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Still for sale

Eagle Checkered GF Grips still for sale;

I use Lee carbide 4 die sets that include the factory crimp die. They are the least expensive dies out there and produce quality ammo. I would ditto the comments about loaded cowboy ammo from those companies mentioned perhaps initially. The wife and I started with Remington 12 ga. game loads way back when and saved all the hulls. If you do buy some loaded cartridges, save your brass for later when you do reload. You'll have a bunch of research to do starting out. It's a fun hobby and there's something for everyone.

Good call. Especially considering ‘JC’s recommendations of a Glock 17, an S&W M&P, etc. as excellent pistols for a ‘newbie’ the thread asking about pistols for novices. And who here calls anyone ‘partner’ instead of ‘pard’?

tactical withdraw

twilight zone

You won't find that type of .38 ammo. 99.999% of cowboy shooters reload.

And don't forget the REAL scars from cuts on thumbs and fingers from sharp edge 97 bolts. And calasis and sometimes a small blister from hard practice with pistols and SG. I now put a bandaid on my thumb and finger when I dry fire practice to help eliminate some cuts when I 'bump' the edge of the bolt. The cuts don't hurt so much but its hard to practice with blood running down your hand (I take blood thinners). ..........Widder

Mine is in 45colt, I use Schofield ammo. Love it but it doesn't like black powder. So it only gets played with every so often. I've tried all the subs but no bueno. Rafe

Another thing that could be easily overlooked is the sights. Highly recommend going with fixed sights. Adjustable sights limit the categories that you can shoot in. BS

This was a magazine ad when the movie came out. It’s very heavy and measures 16”x24”. I can ship it but it would not be cheap to ship. $100 plus shipping Sorry about my reflection in there.

I’m not 100% sure but I think it could be Montana Armory. It was sold by Buffalo Arms. The lock ring looks like Lee but the rest of the die is extremely high quality.

Let him know WE ALL hope he has a complete and quick recovery. As for TW, ya gotta remember that he's a little hindered hisowndangself with those 2 bad forearms. He's still wearing splints a few hours a day and I doubt he'll do much practicing before the match. I think his 'Chicken Feet' curse has backfired on him..... CAPT: hope to see you at the Ocoee Rangers tomorrow. ..........Widder

BTT

I remember his visits with us at RR Bar. He was a delight to shoot with. He will be missed.

Boggus, who made this die?

Outstanding rifle!

YENTA, THE MATCHMAKER Angela Keller sat with her white-stockinged knees carefully together, her hands very properly folded in the skirt of her white uniform skirt, her head tilted a little the way a woman will, when something interests her. She was listening to the regular cadence of tones from the black-plastic-grilled speaker. She knew it was Morse code -- beyond that, she had to wait for the twins' yellow-painted Number Two Lead pencils to quit their busy lines and curlicues, and their results ripped free of pads maintained for that purpose, and handed to her. Angela smiled as she read this modern day transcript of a Morse code message, and part of her mind quietly appreciated that this scene had been played out more than a century before, when a man who'd worn Confederate grey, inclined a professional ear to a polished-brass sounder and interpreted a rapid series of clicks and clatters, letting the metallic racket run in his ears and out the Barlow-whittled tip of his stub of a pencil. Angela read the regular print, looking from one page to another -- even their handwriting is almost identical! she thought -- she looked up at the twins and smiled that gentle smile of hers, then she rose, knelt, opened her arms. Michael and Victoria happily embraced their big sis, delighted to have so obviously gained her approval. Angela knocked at the door, then looked down and smiled: she stepped back a little, bent slightly, looked at the round lens of a doorbell pushbutton. "Mitch?" she called. "It's Angela. Permission to come aboard!" There was a heavy, mechanical sound as the door was remotely unlocked, and Mitch's voice grinned from the rectangular doorbell, "Permission granted!" Angela straightened, pushed open the door, stepped inside: she carefully closed it behind her, smiled a little at the sound of heavy bolts driving home, securing the portal. If I rode a wheelchair for a living, she thought, I'd have a fortress too! She turned at the sound of hydraulics whining; a moment later, a panel opened and Mitch rolled toward her, grinning. He extended a hand and Angela ignored it: she bent, hugged him, giggled, and he hugged her back, laughing. "You've lost weight!" she exclaimed, and he slapped his stumps and declared firmly, "The Alfred Hitchcock method! Lose weight fast, use a knife!" -- they both laughed, for it was an old joke between them: it started out as Angela's psychic slap-in-the-face to him when she was first taking care of him, right after he'd lost both legs from being hit by that drunk driver, and Mitch seized on the phrase as a survival tool. Rotten humor, he'd told her later, was his salvation, and Angela agreed, for she'd seen that same particular tool used by the Combined Emergency Services more times than she could count. They strolled and rolled into the kitchen: "The Navy runs on coffee, and so do I!" Mitch said firmly, reaching up and turning a little carousel: "Individual packages, take-a you pick!" Angela bent, studied the selection, chose what she thought was the strongest brew: the coffee maker already had water in the reservoir, and her big mug of steaming-hot wide-awake was quickly and fragrantly produced, Mitch's right behind it, and the two of them took their places at Mitch's kitchen table. "Deborah's gone for the day," Mitch said as he slopped milk from the plastic jug into his big insulated travel mug with MITCH'S GAS TANK hand painted on the side. "How's she getting along?" Mitch set the jug down, looked very frankly at Angela. "She is the best thing that ever happened to me," he said softly, then chuckled. "I remember when we first met" -- he looked sharply at Angela, who regarded him with an innocent batting of her long, curled eyelashes over the glazed rim of her heavy white-ceramic mug -- "I'd not gotten ... the idea of not having legs anymore was just sinkin' in and it felt like an anchor pulling me to the bottom of the ocean." "I remember," Angela murmured. "You were profoundly depressed." "Yeah," Mitch said quietly, nodding, then took a sip of his steaming-fresh brew. "Then this really good looking gal in a skirt comes into the room. "Here I am, feeling all sorry for myself, I can't hardly look at her -- what woman wants half a man? -- she sat down and looked at me." His voice softened a little. "Angela, I honestly can't tell you just how surprised I was when she hiked that skirt up." Angela hid her quiet smile behind her cup, gave him those big lovely eyes to show him she was listening and listening closely. "She unbuckled her left leg, she pulled it off her stump, she took it overhead in both hands and heaved it across the room into my belly -- I caught it and I'm starin' at her like she just sprouted a third eye -- she pulls off her right leg and hauls off and heaves it across the room at me, she points that finger of hers at me and said, 'Now that I have your attention, you listen to me!' " He took a long breath, sighed it out, smiled. "That," he said softly, "was the beginning of my recovery. I have no idea why, but she stayed with me every step of the way. "We've set the date. We're getting married. She's got your invitation made out and ready to send." Angela set her mug down carefully, clapped her hands with delight, laughed. "So she got your attention!" -- her voice was sunshine and merriment, and Mitch laughed with her and nodded. "I understand you arranged for her visit," Mitch said quietly. "Thank you." "A nurse is many things," Angela said quietly. "Some are more satisfying than others" -- she leaned forward, lowered her head a bit, smiled, spoke as one old friend to another -- "but the best part is becoming Yenta, the Matchmaker!" "I was surprised when the twins asked if you could come by today." Mitch shifted a little, pushed up on the arms of his chair, resettled himself on the gel doughnut under his backside. "I was watching your traffic stop a couple days ago." Angela nodded. "That one," she admitted, "did not go quite the way I expected!" "I thought you were hurt." "No. Just the windshield and some sheet metal." Mitch set his big plastic travel mug down, leaned forward, looked intently, directly, into Angela's pale eyes. "I don't have many friends anymore," Mitch said, his voice quiet, intense: "no man can afford to throw a friend away and I don't want to lose any more." Angela watched him frown, look away, swallow, look back, and she knew what he was saying was both spontaneous, and whole cloth. "Angela, you be careful. You're the only one of you we've got." "Angela, I mean it. I had a crush on you in school and" -- his teeth clicked together as he looked away again, as if he'd let something slip he didn't mean to. "I shouldn't have said that," he muttered. Angela reached across the table, gripped his hand. "Mitch?" she almost whispered. "Thank you." Mitch looked back, nodded, then grinned. "The world has a shortage of good matchmakers," he grinned. "I don't want anything to happen to my favorite Yenta!"

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