k&tiuiit U. OF L USSAZA-SrJtiSPAlSN 
872 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Nov. 27, 1909. 
EVERY AMATEUR. AVERAGE 
At the Mo. and Kansas League Tournament, Kansas City, Nov. 9-10, was won with 
SHELLS 
1st Amateur- 
2 nd 
3rd 
4th 
5th 
-Wm. Veach, 
W. He derson, 
-Harvey Dixon, - 
-F. Huston. 
-Dick Linderman, 
374 out of 400 
371 
358 
357 
357 
Peters Factory Loads make top-notch scores possible, even in the face of bad 
weather conditions, such as prevailed at the Kansas City shoot. 
You will be wise to use PETERS SHELLS in your field shooting this fall. They kill the game cleaner 
and get more of it than any others. If you want to use your trap gun for birds, try PETERS SPREADER 
LOADS. The only really successful and practical spreader shells on the market. 
THE PETERS CARTRIDGE COMPANY. CINCINNATI. OHIO 
York: 88 Chambers St T. H. KELLER, Manager 
San Francisco: 608-612 Howard Street. 
New Orleans: 321 Magazine St. J. W. OSBORNE, Manager 
J. S. FRENCH, Manager 
MISSED. 
One drizzling, gloomy afternoon some breath¬ 
less natives informed me that a tiger had just 
killed a cow in the rice fields nearby and was 
dragging it off to the jungle. I immediately 
collected my gun, says Trebor in the Asian, and 
went off to see what could be done. I found 
the place where the tragedy had been enacted, 
clearly indicated by the marks in the soft land 
and a well defined track led us to the dead cow. 
The tiger had dragged it a few yards into the 
forest jungle that bordered the rice fields on all 
sides. 
With the exception of a fringe round the 
margin of the woods all the undergrowth had 
been burnt away by a jungle fire, and the trunks 
of the trees rose clean and smooth all round 
me as I looked for a tree to climb. 
The tree at the foot of which the dead cow 
lay was about fifteen inches in diameter, and 
twenty feet above the ground there was a fork 
which looked more or less feasible as a perch. 
Up this one of the natives swarmed, and then 
letting down a long cloth in lieu of a rope he 
hauled up the guns. 
Then I shinned up the slippery trunk, arriv¬ 
ing at the fork perspiring and breathless and 
bark-begrimed. I had told the men that were 
with us to keep on talking until we got settled 
and then to clear off to the lines, talking as they 
went. 
All was quiet now for the gentle “pitter- 
patter” of the rain, and the twittering of birds 
in the tree tops. For an hour we watched. An 
hour of much discomfort as I had to stand 
first on one foot and then, when all feeling left 
that one, on the other, in the narrow cleft 
formed by the bifurcation of the tree-trunk. 
Discomfort was giving place to actual pain 
when I saw a steady movement, as if some 
large beast was pushing his way through in the 
tops of the ekor grass that reached nearly up 
to the tree I was on; all doubt as to what 
animal it was soon vanished as I caught 
glimpses of the striped back of a fine tiger. 
He did not come directly to the kill, but stalked 
majestically out into the open rice-khets to 
have a look round. 
This was the first tiger I had ever seen out¬ 
side a Zoo, and I was so excited that I wonder 
I did not fall off my perch. There he stood 
about thirty yards off absolutely unsuspicious 
of danger, but his lower parts and head were 
hidden from me by the tops of the grass and 
scrub jungle at the edge of the rice field. In¬ 
stead of waiting for him to come on up to the 
dead cow below me, when I should have had a 
certain shot at him at a distance of a few feet, 
I took aim at his back through the frings of 
jungle tops and fired! At the shot he gave a 
tremendous leap into the open and then 
bounded off toward a thicket of high reeds to 
the right. I gave him the second barrel as he 
charged through the soft wet bheel, but the 
bullet splashed up the water beneath his white 
belly, a palpable miss! 
I nearly wept and cursed myself roundly for 
my impatience. Of course the man with me 
said I had hit him, but I was certain I had not, 
as he made no sound, and he would, I was sure 
have given signs if he had been wounded. He 
was a magnificent beast, and it was a splendid 
sight to see him bounding across the open. 
IN CARRISO CREEK VALLEY. 
There is a California not illuminated in the 
booklets thrown broadcast by boards of trade 
to attract the homeseeker. A very real Cali¬ 
fornia, none the less—very real, very cruel, says 
the New York Sun. It is a California one 
learns to know at pain of life or dimly feels in 
the slow, brief speech of men who have fought 
and sometimes have won and other times have 
been beaten back in agony of defeat, who have 
fought against the dearth of all things. It is 
the Mojave Desert, arid, pitiless. 
In nearer parts of our various land a farmer 
sets forth from his homestead. His road is 
fringed with orchards and with fat acreage of 
growing crops. At the ford he lets his splash¬ 
ing horse drink his fill. Upon the road he 
meets his neighbors and passes time of day. 
He comes to the station, “deepo” is the form 
to him probably preferable, he gets his mail and 
his supplies;'then home. An uneventful little 
jaunt, no incident. Out in California farmer 
Kellogg sets out from his ranch, which is but 
the farm spelled otherwise. In the Carriso 
Creek country he rides between no acreage of 
tilth and growing orchard. The creek itself at 
this season of the year, booming bank high 
when the winter snows have melted on the 
mountains, is now a trickle of fine dust, drj 
powder, impalpable, the sport of the vagranl 
winds, the abode of the horned toad and the 
envenomed snake. Not a neighbor meets hirr 
on the way, a way all lonely. 
Alert to every sign that might break the 
drab monotone of his road, his eye notes the 
marks of wheels in lines uncertain but parallel 
Between the thin tracks the ground is pitted it 
lune depressions, already filling with the sane 
drift, the spots where hoofs of horses have 
bitten the yielding surface. An incident on the 
ranch. But in the valley of Carriso Creek rur 
dry an incident may prove tragedy. * Oui 
rancher follows the wayward track, errant intc 
peril. Nothing less would meet the duty of £ 
man on the lip of the ravening desert. He 
comes upon a camp wagon and a buggy, a horse 
drying before he dies, for he is dying the deatl 
of thirst. Hastening onward, he finds the foot 
marks of a man, three children, a woman 
Following the dry bed of a stream, wandering 
aimlessly without mark to guide them or know! 
edge of the country, the trail unfolds itsel 
away from the one spot where safety lies coulc 
they but find it. The account in our news con 
eludes: “The trail led to the country fron 
which few travelers return.” Mr. Kellogg fol 
lowed to the limit of the supply of water, whicl 
he had by him, and then had to return. Searcl 
parties were promptly equipped and have taker 
up the work of rescue, but there is little hope 
The fangs of the desert bite deep. 
This is in our own country. This in a Stati 
of unmatchable fertility. A Sahara upon whicl 
the drift of lazy winds carries the fragrance o 
the groves of orange and of almond. A crue 
corner of the land of undying summer. 
In the apparatus of comfort it is not easy fi 1 
picture in the mind the Mojave Desert. Then 
is the sun, everywhere the sun, even his owi 
shadow walking by the wanderer’s side shrivel 
and blisters in the toasting glare. The breezi 
drifts hot from the flanks of mountains, men 
heaps of pyramids of baking stone; it sweep: 
hot over ranges of sand, and the dance of th< 
dust whirls makes narrower still the nea 
horizon. Dust is everywhere; the lips crackins 
for a draught of water where none is, th< 
tongue like a thong of leather within a raw 
hide mouth, upon them the dust lies in heaps 
