112 
WILD WINGS 
The Turkey Buzzard is quite widely distributed. I have 
often seen it away up in North Dakota, and now and then it 
appears in Connecticut. One warm August day, in the latter 
state, I drove eight miles to see a singular, unknown bird 
which a farmer wrote me he had caught. It proved to be 
a Turkey Buzzard, slightly wounded, which had now fully 
recovered. Taking it home with me in a box, I kept it in 
my stable. It fed voraciously on livers and sounds, drink¬ 
ing plenty of water, and made a fine subject to photograph. 
But I could never teach it that it was not necessary for it 
to offer me its dinner whenever I had occasion to handle 
it. One verv singular habit it had was to fill its lungs with 
air, and then slowly expel it, keeping up a steady hiss, 
like escaping steam, for about ten seconds. Another was to 
stamp its foot angrily upon the floor several times in rapid 
succession. 
Passing through Southern cities, I had seen from the car 
windows flocks of buzzards frequenting dumping-grounds 
and similar places in the environs. And when I had occasion 
to stay for several days in one of them — Charleston it was — 
I had the chance of my life to study buzzards. F'ortunately, 
too, it was mainly the Black Buzzard, the kind less familiar 
to me. Right in the heart of the city, the great black fel¬ 
lows visit the market. They sit in rows upon the adjoining 
houses, or upon the market buildings themselves. Presently 
one of the market-men, after serving a customer, throws the 
scraps he has cut off into the paved street. Instantly there is 
the greatest imaginable flapping of wings and such a scurry¬ 
ing. Great birds by the score tumble pell-mell into the street, 
and laying hold upon the choice morsels, a number at a time, 
tug and haul, until the strongest gets the prize. Meanwhile 
we stand within a few feet and laugh. Then they linger 
around and wait to see if more will not be forthcoming, or 
