Tejas Caballeros

Congratulations to Kickshot, our top shooter this month,  and to Dusty Leather, our top clean shooter. Also, a big “thank you” to Scheutzum Phast for another great match.

January 2012 Score Sheet

Scheutzum informed us that he found this in an old copy of the Chronical, and we’re glad he did.

Doc

Christmas Poem

Christmas Poem

As twisted by Brother Chuck, SASS #44193 

    ‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all on the range, Not a bullet was whizzing , not even one strange. The six shooters were hung in the rack with care, In hopes that the next shoot soon would be there.

    The rifles and guns all cleaned oiled, Tucked in their rugs, so not to be soiled. And Ma in her bloomers, and I in my chaps, Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap.

   When out on the range there arose such a clatter, Bang ting, bang ting, what was the matter?  Away to my holster I flew like a partridge, Tore open the gate and threw in some cartridge.

   The moon on the breast of the fresh painted steel, Gave an itch to my finger the trigger to feel.  When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, But a miniature guncart, and a shooter- quite clear.

   A little old cowpoke, so spunky and slick, I knew in a moment it must be North Pole Nick. Two pistols he drew and called them by name- Prancer and Vixen, he shot in the game.

   More rapid than lightning from his holsters they came, And he drew them and cocked , and shot them the same! His rifle was Comet and the shotgun was Cupid;  The way he shot them, I just stood there plum stupid.

   As hail before the wild storm doth fly, lead bullets were filling the inky black sky. Smoke and fire from the muzzle it flew, Brass and hulls filled the air hazed in blue.

   Dressed all in leather from his head to his toe, You could tell he had many a shoot yet to go. A bundle of brass he had flung on his back; He’s surely a reloader, just try’n to keep track.

   His eyes- how they twinkled!  At shots that were so scary, That caught an edge just by a hairy. His droll little mouth was drawn up to say “NO,”  To a miss he now pondered and made him go slow.

   The stump of a stogie he held so loose, And the smoke- it encircled his head like a noose. He had a tan, crinkled face and a little belly pot, That hung over his belt, like a muffin still hot!

   He was friendly and kind, and oozed all was well,  Someone to hang with for quite a long spell. A wink of his eye and a shake of his hand, Soon gave me to know I had met someone quite grand.

   He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, Marked his time, set targets, then turned with a jerk. And laying his finger aside of his trig, And giving a nod, down the burms he did gig!

   He sprang to his truck, to his gal gave a whistle, And away they flew like the down of a thistle. But I heard him exclaim. ‘ere he drove out of sight, “Merry Christmas to all, and to all- GOOD SHOOT’N!”