 29. Yowler and his cousin Tufty, the Baylinks, or Bobcat, and the Canadalinks, or Lucivee. Jumper the hare arrived at school a little late and quite out of breath from hurrying. His big soft eyes were shining with excitement. "'You look as though you have had an adventure, Jumper,' said Old Mother Nature. "'I have,' replied Jumper. "'It is a wonder I am here at all. I came so near to furnishing Yowler the Bobcat a breakfast that it makes me shiver just to think of it. I guess if I hadn't been thinking about him, he would have caught me.' "'Tell us all about it,' demanded Old Mother Nature. Seeing Black Pussy over here yesterday, and knowing that today's lesson was to be about Yowler, I couldn't get cats out of my mind all day yesterday,' began Jumper. Black Pussy doesn't worry me, but I must confess that if there is anyone I fear, it is Yowler the Bobcat. Just thinking about him makes me nervous. The more I try not to think about him, the more I did think about him, and the more I thought about him, the more nervous I got. Then just before dark, on the bank of the Laughing Brook, I found some tracks in the mud. Those tracks were almost round, and that fact was enough to tell me who had made them. They were Yowler's footprints, and they hadn't been made very long. Of course, seeing those footprints made me more nervous than ever, and every time I saw a leaf-move, I jumped inside. My heart felt as if it were up in my throat most of the time. I had a feeling that Yowler wasn't far away. I hate that cat. I hate the way he hunts. He goes sneaking about without making a sound, or else he lies in wait, ready to spring without warning on the first one who happens along. A fellow never knows where to watch out for Yowler. I spent nearly all night sitting under a little hemlock tree with branches very close to the ground. I sat there because I didn't dare do anything else. As long as I stayed there I felt reasonably safe, because Yowler would have to find me, and to do that he would have to cross an open place where I could see him. I knew that if I went roaming about I might walk right into his clutches. It was very lucky I had sense enough to stay there. You know the moon was very bright last night. It made that open place in front of where I was hiding almost as light as day. Once I closed my eyes for just a minute. When I opened them, there was Yowler sneaking across that open place, where he had come from I don't know. He hadn't made a sound, not a leaf rustled under his big feet. Right in the middle of that open place where the moonlight was brightest he stopped to listen, and I simply held my breath. Tell us how he looked, prompted Old Mother Nature. He looked just like what he is, a big cat with a short tail, replied Jumper. Just to look at him anyone would know he was own cousin to Black Pussy. He had a round head, rather long legs, and was about twice as big as Black Pussy. His feet looked big, even for him. On the tips of his ears were a few long black hairs. His coat was yellowish to reddish brown with dark spots on it. His chin and throat were white, and underneath he was white spotted with black. There were spots all down his legs. He didn't have enough of a tail to call it a tail. It was whitish on the underside and had black stripes on the upper side, and all the time he kept twitching it just the way Black Pussy twitches her tail when she is out hunting. All of a sudden he opened his mouth and gave such a yell that it is a wonder I didn't jump out of my skin. It frightened me so that I couldn't have moved if I had wanted to, which was a lucky thing for me. The instant he yelled he cocked his head on one side and listened. That yell must have wakened somebody and caused them to move, for Yeller turned suddenly and crept swiftly and without a sound out of sight. A minute later I heard a jump, and then I heard a fluttering. I think he caught one of the Grouse family. Yelling that way is one of Yeller's tricks, explained Old Mother Nature. He does it for the same reason who to the owl hoots. He hopes that it will startle some sleeper so that they will move. If they do, his keen ears are sure to hear it. Was that all of your adventure, Jumper? No, replied Jumper. I remained right where I was for the rest of the night. Just as daylight was beginning to steal through the green forest, I decided that it was safe to leave my hiding place and come over here. Halfway here I stopped for a few minutes in the thick clump of ferns. I was just about to start on again when I caught sight of something moving just back of an old stump. It was that foolish looking tail of Yeller's. Had he kept it still, I wouldn't have seen him at all, but he was twitching it back and forth. He was crouched down close to the ground with all four feet drawn close together under him. There he crouched, and there I sat for the longest time. I didn't move, and he didn't move, save that foolish looking tail of his. I had begun to think that I would have to stay in that clump of ferns all day when suddenly Yeller sprang like a flash. There was a little squeak, and then I saw Yeller trot away with a mouse in his mouth. I guess he must have seen that mouse go in a hole and knew that if he waited long enough it would come out again. As soon as Yeller disappeared I hurried over here. That's all. That was a splendid account of Yeller and his way of hunting, said old Mother Nature. He does most of his hunting in just that way, sneaking about on the chance of surprising a rabbit, bird, or mouse, or else patiently watching and waiting beside a hole in which he knows someone has taken refuge. He hunts in the green forest exactly as Black Pussy, Farmer Brown's cat, hunts mice in the barn, or birds in the old orchard. In the spring Yeller destroys many eggs and young birds, not only those found in nests on the ground, but also those in nests and trees, for he is a splendid climber. Yeller is found in nearly all of the swampy, brushy, and wooded parts of the whole country, accepting in the great forests of the far north where his cousin Tufti the Lynx lives. Yeller is himself a Lynx, the Bay Lynx. In some places he is called simply Wildcat. In others he is called the Catamount. He is not so fond of the thick forests as he is of swamps, brush-grown hillsides, old pastures, and places where there are great masses of briars. Rocky ledges where there are caves in which to hide and plenty of brush also suit him. He is a coward, but when cornered will fight, though he will run from a little dog half his size and take to a tree. In the south he is quite common, and there often steals chickens and turkeys, even young pigs. He prefers to hunt at night, but sometimes is seen in broad daylight. Mrs. Yeller's kittens are born in a cave or in a hollow tree, despite the fact that he is an expert climber. Yeller spends most of his time on the ground and is one of the worst enemies of rabbits, mice, squirrels, or ground birds. In the great forests of the far north lives Yeller's cousin, Tufti the Canada Lynx, also called Loup Severe and Lucive. He is nearly a third larger than Yeller, from the tip of each ear long tufts of black hair stand up. On each side of his face is a rough of long hair. His tail is even shorter than Yeller's, and the tip of it is always holy black. His general color is gray, modeled with brown. His face rough is white with black border. Yeller's feet are large, but Tufti's are immense for his size. That is because Tufti lives where the snow lies deep for many months, and these big broad feet enable him to travel about on the snow without breaking through. He can travel with ease where ready fox, not half his size and weight, would break through at every step. Tufti's ways are much like those of his cousin Yeller save that he is a dweller in the deep woods. Anything he can catch is food for Tufti, but his principal food is the northern hair. The color of his coat blends with the shadows so that he seems like a living shadow himself. In summer food is plentiful and Tufti lives well, but in winter Tufti has hard work to get enough. Rarely does he know what a full stomach means then. Like Howler, he can go a surprising length of time without food and still retain his strength. At that time of year he is a great traveler. He has to be in order to live. There is no fiercer looking animal in all the great forests than Tufti the Lynx, but despite this he is, like most cats, cowardly. Only when cornered will he fight. He is possessed of the lively curiosity and often he will stealthily follow a hunter or trapper for miles. The fur of his coat is very long and handsome and he is hunted and trapped for this. As he lives for the most part far from the homes of men he does less damage to man than does his cousin Yeller the bobcat. Tufti must depend wholly for his living on the little people of the green forest. Sometimes he will attack a fox. The pretty little spotted babies of lightfoot the deer are victims whenever he can find them. The darker and deeper the green forests the better Tufti likes it. He makes his den under great tangles of fallen trees or similar places. Mr. and Mrs. Tufti often hunt together and in early winter the whole family often join in the hunt. Yeller and Tufti are the only members of the cat family now found in the eastern part of the country. Formerly their big cousin Puma the panther lived in the east but he has been so hunted by man that now he is found only in the mountains of the far west and in a few of the wildest places in the south. I will tell you about him tomorrow. End of Chapter 29 Chapter 30 of the Burgess Animal Book for Children. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. This recording by Jamie Wilking. The Burgess Animal Book for Children by Thornton W Burgess. Chapter 30 Some big and little cat cousins Puma the panther also called Cougar and Mountain Lion, the Jaguar, the Ocelot and the Jaguar Undur cat or Ara. Puma the panther began old mother nature as the largest member of the cat family in this country with the exception of one which is found only in the extreme southwest. Puma is also called Mountain Lion, Cougar and Painter. You all know how black pussy looks. If black pussy could grow to be over eight feet long and be given a yellowish brown coat whitish underneath she would look very much like Puma the panther. Unlike Yaller the bobcat and Tufty the lynx, Puma has a long tail just to touch a round tail as black pussy has. Being so large Puma is of great strength and he has all the grace and quickness and movement of a true cat. As I told you yesterday there was a time when Puma lived in the east. In fact he was once nearly all parts of this great country where there were forests. But as the country became settled by man Puma was driven out and now his home is cheaply in the great mountains of the far west. Being so big he must have much food. Instead of depending for his living on small animals and birds Puma hunts the large animals. He is so big and so strong that he can kill lightfoot the deer without trouble and there is no one lightfoot dreads more than Puma. He is especially fond of horse flesh and in certain sections where herds of horses are pastured he has killed so many young horses that he's won the undying hate of man. Big as he is he is a coward and will run from a barking dog. When desperate with hunger he has been known to attack man but such occasions have been very very rare. The fact is he fears man will slink away as his approach. Like the true cat that he is he is wonderfully softfooted and despite his great size moves silently. He makes his home among the ledges high up in the mountains. At night he goes port to hunt. Once in a while he's seen hunting in the daytime but not often. Sometimes he may be seen basking in the sun high up on the ledges. He is a good climber like most cats. He never shows himself boldly but slinks about through the forest and among the rocks the picture of stealth. This habit has one for him another name that of sneak cat. Sometimes he sneaks up on his prey within jumping distance. Again he lies in wait beside a path which certain animals are in the habit of using. He is capable of leaping a long distance and when he strikes his prey his great weight added to the force of his spring is almost certain to knock it down even though it be much bigger than Puma himself. Men hunt him with dogs for as I have already told you he will run from a barking dog. Usually he doesn't run far before taking to a tree. The hunters follow and shoot him there. Where it not that he can be hunted in this way with dogs he would have little more to fear from man for he is so keen of sight and hearing and can move so swiftly and silently and as rarely man can surprise him. Sometimes he will follow a man just as tough he the lynx does but usually for the same reason curiosity. Despite the fact that he is a sneak and a coward he is so big and fierce looking that he is feared by most men only those who really know him do not fear him. There is one other member of the cat family in all this great land larger than Puma and this is Jaguar also called El Tigre. He is found only in a small part of the extreme southwest for he really belongs in a hot country to the south of this. Not only is he the largest but he is a handsomest of all the cat family. His coat is a beautiful deep yellow covered with spots and rosettes of black. Beneath he is white with large black spots. He also has a fairly long tail. He is thick and heavy and is not as long as Puma but is stouter and heavier. He can kill horses mules and cattle with ease but of course the principal part of his food consists of the wild animals about him. He is so savage and appearance that the mere sight of him always awakens fear. His method of hunting is much the same as that of the other members of the cat family. Most of his hunting is done at night. While Puma the panther sometimes screams Jaguar roars and it is a very terrifying sound. All the little people and most of the big ones within hearing shiver when they hear it. Jaguar's head is large and he is tremendously strong in the jaws. Occasionally Jaguar is all black instead of being yellow and spotted. In this same part of the great southwest lives a smaller cousin named Ocelot often called Tiger Cat. Ocelot is only a little bigger than Black Pussy whom you all know and in shape is very like her. He also has a lovely coat. It is yellow not deep rich yellow like Jaguars but a light yellow thickly covered with black spots. On his cheeks and the back of his neck are black lines and his tail is wrinkly black. He likes best country where the brush is very thick and thorny for there he can hunt in safety with little fear of being hunted by man. Because of his smaller size he lives chiefly on small animals birds and reptiles. He sometimes kills and eats big snakes. When he happens to live near man he rubs the henroos just as Jaller does. In all his ways he is like the other members of the cat family. A neighbor of his in that same country is the queerest looking member of the cat family. He is called the Jaguar Undicat or Ira. Sometimes he is dressed in dull gray and sometimes in rusty red. His body is shaped more like that of little Joe Otter than of anyone else and he is short legs and a long tail. He is a little larger than little Joe and his head is rather small and somewhat flattened. Not so round as the heads of most of the other members of the cat family. He likes to be in the vicinity of water and is a good swimmer. Not very much as known by man about his habits but he is a true cat and the habits of all cats are much the same. End of Chapter 30. This recording by Jamie Wilking, Shabance, Illinois, June 14th, 2007. Chapter 31 of the Burgess Animal Book for Children. This is a LibriVox recording. Old LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Burgess Animal Book for Children by Thornton W. Burgess. Chapter 31. Bobby Coon arrives. The raccoon and the civet or ring-tailed cat, also called Coon Cat and Bacerous. Old Mother Nature was just about to open school when a slight noise up the lone little path drew all eyes in that direction. There, shuffling down the lone little path, was a queer-looking fellow. No one needed more than one look at that funny sharp black and white face of his to recognize him. Bobby Coon! shouted Peter Rabbit. Are you coming to join our school, Bobby? Bobby shuffled along a little nearer, then sat up and blinked at them sleepily. No one needed to be told that Bobby had been out all night. He rubbed his eyes and yawned. Hello, everybody! said he. I wish I felt as bright and lively as all of you look. I'd like to join your school, but I'm afraid if I did, I would go to sleep right in the middle of the lesson. I ought to have been home an hour ago, so I guess I'll have to be excused. Old Mother Nature pointed an accusing finger at Bobby Coon. Bobby! said she. You've been getting into mischief. Now, own up! You've been stealing some of that sweet milky corn from Farmer Brown's cornfield. Bobby Coon hung his head. I, I, I didn't think it was stealing. He mumbled. That corn just grows, and I don't see why I shouldn't have my share of it. I help myself to other things, so why shouldn't I help myself to that? I'll tell you why, replied Old Mother Nature. Farmer Brown planted that corn and took care of it. If he hadn't planted it, there wouldn't have been any corn there. That makes it his corn. If it grew wild, you would have a perfect right to it. As it is, you haven't any right to it at all. Now, take my advice, Bobby, and keep away from that cornfield. If you don't, you will get in trouble. One of these fine knights, Bowser the Hound, will find you there, and you will have to run for your life. Keep away from temptation. But that corn is so good, sighed Bobby Coon smacking his lips. There is nothing I like better than sweet milky corn, and if I don't get it from Farmer Brown's cornfield, I can't get it at all, for it doesn't grow wild. He'll never miss the little eye take. Old Mother Nature shook her head and looked very grave. Bobby, said she, that is no excuse at all. Mark what I say. If you keep on, you certainly will get in trouble. If you would be satisfied to take just an ear or two, I don't believe Farmer Brown would care, but you know very well that you spoil many times what you eat. You sample one ear, then think that probably the next ear will be better and sweeter, and you try that. By the time you get through, you have spoiled a lot and eaten only a little. I think I'll punish you a little myself by keeping you here a while. If you think you can't keep awake, just go over and sit down there by prickly porky. He'll keep you awake. I think I can keep awake, stammered Bobby, and opened his eyes very wide as if he were trying to stretch his eyelids so as to make them stay open. I'll help you by asking you a few questions, replied Old Mother Nature. Who is it that people sometimes call you the little cousin of? Bobby grinned. Buster Bear, said he. That's right, replied Old Mother Nature. Of course, being a raccoon you are not a bear, but you are related to the Bear family. I want you all to notice Bobby's footprints over Yonder. You will see that the print of his hind foot shows the whole foot, heels, and toes, and it is a lot like Buster Bear's footprint on a small scale. Bobby shuffles along in much the same way that Buster walks. No one ever mistakes Bobby Coon for anyone else. There is no danger that anyone ever will as long as he carries that big, bushy tail with its broad black and gray rings. There is only one other in all this great country with a tail so marked, and that is a relative of Bobby's of whom I will tell you later. There is no other face like Bobby's with its black cheeks. You will notice that Bobby is rather small around the shoulders, but is big and heavy around the hips. That gives him a clumsy look. But he is anything but clumsy. Despite the fact that his legs are not very long, Bobby is a very good runner. However, he doesn't do any running unless he has to. Bobby, where were you before you went over to Farmer Brown's cornfield? Once more, Bobby hung his head. It was quite clear that Bobby didn't want to answer that question, but Old Mother Nature insisted, and finally Bobby blurted it out. I was up to Farmer Brown's hen house, said he. What for? asked Old Mother Nature. Oh, just to look around, replied Bobby. To look around for what? insisted Old Mother Nature. Well, said Bobby, I thought one of those hens up there might have dropped an egg that she didn't really care about. Bobby! said Old Mother Nature sternly. Why don't you own up that you went over there to try to steal eggs? Or did you think you might catch a tender young chicken? Where were you night before last? Over at the Laughing Brook and the Smiling Pool, replied Bobby promptly, evidently glad that the subject had been changed. Well, you didn't find sweet corn or eggs or chickens over there, did you? said Old Mother Nature. No, but I caught three of the sweetest tasting little fish in a little pool in the Laughing Brook, and I got some of the tenderest clams I've ever eaten, replied Bobby, smacking his lips. I raked them out of the mud and opened them. Down at the Smiling Pool, I had a lot of fun catching young frogs. I certainly do like frogs. It is great sport to catch them, and they are fine eating. I suppose you have had an eye on the beech trees and the wild grapevines, said Old Mother Nature slyly. Bobby's face brightened. Indeed, I have, said he. There will be splendid crops of beech nuts and grapes this fall. My, but they will taste good. Old Mother Nature laughed. There is small danger that you will go hungry, said she. When you can't find enough to eat, times must be very hard indeed. For the benefit of the others, you might add that in addition to the things mentioned, you eat other fruits, including berries, insects of various kinds, birds when you can catch them, mice, turtles, in fact almost anything that can be eaten. You are not at all fussy about the kind of food, but you have one habit in regard to your food, which it would be well if some of these other little folks followed. Do you know what it is? Bobby shook his head. No, said he. Not unless you mean the habit I have of washing my food. If there is any water near, I always like to take what I am going to eat over to it and wash it. Somehow it tastes better. So, replied Old Mother Nature, more than once I've seen you in the moonlight beside the laughing brook washing your food, and it has always pleased me, for there is nothing like cleanliness and neatness. Did you raise a family this year, Bobby? Mrs. Coon did. We had four of the finest youngsters you have ever seen over in a certain big hollow tree. They are getting big and lively now, and go out with their mother every night. I do hope the hunters will leave them alone this fall. I hate to think of anything happening to them. If they can just get through the hunting season safely, I'll enjoy my winter sleep better, and I know Mrs. Coon will. At this Johnny Chuck pricked up his ears. Do you sleep all winter, Bobby? he asked eagerly. Not all winter, but a good part of it, replied Bobby. I don't turn in until the weather gets pretty cold, and it is hard to find anything to eat, but after the first snow, I'm usually ready to sleep. Then I curl up in a warm bed of leaves in a certain big hollow tree, and don't care how cold or stormy the weather is. Sometimes I wake up once or twice when the weather is mild, and take a little walk around for exercise, but I don't go far and soon return to sleep. What do you do when Bowser the Hound gets after you, asked Peter Rabbit? Run till I get out of breath, replied Bobby, and if by that time I haven't been able to fool him so that he loses my trail, I take to a tree. Thank goodness he can't climb a tree. Sometimes I climb from the top of one tree into the top of another, and sometimes into a third and then a fourth when they are near enough together, that fools the hunters if they follow Bowser. Have you any relatives, Bobby? asked Old Mother Nature. I didn't know I had until you mentioned that fellow with the ringed tail you said you would tell us about. I didn't know there was anybody with a tail like mine, and I would like to know about it, replied Bobby. He isn't exactly a raccoon, but he is more nearly related to you than anyone else, replied Old Mother Nature. His tail shows that. Aside from this he is nothing like you at all. He is called the ring-tailed cat, but he doesn't look any more like a cat than he does like you, and he isn't related to the cat family at all. He has several names. He is called the Bacerous, the Sivit Cat, Ring-tailed Cat, Coon Cat, and Cacomixel. Instead of being thick and clumsy looking as is Bobby here, he is long and rather slender with a yellowish-brown coat, somewhat grayish on the back and whitish underneath. His head is rather small, long, and beautifully shaped. His ears are of good size and very pretty. In some ways he looks like Reddy Fox, but the really beautiful thing about him is his tail. It is nearly as long as his body thick and beautifully marked with black and white bands. He is quick and graceful in his movements, and like Bobby prefers to be abroad at night. Also like Bobby he eats about everything that he can find—flesh, reptiles, fruit, nuts, and insects. He lives in the far southwest, and also in some of the mountains of the far west. Why he should be called Sivit Cat is more than I can guess, for he is neither a Sivit nor a cat. He is very clever at catching mice, and sometimes he is kept as a pet, just as Farmer Brown keeps Black Pussy to catch mice about the homes of men. Now, Bobby, you can trot a long home, and I hope all that green corn you have eaten will not give you the stomach ache. Tomorrow we will see what we can find out about Buster Bear. End of CHAPTER XXXI CHAPTER XXXII of the Burgess Animal Book for CHAPTER XXXII of the Burgess Animal Book for Children by Thornton W. Burgess CHAPTER XXXII Buster Bear nearly breaks up school, the Black Bear and his habits. Has Buster Bear a tail? asked Old Mother Nature, and her eyes twinkled. No! declared Whitefoot the Wood Mouse promptly. Yes! contradicted Chatterer the Red Squirrel. What do you say, Prickly Porky? Old Mother Nature asked. I don't think he has any. If he has, I've never seen it, said Prickly Porky. That's because you've got poor eyes, spoke up Jumper the Hare. He certainly has a tail. It isn't much of a one, but it is a tail I know because I've seen it many times. Woof! Woof! said a deep, rumbly, grumbly voice. What's going on here? Who is it, hasn't any tail? At the sound of that deep, rumbly, grumbly voice it looked for a few minutes as if school would be broken up for that day. There was the same mad scrambling to get away that there had been the morning ready Fox unexpectedly appeared. However, there was this difference. When ready appeared most of the little people sought safe hiding places. But now they merely ran to safe distances and there turned to stare with awe and great respect at the owner of that deep, rumbly, grumbly voice. It was great, big, Buster Bear himself. Buster stood up on his hind legs, like a man, and his small eyes, for they are small for his size, twinkled with fun as he looked around that awe-filled circle. Don't let me interrupt, said he. I heard about this school and I thought I would just pay a friendly visit. There's nothing for you to fear. I have just had my breakfast and I couldn't eat another mouthful to save me, not even such a tender morsel as Whitefoot the Wood Mouse. Whitefoot hurriedly ran a little farther away and Buster Bear chuckled. Then he looked over at Old Mother Nature. Won't you tell them that I'm the best-natured and most harmless fellow in all the great world? He asked. Old Mother Nature smiled. That depends on the condition of your stomach, said she. If it is as full as you say it is, and I know you wouldn't tell me an untruth, not even timid Whitefoot has anything to fear from you. Then she told all the little people to put aside their fears and return. Buster, seeing that some of the more timid were still fearful, backed off a short distance and sat down on his haunches. What was that about a tail I overheard as I came up? He asked. It was a little discussion as to whether or not you have a tail. Replied Old Mother Nature, some say you haven't, and some say you have. Whitefoot thinks you haven't. Once more Buster Bear chuckled way down deep in his throat. Whitefoot never in his life looked at me long enough to know whether I've got a tail or not, said he. I never yet have seen him until now, when he wasn't running away as fast as his legs could take him. So with me always behind him, how could he tell whether or not I have a tail? Well, have you? demanded Peter Rabbit bluntly. What do you think? asked Buster. I think you have, said Peter, but if you have, you are sitting down on it and I can't tell. It can't be much of a one, anyhow. Again Buster chuckled. Quite right, Peter, quite right, said he. I've got a tail, but hardly enough for the one to really call it a tail. As Buster sat there everyone had a splendid chance to see just how he looked. His coat was all black. In fact, he was black all over, with the exception of his nose, which was brown. His fur was long and rather shaggy. His ears were round. His paws were big and armed with strong, wicked-looking claws. You all see what a black coat Buster has, said old Mother Nature. Now I'm going to tell you something which may surprise you. Just as there are red foxes that are black, so there are black bears that are brown. What's that? grunted Buster, with the funniest look of surprise on his face. It's a fact, Buster, said old Mother Nature. A great many of your family live out in the mountains of the far west, and there quite often there will be one who is all brown. People used to think that these brown bears were a different kind of bear, and called them cinnamon bears. It was a long, long time before it was found out that those brown bears are really black bears. Sometimes one of the twin babies will be all black, and the other all brown. Sometimes one of Buster's family will have a white spot on his breast. Buster's branch of the family is found in nearly all of the wooded parts of the entire country. In the sunny south they live in the swamps and do not grow as big as in the north. Buster, there is a soft spot on the ground. I want you to walk across it so that these little folks can see your footprints. Good-naturedly Buster dropped on all fours and walked across the soft spot. Right away everyone understood why old Mother Nature had asked Buster to do this. The prints of his hind feet were very like the prints of Farmer Brown's boy when barefoot. Only, of course, very much larger. You see, they showed the print of the heel as well as the rest of the foot. You see, said old Mother Nature, Buster puts his whole foot on the ground while all members of the dog and cat families walk wholly on their toes. Animals that put the whole foot down are called planta-grade. How big do you think Buster was when he was born? Of course I'm only guessing, said chatter of the Red Squirrel. But he is such a big fellow that I think he must have been a bouncing big baby. Old Mother Nature smiled. I don't wonder that you think so, said she. The fact is, however, Buster was a very tiny and very helpless little chap. He was just about the size of one of prickly porkies babies. He was no bigger than a rat. He was born in the middle of the winter and didn't get his eyes open for forty days. It was two months before he poked his head outside the den in which he was born to find out what the great world was like. At that time he wasn't much bigger than Peter Rabbit, and he and his twin sister were as lively a pair of youngsters and as full of mischief as any bears the green forest has ever seen. You might tell us, Buster, what you live on. Buster's eyes snapped. Well, I live on anything I can eat, and I can eat most everything. I suppose a lot of people think I live almost wholly on the little people who are my neighbors, but that is a mistake. I do catch mice when I am lucky enough to find them where I can dig them out, and they certainly are good eating. At this, Whitefoot the Wood Mouse and Danny Meadow Mouse hastily scurried farther away, and Buster's eyes twinkled with mischief. Of course, I don't mind a rabbit, either, if I'm lucky enough to catch one. Said he, and Peter Rabbit quickly backed off a few steps. In fact, I like meat of any kind, continued Buster. But the greater part of my food isn't meat at all. In the spring I dig up roots of different kinds, and eat tender grass shoots and some bark and twigs from young trees, when the insects appear they help out wonderfully. I am very fond of ants. I pull over all the old logs and tear to pieces all the old stumps I can find, and lick up the ants and their eggs that I am almost sure to find there. Almost any kind of insect tastes good to me, if there are enough of them. I love to find and dig open the nests of wasps that make their homes in the ground. And, of course, I suppose you all know that there is nothing in the world I like better than honey. If I can find a bee nest I am utterly happy, for the sake of the honey I am perfectly willing to stand all the stinging the bees can give me. I like fish and I love to hunt frogs. When the berry season begins I just feast. In the fall I get fat on beech nuts and acorns, the fact is. There isn't much I don't like. I've been told that you sleep all winter, said Johnny Chuck. That depends on the winter, replied Buster Bear. I don't go to sleep until I have to. I don't have to, as long as I can find enough to eat. If the winter begins early, with bad weather, I make a comfortable bed of leaves in a cave or under a big pile of fallen trees or even in a hollow log, if I can find one big enough. Then I go to sleep for the rest of the winter. But if the winter is mild and open, and there is a chance of finding anything to eat, I sleep only in the really bad weather. Do you try to get fat before going to sleep the way I do? Asked Johnny Chuck. Buster grinned. Yes, Johnny, I try. It said he, and usually I succeed. You see, I need to be fat in order to keep warm and also to have something to live on in the spring, just the same as you do. I've been told that you can climb, but as I don't live in the green forest, I have never seen you climb. I should think it would be slow work for such a big fellow as you to climb a tree, said Johnny Chuck. Buster looked up at Happy Jack's squirrel and winked. Then he walked over to the tree in which Happy Jack was sitting, stood up and suddenly began to scramble up the tree. There was nothing slow about the way Buster Bear went up that tree. Happy Jack squealed with sudden fright and started for the top of that tree as only Happy Jack can climb. Then he made a flying jump to the next tree. Halfway up Buster stopped. Then he began to come down. He came down, tail first. When he was within ten feet of the ground, he simply let go and dropped. I did that just to show you how I get out of a tree when I'm really in a hurry, explained Buster. I don't climb trees much now unless it is for honey, but when I was a little fellow, I used to love to climb trees. Suddenly Buster sat up very straight and pointed his nose up in the wind. An anxious look crept into his face. He cocked his ears as if listening with all his might. That is just what he was doing. Presently he dropped down to all fours. Excuse me, said he, I think I had better be going. Farmer Brown is coming down the lone little path. Buster turned and disappeared at a speed that was simply astonishing and such a clumsy looking fellow. Old Mother Nature laughed. Buster's eyes are not very good, said she, but there is nothing the matter with his nose or with his ears. If Buster says that Farmer Brown is coming down the lone little path, there is no doubt that he is, although he may be some distance away yet. Buster has been smart enough to learn that he has every reason to fear man, and he promptly takes himself out of the way at the first hint that man is near. It is a funny thing, but most men are as afraid of Buster as Buster is of them, and they haven't the least need of being afraid at all. Where man is concerned, there isn't one of you little people more timid than Buster Bear. The faintest smell of man will make him run. If he should be wounded or cornered, he would fight. When Mrs. Bear would fight to protect her babies, but these are the only conditions unto which a black bear will face a man. You think Buster is big? And he is. But Buster has relatives very much bigger than he. He has one beside whom he would look actually small. I'll tell you a little about these cousins of Buster. Buster Bear had been right about becoming a Farmer Brown. It was only for a few minutes after Buster's disappearance that Farmer Brown's footsteps were heard coming down the lone little path, and of course, that ended school for that morning. But the next morning, all of a sudden, the Buster Bear had become a farmer-brown. It was only for a few minutes that ended school for that morning. But the next morning, all were on hand again at sun-up, for everyone wanted to hear about Buster Bear's big cousins. Way out in the mountains of the far west, where Whistler the Marmot and little chief the Pika live, is a big cousin of Buster Bear. Began, old mother nature. He is Silver Tip, the grizzly bear, and in the past no animal in all this great country was so feared by man as he. But times have changed, and Silver Tip has been so hunted with terrible guns that he has learned to fear man quite as much as Buster does. He is larger than Buster and possessed of tremendous strength. Instead of a black coat, he has a coat which varies from yellowish-brown to almost black. The tips of the hairs usually are lighter, giving him a frosted appearance, and this is what has given him his name. His claws are longer and more curved than those of Buster. In fact, those claws are so big that they look very terrible. Because they are so long, Silver Tip cannot climb trees. But if they prevent him climbing trees, they are the finest kind of tools for digging out marmots and ground squirrels. Even when Whistler the marmot makes his home down in among the rocks, he is not safe. Silver Tip's strength is so great that he can pull over and roll aside great rocks. He is a great traveller and covers a wide range of country in his search for food. Sometimes he visits the cattle ranges and kills cattle. So great is his strength that he can kill a cow with ease. Clumsy-looking as he is, he is a very fast runner, and only a fast horse can outrun him. Like Buster, he lives on anything he can find that is eatable. He has been so hunted by man that he has become very cunning, and in all the great mountains where he lives there is no one with quicker wits. At certain seasons of the year great numbers of fish called salmon come up the rivers in that country and then Silver Tip lives high. He watches beside a pool until a salmon swims within reach. Then, with a swift movement of one paw, he scoops the fish on to the bank, or he finds a place where the water is so shallow that the fish have difficulty in getting across, and there he seizes them as they struggle up the river. In winter he sleeps just as Buster does, usually in a well-hidden cave. Mrs. Silver Tip is a splendid mother. Usually the cubs, of which as a rule there are two, remain with her until they are a year old. Both Buster Bear and Silver Tip have a queer habit of standing up against a tree and biting it as high up as they can reach. The next bear who comes along that way sees the mark and makes his own on the same tree. Silver Tip knows every inch of that part of the country in which he lives, and always picks out the best way of getting from one place to another. He is one of the finest animals in this country, and it is a matter for sadness that his splendid race will soon come to an end unless man makes laws to protect him from the hunters. In very many places where he used to be found, he lives no longer. Silver Tip is not so good-natured as Buster, but all he asks is to be left alone. Of course, when he turns cattle-killer, he is getting into the worst possible kind of mischief, and man cannot be blamed for hunting him. But it is only now and then that one of Silver Tip's family turns cattle-killer, the others do no harm. I told you yesterday that Buster Bear has one cousin beside whom he would look small. This is Bigfoot the Alaska, or Great Brown Bear, who lives in the extreme northwest part of the continent. Even Silver Tip would look small beside him. He is a giant, the largest flesh-eating animal in all the great world. His coat is dark brown. When he stands up on his hind legs, he is almost half again as tall as a tall man. He stands very high at the shoulders, and his head is very large. Like the other members of the Bear family, he eats all sorts of things. He hunts for mice and other small animals, digs up roots, stuffs himself with berries, and at times grazes on a kind of wild grass, just as cattle might do. He is a great fish-eater, for fish are very plentiful in the streams in the country where he lives. Big as he is, he has learned to fear man just as Silver Tip has. Occasionally when surprised he has been known to attack man and kill him, but as a rule he will run at the first hint of man's approach. The last of the Bear cousins is Snow King the Polar Bear. Snow King is king of the frozen north. He lives in the region of snow and ice, and his coat is all white. He also is a big bear and of somewhat different shape from his cousins. He is longer and has a much longer neck and a long head. His ears are rather small and close to his head. Snow King lives the year round where it would seem that no animal could live, and he manages to live well. Though his home is in the coldest part of the great world, he does not mind the cold at all. More than any other member of the Bear family, Snow King is a flesh-eater. This is because only in certain places and then only for a few weeks in midsummer is there any plant life. He is a great fisherman, and fish furnish him a great deal of his food. In that far northern country are great numbers of animals who live in the ocean, but come ashore to rest and bask in the sun and to have their babies there. They are seals, sea lions, and walruses. I will tell you about them later. On these Snow King depends for much of his food. He is himself a wonderful swimmer, and often swims far out in the icy water. Up there there are great fields of floating ice, and Snow King swims from one to another in search of seals, for they often climb out on these ice fields just as they do on shore. Sometimes Mrs. Bear takes her cubs for long swims. When they become tired, one will climb on her back and the other will seize her tail, so she will carry one and tow the other. Snow King's babies are born in a house of snow. Early in the winter Mrs. Bear finds a sheltered place where the snow will drift over her. There she goes to sleep, and the snow drifts and drifts over her until she is buried deep. You might think that she would be cold, but she isn't, for the snow keeps her warm. Her breath melts a little hole up through the snow, so that she always has air. There the babies are born, and there they remain, just as Buster Bears remain in their home, until they are big enough to follow their mother about. Then she breaks her way out in the spring, and leads her cubs forth to teach them how to take care of themselves. Snow King, himself, does not sleep through the winter, but roams about just as in the summer. Snow King is fearless, and has not yet learned to dread man, as have his cousins. He will not hesitate to attack man, and is terrible to meet at close quarters. Because he lives in that far, cold country, he is not hunted as much as other bears are. Besides the seals and fish, he sometimes catches an arctic hare. In the summer great numbers of ducks and other seabirds nest in that far northern country, and their eggs and young add to Snow King's bill of fare. His white coat is so in keeping with the surroundings, that it is of the greatest aid to him in his hunting. It is a very beautiful coat, and makes him the most beautiful of all the bear family. Now, this is all about the bears, and also it is all about the order of flesh-eaters, or carnivora. I think that next we will see what we can find out about a certain little friend of yours who, though he eats flesh, is not a member of the flesh-eating order at all, but belongs to an order of which he is the only member in this country. I will leave you to guess who it is. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Which is the only American marsupial. All the way home from school, Peter Rabbit did his best to think who it could be, who ate flesh, yet wasn't a member of the order of flesh-eaters. Every few hops he would stop to think. But all his stopping and all his thinking were in vain, and when he started for school the next morning he was as puzzled as ever. On his way through the green forest he passed a certain tree. He was just passed and no more when a familiar voice hailed him. Mornin' Brer Rabbit, said the voice, what's your hurry? Peter stopped abruptly and looked up in that tree. There, peering down at him from a hole high up in the trunk, was a sharp whitish gray face with a pair of twinkling black eyes. Hello, Aunt Billy, cried Peter. How are you an old Mrs. Possum? Polly, Peter. Polly. Wins haven't had breakfast yet. So wins are feeling polly, replied Aunt Billy with a grin. A sudden thought popped into Peter's head. Aunt Billy, cried Peter excitedly, are you a carnivora? Aunt poked his head a little farther out and put his hand behind his ear as if he were a little hard of hearing. What's that, Brer Rabbit? Am I a what? he demanded. Are you a carnivora? repeated Peter. I reckons I might be if I knew what it was, but as long as I don't, I reckons I ain't, retorted Aunt Billy. I reckons I'm just plain Possum, and when I wants to be real uppity, I puts on an O. Then I am Mr. O. Possum. But Peter wasn't listening. The fact is, Peter had started lippity, lippity, lip for school, without even being polite enough to say goodbye. He arrived at school quite out of breath. I know, he panted, I know. What do you know, asked old Mother Nature? I know who it is who eats flesh, yet doesn't belong to the order of flesh-eaters. It's Aunt Billy Possum, cried Peter. Right you are, replied old Mother Nature. However, did you find it out? I didn't exactly find it out. I guessed it, replied Peter. On my way here I saw Aunt Billy, and it popped into my head right away that he was one we haven't heard about, and must be the one. But if he eats flesh, I don't see why he isn't a member of the order of flesh-eaters. It is because he belongs to a group which has something which makes them entirely different from all other animals, and for this reason they have been given an order of their own, explained old Mother Nature. They belong to the order of marsupials, which means pouched animals. It is because the mothers have big pockets in which they carry their babies. Old Mrs. Possum has just such a pocket. Of course, exclaimed Peter. I've seen those babies poking their heads out of that pocket. They look too funny for anything. The opossums are the only marsupials in this country, continued old Mother Nature. Now have I made it quite clear why, although they eat flesh, Aunt Billy and Old Mrs. Possum are not members of the same big order as Buster Bear and the other flesh-eaters? Everybody nodded. Just then, Chatterer the Red Squirrel shouted, Here comes Aunt Billy, Old Mrs. Possum, and all the little possums. Sure enough, down the lone little path came the Possum family, and a funny-looking sight they were. Aunt Billy was whitish gray, his face whiter than the rest of him. He looked as if he had just gotten out of bed and forgotten to brush his hair. It pointed every which way. His legs were dark, his feet black, and his toes white. His ears were without any hair at all, and were black for the lower half, the rest being white. He had a long whitish tail without any hair on it. Altogether, with his sharp face and naked tail, he looked a great deal as though he might be a giant rat. But if Aunt Billy was a funny-looking fellow, Old Mrs. Possum was even more funny-looking. She seemed to have heads and tails all over her. You see, she had brought along her family, and Old Mrs. Possum is one of those who believe in large families. There were twelve youngsters, and they were exactly like their parents, only small. They were clinging all over Old Mrs. Possum. Some were on her back, some were clinging to her sides, and a couple were in the big pocket, where they had spent their babyhood. We all done thought we'd come to school, explained Aunt Billy with a grin. I'm glad you did, replied Old Mother Nature. You see, the rest of your friends here are a little curious about the Possum family. Meanwhile, Old Mrs. Possum was climbing a tree, and when she had reached a comfortable crotch, the little Possums left her and began to play about in the tree. It was then that it appeared what handy things those naked little tails were. When the little Possums crawled out where the branches were small, they simply wrapped their tails around the twigs to keep from falling. My, exclaimed Peter, those certainly are handy tails. Handiest tails ever was, declared Aunt Billy. Don't know what I'd ever do without my tail. Suppose you climb a tree, Aunt Billy, and show your friends here how you managed to get the eggs from a nest that you cannot reach by crawling along the branch on which it is placed, said Old Mother Nature. Aunt Billy grinned, and good-naturedly started up a tree. He crept out on a branch that overhung another branch. Way out where the branch was small crept Aunt Billy. Then he wrapped the end of his tail around the branch, and swung himself off, keeping hold of the branch only with his tail and one hind foot. Then, stretching down full length, he could just reach the branch below him. You see, he explained, if there was a nest on this branch down here, I could get those eggs without any trouble. I wish there was a nest. Just speaking of eggs makes my mouth water. Again Aunt Billy grinned, and then pulled himself back to the other branch. Old Mother Nature shook her head reprovingly. Aunt Billy, said she, you are a bad old rascal to steal eggs. What's more, it doesn't matter to you whether you find eggs or young birds in a nest. It is a wonder that between you and Chatterer the Red Squirrel any of the birds succeed in raising families around here. Have you visited Farmer Brown's hen house lately? Aunt Billy shook his head. Not lately, said he. I done got a dreadful scare the last time I was up there, and I reckons I'll stay away from there for a while. What else do you eat, asked Old Mother Nature. Oh, anything, replied Aunt Billy. I reckons I ain't no ways particular. Insects, roots, frogs, toads, small snakes, lizards, berries, fruits, nuts, young rats and mice, corn, any old meek that's been left lying around. I reckon I could find a meal most any time, most anywhere. Do you always have as big a family as you have there? asked Peter Rabbit. Not always, replied Aunt Billy. But sometimes Ms. Possum has to tote round a still big a family. We believe in chilling and lots of them. We reckon on having two or three big families every year. Where is your home? asked Johnny Chuck. I know, said Peter Rabbit. It's up in a big hollow tree. Aunt Billy looked down at Peter. Isn't it all necessary to tell anybody where that hollow tree is, Brer Rabbit? said he. Are Possums found anywhere except around here? inquired Happy Jack. Yes indeed, replied Old Mother Nature. They are found all down through the sunny south and in the warmer parts of the middle west. Aunt Billy and his relatives are not fond of cold weather. They prefer to be where they can be reasonably warm all the year round. Some folks think Aunt Billy isn't smart. But those folks don't know Aunt Billy. He learned a long time ago that he can't run as fast as some others. So he has learned to depend on his wits in time of danger. What do you think he does? I know, cried Peter. I saw him do it once. Farmer Brown's boy surprised Aunt Billy and Aunt Billy just fell right over dead. Poo! That's a story, Peter Rabbit. How could Aunt Billy have fallen over dead and be alive up in that tree this very minute? cried Happy Jack. I didn't mean he was really dead, but that he looked as if he were dead, explained Peter. And he did, too. He was the deadest looking thing I ever saw. I thought he was dead myself. I was watching from a bramble-tangle where I was hiding and I certainly thought the life had been scared right out of Aunt Billy. I guess Farmer Brown's boy thought so, too. He picked Aunt Billy up by the tail and looked him all over and said, You poor little thing. I didn't mean to hurt you. Aunt Billy didn't so much as wink an eye. Farmer Brown's boy went off up the path carrying Aunt Billy by the tail. By and by he laid Aunt Billy down on an old stump while he went to look at a nest of Blacky the Crow. When he came back Aunt Billy wasn't there. I never did see Aunt Billy hurry as he did the minute Farmer Brown's boy's back was turned. He came to life as suddenly as he had dropped dead. Very good, Peter, said Old Mother Nature. Some other smart little people try that trick sometimes, but none of them can do it as well as Aunt Billy Possum. Pretending to be dead in order to remain alive is the cleverest thing Aunt Billy does. Now, how about Lightfoot the Deer for the next lesson? Splendid! cried altogether and prepared to start for their homes. End of Chapter 34 Aunt Billy and Old Mrs. Possum, The Virginia Opossum, which is the only American marsupial. Chapter 35 Of The Burgess Animal Book for Children This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recorded by Laurie Ann Walden. The Burgess Animal Book for Children by Thornton W. Burgess. Chapter 35 Lightfoot, Black Tail, and Forkhorn. The White-tailed or Virginia Deer, Black-tailed Deer, and Mule Deer. Of all the people who live in the green forest, none is more admired than Lightfoot the Deer. So perhaps you can guess how delighted everyone was when, just as the morning lesson was to begin, Lightfoot himself stepped daintily out from a thicket and bowed to Old Mother Nature. I heard, said he, that my little friends here are to learn something about my family this morning and thought you would not mind if I joined them. I should say not, exclaimed Peter Rabbit, forgetting that Lightfoot had spoken to Old Mother Nature. All laughed, even Old Mother Nature. You see, Peter was so very much in earnest and at the same time so excited that it really was funny. Peter has spoken for all of us, said Old Mother Nature. You are more than welcome, Lightfoot. I had intended to send for you, but it slipped my mind. I am delighted to have you here, and I know that the others are. I suspect you will be most comfortable if you lie down, but before you do this I want everybody to have a good look at you. Just stand for a few minutes in that little open space where all can see you. Lightfoot walked over to the open space where the sun fell full on him and there he stood, a picture of grace and beauty, with just enough honest pride in his appearance to give him an air of noble dignity. There was more than one little gasp of admiration among his little neighbors. There, began Old Mother Nature, is one of the most beautiful of all my children, and the knowledge that he is beautiful does not spoil him. Lightfoot belongs to the dear family, as you all know, and this in turn is in the order called ungulata, which means hoofed. Peter Rabbit abruptly sat up and his ears stood up like exclamation points. Farmer Brown's calves have those funny feet called hoofs. Are they related to Lightfoot? He asked eagerly. They belong to another family, but it is in the same order, so they are distant cousins of Lightfoot, replied Old Mother Nature. And Farmer Brown's pigs, what about them? asked Chatterer, the red squirrel. They also belong to that order, and so are related, explained Old Mother Nature. Huh! exclaimed Chatterer. If I were in Lightfoot's place, I never, never would acknowledge any such homely, stupid creatures as those as relatives of mine. Don't forget that prickly porky the porcupine and robber the rat are members of the same order to which you belong, retorted Old Mother Nature softly, and Chatterer hung his head. Lightfoot, she continued, is the white-tailed or Virginia deer, and is in some ways the most beautiful of the dear family. You have only to look at him to know that those slim legs of his are meant for speed. He can go very fast, but not for long distances without stopping. Like Peter Rabbit, he is a jumper rather than a true runner, and travels with low bounds with occasional high ones when alarmed. He can make very long and high jumps, and this is one reason he prefers to live in the green forest where there are fallen trees and tangles of old logs. If frightened he can leap over them, whereas his enemies must crawl under or climb over or go around them. Ordinary fences such as Farmer Brown has built around his fields do not bother Lightfoot in the least. He can leap over them as easily as Peter Rabbit can jump over that little log he is sitting beside. Just now, because it is summer, Lightfoot's coat is decidedly reddish in color and very handsome, but in winter it is wholly different. I know, spoke up Chatterer the red squirrel, it is gray then. I've often seen Lightfoot in winter and there isn't a red hair on him at that season. Quite right, agreed Old Mother Nature. His red coat is for summer only. Notice that Lightfoot has a black nose. That is, the tip of it is black. Beneath his chin is a black spot. A band across his nose, the inside of each ear, and a circle around each eye is whitish. His throat is white, and he is white beneath. Now, Peter, you are so interested in tails. Tell me without looking what color Lightfoot's tail is. White, snowy white, replied Peter promptly. I suppose that is why he is called the white tail deer. Huh! grunted Johnny Chuck, who happened to be sitting a little back of Lightfoot. I don't call it white. It has a white edge, but mostly it is the color of his coat. Now, while Lightfoot had been standing there his tail had hung down, and it was as Johnny Chuck had said. But at Johnny's remark up flew Lightfoot's tail, showing only the underside. It was like a pointed white flag. With it held aloft that way, no one behind Lightfoot would suspect that his whole tail was not white. Notice how long and fluffy the hair on that tail is, said Old Mother Nature. Mrs. Lightfoot's is just like it, and this makes it very easy for her babies to follow her in the dark. When Lightfoot is feeding, or simply walking about, he carries it down. But when he is frightened and bounds away, up goes that white flag. Now look at his horns. They are not true horns. The latter are hollow, while these are not. Farmer Brown's cows have horns. Lightfoot has antlers. Just remember that. The so-called horns of all the deer family are antlers and are not hollow. Notice how Lightfoot's curve forward with the branches or tines on the backside. Of course everybody looked at Lightfoot's crown as he held his head proudly. What is the matter with them? asked Whitefoot the wood mouse. They looked to me as if they are covered with fur. I always supposed them to be hard, like bone. So they will be a month from now, explained Old Mother Nature, smiling down at Whitefoot. That which you call fur will come off. He will rub it off against the trees until his antlers are polished, and there is not a trace of it left. You see, Lightfoot has just grown that set this summer. Do you mean those antlers? asked Danny Meadow Mouse, looking very much puzzled. Didn't he have any before? How could things like those grow anyway? Don't you know that he loses his horns? I mean antlers every year? Demanded Jumper the hare. I thought everyone knew that. His old ones fell off late last winter. I know, for I saw him just afterward, and he looked sort of ashamed. Anyway, he didn't carry his head as proudly as he does now. He looked a lot like Mrs. Lightfoot. You know she hasn't any antlers. But how could hard, bony things like those grow? persisted Danny Meadow Mouse. I think I will have to explain, said Old Mother Nature. They were not hard and bony when they were growing. Just as soon as Lightfoot's old antlers dropped off, the new ones started. They sprouted out of his head just as plants sprout out of the ground, and they were soft and very tender and filled with blood, just as all parts of your body are. At first they were just two round knobs. Then these pushed out and grew and grew. Little knobs sprang out from them and grew to make the branches you see now. All the time they were protected by a furry skin which looks a great deal like what men call velvet. When Lightfoot's antlers are covered with this, they are said to be in the velvet state. When they had reached their full size they began to shrink and harden, so that now they are quite hard, and very soon that velvet will begin to come off. When they were growing they were so tender that Lightfoot didn't move about any more than was necessary and kept quite by himself. He was afraid of injuring those antlers. By the time cool weather comes, Lightfoot will be quite ready to use those sharp points on anybody who gets in his way. As Jumper has said, Mrs. Lightfoot has no antlers. Otherwise she looks much like Lightfoot, save that she is not quite as big. Have any of you ever seen her babies? I have, declared Jumper, who, as you know, lives in the green forest just as Lightfoot does. They are the dearest little things and look like their mother, only they have the loveliest spotted coats. That is to help them remain unseen by their enemies, explained Old Mother Nature. When they lie down where the sun breaks through the trees and spots the ground with light, they seem so much like their surroundings that unless they move they are not often seen, even by the sharpest eyes that may pass close by. They lie with their little necks and heads stretched flat on the ground and do not move so much as a hair. You see, they usually are very obedient and the first thing their mother teaches them is to keep perfectly still when she leaves them. When they are a few months old and able to care for themselves a little, the spots disappear. As a rule Mrs. Lightfoot has two babies each spring. Once in a while she has three, but two is the rule. She is a good mother and always on the watch for possible danger. While they are very small she keeps them hidden in the deepest thickets. By the way, do you know that Lightfoot and Mrs. Lightfoot are fine swimmers? Happy Jack Squirrel looked the surprise he felt. I don't see how under the sun anyone with little hoofed feet like Lightfoot can swim, said he. Nevertheless, Lightfoot is a good swimmer and fond of the water, replied Old Mother Nature. That is one way he has of escaping his enemies. When he is hard-pressed by wolves or dogs he makes for the nearest water and plunges in. He does not hesitate to swim across a river or even a small lake. Lightfoot prefers the green forest where there are close thickets with here and there open places. He likes the edge of the green forest where he can come out in the open fields, yet be within a short distance of the protecting trees and bushes. He requires much water and so is usually found not far from a brook, pond, or river. He has a favorite drinking place and goes to drink early in the morning and just at dusk. During the day he usually sleeps hidden away in a thicket or under a windfall, coming out late in the afternoon. He feeds mostly in the early evening. He eats grass and other plants, beach nuts and acorns, leaves and twigs of certain trees, lily-pads in summer and, I am sorry to say, delights to get into Farmer Brown's garden where almost every green thing tempts him. Like so many others he has a hard time in winter, particularly when the snows are deep. Then he and Mrs. Lightfoot and their children live in what is called a yard. Of course it isn't really a yard such as Farmer Brown has. It is simply a place where they keep the snow trodden down in paths which cross and cross and is made where there is shelter and food. The food is chiefly twigs and leaves of evergreen trees. As the snow gets deeper and deeper they become prisoners in the yard until spring comes to melt the snow and set them free. Lightfoot depends for safety more on his nose and ears than on his eyes. His sense of smell is wonderful and when he is moving about he usually goes upwind, that is in the direction from which the wind is blowing. This is so that it will bring to him the scent of any enemy that may be ahead of him. He is very clever and cunning. Often before lying down to rest he goes back a short distance to a point where he can watch his trail so that if anyone is following it he will have warning. His greatest enemy is the hunter with his terrible gun. How anyone can look into those great soft eyes of Lightfoot and then even think of trying to kill him is more than I can understand. Dogs are his next worst enemies when he lives near the homes of men. When he lives where wolves, panthers, and bears are found he has to be always on the watch for them. Tufty the Lynx is ever on the watch for Lightfoot's babies. The white-tailed deer is the most widely distributed of all the deer family. He is found from the sunny south to the great forests of the north, everywhere but in the vast open plains of the middle of this great country, that is he used to be. In many places he has been so hunted by man that he has disappeared. When he lives in the sunny south he never grows to be as big as when he lives in the north. In the great mountains of the far west lives a cousin, Blacktail, also called Columbian Blacktailed Deer, and another cousin, Forkhorn the Mule Deer. Blacktail is nearly the size of Lightfoot. He is not quite so graceful, his ears are larger, being much like those of Forkhorn the Mule Deer to whom he is closely related, and his tail is wholly black on the upper surface. It is from this he gets his name. His antlers vary, sometimes being much like those of Lightfoot and again like those of Forkhorn. He is a lover of dense forests and is not widely distributed. He is not nearly so smart as Lightfoot in outwitting hunters. Forkhorn the Mule Deer, sometimes called Jumping Deer, is larger than Lightfoot and much more heavily built. His big ears, much like those of a Mule, have won for him the name of Mule Deer. His face is a dull white with a black patch on the forehead and a black band under the chin. His tail is rather short and it is not broad at the base like Lightfoot's. It is white with a black tip. Because of this he is often called Blacktailed Deer, but this is wrong because that name belongs to his cousin, the true Blacktail. Forkhorn's antlers are his glory. They are even finer than Lightfoot's. The prongs or tines are in pairs like the letter Y instead of in a row as are those of Lightfoot, and usually there are two pairs on each antler. Forkhorn prefers rough country and there he is very much at home. His powers of jumping, enabling him to travel with ease where his enemies find it difficult to follow. Like Blacktail he is not nearly so clever as Lightfoot the Whitetail, and so is more easily killed by hunters. All these members of the Deer family belong to the Roundhorn branch and are very much smaller than the members of the Flathorn branch. But there is one who in size makes all the others look small indeed. It is Bugler the Elk or Whopiti of whom I shall tell you to-morrow. End of Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Of the Burgess Animal Book for Children This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recorded by Laurie Ann Walden The Burgess Animal Book for Children by Thornton W. Burgess Chapter 36 Bugler Flathorns and Wanderhoof The Elk or Whopiti Moose or Caribou Lightfoot the Deer was the first one on hand the next morning. In fact he arrived before sun-up and lying down in a little thicket close at hand made himself very comfortable to wait for the opening of school. You see, not for anything would he have missed that lesson about his big cousins. There the others found him when they arrived. The Deer family, began Old Mother Nature, is divided into two branches, the Roundhorn and the Flathorned. I have told you about the Roundhorn Deer with the exception of the largest and noblest, Bugler the Elk. He is commonly called Elk, but his right name is Whopiti. Bugler is found only in the great mountains of the far west, but once before hunters with terrible guns came, Elk were found in nearly all parts of this country, excepting the far south and the far north, even on the great plains. Now Bugler lives only in the forests of the great mountains. How big is he? asked Lightfoot. So big that beside him you would look very small, replied Old Mother Nature. Have you ever seen Farmer Brown's horse? Lightfoot nodded. Well, Bugler stands as high as that horse, replied Old Mother Nature. He isn't as heavy, for his body is of different shape, not so big a round. But at that he weighs three times as much as you do. In summer his coat is a light yellowish brown, becoming very dark on his neck and underneath. His legs are dark brown. The hair on his neck is long and coarse. His tail is very small and around it is a large patch so light in color as to be almost whiteish. In winter his coat becomes dark gray. Bugler's crown and glory are his antlers. They are very large and wide-spreading, sweeping backward and upward, the long prongs or tines, curving upward from the front instead of from the back, as in the case of Lightfoot's antlers. Above each eye is a long, sharp prong. So big are these antlers that Bugler looks almost as if he were carrying a small, bare tree on his head. Big as these antlers are they are grown in a few months, for Bugler is like his small cousins in that he loses his antlers at the end of every winter and must grow a new pair. While they are growing he hides in the wildest places he can find, high up on the mountains. Mrs. Bugler is at that time down in a valley with her baby or babies. Usually she has one, but sometimes twins. She has no antlers. In the fall when his antlers have hardened Bugler moves down to join his family. The bigger and stronger he is the bigger his family is, for he has a number of wives and they all live together in a herd or band of which Bugler is lord and master. He is ready and eager to fight for them and terrible battles take place when another disputes his leadership. At this season he has a habit of stretching his neck out and emitting a far-reaching trumpet-like sound from which he gets the name of Bugler. It is a warning that he is ready to fight. When the snows of winter come many families get together and form great bands. Then they move down from the mountains in search of shelter and food. When a winter is very bad many starve to death, for man has fenced in and made into farms much of the land where the elk wants found ample food for winter. But big as is Bugler the elk there is a cousin who is bigger, the biggest of all the deer family. It is Flathorn's the moose. As you must guess by his name he is a member of the Flathorn branch of the family. His antlers spread widely and are flattened instead of being round. From the edges of the flattened part many sharp points spring out. Flathorn's wearing his crown of great spreading antlers is a noble appearing animal because of his great size. But when his antlers have dropped he is a homely fellow. Mrs. Flathorn's who has no antlers is very homely. As I have said Flathorn's is the biggest member of the deer family. He is quite as big as Farmer Brown's horse and stands much higher at the shoulders. Indeed his shoulders are so high that he has a decided hump there, for they are well above the line of his back. His neck is very short, large and thick, and his head is not at all like the heads of other members of the deer family. Instead of the narrow pointed face of other members of the deer family, he has a broad long face, rather more like that of a horse. Towards the nose it humps up and the great thick upper lip overhangs the lower one. His nose is very broad, and for his size his eyes are small. His ears are large. From his throat hangs a hairy fold of skin called a bell. He has a very short tail, so short that it is hardly noticeable. His legs are very long and rather large. His hoofs are large and rounded, more like those of Bossy the Cow than like those of Lightfoot the Deer. Seen at a little distance in the woods, he looks to be almost black, but really is for the most part dark brown. His legs are gray on the inside. Flat horns lives in the great northern forests clear across the country and is especially fond of swampy places. He is fond of the water and is a good swimmer. In summer he delights to feed on the pads, stems, and roots of water lilies. And his long legs enable him to wade out to get them. For the most part his food consists of leaves and tender twigs of young trees, such as striped maple, aspen, birch, hemlock, alder, and willow. His great height enables him to reach the upper branches of young trees. When they are too tall for this he straddles them and bends or breaks them down to get at the upper branches. His front teeth are big, broad, and sharp edge. With these he strips the bark from the larger branches. He also eats grass and moss. Because of his long legs and short neck he finds it easiest to kneel when feeding on the ground. Big as he is he can steal through thick growth without making a sound. He does not jump like other deer, but travels at an awkward trot which takes him over the ground very fast. In the winter when snow is deep the moose family lives in a yard such as I told you Lightfoot makes. The greatest enemy of flat horns is the hunter, and from being much hunted flat horns has learned to make the most of his ears, eyes, and nose. He is very smart and not easily surprised. When wounded he will sometimes attack man, and occasionally when not wounded. Then he strikes with his sharp edged front hoofs and they are terrible weapons. Altogether he is a wonderful animal, and it is a matter for sorrow that man persists in hunting him merely to get his wonderful head. In parts of these same northern forests lives another big member of the deer family, Wanderhoof the woodland caribou. He is bigger than Lightfoot the deer, but smaller than Buchler the elk, rather an awkward looking fellow. His legs are quite long, but stout. His neck is rather short, and instead of carrying his head proudly as does Lightfoot, he carries it stretched out before him or hanging low. The hair on the lower part of his neck is long. Wanderhoof wears a coat of brown, his neck being much lighter or almost gray. He has an undercoat which is very thick in woolly. In winter his whole coat becomes grayish and his neck white. Above each hoof is a band of white. His tail is very short and white on the underside. His antlers are wonderful being very long in both round and flat. That is, parts of them are round and parts flattened. They have more prongs than those of any other deer. His hoofs are very large, deeply slit, and cup-shaped. When he walks they make a snapping or clicking sound. These big feet were given him for a purpose. He is very fond of boggy ground, and because of these big feet and the fact that the hoofs spread when he steps he can walk safely where others would sink in. This is equally true in snow when they serve as snowshoes. As a result he is not forced to live in yards as our Lightfoot and Flathorns when the snow is deep, but goes where he pleases. He is very fond of the water and delights to splash about in it, and is a splendid swimmer. His hair floats him so that when swimming he is higher out of the water than any other member of the family. In winter he lives in the thickest parts of the forest among the hemlocks and spruces and feeds on the mosses and lichens which grow on the trees. In summer he moves to the open boggy ground around shallow lakes where moss covers the ground and on this he lives. He is a great wanderer, hence his name Wanderhoof. Mrs. Carabou has antlers wherein she differs from Mrs. Lightfoot, Mrs. Flathorns, and Mrs. Bugler. Wanderhoof is fond of company and usually is found with many companions of his own kind. When they are moving from their summer home to their winter home or back again, they often travel in very large bands. In the far north beyond the great forests, Wanderhoof has a cousin who looks very much like him called the barren ground Carabou. This name comes from the fact that way up there little accepting moss grows, and on this the Carabou lives. In summer this Carabou is found almost up to the Arctic Ocean, moving southward in great herds as the cold weather approaches. No other animals of today get together in such great numbers. In the extreme north is another Carabou called Peary's Carabou whose coat is holy white. The Carabou are close cousins of the reindeer and look much like them. All male members of the smaller deer are called bucks. The female members are called does, and the young are called fawns. All male members of the big deer, such as Bugler the elk, Flathorns the moose, and Wanderhoof the Carabou are called bulls. The females are called cows, and the young are called calves. All members of the deer family, with the exception of the barren ground Carabou, are forest-loving animals and are seldom seen far from the sheltering woods. This I think will do for the deer family. Tomorrow I shall tell you about Thunderfoot the bison, Fleetfoot the antelope, and Longcoat the musk ox. End of Chapter 36 Chapter 37 of the Burgess Animal Book for Children This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recorded by Laurie Ann Walden The Burgess Animal Book for Children by Thornton W. Burgess Chapter 37 Thunderfoot, Fleetfoot, and Longcoat the Buffalo or Bison, Antelope, and Musk ox Who remembers the name of the order to which all members of the deer family belong, asked Old Mother Nature. I remember what it means, but not the name, spoke up Happy Jack Squirrel. It means hoofed. It is Un, Un, Un-ga, began Peter Rabbit, and then stopped. For the life of him he couldn't think of the rest. Un Galata, Old Mother Nature, finished for him, and Happy Jack has the meaning right. It is the order to which all hoofed animals belong. There are several families in the order, one of which you have already learned about, the deer family. Now comes the family of cattle and sheep. It is called the Bova Day family, and the biggest and most important member is Thunderfoot the Bison, commonly called Buffalo. Thunderfoot is more closely related to Bossy, Farmer Brown's cow, than are the members of the deer family, for he has true horns, not antlers. These are hollow and are not dropped each year, but are carried through life. Mrs. Thunderfoot has them also. The horns grow out from the sides of the forehead, and then curve upward and inward, and are smooth and sharp. They are never branched. Thunderfoot is a great heavy fellow the size of Farmer Brown's ox, and has a great hump on his shoulders. He carries his head low, and from his throat hangs a great beard. His head is large, and is so covered with thick curly hair that it appears much larger than it really is. His tail is rather short, and ends in a tassel of hair. The hair on his body and hind quarters is short and light brown, but on his shoulders and neck and his forelegs to the knees it is long and shaggy, dark brown above and almost black below. He must be a queer-looking fellow, spoke up Chatterer the Red Squirrel. He is, replied Old Mother Nature. The front half of him looks so much bigger than the rear half that it almost seems as if they didn't belong together. What does he eat? asked Jumper the Hare. Grass, replied Old Mother Nature promptly. He grazes just as does Bossy. When the weather becomes hot his thick coat, although much of it has been shed, becomes most uncomfortable. Also he is tormented by flies. Then he delights enrolling in mud until he is plastered with it from head to feet. Many years ago there were more bison than any other large animal in this country, and they were found in nearly all parts of it. Some lived in the woods and were called wood buffaloes, but the greatest number lived on the great plains and prairies where the grass was plentiful. I have told you about the great herd of barren ground caribou, but this is nothing to the great herds of bison that used to move north or south according to the season across the great prairies. In the fall they moved south, in the spring they moved north following the new grass as it appeared. When they galloped the noise of their feet was like thunder. But the hunters with terrible guns came and killed them for their skins, killed them by hundreds of thousands, and in just a few years those great herds became only a memory. Thunderfoot, once lord of the prairies, was driven out of all his great kingdom, and the bison, from being the most numerous of all large animals, is today reduced to just a few hundreds, and most of these are kept in parks by man. Barely in time did man make laws to protect Thunderfoot. Without this protection he would not exist today. A close neighbor of Thunderfoot's in the days when he was lord of the prairies was Fleetfoot the Antelope. Fleetfoot is about the size of a small deer, and in his graceful appearance reminds one of Lightfoot, for he has the same trim body and long, slim legs. He is built for speed and looks it. From just a glance at him you would know him for a runner, just as surely as a look at Jumper the Hare would tell you that he must travel in great bounds. The truth is Fleetfoot is the fastest runner among all my children in this country. Not one can keep up with him in a race. Fleetfoot's coat is a light yellowish-brown on the back and white underneath. His forehead is brown and the sides of his face white. His throat and underside of his neck are white, crossed by two bands of brown. His hoofs, horn, and eyes are black, and there is a black spot under each ear. Near the end of his nose he is also black, and down the back of his neck is a black line of stiff longer hairs. A large white patch surrounds his short tail. Who remembers what I told you about Antelope Jack, the big Jack Hare of the Southwest? I do, cried Peter Rabbit, and Jumper the Hare together. What was it, Jumper? asked Old Mother Nature. You said that he has a way of making the white of his sides seem to grow so that he seems almost all white, and can signal his friends in this way, replied Jumper. Quite right, replied Old Mother Nature. I am glad to find that you remember so well. Fleetfoot does the same thing with this white patch around his tail. The hairs are quite long, and he can make them spread out so that the white patch becomes much larger, and when he is running it can be seen flashing in the sun long after he is so far away that nothing else of him can be seen. His eyes are wonderfully keen, so by means of these white patches he and his friends can signal each other when they are far apart. Fleetfoot has true horns, but they are unlike any other horns in that they are shed every year, just like the antlers of the deer family. They grow straight up just over the eyes, are rather short, and fork. One branch is much shorter than the other, and the longer one is turned over at the end like a hook. From these horns he gets the name of Pronghorn. When running from danger he carries his head low and makes long leaps. When not frightened he trots and holds his head high and proudly. He prefers flat open country, and there is no more beautiful sight on all the great plains of the west than a band of Fleetfoot and his friends. He is social and likes the company of his own kind. The time was when these beautiful creatures were almost as numerous as the bison, but like the latter they have been killed until now there is real danger that unless man protects them better than he is doing there will come a day when the last antelope will be killed, and one of the most beautiful and interesting of all my children will be but a memory. There was a note of great sadness in Old Mother Nature's voice. For a few minutes no one spoke. All were thinking of the terrible thing that had happened at the hands of man to the great hosts of two of the finest animals in all this great land, the bison and antelope, and there was bitterness in the heart of each one, for there was not one there who did not himself have cause to fear man. Old Mother Nature was the first to break the silence. Now, said she, I will tell you of the oddest member of the cattle and sheep family. It is long coat, the musk ox, and he appears to belong wholly neither to the cattle nor the sheep branch of the family, but to both. He connects the two branches in appearance, reminding one somewhat of a small bison, and at the same time having things about him very like a sheep. Long coat the musk ox lives in the farthest north, the land of snow and ice. He has been found very near the Arctic Ocean, and how he finds enough to eat in the long winter is a mystery to those who know that snow-covered land. He is a heavily built, round-bodied animal with short stout legs, shoulders so high that they form a hump, a low-hung head and sheep-like face, heavy horns which are flat and broad at the base, and meat at the center of the forehead, sweeping down on each side of the head, and then turning up in sharp points. His tail is so short that it is hidden in the long hair which covers him. This hair is so long that it hangs down on each side so that often it touches the snow and hides his legs nearly down to his feet. In color it is very dark brown, almost black, and on his sides is straight. But on his shoulders it is curly. In the middle of the bag is a patch of shorter, dull gray hair. Underneath this coat of long hair is another coat of woolly, fine, light brown hair, so close that neither cold nor rain can get through it. It is this warm coat that makes it possible for him to live in that terribly cold region. He is about twice as heavy as a big deer. At times he gives off a musky odor, and it is from this that he gets his name of musk ox. Long coat is seldom found alone, but usually with a band of his friends. This is partly for protection from his worst enemies, the wolves. When the latter appear, long coat and his friends form a circle with their heads out, and it is only a desperately hungry wolf that will try to break through that line of sharp-pointed horns. In rough rocky country he is as sure-footed as a sheep. In the short summer of that region he finds plenty to eat, but in winter he has to paw away the snow to get at the moss and other plants buried beneath it. Practically all other animals living so far north have white coats, but long coat retains his dark coat the year through. My how-time flies, this is all for today. Tomorrow I will tell you of two wonderful mountain climbers who go with ease where even man cannot follow. End of chapter 37. Chapter 38 of the Burgess Animal Book for Children This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Burgess Animal Book for Children by Thornton W. Burgess. Chapter 38 Two Wonderful Mountain Climbers The Rocky Mountain Sheep, or Bighorn, and the Rocky Mountain Goat Peter, you have been up in the old pasture many times, so you must have seen the sheep there, said Old Mother Nature, turning to Peter Rabbit. Certainly, of course, replied Peter. They seem to me rather stupid creatures, any way they look stupid. Then you know the leader of the flock, the big ram with curling horns, continued Old Mother Nature. Peter nodded, and Old Mother Nature went on. Just imagine him with a smooth coat of grayish brown instead of a white woolly one, and immense curling horns many times larger than those he now has. Give him a large whiteish or very light yellowish patch around a very short tail. Then you will have a very good idea of one of those mountain climbers I promise to tell you about, one of the greatest mountain climbers in all of the great world, Bighorn, the Mountain Sheep, also called Rocky Mountain Bighorn, and Rocky Mountain Sheep. Bighorn is a true sheep, and lives high among the rocks of the highest mountains of the far west, like all members of the order to which he belongs. His feet are hoofed, but they are hoofs which never slip, and he delights to bound along the edges of great cliffs, and in making his way up or down them, where it looks as if it would be impossible for even chattower the red squirrel to find footing, to say nothing of such a big fellow as Bighorn. The mountains where he makes his home are so high that the tops of many of them are in the clouds, and covered with snow even in summer. Above the line where trees can no longer grow, Bighorn spends his summers, coming down to the lower hills, only when the snow becomes so deep that he cannot paw down through it to get food. His eyesight is wonderful, and from his hide lookout he watches for enemies below, and small chance have they of approaching him from that direction. When alarmed he bounds away gracefully as if there were great springs in his legs, and his great curled horns are carried as easily if they were nothing at all. Down rock slopes, so steep that a single misstep would mean a fall hundreds of feet, he bounds as swiftly and easily as light foot the deer bounds, through the woods leaping from one little jutting point of rock to another, and landing securely as if you were on level ground. He climbs with equal ease where man would have to crawl, and cling with fingers and toes, or give up altogether. Mrs. Bighorn does not have the great curling horns. Instead she is armed with short, sharp-pointed horns like spikes. Her young are born in the highest most inaccessible place she can find, and there they have little to fear save one enemy, King Eagle. Only such an enemy, one with wings, can reach them there. Bighorn and Mrs. Bighorn, because of their size, nothing to dread from these great birds. But helpless little lambs are continually in danger of furnishing King Eagle with the dinner he prizes. Only when driven to the lower slopes and hills by storms and snow does Bighorn have cause to fear four-footed enemies. Then Puma the Panther must be watched for, and lower down Howler the Wolf. But Bighorn's greatest enemy, and one he fears most, is the same one so many others have said cause to fear, the hunter with his terrible gun. The terrible gun can kill where man himself cannot climb, and Bighorn has been persistently hunted for his head and wonderful horns. Some people believe that Bighorn leaps from cliffs and alights on those great horns, but this is not true. Whenever he leaps he alights on those short feet of his, not on his head. Way up in the extreme northwest corner of this country, in a place called Alaska, is a close cousin whose coat is all white, and whose horns are yellow and more slender and wider spreading. He is called a dull mountain sheep. Farther south, but not as far south as the home of Bighorn, is another cousin whose coat is so dark that he is sometimes called the Black Mountain Sheep. His proper name is Stone's Mountain Sheep. In the mountains between these two is another cousin with a white head and dark body called Fanon's Sheep. All these cousins are closely related, and in their habits are much alike. Of them all, Bighorn, the Rocky Mountain Sheep, is the best known. I should think, said Peter Rabbit, that way up there on those high mountains Bighorn would be very lonesome. Old Mother Nature laughed. Bighorn doesn't care for neighbors as you do, Peter, said she. But even up in those high Rocky retreats, among the clouds, he has a neighbor, as sure footed as himself, one who stays winter as well as summer on the mountaintops. It is Billy, the Rocky Mountain Goat. Billy is as awkward looking as he moves about as Bighorn is graceful, but he will go where even Bighorn will hesitate to follow. His hooves are small and especially planned for walking in safety on smooth rock and ice-covered ledges. In weight he is about equal to light foot the deer, but he doesn't look in the least like him. In the first place, he has a hump on his shoulders, much like the humps of thunderfoot the bison, and long coat the musk ox. Of course, this means that he carries his head low. His face is very long, and from beneath his chin hangs a white beard. From his forehead, two rather short, slim black horns stand up with a little curve backward. His coat is white, and the hair is long and straight. Under this long white coat he wears a thick coat of short woolly yellowish white fur, which keeps him warm in the coldest weather. He seldom leaves his beloved mountaintops, even in the worst weather of winter, as Bighorn sometimes does, but finds shelter among the rocks. The result is that he is practically no enemy saved man to fear. Often he spends the summer where the snow remains all the year through, and his white coat is a protection from the keenest eyes. You see, when not moving, he looks in the distance for all the world like a patch of snow on the rocks. Not having a handsome head or wonderful horns, he has not been hunted by man quite so much as Bighorn, and therefore is not so alert and wary. Both he and Bighorn are more especially approached from above than from below, because they do not expect danger from above, and so do not keep so sharp a watch in that direction. The young are sometimes taken by King Eagle, but otherwise Billy Goat's family has little to fear from enemies, always expecting the hunter with his terrible gun. I have now told you of the members of the cattle and sheep family, what they look like, and where they live and how. There is still one more member of the order Angulata, and this one is in a way related to another member of Farmer Brown's barnyard. I will leave you to guess which one. What is it, Peter? If you please, in just what part of the far west are the mountains where Billy Goat lives, replied Peter? Chiefly in the northern part replied Old Mother Nature. In the northwest, these mountains are very close to the ocean, and Billy does not appear to mind in the least the fogs that roll in, and seems to enjoy the salt air. Sometimes there he comes down almost to the shore. Are there any more questions? There were none, so school was dismissed for the day. Peter didn't go straight home. Instead he went up to the old pasture for another look at the old ram there, and tried to picture to himself just what Bighorn must look like, especially he looked at the hooves of the old ram. It is queer, muttered Peter, how feet like those can be so safe upon those slippery rocks Old Mother Nature told us about. Anyway, it seems queer to me, but it must be so if she says it is. My, my, my, what a lot of strange people there are in this world, and what a lot there is to learn. End of chapter 38