Here is my error:
When I saw the Wikipedia picture:
I noted the two items above the trigger. As you can see from the pictures in my earlier post, the upper one has no screw head, but the lower one does. On the left side, both have a screw head.
However, on the rifle the woman is holding, there is only a single large screw behind the trigger. If you refer to the parts diagram:
You will see that there is a similar screw on the left side -- just like the rifle the woman is holding. In digging up the info I posted earlier, I found that there were 3 models of Winchester 1873. The first model according to these articles:
http://findarticles.com/p/articles/mi_m ... ntent;col1 and
http://findarticles.com/p/articles/mi_m ... n16808616/ had frames made of iron; the others were made of steel. According to this web page:
http://aaa-webs.com/aaa/webs/homestead/ ... ations.htm the second model has the one large screw on each side, like the rifle the woman is holding, but the rifle depicted here:
http://www.collectorsfirearms.com/admin ... emID=28749
clearly has two screws above the trigger, but a serial number that would indicate a third model. So, I'm unable to really understand, based on what I could glean, when Winchester changed these screws in the receiver. So, since my thought was that the woman's rifle had to be a replica was based on that screw, I cannot say whether she's holding a replica or the real thing.
I would like to relate an old story on this, however:
Many years ago in the small Montana town I lived in, I was a frequent visitor to one of the town's gun shops. I was pretty good friends with the proprietor, a Nebraska farm boy, and he was a real character. The gun shop was in what could charitably be termed a shack -- it had once been a bar. It had a bathroom in it and in the same building, the next door business was a barber shop that was very tiny. It had no restroom and the barber, though no gun person, was a nice guy and would come over to the gun shop to use the restroom or just talk. He had a sink in his barber shop and it turned out that the sink just drained into a pit that was dug under the building. The pit was all full of junk and old cans. A really nice place!
My friend would often sit in the back office and plink into a bullet trap with a Stevens single shot .22; when he was doing this, I could hear the little "cling" of the bullets hitting the trap as I walked down the sidewalk to enter.
But occasionally, he would fire a full power rifle in the shop to test it. After the first time I saw this, we made a little ritual of it when I was in. Usually, it would go like this: Hunting season was approaching, and a father would bring in a son to buy his first rifle. On a lower rack on the floor, there were maybe 30 or 40 old military rifles, most butchered from their issued form in some way or another. The son would eye all of these treasures, and pick one out. The dealing would go on and the boy would lay out his little wad of cash, and the dad would usually ask something like, "This gun will work OK, right?" and my friend would assure him it would, and promise to refund the money or allow another choice, if there was any problem.
Now, if I was in the shop, I would say something like, "I think the man wants to see if it works. Why don't you show him?" and my friend would turn to an old chest of drawers. Each drawer was filled to the brim with ammunition and scope mount bases and what have you -- the weight of all of this was breaking it down and it was always tough to get a draw opened -- and my friend would dig out an appropriate cartridge, put it in the chamber, and close the bolt. Then he'd move a piece of plywood on the floor, uncovering a hole about 4" in diameter that led straight to the pit below the building. He'd advise the wide-eyed dad and the wide-eyed son to cover their ears, put the barrel into the hole and put a hand against the butt, and BLAM! Off the gun would go. It was quite loud in the little shop, despite the fact that the muzzle was below the flour, and the concussion could be strongly through the feet when he fired. He'd open the bolt and smoke would drift out as the shop filled with the smell of burned gunpowder.
The dad would usually look as if he'd just visited Mars and some Martians as he went out the door. It was great fun and happened many times, except when my older son, about 9, bought his first rifle. We did the whole ritual, but I didn't walk out the door as if I'd seen Martians.
Anyway, my friend was an extremely shrewd gun trader and had quite a clientele from all over the country. Hank Williams Jr. was a regular customer, for example.
In a corner was barreled receiver from an 1873 Winchester; it as all rusty and pitted, with no parts in it. Like many other "Railbirds" who hung out there, I'd often pick it up and look at it while he conversation was going on. On the barrel, it said "King's Patent" and a date. One day, I said, "I wonder what King's Patent is?"
My friend laughed and told the story of how a fairly well known gun book author from Southern California was in the store (he shall remain nameless, since I was not there when this happened) and some other railbird had picked up the remains of the Winchester and asked the same question. My friend made some brush off comment, since he didn't know, and this famous fellow explained that King's Patent covered the loading gate on the side of the action. Then he put his hands on the counter and, leaning into my friend's face, said, "Do you know how I know? I know, because I'm an EXPERT!" and that was that.
My friend was a pretty cagey old farm boy, and several years later, this famous fellow was in the shop again, this time with his wife. As the fellow looked around, he saw that my friend had a really nice 1863 Springfield Civil War musket. My friend said that he could see that Mr. Expert really wanted that musket. He started to wheel and deal, telling my friend that he had all sorts of antiques in his motor home that he'd picked up on his trip to Montana. (These rich Californians and Texans would often come out for the summer, looking for antiques to take back and make piles of money selling back home -- all the while, giggling at the stupid hill folk they'd taken.)
Mr. Expert then said he wanted to make a deal, and that my friend must collect something he had with him.
My friend, with a totally straight poker face, said, "Well, yes, I collect art."
He said he could hear the gears turning in Mr. Expert's head as he hesitated and said, "What kind of art are you looking for?"
My friend replied, "well, I collect portraits of dead Presidents."
Mr. Expert was in the midst of pondering where he'd come by portraits of dead presidents, when his wife elbowed him in the side and laughed, "He wants money, you idiot, money!"
So that was how the famous book author met his comeuppance from the country bumpkin, and that's my story about the 1873 Winchester.
Oh, on this little search, I also learned about Trail Boss powder, used for loading rounds for Cowboy Action shooting. It is meant for light loads, which I like to shoot out of my .38 Specials, and it is supposed to deliver very consistent performance. So, I will pick some up the next time I'm at Cabela's and give it a try.