In towns it hides among stored merchandise, in the hollow walls of buildings, in sewers and other underground passages, or, as in the fields, in burrows which it digs in the ground. Its nests are soft, warm masses of fibrous material which is secured by raids on any available supply of cotton, wool, or fabrics, which they cut into shreds for the purpose.

In these retreats it has several litters a year, averaging about ten young, but exceptional cases of more than twenty young have been recorded. The young begin to breed when less than six months old. The size and number of litters increase with the food supply, and under favorable conditions rats soon become intolerable pests.

In Jamaica and the Hawaiian Islands rats became so numerous that sugar-cane and other plantations were at one time threatened with complete destruction. To save the crops the mongoose was introduced, but after checking the rats in Jamaica these curious little mammals in turn became a pest which it appears hopeless to control.

In the Hawaiian Islands the mongoose reduced the number of rats, but the survivors promptly took up their abodes in the tree tops, where they now live as completely arboreal lives as squirrels, safe from their ground-inhabiting enemy.

During a two weeks’ campaign against rats in the sewers of Paris 600,000 were killed, and on a rice plantation of about 1,200 acres in Georgia 30,000 were destroyed in one season. In Illinois 3,435 were killed on a farm in one month.

One of the most curious chapters in the life of this hardy beast is now developing in the far island of South Georgia, on the border of the Antarctic, east of Cape Horn. On this island, which has a cold and stormy summer and nine months of rigorous winter, several whaling stations have been established. For years great numbers of whale carcasses have drifted ashore each season and, half rotting, half refrigerated, have furnished a never-failing food supply for brown rats that have landed from the ships. With such abundant food they are reported to have increased until they now exist there literally in millions. They make their nests in the tussocks of grass and peat and swarm along well-marked trails they have made on the mountain sides.

In the trenches along the battle front in France they have become extremely abundant and troublesome, and in England have multiplied until the Board of Agriculture is recommending efforts to destroy them as a menace to the public welfare through their waste of food supplies.

On farms, in addition to destroying growing and stored crops, they kill great numbers of young chickens, turkeys, and other poultry, and create havoc with such ground-frequenting game as pheasants. At all times brown rats are more or less carnivorous, and when several are confined in a cage the stronger will soon kill and devour the weaker.

In city department stores and large hotels they often cause thousands of dollars damage yearly in single establishments. An English organization for their destruction estimated in 1908 that, outside the towns and shipping, in Great Britain and Ireland they caused annual losses of about $73,000,000.

When there is a sudden diminution in the food supply, an abundance of which has caused a great increase in the rat population, the rats migrate into other districts, sometimes in enormous numbers. These migrations usually occur at night, and many are matters of history in Europe and in the United States.

A witness of one of these migrations in Illinois in 1903 reported that one moonlight night as he was passing along the roads he heard a rustling in a field near by and soon saw crossing the road in front of him a multitude of rats extending as far as he could see. The following year the invaders became a plague in that district. At times of food scarcity rats become extremely bold and aggressive. Without hesitation they swim streams encountered in their wanderings and at times will even attack man.

Owing to their great numbers, universal distribution, and destructiveness, brown rats are the worst mammal pest known to mankind. Through their habit of living in sewers, among the offal of slaughter-houses, and in garbage heaps, from which they invade dwellings and storehouses, they pollute and spoil even more foodstuffs than they eat.

In addition, they are known carriers of some of the worst and most dreaded diseases, as bubonic plague, trichinosis, and septic pneumonia; while there is little doubt that they spread scarlet fever, typhoid, diphtheria, and other contagious maladies. Bubonic plague is mainly dependent upon rats for its dissemination and has been carried by them to more than fifty countries, including the United States. In India more than two million people have died in one year from this rat-conveyed disease.

Although rats are abhorred by man, yet they have been for ages so closely associated with most of his activities that they have long had their place in Old World literature. Among other instances, many readers will recall Victor Hugo’s gruesome account of Jean Valjean’s fight with the rats in the sewers of Paris. In England and on the continent rat catching has been a regular trade and dogs have been specially bred for use in their pursuit.

Rats are loathsome vermin which civilized man should eliminate with the other evils of his semi-barbaric days which he is leaving behind. One might still wish that in many places a modern “Pied Piper of Hamelin” would appear and rid the people of these pests. This is not necessary, however, if the public will cease to take their presence as a matter of course. Their exclusion from buildings and destruction are merely matters of good housekeeping, both personal and communal.

Rats can be banished by removing or destroying trash heaps and similar harboring places and by the simple expedient of rat-proofing buildings, especially dwellings, granaries, warehouses, and other places where food supplies are stored.

These precautionary measures should be supplemented by trapping or poisoning in open places. Campaigns of this kind can be fully successful only when engaged in by the community at large. The returns from the investment for such a purpose will be large, not only in the vast money values of property saved, but in the reduction of the death rate and in the great improvement of the public health.

THE HOUSE MOUSE (Mus musculus)

(For illustration, see page 531)

The familiar house mouse is of Old World origin and may be distinguished from most of our native mice by its proportionately slenderer body, long hairless tail, and the nearly uniform color on the upper and under parts of the body. Like the house rat, wandering an alien from its original home in Asia, and transported by ship and by inland commerce, it has gained permanent foothold and thrives in lands of the most diverse climatic conditions, except those of the frigid polar regions.

For centuries the house mouse has been parasitic about the habitations of man, and in many places in America has spread into the surrounding country, where it holds its own in the struggle for existence with many of our native species. It is probable that its ability to live in houses also infested by the fierce brown rat is due wholly to its agility, and to the small size, which enables it to retreat through crevices too small for the rat.

In buildings it hides its warm nests in obscure nooks and crannies, making them of scraps of wool, cotton, or other soft fibrous material, often cut from fabrics. Out in the fields, like any other hardy vagabond, it adapts itself to whatever cover may be available on the surface or in crevices and the deserted burrows of other mammals.

It has several litters of from four to nine young each year. The young are born blind, naked, and helpless, but are soon able to run about, often following the mother on her foraging expeditions. When a little more than half grown they usually scatter from the home nest and seek locations of their own.

Throughout most of its world-wide range the house mouse has the same general appearance, but in some localities the effect of changed environment is developing appreciable differences, which appear destined to result in marked geographic races. The representatives of these mice I caught in weedy fields on the coast of Chiapas, near the border of Guatemala, have an appreciable rusty shade on the back in place of the ordinary dull gray.

The success of both the house mouse and the house rat in establishing themselves so successfully in all parts of the world, in the face of the antagonism of mankind, affords marvelous examples of physical and mental adaptability not equaled elsewhere among mammals.

From early days the domestic mouse has been a familiar member of the household with people of all degree, and the housewife has had to match her wits against the cunning persistence of this small marauder in order to safeguard the family supplies of food and clothing.

Despite the antagonism excited by its destructive habits the mouse is so small and often so amusing in its ways that it has commonly been regarded with a half hostile, half friendly, interest. This is apparent by frequent references to it in proverbs, nursery rhymes, fables, and folklore, as well as in more serious literature.

Many cases of singing house mice have been recorded, their notes being a series of continuous musical chirps, trills, and warblings, rising and falling about an octave and slightly resembling the song of a canary. It has been claimed that this singing is due to an affection of the songster’s breathing organs, but this can scarcely account for its being uttered at definite times and places and ceasing at the volition of the performer.

In one instance the song had been heard in a china closet and an observer sat by the open door to locate the singer. After patient waiting “a mouse peered out from behind the plates, climbed up a little way on the brackets, and after looking around several times, began to sing.” This mouse continued to sing in the same place at intervals for several weeks and became accustomed to the presence of people during its performances; then it suddenly disappeared, probably a victim to one of the dangers which constantly beset its kind.

THE MOUNTAIN-BEAVER (Aplodontia rufa phaea and its relatives)

(For illustration, see page 534)

The first adventurous fur traders who penetrated the Oregon wilds found the Chinook Indians provided with robes made of skins of the mountain-beaver. From that time until recently but little accurate information has been available concerning the habits of this curious animal. Locally it is known by several other names, including “Sewellel,” “mountain boomer,” “boomer,” and, in the Olympic mountains, “chehalis.”

The genus of mountain-beavers contains only a single species with several subspecies, all having a close superficial likeness in size and form to a tailless muskrat, except for their coarse, harsh fur. It is an exclusively North American type and, aside from a remote relationship to the squirrel family, has no kin among living mammals. It appears to be a sole survivor from some former age. As with the pocket gophers, its mode of life has developed powerful muscles about the head, front legs, and forepart of the body.

The distribution of the mountain-beaver in Tertiary times extended through the Great Basin to North Dakota, but at present is closely restricted to the humid region between the crests of the Cascades and the Sierra Nevada and the Pacific coast, and from the lower Fraser River, British Columbia, south to the latitude of San Francisco Bay, California.

Within this superbly forested region this animal delights in locations that are cool and oozing with water, where, under the dense shade of an almost tropical undergrowth of shrubs, ferns, and other herbage, it constructs numberless tunnels and trails. These are sometimes in flats, but much more often along canyons and mountain slopes, among willow, alder, aspen, or other thickets, or even in the heavy coniferous forest.

Veritable colonies inhabit certain areas and the ground is honeycombed with burrows six to eight inches in diameter and covered with a network of surface trails. The irregular branching tunnels are sometimes two or three hundred feet in length and have at frequent intervals side passages through which the earth mined in extending the burrow may be ejected in small dumps. The tunnels appear in a large measure built for the safety of the owner in traveling, since they repeatedly come to the surface at the end of a log, where an open, neatly kept trail extends under its shelter the entire length, the tunnel being resumed at the far end of the log.

All surface runways connecting tunnel entrances or leading through the thick surface vegetation are well kept and free of all obstructions. The ground in these haunts is commonly so saturated with water that the tunnels form drainage channels down which run little streams.

Nest chambers discovered by T. H. Scheffer in the Olympic Mountains were located in tunnels two feet underground. They were oval in form and one measured eighteen inches in horizontal diameter and seventeen in height. Here three storage chambers opened directly from the nest chamber, one of which contained two quarts or more of sections of fern roots, which had been kept so long they were spoiled, and another was partly filled with freshly cut leaves of nettles and twigs of cedar and fir. At the far end an opening dropped six inches into a small drainage basin partly filled with water, out of which led two passages. The roofs of the chambers were lined with a thin layer of clay, which appeared to have been packed in place by the owner.

In the upper and drier part of the nest, which was made of dried fronds of ferns, grasses, and small twigs, were found three young less than a week old, with coats of fine fur, but with eyes still closed. Like burrowing animals generally, the mountain-beaver is cleanly in its housekeeping, and offal, loose dirt, and debris of all kinds are pushed out by the forefeet and head to the dumps at the less-used openings.

In winter much of the mountain-beaver country is buried under several feet of snow, but this does not stop the activities of this hardy animal. Between the entrances to its burrows and out along the surface of the ground it tunnels through the snow in various directions in search of forage.

At this time it cuts twigs from bushes and gnaws the bark from the trunks and roots of the smaller trees, sometimes completely girdling and killing trees more than two feet in diameter. Its underground tunnels are also extended at this season, the soils being pushed up in dumps under the snow and parts of the snow tunnels are packed full of it for some distance, so that when the snow disappears the curious earth-forms remain like those of the pocket gopher.

The mountain-beaver lives a monotonous existence and correspondingly lacks the mental vivacity of many other species which have a greater freedom of movement. When one is caught it shows little fear, but struggles to escape, growling, clattering its teeth, and biting viciously at anything within reach. Its desire for food, however, appears to control its emotions, and very soon after being captured it will eat any green vegetation offered, as unconcernedly as though free.

That the mountain-beaver possesses social instincts is evident, as a pair is often found occupying one set of tunnels, and in many favorable places a number will have their burrows closely grouped and connected with a network of communicating surface trails.

Although mainly nocturnal, the animals are active early in the morning and late in the afternoon, as well as throughout dark days. Those kept in captivity would show periods of restless activity at night and have alternating periods of sleep and wakefulness during the day. Sometimes they would sleep coiled with the head turned under the body and again flat on their backs. During these periods their sleep is often so profound that they may be handled without being awakened.

One captive animal is reported to have uttered a curious quavering note resembling that of a screech-owl. They have a strong musky odor, which is very evident when they are first caught, and which is frequently apparent about the burrows.

Careful and repeated efforts to keep these animals in captivity under as near normal conditions as possible in regard to food and surroundings in the vicinity of where they were captured have, up to the present time, resulted in failure. In every case the animals failed to thrive and soon died.

The mating occurs about the middle of March, and a month later litters of two or three young are born. The young grow slowly, not attaining full size for a year or more, and do not breed until the second year, but they leave the shelter of the home nest and scatter to occupy burrows of their own at the end of the first two or three months.

The mountain-beaver feeds upon nearly all small vegetation growing in its haunts, including, in addition to small herbage, shrubs, the bark of trees and bushes, ferns, and fern roots. More than thirty species of native plants have been found among its “hay” piles at the mouths of burrows. Since its country has become increasingly occupied by farmers, it has developed a fondness for cultivated crops that, in many places, is rendering it a pest. It appears to have a special taste for cabbage, potato, and onion tops, and other garden produce.

When gathering its food it sits up squirrel-like and grasps the plant stem with one hand, a long projecting tubercle on the “heel” of the hand opposing the fingers like a thumb and giving a good grasp, so that it can pull plants down to be bitten off with the sharp front teeth. Sometimes it climbs up a few feet into a bush or small branching tree after succulent shoots.

The mountain-beaver has the interesting habit of gathering stores of green plant food much like that of the cony on the mountain tops, but appears to be more methodical in its ways, gathering the stems of such plants as grasses, ferns, and lupins, as well as twigs of various bushes and carrying them in bundles as large as can be held in the mouth, the butts of the stems neatly laid together. These little bundles of “hay” are placed side by side about the entrances of the burrows, with the butts all parallel on sticks or other support to keep them as clear as possible from the ground. They are left thus for a day or more to cure before being carried into the subterranean store-rooms.

Chief among the four-footed enemies of the mountain-beaver are the fisher and bobcat, and an eagle has been seen keeping close watch at the entrance of their burrows.

THE COMMON WOODCHUCK, OR AMERICAN MARMOT (Marmota monax and its relatives)

(For illustration, see page 534)

The woodchuck or “groundhog” is a typical marmot, with coarse hair, heavy body, short neck, short, bushy tail, powerful legs, and feet armed with strong claws for digging. When fully grown it averages about ten pounds in weight. Its usual color is a grizzled brown, but in some districts black, or melanistic, individuals are not uncommon.

Marmots are common to Europe, Asia, and North America. The group contains many species and geographic races varying in size and color. The Alpine marmot of Europe is probably the most familiar of the Old World species and the woodchuck the best known in America.

North America contains several species of marmots, their joint territory extending from coast to coast over the northern parts of the continent and from southern Labrador, the southern shores of Hudson Bay and Great Slave Lake, and central Alaska southward to northern Alabama, and along the high mountains to New Mexico and the southern Sierra Nevada of California. The common woodchuck is well known to every dweller in the countryside of the Eastern States and Canada, where it occurs from sea-level to near the tops of the highest mountains, at altitudes of over 4,000 feet.

It is a familiar habitant of fields and grassy hillsides, especially where bordering woodland offers safe retreat. In such places it digs burrows under stone walls, rocks, ledges, old stumps, or even out in the open grass-grown fields. It commonly lives in the midst of the forest, where its dens are located in a variety of situations. The burrows are marked by little mounds of earth at the entrances and ordinarily contain from twenty to forty feet of branching galleries, one or more of which end in a rounded chamber about a foot in diameter, well lined with dry grass and leaves.

Within these warm nests the females bring forth from three to nine blind and helpless young about the last of April or early in May. A few weeks later the young appear about the entrance of the burrows sunning themselves and playing with one another, but usually ready to disappear at the first alarm. At times, however, they are surprisingly stupid and may be captured with ease. Woodchucks have practically no economic value. Their flesh, while occasionally eaten, is little esteemed, and their coarsely haired pelts are worthless as fur.

The woodchuck is a sluggish and stupid animal, which does not ordinarily go far from its burrow, but at certain seasons, especially in spring, wanders widely, as though looking over its territory before locating for the summer. It has much curiosity and often sits upright on its hind feet to look about, remaining for a long time as motionless as a statue. When one is driven into its burrow, if a person approaches quietly and whistles, it will often raise its head in the entrance and look about to satisfy its curiosity.

Its only note is a short shrill whistle, which it utters explosively at frequent intervals when much alarmed. At such times it also chatters its teeth with a rattling sound as owls sometimes clatter their beaks.

Owing to their mainly diurnal habits and persistence in living in and about the borders of fields, woodchucks are among the most widely known of our smaller mammals, and have long been the favorite game of the country boy and his dog. When cornered they will fight savagely and with their strong incisors inflict severe wounds.

They feed on grasses, clover, and other succulent plants, including various cultivated crops, especially vegetables in field and garden, where they sometimes do much damage. The holes and earth mounds they make in fields, in addition to feeding on and trampling down grasses or grain, excite a strong feeling against them, and farmers everywhere look upon them as a nuisance. In New Hampshire so great was the prejudice against them that in 1883 a law was passed placing a bounty of ten cents each on them: “Provided, That no bounty shall be paid for any woodchuck killed on Sunday.”

Unlike many rodents, the woodchucks do not lay up stores of food for winter. As summer draws to an end they feed heavily and become excessively fat. On the approach of cold weather they become more and more sluggish, appearing above ground with decreasing frequency until from the end of September to the first of November, according to locality, they retire to their burrows and begin the long hibernating sleep which continues until the approach of spring.

Some time between February and April, according to latitude, they come forth to resume their seasonal activities. In the northern parts of their range they usually come out several weeks before the snow disappears and may be tracked in it as they wander about searching for food or a new location.

The prominence of the groundhog as a popular figure in the country lore of the Eastern States is shown by his having been given a place with the Saints on the calendar, February 2 being widely known as “Groundhog Day.” It is claimed that on this date the groundhog wakes from his long winter sleep and appears at the mouth of his burrow to look about and survey the weather. If the sun shines so that he can see his shadow, bad weather is indicated and he retires to resume his sleep for another six weeks. Otherwise, the winter is broken and mild weather is predicted. Even on the outskirts of Washington some of the countrymen still appraise the character of the coming spring by the weather on “Groundhog Day.”

THE HOARY MARMOT, OR WHISTLER (Marmota caligata and its relatives)

(For illustration, see page 535)

The whistler is the largest and handsomest of the American marmots. It is similar in proportions to the common woodchuck, but averages nearly twice its weight. Its fur, far thicker and of a better quality, might have a value in the fur trade if enough of the skins were available. As it is, the skins are used only for robes and sometimes for clothing by the Indians.

The distribution of this characteristic animal of the northern Rocky Mountains and outlying ranges extends from the Endicott Mountains, fronting the Arctic coast of Alaska, and the peninsula of Alaska, southeasterly to the Bitterroot Mountains of Idaho, Mount Rainier, the Olympics of Washington, and Vancouver Island. In the North its range extends from above timber-line down over hare slopes and through glacial valleys to the sea-level along the southern coast of Alaska. To the southward it is limited wholly to the higher elevations, usually above timber-line.

Owing to variations in climatic conditions and to isolation in different parts of its range, several geographic races of the whistler have been developed. In the mountains to the southward of its range other marmots occur as far as New Mexico and California.

When the French-Canadian voyageurs on their fur-trading expeditions first visited the Rocky Mountains they encountered the hoary marmots and applied to them the name “siffleur,” or whistler, which they had already given the common woodchuck of eastern Canada. The shrill note of the hoary marmot, under favorable circumstances, may be heard more than a mile and justifies the restriction of the name whistler to it.

The whistler lives in such remote and unfrequented districts that little is known of its life history. It is diurnal in habits and loves the free open spaces of the high mountain ridges. There its loud, oft-repeated call note, striking colors, together with its habit of running about on the snowbanks, render it unusually conspicuous.

High in the mountains it usually inhabits rock slides, the tumbled rock masses of glacial moraines, or rocky points, but sometimes takes up its abode on open earth slopes or in the bottoms of little glacial valleys. Ordinarily the dens are hidden in the rock slides and broken-down ledges, or burrows are dug under the shelter of large boulders and even in open ground away from any rocky shelter.

During the sunny days of summer the whistler regularly frequents the top of some conspicuous boulder or projecting rocky point, from which it commands a sweeping view of all its surroundings. Its sight and hearing are extraordinarily keen, and when perched on its lookout it is difficult to stalk. When one has its burrow located in an open place it often sits upright on its haunches to look watchfully about, and at the first alarm disappears into its den. This watchfulness is necessary, for even in the remote alpine highlands it occupies, the whistler is beset by enemies. The most formidable of these are the great brown and grizzly bears of the North, which dig it from its burrow. In addition prowling wolves, Canada lynxes, wolverines, and eagles take occasional toll from its numbers.

Toward the end of summer, when the high alpine slopes are thickly grown with small flowering herbage, the whistler feeds heavily on many of the plants and, like the woodchuck at this season, becomes excessively fat. Before the arrival of winter it retires to the shelter of its den and begins the long hibernating sleep which may last six months or more. In spring, before the snowy mantle is gone from the mountains, it is out, ready to welcome the approaching summer. A few weeks later the three or four young are born. They remain with the mother throughout the season and during their first winter may hibernate in the home den.

The unspoiled wilderness of remote northern mountain slopes and ridges where the whistler lives is also the home of the mountain sheep, caribou, and huge northern bears. As the hardy sportsmen roam these inspiring heights in search of game their attention is constantly attracted to the marmots, whose presence and shrill call notes lend a pleasing touch of life to many an otherwise harsh and forbidding scene.

THE PRAIRIE-DOG (Cynomys ludovicianus and its relatives)

(For illustration, see page 538)

Prairie-dogs are not “dogs,” but typical rodents, first cousins to the ground squirrels, or spermophiles. As a rule, they may be distinguished from the ground squirrels by their larger size, proportionately shorter and heavier bodies, and shorter tails. In length they vary from fourteen to over seventeen inches, and in weight from one and one-half to more than three pounds.

These rodents are limited to the interior of North America and form a small group of five species and several geographic races. Although closely alike in general form and habits, the species are divided into two sets: one, the most widely distributed and best known, having the tails tipped with black, and the other having the tails tipped with white.

On the treeless western plains and valleys from North Dakota and Montana to Texas and thence west across the Rocky Mountains to Utah and Arizona, they are one of the most numerous and characteristic animals. Southward they range into northwestern Chihuahua and one species occupies an isolated area on the Mexican table-land in southern Coahuila and northern San Luis Potosi, Mexico. Their vertical range varies from about 2,000 feet on the plains to above 10,000 feet in the mountainous parts of Colorado and Arizona.

Owing to their diurnal habits, their exceeding abundance over vast areas, and their interesting mode of living in colonies, prairie-dogs have always attracted the attention of travelers and have become one of the most widely known of our smaller mammals. All who have lived in the West, or who have merely traversed the Great Plains on the transcontinental railroads, have had their interest excited by these plump little animals sitting bolt upright by the mounds which mark the entrances to their burrows, or scampering panicstricken for shelter as the train roars through their “towns.”

So strong is the gregarious instinct in prairie-dogs that they customarily make their burrows within short distances of each other, varying from a few yards to a few rods apart. The inhabitants of these communities, or “towns,” as they have often been termed, vary in number from a few individuals to millions. In western Texas one continuous colony is about 250 miles long and 100 miles wide. In the entire State of Texas 90,000 square miles are occupied by prairie-dogs, and the number of these animals within this area runs into the hundreds of millions. The extent to which they occupy parts of their territory is well illustrated by one situation in a mountain valley, containing about a square mile, in eastern Arizona, which by actual count contained 7,200 of their burrows.

The burrows, from four to five inches in diameter, are usually located on flat or gently sloping ground. They descend abruptly from eight to sixteen feet, then turn at a sharp angle and extend ten to twenty-five feet in a horizontal or slightly upward course. The tunnel at the end of the steep descending shaft is always more or less irregular in course, and branches in various directions, the branches often ending, in a rounded nest or storage chamber, but sometimes forming a loop back to the main passageway. Not infrequently two entrances some distance apart lead to these deep workings. A little niche is ingeniously dug on one side of the steep entrance shaft, four to six feet below the surface, to which on the approach of danger the owner retires to listen and determine whether it may or may not be necessary to seek safety in the depth of the den. It is from these vantage points that the resentful voices of the habitants come to an intruder in a prairie-dog “town” as he passes.

The black-tailed prairie-dog, which is so numerous on the Great Plains, surrounds the entrance to its burrow with a crater-shaped pyramid of soil varying from a few inches to nearly two feet in height and serving perfectly as a dike to keep out the water. The owners keep the funnel-shaped inner slopes of the rims about the entrances in good condition by setting briskly to work to reshape them at the end of a rain-storm, digging and pushing the earth in place with their feet and molding it into a more compact mass by pressing it in with their blunt noses.

The white-tailed prairie-dogs pile the dirt from their excavations out on one side of the entrance, as in the case of most other burrowing animals. Sometimes the dirt in these piles amounts to from ten to twenty bushels, thus indicating extended underground workings.

The vivacity and hearty enjoyment of life by the occupants of a prairie-dog “town” is most entertaining to an observer. With the first peep of the sun above the horizon they are out on the mounds at the entrances of their burrows, first sitting erect on their hind feet and looking sharply about for any prowling enemy. If all is well they begin to run about from one hole to another, as though to pass the compliments of the day, and scatter through the adjacent grassy feeding ground.

The favorite food of prairie-dogs consists of the stems and roots of gramma grass and other richly nutritious forage plants. In addition they eat any native fruits, such as that of the pear-leaved cactus (Opuntia) and are extremely destructive to grain, alfalfa, and other cultivated crops. In addition to ordinary vegetation, they eat grasshoppers and are fond of flesh, sometimes being caught far from their homes in traps set for carnivores. They keep the grass and other vegetation cut down or entirely dug out over much of the “town” and especially in a circle about each entrance mound, apparently for the purpose of obtaining a clear view as a safeguard against the approach of any of their many four-footed enemies. This habit is exceedingly injurious to the cattle ranges and often results in much erosion of the fertile surface soil.

The vast numbers of prairie-dogs over so large a part of the grazing areas of the West take a heavy toll from the forage and other crops. As a consequence a campaign of destruction is being waged against them as the country becomes more and more settled, and they will eventually disappear from much of their present range. However detrimental they may be from an economic point of view, they are among our most interesting species, and when taken young their playful disposition and intelligence render them most entertaining captives.

Owing to the constant danger to which they are subject from coyotes, foxes, bobcats, badgers, and black-footed ferrets, in addition to eagles and other birds of prey, prairie-dogs are constantly on the alert. At any suspicious occurrence the first to observe it runs to his entrance mound, if the danger is not pressing, but otherwise to the nearest mound, where he sits up at his full height, “barking” and vibrating his tail, ready, if necessary, to disappear instantly. At the same time the “town” is alive with scurrying figures of the habitants rushing panic-stricken for their homes, and the air is filled with a chorus of their little barking cries. When all have been frightened to cover barking continues in the burrows, but an hour or more may pass before a “dog” will reappear.

I once stalked a solitary antelope by creeping flat on the ground through a prairie-dog “town.” As I drew near the first burrows, the “dogs” all rushed to their mounds, sitting there and barking at the queer and unknown animal thus invading their precincts. The strange sight excited as much curiosity among them as alarm. As I approached one mound after another the owners would become almost hysterical in their excitement and would sit first on all fours and then stand up at full height on their hind feet, the tail all the time vibrating as though worked by some mechanism, while the barking continued at the intruder as rapidly and explosively as possible. When I came within six or eight feet the “dog” would dive down his hole, sputtering barks from the depths as he went, but often would pop up again to take another look before finally disappearing. In this way I passed ten or a dozen mounds while the dozens of “dogs” off my line of progress worked themselves into a frenzy of curiosity and protest. When the stalk was finished I passed back through the “town” and my upright figure was promptly recognized by the habitants as that of an enemy and every one disappeared before I was within fifty yards of the first mound.

The common note of the black-tailed prairie-dogs is a squeaking “bark,” much like that produced by squeezing a toy dog; in addition, there is a rapid chattering note, often given as the “dogs” vanish down the hole. The white-tailed species have a shriller, more chirping note. In both species the odd vibrating motion of the tail, held stiffly close to the back, is characteristic.

Prairie-dogs hibernate in severe weather, those living in high, snow-covered mountains or in the far north sometimes sleeping through five or six months. In many places their hibernation is irregular, and near the southern border of their range is limited to a few inclement days now and then. In Wyoming they come out the last of March or early in April, sometimes when there is a foot or two of snow on the ground and the temperature ranges far below zero. Under such conditions they run about over the snow during the middle of the day, feeding on projecting tips of vegetation or digging to the ground.

Beginning near the southern border of their range and proceeding north, the single litter of the season, containing from four to six young, are born in March, April, or May, and a month later, when scarcely larger than chipmunks, may be seen playing about the entrance mound. When danger appears the mother sends the young helter-skelter for the refuge of the burrow, and should any be slow about going in she rushes at them, driving them to cover with shrill barks of alarm. When about half-grown the young scatter and prepare burrows of their own. Sometimes as many as six to nine of these animals may be found in a single burrow, in which, no doubt, they have taken refuge, or it may be a reunion of the season’s family.

On warm sunny days, especially at a time when nights are frosty, these fat little animals will often lie flat on the bare ground about their mounds, with legs outstretched, basking in the grateful rays. As their colonies expand by the rapid increase of their numbers, many individuals wander far in search of new locations. On the mountain plateaus of northern Arizona I know of instances where they have traversed several miles of pine and fir forest to locate in an isolated mountain park, and new colonies were established as far as six miles from their nearest neighbors.

The flesh of prairie-dogs is not unpalatable, and Navajo and Pueblo Indians are extremely fond of it. The Indians take advantage of heavy rains and turn the temporary rush of water down the holes to drown out the “dogs,” and thus capture many of them.

It is inevitable that many popular misconceptions should grow up about such numerous and interesting animals as the prairie-dogs. In the West many people believe that the burrows go down to water. In reality, like many other rodents, these animals have acquired the ability by chemical action in the stomach to transform the starchy food into water. I have seen dog towns located on a few feet of soil resting on a waterless lava bed miles in extent and more than 100 feet thick, as shown by canyons cut through it, thus proving the impossibility of the prairie-dog-well legend.

Another popular belief is that the rattlesnakes and burrowing owls living in prairie-dog towns unite as a kind of happy family in the burrows of the dogs. The truth is that the owls live and breed in deserted dog holes, while the rattlesnakes visit the occupied holes to feed on the unfortunate occupants.

THE STRIPED GROUND SQUIRREL (Citellus tridecemlineatus and its subspecies)

(For illustration, see page 538)

Small size and a series of thirteen narrow, well-defined stripes, or lines, marking the upperparts of the striped ground squirrel serve to distinguish it from all its relatives. Its total length is about eleven inches and its form is nearly as slender as that of the weasel. Its brightly colored markings blend so well with the brown earth and plant stems in its haunts that when quiet it is difficult to distinguish. This protective coloration is of vital service to a small animal sought by all the diurnal birds of prey, as well as by coyotes, foxes, bobcats, badgers, skunks, weasels, and snakes.

The striped ground squirrel, also known as the “gopher” or “striped gopher,” is restricted to middle North America, where it is distributed from southern Michigan and northern Indiana west to Utah, and from about latitude 55 degrees in northern Alberta south nearly to the Gulf coast of Texas. It ranges from near sea level in Texas up nearly to 10,000 feet in Colorado. Within these limits the varying climatic conditions have modified it into several geographic races, all having a close general resemblance.

Like most members of the squirrel family, the striped ground squirrels are diurnal in habits and well known wherever they occur. I first learned the ways of these odd little mammals as a boy on the prairies outside the city of Chicago, and later observed them in a high mountain valley in Arizona. In both regions they had the same habits. By preference they occupy grassy prairies, old fields, and similar situations. In many areas they are serious pests, owing to their abundance and their destructiveness to grain crops, but where the land is generally cultivated, the sheltering vegetation and their shallow burrows are destroyed by the plow, thus causing a decrease in their numbers.

The lives of the striped ground squirrels are so beset with peril that they always move abroad with watchful hesitation, pausing to listen, retreating toward their burrows at the slightest suspicious sound or movement, or rising bolt upright on their hind feet and remaining motionless as a small statue until satisfied that there is nothing to fear. They call to one another with a chirping note as well as with a shrill trilling whistle, and when alarmed by the presence of some enemy their warning call notes are heard on all sides as the alarm is passed, and all are on the alert to disappear down their burrows at the slightest suspicious movement.

When they have vanished their trilling notes are often heard from the depths of their burrows; but curiosity is one of their strongest traits, and if no disturbance follows one will almost immediately pop up its head to see the cause of the alarm. Boys, taking advantage of this habit, place an open slipping noose at the end of a long string around the entrance of the burrow, and, waiting developments, lie quietly a few yards to one side. The ensuing silence is too much for the ground squirrel to endure and soon its head appears above ground, the boy pulls the string, and the victim is dragged forth with the noose about its neck.

The entrance to the burrow of these ground squirrels is about two inches in diameter. It is usually located in the midst of grass or weedy growths, and has little or no fresh earth about it. The burrow descends for several inches almost vertically and then turns almost horizontally in a sinuous and erratic course, with numerous branches and side passages leading up to the surface. Most of these side entrances are kept plugged with soft earth. Opening off the main tunnel is a large nest chamber filled with fine dry grasses and other soft vegetable matter, and also one or more large storage chambers in which the owner lays up his garnered supplies of grain or other seeds for use during inclement weather.

These squirrels hibernate throughout their range, entering their long sleep in an excessively fat condition the last of September or in October. In the North they remain in a torpid state for six months or more.

Soon after they appear in spring they mate and the single litter of the year, containing from five to thirteen young, is born the last of May or early in June. The young are in an extremely undeveloped state at birth, being blind, hairless, and with the ears scarcely showing. They develop slowly and remain with the mother until toward fall, when, nearly grown, they scatter to care for themselves.

The striped ground squirrels are among the most carnivorous of rodents. Although they devote much time to gathering grain, seeds of various kinds, and even acorns and other nuts, which may be eaten on the spot or carried in their cheek pouches to their underground storage rooms, in addition they are known to eat insects and flesh whenever occasion offers. In fact, during seasons when such insect food as grasshoppers, caterpillars, and grubs is plentiful, these ground squirrels frequently feed mainly upon it. They are known to kill and devour mice and young birds, and when confined in a cage will sometimes kill and partly devour their own kind. When caught they fight fiercely, biting and struggling to escape. In captivity they show little of the gentleness and intelligence which are such pleasing characteristics of chipmunks and true squirrels.

THE CALIFORNIA GROUND SQUIRREL (Citellus beecheyi and its relatives)

(For illustration, see page 539)

Owing to its habits, the California ground squirrel is known locally as the digger-, rock-, or ground-squirrel. Its prominent ears, bushy tail, color, and form give it the general appearance of a heavy-bodied gray tree squirrel, but in reality it is a true, spermophile and close kin to the marmots.