280 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA 



the surface and pays for his indiscretion with his 

 life, for owls, hawks, foxes and others are always 

 on the watch for them. Further on, when crossing 

 a small clearing, we see the footprints of a red 

 squirrel which has travelled rapidly from tree to 

 tree. Unlike the mink and the mice, who drag 

 their tails on the snow, the squirrel holds his well 

 elevated, and leaves no middle track, as he runs 

 with feet well separated. But the poor squirrel 

 never reached his destination. His comfortable 

 nest in the hollow branch will never know him 

 again. The sign "to let" will in imagination be 

 hung out to the first house-hunter passing that 

 way. How do we know all this ? See the tracks 

 abruptly end at this point, see many curious, long 

 tracks, as though someone had laid a queer-shaped 

 fan on the snow. It is the track of the owl's wing, 

 of the relentless hunter, keen-eyed and silent, who 

 watches all the winter woods and fields. Without 

 a moment's warning he has pounced on the unsus- 

 pecting squirrel and carried it off for his midnight 

 feast. Soon we come upon the curiously large 

 footprints of the cottontail ; he too must burrow 

 beneath the snow, both for safety and for food. 

 He takes no straight path, but winds his way in 

 and out among the trees, scratching a hole here 

 and there where his keen nose tells him he may 

 find some root, twig, or leaf that is good to eat. 

 Sometimes he stops as though listening, and the 

 round blurred impression in the snow shows where 

 his furry body had pressed it down. The listen- 

 ing had been in vain for poor cottontail, as we see 

 later on. Not five feet from the rabbit's tracks are 



