334 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Feb. 26, 19x0. 
was too much for us and we started back for 
the settlement to fit ourselves out with rifles. 
Unexpected business delayed our return to the 
camp for about a week, and when we got back 
we found the bear had paid a visit during our 
absence. She had smashed a small window and 
hauled out our towels and a hat of mine, all of 
which she had been able to reach through the 
window. The towels were all ripped to pieces 
and the hat I never found, though we searched 
for it in every direction around the camp. She 
had turned over our camp-fire at the door, had 
again gone through all the refuse, and had tried 
the door itself, evidently standing up on her 
hind legs with one front paw gripping the logs 
at the side of the door and trying to grasp the 
boards of the door with the other paw in the 
effort to pull it outward. She seemed to have 
no idea of pushing it in, which was the way it 
opened. On this occasion we only slept one 
night at the camp, as our work for the moment 
lay further on, but we left a considerable stock 
of provisions. 
A few days later we had to return, this time 
being a party of three. We approached the 
camp rather cautiously with rifles raised. Sud¬ 
denly the third man, who happened to catch a 
better view through the leaves than either Pierre 
or myself, shouted, “There she is!” It was a 
most unfortunate thing to do, for whether it 
was the same bear or not, or as Pierre sug¬ 
gested, she had left the cub in the woods some¬ 
where and was therefore actuated by different 
motives than when we had seen her before, she 
wheeled on hearing a voice and lumbered off, 
giving us a very poor mark and being hidden 
behind the camp in a moment. Pierre and I 
each got in a shot, but we either made a clean 
miss or did not do enough damage to stop her. 
This time she had the door of the camp open 
and quite a few of our things collected outside; 
among them a wooden pail half full of butter, 
which the friend who had unwisely advised her 
of our approach said she was industriously lick¬ 
ing when he first saw her; several sacks, pieces 
of pork, loaves of bread and such like. 
If this was the same animal that had visited 
us on all the occasions mentioned, she was the 
most persistent bear I have ever heard of, but 
it was the last we saw of her, although for me 
the woods were full of bears for some time 
after. W. J. Bignell. 
Food of Predatory Animals. 
Laclede, Idaho, Jan. 26 .—Editor Forest and 
Stream: A recent number of Forest and 
Stream speaks of the food eaten by a grizzly 
bear,when he first comes from his den in the 
spring. My experience is that meat of any 
kind is his first choice, while skunk cabbage 
stands first in the vegetable line. There is no 
meat so putrid that a bear will not eat it. 
In i860, while I was working in Georgia 
Gulch, Colo., in the month of August, a cayuse 
died in the main road about one mile from the 
camp. It was not long before the odor was 
so terrible that it was hard to get by the car¬ 
cass. It had reached that stage of putrefaction 
when the maggots ran down the road for ac 
least forty feet. 
One evening I was returning from work. I 
had formed the habit of turning off about one 
hundred yards before I got to the carcass and 
keeping to the foot of the mountain to keep 
away from the smell as much as possible. I 
had got opposite the carcass, when looking 
at it I saw an old grizzly bear and two cubs 
engaged in licking up the maggots as fast as 
they could. I shouted at them and they stop¬ 
ped, looked up, and after a few seconds the old 
bear whistled, and all three ran off. Since 
then I have never been able to eat a piece of 
bear meat. 
I have often read that a cougar, panther or 
mountain lion will not eat any animal it has 
not killed. My experience has taught me other¬ 
wise. Three years ago Dave Campbell, a miner 
who lives near me, was out hunting his cayuses. 
He carried a .22 short caliber rifle. On going 
up the San Poil River he came across the car- 
cess of a cayuse—one that had lain there 
for a long time. A large panther was feasting 
on what it could get from what the coyotes had 
left. Dave shot the panther with the .22 short 
and killed it. He got eight dollars for the hide. 
There is now a fifteen dollar bounty. 
The Spokane Spokesman Review of Jan. 15 
publishes a dispatch from Grangeville, Idaho, 
which bears on this matter as follows: 
“A number of horses have been killed recently 
in the foothills south of here by sliding over 
the bluffs, and their carcasses have attracted 
great numbers of predatory animals from neigh¬ 
boring mountains. Tom Allison, a hunter, 
camped in the mountains in the vicinity, last 
week killed three of the largest cougars ever 
seen there and two large lynx. Encouraged by 
his success Messrs. Finch and McCauley, of 
Corral Hill, have gone to the scene with their 
pack of trained cougar dogs.” 
I once killed a very large panther. It had 
been feasting on the carcass of a dead bull. 
My dogs treed it and I shot it with a .36 cali¬ 
ber rifle. If there is a predatory varmint that 
will refuse to eat putrid meat, it cannot be 
named by Lew Wilmot. 
Interdependence of Various Lives. 
We have already more than once referred to 
to Dr. A. K. Fisher’s interesting paper on “The 
Economic Value of Predaceous Birds and Mam¬ 
mals.” It contains among other things this strik¬ 
ing illustration: 
“An extensive marsh bordering a lake in 
Northern New York formed a suitable home for 
numerous ducks, rails, snapping turtles, frogs 
and other aquatic life. The turtles deposited 
their eggs in abundance in the sand of the old 
beach. These delicacies attracted the attention 
of the skunks of the neighborhood, and their 
nightly feasts so reduced the total output of 
eggs that only a small percentage of the young 
survived to reach the protective shelter of the 
marsh. As time went on conditions changed. 
Skunk fur became fashionable and commanded 
a good price, so. within a comparatively short 
time the skunks almost wholly disappeared. 
When this check on their increase was removed, 
the snapping turtles hatched in great numbers 
and scrambled off in all directions into the 
marsh. When their numbers had been properly 
controlled by the destruction of a large propor¬ 
tion of their eggs, their food supply was ade¬ 
quate, but when they had increased manifold, 
the supply proved insufficient. Finally, through 
force of circumstances, the turtles added duck¬ 
lings to their fare, until the few ducks that re¬ 
fused to leave the marsh paid the penalty of 
their persistency by rarely bringing to maturity 
more than one or two young. It is not surpris¬ 
ing that this great aggregation of turtles, con¬ 
taining the essential of delicious soup, should 
have attracted the attention of the agents of the 
market men and restaurant keepers. The final 
chapter, the readjustment of conditions, may be 
briefly told. The marsh became a scene of great 
activity, where men and boys caught the turtles, 
and bags, boxes and barrels of them were ship¬ 
ped away. There was also a depreciation in the 
value of skunk skins, with a corresponding loss 
of interest on the part of the trappers, so the 
progeny of the surviving skunks congregated at 
the old beach and devoured the eggs of the tur¬ 
tles that had enjoyed a brief period of pros¬ 
perity. The broods of ducks now remained un¬ 
molested and attracted other breeding birds with 
the result that the old marsh reverted to its 
original populous condition.” 
Winter Visitants. 
Minneapolis, Minn., Feb. 17.— Editor Forest 
and Stream: In the trees by the study window 
the chickadees are busy in their search for food, 
some of them pegging away at the suet and 
others hanging in a queer fashion head down¬ 
ward. That song of theirs is a great joy after 
hearing nothing but the north wind howling 
around the gables these long days. 
The ice king reigns supreme; his throne is 
the Minnesota landscape. This morning from 
my window I beheld a sight that awed me for 
the moment—every tree and bush and weed 
in the field wreathed in sparkling frost that 
rivaled far Golconda’s jewels. Not till the sun 
has mounted in its splendor can one appreciate 
the completeness of the beauty wrought. As 
the. golden rays filter through the branches a 
new and marvelous beauty shimmers through 
each covert. On a nearby tree the nuthatch 
sends forth its cry. The black-capped chickadee 
appears and warbles in pure ecstacy as he circles 
the bare limbs of the trees in search of a morn¬ 
ing meal. I have cleared a space in the snow 
and have scattered bird seed there for my neigh¬ 
bors. On the trees I have tied pieces of suet 
for the chickadees and have been so fortunate 
as to have them sit on my head or on my finger 
inquisitively regarding me. The bluejay comes 
to the table and the nuthatches and j uncos and 
woodpeckers make their appearance regularly to 
taste of my fare. The sparrows come too, and 
as they are not in large flocks I do not drive 
them away. Somehow I feel no sense of enmity 
against them. Robert Page Lincoln. 
A Barn Owl. 
Elizabeth, N. J., Feb. 19.— Editor Forest and 
Stream: On Tuesday last a bird entered the 
belfry of St. John’s church in this city, where 
its presence was made known by its hissing. 
The sexton investigating, captured the bird, 
which has greatly puzzled the neighborhood. Its 
head is almost round, and bears a resemblance 
to that of a monkey. Its legs are long and thin, 
with scarcely any feathers; its eyes are black. 
Its breast is very pale gray or white with specks 
of black and its upper parts are brown. Can 
you tell us what it is? M. 
