450 
FOREST AND STREAM 
[Sept. 17, 1910. 
snow as fast as it falls. Here we rested and ate 
a lunch, while the ceaseless chug-chug-plunk- 
plunk of the agitated mud in the geyser fell 
monotonously on our ears. 
From this point to the lake station we followed 
close to the Yellowstone River. Great numbers 
of ducks and geese were swimming about or 
standing on sand bars along the shore. The 
river became wider and more sluggish as we 
neared the outlet. Although this was the 8th 
day of May, the lake was still covered with ice 
two feet thick. 
Our destination from the lake station was a 
small cabin on Astringent Creek, a tributary of 
Pelican Creek. Some provisions had been placed 
in this cabin the previous fall—flour, bacon and 
coffee—but as we did not know how long we 
would have to remain there we decided to take 
more with us, as we now had the means of trans¬ 
portation. These additional supplies we pur¬ 
chased at the Lake Hotel, packed all our para¬ 
phernalia on the toboggan and had everything 
ready for an early start the following morning. 
Before daylight on the morning of the 9th we 
pulled out for the buffalo country, taking with 
us Private John Minor from the lake station. 
Just after crossing the bridge which spans the 
Yellowstone on the Cody road, the lead dog 
turned sharply to the left and began to give 
tongue. The other two took up the music and 
off they went at full speed on some trail in¬ 
visible to us, the toboggan dashing from side to 
side. When the lead dog missed the trail and 
stopped to pick it up, he compelled the others to 
stop also, and the toboggan banging into the 
rear dog, he joined his yells of pain to the 
triumphant, happy baying of the other two. It 
all happened so suddenly that it took us com¬ 
pletely by surprise. Fearing that we would lose 
our supplies, dogs and all, we started after them, 
yelling at the top of our voices. They were on 
level ground and we could not catch them. Our 
only hope was that the toboggan would catch on 
something, and fortunately this happened. It 
swung into the stump of a dead tree, caught and 
held fast. After trying vainly to get loose the 
dogs evidently blamed each other for being held 
back and they tangled up in a vicious fight that 
made the fur fly while it lasted. We soon 
straightened the mess out and continued on our 
way, but we had lost some of our confidence in 
the dogs, and for the rest of the journey watched 
them with suspicion. When one of them put his 
nose to the snow and began working his tail, one 
of us would quickly get into position where he 
could stop him with a snowshoe pole. 
THE TOP RAIL. 
Somewhere in Chinatown, I fancy, there is an 
elderly Texan, poking into dingy shops in search 
of the last thing in the world one would imagine 
that a Texan would be looking for. Some one 
referred him to me, perhaps in a spirit of jest; 
perhaps for the same reason that I suggested 
Mott street, though I fancy my advice may not 
have led him astray after all, and that, despite 
the oddity of his quest, he may have found what 
he wanted. 
“The gentleman wants to know where he can 
get a bullet-proof vest,” said the boy in deliver¬ 
ing the caller’s card, and I pictured a wild-eyed, 
bushy-bearded individual and berated myself for 
not having gone fishing that day. But the caller 
smiled broadly as he explained his mission, show¬ 
ing that he, too, appreciated such humor as might 
be extracted from it; indeed, his broad, jolly 
face denoted good nature and mirth, though the 
big, round spectacles over which he looked at me 
suggested the elderly judge, while his accent was 
of Texas. 
Twenty years ago, if a man had asked a shop¬ 
keeper for an aeroplane, he would not have been 
regarded with greater suspicion than the seeker 
for bullet-proof vests to-day, and my caller knew 
this full well; but I held my peace, knowing it 
is not wise to jump to conclusions. Shorn of our 
roundabout wanderings into fishing and shooting, 
of which he said he was very fond, and had had 
his share fidown home,” the elderly Texan’s 
story amounted^o this—and it is not without in¬ 
terest, as showing one phase of life in our many- 
sided country: 
The judge has a close friend who is one of the 
rangers assigned to duty on the International 
Boundary, where Mexican smugglers hold human 
life cheap, especially if it stands between them 
and their desire to skip across the Rio Grande 
with their hands full of merchandise on which 
Porfirio Diaz, or Uncle Sam, as the case may be, 
insists on levying toll. So they hide in the sage 
brush, and if the rangers disturb their sensitive 
nervous systems too much, but do not see them, 
they have an unpleasant fashion of waiting until 
a favorable opportunity presents, then shoot the 
ranger in the back. 
No Texas ranger has cause to fear them if they 
will stand up squarely on their hind legs, as they 
say down there, and face him, but this is not their 
way; and as they know of the efficiency of metal- 
jacketed .30 and .38-55 bullets at 200 or 300 yards, 
they hold the key to the situation. Hence the 
bullet-proof vest. The judge’s friend has a pre¬ 
sentiment that the smugglers will get him yet, 
and there is reason in it, for they shot another 
ranger in the back—while the two were riding 
along the boundary together. 
“This friend of mine,” said the judge, “when 
he heard I was coming East, said, ‘Judge, when 
you get down to Noo York, I wish you would 
look ’round an’ see if you kaint find one of them 
thar bullet-proof vests. I shore would like to 
have one.’ So I promised him that I would.” 
He knew that the ancient shirts of chain mail, 
and the plate armor of knighthood’s days, were 
effective against modern bullets at long range, 
with a deflecting effect for all bullets save those 
striking squarely, but he could understand, what 
those who had worn them had told him, that 
both were hot for summer wear in Texas. And 
he had heard that the Chinese sometimes made a 
garment from many thicknesses of various 
fabrics, quilted, that would in a way protect its 
wearer from bullets. So he said he would call 
on the Chinese Consul and the Chinese Mer¬ 
chants’ Association, and see what could be done 
to insure the welfare of a member of that body 
of noble men, the Texas rangers. 
A press dispatch from Niagara Falls, if true, 
proves two things: that not all of the large 
sturgeon have been converted into steaks and 
caviar, and that a heretofore unknown danger is 
added to those surrounding persons who ply the 
waters above the falls. 
A sturgeon weighing 150 pounds nearly sent a party 
of three in a motor boat over the falls late last night. 
Opposite La Salle, two miles above the falls, the fish 
leaped for the searchlight in the bow, missed it, struck 
and seriously injured <Jliss Nellie Johnson, of this city, 
and then, thrashing about in the boat, disabled the 
engine. The sturgeon, which measured 6 feet 8 inches, 
was finally subdued with oars wielded by Frank Mens- 
dale, of this city, and Sebastian Smith, of La Salle, the 
other occupants. Meanwhile the boat was being swept 
rapidly toward the cataract. George Allen, hearing cries 
of distress, hurried out in a launch and towed the party 
ashore. 
Sometimes a fish is an inconvenient occupant 
of a boat. A large alligator gar gave me an 
uncomfortable quarter-hour at one time. With 
a companion I was paddling and pushing a canoe 
up a short, rough rapid when I touched the gar 
with the paddle as he lay among some weeds. 
He jumped out of water and landed in the canoe, 
and in thrashing about entangled his teeth in 
the string of the only pouch of tobacco we pos¬ 
sessed. To stop just then was out of the ques¬ 
tion, and until the head of the rapid was gained 
I was in a predicament. The gar’s spines had 
already lacerated my right arm slightly as he 
came aboard; in jumping about he pricked my 
bare feet and ankles, and if he had jumped over¬ 
board with the tobacco, our loss would have 
been severe, as we were away back in the woods. 
To subdue him was not an easy matter. The 
precious smoke material was saved eventually, 
but every spine-prick was swollen and painful 
for days afterward. 
In an inquest in Cleveland, in an attempt to 
ascertain what sort of a weapon was used, the 
fatal bullet was weighed. It balanced the scales 
at 115 grains. An “ammunition expert,” on be¬ 
ing called, testified as follows: 
There are only two 115-grain bullets made. One is the 
.32-caliber Winchester rifle bullet, made and sold in 
this country; the other is a .44-caliber Russian gallery 
bullet, made in Russia and sold in this country. 
As every target shooter knows, the .44 caliber 
Russian model cartridge was originally designed 
for use in revolvers made by a Springfield, 
Mass., firm for the Russian Government. The 
cartridge proved very accurate, both in full and 
reduced charges, and this induced the firm to 
make a target revolver for this cartridge. Other 
firms adopted the cartridge, and French gun¬ 
smiths have made duelling and target pistols to 
take it, but the cartridges are made in the United 
States. The powder charge weighs 26 grains and 
the bullet 246 grains. Our manufacturers and 
target shooters and the Frenchmen, too, load the 
primed shells with a tiny charge of black or 
smokeless powder weighing (or equal to) about 
six grains, and a spherical bullet of 115 grains. 
This is an extremely accurate load for short 
range target practice, and an old favorite. The 
Russian model revolver and cartridge are essen¬ 
tially American inventions, and we should be 
proud of them. The best revolver shot in the 
British Kingdom is Walter Winans, an Ameri¬ 
can, and with the Russian model cartridge in 
American revolvers he has defeated all comers 
for years. 
As to regular cartridges of .32 caliber, there 
