The Hays Free Press

Tracks in the Snow

By DONALD ALLEN

(Copyright, 1912, by Associated Literary Press.)

It was the first snow of the season, and therefore not much of a snow—just about enough to call out the cats and rabbits and encourage them to leave a million tracks on the white blanket.

When Miss Ida Benham looked from her window in the morning she uttered a long-drawn "O-h-h-h!" at the sight.

When she got downstairs she "O-h-h-h-ed!" again, and encouraged by the smile of Aunt Betty's hired man she clasped her hands and exclaimed:

"Oh, this is what I was waiting for!"

"Yes. To go rabbit hunting!"

"You'll get a million of 'em."

The first snow in the city is not like the first snow in the country. There is a difference in the whiteness, and when there are tracks in the back yard a city man must admit that they were made by tomcats instead of rabbits.

Miss Ida was eighteen, but had never seen a real rabbit track. Neither had she ever met a hired man. She had seen dog tracks and met gruff policemen in Central park.

"I shall put on my shortest skirt," she said to her aunt as they ate breakfast, "and my thick shoes and that old hat I brought along, and I shall hunt down as many as six rabbits."

"Bless you, child! I may hunt for five miles around."

"So you may."

"I may not get back till dark."

"But don't get all tired out."

"My soul!" exclaimed the girl, as she jumped up. "I haven't any gun and there isn't any time to write brother Ben to send one up!"

"But you won't need one, dear. You take a club with you. You track a rabbit into a hollow log and stand by with your club raised to hit him on the head as he looks out to see who you are."

Which information went to show that, providing there were enough rabbits and clubs and hollow logs and girls in the country, the shipments of dead bunnies to the city market would average five carloads per day.

"Are they willing to be killed?" asked Miss Ida, as she thought of the terrific slaughter.

"I believe they are."

"And they won't fight back?"

"Never!"

Half an hour later the short-skirted and old-hatted young huntress, who had been provided with a stout club by the hired man, started out on the trail.

That is, she started out on a hundred trails, but after a time struck a single one and followed it across the fields and into a bit of woods. The rabbit had had his circus and was bound for his home in a hollow log. Yes, the trail led directly to a log with a cavity in the end, and now it was business.

Miss Ida walked on tip-toes. She breathed hard. She almost bit her tongue. She gripped her club 'til her fingers ached.

Straight into that hollow led the trail. She was sure of her quarry. That rabbit could no more escape her than the steel trust can escape Uncle Sam. He would hear and smell her. He would peek out and—smash!

The girl found her knees trembling and her breath coming in gasps, and she turned and ran for the highway. It was too much for her. She felt that she must have help. The hunter that sights his first deer has the same panicky feeling.

Mr. Brisbane Childs was being driven from the railroad station to his mother's house. He had come down on the early morning train, so as to take advantage of the tracking-snow. He had just entered a law firm as the junior partner and his legal erudition told him that the best time to hunt wolves and panthers and rabbits was when there was snow on the ground.

"Hey, you! Hey! Hey!"

Mr. Childs had been looking straight ahead. He now looked to the right, and ordered the driver to halt. Running across the white field was a girl with a club in her hand and her hat joggled over on her ear. Was she fleeing for her life before some savage animal? Had she aroused a nest of tramps in the woods?

"Say! Say! Say!" she gasped as she drew nearer.

"Yes, yes," answered Mr. Childs as he leaped from the carriage with all his chivalry aroused.

"I-I've got a rabbit in a hollow log back there!"

"Yes, yes."

"He's a big one—a monster. I don't want him to get away."

"I see. You want help."

Mr. Childs vaulted over the fence, extended his hand to Miss Ida and together they ran for the trees and the log. The spot was reached in three or four minutes, and not another word had passed between the two.

The lawyer noted the tracks of the rabbit, and then motioned the girl to be ready with her club. As soon as she was stationed he walked to the other end of the log. Then he sat down on it and began to laugh. He sat up and laughed. He bent over and laughed. He slapped his leg and laughed.

"Sir!"

He looked up through his tears at a girl standing very stiff and dignified before him.

"Sir!"

He pointed to the far end of the log and chuckled and gurgled. Miss Ida moved along until she could see. The log was hollow from end to end, and her rabbit had entered at one end and passed out at the other long before she had taken up his trail. As she turned again the young man was making heroic efforts to suppress his laughter.

"Sir!"

"I-I beg your pardon, but it's so funny!"

"Oh, it is!"

"You—you thought he was in there!"

"And he was!"

"But you see—see—"

"And you scared him out, and don't thank you for it!"

Mr. Childs sobered up and looked up penitently, and all at once the girl saw the humor of the situation and began to laugh, and finally said:

"What a goose I've made of myself! I never thought to look at the other end of the log. You see, it's the first time I ever went rabbit hunting. I thank you for your kindness."

When Miss Ida had reached home and told of her adventure her aunt asked:

"What name did you say he gave?"

"Why—why, he didn't give any!"

"But you gave your name?"

"Never thought of that!"

"I'm afraid your mother—"

"She's got nothing to do with it. She knows nothing about rabbit-hunting. She doesn't know how excited one gets when one gets a rabbit into a hollow log."

"But the young man?"

"Oh, he was excited, too. When he wasn't excited he was laughing. I'm sure he is a nice young man. He'd have given me his card if he'd thought of it."

"Well, I dunno!" sighed Aunt Betty.

"Don't know what?"

"Why, he'll call, and he'll admire you, and you'll both fall in love and be engaged and married, and your mother will lay it all to me, and—and—"

But Miss Ida's mother didn't. It is said that she was quite satisfied with the match, and so was the rabbit.