Oct. 24, 1903.] 
1? 
you as clear as a bell from the clouds above, how easy 
to imagine yourself in your pit on the stubble, 
crouched low, surrounded with decoys and listening 
tvith throbbing heart to the nearing honk! honk! of the 
ipproaching and confiding flock! 
■ You dwell on every note of the passing flock high 
overhead, as if it were from the throat of a Patti at 
$10 per, You listen and watch as the moving specks 
Upon the heavenly background, until the flock passes 
out of your vision, and you yet faintly hear the honk! 
honk! after your eyes have failed you. The staccato 
quack of the wise and wary mallard brings you back 
to the rice-grown slough. Y^ou sit motionless in your 
boat as the old greenhead leads the flock in circles to- 
ward your wooden lures. Two quick, sharp and 
smokeless reports, and a pair of greenheads fall as life- 
less as the wooden decoys that drew them to their de- 
struction. 
And where does the call of the quail carry j-ou? 
Through golden stubble framed in by scarlet woods. 
Trough willow swamp and sere and yellow grass fields. 
Along hedge grows dividing green pasture lots. 
Through brier and sumach grown dells. Along south- 
erly exposed hillsides among the birches, hickories, 
maples and chestnuts and in brier grown fence corners. 
Avhere- they love to lie up during the middle of the day 
and ba.sk in the sun. But much as I would like to 
wander — with my lead pencil — through valleys and over 
hills and now and then bringing to bag a partridge, 
woodcock or quail, yet must I desist, for the train is 
on time and the porter is awaiting me with his whisp 
broom, for we are within the city limits of Chicago. 
Charles Crist.vdoro. 
That "Apple Bird." 
O4KL.A.ND, Oct. 12. — Editor Porest and Stream: 
I have been so busy since my return from the Klamath 
Lake outing that it was the latter part of List week be- 
fore I got to the number of the Forest and Stream con- 
taining Mrs. Fannie Hardy Eckstorm's analysis of the 
Siskivou "apple bird" mystery, and I was pleased to 
learn" that she was as greatly puzzled and interested as 
1 was in its solution. I had never posed as an ornitholo- 
gist, but I was always interested in birds, and after more 
than sixty years' experience thought that I knew some- 
thing of most of the more important ones in our own 
land ; but when last summer I struck that northern depre- 
dator that I had never seen or heard of before, it took the 
wind all out of ray sails, to use a nautical expression ; and 
I determined to ventilate even though it gave me the sus- 
picion that I might be relegated to the same category as 
was the man who heard of the failure of a certain bank 
and was in great distress for fear of loss until he had 
hurried home and examined all his purses and security 
boxes, and finding he had no bills on that bank or any 
other felt much relieved. 
I knew that the family of woodpeckers was not large, 
and although ashamed of my own ignorance felt sure 
that an appeal to the Forest and Stream would make the 
matter perfectly clear if the account was aided by even 
the briefest description of the bird; had there been any 
doubts in my mind upon this point I should have for- 
warded the skin to assist in the identification. 
Failing in this, the next best thing was to find that it 
puzzled "better authorities than myself, and, like the bank 
fellow, I felt much relieved. 
Mrs. Eckstorm's article was exhaustive and very in- ; 
teresting, but working, as was necessarily the case, from 
very uncertain pi-emises, she was, as far as T am able to 
j udge, wrong in all of her conclusions ; at least I cannot 
harmonize them with which I am cognizant. As I under- 
stand it, she decided that I either shot the wrong bird 
or was culpably careless and incorrect in the description. 
Bearing in mind the fact that I went to the orchard 
earlv that morning expressly to identify the bird if possi- 
ble,! will take each hypothesis in its order. 
When I approached the trees there were fifteen or 
twenty of the birds already there, and no other birds of 
anv other kind were in sight, and it was seeing one of 
them light on the side of a post that made me quite sure 
that they were woodpeckers. They were not in a flock, 
but scattered about everywhere among the trees, and from 
their plumage could be recognized as far as they could be 
clearly seen. Long before I got into the orchard I was 
as certain that they were the depredators as I would be 
to see a flock of crows rise out of a field where they had 
been pulling corn in early spring. Every action denoted 
the mischief thev were engaged in. As I approached 
they all flew toward the forest, but I killed one of them 
from the top of a cottonwood tree, although I stood 
under an apple tree when I fired. My first step was to 
make myself still more sure that they were woodpeckers, 
and I did this by examining the ends of the tail 
feathers, where I found the stiff, bare points which, to the 
best of my knowledge, distinguishes this species from all 
others. 
I then returned to the house, taking the bird with me, 
where it was instantly recognized by the whole Woolmin 
c.^mp family as the "apple bird," and as the men were 
killing more or less of them nearly every day I considered 
this point definitely settled. For at least fifteen minutes 
I had it in my hand and carefully examined it, taking 
down in my note book the brief description I sent you; 
brief for one reason because the plumage had but two 
colors, black and a dull red shade, nearer the color of an 
ordinary red brick than anything I can think of. 
Nearly, if not quite all the birds of this species that 
I was acquainted with had bright red feathers on some 
part of the head or body, but the "apple bird" had not a 
feather of any other color except the two mentioned. 
The breast, with the exception of the belt, was black, 
although destitute of the gloss that marked the back and 
wings, and in this respect they resemble the_ crow or 
raven, the brick colored belt about an inch wide began 
at the root of the bill and went without much change in 
color and in width to the root of the tail; a few small 
feathers of the same color were visible mixed with the 
black all around the eyes. The body I Judged to be about 
the size of a robin, although its head and neck were, of 
course, larger and stronger. 
These are facts just as they came under my own ob- 
servation and admit of no twisting or speculation. 
Now for the hearsay section. It was Mr. W. that 
assured me that they husked and eat the corn, and that 
the invasion came from the south, although I mtituioned 
the fact that I had never seen or heard of theui there, 
he still seemed to have a decided opinion upon that 
point. He also said that they infested all the orchards 
from Agar to Klamath Falls, but were much worse on 
some ranches than they were on others. Of these three 
assertions the only one that admits of any doubt is the 
second, and it is quite possible that upon this point he 
may have been mistaken. But nothing is more certain 
than that the birds I have just described are there at 
the proper season, and as Mr. W.'s ranch is on the main 
road, only eight miles east of the railroad at Agar, they 
could be easily investigated. Forked Deer. 
The Carcajou, 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
In the issue of Forest and Stream of Sept. 12, a 
couple of paragraphs are printed anent "The Carcajou," 
one seeking information and the other in an honest effort 
to elucidate. Now, if there is one thing more than 
another that I know anything about, or at least I think 
1 do, it's the carcajou or corcajou. And in my travels 
and researches I found a whole lot of people who thought 
that they knew what a carcajou was, but were woefully 
ig!iorant on the subject. I spent money, time and pains 
in my search for knowledge regarding this animal and its 
name. I became aware of the fact that prominent writers 
on natural history, eminent professors, and even diction- 
ary makers were lamentably ignorant on the subject of 
the carcajou. Capable writers have also attempted to 
invest it with mystery, as if it was a very rare brute of 
almost fabulous ferocity. 
Your assertion that carcajou was a name given to 
several species of carnivora is correct, but the word 
carcajou should never be applied to the cougar, Canadian 
lynx or badger, nor any other animal than the wolverine. 
It belongs strictly to the wolverine. It is a French- 
Canadian corruption of the old French word signifying 
glutton, and in Canada is always applied to the wolverine. 
And it is rightly so, for that quadruped is in every sense 
a glutton, and that cannot be said of the cougar, lynx, 
or badger. The last three animals know when they have 
got enough, but the wolverine seemingly never. In fact, 
1 have come to believe, almost, that the wolverine goes 
foraging even in his sleep, an eating somnambulist, as it 
were. 
The wolverine is a wolverine wherever you find him, 
whether in Canada, New York, Michigan, Alaska, or the 
Nearctic division of the southern Rockies. There may be 
some little diff^erence in them as distinguishing those in- 
habiting the woods or forests of the lowlands from those 
who are at home in the high altitudes of the mountains, 
but there is, if any, very little difference. They are nearly 
all of a color and marking, and of the same size aiid 
structure, as well as of habits. I did see a wolverine in 
Utah once that was a pure albino, and which I believe is 
the only instance on record of such. And from what I 
can learn the wolverine of northern Europe and Asia are 
almost the same as the American animal. He is exactly 
the same when it conies to an appetite. Many spurious 
stories have been put into print as to the wolverine's 
(carcajou's) prowess, cunning, and habits. But if the 
simple truth were told of him, he would still be a very 
interesting creature. 
One bit of misinformation that has gained general cir- 
culation is that the wolverine is a cross between the bear 
and wolf. He is of neither. The wolverine belongs 
strictly to the weasel family. In the Zoo at the Shutes 
in San Francisco are a couple of long-tailed, high-legged 
animals labeled "Siberian Wolverines." But they are no 
more like the true wolverine than the Reliance is like a 
tugboat. The wolverine is low, squat, rather longish, 
with a short, flat tail, and quite short legs, rather more 
like those of a dachshund than those of a greyhound or 
wolf. Some people might at first sight liken the 
wolverine to a bear, and he might, it may be admitted, 
resemble a very dwarfish bear, but he has none of the 
habits that characterize the bruin family. 
I have seen carcajou also spelled corcajou, and karca- 
jou, and in descriptions I have seen where writers have 
gotten the karcajou mixed up with the kinkajou, a totally 
different animal altogether, and one residing in the hotter 
portions of South America! The carcajou, on the other 
hand, belongs to latitudes and altitudes where snow falls 
at least in winters. 
If Mayne Reid ever wrote of the carcajou and 
wolverine as two different beasts, he erred, but the error 
would be a pardonable one, for in the Rockies the term 
carcajou is applied often to the panther, but in such 
cases it is clearly in ignorance of the real meaning of tV : 
word. Carcajou, wolverine and glutton are synonymous 
when referring to a North American animal. Calling a 
jaguar, lyilx or badger a carcajou does not make any one 
of them awolverine, even though they may at times be 
ravenous or voracious. 
I recall a saying attributed to Abe Lincoln which I 
think is appropos to the subject in hand. Somebody was 
trying to convince Abe against his own hard good horse- 
sense on some matter or another, when Abe asked: 
"Calling a sheep's tail a leg, how many legs has a sheep?" 
"Six" was the prompt reply. "No," says Abe, "you're 
wrong. Calling a sheep's tail a leg does not make it y 
leg." Let us apply such common sense to nomenclature 
in natural history. And it is due to the general public 
that writers and the conductors of newspapers and 
periodicals see to the keeping pure of our language, and 
prevent the induction and the perpetuation therein of 
errors and untruths. 
That majestic animal of the plains, prairies and savan- 
nahs, now all but extinct, went down into history labtled 
and libeled the buffalo, when its true name was the 
bison. All authorities are agreed that the animal is a 
bison, and not a buffalo, yet magazine editors, lacking the 
moral courage to wield the blue pencil properly, permit 
the word buffalo to go into print where it should be 
bison. Wm. Fitzmuggins. 
[Perhaps our correspondent will tell us what is the 
"old French word signifying glutton." _ The etymology 
of the name has been much discussed in the past.] 
Submission of Animals to Surgery. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
Within a short time publications have appeared in 
several journals detailing with more or less complete- 
ness, insiiiuces u liere wild animals have submitted them- 
selves to surgery or medical treatment, with apparent 
understanding of the benefits to be later enjoyed by 
them. This proposition is by no means new, being as 
old as Aristotle — skeptic that he was concerning most 
superstitions — or even .(Esop, but it seems to have 
taken on new life, as a part of the humanized Natur- 
Philosof'hie to which so many popular writers have lately 
contributed. 
Let us examine shortly certain assumptions which 
must be made before such relations can be accepted as 
true. It may be conceded that some domestic ani- 
mals, notably the dog, occasionally do submit quietly 
to minor surgery inducing pain, but here the mental 
condition involved can be accounted for by mucli the 
same course of experience as that whicii has led to a 
like state in human beings. The dog is accustomed to 
regard his master as his protector and his refuge in 
time of trouble, lie trusts him, and when he comes 
to him holding up a hurt paw — as the story usually has 
it — he merely exhibits confidence, but a confidence so 
empty of any defined conception of what is going to 
follow to his benefit, that it may be questioned whether 
it should not be classed as a reflex, organized by gen- 
erations of experience — and nothing more. 
But obviously no such course of experience can have 
come into the mental history of wild animals- — at least 
before their entry into menageries. On the contrary, 
the course of nature has been away from curative 
methods. Nature cares nothing for the sick or the 
hurt. Her need is for those too healthy to become ill 
and too strong and skillful to be injured. Her judg- 
ment is that of the Roman amphitheater — the wounded 
must die. Under her methods there are no prizes for 
therapeutics or surgery, and there is no real evidence 
that under nature, animals ever knowingly practice 
either. 
The relation of pain in the animal economy must 
also be taken into account. The function of pain is 
obvious enough, under any philosophy which under- 
takes to explain it. It is just that of the rattle of the 
rattlesnake — or, rather; it is the subjective side of that 
of which the rattle is the objective — a warning of ills 
to be avoided. It and its offspring, fear, are what ani- 
mals flee from. It was the first sensation concerned 
in developing the instinct of self-preservation, one of 
the two fundamental instincts of organic things. Is it 
imaginable that innate aversion to its greatest evil can 
be at once overcome through an effort of will, by an 
animal, merely upon the mixing into its affairs of an 
unknown, two-legged creature, which is probably to it 
the greatest mystery of its existence? Those who have 
had the experience which is left for few men in these 
later days, of meeting with genuine and uncontaminated 
savages, know the mistrust with which such a peo- 
ple look on curative pain. Is it conceivable that a 
greater power of abstraction is present in apes and 
monkeys, in lions, tigers and the like? 
So much on the logical side! Now, what occurs in 
practice, and by uncritical observers is translated into 
submission with understanding of purpose, is this: 
When wild animals have to be secured for surgical or 
other treatment, a time usually comes, after a struggle, 
when ropes and straps are adjusted and drawn tight. 
In most cases, at this point the subject relinquishes 
the fight and lies quiet. How much of this state is due 
to recognition of helplessness, and how much to ex- 
cess of nerve and muscle strain, is not easy to deter- 
mine, but all are doubtless present. But the first is 
probably the chief element, for if the bonds are in the 
least degree relaxed, in most cases all conception of the 
value of surgery vanishes, and the struggle against con- 
straint begins over again. 
When this passive and temporary condition exists, 
the only thing necessary to turn it into an example of 
submission with understanding, is the presence of a 
human observer who has not yet learned the primary 
need of the student in animal psychology: that he shall 
forget all about the perceptions and reactions of his 
own race, while he is engaged in interpreting those of 
lower animals. 
Arthur Erwin Brown. 
The ZooLOGiCAt. Garden', Philadelphia, Oct. IT. 
The Bird and the State. 
In the forthcoming annual report of the Forest, Fisli 
and Game Commission of the State of New York, Mr. 
Frank M. Chapman discu.sses very interestingly the 
economic value of birds to the State. Mr. Chapman, as is 
well known, is a long time student of birds, and is Assist- 
ant Curator of Mammalogy and Ornithology in the 
American Museum of Natural History, and writes not 
only out of abundant knowledge of his subject, but also 
in very pleasing style. 
He takes up the question of what the bird does for the 
State, pointing to the services they render by eating 
harmful insects, eggs, and larvse, by eating the seeds of 
noxious W'Ceds, by devouring small mammals which in- 
jure crops, and by acting as scavengers. He indicates 
the relations of the bird to the forester, the fruit grower, 
the farmer, and finally the citizen at large, and in view of 
all these services asks what the State does for the birds, 
and advises what it should do. 
For a long time now the economical ornithologists have 
been striving by a study of the food of different birds 
to determine wliat species arc useful and what harmful to 
man. Much has been learned, but by no means all. In 
many cases, if not in all, the problem is a complex one, 
requiring deeper study than has yet been given it. At 
Ihe same time it is clear that the vast majority of birds 
liave a distinct service to perform for man and' that they 
perform that service well, and the work of bird protec- 
tion in w^hich Mr. Chapman and his associates have 
played so important a part cannot be applauded too 
highly. 
This paper is worth reading, not only for the interest- 
