"World Champion Thumber"
I was sitting at the bunkhouse table with my hog leg 45 laying there in a bunch of pieces, cleaning and checking parts for wear and dirt from the last two weeks of moving the cattle from summer range up high to the lower range for the winter. I tend to daydream a little while doing jobs that do not require a lot of thinking on my part, and that old 45 could almost put itself back together with out my help.
I was thinking back to the fall of ’85. While I was doing the same task of cleaning and oiling that 45, when the bunkhouse door flew open and Jack came charging in like a bull in a glass factory. All out of breath saying, we got two hours to get ready and down to the train station. I just sat there looking at him wondering what he was talking about. Finally after catching his breath, he settled down and said, we have four days vacation, and I got two tickets to Chicago, we have to be at the train station in two hours to leave, hurry up. I sat there looking at him, still wondering what was in Chicago, that might be of interest to me, as Jack was finally getting the idea that I didn’t have any intention of moving until I knew what for.
Finally, he told me the story as he handed me a piece of paper telling of a fast draw contest in Chicago. The prizes were silver bars from the local silver mine. The contest was fifteen shots at a fourteen-inch square plate, and it was set up with some new fangled device that timed the shooter. There were judges to make sure the target was a good hit. It sounded like fun to me, so I put my gun together, packed some clothes, got on my hat and boots, and said “Let’s go.” Jack and I got to the train station with thirty minutes to spare.
It was a ten-hour ride on the train to the big city, and a trip to the dining car made the trip even better. Arriving in the big city was an experience by itself, all the tall buildings. It put a creak in your neck just looking up to see the tops of them and we had one more day to get to the shooting contest.
We had time to find our way around a little bit, and folks just knew we are at their mercy when asking directions, most folks were helpful, but some jokers thought it was fun to run us around in circles, one such fella, lost three teeth, and gained two black eyes for his trouble. (Jack done it.)
Finally, we found our way to the shootout. It had to be the right place as there were cowboys everywhere you looked, every size there is. I saw one tall slim cowboy wearing a two-gun rig, talking to shooters as he walked around, checking everyone out as he went. Finally he got around to talking to Jack and me. We spent the rest of the morning talking. I found out he went by the name of Lassitor and he could shoot with either hand very accurately.
The contest started at 12:00 o’clock, right on the strike of the clock. There were many shooters trying to hit that fourteen-inch square at fifteen feet. Some were hitting at a lower time and others were just burning up the air around the target, with a fast draw and a miss. Dozens of shooters were eliminated after the second round. Jack being one of them, so he could watch and wait for the outcome.
I was still hanging in there without a miss, but the times were not as fast as I would like. But at least I was hitting what I was looking at.
Most of the time I got to watch Lassitor shoot with a smooth easy draw, nice speed and not a miss so far.
Finally, my turn for the last five shots. Fourteen hits, one more to go, take a deep breath, get the signal, draw, fire, it’s a hit, fifteen shots, fifteen hits, now to wait for Lassitor. He had not missed any either. Twenty more shooters tried their hand, not one of them had all hits. Next, came Lassitor, his first four shots were right on target, as he stood there looking at the target, I knew he was thinking of the next shot and how to make it count. He sized up the shot, gave a nod of his head that he was ready. The signal to draw, a cloud of smoke and flame “It’s a miss” hollowed the Judges.
That left me as the only shooter to have all hits, and to have that nice cased silver bar of 99.9 pure silver setting on the shelf with the inscription” ’85 World Champion Thumber”
I still have fond memories of Lassitor, whom I haven’t seen in a few years, but one day our paths will cross again, and we can talk of old times, one more time.
- Rusty Hammer
I was thinking back to the fall of ’85. While I was doing the same task of cleaning and oiling that 45, when the bunkhouse door flew open and Jack came charging in like a bull in a glass factory. All out of breath saying, we got two hours to get ready and down to the train station. I just sat there looking at him wondering what he was talking about. Finally after catching his breath, he settled down and said, we have four days vacation, and I got two tickets to Chicago, we have to be at the train station in two hours to leave, hurry up. I sat there looking at him, still wondering what was in Chicago, that might be of interest to me, as Jack was finally getting the idea that I didn’t have any intention of moving until I knew what for.
Finally, he told me the story as he handed me a piece of paper telling of a fast draw contest in Chicago. The prizes were silver bars from the local silver mine. The contest was fifteen shots at a fourteen-inch square plate, and it was set up with some new fangled device that timed the shooter. There were judges to make sure the target was a good hit. It sounded like fun to me, so I put my gun together, packed some clothes, got on my hat and boots, and said “Let’s go.” Jack and I got to the train station with thirty minutes to spare.
It was a ten-hour ride on the train to the big city, and a trip to the dining car made the trip even better. Arriving in the big city was an experience by itself, all the tall buildings. It put a creak in your neck just looking up to see the tops of them and we had one more day to get to the shooting contest.
We had time to find our way around a little bit, and folks just knew we are at their mercy when asking directions, most folks were helpful, but some jokers thought it was fun to run us around in circles, one such fella, lost three teeth, and gained two black eyes for his trouble. (Jack done it.)
Finally, we found our way to the shootout. It had to be the right place as there were cowboys everywhere you looked, every size there is. I saw one tall slim cowboy wearing a two-gun rig, talking to shooters as he walked around, checking everyone out as he went. Finally he got around to talking to Jack and me. We spent the rest of the morning talking. I found out he went by the name of Lassitor and he could shoot with either hand very accurately.
The contest started at 12:00 o’clock, right on the strike of the clock. There were many shooters trying to hit that fourteen-inch square at fifteen feet. Some were hitting at a lower time and others were just burning up the air around the target, with a fast draw and a miss. Dozens of shooters were eliminated after the second round. Jack being one of them, so he could watch and wait for the outcome.
I was still hanging in there without a miss, but the times were not as fast as I would like. But at least I was hitting what I was looking at.
Most of the time I got to watch Lassitor shoot with a smooth easy draw, nice speed and not a miss so far.
Finally, my turn for the last five shots. Fourteen hits, one more to go, take a deep breath, get the signal, draw, fire, it’s a hit, fifteen shots, fifteen hits, now to wait for Lassitor. He had not missed any either. Twenty more shooters tried their hand, not one of them had all hits. Next, came Lassitor, his first four shots were right on target, as he stood there looking at the target, I knew he was thinking of the next shot and how to make it count. He sized up the shot, gave a nod of his head that he was ready. The signal to draw, a cloud of smoke and flame “It’s a miss” hollowed the Judges.
That left me as the only shooter to have all hits, and to have that nice cased silver bar of 99.9 pure silver setting on the shelf with the inscription” ’85 World Champion Thumber”
I still have fond memories of Lassitor, whom I haven’t seen in a few years, but one day our paths will cross again, and we can talk of old times, one more time.
- Rusty Hammer
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