Another Jet story: Back in about 1977-1978, me and my best friend Dewey went rabbit hunting. I had my first Model 53, a 6 incher that was mechanically perfect but had been rusted on one side and then refinished. The pitting had been fairly severe, I guess, and it still looked like **** on the left side, so I got it cheap. I was a poor college boy at the time, so cheap was good!

The gun came nekkid, no box or .22 LR cylinder or inserts. I found some inserts in ShotGun News and had bought 6. We drove out into the desert near Tooele, Utah, found a spot where the highway was well marked with car-flattened jackrabbits, parked and then geared up.

I had the M-53 and buckled on a belt and holster for it. I loaded it with 3 Jet cartidges and 3 .22 LR cartridges, alternating chambers. I picked up my Ruger 10/22, he grabbed his Nylon 66 and off across the sagebrush we trekked.

We popped some jacks fairly quickly. They were holding until we were almost stepping on them and they didn't run far before stopping. I slung the little rifle and drew the S&W. I had closed the cylinder so that the first round to shoot would be a rimfire round, with the striker on the hammer so set.

On the next rabbit, Dewey missed his first shot, which was unusual, he's pretty good. The rabbit held up halfway up a hill, 25-35 yards away. I thumbcocked the Jet, drew a fine beat on Br'er Rabbit and got him. He flopped around a bit, not dieing quickly.

I thumbed the striker on the hammer to the centerfire position. Dewey, assuming it was a .22 LR pistol I often took along, said, "My shot!" I handed it to him, stepped back a step and pushed the foam plugs already in my ears a bit deeper and left my fingers in them.

"BAAAAAAAAAAAM!!!!!!" Those of you who have shot a Jet know to what I refer. The factory ammo in a .22 Remington Centerfire Magnum has to be experienced to be believed. It is the oddest combination of a huge, loud, high-pitched report accompanied by almost no recoil. There are few louder handguns.

Dewey nearly jumped out of his shirt!

I took the sixgun back and deftly slipped the striker back to rimfire as I cocked it for the next shot. "pow." Dewey was a little puzzled as I handed the gun back to him after descreetly working the striker again.

Dewey adjusted his ear plugs, making sure they were in his ears extra tight. Cocking it, he aimed in at the still-twitching rabbit and triggered another Jet round.

"BAAAAAAAAAAMM!!" Eyes wide, he stared at the gun in his hands.

"What are ya doing? Trying to break it?" I straight-faced.

Dewey cocked it again and pressed the trigger.

"click." The hammer dropped on the centerfire pin and the rimfire cartridge it hit didn't do anything. Dewey flinched badly, then looked concerned again.

"What did you do, break it?" I asked. He cocked it agian, bringing up the next Jet round and, already grimmacing, shot the gun again.

"BLAAAAAAAMM!!"

"Gimme that!" I said, and took the gun back. I cocked the hammer again, again pushing the striker to rimfire.

"pow."

Dewey demanded the gun back. He stared at the thing on both sides. He opened the cylinder. He stared at what he saw. He looked at me, slightly concerned, slightly puzzled. He ejected the 3 spent Jets and 3 inserts into his hand and looked at them. "What the **** is this?"

I lost it and laughed good and hard. It took a few minutes before I could explain what it was. I had to almost yell, because he said he couldn't hear me just talking.

When I got done, he said, "****. My ears are going to ring for a week."

They did.