One afternoon I was following a path just outside of the pasture fence, through heavy wheat stubble, left after cutting time.  I saw a pair of pink ears ahead of me, which I knew belonged to a rabbit.  I blazed away at the ears.  The gun, as usual, did execution at both ends.  I went over on my back.  When I regained my feet I saw a great commotion on the firing line.  Rabbits’ legs and feathers were alternately in the air.  Investigating, I found two cottontail, one jackrabbit and three quail in the last stages of dissolution, all the result of one shot at two rabbit’s ears.  I felt bigger than Napoleon ever did as I gathered up my kill and started for home.

On one of my wanderings I came across; the barrel of a rifle on an Indian mound, which had been plowed up when we were preparing the land for planting.  It was so coated with rust that the metal was no longer visible.  Floods had covered the ground many times.  Not knowing how long it had been buried there, I dug the rust and dirt out of the barrel as best I could and took it home.  On my first trip to Marysville I took it to a blacksmith named Allison, who did all of our work, and asked him to cut it off about a foot from the breech end, so that I could use it as a cannon.  He put it in his forge, and pulled away upon his bellows with his left hand.  He held the muzzle end of the rifle barrel in his right hand, and poked at the coals with it so as to get it properly covered.  He intended to heat it and then cut it off.  All at once, Bang! and that horrid old thing went off.  The bullet went through Allison’s clothing and slightly cut the skin on his side.  He was the worst scared man in all California.  When he felt the sting of the bullet he threw up his hands and fell on his back, yelling lustily.  I was almost as badly panic-stricken, thinking surely he was killed.  I began to see visions of the gallows and the hangman’s rope.  He recovered his self-possession, and when he found he was not hurt, his fear turned to anger.  He threw the rifle barrel out into the street, and then drove me out of the shop.  When I got outside and my fear had left me, I sat down on an old wagon tongue and laughed until I was entirely out of breath.  Allison came out, and my laughter must have been contagious.  He leaned up against a post and laughed until he cried.  His anger had left him, and we were soon fast friends again.  At the proper time I ventured the opinion that the rifle could not go off again, and that it would be well enough to finish the cutting process.  He consented and soon had the barrel cut off.  I took the breech end home with me, and endangered my life with it many years.  I generally loaded it with blasting powder, for the reason that it was usually on hand and cost me nothing, and so loaded, the cannon made more noise than had I used gunpowder.