That Miracle Bullet

Drawing by Randolph Caldecott, Author-Artist

 

 

     Two old friends, George and Sam, are swapping stories at Hyde's Diner in Cortland after breakfast.
     "Mind you, George, this hunting story I'm about to tell you is ninety-five percent respectful of the truth and five percent outdoor philosophical decoration."
     "I'm listening, Sam."
     "Last year I set up to hunt deer near the junction of County Road 38 and Crofoot Hill Road, just west of Constableville. It was still dark when I got there. I got behind a big tree. There was a clearing in front of me and a pond beyond that. I had my .30-06 rifle, and I was dressed in camouflage jacket and pants. When dawn broke, there was this great view of the clearing and pond in front of me. The sun was behind me. It was a warm day for late October, as I recall. The bass were jumping for bugs near the surface of the pond, big circles were left in the water, and I saw ducks swimming out in the middle of the pond. I guess the chickadees in the woods got used to me because they started chattering again. So I waited for a buck to show up. By and by, a big eight-pointer came along--skittish, ears up, head turning every direction. He was browsing by some thickets and moving slowly toward the clearing. I didn't move at first, afraid I might spook him. As he entered the clearing, I raised my rifle and aimed. Just then I saw a turkey across the pond almost in line with the buck. That turkey saw the buck too. It was ever so curious, long neck stretched out, looking at the buck, and looking at me."
     "So you shot the turkey?"
     "Not intentionally, mind you, but yes, I surely did. When that eight-pointer walked into my line of sight, I fired. The buck dropped to the ground and died instantly. The bullet went through his heart. But the bullet didn't stop there, George, that miracle bullet continued across the pond, went straight through a jumping bass, dropped a fly the bass was trying to eat, killed a duck that started to fly from the surface of the pond, and then killed the long neck turkey on the other side of the pond. Now hold on to your seat, George, that wasn't the end of it. The bullet went through the turkey, just as it went through the buck, and then it hit a boulder. That miracle bullet shattered into three fragments, my best calculation. Each one of those fragments ricocheted. One of them killed a squirrel, another killed a crow and the third killed a blue jay. I made seven confirmed kills--only one intended. I never found the fly so I won't count it."
     "That's the most unbelievable story I've ever heard."
     "You weren't there."
     "I'll be most respectful of your feelings, Sam, so I won't ask if that story is true or not. My grandfather, if he were alive today, would call that kind of story one hundred percent bear scat with a fly stuck on it." 
     "Well, I guess it is somewhat hard to believe--"
     "Sam, you should have been a politician. A story like that, with a bunch of political promises mixed in it, would get a helluva lot of votes. I'm not wearing my barn boots right now. If you've finished your coffee, I reckon it's a good time to leave."