THE SNOW-WALKERS. 



75 



frequently 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 starvation 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-buildings in 

 quest of food. I remember one morning in early 

 spring, of hearing old Cuff, the farm-dog, barking vo- 

 ciferously 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 man- 

 ners 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 unusual 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 its hold, and when the climber paused to re- 

 new his hold, it turned toward him with a growl and 

 showed very clearly a purpose to advance to the attack. 

 This caused his pursuer to descend to the ground 



