Thank you to everyone who came to the blog and who left a post. I loved them all! And the winner is:
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New Story, IF SHE WERE MINE, is on Pre-Order
Howdy! And welcome to another terrific Tuesday!
Well, while we are getting the e-book ready to publish (all the editing and proofing is now done) we’ve put the new book up for a Pre-Order. Here is the link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0GWY3P5KS?tag=pettpist-20
It’s on sale at 40% off what the price will be once all the promotion is done for its release — that is to say, it’s regular price is $5.99.
And I’ve tweaked the blurb a little for Amazon. Here is the new blurb:
AI-FREE! 100% organic author-created content. No artificial intelligence was used in the writing of this book.
If you enjoy stories about how love can win, despite terrible wrongs and extreme prejudice, this story is for you.
A star-crossed love, treachery, and a desire that will not be denied.
Briella Feher is in love, but not with her fiancé. Her father has exiled her from the sweeping plains of Montana to New York City “for her own safety,” commanding her to marry within her heritage and class. Raised in Indian Territory, Briella was shaped as much by the Pikuni—Blackfeet—people as by her aristocratic Hungarian family. Viewed as a cowgirl, Briella doesn’t fit in with society. Perhaps it’s the guns she wears strapped to her evening gowns. Her heart has always belonged to Red Fox, the Pikuni medicine man who taught her to survive on the prairie, the man who was her teacher, her first love. When James Maximillian III proposes—with the condition that he keep his mistress—Briella accepts, seeing his proposal as her only path back to Montana and to Red Fox.
Two years apart have not cooled the fire between Briella and Red Fox, yet his honor won’t allow him to claim this woman who is promised to another. With the escalation of the Indian/Cavalry wars, Red Fox believes distance is the only way to protect the woman he loves. Then a vision reveals a devastating truth: Briella’s fiancé is hiding a lie that could shatter every vow. It’s now up to Red Fox to find the truth.
But, time is running out and forces are aligned against them. Can Red Fox find the proof and expose the treachery in time to alter the ending of their Romeo and Juliet romance, or will he lose Briella forever in a romance destined for tragedy?
Warning: This is a forbidden love story—forbidden by both sets of parents–which begs the question: will the hero and heroine get a second chance at love? Set in the 1870’s, this sensual love story is sprinkled with paranormal, Native American style. But, if you love the old west as it was lived and loved by the First Americans, you’re going to love this story.
And I should tell you I will be giving away a free e-book from this series — winner’s choice.
So let me share another except from the new book. In this story both the heroine’s and the hero’s parents are against these two marrying. Both have “good” reasons, so they think. But, when all is said and done, love will win out.
IF SHE WERE MINE
By
Karen Kay
Excerpt #2
Grasping hold of the parfleche tube he had tied onto his pony, Red Fox took out his white buckskin clothing and shook out the garments. These were his best, his fanciest, buckskin clothing. They had been given to him by his grandfather upon the first event of Red Fox having publicly healed a rich man’s pony, it having become lame because of a disease upon its leg.
His grandfather had been a bigger man than he, and several snows ago, Red Fox had cut, sewn and tailored the clothing to fit his own frame. Red Fox shook out the stunningly white buckskin clothing and inspected the regalia to ensure every feather in the headdress was neatly in place. He then looked over the beadwork to ensure each bead was still firmly sewn into the leather and was not likely to fall off.
Standing upon a shady patch of ground within an outgrowth of pines growing atop one of the numerous buttes overlooking the Féher ranch, Red Fox inspected the white buckskin leather shirt with blue-and-white-beaded “V” shapes falling down over the shoulder straps. All were intact.
He then put his attention on the cloth breechcloth, the white leggings and moccasins, all beaded in the same design as the shoulder straps. Leather fringe about eight inches in length, as well as long locks of black hair scattered in amongst the buckskin fringe, fell from each sleeve. The same fringe lined each seam of the leggings of the regalia.
A looping white-beaded necklace which would fall from his neck was unbroken, while the headdress of eagle tail feathers stood straight up, then fell all the way to the ground. Two long ermine furs were attached to the bonnet in front; these would fall over the shoulders. The strip of beadwork in front of the headdress was in the same style as the shoulder straps.
Niitá’p, this regalia was the best clothing he possessed, and what an honor it had been when his grandfather had passed these clothes down to him.
As Red Fox donned the clothing, he listened to the strains of what he knew to be the white man’s music. It was quite pretty. The sound was floating up to where he was standing, up high upon a ledge of a cliff overlooking the Fehér ranch.
Picking up his rifle, which he kept in a beautifully beaded parfleche case—a present from his sister—he turned around and climbed to the top of the cliff. The prairie stretched out from behind him, requiring him to step up a little before he could stride out upon the flat plains toward the spot where he had left his pony. Ensuring his pony was not hungry and had plenty of grass to eat here within a growth of pines, he satisfied himself that his pony would be well hidden, this especially so because Hunts-with-the-wind would keep watch over the animal. Breathing in deeply, Red Fox then retraced his steps and set off on foot down toward the party.
****
Watching the dancers from the patio outside the ballroom, Red Fox felt definitely the outsider. He, alone, was outfitted in Pikuni garb. And, the others? They were beautifully dressed, yes, exactly as Eagle Heart’s woman had said they would be. But, all here wore white man’s clothing, since his relatives, all but George and his wife, had left earlier in the day to rejoin the Pikuni encampment. Even the “hang around the fort” Indians were clothed in white-man’s garb.
Where is she?
Although Red Fox had a long acquaintance with the white man’s fashion sense, as well as his dances, he had never seen this kind of smooth gliding where it looked as if the men and women were floating in each other’s arms around and around in a circle upon the dance floor. Silently, he thanked the wife of Eagle Heart for instructing him in the steps of the waltz.
He had witnessed, of course, the jig, the polka and even several Indian dances from other tribes that included both men and women dancing, but never had he borne witness to such graceful movements nor had he observed the intimate way in which the men and women held one another.
Watching the couples’ movements as they whirled around the dance floor, he was captivated for several moments until he realized he still could not find Poka’aki.
Where is she?
Catching a glimpse of George waltzing with his wife, Red Fox felt himself relax. Here was something familiar; people he knew and loved.
Stepping proudly inside this place of music and dancing, he became unusually aware that he at once garnered a great deal of attention. People even gasped. Then he saw these same people turn inward to make groups where they talked amongst themselves and pointed toward him.
Perhaps this was done to cause him to feel uncomfortable, but it had the opposite effect over him. It empowered him, knowing how rude and crude were these people who could not even hide their curiosity, if this were what it was.
It wasn’t as if the Indian people weren’t also curious about these newcomers into their country, but they did not stare, nor so openly would they point at a person and then turn to gossip amongst themselves.
Was this aloofness and rumor mongering the sort of thing Poka’aki had been forced to endure in her exile from her home? If so, was there any wonder why she had agreed to a proposition that would enable her to leave there?
Ah, there she is.
So beautiful was she, he caught his breath as he recalled his youthful fear of her because of her beauty. She was wearing a dress in a light shade of pink that accented her figure in front, but was puffed out in back with what must have been yards and yards of material. It was trimmed in a deep color of red, and it seemed to shimmer in a cascade of waves as it fell to the floor. The shoulders of her dress fell down her arms, leaving the top of her breasts, her neck and her upper arms bare. A ribbon in the same color of deep red was tied around her neck, and the length of it fell down the dress in back. And, as she swirled around the floor in the arms of a man, the dark-red ribbon which fell down in back of her, swayed to and fro.
Her hair was caught up on top of her head, while curls of her dark, auburn hair fell over her shoulders. A tiny pink hat covered the top of her tresses.
He couldn’t remember seeing her so beautifully dressed. And, for a moment, an odd feeling come over him: would he ever be able to give her such riches? Worse, having now tasted this kind of life, would she require them?
He shrugged off the thought and studied the man who held her in his arms, and, as Red Fox witnessed the man’s possessive grip on her, Red Fox realized this had to be the man she was being required to marry. The gentleman was not an unhandsome fellow, though he possessed facial hair above his lips, a feature both Indian men and women abhorred.
He stepped farther into the room and took in the measure of this fellow holding Poka’aki. Although Red Fox longed to fade into the scenery in this place, he could not. Realizing his countenance and dress were too different and too exotic for those around him to act politely, he ignored their whispering and pointed glances.
Indeed, he concentrated on studying this man, Maximillian. If he were to envision a way to release his woman from this person‘s grip, Red Fox needed to understand Maximillian as well as he knew himself. The man was slender, tall, although perhaps a little shorter than he, Red Fox. The fellow, however, kept glancing to the east side of the dance floor instead of giving his beautiful partner all of the attention she deserved.
Looking to the eastern side of the dance floor, Red Fox saw the reason for it: a pretty young woman with the pale color of hair that was so rare upon these plains stood there, the object of this man’s attention. Remembering what Poka’aki had said about the man possessing a mistress, Red Fox surmised this woman had to be Maximillian’s undeclared sits-beside-him-woman.
And, though she was stunningly pretty with her blonde curls and blue eyes, there was a catch in her eye and a quality about her countenance that was not pretty. And, worse, she stared at Poka’aki with a look that was hardly likeable. Watching the interplay between this woman and the man who was dancing with Poka’aki, Red Fox knew it was only a matter of a few moments before he, Red Fox, would intercede.
As soon as the music of the dance ended, Red Fox paced forward and into the crowd of dancers, his steps taking him directly to Poka’aki and the gentleman, who, at this very moment, had laid his hand upon the small of Poka’aki’s back.
Inserting himself directly into the path of Maximillian and Poka’aki, Red Fox waited as the people around him cleared away until, at last, the gentleman beheld an Indian warrior, complete with rifle—although it was encased within its beaded case and was strapped around Red Fox’s shoulder—was standing directly in his path.
Red Fox watched the man physically jump, and had it been gentleman-like to scream, the fellow might have done so. As it was, he gasped and stopped walking completely.
“Red Fox! I was wondering when I might see you here! Welcome!” Dragging her escort with her, Poka’aki stepped up before Red Fox and proceeded with the introductions, saying, “Red Fox, this gentleman here is Maximillian the Third. Max, this is Red Fox, my friend, as well as my tutor into the ways of the Plains and how one can easily survive on them.”
Maximillian bent over at the waist and inclined his head, but he said nothing.
Red Fox simply nodded. Then, looking directly at Poka’aki, he said, “I would like to dance with you, Poka’aki.”
“Of course. They are playing another waltz, this one a little slower than the last. Do you know the dance?”
“I do, although I have only learned these steps this very day,” Red Fox answered. He then watched as Maximillian bent slightly forward again, clicked his heels together, and turning, he walked away, although Red Fox saw the man’s knees were shaky and bowed slightly outward as he walked.
Returning his attention to Poka’aki, Red Fox asked, “Will you show me how I should hold you like these other men are doing?”
“Of course I will. Now, you put your right arm around my waist, like so.” She placed his arm in the correct place on the small of her back. “Then you hold my right hand with your left, and listen to the music and the beat. One, two, three; one, two, three; one, two, three. Do you hear the beat?”
“I do.” He placed his rifle, complete with its carrying case, a little more fully onto his back and out of the way, noticing at the same time that, true to her Pikuni teaching, a gun in a holster was wound around her waist.
“Good,” she said. “Now, starting with your left foot, we step up and back; up, two, three; back, two, three; up, two, three. Now, with your right and left foot, on steps two and three, you twirl around slightly, taking me with you as you twirl. Are you ready?”
“I am,” he answered. And, then he began to dance up and back; up, two, three; back, two, three; up, two, three; back, two, three; as he had earlier learned. Then, he commenced to twirl around. Gazing down at her, he witnessed her beautiful smile.
“You are a quick learner.”
“It is because I dance and sing every day to my ponies, and sometimes I dance while we are in camp. And, I often drum and sing as I dance.
“I know,” she said. “I have seen you do this, although only on occasion, and I have always thought you are most graceful.”
He smiled down at her. “Also, the wife of Eagle Heart showed me these steps today, though I did not hold her as I do you. She waltzed instead with her man, Eagle Heart.” When Poka’aki remained silent, he commented, “This dance is as it looks. It feels as if one is floating.”
She grinned up at him. “It feels, indeed, exactly as you say. How lovely it is to be in your arms. I have never seen this regalia before. Is it new to you?”
“Saa, it is not new. Never have I had the occasion to wear it before this night. It belonged to my grandfather.”
“And, was it passed down to you?”
He nodded.
She commented, “Perhaps our son shall inherit it.”
Red Fox missed a step while at the same time someone behind him tapped him on the shoulder. He came to a halt and gazed over his shoulder, there to see Frederic Fehér behind him, Frederic’s lips were set into a frown and his eyes filled with censure.
“I am cutting in to this dance,” Frederic said.
Red Fox glanced at the brother of Poka’aki questioningly.
“It means,” said Frederic in a voice dripping with sarcasm and disapproval, “that I am now going to dance with my sister while you step aside.”
“You are?”
“Yes. Now.” And, with no more instruction nor so much as a kind word, Frederic placed his arms around Poka’aki and danced away with her, although Red Fox observed she was frowning as she spoke to her brother.
Puzzled, Red Fox looked toward Poka’aki, who took her arm from around Frederic to say to Red Fox in sign, “Do not be upset. This is sometimes done.”
What was he supposed to do? Stand here while the dancers twirled around him or bumped into him?
At last, Red Fox began to understand. And, waiting for Frederic and Poka’aki to twirl in close to him, he stepped up to Frederic and tapped him on the shoulder, only to experience the shame of Frederic ignoring him completely as he stepped quickly away and whirled around the dance floor, Frederic presenting a façade as if nothing had even happened.
Knowing Frederic had intended to create the sensation of wrongdoing within him, Red Fox determinedly refused to give the matter any of his energy. Instead, with a steady gait, Red Fox turned around and walked off the dance floor and out of the ballroom completely, leaving the lovely sounding music behind him.
And, lovely it was, indeed. He couldn’t remember hearing anything quite like it in his past.
For a moment, he paused on the wooden flooring outside the actual dance hall, doing little more than listening to the enchanting music. He would remember it. It was so very beautiful.
And, when the music for a jig began, Red Fox set off on foot over the plains, making his way back up to the ledge of the butte, where his wolf would be awaiting him.
****\
Well, that’s all for today. Remember I’ll be giving away a free e-book from this series to one of you bloggers today, your choice. So come on in and share your thoughts with me.
Janice Cole Hopkins, you’re Kit Morgan’s Winner!
Janice, you’ve won an e-book of Kit’s of your choice.
Email Kit at authorkitmorgan@gmail.com so she can gift you the book.
The Great Code of the West and a Giveaway!
We’re said it or heard it at some point. “It’s the code of the West!”
The Code of the West was like a sacred law, passed down through generations of rugged cowboys. It was never written down, but it was understood and followed by all who called themselves true cowboys. Here is a “loose” list of some of the unspoken guidelines that governed their way of life.
A man’s past was not to be questioned or judged. He was to be taken as he was in the present, his character measured by his actions and words.
No crime was greater than stealing another man’s horse. This offense would be met with swift justice, often resulting in death for the culprit.
In a land where danger could strike at any moment, defending oneself was necessary for survival.
Self-sufficiency and independence were highly valued traits among cowboys. They looked out for their own needs and didn’t rely on others for help.
Etiquette even extended to the dining table – guns were to be removed before sitting down, ensuring a peaceful meal.
Whiskey was the drink of choice, and anything weaker would not be accepted by a true cowboy.
Threats were not made lightly, as they could lead to severe consequences.
When passing another person on the trail, it was customary to greet them with a friendly “Howdy.”
To avoid startling someone from behind, a loud greeting should be given before getting within shooting range. And it was considered rude to wave at someone on horseback, so a simple nod sufficed as a proper greeting.
Looking back at someone after passing them implied mistrust. A cowboy’s word was his bond, and trustworthiness was highly prized.
Borrowing another man’s horse without permission was almost as bad as betraying him with his wife – something no honorable cowboy would ever do.
In true cowboy fashion, whiskey glasses were always filled to the brim – leaving no room for timidity or hesitation.
Cowboys were known for their stoic nature, reserving their breath for breathing rather than idle chatter.
But despite their tough exterior, cowboys had a code of conduct to uphold. They were always considerate and tended to their horse’s needs before their own.
Strong language was tolerated among men, but never in the presence of women, horses, or cows. And if someone complained about the cooking, they would often find themselves taking over those duties.
When drinking whiskey, it was customary to hold the glass in one’s gun hand as a sign of friendship and good intentions.
Ingratitude was not tolerated among cowboys – they understood the value of loyalty and appreciation for others.
Even when things weren’t going well, a cowboy remained pleasant and forbearing. Complaining was seen as a weakness, and quitters were despised.
Courage was a necessary trait for life on the frontier. There was no room for cowardice in any outfit worth its salt.
A true cowboy was always willing to lend a helping hand, even to strangers or enemies.
Hats were personal property and should never be tried on without permission.
Hospitality was extended to all who crossed their path, regardless of past feuds or differences. Strangers were always welcome at the dinner table, just as riders were welcomed into cowboy camps.
Giving an opponent a fair chance in a fight was integral to the code. It was known as “the rattlesnake code” – always give warning before striking. However, if someone was being stalked or ambushed, this rule could be overlooked.
Women were to be treated with respect at all times – violence against them was strictly forbidden.
Consideration for others extended to all aspects of life on the range – from avoiding stirring up dust near the chuckwagon to not waking the wrong man for herd duty.
The land and environment were held in high regard by cowboys, who respected nature by not smoking in hazardous areas and preserving its natural beauty.
Honesty was paramount, and a cowboy’s word was his bond. A handshake was more binding than any written contract.
And perhaps most importantly, cowboys lived by the Golden Rule – treating others as they would want to be treated themselves. This code of conduct not only governed their actions but also defined the very essence of what it meant to be a cowboy in the American West.
Have you heard of any other Codes of the West? What are some you’re most familiar with? I’m giving away one e-book of mine of choice to one lucky commenter!
Where is Felicia Filly? Answer Revealed
Howdy, friends!
My latest road trip took me to The Tar Heel State (otherwise known as North Carolina) to visit Jo-Ann Roberts. Spring has sprung here and a cowgirl’s fancy turns to…love! Now, to find that cowboy!
After throwin’ all the names into my hat, I pulled out a winner.
Bridgett Shippy
Miz Roberts will be sendin’ you an email, Bridgett, with instructions on how to claim your prize. Keep yer eyes peeled.
Let’s Ride the Train!
If you’ve never been to Old Sacramento and get the chance to go, take it. I love Old Sac. Every time I used to visit my son in Stockton, which is about forty-five minutes south of Sacramento, I like to set aside a day to wander through Old Town.
Old Sacramento is exactly what the name suggests: an entire historic district along the waterfront. The wooden sidewalks, brick buildings, and old storefronts make you feel as if you’ve stepped back into the 1800s. The buildings have been preserved and are still very much in use today, filled with shops, restaurants, candy stores, and museums. It’s the sort of place where you can spend hours simply strolling and peeking into windows.
One of my favorite stops is the California State Railroad Museum. Ty Smith, the museum’s director, once said that “trains and railroading are at the heart of who we are as a people. We speak in railroad language and metaphor. To speak of trains is to speak of freedom and movement.” He also says the museum is made up not just of trains, but of stories.
And there are plenty of those.
Every time I visit the museum, I learn something new. For instance, many towns in the American West were built around
railroad tracks rather than the other way around. A town’s location was often determined by where the tracks ran. Of course, some places were settled long before the railroad arrived, but once the trains came through, those towns often grew quickly.
The tracks were usually laid along the edge of town or just outside it, and over time the town expanded until it surrounded them.
It’s fascinating to realize just how much trains shaped the way communities developed.
Trains also left their mark on American music. There are countless train songs in the American songbook. Trains have a rhythm that musicians couldn’t ignore. There are tragic train songs, “working on the railroad” songs, love songs, and songs about love lost. Trains are wonderfully percussive. If you listen closely to old recordings, you can almost hear the syncopation of wheels on rails and the cry of the train whistle woven into the music itself.
The museum is a wonderful connection to the past, when train travel was as much about the journey as it was the destination. Travelers sat in plush railcars watching the country roll by outside their windows. People met, shared meals, and sometimes formed friendships that lasted far longer than the trip itself.
In recent years, train travel has been making a bit of a comeback. More and more folks are choosing the rails again. It’s a relaxing way to see the country and a refreshing change of pace from crowded highways and busy airports.
One of the highlights of visiting the museum is the steam-powered excursion train on the Sacramento Southern Railroad.
Watching the engine chug to life and hearing the whistle blow makes history feel wonderfully alive. It’s easy to see why people of all ages love riding trains.
So if you enjoy trains, or just enjoy a good piece of history, the next time you’re passing through Sacramento, take a little time to stop at Old Sacramento State Historic Park and visit the California State Railroad Museum. Stroll the boardwalks of this wonderful place, visit the shops, grab a bite. You’ll be glad you did.
One train ride I’ve always wanted to take is called The Fruit Loop, in Oregon. It takes you to a string of farms and farm stands that sell all kinds of apples, pears, nuts, and other goodies!
Tell me, have you ever taken a train trip? Or do you have a favorite train movie, song, or story?
Mary Connealy’s Winner
The winner of an ebook copy of
is
Laura Michelle Delgado
Laura, I will email you to make sure
I’ve got the right email address to send the book
Petticoat Ranch–where it all began–and a giveaway
Kicks off a flurry of renewals. done with the help of Wild Heart Books.
This publisher specializes in historical fiction so there is a LOT to love over there.
I’ve got six books and, I think, eight novellas coming out in the next ? six? months. Re-releases of old favorites. And none I loved more than my very first released book, Petticoat Ranch.
My gosh, when that book came in the mail, a box full of books back then, I hugged them and danced with them and told My Cowboy we were gonna need a bigger bed because I was going to sleep cuddled up to them FOREVER!!
The books never made it as sleep-over friends but otherwise it’s all true.
This month, that beloved book, out of print, is now available again on all the standard outlets.
Seriously getting those books is one of the best experiences of my life. Total Top Ten Experience
Leave a comment to get your name in a drawing for an ebook copy of Petticoat Ranch. There are paperback copies, too, but I don’t get any of those are part of my contract. So I’m going with an ebook.
Leave a comment if you are SICK of this stupid, cold weather. It’s like spring is TAUNTING ME!!!
I’m looking out the window at a snowstorm right now…the self-pity is embarrassing but I can’t stop it!
Book #1 of the Petticoats and Cowboys Series
From beloved author Mary Connealy comes a delightful Western adventure brimming with danger, laughter, and unexpected romance—a tale of a resourceful widow, a rugged cowboy, and the ready-made family that will steal his heart. Perfect for fans of Tracie Peterson and Karen Witemeyer.
Sophie Edwards has survived two years in the Texas wilderness with four daughters and her wits. When a stranger falls injured near her hidden cabin during a thunderstorm, she discovers he’s the spitting image of her late husband—because Clay McClellen is her husband’s twin brother, a man who never knew his brother existed.
Clay came to Texas seeking justice for his brother’s murder. What he finds instead is a ready-made family, a rundown ranch, and a fiercely independent woman who doesn’t need rescuing—even when danger comes calling. Sophie may have pulled him from a flooded creek, but Clay is determined to be the protector she deserves, whether she wants one or not.
As vigilantes close in and old enemies resurface, Clay and Sophie must learn to trust each other and God’s plan. But can a mountain man used to solitude embrace life with four talkative daughters? And can Sophie open her guarded heart to love again—especially when the man looks exactly like the husband who broke it?
A heartwarming tale of second chances, faith, and finding love in the untamed West.
THE BALLAD OF THE ALAMO–LEARNING HISTORY THROUGH SONGS–by Cheryl Pierson
Hi everyone! I wrote a short series of blog posts called Learning History Through Songs a few years back, but since we are just past the 190th anniversary of the Battle of the Alamo, I thought I would re-run this, the 2nd of the series, in memory of that battle. Can you believe that in just ten years, on March 6, 2036, it will have been 200 years since that fateful day happened?
In the first post of this series (The Battle of New Orleans—Learning History Through Songs #1) I mentioned that these ballad-type tunes were popular in the 1950’s and 1960’s, with Marty Robbins and Johnny Horton being two of the best-known singers of this type of songs.
The Battle of New Orleans was penned by an Arkansas school principal, Jimmy Driftwood, who wrote it in the hopes of making learning more fun for his students.
But what about The Ballad of the Alamo?
This theme was written by Ukrainian-born composer Dimitri Zinovievich Tiomkin (May 10, 1894 – November 11, 1979). He was a Hollywood film score composer and conductor. According to “Lyrics”, he is considered “one of the giants of Hollywood movie music.” Though he was musically trained in Russia, he is best known for his westerns, a genre “where his expansive, muscular style had its greatest impact.” Tiomkin received 22 Academy Award nominations and won four Oscars, also according to “Lyrics”.
By Source, Fair use, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?curid=38069784
I can see why! He also wrote The Green Leaves of Summer (also from the John Wayne BATJAC production of THE ALAMO, as well as the theme for the movie Do Not Forsake Me from the movie HIGH NOON, and among other favorites, the theme song for Rawhide!
Tiomkin had a way of putting sweeping musical scores together with some “killer” lyrics—and with Marty Robbins recording The Ballad of the Alamo, it was a sure-fire winner! Though this song has been covered by other artists, and inspired other songs about the Alamo as well, the original Marty Robbins version is incomparable. Recorded in 1960, it became a “crossover” hit, spending 13 weeks on the pop charts and ranked high at #34, at one point.
Imagine, telling the entire story of the Alamo in one story-song. With its haunting melody combined with unforgettable lyrics, this piece stands tall among these songs that teach history through music.
“In the southern part of Texas/Near the town of San Antone/ There’s a fortress all in ruins that the weeds have overgrown…”
The words go on to describe what’s left of the battle scene briefly and the men who were there, as they “…answer to that roll call in the sky.”
Switching gears to what actually happened, the next verse takes us to the action: “Back in 1836/Houston said to Travis/Get some volunteers and go/Fortify the Alamo…”
The story is told in full—how Santa Anna called for surrender and Travis “answered with a shell—and a rousin’ Rebel yell.” Santa Anna issues his decree: “ ‘Play Degüello,’ he roared/ I will show them no quarter/Every one will be put to the sword!”
I still get chills at this line: “One hundred and eighty-five/Holdin’ back five thousand…” The days are counted off to mark time quickly, and then the sad fact that the “…troops that were comin’/ Never came, never came, never came…”
By Robert Jenkins Onderdonk – 1. transferred from en.wikipedia, original is at the Texas State Archives2. A Glimpse of History in Modern San Antonio., Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=7843901
Of course, we know how the story ends. But Tiomkin brings the lyrics full circle when he starts the final verse with the same lines as the first verse, then diverges and lets us see what the cowboy sees, as if we are there with him.
In the southern part of Texas
Near the town of San Antone
Like a statue on a pinto
Rides a cowboy all alone,
And he sees the cattle grazing where a century before
Santa Anna’s guns were blazin’ and the cannons used to roar
And his eyes turn sorta misty,
And his heart begins to glow,
And he takes his hat off slowly…
To the men of Alamo.
To the thirteen days of glory
At the siege of Alamo…
Here’s the YOUTUBE link if you would like to hear this wonderful retelling of this battle. I can’t even imagine having to perform this in a concert setting as I’m sure Marty Robbins had to do quite often. It’s very difficult to sing, though the logical progression of events make the words easy to remember.
https://youtu.be/Eyu3OIn5A00?si=KsRJbCSpmmciQxcT
Here’s a favorite memory. When my son was in elementary school in fourth grade, his teacher called me one night to tell me that when they’d started talking about the battle of the Alamo in class in history, Casey seemed to already know all about it. She said, “Well, what do you know about it, Casey?” Having heard this song about a million and one times in the car, he said, “Back in 1836, Houston said to Travis…Get some volunteers and go fortify the Alamo!” After some questioning, she was amazed that he remembered so much, and it sure brought a smile to my face.
Have you ever been to the Alamo? We went one year when our kids were in elementary school and middle school, and it’s one of the most moving places I’ve ever been. You can definitely feel the presence of those men who fought and died there. What’s one place you’ve been that touched you deeply, just by being there? The Alamo is one place I will never forget.
Jo-Ann Roberts Has A Winner!!
…and the winner of a digital copy of “No Finer Dream” is Susan Johnson!!! Congratulations, Susan! I will be contacting you to arrange for delivery of your digital copy.
Thanks to all who left a comment on my blog about Tattoos in the Civil War, and for your support of Petticoats & Pistols.
Jo-Ann
