and Wesson revolver. I shot a spike 
horn buck myself at seventy yards with 
a .38 military model automatic Colt 
loaded with a soft-nose bullet. Hit him 
back of the fore leg, the bullet ranged 
back, and stopped under the skin on 
the other side. He ran about seventy- 
five feet. 
DON’T believe in shooting at big 
game with pistols, nor do I believe 
in using anything but most effective 
guns, but I had the pistol and I needed 
the buck. 
To shift the discussion from very 
small bores to very big, what is the 
matter with a round ball or buckshot? 
In the fall of ’21 two friends and my- 
self were hunting partridge. We drove 
an old horse named Jerry, hired from 
the janitor for two dollars, out the 
Barney Breen road for some six miles. 
Turner (mentioned above) uses a 16- 
gauge Parker; Claridge, who is with 
me in the Forestry Department, shoots 
a 12-gauge Parker, and my favorite is 
a 12-gauge Fox. Although we were 
after birds, everyone had a bullet or 
two stowed in his vest and there were 
a couple of butcher knives in the outfit. 
It was lucky that we took the horse, 
for we got three deer. I would enjoy 
giving the details but this isn’t a deer 
yarn, except that I use them for ex- 
amples. Two were killed with ball 
cartridges, the third with a charge of 
buckshot. Only three shots were fired 
and all three deer wilted where they 
stood. Our bird shooting was some- 
what of a fizzle. I think we got five 
partridges and a woodcock, which is 
pretty bad for New Bruswick where the 
birds sit under the viburnum bushes 
and cluck as you walk by. 
the day lugging deer to the buggy and 
Jerry spent the evening lugging them 
home. 
Y HILE discussing ball cartridge, it 
would be well to cite an experi- 
ence of .a friend of mine, Mr. R. P. 
Gorham, of the Dominion Entomologi- 
cal Branch, who is now stationed at 
Annapolis Royal, Nova Scotia. He and 
a friend named Jefferson went hunting 
moose over Armistice Day (Canadian 
Thanksgiving Day) on the headwaters 
of the Liverpool River in Nova Scotia. 
Three other friends were in the same 
party. They trumped up the trip rather 
hastily. Jefferson didn’t have a rifle, 
so Gorham loaned him his .38-55 high 
power and took for himself (please 
don’t smile) an old ten-gauge repeating 
Winchester loaded with balls. A ten- 
gauge ball weighs about 630 grains and 
should hit a knockdown blow. But it 
is none too strong, as we shall presently 
see. I will quote verbatim from a let- 
ter from Mr. Gorham. 
We spent _ 
“We hunted two days and saw noth- 
ing but cows. On Thanksgiving Day 
we located a bull lying down behind 
two spruce trees. The trees were about 
six inches apart and all we could see 
was a horn moving occasionally, an 
ear and an eye, and a small part of the 
rump. We watched it for two or three 
minutes to be sure it was really a bull, 
and puzzled how to get in a body shot. 
Jefferson was afraid that if he missed 
and hit one of the trees, the moose 
would get away in the thick growth be- 
fore we could get a body shot. He de- 
cided to risk the shot, while I was to 
be ready when the bull got up. He 
-made a true shot and hit the bull be- 
tween the eyes. But instead of pene- 
trating, the rifle bullet went all to pieces 
against the bone and we found it later 
in the skin, with the bone slightly 
cracked where it struck. The bull 
jumped up and turned away from us. 
I gave him a shot from the 10-gauge, 
the ball entering the rump and going 
through him lengthwise, through the 
lungs, and tearing the side out of the 
windpipe. We found it under the skin 
by the left ear. The bull flopped over 
a bush and out of sight. 
“* TUST then we had a diversion in the 
form of a huge cow and a yearling 
which came straight for us at express 
speed. The cow nearly ran Jefferson 
down. He punched her in the side with 
the muzzle of his rifle in getting out of 
the way. I had started to run for- 
ward and had gone about ten steps 
when I saw a big bull come out from 
behind a bush, facing me. He was on 
higher ground and about fifty paces 
distant. I aimed for the breast and 
let him have it. The ball ranged up- 
ward and smashed the spine to pulp, 
going out just back of the withers, 
leaving a hole I could put my fist 
through. The bull died then and there. 
Just dropped and never kicked. We 
supposed it was the one we had shot 
at first and both Jefferson and I walked 
up to look him over, when we saw an- 
other bull getting up about ten paces 
away. Jefferson gave him one shot 
behind the ear and another in the neck, 
but as he still kept going, I let him 
have a ball through the shoulder. It 
took the top of his heart, tore up his 
lungs, and lodged against the skin on 
the other side. He dropped as dead 
as the first one, and we had our two 
bulls just seventeen paces apart. It 
was exciting for about four minutes 
and then the work began, for we were 
seven miles from camp and eleven from 
the nearest settlement.” 
I might add that they had a hectic 
time getting the meat out. The canoe 
froze in, they lugged meat until their 
backbones got about three _ inches 
shorter, but finally got the whole works 
out to where a road could be swamped 
for an ox team. 
I MIGHT add, further, that any ani- 
mal that can still live and travel, hit 
with three .38-55 bullets and with a 
ten-gauge ball lengthwise through him, 
shows a vitality that often means lost 
game when hunting on bare ground. 
Another good example of lead carry- 
ing occurred a few years ago at a stop 
called Upper Keswick on the Gibson 
branch of the C. P. R. This was told 
to me by Mr. Barton, the section fore- 
man at Upper Keswick. I know Mr. 
Barton well and can vouch for it being 
correct. One Saturday when Mr. Bar- 
ton’s son was about fourteen, a freight 
train stopped for water and the con- 
ductor asked young Barton if his father 
was home. He was not, so the con- 
ductor told the boy there was a moose 
about a quarter of a mile down the 
track and he had better go down and 
shoot him. The youngster had never 
shot any big meat, but he could shoot, 
so he took his father’s .33 Winchester 
and the remains of a box of cartridges 
(fourteen, to be exact) and headed for 
the rendezvous of the bull. The moose 
was still there, so the boy took up a 
strategic position and opened fire. His 
position was almost too good, for, ap- 
parently, he was somewhat in the path 
of the bull’s intended retreat. At any 
rate, the moose headed his way; he fell 
back in good order and continued to 
fire. In the course of a few minutes 
he shot up thirteen rounds, and hit the 
moose practically every shot. His 
father got home shortly after the boy 
left and headed for the battle. He got 
there just as the moose went down, at 
the thirteenth shot. 
ME: BARTON said that the moose 
was still alive but went down be- 
cause his legs were shot from under 
him. He told me, first, that all four 
legs. were broken but modified it later 
to the effect that before the boy fired 
the last shot, one of the animal’s legs 
was broken and the last shot broke 
two more. He obviously couldn’t stand 
on one leg any more than on none. Of 
course the shots were not centered very 
well, but the moose was hit at least 
ten times, half of the meat was spoiled, 
and the animal was still in condition 
to travel if he had had any legs left 
to travel on. 
In the fall of 1916 a couple of other 
moose came to my notice that carried 
a lot of lead. That season I spent over 
a month on the Triton Club reserve up 
on the Quebec and Lake St. John Rail- 
road. I was not in at the death of 
either but heard the shooting. One was 
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