THE SNOW-WALKERS. 75 



bis sharp digitigrade track upon the snow, travel- 

 ing not unfrequently in pairs, a lean, hungry 

 couple, bent on pillage and plunder. They have an 

 unenviable time of it, feasting in the summer and 

 fall, hibernating in winter, and starving in spring. 

 In April I have found the young of the previous 

 year creeping about the fields, so reduced by starva- 

 tion as to be quite helpless, and offering no resistance 

 to my taking them up by the tail, and carrying them 

 home. 



The old ones also become very much emaciated, 

 and come boldly up to the barn or other out-build- 

 ings in quest of food. I remember one morning in 

 early spring, of hearing old Cuff, the farm-dog, bark- 

 ing vociferously before it was yet light. When we 

 got up we discovered him, at the foot of an ash-tree 

 standing about thirty rods from the house, looking up 

 at some gray object in the leafless branches, and by 

 his manners and his voice evincing great impatience 

 that we were so tardy in coming to his assistance. 

 Arrived on the spot, we saw in the tree a coon of un- 

 usual size. One bold climber proposed to go up and 

 shake him down. This was what old Cuff wanted, 

 and he fairly bounded with delight as he saw his 

 young master shinning up the tree. Approaching 

 within eight or ten feet of the coon, he seized the 

 branch to which it clung and shook long and fiercely. 

 But the coon was in no danger of losing his hold, 

 and when the climber paused to renew its hold, it 

 turned toward him with a growl and showed very 



