 section 18 of stories of the first American animals. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Dana Patterson, Lexington Park, Maryland. Stories of the first American animals by George Langford, Manitis, the Merman of the Chesapeake, part four. Chara, Queen of the Sharks, floated in her boudoir. A garden of seaweed, ten fathoms beneath the ocean surface. Wasphirna the Hammerhead and Isshura the mackerel shark attending her. She was side-arching her long tapering body and glancing admiringly at her feathery tail fin when suddenly a shadow thrust a self between her and the dim light overhead. In another instant two broad flat objects tumbled down into the ocean depths. They were batwing and whiptail, the eagle rays. They're great spreading fins growing each side of and the full length of their bodies gave them the appearance of flying bats. Instead of sharp teeth their mouths were roofed and paved with thick bony plates. Their long slender tails cut the water like black snake whips as they swung themselves into position before their queen. We bring news, batwing announced breathlessly. The mysterious stranger has arrived most suddenly and unexpectedly. He would have dashed right in on you had not the shark stopped him. Char gasped and stared. The suddenness of it all nearly took the breath out of her. Why such haste? She demanded, secretly pleased, but trying her hardest to look fierce. Seems to me he is a rather forward animal. I'm not accustomed to having strangers burst in upon me without the slightest warning. No doubt he realizes that whiptail now spoke up, for he was dreadfully embarrassed at the sight of us. We cannot induce him to say a word. Char's eyes softened. The gill slits in her neck quivered. Even she, who could eat half a dozen seals at one sitting, found it hard to resist such a display of the royal visitor's tender sentiment. I believe that you little rascals are merely trying to tease me. She snickered and then her voice dropped to an almost whisper, as though she feared that her attendants, Svirna and Isshura, might overhear. Tell me, is the stranger as handsome as he is daring? Not exactly handsome, whipped-tail replied. He is much smaller than your majesty, and he looks much like a seal, and yet never have I seen a creature bear himself with greater dignity and calmness. Char glowed phosphorescent green. She was delighted. It was nerve-racking, this being forever feared and kowtowed to as though she were an ogre. She was simply dying for an admirer, particularly one of a masterful nature who would bully and knock her about. Good, she gurgled. Now bid this stranger approach. One thing more. You may tell our people that this stranger is a very important creature, also a particular friend of mine. And it is nobody's business what he says or does to me. Now off with you and hurry, for I am so anxious to meet him I can scarcely wait another moment. In the meantime, our hero was given a chance to catch his breath. Also to learn that he had stumbled upon a school of sharks, and not the toothed whales as he had first feared. This discovery gave him great relief, particularly as his new acquaintances showed no disposition to harm him. Rather, they appeared much interested because of his unexpected arrival among them. The water fairly swarmed with them. One would think that the whole shark family, rays and dogfishes included, had turned out for a grand celebration. They were a wicked-looking lot, with their big mouths bristling full of sharp teeth and their cold eyes staring at him through the green-clouded water. But by this time Manatus felt bored, rather than terrified. He had poked himself into a nest of seahornets, but failed to appreciate his danger. Sharks might be the terrors of the ocean, but he remembered his recent experience and considered the toothed whales a thousand times worse. He was wishing that his new acquaintances would swim away and leave him a clear path to the mainland when word came that the queen of the sharks awaited him. The sea-cow's heart sank. More trouble. He would have given anything to be back, safe in the estuary, or even the upper river. But there was no ignoring the royal summons, so he followed as directed, and was soon ushered into the presence of the queen. At sight of him, Chara's heart palpitated so violently she thought it would burst. Her royal visitor was small and queer-looking, and yet all the more thrilling for those very reasons. Such a pygmy must be a marvel of audacity, a daring little rascal, to even think of asserting his mastery over her. Such boldness was enough to take her breath away. She felt humbled. Had he pitched into her just then, and laid down the law, she would have groveled in the mud and rejoiced at her humility. But the sea-cow said, and did, nothing. The sight of the big-mouthed, sauceride monster before him had frozen the marrow in his bones. Chara felt a twinge of impatience. Why did not her admirers say or do something? Her impatience grew to irritation, and then she smiled happily as she saw the sea-cow glancing timidly at the crowd of spectators gathered about them. She hastened to put her visitor at ease. Ah! I see so many strange faces annoy you. You prefer that we be alone. So do I. Please restrain yourself a moment while I attend to it. You might tell them to keep away from between me and the land, suggested Manitus, as the queen's purpose donned upon him. I would have chosen the ocean side. Chara giggled. But you know best. Anywhere is good enough for me if it pleases you. With that she turned to her followers and bade them withdraw out of earshot. This they did with a few tailstrokes, hovering in the murky water at a respectful distance. The path to the mainland was now open. Manitus was preparing to make a dash in that direction when Chara snapped her jaws together with a loud crash that made him nearly pop out of his skin. Have you nothing to say? She demanded, in a voice trembling with vexation, your calmness might be mistaken for indifference, and do stop staring at those other sharks. There is only one that you need look at, and here I am. Yes, there she was. But for the life of him, Manitus could not make head or tail of what she wanted. He wished that all this mummery might end quickly, and that he might be permitted to go his way in peace. He glanced shyly at the queen. So shyly that the ladder wriggled with delight. She endeavored to hide her embarrassment, but this was an almost hopeless task, for she was mostly mouth and teeth. Yes, I am looking at you, he mumbled, trying his heart as to be agreeable. This is my first visit to the ocean, and until I came here, never have I seen so many, and such fine big fish. Fish! The queen's back fin fairly bristled with scorn. What do you mean calling me such a vulgar name? It was too much. She broke down and bit the water. So great was her disappointment and mortification. The seacow felt that he had blundered. He made a desperate effort to write himself in the queen's eyes. You a fish? He gurgled, slapping the two halves of his upper lip together in embarrassment. I did not mean to say that. I was speaking of whales, not sharks. It was only a chance remark, delivered blindly and without forethought. But it frothed and sizzled with wit, had he but known it. Even Chara's dull intellect caught the flash of genius. Whales! Fish! She roared an ecstasy. This is the best joke I ever heard. I wish they could hear you tell it. And the huge shark thrashed about so merrily that Manitus almost grinned in spite of himself. Gradually Chara recovered from her hilarity. Her face finally sobered and assumed a puzzled expression as she gazed inquiringly at the seacow. There are no whales here, she said. They are big stupid creatures and it is insulting the fish to class them together. But why mention it? Tell me, what made you think of them? Manitus saw that he was getting himself into hot water. Chara was eyeing him dubiously. No trace of coiness now showed itself in her sea-green face. He felt himself slipping but knew not how to mend matters. He needed help. Had he but known he might easily have secured himself in the good graces of the queen. To rule her was to rule the ocean. But in spite of his first brilliant remark he lacked wit. He was one of those well-meaning individuals who were forever doing or saying the wrong thing. Why shouldn't I think of them? he snorted. I was just finished seeing them when I swam into all these sharks and met you. Chara's face became harder than the blade of an axe. So you went to see them first, eh? I suppose you were after that massive blubber, Belina. I'll bite her flippers off the next time I see her. I'll bite her tail off too and the tail of every one of those whales that dares even look at you. How did they behave themselves? If they played any tricks, I'll make them pay dearly. Chara was in a jealous tantrum. Her bold swan was so exasperating she felt like snapping a chunk off a coral reef. The thought that he had paid a visit to Belina before coming to see her was maddening. If Manitus had only possessed more tact, she and the ocean would have been his. But being dull-witted, he continued on the downgrade. Tricks, he drawled. The big toothless whales didn't play any. But you should have seen the way the toothed ones acted. Never was I treated so in all my life. The little ones! That's the way the way it roll, eh? What do they do? The queen was now beside herself. Gone was her clinging femininity. She was ready to swallow the sun because its rays smote softly upon her Manitus. Do, repeated the adored one. Not half of what they wanted. But it was more than enough for me. They chased me over the sandbar. Chased you? The queen could scarcely believe her ears. Manitus was a marvel of strength and courage, according to report. Surely she could not have heard a right. Yes, me. Replied our hero impressively, convinced now that the conversation was taking a pleasanter turn. But I was too quick for them. And just when they thought they had me, I climbed over the bar. He chuckled as he recalled the discomforture of his enemies. It was amusing to think how he had left them thrashing about in the shoals. But suddenly his face grew ashen. His heart nearly stopped beating. He stared aghast at the huge shark whose fury was now concentrated upon him in a look of withering scorn. Her idol was shattered. Her royal lover was a coward. Her mouth gaped wide. The sea water boiled through her gills. So this is why you came here so unexpectedly, she bellowed. Chased by the whales were you you miserable little seal puppy. What ho? She screamed to her assembled followers. Here is sport for everybody. Death to the imposter. Away with him and chew him to bits. Away shot the sea cow like an arrow from a bow. He secured a good start before the sharks had sufficiently recovered from their surprise to hustle palmel after him. And Manitus could set a surprisingly fast pace in spite of his apparent clumsiness. Provided the stakes were big enough. It was nip and tuck and anybody's race until the sea cow's air supply began to dwindle. Then his pursuers gradually closed in. They might have caught him, but he was nearing the mainland and the water was shallowing fast. The sharks soon became aware of this and slowed up just in time to avoid grounding on the shoals. Manitus felt his chest touch bottom. In another moment he was dragging himself up the beach, safe at last from his enemies whose back fins cleaved the water close behind him. He was a tired and bedraggled sea cow. But safe and sound, which was much to be thankful for. He was lying, flippers upon the sand, and tail in the water when something descended from above and alighted close beside him. It was Pafina the gull. So you have returned, she said. I saw you swimming out in the ocean, but did not expect you back so soon. How did you like it? The water is all right. Manitus replied timidly. But there are too many sharks and whales in it for me. Aw, but I am glad to be rid of them. While he was saying this he was hitching his round body backward into the water. Do you intend to try it again? Asked Pafina. The sea cow shook his head solemnly. No, it won't do, he declared. There is nothing left for me but to return to the old life in the upper river. There I can at least live in peace and quiet and be safe from the sharks and whales. So saying he backed away until the water became deep enough for him to assume an upright position. His nose valves closed, his head sank from sight, and he swam over the ocean bottom to the mouth of the estuary. Here he rose slowly to the surface and refilled his lungs. For several moments he sat bolt upright gazing across the sea. Then with a farewell snort he disappeared beneath the waves and began his homeward journey to the upper river. He had made his last venture into the ocean. He had seen and experienced enough of it to last him the rest of his life. His opportunity had come and gone, and opportunity rarely knocks twice at anyone's door. Better the dreary seclusion of the upper river than the turmoil of the briny deep. His chance had passed, the curtain was rung down, and to the ocean dwellers the name of Manitus the Seacow was but a memory. End of Section 18. Recording by Dana Patterson, Lexington Park, Maryland. Section 19 of Stories of the First American Animals This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Devorah Allen. Stories of the First American Animals by George Langford. Toto, The Non-Progressive. Introduction. The tapir of today is confined to Southern Mexico, Central America, and the northern part of South America in the Western Hemisphere, and to the Malay Peninsula of Asia in the eastern half of the world. It would be difficult to account for this animal's presence in such widely separated localities, and no others, did not the rocks tell us that in geologically ancient times his family enjoyed a very wide distribution. During the more recent Pliocene Period, these odd creatures roamed over the United States, Europe, and probably Asia, disappearing from the first name two regions in the most recent Pliocene Period. One branch of the family moved down into the Central American region and settled there, while another journeyed into southeastern Asia, where it exists today. The tapir is a living fossil, a most primitive form of hoofed animal. From less recent, Miocene times, he has come down to us practically unchanged, in marked contrast to his cousin, the horse, a model of progressiveness. His noticeable activities began early in the more recent Pliocene Period, whose bone-bearing deposits are unfortunately scantily represented in our United States. However, near the headwaters of Snake Creek, Western Nebraska, is one. A sand and gravel bed formed by river channel action, and here the remains of ancient animals, the tapir included, are to be found in abundance. From the numerous bones of browsers or forest-loving hoofed creatures mingled with relics of the more progressive grazers or plain-swellers, it is apparent that the gradually changing climate had not yet produced its full effect. Prolonged droughts, dry winds, and lowering temperature had not entirely discouraged luxurious vegetation, nor compelled the forest animals to yield in favor of the hardier plains types. This change came later, as shown at Mountain Blanco, a more recent Pliocene bone-bearing deposit of the staked plains northern Texas. Here the remains of hoofed forest-wellers are scarce, while those of the plains animals abound. But the tapir, forest-lover, and browser, did not make his last bow to the world in the gravels of Snake Creek, Mount Blanco, or anywhere else. Ordinarily it was not in the nature of things for old-fashioned beasts to endure, but his case proved an exception. Physically he was well adapted for the particular life he had chosen as befitting one of his modest attainments, and his mentality also must have been sufficient. For having found the mode of living which suited him best, he knew enough to stick to it. That is why the tapir, in spite of his backwardness, has managed to maintain himself throughout the long ages, and be alive today. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit TheBrivox.org. Recording by Christopher Hoving, Portland, Michigan. Stories of the First American Animals by George Langford. Toto, the non-progressive, Part One. Tye and the bear dog sat upon his haunches, gazing gloomily into the distance at a group of slowly moving figures. These were horses, and he regretted exceedingly that they had chosen to congregate on the farther bank of the river beyond his reach. There was really nothing of the bear about him, except his size and clumsiness. He being a gigantic slow-footed dog, although a powerful one, one able to hold his own with most any creature. However, a flesh-eater as slow moving as he would find it difficult to catch such animals as should have contributed to his larger. Kain had found them most elusive, and so he did not fare as well as he might. His had been a carrion diet, except on rare occasions, when a bit of rare good fortune brought some sick or disabled creature within his grasp. The time had been when bear dogs in general made an easy living, but that time had passed. Rhinocerai and other ponderous animals had disappeared, and their places were taken by hardier and more active individuals, such as the horse, camel, and deer. The latter were too swift-footed for the bear dog, hence his gloom as he watched the herd of horses moving about on the other side of the river. They had but recently come there from the plains country to drink and bathe. The plains country had once been a fertile region, resplendent with forests and green pastures, but gradually lowering temperature and ever dwindling rainfall had produced marked changes. The trees were gone, and of the meadows only scattered grass tufts and a few stunted plants remained. In marked contrast was the forest side of the river, where the rapidly disappearing vegetation had made its last stand. It too had suffered from the ravages of time, having retreated a quarter mile or more from the water. Here stood the old guard, tall oaks, shag barks, and other hardy trees serving as outposts to protect the luxurious vegetation behind them from further inroads of the plains. The ground between forest and river sloped gently downward. Although bare of trees, it was covered with long grass and dotted with clumps of bushes. The bear dog was a forest animal, while the horses were dwellers of the plains. The former would have sought a closer acquaintance with the latter, but as the plains country gave flesh-eaters little opportunity to conceal themselves and creep unobserved upon their fleet-footed prey, Kyan had long since given up trying and kept to his own side of the river. While squatting among the bush clumps, inwardly berating the elusiveness of animals in general, this attention was suddenly drawn from the distant horses to a solitary figure standing out upon the skyline, just beyond the forest's edge, only a few hundred yards away. The figure was that of a plump, short-legged animal, recently emerged from some hiding place among the trees. No doubt he was on his way to the river, and had paused to make a brief survey of his surroundings, realizing that a journey down the slopes would expose him to such enemies as might be lurking in the neighborhood. The bear dog sank full-length upon the ground, thereby making himself as inconspicuous as possible. His mouth watered, for he had noted the stranger's plumpness, and short legs were not suggestive of speed. Here was fresh meat in the person of a slow-footed creature of the bear dog's class. Kyan was prepared to crawl upon the unknown and surprise him with a sudden dash when, like a flash, this prospective victim wheeled halfway around and came tearing along the slopes on a course parallel to the river. Apparently the plump stranger had no suspicion of danger lying in his path, for his line of flight led directly to the crouching bear dog. Kyan growled softly and licked his chops. A lucky turn of fate promised to result in something greatly to his advantage. The reason for it soon became manifest. A chorus of howls was born upon the breeze, and the next moment a score of wolf-like forms appeared, racing madly after the fugitive and voicing their hungry eagerness with the elps and howls. The bear dog's mouth expanded in a fiendish grin. The de-holes he leered. They are hunting the quarry down, but this feast is not for them. Too long if I had to be content with their leavings. But now it is my turn. And he waited patiently while his cousins of the bush fast drove the morsel into his open jaws. The fugitive was now near enough to give Kyan a clear view of him. A round-bodied, stumpy-legged beast who might have passed for a small rhinoceros except for his nose, which was long and flexible like an elephant's trunk, although much shorter. He held it uplifted and his mouth was wide open as he put forth his best efforts to escape. That he could or would escape seemed unlikely, for the long-limbed bush dogs already threatened both flanks, thereby preventing him from reaching either forest or river. He was making a last frantic effort to avoid the snapping jaws close behind him when suddenly a new enemy loomed before him in the person of a gigantic dog. With an agility most surprising for such an apparently clumsy animal, he veered sharply and leapt. The two motions resulting in a side dive which landed him in a clump of bushes. His pursuers unable to check their momentum collided violently with the bear dog, whose presence had escaped their notice in the excitement of the moment. It all happened too quickly and unexpectedly to permit of any explanations. Each faction tore loose with tooth and claw, Kyan holding the center of the stage with the infuriated deholes slashing at him from every side. It was a battle royal such as he would have been glad to avoid. But, being hopelessly in it and becoming enraged by his snarling tormentors, he struck out valiantly and gave as good as he got. He was a powerful beast, and when once his fangs and claws were working properly the deholes were content to give him plenty of room. They backed off hurriedly, but in good order, all set to renew the conflict if pressed too closely, and yet more than willing to let matters rest without further argument. The bear dog felt similarly inclined and, although the opposing parties made much a do of yapping and snarling at each other, the battle ended then and there with no great damage to either side. The deholes finally drew off the way they had come, and Kyan but took himself to his former station on the slopes, there to lick his numerous bites and growl his resentment at the departing deholes for their stupidity. The tender morsel so nearly within his reach was gone, and it began to look as though his last chance to eat of his own kill had gone with it. A carrion-eater he had been, and a carrion-eater he would remain no doubt for the rest of his life. These were his bitter reflections, and the deholes were in an equally unhappy frame of mind, as they slouched off with their tails striking behind them. Suddenly every one of them turned half around, with ears held at attention and eyes directed toward the scene of the recent encounter. From his place near the timber-line the eyes of Kyan were drawn in the same direction. The bushes had rustled and parted, to permit the exit of a plump short-legged animal. There he was, coming out exactly where he went in. The holes in bear dog gasped at such audacity, even while cursing their own stupid forgetfulness. With the unexpected clash of the two factions it was a case of out of sight, out of mind. He had disappeared in the excitement of the moment and was forgotten entirely. Did he had made good use of his time, and got off scot-free was taken for granted, but lo and behold there he was again bobbing up from where he had been lying low awaiting his chance. As enemies, fools that they were, might be feasting now instead of throwing away their opportunity and going off hungry. It was too much to be borne. The holes in bear dog both made haste to remedy their error by renewing the chase. The former king tearing along the slopes, while Kyan hurried to get ahead of them, for he was fully determined to do his own hunting this time and make a clean job of it. But the plump short-legged animal had not emerged from his hiding place with the idea of being a target for his enemies. He had a good start and his path to the river was now clear. Away he scampered and, although the de-holes outran him two to one, his lead enabled him to reach the water first and dash in just as the foremost of his pursuers arrived upon the bank. For an instant the de-holes hesitated. Then they plunged in, leaving the bear dog sitting high and dry upon the bank, panting laboredly from his exertions. The river's surface was now a turmoil of bobbing heads for the de-holes, exasperated by their corps as aversion to being made a meal of, or determined to get him then and there, or drowned him rather than permit his outwitting them a second time. But the fugitive proved to be better at navigating than moving about on land, for he led his enemies a merry chase, permitting them to close and then darting away like an arrow. He was as elusive as a fish, and his speed consumed so little effort that he appeared quite fresh, while the de-holes, now thoroughly exhausted, climbed out upon the bank to rest themselves. But that fat, short-legged animal must tire too in good time, they reasoned, and so, when he made his though to come ashore, they rushed out into the water and stood there knee-deep, howling and yapping at him, and giving him no chance to recuperate. Such tactics promised ultimate success, and it would seem that the hard beset swimmer must soon reach the end of his resources. He probably realized this, foreseeing that the fierce bush-dogs were determined to prevent his landing. He made a sudden, bold resolve. Turning his back upon the de-holes, he swam out into deep water and passed mid-stream. This course pointed to the river's farther shore, the borderline of arid wastes and vast desolation. It was a line which only those specially gifted could cross with impunity. But the swimmer had no choice. Fierce enemies thronged the bank, which he must reach before seeking safety in the forest. And so he kept on, a voyager plowing through strange waters toward an unknown land, the country of the plains. STORIES OF THE FIRST AMERICAN ANIMALS by George Langford Toto, the non-progressive, Part II The plains' horses had come down to the river to drink and bathe. It was their custom to do this once each day, the river being their main source of supply. For the plains' country contained little moisture, and animals living in the almost barren wastes needed water as much as anyone else. These horses were hardy creatures, and, although no larger than ponies, were of good size as horses went in their day. Pliohippus was the leader of the herd. He and his companions had finished their ablutions, and were preparing to depart inland when they became aware of a commotion going on across the river. A stout-bodied beast of some sort was running toward the water, followed by a pack of dogs. The one hunted made hard work of his running, and as he plunged into the water his pursuers were almost at his heels. At first it looked as though the fugitive had no chance whatever, but he soon proved that he could swim well, even though he was a poor runner. The dogs could not catch him, strive as they might, and all of them finally climbed out upon the bank, howling at the swimmer, who wisely kept to the element wherein he had shown such ability to avoid his enemies. The plains' horses could see his head moving about in the water. They were wondering how long he could stay there without rest when they noticed the head growing larger, and pointed their way with a path of foam and bubbles trailing along behind it. All became interested, for it was unusual for forest animals to venture across the river to the region which offered them so few attractions. The head came nearer and nearer, until it reached shallow water, then at a rose, and a plump body appeared behind it, all wet and glistening, like that of a reptile emerged from the depths. The newcomer splashed his way along until within a few yards of dry land, and then he stopped, with his feet in the water, gazing timidly at the assembled horses, and exhibiting such embarrassment at seeing so many pairs of eyes directed upon him. The plains' horses thought him a new variety of rhinoceros at first, although his nose was very unrinoceros-like, being long and flexible, and bearing no horn. Pliohippus called to him from the bank. Who are you? The stranger blinked and screwed up his big nose. Toto, the tapir, he replied. The tapir? Are you the only one? Pliohippus inquired. He had never seen a tapir until this moment. The plump creature grew more and more embarrassed. The only one I know of, he mumbled. Um, a browser, thought Pliohippus. Browsers were hooved animals whose short crowned teeth could not be used for chewing hard, tough substances, although they did well enough on green leaves, tender shoots, and other soft food. Have you no friends? the plains' horse asked. The tapir did not seem to understand at first. No, I haven't anything, he said. But when I see many animals of one kind together, I feel— he stopped and looked so wistfully from one face to another, that all felt sorry for him. You feel lonesome, said the plains' horse. But old-fashioned animals are scarce. One rarely sees them nowadays. Toto looked up quickly with his head cocked on one side. Am I old-fashioned? he asked. Yes, said Pliohippus, looking at the other one appraisingly. Too fat-bodied and short-legged. Nose, well, I never saw such a queer nose. And as for your feet, I don't know. I can't even see them. Toto uplightingly waited out of the water, and halted high and dry upon the bank, thereby exposing all four of his feet for inspection. The effect upon Pliohippus was electrical. Uttering a surprised snort, he stood like one transfixed with nostrils dilated and eyes starting from his head. Who are you? he gasped. Is a tapir some form of horse? Look, friends, and see. This creature is one of us. He is odd-toed. The horses all gathered about Toto in great excitement to examine the feet in question, much to their owner's confusion. It was as their leader had said. The tapir's feet, at first glance, seemed like shapeless pads of flesh, but the third, or middle hoof, was the largest and supported more weight than any of its fellows. Enlargement of the middle hoof and shrinkage of those on either side of it was the badge distinguishing odd-toed from even-toed animals. The latter carried the weight on each of their feet with two toes instead of one, two just alike, and so close together that they might be mistaken for one hoof split in two. All hoofed beasts were either odd or even-toed. To the plane's horses it was an amazing discovery, this finding that the tapir was one of their own kin. All were mightily pleased. But to Plyohippus, Toto's presence meant more than a happy family reunion. The tapir was alone, probably the last of his kind, all because he was old-fashioned and had not kept up with the changing world. But it was not too late if he could be induced to improve himself as the horses had done. Will you stay with us, Plyohippus inquired of him when the first excitement was over? We can be your friends and help you. It is not yet too late. Too late for what? Toto asked, much puzzled. To change. You are too fat and short-legged, with no horns or tusks to fight with. How do you expect to avoid fierce enemies? You can't even run. Toto mumbled something about having managed fairly well thus far, but the plane's horse gazed at him so reprovingly that he glanced down at his feet, abashed. They were pudgy and heavily sold with callous pads. Plyohippus studied them critically. Wrong shape and too many toes, he snorted. Toto began to feel discouraged. My feet? I never knew that anything was wrong with them. How many toes should I have? One was the prompt answer. Toto glanced from his own to his companion's feet. Is that all? Why do you have more? he inquired blandly. Plyohippus frowned and bit his lips. He had three toes on each foot. This he could not deny, although to all intents and purposes he was one toad. The two little ones dangled too high up to be of any use. They were the remnants of olden days, when horses had three toes, all of which touched the ground. Plyohippus would have been glad to be rid of them, but they still clung to his feet like dew-claws. The tapir had touched upon a tender subject, but his air of innocence and inexperience was disarming. He meant no offense. Those little extra toes will come off some day, Plyohippus explained. But it means much work. Yours must come off too. How? asked Toto. Running on hard ground, Plyohippus replied, you can wear those thick soles down to the bear hoof at the same time. I don't believe I would like that, Toto objected. But the plane's horses would not listen. He kept dwelling upon Toto's imperfections until the latter began to think himself a very inferior animal. Nobody ever told me this before, he said, then bowed his head and sighed deeply, as though realizing that his being a tapir was a most unfortunate circumstance. Plyohippus turned the matter over in his mind. The tapir interested him strangely. He did not know that in ages long past horses and tapirs were very much alike. The first had progressed, while the latter had remained almost stationary, and that was why they now appeared so very different. But the tapir still wore his big third toe. The badge of kinship and Plyohippus was profoundly impressed. You must remain with us, he declared. Do as we do, and who knows but that some day you will become a horse. Toto could hardly believe his ears. I, a horse, he exclaimed, looking from one to another of the faces about him. All agreed that the transformation was feasible, whether they believed it or not. It was a novel idea, one that caught their fancy, and they were interested in seeing it tried. Toto himself began to view it with favor. He would have friends, which he wanted badly. And now that he had been declared a creature of low caste, he was not unwilling to better himself. The upshot of the matter was that the herd of plain horses marched off, taking Toto with them. As they left the river border and reached higher ground, the tapir almost lost heart at sight of the barren wastes extending before him on both sides as far as he could see. No trees, he gasped. How can animals live without trees? His companions made haste to assure him that trees were luxuries fit only for fat and slow-moving beasts. They encouraged laziness, and were not meant for high-class animals. Horses could live without trees, and did. Toto would have remonstrated, being still a tapir and not a horse as yet. But he hated argument, and so he held his peace. Then, too, he was by this time filled with the notion of bettering himself. Some bad must be expected with the good. The march was resumed, and soon the river lay far behind him. Toto was not prepared to endure many discomforts. But as he saw more and more of the plains country, his heart grew heavier, until it felt like lead. Dust laid an air to breathe, and hard ground to walk upon. Scanty grass tufts sticking straight up like stiff brushes. No ponds, mud holes, or moisture of any kind. All barren lifeless beneath a broiling sun. Toto almost rebelled at this appalling state of things. He turned his head and gazed anxiously in the direction from which he had come. Why an awful country, he thought to himself. No place to drink and bathe. Perhaps I ought not to have ventured so far from home. His reflections were interrupted by a movement in the herd. His companions had increased their pace to a trot. No exertion for them. But Toto had to gallop his hardest to keep up. A mile or so of the hot, suffocating atmosphere was enough for him. He stopped, thoroughly exhausted, and the herd stopped with him. What is wrong now? Ploughibus demanded. Don't you like running your extra toes off? Toto could only roll his eyes and gasp. Running his toes off was no fun, but his lungs were too full of dust for him to say so. While waiting for him to recover, the plains horses amused themselves by nibbling at the tufts of grass, growing sparsely about them. Ploughibus watched the tapir from the corners of his eyes. Poor wind comes from too much eating, he said. But you cannot be changed in a day. These are our feeding grounds. You may eat when you feel like it. Toto was soon sufficiently restored to absorb more knowledge concerning his new life. He glanced from one grass tuft to another. There being nothing else in the vicinity suggesting food. They appeared tough and uninviting. But judging by the way his companions nibbled and crunched, they must be unusually choice delicacies. He bent low and grasped one with his flexible trunk, and would have plucked it, had not Ploughibus interposed. Hold! said the plains horse in a shocked voice. Whoever heard of eating with one's nose, use your teeth. Toto released his grip and endeavored to nibble. But with poor success, his trunk got in the way, and when after repeated attempts he secured a mouthful, the taste almost made him ill. Ugg! he snorted and discussed. What horrible stuff! I could never eat it! The plains horses were amazed. What was good enough for them, should please anybody, and a tapir was no exception. It simply went to show how rich food and easy living could spoil some animals. They were beginning to think that converting Toto into a horse might prove an extremely difficult task. As for the tapir, although rather appalled by the magnitude of the undertaking confronting him, he was too glad at finding friends who took an interest in him, and too eager to better himself to give up easily. He might be meek and shy, but beneath his unprepossessing exterior lurked unbound patience and persistence. How to manage without trees and water seemed a problem incapable of solution. But hunger, thirst, and the lack of bathing facilities had not yet become unbearable. So when the plains horses announced their intention of moving on, he was ready to proceed. The air of the plains, which had seemed strangely hot and dry, grew hotter and drier, impelled by a strong wind which stirred up the surface soil, and filled Toto's eyes and nostrils with irritating dust. He was sneezing and coughing to rid his nose and throat of the fine particles which annoyed them, when Pliohippus suddenly called a halt. A brownish haze had appeared above the western horizon, rising and spreading rapidly, like a paw shutting off all view of the sky. To the horses familiar with Plain's phenomena, it was a danger signal not to be disregarded. The haze meant a dust storm, pulverizing soil gathered up and born along in clouds by a strong wind, threatening death by suffocation to every creature in its path. None might hoped outrun it, but fleet-footed animals could avoid it by fleeing to one side. It came from the west, and as the herd was placed nearer to its southern flank than the northern, they chose the direction which promised safety, galloping southward as fast as their legs would carry them. The tapir was left alone, a solitary creature standing in the path of the storm, and not swift-footed enough to escape by flight. On swept the cloud of wind-borne particles, a wall of dust which now darkened the sun and obscured the tapir's vision of everything about him. He dashed away, not to one side, as the horses had done, but straight ahead, as though doubt run the storm. But Toto was not thinking to escape by flight. He was looking for a place to hide. It seemed a poor chance, for the ground was as bare as a board. But just as the dust-wall came swirling about him, something yawned in his path, a hole. He plunged in. It was not a large hole, probably the home of some rodent, and intended for one smaller than himself. He managed to insert his head and neck, but that was as far as he could get, and there he stuck like an oversized cork in a small bottle. The storm swept over him with a rush, but his nose and eyes were now protected from further inroads of dust. The hole also contained air which could be breathed. He felt the dust laden wind buffeting him, sternwise and amid ships, and doing its best to dislodge him. But his boughs, grounded in the hole, held him too firmly to be torn loose. This endured, but for a few moments. Then the pressure upon his body slackened. The storm swept over him. And was gone, leaving behind it a stilled, dust-laden atmosphere which discharged its burden in slowly descending showers. The danger had now passed, but Toto still remained with his head stuck in his refuge, making sure before again trusting himself in the open. The air in the hole began to oppress his lungs. His brain whirled, and it seemed as though he heard faint voices, and felt a jarring of the earth. Something touched his hindquarters. A soft muzzle with sniffling nostrils. Toto backed hastily out of the hole and looked about him. A host of strangely-looking beasts stood there watching him, apparently much mystified by his presence. They were hoofed beasts, and not flesh-eaters, as the tapir could see at a glance. Therefore he did not consider himself to be in any immediate danger. However, he kept his wits about him, wondering how all those animals had come there, and what they wanted of him. End of section 21. George Langford Section 22 The newcomers were a herd of camels. Having followed in the wake of the dust storm, they had halted to investigate the plump creature lying in their path. Some considered it a huge rodent, while others more observing pronounced it a hoof-beast of some sort. A new variety of pig, or possibly a rhinoceros, and probably dead. But much to their surprise, it suddenly jumped up, and stood before them with head-bowed meekly, like one condemned wading the axe. Are you a rhinoceros, one of the camels inquired, or merely a pig? We never saw your like before. Toto sneezed, coughed the dust from his throat, and answered, Neither. I am only a tapir. Then held his peace, overwhelmed by the ring of faces about him. His explanation seemed to the camels far from clear. None of them knew what a tapir was. Huffed animal, a voice asked. Toto nodded his head, and mumbled, Yes, whereupon his hearers all blinked at each other and smacked their lips as much as to say, I told you so. Grazer, someone suggested. Grazers had long, crowned teeth, so as to provide for the wear resulting from chewing tough food, such as dried grass or seeds. For reply, Toto humbly regretted to state that he was a browser, greatly to everyone's surprise. For none but grazing animals had heretofore been known to venture upon the plains. He admitted apologetically that he had been presumptuous, even though someone had advised him to try his fortune in the new country. He was old fashioned. In other words, an inferior animal who needed enlightenment, and besides he wanted friends to cheer him up. The camels displayed keen interest in his recital, and when he explained further his tendency to be odd toad and related to the horse, they not only blinked and smacked their lips as seemed to be their custom, but also snorted as though greatly impressed. What do you intend to do about it? they asked. Make something better of myself, Toto replied. I can't fight, and I can't run. There is much to learn. Yes, a browser had much to learn if he intended to make his home in the plains country. Many had tried it and failed, while only a few succeeded. The camels were eager to know what the tapir had done thus far to produce results. I tried to be a horse like my cousin, said Toto, but with poor success, running my extra toes off and doing without water were more than I could bear. His audience was deeply moved. None of them could see any reason for his undergoing severe hardships, even for a good purpose. However, if he was set on bettering himself, why not choose the best and easiest way? Horses were not the highest class of hoofed animals. Toto pricked up his ears at this. He had found it hard work trying to be a horse. That he might be something even better, and have an easy time doing it, appealed to him strongly. What else can I be, he inquired. A fine question. His ears were not at all pleased at such a display of crass ignorance. What else? Why, if he had any eyes in his head, it was a simple matter for him to see and choose. He might become a camel, for instance, provided he had sense enough. A most wonderful idea. Toto gazed in awe at the many faces about him. What must I do to be a camel, he asked eagerly. One of the herd, acting as spokesmen, explained that he must learn to run, of course, and eat such plants and grasses as grew upon the plains. However, he might keep two toes on each foot, instead of reducing the number to one. And as for water, that was a problem which camels had solved ages ago. They carried an abundant supply with them, enough to last for days at a time. Toto listened attentively to all this, and the more he heard, the more feasible it appeared for him to become a camel. Much more so than struggling further to be a horse. One last toe to run off, and an assured water supply were strong inducements. He resolved then and there to throw in his lot with his newly discovered friends. Having made this decision, he was accepted as a camel in the making, and marched off in the center of the herd, more than willing to do his part. But as he trotted along in high spirits, the dearth of trees and moisture would insist upon rising up, like specters, to disturb his peace of mind, no matter how hard he tried to forget them. His first impressions of the plains country were charming compared with what he now felt on getting farther into it. The grass toughs grew sparser and more bristly, and the only other vegetation in sight consisted of most unattractive-looking and ill-smelling plants. The sun, blazing from a cloudless sky, sent down its hot rays upon the tapir's scantily clothed body. Toto's mouth and throat were hot and dry, and so, when he considered that he had endured enough to warrant his being given some relief, he announced himself ready and willing to share the water which his friends carried about with them. His thirst had become intolerable, and, besides, he needed a bath. But, to his consternation, he now learned that the camels were unable to help him. They all carried water, to be sure, but it was in their stomachs, where he could not get at it. Every one of them had a compartment inside of him containing a reserved water supply, which could be drawn upon as needed. Camels were thus peculiarly unable to travel great distances in dry country, where other animals would perish of thirst. All very fine for them, but unfortunate for the tapir, seeing that the water in their stomachs was beyond his reach. It was a pity that he had not been told all this in the first place, for knowing it he would never have come. The camels were not inclined to take the matter very seriously, but to Toto the situation was an appalling one. No water! He would surely die if he didn't get some soon. His hopes were blasted suddenly and completely. A camel's life had no more attractions for him. His one thought now was how to get out of the desperate situation in which he found himself. As he gazed over the barren wastes, hoping against hope, some distant objects moving among the tufts of vegetation caught his eye. They were moving slowly and keeping close to the ground, as though anxious to avoid being seen. The camels did not observe them at first, and not until Toto called their attention to the strange animals approaching did they sense the danger and take alarm. All stood trembling and staring until the newcomers came near enough to be distinguished. Desert dogs they screamed in terror and galloped off in a cloud of dust. Where at the Sculper's rose to their feet and followed after. Toto did not run, although the pack was now bearing down upon him with the speed of lightning. He stood in their plain view, with feet rooted to the ground and apparently too terror-stricken to move. His legs doubled up under him and he sank slowly to the ground. There he lay, as motionless as the grass clumps and plants which dotted the plains about him. On came the desert dogs, a pack of lean-bodied, long-limbed brutes to the number of twenty or more. Their voices were silent to save the breath which they needed for a long, stern chase after the fleeing camel herd. Their mouths were wide open, showing their white fangs and blood-red tongues. They ran like the wind with muscles straining and long-haired tails streaming along behind them. None of them could have failed to see the inconspicuous object lying in their path, but it lay motionless and consequently failed to detract attention from the galloping camels beyond. They swept down upon and over it an avalanche of swiftly moving bodies and rushing feet. And still the tape here never budged. Only a stout heart or stupefied nerves could have endured that mad charge and repressed the frantic impulse to rise in terror and seek safety and useless flight. One gaunt beast avoided the strange obstacle in his path by leaping high over it. The pack flew past and was gone. Not until pursued and pursuers had faded away in the distance did Toto show any sign of life. Then he raised his head and looked cautiously about him. The planes had relapsed into their former desolation. Not a single living object. Only bush grass and dwarfed plants dotted the landscape for miles around. He was safe from the desert dogs for a time at least, and so it behooved him to get out of sight at once in case they returned. Now that a camel's life was impossible, Holmes seemed the best place to go, assuming that he could find the right direction and make the journey in his present parched state. Toto stood erect and tested the air with his nose. Either his sense of direction was good or else his nose found the necessary information at any rate when he trotted off his course led straight to the river. The latter was not so very far away, but beneath the sun's scorching rays and with his thirst became more maddening with every step the journey seemed to him endless. When he finally did arrive at his destination the sun had about disappeared below the western horizon. Toto drank, bathed, and satisfied his hunger with some plants growing near the water's edge, then rested until nightfall, when the darkness gave him his opportunity to swim over to the forest side of the river. No one observed him, and the short walk up the slopes to the woods passed without incident. Toto breathed a deep sigh of relief when at last he found himself beneath the shelter of friendly trees. The forest now seemed a paradise compared with the barren country he had so recently visited. He might be old-fashioned physically and inferior to other animals, but this was the life for him, and never again would he give it up, even to batter himself. It struck him as odd that the squirrels and birds whose voices disturb the night's stillness showed no signs of dissatisfaction with their condition. Apparently none of them cared about changing themselves into something else as they moved about, chattering and chirping gaily. Every one of them seemed happy enough, but why? Was it because they knew no better, or because they were really well off? Toto pondered long and deeply over these matters until his brain grew weary and he fell asleep. When morning came his harrowing experiences of the day before seemed more like products of his imagination than actual occurrences. Perhaps he had eaten something that disagreed with him and given rise to bad dreams, for never would he have considered the practicability of a plane's life when in his sober mind. And yet he looked down at his odd-toed feet inside. The forest was a lonesome place. No friends in it who cared for him. Solitude Yes, that was the trouble. He had learned in his lonely life to dread it more than anything else. Because of that alone, he had ventured into the open in search of friends, prepared to suffer discomforts or even death, rather than endure longer his somber isolation. Inferiority did not count for much. He would willingly change himself into a worm, provided it gave him friends. He was wondering if these would ever be his portion in life when a noise sounded in the woods and looking about him, he discovered something that resembled an animal. It was an emaciated body resting upon four still-like legs. Toto could see no more and, being curious, he ventured closer, which enabled him to obtain a view of the unknown's feet. The latter turned out to be cloven-hoofed, signifying that their owner was an even-toed creature. Toto felt greatly relieved, for the woods were filled with prowling beasts of prey, and nobody knew whose turn would come next. However, any anxiety he may have felt proved ill-founded, for all hoofed animals were plant-eaters, and therefore comparatively harmless. Thus far Toto had seen nothing of the stranger's head, and was wondering what had become of it when the branches and leaves high above waved violently and the head in question beared forth. It was that of a camel perched upon a remarkably long neck, and the latter merged into the emaciated body, which rested upon the still-like legs tipped with cloven hoofs. All of these widely separated parts went to make up the giraffe camel, a creature over eight feet tall. He was breakfasting, and had first attracted Toto's attention by the commotion he made when nosing about in the foliage. His eyes twinkled as they rested upon the tape here beneath him. What an odd-looking person, he said. Is it a pig? These remarks were delivered in a patronizing town, such as one would use in addressing an inferior, but Toto felt no offence, for he was pleased at being noticed and spoken to in a friendly manner by the tall creature. After humbly disclaiming any affiliation with Swine, he declared himself to be a mere tapir, adding an explanation of his humble state that he had but recently endeavored to make better of himself by venturing into the plains country and trying to become a horse. The giraffe camel was astonished. A most remarkable notion, coming from one like you, he exclaimed. Did you succeed in becoming a horse? No, I did not. Toto did not go into details. The remembrance of them was far from pleasant. However, his new acquaintance expressed no desire to learn more. His mind had not yet recovered from the shock of the main idea. I never would have thought of beginning such a hopeless undertaking, he remarked. I, for one, would find it much better and easier being a camel than being a horse. These words of wisdom impressed Toto deeply in that they corroborated what the grazing camels had said only the day before, and yet he felt grave doubts. Being a camel was not as easy as it appeared. He knew because he had tried it. Everything went wrong, he sniffed, and I guessed that the best thing for me to do is to remain a browser and forest animal the rest of my life. The giraffe camel was silent for a few moments, searching his mind for an answer to the other's arguments. Then his eyes brightened. Your idea was good, he said. However, you began wrong. Why go to all the trouble and worry of learning to become a grazing horse when you might stay at home all nice and comfortable and remain a browser? You never thought of that. No, Toto had not. But now that someone else had thought of it for him, he was quite impressed. It was all clear now. He could have retained the old forest life and climbed out of his rut, both at the same time. Was it still too late? Can I change now? he asked. Can I become a browsing horse? The giraffe camel pursed up his lips scornfully. Who said a horse, he snapped. I know I didn't, and besides there are no more left. A big puma got the very last one. Toto was much distressed. No more browsing horses, he squealed. Then I can't be anything but myself. His tall companion experienced a feeling of genuine sympathy. Why any animal should want to become some other was beyond him. But the tapir seemed bent on a change, and there was one way to oblige him. Why don't you learn to be a browsing camel? he suggested. The thrills chased each other up and down Toto's spine. His hopes thrice blasted, where again revived. He gazed and awed the giant. One of such impressive appearance must indeed be a superior animal. Can I be like you, he asked, jumping up and down with delight? When shall I begin? Now was the answer. But first you must make your neck and legs grow. They are much too short. Toto's face fell. How might it do that? The giraffe camel didn't know. His neck and legs had been long ever since he could remember. The tapir would have to stretch himself somehow. Of course this would entail much effort and require considerable time. I might be a short necked, short-legged camel, said Toto. Then I need not change much of anything. Not a bad idea. Perhaps it could be arranged. The tall creature could see no objections, and yet there were other difficulties. What will you do about your nose? he asked. One like yours would look odd on the face of a camel. Toto began to feel rebellious. His nose was a most useful tool for grasping things, and he would not change it for anybody. He said as much, and rather boldly too, for being asked to give up things he liked, and to do this and that disagreeable thing, were beginning to ruffle his ordinarily serene temper. The giraffe camel lifted his brows. The little, fat, short-legged animal had suddenly abandoned his air of humility for one of presumption. You must change not only your nose, but your neck and legs too, he said haughtily. Toto did not reply. His sharp ears had detected a faint snapping, which sounded like twigs trodden upon by soft, heavy feet. The giraffe camel had not heard, for he went on as though he thought himself perfectly secure. With a long neck like mine you may have looked down upon approaching enemies, and long legs will enable you to run from them, he remarked sagely. Toto remained as silent and motionless as a graven image. The noise sounded nearer now, and he could make out a dark form, crawling stealthily in his direction. He set himself for a quick dash through some bushes placed conveniently near. The giraffe camel was about to deliver further words of wisdom when suddenly the crawling figure gathered its limbs under it and sprang through the air, alighting upon the tall creature's back. Down fell the giant, his neck broken by one wrench of his assailant's powerful jaws. But the latter had no stomach for a skinny camel, mostly neck and legs. There was a far more tender morsel at hand, which in his haste he had passed over. Its quick dive into the bushes had not escaped his keen eye. Disentangling himself from his victim, he bounded after the fling-taper. Toto must do his best now to escape. For he had to do with the fiercest, strongest, and swiftest of forest-wellers, the giant puma, realizing fully that he was no match for his pursuer and speed, Toto made use of every art he knew to throw the giant puma off his track. Contrary to what might have been expected of a robust and clumsy animal, he chose the most difficult path where hanging vines, dense brush, and fallen trees gave little room to squeeze through. But Toto showed masterly skill in finding openings, and although greatly impeded, he fared better than his enemy, who floundered helplessly among the entanglements, and finally broke away from them in disgust. The big cat tried to circumvent the tape here by turning to a more passable, although circuitous, route through the woods. But in spite of this strategy, he failed again, for Toto was not the one to take unnecessary steps, and when the giant puma arrived at where the two paths crossed, his quarry was not there. The latter lay hidden where his tracker had last left him to take the easier route. Toto seemed to know instinctively that only by the noise he made could his pursuer ferret him out, and so he lay perfectly quiet, while the giant puma tramped here and there, muttering angrily to himself, because the tape here, once nearly within his grasp, had escaped so easily. Toto remained hidden in the underbrush for a long time, just to make sure that his foe was beyond hearing distance. Then he rose and glided noiselessly away. The vines and underbrush thinned out after a time, and he emerged into a wide expanse of forest land, bare of bushes and other low-lying vegetation. He was considering the wisdom of his appearing in a region so scantily furnished with hiding places when he heard voices, and his nose caught a strange odor. However, the latter was not that of a puma or other flesh-eater. Therefore he stood his ground, and in time discerned many round bristly backs, moving in and out among the trees and coming toward him. The sight of them eased his mind, for he knew them to be peccaries or forest pigs, familiar figures but ones with whom he had never been intimate. As they drew nearer, those in front saw Toto and recognized him, and soon a whole lot of them were gathered closely about him. Although not intent on mischief, they were rather brusque in requesting the taper to explain just why he happened to be there. Toto gave an account of his adventure with the giant puma, where at the peccaries bristled and gnashed their teeth in a way that showed how cordially they hated the big cat. They reviled him for a skulker and declared themselves eager to annihilate him, if ever he dared show himself. To the taper this sounded like vain boasting, but when he spoke of the giant puma as the fiercest and strongest of forest creatures, the peccaries grunted loudly and scorn. That is what comes of being a taper, they said. Why don't you fight instead of hiding and running away? Toto bowed his head for very shame. He could not help but admit himself to be a peaceable sort unfit for fighting and of no great use to the world. However, he had made much effort to improve himself. Only yesterday he had visited the plains country and endeavored to become a horse. By the way the peccaries stared at him, then at each other, it was easy to see that the whole matter was beyond their power of understanding, that a forest animal should venture into the barren wastes was inexplicable enough. But the idea of his wanting to be one other than himself was absolutely beyond them. Why be a horse, someone grunted? You would only wish yourself something else. I did try to be something else, Toto answered quickly. Learning to be a horse was so difficult that I gave it up and endeavored to become a camel. The peccaries could scarcely believe their ears. The taper had been a most eccentric creature as they well knew, but now he must have lost his mind entirely. Learning to be a camel was as difficult as learning to be a horse, Toto went on. I couldn't live in the plains country with no water or trees, so I came back to the forest side of the river. There I met a browsing camel. Oop! grunted a voice. I thought that all of the browsing camels were gone. What did he do? Not much was the reply. The big cat killed him and then chased me. He thought that I could be like him, but my neck and legs were too short, so I did not try. It is much easier being a taper, even if I do have to live alone the rest of my life. The peccaries listened attentively to all this. The taper was certainly a creature of extraordinary ideas. Why don't you become like us, someone suggested. We are many, and a pig is as good as a horse or camel or anyone else. Toto did not accept this offer as quickly as he might, for his very unpleasant experiences had filled his mind with grave doubts. As a tapir he had not managed so badly thus far. It was trying to be somebody else that got him into so much trouble. A plains life was hopeless, and as for the forest, perhaps he was as good as anyone in it. Anyhow a live tapir could be no worse off than a dead horse or camel. But the peccaries mistook his hesitancy for refusal, and that angered them. Perhaps the tapir considered them inferior animals. Did he or did he not? No indeed. Toto made his decision at once. For the sight of all those pigs glaring and gnashing their teeth made him nervous. His efforts would be directed at becoming a peccary at once, so he assured them. Thus was the tapir launched upon a new career, and all being satisfactorily arranged, he set himself to the not entirely agreeable task of learning to be a forest pig. Meanwhile his associates had turned from him to root about in search of food, an occupation wherein they displayed outrageous manners, getting in one another's way, and jostling each other rudely. When some found choice tidbits the others tried to rob them. This made trouble, for every pig of the lot was determined either to keep what he had, or get it from someone else, and soon the whole drove was engaged in a free-for-all fight. Teeth gleamed, blows were struck, and blood trickled down many a gashed flanking shoulder. The woods resounded with the din of battle, grunts, squeals, and the stamping of feet. Toto retreated to the outskirts of the fray and looked on, an amazed and anxious spectator. What quarrelsome beasts he thought to himself! I wish they wouldn't make so much noise. That and the blood-smell will surely bring the flesh-eaters upon us. As if in reply a lithe sinewy form glided into view from among the trees. It pounced upon the nearest peccary, and stretched him lifeless upon the ground with a single blow of its paw. So sudden and unexpected was the attack that before the drove could meet it another of their number lay dead. Civil war terminated abruptly, and all united to meet the giant puma, their common enemy. The disorganized rabble became a fighting machine, as every peccary sprang to his place. Shoulder to shoulder, with ranks pressed close, they bore down upon the big cat, their teeth gnashing and their little eyes blazing like hot coals. The giant puma met the assault by seizing the foremost pig in his jaws, then dropped it hastily with a furious snarl, as his assistants closed in and bit him in a dozen places at once. He bowled them over one after another with mighty paw swings. But for every pig put out of action there was another to take his place, and soon the big cat was so perforated by their sharp teeth that he lost heart. Yowling dismaly, he leaped clear of his tormentors and tore off through the woods, with the peccaries hot after him. It had been a brief battle, but a sanguinary one, for fully a third of the drove lay dead upon the ground. Only one living animal remained to view the scene of carnage, and that one was Toto, who had taken no part in the fray. A live tapir is better than a dead pig, he reflected, and if they don't let that big cat alone, there won't be any more pigs. It was his final effort. All desire to be some other animal was gone. The difficulties were insurmountable. He would remain a tapir to the end of his days. Having arrived at this decision, he left the battlefield and plunged into the forest, farther than he had ever been. The trees grew closer and closer together as he progressed, and were all interlaced with vines and festoons of damp moss. Toto stopped to sniff the air, and learn the meaning of its peculiar odor. His scent was keen, and it told him that some distance beyond lay something of which he was extremely fond—water. He moved on. The traveling was extremely difficult now, and it grew more so with every step he took. The trees seemed to spring one from another. The vines and moss were an endless succession of spreading nets, and the closely packed underbrush filling every opening rose up before him like an impenetrable wall. It seemed hopeless for any animal to attempt such a passage, but Toto found hold somehow, and where there were none he pushed, squirmed, and battered his way through until at last scattered rays of sunlight pierced the leaf roof overhead. Vines and underbrush suddenly thinned out, and he emerged upon the shore of a large pond. Tall rushes grew near the water's edge, and beyond them floated great heart-shaped leaves with white and yellow buds protruding. A splash and round ripples, one within another, marked the presence of some fish come for a moment to the surface. Another splash, and a big soft-shelled turtle dumped himself into the water, from his basking place on a partly submerged log. Nats, dragonflies, and other insects buzzed merrily as they darted hither and thither. The voices of singing birds filled the air, and many of the little feathered creatures were visible, winging their way in and out among the trees. Coots, graves, and other waterfowl could be seen paddling over the surface of the pond. All seemed happy and carefree. It was a region of peace and contentment. Toto noted that the place harbored no large animals, cats or dogs in particular. He was lord of all he surveyed. For as far as fierce enemies were concerned, he had this paradise all to himself. After drinking, bathing, and filling his stomach with certain leaves and buds pleasing to his taste, he settled down upon his haunches to view the scenery and appraise the many advantages of his new home. It was springtime, and, although the various seasons were with difficulty distinguish one from another, spring was ever the time of cheer, and to Toto it brought hope of happy days to come. The abundance of water and green succulent plants meant relief from want. Behind him lay the jungle, a wall placed there to keep out undesirable intruders. The advantages of his new abiding place gave him the first real sense of security he had ever known. They made him feel satisfied with being a tapir and, to tell the truth, his recent harrowing experiences had already convinced him how foolish he had been to think of being anything else. Gone was his feeling of inferiority. He did not miss the society of other animals, for they were strangers, and he could not learn their ways. True, he was lonesome, but it had ever been so since he was old enough to do without someone to feed and protect him. Although not remembering this someone as his mother, he still retained vague recollections of a tapir larger than himself who had cared for him in his younger days. This suggested the possibility of there being other tapirs in the world besides himself, and again he experienced the feeling of loneliness that had urged him to roam abroad in search of friends. But those he had met were not of his kind, and so after a brief struggle with fate he had given up all false notions and returned to his life of solitude. These were not pleasant recollections, and they must have affected him deeply, for he raised his head and gave utterance to a dismal wail, faint at first, but growing gradually to a shrill, piercing cry which rang over the surface of the pond and penetrated far into the forest beyond. Once, twice, thrice he repeated his peculiar call, and then relapsed into silence. For several moments no sound could be heard save the buzzing of insects and voices of twittering birds, then dimly from afar came an answering call, like an echo of Toto's own voice. Its effect upon him was magical. He sprang to his feet, every muscle in his body tense, his ears straining to hear more, and as he listened a second cry reached his ears, followed by a faint crashing of branches, as though some animal were making its way through the forest on the other side of the pond. Toto waited hurriedly into the shallows and, pausing their knee deep, again sent his call reverberating across the water. When the response came, it sounded much nearer, and as he strained his eyes for a better view of the opposite shore, a stout, short-legged animal burst into view, standing at the water's edge with head uplifted to repeat what seemed to Toto like the answer to his message. The creature was a full-grown tapir, and the answer must have been a favorable one, for Toto immediately launched himself deeply and swam toward the newcomer, leaving behind him a trail of whirling eddies and tossing foam. Several days passed, and then Toto returned, but he no longer swam alone, for there came with him the same tapir whose acquaintance he had recently made. Somehow he had convinced her, his newly acquired mate, that his side of the pond was better than hers, although she had made considerable a do about not caring at all where he lived. However, his wishes in the matter finally prevailed, and tapir number two, now Mrs. Toto, accompanied her lord in his return journey across the pond. Immediately upon landing she made a most thorough inspection of her new quarters, examining the rushes, water plants, and other furnishings so minutely that Toto's nerves were on edge for fear she would discover something not to her liking and refuse to stay. But Mrs. Toto was now a fixture, and he had but known it. Her survey was only pretense. She, a solitary tapir, had discovered the companion of her choice, and any sort of home was good enough with him there to share it. As for Toto, his pond dwelling was indeed a paradise. His adventures upon the plains and in the forest with horses, camels, and pigs were forgotten. His desire to roam and the efforts to be a creature other than himself became the untold secrets of his past. The life of seclusion, once his dread, was now a joy. For he had a companion to share it with him, and no more was needed to relieve his loneliness. End of section 22. Introduction The American mastodon was a native of the United States in most recent Pleistocene times, although his ancestors originally hailed from southern Asia and northeastern Africa, sources of the world's elephant supply. He did not live long enough to see Europeans land upon our shores, although he doubtless encountered the first so-called Indians who took possession of North and South America long before. In the most recent Pleistocene, sometimes called the Coordinary Period, mammals were at the height of their glory. Horses, camels, and antelopes swarmed upon the plains. Giant ground sloths, tapirs, and deer roamed through the forest, while lions and saber-toothed tigers ever hovered about, preying upon the larger animals. At least four species of elephants ranged over the greater part of the United States. The imperial, Colombian, and northern mammoths, and the American mastodon. The mammoths were tall, rangy beasts with short, high-peaked heads and widely curving tusks. The largest of them was the imperial elephant, who stood about 13 feet 6 inches at the shoulders and had tusks over 15 feet long. The Colombian and northern mammoths were smaller beasts of 11 foot and 9 feet 6 inch height respectively. The last named animal is the best known of all prehistoric elephants. His body was profusely clad with long hair. All of the mammoths possessed long-crowned grazing teeth, but the mastodon was a browser, for his low-crowned grinders could chew only soft green food. Although of old-fashioned type, he had the knack of taking care of himself, for he lived and thrived long after most other prehistoric animals had disappeared. The ice age began early in the most recent Pleistocene period, and the glaciers gliding down from Canada into our northern and central states doubtless worked many hardships upon the various animals. The imperial mammoth, sabertooth tiger, and many others soon became extinct, but the mastodon held on for several hundred thousands of years, until after the great ice fields had melted away. This ice-melting epic probably helped the mastodon in that the abundant moisture encouraged growth of soft plants, which best suited his low-crowned browsing teeth. His race numbering hundreds of thousands ranged over the United States, and today their bones are frequently found in peat bogs, mire deposits, or in the beds of dried-up streams. These, the last pages of ancient animal history, precede our modern historical times. Near Manuka, Illinois, about fifty miles southwest of Chicago, remains of a dozen mastodons were discovered buried at the bottom of a spring. Their bones, together with those of the deer moose, elk, and beaver, lay on top of the gravels left by the last melting glaciers. Not far distant is O. Sable Creek. While exploring the latter's bank, I came across a tusk fragment protruding from the sandy loam. It was the girth of a man's thigh, and the two ends of a monster thighbone lay buried beside it. That was all. The tusk fragment served as a headstone to mark the grave. An early American settler, Mehmet, last of the mastodons. End of Section 23. Section 24 of Stories of the First American Animals. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Trevor Johnston. Stories of the First American Animals by George Langford. Mammut. The Last of the Mastodons. Part 1. The van of the mastodon herd had emerged from the water and was entering the woods which bordered the west bank of the Cahoga River. Every motion of the great elephants came under careful scrutiny of one of their number, a solitary giant standing motionless upon a knoll close to the river bank. His trunk extended in a straight line windward. The air came and went through its double-barreled length and deep noisy sniffs as he tested each breeze puff for sign of danger. Probably no creature existed that a mastodon need worry about, but caution was ever an elephant trait, so Burbo followed his natural instinct and kept close watch. Burbo was the giant fighting bull, leader of the herd. The top of his shoulder hump lacked several inches of rising ten feet above the knoll on which he stood. Ten feet was not so remarkable, and yet Burbo was a plant in bulk, not rangy and slab-sided like a mammoth, but a bulldog type with thick-set body, broad hips and legs like tree stumps. His stout tusks, seven feet of length in the clear, described three or more curves of ever-changing plain, sweeping widely apart in their middles and finally coming together at their polished hips. Burbo was not an expert at figures, but as he watched his followers emerging from the river he could see that their numbers were few and dwindling fast, only since the full moon had the last bull succumbed to an old injury. Burbo could take some selfish satisfaction in that, for he had peculiar notions about any animal that had aspired and might again aspire to lead the herd. But now Hasta too had disappeared. She was one of the finest cows and could be ill-spared. Burbo ground his teat-crowned teeth with rage at his own helplessness. It was his style of teeth that had wrought such havoc among his people. They were the main reason why the great mastodon race which once roamed over the country by hundreds of thousands now numbered less than forty individuals. They could chop and crush, but not grind. Therefore their owners could not eat dry grass, but must depend upon softer and greener food such as plants, tender roots, or the inner bark of trees. Such food was not of the concentrated variety. A single mastodon's requirements were enormous, a herds colossal. In times past the melting of the glaciers had flooded the country and established conditions favorable to the growth of such vegetation as suited mastodon taste and development. However the lakes and marshes had now dried up, thereby greatly diminishing the supply of green food suitable for teat-crowned teeth. The climate changed too, for the worse, and it was not long before the mastodon found himself in a bad way. It was the passing of a once mighty race. One by one the old animals dropped off. No recruits were available to restore the rapidly thinning ranks. Thirty years had elapsed since the herd saw its last newborn calf. That calf was Burbo, now leader as well as the youngest of the herd and its sole surviving male. The big bull had learned too much in his thirty years of life not to understand that there must soon be an end as he stood upon the knoll watching over his charges. He might not fight fate, but he could at least take good care of the few mastodons that remained. One by one they emerged from the water. Those in the lead had already climbed the bank and were smashing their way through the underwood. Here a treetop was pulled half over until it arched like a bow, then flew back with the force of a catapult, as a python-like trunk stripped it of its leaves. There the foliage was thrust violently aside before a great tusk head and brown hairy back following close behind it. Others of the huge beasts trailed after, rearing up out of the water and splashing their way ashore. And still Burbo watched and counted them. He who knew nothing of figures, counted them in his own way to the very last one who yet swam deeply with only her trunk tip and forehead appearing above the surface of the stream. Thirty-seven. It had been thirty-eight before Hasta had disappeared. Burbo sighed deeply. It had been a hundred several seasons ago on the banks of the Mohawk, and now only thirty-seven. Cows every one of them. No bulls and not a single calf. The last of the herd emerged, with the water dripping from its vast body and showers. Burbo was prepared to dissim the knoll and join his comrades when his sharp ears caught the distant snapping of branches. Some large animal was forcing its way through the forest, on the far side of the river. The bull-leader became all attention, straining his eyes to pierce the heavy morning mist which the sun had not yet cleared. His eyesight was poor. Mastodons depended almost entirely upon their ears and noses for information, but he could dimly discern a huge figure which had just emerged from the woods and was standing at the water's edge. The unknowns four feet were in the water. Two curved streaks flashed, and a shrill trumpet call echoed and re-echoed across the stream. A mastodon. Burbo emitted an astonished bellow. It could not be possible, and yet work, worry, and a lack of nourishment had taxed his brain heavily. He might have miscounted. His health was not of the best these days. Yes, he must have miscounted. But it was the first time. His head drooped. He looked at the ground. It suddenly dawned upon him that he was growing old. A thirty-year-old mastodon, one who should have been in his prime, and yet he had aged rapidly. The proof of which was that he had miscounted. For such a trivial thing it affected him terribly. He appeared like one crushed beneath some great calamity. Meanwhile, the uncounted mastodon had entered the river and was swimming rapidly across. Had Burbo looked up, he would have observed that the late arrival was making much work out of that easy journey across the water, much pushing and pulling and apparently useless motions such as one might expend in towing an inert burden. However, he paid no attention for he was brooding over his frightful mistake, the fact that he had miscounted. It was only when the newcomer splashed shoreward through the shallows that he raised his head and gazed listlessly in that direction. A cow mastodon was disappearing among the trees. Burbo gasped. What was that small mass trotting on four twinkling legs beside her? His eyes were seeing things that could not be. It was worse than old age. He must be going mad. At that moment a violent uproar arose in the woods, suddenly and without the slightest warning like a bursting of a bomb. The air resounded with a chorus of squeals, grunts and bellows, and crashing of broken branches. What was wrong? Burbo heard the tramp of many feet, the thump-thump of thick sole pads or soft ground. Here and there he caught glimpses of flashing ivory and broad backs battering their way among the trees. Something had frightened the herd. With a bound he abandoned his post of duty and charged down into the woods. A stampede? No, rather a wild celebration. There was no vestige of fear in any of those squeals and other elephant clatter, nor did there appear a single sign of panic in any one of the huge cow tuskers that pushed and pulled those nearest her. The herd was masked in a solid ring with every one of the huge beasts straining to reach the center. Tremendous was the commotion they made. The whole mastodon world seemed to have gone mad. It was some time before Burbo could secure the recognition do him, so great was the crush and excitement. He charged and squealed and bellowed, and it was only after several of the cows had the breath nearly knocked out of them that they would pay him the slightest attention. Voices were raised one after another as the rearmost animals bellowed at those in front of them to stand back and make room. Clear a path. Here comes the master to look upon his own. Those in front of the big bull crowded hard to the right and left, thus cleaving a narrow lane through the surging mass. Burbo smashed his way through, leaving many a bumped head and bruised body behind him. In a few moments he was standing within a ring of tossing trunks and uplifted ivory. A forest of tusks raised skyward like curved sabers seemed to flash the message. Hail to the newborn! Long live the king! Burbo's heart leapt almost to his throat. He had not miscounted. Hosta stood before him. Hosta his favorite and queen of the herd. The seemingly impossible had occurred. A straggler had returned. The bull leader had counted thirty-seven, but he had not aired even though the correct number was thirty-eight. It was enough to thrill any mastodon with joy. The herd recently thirty-seven had now increased its number by one. Even one was an occasion for general rejoicing, signifying, as it did, a halt in the long continued shrinkage. Burbo fairly danced with delight as the truth dawned upon him. Only a few moments ago the census was thirty-seven, and now most unexpectedly it had risen to thirty-eight. Oomp, oomp! grunted a small voice. Burbo looked down. His eyes stuck out like plums as he stared and stared as much as to say thirty-seven, thirty-eight. Did I hear someone say thirty-nine? Yes, someone did say thirty-nine, although he who said it was hardly old enough to say much of anything. There, huddled beneath the queen Hosta's great chest and apparently much concerned at the commotion going on about him, was a vision bordering upon the miraculous, a baby mastodon. He was a mere atom, viewed from the elephant's standpoint, a tiny two hundred pounder as fat as butter. His feet were like puddings with raisin toes sticking out of them. With his low forehead and short trunk he resembled a large tapir with a very long nose. The tide had turned at last. The stork had flown over the herd, and it was to be hoped that henceforth he would many times repeat his glorious performance. Never had the mastodon celebrated such a joyous occasion, and all because of the newly born baby mastodon. He is mine, all mine, bellowed the proud mother. May I wither and blow away if any harm comes to him? It is a long, long time since our herd saw its last calf. I have forgotten how long. Does anyone remember? The last calf, muttered Berbo. His voice trembled as he gazed at his first and only child. Yes, I remember. I was the last, and it was indeed very long ago. At the sound of Berbo's voice the youngster looked at him wonderingly out of his small beady eyes. The big bull shook like a leaf as with a low grunt. His tiny son waddled from his refuge beneath the queen mother and came forward cautiously, and all prepared at an instant's notice to beat a hasty retreat. When beneath his sire's mighty head he stopped and raised his stubby trunk. Berbo bent low. His great tusks encircled the infant's body in a halo of gleaming ivory. His trunk twined about the tiny neck like the coil of a monster serpent. I was the last, he said in a voice so low that few could hear, until you came I was the last. May you be but one of many calves, memut, first of the new race of mastodons. End of Section 24. Section 25 of Stories of the First American Animals. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. Stories of the First American Animals by George Langford. Memut. The Last of the Mastodons. Part 2. Memut began life under what seemed to him ideal circumstances. He was welcome. Never was a newly born calf more so. He had no end of friends and food too. His mother always kept an ample supply of milk on hand and he had but to go to her and get it. Surrounded by friends and with plenty to eat he became the healthiest and happiest of youngsters. He had no real sorrows although at times after being subjected to a bit of maternal discipline it appeared to him as though the whole world had turned against him. However such periods of black gloom did not last long once the microbe of childish contrariness was spanked out of his system. The herd now took a new lease on life. A change due entirely to the arrival of the baby mastodon partly because of his cheerful nature but more particularly because of the hope his advent inspired in the revival of the mastodon race. Past hardships were forgotten in the thought of brighter days to come. When Berbo trumpeted the signal to move on all responded with light hearts. Memut included. He took his place in the ranks trotting close to the queen mother's side to avoid being trampled upon by the great feet of his elders. Near the headwaters of the Huron and Sandusky rivers the mastodons came upon what might have been considered as a veritable storehouse of green food suitable for teak-crowned teeth. It would have more than sufficed for any except a herd of mastodons, but experience had taught these great animals what enormous amounts of fodder were necessary to supply their wants. A storehouse it was and yet no more than a temporary relief. Soon the fodder would become exhausted and they must pass on. However they need not worry over the present. There was an abundance to satisfy their pressing needs, so they halted and proceeded to enjoy the good things while they lasted. Animals of all kinds were to be found there, and in such a well-wooded and well-watered region they might have been expected. By far the most abundant were the whitetail deer. These timid, dainty creatures were at first much alarmed at sight of the huge, tusked giants suddenly come amongst them. They would run away with the swiftness of the wind whenever they saw a brown hairy back or heard the noise made by a huge elephant crashing its way through the trees. However a brief acquaintance changed all this. Not once did a mastodon offer to harm a deer. The whitetails plucked up courage. These mighty animals with horns growing from their mouths attended strictly to their own affairs and were a peaceable lot after all. More than that, for what their appearance, the cougars, wolves, and bobcats made themselves scarce. The whitetails found the woods entirely cleared of their natural enemies. They were not long in learning that the retreat of the flesh-eaters, to parts unknown, was due entirely to their fear of the huge strangers. Deer and mastodon soon lived together on the best of terms. They crossed and recrossed each other's trails, and everything went along smoothly for the time being. The whitetails impressed Mamut deeply. They were so dainty, so animated, and so rapid in their motions. He never tired of watching them. The speed they displayed was enough to take his breath away. It seemed incredible that animals could run so fast. There were raccoons and rabbits and woodchucks and many other interesting creatures, too, but most of them were hopelessly unsociable, and trizzy wood Mamut could never establish even the basis of a formal speaking acquaintance with them. Raccoons roamed abroad only at night when mastodons and most other animals were taking their rest. Rabbits were forever hopping away if one even looked at them, and woodchucks, being too fat and lazy to run, merely rolled into their burrows and disappeared. There were other little black beasts with white-striped bodies and bushy tails that neither ran away nor hid themselves when Mamut sought to establish friendly relations with them. They were his first experience with animals that rarely fought or fled, but had the most unhappy faculty of making themselves absolutely unbearable nuisances. To look at a skunk was a pleasure, so carefree and deliberate were his actions, but to really know him intimately was to smell him, particularly when he put himself in the best smelling condition. Mamut's first attempt at making friends with a skunk was his last. The little waddling beast turned his perfumery loose and the young mastodon almost collapsed. Never had his nose experienced such a frightful odor. It was the kind that could easily make room for itself in any crowd. It was too much for Mamut, so away he ran. That was not all. Some of the odor ran with him and stayed with him. The herd, even his fond mother, noticed it and for several days all shunned the young mastodon. He could not understand it. There he was, ready to be on friendly terms with any and everybody, and yet every animal he came in contact with spurned him. Even the red squirrel made sport of him as he sat high and safe upon an overhanging limb, delivering himself of many unkind and sarcastic remarks as Mamut passed beneath. It would seem that the young mastodon could expect nothing from any but the white tails, but even with them he failed, even after the skunk odor had left him. Whenever he came upon the fawns, frisking about in the open spaces among the trees, there was a general stoppage of activity. None would frolic while he was present. None would play with him, the way all animals held aloof perplexed him. He could not understand, having yet to learn that creatures of one species never became intimate with those of another species. It was one of nature's rules. It was as though her voice had whispered from the clouds. Each to his kind little mastodon. So far and no farther. Her word was final. Gap yawned wide, and so Mamut was compelled to play alone. This was the only cloud in the youngster's life. He was denied what all healthy children ever longed for, playmates. The lack of them cast a shadow over what might otherwise have been an ideal existence, and now with his sense of isolation came an understanding of that which filled every mastodon mind. What had become of all the baby elephants? Were there any? He wanted one to play with so badly. He would ask his mother about it. She was a wonderful mother, and would do anything he wanted if he but asked. But strange to say, Hosta could not help him find a baby mastodon to play with. She could not explain why. It seemed to Mamut a simple request, but his mother appeared much grieved at the mere suggestion. It painted her even to discuss the subject. It was with a heart almost too full for words that she confessed her inability to find her small son what he most wanted. Mamut must be patient and wait. She could not grant his wish just now, but the time might soon come when the herd would have another baby mastodon. Mamut was satisfied. The youngster's faith in his mother was supreme. He believed everything she told him. Yes, he would be patient and wait, and when another baby mastodon did come, he would have such fun with it. He began to experience a new sensation—hope. Anticipated pleasure, which was delightful, although tantalizing. Each morning he waddled about among the herd, inquiring of each and every animal if a baby mastodon had yet arrived. Gloomy were the head shakes. No, a little mastodon had not yet appeared. Would one come to-morrow? Perhaps, nobody knew, and Mamut would finally go away disappointed but ever hopeful of what the morrow might bring. Day after day he repeated this performance, but it was always, perhaps, and, to-morrow, until finally he gave up his questioning and turned his childish mind to matters of greater promise. Denied the companionship of other than his mastodon elders, he got to poking about it by himself. He had learned much about animals, but his education was scarcely begun. There were many things that a youngster must know. His mother could not forever keep an eye on him, and at times he must look to his own welfare. One afternoon he strayed from the herd, farther than he had ever dared to venture. It was rather terrifying at first, this tramping alone through the woods, but it did not take him long to get used to it. The few animals he met with stepped aside and gave him a clear path. Such actions did not indicate a spirit of friendliness, but they showed that even a baby mastodon was worthy of respect. The realization of this gave him confidence in himself. He plotted briskly along, battering his way among the small saplings and through patches of thick underbrush, just as he had seen his elders do. Finally he rammed a young oak that was too big for him. Back he bounced like a rubber ball. That made him so angry he coiled his trunk about it and tried vainly to uproot it. He was not big and strong enough to do things like that just yet, but the fact that his spirit prompted him to try was a commendable sign. It showed that he was ambitious and eager to learn. On he trotted through the woods. Everything was new and entertaining. The trees with their gnarled limbs and occasional open spaces with green grass below and blue sky above. The big boulders scattered here and there, lying half-buried in the ground. These and other things in endless number and variety confronted Mamut at every turn. A stream suddenly appeared before him. The young mastodon's journey through the woods had made him warm. The water looked cool and inviting. He slid down the bank and waded in. The sun shone brightly overhead. Mamut dipped his trunk in the water and sucked it full. He was about to raise it high above his head and treat himself to a shower bath like a real grown-up when he saw something that nearly took his breath away. There, directly under him, stood a baby mastodon. Rather, it lay upon its back, peering up at him from the stream's muddy bed. His tomorrow had arrived. Here was a playmate, a mastodon of his own age. Mamut squealed and danced with joy. The surface of the stream became ruffled and his newfound playmate disappeared. Where had he gone? The young mastodon hunted anxiously, but nothing was to be seen and disturbed in muddy water. He waded out of it and searched the bank. As he moved along it, suddenly a low voice hissed angrily. Stand back, big beast, or I strike! You are coming too close with your heavy feet. Mamut looked at the muddy ground before him. There sat Sistra, the water moccasin. Her body was coiled, her head was raised, and her two long poison fangs were pointed threateningly at the small disturber. Mamut knew absolutely nothing about snakes, and yet a subdued voice within him warned that it was a thing best left alone. However, his curiosity got the better of him. He yielded to temptation and extended his trunk. Sistra's head and fangs shot forward. Mamut felt a sharp pain near the tip of his nose and was frightened almost to death. With a loud squeal he jumped back just as the water moccasin recoiled herself and made ready for another strike. However, one was enough. The youngster was up the bank and away as fast as he could go. Mamut was terrified. He went flying through the woods squealing for his mother and complaining loudly that he had been bitten by a big worm. Fortunately for him, his exploring trip to the stream, although a momentous affair in his young life, had not been a very extended one. He had strayed but a short distance. Hosta heard the squeals and hurried to the rescue. In a moment the two were united. Mamut huddled close to his mother and shivered. His body was very cold, his legs felt shaky at the knees. A fit of dizziness made everything go round and round before his eyes, and meanwhile he moaned dismally. The queen mother was greatly distressed. Some dire calamity had befallen her young son. She could not imagine what it was. While she stood by, anxious to help but not knowing what to do, Mamut suddenly collapsed and fell sprawling to the ground. His nose began to swell. Hosta saw it growing larger. A mastodon's trunk was his tenderest and most vulnerable spot. Probably the youngster had poked his trunk into a nest of hornets and they had stung him for his pains. And yet, for a mere hornet sting, his condition appeared extremely alarming. Mamut now lay as one dead, unconscious and scarcely breathing. His body was as cold as ice. Hosta trumpeted frantically for help, and soon the herd were gathered about her. None understood the young invalid's strange malady. None could help him. In an agony of dread, Hosta kneeled over the small body and covered it with her own to keep it warm. This treatment helped, ever so little, but it was enough to keep Mamut's blood circulating, and enabled him to hold on to the little life that remained. The sun went down. Night came and still Hosta crouched over her baby. There was no sleep for anyone. The mastodons, one and all, tramped about the mother and her stricken son, frequently voicing their uneasiness with shrill trumpetings. Mamut lay still and cold as death. The moon climbed slowly into the sky. Hosta yet crouched over the young mastodon and still no change. She almost despaired. It seemed as though the treasure which had been hers for so short a time would soon be lost forever. But Mamut yet breathed. His heart fluttered, and he clung to life, unconsciously battling against the deadly serpent venom which clogged his veins. It was past midnight when the queen mother, still crouching over him, hoping against hope, felt the tiny body beneath her quickening with restored circulation and returning warmth. Mamut's sides heaved. He groaned. He even tried to raise his head, but the effort was too much for him, and he gave it up. The tide had turned at last. Hosta almost smothered the young invalid. So great was her joy. But Mamut was feeling much better now, and began to protest loudly at being so completely buried. Hosta arose, and Mamut tried to rise with her. This he could not do all by himself, but with his mother's help he finally managed to stagger to his feet. The herd rejoiced. It was nearly morning now, and the whole night had passed with scarcely a moment's relief from the profound anxiety all had felt. It had been a terrible strain watching the pride and joy of the herd, hoping for the best but fearing that he could not survive. Mamut was out of danger now, although he was still a very sick little elephant. His head ached as though it would burst, and he felt very weak and wobbly. He soon tired and was obliged to lie down again, but this time it was to secure a bit of refreshing sleep. The giant burbo came forward and peered anxiously into the youngster's face. He stroked the small body with his trunk. Mamut merely rested. Burbo breathed a deep sigh of relief. He was turning away, treading as softly as possible, so as not to wake the sleeping infant. When the leaves rustled, the bushes parted, and a slim figure emerged and stood facing him. It was one of the dear people, a buck, the oldest and wisest of the white-tailed stags.