pear among the rocks in the
opposite direction to that taken by the cony, standing for a moment to
regain my breath and recover from my surprise.

Suddenly there was a shrill whistle behind me. I jumped and whirled
about. Twenty feet away a marmot stood erect atop a rock, eying me
inquiringly, watching every movement. He had whistled his signal about
me, whether good or bad news I could not detect, but from the distance
came other whistles in reply. He was the cony's ally, broadcasting
information about the skirmish taking place before his eyes; but
whether he was attempting to interfere and divert my attention, I could
not make out. Certainly, though, he was giving information, signaling
my presence to all within hearing. My intrusion upon the heights in
summer has ever been announced by the conies and the marmots.

From another direction came a second whistle; apparently I was
surrounded. Then, as I moved, the second marmot hurried away from his
observation post. He was short-legged, reddish-yellow in color, with a
bushy tail, and he ran with great effort but with very little speed,
like a fat boy in a foot race.

Down in the valley near the ranch were numerous grouse, old and young,
so tame that it was like knocking over pet chickens to kill them. But
there was a strange bird above timberline, the ptarmigan, the arctic
quail of the north--fool hens, the Parson told me. These birds were
mottled in color, matching the rocks among which they lived, and so
closely did their color blend with their environment it was impossible
to distinguish bird from rock so long as the fowl remained still. It
was because they depended so utterly upon their protective coloration,
making no effort to get out of the way but acting with utmost
stupidity, that they came to be called "fool hens."

The days I spent above timberline were the most wonderful of all. From
high above the world I could see tier upon tier of distant, snow-capped
mountains--ghost ranges--and southward, at the horizon, loomed Pike's
Peak a hundred airline miles away, a giant pyramid above the foothills,
standing sentinel over the vast, flat plains that reached to its foot.

As weeks passed and my interest in the wild things increased, I began
to wish for a cabin of my own, a home or a den to which I could retreat
and spend the time as I desired. Wherever I rambled I was alert for a
location for my little house. I was not yet old enough to take up a
h