This story, initially titled “Old Haw,” ran within the April 1953 situation of Outdoor Life.
AS I WHILE AWAY my time within the sundown of life, right here within the stunning Ouachita Mountains of Arkansas, I typically sit within the shade of a grand outdated oak exterior my cabin door. Here I doze and consider the previous and the great instances I’ve had with my canine and gun. It’s been an extended life, virtually seventy years of it, and a cheerful one.
Sometimes, as I daydream, I see in my thoughts an extended, dusty highway, and on it a farm wagon drawn by oxen. Two teenage Iowa farm lads are perched on its seat, and every is making an attempt to rush the oxen, for they’re anxious to get to city and the day is drawing to an in depth.
I first noticed the image of that dusty highway numerous years in the past as I listened to my dad inform the story of the boys. He was one in every of them; if I ever heard the title of the opposite I’ve lengthy since forgotten it.
The lads had been despatched to the gristmill with a load of corn to be floor into meal. They had directions to remain all night time and return early subsequent day, for the journey to city was all of seven miles, an excellent afternoon’s journey for plodding oxen.
Upon reaching the mill they unyoked the oxen, fed them, and began directly for the little village. Its title was Newton, and it promised the boys some distraction, for they knew little of something however exhausting work and exhausting instances. The yr was 1867 and the Civil War was not lengthy over.
In the village the boys separated. Father, who was fifteen, wandered alongside till he got here to a blacksmith store that bore an indication, “Si Miller, Gunsmith.” The hour was late and the store closed, so the boy peered by its window. There was an assortment of firearms in racks alongside the wall, and shortly his eyes fell on an exquisite long-barreled Kentucky rifle.
He had longed for a rifle prefer it a couple of years earlier, when he’d saved his mom, youthful brother, and three sisters from ravenous by trapping rabbits and quail, whereas his father and two older brothers have been within the military. The lad had seen loads of wild turkey and deer however had no luck trapping them.
Avid for a better take a look at the Kentucky, he determined to return to the store early subsequent morning whereas the miller was grinding his corn. When he seemed by the window once more, subsequent day, the smith was boring out a musket barrel, changing it for shot. Many troopers carried their muskets house from from the conflict, had the rifling bored out of them, and so acquired an affordable scattergun.
The smith lastly seen the boy, smiled, and beckoned him in. “Well, sonny,” he stated, “what can I do for you?”
The lad spoke up and stated he’d like to take a look at the long-barreled rifle within the rack behind the bench.
“Gladly, son, gladly,” stated the smith, putting the rifle within the boy’s palms. Then he added: “She’s a genuine full stocked Hawken, son, caliber about .40. She was a flintlock once—made in St. Louis and carried in the fur trade by mountain men. I swapped for her. Changed her to percussion ignition, rerifled her, rebuilt her stock. Touch her hair trigger and she’ll drive a tack as far as you can see it. I’ll sell her, lock, stock, and 36-inch barrel, with a pound of Fg powder and bullet molds, for only $7.”
The boy seemed glum. “Mister,” he stated, “that’s more money than I’ve ever had in all my life. For my summer’s work I have here only a silver dollar.”
“Son, you got a rifle?”
“No sir.”
“Well, I’ll be durned,” stated the smith. “With all this game hereabouts and you have nary a shootin’ iron?”
“That’s right, sir,” the boy admitted. “During the war I kept Mother and the kids in meat with my trappin’ while Pap and my brothers were fighting the Cause.”
“Well, son,” stated the smith, “you look like a good lad and I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll set that Hawken away for you and you pay for it a little at a time. Whenever you git four bits, just hand ’em to old Si.”
So the deal was made. The boy handed over his silver greenback after which began for the gristmill.
Soon the 2 lads have been on their means house, their toes propped excessive on the dashboard, and so they took turns prodding the oxen with an extended gad. My grandpa was a tight-fisted farmer who didn’t consider in losing cash on firearms, so Father was apprehensive about what would occur to him for spending his hard-earned money.
The different boy spoke up: “Look at what I swapped for while I was in town. Gave my old key-wind watch for it, even up.” He reached into his shirt and drew out an exquisite .31 caliber Colt’s cap-and-ball revolver. “Hain’t she a dandy?” he stated. “Bet I can bark a squirrel every shot with her.” He began to roll the cylinder by cocking the hammer and letting it fall. Suddenly there was a crashing explosion. The lad yelled, dropped the pistol, and grabbed at his hand. Blood was flowing from a neat gap by the palm.
Father tried to calm him. But he set free one other yell and jerked open his barn-door britches. The ball had handed by the boy’s hand and into his leg!
Dad instructed me it was fairly a predicament for a boy to be in. He turned the oxen round and headed again for city and a physician. Late that night time two mighty sick boys arrived on the farm, one wounded, the opposite heartsick.
Dad stated he by no means heard the top of that episode, significantly his take care of the gunsmith and his father would have given him an excellent larruping besides that his mom interfered. A yr later he received proud possession of the Hawken rifle. His pap relented some when wild turkey and occasional venison discovered its technique to the household desk.
MY FATHER fashioned a powerful friendship for outdated Miller, the blacksmith, and eventually sure himself over to him as an apprentice. He labored seven lengthy years studying the commerce.
Meantime he started to accumulate a popularity as among the best rifle photographs in Jasper County. Finally he arrange his personal smithy in somewhat settlement named Metz, received married, and began to boost a household.
He received to be an incredible hand on the turkey shoots. Along in mid-November every year riflemen would are available from all elements of Jasper County to participate within the annual shoot, and all hoped they’d be ok with their lengthy rifles to take house a tom gobbler for Thanksgiving dinner. Father instructed me quite a lot of tales concerning the shoots, and the one I like greatest occurred about 1885.
On the appointed day, Father was all set to go. He’d spent appreciable time, the night earlier than, casting lead bullets, chopping sq. patches of linen material, and cleansing out the pockets of his outdated buckskin coat. In these pockets he stowed his bullets and percussion caps. I keep in mind how cautious he was in selecting his bullets.
Before leaving for the shoot he labored on the barrel of the outdated Hawken till the final patch got here out clear. Then, along with his powderhorn hanging from his shoulder and the Hawken within the criminal of his arm, he crossed the Skunk River to the taking pictures floor.
It was crowded with roughly dressed males, a few of them farmers, a lot of them brawny laborers who have been engaged in constructing the Chicago, Rock Island, & Pacific Railroad. There was appreciable tough discuss and horseplay, and the jug was a lot in proof. The promoter of the shoot had set out refreshments consisting of crackers, cheese, and chilly meat. There was a barrel of exhausting cider and a gourd dipper prepared for all, however many of the backwoodsmen most popular the little brown jug.
The taking pictures vary was an open house about 150 yards lengthy with a patch of timber for a backstop. In these days you shot immediately on the turkey you needed to take house, at ten cents a shot. Rather, you shot at its head, for it was positioned in a field with solely its head exhibiting, and the packing containers have been lined up at a variety of about sixty yards. The first man to attract blood on a head received the turkey.
FATHER SAID a turkey head made a mighty small goal for open iron sights. It was particularly troublesome when the hen was gobbling, for the gobble saved the top in movement and made it exhausting to hit.
When Father walked into the group quite a lot of good-natured chaff was handed his means.
“You-all look who be comin’! No one but Haw Ramsay!” (His given title was Watson, however the nickname Haw had caught by this time.)
“How many of them-air turks you goin’ to tote home?”
“Come on, Haw, an’ wet your whistle. The jug brings them birds in real close to your sights.”
And so it went, for these have been the times when males labored exhausting, fought exhausting, and drank exhausting. Father discovered himself a seat on a tree stump and loved the banter, chuckling sometimes when a tipsy man rammed a bullet into his rifle with out remembering to place within the powder. When the gun didn’t go off, the shooter’s mood did.
Soon a nice large tom was positioned in a field and Dad paid his dime for a shot at it. Calmly he positioned a bullet within the palm of his hand, pulled the stopper from the powderhorn along with his tooth, and poured simply sufficient powder over the ball to cowl it. Then he picked the ball out, cupped his hand, and poured the cost into the barrel muzzle. Next he positioned a patch throughout the muzzle, put the bullet on it, and rammed the cost down the barrel. Finally he set the hair set off, cocked the hammer, and positioned a copper ignition cap on the nipple.
There was a sudden hush among the many spectators, then one spoke out: “Look, old Haw’s goin’ to fire. Bet he don’t draw blood nor feather.”
To this Father paid no thoughts. He threw the gun to his shoulder, drew a bead on the small head, and paused till the hen had completed its gobble. The instantaneous the top was nonetheless, he touched the hair set off. There was a whiplike crack and that turkey’s gobble was stilled eternally.
“Old Haw has drawed first blood!”
“Aw, Haw ain’t so good. My old Betsy can outshoot him anytime. Bet a dollar he can’t do it agin.”
Dad approached the speaker and instructed him to place up or shut up. The guess was made and he ready for the following shot. It was as correct as the primary. He was the possessor of two nice birds and a silver greenback.
Now the promoter got here up and instructed Father he’d need to bar him from additional taking pictures. “You’re too durn good,” he stated. “I could lose a lot of money on them birds the way you’re scoring.”
Then one of many railroad laborers, who had fired twice with out success, stated, “Haw, how about me using your gun? Mine needs freshin’ out an’ don’t shoot true like yours.”
“Sure, my friend,” stated Father, “if you’ll let me load up for you.”
“Well, now, that’s good of you,” replied the laborer. “Powder and ball costs, now-days. Load ’er up!”
FATHER TOOK a bullet out of his coat pocket, held it up, and punctiliously examined its trueness. Then he loaded the gun. The laborer drew a gentle bead and touched her off. No rating—a really unhealthy miss. The ball didn’t as a lot as kick up filth.
“Load ‘er again,” stated the laborer. “This time I’m goin’ to take that turk’s head off.”
But he didn’t; his second shot was as unhealthy as the primary.
Now one other man spoke up: “Load her for me, Haw. I kin beat him—he’s got too much redeye in his belly.”
But when he took his flip he received the identical consequence—no rating. He grew to become ugly about it, and stated the Hawken couldn’t hit a barn door.
“No?” stated Father. “You take that coonskin hat off your head and hang it behind yon oak tree. I got a dollar says I can put a hole through it.”
“Done!” stated the man. “Thar ain’t a gun made that’ll throw a ball through that tree.”
Dad loaded up. Then, with a fast movement, he picked up an ax and drove its bit deep into the oak. He stepped again, took goal, and fired. There was a clang because the bullet hit the ax blade, ricocheted off it, and went by the outdated cap. It made a gap large enough to thrust a hand by.
The crowd actually roared when the proprietor of the ruined headpiece paid off his guess. So Father shouldered his birds; with $2 in his pocket he felt he had carried out an excellent day’s work, and he left for house.
Years later, in telling me concerning the incident, he held up his proper hand and requested me if I noticed something improper with it. Indeed I did; the thumb and knuckles have been off form, and the hand seemed prefer it had been badly damaged. “What happened to it?” I requested.
“An aftermath of the turkey shoot,” he stated, and defined.
It appeared that he was forging horse footwear within the store the next week when the door was darkened by an enormous, rawboned man who requested: “Be you Haw Ramsay?” Father stated he was and the person went on: “Saw you at that turk shoot an’ figured you was a purty good man. Now, I’m the best man in Polk County, so I come over here to Jasper to fight you and see if you’re as good as me.”
Father reached behind him to undo the knot on his leather-based apron, and because it fell to the ground he smashed the person proper in his leering mouth. The blow knocked him clear by the doorway however he was again on his toes when Father reached him. They clinched and rolled down the hill into the village road. There they broke aside and placed on a livid battle, with nothing barred, together with eye gouging, butting, and kneeing.
DAD TOLD ME he’d had some coaching in sparring and it got here in mighty helpful. At final he noticed an excellent opening and put his proper fist exhausting on the bully’s jaw, and the Polk County man went down for good. The village loafers put him on the following prepare out of city.
A couple of days later, Father was on the forge, making an attempt to work along with his damaged hand, when he seemed as much as see some one standing within the doorway. It was the bully. Dad’s coronary heart sank, for he was in no form to struggle the person once more. Nevertheless, he rolled up his sleeves and ready to defend himself.
But the massive man held up his hand and stated, “Peace, friend. I jist come back to shake hands with you, for you whupped me fair and square, and you’re the best man in Jasper County. Shake, Haw Ramsay.”
They shook palms heartily and the massive man strode away, by no means to be seen once more in Metz.
“But, Dad,” I requested, “how come those riflemen missed at the shoot when they were using your Hawken?”
Father chuckled. “Perhaps,” he stated, “you keep in mind how cautious I used to be, molding these bullets the night time earlier than the shoot. Well, son, I used to be casting ‘split’ bullets. I put somewhat piece of paper between the molds, with simply sufficient lead across the edges to carry the halves collectively so’s it seemed like a daily bullet. Then I put the cut up bullets in a separate pocket of my coat.
“When I loaded for the boys I put a cut up bullet within the barrel in such a means that the rifling threw the halves aside when the gun was fired. No telling what path they’d take.
“You see, I never relished the idea of being beaten with my own gun, so I was always prepared.”
I went to different turkey shoots with Father, and on many a hunt. He used to say a person needn’t fear about his son’s future if the boy beloved a gun, a fishing rod, and the outside. Old Haw has been gone for twenty-odd years, and I’ve missed the outdated fellow. I hope he’s had many an excellent turkey shoot within the joyful searching grounds.
The Hawken
What grew to become of the muzzle-loading rifle that figures so prominently in Orie C. Ramsay’s story, “Old Haw”? Curious about its destiny, the editors put the query to Mr. Ramsay.
“Father left his Hawken rifle with a family for safekeeping when he moved our family to Kansas in 1886,” he writes. “Some durn-fool kids received maintain of it, dismantled it, and dropped it down a effectively.
“I’ve consoled myself since by constructing two replicas of plains rifles; each with curly-maple shares; right here’s an image of them. I made each half myself-lock, inventory, and barrel-in spare time, and it took me a complete of twenty-two months. And I had fashionable energy instruments -lathe and drill press, for instance—that the pioneer gunmakers like Hawken by no means heard of.
“Both rifles are about .31 caliber. I rifled them myself and they’re ex tremely correct at 100 yards as they need to be for squirrel searching right here abouts. You’ll discover that one has a full inventory (wooden out to the barrel muzzle), the opposite a half inventory. Both varieties have been used within the outdated days.
“Mountain males most popular the complete inventory and an extended barrel; buffalo hunters on the plains favored the half inventory and a shorter barrel, as a result of the rifle might be loaded extra simply on horseback.
“The scope, a modern improvement that Dad never dreamed of, is a Weaver 4X. The lower rifle has a peep sight, but at 69 I feel I need the scope. At that I can outshoot anyone here in the Ouachita Mountains of Arkansas—my muzzle-loaders against their modern guns.”
This textual content has been minimally edited to fulfill up to date requirements.