H /lDarsb«lanb ITncibent 



time, half asleep at the root of a tree. For 

 many days he had been wandering all 

 alone. It was high noon, and he felt the 

 need of rest. The great forest was still, 

 silent, gloomy. Suddenly a sound, 

 "chuff!" fifty yards away, was followed 

 by a sharp whisper, and then "whack!" 

 an arrow struck into the tree's bole an 

 inch above his head! A lordly savage, 

 who was a poor archer, had taken a 

 chance shot at him from behind a rock. 

 " Well," said my friend, shaking his head 

 in memory of the " close call," and smiling 

 reminiscently, " an arrow sounds -scarier 

 'n any bullet!" 



To this moment that shot at the ibis is 

 a fresh line on a page of my experience, 

 and I can scarcely realize that it was years 

 ago that I loosed the shaft. I hear the 

 bow's sturdy recoil, the keen sibilation of 

 the arrow, the dull, successful stroke. 

 Doubtless the joy of an archer comes from 

 a deeper well than that of the man who 

 shoots with a gun. I have tried both 

 weapons. It is almost infinitely easier to 

 take game with a fowhng-piece than with 

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