Colorado Reload: A Western Fiction

By Dr. Richard M. Beloin MD

The Story…….

The story starts as a ‘burnt-out’ bounty hunter and a ‘floundering’ waitress find each other. After a week of stepping out, they fall in love. Realizing they had both been lifelong ‘range rats,’ the two set out to build a business out of reloading once fired brass.

Needing a prototype automatic machine to sort and load ammo, they went to Salt Lake City to learn how to operate such machines. Concurrently they made friends with three other couples in similar training classes. After one month, they returned to Denver to purchase a building, renovate it, purchase houses for their friends’ housing, and arranged for the automated sorters and reloaders to be installed.

With their six friends as essential workers, the factory was producing 220,000 loaded rounds per week and turned out some incredible profits till things came to a halt with the impending WWI. Electing not to be commandeered but to work with the War Department, the business prospered making 30-06 rifle and 45 ACP pistol ammo.

With the end of the war in 1917, the business went thru the 1918 Influenza pandemic and was closed for months. After that, the business flourished during the Roaring 20’s till the Stock Market crash of 1929. The business again closed during the Great Depression till the late 1930’s in preparation for WWII. After that war, the Duo now in their late 50’s and wealthy, passed the business to their son and daughter.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 24, 2023
• ISBN: 9781669874454

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Copyright © 2023 by Richard M Beloin MD.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, business events, and products are all the result of the writer’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, people, and locations are purely coincidental.

Some of my stories occur during well documented historical events such as the 1918 Influeza, WW1, the Roaring 20’s, and so on. It is again coincidental that this story occurs during these times, but the story itself does not alter the the historical facts.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 04/24/2023

Xlibris

844-714-8691

www.Xlibris.com

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CONTENTS

Dedication

Chapter 1—The Beginning

Chapter 2—Another Range Rat

Chapter 3—The Road to Reality

Chapter 4—The Trip to Utah

Chapter 5—Learning the Trade

Chapter 6—Utah back to Colorado

Chapter 7—Building a Business

Chapter 8—Getting Started

Chapter 9—The Golden Year

Chapter 10—Preparing For War

Chapter 11—Wartime and a Pandemic

Chapter 12—The Future

Chapter 13—WW2 and the Aftermath

Epilogue

About the Author

Author’s Publications

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to the thousands of private reloading individuals who always wondered if they could ever turn their favorite hobby of reloading into a fulltime occupation.

CHAPTER 1

The Beginning

It was a sunny and warm August day when two bounty hunters were going to the Denver Wells Fargo bank to make a deposit. Their last caper netted them each $3,000. As they approached the bank, Hank saw a rider holding the reins of six more horses. The only explanation was clear—a bank robbery was in progress.

Within seconds, shooting started in the bank as one outlaw after another was rushing out of the bank. Realizing what was to happen, the bounty hunters drew their side arms and prepared for an all-out fight. Hank and Ralph fought as hard as possible and managed to put all seven outlaws down. Hank caught a bullet in his upper left arm as Ralph was on the ground. When Hank saw the gut gun-shot wound, he reacted instinctively. Without thinking, he picked up Ralph and yelled, show me the way to the hospital!

Three blocks later he dropped Ralph on an emergency room stretcher and yelled, gun-shot wound! In seconds, Ralph was surrounded by several doctors and nurses, as he was whisked away to the operating room for a presumed bleeding spleen.

Half an hour later, one of the doctors came to speak to Hank. I’m Doc Ellis, a medical doctor. The two surgeons have clamped off the splenic artery and blood loss has stopped. The problem is that he has lost a massive amount of blood and the prognosis is guarded. But for now, let me see your wound. After examining it, the doc said, thanks to wearing short sleeves, the wound is free of detritus. I will irrigate it with carbolic acid and then suture the exit wound and insert a rubber drain to the front and suture that entry as well. The drain will stay in place for 48 hours to allow drainage of fluids and hopefully prevent infection. It was another two hours before the surgeons came to speak to Hank. Doc Bell said, we have removed his spleen, evacuated the abdomen of the blood loss, but it is going to be touch and go for the next three days. There is a complication beyond the blood loss, his blood tested high for sugar. We do not have any treatment for diabetes, and he has probably been a latent diabetic for some time. The bottom line, excessive blood loss and diabetes is a perfect set up for infection. I may add, that before he was placed under with chloroform, he did ask that I give you this. It is his last will and testament, prepared and signed by an attorney, notarized, and filed with the Denver probate court. Pray for him and we will keep you posted.

Day after day, Hank would spend hours in Ralph’s room. He had not yet regained consciousness since surgery. He was on IV fluids and oxygen. The third day his temperature spiked to 104. There were clear signs of infection and his blood pressure dropped drastically. Three hours later, Ralph passed away.

*

After the burial, Hank was at a loss. He spent days in the saloon drinking his life away. Noticing his melancholy, a man came over and introduced himself. Hi, my name is Roger Cahill. I have been in a melancholy state for some time since I was laid off from the railroad during their second round of a ‘RIF’ (reduction in forces). I have decided to go ahead and start looking for another job. Not knowing what you have done for a living, if there have been changes like me, then it is time to find something else to do.

Hank felt comfortable with this man and added, I only know being a bounty hunter, and doing so alone is catamount to suicide. So what do I do? Become a lawman or security agent. Na-aw, I want to get away from living by the gun! Well, I guess you are going to walk the streets looking for ‘help wanted’ sign. Unless you have an old hobby that you can finance into a business for profit.

Hank pondered on that statement. Well I might have one. So where do you live and are you interested in a job working for me. I live at 9 Lincoln Avenue, and I would love a job working for you. But you don’t know what the job is and I will need to find a house with an extra-large garage. I don’t care what it is, but I prefer working inside since I have been working outside for the railroad long enough. By the way, the house next to me is for sale and it has a three-car garage with a carriage lean-to." Hank thought, The only hobby I ever had was when I was working in a gun shop during my high school days. I would be sent to the range to pick up range brass and then reload them for sale in the gun shop. I always thought that it was a waste and a shame how shooters would discard their once fired brass and walk away. I bet you there is a profit to be made if the business is properly set up. Since I have the money, I think I am going to go for it. Ok Roger, here is your sign on bonus of $250 for you to pay your creditors and buy some work clothes. I will get back to you when I have a job for you.

That same afternoon, Hank arrived with Silvio Dumassi, the bank’s real-estate agent. Hank had no reservations, paid the asking price of $5,000 for a completely furnished house, an office, a three-car unused garage, lean-to, horse barn, and a two-acre pasture. After the sale, Roger was hired at $5 a day, which was twice the state’s minimum and railroad wage. His first job, travel around the private shooting ranges and buy their once fired brass as long as the brass was clean of dirt, dry, and not fired from black powder loaded cartridges. Roger had drawing rights on Hank’s newly formed bank account and was told to pay 25 cents a pound for range brass. With a 5-gallon bucket weighing +-75 pounds, the usual rate was $18.75. Roger was instructed to pay $20 to entice gun range owners to save their brass for Hank, deliver them by 5-gallon buckets to 7-Lincoln Avenue for instant cash, and not bother to deliver a minimum of $1,000 pounds to the smelter for the purpose of reclaiming the metals.

*

Meanwhile, Hank had several errands to run. His first was at Summerland’s hardware shop where he purchased two dozen 5-gallon synthetic pails and ordered twenty 20-gallon steel drum with a sealing cover. Other minor items included several one-gallon grain scoops, and heavy-duty leather gloves to handle brass casings.

Next, Hank met with Silvio. I need to own some shooting ranges. Well funny you should ask, but the city council has decided to get out of the range business and their four municipal ranges are for sale. Great, let’s go see the nearest one. Arriving at the 10th street range, they were greeted by an older man whose job was to sweep the shooting platforms each day and collect the brass casings as he would then store them into 20-gallon drums in the municipal shed.

Hank then said, "I hear that the four municipal ranges are for sale.

So if they sell, what are you going to do for work. No idea, but I’ll likely be out of a job. Would you consider working for me at $5 a day and do the same job you are now doing except bring the daily brass case picks to my house garage. Heck yes, but I admit that you are significantly increasing my wages, as I am paid $1.25 for a half day’s work to collect all four ranges, which I can do because of the plank shooting platforms. That’s Ok, and for the rest of the day, you can work with Roger Cahill in my garage sorting brass. Anyways, first I have to purchase all four ranges. But out of curiosity, what is the condition of the brass in the municipal shed? Clean as a whistle, looks like new. So they are dry, clean, free of dirt or black powder fired cases? Absolutely and there are six 20-gallon drums full to the top. And by the way, my name is Orville Thurman, and you are? Hank Larimer.

Next was a scheduled meeting with the mayor and a five-member council. Mayor Whilden started, it is bad enough to manage a big city of 200,000 people without worrying about the bothersome management of four shooting ranges—three for pistols and one for rifle. So to lighten our load, we want to sell all four ranges. How much are you asking? Two thousand for all four ranges plus we’ll include the six 20-gallon drums of mixed brass cases in the town shed. Sir, you have a deal, let’s sign papers as I will give you a bank draft to pay for the ranges.

That same day he saw Bemis McMullen at the construction office.

The carpenters built a locked box that held a 5-gallon pail for collecting brass cases. The sign read:

"Place spent brass in here to shoot free.

Otherwise donate 2-4 bits (25-50 cents)

in the donation box. Come again!

After all four ranges were set up, the carpenters came to Hank’s garage and set up long tables measuring 24 inches wide and 36 inches high. Plus 28-inch bar stools were added for the workers to use. It took Roger two days to talk with all eight private gun range owners and set up the deliveries at Hank’s garage. Orville had no trouble taking care of the four range pickups for both brass cases and the monetary donations. And so the rest of the time, Roger, Orville, Hank, and the newly added worker, Roger’s wife Ruth, worked separating brass into seven categories—9mm, 38 special, 45 ACP, 44 special, 45 Long Colt, 30-30, and 30-06. The rest of the cases went into the recycling drum destined for the smelter at 25 cents a pound.

It was at night that Hank woke up and had a revelation. If he was going to sell once fired reloaded ammo, he needed an automatic loading machine since loading manually would never work out. After checking with the town clerk, several mercantiles, hardware stores, and several gun shops, Hank had to resort to the local library. His first book rental was on the subject, How to turn a hobby into a successful business. When he got to the counter to check out the book, Hank was not looking up over the counter and handed the book to the attendant. When she went to take the book out of his hand, Hank looked up. There was a tall, slim gal with shoulder length blonde hair. To Hank’s perception, the gal was a gorgeous woman full of mystery. Eventually she said, if you want me to register the book, you’ll have to let it go so I can get the numbers down.

Handing the book back to Hank, she lingered as he grabbed his end of the book. Hank looked right at her and said, electrifying and daunting isn’t it? Yes, but why? I am not sure, anyways, my name is Hank Larimer. My name is Sue Hagood. I’ll be back in the morning to change the book for another read. See you then, and remember me, heh? I like your awareness that some things are daunting. By the way, I have a photographic memory and I am not about to forget your face.

***

CHAPTER 2

Another Range Rat

That night Hank read his library book and got several good ideas. The one thing that still escaped him was where to find an auto loading machine. By morning he was at the library to return his book and look for others to guide him. Picking up several he went to check them out. Sue saw him coming and said, hello Hank, nice to see you again. Why, did you think I wouldn’t show up? Never know how these social things can go, anyways, I am glad to see you again. Do you want to return your book and register these? Yes to return one and I will read these today in the library coffee shop. Why don’t you join me during one of your breaks? We’ll see how the day goes, since some busy days, we don’t get breaks. Well, let’s hope for the best.

It was 2 o’clock when Sue appeared at Hank’s table with two huge homemade donuts. I brought you some lunch since I know they do not serve food in the coffee shop. After sharing the donuts and some fresh coffee, Sue asked, I have lived in Denver all my life and have never seen you before yesterday; so I suspect you are new in town. Yes, I have retired at an early age, have bought a house, and plan to start a business.

Why Denver of all places. Because with a population of +- 200,000 people, that means that it has approximately a hundred gun-shops in the city—that’s one gun-shop per 2,000 people.

The acquaintances were suddenly surprised to hear a bell. Sue said, that’s the return-to-work bell. Will I ever see you again? I can come here every day if you like. Well, I only work here on weekends. Weekdays I work at Booker’s Diner from 7AM to 4PM Then I’ll see you at the diner. What time do you take a break? At 2PM I get my lunch as part of my wages. Then I will be there at 2PM for lunch with you—if that’s Ok? Yes, that would be nice. As Sue was getting up, their hands touched, as both lingered without a spoken word.

*

The next day, Hank arrived a bit early, sat at a table for two and started to look at the day’s menu. Sue did not recognize him with his Cowboy hat and came to take his order. What can I get for you Sir? Hank spontaneously asked, how’s your crack…… Very clean, I bathed this morning. Hank was shocked as he looked up and said, I meant your cracked corn biscuits. Sue, recognizing him, nearly collapsed in the chair. I am so sorry, but every day that Booker puts the cracked corn biscuits on the menu, it’s all I get in wise cracks. Heck, it is the same as when he puts chicken breasts on the menu. Every man wants to know how big my breasts are? Well, how do you answer that one? I put my hands together and show the size of a small grapefruit. Anyways, let’s not order right away so we can chat a bit.

Hank started, I know nothing about you, so please tell me your life’s story since school till now. Well it is nothing special but here goes. I loved high school and had several girlfriends that were more promiscuous than me. Anyways, after graduation, my girlfriends all married and I went off to college to learn business administration. I was there six months and had to come home when my dad was given a first announced RIF. So I went to work to support the family. Being partially trained in business administration, I got a part-time job in the library and had to supplement that with my waitressing job. And that is all to it.

Any men in your life? No, it’s not that I don’t want a man and a family, it’s just that men want to play and not commit. Meaning what? On a first date, all they want to do is poke my private area and have me drain their tank. Now, that is an activity for married or committed lovers, not casual first dates. So as a result of not ‘putting out,’ I have earned the moniker of ‘Suey Nogood.’ Wow, that’s a tough one, heh?

Now, we’d better order before the 4 o’clock crowd shows up. After a nice beef stew, Sue said, how about your story? I’d rather wait till tomorrow, that way I will be able to see you again. Are you game, we’ll meet here again at 2 o’clock? Sure, looking forward to it.

*

The next day, on time, Hank showed up and waited for Sue to seat him at their private table for two. I’m on the last customers and I’ll be over with some fresh coffee. Five minutes later, I’m really glad to see you again. So tell me your story!"

Since I can remember, I have been a ward of the state and lived all my known life with elderly wonderful foster parents. They both passed away during my five years since out of high school. School was not for me although I did graduate from high school. Since the age of 16 I’ve worked in a gun-shop. My job was to go to the local ranges, pick up abandoned brass and come back to the shop to reload them on a single stage press. I was well known on the ranges as a certifiable ‘range rat.’ Do you know what a ‘range rat’ is?

Heck, you are talking to a high school teenager who would stop at the range on her way home, pick up some 38 special, and come home to reload them. Yes, dad called me a ‘range rat.’ When we went to the range to shoot them off, he laughed as much as I did. Whoa, not to get off the subject, but you like to shoot? Heck yes, I have a Colt Model 1898 in DA and I’m pretty good with it. Gotcha!

To continue my story, once out of high school, I was recruited by an older solo bounty hunter who needed a young shooter. I was well known to be a fast draw and very accurate with a DA Model 1898 revolver also in 38 special. After six months of training with a rifle, a pump shotgun, tracking, jungle warfare, and being proficient in the use of dynamite, I joined Ralph and went after big and dangerous outlaw gangs that had a high bounty on their heads.

"We were popular because we would bring back more than half of our outlaws alive to stand trial—we used dynamite to