HOUSE AND GARDEN 
32 
February, 
1912 
The footprints here show where Br er Rabbit was hard pressed by a 
dog whose master brought up the rear 
The rabbit’s snowshoe-hke hind feet swing in front of his forelegs and 
indicate the direction of his trail 
leap, until they 
pass the stubby 
front ones on either 
side and strike 
with their broad 
snowshoe feet well 
a h e a d. Rabbits 
are ordinarily lei¬ 
surely travelers, 
hopping quietly 
along upon no ap¬ 
parent object. But 
when occasion de¬ 
mands, they seem 
literally to have 
drawn on seven 
league boots. This 
may be when your 
hound has unex¬ 
pectedly routed one 
out of his retreat 
and is nipping and 
baying frenziedly 
at his very heels 
for a few bounds. 
You can read afterward what has happened, and if the chase has 
led down hill, the tracks will be yards, I had almost said rods, 
apart. But the rabbit soon gains the lead and proceeds carefully 
and methodically to throw his pursuer off the track. He is in no 
particular hurry about this, unless the dog is very fast, the foot¬ 
ing good, and the scent strong and fresh. He will sit down fre¬ 
quently to look back, then go on a few rods and turn sharply 
to one side. The dog will over-run and have to hunt about for 
the trail again. 
Br'er Rabbit loves to sit snugly under some sheltering spruce 
in his home swamp and “spec’late.” What “spec’lations’’ of 
deep import are carried on under those tapering ears, I have no 
means of knowing, but that they consume much of his time is 
clearly evident from the many little areas of hard packed snow 
where he stops for his cogitations. The white ones of the big 
woods have no burrow, and in stormy weather they crouch in 
some retreat until the snow has entirely closed them in with its 
warm blanket. When it clears they throw it lightly aside in full 
assurance that another will meet their necessity. 
The partridges also know how warm the snow will make them 
and plunge precipitately into it as night draws on. Their littH, 
temporary houses must feel cozy indeed when the thermometer 
is dropping down about thirty below zero and all the wood folk 
are making what shift they can to keep life intact. The entrance 
sometimes slants downward for a foot into the snow and termi¬ 
nates in a little chamber where the bird nestles. About the open¬ 
ings are wing prints, clearly defined. Occasionally the entire top 
snow has been thrown violently away, evidence of a startled 
flight at the sensed approach of some enemy. When it snows in 
the night they are buried deep, and I have had them burst out 
from the clear expanse before my very feet with a suddenness 
and noise which is disconcerting. At times, however, the snow 
turns to a freezing rain and a hard crust forms through which 
they cannot escape. But it’s an ill storm of that kind which 
Br'er Fox cannot turn to his own good account. 
Almost the entire business of the woods is a struggle to take 
life or to preserve it, and the recording snow makes note of 
each incident with broad impartiality. One comes frequently 
upon the spot where a fox or a bobcat has caught his dinner and 
eaten it, save for a few scattered feathers or some fur. Or it 
may be that a weasel has captured a mouse and carried it off 
to his lair to be devoured at leisure. 
Those winter-bravers, the crows, leave a trail 
that the inexperienced often mistake for 
game tracks 
