Karr paused to listen. He heard a faint but distinct "tap, tap," on the trees. It sounded like the ticking of a watch.
"Yes, I hear how it ticks," cried Karr, and ran no farther. He understood that the elk did not want him to follow, but to take notice of something that was happening in the forest.
Karr was standing beneath the drooping branches of a great pine. He looked carefully at it; the needles moved. He went closer and saw a mass of grayish-white caterpillars creeping along the branches, gnawing off the needles. Every branch was covered with them. The crunch, crunch in the trees came from the working of their busy little jaws. Gnawed-off needles fell to the ground in a continuous shower, and from the poor pines there came such a strong odour that the dog suffered from it.
"What can be the meaning of this?" wondered Karr. "It's too bad about the pretty trees! Soon they'll have no beauty left."
He walked from tree to tree, trying with his poor eyesight to see if all was well with them.
"There's a pine they haven't touched," he thought. But they had taken possession of it, too. "And here's a birch—no, this also! The game-keeper will not be pleased with this," observed Karr.
He ran deeper into the thickets, to learn how far the destruction had spread. Wherever he went, he heard the same ticking; scented the same odour; saw the same needle rain. There was no need of his pausing to investigate. He understood it all by these signs. The little caterpillars were everywhere. The whole forest was being ravaged by them!
All of a sudden he came to a tract where there was no odour, and where all was still.
"Here's the end of their domain," thought the dog, as he paused and glanced about.
But here it was even worse; for the caterpillars had already done their work, and the trees were needleless. They were like the dead. The only thing that covered them was a network of ragged threads, which the caterpillars had spun to use as roads and bridges.