86 The Wilderness Hunter 



stronger sounds of the wilderness; the guttural 

 booming and clucking of the prairie fowl and the 

 great sage fowl in spring; the honking of gangs of 

 wild geese, as they fly in rapid wedges ; the bark of 

 an eagle, wheeling in the shadow of storm-scarred 

 cliffs; or the far-off clanging of many sand-hill 

 cranes, soaring high overhead in circles which cross 

 and recross at an incredible altitude. Wilder yet, 

 and stranger, are the cries of the great four-footed 

 beasts; the rhythmic pealing of a bull-elk's chal- 

 lenge; and that most sinister and mournful sound, 

 ever fraught with foreboding of murder and rapine, 

 the long-drawn baying of the gray wolf. 



Indeed, save to the trained ear, most mere bird 

 songs are not very noticeable. The ordinary wil- 

 derness dweller, whether hunter or cowboy, scarcely 

 heeds them; and in fact knows but little of the 

 smaller birds. If a bird has some conspicuous pe- 

 culiarity of look or habit he will notice its existence ; 

 but not otherwise. He knows a good deal about mag- 

 pies, whiskey jacks, or water ousels ; but nothing what- 

 ever concerning the thrushes, finches, and warblers. 



It is the same with mammals. The prairie-dogs 

 he can not help noticing. With the big pack-rats 

 also he is well acquainted; for they are handsome, 

 with soft gray fur, large eyes, and bushy tails; 

 and, moreover, no one can avoid remarking their 

 extraordinary habit of carrying to their burrows 

 everything bright, useless, and portable, from an 



