SOPER — THE SNOWSHOE RABBIT 
105 
light. . Small wonder it is, that the winter wilderness seems less empty 
and forlorn with such antics of the wild ones about one^s habitation. 
After the completion of our new log cabin on the Hay Eiver, Rocky 
Mountain region, in 1913, the rabbit population soon discovered us. 
The aromatic wealth of spruce boughs that littered the little clearing 
spread its fame abroad. Perhaps never before in this region had hos- 
pitality spread such a lavish table d’hote. As dusk descended rabbits 
came hopping into the enclosure from every direction. There was no 
evidence of their presence beyond the silent flitting forms passing lightly 
from place to place. With only the soft sombre wail of the pines and 
spruces how phantom-like they seemed in the gloaming: now prominent, 
now melting into the shadows, now motionless, now shifting here and 
there, spectre-like in the sober stillness. One sparkling moonlight night 
they visited the clearing in unusual numbers. It was such a night as 
carried the ^‘yip’’ of the foxes over long distances with startling distinct- 
ness. In the deeper shadows of the spruces an owl mournfully hooted 
at long intervals. A strange magic charged the brilliant frosty night.. 
One by one they capered into the zone of moonlight. All seemed imbued 
with a spirit of festive joviality, doubling about with playful pranks 
and short sallies of wild abandon but ever and anon returning to the 
sumptuous feast. 
Observed from the cabin window, this pantomime went constantly on; 
the revelers seemed never to tire. Some fed, some frolicked as in games 
of tag, but a rigid alertness never for a moment ceased. Always one or 
more of the company sat erect on its haunches, alert, ears forward, nose 
aquiver, sifting the implications of the night. One ominous sound or 
sign was enough to scatter this merry assemblage to dark and distant 
shadows. When one watcher went down another was already acting 
as sentinel. Still new arrivals came hastening along the ramifying 
trails. It seemed probable that the entire rabbit population within a 
wide radius were conscious of this regal occasion. At one time we 
counted twenty-five in easy view; double that number were possibly 
present, some hidden behind the piles of boughs or in the shadowy out- 
skirts of the moonlight. Fresh arrivals there were always; and some 
departures. To calculate accurately their numbers was impossible. 
When we turned in for the night they still played, and perchance the 
pallid dawn and the waning moon alone ushered them back to the 
shelter of the thickets. Truly it was a rare scene and one which to- 
night, after seven years, lingers in my memory as though it passed but 
an hour ago. 
