every November on our famous Reel- 
foot Lake. 
I don’t tell this any more around here, 
but as you don’t know me and can’t 
reach me, I don’t fear being struck or 
knocked down. In one of my rambles 
over the famous fishing grounds of 
Old Forked Deer River, I had an expe- 
rience, the relation of which I have long 
ceased to indulge in around these parts, 
as then noted for strict veracity, I came 
very near being shot on several occa- 
sions after pipes had grown hot and 
strong and “old mule” began kicking, 
when venturing some. 
However, I am once more going to 
risk it, since I believe no one around 
here reads FOREST AND STREAM, who 
has been in camp with me on my many 
outings. Here goes: 
One day the fish were not rising. 
{t became impatient and began grabbing 
for frogs. I got a great big fellow that 
had but three legs, and not a very good 
jumper as a consequence of his right 
hind-leg being off at the hip-joint, as 
though done by a skilled surgeon. I 
removed “his innards” and threw him 
for dead in my minnow bucket. Fish- 
ing on for a couple of hours I turned 
to the bucket to get a minnow and Mr. 
Frog was holding his head and shoul- 
ders above the rim of the bucket “‘view- 
ing the land-and-water-scape.” I shoved 
him back and continued to fish for an- 
other hour or so and on deciding to 
quit to go home turned to get my bucket 
off a limb on a tree-top over the river, 
same frog, same position, but when I 
reached for the bucket I frightened him 
I suppose, but anyhow he did the “An- 
nette Kellerman” over my head, high 
up into the air and head down into the 
river, and I have not seen him since. 
I don’t know whether your paper 
employs a psychonalyst or not, but if 
so please have him explain what was 
the trouble with this frog, or if it could. 
have been “the brand.” This is no fish 
story. It actually happened just as I 
relate it. And it was not a good season 
for frog-jumping either. 
Dr. CHAS. A. SEVIER, 
Jackson, Tennessee. 
’Chuck Hunting Seems Popular 
DEAR FOREST & STREAM: 
AM a recent subscriber to your 
wonderful little book. I call it a 
book because it gives one some good in- 
formation and I must say it is worth 
the price and then some. 
In reply to J. R. Holsopple’s letter in 
the September issue on the woodchuck 
question, I must give some of my ex- 
periences. Remember this is not a story 
of unusual shots and such. I succeeded 
in getting a second-hand .22 cal. Stevens 
when I was 14 and so I followed the 
others .of our country in hunting 
“chucks.” They are quite plentiful in 
the southern part of Western New 
York State. 
I remember of shooting at one in the 
late fall. He squealed and dove into 
the hole. One morning when looking 
at my traps, the 13th of February in 
fact, I found him in the trap. When 
I was skinning him I found the bullet 
all crumpled up just under the skin. 
So you see if you use a .22 you must 
hit them in the head. 
Mr. Holsopple says they will climb. 
Now, I have seen one several times on 
the top of a fence post, and I got him 
at last. He used a plank that braced 
the corner post and had used it all 
summer by the amount of dirt that was 
on it. I have never seen them up a 
tree, but lots of times on high stone 
piles. Yes, they will climb. 
Once I worked at a farm where they 
had a brown and white bull terrior. 
Now, I don’t remember Dixie having 
gone hunting with any one, but you 
bet he got the ’chucks. The first week 
I worked there he killed about 10 or 12 
woodchucks, always by himself. One 
day we heard him go off the porch and 
looked to see him tearing a ’chuck about 
500 feet from the house and right in 
the open meadow after haying. He 
ran at that ’chuck and grabbed him by 
the neck and tossed him up and caught 
him again, then he shook him till he 
died. I have known him to lie all 
afternoon and creep on his belly to get 
near one or to cut him off from the hole. 
Now this is the only dog I have ever 
seen who would get them, and he got 
them all right. 
I once caught an old one in a trap 
and he made a good pet. I let him out 
on the lawn to get the clover and 
plantin leaves. He was tame as a cat 
and we handled him and played with 
him all summer. One day I found him 
dead in the box. 
I enjoy nothing more than to follow 
the back pastures and meadows for 
woodchucks with the .22 rifle. This is 
quite an interesting sport and believe 
me you can’t talk and shout around. 
Luioyp S. BEVIER, 
330 Brighton Ave. 
Detroit, Mich. 
Pigeons in Cuba 
DEAR FOREST AND STREAM: 
HE writer, a Cuban, has been a 
reader of your magazine for some 
time, and there is no reading matter 

Bunny and a “pat.” 
that affords me more pleasure than 
that contained in FoREST AND STREAM. 
I have often wanted to read some- 
thing in your alluring magazine con- 
cerning the. now - extinct passenger 
pigeon, but if at any time you have 
published an account relative to that 
bird, I probably missed the issue. 
The tragedy which befell that, at 
one time, plentiful bird, always has 
been a matter of great interest to me, 
for I cannot understand how, in a brief 
period, a bird which abounded in such 
prodigious and_ incalculable numbers, 
could have suddenly disappeared. I 
have often wondered whether its ex- 
tinction was brought about by the in- 
exorable hand of nature, or by that of 
the most predatory of all animals— 
man. It is a well known fact that 
nature is more hostile to the prolific 
species, than to those that slowly propa- 
gate .themselves. Life is longer in 
the latter; they are tenacious and not 
so susceptible to the various forms of 
destruction that nature imposes upon 
every living thing. 
I have read in some of the works of 
Wilson and Audubon, that at one time 
the passenger pigeon was, without a 
question, the most prolific and plentiful 
of American birds. Wilson in particu- 
lar states that they abounded in such 
incredible numbers, that oftentimes, in 
their migratory flights, they would ob- 
struct, like a gigantic cloud, the sun 
from view. Audubon speaks of a flight 
of these pigeons that lasted for three 
consecutive days, and that he estimated 
their number at one billion. He further 
states that this immense number of 
birds would have required one hundred 
and seventy million bushels of grain to 
feed upon. 
If such was the numerical magnitude 
of the passenger pigeon, it can readily 
be seen that the advent of civilization, 
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