keith44spl
Member
Did Ya Ever Know Someone...............(Post #1 )
They Shoot Outhouses, Don't They?...(Post # 29)
I Want My Rope Back!......................(Post # 30)
I guess we've all known someone in our lives, who seemed to be larger that life. When I was a small boy, just a nubbin' you might say, I spent a lot of time with my Dad and his mother's oldest brother, Uncle Hugh Bert.
This was back in the 50's and uncle Hugh Bert was the oldest man I had ever seen. He was a widower and lived by himself at the 'Line Camp' in Brewster County. My father and I would travel down there several times a year, staying sometime a couple of weeks or longer. That place was a kingdom unto it's self, a paradise of adventure for a youngster.
Dad would always bring a few guns along, just for 'ol' time sake' as he called it. Back then I didn't savvy
the term or the meaning…When I recollect our first visits, I remember havin' to sit on a couple of Sears & Roebuck catalogs in the cane bottom chairs just to have my chin above the table so I could see the tin plate I was tryin' to eat off of.
As the years went by, we visited more often. Even as a kid I could see the old man's health was failing, but uncle Hugh Bert still got around, just not as fast. He always wore starched cotton shirts, buttoned at the collar, faded Levis and a sweat stained Stetson hat. There weren't any cattle on the place, but he kept a few good lookin' ranch horses to trade on and the slickest pair of black mules that you could ever lay eyes on. I mean to tell you, they were big and sure nuff broke. And he was, to this day, the only man I'd ever saw that would pull-a-crank on his old pick-up truck
by himself, just using that pair of mules.
In the evening times I'd set there and listen to Dad and my great uncle as they would recall ol' times and talk about the old days, when they were
'Tick Riders' and mounted Custom Inspectors down along the River during the prohibition days. Tales of high adventure, narrow escapes and close calls. Some times the talk would turn to guns and fancy feats of shooting. Or which old cartridge was just as good as, and at times better than some of the newer ones.
I remember uncle Hugh Bert carried a big old looking Colt revolver, I later learned it was a new service in .45 Long Colt and he had a .45 automatic pistol without a trigger guard. I thought for the longest that they (Colt) made them theta way. It's also where I pick-up on the difference in the .45 cartridges.
At other times, solemnly the two men would recall the name of a friend, other Los Rinches and lawmen that had pasted on. Once in a great while one of them would mention a difficulty (shooting) or some such scrap that a friend had survived or not.
After years of hearing of these darin' tales of brush popping. I think I was about fourteen years old, I got up the nerve to ask my Dad, on the porch of that old adobe, "Was you and uncle Hugh Bert ever in any of them shootouts?"
I will to my dying day always remember what my father said to me about that…"Son, men don't go 'round braggin' about killin's. If'n I was to shoot ol' Lucifer himself on the courthouse steps, you'd never hear me even mention it. You know son, its bad manners to be askin' others about such things. And for pete's sake don't ask your uncle Hugh Bert…He liable to just tell ya something I'd rather you not know just yet!"
I learned a lot about life from them two. Like how to load one, skip a chamber and load the other four in a single action revolver…How '86s and '94s are best, 'cause you can keep on loading 'em with one in the chamber and the hammer cocked back if'n your in a tight spot.
But most of all, I was taught how to be a man…And that a man's word is his bond.
I never did ask ol' unc' about them shootin's.
To be continued...By popular opinion.
They Shoot Outhouses...Don't They? (On Page 3)
Su Amigo,
Dave
Boys, If'n that ain't the truth...
Well it ought to be!
They Shoot Outhouses, Don't They?...(Post # 29)
I Want My Rope Back!......................(Post # 30)
I guess we've all known someone in our lives, who seemed to be larger that life. When I was a small boy, just a nubbin' you might say, I spent a lot of time with my Dad and his mother's oldest brother, Uncle Hugh Bert.
This was back in the 50's and uncle Hugh Bert was the oldest man I had ever seen. He was a widower and lived by himself at the 'Line Camp' in Brewster County. My father and I would travel down there several times a year, staying sometime a couple of weeks or longer. That place was a kingdom unto it's self, a paradise of adventure for a youngster.
Dad would always bring a few guns along, just for 'ol' time sake' as he called it. Back then I didn't savvy
the term or the meaning…When I recollect our first visits, I remember havin' to sit on a couple of Sears & Roebuck catalogs in the cane bottom chairs just to have my chin above the table so I could see the tin plate I was tryin' to eat off of.
As the years went by, we visited more often. Even as a kid I could see the old man's health was failing, but uncle Hugh Bert still got around, just not as fast. He always wore starched cotton shirts, buttoned at the collar, faded Levis and a sweat stained Stetson hat. There weren't any cattle on the place, but he kept a few good lookin' ranch horses to trade on and the slickest pair of black mules that you could ever lay eyes on. I mean to tell you, they were big and sure nuff broke. And he was, to this day, the only man I'd ever saw that would pull-a-crank on his old pick-up truck
by himself, just using that pair of mules.
In the evening times I'd set there and listen to Dad and my great uncle as they would recall ol' times and talk about the old days, when they were
'Tick Riders' and mounted Custom Inspectors down along the River during the prohibition days. Tales of high adventure, narrow escapes and close calls. Some times the talk would turn to guns and fancy feats of shooting. Or which old cartridge was just as good as, and at times better than some of the newer ones.
I remember uncle Hugh Bert carried a big old looking Colt revolver, I later learned it was a new service in .45 Long Colt and he had a .45 automatic pistol without a trigger guard. I thought for the longest that they (Colt) made them theta way. It's also where I pick-up on the difference in the .45 cartridges.
At other times, solemnly the two men would recall the name of a friend, other Los Rinches and lawmen that had pasted on. Once in a great while one of them would mention a difficulty (shooting) or some such scrap that a friend had survived or not.
After years of hearing of these darin' tales of brush popping. I think I was about fourteen years old, I got up the nerve to ask my Dad, on the porch of that old adobe, "Was you and uncle Hugh Bert ever in any of them shootouts?"
I will to my dying day always remember what my father said to me about that…"Son, men don't go 'round braggin' about killin's. If'n I was to shoot ol' Lucifer himself on the courthouse steps, you'd never hear me even mention it. You know son, its bad manners to be askin' others about such things. And for pete's sake don't ask your uncle Hugh Bert…He liable to just tell ya something I'd rather you not know just yet!"
I learned a lot about life from them two. Like how to load one, skip a chamber and load the other four in a single action revolver…How '86s and '94s are best, 'cause you can keep on loading 'em with one in the chamber and the hammer cocked back if'n your in a tight spot.
But most of all, I was taught how to be a man…And that a man's word is his bond.
I never did ask ol' unc' about them shootin's.
To be continued...By popular opinion.
They Shoot Outhouses...Don't They? (On Page 3)
Su Amigo,
Dave
Boys, If'n that ain't the truth...
Well it ought to be!
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