"All at once we were interrupted by a series of curious incidents, which took place within sight of our fire. Our attention was first drawn to them by hearing loud screams at a short distance from us, which we all recognised as the voice of the blue-jay. There is nothing unusual in hearing this bird screaming half the day—for it is, perhaps, more easily excited than any other feathered creature. But, if you have ever noticed, it utters a very peculiar cry when there's something unusual 'in the wind.' When some much-dreaded enemy is at hand, its note becomes extremely shrill and disagreeable. So it was then; and for that reason it drew my attention, as well as that of my companions.

"We looked towards the spot whence the cry came. We could see the branches of a low tree in motion, and the beautiful sky-blue wings of the bird closing and spreading again as it fluttered through them. We could see nothing else upon the tree—that is, no enemy of the bird—nor on any of the trees near it. On lowering our eyes to the ground, however, we perceived at once what had set the jay to scolding. Slowly drawing itself along the earth, gliding through the grass and over the dry leaves—without causing even the driest of them to rustle—went a hideous reptile—a snake. Its yellowish body, dappled with black blotches, glittered as the sun glanced from its lubricated scales; while it rose and fell in wavy undulations as it moved. It moved slowly—by vertical sinuosities, almost in a direct line, with its head slightly raised from the grass. At intervals, it stopped—elevated its neck— lowered its flat coffin-shaped head, like a feeding swan—gently oscillated it in a horizontal direction—touched the crisp leaves with its red tongue, as though it was feeling for a trail—and then moved on again. In its frequent pauses, as it lay stretched along the ground it appeared cylindrical, as long as the tallest man, and as thick as a man's fore-arm. Its tail ended in a horny appendage about a foot in length, and resembling a string of large yellowish ill-shaped beads, or a portion of its own vertebrae stripped of the flesh, this peculiarity told us its species. We saw before us the dreaded rattlesnake—the crotalus horridus.

"My companions were eager to rush forward and at once attack the monster. I restrained them, dogs and all. I had heard—who has not?— of the power of fascination which these reptiles possess. I knew not whether to believe or disbelieve it. Here was an opportunity to test its truth. Would it charm the bird? We should see. One and all of us remained motionless and silent. The snake crawled on.

"The bird followed over-head, pitching itself from branch to branch, from tree to tree, screaming with open throat. Neither of them noticed us, as we were partially concealed where we sat.

"On reaching the foot of a tall magnolia, the rattlesnake—after going once round the tree, and apparently smelling the bark—slowly and carefully wound itself into a spiral coil, close in to the trunk. Its body now presented the appearance of a speckled and glittering cable, as they are usually coiled on the deck of a ship. The tail with its horny appendage protruded beneath, and the flat head peeped over above, resting upon the uppermost ring of the body. The nictitating membrane was drawn over its eyes. It appeared to sleep. This I thought strange, as I had heard that the fascinating power of these creatures lay in the eyes. It soon became evident, how ever, that the bird was not its object; for the latter, on seeing that the snake lay still, ceased its chattering and flew off into the woods.

"Believing that the interest of the scene was now over, I was about raising my rifle to take aim at the snake, when a motion on its part convinced me that it was not asleep, but watching. Watching for what? A squirrel, perhaps, for this is the creature's favourite prey. I looked up into the tree. It had all the appearance of being what is termed a 'squirrel-tree'—that is, a tree in which squirrels have their nest. Ha! just as I expected—there was a hole in the trunk, high up; and around its orifice the bark was slightly discoloured, evidently by the paws of the squirrels passing in and out. Moreover, on looking to the ground again, I perceived that a little beaten path, like a rat-track, led off through the grass. A ridge-like protuberance that projected from the foot of the tree—marking the direction of one of its great roots—ran right into this path; and, from the discoloration of the bark above it, it was evident that the squirrels usually climbed up or descended along this ridge. The rattlesnake was coiled beside it—so close that no animal could pass in that way without coming within his reach! I felt certain, then, that he was waiting for the descent of the squirrel; and desirous to see what should happen, I muttered some words of caution to my companions, who remained silent as before.

"We sat watching the hole, in expectation to see the squirrel come forth. At length, a little rat-shaped head peeped cautiously out; but in this position the animal remained, and did not seem inclined to trust itself beyond the mouth of its den. It was evidently observing us— which it could easily do from its elevated position—and had no intention of coming down.

"We were about giving up all hopes of witnessing a 'scene,' when our attention was drawn to a rustling among the dead leaves in the woods beyond. We looked in that direction. Another squirrel was running toward the tree. It was running at full speed,—now along the fallen logs, now through the grass and dry leaves—apparently pursued. It was pursued; for almost at the same instant its pursuer came in sight—an animal with a long, slender body, twice the length of the squirrel itself, and of a bright yellow colour. It was the pine-weasel.

"There were not twenty feet between them as they ran; and both were doing their best.

"I cast a glance at the rattlesnake. He knew what was coming. His jaws were extended—the lower one drawn back until it touched his throat,— his poisoned fangs were naked and visible; his tongue was protruded forward; his eyes glanced like diamonds; and his whole body rose and fell as with a quick respiration. He seemed to have dilated himself to twice his natural size!

"The squirrel, looking only behind, ran for the tree, and, like a streak of light, passed along the ridge and upward. We saw the snake launch out his head as the other passed him; but so quick had been the action, that it did not seem that he had even touched it.

"'Good!' thought we, as we saw the little squirrel sweep up the trunk, and fancied that it was safe. Before it had reached the first fork, however, we observed that it climbed more slowly—then faltered—then stopped altogether. Its hind feet slipped from the bark; its body oscillated a moment, hanging by the fore-claws, and then dropped heavily back into the very jaws of the serpent!

"The weasel, on seeing the snake, had suddenly stopped a few feet from it; and now ran around, doubling its long worm-like body, and occasionally standing erect,—all the while spitting and snarling like an angry cat. It was evidently furious at being robbed of its prey; and we thought for awhile it was going to give battle to the snake, which had re-coiled himself on seeing this enemy, and lay with open jaws awaiting the attack. The body of the squirrel—now quite dead—was close up to his coil, so that the other could not snatch it without coming within reach of his dangerous fangs.

"On seeing this, and evidently afraid to encounter such a terrible antagonist, the weasel, after a while, ceased its hostile demonstrations; and, turning to one side, bounded off into the woods.

"The reptile now leisurely uncoiled the upper half of his body; and, stretching out his neck toward the squirrel, prepared to swallow it. He drew the animal out to its full length along the ground, so that its head lay towards him. He evidently purposed swallowing the head first— in order to take it 'with the grain'—and he commenced lubricating it with the saliva that ran from his forked tongue.

"While we sat watching this curious operation, our attention was attracted to a movement in the leaves over the spot where the snake lay. Directly above him, at a height of twenty or more feet, a huge liana, of the trumpet species, stretched across from tree to tree. It was full as thick as a man's arm, and covered with green leaves and large crimson cuneiform blossoms, such as belonged to itself. There were other blossoms mingling with these, for still other parasites—smaller ones— were twined around it; and we could distinguish the beautiful star-like flowers of the cypress vine. Among these an object was in motion—a living object—a body—the body of a great snake, nearly as thick as the liana itself.

"Another rattlesnake! No; the rattlesnake is not a tree-climber,—it could not be that. Besides, the colour of the one upon the vine was entirely different. It was of a uniform black all over—smooth and glittering. It was the black snake then—the 'constrictor' of the north.

"When we first noticed it, it was wound upon the liana in spiral rings, like the worm of a gigantic screw. We saw that it was slowly gliding downward—for the vine tended diagonally from tree to tree, and its lowest end impinged upon the trunk of the magnolia, about twenty feet from the ground.

"On reaching this point, the snake gradually drew its rings closer together—until they appeared to touch each other, lapping the liana. It then commenced unwinding itself, by the head, which was slowly circled backward around the vine—still, however, creasing closely along it. After a sufficient number of evolutions, the rings had completely disappeared—with the exception of one or two near the tail—and the reptile lay doubled along the liana. These manoeuvres were executed silently and with great caution; and it now seemed to pause, and survey what was going on below.

"During all this while, the rattlesnake had been busily engaged with the squirrel, and thought of nothing else. After licking the latter to his satisfaction, he extended his purple jaws, drew in the head of his victim, and, stretching his long body to its full extent, proceeded to swallow it, tail and all. In a few seconds, the head and shoulders of the squirrel had disappeared.

"But the glutton was suddenly interrupted in his meal; for, at this moment, we observed the black snake gradually lower himself from the liana, until nothing remained upon the tree but a single loop of his prehensile tail; and his long body stretching downward, hung directly over the other.

"'Surely,' thought we, 'he is not going to encounter the rattlesnake— the most terrible of all reptiles.' But the constrictor understood one chapter of herpetology better than we—for the next moment we saw him drop to the ground; and, almost as quick as thought, appear lapped in sable folds around the speckled body of the 'crotalus!'

"It was a singular sight to see those two creatures writhing and wriggling over the grass; and it was some time before we could tell how they battled with each other. There was no great difference between them, in point of size. The black snake was longer—by a foot or so— but much more slender in the body, than his antagonist. He possessed, however, an advantage that soon made itself apparent—his activity, which was ten times that of the rattlesnake. We saw that he could easily evolve or wind himself at pleasure around the body of the latter—each time compressing him with those muscular powers which have entitled him to his name 'constrictor.' At each fresh embrace, the body of the 'crotalus' appeared to writhe and contract under the crushing influence of his sable adversary.

"The rattlesnake had but one weapon, which he could have employed with effect—his fangs. These were already locked in the body of the squirrel, and he could not use them upon his adversary. He could not get rid of that hairy morsel, that, like a barbed arrow, was now sticking in his throat. We could see that the squirrel still remained there; for, as the two reptiles struggled over the grass, its bushy tail was seen waving in the midst of their tortuous contest.

"At length, the battle began to flag. The motions of both combatants waxed slower and slower. We could now see how they fought. We could see—strange it appeared to us—that, instead of battling head to head— face to face—the fangs of the 'constrictor' were buried in the rattles of the 'crotalus!' Stranger still, the tail of the former rose and fell with a muscular and powerful impetus, whipping the latter to death!

"The contest was soon ended. The rattlesnake lay stretched at full length—evidently dead; while the black constrictor still continued to hug the speckled body, as though it was an object to be loved. This lasted for a moment or so; and then slowly unwinding himself, the conqueror turned round, crawled head to head with his victim, and proceeded to appropriate the prey. The 'scene' was over, and we all leaped to our feet to enact the finale. I should have spared the constrictor, after the good service he had done in destroying the rattlesnake; but Cudjo, who hated all sorts of creeping things, was ahead of me; and, before I could come up, I beheld the victor suspended upon his spear!"



CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

THE SUGAR-TREE.

"In the evening, we returned to our house, carrying with us, on the back of Pompo, a good-sized bag of salt. We had evaporated enough to cure our venison, and to last us for several weeks to come. When it should be used up, we knew where to go for more. There was no danger of the spring going dry. We had noticed, previous to the discovery of the salt creek, that the water of the lake was perceptibly brackish; but we had never reflected on the cause. Doubtless, this fact had prevented us from yearning—as we might otherwise have done—for the valuable substance we had now obtained in such plenty.

"That night, after we had finished eating our supper, Harry, who had been all the day burning with curiosity to know what was the important discovery hinted at by his mother, now reminded her of her promise.

"'Come, now, mamma!' said he, in a challenging tone, 'what is it?—What have you found equal to that fine bag of salt, which you will all please to remember is the fruit of my discovery?'

"'But did I promise to tell you to-night? I said when we should be in low spirits, did I not? We are all happy now!'

"'Oh! you said to-night,' replied Harry. 'Besides,' added he, trying to look grave, 'I am in low spirits. I have been so all day—ever since—ever since—'

"'Ever since you let the kettle against my shins, and went skunk-hunting,' interrupted Frank, with a laugh, in which Cudjo joined heartily.

"This allusion to Harry's morning adventure, which had formed the standing joke of the day, was not at all relished by him; and the look of mock gravity which he had assumed now became real. His mother— with whom Harry was a favourite—noticed that he was vexed, and that now was the very time to apply the remedy. She soon, therefore, changed the current of his thoughts, by proposing to disclose the secret she had promised.

"'Well, then,' said she, 'my discovery is this. While we were going up the valley this morning. I saw at some distance over the woods the top leaves of a very beautiful and very valuable tree.'

"'A tree!' cried Harry; 'what! a cocoa-nut?'

"'No.'

"'A bread-fruit, maybe?'

"'No.'

"'Orange, then?'

"'No, Harry,' replied his mother. 'You must know we are not in that latitude. We are too far north for either bread-fruits, orange-trees, or cocoa-nut palms.'

"'Ah!' exclaimed Harry, with a sigh, 'those three are the only trees I care a fig for.'

"'How, now, if it were a fig-tree, since you speak of figs?'

"'Oh! very well,' replied Harry, 'figs will do; but I would rather it had been one of the others.'

"'But it is not even a fig-tree.'

"'Oh! it is not. What then, mamma?'

"'That of which I speak is a tree of the temperate zone; and, in fact, grows to greatest perfection in the coldest parts of it. Have you noticed some tall straight trees, with thick foliage of a bright red colour?'

"'Yes, mamma,' answered Frank; 'I have. I know a part of the valley where there are many of them—some of them nearly crimson, while others are orange-coloured.'

"'Those are the trees of which I speak. The leaves are now of those colours because it is autumn. Earlier in the season they were of a bright green above, and whitish—or, as it is termed, glaucous—on the under surface.'

"'Oh!' said Harry, seemingly disappointed with this information. 'I have noticed them, too. They are very beautiful trees, it is true; but then—'

"'Then, what?'

"'They are of no use to us—such big trees as they are. There is no fruit upon them, for I looked carefully; and what then? We do not need their timber, I'm sure. We have as good timber as we want in these tulip-trees.'

"'Come, Master Hal—not so fast, if you please. There are many parts of a tree which may serve for valuable uses besides its fruit, or its timber either.'

"'What! the leaves?' inquired the impatient Harry. 'What use can we make of leaves?'

"'Come, brother,' said Frank, in an improving tone; 'the leaves of some trees are very valuable. What think you of the tea-plant, for instance?'

"Harry felt rebuked, and remained silent.

"'We can make no use of the leaves of this tree,' continued his mother; 'at least none that I am aware of.'

"'The bark, then?' interrogated Harry.

"'No—not the bark either.'

"'The roots?'

"'I know of no peculiar virtue in its roots more than those of the oak, ash, or any other large timber trees.'

"'What then, mamma? It has no flowers, I am sure; nor fruit neither, except little seeds with wings upon them like a spider-fly.'

"'Those are its fruit.'

"'Oh! what use could we make of them? I have seen just the same, or very like them, growing on the common sycamore.'

"'You are right there, for the common sycamore, as you call it, is a tree of the same family. But I did not say we could make any use of these winged seeds. Can you think of nothing else that belongs to every tree?'

"'Nothing! Let me see—yes—yes—the sap?'

"'Ha! the sap!' repeated his mother, with a peculiar emphasis.

"'What, mother!' cried Frank, 'a maple?'

"'Yes! a sugar-maple! Now, Master Hal!'

"These words produced a startling effect upon the whole company. Frank and his brother had both heard of the famous sugar-maple, though neither of them had ever seen it. The younger members, Mary and Luisa, knew nothing about maples, but the word 'sugar' was more familiar to them; and that, in connexion with the joyous looks of the others, at once produced visions of sweetmeats and candy. Cudjo, too, who had never met with the sugar-maple—as it did not grow in the neighbourhood where Cudjo was himself indigenous—nevertheless liked sugar as well as any of them, and greeted the announcement with delight. Nothing was heard for some moments but cries of joy, mingled with the words 'sugar' and 'sugar-maple.' Greater is the longing which children, or even men, experience for that which is difficult to obtain; and greater is the delight that is felt upon the prospect of obtaining it.

"After the transport of our little circle had in some degree subsided, Mary proceeded to explain to them the nature of this remarkable tree.

"'The sugar-maple,' said she, 'you may easily distinguish from other trees by its light-coloured bark, and palmate five-lobed leaves, which in summer are of a bright green colour, but in autumn change, as you see, to crimson or orange. It somewhat resembles the English oak in its trunk, branches, and the great mass of foliage which it carries. Its wood is very heavy, and is often used in the manufacture of beautiful articles of furniture, as well as for ships, mills, and other mechanical purposes. But the principal value of this tree is found in its sap; and by the mysterious, but always wise distribution of Nature, it seems to have been given to the people of the temperate and colder latitudes, in place of the sugar-cane—which, as you know, flourishes only in hot and tropical countries.

"'Each maple,' continued my wife, 'will yield annually from three to four pounds of excellent sugar; but to do this, it should be tapped early in the spring—for the sap does not run in the summer or winter. It runs, however, in the autumn—though not so freely as in spring—but we must hope that we shall be able to draw as much from ours as will supply us until spring comes round again.'

"'But, mamma,' broke in the inquisitive Harry, 'when and how shall we get the sap?'

"'I suppose, Harry, you wish for separate answers to these two questions which you have put so closely together. Well, then—our best time to draw it will be after the very first frost which makes its appearance. It has been found that the sap yields best when the nights are clear and cold, and the days dry and warm.

"'The manner of extracting the sap, and the process of making the sugar, are both very simple. In the first place, we must make a great many little troughs—one for every tree we intend to tap. These are used to supply the place of vessels, which of course we have not got. The farmers of the United States, who make maple-sugar, also use these troughs—as they will often have several hundred trees running at the same time, and it would be rather expensive for a backwoodsman to supply himself with so many vessels from either the potter, the tinman, or the cooper. But the troughs, which are easily made, answer the purpose just as well; and Cudjo here is able to make them for us.

"'After the troughs nothing more is needed, except a few joints of the cane which grows here all around us. An auger-hole must be bored in each of the trees, about three feet from the ground. Into each of these holes a single tube of cane must be inserted, so as to form a spout to conduct the running sap into the troughs below. We shall then have nothing farther to do, but wait while the sap gathers in the troughs, collect it into our kettle, and boil it over the fire in the same manner as we have done the salt water.

"'Now, Master Harry,' concluded my wife, 'be patient. Hope for an early frost, and you shall have a practical illustration of all these things.'

"Harry had not long to wait. Upon the third night after, a slight hoar-frost covered the ground, and the day following was bright and warm. This was the very time to tap the maples, and so we set about it.

"Cudjo had already prepared the troughs—more than twenty of them in all. These he made in the usual manner. He cut the trunks of several tulip-trees—those that were about twelve inches in diameter—into logs of three feet each. These logs he split into two equal parts, and hollowed out the split sides with his chisel and mallet—thus forming rude vessels, but quite good enough for the purpose of holding the sap. The cane tubes were also got ready; and proceeding to the trees—all of us together—we bored a hole in each with our auger, fitted in the cane joints, and propped the troughs underneath. In a short time the crystal liquid began to drip from the ends of the spouts, and then it ran faster and faster, until a small clear stream fell into the troughs. The first that issued forth we caught in our cups, as the sugar-water is most delicious to drink; and it seemed as if our little people, particularly Mary and Luisa, would never say 'enough.' Harry, too, was as fond of it as they; and was heard to declare that the sugar-maple was the finest tree of the forest, and quite a match for either bread-fruits, oranges, or cocoa-palms. We had brought the large kettle, and a fire was soon kindled, and a crane erected—just as we had done when making our salt. In a few hours the kettle was filled with sap, and boiling over the fire.

"Each of us had our separate duty to perform Cudjo, with his bucket, went from tree to tree, collecting the sap as it gathered in the troughs, while Mary and I kept up the fire, and looked to the ladling. When a kettle of the water was sufficiently boiled down, it was necessary to pour it out into small vessels, that the sugar might crystallise by cooling. For this purpose we used all our plates, dishes, and cups. As soon as it cooled it became hard as a brick, and of a very dark colour. It was then removed from the small vessels, and a fresh quantity poured into them. That part of the sap which would not crystallise was carefully strained from the vessels, and became molasses; and these, let me tell you, are much finer than the molasses that are made from the sugar-cane—much richer in colour, and pleasanter to the palate.

"Frank and Harry had their part to perform—which was to walk about, rifles in hand, and guard the troughs. This was an important matter, for it is a singular fact that wolves, raccoons, badgers, opossums, and, in short, every animal wild or tame, will drink the sap of the sugar-maple, and are so fond of it that they will risk their lives to get at it. As the trees we had opened stood at a considerable distance from each other, our two little sentries were kept constantly relieving one another upon their rounds.

"The sap continued to run for several days; and, of course, we were kept busy during all that time. Had it been in the spring-time, we should have been employed for weeks at it, as it then runs longer and more freely. We were favoured with a smart frost every night, which was a fortunate circumstance, as the water did not gather during the cold hours of the night—otherwise we should have found it impossible to guard the wild animals from our troughs.

"All these nights we slept by the fire, where we had made a regular camp, as is usual in the backwoods of America. We only went to the house when it was necessary to get some article that was needed. We had put up a little tent, made out of our old wagon-tilt, to cover us; and the place we called by the name which is in use among the backwoods farmers—that is to say, a 'sugar camp.' We found this out-of-door life very exciting and agreeable, camping thus in the thick shady woods with the great majestic trees towering over and around us—listening at times to the light breeze, as it rustled their golden leaves—or lulled into a pleasing tranquillity by the songs of a thousand birds. At night, however, the music was not so sweet to our ears. Then we heard the barking of wolves, the mournful 'coo-whoo-a' of the great horned owl, and the still more terrifying scream of the cougar. But we kept up a crackling, blazing fire all the night, and we knew that this would keep these fierce creatures at bay.

"At length our work was done. The sugar-water flowed each hour more slowly, and then ceased altogether; and we broke up our camp. When we had returned to our house, and collected our many-shaped loaves—for they were of various forms, according to the vessels in which they had been moulded—we found that all together weighed nearly an hundred pounds! This would be enough for all our wants—at least, until the spring, when we purposed returning again to our grand store-house among the sugar-maples."



CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

THE STUMP-TREE AND THE BREAD-PINE.

"That evening, as we sat around the supper table, my wife announced that the last grain of our coffee was in the pot. This was sad news to all of us. Of the little luxuries that we had brought with us from Saint Louis, our coffee had held out longest; and a cup of this aromatic beverage had often cheered us during our toilsome journey across the prairie desert. Often, too, since our arrival in the valley, had it given a relish to our homely meals.

"'Well, then,' said I, by way of reply to the announcement, 'we must learn to do without it. We have now the materials for making soup; what care we for coffee? How many poor people would be glad to be surrounded with luxuries, as we are! Here we have venison of different kinds; we can have beavers' tails whenever we want them. There are fish, too in the lake and stream; there are hares and squirrels, which we shall trap in abundance, by-and-by; and, in addition to all, we shall dine often upon ruffed grouse and roast turkey. I wonder, with all these luxuries around us, who is not content?'

"'But, papa,' said Harry, taking up the discourse, 'in Virginia I have often seen our black folks make coffee out of Indian corn. It is not bad, I assure you. I have drunk it there, and thought it very good. Have not you, Cudjo?'

"'Dat berry coffee dis chile hab drunk, Massa Harry.'

"'Now, papa?'

"'Well, Harry, what of it?'

"'Why should we not use that—the Indian corn, I mean—for coffee?'

"'Why, Harry,' said I, 'you surely do not reflect upon what you are talking about. We have a far worse want than coffee, and that is this very Indian corn you speak of—to make bread. Could I only get a supply of that, I should think very little about coffee or any other beverage. Unfortunately there is not a grain of corn within many an hundred miles of where we are now sitting.'

"'But there is, papa; I know where there is at least a quart of it; and within less than an hundred yards of us, too.'

"'Come,' said I, 'my boy, you have mistaken some useless seed for corn. No corn grows in this valley, I am certain.'

"'It did not grow in this valley. It has travelled all the way from Saint Louis along with us. It is now in the wagon.'

"'What! corn in the wagon?' I exclaimed, starting up with such vehemence as to frighten my children. 'Are you sure of that, Harry?'

"'I saw it this very morning in one of the old bags,' replied he.

"'Come!' cried I; 'get a torch, Cudjo. To the wagon!—to the wagon!'

"In a short time we had reached the wagon, which stood close to the door. With a beating heart I climbed into it. There was an old worn-out buffalo robe, with the harness of the ox lying upon the bottom. I flung these aside; and underneath I saw a coarse gunny-bag, such as are used in the Western States for holding Indian corn. I knew that it was one of those we had brought with us from Saint Louis, containing corn for our horse and oxen; but I was under the impression that I had emptied out the last of it long before. I took the bag up, and, to my inexpressible delight, found that it still contained a small quantity of the precious grain; besides, there was still more of it, that had been spilled from time to time, and had got into the corners and cracks of the wagon. These we collected carefully and put with the rest—not leaving a single grain that we did not scrape out from the cracks. Then carrying my bag into the house, I turned out its contents upon the table. To our great joy there was, as Harry had affirmed, nearly a quart of the golden grain!

"'Now,' said I, 'we shall have bread!'

"This was a glad sight to my wife. During the preceding days we had frequently talked upon this subject—the want of bread—which is one of our first necessities. We had lived in hope that we should find some species of cereal in the valley that would supply us with a substitute for bread; but up to that time nothing of the kind had appeared. We had gathered the mast from the beech-tree and roasted it. We had collected quantities of locust-pods and acorns. We had also eaten the pulpy fruit of the pawpaw; but all these together we found to be but poor apologies for real bread. This, then, was a discovery of greater importance to us than either the salt or the sugar.

"The winter, in the latitude of our valley, would be a short one. We could then plant the corn—there was enough of it to plant a whole acre. It would come to maturity in six or eight weeks; and we knew that in such a climate we could easily raise two crops in the year—so that before the next winter came round we should have enough and to spare.

"While we stood by the table talking over these pleasant prospects, one of the boys—Frank it was—suddenly shouted out, 'Wheat! wheat!'

"I looked down to ascertain what he meant. He had been turning over the yellow seeds of the maize, and, among them, had discovered several grains of wheat. No doubt there had been wheat in the bag before the corn had been put into it; and this was soon confirmed, as, on carefully searching the bag, we found several of the precious pickles still clinging between the seams. After separating the one species from the other with great carefulness—for we did not wish to lose a single seed—we found that our grains of wheat counted exactly one hundred! This, to be sure, was a small quantity to go a-farming with, but we remembered the old saving, 'Great oaks grow from little acorns,' and we knew the importance of these small grey seeds. In a couple of years we should have large crops of wheat.

"'You see,' said I, addressing my little family, 'how kind Providence has been to us. Here, in the middle of the Desert, has He furnished us with all the necessaries of life; and now, with a little patience, we may promise ourselves many of its luxuries—for what can mamma not make out of flour and sugar?'

"'Oh, everything!' cried Frank, who had grown enthusiastic at the prospect of farming, for he was fond of agricultural pursuits; 'we can have venison-pasties with our flour.'

"'And fruit-pies,' added Harry; 'there are plenty of fruits. I have found wild plums and cherries, and mulberries as long as my finger, and whortle-berries, too. What delicious puddings we can make.'

"'Yes,' said I; 'now shall we care for coffee?'

"'No, no!' cried Frank and Harry in a breath.

"'Then you shall have it,' said their mother, with a smile of peculiar meaning.

"'What! mother?' exclaimed Harry, 'another tree?'

"'Yes, indeed, another.'

"'Not a coffee-plant?'

"'No; but a coffee-tree.'

"'A coffee-tree! why I thought, mamma, that they never grew, except in the hottest parts of the tropics.'

"'That is true enough of the small tree or shrub which produces the coffee you have been accustomed to drink; but not far from us there is a very large tree, whose seed will give us a very palatable substitute. Here is a specimen of it.'

"So saying, she threw down upon the table a large brown pod—of at least twelve inches in length by two in breadth—exactly the shape of a crescent or young moon. It reminded us of the pods of the locust, though differing considerably in shape. Like them, too, when opened— which was forthwith done—it was seen to contain a pulpy substance, in which several large grey-coloured seeds were imbedded. These seeds, she informed us, when parched, ground, and boiled—after the manner of the true coffee—would afford us a beverage nearly as good and quite as wholesome.

"'The tree,' said she, 'from which I have plucked this pod, grows in most parts of America. You may have observed it here?'

"'I have,' interrupted Harry. 'Now that mamma has shown us the use of the maples, I have been looking particularly at all the trees; since I find that some of them that appeared scarce worthy of notice, may after all be very interesting.'

"'I have observed the tree,' added Frank, who was something of a botanist as well as his mother; 'I noticed that its bark is very rough, dropping off here and there in large curling scales. The branches, too, are very odd-looking; they have blunt, stumpy ends, that give the tree a clumsy appearance. Is it not so, mamma?'

"'Precisely as you say. Hence its name of "chicot" among the Canadian French, and "stump-tree" in the United States. Its botanical name is gymnocladus, which means, "with naked branches;" for during the winter, as you shall find, it will present a very naked appearance. It is also known as the "Kentucky coffee-tree," because the early pioneers and settlers of that country, when they were unable to obtain the true coffee, made use of its seeds, as we intend doing.'

"'Oh!' cried Harry; 'only think of it—sugar, and coffee, and salt, and plenty of meat, and roast turkey—everything but bread. If we only had bread! Would our corn not grow if we planted it now, papa?'

"'No; the frost would kill the young plants. We must have patience until spring.'

"'It is a long time till spring,' said Harry, with rather a discontented air; 'and then we must wait much longer while the corn is growing. It is a very long time to wait.'

"'Come, Master Hal,' rejoined his mother, 'I fear you are one of those who cannot be satisfied, no matter how many blessings are heaped upon them. Remember how many are worse off than yourself—how many are without bread, even where it is plentiest. No doubt, at this moment many a hungry boy in the streets of wealthy London is standing by the baker's window, and gazing at the crisp loaves, with no more chance to eat one of them than you have. He is worse off than you. You have other food—plenty of it—he has none; and, moreover, his hunger is rendered more acute and painful by the sight of the tempting food— separated from his hand only by a pane of glass. Poor boy! that pane of glass is to him a wall of adamant. Think upon this, my son, and learn to be contented.'

"'Indeed, I am so, mamma,' replied Harry, with a look of contrition. 'I did not mean to complain. I was only thinking how nice it would be to have bread, now that we have got both sugar and coffee.'

"'Ah! now, my good Harry,' said his mother, 'since I find you in the proper spirit, I think I must tell you about another curious and useful tree, of which, perhaps, you have not heard.'

"'A bread-fruit now, I'm sure? No, it cannot be that; for I have heard of the bread-fruit.'

"'Still, it might very appropriately be called a bread-fruit, since, during the long winter months, it furnishes bread to many tribes of Indians; indeed, not bread alone, but subsistence—as it is the only food these improvident people have.'

"'I am sure I have never heard of that tree.'

"'Well, I imagine not, as it is not long since it was discovered and described by botanists; and even now it is but imperfectly known to them. It is a pine.'

"'What! a pine with fruit?'

"'Did you ever see a pine without it—that is, in the proper season?'

"'Then you call those cone-shaped things fruit?'

"'Certainly; what else should they be?'

"'Oh! I thought those were the seed.'

"'So are they, and the fruit as well. In botany we have no such word as fruit. What you call fruit is in some trees the seed. In all species of nuts, for instance, the fruit and the seed are one and the same thing—that is to say, the kernel of the nut is both fruit and seed. So it is with leguminous plants, as beans and peas. In other trees, however, the fruit is a substance covering and enclosing the seed, as the pulp of the apple, the pear, and the orange. Now, with regard to the pines, they are nut-bearing trees, and their seed is at the same time their fruit.'

"'But, mamma, you do not mean that any one could eat those rough things that grow upon pine-trees?'

"'Those rough things you speak of are the cones. They are only the sheaths that protect the seeds during a certain period of the year. They open as nuts do, and then you will find a kernel inside which is the true fruit.'

"'But I have tasted that, too—it is quite bitter.'

"'You have tasted that of the common pine, and you say true of it; but there are many species of pine-trees, whose seeds are not only edible, but pleasant to the taste, and wholesome as an article of food.'

"'What pines, mamma?'

"'Several species are known. Several new ones have been discovered of late years, and in this very Desert. Perhaps in no part of the world is found a greater variety of these valuable trees, than in the mountainous countries which border upon and lie within the Great American Desert. There is one species in California called "Colorado" by the Spaniards— which means red, because their wood, when sawn up, is of a reddish colour. Trees of this kind are the largest in the world; they are often over 300 feet in height! Only think of a tree 300 feet high, when the tallest we saw in the Mississippi Valley was not much over half that. Yet there are whole forests of these upon the mountains of the Sierra Nevada. There is another species almost as large on these same mountains. It has been called by botanists pinus Lambertiana. It is more remarkable, however, for the size of its cones, which are of the enormous length of eighteen inches—a foot and a half! Fancy how singular a sight it must be—one of these gigantic trees with cones hanging from its branches larger than sugar-loaves!'

"'Oh, beautiful indeed!' exclaimed Frank and Harry at the same time.

"'But, mamma,' added Frank, 'are these the sort that are eaten by the Indians?'

"'Their seeds are also fit to eat, and in times of great distress the Indians and others resort to them for food; but it is not of them I intended to speak. It is of another kind very distinct from either, and yet growing in the same region. It is a small tree, rarely seen of more than thirty or forty feet in height, and with leaves or needles of a much lighter green than the generality of pines. Its cones are not larger than those of the common sort; but the seed or kernel is oily like the American walnut, and quite as agreeable in flavour. They cannot be otherwise than nutritious, since, as I have said, they form the whole subsistence of many people for months in the year. They can be eaten raw; but the Indians usually roast them. When roasted or parched, and then ground in a mill, or broken in a mortar, they make a species of meal, which, though coarse in appearance, can be baked into sweet and wholesome bread. This tree is called by the Mexicans "pinon," and also by travellers the "nut-pine." The only botanist who has fairly described it has given it the name of pinus monophyllus. Perhaps as good a name as any, and certainly the most appropriate—I mean for its popular one—would be the "bread-pine."'

"'But, mamma, does this tree grow in our valley? We have not seen it.'

"'Not in the valley, I think; but I have hopes that we may find it on the mountain. The day we came around from Camp Antelope, I thought I saw a strange species of pine growing up in the ravines. It might be this very one; and I am the more inclined to think so, as I have heard that it grows on the Rocky Mountains—within the latitudes of New Mexico—and also on all the sierras that lie between them and the Pacific. I see no reason why we should not find it upon our mountain, which is, no doubt, a sort of outlying peak of the Rocky Mountains themselves.'

"'Oh! then,' said Harry, 'shall we not go up to the mountain, and see about it? An excursion to the mountain would be so very pleasant. Don't you think so, papa?'

"'I do, indeed,' I replied; 'and as soon as we can make a cart for Pompo, so as to be able to take mamma and the children along with us, we shall go there.'

"This proposal was hailed with delight, as all wished very much to visit the beautiful mountain that rose so majestically above us. It was settled, then, that on the first fine day, as soon as our cart should be constructed, we would set forth, and make a grand pic-nic to the Snow-mountain."



CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

THE SNOW-LINE.

"In three days the cart was finished. We had no difficulty in constructing one, as the principal part—that is, the wheels—was already made. We had two pair of them, of course, in our old wagon; and the larger ones, which happened to be in very good order, served our purpose exactly. Cudjo soon attached a body and shafts to them, and Pompo's harness was put into thorough repair.

"We had not long to wait for a fine day. Every day was fine in the clear, pure climate of our valley; so that, as soon as the cart was ready, we had a day to our liking.

"We set out shortly after sunrise, with our hearts full of anticipated pleasure. Of course we all went—Mary, the children, Cudjo, Pompo, dogs, and all. The house was again left to take care of itself. Mary and the two little ones rode in the cart, upon a soft seat made of palmetto leaves and Spanish moss. Pompo, who appeared to partake of the general happiness, whisked the vehicle along as if there had been nobody in it, and he was only drawing it for his own amusement. Cudjo cracked his great wagon-whip, and every now and then uttered a loud 'wo-ha;' while Castor and Pollux galloped gaily from side to side, running their noses into every bush that grew near the path.

"We soon made our way through the valley, and climbed up to the plain. We looked once more upon the Desert that stretched away on all sides; but its dreary aspect no longer filled us with fear. We did not regard it now, and the sight inspired us with feelings of curiosity and novelty rather than of terror. Away to the southward the sun was glancing upon the broad expanse of white sand; and several tall objects, like vast dun-coloured towers, were moving over the plain. They were whirlwinds carrying the dust upward to the blue sky, and spinning it from point to point. Sometimes one glided away alone, until it was lost on the distant horizon. Here two of them were moving in the same direction, keeping a regular distance from each other, and seemingly running a race. There several came together; and, after a short gusty contest, the whole set would break up into shapeless masses of yellowish clouds, and then float onward with the wind, and downward to the earth again. It was an interesting sight to view those huge pillars towering up to the heavens, and whirling like unearthly objects over the wide plain. It was indeed an interesting sight, and we remained for many minutes observing their motions.

"At length we turned our faces toward the mountain, and continued our journey along the edge of the cliffs. The high peak glistened before us, and the sun's rays falling upon it caused it to appear of a beautiful colour—a mixture of gold and red, as though a shower of roses had fallen upon the snow! We noticed that there was now more snow upon the mountain than when we had first seen it, and that it came farther down its sides. This attracted the attention of all of us; and Frank at once called for an explanation, which his mother volunteered to give, for she very well understood the phenomenon.

"'In the first place,' said she, 'as you ascend upwards in the atmosphere, it becomes thinner and colder. Beyond a certain point it is so cold, that neither men nor any other animals can exist. This can be proved in several ways; and the experience of those who have climbed mountains, only three miles high, confirms it. Some of these adventurous men have been nearly frozen to death. This is a fact, then, in regard to the atmosphere over all parts of the earth; but we may also observe, that under the Equator you may go higher without reaching this extreme cold, than in the countries which lie nearer to the Poles. Another fact, which you will easily believe, is, that in summer you can climb higher before you reach the cold region than in winter. Bear these facts in mind. Now, then, if it be so cold at a certain height that men would be frozen to death, of course at that height snow will not melt. What is the natural inference? Why—that mountains whose tops pierce up into this cold region will most certainly be covered with perpetual snow. It is not likely that anything but snow ever falls upon their summits,—for when it rains upon the plains around them, it is snowing upon the high peaks above. Indeed, it is probable that most of the rain which descends upon the earth has been crystals of snow when it commenced its descent; and, afterwards melting in the lower and warmer regions of the atmosphere, takes the shape of water globules, and thus falls to the ground. These globules, no doubt, are very small when they first emerge from the snow region; but, as they pass slowly downward through clouds of vapour, they gather together and attract others (by a law which I have not time to explain); and, descending faster and faster, at length plash down to the earth in large drops. Whenever it rains, then, at any particular place, you may be almost certain that it is snowing at the same time over that place—only at a point in the atmosphere far above it. I have been convinced of this fact, by observing that immediately after every occasion when it has rained in the valley, there appeared a greater quantity of snow upon the mountain. Had the mountain not been there, this snow would have continued on, and become rain, like that which fell upon the plains, and into the valley.'

"'Then, mamma,' interrupted Frank, 'this mountain must be of great height, since the snow lies upon it all the year.'

"'Does that follow?'

"'I think so. You said the snow did not melt because it was cold high up.'

"'But suppose you were in a country near the North Pole, where snow lies all the year at the very sea-side, and consequently at the sea-level, would it then prove a mountain to be very high?'

"'Oh! I see—I see now. The perpetual snow upon a mountain only shows it to be of great height when the mountain happens to be in warm latitudes.'

"'Precisely so. In very warm countries, such as those within the tropics, when you see the snow-cap upon a mountain, you may infer that it is a very high one—at least over two miles in height; and when there is much snow upon it—that is, when the snow reaches far down its sides—it proves the mountain to be still higher,—three miles or more above the level of the ocean.'

"'Our mountain, then, must be a high one, since it is in a warm latitude, and snow lies all the year upon it.'

"'It is a high one, comparatively speaking; but you will remember, when we first saw it, there was only a small patch of snow upon its top, and probably in very hot summers that disappears altogether; so that it is not so high as many others upon this continent. Taking our latitude into calculation, and the quantity of snow which lies upon this mountain, I should say it was about 14,000 feet.'

"'Oh! so much as that! It does not seem half so high. I have seen mountains that appeared to me to be quite as high as it, and yet it was said they did not measure the half of 14,000 feet.'

"'That arises from the fact that you are not viewing this one from the sea-level, as you did them. The plain upon which it stands, and from which we view it, is of itself elevated nearly half as much. You must remember that we are upon one of the high tables of the American continent.'

"Here, for a minute or so, the conversation stopped; and we travelled on in silence, all of us with our eyes fixed on the white and roseate peak that glittered before us, leading our eyes far up into the heavens.

"Frank again resumed the discourse, which had been broken off by our admiration of this beautiful object.

"'Is it not curious,' said he, 'that the snow should lie so regularly, coming down on all sides to the same height, and ending just like the cape of a coat or the hem of a nightcap? It seems to be a straight line all around the mountain.'

"'That line,' rejoined his mother, 'is, as you say, a curious phenomenon, and caused by the laws of heat and cold, which we have just been explaining. It is called the "snow-line," and a good deal of speculation has arisen among cosmographers about the elevation of this line. Of course, on mountains within the tropics this line will be at a great height above the level of the sea. As you advance northward or southward to the Poles, it will be found lower and lower, until within the frigid zones it may be said to cease altogether—for there, as we have said, snow covers the whole earth, and there can be no "snow-line."

"'From this, one would suppose that an exact scale might be formed, giving the elevation of the snow-line for all latitudes. But that could not be done. Observation has shown that it not only differs on mountains that lie in the same latitude, but that on the same mountain it is often higher on one side than the other—particularly on those of great extent, as the Himmalehs of India. This is all quite natural, and easily accounted for. The position of mountains to one another, and their proximity or great distance from the sea, will give them a colder or warmer atmosphere, independent of latitude. Moreover, the same mountain may have a warmer climate on one side than the other; and of course the snow-line will be higher on that side which is the warmer, in consequence of the greater melting of the snow. This line, too, varies in summer and winter for a like reason—as we see here upon our own mountain, where it has already descended several feet since the weather became colder. This, you will acknowledge, is all very natural; and you will see, too, that Nature, although apparently capricious in many of her operations, acts most regularly in this one, as perhaps in all others.'

"'But, mamma,' inquired Harry, 'can we not get to the top of the mountain? I should like to have some snow to make snow-balls, and pelt Frank with them.'

"'It would be a very difficult task, Master Hal; and more than either you or I could get through with. I think Frank will escape being snow-balled this time.'

"'But people have climbed to the top of the Himmaleh mountains; and they are far higher than this, I am sure.'

"'Never,' interrupted Frank; 'no one has ever climbed the Himmalehs. Have they, mamma?'

"'No mortal has ever been so high as the summits of those great mountains, which are more than five miles above the level of the ocean. Even could they be climbed, it is not likely that any animal could live at their top. These inaccessible things seem to have been designed by the Creator to afford us objects for sublime contemplation—objects far above the reach of mortal man, and that can never be rendered common by his contact. Do they not seem so?'

"We had now reached the foot of the mountain, and halting near the entrance of the ravine, we loosed Pompo from his cart, and rested ourselves on the banks of the little stream. After a while we commenced ascending up into the defile in search of the pinons. As we advanced, Mary pointed out the trees which she had noticed on a former occasion. They appeared of a light green colour, much lighter than others that grew near them. We made towards one which stood apart, and was most accessible to us. This we hoped might prove to be the bread-pine tree; and we approached it with feelings of anxiety and expectation.

"In a short time we were under its branches; and if we had had no other test than what we saw there, combined with the delicious fragrance of the tree, we could have told that it could be no other than the pinon. The ground was covered with cones, each of them about an inch and a half in length; but on examining them, we found them all broken open and the seed extracted. Some animal had been there before us, and relished their contents—thus affording a proof that they were good to eat. There were still many of the cones hanging on the tree; and it was not long until we had split some of them open and tasted their ripe seeds.

"'It is it!' cried my wife, clapping her hands with delight. 'It is the nut-pine! This will serve for bread until we can grow our wheat and corn. Come, let us gather them,' added she, pointing to a large grove of the same trees that grew at a short distance; and we all hurried to the grove, and commenced shaking down the cones and gathering them into heaps.

"We had soon collected as many as we wanted, and in the evening we returned to the valley, with our little cart half-full of pine-nuts. On reaching home, some of them were parched and pounded into a sort of coarse meal; and that night, for the first time during many weeks, we had cakes to our supper.



CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

THE MENAGERIE, AVIARY, AND BOTANIC GARDEN.

"We were busy of course every day, as we had plenty of work to do. We laid a floor in our cabin, and fenced a couple of fields—one to plant our corn in, and the other to keep Pompo from straying off into the woods, and meeting with some animal that might feel inclined to devour him. We also succeeded in killing several red-deer and a couple of elk, which we stored up for our winter provision. We did not find the black-tails very palatable, and most of their flesh went to feed Castor and Pollux.

"Cudjo was the busiest of all of us. He made several household utensils which proved of great service to us. He also constructed for himself a wooden plough, which would serve every purpose—as there was a considerable portion of the ground that was without turf, and could be easily turned. This part had been covered with beautiful flowers, such as sunflowers, red and orange-coloured poppies, and asclepias. It was almost a pity to plough them up.

"With an eye to the future scarcity of our ammunition, we had begun to practise hunting with a weapon which would answer all our purposes almost as well as the rifle—still keeping the latter of course for great occasions. We had found some of the bois d'arc, or "Osage orange," as it is called, growing in the valley. This is the famous bow-wood of the Indians; and taking a hint from these children of Nature, we made three bows, stringing them—as the Indians do—with the sinews of the deer. For arrows, we had the straight cane-reeds; and Cudjo made us a set of barbs out of iron spikes that we had taken from the wagon. With daily practising at a mark, before the winter was over, we were all three able to use our new weapons to some purpose; and Harry, to his mother's great delight, could bring down a squirrel from the top of the highest tree in the valley. As a marksman, both with the bow and rifle, he was quite superior to Frank, who, instead of feeling jealous, seemed rather to be proud of the skill of his brother. Harry, during all the winter, kept our table loaded with partridges, squirrels—of which there were several species—hares, and wild turkeys; the last of which, being much finer than tame ones, of course we were all very fond of.

"My wife, too, added largely to the delicacies of our table. During the last days of autumn, she made several botanical excursions—of course, all of us accompanying her by way of guard—and in each of these some useful production was discovered. We found several species of wild fruits—currants, cherries, and a small fruit known as the "serviceberry," which grew in great profusion. All these fruits were gathered in quantity, and made into preserves. We obtained roots as well—one of which was the pomme-blanche, or Indian turnip; but the most interesting of all was the wild potato, which we dug up—for, in fact, it is only upon the table-lands of America where that plant is indigenous. We should not have recognised it as an old acquaintance, but for the botanical knowledge of my wife. Its roots were not larger than wren's eggs, and we could find so few of them that, in its wild state, we saw it would be of no use to us as an article of food. Mary, however, had hopes, that by cultivation, we might produce larger ones; so we collected all the tubers we could fall in with, and kept them for seed.

"Out of the pods of the honey-locust, we brewed a very agreeable sort of beer; but we were able to extract a still more generous beverage from the wild or fox-grapes that grew in all parts of the valley. While travelling through France, I had learnt how wine was made; and our vintage succeeded to perfection. On the winter nights, as we sat around our cheerful log-fire, Mary was accustomed to deal out to us a measure a-piece of the exhilarating drink. It was only, however, after a hard day's work or hunting, that we were allowed to draw upon this precious store.

"About this time, a new idea entered into my mind, which I communicated to the others, and with which they all fully agreed. It was this:—To capture as many of the wild animals as we could, and endeavour to domesticate them to our uses. I was prompted to this purpose by various considerations. First, because I saw, although there were several kinds of deer in the valley, there were but few of each kind; and it was not likely that for many years they had been upon the increase. Nature had so disposed it, that these creatures had been regularly thinned off every year by the numerous beasts of prey that prowled through the valley. Now, an additional enemy was added to the number of their destroyers; and I foresaw that, unless some precaution should be taken, the deer would soon become so scarce and wild, that we should find it difficult to obtain enough for our uses. Could we only kill off the fierce beasts—such as panthers, and wolves, and wolverenes—that preyed upon them, then the whole valley would become our deer-park, and the deer would soon increase to any number we wanted. This, however, we could not do; and, in fact, the beasts of prey were as likely to master us as we them—for none of us were safe in venturing into the thick woods alone; and whenever the boys made a short excursion from the glade, their mother was always in a state of anxiety until they returned. In fact, every hunt we made was attended with considerable danger, as we always fell in with the tracks of wolves, panthers, and even bears; and we frequently saw these animals skulking through the underwood. We knew that in time our powder must run out, and then our rifles would be useless to us. Our bows and arrows would then avail us but little against such thick-hided monsters as these. We only hoped that when we became better acquainted with the habits of these carnivorous creatures, we should be enabled to destroy them in traps, and thus thin them off at our leisure, and without wasting our ammunition. This, of course, would constitute a branch of our employment; and, besides being a work of utility, would furnish us with an excitement not the less agreeable because it was hazardous. Could we, therefore, collect a few of the more useful animals into an enclosed park, they would soon propagate and increase; and then the trouble as well as danger which we experienced in hunting them would be at an end. We knew that our maize-corn, yielding two crops in the year, would enable us to supply them abundantly with food.

"There was still another consideration which had its weight in these plans. I was very fond of the study of natural history—particularly that branch of it relating to quadrupeds—and I foresaw the pleasure of observing the habits of these wild creatures. We should not, therefore, confine ourselves to making 'pets' of those animals that might merely serve us for food. We should embrace in our collection all that we could subject to our rule, whether gentle or fierce. In fact, it was our intention to establish a regular 'menagerie of the Desert.'

"The main object of our industry and prospective wealth—that is, the collection of the beaver fur—would not in any way interfere with these plans. The beavers, in short, would give as very little trouble—as the drying and preserving the skins of those we should trap would only occupy us a small portion of the year.

"Harry entered with more spirit into my designs than any of the others; for Harry, like myself, was fond of quadrupeds. Frank, on the other hand, was a great bird-catcher; and recommended that we should include birds in our menagerie. To this, of course, we assented freely. Mary had her own designs already shaped out; and these were, to gather all the plants and trees that might be either curious or useful, and to observe what effect cultivation would produce upon them—in short, it was her wish to form a complete 'botanical garden.'

"To each, then, was given a separate department. Harry and I were designated 'beast-tamers;' Frank the 'bird-tamer;' while Mary was appropriately styled the 'tree-tamer.' To Cudjo was assigned a very important share of the labour. He was to enclose the park for our deer, as well as the grounds for the botanic garden. He was also to make our traps and cages—all of which things Cudjo knew how to do, and how to do them well. Of course, we were to assist him, as well as each other, in carrying out our designs.

"Thus, our plans for the future were interesting to all of us. In our various pursuits, we should be enabled to employ all our idle time. We had no books, either to amuse or instruct us; but we knew that we should derive both instruction and amusement from the study of the greatest of all books—the book of Nature."



CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

TRAPPING THE BEASTS AND BIRDS.

"Harry was the first who succeeded in making a capture; and that was a pair of grey squirrels, which he had trapped at the bottom of their tree. For these a large cage was constructed, and they soon became so tame that they would take the nuts provided for them out of our hands. These, of course, were only idle pets; but they added much to our company and amusement, as we watched them in their antics around the bars of their cage, now springing from point to point, and now sitting monkey-like, and gnawing the nuts as they held them between their fore-paws.

"Shortly after this event, Frank became the hero of the hour; and his achievement was one of considerable importance. For some time, he had been keeping his eye upon the wild turkeys; and for the purpose of securing some of them alive, he had constructed, not far from the house, a species of penn—which is known in America by the name of 'log-trap.' This was a very simple contrivance. It was made of split rails, such as Cudjo used for his fences; and these were placed upon one another, so as to enclose a hollow square between them. They were raised about the height of an ordinary fence from the ground, while other rails—heavy ones—were laid over the top, close enough to prevent the turkeys, should they enter, from escaping, but not so near each other as to darken the interior of the trap, and so render it forbidding in its appearance. The entrance was the main contrivance, although it was not an original idea with Frank. It was upon a plan similar to the wire cages used for trapping rats—where the rat can easily find its way in, but has not sufficient cunning to know the road out again. Precisely as the wire funnel is constructed for the rats, Frank had made one of rails for his turkeys; and waited patiently until some of them should enter it. He placed various kinds of seeds and roots within the enclosure; but several days passed, and no birds were taken.

"After some practice, the 'bird-catcher' became able to imitate the 'gobbling' of the old cock? so exactly that at some distance off in the woods, you could not tell but that it was one of themselves. By this means, he could call the turkeys up to the ground where he himself lay concealed; but the seeds he had baited his trap with were not sufficiently enticing, and none of them would go under the rails. At length, however, he hit upon an expedient, which was sure to succeed, if anything could. He had shot one of the turkeys with his arrows; and taking it into the trap, he carefully propped it up—so that it appeared to be still alive, and busy feeding upon his bait. He then retired to some distance; and, hiding himself among the brushwood, 'gobbled' as before. Three large birds soon made their appearance, coming cautiously through the woods. Of course, like all wild turkeys, they were down upon the ground—stalking along just like so many ostriches. At length, they came in sight of the penn, and seeing one of their own kind;— quietly feeding, as they thought, within it—they approached fearlessly, and ran around the enclosure, seeking for an entrance. Frank lay watching all their movements; and his heart, at this moment, was thumping against his ribs. His anxiety did not long endure. The three great birds soon found the wide funnel; and, without hesitating, ran up it and appeared inside the trap. Frank sprang from his lurking-place; and, running forward, first shut up the entrance by filling it with stones. Then climbing upon the top, he slipped through between the rails; and secured the birds by tying their legs together with a stout thong of deerskin. When he had lifted them out of the trap, he again adjusted everything—leaving the 'decoy turkey' quietly feeding as before—and shouldering his prize, he marched off in triumph. His return to the house was greeted with exclamations of joy; and a rail penn was immediately built for the birds, similar to the trap in which they had been caught, but, of course, without the funnel or entrance. The only regret we had was, that the three were all cocks—regular 'old gobblers.'

"Next day, however, Frank remedied this by making a still more important capture. On returning to visit his trap before sunrise, he saw from a distance that there was a live turkey inside, with a number of smaller birds, which in the grey light appeared like so many partridges. On getting nearer, to his surprise and delight, he found that what he had taken for partridges was a large brood of young turkeys, and that which he had first seen was their mother. The little ones were running out and in, for they could easily pass between the rails, while the mother ran around, thrusting her head out of the penn, and occasionally spreading her wings and flapping upwards, endeavouring to escape in that direction. The young were all making a great ado, and evidently aware that their mother was 'in the trap.'

"Frank, fearing that the youngsters might get off if he attempted to approach them alone, came back to the house, and summoned Harry, Cudjo, and myself, to his assistance. To make sure of them, we took with us the long canvass tilt of the wagon with a couple of blankets fastened to it at the end. We adopted every precaution, as we looked upon capturing this young brood as a thing of great importance—since we could bring them up quite domesticated, and from them should breed as many more as we pleased. We approached the penn with all due caution; and when near we separated, each of us taking a side. We then advanced upon the trap, completely surrounding it; and, while the birds ran confusedly from side to side, we stretched the tilt and blankets all around the penn, thus cutting off their retreat. In a few moments we had secured both the old hen and her chicks—amounting, in all, to no less than eighteen of them! This was a capture, indeed; and we immediately hurried back to the house with them, not forgetting to take along with us the 'decoy turkey'—which, being a fine fat fellow, and killed only the day before, served us for a very good dinner. For the turkey hen and young we built another penn, near to that where we had imprisoned the three 'old gobblers.' The one last constructed was made with more care and closer between the rails, so that the youngsters might not get out and wander off.

"Frank again baited his log-trap, and used for a decoy one of the gobblers, which he tied by the leg to a rail. In this way several others were caught; when the birds at length became shy, and kept away from the penn altogether. However, we had now as many as we could feed, until our corn should ripen and be gathered.

"From this time every day saw new additions to our aviary. Frank had procured the bark of the ilex opaca, or American holly; and this, when macerated in water, and then fermented and cleared of its fibres, made the very best bird-lime. A large cage had been constructed out of bow-wood with the straight reeds of the cane, and divided into many compartments—so that birds of different species should be separated from each other. In a short time the cage was seen to contain specimens of the blue-jay and red-bird, or Virginia nightingale, orioles of several species, and doves of two distinct kinds. There were also several Carolina paroquets; and Frank had succeeded in capturing a bird of a very rare kind, which, I believe, is known to the Indians as the 'wakon.' It was the American bird of paradise; and, like those of the Eastern world, had several long feathers growing from its tail, and stretching away gracefully behind it. In the cage were also finches of different varieties, and beautiful bright plumage. Among others were the green bird, the redstart, and the cock of the woods; the little blue bird also, the red-winged starring, and the orange-headed troupiale— which last species migrated in large flocks into the valley. There was a number of small cages, which had been constructed for the smallest of all birds—the humming-birds—and Frank had caught no less than a dozen different kinds of these most beautiful creatures, which he daily supplied with fresh flowers. Another cage, apart from all the rest, held an inmate that; so far as appearance went, you would have said had no right to be thus distinguished in having a house all to himself. He was of a sober grey colour, somewhat of the wagtail shape, with long black legs, and claws of a dirty hue; and was altogether an ill-favoured bird, not any better-looking than a common house-sparrow. Had you known nothing more about him than his outward appearance, you would hardly have deigned to waste a second look upon him. The moment, however, his black bill was opened, and his lead-coloured throat became expanded in a song, you forgot all about the dull hue of his plumage. You all at once forgot the bright wings of the paroquet, and the beautiful form of the oriole; the red-bird, the blue-jay, and the wakon, were alike forgotten, and you gazed upon this sweet musician with delight and admiration. As you continued to listen, you would notice that he mimicked almost every sound that occurred within hearing. When any of the others commenced to sing, he would catch the strain—as it were, from their lips—and, giving it in a far higher and bolder tone, shame them into silence. This, I need hardly tell you, was the famous mock-bird—the nightingale of America.

"While Frank was daily increasing his stock of winged creatures, Harry was not idle among the quadrupeds. No less than five kinds of squirrels had been caught and caged. These were the grey, black, and red or fox varieties of the tree squirrel, and two species of ground squirrel—one the common hackee, or chipping squirrel; while the other was a new species, which we had caught on the desert plain above, among the roots of the artemisia plant. This last was a beautiful little creature, not much larger than a mouse, and striped like a little zebra. It has never—as far as I can tell—been described by naturalists; and on this account, as well as from its peculiar size and beauty, it was a general favourite with all of us, particularly with Luisa and Mary, in whose laps it soon learnt to sleep, like a tamed mouse.

"Besides the squirrels, Harry's collection embraced a hare and a couple of raccoons. These last were the produce of a night-hunt or two which Cudjo had made with the dogs; and although these fox-like animals were by no means useful pets, yet they gave a variety to our collection, and added to our amusement in the observation of their curious habits."



CHAPTER THIRTY.

THE BITERS BIT.

"Our next was a fishing excursion. As I have said, Cudjo had already discovered that our stream contained fish, and had caught several of them. They were something like bass, although differing considerably from the common species. Nevertheless they were very delicious eating, and we were all very fond of them.

"We set forth in the morning, but on this occasion we left Pompo and his cart behind, as we had not far to go—only a short distance down the stream, where Cudjo knew a large pool in which the fish were plenty. We took with us lines, made out of the wild flax that grows in the valley, and which, Mary tells us, is found in all countries that border upon the Rocky Mountains. Our rods were long tapering canes such as grew in abundance around us. For hooks we used pins bent into the proper shape; and our bait consisted of a variety of worms. All these things were carried by Harry and Frank, while Cudjo and I took the younger ones in our arms, and Mary was left free to botanise as we passed along. Castor and Pollux accompanied us of course; and Pompo, as he saw us leave the house, ran neighing around his enclosure, as if quite vexed at our leaving him behind. Cudjo, of course, became our guide, taking us through the woods to that part of the stream where was his favourite fishing-ground.

"After travelling at our leisure about a quarter of a mile, we were all brought to a sudden halt by an exclamation from my wife, who stood pointing at some trees a little to one side of the path.

"'What, mamma!' cried Harry, 'another fine tree? Why, the real bread-fruit and the cocoa-nuts will turn up yet, I believe, in spite of our latitude.'

"'I am sorry for your sake, Harry,' replied his mamma, 'as well as our own, that I have not made the discovery of another fine tree. No, it is quite another thing, and not a very useful discovery. But it may be curious to you; and papa, here, can read you a chapter of natural history upon it. It is in his line. It is a four-footed animal.'

"'Animal!' exclaimed Harry; 'I see no animal. Where is it, mamma?'

"'Nor do I,' replied his mother; 'but I see indications of the presence of one, and a very destructive one, too. Look there!'

"As Mary said this, she pointed to a grove of young cotton-wood trees, from which the bark and leaves were stripped off as cleanly as if they had been gnawed by goats, or scraped with a knife. Some of the trees were quite dead, while others of them were freshly peeled, and only waited for a little time to go to decay also.

"'Oh, I see what you mean now, mamma,' said Harry. 'Some animal has done this—but what one? The beavers cannot climb; and I am sure neither squirrels, raccoons, nor opossums, would take the bark from trees in that manner.'

"'No; it was none of them. Your papa can best inform you what sort of animal has been so destructive to these young trees, which, you perceive, are of the beautiful cotton-wood species,—the populus angulatus of botanists.'

"'Come, Harry,' said I, 'let us first find the animal if we can.'

"We all turned toward the leafless grove. We had not walked many steps in that direction, when the very animal we were in search of appeared on the ground before us. It was quite three feet long, thick, broad in the back, and arched from the nose to the tail. It was of a speckled grey colour, but with the roughest coat of hair that could possibly be imagined. Its head and nose were very small for the size of its body; and its short, stout legs, with their long claws, were scarcely visible under the thick, shaggy hair. Its ears were also buried under the hair; and it looked more like a round tufted mass than an animal. It was down upon the ground; and had evidently perceived our approach, as it was making off through the grass as fast as it could. That, however, was not very fast—not faster than a frog could go—for the animal in question is one of the very slowest travellers.

"As soon as I caught sight of it, and saw that it was upon the ground— and not among the branches, where I had expected to find it—I turned round to secure the dogs. I was too late, for these unreasoning animals had already seen it, and, forgetful of the lesson which the skunk had taught them, were dashing forward in full cry. I endeavoured to call them off; but, heedless of our shouts, both rushed on the strange creature at once. The latter, seeing them approach, immediately stopped, buried its head under its breast, seemed suddenly to swell upward and outward to twice its natural size—while its rough thick tail was brandished from side to side in a furious and threatening manner.

"We could all now see that that which had appeared to be coarse thick hair was nothing else than long bristling spines, and Harry at once cried out,—

"'A porcupine! a porcupine!'

"The dogs, unfortunately for themselves, did not know what it was; nor did they stop to consider, but lashed upon it open-mouthed, as they usually do with any strange animal. They did not hold it long; for the next moment they dropped it, and came running back more open-mouthed than ever—uttering the most piteous howls—and we saw that their noses, lips, and jaws, were sticking full of the sharp quills! Meanwhile the porcupine again stretched himself out; and, crawling to the foot of a tree, commenced climbing up. But Cudjo, who was highly incensed with the treatment which his favourites had received, rushed after; and, knocking down the animal with his spear, soon despatched him.

"Harry, who had grown much wiser since his adventure with the skunk, was rather shy of approaching the porcupine—particularly as he had heard that this animal possesses the power of shooting his quills to some distance, and sticking them like arrows into his enemies. Frank inquired if this were true.

"'No,' I replied; 'it is only one of those fabulous stories which the ingenious French naturalist, Buffon, so much delighted to recount. The porcupine's quills may be pulled out easily by anything which presses too rudely against them, such as the mouth of a mastiff; and this because they are very slightly attached by their roots, and have a barb upon their tops that takes hold upon any enemy that may attempt to touch them. This is the only defence the poor animal has got—as it is so slow of foot that any of its enemies can easily come up with it. But, notwithstanding its slowness, most of the fierce creatures find it better to leave the porcupine to himself, and his innocent occupation of "barking" the trees. He generally proves more than a match for any of them; and, in fact, neither wolf, panther, nor wildcat, can kill him—as there is not a spot of his body which they can touch when he prepares himself for their attack. On the other hand, he frequently kills them— only in self-defence, however, as he never attacks any animal, but lives altogether on his simple food, the bark and leaves of trees. The cougar is often found dead in the woods,—his death occasioned by the porcupine's quills that are seen sticking in his mouth and tongue. So also the lynx has been found, as well as many dogs and wolves.'

"So much of the natural history of this strange animal I related to my companions at the time; but, shortly after, an incident was witnessed by Harry and myself which showed us that the porcupine, notwithstanding his bristling armour, had one enemy, at least, who could master him upon occasions. Although it occurred some months after our fishing excursion, now that we are speaking of the porcupine, I shall relate it."



CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.

BATTLE OF THE MARTEN AND PORCUPINE.

"It was in the middle of the winter. A light snow had fallen upon the ground—just enough to enable us to follow the trail of any animal we might light upon. Of course, the snow filled us with the idea of hunting; and Harry and I started out upon the tracks of a brace of elk that had passed through our opening during the night. The tracks were very fresh-looking; and it was evident that the animals had passed in the morning, just before we were up. We concluded, therefore, that they had not gone far off, and we hoped soon to come up with them.

"The trail led us along the side of the lake, and then, up the left bank of the stream. Castor and Pollux were with us; but in our hunting excursions we usually led them in a leash, so that they might not frighten the game by running ahead of us.

"When about half a mile from the house, we found that the elk had crossed to the right bank of the stream. We were about to follow, when, all at once, our eyes fell upon a most singular track or tracks that led off in the direction of the woods. They were the tracks of human feet—the feet of children!

"You may fancy the surprise into which we were suddenly thrown. They were about five inches in length, and exactly such as would have been made by a barefooted urchin of six years old. There appeared to be two sets of them, as if two children had passed, following one another on the same trail. What could it mean? After all, were there human beings in the valley besides ourselves? Could these be the footprints of two young Indians? All at once I thought of the Diggers—the Yamparicos— the root-eaters,—who are found in almost every hole and corner of the American Desert. Could it be possible that a family of these wretched creatures existed in the valley? 'Quite possible,' thought I, when I reflected upon their habits. Living upon roots, insects, and reptiles,—burrowing in holes and caves like the wild animals around them,—a family, or more, might have been living all this time in some unexplored corner of the valley, without our having encountered any traces of them! Was this really so? and were the tracks before us the footmarks of a brace of young Diggers, who had been passing from point to point?

"Of course, our elk-hunt was given up until this mystery should be solved; and we turned off from the trail of the latter to follow that of the children.

"In coming out to an open place, where the snow lay smoothly, and the footprints appeared well defined, I stooped down to examine them more minutely, in order to be satisfied that they were the tracks of human feet. Sure enough, there were the heels, the regular widening of the foot near the toes, and the toes themselves, all plainly stamped upon the snow. Here, however, arose another mystery. On counting the toes, I found that in some of the tracks there were five—as there should have been,—while in others there were only four! This led me to examine the print of the toes more carefully; and I now saw that each of them was armed with a claw, which, on account of some hairy covering, had made but a very indefinite impression in the snow. The tracks, then, were not the footmarks of children, but those of some animal with claws.

"Notwithstanding that we had come to this conclusion, we still continued to follow the trail. We were curious to see what sort of a creature had made it. Perhaps it might be some animal unknown to naturalists,—some new species; and we might one day have the merit of being the first to describe it.

"We had not far to go: a hundred yards, or so, brought us in sight of a grove of young cotton-woods; and these we saw at a glance were 'barked' by a porcupine. The whole mystery was cleared up,—we had been following in the trail of this animal.