VERY

BY S. W. WILLISTON.

ERY singular and amusing stories have been, and still are, accepted by many of the amicable relationship existing between the prairie dog, burrowing owl and rattlesnake. It is not within the province of the present article to repeat them, for they are familiar to every school boy. Many of their habits, however, are yet little understood, and I shall endeavor to give the results of several years observation on the plains and in the mountains.

The prairie dog (Cynomys ludovicianus) is widely extended through nearly all the Rocky Mountain region of the United States, and seems to thrive equally well in the bleak regions of the Upper Yellowstone, or in the fervid tableau of Central Mexico. In the rich, fertile lands of Central Kansas, they sometimes become disagreeable nuisances to the farmers, making sad havoc among the fields of growing grain. In the dry, scorched deserts of Southern Colorado, I have seen the villages where one would almost suppose the simplest forms of animal life were incapable of being supported. In the cold, bleak Laramie plains, where but little vegetation save the sage brush can exist, and where for more than six months in the year they seldom dare expose themselves to the bitter winds, they thrive in countless numbers. They are, however, provident little fellows, and literally make hay while the sun shines! Late in the summer one will frequently meet burrows, around the entrance of which, for some distance, the grass has been neatly mown, and left to cure. Were he to visit any of them a day or two later, he would find the hay all cleanly removed. In a few instances I have surprised the inhabitants carrying the nicely preserved hay into their dwellings. As their

food consists, almost exclusively, of grass and succulent stems, I doubt not that they thus provide food, as well as bedding, for the sometimes long and rigorous winters they have to endure. But notwithstanding their prudent squirrel-like habits they emerge in the spring much less plump, with the surplus of fat acquired by autumn, well nigh exhausted.

They prefer for their villages, gently sloping lands skirting the valleys, but are often found in the tops of the highest divides, and far down near the streams, though always avoiding rocky, marshy, or even moist grounds. The villages rarely cover many hundreds of acres, and are even miles in circumference, but more usually number from a score, to a hundred or two burrows.

Whole villages will, not infrequently, be deserted, and left to the peaceful possession of the owls and snakes. The cause of such nomadic habits is not clearly seen.

It requires a considerable courage to trace out one of their burrows. They descend obliquely and sinuously to considerable depths, and frequently, if not usually, I believe, have more than one opening. The entrance is always protected by a circular mound, and after a severe rain, or when otherwise damaged, the busy little inhabitants carefully repair it, throwing the dirt up with their hind feet till water is securely guarded against. Their holes are rarely seen in situations where any but the severest freshets would overflow. But once have I known their villages to be extensively inundated, and, as in that instance, the camp was washed away, and all the members of our party given a very cold midnight bath, they were certainly excusable for lack of foresight! The instinct that teaches them of such danger is not strange, when we recollect that animals of lower intelligence, as the brown thrush and wild goose will depart from their usual habits, and build nests beyond reach of the constantly recurring freshets.

During all warm, pleasant days, the villages are scenes of busy activity. Never strolling beyond immediate reach of their retreats, they have few enemies to fear besides the snakes. They are clumsy in movement like a young pup, and, when rarely surprised at a distance from their burrows, may be caught without much difficulty. They are quite social among themselves, and when not engaged in hunting food, make frequent calls upon their neighbors, to discuss, probably, the affairs of their quiet commonwealth.

At the first approach of an intruder, a general scampering takes place throughout the village with warning cries; upon reaching their mounds they sit perfectly erect, like so many sentinels, curious to know the cause of all the commotion. Upon nearer approach they sit more closely in the entrances, and threaten most vehemently, throwing up their tails in a very comical manner with each energetic bark, their noisy chatterings mingled with liquid, gurgling tones. Not infrequently, they will allow one to approach within a rod or two, growing still more vociferous in their scoldings, and occasionally making very amusing little dashes, as if to overawe the intruder. In a twinkling they disappear and continue their gurgling remonstrances a few feet below the entrance. It is very hard to obtain specimens by shooting, for no matter how badly wounded, they elude their would be captor, instinctively-one might say, automatically, for I have seen them escape beyond reach after the rifle had spattered their brains over the mounds! A readier way to obtain them is by inverting a barrel or high box half filled with sand over an entrance. They will find their way to the surface of the sand, but cannot return, and are thus securely caged.

A dog, or other small animal dying in the burrow, is allowed to remain, and it is rare that a mound, not freshly made, will not show skeletons of one or more.

I have noticed the young most frequently in May, less so in August, or early September, in litters of from four to six or seven, playing about the entrances. They are not far behind the adult in their noisy chatter, but less timorous, remaining last on the surface, and responding to the parents' gurgling below, as if much the wiser.

The prairie dog readily becomes accustomed to the haunts of man, their villages sometimes being scattered through the outskirts of thriving towns. Though easily tamed to feed from one's hand, they resent caresses, enforcing their scoldings with ready use of their sharp incisors. In a little town in Western Kansas, a pair of tame ones after frequent changes, took up their abode in a large, open lot, where they were very noisy in their protestation against intrusion, especially of the school children and dogs. A young lady teacher in passing by, incurred their highest resentment. They would follow her closely, often to the school house door, a distance of several hundred yards, chattering noisily, and

making furious angry dashes at her, till she was compelled to choose another path. In three years they had propagated to a very considerable little colony with several dozen burrows.

I have seen it stated that the prairie dog finds an enemy in the skunk. I can hardly credit it. The skunks of the plains frequent the low marshy lands near streams and ponds, raising their young near the water's edge; and not usually approaching the vicinity of the prairie dog villages; their food consisting mostly of insects, snails, crayfish, etc. Prof. Snow observed them feeding largely upon Amblychila cylindriformis.

It is a prevalent belief in the west, and has so been published, that these animals dig wells for their water! I have never yet learned of an authenticated instance, and in many cases the idea is absurd. Their villages are often in high localities, several feet above water, and much of the distance through loose impervious sand or rock strata! It is true that in captivity they readily and frequently drink, but this is also the case with the little. striped squirrel (Spermophilus), and that the latter also dig wells is too great a tax upon credulity. They do not obtain water from the surface even when within convenient distance.

The prairie dog and burrowing owl (Speotyto var. hypogaa) will, not infrequently, occupy the same hole, but the latter, like the other parasites, is there on sufferance, to whose presence the dog pays but little heed, though probably one of the causes of the abandonment of the villages. Not long since I was greatly amused while passing à mound upon which an owl was quietly engaged in contemplation, at the attempts of a squirrel to pass by into his hole. If any of my readers have ever observed a puppy attempting to purloin the treasures of a sitting hen, they will have a very good idea of the action and appearance of both owl and dog-the owl very indignant and the dog very sheepish. After numerous ignominious retreats, however, he finally ran the gauntlet successfully, but not without several most vicious peckings.

There are but few birds that present a more ridiculous appearance than these owls. Most of the time during the day they spend standing quietly at the entrance of their dwellings, engaged, apparently in the deepest contemplation. At the appearance of an intruder they begin the most comical bowings and courtesies, all the while staring with their solemn eyes till with a cry not

unlike a watchman's rattle, nor less melodious, they fly to a neighboring mound and resume their pensive meditation. At nightfall they fly about in search of food, and through many months have I listened to their monotonous tones blending with the similar notes of the raincrow and the startling cry of the cayote, upon the stillness of the western plains. By far the most frequently, the owl is found in the deserted villages of the prairie dogs, in communities by themselves. The young or half grown I have only noticed in the latter part of July and August.

The relations of the rattlesnake with both squirrel and owl, although not at all friendly, is scarcely so inimical as one might suppose. Of the species most peculiar to the prairie dog regions (Crotalus confluentus), I have destroyed many hundreds, and although in numerous instances the stomach would show the young of the prairie dog, yet I was never positive in finding the young owl. In one instance I found the adult dog poisoned by the rattlesnake, and twice have caught the half grown as they were driven out by the venomed blow. In these instances the cry of pain and fear was almost incessant, and peculiar; the little victims succumbed in three or four minutes to the fatal poison. For a long time I believed that the occupancy of a burrow by a snake would prevent the ingress of the dog, but I am now satisfied that such is not the case. The rattlesnake is never wanton, it simply defends itself from danger or annoyance, or procures its food by means of its terrible fangs. Small animals or other reptiles do not generally show much fear, or at least soon recover composure when thrown together with them; least of all will they bite other snakes. It is not very uncommon to meet on warm days in spring or autumn, rattlesnakes and racers (Bascanion flaviventris) sunning themselves entwined together near the entrance of some favorable hole. The prairie dog will pass by them and enter its burrow. Both of these snakes choose any convenient shelter for the time being, neither molested nor particularly avoided by the prairie dog and owl. When fortune favors them they readily devour the young squirrel, and more than one at a meal; but their more usual food is the groundnesting birds, rats, mice, ground squirrels, etc. In one moderate sized rattlesnake, whose stomach I examined, were found a freshly killed ground squirrel, and slum lark, together with a half digested lark finch (Chondestes grammaca).