STEEP TRAILS 



him. Every tree feels the sting of his sharp 

 feet. Nature has made him master-forester, 

 and committed the greater part of the conif 

 erous crops to his management. Probably 

 over half of all the ripe cones of the spruces, 

 firs, and pines are cut off and handled by this 

 busy harvester. Most of them are stored away 

 for food through the winter and spring, but a 

 part are pushed into shallow pits and covered 

 loosely, where some of the seeds are no doubt 

 left to germinate and grow up. All the tree 

 squirrels are more or less birdlike in voice 

 and movements, but the Douglas is preemi 

 nently so, possessing every squirrelish attri 

 bute, fully developed and concentrated. He is 

 the squirrel of squirrels, flashing from branch 

 to branch of his favorite evergreens, crisp and 

 glossy and sound as a sunbeam. He stirs the 

 leaves like a rustling breeze, darting across 

 openings in arrowy lines, launching in curves, 

 glinting deftly from side to side in sudden 

 zigzags, and swirling in giddy loops and spirals 

 around the trunks, now on his haunches, now 

 on his head, yet ever graceful and performing 

 all his feats of strength and skill without ap 

 parent effort. One never tires of this bright 

 spark of life, the brave little voice crying in 

 the wilderness. His varied, piney gossip is as 

 savory to the air as balsam to the palate. 



324 



