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I've had Ken work on my cowboy guns and he has done 3 73 Ubertis for me. He also built several custom rifles for me....a great smith.

The Wolf steel cased ammo is at best average, it's cheap ammo meant for plinking. The Wolf .22 LR Match Ammo is pretty good and my re-barreled Martini Cadet liked Wolf match better than Federal .22 LR (and liked CCI Green Tag even more than Wolf's)

Crushed walnut

Things A Man Ought To Know

Which lizard litter are you using? Thanks

I’ll take it

I'm on about 4 years of the use of the same 3 gallons of walnut hull (lizard litter) media, because I always toss a used dryer sheet into the vibratory bowl with each lot of brass I clean. Most of the powder fouling, leftover lube, etc. transfers into the sheet. Of course, I only add a quart of media to any one cleaning batch. Then it all goes back into the big tub. Brass comes out of the bowl in 30-45 minutes as clean as ever. good luck, GJ

A close cowboy gunsmith is worth a lot, both now and in the future for any added work you decide to do on the rifle. For your location, Ken Griner at at Griner Gunworks outside Farmington NM might be that fellow. Does GREAT work. http://www.grinergunworks.com/ good luck, GJ

That was a laugh and a boo.

IN THE DIRT Shelly took pride in what she did. Shelly was a working fire paramedic, a wife, a mother: she was also very human, and at the moment, she sought to discharge the stresses of everyday life by cultivating the rosebed beside their church. Shelly wore knee pads, she knelt on a thick foam pad, she wore gardening gloves, and she stabbed at good rich black dirt like she was driving a knife into an enemy. She was also muttering as she did. "What happened, sweets?" she heard beside her, and she smelled lilacs, and she brushed savagely at her cheek with the sleeve of her flannel shirt. Shelly did not look over: she leaned the heels of her hands into her thighs, closed her eyes took a long breath. "I'm not being fair," Shelly said hoarsely. "Oh?" Shelly glared at the dirt she'd just twisted loose: she started working it with her gardening trowel again, carefully loosening the soil without harming the roots of the roses that grew perennially along the church. "I made a mistake." "Oh, dearie, we all make mistakes," the older woman's voice said reassuringly. Shelly swallowed hard. "At least you didn't ask your son to try on a dress." Shelly felt the other woman's silence, almost waves of disapproval beating at her: she heard a little choking noise, then a sniff, a giggle: she did not dare look at her uninvited visitor, but from the side of her eye she did see the woman raise her wrist to her mouth to try and stop a giggle from escaping. "Oh, dearie," Shelly heard, "if that's all you've done wrong --" Shelly shook her head, took a long breath. "I provoked my daughter," she whispered, her eyes stinging. "She provoked me right back and I slapped her." Silence again. "I wish she'd slapped me in return." "She didn't?" "No." Shelly took another long breath, wished she could curl up and sink into the earth and hide. "I provoked her and she provoked me right back." "What did she say?" "My mother ... was a nurse, and she wanted me to become a nurse, and I didn't. "We had words and I stormed out of the house, and we were estranged for ... a time ... and then she died." Shelly felt the other woman's hand, warm and reassuring, on her back. "I just wanted a normal daughter," Shelly whispered, her throat tight. "That's all I wanted, but I wasn't a normal daughter and when Marnie threw it in my face that I wanted her to be a normal girl and my mother wanted me to be a nurse --" The warm, motherly hand, flat on her shoulder blades, rubbed gently, then drew Shelly over into her. The older woman spoke quietly, kindly, her voice and her presence reassuring and maternal. "Children ... can be difficult," she whispered. "It's hard to let them make their own mistakes, but we have to." Shelly nodded. "Marnie ... made some good choices." She smiled. "I didn't want her to be a deputy." "Is she doing well?" "She's Sheriff in --" Shelly caught herself -- "she's Sheriff in her own jurisdiction." "I seem to recall a remarkable young woman with pale eyes," Shelly heard. "She was quite effective, as I recall." Shelly swallowed. "I understand there's ... she's involved with the Diplomatic Corps." "You must be very proud!" the woman whispered, her head bent intimately close, the way a woman will in such a moment. "She'd never have done ... everything she has ... if she'd been the normal girl I wanted." Shelly blinked, surprised. She honestly never expected to utter what she'd felt for quite some time. "My husband," the older woman said quietly -- her words were gently spoken, but the pride behind them showed through like a light behind a fog -- "my husband said something about opening his mouth and something fell out that surprised him." Shelly nodded, then giggled. "Now what's this about asking your son to try on a dress?" "His sister ... I'd taken them to the City, shopping, and Victoria tried on just a darling little dress, and we were looking at another, and I wanted to compare them side by side -- Michael is her twin, and they are very nearly the same size --" "I see." "Michael folded his arms and he said 'No thank you, ma'am,' and when I insisted, he turned his back and walked away from me." "Oh, dear," came the worried murmur in reply. "I reached for him and he twisted away, and he was gone." Shelly turned her gardening trowel and studied the dirt clinging to its paint-worn, green blade. "Have you ever tried to catch a ten-year-old?" She felt the older woman's mirth, felt her contagious laugh as it bubbled up from the lake of memories: "I remember what it is to chase a naked little boy, running through the house, trailing laughter and soapsuds!" Two women shared an understanding laugh. "And what happened when you finally caught him?" "He stayed in sight of me while we shopped," Shelly said quietly, "and he rejoined us as we left the Mall. I didn't say a word and neither did he." "He hasn't ... said anything since?" "No," Shelly said, her voice tight. "I though he might have complained to his father." "A man's pride and a boy's pride are both easily offended." "I shouldn't have told him to try it on." Silence grew between the two. "All right, I didn't ask him to try it on, I told him to try it on, and that's why --" She sat back on her heels, took a long breath, blew it out, looked over at the older woman. She was alone. Shelly blinked, looked around, rose: she turned, backed up a step, backed up another. "Hello?" she called. "Is anyone there?" Sheriff Linn Keller looked up, smiled as his wife came through his office door. He rose, came around his desk, hugged his bride: "Darlin', you timed it just right, my eyes are about crossed lookin' at paperwork!" "Linn," Shelly said seriously, "I think I was talking to a ghost." Linn stopped, looked very directly at his wife. "Fill me in." "Linn ... who planted the roses along the Church?" Linn smiled, for local history was Old Home Week to him. "Mama researched that pretty well. Old Pale Eyes had a beautiful wife -- Esther Wales, her maiden name -- she was red headed and green eyed, and she loved roses. She found some Canadian varieties that did well here, with the long winters and high altitude. I think she might've done some breeding to get the hardiest varieties, and they've been there ever since." He looked at his wife, stroked her cheek gently with the back of a bent forefinger. "What did you see, darlin'?" "I didn't see her," Shelly said. "She ... I was on my knee pads loosening the soil, she knelt down beside me and I never looked at her." "O-kaaay." "We talked and she ... Linn, she was such a comforting presence, and she smelled of lilacs and sunshine." Linn tightened his arms around his wife, laid his cheek over on top of her head, and she felt him laughing silently as he held her. "Esther it was," he whispered. "You were visited by Grandma Esther!" He kissed his wife's forehead, caressed her hair. "Did she say ... anything ... significant?" Shelly giggled, cupped her hand over her mouth, looked at her husband with big and innocent eyes. "We talked about little boys, and how they like to run through the house naked, dribbling soapsuds and giggles all over the floor!"

I hear a lot of folks saying that Wolf Match ammo is very good. I find that interesting in that other ammo by them, 7.62x39 and pistol calibers isn’t so great, but I am talking 20 or more years ago. Thanks for the info.

Judging by the length of the tail hair, gotta be part of the SWAT team.

Have for sale 3rd generation short stroke kit by Cowboy & Indians. Priced at $125.00 plus shipping $10.00. Thanks for looking. . JRJ

"What's important is that when we get where we're going, we won't ever get sick, we won't get any older and we'll never die." I always loved that line out of that movie.

OK Blackwater, so tell us how you did? Are you both still OK?