Sept. 1, 1894.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
181 
manage to live until spring, which it usually does— in 
some way — it is ail right; the green herbage and warm 
weather recuperate its system, its wounds heal up, its 
strength and ambition return, and when the fall of the 
year again rolls round it succeeds in mating with another 
heaver, and together they commence the toils of prepar- 
ing for another winter and for the rearing of a family. 
After they get their dams and houses built, the beaver 
commence cutting up wood and drawing and floating it 
to their houses for their winter's supply of food; or at least 
enough to last them through the first half of the winter, 
as that is the time when the streams are frozen over the 
closest and hardest. They do not eat the wood, but only 
the bark which they gnaw and scrape off. They feed on 
the bark of almost all the deciduous trees, but they prefer 
to use that of the softer woods, such as the poplar, white 
birch, mountain ash, willow, alder and such like, as the 
trees are easy to cut down, and the bark, being fine 
grained, is easy of digestion. But when they find these 
favorite trees scarce, they will cut down trees of almost 
any kind — even the spruce and fir — and eat their bark. 
Indeed, I have frequently known them to eat the bark of 
the fir from choice. I say from choice, because plenty of 
deciduous trees were growing close by. I think there is 
some medicinal qualify in the balsam which the beaver 
instinctively knows is beneficial to its system. 
They commence to fell a tree by cutting a groove around 
it as high as they can conveniently work, and another one 
two or three inches from it, then biting and splitting off 
with their teeth the section of wood between the grooves, 
and repeating the operation until the tree falls. Some- 
times a single beaver will do the work, but usually two or 
more labor together. They cut trees of any and every 
size up to two and three feet in diameter. When the tree 
is felled they lop off the limbs and tops, cut them into sec- 
tions two, three, four or more feet long, according to size 
of the sticks and such as they may be able to draw into 
the water and float down to their houses. The bodies of 
the larger trees which they fell are not cut up; they eat 
the bark off them as they lie. This supplies them with 
food while they are gathering the lesser parts for future 
use. The smaller trees up to six or eight inches in diame- 
ter they cut up and float off; the larger of these they cut 
into very short pieces and roll them into the water down 
a path previously cleared of obstructions. They seem to 
know that the greater the diameter the heavier the stick, 
and that to be able to handle it it must be cut very short. 
As fast as they get any wood to their winter quarters 
they take it, a stick at a time, to the bottom of the pool 
formed in front of the house, and push it down on to the 
muck or mud; this forms a vacuum between the stick and 
the ground, and the pressure of the water from above 
holds it in place. They frequently place a little mud on 
the end of the stick which is hardest pressed down, to 
keep it in position. The other end of the stick may in- 
cline upward at any angle; and so they proceed till they 
have pieces placed all over the bottom. Then they bring 
down some smaller and much longer woods, such as alder, 
willow and little poplars, sinking them over the first layer 
and sticking the butt ends into the mud of the banks, 
thereby helping to keep the first sticks in place; then 
more larger sticks are brought and stuck in between the 
lower and upper tiers, and so continued and repeated 
until they get all they want, and have a pile so interlaced 
and mixed together that it is difficult to pull it apart. 
The woods of this pile, being naturally heavy, soon become 
so saturated with the water that it will remain long sub- 
merged of its own specific gravity. 
The beaver cannot and, indeed, does not keep under 
water alL the wood which it gathers for winter use. 
When its favorite trees are scarce it has to take up with 
some of the lighter kinds, such as small cedar, pine and 
spruce; these they cannot hold in the water except in so 
far as they may be able to interlace them with the 
heavier woods. Neither can they keep their wood sub- 
merged where the bottom of the stream is of a gravelly 
nature, simply because they cannot produce a vacuum 
between the wood and the gravel; but it is seldom that 
they build a house in such a location. Sometimes their 
burrows in the banks will be from such a bottom; 
in that case they draw whole bushes to their home and 
stick their butt ends in under the banks, thus holding 
them in place, and then poke some larger and heavier 
wood under their bushy parts. This art which the beavers 
have of submerging their wood is very simple. It is 
the same principle as that on which some scientific toys 
such as the sucker are made and used, the same which 
enables a person suspended head down to walk on a 
smooth surface with properly constructed "shoes." The 
two flat, smooth surfaces coming together force the air 
from between them, and the exterior air pressing on the 
"shoes" is sufficient to hold the person in position. Of 
course,, the beaver in its rude way, and with rough, 
uneven surfaces to work on, can achieve success in this 
line only to a limited extent. Still it does well, does all 
that its needs require, and I'm not sure that we should 
not give to the beaver the honor of the discovery of the 
principle, for it is very probable that the beaver made 
practical application of it long before man did. Simple 
and elementary as the foregoing remarks are, and as 
plainly understood as they are by most people, yet there 
are many erroneous opinions prevailing respecting the 
whys and wherefores of the beaver sinking its wood; 
and perhaps the most popular of them all and the most 
widespread, reaching from Maine to Mexico, is that the 
beaver takes one end of the stick in its mouth and sucks 
the air out of it, thereby causing the wood to become 
heavier, partly by water taking the place of air, and 
partly by the collapse or shrinkage of the stick. It is 
very evident that in order to have the beaver do this it 
must produce a vacuum in its mouth; it might not suc- 
ceed then, but to succeed at all this condition must exist 
and be present. Now when the beaver puts its mouth 
over the end of the stick, in order to produce a vacuum 
it is necessary to exclude the outside air, and the only 
way in which it would be possible to do this would be for 
the beaver to press its lips so tightly about the wood 
about the exterior of its mouth as to exclude all air from 
the outside; this it is impossible for it to do, as, practi- 
cally speaking, the beaver has no lips. The mouth is, to 
some extent, always open; the incisors are always bare, 
uncovered; the hps grow up to their bases and no 
further. So it is impossible for the beaver to have its 
mouth air tight, even when empty. Still, nothwith- 
standing all this, many people hold the opinion that the 
beaver sinks its wood by sucking the air out of them, 
and the only excuse I can give for thie is that on its face 
it seems very plausible and has some truths mixed in 
with its fallacies. 
By the time the beaver gets its wood cut and yarded up 
in front of its house, the streams and ponds commence to 
freeze and soon they are closely sealed over. Now it is 
that it has a season of rest from its weary labor and surely 
it deserves it, for it has worked and fared hard during the 
last two or three months. Now it is that they can sport 
about in their ponds, under the ice, and when they feel 
hungry can take a stick from the pile, draw it up the in- 
clined plane to their house, eat the bark off at their leis- 
ure, then draw it out to the water and push it out of their 
way. They don't take all the wood into their houses, but 
only the smaller and niediuui-sized pieces; the larger 
sticks are piled where they lie in the water or on the edge 
of the shore. I have often stood on the ice near the house 
and heard them scraping off the bark at the pile under 
the ice. 
For a while after the streams are frozen over the 
beaver don't come out on the ice much, as there are not 
many holes open, but later on, when the snows come and 
cover the ice, they seem to thaw it out in the springy 
places. Through these holes, in soft weather, the beaver 
come out on top of the ice and go back to the timber, a 
distance frequently of fifty or sixty rods. There they cut 
the smaller woods, such as alders and willows, draw them 
down to the holes, get them under the ice and gnaw the 
bark off. This they will do when they have plenty of 
wood at the house. They seem to like the new, fresh bark 
best. 
The beaver stay in their houses till the late spring or 
early summer, bringing forth their young there, and 
teaching them to swim in the ponds and take care of 
themselves. They have young once a year, in May, and 
produce from two to four at a litter; usually two or three, 
rarely four. In the warmer climates they are more pro- 
lific. They nourish their young with milk from the 
breast, the milk glands being placed well forward on the 
breast as are those of the bear and some other animals. 
The young stay with the old ones till they are three years 
old ; then in the fourth year they push out for themselves, 
mate up with other beaver and form new families. 
When the little ones become strong enough to endure 
the journey the old ones move down with them to larger 
and more open waters, where they spend the summer 
roaming about the streams and ponds as fancy leads them, 
living on such herbage and berries as may come in their 
way, and, as some trappers say, eating, the fresh- water 
mussels, and which they may do, for the muskrat eats 
them and is very fond of them. But as to the beaver eat- 
ing: them I cannot say, as I have never seen any proof it. 
The beaver's tail is very fine eating; it is neither fish 
nor flesh but a white, nameless substance, intermediate 
between the two. It is greatly relished by hunters and 
trappers and indeed by many others. Boiling is perhaps 
the best way of cooking it; then the hard white skin may 
be peeled off and the inner or eatable substance scraped 
from the bone. When properly seasoned it is delicious 
on bread or toast. The carcass too is very good eating, 
especially the hind quarters. The meat is of a bright red 
color, very much resembling beef, and has somewhat the 
flavor of both duck and mutton. The Indian is very 
fond of it, as he is of muskrat meat. It is a question 
which he likes best, but I think the greater quantity of 
meat in the carcass of a beaver will tip the scale in its 
favor. It is surprising how tenaciously he will stick to a 
beaver or muskrat lili he captures it. Time counts as 
nothing to him, hunger, cold and exposure are endured 
without complaint — not so much on account of any value 
which he may place on the pelt as because he wants 
something to eat. If an Indian were paddling his canoe 
along a stream and should see a mink sitting on one end 
of a log and a muskrat sitting on the other end, he 
would shoot the muskrat in preference to the mink, the 
pelt of the rat might be worth fifteen cents, that of the 
mink a dollar; but he could realize nothing on the mink 
till he went down river to the settlements and sold the 
pelt; that would look to him away off in the happy 
future, and the Indian is not provident of the future. 
What he wants is something he can realize to-day, now, 
something tangible, something he can eat, something he 
can place between his teeth and feel conscious that he is 
bringing a pressure to bear upon it. In fact he wants 
the muskrat meat and wants it as soon as he can get it. 
Telegraph Wires as Game Destroyers. 
Our native wild game birds are evidently fighting a 
losing fight against ultimate extermination. Especially 
is this true of that beautiful shy bird the American wood- 
cock. Had he to contend only against the thinning of 
his ranks by the sportsman's piece, he could easily hold 
his own; but when to the chance of getting shot as he 
flits up before the dog is added, year after year, the con- 
stant curtailing of his breeding and feeding area by the 
destruction of swamps and swales in the ceaseless march 
of improvement and by the spreading forest fires, his 
chances for keeping ahead of the annual losses are grow- 
ing less and less. 
Who that has seen his fiftieth year and will make a 
comparison in the number of birds he could flush in an 
average day's hunt thirty years ago, with the meagre few 
that he can bring to bag in these degenerate days, needs 
any one to assure him that this noble bird is, more or leas 
slowly it is true, yet surely passing away. 
Now in these later days is added still another pitfall 
which the march of civilization has set for the wing of 
this noble bird — the wire. Almost every sportsman has 
seen its work; twice in as many years have I, within a 
mile of my house at Islip, L. I., picked up a dead wood- 
cock that had flown the previous night against the 
stretched telegraph wire. This same thing is occurring 
constantly all over the land; and with every mother 
bird thus killed, having a young brood, is involved the 
destruction of her four little ones as well. Alas, however, 
I see no way to prevent it and I suppose there is no al- 
ternative but to accept the inevitable extermination 
when it comes, and pray that its coming may be long 
delayed. 
Who can tell me why there are no tree toads this year? 
I have not heard a single one this whole summer long. 
Some say "the drought," but I have seen it quite as dry 
at times before this; but then the toads were always 
"calling for water" as the boys say. No, I think they 
too are disappearing from our trees; and if so may not 
their disappearance have something to do with the appar- 
ent yearly increase of moths, worms and tree pests? 
Islip, Long Island, Aug. 13. A, HUNTINGTON, M,D. 
Siberian Reindeer in Alaska. 
Mb. Charles Hallock: has favored us with the follow- 
ing letter from Mr. Hamilton, assistant to Rev. Sheldon 
Jackson, the General Agent of Education in Alaska, dated 
at Washington, Aug. 20. It contains very gratifying 
news about Dr, Jackson's efforts to introduce the Siberian 
reindeer into Alaska, and reads: 
"A letter from the Doctor, dated at Port Clarence, July 
9, and received here on Aug, 18, brings the good news 
that, although the past winter had been unusually severe, 
the herd had passed through it in good condition. This 
spring 150 fawns were born. The employees were all in 
good health and spirits. Up to the timeof writing 48 deer 
had been procured from Siberia. The Laps had not yet 
arrived. They did not sail from San Francisco until 
June 17." 
We learn that Mr. Hallock is preparing an exhaustive 
monograph on the Bangifer family, which will be printed 
in connection with Dr. Jackson's forthcoming report on 
the Alaska reindeer. 
Turkey Buzzards in New York. 
A FLOCK of eight turkey buzzards was seen in Moun- 
tainville, Orange county, N. Y., Aug. 19. They were 
circling over the eastern slope of Schunemunk Mountains 
and were flying south. Mountain ville is five miles west of 
Newburg, and not far north of the New Jersey line, so 
that this record of the unusual occurrence of the buzzards 
in New York will probably hold for New Jersey as well. 
Two of the birds passed within a stone's throw and were 
clearly identified. Chas. B. Reynolds. 
[Though this species has been recorded from points in 
New England— Connecticut, Massachusetts and Maine— 
and commonly occurs as far north as Ontario and the 
Saskatchewan in the west, this observation is worth re- 
cording. We have heard that two specimens were 
recently shot near Blooming Grove, Orange county, N.Y., 
where they excited interest as being unknown birds. 
SOUTH DAKOTA PRAIRIE CHICKENS. 
Mitchell, S. D., Aug. 22.— The count sportsman- 
butcher or game hog a more appropriate title. His per- 
formance is regarded as worthy of note, and luck better 
than average. The fewer of them who visit this State 
now the greater the cause for congratulation. The gun 
clubs and State are paying heavy premiums on the cap- 
ture of this class, and , thanks to the movement, there are 
fewer of them each year. 
The notion that the prairie chicken is extinct in the 
Dakotas is a fallacy. The last year or two being drier 
than usual, they have bred by the thousands in the sloughs, 
where years before they drowned; and the reports made by 
hunters from all directions over the State during the past 
two weeks are that the prairie chicken has not been so 
plentiful for years. 
The 15th of August was celebrated here by several Chi- 
cago, Milwaukee and other Eastern city hunters, as well 
as by all local sportsmen, except those who believe the 
game law to be closed until Sept. 1, and they are few and 
hard to find. 
The season has been favorable, as since Aug. 16 the days 
have been damp, thus enabling the dugs to work well. 
But as a matter of fact the best shooting is over soon after 
'the season opens, and the rest of the fall affords shooting 
that depends for its quality a good deal on luck, an intelli- 
gent dog and a good shot. 
^From daylight until 9 or 10 o'clock the game is plentiful 
in the stubble fields. The rest of the day it will be found 
in the dry runs or sloughs nearest the stubbles. 
Two or three parties of four or five each from here have 
planned to make extensive hunts through North Dakota 
as soon as the birds begin to pack here. 
One pot-hunter claimed to have killed yesterday 148 
birds, and 12 of them at one shot, by pouring both barrels 
into them while on the ground. NOMINATOR. 
The Kickapoo Opening 1 . 
Cimarron, Kan., Aug. 20.— Editor Forest and Stream: 
I see by the papers that the Kickapoo Reservation is going 
to open in about six weeks. An Indian opening is one of 
the finest things I ever saw. It is the old, wild, woolly 
West right over again. Any one who loves to hunt, who 
loves to see an exciting free show that will last a month 
and be amusing all the time, and who at the same time 
wants to make a little money, had better come to Guthrie, 
Okla. , and go in with the rush. 
The country to be opened is about twenty-three miles 
square, and is almost all good farm land, with plenty of 
timber, good water, good climate, and more quail to the 
acre than I ever saw anywhere else. Deer and turkeys, 
fish and squirrels, lots of them. It is about thirty miles 
southeast of Guthrie, which is the nearest good outfitting 
point on the railroad. I have been to every opening for 
six years, and for a sportsman who loves hunting and ex- 
citement, it is too good to talk about. I am hardening 
my horses and getting ready to drive down there and go 
in; and will tell you all about it when I get the first rush 
over, or at any rate after I come home again. 
Brethren of the quail button, if you want the best time 
that is left on earth, that I know of, come down to the 
opening. W. J. Dixon. 
Bail Found Inland" 
Stockton, Cal., Aug. 10. — In connection with my re- 
newal, I give you a little experience I had a few days ago, 
and would like to know if any of your readers ever me 
with like one. While I and my boy Earle were out dove 
shooting, the dog started up a bird, which I took to be a 
rail. It flew 20 or 30yds. and dropped in some dry grass. 
I told the boy to go and see if he could get it. Much to 
my surprise, he killed it on the wing, he being only 13 
years old and this his first season with a shotgun. When 
ne brought the bird to me it proved, as I thought, a rail. 
What seems strange to me, that he was up in that sandy, 
dry country, 15 miles from any marsh or wet ground of 
any kind. While there are plenty of them in the tules 
along the San Joaquin River, this is the first I have ever 
met on dry ground. S. N. C, 
[Instances like this have been recorded in our columns 
before.] 
