July 8, 1899.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
29 
a. log of an old raft, on the pond. It was of a' dull lead 
color, and was about 3ft. long, and about lin. through 
(of course I did not measure it exactly). About 34m- 
from the end of its tail there was a sort of knob, or prong, 
which stuck up. If anyone can tell its name from this 
description I shall be glad to know it. 
I believe that every man who keeps his eyes open sees 
some strange things, which arc hard to believe, but 
which, nevertheless, are strictly true. 
J. M. Sheldon. 
A Sunday Evening: with the Birds. 
Sitting on a small veranda which juts out from the 
third floor on the south side of my home last Sunday 
afternoon, I noticed song birds of many of the species 
that inhabit our country on the lawns hunting worms. It 
had rained nearly all the morning, and cleared toward 
evening, which accounted for so many being there at 
one time. In glancing at the shade trees I noticed a 
robin's nest in the forks of one tree, and in another a 
family of English sparrows have their home; two of these 
are sitting on limbs near the nest, frying to dry their 
feathers by straightening them with their bills. On a 
third tree I discover a small nest hung in the branches 
of a limb, which puzzles me for some time; but finally I 
discover the male bird with food for the female, which 
is sitting on the nest. It is the thistlebird, or summer 
yellowbird. After watching them for several hours I 
find the male bird brings food to the female every twelve 
to tifteen minutes, and every time he nears the nest his 
chirp attracts the attention of the female, and she an- 
swers with a little twitter which I believe if it could be 
interpreted would mean, "How kind and attentive you 
are to me." They are very quick to attack any small 
birds coming in the vicinity of their nest. ■ I saw a small 
bird that looked like, a field sparrow sitting on a limb 
some distance from the nest, and in a moment tlie male 
bird made a vicious attack on it and drove it off the 
lawn. Later in the evening he drove a catbird from the 
tree. As darkness appears, the male bird increases his 
visits to the nest, coming every few minutes with green 
worms. I see the robin is on her nest, also the sparrows; 
seven of them have retired for the night; and the yellow- 
bird now sits on a branch above the nest chirping to his 
wife about the doings of the day or what he is going to 
do to-morrow, or possibly about the family which will 
appear before long, when he will have more mouths to 
help feed. I know not which, but he is certainly very 
'happy over something, as his song proves. As nature 
wraps her mantle around this green earth of ours my 
view of these beautiful creatures (which were put here 
to help soften the stern features of the earth's cold face 
of clay) disappears. F. M. B. 
Gettysburg, Pa. 
Wild Pigeons in West Virginia. 
The day waS in this section when the wild pigeon ap- 
peared regularlv, and there is a place in the brush about 
four miles of this town known as the "Pigeon Roost," 
where I have myself seen the enriched land still marked 
iby an unusual growth of vegetation^ The luxuriant poke 
(Phytolacca decandra) flourishes there, and other plants 
not natural to that class of soil. The day was when the 
woods rustled with their wings and the sound of boughs 
crashing under their weight could be heard. The farmer 
policed his newly sown field of wheat, and there was 
danger of a ripe field of buckwheat being eaten in spite 
of the threatening presence of all the family. Then the 
mountaineer was at a disadvantage. No hunter of any 
standing owned or had anything to do with a shotgun. 
The shotgun was regarded as almost effeminate. A 
rifle ball was too much to sacrifice for a single pigeon, 
and the hunter was not well prepared to destroy any con- 
siderable number unless he could find a row of the birds 
on some straight dead bough. Then came some fancy 
shooting, and a single ball would bring down a dozen or 
so, and no ammunition wasted. 
Persons old enough have s«en the wild pigeon even 
as James Fenimore Cooper describes it in the "Pioneers." 
They are gone, and the stories of their flights are sur- 
rounded with a glamour to us of the younger genera- 
tion. It is in hope of adding a new idea to a subject 
which has been thoroughly discussed in these columns 
that I try to talk about pigeons. 
The flights of pigeons in this section were periodical, 
but in those days, far back in the mountains in the dense 
forests that crown the very apex of the Alleghanies, the 
hunter and fisher could find the pigeon all the summer. 
Now the time has come when the rank and file no longer 
fly over the land in their annual migrations, but back 
in those woJ)ds the wild pigeon is still to be seen, gen- 
ierally in pairs. Those motmtains have scarcely any bird 
life, and the pigeons are noticed more particularly per- 
hap.«. 
The fact remains that as many wild pigeons makei their 
summer home in Pocahontas county as ever. 
Andrew Price. 
Marlinton, West Virginia. 
A New G)on in Town. 
A SHORT time ago Mr. G. L. Baker became aware that 
some four-footed marauder was nightly visiting his poultry 
yard. He promptly set a trap for the unwelcome visitant, 
and the following night Mr. Raccoon was made a prisoner. 
Mr. Baker resides within five minutes of the center of 
the city, and the presence of the shifty, carnivorpus night 
prowler ilkistrates anew the attractions of the University 
City as a game preserve wherein such species as the great 
American polecat, the rabbit, opossum, fox, raccoon and 
ruffed grouse have lately been killed. Surely Ithaca has 
attractioiis other than Cornell to offer the big, un- 
sympathetic world about her. Messrs. Potter and Brock 
the past season killed eighty cooiia in the covers round 
about Ithaca. 
A Mr. Krum, of Caroline, a wayside railroad station a 
few miles south of here, reports a robin frequenting his 
premises that has an unmistakable Bob White call, this 
remarkable plaint being the chief burden of Redbreast's 
song. The robin gives the call as cheerily and spiritedl}' 
as any true mother quail would whistle it. 
M. Chill, 
Save rthe IBifds- 
Ithaca, N. Y.— On a recent Sunday two of the leading 
city pastors, Dr. Griflis, of the Congregational Chuixh, and 
Rev. J, F. Fitschen, Jr., of the First Presbyterian Church, 
from their respective pulpits spoke eloquently ^and per- 
suasively in favor of bird preservation. Dr. Griffis, in. 
the course of his remarks, illustrated how rich the Bible 
law, prophecy, poetry and gospel was of kindness to our 
little brothers of the air. The Doctor dwelt most happily 
upon the gifts, graces and powers of the birds, the English 
sparrow not being denied a kindly word. At the close 
of Dr. Griffis' talk an Audubon Society was formed for 
the protection of the birds. Rev. Mr. Fitschen made a 
no less impassioned plea for bird life preserv-ation, and 
requested that all ladies of his congregation refrain from 
wearing any sort of bird plumage in their hats. 
If, from every pulpit in America, there might go fortb 
messages echoing the sentiments noted above, a solution 
to the problem of saving our native song birds frorn 
extermination might be counted among the nearby possi- 
bilities. M. Chill. 
Stray Carrier Pigeon. 
HuNTERSViLLE, W. Va., June 24. — A carrier pigeon came 
to Lemuel J. Piles' house about ten days ago, where it 
has remained as a pet since. The family had never heard 
of such a thing as a carrier pigeon, but were desirous 
that the owner know of its whereabouts. On one leg is 
a silver band marked "A. N. 947." Carrier pigeons not 
infrequently appear here, but no one owns any in this 
section in the writer's knowledge. 
Andrew Price. 
^n{^ 
In the Gold Range of British 
Columbia. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
I spent the month of September on the Quesnelle Lake, 
in British Columbia, and some of my experiences there 
may be of interest to readers of the Forest and Stream. 
I was out with a party of prospectors who took this route 
into the mountains, as the head of the lake lies in the gold 
range. We left Soda Creek, on the Fraser River, on Aug. 
21 with four horses packed with provisions. There were 
four of us in the party besides a Siwash, who was^to act 
as guide and bring the horses back. 
At first we had a good Government trail to follow, but 
af'tef the second day our guide left it and took an old 
Indian trail, or what had been one. In many places the 
track was obstructed or entirely effaced, but the Indian 
never failed to take the right direction and to pick up the 
trail again, although he had never traveled over it before. 
This route took us through the valleys of the Beaver 
and Antoine lakes, where the best- of deer hunting is 
found. We passed Antoine Lake in the early morning, 
and Tom and I hastened on ahead and got out of hearing 
of the bell on the leader. At one place the trail skirts the 
lake at the foot of a mountain, and right here is a lick. The' 
ground at this place is tracked like a farmyard by the 
deer that come down from the poplar thickets on the 
mountain to visit the lick and drink at the lake.' As we 
passed around a bend in the trail there came a crash from 
the willows on the edge of the lake, and a big buck 
jumped across the trail just ahead and started up the 
mountain. As he cleared a log we both fired at the same 
time, and when the smoke lifted had the satisfaction of see- 
ing his legs kicking in the air. We did not wait to set- 
tle which one of us had hit him, but cut his throat and took 
the best of the meat. A little later we had a battle royal 
packing it on Sandy's back. The little cayuse had often 
been through it before, but he had been on the range all 
summer and felt like a colt. He pretended to be greatly 
frightened at the blood, until Tom lost patience and gave 
him an application of the pack rope, whereupon he sub- 
sided and stood like a war horse. 
At the end of the fourth day we reached the swamp at 
the mouth of the Horsefly River. Here our difficulties 
began. The Indian went back next morning with the 
horses and left us to our fate, and we started out to ex- 
plore the country. This was not an easy job. The swamp 
was a mass of tangled willows, and we had to cut our way 
through with axes in order to make any headway. We 
located the river, but could not follow it down to the lake 
on account of the brush on the banks. We then set to 
work to find a suitable tree for a canoe. There were 
birch trees in abundance, but at this season the bark did 
not peel well, so we looked about for a cottonwood. The 
best one that we could find stood some distance back from 
the river near a slough that ran off with many turns and 
twists into the swamp. Two of us made a raft and went 
exploring. At short intervals were beaver dams, that had 
to be cut or portaged, but Ave made our way down and 
found that at last the slough reached the river. Then all 
hands went to work at the tree. Our stock of tools con- 
sisted of two axes and a pick, but in two days we man- 
aged to turn out a canoe big enough to carry us all, to- 
gether with our dunnage, weighing about 50olbs. 
We did little hunting at this place, owing to the diffi- 
culty of getting about, but saw signs of deer and bear and 
shot several ducks on the slough. 
At last our boat was finished, and we had a tug of war 
launching it. We had to drag it looyds.. and it was green 
and very heavy. But we cut a road, and put down rollers, 
and at last slid it into the water. 
Next morning we loaded up all our stuff and started on 
our ^yay to the lake, very glad to leave our limited quar- 
ters in the swamp. There was a verj' large dam at the 
month of the slough, that had to be portaged. Then we 
loaded up again and ran down the rivep about a mile to 
the bay. Here we saw large flocks of geese, but could not 
get near enough to them for a shot. We took the right 
hand side of the bay and soon passed out into the lake. 
The Quesnell Lake is a beautiful sheet of water and is 
surrounded by some of the finest hunting grounds in 
America. The scenery all along it is fine. In the distance 
the gold range loomed up. many of the mountains covered 
with snow. We followed the south bank of the lake all 
that day. One place here is remarkable for the number of 
lynx found. We ran right up to one that was sitting on 
the beach, staring at vacancy like the old tom-cat that he. 
was. He saw us at about the same time that we saw 
him, and seemed to regard that part of the shore as his 
private property, for he put up his back and squared 
around all ready for a fight. I was in the bow with my 
rifle handy, and I gave it to him as well as I could. I 
aimed for" his body, but the boat was rocking violently 
and the bullet went a little low, breaking one foreleg and 
cutting the flesh nearly all off tlie other. He danced on 
his hindlegs for a minute and then sprang into the thick 
timber and disappeared. We landed, and with great dif-' 
ficulty tracked him about 200yds. up the side of the moun- 
tain. There was a carpet of springy moss that did not 
hold the track, and at times the blood-spots disappeared 
entirely; but we trailed him up to a tangle of fallen timber 
and found him stretched out nearly dead. Another bullet put 
him out of his misery, and the journey up the lake was 
resumed. The water became very rough and forced us 
to land early in the afternoon among some very bad rocks. 
In saving the canoe from being smashed we all got thor- 
ouglily wet. We built a big fire, dried ourselves again 
and made camp. 
Next morning we were up before daylight and crossed 
the lake, which was here about four miles wide. We ran 
along the shore the rest of the day, and at every place 
where we touhed were the tracks of bear, caribou, lynx 
and many other animals. Large flocks of ducks and geese 
were scared up ahead of us, and we shot enough for our 
use. Trout were constantly jumping, and many could be 
Seen lying on the. bottom in 10 or 12ft. of water. The 
water is remarkably clear and cold. That night wc did a 
little fishing, and caught a good string. 
Next day we ran past rocky shores of granite and lime- 
stone, and arrived at the head of the north arm of the 
lake. Here was Mitchell's cabin, a dilapidated shanty 
built many years ago and occasionally used by hunters 
and trappers. We preferred our tent to sleep in, bttt 
cached some of our flour and other stuff in the cabin. The 
head of the lake is very shallow, and is the haunt of thou- 
sands of ducks and geese. The flight to the south had 
begun, and geese were dropping in constantly, and the 
honking was almost deafening. At one point there was 
a grass plot of several acres which they had eaten bare; 
A thicket near this afforded an ambush, and we shot 
several, although one shot at a flock was enough to send 
the wary old honkers out of sight down the lake. 
Early next morning Tom and I started out after cari- 
bou, and I killed one by a lucky shot through the heavy 
timber. We hung up the meat, and in the afternoon 
packed it into camp and smoked it until late into the 
night. Early in the evening we heard the howling of a 
wolf, which was answered from different directions. At- 
tracted by the smell of blood, a considerable pack soon 
assembled, and they made short work of the offal of the 
caribou, as we afterward found. They followed our tracks 
to the camp and gave us a most dismal serenade all night. 
AVe had a bright fire and they were not hungry enough to 
be very bold, but we did not feel like wandering far 
away from the fire, and vainly wished for a bottle of 
strychnine. In the morning they were still howling in 
the timber near by, and we made a sally hoping to get a 
shot. But the moment we started away from the tent 
they took the alarm and became silent. We did some 
exploring, and found that we were on the edge of a 
meadow three or four miles long by a mile wide, which 
ran back between Mount Mitchell and the range to the 
west. Through this meadow ran many shallow water- 
courses, and also the Mitchell River, a stream of some 
size. At the head of the meadow Cameron Creek empties 
into the river, and this was the stream we proposed to. 
follow up. 
All this section was covered with huckleberries, then 
just getting ripe, and bears of all kinds and sizes were 
numerous. Still-hunting was difificult, and we saw few of 
the bears, although we often got near to them. 
There were many beaver dams in the meadow; in fact, 
a good share of it seems to have been made by these 
industrious little fellows. We had a trap with us and kept 
it set, and I don't remember how many muskrats got 
into itj but we did not catch a beaver. 
After a couple of days spent in exploring the meadow 
and country adjoining, we packed up everything not ab- 
solutely necessary and cached it in the old cabin, and 
made up packs of about 5olbs. apiece to take with us. 
We started, and it immediately began to rain. We had 
lioped to find a track of some kind — at least a game trail — ■ 
but we had to strike out into a wilderness of heavy timber, 
thick willows, fallen logs and marshes, and we were for- 
tunate if we could find an opening leading for a few yards 
in the right direction. The worst of all were the devil's 
clubs. These are a cross between a vine and a bush, and 
they grew everywhere. The branches run in all directions 
and have o joint every 6in. At every joint the branch 
takes a turn some other way. In every square inch of vine 
and leaf there are a hundred long, sharp prickers that 
will reach you through thick clothes. Every little 
while some of us fell or sat down on a vine, and then the 
air grew sulphurous. We tried the side of the mountain, 
but soon gave it up. Finally we took to the creek and 
floundered along in ice water up to our knees. By a 
combination of these three choices of route we journeyed 
for five days and reached Ghost Lake, which is nothing 
but a pond. For several days we were followed by a pack 
of wolves, probably the same that had gotten a taste of our 
caribou. They howled unpleasantly near, but never came 
to close quarters. It had been raining more or less all 
the time, but now began to snow, and things looked 
gloomy. We built a good camp of boughs and managed to 
get dry again. We had seen little game on the way, 
owing to the noise we made traveling, but had kilted 
enough willow grouse to keep us supplied with fresh 
meat. I took a day off and went hunting. The huckle- 
berries were thick and bears numerous. I found a deer 
trail leading up a small gully, and traveling quietly along 
this I ran upon an old cinnamon contentedly munching 
berries. He^did not see me, and I shot him where he 
sat, and he never'knew what was the matter. I climbed 
one of the snow-covered mountains ^fter big-horn and 
mountain goats, but did not get a shot. 
Next day we followed the creek up to a great glacier. 
Further travel in that direction was impossible, and more- 
