But another thing about these prairie-dogs (perhaps, considering their size, we should call them prairie-doggies), another thing about them, we say, was that each doggie lived with an owl, or, more correctly, an owl lived with each doggie! This is such an extraordinary _fact_ that we could scarce hope that men would believe us, were our statement not supported by dozens of trustworthy travellers who have visited and written about these regions. The whole plain was covered with these owls. Each hole seemed to be the residence of an owl and a doggie, and these incongruous couples lived together apparently in perfect harmony. We have not been able to ascertain from travellers _why_ the owls have gone to live with these doggies, so we beg humbly to offer our own private opinion to the reader. We assume, then, that owls find it absolutely needful to have holes. Probably prairie-owls cannot dig holes for themselves. Having discovered, however, a race of little creatures that could, they very likely determined to take forcible possession of the holes made by them. Finding, no doubt, that when they did so the doggies were too timid to object, and discovering, moreover, that they were sweet, innocent little creatures, the owls resolved to take them into partnership, and so the thing was settled--that's how it came about, no doubt of it! There is a report that rattlesnakes live in these holes also; but we cannot certify our reader of the truth of this. Still it is well to be acquainted with a report that is current among the men of the backwoods. If it be true, we are of opinion that the doggie's family is the most miscellaneous and remarkable on the face of--or, as Henri said, in the bo'-els of the earth. Dick and his friends were so deeply absorbed in watching these curious little creatures that they did not observe the rapid spread of the black clouds over the sky. A few heavy drops of rain now warned them to seek shelter, so wheeling round they dashed off at full speed for the clump of willows, which they gained just as the rain began to descend in torrents. "Now, lads, do it slick. Off packs and saddles," cried Joe Blunt, jumping from his horse. "I'll make a hut for ye, right off." "A hut, Joe! what sort o' hut can ye make here?" inquired Dick. "Ye'll see, boy, in a minute." "Ach! lend me a hand here, Dick; de bockle am tight as de hoss's own skin. Ah! dere all right." "Hallo! what's this?" exclaimed Dick, as Crusoe advanced with something in his mouth. "I declare, it's a bird o' some sort." "A prairie-hen," remarked Joe, as Crusoe laid the bird at Dick's feet; "capital for supper." "Ah! dat chien is superb! goot dog. Come here, I vill clap you."