Two With One Shot 
DEAR FOREST AND STREAM: 
ROME years ago, Bill Bowyer, a high 
school boy, and I found ourselves 
in mid-afternoon of an early autumn 
day in the woods north of Kings Mills, 
Warren County, Ohio. We had been 
hunting squirrels since early morning 
south and east of town, but about noon 
we worked around to the northern 
slopes where we suspected squirrels 
were more plentiful, though we had had 
fairly good luck having killed four 
apiece. On entering this woods, I had 
the good fortune to kill one almost at 
once. This put Bill on nettles, and at 
once he veered off to one side and began 
a desperate hunt for sight or sound 
that would reveal the whereabouts of 
the next victim that the count might 
again be equal. Soon the crack of his 
gun and the whir of shot overhead told 
me that he had succeeded. However, I 
had tramped enough and had all I 
craved and was content to take it easy. 
Consequently I moved a few rods to the 
left and lazily dropped down on a moss 
covered log and was pleased to let Bill 
do the serious work. 
Now, the fact that this inviting seat 
lay within easy gunshot of 3 or 4 oak 
trees pleased me because I could watch 
and rest at the same time. 
The curious thing about the whole 
business was as I sat on my log there 
ran through my mind the accounts— 
two or three—of persons killing two 
squirrels at one shot and I said to my- 
self that that piece of fortune would 
probably never be mine, that I would 
never have such a streak of luck. 
Bill-was in the woods just above me 
stalking a squirrel on my trees, but I 
was not aware of his presence, nor 
that of the squirrel. 
Presently I glanced up to the upper 
boughs and saw a gray squirrel sliding 
out a limb within nice distance for a 
kill. I looked over the barrel and pulled 
the trigger and my _ squirrel came 
tumbling to the ground. Just as my 
eye followed the limp squirrel to the 
ground, there appeared the flash of an- 
other falling body and I noted a second 
crash. “Some shot,” says I. “Killed 
a squirrel and brought down, to boot, a 
good sized limb.” Imagine my surprise 
on walking over to the place where the 
two objects had fallen, to find not a 
squirrel and a limb, but two fine gray 
squirrels doing their last kicks. 
Bill now came lumbering down to 
where I was and said, “I’ll say that’s 
some pig, killed two with one shot while 
I was hoping to get one before you 
would wake up.” 
J. A. Opry, 
South Charleston, Ohio. 
Page 479 

Correction 
DEAR FOREST AND STREAM: 
| Bs! one of your recent issues, you pub- 
lished an article signed “Ashokan,” 
giving me credit for catching a large 
brown trout in the Esopus Creek. 
The trout was caught by T. E. 
Spencer, of Shokan, N. Y., and is now 
on exhibition in one of the Sporting 
Goods stores in Ithaca, N. Y. 
Am sending you herewith a postal 
card showing both the trout and Mr. 
Spencer, and wish that you would give 
him credit for the catch in your next 
issue. 
Gro. F. TAYLor, 
Albany, N. Y. 
Who Tagged This Salmon? 
DEAR FOREST AND STREAM: 
ONE of my boatmen has handed me 
a small silvef tag which I beg to 
enclose for your inspection. This tag 
was taken from an adult salmon in 
June, 1923, close to Black Cape, which 
is a few miles to the east of the Grand 
Cascapedia River. The salmon was 
taken by one of the commercial net 
fishermen and the tag was so imbedded 
in the flesh that it was not discovered 
until the fish was cleaned. 
Some of your readers may be able 
to throw some light on the date and 
locality where the marking was done. 
Salmon fishing this year seems to be 
very good indeed. We have high water 
and lots of fish. My largest so far 
was a female of 43% pounds. 
GEORGE D. G. BONBRIGHT, 
Grand Cascapedia, P. Q. 
(The tag Mr. Bonbright sent for our 
inspection is about three-quarters of 
an inch in length, rectangular in shape 
with rounded ends. It is apparently 
made of German silver and bears the 
serial number A918. Should any of 
our readers be able to inform us con- 
cerning the origin of the tag, we shall 
appreciate their writing this office.— 
Editors.) 
The Plug that Came Home 
DEAR FOREST AND STREAM: 
T was about an hour after sunrise 
on one of Pennsylvania’s prettiest 
lakes. The morning mists were rising, 
leaving patches of water visible, allow- 
ing me to get a peep at some feeding 
ducks. The water was like glass, and 
it seemed a shame to push a boat 
through it, thus breaking up its mir- 
ror-like surface. 
I was after a bass, and, giving three 
pulls on the oars, the boat drifted to 
a little cove where there was a clear 
patch of water about the size of a 
room, all surrounded by lilies. 
When the boat slowed up at a dis- 
tance of about 75 feet, I sent a plug 
into that cove and had a strike but 
he missed it. Waiting about a minute, 
the plug landed again and was struck 
as it was reeled in. One “yank” on 
the casting rod and the line parted 
about 3 feet from the plug. 
It was a beautiful morning in Sep- 
tember and I lit a cigarette in order to 
console myself, for this plug was my 
“fish getter” and none other in the kit 
would keep the table supplied. 
All at once a bass jumped clear of 
the water about 10 feet from the boat 
and right where I could see him. Like 
a flash he went under and came up on 
the other side of the boat and was 
still carrying “my” plug. Well, I 
thought it was all off, but with a 
swirl here and one there, it was too 
exciting to leave that spot. 
Then all was quiet, and just as the 
