Excerpt

Shy, thoughtful, overly generous, modest and compassionate – this doesn’t describe the John Wayne most people remember from the very public person he projected in the 1960s and 70s, when his body of work was filled with tough-talking, aggressive, out-for-justice characters. But articles and interviews done with him early in his career suggest John Wayne grew up as a not-so-confident, no-so-outspoken young man.

He rode into the motion picture realm in 1930 with a purposeful swagger and a hard, no-nonsense manner of speaking that epitomized the American cowboy. When the 23 year-old hard fisted, quick-shooting, daredevil accepted a summer job at Fox Films, three years prior to his first starring role in The Big Trail, he could not have foreseen the impact he would have on the film industry. After five decades in the business the gallant 6’2 actor would brand movie going audiences with an indelible image and would forever be recognized as a sagebrush hero.

Born on May 26, 1907, in Winterset, Iowa he was given the name Marion Michael Morrison. When he was seven his parents left the Midwest and moved to a ranch in the Mojave Desert in California.

Marion spent a great deal of time outdoors, hiking through the valley and teaching himself to ride one of the two plow horses his father owned. Just as the young boy was adjusting to life in the rural area his folks relocated to Glendale.

According to an interview Wayne did with Motion Picture Magazine in February 1931, his parents were an unhappy couple and had frequent and heated arguments. He avoided the disharmony by staying away from home. A busy young boy, he got a part time job delivering medicines and supplies for the pharmacy where his father worked and joined the Boy Scouts and YMCA.

A bit of a loner, he spent long hours exploring the neighborhood with his Airedale, Duke. The firefighters Marion befriended in the area referred to the boy as Big Duke and the Airedale as Little Duke. The nickname stuck, and his given name Marion, which he had always disliked, was replaced with one more fitting his independent personality.

Duke did extremely well in school and was involved in numerous extra-curricular activities. He was an exceptional football player, class president and a member of the drama club. In addition to his studies and athletic pursuits, Duke kept up with his various part time jobs. One of which was delivering handbills for the Palace Grand Movie Theatre.  When he wasn’t at school or work he was at the Palace.

Three or four times a week Duke would escape into the world of motion picture cowboys and Indians by watching films starring his idols, Tom Mix and Harry Carey. His appreciation for the actors and the art form grew until he was no longer content to simply enjoy the finished movie. Duke wanted to know how motion pictures were made and decided to venturing onto the lot of a silent-movie studio called the Kalem Motion Picture Company. Many well-known stars of the time like Douglas Fairbanks Jr. and Helen Holmes worked at the studio. Duke was enamored with the process – the actors, set directors, camera operators and stunt performers.

Although young Duke Morrison’s had a keen interest in filmmaking his life’s ambition was to serve in the military. He was bitterly disappointed when his application to the Naval Academy was denied in 1925. A football scholarship to the University of Southern California momentarily shifted his focus off his misfortune. He tackled this new direction with gusto and verve, extensively training for games with Trojan’s coach Howard Jones.

Off of the football field, Duke was a popular student who thrived on the camaraderie of his fellow class and teammates.

He was handsome, smart and easy to get along with and whether he was attending an event at the fraternity he belonged to, or working at one of the two jobs he had to help pay his living expenses, Duke was happy. The pleasing lifestyle he enjoyed at college was in stark contrast to the tense and distraught existence he had staying with his parents. Their relationship continued to be combative and after more than 20 years of marriage, the pair decided to go their separate ways.

In 1927, at the age of 20, he would be denied another career opportunity. A severe shoulder injury sidelined the college sophomore an eventually cost him a place on the USC team and his scholarship. Once again the tenacious Duke had to make a shift in his pursuit. It was time to see if he could make a living in the movie industry he admired.

During his freshman year in college, cowboy actor Tom Mix had offered Duke a part time job at Fox Films Corporations. He worked in prop department and was considered by many of the top directors at the time to be one of the best “prop boys” in the business. A prop boy’s job was to see to it that every item an actor is required to handle in a scene is available when the director wants it.

Duke was good at his job because he could anticipate what a director would need and if the item wasn’t available, he would nail, whittle or weld a reasonable facsimile before anyone found out.

Mix felt that Duke had a future in front of the camera as well as behind. “He had shoulders like the Golden Gate bridge and the kind of pale blue eyes you find in a long riding cowboy,” Mix told Fox executives. He had Duke cast as a bit player in a few of his films and on occasion hired him to work as a stuntman. Duke had a natural aptitude for the job and wasn’t afraid to take risks to achieve the effect the directors called for.

A supporting role seemed to fit Duke just fine. He didn’t deliberately strive to be an adored movie star, but if Duke was not pursuing stardom, others saw greater roles in his future.

John Ford was the first to appreciate Duke’s physical courage on the set. During the filming of “Men Without Women” Ford hired Duke to act in the movie and used him as a stunt double as well. The script called for several sailors, trapped in a doomed vessel, to escape their death by being shot out of the torpedo tubes.

Trained divers were on hand to rescue the actors once they made it to the surface, but still the men playing the sailors refused to take part in the stunt because the conditions of the water off the coast of Catalina were too dangerous. Ford disregarded their warning and prevailed upon Duke to do the stunt. Duke eagerly obliged.

Content to work in the prop department and with no thought of ever being a screen legend, Duke accepted offers to appear in a variety of low budget films. His passion for film acting and stunt work grew and although John Ford had assured Duke his first shot at a starring role, it was director Raoul Walsh who made that happen. Walsh was searching for a tough, good-looking lead for a Western he was making called The Big Trail. Duke had all the qualities necessary for the part, but before the studio would hire him on they insisted he change his name. Fox executives selected a handle they felt sounded rugged and captured the essence of an American cowboy. Duke Morrison, now known as John Wayne, galloped into theatres on October 2, 1930.

The Big Trail was not a huge money maker for the studio, but John Wayne’s performance did not go overlooked.

Fox Films signed him as a regular contract player and for nine years Wayne twirled six guns, tossed rope, busted broncos and foiled cattle rustlers in a series of low-budget, quickie westerns. During that time he honed his skills as a stuntman, training with one of Hollywood’s finest stuntmen, Yakima Canutt. Canutt was a rodeo champion turned actor who was known for his amazing leaps from and onto horses and wagons. Together the two created a technique that made on-screen fight scenes more realistic.

By the time John Ford offered Wayne the part of John Ringo in the movie Stagecoach, the Duke had made more than 80 films and was one of the top sagebrush heroes of the screen. Stagecoach was released in March 1939 and received glowing reviews. The critics singled out Wayne’s performance, praising him for his fine and memorable work. The film changed the course of Wayne’s career and did the same for westerns as a film genre.

After the success of Stagecoach, the battle-scarred veteran of the B-Western was given the opportunity to make other pictures outside that of horse operas. Instead of searching out a big-budget movie to boost his popularity, Wayne trusted his career to his mentor, John Ford.

In 1940, he again worked with Ford, this time he played a sailor on a tramp freighter who is drugged and shanghaied in Eugene O’Neill’s dreamy tragedy, The Long Voyage Home. Wayne’s strong performance proved that he had range as an actor and reassured filmmakers that he could handle new roles.

During this time Duke was paired with some of Hollywood’s most compelling leading ladies – Marlene Dietrich, Paulette Goddard and Clair Trevor were among his costars. The on-screen chemistry he shared with those starlets and his versatility made films like Reap the Wild Wind, Dark Command, and A Lady Takes a Chance classics.

From 1943 to 1945, Wayne alternated between appearing in westerns and war epics, forever solidifying his film persona as a stalwart soldier and a champion of the range. His portrayal of Sergeant Stryker in Sands of Iwo Jima earned him an Academy Award nomination and his work in She Wore A Yellow Ribbon was hailed by critics as “spectacular and noble.”

One of the most challenging cowboy roles Wayne ever took on was that of Thomas Dunson in Red River. After seeing the movie, Ford admitted that he had underestimated Duke’s capabilities. He told Daily Variety magazine, “I didn’t know the son-of-a-bitch could act.”

Ford rewarded Duke’s efforts in Red River with an offer to play the lead in another western. The movie promised to be a wide cut above the average cowboy film, depending on human relationships for its value as well as on the customary chase.

The complex part had the potential of further enhancing Wayne’s career. On the other hand, the near villainous role of Ethan Edwards in The Searchers could threaten his top box office status. Wayne took a chance that the film and his performance would be well received by moviegoers who saw him not only as an actor, but a larger than life hero.

The Young Duke: The Early Life of John Wayne is available at bookstores everywhere.

Becoming Duke

Kitty LeRoy

The Unfortunate Gambler

“Spirits of the good, the fair and beautiful, guard us through the dreamy hours. Kinder ones, but, perhaps less dutiful, keep the places that once were ours.”

Poetic editorial in memory of the slain Kitty LeRoy from the Black Hills Daily Times – 1883A grim-faced bartender led a pair of sheriff’s deputies up the stairs of Deadwood’s Lone Star Saloon to the two lifeless bodies sprawled on the floor. One of the deceased individuals was a gambler named Kitty LeRoy and the other was her estranged husband, Sam Curley.

The quiet expression on Kitty’s face gave no indication that her death had been a violent one. She was lying on her back with her eyes closed and if not for the bullet hole in her chest, would simply had looked as though she were sleeping. Sam’s dead form was a mass of blood and tissue. He was lying face first with pieces of his skull protruding from a self inflicted gunshot wound. In his right hand he still held the pistol that brought about the tragic scene.

For those townspeople who knew the flamboyant 28 year-old LeRoy, her furious demise did not come as a surprise.

She was voluptuous beauty who used her striking good looks to take advantage of infatuated men who believed her charm and talent surpassed any they’d ever known.

Nothing is known of her early years; where and when she was born, who her parents and siblings were and what she was like as a child. The earliest historical account of the entertainer, card player and sometime soiled dove, lists her as a dancer in Dallas, Texas in 1875. She was a regular performer at Johnny Thompson’s Variety Theatre. She had dark, striking features, brown curly hair and a trim, shapely figure. She dressed in elaborate gypsy-style garments and always wore a pair of spectacular diamond earrings.

Kitty’s nightly performances attracted many cowboys and trail hands. She received standing ovations after every jig and shouts from the audience for an encore. The one thing Kitty was better at than dancing was gambling. She was a savvy faro dealer and poker player. Men fought one another sometimes to death for a chance to sit opposite her and play a game or two.

In early 1876, after becoming romantically involved with a persistent saloon keeper, Kitty decided to leave Texas and travel with her lover to San Francisco.

Their stay in Northern California was brief. Kitty did not find the area to be as exciting as she had heard it had been during the Gold Rush. To earn the thousands she hoped as an entertainer and gambler she needed to be in a place where new gold was being pulled out of the streams and hills. California’s findings were old and nearly played out. Kitty boarded a stage alone and headed for a new gold boom town in the Black Hills of South Dakota.

Deadwood Gulch, South Dakota was teaming with more than six thousand eager prospectors, most of whom spent their hard earnings at the faro tables in saloons. Kitty hired on at the notorious Gem Theatre and danced her way to the same popularity she had experienced in Dallas. Enamored miners competed for her attention, but none seemed to hold her interest. It wasn’t until she met Sam Curley that the thought of spending an extended period of time with another man seemed appealing.

Thirty-five year-old Sam Curley was a cardsharp with a reputation as a peaceful man who felt more at home behind a poker table than anywhere else. Kitty and Sam had a lot in common and their mutual attraction blossomed into a proposal of marriage. On June 10, 1877, the pair exchanged vows at the Gem Theatre on the same stage where Kitty performed.

Unbeknownst to the cheering onlookers and the groom, however, Kitty was already married. Her first husband lived in Bay City, Michigan with her son who was born in 1872. Bored with the trappings of a traditional home life, Kitty abandoned the pair to travel the west.

When Sam learned that he was married to a bigamist he was upset and the pair quarreled. He was not only dissatisfied with his marital status, but he was fiercely unhappy with the law enforcement in the rough town. He didn’t like Sheriff Seth Bullock’s “strong arm tactics” and within six months after marrying Kitty he left Deadwood Gulch for Colorado.

Perhaps she was distraught over the abrupt departure of her current husband, but Kitty’s congenial personality suddenly turned cold and unfriendly. She was distrusting of patrons and began carrying six-shooters in her skirt pockets and a Bowie knife in the folds of the deep curls of her hair. She moved from Deadwood Gulch to Central City where she ran a saloon. Because she was always heavily armed she was able to keep the wild residents who frequented her establishment under control.

Restless and unable to get beyond Sam’s absence, Kitty returned to Deadwood and opened a combination brothel and gambling parlor.

She called her place The Mint and enticed many miners to her faro table where she quickly relieved them of their gold dust. On one particularly profitable evening she raked in more than 8 thousand dollars. A braggadocios, German industrialist had challenged her to a game and lost. The debate continues among historians as to whether Kitty cheated her way to the expensive win. Most believe she was a less-than-honest dealer.

Kitty’s profession and seductive manner of dress sparked rumors that she had had many lovers and had been married five times. Kitty never denied the rumors and even added to them by boasting that she had been courted by hundreds of eligible bachelors and “lost track of the numbers of times men had proposed” to her. Because she carried a variety of weapons on her at all times, rumors also abounded about she had shot or stabbed more than a dozens gamblers for cheating at cards. She never denied those tales either.

By the fall of 1877, the torch Kitty carried for Sam was temporarily extinguished by a former lover. The two spent many nights at the Lone Star Saloon and eventually moved in together.

News of Kitty’s romantic involvement reached a miserable Sam who had established a faro game at a posh saloon in Cheyenne, Wyoming. Sam was furious about being replaced and immediately purchased a ticket back to Deadwood. Hoping to catch Kitty alone with her lover, he disguised his looks and changed his name.

When Sam arrived in town on December 6, 1877, he couldn’t bring himself to face the pair in person. He sent a message to Kitty’s paramour to meet with him instead, but the man refused. In a fit of rage Sam told one of the Lone Star Saloon employees that he intended to kill his unfaithful wife and then himself.

Frustrated and desperate, Sam sent a note to Kitty pleading with her to meet him at the Lone Star Saloon. She reluctantly agreed. Not long after Kitty ascended the stairs of the tavern, patrons heard her scream followed by the sound of two gunshots.

A reporter for the Black Hills Daily Times visited the scene of the murder-suicide the morning after the event occurred. “The bodies were dressed and lying side by side in the room of death,” he later wrote in an article for the newspaper.

“Suspended upon the wall, a pretty picture of Kitty, taken when the bloom and vigor of youth gazed down upon the tenements of clay, as if to enable the visitor to contrast a happy past with a most wretched present. The pool of blood rested upon the floor; blood stains were upon the door and walls…. The cause of the tragedy may be summed up in a few words; aye, in one “jealousy.”

A simple funeral was held for the pair at the same location where they had met their end. Although they were placed in separate pine caskets they were buried in the same grave at the Ingleside Cemetery. According to the January 7, 1878 edition of the Black Hills Daily Times, Kitty had “drawn a holographic will in ink on the day prior to her death.” Her estate amounted to $650 dollars. A portion of the funds were used to pay for the service, burial and tombstone.

It seems that Kitty LeRoy and Sam Curley’s spirits would not rest after they were lowered into their shared grave. A month after the pair had departed from his world their ghosts were reportedly haunting the Lone Star Saloon. Patrons claim the phantoms appeared to “recline in a loving embraces and finally melt away in the shadows of the night.”

The editor of the Black Hills Daily Times pursued the story of the “disembodied spirits” and after investigating the disturbances, wrote an article on the subject that was printed on February 28, 1878.

“The Lone Star building gained its first notoriety from the suicide, by poisoning, of a woman of ill repute last spring. The house was subsequently rented by Hattie Donnelly, and for a time all went smoothly, with the exception of such little sounds and disturbances as are incident to such places. About the first of December the house was rented by Kitty LeRoy, a woman said to be well connected and possessed of intelligence far beyond her class. Kitty was a woman well known to the reporter, and whatever might have been her life here, it is not necessary to display her virtues or her vices, as we deal simply with information gleaned from hearsay and observation. With the above facts before the reader we simply give the following, as it appeared to us, and leave the reader to draw their own conclusions as to the phenomena witnessed by ourselves and many others. It is an oft repeated tale, but one which in this case is lent more than ordinary interest by the tragic events surrounding the actors.

To tell our tale briefly and simply, is to repeat a story old and well known – the reappearance, in spirit form, of departed humanity. In this case it is the shadow of a woman, comely, if not beautiful, and always following her footsteps, the tread and form of the man who was the cause of their double death. In the still watches of the night, the double phantoms are seen to tread the stairs where once they reclined in the flesh and linger o’er places where once they reclined in loving embrace, and finally to melt away in the shadows of the night as peacefully as their bodies’ souls seem to have done when the fatal bullets brought death and the grave to each.

Whatever may have been the vices and virtues of the ill-starred and ill-mated couple, we trust their spirits may find a happier camping ground than the hills and gulches of the Black Hills, and that tho’ infelicity reigned with them here happiness may blossom in a fairer climate.”

The bodies of Kitty LeRoy and Sam Curley were eventually moved to the mountain top cemetery of Mount Moriah in Deadwood and their burial spot left unidentified.

Lucille Mulhall, Cowgirl

A pair of large, mean steers burst out of the gate and raced onto the parade field. Eighteen-year-old Lucille Mulhall bolted after the beasts atop her trained horse, Governor. The beautiful blond with petite features and blue-gray eyes quickly tossed the lasso she was twirling and snagged one of the animals around its neck. The steer jerked to a stop as Governor planted his feet firmly on the ground. Lucille leapt at the steer with another rope and began to tie its feet together. In thirty seconds she had completed the task, breaking the steer-roping record at the rodeo grounds in Denison, Texas.

On a hot September day in 1903, Lucille won the Grayson County Fair’s roping contest, beating out two of the top cowboys in the county in the process. She was awarded a pendant of gold with a raised star in which was imbedded a diamond. In the center of the pendant was a steer-roping scene set in blue enamel. It was a prize she wore with pride for the rest of her career.

Lucille Mulhall was destined to be a cowgirl. Her father, Zack Mulhall, had her on the back of a horse before she could walk.

She was born on October 21, 1885, and raised on her family’s 80,000-acre ranch near Guthrie, Oklahoma. At an early age she showed a talent for horse riding. She was a natural in the saddle, at training horses, roping, branding cattle, and all the other chores associated with ranch hands. History records that she was extremely bright and could have gone on to be a teacher, but she preferred cowboying, and with her father’s help, she made it her life’s work.

After a successful roping-and-riding contest in 1899, Zack decided this form of entertainment had massive monetary potential. He put together a group of horseback performers and called them Mulhall’s Congress of Rough Riders and Ropers. Lucille was a part of the group and began her career at a riding exhibition in Oklahoma City. She was fourteen years old. Lucille and her horse captivated audiences with their speed and precision. In less than a year, she was the best-known cowgirl performer in the West.

In 1902 Lucille had an accident that would have caused any professional rider to give up the sport. It happened during a relay race in St. Louis when she was dismounting a bronco. She was struck by the pony of one of the other cowboys in the show and the muscles and tendons of her ankle were torn away and the limb badly bruised. She finished the tour with her leg in a cast.

Throughout the course of her lifetime Lucille had many suitors, but her allegiance was to her father and the rodeo show first. Zack often ran interference between his daughter and the young men interested in courting her. He was protective of Lucille and didn’t want her settling down too soon.

Her busy schedule kept her mind off matters of the heart. She performed at such prestigious venues as Madison Square Garden, the World’s Fair in St. Louis, and in Washington, D.C.. Among the celebrated people she rode with were movie star Tom Mix and Apache Indian Chief Geronimo.

In 1906 Mulhall’s Congress of Rough Riders and Ropers disbanded. Lucille returned to the family ranch for awhile, but she was soon lured back into show business by her father when an offer came for her to join a vaudeville review. Her new show was billed as “Lucille Mulhall and Her Ranch Boys.” Theatres had to be adapted to accommodate the show. A unique portable fence designed to hang from the fly loft and fasten between the stage and the orchestra pit was installed at each venue. Several inches of dirt had to be spread out over the stage floor.

Lucille’s rodeo career spanned more than 30 years. The loss of her parents in 1932, her declining health, and the depletion of the resources of the family ranch due to the Great Depression, forced her into retirement.

Brokenhearted and living in poverty, she turned to alcohol for solace. By the spring of 1935, she had pulled herself together and accepted an offer from her hometown of Guthrie, Oklahoma, to lead its annual Frontier Celebration Day parade. Encouraged by the crowd’s response to her parade appearance, Lucille agreed to join her brother’s Wild West show. Now fifty years old, she participated only in special acts and didn’t take part in the rodeos as a contestant.

On December 21, 1940, Lucille was on her way back to the family ranch when a truck broadsided the car she was riding in, killing her instantly. She was laid to rest alongside her parents in Guthrie.

Will Rogers was among the talent that initially performed with Mulhall’s Congress of Rough Riders. He and Lucille became good friends and he was quite taken with her horseback-riding ability. “Lucille was just a kid when we began working together,” he wrote. “She was riding her pony all over the place…it was the direct start of what has since come to be known as the Cowgirl.”

Legendary Trendsetter

Amelia Bloomer

The daughter of Dr.Hanson, of this city, appeared in the bloomer suit at a convention last week. It was scandalous.

The Sacramento Bee, California, May 26, 1861

Amelia Jenks Bloomer was a newspaper editor, public speaker, and a proponent of women’s rights and other social reform. She did not design the then-daring outfit that carries her name – a short dress that reaches below the knees with frilled Turkish-style trousers gathered in ruffles at the ankles. She did promote the costume, wore it herself, and watched it become a symbol of the fledgling women’s movement.

Journalists in San Francisco were fascinated with the look. One reporter described the outfit he noticed on an attractive woman as a “green merino fitted over garment complete with loose, flowing trousers of pink satin, fastened at the ankle.” His story included news that a dress shop owner on Clay Street not only had the bloomers on display in her window but was wearing them herself.

In yet another sighting, the city was taken quite by surprise yesterday afternoon by observing a woman in company with her male companion, crossing the lower side of the Plaza dressed in a style a little beyond the Bloomer. She was magnificently arrayed in a black, satin skirt very short, with flowing red satin trousers, a splendid yellow crepe shawl and a silk turban a la Turque. She really looked magnificent and was followed by a large retinue of men and boys, who appeared to be highly pleased with the style.

Daily Alta California, September 1853

Read more about the fashions of the Old West and legendary trendsetters in  How the West Was Worn: Buckskins on the Wild Frontier.

Nellie Mattie MacKnight

The Beloved California Physician

“Taken as a whole they will probably never amount to much unless the experience of the past belies that of the future. While this is so, yet no person of extended views or liberal ideas can desire to see the doors of science closed against them.”

Doctor R. Beverly Cole, prominent male physician in a speech delivered to members of the California Medical Society -1875Eighteen year-old Nellie Mattie MacKnight stepped confidently into the spacious dissecting room at San Francisco’s Toland Hall Medical School. Thirty-five male students stationed around cadavers spread out on rough board tables, turned to watch the bold young women enter. The smell of decomposing corpses mixed with tobacco smoke wafting out of the pipes some of the students were puffing on assaulted Helen’s senses. Her knees weakened a bit as she strode over to her appointed area, carrying a stack of books and a soft, rawhide case filled with operating tools.

To her fellow students Nellie was a delicate female with no business studying medicine. Determined to prove them wrong she stood up straight, opened her copy of Gray’s Anatomy and removed the medical instruments from the case.

It was the spring of 1891. She nodded politely at the future doctors glowering at her. A tall, dapper, be speckled professor stood at the front of the classroom watching Nellie’s every move. The sour look on his face showed his distain for a woman’s invasion into this masculine territory. “Do you expect to graduate in medicine or are you just playing around,” he snarled? The blood rushed to Nellie’s face and she clinched her fists at her side. She had expected this kind of hostile reception when she dared to enroll, but was taken aback just the same. “I hope to graduate,” she replied firmly. Disgusted and seeing that Nellie could not be intimidated, the professor turned around and began writing on a massive chalk board behind him. The students quickly switched their attention from Nellie to their studies. Nellie grinned and whispered to herself, “I will graduate…and that’s a promise.”

Nellie got her resolute spirit from her mother. Olive Peck MacKnight raised her daughter virtually alone, enduring many trials while providing for her only child.

Nellie was born to Olive and Smith MacKnight on December 15, 1873 in Petrolia, Pennsylvania. She was one of three children for the MacKnights. Their son and first daughter died shortly after they were born.

Olive was very protective of her surviving child and Smith, a land surveyor by trade, constantly showered his “only little girl” with attention. According to her autobiography Nellie’s early years were happy ones. She was surrounded by the love and affection of her parents and numerous extended family members.

In 1878, Smith MacKnight contracted a contagious case of gold fever that drove him to leave his wife and child and head West. Before he left he sent Olive and Nellie to live with his mother and father in New York. He promised to send for the pair once he had found gold. Olive was distraught about having to move from their home and the prospect of being without her husband. It was a heartbreaking experience from which Olive never fully recovered.

By the time Smith’s first letter from California arrived, five year-old Nellie and her mother had settled into life on the MacKnight farm. The absence of Smith made Olive quiet, withdrawn and despondent. Outside of her daughter she seemed content to be left alone. Nellie on the other hand was outgoing and cheerful. She was particularly close to her grandmother whose character was much like her own. Grandmother MacKnight taught Nellie how to cook and quilt and how to prepare homemade remedies for certain illnesses.

Her grandfather and uncle taught her how to ride a horse and care for animals.

As Olive slipped further into depression, Nellie became more attached to her grandparents. A letter from Smith announcing that he had purchased a mine with “great potential” momentarily lifted Olive’s spirits and gave her hope that they might be together soon. Several days later news that Olive and Nellie would have to wait for the mine to pay off before Smith sent for them left devastated all over. The dispirited woman nightly cried herself to sleep.

The stability Nellie had come to know at her grandparent’s home ended abruptly one evening in October of 1880. Her grandmother contracted typhoid fever and died after a month of suffering with the illness. Helen watched pallbearers carry her grandmother’s wooden coffin into the cemetery. She wept bitterly wishing there had been something she could have done to save her. The subsequent death of her favorite Uncle, suffering from the same ailment, served as a catalyst for her interest in healing.

Fearing for the physical well being of her daughter, Olive moved Nellie to her father’s home in Madrid, Pennsylvania. Any hopes the two had that their circumstances would improve at their new location were dashed when Olive became sick and collapsed. The high temperature from the typhoid fever mad Olive delirious. She didn’t recognize her surroundings, her family or her child and cried out constantly for her husband.

Olive recovered after several weeks, but the fever and the sadness of being separated from Smith, had taken its toll. Her dark hair had turned gray and the dark hollows under her eyes were a permanent fixture.

Smith’s mine in Bodie, California had still not yielded any gold and he was unable to send any money home to support his family. In order to keep herself and Nellie fed and clothed, Olive took a job at the Warner Brothers’ Corset Factory. Nellie attended school and excelled in all her subjects, showing an early aptitude in medicine. She poured over books on health and the human body.

When Nellie wasn’t studying she spent time trying to lift her mother’s melancholy spirit. Letters from Smith made Olive all the more anxious to see her husband again and even more broken hearted about having to wait for that day to come.

She began using laudanum, a tincture of opium used as a drug, to ease the pains she had in her hands and neck. The pains in her joints was a lingering effect of the typhoid fever. Olive developed a dependence on the drug and one night overdosed. She left behind a note for her daughter that read, “Be a brave girl. Do not cry for Mamma.” Smith was informed of his wife’s death, and although he was sad about the loss, he opted to continued working his claim.

The day after Olive was laid to rest, ten year old Nellie was sent back to New York to live with her father’s brother and his wife. Nellie’s uncle was kind and agreeable, but her aunt was not. She was resentful of Nellie being in the home and treated her badly. Nellie endured her aunt’s verbal and physical abuse for two years until her mother’s sister invited Nellie to live with her at her farm four miles away.

Nellie adapted nicely to the congenial atmosphere and learned a great deal from her aunt about primitive medicine. After a short time with her aunt, Nellie finally received word from her father. Smith was now living in Inyo County, California and working as an assayer and surveyor. Nine years of searching for gold had turned up nothing. Smith decided to return to his original line of work and he wanted his daughter by his side.

Fourteen year-old Nellie met her father on the train in Winnemucca, Nevada. Smith agreed to meet with her there and escort her the rest of the way to his home. Although his face was covered with a beard and his eyes looked older, Nellie knew her father when she saw him. Smith, however, did not instantly recognize his child. He wept tears of joy as she approached him. “You’re so grown up!” he told her. Little time was spent before the pair were made to take their seats to continue their journey. Father and daughter had a long way to travel before they reached Smith’s cabin in Inyo County. As the train sped along the tracks, Nellie was in awe of the purple blossoming alfalfa that grew along the route and of the grandeur of the Sierra Mountains.

Nellie continued to be impressed with the sights and people she encountered during their two day trip to the homestead in Bishop. Smith promised his daughter a happy life among the beauty and splendor of the California foothills. Nellie recorded in her journal how exciting, gay, and carefree she found her new home to be.

“The streets of the town were like a country road, lined with tall poplars and spreading cottonwoods – quick growing trees marked boundary lines and gave shelter to man and beast. Their leaves were pieces of gold in the sunshine.”

Nellie MacKnight – 1887

After a brief stay at her father’s ranch, Smith enrolled Nellie at the Inyo Academy. Not only would she be studying at the school, but living there as well. Smith spent a great deal of time on surveying trips and wanted Nellie to be in a safe place while he was gone. The Inyo Academy was home to many young men and women whose parents were ranchers and cattlemen from all over the country. Nellie thrived at the school, and once again excelled in ever subject. She was valedictorian of her class when she graduated from the Academy.

Smith insisted the now seventeen year-old Nellie should go to college and continue her education. She was in favor of the idea and decided to pursue studies in literature. Smith promised to pay for her schooling only if she chose law or medicine as her point of interest.

“If I wished an education I must abide by his decision. My only knowledge of the law was “the quality of mercy.”

My only picture of a woman doctor was that of Doctor Mary Walker, dressed in men’s clothes and endeavoring in every way to disguise the fact that she had been born a woman. That I should choose neither was unthinkable.”

Nellie MacKnight – 1887

As Nellie contemplated her decision her thoughts settled on her grandmother’s struggle with typhoid fever and her mother’s fatal attempt to ease the physical pain she suffered. It didn’t take Nellie long to come to the conclusion that her “calling” was in medicine.

Just prior to Nellie graduating from the Academy her father remarried. Nellie’s initial reaction to her step-mother was one of indifference, but as she got to know her she had a change of heart. She was an extremely kind woman and never failed to show Nellie love and compassion. She encouraged her step-daughter in her future endeavors and cried for days when Nellie moved to San Francisco to attend medical school.

Smith accompanied his only child to the Bay area and on to Toland Hall Medical College. He paid her tuition, helped her find a place to live, wished her well, and returned to Bishop. Their parting was difficult. Nellie was grateful for the opportunity he was giving her and vowed to be home soon with a diploma in hand.

Neither fully realized how difficult it would be to fulfill that promise.

The attitude of many of the Toland Hall professors and students towards women in medicine was vicious. Most felt a female’s presence in the medical profession was a joke. Nellie was aware of the prevailing attitude and was determined to prove them wrong. She devoted herself to her studies, arriving at school at dawn to work in the lab. She kept late hours, pouring over Gray’s Anatomy and memorizing the definitions of various medical terms.

The harder she worked the more resentful her male counterparts became. Classmates exchanged vulgar jokes with one another whenever the women were around in hopes of breaking their spirits. Professors were cold and distant to Nellie and the two other women at the school – often times refusing to answer their questions. Doctor R. Beverly Cole, Toland Hall’s Professor of Obstetrics and Gynecology, delighted in insulting female students during his lectures. He maintained publicly that “female doctors were failures.” “It is a fact,” he told students, “that there are six to eight ounces less brain matter in the female. Which shows how handicapped she is.”

Nellie quietly tolerated Doctor Cole’s remarks and allowed them only to spur her on towards the goal of acquiring a degree.

While in her third year of medical school, Nellie took an intern position at a children’s hospital. Many of the patients that allowed her to care for them were Chinese. She assisted in many minor operations and births and helped introduce modern forms of cures that countered the Far East’s approach to handling illnesses.

Months before Nellie was to graduate she was granted permission to assist in a major surgery. Two physicians were required to perform an emergency mastoid operation on a deathly ill docks worker. Nellie was one of two interns on duty and the only woman. The male intern fainted at the site of the first incision. Nellie was a bit uneasy as well, but assured the doctor she could do the job when he ordered her at his side.

“The surgeon talked as he worked. He described the blood supply, the nerve supply, the vessels that must be avoided, the paralysis that would follow if he invaded the sacred precinct of the facial nerve. Chip by chip he removed the bone cells, but the gruesome spectacle had been magically transformed into a thrilling adventure.

I forgot that I had a stomach; forgot everything but the miracle that was being performed before my eyes, until the last stitches were placed, the last dressings applied.”

Nellie MacKnight – 1893

Nellie eagerly looked forward to graduation day. In spite of the fact that her grades were good and her talent for medicine was evident, the male faculty and students remained unimpressed with her efforts. She was confident that when she and the two other female students accepted their diploma the men would be forced to recognize that a woman’s place in the emerging profession is a definite.

Shortly after passing her final examination Nellie was summoned to the Dean’s office. He was a man who did not share Nellie’s vision for a woman’s role in medicine and because of that she feared he was going to keep her from graduating. The matter he wanted to discuss was how she wanted her name to appear on the diploma. She told the Dean that her christened name would be fine. The man was furious. “Nellie Mattie MacKnight?” He asked her annoyed? “Nellie Mattie?” Nellie did not know how to respond. “How do women ever expect to get any place in medicine when they are labeled with pet names,” he added?

The Dean persuaded Nellie to select a more suitable name. She searched her mind for names in which her name had been derived. “I had an Aunt Ellen…and there was Helen of Troy…,” she thought aloud. “You may write Helen M. MacKnight,” she said after a moment of contemplation. The Dean informed her that he would make the necessary arrangements. Before she left his office he added, “See that it is Helen M. MacKnight on you shingle too!”

Nellie graduated with honors from Tolland Hall Medical School. Her father and step-mother were on hand to witness the momentous occasion. As her name was read and the parchment roll was placed in her hands she thought of her mother and grandmother and pledged to help cure the sick. Chances for women to serve the public in that capacity were limited, however. Widely circulated medical journals stating how “doubtful it was that women could accomplish any good in medicine,” kept women doctors from being hired. They criticized women for wanting to “leave their position as a wife and mother,” and warned the public of the physical problems that would keep women from being professionals.

“Obviously there are many vocations in life which women cannot follow; more than this there are many psychological phenomena connected with ovulation, menstruation and parturition which preclude service in various directions.

One of those directions is medicine.”

The Pacific Medical Journal – 1895

In San Francisco in 1983, there was only one hospital for women physicians to practice medicine. The Pacific Dispensary for Women and Children was founded by three female doctors in 1875. The facility was designed to provide internship for women graduates in medicine and training for women in nursing and like professions. Nellie joined the Pacific Dispensary staff, adding her name to the extensive list of women doctors already working there from all over the world.

In the beginning, Doctor MacKnight’s duties were to make patient rounds and keep up the medical charts by recording temperatures, pulses and respiration. After a short time she went on to deal primarily with children suffering from tuberculosis. She also assisted in surgeries, obstetrics, and was involved in diphtheria research.

In 1895, Nellie left the hospital and returned home to help take care of her ill stepmother. Within a month after arriving at her parent’s her stepmother was on her way to a full recovery. Nellie decided to stay on in Bishop and set up her own practice.

The response she received from the community and the two other male physicians in town was all too familiar to her.

She persevered, however. She set up an office in the front room of the house where she lived, stocked a medicine cabinet with the necessary supplies, and proudly hung out a shingle that read Helen M. MacKnight, M.D., Physician and Surgeon.

Doctor MacKnight traveled by cart to the homes of the handful of patients who sought her services. She stitched up knife wounds, dressed severe burns, and helped deliver babies. As news of her healing talents spread her clientele increased. Soon she was summoned to mining camps around the area to treat typhoid patients. Although her diploma and shingle read Helen M. MacKnight, friends and neighbors who had known her for years called her “Doctor Nellie.” It became a name the whole countryside knew and trusted.

While tending to a patient in Silver Peak, Nevada, Nellie met a fellow doctor named Guy Doyle. The physicians conferred on a case involving a young expectant teenager. Doctor Doyle treated Doctor MacKnight with respect and kindness. Nellie was surprised by his behavior.

“I had worked so long, fighting my way against the criticism and scorn of the other physicians of the town, that it seemed a wonderful thing to find a man who believed in me and was willing to work with me to the common end of the greatest good to the patient.”

Nellie MacKnight – 1898

What began as a professional relationship grew quickly into romance. The couple decided to pool their resources and go into business together. They opened an office inside a drugstore on the main street of Bishop. In June of 1898, Helen and Guy exchanged vows in a ceremony that was attended by a select few in Inyo County.

“My wedding dress was a crisp, white organdy, with a ruffled, gored skirt that touched the floor all the way around. The waist had a high collar and long sleeves. The wedding bouquet was a bunch of fragrant jasmine…. A small group of friends came to witness the ceremony, and the gold band that plighted our troth was slipped over my finger.”

Nellie MacKnight – 1898

Doctor Nellie MacKnight Doyle and Doctor Guy Doyle provided the county with quality medical care for more than twenty years. The couple grew their practice and took care of generations of Bishop residents. Nellie and Guy had two children – a girl and a boy.

When their daughter grew up she decided to follow in her mother’s footsteps and pursue a medical degree. Upon her graduation from college she was given a foreign fellowship in bacteriology.

Doctor Nellie M. MacKnight spent the last thirty years of her life studying and practicing anesthesiology. She died in San Francisco in 1957 at the age of 84.

Eleanor Berry and Louis Dreibelbis

The Schoolmarm and the Scoundrel

“Lonesome miner wants wife to share stake and prospects. Please respond to Louis Dreibelbis in Grass Valley, California.”

The San Francisco Magazine – April 12, 1873

“Please come out, Eleanor,” the frail voice of an elderly Ida Eigleberry pleaded from one side of a closed door leading into one of the rooms in her boarding house. She knocked lightly, but urgently on the frame, but there was no answer. Ida turned the knob and gently pushed the door open. Her senses were immediately assaulted with chloroform fumes.

Choking back violent coughs she made her way to a still body on the other side of the suite. Twenty-two-year-old Eleanor Berry was laying face down on the mattress and a handkerchief was covering her head. The old woman quickly evaluated the desperate scene and panicked, racing out into the hallway. “Norman!” Ida called out to her husband. “Run and get the doctor. I’m afraid our Eleanor has gone and done something foolish.”

According to the historical publication The Californians, if Eleanor Berry had gotten her wish she would have expired a month prior on July 27, 1873. She reasoned that if her life had ended on her wedding day she might have escaped the degradation and heartbreak that was to come. But alas, God had not struck her dead and now the deed was left to her.

Eleanor’s life began in the spring of 1851 in Gilroy, California. Her parents died when she was an infant and so she was raised by the Eigleberrys, the family neighbors. She grew to be an attractive young lady, and chose to teach school as her profession. Still single at the age of twenty-two and fearing she always would be, Eleanor responded to an advertisement posted in a bay area literary journal. Louis Dreibelbis, the author of the advertisement, was searching for a wife and was thrilled to receive Eleanor’s letter about his ad. In the advertisement, Louis described himself as a wealthy, average looking man eager to settle down.

Letters between the two went back and forth from Eleanor’s home in Gilroy to Louis’s in Grass Valley. The pair corresponded for three months. She was quite taken with his candor and praise of her desire to work with children.

“Such a woman will make a fine mother,” he wrote. Louis found Eleanor’s letters to be “intelligent and sincere in tone.”

It did not take long for the mutual attraction to evolve into affection. Louis’s letter of proposal was met with enthusiastic acceptance. The couple decided on a wedding date of July 27, 1873. After resigning her position as Gilroy’s school mistress, Eleanor packed her trunk and boarded an East-bound train to meet Louis for the first time and marry him.

Eleanor fanned herself with a newspaper as she took her seat on the train. The temperature inside the Central Pacific passenger car was oppressive. Hotter than the ninety-five degrees outside the train. She was accompanied by several passengers who were making their way to the mining camps near Grass Valley in Nevada County. Once the train reached Colfax the bride-to-be and her belongings were transferred to a six-horse stage coach. Of the thirteen passengers on board, Eleanor was the only woman.

The stage driver promised Eleanor and the other passengers a safe trip and tried to assure them that they would not be overtaken by *highwaymen. Given the cargo, the driver no doubt needed to reassure himself of that notion as well.

Nestled between the trunks and suitcases was a safe containing $7,000 in gold that was to be deposited into a Grass Valley bank.

The trip was relatively uneventful for the first leg of the journey. According to one newspaper account, the passengers passed the time on the eight hour journey swapping stories about the places they had lived or visited. Eleanor contributed to the conversation as well, trading brilliant remarks and witty banter with other passengers. The men admired her “vivacity and charm.”

During lulls in the conversation, Eleanor daydreamed about her upcoming nuptials and life thereafter. She removed a few letters from her handbag that Louis had written her and reread them. She smiled to herself imagining she and her betrothed standing at the altar, looking into one another’s eyes, and seeing all the possibilities to come. The coach’s abrupt stop brought her back to the present, tossing her on the floor in the stagecoach.

A gruff voice outside the buggy demanded the passengers step out with their hands in the air. She exchanged anxious glances with the wide-eyed travelers next to her as they reluctantly did as they were told.

Four armed men wearing gunny-sack masks over their heads shouted at the passengers. The bandits eyed their victims carefully. For a moment no one made a move. Then the driver lowered his arms a bit and a highwaymen with a six-shooter pulled the hammer back on the gun. The driver’s arms shot back up.

“We’ll take your treasure box,” the man with the six-shooter demanded.

“It’s on the other stage,” the driver insisted. The bandit snickered. “Then we’ll keep you here until the other stage comes around,” he warned.

The driver studied the dress of the bandits for a quick moment. Their feet were encased in gunny-sacks and tied in place at the ankle, a trick professionals used so no visible footprints would be left for a posse to follow. The driver realized these were ruthless desperados who would make good on their threats and finally relented. “It’s no use fooling any longer,” he said. “This is the only stage tonight.”

The man with the six-shooter snickered again. “That’s what we thought.” A bandit carrying a shotgun aimed the barrel of the weapon at the driver’s head and motioned for him to move away from the stage. The two other thieves instructed the passengers to do the same.

After lining the travelers up against a nearby fence, the gunmen climbed on top of the stage and headed for the strongbox attached to the coach. Several attempts were made to break into the safe with a pick, but to no avail. The thieves decided to blow the lock with gunpowder.

Eleanor looked on in horror as one of the men hauled a small canister of gun powder from his saddlebag on the stage. The safe was in direct proximity to the passengers luggage. An explosion would destroy the trunks and all of their belongings. “Stop,” Eleanor yelled. The men halted their work to listen to the prospective bride. “Gentlemen, my trousseau is in my trunk. Won’t you take it down before you blow up the coach?”

The thief with the six-shooter stood up and backed away from the safe. “With pleasure, miss,” he replied. Eleanor walked over to the stage as the robber chief jumped off and motioned for the gunmen near the safe to toss her trunk down. As he reached up to take hold of the trunk Eleanor noticed a long, jagged scar on the back of the man’s hand. She filed the image away in her mind and was pleased at the site of her possessions being returned to her. The highwaymen turned away and went about his business.

KABOOOOOOMMMM!!!

Seconds after the robbers lit the fuse on the canister of gun powder a fierce explosion ripped through the stage coach. The thieves wasted no time searching through the rubble to find the gold. After securing their ill-gotten-gain in their saddlebags, the leader hopped on the back of his horse. “Come on!” He yelled to his cohorts. Following suit the gunmen leapt onto their rides and all four hurried off into the trees, disappearing from sight.

The shaken driver inspected the damage to the coach and determined that the frame of the stage and the running gear were still intact. The spooked horses were settled and readied to continue the journey to Grass Valley. The passengers found their places on the shattered coach and they were off.

Upon their arrival into Nevada City, the crime was quickly reported to the authorities and police officers immediately set out to apprehend the culprits. The stage then proceeded on to its appointed destinations, first depositing Eleanor at the cottage of her betrothed.

Louis Dreilbebis’s landlady greeted the exhausted bride and informed her that her fiancé had been called out of town, but that he would return shortly. The kind woman escorted Eleanor into the home and to a room where she could prepare for the wedding.

The bride-to-be washed away the dust and dirt from her travels in a bath the landlady drew for her. After which she dressed in her most elegant attire, pinned up her hair and made up her face.

“It’s time, dear,” the landlady said as she burst into the bedroom. Eleanor quickly stood up, smoothed down her dress and checked her look in the mirror. The next time she would see her reflection she would be Mrs. Louis Dreilbebis.

Eleanor entered the parlor smiling nervously. There were two men sitting off to one side, one a minister and the other a witness. Opposite the pair, Louis stood dressed in his Sunday best. Eleanor found his eyes and the pair sized each other up for the first time. He looked considerably older than she expected, but there was a strength of character in his face that she always imagined her husband to have. Louis, on the other hand, was taken aback for a moment, almost as if he was surprised to see her. He covered his response with a slight smile before drinking in the petite, agreeable features of his fiancé.

The minister took his place in front of a fireplace and the bride and groom made their way towards him. The minister happily opened the Bible he was holding and began the proceedings. As the couple recited their vows to one another Eleanor paused between pledges to think.

Louis’s voice sounded strangely familiar.

“We’ve been corresponding for months,” she thought to herself. “Perhaps what I recognize is the echo of the idea of him in my head.” The minister pronounced the two “man and wife” and Louis timidly leaned in to kiss his spouse. Their embrace was brief and awkward. The minister rescued them from the tense moment by escorting the newlyweds to a table to sign the marriage license.

Eleanor took the ink pen in hand and placed her name in the appropriate area. Louis followed suit once she passed the pen to him. The light from the flames in the fireplace reflected off his hand revealing a long, jagged scar. Eleanor knew in an instant where she’d seen the mark before the color drained from her face and she screamed. She hurried out of the parlor and locked herself in her assigned quarters.

Louis looked on, stunned, not knowing what to say or do. Of course he had recognized Eleanor as the young woman on the stage he had robbed earlier, but did not imagine that she had recognized him. He raced out the home, mounted his horse, and rode off into the night, saying nothing to the landlady, minister, or witness when he left.

The landlady pressed her ear to the bedroom door and listened for a sound on the other side. Eleanor was crying.

Too ashamed to face anyone and wishing she would simply expire, she remained holed up in the room until the next morning.

The unfortunate bride stepped into the parlor the next day, her face wet with tears. The minister and landlady greeted her with apologies and words of comfort. Eleanor looked at them confused. “Mr. Dreilbebis and I never married,” she told her compassionate new friends. “I have no memory of a wedding, only a dream that in the night I was carried off by robbers.”

The minister and the landlady exchanged a worried glance. The shock from the previous day’s events must have left her disoriented they thought. “I’ve changed my mind about taking, Mr. Dreilbebis as my husband,” she told the pair before her. “He’s not as well fixed as I expected to find him.”

After packing her trunk and soliciting a ride to the stage stop from the minister, Eleanor was on her way back to her home in Gilroy.

Nevada County Sheriff’s deputies caught up with Louis Dreilbebis more than two months after the wedding. He confessed to his crime, turned states evidence, testifying against his fellow bandits, and was subsequently released without charge.

The detective who initially located Louis, bought him a one-way ticket to his hometown in Illinois and warned the robber against ever returning to California.

Eleanor slipped into Gilroy under the cover of darkness. She was too embarrassed and ashamed to admit to her friends and neighbors she had married a thief. For anyone who dared ask what happened she maintained that her mail-order groom had not been what she expected. Eventually the truth of the ordeal became public knowledge and Eleanor was the topic of conversation. Humiliated beyond words, the young woman decided to commit suicide.

The distraught mail-order bride’s life was saved by the fast action of her guardian and local doctors. It is not known what became of Eleanor after she was revived and brought back to good health. Historians speculate that her broken heart mended and that true love eventually made her forget her first trip to the altar.

*Highwaymen – One who robs on the public road; a highway robber.

Lozen

The Warrior Shaman

“Lozen is my right hand…strong as a man, braver than most, and cunning in strategy. Lozen is a shield to her people.”

Apache War Chief Victorio – June 1880

The bronze, grisly face Apache Indian leader known as Geronimo stood near an overhanging cliff in the Chiricahua Mountains of Arizona studying the terrain before him. His keen eye traveled across the rocks and valley below. It was unlikely the United States Cavalry would track the fugitive into the rocky stronghold, but Geronimo didn’t like to underestimate the Army’s tenacity. A band of thirty-six loyal warriors surrounded the brave renegade, ready to defend their lives and land should the military be in the immediate area and dare attack the party. Geronimo fixed his gaze on a distant plateau and lifted his voice to the sky. “We have suffered much from the unjust orders of U.S. generals,” he said. “…Such acts have caused much distress to my people. We will defend what is ours to the last man.”

A cold stillness hung in the air: a sense of impending calamity marking the beginning of the end of a race of people. Suddenly all eyes turned to an unassuming medicine woman stepping out of a cave in a massive pile of lava rocks. She walked over to an outcropping of stone and bowed her head.

Geronimo watched with great interest as Lozen stretched her arms out and turned her palms to heaven. She was petite and plain, her skin was as subtle as leather and her manner of dress was in keeping with the other warriors. She scanned the horizon as the braves waited. They dared not make a move without Lozen’s wise council. It was her divine power that had kept Geronimo and his followers out of harms way for so long. Without her ability to detect the enemy’s nearing presence the Apache outlaws would have perished.

For close to a year Geronimo’s desperate band of braves eluded U.S. Army scouts . These few Indians were the last of the free Apaches: stubborn holdouts who refused to surrender, be forced from their land and placed on a reservation. Many Apache Indians believed it was better to die like a warrior than live off the scraps like dogs from the emigrants they referred to as “white eyes.” Lozen honored the beliefs of her people and used her gift to keep the “white eyes” at bay.

Geronimo watched Lozen close her eyes tight. A gust of wind swept over her small frame, tossing her straight, dark hair about. “Can you tell me if the soldiers are near,” he asked quietly? “I can,” she replied. She stood in silence for a moment, her arms further extended, her hands slightly cupped. “The God Ussen has given me this power…it is good, as he is good,” she exclaimed.

Geronimo and his men looked on, anxiously awaiting Lozen’s answer. When she opened her eyes they glittered with unspilled tears. The power with which she had been blessed often moved her to tears – she felt unworthy of such a great gift. She turned to the proud faces of the expectant warriors and her eyes peered into Geronimo’s. “Rest easy,” she told him. “No enemy is near this night.”

Lozen was born a member of the Mimbres tribe of Apache in 1927. Her family lived near Ojo Caliente in New Mexico. Her father was a leading member of his band and her mother was a well respected maiden. Not unlike most Indian children at that time, she learned to ride a horse when she was very young. By the age of eight she was considered an expert rider. From early on it was clear to her parents that she would not assume the traditional role of a woman. She loved hunting and playing rough games with her brother, Victorio, and the other boys in the tribe. Her skills with a bow and arrow and a sling were exceptional. Like her father and his father before him, she was a born warrior.

Lozen’s homeland, a stretch of ground that encompassed parts of New Mexico, Arizona, and Northern Mexico, was rich with gold. The Mexicans were the first to invade the territory and try to possess the precious metal. They came by the hundreds, feverishly digging into the earth like coyotes. When they tired of searching for the nuggets themselves, they made slaves out of some of the Cheyenne and Apache Indians in the area. Indian leaders quickly formed raiding parties in an effort to take back the land the Mexicans occupied and to free the native slaves. Among them was Mangas Colorados, chief of the Membreno Chiricahua, as well as Cochise, Geronimo, and, in time, Lozen’s brother, Victorio. Each pledged to resist the colonization of their native soil by the Spaniards and the incursion of white fortune-seekers on their way to California.

Lozen’s young eyes witnessed numerous battles and countless brutal deaths. Oftentimes Apaches were slaughtered during so-called “peace negotiations” between Indian council members and the gold seekers. Apaches sought revenge for every life that was taken at the hand of their enemies. Mexican prisoners were occasionally taken and would be led out bound and gagged before the tribe. Then the wives, daughters, and mothers of the murdered Apache would kill the men.

Lozen watched them cut the miners into pieces with knives or crush their skulls under the weight of their horses. Eventually the harsh retaliation forced the Mexicans to abandon the area and retreat south. Troubles for the Apache, however, were far from over. They were warned by other tribes that the white-eyes were coming and were like the leaves on the trees – too numerous to number.

Before the “white eyes” overtook their land and many Indian traditions were abandoned, Lozen would learn about the remarkable Apache women that had gone before her. They were shaman and warriors, mothers and hunters – maidens she admired and longed to be like. Shortly after her coming of age ceremony was celebrated by the tribe, Lozen journeyed to the sacred mountain to ask God for a gift to help her people. It was a ritual all Indian women went through. While at the sacred mountain she was given the power to understand horses and the ability to heal and see the enemy. If an enemy was near, she would feel his presence in the heat of her palms when she faced the direction from which the enemy would come. She could determine the distance of the enemy by the intensity of the heat. The Apache Indians needed a woman with Lozen’s unique talent because they didn’t have enough warriors or enough power to battle the overwhelming white invaders.

Among the important influences in Lozen’s life was her older brother, Victorio. From boyhood he had been groomed to be Chief of the Chiricahua Apache tribe. He was blessed with the power of war and the handling of men. Tall and imposing, he was respected by all members of the band and referred to by other leaders as the perfect warrior. Lozen rode with Victorio and served as his apprentice. The two combined their powers and led warriors on many successful raids against white prospectors who attacked peaceful Apache camps. But nothing they did could stem the tide of more settlers entering their country.

The ground covering the Western territories was soaked with the blood of Indians and ambitious pioneers alike. The United States government sent soldiers to the Southwest and built Army posts where needed to give settlers protection along the Sante Fe trail. Presidents Grant and Rutherford B. Hayes sent envoys to the various Indian nations to negotiate peace and prevent further war. Lozen and Victorio attended those meetings, but were wary of the promises made by the white leaders. In time the U.S. government broke all agreements made with the Apache and forced Lozen and the other Chiricahuas onto the Warm Springs Apache Reservation in San Carlos, Arizona.

San Carlos was a hellishly hot, desert land and the Chiricahuas were unable to grow crops there as they did when they resided in the Mimbres Mountains. They could not provide for themselves and had to depend on the government for food and supplies. The other obstacle that stood between the hungry tribe and getting fed were corrupt government agents working at the reservation who were stealing funds meant for the Indians to purchase food.

Victorio appealed to General John Howard, an Indian agent overseeing the Apaches’ transition from plains living to the reservation, and requested his people be returned to their homeland. Howard agreed to take the matter to President Grant. Lozen waited by her brother’s side for word from the government. Two years passed before the appeal was officially granted.

The Apaches’ time in Ojo Caliente was short lived. Government rations set aside for the tribe were diverted again and when the Indians began stealing from the settlers the Army quickly rounded them up and marched them back to San Carlos. Conditions at the Warm Springs Reservation had not improved since they were last there. Not only was the lack of supplies still a problem, but an outbreak of malaria and small pox were now claiming the lives of hundreds of Chiricahuas. Victorio called together the Apache leaders for a council meeting. Lozen was the only woman allowed.

After much discussion Victorio and Geronimo decided to leave the reservation, taking with them all who wanted to return to New Mexico. On September 2, 1877, a band of 320 Apaches fled Warm Springs. Lozen was among them.

Lozen and Victorio raided camps as they traveled. They killed herders, mules and steers – stopping only long enough to cut the meat. Lozen’s powers kept the band from the enemy’s fast approach. Soldiers eventually overtook the group and tried to persuade them to return to the reservation. The brother and sister team were warned that any Indian found off the reservation would be killed.

“We’ll not be killed, we’ll be free. What is life if we are imprisoned like cattle in a corral?”

Lozen – October 1878

Lozen’s words inspired her bother. He vowed to stay and fight to return to his homeland. A warrant was quickly issued for his arrest. The Apaches waged war against troops who tried to bring their chief to justice. The desperate band kept themselves alive and thwarted Army capture by stealing food and their horses. They ran from and fought off both American and Mexican soldiers, and survived on the run for three years at various spots in Texas, Arizona, New Mexico and Mexico.

Throughout the Chiricahua’s trials and conflicts, Lozen proved herself to be a valuable warrior and scout. At times she even acted as an interpreter between Victorio and the frustrated cavalry. She tended to Victorio’s occasional injuries and helped his wives with their children. In mid October, 1880, a Mescalero Indian woman traveling with Victorio’s band went into labor.

Victorio and his followers risked being caught by the soldiers if they stopped. The chief instructed Lozen to stay back with the woman and see her through the birth. She reluctantly agreed.

Lozen led the mother-to-be along an overgrown trail to an isolated spot away from the river. In the near distance she caught a glimpse of a contingency of Army troops headed their way. Lozen sought to hide their position in a clump of thick brush – the Mescalero woman’s baby would arrive the same time as the scouts and soldiers.

Lozen helped the woman into the foliage and when she was sure they could not be seen, allowed the expectant mother to deliver. Lozen laid a rifle across her lap and watched with careful eyes as the cavalry approached. She placed a hand over the Mescalero woman’s mouth to muffle her sounds of pain. Once the baby came, Lozen cut the cord with a piece of black flint, then tied off the stub of the cord with a piece of yucca string.

The baby boy whimpered only a little. Lozen whispered a prayer over him and gave him to his mother. She held her gun at the ready and peered out of the brush at the soldiers. One of the scouts seemed to be looking in their direction. She placed a finger on the trigger of the gun. If he got too near she would have to shoot. Just before the scout reached the three he stopped, turned around and rode off. Lozen, the mother and her son were left alone.

Lozen continued to feel the presence of the enemy long after they had disappeared from sight. Her thoughts centered on her brother and the warriors with him. An uneasiness filled her heart and mind. In that moment she wished she had defied her brother and stayed with him. She sensed he needed her now more than ever.

Victorio and his band of loyal followers rode hard into Mexican territory, hoping to lead U.S. troops away from the mountains and onto the plains. On their way to a place called Tres Castillos the Indians were ambushed by Mexican soldiers. Victorio and more than 100 other Apaches were killed. Sixty-eight were captured and sold as slaves. Only 17 Chiricahuas managed to escape.

When Lozen reached the Mescalero reservation she learned of her brother’s death at the Battle of Tres Castillos. She was heartsick, convinced that had she been with him the group never would have been surprised.

Apache leader Nana comforted Lozen by reminding her that Victorio “died as he lived, free and unconquerable.” Nana’s words helped but Lozen would never be the same again. Inspired by her brother’s drive to spare his people the ignominy of imprisonment and slavery, Lozen, along with the remaining Indians, prepared to do the only thing they knew: to fight and die as warriors. After several months battling with Mexican and U.S. soldiers, Nana led the tired, handful of warriors, their wives and children back to the San Carlos reservation. At San Carlos the band could rest, accumulate food and supplies, and recruit more warriors.

Lozen and the dedicated tribesmen who wanted to live again on their own land joined forces with Geronimo then left the reservation and headed south towards the Sierra Madre. As the party traveled Geronimo consulted Lozen’s powers just as Victorio had done. The band raided the sheep and cattle ranches to sustain themselves while on the run. Geronimo devised a plan of attack on forty men serving as cavalry police and scouts. With those men out of the way Geronimo determined he could move about Apache land undetected. A plan was also set to destroy telegraph wires so communication between the Army posts would be minimized. One by one the scouts and police fell at the hand of Geronimo’s warriors.

Geronimo relied greatly on Lozen to keep his braves from danger. Without her help the Apaches would not have met their objective. For a while the Indians were happy camped in the Chiricahua Mountains, but more settlers were pouring into the wilderness and for their safety the government would not allow the determined Apache to continue their actions. Over time the Mexican and U.S. troops managed to track and capture a number of renegade Apache until only thirty-six were left on the run. Lozen and Geronimo were among them.

In August of 1886 the Chiricauhua tribe was backed against the wall. With so few members left to take up the cause for freedom, and the lack of food and supplies taking its toll on the last of the holdouts, Geronimo was faced with the decision to surrender to the ’white eyes.’ General Nelson A. Miles was sent to negotiate Geronimo’s surrender. He was hesitant at first, but Lozen convinced him to sit down and talk with the soldiers. “Only hardship and death wait for us on the warpath,” she told him. Lozen had lived nine years on the run. The ’white eyes’ and the Mexicans had chased them without pause. She knew the troops would continue to hunt them until they killed them all – even if it took 50 years.

“Everything is against us now. If we awake at night and a rock rolls down the mountain or a stick breaks we will be running. We even eat our meals on the run. On the run you have no friends whatever in the world. But on the reservation we could get plenty to eat, go wherever we want, talk to good people…”

Lozen’s words to Geronimo on the eve of his surrender – August 1886

Geronimo listened to the military leaders and agreed to stop fighting if they could all return to the reservation and live at Turkey Creek, New Mexico on farms. General Miles explained that he could only deliver the message to his superior officers and added that this was their last chance to surrender. Geronimo reluctantly agreed to lay down arms.

In retaliation for the Chiricahua Apache’s success at resisting imprisonment, the entire tribe of over 500 people, most of whom were living on the San Carlos reservation, were deported from Arizona. Lozen was among the Apache ringleaders shipped by train from Fort Bowie, Arizona to Fort Pickens, Florida. U.S. soldiers placed all the Indians in two cars, packing them in like cattle. Many died en route to the coast.

Even more Apaches died once they reached Florida. Pneumonia, meningitis, and malaria claimed the lives of hundreds of men, women and children. Army post doctors also reported deaths due to depression at their conditions.

Lozen never saw her homeland again. She fell victim to tuberculosis and died in late 1890. She was buried in an unmarked grave. Tales of the most famous Chiricahua war woman to ever live continue to be told to young Apache children today.

Lucille Mulhall, Cowgirl

A pair of large, mean steers burst out of the gate and raced onto the parade field. Eighteen-year-old Lucille Mulhall bolted after the beasts atop her trained horse, Governor. The beautiful blond with petite features and blue-gray eyes quickly tossed the lasso she was twirling and snagged one of the animals around its neck. The steer jerked to a stop as Governor planted his feet firmly on the ground. Lucille leapt at the steer with another rope and began to tie its feet together. In thirty seconds she had completed the task, breaking the steer-roping record at the rodeo grounds in Denison, Texas.

On a hot September day in 1903, Lucille won the Grayson County Fair’s roping contest, beating out two of the top cowboys in the county in the process. She was awarded a pendant of gold with a raised star in which was imbedded a diamond. In the center of the pendant was a steer-roping scene set in blue enamel. It was a prize she wore with pride for the rest of her career.

Lucille Mulhall was destined to be a cowgirl. Her father, Zack Mulhall, had her on the back of a horse before she could walk.

She was born on October 21, 1885, and raised on her family’s 80,000-acre ranch near Guthrie, Oklahoma. At an early age she showed a talent for horse riding. She was a natural in the saddle, at training horses, roping, branding cattle, and all the other chores associated with ranch hands. History records that she was extremely bright and could have gone on to be a teacher, but she preferred cowboying, and with her father’s help, she made it her life’s work.

After a successful roping-and-riding contest in 1899, Zack decided this form of entertainment had massive monetary potential. He put together a group of horseback performers and called them Mulhall’s Congress of Rough Riders and Ropers. Lucille was a part of the group and began her career at a riding exhibition in Oklahoma City. She was fourteen years old. Lucille and her horse captivated audiences with their speed and precision. In less than a year, she was the best-known cowgirl performer in the West.

In 1902 Lucille had an accident that would have caused any professional rider to give up the sport. It happened during a relay race in St. Louis when she was dismounting a bronco. She was struck by the pony of one of the other cowboys in the show and the muscles and tendons of her ankle were torn away and the limb badly bruised. She finished the tour with her leg in a cast.

Throughout the course of her lifetime Lucille had many suitors, but her allegiance was to her father and the rodeo show first. Zack often ran interference between his daughter and the young men interested in courting her. He was protective of Lucille and didn’t want her settling down too soon.

Her busy schedule kept her mind off matters of the heart. She performed at such prestigious venues as Madison Square Garden, the World’s Fair in St. Louis, and in Washington, D.C.. Among the celebrated people she rode with were movie star Tom Mix and Apache Indian Chief Geronimo.

In 1906 Mulhall’s Congress of Rough Riders and Ropers disbanded. Lucille returned to the family ranch for awhile, but she was soon lured back into show business by her father when an offer came for her to join a vaudeville review. Her new show was billed as “Lucille Mulhall and Her Ranch Boys.” Theatres had to be adapted to accommodate the show. A unique portable fence designed to hang from the fly loft and fasten between the stage and the orchestra pit was installed at each venue. Several inches of dirt had to be spread out over the stage floor.

Lucille’s rodeo career spanned more than 30 years. The loss of her parents in 1932, her declining health, and the depletion of the resources of the family ranch due to the Great Depression, forced her into retirement.

Brokenhearted and living in poverty, she turned to alcohol for solace. By the spring of 1935, she had pulled herself together and accepted an offer from her hometown of Guthrie, Oklahoma, to lead its annual Frontier Celebration Day parade. Encouraged by the crowd’s response to her parade appearance, Lucille agreed to join her brother’s Wild West show. Now fifty years old, she participated only in special acts and didn’t take part in the rodeos as a contestant.

On December 21, 1940, Lucille was on her way back to the family ranch when a truck broadsided the car she was riding in, killing her instantly. She was laid to rest alongside her parents in Guthrie.

Will Rogers was among the talent that initially performed with Mulhall’s Congress of Rough Riders. He and Lucille became good friends and he was quite taken with her horseback-riding ability. “Lucille was just a kid when we began working together,” he wrote. “She was riding her pony all over the place–it was the direct start of what has since come to be known as the Cowgirl.”

The Packer and the Klondike Angel

Jack Newman and Mollie Walsh

“I’m a better man, a better citizen, for having known Mollie Walsh. She influenced me always for the good. Her spirit fingers still reach across the years and play on the slackened strings of my old heart, and my heart still sings. Mollie! My hearts still sings but in such sad undertone that none but God and I can hear.”

Jack Newman – 1930

Mollie Walsh raced out of her house on Pike Street, in Seattle, crying. A look of panic filled her face. It was October 27, 1902. It was raining. Mollie was petrified and sick with the flu. She glanced over her shoulder just in time to see her husband, Michael Bartlett, burst through the front door and come after her. He swore at her and shouted for her to stop, but she only ran faster. Mike Bartlett pulled a revolver out of his pocket, took aim, and fired two shots. Both bullets hit Mollie in the back. She fell face first into the mud, reeled up once, and then died. She was thirty years old.

Not long after, Jack Newman, a handsome man with a square jaw and lively chestnut hair, sat at the bar at Clancy’s Saloon in Skagway, Alaska. A few tears fell into his beer. With his big fist he wiped the other tears he couldn’t hold back off his face and mustache. In his hand he held a dog-eared photograph of Mollie Walsh and a copy of her obituary he had found in the Klondike Nugget newspaper. “To have known such a great and exalted love,” Jack mumbled to himself,” and have it flee from your grasp.” Jack took his drink over to the window to watch a heavy snow blanket the soggy streets and remember his great and exalted love.

Mollie Walsh was lured to Alaska in 1897. Gold had just been discovered in the Klondike, and like other “stampeders,” Mollie embarked on a journey for fortune and glory. She was a diminutive and gracious woman of twenty-six with long, dark hair and a dusting of freckles across her nose. She arrived in Skagway in October and worked as a cook and waitress in one of the town’s nineteen restaurants. She saved her money and eventually opened her own “tent road house” near the tiny mining town of Log Cabin.

To learn more about Mollie Walsh, her relationship with Jack Newman, and her tragic demise at the hand of her husband, read Love Untamed: Romances of the Old West.