COLLECTING LODGEPOLE PINE SEED 675 



est fire parts the woody cone scales and allows them to fall to the ground. 

 For two years the ranger has had a chance to size up the coming cone crop, 

 decide on the most likely localities in which to harvest it, and lay his plans 

 for the work early in the summer. He has reported to his superior officer the 

 results of his held observations, and, in view of a shortage of seed in one lo- 

 cality, plans can be laid well in advance to make good the deficiency by con- 

 centrating on places where the crop is known to promise abundance. 



There is only one good way to collect the cones of the lodgepole pine. 

 Pulling the cones from the branches by hand, or cutting them from their stems 

 with a keen-edged, sickle-like knife, or knocking them off with a pole have all 

 been found to be both slow and uncertain. Only with difficulty can as many 

 as a bushel of cones a day be secured by any of these ways. But the gay little 

 pine squirrel, frisking about the woodland, leaping from tree to tree and chat- 

 tering at you frantically as you walk beneath, has come to the ranger's help. 

 Along about the middle of August these care-free denizens of the forest world 

 begin to realize the need of providing themselves with a store of food against 

 the coming of the long winter. Every pine gives its tribute to them of its 

 best and ripest. Instinctively the squirrel knows the best cones, and few that 

 are wormy or empty ever are tucked away in a squirrel hoard. Scampering 

 to the topmost branches, the squirrel cuts off the cone from its tough stem 

 with his keen little teeth. He will seldom bother to conceal his hoards more 

 than by the protecting shelter of an old log, or a shallow hole by the base of a 

 rock or stump. Here he piles up from a few quarts to several bushels of pine 

 chines. But with increasing riches Mr. Squirrel gains craft. "Put not all 

 your eggs in one basket," is an adage which he apparently knows by heart. 

 J'or he will not stoi-e long in any one place. Under this log and that log, be- 

 hind that rock and in this old root he believes in experimenting with many 

 exposures and many storehouses. For the cellar must not be too damp and 

 let the cones mold, nor must it be where the snow is likely to get too deep 

 and too hard packed. As one walks through the forest in autumn he will find 

 tliat there is scarcely a down log that does not conceal on its uphill side a 

 store of pine cones. For this reason it is practically impossible for a cone 

 gatherer to take away more than a part of a squirrel's hoards. Furthermore, 

 a hoard emptied one day will generally be found by the end of a week to have 

 been partly or wholly replenished, unless, as rarely happens, the little woi-ker 

 has been frightened away. 



Towards the middle of August, in most localities, the squirrels have 

 actively begun collecting their winter's supply of cones. By September 1, in 

 a favorable year, the fire season is nearly over and the ranger's other lines 

 of summer work are drawing to a close. Providing himself with sacks, a 

 bucket and good stout gloves, the ranger starts for that part of the forest 

 where his two years of observation have prepared him to find a good supply 

 of stored cones. Moving the old logs he lays bare the hoards he is after. The 

 bucket is quickly filled, emptied into one of the gunny bags, and replenished 

 from the next pi'omising supply. All of the cones found in squirrel hoards 

 are not equally good either in the number of fertile seed they contain or in the 

 ease with which they can be made to give up their seed. The small gray 

 cones, for instance, which have been on the trees for several years, are not as 

 good as the fresher, more plump brown and purplish cones, which genei'ally 

 are not over three years old. The cone gatherer aims to put few of the gray 

 cones in his sack. 



The gunny bags hold about two bushels of pine cones, and it is not un- 

 usual for a man to gather six or eight sacks full in an 8-hour day. When 

 a good-sized pack load has been assembled the ranger brings up his horses, 



