8o Wilderness Ways. 



Down it came, souse! sending up a shower of mud 

 and water. And Chigwooltz the restful, who could 

 sit still thirty-two hours without getting stiff in the 

 joints, and then dodge the sweep of Mooween's paw, 

 went splashing away hippety-ippety over the lily pads 

 to some water grass, where he said K'tung / and dis- 

 appeared for good. 



A few days later Simmo and I moved camp to a 

 grove of birches just above the alder point. From 

 behind my tent an old game path led down to the bay 

 where the big frogs lived. There were scores of them 

 there; the chorus at night, with its multitude of 

 voices running from a whistling treble to deep, deep 

 bass, was at times tremendous. It was here that I 

 had the first good opportunity of watching frogs 

 feeding. 



Chigwooltz, I found, is a perfect gourmand and a 

 cannibal, eating, besides his regular diet of flies and 

 beetles and water snails, young frogs, and crawfish, 

 and turtles, and fish of every kind. But few have 

 ever seen him at his hunting, for he is active only 

 at night or on dark days. 



I used to watch them from the shore or from my 

 canoe at twilight. Just outside the lily pads a shoal 

 of minnows would be playing at the surface, or small 

 trout would be rising freely for the night insects. 



