ips
of the cougar, or any other creature which may make an attack on that
seemingly unprotected little animal. The fisher (_Mustela Canadensis_)
is said to be the only animal that can kill the porcupine with impunity.
It fights the latter by first throwing it upon its back, and then
springing upon its upturned belly, where the spines are almost entirely
wanting.

The cougar is called a cowardly animal: some naturalists even assert
that it will not venture to attack man. This is, to say the least, a
singular declaration, after the numerous well-attested instances in
which men have been attacked, and even killed by cougars. There are
many such in the history of early settlement in America. To say that
cougars are cowardly now when found in the United States--to say they
are shy of man, and will not attack him, may be true enough. Strange,
if the experience of 200 years' hunting, and by such hunters too, did
not bring them to that. We may safely believe, that if the lions of
Africa were placed in the same circumstances, a very similar shyness and
dread of the upright biped would soon exhibit itself. What all these
creatures--bears, cougars, lynxes, wolves, and even alligators--are now,
is no criterion of their past. Authentic history proves that their
courage, at least so far as regards man, has changed altogether since
they first heard the sharp detonation of the deadly rifle. Even
contemporaneous history demonstrates this. In many parts of South
America, both jaguar and cougar attack man, and numerous are the deadly
encounters there. In Peru, on the eastern declivity of the Andes, large
settlements and even villages have been abandoned solely on account of
the perilous proximity of those fierce animals.

In the United States, the cougar is hunted by dog and gun. He will run
from the hounds, because he knows they are backed by the unerring rifle
of the hunter; but should one of the yelping pack approach too near, a
single blow of the cougar's paw is sufficient to stretch him out. When
closely pushed, the cougar takes to a tree, and, halting in one of its
forks, humps his back, bristles his hair, looks downward with gleaming
eyes, and utters a sound somewhat like the purring of a cat, though far
louder. The crack of the hunter's rifle usually puts an end to these
demonstrations, and the cougar drops to the ground either dead or
wounded. If only the latter, a desperate fight ensues between him and
the dogs,