44 
FOREST AMD STREAM. 
tion of the larger holes, and rightly judging the fish to 
be there mainly secreted, the writer crept carefully along, 
well back from the brook, and approaching the holes on 
hands and knees made long casts and patiently aAvaited 
the pleasure of the denizens of the stream. The result 
was that in this meadow alone nine as fine brook trout as 
one could wish for were taken, which, added to the half- 
dozen or so taken further up the stream, quite filled a 
lolb. basket, and well satisfied the angler with his morn- 
ing's effort. These trout had evidently "wintered" in 
holes and pools in the meadow, for the fish in this sec- 
tion have been very backward in "running up" from 
the deeper streams this year. For trout, they bit very 
slowly and demanded more than usual care and coaxing. 
The size of the largest one? Well, as usual, he broke the 
hook at the bend just as he was being lifted from the 
water, hence his weight can be given only approximately. 
He looked large enough and bent the rod enough to weigh 
fully 2lbs. And that is no joke, either. 
As Pine Tree evidently surmises, the wealth of wild 
game, like that of virgin timber, has been sadly thinned 
along the Connecticut Valley in Massachusetts. Still, a 
remnant remains. Wild turkeys have long since disap- 
peared from thi» locality, and to see a flock of wild pigeons 
would be quite as great a novelty in these woods as to 
meet a lion. Ducks, grouse, snipe and woodcock are by 
no means as plentiful as of yore, though in the spring- 
time a few flocks of very wild ducks may. occasionally 
be seen along the river, and later on a stray pair of 
mallards or wood ducks may be run upon in some se- 
cluded pond ; while half a dozen grouse or as many wood- 
cock would be considered a fair day's bag by the sports- 
men of most near-by sections. The "big white rabbit" 
and the "little cottontail" rnay still be seen, though the 
former is now seldom secured this far south, and the poor 
cottontails grow noticeably fewer every year, owing to the 
infernal and lawless use of ferrets. Gray, red and chip- 
munk squirrels are still with us, and a few seasons ago 
we found, along Bachellor's Brook, a nest of fljnng squir- 
rels, the only ones we remember to have seen in this 
section. Upland plover are getting scarce, and even the 
meadow larks and other song birds do not seem as plenti- 
ful as before. Among the birds the English sparrow 
alone seems to increase — and perhaps the crows are not 
much reduced in numbers. The duck hawk still nests 
among the rocks on the almost perpendicular western side 
of Mt. Tom, and also on Sugar Loaf Mountain. 
Two years ago a deer was seen near Smith's Ferry, and 
last year one or two were seen just over the line in Con- 
necticut. An occasional wildcat (bobcat or lynx) is seen 
or captured, as in the past. The fox still affords amuse- 
ment to the breeders of hounds and shooters of lo-gauge 
guns. A few days ago, while driving along the road from 
Holyoke to East Hampton, one of these animals — of the 
"tow-haired" variety — ran leisurely across the highway 
just ahead of the team, his coat apparently the wor.se for 
■wea.r. He looked much as though he had just got out 
of bed, or been to a wake, or something of that sort. He 
seemed to appreciate the fact that we had no intentions 
against his life, for he occasionally stopped long enough 
to "rubber" at us as he jogged along over a wooded 
knoll to the denser woods beyond. J. H, E. 
On the Cumberlands. 
If any of your readers are "tired of city ways," longing 
for fresh fields and pastures new, blue skies, silvery 
brooks, life-giving air, health-giving water, wild, pictur- 
esque scenery with the never-ending charm of variety, let 
him — or her — come to Cumberland Mountains. The air 
here is a tonic equal to Ponce de Leon's fabled fountain. 
I know this to be true, for I am — well, on second thoughts 
I will not tell how old I am, but since being on the moun- 
tain I feel as if I were but twenty. Life has a charm 
that it never before had for me. It is a pleasure to be 
alive. 
The scenery is wildly beautiful. The brooks are crystal 
clear, and there are myriads of them. To follow the 
windings of one of these little streams is a fascinating 
way of spending half a day. That is, it is a pleasure to 
some persons, but if one does not enjoy it any more than 
some do, one better not try it. For instance, one of a 
party of surveyors gave his opinion as follows: "Me- 
anderin' a brook! Huh! I don't want any more me- 
anderin' in mine! I heerd the fellers a-talkin' about me- 
anderin', an' I had an idee it was somethin'_ purty nice 
to do, but this thing o' gittin' all among the ivies, fallin' 
over roots o' laurels, gittin' all scratched up with hang- 
briers, a-slippin' an' a-slidin' on the banks. No, I don't 
want any more meanderin'." 
But to me this "meanderin' a brook" is a great pleasure. 
I try to find the head of the stream, and then follow "its 
winding way" — and how it does wind, turn back and wind 
around again. Here it glides so smoothly that you 
scarcely see a movement on its shining surface; there it 
breaks and runs and races and flashes into silver as it 
tumbles over the gray rocks lying in its way. Then it 
slips away beneath the low-hanging branches of glossy- 
green ivy, and is dark as ink among the dense shadows, 
and moans and sobs among the gnarled roots and shelving 
rocks that try to hold it captive. Breaking away it 
dashes on and on, now between low banks, fringed with 
emerald-green mosses, studded with the red berries of 
the tiny squaw vine; now between great gray rocks that 
rise far above it and throw gloomy shadows down on the 
brave little stream that runs musically on over and 
through all obstacles. Then I grow philosophical : This 
little stream tvpifies a human life— -but you can follow out 
the comparison for yourself. I did. 
When you tire of "murmuring streams" there are great 
gray cliffs which one can climb and from them look far, 
far away to lands that seem "fairer than this" ; where 
the soft clouds bend down to kiss the slopes of the distant 
blue ridges; where the valleys spread out their verdant 
fields ; where the wind comes straight from 
"Over the hills and far away. 
Beyond their utmost purple rim," 
and whispers strange stories of what it saw and heard 
before it came to sob and moan its weird tales to the 
jiympathetic pines, I have heard some of its stories, and I 
did not wonder that the pines wailed and trembled with 
the horror of it all. 
Then these woods are full of "ha'nts." You don't be- 
lieve it? Just go any day, any time, out into the woods 
by yourself and you'll hear them. Hark ! Hear that pack 
of hounds in full cry! Where is it? To the left? No. 
To the right? Ah — where? It is a ghostly pack led by 
some wild huntsman of the Cumberlands. I hear his horn 
often — a "horn of elf-land faintly blowing." Again you'll 
hear — so near that you stop and turn to see who rides so 
softly beside you, and you'll see — nothing. Nothing? 
How do you know that there is nothing — no one there? 
Can't you believe your ears as well as your eyes? Your 
ears surely heard the tread of a horse's feet, but your 
eyes see nothing. Some ghostly rider longing for human 
sympathy rides beside you. Were your eyes as sympathetic 
as your ears you might see the face of one long loved and 
lost; or, you might see that which would fill your soul 
with dread. Who knows? Ah me! Who knows? 
You ask these mountaineers and they will tell you of 
"ha'nts" that have sent the bravest of them home in 
terror. There is a "ha'nt" in these woods whose mere 
presence makes the dogs creep to their masters, whining, 
and if the masters presume to continue their hunt, the 
"ha'nt" utters such terrible cries as it comes after them 
through the woods in the darkness, that the men take to 
their heels and rush home. I have talked to the young 
men who have been chased home by it, so, of course, this 
"ha'nt" is no fiction. 
But to turn from the unseen to the seen. I have been 
fortunate since I have been on the mountains. I have 
seen deer, foxes, turkeys, pheasants, quail, rabbits, squir- 
rels and coons, and heard of bears and wildcats quite 
near. A party of us were almost devoured in Daddy's 
Creek when on a hunt for a wildcat still. We had not yet 
found it when we forded the creek, so don't accuse us of 
not being sober. I must tell you of that trip another 
time, but I can't tell where that still is. 
On Cane Creek is a favorite hunting ground. Several 
parties of hunters have been in camp there at different 
times this fall, and all have been successful in getting 
several deer and foxes and smaller game. The turkeys 
here must be the wariest of their kind, for though "the 
woods are full of 'em," I seldom hear of one being shot. 
Hounds and "dawgs" are used here to hunt with. 1 see 
no bird dogs, though where game birds are as plentiful as 
they are here this winter I should think a well-trained dog 
would be useful. The hounds are not very well trained. 
I think there are very few pure-bred fox hounds here. 
Anyone owning "a Kentucky hound" is envied by all 
his neighbors. Before the law was passed forbidding 
"foreigners" (i. e., residents of other States) coming here 
to hunt, the Kentuckians brought in a great many fine fox 
and deer hounds, and usually left a goodly number here, 
thus supplying the mountaineers with good hounds. _ My 
ambition is to own a black Scotch stag hound, and it is an 
ambition that very likely will have plenty of time to 
grow. 
I was once promised a grand fox hunt if I would go on 
a certain day over on Cane Creek. I went. On our way 
over we heard the horn and the hounds behind us. We 
anticipated hearing a grand burst of music, and on reach- 
ing the cabin where we were to spend the day the hostess 
assured us that we'd "get enough of hearing the hounds." 
My share of the hunt was to sit in the cabin door and 
listen to the "hounds run" as they chased the fox up and 
down the creek. That is the only way women go hunting 
here. I sat in the door and listened — in vain. Finally our 
hostess suggested that we could go see Dripping Springs 
if we could not hear the hounds. We went down to Pine 
Orchard Branch, crossed it on the rocks that line its bed 
and stood under the huge rock from which the cool, clear 
water drips forever. No rise or fall of the Branch, no 
heavy rains or parching drouths ever affect the never- 
ceasing drip, drip. 
The cabin which is called Sampson Post Office is two 
miles from my boarding place, and I go there three times 
a week, and often see game birds on my way there and 
back. One morning a lovely doe sprang up not far from 
me, and ran oyer the crest of the ridge. I was telling 
about it at the post office. A native stood leaning on his 
gun listening to me, and as I wound up my story he 
had his ready, 
"Wall, I seed a deer this mawnin.' The queerest actin' 
deer T ever seed. I'd a got her shore if I'd a had jist a 
leetle more powder. I was a-comin' dyown the Branch, 
an' the dawgs was a-trailin' 'ryound, an' all at onct they 
begin a-barkin', an' I seed this deer a-stannin' an' a-lookin' 
at me. I up an' fired. Atter I fired, the deer kep' a-lookin' 
at me. The dawgs was on 'nother trail, and hadn't seen 
these 'ere deer. I loaded up an' fired ag'in, but the deer 
des laid down an' I begin a-sneakin' up to her, when 
Lee he seed it an' run a-barkin' at it, an' then it riz up, an' 
I went to load my gun, an' I hadn't but half a load o' 
powder, but I poured it down and let fly, but that air deer 
des went a-lopin' off with Lee at her heels, an' I knowed 
by the way she run that I hadn't teched her." 
It is utterly impossible to describe the drawling, mo- 
notonous voice of this man. Face, voice and body were 
expressionless. Perhaps his gun was the same way and 
the bullet too slow and easy to "git thar." 
These mountaineers are pleasant people to be with. My 
greatest difficulty is that they do not "take jokes" easily. 
I have an exaggerated way of telling things, and hereto- 
fore have been among those who took my exaggerations 
for "what they are worth." But now it is different. I 
have to be careful. I am careful, but quite often I see 
by the way my listeners look at me that I must modify my 
statements. I am afraid that in spite of all my care 
some of these people think I am "an awful" — what 
Ananias was. Minnie W. Armstrong. 
A large crowd was collected at the Alder street wharf 
yesterday to view what many considered the largest 
sturgeon ever brought to this city. It was caught near 
Megler's cannery, at Brookfield, by a Russian Finn, who 
coujd not speak English and who sent a young man up 
here with the fish to sell it. It was lift. 6in. in length 
and weighed nearly 70olbs. It sold for about $20. It was a 
monster, and must, of course, have been very old, but it 
was impossible to count the wr' kles on its horns. — Port- 
land Oregonian. 
The Wood Rat. 
Yuma, Ariz.— Among the rodentia hereabouts, the most 
common is the wood rat- (Neotoma intermedia gilva 
Rhoads). They can be found on the desert and off the 
desert in almost any desired number. The brushy valley 
of the Gila River, near its confluence with the Colorado, 
seems, however, to be a favorite place with them, al- 
though they are drowned from their homes by high water 
nearly every spring. At such times they take refuge in 
the willows which grow on the river banks to the height 
of 20 and 30ft. These residence saplings are then stripped 
of their bark for food. It is chiseled off in strips about 
J^in. wide. A small portion of wood is also taken off, 
apparently, with each bite. Just how long they can so 
live I have no means of knowing. The Colorado River 
overflowed its banks during the last week in April, and 
the country is still under water and will probably continue 
so for a month or six weeks more. The rats are still in 
the trees and in fair condition of flesh. 
As there appears to be no special season for the fe- 
males to bring forth young, the loss of life among the 
mothers must be out of all proportion to that of the non- 
bearing males. This loss, however, is provided for in 
the excess of females, which outnumber the males by 
about four to one. It is possible, but not probable, that 
this numerical difference in sexes is local and is due to 
the excessive death rate among females incident to a 
periodical flooding of their homes. The females do not 
appear to be in any wise prolific bearers. Three is the 
maximum number of young I have thus far found at one 
birth; more frequently it is two, and occasionally but 
one. Of the twenty-seven bearing females examined nme 
had three young each, fourteen had two, and four one 
each. Such figures, however, establish nothing beyond 
the time covered. A like period in another year would 
in all probability give a new set of figures. 
A curious thing is the length of time the young attach 
themselves to the breasts of the mothers. Whether the 
mothers be living or dead, the young do not let go of the 
teats unless forced off till they are two or probably three 
weeks old. This same habit is likewise common to the 
desert white-footed mouse (Peromyscus eremicus), I had 
a female of this species with three young. When I first 
saw them they were small, naked and pinkish in color. 
Each had hold of a teat, and as the mother was well 
provided for the three soon exceeded the mother m 
weight. It was almost impossible for the little thmg to 
move about with them. She made no effort to get away 
and evidentlv considered herself helpless with such weight 
hanging to her. Occasionally for experiment I have forced 
a young rat from the teat, but when again put to the 
mother they soon locate the missing "bottle" and hold 
to it as tenaciously as ever. All rats and mice are born 
blind, and do not quit the teats of the mother UU at least 
a week after they acquire sight. ,.11,*. 
Rats, quite strangely, are subject to grubs in the throat. 
These grubs are located in a bloody sac, and if sufficiently 
matured the head protrudes through the skin and can be 
thrust out or drawn in at pleasure. Comm.only there is 
but one, but I once saw a half -grown female with three, 
all in the throat. Occasionally I see rats that are entirely 
Wind, and frequently blind of one eye. The pupils be- 
come white and apparently as hard as pebbles. The very 
old rats of both sexes are often battle-scarred to the ex- 
tent of loss of ears and sometimes a portion of tail. 
The nest commonly is a bulky affair, and where possi- 
ble is piled against the base or root of a low, overhanging 
bush. They are an accumulation of the debris of the sur- 
rounding country — sticks, stones, mesquite thorns, cac- 
tus burrs, bones, or in fact any old thing they can get 
hold of. Generally they are from i to 2ft. thick and from 
2 to 4ft. across. Size, however, depends much on the 
availability of material. The runways are always from a 
few inches to a foot or more beneath the surface of the 
earth, and vary in number according to the age of the 
nest and character of the ground. 
Herbert Brown. 
Skunks, et AL 
Essex, N. Y., July 2.— Editor Forest and Stream: The 
terrible drouth this spring has undoubtedly proved provi 
dential for the broods of young partridges, and from pres- 
ent indication the shooting will be better than for sev- 
eral years past; but the drouth also seems responsible for 
an unwelcome increase in the number of skunks and 
other predatory vermin. Some small animal, presumably 
a weasel, has made several raids on our young Pekm 
ducks, and more recently the skunks have sampled our 
broilers in the chicken yard. Last night I set a steel 
trap at the corner of the chicken yard, and about mid- 
night one of the hired men roused me with the announce- 
ment that the skunks had arrived, and that a gun was 
needed, as there were more than one. 
I took my .22-caliber rifle, as I did not wish to rouse 
the household with the report of a larger gun; but on 
reaching the back door I found the other hired man, and 
from the latticed window above the young lady who does 
the cooking was already beginning to give advice as to 
the plan of the campaign. My wife was awake, and there 
was only one other adult member of the household to be 
accounted for. i 
It was a calm night, and one of the men held aloft a 
lamp. I could see two skunks rolling over each other, 
locked in a fast embrace. One was caught in the trap, 
and the other, which was a much smaller skunk, was loath 
to leave it to its fate. 
As soon as I could make out which was the free ani- 
mal I fired at its head, and by a lucky shot succeeded in 
killing it. The other was not so fortunate in its demise. 
The first two shots hit it in the neck, and it retaliated by 
opening fire on .us. Its shots went wide of tlie mark, 
hut the resultant aroma was very evident to some city 
people in a cottage a quarter of a mile away, who knew 
the exact time the skunks were killed although they were 
too far off to hear the noise of the rifle shots. My am- 
munition was exhausted, and T had to go to the room of 
