A YEAR IN THE FIELDS 



We had several times crossed their trail, 

 and had seen that morning a level, grassy 

 place on the top of the mountain, where 

 they had passed the night. Instead of be- 

 ing frightened, as I had expected, they 

 seemed greatly delighted, and gathered 

 around me as if to inquire the tidings from 

 the outer world, — perhaps the quotations 

 of the cattle market. They came up to me, 

 and eagerly licked my hand, clothes, and 

 gun. Salt was what they were after, and 

 they were ready to swallow anything that 

 contained the smallest percentage of it. 

 They were mostly yearlings and as sleek as 

 moles. They had a very gamy look. We 

 were afterwards told that, in the spring, the 

 farmers round about turn into these woods 

 their young cattle, which do not come out 

 again till fall. They are then in good con- 

 dition, — not fat, like grass-fed cattle, but 

 trim and supple, like deer. Once a month 

 the owner hunts them up and salts them. 

 They have their beats, and seldom wander 

 beyond well-defined limits. It was interest- 

 ing to see them feed. They browsed on 

 the low limbs and bushes, and on the vari- 

 ous plants, munching at everything without 

 any apparent discrimination. 



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