This story is for those 18 or older! If you are not 18, please wait a few years and then come on back! Thanks for abiding by the campfire rules!
Things are gettin’ hot here in Sheridan, and I think most of the heat is comin’ from the Sheriff’s office…
Ellie shifted on the hard seat of the ladder-back chair and stiffened her spine.She laced her fingers together and squeezed one hand with the other to keep from landing a blow to the good Sheriff Jake Avery’s face. His large hands gripped the front of his desk as the waves of his laughter slapped against her. He’d blinked twice at her proposition to rob a train, and then… this…laughter so deep his tight stomach rolled and teardrops rested on long dark blond eyelashes.He even snorted a couple times.
Refusing to let the insult of his laughter humble her, Ellie never allowed her gaze drop to her lap or shift from his face. If he thought her insane, he had cause. She’d give him that much. Over the past week she’d called on Jake for everything from a cat stuck in a tree, one she’d chased up that tree, to a broken fence she said her neighbor cut allowing her cattle to scatter. Jake spent all day and well into the night helping her round up the cattle she’d let lose by cutting her own fence.These were just two of the awful things she’d done all to test Jake’s patience, endurance and trustworthiness. And he’d passed.
Oh, she’d noticed the tick in his clenched jaw, the looks toward the heavens and clenched fists. But Jake was a man who saw a job through no matter how frustrating, or distasteful. She’d also been introduced to how quick he could open a safe without the combination when she “forgot” the combination to her husband’s safe. And through a series of other mishaps, she’d been schooled in his skill with armaments of any variation. She’d heard the stories, now she knew the man. So, if he wanted to play the buffoon and howl with laughter for a few moments at her expense she’d allow it…this time.
But lordy, she wished he’d be quick about it, she was about to melt in a pool of blue satin from all the clothes she was layered into from bloomers to corset to the indigo dress she’d worn with the infernal feather hat to match. It was a dress her late husband brought back to her from his last trip to Australia. Jim saw her in it once when he took her out to a celebratory supper.He’d fallen ill the next day, and the dress was hidden in mothballs until she aired it out two days ago for her meeting this morning.
The pain in her left hand alerted her that memories were causing her to clamp down too hard. She cleared her throat in effort to speed things along. The sheriff’s laughter died with a sputter as his gaze met hers and his right eyebrow hitched.
“You’re not laughin’?”
“Because it wasn’t a joke, Sheriff Avery. I want you to help me rob a train.”
The man might be thick, but she couldn’t deny he was the best looking man she’d ever laid eyes on. Please Jim, forgive me. He was lean and hard with high cheekbones and a square chin that could use shaving, but those whiskers would feel oh so nice against her palm or cheeks or other soft places…She shifted in her seat again. This time her discomfort had nothing to do with the hard wood under her bottom and everything to do with a burning low in her belly. A shock of hair the color of wheat ready to be harvested rested on his forehead and gave the only illusion of softness to the sheriff as his warm coffee brown eyes turned cold and narrowed.
He folded his arms across his broad chest stretching the sleeves of his green chambray shirt over strong biceps.“I’m the sheriff. I don’t rob trains.”
The tick in his jaw returned and Ellie hated she’d inflicted a man with an ailment. He’d looked much nicer with his eyes crinkled in humor and a deep dimple in his left cheek.
She swallowed and tightened her hold on her left hand. “But you have…robbed a train.”
A cloud must have rolled over the sun because shade enveloped the room with silence. She stared at him. He stared at her. Neither blinked. Her blood rushed to her ears pounding if deafening beats. Ellie doubted she would have heard him speak even if his lips moved.She was sure life continued on the streets of Sheridan. Why Mrs. R.B. Stephenson was advertising the arrival of the newest Parisian patterns and walking hats at The Bazaar, and Dr. Frackelton just returned to Sheridan the day before surely there was a line at his office of those long overdue for dental work. But by the unbearable lack of sound Ellie would swear only tumble weeds rolled down Main Street.
One word thundered through the small office. “Why?”
Her forehead cooled with perspiration as her cheeks turned to fire. “Why?”
He pushed forward until he hung over the desk his palms flat against the honey colored wood. “Why do you want to rob a train Mrs. Reed?Just for the helluva it, or are ya rubbin’ my nose in past shit?”
She bit her bottom lip at the crude language. He must be in a rage to purposely try to insult her. He’d never sworn in her presence. Not when the cat clawed his arm, or a heifer stepped on his foot. The words scrolled in his eyes, but he’d never muttered them out loud. Her teeth released her lip and caught him watching the action with warm intent. His Adam’s apple bobbed in a slow swallow. Well at least she could make him as uncomfortable as he was making her.
“I assure you this has nothing to do with your past, and everything to with mine. Something belonging to my late husband will be on a train traveling through Wyoming in a month. I want it.”
“What is it?”
“I’ll tell you when you agree to help me.”
Deep lines creased his forehead and her fingers itched to push the errant lock of hair out of his eyes. “I don’t like games, Ellie.”
She leaned toward him still hovering until their noses almost touched. When she breathed in and inhaled the scent of coffee, sage, leather and man she realized her mistake, but as she always did she forged forward. “Good. I don’t play games, Jake.”
He dropped back onto his chair and stared at her again the fingers of one of his hands drumming on the flat surface. After another eternity passed his shoulders lifted and fell. “Okay, I’ll bite. What are we stealing?”
Her shoulders collapsed in relief and she folded one of his hands in both of hers without thinking. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”When his hand squeezed hers she tried to remove it, but his grip tightened.
“What’s gonna be on that train, Ellie?”
She let the use of her given name slide a second time. “A horse.”
“Must be a thoroughbred or somethin’?”
“No, he’s just a ranch horse. Mountain born and bred and the finest equine on earth. He was Jim’s and I want him.”
His straight nose wrinkled as though her plan smelled of manure. “Risk our necks for some ol’ ranch horse?Hell, ya can get some of the best horseflesh right here.”
“But Jim didn’t ride through the brush and over half of Australia for any of the horseflesh around here. And none of these horses were trained by Jim. I don’t want any other horse.”
“And what do I get out of the deal?”
“What do you want?”
His hand hugged hers. She’d forgotten they were still holding hands and the fire in her belly turned to an inferno that was reflected in his eyes. His gaze wandered over her from the low neckline of her dress to the tip of the tallest feather in her hat.The bodice of her dress grew tight as her breasts grew heavy and her chest expanded with each deep breath. If he asked for her would she give him rights to her body?She wet her parched lips with her tongue and followed his gaze as it landed on her mouth. Yes. Forgive me Jim, she whispered to herself. But she’d been a long time without a man and Jake Avery could fill that ache and then some.
His mouth curved in a slow smile and she waited prepared to act shocked and then acquiesce.
“Half your spread.”
She huffed and jerked her hand away, and then his words found their mark in her brain. She shot to her feet. “Half my what?”
Copyright @ 2013, by Kirsten Lynn (This is an original work of Kirsten Lynn any attempt to reprint part or all of this work is strictly prohibited)
This story is for those 18 or older! If you are not 18, please wait a few years and then come on back! Thanks for abiding by the campfire rules!
Well folks, if ya read the preview for this story last week ya got a glimpse into a writer’s life. About two lines into the story the hero saw fit to tell me his real name is Jake not Russ. See he’s a man used to given out alias and he plum didn’t think it might be nice for me to know his real name. He’ll pay for that.Then I forgot to scroll up and change it, so my apologies for any confusion…Now on to Jake and Ellie’s story…Darn people in my head…
Sheridan, Wyoming (Spring 1899)
“Hell’s fire and sweet damn! Not her…not today.” Sheriff Jake Avery dropped the shade and stepped back from the window.One week, one damn week on the job and he’d suffered through at least thirty visits from the widow Ellie Reed.Next time a lawman offered the choice between swinging from a rope or taking over as sheriff, Jake was gonna choose hangin’…hands down. Hell, he’d even take his own horse and rope and find the cotton wood suitable to get the job done.
A small shadow crossed over the shade and Jake almost tripped over his own boots getting to his desk and falling into his chair. Holding his breath he started thumbing through handbills. If he wasn’t breathing and looked busy maybe she’d just keep going.
“Please Lord have mercy on a miserable sinner.”
“Sheriff Avery, I have a matter I wish to discuss with you.” The widow blew in like a dust storm on the prairie flipping up the shade as she passed by the window.
Jake narrowed his eyes against the flood of light as the woman settled into the chair on the opposite side of his desk. He squeezed his eyes shut then opened them in measured centimeters transforming a black shadow figure into the young widow. Her brown eyes flashed bright with eager intent and her cheeks were brushed with heightened color. Jake’s gut squeezed and that morning’s cooked oats turned sour. There’d be no mercy today.
He opened his mouth and tried to form a proper greeting.
“Are you afraid it might rain in your office, Sheriff?”
His eyebrows tugged together. “Pardon?”
That bright brown gaze shifted up to the top of his head and then back to drill into him. Her head cocked to one side tipping her own hat with an abundance of feathers died a dark blue to match her dress. The blasted thing brought to mind the remains of a wild dog cut loose with a bunch of peacocks.
Her voice cut into his wayward musings. “Your hat. Isn’t it customary for a gentleman to remove his hat inside and in the presence of a lady?”
Jake launched his chair back with his legs and yanked off the offending piece of head gear. Damn widow woman. Comin’ into his office and talkin’ to him like he was some goddamned boy in short pants and not the Sheriff of Sheridan, Wyoming.
“My apologies, Ma’am.” He gritted out as he slammed his hat on a hook by the door. Hell, if he had a lick of sense he’d walk out that door, step into leather and ride hell bent for…Where?No answer came from above or below, so Jake turned back to the thorn he was charged to carry.
Sliding back into his chair he laced his fingers together on top of the desk to keep from wrapping them around the widow’s neck. He stretched out his long legs under the desk, and forced his mouth to curve into what he hoped looked like a grin not a grimace.
Her full red lips turned in a smile as she gave a short nod of approval.
If she wasn’t such a pain in a man’s ass, Mrs. Reed might be considered attractive by some men’s standards.Her skin wasn’t the milk white of a woman who stayed inside, but was tanned by the sun testifying that she wore work clothes more often than the fancy get up she sported today.And her eyes were more of a light caramel than mud brown like his.She wasn’t a plump woman by any means, but she had a woman’s curves and enough meat a man would know he was holding something.
“Now, since I gather you’re not going to offer me a cup of coffee, or any refreshment, I’ll just get down to business.”
Yep, but there it was…that mouth.She opened that mouth and any softness brewing in Jake disappeared like mountain peaks on a cloudy day.
“Mrs. Reed, I’m pretty busy this mornin’. Fact is I was headed out when you came in…”
She crossed her small hands over her lap. “No you weren’t, Sheriff Avery, you were sitting right there in that chair thumbing through handbills.”
“I don’t much like bein’ called a liar, Ma’am.”Even when he was one, he reminded himself.
“I’m sorry…” She waved a hand in front of her face as though erasing what she just said. “I’ll be quick. This past week I’ve been testing you.”
“Testing me?”
“Yes, to see if you’ll do.”
“See if I’d do what?”
“Help me rob a train.”
Copyright @ 2013, by Kirsten Lynn (This is an original work of Kirsten Lynn any attempt to reprint part or all of this work is strictly prohibited)
If y’all enjoyed the story don’t hesitate to tell your friends, or enemies! Thanks and see ya next time round the campfire!
YEEE-HAW!!! Thank y’all so much for comin’ by the campfire, during the Cowboys and Lawmen blog hop! We had ourselves a real fandango and it was a pleasure meetin’ so many nice people! Hope y’all will come back and read the rest of THE WIDOW’S LAWMAN. If nothin’ else to support Sheriff Avery…that boy’s gonna need it. Well I dug deep into my Stetson and the winner of the $10 Amazon Card is….
SHADOW!!
I’ll be sending you an email, Shadow, so be on the look out! And check your Spam folder. If ya don’t hear from me by the end of today give me a holler here on the “Contact Me” page!
And don’t forget, everyone, be on the lookout to see if you won the Grand Prize!!!
HOWDY! Welcome to the campfire! Grab a cup of coffee and make yourself to home. Find a seat on a hollowed out log, a bedroll spread on the ground, or a sexy cowboy’s lap!I write spicy Western Historical Romances, and I LOVE talking about cowboys and lawmen from the past, when the West was wild in all sorts of delicious ways (or current sexy cowboys and lawmen, I’m not particular).
I’m not published, YET, so I’m sorry I can’t offer a free book, BUT don’t let it be said we’re cheap here on the trail. For one lucky commenter I’m offering a $10 Gift Card from Amazon or B&N, winner’s choice!! And of course, all commenters will have a chance at the Grand Prize…A $100 Gift Card from Amazon or B&N!!!!
BUT that’s not all…Cookie show them what else we have…Oh fine, I’ll do it myself…Since y’all so generously stopped by, I’m giving a preview of my next FREE READ to be featured here starting May 11, 2013!! So keep on reading to the end of the post!If you’re new to the site, I’ve published two free reads here, “Race to Marry” and “Christmas Stroll” please take a look.
OH and if you’re new Cookie is my sidekick and I don’t keep him around for his biscuits…if ya get my drift.
Okay enough jabberin’ let’s get to the reason y’all stopped by…
What’s fun about writing lawmen in the old west is they were a colorful bunch, and often chosen from a lawless bunch.A writer can bring these dichotomies into Western romances to create multidimensional heroes.All but two of my stories take place in Wyoming. It’s where I grew up, where I returned after a brief absence, and the place I love.Most of Wyoming’s early lawmen were men with less than desirable pasts who were elected because:
1.) A town wanted a man who would look the other way regarding other nefarious deeds
2.) The best way to catch a thief is to hire a man who knows how they think
3.) These were men were respected or feared enough to keep law and order
One Wyoming lawman had all these characteristics and his life reads like a great plot for a book. This was William Galispie “Red” Angus (Even the name is great! Don’t you love it! Oops, sorry).
Born in 1849, William Angus grew up in Kansas when the territory was in the throes of a nasty guerrilla war over slavery. This warfare took its toll on young Angus.In 1862, when he was only 12 years old, he demanded that he be allowed to enlist in the Union army. He joined as a drummer boy.When discharged in 1865, at the ripe old age of 15, he’d witnessed some of the worst fighting of the Civil War, but instead of quelling his desire for danger he embraced it. Angus found work as a freighter in western Kansas, when such employment was considered highly dangerous.The Cheyenne, Arapahoe and Lakota Sioux were active in the area, and Angus was in Fort Wallace in 1867 during its siege.
Surviving these hostilities, Angus joined the 19th Kansas Volunteer Cavalry and participated in a campaign against the Cheyenne. He was discharged in 1869, and though you’d think he’d had his quota of excitement he refused to seek a quiet life. He resumed freighting between Kansas and Oklahoma, and then worked for three years in Texas as a cowboy before spending a year as a teamster in Guatemala.He made his way back to the United States through California where he again found work as a cowboy and finally made his way to Wyoming driving a herd in 1880.He first came to Prairie Dog Creek in northern Johnson County, but relocated to Buffalo in 1881.
Not shockingly, Red Angus had red hair and though normally easygoing he possessed a fierce temper when riled. He was also known as a man whose courage was without question.In Buffalo, he became part of the Laurel Avenue and saloon crowd. Laurel Avenue being the area of Buffalo that catered to the baser needs of men.Angus became known as the “Mayor of Laurel Avenue,” and his first wife had been a prostitute in one of the brothels. He was no stranger to run-ins with the law. Territory v. Angus was the first criminal case filed in Johnson County. Angus was charged with assault for pistol-whipping a man. Tried and convicted in 1882, he paid of a fine of $80 with $5 charge for court costs.
Nearby Fort McKinney was a primary economic force in Johnson County, but cattle raising was the butter on the bread supporting a great number of cowboys and a few rich men. Big cattle companies dominated the southern half of the county, while smaller family outfits filled the northern half.Big cattle outfits in southern Johnson County, whether or not they held title, occupied and monopolized huge chunks of land, more than they could ever legally claim. They asserted rights under fictitious legal theories like “range rights” and “accustomed ranges.”
So what does that have to do with Red Angus?
By 1884, Red took an interest in becoming a lawman and started working toward that goal. He built a new saloon and became a bar man. He served on the town council and was elected chief of the fire department earning the respect of the citizens of Buffalo.
Trouble was brewing at the same time Red Angus was preparing to run for sheriff.The year 1888 saw huge divisions in Johnson County. Officials from the northern portion petitioned the Territorial Government to become its own county, Sheridan County, and won. Also, after a series of disastrous winters the cattle barons and small ranchers were scrapping for any grazing lands.
It was during this heated time, Red Angus, likable bar owner closely associated with Buffalo brothels ran against Frank Canton, model of an efficient sheriff. But the respect Angus had been earning swayed voters in Red’s favor. And in the community of Buffalo, owning a bar and having “unsavory associations” at brothels wasn’t always a bad thing. In the general election, Angus won 509 to 379. Angus’ election was contentious because it was well known he supported the small cattle ranchers, those the cattle barons accused of being rustlers.
By 1891 and 1892, this small Wyoming County was described by national papers as “a raw and brutal haven for range pirates,” and “the most lawless town in the country.” A county “under the control of criminals so maliciously confident that they had begun naming big cattlemen to be put to death.”Charges and countercharges were flung from one camp to the other. It wasn’t long before the battle of words turned to a series of lynchings and other hostilities perpetrated by the large cattle barons against the small rancher.
I won’t get into the whole of the Johnson County War, as I blogged on that in http://www.kirstenlynnwildwest.com/blog/?p=908.After a series of murders and raids, in the spring of 1892, “regulators” under the leadership of men from the Wyoming Stock Grower’s Association took a train from Cheyenne to Casper where they unloaded and rode into Johnson County. The invaders attacked a small ranch and killed two “rustlers” Nate Champion and Nick Ray.They then took refuge at a friendly ranch, the TA Ranch.
Angus’ legendary temper and courage surfaced with a vengeance and he rounded up a posse of 48 men that soon grew to an army of anywhere between 200 to 300 men, and surrounded the TA ranch. Many riding, and duly deputized by Sheriff Angus, were cowboys who had worked for the very men they were riding against. The invaders held off Angus’ army by using the natural defenses of the ranch along with well-placed ranch buildings.
Soldiers from Fort McKinney saved the invaders, but Angus issued arrest orders for the “regulators.” His warrants were denied as the soldiers had been called in as a favor to Governor Amos Barber (a supporter of the big cattle barons), who knew the men would be executed if turned over to Red Angus.Angus secured an agreement that the invaders would be turned over to Civil Authority for trial, and the prisoners were sent to Fort McKinney. Authorities fearing the wrath of the local citizenry transferred the prisoners to Fort D. A. Russell for safe keeping. Their fears may have been justified, a few days after their arrest the barracks at McKinney were bombed by three cowboys.
The Court held that the regulators wouldn’t receive a fair trial in Buffalo and transferred venue to Laramie County. The people of Johnson County had no recourse, as the County simply couldn’t afford the cost of prosecution. In Laramie County, the invaders faced a sympathetic court and were set free.
Sheriff Angus was defeated for reelection and took a job tending bar at the Occidental Hotel, in Buffalo. Later, however, he served as deputy clerk and county treasurer. In 1893, he engaged in a shootout with Arapahoe Brown in the street in front of the hotel. Neither was a very good shot. Doctor Will Frackleton, a circuit riding dentist was in town and witnessed the fight from the doorway of the hotel. Bullets flew into the barroom while the customers ducked for cover. When the fight was over, Frackleton told Angus and Arapahoe, “Well I don’t see what in hell you carry those things for. You fellows can’t hit anything with them.” The tension dissolved and the men joined the dentist for drink at the bar.
William “Red” Angus remained in Buffalo where he passed away in 1921.
SOURCE:
Davis, John W.Wyoming Range War: The Infamous Invasion of Johnson County. University of Oklahoma Press, Norman, 2010.
PREVIEW OF THE WIDOW’S LAWMAN (SPRING FREE-READ COMIN’ TO THE CAMPFIRE)
“Hell’s fire and sweet damn! Not her…not today.” Sheriff Russ Avery dropped the shade and stepped back from the window.One week, one damn week on the job and he’d suffered through at least thirty visits from the widow Ellie Reed.Next time a lawman offered the choice between swinging from a rope, or taking over as sheriff Russ was gonna choose hangin’…hands down. Hell, he’d even take his own horse and rope and find the cotton wood suitable to get the job done.
A small shadow crossed over the shade and Jake almost tripped over his own boots getting to his desk and falling into his chair. Holding his breath he started thumbing through handbills. If he wasn’t breathing and looked busy maybe she’d just keep going.
“Please Lord have mercy on a miserable sinner.”
“Sheriff Avery, I have a matter I wish to discuss with you.” The widow blew in like a dust storm on the prairie flipping up the shade as she passed by the window.
Jake shielded his eyes against the flood of light as the woman settled into the chair on the opposite side of his desk.By the bright eager look in her brown eyes and flush on her cheeks, Jake’s gut squeezed.This was the day he was going to pay for past sins.
Copyright @ 2013, by Kirsten Lynn (This is an original work of Kirsten Lynn any attempt to reprint part or all of this work is strictly prohibited)
But before ya go make sure to leave a comment and INCLUDE YOUR EMAIL addy, so you can be entered for a $10 Amazon or B & N Gift Certificate from me, so you can buy a hot Western Romance for your Summer, or a $100 Amazon or B&N Gift Certificate from the hop!!!
Let me tell ya folks, Cookie and me stumbled on a piece of history we just plum hadn’t heard of before. (The roll of Cookie was played by my parents when they came to visit and we hit the trail). We decided to enlighten y’all, so you can look smarter than us. We’ve heard of Fetterman, Crook, and of course who can forget Custer, but our ears never picked up on the name Brigadier General Patrick E. Connor.
Now General Connor was assigned to command the Powder River Expedition in present day Northeastern Wyoming. His orders were to make war on the Indians forcing them into submission to maintain peace. I know, sounds like same song second verse. But actually, Connor was one of the first commanders in the area so the snowball started with him.
August 29, 1865 (less than a year before Fort Phil Kearny was established), Brigadier General Patrick Connor with 125 cavalry and 90 Pawnee scouts attacked Chief Black Bear’s Arapaho camp along the Tongue River. Black Bear’s camp was comprised of 500 inhabitants, however many of the young warriors were farther North on a raid against the Crow.
Connor’s men made war on those Arapaho present disregarding the fact it was mainly women and children. Captain Palmer reported, “Unfortunately for the women and children, our men had no time to direct their aim; bullets from both sides and murderous arrows filled the air; squaws and children, as well as warriors, fell among the dead and wounded.”
The warriors present made a stand providing their families the opportunity to escape. The Arapaho fled up Wolf Creek. Connor followed with a contingent of soldiers. He was driven back. The majority of his men stayed behind destroying the village including tipis, food and winter supplies. This gave the Arapahos time to launch and aggressive counter-attack, driving Connor down the Tongue River.
Only the use of howitzers held the Arapahos at a distance during the withdrawal, and saved the out-numbered soldiers. The Arapaho suffered 64 casualties and several hundred ponies. It is believed this engagement caused the Arapaho, a non-hostile people previous to the attack, to attack the Sawyer Expedition two days later.
Where the Bozeman Trail crossed the Tongue River Valley, Colonel J.A. Sawyer’s wagon train and road building expedition of 82 wagons fought the Arapaho for thirteen days. Captain Cole of the military escort was killed along with E.G. Merrill and James Dilleland, drovers. The siege ended when Connor’s army rescued the wagon train.
Instead of “subduing” the Arapaho, Connor’s attack is believed to have been influential in causing the Arapaho to ally with the Sioux and Cheyenne at the Fetterman Fight the next year, and to fight at the Rosebud and the Battle of the Little Bighorn.
Were any lessons learned from the Connor Battle…Nope. Sorry to say folks, but the soldiers moving into the area kept underestimating the American Indians and paying a high price until numbers in people moving West and superior weapons did what armies never could.
SOURCES:
SHERIDAN COUNTY HERITAGE BOOK. Sheridan County Extension Homemakers Council. 1983.
Yee-Haw!! I just took home an honorable mention from Siobhan Muir’s ThursThread (flash fiction) with author Scott Mckinley judging! Thanks to both Siobhan and Scott! This was a fun exercise to get the ol’ brain workin’!
For those wandering what flash fiction is: you’re given a phrase that has to be incorporated in a scene no longer than 250 words. The phrase for this contest was “Nothing personal, Kid.”
If y’all wanna check out the prose that took this prize, I’ve included the scene below!
“Sonofabitch!” Jack grabbed the foot the protesting big toe hopping like that might ease the throbbing pain. All effects of the whiskey consumed in town died in a flash of pain. “That goddamn trunk…”
A baby’s cry split the air. Every muscle tensed like a well stretched rope. The orange glow of gaslight unveiled a woman’s form gliding across the floorboards of his bedroom to a crib. Was he at the wrong ranch?
Words of comfort drifted back to him as she held the baby until loud bellows turned to hiccups.
Jack dropped his foot. “That ain’t mine!”
The angel in a white cotton gown angled her head meeting his gaze. Green eyes flashed with fire. Lines creased her brow. “Of course he’s not, ya fool. But he’s my responsibility and if I’m sharing your bed, he’s gotta come, too. I can’t be leavin’ him alone.”
“Sharin’ my…” He whistled low remembering morning by the breaking ring.
“Sorry, it’s nothin’ personal, Kid.”
“I’m not a Kid. I just outrode and out roped every man here.”
“There’s a depression goin’ on, Little Lady. Men got families to feed.”
“I need to feed mine, too. What do ya suggest I do?”
“Can ya ride a man like ya handled that mustang?”
“Better.” He saw the lie in her red cheeks.
“Fine. Show up tonight and ya got yerself a job in the house and out.”
“Fine.”
Two sets of green eyes stared at him as he returned to the present. “Sonofabitch.”
The Ace High authors over at Wild and Wicked Cowboys kindly offered to host me, so I’m movin’ the campfire this Saturday, March 23rd!! Hope y’all will join me over there where I’m jawin’ about Polo in Wyoming and how it helped me create the hero in my current WIP!
For your enjoyment and as a thank you for stoppin’ on by, here’s a couple pictures from last summer’s Cowboy Polo match between the wranglers of two dude ranches here in the Sheridan area!
Each player was required to drink a can of beer, then play the first chukker.
After a brief half-time, another can of beer and another chukker.
The ball was destroyed during the first chukker, so the second period was played with a fooball.
Head on over the Wild and Wicked Cowboys to read how the “sport of kings” ended up in the “King of the Cowboy Towns!”
**Both photos were used with the permission of Perk Connell at the Big Horn Polo Club, Sheridan, Wyoming
Now Cookie and me bein’ the perceptive types know y’all have been ponderin’ one question over and over. What horse and rider is depicted as the symbol for Wyoming?
Well folks the hard and fast answer is… we don’t know. Thanks for stoppin’ by today, see ya next time…What’s that Cookie? Oh, alright don’t go workin’ yerself into a fit of apoplexy. Have I ever let these good folks leave the campfire without a good story…Don’t answer that.
Popular belief holds the bronc is the legendary Steamboat. Although there always has to be someone who disagrees and in this case that someone is the University of Wyoming. Their source claims the bucking horse and rider (BH&R) are “Stub” Farlow on a horse named Deadman. However, the University claims the bucking horse and rider used as the University’s logo is Steamboat with crack buster Guy Holt holding on.
But we’re not going to listen to the University. We’re going to go with everyone else in Wyoming because we like them better. So, let’s start with the bronc, Ol’ Steamboat.
The year Steamboat foaled is also disputed. I’ve found anywhere from 1894 to 1901. We can discount 1901 since Steamboat “first attracted public attention at the Festival of Mountains and Plains in Denver in 1900.” (Pro Rodeo Hall of Fame). But he was foaled on the Foss Ranch in Wyoming. While gentle when led by Frank Foss’s young son, no ranch hand could hold him long enough to get a saddle on his back. Foss realized the black colt was never going to be a cow pony and sold him to the Two Bar Ranch in Bosler, Wyoming.
Busters at the Two Bar were the only ones busted by the wild horse. The top buster, enraged at being bested by the big black hit the horse across the nose with the butt of his quirt. The blow damaged the horse’s nasal cavity and ever after the horse whistled like a steamboat whenever he got riled up and started bucking. From Texas to Canada the legend of Steamboat “the whistlin’ hoss” was known.
Steamboat was sold to John Coble of Bosler not long after the cruel incident that gave him his name. Coble saw the black for what he was and began entering him in rodeos such as the Festival of Mountains and Plains and Cheyenne Frontier Days Rodeo. The bronc started taking first place from the start, and much to the pain and suffering of many a cowboy his career was off and bucking.
“I’ve seen ‘em all for 65 years and I never saw a buckin’ hoss to top Steamboat. First off, he was big and powerful—1,100 pounds—and tireless. Fact is, he was the closest thing to perpetual motion that ever wore hair. He’d start to squat when they threw the saddle on him and by the time the bronc buster was set in the stirrups Steamboat’s belly’d be almost touchin’ the arena dust. Then, the second they’d jerk that blindfold he’d explode! He’d bust out to the middle of the arena as if he wanted the stage all to himself and he’d put on the damnedest exhibition of sunfishing and windmilling I ever seen. His best trick was to swap ends between jumps and come down ker-slam on four ramrod legs. His head and forelegs would be twisted one way and his rump and hind legs another. When he was goin’ all out, he seemed to be on a great big invisible pogo stick. Few men could stand that kind of battering without bleeding from the nose, and most became nauseated as well. Sometimes, no matter how tight a rider laced his buckin’ corset, he’d wind up with broken ribs. Bronc riders are harder’n scrap iron, but ol’ Steamboat put some of the toughest into the hospital for repairs.” (Rodeo buff Jack Bowers in Sports Illustrated interview)
It’s difficult to compare the broncs of yesterday to those in today’s rodeo. Horses did not exit a chute, but were “snubbed to the saddlehorn of a rider” or blindfolded while the rider mounted and then turned loose. Horses were ridden for 30 seconds, or sometimes until they stopped bucking. Regardless of the changes to the sport, Steamboat remains one of the greatest bucking horses of all time. To his last event he never stopped bucking with all he had.
Coble sold Steamboat to Charley Irwin who operated a Wild West Show with his brother. In 1914, Steamboat met a sad end when he contracted blood poisoning after running into a barbed-wire fence.
Steamboat earned the moniker, “the horse that couldn’t be ridden” from his early days at the Two Bar. The truth was, the bronc was ridden by some of the best bronc busters of the early 20th Century including: Harry Brennan, Clayton Danks, Guy Holt, Tom Minor, Dick Stanley and Thad Sowder.
Who’s the cowboy riding Steamboat on the State symbol? We don’t know…Once again thanks for coming…Okay, okay…
Over the years the debate has been whittled down to Albert Jerome “Stub” Farlow from Lander who rode Steamboat (for a little while at least) at the Albany County Fair Grounds, or Guy Holt. Holt rode Steamboat in Cheyenne.
But I have to agree with the University of Wyoming whichever horse and rider inspired the symbol “the bucking horse and rider represents the toughness and never-say-die spirit that is Wyoming.”
What we do know about the symbol. The first use of the Bucking Horse and Rider dates back to 1918. It was used as an insignia worn by members of the Wyoming National Guard in France and German during World War I. The insignia used by soldiers was designed by First Sergeant George N. Ostrom of E Battery, 3rd Battalion, 148th Field Artillery Regiment, AEF. The United States Army adopted the insignia and used it as a means of identification on gun trails, trucks, helmets and other equipment. The BH&R was used extensively by Wyoming units during Korea, Vietnam as a rallying point and “symbol of pride and reminder of home.”
In 1935, then Secretary of State Lester Hunt (he later became Governor) proposed changes to the Wyoming license plate design. He commissioned Mr. Allen T. True to “put to paper” his concept, which included the Bucking Horse and Rider. In 1936, the famous Bucking Horse & Rider license plates debuted and the State obtained copyright for the image.
Wyoming’s license plates have gone through many changes over the year, but every plate design included the famous Bucking Horse and Rider. No matter which horse and rider is depicted every Wyomingite displays this symbol with pride.
There ya go folks. Now y’all can sleep well tonight knowin’ the answer to this burnin’ question, or ya can toss and turn fightin’ about which horse and rider is depicted. Either way, I feel Cookie and me have done some good today.
Speakin’ of my coffee makin’ rattlesnake of a partner and myself, y’all will notice the blog has been cut to once every other week. This might be how the trail goes for a mite longer as we get adjusted to our new campfire. I’m sorry we won’t have time to host all those top hand authors, and while we might bring one round the campfire now and again, I just can’t give my word to ‘em that I can do justice to their ace high stories…and ya know what they say ‘bout a woman’s word on the trail. As for another short story…well I just might have one of those bloomin’ come spring.
Hope y’all will stick with Cookie and me as we adjust to the trail and get all our mavericks herded. Oh, and if ya’d like to mosey on over to the “About” area I’ve added a bit more.
Help yourself to a bit more of Cookie’s coffee iffin’ ya can stomach it, and feel free to sit ‘round the campfire and debate those bucking horses and bronc bustin’ cowboys.
If ya want to read more about Steamboat a good read is: Steamboat, Legendary Bucking Horse: His Life and Times, and the Cowboys Who Tried to Tame Him by Candy and Flossie Moulton.
Good as Cookie’s coffee is, after a long day of fillin’ up on dust on the trail ya wanna sit back with a cold brew or soda pop…Oh yeah, cowboys love a grape or orange pop, look it up… And the place brewin’ up the best is the Sheridan Brewing Company!
In 1887, Arnold Tschirgi, George Paul, and Peter Demple, joined forces to found The Sheridan Brewing Company. First they had to avoid robbers’ intent on stealing the business’s start-up money. Thieves were common along the Cheyenne to Deadwood stage line. So, the men sent the $10,000 in gold by the Northern Pacific Railroad to Custer Station, and transported the capital the rest of the way by wagon. By 1888, the brewery distributed its first product.
A year later, in 1889, The Sheridan Brewery expanded its operations, producing millions of barrels of beer before Prohibition in the 1920s. Undeterred by this law, the brewery shifted to new products like near beer Sherex and an assortment of fruit-flavored soft drinks.
By the end of Prohibition in 1933, the brewery was producing 600 barrels of bear a day. By 1954, 60,000 barrels a year left the brewery, and at this time the Sheridan Brewery stopped its beer operations and focused on soda pop. That same year the brewery became the first company in the United States to bottle its products in flat-topped cans.
The Can-a-Pop Beverage Company quickly became the leading producer of canned soft drinks larger than any other plant in America. Franchises started up in Los Angeles and Compton, California and Peoria, Illinois. But as quickly as Can-a-Pop sprung to the top, its bubble was popped by such brands as Coca Cola, Pepsi, Fanta and Nehi. These brands held national recognition and advertising and edged out the hometown soda company.
The brewery was torn down in 1994, and a park is now at the spot of Sheridan Brewing Company. But never fear there are still plenty of places in Sheridan, Wyoming to have a cold one…Right Cookie?
SOURCES:
Pictures from the Sheridan County Museum
Blair, Pat, Prater, Dana and the Sheridan County Museum. Images of America: Sheridan. Arcadia Publishing, 2008.
Well lookey here, can y’all believe it’s another year gone by? Cookie and me, we’ve been settlin’ in back home in Wyomin’ and WHOO-EEE the campfire sure does smell sweeter out here!
2013 is the 125th Anniversary of Sheridan County Wyoming!! YEEE-HAW!! So throughout the year, I’ll be sharin’ some of the highlights of this county! All of my stories are set in this area of Wyoming, or have ties to it, and after readin’ a bit about its history, y’all will know why!
Today we’re gonna visit the sportin’ houses of Sheridan. Cookie, bless his soul, offered to “interview” the gals! Cookie now has a bump on his head where a cast iron skillet “slipped” from my hand. J
‘Nough of that, let’s get goin’…
March 9, 1888, Sheridan County Wyoming was founded with the county seat being the town of Sheridan. Ranches, mines, railroads, mills and a brewery all became important entities of Sheridan’s history. As much a part of this history were Sheridan’s brothels. The town’s red light district boomed from 1888 through the early 1900s with the last of the “houses” closing in the 1960s.
The Sheridan County census, in 1900, listed Jane Stewart “Missoula Jane” and along with six other “dressmakers” and two “laundresses” living on Val Vista and First Streets. Police records that same year recorded Jane Stewart’s arrest for renting a house to Ida Fitzgerald for prostitution.
Lizzie Lane ran a house on East Grinnell Avenue. Lizzie came from Kentucky, as did the cook she brought with her. Her seven girls, all black, ranged in age from 22 to 29 and came from various parts of the South.
Fifteen Ladies of Ill Repute were arrested for violating Ordinance #72, Sect. 3. Thirteen of the girls were fined $5.50 each. Two, Nellie Lay and Vivian Crawley were fined $15.50, leading researchers to believe their higher fine meant these women were the proprietors.
Despite arrests and fines, by 1910, houses of ill repute lined East Grinnell Street. Main Street, North Connor and Custer also had a few houses scattered among other businesses and residences. The census listed 70 “soiled doves” in business. They are listed as inmates in houses of prostitution or proprietors. Sixteen houses are marked F.B. on the city’s map. This meant there was a female border (i.e. prostitute) at that house.
A further look at the city’s census records from the early 1900s sheds light on why “female borders” were choosing to settle in Sheridan. At this time Sheridan had a population of 10,000, with the majority of the population being very young men in their 30s and unmarried. Sheridan, the city and the county, was a region of mines, railroads, construction jobs, and of course cowboys.
It was also a time of few choices for women if they were single, divorced or abandoned. One researcher found that “out of 39 of the prostitutes on the census were single, seven divorced, 17 had been married, or were married, with a total of 12 children.” (George Gligoria)
Some of the “respectable” women of Sheridan benefited from the working girls selling them dishes and making their clothes. One woman remembers her aunt making dresses, slippers, handbags and lingerie for the girls during the early 1900s. Though she managed a peek at some of the items, her aunt kept the lingerie well hidden from prying eyes. She also never saw the girls and didn’t know if they came to the house, or her aunt went to them.
She recalled the skirts being “hobble skirts; tight from the hip down with a drape up to the knees…Some were split. They were very tight. Girls could hardly walk in them. They were sleeveless with a low-cut neckline.” Surprisingly, the dresses had no frills like lace or beads, but they were always made of satins in shades of pinks, greens, yellows, and blues. Their slippers were covered in satin to match. Cantaloupe seeds would be washed, dried and strung to tack on the satin handbags and the dresses. As the girl walked the seeds would shake and show satin.
Not all of the soiled doves in Sheridan wore satin. As in most places there were four levels of prostitution in Sheridan. From the elegant parlor houses like The Castle to the middle-class saloons and finally the cribs and hog ranches that catered to the lowest class of men. Street walking was all but eliminated in the city by arrests and fines. There was a limit to what was acceptable to the citizens of Sheridan.
By 1919, there was a shift to the Red Light district from Grinnell to Main and East Works. Prostitution houses included My Hotel, Rex Hotel, Irma Hotel, Elgin Rooms, the Shirley House, and a sheep wagon parked behind Crescent.
Prohibition failed to curtail prostitution in Sheridan. There were more arrests, but through the 1930s the Rex Hotel, the Irma and the Antlers and the Palm rooms continued to operate without interruption. Side note: Prohibition didn’t curtail drinking in Wyoming either because…it’s Wyoming, but that’s a story for another day.
One of the most infamous madams was Pearl Logan, born Pearl Colett. Although Pearl ran a series of rooming houses for over 40 years, she is best known as the proprietor of the Rex Hotel from 1930 to 1960. Five working girls resided in the large rooming house. During her long rein at the Rex, Logan secured a strong affinity with law enforcement, tenants and the girls. Sheepherders and cowboys who came to town for a bender, or for an entire off -season trusted Pearl more than the local banks and left most of their earnings with Logan. She kept their money safe from gambling tables and thieves and a cowpoke’s summer wages remained safe.
Image courtesy of the Sheridan County Museum
When the U.S. Government decided to get tough on sexually transmitted diseases, Pearl did her part posting the pamphlets around the Rex. The Rex closed in 1965, along with all the big houses, when County Attorney Henry Burgess ran a campaign to stop prostitution and gambling. Pearl Logan died in 1977.
Despite the taboo of their profession the women were said to be “extremely clean, well-cared for by doctors and very likable.” The women who sold items to them described them as nice women.
A cab driver from the early 1950s said the girls were great tippers. They would tip 50 cents to a dollar on a fare of 35 to 40 cents. However, as nice as he thought the girls were he transported them “solo” rather than with other customers.
Whether parlor house or crib, these women lived harsh lives often cut short by disease or violence, but the fact is these women lived and contributed to the history of Sheridan. Some of the women were able to secure a bit of respect, and from what I could find most were considered kind and generous by many of Sheridan’s citizens.
This is not meant to be the whole story, just a small peek behind the locked doors of Sheridan’s rooming houses.
“No, Cookie, ya can’t do further research! Ya just get yerself back to the campfire and stay away from the Rex!” Ol’ dirty codger…
I better go make sure he don’t get sidetracked! See y’all next time!
SOURCES:
THE SHERIDAN PRESS. “Working Girls: Early Sheridan Haven for Brothels.” Saturday-Sunday, August 21-22, 1999. pgs. 1-2.
THE LOG. “The Business of Sin in Sheridan.” Vol. 2, Number 1, Spring 2010. Pgs. 1 and 7.
