March 6, 1909.] 
375 
when a low growl, terminating in a snap of 
strong jaws, brought me to a standstill. 
Within six feet of me were the remains of a 
large hollow stump, one side of which had 
fallen out, leaving a good-sized opening within. 
In this opening I could just distinguish a wolf 
crouching. Its head was facing outward and its 
thin lips were drawn back over ugly fangs. The 
whole appearance was a sort of demon grin in 
which threat was plainly seen. Its whole de¬ 
meanor seemed to say: “You don’t dare tu 
shoot me or call out.” I knew too well that I 
was facing the male wolf, and that he felt him¬ 
self cornered and would fight. I moved my 
right hand to raise my carbine ever so little, 
and again came the threatening growl. I 
paused, for I saw the beast draw its feet under 
it as if ready to spring upon me, and I realized 
that in that thick brush with a game leg I was 
poorly prepared to meet it. I took a step back¬ 
ward, intending to place a few more feet be¬ 
tween us before risking a shot. 
Again came the growl growing louder into a 
snarl, which sent the chills playing hide and 
seek down my spine. Again I stopped. This 
time the growl was heard by other ears than 
mine. “What’s that, C.?” cried Ed; “I thought 
I heard a growl.” 
“Here, it’s the wolf!” I cried, throwing up my 
rifle, for as I spoke I saw the jaws fly open, 
the long, gray body grow tense, and then he 
sprang straight at me. 
I had just time to fire once right into the 
jaws, it seemed, and then both wolf and I 
rolled together on the ground. One snap of 
the jaws fortunately came together on my cap, 
which fell between us at the instant. I tried to 
get at my revolver in my coat pocket, but I was 
lying on that side and could not reach it. I 
have a dim recollection of the heavy beast 
springing into the air and falling across me, 
almost knocking the breath from my body. 
Twice again the heavy weight fell upon me and 
again I heard the snapping jaws. Then I real¬ 
ized that the beast was in the death agony, and 
if I could avoid the snapping jaws for another 
moment I would be safe. As the beast sprang 
up again I pulled myself from under it and 
half rolled, half crawled, to the stump and raised 
myself into a sitting posture. The first thing 
I saw was Ed with his double gun at shoulder. 
As he fired, I saw the wolf lie still with the 
blood running from a hole in its head as 
large as a tea cup, where the BB shot had 
bunched. 
I was somewhat bruised and sore from the 
pounding I had received, but was otherwise 
uninjured. By unanimous vote I was given the 
wolf skin, as I had both discovered the wolf 
and planted the first shot in a vital part, for my 
shot had gone straight between the open jaws, 
inflicting a wound which would have proved 
fatal in a moment or two without Ed’s help. 
To make sure of the matter, the men con¬ 
tinued the search through the swamp until 
every portion had been thoroughly covered, but 
no more wolves were found. This pair of gray 
wolves had evidently been driven from their 
former home by a forest fire, and had sought 
this swamp as a temporary place of safety. 
With the killing of these two wolves the tiraids 
on poultry ceased and have not begun again. 
OSSEOLA. 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
Australian Mutton-Bird Industry. 
Consul Henry D. Baker, of Hobart, presents 
certain facts regarding the mutton-bird industry 
of the Eurneaux group of islands, situated to 
the northeast of Tasmania and under the gov¬ 
ernment of that Australian State. The consul 
visited these islands during the month of May 
in order to make some study of the birds and 
their curious habits, and writes from a com¬ 
mercial standpoint: 
The interesting study of “mutton-birding” is 
peculiar to many of the small islands about the 
Tasmanian coast, particularly on the Eurneaux 
group in Bass Straits, where it constitutes the 
principal means of support of the inhabitants. 
The mutton-bird, or sooty petrel {Nectris brevi- 
caudus) is, when full grown, about the size of 
the well known silver gull of North America, 
and its color, at first a grayish-black, with age 
becomes a jet black. Their most important 
breeding places are in the vicinity of Tasmania 
NEST AND EGGS OF BROWN THRUSH. 
Photographed by F. T. Webber. 
and New Zealand, in the latter island being of 
somewhat different variety and white instead of 
black. 
Every year, about Sept. 20, almost to a day, 
these birds arrive in enormous numbers at their 
rookeries, and for about one month the male 
and female are busy in restoring their old nest 
or in building a new one. Where the soil is 
light and loose the nests are burrowed into the 
ground close together, but when there is suffi¬ 
cient shrubbery to afford shelter the birds sim¬ 
ply deposit their eggs on the bare ground. Ere- 
quently large snakes occupy these nests in com¬ 
mon with the mutton-birds. 
As the birds are away at sea in quest of food 
in the day time the nest making is carried on 
at night, the birds making a great noise while 
thus occupied. After the nests are prepared 
each female lays one egg, which closely re¬ 
sembles a duck egg, and the male and female 
then take turns at hatching, usually the male 
bird taking the first turn, while the female goes 
in search of food, chiefly shrimp and kelp ber¬ 
ries, with which she returns each evening. 
After the lapse of a fortnight, by' which time 
the first sitter has wasted considerably, the part¬ 
ner relieves him, and the male bird will then 
take upon himself the responsibility of bring¬ 
ing in food. 
By the end of six weeks incubation is com¬ 
plete and the attention of each parent is be¬ 
stowed upon the protection and rearing of the 
young bird, each now taking a daily instead of 
fortnightly turn; one bird always remains with 
the young one while the other goes away for 
food. When old enough to take care of itself 
the young bird is entirely forsaken. By this 
time it has become inconveniently fat, so great 
has been the attention bestowed upon it, but 
it does not attempt to stir from the nest until 
compelled by hunger to do so. The effect, how¬ 
ever, of a few days’ starvation tells upon the 
bird, so that it makes a great effort and removes 
itself from its nest and finds its way toward the 
sea, and from some rocky eminence makes its 
flight. 
It is not known where the birds go when they 
leave the islands, about the middle of May. 
Their flight is extremely swift and irregular, 
and if the birds strike any obstruction, like a 
rock or the mast of a ship, the collision is 
usually fatal to them. The lighthouse at Goose 
Island, one of the Eurneaux group, has to be 
protected with iron screen work and frequently 
hundreds of dead birds are found at the base 
of it. Captain Flinders, of the British royal 
navy, once computed that a flock of birds which 
he saw was forty miles in length. 
It is only the newly hatched mutton-birds 
which have a commercial value, the purposes 
for which they are taken being for salted human 
food, for oil (used in tanning leather and for 
the lubrication of machinery), for the fat used 
chiefly for greasing timber skids and for 
feathers. I he season’s work at mutton-birding 
covers about six weeks, from about April i 
until the middle of May, when the rookeries 
are completely deserted. During this six weeks’ 
period the inhabitants of the islands (about 400 
altogether) earn sufficient money to support 
themselves in practical idleness for the rest of 
the year. 
The first stage in mutton-birding is known as 
oiling. A stick pointed at one end and stuck 
in the ground at the other serves as a kind of 
spit or skewer on which to fix the birds as 
they are gathered. Search is then made for 
the young birds, and as they are caught their 
necks are broken by a skillful jerk of the hand 
and they are then fixed by their beaks to the 
sticks. 
It is rather dangerous capturing the birds, as 
the rookeries are infested with poisonous snakes 
and frequently the mutton-birder, when he puts 
his hand and arm into the hole, lays hold of a 
snake instead of a bird. 
When about a couple of hundred birds have 
been collected the oil is extracted by squeezing 
firmly the body of the bird and passing the hand 
gradually along toward the neck until the oil 
exudes from the beak. This oil, which is of a 
reddish color, has an odor like that of cod liver 
oil. and if properly refined it might possibly be 
used for the same medicinal purposes. There 
are said to be a number of cases of benefit from 
mutton-bird diet to persons with pulmonary 
troubles, ansemia and other wasting diseases. It 
takes about too birch to produce one gallon of 
oil, which sells at lod. to is. (20 to 25 cents). 
The next stage in the work is called fatting, 
when the birds are first plucked and then the 
