The Colt wound up in the hands of a young officer who loved Terry Tussey’s work, and equally loved guns which could murmur stories in the night; tales of standoffs and shootouts; face-downs with felony fugitives; SWAT missions and stakeouts; drug lab raids and cornered killers; horrors, hostages and heroism. He got both with the Tussey Colt. That young officer was our own Roy-Boy, now the Publishing Potentate, long before he was even His Illuminated Editorial Immenseness. Who’d a thought?

I know Roy shot it a lot, punishing, polishing and praising it. Ultimately it became his Bedside Boomer; his Bumpin-the-Night Gun. Rivers ran, fortunes changed, years passed, paths crossed and recrossed. Terry and Roy became friends, as did Roy and Uncle John. I fit in there somewhere.

Uncle John rarely spoke of that gun, and only when he was delivering his patented parable about letting things go. No matter how much you value something, he said, when letting go is the right thing to do, you walk away and never look back; Shut Up, Get Over It, and Move On.