SQUIRRELS AND SQUIRREL HUNTING. 203 



out as much as possible, like a flying squirrel, soar 

 gradually to the bottom of the ravine and skip up 

 an oak into his hole. It was the bravest thing I have 

 ever seen done in the woods, for the leap was at least 

 fifty feet; and the little fellow was evidently a bit afraid 

 of it, for he hesitated an instant before taking it. But 

 things were getting too warm for him, and so off he 

 went. He certainly was the General Putnam among 

 the squirrels, and should have been in the charge at 

 Balaklava. I hope he still lives (but doubt it), or at 

 least that he was not hurt by his long aeronautic ex- 

 pedition. 



I remember once being out with my dog. I had 

 arisen before daybreak, and had tramped through the 

 dewy grass and weeds far into the woods after squir- 

 rels. It was a clear, beautiful morning. It had rained 

 the day before, and I hoped thus to step noiselessly 

 and stealthily up to within a few feet of them. Cob- 

 webs and mosquitoes were thick and annoying, but a 

 large bunch of pennyroyal was a check for the latter, 

 and the hunting passion was too strong upon me to 

 mind the cobwebs, which I merely brushed aside with 

 the barrel of my rifle. I had not intended to have the 

 dog go, for he would sometimes race among the leaves 

 and scare the squirrels, and so I had driven him back. 

 I always liked to "still hunt" best for squirrels, anyway. 

 Suddenly, however, when pretty well in the woods, 

 listening for the earliest barking chuckle or the first 

 splash in the branches, I was startled by the very 

 slightest movement in the path behind me; and, turn- 

 ing, there was my dog. He had followed me, even 

 after my refusal, bound to come. He looked up into 



