Hang fires and Miss fires

Title

Language

English

Year

1939

Rights

In Copyright - Educational Use Permitted

Fulltext

THE MARKSMAN August, 193~ HANG FIRES AND MISS FIRES By ALIBE IKE (A near champion of Skeet) --x-~ t v.·as Sunday and a fine day for target practice. A hand-gun addict g·ut his reiiable "Shooting Master'' from its hidi:i.1g place and prepared to go to the ranges. Then his wife heard him imunbling blasphemies. He forgot to buy fresh ammunition the day before. From a box he got hold of some old 45's and forthwith hurried to his club. At the targets his first four f'hots were all hallg-firEs. The fifth \~ras dud. ? ? ? More blasphemies. Tsk ! Tsk ! And it was a Sunday. Disgusted our hero placed his gun on the table to wipe the perspiration that trickled down his brow. The next instant there was a B.AJ.~G ! The bullet missed the head of an attendant by a fraction of an inch. The man went home very pale and shaky. A perfoff day was lost. ---X--· A Spaniard who always boasted that Spanish guns -were thd' ~)est, 'vas the owner of a cal. 38 "Star". One day he forgot to button the flap of his holster. Coming down the stairs, he sl1:pped at the last step. His legs became twisted in such a way that he fell backward and to the right. His pistol fell off its holster. There was a loud report. Result: the Spaniard had to stay in the hospital for more than six months. When his pistol fell the back of the hammer struc1>;: the edge of the step, thereby pushing the firing pin and discharging a bullet. The shin bone of his right leg was shattered. Too bad, he was forgetful. Now he hobbles about in crutches. --X·-Another Spaniard and Filipino were the principal actors rm a tragic· occurence about five years ago. The. Spaniard ~as lolling peacefully in an arm chair in his store. His bosom friend, the municipal president of the town, came to him with the complaint that the cylinder of his revolver won't work. The Spaniard asked for the gun. The presidente complied, but not before throwing out the cylinder and knocking off the shells. The Spaniard handled the gun in the same manner as an expert gunsmith does. He squeezed the trigger one time, two times, three. times. At the fourth squeeze the gun barked. The presidente sunk to the floor with a bullet in his stomach. August, 1939 THE MARKSMAN 25 Had the presidente used the ejector instead of merely knocking the cylinder, he would be alive today. And had the Spaniard inspected the gun before snapping the trigger, the tragedy would not have happened. As ·it was, a loaded shell got stuck in the cylinder and the presidente is now pushing lilies up underneath six feet of ground. --x-Americans are practical jokers, but sometimes foolish! A shiftless middle age fellow, who was on government relief in the city, got tried of his environment and decided to visit his brother. His younger brother was a police officer in a small town. The shiftless one hitch-liked. On the way he thought. of pulling a neat joke on his kin. Arriving at hi,s destination late at night, he covered his face vdth a handkerchief and sneaked into the home of his brother. Unknown to him the small town copper was alert in his bed. He had heard a noise. The shiftless fellow entered his brother's room and ordered him to get up. A hand trust in his overcoat pocket gave the impression that a gun covered the man in the bed. There was a quick movement in the bed. Then a shot. When the police came the shiftless one was able to gasp, "It ·;.ras· all a joke" and then expired. The officer was exonerated. A nifty joke, eh? LITTLE THING Continued from page 4 * * * * money for a revolver merely to be another Carlos Quirino or Eva Estrada, or to satisfy an exhjbitionistic urge? I, for one, would not procure a gun except to shoot all the pests I have long wanted to rid this world of. There are many such pests, you know. There's the guy who sits in front of you in the theatre, callously smoking a gigantic cigar in spite of all the girls choking jn, his· vicinity. And the fellow standing over you in the tram who proceeds to spray your new white woolen suit with vile.smelting ash. Not to mention the bully who flings loud, sarcastic, uncalled-for remarks at waiters, conductors, and other wretches who are restrained by the idiotic doctrine that the customer is always brigt. But I'd better· cut short the enumeration. There isn't enough space -and I might end up by proposing my own suicide!

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