucy was a famous character. 
 
 Being a famous character has its penalties, 
 especially when you've one toe missing and no- 
 body can mistake your tracks. It was that miss- 
 ing toe which betrayed to Solon Littleton the fact 
 that it was Lucy who came, into his chicken yard 
 and killed two of his pet Rhode Island Reds. 
 That was in February, after two weeks of tremen- 
 dous cold and heavy snow. Lucy was desper- 
 ately hungry. Solon had a dog, too, but the dog 
 
THE LIFE AND DEATH OP LTJCT 129 
 
 was sleeping inside. As soon in the morning as 
 the theft was discovered, however, Solon put the 
 dog on the tracks, and told him to go to it. 
 Teddy was a big hound dog, that had probably 
 started out in life to be a fox hound, but had 
 changed its mind too late for a really successful 
 outcome, and tried to be a pointer — or a bulldog 
 (the matter was always in dispute between Solon 
 and his neighboi's). The hound started off on 
 the tracks, but Solon delayed following till his 
 wife had given him his coffee and doughnuts (the 
 latter broken by Solon meditatively, and the 
 pieces dipped into the former, before eating) . 
 
 Meanwhile Lucy was not a great way off — 
 perhaps half a mile down in the swamp pines, 
 finishing up her own breakfast and raising a 
 mighty purr of thanksgiving therefor. The bay- 
 ing of one hound didn't greatly disturb her, and 
 she let him get rather near before she started up. 
 But she had reckoned without due consideration 
 of the depth of the snow and the superior length 
 of this dog's legs. She got across the road aU 
 right, on her way to the mountain cliffs (her in- 
 stinctive refuge) , but before she could make the 
 
130 ON THE EaDGE OP THE WILDERNESS 
 
 woods above the high pasture she realized that the 
 dog would be up to her. There was no available 
 tree — only a big, cleft boulder, overhung with a 
 wild grape-vine. It was a case of having to fight, 
 and she dove under the grape-vine, into the cleft 
 of the rock, where she turned at bay and waited 
 her pursuer. 
 
 The dog came crashing and baying in under 
 the vine, and instantly Lucy was on liis back. 
 There was hardly room in that restricted cleft for 
 him to turn around, though Lucy could double 
 herself in it without trouble. She had him at 
 this initial disadvantage, and she had, beside, the 
 great advantage of her o^vn superior speed of 
 attack in combat. Her game was to keep on top 
 of him, clawing at his eyes and throat, and biting 
 at his head, while he tried franticaUj' to get her 
 down, to throw her for a bite at her throat-. He 
 couldn't do it, and it was already a badly used up 
 dog that was fighting for his life now in behind 
 the grape-vine when Solon, guided by the yowls 
 and spits and bays of the combat, came plvmging 
 up the pasture through tlie snow, calling frantic- 
 ally to the dog to come out. 
 
THE LIFE AND DEATH OP LUCY 131 
 
 When he drew near, Solon hesitated about 
 drawing nearer. The sounds issuing from the 
 cleft were not reassuring, even to a man with a 
 gun, and Solon Avas not a hunter, anyhow. But 
 he did love his Rhode Island Reds, and he did 
 rather care for his dog, and he did relish five 
 dollars, which was the bounty on cats. So finally 
 he approached close to the opening, and peered 
 in, gun thrust forward, cocked. But he couldn't 
 tell which was dog and which was wildcat — or 
 not for long enough to fire. Again he yelled at 
 his dog. The dog tried to back out, but the grape- 
 vine caught him. The cat was following him up, 
 striking at his face, but protected from the gun 
 by his body. It was only at that instant that 
 Lucy really became aware of Solon, and sud- 
 denly she seemed to rise right through the grape- 
 vine, coming straight at Solon's head. He 
 emitted a yell that would have done credit to 
 Lucy herself, and jumped to one side. At the 
 same instant the gun went off. The flame singed 
 Lucy's coat, but did her no other harm. She 
 missed Solon by about the same margin as he 
 missed her, landed on the snow, whirled like a 
 
132 ON THE EDGE OF THE 'WILDEENESS 
 
 flash of light, and was off up the hill. The poor 
 dog ti'ied to follow — ^he was game, whatever his 
 breed — ^but it wasn't in him any more. Pres- 
 ently he rejoined his master at the bottom of the 
 pasture, and the two of them went limply 
 home. 
 
 Solon, naturally, never told a soul but his wife 
 about this incident. Yet, as such things happen, 
 it; mysteriously became known. Lucy's fame 
 rose another notch — ^and Solon set up the hard 
 cider. 
 
 About that time Lucy moved. She wished to 
 bring up her kittens in a less dangerous spot, 
 where the sins of the parent Avouldn't be visited 
 upon them, and where, also, their father wouldn't 
 be fussing around. So she trotted in the night 
 far across the river into the hills to the east, where 
 there was no big mountain such as she had left, 
 but miles of scrubby woods and rocks and small 
 cliffs full of dens, and only a few scattered farms 
 and small, upland hamlets, ruins of what a 
 hundred years ago had been prosperous vil- 
 lages. 
 
 Here Lucy spent a happy and contented sum-> 
 
LUCY CUFFED THE KITTENS BACKOUTOFSIGHTANDSNEAKEDOUTOFTHEDEN 
 
THE LIFE AND DEATH OP LUCY 133 
 
 mer, and reared a fine family. Only once was 
 she disturbed. That was when Bill Snyder, the 
 game warden, and his wife came up to camp on 
 Loon Pond, not far from her den. The game 
 warden was rather given to snooping around, and 
 one evening he and Mrs. Snyder walked up an 
 old logging road which led perilously close to 
 Lucy's abode. Lucy cuffed the kittens back out 
 of sight, and sneaked out of the den. Whoever, 
 whatever, it was passing, she proposed to be ready 
 for it. Seeing Bill and Mrs. Snyder on the old 
 road, she crept softly along in the bushes just 
 behind them, making no sound, alert, watchful. 
 Once they paused, spoke, and Bill turned as if to 
 come toward her. At that she snarled, and Mrs. 
 Snyder, in the dusking woods, caught the twin 
 gleams of her yellow-green eyes. 
 
 Then Mrs. Snyder screamed. Both humans 
 began to walk toward the open, at a considerably 
 accelerated pace. Lucy sneaked along, just be- 
 hind, and in the bushes. Again, looking over her 
 shoulder, Mrs. Snyder caught the glint of Lucy's 
 eyes. Lucy had to trot after that. 
 
 At the edge of the field she stopped and 
 
134 ON THE EDGE OP THE WILDBENESS 
 
 watched to make sure that the humans were 
 really going away. Then she returned to her 
 kittens. 
 
 (Bill told somebody later that he wanted to 
 investigate, but his wife was afraid.) 
 
 The himting was so good that summer that 
 Lucy had no occasion to risk a chicken raid, or to 
 try again the dubious experiment of tackling a 
 fawn. There were plenty of rabbits, grouse, 
 mice, and other small things, and after she left 
 her kittens and the winter colds came on, Lucy 
 was stout and sleek, with a fine, thick coat. But 
 with the accumulation of the snow, the burrowing 
 in of the woodchucks, and, more or less, of the 
 mice, the departure of many of the birds, and the 
 keen competition with the craftier foxes for the 
 game that remained, Lucy found the pickings 
 scanty again, and began to move about. She 
 grew bold once more, and twice raided chicken 
 yards, leaving her telltale track in the snow. 
 Traps began to 'be set for her once again, and 
 hunts were organized; but she managed to escape 
 the traps, and she outran the dogs, and the end 
 of the winter found her ready to rear a second 
 
THE LIFE AUD DEATH OF LUCY 135 
 
 family in a big, hollow fallen hemlock up a steep 
 ravine in the back hill country, not far from a 
 tumbledown farm or two. 
 
 No one suspected Lucy's presence there, least 
 of all old man Parmalee, Avho left most of the 
 farming to his son, but still went out for the cows 
 every night, to the pasture which led up the slope 
 and met the ravine woods where Lucy had placed 
 her den. It was a chilly May evening, later than 
 his usual time, when old man Parmalee, waking 
 from a doze, realized that he hadn't been for the 
 cows, doubtless because his son and daughter-in- 
 law hadn't got back from the village to remind 
 him of his duties. He got up hastily, looked for 
 a raincoat, couldn't find one, and seized a rag rug 
 from the floor, wrapping it around his aged 
 shoulders and hurrving forth. 
 
 To his surprise, the cows were not at the bars. 
 No telling what that old Jersey will do, he 
 thought, Avhen you wait too long — probably led 
 the rest up the hill. Well, he'd get a scolding 
 sure if he didn't go fetch 'em down. So he 
 plodded up the slope, the rain dripping from the 
 rug on his shoulders ; and, finding hoof prints by 
 
136 ON THE EDGE OP THE WILDBENESS 
 
 the ravine, into Avhich the water had not yet 
 settled, knew the cows had just gone up there. 
 He trudged on, into the dimness of the wet woods, 
 calling, " Coo-boss, coo-boss," over and over. 
 
 He had gone, it seemed to him, a long way, and 
 was nearing the old fallen hemlock which he re- 
 membered from other years, when he heard a 
 sudden snarl which froze his blood, — then he saw 
 the green flash of two eyes, and made out a dim 
 form stalking toward him. Old man Parmalee's 
 legs grew miraculously twenty years younger. 
 He turned and fled, down the ravine, tripping on 
 rootsy catching at trees with his hands to steady 
 himself, forgetting entirely his rug, which flew 
 off behind, forgetting the cows, forgetting every- 
 thing but home. 
 
 He panted down the pasture, not daring to 
 look behind, and almost fell into the dooryard, 
 where his son and daughter-in-law were just 
 getting out of the buggy. 
 
 "What the " 
 
 " Father, what's the " 
 
 " Wildcat — chased me — ^up the ravine — came 
 right at me " the old man panted. 
 
THE LIFE AND DEATH OF LUCY 137 
 
 His son roared with unseemly mirth, but the 
 woman, with a look of alarm, felt of the old man's 
 wet back, and led him into the house. 
 
 " You'll feel better soon," she said. 
 
 Then she glanced at the floor; 
 
 " Why, Where's the red and blue rug? " 
 
 " Tarnation — I wore it — couldn't find my old 
 coat — must 'a' dropped it when the cat chased 
 me — Martha made that rug, too. Tarnation, my 
 old army pants was the blue in it." 
 
 " Where's the cows? " said young Parmalee, 
 brusquely. 
 
 The old man gestured feebly. His legs had 
 grown old again now, and were trembling. 
 
 " Up the ravine," he said. " You'll hev to go 
 get 'em. / won't. The cat's by that old fell- 
 down hemlock. If you see my rug, bring it 
 back." 
 
 " Hang your old rug," said his son, crossly, 
 stamping out. 
 
 Fifteen minutes later he also returned, pant- 
 ing. 
 
 "Dj'er git my rug?" the old man asked. 
 " Dj'er git all the cows — the old Jersey, too? " 
 
138 ON THE EDGE OP THE WILDEENESS 
 
 Young Parmalee gasped for breath. " I 
 never see such a big eat!" he finally ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 " Believe me now, do yer? " the old man 
 cackled. " But why didn't yer pick up my rug ? " 
 He spoke plaintively, but there was the hint of a 
 twmkle in his watery blue eyes. 
 
 At ten o'clock the cows came back to the bars 
 and woke the family up. It was after eleven 
 before they were milked, and young Parmalee 
 back in bed again. He retired with anything but 
 kindly feelings toward Lucy. 
 
 The cows were not turned out the next morn- 
 ing, but early the second morning Lucy, return- 
 ing to the den, heard suspicious sounds in the 
 pasture, drawing nearer. She roused the kittens, 
 drove them out of their warm, dead-leaf and 
 wood-mould bed in the log, and began leading 
 them rapidly up the rocks. But the dogs be- 
 hind moved more rapidly. They picked up the 
 fresh scent at the den, and suddenly their deep, 
 rather mournful, slow baying (not the quick, ex- 
 cited baying they use on a fox track) told her 
 they were on her heels. At the top of the hill 
 
THE LIFE AND DEATH OP LUCY 139 
 
 they were almost on her. She cuffed the three 
 kittens under a rock, and turned to fight. Alone, 
 she could have escaped, no doubt. At any rate, 
 she had more than once in the past. But now she 
 had her kittens to defend. There were two dogs, 
 one a bit ahead of the other. As he drew near, 
 she sprang, landing on his back, and had gouged 
 his eye and torn both ears before the other hound 
 closed in. Even the two of them, however, had 
 all they could manage, and a bit more. Lucy was 
 alive at both ends, and contrived to fight with her 
 powerful hind legs into the face of one dog, while 
 she rode the other. Clutch after frantic clutch 
 by the hounds were rewarded only with mouth- 
 fuls of fur, and a tearing scratch in the face. 
 The three of them rolled and fought and barked 
 and screamed and snarled and spit down the 
 rocks, till the heads and shoulders of two men ap- 
 peared, coming from below, and a sudden shot 
 rang out, and Lucy rose convulsively and fell 
 limp between the dogs, which the men grabbed by 
 the collars and pulled away. 
 
 The owner of the dogs examined her, rolling 
 her over with his foot. 
 
140 ON THE EDGE OP THE WILDERNESS 
 
 " By gum, it's Lucy! " he exclaimed. " Wellj^ 
 she lived up to her reputation to the end." 
 
 The battered dogs were sniffing up the trail 
 again now, and barking at the crevice where the 
 kittens had crept in. The men pulled them off, 
 some way to one side, and waited. Presently the 
 kittens came creeping out. They were pretty 
 little things, and meowed plaintively for their 
 mother. 
 
 " There's fifteen dollars more," said the hunter 
 to young Parmalee. " You take the light one, 
 I'll take the dark. We'll let the dogs ixm the 
 third." 
 
 They fired, and two kittens fell. The third, 
 with a frightened meow, scampered up the rocks 
 and made for a tree. 
 
 " Go to it," said the hunter to his dogs. 
 
 " Hold on! " exclaimed Parmalee. " Call 'em 
 back." 
 
 The man called, getting them to return with 
 difficulty. "What's the big idea? " he demanded. 
 " Five bucks is five bucks, ain't it? " 
 
 " I'm satisfied, that's all," Parmalee retorted. 
 " The old cat chased father and me the other 
 
THE LIFE AND DEATH OF LUCY 141 
 
 night, and fought two dogs this morning, all for 
 those kittens. Let one of 'em live, I say." 
 
 The other man shrugged his shoulders. " It's 
 your land," he said. " But they're bad animals, 
 and five dollars is " 
 
 " The skin'U be worth more next winter, when 
 the cat's growed," Parmalee soothed him. 
 " Better take your pups home now and patch 
 'em up." 
 
 Parmalee picked up the two dead kittens, 
 stroking their warm fur with his hand. The 
 hunter slung Lucy over his shoulder. 
 
 " Twenty-eight pounds, if she's an ounce," he 
 said. 
 
 The dogs, with their bleeding muzzles, sniffed 
 at her limply dangling tail as they all descended 
 the pasture. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 GENERAL JIM 
 
 T IM cracked his shell in a nest up in the tip of 
 •^ an old pine tree in the big swamp, and his 
 ■ first glimpse of the world was a vision of tree 
 tops and blue sky. A baby bird, when you come 
 to think of it, has considerable the better of a 
 woodchuck, let us say, in the matter of environ- 
 mental influences. That may be why bu-ds are 
 more attractive. But Jim, and his brother Jim 
 and his sister Jim (why are crows always named 
 Jim?) did not enjoy their Peter Pan-nish abode 
 very long. The reason was that young Tom 
 Harris knew a man who said he'd like a pet crow, 
 and Tom assumed that, of course, he'd like three 
 pet crows three times as much, so when Tom saw 
 the nest in the swamp and heard the three babies 
 crying up aloft for their dinner, as only baby 
 crows can cry, he scurried home for a bag and a 
 
 long string, returned clad in overalls (Tom was 
 
 142 
 
GENERAL JIM 143 
 
 minSfuI of an mireasona'ble maternal objection to 
 pitch on the pants) , and climbed the tree. This 
 was a matter of no small labor, and after he had 
 secured the three baby birds it was no less a job 
 to lower the bag Avithout injury, through the 
 branches to the ground. He got them safely 
 down, however, and carried them in triumph to 
 the man who, in a careless moment, had expressed 
 a desire for a pet crow. 
 
 He was a big man, with a big laugh, a big gar- 
 den, a big dog, a big small son, and a big heart. 
 The only thing little about him was his house, 
 and that was a delightful old farmhouse between 
 countrj'^ road and garden, with the woods beyond. 
 He had quite forgotten that he wanted a crow, 
 but when he saAv the contents of Tom's bag, he 
 remembered that he wanted three. So that was 
 how Jim and Jim and Jim found themselves, 
 after their distressing adventure, in a new home 
 at the bottom of a barrel, with a netting over the 
 top, so neither cat nor dog could molest them. 
 Tom and the big man's big small son Avere out in 
 the garden digging up worms and grubs to stop 
 their clamor. 
 
144 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDEENESS 
 
 Nothing, however, can stop the clamor of a 
 hungry little crow. You dangle a nice fat grub 
 in front of him, and he opens a yawning cavity 
 of mouth and says, in a raucous, strident, im- 
 patient tone, " Caw ! " Then you drop the grub in 
 his mouth, and he keeps right on cawing, but swal- 
 lowing at the same time, so that it sounds some- 
 thing like this — " Caw-w-obble, obble, obble." 
 As soon as the grub is down, his mouth opens 
 again and he crossly insists on more. 
 
 But the big man was wise. He knew that if 
 you give a baby crow all it wants to eat, it will 
 gorge itself into an untimely grave. So Jim and 
 Jim and Jim were taught to leave the table hun- 
 gry, as it were, and they throve on this involun- 
 tary self-denial. Soon a perch had to be put in 
 Half-way up the barrel, and before very long they 
 were all three up on the rim, and then do^vn on 
 the groxmd, and the big man's son expected to 
 see them fly away. 
 
 But they didn't fly away, not even after they 
 had taught themselves to take the air. The big 
 man's wife sometimes wished, perhaps, that they 
 would, but they didn't. Sometimes they sailed 
 
GENEEAL JIM 145 
 
 out over tHe fields and woods, but they always 
 came back, especially when wild crows drew near 
 them. Instead of going to their kind, they 
 seemed to be in fear of them. But on the place 
 they were in no fear of anything, least of all of 
 Don, the big collie dog. Jim, our hero, was 
 Don's chief tormentor. His favorite sport was 
 to wait until Don was fast asleep, and then he 
 would pick up a shining, smooth pebble (it wasn't 
 always smooth, either!) in his beak, walk care- 
 fully up to the dog's head, lift the flap of his ear, 
 and drop the pebble inside. Don would at once 
 wake up with an impatient grunt, shake the 
 pebble out, and go lie down somewhere else. As 
 soon as he Avas asleep again, Jim would repeat 
 the operation, until finally the poor dog would 
 be driven to take refuge in the house. 
 
 Jim had other forms of sport, however. He 
 discovered, for instance, that by flying down sud- 
 denly, with loud caws, upon the back of one of 
 the sheep in the pasture, and fixing his claws in 
 the sheep's wool, he could send the startled animal 
 cavorting over the landscape. In this way Jim 
 enjoyed many a free ride, and appeared to take 
 
146 ON THE EDGE OP THE WILDEENESS 
 
 much the same pleasure in it that a cowboy takes 
 in riding a bucking broncho. Still another trick 
 was to wake up the family at five A. M. This he 
 did by flying to the big man's chamber window 
 ledge (the window was always open) and cawing 
 at the top of his lungs, till somebody tossed him 
 out a scrap of food. It wasn't exactly a pleasant 
 trick, and Jim never knew how close he came 
 sometimes to having his neck wrung! 
 
 In the matter of food, he and his brother and 
 sister were peculiarly fortunate. Not only did 
 they get table scraps, bits of meat (which they 
 dearly loved), and all the crumbs from Don's 
 dish, but the big man had a garden in which he 
 hoed, and when they saw him enter this garden 
 they flew with joyful noise, if not with song, after 
 him, and followed his hoe or cultivator up the 
 rows, pouncing greedily on every white grub his 
 implement turned up. He used to call them his 
 best helpers at such times, as indeed they were. 
 They certainly ought to have become fat and 
 healthy crows. Nevertheless, it is to be feared 
 that they were somewhat afflicted with what the 
 soldiers so euphoniously call cooties. One day 
 
GENEEAL JIM 147 
 
 the big man saw Jim, and later Jim and Jim 
 also, squatting contentedly down in a big ant hill, 
 not taking a dust bath, like a hen, but just squat- 
 ting. He couldn't conceive why they should 
 choose such a place to squat in, until he chanced 
 to read that the poilus in France spread their 
 shirts on ant hills when no decootieizing machine 
 was handy. That raised his already high esti- 
 mate of Jim's inijelligence. 
 
 But whether from parasites or some deeper 
 cause, Jim's brother and sister never could seem 
 to I'etain their flight feathers, and while they 
 could skim about a few feet above the ground, 
 only Jim became and remained a full fledged 
 aeronaut. But it did not appear greatly to in- 
 terfere with their happiness, and every night they 
 hopped up the rungs of a ladder which ended un- 
 der the overhang of the house eaves, and took 
 their places to roost beside Jim, who flew there. 
 This practice continued for some time. One day, 
 however, as the two crippled birds were half 
 hopping, half skimming, around the yard, Jim, 
 from a tree near by, emitted a loud, startling caw. 
 As if they understood him perfectly (as they 
 
148 ON THE EDGE OP THE WILDERNESS 
 
 doubtlessly did) , Jiin and Jim scurried for cover 
 under the grape-vines. At the same instant, out 
 of the shadow of the woods swept a marsh hawk, 
 hovered a second, and dove for the hurrying pair. 
 
 But he didn't get to them. Quick as he, Jim 
 dove, too. He dove straight at the hawk, from 
 above, and landed a vicious peck on his head. 
 The hawk banked quickly, and swung around and 
 up to meet his attacker, but Jim kept above him, 
 and landed another jab. The hawk saw that his 
 prey were under cover now, and lost. Pretend- 
 ing, with much dignity, to ignore Jim's existence, 
 he flew rapidly away, the smaller bird, with loud 
 caws, following him for three hundred yards or 
 more. Then Jim resumed his vigil in the tree top. 
 It was some hours later that he cawed again, and 
 once more the shadow swooped, and once more 
 Jim dove to the rescue. 
 
 That night, for the first time, Jim did not sleep 
 on the top rung of the ladder, under the eaves, 
 with his brother and sister. He perched on the 
 ridgepole of the house, where he could command 
 the whole horizon! 
 
 The big man pointed this out to his son. 
 
GENEEAL JIM 149 
 
 " If every man," he said, " was as brave and 
 watchful to defend his weaker brothers, this 
 would be a better world." 
 
 " Jim's a good old Scout," said the big man's 
 son. 
 
 Now you can call Jim's action instinct, or what 
 you like. All I know is that Jim never roosted 
 agaiQ on the ladder, but always on the ridgepole. 
 It looks to me like a remarkably quick learning 
 of a lesson, coupled with a natural disposition to 
 protect his kind. I should say it showed Jim to 
 be both intelligent and social. 
 
 When autumn came, and Jim was a fine, strong 
 bird, with glossy black feathers that reflected the 
 sun when he banked for a turn, the big man and 
 his family decided to close the little farmhouse 
 and go to the far-away city for the winter. They 
 couldn't take Jim with them, nor his poor brother 
 and sister, either. 
 
 " It wiU be all right to leave Jim," the big man 
 said. " He can look after himself. But Jim 
 and Jim can't. It would be cruel to abandon 
 them." 
 
 So he caught the two crows Avith the imperfect 
 
150 ON THE EDGE OP THE WILDERNEaS 
 
 flight feathers, and Jim never saw them again. 
 He flew around the garden cawing for them, but 
 they did not appear. The next day, when he 
 woke up and flew to the bedroom window, he 
 found the window closed. He pecked at the 
 glass, and made a loud noise, but nothing hap- 
 pened. Don was gone, too. No scraps were 
 put out for him at breakfast time. Wondering 
 and disconsolate, he flew around the deserted gar- 
 den, and fed himself that day by watching the 
 corn shocks standing in the field, and pouncing on 
 the mice which ran in and out under them. That 
 night he was bitterly cold upon the ridgepole, and 
 without Jim and Jim to protect he saw no reason 
 why he should remain on it. So he sought the 
 ladder under the eaves — but that was gone! He 
 flew over to a pine tree, and got ixi among the 
 branches. There was no wind there, nor could 
 any hawk see him from above while he slept. 
 Toward morning he heard a noise overhead, a 
 noise of many wings in steady beat, arid now and 
 then a caw. A great flock of crows were going 
 south. Something stirred in him, some instinct 
 to rise high into the air and join them. But he 
 
GENERAL JIM 151 
 
 did not go. This was home to him here, and, be- 
 sides, he did not know what would happen to him 
 among all those strangers. So he remained in 
 his pine tree, while the flock streamed south. 
 
 Jim Avaited and waited about the deserted 
 house, but still there Avas no scrap of breakfast by 
 the door, no sign of the people and the dog he 
 knew, no brother and sister for company. At 
 last a snow came, and he was positively hungry. 
 The mice burrowed under the snow, and it was 
 hard to detect them. The stray kernels of corn 
 around the fields and the barn were all covered. 
 So were the oats. Jim made a higher flight than 
 was his Avont, and gazed over the surrounding 
 country for signs of help. Far off, over a snowy 
 meadow, he saw the black forms of three crows, 
 and forgetting his fear in his hunger, he flew di- 
 rectly toward them. 
 
 They were circling and settling over the snowy 
 fields Avhen he drew near, and all three began to 
 caw when they saw Jim coming. Their voices 
 did not seem unfriendly. Jim recognized one of 
 them as a crow Avhich had lived that summer close 
 to his yard. In fact, they seemed to be trying 
 
152 OS THE EDGE OP THE WILDERNESS 
 
 to tell him of food in the field. He came closer^ 
 with increased confidence, till he could see that 
 they were getting food from the black, exposed 
 earth on the sides of a swift brook which cut 
 through the grass, a dark, winding thread on the 
 snow-white sheet of the meadow. Jim circled 
 close now, three or four times, cawing a tenta- 
 tive answer to the greetings of the three strangers. 
 Then he flew into a tree and watched the pro- 
 ceedings a few moments more, before actually 
 venturing to join the tiny flock. At last he made 
 up his mind, swung out on the air with a loud 
 caw, and dropped to the side of the brook, ex- 
 tracting a mussel from the ooze, for that was what 
 the others were doing. 
 
 After he had only partially satisfied his hvm- 
 ger, the other three crows flew away, flinging 
 back a half invitation to join them as they went. 
 Jim was tempted, but he couldn't quite make up 
 his mind to go. Instead, he fished some more, 
 and then he went back to his familiar pine tree 
 for the night. For several days thereafter Jim 
 joined these three crows every day, traveling with 
 them about the country looking for food, and 
 
GENEEAL JIM 153 
 
 learning from them many ways of getting it. 
 Tliey taught him, for instance, to fly low over a 
 field where the snow was light, looking for signs 
 of oat stalks, and when they were seen, to scratch 
 close to them for dropped grain. They taught 
 him the food value of many seeds, and how to 
 peck around the cracks and bark scales of old 
 trees (especially apple trees) and rotten stumps 
 for grubs and larvae. Jim, whose food had al- 
 ways come easy, was green at first, but he was a 
 ready pupil, and could soon shift with the best, 
 and seldom went hungry. 
 
 At last, however, there came a great storm, 
 Avith a terrible wind and bitter cold. Poor Jim 
 almost froze to death, huddled in the' deepest, 
 most protected part of his pine, because he could 
 not venture out for food in such a blizzard, nor 
 find any if he did venture out, and without a lot 
 of food a bird, which is an intensely hot-blooded 
 creature, soon perishes. His little engine has to 
 be stoked regularly and energetically to keep up 
 steam. It was not till late the following day that 
 Jim could get out any distance in his search, and 
 by then his vitality was so low that he could just 
 
164 OS THE EDGE OP THE WILDEBNESS 
 
 make headway against the wind. He rose high, 
 and looked about, over a world in which half the 
 landmarks were obliterated. Some way off, be- 
 tween the almost bm-ied lines of stone walls which 
 boxmded the road, he saw a wood sled jogging 
 along, falling into a walk now and then as the 
 horses tugged it over a packed drift. On this 
 sled were a man and several bags. Jim almost 
 blew down toward it, like a bit of black paper on 
 the gale, and his keen eyes now detected some- 
 thing dropping behind. Down lower he dropped, 
 and with a caw of joy fell upon the graijis of 
 " mixed feed " which were oozing out from a bag 
 on the back of the sledge, unknown to the driver. 
 Every time the sledge had tipped backward as the 
 horses pulled it up on to a packed drift, a little 
 stream of cracked corn and other delicacies had 
 poured out and still lay on the hard snow. Jim 
 fell upon 1;he first he spotted, and ate ravenously. 
 He began to warm up. His blood flowed 
 again. His wings felt stronger. As soon as his 
 hunger was satisfied, he rose into the air, and be- 
 gan to circle, cawing loudly against the chill, 
 lemon-gold sunset. He was calling to his three 
 
GBNEEAL JIM 155 
 
 friends. He knew they must be hungry, too. 
 Here was food enough for a hundred crows. He 
 must find them, and let them know! At last he 
 was rewarded by an answering caw, and one of 
 the three appeared above the pines on the slope 
 of the mountain. Jim swung rapidly toward 
 him, down wind, and soon he was leading all three 
 toward the precious trail of gi'ain on the road. 
 While the three ate, Jim, too, consumed a little 
 more, walking back along the trail of feed, which 
 evidently extended clear to the village. 
 
 But his work was not yet done. Flying to a 
 roadside tree, the oldest crow peremptorily sum- 
 moned the rest. This storm had created a dan- 
 gerous crisis for all the crows who had elected to 
 winter in those parts, instead of going south. 
 Tribal safety demanded that as many as possible 
 be notified of the salvation offered by the grain. 
 Jim was to go north, he himself would go south, 
 another east, another west. Each was to bring 
 back all the crows he could muster as soon as it 
 was daylight. So Jim's social consciousness was 
 thus enlarged from the neighborhood to the tribe. 
 No sleep in his warm tree for him that night! 
 
156 ON THE EDGE OP THE WILDEENESS 
 
 He flew by the stars, over strange fields, cawing 
 his tidings as he went, and making long detours 
 to each side to cover all the area possible, and 
 when the east reddened, he headed back, again 
 swinging to left and right, cawing loudly, till he 
 had gathered in more than a himdred and fifty 
 crows behind him, coming by ones and twos and 
 threes from many places. They reached the 
 snowy road where the grain lay to find other 
 crows there by the scores, then by the hundred, 
 till the road for three miles, or all the way from 
 the farmer's door back to the outskirts of the 
 village, was a wide ribbon of white with a jet 
 black band running down the centre, a band com- 
 posed of famished and feeding crows. By ten 
 o'clock there was no grain left. But by ten 
 o'clock the sun was up, the storm wind had 
 abated, the snow began to melt a bit on south- 
 ward facing rocks, and the crows were saved. 
 
 After that, Jim did not go back to his pine to 
 sleep alone. He was completely adopted into 
 the band of three crows whose acquaintance he 
 had first made, and became one of them. His 
 period of loneliness was over. 
 
GENERAL JIM 157 
 
 The coming of his first spring was a great event 
 in Jim's life. First of all, of course, it meant 
 more food for less trouble. But it meant, too, 
 the return of other birds — friendly crows, hostile 
 hawks, and the hosts of song birds which were 
 neither friend nor foe, but which would presently 
 lay eggs and hatch broods that could be robbed 
 for juicy meat. Night after night, from his roost 
 in the tall pine up on the mountainside, Jim 
 would wake and hear overhead the noises of 
 northward moving birds — the honk of geese far 
 aloft, the wing rustle, sometimes, of crows flying 
 low, the division leaders cawing commands, the 
 cheeps and twitters of the lesser folk of the air. 
 Going across the meadows long before the leaves 
 were out, he heard one morning the merry, sweet 
 note of the redwings. Later he saw the bobo- 
 links over the fields, and heard them gurgling 
 their lovely song while on the wing. Farmers 
 appeared with plows and from his aery pathways 
 he could look all aroimd and pick out the squares 
 of brown loam, where the plow had been, each 
 square a potential feeding ground, full of white 
 grubs turned up by the plowshare. 
 
168 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 The hawks came early. One morning in mid 
 March Jim looked aloft, at a shrill cry which 
 floated down, and saw sailing there on almost 
 motionless wings a great red-tailed hawk. He 
 didn't mind this fellow much, though, knowing it 
 was unlikely to molest him. But the sharp 
 sliinned hawk which arrived that day and pro- 
 ceeded at once to course low over the mountain 
 woods, swooping down to investigate the nest two 
 of Jim's friends had used the season before, and 
 which they intended rebuilding for the coming 
 summer, was a different customer. The old crow 
 cawed a summons, and the four of them went for 
 this hawk on the rush. He didn't care to fight 
 four of them, and they drove him away, chasing 
 him for a full mile, while farmers in the fields 
 looked up to see what the excitement was about. 
 
 But the most wonderful part of that first 
 spring for Jim was the arrival in the neighbor- 
 hood of several strange crows, one of them a fe- 
 male of his own age, in whom he took a sudden 
 profound interest, and before whom he began to 
 show off at every possible occasion. For her he 
 preened his glossy feathers till they shone, he 
 
GENBEAL JIM 159 
 
 did stunts in the air, he tried his best to sing (and 
 perhaps she thought it was lovely, though no- 
 body on the ground did!) ; he sat on a tree lunb 
 beside her, too, or as near as she would let him, 
 and courted her ardently. Jim was in love ! He 
 was gloriously and persistently in love. And his 
 persistence won. The object of his adoration at 
 last consented to be his bride, and look over trees 
 with him, with a view to building. 
 
 They chose a fork high up in a tall pine on the 
 mountain, building the rough nest of sticks and 
 leaves, and feeding at about that time on corn. 
 Jim and his bride and Jim's three friends, and 
 perhaps half a dozen other crows, all of whom 
 were nesting that season up in the pines on the 
 mountain, usually hunted com together, in the 
 early morning hours, when nobody but a farmer 
 or a Broadway rounder who hasn't gone to bed, is 
 up. The corn was best to eat, as well as easiest 
 to find, just after it had sprouted. The tiny 
 green shoots above the brown earth exactly lo- 
 cated the grain, and made it easy to pull up with- 
 out any digging. Then, too, the shoot having 
 burst the shell, and the earth having softened it. 
 
160 ON THE EDGE OP THE WILDERNESS 
 
 the whole grain was far tenderer and easier to eat. 
 But one had to use care. In the first place, 
 farmers didn't like to have their corn pulled up, 
 and had an annoying trick of sneaking up with a 
 gun and shooting you. In the second place, they 
 had an almost equally annoying trick of cover- 
 ing the corn with a vile smelling and tasting black 
 substance (called tar, or creosote), which quite 
 spoiled the food, sometimes, in an entire field. 
 One couldn't tell at all from the sprout whether 
 the corn was tarred or not. One had to go to all 
 the trouble of pulling it up first. 
 
 When Jim and his friends went corn hunting, 
 and found a promising field, one of the number 
 wa? always stationed in a tree where he could 
 command a clear view of the approaches, to give 
 warning of any danger. Then the others went 
 to work, ready instantly to rise and fly away if 
 the watcher uttered his warning caw. (If you 
 listen to crows carefully enough, you yourself can 
 learn their language sufficiently, at least, to dif- 
 ferentiate between a caw of warning, say, a caw 
 which means attiack, and a playful caw. There 
 are men who know many more crow words than 
 
GENERAL JIM 161 
 
 these few simple ones, and can even imitate some 
 of them.) Jim hunself was rather reckless at 
 first, paying little attention to the bits of white 
 cloth or shiny tin pans or stuffed dummies set up 
 over cornfields. But one day what he thought 
 was a dummy, it stood so still, opened fire on him 
 with a gun, actually shooting off two of his tail 
 feathers, and after that he grew as cautious as the 
 wisest. But he never got over his temper when 
 he pulled up tarred corn, and always, when that 
 happened, he pulled up at least a dozen shoots 
 more, just for spite. At least, that is what the 
 farmers thought, though it may have been that 
 he also had a hope he might finally get a kernel 
 which wasn't tarred. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Jim were extremely proud of 
 their family of four, when it finally appeared, 
 though it wasn't much to look at (except to the 
 eye of faith) for several days — ^merely yawning 
 cavities of mouths opening into fuzzy, ugly, black 
 bodies, without form and, if one could judge by 
 their actions at the approach of food, most cer- 
 tainly void. It was a still prouder moment for 
 Mr. and Mrs. Jim when they at last got the 
 
162 ON THE EDGE OP THE WILDERNESS 
 
 babies, grown nearly to parental proportions, out 
 of the nest, out of the pme tree, and down the 
 slope into the open, where the entire family 
 emerged one summer morning at five o'clock, the 
 parents in the lead, the babies half walkingj, half 
 flying on behind and making such a cawing and 
 squawking as would have done credit to fifty im- 
 patient automobiles trying to toot a Georgia 
 cracker out of the middle of the road. It was no 
 small job to feed this growing family, and Jim 
 and his wife had to start in early. At that, they 
 had the better of the farmer in whose garden they 
 sought for grubs, for he had to buy shoes for Ms 
 children, and you know what that means these 
 days! 
 
 The babies grew with extraordinary rapidity, 
 however, and before long could forage for them- 
 selves. There were many other children in the 
 colony up in the pines, and many were the early 
 morning games of tag and prisoner's base the 
 flock played in the pasture at the foot of the 
 woods, the old folks joining in. At least, that 
 is what they looked like, though the crows no 
 doubt had other names for them. Games they 
 
GENERAL JIM 163 
 
 were, at any rate. Food was plentiful ; now that 
 the com season was over nobody shot at them; 
 and the whole flock throve and were happy. 
 
 But one night a great and terrible enemy came. 
 He certainly had no business there on the Berk- 
 shire mountainside in smnmer, though in winter 
 he was not uncommon. But in summer he should 
 have been far to the north. Perhaps the hunting 
 in the north had grown poor, and he had moved 
 south early. At any rate, here he was — a great 
 horned owl, more than two feet tall, with talons 
 of terrible power and a carnivorous appetite that 
 would not balk even at a skunk. Jim and the 
 others in the flock were wakened toward morn- 
 ing by a loud cry for help cut off into silence in 
 the middle, and then by the ominous flutter of 
 great wings down in the trees. Jim himself 
 fairly leaped up into the air, over the woods, and 
 peered down into their shadowy depths, trying to 
 make out the direction in which the marauder 
 was flying. He got a glimpse or two, and his 
 ears told him still more, and a moment later he 
 and the other crows were in pursuit, now over, 
 now in the trees. The owl made for the deepest 
 
164 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDEBNESS 
 
 and largest forest on the mountain, a stand of 
 virgin hemlocks in a steep, wUd ravine, and mitil 
 daylight came the crows were almost helpless, 
 though they kept up a loud rumpus overhead, 
 and dashed down as near as they dared. Jim, 
 however, and two or three more of the leaders, 
 wasted no time here. Like the messengers in the 
 poem, they rode forth, to east and west and south 
 and north, to summon their array. The dawn 
 was just reddening the east, and the stars grow- 
 ing faint, as Jim sped northward, flying hard and 
 low, not seventy-five feet over the tree tops, and 
 cawing as he went. Two miles beyond he woke 
 a little flock of crows in some pines in a swamp, 
 and glancing back saw them headed for the moun- 
 tain. He did not pause, however. On and on 
 he sped, swinging now five miles to the east, then 
 five miles to the west, then back into his course, 
 and always seeing out of the corner of his eye 
 some band of crows leaving for the spot whence 
 he had come. The sun was full up before he 
 turned at last, feeling that he had roused minute 
 men enough, and himself returned to the moun- 
 tain, now but a blue-green dome on the southern 
 
6ENEEAL JIM 165 
 
 horizon. Meanwhile, a farmer's boy, getting up 
 very early to milk the cows, had seen a strange 
 sight. He had heard an excited cawing over- 
 head, and looking up had seen one crow flying 
 north. Before long (he was milking the cows 
 in a comer of the night pasture), he saw half a 
 dozen crows headed south, flying hard and low. 
 Then more came over, and more, and more. In 
 groups of two, or ten, or even twenty, they came, 
 always flying hard and low, headed south, and to 
 his ears, very faintly, for the mountain was three 
 miles away, came from somewhere up its sides 
 now a ceaseless noise as of a thousand hoarse 
 throats shouting. 
 
 The minute men were arriving. The battle 
 was on! 
 
 When Jim got back to the scene of action he 
 could see from afar sudden explosions of crows 
 up from the tree tops, as if black fragments of a 
 great blast were being ejected into the air. This 
 guided him directly to the spot, even if there had 
 been no uproar. From one to two thousand 
 crows were in the hemlocks, and flattened against 
 a trunk, protected from above by an overhanging 
 
166 ON THE EDGE OF THE WniDEKOSS 
 
 limb, or now and again trying to beat its way to 
 another tree, but still holding the dead crow it 
 had captured in its talons, the great owl, half 
 blinded now by the daylight and the incessant 
 swarm of live crows that attacked it, was 
 plainly visible — and plainly uncomfortable. 
 Neither one crow nor all the crows together 
 dared risk open combat. But they aU beat in 
 waves around it, made dashes for its head, its 
 back, drove it again and again to cover, and 
 again and again worked it out of cover by at- 
 tacks from above till it had to fly, giving them 
 fresh opportimity to strike at its head from the 
 air. All the morning the battle raged, the moun- 
 tain echoed to the hoarse roar of the myriad caw- 
 ings, till at last the battered owl managed to find 
 an old tree that was hollow, and get inside,! where 
 he could easily defend the opening. Still him- 
 dreds of crows remained on the scene, and it was 
 not till darkness again fell that he could make his 
 escape. The next morning the farmer's boy 
 heard only the usual friendly and cheerful and 
 familiar caws of the crows that lived about his 
 farm, and the distant forest was quiet. The owl 
 
i:MM 
 
 THE GREAT OWL WAS PLAINLY VISIBLE -AND PLAINLY UNCOMFORTABLE 
 
GENEEAL JIM 167 
 
 had gone. With it had gone the hosts of the 
 minute men, dispersed back to their homes. Jim 
 led his family down to the fields in security once 
 more, but he puffed his feathers a bit, and made 
 his morning caws a bit more energetic and strid- 
 ent than usual. He felt he'd done a pretty good 
 job, and acted as a real leader should. He was 
 rather inclined to think he ought to be listened to 
 respectfully by the other crows after this ! 
 
 When autumn came a slight difference of opin- 
 ion developed in the domestic circle. Mrs. Jim, 
 who had spent the first (and only) winter of her 
 life south, was all for migrating. Jim, who knew 
 no other home than this Berkshire mountainside 
 and the valley below, and who loved it, was strong 
 for staying right there, in spite of his memories of 
 the great blizzard. But you know how such dis- 
 putes are usually settled. They went south. 
 They rose into the air one chill November day, 
 followed by several of the other crows of their 
 neighborhood, and joined a flight going by over- 
 head. 
 
 That evening Jim saw the ocean for the first 
 time — at least, he saw Long Island Sound, and 
 
168 OH TECE EDGE OP THE WILDERNESS 
 
 across Long Island was the open sea itself. Thejr 
 got good food for a week or more on the grain 
 fields of Long Island, and then cut across the 
 open sea itself on a short flight to Xew Jersey, 
 and worked on down, getting tasty sea food along 
 the bay shares, till they scattered over the fertile 
 fields of Virginia, ro^ning a little restlessly and 
 chiefly intent on food. It was early in ^lardi 
 that Jim felt the call of the north again too strong 
 io resist, and gathering a small band, set out for 
 the return jpumey, keeping step as he moved 
 with the plou^ed fields. The band, picking up 
 olher flocks on Long Island, crossed the Sound 
 one fine day late in ]March, warmed by the south 
 wind and finding the air "bumpy," as the aviators 
 say, so that they rose hi^ over the water to get 
 into easier going, and headed toward the lulls. 
 
 But up in the hills they found the fields were 
 not yet plowed at all, and they met, too, a coun- 
 ter, chiU wind from the north. Jim was disput- 
 ing the leadership with two or three old timers, 
 but there was no dispute now about what to do. 
 They all descended into a thick woods, to have 
 shelter from the coming storm they seised, and 
 
GENERAL JIM 169 
 
 to find food arovmd the rotted logs and stumps, 
 and under the forest mould. 
 
 The storm came that ni^t. It was the most 
 unseasonable storm the oldest crow, or the oldest 
 man, could remember. The north wind rose to 
 ninety miles an hour. The snow and sleet cut 
 like a knife. The cold was almost as intense as 
 in winter. Great trees crashed down in the for- 
 ests. The frozen sleet and snow covered all f oo3 
 as in a case of steeL All the nest day the storm 
 raged, and no birds could ride it even to search 
 for foodL On the second morning, the wind 
 abated, the snow ceased, and Jim and his com- 
 rades, venturing out. hunted for food along the 
 edges of streams, and anywhere else they could 
 think of. They saw scores of song sparrows and 
 robins dead on the ground, and they themselves 
 were weak, nor could they find much to eat, so 
 coated was everytiiing with sleet and snow. 
 
 Then Jim thou^t of a certain rocky pasture 
 slope and quarry side, in his old home land, which 
 lay entirely on a southern hillside, protected by 
 pine woods from the north wind. Even in mid- 
 winter the snow lay light here, and there were 
 
170 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 hundreds of low bushes which bore a nourishing 
 seed that clung till the following season before 
 dropping. He had often fed there. He rose 
 now, spiraling high, till he got his bearings, and 
 then called to the flock. The food call was 
 enough; nobody could dispute a leadership which 
 took them to food in a crisis. The flock rose, 
 rather feebly, and followed, gathering in others 
 as they went. For three long hours they flew, 
 their nmnbers constantly augmented, till it was a 
 black band of a thousand birds which dropped 
 down behind Jim into the pasture, and blackened 
 the thin coating of snow on the ground, as they 
 fed their fill. 
 
 That night they aU roosted in the pines, and 
 for another day they fed on this slope, while the 
 snow melted a little. The second night they fol- 
 lowed Jim over to the mountain where his nest 
 had been, and roosted in the forest there. The 
 following day, having stripped the pasture, they 
 fished the banks of Jim's brook, explored the 
 trees and stumps in the wood, investigated at the 
 bottoms of all the old apple trees in the valley 
 orchards, and cleaned up the food supply. To- 
 
GENEEAL JIM 171 
 
 ward six o'clock Jim rose high once more, over 
 the pines on the mountain, calling — the call now 
 of the acknowledged leader. Not far to the 
 northeast — perhaps twenty miles — ^was a forest 
 he had once visited, with just such a pasture as 
 this one here lying under its protection. By the 
 time they had cleaned that the snow would surely 
 be melted again, for already the wind was veering 
 into the south and in the west the clouds were 
 breaking. 
 
 Jim took his bearings, cawed once more a few 
 sharp, short commands, and flying low, at an alti- 
 tude of a'bout three hundred feet, with steady 
 wing beat, he headed in an airline for his destina- 
 tion. Mrs. Jim flew just behind him, almost al 
 his side. By twos and threes and tens and scores, 
 spread out in irregular formation, but making as 
 a whole a perfectly straight though somewhat 
 broken black ribbon across the sky, the great flock 
 of crows rose from their perches in the forest, from 
 the stream banks, the pastures, and followed him. 
 The same farmer's boy was out in the fields as Jim 
 went overhead. He saw the long line coming on 
 behind, and he saw that Jim had disappeared into 
 
172 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 the northeastern twilight while the crows were 
 still coming from the southwest. Being of an 
 inquiring mind, he pulled his dollar watch out of 
 his pocket, and timed the procession. The last 
 two stragglers passed over his head a full fifteen 
 minutes after the leader had vanished. 
 
 " Gk)sh! " he said aloud, " I'm glad all them 
 crows ain't goin' to stay here ! Wouldn't have no 
 corn at all!" 
 
 Then he watched the tail of the procession 
 vanish into the gray northeast, and his eyes grew 
 big. He wondered how it felt to be up there in 
 the free air, winging at such speed far over the 
 earth. He thought the crows were like a vast 
 fleet of aeroplanes, going forth to bomb some dis- 
 tant city, and the first crow, the leader, who had 
 gone cawing over him, fifteen minutes before, was 
 the general in command, giving his orders and 
 flying in advance, as a general should. 
 
 " Gosh ! " he reflected, " it must be great to be 
 a general ! " 
 
 That was just what Jim thought, too, as his 
 wings beat steadily and his eyes reached out into 
 the gathering twilight, looking for the haven 
 where his thousand followers could feed. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE MATING OF BROWNIE 
 
 TT wasn't far from the home where Brownie 
 was born that land is sometimes worth $5,000 
 an acre, and men and women of the world of 
 " fashion " build Italian villas and French Re- 
 naissance chateaux amid the Yankee maples and 
 pines and chestnuts of the Berkshire Hills. Yet 
 Brownie's home was quite as comfortable as any 
 of these, though architecturally it might be de- 
 scribed, perhaps, as pre-neolithic, with pro- 
 nounced aquatic influences. It was designed and 
 built by Brownie's father and mother. The 
 front door was under water, which effectively 
 discouraged tramps, beggars, soap and sewing- 
 machine peddlers, book agents and even loan 
 drive canvassers and strange dogs. The front 
 hall, as a consequence, was a trifle damp, but once 
 
 up-stairs into the parlor, sleeping-room, dining- 
 
 173 
 
174 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDEENESS 
 
 room and nursery combined, the house was found 
 to be snug and cosy, with sanded floors (as well 
 aS sanded walls and ceiling) . In short, it was a 
 roomy and well made otter den, in a bank of a 
 clear, rather deep brook which flowed through 
 sandy flats, overhimg with alders and wiUows, 
 with wild cucumber and clematis, on its way to 
 the near-by Housatonic. 
 
 Nobody knew the den was there — ^nobody, that 
 is, on the groimd above, though the muskrats 
 which passed up and down the brook were aware 
 of it, and hurried by, and the fishes, perhaps, 
 knew it, though they are silly things sometimes 
 and don't always pay attention to such matters. 
 Brownie's father and mother were comparative 
 strangers in these parts themselves, having spent ^ 
 the previous winter under the ice in Goose Pond, 
 twenty miles away, and only came here with the 
 breaking up of the ice, to rear their family on a 
 waterway which gave them ready and safe access 
 both to the river and to a large, well-stocked pond 
 which the brook drained. In the fields and woods 
 above, hunters pursued foxes, boys chased wood- 
 chucks, the deer, the grouse, the pheasants, the 
 
THE MATING OF BEOWNIE 175 
 
 rabbits, lived in danger. Traps were even set 
 along this very brook for muskrat. But few 
 were the hunters who suspected that otters were 
 about, and fewer still the hunters or trappers who 
 knew how to capture them. Brownie and his 
 brother and sister arrived in a home that was hid- 
 den beneath the ground, with two strong, ener- 
 getic parents to look after them, beside a brook 
 that led to fishing grounds so well stocked that 
 the lengthening shadow of the high cost of living 
 cast no gloom across the domestic hearth. There 
 was no reason at all why they should not have 
 been chubby, contented, good-natured youngsters. 
 
 As a matter of fact, they were. 
 
 It wasn't long before their parents decided the 
 time had come to teach them to swim. If there 
 is one thing an otter can do better than anything 
 else (or anyone else, for that matter), it is to 
 swim. He can swim down a pickerel, for ex- 
 ample, which would imdoubtedly land him the 
 captaincy of the swimming team if he went to 
 college. If he was a lady otter, he nlight get a 
 better job in the movies than Annette Keller- 
 mann, for he swims as gracefully as she, which 
 
176 ON THE EDGE OP THE WILDEENESS 
 
 leaves little more to be said. Yet, in spite of this 
 fact, a baby otter, unlike a duckling, is mortally 
 afraid of his first plunge. When the horn* struck 
 for their lesson, Brownie and his brother and sis- 
 ter had to be urged firmly, if not gently, down- 
 stairs into the moist front hall, whence they were 
 propelled out into the brook. The first thing 
 they did on reachmg the brook was to make a mad 
 scramble for their parents' shoulders, and finding 
 their parents brutally unresponsive, they splashed 
 to shore as best they could, climbed up the bank, 
 and squatted there, very wet and astonished and 
 miserable. 
 
 This would never do. Pa and Ma Otter came 
 up after them, grabbed one apiece and mutually 
 cuffed the third, till all three babies once more 
 went splashing into the dread element below. 
 This seems like a rough way to be taught to swim, 
 and is not practiced at our best summer resorts. 
 But it worked. By the time the cubs were the 
 size, say, of rabbits, they were fully qualified for 
 the metropolitan championship, and they were 
 more at home in the water than out of it. They 
 swam and played till they were tired, and then 
 
THE MATING OF BEOWNIE 177 
 
 there was always mother's back, or father's back, 
 to climb upon for a rest, while the amiable parent 
 did the swimming. 
 
 No ddubt when you were a boy you " went in " 
 at the old swimming hole, and you like to think 
 about it now, recalling those happy days and be- 
 lieving that nobody ever had such a good time. 
 But Brownie and his brother and sister had just 
 as good a time, if not a better one. They had 
 just as good a time in the water and on the bank. 
 They could go in before breakfast, if they liked. 
 They could stay in as long as they pleased. They 
 didn't have any shirts to take off, nor stockings to 
 pull on over wet, sandy feet (usually causing a 
 rent or a dropped stitch and later parental 
 wrath) . They could dive without getting water 
 in their noses, and stay under indefinitely without 
 getting ringing in the ears and suffocation. They 
 could see under water without making their eyes 
 smart, too, and if they got hungry they could 
 chase and catch a fish. 
 
 A modified form of water polo was one of their 
 favorite pastimes, which frequently was con- 
 verted into football on top of the bank. They; 
 
178 ON THE EDGE OP THE WILDEENESS 
 
 played this with a stick, and would have reminded 
 you strongly of frisky dogs, if you had been lucky 
 enough to have seen them. Brownie not only 
 loved to dive up under a floating stick, seize it in 
 his powerful little teeth, and swim with it to his 
 brother or sister or mother, for them to grab the 
 other end, but he would play with the stick when 
 he was all alone, letting the current carry it away 
 from him and darting on it again, swimming on 
 his back and tossing it up in his paws, shaking 
 and worrying it in his mouth, and so on. Up on 
 the bank, the cubs played still more like little 
 dogs — dogs with long bodies and almost invisible 
 short legs, and pointed tails very big at the base. 
 They tugged and wrestled with a stick, bracing 
 and pulling and falling over. 
 
 But they had other pastimes, too. Toboggan- 
 ing and diving combined was one of them. An 
 otter is exceedingly well built for tobogganing. 
 He has a long neck which he can raise up for the 
 curl of the toboggan. He has a long, smooth- 
 furred body (no fur is better than an otter's, ex- 
 cept a seal's — and the seal is his cousin) , with legs 
 so short that he can get theirs easily out of the 
 
THE MATING OF BEOWNIB 179 
 
 way. Finally, he has a heavy flat tail, large at 
 the base, to act as a rudder. Altogether, he 
 doesn't need a toboggan made of ash boards; his 
 own tummy does very nicely. So Brownie and 
 his playmates found. Hunting out a spot where 
 the stream had cut into the deep, alluvial loam of 
 the meadows, making a high, steep bank, they 
 simply went head foremost over the top, giving 
 themselves a helping shove with their hind feet, 
 and slid, splash! into the water. Then out they 
 scrambled, and did it all over again. After an 
 hour of this sport, they would wear a regular 
 little toboggan slide into the bank, about sixteen 
 or eighteen inches wide, and smooth as glass 
 where their wet bodies had converted the bottom 
 into mud. Nor were Pa and Ma Otter in the 
 least averse to shooting this chute, either. In 
 fact, they often joined in the sport with all the 
 zest of the village deacon on a spree at Coney 
 Island, their dignity quite forgotten. 
 
 But their caution was not forgotten. Let 
 someone be heard approaching through the fields, 
 or a dog barking near by, and Pa Otter would go 
 down the slide with a bark of warning, followed 
 
180 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDEENESS 
 
 by Ma and the children, and if any dog did get to 
 the spot, if only a second later, he looked down 
 upon a calm and silent swimming pool, with only 
 a ripple or two to break the surface. 
 
 " Get under water, and be quick about it! " — 
 that was a lesson Brownie soon learned, at any 
 sign of danger. Once under water, he feared 
 nothing. 
 
 There were, to be sure, some things in the water 
 he didn't particularly like, chief among them the 
 big German carp which inhabited the polluted 
 waters of the Housatonic River. It is to be 
 feared that neither Brownie nor his parents read 
 the New York Tribune, so they didn't hate the 
 Gei*man carp because they were told to. Their 
 objection was based strictly on dietary grounds. 
 The carp were tough and strong. Brownie much 
 preferred just what you would prefer — trout, 
 pickerel, bass, perch, eels. Now and then, to get 
 into streams where these real fish were to be 
 found. Brownie and his family had to swim up or 
 down the Housatonic, and here they encountered 
 the carp, as well as the sewage from certain of the 
 Berkshire towns which so proudly boast their 
 
THE MATING OF BEOWNIE 181 
 
 cleanliness and beauty. How Brownie hated 
 that filthy water! The carp alone lived and 
 throve in it, and he would pick out and chase 
 down a big one just out of spite, to vent his ill 
 feelings toward pollution in general. But, un- 
 less he was very hungry, he would not eat so much 
 as a mouthful of his kill. 
 
 It was rather up in the pond above the den that 
 Brownie best enjoyed fishing. Here were lUy 
 pads and pickerel weed and arrowhead growing 
 out from the shore, and here the long, lean pick- 
 erel hovered and darted like wraiths imder the 
 water — like wraiths to you or me in a canoe 
 above, looking down into a dim half -world as 
 through brown glass, but real enough to Brownie 
 as he, too, swam below the surface. He would 
 swim down the darting fish, heading it off from 
 deep water again and again, driving it steadily in 
 shore, till presently there was no way for the pick- 
 erel to turn without giving Brownie a chance to 
 close in on him. Then, with the fish in his mouth, 
 the otter would raise his keen, bright, intelligent 
 eyes and his flat muzzle and his comical whiskers, 
 slowly above the water and the weeds, to look 
 
182 OS THE EDGE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 about. Slowly his long, glossy brown neck would 
 follow, as he raised his head still higher. Satis- 
 fied that no danger was near, he would sink back, 
 swim on the surface, or even wade, perhaps, to 
 shore, and sitting on the bank, sink his sharp 
 teeth into the firm, tender meat of his prey. 
 After all, you and I cannot call him cruel, not, at 
 least, with good grace. We, too, eat pickerel, 
 and we catch them not in a fair chase, speed pitted 
 against speed, but by deceit and a barbed hook. 
 Besides, we could live on vegetables and bread 
 and butter if we had to, but Brownie couldn't. 
 It was fish or starve, for hun. We — that is, Man 
 — talk a great deal about the cruelty of Nature, 
 and how one animal preys on another, as if they 
 lived in a different world from ourselves, calmly 
 ignoring the fact that we too are a part of Na- 
 ture, an animal part, and perhaps the most cruel 
 of all. 
 
 There came presently a great day in the life of 
 Brownie and his brother and sister. Pa and Ma 
 Otter announced a trip to distant parts! The 
 children, when you come to think of it, had seen 
 very little of the world, especially the world above 
 
THE MATING OP BROWNIE 183 
 
 the river banks. They had been up and down 
 tlie river a few miles, and up and down tributary 
 brooks, hito small lakes and ponds, but except 
 when thej'^ played on the top of the banks and saw 
 from that height distant hills and woods and blue 
 things called mountains, they knew the worid 
 chiefly as two banks rising ovei* their heads on 
 either side of the water, banks clothed with mild 
 water pepper plants, trailing balsam apples, 
 bright jewel weed, blue vervain like little cande- 
 labra, drooping willows, brilliant cardinal flowers. 
 It was a pretty world, to be sure — ^no gardens are 
 fairer than those of the river bank. Yet the chil- 
 dren hankered, as young folks will, for adventure, 
 for new sights and sounds, and great was their 
 excitement when the expedition started. Its real 
 object, one suspects, was a better food supply, for 
 five otters can pretty well fish a stream in a sum- 
 mer, but that didn't lessen the fun any for 
 Brownie and his brother and sister. 
 
 Pa Otter led the way, and they swam up their 
 brook two miles into the lake, and then a mile to 
 the upper end of the lake, and then two miles 
 more up a smaller brook, which emptied into it, 
 
184 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDEENESS 
 
 until at length the brook grew so shallow and 
 came tumbling down such a steep place, over 
 rocks and over great hemlock roots, that they 
 could swim no more, but had to wade and climb. 
 This was aU new to Brownie and the other chil- 
 dren, who had never been beyond the lake. The 
 cold, clear, sweet mountain water was new to 
 them, and the great, cool, deep forest overhead, 
 through which Pa Otter was leading the way so 
 cautiously, ever alert and watchful now, for the 
 deep pools were few and far between in which 
 they could find sure refuge from danger. At last 
 the pools grew so shallow that it seemed as if the 
 brook were in danger of disappearing, and Pa 
 ordered a halt till night, before they hazarded the 
 land crossing. The family scattered to himt 
 trout in the shadows under the hemlock roots, 
 where the cold water lay still and brown. 
 Brownie found splashing around in one of these 
 pools after a trout rare sport, though the fish was 
 hardly a mouthful when you got him. 
 
 At twilight the march was resumed. The 
 brook did, presently, disappear altogether, seem- 
 ing to shrink into mossy springs in the mountain- 
 
THE MATING OP BEOWNIE 185 
 
 side, and for the first time in his life Brownie 
 found himself traveling over unknown dry land, 
 with no water at all near by into which to plunge 
 for safety. Overhead was the great, dim mys- 
 tery of the forest. All around, in the trees, in 
 the laurels, on the forest floor, whispered the Un- 
 known. BroAvnie was afraid. He pulled him- 
 self up and forward on his short legs as fast as he 
 could, keeping close to his mother. But Pa Otter 
 seemed to know Avhat he was about, following a 
 trail so dim that to you or me, probably, even in 
 full daylight, it would have been invisible. This 
 trail wound up the mountainside avoiding all 
 stumps and rocks by going mider or around them, 
 taking always the easiest way, for an otter does 
 not relish the labor of pulling his long, heavy 
 body over any more obstructions than he has to. 
 Once over the divide, the trail went rapidly down, 
 and at every possible point Pa and Ma and all the 
 children tobogganed on their bellies. 
 
 Pa stopped presently with a warning signal. 
 He scented danger. Quickly Ma drove the chil- 
 dren ahead of her, so that she brought up the end 
 of the procession and they proceeded again with 
 
186 ON THE EDGE OP THE "WILDEENESS 
 
 redoubled caution. Yet the scent of danger, if 
 no sound of it, went with them — the pungent 
 scent of fox. Big Reddy, wandering that night 
 over the slopes, was trotting on padded paws on 
 their trail, now behind, now beside them, wonder- 
 ing how he could cut out one of the yoimg otters 
 without risking a tussle with the parents, whose 
 teeth he greatly respected. At last, he thought 
 he saw his chance, and made a spring for 
 Brownie's sister. But it was no rabbit he was at- 
 tacking, even in size. The young otter, with sur- 
 prising agility for an animal apparently so ill 
 adapted for land operations, reared and met his 
 spring with bared, angry teeth, so that he did not 
 catch her back after all. Like light. Pa and Ma 
 Otter closed in on him, and Big Beddy, who was 
 looking for a supper, not a fight, disappeared into 
 the blackness of the forest. 
 
 It all happened so quickly that Brownie hardly 
 knew what had occurred. He only knew he was 
 trembling, and that his sister was bleeding about 
 the face — ^he smelled the warm blood — and that 
 he wanted to get to water and plunge in where it 
 was safe. Pa Otter hurried faster now, and the 
 
THE MATING OF BEOWNIE 187 
 
 children were almost ready to drop with! weariness 
 when at last came the sound of water falling, the 
 sound and the sweet, clean smell of it! Five 
 minutes later they all fell into the pool below the 
 big spring which gushed from the base of a ledge, 
 and began a rapid descent, through more cold 
 pools and over slippery rocks, while the water 
 deepened, and through the dim forest overhead 
 the sky grew rosy. 
 
 That day they came into a shadowed pond in 
 the woods, with a bottom of black mud, the accu- 
 mulation of ages of leaf mould, and here they 
 found horned pout in profusion, and, better yet, 
 eels ! There were so many horned pout that they 
 never bothered to eat a whole one, merely taking 
 a bite from the tenderest, meatiest part. That 
 night, weary and well fed. Pa led the way to a 
 steep, overhanging bank, where there was room 
 for all the family in the mould and sand just 
 above the water and under a sort of thatch of 
 matted roots and sod. He knew this place of 
 old, and here they curled up in safety, and slept. 
 Brownie was glad to sleep, you can be sure. His 
 legs ached, and he had the heaviness of food upon 
 
188 ON THE EDGE OP THE WILDEENISS 
 
 him. He didn't even stop to think ahout foxes. 
 Besides, he knew now his father and mother 
 could take care of any fox. He just went to 
 sleep. 
 
 The family went a long way on this expedition, 
 and Brownie saw much of the world. But three 
 things stood out, above aU, in his memory of it. 
 First, there was the big lake they came to, with a 
 great wire screen across the inlet, so they had to 
 climb out and walk around. In this lake were 
 great, swift fish, like none Brownie had ever 
 chased before, big, fighting fish that were not to 
 be captured without a long, arduous pursuit and 
 sometimes almost a fight at the end, but which 
 were so delicious that they were worth all the 
 trouble. In a word, salmon! The State had 
 carefully imported them, and put them in this 
 lake, for the benefit of fishermen. Well, Brownie 
 was a fisherman, and he was duly grateful, though 
 he had paid none of the taxes — ^which is rather 
 himian, after all. 
 
 The second thing which stood out in his mem- 
 ory was a vast river, flowing so wide and deep 
 that it seemed like a moving lake, with strange 
 
THE MATING OF BEOWNIE 189 
 
 things on the hanks, known to us as factories and 
 cities. Past these, the family hurried fast, swiai- 
 ming in mid-stream. Then, at last, the water 
 changed. It wasn't pollution, it wasn't foul — ^it 
 was salt! Bro^vnie felt a strange sensation come 
 over him at the first sting of that salt. He 
 wanted to swim on and on, and meet it, get deeper 
 into it. He knew not why or what, but some- 
 thing seemed to call him out, out, toward the salt. 
 His father, however, ordered a return. He didn't 
 particularly care for the fish they now caught. 
 
 But the third thing was the most wonderful of 
 all. He saw other otters ! All his childhood, he 
 had seen only his father and mother and brother 
 and sister, but on this trip he learned that there 
 were otters who did not belong to his family, and 
 in one little, forest-fringed pond was a family 
 just the size of his, with two girl otters in it, who 
 were most attractive and not at all unfriendly 
 when Brownie met them as he was chasing a 
 perch. In fact, he gave one of them part of the 
 fish (I am afraid after taking a bite himself out 
 of the tender part behind the head), and later 
 they played on the bank with a stick for about an 
 
190 ON THE EDGE OP THE WILDEENESS 
 
 hour. Somehow, this was one of the happiest 
 hours of the whole trip, and Brownie thought 
 often about it as Pa Otter slowly, by easy stages, 
 led the way back up the streams and finally over 
 the divide and into the home country once more. 
 Winter was coming on now, and the parents 
 decided to speild the cold season up in the pond 
 at the brook head above the den. Long before 
 Christmas the pond was frozen over, and 
 Brownie, while he was imder the ice, as he was 
 much of the time, moved in a strange, dim world, 
 especially after the snow came and covered the ice 
 «o thickly that little light could penetrate. Down 
 there, it was like the long winter night of the Es- 
 quimaux. The watei", of course, was perfectly 
 still but the mud on the bottom stirred now and 
 then sluggishly as a turtle moved, or a muskrat 
 went past. The fish were none too numerous, 
 and Brownie and his family had sometimes to 
 chase the muskrats for food, though they were a 
 last resort. However, there were certain airholes 
 in the ice, and both at the outlet and up the inlet 
 the water remained open, so they could escape 
 from the pond when the weather was good, and 
 
THE MATING OF BEOWNIE 191 
 
 clad in their thick furs make overland journeys to 
 other ponds and streams. Out on the snow their 
 long bodies made a distinct trail, for their short 
 legs smik in so deep that their bellies dragged. 
 Breaking trail was hard work, but those who fol- 
 lowed the leader had less trouble, and commg 
 home the trail had usually frozen and was easy to 
 walk in. Wherever it led down hill, all Brownie 
 had to do was to slide — real tobogganing, this 
 time, on an icy chute! 
 
 That winter the first tragedy occurred to the 
 family. Brownie's brother, swimming around 
 alone under the ice, saw distant light, as if a new 
 airhole had been madfe, and went toward it. As 
 he drew near, he saw a small fish shining in the 
 water in the descending shaft of light. He 
 darted on it, and took it in at one mouthful. But, 
 even as his jaws closed, he felt a sharp pain, and 
 a second later, in spite of his most powerful ef- 
 forts at resistance, he was pulled right up through 
 the hole. Brownie and Pa Otter arrived just ia 
 time to see him mysteriously disappearing. 
 Swimming around the hole in grief and perplex- 
 ity, they heard sounds of human speech above, a 
 
192 ON THE EDGE Ol" THE WILDERNESS 
 
 dull blow, and then another small fish appeared, 
 lowered through the hole on an almost invisible 
 line. Brownie, who was hungry, made toward it, 
 but his father, quick as a flash, dove in between 
 and butted him away. He had seen the line, and 
 suspected mischief. Very warily, he nosed the 
 fish by the tail, smelled that it was fresh though 
 dead, and nibbled it carefully. It was suddenly 
 yanked up out of reach! 
 
 Brownie looked on in surprise. 
 
 Again it came down, and Brownie and his 
 father each nibbled, at either end, keeping their 
 mouths away from the line and the hook which 
 they now detected. Each managed to get a mor- 
 sel before it was again yanked up. This time the 
 voices above the ice were loud and angry. Pa 
 Otter turned tail and swam away, his son follow- 
 ing. That was Brownie's first experience with 
 the wiles of man, though the fisher was probably 
 more surprised than the otter was when he pulled 
 Brownie's poor brother up on his line. If it had 
 been Brownie's last experience, this would be a 
 different story. 
 
 The ice had gone from the lake when Brownie 
 
THE MATING OF BEOWNIB 193 
 
 found himself thinking harder than ever of the 
 otters he had met on the long trip the season be- 
 fore. He was full grown now, a fine, sleek fel- 
 low, and he had a sudden great desire to see those 
 otters again, to play with them, to be with them, 
 or with one of them, at any rate. He confided 
 his plans to nobody, not even his mother, which 
 l^roves that he was a regular young fellow, now. 
 But early one morning he started out, all alone, 
 over the long trail. 
 
 Though he had made the trip but once before, 
 and partly in the dark, he had no doubts about the 
 way, finding the track as a woodsman or an In- 
 dian follows his dim blazes in the forest. No fox 
 molested him now, for he was too large for a fox 
 to risk a contest. But, as he was descending on 
 the farther side of the divide, he heard a hound 
 baying on his track, and though he hurried as fast 
 as his short legs would carry him, the dog was up 
 before he could reach water. Brownie instinc- 
 tively backed up against a flat-sided boulder, and 
 let the dog come on. As the dog closed in, quite 
 unconscious of what he was tackling, Brownie 
 reared his powerful neck with incredible speed. 
 
194 ON THE EDGE OP THE WILDEENESS 
 
 and closed his teeth. The dog tore and struggled 
 to escape and get a hold on him, but he only 
 reared higher and threw his whole weight for- 
 ward, twisting his neck at the same time to bring 
 the hound down under him; He had a hold on 
 the dog's throat, and when the hunter arrived 
 some moments later, he found only his dead 
 hound on the torn moss and trampled ferns, and 
 an otter's tracks leading away. He ran as fast 
 as he could follow them, but they ended in the 
 brook. Brownie was on his safe way now to the 
 pond below. 
 
 He slept that night where the family had slept 
 before, he tasted delicious salmon again in the 
 lake farther on, and presently he reached the 
 wooded pond where his friends had lived. This, 
 he hoped, was his journey's end, and he at once 
 began circling the shores, rearing his head over 
 the water to look at the banks, diving under to 
 search amid the weeds. But no friends did he 
 see. He came at last upon the under water en- 
 trance to a den, and entered it boldly. But no- 
 body was there. For two days he swam about 
 that pond, and up and down the outlet, looking 
 
THE MATING OF BEOWNIB 195 
 
 ifor otter signs, or for some otter trail leading 
 away overland and freshly used. He had about 
 decided to move on, down-stream, perhaps to- 
 ward the great river and the queer salt water, 
 when quite suddenly, in mid-stream, at the outlet 
 mouth, he met one of his friends — the prettier 
 one, too! — coming up-stream. ' 
 
 The two circled each other rather shyly. Then 
 Brownie climbed the weedy bank, and began 
 searching for a stick, while his friend stood in the 
 shoals, her head raised, watching him. Finally 
 he found one, came back Avith it, entered the 
 water, and invited her to play. She took a tenta- 
 tive bite, then a harder one, and yanked. The 
 pull of her strength against his excited him. He 
 began to frisk and splash, and show off his powers 
 as a swimmei'. All the time she watched him, 
 and sometimes- followed him about. Finally a 
 fine 'fish went past, and Brownie dove for it, 
 bringing it up in triumph in his mouth, and shak- 
 ing it before her. It may well be that at this sign 
 of his ability to provide that she smiled. At any 
 rate, they swam off into deep water, and not long 
 after they might have been seen by the muskrats 
 
196 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDEENESS 
 
 and the fish making a den entrance into the soft 
 bank. 
 
 They were certainly two fine children that 
 Brownie and his mate drove into the water and 
 taught to swim. It was a real pleasure to catch 
 fish for them, to ride them aromid the pond on 
 one's shoulders, to pull on a stick with^ to cuff and 
 push down the bank. Brownie spent a happy 
 summer in that quiet, wood-shadowed pond, but 
 he didn't forget the fun he had as a boy on the 
 first long trip abroad, and he took his family more 
 than once adventuring, especially up into the lake 
 where the salmon were. It was in this lake that 
 he and his mate decided to winter. But before 
 winter really set in Brownie had a desire to go 
 once more over the divide, and see his old home 
 pond. If he wanted to show off his progeny to 
 their grandparents, who can blame him? I don't 
 say he did — ^but, anyhow, he led the way over the 
 long trail. A light November snow had fallen 
 the night before they crossed, and the family left 
 a trail a born and bred New Yorker could have 
 followed through the woods. They couldn't help 
 it, of course, and, indeed, they had no conscious- 
 
THE MATING OP BEOWNIE 197 
 
 ness of danger in so doing. The enemies 
 Brownie knew were dogs and such on land, and 
 fish-hooks under the ice in winter, and he no 
 longer feared either. Yet that trail was to prove 
 fatal, for it was seen by the man whose hound 
 Brownie had killed, and seen at almost the exact 
 spot where the fight had occurred. Thus the 
 man knew this was a regular otter crossing. He 
 went home and got a trap. 
 
 It was several days later that Brownie and his 
 family returned over the trail. The snow had 
 partly melted now, but there was still enough in 
 the woods so they could toboggan, and they were 
 having a great good time descending the slope. 
 Brownie had, for once, gone off the trail a few 
 feet to investigate something which interested 
 him^t was a ruffed grouse nestled in a bed of 
 dead leaves, and he wasn't quick enough to catch 
 it, only to send it whirring off through the trees 
 with a startling sound which caused the two 
 young otters to jump. Mother Otter had slid 
 on ahead, being intent on getting back to water, 
 and suddenly she gave a cry of pain and Brownie, 
 springing to her, found her fast in the grip of a 
 
198 OU THE EDGE OP THE WILDEENESS 
 
 strange iron thing, which was chained fast to a 
 log drag and resisted all her frantic tugs and 
 lurches. Helpless and terrified, he and the chil- 
 dren stayed by her, watching her agonized and 
 pathetic efforts to free herself, till at length they 
 heard a dog bay, and, as the dog drew near, the 
 crack of undergrowth from a man's steps. 
 Brownie could have handled the dog, he knew, 
 but a man was a different proposition. To save 
 the children, he had to lead them rapidly down 
 the trail to the brook. Behind him^ far off, just 
 as the three plunged to safety, he heard a faint 
 cry from his mate — and then the yelp of a dog — 
 and silence. 
 
 It was very lonely under the ice that winter for 
 Brownie, in spite of the two young ones. They 
 were getting full grown now, every hour, and 
 needed no care. Toward spring they began to 
 wander off, as young folks will, and leave him 
 quite alone. He, too, went off by himself, though 
 never back over the long trail. That way he 
 never wanted to take again. Finally, even the 
 taste of salmon paled. He grew more lonely and 
 more restless. Both children had disappeared. 
 
THE MATING OF BEOWNIE 199 
 
 He felt sure they had gone looking for mates. A 
 mate! That was what he wanted. It is written 
 that it is not good for man to dwell alone. The 
 same, no doubt, is true of otters. Poor Brownie 
 had tasted the cup of wedded happiness, and 
 therefore his loneliness was doubly acute. He 
 climbed one morning out of the lake at the outlet, 
 slunk overland around the wire screen, took to the 
 stream again, and swam rapidly downward to- 
 ward the pond in the woods. He remembered 
 that his dead mate had had a sister. If she were 
 wedded now, no doubt there would be a daughter. 
 Perhaps this daughter would look like her aunt. 
 So lonely widowers have reflected since time was ! 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE TAMING OF OL' BUCK 
 
 TT must be admitted that, from one point of 
 "^ view, he who is to be our herb, and who came 
 to be known by the name of OF Buck, as you shall 
 learn, began life rather badly. But so did Jo- 
 seph; only Joseph was thrown into a pit, while 
 our hero, while yet a little fawn with speckled 
 flanks, fell into one. However, the means of get- 
 ting there matters to the chap at the bottom 
 rather less than the means of getting out. In 
 Joseph's case, the agency that got him in was a 
 band of particularly unfraternal brothers. In 
 our hero's case — and we might as well begin call- 
 ing him or Buck at once, especially as the name 
 is so ludicrously inappropriate to the little fawn 
 he was at the time, — the agency was a Hill Billy. 
 A Hill Billy is, normally, a citizen of the com- 
 monwealth who lives on a rundown- farm or cabin 
 
 up in the mountain country where the towns were 
 
 200 
 
THE TAMING OF OL' BUCK 201 
 
 prosperous a hundred years ago, but later slid 
 do^vn to the valleys when the railroads came, leav- 
 ing mostly the shiftless, the infirm, the feeble- 
 minded, to repopulate the hills. So far as the 
 hills have been repopulated — which isn't very far 
 — ^it has been by the shiftless, the weak-willed, the 
 feeble-minded. The result to-day is the Hill 
 Billy. 
 
 Now, some Hill Billies catch woodchucks along 
 in August, when they are well-grown and fat, and 
 salt down the meat in barrels, for winter con- 
 sumption. Why not? The meat tastes " as 
 good as chicken," they say. But that is neither 
 here nor there. What matters just now is that 
 other Hill Billies are partial to venison, and there 
 is only one game warden to a great many square 
 miles of wild country. It's risky, of course, but 
 life at best is a risky proposition. So all the salt 
 put out in the upland pastures isn't for the rang- 
 ing cattle, and Wilbur Bailey, being shy on am- 
 munition and still shyer on cash, as well as on 
 brains, as you may infer, refrained from shaving 
 for the sixth consecutive morning and went out to 
 a certain dim deer run he knew of, on his ancestral 
 
202 ON THE EDGE OP THE WILDERNESS 
 
 acres, and there digged a pit (where nature had 
 aided him by an old erosion gully), across which 
 he placed boughs and bait in the shape of a lump 
 or two of salt, a few oats and several juicy leaves 
 of Swiss chard from his wife's weedy vegetable 
 garden. Wilbur Bailey didn't care for vege- 
 tables himself, certainly not enough to weed 'em. 
 He preferred meat. 
 
 But Wilbur's toil (considerable enough to have 
 cultivated a large com field) availed him less than 
 he hoped (as well as more than he expected), 
 from two causes. One cause was biological — an 
 advdt deer's ability to jump out of a hole. The 
 second cause was international. It would be too 
 long a story to tell how the Polacks first came into 
 the hills, buying abandoned farms, or even how 
 the Hill Billies, Yankees all, scorned them, and 
 how feuds arose over tumble-down fences and 
 consequent incursions of Polish kine. Suffice it 
 to report that young Ignace Raufkowsky, a son 
 of Wilbur's next neighbor down the road, and 
 whose father was even then " at law " with Wil- 
 bur over a fence, had learned a thing or two dur- 
 ing his " Americanization " process, besides how 
 
THE TAMING OF OL' BUCK 203 
 
 to spell " cat " and sing the Star-Spangled Ban- 
 ner. He saw Wilbur go into the woods with a 
 shovel, and he went, too — at a discreet distance. 
 After Wilbur had departed from his baited pit, 
 a black-eyed, sharp face might have been seen 
 rising over a fern-draped boulder. The Rauf- 
 kowskys had no telephone, but the Wojtyniaks 
 had, two miles down the hill. Ignace took off 
 his shoes to save leather, and walked down the 
 hill. At the Wojtyniaks' he called up Bill Sny- 
 der, the game warden. Score one for the Rauf- 
 kowskys, in the fence case ! 
 
 It was hardly more than daybreak the next 
 morning when Wilbur set forth once again into 
 the woods, armed this trip with a long knife and 
 a piece of rope. As he drew near his pit, he 
 quickened his pace into a run, for he heard dis- 
 tinctly the sound of thrashing amid boughs, and 
 also something very like a cry of distress. He 
 sprang out of the bushes over the brow of the 
 gully where his pit was dug, and as he sprang the 
 bushes parted on the other side, and he looked 
 squarely into the steel-gray eyes of Bill Snyder. 
 Young Ignace, having the future in mind, whea 
 
204 O^ THE EDGE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 Bill Snyder would be far away, was not visible 
 just then. 
 
 " Hello, Wilbur, what you doing here? " asked 
 Bill. 
 
 " I heard a noise, and I was comin' to see what 
 it was," said Wilbur, sneaking a glance down into 
 his pit, where a little mottled fawn was whimper- 
 ing. 
 
 " Well, you come with me, and I'll tell you all 
 about it." Bill spoke quietly, with an engaging 
 smile. 
 
 " Aw, no. Bill, honest to God, I didn't know 
 nothin' about " 
 
 He turned his head quickly, as if to estimate 
 the chances to make a break. 
 
 But the game warden was beside him, with two 
 long strides. The edge of a hard hand hit his 
 wrist, and the knife fell from his pained fingers. 
 
 " Now I'll take the rope," said Bill, quietly, as 
 he picked up the knife. " I advise you to stand 
 right there." And he let his hand wander a sec- 
 ond toward his hip. 
 
 Wilbur stood right there, while Snyder got into 
 the pit and tussled with the terrified little fawn 
 
THE TAMING OF OL' BUCK 205 
 
 till he had his legs tied together. Then he slung 
 him head down on a pole, and making Wilbur 
 take an end, they carried him to a wood road, 
 where a Ford was standing. They put him in 
 the rear on a blanket, and Snyder ordered his 
 prisoner up on the front seat. Presently Ol' 
 Buck was inside Snyder's chicken fence, being 
 coaxed by Mrs. Snyder to feed out of a baby's 
 bottle, and Wilbur was on his way to face the dis- 
 trict judge. His fate no longer concerns us. 
 Suffice to say the punishment was terrible — he 
 had to work all winter to pay off his fine. 
 
 Meanwhile Ol' Buck easily mastered the bottle 
 art, and throve lustily. He frisked his absurd bit 
 of white tail all about the yard after a few days, 
 butted anybody who came near him (except Mrs. 
 Snyder and Bill, his bottle bearers), and was 
 admired of all the neighborhood, and later of all 
 the county, for Bill took him to the county fair in 
 a little wooden pen, where he was almost as much 
 a centre of attraction as the horse races. 
 
 But as time went on and 01' Buck grew in 
 stature, passing from the bottle stage to the let- 
 tuce and chard and hemlock bough and sumach 
 
206 ON THE EDGE OP THE WILDERNESS 
 
 blossom stage, a chicken run was too small a spot 
 in which to confine him, Snyder tried the ex- 
 periment once or twice of letting him loose in the 
 yard, but on the first occasion he jumped the 
 fence and was chased back in terror by a dog, and 
 on the second occasion he went into a neighbor's 
 yard, demolished the lettuce in an open cold 
 frame, and then knocked down the neighbor's lit- 
 tle boy with the part of his head where his horns 
 were going to be. After that, Snyder took him 
 to the superintendent of one of the big summer 
 estates, where there was a big chicken rim of al- 
 most an acre, and left him there for the winter. 
 
 In spite of this rearing in captivity, which is 
 bad as a rule for all deer and moose, because by 
 nature they range for their food and thus keep in 
 condition, 01' Buck seemed to thrive, and when 
 early spring came he had every appearance of 
 health. He was full of ginger, too, and though 
 well enough disposed toward the man who fed 
 him, he not infrequently threatened to try his 
 budding antlers on anybody else who got him into 
 a corner. 
 
 Once a woman came to see him. 
 
THE TAMING OP OL' BUCK 207 
 
 " Oh, the darhng! " she cried. " Deer are such 
 pretty, timid, gentle-eyed creatures, aren't they? 
 Come here, you pretty httle thing." And she 
 drew near him, holding out her hand to stroke his 
 head. 
 
 She said later, when she got her wind back, that 
 she believed her corset steels were aU that saved 
 her. 
 
 Bill Snyder came frequently to see him, and on 
 his last trip, the first of March, declared that in a 
 
 week or two they'd set him free. But they never 
 did. 
 
 or Buck discovered one night that he had' 
 grown stronger and bigger. He went over the 
 chicken wire, catching on the top, to be sure, and 
 half breaking it down, and the following morning 
 the man who fed him followed the tracks through 
 the snow as far as the woods. That was the last 
 he ever saw of 01' Buck. 
 
 So far as I loiow, that was the last anybody 
 saw of or Buck, for two years and a half. No- 
 body with a gun saw him, at any rate, for he es- 
 caped either death or wounds. Yet he might 
 have been seen, too, for he roamed the country; 
 
208 ON THE EDGE OP THE WILDEENESS 
 
 for many miles, and having less fear of man than 
 his fellows in whose company he often traveled, 
 and knowing, also, how good certain domestic 
 products are to eat, such as apples, beet tops, the 
 tips of young string bean vines, and succulent 
 Swiss chard, he not infrequently came out of the 
 woods into fields and orchards, just as the dawn 
 was reddening, or even trod softly into the very 
 gardens and nibbled what he liked best. It was 
 he, I always thought, who came into my garden 
 one morning, after a rain, so that the ground was 
 soft and he left deep prints with his sharp hoofs, 
 and ate the tops off an entire row of beets. He 
 touched nothing else, stepping daintily through 
 the strawberry bed without treadhig on a single 
 vine. It took the beets the rest of the season to 
 make new tops, and we never did get any roots 
 from them. But I treasure no grudge. I don't 
 particularly like beets. 
 
 However, the next authentic record we have of 
 or Buck was, as I say, two years and a half after 
 his escape, and the circumstances were dramatic. 
 Drama, you may recall, has been defined by Bru- 
 netiere as a " clash of wills," a contest of contend- 
 
THE TAMING OF OU BUCK 209 
 
 ing desires, and it was a clash of wills, as well as 
 a clash of horns and heads, which the cottagers on 
 Hubbard's Pond beheld across the water one 
 September twilight. 
 
 Do you know September twilight over a still, 
 fresh- water pond in the woods? If you do, you 
 have felt its mystery and charm. You have felt 
 how night oozes from the shadows of the trees 
 over the water close in shore, and from the trees 
 themselves, and yet how the centre of the lake 
 holds day still imprisoned in its placid mirror. 
 At such an hour, on such a pond, almost anything 
 might come from the mystery of the forest on the 
 farther shore. What actually came on this occa- 
 sion were two stags in mortal combat, followed 
 by a doe, the cause of their bitter contention, who 
 was curiously unaffected by the sight of the 
 struggle, but began peacefully to browse on the 
 bushes along the strip of beach, quite as if battles 
 for her favors were too common to notice. The 
 stags, however, were so intent on their battle that 
 they covild hardly have observed her attitude of 
 uncomplimentary indifference. It is a curious 
 thing that when men fall to fighting over a 
 
210 ON THE EDGE OP THE WILDERNESS 
 
 woman they become so absorbed that they forget 
 the woman, which perhaps explains why she re- 
 gards the whole matter with indiflference. " If 
 it wasn't I, it would be something else they'd fight 
 over," she seems to say. " Meanwhile, this is a 
 charming piece of music " — or " a delicious sprig 
 of hemlock," if she chances to be a doe. 
 
 But meanwhile it was serious business for the 
 two bucks who were fighting so close to her. A 
 slip, a wanderuig glance, a throat exposed, might 
 mean death. Gentle creatures, deer? Then you 
 never saw two bucks in action ! 01' Buck and his 
 antagonist charged each other once along the 
 strip of beach, and as their heads met, their horns 
 locked, the watchers at the log cottage across the 
 pond distinctly heard the crash of the impact. 
 They saw one deer reel, and plunge out into the 
 water, pulling his horns away from the grapple. 
 He backed in up to his knees, and the other deer 
 rushed him again. This time they met with a 
 louder crash, and swayed their interlocked heads, 
 pushing and thrusting, their muscles rigid, their 
 eyes red, their breath hissing. Once more the 
 elder deer worked free, and backed off. He was 
 
THE TAMING OP OL' BUCK 211 
 
 evidently getting the worst of it, for it was Ol' 
 Buck who, for a third time, rushed him, though 
 he rallied and charged to meet the attack. The 
 water splashed high as their hoofs clove it, and as 
 they once more broke free, anyone close enough 
 might have seen the red upon it. They were now 
 out almost to their haunches, and could get less 
 momentum on their next charge. Their horns 
 did not lock, but as Ol' Buck's head crashed into 
 and past the head of his opponent, he lunged sav- 
 agely with all the power of his sleek, powerful 
 neck, and a red gash opened along the neck of the 
 other, clear to the shoulder. The blood ran into 
 the water, and with a bellow of pain the defeated 
 buck dashed out of the lake, across the beach, and 
 disappeared into the woods. 
 
 Then the conqueror raised his head and 
 snorted, splashing triumphantly to shore and 
 turning toward the doe. 
 
 But she kept right on nibbling deliberately at 
 hemlock roots. 
 
 The watchers across the lake reported that Ol' 
 Buck appeared somewhat surprised by this indif- 
 ference. It was certainly no way to treat a tri- 
 
212 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDEE2JESS 
 
 umphant hero, who has j,ust done bloody battle 
 for your sake. Ol' Buck strode rather impa- 
 tiently up to the doe, but she frisked her sharp 
 heels and her white tail disappeared, ghost-like, 
 into the gloom of the forest. Ol' Buck followed 
 her, at a boimd, and that was the last the watchers 
 saw. 
 
 It was as well, perhaps, if they were believers 
 in the traditional gentleness and timidity of the 
 deer. For what followed was not pretty, any 
 way you look at it. It was, however, natural, 
 and it showed, at least, that 01' Buck was a fellow 
 of spirit and that, deep rooted within him, was 
 the triumphant instinct to keep his race alive. 
 You wonder, perhaps, why the deer remain so 
 numerous in our woods, in spite of the hunters, 
 when fiercer, stronger animals have vanished, and 
 even animals no less protected by law in certain 
 seasons than the deer, are fast disappearing also. 
 In part, at least, it is because, like Ol' Buck, the 
 male deer are fierce to fight for their mating 
 privileges, and strong and ruthless to insist on 
 them. 
 
 At any rate, Ol' Buck caught up with the doe 
 
THE TAMING OF OU BUCK 213 
 
 in a small open glade, and once more approached 
 her for a sign that she abided by the results of 
 the battle. Once more she turned from him, in- 
 different — not coquettishly, he could have en- 
 dured that — but with complete indifference. OF 
 Buck didn't argue. He used his head, but in an 
 extremely primitive way; he drew off, charged, 
 hit the doe amidships, and knocked her off her 
 feet, so that she rolled and slid up against the 
 bushes. She got up stiffly, and tried to move 
 away once more, but 01' Buck was too quick for 
 her. Again he struck her, head on, and knocked 
 her down. Even this second emphatic token of 
 affection, however, did not cause her to recipro- 
 cate. She got up as best she could, and a third 
 time tried to get away. Once again OF Buck 
 smote her, and once again she fell sprawling and 
 breathless on the ground. This time she rose 
 with still greater difficulty. The spirit as well 
 as the breath was knocked out of her. Limp and 
 lame, she raised large hazel eyes of acquiescence 
 toward the still inflamed eyes of her lord and 
 master, and signified that she was conquered. 
 So man, also, wooed and won, it is said, in the 
 
214 OS THE EDGE OP THE WILDEENESS 
 
 neolithic age. But nowadays it is not usually 
 advisable to try such methods. Women have 
 many weapons, from hatpins to sarcasm, and 
 they have decreed more gentle and tactful ap- 
 proaches. Which only means that a deer is a 
 wild animal, after all, and a strong, virile, pugna- 
 cious one, not the symbol of timidity and shyness 
 he is generally pictured. 
 
 With this conquest over the older leader, Ol' 
 Buck supplanted him as the guiding spirit of the 
 herd which began gradually to assemble as winter 
 drew nearer, and to work over the plain, through 
 the swamps, toward the steep wall of the big 
 mountain. Often the herd scattered, the fawns 
 keeping with the does, and always they wan- 
 dered far each day in search of food, not because 
 food was hard to find, but because it was better 
 to nibble a little here and there, with a mile 
 canter between bites ; if one ate a full meal in one 
 place, he paid for it with a stomachache, or at the 
 least a lessening of muscular vigor and wind. In 
 spite of his early bringing up, in confinement, 
 or Buck knew that as well as anybody. His 
 nose, too, was as keen as any nose in the herd. 
 
THE TAMING OF OV BUCK 215 
 
 When he stole hito an orchard at the dusk of 
 evenhig, or at the dusk of dawn, to nibble apples 
 under the trees, he would take a bite and, then 
 raise his head, nuzzling the air, as it were, for 
 scent of danger, before he stooped for the next 
 bite. His large, soft ears, too, pricked up con- 
 stantlj^ like a fine young dog's, and the sleek 
 yellow coat that wrapped his haunches was like 
 a wet silk shirt wrapped to the shoulders of an 
 athlete, showing the poAverful muscles ready for 
 instant action. I came upon him once, greatly 
 to his surprise, at the lower end of my orchard, 
 directly under the mountain. It was almost 
 Thanksgiving, and very cold, with a high wind 
 blowing. I came up against this wind, and he 
 neither heard nor smelled me, so that I stalked 
 him close, screened by some bushes, and saw him 
 bite off the top half of a frozen apple without dis- 
 lodging the lower half from its contact with the 
 ground, as I discovered on later examination. 
 What other animal feeds so daintily? I had a 
 flash in my pocket, which I suddenly turned 
 full on him. He blinked great, startled eyes 
 into the radiance for a second, then the muscles 
 
216 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDEENESS 
 
 played beneath the silken shirt, and I saw merely 
 a white strip of tail going over the fence, from a 
 standing start. It was a clean, beautiful jump 
 of six feet. I have heard sporting editors liken 
 hurdlers to deer — but they never saw Ol' Buck 
 take a fence ! 
 
 The week of legal deer hunting opened at six 
 o'clock on December first. It is only three mUes 
 from the village, across the swamp to the first 
 leap of the mountain, yet before the sim was up 
 that day fifty men with guns had either passed 
 along this road, or were stationed at various 
 points in the swamp woods beside it. What show 
 had or Buck and his little herd against such 
 odds? There were more than five hvmters, more 
 than ten barrels, to each deer! WeU, they had 
 one considerable advantage over the hunters — 
 they had better ears and infinitely better noses. 
 A himter, if he wants a good nose, has to employ 
 a dog, and dogs are not permitted in deer hunt- 
 ing in our State. As a matter of fact, when the 
 first hunters came along the road, long before 
 six o'clock, and struck into the swamp woods by 
 a logging road, Ol' Buck and his little herd were 
 
THE TAMING OF OV BUCK 217 
 
 scattered over an area of two or three acres, not 
 three hundred yards away, just beginning to 
 browse for breakfast on the ground hemlock 
 which grew thickly at that spot. Ol' Buck him- 
 self and two of the does on the windward side got 
 the scent, and were oflf with long, easy bounds 
 through the dim woods, where the gi'ound was 
 not yet frozen and they made astonishingly little 
 noise. Not a soul saw them go, and in ten min- 
 utes they had crossed the road at the base of the 
 mountain, and had begun to climb. 
 
 But there is one real woodsman in our town, 
 who knows in advance what the animals are going 
 to do. An hour earlier than any other hunter, 
 he was out, and up the mountain, where he sta- 
 tioned himself down wind, not too close to a cer- 
 tain trail so dim that only another woodsman 
 like himself could have detected it even by day- 
 light. It was the trail made by the deer the 
 winter before, now practically closed in again. 
 He knew that at the first sign of danger the deer 
 would be coming up this way. Presently he 
 heard the swish and soft crashing of bushes below 
 him, and his finger crept around the trigger of his 
 
218 ON THE EDGE OP THE WILDERNESS 
 
 shotgun. It was Ol' Buck, leading his band up 
 the mountain. 
 
 But mountain air currents are tricky things 
 sometimes. Just at this moment a strong gust 
 came swirling down over the smnmit, from the 
 wrong direction, and 01' Buck got the scent — the 
 man scent, and the odd, strong odor of gun oil. 
 He pulled up sharp, and swerved hard to the left, 
 bounding along without climbing for two hun- 
 dred yards or more, and then resmning his ascent 
 through unbroken laurel — ^what in the southern 
 mountains would be called a laurel hell. He 
 knew well enough that once in this tangle he and 
 his herd could outrun anything. 
 
 The man swore bitterly at the wind, and sat 
 back to wait for another opportunity. He didn't 
 propose to waste energy by following up this 
 herd through the laurel and over the upper 
 ledges. 
 
 or Buck and his herd saw the red sun ball 
 heave up over the eastern hills, from a ledge 1,500 
 feet above the swamp where they had started to 
 breakfast. This ledge stretched for ten miles 
 along the eastern flank of the great mountain. 
 
THE TAMING OF OL' BUCK 219 
 
 wind swept and covered only with storm-dwarfed 
 Ijitch pines, with some moss, thin, hardy grasses, 
 and a profusion of low shrubs in the rock crannies. 
 It was then' winter feeding ground, for here the 
 wind kept the snow blown off, and between the 
 ledge and the peak of the mountain was an ex- 
 tensive forest full of evergreens for additional 
 food, and shelter. They felt safe up here, too, 
 since in winter it was a spot almost inaccessible, 
 at any rate a spot where nobody ever came to 
 disturb them. 
 
 Still, twice that morning OF Buck had fled 
 from the man smell in the woods, and now he 
 heard unpleasant explosions here and there in 
 the distance. He kept pricking his ears nerv- 
 ously, and raising his muzzle to sniff the wind. 
 The herd wandered, browsing, along the ledges 
 till the sun was high overhead, and the noon 
 sleepiness came upon them. The fawns and 
 some of the does lay down, picking out spots 
 where the dead grass made a bed in the warm sun- 
 light, but or Buck, a young yearling buck, and a 
 doe, retraced their steps cautiously. They went 
 for some little distance without detecting any 
 
220 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDERliTESS 
 
 signs of danger, and then, suddenly, both their 
 ears and noses got unmistakable warning. They 
 were being followed! With a great bound, Ol' 
 Buck led the way back to the herd. The spots 
 where the deer had lain down to rest were still 
 almost warm, the grass stiU crushed in the shape 
 of their bodies, when two himters reached the 
 place. But no deer was visible! Only, by care- 
 ful searching again, could the men foUow the 
 tracks into the tangle of scrub oak and laurel and 
 blueberries and azalea, through which the deer 
 had headed for the forests on the mountain sum- 
 mit. And the summit was State reservation, and 
 Bill Snyder was the game warden! 
 
 Still, this was wild country. Bill Snyder 
 couldn't be everywhere. It wasn't far to bring a 
 deer out of the reservation, and then report the 
 kill. Who'd know the difference? Their blood 
 was up now, the trail was fresh — ^and they 
 plunged in after the herd. Up here near the 
 summit there was suddenly a little coating of 
 snow, the precipitation of some cloud, perhaps, 
 and the trail became easy to follow. When they 
 reached the double tracks (for 01' Buck, of 
 
SUDDENLY BOTH THEIR EARS AND NOSES GOT UNMISTAKABLE WARNING 
 
THE TAMING OP OL' BUCK 221 
 
 course, had once more gone back to sniflP before 
 letting the herd settle down to rest) , they stalked 
 off to leeward, and crept in as silently as they 
 could toward an open space where they, thought 
 the deer would be napping. But even as the 
 trees thinned, and they got a view into the open- 
 ing, they saw the white tails vanishing into the 
 opposite foliage. Raising their guns, they fired, 
 and then sprang forward to pick up the trail. 
 They cried aloud with joy — there was blood on 
 the snow ! Forgetful now of weariness, of tear- 
 ing laurel, of slippery rocks, they almost ran 
 along the trail. But the blood signs grew no 
 thicker, the wounded deer did not seem to have 
 dropped out of the herd. Up to the peak of the 
 mountain, then over a seventy degree cliff wall, 
 the tracks led them, and plimged into the wilder- 
 ness on the farther side. Once out of the summit 
 snow, too, the tracks grew hard to follow, and as 
 dusk came on two weary and empty-handed men 
 were plugging back along the rutty, frozen road 
 to the village, their guns heavy in their hands. 
 A poor day's work, they said. 
 
 And or Buck agreed with them, with bitter- 
 
222 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDEENESS 
 
 ness and anger! One of his does had a buck shot 
 in her hind shoulder. It had not cut a cord, to 
 be sure, but it pained her, and made her lame and 
 sick, and the blood had run down her leg and 
 frozen in clots, and now she lay in the warm, thick 
 shelter of a stand of young hemlocks, her eyes 
 big with pain, and big with terror, too, of the un- 
 linown affliction, while the others lay or stood 
 browsing near by, and 01' Buck stared at her 
 wonderingly, trying, perhaps, to clear up in his 
 mind the mystery of association between the 
 man smell, the explosion sound, and this wound 
 in his doe's shoulder. At any I'ate, the fact 
 of association was clear. Look out for the 
 man smell! It means danger, pain, death per- 
 haps ! 
 
 All that week on the mountain 01' Buck never 
 relaxed his nervous vigilance, and never allowed 
 the herd to go out of the deepest woods, or down 
 the lower slopes at all, for the guns were sound- 
 ing there, and up here, for some unknown reason, 
 except for the one time when his doe was hit, no 
 guns had been fired. Animals, of course, cannot 
 reason. Wise men have often told us so. But, 
 
THE TAMING OF OL' BUCK 223 
 
 reason or no reason, Ol' Buck could put tAvo 
 and two together. Humans carried guns; guns 
 caused wounds and terror; the guns were going 
 off down below; they weren't going off up here; 
 wfajj- not stay up here? Q. E. D. Naturally, 
 this isn't reasoning, because only a deer does it, 
 not a noble, two-legged animal called Man, who 
 shoots deer. But it has served many a deer in 
 jjrotecting his life and the life of his fawns, 
 so it does well enough. And it explains, 
 IjerhaiJS, why this story can keep on, instead 
 of ending right here with the slaughter of the 
 hero. 
 
 His experience that week in protecting his 
 herd, with a wounded doe limping in his com- 
 I^any, intensified 01' Buck's instinctive dread of 
 man. Though the guns presently ceased, and 
 the winter snoAvs came, and nobody molested 
 them up there on the Avild, wind-swept ledges, 
 and they grew bold again and foraged down to 
 the plain for frozen apples in the orchards, Ol' 
 Buck was more alert than ever to scent danger on 
 the wind, and to spring away from it into the 
 protection of the wildest forest. When spring 
 
224 ON THE EDGE OP THE WILDEENESS 
 
 came and he left the herd, to suffer alone, or, at 
 best, with a few of his equally afflicted male com- 
 panions, the ignominy of a de-antlered brow, and 
 later when his new horns began to grow and he 
 rubbed his itching sprouts against the smooth 
 birches or hornbeams in the forest, wandering 
 back into the swamps and by the refreshing pond 
 shores, he still remembered the danger that lurks 
 in the man smell, and he became the wariest of 
 woodland creatures, taking his sleep in thickets 
 moated Avith swamp or precipice. 
 
 That next September a young buck had the 
 temerity to challenge him, but he was still far 
 from being an old buck himself, and his antag- 
 onist suffered the same fate as befell his opponent 
 the year before. The little herd was still intact, 
 too, for though many of the fawns had now grown 
 up and scattered, there were new ones to take 
 their places. Race suicide is unknown among 
 healthy deer. It is murder, not suicide, which 
 reduces their number. 
 
 Once again, too, 01' Buck eluded the hunters 
 on the first day of December, and reached the 
 mountain reservation with his herd untouched. 
 
THE TAMING OF OL' BUCK 225 
 
 Then a strange thing happened, something quite 
 new to his experience, at any rate. A great 
 snow-storm came, without much wind even up on 
 the exposed ledges, and the snow piled up and 
 up, and vip, till all the grass and moss and even 
 the bushes were covered, and even the most ener- 
 getic stamping and pushing along paths by the 
 whole herd could not avail to keep the food sup- 
 ply uncovered. Of course, the ground hemlock 
 was covered, too, and though there were the top 
 shoots of saplings sticking up in the woods, and 
 hemlock branches to eat, the food question be- 
 came rather serious. Nor did this snow melt. 
 Instead, more came, and more, till at last there 
 were six or seven feet of it up on the moun- 
 tain. 
 
 or Buck led the way down, always seeking for 
 some variety in diet, and for enough succulence 
 in the food to supply the Avarmth their bodies 
 needed. In this search, he came early one morn- 
 ing on a lumber slash. He heard horses champ- 
 ing in a stable somewhere, and caught warning 
 odors — ^but he was hungry, and the cutting had 
 brought down within reach branches of trees 
 
226 ON THE EDGE OP THE WILDEENESS 
 
 which were good, especially the delicate buds of 
 the hard woods, and boughs of hemlock and 
 cedar. He fell upon them, and then, before day 
 should break, he gathered others of the herd to 
 feed. They were still feeding when they caught 
 the sound and smell of the dread humans, and 
 rushed away into the forest, floundering almost 
 to their bellies in the deep snow, so that an ener- 
 getic man on snowshoes could almost have run 
 the fawns down. Such bitter going as this was 
 too exhausting for long trips. In spite of the 
 presence of the hated man, OF Buck yarded his 
 herd not far from the lumber camp, and every 
 night, before the dawn broke, or after the men 
 were early asleep in the evening, he led them to 
 the slash, where they fed. After a day or two, 
 also, they discovered that when the horses were 
 fed at noon, a lot of the oats spilled out upon the 
 snow, and not all of them were picked up by the 
 chickadees. Into these stray oats aU the deer 
 nuzzled, cleaning up each space. 
 
 But if they discovered the oats and the sweet 
 terminal buds on the fallen tops, the Imnbermen 
 also discovered their tracks. And one of these 
 
THE TAMING OF OU BUCK 227 
 
 lutnbermen was a Canuck by the name of Johnny. 
 Johnny's command of English was largely con- 
 fined to a whole-hearted but quite innocent pro- 
 fanity, and his arms were admittedly stronger 
 than his head. But he had a warm corner in his 
 heart for animals. He looked at the tracks for 
 three days, saying nothing, and then he remarked, 
 " I t'ink me dose deer mebbe bavin' pretty hard 
 tam." 
 
 The boss only grunted, but as Johnny was his 
 best man with a team, he made no remonstrance 
 when he saw him load an extra forkful of hay on 
 the outgoing sledge. 
 
 The next morning Johnny saw that the deer 
 had walked around the hay, without eating it. 
 He went back at noon and brought up some salt 
 and sprinkled it over the hay. 
 
 " Hi, Johnny, that's a salt lick — you'll have the 
 game warden after you — ^twenty-five dollars 
 fine ! " somebody called. 
 
 " I t'ink no," said Johnny, with his childlike 
 smile, continuing to sprinkle. 
 
 But the salt worked little better. 01' Buck 
 sniffed it, and took a lick or two, but it was 
 
228 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 midwinter, and the salt hunger was not in 
 him. 
 
 Again Johnny was disappointed, but he 
 smiled cheerily. 
 
 " I t'ink I fool 'em yet! " he said, and dumped 
 a measure of oats into the hay. 
 
 The next morning the hay was half gone, and 
 the remainder trampled into the snow. The oats 
 had quite disappeared. 
 
 " I t'ink dose deer, dey like oats," Johnny 
 mused. Whereupon he proceeded to establish 
 half a dozen feeding stations at convenient points 
 close to the logging roads, and to disappear from 
 the camp before the others were up in the morn- 
 ing, wriggling out of his bunk and into his boots 
 with a soft smUe on his face. 
 
 Soon after even the least interested of his mates 
 began to notice that the deer were becoming 
 tamer. Their white tails would often flash into 
 the woods in front of the oncoming team, and at 
 last one of them saw the leader of the herd him- 
 self, feeding up in the slash, and only running 
 away when the horses shook their bells as they 
 approached. 
 
THE TAMING OF OL' BUCK 229 
 
 " You see heem, you see 01' Buck? " Johnny 
 asked. " I t'ink I mak' 01' Buck what you call 
 tame yet ! " 
 
 The man laughed. " Swell chance! " he said. 
 " Maybe you'll tame a fawn, though." 
 
 "Umph!" said Johnny, and kept on at his 
 morning expeditions. 
 
 It was a Saturday that Johnny announced he 
 was ready to give an exhibition. The big boss 
 had come to the camp to pay off, and jokingly 
 asked the " Frenchie " where his pet deer were. 
 
 " I get dose deer," Johnny replied, flashing 
 white teeth under his little moustache. " I get 
 or Buck." 
 
 He filled a pan with oats and vanished into the 
 forest. The sound of a gentle tapping on the 
 pan floated back. 
 
 Presently Johnny himself came back. Like 
 the Pied Piper he moved, out of the shadow into 
 the edge of the clearing, and behind him, the for- 
 ward animals nosing eagerly toward the pan, 
 which he kept tantalizingly just ahead of them, 
 came the entire herd, with two spring fawns al- 
 most under Johnny's heels and — yes, it was 
 
230 ON THE EDGE OP THE WILDEENESS 
 
 true! — the proud horns of 01' Buck himself 
 looming up in the midst! 
 
 Then Johnny stopped, actually pushing the 
 fawns from the pan, while he appeased the rest 
 with a few handf uls of oats cast on the snow, and 
 held the pan toward Ol' Buck's nose. Slowly, a 
 little reluctantly, it almost seemed a little proudly, 
 with his ears still up and his eyes alert, Ol' Buck 
 drew close, and put his nose into the food. 
 Johnny raised one hand and touched his neck. 
 Quick as a flash, he reared up and sprang back a 
 full pace, but Johnny persisted, holding out the 
 pan again. Again Ol' Buck nuzzled into it, and 
 this time he let Johnny's hand rest a second on 
 his strong, beautiful neck, before he reared back 
 his head again and withdrew a dozen feet. Then 
 Johnny turned to the fawns, setting down his 
 pan for the does to feed in, and putting an arm 
 around the neck of each little deer, while his face, 
 between theirs, laughed with inexpressible delight 
 toward the astonished group of men below him. 
 
 Somebody shouted, and Ol' Buck, with a single 
 spring, was faced in the opposite direction and 
 headed for the woods. The does followed, but 
 
THE TAMING OF OU BUCK 231 
 
 tHe two little fawns, held fast by Johnny, only 
 tugged their heads for a moment, and then seemed 
 almost content to remaih. He fed them the last 
 of the oats before they, too, scampered away, like 
 animated sawhorses. 
 
 " I t'ink dose two fawn, dey need camp," 
 Johnny said, returning all smiles. " Little legs, 
 dey all shiver dis way — so cold! " — and he illus- 
 trated with his own stout legs. 
 
 So Johnny built a little lean-to of hemlock 
 boughs, not far into the woods, and bedded it with 
 hay and baited it with oats and some carrots, and 
 then coaxed the two small fa^vns into it. Once 
 they were established there, he went out of a 
 morning and sat between them, on the hay, while 
 they fed out of the pan on his lap. While he was 
 so engaged, about the third morning, he was 
 startled by a sound, and looking up, saw 01' Buck 
 himself at the entrance. 
 
 "Ho!" said Johnny softly, " bon jour, Ol' 
 Buck! So he come beg, eh? He come vera tame 
 now, eh? He like Johnny leetle bit now, eh? He 
 like nice breakfas'? " 
 
 Johnny held out the pan, and OF Buck poked 
 
232 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDBENESS 
 
 his proud, sensitive nose into it, and daintily filled 
 his mouth while the mittened hand of Johnny 
 touched gently, with admiration and a little awe, 
 his branching horns. 01' Buck shook his head 
 angrily. He resented this familiarity. Johnny 
 respected his feelings — and respected his horns — 
 and withdrew his hand. But OF Buck did not 
 go away. He took another mouthful of oats. 
 After all, this was Johnny. Johnny was a man, 
 but a different kind of man. He did not shoot — 
 he fed. Men could be kind and friendly, as well 
 as cruel and hostile. Ol' Buck was confronted 
 with the same paradox which has confused the 
 philosophers and theologians, through all the 
 centuries — and, like them, he was making the 
 best of it, while the kindness held out ! 
 
 Would it always hold out? He did not know. 
 Perhaps he did not wonder. He at least was sure 
 of Johnny now — ^and the oats. He, the wildest, 
 most wary of his clan, was eating from a dish held 
 in the lap of a human! Ol' Buck was tamed. 
 
 But when the snow melted and the natural food 
 supply was again uncovered, and the sap stirred 
 in the maple shoots, Ol' Buck was off through his 
 
THE TAMING OP OL' BUCK 233 
 
 ranges, and Johnny knew him no more. "What 
 fate is in store for him? Will his taming make 
 him less suspicious of other men, so that he will 
 fall a victim to their guns? Or will his in- 
 stinctive wariness again assert itself, to protect 
 him and his herd? Who can answer? I can 
 only say that so far nobody has reported his kill- 
 ing; he is still ranging our woods and swamps, 
 and watching from the lofty mountain ledges the 
 heave of the red sun ball above the eastern world 
 rim. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 RED SLATER AND THE TERROR 
 
 "D ED SLAYER lived in an old stone wall 
 •'■^ which ran up the hill toward the woods, 
 dividing two peaceful pastures where in summer 
 the cattle grazed, and in winter the field-mice 
 made tunnels under the snow and matted grasses, 
 radiating out in all directions to reach the richest 
 stores of seeds and roots. From any of the in- 
 numerable holes, like little cave mouths, in his 
 wall. Red Slayer could look out upon the world 
 and see the pleasant countryside — the pasture 
 slopes, the green woods above climbing up to the 
 mountain shoulder, the road below where the 
 wagons rattled past or the motors whizzed, the 
 farm -fields and orchards and barns and houses 
 beyond, and the broad meadow where the brook 
 ran half hidden in sedge and his cousins, the mink, 
 
 lived well. Many tourists, going by, looked on 
 
 234 
 
BED SLAYEB AND THE TBEEOE 235 
 
 this scene and sighed that they could not always 
 live amid a country so peaceful and calm and 
 lovely. A poet has written about it. More than 
 one artist has painted it. Yet there is no use in 
 blinking the fact that it had no effect whatever 
 on Red Slayer. Perhaps there is less in the 
 theory of environment than we suppose. Not all 
 the warlike peoples have sprung from wild and 
 rugged lands. Certainly, among weasels, the 
 landscape hath no charms to soothe the savage 
 breast. Red Slayer was a regular weasel, all 
 weasel from the tip of his sharp, keen-scented 
 nose to the tip of his furry tail (a distance of 
 some sixteen inches), and he regarded the land- 
 scape solely as a place in which to slay. He was 
 a cruel beast, there can be no doubt about it, a 
 cunning, alert, pretematurally active, sleek, 
 pretty villain; and, as the saying goes, he got 
 what was coming to him, which is not always the 
 case with villains, except, of course, in the movies. 
 But Red Slayer could never be put into a movie. 
 The camera shutter is a quick thing, but not quick 
 enough to capture Red Slayer! 
 
 I said that Red Slayer lived in the half tumbled 
 
236 ON THE EDGE OP THE WILDERNESS 
 
 down stone wall, but that is not strictly true. 
 Actually he lived in a hole between two roots of 
 an old stump directly against the wall, and the 
 wall was his commonest path to and from his 
 dwelling. This hole had originally belonged to 
 a chipmunk, but Red Slayer, chancing along that 
 way on one of his wanderings (he was a great 
 wanderer when he went hunting, often traveling 
 many miles), had coveted it. He also coveted 
 the chipmunk. There were two ways of getting 
 the chipmimk; one was to go down into the hole 
 and kill him, if he was there, the other was to wait 
 close by, in the wall, and pounce on him when he 
 came in or out. Red Slayer tried the hole, tenta- 
 tively. It went straight down for more than a 
 foot, and then evidently swerved at a sharp angle, 
 to the level. It was a pretty tight fit even for his 
 long, slender body, and promised to offer little 
 room to work in. Not that a chipmunk has to be 
 respected as a fighter at all, but a nipped nose 
 isn't pleasant. So Red Slayer backed out of the 
 hole, withdrew into the wall till his reddish-brown 
 body was entirely invisible, and his sharp, sloe- 
 black eyes were invisible, too, and proceeded to 
 
BED SLAYER AITO THE TEREOE 237 
 
 wait, with the patience characteristic, in some de- 
 gree, of ail wild animals, but of very few humans. 
 Presently, if you could have seen Red Slayer's 
 slender body, you would have seen it arch up, 
 you would have seen his neck stretch out and up- 
 ward, his sharp nose quiver almost imperceptibly. 
 He smelled his game approaching! He had a 
 nose more than the equal of any dog's, and sharp 
 as were his eyes, it was his nose he chiefly relied 
 upon when hunting. The unsuspecting chip- 
 mrmk came along the top of the wall, drawing 
 near his burrow. When he was above it he 
 sprang down on the top of the stimip. Then he 
 jumped again, j)lanning to land at the mouth of 
 the hole. But he never did. Red Slayer came 
 out of the wall like an arrow from a bow and 
 caught him in mid-air, setting vicious teeth, with 
 unerruig aim, into his neck, and bearing him to 
 the ground three feet away, such was the force of 
 his spring. When they landed. Red Slaj'^er, of 
 course, was on top, and the poor chipmunk was too 
 far gone to put up any real fight. One more well 
 directed bite of those severing, tearing teeth, and 
 his neck veins were opened. Red Slayer drank 
 
238 ON THE EDGE OP THE WILDEENESS 
 
 some of the blood which flowed. He was not 
 very hungry, as a matter of fact, but he bit open 
 the chipmunk's skull and ate the brains. That 
 quite satisfied him, and he turned to an investiga- 
 tion of the burrow. 
 
 The hole went down, he found, largely through 
 soft earth and roots I'otted to a brown pulp, so 
 that he had no difficulty in squeezing and poimd- 
 ing the sides apart with his shoulders, making the 
 tunnel large enough for his own comfort. At 
 eighteen inches below the surface, it ceased 
 descending, and ran along on the level, reaching 
 in a few feet a sort of chamber. The shaft con- 
 tinued, apparently indefinitely, but beyond this 
 point it entered gravel, and Red Slayer was 
 averse to the effort required to enlarge the bore. 
 It made a perfectly good home as it was. More- 
 over, as winter was coming on, the chipmunk had 
 brought in some nice, dry, dead leaves for a bed. 
 There was also the smell of hazelnuts in the 
 tube — ^but that didn't interest Red Slayer in the 
 least. Nothing interested him in the line of food 
 except meat. He curled up in the leaves and 
 took a long nap, with no more qualms of con- 
 
BED SLATER AND THE TEEEOE 239 
 
 science than a Prussian officer sleeping in a Bel- 
 gian chateau. 
 
 That was how Red Slayer achieved his snug, 
 warm home beside the gray stone wall between 
 the peaceful pastures and below the whispering 
 forest. The house suited him, the neighborhood 
 suited him. He settled down to become our most 
 undesirable citizen. 
 
 Shortly after a change began, not in his char- 
 acter, but in his appearance. From a pretty 
 reddish-brown above, with a whitish shirt front 
 and belly, and a black tail tip, he changed to a 
 curious mottled effect, especially odd on his tail, 
 which was black for one third, brown for one 
 third, and white for one third — a kind of pousse- 
 cafe effect. This lasted while the ground was 
 freezing and the early snows of November flying, 
 until gradually the white triumphed, and Red 
 Slayer emerged from his hole one morning of 
 white glitter and dazzle, as white as the snow it- 
 self, all except that last third of his tail, which 
 remained a glossy black. His eyes, too, of course 
 remained sloe-black. He was a lovely creature 
 then, a bit of animated ermine, sleek and slim and 
 
240 ON THE EDGE OF THE WHiDEENESS 
 
 clean, and when he bounded over the snow about 
 all you could see of him was his black tail tip, so 
 white he was. A wood-chopper was going up 
 through the pasture, and chanced to spy him, but 
 evidently not until after Red Slayer had scented 
 the man and seen him, too ; for he was standing 
 with aU four feet on the snow, his neck upraised, 
 his bead-like eyes fixed with suspicion yet alert 
 curiosity upon the big creature with the ax. The 
 man made a step toward him, and Red Slayer dis- 
 appeared. The man was perplexed. It seemed 
 utterly incredible that anything sixteen inches 
 long could disappear from sight on a field of bare, 
 clean snow. He peered about, and suddenly saw 
 the black tip of Red Slayer's tail behind a tuft of 
 dried grass which stuck up above the snow ten 
 feet from the spot where he had first seen him. 
 The man took another step. By keeping his eyes 
 fixed on that black tail tip, he saw the weasel 
 make two springs of ten feet each, his hind feet 
 coming down almost in the tracks of his front 
 feet, and vanish into the wall. The man let his 
 eyes rove along the wall. In no more time than 
 it took him to move them. Red Slayer's head, up- 
 
BED SLAYER AND THE TEEEOE 241 
 
 raised neck, and shoulders, emerged from a hole 
 a dozen feet from the one where he had entered, 
 and the sloe-black, intelligent eyes met the man's 
 in a bold, inquisitive stare. The man made an- 
 other dash forward — ^and Red Slayer was gone. 
 He did not see him again. 
 
 I tell this incident not because it had any effect 
 whatever on Red Slayer, but because it shows, in 
 large measure, why it had no effect upon him, 
 why he was so confident of himself, so devoid of 
 fear, so ready to tackle a bird or animal twice, 
 three, even four times his size or weight. He 
 had more than the quickness of a cat, coupled 
 Avith better than the nose of a dog. Short as his 
 legs were in proportion to his body, he had a leap- 
 ing agility and a bodily litheness which enabled 
 him either to attack or to escape at a tremendous 
 advantage over his foes. When an animal can 
 leap eight times its own length, and keep it up as 
 a regular gait till it gets to safety, it is not in 
 imminent danger of captivity, provided it has a 
 nose, or eyes, or ears, sharpened to give it warn- 
 ing of danger. And when it can thus leap, itself 
 almost invisible as it comes over the snow, aiming 
 
242 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDEENESS 
 
 the terrible bite of its jaws to land with the ac- 
 curacy of a rifle shot, the thing aimed at is not at 
 all likely to come oflf on top. Red Slayer's con- 
 fidence in himself was not misplaced. 
 
 Yet he had certain fears — ^not grave fears, but 
 rather wholesome respects for antagonists. He 
 respected Big Reddy and the other foxes, because 
 their noses were as good as his, and if they caught 
 hun out on the open, some distance from a wall or 
 broken grovmd or thick bushes, they could make 
 it hot for him. He respected, in winter, the great 
 horned owls who lived up in the mountain woods 
 where he often went to hunt deer-mice. The 
 owls, with their uncanny eyes, and their advan- 
 tage of being in the air where the scent escaped 
 him, had to be watched for carefully, of course. 
 So did the hawks in the warmer seasons. He re- 
 spected, also, his cousins, the mink, who lived by 
 the meadow brook — respected and a little envied 
 them. He not infrequently Avandered down 
 through the meadows on his hunting expeditions, 
 both in winter and summer. In winter there 
 were many field-mice to be had there, and in sum- 
 mer luscious young meadow larks on their nests 
 
EED SLAYEE AND THE TEEEOE 243 
 
 in the grass, and sparrows, too, and grasshoppers 
 and such small fry. As he wandered along the 
 brookside, he not infrequently came upon signs of 
 his cousins, and once he found the body of a Pekin 
 duck, half in the water, half out, its neck viciously 
 bitten. That was the work of a mink, he knew. 
 It was a fat duck, freshly killed that night, and 
 Red Slayer cautiously investigated the carcass. 
 He was tasting a morsel of the flesh when a warn- 
 ing odor smote his nostrils, and rearing his head, 
 he looked across the three feet of running brown 
 Avater directly into the snapping black eyes of one 
 of his cousins, who was also rearing a sleek brown 
 neck, out of the grass on the farther bank. 
 
 Cousin mink opened his mouth slightly, show- 
 ing white teeth, and made a remark. It was not 
 the sort of a remark regarded as good form be- 
 tween cousins of gentle breeding; certainly it dis- 
 closed no sense of the good fellowship of con- 
 sanguinity. Red Slayer knew that his vmamiable 
 cousin had some inches the better' of him in the 
 primitive style of argument for which he was evi- 
 dently preparing, and deemed discretion much 
 the better part of valor. He fled. But he 
 
244 ON THE EDGE OP THE WILDERNESS 
 
 couldn't help envying the mink that fat white 
 Pekin duck, which had so thoughtfully strayed 
 down from the farmyard up by the road. It was 
 not exactly fear, and not exactly respect, which 
 kept Red Slayer out of the barnyard itself. It 
 was rather the sense of mystery, of the vmknown. 
 Close around the dwellings of man were strange 
 smells and alarming noises, there were cats and 
 dogs and imexplored recesses into which one 
 might run for safety, only to find himself trapped. 
 It was Red Slayer's common sense instinct to 
 avoid the houses and barns of man. 
 
 Nor had he, so far in his life, needed to visit 
 them. There was plenty of hunting without. 
 He liked to hunt at night, for then the deer-mice 
 were up and about in the woods, often dancing in 
 some tiny glade, where he could pounce upon 
 them; the partridges were sleeping in a nest of 
 leaves on the ground; the rabbits would be com- 
 ing by on their little packed highways on the 
 snow, beside which he could crouch and wait. 
 But he often himted by day, too. It was a 
 matter of mood, and the state of his stomach. He 
 was tricky in his hunting, too, with several dodges 
 
BED SLAYER AND THE TEREOE 245 
 
 which he worked. One of his devices was to 
 follow the line of a fence which ran along the 
 road, passing one post on the north, the next on 
 the south, the next on the north, and so on with 
 the regxilarity of a shuttle in a loom. Along this 
 fence were many weed and grass stalks sticking 
 up above the snow, for the mowers never get quite 
 up to a fence line, and the mice came here to feed 
 on the seeds. By passing the successive posts on 
 alternate sides. Red Slayer was first screened 
 from the view of one side, then of the other, and 
 seldom enough did he go the quarter mOe length 
 of that fence without making a sudden spring and 
 landing his teeth into the throat of a mouse. If 
 he was merely hunting for the fun of it, he left 
 the mouse where it lay, scarcely drinking its 
 blood. If he were a bit hungry, he ate the brains. 
 If he were still more hungry, he peeled back the 
 skin and ate the flesh. But sometimes he carried 
 the mouse away, caching it in his wall, against a 
 lean spell. When the snow was very deep and 
 the himting poor, he thus stocked his larder when 
 game came his way. 
 
 This particular ^vinter, after he had come to 
 
246 OS THE EDGE OF THE WILDEENESS 
 
 live in the chipmunk's hole, the snows were fre- 
 quent and the world was buried deeper and 
 deeper under them, and it was bitter cold. More 
 and more Red Slayer found himself hunting be- 
 cause he was hungry, and not just for the fun of 
 killing, and he began to take longer chances. 
 More than once he hunted where he knew Big 
 Reddy, the fox, was hxmting, too, in the hope of 
 getting a rabbit. It was his good fortune one 
 day, traveling over the snow with his black tail 
 about all of him which you would have noticed, to 
 come upon fresh rabbit tracks leading into a 
 dense thicket of shrubs and very small trees. He 
 sneaked in under the bushes silently and swiftly, 
 his nose telling him the game was near. There 
 were, in fact, no less than four rabbits in that 
 thicket, each one crouched under a mat of over- 
 hanging shrubbery, taking a midday snooze. 
 These rabbits, too, had been hungry, and only 
 the night before had come upon a stand of seed- 
 ling maples, with juicy terminal buds in easy 
 reach. They had fed well, and now were taking 
 their ease. Red Slayer slunk up close to the 
 nearest one, which stirred uneasily, some sixth 
 
BED SLAYER AND THE TEBEOR 247 
 
 sense telling hiin danger was near. Even as Red 
 Slayer sprang, the rabbit leapt, also. But he 
 was too late. The weasel's teeth were fastened 
 in his neck. Red Slayer had just missed his aim 
 at a vital artery, however, because of the rabbit's 
 spring, and the two went down on the snow, leap- 
 ing and thi-ashing about, the rabbit kicking at his 
 own neck frantically with his powerful hind feet, 
 and Red Slayer engaged in the twofold occupa- 
 tion of hanging on and avoiding the blows of 
 those feet. The snow grew red. The weasel 
 needed all his snake-like litheness to maintain him- 
 self, and work his hold over to the vital artery. 
 But he succeeded, and the rabbit ceased from 
 struggling with a last convulsive kick. Then 
 Red Slayer feasted. 
 
 But, meantime, the other three rabbits, terri- 
 fied by Red Slayer's coming, a creature hardly a 
 quarter their size, had leapt frantically out of the 
 tangle of bushes, knowing that they were safer in 
 the open than in a region where the weasel could 
 slip through with a speed as great as their own. 
 Had it been a dog or a fox pursuing them, they 
 Avould have dashed into the bushes instead. A 
 
248 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDEENESS 
 
 man, crossing the fields, saw them emerge above 
 him into the pasture and hop rapidly away, and 
 wondered why. No dog emerged in pursuit. 
 There was no hawk or owl overhead. Yet it was 
 plain they were flying from some mortal peril. 
 But his curiosity was not strong enough to lead 
 him back into the bushes, and that is why Red 
 Slayer was not hungry that night, but full to re- 
 pletion as he snoozed in his snug, stolen chamber. 
 But food grew scarce again, and sometimes 
 Red Slayer wandered for many days and nights, 
 miles and miles from home, without satisfying 
 his desires. He traveled through the woods 
 smelling for deer-mice and red squirrels (who 
 often saw him and scolded him angrily from their 
 safe perches in the trees), and sneaking around 
 rocks, from the north side, to pounce by chance 
 on some partridge that might be huddled under 
 the warm southern face. In the woods, at night, 
 or in the dusk of late afternoon, he heard the 
 mournful hoot of the big horned owl, and kept his 
 path so far as he could under the protection of 
 laurel leaves or ferns or rocks, with his eyes ever 
 watchful for the deadly, flitting shadow above. 
 
BED SLATEE AND THE TBEEOR 249 
 
 and for the nearest hole into which to dive. He 
 traveled over the meadows, too, and along the 
 fences, and went into old stone walls looking for 
 squirrels and chipmunks, and even into wood- 
 chuck holes looking for sleeping chucks. It was 
 a tough hide around the neck a chuck had, to be 
 sure, but there was a softer place under the 
 throat, and one couldn't be too particular when 
 hungry. Still, this was a last resort. 
 
 Then Red Slayer's mind reverted to the Pekin 
 ducks in the barnyard. Driven by hunger to 
 overcome his aversion to the unknown, he crossed 
 the road one moonlight night, nothing but his 
 pale shadow and his black tail tip showing over 
 the snow, and sniffed around the barnyard. His 
 nose took him to the hen-house, and he found 
 easily a crack through which he could enter. 
 Once he was inside, the hens began to stir on their 
 perches imeasUy. Red Slayer went quickly up 
 the roost pole, and fastened himself on the neck 
 of the nearest fowl, killing it and feasting on the 
 blood. Now the whole roost was in commotion. 
 The hens were fluttering and flapping about, and 
 making a tremendous noise. The taste of blood 
 
250 ON THE EDGE OP THE WILDEENESS 
 
 filled Red Slayer with joy. The noise and terror 
 of the hens delighted him. He sprang upon a 
 second fowl and killed it. Then he sprang upon 
 a third. He was hungry no longer, but filled 
 with the lust to kill. He had just fastened on 
 the throat of a fourth bird when the hen-house 
 door opened, a blinding light flashed in, and a 
 man and boy entered. Red Slayer' let go of his 
 pi'ey and cast about for a means of escape. He 
 sprang into a dark corner, but the wall was solid 
 there, and the blinding light followed him. Now 
 the boy sprang at him with a club, while the hens 
 were dashing madly around. The door was open, 
 but it was behind the man. Yet it was his only 
 hope, for under that had been the crack where he 
 entered. Red Slayer made a spring for it. The 
 club descended, just grazing his tail. Between 
 the man's legs he dove, out into the night, and 
 away, pursued by the sounds of cackling hens, 
 angry voices, the baying of a dog, the excited 
 stamping of the horses in the stable. Up and up 
 toward his wall he went. Yet even as he bovmded, 
 his nose caught on the still, frosty air the scent of 
 a mouse, and he dropped to his stalking pace im- 
 
BED SLATER AND THE TEEEOR 251 
 
 mediately, once more the himter, not the himted, 
 and with a climip of dead goldenrod for cover 
 stalked his game, and brought the prey back to 
 his cache in the wall. His heart was beating nor- 
 mally when he reached his hole. Warm and 
 satisfied, he slunk into the burroWg and went to 
 sleep. 
 
 It was two days later that the Terror came. 
 
 The sky had been gray and overcast all day, 
 and when Red Slayer started out from his wall 
 across the open snow, toward evening, he cast no 
 shadow. Neither was it easy to make out ob- 
 jects against the dull and neutral sky. But he 
 wasn't looking upward with any care, to be sure, 
 for out here on the open he had no fear of the 
 great horned owls, who lived in the forest above 
 and were not at all likely to come out over the 
 pasture, not while there was daylight, at any rate. 
 There were no hawks, now, in the dead of winter. 
 With so much open space about him, in fact, he 
 had no fears at all, and went leaping along over 
 the crust light-heartedly, thinking only of his pos- 
 sible kill. 
 
 Then, with startling suddenness, he was aware 
 
252 ON THE EDGE OP THE WILDEENESS 
 
 of a rushing in the air above him. His head shot 
 up, his eyes turned skywards, with the lightning 
 rapidity for which he was noted, and he had an 
 instant's vision of something grayish white and 
 huge, with red eyes, shooting down upon him like 
 a meteor. Have you ever seen a watch spring 
 suddenly leap from the open case and fly out 
 across the room? Much like that, Red Slayer 
 seemed to uncoil and leap away. He turned in 
 the air, or at the instant of landing, you could not 
 have said which, and fled back toward his waU. 
 But as his feet left the ground on that first spring, 
 he felt the rush of the great bird just behind him, 
 the blow of cloven air at his back, the snatch of a 
 talon grazing his tail. As he leaped madly for 
 his wall, varying his direction with each jxmip, he 
 heard the beat of the wings behind him, too, for 
 the bird had wheeled and come on to strike again. 
 He da,red not look back, but once more he felt the 
 monster strike, and once more the talons gi-azed 
 the black tip of his tail. With terror at last in 
 his heart, he dove into the protection of his wall, 
 and from a safe hole he looked up and watched 
 the strange bird circle and swoop three or four 
 
RED SLATBE AND THE TEEEOE 253 
 
 times directly overhead, angry at the loss of his 
 quarry. 
 
 It was a big bird, more than twenty inches 
 long, a grayish white below, slate colored above, 
 almost a gun-metal color as he banlced against the 
 dull sky. He had powerful yellow talons, and 
 a wicked gray beak and fierce, piercing eyes with 
 red irises. He flew. Red Slayer could see, with 
 tremendous power, and, as the weasel well knew 
 now, he dropped to strike with terrific speed. It 
 was a bird he had never seen before, and one he 
 never wanted to see again. He did not know 
 what it was, for no goshawks had come down here 
 from the north before in his lifetime, but the fact 
 that it was here was self-evident, and for the first 
 time in his life terror entered into Red Slayer's 
 heart. Nothing on earth had saved him then but 
 the black tip to his tail. Seemingly making his 
 otherwise white body conspicuous on the snow, it 
 had in reality caught the eye of the hawk so 
 strongly that he couldn't help striking at it, and 
 as a result the main portion of Red Slayer, so to 
 speak, was past the danger point. But this pro- 
 tection would not always work. Hereafter there 
 
254 OS THE EDGE OP THE WILDERNESS 
 
 was a menace in the air above which he could 
 never ignore, never forget. He could never cross 
 the open fields in safety, he could never let him- 
 self get far from cover. 
 
 When next he ventured out he went down 
 to the road by the wall, and up the road un- 
 der cover of the fence and roadside brambles, 
 and finally reached a hen yard just in time to 
 see the Terror suddenly drop from over the 
 screen of a tree, pick up a big rooster which 
 must have weighed much more than he did, and 
 bear it instantly aloft, while the startling flash 
 and roar of the farmer's gun, from a corner of 
 the bam, did not come till he was well in the air 
 again, and affected his flight not at all. The 
 sight so soon again of his new enemy, the 'roused 
 barnyard, the stinging smell of powder, the pres- 
 ence of men, all conspired to send Red Slayer 
 slinking off, without any attempt to get a meal of 
 chicken or duck or young turkey. Instead, he 
 went a long way into the woods, searching for 
 mice or rabbits, and spent the next day far from 
 his burrow, and resumed the search after a rest 
 in a hollow stump. He had picked up a fresh 
 
EED SLATER AND THE TEEROE 25S 
 
 rabbit track, and followed it greedily but craftily, 
 coining at last within striking distance of his 
 prey, a big European hare, crouched beneath a 
 snow-laden young hemlock. This hare was too 
 speedy for him to overhaul in a chase, of course, 
 and he was debating whether it was not also too 
 large for him to attempt to kill by stalking and 
 leaping. He had never been hungry enough to 
 attempt such a feat before. But even as he de- 
 bated, the hare moved out from imder the tree 
 with a couple of odd, crouching hops, and nosed a 
 shrub inquisitively to see if it was edible. Red 
 Slayer slunk a trifle nearer, and then, with the 
 same abrupt and terrifying suddenness as before, 
 the gray death dropped over the screen of a tree 
 like a falling cannon ball, and hit the great rabbit 
 like a bomb. 
 
 There was instantly a tremendous scuffle, 
 which Red Slayer watched, fascinated, from the 
 shelter of his bush. The hare was so heavy the 
 hawk could not lift him clear of the ground as 
 long as he was putting up resistance, and he was 
 strong enough, tooj to roll and kick with his big 
 hind legs, striking the wings of the bird. He 
 
256 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDBENESS 
 
 strained with his neck to get his mouth, with its 
 razor teeth, into some part of his antagonist, and 
 between his kicking and biting the featheris flew 
 from the bird even while the blood flowed from 
 the hare. Now and again the hawk would get 
 him clear of the ground, only to be forced down 
 again a few feet away, where again the snow was 
 trampled, the long, powerful hind legs kicked, 
 bird and beast rolled and bounced and battered 
 each other. But the hawk was ever striking with 
 his cruel beak, hanging on relentlessly with his 
 talons, and at last the hare lay still on the red 
 snow. The hawk stood upon him and tore his 
 flesh, before he flapped his feathers straight again 
 and rose with the carcass. 
 
 But meanwhile Red Slayer had slipped away 
 unobserved. He had seen all he wanted to. The 
 Terror was growing in his heart. 
 
 For the most part, of course, it was bigger 
 game than weasels the goshawk was after, but he 
 scorned nothing in the way of meat, just as Red 
 Slayer himself would devour a grasshopper on 
 his way to kill a chicken. And some instinct told 
 Red Slayer this was so. He redoubled his cau- 
 
BED SLAYER AND THE TEEEOB 257 
 
 tion. He never entered or left his burrow across 
 the open snow, but always by way of the stone 
 wall and the fence below or the woods above. 
 Yet the Terror was unpredictable, and unsmell- 
 able. 
 
 The end came when Red Slayer was engaged 
 in the (for him) harmless occupation of skinning 
 a mouse not eight feet from his wall, at a point 
 where a single spring would carry him into an 
 impregnable cave. There were no trees near. 
 The sky above was free of birds. Not a wing 
 marred the rosy flecks of dawn clouds. Red 
 Slayer had just lifted his head to see. 
 
 But what he did not reckon on was the fact 
 that the stone wall cut off a certain part of the 
 celestial arc from his lowly view-point. The 
 Terror, flying low toward the wall, simply flowed 
 up over it, and struck. This time the body of 
 Red Slayer was between his own black tail tip 
 and the dark body of the mouse. The mouse 
 held the bird's eye as well as the tail. He 
 sprang — but it was too late. The talons sank 
 into his beautiful white fur, into his slim, sleek 
 body. The Red Slayer was slain. 
 
258 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDEENESS 
 
 The goshawk swung upward with the limp 
 white form in his talons, the black tail tip 
 dangling and swaying in the wmd of the flight. 
 On strong, steady wing beats, he mounted higher 
 and higher, and his steel gray body, outlined a 
 moment against the rosy flecks of dawn sky and 
 the sweet, pale blue, grew indistinct against the 
 dark^all of the moimtain forest as he headed for 
 some secret perch in a gnarled tree up the crags. 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 EASTUS EAENS HIS SLEEP 
 
 T^EIE story of Rastus really begins with the 
 "■" arrival of Wolf under the mountain. If 
 you ask me what kind of a dog Wolf was, I can- 
 not tell you. His master said he was a short- 
 haired collie (which sounds like a contradiction in 
 terms), but there was more than one bar sinister 
 on his family coat of arms, and one of them meant 
 a hound's nose and another tremendous endur- 
 ance. We'll let the sagacity come from the 
 collie strain, if you like, though all my own collies 
 have been more ornamental than sagacious. At 
 any rate, the advent of Wolf was distinctly an 
 event, and a disturbing event, in the life of Rastus 
 and all his fellow 'coons on the mountain. 
 
 Before Wolf's arrival, the only dogs in the im- 
 mediate neighborhood were two magnificent and 
 costly Saint Bernards. These two amiable crea- 
 tures roamed the mountainside at will, to be sure, 
 
 259 
 
260 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 but I've never heard of a Saint Bernard being 
 employed as a 'coon dog; certainly Benedick and 
 Beatrice would never have been selected for that 
 arduous and highly specialized profession. All a 
 'coon had to do to escape either or both of them 
 was to amble up the nearest tree — any thing would 
 do, from a two-hundred-year-old oak to a ten- 
 year sapling, just so it did not bend with the 
 weight — and stay there till the dog went away, 
 or else move into another tree, drop to the groimd, 
 and amble off to safety. The result was that 
 Rastus and his fellows were almost entirely with- 
 out fear of dogs, and rambled by night where 
 they chose, seeking meat even in the garbage cans 
 and washing it in the brook which ran down 
 through the hemlocks beside the big house, or now 
 and then raiding the chicken yard or the corn- 
 field, for though they were not vegetarians, they 
 were not averse to green food at times, especially 
 corn. Indeed, they ate nearly anything. 
 
 Rastus originally was one of a large family of 
 five. He came of a hardy race, too, for his 
 father, who weighed twenty pounds, had gnawed 
 his own tail completely off the winter before 
 
EASTUS EAENS HIS SLEEP 261 
 
 Rastus was born, because it had become em- 
 bedded ill an ice cake during the winter hiberna- 
 tion. After thus heroically freeing himself (it 
 must be admitted, perhaps, that the heroism was 
 not quite so great as it seems, for a 'coon can take 
 more punishment with apparently less pain than 
 almost any other animal), he came out from his 
 den into a sloshy March world, and foraged for 
 food, being lean and cold and brittle of fur. He 
 was caught in the act, and put in a washtub, with 
 a barrel inverted into the tub and a piece of two 
 by four braced between the barrel and the ceiling 
 of the cellar, to keep him locked in. When morn- 
 ing came, the two by four had fallen, the barrel 
 was heaved off the tub, and the father of Rastus 
 had vanished through a cellar window. That 
 very night he was again captured, at a neighbor- 
 ing house, and put in a chicken coop and fed 
 bananas. In the morning he was gone, having 
 gnawed his way out, preferring freedom to trop- 
 ical fruit. These two Houdini-like performances 
 gave him a certain distinction, and certainly 
 argued great strength in a body weighing only 
 twenty poimds when fattened for the autiram, 
 
262 ON THE EDGE OP THE WILDERNESS 
 
 and much less than that after a winter's hiberna- 
 tion sleep. However, the man who first caught 
 him should have known he was strong, for this 
 man, dragging him out of a hole he was trying to 
 dig into a frozen drain, got him with both hands 
 back of the head and tried to hold him down in 
 vain. So long as the 'coon had his four feet on 
 the ground, he could literally carry the man 
 along on his back. 
 
 After his second escape, father 'coon got back 
 to the mountain cliffs and wilderness, and was 
 later privileged to see his five offspring, among 
 whom was Rastus. The family grew in a wild, 
 up-ended land of forest and precipice and rocky 
 caverns, leading down to lumber slash and then 
 to farms and the big house, beyond which, on the 
 plain, were more forests and swamps, and two or 
 three ponds. It was a splendid land for 'coons. 
 The trees were big and plenty, the caverns in the 
 precipitous rocks were even better and safer than 
 the trees for dens, there were plenty of small 
 game and birds, in the brooks were trout, in the 
 swamp ponds crawfish, in the fields corn. And, 
 as I have said, the neighborhood dogs were a 
 
FATHER 'COON GOT BACK TO THE MOUNTAIN CLIFFS AND WAS LATER PRIVILEGE 
 TO SEE HIS FIVE OFFSPRING, AMONG WHOM WAS RASTUS 
 
EASTUS EAENS HIS SLEEP 263 
 
 joke. It was small wonder Rastus grew up to a 
 full twenty pounds of sharp face, the bead-like 
 eyes ringed with black, and black and dirty gray 
 furred body, without much fear of man or beast, 
 and without any great resort to the instinctive 
 strategy of his race. There had been nobody, in 
 fact, even to name him Rastus. 
 
 Then Wolf came. Wolf had a master who 
 came with him, but the master did not figure 
 much until autumn, while Wolf started in im- 
 mediately, the May violets being still in bloom in 
 the woods. Wolf was a born 'coon dog. Down 
 south they have 'coon dogs, I'm told, but I never 
 thought much of any I ever saw. At least, 
 they'd be of little use on our mountain. They 
 are hound dogs, and they bay on the scent. If a 
 dog bayed on the scent of one of our 'coons, the 
 'coon would be off so far in advance that he would 
 get safely to his den in the rocks, where nobody 
 could get at him, and the dog would never tree 
 him at all. Wolf had a hound's nostrils, but no 
 bay. He followed a hot trail like a silent race 
 horse, and he never barked till he was certain he 
 had his 'coon up that particular tree beneath 
 
264 ON THE EDGE OP THE WILDERNESS 
 
 which he sat on his haunches. It was a pretty 
 sight to watch him work when the scent took 
 him to a tree trunk. His nose went up the bark 
 as high as he could raise it, but no sound came 
 from his mouth, except, possibly, a faint whining 
 complaint, as if he were muttering out the puzzle. 
 Instead, he would drop back and circle the tree, 
 perhaps fifty or a hvmdred feet away. If he 
 didn't pick up the scent again in that circumfer- 
 ence, he woiild enlarge it to a diameter of a hun- 
 dred or even two hundred yards, and again com- 
 plete the circle. Only after a second failure on 
 this larger arc would he return, satisfied, to the 
 tree, sit on his haunches, raise his eyes to the 
 branches, and wake the echoes. 
 
 This was a totally difPerent proposition from 
 the hunting of Benedick and Beatrice, and after 
 Wolf had roamed the mountain for a week or 
 two, putting up 'coons at first not a hundred feet 
 from his dooryard and catching three or four as 
 they foolishly attempted to spring out over him 
 to the groimd and escape, Rastus and his fellows 
 began keenly to realize the difference. The word 
 was passed around, as such things are in the wU- 
 
fiASTUS EAENS HIS SLEEP 266 
 
 demess, and all the 'coons, especially the older 
 ones, began to exercise that instinctive strategy 
 which is their heritage. By July, WoK's bark at 
 night, which at first had often resounded close to 
 the house, was now heard faint and far away, up 
 the rugged mountainside, and most often among 
 the limestone cliffs where tiny cave mouths led 
 in to inaccessible and impregnable recesses no dog 
 could enter. There was frequently a note of 
 plaintive anger in his bark now, so you could al- 
 most teU whether he had the 'coon up a tree or 
 had trailed it to a den mouth. 
 
 Rastus had two or three experiences with WoK 
 during the summer, but he managed to come off 
 free in each case, learning something from each 
 one, too, if it was only caution. And in each 
 case it was his curiosity which got him into trou- 
 ble. But you can't cure a 'coon of curiosity, 
 except with an ax. Did you ever have a pet 
 'coon? If you have, you know something about 
 the curiosity" of the breed, and something, too, 
 about their humorous tricks. A wild 'coon, of 
 course, has the same curiosity and the same 
 humorous tricks — only there is none to see them. 
 
266 OK" THE EDGE OP THE WILDERNESS 
 
 A 'coon, being nocturnal in his habits, works 
 largely by scent and touch. His small eyes may 
 be keen enough, but he seems to prefer to take 
 the testimony of his nose first, and then even 
 more of his forepaws, which, in spite of their 
 sharp claws, appear to have a great delicacy of 
 perception. They can look, and feel, almost like 
 hands at times. The 'coon's most amusing trick, 
 or mannerism, is his fashion of investigating the 
 contents of a basket, say, by taking everything 
 out of it with his hands, while keeping his head 
 turned the other way, or looking upward toward 
 the sky — ^anywhere except where his hands are 
 exploring. This gives to his action a quaintly 
 surreptitious air, as if he were determined not to 
 let even himself know what he was up to. If he 
 is investigating something that may contain food, 
 his hands appear to reject what, to him, is un- 
 edible, by tossing it aside, and Avhen a nut or bit 
 of meat is clutched, a look of crafty joy suddenly 
 radiates the sharp little face. Taking the bit of 
 meat, if possible, to water, he holds it betAveen 
 his two front paws and sloshes it back and forth, 
 back and forth, till it is washed white and pulpy. 
 
BASTUS EAENS HIS SLEEP 267 
 
 before he eats it. You may wash it ahnost to 
 a pulp for him, but he will grab it from your hand 
 and rewash it himself before eating. 
 
 The wild 'coon, of course, has all these traits. 
 I have lain by the shore of Lake Drummond, in 
 the heart of the Dismal Swamp, when there was 
 a heavy blanket of night fog four feet thick hangr 
 ing over the water, and heard the 'coons washing 
 their meat, or fishing, close by me, but quite in- 
 visible under the fog veil. In the morning I 
 would find in the mud the print of their feet by 
 the shore, the hind paw marks uncannily like the 
 print of some shriveled baby's foot. If you could 
 have watched Rastus at night, you would have 
 seen him, when ranging the woods, get up on 
 every fallen log and run along it, poking his paw 
 down into crannies of the bark, feeling for grubs. 
 When something glittering caught his eye — a bit 
 of quartz, a piece of tinfoil dropped by some 
 hunter from a cigarette package, you would have 
 seen him approach it, look up into the trees, pick 
 it up on his forepaws and thus investigate it. 
 You would have seen him climb up trees, too, and 
 poke his hand into holes where chickadees or 
 
268 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDEENESS 
 
 woodpeckers might be nesting, or climb out along 
 limbs for the nest of thrushes or warblers. You 
 might at times, also, have seen him over by the 
 shore of one of the ponds, sitting perfectly still 
 on a stone or a log overhanging the margin, his 
 eyes fixed on vacancy, one paw dangling in the 
 water. But if you had been able to watch long 
 enough, presently you would have seen that paw 
 yank up with a lightning quick stroke, and a 
 crawfish fly to land. 
 
 It was one evening in late summer that Rastus 
 saw firelight glowing on top of Black Rock, a 
 rough precipice jutting out like a bowsprit from 
 a shoulder of the moimtain, with a flat top on 
 which picnic parties were sometimes held, when 
 you could find enough men and especially women 
 who were not afraid of the rattlesnakes which 
 lived on the faces of the naked cliff itself. 
 Rastus, led by his curiosity, moved over toward 
 this firelight, while it glowed redder and flickered 
 lower with the coming of night, and as he drew 
 near his nose caught the smell of meat — of bacon, 
 no less! The picnic party had departed; Rastus 
 had heard them go laughing down the trail which 
 
EASTUS EARNS HIS SLEEP 269 
 
 skirted the rocks. He moved in to the fire 
 cautiously, however, for fire was something new 
 to his experience, foimd a big bacon rind, and 
 scurried away with it into the deeper thicket. He 
 was on his way toward a trickle from a mountain 
 spring, to wash this food, when he heard Wolf 
 and his master coming back up the trail. The 
 full moon was now rising over the eastern world 
 rim and flooding the open spaces with its pale 
 radiance. Wolf's master had returned for a for- 
 gotten basket of knives and forks, but glad, too, 
 of the excuse to see the moonrise from this com- 
 manding promontory. Wolf, however, was blind 
 to aesthetic effects. His nose began to wiggle, 
 his nostrils to quaver, as he reached the fire ring, 
 and with a joyous little moan he was off on 
 Rastus's hot trail. 
 
 When Rastus heard him coming he was in a 
 scrub oak thicket — ^not a tree big enough to give 
 him any security from Wolf! He didn't have 
 time, he knew, to get to the tiny brook, which 
 otherwise he could have used to hide his track. 
 Running water tells no tales. Accordingly he 
 almost doubled on his tracks and actually passed 
 
270 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDBENESS 
 
 by Wolf not fifty feet to the leeward. Wolf's 
 master had seated himself on top of the rocky 
 bowsprit, to enjoy the moonrise and to see what 
 would happen on Wolf's himt. As Rastus ap- 
 proached, however, he heard nothing, which was 
 not strange, for Rastus was making no sound. 
 The way a 'coon can slip over the ground, even 
 over dead, crackly leaves, with no sound whatever 
 except a kind of whispered rustle as if from his 
 own fur, is almost uncanny. The man did not 
 see Rastus till the 'coon stood on the edge of the 
 rock, in the full moonlight, not twenty feet away. 
 He kept perfectly still, and Rastus evidently did 
 not see him at all. Rastus was looking down, as 
 if measuring the distance or inspecting the 
 ground below. He slunk along ten feet further, 
 where the jump suited him better, and plumped 
 off. The man heard the thud as he landed on a 
 ledge forty feet below. Then he heard no more 
 down there, but a second after the pant and soft 
 whine of Wolf, coming hot footed back on the 
 trail. 
 
 When the dog found it to end abruptly at the 
 edge of the precipice, and could not pick it up 
 
EASTUS EAENS HIS SLEEP 271 
 
 again on either side, he actually emitted a sharp 
 yip, yip of exasperation, and then, without pay- 
 ing the slightest attention to his master, pro- 
 ceeded painfully to find a way down through the 
 scrub at one side of the precipice. A few mo- 
 ments later his master heard, very faintly, his 
 whine as he picked up the scent again. Then 
 the man waited for the bark that indicated a 
 treed 'coon. 
 
 But the bark never came. Instead, to the 
 man's amazement, a few minutes later he heard 
 a faint sount to one side and a bit below him, and 
 a thud of a pebble bouncing on the rocks. Then 
 the sharp nose of Rastus emerged over the rim, 
 and the gray, sleek body of Rastus behind it, and 
 drawing himself up on level ground, the 'coon 
 glided noiselessly and without haste across the 
 open space of moonlight and disappeared on his 
 first trail into the woods; and, if you ask me, I 
 think he picked up that bacon rind on his way 
 back and took it to the brook, walking a long way 
 in the water and emerging without further fear 
 of pursuit, 
 
 A moment after he had passed the man, Wolf 
 
272 OK" THE EDGE OP THE WILDEENESS 
 
 arrived at the base of the cliff. Looking over, 
 his master could see, in the bright moonlight, just 
 how Rastus had gone up a tall tree which had 
 thrown a limb against the rocks, and by using this 
 limb easily reached a sloping gully that made a 
 road to the top. Wolf, however, was completely 
 baffled. There was only the one trail to the tree. 
 He ascertained that. Then he came back and 
 studied the trunk in silence a moment. Finally 
 he sat down and barked. He'd treed his 'coon, 
 he told the world. And Rastus was a mile away, 
 eating bacon rind ! 
 
 Wolf's master whistled the dog off, and went 
 down the mountain reflecting on the marvelous 
 instincts of the wilderness folk, which teach them 
 such lessons in the strategy of retreat. When he 
 got home, he looked up his guns and lantern. 
 
 " Wolf and I are going to get that Rastus this 
 autumn," he told his wife. 
 
 " That who? " said she, surprised out of her 
 grammar. 
 
 He laughed. " Such a big clever 'coon has to 
 be named Rastus," he answered, and told her the 
 story. 
 
EASTUS EAEFS HIS SLEEP 273 
 
 Meanwhile Rastus had been having other 
 troubles not connected with dogs and men. He 
 was the father of a large and growing family of 
 five, which had to be looked after by himself and 
 their mother pretty much all summer, for they 
 were not bom till late in May, and at first they 
 were as helpless as kittens, and later, as they 
 grew up and could get around a bit, they had to 
 be taught how to climb trees and to be watched 
 when the parents went abroad, for they insisted 
 on following when they got a chance, and cried 
 like babies if they couldn't keep up. When the 
 com was in the milk, Rastus would take the 
 whole fairuly down to a cornfield and they would 
 reach up and strip the ears, eating their fiU — 
 which was considerable, and spoiling even more 
 than they ate. Then they all had to be led safely 
 back again to the snug, safe den up in the rocks 
 before daybreak. It was fortimate, perhaps, for 
 all the family that Wolf's master did not get his 
 hunting idea until after the children were grown 
 enough to shift for themselves, and they could 
 scatter if necessary at the signs of danger. 
 
 Rastus and his mate were out one night, under 
 
274 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 the harvest moon, headed across the hundred-acre 
 hole in the forest where the lumber had been cut 
 and only a scattered tree left here and there as a 
 seed bearer, when Wolf and his master, also out 
 for an evening stroll up the lumber road (the man 
 had no gun) , cut across their trail. , Free of the 
 children, the two 'coons were boimd for the pond 
 over in the swamp, to fish, but willing to pick up 
 anything in the way of food, animal or vegetable, 
 on the way across the farms. It was certainly 
 hard to be interrupted violently by the panting 
 of Wolf on their trail. They made for the near- 
 est sizable tree as their only immediate salva- 
 tion — a white oak, and went up it, till they were 
 amid the spring of the branches, where they 
 crouched down practically hidden from the view 
 of any one below. Wolf completed his two 
 circles of the tree, and then squatted beneath and 
 bayed his decision that the 'coons were up there — 
 the 'coons, he knew, though his master supposed 
 there was only one. 
 
 " Want me to go up and shake him down, 
 Wolf? " his master asked. 
 
 The dog barked still louder. 
 
EASTUS EAENS HIS SLEEP 275 
 
 The man embraced the trunk,' and began to 
 shin. He made much harder work of it than the 
 'coons had done, but he got to a limb at last, 
 pulled his leg over, stood up, and peered into the 
 branches. Ten feet above his head, he saw, to his 
 surprise, not one, but two dim forms curled into 
 crotches on opposite sides of the trunk, and two 
 pairs of eyes watching him intently. He begaB 
 to climb again. 
 
 As he neared the 'coons, Rastus began to move 
 slowly out along one limb, his mate slowly out 
 along another. When the man reached the limb 
 Rastus was on, and got his weight fixed against 
 it ready to shake, Rastus was far out amid the tip 
 branches. Before the man could shake, however, 
 completely to his surprise Rastus jumped. He 
 landed with a crash of broken sticks square in the 
 middle of a pile of rotted down slash, and of 
 course Wolf sprang toward the sound. But even 
 as he landed and Wolf sprang, his mate plopped 
 off the end of her limb at the opposite side of the 
 tree, and while Wolf was yet just short of the 
 slash pile where Rastus was hidden in the hole his 
 fall had broken through. Wolf heard the thud of 
 
276 ON THE EDGE OP THE WILDERNESS 
 
 the second 'coon. He whirled around and dashed 
 toward this second sound, bewildered by surprise. 
 Then Rastus, from his slash heap, suddenly 
 uttered a strange cry, something like the hoot of 
 a big owl. Wolf turned again and sprang to- 
 ward it. No sooner were his feet on the slash 
 pile when the same cry came from the other side 
 of the tree ! Again he turned, and made a dash. 
 The man in the tree, who had scrambled hastily 
 down to the lowest branch, to observe the fun, 
 now saw the second 'coon making off, a dim, 
 ghostlike, blackish-gray ball, into the under- 
 brush. Wolf got to the spot where she had 
 vanished when Rastus cried again — cried as he, 
 too, was slipping away. Wolf, thoroughly be- 
 wildered now, caught like a runner between third 
 base and home plate, turned yet again, and 
 actually danced a circle in his own length under 
 the tree as the cry was repeated behind him. His 
 master slid dovm the trunk and put him on 
 Rastus's trail — but there was a small brook not 
 two hundred yards away, and the trail ended at 
 the border. Wolf returned to the hearth rug 
 that night with a drooping tail. 
 
EASTUS BAENS HIS SLEEP 277 
 
 After that, Wolf's master, who was the best 
 kind of a hunter because he had a great deal more 
 curiosity to find out how animals behave and how 
 they defend themselves than he had lust to kill 
 them, determined to keep on giving the 'coons a 
 fair chance and see what they could make of it, 
 while Wolf did the killing, if any was done. Be- 
 cause he knew that Rastus and others fished along 
 the shore of the swamp pond he put a canoe on 
 the water, and with a powerful flashlight in his 
 pocket and Wolf in the bow, he would go out at 
 night and paddle as quietly as an Indian (for he 
 knew how to feather under the surface) along the 
 shore, till he felt, if it was too dark to see, the 
 dog's nostrils quiver, and the tip of the canoe as 
 Wolf, in excitement, leaned to one side. Then 
 he would drive the bow sharp in shore and sud- 
 denly turn on his flash, as the dog sprang for the 
 beach. Sometimes the flashlight would catch the 
 'coon actually sitting by the water and staring 
 with eyes that shone red into the beam of light — 
 to vanish as its body vanished when Wolf sprang. 
 Wolf ran down two or three young 'coons and 
 one older one before they could tree; but two 
 
278 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDEENESS 
 
 other old 'coons reached their trees and then 
 jumped out into the water, easily outswimming 
 the dog and escaping. 
 
 That taught Wolf something. He was learn- 
 ing about 'coons every night now ! Accordingly, 
 when it was the red eyes of Rastus at last which 
 stared into the flash, and Rastus who went up the 
 swamp maple overhanging the pond. Wolf was 
 out up to his spine in the water, ready for the 
 fall. Rastus, with his night-piercing eyes, saw 
 this, and didn't jump. The man had to climb the 
 tree for him. He crawled out on a limb over the 
 water, but a good shake and a sudden snap sent 
 the 'coon down. He was fat now, weighing a 
 fuU twenty pounds, and he couldn't hold on 
 against that snap. Into the water he fell with a 
 splash, and Wolf with one bark of joy was at 
 him. But that was the last bark he emitted. 
 His master, hearing no sound but a splashing and 
 churning of water, turned the flash downward 
 and saw only white foam churning thirty feet out 
 from shore, and what looked like Wolf's back. 
 He slid down the trunk, suddenly fearful for his 
 dog, and waded out. The water was up to his 
 
EASTUS EAENS HIS SLEEP 279 
 
 neck and his feet were sunk deep in mud and 
 threatening to sink farther when he at last 
 reached his dog^s tail and pulled. The dog came 
 toward him, and getting an arm around imder his 
 neck, he lifted Wolf's head out of the water and 
 struck sharply under the jaw. The dog's mouth 
 opened, the 'coon, which was in it, but at the same 
 time also curled completely around the muzzle, 
 with teeth and claws working, dropped and shot 
 away through the water. It was a bleeding and 
 half drowned dog that was got to land. Twenty 
 pounds of 'coon around your muzzle, every pound 
 fighting, when you yourself cannot touch bottom 
 with a single one of your four feet, to get a brace 
 and lift your head up, can drag your head under 
 water and hold it under! Even that wouldn't be 
 so bad, if the 'coon couldn't stay under any longer 
 than you can. But he can stay under indefi- 
 nitely — or so Wolf must have thought. It was 
 a wet and dejected pair, master and dog, who 
 paddled back across the pond. Rastus, however, 
 battered enough to be half dead if he hadn't been 
 a 'coon, had been saved from a broken spine or 
 crushed ribs by Wolf's inability to make a clean 
 
280 ON THE EDGE OP THE WILDEEmSSS 
 
 strike in the water, and by now had landed and 
 was on his way up the mountain toward his den, 
 to sleep hhnself back to normal in his nest of dead 
 leaves. 
 
 Wolf's master's mistress said, when her drip- 
 ping husband arrived home and emptied the mud 
 out of his boots, that she should think he'd had 
 about enough of 'coon hunting, and he replied 
 that he guessed he had. But a few nights later, 
 when it was frosty cold and clear, with a golden 
 October moon shining on the last shreds of golden 
 foliage in the maples, and Wolf had healed up a 
 bit (though one ear would never be the same 
 again!), and his master's boots had quite dried, 
 and the mud was scraped off and they were 
 freshly oiled, the man was seen by his wife to be 
 filling his tobacco pouch and testing the oil in his 
 lantern and the battery in his flashlight. 
 
 "Again? " she said. 
 
 " Just for a bit of a ramble over the mountain," 
 he answered. " It's such a beautiful night." 
 
 " Beautiful fiddlesticks ! " said she, showing 
 that women are incapable of understanding the 
 lure of a 'coon hunt. 
 
EASTUS EAENS HIS SLEEP 281 
 
 K was well on toward midnight when Wolf 
 picked up a trail, which as luck would have it was 
 that of Rastus, and started hot foot through the 
 woods, then down the mountain, across the 
 meadow, toward a tiny pond not more than thirty 
 feet across — really a big spring hole — in a 
 swampy comer of a hayfield. Rastus hoped to 
 make this little pond, which had a sedgy brook 
 for an outlet, before Wolf caught up to him, but 
 he couldn't do it. It took every notch of speed 
 he had to make the white ash a hundred feet short 
 of the pond, and scramble up into the safety of 
 its branches. There was no tree adjacent to af- 
 ford him an arboreal highway. He would have 
 to stay in that tree if Wolf was alone, or jump 
 for it if the man creature, who climbed trees and 
 shook limbs, came along behind. Wolf was 
 sitting on his haunches on the dead leaves below, 
 waking the echoes of the still autumn night, when 
 Rastus saw the bobbing light of a lantern ap- 
 proaching over the field. Presently, as he curled 
 his body along the upper side of a limb and peered 
 over at the ground, his eyes looked into the dazzle 
 of a flashlight beam, and he heard the man's ex- 
 
282^ ^ON"THE EDGE OF THE WILDEENESS 
 
 clamation when his eyes, in turn, caught the twin 
 red glints from the tree. 
 
 " You've got open ground for fifty feet," the 
 man said to Wolf. " If you can't get him 
 when I shake him down, you're a poor pickle 
 hound." 
 
 Then came the sound of a lantern being set 
 upon the ground, and the crunch of leather and 
 khaki on bark, as the man began to shin. As the 
 man drew near, Rastus crept farther and farther 
 out on his limb. Had he planned what he was 
 going to do? Did he know the covmtry below so 
 well that he could plan? Were his night-trained 
 eyes so superior to the man's and the dog's that he 
 saw things they could not? Who can say? I 
 only am sure that he had been often in this neigh- 
 borhood, and I surmise that, like other wild ani- 
 mals, an instinct told him always to know every 
 foot of his country. At any rate, this was what 
 happened. The man shook and snapped the 
 limb, Rastus fell off — and fell directly into the 
 only patch of shrubs and briar anywhere cloSe to 
 the tree. Wolf sprang like a shot at the sound 
 of the fall, landed with the characteristic collie 
 
EASTUS EAENS HIS SLEEP 283 
 
 bound, f orepaws downward to pin the game right 
 in the little patch of briars — and found nothing 
 whatever there! With a yelp, he dashed over 
 them, and rushed with nose to the ground, in an 
 expanding fanlike radius. Then he came back 
 to the briar patch, smelled, scratched, barked, 
 looked worried, and dashed forth again. By this 
 time the man was down from the tree. He poked 
 thoroughly into the briar patch, and then took 
 Wolf to a rail fence not far away and held him 
 up to run his nose along that, on a chance that 
 somehow the 'coon had reached it and run along 
 it to conceal his scent. The rail was " cold." 
 Back Wolf tore to the briar patch, his instinct 
 telling him Rastus must be there. Suddenly he 
 whined, and tore along a new scent — from the 
 briar patch to — to the little pond! The pond 
 had an outlet brook. Rastus had escaped! Not 
 a hundred yards down that brook, the thick 
 Avoods began, and the 'coon could have gone up 
 directly from the water into any one of scores 
 of trees, and traveled thenceforth far above the 
 ground. 
 
 The man went back, leaving poor Wolf to 
 
8^ OS TTTB HDGB OF THE WILDEB]<rBSS 
 
 drde the pood ovei and otct, like a whining 
 merzy-go-ioond, p^ed up his lantwrn, aiMl pio- 
 cee<kd to a thorougfa investigation of tiiat damp 
 of fariais. Quite oaocealed idthin it was a small, 
 flat ro^ and under this lock a natural care, 
 into whidi a wooddiuck had txnxowed. €kung 
 tiirou^ the tangle^ jou could step on tiie rock, 
 but you could not step into the hol^ for it was 
 covered by tiie orerhang of the stone. Rastus 
 had simply taken refuge in that hole, and peiiiaps 
 the woodchuck scait had confused tiie dog. Why 
 had tiie 'coon not stayed tiiere? Was tiie wood- 
 diuck still actively awake, so late in the autumn, 
 and had he objected to the intruder? Or dKl the 
 hole become so smaD that Rastus couldn't get in 
 as far as he wi^bed for safety? That was un- 
 Ukefy, surely. Or had he actualb^ watdied for 
 the opportunity to make a break for the pond? 
 The man pondered these questicns, and wished 
 he had, for once, file nose of a dog so he could 
 arriTe at some ccHidusicHis. He whistled Wolf 
 up, and showed him the bole. Wolf toc^ a few 
 digs at it, Imt refused to become realty excited. 
 He knew his particular quany had gone toward 
 
EASTDS EARNS HIS SLEEP 286 
 
 the pond. So master and dog, at two in the 
 morning, returned slowly and empty handed 
 across the fields, hoar frosted and cold to the feet, 
 under the chill October moon. 
 
 That was their last encoimter with Rastus. 
 When winter came on, Rastus at first decided to 
 den up in his rock cave, but a warm, melty day 
 precipitated the same sort of trickle through a 
 crack that had made an ice cake over his father's 
 tail, necessitating an heroic operation, so Rastus, 
 being wiser, forsook the den, taking his mate 
 with him, and two of the children also, who had 
 stuck around with the old folks. They climbed 
 out on the damp snow, foraged a bit for food, and 
 came to the great chestnut which was hollow at 
 its first fork, high above the ground. Up it they 
 went, one by one, and into the hole above the 
 spring of the huge limb, a hole invisible from the 
 ground. Inside the hollow were five other 'coons, 
 who stirred wakef ully at the arrival of the new- 
 comers, for the day was warm, but offered no 
 resistance. Working into such nooks and comers 
 of the interior as were not occupied by 'coons, 
 Rastus and his family likewise settled down, curl- 
 
return of spring. And Rastus, at least, I think 
 you will agree, had earned the right to leave no 
 call. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 "THE LAST AMEEICAN" 
 
 TTE clasped the crag with crooked hands, but 
 ■*•■*■ he was not close to the sun in distant lands ; 
 he was eight hundred feet up on a ledge over- 
 looking the wild gorge of the Deerfield River, 
 where it breaks out of the Green Mountains, hits 
 a buttress of the BerkshireiS, and turns east to cut 
 its way to the Connecticut. To be exact, he was 
 not even clasping the crag, but the storm-twisted 
 stem of a low pitch pine which grew on the crag. 
 As he sat there, intent and still, the brown river 
 rippling over its shallow, stony bottom like a thin 
 ribbon far below him, the juts of naked rock 
 arovmd him, across the gorge the precipitous op- 
 posite wall and then the fold on fold of wild, 
 tumbled, forest-clad hills, he made a picture 
 peculiarly fitted to its rugged setting. He stood 
 almost three feet high, his feathers a glossy black- 
 ish brown where the sunlight glinted on wing 
 
 287 
 
288 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDBENESS 
 
 curve and shoulder, his head and neck as white as 
 snow, his bill and feet yellow, and a hint of more 
 snow white where his tail could be seen below the 
 folded wing tips. He, the bald eagle, the largest 
 and most powerful creature that now takes the 
 air over our eastern lands, since his cousin, the 
 golden eagle, has vanished, he, the symbol of 
 America, emblem of our might, emblazoned on 
 our shield (and our money!), sat like a carved 
 image eight hundred feet above the rippling 
 brown ribbon of the Deerfield River — watching 
 for a dead fish! 
 
 His distant relatives, the duck hawks, two of 
 whom had nested not far away, on these same 
 precipitous ledges, for many years, live on birds, 
 killing them on the wing. The fiery goshawks 
 who come down from the north in winter are the 
 terrors of the air, killing for the pure love of the 
 fight, and attacking any game, even poultry or 
 rabbits twice their own weight. The low-flying 
 cooper's hawks (Baldy could see one of them 
 noM', below him, flowing up over a small orchard 
 in a farm tucked down like a piece of green car- 
 pet by the side of the river, and diving like a 
 
" THE LAST AMEEICAN " 289 
 
 bullet in among the chickens) falls upon his liv- 
 ing prey and kills like a bolt from the blue. But 
 the bald eagle, in his serene strength, his majestic 
 beauty of flight — preys upon dead fish. At least, 
 he preys upon them when he can, in summer. 
 Hunger, or the demands of his young, may drive 
 him to other offal, or even to killing. But he is, 
 nonetheless, driven to it. His nature is not 
 pugnacious; his instincts may be vulturine, but 
 they are pacific. Not Jove's thunderbolts but a 
 carrion pickerel should be represented in his 
 talons, were we realists in our art. 
 
 But we are not realists. Man lives by symbols. 
 His imagination transcends facts. See, Baldy 
 rises suddenly from his perch on the cliff side, and 
 with a kind of barking scream, cac-cac-cac, and a 
 few air-stirring beats of those vast wings, more 
 than six feet from tip to tip, leaps upward, banks, 
 ascends on a spiral, and is now overhead, against 
 the blue ! Look at him now, and do not marvel 
 that man has placed the thunderbolts of Jove 
 within his yellow talons, or carved his form upon 
 a nation's shield! Against the sky he is outlined 
 with sharp distinctness, the outer feathers of his 
 
290 ON THE EDGE OP THE WILDEENESS 
 
 wings a trifle separated, letting through the 
 light. , All brown has disappeared from his plu- 
 mage — he looks jet black now, save his splendid 
 white head and neck, and the great white fan of 
 his tail. His domineering eyes are stUl visible, 
 too, as he banks and swings in soaring loops above 
 the hole of the river gorge, keeping his head down, 
 his vision fixed below him. How superbly easy 
 is his flight, over what spaces he seems to float on 
 the buoyancy of air, with spread wings motion- 
 less, what power to strike would be his if sud- 
 denly those Avings were folded and the thunder- 
 bolt fell! A great, brave bird, for battle bom, 
 his very ciy a challenge ! So splendid a sight was 
 Baldy, as he swung his loops over the gorge, and 
 suddenly saw his prey below him, a prey totally 
 invisible to the human eye from the top of the 
 precipice, even with powerful glasses, and, fold- 
 ing his wings, dropped a dead weight through 
 sj)ace to snatch from the river — a dead fish. 
 
 Yet Baldy, the eagle, had his battle, his long, 
 incessant battle — ^his battle to rear his young and 
 perpetuate his breed; only it was not waged with 
 other birds or other beasts, but with man, with 
 
" THE LAST AMEEICAN " 291 
 
 the very Americans who had proclaimed him their 
 national bird, their proud and dominant emblem. 
 And in this battle, he, like all the other creatures 
 of the wild, was at a tremendous disadvantage, 
 for to man alone belongs the coward's weapon 
 which kills from afar — gunpowder. Before gun- 
 powder, man had bows and arrows and spears. 
 If, instead of primitive man, sonie other creature 
 had learned to kill from afar, how different would 
 have been the history of the world! But that is 
 
 idle speculation now. To return to Baldy -- 
 
 As he rose from the river with his fish, he did 
 not come back to a tree on the cliff to devour his 
 meal. Instead he climbed rapidly till his pierc- 
 ing yellow eyes could see well over the upper rim 
 of the gorge, on either side, and then sailed west- 
 ward, following the curves of an erosion cahon 
 which ran back into the folds of the hills, hiding 
 a rushing stream at the bottom, beneath its hem- 
 locks. Soon, from the rock where he was first 
 seen, he became only a moving fleck of black and 
 white against the dark mountainsides, and then 
 the eye lost him and could not tell where he sank 
 into the tree tops — if he did sink into the tree tops 
 
292 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDEENESS 
 
 instead of passing on and up over the crest of the 
 divide. 
 
 As a matter of fact, far up at the head waters 
 of this canon brook, ahnost two thousand feet 
 above sea level, and surrounded by dense forest 
 and laurel heUs, was a small mountain tarn, a 
 spring-fed pond of a dozen acres, its waters look- 
 ing almost black from the accvmiulation of leaf 
 mould on the shallow bottom. Just back from 
 the rocky shore of this pond, rising a trifle above 
 the other hemlocks so that its top commanded a 
 view of the water, stood a great hemlock. It was 
 not yet dead, but it appeared to be dying. In the 
 last strong fork of its top was a big structure of 
 sticks. It was toward this nest that Baldy 
 dropped, cac-cac-cac-iag as he sank. His call 
 was answered by a lower toned, broken call from 
 a tree close to the shore, a sound which, coming 
 suddenly in the silence of the forest, was as 
 startling as the laughter of a maniac, which it 
 somewhat resembled. At the same instant, 
 Baldy's mate rose from the limb where she had 
 been watching the water. And at the same time, 
 too, a noise arose from the huge Iwup of sticks 
 
THE NEST IN THE HEMLOCK 
 
" THE LAST AMEEICAN " 293 
 
 like a gigantic inverted thimble, in the tree top — 
 the noise of two small and very hmigry eaglets 
 anticipating dead fish. Both parents sank to the 
 rim of the nest, where they stood outlined sharply 
 agamst the sweet INIay sky, and the fish was ap- 
 portioned between the infants, which were then 
 two yawning gullets opening into a small collec- 
 tion of white, doAvny feathers. There is a time 
 at the beginning of its career when even the hu- 
 man infant is not a pretty thing, save to its in- 
 fatuated parents, resembling rather a wizened 
 Chinaman or a four alarm fire than something 
 fashioned in the image of its Maker. A baby 
 bird, especially when about to be fed, is even less 
 pleasing to look upon. Yet Baldy and his mate 
 were tremendously pleased with what they had 
 produced. And why wouldn't they be? This 
 nest was built on the rains of one they had made 
 the year before, and in which the mother had laid 
 two sets of eggs. The first set had been laid on 
 the first day of March, and the chicks broke 
 through the first of April, only to be taken al- 
 most immediately by some man or boy while both 
 parents were away fishing. Two more eggs were 
 
294 ON THE EDGE OP THE WILDERNESS 
 
 laid, and this time the eggs were taken before 
 they were hatched. It may have been by the 
 same person — the parents never knew. Baldy's 
 mate, seeing something in the tree while she was 
 in the air a full five miles away, had made for the 
 spot with all speed, but the robber saw and heard 
 her coming before she was near enough to do 
 anything, and slid rapidly to earth, with the 
 precious eggs. As she hovered and dove, crying 
 and screaming, over the spot, a flame smote her 
 eyes, a noise assailed her ears, and something 
 tAvanged by her in the air, nipping a wing feather 
 as it passed. There were no more attempts at a 
 family that year. 
 
 But now, this second spring, the nest had been 
 rebuilt on the ruins of the old (making it, to be 
 sure, yet higher and more conspicuous), and two 
 eggs had been laid and hatched, and no robber 
 had come to disturb them. They were proud and 
 happy parents at last. And what wonder and 
 beauty they added to the wild mountain uplands, 
 as their calls dropped down from the high air into 
 the silence of the forest; as they looped their 
 majestic circles over the billowing waves of tree 
 
" THE LAST AMERICAN ' ' 295 
 
 tops that were motmtains and gorges, but which, 
 from their altitude, looked like a heaving green 
 sea; as they sat silent above the mountam tarn, 
 the rushing river, or perched on the rim of the 
 nest, a living sculpture of the nation's shield set 
 against sky-blue enamel! The forest watcher, a 
 wild duck on the pond, perhaps, could sometimes 
 hear Baldj^'s high, clear cac-cac-cac when Baldy 
 himself was actually invisible, or at most a tiny 
 black speck, no larger than a pin point, against 
 the Avhite bosom of a cumulus. The ducks knew 
 that call ! They knew, too, that Baldy's yellow 
 eyes could see them when they could not see him. 
 They grew alert and watchful, ready to dive. 
 
 For Baldy and his mate were often driven to 
 seek other game than dead fish. It is a part of 
 man-made warfare to establish a blockade and 
 starve out an enemy. Under this method, the 
 enemj' is helpless; he cannot strike back. He 
 can only do his best to keep body and soul to- 
 gether on what is left of his ovm resources. 
 Similarly, though unconsciously, man has warred 
 on the eagles, among other birds and beasts. He 
 has cut off or taken away then- food supply, as 
 
296 ON THE EDGE OP THE WILDEENESS 
 
 well as directly attacking them in battle. When 
 I was a boy, I wiU not say how many years ago, 
 men used to drive a few miles into the north 
 woods from a certain village in Maine and bring 
 out two hundred trout in a couple of days. They 
 fished with two or three hooks on a line. To-day 
 a couple of trout in as many days in that stream 
 would be a fair catch. In those same days the 
 eagles bred in the pine-hung gorges where the 
 stream cut through the mountain defiles. They 
 breed there no more. It is hard enough to fight 
 nest robbers and himters, but harder yet to keep 
 the race going with the food supply cut off, for 
 an adult eagle is a big bird, and a baby eagle is a 
 himgry one, and both of them need much pro-i 
 visioning. So it was hunger — ^his own or his 
 children's — ^that drove Baldy to his many de- 
 partures from his most instinctive diet of dead 
 fish. 
 
 When the ducks passed northward on their 
 migration he would sometimes spy a flock, float- 
 ing on some little, wood-encircled pond, as he 
 coursed the upper air watching the earth-pano- 
 rama below. Then he would drop down and 
 
"THE LABT AMEEICAN" 297 
 
 hover above the spot, hopmg perhaps that some 
 duck might be weak or crippled or young, and 
 so an easy prey; but» failing to see such a one, 
 he would strike anyway, into the startled flock. 
 A canvas back duck, or a grebe, however, he 
 never succeeded in getting, for the race is not al- 
 ways to the strong. Sometimes it is to the quick 
 and crafty. Any diving bird could almost in- 
 valuably escape him. He could not cleave below 
 water as could the osprey, or great fish hawk, who 
 lived over the mountain by the big pond. Conse- 
 quently he hunted the water fowl as little as need 
 be, for he hated effort spent in vain. Rather, 
 when dead fish were few and hard to find, he pre- 
 ferred to cruise for miles a few hundred feet up 
 above the river bed, or circle overtakes and ponds, 
 his wonderful eyes bent downward, watching for 
 live fish under the water, estimating their dis- 
 tance from the surface, waiting the moment they 
 should rise to the top to give him the chance to 
 snatch them out of their element. This great, 
 lonely bird, coursing the waterways on tireless 
 wings, was fighting an incessant battle, after all, 
 the long battle with hunger, for the preservation 
 
298 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDEENESS 
 
 of his own life and the perpetuation of his 
 breed. 
 
 And how long it took his brood of young to 
 put on their wing feathers and escape at last from 
 the terrible conspicuousness of the nest into the 
 freedom and concealment of the forest! Baldy 
 might well have envied the robins and sparrows 
 and the other little birds who get their broods 
 quickly out and foraging, or especially the pretty 
 brown grouse whose chicks can scurry into the 
 protection of the imdergrowth almost as soon as 
 they break the shell. While his two fledglings 
 were still more white than brown, and quite help-, 
 less, a mother partridge in the forest below, not 
 three hundred yards from the eagle tree, was 
 leading her twelve or fourteen chicks, little puffs 
 of daintiness, into the shelter of last year's leaves. 
 It would be August before his young hopefuls, 
 still without the proud white collar and white 
 fanned tail, but brown all over save for little 
 streaks of white, would be able to mount the nest 
 rim, hop up on a branch of the hemlock, look 
 scared and stupid, and then fall off into clumsy 
 flight, while he and their mother swooped over- 
 
" THE LAST AMEEICAN " 299 
 
 head and round about, illustrating and crying 
 encouragement. Meantime, they were growing 
 all the while, with enormous appetites, and they 
 dwelt in a great nest as conspicuous to any per- 
 son wandering in that forest as would be a huge 
 hogshead tied to the peak of the Methodist 
 steeple. But so Baldy's parents, and their 
 parents before them, had built the nest, and no 
 experience taught him concealment, no instinct 
 came to his rescue. When, in the dim ancient 
 days of his race, the nest had been built that way, 
 the eagle knew no fear. He was king of the air, 
 and only from the air could danger come or, if it 
 came from below, the higher in the tree, the better 
 for the nest. Accordingly the instinct was fixed 
 to build it there, and when man finally came as 
 his enemy he was utterly unprepared to meet the 
 new foe. Instinct, of course, is the greatest con- 
 servative force in the world. When it is a law 
 of one's being, it precludes change. Nothing can 
 change it but the power of reason. When an 
 animal changes its instinctive habits to meet new 
 conditions and thus protect itself, we may fairly 
 credit it with something like reasoning powers. 
 
300 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDERNESS 
 
 When it does not change its instinctive habits but 
 falls a victim to them, it surely lacks what a 
 Yankee would call the ability to put two and two 
 together. So much for the brains in Baldy's 
 snow white, viking head. 
 
 Yet he knew a thing or two, at that. He knew, 
 for instance, that the osprey, the great fish hawk, 
 was a far better catcher of live fish than he was, 
 and he knew he was a better fighter than the 
 osprey. At any rate, he was ready to chance it. 
 Accordingly one day after heavy rains had raised 
 the stream levels and made fishing difficult, Baldy 
 rose high in the air and drifted over the divide to- 
 ward the pond where the fish hawk lived. As he 
 crossed the range, he rose higher still till he was a 
 speck against the blue, a floating speck that yet 
 could see most that went on below him. The 
 osprey was nowhere visible at first, and Baldy 
 patiently swung in great circles, with the least 
 possible expenditure of wing effort, keenly 
 watching the air and the forest below him. His 
 patience was at last rewarded, for he saw a second 
 speck coming from afar, a thousand feet lower 
 than he was, headed toward the pond. The eagle 
 
" THE LAST AMEEICAN » 301 
 
 tilted his planes and rose yet higher, to escape ob- 
 servation. But the osprey was watching the 
 water. He, too, was hungry. Far below Baldy, 
 he too circled, a smaller bird, but still impressive, 
 with his five-foot spread of wing. Had Baldy 
 been a philosopher, he would have reflected that 
 the fish hawk, also, even as himself, was fighting 
 an unequal battle against man, not so much, per- 
 haps, to protect its nest of sticks in a tree top by 
 the pond, as to find food in the ponds and streams 
 where once fish were so abundant. Residents by 
 the seashore can have little idea how rare a fish 
 hawk has become by inland waters, except in the 
 migration seasons. Even Baldy himself, in fact, 
 knew of no other hereabouts. But Baldy was 
 not philosophizing just then. He was thinking 
 only of fish, and watching the hawking bird be- 
 low him, on whose sleek back the sunlight flashed. 
 Slowly and still as a feather falling he wound his 
 way down the invisible spirals of the air to be near 
 his prey, until he, too, could see right through the 
 brown, sun-flecked water of the pond to the sand 
 and weeds on the bottom, and his eyes caught the 
 ghost-wraith of a pickerel moving languidly 
 
302 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDBENBSS 
 
 about. Though he could see it, he could not esti- 
 mate so well as the osprey its distance from the 
 surface. He grew unpatient that the osprey did 
 not strike. Then the fish became clearer;- the 
 great hawk dropped like a plummet, his talons 
 buried in the water with unerring aim as his big 
 wings went out like brakes and instantly he rose 
 again, the fish held fast, and started for the woods 
 above the rocky shore. Then another bullet fell. 
 Baldy tore at him through the air, almost collid- 
 ing in his passage, and with a precision of aim no 
 less marvelous than the hawk's when he struck the 
 fish in the water, the eagle shot past his feet and 
 snatched the fish away. The hawk, who had 
 caught the wind of his coming, and put on steam 
 to get away, was screaming angrily as the great 
 black bird tore by, and struck at him with his 
 beak. But the blow was vain. With a cac-cac- 
 cac of shrill triumph, Baldy was off with his 
 stolen feast, rising on mighty wing beats toward 
 the crest of the eastern range. Unto the victor's 
 diildren belong the spoils. 
 
 There were other food quests of Baldy's which 
 were less spectacular, but perhaps almost as satis- 
 
" THE LAST AMERICAN " 303 
 
 fying. Once he found the body of a rabbit killed 
 by a weasel in the woods. Agam he spied five 
 fish in a pail on the bottom of a boat drawn up on 
 the shore, and the fishermen nowhere visible. (It 
 was noon and hot, and they had retired to a cool 
 spring in the woods. ) When they returned the 
 pail was upset, the fish gone, and not a track but 
 their o^vn in the muddy margin around the bow 
 of their boat. They still discuss the mystery. 
 Yet again, coursing over a pasture early one 
 morning, while the sun, visible enough to Baldy 
 from his aerial pathway and casting a rosy light 
 on his snow white neck, was still hidden by the 
 mountain wall from the valley farm, he saw a dog 
 stalk a flock of sheep, cut out a lamb, and kill it. 
 Baldy was excessively hungry that morning, and 
 his young back in the eyrie, were, he knew, call- 
 ing pathetically for food. Below him was a dead 
 sheep, and none to dispute possession but a brown 
 and blaclc dog, Avhich even now was craftily 
 dragging the little carcass toward a thicket where 
 he could feast unseen. Made bold by need, 
 Baldy swooped, uttering his cac-cac-cac like a 
 battle cry, and struck for the carcass. The aston- 
 
304 OE THE EDGE OP THE WILDEENESS 
 
 ished dog, with the rush of wmgs above him and 
 then the ahiiost complete envelopment of his body 
 by the beating things, let go his hold, ahnost in- 
 stantly to repent and spring at the foe. The 
 lamb was dead weight, and Baldy could not lift 
 it in time to avoid this spring. Crashing his 
 wings down, to keep the dog from getting the 
 carcass, he struck with his beak at the dog's eyes, 
 and for a brief and savage moment the fight was 
 furious. Once the dog got a grip on the lamb, 
 almost puUmg the eagle out of the air, but Baldy 
 managed to strike him clear, and rise with one 
 great wing shove just out of range, and maintain 
 that level up along the pasture top to the woods, 
 where he hung the carcass over a lunb, tore apart 
 as much as he could conveniently carry, ate a bit 
 himself, and then rose and headed for home, well 
 satisfied. 
 
 But it was a fatal morning's work, nonethe- 
 less, for the farmer, walking from the barn to the 
 house with a pail of milk in each hand, happened, 
 as luck would have it, to glance up the pasture 
 just then, and saw Baldy take the air Avith what, 
 certainly looked like part of a lamb dangling 
 
" THE LAST AMEEICAN " 305 
 
 from his talons. Then he saw the flock huddled 
 hi their stupid terror at one comer of the pasture. 
 The dog, of course, had disappeared. The 
 farmer never saw him. He set down the pails 
 and started up the slope. Yes — a lamb was miss- 
 ing! The man cursed Baldy. Then he sud- 
 denly remembered that a year ago young Rob 
 Browning, before he went down to the city to 
 work, had found somewhere up in the hills an 
 eagle's nest, and brought two young birds home 
 (which, to be sure, had died). Rob said eagles 
 used the same nests year after year. That night, 
 when the chores were done, the farmer got out 
 the family ink bottle, spit on the pen, and wrote 
 a letter to Rob. When the answer came, he 
 called in two neighbors, and they started off up 
 the mountainside, with guns on their shoulders. 
 
 Rob's directions Avere, for them, easy to fol- 
 low, for they had logged over these mountains in 
 years past, or hunted 'coon and wildcat. After 
 nearly three hours of steady plodding they 
 emerged on a point of rock that commanded a 
 vieAv of the wooded hollow where the tarn lay, and 
 they scanned the tree tops, almost immediately 
 
306 ON THE EDGE OP THE WILDEEBTESS 
 
 spotting the nest. It was nearly time now for 
 the young eagles to fly; a few days more and they 
 would have been safe! But this was not to be. 
 There they were, up on the rim of the nest, great 
 brown conspicuous things with eyes scanning the 
 sky for a vision of father or mother coming with 
 food. The three men exclaimed in triumph, 
 dropped down the rock into the scrub, and made 
 as fast as they could for the eagle tree. 
 
 Finding a spot not far away where they could 
 secure an open sight of the nest, they concealed 
 themselves imder the boughs of a low hemlodi 
 and waited for one or both of the parent birds to 
 return. They were warned first by the sudden 
 impatient racket of the two eaglets, and then by 
 a far, high scream from the air, before they got 
 a glimpse of the parent bird at all. It was the 
 mother returning with a fish. She did not see 
 the danger lurking under the hemlock screen, nor 
 catch the glint of steel peeping through. Unsus- 
 pecting and happy, she dropped lightly as a para- 
 chute to the nest rim by her babies, and began to 
 give them food. 
 
 Three tongues of flame spit from the hemlock 
 
" THE LAST AMBEICAN » 307 
 
 on the ground. Three explosions jarred the 
 silent air. One eaglet fell back into the nest, one 
 crashed over the edge into the eagle tree and fell, 
 bouncing from limb to limb, till it hit the ground 
 with a thud. The mother, falling also, flapped 
 screaming with one broken wing, caught at a 
 limb with her talons, could not hold her weight, 
 and likewise fell to the ground. The men sprang 
 forward. She half raised her proud head, her 
 yellow eyes ablaze, and made ready for a last 
 stand, but a blow came down on her white fore- 
 head, and she crumpled in a heap. 
 
 " Get her out of sight," said one of the men. 
 " We'll wait for the other one now." 
 
 They dragged the mother and the little eagle 
 which lay on the ground in vmder the hemlock 
 with them, and waited a long time. But Baldy 
 was coursing a stream far away, and did 
 not return. An hour, two hours, went by, and 
 still they did not see him coming. One of them 
 grew impatient and lit a pipe. Another did the 
 same. But now Baldy was in sight of the nest, 
 though he was three miles away and almost a 
 thousand feet up. He looked down for his 
 
308 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDEENESS 
 
 babies, for his mate — and saw only one still body 
 lying in the rough thimble of sticks. Dropping 
 down lower as he sped on, his keen eye saw the 
 faintest almost imperceptible smoke Avraith drift- 
 ing up from the hemlock blind. He had never 
 seen anything like that before, except from men, 
 or about the houses of men. Suspiciously he 
 circled, dropping lower and lower, and suddenly 
 calling to his mate in shrill cac-cacs. There was 
 no answer. No answer from her, no answer from 
 the nest. The single form within it lay still. 
 Baldy knew it was dead. His piercing eye kept 
 watch where he had glimpsed that smoke, and he 
 saw a hand part the boughs a little and push up 
 something that gleamed. Instinctively he shot 
 up a few feet, as the gleaming thing spit and 
 roared, and he heard the bullet twing past his ear. 
 Another great downward shove with his wings, 
 and he sprang higher still, wheeling and crying 
 in anger and perplexity. Gradually he sank to- 
 ward the nest again, but again came the spit and 
 roar from the hemlocks, and again the twing of 
 something past him, this time clipping a feather 
 from his tail. He shot up violently, and swung 
 
" THE LAST AMEEICAN ' ' 309 
 
 his circles fai- aloft, widening them slowly till the 
 loop carried him a mile or two away, and then, as 
 he banked and swung back, he saw distinctly 
 three men in the open, watching him, and one of 
 them holding his dead mate by the feet! They 
 thought he was too far away to see them! As he 
 came wheeling back, high aloft, they jumped un- 
 der the hemlock again, but he did not sink. In- 
 stead he passed on, still crying shrilly, and faded 
 to a speck against the afternoon sky. The 
 hunters gave him up, and started homeward, 
 carrying their two kills which had fallen, but 
 leaving the baby up in the nest. 
 
 " 'Tain't worth stuffin'," they said, " leastways, 
 'tain't when you have ter shin a seventy foot hem- 
 lock ter git it." 
 
 But Baldy, swinging back now, saw them pass- 
 ing over the rock whence they had first spied the 
 nest, and unseen of them, because he was against 
 the sun, dropped down low enough to make quite 
 sure it was his mate they carried, her great, 
 bedraggled wings trailing the ground. Then he 
 shot upward and looped far to the north, to the 
 east, to the south, and only as the sun was setting 
 
310 ON THE EDGE OP THE WILDERNESS 
 
 came down to the lonely, pitiful nest and looked 
 close at his dead baby. 
 
 That night he perched, his head on his breast, 
 in a tree close by. In the morning he rose and 
 called his mate, as if his cries might bring her, 
 but no mate came, and no shrieks for food came 
 from the great mass of sticks in the hemlock. 
 Baldy circled slowly, indeterminately, in the 
 upper air, the dawn light rosy on his head and 
 neck and tail. Then, as if some impulse had 
 suddenly come, he spiraled up and up till the 
 cloud around the peak of Greylock was but a 
 white mat on the floor of the world, and far off to 
 the east, like a silver wire, was the flash of a great 
 river. He pointed into the east, and sailed to 
 meet the sun. 
 
 All that morning he flew, high at first, and then 
 lower, over the great river, save where the smoke 
 of cities caused him to shoot aloft again, and in 
 the afternoon his ears heard a strange bumbling 
 in the air and his eyes saw coming at him, with 
 incredible speed, the most astonishing bird he had 
 ever beheld. Compared to it, he was as small as 
 the tiniest humming bird. And it was above him. 
 
"THE LAST AMEEICAN" 311 
 
 too, though he was flying at the thousand foot 
 level. Its wings did not dip and rise, but were 
 rigid — ^yet it moved, it came rushing on, a mys- 
 terious blurry circle at the centre where a head 
 ought to be. As it tore by above him, with its 
 incredible speed and more incredible, jarring 
 whirr, he banked to follow it with his eyes, be- 
 holding a man creature sitting therein! Then it, 
 too, banked as if to turn, and Baldy worked his 
 wings with all his power, fleeing down the fields 
 of air to escape. 
 
 But the plane had only sheered off to the west, 
 and soon the jarring bumble gfew fainter and 
 died away. Then Baldy saw the shining floor of 
 the sea, blue and far away — a great pond lying 
 to the rim of the world. It drew him down the 
 air lanes" with steady beat of wings, and in a patch 
 of woods by the great pond margin he came to 
 rest, and thought of fish. 
 
 The fishing by the sea was good — ^better than 
 he had even known before. He wandered down 
 the coast till he reached a land of salt water ponds 
 making in behind the yellow sand bars, and be- 
 hind them a region of thick swamps, with fresh 
 
312 ON THE EDGE OF THE "WILDEENESS 
 
 water ponds in their depths, and tangles of scrub 
 oak and pine where no roads led, no clearings told 
 of hated men. And here Baldy came to rest once 
 more and called a certain pitch pine home. 
 
 But he took no other mate. There were other 
 eagles — a few — in those swamps and along that 
 shore. But his mate was dead, and he wanted no 
 other. Age was upon him now, age and loneli- 
 ness. He had done his best to fulfil his function 
 and raise new eagles to soar above the land which 
 called him its national bird; but this same land 
 would not permit it. He had fought his fight — 
 and lost. So, like King Philip of old, he made 
 his last stand in King Philip's swamps, or soared, 
 a proud and solitary figure, over the murmuring 
 shore of the ocean, looking with those piercing 
 eyes — for a dead fish. It was so little he asked 
 of the land, after all. He was as harmless as he 
 was magnificent — as harmless as a wren. Yet no 
 wren but can rear its brood in houses built for it 
 by man, while he, without a mate, must fold his 
 great wings in the deepest swamps. Such is the 
 fate to-day of him who clutched Jove's thunder- 
 bolts. 
 
BOOKS BY 
 
 Walter P. Eaton 
 
 The Boy Scouts of Berkshire 
 
 A story of how the Chipmunk Patrol was started, what they did 
 and how they did it. Sis pagen 
 
 The Boy Scouts of the Dismal Swamp 
 
 This story ia a continuation of THE BOY SCOUTS OF BERKSHIRE 
 and is an unusually interesting book on Boy Scouting. 310 pages 
 
 Boy Scouts in the White Mountains 
 
 Intimate knowledge of the country as well as of the basic princi- 
 ples of Boy Scouting characterizes this new volume by Mr. Eaton. 
 
 StO pages 
 
 Boy Scouts of the Wildcat Patrol 
 
 A Story of Boy 5coutlns 
 
 This story is a continuation of the history of Peanut and the other 
 characters which appeared in previous volumes by this author. 
 
 315 pages 
 
 Peanut — Cub Reporter 
 
 A Boy Scout's life and adventures on a newspaper 
 A rattling newspaper story with Peanut as the central character 
 — he who has figured so prominently in the author's four Boy Scout 
 books. 320 pages 
 
 Boy Scouts in Glacier Park 
 
 The adventures of two young Easterners in the heart of the high 
 Rockies. The volume gives an accurate and descriptive picture of 
 this Park, and might well be used as a guide book. This book is 
 illustrated by wonderful photographs. S36 pages 
 
 On the Edge of the Wilderness 
 
 Tales of Our Wild Animal NelKhbors 
 
 Interesting and intimate stories of neighborly wild animals who 
 through stress or mistake have wandered close to civilization, and 
 of whom glimpses have been obtained. Beautifully illustrated by 
 Bull, the great animal illustrator. g3S pages 
 
 "Every story tilritten by Walter P. Eaton runs true In its de- 
 scription of nature. He is a loVer of the out-of-doors, a 
 1(.een observer of animals and a remarkable leader of boys. 
 His pictures are real and the spirit behind them betolcens 
 the later of Nature that he is, and best of all, s>ou can de- 
 pend upon the truth oftchat be Writes." — She Herald 
 
 $t.7S each 
 All prices are NET 
 
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 A STORY OF PRINTING HOUSE SQUARE. 300 pp. 
 A genuine boys' book for genuine boys. Full of 
 life, clean, clear cut and inspiring. It will enlist the 
 interest of every stirring arid wide-awake boy. 
 
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 THE STORY OF A TRAIN BOY. 328 pp. 
 
 The story of the adventures of a boy who fought 
 his way to success with clean grit and good sense, 
 accomplishing what is within the power of every 
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 ment, sound in sentiment, anc wholesome in 
 character. 
 
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 A STORY OF THE LIFE-SAVING SERVICE. 318pp. 
 
 A spirited picture of the labors and dangers to 
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 A STORY OF THE MERCHANT MARINE. 352 pp. 
 This book has all of the interest of ' ' OUver 
 Optic's " books, with none of their improbabilities. 
 
 The Volumes are Fully Illustrated. Price, $1.75 i 
 
 W. A. WILDE COMPANY 
 
 Boston and Chicago 
 
By William Drysdale 
 
 United States Government 
 Series 
 
 Every hoy wants to (noic haa our government la run, and to he 
 a good and us^ul citizen ought to know. The hook' of this series 
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 through the various positions in the Treasury and State Departments. 
 
 ISe Treasury Club 
 
 A STORY OF THE UNITED STATES TREASURY 
 DEPARTMENT. 330 pp. 
 
 To any boy interested in our national govern- 
 ment, this volume will appeal, for it treats of the 
 workings of our Treasury Department. It is in 
 Mr. Drysdale's happiest vein. 
 
 tSk Young Consul 
 
 A STORY OF THE STATE DEPARTMENT. 
 336 pp. 
 
 This story takes up the State Department and 
 presents an accurate and interesting picture of the 
 consular service. 
 
 Cadet* Standish of the St>. Louis 
 
 A STORY OF THE SPANISH-AMERICAN WAR 
 352 pp. 
 
 A Story of an American boy to whom the Spanish 
 
 War brought novel and exciting experiences, taking 
 
 part in the cable cutting off Guantanamo, the first 
 
 exploit in which the great "merchant cruiser" 
 
 distinguished herself. 
 
 Each Volume Fully Illustrated. Price, $ 1 .75 
 
 W. A. WILDE COMPANY 
 Boston and Chicago 
 
Ralph Osbom — Midshipman at An^ 
 napolis 
 
 A STORY OP ANNAPOLIS LIFE. 336pag«a 
 
 Midshipman Ralph Osborn at Sea 
 
 A STORY OF MIDSHIPMAN LIFE AT SEA, AND 
 CONTINUING " RALPHiOSBORN— MIDSHIPMAN 
 AT ANNAPOLIS." 360 pages 
 
 Ensign Ralph Osborn 
 
 THE STORY OF HIS TRIALS AND TRIUMPHS 
 IN A BATTLESHIP'S ENGINE ROOM. 338 pages 
 
 Lieutenant Ralph Osborn Aboard a 
 Torpedo Boat Destroyer 
 
 BEING THE STORY OF HOW RALPH OSBORN 
 BECAME A LIEUTENANT AND OF HIS CRUISE 
 IN AN AMERICAN TORPEDO BOAT DESTROYER 
 IN WEST INDIAN WATERS. 342 pages 
 
 The "OSBORN" books show the steps of advancement in the 
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 life as it is. The information given is authentic^ and many of the 
 related incidents were actual ocounences. They are books of infor- 
 mation and adventiire combined. 
 
 Such stories as these are not only interesting to the young people but 
 carry with them an insight into naval life which will make the leader 
 have more respect and appreciation of the work of Uncle Sam's navy. 
 They are first-class stories for boys — clean, good, and worthy of a 
 place in the home, private or school library. 
 
 " These are the best stories on the United States Navy which have 
 ever been written. They ^ive a clear insight into the workings of this 
 importantbranch of American governmentand the characters are true 
 to life as befits a book written by such a man as Commander Beach, 
 who has enjoyed an enviable career ever since he entered the United 
 States Navy. — New York Timea. 
 
 Thase Uolumes are mil fultg itltatrated 
 Price, Ctoth, $1.75 n«« each 
 
 W. A. WILDE GO. Beaton aad Chicago 
 
BOOKS BY 
 
 Com. Thos. D. Parker, U. S. N. 
 Young Heroes of the American Navy 
 
 Being stories and adventures of the most noted young; heroes 
 of our Navy 
 
 The naval history of our country has developed many young men 
 who through patriotism have performed many acta of daring hero- 
 ism and whose names are in the hall of naval Ifame. The book is 
 fully illustrated with reproductions of the events which the various 
 characters made memorable. 
 
 320 pages 
 
 The Cruise of the Deep Sea Scouts 
 
 Or, Boy Scouts Afloat. Illustrated with colored frontispiece 
 
 The activities of the Boy Scouts Afloat are today more interesting 
 than ever before. Deep sea scouting is one of the most important 
 activities of the Boy Scout Organization and the call of the sea is 
 as strong as the call of the woods or the mountains, while the life 
 of the sailor promotes the same discipline and training as does the 
 life of the soldier. 
 
 920 pages 
 
 The Spy on the Submarine 
 
 A thrilling story of adventure on board a submarine destroyer 
 and upon a submarine itself. This is an up-to-date story, full of 
 the experiences which are daily happening and serving to make a 
 large part of the history of this great war. 
 
 S20 Dages 
 
 The Air Raider 
 
 winning the Qold and Silver Chevron 
 
 Onr navy and shipbuilding yards were exposed to many dangers 
 from enemies both within and without during the war. Few real- 
 ized it, but Commander Parker did. THE AIR RAIDER gives a 
 thrilling picture of what might have occurred in one yard, if cer- 
 tain loyal young men had not kept an ever watchful eye open for 
 every emergency. 
 
 Mr. Parker's sterits are based on his intimate knowledge of 
 naVal affairs. The experiences xahich his characters go 
 through Hilt shoUl to eVery reader of his books Just tohat is 
 happening or may happen tilithin the gates of any of our 
 Natiy Yards, or on the high seas on board one of oar great 
 battleships. They are true pictures of naVat life afloat and 
 ashore. 
 
 Price, Clotb, $1.75 each 
 
 All Prices NET 
 
BOOKS BY 
 
 Lewis E. Theiss 
 
 In Camp at Fort Brady— A Camping 
 
 jtOry Colored Illustrations 
 
 This story will be found helpful to all boyg, especially those be- 
 longing to the Boy Scouts movement. 
 
 S20 pages 
 
 Lumberjack Bob 
 
 A tale of the Allegbanies, with colored frontispiece 
 
 SIS pages 
 
 His Big Brother 
 
 K story of the struggles and triumphs of a little Son of Liberty 
 Illustrated. »«o pages 
 
 The Wireless Patrol at Camp Brady 
 
 A story of how the boy campers, through their knowledge of 
 wireless, "did their bit." Illustrated with colored frontispiece 
 
 iiO pages 
 
 The Secret Wireless 
 
 A story of the Camp Brady Patrol. Colored Illustration 
 
 ^ 320 pages 
 
 The fiidden Aerial 
 
 The Spy Line on the Mountain. Colored Illustration 
 
 SfO pages 
 
 The Young Wireless Operator— Afloat 
 
 Or, How Roy Mercer Won His Spurs in the Merchant Marine 
 
 Storms, fog and accidents at sea all lose much of their dangers 
 when aboard each vessel is an up-to-date wireless outfit and a 
 staunch, reliable boy like Roy Mercer to operate it. 
 
 Price, Clotb, $1.75 each 
 
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