Chapter II

The background of the pistol goes back several years, all the way back to the 1840's when Jacob Painter developed a pistol that was called "Jake's Best" locally, but was generally known as an undershot pistol. An undershot pistol differs from a regular pistol in that the hammer, or the part that a person "cocks" is underneath the barrel and in front of the trigger rather than on top and behind the trigger. Needless to say, an undershot pistol is very distinctive and easy to recognize. When a photo of the pistol found by Dan Swiftfoot made it's way into the paper, it caught my Mom's eye and she sent me a copy of the paper.
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After getting the article in the mail, I called my mom to see what the big deal was. She likes sending a newspaper article and nothing else, no note of explanation, nothing.

"Hey, mom, what's up with this pistol article that you sent me?"

"You got that? Good. I thought you might be interested. That's one of your relatives."

"Dan Swiftfoot is related to us? On what side of the family?"

"No, not Dan. Jacob Painter, the guy that made the pistol, was one of your relatives way back. Dalla did all the research and found some info about him. I thought you might get a kick out seeing that article.

"You'll have to talk to Dalla to get all the details about how he's related, but that was neat to see one of those pistols again."

"Again? You've seen one before? This article says something about the pistol being made in the 1800's"

"Oh, yes. I've seen one. Dad had one of those pistols. I don't remember where he got it of what ever happened to it. I might have to ask Granma to see if she still has it. Anyway, you've got the article and that's a little bit of your history. I need to get out an get the lawn mowed, love you."

"Love you too mom." I hung up the phone and looked at the article again. It had a photo of Dan Swiftfoot holding this weird looking pistol with the hammers under the barrel. It was weird, but I remembered seeing something like this before. I'm not a gun collector, I've shot a couple of times with my freinds, but I don't even own a weapon. This was really bugging me. I decided to call up my sister.

She picked up the phone on the third ring, "William's Wanch where we waise wabbits, wascally and otherwise." My sister is such a goofball. Folks say I'm the funny one in the family, but that's only because they haven't met my sister.

"Hi, Dalla, mom sent me this newspaper article and I was wondering if you could tell me more about it."

"Sure can, little brother. Is it the one about the pistol?"

"Yea, mom said you could shed some light on this. I guess we're related to the Painter's?"

"In a weird round-about way. You remember that Dad's mom was Grandpa's third wife?"

"Yeah."

"Well, before she married Grandpa, her parents were killed in a wagon accident in Colorado when she was 10 and she drove the wagon back to Missouri, bringing her younger brother and sister home."

"Ok, what does that have to do with the Painters?"

"Well, when Grandma came home, she moved in with HER Grandma & Grandpa, our great-grandparents. Turns out, these two weren't very highly thought of in the county and when she was 15, Grandma went to court to seek seperation from them and take her brother & sister along as well. The court, not thinking very highly of our great-grandparents either, granted her request on the basis that she find a suitable home or one would be appointed for her."

"Like a foster home?"

"Kinda. Turns out she couldn't find one and she was placed with a family by the name of Painter. Eventually, she took the name, but was never legally adopted, so we are kinda related to them."

"What is really bugging me is that photo of the pistol."

"Weird isn't it? Seems like it was a big thing back in the 1840's. Jacob made a ton of cash selling these to folks headed to California for the gold rush."

"What's bugging me, is that I've seen one thse before."

She stopped for a second. "You what?"

"I've seen one of thse before."

"That's hard to believe, little brother. Of all of them that Jacob turned out, there are probably only three left and one of them just got itself dug up.

"One is in the Springfield Museum..."

"Never been there."

"..and the other belongs to some private collector in Arizona. It's never been on display and never photographed. And the museum here doesn't allow photos either. I've got no idea where you might have seen one."

I shrugged, even though she couldn't see me through the phone line, "I don't know either. A photo somewhere, but doesn't seem likely. Mom said something about her dad owning one."

"What? She never told me that! Dang her. I hate it when she just randomly remembers stuff like that."

"Why would her dad have one? The time frame wouldn't be right, I mean, he wasn't around in 1849 and he wasn't a gun collector."

"Well, you never know with that side of the family. They were always wheelin & dealin. Maybe Granpa got it in some sort of trade. I'll quiz Granma and see what we come up with."

"Any idea why the gun was buried in that guy's back yard?"

"Who knows? It could have been laying in a brush pile for all these years. That's a mystery that will probably never be solved. All I do know, is that Dan Swiftfoot is putting it up for auction and it'll probably not only pay for his pool, but his kids college as well."

"Well, if that's the case, I sure would like to find the one that Granpa had."

"If he had one. Mom might be mistaken, but I'll check with Granma. Well, I gotta run, Sweet Pea."

I hate when she calls me Sweet Pea, "Ok, thanks for checking that out. Take care."

"Bye."

"Love you, bye."

I hung up the phone, smarter, but not really wiser. If I was wiser, I might have left the whole thing alone.