s, and rare, were now again on the increase, and those which
survived, selected by a hundred hard trials, were enabled to flourish
where their ancestors could not have outlived a single season.

Their favorite grounds were, not the broad open stretches of the big
ranches, but the complicated, much-fenced fields of the farms, where
these were so small and close as to be like a big straggling village.

One of these vegetable villages had sprung up around the railway
station of Newchusen. The country a mile away was well supplied with
Jack-rabbits of the new and selected stock. Among them was a little
lady Rabbit called "Bright-eyes," from her leading characteristic as
she sat gray in the gray brush. She was a good runner, but was
especially successful with the fence-play that baffled the Coyotes. She
made her nest out in an open pasture, an untouched tract of the ancient
prairie. Here her brood were born and raised. One like herself was
bright-eyed, in coat of silver-gray, and partly gifted with her ready
wits, but in the other, there appeared a rare combination of his
mother's gifts with the best that was in the best strain of the new
Jack-rabbits of the plains.

This was the one whose adventures we have been following, the one that
later on the turf won the name of Little Warhorse and that afterward
achieved a world-wide fame.

Ancient tricks of his kind he revived and put to new uses, and ancient
enemies he learned to fight with new-found tricks.

When a mere baby he discovered a plan that was worthy of the wisest
Rabbit in Kaskado. He was pursued by a horrible little Yellow Dog, and
he had tried in vain to get rid of him by dodging among the fields and
farms. This is good play against a Coyote, because the farmers and the
Dogs will often help the Jack, without knowing it, by attacking the
Coyote. But now the plan did not work at all, for the little Dog
managed to keep after him through one fence after another, and Jack
Warhorse, not yet full-grown, much less seasoned, was beginning to feel
the strain. His ears were no longer up straight, but angling back and
at times drooping to a level, as he darted through a very little hole
in an Osage hedge, only to find that his nimble enemy had done the same
without loss of time. In the middle of the field was a small herd of
cattle and with them a calf.

There is in wild animals a curious impulse to trust any stranger when
in desperate straits. The foe behind they know me