cout leader in the mud.

"That's easy," replied Paul, "if you notice that the dog leaves the
track of his nails every time; while puss, well, she sheathes her claws
while she walks, keeping them sharp for business when she sights a
sparrow or a young rabbit."

"But look here, what's this funny track here? Some baby must have put
its hand down in the mud; but that's silly, of course. Whatever made
these, Paul?" asked Philip Towne, pointing ahead to a spot they had as
yet not visited.

Paul took one look, and smiled. He turned to Wallace, who nodded
instantly.

"A muskrat made those tracks, boys," observed Paul; "you see he leaves
marks entirely unlike any others we've seen. And here is where our
friend, Mr. Crow, came down from his perch where he's been scolding us
so long. He wanted a drink perhaps; or expected to pick up a breakfast
along the edge of the water, from insects that have been washed ashore."

All these things were very attractive to the boys.

"This thing gets better and better the deeper you climb into it,"
declared Bobolink, as he wrote away for dear life, jotting down all he
could remember of what he had heard.

Some of the boys even made rude but effective diagrams of the various
tracks, so that they would have the proof to show if ever a dispute
arose concerning the difference between the several species.

Many other things did Paul and Wallace bring to their attention. Why, it
seemed as though one had only to turn around up on the side of
Rattlesnake Mountain to discover new and wonderful facts that these boys
never dreamed of before.

"Where do you suppose this old pile of rocks ever got its name, Paul?"
asked one of the scouts, as he looked up at the frowning crest far
above.

"I really don't know," replied Paul; "I took the trouble to ask a number
of people too, who have lived around Stanhope for scores of years, and
they couldn't tell me; they said it had always gone by that name, and
supposed that once it was a regular rattlesnake den."

"Why, yes," interrupted Jud Elderkin; "one man told me he remembered
when there was a queer chap lived up here, a cripple too, who in those
days used to put in all his time hunting rattlesnakes for their skins,
which were used to make pocketbooks and slippers and belts out of; and
he sold the oil, too."

"Oil?" exclaimed Bobolink, "now, what do you mean by that? Do they use
it for lamps, or watches, like they do porpoise oil?"

"How about that,