334 



THE OOLOGIST. 



as large as small chickens. The heads 

 are small, the beaks and feet nearly 

 black, the plumage is dark and colored 

 somewhat like that of the common quail. 

 That is the feathers are barred with 

 dark brown and light brown, with here 

 and there a yellowish tint. The wings 

 are small for such a heavy bird, but 

 they make up for that by rapidity of 

 motion. If you strip off the feathers 

 the skin is found to be decidedly dark. 

 In this case, color is more than skin 

 deep for the flesh is extreemly dark, 

 even after being cooked. Despite the 

 color, Prairie Chicken is of an excellent 

 flavor, especially if the bird is young 

 and " cooked just right." 



Duriug the winter, they congregate 

 in great flocks. A single flock often 

 contains several hundred birds. When 

 spring comes, they separate, each pair 

 seeking a home in some unfrequented 

 place. There the nest is built on the 

 ground, hidden by grass so that it is ex- 

 tremely hard to find. In "early times," 

 prairie fires were very destructive to 

 the nests and yuung. After a fire it 

 was no uncornmrm thing to see whole 

 sets of scorched eggs on the bare ground. 



The number of eggs in a set vaiies 

 from a dozen to over twenty: They 

 have the general appearance of com- 

 mon barn-yard guineas eggs. The col- 

 or being nearly the same as that which 

 coffee gives eggshell, although they are 

 sometimes dotted with dark brown. 

 The shell is much heavier and harder 

 than that of hens eggs. 



If you should succeed in finding a 

 brood of young about a week old, you 

 would be surprised'at the activity they 

 display. It is very difficult to catch 

 one of these lively youngsters. The 

 mother gives a warning cry— away 

 they scurry in all directions, giving a 

 peculiar Aveeping cry. In less time 

 than it takes to tell it, they have vanish- 

 ed, and search as yon may, the chances 

 are that you cannot find a single one. 



Judging fi'om my experience with a 



shot gun, the " bow armed Indian " did 

 not bag many chickens. The modern 

 " sport " with his well trained dog and 

 his repeating shot gun is hurrying this 

 noble bird to the happy hunting ground. 

 It is not the hunting clubs nor is it the 

 farmer with his muzzle loader, who is 

 waging this war of destruction, but it 

 is the worthless town loafer — that mis- 

 erable wretch who is too lazy to work 

 for his living but supports (?) his family 

 by fishing and pot-hunting. It is this 

 same fellow or others of his caliber who 

 in many places hunt birds for their 

 feathers. 



To make this business more despica- 

 ble it is generally carried on in defiance 

 of the law. If this slaughter continues, 

 the Prairie Hen will soon be numbered 

 with the rare birds. 



This " sport " continues until nearly 

 all the chickens are killed. The few 

 " lucky birds " are very shy and lead 

 lonely lives until Christmas time, when 

 they again collect in flocks. 



They are seldom hunted in winter be- 

 cause they fly long before the hunter 

 comes in range. Yet they may often 

 be seen feeding in cornfields or on the 

 buds of trees. They seem to have 

 a special liking for cotton wood buds 

 and it is no uncommon thing to see 

 twenty-five or thirty birds in one tree, 

 in the spring time. Do not mistake my 

 meaning and get the impression that 

 Prairie Hens " live in trees," for they 

 spend nearly all their time on the 

 ground or flying. 



With a short description of the flight 

 of the game bird of the prairie I will 

 close. It may be called a " buzz and a 

 soar." It is accompanied by a loud 

 whirring noise, unlike that produced 

 by and other bird that 1 have ever seen. 

 Like Bill Nyes Ostrich they have a live- 

 ly way of swapping time for distance. 



XT. C. 



