FOREST AND STREAM 
923 
Forest and Stream is an Honorary Member of the Interstate Association for the Promotion of Trapshooting. 
Is Shot Always Shot ? 
D O you know the shot that goes into your shells? If you 
use Remington UMC factory-loaded shells—as most 
prominent sportsmen do—you are assured of absolutely 
uniform shot. 
Prove the superiority of Remington UMC shot for yourself. 
Cut open a Remington UMC shell and you will find that every 
shot pellet is of the same size. This uniformity means a closer 
pattern and greater penetration—the load sticks together. 
The Remington UMC ten-story tower at Bridgeport, Conn., 
is equipped with the most modern devices to turn out shot of 
the highest quality. From the expert mixing of the metal 
down through the various stages of manufacture, the whole 
process is under scientific supervision. It is largely in the 
grading of shot sizes that the superiority of Remington UMC 
lies since the grading determines the uniformity of the 
product. 
You will find standard combinations of loads and sizes 
in Remington-UMC at your dealer’s. Look for the 
Red Ball Sign and ask for the Red Ball Brand. 
The Remington Arms Union 
Metallic Cartridge Co. 
Woolworth Bldg. New York 
Goings-on at the Uncle Lisha Gun Club 
By Fred O. Copeland. 
T HERE was keen rivalry at the Uncle Lisha 
Gun Club. It had got into the air till 
everyone eyed everyone else, mutually 
wondering what was up the other’s sleeve. Only 
last shoot, Obadiah Durkee had the nerve to 
sneak his old lever action ten gauge onto the 
grounds along with his twelve and had bragged 
how close his twelve could shoot till Hen Ma- 
goon began missing his targets regularly and 
turning around right in the squad announced 
that, “maybe I can’t hit clay birds, but my gun 
don’t have to step down for nobody’s when it 
comes to long shots.” 
The Uncle Lisha Gun Club never allowed regu¬ 
lar exercises to interfere with a live sporting 
proposition and every dove, crow and hawk in 
the county knew it was rank suicide to allow 
their shadows to mottle the range on a regular 
shooting day. Rabbits sat tight with one ear 
to the ground, except when, as usually hap¬ 
pened, Ed Hemmenway’s beagle hound answered 
the first shot out of the first gun with a paen of 
delight and, with a rattling of toenails on the 
piazza floor, hastened, with a thoughtful scowl 
to the side hill bordering the range there, to 
cause one of these anxious old bunnies to jerk 
his shadow from one brush heap to another. 
Many a man had opened his mouth to call “Pull” 
only to leave it open with his Adam’s apple 
jammed as he witnessed the old rabbit dash 
madly out of a hot corner. It was following 
precedent, therefore, for all hands to suspend 
operations while Obadiah and Hen shook them¬ 
selves in for a long shot and a close one. It 
had always been a hard strain on the brother 
members to keep straight faces through the in¬ 
troduction when something extra fine was being 
played, but nearly all got safely over the bar by 
holding firmly to a deep, thoughtful frown re¬ 
lieved by frequent trips to the rear of the club 
house to ease the ache in their faces in a quiet 
chuckle. 
While the two actors in this event were paw¬ 
ing over their equipment till they could locate 
a certain deadly shell with plenty of fine shot, 
Sam McCrillis had got his eye on Eli Lovell and 
moved over into the grateful shade of his 
shadow, hailing him as he did so: 
“How be ye, Eli?” 
“Oh, I set up some most every day now but 
I don’t notice things much yet,” answered the 
small mountain of perfect health and good na¬ 
ture. 
“But, how are they coming with you Sam? I 
ha’n’t seen ye lately.” 
“Mostly two spots,” replied Sam, glad of the 
chance to work in this popular answer to the 
usual query of “How are they coming?” 
“Look-a-here, Eli, what do you think of this 
shooting match between Hen and Obadiah? I 
don’t believe Hen’s what he was before he had 
his nervous breakdown.” 
“What breakdown ’s ’at?” anxiously inquired 
Eli, for his scores ran pretty close to Hen’s. 
“Ha’n’t Hen ever told ye?” Same expectantly 
asked. “Well, it’s like this: When Hen moved 
up on the Battle place last fall, old Battles told 
him to keep an eye open for his old tom-cat, as 
he set an awful store by the critter, and if he 
see him, to catch him, and he’d come up and 
take the cat down to his new place and hobble 
it around the place till it got used to the air and 
generally wonted. About dusk, two weeks after¬ 
ward, Hen was monkeying around the barn when 
