Oct. 12, 1895., 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



numbers were observed between those dates. Some of 

 the insects probably stayed until frost, but I left the 

 mountains before the heavy frosts appeared. 



KoTJiTN Smith, 



EXTINCTION OF THE BLUEBIRD. 



PASCHAL, Ga.— The little bluebird (Silvia sialis)— Wil- 

 son's ornithology — once common in the United States and 

 Canadas, has not been seen alive in Georgia since the ex- 

 treme cold weather of Feb. 7 and 8 last. 



On the morning of both of those days the thermometer 

 registered from Columbus, Ga., to Florida 8° above zero, 

 and southward to Ocala, 9 to 11° above. 



It is now regarded as almost certain that these little* 

 birds— down to the 30th parallel— were destroyed by the 

 cold snap, and as a result some very interesting questions 

 are now being discussed by those supposed to be versed in 

 natural science. The bluebird was indigenous and resi- 

 dent in every Southern State summer and winter, and 

 only a summer resident in the North. The first pleasant 

 spell of weather in March never failed to bring him as far 

 North as the St. Lawrence, and he was regarded as the 

 courier avant who came to tell of the countless hosts 

 of pretty birds that would soon come to people the fields 

 and woods and lakes and streams of that far-away 

 country. 



But it will be a long time, if ever, before he becomes 

 common as he once was. During the same cold snap 

 immense numbers of robins, thrushes and other birds 

 were found dead along the highways and in the woods 

 and fields— all over the South— but no species suffered to 

 the extent of the bluebirds. 



My purpose of this communication is to obtain from 

 persons interested in natural history and living in the ex- 

 treme Northern States some facts connected with the 

 migration of birds last spring, that might be the subject 

 of future correspondence, and also to find out if the blue- 

 bird has been seen in any Northern State the present 

 year. W. R, Gokman. 



Signs of Early Winter. 



Detroit, Michigan, Sept. 30. — Editor Forest and 

 Stream: If the earliness of construction of the muskrats' 

 winter quarters is any sign that we are going to have an 

 early fall, we can look for winter any time now. The 

 muskrats started to build their houses in August, several 

 weeks earlier than usual. In the marshes controlled by 

 the Swan Creek Shooting Club the houses are apparently 

 all ready for the frosts and cold of the winter, but they 

 are being added to daily, the busy animals cutting every- 

 thing within reach. As a natural consequence, old 

 marshmen predict a severe and unusually early fall. 



Lake Erie is extremely low, and the marshes above 

 mentioned are very dry, with little or no water in them, 

 Snipe, of course, are scarce and wild, while ducks, 

 barring a few bluebills and wood- ducks, are marked 

 "N. E. I." 



During the extremely hot weather of one week ago 

 there was a fair sprinkling of snipe in the Swan Creek 

 Club's marshes, Messrs. Paul Weise and W. H. Brady in 

 two days bagging forty-seven snipe, three mallard, one 

 teal, one wood-duck. Twenty-seven of the snipe were 

 killed one day in a short hunt, the heat was too oppressive 

 for swamp work. Blue Bill, 



They were not Wild Pigeons. 



Lansing, Mich. — Editor Forest and Stream: A few 

 days ago I reported the killing of about twenty pigeons 

 at Pine Lake, Mich. I made the report on the say so of 

 one of the shooters, who I supposed knew all about the 

 passenger pigeon. To-day I am in receipt of a letter from 

 Mr. Duane, of Chicago, asking for full particulars. I 

 have just called up Mr. Launt Thompson, one of the 

 shooters, and a gentleman who knows all about pigeons, 

 and he has told me that the report was not correct. The 

 birds killed were what is known in the South as Carolina 

 doves. Mr. Thompson calls them mourning doves. 



Julian. 



[Julian sends us this note from Mr. Deane: "I was 

 much interested in seeing your note in Forest and 

 Stream regarding the killing of wild pigeons in your 

 State. I have been investigating the present scarcity of 

 the pigeon, and in the last (July) issue of the Auk pub- 

 lished such records as I could gleam of occurrences in the 

 States of Indiana and Illinois in the past ten years. One 

 specimen, a young female, was shot near here on Aug. 7, 

 and in June a flock of about ten birds were seen in Wis- 

 consin."] 



Two Broods in One Season. 



Waverly, Miss., Sept, 29. — It is quite cool here now, 

 but dry as powder. You may recollect that I wrote you 

 about seeing a good many pairs of birds without a brood, 

 very late in the season. I now find many young broods 

 that can barely fly which must be from the late hatching 

 of these same birds. Perhaps this is in a manner a solu- 

 tion of the hatching of two broods a year, the finding of 

 late broods giving that idea; though birds whose nests 

 have been broken up may nest again later and may thus 

 give the idea that they are the parents of two broods. 



W. W. Titus 



Buzzard and Bolt of Jove. 



The Reidsville, N C, Weekly says: A remarkable 

 occurrence was witnessed by Messrs. Henry Jeffries 

 and George Ellington, of the Oregon section, recently. 

 They noticed a buzzard flying in the midst of a storm, 

 and pretty soon it was struck by lightning, one wing be- 

 ing severed from the body. They found the wing and it 

 was scorched by the bolt, and the remainder of the unfor- 

 tunate bird was found soon afterward. 



The Linnsean Society of New York. 



A regular meeting of the Society will be held at the 

 American Museum of Natural History, Seventy-seventh 

 street and Eighth avenue, on Tuesd ly evening, Oct. 22, 

 at 8 o'clock. J. A. Allen will read a paper "On the Mam- 

 mals of Southwestern Texas, from Field Notes and Speci- 

 mens collected by Mr. H. P. Attwater." 



Business. 



Carolina, R. I.— I have sold out nearly all my dogs from the little 

 advertisement in Forest and Stream. I find it the best paper for sales 

 I have ever tried. A. E. Brown. 



wine §;ttj mi %ntu 



A CAMP ON ROARING RIVER. 



XL 



"A monster of so frightful mien 

 As, to be hated, needs but to be seen." 



The camp-fire burned unusually bright that night. It 

 had been a successful day all around . Fortune had smiled 

 upon the boys as she had seldom, if ever, smiled before. 

 There was plenty to talk about, and everybody was dis- 

 posed to talk, for they were all happy and contented. 



Even the sparks from the well-fed camp-fire flitted here 

 and there and gracefully played hide and seek among the 

 foliage overhead. 



All in all the conditions were propitious, and the boys 

 were full of good things, even to the Doctor's prize elk 

 steaks. They were just tired enough and just happy 

 enough to seek easy positions and smoke and tell yarns. 

 Each felt that he was a kind of hero and had a right to 

 tell his experience. So they swapped stories and smoked. 

 The Doctor had been through several Indian campaigns 

 and told of many thrilling experiences. 



It need not be recorded that he had at least one very 

 attentive listener. Neither Mead nor Swift could produce 

 quite so much blood and thunder, but their yarns were of 

 that happy -go-easy kind that pleaBe and help to pass away 

 time. Smyth's cougar and bear stories made even others 

 besides the Chinaman a little bit nervous under the exist- 

 ing circumstances, for it was awfully dark and dreary 

 just back a few yards from the camp-fire. When Smyth 

 told of how a cougar had followed close at his heels over 

 a lonely mountain trail one night, entering into all the 

 minute details of how his only protection was a small 

 bunch of matches, of which he had to be very economical, 

 burning only one when the cougar became too pressing 

 and earnest in his attentions, etc., One Lung sought a 

 more comfortable seat on the ground between the boys 

 and the fire. For some reason best known to himself, 

 Smyth delighted in persecuting that poor, harmless crea- 

 ture, which was very, very wrong in Smyth; and maybe 

 some time he will have to account for his conduct. 



About this time, just when he must have known that 

 One Lung was almost afraid to draw a long breath for 

 fear something would immediately proceed to devour 

 him, Smyth got very thirsty and insisted that the China- 

 man should go to the spring and get a bucket of fresh 

 water. It was cruel and hardly in keeping with Smyth's 

 general reputation for manliness and kindness of heart, 

 but a bucket of fresh water he must have. Mead and the 

 Doctor wanted to go, but that wouldn't do. Smyth had 

 "employed the Chinaman for the sole purpose of doing 

 camp work and not as a traveling companion." One 

 Lung hesitated, looked at Smyth, said something in his 

 native tongue which he knew Smyth couldn't understand, 

 but went. Swift called him back and gave him a blazing 

 limb from the camp-fire, which seemed to encourage 

 him a little, for he had doubtless gathered from Smyth's 

 cougar and match story that the varmints were all afraid 

 of fire. "These Chinamen," remarked Smyth, "are a 

 cowardly set. Bret Harte's story of Ah Sin gave people 

 a wrong idea about these heathen. They may be smooth 

 and cunning in small matters, but there is no bravery 

 about them except when they fight among themselves." 



"It's a little like Cooper's Indian of the 'Leather Stock- 

 ing Tales,' " remarked the Doctor. 



"That's so," said Swift, "I have never in my travels 

 seen a Chingachgook or Wah-ta-Wah." 



"They all died with the last of the Mohicans," put in 

 Mead, and added: "I wonder what J. Fenimore would 

 say of the Indian of the present day— greasy, lousy, drunk 

 and dressed up in a battered plug hat and a pair of cast- 

 off doeskin pants with the seat cut out for convenience 

 sake." 



"What's that?" said the Doctor, as shriek after shriek 

 came from down the trail toward the spring. "O, that's 

 only that monkey scared at his shadow," remarked Smyth, 

 and continued, "I'll fix him plenty if he comes sneaking 

 back here without water." But the shrieks continued, and 

 One Lung was evidently approaching rapidly. "Clougar! 

 clougar! clougar!" he yelled, as he dashed into camp 

 empty-handed, dodged Smyth and dove into the shack. 

 Smyth's ire and the other boys' uneasiness were just be- 

 ginning to manifest themselves, when with a graceful 

 bound a long-tailed, tawny beast, with eyes all aglow, 

 alighted on a log not a dozen yards from where they sat 

 and glared at them. Some, you know, call it ague, while 

 others insist that it is fever. Anyway the boys had it. 

 They were not exactly hypnotized, but they didn't get a 

 shot; for after a momentary survey of the gang his royal 

 highness quietly and gracefully disappeared in the dark- 

 ness before the boys even thought of their Winchesters. 



XII. 



"Methought I heard a voice cry, 'Sleep no more !' " 



With something akin to feelings of thankfulness and 

 gratitude the boys welcomed Saturday morning's light. 

 They had passed a very wretched night. If they could 

 have been permitted to sleep in peace after their hard 

 day's work of the day before they certainly would have 

 enjoyed the blessing immensely, for they were very, very 

 tired. But it was a long time after the cougar incident 

 before they sought their beds. And then all through the 

 night there were just enough rustlings and growls, and 

 snarls and "scraps," and strange noises to keep them 

 awake. 



The trail of fresh blood from six or seven miles back in 

 the elk country, with that from the salt lick, had led quite 

 a delegation of varmints to their camp. Two or three 

 times during the night they heard yells just human 

 enough to let them know that the bloodthirsty cougar 

 was around; while the growls and snarls and crunchings 

 might be from either wolves or bears disputing over the 

 bones and other remnants left from supper. Sometimes 

 the sides of the shack would perceptibly shake as some 

 more venturesome creature would try to get at the meat 

 that had been discreetly piled inside in one corner. And 

 then, as if to add to the distressing conditions, the fire 

 burned out and all was darkness. 



Of course there was no particular danger, but such con- 

 ditions and surroundings induce insomnia in most people, 

 unless it is some cold-blooded fellow like Smyth. Poor 

 One Lung mutely cowered in the corner, half dead with 

 fright. He was having a hard time of it. Not only 



Smyth, but all the varmints in the Cascade Range seemed 

 to have it in for him for some unaccountable reason. The 

 wonder is how the poor wretch lived at all, for even his 

 days were full of terror, and he had not been known to 

 sleep a wink since he left Portland. 



"I'm going to get up," said Mead. "And so am I," said 

 the Doctor. "And here, too," said Swift. Smyth pre- 

 tended to be asleep, and maybe he was, for Smyth is a 

 very practical fellow. 



What a relief these declarations must have been to the 

 poor Chinaman I Then the boys sat up and yawned and 

 rubbed their eyes and felt about as mean as some of their 

 neighbors outside. 



"We might as well have a little fun out of it while we 

 are at it," said the Doctor; "let's hurt some of these 

 wretches." That just suited the other boys, of course, 

 and so they all got their guns and crept outside. The 

 moon cast a few bashful glances down through the thick 

 foliage — just enough to make moving objects discernible 

 at a short distance. Presently the boys' eyes had become 

 sufficiently accustomed to the darkness to perceive two or 

 three dark objects moving about just down the trail a 

 little way, and at a given signal they turned loose and 

 kept on turning loose until they had emptied their maga- 

 zines. 



It was a kind of satisfaction to be in at the wake any- 

 way, you know. 



Then they reloaded and all went in a body for wood. 

 The camp-fire soon blazed brightly and the boys went out 

 to investigate the results of their fusillade. "Here he is," 

 said Mead, who was a little in advance of the others. 

 "What?" asked Swift and the Doctor together. "I don't 

 know what," replied Mead, "except that he is black and 

 has a breath like a buzzard." "And strange to say, the 

 nasty, snarling devil has hung to his elk rib even in 

 death," remarked the Doctor. 



XIII. 



"I am as free as nature first made man." 



The boys held their customary council of war after 

 breakfast and decided to be "free lances," as Swift ex- 

 pressed it, this last day in the elk country. That is to 

 say, each fellow might follow the course that best pleased 

 his fancy. Mead's experience at the saltlick the previous 

 day gave him an appetite in that direction. Smyth and 

 the Doctor wanted a bear, while Swift was "ready for 

 anything, from murder down to petit larceny." Smyth 

 thought that One Lung might put in the day profitably 

 practicing climbing trees. So Mead took his rifle and 

 struck out for the salt lick. Again he approached very 

 cautiously, but there were no pretty horns sticking up 

 out of the hole this time. Lightning seldom strikes twice 

 in the same place. It was all right though with Mead, 

 for they didn't need any more meat, and he felt a secret 

 gratification that he was not tempted. Then he sat down 

 on the bank and soliloquized: 



"There was a time,", thought he, "when the Indian 

 roamed over these mountains and through these lovely 

 canons, and supplied the hungry mouths in his wigwam 

 with plenty; and his only arms were the spear and the 

 bow. Now the most improved arms even in the hands 

 of the expert can scarcely secure as much, and I will 

 probably live to see the time when the deer, the elk and 

 the bear will be only fading memories of the half -forgot- 

 ten past." But what's that object that catches his eye 

 away below, down almost under him. It moves. It 

 must be a deer, and yes, there's another — both does, for 

 no proud antlers grace their pretty heads. Mead knew 

 that he ought not to shoot, but then — well, you know 

 how it is yourself. He fired. They moved not. He fired 

 again. Still they moved not. Five times more he fired. 

 Five times more they moved not. But while he was fill- 

 ing his magazine there was a dissolving view below, and 

 when he was again ready to shoot there was nothing to 

 shoot at. Then Mead discovered that his rear sight was 

 on the 400yds. notch— hardly adapted to almost perpen- 

 dicular down-hill shooting — and his bullets had probably 

 found a resting place in the bank on the other side of the 

 canon. But in his heart Mead was really glad of it, for 

 Mead's heart is all right even if he does get a little off 

 himself once in a while. 



The Doctor and Smyth had crippled a bear early in the 

 day by breaking one of his forelegs. They followed him 

 six or seven miles over the mountains and through the 

 canons, but he seemed to be doing quite well, thank you, 

 at 5 o'clock in the afternoon, and so the boys gave up the 

 chase as a bad job and returned to camp. 



But there was one member of that camp that didn't get 

 skunked; no, sir I 



That was Mr. Frederick Thayer Swift, "which I wish to 

 remark." 



He was following a trail through one of those little 

 grassy parks that are found in all mountains; going along 

 carelessly, aimlessly, without any particular object or de- 

 sign, when he saw a black object of some kind rise up 

 from a bunch of grass on ahead a couple of hundred 

 yards. The animal looked at him and then disappeared. 

 Naturally enough he thought it was a young bear that 

 had stood up long enough to satisfy himself who Swift 

 was or what he was, and then "skinned out." 



He sauntered on, and when he got ||a hundred yards or 

 so nearer imagine his surprise at seeing the black object 

 rise up out of the grass, take another look at him and 

 again disappear, Now, Swift is nobody's coward, but the 

 conduct of this varmint didn't strike him as being in 

 accordance with established usage or such as might be ex- 

 pected of a plain little black bear of reasonable intelli- 

 gence, and that ought to manifest at least regard enough 

 for Swift's reputation as a bold and fearless hunter to run 

 away. Swift was probably just a little bit suspicious and 

 nervous in consequence of the animal's foolish and almost 

 suicidal conduct, and so he mechanically cocked his gun 

 and put in position for immediate use should the animal 

 persist in its idiotic course. It was well that he did, for 

 when he got within a rod or so of the bunch of grass out 

 sprang a gigantic black wolf, which came straight at him 

 with its great red mouth wide open and its green eyes all 

 ablaze. 



Swift pulled the trigger without putting his gun to 

 his shoulder, and, in keeping with Mead's luck with the 

 buck, he tore the whole top of his head off. And he 

 brought the scalp back to camp as proof of the truth of 

 his remarkable story. "That animal," said Smyth, "is 

 the only varmint in either the Cascade or Coast ranges, 

 except possibly the mealy-faced bear, that won't run from 

 a man. That cuss will go clear out of his way to pick a 



