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by Jim Wilson Rio Concho lay some twenty miles northwest of San Angelo. The wagon road made its way through the low hills and mesquite flats with the only respite being where it crossed the North Concho River about halfway between the two towns. 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.

by Shane Jahn I don't normally shoehorn my thoughts into Shane's articles. I can't imagine a situation where his work could benefit from my input—except for his villainous usage of commas. But on this Christmas Day, sitting here at my desk proofreading this article, I simply can't help myself. It was just a few years back when I started my career as a United States Border Patrol agent in West Texas—back when Shane was my supervisor. He and I spent many a day on the Brite Ranch welcoming questionable hikers to the United States. This article brought back a flood of memories of the rough land we had become so familiar with. There were many times I stayed in Shane's footsteps, pretending to also see the subtle tracks he was following. But on one particular occasion, I remember him kneeling down and picking up an empty, weathered rifle cartridge. It must have been something special, because he couldn't identify it. This memory instantly came back to me while reading the story of the Brite Raid. Could the old cartridge have been left over from this legendary confrontation? It sure is neat to think about, but we'll never really know. —Matt Covert 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. This Christmas marks the 108 th  anniversary of the raid on the Brite Ranch by Mexican bandits. The Mexican Revolution was raging during this time and the violence associated with that complicated civil war often spilled across the Rio Grande and into the United States. The fighting factions of the Mexican conflict saw an opportunity to raid ranches on our side of the river to re-supply their cause with horses, food, guns, ammunition, and anything else they needed. Extreme violence was dealt out in many of these episodes.

by Matt Covert It was Thanksgiving day when I first asked the Gun Tales community to share photos of their favorite revolvers. I imagined we all shared the same purpose at that moment—sit around and wait for the pie. I thought it would simply be a fun, short-lived moment on Facebook where a few loyal readers would share ten or fifteen photos. Little did I know that asking this question would start a week-long scurry to submit hundreds of photos in the comments section on our Facebook page . Suddenly, I was buried in meaningful photographs. It quickly became apparent that we were seeing the beating heart of the Gun Tales family. Some might call it a revolver revival, but this would imply we are rediscovering revolvers after letting them retire into the graces of history. Nothing could be further from the truth. This is revolver revelry—an unending dedication to simplicity and heritage. 

 I think we can all agree that no other machine matches the exquisite combination of beauty and utility in a classic revolver. They offer a type of magic that has never been replicated, though many have tried—and no one knows this better than me. After teaming up with Jim Wilson and Shane Jahn to create Gun Tales, the magic of these older (yet still relevant) weapons has crept into my blood. This new love of classic revolvers was solidified when I sold my three prize competition guns: a Staccato P, a long-range AR15, and a Remington shotgun. I replaced them all with a solitary Schofield, and I’ve never been happier. The photos that you all submitted are priceless. They show personality, pride, mar, and memory. It only makes sense to give everyone the chance to enjoy them here, where you can scroll slowly and take pleasure in every photo. Some were taken casually, and others carefully crafted. And yet the results are the same—perfect moments in time celebrating the greatest companions in our lives. But here’s the fun part. Every photo has a number at the top left corner. While you’re scrolling, make sure you keep track of your favorite one and leave a comment with the number. I’ll tally up the results and send a free T-shirt, hat, and coffee mug to the person who took the photo with the highest number of votes. It’s almost Christmas, after all, and this seems like the perfect way to celebrate the most-loved revolvers in our community. 

 But there’s more. It wasn’t easy, but we did what had to be done. We whittled down through all these photos and picked our favorite twelve to feature in the Gun Tales 2026 Calendar, which you can see here . 

 We’re humbled and excited to have such an incredible community of readers, and making this calendar is a small way to showcase your finest photos and tell you how much we appreciate you. As we near the end of 2025, two things are clear: the revolver is more alive than ever, and the Gun Tales community is the best on the internet. Enjoy. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128 129 130 131 132 133 134 135 136 137 138 139 140 141 142 143

by Shane Jahn 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. The first gun chambered for it was a double action (DA) revolver that came to be known as the Smith & Wesson (S&W) Model 29. It ’s impossible to reflect on the magnum round and not think of Elmer Keith. The famed gunwriter in the big hat played a major role in the birth of both the gun and cartridge. Bill Ruger’s tough Blackhawk single action revolver (SA) followed shortly thereafter, a gun we now know as the classic Flattop.

by Mike Arnold Mike Arnold is professor and Head of the Department of Genetics at the University of Georgia and author of the 2022 book, BRINGING BACK THE LIONS: International Hunters, Local Tribespeople, and the Miraculous Rescue of a Doomed Ecosystem in Mozambique . Mike’s newest book, BRINGING BACK THE WILD – Stories from Revitalized Ecosystems Around the World and How Sport Hunting Supports Them , appeared in July 2025. You can find a description of Mike’s travels, talks, articles, and books at mikearnoldoutdoors.com . 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. The guy could pretty much write all other authors under the table. Given my appreciation of his work, it should come as no surprise to those familiar with Ruark’s Horn of the Hunter , that I associate African hunting with the presence of the Spotted Hyena, and thus eventually would want one in my trophy room—cum—office. The opportunity for that wish fulfillment came in the 2025 Mozambique winter, on the  Massingir Safaris ’ property, hunting with old friends from Zambeze Delta Safaris .

I admit that I'm constantly surprised by the Gun Tales community. Not too long ago Jim mentioned he was working on an article about Smith & Wesson break-tops, and asked if he could use my Cimarron No. 3 for the photos. But since my cylinder is currently on vacation at the custom shop, I wasn't able to help him. Fortunately, I decided to make the request on our Facebook page and asked for photos of anyone's Smith & Wesson break-top. Almost immediately, subscriber Steve Tracy answered the call and offered up the beautiful photos that accompany this article. Steve, we thank you for your quick response and are thrilled to feature such an important piece of history. —Matt Covert by Jim Wilson 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. The guns had a reputation for accuracy and a lot of shooters liked the fact that, being a break-top, you could pop it open and throw out all of your empties at once...made it a little faster to reload...which was a good thing.

by Shane Jahn If you play the handgunning game long enough, sooner or later you are bound to delve into the realm of the powerful big bore revolver. For many it’s a gun that is worked up to over time. Some shooters will go a lifetime shooting the “normal” cartridges, and that’s fine. Most of our handgun hunting can be done with the good 41 Magnum, 44 Magnum, and 45 Colt. These proven cartridges can be tailored with handloads or factory ammunition to handle a variety of jobs. Others get a hankering for a big boomer.

by William Bell I first remember reading Bill Bell’s good articles in Combat Handguns Magazine many years ago, long before I became a writer. I finally met Bill at the Shootist’s Holiday a few years back and we’ve been friends ever since. We’ve attended some of the same writer’s events along the way and he’s always good company. Heck, we even teamed up a-one evening to win second place in a corn hole game championship. I don’t remember what Bill got, but I walked away with some good leather gear from Galco. Who says there’s no second-place winners! It’s a mystery to me how at the SHOT Show Bill and I seem to run into one another several times during the week in the huge buildings, teeming with thousands of other folks. I expect it’s because we share the same gun-related interests. You’ll see from Bill’s bio that he spent his adult life as a lawman and his resume of writing is equally impressive.  We’re glad to have him here at Gun Tales. —Shane Jahn William “Bill” Bell retired from law enforcement in 2014 after having served for 38 years with such agencies as the LaGrange (KY) PD, the Jefferson Parish Sheriff’s Office, U.S. Border Patrol, and U.S. Customs/CBP. He also served as an officer with the Kentucky and Louisiana Army National Guard for six years. He graduated from Eastern Kentucky University College of Law Enforcement, earning AA and BS degrees in 1976. A self-taught marksman and hunter, Bell was a member of the KY ARNG combat pistol team, the JPSO PPC shooting team, and shot for U.S. Customs, Port of Calexico. Over the years he participated in IPSC, bowling pin, and steel target shooting matches. He’s been involved with cowboy action shooting since 1992. Bell was also a collateral-duty firearms instructor with USCS/CBP for 17 years. Bell had his first gun magazine article published in 1983, and since then, has had several hundred articles published in such magazines as Combat Handguns, Guns & Weapons for Law Enforcement, Concealed Carry Handguns, Guns of the Old West, Guns, Gun Digest Magazine, and NRA America’s 1st Freedom, among others. Today he writes mostly for online publications from Athlon Outdoors, Lipsey’s Bulletin, Mid-south Shot Report, and more. He also maintains a Facebook page called The Firing Pen ,  and contributes to Instagram and Linked-In. He’s been married for 46 years, has a son, and two grandsons. It seems like I “broke the mold” in my family. None of my immediate relations when I was growing up had much if any interest in firearms. My proclivity for guns began in my mid-teens as I discovered magazines like Field & Stream , Outdoor Life  and Sports Afield. I was a self-taught shooter, graduating from a BB gun, to a pellet gun, then a single-shot 20 ga. shotgun, and finally a .22 rifle. Westerns dominated prime-time television, so eventually I acquired a Ruger Super Single Six .22 SA revolver and a cowboy-style holster rig. My gun interests expanded beyond hunting guns when I started reading magazines like Guns , Guns & Ammo , and Shooting Times .

by Shane Jahn Where I grew up in southeastern Texas livestock ponds, aka stock tanks, were numerous. These small bodies of water are made by a dozer and hold copious amounts of rainwater that’s diverted into them. That country typically gets plenty of rain throughout the year, allowing for ranchers to stock these small bodies of water with fish. Perch, largemouth bass, and various sorts of catfish are the usual inhabitants, along with leopard frogs, red-eared slider turtles and a water moccasin or two. When I was a kid, my grandad oversaw the Cutbirth Ranch that once encompassed parts of Colorado and Lavaca Counties. Before him, his dad and mother lived and worked there too. It was a good-sized piece of property for that part of the state. If I recall correctly, it was around 5,000 acres.

by Jim Wilson Tom Threepersons was a lawman/gunfighter in the El Paso area during the 1920s. Whether you know it or not, just about everything else that you know or have read about him is untrue or undocumented. So, let’s start with the facts that can be proven. Threepersons came to El Paso in 1916 and joined the U.S. Army as a civilian packer. This was during the buildup that led to Pershing’s punitive expedition into Mexico after Pancho Villa. It is also possible that Threepersons may have served as a scout for army units during their search for the bandits. He was back in El Paso and a civilian by 1920 when he went into law enforcement.

by Richard Mann Richard Mann and I have been friends for quite a number of years. We've had adventures along the Rio Grande, spent time at Gunsite, and hunted buffalo in Mozambique together. His roots are in Appalachia and that's where my people come from. We speak the same language. Over the years, Richard has become the complete gun writer. He can discuss rather technical topics with ease and then turn right around and just tell a good story. And, my friends, that's not as easy as you might think. His collection of stories, articles, and videos can be found at EmptyCases . And he's not a bad guitar picker. We welcome him to Gun Tales and I know you will enjoy his stories. —Jim Wilson Sometimes the wind blows like hell there. It blows the hardest when it comes from the west, across Devil’s Hole and the top of the South Branch Mountain, and then down the steep eastern slope into the bowels of Pot Lick Cove. When I was younger, I never paid much attention to the wind. I was more interested in poking a stick in the fire and smelling the grease, as it softened and seeped into the leather of dad’s boots he’d placed close to the flame. The sound I remember most was the sandpapery metallic rasp of carbon steel on a whetstone as grandpa sharpened a blade. But now, when that west wind blows, like it’s angry at the trees, the hills, and the hollers it must pass over, it moans. Not a sad, depressing moan, but more of a long drawn out sigh, like a groan of relief, welcoming me home, to deer camp.  In 1962 my family did not deer hunt, they were houndsmen. Someone he trusted told Grandpa all the raccoons in West Virginia lived in the eastern panhandle, so he found the family some land, a long six hour ride from home, and they spent one summer living in an old, abandoned, one-room schoolhouse, building a hunting camp. To me, it was not just a camp, it was a castle. A bastion of knowledge where a clan of blood relations celebrated the freedom many of the members had fought to retain. It stood out, starkly, in the forest, looking as much like it belonged there as it looked out of place.  Deer/Hunting Camp (circa 1963) Grandpa was the king, and my father, uncles, and cousins, were his knights. They learned to hunt everything the Allegheny Mountains had to offer. Each with their own and different preferred weapon, they owned the forest, and every evening they would gather round the massive table to revel in their deeds and celebrate the kingdom they’d created. I desperately longed for knighthood and, not knowing exactly how to earn it, I did the chores. I carried the water from the creek, split the firewood, banked the stove, cut the brush, skinned the squirrels, and quartered and butchered the deer. I learned to grease my own boots, sharpen my own knife, and I learned how to shoot and how to hunt. I wanted my seat at that great table.  But that table is not as great as it once was, and I feel that’s the case with many deer camps. Grandpa passed when I was fourteen, and with the king gone, the knights went their separate ways. For a while, my sister and I were all that was left to manage the kingdom, and with only a few remaining who could remember it as the citadel it once was, it wasn’t the same—its survival was in question.   But that all changed one fall not all that long ago, under the golden, red, and copper colored leaves, when another young man found the same solace and inspiration there that had comforted and driven me, my father, and his great grandfather. Knighthood earned, he now makes the pilgrimage to the kingdom in the summer to tend the grounds and work the repairs. In the early fall, to scout and recharge, and later, when the winds howl, cold and piercing, and moaning-like, to hunt the whitetail deer.  The kingdoms all around the old castle have changed. Lords in the neighboring realms guard adjoining borders that were once only a blurred suggestion, and everyone pushes back against the orange-clad heathens who wander in from the west and spread out across the landscape like a crazy woman’s quilt. The castle has changed too. It’s been modernized, with heat that comes from a power line as opposed to a wood stove, and with connectivity to the outside world through a satellite.  But none of that really matters.  Deer Camp (2024) What matters, what’s important, is that the traditions will continue, because there’s now a fourth generation knight at the table. And if the hunting gods do not abandon us, someday there will be a fifth, and another young man will poke a stick in the fire, smell boot grease, and hear the sharp grinding of steel against stone. Hopefully, he too, will long for knighthood, and he will undoubtedly hear that wicked wind as it rolls down the mountainside like a freight train lost on its own track.  We can only wonder what the wind will tell him.    The way that you wander is the way that you choose,   The day that you tarry is the day that you lose.   Sunshine or thunder, a man will always wonder.   Where the fair wind blows.   — Jeremiah Johnson, 1972   Editor's Note: Stop right here. Click this link. Go experience Richard Mann's evocative and rejuvenating style of storytelling as he carefully preserves the art of gun writing. EmptyCases is his collection of personal stories, made just for you.

by Shane Jahn