I want to welcome my good friend Paisley Kirkpatrick to Wildflower Junction. Paisley is one of the first writers I met when starting on my quest for publication and has become a beloved friend and critique partner I’m thrilled to say her first western historical NIGHT ANGEL will be hitting bookstores this August, with many more to follow in her Paradise Pines western series. She’s graciously agreed to fill in for me today and tonight we will give away reader’s-choice of my e-books to one comment poster ~Stacey Kayne

My Mother gave me a great gift — five, three-inch binders full of the history of my family. Apparently I come from a group with a colorful past and have used some of their activities in my stories. She often spoke of the ranch at La Honda and I treasure some items that belonged to my grandfather while he lived there. When I first started blogging, I found this great story and love to share it with others.

The following accounting was obtained from Roscoe Wyatt, Oscar John and Walter Ray.  Oscar and Walter both remember the Younger brothers in person.  Wyatt was a conscientious historian.  Personal interviews included two of my family members:  Emma John Weeks and Percy Weeks.  Oscar John (87 at the time of the interview) worked on the Bandit Built Store.  He knew the Younger brothers from when they hid out on his La Honda ranch.  

Among the men hired to build John Sears’ store, referred to as the ‘Bandit-Built Store’ in 1877 were the Younger brothers from Forsyth, Kansas.   At that time no one in La Honda, CA, knew them as the Younger brothers, because they were posing as cousins to Oscar John and Walter Ray.  Jim Younger actually lived behind the Redwood City Court House for one year using the name of Joe Hardin.

Three Younger brothers and their sister

Cole, Jim, Bob and John Younger lived in Forsyth, Kansas on their father’s ranch in May, 1861, when the Civil War broke out.  Cole, the youngest son, joined the Confederate Army and became a colonel.  In November of that year, a short leave gave him a chance to visit his parents.  As he approached the ranch, he found the place engulfed in flames.  A band of Union troops and local Northern sympathizers reached the ranch before him and stole all of the stock before burning the grain, corn, and feed.  They also threw his youngest sister, who suffered from tuberculosis, out on the cold ground, causing her death.  When their father discovered what had happened and put up a fight, they hung him from a tree on the ranch.  This left their mother, oldest sister, Molly, and three younger brothers homeless.

Within hours Cole, along with a friend, organized local Southern sympathizers and within a few hours they started wiping out their enemies.  It’s reported that Cole alone killed one hundred men that he knew had something to do with his father’s and sister’s death.  By the end of the war, Cole had a price on his head for desertion, killing for revenge, and a long list of other charges.  He left his family in the care of his cousin, John Jarret’s parents.  He, John Jarret and a few friends left for California where they hoped to find sanctuary at his uncle’s ranch in San Jose, but ended up using a ranch in La Honda as their hideout.

Oscar John and his stepfather met the gang as they rode onto the ranch.  Oscar was ten years old at the time.  He recalls unsaddling ten horses.  Everyone but Cole Younger and John Jarret left the ranch.  They helped build the lakeside Ray ranch into a large two-story building.  Cole and John traveled back to Kansas in order to bring the rest of their family west.  They learned their mother had died and that Jim and Bob Younger had been accomplices to the James gang robberies.  Cole was convinced the Ray ranch was the best place for the remainder of his family until everything blew over.

They arrived back in La Honda August, 1876, when big changes were happening.   A new sawmill belonging to R.J. Weeks (my ancestor) opened and John Sears just started clearing an old bear pit site for his store and hotel.  At last luck was with the Younger family.  Oscar John talked John Sears into hiring his cousins from the east, no questions asked.  The three brothers and John Jarret went to work on the store.  Oscar John recalls seeing Cole shingling the roof of the store.  When the store was finished, the men returned to the Ray ranch to work the harvest.

John Jarret spent that season at the Ray ranch, one season in Redwood City and then went back east.  He returned the next year and started work on my family’s ranch.  While he was there, he married Molly Younger, thereby becoming Cole’s brother-in-law as well as cousin.

The James Brothers were planning to rob the Northfield Bank in Minnesota.  They couldn’t pull the job by themselves and no longer trusted their gang.  They sent a message to Cole by a man named Giles.  Since the Youngers knew Northfield, they expected them to participate in the robbery.  Frank and Jesse James sent a message stating that if the Youngers refused to come, they would have them exposed to the law.  Cole decided to participate to save his sister and brother-in-law.  He left a rare set of pearl handled pistols with Jarret at the Weeks Ranch.  He realized if he got caught with them, they’d be a dead giveaway as to his identity.

Cole Younger Gang

Cole had an agreement with Jesse James that this bank robbery would be their last appearance in the mid-west.  Jesse assured Cole that after this job, they would never have to worry about money again.   Unfortunately, the robbery went wrong.  During their escape Jim Younger was shot in the jaw.  Jesse wanted to kill Jim because it would hinder to their escape.  Cole absolutely refused.  So, while Jim lay bleeding in a wet creek bottom, the James brothers made a clean getaway.  The Younger brothers gave themselves up to the law to save Jim from bleeding to death.  Cole, Jim and Bob Younger were sentenced to serve terms in the Minnesota Penitentiary.

When John Jarret learned what had happened to his brothers-in-law, he happened to be working away from the Weeks ranch and only coming home on the weekends.   Giles showed up at the ranch with a forged note from Cole.  Molly wasn’t home so he gave the note to their housekeeper.  It was written to Molly and asked that she give Giles the two rare guns.  The note stated that Cole’s prison term was just about up and that he wanted to sell the guns so he could get a new start in life.  The housekeeper, remembering Giles from his first trip, thought he was on the level and handed over the guns.  Jarret, for some unknown reason, came home that night and found Giles there with the guns in his possession.  After he read the letter, he knew it was forged because Cole always wrote in of care of him, not Molly.  Giles confessed that he had a chance to sell the guns to an Illinois museum.

Jim Bartley, La Honda rancher and teamster, visited the Younger brothers at the Northfield, Minnesota Penitentiary.  He learned that an old sweetheart of Jim Younger visited him regularly.  She promised to marry him when he got out of prison.  Jim looked forward to that day, planning once more to start life anew.  However, the woman turned him down when he got out.  His heart was broken.  Having nothing to live for, he rented a room at a cheap boarding house and shot himself through the head.

Cole and Bob dropped into obscurity after serving their terms.

There was a lot of unjustified killing and bad deeds that happened during the Civil War. I know what the brothers did was not right, but maybe they thought it was the only way to get justice. I don’t know how I would have reacted if I’d come upon the slaughter of my family members. It was a rough time in our history. Do you think they overreacted or that maybe hunting down the killers was justified?

What is it about very good girls falling for very bad men? Does the man have some redeeming quality she can see right off?

In my “Lawmen and Outlaws” Christmas Anthology novella, Christmas for Ransom, available both in print and e-book, schoolmarm Eliza Willows  falls in love with an outlaw when the handsome stranger hires her to teach him to read. Of course she’s unaware he’s the bad guy who thieved her granny’s prized Morgan horses smack dab during Thanksgiving dinner. Even when Eliza finds out his true identity, her heart has already been stolen…and Canyon Jack Ransom’s grown a conscience. He vows to become respectable and does all the right things to stay in her heart.

Today I’ll be giving away a signed copy (U.S.A.) or an e-copy (international) after drawing a name from today’s commenters.

Well, today let’s look at a real life good girl who fell for a bad guy. Schoolteacher Anna Ralston, daughter of a wealthy Independence MO businessman, held a Bachelor of Arts degree in Science and Literature from Missouri State College. Truth is, she was one of its first female graduates.

“Annie” is the woman who snared Alexander Franklin James, aka Frank James, and eloped with him in July 1875.  When she pretended to visit her brother-in-law in Kansas City, Frank waited for her on the train, the elopement already arranged.

No one ever knew how or when the couple met. But it is known Frank wasn’t only a rough and tumble baddie. As a youth, he’d devoured the books in his father’s library and even as an outlaw, quoted Shakespeare at will. His father, a farmer and Baptist minister, co-founded the William Jewell College in Liberty, Missouri. So maybe it’s not all that surprising that Frank chose an educator who loved literature. And with him described by the Kansas City Times as a “notable knight of the road” and “dashing and daring,” perhaps it’s not surprising Annie fell for him.

Two days after her departure for Kansas City, her parents received a brief note from her that said, “Dear Mother: I am married and going West. Annie Reynolds”

Not recognizing the name Reynolds, they figured she’d run off with a gambler they’d heard about. Putting their sons on her trail, her parents eventually learned of Annie’s marriage to the outlaw. Her father advised the family to treat the matter philosophically. Nothing could be done now, he said, and the less said about it the better.

Annie and Frank had one son, Robert Franklin James, born February 6, 1878. Four years later, after brother Jesse’s murder, Frank gave himself up, wanting peace after being hunted for twenty-one years.

Found not guilty for two robberies/murders (the juries cited lack of evidence), Frank became respectable for the last thirty years of his life. He gave lecture tours with his old crony Cole Younger and worked for the telegraph before returning to the James Farm in Kearney, Missouri to give tours. He died an honorable man on February 18, 1915. Fearing his grave would be desecrated for souvenirs, he decreed his ashes would be kept hidden until he and Annie could be buried together.

Annie remained with her mother in law at the James farm for many years, After her death at age 91, she and Frank were buried next to each other at Hill Park Cemetery in Independence.

(Excerpt from Chapter Two,  Christmas for Ransom:

Pinching herself, Eliza lost interest in everything except seeing what the stranger looked like in the lantern light. Brawny stalwart men were nothing new in a railroad town or on the ranch, but she never minded a good view.

Her breath caught so hard her sore rib tweaked. He was magnificent. The big-brimmed hat and flowing duster reckoned him a wrangler of some sort coming in from the range. Although he needed a bath and truly looked the worse for wear, she didn’t mind one single bit. The scruffy cheeks, the long rag-taggle coat, even the scent of masculine sweat were far more her style than the slick-haired dandies and overdressed fops she’d met at Boston cotillions.

“This here’s Ransom,” the blacksmith said helpfully.

As the stranger moved closer, he removed his hat and tucked it under his arm with a polite half-nod. For a long luscious moment, eyes the color of manly liquor covered her with a mouth-watering gaze. Golden-brown hair touched the mountains of his shoulders like sunlight at dawn across the Guadalupe Mountains.

Air left her lungs. A slow burn started at the top of her spine, her flesh desperate for the days’ worth of roughness adorning cheekbones carved like crags and valleys. She had to hold her hand still to keep her fingers from caressing the deep etches of his face.

Eliza couldn’t move as she stared up at him, aching and eager.

Now, for a Christmas story about a real GOOD man, my latest release, Right to Bragg, is a short, sweet holiday read.

With the release of our July anthology called GIVE ME A TEXAS OUTLAW my thoughts have been firmly anchored on history’s bad boys. And Kansas had its share of them. Last month on a publicity tour to kick off the release Phyliss Miranda and I traveled up to Liberal, Kansas. From there, a dear man by the name of Tom St. Aubyn showed us the sights. We can never thank you enough, Tom!

One place that tickled our fancy was the small town of Meade. It’s home to the Dalton Gang Hideout.

Seems Grat, Bob, and Emmett Dalton’s sister, Eva married J.N. Whipple and settled down on Pearlette Street. The house perched on sort of a bluff and had a barn down below.

The Dalton Boys, being quick to spy an opportunity, constructed a 95 foot tunnel from the barn up to the basement of Eva’s residence. They placed wooden beams across an old rain wash and piled dirt over the top of it. It suited their needs to a tee. They could come and go undetected while also protecting their sister’s identity. No one in Meade knew the Daltons were related to Eva Whipple and they wanted to keep it that way.

Like so many other outlaws at the time, the Daltons, who were related to the Younger brothers, started out in law enforcement before they began robbing banks and trains. They must’ve loved the outlaw life because they kept at it until 1892 when the gang faced a hail of bullets while robbing a bank in Coffeyville, Kansas. Grat and Bob along with two other gang members were killed. Emmett Dalton received 23 bullet wounds but survived. He was given a life sentence in a Kansas penitentiary. He served 14 years before being pardoned.

Phyliss at the tunnel

In the meanwhile, the bank in Meade foreclosed on Eva and J.N.’s house and they were forced to vacate. Several new owners occupied the Whipple house and eventually the escape tunnel was found.

In the early 1940′s the WPA reinforced the tunnel with stone quarried from the Clark Ranch east of Meade and the hideout was turned into a tourist attraction.

Today the hideout is owned and operated by the Meade County Historical Society. A wonderful man by the name of Marc Ferguson is the curator in addition to being one of their historical reenactors.

Eva’s home is now a museum and is furnished much as it was in her day.

If you’re ever in Meade, stop by and say hello. Walk the tunnel and browse in the really nice gift shop. And if you’re lucky and get a chance to catch Marc playing the role of Doc Holliday you’re in for a real treat.

You can find out more about the hideout HERE .

Phyliss and I enjoyed our trip and can’t wait to go back. We’ll not soon forget all the warm friendly people we met.

Have you ever visited a historical site that stayed with you long after you left?

If you haven’t already gotten your copy of our new anthology, it’s available  online and in bookstores everywhere.

Earlier this year, I wrote about the possible pardon of notorious outlaw, Billy the Kid. It ain’t gonna happen.  Billy the Kid is still an outlaw.

In his last day in office, New Mexico Gov. Bill Richardson announced on New Year’s Eve he would not grant a posthumous pardon to the infamous Old West bad guy, after drawing international attention by entertaining a petition on Billy the Kid’s behalf.  

The pardon request had centered on whether Billy the Kid, who was shot to death in 1881 after escaping jail where he awaited hanging in the killing of Lincoln County Sheriff William Brady in 1878, had been promised a pardon from New Mexico’s territorial governor, Lew Wallace, in return for testimony in killings he had witnessed. 

But the descendants of Wallace and Sheriff Pat Garrett, who fatally shot the fugitive, were outraged over the proposal.  Pauline Garrett Tillinghast expressed her concern that a pardon would tarnish her grandfather’s legacy. Though the pardon might have been narrowly tailored, she said, “It’s ridiculous to pardon a murderer.  Hollywood has turned him into some sort of a folk hero.”  Pat Garrett‘s grandson J.P. Garrett and Wallace‘s great-grandson William Wallace also publicly opposed the possibility of pardon.  

According to legend, Billy the Kid killed 21 people, one for each year of his life. The New Mexico Tourism Department puts the total closer to nine. The Kid was a ranch hand and gunslinger in the bloody Lincoln County War, a feud between factions vying to dominate the dry goods business and cattle trading in southern New Mexico. Billy the Kid killed two deputies while escaping jail. 

The person filing the request for pardon argued that Lew Wallace promised to pardon the Kid, also known as William Bonney or Henry McCarty. She said the Kid kept his end of the bargain, but the territorial governor did not. But, J.P. Garrett of Albuquerque said there’s no proof Gov. Wallace offered a pardon — and may have tricked the Kid into testifying. 

“The big picture is that Wallace obviously had no intent to pardon Billy — even telling a reporter that fact in an interview on April 28, 1881,” he wrote. “So there was no ‘pardon promise’ that Wallace broke. But I do think there was a pardon ‘trick,’ in that Wallace led Billy on to get his testimony.” 

Garrett also said that when the Kid was awaiting trial in Brady’s killing, “he wrote four letters for aid, but never used the word ‘pardon.”‘ 

William Wallace of Westport, Conn., said his ancestor never promised a pardon and that pardoning the Kid “would declare Lew Wallace to have been a dishonorable liar.” 

According to historians, The Kid in fact wrote Wallace in 1879, volunteering to testify if Wallace would annul pending charges against him, including a murder indictment in Brady‘s death. 

A tantalizing part of the question is a clandestine meeting Wallace had with the Kid in Lincoln in March 1879. The Kid’s letters leave no doubt he wanted Wallace to at least grant him immunity from prosecution.  Wallace, in arranging the meeting, responded: “I have authority to exempt you from prosecution if you will testify to what you say you know.” 

But when the Las Vegas, N.M., Gazette asked Wallace shortly before he left office about prospects he would spare the Kid’s life, Wallace replied: “I can’t see how a fellow like him should expect any clemency from me.” 

The historical record on the pardon is ambiguous, and there are no written documents “pertaining in any way” to a pardon in the papers of the territorial governor, who served in office from 1878 to 1881. 

Of interest, Governor Richardson’s office set up a web-site so citizens could weight in on the subject of the pardon. His office received 809 e-mails and letters, with 430 favoring a pardon and 379 opposed. Comments came from all over the world.  I’d say the issue was fairly split down the middle probably along moral and political line, I suspect.

Governor Richardson said that he decided against a pardon “because of a lack of conclusiveness and the historical ambiguity as to why Gov. Wallace reneged on his promise.”  Richardson states said the Kid is part of New Mexico history and he’s been interested in the case for years.  . 

I’m not writing this post from a political point of view, strictly from an historical one.  The interesting part is some 133 years after killing numerous people, including lawmen, and being shot to death, the life and legend of Billy the Kid still can’t be put to rest.

So tell me who is your favorite controversial historical figure?

         For those who have been looking for our first anthology,

        it went into a 4th printing is now available.

        http://amazon.com

I will give away a signed copy of “Give Me a Texan” to someone who comments today!

Our newest anthology “Give Me a Texas Ranger” came out last month, but along with promoting and celebrating a new release, I was knee deep in writing the next of the “Give Me …” series “Give Me a Texas Outlaw”.  Of course I’ve had Texas Rangers and outlaws on my mind for months, so what better to write about than a Ranger named Bass Outlaw?

One of my favorite ways to create a character is to tailor them after a real person (preferably none of your family). While visiting East Texas, I found a book about Bass Outlaw, an ex-Texas Ranger short on stature and long on attitude. Bass Outlaw a/k/a Ranger Little Wolf was a moody, strange, and little known Ranger. I mirrored one of my characters in “Texas Ranger”, Muley Mullinex, after him. It was a simple plan for him to be the town’s darlin’ during the day but when he went on a binge he would be my antagonist. However, from the get go Muley proved to be as obstinate on paper as Bass Outlaw was in real life.

Not to be confused with a much better known Ranger, Sam Bass, Bass Outlaw, whose name was thought to be Sebastian Lamar Outlaw was the black sheep of a genteel Georgia family. He had an inferiority complex we might call the “little man syndrome” today, since he was around 5’4” and weighed maybe 150 lbs. His eyes, cold and unfriendly, were pale blue. He sported a mustache best described as bushy, not the heavy, flowing types worn by the likes of Doc Holliday or Wyatt Earp which were the fashion of that era. If it wasn’t for his prowess with a rifle and a pistol he would not like have commanded any attention at all.

Beginning in E Company, Outlaw soon earned a solid reputation for himself as a quick draw with a deadly accurate shot. He could ride with the best, learned readily how to track even the faintest signs and was earmarked as a Ranger with a future. He climbed the ranks and historians have noted that he could have easily become a legendary Ranger such as William J. McDonald and James Gillette, but Bass Outlaw’s hair-trigger temper changed the course of his life … and history.

The personification of a prairie wolf, earned him his nickname, Lone Wolf. He was a loner, never volunteering anything about his past, never asking anyone about theirs. A moody, sullen, often cantankerous individual, he still possessed the qualities the Rangers required in those days on a wild and unsettled frontier. He was brave, wily and determined in battle. Outlaw was unpredictable in that he was either withdrawn or dangerously aggressive depending on his mood … and the amount of alcohol he’d consumed.

His head was on the chopping board more times than not, but generally after a good dressing down, his Captain would decide not to fire the arrogant lawman because of some heroic deed he’d done.

Bass Outlaw, Top Row, Second from Left

Like all lone wolves, his luck ran out. In 1893, after his Company had moved to a remote part of Texas southeast of El Paso, Bass was placed in charge of the unit while Captain Jones was away on business. 

 One day, after chugging rotgut once too often, Bass left the compound with no one in command and joined a poker game with a former Ranger which lead to his undoing. Bass lost the game and his temper, but had enough sense to know not to shoot up the place. Another former Ranger, Sheriff Jim Gillett, grabbed Bass and pulled him outside, managing to settle the dispute before there was any gunfire.

Needless to say when Captain Jones returned and got wind of the going ons he was furious and fired Bass Outlaw on the spot, ordering him out of camp pronto. 

Although it was a mess of his own makings, until Bass Outlaw drew his last breath, he held a grudge against the Rangers. His bone of contention was at first with Gillett, because he thought the sheriff had ratted him out. Later, Bass learned that the lawman had not reported his behavior.

Gillett was spared, as he was not the Ranger that Bass was destined to kill.

Bass Outlaw stayed out of trouble for a while and took on other jobs, including prospecting for gold and hidden treasures. Failing at all, he eventually caught the attention of the El Paso U.S. Marshall, another ex-Ranger, who hired him as a deputy.

Famed Ranger John Hughes predicted, rightfully so, that Little Wolf would someday kill another Ranger. This proved true when Outlaw entered into a squabble with a constable in El Paso by the name of John Selman, after going into a rant over a soiled dove. Outlaw shot him three times. Leaving the saloon, still sullen and dangerous, Outlaw was confronted by a young Ranger, Joe McKidrict, where Outlaw shot him dead. It is reported that was the only incident where a Texas Ranger has ever been killed by an active or former member of the fabled organization.

Ironically, John Selman recovered. Although the gunpowder damaged his vision and he walked with a cane, he killed the infamous John Wesley Hardin in a saloon in El Paso. Two years later, Selman was killed by Deputy U.S. Marshal George Scarborough in another El Paso saloon.

A witness to Bass Outlaw’s demise stated his last sound was a whimper, the kind a wolf tends to make when he knows his time is finished. For Bass Outlaw there were no flowers, no eulogy and no mourners … not even the soiled dove who proclaimed to love him. He was buried in the Evergreen Cemetery in El Paso, and his tombstone reads: “B.L. Outlaw, 1854-1894, 1^st Sgt. Co. D. F. B., State Forces, Deputy U.S. Marshall.”

Now you can see why writing Muley Mullinex fought me tooth and toenail all along the way.  In “Give Me a Texas Ranger,” I referred to Captain Arrington, Hayden McGraw’s superior. Other than Mullinex, Arrington, and McGraw, do any of you remember the name of a fourth Texas Ranger I used in my story? 

I’m givin’ away an autographed copy of “Give Me a Texas Ranger” to the first person posting the correct answer.

  <<<<Click on cover to order from Amazon

I just finished writing my story for  “Give Me a Texas Outlaw”, so of course what else do I have on my mind but outlaws?  I recently blogged about Mobeetie, Texas, and  Bat Masterson; so today, let’s talk about the notorious outlaw Billy the Kid and his time in the second town established in the Texas Panhandle, Tascosa.

I set my story in our newest anthology, “Give Me a Texas Ranger”, in Buffalo Springs. The town was geographically and historical situated in Tascosa, but I took my share of creative freedom. Like Tascosa, Buffalo Springs is divided into two parts — upper and lower.  As the name might indicate, the uppity folks lived on the upper side of the creek while the low life lived in the part of town frequently referred to as Buffalo Wallow.  

Tascosa as a whole was known as the toughest, wildest and most lawless town in this part of the wild frontier.  But no matter what the citizens of Upper Tascosa said about it, the town deserved its reputation in many ways. Before there was any law and order, or formal government, the newest settlement in the area attracted all types of seedy characters. Among them was celebrity desperado William H. Bonney a/k/a Henry McCarty and best known as “Billy the Kid.” Many stories exist about his two aliases, but the simple truth is that his mother was married to a man named McCarty for a brief time, and Billy took that name.

Coming into the Panhandle from his home turf of Lincoln County, New Mexico, in the fall of 1878, the Kid and his four friends trailed 125 stolen horses which they planned to sell to Panhandle ranchers. The group spent money freely and were even well-behaved during their stay in Tascosa.  At first, the citizens were awed by the Kid’s reputation. Once they had observed his exceptional behavior, a number of residents welcomed the beardless, easygoing, blond youth with open arms. It seemed they felt he was too meek and mild to be an outlaw.

Eventually the Kid befriended, Dr. Henry F. Hoyt, an ambitious young doctor who had come to the Panhandle to set up his practice.  As the story goes, John Chisum, infamous cattle baron of New Mexico, had advised him that they needed a doctor at Tascosa.  During a smallpox epidemic in the town, Hoyt had saved the life of the beautiful daughter of one of the area founders, by improvising a poultice of gunpowder and water–and had become an immediate hero. However, once the epidemic was under control, Dr.Hoyt found that the small settlement couldn’t support a doctor, so he began work as a mail carrier between Tascosa and Fort Bascom, which led to his meeting Billy the Kid in a Tascosa saloon.  

  Equity Saloon, Tascosa, Texas

The two became good friends, and at one time Hoyt gave the Kid a lady’s watch he had won in a poker game for the outlaw to give it as a gift to his sweetheart.  Hum, I wonder where I got the idea of a pocket watch for my new story in “Give Me a Texas Outlaw”?

Soon afterward, Dr. Hoyt announced his plans to move and set up practice in Las Vegas, NM. Coincidentally, the day before the fine doctor was to leave, Billy the Kid rode into Tascosa from his camp where the stolen horses were being held by his gang. The Kid presented his friend with a beautiful chestnut sorrel race horse, Dandy Dick.  The doc hesitated to accept the gift possibly because rumor had it that the stolen horses in the Kid’s possession had been taken from the same part of New Mexico he was relocating to.

The Kid good-naturedly walked into the store of Howard and McMasters, tore off a scrap of paper, wrote a bill of sale, witnessed and signed by the owners of the store, and gave it to Hoyt as proof the horse (branded B.B. on the left hip) wasn’t stolen.   Many years later, it was determined that the sorrel belong to Lincoln County’s late Sheriff, James Brady.  Bonney had shot his way out of Brady’s jail against fearful odds, then shot and killed the sheriff, making off with his horse.

 By the end of 1878, Billy the Kid and his gang left Tascosa, having sold most of the stolen horses. There had been a shake-up in his group, since Henry Brown, Fred Waite, and John Middleton decided to forsake the life of outlaws. They elected to stay in Tascosa and go legit.  Bonney didn’t take long to recruit replacements for them. After his departure, it was discovered that he also rustled enough head of cattle to cause considerable concern among the Panhandle ranchers.

As their first act after organizing in 1880, the Panhandle Cattlemen’s Association sent an expedition to join lawman Pat Garrett in scouting for Billy the Kid and the cattleman’s livestock. With the help of Panhandle men, Garrett found the Kid in Fort Sumner, and shot him to death on the night of July 14, 1881. 

Of interest, in 1962, Lincoln County, New Mexico, filed suit to have the Kid’s body exhumed and reburied in his home county, but lost the case and his gravesite remains in Ft. Sumner, New Mexico, near where he was killed.

A number of legends persist concerning the Kid’s escapades in Tascosa. Most of them involved well-known folks who were not even in the Panhandle during Bonney’s tenure. Among the alleged participants are Temple Houston (who Linda Broday told you all about a week or so back), Bat Masterson, Pat Garrett and Frenchy McCormick, all of who came to Tascosa after Billy the Kid left. 

Over the years, I’ve read some conflicting historical accounts on famous outlaws, among them, William Bonney.  I’ve seen wanted posters with his name spelled Bonny and Bonney and rewards from $500 to $5,000.  He’s been reported as being 5’ 3” and 120 lbs to 5’ 10” and 140 lbs., but the truth, there was never any “Wanted” posters on Billy the Kid.  The closest thing to a poster was a reward notice posted in the Las Vegas Gazette in the late 1800’s and even at that his last name was misspelled.

Another historical inaccuracy that has been challenged is whether he was a handsome honyock with two prominent and slightly protruding front teeth or a cold-stone murderer with icy blue eyes.  I must agree with the historian who wrote that if the Kid had teeth protruding like squirrel’s teeth he’d be pretty plug-ugly, so why would he have so many well documented female admirers? 

One thing for certain, the short life and significance of Billy the Kid is disproportionate to the legendary standing his name has achieved.

My question today, do you think the ladies of the new frontier liked his bad boy image or did they prefer the fine lookin’ lad they swooned over?

Link to order at Amazon.com  Give Me A Texas Ranger

Not in my wildest imagination would I ever have thought I’d be adding an update on the 130 year old shoot out between Billy the Kid and Sheriff Pat Garrett!  Just as I posted my blog, Fox News broke the story that there is a modern day showdown brewing between the decedents of Sheriff Garrett and the governor of New Mexico. Now the story has taken on a life of its own on the Internet. From what I can sort out, Billy the Kid was offered a pardon for his Lincoln County jail escapade by then territorial governor, Lew Wallace, if he’d testify in a bloody range war.  Wallace reneged and eventually Billy the Kid was shot and killed by Sheriff Garrett.  Now Governor Richardson has to decide whether to keep Wallace’s promise to pardon Billy the Kid or not.  Garrett’s family is up in arms, excuse the pun, and the issue is hangin’ over everyone’s head.

Best known as the place where the Pony Express began in 1860, and where Jesse James met his end in 1882, St. Joseph, Missouri, holds a place of honor in the history of westward expansion.

Situated on the bluffs of the Missouri River, St Joseph began life in 1826 as Joseph Robidoux’s first trading post. Although Missouri had become the 24th state five years earlier, in 1821, the area was still Indian territory. Lewis and Clark had passed by here on their way upriver in 1804.

When the fur trader filed the plat for the new town, he named it for his patron saint. Robidoux had only one stipulation for those wanting to buy lots of his land: no one could take possession until he had harvested his crop of marijuana. In those days, it was used in the making of hemp.

The town was destined to be successful because it’s location on the Missouri River made it easily accessable. Naturalist John James Audubon visited in May of 1843, (two months before its official incorporation) and described Robidoux’s settlement as “a delightful place for a populous city that will be here some 50 years hence.” St. Joseph celebrated its Sesquicentennial in 1993.

The settlement grew steadily, but the discovery of gold in California in 1848 turned it into a boom area. Gold seekers came across Missouri to St. Joseph by steamboat, to where the city’s location on the westward bend of the Missouri River made it one of two choice “jumping-off” points (the other was Independence, about 60 miles southwest). Gold rushers bought supplies here for the westward wagon trek. Estimates say as many as 50,000 passed through St Joseph in 1849 alone.

Another 100,000 or more pioneers would crowd the streets, bound for California and other points west, before the coming of the trains. And that’s why I chose it as a subject for today’s blog post.

Where steamboats helped established St. Joseph as the place for travelers heading west, trains kept it there. The first train from the east arrived here February 14, 1859. Until after the Civil War, St. Joseph was the westernmost point accessible by rail. That means, until around 1870, if you wanted to get to Texas–or Colorado or Montana or anyplace west–by train, you had to go through St. Joseph. By 1900, one hundred passenger trains a day came into St. Joseph. I don’t know about you, but that number boggled my mind!

And where the train tracks ended, the stage coach lines began.

If you read my blog on 11/27/09, you already know St. Joseph was the starting point of The Pony Express in 1860. And in 1887, St. Joseph became only the second city in the U.S.–after Richmond, VA–to have electric streetcars.

Wholesale houses for things like shoes, dry goods and hardware, helped ensure St. Joseph’s prosperity during its Golden Age in the late 19th century. At one time, the town ranked fourth in the nation for dry goods sales and fifth in hardware sales.

Cowboys were familiar with St. Joseph, too, since livestock was a large part of the economy beginning in 1846. Swift and Armour were important names in town.

I’m thinking that song from the musical OKLAHOMA, “Everything’s Up To Date in Kansas City” probably should have been written about St. Joseph.

To top it off, infamous bank and train robber Jesse James, a Missouri native, tried to retire here in 1881. His wife wanted him to live a more normal life. And it was here, in a house on top of the highest hill, where, in 1882, one of his new partners, Bob Ford, decided collecting the reward for Jesse James would pay better than robbing the Platte City Bank.

St. Joseph is a town full of history. There are national parks dedicated to the Lewis & Clark expedition, museums housing collections about The Pony Express, Jesse James and westward expansion, and stunning views of the mighty Missouri River. Stop in sometime. You’re bound to learn something new. I did.

I’m completely snowed under with revisions for The Outlaw’s Return.  The book is for Love Inspired Historicals, and it’s scheduled for a February 2011 release date.  Some of you might remember last August when I posted about discovering my next hero while listening to Bruce Springsteen’s Outlaw Pete on a cross-country flight.  That hero turned into the feared and awesome J.T. Quinn, a gunfighter determined to win back the only woman he ever really loved.

There’s a problem, though.  More than one actually . . . J.T. has some bad habits.  One of those vices is Faro.  Most people think of Old West gamblers sitting around a poker table, but poker was a rarity until the late 1870s. Faro was the game of choice, particularly during the Gold Rush period. Just about every saloon in every Old West town had at least one Faro table. 

Faro became popular in the Old West because it’s fast, uses a single deck and is easy to learn. It also has better odds than most games of chance, with the odds of winning being close to even.  Of course, that doesn’t account for cheating. I won’t go into the rules–they make for interesting gambling but dull reading–but the betting got steeper as the game progressed. The last bet of the game was the most exciting, with players getting rowdy as they stood around the table. 

Faro started to fade in the late 19th century. A couple of factors contributed to its demise.  Ironically, the thing that made it popular–nearly even odds–also led to its downfall. Saloons didn’t make as much money on Faro as they did on other forms of gambling. To compensate for the lack of profit, the bankers (the house dealers) were known to cheat by using doctored-up banker’s boxes.  Not all players were honest, either. Sleight of hand was a common practice.  When Hoyle’s Rules for Card Playing was published, it began its Faro section with a disclaimer that an honest Faro game couldn’t be found in America. By 1900 many other gambling games were offered, and Faro faded into history.

Faro has always been a bit disreputable.  Its origins go back to 17th century France, and it  was called Faro, Pharaoh or Farobank. The name originated during the time of  Louis XIV when a deck of cards included a card depicting an Egyptian Pharaoh. The game was also referred to as “Bucking the Tiger,” and back alleys and streets populated with Faro parlors were sometimes known as Tiger Towns.

I don’t remember if the movie Tombstone uses the phrase “bucking the tiger,” but it’s a got a Faro scene with Kurt Russell as Wyatt Earp. Doc Holliday played Faro, as well. There are also Faro scenes in Kevin Costner’s version of Wyatt Earp.  Showing Faro instead of poker is more accurate, but the western movies of the 1940s largely ignored the game because viewers were more familiar with poker.  The first movie to correct that false image was The Shootist (1976) with John Wayne.

When I started the research for my gambling outlaw, I thought poker was the way to go. I’d never heard of Faro, and I had no idea how popular it had been. As things turned out, Faro suits him perfectly. It’s a game of chance, the stakes can be high and he’d have no trouble finding a Faro table in his travels. My hero doesn’t cheat at cards, but he knows men who do, and one of them is going after the heroine.  Let the romance begin!

How about you?  Do you have a favorite card game?  I’m a Skip-Bo fan, but I like just about all card games. Canasta is a favorite, too!

I went on a field trip with a group of writers from my area to a historically interesting jail. 

 And (whew!) they let me go.

The Squirrel Cage

Pay close attention and read this blog post carefully to find the clues you’ll need to get your name in the drawing for a copy of my May Release, WILDFLOWER BRIDE.

Council Bluffs, Iowa is the location of the Pottawattamie County “Squirrel Cage” Jail, in use from 1885 until 1969, one of three remaining examples of a Rotary Jail. It has pie-shaped cells on a turntable. To access individual cells, the jailer turned a crank to rotate the cylinder until the desired cell lined up with a fixed opening on each floor. 

It takes 5 min to rotate the whole cage one revolution. There is only one opening out of the cage so the prisoners can only come out one (or one cell-full) at a time at each of 3 levels. They put up to 6 people in an area no larger than a small walk in closet.
It is a very dark place to visit.

The Squirrel Cage Jail was the only three-story rotary jail constructed. Although the rotary mechanism was disabled in 1960 the building remained the county jail for another nine years. Similar, smaller examples of the concept can be seen in Crawfordsville, Indiana and Gallatin, Missouri.

The Squirrel Cage welcomed its first prisoners on September 11, 1885. When it closed in 1969, murderers, moonshiners, the King of the Hobos, burglars, horse and car thieves, con-men, and even an infant, had called the odd structure home.  The building, with its three stories of tiny pie shaped cells in a 90,000 pound revolving cage, is interesting in itself.  But it is the people who lived there that make it a truly fascinating.  Many of them spent their time trying to escape and some of them were even successful.  

Here is stage one of what it takes to get in the drawing. As you read, think back to the time you spent in jail. The questions will concern that.

The design and size of the Historic Pottawattamie County Squirrel Cage Jail make it a one-of-a-kind structure.  It was one of 18 revolving jails built.

Here (above) are some unsavory characters who were in lock down while I was there at the squirrel cage. Or no, wait, I’m wrong about that. This is a picture of the ladies who went with me. L-R Writer friends, Lorna Seilstad, Rose Zediker, Shari Barr and Dawn Ford.

Here is a model of the Squirrel Cage. The design included this declaration. “The object of our invention is to produce a jail in which prisoners can be controlled without the necessity of personal contact between them and the jailer.”  It was to provide “maximum security with minimum jailer attention.” 

This is Lorna Seilstad, author of the soon to be released historical romance Making Waves. Lorna is demonstrating how to work the crank that turned the entire three story jail. One person could do it alone. As it says above, maximum security with minimum jailer attention. 

This is a picture of the ‘bathroom facilities’ in each cell. They sometimes had up to SIX prisoners in one cell? It might be for the best to not think about it much.I jumped and squeaked when I saw that guy. Really look at the picture above. Two bunks. So you know it was meant for two at least.  Ten wedge shaped cells on each of three floors. Thirty cells. Up to six prisoners per cell. Do the math people. 180 prisoner capacity. And one jailer for all of them.

There was a book full of the prisoners and what they were in for. Look at some of them. Assault, sure. Desertion and non-support? Of a wife and children? Did they do that back then? Seduction? Excuse me? I’ll bet if he’d done it RIGHT she’d've never reported him. And what in the world is VNPA? If I’m reading it right and OWNI? I saw one, a guy got six months for bigamy. And then (I surmise) he got out and had to face his two wives. He probably begged for a life sentence.

 Though the jail has been closed for 40 years, many believe there are ‘goings on’ at the jail that are other than mortal. The Squirrel Cage, it is said, is haunted. Bill Foster, who worked as the jailer in 1950′s, opted not to use the fourth floor as his apartment. He reported hearing people walking around on a floor that had nobody on it, a sensation sufficiently concerning to motivate him to bunk on the second level prisoner floor instead.

The spirit may actually date back to the jail’s origin. A former jail tour guide claimed she believed the ghost to be that of J.M. Carter, the man who oversaw the building’s construction. Mr. Carter was the first resident of the top floor apartment and, according to her theory, has never left.

There have also been reports of an apparition on the fourth floor identified as Otto Gufath, also a former jailer. Museum staff add whatever spirit is present, it is friendly; despite an occasional door that opens by itself, strange lights, or peculiar noises, no one has ever felt frightened or in any danger.

There has been some evidence of a female spirit as well. A few years ago a woman working on a project in the building after hours had been experiencing peculiar sensations. She walked through the building and was shocked to see a little girl with a very mournful expression dressed entirely in gray… inside a cell whose bars were locked with no way in or out. Occasionally, visitors have reported feeling that something was tugging at them, reported a great feeling of sadness in some of the cells, or simply felt that there was a presence there beyond those visible.

The feelings of being watched or followed have been most frequently noted on the third and fourth floors.

And could this be complete without the picture of me in lock-up? But I’m smiling? I needed a director to discuss my motivation for this scene. And note I’ve removed my glasses. Like….maybe….I wanted to look my best through the bars? I think the bars overcome any attempt at vanity, but I didn’t see it that way when I was whipping off my glasses and smiling for the camera.

Cheryl St. John just phoned me and told me she’d NEVER been in jail. Whatever. She said MOST people have never been in jail. Really? How odd. Then she asked me what made ME THINK most people have been in jail. I hung up on her.

Only four deaths are known to have occurred in the Squirrel Cage Jail. One prisoner died of a heart attack, one in a three-story fall when trying to carve his name on the ceiling, and one prisoner hanged himself in his cell. The fourth death followed an accident in which an officer shot himself in the confusion of fortifying the facility from an angry mob threatening to storm the jail during the Farmer’s Holiday Strike of 1932.

If the deaths aren’t enough to justify a haunting, some point to the fact that the building is on the site of the old St. Paul’s Episcopal Church morgue. Excuse me? Church Morgue? Did churches have morgues? This is news to me and may spark another blog post. Additionally, though actual prisoner deaths were few, the cold, damp, dark, tiny pie-shaped cells were likely a very depressing place to spend time. That in itself may be worthy of a ghost or two. I asked the very nice tour guide if he thought the place was haunted and he said, “You know, I don’t believe in ghosts really, but there have been some weird things happen in here. I still don’t believe in ghosts, but I’m a little less SURE than I was before I started working here.” (Note, this is NOT an exact quote. I have this tendency to, when I can’t remember exactly what someone said, to fill in the blanks with what I think they said, or … the internal editor in me instead says what I WISH they’d said, or what they SHOULD have said. Some call this…lying.)

One particularly intense incident occurred in 1894. Police arrested a man accused of raping a 5-year-old. Once locked up in the City jail, however, a crowd began to form and it was clear that trouble was brewing. Fearing a lynch mob, police hustled the suspect into the Patrol Wagon and rushed him via back streets to the more secure Squirrel Cage jail. The news leaked, however, and a lynch mob numbering in the thousands began to gather outside the Squirrel Cage jail. The Sheriff addressed the crowd, ordering them to disperse. Inside the jail, armed deputies and police officers prepared to defend the jail to the death. News of an even larger lynch mob approaching from the South prompted the Sheriff to summon even more help from the Dodge Light Guards; 29 of them, armed with Winchester rifles, were soon stationed at the jail. By 1:00 am the crowd was dispersed and later that morning the prisoner was moved to Fort Madison penitentiary for his safety.

There is a book called Tales from the Squirrel Cage Jail if you want to know more. There is mention of a child being born in the jail. I asked the tour guide about it. It was a child born to the jailer’s wife. Several of the jailers lived there with their wives and children. The wives cooked for the prisoners and hers was a paid position. It was actually a very good, well paying job for a family, plus they lived there so the home was provided. Not the worlds NICEST home, granted. And I think it’s fair to say some of the  other….tenents…weren’t of the highest calibre. But they apparently had quite a few jailers who lived there for many years. 

I now have changed my rules for the game. Since there aren’t enough jail birds among the loyal readers of Petticoats & Pistols(so, Cheryl says…I scoff, but whatever), just leave a comment about an interesting historical sight you’ve been to. Or you could guess what V.N.P.A is? We amused ourselves for quite a while on the tour, guessing. And Dawn really oughta be ashamed of herself for some of those guesses! (Unless you WANT to tell me about your time in stir–hey, you’re among friends–we won’t repeat it) Or you could tell me about your ‘Friend’ who did some hard time. We’ll play along. If you want to go ahead with your denial, just forget that whole unfortunate JAIL THING. It means NOTHING. When  I said that about everyone being in jail I was just KIDDING. I’ve NEVER been in jail, nor known anyone who has. Such a rude question. Stop it. Leave a comment to get your name in the drawing. I won’t judge you for your ex-convict status. I can’t promise about OTHERS who will not be named. Oops, the phone is ringing again. I have to hide now.

MARY CONNEALY

Wow. Let me first just thank Cheryl St.John for asking me to post to this wonderful site. I’m a long time visitor, sometime commenter, and have been a fan since researching my current release, All or Nothing.

Writers and readers of historical fiction know—whether we’re talking romance, mystery, or any other sub-genre—more goes into the story then simply writing the tale. We need to know the landscape of the piece. Understand the perils and pitfalls of the time period. And, most importantly—what was it like to be a woman in those conditions? How did one bathe? Eat? Where was the bathroom? And what was one to do when it was so blasted hot outside without air conditioning?

All or Nothing is set in the Arizona West of 1876. The time when my bandit—a real to life bad guy who was never captured, El Tejano—roamed the Dragoon Mountains outside of Arizona. The story is seasoned it with my own life experience, after spending much of my childhood playing among the rugged adobe ruins of Fort Lowell, in Tucson, Arizona.

However, much of my research came from my previous profession. A trained archaeologist.  I traveled the southwest surveying for corporations. I studied historic and prehistoric sites, bagged and tagged artifacts, and hauled boxes of them to dusty museums, all the while knowing that someday I’d fold all that knowledge into my own stories.

I’d been a writer for years, but strictly in the work sense. No romanticizing allowed, my supervisor would say.  I was an archaeologist, tasked with writing reports on sites we discovered, researching bottle-bottoms and landmarks, recording that history for posterity, for whatever corporation funded our research.

My favorite discovery came after surviving the scariest hike in history—surveying ridge tops down the rugged, red slopes of the Copper King Mountains in eastern Arizona. Exhausted, shaken from almost tumbling down a drainage hole during a rockslide, I needed a minute before starting up again. I walked. I took deep breaths, sat—head between my knees, when I saw it. A bit of white and blue mixed in with the pine needles and gravel. I picked it up, surveyed the shard, and found another. A broken plate. Praise God, I stumbled on an historic site—the Little Colorado Mine. My discovery, and mine to map, survey, and write up for history. But, just the facts, they warned me.

Fine. I did it their way. And, oh boy! It was a struggle.

My romantic nature wanted not just to report on the Limoges pattern on shattered dishes. I wanted to discuss the woman who’d opened her hope chest after traveling the rutted road in their rickety wagon, and found her wedding china smashed! How she sobbed over their hand-painted shards. Sure. Maybe that’s what happened.

Or, perhaps a marriage of convenience lured her to that God forsaken bit of land under the shadow of Copper King. In a fury, her husband out digging for silver (and finding nothing but wretched copper ore), she flung a plate or two at his head right before she hitched up the wagon and hightailed it out of there. 

Or, maybe their third baby knocked it off the table while reaching up for a cookie, they all had a good laugh, picked up the pieces and tossed them out onto the trash heap and went in to read the Bible together.

So, my supervisor was right. All I knew for sure was I had a shattered feminine plate in a rugged wasteland. It wasn’t my job to figure out how it broke or why. 

But guess what? As an author, I can.

I can take bits from that experience, the harrowing experience down the mountain side which opens All or Nothing, and weave it with the story of a massacre left widely untold by the popular citizens of Tucson, and pick apart the accounts to guess what might have actually happened there. I also can create a heroine who was confronted with one of the worst occupations in history – being an Army Laundress for the US Cavalry—some of the most unsung heroines of our time.

Researching these things in a time before the internet was a bit like finding a needle in a haystack. But, with the help of women like you—I was able to research historic catalogs, read through to find the price of coffee (green or roasted), by the bag or barrel, and what rations and pay were given a woman who worked for the Cavalry!

Like a kid in a candy store, I grabbed facts. I pocketed them. I wove in “spice” for the story, seasoning my characters and their encounters with each other. I walked with them through the fort grounds, laid out my map, figured out what angle to reach the stable from the parade grounds, and lived the story with them.  My editor picked out the rough spots, evaluated my historical claims and matched them to reality. Where did the train really stop? What song would your heroine be dancing to? Humming? In 1876! Thank heaven for the Internet. A library at our fingertips.

Does an author do this much research for a story set in modern day? Perhaps. But, there is so much that contemporary authors can take for granted that we have to stop and really think about. Our readers can tell when we’re faking it.

www.ashleyludwig.com

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One commenter will win an e-book copy of All or Nothing with my compliments… Thanks so much for visiting!