Chigwooltz the Frog. 85 



stone, or from under a log or the lily pads for he 

 had a dozen hiding places and swim up to me to 

 be fed, or petted, or to have his back scratched. 



He ate all sorts of things, insects, bread, beef, game 

 and fish, either raw or cooked. I would attach a bit 

 of meat to a string or straw, and wiggle it before him, 

 to make it seem alive. The moment he saw it (he 

 had a queer way sometimes of staring hard at a thing 

 without seeing it) he would crouch and creep towards 

 it, nearer and nearer, softly and more softly, like a cat 

 stalking a chipmunk. Then there would be a red 

 flash and the meat would be gone. The red flash 

 was his tongue, which is attached at the outer end 

 and folds back in his mouth. It is, moreover, large 

 and sticky, and he can throw it out and back like 

 lightning. All you see is the red flash of it, and his 

 game is gone. 



One day, to try the effects of nicotine on a new 

 subject, I took a bit of Simmo's black tobacco and 

 gave it to Chigwooltz. He ate it thankfully, as he 

 did everything else I gave him. In a little while he 

 grew uneasy, sitting up and rubbing his belly with his 

 fore paws. Presently he brought his stomach up into 

 his mouth, turned it inside out to get rid of the 

 tobacco, washed it thoroughly in the lake, swallowed 

 it down again, and was ready for his bread and beef. 



