By William J (William Joseph) 1867- Long

Mooweesuk the Coon is named the bear's little brother by way of either Indians and naturalists, as a result of the some ways within which he resembles the "big prowler within the black coat." An soaking up bankruptcy at the coon's mystery conduct starts off this quantity, by way of tales in regards to the woodcock, the wildcat, the toad, and plenty of different animals. chapters extraordinary for his or her willing perception into the hidden lifetime of animals shut this volume,─one on Animal surgical procedure, describing a number of the ways that wild animals deal with their wounds; the opposite on looking with no Gun, displaying the enjoyment of following even the big and unsafe animals with the need simply to be close to and comprehend them.

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This is not from fear, for no animal, except perhaps the wolverine—who is a terrible beast—is more careless of danger or faces it with such coolness and courage when it appears. Of a dog or two he takes little heed. If he hear them on his trail, he generally climbs a tree to get out of the way; for your dog, unlike his wild brother, the wolf, is a meddlesome fellow and must needs be worrying everything; and Mooweesuk, like most other wild creatures, loves peace, hunts only when hungry, and would always prefer to avoid a row if possible.

There is another possible way in which Whitooweek may carry her young, though I have never seen it. An old hunter and keen observer of wild life, with whom I sometimes roam the woods, once stumbled upon a mother woodcock and her brood by a little brook at the foot of a wild hillside. One of the chicks was resting upon the mother's back, just as one often sees a domestic chicken.

This confidence of his is well placed, for once I saw a man step over a brooding woodcock on her nest in the roots of an old stump without seeing her, and she never moved so much as the tip of her long bill as he passed. In the late twilight when woodcock first stir abroad you see only a shadow passing swiftly across a bit of clear sky as Whitooweek goes off to the meadow brook to feed, or hear a rustle in the alders as he turns the dead leaves over, and a faint peeunk, like the voice of a distant night-hawk, and then you catch a glimpse of a shadow that flits along the ground, or a weaving, batlike flutter of wings as you draw near to investigate.

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