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  2. I mean on other people’s phones
  3. I will take the shotgun belt if there is a way to shorten it without damaging it. Would you send me pictures of the buckle and tongue arrangement? Irish Pat
  4. I quit Pyrodex due to the corrosiveness, but still have a couple hundred .44 Russians loaded with the stuff. I shot 60 of 'em at a match Saturday, and... damn, what a mess to clean up at the end of the day - far worse than real black or any other sub. 20-35 will be just fine, but the manufacturer's recommendation is likely around 20.
  5. Yesterday
  6. Here is another compact shotgun shell loader kit.
  7. I ordered a vial of 7.5mg CBD oil for my wife. Her girl friend's MD prescribed this for better sleep. My bride is a thyroid patient and has a terrible time with sleeping for decades.
  8. Thanks partner. You know me too well I was attempting (apparently unsuccessfully) to be funny after the prepare to pay a lot comments. Takes one to know one eh? That it is. And pronounce. But after successfulling pulling off the fistful of dollars pistol reload not once but twice, I had no other choice but to change the name. At least I didn’t use “hung” anywhere in my new name yeah? Haha
  9. Yep: Just got home Good match Fast straight-forward stages MGM, Boaz, & their crew did a nice job Thanks Crazy Cryder's Posse #12 was a great posse too. See ya next year! --Dawg
  10. Mr. Box 4-23-11 A feller was in the bar this morning when I got down there and he was white as a sheet! He wanted something stiff to warm him up quick! He looked chilly and had a bad case of the shakes. "This costs a little extra but it should do the trick." I said. "I I don't care! G Gimme two!" he stammered. "Ya got a problem?" I inquired. "I I d d don't wanna talk about it! Th That looks like w water!" he blurted. "Don't worry. It ain't." I explained as I poured him a couple of good healthy shots of the Daine Brother's finest. He tossed the first one back and reached for the second when he suddenly stopped! The shakes were gone! He slowed down a little and just sipped the second one. "Feel better?" I asked. "Whew! Better than I expected to." he sighed. "My ears hurt!" "Need anothern?" "Naw. That'll do." he admitted. "Thanks, Pal."
  11. Linn Keller 4-23-11 The Sheriff straightened his leg carefully, shifting uncomfortably in the hard kitchen chair. He was doing his best to pay attention to his bacon and eggs, and as a matter of fact he was making a fair account of himself in that venture, but his leg insisted that he shift position and he did. Esther did not miss the quick frown that escaped his reserve: she noted the change, but said nothing, knowing if the matter were serious, he would tend it, otherwise it would be a presumption to remark upon it. Their girl, however, had no such qualms. She appeared behind the Sheriff and bent to whisper in his ear: her hand was warm on his shoulder, and as he half-rose, she slipped a pillow under his backside. Esther smiled quietly and gave the girl an approving look. "My dear," she said after a few moments, "did you get your note?" "Which one?" her husband asked, looking across the table, eyebrows quirking up. Angela stopped, tilting her head with curiosity, regarding her Daddy with big and innocent eyes. "The note from Jackson Cooper." The Sheriff chuckled, nodded. "Was it serious?" Esther knew it was not; when her husband the Sheriff received a note just after daybreak it was generally a serious matter, but when her husband the Sheriff peered at the note, and frowned at the note, and held the note closer, then further, when her husband the Sheriff frowned and muttered and finally began to laugh, she knew he would not be galloping away on his golden mare, or racing into the distance on his black gelding: no, her husband had re-read the note and chuckled quietly, shaking his head, placing it beside the other, the one with the red-wax seal he'd brought from their gleaming, polished-stone hospital. Linn looked across the table at his wife, reached for the heavy ceramic coffee mug he favored. "Jackson Cooper pulled jail last night," he said, raising the mug and taking a tentative sip. Esther blinked, tilted her own head slightly, giving her husband her shining green eyes. Angela picked up her fork and slid it under a piece of pancake. "Someone alarmed him to a disturbance in the graveyard." Esther blinked in curiosity, leaning forward very slightly, and the Sheriff knew he absolutely had her undivided. Angela turned her bite of pancake over in a tiny puddle of honey and raised it to her lips. "Turns out some fella lost his way and fell in an open grave." "Oh, my," Esther murmured, looking slightly uncomfortable. The Sheriff grinned and forked a short stack of flap jacks onto his own plate, reached for the butter. "He wasn't feelin' any pain," he said quietly, giving his wife a knowing look, and she nodded a little with a quiet smile: apparently the tale was not to be one of woe and of loss. Angela cut off another piece of pancake and stirred it around in what little honey remained on her own plate. "Jackson Cooper looked over the edge of the hole and the fellow said "Help me, I'm cold," and Jackson Cooper said it was no wonder" -- the Sheriff glanced over at Angela, who was concentrating on balancing the anointed bite on her fork -- "for he had kicked off all his dirt!" Angela very carefully raised the fork and delicately inserted her bite into her mouth, chewing with her mouth closed and placing the fork beside her plate. "Angela?" the Sheriff said in his Daddy-voice, and Angela swallowed abruptly, looking guilty: she folded her hands in her lap and said "Yes, Daddy?" in an un-oh, I've-been-caught little girl's voice. "Angela, I am very proud of you," the Sheriff said in his quiet, reassuring Daddy-voice. "You are eating in a very ladylike manner." Angela beamed, trying not to wiggle with pleasure and almost succeeding. "My dear, did I show you the note I received from the Virginia woman?" "Virginia?" Esther asked, her Carolina antecedents in her pronunciation of the name. "She broke her leg when their team ran away and she fell out of the wagon. Angela and I came upon the wagon, back trailed to where she and her husband were." Esther's face lit with comprehension and she looked at Angela. "The broken woman you put in a wagon load of violins," she said, quoting Angela's excited pronouncement to the solemn Dr. John Greenlees, when I sent her galloping ahead to let him know we were coming. Esther shook her head slightly. I looked up at the girl and she dropped a quick curtsy: she disappeared for a moment, then returned, bearing the folded half-sheet of foolscap. I nodded to Esther, and Esther accepted the missive: she read it, read it again and looked proudly across the table at me. "My dear," she murmured. "What is it, Mommy?" Angela asked, considering whether to lean halfway across the table to spear another pancake. "I am delivered this day of a fine son," she read aloud, "and I have you to thank for two sound legs with which to raise him. "Indeed, my physician tells me my very life was saved by your particular action. "With your kind permission I shall name my son for you, that your kindness may be remembered in our family forever." Esther rested her hands on the edge of the table, her eyes glowing softly. "My dear," she murmured, "I am so very proud of you!" I nodded with a wry half-smile. Esther turned her head slightly and raised one eyebrow. "Linn?" she asked. "What happened?" I chuckled, sliced off another bite of pancake. I reached for the honey, drizzled some on the stack, laughed quietly and shook my head. Angela looked at Esther, then back at me: shrugging, she speared another pancake and flipped it neatly onto her own plate. "Her husband brought the note into town. He had to stop at the Mercantile and got distracted and by the time he got to asking where the lawman was, he had to get back to the depot." I turned my bite of pancake over, thrust the tines of my fork under it, lifted it. "He asked the lawman's name." I took a bite and chewed, savoring the good buckwheat. "Liiinnn?" Esther asked, drawing the name out on a rising note, as plain a wordless warning as anything: quit fooling around and tell me what happened! "I don't know who the man asked, but he went back to Cripple just as happy as if he had good sense." "Linn Keller," Esther said, her Wales temper darkening her ears, "if you don't tell me what happened, I will take a wooden spoon to your knuckles!" "Oh, it's nothing, really," I said, picking up a crispy strip of bacon and biting off a third of its length: I chewed, swallowed, then looked squarely at my green-eyed bride. "They named their child Jacob."
  12. NO. Not interested. This probably doesn't help much, so just ignore me. I won't be offended.
  13. Linn Keller 4-23-11 Jackson Cooper was a man with a clean conscience. He was also a man in a comfortable bed, or at least as comfortable as the folding bunk in the Sheriff's office could be: his sleep was deep and dreamless, until a rapid tattoo of nervous knuckles on the barred door brought him to instant alertness. He sat up and thrust his sock feet into his boots: crossing the floor with a double gun in hand, he inquired of the closed door, "Who goes there?" A nervous voice said "Marshal, someone's in the graveyard hollerin', I dunno what's goin' on but it ain't right!" Jackson Cooper frowned: he snatched his hat off the peg, raised the bar on the door and stood well to the side: he swung the door open and let his twin barrels peek out at the same time his eyes did: nothing was seen initially, and he swung around to view the nervous burgher, who was turned and looking toward the graveyard, off the other side and a-past the hospital. Jackson Cooper grunted, stepped outside and drew the door to: he locked it with a quick turn of the big-headed key and looked around. A cautious man by nature, he stood fast in the shadowed darkness, listening, smelling: then he stepped out toward the graveyard, long legs covering ground quickly, and with surprising stealth for a man his size. Jackson Cooper flowed from shadowed pool to shadow, faded into a tree trunk here and disappeared against a building there: he was in no hurry, his travel was at an irregular velocity: he strode quickly across open ground, where the thin crescent moon illuminated but poorly through the high clouds, and hesitated in the un-lighted areas. Darkness was his friend, and he had made good use of it many times in his life. Jackson Cooper stopped, his right ear pulling back a little as he heard a voice. "Help me!" it called, muffled: "I'm cold!" A chill of superstitious fear ran its finger down Jackson Cooper's spine. Jackson Cooper feared neither man nor devil and he'd seen his share of death; he'd seen bodies fresh and bodies decayed, bodies rent asunder by horrible accident, by intentional brutality, by ravening carnivores; he believed not in ghosts nor the walking dead -- but there is still that deep, primitive fear in such moments that might give even a strong man pause. Jackson Cooper listened, took a step, took another. "Help me! I'm cold!" The voice was thin, unsteady, vaguely familiar: Jackson Cooper made a quick mental check, trying to remember who was most recently interred. Had someone been buried alive? he wondered, did they shove and claw their way out of a premature grave? Jackson Cooper's steps were quicker now, still light, but rapid: he flowed through the ornate iron archway, paused, listened. There! he thought as his eyes fell on a darker rectangle. They dug that one today! "Help me!" the voice called, and Jackson Cooper paced over to the hole, eyes busy, head turning, then he carefully peered over the straight edge of the smooth-cut hole. "Help me!" a thin figure called, "I'm cold!" --and Jackson Cooper's forehead wrinkled. He could not help himself. He blurted the first thing that came to mind, and immediately felt somewhat foolish. "Why, you damned fool," he boomed, "ye've kicked all yer dirt off! No wonder you're cold!"
  14. I might - MIGHT - pay 25 bucks for a pair of drawers, if, during the summer, when I sweated, and gravity and body shape made the sweat run down and soak my crotch, if SAID UNDERWEAR somehow made the sweat disappear. Those might be worth $25.
  15. PLUS ONE to GRIFF also PLUS ONE to Kid Rich Pyrodex is a RUSTING agent that just happens to burn. The only use for the stuff I can think of is lawn fertilizer. Spread it thin. Splurge a few extra bucks and find some real BP or APP. Did I happen to mention ... Pyrodex SUCKS!!. If I didn't mention that Pyrodex SUCKS, I apologize and allow me to mention ... Pyrodex SUCKS.
  16. Linn Keller 4-21-11 Jacob straightened up, frowning, one gloved hand to the small of his back, then grinned: youth and strength are more than a match for tired muscles, especially when a beautiful bride and a laughing little boy-child waited for him within. He'd come home after a rather long day: after court, he'd served a warrant, and a summons to appear: the warrant resulted in two arrests (translation: the fellow threatened to shoot him if he didn't leave the property and Jacob promptly stepped in and drove his fist into the man's wind, kicked his son in the gut and used a convenient frying pan to raise knots on both men's skulls) and serving the summons an hour later resulted in a good woman cooked meal and the dark-eyed promise of the rancher's daughter: Jacob had been warned about the lass by his father, and kept a tight rein on his young man's passions, and somehow maintained a formally polite farewell to the black-haired beauty while remaining cordial to her father. The girl's father was in a dispute with a neighbor over water rights and while Jacob knew the man was in the right, it had become a matter of litigation, and he was obliged to serve the summons. The arrestees waited in irons, chained to convenient but separate fence posts, while Jacob finished his business (and meal), and later that day, after finalizing the paper work back at the office, getting the prisoners situated in their jail cells, after turning over the two prisoners from the bank robbery -- one Jackson Cooper had un-gently pacified, the other Jackson Cooper had brought in late the night before -- to the Deputy US Marshal, Jacob tidied up the office, made sure the prisoners were secure, still breathing, and inquired of Jackson Cooper if the man needed anything. Jackson Cooper and Jacob took turns staying at the jail when they had prisoners; the one jail served both the town marshal and the Sheriff, and they took turns keeping house, as it were. Jackson Cooper shook his head, smiling: Jacob nodded, wished the man a good evening, and stepped out the door. He knew Jackson Cooper had a meal waiting on him: the basket was covered with a tucked-in, red-and-white check cloth, and smelled really, really good, and Jacob's rumbling gut reminded him he had a meal waiting at home, and the rest of him reminded him he had a beautiful wife and a laughing son there as well. Now, having tended his mount, cleaned the stall and thrown down fresh straw for bedding, having turned his stallion into the pasture, he grinned as the stallion stuck his neck out and whinnied. "Go get 'em, boy," he murmured as the stallion paced toward the approaching mares. "Make some good colts!" A stray breeze brought him the smell of supper and he grinned. Home looked pretty darn good.
  17. Linn Keller 4-17-11 Doc wanted to take no chances with my leg a-bleedin' again. I don't know why he was being so particular. I been shot before and worse than this, but that skinny so-and-so wouldn't have anything but me layin' flat on my back or real careful up on my un-injured side. He finally allowed as Nurse Susan could crank that-there horse-pistol bed up some at the head and that was a great relief for about the first ten minutes or so, then I began to get restless. He threatened to juice me with some more of that poppy stuff and I told him I would reach down his neck, grab him by the ankles and yank him inside out if he tried it. I didn't like those nightmares a'tall and saw no need to go a-visitin' them things again! Sean fetched me in some good back strap meat -- matter of fact Daisy fixed me up with more than three men could have et -- Doc said it was okay to fill my belly so I did it full justice. I et every bite. Nurse Susan viewed the empty plates and bowls with dismay. "You wern't hungry, now, were you?" she asked, peering over a set of non-existent spectacles. The scar on her face was pretty well faded but her smile was crooked and likely would be for the rest of her life: I thought of the scoundrel that had cut her like that and wished most sincerely he was still alive so I could do some really unpleasant things to his miserable carcass. I shifted my mental locomotive to another set of tracks quick-like, for I am a transparent man and my thoughts are plain on my face: I tried to look innocent and replied, "Why it don't pay to eat too much on an empty stomach!" -- to which she replied, "I'll bet you take a nap before bedtime so you won't be too tired!" "How'd you know?" I asked, straight faced. Sean set himself down on a handy chair, which creaked alarmingly under his weight. "Y'know, Sheriff," he rumbled in that delightful Irish accent, the one that came out most strongly when he had an amused confidence to share, "ye lined me purse an' I thank ye for it." I belched comfortably, stuffing a pillow in under the small of my back. "Sean, I can get in trouble just sittin' in my chair at home. How in the cotton pickin' did I manage to line your purse just a-settin' in here?" Sean laughed quietly, his normally red face turning a little redder. "Well, it was a bit of a wager," he began, drawing a leather poke from inside his shirt and offering it to me: "Your share, by th' way, if ye'll have it." I took the poke, hefted it, raised an eyebrow. "Well don't leave me hangin', man," I exclaimed, "what happened?" Sean leaned back with a pleased expression. "Weeelll," he began, and I was glad I was hoist off the floor on that-there horse pistol bed, for it promised to get deep and I was not wearing my boots. "Me an' me b'hoys were in th' Jewel havin' us a bit of a beer after work," he began, then added "F'r medicinal purposes only, y'understand!" "Of course," I agreed solemnly. Sean nodded, winking at me, and continued. "Weeelll," he began again, "there was this stranger on th' stage, an' he came out allowin' as he'd heard of these Western towns bein' so tough, an' how he could out-draw an' out-shoot any man in th' room!" "I see." By now he had my undivided attention and I gave him both eyes and both ears. "Me brother in law said th' fella couldn't out-draw a girl, an' he got mad an' allowed as he sure as hell could an' he'd prove it, if me puir sister's husband would kindly step outside he'd show him! "Th' Jewel emptied out in short order, f'r ever'one wanted t' see what would happen, y'see." Sean nodded knowledgably. "And what did happen?" "Why, Sarah an' yer Bonnie had jus' wheeled int' the livery wi' their buggy, it seems they had a loose shoe an' Sarah steered 'em in t' see Shorty b'fore things got worse. "Me b'hoy went up t' Sarah an' spoke quiet-like t' her, an' Sarah reached int' th' box b'hind the buggy seat an' whipped out her gunbelt and' wrapped i' around 'er waist!" "Well my goodness," I said quietly, nodding. "Go on." "Ah, 'twas a sight t' see," Sean sighed. "This spalpeen realized he'd bit off more o' th' bull than he could ride an' tried t' back out, but no one'd let 'im, an' words were exchanged, an' finally he allowed as a'right, he'd try this little girl an' see who was faster, an' he put up a purse." Sean pulled a second poke from inside his shirt. "I take it she won." "Aye, that she did!" Sean's grin was broad and genuine, his Irish-blue eyes merry with the memory. "Three times, f'r he cried foult th' firs' time, claimed she'd jumped the go! When she proved faster than he, three times runnin', an' she hit the can three times an' he hit but once, he had t' pay, an' he did." I nodded, wishing I could have seen it. "Sarah was still a-wearin' tha' blue silk gown she was a'wearin' earlier in th' day, when those scoundrels held up th' bank, 'r tried t'." Sean scratched his head. "Y'know, Sheriff, yer niece is growin' into a lovely young woman." He leaned toward me, one elbow on his knee, the other hand on his opposite thigh. "Ye're gon' t' have t' hire a shotgun guard t' keep th' men awa' from such a beautiful child!" I flinched as something seared through my guts like a hot spearhead. It was gone just as quickly but it wasn't pleasant. "Sarah came out winners, eh?" I said, my voice a little strange in my ears. "Oh aye, she did that!" Sean chuckled, hefted his poke, returnd it to a hiding place behind his shirt's bib front. "An' I'm obliged t' you f'r teachin' her t' shoot!" I considered the handful of good fortune I held, then extended it to Sean. "Give that to Charlie Macneil when next you see him. He taught her." Sean blinked, nodded: "Aye, I'll do that."
  18. Go out and get sight settings for 50-75-100 yds, and make note of the sight settings. OLG
  19. Linn Keller 4-15-11 Sarah had a thick bed of straw forked out on the ground, and a saddle blanket over it: in front of her, four cans on the fence rail. Jacob watched as Sarah checked her revolver, holstered: she stepped back and not until she caught her heel and fell did he see an extra fence rail, apparently intentionally placed. Sarah went down backwards and Jacob frowned as her arms swung out and slapped the ground, hard, and she rolled to the side, drew and fired one handed. Even though it was the .22 with which his father had gifted her, it was an impressive move: even more impressive was the fact that she was training to fight back from being knocked down. Sarah fired only one shot; she got up and walked up to the fence rail, touched it, then paced back, turned and drew, fired twice. Jacob could see the can wobble, but it stayed put on the squared-off top of the rail. Sarah reloaded, holstered; this time she stepped sideways, went down on her side, slapped the ground hard with her left arm and drew and fired right handed. Jacob nodded. His father had drilled him in that exact move; it was something he practiced regularly, though he smiled a little at the thick straw padding Sarah had prepared. She's smarter than I am, Jacob thought, then called gently, "Sarah?" Sarah turned, both hands coming up in front of her: she was still keyed up from making her practice as realistic as possible, but she apparently knew she was at home and a surprise probably did not equal a threat. Jacob was grateful for that. He had no doubt that, at this distance, she could perforate his anatomy with ease. "Oh!" Sarah's hand went up to her hair, then swatted at her riding skirt to dislodge any straw that escaped the saddle blanket, and she looked distinctly embarrassed: she looked shyly up at the grinning deputy, and Jacob laughed quietly at her reddening cheeks. He walked up to her and took her hands, shaking his head. "Sarah," he said, "I have seldom seen better." Sarah's eyes dropped shyly and Jacob felt a deep affection for this tall girl: he regarded her more as cousin than anything else, and loved her like a sister, but he also needed to take her testimony about the holdup at the bank. He hadn't heard about her using her Derringer until Bonnie made mention of it. He didn't see a need to put that into the official report, as it was more than evident that Jackson Cooper was the primary cause of the first holdup's demise: no, Sarah's action, though salutary, would escape his pen later in the day. No sense in putting her in front of the Judge if we don't have to, he thought, and as the two of them set on the Deacon's bench, sunning themselves and talking quietly, he watched her hands, her eyes, seeing the change as she looked far into the horizon, seeing the holdup again in her memory. At one point Jacob stood and had her stand, facing him, and had her show him where she stood, where her Mama stood, and which way the nearest holdup was facing: he had her show him the approximate distance to the second holdup, how she moved from one to the other, where she was when Jackson Cooper came into the room. Finally he asked about his father. "He looked around the corner and asked if we were unhurt," Sarah said. "Did you notice anything ... unusual about him?" Sarah considered, looking at the event again with her mind's eye. "No," she finally said. "Other than he looked pale -- his eyes were very pale and I knew he was mad -- angry, to his very soul -- but when he saw we were okay, he pulled back and I turned back to Mama." Jacob nodded. "Jacob, is something wrong?" Sarah's eyes were troubled: Jacob looked out at the line where mountains sawtoothed their way against the blue, blue sky, and he chewed on his upper lip. He looked over at Sarah. "Pa was hurt." Sarah's eyes went wide and the color ran out of her face like red ink out of an eyedropper. "Easy there!" Jacob exclaimed and seized Sarah's shoulder as she wobbled a little. She clutched at his arm and swallowed hard. "How bad?" she whispered hoarsely. "He'll be fine," Jacob said reassuringly. Sarah's distress flared into anger. "JACOB KELLER," she shouted, standing abruptly, fists balled at her side, "DON'T YOU DARE LIE TO ME! HOW BAD IS HE?" Jacob blinked in surprise, then he made a serious mistake. He laughed. Sarah's fist caught him just under the breast bone and her riding boot drove into his shin bone, its impact only slightly diminished by his own elaborately stitched boot tops: "JACOB KELLER, YOU TELL ME THE TRUTH, WHAT HAPPENED?" "Whoa! Whoa!" Jacob choked with what little wind he had left: he seized Sarah's upper arms, turned half sideways as if to throw her over his extended leg: "He'll be fine, he's just lost some blood --" Sarah drove a knee into the back of his thigh and twisted out of his grasp: she drew back a few feet, teeth bared and her own face dead pale: Jacob opened his mouth to say something and Sarah turned, sprinting into the barn. Jacob rubbed his belly and worked some more air into his lungs and before he could get himself to rights, he heard Sarah's "HYAHH!" and the sharp crack of reins against a horse's haunches, and he saw Sarah on her racer squirt out of the open barn doors like a watermelon seed from between pinched fingers, and the race horse raised up and floated over the fence rail like he had wings before they touched down and proceeded to make the express train look like a rank amateur. Jacob grunted, took a deep breath, then another, and headed for his own mount. Fast as his stallion was, he seriously doubted he could catch his cousin.
  20. Linn Keller 4-14-11 With Jackson Cooper out of town, Jacob took over putting together what had happened, and when: he talked to nearly everyone on the street, he spoke with each member of the Irish Brigade: he took pains to thank Mr. Baxter for his kindness, for the man had come over with a double handful of Settledown, coming toward something that could have been mild as an argument or vicious as a running gunfight. He rode out to the McKenna ranch and waved at Sam: she and Clark were in the near pasture, branding and gelding and otherwise engaging in what is honestly nothing but hard, dirty work. Jacob could not help but admire how the herd had improved in the short time that Sam and Clark had been there. He knew they had two seed bulls and rented them out: he'd seen Sarah help them get the bulls to the railhead, and into a cattle car -- but never both at the same time, otherwise they would have torn the cattle car apart and killed one another in the process. Bonnie's twins met Jacob with their usual shy, giggling approach: as soon as he set foot in the house, they charged him at a dead run, one seizing him around the left thigh, one around his right, each of them chattering excitedly, and he squatted and ran an arm around each of them and picked them up, grinning. The hired girl swung into view, then stepped quickly aside as Bonnie came out of her office, smiling. Jacob lowered the girls and they scampered to their Mama: "Mama, Mama, Jacob's here!" they chorused, as if Bonnie could not see the lean young deputy. "Jacob," Bonnie greeted affectionately, extending her hands in a motherly gesture: Jacob flushed, looking suddenly awkward -- just like his father! she thought -- and he advanced and took her hands in his. The hired girl took the twins and entertained them in the next room while Bonnie and Jacob settled in Bonnie's office: tea and sandwiches were brought in, and they exchanged pleasant, small talk -- how little Joseph was growing, how he and Annette had been hoping for another child, how his own small herd had increased significantly. Finally he came to the purpose of his visit. "Can you tell me what happened in the bank?" he asked carefully. Bonnie gave him a patient look. "Jacob Keller," she said softly, "if I didn't know better I would think you were a lawman!" Jacob's smile was equally gentle. "I need to see it through your eyes."
  21. I like Redwood Kid better, much easier to spell.
  22. Hoss, when my son shot his Rossi 92 .357 at our long rang match(100 yards) he did quite well using 158gr bullets in 38 special cases moving about 900 FPS. I don't remember him changing the rear site, just aimed at the top of the targets.
  23. Linn Keller 4-14-11 "Sean?" The big Irishman was almost asleep when Daisy laid a gentle hand on his furry chest and whispered his name. Sean rolled over on his left side and threw a massive, muscled arm over his wife, rolling her into him. His eyes were still closed, he was relaxed, warm, content: he kissed her on the forehead and sighed. Daisy worked her arm up over the curve of his ribs and spoke to her husband's Adam's apple. "Sean?" Sean distantly felt the puff of her breath on his throat, and chuckled, a deep, good natured sound, a sound Daisy loved to hear. There was much about this man she absolutely loved, and very little she did not. "Sean, thank you." Sean swam up through the depths of relaxed sleep and took a shivering breath, which Daisy knew meant he was coming awake. "Hm?" he asked drowsily. Daisy tightened her arm around her husband, and he his around her, and each molded into the other, delighting in their mutual warmth. Few things are as intimate, or as comforting, as simple touch, and touch is magnified in the marriage bed. "Sean? Thank you, you bog trotting Irishman!" Sean came fully awake, went to look down and managed to shove his nose full into her hair. He drew back a little, sniffed, wiggled his nose and tried again. "Daisy me dear," he whispered, "wha' was th' question?" Daisy giggled and turned a little, laying her head in against his shoulder. She seldom ever felt as warm, as safe, as comforted, as she did when she was cuddled up against her Irish mountain of a man, and she felt so now. "Sean, the girl. Thank ye. She's a great help." Sean nodded, carefully, with a drowsy "Mm-hmm." Esther washed her face, the sound of water loud in her bedroom: she toweled carefully, hoping she hadn't wakened Angela, but as she brought the towel from her face, she saw a solemn-eyed little girl standing barefoot beside her, a rag doll dangling by its leg from one hand, the other knuckles rubbing her eye. "Mommy?" Angela asked in a drowsy little-girl voice. "Where's Daddy?" Esther squatted and took her daughter in a gentle Mommy-hug. Angela smelled of clean flannel and soap and lilac-water: like her Mommy, her fine brown hair was braided, though Angela's was in twin pig tails instead of her Mommy's single thick braid. "He'll be back soon, sweets." Angela laid her cheek over on her Mommy's shoulder and Esther picked her up -- she's getting big! she thought, I won't be able to do this for much longer! -- and, snapping back the covers, she laid Angela on their big bed, and got in beside her. Angela rolled up on her left side and gave a little sigh and Esther knew she was asleep, just that fast, and she smiled: she drew the covers over them both, marveling at innocent youth and how quickly it could drop into a deep, dreamless sleep. Angela, though, was dreaming, the vigorous, bright dreams of a little child: she dreamed her Daddy was picking her up and spinning her around, the way she loved, and the world whirled around her in streaks of broad pastels, and she shrieked and laughed, safe in Daddy's big, strong hands, as her skirts and her legs flew out behind her. Angela wiggled a little, dreaming of Daddy's mut-stash tickling her when he kissed her goodnight, or his quiet, strong Daddy-voice as he read her a story, how he felt when she sat on his lap and leaned back against his solid Daddy-chest and laid her cheek against his ribs and listened to his thumper thumping, and how his strong Daddy-arms would pick her up and carry her to bed, and she dreamed of his breath on her cheek as he kissed her goodnight. Esther leaned over to look at her little girl's face, barely visible in the thin moonlight through the wavy glass of the bedroom window, and Esther smiled, for Angela had a contented little-girl smile on her smooth, flawless face.
  24. Wait til we start talking about what goes in em!!
  25. I, also, am a huge fan. It's funny. Guy I used to work with was a fan of "serious" science fiction - Herbert, Nivan, like that. When he saw the title of the book I was reading - SPACE CADET - he was laughing at it. Until he saw it said Robert Heinlein. He told me when he first saw the title he thought it was about Tom Corbin.
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