SASS member since 2/28/2011 (#91327)
SASS Ruger Vaquero's in .45LC.
Henry Big Boy in .45LC
Steoger Coach Gun in .12 and .20 ga.
The (Short and Fictitious) Saga of “Blazin Buster Bush”
Dec 9, 1855 was a cold and icy day for the birth of Beauregard Balew Bush, which probably explains why he hated to be cold.
His parents, and grandparents, on his father’s side were sodbusters. His grandparents on his mother’s side were cattle ranchers. He had visited them only on two occasions so he barely knew them, but he remembered they had a decent house with a great big fireplace and where good food was served every day. It was enough to convince a young boy that he would rather feed cows than being yanked about behind an ornery old mule all day long, turnin dusty dirt. And that was how his daddy met his maker when Balew was seven. He was plowing in a wide-open field when a single bolt of lightening killed him and his mule. His mother knew she couldn’t get by on her own so she took Balew and his baby sister and went back to her parents’ ranch. Balew missed his father, but leaving that life behind didn’t bother him much. His mother knew her kids would have a better life and get a better education. What an education they got!
It was grandpa who, (out of malicious intent) gave Balew the nickname of Buster. It always befuddled the boy when granpa would introduce him to one of his ranch hands or friends in town as Buster Bush, then, when they repeated the name it would just crack granpa up. And granpa’s grin reached new widths when he heard the ladies repeat the name. Balew could not make sense of all that, but the nickname stuck and after a couple of years he had all but forgotten his real name.
What Buster loved the most about his granpa was that he was so funny. For whatever reason, granpa was always happy and always talkin. He made Buster laugh a lot. Granpa would take Buster along with him everywhere he went, and he especially liked going to the General Outfitters Store where they would marvel at the tools, saddles and tack, and guns. Most of the time grandpa would buy something that he needed at the ranch, but every now and then he would purchase a new gun, cause it felt good in his hand, and it would make a nice addition to his growing collection. Granpa would also let Buster sit by the poker table on Saturday afternoons while he spent a little time with his friends playing a few hands of five-card-draw, telling stories, and having a good cigar and a few shots of whiskey. Buster would down all the sasparilla and hard candy he could while he watched intently and learned a lot about countin cards and figurin percentages. He had a good mind for it, and it came to him easy. By watching granpa, Buster also became a master at hagglin-out deals. By the time he was twelve, even the most seasoned buyers found it difficult to get him to budge an inch on the price of a cow, a horse, or even a gun. And by this time too, he had become quite handy with any type of firearm.
It was always near dark before they would head back to the ranch. Granpa had taught Buster how to lead the team so he could lay on the buckboard and sleep on the trip back. Buster, being hyped up on so much sugar had no problem staying awake, and he loved drivin the buggy anyway. On one such night, with just a fingernail moon to light the trail, the horses began to check-up a bit and then Buster thought he could see something in the middle of the trail. He stopped the horses and got them settled, then grabbed the coach gun and to this day he don’t know why, but he grabbed granpa’s six shooter too. It was hard to tell but he swore the dark spot in the trail was getting closer, and then he was sure of it when the horses wanted to back up, so that’s when Buster jumped from the buckboard and crouched down behind it, just like granpa had taught him. He poked granpa in the side and when granpa sat up he was looking at a man on horseback pointing a pistol at him. “I’ll have that money belt you got hid under that vest mister”, the man said.
The man had a bandanna coverin half his face, but to Buster there was something familiar about him. It was the smell. It was that nasty lookin feller he saw in the store earlier in the day! He had taken notice not just because he was so ugly, but also because he had never smelled anybody so rank! Granpa knew he was in trouble when he reached for his pistol and it wasn’t there. The man didn’t know he didn’t have a pistol, so he fired his off at granpa. At that instant, Buster came up from behind the buckboard and cut loose with everything he had. A double barrel in one hand and a wheel gun in the other. The horses couldn’t take it. Granpa’s team took off so fast it threw him off the buckboard. The would be robber was on the ground too, scrambling all around. Seems he couldn’t stay with his horse either, and lost possession of his pistol in the fall. Granpa wrestled ‘ol stinky’ down and Buster tapped him on the ear with the butt of the shotgun for good measure.
Afterwards, when granpa would tell the story about how Buster had saved his life, he would say “the very moment the man’s bullet creased his shoulder, the sky lit up with fire”. “Buster’s barrels were Blazin in the Night”, and “he musta kilt at least eight stars”! Without even realizing it this time, granpa had completed Buster’s nickname.
And there you have it. Now you know how Beauregard Balew Bush became known as “Blazin Buster Bush”. Ironically, the initials remained the same and in case you’re curious, not long after that, the ranch and brand became “Triple B”.