FOREST AND STREAM. 
Nuys Hotel. Assuming Mr. Seton to be a naturalist and a 
man of the woods, I may have taken it for granted that 
he would recognize the Clubfoot tales as humorous fic- 
tion without a label. I regret that my carelessness in the 
use of a "tongue unknown to script" should have placed 
Mr. Seton in a position to be criticised from the stand- 
point of scientific naturalists, and the wisdom questioned 
of his "return to his earlier methods." 
As a matter of fact the story of Monarch was published 
as I first wrote it — a newspaper account of the bear's life, 
capture, captivity and despair — in the San Francisco Ex- 
aminer in 1889, when I brought the bear from the moun- 
tains to the city and placed him under the care of Louis 
Ohnimus, then superintendent of a zoological garden. _A 
shorter and unembellished narrative of the capture, writ- 
ten by me, was printed in the Cosmopolitan Magazine in 
1890. The original newspaper story was reprinted in full, 
and with due credit, by Joaquin Miller, in his book "True 
Bear Stories," in 1900. The plain, straight facts of the 
case were given in a chapter of my bear book, published 
in September, 1903. 
I have told the story of Monarch, in script and in the 
"tongue unknown to script," so often that I am weary of 
it; but it is my story, and virtually all the incidents in Mr. 
Seton's book are my stories, and I do not feel that Mr. 
Seton's dedication to mythical mountaineers or his_ fan- 
tastic twist of my name fulfills his volunteered promise to 
"give credit" for what he took from me. 
Allen Kelly. 
Some Animals I Have Studied. 
XIII.— Queer Behavior of Animals. 
Hogs are considered "the beastliest of beasts;" perhaps 
rightly, too, if there were no hogs in the worid but the 
stock-yards sort, that have been "bred up" and compelled 
to endure an unnatural life from the beginning. Such 
hogs are all that are known by the majority of mankind. 
I never admired the character of hogs until that remark- 
able pig mentioned in a preceding chapter led me to more 
minutely examine into the possibilities of pig character. 
About the same time, or but little after, I became inter- 
ested in a pig belonging to a neighbor, Aaron Louder, 
who lived in the woods a mile south of my uncle's home. 
This pig, also orphaned, was allowed the run of a large 
pasture, with only a calf for a companion. They became 
inseparable. When the calf walked, the pig walked, very 
close at its side, too. When the calf reclined, the pig did 
so, too, snug up against its side. If the calf edged away, 
the pig persistently followed, pressing even closer than 
before. If the calf arose in disgust, the pig ran under 
its nose, tried to kiss it, and gave vent to a conciliatory 
"wah-wah-wah-wah," which sounds like a hearty gastro- 
nomic laugh, is always a sign of good will toward the 
individual addressed, and is very different from , the 
panicky "woogh-woogh ! woogh!" uttered whenever a 
supposed enemy approaches. I'm afraid the friendship 
was a little one-sided; the pig liked the calf, but the calf 
—well, a calf seldom likes anything but its feed. The 
fact is, I consider cattle less affectionate and less trust- 
worthy than any other domestic animals. There is a 
great deal of sentimental nonsense in poetry about cat- 
tle; and in farm papers much of the talk about cows 
might cause a "city chap" to suppose cows to be nice, 
clean, well-behaved, almost holy beings, too good for_ or- 
dinary human kind to touch. Now, I have had a little 
experience with cattle. I have chased them afoot and on 
horse; I have carried many a calf in my arms, through 
brush and brier, up hill and down, and across streams, 
when the thermometer stood at 90 to 100 degrees in the 
shade; two or three were week-olds, or older, and kicked 
like prize fighters; some I carried a quarter of a mile; 
one I carried and dragged two miles, at the same time 
defending myself from the infuriated dam (after first 
chasing the two, on foot, no less than five miles). I have 
caught unsubmissive cows by the horns and held them 
to be milked or belled or roped. I have stopped runaway 
oxen twice, once on a steep hill by leaping in front of 
them and catching a horn of each and twisting their 
necks until their heads came together. In the instance of 
the steep hill, I was carried some distance, though, for 
it was impossible for the team to soon stop the heavy 
load of cordwood that was violently pushing them, the 
brake having failed, and the driver left helplessly in the 
rear; while, to make the situation the more desperate, 
our own team of nervous, mettlesome horses were but a 
short distance ahead, not yet quite at the bottom of the 
incline, with my brother driving. I have been tossed high 
in the 'air by a bull, coming down head foremost into a 
rotten stump ; and no man can be kinder or gentler with 
cattle than I am, when they are willing to receive kind- 
ness • yet I never knew a cow that could be managed 
with' "love" alone, or that could be trusted in a garden, 
or in an orchard, or among young children, unless some 
powerful, watchful and masterful person stayed near. 
I do not presume to declare that no other man has 
known better disposed cattle. But I have seen tender 
babies crawling over old sows, playing gleefully with the 
astonished little pigs, and the sows, apparently flattered 
at the angelic visits, not only refrained from intentional 
harm bufwere careful to avoid accidental injury— care- 
ful beyond the power of words to describe. One of these 
incidents I and others witnessed in a pen belonging to 
Mr Caswell, blacksmith, in Hot Springs, on a very busy 
street I have known at least one child to crawl into a 
stable and under the manger, crowing defiantly at the 
reputedly vicious horse, who stood over him trembling 
as with ague and not daring to move a hoof. Of course 
I am horrified to see innocent babes allowed to take such 
risks But the fact remains that I have seen them ap- 
parently safe among all sorts of domestic animals except 
cattle From what I know of these brutes, Id consider 
any man a monster who would allow a crawling baby to 
stay five minutes alone with one or more cows. They 
are so clumsy and heedless that it would be a miracle if 
they didn't kill or mangle the little one m some manner. 
And they so hate a dog that the presence of one would 
only increase the baby's danger. . 
The Spiva family at Crystal Springs had a shoat which 
took such a liking for one of their old dogs that it fol- 
lowed him everywhere that a pig could go, undoubtedly 
preferring his comradeship to the society of its swinish 
relatives. The dog was at first niucli embarrassed, and 
snubbed the would-be companion steadily for several 
days; but the shoat's unvarying admiration and honest 
friendliness soon won him, though his manner toward 
it was rather condescending. 
But the best proof that a hog can be gentle and 
thoughtful, whether through respect or fear, is the fact 
that our birds, old, young, big and little, eat regularly 
with our hogs, which number from 15 to 40 or 50, ac- 
cording to time of year, without being injured in the least 
particular more than at the rate of one, or at most two, 
a year; although the hogs struggle with each other al- 
most as severely as men at football, the scene being ap- 
parently one of the wildest confusion. And the escape 
of the poultry is not due to their own caution and alert- 
ness, be sure; for among the hogs they are entirely lack- 
ing in these otherwise saving qualities. No, but the 
hogs are amazingly careful, amid all their wild rushes 
at each other, to avoid stepping on or striking even the 
tiniest bit of a chick. The chickens behave exactly as 
if they considered the hogs their dearest and truest and 
most unselfish friends, and seem to think they are shell- 
ing off the corn purposely for them. Seldom does any hen 
or chick take a single step to get out of the way of even 
the most furious rush, unless a strange hog appears 
among them. 
"Ah, but your chickens are probably a very tame, lazy, 
stupid set !" says some incredulous reader. Nay ; on the 
contrary, they are very lively — away from the hogs — and 
rather wild. The fact is, we cannot keep them away 
from the swine without sbutting them up, which is im- 
practicable; though this summer and fall our Coallie tries 
to keep them back whenever asked to do so. In this, 
however, she is not a complete success, for some of the 
hens declare they'll "die first," and refuse to budge. 
After the feast, the hogs lie down, and almost hold 
their breath while the hens, shocking to relate, walk over 
them, often stepping right on their eyes or between their 
open/jaws, after the insects that are almost sure to be 
burrowing into the thick, yet surprisingly sensitive, skins 
of the big beasts. 
There is one very, very old black sow which two or 
three years ago caught a hen that had been annoying her 
beyond endurance, and after shaking her as a terrier does 
a rat, let her go, minus about a third of the feathers. 
But the foolish hen soon returned and attempted again 
to steal an ear of corn from the sow's mouth. Several 
hogs were also after that same ear, causing the sow to 
grind up cob and all for fear of losing a grain of it, 
and seeing that she was almost "beside herself" with 
rage, we tried to scare the hen back by throwing at her. 
In vain ! She went straight to her doom. In a twinkling 
the sow was running with her mangled body in her 
mighty jaws, and so^ far forgetful of her great-great- 
great-grandmother dignity as to squeal like an habitual 
chicken catcher. 
"Coallie-! Gipsy! Catch her! Make her give it us!": 
I shouted. The dogs, instantly comprehending, flew in 
pursuit, fully as angry as I was, and in half a minute 
they had the offender in a helpless .sitting posture, squeal- 
ing a very different tune, while the- shapeless carcass lay . 
in a heap under her nose. After thai the dogs would not 
allow that sow to come near the feeding place at feeding 
time for so long that, she finally gave up and stayed in 
the woods until I went after her and showed her that 
she was forgiven, and to be given another chance to be 
"respectable." Since then she has a horror of birds at 
eating time, and will actually leave her corn and run 
away 4,f any hen becomes too familiar. Farmers who 
have experienced the impossibility of breaking even a 
young hog of the chicken-eating habit, will agree that 
this is. really a very remarkable sow. 
She is odd in all her ways. If she gets into a corn- 
field, instead of having to drive her out by force — though 
1 have done that, too — I can go to her and say : "Here, 
old sow ! Come out of this," and she will follow me out. 
Isn't that indeed strange? Yet her greed for corn is not 
merely normal — it is phenomenal. I have known her to 
rear up above the other hogs, in her eagnerness, and 
catch an ear of corn thrown from a distant place, and 
going with such velocity that it crashed against her teeth 
like one rock against another; and stand on her hind feet 
and chew it, cob and all, until she could hold the whole 
of it sufficently within her cavernous mouth to prevent 
any other from seizing any portion of it. 
The cat Lucy did a wonderful thing with her last kit- 
tens. We tried to compel her to rear them in the barn, 
but though we prepared her a cozy bed in a quiet place 
upstairs, and fed her there, and only there, she would 
not leave them there, perhaps fearing a snake or an owl 
would take them, and desiring to place them more nearly 
within the protection of ourselves, or the dogs. She 
first hid them in the cellar; then under the house; next 
time under a pile of old shingles at the cellar entrance; 
and after bringing them away thus a great many times, 
she at last climbed up a peach tree on the east side of the 
house and leaped on to the roof with them, one at a time, 
of course (there were three). We were all very busy, 
and exasperated with her obstinacy, so we let her go, and 
soon forgot her, as well as her family. Then there came 
a series of heavy showers, day after day, night after 
night. Some of them were floods. Of course we thought 
of the kittens then, and supposed they would all be 
drowned, for I know of no animal so easily injured by 
wetting as a cat ; though I have read of a singular cat 
that plunges into water and catches fish for its master. 
One day, after one of the hardest showers, I thought 
I would search for the dead kittens and get them down 
and bury them. I believed they were on the north porch 
roof, as that was the only place where they could be 
hidden. There is a riotous white honeysuckle there, 
which not only forms an impenetrable wall of richest 
green from the ground to the eaves,_ both summer and 
winter, where wrens roost at night in perfect security, 
but monopolizes most of the upper surface of the roof. 
With a ladder at the densest part, I ascended to the drip- 
ping verge, and poked around under the leaves with_ a 
cane. A faint "Mew !" startled me, and one of those kit- 
tens crept from the upper edge of the screening vines 
and walked slowly up toward the house. It was perfectly 
dry. I "meowed" to it, to call it back, and at once heard 
the other two softly responding right under my nose. 
Lifting up the vines slightly, I found the "nest," and dis- 
covered the cause of their dryness, though I was no less 
astonished than before. The vernal screen was dense 
enough to form a good roof over them; but what had 
kept them from, being wet by the floods rushing under 
them? Why, only a drift of dead leaves; a drift that 
had been years in forming, and was several inches deep. 
Query: Had Lucy accidentally chosen this bed of leaves 
under a sufficiently protecting canopy, or was it an in- 
stance of reasoning and judgment? 
Coallie and Gipsy have lately been showing new and 
interesting evidences of human-like judgment, justice 
and mercy, some of which I will relate in the next 
chapter. L. R. Morphew. 
[to be continued.] 
Those "Sleeping" Black Ducks. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
Mr. L. F. Brown and Mr. A. H. Stephens declare that 
they have never seen two or more black ducks asleep at 
one time, and on the strength of their not having seen 
such a thing, swing at us the sweeping "universal nega- 
tive," as President Roosevelt would call it, that "No man 
ever saw two or more dusky mallards that were all 
actually asleep together." 
Putting aside the technical error of such a statement, 
as well as some others in Mr. L. F. Brown's attack on 
Mr. John Burroughs, I must make the concrete and 
specific statement that both gentlemen are entirely in the 
wrong, and that I have more than once seen two black 
ducks "sound asleep," and several times four. But never 
one, three, five, six or more. Always a pair, and rarely 
two pair. But under peculiar conditions- — just exactly 
the conditions under which Mr. Burroughs describes: 
on the drifting ice floes in the Hudson in March. In 
March the black clucks arrive in the Hudson from the 
south, and, alighting on the drifting ice far from shore, 
Sleep, mate, rest, and eat whatever drift they can find 
among the ice. With our boats covered with muslin to 
imitate the ice, we then go after them. As a rule, I agree 
with Mr. Burroughs that the sleeping pairs are harder to 
approach than those which are awake. Whether this is 
due to "telepathy" or not I cannot say, nor does Mr. 
Burroughs in his very interesting article in the August 
Outing. 
Now, I hear Mr. Brown asking, "How does he know 
they are sleeping?" Well, it is very simple. I remember 
three instances in particular where I have paddled to 
within thirty yards of a pair of sleeping black ducks, 
risen up above my battery, taken deliberate aim — the 
ducks sleeping on — and killed them both as they slept. 
Under the conditions that we get our ducks, that was 
not unsportsmanlike, either. Another time I rose above 
the battery and as the ducks still slept — or rather stood 
on one leg with their heads under their wings — I spoke 
to them. Still they slept, the snow that was falling 
muffling the air. Then I shouted. Two more startled 
ducks you cannot imagine. By the way they acted I 
am certain they had been "sound asleep," Mr. Brown to 
the contrary notwithstanding. As they rose, I killed one 
and missed the other. Now there are exceptions. And 
it is exceptions on which the "school of the woods" and 
the "new school of nature study" base their claims for a 
hearing. When a calm, sane, unprejudiced observer like 
Mr. Burroughs, says he has seen something which they 
have not seen, these same men are the first ones to fly at. 
us with their universal negatives. If we apply the same 
rule to Mr. William J. Long's writings, we would at once 
— well, we had better not print what any real nature 
observer would have to say about Mr. Long's fairy tales. 
Now, if Mr. Brown or anyone else whosoever does not 
believe that a pair of black ducks will both sleep at the 
same time, let them come up here next March and I will 
convince them that they are wrong until they "acknowl- 
edge the corn," and go- away wiser than they came. We 
can make one universal negative, however — "No man 
knows it all." . James Ackert, Jr. 
Dogs and Languages. 
Ever since the dog became the servant of man he 
has also had to be a linguist. If the annals of dogs and 
men were searched, it would be found that the former 
had in their day been proficient in the understanding 
of tongues dead for centuries, as they will be in the 
future of the languages of nations yet unborn. "Argo" 
doubtless obeyed the orders given by Penelope in the 
most lady-like Ionic of the day; the dog of Alcibiades 
was no less proficient when addressed in "up-to-date" 
Attic by the club porter in Athens; and we may be very 
certain that all the dogs on the canvases of Cuyp and 
Teniers were equally familiar with the dog language 
of double Dutch. 
"Don't say that before 'Snap.' 'Snap' don't know he's 
only a dog. He thinks b*»'s folks!" was an American 
appreciation of the quid ?s with which dogs under- 
stand and resent anything . ude said about themselves. 
The degree to which they comprehend doubtless differs, 
and is probably in most cases limited to the perception 
that their name is associated with laughter or a cen- 
sorious tone of voice when mentioned to others. Also 
the range of conversation, and of activities to which it 
refers, is so large in the average gentleman's house that 
a dog often gives up the effort at understanding more 
than actually concerns its daily comfort. It becomes 
bored by the demands on its attention, the more so 
as it has as a rule nothing to_ do to keep it busy. But 
any one who has spent any time, let us say, in fishing 
quarters in a northern farmer's house cannot fail to 
notice how simple and few the items are which make 
up the routine of the day, and how completely the dog 
— there is always a dog, and that a collie — understands 
all that is going on, and probably most of what is said. 
These farmers are very silent people as a rule, speak- 
ing seldom, and then only about practical matters. 
When happy and comfortable, their practice is to sit 
quiet, not to talk. So the dog takes very special notice 
when a remark is made, knowing that it is usually con- 
nected with the doing of something by other people or. 
by itself. It is quite used to be told to "mind the baby" 
or to "stay ben the house" while the wife goes out, 
and it knows exactly and to the minute that every 
person and every animal about the little farm will be 
doing at any given time. It is thus that it also Jearns 
