Chapter XIV.
THE ARCTIC VISITORS.
"Help me catch these wounded ones!" cried Tug, dancing round in chase of several wing-tipped and lame birds that were floundering in the snow.
The others rushed after them too, and it was exciting sport, for the chase often led them into deep drifts and down the scraggy sides of the hummock; it thus became the scene of many comical tumbles and failures, for several of the birds, having been shot as they crowded together in a bunch, were only slightly wounded, and able to make a vigorous attempt to escape. Rex took part also, but his work consisted chiefly in barking himself hoarse, for all he accomplished was the finding of one dead bird; and this, as he was not a retriever, he devoured on the spot.
When, panting, red-faced, and tired out, they gathered again at the door, they counted up seventeen fat buntings and one long-spur as the result of the three shots. Three of these were badly mangled, and were given to Rex; the others they began at once to make into a stew for supper, which they always ate about sundown. This meal also took the place of a dinner, as they ate only "a bite" at noon.
While they were plucking the birds—and their bodies seemed wofully small when the thick coat of feathers had been removed—they asked Tug many questions about the buntings. He could not answer all of them, but the substance of what he told them was this:
The snow-buntings—white snow-birds, or snow-flakes—belong to the far northern regions, where they go in summer to make their nests, often within the arctic circle. As soon as their young are able to fly they must begin their southward migration, for the excessive cold and the deep snow cut off all the grass-seeds, mosses, and insects upon which they feed in summer. So they begin to spread southward, not into British America alone, but also into Lapland and Russia, and the lower parts of Siberia. The bird seems to be a lover of cold, and used to scant fare and the roughest climate. It is not always, therefore, that they are to be seen in the United States south of the Great Lakes.
Around these lakes, however, they are likely to come in large flocks after a cold snap or a deep fall of snow. The wild rice tracts and frozen marshes afford them an abundance of seeds and dried berries, upon which they grow fat. Though seeming less in danger than most other birds, since our hawks are gone southward, these buntings are exceedingly restless and timid, which makes them scurry away at the least alarm. Yet their timidity is not enough to insure their safety, for though they are constantly rising up and settling again, their flights are so short and uncertain that, as we have seen, a good marksman has no difficulty in shooting them. They are so small, however, that in this country of large game-birds they are never shot for food unless a necessity like the present one compels it. With the first bit of warm weather the snow-buntings and their companions, the long-spurs, whirl away to the bleak northward, crowding close upon the heels of Winter as he retreats to his polar stronghold.
In the cool mountainous parts of the Far West there are several species of birds closely akin to the snow-flake, whose summer homes are among the peaks. They belong to the same genus (Plectrophanes), but none of them are so white as the Eastern bunting; in fact, like the ptarmigan, he is pure white only in midwinter, changing in summer to a dress much mottled with warm brown and black, traces of which remain in his winter hood and collar.