THE HAYMAKER OF THE HEIGHTS — 29 
three stacks? They were separated by only a 
few inches and had been cut from one near-by 
square rod of meadow. But it is likely that 
each cony worked independently. 
Far up the mountainside I found and saw 
an account of a cony adventure written in the 
snow. In crossing a barren snow-covered slide 
I came upon cony tracks coming down. I 
back-tracked to see where they came from. 
A quarter of a mile back and to one side a 
snowslide mingled with gigantic rock fragments 
had swept down and demolished a part of a 
moraine and ruined a cony home. This must 
have been a week or more before. The snow 
along the edge of the disturbed area was tracked 
and re-tracked—a confusion of cony foot- 
prints. 
But the cony making the tracks which I 
followed had left the place and proceeded as 
though he knew just where he was going. He 
had not hesitated, stopped, nor turned to look 
back. Where was he bound for? I left the 
wreckage to follow his tracks. 
Up over a ridge the tracks led, then down a 
slope to the place where I had discovered them, 
then to the left along a terrace a quarter of a 
mile farther. Here they disappeared beneath 
huge rocks. 
In searching for the tracks beyond I came in 
