A VILLAIN IN FINE FEATHERS 
HEN the God of Hunger stalked the pine- 
\X/ studded corridors of the forest and the 
white miles of open country, the world 
was a place of silence and death. Dawn broke on 
the ragged line of dark hills and an ambered blush 
swept the sky in a primal glow. Valley and wooded 
slopes stepped out of the retreating dusks. Snows 
shone in ghostly and chaste splendor. Winds were 
still. In the air, clean, clear and cold, there was 
a subdued hissing—the song of the subtle frost. 
In a lonely clearing amidst squat cedar, isolated 
pines and outlying clumps of graceful white birch, 
light and sable shadows shifted in imperceptible 
movement. Snow gobs slid from piny boughs with 
a swish and tumbled earthward in a shower of 
muslin spray. Saplings rose suddenly, with a 
soft creak, to lift their tops to freedom. No sound 
shattered the quietude, no movement ruffled the 
tranquility—it was as though nothing survived 
the storm of the past night. 
Suddenly a snowy mound of vines and shrubbery 
tangle shook violently, then the fine snow seemed 
blown upward in a glistening shower, and a ruffed 
grouse burst from concealment with a flutter of 
muffled wings. The soft, velvety flap-flap of 
pinions sent it into the thin, singing air, and little 
flurries of snow like pallid smoke fell from its 
feathers. Hardly had the bird settled into a swing 
down the white clearing when a bluish, shadowy 
shape swept over the spires of dark cedar’ with the 
speed of a bullet. It struck the flying grouse in 
mid-flight and in such momentum they went crash- 
ing into the boughs of a pine. So entered the gos- 
hawk on the wintry stage. 
Of all the terrors spewed southward by the cold 
and deep snows of the Far North, none are as 
primed with blood-lust and sheer ferocity as this 
marauder of the frozen landscapes. It has strength, 
flight that is poetry of motion, and a carnivorous 
appetite that knows no limit. It is the spirit of 
Winter incarnate, relentless, inexorably insati- 
able. It is death riding the invisible wings of the 
stark wind. 
Under the onslaught and raids of invasive gos- 
hawks, no wild life is safe. Talon and claw and 
padded foot are utterly helpless before the attack 
of these silent, swooping, feathered interlopers. 
Were it to confine its activities. to the common 
vermin it might invite admiration of men for its 
splendid capacity of assault, even the adoration of 
poets who are always on the lookout for the 
strange and bizarre. As it is, the. bird makes no 
choice in prey of fur or feather. Hares, rabbits, 
squirrels, quail, pheasants, grouse, ducks, birds 
from the snowflake in size up the gamut—in fact, 
anything which flies or walks goes into the maw 
of this wintry visitor. It does more harm than 
all the owls and hawks. It has a weasel charac- 
teristic for killing for the sheer love of killing. 
It revels in a bloody orgie and eats with wolfish 
gluttony. It is the most destructive thing on wing 
—the king of the killers. 
And yet, seen in the clean air above the tassels 
of the forest, cruising like a spirit of the far skies 
without a quiver of its wings, there is something 
elegant, dominant, heroic. It has the vulture’s 
grace and beauty of flight, the eagle’s speed, the 
strange and austere beauty of a bird seen high 
above. Earthward, it is a villain in fine feathers. 
Page 83 
BIOLOGICAL SURVEY REPORT 
HE annual report to the Secretary of Agri- 
T culture of the Bureau of Biological Survey 
at Washington, D. C., shows the results of 
a year’s work that has proven of enormous value 
in the protection of useful and harmless forms of 
wild life and the control of injurious species. Val- 
uable studies on the food habits of birds and ani- 
mals and various other wild-life investigations, 
both economic and biological, were also made. 
The results of the efforts to control wolves, co- 
yotes and rodents are especially gratifying. The 
large wolves of the West have been so greatly re- 
duced in numbers that it is thought the end of their 
raids is in sight. 
Poison baits have been successfully developed 
for use against predatory animals and rodents. 
Prairie dogs and ground squirrels cause great 
losses through destruction of crops and forage. 
Through the cooperation received from state, 
county and private organizations these pests have 
been greatly reduced in numbers. 
Biological surveys were continued in several 
states to show the actual conditions as to wild life 
and investigations made to further the proper ad- 
ministration of laws, including the migratory bird 
treaty act, and regulations affecting big game and 
bird refuges, to the number of sixty-eight. There 
are now about 1,500 buffalo, elk, deer, antelope and 
mountain sheep on the five big-game preserves, 
besides the numerous wild fowl on these and on the 
sixty-three additional bird refuges maintained. 
Enforcement of the migratory bird treaty act 
has had the helpful effect of increasing the supply 
of migratory wild fowl and of impressing observ- 
ers with the importance of the law as a valuable 
conservation measure. The main hope now seen 
for perpetuating our game birds is in halting the 
rapid progress of drainage of the fresh-water 
marshes and lakes which are the natural feeding 
and breeding grounds of wild life. Through co- 
operation of the department, several such water 
areas have been protected during the year, notably 
Swan Lake in Minnesota and the Winneshiek Bot- 
toms on the upper Mississippi River. 
Other valuable work has been done in combating 
the ravages of rats and mice in studying the food 
habits and migration routes of birds. Work of 
this sort on the part of state, county and private 
organizations should be earnestly encouraged. 
DR. CHAS. T. MITCHELL 
R. CHARLES T. MITCHELL, physician, an- 
gler, nature lover and poet, died recently in 
his 87th year at Canandaigua, Ontario. His 
love of the great outdoors was wholesome and 
virile, and his book of poems, “Down the Outlet, 
and Other Poems,” which were published by Forest 
and Stream Publishing Co., contain many gems of 
poetical expression. 
Dr. Mitchell was especially fond of angling, and 
for many years he fished the waters of beautiful 
Lake Canadaigua. Here he lived his simple and 
upright life, ministering to the suffering and find- 
ing in his intimate association with nature and 
expression of all that was best in life. 
