Journal Notes

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Entertaining Women:

Actresses, Dancers, and Singers in the Old West

“I intend to play westward, and to appear in the town in which I was born—Sacramento.”

Mary Anderson’s comments to a reporter at the San Francisco Call, 1886

The angry hawk clenched its talons on the heavy leather gauntlet, stabbing the delicate wrist beneath. Wings bated; the half-wild bird glared fiercely into the large gray eyes of his captor. Mary Anderson stared back with steely determination. This unruly bird would be tamed, she resolved, and would become a living prop for her performance of the Countess in Sheridan Knowles’s comedy, Love. A stuffed bird would not provide the realism she intended, and what Mary Anderson intended usually came to be. Mary wrote in her memoirs:

“There is a fine hawking scene in one of the acts, which would have been spoiled by a stuffed falcon, however beautifully hooded and gyved he might have been; for to speak such words as: “How nature fashion’d him for his bold trade, /Gave him his stars of eyes to range abroad, /His wings of glorious spread to mow the air, /And breast of might to use them’ to an inanimate bird, would have been absurd.”

Always absolutely serious about her profession, Mary procured a half-wild bird and set to work on bending its spirit to her will. The training, she explained, started with taking the hawk from a cage and feeding it raw meat “hoping thus to gain his affections.” She wore heavy gloves and goggles to protect her eyes. The hawk was not easily convinced of her motives, and “painful scratches and tears were the only result.”

She was advised to keep the bird from sleeping until its spirit broke, but she refused to take that course. Persevering with the original plan, Mary continued to feed and handle the hawk until it eventually learned to sit on her shoulder while she recited her lines, then fly to her wrist as she continued; then, at the signal from her hand, the bird would flap away as she concluded with a line about a glorious, dauntless bird. The dauntless hawk and Mary Anderson were birds of a feather.

Born July 28, 1859, at a hotel in Sacramento, California, Mary’s earliest years were unsettled. Her mother, Antonia Leugers, had eloped with Charles Henry Anderson, a young Englishman intent on finding his fortune in America. It was a love match not approved by Antonia’s parents. The young couple arrived in Sacramento in time for Mary’s birth but too late to scoop up a fortune from the nearest stream. The easy pickings of the 1849 Gold Rush were gone.

To learn more about Mary Anderson and about the other talented performers of the Old West read

Entertaining Women: Actresses, Dancers, and Singers in the Old West.

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Entertaining Women:  Actresses, Dancers, and Singers in the Old West

Shakespearean actor Edwin Forrest rifled through the desk drawer in the sitting room of the New York home he shared with this wife, socialite turned actress and theater manager Catherine Norton Sinclair. The contents of the drawer belonged to Catherine, but Edwin wasn’t interested in maintaining her privacy. In his frantic search, he uncovered a worn and rumpled letter written to his bride from fellow thespian, George Jamieson. “And now, sweetest, our brief dream is over; and such a dream!” the correspondence began. “Have we not known real bliss? Have we not realized what poets have to set up as an ideal state, giving full license to their imagination, scarcely believing in its reality? Have we not experienced the truth that ecstasy is not fiction? And oh, what an additional delight to think, no, to know, that I have made some happy hours with you… With these considerations, dearest, our separation, though painful will not be unendurable; I am happy, and with you to remember and the blissful anticipation of seeing you again, shall remain so…” Jamieson’s declaration of his feelings for Catherine ended with a promise to do “my utmost to be worthy of your love.”

Edwin reread the letter with poised dignity and on its completion sank into the nearest chair, cursing the day he had met the woman he had married. After a few moments, he arose and frantically paced about the room. He denounced Catherine for her infidelity and fell to the floor weeping uncontrollably. According to Edwin’s biographer William Rounseville Alger, Edwin was “struck to the heart with surprise, grief, and rage.” Catherine’s take on Edwin’s reaction and the circumstances surrounding her husband reading the letter are vastly different from Alger’s account. Almost from the moment the pair met, Edwin was jealous of everyone Catherine knew in her social standing and did not shy away from making a scene.

Catherine was born near London in 1818 to Scottish parents who had four children in all. Her father, John Sinclair, was a well-known vocalist who had toured America in 1831 and 1833. Historical records note that Catherine was endowed with natural beauty, and, whatever the quality and quantity of her formal and social education, she had in her teens acquired a sparkle and vivacity that attracted men. She was popular and well-liked and attended formal soirees, theater openings, and art exhibits with a myriad of friends from all walks of life.

To learn more about how Catherine Norton Sinclair’s acting career began and about the other talented performers of the Old West read

Entertaining Women: Actresses, Dancers, and Singers in the Old West.

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Entertaining Women:  Actresses, Dancers, and Singers in the Old West

The pliant figure leaned over the ship’s rail, expressive eyes intent on the blue-green waters of the harbor. A mass of wavy light-brown hair with tints of gold lifted and curled with every breeze, its arrangement a matter of complete indifference to the angler. Suddenly the slender form froze, breath held, and then, with a quick yank and a breaking smile, lifted the rod and hauled a wriggling fish aboard the Cabrillo. Exclaiming in French, dark eyes sparkling with pleasure, Sarah Bernhardt ordered her catch, small as it was, to be prepared for dinner.

It was May 19, 1906, and the farewell production of Camille was scheduled for a few hours later at the ocean auditorium built on the water at Venice, California. Sarah stayed, and fished, at the hotel built like a ship, and she performed in the adjacent theater on the wharf at the seaside resort, Venice of America. Having caught a fish, Sarah wended her way to her quarters. Piled high in her dressing room were the results of a recent shopping trip to the Oriental bazaar nearby: silk and crepe matinee coats of pink and pale blue and mauve, all embroidered with butterflies and bamboo designs.

The tiny window in the dressing room provided a sparkling view of the ocean, and the streaming sunshine picked out details of the furnishings: a repoussé silver powder box, containers of pigment, eyebrow pencils, silver rouge pots, and scattered jewelry twinkling in the light. The tragedienne who attracted huge audiences wherever she went swooped up a small tan and white fox terrier, wriggling with joy at her return, and snuggled it close for a moment as she related the happy details of her fishing venture to a visiting reporter. Then she put down the small dog and closed her mind to the fun waiting outside the porthole.

Within moments Sarah became Marguerite Gautier, filled with the sadness and torment of the beautiful French courtesan in Camille, the play by Alexandre Dumas that became her signature role, performed all over the world more than three thousand times. Sarah’s ability to sink fully into the character of the play made the tragic death scene so convincing that it became a trademark for “the Divine Sarah.”

No one played tragedy with such believable intensity as Sarah Bernhardt, and no one brought as much passion and enthusiasm to the pursuit of pleasure. From fishing on the Southern California coast to bear hunting in the woods outside Seattle, on every western tour the French actress indulged in some kind of adventure. Sarah Bernhardt threw herself into life with the same characteristic energy she put into her stage appearances. Yet she often slept in a coffin, preparing for that final sleep.

To learn more about Sarah Bernhardt and about the other talented performers of the Old West read

Entertaining Women: Actresses, Dancers, and Singers in the Old West.

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Entertaining Women:

Actresses, Dancers, and Singers in the Old West

It was not so much the late Lillian Russell’s great dramatic ability or her clear, well-trained voice as her personality and physical beauty that made her the most famous musical comedy star of her day and acclaimed for more than a generation as “America’s Greatest Beauty.” And after she had ceased to sing and act for the public the compelling charms that had lifted her to the stage’s topmost pinnacle persisted and made her up to the very day of her death one of the most admired of women.

Other women marveled to see how Lillian Russell, as she neared sixty years of age, still retained the clear complexion, soft skin, unwrinkled face, youthful expression and all the vivacity of earlier life.

How did she achieve these modern miracles? What was the secret of her unfading beauty?

Lillian Russell made no secret of some of the measures and means she employed to retain her extraordinarily good looks, but she did not tell the whole story. She did not say that in addition to the baths, cold creams, cosmetics, exercise and wholesome living she made liberal use of common sense, self-control, persistence, energy and cheerfulness-factors neglected by many women who faithfully follow her other formulas.

She employed the combination of mental qualities and drug store and beauty parlor accessories not only during her whole stage career, but long after the time when most women realize that they are growing old and believing that they have become passé and unattractive, make no effort to improve their appearance. At sixty Lillian Russell was even more careful of her appearance her face and figure, than she was at twenty or thirty.

To learn more about Lillian Russell’s career and her beauty regiments, read

Entertaining Women:

Actresses, Dancers, and Singers in the Old West.

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Entertaining Women:  Actresses, Dancers, and Singers in the Old West

The theater at Camp Seco, a gold camp in California, could hardly compare to the Greenwich Theater in New York, or the Jenny Lind in San Francisco, or theaters in New Orleans, Philadelphia, or other cities she’d played in, but Caroline Chapman had rarely seen a more enthusiastic audience.  Twitching her skirts into place, she waited for her cue.  Tonight they would conclude the program with a spoof of notorious entertainer Lola Montez, an act that always brought down the house.

Caroline and her brother, “Uncle Billy” Chapman, had left San Francisco in an uproar after starring in a hilarious play by Dr. Robinson.  Newspaper editors had sharp words for Who’s Got the Countess? and Caroline’s part in it.  How, they asked, could the “modest” Miss Caroline Chapman descend to such tasteless, even cruel burlesque of the lovely Lola?

That was easy, Caroline thought.  She was a professional actress, and as she waited for her cue, she could balance that accomplishment against a lack of beauty that had also been politely noted in the press.  Critics admired Lola’s stunning face and form, but few of them considered her a serious actress.  Lola’s stage career in Europe had included a stint as the mistress of the King of Bavaria, who had made her Countess of Landsfelt.  Caroline, on the other hand, had started learning stage work as a child on her father’s riverboat and had garnered praise from her first performance.

Beauty was not Caroline’s stock in trade.  Caroline was too plain to compete with the legendary Lola’s charms.  The most complimentary report on her appearance had come from theater historian Joseph Ireland, who described her as slender and plain-featured but with excellent teeth in a large, mobile mouth.  Her face was radiant with expression communicated by a pair of gleaming, dark eyes that could convey more meaning, either of mirth or sadness, said Ireland, than any contemporary female on the New York stage.

Unlike the scandalous Lola, Caroline had never indulged in affairs with royalty or famous authors and had never smoked a cigar, kept a pet bear, or threatened to take a riding whip to a cynical newspaper editor.  Caroline Chapman had what Lola lacked:  talent.  Nowhere did she find it more fun to exhibit than in Dr. Robinson’s send-up of the glamorous Countess of Landsfelt, whose stage reputation depended more on her display of shapely legs than on a demonstration of acting ability.

Lola became famous for her Spider Dance–a frantic effort to shake blackened cork “spiders” from her skirts that required lifting and shaking of dress and petticoats–which shocked the polite world but attracted droves of admirers to the theater.  Lola’s well-attended appearances in San Francisco in 1853 inspired local theatrical entrepreneur Dr. G. C. Robinson to pen the hilarious farce Who’s Got the Countess? in which Caroline performed.  “Some weeks ago the Countess came to fill us with delight and drew admiring throngs to see her spider dance each night. . . .”  As Dr. Robinson’s familiar song rang out over the heads of miners crowded into the makeshift theater, Caroline swirled haughtily onstage.  She might not be beautiful, but she could act rings around the likes of Lola Montez.

To learn more about Caroline Chapman and other female entertainers of the Old West read Entertaining Women:  Actresses, Dancers, and Singers in the Old West

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Entertaining Women:  Actresses, Dancers, and Singers in the Old West

Mary Todd Lincoln screamed.  Clara Harris, seated in the balcony adjacent to President Abraham Lincoln’s wife, jumped out of her seat and rushed to the hysterical woman’s side.  “He needs water!”  Harris cried out to the audience at Ford’s Theatre staring up at her in stunned silence.  “The President’s been murdered!”  The full, ghastly truth of the announcement washed over the congregation, and the scene that ensued was as tumultuous and as terrible as one of Dante’s pictures of hell.  Some women fainted, others uttered piercing shrieks and cries for vengeance, and unmeaning shouts for help burst from the mouth of men.  Beautiful, dark-haired actress, Laura Keene hurried out from the wings dressed in a striking, maroon colored gown under which was a hoop skirt and number of petticoats that made the garment sway as she raced to a spot center stage.  She paused for a moment before the footlights to entreat the audience to be calm.  “For God’s sake, have presence of mind, and keep your places, and all will be well.”  Laura’s voice was a brief voice of reason in a chaotic scene.  Few could bring their panic under control.  Mary Lincoln was in shock and sat on her knees beside her mortally wounded husband rocking back and forth.  She cradled her arms in her hands and sobbed uncontrollably.

Laura ordered the gas lights around the theatre turned up.  Patrons bolted toward the building’s exits.  As they poured out into the streets, they told passersby what had occurred.  Crowds began to gather, and there were just as many people coming back into the theatre as were trying to leave.  Laura stepped down off the stage and began fighting against the current of people pressing all around her.  Word began to pass through the frantic group that John Wilkes Booth was responsible for shooting the President.  Sharp words were exchanged between the individuals coming in and going out the building.  Insane grief began to course through the theatre, and ugly suppositions started to form.  “An actor did this!”  Laura wrote in her memoirs about what people were saying at the event.  “The management must have been in on the plot!  Burn the damn theatre!  Burn it now!”  Laura disregarded the remarks and somehow worked her way to the rear box where Mr. Lincoln was and stepped inside.

According to the biography of Laura Keene by Vernanne Bryan, when the actress entered the President’s box he was laying on the floor.  “At first glance it was as if he had only fallen and his usual black, unruly hair had simply become more tousled from the fall,” Bryan reported what Laura witnessed.  “But upon closer scrutiny, the picture became distorted and took on the shadowy quality of the non-rational, for under his great head, seeping slowly across the floor in a crimson pool, came his life’s blood.”  Doctor Charles Leale was attending to President Lincoln while Laura was there and told other physicians on the scene that Mr. Lincoln’s wounds were fatal.  “It is impossible for him to recover,” he is noted telling his colleagues.

To learn more about Laura Keene and other thespians like Laura read Entertaining Women:  Actresses, Dancers, and Singers in the Old West

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Entertaining Women:  Actresses, Dancers, and Singers of the Old West

Adah Menken in a scene from Mazzepa.

In 1847 the western territory of the United States was a sleepy wilderness populated mostly by Indians and Mexicans.  But when word reached the eastern states that there were rich deposits of gold in the mountains of the frontier, the region changed virtually overnight.  Two hundred thousand restless souls, mostly men, but including some women and children, traveled to the untamed western lands, primarily to California, during the first three years of the Gold Rush.  They came from all over the world, leaving homes and families for the dream of finding riches.

Soon the West was dotted with mining boomtowns and bustling new cities.  Fortunes were made and lost daily.  Lawlessness was commonplace.  At first gold seekers were content with the crude entertainment provided by ragtag bands and their own amateur fiddle-playing neighbors.  They flocked to bear-wrestling and prize fighting exhibitions.  In these impetuous atmosphere gambling dens, saloons, brothels, and dance halls thrived, but after a while the miners and merchants began to long for more polished amusements.  Theatre, backstreet halls, tents, palladiums, auditoriums, and jewel-box-sized playhouses went up quickly and stayed busy, their thin walls resounding with operas, arias, verses from Shakespeare, and minstrel tunes.

The western pioneers’ passion for diversion lured brave actors, dancers, singers, and daredevils west.  Entertainers endured the same primitive conditions as other newcomers.  They lived in tents and deserted ship and canvas houses or paid enormous rents for the few available wooden cabins.  But nineteenth-century thespians were often prepared for such a lifestyle.  Acting was largely an itinerant profession at the time, and most players earned their living barnstorming from town to town and even from country to country, performing different plays or musical numbers from a large repertoire every night of the week.  Bored miners were willing to pay high sums to these entertainers, especially to the females.

Many of the most popular women entertainers of the mid-and late-1800s performed in the boomtowns that dotted the West, drawn by the same desire for riches and bringing a variety of talents and programs.  They were mostly well received and sometimes literally showered with gold.   Adah Menken was one of those celebrated entertainers.  She was said to have had one of the most beautiful figures in the world.

On August 24, 1863, San Francisco’s elite flocked to Maguire’s Opera House.  Ladies in diamonds and furs rode up in handsome carriages; gentlemen in opera capes and silk hats strutted in stylishly.  It was an opening night such as the city had never before seen.  All one thousand seats in the theatre were filled with curious spectators anxious to see the celebrated melodramatic actress Adah Menken perform.

Adah was starring in the role that made her famous, that Prince Ivan in Mazeppa.  It was rumored that she preferred to play the part in the nude.  Newspapers in the East reported that audiences found the scantily clad thespian’s act “shocking, scandalous, horrifying and even delightful.”  The story line of the play was taken from a Byron poem in which a Tartar prince is condemned to ride forever in the desert snipped naked and lashed to a fiery, untamed steed.  Adah insisted on playing the part as true to life as possible.

The audience waited with bated breath for Adah to walk out onto the stage, and when she did, a hush fell over the crowd.  She was beautiful, possessing curly, dark hair and big, dark eyes.  Adorned in a flesh-colored body nylon and tight-fitting underwear, she left the audience speechless.  During the play’s climatic scene, supporting characters strapped the star to the back of a black stallion.  The horse raced up the narrow runway between cardboard mountain crags.  The audience responded with thunderous applause.  Adah Menken had captured the heart of another city in the West.

To learn more about Adah Menken and other thespians of the Old West read Entertaining Women:  Actresses, Dancers, and Singers of the Old West

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Principles of Posse Management: 

Lessons from the Old West for Today’s Leaders

Five riders moved swiftly across the open country through Granite Pass in southwest New Mexico.  An electrical storm lit up the sky around them, and a deluge of hail broke free from the clouds, pelting the men in their saddles and their horses.  Sounding like a troop of demons advancing, the wind howled and screamed as it pushed over the massive walls of rock the riders passed.

Former peace officer Jefferson Davis Milton rode in front of the others.  He was a tall man with sloping shoulders, his granite like visage partly hidden by a dark mustache that curled around to meet his thick sideburns.  George W. Scarborough, a blue-eyed, gruff-looking, one time law man from El Paso, Texas, took a position on Jeff’s left.  Eugene Thacker, a youthful son of a railroad detective, rode on Jeff’s right side.  Directly behind the three were Bill Martin and Thomas Bennett, Diamond A ranch cowboys turned bounty hunters.  The men pulled their slickers around their necks and urged their mounts on through the tempest.  Claps of thunder ushered in another downpour of hail.

The determined riders, members of a posse pursuing a gang of train robbing outlaws, were soaked to the bone once they reached Fort Apache, a military post near Coolidge Lake.  No one said a word as they made camp outside the garrison’s gates.  Discussing the obstacles on the way to achieving that goal wasn’t necessary.  Their focus was on capturing Bronco Bill Walters and his boys.

William E. Walters, also known as Bronco Bill Walters, was from Fort Sill, Oklahoma.  What he did before being hired at the Diamond A ranch in 1899 is anyone’s guess.  It’s what he did after getting a job as a cowhand that warranted attention.  The Diamond A was a five hundred square mile spread nestled in the boot heel of New Mexico.  The magnificent acres of grass there made it the perfect spot for raising cattle.  The ranch was always in need of workers.  Cowpunchers that dropped by looking for employment were generally hired on the spot.  It was considered a rude violation of the proprieties of a cow camp to inquire into a man’s connections or character.  Just wanting to work was enough.  Bronco Bill Walters wanted to work, and that’s all that mattered and all the foreman at the Diamond A would have cared about if Bronco Bill hadn’t have desired more than the job had to offer.

During long, dull evenings around the campfire, Bronco Bill contemplated a life that was exciting and profitable.  He thought about robbing a stage or a train.  He imagined how he would tackle such a daring feat and rehearsed a getaway.  After a while, it wasn’t enough only to imagine such actions.  Bronco Bill left the Diamond A ranch in the fall of 1890 in search of excitement and money.

To learn more about Bronco Bill and the posse after him read

Principles of Posse Management.

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Principles of Posse Management: 

Lessons from the Old West for Today’s Leaders

Dora Hand was in a deep sleep. Her bare legs were draped across the thick blankets covering her delicate form, and a mass of long, auburn hair stretched over the pillow under her head and dangled off the top of a flimsy mattress. Her breathing was slow and effortless. A framed, graphite-charcoal portrait of an elderly couple hung above the bed on faded, satin-ribbon wallpaper and kept company with her slumber.

The air outside the window was still and cold. The distant sound of voices, backslapping laughter, profanity, and a piano’s tinny, repetitious melody wafted down Dodge City’s main thoroughfare and snuck into the small room where Dora was sleeping.

Dodge was an all-night town. Walkers and loungers kept the streets and saloons busy. Residents learned to sleep through the giggling, growling, and gunplay of the cowboy consumers and their paramours for hire. Dora was accustomed to the nightly frivolity and clatter. Her dreams were seldom disturbed by the commotion.

All at once the hard thud of a pair of bullets charging through the door and wall of the tiny room cut through the routine noises of the cattle town with uneven, gusty violence. The first bullet was halted by the dense plaster partition leading into the bed chambers. The second struck Dora on the right side under her arm.  There was no time for her to object to the injury, no moment for her to cry out or recoil in pain. The slug killed her instantly.

In the near distance, a horse squealed, and its galloping hooves echoed off the dusty street and faded away.

A pool of blood poured out of Dora’s fatal wound, turning the white sheets she rested on to crimson. A clock sitting on a nightstand next to the lifeless body ticked on steadily and mercilessly. It was 4:15 in the morning on October 4, 1878, and for the moment nothing but the persistent moonlight filtering into the scene through a closed window marked the thirty-four-year-old woman’s passing.

Twenty-four hours prior to Dora’s being gunned down in her sleep, she had been on stage at the Alhambra Saloon and Gambling House. She was a stunning woman whose wholesome voice and exquisite features had charmed audiences from Abilene to Austin. She regaled love-starved wranglers and rough riders at stage and railroad stops with her heartfelt rendition of the popular ballads “Blessed Be the Ties That Bind” and “Because I Love You So.”

Adoring fans referred to her as the “nightingale of the frontier,” and admirers continually competed for her attention. More times than not, pistols were used to settle arguments about who would be escorting Dora back to her place at the end of the evening. Local newspapers claimed her talent and beauty “caused more gunfights than any other woman in all the West.”

Dora arrived in Dodge City in June of 1878.  Several of the city’s residents who knew the songstress was on her way were eagerly anticipating her arrival.  Among them was the mayor of Dodge City, James Kelley.  Mayor Kelley had made Dora’s acquaintance at Camp Supply.  He was smitten with her, and the pair became romantically involved shortly after she stepped off the stage in Dodge.

James “Spike” Kenedy, the handsome, overly indulged son of Texas cattle baron Mifflin Kenedy, was annoyed that Dora was spending time with the mayor.  He hoped to make her his own.  James was a tall man with a strong build and he was accustomed to getting his own way.  He wore tailor-made clothes and carried himself with confidence derived mostly from his family’s sizeable bank account and land holdings.  In September 1878, James strutted into the Alhambra Saloon and Gambling House with the intention of proposing to Dora.  He hoped they’d marry quickly, and then he would escort her back to the family ranch.  It didn’t enter his mind that Dora would reject his offer of marriage in favor of a relationship with the mayor.  He was furious when she told him, and his hatred of Mayor Kelley and Dora grew from that day forward.

To learn more about the posse after James Kenedy read

Principles of Posse Management

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Lessons from the Old West for Today’s Leaders

Divide and Conquer

Posse leaders after the first outlaw gang to rob a train determined early on that the best way to capture the bandits was to employ an age-old plan of attack.  Deputy U. S. Marshal Hixon decided to gain an advantage over the desperados by divided the posse in two.  The lawmen were able to overtake several of the bandits in Ingalls, Oklahoma.

Inspire Trust

The first job of a leader is to inspire trust.  Deputy U. S. Marshal Bill Tilghman inspired trust in politicians and law enforcement agents throughout the Oklahoma territory.  Lawman Bat Masterson called him the “best of us all.”  It was only natural Tilghman would be called on to help capture the Doolin-Dalton gang.  Tilghman knew trust was the single most essential element to the ability to deliver extraordinary results in an enduring way.  To assist him in tracking the notorious train robbers, Tilghman called on two men he trusted with his life, Heck Thomas and Chris Madsen.  These men became legendary in their pursuit for outlaws.

Be steadfast and relentless.

Marshal Tilghman and his posse were driven to succeed.  The Doolin-Dalton gang eluded them for a while, but the lawmen were single-minded in their pursuit.  Action combined with commitment results in success.  In the case of the Doolin-Dalton gang it resulted in criminals’ deaths.

Know when to ignore public perception

The Doolin-Dalton gang’s reputation for being able to evade the law was well documented and many doubted the outlaws would ever be apprehended.  If the posse after the gang had believed what the newspapers reported as a “futile endeavor” the lawmen would never have begun the search for them.  The posse never entertained the idea that tracking the lawbreakers was folly because in their minds there was no other option beyond getting the bad guys.  If they path the posse followed wasn’t successful it didn’t mean it was time to give up.  It just meant it was time to shift tactics.

Be willing to accept advice.

Bill Doolin had been hiding out in New Mexico for weeks and the posse after the outlaw was unable to locate him.  One of the posse members reminded Officer Heck Thomas that Doolin was hopelessly in love with his wife and child and would eventually come out of hiding to try and get to his family.  It was suggested that the posse travel to Oklahoma where Doolin’s wife lived and wait for the desperado to appear.  The advice paid off.  Doolin did return home and the posse was waiting for him.

To learn more about the posse after the Doolin-Dalton Gang read

Principles of Posse Management.