Once I
tramped up within thirty feet of a big fellow who was pursuing some
studies behind a log. But again the incontrovertible-postmortem-evidence
of their food habits was a surprise - the bulk of their sustenance
now was berries, in one case this was mixed with the tail hairs - but
no body hairs - of a Chipmunk. I suppose that Chipmunk escaped minus
his tail. There was much evidence that all those creatures that
can eat fruit were in good condition, but that flesh in its most
accessible form - rabbits - was unknown, and even next best thing - the
mice - were too scarce to count; this weighed with especial force
on the Lynxes; they alone seemed unable to eke out with fruit. The
few we saw were starving and at our camp of the 28th we found the
wretched body of one that was dead of hunger.
On that, same night we had a curious adventure with a Weasel.
All were sitting around the camp-fire at bed-time, when I heard
a distinct patter on the leaves. "Something coming," I whispered.
All held still, then out of the gloom came bounding a snow-white
Weasel. Preble was lying on his back with his hands clasped behind
his head and the Weasel fearlessly jumped on my colleague's broad
chest, and stood peering about.
In a flash Preble's right elbow was down and held the Weasel prisoner,
his left hand coming to assist. Now, it is pretty well known that
if you and a Weasel grab each other at the same time he has choice
of holds.
"I have got him," said Preble, then added feelingly, "but he got
me first. Suffering Moses! the little cuss is grinding his teeth
in deeper."
The muffled screaming of the small demon died away as Preble's
strong left hand crushed out his life, but as long as there was a
spark of it remaining, those desperate jaws were grinding deeper
into his thumb. It seemed a remarkably long affair to us, and from
time to time, as Preble let off some fierce ejaculation, one of us
would ask, "Hello! Are you two still at it," or, "How are you and
your friend these times, Preble?"
In a few minutes it was over, but that creature in his fury seemed
to have inspired himself with lock-jaw, for his teeth were so driven
in and double-locked, that I had to pry the jaws apart before the
hand was free.
The Weasel may now be seen in the American Museum, and Preble in the
Agricultural Department at Washington, the latter none the worse.
So wore away the month, the last night came, a night of fireside
joy at home (for was it not Hallowe'en?), and our celebration took
the form of washing, shaving, mending clothes, in preparation for
our landing in the morning.
