974 
FOREST AND STREAM. 

Cold storms, at the time of hatching, will 
sometimes prove disastrous to the young brood; 
but, very fortunately, cold or long storms then 
are of rare occurrence. Crows occasionally pick 
up very young birds, I have caught them in 
the act several times. Hawks and foxes feast 
upon the tender flesh when they can procure 
it, but our wise bird usually knows how to take 
care of itself. So far as my observation goes 
seldom furnish a feast for these 
they very 
marauders, 
I doubt that the fox can smell a partridge 
even when but a few feet away, and I also doubt 
that even hawks can see them when they have 
a fair chance to hide. 
I was once gathering chestnuts when I saw 
a large hawk sailing along just above the tree- 
tops. He suddenly wheeled around, and, with 
short beats of wing and head pointing down- 
ward, he eagerly looked for something that had 
evidently attracted his attention. Affer two or 
three minutes of this he alighted upon a branch 
near the top of a nearby tree and continued his 
search, but nothing came of it. I started for 
the place to discover the object that had caused 
him to perform those evolutions. The hawk took 
flight as I approached. When I came to the 
place three partridges flushed from the open 
ground where there was not a single bush to 
hide them, plainly showing me that when they 
saw the hawk they had crouched flat upon the 
dead leaves, and by remaining perfectly quiet 
had outwitted their enemy. 
Since early boyhood I have been an ardent 
lover of fox hunting, and, long before I was 
big enough to carry a gun, I often joined the 
dogs in the chase. By cutting corners I usually 
managed to be well up at the finish. Many 
times, when snow had fallen, I have started out 
in early morning alone. Taking the trail of a 
fox I have followed it until I routed him from 
the swampy bog where he had laid up for the 
day. Often the trail would show that the fox 
was hunting. 
Several times I have flushed a partridge from 
its roosting place on the ground, only a few feet 
away from the trail, with never a sign that rey- 
nard had caught the faintest smell of it. This 
is the reason for the® faith that is in me; that 
the fox is not possessed of the scenting powers 
that many give him credit for. 
[TO BE CONTINUED. ] 
East Coast Bird Netters. 
On the east coast of Great Britain enormous 
numybers of low-flying birds are snared and 
netted during the months of October and 
November. On the Lincolnshire salt marshes 
“fowlers” erect great stretches of nets, into 
which the birds fly and entangle themselves. 
They include all kinds of autumn immigrants, 
from brent geese to kingfishers, to say 
nothing of ducks, plovers, owls, dunlins, cur- 
lews, and a host of other birds. Apparently 
there exists no statutory power to interfere with 
this class of “wildfowling,” which is probably an 
older form of sport than the killing of birds by 
firearms. The east coast wildfowlers, however, 
are purely utilitarian—they net for market. A 
correspondent of the Sporting and Dramatic 
News says he recently came across one of their 
fraternity, who had inherited a little farm which 
intersected two grouse moors. When he en- 
tered into possession, he took his nets with him, 
and he boasted that he got more grouse than 
the owners of the moors on both sides of him. 
ranging 
Christmas in Camp. 
FRANCIS A,. NICCOLLS, JR., IN THE CHRISTMAS 
SAGAMORE, 
Ir was two weeks before Christmas, and I 
had started to spend my Christmas vacation in 
the woods. After three days of more or less 
strenuous traveling I arrived at my destination, 
a Canadian lumber camp, far up toward the 
mouth of the St. Lawrence, 
For several days after my arrival the weather 
was perfect. Up every morning with the men I 
would start out with my camera, to be gone 
until dark, oftentimes returning with three or 
four pictures of deer and smaller woods creat- 
ures. Once, even, I managed to crawl up to a 
big bull moose which, entirely unconscious of 
my presence, was peacefully feeding along an 
old lumber road. Again, turning the corner of 
a deserted hunter’s camp, I ran face to face 
with a lynx. Such photographs would make 
any amateur enthusiastic. Five or six days 
before Christmas, I took a rifle and went out 
after our Christmas dinner, returning at noon- 
‘ time with a small, tender buck. 
The day after I shot my buck, the weather 
changed; at seven o’clock in the morning the 
thermometer read 24 degrees below: twelve 
hours later, it was five above, and still mount- 
ing. The following morning it had reached 15 
degrets above, and the sky had become over- 
cast. Still the storm which we knew was com- 
ing, held off. The day before Christmas, the 
sky was a peculfar gray; the air, the earth, even 
the evergreens, appeared that same unusual 
color, an effect which only a northern atmos- 
phere is capable of producing. 
The men, however, were sent off as usual to 
their work. Since it was an impossible day, for 
photography, I stayed in camp. About nine 
o’clock it began to snow gently, the flakes com- 
ing so slowly, and at such long intervals, that 
it appeared as if the big, fluffy Canada jays 
which flocked in the clearing, were succeeding 
in their apparent effort to catch every little 
particle as it fell. By noontime, the horse shed, 
thirty yards from the door, was barely dis- 
tinguishable, and by two o’clock, even this was 
removed from sight by the ever-increasing vol- 
ume of the storm. At eleven-thirty the first 
men had come straggling in, and from then till 
half-past two they continued to arrive in twos 
and threes; big, human snow men, who, after 
ridding themselves of as much snow as possible, 
peeled off their outer clothing, sent a good- 
natured, hearty curse at the storm king who 
prevented them from laboring their usual six- 
teen hours a day, lit their pipes, and began to 
enjoy themselves as best they might. 
At half-past two every one had returned ex- 
cept the men on the ledge road. This road was 
the last on the cut, a couple of miles from 
camp. As the storm had traveled from camp 
toward the roads, the crew on the ledge road 
was the last to become aware of the presence 
of the danger. While we were speculating on 
the whereabouts. of the men, we heard Frank 
Vaughn, their driver, lead his horses into the 
shed. After an hour, Frank, having stabled his 
horses, appeared through the dusk, and came 
stamping into the camp. Then for the first time 
we realized that he was alone. He had taken it 
for granted that his assistants, on seeing the 
storm, had cut through the woods and thence 
home by way of the road. Therefore, after tak- 
ing his last load to the yard, he had started 
through the snow for camp. His companions 
might even then be hovering in the lee of some 
fallen tree, waiting for his ever expected re- 
turn. It was certain death for them, but it was 
also certain death for any one to try to return 
to their rescue in the darkness, and in such 
weather. So, cruel as it may seem, the boss 
very wisely determined that it was better to 
sacrifice two men than his whole crew, and 
ordered all to remain in camp. The laughter 
and jollity of the half hour before died away, for 
those two missing men were great favorites. 
Night shut down, gloomy and sad. ‘The wind 
howled. and every now and then, when we 
opened the door, we could see the snow still 
falling relentlessly. 
On Christmas morning at 3 o’clock we arose 

[Drc. 21, 1907. 
to find the stars shining brightly and the ther 
mometer down to Io degrees below. After : 
hasty breakfast, we started a very solemn crowd 
but traveling as fast as snowshoes would allow| 
we soon reached the yard, 
We stopped, and I fired my revolver. Nc 
answer. Again I fired. No answer. What wa: 
that? We all heard it, but it was impossible tc 
say from what direction it had come. Every} 
one had a different idea as to the location of thi 
sound; so all scattered throughout the wood: 
for a distance to two hundred yards on every| 
side. In order to be able to hear better, | 
climbed up the log-pile in the yard, and, afte 
resting a moment fired again. “Help!” It wai] 
a feeble cry. “Help,” far away it seemed; ye] 
near. A third time the cry sounded. There wa: 
no doubt now in my mind as to whence it came’ 
I called the men back and set them to work ot 
the logs. It was a large pile, but forty men| 
working to save a comrade’s life, can overcome 
many obstacles; so, in an incredibly short time. 
they had the logs rolled off. There, betweer 
two cross logs which helped to form the 
foundation of the yard, almost entirely coverec 
by boughs, which they had managed to pull in 
after them, we found the men, free from snow. 
but nearly dead from the cold. After pouring 
whiskey down their throats, a proceeding which,} 
by the way, made Rame, our cook, look as if 
he wished he also had been lost, we hastened 
back to camp. Some of the men had preceded 
us, and when we arrived, we found two bunks 
ready for our patients. First, however, they 
were stripped, taken to the door, and thor- 
oughly rubbed with snow, to prevent, so far as 
possible, future frost bites, And now, though a 
little weak, they declared themselves as well as 
ever. 
We had postponed our dinner until later in 
the afternoon; but about two o’clock we heard 
Rame’s voice announcing, in no uncertain 
tones, the fact that it was ready. We sat down 
at the long table, hungry enough to devour less 
appetizing food than Rame set before us. And 
such a dinner! Pea soup, followed by partridge 
pie, roast and boiled partridge, roast venison, 
venison in half a dozen other styles, several 
kinds of vegetables, and last of all, plum pud- 
ding. What if the only food on the bill of fare 
which was not canned was partridge and veni- 
son. The other things tasted just as good. 
One would certainly have said so to see the 
manner in which my cans of plum-pudding were 
consumed. 
Then after dinner came the games. One, 
similar to a game played in the city, except for 
the amount of strength put into it, was known 
as “Hot Hand.” Rame, having been kidnapped | 
from the cook camp, was made to lean over and 
put his face in a hat resting on the long table. 
Then while the whole camp danced around 
him, one man stepped forward and dealt him a 
terrific blow, whereupon Rame was forced to 
guess as to his assailant. After several mis- 
takes he picked_the right one, and gladly ex- 
changed places with him. As Rame came away 
from the hat he looked disconsolate, then he 
smiled gently and, stepping up to the boss, said, 
“Meester Taylor, I am reel seek, I want medi- 
cine.” His ingenuity in raking up such a good 
excuse was considered by every one in camp as 
worthy of reward. 
Still later we had music by the camp orchestra, 
not exactly a symphony orchestra, but perhaps 
one better appreciated by the men. Several 
banjos and a couple of harmonicas did their 
duty admirably well. Forty voices more or less 
musical took up the refrain and the cold north- 
ern stars in the clear blue heavens seemed to 
look down with approval upon our merry Christ- 
mas in camp. 



IN THE WOODS 
or in the mountains, no matter how far from 
civilization, fresh milk can always be had if fore- 
sight is used in packing the outfits. Borden’s 
Peerless Brand Evaporated Milk in cans keeps 
indefinitely until opened, and answers every pur- 
pose. It is pure, rich milk, condensed to the 
consistency of cream, put up without sugar and 
preserved by sterilization only —Adv, 
