AMERICAN FORESTRY 103 



MAMMY COTTONTAIL AND TROUBLE. 



BY ALLEN CHAFFEE 



AUTHOR OF 

 I. " THE ADVENTURES OF TWINKLY EYES," THE LITTLE BLACK BEAR 

 (WITH ILLUSTRATION BY PETER DA RU) 



II. A FIGHT WITH THE HORNED OWL 



MAMMY Cottontail, the little brown hare, watched breathlessly while the weasel ran along the interlacing 

 branches, soundless as a shadow. The weasel's slender body ended in a tiny wedge-like face with ears 

 laid back flat and eyes gleaming red with murder. 



Mammy crouched trembling behind a tree-trunk, her round eyes all but starting from their sockets. For even 

 as the weasel glided snake-like along the limb, he peered this way and that through the gathering twilight. 

 But the weasel was after the gray squirrel, who now faced him from his hole with teeth bared in an angry 

 "Chir-r-r" sounding his warning. 



The weasel, with a hiss, snapped his teeth into the squirrel's nose, while the squirrel, fighting for his life, 

 clamped his long front teeth through the weasel's jaw. But the weasel was the larger, stronger animal. 

 What followed turned Mammy's heart sick within her. 



The victor in the unequal contest did not even have the excuse of being hungry. He had killed merely for 

 the love of sport. And the gray squirrel once stretched limp on the ground beneath, he left it lying untasted. 

 That kind of killing was new to Mammy Cottontail's experience. She knew that in a race with a weasel she 

 would stand even less chance of escape than had the gray squirrel. Then her blood froze with the awfulest 

 fear she had yet known! The weasel had found her trail! 



Yes, sir, Mammy's blood froze! She was too stiff to move! Though it was useless to run as to fight. But 

 even as she crouched there, like a brown clod on the white snow, an amazing thing happened. 



It was by now quite dark, and the stars were pricking through the curtain of the sky. From away up in 

 the top of a scraggly fir tree, at this instant, came a long, weird cry. 



"Wa-hoo! Wa-hoo! Whoo! Whoo! Whoo!" 



It was Whoo Whoo, the great horned owl, his feathers now white like the snow. (For he was protectively 

 colored, changing his coat from Bark-brown to white and back again every year). Mammy had one more 

 foe to fear! Then the owl swooped toward the weasel! 



Yes, sir! Mammy Cottontail saw with amazement that one enemy was to be played off against the other. The 

 great white owl was swooping straight toward the weasel, yellow claws bared for a grip in that writhing back, 

 and beak clicking angrily at memory of some time when the snake-like one had killed the baby owls. 



A fierce old warrior was Whoo Whoo, the horned owl. His body was as long as the weasel's and a great deal 

 heavier. On silent wings the great bird dropped to the back of the white-furred little murderer, who was by 

 now sniffing at Mammy's trail. Then the weasel turned to face his ancient enemy, with teeth bared in a hiss, 

 all the fury of his recent hurt blazing in his eyes, his wounded jaw dripping red on the white of his chest. 



There was a whirl of white, ghost-like in the gray gloom, then a wild mingling of clacks and hisses, and a 

 great pair of silent wings rose till they hung above the tree tops. Their owner clung with beak and claws 

 to a writhing, wriggling snake-like body in white fur. But the weasel also clung around the great bird's neck, 

 tearing at his shoulder with blood-stained teeth, and clawing at the feathery sides with his four sharp sets 

 of toe-nails 



Mammy did not wait to see how the struggle ended, though as Jimmy Crow told her next day, the Horned Owl 

 won, reaching at last to the weasel's heart with his great steel claws, and finally devouring him for supper, with 

 much discarding of the white fur in pellets that he spat out on the ground below. 



(Whenever you find little balls of fur lying under an old hollow tree, you may know that Whoo Whoo or one 

 of his cousins lived up there. For they swallow their mice nearly whole. Then their stomachs roll the fur 

 up into a marble ready to cast it forth the way it entered). 



No, Mammy Cottontail did not wait to see which one of her foes got the worst of it- But the instant she 

 saw her chance, she made off up-stream as fast as ever she could go, till she found a place where the river was 

 frozen a little harder. And once more she crossed on the thin ice, and made for her home in the Old Apple 

 Orchard. And for several weeks thereafter she was quite content with nibbling anything she counld find, 

 bark and twigs and frozen grasses, without going more thad a few jumps from home. 



Then one night, a mild one for that time of year, she caught a wonderful odor. It was the odor of cabbage 

 that was being thrown out to the chickens at the Valley Farm. And so long had she fared on tasteless bark 

 that she made up her mind to have a leaf of that cabbage. She knew it was a rash resolve, for there was Lop Ear, 

 the Hound, and Tom, the Barn Cat, and the Hired Man who carried a gun. But the wind was blowing that 

 luscious odor straight to her now, and she simply could not resist. (All rights reserved.) 



