510 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Dec. 15, 1894. 
knowledge of obscure or undecided features of.'na.tural 
history. W. H. R. 
[There is a great variation in size and color between 
different individuals — usually described as different sub- 
species or races — of Bubo virginianus, but the extent of 
wings of the bird mentioned by W. H. R. is 18 or 20in. 
more than the measurements of the great horned owl, 
and put that species out of the question. The description 
given is too vague to enable one to conjecture what it may 
be. The bear question in North America is as yet an un- 
solved problem with which several students are wrestling. 
A yellow bear was described in 1821 by Edward Griffith 
under the name Ursus luteolus. It was said to inhabit 
Louisiana. See Forest and Stream, Vol. 42, page 27, 
for notice of a paper on this subject read before the Bio- 
logical Society of Washington by Dr. C. Hart Merriam. 
Dr. Merriam would no doubt be glad to secure skulls and 
skins of the red or yellow bear mentioned by W. H, R.] 
A Golden Eagle, 
Belfast, Me., Dec. 4. — On Nov. 17 Mr. Staples shot a 
fine golden eagle on Isle Au-Haut in Penobscot Bay 
It was a large female bird, and was shot while feeding on 
the carcass of a deer that some parties had shot and taken 
the head and hide from, leaving the meat on the shore to 
spoil. These birds are quite rare in this section. There 
was also a bald-headed eagle with this one, but he failed 
to get him. The golden eagle is now being mounted 
with a few other birds that Mr. Staples shot while on the 
island. , Bob Black. 
King Eider on Lake Champlain. 
Albany, N. Y., — Editor Forest and Stream: It may 
be of interest to your readers to note that the State Mus- 
eum has received a donation from Mr. George L. Kirk, of 
Albany, a female specimen of the king eider duck 
(Somateria spectabilis (Linn).) This was shot on Lake 
Champlain near North Ferrisburg, Vt.. December 3, 1894. 
As the bird is not very common in New York waters I 
call your attention to it. F. J. H. Merrill. 
mt{£ m\d %tm. 
A CONGRESS OF WILD DUCKS. 
A heaty rain storm on Dec. 4, with continuous cold 
weather ever since, has brought a vast congregation of 
ducks into Pamlico Sound, and they lie off the mouth 
of Newport River in great rafts, trading back and forth 
across the points of land, and holding caucuses and con- 
ventions, at rest and on the wing, wherever they can do 
so in safety beyond the reach of gunshot. 
Like their counterparts in Congress who assembled on 
the even date, they are of all complexions and shades of 
quality, gustatory and political, and they maneuver in 
pretty much the same manner, hovering about the com- 
mittee rooms, badgering the document clerks, and spend- 
ing much time at the refectory, quacking, cackling and 
munching celery, flag root, crabs, fish, oysters and such 
other comestibles as suit their taste and are conveniently 
at hand. But, quite contrary to the custom at the National 
House of Representatives, they discount their own bills, 
and do their own washing, never failing to rise to points 
of order, and taking flights of fancy which rural mem- 
bers, newly fledged, seldom attempt. 
Continuous harassment and persecution up Currituck 
way and even as far south as Spense Daniel's, at Wan- 
chese, on the southern point of Roanoke Island, have had 
the effect to drive all ducks to localities less subject to 
cannonade, and only those gunners who are posted think 
of seeking them in the new haunts. Yet, and howsome- 
ever, there are quite a few sportsmen down in Pamlico 
now, and some who happened in at Newbern in quest of 
quail were luckily just in time to take advantage of the 
swift-winged advent, and go down to tide water by rail. 
Some commercial men, too, who were luxuriating with 
an unwonted experience at the new Hotel Chattawka, 
which they all allow is without a parallel in localities of 
this section, could not resist the temptation to improvise 
an outfit of guns, ammunition and decoys, and yield 
themselves to the indulgence of a day off. All came 
back with full bags, quite delighted, and the hotel has 
been feasted on mallards, redheads and teal ever since. 
Redheads predominate, but one Boston drummer, who 
was enthusiastic, declared he counted at least twelve 
varieties in front of his blind. He said he did not notice 
geese or brant. I reckon they are down further toward 
the inlets. 
Newport River is only an hour's ride from Newbern, a 
pretty town with shaded streets, attractive residences, 
and a well-kept cosy hotel with a modern cast. 
In direct line with duck shooting comes the turkey 
hunting. Turkeys are quite abundant south of Newbern, 
almost anywhere on the lines of the A. & N. C. , and Wil- 
mington & Newbern railroads, especially at Wallace's 
Creek, a lovely location on Hew River, which a club 
ought to buy as an investment. It is reached by rail to 
Jacksonville, the county seat of Onslow, and thence 
eight miles by commodious passenger steamer which 
runs tri-weekly. This shooting ground comprises 800 
acres, and lies ' directly opposite the celebrated Glencoe 
Stock Farm of Thos. A. Mclntyre, of the New York Pro- 
duce Exchange, on which he has expended $100,000 or so. 
He has a fine string of blood horses and neat cattle, a 
half mile exercising track, tally-ho coach, deer paddock, 
goose pond, bowling alley, and other requisites of utility, 
emolument and sport. 
I came down here two weeks ago from the hoar frosts 
of the Red River Valley in Minnesota, and realize that it 
is good to be here. All through November and up to Dec. 
4 the noonday temperature averaged about 65°, and exist- 
ence was cheerful. One felt the pride of life as a horse 
feels ginger. Even an old sport like myself was inordin- 
ately enlivened. To-day the thermometer indicates 44° 
at 11:30 A. M., and the sun is shining brightly as before. 
It is a delightful climate. 
I would like, Mr. Editor to expatiate more fully upon 
the winter charmB of this region, as I have already done 
in many a column of Forest and Stream; but I fear that 
your readers might think that I am "dead struck" on the 
place, and only working a high grade advertisement 
racket. Yet, if one must shoot, his tongue will wag, and 
I discover no more impropriety in bespeaking the beauties 
of the Earl of Craven's [ancient domain through your 
paper than in ventilating it around a red-hot stove in a 
club room. So accepting your indulgence and the privi- 
lege of so much space, thus occupied, I subscribe myself 
once more your obedient servant, Chas. Hallock. 
Newbebn, N. 0. 
STOP THE SALE OF GAME. 
A Platform Plank. — The sale of game should be forbidden at all 
times— Forest and Stream, Feb. 10. 
Recently I received a letter from Mr. H. M. Tonner, 
dated at Chino, Cal., the substance of which implies that 
the brethren of the dog and gun there are confronted with 
much the same problems of game preservation as those of 
the older States. He says: 
"We have had some jacksnipe shooting and some fair 
sport with quail; but owing to the long dry spell and the 
senseless slaughter by market-hunters, to say nothing of 
the vast herds of sheep that are being driven over our best 
country, the quail of '94 are about gone on this side of the 
Sierra Madre Mountains, and the sportsmen of this section 
will, of necessity, have to cross thu range to get any good 
sport. 
"Fortunately this State is large, and many of the best 
parts of it are un visited by sportsmen, but the game hog 
will soon find those parts, and unless there is some law 
enacted and enforced, we will soon be where many of the 
Eastern States are at present. 
"It is beyond my comprehension why our sportsmen do 
not wake up. They hold conventions and club meetings 
without end; but, so far as practical results are concerned, 
there is no evidence of their existence. 
"The most nonsensical law I know of is an act that 
enables the supervisors of each county to change the 
game laws at will, and from what I have been able to 
gather all that is necessary is a petition signed by one or 
more taxpayers and you have a law to suit you. As this 
was told me by Supervisor Lord, of San Bernardino 
county, I consider it pretty good authority, since our 
quail law, which should read that the season be closed 
between March 1 and Sept. 1 now reads that it shall be 
lawful to kill quail within a mile of a vineyard between 
May 1 and March 1, on the petition of a man who has 
actually but ten acres of vineyard. Let a State law pro- 
tect the vineyard, but not a county law to destroy the 
quail when the vineyards are by long odds of the least 
value of any of our products. Agricultural and horticul- 
tural interests predominate here, yet our game birds must 
go to foster an industry that is by no means a success. 
With the Forest and Stream I say 'Stop the sale of 
game.' I have often killed more than I needed myself; 
and instead of selling it I send it to my less fortunate 
friends. 
"This is not all. I personally know of members of 
sportsmen's (?) clubs who always sell their surplus game 
— men who would become indignant if called market- 
hunters; but what are they? The market-hunter follows 
his pursuit as a means of livelihood; the club pot-hunter 
kills all he can that he may boast of his murders to his 
moneyed companions who lack the first elements of 
sportsmanship. This class of sportsmen (?) are in the 
minority, and it is to be hoped they will cease to exist 
with this generation. 
"It has been my good fortune to shoot for four seasons 
with an Eastern gentleman, who notwithstanding he had 
traveled across the continent to kill quail, always stopped 
shooting when he had brought a dozen or two to bag. 
Would I that all were of the same cloth, "then the game 
problem would be solved." B. Waters. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
In the waiting room of all Wisconsin stations on the 
lines of the O, M. & St. P. road is posted a conspicuous 
card giving the open and close seasons for game, and at 
the bottom of the card is a notice that it is one of the 
station agent's duties to report violations of the law to the 
nearest game warden; also that hunting dogs and guns 
are carried free in baggage cars when accompanied by 
their owner, and that 1501bs. of game will be carried free 
to such points as it is legal to carry it. The plan of keep- 
ing the game laws before the people is an excellent one. 
Such a card ought to be put in a prominent place in every 
post-office, and the State sportsmen's associations could 
have it done at a trifling cosl;. It sets the thoughtless vio- 
lator of the law in thinking, which frequently ends in 
his reformation, and the notice of a possible penalty will 
often restrain the vicious violator, while the discussions 
that are sure to arise round the post-office stove on account 
of it are educators in the right direction. 
There will always be some one to argue for the enforce- 
ment of the law, on the ground that law observance is a 
part of good citizenship, regardless of what the law may 
be or how many others violate it, and in the end it all 
tells in the right direction. It has fallen to the lot of the 
writer to do some missionary work of this kind, and to his 
certain knowledge it has borne good fruit. It is also well 
known that if there is much shooting in his neighborhood 
in the close season he is trying to find out what it is about, 
and who is doing it. 
But the strictest observance of the game laws will not 
prevent the final extermination of the game; it will put 
the day of final extinction further off, but the only way 
to preserve it is to stop the sale of game, for wherever 
the game gets plenty enough for a man to make common 
laborer's wages at market-shooting the market-shooter is 
at work. 
Anti-game shipping laws might be sufficient could they 
be enforced, but it seems they have not been. Those no- 
souled dollar chasers, the express companies, have no 
interest in game except as they get to carry it, and they 
know that the cost of a few prosecutions will be a mere 
drop in the bucket compared to the profits from the thou- 
sands of unprosecuted violations. It is very difficult to 
enforce the anti-shipping laws, because of the difficulty 
in getting convicting evidence, and because each case 
must be prosecuted in the local courts where the offense 
was committed. 
If anti-sale laws were enacted, their enforcement in a 
dozen of our largest cities would settle the matter, and 
the law could be enforced there, too. It is argued that 
the business interests of the game dealers are too great, 
too much capital invested, etc. , for them to be suppressed. 
They are no better than the market-shooter. Both are 
destroying one of the gifts of nature to the people, and 
no man has any right to destroy the people's property nor 
to use more than his share of it. Perhaps this last state- 
ment hits the game hog, too. If it does, we hope it hits 
hard enough to do some good. O. H. Hampton. 
Malone, N. Y. — Editor Forest and Stream: No traffic 
in game, I would like to see, not only as headlines in 
your most valuable sportsman's educator, but in practice 
as a law of the most rigid form. It makes us who put 
money into guns, rods and dogs feel that there is yet 
something to be done on game laws, when after a hard 
day's tramp and with two or three partridges in bag we 
see hanging at our country market ten or fifteen pairs. 
This does not rest us a little bit; it makes us more weary; 
so we stop to examine the birds. Most of them we find 
have been snared, and all of them have been brought in 
by a pot-hunter and sold for fifty cents a pair. This is of 
course the cheapest way to get game for the table, and 
many who care nothing for sport have more game than 
the sportsman. 
We start out "just at the crack of dawn" on a June 
morning, drive a dozen miles or more for a day's fishing; 
fight flies most of the time; but manage to bring enough 
i trout to creel of fair size to make the "fry -pan smell." 
We lose the big ones, but start for home feeling satisfied 
and knowing the wife and babies will be glad to see the 
beauties. Here we are wrong, for in passing the market 
near home we see the sign "Trout for sale," and stop to 
look at them — 201bs. "just brought in" — and not a small 
one in the lot, all about one size, with not a mark of hook 
in lips, but the gills are worn out and the bodies are 
much marked. The netter has made a good day's wages. 
The same tale applies to deer shooting. The sportsman 
goes into camp, hiring guide, dogs and equipments at 
quite an expense, and if he gets a buck feels that his in- 
vestment is good and that he has had his share of sport 
for one season. The head he has "set up" and it adorns 
his home. But when he is asked to buy jerked venison 
at all seasons of the year almost feels like kicking himself 
for not killing a doe or two and jerking his own meat. 
We want more protection. We want for protectors men 
who are fearless and who are men of honor. Van. 
CHICAGO AND THE WEST. 
The Present and Past in the Wilder West. 
[From, a Staff Correspondent.') 
Epochs of the Trails. 
The Northern Pacific Railrod goes up the valley of the 
Yellowstone, following the foot trails of the vanished 
men who searched for beaver. All the way up to the 
big bend, where it turns short on its heel and points to 
the mountains of the region now known as the National 
Park, it offers an easy and inviting natural roadway. 
This was the old trail for the North, Down this trail 
one-half of the Lewis and Clark party came on the return 
to the East. The party which went down the Missouri 
was left some distance to the west beyond the divide 
which separates the waters of the Missouri from those of 
its great tributary. If you look to the west and north 
of the town site of Livingston, you can see a high plateau 
like a lofty mesa, stretched like a dam across the valley 
of the Yellowstone, as if to turn it to the east. This is the 
visible divide, the point over which the old wagon trails 
of the hunting days and gold days ran and still runs. 
The Indians knew this point well, and it was their favor- 
ite ambush point for white men's caravans. History will 
never tell how many sudden and desperate battles have 
been waged at this point. Old Tom Laforge — I suppose 
he must be called old, for he haB seen much of the past 
that now is old — who is one of the old-time scouts, guides 
and hunters, or was while any such had a vocation, told 
me that he and Jim Bridger were often up this valley to- 
gether, thirty or forty years ago, and often hunted ante- 
lope where Livingston now is, that being a great antelope 
range naturally. He said that in those days a party 
nearly always looked for a fight when they got to this 
divide of the Upper Yellowstone, and sort of felt disap- 
pointed i f they didn't get it. 
You must cross this divide on the iron trail to get over 
. into the Missouri country. If you pause at Helena, you 
may go up into a high place and look to the north, and 
there you can see the Bear Tooth rock, that marks the 
gate of the Missouri. The Indians say there once was 
another one of these rocks, but that something happened 
to it — which something is left delightfully indefinite and 
vague, like most Indian somethings. Beyond this gate 
of the mountains lies old Fort Benton. Now one is getting 
again upon historic ground. The "head of navigation." 
This was where the frontier really was for so many years. 
I wish it were there again, so that one could once more 
know a thrill of merit, as he left the way and set forth 
into what was really an undiscovered country. Yes, 
there is the old Missouri, the loved one of the old-timer of 
the past. There she turns also to the east, this range of 
mountains in turn making a dam against a western way. 
You look again to the west from your high place, and 
you see a gradual slope, ascending, always ascending, 
toward the top of the mountains which lie to the left as 
you look toward the Bear Tooth rock over the Missouri. 
The waters go no further now. You are at the Great 
Divide. This is the Northern Pass of the Rockies, a great 
and fateful place. It was destined that here the iron 
trail should come which was to destroy the West and 
change it to new life and purposes. 
You crawl easily and slowly up this pass, not at great 
apparent cost of railroad energy. It is winter on the east 
side of the pass. You slip through the great Mullin tun- 
nel, and begin to coast down into another land, into 
another empire of this great country, the empire of the 
Coast, as distinct from the life of the east side of the 
Rockies as is the latter from that of the Old World. At 
the right of this half mile is winter. At the left of it is 
the breath of spring. You are in Chinook land. Not 
brown and gray, as you saw it an hour ago, the face of 
the country is bright and vivid in its coat of green. It is 
April, and you have left the tin-can belt of the east slope 
for a land where you catch a suspicion of lettuce and 
spring "greens" upon the air. Surely this is a great and 
wonderful land of ours. 
Missoula, Montana. 
When I got to Missoula I was pleased, for a more lovely 
spot for a town never was on earth than this sheltered, 
green corner of the mountains, this valley hid under the 
arms of the Bitter Roots. After the continual panorama 
