280 
FOREST AND STREAM 
[Oct. i, 1904. 
of ornament," not as a "beast of the chase." One live elk 
is worth more to any forest than a ton of his meat, and 
neither are worth failing to welcome all our fellow-citizens 
to our beautiful State, and making them forget its ad- 
vantages by vexatious game laws founded on local 
prejudice and petty spite.* 
The wapiti is a large dun or slate-colored deer with 
slender legs, a black face, pointed nose, and a curious 
looking light colored patch on the rump. The males 
weigh about eight hundred pounds or more, and their 
fine antlers are tco well known to need description. They 
formerly inhabited the slopes of the Alleghanies, and 
roamed in vast bands over the broken prairies of the 
upper Missouri. To-day they are found only in the 
western mountains, and I can but describe their habits as 
I know them there. It is the common usage to speak of 
bull, cow and calf elks ; but there is nothing bovine in 
their ways and habits, the young especially being far more 
like colts than calves in their play, and having the same 
trick of working their lips when trying to make friends 
with an older or stronger animal. 
They are born in May or June, and stay with their 
mothers during the summer ; but they are foolish, trusting- 
little beasts, and will come whinnying at a gallop toward 
a stranger if separated from their dams. Toward the 
end of August the females begin to get together, and are 
soon joined by the males, over whom, as well as their 
young, they seem to keep watch, being continually on the 
lookout while feeding, and moving ahead on the march, 
the big bull usually bringing up the rear. 
The male drops his horns in early spring, and in early 
autumn retires high up the mountains so as not" to be 
bothered by flies during the slow process of growing new 
ones. On the spot from which the old horns fell, there 
appears a spongy growth, seemingly all blood vessels, 
which increases at the rate of nearly an inch a day, 
gradually hardening around a central core until the full 
size is reached. Then, when fully hardened, the outer 
skin, or "velvet," dries up, splits, and seems to itch, for 
they are' continually rubbing it off against small trees, 
"shaking" (them) as it is called, during which time, of 
course, they are making so much noise and so occupied 
that they are easily approached. About the first of Sep- 
tember, fat, sleek, and with branching antlers, they come 
down to join the herd. 
Might makes right among deer as well as among men, 
and dispositions vary as with us. There certainly is some 
fighting ; and it really would seem hard to spend so much 
time and labor growing such glorious things to butt one's 
enemies with and never use them. But I have rarely seen 
a drove, however small, in which there were not several 
bulls, and they are usually feeding quietly together. If a 
stranger comes whistling through the timber saying he is 
"the best man," the statement is not taken on faith by 
the head of the herd, and there is trouble immediately; 
but one curious fact is that the young bulls, instead of 
staying and watching the fun, as men would, flee in a 
panic of terror. 
On the whole, they seem a peaceful animal when undis- 
turbed, browsing in bands along the mountain side and 
walking every now and then out on some jutting crag 
or promontory, where they seem to enjoy the broad out- 
look, and make superb pictures against the sky-line. 
When frightened, they go off at a long, lumbering trot, 
taking naturally to the most difficult ground, over which 
they seem to travel as easily as if it were smooth. 
The elk "whistle" varies very much, so that it doubtless 
has different meanings; but it is assuredly not a sign of 
fear or signal of danger, as is often stated. It is a de- 
fiance, and is promptly answered by any other bull that 
hears it. If he is with his herd he usually stays there 
waiting for the stranger ; but if alone he is apt to start 
toward the sound to investigate, and he will come up 
pretty close before deciding what to do; I have seen them 
come within fifty feet of a pack train in answer to an 
imitation of it, and then, notwithstanding the noise and 
talking, follow along abreast for a mile or so, challenging 
at intervals, and never ever one hundred yards away. 
The sound itself is at times a series of gasping grunts, 
resembling the beginning of an ass' bray followed by a 
distant steam "siren." At other times there is a musical 
whistle running through several notes, which, rising clear 
and sweet through some lonely mountain glen, can neither 
be forgotten, imitated or described. 
It may interest some whose hunting yarns have been 
questioned to know that among the early settlers there 
was a story that elk fell down in a fit when startled, 
which may account for the numberless persons who say 
they have shot them, seen them fall, and never found 
them; for, strange as it may seem, even such a big beast 
can be missed with a modern rifle, as I personally know. 
And they are said to like horses and dislike sheep, though 
they have the sheep trick of traveling in single file; and 
I have seen a yearling bighorn ram walking solemnly 
along a mountain trail after a big bull elk. 
*The laws of Wyoming require every non-resident of that State 
to pay a license of forty dollars, which allows him to kill two elk 
only; and also that he shall not go hunting unless accompanied 
by a hired "guide," who will act as a spy on his actions. No 
one but a resident of Wyoming can be a guide; but any resident 
can by paying one dollar, whether he knows anything about the 
mountains or not. 
A Squirrel Saving: Club. 
A unique club has recently been organized in Evanston 
for the preservation of squirrels. Co-operating with the 
school children, who form its membership, the policemen 
of Evanston have established stations for the distribution 
of nuts and grain to the city's pets. One-fifth of the 500 
squirrels are being fed by the police department, while 
donations are constantly arriving from Evanston families 
to the "squirrel fund." The work of the school children 
is done from six school houses, in each of which a branch 
club has been organized. Boys who shoot squirrels are 
being arrested. — Detroit News-Tribune. 
All communications for Forest and Stream must be 
directed to Forest and Stream Pub. Co., New York, to 
receive attention. We have no other office. 
All the game laws and fish laws of the United States 
and Canada are given in the "Game Laws in Brief. " 
Some Animals I Have Studied. 
IX. -An Obedient Pig. 
While sojourning in central Illinois we had a young 
sow, which died, leaving us one tiny, disconsolate pig. 
I took it to the house, and we decided to try to rear it 
"by hand" — although but a short time previous we 
had woefully failed with two others. Not only had we 
failed, but we had been completely disgusted with the 
whole pig creation by the incessant and horrible squeal- 
ing and the ungrateful biting and kicking of the 
stubborn little foundlings, which absolutely refused to 
have anything to do with us. But this one was teach- 
able at the start, looking intently into our faces when- 
ever we spoke to him, and patiently submitting to our 
handling, albeit he was surprisingly independent, being 
"lively as a cricket" the first hour of his birth. True, 
he "had a mind of his own," and promptly manifested 
his displeasure whenever offered anything entirely un- 
suitable, -and even behaved arbitrarily toward things he 
did like, insisting on upsetting and mussing all vessels 
of food offered him — at first. But he managed to absorb 
enough to live, and about the third day approved of a 
plan of feeding we had by that time devised so as to 
take his meals gladly and skillfully. All ordinary 
human methods of feeding a pig had been tried and 
discarded while experimenting with the other two. 
Watching this one's instinctive rooting and kneading 
motions, I at once conceived the idea of giving him 
something to satisfy that propensity, instead of merely 
something to drink; and which at the same time should 
yield him nourishment. I tried light, spongy bread, 
soaked full of warm milk. But this was too tender; 
he soon punched it to pieces, scattered it, and squeaked 
with disappointment (not in a discordant, hateful man- 
ner, as had the others, but in tones that were either 
plaintive or comical, always). So I tried the toughest, 
most insoluble biscuit I could find (probably one of 
my own making — no woman nor professional cook 
could hope to equal me in evolving indestructible 
biscuit). It was a success. The battle of' life was 
won. He was delighted — and so were we. In a few 
-days he began to gnaw off portions of the bread and 
swallow them with the milk. After that, it was easy 
to coax him to eat warm potatoes, boiled cabbage, beans 
and peas. I have told this in detail, hoping some other 
benevolent would-be pig-saver may grasp easy success 
at once, and be spared the usual annoyances. 
The house cat was at first alarmed at the newcomer's 
lively, erratic movements and clattering noises, and be- 
haved toward him in a manner which — though it would 
take too much space to explain why — suggested that we 
name him "Bug," which we did. And in two or three 
days he accepted the name and afterward promptly 
responded to it on every occasion. The cat also soon 
comprehended the joke and showed that he knew who 
was meant whenever "Bug" was mentioned. 
The pig grew slowly, but always seemed perfectly 
lively and healthy, save that he acquired the annoying 
habit called "stump-sucking," common to mammals 
prematurely weaned or orphaned — as in the case of a 
cat recently described in Forest and Stream by some 
puzzled writer. I would herewith say to him- that he 
has my sympathy, as I believe there is no cure for the 
habit when begun early, or when caused by too sudden 
weaning; though when adopted at or near maturity, 
by mere association with some "stump sucker," re- 
moval from such company and a few severe rebukes on 
slightest attempt to perform the trick, would be likely 
to reform any intelligent animal. I believe I could 
have prevented Bug from confirming the habit had 
I at once undertaken it; but at first it looked so comical 
that I could not find it in my heart even to scold him. 
Besides, the motion is instinctive at birth, and if the 
young creature is denied its natural mother it must 
seek a substitute; and the less satisfactory the substi- 
tute, the more likely the natural infantile performance 
is to become an unnatural, permanent habit. While the 
habit is not dangerous, it soon becomes monotonous, 
and delays or prevents development, by keeping the 
animal from spending sufficient time in taking real 
nourishment. If some contrivance, attractive to the 
creature and containing an abundance of suitable 
pabulum, so arranged as not to be too rapidly yielded 
up and ever maintained at the right temperature, could 
be put in its way, it might be that the orphan, after a 
suitable time, could be gradually weaned away from it 
and settled to the eating of solid food without con- 
tinuing the "baby habit:" but it would be necessary to 
gradually thicken and harden the food in the imple- 
ment, and the same time making the outside feeding 
more and more attractive, which, you see, would be 
very troublesome and expensive, so that few could 
afford to undertake it, even for a valuable colt, not to 
mention a common pig or kitten. 
When the pig became able to live on solid food, he 
was turned loose in the yard and allowed to roam, 
night or day, through the garden as well; and now he 
began to show his extraordinary affection for us, by 
learning to leave everything unmolested that we for- 
bade him, by walking with the utmost carefulness among 
the young chickens and turkeys — which fairly swarmed 
about him in daytime after the gnats which enclouded 
him — and by always coming as soon as possible when 
called. His submissiveness resulted entirely from love, 
not fear, for- it was never necessary to punish him 
severely during his whole lifetime. Once, after he had 
learned to eat raw potatoes, he went out into the patch 
and uprooted a whole row before being discovered; 
but as soon as I yelled, "Bug! Get out of that, you 
rascal!" he fled, grunting and squealing his apologies. 
He never again disturbed them. We had a wild straw- 
berry patch in a ravine. He liked to go there with us, 
and the first time he ran eagerly ahead, mangling many 
of the best berries. We simply pushed him gently be- 
hind us, saying: "No! No, Bug! Back! You musn't 
go ahead!" After which, without protest or resistance, 
he quietly remained in the rear, eating contentedly the 
over-ripe and deformed berries. He would eat a berry, 
grain of corn or crumb of bread from one's hand with- 
out the slighest injury or pain to the latter. No dog 
was ever more careful. At two months he had perfectly 
learned such commands as: "Get out of that!" "Let 
that alone!" "Quit that!" "Go away!" "Standstill!" 
( "Come here!" Lie down!" "You may have that!" 
"Go ahead!" Yet it was generally necessary to prefix 
"No, no!"— rapidly uttered— to the fifth order, or to 
wave the hand toward him in a repelling manner! No 
motion or gesture was necessary with the other orders. 
But his most incredible characteristic was his woman- 
like gentleness and cat-like cautiousness. No living 
thing is more innocent or careless about keeping out 
of the way of moving objects than young turkeys are; 
yet he would lie down in a packed flock of them with- 
out squeezing even the slowest — and how to do so he 
taught himself. They simply would not move aside 
one hair's breadth; so he would begin by kneeling, then 
slowly/almost imperceptibly, he would lean to one side, 
gently pushing them from under as he settled down, 
though they were so heedless, so unmindful of their 
danger, that when he settled his last two inches, some 
soft, downy turk would just be creeping serenely from 
under his comparatively huge bulk. 
This wonderful feat was performed every day — often 
several times a day — except when raining, throughout 
the vernal season, with unvarying success, for he was 
popular with the turks until they were nearly matured. 
Only once did he hurt a turkey— nay, he didn't do it 
then; the turkey hurtTtself, using him as a means. It 
caught one of its legs between the toes of one of his 
hind feet when he lifted it to take another step. The 
scene that followed truly "beggars description." He 
stood perfectly still, holding his foot five inches above 
the ground, and squealing with horror while the poor 
fool turk, then about the size of a leghorn hen, chirped 
and fluttered and twisted about. I witnessed the whole 
of the accident. When I caught the turkey and re- 
leased it, the pig seemed as sorry as a dog who has 
made some unpardonable error. But the poor turklet's 
foot was turned wrong-side-before, and it was never 
set right. 
I have not over-estimated this wonderful pig in any- 
thing; instead, I have hesitated to describe even his 
commonest traits, lest I provoke ridicule, since even 
the great Audubon, who se name I hold sacred — but no 
matter, he has plenty of friends, and time will yet 
vindicate him in everything but the candle-snuffing. I 
thought myself that he had been deceived, juggled with, 
about that, as soon as I read his accounts; yet, nothing 
is impossible. 
It was pitiful to see that pig trying to hurry to his 
feed, with forty young, helpless, serene turks fairly 
choking his progress, so that he dared not lift a foot, 
but must shuffle slowly and painfully along, while almost 
bursting with impatience. 
I don't recollect how long he lived, but think about 
eight months. He died quite suddenly, and from what 
cause I never discovered. But he lived long enough 
to win many human as well as animal friends, and to 
achieve all the renown a reasonable pig could desire. 
And always, to the day of his death, he was gentlej 
careful, cleanly and obedient— the most intelligent, faith- 
ful and trustworthy brute (leaving a few dogs out of 
the calculation) I ever intimately knew. 
L. R. Morphew. 
Stories of the Good Green Wood. 
Stories of the Good Green Wood. Thomas Y. Crowell 
'& Co., New York, publishers. 
This is an exceptionally instructive nature book, writ- 
ten by Clarence Hawks, the "Blind Poet of New Eng- 
land," whose previous works of like character, "The 
Little Foresters" and "Master Frisky," from the same 
publishing house, have won him popularity among the 
young people, and added to his already deserved reputa- 
tion as an author and poet. 
These stories are brand new, drawn fresh from the 
green wood, and are not dry enough to burn. Their 
subject-matter has been gleaned by personal observation 
in early youth under the tutelage of an intelligent rustic 
mentor by the name of Ben Wilson, who taught him to 
keep still in the woods if he wished to see anything; 
and any sportsman who will condescend to accept the 
various hints proffered will gather a stock of wood lore 
of rare quality, and thus be likely to enlarge their bag of 
game. Fox hunters will learn some tricks of reynard 
which were inexplicable before. Squirrel hunters will 
detect the presence of the little animals by apparently 
meaningless signs; and they will discover that it is use- 
less to hunt gray ones where there are red ones. His 
story of how the turtle got his shell is as good as any 
Indian legend, and the situation where the young truant 
who went chestnutting was persuaded to use his shirt 
for a nut bag, while he shivered in the frosty air, and 
then went home and sat for an hour, heroically, with it 
on, lest his mother should discover where he had been, 
is unique, if not dramatic. The illustrations by Charles 
Copeland are very true to nature, and he and the author 
are most fortunate in having been able to snap his kodak 
on a partridge in the act of drumming. 
The wonder to all readers is how anyone blind from 
his youth up can write so vividly and accurately. The 
explanation would be that lapse of time develops and 
intensifies the spectra originally cast on the mental and 
optical lenses, instead of blurring and effacing them. 
Hawks says the best time to read the book of nature is 
"when autumn turns the leaves." But the leaves of the 
"Good Green Wood" may be read with profit and de- 
light at any time. Charles Hallock. 
Didymtts. 
Wymore, Nebraska, Sept. 20. — Editor Forest and 
Stream: It was with a sense of personal loss that I 
read of the death of Mr. Heade, the Didymus of Forest 
and Stream. We have taken great pleasure in all his 
contributions since the paper first entered our home, 
especially in his hummingbird stories this summer. I 
had made a mental picture of him, as I have of all the 
Forest and Stream family, and in that picture he ap- 
peared as a young man. He was so enthusiastic and en- 
tertaining that to learn that he was 85 years old was 
a surprise indeed. And what a splendid life his was. 
A. D. McCandless. 
