366 
FOREST AND STREAM^ 
LNov. 7, 1696. 
of an inch or bo is indeed nearly all solid horny material 
of overlapping scales. But such a merely ecaly tip is not 
properly to be caUed a horn in the ordinary sense of the 
word. I once had in my possession for a month a snake 
said by its captor to have not only the horn, but a 
sting in it. It had no more the one than the other. It 
was only a common Faraneia abaeura, bluish black, with 
some red bars across the abdomen. It came from Louis- 
iana, and that species, both there and in Florida, is popu- 
larly supposed to have the horned tail, and perhaps a 
sting in it. Consequently many persons who see them 
imagine they see the horn and sting, just as those who 
believe in planting by the moon always see results to con- 
firm their theories. 
So much for true snakes with apparent horns. Now as 
to apparent snakes with true horcs. I call them apparent 
for short, becaiise they differ so hiuch from all our ordi- 
nary snakes. In fact, however^ anatomically they .are as 
good ophidians as any other family of the four into 
which naturalists put all the serpents. I refer to the 
Seolecophidia or worm snakes. These are snakes which 
burrow in light soil, under old leaves and logs, and live 
upon insects and their larva?. They are nearly blind and 
alniost destitute of teeth. Their bodies are rather stiff and 
their scales exceedingly smooth and glossy, as it is plainly 
much better for a burrowing body to be. And several of 
their varieties have a real solid horny end to their tails, 
evidently intended to give them a good purchase in their 
burrowing. They have no large "ventral" scales running 
across the abdomen and giving the purchase for crawling 
to our ordinary snakes, and briefly it may be said "they 
are not in it" at all with every-day snakes, They are 
practically big scaly worms, But they have the horn tail 
and they are the only snakes yet described in any natural 
history with an honest horn. 
They are not very common, I think, for I have never 
seen but one, though I have had them hunted for a good 
deal. The one seen was on North Island, Wingate Bay, 
S. C. It was about 15in. long and about the last inch of 
its tail was apparently solid horn tapering to a point, but 
too blunt for use as a weapon. Its coloring suggested a 
reddish Scotch plaid. But any reader finding any snake 
with a real horn can readily tell whether it is a Seoleco- 
phidia or worm snake by the presence or absence of the 
broad ventral scales by which our ordinary snakes crawl. 
If his horned snake has none of these, but only small 
smooth scales alike on back and abdomen, then he has 
found only the well-known worm snake. But if it has a 
good, honest, indisputable horn with big ventral scales he 
has something which no museum possesses and no natu- 
ralist has ever described. E, P. Alexander, 
WOODLAND BIRD NOTES.— V. 
Amidst Autumn's Woods. 
"Now half the birds forget to sing, 
And half of them have taken wing, 
Before their pathway shall be lost 
Beneath the gossamer of Jack Frost." 
No ONE perhaps realizes so strongly as the naturalist the 
characteristic mood of the several seasons, a mood and 
atmosphere so peculiar to itself as to give to each of the 
seasons much of the dignity of personality. October has 
a mellow, ripened glow distinctly its own, and is consid- 
ered the most glorious month of the year, though in this 
respect we may say it is perhaps rivaled by June. To the 
artistic eye it is truly beautiful; the foliage of trees and 
bushes of lovely tints of scarlet to various shades of red, 
orange, yellow or brown. The atmosphere is clear, brac- 
ing, and "puts life into one's self/' so to speak, which 
the air of June does not do. 
To the ornithologist, however, it is a sad season, for as 
the leaves are disapppearing from the trees so are our 
beautiful summer birds from our woods, fields or orchards; 
in fact, we are like a boat in a storm, drifting helplessly 
upon the rugged and sharp months of winter. How com- 
monplace the robin or song sparrow seems, among the gay 
procession which throng our woods in summer, but how 
welcome they are when all the other birds have gone, and 
how soon forgotten when they return in the spring. The 
throng of transient visitants is slowly disappearing, 
though some are still here. The first birds to oume to us 
in the spring are the last to go in the fall. So the myrtle 
warblers, hermit thrushes, purple grackles, red-winged 
blackbirds, phosbes and many others that arrive in March 
and April are still here, and in all probability will be here 
for another month yet. It is strange to note the mingling 
of the different species at this time of year. Summer and 
winter residents and migrants will be found in the same 
flcick. It is well to note how the plumage of the 
birds agrees with the seasons. In winter the birds 
with dull and quiet plumage are found, as for example 
snowbird, chickadee, nuthatch and winter wren. With 
the approach of spring the plumage becomes brighter, as 
in the red-winged blackbird and meadowlark in early 
spring, and as summer approaches very gay and bright 
colors prevgdl, as in many of the migrants and most of the 
summer residents. During this recent warm spell the 
migrants and some of the summer birds are still lagging, 
while the cold weather in the North are driving the win- 
ter birds southward. Many of the migrant thrushes have 
gone southward, but the hermit is still here. The 
Canadian nuthatch, black-throated green and myrtle 
warblers are here, but in small numbers, and in a few 
days will probably follow their brethren to warmer 
climes. Those tiny midgets, the ruby-crowned kinglets, 
are still extremely abundant this fall, but they are only a 
passing visitor and will soon be gone. In winter birds 
the white-throated sparrow, junco, winter wren, brown 
creeper, etc., are very numerous and become more 
abundant each day. Yesterday (Oct. 15) I saw a large 
flock of pine finches, redpolls and purple finches. These 
birds are distinctly boreal birds and are rather rare here 
even in winter, and then only of local distribution. 
In spring the ornithologist is ravenous for the sight of 
bright colors. There is starvation in his eye that has lived 
the winter long upon a diet of black and white, gray and 
brown. How it absorbs the ruddy tinge of the first robin 
and the delicious hue of the early bluebird. Variety is 
not half so essential a spice of life as expectancy. Indeed, 
from the cradle to the grave anticipation is more than a 
spice; it is a larger part of the very subsistence of life. 
We all live more in the fairer to-morrow than in to-day, 
and find more exhilaration in reaching forth for new fruit 
than enjoying the fruit in the hand. One of the best 
things to be said about immortality is that it means a 
future never drawn upon, Edwin Irvine Haines. 
New EoOhklle, N. T., Oct. 17. 
QUEER WAYS IN BIRDDOM. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
1 read with great interest the letter by Eobert C. 
Lowry about the "Sora or Eail Bird" in the Forest and 
Stream of Oct, 17, more especially the part that touched 
on this bird's diving into the mud and remaining there 
during the winter, hibernating. That this seems impos- 
sible, that it would be miraculous if a bird did survive 
burial in mud for weeks, at once appeals to the ordinary 
student of bird habits and forms. But when it is con- 
sidered that this story is related of the house martin as 
well, that people hundreds of miles apart bold the same 
belief, from, as they claim, personal observation, natural- 
ists would better have a case before they cast ridicule on 
a marsh-folk's belief. More than once men have laughed 
at the tales of simple folk,' One time a group of natural- 
ists in an Egyptian hotel laughed uproarously when a 
man said small birds rode on the backs of large ones, yet 
any ten years of the Forest and Stream's volumes of 
Natural History columns would prove beyond a doubt that 
small, weak birds ride on sturdy- birds' backs during mi- 
gration. 
The observations of a German scientist on. the house 
swallow that builds its nesta on the sides of houses seems 
to prove that birds hibernate. We know that wood- 
chucks and many other warm-blooded animals fall into 
a torpor in the fall that lasts many weeks, with scarcely 
any interruption. 
We learn to-day of things that seemed impossible a 
year ago, or yesterday. There must be some one among 
the Forest and Stream's readers who could tell of birds 
in mud apparently asleep, I say "must be" because I 
have read in a great many articles, mostly Forest and 
Stream ones, about this belief. In an old history of 
Vermont, published about 1813, appears the author's 
statement of a friend's story to the effect that the swallow 
sometimes hibernates in mud. He believed the friend's 
story. There are other similar tales. The reason many 
most extraordinary tales are suppressed regarding doings 
of birds is that the observers fear being laughed at. I 
venture to say that within ten years the man who states 
in the Forest and Stream that the swallow and rail 
never hibernate will be laughed at, as I would be if I said 
a wren never rode on a goose's back. 
Raymond S. Spears, 
New Yobk City. 
Migrating Hawks in Kansas. 
Swartz, La., Oct. 15. — Editor Forest and Stream: 
While on a visit to western Kansas recently I found that 
long suffering State, besides containing grasshoppers, 
thousands of hawks — hawks of all kinds, little hawks, 
big hawks, middle-sized hawks, sparrow hawks, chicken 
hawks, some as large as small eagles. 
My friend and I started out early Monday morning from 
Great Bend for the Cheyenne Bottoms, famous as the 
meeting place for a number of seasons of the Altcar 
Coursing Association. With any water on the bottoms, as 
there is this season, there is usually plenty of ducks, and 
the object of our trip was to bring back a few. 
We found scarcely any ducks, but in their stead the 
prairie was literally covered with hawks, and in our opin- 
ion this was the cause of there being no ducks. I shot a 
colossal specimen; he merely thought I was feeding him 
and had missed his mouth, so my friend came to the res- 
cue, shot and winged him. After he fell he was quite as 
formidable a wounded enemy as one would care to en- 
counter; and I wished for a kodak to immortalize my 
friend as he threw rich Kansas soil and sand bur stocks at 
the gaping mouth and outstretched wings of this bird. 
It was finally dispatched with another load of shot. We 
found it measm-ed 5ft. from tip to tip. 
Just before we entered the bottoms we were joined by 
a young man, a resident of the vicinity, who informed us 
that hawks collected in this manner every autumn, evident- 
ly preparing for migration, as' it was for only a short time 
they are so numerous. 
The three of us devoted the remainder of the day to 
shooting hawks. They had grown very bold around the 
farm houses, where they were rarely shot at; we were not 
real sportsmen, as we took them from fence posts and not 
always flying. They have a habit of lazily sailing in the 
air out of shotgun range; but should they spy a mouse or 
bird in the grass and no gun about they swoop down with 
jacksnipe rapidity and seize their prey and off. 
0/1 our return home I winged a plover and endeavored 
to catch it under my hat; it was my friend's turn to wish 
for a kodak, as my method of capturing birds somewhat 
resembled the old game of leap frog. 
I hope to return later in the season and find geese as 
plentiful on the bottoms as hawks were. E, G. D, 
liive Elk in Massachusetts. 
Mr, B. R. Adams, proprietor of Moose Head Ranch, in 
Uintah county, Wyoming, has -delivered to Mr. W. C. 
Whitney, Lenox, Mass., thirty elk for Mr. Whitney's 
game preserve on October Mountain. 
Good Things Appreciated. 
Haverhill, Mass,, Oct. 22.— Editor Forest and Stream: 
I wish to compliment you on the appearance of the latest 
number of your valued paper. The Audubon plate looks 
especially fine. 
I have long been a regular reader of the Forest and 
Stream, and look as regularly to the day on which it is 
received aa I do to meal time, In fact, I think I could go 
without a meal occasionally with less dissatisfaction than 
I should experience if the paper came not regularly. 
Myself and wife have been especially interested in Mr. 
Rowland E. Robinson's writings, and we feel that we are 
very well acquainted with Uncle 'Lisha, Antoine, Sam 
and all the other characters that appeal so strongly to the 
average New Englander. We also have taken great 
interest in the reminiscences of Col. Mather, and are glad 
to note their regularity. 
Wishing you the continued success that your labors so 
richly merit. Gratefully yours, 
C. J. Halpen. 
^^tif0 §Hg mtd §mu 
Our readers are invited to send us for these columns 
notes of the game supply, shooting resorts, and their 
experience in the field, ) 
THE DEADWATER MOOSE. 
Two men stood on a railroad platform and one of them 
said to the other as he held aloft his rifle: "This is the 
only genuine moose gun in all the world. This is verily 
the Harbinger of Death." 
To which the other man replied, as he displayed his 
own favorite weapon: "And this is Death." 
It was in such sportive and sanguine frame of mind 
that Mr. Fred Irland, of Washington, and the writer left 
the train at Boiestown on Sept. 16 last boimd for a region 
called the Crooked Deadwater, where it was said that the 
bull mocse, even Tim Lynch, the monarch of all moose, 
was roaring and roystering on the mountain side, shovel- 
ing his rivals into the lake and pawing up the black 
muck on the barren in she A" insolence of strength. We 
desired to arbitrate with Timothy. 
The guide, who met us at Boiestown, was none other 
than Henry Braithwaite, of whom a certain red man, 
Jim Paul, once remarked: "Dat man Birthright got a 
turrible repytation, but, by gorry, I kin call a bull moose 
half a mile f urder off 'n he kin." Jim Paul was right. 
Where Henry accumulates the deadwood on Mr. Paul is 
that he can call the bull moose half a mile "furder up." 
The life of a woodsman offers little opportunity for 
brilliant or striking deeds. The best he can hope for is 
thoroughly to master all the multitudinous details of his 
calling; to face hard work and hard weather manfully; 
to glean from nature, by careful watching of her ways, 
as many of the secrets of the wilderness as he may; to 
learn the habits of all the wild children of the forest, and 
the uses and properties of tree and plant. I take little 
stock in heroes and less in hero worship, yet I feel like 
adding my word of tribute to what has been said by 
others of Henry Braithwaite. It is a liberal education in 
woodcraft to wander in the woods even for a few short 
weeks with him. He is a past master in every branch of 
forestry — a sort of rough and ready Nessmuk, who loves 
the woods as Nessmuk did — who cannot endure for any 
length of time the restraints of artificial life; who feels 
in the forest, not its poetry perhaps, but at all events its 
peace, its freedom and its majes^. It would take a 
great deal of the strongest kind of evidence to induce 
any one who knows him to believe that his superior as a 
woodsman can be found. Whether it is calling a moose, 
running down a caribou, trapping an otter, stringing a 
snowshoe, buUding a canoe or traveling on a bee-line 
through an unknown forest, Henry beats the Indian at 
his own game. In a land that is full of hunters and 
cruisers, red as well as white, the keenest of critics in 
their line of work, no one for a quarter of a century has 
ever disputed his preeminence. 
We tarried at the hotel of the impassive, impersonal 
Mr. Duffy that night, and ip the morning started with all 
our "stuff" for Pleasant Ridge, nine miles away, where 
the portage road enters the forest. Henry said as we 
were loading the wagon: "Now, we've got to forget 
something. Let us try and forget something we can do 
without." Whereupon Henry straightway proceeded to 
forget, of all things in the world, his axe, which Mr. 
Duffy, the silent, went back for while the team stood 
waiting in the road. 
Just where Pleasant Ridge subsides, in the arms of the 
forest, lives a thrifty farmer named Mr. Holt, who keeps 
a sort of wayside house, Here we paused for provender 
and met our teamster, Mr. Tom Hunter, who was to pilot 
our luggage over tbe thirty odd miles of rock and root, 
hill and dale, brook and barren that lay between us and 
Fullerton's camp on the south branch of the Dungarvon 
River. Mr. Hunter was an old friend of ours. Two years 
before he had transported our traps by the old Dungarvon 
portage to Pond's camp on the memorable occasion when 
Fred got his first moose. We foimd that advancing age 
had not diminished the vocal powers of Mr. Hunter, He 
still faced the terrors of the "portash" without fear, en- 
livening the way with wit and humor, and encouraging 
the team with sulphurous remarks. Our route to the 
Deadwater wound steadily northward and somewhat to 
the west of the one we had taken two years ago. The old 
portage road to Pond's camp had not been used of late 
and was reported to be blocked with fallen trees. 
When we questioned Mr. Hunter as to the qualities of the 
new road he put it all in a nutshell: "The furder the 
wusser." ' 
Our rate of progress, after the luggage had been trans- 
ferred to a wooden-shod sled and the portage fairly en- 
tered upon, was very slow, owing to the weight of the 
load and likewise the tendency to pause displayed by the 
"off" horse. We had only made two miles when dark- 
ness, accompanied by rain, set in and it was necessary to 
camp. Henry soon had the tent up, the hand- junks cut, 
and various and sundry rampikes piled thereon, and we 
listened to the patter of the rain with supreme indiffer- 
ence. 
The 18th was an ideal autumn day. Mr. Hunter em- 
ployed his vocabulary with force and freedom and we 
made ten miles, reaching Richards's depot camp near 
Salmon Brook Lake. The "off" horse looked very solemn 
as he stood in the yard in the moonlight and thought of 
Mr. Hunter. In the fnorning Fred and I visited the lake, 
which we found to be three-quarters of a mile long and 
nearly as wide and very characteristic, in all its scenic 
features, of New Brunswick inland waters. On the west 
it was overlooked by a beautiful hardwood ridge that 
glowed with the gorgeous tints of autumn, the remaining 
sides were flanked with evergreens and bordered by 
tawny strips of barren. The comely tracks of moose and 
caribou were quite abundant on these barrens and large 
flocks of geese and ducks were feeding in a cove at the 
southern end of the lake. 
The controversy between Mr. Hunter and the sorrel was 
resumed with violence next day. Our hopes of making 
substantial progress, however, were dampened and finally 
drowned out by a drenching rain that began early in the 
afternoon. We were now on the Rocky Brook portage, 
and the traveling was smoother than it had been; but the 
rain became so unpleasant that, after making a total of 
ei^ht mUes, we were glad to seek the shelter of a bark 
