104 



OEOTTHOLOGIST 



[Vol. 15-No. 7 



A Death Struggle. 



Following is a story told by a man known 

 here as Polecat Rnbe, a professional trapper, 

 skunks being his favorite game, hence the name. 

 He is without education but a great respecter 

 of science, rarely referring to bird or animal 

 without the scientific. Here it is as told by 

 himself: 



It war on er mighty nice mornin in April 

 wen I tuck Betsy Jane (his seventy-five cent 

 spy glass) an santcred down ter the Lake ter 

 see what war goin on. I war takin in things 

 ginerally wen I see sunthun settin on er ole 

 dead tree. I tuck er fine bead on him with 

 Betsy an thar sot er Ball-faced Eagle (Eplurer- 

 bus Unuiii) big as a barl (barrel). He was 

 combin out his feathers with his long crooked 

 snout, an purty soon he cockt one eye down at 

 the ground an begin ter smile, an thar come er 

 Yaller BuUcat {FUlerkerdec) snenkm threw tlie 

 brush, and I could tel jist the way he snuck, 

 he thort he war mighty slick, but he haddent 

 kotched on ter ole Plure settin up thar smilin 

 at him. The closer he snuck ter that are ole 

 dead tree the more ole Plure would grin, an 

 purty soon old Plure let go all honlts an down 

 he come slam bang onto Fill's back, like er 

 Pewee onto er June bug. Jist as soon as Fill 

 begin ter feel old Plure' s toenails walking inter 

 his back he flopped upside down, an the 

 racket sot in, feathers an liar fiying every 

 way. Fill squallin an Plure scrcamin, an boys 

 if youd'd er bin thar you'd er thot the devil 

 an all his injins war givin er open ar (air) 

 concert. Well I tliart I'de drap down that are 

 way and sec who wor on top, and how tha war 

 gettin on ginerally. An I drapt, an drapt, 

 an drapt, til I war in twenty feet uv um an 

 derii the thing could I see uv um for har and 

 feathers fiying, all I could do war ter stan thar 

 an take in the music, an purty soon the music 

 begin ter weaken an weaken, til it war like the 

 little ecnd uv iiothiu whittled down to er pint, 

 an ;dl war stil as er new grave yard. I had ter 

 wait jist twenty minits fur the liar an feathers 

 ter settle down so I culd see ter git in an then 

 I gathered up er two year-ole club an waided 

 in an every step war up ter my knees in har 

 and feathers, all I could find uv Fill war two 

 inches uv his tail, one car, an one paw, an all 

 war left uv Plure war three feathers uv his 

 tail held together by a little piece uv skin, one 

 claw an the upper part uv his snout. Me ami 

 the ole woman gathered up er nuff liar an 

 feathers thar ter 111 er big feather tick an four 

 pillars. 



Now boys don't yer forgit it I alius 

 nock the packin out ov the man that calls me 

 er liar. (We all believed it of course.) 



Mossback. 



Doings of a Tenderfoot. 



Well, here I am in tlic " wild and woolly 

 west," not so wild nor so woolly as it might 

 be either; eastern people don't do this section 

 justice in this respect. The days of Indians 

 and bad cowboys are passed, and replaced 

 by style and refinement like the rest of our 

 great country. 



And the birds — they are a great attraction 

 for tlie tenderfoot collector, for such I must 

 be called. All strangers are tenderfeet until 

 they can talk understandingly of "foot-hills," 

 "canons," " timber line," and one thing and 

 another, and I haven't got tliat far along yet. 

 About a week ago I had a half day to myself, 

 and with a few shells of No. 12 started out to 

 see what I could find. The nearest grove of 

 trees was along a creek bottom, so I made for 

 these, but with a rather uncertain step for 

 fear of tresspassing on the dignity of some 

 native, and aside from that I did not know 

 where the city limits were, and whether or 

 not the people would object to my collecting a 

 few birds. My fears were soon set aside, 

 however, by a gardener who gave me some 

 encouraging words, and I felt that I could 

 better enjoy my little tramp. 



The first bird I dared to shoot at was a 

 Lewis' Woodpecker that I found perched on a 

 fence post. Just before I was ready to shoot 

 he started off with his Blackbird flight, but 

 ran into the charge of shot I sent ahead of 

 him and gave up his life for science. It was 

 an elegant male, and the first I had ever seen 

 alive, and was recognized easily from quite a 

 distance. 



When I reached the creek I found birds 

 plenty — Spotted Sandpipers, Lark Finches, 

 Brewer's Grackle, etc., but I decided I did not 

 want any of these so went further on and 

 fiuslied a Green-tailed Towhec which got 

 safely across the creek. Just as I entered the 

 first bunch of trees I saw four Ijouisiana Taii- 

 agers, perfect beauties, red and gold, but 

 despite my best efforts to get in range I failed, 

 for they were very wild, so I brought down a 

 pair of Bullock's Oriole instead. The next 

 victim was a fine Macgillivary's Warbler from 

 a clump of briars. I did not notice a very 

 large variety of Warblers about. A few Ten- 



