I have trailed a coyote often, going across country, perhaps

to where some slant-winged scavenger hanging in the air signaled
prospect of a dinner, and found his track such as a man, a

very intelligent man accustomed to a hill country, and a little
cautious, would make to the same point. Here a detour to avoid a

stretch of too little cover, there a pause on the rim of a gully to
pick the better way,--and it is usually the best way,--and making

his point with the greatest economy of effort. Since the time of
Seyavi the deer have shifted their feeding ground across the valley

at the beginning of deep snows, by way of the Black Rock, fording
the river at Charley's Butte, and making straight for the mouth of

the canon that is the easiest going to the winter pastures on
Waban. So they still cross, though whatever trail they had has

been long broken by ploughed ground; but from the mouth of Tinpah
Creek, where the deer come out of the Sierras, it is easily seen

that the creek, the point of Black Rock, and Charley's Butte are in
line with the wide bulk of shade that is the foot of Waban Pass.

And along with this the deer have learned that Charley's Butte is
almost the only possible ford, and all the shortest crossing of the

valley. It seems that the wild creatures have learned all that is
important to their way of life except the changes of the moon. I

have seen some prowling fox or coyote, surprised by its sudden
rising from behind the mountain wall, slink in its increasing glow,

watch it furtively from the cover of near-by brush, unprepared and
half uncertain of its identity until it rode clear of the

peaks, and finally make off with all the air of one caught napping
by an ancient joke. The moon in its wanderings must be a sort of

exasperation to cunning beasts, likely to spoil by untimely risings
some fore-planned mischief.

But to take the trail again; the coyotes that are astir in the
Ceriso of late afternoons, harrying the rabbits from their shallow

forms, and the hawks that sweep and swing above them, are not there
from any mechanical promptings of instinct, but because they know

of old experience that the small fry are about to take to seed
gathering and the water trails. The rabbits begin it, taking the

trail with long, light leaps, one eye and ear cocked to the hills
from whence a coyote might descend upon them at any moment.

Rabbits are a foolish people. They do not fight except with their
own kind, nor use their paws except for feet, and appear to have no

reason for existence but to furnish meals for meat-eaters. In
flight they seem to rebound from the earth of their own elasticity,

but keep a sober pace going to the spring. It is the young
watercress that tempts them and the pleasures of society, for they

seldom drink. Even in localities where there are flowing streams
they seem to prefer the moisture that collects on herbage, and

after rains may be seen rising on their haunches to drink
delicately the clear drops caught in the tops of the young sage.

But drink they must, as I have often seen them mornings and
evenings at the rill that goes by my door. Wait long enough at the

Lone Tree Spring and sooner or later they will all come in. But
here their matings are accomplished, and though they are fearful of

so little as a cloud shadow or blown leaf, they contrive to have
some playful hours. At the spring the bobcat drops down upon them

from the black rock, and the red fox picks them up returning in the
dark. By day the hawk and eagle overshadow them, and the coyote

has all times and seasons for his own.
Cattle, when there are any in the Ceriso, drink morning and

evening, spending the night on the warm last lighted slopes of
neighboring hills, stirring with the peep o' day. In these half

wild spotted steers the habits of an earlier lineage persist. It
must be long since they have made beds for themselves, but before

lying down they turn themselves round and round as dogs do. They
choose bare and stony ground, exposed fronts of westward facing

hills, and lie down in companies. Usually by the end of the summer
the cattle have been driven or gone of their own choosing to the

mountain meadows. One year a maverick yearling, strayed or
overlooked by the vaqueros, kept on until the season's end, and so

betrayed another visitor to the spring that else I might have
missed. On a certain morning the half-eaten carcass lay at the

foot of the black rock, and in moist earth by the rill of the
spring, the foot-pads of a cougar, puma, mountain lion, or

whatever the beast is rightly called. The kill must have been made
early in the evening, for it appeared that the cougar had been

twice to the spring; and since the meat-eater drinks little until
he has eaten, he must have fed and drunk, and after an interval of

lying up in the black rock, had eaten and drunk again. There was
no knowing how far he had come, but if he came again the second

night he found that the coyotes had left him very little of his
kill.

Nobody ventures to say how infrequently and at what hour the
small fry visit the spring. There are such numbers of them that if

each came once between the last of spring and the first of winter
rains, there would still be water trails. I have seen badgers

drinking about the hour when the light takes on the yellow tinge it
has from coming slantwise through the hills. They find out shallow

places, and are loath to wet their feet. Rats and chipmunks have
been observed visiting the spring as late as nine o'clock mornings.

The larger spermophiles that live near the spring and keep awake to
work all day, come and go at no particular hour, drinking

sparingly. At long intervals on half-lighted days, meadow and
field mice steal delicately along the trail. These visitors are

all too small to be watched carefully at night, but for evidence of
their frequent coming there are the trails that may be traced miles

out among the crisping grasses. On rare nights, in the places
where no grass grows between the shrubs, and the sand silvers

whitely to the moon, one sees them whisking to and fro on
innumerable errands of seed gathering, but the chief witnesses of

their presence near the spring are the elf owls. Those
burrow-haunting, speckled fluffs of greediness begin a twilight

flitting toward the spring, feeding as they go on grasshoppers,
lizards, and small, swift creatures, diving into burrows to catch

field mice asleep, battling with chipmunks at their own doors, and
getting down in great numbers toward the long juniper. Now owls do

not love water greatly on its own account. Not to my knowledge
have I caught one drinking or bathing, though on night wanderings

across the mesa they flit up from under the horse's feet along
stream borders. Their presence near the spring in great numbers

would indicate the presence of the things they feed upon. All
night the rustle and soft hooting keeps on in the neighborhood of

the spring, with seldom small shrieks of mortal agony. It is clear
day before they have all gotten back to their particular hummocks,

and if one follows cautiously, not to frighten them into some
near-byburrow, it is possible to trail them far up the slope.

The crested quail that troop in the Ceriso are the happiest
frequenters of the water trails. There is no furtiveness about

their morning drink. About the time the burrowers and all that
feed upon them are addressing themselves to sleep, great

flocks pour down the trails with that peculiar melting motion of
moving quail, twittering, shoving, and shouldering. They splatter

into the shallows, drink daintily, shake out small showers over
their perfect coats, and melt away again into the scrub, preening

and pranking, with soft contented noises.
After the quail, sparrows and ground-inhabiting birds bathe

with the utmostfrankness and a great deal of splutter; and here in
the heart of noon hawks resort, sitting panting, with wings aslant,

and a truce to all hostilities because of the heat. One summer
there came a road-runner up from the lower valley, peeking and

prying, and he had never any patience with the water baths of the
sparrows. His own ablutions were performed in the clean, hopeful

dust of the chaparral; and whenever he happened on their morning
splatterings, he would depress his glossy crest, slant his shining

tail to the level of his body, until he looked most like some