228 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
itllAKca 24, 1900. 
netting to keep out the thieving English sparrows. A 
small box was placed in one corner, for roosting pur- 
poses, and a tin pan in another, for drinking water. Until 
they were over half grown and turned out in the inclosure 
they never knew the luxury of a bath. Their food was a 
paste made as follows: Equal parts of stale wheat bread, 
carrots, oatmeal and boiled beefs heart, all finely grated, 
to which was added a small portion of hard-boiled egg, 
also grated, and a few meal worms. As this food was 
apt to sour in warm weather, they were fed three times 
a day and only given as much as they would eat up clean. 
When about six weeks old they were pinioned by tying 
a small rubber band at the pinion joint, which caused the 
wing tips to fall off without the loss of a drop of blood, 
and I was so fortunate as to rear the entire brood. 
On my arrival in the garden I found a pair of trump- 
eter swans, which had been wing-tipped, occupying quite 
a large pond in company with some six or eight Canada 
geese. The next spring a pair of the geese nested and 
hatched out a brood, every one of which was speedily 
slaughtered by the swans, who made no attempt at breed- 
ing. I then removed them to a dam in one corner of the 
garden, gave them free range, and was surprised to find 
that they did not attempt to wander, but remained almost 
constantly in the immediate vicinity of the dam, of which 
they were the sole occupants. Tlie following spring the 
female nested in the open grass on the margin of the 
water, within 50 feet of a much-frequented walk. Fearing 
the meddlesome interference of visitors, I watched until 
she was some distance from the nest, when I had a lot 
• of brush piled so as to conceal it from prying eyes. She 
hatched out three youngsters, which promised well, but 
when they were about three weeks old we were visited by 
a heavy thunder storm, which raised the water to such a 
height that they were swept over the dam and killed. The 
next season I was more forunate, and reared the brood. 
The food served them was the same as that given to the 
wood ducks, with the addition of fresh green grass. A 
space alongside the water was run over weekly with a 
lawn mower, which kept the grass short and sweet. I 
was forced to catch them with a large dip net in order to 
pinion them, which was eiYected with a rubber band at the 
pinion joint. Frank J. Thompson. 
The Sidesaddle. 
Boston^ March 6. — Editor Forest and Stream: I have 
been much interested in the two articles that have ap- 
peared in your paper on the disadvantages of the side- 
saddle. I rode for fifteen years in the sidesaddle and 
then gave it up as too hard work for a woman of my 
years and too dangerous. I had never met with any 
accident m3'self, although I had my saddle turn with me 
three times, but had seen several friends hung head down- 
ward from the pommel, while riding with them. Ten 
or fifteen years later I gained flesh rapidly, weighing 
176 pounds, and concluded to ride again and reduce my- 
self. At the riding school I found one lady riding astride 
and was advised to try that method for the horse's sake. 
I was a most unfortunate build for the saddle, most of 
my weight being above the horse. My mount was as 
quick as a cat, and given to shying, and so before I 
got the balance and grip we parted company five or six 
times, but I always landed square on the ball of my foot 
and never -had even the slightest jar. Now I weigh 140 
my horse and I are close companions, and I have the com- 
fort of feeling that his "withers are unwrung " 
. ^ith a proper habit, I think the seat on the cross-saddle 
IS inhnitely more becoming than that on the sidesaddle 
as any one can see by comparing the accompanying 
sketches. Boys who are used to seeing ladies on the 
cross-saddle think the sidesaddle very awkward "They 
00k horrid— all tied up in a knot, and want to walk the 
horses half the time to get their breath." I ride with 
men young enough to be my grandchildren, and can go as 
fast^and far as any of them. I have now ridden in a 
mans saddle in and about Boston for three years and 
have never had a rude remark made to me by man or 
boy. With my experience with a young friend— slight 
and a good rider— who finished up five horses in ten 
days with the sidesaddle, do you wonder that I am 
An Enthusiastic Cross-Saddler 
extended descriptions, with figures of the skull and parts 
of the skeleton, of one of the gigantic extinct birds of 
Patagonia, known to science as Phororhacos inHatus. 
In discussing these birds certain writers have been dis- 
posed to think that they were related to the ostriches, 
merely on the ground that there was little or no keel on 
the breast bone. Mr, Andrews, however, regards these 
birds as^ related to the cranes, but they were of mon- 
strous size. We have been accustomed to think of the 
extinct moas of New Zealand as the largest of birds, but 
in bulk these ancient species of Patagonia far exceed 
them, some of the leg bones being nearly twice as stout 
as in Dinornis. 
Among the material recently obtained during his ex- 
plorations in Patagonia by Mr, J. B. Hatcher, for Prince- 
ton University, are the remains of a small species of 
Phororhacos ip which the breast bone is preserved and 
this bone is slightly keeled. It is quite certain, however, 
that these great Patagonian birds were far too heavy ever 
to have flown. 
Ancient South 'American Birds. 
Ms. C W. Andrews, in a piart of the Transactions of 
the Zoological Society of London, recently issued, gives 
Rattle §Hg mid 
The Maine Tragedy. 
Boston, March 10. — No traces of the missing young 
deer hunter. Knight, who went out from Bemis, Me., early 
last October, have yet been found. Still the hunters and 
guides will make further trials as soon as the weather 
becomes warmer and the snow begins to melt. The foxes 
are fond of digging down to dead bodies as the snow is 
melting in the spring, and it is hoped that by following 
their tracks the searchers may be led to where the body 
lies. Capt. Barker, with his men, has k)cated a spot 
where firing was heard the second night atter young 
TCnight disappeared. It seems that a couple of trappers 
or hunters were camped at Four Ponds, three or four 
miles from Bemis, at the time, and heard a gun fired six 
or eight times in succession just at nightfall. They re- 
marked that some one must have wounded a deer; but, 
on the firing continuing, they decided that some one was 
shooting squirrels or firing at a target. They thought 
little cf the matter, however, till the next day, when more 
firing was heard in exactly the same direction. They 
again remarked that the hunter must be shooting squir- 
rels. They did not know that any one had been lost in 
the woods till they went out to the settlement some time 
after, though they plainly heard the whistling of Capt. 
Barker's steamers as they were plied up and down the 
lake day and night, whistling at regular intervals, tlie 
object of this whistling being to guide young Knight into 
camp if possible. Later Capt. Barker has found these 
men and gone with them to the place where they were 
located when they heard the firing. Leaving them there 
with signals prearranged, he has gone into the woods in 
the direction of the shots heard. Firing his gun every few 
rods, the men at the location have directed him by shots 
from their own guns. If moving too far to the left, thev fired 
one shot ; if too far to the right, two shots. In this way 
he kept on into the woods, firing his own gun at regular 
intervals till the signal from the men agreed upon told 
him that he had gone far enough. When they signaled 
him to stop he found himself in the very worst sort of a 
tangle and blow-down, buried in deep snow. He searched 
here all that it was possible to search, in the hope of find- 
ing some signs of foxes or other animals having dug 
down through the three or four feet of snow for the body, 
but found nothing. Later this location will be much more 
thoroughly searched. 
Still the spirit mediums continue to communicate with 
the parents of the lost boy, with Capt. Barker, with Mr. 
Wilson, the man who went out hunting with Knight the 
day he was lost, and with others. Each pretends to be able 
to locate Knight or his body. Their communications now 
go unanswered, but at first it was not exactly so. Some 
very interesting stories might be told of what these 
mediums were ready to pretend to do during the time 
that the most active searching was being done. Always 
they demanded their pay in advance. Some of them even 
went to Bemis, though Capt. Barker and the friends and 
parents of the lost boy kept the medium matter as quiet 
as possible. But one or two good stories have leaked out. 
In one case the medium, a woman, went to Bemis, with 
the understanding that her expenses were to be paid, and 
if she found the boy the reward of $500 was hers. When 
she got there she frankly admitted that she was totally un- 
able to travel the rough woods, but from a trance or in- 
ward sight she gave a party of searchers the direction, 
and told them they would find the boy under a certain 
tree by a fallen leg. The hunters traveled all day as 
directed, but returned at night tired and hungry. The 
medium had sat by the warm fire all day, absorbed in a 
novel. When they came in she flatly told them that 
they had searched "too far to the east." The next day 
they took a direction further to the right — "to the west," 
she called it; but at night they came in again without 
success. Then she told them that "they had gone too far 
to the west." Now, the fact of the matter was that travel- 
ing to the west was exactly into the lake, while to the 
east was directly from Bemis over the mountains. The 
medium had not even got her points of compass right. 
The searchers declined to follow her directions another 
day. Another woman medium was more courageous, 
and even started the searchers on a course that was going 
to find the lost boy. The searchers hunted all day, but 
found nothing but a piece of paper, dropped by some 
searcher or hunter. There was some writing on it and 
they passed it to the medium to read. She immediately 
began to search for her spectacles; she could not read the 
paper without them. She did not find them. She would 
have to go into a trance to find her glasses, and did so- 
just a little short trance. She could see them. They were 
up in the woods, just where she had left the searchers 
when giving them directions in the morning. Would not 
one of the men go and get them ? He was willing to ac- 
commodate, but the lost glasses were reposing quietly 
pushed back on the _ woman's head. The men had seen 
them there all the time. That medium also went home 
the next day. No more have since been employed. 
. — — „ V .. _ Special 
The Genuine and the True. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
Ever since the discussion of old books has been going 
on in your paper I have felt an itching to get into the 
game, and at last I am in such torment that I can stand 
It no longer, so here goes. Excuse me if I introduce a 
new "old book" into the select company so far brought 
into the ring. 
My book and writer must be somewhat obscure, as I 
do not remember the name of the writer and never saw 
but one copy of the book, and have never seen it men- 
tioned in print. Yet, to my notion, it is far better than 
any of Mayne Reid's. This may be due to the fact that 
It was among the first books I ever read, while Reid's 
were read in later years, when their hot-house growth 
was too plainly manifest. 
I like to have my stories with the scent of the prairie 
or wood in them, and not redolent with the sweat of an 
overworked stenographer. The name of my book was 
'Wild Western Scenes." One of the principal characters 
was Joe, an Irishman. The story opens with a carriage 
being driven through the woods at night. Joe is the 
driver. The horses stop and refuse to move on, when 
ordered. Joe gets down, and by the aid of a flash of light- 
ning sees a dark figure blocking the road. After expostu- 
lating with the figure for its conduct in blocking the 
way without getting any reply, Joe gives it a smart cut 
with the whip, and the next instant goes head first into 
the bushes at the side of the road, with a badly bruised 
jaw. It was a bear, and had countered on the side of 
Joe's head. 
Another character is Sneak Punk, the Hatchet Face. 
Sneak is full of humor, and plays on Joe's fears a good 
deal. Finally Sneak and Joe get captured by Indians. 
The Indians have them tied to trees with fagots piled 
round them preparatory to burning them alive. In the 
meantime Sneak gets one hand loose and pours the con- 
tents of his powder horn into the fagots unobserved. 
One of the Indians gets down with flint and steel to start 
the fire. In blowing the punk into a blaze the powder is 
Ignited and takes a hand at the blowing by sending the 
Indian into the next county and putting out the fire. The 
rest of the Indians are so badly frightened that they all 
run away, and Joe and Sneak are saved. 
Another story in which I was much interested was 
"Nick Whiffles the Trapper Guide," by Dr. J. H. Rob- 
inson. I had the misfortune to read this story in later 
years, after having gone over some of the ground where 
the scene is laid, and found it totally dissimilar. During 
this second reading I was gifted with second sight, and 
was constantly looking through the transparent scenes 
and into the little stuffy office from which they emanated, 
with the full realization that "the power behind the 
throne" could not have gone half a mile into the wilder- 
ness and got out again of his own effort. 
I have the misfortune to disagree with most people in 
regard to books. Riding over the prairie one day it was 
suggested to me that no description of a prairie was ever 
written that was equal to Fenimore Cooper's "Prairie." 
I had never read the work, but got and read it at the 
first opportunity, and this is what I found : A writer who 
wanted to describe a prairie, but had never seen it. Know- 
ing a prairie is supposed to be treeless, he indulges in a 
few glittering generalities, but yet dares not commit him- 
self to any great extent. 
The same party told me, in discussing Mark Twain, 
that he was only a humorist, and people would not 
read him in any other line. To this I responded severely: 
"The very heart and soul of Mark Twain's humor lies 
in the fact that he is the best descriptive writer in the 
world. Twenty-five years ago I read Mark Twain's 
Roughing It.' As he crossed the great plains in a stage 
coach, I could smell the vegetation that was crushed 
under the wheels in the early morning, when the dew 
was on. I coughed and sneezed when the dust was raised 
in clouds during the heat of the day. I saw that jack- 
rabbit git, under the inspiration of Mark's 'pepper box/ 
Later I could smell the sage brush and saw the sage hens 
panting at the roadside. 
"When he went on his outing to Lake Tahoe I felt the 
genial glow of his sage brush camp-fire; I saw the 
somber plain and the faces of his comrades lit up by its 
glow. I loafed with him under the pines at the lake, and 
heard the water lap the stones. Twenty years after — 
after having gone over most of the old stage route — I 
read the book a second time, and found everything there 
and even intensified, for I had seen much of it. The 
scent of the rod, the sage and the pine still came in sooth- 
ing fumes from its pages. Now, that is what I call good 
description." 
That party has not fully recovered from the shock of 
this tirade up to the present day. 
The reason I like sportsmen's publications such as 
Forest and Stream is because their stories are written 
mostly by men who have been there, and even if they 
digress from the actual facts, they are at least told in the 
way it would have been if the thing had really occurred 
and not in some impossible manner. 
The stories of adventure in the daily papers and in 
the great popular magazines are invariably of the hot- 
house variety. Even the report of a trapshooting event 
as seen in a daily paper usually leaves a bad taste in the 
mouth. Now and then a natural article will appear in 
some of the magazines, such as Hamlin Garland's earlier 
efforts, but once the magazines get hold of the writer, 
into the hot-house he goes, and all is lost. 
E. P. Jaques. 
Elmo, Kansas 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
So ^ many notices about Ruxton's "Life in the Far 
West" have lately appeared in Forest and Stream that 
I think the following reminiscence of one of the chief 
characters will interest your readers. It is extracted from 
a book published in 1853 called "Solitary Rambles of a 
Hunter," by an Irish gentleman named Palliser. He 
stayed some time at Fort Union, near the junction of the 
Afissouri and Yellowstone rivers, in the Assiniboine ter- 
ritory. 
^ After speaking in praise of Ruxton's book and men- 
tioning that the trappers often came there with their furs, . 
Mr Palliser adds! , J 
