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I have a friend named Mike in Pine City, Minnesota. He's a retired ol' cowpoke from the Pryor Mountains in Montana and he goes by the tag of "Grasshopper". Mike used to shoe horses (farrier), while ridin' for the Adrian Wilson brand in the mountains just east of Red Lodge. We're happy to have you with us Mike and hope these next few lines bring back some pleasant memories for you.
ReplyDeleteIn the early West, without written law and its enforcement, it became necessary for Westerners to formulate some sort of “table of rules”, or framework of common courtesy and decent behavior. Never written into statutes, certain homespun laws being merely a gentleman’s agreement to certain rules of conduct, became respected everywhere on the range. Cowboys took pride in upholding the unwritten code and those failing to abide by it, although not formally punished, became more or less, socially outcast. “Hazed into the cutbacks”, a code breaker was subject to the punishment of the very code he had broken. Even outlaws, violating every territorial, state, or federal law imagined, would not break the rules in the Code Of The West if they were to have friends. Formally written nowhere, the guidelines included the following:
The Code Of The West
ReplyDeleteNever inquire into a person's past, but accept the measure of a man for what he is today. Never steal another man's horse. A horse thief pays with his life. Look out for your own and defend yourself whenever necessary. Remove your guns before sitting at the dining table. Don't make a threat without expecting dire consequences. Never pass anyone on the trail without saying "Howdy". When approaching someone from behind, give a loud greeting before you get within shooting range. Don't wave at a man on a horse, as it might spook the horse. A nod is the proper greeting. After you pass someone on the trail, don't look back at him. It implies you don't trust him. Riding another man's horse without his permission is nearly as bad as making love to his wife. Never even bother another man's horse. Never order anything weaker than whiskey and always fill your glass to the brim.
Do not practice ingratitude. A cowboy is pleasant even when out of sorts. Complaining is what quitters do, and cowboys hate quitters. Always be courageous. Cowards aren't tolerated in any outfit worth its salt. A cowboy always helps someone in need, even a stranger, or an enemy. Never try on another man's hat. Be hospitable to strangers. Anyone who wanders in, including an enemy, is welcome at the dinner table. The same was true for riders who joined cowboys on the range. Give your enemy a fighting chance. Never wake another man by shaking or touching him, as he might wake suddenly and shoot you. Real cowboys are modest. A braggart who is "all gurgle and no guts" is not tolerated. A cowboy doesn’t talk much; he saves his breath for breathing. No matter how weary and hungry you are after a long day in the saddle, always tend to your horse's needs before your own, and get your horse some feed before you eat. Cuss all you want, but only around men, horses, and cows. Complain about the cooking and you become the cook. Always drink your whiskey with your gun hand, to show your friendly intentions. Be there for a friend when he needs you. Drinking on duty is grounds for instant dismissal and blacklisting. A cowboy is loyal to his "brand”, to his friends, and those he rides with. Never shoot an unarmed or unwarned enemy - (also known as "the rattlesnake code"). Always warn before you strike. If a man was being stalked, however, the "the rattlesnake code" could be ignored. An’ never shoot a woman no matter what! Consideration for others is central to the code. Don't stir up dust around their campsite or chuckwagon. An’ don't wake up the wrong man for herd duty. Respect the land and the environment by not smoking in hazardous fire areas, disfiguring rocks, trees, or other natural areas. Honesty is absolute - your word is your bond, a handshake is more binding than a contract. Live by the Golden Rule... the "Code Of The West".
The Legend Of Diamond Mountain (submitted by Chuckwagon)
ReplyDeleteIn January 1872, a pair of unconscionably unprincipled prospectors, Phillip Arnold and John Slack, scattered a hundred-thousand dollars worth of diamonds, sapphires, rubies, and emeralds onto the ground atop a mountain in the tri-state corners of Utah, Wyoming, and Colorado! Incredibly, most of the gems have never been disturbed and remain today inside an area only a quarter of a mile square. The pair of unscrupulous California prospectors was preparing the groundwork for one of the greatest "salting" scandals in American history as they returned to San Francisco to announce their "discovery of a diamond mine". Producing "samples" from their magnificent claim, they explained the hardships and dangers involved in locating the mine. Their story was accepted almost without question as the American public dreamed of another California gold rush or Colorado gold camp bonanza. As experts from Tiffany's in New York examined the diamonds, they confirmed their tremendous value, and financiers were willing to invest big money.
Arnold agreed to guide mining engineers (provided they were blindfolded), during the three-day journey to the site located directly south of Brown's Park atop a mountain peaking at 8,933 feet. Having lost all sense of direction, the engineers paid little attention to the area's landmarks and scenery, concentrating upon the claim, as they removed their blindfolds on the fourth day. The diamonds were there all right, scattered freely upon the ground, convincing the most hardened skeptic. The men gathered over 600 diamonds the next day and a corporation was chartered. Upon their return to San Francisco, stock was prepared, claims were filed, and mining laws were developed in their favor. Arnold and Slack were paid $600,000.00 for all rights to their claim and investors couldn't shuffle them out of town quickly enough!
Discovering the fraud by examining the unmistakable marks of a stonecutter's tool, Clarence King, a government geologist, listed ten reasons diamonds could not occur naturally in the area. Further investigation traced the diamonds to Amsterdam and London where Arnold had purchased them for forty thousand dollars in 1871. Of course, by now, the prospectors had vanished completely into thin air. The number of stones used in "salting the claim" must have numbered in the thousands as in the 1800's, "bort" stones sold for only a few cents per carat. Only about 2,000 diamonds were recovered, including those used initially as bait.
Clarence King, the last person to visit the site, filed a report clearly indicating there were hundreds of stones left in the area - a fact no one seemed to be concerned about at first, as investors focused on tracking down Arnold and Slack. Detectives eventually located Phillip Arnold in his hometown of Elizabethtown, Kentucky, in possession of every cent paid to the men for the claim. John Slack was never found, as speculative supposition circulated concerning the man’s probable demise as Arnold held all the money. Slack's ultimate fate remains a mystery to this day. As investors prepared legal actions against Arnold, the man became involved in a business dispute with a local rival in Elizabethtown. The entire matter was settled when Arnold was shot between the eyes during the argument.
Diamond prices increased with time's passing while the remaining salted gems lay upon the mountaintop undisturbed. Years later, folks recalling the swindle began to realize a small fortune could be had at the site of the claim. By that time, Arnold's purchase price of $40,000.00 would have been worth almost half a million dollars. Today? Even more. However, the exact location of the quarter-mile square claim on Diamond Mountain remains a mystery!
The Horrifyin’ Hangin’ Of Black Jack Ketchum (submitted by Chuckwagon)
ReplyDeleteOn July 11, 1899, Sam Ketchum robbed the Colorado and Southern’s Flyer near Folsom in northeast New Mexico with Kid Curry and Elza Lay – fellow members of Butch Cassidy’s “Wild Bunch”. Sam’s brother, Tom “Black Jack" Ketchum, had been involved in an argument with a member of the gang and had remained in their hideout in Brown’s Park, near Vernal, Utah. The outlaws, in typical Cassidy style, rushed the train, uncoupled the engine and express car, ran it some distance up the track, and blew up the safe using dynamite. Finding nothing inside the safe, the disconsolate outlaws escaped to hole up at their previously established camp in Turkey Creek Canyon near Cimarron.
Having no trouble picking up their trail, in less than a week’s time, Huerfano County Sheriff Edward Farr, special agents William H. Reno and F.H. Smith, and six other posse members, located the men’s well-stocked hideout. Elzy Lay had hobbled several fresh horses, packed in enough grub to feed a tribe of wild Apaches, and stored away plenty of ammunition. Disappointed in having gained nothing during the robbery, they were overconfident in their retreat. About 5:00 P.M. on July 16th, the outlaws allowed their campfire to burn down a bit and were just about to grill the supper steaks. Elzy walked to the nearby creek to fill his canteen when two bullets struck him almost simultaneously. The first stung like a bee, hitting him in the back of his shoulder. The next one knocked the wind from the outlaw, causing more damage by striking him in his back. Luckily, the slug missed Lay’s spinal column as he hit the ground and became unconscious. Sheriff Farr and his posse members continued to exchange concentrated gunfire with Sam Ketchum and Harvey Logan about fifteen minutes before slowing down to reconsider their condition and collect their thoughts. Wounded in his left arm, Ketchum later claimed he took the first bullet of the firefight. Sheriff Farr was hit in the wrist and calmly bandaged the wound as the gunfight continued. Then “Kid Curry” began firing in some type of wild rage described as “that of a crazed wildcat”. One of his slugs penetrated Smith’s leg, injuring the man severely. Almost immediately the outlaw put another bullet through the chest of a volunteer posse member - a cowboy named Love - killing him almost instantly. Gunfire within the ensuing thirty minutes became so intense the participants afterward related dissimilar accounts of just what actually took place.
Elsa regained consciousness about dusk as Sheriff Farr issued the order, “Hands up”! The outlaw rolled over holding a cocked Winchester carbine and both men fired at the same time. The outlaw took yet another slug in the shoulder… the sheriff slumped to the ground gravely wounded by a 44.60 slug. The sheriff later died.
...to be continued
Without their leader, the posse temporarily withdrew to higher ground somewhere. Logan and Lay carefully examined the wounds of Sam Ketchum and patched up Elzy Lay’s shoulder as best they could under the bleak circumstances. The pair tried to assist Sam in mounting his horse but found the effort useless. Sam was in bad shape having lost a tremendous amount of blood and although barely conscious, he realized he would have to remain behind. Logan and Lay knew it as well. Somehow, Logan was able to help Lay mount his horse and checked on Ketchum one more time. Elzy and Sam reported later, they’d never heard some of the words “Kid Curry” repeated as he gigged the horses to make their escape during another torrent of lead rain. Inexplicably, Logan had not received so much as a scratch. Once past the range of short-iron shooters (pistols), Logan did not allow the horses to relent and the animals were winded by the time the pair reached the safety of the mountains. Remarkably, Sam Ketchum held out for days before being captured, although he reported having an awful time in lighting a fire with wet (bloody) matches. The posse took him to the New Mexico State Penitentiary in Santa Fe where he would receive treatment for his arm wound by a prison surgeon. However, on July 24th, Sam Ketchum succumbed to blood poisoning and died inside the prison.
ReplyDeleteHarvey Logan took his wounded partner to Red Weaver, a man he trusted, to his secluded cabin on his ranch in Eddy County. Logan rode on - eastward into Lincoln County. Red Weaver was of great service to Elsa Lay in healing three serious wounds and over a period of time, the outlaw regained his strength. However, Red Weaver hadn’t counted on his nosy neighbor, a man named Lusk, pokin’ around his place. On or about the 20th of August, Lusk rode into the county seat to find Sheriff M.C. Stewart. The sheriff, with Lusk and deputies J.D. Cantrell and Rufus Thomas, approached the cabin early on the 22nd of August as Elsa was cookin’ up a little breakfast. Weaver was away from the ranch hunting a deer. As the sheriff’s horse whinnied, Lay darted from the ranch house with a .45 in each hand heading for his horse to retrieve his saddle carbine. Encountering Deputy Thomas head on, Elzy Lay fired at the man with his Colt Peacemaker, striking him in the shoulder, before spotting Lusk and realizing Lusk had tipped off the lawmen. Leveling the big iron at Lusk with five beans in the wheel, he intended to give the man a sudden case of heartburn! Conversely, the bullet tore through the man’s wrist. Turning around quickly to check the status and position of the sheriff and the other deputy, Elzy suddenly collapsed onto the ground. Dazed and confused, the outlaw was unable to move. Sheriff Stewart had grazed the side of Elsa’s head with a Winchester .44-60 rifle slug, rendering him unconscious once again. The lawmen lost no time in handcuffing the fugitive while he was down for the count. Further, the deputy found it necessary to tie the restrained outlaw to his horse for the ride back to town.
Brought before Chief Justice W. J. Mills, Elzy was arraigned and bound over for trial to be held on October 6th, 1899. Insisting his name was William H. McGinnis, he denied having any knowledge of a train robbery. The outlaw knew if he were convicted, he was facing either “the big jump” (hanging) or “the big pasture” (lifetime imprisonment). There was simply no reason to discuss any other allegation. As the trial commenced on the 6th, a venire facias of seventy-five men were examined before a jury was selected. Following three days of testimony, the jury deliberated merely three hours. On the 10th, Justice Mills sentenced William Ellsworth Lay to serve a life term inside the New Mexico State Penitentiary at Santa Fe – a sentence never fully served – but that’s another story.
The Robbery And Hangin'... Truth Is Stranger Than Fiction
ReplyDeleteUnaware of his brother's capture and death following the robbery of the Colorado and Southern Flyer, “Black Jack” Tom Ketchum rode alone to Twin Mountains near Folsom, New Mexico where he attempted to single-handedly rob the very same train scarcely a month later. Train conductor Frank Harrington was being held up for the third time and he decided it wouldn’t happen again. Seizing his 10-gauge shotgun, he leveled it at Black Jack and fired at the outlaw, nearly removing his right elbow. Tom fired back but missed the conductor as he fell from the train onto the ground. Ketchum later stated, “I tried a dozen times to mount my horse but was too weak and dizzy from the pain”. Unable to act, the badly wounded train robber simply gave up, sat down in the dirt, and waited for the posse to arrive. Lawmen placed him back upon the train and immediately transported him to Trinidad, Colorado where his arm was amputated inside the San Rafael Hospital. When able to travel, Black Jack Ketchum was taken to Santa Fe for incarceration where the outlaw pled innocent to the charges brought against him. The judge, having “example-making” intentions, found Tom “Black Jack” Ketchum guilty, and sentenced him to hang upon the gallows!
As judicial delays took place, Black Jack - already a tall, large man - began to put on weight while spending time in Sheriff Garcia’s jail. As the weeks passed by, the hangman (Sheriff Garcia), failed to notice the prisoner letting his belt out a notch or two. Experienced neck-stretchers of the period knew hanging required careful calculation of the prisoner’s weight and a corresponding length of the rope. Not allowing for the correct rope size and drop distance could be catastrophic. In other gruesome words… the heavier the prisoner, the shorter the rope. You see pards, if a rope is too short for the convict’s weight, his neck will not be properly broken and the prisoner will strangle to death. If the rope is too long, the inmate will literally lose his head.
Black Jack’s hanging, the first conducted in Union County, was a major event as tickets were sold and businesses closed. Saloons thrived as a festival atmosphere developed. Souvenir photos were available for a nominal fee, and the county purchased a new $20.00 rope. Vendors sold food and drinks as the carnival - circus mood intensified and spectators gathered ‘round. The very proper ladies of the “Society Seeking Law And Order”, paid top dollar for front row positions around the gallows. At last, they would see justice finally carried out when the scoundrel’s neck broke. The self-righteous “ladies” firmly believed they had a right to hear Tom Ketchum’s neck snap as they viewed the execution from merely a few feet away! And then…
As Black Jack’s time ran out, the drop fell at 1:21 P.M. and immediately, the outlaw was effectively decapitated! With bloody severed neck bones protruding above its collar, the headless trunk pitched forward toward the spectators. Gushing blood spurted upon the curious and callous nearest the scaffold. Amid the screams and gasps of the crowd, a few ol’ crows of self-appointed “Society Seeking Law And Order” fainted… as Black Jack’s headless torso dropped to the ground, quivering and spewing blood everywhere. Following a few minutes of what can only be described as sheer confusion and terror, the local physician was astonishingly required to examine the headless torso and pronounce Tom “Black Jack” Ketchum deceased. Having his head sewn back upon its torso by the undertaker, ol’ Black Jack was laid to rest inside the city cemetery at Clayton, New Mexico.
Best Wishes,
Chuckwagon
El DuckO Came To Town (somehow submitted by Chuckwagon)
ReplyDeleteAs I was out ridin, gatherin' cows all together,
I saw a young horseman just burnin' the leather.
Just whom should I meet but Cactus Jack Slade,
A man of whom legends have always been made.
He'd mounted a cougar with a Bowie knife bit,
And spurred on that cat in a desperate fit.
Tucked under his arm, his braided whip bullwhacker,
And a grizzled ol' wildcat spittin' chewin' tabacker.
His mount bent his head down, while kickin' up dirt,
As Jack grabbed a’ hold of his rattlesnake quirt.
The six-gun he carried, clutched tightly in hand,
Showed twenty-one notches, the most in the land.
Cursin' and cussin', the man rode on past,
I asked "what cha doin' a ridin' that fast?"
Atop that ol' cougar, Jack turned his head 'round,
"I'm gettin' out fast - El DuckO’s in town!"
The Secret Of Peacock’s Saloon
ReplyDeleteEgg Nog with a spirit. Delicious! But there’s a bit of history behind this Eastern Utah sheep dip… this terrifying tarantula’s tonsil twister. You see, at the turn of the last, past century, my ol' "Grampy" worked at the local lumber store in my hometown of Price, Utah - a few miles from the site where Butch Cassidy and his gang robbed the Pleasant Valley Mine Payroll at Castle Gate in April of 1897, finally riding south through my cousin’s ranch, mounting fresh horses an hour later, and disappearing into the San Raphael Swell. The “brains of the outfit”, Elsa Lay had cut the telegraph wires, confusing law officers in all directions. Posse members from the south mistook another loosely organized posse from the north and the two courageous clusters shot at each other for hours before they realized Cassidy had ridden into the San Raphael and finally into “The Maze” at Robber’s Roost. My ol’ Daddy had told me stories about men chasin’ cows into the Maze, never to be seen again.
I always called my grandfather “Grampy”, and as a young man, he supplied cottonwood planks for the raised sidewalks along an unpaved, ol’ west main street then dotted with wild saloons and other assorted shady establishments down the side streets. Saddle tramps could always stumble upon a hot poker game, “paint his nose with antifogmatics”, or enthusiastically indulge in the horizontal hula or other certain time-consuming social activities with the painted cats of the evening. Illegal yes, nonetheless quite tolerated by the general population.
One local favorite thirst emporium was that of an Englishman, a Mr. Lloyd Peacock, whose specialty was preparing his famous "Tom And Jerry" spirited eggnog recipe, and it has been said that around the holidays, cowboys sopped up the stuff like dry sponges. During the summer of 1909, William “Gunplay” Maxwell, a twice-convicted bank robber, began planning a local mine payroll robbery. He claimed the last chair and a portion of the bar inside Peacock’s Saloon for his headquarters. Receiving an anonymous tip, coal company owners asked deputy sheriff Edward Black Johnstone to thwart the plan. It was generally known that the deputy had crossed paths with the outlaw previously and Johnstone had become Maxwell’s nemesis having testified against him in a court of law, following a bungled robbery. Some called him “Shoot ‘em up Bill”.
“Shoot ‘em up Bill” had no trouble locating Maxwell inside the old Saloon on the west side of Price’s Main Street. Maxwell’s verbal abuse could be heard along the sidewalk outside the building and soon both men were facing each other in the street. Within a matter of only moments, C. L. “Gunplay” Maxwell lay dying upon the ground. Firing twice, Johnstone thought he’d missed as the dirt churned up behind the outlaw. Then Maxwell, not even having removed his blue shooter from its holster, slumped to the dirt with two holes through his upper torso. Shoot ‘em up Bill had simply beat the man to the draw. The wives of the town’s fathers insisted the man’s body be buried outside the cemetery fence where “only decent folks were interred”. What happened to the old saloon? It remained virtually unchanged for decades and patrons could always stop by for a “Tom & Jerry” during the holidays. The place was remodeled during the mid 1970’s and the name was changed, although it is still a favorite waterin’ hole for local cowboys.
........continued below..........
Somehow, ol' Grampy acquired Peacock's famous Tom & Jerry recipe, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he won it while betting holding an inside straight! Nonetheless, it soon became an annual holiday tradition for our extended family to gather at my grandparent’s farm just west of town, on the evening of the 23rd of December for some celebratory eggnog cheer. Of course, the children had the recipe without the spirits. This stuff is “perty dang good” and I hope you try it.
ReplyDelete"Tom And Jerry’s"
(Peacock's Saloon 110 -Year-Old Secret Egg Nog Recipe)
10 eggs
1 quart of milk
2 cups of sugar
cinnamon
nutmeg
rum and whiskey
Gradually, warm two cups of milk on the ol' wood stove then reserve it. Separate the eggs and beat the yolks together with two cups of sugar. Continue beating the mixture until it stiffens. Beat the egg whites separately and add one tablespoon of vanilla extract. Excluding the milk, fold (don’t stir), all the ingredients together until the mixture is smooth and stiff. Gradually add the hot milk until the mixture is smooth and creamy. Note the amount of milk necessary will depend upon the size of the eggs. Pour the mixture into mugs and add one jigger of whiskey and 1/2 jigger of rum to each. Stir slowly and sprinkle with ground nutmeg and cinnamon to taste. I like to use a little allspice in mine. Relax and enjoy Tom & Jerry’s with your family.
Best Wishes,
Chuckwagon
“Old Ranch Remedies, Wisdom, And Wives’ Tales”
ReplyDeleteAs I reflect upon more pleasant earlier days of soap-making, beer brewing, and mushroom canning, I must include a few of my favorite two hundred-year-old remedies and recipes you may enjoy reading for amusement. I really wouldn’t try potassium cyanide on insects or egg yolks on a snakebite!
Don't throw out orange skins. Boil them and use the water for bathing as it gives a fresh appearance to the complexion so vitally important to horse wranglers, cow kickers, and polecats. If you happen to receive a blackened eye as the consequence of an inappropriate discretion or indecorous behavior, bathe the area with very warm orange water, apply raw beef steak to the affected area, and terminate any indiscreet, indecent, unwholesome, or bawdy demeanor or licentious comportment. If you're just worried sick about the whole thing and have acquired a splitting headache, try a teaspoon of charcoal in half a glass of water.
Revitalize any hair you have remaining upon your scalp by pouring one pint of boiling water into one ounce of oil of tar. Stir the mixture, allow it to cool, skim the liquid and pour it through a piece of cheesecloth. Add bay rum to infuse a milky appearance. Add one-half ounce of extract burdock root, and one half drachum of tincture of lobelia. Brush the scalp thoroughly every day and apply the renewer.
A good hard soap is made of six pounds of sol soda, six pounds of lard, three pounds of limestone and four gallons of soft water. Dissolve the lime and soda in boiling water, stir it frequently, and then allow it to settle. Pour off the liquid carefully, add the lard, and boil the mixture until it thickens. Stir in one-ounce sassafras oil and use the soap for laundry and toiletry purposes. If you happen to receive a rattlesnake bite while preparing the soap, make a stiff paste of egg yolk and table salt, applying it to the wound at once.
Treat a rusty nail injury by smoking the wound over the fumes of burning woolen cloth, wool, or sugar, fifteen minutes for the reduction of pain. As you most likely will pass out from the odor within the first five minutes, it will not be necessary to use a timing device.
A solution of cyanide of potassium will kill insects, however, my favorite home brewed, eco-friendly, bug-killing spray for plants is a pureed mixture of 3 onions, 1 whole garlic, 2 tablespoons hot red pepper, and 1 tablespoon baking soda, mixed with a quart of soapy water.
For tired, burning feet, remove those tight riding boots and soak your feet fifteen minutes nightly in a pint of bran mixed with an ounce of bicarbonate of soda and a gallon of hot water. The pores of the skin being tightly enclosed cause feet to perspire less, producing a burning sensation. On the other hand, it might be a good idea to leave your boots on your feet, as I've seen cowboy's perspiration-soaked socks actually start stampedes of cattle!
Best Wishes,
Chuckwagon
Hi Wranglers,
ReplyDeleteThat ol’ Duck has been working like crazy to get us “up and runnin”. What a job he’s doing! But, wow, he sure causes a lot of hot air to rush through our office… and our office is around the ol’ campfire… OUTSIDE! Now, I’m not sayin’ the Duk is full of beans… Shucks, I’m not even sayin’ he’s full of hot air. I’m just sayin’ there sure is a lot of hot air and wind around these parts! It was so windy here yesterday that I just stayed inside the ranch kitchen. I didn't dare go outside, so I drilled a hole in the kitchen wall and stuck a crow bar through it to see if I could feel any resistance to the stiff wind. Oh yeah! When I tried to pull it back inside, I found that the “prevailing” wind had bent the crowbar at a right angle! Sheeyuks, that hot air moves so quickly around here that very often it will cause the rattlesnakes to bite their own rattles, then when they form a loop, they just roll around the prairie in loops. Why... I've even seen a stiff wind blow a herd of snake loops right up the side of a steep mountain! Yup, that’s just the way it is!
Best Wishes,
Chuckwagon
Glad to be here
ReplyDelete...glad ta have ya here. The old remarks (or were they warnings?) about grabbin' some Arbuckles' still apply, out here somewhere beyond civilization. ...in the dark. ...sniff.
ReplyDeleteBut at last, not alone. Thanks fer comin'.
Are you wondering what all this noise about “Arbuckles” is about? Well, at the close of the Civil War, two brothers, John and Charles Arbuckle, were the first to uniformly roast a consistently fine quality coffee to be packaged in one pound bags. No longer did cowboys have to crush coffee beans and roast them in a skillet. Arbuckles’ “Ariosa Blend” Coffee caught on like wild fire and became so popular in the Old West that most cowboys didn't even know that there was any other. It is still known as the Original Cowboy Coffee. In the late 1930’s, the family broke up their production and the only family-brand that survived was Yuban. Then in 1974, Pat and Denney Willis - concerned with the inconsistent quality of coffee they were forced to serve in their restaurants – revived the hundred-year-old classic coffee “Ariosa Blend”. Yup, it’s still, “The Coffee That Won the West” and it is packaged “whole bean or ground” (your choice), in one pound increments with a Peppermint stick, just as the Arbuckle Brothers had done over a century before. Arbuckles Coffee today operates a 7,000 sq ft. facility deep in the heart of the Old West in historic Tucson, Arizona, where you may see John Arbuckle’s hand written notes, before his death in 1914, showing he was trying to create a roasting method that suspended the coffee bean in mid-air to lower the possibility of scorching from the hot metal roasting drum. So, as their company spokesman says, “Brew up a pot of Arbuckles’ partner… and enjoy the Sunrise!”
ReplyDeleteBest Wishes,
Chuckwagon
The First Trans-Atlantic Flight
ReplyDeleteYup… and that’s not all! :shock:
Most people don’t realize it, but the first trans-Atlantic flight WAS NOT performed by that ol' phony Charles Lindberg in his bucket of bolts he called "The Spirit Of St. Louis". No, no, noooo indeed! And only I… Chuckwagon – history intransigent sui generis extraordinaire – will soon put an end to this preposterous, pagan poppycock… baseless, infuriating balderdash, and erroneous, whimsical nonsense!
Actually, the first ocean crossing was made by my grandfather's uncle's first cousin Blanche’s husband, Colonel “Wagonchuck” Propwash, a hard-boiled, bawdy, barnstormer from Fuselage Flats, Nevada, while en-route to a hot poker game in Paris in his trusty bi-plane.
You see, Ol’ Propwash loved merely three things in life… poker, red-hot chili, and his beloved bi-plane "Ol' Rip" – the sole means of escaping the constant nagging of his wife Blanche. So, he often gassed up Ol’ Rip, grasped his joystick, and flew away to exhilarating week-end poker games in distant, exciting cities.
Now, Wagonchuck Propwash had no idea that “Aileron Ears” Lindberg was even entertaining the thought of venturing across the Atlantic, and in fact, the ol’ amiable, aromatic aviator actually became the first to cross the ocean quite by inadvertent happenstance.You see, just before take-off, the ol’ fragrantly-pungent Colonel, with his adoration for spicy provender, avariciously consumed three bowls of Mama Maria's Chili, four pickled eggs, three Senor Pepe’s hot bean tacos, a bowl of Brussels sprouts, and some garbage in a rare brie.
Now pards, it has been said that "Ol' Rip" actually contained enough GAS that day, to propel the flying poker menace around the circumference of the earth at least eight times! Commenting on the poker game following the flight, (which has been called, "The Blast To Paris"), ol' odoriferous Uncle Wagonchuck Propwash exclaimed, "I'm returning home a very wealthy man after filling an inside straight flush followed by a royal flush! I guess you could say I really blew 'em away!" And that’s the way it really, really, was! :wink:
Best wishes,
Chuckwagon
The First Man On The Moon
ReplyDeleteEveryone knows historical facts often become distorted. For instance, it really wasn’t Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin who stepped onto the surface of the moon that summer day in 1969 – as reported to every third-grade history student in America. No, no, nooo, indeed! And only I, Chuckwagon – history intransigent sui generis extraordinaire – will soon put an end to this preposterous, pagan poppycock… baseless, infuriating balderdash, and erroneous, whimsical nonsense!
Oh, it was May 20th, 1969 alright, but it was actually my second cousin’s adopted brother, Lunar “Mooney” Ripsuit, a bad-sausage making, stowaway, who descended the ladder and stepped backward onto the lunar surface. Over 450 million listeners back on Earth came within seconds of hearing Mooney’s real words, “Houston… We’ve got a problem!… I’ve stepped in doggy doodoo!” You see, Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin, actually missed the flight when they lost track of time while playing pool and drinking luscious liquid libations at the Lacy Pink Spacesuit Bar & Tavern in downtown Cape Canaveral. Days earlier, Cousin Mooney and his sidekick Buzz Excedrin, had been sneakin’ around Mission Control with their pet buzzard named “Eagle”, just lookin’ around the place. The technicians at “the Cape” seeing the door slam on the spaceship quickly deduced the correct “astrynuts” were in control. Therefore, ultimately, and quite accidentally, a notoriously bad-salami maker, a second-rate saxaphone player from a nasty New Orleans blues band, and an old buzzard named “Eagle” were launched into space!
About the time Buzz Aldrin was yellin’, “eight ball in the side pocket”, Buzz Excedrin was turning his pet buzzard “Eagle”, loose on the surface of the moon.
“The danged, pesky, bird was drivin’ us nuts inside the ship”, yelled out Buzz Excedrin, as he stepped down the ladder. “That danged Eagle has landed”, screeched cousin Mooney, shaking his leg while looking around for the moon mutt responsible for the lunar lump he’d stepped in.
Now, I’m not saying our government ever changes actual history, but the transmission that came back to Mooney contained the words, “Cover it up! Cover it up! Of course Mooney thought the words were actual orders to rake lunar dust over the compressed canine composition. As he was looking around for a shovel, he mumbled something to Buzz Excedrin about taking a giant step for mankind… over the doggy doodoo! Buzz gratefully acknowledged and replied, “I sure hope no one else strode through the load”.
Yes, although cousin Lunar Mooney Ripsuit kept his secret all these years, he can still be seen throwing a frisbee to his faithful mutt “Moondoggy” and chasin’ his buzzard “Eagle”, on the beach of their Maui condominium! And that’s the way it really, really, was!
Best Wishes,
Chuckwagon
Red Creek Duck And A “Big Drop” Are Born (P.1)
ReplyDeleteIn the month of June 1965, the Creator decided to recalibrate and enhance the river channel of the regal Green River throughout the wee hours in the morning of the 11th day. The waters of the Yampa River had always drifted lazily into the Green River at the point John Wesly Powell recorded as a "gentle confluence". Once his rivermen had struggled through the Canyon Of Ladore, Disaster Falls, and Hell's Half Mile, they found the Green River fairly subsided near the mouth of the Yampa. Prior to the summer of 1965, children played in the mild rapids enjoying the roller coaster ride of the gentle Yampa. Boy Scouts removed their shirts and local Colorado natives delighted in camping along the river, enjoying picnics and swimming in the cool water, and relaxing in the early summer sunshine.
All hell broke loose as it began to rain again. The watershed at Warm Springs along the Yampa became supersaturated as it had rained seventeen of the preceding twenty-one days. By the end of the day on June 10th, the soil on the steep slopes had become so inundated by rainwater, it couldn't possibly hold any more moisture. Campers didn't think much about the rainy June weather as they continued to enjoy the river wearing raincoats while they pitched tents and cooked supper. Then the earth started to move! Lubricated by heavy runoff, a slurry of soil, stones, uprooted trees and brush, along with drowned animals, turned into a heavy, wandering brown soup. It picked up speed and size as its path slowly straightened and built a wall of debris about fifteen feet high!
Crashing into the Yampa, side streams added to the flash floods and the mass of rock, mud, and gravel, rolled along the river until it became dammed. For a couple of hours on the 10th, the flow of the Yampa river in Colorado was completely stopped. Downstream at Echo Park, campers watched in complete bewildering astonishment. Suddenly without forewarning, the newly formed lake tumultuously gave loose, violently dumping enormous waves and walls of mud, a half-mile in length, into the channel of the Green River. Folks described the noise as being "much like a freight train".
Daylight on the 11th, found river-runners on the upper stream, unaware of the changes that had taken place. As they entered the location, they found newly formed, eroded bordering cliffs with massive overhangs along the river. At today's "Grand Overhang", a single stone has dropped straight down from the top of the thousand-foot cliff and was actually deposited on the opposite side of the river. Without having been warned of the massive alteration, two unassuming boats entered the newly formed treacherous rapids. The pilot of the first boat broke an oar churning water that must have seemed like a nightmare. His body was washed ashore downstream at Island Park seventeen days later.
Today, Warm Springs rapid is one of the longest along the Green River. Technically, it is the most complex to negotiate in the entire Colorado drainage system. Virtual waterfalls and exposed boulders mark the way making it nearly impossible to run the rapids on the left side of the channel. Boaters must hang to the right and drift, as oars or paddles cannot possibly reach the tops of the waves upon the water's surface!
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Red Creek Duck And A “Big Drop” Are Born (P.2)
ReplyDeleteThe Green River travels 450 miles of its 730-mile length through eastern Utah. From Flaming Gorge (6,000 feet above sea level) to it's confluence with the Colorado River (3,000 feet above sea level), the river drops three thousand feet and at Split Mountain, downstream from Brown's Park, it drops 21 feet per mile, creating some of the most difficult rapids on the entire river. Fed by the Yampa and White Rivers from the east, and by the Duchesne, Price, and other mountain streams from the west, the Green gathers even more reinforcement along its journey toward it's confluence with the Colorado River just east of Robber's Roost at a place called "The Maze".
The length of the Colorado River and its main tributary, the Green River, is 2/3rds the width of the entire United States. Covering about 2,000 miles in combined total length, the rivers drain 300,000 square miles of the west - an area large as Minnesota, Wisconsin, Iowa, Illinois, and Missouri combined! I am willing to bet Sunday's grilled duck, its bottom is lined with metal, rusting Dutch ovens and canoes, several of which are mine! Although I make no claim to be a great river-runner, my biscuits "ain't bad"!
"Red Creek Duck"
(Dutch Oven Roasted Duck)
Red Creek Duck is prepared in three steps. First, the bird is steamed, the skin being punctured in several places, providing an escape for as much hot, rendering fat as possible. Second, it is dried overnight before being roasted. Third, it is smoked and roasted. Is it worth all this effort? Ohhhh yeah!
Never skin a duck! Simply prick the skin in several places without piercing the meat. Don’t get carried away. A few small holes allow drippings to drain adequately and freely. Place the duck upon its back upon an elevated cake rack inside a large camp (black cast-iron) Dutch oven containing a little water for steaming. Over medium-high heat, steam the bird twenty minutes with the lid in place, keeping the bird out of the water. Discard the water and allow the duck to cool and dry, hanging it up overnight.
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Hmmmmm... Somethin' tells me this yarn isn't going to end well for some of my buddies. I'm gonna post a picture of a broken oar, dated Summer, 1977, marked "Warm Spring Rapid," that we have somewhere in this here closet. (...rummaging noises.) I'll tell ol' CW that it was broken over the head of one of the outfitters, instead of among the rocks. Maybe that'll deter the pesky rascal from cookin' any more cute li'l ducks.
DeleteDuk
Red Creek Duck And A “Big Drop” Are Born (P.3)
ReplyDeleteNext day, rub as much “Red Creek Duck Rub” mixture between the skin and the flesh in as many places as possible, including the cavity, then tie the duck's legs together. Try placing half an onion inside the duck for even more flavor.
"Red Creek Duck" Rub
1/2 stick butter
pinch of white and cayenne peppers
pinch of onion and garlic powders
pinch of dry thyme
a "shake" of paprika
salt and black pepper to taste
3 tblspns. orange juice concentrate
The recipe for the rub is a little different from others, as you tweak it to your own preference. Use half a stick of butter and sprinkle a little white and cayenne pepper on it. Sprinkle on a bit of onion and garlic powder… not much – just to your taste. Add a pinch of dry thyme and a sprinkle of paprika. Salt and pepper the mixture and then mix in a few tablespoons of orange juice concentrate until it become smooth.
If you’re on the trail, place moistened alder sawdust and a little black tea inside a flat packet of loosely wrapped tinfoil inside your camp black-iron Dutch oven. Place the duck on a slightly elevated cake rack and smoke it lightly with the lid slightly ajar for twenty minutes over medium-low heat. Remove the foil with the charred sawdust, and finish roasting the duck. If you’re at home, why not use your barbecue grill to do the smoking twenty minutes as the bird is being roasted? If you would rather use your kitchen oven for roasting, simply smoke the bird outside on the grill twenty minutes first.
Roast the duck 25 minutes per pound at 375 degrees. If the bird browns too quickly during the last thirty minutes, lower the heat to 350 degrees. On the trail, rotate the Dutch oven and add coals to the lid. Roast the duck until its internal meat temperature is 165° F. The carry over effect will finish the bird at about 172°F.
The pros cook the bird's legs and thighs five minutes longer than its other parts. At home, it's convenient to use a black skillet inside your kitchen oven to roast a quacker, uncovered, at 375 degrees F., for 25 minutes per pound. Watch the bird carefully and remember to turn the heat down to 350 degrees F. if it starts to brown too quickly during the last half-hour. The process is simple and produces a glaze and flavor on the bird you must sample to believe! Most folks make an amazing discovery at this point… the flavor of the crispy, browned skin is worth fighting for... with Colt .45's! Enjoy my duck recipe… it’s a good-un’.
Best Wishes,
Chuckwagon
Everyone’s Afraid Of Ducks! (P.1)
ReplyDeleteWhat’s all this noise about Ducks… Ducks… Ducks?
John Wesley Powell and his men were poisoned on July 6th, 1869, having eaten "potato tops" from a garden found along the Green River! A weathered old trapper named Johnson, and his Ute Indian wife had planted the garden during the previous winter and now the men all became sick, vomiting severely "groaning and tumbling in the trees". An entry in Powell's journal states "potato tops are not good on the sixth day of July". Two days later, the one-armed Major Powell, with fellow river man G.Y. Bradley, climbed a 2,000 foot red-rock wall of the canyon and peered back into the abyss. Failing to reach the chasm's crest, Powell named it Desolation Canyon on the eighth of July. Our ranch is located on the plateau westward up and out of this “Desolation Canyon” on the Green River where my grandfather homesteaded the land. The Green flows through this craggy canyon and merges with the Colorado River downstream just before it enters the notorious Cataract Canyon - called "the graveyard of the Colorado". Its rapids have killed more men than any other river in the entire west! On July 9th, Powell described the river as "rough" and stopped at a "canyon valley stretching up toward the west, it's farther end lost in the mountains". Powell, depicting the ninety-mile-long gorge, later named it Nine-Mile Canyon. Finally succeeding in another attempt to climb the canyon wall, riverman Seneca Howland shot a deer on the high plateau and pushed it’s life sustaining carcass into the river from the fifteen-hundred foot high cliff. Nearby, the canyon boasts the enclosure of an ancient Anasazi village, complete with granery and the world's largest concentrated display of ancient Fremont and Anasazi Indian pictographs and petroglyphs.
The Ducks Have It Made!
The ducks in this country have it made! They know almost everyone is afraid to cook them because of their unusually high fat content. Actually, there's no big mystery regarding their preparation and with just a few ol sourdough’s rules, you may make El DuckO and his cousins very nervous once more. Did you know that the tasty “Long Island ducks” are not native to the United States? Our non-native, domestic, Long Island duck has only been in North America since 1873 - nearly a decade following the Civil War - when only nine birds were imported to Long Island, New York!
Americans attempting to render the large amount of fat stored beneath its skin usually made the simple mistake of overcooking this Asian “Pekin” species, producing dry meat with tough texture. A properly cooked duck renders clear juices with pink flesh. Above all... it has a crispy skin!
When John Wesley Powell made his way down the Green And Colorado Rivers in 1869, America's only ducks were entirely untamed and feral. Several species of wild ducks provide more flavor and less fat than their domestic, farm-raised "Long Island" cousins, although a few types of "pond floaters" are pretty hard to choke down and taste noticeably like fish. However, generally most wild ducks boast superb flavor and require little pre-steaming, if any, to eliminate excess fat.
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Everyone’s Afraid Of Ducks! (P.2)
ReplyDelete"Desolation Duck & Dip"
(Grilled Duck With Sauces)
Have you ever grilled a duck? It’s a great way to prepare them. Grilled ducks are best cooked with garlic and ginger slivers placed inside the flesh or beneath the skin. Discard the fat just inside the body cavity of the bird and with the duck placed upon its breast, use the tip of a sharp knife to slit the fatty part of the duck beneath each wing. Insert a garlic clove and a sliver of ginger on both sides. Use the tip of the knife to prick the skin all over the bird, carefully avoiding piercing the meat. Now, place the duck, breast side up, upon the grill, rubbing the duck with salt and pepper. Magic is accomplished inside your covered gas grill, using indirect heat with the two middle burners turned off. Fruitwoods are placed in the smoker box and go particularly well with duck. Try apple or cherry. Be sure to use a drip pan to avoid flare-ups. Fire up the outside burners to medium only, then pull the cover down and cook the quacker until the skin is mahogany brown (about 1-1/2 hours). Drain the juices and fat and check the meat with a baby dial thermometer. Continue cooking the duck until it is perfectly done in about another hour or when your thermometer reads 165 degrees F. The carry over effect will finish the bird at about 172 degrees. It is very important to NOT exceed this temperature. I’d even go so far as to say your success or failure depends upon this critical finishing temperature. Allow the duck to rest five minutes before serving it with plenty of sweet and sour cherry-cinnamon sauce we call"Desolation Duck Dip".
"Desolation Duck Dip"
(Hot Cherry Sauce For Ducks)
15 oz. fresh or canned cherries
1/3 cup brown sugar
1/3 cup water
1-1/2 tspns. cornstarch
¼ cup red wine vinegar
1/2 cup port wine
juice of 1 lemon
1-cup chicken stock
1 stick cinnamon
2 tspns. honey
Inside a deep saucepan, cook the sugar, honey, vinegar, lemon juice, and the chicken stock together for a couple of minutes over medium heat. Mix the cornstarch with the cold water in a separate container then stir it into the mixture, raising the heat to thicken it. Add the remaining ingredients and continue cooking the sauce over medium heat until it is thick and bubbly. Turn the heat off, remove, and discard the cinnamon stick after five minutes.
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Everyone’s Afraid Of Ducks! (P.3)
ReplyDelete"Colorado Cranberry Duck Drench"
(Hot Cranberry Sauce For Ducks)
You can’t beat this recipe with a stick! If you like cranberries, you’ll love this sauce. Remove the duck and fat from the skillet or Dutch oven. Add the port and heat it to deglaze the utensil, scraping up any browned bits of fond. Add the butter, melt it slowly, stir in the flour, and make a roux. Next, pour in the chicken or duck broth and whisk the mixture until it is smooth and thickened. Stir in the orange juice and brown sugar then add the cranberries and cook the mixture over high heat until the cranberries pop open in 2 or 3 minutes. Add the cayenne then salt and pepper to taste. If the mixture is too tart, add more brown sugar. To serve the duck, cut it in half lengthwise and pour the sauce over each serving. Here are the ingredients you’ll need:
1/4 cup port wine
2 tblspns. butter
2 tblspns. flour
1 cup chicken or duck broth
1/4 cup orange juice
3 tblspns. brown sugar
1/2 cup fresh or frozen cranberries
dash of cayenne pepper
juice of 1/2 lemon
salt and pepper
"Whiskey Springs Orange"
(Outlaw's Hot Orange Duck Sauce)
2 tspns. grated orange peel
1/2 cup orange juice
1-1/2 tblspns. orange schnapps
2 tblspns. currant jelly
1 tblspn. lemon juice
dash of dry mustard
1-1/2 tspns. cornstarch mixed in 2 tblspns. cold water
* Combine all the ingredients and heat the mixture slowly until it boils, bubbles, and thickens, stirring constantly. Serve it hot over smoked duck.
And for goodness sake! Don’t throw away your duck bones. Make some duck soup. Here’s how.
"Green River Riverwater"
(Duck Stock)
2 (5-pound) dressed ducks
3 celery ribs (quartered)
2 onions (quartered)
1 green bell pepper (quartered)
64 oz. chicken broth
2 quarts water
2 bay leaves
5 sprigs fresh thyme
1 tspn. black peppercorns
Place the ducks on a rack in a large Dutch oven and bake them at 350° until a meat thermometer inserted into the thickest portion registers 170° (about 2 hours). Cool the ducks completely then remove the meat from the bones (to be used for another dish). Combine the duck bones and the remaining ingredients in the Dutch oven and bring the liquid to boil. Immediately reduce the heat and barely simmer the liquid uncovered, for an hour. Skim the fat and foam from the top of the stock following the first 10 minutes of simmering, and then pour the stock through a wire-mesh strainer into a large bowl, discarding the solids.
Best Wishes,
Chuckwagon
Great Salt Lake “Yoo-Taw Cold Smoked Tuna”
ReplyDeleteNow pards, it is rumored by certain half-smilin' and truth-stretching local desperados, that huge, seven foot, Great Salt Lake Nocturnal Tuna Fish roam freely about the shore of Antelope Island on warm nights with a full moon shining. Walking upright upon their tail fins about midnight, these critters have been known to audibly replicate and mimic shouting cowboys with drawn-out, bone-chillin’, high-pitched screams of "yoo-taw". Yes, yes... so often does this rare nerve-rattling phenomenon occur, that the Great Salt Lake Tuna has become known as the Yoo-Taw Tuna Fish. And that's not all! It seems there is so much salt in the lake that the fish are no longer able to submerge. In fact, their hides have become so toughened by all that salty saline solution, they're very much in demand as "fish leather"... giving all the bulls and cows out here, fits of jealousy!
Best Wishes,
Chuckwagon
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ReplyDeleteAces n’ Eights - The “Dead Man’s Hand” (P. 1)
ReplyDeleteThe Legend Of Wild Bill Hickok
James Butler Hickok was born in Illinois on May 27, 1837 in a settlement known as Homer, now called Troy Grove. As a young man, he adopted the name William, from his father - an abolitionist and active early opponent of slavery. Unknown to most people, Hickok assisted his father in smuggling runaway slaves along the Underground Railroad, often hiding them inside a secret room in his parent's house. Involved in a fight in 1855 at age 18, with one Charles Hudson, both fell into a canal. Believing he had killed Hudson, the young man left home where he met 12-year-old William Cody (later known as “Buffalo Bill”), scouting for Johnson’s Army. Working as a station attendant, teamster, and wagon master, Hickok joined the Union forces when the Civil War began, serving mostly in Kansas and Missouri, where he earned a reputation as a skilled scout, guide, and... gambler. Hickok was an impressive figure, standing 6’ 1”, wearing his long, blond, perfumed, hair swept over his shoulders. He wore a white shirt with starched collar, scarlet vest, a black frock coat, and calf-skin boots. Somewhere along his way, referring to Hickok’s long nose and protruding lip, he was tagged “Duck Bill”, although as time passed, the title evolved into “Wild Bill”. Most proficient with handguns, eyewitnesses claim Hickock could hit a dime nine out of ten times when tossed in the air. Observers also saw the man shoot an apple from a tree, then hit the apple with another bullet… before it struck the ground!
Hickok preferred to tuck his two ivory-handled .44-caliber pistols in his belt-sash, drawing them crosswise. Never using holsters, he was also known to carry a Colt 1851 Navy and a model 1866 Williamson derringer, although at the time of his death, he was carrying a lighter caliber Smith & Wesson .32-caliber pistol. At age 24 in 1861, Hickok killed David McCanles, in Rock Creek, Nebraska. Working for a freight company that owed McCanles money, an unarmed Hickock was confronted by the man collecting his debt. Hickok shot the man from behind a curtain and was later arrested for murder. During the trial, McCanles's 12-year-old son, a witness to the shooting, was not permitted to testify, and Hickok was acquitted after pleading self-defense.
On July 21, 1865, Hickok killed Davis Tutt in one of the very few actual “quick draw” gunfights in the west. The incident, precipitated by a dispute over a gambling debt incurred at a local saloon, took place in the town square of Springfield, Missouri. The dispute became exacerbated by the mention of their long standing feud over a mutual girlfriend Susannah Moore.
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Aces n’ Eights - The “Dead Man’s Hand” (P. 2)
ReplyDeleteThe Legend Of Wild Bill Hickok
A striking western figure, in 1867, an article in Harper's Magazine made Hickok famous as he was elected sheriff of Ellis County, Kansas at Hays, where he shot lawbreakers Sam Strawhim and Jack Mulroy in 1869. A year later, Hickok shot and killed army private John Kelly during a drunken fracus. Failing in his bid for re-election, he was appointed city marshal of Abilene, Kansas, where he set up his office inside the Alamo Saloon, spending much of his time playing poker and drinking. As marshal of Abilene, Hickok earned $150 a month, a nice sum in those days, and received a 50-cent bonus for every unlicensed dog he shot within city limits. Here, he shot and killed troublemaker Phil Coe, a business partner of gunman Ben Thompson in the ownership of the infamous Bulls Head Saloon. On October 5, 1871, Hickok ordered Coe to surrender his pistol after discharging it within the city limits. Coe turned his gun on the marshal but failed to shoot as he fell dead on the street. Then catching a glimpse of movement of someone running toward him, the marshal quickly fired two shots in reaction, accidentally shooting, and killing Deputy Marshal Mike Williams, who had been coming to his aid. Although the shooting had been entirely accidental, the event haunted Hickok the remainder of his days. The lawman continued drinking heavily, and though he kept the town relatively peaceful, the city council discharged him less than two months later. Later arrested for vagrancy several times, he somehow maintained his relationship with Mary Jane Canary - a woman known to many as “Calamity Jane”.
In 1876, at age 39, Hickok was diagnosed having both gonorrhea and glaucoma. It became apparent Hickok’s extraordinary markmanship suffered with his poor eyesight, and the man’s general health had been suffering for some time. On March 5, 1876, despite his failing health, he married Agnes Thatcher Lake, a circus proprietor eleven years his senior. Mary Jane Canary (Calamity Jane) later writing her autobiography, claimed she was married to Hickok, but had divorced him so he could be free to marry Agnes Lake. Hickok left his new bride to seek fortune in the goldfields near Deadwood Gulch in the Indian Territory South Dakota. Shortly before his death, he wrote a letter to his new wife, Agnes which reads in part: "Agnes Darling, if such should be we never meet again, while firing my last shot, I will gently breathe the name of my wife—-Agnes-—and with wishes even for my enemies I will make the plunge and try to swim to the other shore" and "My dearly beloved if I am to die today and never see the sweet face of you I want you to know that I am no great man and am lucky to have such a woman as you".
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This comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteAces n’ Eights - The “Dead Man’s Hand” (P. 3)
ReplyDeleteThe Legend Of Wild Bill Hickok
Living less than four decades, on Aug. 2, 1876, James Butler William “Wild Bill” Hickok entered Nuttal & Mann’s #10 Saloon, a Deadwood benzenery bit house and thirst emporium, by the rear door. Habitually seating himself with his back towards a wall, this day he found his favorite chair occupied by another gambler. The game must have been intriguing, as Bill took a chair with his back unprotected. For some time, Jack McCall, a paranoid coward with nothing beneath his hat but hair, had confronted Hickok, taunting the man and spreading the rumor that Hickok had killed his brother in Abilene. Bill, realizing the man was not in his right mind, had always managed to diffuse a bad situation using carefully chosen vocabulary. McCall, originally from Kentucky, had eventually drifted west, becoming a buffalo hunter. By 1876, he was living in Deadwood using the name Bill Sutherland. During the evening of August 1st, McCall began playing poker with Wild Bill. By the wee hours of the morning, he had lost everything he owned to the gambler. Hickok, not wishing to leave the man completely destitute, offered to buy him breakfast - a gesture McCall interpreted as the inimitable insult.
Returning to the gambling table later during the day, McCall sneaked behind Hickock. As the gambler played poker, the coward shot Wild Bill through the back of the head using a new model “double action” revolver. Jack McCall reportedly uttered, “Take that, Hickok!” When shot, Hickock was holding a pair of black aces and a pair of black eights. The fifth card, according to first-hand accounts, was a five or nine of diamonds. Thus was born the expression “dead man’s hand”. Unbelievably, McCall was found innocent by a jury of miners and businessmen, following merely two hours deliberation, in a spontaneous court held inside McDaniel's Theater. A free man, Jack McCall immediately fled to the Wyoming Territory where he bragged at length and in detail, just how he had killed Wild Bill Hickok - the man who had killed his brother in Abilene. He also stretched the truth just a bit, indicating he had shot Hickok in a “fair fight”.
Now pards, I believe the wheels of justice grind slowly, but they do grind! It seems that Wyoming authorities refused to recognize the verdict of McCall’s trial on the grounds that Deadwood was located in the Indian Territory - and with no legally constituted legislative or judicial systems, any trial at Deadwood had been held illegally, thereby rendering the verdict invalid. The federal court in Yankton, Dakota Territory, declared that double jeopardy did not apply, and contended that McCall could legally be tried again. Jack McCall was re-arrested re-tried in Yankton, Dakota Territory in 1877. Found guilty of the premeditated murder of J. B. Hickok, the twenty-four year old man was hanged upon the gallows. Following his execution, it was determined that McCall had been raised with three sisters; he’d never had a brother!
Best Wishes,
Chuckwagon