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  2. Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580
    Linn Keller 6-26-12 Digger went out and retrieved the murderer's carcass. I needed to take a longer look at it and I would do that here directly but I needed to check on the prisoner. I walked back along the row of cells to the next to last one on the right. She was a-rattlin' the door and snarling a little, not like an animal, more like a woman who was mad 'cause she didn't get her way. "LEMME OUTTA HERE!" she screamed, her face turning red and then redder. "I WANTA SEE MY HUSBAND!" "You mean that feller in buckskins that missed his Saturday night bath?" I asked mildly. "YOU WATCH YOUR MOUTH, YOU LONG SKINNY DRINK 'A' WATER! HE'LL BREAK YOU OVER HIS KNEE AN' THROW YOU AWAY! HE'LL TIE YOU IN KNOTS AN' WHEN HE'S DONE I'LL TAKE OVER AN' I'LL SKIN YOU ALIVE! WHY, IF I GET MY HANDS ON YOU --" I raised a hand. "Hold on, now," I said quietly. "I can't hear you, you're shouting too loud." That confused her and she blinked and closed her mouth: she said "How -- too -- huh?" -- then she realized she'd just been had and she clouded up for another storm session. "You'll join your husband soon enough," I said. "His Honor the Judge will see you in the morning." "JUDGE? I DON'T WANTA SEE NO JUDGE! I NEED A DOCTOR! THAT MURDERIN' LOW LIFE MACNEIL BELTED ME IN THE HEAD WITH A WAR CLUB! HE TRIED TO KILL ME AN' NONE 'A' YOU ARE MAN ENOUGH TO STAND UP TO HIM! I SHOULDA KNOWN! YELLA! YELLA, THE LOT 'A' YA! YOU'RE AFRAID OF MACNEIL I CAN TELL! I CAN SMELL IT ON YA! YELLA!" She'd worked herself up into a fine frenzy by this time; when she whirled and took a long step toward the back of her cell, why, I took three long steps back 'cause I knew what was a-comin', and I was right. She slung the contents of her chamber pot towards me and it sieved through those bars and made quite a mess, there and ag'in the opposite wall. I sighed. "I don't reckon you'd consider cleanin' that up," I drawled. "YOU JUST WAIT! I'M A-GONNA GET'CHA! I'M A-GONNA GIVE YOU WHAT FOR! I NEED A DOCTOR! I BEEN HURT! YOU GET BACK HERE AFORE I TEAR THESE BARS OUT AN' USE 'EM ON YA! YELLA! YER YELLA! YA GOT LICE! YOU'RE LOUSY! YOU ARE A LOUSY LOUSY YELLA BACKED SHEEPHERDER!" I walked out the front door, closed and locked it behind me. She hadn't been brought anything since the noon meal and after that fine display of temper she wasn't going to get anything tonight. Matter of fact I decided not to sleep in there. It was going to get kind of rank so I figured to leave her to sniff it up and I'd fetch in someone to clean up the mess once we took her off to court. I didn't even smile as I considered once she went to court she wasn't going far afterwards, at least not on this earth. It wasn't ten minutes later that His Honor agreed with me: I went to his private car and we had us a quiet talk and Judge Hostetler allowed as from what he'd heard, she was guilty as sin and then some, and he figured hangin' was the right choice. "I will need to hear from Marshal MacNeil, of course," the Judge said quietly, taking a long pull on his freshly lighted Havana. "He's in no shape to travel," I replied. "One or t'other of 'em shot him and he's laid up at home. I don't reckon we'd ought to move court out there but you could go see him, say howdy, ask how he's doin' and ask 'im about those good lookin' foals his mares are a-droppin', and somewhere in there you can inquire as to the particulars of his little adventure." His Honor nodded. "Yes, I can that," he agreed. "First thing in the morning, then?" I nodded. "Yes, sir. First thing in the morning."
  3. LTC Yorke
    Please put me in line behind anyone else that may be ahead of me. Very interested.
  4. Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580
    Linn Keller 6-26-12 "HEY OUT THERE!" The Sheriff unlocked the heavy, tightly-fitted door: he'd had Black Smith forge the new hinges for it, and he and the big steelhammer worked on that door for most of a day, shimming up underneath, laying out, fitting, planning, scribing: Black Smith's grin was broad and bright and finally he declared, "Mistuh Shurf, dis be one of de easiest jobs I ebber had! Why, mos' men wan' de do' hung five minnit ago!" The Sheriff laughed, nodded. "I've met those fellows," he agreed. "Tried to learn somethin' from 'em. Finally I allowed as they were good examples of bad examples!" "Dat dey be," Black Smith agreed, nodding. "Dat de be!" When they were done -- after forging two sets of hinges, because the first set didn't suit the steelhammer at all -- "I wan's ta do me a good job, Shurf," he said. "Dey is lots o' folks gon' look at dem hinges. If dey is right, dey don' give 'em a secont look but if dey isn't right, why, ever'one notices an' dey sez "Who made dem bad hinges?" -- an' I don' git no mo' bizniss!" The Sheriff nodded. He'd been known to tear apart something he'd just made and start over and for almost the identical reason. When they were done, the door opened outward but was hard-braced inside, it fitted tight and was proof against any but a ram and that ram would have to be pretty big to bust either door or casing, which is what the Sheriff wanted. Now he opened the same door, remembering, and smiled a little. Black Smith was a wizard and an artist with anvil and hammer and he was a right good hand with most anything else. Wonder how he's gettin' along, the Sheriff thought, then the prisoner yelled again, "HEY OUT THERE!"
  5. James Henry Parker SASS#76661
    Thanks happy
  6. Mister Badly
    Lol.
  7. LTC Yorke LTC Yorke joined the community
  8. Pat Riot, SASS #13748
    But you laughed...didn’t you?
  9. DocWard
    Vortex is at the top of my list for binoculars you can buy from most anywhere, and "try before you buy." There is a local to me manufacturer that makes a very nice binocular, https://oberwerk.com I've looked through them and drooled over them at our local astronomy club convention. These in particular seem like they would be good for your application: https://oberwerk.com/product/oberwerk-sport-ed-series/ Having said that, their warranty doesn't compare to Vortex, and their unlimited, unconditional, lifetime warranty.
  10. Sedalia Dave
  11. Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580
    Linn Keller 6-25-12 The Irish Brigade moved as one man. Six men, two lines facing one another, arms extended, knees bent, eyes locked on Dolly as she flew screaming through the air, arms extended, legs stiff, eyes wide, terrified ... The grinning miners on the stage seized the other dancing girl: "You too, sweetie!" they yelled and as the Brigade set Dolly down Sean bellowed "Send us another!" and his Irish tenor cut through the confusion of the barfight like a knife through a sandwich. The second dancing girl, too, found safe refuge in the grip of a dozen muscled Irish arms: the Brigade pulled back into a circle, shoving tables out of the way with hips and backsides, kicking chairs out of their road: the two dancing girls were in the middle of an out-facing Irish circle, protected by a dozen scarred fists. "STAND FAST, LADS!" Sean bellowed: "SHILLELAGH LAW!" and the Irish Brigade, to a man, grinned a most unpleasant grin, for it was seldom they got to turn their wolf loose. Over against the piano, the piano player had some fellow around the neck and belted him a good one with his beer mug, slinging an arc of amber through the air in the process: he dropped one limp body, looked up in time to inherit a fist to the cheek bone: punching with the beer glass, he caught some fellow's fist coming in, breaking two bones in the man's hand, then he seized a shirt front and laid about with the heavy drinking vessel and made very good account of himself. Mr. Baxter had the bung starter in hand: he wore a worried look and only a mildly stained apron, for when the fight started, drinks were thrown, and one painted a diagonal stripe across his clean front: he snatched up the bung starter but found himself more concerned with intercepting any flying missiles that might endanger the fine, big (and rare!) mirror behind the bar: most barroom mirrors of the age were small, this one was large, and it was not cheap, and Mr. Baxter took pride in keeping it absolutely spotless. The front door fanned quickly, admitting spectators who retreated just as quickly and letting out those timid souls whose life's goal was not to be in the middle of a good knock down drag out saloon brawl: above the seething sea of fists and ducking heads, an occasional chair swung, only to be dropped as the vulnerable belly of the swinger received two, three or four fists simultaneously: there was a happy bellow and a bugle, some insane trumpeter blowing the Cavalry's "Boots and Saddles" and the room was suddenly more crowded with the arrival of a dozen dusty, hot, tired, sweaty cavalrymen, grinning and suddenly invigorated at the prospect of a good time in town. The noise was stunning; the floor shivered underfoot, and the piano player, sudddenly protected by a screen of bluecoats, sat down on his stool and began playing a lively Irish air: a mug of beer appeared from somewhere and was set ready to hand, he took a quick slug, not bothering to dash the foam from his tightly-waxed mustache. "NO IRISH NEED APPLY! ALL HAND ON DECK! HAVE AT 'EM, LADS!" Sean's Irish bellow could be heard plainly: he turned, fist cocked, and a callused hand caught his fist, deflected it to the side: he found himself belt buckle to belt buckle with another big Irishman, and laughed as Sergeant Mick laughed with delight to find himself with his old friend once again. "MICK, YE HORSE THIEF, HOW IN THE HELL YE BEEN?" Sean rorared, thumping the man on the shoudler and raising a minor dust cloud in the process. Mick slapped Sean in the ribs, nodding with approval. MARRIED LIFE AGREES WI' YE, YE WILD BOG TROTTIN' IRISHMAN!" Mick shouted in reply. Sean grabbed his shoulder, pulled him aside and launched a fist the size of a peck basket: there was the sound of knuckles on meat and then that of a body hitting the floor: the troopers looked past the Irish Brigade at two pretty, frightened dancing girls: they lifted their uniform Stetsons in a quick salute to the ladies, then fell in beside and between the Brigade, and suddenly the defensive circle was twice as strong as it had been. The two miners who'd abducted Dolly and her dancing partner from the stage, tossing them happily into the mighty masculine malestrom, saw how the Brigade caught them, easily and naturally: drink had its usual effect on their thought processes and so one seized the other and heaved him off the stage after the ladies and then jumped himself. The Brigade, having safeguarded the ladies, pulled quickly away from the stage; the miners hit the floor face first and stayed there for a while, at least until they realized they were regarded as part of the furniture and so managed to fight their way to their feet, but not until inheriting several assorted boot prints on their exposed backs and backsides, and their hands and legs tromped on by battling boyos and fighting fellows. By this time the Silver Jewel was so thoroughly packed that the ladies found themselves scrambling atop a table that survived the Brigade's furniture evacuation: they stood, turning, big-eyed, at the sea of pugilism surrounding them: Dolly looked over at the piano player, put two fingers to her lips and whistled: the piano player looked, surprised, and Dolly gave a signal of sorts, and the piano player started a new tune, bouncy, lively, and Dolly elbowed her partner. It was a moment of humor, if insane: two pretty dancing-girls, performing atop a poker table, surrounded by red-shirted Irish firemen and dusty, sweating, blue-coated US Cavalry, a secure island fortress in an uncertain and stormy sea. Jackson Cooper and the Sheriff ran toward the Jewel just as one of the big front windows exploded and a body flew out, landed on its back on the boardwalk: he rolled once, hit the ground and lay still: another body followed the first, managed to collide face-first with a porch post and sagged. Jackson Cooper pointed. "There's our solution," he shouted. "We arrest 'em as they come out!" That evening, Firelands District Court held a special session to dispose of the several arrests that came of the barfight: it was an unusual session, as there were men cuffed, chained or tied to porch posts, hitch rails and other immovable objects: Doc Greenlees moved among them, examining injuries, tending cuts, applying sticking-plaster or poultices, while His Honor the Judge moved from man to man, listening to his story, nodding and not believing a word of what he said, before fining each man: as he was accompanied by the most impressive bulk of Jackson Cooper or the cold-eyed Sheriff, there were but few protests about the fines levied. By the time His Honor was through processing the prisoners, Mr. Baxter was presented with sufficient cash to repair and replace the damage done, including the big front window, two tables, three chairs, miscellaneous mugs and a late night of cleanup. He turned, looked at the big mirror behind the bar. "Oh, dear," he groaned, then snatched up the bar rag and quickly polished a splash of beer from the mirror. Mr. Baxter gave a long, shivering sigh, blowing his breath out: the reflection's red cheeks puffed out, flanking his pursed lips and curled, black mustache. His prized mirror had otherwise escaped harm. Outside, by ones and twos, the crowd drifted apart, and away: most with a hand on someone's shoulder, or someone's on theirs; they left a-horseback, or walked to the depot; a very few went upstairs to rooms in the Jewel, a few to Shorty's stable. Those who bore marks of conflict found their purses judicially lightened, all but the cavalry and the Irish Brigade. Most of the participants who were so lightened regarded it as the price of admission to one hell of a good night on the town.
  12. Sedalia Dave
  13. Pat Riot, SASS #13748
    I feel your pain...I bought a Remington R51 nearly 2 years ago. It took 3 trips back to Remington before they finally opted to replace it. The one I bought was a Gen 2 gun. They replaced it with a Gen 1 gun, a reworked return. They kept the fiber optics sights on the first one and didn’t credit my account for them as promised. The Remington RM380 I bought at the same time. It was a wonderfully reliable pocket pistol, but I got rid of them both after I noticed the frame on the RM380 was eroding slightly. I found little tiny bits of aluminum in the slide rails in in the trigger area. I am happy to be rid of both.
  14. Charlie MacNeil, SASS #48580
    Linn Keller 6-24-12 Jacob wrote out the particulars to be presented to His Honor the Judge. I wrote out the particulars in the ledger book I kept as our office record. There was a second book we kept, a record of customers in our little Crossbar Hotel, but I'd written the woman's name in it and locked her up, the ink was dry and I closed the book and put it away. Jacob's style of report writing was a fine example of the Law of Parsimony: he would never say "piscatorial pastime" if "fishing" would do. He was as stingy with the written word as Doc Greenlees was with speech. Jacob was complete, don't get me wrong, but he wasn't ... interesting. His was a dry recitation of facts, nothing more. I reckon I am more of a storyteller. Mine tended to be, honestly, more interesting. Maybe it's because I figured what I wrote, someone would actually read. We both finished about the same time. Jacob looked back along the cell block, looked at me. I fished out a silver dollar, flipped it in the air. "Heads," Jacob called, I caught the coin, smacked it on the back of my other hand, held it out for him to see, removed my hand. "Heads it is," I said. Jacob grinned, that quick, open grin of his, and he reached for his hat. He stopped and turned around and actually looked a little guilty. "I can stay, sir, if you'd ruther head on home," he said quietly. I smiled, shook my head. "You've got a pretty wife to kiss," I said, "and a little boy that misses his Pa. Head on home, Jacob. Like as not Annette is a little worried, with you not home yet and it's full dark." "Yes, sir." I walked across the room as Jacob opened the door, looked cautiously around, stepped out: he drew the door to behind him and as I unfolded that narrow canvas cot and locked it open, I heard his Appaloosa heading up the street, and smiled as he went past a fast walk and into a canter. He'll not run Apple-horse, I thought, but he'd like to!
  15. MizPete
    Soooooooooooo wrong.
  16. Marshal Mo Hare, SASS #45984
    Ultimatum
  17. Sedalia Dave
  18. Matthew Duncan
    Yes I did!
  19. Marshal Mo Hare, SASS #45984
    Diaper
  20. MizPete
    We insured lumber yards. Worst work comp case we ever had was a guy got bit by a brown recluse. Wound went necrotic & he durn near lost his arm.
  21. Abilene Slim SASS 81783
    Only going by a LOT of reading about Glocks from a variety of sources after buying mine. I’ve no interest in testing it as it’s just not economical for me to reload 9mm. YMMV
  22. Sedalia Dave
  23. MizPete
    Ultimate frisbee
  24. Church Key, SASS # 33713
    My low-light glasses are a pair of Fuji 7X50's which are the standard US Navy issue binocs. That said they are too heavy to routinely carry. I use a pair of refurbished Leitz WWII 6X30's for EDC. Steiner's are excellent glasses. I suggest that you try a pair of their 8X30's as they are light weight and basically todays military standard issue.
  25. Bullett Sass 19707
    I watched Guns and Ammo TV tonight and they showed a Marlin 1889 in 38 wsf. I also have a marlin 1889 in 38 wcf. The gun on TV had a cut out over the area where the lever pivots at on the frame. My gun and the few I saw on gun broker didn't have the cut out. Anyone know about this difference? The cut out was about half a circle. Thanks Bullett 19707
  26. MizPete
    Baby
  27. Sedalia Dave
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