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SHOTS OR SHOE-MAKERS ? 
By CAPTAIN ROY S. TINNEY 
T HERE seems to be a general impres¬ 
sion, even among sportsmen, that if 
a soldier knows enough to cram a clip of 
cartridges into his rifle and spatter his 
bullets over the adjacent landscape every 
time a Hun shows his head, there is no 
need of expert riflemen in the front line 
trenches. During the past year our meth¬ 
ods of training the army how to shoot 
have been either pitifully inadequate or con¬ 
spicuously absent due entirely to the lack 
of competent and experienced instructors, 
and a fool notion that this war is fought 
with bombs and bayonets, a policy that 
stands out in striking contrast to the shoot¬ 
ing gospd of Canada and England. 
“Urge the War Department to let every¬ 
thing else slide if necessary and train the 
men to shoot,” is the advice given by a 
wounded Canadian officer, an old Palma 
Match man now in charge of a school of 
snipers up in the Dominion. 
“‘Is he a shot or a shoemaker?’ is the 
first question we ask after a man has been 
put through his first instructional course; 
for you know there is a vast difference 
between the man who merely knows how 
to shoot—‘shoemakers,’ we call them—and 
the man who can place his shots. There’s 
no room for ‘shoemakers’ Over There. 
There’s all the room in the world for shots, 
and God knows what would have happened 
to England and the Dominion if it hadn’t 
been for the rifle clubs with their mem¬ 
bers, many thousands of whom needed but 
very little coaching to turn them into first- 
class instructors. 
“Why, every regiment of British and 
Canadian troops Over There prides itself 
upon its snipers. Nobody will gainsay that 
the machine gun is playing a mighty big 
part in this war. But there are at least 
two things that can put a machine gun 
crew out of business. One is artillery 
fire. The other is—snipers. And to be a 
sniper, a man must be able to place his 
shots. 
“There was one mighty interesting char¬ 
acter with our outfit. He was an old 
mountaineer, and I suppose that he was all 
of 65 years old; but he was a splendid 
specimen, and passed for a whole lot 
younger, principally because he was a wiz¬ 
ard with the rifle. 
“Out in the trenches, after a particularly 
disastrous session with the Hun snipers, 
they would cadi the old veteran. 
“ ‘Pretty bad,’ an officer would say to 
him. 'Two lieutenants and four sergeants 
gone today!’ 
“‘Too bad,’ the old fellow would agree, 
dive into his dugout, reappear with his rifle 
and go off down the trench. When he 
found a favorable opportunity he would 
put the butt of his rifle between his feet, 
clasp the barrel to his breast with his 
hands, and roll over the top, out into 
No Man’s Land. Hours later he would 
come back, stalk to his dugout and squat 
there making a notch in the butt of his 
weapon. 
“Two of his rifles are in a London 
Museum now. One has 76 notches on it 
and the other 126. 
“The strange part of the old fellow’s 
philosophy and sportmanship was that he 
would take only one shot at a Hun. If 
he didn’t get the enemy sniper on the 
first shot, he never tried a second! But 
there are authentic records of his having 
gotten nearly 200 Huns on the first shot. 
“And it’s shots like this old fellow we 
need Over There. With the members of 
rifle clubs to draw from—if they’re shots 
and not shoemakers—there shouldn’t be any 
trouble in sending over the finest riflemen 
in the world. Canada will help, if the 
government wants us.” 
Now you know why the Marines make 
history every time they go into action— 
they are shots, not shoemakers—and each 
man proceeds to effect a material reduc¬ 
tion in the enemy’s forces. It is both 
possible and practical to so train our men 
that each doughboy can be relied upon 
to put a squad of Germans out of action. 
Send General Pershing a million such 
fighters and aid hell and the Kaiser can’t 
keep them out of Berlin. 
SHOOTING AT A MARK 
HILE on the rifle range the other 
afternoon a man, reputed to be a 
big game hunter, strolled in to give us the 
“once over” and I am free to confess that 
his superior and patronizing manner was 
extremely irritating. After carefully ex¬ 
plaining our method of operation and in¬ 
struction, I led him to the gun rack and 
suggested he select a rifle and try out our' 
new “Battle Target.” 
“No, thank you,” he replied contemptu¬ 
ously, “I never use a rifle as a paper punch' 
—I am not a street car conductor.” 
“Can’t you shoot?” I inquired. 
“I certainly can,” he barked, “but I never 
stoop to shooting at a mark! I am a big 
game hunter.” 
That was the straw that broke the cam¬ 
el’s back. 
“Pardon the correction,” I remarked,; 
“but judging from your recent expressions, 
you appear to be a big bull thrower. Per¬ 
sonally I do not believe you ever killed 
anything larger than a chipmunk and lack 
the nerve and skill to face a man-eating 
woodchuck.” And noting that I had his 
goat by both horns I kept on. “I ma) 
be doing you an injustice, and in that, 
event you are at liberty to step to the 
firing line and make good. Either do that 
or leave the range. We are training meri 
to take part in the biggest hunt in all his 
tory—the man hunt ‘over there’—and we 
will not tolerate .sneering remarks from ar 
