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Updated: June 13, 2025
Right across the feeding-ground, almost the only good one now in the Stormy Moon, he set a row of snares. A cottontail rabbit, an old friend, cut several of these with his sharp teeth, but some remained, and Redruff, watching a far-off speck that might turn out a hawk, trod right in one of them, and in an instant was jerked into the air to dangle by one foot.
Again the report sounded, and this time the rabbit rolled over and over in the snow. Without stopping, Ben picked up the still struggling game and slipped a couple of fresh cartridges into the empty revolver chambers. The banks were lined with burrows and tracks, and within five minutes a second cottontail met the fate of the first. "Come back!" called Ben to the man ahead. Again Tom obeyed.
The game she hunted was the squirrel tossing his grey body through the branches of pine and cedar, the quail calling from the hillsides, the cottontail scampering through the underbrush, the yellowhammer, the woodpecker, the wide winged butterflies sailing through the orchard and across the meadow lands.
They set up for a lot of gamblers, and there ain't one in a thousand of them that's got the nerve to be a gambler. They're four-flushers, if you know what that means. They're a lot of little cottontail rabbits making believe they're big rip-snorting timber wolves. They set out to everlastingly eat up some proposition but at the first sign of trouble they turn tail and stampede for the brush.
He had never before heard anything like it, and looked all about to see where it came from. After a time he saw that the cottontail rabbits were singing and making medicine. They had built a fire, and raked out some hot ashes, and they would lie down in these ashes and sing, while one of the others covered them up. They could stay there only for a short time, though, for the ashes were hot.
There was an open space to cross on the road to the water, and, after a careful lookout for enemies, the mother gathered the little things under the shadow of her spread fantail and kept off all danger of sunstroke until they reached the brier thicket by the stream. Here a cottontail rabbit leaped out and gave them a great scare. But the flag of truce he carried behind was enough.
It may be only a poor little cottontail, but we'll soon know, for they're heading straight in our direction. Whew! listen to the yelps they give!" "There's something in the lake over yonder, and coming this way, too!" exclaimed Felix "Can it be a muskrat, Tom, do you think, swimming on top of the water?"
The crows still come in spring-time to Castle Frank, but without their famous leader their numbers are dwindling, and soon they will be seen no more about the old pine-grove in which they and their forefathers had lived and learned for ages. RAGGYLUG, The Story of a Cottontail Rabbit RAGGYLUG, or Rag, was the name of a young cottontail rabbit.
No doubt drinkin', smokin', an' gamblin' makes men jolly them at least that's tough an' that wins! but I'm jolly without 'em, boys, jolly as a cottontail rabbit just come of age." "An' ye look it, old man," returned the young fellow, puffing cloudlets with the utmost vigour; "but come, Ben, won't ye spin us a yarn about your frontier life?"
And every morning, when Molly Cottontail went out to get their food, she said to Raggylug, 'Now, Raggylug, remember you are only a baby rabbit, and don't move from the nest. No matter what you hear, no matter what you see, don't you move!" all this is different still, yet it is familiar, too; it appears that rabbits are rather like folks.
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