CRESSWELL] THE POCKET GOPHER 371 



on with its opening also closed. Dig it open and you will find a 

 smooth burrow some four inches in diameter and extending hori- 

 zontally to a depth of five to fifteen inches. The chain of mounds 

 leads you to dig still farther until \^ou are convinced that they all 

 belong to the same runways. Often they are many yards in 

 extent and turn and wind and branch with no seeming plan. 

 More days in spying will show that one gopher is accountable for 

 the twenty-five or thirty motmds on an acre or so of ground. 

 They are all dirt from connected runways, some broader than 

 others and some grass lined for a nest. He dwells alone and seldom 

 leaves his excavations. Roots and hard soil are cut with his chisel 

 teeth as he excavates with his forefeet. His squat body and short 

 legs fit him for just such a life occupation, but how about that 

 slender naked tail? Whist! Backward he runs at an amazing 

 pace, his sensitive tail acting as eyes or rather feelers for him. 



What is there for him to eat? O, yes, the clover and alfalfa 

 roots were cut off at the top of his burrow. Here are pieces of 

 them in this side gallery. What is this? Small potatoes, pieces of 

 larger ones, bits of parsnip, carrot, clover leaves and stems with 

 bits of other succulent plants. A half bushel or so stored in his 

 various galleries. No shortage of food supply for him! Methinks 

 those mounds of soil in the garden unravel the mystery of a promis- 

 ing row of sweet potatoes that failed to meet expectations. They 

 were thick and finely formed at the top but seldom over two inches 

 long and the lower surface looked gnawed. Winter time does not 

 stop his acti\'ity as fresh mounds under the snow testify. Rasp- 

 berry canes sans earthly support and young apple trees and other 

 young trees minus their roots tell how he lived. Many a young 

 orchard in the IMissouri Valley is seriously injured by his ravages. 



You have given up all hopes of ever seeing him when he is gather- 

 ing clover leaves, when just about dusk, he slips stealthily from 

 his burrow and moves straight to a bushy clover plant. He bites 

 off the clover leaves and seems to be brushing his cheek with his 

 claws. He moves so rapidly that in the dim light you cannot see 

 what he is doing . O, for the power to move noiselessly and unseen ! 

 There he comes slipping back to his burrow. Cheek pouches are 

 greatly distended and, 3'es, it is, — a clover leaf sticks out of one. 

 Now is the mystery of those fur lined pockets solved? Of course, 

 a fur pocket that could not be turned inside out is no good for a 

 dirt carrier. 



