Legends of the West

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!

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Howdy!  And welcome to another terrific Tuesday!

Before I get into the subject of the blog today, let me tell you that I will be giving away two (2)  of the original editions — mass market editions as the book was original published — of the book, SOARING EAGLE’S EMBRACE, book #3 in the Legendary Warriors series.  I’ll do a drawing from all you who leave a post on today’s blog.  So, without further ado, let’s have a look at the Iroquois, their festivals and especially their Harvest Festival.

Yummm…  The smells of pumpkin pie, turkey and cranberry sauce reminds me of happy times with family and friends and I hope it does the same with you.  And, this time of year is now upon us.  Now, before I continue this post, let me say a few things about the word, Indian.

At the time Columbus discovered America, the country of India was not called India.  It was known as Hindustan.  And so Columbus’ “mistake” in thinking he was in “India” doesn’t make sense when seen in this light.  Russell Means (Actor and Freedom Fighter) did much research on the word, Indian, and took note that Columbus (Italian) used the words, In Dios, meaning In God, to describe the people he met as a Godly people.  The same words — or words quite similar — are used in Spanish, also,  According to Russell Means, this is most likely where the word came from.

When I was writing about the Iroquois, I did some study and discovered the Iroquois had many festival days each year and one of them…which we all are familiar with …was the Harvest Festival.  If you haven’t seen the movie, Squanto, staring Adam Beach, you might think about getting the video and watch it.  It’s a wonderful movie and goes into detail about the first Thanksgiving.  So, please bear with me as I talk a little about the festivals of the Iroquois (and most of the Eastern Indians, as well).

Thanksgiving was one of several festivals amongst the Eastern Indians. There were many festivals throughout the year, and they tended to follow the seasons.

All the Indians believed in God, the Creator.  And their celebrations were to honor the Creator.  The Iroquois celebrated six festivals, wherein they gave thanks to the Creator for all they had.  These festivals would open with speeches by leaders, teachers, and elders.  And of course there was much dancing, which was done not only for the fun of simply dancing, but it was also a sense of worship.  It was thought that because the Creator needed some sort of amusement, He gave the people dancing.

In spring — early March — it was time to collect together tree bark and sap – this was needed to repair houses and other things, such as canoes, bowls, etc.   Spring was also the time for planting.  This was the maple festival.  Next was the Planting festival.  Here prayers were sent to the Creator to bless their seed.

The Iroquois’ main food source was corn, beans and squash (the three sisters), and of course deer meat or other meat when available.  Family gardens were separated by borders that were broad and grassy — they would even camp on these borders and sometimes they would raise watch towers.

The next festival of the Iroquois was the Strawberry Festival.  This is where the people gave thanks to the Creator for their many fruits (like strawberries).  It was summertime.  The women gathered wild nuts and other foods, while the men hunted, fished and provided various meats for cooking.  Again, each festival was greeted with much dancing and merriment.  Did you know that the Iroquois believed the way to the Creator was paved with strawberries?

The festival after the Strawberry Festival was the Green Corn Festival.  Again, the people thanked the Creator for the bounty of food that had been raised all through the summer.  Dancers danced to please the Creator and musicians sang and beat the drum.  Again there were many speeches to honor the people and the Creator.  There were team sports.  Lacrosse was the game that was most admired and it was played with great abandon by the men.  Women played games, too, and often their games were as competitive as the men’s.

The festival following that was…are you ready?  Thanksgiving — or the Harvest Thanksgiving.  By this time the women had harvested the corn, beans and squash.  Much of it would be dried.  Much went to feed families.  Husks were made into many different items.  Dolls, rugs, mats.  Did you know that the dolls didn’t have faces?  Now was the time to gather more nuts and berries.  Men were busy, too, hunting far away.  Bear, moose, beaver were all sought after and hunted.  Again, there was much celebration.  Dancing, speeches, prayer.  And of course — food.  It was this particular festival that was shared with the newcomers to this continent.

Can you guess what the next festival was?  Although this festival took place around Christmas time, it was not a celebration of Christmas — but if you guessed this, you were very close.  The next and last festival of the year was New Year’s.  At this time, a white dog was sacrificed as a gift to the Creator.  This was also a time for renewing the mind and body.  (Does that not remind you of our New Year’s resolutions?)  At this time, the False Face Society members would wear masks to help others to cleanse themselves of their bad minds and restore only their good minds.  There was again much celebration, much dancing, much merriment and enjoyment as each person would settle in for the long winter ahead of them.

The First Americans indeed did give this country very much, not only its festivals which we still remember to this day, but also it gave to this nation a fighting spirit for freedom.  In these times when there seems to be a forgetfulness about our American roots, it is wonderful to remember that the American Indian and the Love of Freedom went hand-in-hand.  I know I am thankful for my family and my husband and daughters and my granddaughter and grandson.  I’m thankful to be able to travel this beautiful country.  I’m thankful that I was raised in a country where one could voice one’s opinion regardless of the wishes of the “King,” even if those freedoms are not as easily found today as they once were.

Our country is not only beautiful, but it was built on solid beautiful principles.

Well, I’d love to hear your ideas on this post.  Don’t forget: there will be a drawing for the gift of the original version of the mass market book, SOARING EAGLE’ EMBRACE, so please come on in tell me how you and yours celebrate the beautiful holiday we know as Thanksgiving.

This is not the original artwork for the paperback book, but it is what I have for the book that is for sale at Amazon.  This artwork was done when I was publishing the work at Samhain Publishing.

 

 

An Outlaw’s Legend by Pam Crooks

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We’ve recently returned from a family trip to Durango, Colorado, a place that has been on my bucket list for years, not only for the western vibe but mostly because of the infamous train ride that it’s known for.

Like most everyone else who has visited Durango, we took the Durango-Silverton Narrow Gauge Railroad train through the San Juan National Forest, an authentic ride through the mountains and wilderness much as it would have been back in the late 1800s. After 3 1/2 hours (which didn’t seem nearly that long thanks to our entertaining guide and beautiful scenery), we stopped in Silverton for a 2 1/2 hour visit before we boarded the bus back to our VRBO. (We took the bus back since it was literally 2/3 of the time faster, but we could have returned by train if we’d wanted a reverse view of what we had seen going up. LOL)

If I thought Durango had a western vibe, it had nothing on Silverton.

Quaint and full of history, we had our choice of restaurants to go for lunch, and we ended up going to the Lacey Rose Saloon, a bar and restaurant next to the legendary Grand Imperial Hotel. After a lovely meal, we meandered out of the saloon and stopped short at the bar. Though the hotel was built in 1882, the beautiful back bar was added in 1902. Made of tiger wood maple and graced with large mirrors, its carvings are stunning for the Victorian period.

 

And here’s the best part.

While in the throes of Silverton’s silver mining hey-day, outlaws and prospectors alike spent time in the saloon to slake their thirst and engage in some spirited gunplay. Wyatt Earp, Doc Holliday, and Bat Masterson were among them, and if you look closely, you can see that a bullet once pierced that beautiful tiger wood maple above the mirrors. Folks say it was Bat Masterson’s bullet. If true, either he’d fired a warning shot that day–or he wasn’t as good of a shot as he was known for.

Now this is interesting. Once my ex-military brother spied this photograph, though, he made a certain detail clear. That bullet was a casing–not a bullet projectile and therefore not Bat Masterson’s bullet. The saloon’s bartender did say it was a .38 special casing that had been placed there as a landmark in the last twenty or thirty years to help people locate the hole.

Hmm.

Was the hole originally made by Bat Masterson’s bullet, then filled in with a modern-day .38 casing for the tourists’ benefit? We may never know for sure, but all stories start somewhere, right?

That’s what legends are made of.

 

Do you have someplace that’s on your bucket list to visit?

(I want to go on a cruise to the Bahamas! And then maybe to Ireland . . . )

Have you been to Durango?  Silverton?  On the Durango-Silverton train?

 

Have We Been Told the Truth About Custer’s Last Stand? Grab a chair and come on in. Let’s chat!

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Howdy!

I hope each and every one of you is doing well on this 9th day in September.  We have beautiful skies here, but it is a little colder than usual for this time of year.  Well today I thought I’d share a little bit of history with you, almost straight-from-the-horse’s-mouth.

Ah, Custer’s Last Stand.

I know we have probably all seen some movie or another about Custer’s Last Stand.  Or if not a movie, one might have read a book on the subject.

Well, here I sit with a book entitled, Pretty-Shield, Medicine Woman of the Crow by Frank B. Linderman. To the left is a picture of Pretty Shield and her husband, Goes-ahead.  Both of them were older in this picture, but Pretty Shield’s husband, Goes-ahead, in his younger days, was a scout for Custer and was present on the day of the Little Bighorn Battle, sometimes called Custer’s Last Stand.

After the fight, Goes Ahead returned home — after some fighting along the way — and told this story to his wife, Pretty Shield of what he saw of the battle and how Custer died.

 

Below and to the right is a picture of Goes-ahead as a young man.  Pretty Shield begins her story telling Mr. Linderman that she was a young woman when Sun-of-morning-star (Custer) fought the Lakota.  Many Crow warriors went with General Terry and about a hundred and fifty more went with Geneal Crook (who got whipped by Crazy Horse and his warriors).

Many of the blue soldiers (military men) came on a Fire-boat (steamship) on the Elk (Yellowstone) River and asked the chief if some of their wolves (scouts) would scout for them.  A council was held and the chief and several scouts agreed to help the blue soldiers.  One of them was Pretty Shield’s husband, Goes-ahead.

Pretty Shield tells the story of two Crow women who fought with General Crook at the Rosebud.  She gives much detail about these two women who fought and won.  She makes a point of saying the men will not tell this story, but there were two women who fought that day.

So now we come to the part of the story about Son-of-the-morning-star.  Their were six Crow warriors with Custer that day, Goes-ahead (her husband), White-swan, Half-yellow-face, Hairy-moccasin, White-man-runs-him and Curly.  Her man, Goes-ahead and White-man-runs-him and Hairy-moccasin were ahead of Custer

Of course, soon the three scouts in advance could see that there were more Lakota and Cheyenne warriors in their large camp than the soldiers had bullets taken all together.  This they told to Custer, but he didn’t listen to them.  Instead, he asked if they knew of a good place to camp.  They did.  It was at a place called Thompson Creek.

To the left is another picture of Goes-ahead as a young man.

When morning came, the Crow scouts were out before the soldiers were awake and came to see the Lakota/Cheyenne camp.  Goes-ahead told his wife, Pretty Shield, that he had never seen such a camp that big.  They, of course, went and told this to Custer, but he would not listen.

Pretty Shield also makes a point that her man, Goes-ahead said that Son-of-morning-star was drinking too often from a bottle that had a straw.  Another scout, Two-bodies told Custer he could yet get away, but again, Custer wouldn’t listen.

Goes-ahead then stripped himself for battle (in battle, the Indians usually stripped down to breechcloth and moccasins because they wanted nothing in their way when in the midst of battle.  Curly, who said he was sick ran away.  Pretty Shield says she knows these things are true because her man, Goes-ahead was with Custer and this is the story he told: I am now quoting from the book, page 236:

“My man, Goes-ahead, was with Son-of-the-morning-star when he rode down to the water of the Little Bighorn.  He heard a Lacota call out to Two-bodies [Mitch Boyer, an interpreter], who rode beside Son-of-the-morning-star, and say ‘Go back, or you will die.’

“But Son-of-the-morning-star did not go back.  He went ahead, rode into the water of the Little Bighorn, with Two-bodies on one side of him, and his flag on the other — and he died there, died in the water of the Little Bighorn, with Two-bodies, and the blue soldier carrying his flag.

The story goes on with how Goes-ahead left when Custer fell, but also tells of how he and the other scouts eventually retreated, fighting another battle along the way.

Pretty Shield ends her story thusly — and again I am quoting from the book:

“Yes,” she said, her voice trailing off to a murmur, “my man, Goes-ahead, was afraid that day; but he did not lie to me.  The monument that white men have set up to mark the spot where Son-of-the-morning-star fell down, is a lie.  He fell in the water,” she whispered, as though to the shade (or shadow — spirit) of her man Goes-ahead.

“Her attitude affected me (Linderman) deeply.”

And thus ends the story from the mouth of one of the Crow scouts who saw Custer fall at the Battle of Little Bighorn that day.

I’d love to hear your thoughts about this bit of history which has been rewritten in movies and several books, none of which are true–if Goes-ahead, who was there and swears this story is true– says it happened differently.

I hope you have enjoyed this little bit of history.

As I close this blog for today, i thought I should tell you that the entire Medicine Man series is on sale for today only.

SHE STEALS MY BREATH — on sale for $0.99

 

SHE CAPTURES MY HEART — on sale for $0.99

 

SHE PAINTS MY SOUL — on sale for $2.99

 

SHE BRINGS BEAUTY TO ME — on sale for $3.49

Only at Amazon.  Now might be a good time to pick up your copy of each book in the series.

Amazon link to the series page:  https://tinyurl.com/medicinemanseries

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

SPANISH CONQUISTADOR GOLD IN THE AMERICAN SOUTHWEST (AND A GIVEAWAY!)–by Kristy McCaffrey

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At the end of the 15th century, gold had become rare in Europe and therefore coveted by many monarchies, especially the Spanish Crown. The conquistadors (Spanish and Portuguese colonists) began to spread into the New World, and while some were trained military warriors, many were artisans, lesser nobility, and farmers seeking new opportunities.

The Americas proved to be a gold motherlode. The indigenous peoples utilized it for its beauty and lustre, developing a strong spiritual association to the sun via the objects they created. Gold was mined and traded across the continent.

 

In the early 1500’s, Conquistador Hernán Cortés explored Mexico and ultimately conquered the Aztecs in the Spanish quest for wealth of any kind, which included emeralds and exotic hides, but mainly gold. The ensuing battles were brutal. Temples, palaces, and homes were looted for valuables, and locals were captured and tortured for information. Subjugated tribes were obliged to give yearly tribute in the form of gold, and the most lucrative mines were taken over by the Spanish.

The golden city of El Dorado was a myth with origins in the mountains near modern-day Colombia, originally referring to a king adorned in gold powder who leapt into a lake during his coronation. The story evolved into a “lost city,” and the Spanish Conquistadors were determined to find it. A subsequent myth was born of the Seven Cities of Cibola, an Aztec story revolving around the pueblos of today’s New Mexico and the southwestern United States.

 

 

From 1540 to 1542, Spanish conquistador Francisco Vázquez de Coronado led a large expedition from what is now Mexico to present-day Kansas, taking him through parts of the American southwest. A leg of this journey is said to have gone through Arizona Territory, exploring the Verde River near what would become the mining town of Jerome where the local Yavapai tribe mined copper. Antonio de Espejo and a troop of Conquistadors came through Jerome looking for El Cibola, and the locals instead showed them an area that would later become Cleopatra Hill, the site of a large copper mine. Legend says the Spanish found a vein of gold, mined it, and hid the spoils in a nearby area known as Sycamore Canyon. An elderly prospector known as Jerry the Miner spent nearly thirty years in the canyon looking for the treasure, and he claimed to have found a helmet and a breastplate left by one of the Conquistadors, but it’s unclear whether he ever found any gold.

In my new novel, The Nighthawk, treasure hunters and outlaws are searching for Spanish gold in the Arizona Territory. The Nighthawk is Book 10 in my Wings of the West series, but it can be read as a standalone.

 

 

Arizona Territory

September 1899

Sophie Ryan’s dream of working for a newspaper has come true. Accompanied by her cousin, Lucas Blackmore, a newly appointed U.S. Deputy Marshal, she arrives in Jerome, one of the richest mining towns in America. And one of the most remote. Although she’s been hired to report for the Jerome Mining News on education and cultural issues, she soon finds herself immersed in something more serious when she finds an enigmatic injured man in the Black Hills claiming to be an ornithologist.

U.S. Deputy Marshal Benton McKay is undercover tracking the notorious train robbing Weaver gang, and the trail ends in Jerome. When he’s injured in the Black Hills and found by a determined and beautiful young woman, he must gain her trust to keep his identity a secret. But keeping her out of trouble proves a challenge, especially with her cousin assigned to assist him. As they track down the band of outlaws, another agenda emerges—the renegades are searching for lost gold believed to have been left behind by the Spanish Conquistadors. And Sophie Ryan is determined to report on it.

The Nighthawk is a fast-paced romantic adventure filled with humor, treasure hunting, a tenacious heroine, and a hero harboring a secret. It has light steam and a happily-for-now ending.

Read Chapter One and find vendor links at Kristy’s website.

 

Have you ever visited Arizona? What was your favorite location? If you’ve never been, what Arizona sites are on your bucket list? One commenter will win an eBook of THE CANARY, Wings of the West Book 9.

Join Sarah Ryan and paleontologist Jack Brenner in a quest for an elusive dinosaur fossil in the Painted Desert.

Kristy McCaffrey writes award-winning historical western romances with grit and emotion, along with contemporary adventure stories packed with smoldering romance and spine-tingling suspense. Her work is filled with compelling heroes, determined heroines, and her trademark mysticism. She lives in the desert north of Phoenix with her husband and rescue bulldog, Jeb. Learn more about her books at her website, Facebook, Instagram, and TikTok.

Graphics courtesy of Deposit Photos. Book covers by Earthly Charms.

Arizona’s Hashknife Pony Express

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I grew up in Scottsdale, Arizona, a place that used to proclaim itself as the West’s Most Western Town. For longer than I’ve been around and to this day still, the first-ish week of February is officially Western Week. There are a lot of happenings to celebrate the occasion, including the Parada de Sol Parade, festivals and art walks.

The highlight of the week for me and many others is the arrival of the Hashknife Pony Express riders — the oldest sanctioned pony express in the world. The ride begins in Holbrook, Arizona and covers more than two hundred miles, from the Mongollon Rim through the Mazatzal range and all the way to Scottsdale where the riders then join the parade. Believe me, it’s quite a thrill to watch the riders come blazing in to town and to cheer them in the parade.

The ride gets its name from the hashknife, a tool originally used by chuck wagon cooks to cut meat and prepare — yes, you guessed it — hash. The Hashknife Pony express delivers approximately twenty-thousand pieces of first-class mail annually from around the world. The official pony express envelopes go on sale well in advance of the ride and are in high demand, so don’t delay in purchasing yours! All envelopes are hand-stamped with the “Via Pony Express” cachet and considered collectors’ items.

As you can imagine, the riders who participate in this keeping-history-alive-ride are a hardy bunch, and they take their job seriously. All are sworn in as an honorary mail deliverer and must be a member of the Navajo County Sheriff’s Posse. Stops are made along the route where the mail is “put up” in the local post office and the riders camp out for the night. Locals often join in, hosting dinners with campfire entertainment for the riders, all of whom are decked out in authentic Western clothing. Sometimes there are fundraisers or school educational programs.

Ever since its inception, this famous ride had taken place without fail. Just like the motto says, neither rain, sleet, nor dark of night will stop the Hashknife Pony Express from making their annual trek. I’ve been lucky enough to not only see them in the parade many times, but once leaving Holbrook. Sounds like a great idea for a book!

The Spirit of the Wolf on sale and E-book Giveaway

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Good Morning!

Happy Tuesday!  Before I get into the blog today, would like y’all to know that THE SPIRIT OF THE WOLF and also RED HAWK’S WOMAN are on sale for $.99 cents for a short time.  THE SPIRIT OF THE WOLF is #2 in the series The Lost Clan and RED HAWK’S WOMAN is #3.

It’s a series of four books and each is related, but is a stand alone book.

THE SPIRIT OF THE WOLF was a book written around and about the 200th year anniversary of the Lewis and Clark exposition.  And so, in honor of that exposition, I wrote a little about the game played at that time on all the Plains and by every tribe on the Plains — the game of Cos-coo, a game of chance and a game of war.

Sacagawea was won by the French trapper and trader, Charbonneau in a game of chance.  Charbonneau had been playing the game with a man who had five (I believe) wives.  Sacagawea was his youngest wife.  Interesting how this game of chance was to influence events that helped to found our country, isn’t it?

Cos-soo is a game played only by the men and it is played sometimes within one’s own tribe, but mostly it is played by men from enemy tribes.  It is a game of war.  No one is killed.  However, once embarked upon, the game is played until one or the other of the players is ruined utterly.  It can go on for days, breaking only to eat (not to sleep).  And, unless agreed upon before the game is begun, it is played until one player loses everything:  his lodge, his horses, his gun, his knives, his clothes and even his WIFE.  This is what happened in the life of Sacagawea.

And so, let me leave you with an excerpt from the book where the two players (one is the hero of the story) is playing in a desperate game of Cos-soo.

THE SPIRIT OF THE WOLF

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Karen Kay

The end of a curse hides behind a riddle—and the final clue in the heart of a woman.

The Lost Clan, Book 2

Grey Coyote stands on the knife edge of desperation. An ancient curse dooms his people to a half-life in the mists, neither living nor dead—unless he can solve a deceptively simple riddle. As time runs short, he’s sure the answer lies in beating a white trapper in a game of chance.

Among the trapper’s possessions, though, is a prize he never expected: A golden-haired woman as beautiful, delicate and stubborn as a prairie rose.

One moment Marietta Welsford is wondering how long it will take her hired guide to finish his game so she can hurry home to Rosemead, the English estate to which she hopes to lay claim. The next, she is abandoned with a man whose magnetism tugs at her body and soul, and makes her heart out-thunder the storm.

With so little time to lift the enchantment, Grey Coyote at first views Marietta as a trickster-sent distraction. But as sure as the star that guides him, it soon becomes clear she is the clue that could ultimately free his people…and capture his heart.

EXCERPT:

THE GAME OF Cos-soo

Cos-soo, sometimes called the game of the Bowl, was a common game known to the Indians on the plains—all tribes. A game of chance, it was played only by men, and the stakes were often desperate.

The rules of Cos-soo were as follows: Players used a wooden bowl slightly less than a foot long, highly polished with a rim of about two inches. The “dice” were not dice as we might think of them, but were instead common objects on the plains at this time. These small objects were assigned certain values.

The highest value went to the large crow’s claw—there was only one per game—which was painted red on one side and black on the other. When after a throw it was standing, it counted for twenty-five points (or sticks). The count was kept by sticks. It also counted for five on its side if the red side was up—and so a total of thirty points would go to the large claw, if it were standing. No points were given if the black side was up. If it wasn’t standing, it counted for only five.

Next were four small crow’s claws, also painted red on one side and black on the other. They counted for five if landed on the red side, and nothing if on the black.

Next there were five plum stones. These were white on one side and black on the other. If the black side was up, it counted four; if the white side was up, it counted for nothing.

Then there were five pieces of blue china—they were small and round. Blue side up was worth three points; white side counted as nothing.

Farther down the line were five buttons. The eye side up counted for two each, the smooth side for nothing.

And last there were five brass tack heads. The sunken side counted for one, the raised side as nothing.

Each man kept his opponent’s score, not his own, by means of handing his opponent a number of sticks equal to his throw. The sticks were kept in view so that all could see them. In the early 1800s Edwin Thompson Denig (a trader married to an Assiniboine woman) noted: “It has been observed in these pages in reference to their gambling that it is much fairer in its nature than the same as carried on by the whites and this is worthy of attention, inasmuch as it shows how the loser is propitiated so that the game may not result in quarrel or bloodshed…”

The game was often kept up for forty-eight to seventy-two hours without a break except for meals. And it was usually played until one or the other of the players was ruined totally.

Horses, guns, weapons, clothing and women were all stakes in these games. Again, Edwin Thompson Denig observed, “We have known Indians to lose everything—horses, dogs, cooking utensils, lodge, wife, even to his wearing apparel…”

 

CHAPTER TWO

The Minnetaree Village

A Permanent Indian Village of mud huts on the Knife River

Upper Missouri Territory—in what is today the State of North Dakota

Summer 1835

From the corner of his eye Grey Coyote watched the white man sneak a stick into line beside those that were already present, giving the white man eleven sticks instead of the ten he had won fairly.

So, the white man has no honor.

Grey Coyote raised a single eyebrow and cast a glance across the few feet that separated him from the white man, the man the Minnetaree Indians called the scout, LaCroix. LaCroix was French, as were many of the white men in this country. His face was pale and bearded, his hair long, dark and scraggly. His breath stank of the white man’s whisky, and his body smelled of dirt and grime.

None of this bothered Grey Coyote. In truth, he was smiling at the man, although the expression could hardly be called one of good humor. After a moment, Grey Coyote said, “Darkness has fallen again. We have been playing for longer than a full day now.”

LaCroix grunted.

“As you know, we are both guests here, in my friend’s lodge, in the Minnetaree village,” continued Grey Coyote. “And I would hardly be the cause of a fight if I could avoid it, for it would bring shame to our host, Big Eagle.”

Grunting again, LaCroix looked away. His gaze shifted from one object in the room to another, not centering on anything in particular, not even on the lovely white woman who reposed on one of their host’s beds in a corner of the hut.

As discreetly as possible, Grey Coyote let his gaze rest on that golden-haired beauty. He had never before seen a white woman, and to say that Grey Coyote was surprised at her appearance would have been an understatement.

He would have assumed the white man’s woman would be as unkempt and perhaps as hairy as her male counterpart. But this simply was not so. The woman was uncommonly pretty. Slim, small and curvy, with tawny hair that reached well to her waist, the woman’s coloring reminded him of a pale sunset—luminous, translucent, mysterious.

Her eyes were as tawny as her hair, like those of a mountain lion’s. Even at this distance, and despite the ever-growing darkness in the one-room hut, Grey Coyote could discern their color. It was a rare shade to be found here on the plains, where the eye colors of dark brown and black dominated.

Warming to his subject, he noted thoughtfully that the white woman’s skin was also quite fair, unblemished. Her cheeks were glowing, as pale and pink as the prairie rose. To his eye, she was a beautiful sight.

But she paid no heed to the people sharing this hut, not sparing so much as a glance at another being, except perhaps the Indian maid who appeared to serve her. In truth, the white woman seemed lost in her own thoughts.

Maybe this was best. From the looks of her, she might prove to be more than a mere distraction to him if he took a liking to her, something Grey Coyote could ill afford.

Slowly, Grey Coyote returned his attention to the matter at hand. The game of Cos-soo had been started a day ago, Grey Coyote being more than ready to gamble with this particular white man.

After all, LaCroix fit the description of the white man whom he sought. Perhaps this was the chance Grey Coyote awaited.

But to find the man cheating?

Clearing his throat, Grey Coyote spoke again. “I admit it is dark, growing ever darker as we sit here. I concede, too, that a good many hours have passed since we decided to begin this game, but do not think that because of this my eyes are so tired that they do not see.”

“What? What is it that monsieur insinuates?” asked LaCroix, his look incredulous.

Grey Coyote nodded toward LaCroix’s sticks with his forehead. “I am keeping track of the number of your sticks.” Grey Coyote raised one of his eyebrows. “There should be ten sticks that you hold, for as you see, you received ten points for your roll. Remember, you had lost all of your other sticks in the previous roll.”

“That is not true. I kept one stick that was left over from before. I should have eleven sticks, not ten.”

Grey Coyote’s stare was bold. “You lost the last bet.”

LaCroix’s eyes grew round, though he could still not match Grey Coyote’s direct gaze. “Is it true? I thought that… Oui, oui,” he blurted out, his words accompanied by a chuckle. “Ye are right. What was I thinking? I do not know how this other stick came to be here, for I had taken all my sticks away. Perhaps two sticks stuck together. Oui, I am sure that is it.”

“Hau, hau,” said Grey Coyote, using the Assiniboine word for “yes”. “Let us hope that no other sticks see fit to stick together.” Grey Coyote once more nodded toward LaCroix, and reaching across the playing space handed LaCroix fifty sticks. “These are for my last roll.”

“Oui, oui.” LaCroix accepted the twigs and commenced to set them out along the ground beside the two men.

Grey Coyote carefully watched the man at his work, not fooled by LaCroix’s attempt at sleight of hand. “Scout LaCroix, I gave you fifty sticks, the amount of my throw. But you have only set out twenty.”

“But, monsieur, I have done this because it is the number of sticks that is appropriate for your roll. Do ye see? Ye rolled five burnt sides, which is four points each, or twenty.”

Grey Coyote narrowed his brow. “You should look closely at the bowl. Do you not see that the big claw stands on end, red side up? As you and I know, that is worth thirty.”

“Is it standing? Surely you jest, monsieur, for I do not see the big claw stand on end.” LaCroix leaned over, as though to more carefully peer into the polished wooden bowl that was used to throw the dice. The man came so close to his target that he bumped into it, though it was surely no accident. The big claw—the one dice that garnered the highest points—fell to a different position. “Monsieur, you make a mistake. You see, the claw, it does not appear to be on end. However, if ye insist, I will take yer word that it landed that way, and will set out the extra thirty sticks.” His eyes didn’t quite meet Grey Coyote’s.

“Do not bother,” Grey Coyote spoke after a long pause. Though LaCroix’s actions more than alarmed him, Grey Coyote trained his features into a bland expression. He would let the incident pass. After all, it was not in his mind that he had to win everything that this man owned. All he needed was the possession, the one thing that would help Grey Coyote solve the riddle, though at present what that particular possession was escaped him. He said evenly, “We must both pay more attention in the future.”

“Oui, oui, monsieur. And now, if ye insist, ye may have another turn, since ye believed that the big claw stood on end.”

Grey Coyote shrugged. “It is not necessary. I will give you the next roll.”

“Oui, oui,” uttered LaCroix, and after picking up the bowl with four fingers placed inside its immaculately polished rim, he threw the dice up by striking the bowl on the ground.

Well, that’s all for today.  Please do leave a comment.  That’s all you need to do to enter into the drawing for a free e-book of your choice.  I look forward to hearing from y’all.

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Fort Worth Stockyards

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I wrote a blog here a while back about things to do around Dallas. One of those were the Fort worth Stockyards. Well, I can’t very well recommend somewhere I’ve never been, right? The grandkids were visiting from Panama (and getting vaccinated-dual citizens!), so we went on a day trip.

Wow, there’s something there for everyone!

First recommendation – go in early spring or fall – it gets hot there! Second, go early. We got there early enough to snag a shady parking spot, and started wandering.

Tons of shopping! Everything from tourist-trap stuff to really top end boots and attire. These guys were outside one shop, and I was tempted to take one home – instead, settled for the perfect coaster for my desk!

Then we sat on a bench beside the brick of Exchange Avenue, and waited for the cowboys to drive a herd of longhorns past! (happens daily at 11:30 & 4:00) I don’t know if you’ve ever been close to a longhorn, but they are HUGE!

They also had one saddled and standing in the shade that you could get on and grab a photo, but none of us were tempted.

We wandered, and every fifty feet or so there are stars in the sidewalk, like in Hollywood, but they’re for cowboys (and women) that helped settle the west, Western actors, even the cattle trails had one.

After a delicious lunch at Shake Shack (Didn’t know there was one in Texas!), we set off again.

Next stop, Cowtown Coliseum. They have rodeos there every Friday and Saturday night, and the kids would have loved to have seen one, but there just wasn’t time, this trip. But it’s open to the public every day, and there are still things to see there, including Sancho of the curly horns.

It’s also home to the Texas Cowboy Hall of Fame – I had a blast finding all the bullriders I’ve followed for years, including the King of the Cowboys, Ty Murray. But it wasn’t only just cowboys – rodeo stock (bucking horses and bulls) are represented too!

Next stop, The John Wayne Museum. It was closed, but we went in the gift shop, and I couldn’t believe it! There was Trigger and Bullet! For you youngsters, that was Roy Rogers’ horse and Dog, from his TV show. I’d seen them at the Roy Rogers Museum in Victorville, Ca, decades before, and it was like seeing slightly macabre old friends!

 

 

 

On the way out, I couldn’t resist – I had to get on the bucking machine. Mind you, it was NOT moving. Trust me, getting up on that thing was hard enough – a sure sign I’m too old for it, but I had to get a photo!

All in all, a great, fun day – I highly recommend it! You can learn more of the details of what to do there, here.

If you make it there, send me a photo of YOU on the bucking bull!

A Navajo Hex and Giveaway

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When I was nine years old, I lived on the Navajo Indian Reservation. My dad, who has long had a deep and abiding respect for Native Americans, saw this as a chance to give back with his life, so he took a job as an accountant with an arts and crafts store in Window Rock, Arizona—capital of the Navajo Nation. We obtained a house just across the border in New Mexico, in a small town aptly called “Navajo,” supported by a local sawmill. It was 1975.

Navajo, New Mexico (photo taken by author)

One day at one of the stores that employed my father a worker found a Styrofoam cup tucked away on a shelf. Inside were various items that included a torn corner of a $5, $10 and $20 bill. It was immediately clear to those who discovered it that a hex had been placed. Soon thereafter, a medicine man was called. Since it involved all the employees, my dad was allowed, despite being a white man, to participate in the ceremonies conducted.

 

Window Rock, Arizona (photo courtesy of Shutterstock)

At the first ritual, the medicine man found a buried pot outside the building at the base of the famous local landmark, the window rock. This was accomplished when his hand trembled over the exact location. On the outside of the pot, stick figures represented the employees, and lightning bolts painted above indicated death by lightning strike. At the time, we were having terrible storms every day. Inside were pieces of coral, turquoise, and silver, and a section of human skull.

At the second ceremony, a bowl filled with some type of tea was passed around to ingest, and then each employee was asked to look into a crystal to identify who had placed the hex. My dad says he saw nothing, but it was generally agreed that the perpetrator was a former employee who had been fired. She was part of a major Navajo clan, and her dismissal had possibly angered the wrong people. But the curse spoke of deeper problems within the Navajo and their way of life. The crafts people—those who made Indian jewelry and the iconic Navajo weavings—were at odds with the administration, which included my dad. There were those who wanted progress, and those who didn’t. At the conclusion of the ceremony, after a sand painting was created, the piece of skull inside the pot was burned. Two female employees reported instant relief from a terrible headache that had plagued them all evening. Back at home, at the same time, my mother said I’d been distraught and crying for hours from pains in my head, which immediately stopped when the bone was destroyed. It seemed family members had also been included in the hex.

My dad never attended the third, and final, observance—the Blessing Way—because we had moved back to Phoenix. He has always joked that the hex was never fully removed. As evidence, he cites various mishaps that occur whenever he and my mother return to the Navajo Reservation: car breakdowns, money stolen, and in one instance missing a critical turnoff because five Indians stood in front of a directional sign.

In my recently re-released standalone historical western novel INTO THE LAND OF SHADOWS, I included the hex in the story. Leave a comment for a chance to win a digital copy.

It’s been five years since a woman came between Ethan Barstow and his brother, Charley, and it’s high time they buried the hatchet. When Ethan travels to Arizona Territory to make amends, he learns that Charley has abruptly disappeared after breaking more than one heart in town. And an indignant fiancée is hot on his trail.

When Charley Barstow abandons a local girl after getting her pregnant, Kate Kinsella pursues him without a second thought. She’s determined he set things right, and even more determined to end her own engagement to him, a sham from the beginning. But an ill-timed encounter with a group of ruffians lands her in the company of Charley’s brother, Ethan, who suggests they search together.

As Ethan and Kate move deeper INTO THE LAND OF SHADOWS, family tensions and past tragedies threaten to destroy a love neither of them expected.

A sensuous historical western romance set in 1893 Arizona Territory. Into The Land Of Shadows is a stand-alone, full-length novel with paranormal elements.

This book was previously published in 2013 under the same title. While the text and cover have been updated, the story remains the same.

Read Chapter One and find buy links at https://kmccaffrey.com/into-the-land-of-shadows/

So, have you or anyone you know ever had any experience with hexes? Ever read about any in books?

Kristy McCaffrey writes contemporary adventure stories packed with smoldering romance and spine-tingling suspense, as well as award-winning historical western romances brimming with grit and emotion. Her work is filled with compelling heroes, determined heroines, and her trademark mysticism. An Arizona native, she resides in the desert north of Phoenix.

Website:  https://kmccaffrey.com/

Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/AuthorKristyMcCaffre

 

 

 

The Legend of the Easter Fires.

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Each year. the residents of Fredericksburg, Texas enjoy a tradition that began with the town’s founding in 1847.  On the night before Easter, residents dress up as settlers, Comanches, and Easter bunnies to commemorate a peace treaty the town signed in 1847.

When the early German settlers arrived, they were greeted by a harsh land full of fierce native people.  The Comanches were not happy with this latest intrusion on their territory–and for good reason. They had experienced violent encounters with immigrants moving in from the East and Mexico from the West

It didn’t take long for the German settlers to realize that if they wanted to survive, their first job was to strike a treaty with the Comanches. As such a thing had never before been accomplished, it must have seemed like a daunting task.

Just before Easter, the town’s founders rode over the hill to negotiate with tribe leaders, leaving women and children behind. 

While the men were away, Comanches scouts stood atop the hills surrounding the town. Even scarier, they sent up smoke signals. 

Not knowing what had happened to their men, the women feared the worse. This caused a near panic in the town, especially among the children who were convinced of an attack.

According to legend, one woman came up with a story that calmed everyone down. The fires, she said, had been started by the Easter bunny so he could boil his eggs to deliver the next day.  

Not long after that, the men returned, treaty in hand. it was a unique treaty struck by the two different cultures, and it turned out well for both sides. It is reportedly the only North American Indian treaty not to be violated by either party. 

Now, every year, the town celebrates the occasion with church bells, bonfires, and pageantry.   

What is your favorite Easter or Passover tradition?

 Amazon

The Lingering Appeal of the Wild West and Doc Holliday ~ Kimberly Grist

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Happy Fall, y’all. I’m so pleased to be your guest blogger today. I love history, and one of my favorite parts about the writing process is doing the research required to ensure accuracy in my stories. I also like to try to find something that may not be widely known to keep the story interesting.

My family and I share our hometown of Griffin, Georgia, with a notorious gambler and gunfighter who’s also a dentist. I work only a block away from the location of his dental practice.

Doc Holliday is well known for his participation, along with Wyatt Earp, in the O.K. Corral gunfight in 1881. The battle itself lasted less than a minute. After almost 140 years, what do we still find so intriguing about the man? Multiple movies retell the story of the lawman, Wyatt Earp. But strangely, the character we’re most drawn to is a sickly dentist turned gambler and gunman known as Doc.

Pictured left Doc Holliday with Wyatt Earp and his brothers.

Perhaps the complexity of his character is the reason for his lingering appeal. His vibrant personality is rooted in contrast. Doc is critically ill but bold and gallant. He’s a deadly gunslinger and gambler, yet smart, educated, flashy, witty, compassionate, and loyal. Stir in a bit of vulnerability, a touch of vanity, and don’t forget a healthy dose of gallant southern charm to describe this critically ill man.

 

Born with a cleft palate on August 14, 1851, John Henry Holliday was fed by his mother with an eyedropper and a spoon.

The baby’s uncle, Dr. John Stiles Holliday, performed surgery, assisted by Dr. Crawford Long, the namesake of the Emory Hospital in Atlanta. The operation may have been the first time in history in which ether was used on an infant. He was schooled at home by his mother, who spent years training him to conquer his speech impediment. She also instilled in him Southern etiquettes, which would forever be part of his demeanor.

Two actors who played Doc Holliday, Stacy Keach and Jason Robards, were also born with the same condition.

Jason Robards played Doc in Hour of the Gun in 1967.

In 1864, his family moved to Valdosta, Georgia, where his mother suffered from consumption, now known as tuberculosis, and died when he was fifteen. Three months after his mother’s death, his father remarried.

 John Henry Holliday, age ten

Holliday attended Valdosta Institute, where he received a classical education, and in 1870, nineteen-year-old Holliday left home to attend the Pennsylvania College of Dental Surgery. He graduated five months before his twenty-first birthday. He returned to Griffin, Georgia, in 1872 to practice dentistry. 

John Henry was soon diagnosed with consumption and, in 1873, ended his career as a dentist. Some say he didn’t want his family to see him deteriorate and die from the disease. Others suggest he went west in hopes that the climate would be beneficial to his lungs. Regardless, Doc took the train to the literal end of the railroad line—Dallas, Texas.

Holliday understood the gravity of his disease and most likely considered himself a walking dead man. Though a realist, he remained hopeful for a cure. Doc found comfort in whiskey and gambling.

Texas was full of guns, knives, and violent men, some of whom were suffering from post-traumatic stress from the effects of war. Doc reinvented himself—from a southern gentleman dentist to a dangerous gunman who’d killed more than a dozen men in various altercations.

Holliday traveled from town to town, following the money and gaining a reputation as both a gambler and a gunman. In 1877, Doc was involved in an argument, but instead of going for his gun, he used his walking stick. His serious wounds, compounded by worsening tuberculosis, spurred a change of scenery. His next stop was Fort Griffin, where he met Wyatt Earp, who ultimately saved his life.

Earp and Holliday became fast friends. Eventually, Doc would join Earp in the wild boomtown of Tombstone, Arizona. Due to recent silver strikes, the town was flooded with merchants and cash but short on law and order. By the end of 1880, Tombstone was embedded with organized rustlers and thieves called the Cowboys. 

Val Kilmer as Doc alongside Sam Elliott, Kurt Russell & Bill Paxton as Virgil, Wyatt & Morgan Earp in 1993

On October 26, 1881. Tombstone City Marshal Virgil Earp deputized Holliday. Virgil asked Doc to carry his shotgun under his coat, and the four strode down the middle of the street to meet and disarm five members of the Cowboys near the O.K. Corral, which resulted in a thirty-second shootout.

GIVEAWAY: Leave a comment and you could win an ebook copy of WILLOW’S WORTH!

 

 

Telegraph operator, Willow Graham, has benefited from a unique lifestyle growing up with her grandfather at the livery. She’s independent and loves spending time riding and training animals. With her twenty-first birthday approaching, her family pressures her to return to the city and take up the lavish lifestyle her uncle has planned for her.

Her other alternative is to take her chances with a matchmaking agency’s recommendation and begin correspondence with a handsome farmer.

Leo Weaver is a man of many talents. Hardworking, he’s helped his father develop a successful farm. Loyal and giving, he volunteers as a deputy sheriff. Handsome and charming, he’s about to become the target of several well-meaning ladies in the community who have submitted his name for a new matchmaking venture.

 Willow craves the outdoors. Leo loves community life and wants to live in town. Can a matchmaking agency help two independent people realize the opposing desires of their hearts?

Buy on AMAZON

Kimberly Grist is married to her high school sweetheart, Nelson, a former teacher and coach, now a pastor. They have three adult sons, one with Down syndrome, and they have a passion for encouraging others with family members with special needs.

I’ve enjoyed writing since I was a young girl; however, I began writing my first novel in 2017. Inspired by so many things life has to offer, one of which includes our oldest son’s cancer diagnosis, it’s especially gratifying to write a happy ending.

I believe you should come away refreshed and inspired after reading a book. In my personal life, I wear so many hats, working inside and outside the home. I work hard, try harder, and then begin again the next day. Despite my best efforts, sometimes life stinks. Bad things happen. I need and want an outlet, an opportunity to relax and escape to a place where obstacles are met and overcome. My stories are designed to entertain, refresh, and inspire you, the reader. They combine History, Humor, and Romance, with an emphasis on Faith, Friends, and Good Clean Fun.

Links:

Website: https://kimberlygrist.com/

FB: https://www.facebook.com/FaithFunandFriends/

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