266 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDERNESS 
A ’coon, being nocturnal in his habits, works 
largely by scent and touch. His small eyes may 
be keen enough, but he seems to prefer to take 
the testimony of his nose first, and then even 
more of his forepaws, which, in spite of their 
sharp claws, appear to have a great delicacy of 
perception. They can look, and feel, almost like 
hands at times. The ’coon’s most amusing trick, 
or mannerism, is his fashion of investigating the 
contents of a basket, say, by taking everything 
out of it with his hands, while keeping his head 
turned the other way, or looking upward toward 
the sky—anywhere except where his hands are 
exploring. This gives to his action a quaintly 
surreptitious air, as if he were determined not to 
let even himself know what he was up to. If he 
is investigating something that may contain food, 
his hands appear to reject what, to him, is un- 
edible, by tossing it aside, and when a nut or bit 
of meat is clutched, a look of crafty joy suddenly 
radiates the sharp little face. Taking the bit of 
meat, if possible, to water, he holds it between 
his two front paws and sloshes it back and forth, 
back and forth, till it is washed white and pulpy, 
