256 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Aug. 18, 1906. 
and success with which such birds can be bred 
makes their propagation desirable. 
Pigeons, however,* multiply rapidly, and their 
numbers tend to become troublesome. They 
must be kept within limits? Squabs always have 
a good market value, and over-crowding can be 
avoided by dispdsing of the squabs in’ season. A 
pigeon loft may thus prove far more than self- 
supporting, and the profits derived therefrom 
may materially reduce the expense of maintain¬ 
ing the game preserve. 
But for that mattef, the preserve should be 
made self-supporting after the first year or two. 
Nearly all of the birds will multiply too rapidly 
for such a place, and discretion in keeping down 
the numbers will improve the conditions of the 
others. There is a constant market for live 
pheasants, quail, partridges, pigeons, ducks and 
geese, or if one prefers, the hatching eggs can 
be sold each season. From these different 
sources the income should more than meet the 
outlay within a year or two. 
Protection from gunners, dogs, cats, weasels 
and other enemies is the first essential. These 
enemies must be kept off the preserve, and ruth¬ 
lessly hunted down if they persist in remaining. 
Weasels and skunks are often the hardest to ex¬ 
terminate. The danger of trapping them is that 
choice pets may be caught instead of the enemies. 
For this reason the box trap is the most service¬ 
able. They are caught alive in the box trap, 
and if a pheasant, quail or partridge is thus im¬ 
prisoned instead of a weasel or skunk, no damage 
is done. If this proves unavailing, the animals 
must be hunted with an air rifle, which will 
destroy without alarming the birds. 
Primarily such a preserve is established for 
the pleasure of associating with some of our 
choicest and rarest birds, and not for hunting 
purposes or for gain. Any lover of the wild 
birds finds exquisite pleasure and relaxation in 
watching their antics in the woods and fields, 
but unfortunately their presence is growing so 
rare that such sights are reserved for those who 
can visit distant regions where man has not yet 
destroyed and frightened them away. Cultiva¬ 
tion of their confidence and companionship 
proves a rare and exceptional education. Feed¬ 
ing and caring for them through the long win¬ 
ters adds an exquisite and exhilarating pleasure 
to life. A journey through the woods and across 
the fields of the preserve is no longer a barren 
and monotonous trip. On every side there is 
the flash of golden wings, the whistle of Bob 
White, the shrill call of the duck or goose, and 
the rapid flight of some pet homer. "Dinner 
time" for the birds means more than for the 
owner. One’s dinner may grow cold in watch¬ 
ing the birds feed, and no man would count it 
a loss. 
A few wild turkeys, swans, peacocks and 
guinea fowl could be added to such a preserve 
to add color and variety to the collection. In 
most cases these wild and domesticated birds 
will not interfere with each other. The chief 
consideration is to see that all of the members 
of the woods and fields have sufficient food and 
protection. Sometimes the larger and heavier 
feeders will gobble up all the food, and the 
smaller birds are starved out in the midst of 
plenty. This can be avoided by proper over¬ 
sight, and by distributing food in the dense 
thickets of the woods for the quail where the 
larger birds cannot penetrate. Occasionally an 
obstreperous wild turkey gobbler or old gander 
will prove too pugnacious for the rest of the 
colony, and his confinement or banishment may 
be necessary in the interests of peace and har¬ 
mony. Such problems must be solved in each 
individual case. For this reason it is better to 
raise young birds in separate pens and runs 
until they are old enough to look out for them¬ 
selves on the larger range of the preserve. 
The Forest and Stream may be obtained from 
any newsdealer on order. Ask your dealer to 
supply you regularly. 
SUBSTANTIAL NOURISHMENT. 
The chief concern of every camper is to obtain sub¬ 
stantial nourishment in compact form. No camp or cabin 
is complete without its supply of Eagle Brand Condensed 
Milk and Peerless Evaporated Cream. They have no 
equal for Coffee, Fruits and Cereals.— Adv. 
A Tragedy of the Smokies. 
It was about one o’clock in the morning. The 
moonlight filtered through the almost perpetual 
haze of the southern Appalachians and straggled 
between the fly-specks on the cabin window. 
The fire had died down and the morning air was 
chill. 
Suddenly Kep sat up in bed and hoarsely whis¬ 
pered, “What’s that?" 
Andy, who sleeps with one eye open (and 
sometimes, likewise, his .mouth), sat up and 
casually remarked, "Wha’s matter?” 
Doc. came to with unkind remarks about the 
ancestors of disturbers of the sleep of the just. 
“Something is moving in this cabin,” said Kep. 
“Snake?” said Andy. 
“Fleas! Go to sleep,” sighed Doc. 
“Skunk!!!” moaned Kep, with sundry em¬ 
bellishing remarks. 
Everybody dived under blankets. After about 
five minutes’ suspense Kep emerged slowly and 
tried to locate the skunk. Andy and Doc. un¬ 
coiled gradually, abusing the English language 
for its lack of adequate adjectives. 
The skunk started to amuse himself with Kep’s 
pet biscuit oven. Concluding that he couldn’t 
eat it he wandered over to the other end of the 
cabin, the cynosure of all eyes. Just then the 
moon struck the angle of the window-casing and 
—darkness! 
Silence—broken only by peculiar gnawing 
sounds near the head of Kep’s bed. 
“What the deuce is he up to?” said Andy. 
“Chewing up something in style,” explained 
Kep. 
“My Lord! the hams!” groaned Doc., and then 
the trouble started. Doc. swore by all his house¬ 
hold gods that no varmint should steal the very 
staff of life under his very nose and go un¬ 
scathed, skunk or no skunk, and produced his 
double Remington (a new shotgun which he took 
to bed with him, like any boy with a pair of new 
red-topped boots.) 
Andy and Kep resorted to various pleadings, 
exhortations and commands before the blood¬ 
thirsty Doc. could be made to realize the cruel 
danger of the situation. Doc. was a tenderfoot 
who had never even heard of a skunk. He swore 
he could blow its head off before it could even 
think of retaliation. But finally he was per¬ 
suaded that coolness and deliberation in the face 
of calamity was much to be desired and agreed 
to await developments. But he nursed the Rem¬ 
ington wistfully. 
The gnawing continued merrily, and coming 
from the region of Kep’s headboard, he stealthily 
retreated to Andy’s bunk. After making sure he 
was not pursued the camp settled down to wait. 
“Wish I had my pipe,” remarked Kep. 
In an undertone Andy and Doc. discoursed on 
what would happen to the skunk family, and that 
skunk in particular when they got out. 
“Wish I had my pipe,” said Kep. 
Andy tried to relieve the monotony by telling 
horse stories of skunks he used to walk ten miles 
to avoid meeting. 
“Wonder where I left my pipe,” queried Kep. 
Doc. lapsed into a mixture of Hindoo and Turk 
cuss words and wasn’t coherent for some 
moments. 
“I’ve got to have my pipe!” announced Kep. 
“Oh, blow your pipe!” said Andy. 
“Drown yourself!” muttered Doc., and then a 
large and weighty argument ensued on the fool¬ 
ishness of hunting a small, perennially lost pipe in 
a six foot pitch-dark cabin with the certainty of 
colliding with a four foot skunk. 
“It would hurt his feelings if you interrupted 
him at this time,” urged Andy. 
“It sure would make him dislike you,” added 
Doc. 
“Can’t help it, must have my pipe,” so every¬ 
body listened to locate the probable feeding- 
ground of the jailer. 
Kep finally found a match and, for a wonder, 
the lantern was near at hand and had some oil 
in it. 
“Why didn’t we light this before?” asked Kep. 
“Hadn’t sense enough,” suggested Andy. 
“Plumb locoed,” grunted Doc. 
The lantern was carefully placed on the edge 
of the bunk and Kep silently sallied forth in 
search of his pipe. 
“The uniform he wore wasn’t nothin’ much before 
And rather less .than ’arf o’ that be’ind,” 
and as we have said, the air was chill. He pur¬ 
sued his chattering course to the fire-place and 
ransacked the shelf. No pipe and—“Look out, he’s 
coming!” and there stood Kep, pink toes and 
all, turned to a pillar of chilled shot, with no 
power of speech, locomotion or thought. And 
well for history that it was so! The -skunk 
sniffed Kep’s toes, swished his tail and sniffed 
again. And Kep! No language could paint a 
faithful picture of his thoughts as they were 
mirrored on his face. Visions of home, babbling 
brooks, the County Fair—a past replete with 
stirring conquest and noble deeds—and to think 
of this ignominious end ! Horrors ! 
Meanwhile Andy and Doc. seized their guns 
and made a hasty and ignoble retreat. The door 
was left open and the skunk waddled over to in¬ 
vestigate. Kep was galvanized into life and 
leaped into Andy’s bunk out of range. Andy 
stationed himself where he could command the 
door and Doc. hastened around to the corner 
where the animal had burrowed into the shack. 
Kep, having recovered his poise kept them posted 
on the skunk’s movements. 
“He’s coming toward the door.” 
Sure enough, he climbed on the sill, looked out, 
spied Andy, bristled his back and stood there a 
moment. 
“Don’t shoot yet,” implored Kep. 
Then the skunk turned and surveyed Andy’s 
bunk, hesitated, and slowly went to the hole in 
the corner. 
“He’s coming your way, Doc.” 
“I hope so,” said Doc. savagely. 
There was a movement in the weeds at the 
corner of the cabin and a white patch appeared 
which moved in a zig-zag manner toward Doc. 
He waited until it showed up a little more plainly 
in the fading moonlight and then gave it both 
barrels at one shot. 
At daylight the herder came back to the cabin 
and saw the ruin. On the daily calendar posted 
on the door he added: 
“CAMP OF THE CHEERFUL IDIOTS. 
1 :oo A. M. Skunk in camp. 
3 :oo A. M. Dead skunk. 
3:01 A. M. Dead Idiots.” 
Wilfred Taylor, M. D. 
Bloodying the Hunter. 
A correspondent of the London Field, who 
participated in an Austrian deer stalking expe¬ 
dition, relates this incident following the hunt: 
“Before going back to the house the keeper 
handed me a ‘Bruch,’ a twig off the nearest 
pine, which he first smeared in the wound, and 
I put it in my hat, as a victor puts laurels around 
Lis head. This is an old-established custom, the 
origin of which is unknown. 
“When I returned it was already dark. On 
looking at the hats on the rack, I saw that three 
of the party had been successful. One of them, 
I found, had never killed a stag before, and had 
therefore to be what is in Scotland called 
‘blooded.’ This ceremony was performed next 
day in the following manner. The whole party 
assembled at the front of the house; the victim 
was marched up to where his stag was lying, 
solemnly escorted by the keepers. He had to 
kneel down over the prostrate body of the 
fallen ‘monarch of the glen.’ A ring was formed 
round him, and the hostess struck him three 
times across the shoulders, saying: ‘Der Erste 
Streich fur Kaiser und Reich, Der Zweite 
Streich fur Ritter und Knecht, Der Dritte 
Streich fur’s Waidmannsrecht.’ The translation 
of this is: The first stroke for Emperor and 
Empire, the second for Knight and Serf, and the 
third for the Sportsman’s privilege. From this 
day onward the victim could hold up his head 
among sportsmen as their equal—a knight of 
the forest. People that object to this ceremony 
are looked down upon by Austrian sportsmen, 
and it is best to get through it as best one can, 
though it may not look very dignified while one 
is undergoing it.” 
