FOREST AND STREAM 
[June 5, 1909. 
916 
STARTING RIGHT 
At the Louisiana 
First State Tournament 
Alexandria* La, May 24th—25th 
MR. HERMAN HOWARD 
of Crockett, Texas 
USING 
“INFALLIBLE” 
POWDER 
WON 
First Amateur Average - 285 ex 300 
Merchants and Professional 
Men’s Handicap (open to all) 95 ex 100 
and the 
Alexandria Golf, Tennis (El Gun 
Club Handicap . - - 93 ex 100 
About all there was to win, and 
“INFALLIBLE” 
DID IT 
The Only Dense Powder Made in Anverica 
Water-proof—Quick—Clean—Safe—Same Always 
-—Dixon’s Graphite for Sportsmen*— 
' A lubricant and preservative; for fishing rods and reds; 
for ^unlocks and barrels; for row, sail and motor boats. 
Booklets “Graphite Afloat and Afield*’ and “Dixoo’s 
Motor Graphite” free on request, 
JOSEPH DIXON CRUCIBLE CO.. • Jersey <»!. S. J. 
Uncle Lisha^s Shop. 
Gife in a Cornar of Yankeeland. By Rowland E. 
Robinson. Cloth. 187 pages. Price, $1.25. 
The shop itself, the place of business of Uncle Lisha 
Peggs, bootmaker and repairer, was a sort of sportsman’s 
exchange, where, as one of the fraternity expressed it, 
the hunters and fishermen of the widely scattered neigh¬ 
borhood used to meet of evenings and dull outdoor days 
‘‘to swap lies.” 
FOREST AND STREAM PUBLISHING CO. 
Bolt 
Simplest lock on earth—no cocking levers, bars or push rods— 
cocks direct from toe of hammer; coil main spring works direct 
on hammer—not around a corner—hammer falls 1-2 inch com¬ 
pared with 1 inch in other guns, making a very fast lock, that 
works like oil, with a quick, clean, sharp, snappy pull. 
Catalog FREE—18 grades, $17.75 net to $300 list. Remember we 
make dainty little 20-gauge guns. 
ITHACA GUN CO, 
Ithaca, N. Y, 
his grip on the saddle, nor his firm hold on the 
reins. After a terrible battle the horse gave in, 
and as Jim dismounted, the beaten animal sank 
exhausted on the ground. 
Then it was the hands on Barraba station 
realized that the small man had proved himself 
a bigger man than any of them, and, like the 
good fellows they were, recognized Jim Brody’s 
pluck and skill at once. Henry Mace shook 
Jim heartily by the hand and asked him where 
he learnt to ride. 
“I’ve been riding horses all my life,” said 
Jim, “in America and Australia, but that’s the 
toughest one I ever tackled, and he’s not beaten 
yet—don’t make any mistake about that.” 
Jim Brody was right. The next day the horse 
allowed one of the men to mount him, but no 
sooner did he feel the burden on his back than 
he bounded into the air, came down rocking- 
horse style, and shot his rider over the fence 
into the adjoining paddock. Not a man on 
Barraba station could sit the horse. They tried 
each in turn and came to grief. 
Strange to say, when Jim Brody mounted, the 
horse showed no disposition to try and renew 
the battle of the day before. The small man 
had conquered, and Brody’s buckjumper, as he 
was at once called, was handed over to his 
new master.—Nat Gould in the Sporting and 
Dramatic News. 
A FAWN’S TRUST. 
A YOUNG boy with a pet fawn trotting be¬ 
hind him attracted attention on a recent after¬ 
noon on the White House road in Portland. 
The little creature was perfectly tame, and on 
the approach of a team would timidly run to 
the boy’s side as though seeking protection. To 
a well known insurance man, who was on the 
road driving with his wife, the lad told the 
story of his acquisition of the fawn. 
Some weeks ago the boy was fishing on the 
Tualatin River. Fish were plentiful, and, en¬ 
grossed in the sport, the lad kept his eyes on 
the ripple, taking no cognizance of what was 
going on behind him. A bleating sound from 
the bank above him he paid no attention to, 
thinking it was some stray lamb. The bleating 
was repeated a number of times, but the boy 
was fishing and the trout were rising freely. 
Then came a patter of tiny hoofs down the river 
bank, and a little cold nose was pushed in his 
hand. Looking down, the boy found the fawn 
standing beside him, apparently without fear, 
the pleading look in its big brown eyes asking 
help. Its neck and one side of the head was 
covered with blood, still wet, its limbs barely 
supporting the frail body. 
The boy’s first thought was that the waif had 
been wounded, and in attempting to reach water 
had come out on the river bank at the point 
where he was fishing, and through sheer weak¬ 
ness being unable to go further, had tumbled 
down to the stream, landing by his side. Pick¬ 
ing the little thing up in his arms, the lad waded 
out on the ripple, and, washing the blood from 
the fawn’s neck, found it uninjured. 
Some pot-hunter had shot the mother doe, 
and with her dying strength she had plunged 
back through the timber to reach the baby deer, 
born but a few days before. The fawn had evi¬ 
dently become alarmed and started to find the 
buck, its one point of location being the runway 
at the river where, during its few days of life, 
the two had nightly come to drink. 
The boy, who gave his name as Frank Harri¬ 
son, took the fawn to his home, where there 
was a baby brother and a nursing bottle, and 
together Mrs. Harrison is bringing up her own 
baby and the orphaned deer. It was less than 
an hour before the fawn had accustomed itself 
to the new surroundings and was perfectly at 
home. It at once attached itself to_ the boy, 
Frank, seeming to look on the lad as its natural 
protector, and now wherever the lad goes the 
fawn follows.—Portland Telegram. 
The Forest and Stream may be obtained from any 
newsdealer on order. Ask your dealer to supply you 
regularly. 
