724 
FOREST AND STREAM 
June 8, 1912 
defensive, and so far as I have noticed, is never 
emitted except when the animals are in extreme 
pain or fright, or when dying. Sudden acute 
alarm causes the offensive excretion, but other¬ 
wise the animal is harmless. Twice I have been 
able to estimate the distance to which the fluid 
can be projected, and in neither case was that 
distance as much as two feet; not much over 
twelve inches. 
There is only too good reason to connect the 
presence of intolerable numbers of mice and 
voles with the absence of skunks; mice in the 
house and barn and voles in the fields. The 
word vole is a name applying to any one of the 
several species of short-tailed field mice. Voles 
become exceedingly troublesome sometimes in 
meadows, orchards, vegetable gardens, flower 
beds, etc., and even in the root cellar and the 
apple bin. They spend the winter in brush piles 
or along fence rows or under any sort of litter 
that will afford protection. 
White-bellied deer mice, with large eyes and 
ears, are quite as much at home under a roof 
as the common mice of pantry and garret. It 
is interesting to note their peculiar ways. They 
are more provident than the semi-domestic mice, 
retaining the habit of filling granaries with food. 
It is surprising, for instance, to find one's shoe 
converted into a storage place for wheat; may¬ 
be a cupful of grain in the toe of the shoe when 
you attempt to draw it on in the morning. You 
are sure there are no mouse holes anywhere 
about the room, and equally sure that no wheat 
is in storage anywhere in the house, yet there 
is the wheat in the shoe—or emptied on the car¬ 
pet of the room by yourself. 
But }’ou left your window open for air, did 
you not? And there is wheat in the feed box 
at the poultry house, is there not? That ex¬ 
plains it. Even if the wheat was carefully cov¬ 
ered the previous night, or the previous week, 
the deer mice at some time found it. If they 
did not bring it direct from the poultrj' house, 
they brotight it from some granary of their own 
that had been filled at some previous date. Be¬ 
fore night you forget the incident. Next morn¬ 
ing there is wheat in your shoe again. 
Deer mice are easily caught in traps, but not 
so the voles. The short-tailed field mouse 
(myriad as to numbers) is the worst of all 
American thieves and destroyers; an obnoxious 
pest the world over; hard to entice and impos¬ 
sible of extermination. Poison will effect a par¬ 
tial cure, but prevention is better. Skunks, 
weasels, hawks and owls are cheap and effective 
workers. The cost of the poisoned grain, plus 
the cost of labor, is just that much in addition 
to the heavy loss already inflicted by the voles. 
Nature's police force, if undisturbed, will hold 
the rabble in check. 
Only one hawk has been killed at the ranch 
in four years. Surely that is a good record, 
especially in view of the fact that hawks are 
constantly passing over the valley, and undoubt¬ 
edly make their nests near us. It is evident, 
however, that they are not yet preying much 
upon poultry in this new country. 
Our poultry yard, as originally made, was tri¬ 
angular in shape. I one day noticed the fowls 
all huddled together in one corner; not making 
much notse (though there had been an outcry), 
but showing signs of great fright. In the most 
distant angle of the yard a large hawk was 
perched upon the side of a full grown pullet 
that was still alive, but which had ceased to 
struggle. The bird of prey was tearing morsels 
of flesh from the side of the fowl, and was evi¬ 
dently very hungry; so hungry that the meal 
was continued until ended by means of a shot¬ 
gun. The fowls in that yard never entirely re¬ 
covered from their fright and were always 
alarmed at sight of a gun. 
The killing of this one intruder was either a 
lesson to the other hawks, or else (as seems 
more likely) the situation of the yards was not 
to the liking of the birds, inasmuch as escape 
from a deep and narrow valley would always 
be difficult. At any rate, no more large hawks 
ever troubled our poultry. It is to be noted that 
some hen yards are much more open to attacks 
by hawks than others. 
We are sure that arrivals do not forage very 
far from their chosen homes, also that a new 
arrival is much more easily captured than an 
old resident. It is evident that changes of home 
are sometimes made. It is the rule of the ranch, 
therefore, that quick and persistent warfare shall 
be waged against those new arrivals which are 
not welcome. The application of this rule has 
kept the premises absolutely free (most of the 
time) from such things as house rats and musk¬ 
rats. Two or three of each come now and then, 
but are at once destroyed. The same is true of 
minks. 
The most fearless and impudent intruder that 
ever came on the place was a young mink that 
once put in an appearance in broad daylight. 
The animal walked boldly into the poultry yard 
while the housewife was feeding her flock. A 
fowl was seized and killed, regardless of human 
protest. The woman’s sole offensive weapon was 
a tin pan. which compelled the self-centered little 
hunter to make a temporary retreat, but a shot¬ 
gun had to be used to get rid of the animal per¬ 
manently. In a previous chapter I spoke of 
keeping firearms for defensive uses. This is an 
illustration. Traveling animals and birds know 
nothing of local dead lines and have to be dealt 
with accordingly. 
It is pretty well established that water courses 
are highways for birds and animals as well as 
for fishe.s. A fine mink was seen passing down 
our stream one day, and I was at once sure of 
two things: that it was a stranger in the neigh¬ 
borhood, and that it had a fine pelt. A local 
resident would not easily be overtaken in daj’- 
light, there being countless hiding places along 
the bank, but a traveler would hold to the water’s 
edge and proceed steadily down stream. I took 
note of the animal's speed, and went to a down¬ 
stream point to await its arrival. The mink was 
there on the minute and was shot. The fur was 
excellent. But since our fowls are so well pro¬ 
tected against vermin, there is less reason than 
formerly for killing minks. 
With weasels the case is different, and al¬ 
though we have never suffered loss by them, we 
have been attacked; that is, our fowls have been 
attacked, but fortunately escaped. There hap¬ 
pened to be a rifle at hand. Our greatest loss 
caused by a weasel was the destruction of a 
family of young snow birds close to the cabin 
door; a mishap much regretted by all of us at 
the time. The weasel was seen, but it escaped. 
A neighbor’s chicken coop was visited one 
night or early morning by a weasel and a lot 
of dead birds left on the ground to tell the 
story. The circumstances indicated that the tres¬ 
passing animal was a stranger; an adventurer 
without a home, and pretty sure to be found 
wandering near the scene of its raid. Fearing 
for my own fowls, I made diligent and r-epeated 
search; not spending many minutes at a time, 
but going to the place every few hours the next 
day. Toward evening I found the weasel in 
motion and killed it. 
The hare of my present locality, though of a 
different species, resembles the cottontail of the 
East in its general deportment, and is equally 
good in point of table quality. It is not destruc¬ 
tive to crops in its prevaib'ng limited numbers, 
and the only excuse for taking its life is for 
food purposes. 
In a trap set for a hare, near an apple tree. 
