Jan. 4, 1913 
FOREST AND STREAM 
17 
Bow vs. 
By WILL H. 
R. J. M. CHALLISS, of Atchison, Kansas, 
of the firm of Waggener & Challiss, 
general attorneys for the Missouri Pa¬ 
cific Railway Company, and Mr. Z. E. Jackson, 
a leading attorney of the same city, are eager 
and successful hunters with the long bow, and 
a few days ago Mr. Challiss mailed to the 
writer an account of the “only ’possum in 
Atchison county ever killed by a bow in the 
hands of a white man.” 
Believing that Mr. Challiss’ account of the 
doughty deed is too good to be lost, I have 
dared, without his permission, to give to the 
readers of Forest and Stream that part of his 
letter relating to his achievement, and I have, 
still more recklessly, ventured to add some 
lines in which my own impressions of the 
Kansan’s triumph are outlined. Mr. Challiss 
says: 
“Will Waggener, who does an Indian dance 
every time a bow and arrow is mentioned, and 
has lots of good-natured fun at my expense, 
suggested that he had a bunch of boys on his 
hands, yesterday afternoon, whom he had 
promised to take hunting, and asked me to 
go along in the machine. I replied that I 
would go if I could take my bow, and have 
the first shot at anything we saw. He readily 
consented, and did another Apache dance. It 
was a hazardous thing for me to do, but I 
wanted to get out with the bow and so we 
went. We headed for Independence Creek, 
about four miles north of town, and along 
which there is some good timber. When we 
got to the bridge on the creek, one of the boys 
shouted that he saw a ’possum. The machine 
was stopped and every kid in the bunch jumped 
out, fully armed with murderous shotguns and 
rifles. The machine stopped in the middle of 
the bridge, a bridge about five times as large 
as the one where Jack got the squirrel, and the 
’possum was in the top of a small tree, op¬ 
posite the middle of the bridge, and about forty 
yards distant. Will was true to his word, and 
with some difficulty restrained the blood-thirsty 
crew he had in charge, every one of which had 
drawn a bead on the ’possum. It was finally 
agreed that I should have the first shot. I was 
not so anxious then. I would not have been 
much disappointed had the ’possum seen fit to 
move on. With that same deliberation that 
marked Capt. Talbot when he was going to 
shoot the rat, I leisurely unlimbered myself, 
took off my overcoat and strung my bow. I 
started to walk along the bridge to get down 
on the ground and within an archer’s distance, 
but the shout of derision that arose from Will 
and the kids compelled me to retreat to the 
middle of the bridge where I had a good view 
’Possum 
THOMPSON 
and clear space. I looked at that ’possum and 
looked at the background. In the entire range 
of my vision that ’possum was the smallest 
thing I saw. There were seventeen trillion 
places where my arrow could go, and only one 
place it could go to do any good. 
“Any one of those kids could have killed 
that ’possum at the first shot with their shot- 
MRS. W. H. WILLS. 
guns, even the boy with the rifle (who was 
getting his bead with a rest over the bridge 
railing) need not have made a very good shot 
to get results. I had no care for my reputation 
in the matter, but I was worried on account 
of the bad fame that might come to the bow. 
I hated to see the ancient and honorable 
weapon disgraced. But these things did not 
clear the situation at all. There were the boys, 
and the ’possum, and the bow, and the op¬ 
portunity. There was not a one of them that 
knew that six whites are better than one gold. 
“Something had to be done, and that right 
away. The ’possum kept growing smaller all 
the time, and appeared to be glued to that 
limb. From his fixity of purpose I believe he 
was a lineal descendant of that one which the 
half-witted boy poked with the stick and then 
accused of being ‘skeert.’ Will was standing 
at my side, and, from his position, that ’possum 
looked as large as an elephant; in fact, it was 
the only thing he saw. It obscured the entire 
background for him. With demoniac glee he 
said, ‘Now’s your chance, now’s your chance; 
if you miss that ’possum, you will never hear 
the end of it.’ And I knew that was the truth. 
“Oh! why had I ever gotten out of the 
machine? Why, when the fame of the bow was 
unsullied, had I not allowed the boys to murder 
with their splatter guns? They could shoot a 
foot or more to either side, or above or below, 
and as a reward of inaccuracy, make a perfect 
shot, i. e., get the game. But these reflections 
did not increase the game in size or diminish 
the distance. I selected one of my narrow- 
feathered broad heads, and seeing that it was 
straight and well fledged, drew to the ear and 
let drive. As the arrow left the bow, I saw 
that it was in perfect line, and its keen hiss was 
music to the ear. For a moment I had that 
feeling of compunction which I always experi¬ 
ence when I see a death-dealing arrow ap¬ 
parently about to hit a living creature. As my 
shaft screamed past the ’possum it just grazed 
his back and he let go of the limb and hung by 
his tail. 
“ ‘You hit him! You hit him!’ shouted 
the boys. 
“Will never said a word. Seeing that I 
was preparing to shoot again, they waited the 
outcome with more interest. Taking another 
shaft of similar make (the Challiss brand on a 
Thompson model), I again drew to the ear. 
.A.S I felt the broad head stop on my forefinger 
I knew that Barnes had done all he could for 
that arrow, and with sixty-five pounds of the 
snows, and winds, and rains, and the sunshine 
of the Oregon mountains stored in my shaft, 
it screamed toward its quarry. As it left me, a 
whirling, hissing thing of life, it bore death on 
its wings. I knew—I instinctively felt that my 
aim had been true. It is for these moments of 
perfect satisfaction that we trudge miles and 
miles in the woods, and work long hours on 
our gear. The time put in on that arrow was 
not wasted. Highfield never made a better. 
But really I do not believe that ’possum ap¬ 
preciated the distinction accorded him. When 
he looked over his anatomy, he found that he 
was minus one hind leg, neatly severed with a 
perfect arrow that was razor sharp. This un¬ 
doubtedly detracted from the satisfaction of be¬ 
ing the only ’possum in the history of Atchison 
county that had been shot with a bow in the 
hands of a white man. Distinction enough for 
one ’possum, at least. 
