x A LITTLE BROTHER OF THE BEAR 281 
When within a dozen paces I saw that its chops 
were literally dripping with gore. There were no 
feathers at the foot of the tree or caught in the 
tangled undergrowth, and no bits of fur; but drops 
of blood were spattered everywhere. The poor 
thing must be wounded, I thought. Hoping, there- 
fore, to put the creature out of its misery, I planned 
to reach it; but as I had no gun, I could only 
climb. This failed, but, as I was looking up the 
straight stem of the tree, the ’coon moved a little 
upward and outward, as though determined to 
keep the space between us unchanged. The ease 
of its movements did not suggest a wound or a 
weakness from loss of blood, and I was again at 
sea in the matter, but only for a moment. Scat- 
tered about the vine were single grapes and bunches 
of two and three. A beggarly show for grapes; 
but then their size made up for the lack of num- 
bers. Each grape was black as anthracite, a 
perfect sphere an inch in diameter. Such grapes! 
No wonder the raccoon had jaws dripping with 
gore; no wonder the leaves below were spattered 
with purple blotches. Every grape was nigh to 
bursting with the richest of ruddy wild fruit-juices, 
crimson and blood-thick. My little ‘coon was an 
epicure.” 
One of the singularities of the raccoon is its habit 
of dipping its food in water or washing it, to which 
it owes its specific name, — /ofor, the washer. If 
water is not at hand, it will often rub it vigorously 
