t 
\4 
large enough hole to allow the arrow 
} shaft a free passage. 
: what a bow 
| shoots, and how cleanly it kills, I think 
| its uses. 
| indulge in either target shooting or 
, where 



Such an arrow 
from a fifty-two pound bow will 
| searcely pass through a small rabbit. 
Having gotten a general idea of 
is, how accurately it 
we might turn to a consideration of 
As with the rifle, one may 
hunting. 
Bow shooting at targets is a thrill- 
ing and scientific sport. The tar- 
get bow of yew and light target ar- 
rows respond wonderfully to your 
technique. Action is continuous, no 
foursome ahead. You may shoot any- 
that you 
eare to stand your 
target. 
When three, 
low-hissing ar- 
rows whip. one 
after the other in- 
to the nine-inch 
gold bull’s-eye at 
forty yards you 
eannot help think- 
ing of the chances 
you will have of 
hitting your buck 
in the shoulder at 
a similar distance 
next fall in the 
forest or moun-_ 
tains. 
Your chest mus- 
cles will learn the 
“trick” of draw- 
ing easily a bow 
you lately thought 
unbendable, and 
having shot at six weeks before. The 
type of bad shooting you did then 
leaves no feeling of pride, but chal- 
lenges you to better it now. Standing 
in front of the same gate, you glare 
at the little mound, as big as a curled- 
up coyote, and tell yourself that it is 
sixty yards off. Your shooting com- 
panion may dispute your estimate and 
claim sixty-nine yards and one foot. 
But you take your stance, shoulders 
in line with the flight of your arrow. 
Fix your eye on the very center pin- 
point of the mark, draw the string 
smoothly to your jaw, grip the bow 
gently with your left hand, and watch 
that your left elbow does not become 
locked. Then when your intuition tells. 

free moment occurred in the routine it 
was made the most of and fully en- 
joyed. On Saturday afternoons I fre- 
quently took my flivver to a brushy 
clump of pecans, hobbled the steed, 
strung my bow, slipped a quiverful of 
arrows on my belt, and picking out a 
comfortable seat, sat there quietly. 
Soon the squirrels were off their guard 
and went about their business of nut 
harvesting. I watched until one 
scampered through the loudly rustling 
leaves to a lone tree; then I went after 
him and often made a bag. 
VERYONE remembers most vivid- 
ly his first bag of any type of 
game. Naturally the first cottontail 
I shot and all the 
incidents con- 
cerned are fresh 
in my memory 
when I think of 
rabbit shooting. 
It was in a small 
swamp, damp 
and quite dark, 
through which led 
an enticing old 
wood road. The 
ground was soft, 
and moving very 
carefully I made 
no noise. I studied 
every piece of 
bramble that could 
shelter a bunny, 
but none did I see. 
I had reached a 
small, nearly over- 
grown side road, 
when a very light 
disturbance caused. 
your eye will de- me to stop and 
velop a judgment look around with 
of distance you more minute at- 
had not before be- tention. Out of a 
lieved. By mak- , ‘ j ; clump of ferns 
ing a record of With horse and hounds, the sport of the bowman is truly a royal one. The black twenty yards to 
your scores you bear was killed with the yew bow and broadhead shaft seen in the photo my right popped a 
will be more than 
surprised at the steady improvement 
you make from month to month. If 
you are going to hunt, do not stay too 
closely by the point to aim system used 
by target archers; aim instinctively. 
| That’s the way Robin Hood shot when 
| 
/ 

i- 
known as “rovers”. 
_ pleasant fields 
he slew the King’s deer. 
A more informal type of archery is 
You stroll over 
and through quiet 
-glades, shooting at small _ bushes, 
bunches of grass, rotten stumps and 
accommodating varmints. Your hunt- 
‘ing is always good. It is wonderful 
training, except that you cannot as 
easily keep tab on your progress. One 
; day though you will pass an especially 
ideal mark, an ant hill framed in a 
green side hill which you remember 
you the elevation is correct, and your 
eyes report that the arrow is pointed 
to cut the mound in two, you smoothly 
loose the string from your right hand. 
Fok the first thirty feet of the ar- 
row’s flight it is invisible; but be- 
fore it has flown half way you see it 
seeking determinedly the body of your 
mark. As soon as you have been able 
to open your mouth and ejaculate, 
“Good shot,” the arrow is buried half- 
way in the soft dirt of your sylvan 
target. 
In the early days of my own bow- 
shooting, when I was on a post in 
Oklahoma, our table was often set with 
squirrels and rabbits I had bagged in 
the nearby pecan groves. Whenever a 
cottontail, headed 
for some low bushes. I whistled, and 
he stopped just inside those bushes. 
By kneeling I had a good view of him 
sitting bolt upright, his éars parallel, 
pointing to the sky. I shot carefully; 
he jumped and went ort of sight. 
Stooped double, I skulked toward the 
spot until from about thirty feet I 
saw him apparently crouched on the 
ground. Another arrow, and _ he 
started a little. Then I crawled to 
where he was and picked him up. My 
first arrow had hit him in the neck 
and killed him well enough, but had 
knocked him down into a little hollow 
so that it seemed as though he had 
been missed. 
As time went on, knowing the 
ground better, my hunting became 
391 
