MY GUN'S BIGGER THAN YOURS

A person has no idea of the strange things that are waiting to be discovered, and that those things are something that is totally unexpected. While researching for PIPELINE, a story about bootlegging during the twenties and thirties, I came across a gun collector who had discovered an interesting piece of history from the later 19^th Century. He happened upon an abandoned storage shed east of Oilmont, Montana, and in a stack of cast-off scrap iron, saw the lever of an early lever-action rifle. Further investigation revealed the entire rifle. He dragged it out and realized that he was holding an 1876 Winchester 45-75 carbine.

Now the weapon, being a significant find in the first place, really piqued his curiosity because this particular rifle was a special issue, a variation of the 1876 Winchester Centennial, and was spec’d out and ordered by the Canadian Northwest Mounted Police, shortly after the force was organized. The gun was found in Oilmont, about twenty miles south of the border between the United States and Canada.

While the Winchester could be a topic of its own, the story here is something else, probably the last thing one would expect to find on a cattle ranch on the border between Montana and Alberta, Canada. First, a little background.

My grandfather, George L. Stringam, bought the ranch in 1928. Being a cattleman he was far more concerned about raising cattle than looking for artifacts. Another of his concerns was to be self-sufficient. Part of that meant having a garden. He designated a patch of land east of the house and proceeded to set up a place to pump water out of the river to irrigate that piece.

There was a natural shelf, a safe distance above the water level that had become a place to discard rocks and debris from the various riverflats in that valley. It was a major chore but something that a young boy, who would later become my father, was quite adept to. He got to work moving rocks around to form an edge around the shelf that wouldn’t easily wash away during spring runoff.

It was a massive pile of rocks.

Mark pried and worked at the rocks, not really paying a lot of attention to the various patterns and colors until he found a long heavy rusty looking rock. Well, it looked like a rock at first.

He dug the rocks away and exposed more of that odd shape and finally had enough of it exposed to tell that it was not a rock at all. Even with the sand that encrusted it, one could tell that it was none other than the barrel of a small cannon.

With the help of one of the hired hands, a Swiss guy named Hans, they drug that “rock” over to the blacksmith shop and started cleaning it up.

Definitely, a small piece of artillery, it was just over a yard long and had a bore in the neighborhood of an inch and a half. Of course something that small could be deadly if you were in range of the business end.

But, of course, the mystery began, primarily, where the devil it came from in the first place.

Referring to the background, the ranch was once owned by a sheep rancher named “Harvey.” Not much was known about Harvey other than he raised sheep. He pulled out in the early years of the 20^th Century and the ranch was sold to one Colonel Mackie, a veteran of several skirmishes, including the Boer War in South Africa.

Now Colonel Mackie could have had access to ownership and transportation of that cannon although it would’ve still been somewhat of a challenge, getting a cannon onto a train and not raising a few warning flags. Of course he could've brought it out in a wagon train.

Like, what do you call it, other than a cannon? It’s too big to be a cigarette holder, and doorstop would be a frail attempt to cover its identity. Whatever the case, it came west sometime between the Boer War and 1928. Whether it was intended to be used as it was originally intended will never be known.

Another theory is that it could’ve been lost during the whiskey traders’ numerous treks north to Fort Whoop-Up. During the latter part of the 1800s there was a lot of whiskey sent north to be sold to the Indians. One of the main alleys was called “Whiskey Gap,” which was about twenty-five miles west of the old ranch.

Unfortunately that theory was disproven many times as, first of all, there was no record of a small cannon ever being in Fort Whoop-Up. And, back in that time period, cannons were cast, many out of bronze while this one was machined.

Well, it was quite a novelty having a vintage cannon barrel on the cattle ranch but that eventually lost its excitement and it was set aside in the garage beside the ranch house. War was approaching and everyone had to either dig in or serve the country. Somewhere during that time, the garage door needed some repairs and Hans realized that the old barrel was the perfect replacement for the counterweight for the garage door.

One day Mark’s cousin, Jay, came out for a visit. Jay was an air force veteran who maintained an interest in old weaponry. He had a good look at the barrel and he immediately contacted a gun collector over in the next town.

After chatting with him it was decided that the barrel had some significant value, even if it was to add to the enthusiast’s collection. Lawrence, the collector, was given stewardship over the old cannon. He went to a great deal of trouble to construct a mount and undercarriage and for many years it greeted visitors at his front gate.

I’m at somewhat of a loss as to what was now used as a counterweight on that garage door.

Today, the cannon’s history remains mostly in the theory department but one thing for certain is that it exists. It has been the object of many stories in the local coffee shop. We may never actually know the entire story but one thing does remain: There are not many ranchers out there who can brag about having their own cannon.