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.

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.

It seems that time can be a tricky thing to master. I very specifically remember that when I was a kid, time was stubborn and had little to no interest in passing. It didn't seem to matter if I was waiting for the morning to arrive, or waiting for the summer school break. Time could not be rushed, and no amount of begging could convince it.

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.

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.

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.

Our fishing tackle wasn’t state of the art, but it worked just fine. Zebco spinning reels were the norm. I can still hear the “click—ziiiing” cadence of pushing the release and slinging a lure across the water. The thrill of a bass striking a top water bait is something I miss. Most of the time we released what we caught but occasionally we took something home to fry.

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It was a package of modifications, with the cutaway feature already being somewhat commonplace. The cutaway remains, however, the most notable and controversial of the alterations, and has inspired a safer—and surprisingly durable—version of the speed-oriented modification. It may have another name, but I’ve always called it the “Half Fitz.” 

When it comes to shooting, nothing fits the hand, or points more perfectly than single action sixguns. Single actions are safe too, so long as you heed the age-old adage of load one, skip one, load four, cock the hammer, then slowly let it down so the hammer rests on an empty chamber. If your single action has a transfer bar safety, like Ruger New Model Blackhawks, you’re good to go with six rounds. 

As a group, outdoorsmen in general and hunters in specific tend to be decorative in their remembrances of how much fun they had. A hunter’s home decor typically involves pictures, sculptures and especially taxidermy that celebrate past experiences. However, occasionally a well executed shoulder mount of a game animal is no more effective at stimulating a memory than a relatively anonymous artifact such as a rock, or in my case, a spearhead.

His name was Henry McCarty. His favorite alias was William Bonney. We knew him as Billy the Kid. Beyond that, just about everything you knew, or thought you knew, about him is not true or are claims made without supporting facts. Here are a few things to consider about one of the West’s most famous outlaws.

I have little doubt most readers of this post have heard of Charlie Pirtle. He was well known in the revolver competition communities of days gone by, and a winner of who knows how many shooting awards during his time on the U.S. Border Patrol Pistol Team. One of the best man trackers I have had the fortune of ever being around, well known lawman, outstanding Dutch oven cook, dedicated hunter, outdoorsman and true gentleman. In short, Charlie was one of the most influential f

I expect a lot of us can relate to starting our adult lives with meager earnings. The first year or two that my wife, Jill, and I were married we didn’t have a lot of extra money. Jill was going to college, and we had a brand-new baby girl. Her grandmother watched the baby during the day so Jill could drive seventy-four miles each way to attend the University of Texas Pharmacy School in Austin.

His name was Arvo Ojala, pronounced O-Ja-La, with a J. He was known as the fast gun coach of the stars needing help handling sixguns to realistically portray themselves as authentic gunslingers. Believe me, they all needed help. Arvo was considered an excellent teacher, stating he could teach anyone how to fast-draw and handle guns professionally within a two-week span.

John Wesley Hardin was born in Bonham, Texas, in 1853. He grew up during the War of Northern Aggression and the subsequent Reconstruction era. For whatever reason, Texas was not hit very hard by the actual war; not a single major battle was fought in the state. However, Reconstruction hit Texas with both feet...with the boots and spurs still on.

I have been extremely fortunate to have met, and continue to meet, some extraordinary and interesting characters in my life. It will come as no surprise to many of you that a lot of these folks are lawmen. One such man was Sam McKone. That name will ring a bell to devoted readers of No Second Place Winner, authored by famed Border Patrolman Bill Jordan. Pages 105 and 106 of my copy of that compact book on gunfighting tell how Sam’s cool head and expert marksmanship took out a

“There wasn’t no place I couldn’t go with a 22 rifle and a fishing pole.” Y’all remember that old Don Williams tune? I suspect we all look back on our younger years and remember them as a better time. Whether they always were or not doesn’t matter if we choose to remember the best of times. For most of us our youth was certainly less complicated by electronics. No cell phones.

He had ridden southwest out of Marfa, down through Pinto Canyon. Once he hit the river, he headed upstream, through the little village of Candelaria, to a river crossing called Capote. His horse was hobbled back in the brush, and now he sat in the early morning darkness, Winchester across his lap, waiting to kill a man who had once been his best friend.