University of Virginia Library

32. CHAPTER XXXII.

On returning from our expedition in quest of
the young Count, I learned that a burrow, or
village, as it is termed, of prairie dogs had been
discovered on the level summit of a hill, about
a mile from the camp. Having heard much of
the habits and peculiarities of these little animals,
I determined to pay a visit to the community.
The prairie dog is, in fact, one of the
curiosities of the Far West, about which travellers
delight to tell marvellous tales, endowing him
at times with something of the politic and social
habits of a rational being, and giving him systems
of civil government and domestic economy,
almost equal to what they used to bestow upon
the beaver.

The prairie dog is an animal of the coney
kind, and about the size of a rabbit. He is of
a sprightly mercurial nature; quick, sensitive,
and somewhat petulant. He is very gregarious,
living in large communities, sometimes of several
acres in extent, where innumerable little
heaps of earth show the entrances to the subterranean
cells of the inhabitants, and the well

beaten tracks, like lanes and streets, show their
mobility and restlessness. According to the
accounts given of them, they would seem to be
continually full of sport, business, and public
affairs; whisking about hither and thither, as if
on gossiping visits to each other's houses, or
congregating in the cool of the evening, or
after a shower, and gambolling together in
the open air. Sometimes, especially when the
moon shines, they pass half the night in revelry,
barking or yelping with short, quick, yet weak
tones, like those of very young puppies. While
in the height of their playfulness and clamour,
however, should there be the least alarm, they
all vanish into their cells in an instant, and the
village remains blank and silent. In case they
are hard pressed by their pursuers, without any
hope of escape, they will assume a pugnacious
air, and a most whimsical look of impotent
wrath and defiance.

The prairie dogs are not permitted to remain
sole and undisturbed inhabitants of their own
homes. Owls and rattlesnakes are said to take
up their abodes with them; but whether as invited
guests or unwelcome intruders, is a matter
of controversy. The owls are of a peculiar
kind, and would seem to partake of the character
of the hawk; for they are taller and more
erect on their legs, more alert in their looks and

rapid in their flight than ordinary owls, and do
not confine their excursions to the night, but
sally forth in broad day.

Some say that they only inhabit cells which
the prairie dogs have deserted, and suffered to go
to ruin, in consequence of the death in them of
some relative; for they would make out this
little animal to be endowed with keen sensibilities,
that will not permit it to remain in the
dwelling where it has witnessed the death of a
friend. Other fanciful speculators represent the
owl as a kind of housekeeper to the prairie dog;
and, from having a note very similar, insinuate
that it acts, in a manner, as family preceptor,
and teaches the young litter to bark.

As to the rattlesnake, nothing satisfactory has
been ascertained of the part he plays in this
most interesting household; though he is considered
as little better than a sycophant and
sharper, that winds himself into the concerns of
the honest, credulous little dog, and takes him
in most sadly. Certain it is, if he acts as toad-eater,
he occasionally solaces himself with more
than the usual perquisites of his order; as he is
now and then detected with one of the younger
members of the family in his maw.

Such are a few of the particulars that I could
gather about the domestic economy of this little
inhabitant of the prairies, who, with his pigmy

republic, appears to be a subject of much whimsical
speculation and burlesque remarks, among
the hunters of the Far West.

It was towards evening that I set out with a
companion, to visit the village in question. Unluckily,
it had been invaded in the course of the
day by some of the rangers, who had shot two
or three of its inhabitants, and thrown the whole
sensitive community in confusion. As we approached,
we could perceive numbers of the
inhabitants seated at the entrances of their cells,
while sentinels seemed to have been posted on
the outskirts, to keep a look out. At sight of us,
the picket guards scampered in and gave the
alarm; whereupon every inhabitant gave a short
yelp, or bark, and dived into his hole, his heels
twinkling in the air as if he had thrown a somerset.

We traversed the whole village, or republic,
which covered an area of about thirty acres;
but not a whisker of an inhabitant was to be
seen. We probed their cells as far as the ramrods
of our rifles would reach, but could unearth
neither dog, nor owl, nor rattlesnake. Moving
quietly to a little distance, we lay down upon
the ground, and watched for a long time, silent
and motionless. By and bye, a cautious old
burgher would slowly put forth the end of his
nose, but instantly draw it in again. Another,

at a greater distance, would emerge entirely;
but, catching a glance of us, would throw a
somerset, and plunge back again into his hole.
At length, some who resided on the opposite
side of the village, taking courage from the continued
stillness, would steal forth, and hurry off
to a distant hole, the residence possibly of some
family connexion, or gossiping friend, about
whose safety they were solicitous, or with whom
they wished to compare notes about the late
occurrences.

Others, still more bold, assembled in little
knots, in the streets and public places, as if to
discuss the recent outrages offered to the commonwealth,
and the atrocious murders of their
fellow burghers.

We rose from the ground and moved forward,
to take a nearer view of these public proceedings,
when, yelp! yelp! yelp!—there was a shrill
alarm passed from mouth to mouth; the meetings
suddenly dispersed; feet twinkled in the
air in every direction; and in an instant all had
vanished into the earth.

The dusk of the evening put an end to our
observations, but the train of whimsical comparisons
produced in my brain by the moral attributes
which I had heard given to these little
politic animals, still continued after my return
to camp; and late in the night, as I lay awake

after all the camp was asleep, and heard in the
stillness of the hour, a faint clamour of shrill
voices from the distant village, I could not help
picturing to myself the inhabitants gathered together
in noisy assemblage, and windy debate,
to devise plans for the public safety, and to vindicate
the invaded rights and insulted dignity of
the republic.