July 19th, 2010

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