Like most youngsters, I started out shooting 22s. Dad’s old rifle, followed by a modernistic Nylon 66 were the long guns. Lloyd Gannon, an old friend, had a Colt Frontier Scout. It was nickel and wore wood stocks. As I got to the “right age,” I was allowed to borrow it, against my mother’s wishes.
The nickeled front sight should have been hard to pick up, but I was staying on twigs in a water-filled strip pit easily enough. I shot a lot of .22LR through that 4.63-inch barrel and, eventually and reluctantly, gave it back.