Oct. 26, 1895.] 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



867 



Grouse in Town. 



Ithaca, N. Y. — One evening recently, Mr. Stroud Bush, 

 of this city, on the way home was startled by the whir 

 of swift-beating pinions, and the next instant there was a 

 resounding thud as the bird collided with the side of a 

 nearby house. The ruffed grouse was dead when Mr. 

 Bush picked it up. This incident affords some insight to 

 tb« question relative to the grouse's swiftness of flight. 



Two or three years ago a ruffed grouse flew into the 

 north end of the Lehigh Valley Railroad paint shop, 

 passed the entire length of the shop— some 260 odd feet — 

 and flew against and through a south window, falling 

 dead in the gutter outside the shop. 



A number of grouse during the past few years have been 

 found bruised and stunned from flyinir against the win- 

 dows in the Cornell mansion on Bast Hill, M. Chill. 



Reversion in Cereal Development. 



The New Berne Journal of Oct. 11 mentions having re- 

 ceived an ear of Indian corn (maize) which is normal in 

 every respect, except that each kernel as it grows on the 

 cob is inclosed with several thicknesses of shuck (husk) 

 instead of the envelope covering the whole ear. In addi- 

 tion several grains of corn similarly inclosed grew on the 

 tassel. The grains on the tassel are round ; on the cob flat. 

 What is this but a reversion to the original grain, of which 

 millet is perhaps the intermediate between it and maize? 

 Quimsabe? C. H. 



'mt^ jj^ag xnd %mu 



RAPID TRANSIT AND SQUIRRELS. 



Starting from the Rapid Transit Railroad station at 

 West New Brighton, Staten Island, is a one-horse street 

 car line ("one-horse" figuratively, actually I believe there 

 are two). This line must not be confused with the road 

 that up to a few weeks ago ran along the shore of the 

 island and incidentally passed the West Brighton station. 

 That road in its palmy clays ran cars on a twenty-four- 

 hour schedule, and has recently, so I am informed, owing 

 to competition of pedestrians, gone out of business alto- 

 gether. 



The road I refer to is much more enterprising, and runs 

 cars regularly at varying intervals from 6 A. M. to 7 

 P. M., day in and day out. Perhaps I made a misstate- 

 ment when I said cars, for as the pay roll of the company 

 is limited to one driver, it is hardly reasonable to suppose 

 that that individual would take the trouble to change cars 

 for his ordinary trips. 



The rolling stock of the company may therefore with- 

 out doubt correctly be described in the singular— and 

 singular it is in more senses than one. In fact, the model 

 is more adapted to be on the shelves of the Patent Office 

 at Washington than on the rails at Staten Island. 



The car is designed for all seasons of the year, in order, 

 no doubt, that people who have grown accustomed to it 

 may not be shocked by finding other cars substituted for 

 it as the weather changes, and if a sudden blizzard 

 springs up between West Brighton and the Brewery a 

 few simple combinations are all that are necessary to 

 change it from open to close — so close in fact that most 

 people prefer to ride outside on the platform. 



Well, as I said, the car runs from West Brighton to the 

 Brewery, part of the time on the rails and part of the 

 time off. The young man who drives never minds, and 

 of course nobody else does. Doctors have been known to 

 prescribe a ride on that car for people with sluggish livers. 

 The company makes no extra charge for such people. 



It is said that some people get as far as the Brewery 

 and never come back again. 



The driver is a very enterprising young man. When 

 not chasing small boys from the rear steps, he is inside 

 talking to his passengers. He embarrassed one young 

 lady the other night so much that she pushed her leg 

 through the side of the car. "Take your foot in," said 

 the gallant driver, "or you'll catch cold." 



But I am straying from my subject. Out beyond the 

 Brewery is quite a stretch of wild country along the back- 

 bone of the island, and in this neighborhood this year 

 there are quite a number of gray squirrels. 



I left West Brighton by the 1:30 car one Saturday after- 

 noon, and after an eventful journey reached the Brewery 

 at a little after 2 o'clock. 



The entire ride had been up hill, and at the terminus 

 of the line the traveler finds himself at a considerable 

 elevation. A little furtber is Tode Hill, the highest land 

 on Staten Island. 



Twenty minutes' walk from the car brought me to a 

 piece of woodland bordering the road, and as there were 

 no trespass signs in sight, I turned aside through an open 

 gate, filling the magazine of my .22 Marlin as I walked. 

 Meanwhile I kept my eyes open, for there were hickory 

 and other nut trees in evidence and things had a suggest- 

 ive appearance. It made me think of old days hunting 

 the grays in New England, and I began to feel the keen, 

 care-free enjoyment that only a hunter knows. 



Just as I pushed my tenth cartridge through the maga- 

 zine slide I saw with my physical eye what my mental 

 vision had been busy with, as a gray gave a bound and 

 whisked around on the far side of a pin oak tree some 

 50yds. ahead right at the edge of the road I was follow- 

 ing. The next instant a second squirrel ran a few feet 

 over the ground in plain sight and nearer still and up a 

 knotty maple. 



As the sun was directly in my eyes I walked on down 

 the wood road without changing my pace till I reached 

 a point of vantage a little beyond the hiding places of the 

 squirrels. Here I selected the softest looking place for a 

 seat and squatted down comfortably to await the squirrel's 

 good time. After ten minutes or so I saw a slight motion 

 up the pin oak at a poino where four branches started, 

 taking nearly all the volume of the tree and practically 

 ending its aspirations skyward. The squirrel was stretch- 

 ing himself, utterly unmindful of his enemy below. A 

 squirrel has to be pretty badly scared to remember for a 

 longer period than ten minutes — unless he is a squirrel of 

 years and experience. 



Unfortunately the mass of limbs effectually protected 

 him from my rifle, and I watched him scratch himself 

 and recover his self-respect and grow in his own estima- 

 tion, utterly unmindful of the fact that he had been 

 frightened half out of his wits a few minutes before. 

 Presently he began oorning down the tree, hardly able to 



contain himself for conceit, his mental attitude shown 

 by the convulsive jerking of his body. 



Several leafy branches intervened, however; and 

 though I could follow his course, it was impossible to get 

 a clear shot. Reaching a point opposite one of the 

 branches of the maple, he made a graceful spring to 

 that, and ran down it and then into the next tree. 



I waited patiently for a sure shot, following him with 

 the rifle, but no good opportunity offered. The leaves 

 were very thick, and though I could have easily dropped 

 him with a shotgun I did not take the chance with the 

 rifle. And so he eventually disappeared among the tree- 

 tops. 



I waited a long while for No. 2, but No. 2 never 

 materialized. He had folded his tent and stolen away 

 unobtrusively. 



With a companion I think I could have gotten both 

 squirrels— at least if the other fellow rould shoot— but as 

 it was, I decided to move on to new fields of endeavor. 



I crossed into another piece of woods and followed 

 down the nearly dry bed of a stream that ran between 

 high knolls thickly covered with nut trees, including 

 many butternuts. 



At the first muddy place I came upon the visible 

 tracks of a squirrel made since the rain the day before, 

 and also some older tracks that looked like a coon's. A 

 little further I found the fresh tracks of a man — a hunter, 

 for I heard him shoot several times. 



Realizing that the chances of success while hunting 

 the ground this man had just gone over were very mea- 

 ger, I struck across to another piece of woods, east of the 

 "Ricmond road." 



Scarcely had I entered this woods when a crash in the 

 tree tops attracted my attention to a squirrel making good 

 time toward a neighboring swamp. I ran till I got 

 beneath him and then, just as he reached a large tree, I 

 took a snap shot at him. It was a clean miss, and the 

 squirrel dodged around the tree and was out of sight. 



Instinct told me that he would not hide long, so I stood 

 rooted to the spot, scarcely moving an eyelid. 



A moment later, as I expected, I saw a slight motion 

 near the top of the tree and the next instant a squirrel 

 came into sight, slowly descending. 



No one could have asked for a better shot, but finger 

 and eye were at odds and the bullet went wild. Again 

 the squirrel hid and I knew this time it would be a 

 tedious job to wait, so I walked over to the tree and 

 scanned its topmost limb carefully to see if I could get a 

 sight of Mr. Gray. 



The leaves were too thick and the tree too high, how- 

 ever, and for a time it looked as though the squirrel was 

 again master of the situation. 



However, before long, I hit upon a plan that started 

 him. I could see a long straight branch clear of leaves 

 just above the spot where I thought the squirrel lay, and 

 selecting a good position near the base of the tree, I aimed 

 at this and fired. As a result a gOod-sized piece of outer 

 bark was stripped from the limb and fell almost on top of 

 the squirrel, which precipitously deserted its hiding place 

 and crossed into a neighboring tree. I stepped out to get 

 a clear view of it, and the same instant saw it hide at the 

 base of one of the lower branches, hardly 50ft. away. Its 

 tail hung over in plain view, but its body was protected 

 by lOin. of solid wood. 



It required an unusually constrained position to keep 

 that tail in view, and my neck already was very tired 

 from constant looking upward, but I endured the pain for 

 several minutes. Finally, when my head was about 

 ready to drop off, I made a slight motion to secure an 

 easier position, which resulted in a broken stick and a 

 noise that sent the squirrel to the other side of the tree. 



Well, to cut a long story of egregiously bad marksman- 

 ship short, I got the squirrel out of the tree by the same 

 tactics adopted before, and missed him repeatedly as he 

 ran for his life toward the swamp. Kindly night drew a 

 curtain over the scene, and I was glad to have an excuse 

 for leaving that poor abused squirrel, I have come to the 

 conclusion that the rifle is not my weapon for killing 

 squirrels. 



Since writing |the above I have been out again. This 

 time I took a shotgun. Walking along an old road, I 

 noticed a gray on a fence a long distance ahead. As the 

 squirrel was making good time and would soon be out of 

 sight, I quickened my pace to a run, and was soon near 

 the spot where I had seen him last. I waited for a few 

 minutes, and when the old gun spoke there was one live 

 squirrel less in that corner of the woods. A few hundred 

 yards further on I saw a squirrel in the top of a chestnut 

 tree about a foot above a nest. 



It was a good long distance off, but I was afraid of it 

 going into the nest if I tried to get closer; so I took the 

 shot and dropped the squirrel fairly on top of the nest, 

 where, it may be as well to state, he stayed, as the tree 

 was too big to climb. 



At the sound of my gun another squirrel, 50yds. from 

 the first, began running away through the trees, and I 

 dropped him from where I stood. Walking over to pick 

 him up, I paused and a little fool gray ran out on a limb 

 and began barking. I added him to my bag, and after 

 making sure that I could not get the fourth, went home 

 feeling a little mean to have potted three 3quirrels so eas- 

 ily, but not a little relieved to find some kind of a gun I 

 could shoot with. J, 



New York, Oct. IT. 



Jackson's Hole and Beyond. 



Mr. John G. Heckscher writes: "I inclose an extract 

 from a letter just received from my nephew, Philip M. 

 Lydig, and as you were kind enough to give him some 

 hints before his departure, I thought the extract might be 

 of some interest to you." 



The paragraphs of the letter home, written from forty 

 miles above Jackson's Hole, in Idaho, under date of Oct. 

 5, read as follows: 



"I have been out now nine days from the Hole and in 

 camp five days. The first day out I killed two elk, one 

 for food and the other for bear bait. The next two days 

 were given up to fixing bait for bear and to skinning the 

 elk. Day before yesterday wo walked some sixteen miles 

 at a height of 9,000 to 10,000ft., and as luck would have 

 it I killed a very large elk with a very fine head of horns. 

 Redmond tells me it is the best of the year. He is a very 

 nice fellow, easy to get on wi h, and knows his business 

 as guide thoroughly. I find it rather hard to walk at this 

 height, the air is so rarified. 



"Yesterday I killed a brown Lear, not a large one, but 

 till a bear. There are signs of more about here, and I 



hope to get some larger ones. Tell Uncle John that his 

 .40 65 rifle shoots to perfection, and that I have not tried 

 his larger one yet. We are shooting in a little basin in 

 the hills, not far from the Continental "Divide. We have 

 found no traces of previous camps, and the game seems 

 plentiful, I hope that my good luck will keep up. On 

 the 14th we move camp and go up the other side near 

 Idaho, at the foot of the Teton "peaks, 14,000ft.. and there 

 try for a moos* and a sheep and also bear. I shall try to 

 kill one more fine elk head. Redmond goes down to-day 

 after some things and returns here the 9th. I shall be 

 alone with the guide, who seems a good fellow and fair 

 cook. I therefore have a chance to write you these lines. 

 I shall move out Nov. 1, and will get to Chicago Nov. 5. 

 I am in good health and enjoying everything. We have 

 had some snow, but it has left the south side of hills." 



PINTAIL GROUSE OF THE PACIFIC 

 COAST. 



This bird is the prairie chicken of the Northwest and is 

 commonly known as the sbarptailpd grouse. Scientists 

 call it Pediocce.ies phasianellus coluinbianus. It is re- 

 garded as a different variety from the very similar bird 

 found on the plains east of the Rocky Mountains. Hun- 

 ters would probably make no distinction. 



It differs very much in appearance from the pinnated 

 grouse or prairie chicken of the Middle States. It is much 

 lighter in color. The upper parts are grayish buff and 

 tan , with spots and bars of black. Underneath it is almost 

 white, but having V-shaped black markings. The throat 

 is a shade of buff. 



The head is crested and the legs are covered with Uairy 

 feathers down to the toes. It has from fourteen to eight- 

 een tail feathers, the middle two being a ^in. or more 

 longer than the rest, and from this it gets its "name. 



Its average weight is lilbs.,, one weighing a £lb. more 

 would be a large bird. 



It is found in many parts of Oregon, Nevada, Washing- 

 ton and the country farther north, and generally during 

 the summer lives in the foothills and on the grassy up- 

 lands, where it builds its nest underneath a tuft of grass,* 

 a sagebrush, or beside a sheltered rock. Its food consists 

 of insects and seeds. 



As winter approaches and the snows cover the hillsides 

 it comes down to the river and creek bottoms, where the 

 scarlet hawthorn berries grow, upon which it feeds. Still 

 later, when the berries of different kinds have all fallen 

 and are covered out of sight, its season of plenty being 

 over, it feeds on willow buds and even deigns to eat the 

 bitter resinous needles of the black pine. 



This grouse is a fine game bird. Its flesh is dark 

 colored, tender, juicy and delicious, and when well sea- 

 soned and nicely fried the hunter's appetite can be ap- 

 peased with nothing better. 



It is in the wild days of early autumn that we are wont 

 to hasten to the hunting grounds. The hills are brown 

 from the drought of summer, the tall rye grass stands in 

 tufts on the level bottoms, the heat is reflected in shim- 

 mering waves from the bare rocks and the dry earth. 

 The whole landscape is bathed in the mellow light of the 

 Indian summer. During the warmer part of the day the 

 birds have been resting quietly on the hillsides under the 

 shade of some shrub or bunch of grass, but as the cool of 

 evening comes on they fly to the feeding grounds. All 

 nature is now in that active, restless period just pre- 

 ceding the quiet of night. Now is the time to hunt. It 

 is on the Okanagan River in northern Washington. 

 Our companion is a gentleman from Virginia. He has 

 shot partridges and woodcock on the hillsides and along 

 the streams of his native State, but this is a new experi- 

 ence to him. The sudden flutter and the peculiar kluk- 

 kluk-kluk which the bird makes as he rises from the grass 

 almost beneath your feet is liable to rattle one and he 

 will shoot too quick. 



We had better not take Jack along, for, while he re- 

 trieves nicely, he is liable to undertake to run down the 

 first bird that rises. We know the birds are here and are 

 feeding, for we see their footprints in the dry earth under 

 the low hawthorn bushes; and yonder is a hawk circling 

 just over the bunches of dead rye grass. Experience has 

 taught us that he is looking for a supper, and that the 

 grouse are lying low and trying to hide. We will move 

 down that way. If the birds are not through feeding 

 they will rise singly and only fly a short distance, and 

 thus give us fine shooting. But, on the other hand, if 

 they have finished their meal they will rise together and 

 fly far away to their roosting grounds up in the foothills, 

 where it is useless to follow them. 



Now move cautiously, and be ready. They do not 

 sound an alarm before they rise. There! we have two 

 birds for our guns, but you shot too quick. Give them 

 time to get some distance away. Why, you missed again. 

 Thei-e is something wrong with your gun or else your 

 shells are not properly loaded. 



Oh, I seel You have a 10-bore, 9^1bs. gun, 32in. bar- 

 rels; your paper shells are loaded with 4drs. of fine-grain 

 powder and l|oz. of No. 2 shot. This might do for some 

 kinds of game, but for grouse a 12-gauge, 7ilbs. gun is 

 better. It should have 28in. barrels, the right modified 

 and the left full choke. You should use brass shells 

 loaded with 3drs. of FFG powder and loz. of No. 8 shot. 

 Try my gun on the next bird that rises. There! that was 

 a nice double. 



Thus the evening passes and the sport continues. But 

 now the shadows are growing deeper; only on yonder 

 mountain top is there the light of day. Most of the birds 

 have flown to their roosting places and only occasionally 

 can we catch through the gloom a faint outline of those 

 whose departure has been somewhat delayed. But our 

 game bags are well filled, and we wend our way home, 

 stimulated and refreshed in body and mind, and with 

 just-enough fatigue to insure a good night's sleep. 



For some of us those days of pleasure may be past, but 

 the remembrance of them adds to us joys which are not 

 known to those who have not had like experiences. 



Sylvan Dell. 



Mr. R. B. Heath, of Cove, told us Tuesday of a curious occurrence 

 that came under his observation. Four weeks ago walking in newly 

 cleared near his home he came serosa a newly hatched chicken, with- 

 out knowing at first how to account for it. Investigating, a partridge 

 nest was discovered close by with the shells of a nest full of partridge 

 eggs and one hen egg. Tha hen had evidently laid in the partridge's 

 nest and the bird had hatched the egg along with her own. Young 

 partridges are stroug, lively and of a rambling disposition from the 

 first, and the brood had doubtless strayed off and left the more help- 

 less chicken to get along as he could. Mr. Heath took the chicken in 

 charge, He is now four weeka old and thriving.— New Berne (N. O. i 

 Journal 



