3 C 3 
Is The Mother Grouse Courageous? 
All the wild birds seem more or less courageous in 
protecting their young. Certainly they are not indifferent 
to a threatened danger, 
When the writer was a child she lived for. a time on 
the prairies of Illinois. There were still a' few acres of 
virgin prairie untouched by the plow. 
These places and the ponds that had not yet been 
drained away were very Arcadias for grouse, quail, geese, 
ducks, brant, cranes and other birds. The farms, too, were 
still inhabited by these wild birds. 
This child had been longing to see a baby grouse when, 
one day in early summer, a mother grouse frightened by 
a hawk ran into the yard and right past the child, who 
lost no time in gathering up one of the little bird's. Then 
came that warning cry of the mother bird, and almost 
instantly every little, green, fluffy ball had disappeared 
from view. 
The mother bird now came flying at the captor of her 
baby, who. .having heard wonderful tales of people losing 
their eyes in battles with cranes, and not being minded 
to lose her own while there was so much in the world to 
see, instantly set the little bird down and retreated to a 
safe distance. 
The mother bird now calling her brood about her, ran 
across the yard, through the fence and disappeared in 
the tall prairie grass beyond. 
Most wild birds are, so far as my observation goes, 
timid when danger threatens nest and eggs, but when that 
danger comes to their young they at once assume the 
defensive. Mrs. James Edwin Morris. 
recreation ground, the State is abundantly able to keep 
it and care for it without receiving revenue from it, and 
there is no more sense in lumbering these lands by the 
State than there would be for the city of New York to 
conduct lumbering operations in Van Cortlandt or Pel- 
bam Bay parks. M- Schenck. 
Nbw York. March 1. 
Foxes Kill Muskrats. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
I learned this fall that a fox will catch and eat musk- 
rats. I did not see him in the act, but read it in the 
snow. As soon as the snow fell so tracks could be seen, 
one saw that the foxes were following along still waters 
and coves. Tracks that were followed would go from 
cove to another as a mink might. 
On Dec. I I found a hole in the ice near the bank of a 
cove. On one side the tracks of a fox showed he had 
stood there as though he had watched the hole as a cat 
would for a mouse. I think he heard the muskrat under 
the thin ice and waited for him to appear. From the hole 
the tracks led to a place three rods away, where the snow 
was trodden down. There, buried in the snow, was found 
the intestines and a square inch of fur of a muskrat. The 
fox had come back three or four times to eat. 
Several days after, a quarter of a mile away, I found the 
intestines of another muskrat, but could not trace the fox 
tracks back to a cove several rods away, where he must 
have been caught. 
Since about Jan. I, when the coves became well frozen 
and covered with ice and snow, the foxes have not noticed 
them, but cross right over and hunt for the moles — their 
main food— which they can find under a foot and a half of 
sn ow. ^* ^* Spears, 
The Pasturing of Woodlands. 
Churchville, Md., March 2. — Editor Forest and 
Stream: I notice in your issue of March 1 a paper by 
Mr. Henry Stewart, of Highlands, N. C, on the 
"Browsing Habit of Game." He seems to advocate the 
pasturing of woodlands. My experience in such matters 
goes to show that the destruction by such pasturage is 
enormous. Anyhow, it is in my State (Maryland). 
When a piece of timber is cut off, or partly cut off, great 
care should be taken to keep the cattle out till the young 
growth gets to be ten or twelve feet high, or too high for 
the cattle to reach the limbs. If this is not done there 
will be no second growth. Then when the young trees 
are safely out of their way, if you turn them in you will 
never have another crop after that one; the ground under 
the young trees will be kept as clean as a field. You see 
this sort of thing all through central and western Ohio. 
The woods are cleaned up of everything except the 
growth too big to be damaged, and I have often wondered 
where the next crop of timber is coming from in that 
country. You can see the same thing in Maryland in 
places where the woods are used for pasture. Pasturing 
woodlands is death to a continuous crop. It may be 
different in North Carolina, but I don't believe it. I 
know of several valuable locust plantations that have 
been absolutely lost by allowing cattle to pasture while 
the young suckers were coming on, while if the cattle had 
been kept out, the second crop of locust in twenty years 
would have been as valuable as the first one. 
Albert Neilson. 
The Adirondack Forests. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
I was very much impressed with the clean-cut letter of 
Mr. J. R. Spears, of Northwood, N. Y., on the matter 
of forest protection, and your timely editorial comments 
on the subject in Forest and Stream last week. 
For several years, in fact ever since the adoption of the 
new State Constitution, in which was incorporated a 
section which has been the bulwark of forest protection, 
there seems to have been a decided itching on the part 
of certain officials to undo the good work of the con- 
stitutional convention, and open the doors to forest de- 
struction, or in other words to get back to the old order 
of things. 
Tactics of this same sort were resorted to a few years 
ago, and an amendment that had the sanction of the 
Forest Commission was put before the people of our 
State, and almost unanimously black-balled. 
True, the Forest Commission people just after the elec- 
tion at which the proposed amendment received such a 
severe drubbing denied all responsibility for the "crea- 
ture," but every one knew that it did emanate from the 
office of that body, and bore its official ear marks. 
The matter of scientific forestry on which these gen- 
tlemen harp so delightfully is a mighty big one, and one 
in which we should "make haste slowly." 
Were it possible at this time to have forestry conducted 
in this country in the same manner and with the same 
degree of honesty as in Germany, there would be some 
sense in making the trial, but reasoning from past bitter 
experiences, we may judge of what would happen if the 
doors were thrown open to the pulp mill and lumber men. 
It is very much to be regretted that the Forest, Game 
and Fisheries Commission seems inclined to pave the 
way to further injury and destruction of our public for- 
ests under the guise of scientific forestry, but I trust 
that the members of that body have been misquoted in 
the premises, and that they have no intention to aid the 
work of destruction. 
That shrewd, but very plain-spoken gentleman, Senabcrr 
Commodore P. Vedder, once remarked that he knew of 
only one thing more dangerous to the welfare of our 
Adirondack forests than a forest fire, and that was a 
forest commission. . . 
Let us hopethat no member of the present Commission 
or any of its officers will go out of his way to prove 
to us that the Commodore knew just what he was talking 
about. . ... 
When the last proposed amendment looking to the 
open-door idea came before the people, Forest and 
Stream, the New York World and several other papers, 
under the headlines "Vote No and Save the Forests," did 
noble work in the interests of forest preservation, and I 
trust that the same shibboleth will be the rallying cry 
should this "scientific forestry" idea show up again this 
year. 
Our forests managed to get through all right for sev- 
eral thousand years without the aid of the pulp mills, the 
lumbermen or the "scientific foresters," and they may 
possibly continue to do so for many years to come. , 
The Adirondack forest park is the whole people's 
|j?#fj mti 0nn, 
— $ — 
Proprietors of shooting resorts will find it profitable to advertise 
them in Forest and Stream. 
A Big-Game Hunting Trip to 
Jackson's Hole Country. 
In Two Parts— Part One. 
To those who anticipate a literary treat in the following 
I will say you might as well stop here, as you "sure" 
will be doomed to disappointment. If you don't believe 
me, just read on. It is not to you that I have written this 
journal of our trip, but rather to those who have under 
contemplation a trip similar to that taken by us, in the 
hope that it may serve to give you a fuller conception of 
the hunting conditions in that part of the country as they 
exist at this time, and in the hope that it may serve to 
assist you in your arrangements for such a trip. 
First, a few words of advice may not come amiss. 
If you want a successful and pleasant hunt, be sure you 
arrange with a good responsible guide of that section be- 
fore you go; of these there are plenty, but there are also 
plenty of others, viz., those who are not responsible, and 
doubtless the latter has been the lot of some of the writers 
of some of the articles I have read in the Forest and 
Stream, wherein the license law and non-resident guide 
law has been strongly condemned. If you will engage a 
good responsible guide before you go, I can safely assure 
you you will come back from the mountain after a suc- 
cessful trip, and with none but the most pleasant recol- 
lections coupled with a desire to go again. After you 
have corresponded with and engaged a good guide, the 
next thing is to get together the things you may need. 
First, after a good gun, one you are familiar with, a 
good field glass and camera or kodak, you want a war 
bag, in which you carry your ammunition and such other 
things as you may want while in camp; a list of these 
articles will depend altogether on the factitiousness of the 
user, but don't forget a change of clothing, a good water- 
proof riding coat, a good wide-brim felt hat, a pair of 
gum boots, and last, but not the least important, a gun 
scabbard. On our first trip we carried gum boots, and 
being favored with fine weather had no use for them ; the 
next year we did not take them, and many a wet, dis- 
agreeable walk and ride we had for our neglect. On our 
first trip we had no gun scabbard, and were compelled to 
tie our guns to our saddle with straps, A gun scab- 
bard the next year proved a great convenience. These 
may be had from any sporting goods dealer at but small 
cost. Next, if at all possible, do a little horseback riding 
before you go. I need not try to describe one's feelings, 
or rather the lack of feeling, in his legs, during the 
first few days after being in the saddle for about eight 
hours each day. especially if it has been ten or twenty 
years since you have been astride of a horse. 
Next, be sure you carry a good camp mattress, either 
air or hair— I use the latter— and plenty of heavy blankets 
and sleeping bag. Don't forget the former. I have a 
sleeping bag made by one of the best known houses, who 
advertise it "good to sleep in in a snowdrift." Well, I 
have tried it, and while that may be true, I know it 
would also be a good thing to freeze in in a snowdrift if 
without extra blankets. You can dispense with a mattress 
if yon care to sleep on the bare ground, or spend an 
hour gathering spruce boughs every evening, after a hard 
day's hunt, but I found, as a writer has said, "There are 
plenty of opportunities to show your mettle in more 
worthy and less injurious ways than sleeping on the 
hard ground with insufficient bedding." I tried the 
spruce-bough bed on my first trip, and spent many a 
comfortless night, but on our last trip our beds con- 
sisted each of a canvas ground cloth, a hair mattress 
about four inches thick and thirty inches wide by seventy- 
two inches long, sleeping bag, and one big, heavy blanket, 
folded and laid inside the sleeping bag. When pack- 
ing, the whole rolled up in two bundles about twelve 
inches in diameter by thirty inches long, and in them we 
slept as snug as at home, even when covered to a depth 
of ten inches with snow, but to this we will refer later. 
Now, to the weather, both September and October are 
delightful months in the Rocky Mountains, but if you 
want to be comfortable, go prepared for any and all kinds 
of weather, from bright summer days to rain, sleet and 
Western blizzards. 
Some reader may say, "This fellow's lost," as I seem 
to be so long getting started on my description of our 
hunt, but I am reminded of the preacher, who, while being 
about to launch into a theme, as vast as this one seems to 
me to be, who said, that he felt like the Indian who was 
wandering on the prairie, who, when asked if he was 
lost, said, "No Indian no lost; tepee lost." My mind is 
not lost, it is the inability of my pen to keep pace with 
my thoughts. But to get to our hunting trip. 
When the 11 150 A. M. train on the Oregon Short Line 
Railroad arrived at St. Anthony, Idaho, on Monday, Aug. 
22, last year, my friend, W. W. Porch, and I stepped 
down from the car and were greeted by Mr. Yeager, the 
liveryman, with whom we had arranged to take us out to 
Jackson's Hole. After going to the City Hotel for din- 
ner,, and there donning our hunting clothes, we departed 
at 2:30 P. M. in a four-horse spring wagon, with our 
camp baggage. Stopping at "Little's" for supper, we 
arrived at Victor at midnight, having driven sixty miles. 
At that place we were met by Abe Ward, and with him 
we departed the next morning, and were soon climbing 
the western slope of Teton Pass, and at 1:30 P. M. we 
were in Jackson's Hole, ninety miles distant from the 
railroad, and went at once to "Recreation Lodge," where 
we were warmly welcomed by its owner, S. N. Leak, 
whom we had previously engaged as our guide. During 
the evening we were called on by Chas. Wilson, who 
was to act as the other guide, and Abe Ward, who was 
engaged as our camp cook, and good ones they each 
proved to be. 
We commenced packing up our outfit early the next 
morning, but it was 2 P. M. before all was in readiness 
to start, at which time, however, we bid farewell to 
civilization and "hit the trail" for the mountains proper. 
Our outfit consisted of Porch, my companion, our two 
guides and our camp cook; in addition to a saddle horse 
each, we had nine pack horses, on which we had packed 
one camp tent, our beds, war bags, aluminum tableware, 
cooking utensils and thirty days' provisions. We traveled 
north along the Snake River to the mouth of the Gros 
Ventre River, where we went into camp for the night. 
We tried our luck at trout fishing, but concluded bacon 
was a more healthy diet for supper and breakfast than 
trout. 
The next morning found us up with the sun, and about 
8 o'clock we broke camp, Porch and I riding ahead of 
the outfit some ten miles to Antelope Springs, along 
the Snake River., where we waited until they came up 
. and then lunched together. Our pack horses all run loose, 
one man riding in the lead, the pack horses following 
after, while the other two men bring up the rear, chasing 
up the stragglers and keeping them on the trail. 
After lunch we again rode along Snake River, crossing 
Buffalo Creek, later on Pacific Creek, then up the latter 
about one mile, where we went into camp in a nice little 
open park, with plenty of feed for the horses, being then 
in the mountains proper, having left all wagon roads and 
following along an old trail with no ranches or other 
evidence of civilization before us, we having passed the 
last ranch, Cunningham's, about five miles back during 
the afternoon. 
It was while passing there that Leak told us of a little 
incident that took place there some five years previous. 
It seems that two horse thieves had stolen fifty-five head 
of horses and were wintering them at a little ranch near 
where Cunningham's stands; they were located and a 
deputy sheriff and three assistants came into Jackson's 
Hole to arrest them, calling on another deputy to assist 
in serving the warrant. He deputized seven other men 
to assist. The posse got into the barn during the night 
(a long, low, sod-roof shed), and identified a number of 
the horses. 
Early the next morning a demand was made to the 
thieves to surrender, which they declined to do, and a 
little scrimmage followed, which resulted in the officers 
returning to the Hole in the afternoon, taking with them 
the stolen horses, but not until they had first made two 
excavations about six feet long in the earth along the 
trail. The horse corral is still standing, but the posts 
put in to mark the spots have rotted down and lie on 
the ground. 
During the night it commenced to rain, and kept it up 
until about 11:30 A. M., when we packed up and again 
hit the trail, Porch and I riding ahead, following an old 
game trail until about 2 130 P. M.,- when the pack outfit 
caught up with us. We continued along Pacific Creek 
until about 4:30 P. M., when we went into camp. The 
rain the previous night warned us that no matter how 
bright an evening, it was best to prepare for any change 
that might take place during the night, so we again put 
up our tent. 
The next morning we broke camp about 9 :3c We left 
Pacific Creek and started up over the Divide through dead 
and fallen timber, and up deep gulches to the top of 
the Divide between Pacific and Buffalo creeks, then 
down the other side until about 1 P. M., when we arrived 
at our permanent camp site on the North Fork of Buffalo 
Creek, some ninety miles from the ranch. 
We selected an ideal spot about one hundred yards 
from the creek, for our camp, with a stream of mountain 
water running right by the camp. We put up our tent 
just at the edge of the timber facing the east, so we 
would get the morning sun in and around camp, and yet 
have shade all the afternoon. 
Porch and I went to a little lake near the camp and 
shot three ducks, which we added to our menu. After 
putting up camp, Leak went down to the creek and 
caught two strings of nice mountain trout, which we 
ate for supper, and went to bed feeling well satisfied that 
we had at last reached the end of our long journey, and 
dreamed that elk, grizzlies and all other kinds of big 
game were on all sides of us. 
The following morning after a late breakfast we cleaned 
up a little and then left camp on a prospecting tour, Porch 
and Charley going south and into the mountains, and 
