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At my age I understand bleeding. Thinners plus thin old skin and being clumsy...hell, if I'm not bleeding somewhere I think there's something wrong.

Okay, thanks. Just curious.

LEAD PIPE CINCH Michael Keller didn't really run up the ladder. He climbed it, but he climbed it really, really fast. Michael had no idea what he was going to do, nor how to do it, but he'd at least snatched the lariat off Lightning's saddle before he ran for the ladder. It was bolted to the side of the warehouse. It rose three stories and curled over, like he'd seen ladders elsewhere. Below him, shouts, conflicting orders: someone made the mistake of snatching at Lightning's reins, and backed quickly away as she snapped at him, fighting fangs exposed when she peeled her fine-furred lips back for the warning bite: she turned, snarling, sidled up against the building, Cyclone and Thunder flanking her, dancing and shaking their heads, clearly unhappy that their Mama was clearly unhappy. Michael paid no attention to any of this. A man was on the roof, screaming. Shelly Keller's framed portrait hung with another portrait, that of her first, second and third paramedic classes, all of them told to look solemn and not one single soul she'd taught was able to do anything but grin for the camera. The Irish Brigade ran for fireboots and turnout coats, pressed-leather helmets and bunker pants, fireproof gloves and apparatus: the overhead doors rattled open and Diesel engines snarled impatiently, until the doors hit the wide-open limit switch and green lights flared into life, signaling the drivers that the doors were open far enough to proceed out of the bay. Kenworth pumpers rolled. Medics followed, two in the squad, one in the rescue with three other firefighters: the officer rode shotgun, fireboot heavy on the steel siren button. Engine, rescue, squad, constabulary, curious public, all ran with swiftness and haste to where a young man in a black suit came to the top of the ladder and sized up the situation. Michael looked around, looked at the mostly flat roof, at short vent pipes stubbed up out of what looked like round gravel pressed into asphalt. He stepped off the ladder and onto the roof, dropped the coiled reata from his shoulder, shaking it loose, his fingers working with eyes of their own as he locked eyes with a wild-looking man swinging a bottle at arm's length and raising an arm to point at Michael. "Friend," Michael called, "can you tell me what brings you up here to a place like this?" The man considered, swayed a little: he lowered his pointing arm, raised the other, drank until the bottle was empty, then tossed the bottle over the edge of the roof. "HEADACHE!" Michael yelled as sirens screamed their approach. The man staggered for the edge, either wishing to see the bottle's impact, or maybe wanting to see what the siren was. Michael's arm shot out. He didn't make a showy spin, he tossed the loop with a practiced wrist-roll, not quite sidehand, not quite underhand: he never had anyone to teach him how to properly sling a loop, so he developed his own method, and it worked. The loop dropped over the man as he overbalanced, as he screamed and tried to catch himself, and fell off the edge. Michael dove for the nearest of the vent pipes stubbed out of the gravel. He took a fast turn, another, pulled: as his reata snapped taut, the pipe collapsed a little, bent some, but Michael held hard and held down. Plaited leather thrummed and stretched and Michael could swear later he felt a crackle, he heard the man's scream -- He ain't dead if he can still scream -- Michael heard someone coming up the ladder he'd used, he turned and looked and saw the familiar silhouette of a firefighter with a handlebar mustache and a Philadelphia fire helmet. The firefighter turned, looked down, waved, turned back to Michael. "We'll have him got," the firefighter declared, "can ye hold?" Michael nodded grimly. A voice from below, the sound of a ladder hitting the side of the stone warehouse: a man's scream again, a scream that seemed to fall off to less prominent sounds of pain. Michael held down on the wrap with the heel of one hand, his other death-gripped around his lariat, holding it tight around the leaning, recontoured lead stub. His hand-laid reata slacked and the fireman at the ladder's summit waved again, turned triumphantly to Michael: "He's ours and safe!" Michael lifted the heel of his hand from where he was pushing down with a desperate strength: he gripped the reata, pulled experimentally, then drew it quickly up, hand-over-hand. His fingers found the snapped sections before his eyes did. I don't know if there's any fixin' to this, he thought, then coiled the line, slung it over his shoulder and followed the descending fireman down the hard-mounted ladder. Angela sat beside her Daddy as they watched the debrief on her Daddy's computer in his office. They listened to the Irish Brigade, that planet's Irishmen, taught in Firelands and trained by Earth instructors: they listened to the dispatcher describe the call as it came in, to the storekeeper who sold the whiskey (for some reason, alcohol seemed to be a common element on every world in the thirteen-star-system Confederacy), from witnesses who first reported a drunk scaling the side of the warehouse, shouting something about ending it all and she'll be sorry when I'm gone. And then there was Michael. Michael described arriving on the planet at a friend's invitation, he described Lightning receiving the adulation and adoring attention of most of a school's worth of children who absolutely mobbed the big, heavy-boned and hard-muscled Fanghorn, how Thunder and Cyclone rolled over for belly rubs and chirped in blissful, eyes-closed contentment at the attention: he described seeing the man ascend the ladder, realized there was trouble, and touched Lightning behind her foreleg -- his signal for her to belly down so he could mount. Linn leaned forward a little, frowning a bit as Michael said, "I cooned up that ladder and saw this fellow all a-sway. He took a drink from the bottle and slung the bottle and I could see he was staggerin' drunk. I yelled for him to get away from the edge and he didn't, so I tossed him a loop and spun a quick hitch around one of those short pipes stuck out of the roof. "It ruined my lariat," he admitted, "but that lariat paid for itself, for he got close enough to the ground to grab a handful of gravel rather than drive headfirst into the dirt." "Why did you hitch around the pipe in that manner?" someone asked. "Long habit. You ever rope somethin' that don't want roped? You take a turn or two around your saddle horn and you bring 'em to a fast stop, peacefully or otherwise." Michael grinned. "That pipe I stubbed off on was lead and I didn't know it. It bent some but the cinch held and he's alive to complain about it." "Oh, no," Angela moaned, tearing a sheet off her Daddy's blank legal pad and wadding it into a ball. "Michael Keller, don't you dare say it!" "You might say," Michael continued, "it was a lead pipe cinch!" Linn wasn't sure which made him laugh harder. Michael's straight faced statement, or Angela throwing the paper wad at his image on the computer screen.

Come on. This post isn’t the place to shout out another Michigan leather maker. Let Michigan Rattler have his moment from @T-Square Hugs! Scarlett

Well Hey Twotone. A lot of us are just pleased as punch you were willing to take the time to share YOUR Opine and "Clear that Up" for ALL of us. Not that we ALL agree with you. We're just glad you decided to show us the errors of our ways. NOT!! Hope you won't be too insulted iffin I continue to use PAM with excellent results.

Pioneer Arms Corp, manufacturing in Radom Poland, produced a high end, high performance Coach Gun for the SASS shooter beginning in about 2008 and exported to the USA for less than 10 years of availability. Later, Pioneer Arms was tempted into the business of building AK style rifles for Eastern European / NATO buyers. They have been in and out of business a couple of times since, as they tried to follow the fortunes of their military and militia minded customers. This limited edition Coach Gun remains a sought after piece for those who want something unique and competition ready. Coach Gun for sale here is an early model (2009 build) and a classic western side by side style in 12 Ga., with chambering up to 3 inch, and 18.5” barrels. The exposed, checkered hammers are triggered mechanically with a trigger pair. It is fit with fine Baltic Birch stock work and shows its finishes and checkering very well. Well cared for, It shoots and functions perfectly. From end to end, it is specifically designed for the Cowboy Action game. The action and lock-up is using the famed W.W. Greener, cross bar design. The shotgun was introduced for the US market at $1,290. Includes a wool fleece-lined, custom sewn leather case with the Pioneer Arms logo. Also included is a PAC period style leather hunting sling (never used). That sling can be laced onto the butt stock cover. As it is, only the butt stock cover is in place. The package will include all original factory box packaging and Manual, etc. As a distinguished cowboy firearm, it was not meant to compete with others on price. During the early couple of years of my ownership, I used this as a match gun for two seasons. I later took up a Win ’97 thinking that I might get faster and more competitive. My back injury soon after that, left me shooting a lot less and no so fast. Since it was used in only about 15 matches, it has some light handling marks which do not diminish the style or performance of this beautiful hammered double. Mostly, It has spent quality time in my Temp/Humidity controlled safe. Rather than trying to add more to the pictures with words, I am including a link which you can paste into your browser which will help you evaluate this gun. It is a link to an NRA review for “American Rifleman” TV online to highlight features and background: https://www.americanrifleman.org/content/pioneer-arms-coach-gun/ You would be comfortable showing anyone why you paid $875 for this. Shipping in ConUS will be at least $75 insured. My price includes packing and shipping charges to your FFL, and would be shipped to your FFL directly from me. Tipton Gun Vise is not included. Happy Shopping! T. Bone Pickins

I think you made your text color white?

This is a genuine BIANCHI buscadero type cartridge belt. In excellent used condition. Marked size 34 but measures out to 37.5" to center hole, with 2 holes bigger and 2 smaller holes are 1" apart. Belt is 3" wide. Holster slot is 3". It has 24 .44/ .45 cal cartridge loops All stitching is intact and no cuts or scrapes on leather. Leather is in great shape no dryrot or cracking. Made to last a lifetime. $55.00 Shipping $18.50 USPS PRIORITY flat rate

If you order them or other accessories, use my code to save 10%. BU 0770! Hugs! Scarlett

Very nice looking cart for sure, but whereoOwhere would I put 25 years of badges and pins? That's my excuse....for now.

This is a Genuine Bianchi cartridge belt model # 1820 and Ray Williams holster. This rig is the highest quality and made to last a life time. Belt is marked "32" but actually measures is 35.5" to center hole on billet with 2 holes bigger and 2 holes smaller. Holes are 1" apart. It is 2.25" wide. Belt holds 24 rounds .45 /.44 cartridges. They are in perfect condition. Holster is well made and marked "Ray Williams, Klamath, Ca" with nickle spots Holster will fit 5.5" Colt SAA or similar size pistols. $100 Shipping $18.50 shipping USPS priority flat rate.

This is a Genuine Bianchi cartridge belt model # 1820 and Ray Williams holster. This rig is the highest quality and made to last a life time. Belt is marked "32" but actually measures is 35.5" to center hole on billet with 2 holes bigger and 2 holes smaller. Holes are 1" apart. It is 2.25" wide. Belt holds 24 rounds .45 /.44 cartridges. They are in perfect condition. Holster is well made and marked "Ray Williams, Klamath, Ca" with nickle spots Holster will fit 5.5" Colt SAA or similar size pistols. $100 Shipping $18.50 shipping USPS priority flat rate.

Manufacturer data only. Not even "experts" on the internet. Your guns, your digits and body parts demand it. I wouldn't trust anyone's info unless corroborated by manufacturer data.

Smokestack's warnings should be taken seriously, not answered with a generally dismissive comment. When someone puts up a post that they are "new to shotshell reloading", many of the replies here on the Wire suggest getting a good book and reading it cover to cover. One of the things that all of the books have in common, is to say something to the effect of, "stick to known and published loads and do not modify, substitute, or change any of the components, to do so can be unsafe." Shotshells are weird in that seemingly similar loads with slightly different components can create much higher pressures, to the point of being unsafe. So Smokestack is right, if you have a made up load, and you haven't had it tested to determine the pressure it produces, you have no idea if it is a safe load or not. So instead of a dismissive comment, a supportive comment like, "if you are using unpublished and untested shotshell loads, you may be shooting a load that creates unsafe pressures. Proceed at your own risk.", might be more in order. Lucky, is not the same as Safe!

Btt

Price drop

btt

PM sent on the model 18 S&W. Slick

And they shoot nicely too. (The mfr recipe he refers to)

Not to do any REAL work Forty Rod as they are just models. I do have a lot of accessories though that do run off the engines. I did make up these ball bearing 'transmissions' and hobbed the pulleys to gear up or gear down the engines when running accessories off them -

I use a 5C collet chuck in my lathe with an internal stop to hold the case. Once I get it set and numbers dialed in, I can cut a case in about 45 seconds from start to finish.