I had some health issues this past week which kept me from updating the site on Friday. A few tumors were found on my head that had to be removed. I left the doctor’s office in a bit of pain and with multiple stitches in my dome. During the procedure I thought about how primitive health care was in the Old West. Many people died of infection after an operation. Such was the case with George Hoy. In 1878, some drunken cowboys were whooping it up in Dodge City, Kansas when Wyatt Earp and Jim Masterson went to break up their fun a gunfight broke out and cowboy, George Hoy, was wounded in the arm. He died of infection 4 weeks later. I believe poor medical treatment is contributing to my brother’s end. In spite of how prisons are portrayed on television and film and how newscasts falsely claim that the care for the sick and infirmed in prisons are better than on the outside, it isn’t true. If a physician shows up at all they offer little assistance for the handicapped and beaten. I’ve been fighting for two years to replace the teeth that were beaten out of Rick’s head. I’ve been told that he doesn’t need teeth. This situation will never get any better. I remain infuriated while the real blackhearts go on. Oh, how I wish this was the Old West at times. Harvey Logan was able to correct a similar injustice in 1901. He finally got a clear shot at Jim Winters up in Montana and shot him dead. Several years earlier Winters had killed Harvey’s brother, Johnny Logan. I have to have faith. God has got this.

I’m overwhelmed with the amount of information I’ve uncovered about Cherokee lawman Sam Sixkiller. He was an unbelievable fearless man. I haven’t even started writing about him yet, but feel I might like him as much as I do Bill Tilghman. I spoke with Walter Hill yesterday about the film version of Thunder Over the Prairie. He asked me to send him some additional information about Dora Hand and the posse. I’m happy to oblige and very excited for work to start on the movie. I’d trade everything for my brother to be home and well though. I’m working on a few new book ideas. One is entitled 10 Love Lessons Learned from Wild West Women. I’ve included 5 to the post today. I think it will be a fun book to write. Calamity Jane – Frontierswoman and professional scout, gained fame fighting Native American Indians. She was best known for the love and devotion she had for Wild Bill Hickok. After years of pursuing the man of her dreams she learned that being one of the guys won’t win his heart. Alice Fletcher – A pioneer ethnologist and leader of the move to bring Native Americans into the main stream. She found the man of her dreams among the Plains Indians. She learned that expanding your horizons could lead to your heart’s content. Eleanora Dumont – One of the West’s most shrewd gamblers. She owned and operated one of the first saloons in Nevada County, California. She excelled at the game of 21, winning several thousands of dollars off gold seeking miners. She failed to win the affections of the editor of a newspaper she set her sights on because she was a too good at her job. She eventually lost the fortune she had amassed and died alone. She learned that love conquers all things – except poverty and being a better poker player. Lotta Crabtree – Child star who became one of the wealthiest and most beloved American entertainers of the late 19th century. Her mother was the quintessential stage mother who helped launch her career. Not only did her mother manage her business affairs, but she also managed to drive away any men who came to call. Lotta never married. She learned that mom might be good for advancing young talent, but not good for advancing young romance. Luzena Stanley Wilson – Gold Rush entrepreneur and founder of the profitable El Dorado hotel in Nevada. Men were wild for Luzena’s honey biscuits, including her husband. While he was off searching for gold, Luzena was making a fortune with her baked goods. He returned from the gold fields to find that Luzena had hit the Mother Lode. Luzena learned that the way to a man’s heart is not only by filling his stomach with culinary delights, but by keeping his wallet filled as well.

Thought I’d start the w/o July 19th off with a small sample of the new book I’m working on. Happy reading. Lawman Sam Sixkiller led his horse through a belt of sparse timber along the Illinois River in Southeast Oklahoma. He was a stocky, heavy-shouldered man with a neatly trimmed, droopy mustache and small dark eyes that were flatly calculating. They shifted purposely from the streams of sunlight off a growth of yellow sagebrush to the rocky path before him. In addition to the sound of the roan’s hooves slowly moving through the mesquite and buffalo grass, there was the mingling of a trio of agitated voices wafting through the warm air. Sam urged his ride into a clearing where three Cherokee Indians sat playing dice. In between rolls of the pebble dice the men drank from a bottle of whisky they eagerly shared with each other. Scattered beside the men were four empty bottles of liquor. The drunken Indians barely noticed Sam watching them in the near distance. He scowled and inched his horse into their crude camp. The men were undisturbed by the rider and continued with their game. They argued over whose turn it was, nearly coming to blows before settling on which player went next. Sam watched them toss the dice on a thick blanket. At first glance the blanket appeared to be draped over a log. The closer Sam got to the action the more it became clear that the make-shift table was actually the body of a fourth man. A stream of dried blood had trickled out from under the blanket and pooled around a stand of butterfly weeds. Sam scrutinized the scene more carefully, spotting a massive knife within reach of the Indian closest to him. Every nerve in Sam’s body tensed. He refrained from any sudden moves that might betray his next move. He casually pushed his jacket over the six-shooter strapped to his side, revealing not only the weapon, but the slightly tarnished badge that showed he was the sheriff of the Cherokee Nation. One by one the men turned and looked at the lawman. For a breathless instant Sam watched the knife, expecting one of the Indians to snap it up. Without saying a word the three gamblers got to their feet, wavering a bit in the process. Sam pulled his gun out of his holster and leveled it at the men as he lifted his 5’8 inch frame off his horse. He motioned for the Indians to back away from the body and they reluctantly complied. Disgusted, Sam walked over to one of the bottles and kicked it hard. It spun into a nearby rock and broke. What little booze was left in it spilled out and was quickly soaked into the ground. With his gun still trained on the Indians, Sam made his way to the motionless man on the ground. Using the toe of his boot, he rolled the man out from under the blanket. There was no mistaking he was dead. There was a deep cut across the man’s throat and his limbs were stiff. (1) Possession of liquor on Indian land was a criminal offense. (2) Since being appointed captain of the Indian police at Union Agency in Muskogee, Creek Nation on February 12, 1880, Sam had arrested numerous buyers and sellers of alcohol. The hold liquor had on many of the men and women in his jurisdiction was disturbing to him and he vowed to “do away with the devil that threatened to make the Indian territory uninhabitable for his people to live.” Leaders of the five civilized tribes who lived on the reservation Sam patrolled recognized the effect alcohol had on their community. One elder, concerned about the issue, lamented “the Great Spirit, who made all things, made everything for some use, and whatever use he designed it should always be put to. Now, when he made rum, he said, “Let this be for the Indians to get drunk with, and it must be so.” (3) Sam escorted the drunk men to jail and hauled their dead companion back to his family.

Everyone in the world seems to be on vacation right now. I see folks drive by my place pulling their boats, campers, Ski-Dos, motorcycles, etc.. I’ve been trying to gather all the research I need to start working on the Sam Sixkiller story and everyone at the National Archives and various historical societies seems to be gone as well. I’ve never been much for vacations. After a couple of days I get bored and want to turn around and come back home. When I was a kid every summer vacation consisted of traveling back to Norborne, Missouri. We’d all load into the car from whatever army post my dad was stationed and journey to the Midwest. I loved visiting my grandparents, but was never fond of the small farm town where they lived. In truth the only thing that attracted me about the place was the boy I had fallen for when I was 6. The chance that I might see him while riding bikes with my grandmother helped me endure the painfully long car ride to Missouri. If I’d known then what would happen to my brothers and I, I would have cherished the drive. Actually, I would have tried to persuade my parents to change their course and go to the Grand Canyon instead. Maybe that would have been enough to alter the course of what was to be. Wish my family lived anywhere else but Norborne. The boy I fell for has long since gone and there are few good memories of the area to reflect on when I am there. Until I meet the book deadlines in front of me a trip to Missouri or anywhere else is out of the question. If I could go anywhere it would be Dodge City. I love the open prairie around the tough town. Outside of being in Tombstone, Arizona, I’ve never been anywhere else that make me feel like I’m really in the Old West. On this day in 1899, train robbers Sam Ketchum, Elza Lay, and Will Carver were ambushed by a posse in Turkey Creek Canyon, New Mexico and fought them all day. Three of the posse members were killed and Sam and Lay both were wounded before escaping after dark. Sam was captured a few days later.

Poet Percy Shelley wrote, “The breath of accusation kills an innocent name, and leaves for lame acquittal the poor life, which is a mask without it.” My thoughts are once again drawn to my brother and the pain he is going through. I regret ever persuading him to take a plea. After much research I’ve come to realize that plea bargaining has come to dominate the administration of justice in America. According to one legal scholar, “Every two seconds during a typical workday, a criminal case is disposed of in an American courtroom by way of a guilty plea.” The attorney we hired for my brother never told us that he was negotiating a plea. My brother proclaimed his innocence, but they didn’t want to hear it. A plea is easier than a trial. I think the practice should be abolished. Because any person who is accused of violating the criminal law can lose his liberty, and perhaps even his life depending on the offense and prescribed penalty, the Framers of the Constitution took pains to put explicit limits on the awesome powers of the government. The Bill of Rights explicitly guarantees several safeguards to the accused, including the right to be informed of the charges, the right not to be compelled to incriminate oneself, the right to a speedy and public trial, the right to an impartial jury trial in the state and district where the offense allegedly took place, the right to cross-examine the state’s witnesses, the right to call witnesses on one’s own behalf, and the right to the assistance of counsel. Instead of those things my brother, family, and myself were threatened and intimidated into taking a plea. We were threatened with manufactured evidence and tax audits and much more. His accuser knew the evidence was manufactured and went along with it. Not that should be a crime! Taking a plea?it’s what’s expected anymore. Fewer than 10 percent of the criminal cases brought by the federal government each year are actually tried before juries with all the accompany procedural safeguards. More than 90 percent of the criminal cases in America are never tried, much less proven, to juries. Plea bargaining unquestionably alleviates the workload of judges, prosecutors, and defense lawyers. But is it proper for a government that is constitutionally required to respect the right to trial by jury to use its charging and sentencing powers to pressure an individual to waive that right? There is no doubt that government officials deliberately use their power to pressure people who have been accused of a crime, and who are presumed innocent, to confess their guilt and waive their right to a formal trial. All of it is dishonest and wrong. Give me the days when Judge Roy Bean was holding court. Bean let you know exactly where you stood. He didn’t play games and pretend he was anything but the scoundrel he was. “Hang em first, and then we’ll try them,” he once said. Billy the Kid was reeking havoc on this day in 1878. Deputy Long John Long had a warrant to serve on Billy the Kid but when Long John found the Kid in San Patricio he was with nine other of McSween’s Regulators. The Regulators killed Long John’s Horse, but Long John scampered safely away. Long John Long is the guy who set fire to the McSween House at the end of the siege on July 19th.

A few years ago Howard Kazanjian and I wrote a book entitled Happy Trails. It’s a scrapbook of the life and times of Roy Rogers and Dale Evans. It’s a beautiful coffee table book that includes photos of Roy and Dale before they were in show business. I’m very proud of the volume and am prouder still to have the chance to give a few copies away to visitors to my site. This week most of the items that were once at the Roy Rogers/Dale Evans Museum in Branson are being auctioned off. In honor of their legacy, and to give fans a chance to own a part of their history, Globe Pequot Press, Howard, and myself are offering 10 copies of Happy Trails to fans of the cowboy duo. All you need to do to get a copy of the book is stop by the contact section of this site and let us know why you like Roy and Dale. We’d be happy to hear from you and will pass the information on to the Rogers family. Don’t forget to include you address when you write. We look forward to hearing from you.

Several items from the Roy Rogers/Dale Evans Museum are being auctioned off next week. The museum closed in December of last year. I hope the memorabilia make it to a good home. The auction will be held at Christy’s in New York next week and in conjunction with that event I will be giving away 5 copies of the book Happy Trails to visitors to my site. All you need to do is drop me a line and let me know why Roy Rogers and Dale Evans are among your favorite cowboys and cowgirls and the winners will be select from there. Happy Trails is a coffee table book about the couple and the art director at Globe did a fabulous job laying the manuscript out. Every fan of the western duo needs to have a copy of this book. I’m working on a book about lawmen Sam Sixkiller now. I hope to speak with Sam’s great, great grandson later on today. I’m looking forward to diving into this next western. The setting is Oklahoma – Bill Tilghman territory. Now the Custer book has been turned into the my editor, I’ll be planning the book’s launch at various locations. One spot is going to be Fort Dodge. That will give me a great reason to visit Dodge City again. Hopefully, everything will be moving swiftly with the film Thunder Over the Prairie by then and I’ll have good news to share with the townsfolk there. Dodge City is one of my favorite places in the world. I’ve never met such wonderful people in my life. More than 110 years ago on this day Tom Horn and Matt Rash were the local gossip in Cold Springs, Colorado. After his supper, Matt Rash, a well known cow thief in Cold Springs, stepped out on the porch of his ranch house to have a smoke. Stock detective, Tom Horn, was in hiding nearby and shot Rash three times with a rifle. Rash went back inside and died on his bed while trying to write a note in his own blood. I?ve said it before, but I think there are some situations that call for such frontier justice. Of course, Tom Horn’s story wasn’t a happy one, but that doesn’t take away from the fact that there are some people that are evil to the core and need to be put down and not propped up. The law says otherwise of course. I think Paul Newman’s character in Hud responded to that fact best in the film of the same title. “I always say the law was meant to be interpreted in a lenient manner. And that’s what I try to do. Sometimes I lean to one side of it, sometimes I lean to the other.”

The first draft of the Elizabeth Custer book goes out to my brilliant editor today. I spent part of the long weekend working on the manuscript while watching a John Wayne movie marathon. The Cowboys is a wonderful film. I had forgotten just how wonderful. Red River and The Searchers remain my favorite Wayne films. Speaking of the Duke, I submitted an article to American Cowboy about the actor. The magazine is dedicating an entire issue to Wayne. I think it’s a brilliant idea. While waiting for the first edits on the Custer book to be given and returned, the funds for Thunder Over the Prairie film to be released, and the Wayne article to be approved, I’ll turn my attention to the next book, The Life and Times of Sam Sixkiller. Jeff Galpin, the graphic artist in charge of designing the cover of the book about my brother, sent a copy of the cover to me on Friday. I’m excited about The Plea’s future release. I continue to have a hard time reconciling the damage done to Rick by the scoundrel he was married to and her offspring. There’s a line from the movie Fort Apache that best sums up my feelings about these two curs, “You’re blackguards, liars, hypocrites, and a stench in the nostrils of honest men.” It’s righteous anger I feel. That’s why it never fades away. A lot happened on this day more than 130 years ago. In 1871, John Wesley Hardin got into a quarrel with Charles Cougar in Abilene, Kansas with his usual aplomb in such affairs he simply pulled out his gun and shot Cougar to death. On July 6. 1900, Warren Earp, always a surly drunk had been looking for a fight for several days with cowhand, Johnny Boyet. Johnny finally gave it to him and when the smoke cleared Warren lay riddled with bullets on the floor of a saloon in Wilcox, Arizona. Warren got what was coming to him. If only that happened more often.

The bulk of this week has been spent working on the Elizabeth Custer book entitled The Soldier’s Widow: Elizabeth Custer’s Life With & Without George. After I write the Introduction I’ll turn the manuscript into my publisher for the first round of edits. I’ve enjoyed working on this project, but I remain apprehensive about taking it on. As they say in the South “everybody has a dog in this hunt.” There have been so many books, magazine articles, etc., written about the Custers and there are many historians out there who claim to know all there is to know about them. I anticipate being challenged on every word written. I’ve done my own extensive research and this book will contain Custer artifacts never seen before, but I still expect a backlash. I expect an attack by scholars (of which I am not) the likes of which hasn’t been seen since the Battle at the Little Bighorn. I could be wrong, but I’ve been doing this long enough to know that there is always someone out there who longs to tell you that you don’t know what you’re talking about. If I can get past that I believe I’ll have a great time with the launch of the material. I had a wonderful conversation with my ex-mother-in-law this past week. She was such a blessing to me when I was some 31 years younger. It was nice to catch up on what has happened since last we spoke. Life for my ex-husband seems to have turned out well. He’s been happily married for 25 years and has two beautiful and accomplished children. I had always wondered how he turned out. I’ve spent a good portion of my adulthood worrying about how I’m going to turn out, or whether I would “turn out” at all. The question is how to meet one’s definitive destiny, which for many individuals probably never happens. What if the greatest military strategist of all time was born a watchmaker in Switzerland, or what if the most brilliant medical mind in history was housed in a man selling shoes in Oklahoma? Those kind of misalignments are exactly what I’ve been worried about. I’d like to blame it all on a misalignment. There’s been too much heartache in this life to think I’d turn out any differently I guess. I’m not feeling sorry for myself?well, maybe I am a little. It’s hard to watch my brother fade into nothing when the real criminals roam about waiting to destroy more lives. And they will. I suppose if things had turned out differently I never would have taken up writing. Not being able to write would truly be a tragedy to me. I think it would have been Elizabeth Custer’s undoing as well. She wrote about everything that happened in her life, both good and bad. It was cathartic for her and, as it turns out, educational to the rest of the world. Perhaps that’s the best I can hope for myself.

One hundred and thirty four years ago today, Elizabeth Custer and the other wives of the 7th Cavalry, were waiting for news from their husband’s heading off to the Little Big Horn. Elizabeth noted in her memoirs that she sensed things were not going to go well for George the day he rode off to meet the Plains Indians. “With my husband’s departure,” she wrote in 1887, “my last happy days in garrison were ended, as a premonition of disaster that I had never known before weighed me down. I could not shake off the baleful influence of depressing thought. This presentiment and suspense, such as I had never known, made me selfish, and I shut into my heart the most uncontrollable anxiety, and could lighten no one else’s burden.” She was a brave woman and George’s greatest champion. I don’t think Custer would have been Custer without Elizabeth. For all who stop by the site today, check out the new advertisement in the media section. Also, select one of the books from the Go West series for summer reading and I’ll send you a free copy.