296 



RECREATION. 



shot to fill all spaces. Put in 3 more and 

 cover with 10's. Two layers are enough. 

 The fine soft shot are merely to hold the 

 others in place. This load will give uni- 

 form results if good powder is used, also 

 good penetration. Stubbs, Orwell, O. 



Mr. Ingalls, of New York, wishes to 

 know how to load buck shot for close, 

 even pattern. Load powder and wad as 

 for fine shot. See that the buck shot cham- 

 bers loosely in shell. Then run shell full 

 of melted tallow around the shot. Put on 

 shot wad before the tallow cools. This 

 gives an extremely close pattern, and is 

 the load that was used by Sauntag and 

 Evans in their hold-up at Fresno, Cal. 

 Chas. Latham, Dailey, Colo. 



THE SAME OLD TROUBLE. 



San Francisco, Cal. 

 Editor Recreation: 



The last day of June, 1887, I left San 

 Francisco on the evening train, and after 

 30 miles of railroad travel I was met at the 

 station and driven into the foothills. 

 There we had a cabin that we used as head- 

 quarters during the open season for deer, 

 which was then July 1st to October 15th. 



The next morning, long before daylight, 

 we were up, and, after a hasty breakfast, 

 each of us took a different course for our 

 day's hunt. My way led up a long ridge, 

 to some 500 acres of comparatively clear, 

 rolling country surrounded by thick brush, 

 which was a great place for deer. By the 

 time I had reached this clearing, the sun 

 was just coming up, and it was getting 

 almost too late to find the bucks feeding. 

 Nevertheless, I walked on and followed 

 around the edge of the clearing, intently 

 watching for signs of deer. I had gone 

 but a short distance when a big doe 

 jumped from behind a bunch of brush, 30 

 feet away. I bleated and she stopped 

 short and looked at me, not over 25 yards 

 from me. How hard I strained my eyes, 

 looking for horns! There were none, so I 

 contented myself by pointing my .44-40 

 Marlin at her and thinking where I 

 should plug her if she were a buck. 



Within the next hour I saw no less than 

 7 does and fawns, but nary a buck. My 

 attention was finally attracted to a track 

 in the trail which I knew at once was made 

 by a monster buck. I decided to try for 

 him when he should come out to feed at 

 night. I crossed the ridge to the big 

 spring, and spent the rest of the day dozing 

 in the shade of an oak that spread its limbs 

 over the spring. 



About 5 :3o P. M 1 started out again with 

 the intention of getting Mr. Buck. I 

 walked slowly and carefully back along the 

 trail, stopping at each clump of bushes and 

 looking carefully ahead before going on to 

 the next bush, i had passed the place 



where I saw the track in the morning, and 

 as I looked again my heart missed a beat, 

 for there, not more than 30 yards away, 

 was a monster buck, looking right at me. 

 He had seen me before I saw him, and I 

 knew if I made a quick move it would be 

 all off, as he was in such a position that one 

 jump would take him out of sight. I 

 gazed at him a few seconds, and then 

 gradually sank to my knees, hoping to 

 bring my rifle up to my shoulder at the 

 same time without any sudden move; but 

 the wary old cuss was suspicious, and with 

 one jump he disappeared from view. 



In an instant I made up my mind that if 

 I could quickly reach the point where he 

 had gone in I might see him cross a little 

 twale I knew lay in the direction he had 

 saken. I made a run for the trail, and as I 

 reached the edge of the brush I saw him 

 moving off slowly about 75 yards distant. 

 A bleat from me stopped him an instant, 

 and, as he looked back I held my breath to 

 steady my gun, which owing to my rapid 

 breathing, after my short run, was going 

 around at a great rate. As I caught him 

 just right, I let go and struck him in the 

 shoulder, a little too far forward. The 

 shot turned him completely around, and 

 so bewildered him that he forgot his cun- 

 ning, and instead of leaping to cover he 

 staggered back down the same trail he had 

 gone over. 



Without taking the gun from my shoul- 

 der, I pumped down the lever to reload, 

 but it didn't work. It failed to extract 

 the empty shell and the next shell coming 

 up jammed in the action. The big buck 

 seemed dazed as he came toward me, get- 

 ting closer and closer, until I could plainly 

 see the blood pumping out of the wound in 

 his shoulder. He was then only about 50 

 feet from me and still coming on. Of 

 course, I got buck fever then, but not so 

 badly but that I could curse the Marlin 

 Arms Company, collectively and individ- 

 ually, the man that sold the gun and the 

 man that made the cartridge. 



I reached for my knife and tried to extract 

 the shell and push the other one back so as 

 to free the action. Anyone who has ever 

 owned a Marlin rifle knows how I felt. By 

 that time the buck had reached a cross 

 trail which led up through a bed of ferns and 

 under some bay trees. He staggered up 

 this trail and out of sight under the droop- 

 ing branches of the trees. I could see the 

 bloody foam drop from his mouth, and the 

 blood run down his foreleg. If I had had 

 one more chance I could have stopped him, 

 but my~gun w r as as useless as a club. 



As the deer disappeared under the trees 

 I sat down on the ground and attacked the 

 gun, resolving to get that shell out or 

 break the gun. After several minutes' 

 work, I succeeded m getting the shell out, 

 and the gun to work again. 



