BY THE HARDEST. 
AMOS GRAYSON. 
I’ve forgotten the make of gun and can’t 
recollect the brand of powder. 
Jim came and disturbed me at a time 
when no civilized man should disturb a 
civilized fellow man. It was so early that 
it must have been the day before. He 
shook me awake and said: 
“Squirrels ripe. Hustle out.” 
Squirrels were ripe and some fell to the 
ground. We picked them up and bagged 
them. 
I would not undertake to say how far 
we walked that morning, for I am afraid 
of a treacherous memory; but we made the 
rounds. There was the tall shell-bark over 
on the ridge; then the clump, back up in 
‘Wind hollow. Over on the Molohorn place 
were more hunting grounds. 
Then we went to the big forked hickory 
at the foot of Dug hill. 
We had no dog. As we stole within 
range there was a flash of rusty red up 
in the branches. 
“Gee whittaker,” said I, 
know foxes climbed trees. 
squirrel ?” 
“Tt’s both,” said Jim, 
got to do is to get him.” 
We didn’t get him. Several times we 
saw him, or thought so. 
The peppering we gave the spot where he 
seemed to show preserved no meat. I can’t 
say that the hunt was conducted on strict 
sportsmanlike principles. I was new to the 
game and had a new double barreled, 
breech loader out for the first time. Jim 
was a good hunter of the backwoods type, 
6 feet 2, but would have killed that squirrel 
with a fence rail if he could. 
I think we wore a runway around that 
tree. I had to lift my neck straight when 
I quit looking for the squirrel. 
“Let’s both start away,” said Jim. “I'll 
go on to where there’s another tree. You 
sneak back and hide in the brush and 
maybe we'll fool him.” 
The squirrel was no fool and he knew 
it. In half or three-quarters of an hour 
Jim came back. Maybe I was reading, or 
“a fox! Didn't 
Can't bea 
“and what we've 
meditating, or asleep. Jim says I was 
asleep, but I deny it. Anyway the old 
fox was safe. 
“Let’s lambast him,” said Jim. “We're 
going home, anyway.” 
We shot into every clump of leaves. I’m 
afraid we got rattled. We threw rocks. 
ji “Let’s scare him to death, anyway,” said 
im. 
21 
He didn’t scare worth an empty shell. 
I’m also afraid the squirrel was worth sev- 
eral dollars before we let up on the bom- 
bardment. 
“Let the gol darned critter go,” 
“l’m getting hungry.” : 
I remember he said that after all his 
ammunition was gone. 
I claim the merit of prudential restraint 
of the destructive instinct inherent in every 
son of Adam. I started for home with 
one shell left. I claim that merit, and be 
it noticed, ’tis all I do claim in this matter. 
What prompted me to stop when we had 
walked some distance, and request Jim to 
notice if my gun would carry back as far 
as the tree, I can’t say. Certainly all 
said Jim. 
thought of slaughter had left my mind. 
“Jim,” said I, “watch the Big Fork and 
see if this gun can reach from here. I'll 
aim at that clump of leaves half way up. 
See if any of the leaves are hit.” 
With that I cracked down on—my thumb. 
I shall not attempt to explain that, but ’tis 
so. I can show the scar in proof. I for- 
get now what Jim said, but I always main- 
tained that I had the most right to the say 
so at that time. I thought the gun burst 
when I tried again, for Jim let out a yell 
that scared me. As the smoke cleared I 
could see Jim going toward the tree. 
There was a 10-rail fence between it and 
us, also a brier patch behind the fence. 
Jim, you remember, was 6 feet 2. He was 
disappearing in the ’brier patch when I first 
saw him. He was whooping and I thought 
the briers were hurting. I think he jumped 
over that fence and never touched it. I 
know he touched the briers. I couldn’t 
understand this caper till my eye caught 
something rusty red dropping, rolling, 
clinging, dropping, rolling, slipping from 
fork to branch, from branch to leaf. It 
was the squirrel ! 
The recollection of what followed is 
vague. It was some time before I got the 
courage to visit that neighborhood again. 
You see the people there are religious, and 
we must have dsturbed them. I forgot to 
state the day was Sunday. 
I have not tried too hard to analyze the 
whole matter, but we must have exulted 
aloud and with motions. 
There was one pellet through the heart 
of the squirrel. The distance was 60 yards 
to the foot of the tree. That was my first 
hunt. I have since been reading RECREA- 
TION, and I don’t shoot squirrels now. 
