2S0 
FOREST AND STREAM 
[Sept. 23, 1905. 
it off the porch. He then stood up and reached for the 
open book on pie, etc. As he stood erect he almost con- 
fronted the agent, face to face, and laid a formidable paw 
upon the book. 
My mother saw a startled expression upon the man’s 
face and tried to assure him that the bear was harmless — 
not at all dangerous. 
“The b — , the Wh — What ! Why the brute is a bear !” 
The agent proved almost as active as he had been alli- 
terative. With a bound he was off the porch and reach- 
ing for his grip. In doing this he dropped the Capitol 
Cook Book, and, in reaching for that, his smoked glasses 
seceded from his face. He hurriedly gathered the three 
several treasures, and made better time for the gate than 
comported with his ordinary conventional address. In 
his advance toward somewhere else he omitted at least 
three houses where he might have eulogized. In the 
meantime Jack had meandered off to the barn, an un- 
mistakable sneer upon his expressive face. 
Ransacker. 
[to be continued.] 
About Owls. 
Eagle Lake,. Ticonderoga, N. Y., Sept. ii. — Editor 
Forest and Stream: Some time since a number of sports- 
men up here in the Adirondacks were commenting on 
a paragraph that appeared in your journal regarding 
the. size of the largest native American owls, and all 
differed from the opinion expressed in your columns 
that the ordinary horned owl {Bubo virginianus) is the 
largest known species. “Why,” said an angler, who 
has hunted and fished in several parts of the world, 
“I saw an owl on the North Shore last week that was 
twice the size of any specimen of the large horned 
owl that I have ever seen in any museum. He was a 
tremendous fellow. You often hear him calling: ‘Who 
cooks for who? Who cooks for you?’ or words to that 
effect during the cool, damp evenings, and even into 
the early morning, when the song sparrows and yellow 
warblers usher in the coming day. I believe our friend, 
the owl, is a rare and almost extinct specimen of a 
giant bird. My daughter says that it is larger than 
the largest turkey she ever saw.” 
“When I was a boy, nearly forty years ago,” said 
the still-hunter, “I lived on a mountain farm about ten 
miles east of here and a mile west of Lake Cham- 
plain. Something had been worrying our fowls at night 
which roosted, as the custom then was, on long poles 
under an open barn shed right by the roadside. We 
would find three or four large hens dead every morn- 
ing. They had lost their heads, which had been cut 
off very neatly and removed from the roosts, and we 
could find no trace of them. One night the marauder 
killed a favorite Shanghai rooster, the pride of my 
father’s flock, and the loss of his prized bird -so enraged 
him that he set three large fox traps near the body of 
the dead cock. Early next morning we were suddenly 
aroused from sleep by great outcries from the hen roost 
accompanied by a significant clanking of chains that 
betokened a capture of the marauder. The lantern rays 
disclosed an enormous owl with a foot in each of two 
strong fox traps. Surprised by our approach our 
captive gave a spring and actually flew several rods with 
the^ three heavy traps, such was the strength of his 
pinions. The wooden clog, however, proved too. much 
for his strength, and he alighted upon the ground, 
prepared to give battle to his foes. His great eyes 
fairly blazed with hatred of his captors and followed 
their every motion with savage suspicion. Young as 
I was, only eight years old at the time, I strongly 
urged my father to kill this wild king of the night and 
murderer of so many of our fowls. He, however, pre- 
ferred to study this great bird, the like, of which he in 
a lifetime spent in the country had never before seen. 
“He had hopes of being able to present him to the 
Museum of Natural History at Albany. Finally, two 
men came along and they agreed to take the bird home 
and provide a cage. We measured the wings and 
found them to be just six feet (72 inches) from tip to 
tip. I noticed the legs of the bird and some one re- 
marked that they were as large around as my wrists, 
and I could see that they were. Our captive was dark 
brown in color, and the insides of his wings were not 
liice those of the horned owl, but rather dark, like his 
outside plumage. His height was about two feet when 
he stood, and his weight was considerable. After much 
effort the owl was bound and the men tossed him into 
their farm wagon and drove to the Overshot, in Crown 
-Point, N. Y., where they owned a farm. Last season 
my father sold a load of straw to a man who said: 
‘More than forty years ago I came along here early 
one morning and a man and boy had just caught a 
big owl in a trap. They finally gave him to us and we 
took him home to Crown Point, intending to keep him 
as a pet. Lie was larger than any owl I have ever seen, 
and I have spent many weeks hunting in the woods 
and knew all the kinds of owls usually seen. This bird 
was from one-third to one-half larger than the large 
horned' owl. I remember how he tried to fight us and 
that he never once snapped his bill, as the horned owl 
does. I am sorry to say that he escaped from the coop 
where we kept him, and no doubt soon found his mate 
in the forests and swamps back of Buck Mountains.’ 
All of which leads me to the conclusion,” continued the 
still-hunter, “that some of the descendants of that great 
bird are still lingering along the shores of Eagle Lake 
in the town of Crown Point. Efforts are being made to 
get a snap shot at the owl with a camera, and in case of 
failure, we may have to shoot him as a specimen for the 
Museum of Natural History in New York, which, by the 
way, does not contain a single American owl at all com- 
parable to the bird that escaped that night more than 
forty years ago, and whose size and appearance are 
vouched for by four men, all of whom are living to-day.” 
Peter Flint. 
The Fate of the Wild Pigeon, 
St. Louis, Mo., Sept. 14. — Editor Forest and Stream: 
In your issue of Sept. 9 Mr. Ames contributes an article 
on “The Fate of the Pigeons,” which is excellent, and I 
congratulate him ; also myself on being able, with the 
aid of the negro’s story, to bring out an expression from 
one so well able to handle a difficult subject. 
I beg to assure Mr. Ames, or any other readers of 
Forest and Stream, who may be interested in the sub- 
ject, of my best endeavors and hearty co-operation in any 
effort to prove conclusively that his theory, in which I 
for one am entirely sympathetic, is correct, and will come 
to be accepted, if the sportsmen and- naturalists of the 
present generation do their duty. 
Personally, my efforts along this line have been con- 
fined to inquiries made to elderly natives of the localities 
in which, according to our theory, might have been the 
scene of the cataclysm. 
That success has been meager is due to both indiffer- 
ence on the part of the natives, and my inability to be in 
particular localities often enough to keep up my inquiries 
as I should like to do. 
I regard the chances of locating a sea captain, sailor or 
hghtkeeper, familiar with the waters of the Gulf of Mex- 
ico, who could furnish valuable information, anything but 
impossible at this time; and on Mr. Ames’ suggestion I 
have written parties in touch with Gulf seamen for such 
information as can be had from them, and I hope at some 
future dath to be able to furnish the readers of Forest 
and Stream something entirely reliable, and no less in- 
teresting than earlier published articles. Noynek. 
Eyes that Shine in the Dark. 
Evangeline, La., Sept. 8. — Editor Forest and Stream: 
I see in your issue of Sept. 2 an account of “eyes that 
shine in the dark.” I was unaware of the fact that the 
human eye did not do^ so. Mine, and those of my two 
sisters and four children, all shine; if in the dark, and 
a light is brought into the room, but what I have always 
thought more peculiar is that the pupil dilates and con- 
tracts with changes of light, at night with only a lamp 
in the room the pupil is so large that only a narrow rim 
of the iris is visible, but turned to the sun they contract 
to almost pin points. Not only that, but they change 
with the time of day ; in the morning being medium large 
but decreasing till about noon, then gradually getting 
larger till night, would be glad to know the cause. 
Bob W. R. Lawton. 
Two Days on the Marshes. — II. 
(Concluded from page 
The first faint tinge of daybreak on the following 
morning had hardly appeared on the eastern horizon when 
the entire party left the house to take positions in the de- 
coy blinds. My friend and I of course resumed our 
places in the trench we had occupied on the preceding 
day, while the others, followed the road across the marsh 
and made their blinds in some thick clumps of reeds and 
rnarsh shrubs which dotted the plain a half mile away 
like so many small islands. 
_ As_ soon as our decoys were put out we took our posi- 
tion in the pit and dawn was not far advanced when we 
were ready for the early flights. 
“It’s just past high tide,” said my friend, consulting his 
watch, “and there will be birds on the move very shortly; 
in fact, they’ve started now, and some good ones, too, 
for there’s a bunch of beetleheads,” pointing to a flock of 
thirty or forty large gray and white birds which were 
flying about with great rapidity over the marshes. 
At these words he began repeating the call notes of the 
blackbellied plover and I joined him to the best of my 
ability. The flock of beetleheads darted about in the way 
peculiar to their species, but they gradually approached 
our decoys and finally swung over them as if about to 
alight among them. 
Just as they were on the point of throwing up their 
wings the flock turned in such a way it gave us a good 
quartering shot. My friend selected the right of the 
center and I the left, and we fired with such telling effect 
that at least a third of the birds fell to our four barrels. 
“Good !” I exclaimed. “That’s a starter worth having.” 
“Yes,” replied my companion, whistling to the flock 
which was now circling up and down the marsh, “and 
we’ll have another try at those which are left, for they’ll 
come back, or I’m greatly mistaken.” 
And even as he spoke and almost as soon as we could 
slip fresh cartridges into our guns, the birds wheeled and 
came back to the treacherous decoys, and again they paid 
tribute to our marksmanship. 
But very few plover escaped our second fusillade; not 
more than a dozen or fifteen mounting into the air and 
disappearing from view. We gathered up the dead and 
crippled birds, and on counting them found there were 
twenty-five blackbreasts in all stages of plumage and four 
golden plover which had wandered from their own flock 
and joined the others. 
A number of gunshots were heard from across the 
marsh and later saw some of the gunners moving about 
their blinds evidently engaged in collecting their trophies. 
For a while no birds drew near our stand, although we 
could hear them whistling high in the air. During the 
waiting interval I examined some of the birds we had 
shot and placing them side by side com^iared the various 
plumages of the blackbellied plover with those of the 
golden, and found as I had often done before, they fre- 
quently resembled each other in coloration, and it is no 
surprise to me that the two birds are often confounded 
in the minds of the gunner, the young of one species 
being mistaken for the adult of the other. 
An easy means of identifying the two species is by com- 
paring their bills or mandibles, which in the blackbellied 
bird is strong, inches in length along the gape, while 
that of the golden plover is rather short and slender, 
being but F/2 inches along the gape and much slighter 
than the other. The legs of the blackbreast are strong 
and black in color while those of the other are bluish or 
brownish gray. The first named bird has a small rudi- 
mentary hind toe, while the golden. plover has none; it is, 
moreover, about two inches shorter than the other. 
The sun arose in an unclouded sky and the heat which 
resulted was so intense, life in the Jrench was almost in- 
supportable. Coats and vests were discarded, but this 
afforded only scant relief. The h^qt seemed to have had 
an enervating effect on the birds,,. for none except a few 
of the smaller varieties seemed to be in motion. 
“I can’t stand this,” at length said my companion. 
“There will be no birds flying in such heat as this, and 
we had better get those we have shot into the icebox at 
the house or we will lose them.” , ■ 
“I don’t mind the heat. You take [he birds over to. .the 
house and I’ll remain here and perhaps I’ll get a shot or 
two while j'ou are gone.” 
“All right.” He gathered up the plover and packed 
them in the basket. For a half hour or so there was an 
absolute dearth of birds, and the decoys, although motion- 
less in their various positions, seemed to be gazing at me 
in a mocking way which was almost irritating, and if they 
could have uttered the words I should almost have im- 
agined that they would have exclaimed to each other : 
“What fools these mortals be.” 
High noon had arrived and I was impatiently awaiting 
the return of my friend in order that I might partake 
of the lunch and a bottle of Milwaukee which was quietly 
reposing in the cool water of the creek beside the stand, 
when the reports of the guns of our friends across the 
marsh rang out and I heard them calling a flock of 
Eskimo curlew of considerable size which they had fired 
at as it was passing over their stand. 
Their success evidently was poor, for the birds kept on 
in their course and rapidly approached my decoys in a 
wedge-shaped flock, their long wings sweeping the air in 
that indescribable rhythm peculiar to curlews. Nearer 
and nearer they approached, and more and more persist- 
ently did I keep up my invitations for them to come down, 
and so effectually did I send my summons they drew 
nearer, and finally came within reach. 
Selecting the thicker portion of the bunch, I emptied 
both barrels of my own gun into it, and then seizing my 
friend’s I sent two more charges into the panic-stricken 
survivors. 
Contrary to the usual custom of these curlew they 
would not return to my call, but darted away with as- 
tonishing rapidity and disappeared from view. Now, 
among all our bay birds one of my prime favorites is the 
curlew, for it stools freely, is of good size, and is more- 
o-yer a fine table delicacy, particularly when in good con- 
dition. 
That I was highly elated when I gathered up nine 
plump beauties goes without saying. Huge fellows they 
appeared when laid side by side with a half-dozen ring- 
necks which I had cut down shortly after my friend’s de- 
parture. Carefully laying my birds in the usual niche in 
the pit I covered them with a layer of kelp, which I 
moistened thoroughly in the cool water of the creek. 
“What luck?” inquired my friend, who soon appeared 
coming from the house. “I heard four guns and knew 
you must have found something worth shooting.” 
“See here,” I replied, removing the kelp, “ain’t they 
beauties ?” 
“By Jove, they are !’’ he exclaimed, stepping into the 
pit and handling the birds in a caressing manner. “You 
have had a rare bit of luck, and I congratulate you 
heartily.” 
The words were uttered in the sincere tones of the 
generous sportsman, and I knew they were an honest ex- 
pression of his feelings. The afternoon dragged its slow 
length along, for the birds were few in number, and came 
to the stools singly or in very small detachments. These 
were mostly summer yellowlegs, grass birds and robin 
snipe, the curlew and plover were conspicuous by their 
absence, so that our entire score for the afternoon was 
not more than a dozen or fifteen birds. 
When we returned to the house,- however, at the close 
of the day my nine curlews, together with the others, 
filled the hamper as completely as did the birds we had 
shot on the previous day. _ Edward A. Samuels. 
A remarkable complication, which a wild boar, a 
motor car and red-tape have combined to produce a dis- 
pute that is little less than farcical, is now before the 
Bavarian courts. Frau Senger-Bettaque, the eminent Ba- 
varian vocalist, was traveling in her motor car, when a 
wild boar from some neighboring coverts, charged into 
her machine, with fatal results to itself and much damage 
to the car, which was upset. The lady, who was thrown 
out, escaped with slight , shock and some bruises. Now 
Frau Senger-Bettaque has received a bill for fifteen marks 
from the postal administration for a telegraph pole 
broken in the upset, and another for fifty marks from the 
forest authorities for the dead boar. She has countered 
upon her official tormentors by bringing an action for in- 
juries to herself, for an account of a doctor, and for cost 
of repairs fo her motor car, — Shooting Times. 
