Bill staggered into position, and threw down a ten-dollar bill for ten shots. The attendants steadied him sufficiently to confine his wild target practice to that part of the sky and horizon where the target was located. Bill had wasted nine shots without coming within speaking distance of the target, which to his drunken sight appeared to be double. Rolling like a ship in a storm, Bill brought the gun to his shoulder for the last round, declaring, "By gum, I'm agoing to hit one of them targets this time." And he did. As they went sailing by, he let blaze at them, and behold, it was a bull's-eye! Bill had won the ox on a one-to-a-million chance. A DUEL TO THE DEATH In the old pioneer days of Maine, when it was still a province of Massachusetts, a young French officer had an altercation with the chief of the Oldtown Indians, and according to the custom of the times, challenged the Red Man to fight a duel with him. The old Indian, according to the courtesies of the game, was allowed the choice of weapons, and he chose two kegs of gunpowder. Each was to sit upon a keg, with the bung out. Then two pistols were to be discharged in succession. On the firing of the first pistol, two iron pokers, heated to a white heat, were to be laid upon a table beside the duelists, which was to be immediately followed by the discharge of the second pistol. At this signal they were each to seize a poker and thrust it into the bung-hole of the keg on which his adversary was sitting, the old Indian calculating that he would be quicker than the Frenchman. But the Frenchman had a little calculation of his own, and he figured out something that the Indian had doubtless not thought of. This was that the explosion of either keg would be certain to explode the other. But he made a bluff of it, thinking that the old Indian too might be bluffing, and so everything was arranged. Each mounted his respective keg and the first pistol was fired. The savage was a graven image, but the Frenchman did not wait for the second signal, and unlike Lot's wife, he never looked back. THE BEWITCHED FLINTLOCK My father used to tell a good story about a one-time chief of the Oldtown Indians, and, as it had to do in a way with explosions--indeed, a series of them--I add it to my collection. There was a farmer living in an adjacent town, who frequently received visits from the old chief. On such occasions, the Red Man always carried his shotgun with him. The weapon, according to the times, was a flintlock, single-barreled muzzle-loader.