For a long time now I’ve been considering going back to school. I want to study communications and I have enough credits from my previous college years to pursue a degree in that area. The thought of having to take courses I’m not all that interested in to acquire the degree isn’t that appealing to me however. I always liked school, but nothing I learned in school prepared me for life on any level. My first book should have read, “See Dick balance his checkbook. See Jane leave an unhealthy relationship. Run, Jane, run!” After meeting with a college advisor I learned it would take a little more than two years to get the degree. I’d begin the studies in January 2011. I’m undecided about what to do. How is it possible to be 49 years-old and still unclear about the direction you should take? I have a good friend who got her master’s degree in psychology a few months ago. She’s over fifty, still single, no kids, with 6 cats, but now she knows why. I’m not unclear about what I want to continue to write. I love the Old West and I’ll keep writing on the subject as long as I can. There’s so much Old West material to write about. For example – on this day in 1884, Doc Holliday shot Billy Allen in Leadville, Colorado over a five dollar gambling debt. Doc was arrested, tried and acquitted in that shooting. It was to be Doc’s final gunfight. Bad guy John Wesley Hardin left this world on this day in 1895. Hardin was attacked and killed from behind by John Selman during a dice game in the Acme Saloon in El Paso, Texas. So much great material! I could write about Holliday or Hardin, gambling or gunfights – the possibilities are endless. Too bad the local college won’t let me major in something like “Wild West Women” or “Outlaws and Lawman.” That’s a pursuit I’d get behind without hesitation.

In my humble opinion one of the best westerns ever made is Tombstone. Written by Kevin Jarre, the dialogue is some of the most brilliant and honest I’ve heard. The dialogue the Doc Holliday character recites about Johnny Ringo resonates with me. It pains me to say it, but I can understand Ringo’s angst. Doc Holliday says to Wyatt Earp, “A man like Ringo has got a great big hole, right in the middle of himself. And he can never kill enough, or steal enough, or inflict enough pain to ever fill it.” Earp asks, “What does he want?” Holliday tells him, “Revenge.” I’ve felt that way a lot over the last six years. I just want revenge. It pains me to see how much my brother suffers and to watch the bad guys get away with it. It pains me because I know an unforgiving spirit binds me to the abuser. I may think that in order for the person to be punished, I need to remain angry, but all I’m doing is hurting myself even more. I want to get past it, but the more Rick slips away the more I struggle with the command to forgive. It’s a daily fight and I’m just tired of it all. Thank God I have my work. I’ve started to fine tune the chapter outline for the Sam Sixkiller book. I’m anxiously awaiting copies of the case files he kept to arrive from the National Archives. I can begin writing once those get here. Picked up a couple of copies of the August edition of True West magazine. The ad for a few of my book are in that edition. I’m pleased with the way it turned out. Thanks to Cattle Kate’s for teaming up with me on the advertisement. Continued prayers go out to Brent Harris and his family in Dodge City. Hope he’ll be up on his feet again soon. On this day in 1873, corrupt law enforcement officer Happy Jack Morco participated in a quarrel with Ben Thomson that resulted in the shooting death of Sheriff C B Whitney in Ellsworth, Kansas. Whitney was a participant in the Battle of Beecher’s Island against the Sioux in 1868. Happy Jack let his anger and drive for revenge get the better of him. It didn’t end well for him. Jack was shot in the head by a fellow policemen.

Summer vacations are winding down and families are returning home to begin preparing for the coming school year. Many people have written to tell me that they have seen several of the books I’ve penned about frontier women in the various bookstores they visited during their travels. Yellowstone, Santa Fe, Tombstone…it’s good to know the books are out there and being enjoyed. I received a letter a couple of weeks ago from a woman who uses several of the books in her classroom. “As a home schooling mother of five, I use a lot of living books to educate my children. Chris Enss’ books have been an enjoyable supplement to our history program at home. We love to read historical accounts which are engaging, fun, and true, and her books provide that for us.” Stacy Jordan – Nevada City, CA. You never know how God is going to use what we do. I’m grateful and thanks for writing Stacy. I usually have more to add to my daily journal entries. Indeed I do have more to add, but I’m up against a deadline for the Elizabeth Custer book and have to take care of that before I can effectively share what’s been going on with my life as a whole. I’d be remise if I didn’t mention what happened on this day more than a hundred years ago in the Old West. In 1903, Tom Horn escaped from custody in Cheyenne, Wyoming. He was quickly overtaken by townsmen after being grazed in the head by a shot fired by O.M. Eldrich. And badly beaten during recapture. Horn had such a fall from grace. Early in his career the legendary western scout, range detective, and Pinkerton detective was one of the most respected men alive. Everything changed for him when he went to work for cattle baron John Coble. Horn was hired to kill one of Coble’s adversaries and accidentally shot the man’s 14 year-old son. Horn’s last words before being hung for the murder was “hurry it up.”

The bulk of this past week I’ve been consumed with rewrites on the Elizabeth Custer book. I’ve rechecked facts, corrected timelines, reviewed endnotes, etc.. It’s a long, involved process and you never know if you’ve caught every misspelling or grammatical problems. This is my least favorite part of the writing process and I come away from the experience with the utmost respect for editors. They have the responsibility of polishing the drafts submitted. That’s seem grueling too. What I like best about this job is having written. I particularly like having written about the Old West. On this day in 1896 in the Old West, Black Jack Will Christian and his gang, the High Fives, robbed a bank in Nogales, Arizona. Newsman Frank King spotted them and opened fire with a .41 Colt wounding two of the horses. The outlaws fled town with an empty sack. Can you imagine a day when newsmen carried weapons. Not that they need much coaxing, but politicians and celebrities would certainly be more willing to give an interview at the point of a Colt.  I received a few more threats today via email.  Oddly enough the threats were tracked to Windermere Baptist Conference Center.  Life is grand.

I met many wonderful people when I was in Dodge City last year promoting Thunder Over the Prairie – one of them was Brent Harris. Brent is the face of Dodge City. His picture has been in all of the western magazines. Dressed in cowboy gear, complete with a Stetson and kerchief, Brent’s image in tourism promotional ads, represents the spirit of the famous town. He maintains the museum on Front Street and does a number of other things around the historic location to keep it going. This past weekend Brent was seriously injured while tending to his duties around town. He’s currently in ICU at a hospital in Wichita, Kansas. I wish him a speedy recovery and pray the Lord will give his wife and children strength to endure. Brent Harris is one of a kind and without a doubt one of the most decent individuals anyone will ever meet. Get the heck back into Dodge soon, Brent.

Thought I would include a few tips on romance from some of my favorite frontier ladies. The love lessons learned by the women of the Old West are helpful and humorous. Agnus Lake – Agnes Lake Hickok is an overlooked and unique figure in American history. She first came to fame as a slack-wire walker and horseback rider who later went on to become the first American woman to own a circus, and after the murder of her first husband, she served as the sole manager of the “Hippo-Olympiad and Mammoth Circus.” Years later she met and married Wild Bill Hickok, and after his death she worked with Buffalo Bill Cody and P. T. Barnum. Her friends bragged that she was one of the most talented and joyful people they knew. Men were naturally drawn to her. Agnus learned if you find some happiness inside yourself, you’ll start finding it in a lot of other places too. Emma Walters – Actress who married famous lawman, Bat Masterson. She gave up a lucrative career to tend to her gun slinging husband and wound up one of the most neglected wives on the frontier. Emma’s lesson, why give up your own chance at fame just to be the wife of someone famous. Taz-Ayz-Slath – One of three of Geronimo’s wives. They pair adored one another. Taz-Ayz-Slath believed that Geronimo is had magical powers. He could see into the future, walk without creating footprints and even hold off the dawn to protect his own. She counted on him for everything – especially for holding onto their ancestral land. Geronimo surrendered himself and the land to the white man in 1894. Taz-Ayz-Slath learned that a woman who intends to lean on her husband for support better be sure he stands on solid ground. Josephina Jaramillo – Married frontiersman and farmer Kit Carson. The two raised a dozen children together. The entire family, along with several hundred members from the Ute Indian tribe, accompanied Carson to Washington D.C. to plead for the Indians land to be returned to them. Josephina learned that a lot of families settled the west with no more than bedding, buckets, Bibles, high hopes, and a good man with a vision. Etta Place – Companion to Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. She was often described as the most beautiful and wildest of the women in the Old West. Romantically linked to the Sundance Kid. Etta learned it’s prudent to spend less time trying to figure out who’s right and more time trying to figure out what’s right.

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.