the “Movies” 
s—Solid Breech, Hammeriess, Safe—the 
Repeating Rifles—Solid Breech, Hammeriess, Safe—the 
Steei Lined Speed Shells "Arrow" and Nitro Club and 
the dependable Red Ball Metallic Cartridges for Rifles, 
Pistols and Revolvers. 
The Cubs are a little proud just now—though they 
expected it—at the news that the Grand Prize at the 
Panama-Pacific Exposition went to Remington-tTMC 
"For MODERN Firearms and Ammunition." 
Probably there are no more popular or better known 
visitors to the pages of the sporting magazines than 
the Remington Cubs. Now the millions are to see these 
clever animals in moving pictures. (See story elsewhere 
in this issue.) 
Watch for the Cubs when they come to your town or 
neighborhood theatre. 
In the magazines the Cubs demonstrate and emphasize 
the good points of Remington-UMC Autoloading and 
S IGNS have already appeared—signs of the hunting 
season, which is near at hand. Signs of a good 
season, too. . 
Over the hills and mountains, at about this time of 
year, hovers a sort of mist, visible only to the sons 
of Nimrod. It is not inert, but strangely beckons. By 
those who have the eyes to see and the gift and grace 
of understanding it is called "the spirit of hunting." 
If you would smile at this fancy, remember the story 
that is told of Whistler, the artist. A tourist stood 
beside the famous painter in a country of lakes and 
mountains. One was seeing the same sunset that the 
other was only looking at. 
"I don’t see anything in a sunset,” complained the 
tourist. 
“But don't you wish you could?” said Whistler. 
The spirit of hunting, perhaps, will some day be 
embodied in marble—the masterpiece of a Borglum. 
Now is the hunter’s time of anticipation. It is the 
time when the office-caged man has hallucinations even 
in business hours. He looks out of the window and 
sees a herd of mountain sheep feeding in their sky 
pastures. His ear catches the far drumming of a part¬ 
ridge. He knows of a happy hunting-ground that he 
could reach by train. A railroad timetable, bearing 
evidence of much use, is locked in a drawer of his 
desk, and with it lies a copy of the game laws. 
The boss is similarly affected, so he doesn’t notice 
that anything is the matter. Go home w th either man 
and you find that some room in the house looks like a 
sporting-goods store, and all through dinner you know 
that he is thinking of a camp menu of grouse, trout 
and venison. Finally, after all the necessary Small¬ 
talk, he discovers that you belong to the hunting fra¬ 
ternity. That settles it. Big-talk, then, for the rest of 
the evening, and nothing else. After dinner your host 
makes you examine his Remington, aim it and look 
through the shining barrel; he proudly calls your at¬ 
tention to the antlers on the wall (though you had seen 
them before) and tells you the whole story; and when 
it has grown late he urges you to stay overnight, 
apologizing for the bed he offers you by saying he 
wishes it were a bed of balsam boughs. 
Your true hunter reckons not the hardships of the 
tra 1. He welcomes them. They increase his joy. Even 
disappointments have a certain fascination. He tells 
you with great gusto of the deer he didn t kill, and 
includes the incident in the story he sends to his 
favorite outdoor magazine. Just notice the conclusion 
of the follow ng paragraph, taken from an account of a 
"While putting the dogs into the brush at the bottom 
of a gulch, something attracted my attention up the 
mountain side on the rocks. I looked up and beheld a 
fine little brown bear gazing down upon us. I threw 
my gun to my shoulder and fired but an instant late, 
for just as I pulled the trigger he dropped out of sight 
behind the rocks. The dogs saw him. however, and tte 
chase was on. The Rancher got in several shots, but 
with no effect. Down the mountain we ran, dogs and 
bear in the lead, everybody yelling to encourage the 
dogs and in the hope of scaring the bear up a tree. 
Breathless and weary, we finally got to the dogs, who 
were lying down under a tree, ‘all in and no bear in 
sight His pace had been too hot for our unhardened 
pups and he had escaped.” (Now hear the conclusion 
of the matter.) "It was the Rancher’s first bear and 
he was much disappointed not to get him. We were all 
agreed that it was the best sport that we had had in a 
long time, hence were pretty well satisfied.” 
It was “the Rancher’s first bear,” even though it es¬ 
caped. There spoke the true hunter. And by the way, 
that party did not finish their trip empty-handed—not 
in a country that abounded in bears, mountain sheep, 
mountain goats cougar and deer, as well as the smaller 
game, like pheasants and rabbits, which any townsman 
or farmer can find near home. 
A hunter is as old as he feels, and judged by that 
standard he has the advantage of old Ponce de Leon, 
who searched long and vainly for the Fountain of 
Youth. Though the gift of the trails and tramps and 
campfires is physical health and strength, one always 
comes back with a sense that somehow an even richer 
legacy has been bestowed. 
Write to us for a Grand Prize Folder, in two colors, telling the whole story. 
Remington Arms-Union Metallic Cartridge Co. New York d CUy 
When the Hunting 
Spirit is in the Air 
