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Wicked Women:

Notorious, Mischievous, and Wayward Ladies from the Old West.

Every bed in the hospital at the military prison in Louisville, Kentucky was filled with wounded and dying men. The Civil War had officially ended on April 9, 1865, but Rebels still fighting for their lost cause refused to surrender. Union soldiers pursued renegade Confederates until they were captured or shot. Guerilla leader William Quantrill was gunned down on May 10, 1865, by a Union ranger party. Quantrill and his followers were holed up in a barn on the farm of James H. Wakefield in the southern part of Spencer County in Kentucky.

Quantrill was suffering from a serious injury. He’d been shot in the back while trying to flee the scene. A bullet struck the left side of his body near his left shoulder blade and smashed downward into his spine. The impact of the bullet knocked him off his ride face down in the mud. He struggled to get to his feet but found he was completely paralyzed below his arms.

Quantrill winced in pain when he opened his eyes and attempted to reposition himself in the crude, narrow bed where he had been placed. The thin bandage placed over his wound did not stop the blood from oozing through the bullet hole and soaking through the top cover of dirty sheets. Seventeen-year-old Sarah Catherine King was seated next to him on the bed trying to keep him still. She was a sturdy, buxom girl with striking features and raven-colored hair. She flashed a smile at the dying man, reached out, and gently took his hand in hers. The twenty-seven-year-old patient was pale, but his features were still sharp and handsome. With great effort he lifted his head to search the room for members of his loyal band of followers. The room was lighted by smoking, kerosene lamps, and the place was swarming with flies. Quantrill’s eyes came to rest on the form of a man lying in a blood-soaked bed next to him. The man was crying like a child. Quantrill didn’t recognize him. He did know Sarah however.

When Quantrill looked at Sarah, tears of pain rolled down his face and a sweat broke out on his forehead. She kissed his cheek. He was comforted by his wife’s presence. Sarah explained to him that a priest had stopped by the boarding house she operated in St. Louis and let her know that “he had been wounded in a scuffle on a farm and was not expected to live.”

Tears welled up in Sarah’s eyes and spilled onto Quantrill’s hand. With as much strength as he could manage he brushed the tears from her cheek. Stretcher barriers came and transported the dead man lying next to the couple away. The appalling conditions at the hospital as well as the sounds of the wounded swept over Sarah and for a moment she sat frozen with the horror of the picture.

A priest graciously interrupted and in a low voice instructed Sarah to let him have some time with her husband. Quantrill was dying and the clergyman wanted to pray with him and encourage him to get his heart right with the Maker. Sarah overheard a little of Quantrill’s confession and watched him be baptized into the Catholic faith.

Quantrill’s child bride watched him languish in terrible pain for more than two days after she arrived. The Confederate soldier referred to as “the bloodiest man in the annals of America” breathed his last breath on June 6, 1865.

To learn more about the wild ladies on the rugged frontier read

Wicked Women:

Notorious, Mischievous, and Wayward Ladies from the Old West.

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Wicked Women:

Notorious, Mischievous, and Wayward Ladies from the Old West.

A broad grin spread across Doc Holliday’s thin, unshaven face as he tossed five playing cards facedown into the center of a rustic, wooden table. His eyes followed a petite, gloved hand as it swept a pile of poker chips toward a demure, dark-haired beauty sitting opposite him. Lottie Deno watched the infamous dentist, gambler, and gunfighter lean back in his chair and pour himself a shot of whiskey. Doc’s steely blue eyes met hers and she held his gaze. “You want to lose any more of your money to me or is that it, Doc?” “Deal,” he responded confidently. Lottie did as he asked and in a few short minutes had managed to win another hand.

A crowd of customers at the Bee Hive Saloon in Fort Griffin, Texas, slowly made their way over to the table where Lottie and Doc had squared off. They cheered the cardsharps on and bought them drinks. Most of the time Lottie won the hands. The talented poker players continued on until dawn. When the chips were added up, the lady gambler had acquired more than $30,000 of Holliday’s money.

“If one must gamble they should settle on three things at the start,” Doc said before drinking down another shot. “And they are?” Lottie inquired. “Decide the rules of the game, the stakes, and the quitting time.” Holliday smoothed down his shirt and coat, adjusted his hat, and nodded politely to the onlookers. “Good evening to you all,” he said as he made his way to the exit. Lottie smiled to herself as she sorted her chips. Holliday sauntered out of the saloon and into the bright morning light.

Historians maintain that it was only natural that Lottie Deno would have grown up to be an expert poker player—her father was a part-time gambler who had taught his daughter everything he knew about cards. She is recognized by many gaming historians as the most talented woman to play five-card draw in the West.

To learn more about the wild ladies on the rugged frontier read

Wicked Women:

Notorious, Mischievous, and Wayward Ladies from the Old West.

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Wicked Women:

Notorious, Mischievous, and Wayward Ladies from the Old West.

It was almost eight in the morning on June 3, 1895, when Jennie Freeman and Belle Black rode into the quiet, unassuming town of Fairview, Oklahoma. The women, who would later be described by the people they robbed as “neither young, fair, nor dashing”, steered their rides toward a large, brick building that was a combination mercantile and post office. Although few paid much attention to them, the women smiled politely to passersby going about their daily routines. When Jennie and Belle reached the store they tied their horses to a hitching post in front of the business and went inside.

A handful of customers browsed through the assortment of merchandise on display; blankets, canned goods, material, brooms, etc. Belle and Jennie did the same. Jennie concentrated on the back of the store and Belle the front. She lingered around a long counter near the entrance, inspecting a decorative row of ladies hats laid across it. She tried one of the hats on then reached for a nearby hand mirror to check her look. Belle glanced behind the counter and spotted a rifle leaning against a back wall close to the cash register. She caught Jennie’s eye as she removed the hat and put it back in place.

Jennie inconspicuously scanned the shelves and barrels around the section of the room where she was at. A pair of six-shooters resting on a table next to several neatly stacked cans of chewing tobacco gave her pause. She gave the weapons a closer look. They were new, unloaded guns with price tags hanging from the barrels.

After a several minutes shopping, both women strolled nonchalantly toward the exit. A store clerk called out to them just before they reached the door. “Was there something I could help you ladies find?” The courteous man asked. “Now that you mention it,” Belle said as she stopped and turned around. “That lovely hat on the end…,” she said, pointing. “How much is it?” The clerk walked over to the item Belle referred to and she followed after him. The clerk located the price tag, tucked inside the brim of the bonnet and showed it to Belle. She studied it for a moment then sadly shook her head. “Thank you for your help,” she said as she headed for the exit. She glanced thoughtfully back at the hat one last time before joining Jennie, waiting for her outside.

The two women climbed onto their horses and rode out of town in the same slow, deliberate fashion they arrived. Jennie smiled at Belle and patted the rifle cradled in her lap. The gun was the same one that had been sitting behind the register at the store. Jennie had stolen the rifle. Belle almost laughed.

To learn more about the wild ladies on the rugged frontier read

Wicked Women:

Notorious, Mischievous, and Wayward Ladies from the Old West.

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Wicked Women:

Notorious, Mischievous, and Wayward Ladies from the Old West.

As Ella “Kate” Watson sashayed down the crude staircase of the Rawlins, Wyoming saloon and brothel where she worked she inspected the potential customers in the smoke-filled bar. Eager cowboys eyed her hourglass form as she brushed by them. They sniffed the air after her, breathing in the scent of jasmine she left behind. Kate looked past the scruffy wranglers vying for her attention and fixed her gaze on a tall, lean, well-dressed man sitting alone at a table, drinking.

“I’m Kate,” she purred to the handsome gentlemen as she walked up to him. “Would you like some company?”

The man nodded, smoothed down his mustache, and slammed down another shot of whisky. “Jim Averill. I’m pleased to meet you.”

Kate had seen Jim Averill in the saloon before. He wasn’t like any of the other men who frequented the bordellos where she worked. Jim was a civil engineer and a gifted writer who had served in the army. His entrepreneurial spirit had driven him west to make his fortune in whatever venture presented itself. When Kate and Jim met on February 24, 1886, Jim was ranching. He owned a small spread along the Sweetwater River where the Rawlins-Lander stage line crossed the Oregon Trail. The supply store he had opened at the stage stop was very profitable. He sold groceries, whisky, and other items cowboys needed.

Kate had long since given up hope of ever meeting an accomplished man like Jim Averill. She was the daughter of a wealthy farmer in Smith County, Kansas and was accustomed to fine things. In her teens she married a man who promised to provide her with the lifestyle in which she was raised, but the marriage ended when she found him with another woman. By the time she was twenty Kate was divorced and earning a living as a prostitute in Wyoming. She preferred to work at houses in cow towns rather than bergs near army outposts because cowboys paid better.

Kate was too ambitious to remain a common percentage girl. She was always looking for new opportunities – opportunities that would lead her to a position of wealth and power. Jim Averill possessed the same drive and Kate fell in love with him. After the two enjoyed a few days of pleasure Jim rode back to his ranch. Kate was left alone in her room at the brothel praying he would return her feelings. But Jim Averill had other things on his mind for the time being.

To learn more about the wild ladies on the rugged frontier read

Wicked Women:

Notorious, Mischievous, and Wayward Ladies from the Old West.

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Wicked Women:

Notorious, Mischievous, and Wayward Ladies from the Old West.

The cold, grey January sky above Virginia City, Nevada, in 1867 unleashed a torrent of sleet on a slow moving funeral procession traveling along the main thoroughfare of town. Several members of the volunteer fire department, Virginia Engine Company Number One, was first in a long line of mourners following after a horse drawn carriage transporting the body of soiled dove Julia Bulette. The Nevada militia band shuffled behind the hearse playing “The Girl I Left Behind Me.” Black wreaths and streamers hung from the balconies of the buildings along the route which the remains of the beloved thirty-five-year-old woman was escorted. Miners who knew Julia wept openly. Out of respect for the deceased woman all the saloons were closed. Plummeting temperatures and icy winds eventually drove the majority of funeral-goers inside their homes and businesses before Julia was lowered into the ground.

Julia Bulette was murdered on January 19, 1867 at 11:30 in the evening in her home on North D Street in Virginia City. The fair but frail prostitute told her neighbor and best friend Gertrude Holmes she was expecting company, but did not specify who the company might be. Twelve hours later Gertrude discovered Julia’s lifeless body in bed. She had been beaten and strangled. Gertrude told authorities that Julia was lying in the center of the bed with the blankets pulled over her head and that the sheets under her frame were smooth. She told police that it appeared as though no one had ever been in the bed with Julia.

The authorities believed the scene had been staged. Marks on Julia’s body and tears on the pillow used to smother her indicated she struggled with her attacker. The murderer then set the room to look as though nothing was out of the ordinary. He covered Julia’s body in such a way that at a passing glance she would merely appear to be asleep. It had fooled the handyman she had employed to come in and build a fire for her each day. When the gentleman entered Julia’s home at eleven in the morning he believed she was sleeping. He explained to law enforcement officers that he was quiet as he went about his work and left when the job was done. A search of the modest home Julia rented revealed that many of her possessions were missing. The citizens of Virginia City were outraged by the crime.

To learn more about the wild ladies on the rugged frontier read

Wicked Women:

Notorious, Mischievous, and Wayward Ladies from the Old West.