TWENTY YEARS IN THE ROCKIES. 295 



eyes scanning every bush and tree. Now come the fawns, 

 bounding with delight, scarcely ruffling a bough in their 

 progress. 



Suddenly a cry falls on their ears like a death knell. 

 Their blood is frozen in their veins by fear, as again that low, 

 plaintive wail smites their ears. The hunter,, too, well un- 

 derstands this baneful sound. It is the female cougar 

 (felis concolor) calling her lord to join her in the chase for 

 blood. The fawns even understand tiie 

 huddle against their elders. 



The mother, who is always prepared for the worst, runs 

 to a thicket of bushes, and, with a low warning appeal to 

 her loved ones, who always understand, secretes herself. 

 When the youngsters are hidden, and are as still as statues, 

 the parents bound away in an opposite direction to decoy 

 the dreaded enemy from the neighborhood of their young. 

 The cougars follow them as rapidly as possible. When they 

 are thus drawn far away from the hiding place of their off- 

 spring, the deer increase their speed and the cougars are left 

 discomfited at a safe distance from the fawns, whose par- 

 ents return to them by a circuitous route. 



It is my opinion that all animals have power of audible 

 speech. Their vocabulary may not be extensive, but it an- 

 swers the purpose. When a storm is gathering, the large 

 gray wolf (canis occidentalis) of the plains goes to a high 

 point and utters a dismal, prolonged howl, which is soon 

 answered by all the wolves within his hearing. He is call- 

 ing his band together to pull down a horse, steer, or other 

 larger game, that all may have food before the storm 

 breaks. The horses and cows of the plains well know what 

 the direful cry means, and bound away at highest speed as 

 soon as they hear the call for blood. 



The mother antelope with one word secretes her off- 



