Stories get told and retold. Then things change…probably never know for sure’s sake what ever really happened.
Those .45 long Colts sure did bark – at least that’s what my Grand Dad always used to say. My Grand Dad Frank handed his own Colt .45 to my dad, Jean…yessir, it was spelled that way. When it came time for Dad to pass that Colt on to me, I noticed two notches in the worn, wooden grip.
Didn’t ask, didn’t tell; probably will never know for real about those notches neither. FB