June 29, 1907.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
1013 
other end cut to fit nicely into the hole in the 
butt of the twig. This peg is the trigger of the 
snare, and after the loop of string has been 
drawn for about one-half its length through the 
hole in the butt the peg is pushed into the hole 
on the exit side, just tight enough to hold the 
string and yet so loose that a finger weight will 
push it from its socket. The fitting of the peg 
is the only delicate part of the trap. The peg 
is baited and the hoop is leaned carefully against 
a prominent stump with the butt end upward. 
The lop of string is carefully adjusted so that 
the bird in stepping on the peg so as to get 
at the bait must put his foot within the pull of 
the loop. I he weight of the bird releases the 
peg and the spring of the twig jerks the loop 
of string back through the hole in the butt until 
it is stopped by the bird’s feet. The bait may 
be almost any article of food of sufficient size 
to attract attention, a biscuit, or a slice of bread 
answers very well. 
It is surprising how easily moose birds can 
be caught by this method when the trap is made 
right. The chief mistake in making the trap is. 
to have the plug fitting too tightly, so that the 
weight of the bird does not disengage it. 
When the moose bird is caught it flutters and 
squawks and fights heroically. If, however, 
while it is held in the hand and is struggling 
furiously to get away, bread or meat is brought 
to it, it at once begins to eat ravenously. If the 
captive be let loose, within half an hour every 
moose bird will have disappeared from the camp 
neighborhood, and none will be seen for several 
days, showing that there the birds have some 
means of intercommunication more specific than 
the mere giving of a note of alafm. 
When food is abundant the amount a moose 
bird will take away is much greater than its 
own weight, indicating that it has storage habits 
like those of the shrike, to which it has some 
relation, and we saw high up on some very old 
black birches it apparently forcing meat or bread 
into the deep crevices in the bark. Let a moose 
be shot and almost at once the camp robber will 
flock in to get if possible its own and every other 
animal’s share of the offal, often settling upon 
the antlers or body not over ten feet away from 
sportsman or guide. H. C. Wood. 
Wild Turkey Ways. 
Hendersonville, N. C., June 10.— Editor 
Forest and Stream: On reading a recent num¬ 
ber of Forest and Stream I was interested in 
a letter describing turkey hunting in Missouri. 
The various letters I read take me back to many 
and various experiences I have had from time 
to time. I can remember years ago when an 
old negro tapped on my door, and on going out 
I found the good old county doctor on horse¬ 
back waiting to point out the spot where a wild 
turkey had but a few minutes before “lit.” It 
had flown across the valley of the French Broad 
River, here about half a mile wide. 
Getting my gun and chicken wing bone caller 
I walked a mile and a half around to the spot. 
I called that turkey back down the mountain 
and shot it. Although a hen turkey, it gobbled 
once or twice just before coming out of a thicket 
of laurel. I have never since heard a hen tur¬ 
key gobble—a wild one I mean. 
Several years ago I was invited by a friend 
to join him with his family and several friends, 
and to bring a friend with me, on a mountain 
camping trip. Of course I took my pointer dog 
and gun, as it was in the fall. I was always 
from a quarter of a mile to a mile ahead of the 
guide and party, and late one afternoon my 
pointer put up a couple of turkeys, but it was 
too late to attempt anything with the view of 
bagging one. That evening at our campfire I 
asked all the party not to go in the direction 
I had seen the turkey as I hoped to get one for 
our dinner, and this was agreed to. A young 
man with a rifle intended to go the opposite 
direction. 
Before it was quite daylight the next morn¬ 
ing I was up, tied my dog, and left him at the 
camp, but took my gun, and as I had learned 
years before to call turkeys with my mouth 
without the aid of a caller, I needed nothing 
more. The distance, about one mile along a 
plain trail, I made in about twenty minutes and 
after listening a few minutes I gave the call of 
an old hen turkey and had an immediate answer. 
I then placed a small pole across the trail and 
lay flat in the trail with my gun across it. I 
looked at my watch at the first call of the tur¬ 
key. 
Time under such conditions travels slowly, 
and the position got most tiresome, so I got 
up quietly, knowing the turkey was still out of 
sight, and sat on the pole with my gun ready, 
and in that position I called it up within about 
forty yards of me, but it refused to leave a little 
thicket it was in and. at that distance we semi- 
occa.sionally exchanged a loving greeting. But 
to sit still on a small pole in an exact and rigid 
position for any length of time gets wearisome, 
so I thought it out thus: “Turkeys frightened 
fly down hill, never up hill. Now I must make 
a rapid dash down the trail forty yards, and 
ty - 
■ s 
s' 
A PRAIRIE DOG AT VERY CLOSE RANGE. 
From a photograph by F. B. Tolhurst. 
then turn to the right and run up hill, and if 
the turkey flies I will get a pretty easy wing 
shot through the standing timber, and if it does 
not rise then I must keep my rapid gait to the 
top of the bench some eighty yards above, for 
it would make a run for the bench and fly for 
a mile or more.” The top of the bench is about 
5,000 feet above sea level. 
My run was not a very steep one, though 
quite enough so, and it proved an even race. 
As I came to the top I" raised my gun ready to 
shoot, feeling sure the turkey was there. It was, 
and only about thirty yards away as it stooped 
for its long flight around the mountain. As my 
gun came to my shoulder I saw over to my left 
the other turkey and expected him for the other 
barrel. I shot the hen and turned only to see 
the slender boughs of the trees swaying from 
the wind caused by the wings of the gobbler. 
And then I knew w.hy it was this old hen re¬ 
fused to come out into the open. She' could 
not vote me two to one. The gobbler had kept 
quiet and she, like her kind, had done the talk¬ 
ing. I took out my watch and it was just one 
hour and twenty minutes from the first call till 
I shot the turkey. Those eighty, minutes seemed, 
however, much longer, of course. 
Had I not known something of the ways and 
habits of turkeys I could never have bagged this 
one. An old hen is a pretty sharp bird to call 
within range, and patience counts a great deal 
in this as in all true sport. We camped eight 
nights, at an average "altitude of 5.000 feet on 
that trip. Ernest L. Ewbank. 
A Sportsman in Luck. 
Conneaut Lake, Pa., June 22. — Editor Forest 
and Stream: G. B. DeArment, proprietor of the 
Champion Tool Works, Meadvillc, Pa., recently 
came into the possession of some rare ammuni¬ 
tion which it is not probable that he will use in 
duck hunting. 
In repairing for his own residence the his¬ 
toric Gen. Mead house, the oldest building in 
the city and located near the stockade erected by 
Gen. Mead and his half dozen comrades when 
they first settled in the French Creek Valley, he 
came upon several relics of pioneer warfare 
about the grounds. The most conspicuous is a 
io-pound cannon ball which, aside from a sur¬ 
face corrugated with the oxidation of at least 
a century, is still in a good state of preserva¬ 
tion. A battered musket ball, hatchet and sev¬ 
eral military buttons still further recall the In¬ 
dian skirmishes in which . Gen. Mead figured 
prominently. A half dozen wrought iron nails, 
hand made, and varying slightly in size and 
form, though plainly fashioned from the same 
metal pattern, are in extreme contrast to the 
exact duplicates turned cut by modern machin¬ 
ery. 
In excavating under one of the porches some 
nuts were unearthed that are quite unlike those 
of the local flora of to-day. These were acci¬ 
dentally destroyed without being identified, but 
the description indicates them to have been 
acorns of the burr oak. They were still in the 
cups and well preserved; just how they came 
there, and why they had neither germinated nor 
decayed can only be conjectured. 
But the strangest relic in natural history is 
a nest of eggs found embedded in a partition 
wall, which must have been there since the annex 
was built in 1827. Aside from some discolor¬ 
ation, their appearance gave no hint of ancient 
origin. One seemed suspiciously light, another 
correspondingly heavy. Breaking the shell of a 
third caused no unpleasant odor, the substance 
of the interior having simply dried down to a 
solid mass. 
An old coin and stage coach ticket are interest¬ 
ing, _ and the following, -distinctly legible, is a 
reminder that human nature—at least in one 
mirthful phase—remains the same, despite the 
other changes of the century: 
August the 9, 1811. 
Mr. Mead pleas to let the bear have one Dolar worth 
of whiskey. Charge to my acont. 
Isac Borden. 
Mr. DeArment is justly proud of these relics. 
Bessie L. Putnam. 
In Summer Time. 
Putnam, Conn., June 15. — Editor Forest and 
Stream: Oakledge is the name I gave to the 
tract of land on which is the little “bresh hut,” 
of which I wrote you years ago. I have a mail 
box on the trunk of a big chestnut tree by the 
side of the road below the hut. You see, I close 
school this week and then leave for home, 
Asbury Park. I will be there a few days to 
fix up a little for summer, then will, go up to the 
little cabin to be gone some ten weeks. 
Cannot get along without Forest and Stream, 
so kindly send it there. Shall have a good long 
time to just “bach it” and loaf. No cares, no 
extra duties, and not a thing to bother one, but 
do jqst as I please. No one to be bossing 
around. I can either fish, row, sail my boat, 
rifle or trap shoot, botanize, pry into nature’s 
secrets, and enjoy her beauties; hoe potatoes, 
sweet corn or garden truck. 
I can live on from $1.25 to $1.50 per week up 
there and not go a bit hungry at that. The pro¬ 
vision trusts may go to grass. Talk about heaven 
—well! If I should ever strike one as delight¬ 
ful as is my yearly summer outing up to the 1 ut 
I should be perfectly satisfied. 
Thousands of other people in only very moder¬ 
ate circumstances could have just as good a time 
in some such way if they would only do a little 
thinking and planning and practice a trifle of 
economy in expenses worse than useless, and all 
of them—men, women and children—would be 
a great deal healthier, happier and longer lived 
by so doing. A. L. L. 
