ZOOLOGICAL SOCIETY BULLETIN 



991 



a stream and then drifting along through a lane 

 of black-jack and post oaks to the crest of a low 

 hill where it winds through an open glade cov- 

 ered with mesquite grass. In the forest and 

 through the glades runs the trail until it at- 

 tains a high, open point in the valley where the 

 panorama of the Preserve sweeps away to the 

 west and north, a panorama of rolling prairie 

 and timber-bordered streams, disappearing in 

 the hazy-blue foothills of the weird, boulder-cov- 

 ered mountains which surround it on every side. 



Two prong-horned antelopes spring up from 

 the grass and bound away, their white rump 

 patches marking their queer, stiff-legged flight 

 long after their forms are no longer visible. A 

 huge bull elk challenges your passage through, 

 but conquers his resolve and turns away, his 

 numerous family following his measured pace 

 down the draw. You ride on, up one billowy rise 

 and down another, along the line of the boun- 

 dary fence which stretches like a silver ribbon 

 glistening in the first rays of the rising sun, un- 

 til you slip from your horse at the buffalo yards. 

 Away north, on the Range, the bison are swing- 

 ing along toward the feeding corral, responding 

 to the sight of the Ranger's horse and his long, 

 echoing call. 



The line increases in length when the outly- 

 ing and solitary bulls pick up the trail of the 

 main body. The pace quickens, and the calves 

 and young bulls, unable to restrain their im- 

 patience, break into an easy lope. Comanche, 

 now eleven years old, stalks along in the van, 

 still the leader, though being hard pressed for 

 that honor by his young offspring. The long 

 shadows spread out before them and against the 

 blackness of it and their long, shaggy hair their 

 heavy breath breaks into long white plumes in 

 the crisp, morning air. Along the fence of the 

 corral the Ranger has spread the Kaffir corn and 

 cane; long golden stalks with deep red and yel- 

 low clusters of seed. As the first bundle is 

 tossed over the fence, the fast approaching herd 

 breaks into a gallop and the dust rises in clouds. 

 Down into the gully of Cache Creek and .up 

 again, the long, waving line disappears and re- 

 appears. Old Comanche catches a bundle on his 

 stubby horns, gives it a mighty shake and scat- 

 ters the fluttering stalks about him. The herd 

 moves along the dividing fence, bellowing and 

 plunging as they receive the bundles. 



The corral is a cloud of dust, and an animated 

 picture of healthy, vigorous bovine life. Each 

 animal is round and plump, and every hairy 

 coat glistens with health. The calf that was 

 only six months old when shipped from New 



York, has expanded into a monstrous bull, with 

 a huge head and a great, shaggy mane. Mr. 

 Rush has named him "Black Dog,'' in honor of 

 a Comanche Chief. Unable to take care of 

 himself on his arrival, he was put into a small 

 corral and carefully reared on "chop" and se- 

 lected food. How successfully this was ac- 

 complished the picture that this great, shaggy 

 fellow presents is sufficient proof. 



Between the oldest bull down the line to the 

 youngest calf, there is little to choose, and 

 there are none that are not well developed, per- 

 fect animals. There are several large bulls, 

 and Quannah, Lone Wolf and Comanche are just 

 now at the point of determining the question of 

 supremacy. In spite of his years, old Comanche 

 is yet maintaining his place as the leader of the 

 herd. Thus far there have been no signs of any 

 change through in-breeding and Mr. Rush's 

 thorough knowledge of cattle breeding has been 

 of the utmost value in keeping the standard of 

 excellence so high. Dr. Hornaday maintains 

 that in herds of wild animals roaming free in 

 vast ranges, the ordinary dangers of inbreeding 

 that are to be feared in domestic cattle closely 

 confined, entirely disappear. 



During the winter months the food of the 

 herd is Kaffir corn and cane, and its food value 

 for all hoofed stock has the unqualified en- 

 dorsement of every cow-man in the country. 

 It is estimated that two bushels of the shelled 

 Kaffir corn are the equivalent of three bushels 

 of oats for stock that is not working. 



The cattle tick that once literally was the 

 bug-a-boo of the cattleman, no longer has any 

 terror for him. A Federal law that covers 

 the zone of the natural breeding life of the tick 

 provides that all outgoing and incoming cattle 

 shall be dipped. For this purpose, both the 

 Forest service and various shipping points on 

 the railroads are equipped with corrals and vats 

 where cattle and horses may be dipped, and in 

 consequence of this, the complete eradication of 

 the pest in the near future is assured. 



As one leaves the bison range and rides alone 

 into the forest he is impressed with another 

 feature of the Wichita National Preserve, — its 

 bird life. In this also we find a striking ob- 

 ject lesson in protection. An unutterable si- 

 lence lies over the whole landscape; a silence 

 that would deprive this lovely valley of some 

 of its charms, were it not for the wild creatures 

 that have there found a haven of refuge. There 

 is, however, hardly a quarter hour in a day's 

 ride that some interesting form of bird life is not 

 flashing before your eyes. Red-headed, red- 



