137-year-old Winchester rifle found leaning on a tree in Nevada has new home

There once was an lonely outlaw. His gang had just robbed a stagecoach heading to deliver a surplus of gold to a larger town out of the county. After years of heinous acts riding with his fellow bandits, this, "last big score," had finally pushed him over the edge. He hoped to finally have enough money to move his wife and child to the city, since the land he had built his house on wasn't fit to grow any nature of crops. On his ride home he saw a lone shade tree. A lone buzzard sat in it's shadow,but seeing as it was a terribly hot day, he didn't think twice about chacing it off. He say down against the tree, tipping his hat forward over his brow. After nodding off he dreamed of leaving his life of hard rides behind him and the fine clothes he'd buy for his wife. She was never aware of the true nature of his trips away from home but trusted that he would provide for his family. While he slept, the quiet moments of the afternoon soon turned to dusk and he roused himself to make the ride home. As he turned away from the tree he stopped and rested his Winchester against it's trunk. "He wouldn't be needing it anymore," he thought to himself. As he hurried home he saw no sign of the moon, darkness would be upon him soon. Pressing his heals into his horse he drove faster toward his home, eager to escape the night and join his family in the warmth of the fire his wife was sure to have prepared for him. But blackness fell upon him and he became frantic. Surely he hadn't misjudged the distance to his home, surely it was within his grasp. But with a sigh of relief, a familiar glow shown from just over the next hill. "Finally," he thought. Just then a terrified scream breaking the silence of the night, and then a gunshot. Faster and faster he raced, the sound of gunfire and the faces of the men he killed in the stagecoach robbery, flashing before his eyes, their bodies set upon by the scavengers. He reached for his rifle, but it wasn't there. Fear had overtaken him. He reached the top of the hill and saw it. His house engulfed in flames. Men on horseback circling the spiraling pyre where he had watched his son grow up. As he closed the distance he recognized the men as his old gang. Before he could even call out to them bullets blanketed him and his steed. Raising his head from the ground, a familiar a blurry figure stepped closer to him and a familiar voice spoke out. "You really thought we'd let you walk away with more than your fair share?" His head fell to the ground again. And as the sound of hooves grew faint, once again, darkness overcame him. Some say the lonely outlaw roams the land to this day, longing for revenge, searching for for that lonely shade tree, where he will find his Winchester waiting for him.

/r/reddeadredemption Thread Link - i.redd.it