334 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Oct, 20, 1894. 
good condition is something beyond all conception. The 
friction is leas generally than that of a biovcle would he 
on a downhill cement pavement with the chain off. The 
law of acceleration of gravity and the skill of the. rider 
are the onlv limitations. That provoking law. resistance 
increases as the square of the velocity, has little applica- 
tion here, for it matters little hv what figure you multiply 
practically nothing. The result is still practically noth- 
ing. 
The step ; s a half push and half slide with a, push from 
the pole. It is easily learned, hut this is not learning the 
shoe bv any means. The exertion is the least T know for 
the same speed. I once made twenty-five miles in five 
hoTirs one afternoon and thirty the next morning in six 
hoxirs. carrying a rifle and hlanket on mv back and lOlbs. 
of traps without feeling a bit tired. This was in sleigh 
track. This time could be much exceeded bvmanv Per- 
sons, but there never was a time when I could have done 
it on foot on the best road without complete exhaustion. 
T am not stronsr and never was, so from that one can tell 
w^at a. tough expert can do. 
T must add to Mr. Hough's remark. Thev beat even 
skating. Crazy as I used to he about that, T like the Nor- 
wpgian shop even hotter. "With skates yr>u are like a cat 
on a, carpet, can show strength, quickness, infinite grace 
md variet/v of motion, hut vou are still tied to a. small 
IpvpI space that stows quickly monotonous. With the 
sK vou are a, hird. The world is yours as far as it can be 
with anything". 
There are plenty who can tell much more about those 
shoes if thev would. T could tell some more. +oo, but 
have not the time just now. T. S. "Van Dyke. 
Is He Pluto's Fmissary? 
While looking through the Avdnhnn Magazine, some 
time ago for help from Miss Merriam in the identification 
of a, bird, which in journeying- from "lands of snow to 
lands of sun" had made mv hill-home a resting place for 
a season, I came upon some bird legends which T read 
over again, and with increased interest, inasmuch as I 
had that day heard one. as strange as any of those, and 
about a. friend whose reputation T know is none of the 
best. Yet I cannot be persuaded that our beautiful blue- 
jav helongs to the personage who rules over a region of 
which the temperature is said to be but a few degrees 
colder than that of Yuma. 
However, you shall hear the whole story and judge for 
yourself. 
It was Saturday. The javs were very loquacious, and 
as I stood admiring their blue forms and loud, cheerful 
voices as they called from treerop to treetop, J was all 
unconscious of the presence of mv maid close behind m«. 
until she exclaimed: "Oh. 'ves, Mr. Jay: you's got back, 
has ve?" 
"Got back from where?'' I questioned. 
"Why, from Torment, of course. Didn't ye know 
that?" 
Certainly I did not, but I plied her with questions 
which drew from her answers that hinted of so rich a 
mine of superstition regarding 1 the noor jav. that T com- 
menced working it at onee. After sitting thp gold from 
^h^dnss T have a tradition that is not only known and 
heh'eved. f -»r the most part, by the older generation of 
negroes, but is being told to the younger. 
I was quite a, time in finding one who could tell me the 
"whv," though all knew the fable, and, with a single ex- 
ception, gave it in rjretty much the same words. As old 
"Uncle Bell" was the one possessed of snoerior knowl- 
edge, he shall voice the majority report. Looking a bit 
sheepish — as they all do when questioned — he answered 
me thus: 
"What I knows 'botit jay birds? W'y I knows dey goes 
t' th' sea nine times ev'ry Friday, gits one grain of san' 
from th' shore, an' flies with hit in the'r mouths t' the'r 
marster in hell. An' th' wick'd '11 burn jist 's long 's 
thax's a gran*» ov san' lef ennywhars." 
Here the old man was quite overcome for an instant, 
then he drew closer to me, and sinking his voice almost 
to a whisper said "what does you tink bout dat? y'u 
knowes thev haint nebber gwine t'git hit all toted; they 
caynt, no they caynt. An' T doan — like t' tink 'bout — no 
wun a-burnin' — an a-burnin' furev'r-u-ev'r does you? " 
When I assured him not only that I did not enjoy con- 
templating such a future for any of my friends but that I 
repudiated the whole story, he shook his old head wisely 
and left me with; "I donno chile, us'd better look out." 
The witness, our wood-sawyer Willis, whose testimony 
differs from all others, has, notwithstanding his lack of 
adherents, much better proof of his position, for when 
questioned, he not onlv affirmed that ''th' jays tote 
'trash' nine times ev'rv Friday t' make th' fire hotter to 
burn up we's souls with, in the 'Bad Place.'" hut that he 
has actually seen them engaged in the business. 
Now, while no one can with safety discard this report, 
the other is open to question, unless a jay with the sand 
in Ms mouth be put in evidence. BARRY. 
Pelican on the Niagara River. 
Buffalo, Oct. 9. — While out gunning for snipe Satur- 
day. Oct. 6. on the Niagara River, below the International 
Bridge, "Jake" Koch, a well known sportsman, shot and 
killed a full grown pelican. It is very unusual to see 
such a magnificent specimen of the bird in these parts 
and "Jake" feels as proud as if he had shot a flock of 
turkey buzzards. He brought the bird uptown and 
nailed it over the door of Fred Gerot's place on Washing- 
ton street. Hundreds of people have viewed it with as 
much curiosity as they would a megatharion. It meas- 
ures seven feet four inches from tip of wing to tip and 
has a pouch fully a foot in length and six inches deep. 
' 'Jake" thinks the bird was on its wav south , and strayed 
out of the usual course pursued by the species. 
Snipe shooting in unusually good in the marshes down 
the river just now. H. J. Balliett. 
The Forest an~d Stream is put, to press each week on Tues 
day. Correspondence intended for publication should reach 
«,« at the latest by Monday, and as much earlier as practicable 
WW «N m rf §um 
DUCKS AND DISASTER. 
Fox Lake, Wis., Oct. 9. — Editor Forest and Stream: . I have just 
rpceived the following letter from mv old chum and companion in 
many an outinp: and as it is a well told story of a pleaaant trip, bar- 
ring the finish, and as it shows the stuff he is made of, without any 
extra flourishing^, I take the liberty of "sending it to you for publica- 
tion.— W. E. W. 
Chicago, Oct. 6.— Dear Old Boy: Presume you are 
wondering what has become of me. A week ago to-day 
I was invited to go with a party of four to Dawson . N.D. , 
thirty miles this side of Bismarck. We reached Dawson 
Tuesday morning. I took both guns with me; and after 
breakfast we started with a team for a lake about eight 
miles southwest, reaching there about 9:30. 
The ponds and lake were covered with ducks, brant 
and geese. Mac and I started for one of the smaller 
ponds. The first thing to get up was an old prairie cock, 
who had about 40yds. start of the little gun: but he gave 
it up and fell dead as a mackerel before he had gone 
lOvds. further. "Pretty good for a left hander," says I. 
Well, we got to the edge of the marsh and found it a, 
little the toughest proposition I ever saw. The rushes and 
canes were at least 10ft. high, but had been bent over by 
the wind to about waist high, and such a network — you 
had to lift your feet as high as your waist every step; and 
with hip boots on lOvds. of that would tucker the best 
man that ever lived. We took turns breaking a path, and 
at last got to the water, which was nowhere over 12in., 
with the mud about the same, hut of such tenacity that it 
nearly pulled a leg off every time you lifted your foot. 
We finally got on a bog that reached nearly across the open 
water and got to business. 
The wind was blowing a gale from the north with occa- 
sional squalls of sleet and snow. The birds were moving 
in fine shape. First it would be a. bunch of teal, then a 
pair of mallards, then a flock of redheads, then a couple 
of canvasbacks. I made some of the prettiest misses you 
ever saw, but finally got the hang of it. and the little gun 
would double them up. 30, 40, even 60vds., and nearly 
every one stone dead. We ran out of shells in about an 
hour and went for more. You can gamble I had all I 
could lug. 
I had been there about two hours and had picked up 
twenty-five or thirty nice birds. Mac took out all he could 
carry of them. About 3 o'clock he called me to come to 
lunch; I hated to leave and stayed about half an hour 
longer before starting. Then I had gone a few rods 
when a pair of redheads came along; my feet were stuck 
in the mud and I had to try a right-handed shot. I 
found myself flat on my back, wondering what made the 
gun sound so loud. I looked at it and 3in. from the 
breech of the left barrel was a hole about 4in. long, tak- 
ing out the whole top and side. Then I felt a twinge in 
my left wrist; and looking at it saw a ragged hole with a 
piece of iron sticking up just in sight. I pulled out a half 
section of the barrel about an inch long, and then came a 
stream of blood. I took my handkerchief, tied a knot 
with my teeth and one hand and twisted it around the 
arm the best I could: but it still bled very fast, 
I found that I eould'nt pull my boots out of the mud, so 
I pulled my feet out of the boots and started out; got 
along fairly till I struck the rushes; then it was tough. 
I would fall from exhaustion every few feet and thought 
once or twice I would have to give up; but the thought of 
wife and babies braced me up and I finally got to the edge 
of the marsh on hard ground and in sight of the boys, 
who came to me as fast as they could run. 
I was wet to the waist and it was very cold, but those 
ponies weren't very long going the eight miles to a good 
surgeon. Dr. Bland, of Ohio, who gave me the best of atten- 
tion and delighted me by saying that the tendons and 
bones had by almost a miracle escaped injury. I was so 
glad to get out of it so well that I minded the probing 
and stitching but very little. Got home Thursday night 
pretty tired, but the arm is doing finely and if I have no 
setback will be well in three weeks. Fred. 
IN THE LAND OF THE PAWPAW. 
South Missouri, Oct. 1. — The Ozark region is alive 
with game about now, notwithstanding the shameless 
habits of the game hog (of whom this section like all 
others has its share), and the violator of the laws who 
stalks the callow brood and pots a dozen at a swoop. As 
I wrote some time since, quail are everywhere, and to 
paraphrase a bit, the time for the shooting of quail has 
come and the voice of the shotgun is heard in the land, 
which from the time Phoebus "hooks up" his chariot and 
runs the stars to cover, until the orgies of the katydids 
begins in the gloaming. Tf quail were much more plenti- 
ful it wouldn't be much sport hunting them. 
As for turkeys, they are only less in numbers than the 
quail. This is a dry country — not in a temperance sense 
by a long shot — but owing to its elevation and the peculiar 
subterranean drainage, water is scarce from April till 
winter, standing or running, though rains are ordinarily 
seasonable and plentiful. Springs are not plentiful after 
the spring months, which is reasonable. Turkeys as a 
rule raise their broods where they can get water without 
hauling it too far. The pot and lawless hunters roam the 
woods about hatching time and spot the broods, or know 
from the previous season and locality of water supply 
where to find them, and then as soon as the young have 
any flesh on them, these sneaking violators of all decency 
in sportsmanship hie on their murderous quest. Yet 
notwithstanding this, so wary and smart a bird is the tur- 
key that one has not far to go in any direction to learn of 
their whereabouts. I do not say to get them always. I 
have suceeded in bagging but one gobbler, in the category 
of whoppers, and "By the beard of Mahomet" that 
turkey's was 8^in. long. I have heard of a number of 
"gangs" of from twenty-five to a hundred, not to mention 
smaller ones of which I am cognizant. An acquaintance 
who resides down the railroad a few miles, told me yes- 
terday that an old hen turkey made her nest and raised a 
fine brood just across the track from his house and not 
more than i50ft. therefrom (the track), and the Ft. Scott 
and Memphis is no one or two trains a day road either. 
The vagaries of the wild turkey are passing strange, and 
likewise its smartness. 
The cotton-tail of '94 is now in its juiciest prime and to 
be kicked out of almost any brush heap or thicket. It can 
get under way mighty fast, but not quite so fast as a load 
of shot from a good gun. The hindlegs of a fat hare of 
tender years, or more properly months, together with the 
loin thereof, judiciously stewed and thereafter browned 
in hissing butter, will fetch a man before the dinner bell 
rings. 
As for squirrels, they are measurably plentiful ; the gray 
in the creek bottoms — where you find a creek with a bot- 
tom — and the fox in the ridges. And this latter rodent is 
about the smartest of the tribe that I have ever "met up" 
with. His ways are not as the ways of his gray brother, 
but to paraphrase some more: 
His ways are ways of stealthiaess, 
And all his paths are — 
Well, past finding out. He's always on the watch. He 
never forgets. A gray squirrel does sometimes, and thinks 
about something to eat; but a fox squirrel is always think- 
ing of the man with a gun, and the second he hears a noise 
or sees a motion, if he's on the ground he gets on the 
thither side of a tree before he starts up, and he goes 
straight to obscurity and there he stays, while you are in 
blissful ignorance that there is a squirrel within five 
miles. Now a gray will, when startled, jump up on the 
side of a tree ordinarily, and wiggle his tail and bark 
until he is satisfied as to the cause, or if he is up a tree, if 
you'll wait a spell, will show himself or come down; but 
a fox squirrel never comes down or moves. I don't know 
what ever becomes of them. A gray has the bump of 
curiosity well developed, while it never was made in the 
fox. and he never opens his head except to eat; — I suppose 
he does then — and is as noiseless in his movements as the 
traditional Indian. Why he keeps to the plateaus and 
ridges while the gray haunts the bottoms, I haven't 
learned. It maybe that the latter is like most other ani- 
mals, and wants a drink once in a while, while the former 
is well off or better without it. He's an abnormal freak 
anyhow. 
Deer are not very numerous hereabout, though they 
are by no means unknown. I know of four within two 
miles that have been repeatedly seen this season and once 
run by dogs, but there is no water here to run them into, 
to butcher them, thank fortune, and as the cover is good 
they stand a fair chance of saying their pelts. Further 
east, in Shannon county, down in the St. Francis swamps, 
and over in Arkansas they are plentiful a-plenty. 
I was over on Jack's Fork of the Current with a friend 
a while back, for a week, and had a hurrah with the 
turkeys, ducks, squirrels and bass, and not least by any 
means, the pawpaws, which are not game by any means 
though mentioned in the same category. Oh! no, I didn't 
miss the pawpaw. I might miss a squirrel or duck, but 
when I shot a glance from my eagle eye on to a pawpaw 
it was mine. Did you ever eat a pawpaw? No? I'm 
sorry. 'Tis years since last we met. In the halcyon days 
of lang syne, more than two-score years agone, when I 
was an innocent lad wandering by the sinuous and classic 
Turtle Creek in southern Ohio, or milking the cow at 3 
A. M. that I might be among the forest aisles when first 
the shadows begun to vanish and the unsuspecting squir- 
rels came forth from their holes that tbey might scratch 
fleas and fall beneath my deadly aim, the pawpaw and I 
were introduced, and my youthful affections were 
lavished with all the wealth of my bounding nature on 
that luscious, custardy, mouth-watering fruit, and now 
after the lapse of many years I find my long lost love 
amid the wilds of Jack's Fork, and with a gladsome 
smile I joyfully turn to it, as does the spavined and crippled 
horse after years of buffetings turn to the succulent clover 
upon which he is turned to die. Eheu! Eheu! O. O. S. 
NEBRASKA PRAIRIE CHICKENS. 
Beatrice, Neb.. Oct. 7. — Traveling in Nebraska during 
the last three weeks over the major portion of the State, 
I could not help having brought forcibly to my attention 
the fact that game of all kinds and particularly prairie 
chickens are fast disappearing. Why the sportsmen of 
the State will not awake to this fact is a mystery I can- 
not explain. I carry my gun with me, and whenever an 
opportunity presents itself I am eager to go out in the 
country for a few hours' shooting, but those occasions are 
becoming more painful to me every year, owing to the 
growing scarcity of the birds. 
I know a great many sportsmen throughout the State 
and get from them a very good idea of the game pros- 
pects. Their reports of chickens become more gloomy 
every year. That the bird is rapidly becoming a, thing of 
the past is only too clear. "Not a chicken in the county" 
is a remark that is almost universal. Mr. D. E. Fuller, in 
the issue of Sept. 29, stated a fact when he said chickens 
are a rare bird in that section. They are rare in most sec- 
tions of the State. The district to-day in Nebraska in 
which they are at all plentiful is in the unsettled sand 
hills in the northwestern part of the State, and they will 
not be so there long. "Diamond Walt" mentions a party 
of market-hunters as leaving Grafton for the sand hills. 
Why, the hills are full of such parties. A number of 
sportsmen friends of mine living at Hastings have just 
returned from a two-weeks' hunt near Telford, and tell 
me that within half a mile of their party seven different 
outfits of market-hunters were in camp and making big 
shipments daily. 
Some of these days a State sportsmen's association will 
he formed, when it will be too late to protect the game, 
and they will deplore the scarcity of game and pass 
mighty resolutions, and petition the Legislature and all 
that sort of thing, and raise funds to import birds and 
attempt to restock the depleted covers. Why cannot such 
an association be formed now to see that the present laws 
are enforced? The laws are all right; all that is needed is 
to enforce them. It will be a little trouble, but not nearly 
so expensive as restocking, and much more satisfactory. 
The general reason given for the scarcity of chickens is 
that they died from lack of water. They died, it is true, 
but not from that cause, and long before the drought 
struck Nebraska. Quail are fairly plentiful; how is it 
that they survived? I have been out twice during the 
past week and saw quite a number of bevies each time, 
but not the faintest sign, of a chicken. 
While at Sutton I spent an afternoon with two friends 
most pleasantly. We found nine bevies of quail, and 
though the young dog we had with us would not work, 
we managed to walk up quite a number and bagged 53. 
Several more were killed, but we could not find them. 
That provoking dog would stand around and wag his tail 
in the most amiable sort of way, and bark his approval 
every time a bird got up, but he utterly refused to look 
for dead birds; that wasn't his hue of business. Coming 
