The flock that fought its way downward from the heights took advantage of outcropping rocks and, down in the woods, of logs which nearly lifted them above the snow. Six of the eleven who left the heights at last reached shallow snow where in a forest glade they remained for nearly a month. One winter five sheep were caught in the lowlands by a deep snow. They had started homeward with the coming of the storm but were fired on by hunters and driven back. Becoming snowbound they took refuge in a springy opening at the bottom of a forested slope. This open spot was not a stone’s throw across. It was overspread by outpouring spring water which dissolved most of the snow. Here the sheep remained for several weeks. This place not only afforded a moderate amount of food, but in it they had enough freedom of movement successfully to resist an attack of wolves. Apparently wolves do not attack sheep in their wintry heights. Deer and elk as well as sheep have often made a stand in a springy place of this kind. Sheep under normal conditions are serene and often playful. There appears to be most play when the flock is united. Commonly they play by twos, and in this play butt, push, feint, jump, and spar lightly with horns, often rising to the vertical on hind legs. If a bout becomes particularly lively the others pause to look on. They give attention while something unusual is doing. One day I saw a flock deliberately cross a snowdrift when they could easily have gone around it. But the sheep were vigorous from good feed and a mild winter and this snowdrift was across the game trail on which they were slowly travelling. No wild animal grass eater excels the bighorn sheep in climbing skill, alertness, endurance, and playfulness. They thrive on the winds and rations of the heights. Generally the sheep carry more fat when spring comes than the deer that winter down in the shelter of the woods or in the lowlands. Any healthy animal, human or wild, who understands the woodcraft of winter lives happily when drifts the snow. CHAPTER VII THE CLOWN OF THE PRAIRIES Nine healthy coyote puppies were playing in the sunshine with all their might. After days of searching I had at last discovered their den. The puppies had not noticed me and I enjoyed watching their training for the game of life. They wrestled, played at fighting, rolled over and over, bit at one another’s feet and tails, and occasionally all mixed in one merry heap. Their mother came along the hillside above the den. She walked back and forth on the skyline where I could not miss seeing her. Then she came nearer and passed within thirty or forty feet of me. I kept my eyes upon the puppies and pretended not to see their mother. She turned and passed still closer to me. This time she was limping badly on one forefoot and holding up one hind foot. She was making every effort to have me follow her--to lure me away from her home and her puppies.