From the time I was twelve years old I was considered a very fine shot with a rifle, although I did but very little shooting, and, in fact, did not know that I was any more than a common marksman; yet in any contests while a boy I always won. One day in June, 1884, while passing a shooting gallery, my friends called me in for a match to pay for shots: I beat them all shooting, my score was 11 consecutive bull's eyes, while none of my friends had made half that score. The boys said I did well, to which I jestingly remarked.
