Oct. 22, 1904.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
843 
The little herd was allowed to roam at will over Croy- 
don Mountain and the plains which surround it for seven 
months of the year, and during those seven months the 
animals got their own living, and were no care to anyone. 
But the winters in New Hampshire being long and severe, 
it was necessary to feed them on hay during the five re- 
maining months, and as a matter of convenience they 
were yarded during these months in smaller inclosures, 
near the haras where the hay was stored. All went well 
with them until 1896, when the herd had increased to 
seventy-five head, and it was decided to ship twenty-five 
head to Van Cortlandt Park, New York. Owing to bad 
management these twenty-five became so diseased that 
they either died or had to be shot. This constituted the 
most severe setback which the herd has ever sustained. 
The fifty which were left in New Hampshire continued to 
thrive, and in 1900 it again numbered seventy-five, and 
from that time until the present day there has been a 
steady increase, and now the herd numbers over one hun- 
dred and sixty as healthy and as handsome buffalo as 
ever graced a western prairie or gladdened the eye of a 
hungry Indian'. Even as I write, I see from my window 
this splendid herd grazing on a hillside not far away, 
their dark brown bodies in strong relief against the light 
brown grass. For a month or more they have been wan- 
dering on the other side of the mountain, but now they 
are back again, and we shall enjoy the sight of them per- 
haps for days to come. Something has startled them, for 
they have stopped grazing and have raised their headsin 
alarm. And here they come down the mountain side like 
a charge of cavalry, their tails in the air, and their humps 
rising and falling as the animals move on with their 
peculiar bounding movement, which carries them easily 
forward at a speed with which we should hardly credit 
such ponderous animals. They come like a landslide, the 
earth trembles beneath their mighty hoofs, and the sound 
of their coming is like the roar of an avalanche. As they 
near , the level ground below they gradually slacken their 
speed, the roar of their hoof-beats moderates and dies 
away, as the buffaloes finally come to a halt on a grassy 
plain which borders my garden. And for the hundredth 
time I must go out to admire anew these picturesque 
creatures which form the most interesting link we have 
connecting the twentieth century with the early history 
of our country — with the history of the Indians and the 
pioneer settlers. There are many calves scarcely six 
months old, with innocent faces and absurd little horns, 
which must cause their mothers some discomfort, for 
these husky babies are as yet unweaned. Then there are 
handsome young spike bulls and heifers, and scores of 
other buffaloes of all ages, up to those grand old 
patriarchs with deeply-curved' horns and long black 
beards, whose shaggy heads, if mounted (which heaven 
forbid), might be worth anything from $500 up. For a 
moment I forget that I am gazing on almost one-fourth 
of all the living buffalo, and in imagination 1 ride with 
Colonel Dodge for fifty miles across the plains through a 
single herd which numbered three million head. And I 
stand with Catlin in an Indian village and watch the 
braves don their masks, each made from the skin of a 
buffalo's head with the horns upon it, and see them join 
in the "buffalo dance," that weird ceremony performed in 
order "to make the buffalo come." And I see the naked 
Indian hunters, astride the bare backs of their ponies, 
riding after the shaggy monsters of the plains, shooting 
them down with bows and arrows. I see, too, a herd of 
buffaloes standing in the snow, watching with disdain 
the approach of a big gray wolf. And I see what the 
buffaloes do not see — the sinewy hand of an Indian creep 
out from the shoulder of the wolf, and a long arrow, 
which soon whistles to its mark, and causes the biggest 
bull in the herd to sink upon his knees. Then there is a 
change of scene, and I see the white butchers come, and 
by a series of brutal massacres never equalled by the 
people of any nation which pretends to be civilized, wipe 
the buffaloes from the earth, while America stands by 
with folded arms and watches the practical extermination 
of one of the grandest animals of all time. For a moment 
my heart sinks, but as I come back to the present, and 
looking up see the vigorous creatures before me, a new 
hope is born, for here is proof that the buffalo may yet 
be saved, if the American people will but stretch forth a 
hand to save him. 
Given one condition— a considerable area of land over 
which to roam — buffaloes are not difficult animals to keep. 
They are quite as easy to rear, and less expensive to feed, 
than domestic cattle, and in the hands of men wealthy 
enough to stand the initial expense, buffalo farms could 
be made profitable in almost any of the States north of 
those which border on the Gulf. In the first instance, 
the United States Government should be most strongly 
urged to establish several small herds in different parts of 
the country, so as to avoid all possible chance of a large 
number being wiped out at one time by contagious dis- 
ease. One such herd has already been established in an 
inclosure in the Yellowstone National Park under the 
management of Mr. C. J. ("Buffalo") Jones, and this 
has doubled in numbers in a remarkably short time. If 
from four to six other herds of say fifty animals each 
were bought and maintained in the same way, the future 
of the buffalo would be assured, the day would soon re- 
turn when a buffalo robe could be bought for less than a 
hundred and fifty dollars, and the American people would 
have freed themselves from the charge of having allowed 
their grandest-looking and most valuable native animal 
to become extinct. Ernest Harold Baynes. 
Prairie Dogs and Rattlesnakes, 
Wymore, Nebraska, Oct. 11.— Editor Forest and 
Stream: While in Cherry county this month I killed 
some rattlesnakes, and skinned them, and I send you three 
skins by express to-day. Two "of the specimens are of the 
black mountain rattlesnake, and the other is the ordinary, 
prairie rattlesnake. 
I killed a_ large number of these snakes, and in one I 
found a prairie dog nearly full grown. 
The old story of the snakes, dogs and owls living in 
harmony in one hole is not true. When a snake takes 
possession of a dog hole, the dog leaves it, and generally 
fills up the hole, pounding the ground down as hard as 
possible, and then digs a new hole for himself. This is 
why you always see so many new holes, and so many 
abandoned ones in a dog town. Mr. Stilson and his son 
Will told me that they one day counted thirty of the little 
dogs fighting a rattlesnake, and that they killed it. 
These snakes leave the dog town in the spring and scat- 
ter over the country, returning about October 1 to 15, 
and on warm days they lie in the sun around the # holes. 
That they eat the dogs there is no doubt. This time of 
year there are many dogs not more tharl half-grown, and 
some that can hardly be told from old ones. _ 
I do not know whether the owls ever go into the holes 
or not, but they stay around the towns in great numbers. 
If Brother Kelly organizes a society of "myth busters," 
I think I shall apply for membership. 
A. D. McCandless. 
Large-Eared Bat. 
Bald Knob, N. M. — Editor Forest and Stream: I wish 
your Natural History editor would identify species to 
which inclosed scalp belongs. I have examined lots of 
bats of the ordinary mouse-eared type, but this is the first 
of its sort, and suggests that its grandsire a thousand 
times removed might have sheltered under the eaves of 
Balaam's barn ; also that the original Pegasus might have 
been such another, only larger. Is there a distinct species 
of bats with jack-rabbit ears, or is this critter a freak?, 
S. D. Barnes. _ 
[The ear measures an inch from base to tip. The speci- 
men is evidently a large-eared bat (Pleocolus macrotis), 
a species found in the southern and western portions of 
the United States. 
An Indian Hunting Camp. 
St. Louis, Mo.— In rummaging through my library 
I recently came across an old volume of "Missionary 
Life Among the Indians," written by Rev. James B. 
Finley. His vivid portrayal of an Indian hunter's camp 
proved very interesting to me, and no doubt will to 
many of your readers. 
The scene of the camp was somewhere about twenty- 
five miles south of Upper Sandusky, O., and the period, 
,1882. Aberdeen. 
An Indian Huntet's Camp. 
In February nearly all of the Indians went to the 
woods to trap and make sugar. They seldom return 
from these expeditions till the first of April. I sent 
with them an appointment to meet them at Between 
the Logs' Camp, on their hunting ground, and hold 
a two days' meeting. About the first of March I left 
upper Sandusky in company with brother Armstrong, 
as interpreter, and brother Mononcue, to attend this 
meeting. The morning was cold, and our course lay 
through a deep forest. We rode hard, hoping to make 
the camps before night; but such were the obstructions 
we met with, from ice and swamps, that it was late 
when we arrived. Weary with travel of twenty-five 
miles or more through the woods, without a path or a 
blazed tree to .guide us — and withal, the day was cloudy 
—we were glad to find a camp to rest in. We were 
joyfully received by our friends, and the women and 
children came running to welcome us to their society 
and fires. The men had not all returned from hunting, 
though it was late. But it was not long after we were 
seated by the fire, till I heard the well-known voice of 
Between-the-Logs. I went out of the camp and helped 
down with two fine deer. Soon we had placed before us 
a kettle filled with fat raccoons, boiled whole, after 
the Indian style, and a pan of good sugar molasses. 
These we asked our heavenly Father to bless, and then 
each carved for himself with a large butcher knife. I 
took the h'indquarter of a raccoon, and holding it by 
the foot dipped the other end in the molasses, and eat 
it off with my teeth. Thus I continued dipping and 
eating till I had pretty well finished the fourth part of 
a large coon. By this time my appetite began to fail 
me, and I was for leaving off; but my comrades said, 
"This is a fine fare, do not quit yet." So I took a 
little more, and thought it was a good meal without 
bread, hominy or salt. 
Their winter hunting camps are much more com- 
fortable, and the scenery more pleasant than those who 
have never seen them would imagine. They are built 
of poles, closely laid together, by cutting a notch in 
the upper part of the pole, and so laying the next one 
into it, and then stopping all the cracks with moss from 
the old logs. They are covered with bark, a hole being 
left in the middle of the roof for the smoke to go out 
at The fire is in the center, and the beds are rojund 
three sides. These are raised from the earth by laying 
short chunks of wood on the ground and covering 
them with bark laid lengthwise. On the bark is spread 
skins of some kind, and these are covered with blan- 
kets. The beds are three feet wide, and serve also for 
seats. These camps are always pitched in rich bottoms, 
where the pasture is fine for horses and water conven- 
ient. Around them you will often find a flock of domes- 
tic fowls, which are taken on horses from the towns for 
the purpose of getting their eggs and to secure them 
from the dogs, which generally swarm around an In- 
dian camp. The Indian women make baskets of bark, 
and drive down stakes into the ground on which they 
hang their baskets. Perhaps there will be half a dozen 
on one stake, one above another; and from them they 
gather large quantities of eggs. 
The troughs in which they catch their sugar-water 
are made of bark, and hold about two gallons. They 
have a large trough made like a bark canoe, into which 
they gather from the small ones. The women make 
the sugar and stretch all the skins. The men trap 
and hunt. 
One man will have, perhaps, 300 raccoon traps, scat- 
tered over a country ten miles in extent. These traps 
are deadfalls, made of saplings, and set over a log, 
which lies across some branch or creek, or that is by 
the edge of some pond or marshy place. In the months 
of February and March the raccoons travel much, and 
frequent the ponds for the purpose of catching frogs. 
When the raccoon has taken a frog, he does not eat it 
immediately, but will carry it to some clean water and 
wash it; then lay it down on the leaves and roll it 
hither and thither with his forefeet till it is entirely 
dead and then he feasts on his prey. 
The hunter generally gets round all his traps twice a 
week, and hunts from one to the other. I have known 
a hunter to take from his traps thirty raccoons in two 
days, and sometimes they take more. From three to 
six hundred is counted a good hunt for one spring, 
beside the deer, turkeys and bears. 
The bears at this time of the year are generally taken 
from the hollow trees or rocks, where they have lain 
for a month or two.- During the winter these animals 
sleep with little intermission for three months, and re- 
ceive no nourishment, except what they suck out of 
their paws. I have taken them out of their holes when 
there has been from one to two gallons of clear oil in 
the intestines and nothing else that couM be perceived 
by the naked eye. In hunting bears at this season, the 
Indians search for them in the hollow trees and rocks. 
When they find a tree that looks likely to lodge a bear, 
they examine the bark to see if one has gone rip. If 
there are fresh signs and the scratches are not long, 
but just sunk in, this is a good sign. But if there are 
long marks made with the hindfeet, it is supposed that 
he has been up and come down again. And if the thing 
is doubtful, they cut a brush, and with it_ scrape the 
tree on. the side opposite the hole and cry like a young 
bear; and if there be one inside, he will either come 
and look out or make a noise so as to be heard. If it 
is ascertained there is one inside, then, in order to get 
him out, one climbs up a tree that is convenient, or, 11 
there is not such a one, they cut one so as to lodge it 
near the hole. Then he fastens a bunch of rotten wood 
to the end of a pole, sets it on fire and slips it off the 
end of his pole into the hollow of the tree, where it 
soon sets fire to the rotten wood. At first, the bear 
begins to snuff and growl and strike with his forefeet, 
as if he would put it out. But the fire, steady in its 
progress, soon routs him, and he comes out in great 
wrath. By this time the Indian is down, and has taken 
the most advantageous position with his rifle, and when 
the bear is fairly out, he fires at him. If he does not 
succeed at the first shot, his comrade fires, while he 
reloads, and so they keep up the fire till Bruin yields up 
his life. 
These animals seldom have more than two young 
ones at a time. The cubs are small at first, without hair, 
blind and exceedingly ugly. The dam is very careful of 
them, and will fight desperately to protect them, and is 
very dangerous when the cubs are either taken or 
wounded. Young bears are easily tamed, but they are 
very troublesome, and of no profit. Their flesh is most 
delicious, and is found to be very healthful and easy 
of digestion. The oil of a bear, fattened on beech nuts, 
is the most diffusive and penetrating of all oils. The 
Indians eat it till their skins become as greasy as if it 
had been rubbed on externally. It is preserved for 
summer use by frying it out and putting it into cured 
deer skin, with the hair grained off when the skin is 
green. Deer meat is sliced thin and dried over the 
fire, till it can be easily pounded in a mortar. This 
mixed with sugar and dipped in bear's oil is the greatest 
luxury of an Indian table. This, with corn parched in 
a kettle and pounded to meal, then sifted through a 
bark sieve and mixed with_ sugar, makes the traveling 
provision of an Indian in time of war. 
Non-Residents and New Jersey Mud Hens. 
There appears to be some uncertainty as to the privi- 
leges of the unlicensed non-resident gunner in New Jer- 
sey. The law provides that non-residents must take out 
a license (fee $10 and 50 cents to county clerk) for shoot- 
ing game, provided "that this act shall not apply to hunt- 
ing or gunning on game preserves at present established, 
or to gunning and hunting for wild water fowl, snipe or 
mud hens." The "mud hen" in New Jersey game law 
nomenclature is also called "marsh hen." From this, 
then, it is clear that the unlicensed non-resident may shoot 
only "wild water fowl, snipe and mud hen (marsh hen) ;" 
and of course may shoot these only in season. 
All communications for Forest and Stream must be 
directed to Forest and Stream Pub. Co., New York, to 
receipt attention. We have, no other office. 
