Val Browning entered the brightly lit show floor and strode confidently to his company’s large booth. He was excited to gauge the reactions to a shotgun of his own creation called the Double Automatic. The expo was for salesmen and dealers to learn about new products, and for the firearms companies to connect and fraternize with these buyers who sold their firearms to hunters and shooters.

My pretty cowgirl wife, Sylvia, and I were working cattle about thirty miles from town on a warm fall day when a very brief episode occurred. It involved a rope that left me missing the end of one digit from my strong-side hand. Yes, that is right—my trigger finger.

It was mid-November 1978. I had been on the job as the editor of GUNS magazine for just eight months as I found myself on a jet traveling from San Diego to St. Louis. This was to be my first national assignment, and to say I was somewhat trepidatious would be an understatement on a grand scale. Barely twenty-five years old, my journalism school training and my life-long passion for firearms and hunting had gotten me the job.

Of course, they are also at home in the great state of Texas. Scaled quail dispersion in Texas shows them ranging from the panhandle down into the Big Bend country and following the Rio Grande. From there they seep deep into Old Mexico.