Rendezvous II - Cover

Rendezvous II

Copyright© 2017 by Old Man with a Pen

Chapter 32

Karen

They want me to teach another class. I’m wondering if that should have an exclamation point or a question mark instead of a period.

They want me to teach another class! YEAH! I done good! Good enough that there are seventeen guys 19 and older who want to participate in Flintlock 101, 1978 Fall Semester.

They want me to teach another class? Why on earth do they want me to teach seventeen klutzes how to put together kit rifles? I didn’t succeed in my goals the first time. Nobody learned a thing. The Uberti kits come with a great set of directions.

The Signup Poster read thusly:

BLACK POWDER RIFLES
Four Credit Hours
A Journey to the Past
Meet with an experienced olde time rifle maker
Build the kit from Hell
Track of the Wolf 80% Kits.

The tear-off hangtags gave my number... 672-8828.

The poster went up before Summer semester was over. Three days later I got my first call.

“What do you mean by the kit from Hell?”

“Do you know anything about Track of the Wolf?”

“No,” the male voice said.

“Call or write for a catalog,” I said. “Call me if you still want to take the class. Call me before the DROP / ADD date.”

Track of the Wolf, Inc.
18308 Joplin St NW
Elk River, MN 55330-1773
Tel: 763-633-2500 Fax: 763-633-2550

“You’re a girl ... what do you know about smithing?”

“I guess you’ll have to pay to find out, won’t ya.”

Several of the doubters found ... living in the dorms ... guys who had taken the class.

“Jesus, that’s a pretty rifle ... where did you get it?”

“Built it,” was the universal reply.

“Really?”

“Yup ... Flintlock 101 first semester 1977.”

“Your instructor?”

“Karen Post.”

“A girl?”

“Yeah.”

“She know anything?”

“You should see what she built as a teaching aid.”

“That good?”

“Makes mine look like a stick.” He said, “She’s got her own shop ... big old log cabin east of town. Machine tools up the ass. Funny ... she built hers mostly with a hammer and files ... but the tools helped keep the holes straight. She built all of it except the lock ... that came from Uberti as a few lumps of iron.”

“Worth the time?”

“Yeah ... she’s got seventeen possible sign-ups ... if she don’t fill the class with newbys, I’m angling to get a spot.”

“I’m thinking about it.”

“Got your Track yet?”

“Nope.”

“Here. Look at mine.”

Laying the Hawken on the dorm room bed, the prospect took the catalog and began to thumb through it.

“Holy shit!”

He studied a while, turning the pages, pointing at one thing or another.

“She doesn’t care if you use pre-made parts ... but she will show you how to make your own. I hear she’s going to build a 1769 J. Dickert Pennsylvania flinter this year. One thing...”

“What?”

“Siler lock kits ... and Flintlocks only. Page 162 in the catalog.”

He thumbed to the page.

“You can forge your own lock but ... it’s a bitch.”

“She a barker?”

“When she started teaching ... she wore Carhartt’s ... brown from top to boots. Nobody could get a look ... if you know what I mean. The night of the storm? She confessed to peeing her panties. She changed in the john...” he said, “I confess to wood. I never saw shorts that short in my life ... cheeks hanging out ... she had this white shirt tied up under her boobs...” he hesitated... “I guess ... it’s not secret ... was in the paper. She killed those three looters coming in the shop with knives out and threatening ... Bang, bang bang ... without thinking about it. I’ll put it to you straight ... I was scared shitless.”

“What? That was her?”

He tossed the catalog on the bed and admired the rifle again.

“Yeah ... feminine up the ass ... but nobody fucks with her.” He said, “She’s got something else going on this year ... airplanes ... my dad said.”

“Airplanes? What’s she know about airplanes?”

“She flies.”

“What?”

“Some kinda World War Two trainer. Navy.”

“Where’d she get that?”

“She’s got some kind of sugar daddy ... he bought it for her.”

“What about that?”

“Never met him. Don’t know.”

“Hmmm.”

“It’s a good class ... you’re holding the proof.”

He put the gun down and the builder started wiping it down. Fingerprints,” he said, “They rust.”

“So?”

“I can recommend the class. If I can get in I’ll do it again.

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