XX 



RECREATION. 



A NARROW ESCAPE. 



It was in November, 1902, and Doc and I, 

 with 2 or 3 others, had gone to the woods 

 for our annual deer hunt. Camp was made 

 and just after lunch we all set out on 

 individual exploring trips. We had no un- 

 derstanding with one another as to which 

 way we should go or what time we should 

 get back to camp. 



I wandered along aimlessly and do not 

 remember much about the country passed 

 through, but I had not gone far before I 

 found myself in the middle of a large 

 plowed field, and when a big doe jumped 

 up out of the furrows just as a jack rabbit 

 would do, I threw my gun to my shoulder 

 and down she came. 



I may have beep a little surprised at this, 

 because the gun had not gone off, and I 

 knew enough about deer to be aware that 

 they do not usually drop until after they 

 are shot, but I dressed her just the same. 

 Doc arrived in time to help me hang her 

 up, which we did with some, difficulty by 

 placing an old burnt pole in the limbs of a 

 small cherry tree. This cherry tree seemed 

 entirely too small to hold the doe, and 

 kept bending over and letting her down, but 

 we finally got it to stay and started on. I 

 don't know where Doc went ; in fact, I do 

 not remember anything more about him that 

 day. 



I entered the woods again. The timber 

 was not large, but the underbrush was 

 thick, and I had considerable difficulty in 

 getting through it until I struck an old 

 trail that soon led me to the brink of a 

 deep canyon about 100 yards wide. On 

 both sides were perpendicular rocks at least 

 150 feet high. Although I had hunted in 

 that territory several seasons, 1 Tiacr never 

 heard of that canyon, and the whole country 

 seemed entirely strange to me. 



I looked off to the East, where I knew 

 there should be a tall, splintered pine with 

 one long limb running out near the top. 

 That old broken pine was one of my land- 

 marks, and could be seen a long distance 

 from almost any direction ; but it was not 

 there. For the time, at least, I was lost, 

 but I had had one or 2 experiences of that 

 kind before, and had always managed to 

 find my way out, so this did not bother me 

 much. I was just thinking what a good 

 story I should have to tell when I got back 

 to camp when I saw a large buck step 

 quietly out of a thicket into a little clear- 

 ing less than 30 yards away. He was a 

 fine looking fellow, with magnificent antlers, 

 and I noticed at the first glance one pe- 

 culiar feature about him. His tail looked 

 exactly like that of my setter dog, and 

 stood out straight behind with fine curly 

 hair hanging down 4 or 5 inches. 



The buck stood broadside to me and 

 raised his head to crop a tall weed just in 

 front of him. I took careful aim at his 

 neck and fired. He paid no attention what- 

 ever, and I fired again and then again with 

 the same result. I do not know what I 

 thought was the matter but I soon com- 



menced shooting at the largest part of the 

 deer and trying to hit him just back of 

 the forward shoulder or in fact any where; 

 but the old fellow still kept chewing that 

 weed. After I had shot twice as many 

 times as the magazine ever held cartridges 

 I ^opped to wipe my eyes and try to quiet 

 my nerves. About that time the old buck 

 located me and without a moment's hesita- 

 tion lowered his head and charged. 



I remember thinking I must make my 

 next shot tell and held my fire until he 

 had covered about half the distance be- 

 tween us. Then making sure that the lit- 

 tle ivory bead pointed exactly between his 

 eyes I pulled the trigger. The hammer 

 did not fall, neither did the gun go off. I 

 pulled hard on the triger again, but it 

 would not move a particle. The thought 

 struck me that in the excitement I had got 

 hold of the guard instead of the trigger, 

 but no, my finger was in the right place. I 

 threw the lever forward and back and 

 pulled again as hard as I could, but the 

 trigger would not move a hair and the gun 

 failed to do execution. There I was, be- 

 tween the brink of the canyon with a drop 

 of at least 150 feet to the rocks below, and 

 a charging buck with every hair on his 

 body turned toward his head. For some 

 reason I turned and ran. Although ordi- 

 narily a fair sprinter, my nerve was all 

 gone and I could hardly get one foot ahead 

 of the other. I tried to cry out but there 

 was only a hoarse dry rattle in my throat. 

 Then I felt the sharp horns of the buck 

 strike me between the shoulders, my head 

 flew back with a snap, a cold shiver went 

 down my spine, I was falling from the 

 brink of the precipice and all was over. 

 Probably about a second later I opened my 

 eyes and at first could not realize where 

 I was. There were no woods, no canyon, 

 no gun, no deer. Only a man still in bed 

 who had been dreaming. 



J. A. R., St. Charles, Minn. 



TONING BROMIDE PRINTS WITH 

 PLATINUM. 



Recent experiments show that bromide 

 prints can be satisfactorily toned by either 

 platinum bichloride or potassium chloro- 

 platimte. The formula advised is as fol- 

 lows : 



Potassium chloroplatinite 1 grain 



Mercuric chloride 1 grain 



Citric acid Q gra ; ns 



Wat er 1 ounce 



The speed of the toning action with this 

 formula is about the same as that of an 

 ordinary gold or platinum bath with p. o. p. 

 The tint produced is a warm sepia, and 

 may be varied slightly by increasing the 

 mercury, when the tone will be somewhat 

 lighter. Platinum bichloride may be sub- 

 stituted for the chloroplatinite, but other 

 salts, such as the ammonium chloroplatinite, 

 do not work satisfactorily.— Exchange. 





