Natural Telepathy 



heard a vixen utter a growl or cry or warning of 

 any kind. That audible communication comes 

 later, when the cubs begin to hunt for themselves ; 

 and then you will often hear the mother's querulous 

 squall or the cubs' impatient crying when they are 

 separated in the dark woods. While the den is 

 their home (they seldom enter it after they once 

 roam abroad) silence is the rule, and that silence is 

 most eloquent. For hours at a stretch the cubs 

 romp lustily in the afternoon sunshine, some 

 stalking imaginary mice or grasshoppers, others 

 challenging their mates to mock fights or mock 

 hunting; and the most striking feature of the 

 exercise, after you have become familiar with the 

 fascinating little creatures, is that the old vixen, 

 who lies apart where she can overlook the play and 

 the neighborhood, seems to have the family under 

 perfect control at every instant, though never a 

 word is uttered. 



That some kind of communication passes among 

 these intelligent little brutes is constantly evident ; 

 but it is without voice or language. Now and 

 then, when a cub's capers lead him too far from 

 the den, the vixen lifts her head to look at him 

 intently; and somehow that look has the same 

 effect as the she-wolf's silent call; it stops the cub 

 as if she had sent a cry or a messenger after him. 

 If that happened once, you might overlook it as a 



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