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The Dignity of the Buzzard. 
New York City, April 12. — Editor Forest and 
Stream: One cold morning last December, in 
Western Mexico, I was preparing to leave the 
mountains of the Yaqui country where I had 
been examining some mines, and would start 
for the plains and thence northward for home. 
I speak of the cold, not frosty cold, but “shivers.” 
The last word describes it; the feeling is that of 
BUZZARDS AT CLOSE RANGE. 
a long shiver. The air is full of bracing energy, 
but the nerves tremble before it, and wait for 
the sun which will presently come up and make 
the country warm and the rocks burning hot. 
Over to the east on one of the mine buildings 
a turkey buzzard was sitting alone with wings 
outstretched to meet the sun. I have often won¬ 
dered why they do this. An old Mexican once 
told me that it was to dry their wings after the 
exposure to the night dews, but then I have 
seen them do the same thing at all hours of the 
day, yet it is principally in the morning that they 
sit with wings partially extended. Evidently the 
buzzard took himself seriously, but he would 
allow only a reasonable approach, not near 
enough to secure a picture. The turkey buz¬ 
zards are tame if they are not noticed, but point 
a camera at them, and they are off. Sometimes 
in a tropical city I have walked past a buzzard 
without disturbing it, but on stopping to look 
back at the bird, away the ungainly creature 
would go, to be transformed the next instant 
to a soaring creature of grace and power, as 
it circled about with scarce an effort. 
The morning when I was leaving the moun¬ 
tains, only a single buzzard was to be seen, and 
all the way down to a little town called Carbo 
none was encountered. There seemed to be a 
dearth of animal life, though the country was 
wild. It was the dry season, and everything was 
parched to a degree which is unknown at the 
North. Practically we were in a desert; that is, 
after the mountains had been left behind, and 
we had begun a long drive over a level, dusty 
plain where mesquite trees on every hand re¬ 
minded one of a broad apple orchard. A re¬ 
semblance in outline only, the form was dif¬ 
ferent, and naturally there was no fruit. It was 
all dust and burning sun, the light developing to 
a blinding glare by noon time from which a few 
straggling cattle sought to hide behind cactus 
bushes, or stood dejectedly under the semblance 
of shade cast by the withered mesquite trees. 
Grass was but a brown suggestion that some¬ 
thing has been growing on the plain. What was 
there here even for the turkey buzzards? 
A group of jack rabbits started up, and for 
a time I took them for deer and was well laughed 
at. The long drive continued till the town of 
Carbo was reached and we took shelter under 
the cool veranda of a Mexican house. In Carbo 
there were a number of buzzards, taking them¬ 
selves seriously, but not so tame as I have seen 
them in larger cities. 
After a time a group gathered around a pig 
pen, sitting on the sides and looking regretfully 
at the animals who had supplies of food which 
they were unwilling to share. I determined to 
try for a photograph of the group and walked 
toward them cautiously, all the while looking 
intently at the house opposite as if something 
was there for which I had the greatest interest. 
In this way I reached a point quite near the 
birds, and took a dozen snapshots at them, 
pointing the camera under my arm, and guess¬ 
ing at the position of the birds. I obtained some 
remarkable pictures of blue sky and two or 
three pictures of the birds. I tried to take them 
facing their way, but at the movement all took 
to flight and went sailing away in the sunshine, 
objects of interest and utility of such value to 
the country that all are forbidden to molest 
them. Francis C. Nicholas. 
Confounded Woodpeckers. 
Clarksdale, Miss., April 10.— Editor Forest 
and Stream: Recent allusions in Forest and 
Stream to the ivory-billed woodpecker and its 
habitat lead to me to doubt which of two species 
is meant—the ivory-billed or pileated. 
These species are or were approximately simi¬ 
lar in size and general appearance, but were 
quite different in habits as well as in habitat. 
Forty or fifty years ago both species were abund¬ 
ant in Central Mississippi and Louisiana, but 
when every “freedman” became possessed of a 
cheap shotgun, these birds fell an easy prey to 
the dusky nimrods and have been practically ex¬ 
terminated in these regions. 
The pileated woodpecker inhabited the up¬ 
lands and was a noisy bird with his loud laugh¬ 
ter-like quacking notes, frequently repeated. He 
also kept up a great racket in the woods by 
hammering on dead trees and throwing down 
large fragments of rotten wood. 
1 he ivory-billed was comparatively a quiet 
IN THE FOOTHILLS NEAR CARBO, MEXICO. 
bird, uttering a single and rather subdued note. 
He dwelt in the lowlands, the “deep, dark and 
gloomy swamps” (Audubon) and cypress brakes. 
I never saw either species invading the geo¬ 
graphical domain of the other. 
As to the geographical distribution of the 
ivory-billed woodpecker, Audubon says: “Com¬ 
mon in Texas, Louisiana and along the Missis¬ 
sippi to the Ohio. Rare on the latter to Hen¬ 
derson.” 
The territorial habitat assigned to the pileated 
woodpecker by Audubon is “from Texas to the 
Columbia River and along the Atlantic coast, as 
well as in the interior, to the fur countries. 
More abundant in the South; resident every¬ 
where.” ’ Coahoma. 
[We have more than once printed the present 
distribution of these two large woodpeckers.— 
Editor.] 
