Below my eloquently written primer you will find Fermin Garza's introductory email to Matt Covert. Matt wears many hats, two of which are editor and mastermind behind all the digital happenings that make Gun Tales what it is. Without Matt, Jim and I would be posting screenshots of articles written on our Big Chief tablets.

You see, I had already discovered Bill Jordan and his great book, “No Second Place Winner.” At that point in my life I didn’t know anything about gunfighting but something told me that Mr. Jordan did. If the Smith & Wesson Model 19 was his choice I figured it might be a good choice for me, too. Consequently, as soon as I got a couple of paychecks under my belt I sprang for a Model 19, 4-inch, blued.

Hunt long enough, and you’re eventually going to mess up. If you’ve never lost an animal, count your blessings and you might want to go out and buy a lottery ticket because you are extremely fortunate and very lucky. You are also probably one day closer to having an agonizing day in the field! As I approach 40 years of hunting I must admit I’ve experienced some mishaps along the way. What follows are a few that stand out. By sharing these episodes, I hope to accomplish two th

It has often been said by many experts that the diminutive Sparrowhawk is only capable of taking on prey no larger than the common field mouse. But let it be known that the field of ornithology is filled with cheats, scallywags, swindlers, and liars. A more dishonest profession likely does not exist. Furthermore, I would surmise that ornithologists and attorneys likely attend the same family reunions. But what is all this talk of birds? This is a gun rag, ain’t it?!

The scorching sun hung high above the Chihuahuan Desert as the lawman carefully made his way up a steep limestone escarpment, mindful not to drive the arched spears of Lechuguilla into his shins as he secured footing to make the next push upward. A fall among the boulders below would be much more painful, if not life-altering. Faint scuffs on the slick rock convinced him that the men he was after had scaled the looming cliffside.

A fellow once told me that, regarding feral hogs, there are two kinds of places...them that’s got ‘em and them that’s gonna get ‘em. Feral hogs, if they are anything, are adaptive. We even have them out here in this high, dry desert country of the Texas Big Bend. They are tough, prolific, and destructive...oh, and they’re really fun to hunt.

For the past five years, I’ve been trying to shoot a bull. When I was twelve, my buddy and I tracked down a cow that had been wounded by poachers and put her down with muzzleloaders. I got close two years ago when I had my bow drawn back at a bull standing at thirty yards for over a minute. Sadly, he never presented an ethical shot, and I had to let him go.

I just got in last night from SHOT Show ’26. Fortunately, my flight into Midland made it ahead of this cold spell that is settling in. It’s a good time to play indoors—if you can! The best part about SHOT for me is seeing friends and meeting folks. Many attendees asked about Gun Tales, and I got a lot of compliments on our site. That sure is good to hear and we appreciate all of you for coming along with us!

To some folks Claude Dallas was like a throwback to the days of old-time cowboys and mountain men, the ones who took care of their own business. Others just saw him as trouble looking for a place to happen. Regardless, he has become a part of the latter-day western legend.

One of my favorite friends from years past was Texas Ranger Lee Trimble. Lee was born LaFetra Elisha Trimble on September 29, 1892, in Globe, Arizona Territory. He never said much about his early life but, by 1917, he was a cowboy on the Brite Ranch, south of Valentine, in the Big Bend country of West Texas.

It seems common these days that folks often name deer. I’m not talking about pets, although some wild deer become so predictable and accustomed to hunter activity that they appear somewhat domesticated, even on huge ranches. We feed a lot of corn on the ranch I hunt. It helps the wild game; deer, javelinas, quail, various birds, and so on, by providing a little extra nourishment and it helps the hunter to see animals that would otherwise go unnoticed in the masses of mesquite

Wyatt Earp was a frontier lawman and Stuart N. Lake made him a legend. Some time in the early 1920s, Lake contacted Bat Masterson in New York City with the idea of writing Masterson’s life story. Probably just to get rid of the guy, Masterson told him that Wyatt Earp, living in California, was the more deserving subject. The result was that Lake published “Wyatt Earp: Frontier Marshal” shortly after Earp passed away in the late '20s.

Today I’m going to tell you about a gun that has cost me very little, at least to this point in my ownership of the piece. Years ago, a friend took possession of a Winchester Model 1873 in .44 WCF, A.K.A. .44-40 Winchester.  It’s the 24-inch version with an octagonal barrel and is stamped “King’s Improvement.”

I’d found a cozy little place on a Texas hillside. Sitting with my back against a cedar, with an agarita bush in front of me to break up my silhouette. I hadn’t been there all that long when a nice eight-point buck came out of the brush to get a drink at the stock tank that was about thirty-five to forty yards in front of me.

The older we get, the more valuable family heirlooms and keepsakes we’ve accumulated over the years become. To most folks these things mean very little. However, many of these items are priceless to the current caretaker. A glance around the house reveals an assortment of things that once belonged to relatives that are now gone. It will come as little surprise to y’all that many of these cherished possessions are guns.

The only travelers on the road were two horsemen. The older of the two, riding a big dun gelding, was Dave Allison, a man in his late forties with prematurely graying hair. His partner, younger by 20 years and sitting on a nice bay gelding, was Tom Allred. Both men wore white shirts and dark vests. Each had a revolver on his hip and a carbine in their saddle scabbard. One might mistaken them for father and son ranchers. They weren’t.

Bloody Christmas on the Mexican Border: The Brite Ranch Raid—The tale I’m about to share with y’all will sound a little like one of Jim Wilson’s fiction pieces, but it’s not. There are slight variations in accounts of the incident. What follows are some of the common reports gathered from multiple sources, along with information passed down to later generations from folks who were there.

In the past few days, we’ve seen that the 44 Remington Magnum has been around for seven decades. That fact alone tells us how important this fine cartridge is to the handgunning world. The sheer power of the 44 Magnum is one reason; another is its versatility. Nostalgia plays a role too. Cinema detective Harry Callahan once labeled it as the most powerful handgun in the world, and it was at that time.

Anyone even slightly aware of what’s in my books and magazine articles on African hunting knows I quite often cite Robert Ruark. In fact, if Mr. Ruark was still alive, I’d probably fall under the moniker of ‘fanboy’…or stalker. I won’t apologize for my near obsession with his output.

My guess is that when most of us imagine the old-time gun toters of the frontier we unconsciously assume that they were packing Colt single actions. And, while that might have been true for a slim majority, the Smith & Wesson Model 3 single action was always running a close second to the venerable Colt.