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Women, way out West
There has been a tremendous amount of writing about the people who lived and died in the American west during the 1800’s. The old west had its share of memorable characters, mostly men. You know…cowboys, ranchers, rustlers, lawmen and outlaws. That type.
What I’ve recently discovered is that there is relatively little written about the women of that era. The women of the 1800’s were as hearty as any man, maybe even more so. But it seems as if their place was close to the house, keeping the home fires burning so to speak, while the men played a more visible roll out on the range working the cattle or on the lower forty working the land. Outlaws, Sheriffs, and other political types of the day tended to be men. It was for the most part, the men who went to town for supplies, or to the local saloon for some R&R time spent drinkin’ and gamblin’ while the women stayed at home and took care of the mundane, domestic details like cooking meals, washing clothes and takin’ care of the youngsters. Just how exciting can a story be about a woman cooking supper or washing clothes? (Now there’s a challenge for you).
I guess back then, most women weren’t allowed to be at the front of the pack. That was where the man belonged. At least that was the mindset of the day. Women were seen more as domestic servants than equal marriage partners. Kinda’ like an ol’ workhorse. Put it to work in the field but don’t take it to town on Saturday night. So I guess if you look at things from that perspective, it makes a certain amount of sense that writers would pick up on the more interesting characters of the time which means the more entertaining stories would naturally be about the men… But then, not all of the interesting characters were men.
Some women did break out of that “domestic servant” mold but it seems they had to take on “manly” attributes to do it. Cussin’, drinkin’ shootin’ and gamblin’ to name a few, unless of course you would consider a soiled dove as breaking out of the mold, Still a lady of sorts but not cooking and cleaning. To me, that would still fall under the category of a domestic servant, only difference being the type of work, and the fact that they got paid in cash for their servitude.
The “Side Trail” section of my last newsletter highlighted a few of the more notable women of the era such as Annie Oakley, Belle Starr and Calamity Jane to name a few. There were many others but you have to do a little searching to find much useful information about them.
Don’t get me wrong. The women weren’t all “manly” characters; there were some very fine and classy ladies to boot. And every last one of them played an important roll in the history of the old west. But as of yet, I don’t think they’ve been given their just due.
The following two articles are a bit of true Texas history from western author Mike Cox.
You can learn more about Mike and his book "The Texas Rangers" by going to the "Authors Herald" page on this site.
Purloined Pants
by Mike Cox
Every Monday morning in Texas’ larger communities, parking around courthouses is hard to find as another wave of prospective jury members respond to their summons.
But in early Texas, the judicial system performed its necessary work on a much-less regular basis. When court convened, an event that sometimes only happened once every few months, it was a big deal.
When a court date approached, a county seat town filled with lawyers and litigants, prosecutors and defendants, witnesses in both civil and criminal causes, potential jurors, the curious and those only interested in making a buck or two off everyone else.
Such was the case when court was set to convene in Paris, seat of Lamar County, in the summer of 1851. Organized in 1840 when Texas was still a republic, Lamar County had nearly 4,000 citizens, with another 1,085 slaves. One of the free residents was a gentleman named Tucker.
Tucker, not otherwise identified in the newspaper account of what soon transpired, operated a popular inn and tavern in Paris. With court in session, Tucker (a Lamar County history lists a Fleming Tucker and Goodman Tucker as residents at the time) always enjoyed a brisk business.
So many members of the Bar being in town, more than a few of them leaned against another kind of bar the night before the presiding judge would be gavel court to order. But with cases to present or fight against in the morning, the conviviality eventually died down.
“Mr. Tucker and his numerous guests retired to their beds at their usual hour,” the Bonham Advertiser politely assumed, “and, after a night of profound and undisturbed slumber, woke, every mother’s son of them coatless and pantaloonless. Some daring thief had entered their sleeping apartments, and had abstracted and carried off every rag of clothing belonging to every soul in the house.”
The crime came to light slowly as individuals awoke to find they had nothing but their hats and long johns to wear for that day’s proceedings.
To their credit, most of Tucker’s guests saw the humor in what had happened, “laughing long and heartily at the ridiculous figure each other cut while shying and dodging about in search of his missing clothing.”
Lady justice may have been blind, but not the residents of Paris, who must have wondered why so many red-faced lawyers were slipping around in their underwear. But before long, someone found the purloined pantaloons and other items of apparel stacked in the courthouse square. Soon, however, what had all the earmarks of a practical joke became much less funny, a crime not only against the peace and dignity of the state but the North Texas legal establishment.
“Every pocket,” the newspaper reported, “had been rummaged, every red cent taken–all were empty. Several emigrants had lost all their money, and the lawyers attending the court were reduced to a par with the clients who had the day before lined their pockets for them.”
More than $400 had been stolen, a lot of money in ante bellum in Texas. Never identified, the thief got off scot free without the benefit of counsel.
Duck Fight
by Mike Cox
It started over a duck.
Caleb Berg (Cape) Willingham, first sheriff of newly-organized Oldham County, was in the Equity Bar, Tascosa’s oldest saloon, when he heard a commotion outside. Suddenly one of the town’s few ladies did something most ladies of the era would not – she ran into the drinking establishment.
“He killed my duck!” she yelled, pointing to a man outside. “Shot it just now.”
Willingham saw that the woman was referring to Fred Leigh, foreman on the LS Ranch. Leigh was known for his drinking and had been warned before about carrying a pistol in town.
“He did, did he?” the sheriff asked. “Well, now, don’t you worry. I’ll see that the gentleman pays you for your duck.”
Armed with a double-barreled shotgun, the big sheriff walked out and approached the cowboy to discuss the fair market value of domesticated migratory waterfowl.
“You’re in debt to this woman for that duck you shot just now,” the sheriff said. “You going to pay for it?”
“Hell, no, I ain’t going to pay for no duck,” the cowboy replied.
Willingham was in the process of reminding the cowboy that he was sheriff when he saw the drover’s hand moving toward the six-shooter on his hip. That ended the talking. The sheriff let loose with both barrels of his scattergun. With 18 pieces of buckshot in his body, the cowboy tumbled from his horse, as dead as the duck he’d blasted a short time before.
Not only had Leigh been killed on account of a duck, he had the added distinction of being the first person buried on a hill outside Tascosa that soon bore one of the most famous names in the Old West. Leigh having died with his boots on, saloon proprietor Jack Ryan thought it fitting that the new graveyard be called Boothill. (Dodge City also had a Boothill, but that was way off in Kansas.)
Willingham went on to serve out his term as sheriff, but in 1882 he was defeated in his bid for another two years in office. After losing the election, Willingham moved east across the Panhandle to Wheeler County, where he operated a saloon in Mobeetie. Later, he became manager of the Turkey Track Ranch.
Without mentioning his sources, J. Marvin Hunter described Leigh’s death in an article he wrote for his Frontier Times Magazine in 1943. Three years later, Amarillo writer John McCarthy told the story a little differently in his book “Maverick Town: The Story of Old Tascosa.”
In McCarthy’s version, the woman who owned the duck was pregnant. She fainted after seeing Leigh shoot off the bird’s head. McCarthy also listed Leigh as the second occupant of Boothill, not the first. But both authors agreed that it all started over a duck.
Hunter said the shooting happened in 1879, but Willingham had not become sheriff until 1880. McCarthy did not offer a date in his book.
No matter exactly when Leigh died, or whether he was permanent guest No. 1 or No. 2, Boothill cemetery went on to accommodate a total of 32 graves. Twenty-three of the occupants were men who, like Leigh, died with their boots on.
Tascosa, like most of the people in its cemetery, did not live to enjoy old age. When the Fort Worth and Denver Railroad cut across the Panhandle, the tracks did not come to Tascosa. The once lively – and deadly – cowtown faded away as the nearby railroad town of Amarillo grew.
In 1893, a flood on the Canadian River destroyed the bridge leading into town as well as many buildings. That was the last straw for Tascosa, which soon lost its county seat status to Vega.
The same year, Willingham left the Panhandle for New Mexico. He ran a ranch near Roswell, before continuing west to Arizona. He died there in 1925 at the age of 72.
Today, all that remains of old Tascosa–now the home of Cal Farley’s Boy’s Ranch– is the rock building that once served as courthouse and a hill-top collection of lonely graves.
Devil’s Rope
The fabric of our landscape is woven together with barbed wire. It has infiltrated our lands and changed our way of life.
It’s interesting to me how such a simple piece of wire has had such a major impact on the lives of so many people. Barbed wire has been loved and hated ever since Joseph Glidden’s simple invention was first patented in 1873.
It was indeed a history changing invention. Some men praised it while others cursed it. Some men became rich because of it and still others died over it.
A little history…
Before barbed wire there was no effective way to fence livestock. Lumber was basically non-existent on the prairie and shrubbery took too long to grow to be of much use. The plains were unencumbered by fences, and cattle ranchers were able to drive large herds of cattle across country to pre-determined railheads where they were shipped off to slaughterhouses back East.
But dramatic and permanent changes began to take place on the Great Plains as barbed wire began to snake its way across the landscape.
Native Americans called the new wire “Devil’s Rope” as it hindered their nomadic lifestyle. Free-range grazers were being squeezed onto an ever-dwindling supply of public lands, which were eventually overgrazed and effectively put an end to large-scale, open-range cattle enterprises. Trail Drivers grew ever more concerned that their herds would be blocked from reaching their markets by this new barrier.
As an ever-increasing number of landowners erected fences to protect their crops and livestock, those opposed to the loss of their independence began to cut the wire that blocked their way of life. The Fence Cutter Wars quickly became bloody and violent. Laws were quickly passed making it a felony to cut a wire fence. It proved to be an effective deterrent toward ending the violence.
As the Fence Cutting Wars slowly came to an end, and as the dust cleared, it was evident that the open range was a thing of the past, and the old way of life for a multitude of people would never be the same. The barbed wire fence was here to stay. A simple piece of wire effectively harnessed a nation and changed the course of history.
Wheels West
Where would we be without the wheel?
On the list of most important inventions, if there is such a list, I think the wheel would probably be at the top as the single most important invention… ever.
I’m sure there are some who would beg to differ with me on this. I’ve heard there are many fine bakers out there who believe sliced bread should be at the top of that list.
Since the very first wheel came into being, there have been men dedicated to building, repairing and improving upon it. So much so that the making of a wheel evolved into more of an art form than just a simple manufacturing process and those who were dedicated to this art eventually became known as wheelwrights.
Wheelwrights were highly skilled professionals. Their trade was not taught in schools. Their knowledge was handed down to them from mentors and their skills were learned through trial, and years of hands on experience.
By the time wooden spoke wheels came onto the scene, a wheelwright needed to have a significant knowledge base. He needed to have an awareness of the different species of wood available to him and the understanding of the specific properties of each of these species. How each performed under different conditions and situations were mandatory. His understanding of basic engineering was essential and the necessary skill and expertise of the many specialized tools needed to create the finished product was extremely important.
Good quality wheels that didn’t split, break or just plain fall apart was expected and the harsh conditions, under which they were subjected, demanded it.
Not only did a wheel need to be perfectly round, (that’s a given) it also needed to have such things as the correct taper and dish to make the wagon it was mounted to run true. It also needed to hold the weight of a wagon filled with goods as well as withstand the strain placed upon it as it rounded a curve in the road or rolled across rough and uneven terrain along the trail. No matter how good it looked, if it wasn’t built correctly, the wheel could easily collapse or the hub could wear excessively and unevenly against the axel it was mounted on.
Wheelwrights were a major factor in this countries Westward expansion. In fact, many of the wagon trains heading west employed wheelwrights to travel along with, and maintain the wheels of the wagons in their party. Some of the finest wood spoke wheels to ever leave their mark across this countries prairies, plains and mountains were made by the likes of Lewis Downing and Joseph Murphy, two extremely talented men behind the Concord stagecoach and J. Murphy wagons, of which the remnants of their passing can still be seen today in many places along the Mormon, Santa Fe and Oregon trails just to name a few.
Building a quality wood spoke wheel was, and still is, an art form like no other.
We don’t have it so bad
Have you ever had one of those moments where you thought life as you know it had just come to an end? I had one of those moments… It lasted for almost two weeks.
About a month ago I bought my sons computer. It was “Better” than mine, a bigger hard drive and more memory space to boot. Two weeks after I bought it, the hard drive crashed. I turned it on one afternoon and nothing happened. EVERYTHING I had been working on for the past year was on that hard drive. I’m not one to get too excited about things but this was different. This was a big part of my life, stored in a box, and the box had just died. My first thought…this is not good.
The fortunate thing for me is that my son is a computer technician. The unfortunate thing is that it took him close to a week before he could find the time to take a look at it. (He’s busy with school, study, full time job, wife and house) He spent the better part of a rainy Saturday morning working on it but it was definitely DOA. My only saving grace was my old hard drive. He was able to pull most of the lost information off of it and transfer it onto a new hard drive in my “new” computer.
I didn’t get off scot-free though. I lost everything from the day I switched over to my “new” computer to the day it crashed plus everything on my desktop including several short stories and a novel I had been working on. I didn’t get a new writing program installed until yesterday and I’m still having problems with the printer, but things are getting better.
From now on I’ll be storing everything in my documents folder and backing it up onto a disk every couple of weeks.
Anyhow, this whole experience got me to thinking. How did those early western pioneers handle unfortunate events? We have it fairly easy now days. Even though the tools and equipment we use may be more sophisticated and harder to repair ourselves, we do have the ability to get on the phone and have someone with the appropriate knowledge at our beckoned call twenty-four seven if we have problems.
Our ancestors didn’t have it so good. If they broke the blade on their plow or maybe broke a leg or worse, if their mule, ox or horse they plowed with died or the milk cow dried up, they were in deep trouble. They didn’t always have a backup cow or social programs like food stamps or unemployment benefits to fall back on during hard times. They didn’t have health insurance or Workman’s Comp. to rely on if they got sick or hurt on the job. The planting season didn’t wait for their health to improve. Winter came whether they had enough wood chopped or not. For the most part they had to be self-reliant. They certainly had to depend on their neighbors if necessary, presuming they even had any close by. Social contact was a must. There was no such thing as a six-foot privacy fence. Their lives depended on things going smoothly. Setbacks were serious and could easily prove to be devastating. They didn’t have phones and the nearest town may have been a day or two away. Jumping into the truck and driving to the nearest hardware store or emergency room just wasn’t an option.
I’ve decided not to whine about my little misfortune. It was a setback for sure but it wasn’t a matter of life and death. I have the comforts of life. I’m not at the mercy of the changing seasons and I have a gas furnace.
I just wish I hadn’t lost that dang novel.
Frederick Schiller Faust
During the course of some research I was doing on Frederick Faust the other day, I discovered an amazing thing. I hadn’t realized this until now, but the man was a literary dynamo. I can’t believe the amount of writing this one man generated. He actually generated enough for twenty. Most people who read Western novels know him by the pseudo name of Max Brand. He had nineteen others.
First, as usual with me, here's some history on the subject.
Faust was born in Seattle Washington in 1892. He lost his parents at the young age of 13 and as an orphan, he was passed between distant relatives for a time. As a consequence to all the shuffling he ended up attending nineteen different public schools, becoming involved in a series of fist fights at most of them. Eventually, as he put it, he “found his place”, withdrawing into a world of books and daydreams. During the course of his youth he ended up in the San Joaquin valley of California where he supported himself by among other things, working as a hired hand on a succession of the many farms ranches in the area. He attended U.C. Berkley but never graduated due to what the university called “unconventional Conduct” I.E. he was too rowdy. He soon ended up in New York City where he became recognized as a serious poet and successful popular-prose writer.
At some point, he made his way to Florence, Italy where he lived in a villa for a number of years (with his wife and three children), but eventually, he migrated back to Los Angeles, California.
In 1917, during WWI, he tried to enlist into the military but was turned down.
In the 1940’s, after the United States entered WWII, Frederick Faust volunteered again and this time he was accepted into the military where he served in the infantry as a war correspondent in Italy for “Harpers” Magazine.
On May 12th, 1944, Frederick Faust was involved in a night attack on a hilltop village being held by the German army. He was mortally wounded after being hit by a piece of shrapnel. He died at the age of 51.
He was said to be a heavy drinker and suffered from bouts of depression. No doubt, Frederick Faust had lived a hard life.
Faust always had an extraordinary mind. At times he was lost in a world of fantasy and daydreaming, but he always excelled at the ability to transfer his thoughts to paper with such speed and clarity he seldom needed to revise what he wrote. What he wrote went straight to print. He did this for close to forty years.
Just take a look at his many accomplishments. See if you can even begin to imagine the mind of this man and what must have been going on in his head each and every day.
Faust started each morning off by writing poetry with a quill pen on special parchment paper.
Every afternoon and into the evening he wrote prose fiction on an old Underwood typewriter. He averaged twenty pages a day, Every Day. If pressed he could do forty or even fifty pages. As I mentioned above, he seldom revised.
During the 1910’s he started to sell stories to the many emerging pulp fiction magazines of the era.
In the 1920’s he wrote extensively achieving success and fame.
During the 1930’s he wrote scripts for Hollywood.
Frederick Faust was one of the most prolific authors of all time rivaling Edgar Wallace and Isaac Asimov.
Eighty motion pictures, three TV series, radio programs and a musical have been based on his work.
He may have published over 500 books of novels and short stories. I say, “May have” because even though he died in 1944, he left behind a vast amount of material. Enough material to publish, on average, a new book every four months for seventy-five years.
And if that’s not enough... he also published four volumes of poetry.
The Western character “Destry” and the non-western character “Dr. Kildare” are credited to him.
Frederick Schiller Faust wrote under twenty different names other than his own.
Frank Austin, George Owen Baxter, Lee Bolt, Max Brand, Walter C. Butler, George Challis, Peter Dawson, Martin Dexter, Evin Evan, Evan Evans, John Frederick, Frederick Frost, Dennis Lawton, David Manning, Peter Henry Morland, High Owen, John Schoolcraft, Nicholas Silver, Henry Uriel, and Peter Ward.
Faust wrote for a variety of audiences in many genres including Crime, Fantasy, Historical Romance, Espionage, Western, Science Fiction, Adventure, Animal Stories, Love, War, Big Business, Big Medicine, and Fashionable Society.
His total output is somewhere around 30 million words which is equivalent to about 530 average books.
Life’s circumstances set Frederick Foust onto a hard trail in life, but he found a way to make it tolerable, and along the way, he made a few friends. Anyone who has read one of his books can attest to that.
Hats
It’s not the style that counts…or is it?
It’s been said that every hat makes a statement. Boy ain’t that the truth. If you should ever find yourself at your local high school or the local mall, take a look at the type of hats people are wearing. You’ll see all kinds of headgear from ball caps to bandanas and everything in between. There’s no denying it, a hat can definitely make a statement about the person wearing it, but even more than that, it can define a person or a culture.
History tells us that the first “Cowboys” were from the Southwest. The Mexican vaquero; they wore a big broad rimmed decorated hat called a sombrero. The American version of the cowboy hat didn’t come on the scene until 1865. Until then, men heading west wore whatever was handy. Mountain men for example, wore hats made from animal pelts. Others wore everything from sailor hats to top hats and derbies. In most cases, the type of hat a man wore was a clue to his past profession.
It wasn’t until around 1865 that Western hats started to become more standardized. We can thank a man by the name of John B. Stetson for that. He’s credited with fashioning the first “cowboy” hat, and to this day it has remained basically unchanged in its construction and design.
Cowboys took a liking to the hat and made it a regular part of their daily wear. Not only did it keep the sun off the face and rain off the back, it also defined the wearer as a cowboy, and as an added bonus, it came in quite handy for fanning a lazy campfire.
It’s been said that the hat was a perfect place to conceal money and important papers, hence the phrase “keeping something under ones hat” had a more literal meaning than one might think. As a kid growing up, my dad had a favorite phrase and I heard it a lot. “Use your head for something besides a hat rack.” Man I got tired of hearing that.
Now what that has to do with hats, I’m not quite sure. It just came to mind.
The cowboy hat was highly prized and believe it or not, it was a relatively expensive item. A good one could easily set a buckaroo back a month’s wages or more. Its no wonder a cowboy was willing to put his life at risk to retrieve a lost hat, and actually losing ones hat was a sad state of affairs.
I once had a great hat. I almost wore it out but unfortunately I didn’t quite get the chance. That hat and I went through many a hot summer day and cold winter rain together. I admit, I didn’t wear that hat everyday, but when I needed a good workin’ hat, I knew where to find it. It eventually came up missing. I looked high and low for that hat until my wife sheepishly admitted to me that she had thrown it out. “It was all dirty and sweat stained,” she told me. Man, it was like losing an old friend.
I have two hats now, but to tell you the truth, I still miss that ol’ hat.
HAPPY NEW YEAR
From all of me at Rope and Wire.
Here's my toast to the new year.
Scott
May your rope be always ready
And your iron always hot
Your wire never need mending
And your fence posts never rot
Pioneer Shoes
I saw a news article the other day about a man who was walking across the United States. He has already walked about two thousand miles… on paved roads, which to tell you the truth really doesn’t impress me much. At least, not as much as what those brave pioneers heading west did one hundred and fifty years ago. They also walked two thousand miles, and sometimes more than that. They climbed mountains and forded rivers. They walked in the dirt and the mud over the roughest of terrain. There were no such things as paved roads or fancy tennis shoes for these folks. It was an extremely difficult task.
Thinking back to the news article.
The one thing that really did surprise me about this story was the comment that this guy had already worn out seventeen pairs of shoes.
This got me to thinking. How many pairs of shoes did the pioneers wear out on their trek across the country? Did their supply list look something like this?
Flour
Beans
Axel Grease
Seventeen pairs of walking shoes.
I doubt it. So what did they do? Did their shoes wear out? How did they handle the shoe issue?
As my grandpa used to say, “Things were built better back in my day.” That may well have been true but did that include shoes?
These days, most products are not built to last. They’re built to wear out after a pre-determined amount of use. It’s called planned, or built-in obsolescence. Now I realize that all things, no matter what it is, will eventually wear out or break down over time if left to themselves. The second law of thermal dynamics is absolute about this. (It's a science thing) But I also realize most things these days could be manufactured better than they are. But, as we all know, consumer spending is the fuel that drives our economy. If things were built to last longer, consumers would buy less and our economy would suffer, so manufacturers build products that break down sooner than necessary so consumers have to buy the product more often so manufacturers can produce more products that break down…and so it goes. It’s a vicious cycle.
Oh well, I could go on with this but I’m really getting off the subject.
OK, back to the issue of pioneers and shoes. I did a little research. I Googled a few shoe topics to see what might turn up. Not much. It seems the pioneers did wear out their shoes along the trail but for the most part, they repaired what they had or made new ones along the way. I couldn’t find any information on how many pairs they actually went through. I guess they didn’t keep count. I’m sure they had more important things on their minds, like keeping their axels greased…and staying alive.
What's yer brand?
Many good Western novels have been written over the years involving cattle in one way or another. From good ol’ cattle drives to no account cattle rustlers, and everything in between, cows have always been synonymous with the old West. Back in the day, the life-blood of any western ranch was its cattle and if you had em’ you had better brand em’. Like the title papers to your favorite truck, the brand on a cow is proof of ownership. Ranches were known by their brand and when a cowboy rode for a ranch, he rode for the brand. So you can bet there was a fair amount of pride involved in being associated with a certain brand.
Branding cattle was probably the single most important function on a working cattle ranch in the old west. But branding didn’t start there. No, branding livestock has been carried out for thousands of years. In fact, modern day grave robbers…aaah, strike that, I meant to say archaeologists, (yes, they do dig up more than just graves), have found paintings on Egyptian tombs over four thousand years old that show scenes of cattle being branded.
Branding livestock is still done today. A branded cow, or horse for that matter may be a stockman’s only claim to ownership. It’s not only extremely important, these days it’s required by law, especially if you have cattle on the open range. That’s right, the law requires ranchers to mark their cattle with a registered brand, using a branding iron.
These days, there is another way to prove ownership of cattle. It’s through the practice of ear notching and wattling. It has, over the years, become what’s known as a customary law that is based on traditional usage. But that’s another topic, for now, we’ll stick with branding.
Identifying brands on cattle is usually quite simple, unless of course the irons are applied carelessly or improperly, then it can be more difficult.
Branding is usually done twice a year. In the spring after calving and in the fall after the cattle have been driven to their winter range.
The branding iron itself has to meet certain requirements. It has to be about one-eighth to one-quarter inch thick. Thinner irons would slice through the hide and injure the animal, and wider irons would dull the design.
Branding is traditionally done on the cow’s left hip.
Why the left hip?
There’s a very scientific reason for that. Buckaroos who throw a loso with their right hand will come up alongside a cow on the left side and check the brand before they throw. No sense wasting a good throw if the cow isn’t theirs.
So how do you read a brand?
Well, the first thing you need to know is that a brand may consist of numbers, letters, characters or symbols in any combination. Brands are read from top to bottom and left to right. There is also some terminology involved. For instance, if a letter is on it’s side, it’s called “lazy.” Short bars at the bottom of the letter or symbol make it “Walking,” If a letter rests in a quarter-circle it’s "rocking."
There have been other modifications done to brands to make them “Flying”, “Tumbling”, “Running” and more.
If you should have a need to trace a certain brand, your county records department should have a brand records book dating back to the organization of the county.
There are also various types of brands that a rancher might use to identify his own critters, so study up. I’ll post a quiz in the January issue of “Over the Fence,” the monthly newsletter of Rope and Wire.com. If you haven’t subscribed yet, why not do so now? There will be a great interview with Western Author Terry Burns this month as well.
I would also like to extend a very Merry Christmas to all of you who read this site. It’s because of you (who read and submit content) this site is so successful. Please consider sending an eCard or a link to a friend or relative this Christmas season.
Whiskey, and make it the "good stuff"
A cowboy walks into a saloon and moseys up to the bar. “I’ll take a whiskey,” he orders, “and make it the good stuff.” The bartender slaps a small glass onto the bar, pulls a bottle off the back shelf, and pours him a shot. The ol’ cowboy grabs it up and gulps it down. He pounds on his chest a couple of times and lets out a whoop. “That’s some powerful tanglefoot you got their barkeep. I’ll take another.”
This was a classic scene from the Old West played out in countless mining camps and cow town saloons of the 1800’s. Question is… what did the cowboy really get? What exactly was he drinking?
I can guarantee you it wasn’t anything like the distilled and aged beverage we get these days. There was no such thing as “quality control”, and “Standards and Practices” didn’t yet exist.
In fact, mixing up a batch of whiskey was really not much of an art or a science. The whiskey served in many of the saloons back then was a fairly nasty concoction, which more than likely was put together in a back room by the bartender himself.
The basic ingredient was usually raw alcohol, and to that, any number of strange ingredients may have been added to the batch including, but not limited to creosote, burnt sugar and chewing tobacco.
If the bartender purchased his Whiskey “ready made” it was usually 100 proof, but he didn’t necessarily serve it that way. He would usually cut it with such things as turpentine or ammonia to make it go further, and quite possibly he added a few ingredients of his own such as gunpowder or cayenne.
Back then gunpowder was made from a mixture of sulfur, saltpeter and carbon…all edible.
Can you imagine drinking a mixture of raw alcohol, chewing tobacco, creosote and cayenne pepper…and possibly even a little gunpowder?
I can fully understand why it was served in a shot glass and drank down in one gulp. Proof enough for me that the whole idea behind drinking this swill was nothing more than to either get drunk or show how tuff you were. After all, lets not forget the fact that the saloon was a man’s world, and bravado was definitely part of the scene.
The cowboys and miners who frequented these saloons had names for this stuff. Here are just a few. Tanglefoot, rot gut, red eye, coffin varnish, ditch water, firewater, bug juice, pine top and forty rod.
The name “Forty rod” has to do with the fact that it was so powerful, it could kill a man before he could walk that far after drinking the stuff.
For those of you who don’t know, forty rods is 660 feet, or the distance along one side of a square ten acre parcel of land.
“Firewater” is said to have originated with the Indians who were sold whiskey by the white man. They would spit the first mouthful into the fire and if it flared up, it was good.
The term “proof” originated back when whiskey dealers would test the strength of a product by soaking gunpowder in it and then trying to ignite it. If it lit up, it was considered 100 proof. The idea being that this proved the strength of the product and that it was not watered down.
Considering what I’ve learned about whiskey in the old West, I wonder what that ol’ cowboy at the top of this article meant by the “good stuff?”
I for one don’t think there was such a thing.
It’s Tradition
I was watching my son play a video game the other day. The character was a knight and he rode this really nice white horse. As I watched I noticed on several occasions the knight mounted his horse from its right side.
Well I know a few things about horses and I caught this glitch in the program right away. I made the “mistake” of mentioning to my son that horses are always mounted from their left side, not the right as this knight was doing.
Here’s why I call this a mistake. I no sooner had the words out of my mouth when my son came back at me with that dreaded one word question. You know the one. It’s the “Lets see if he really knows what he’s talking about or is he just blowing smoke” question.
It’s the one that can make you look like a very knowledgeable and well-informed dad…or an idiot who doesn’t know what he’s talking about.
My kids and I have a great relationship. I encourage them to question statements I or anyone else may make if they feel they need more information or an explanation of something they don’t fully understand. Asking questions is a good way to learn and it keeps people on their toes.
Anyhow, I knew the question was coming. I could see that look on his face and I was not prepared to give him a good answer. The old standard “Because that’s the way its always been done” just wasn’t going to cut it.
That’s when he let it out…”Why?”
The best I could do on the spur of the moment was to turn it into a fun moment for us. So I tilted my head slightly and jokingly said, “I think I hear your mother calling me” and I headed down the stairs.
He yelled after me “Ya right dad, she’s not even home!”
“I have good ears.” I yelled back as I headed down the hall to my computer. I needed to do some homework.
A short time later I was back with the answer and some newfound knowledge. It was a lighthearted moment. My son had caught me making a statement I couldn’t respond to and we both learned something in the end.
Question: Why are horses mounted from their left side?
Answer: First lets look at it from the horse’s point of view.
Ever since horses have been on this earth they have been the hunted, not the hunter. It’s part of their nature to be aware of potential danger and detect dangerous predators. Their eyes are set well on the sides of their head and their vision is close to 360 degrees. They have what is called monocular vision, which means they see two fields of vision at once, one out of each eye. What a horse knows on it’s left side isn’t necessarily what it knows on its right side, at least until it learns. Its instinct is to be suspicious of anything new that has been introduced into its environment. Consequently, a horse that has consistently been mounted on its left side has learned that this action is not a danger and will remain docile but if this same horse is approached or mounted from the right side it will see this as an unfamiliar event. Survival mode kicks in and it may instinctively spook.
So what does this have to do with mounting a horse on it’s left side as opposed to it’s right? The short answer is “tradition.” But there’s more to it than that.
The practice most likely originated when sword-toting warriors first began riding horses. For the most part they wore their swords on their left side, since that would be the easiest way for a right-handed swordsman to pull it from its scabbard. So if you're wearing your sword on your left side, you would naturally want to mount your horse on its left, since otherwise the sword would get in the way when you threw your leg over it’s back as you were mounting. This would most likely cause the horse to spook.
This seems to be the general thinking on why we traditionally mount a horse from it’s left side and it does make a certain amount of sense, at least up to the point where we stopped wearing swords. That’s where tradition enters the picture and maybe a touch of good old standardization. It’s true, we are creatures of habit and most of us don’t take too well to change. Plus, common sense says that if everyone mounts from the same side, nobody gets a nasty surprise when they try to mount an unfamiliar horse from the “wrong” side.
Makes perfect sense to me.
Thanksgiving
Pilgrims and Pioneers
This is the time of year when people write, think and talk about giving thanks. I won’t let this day pass by without putting in my two cents worth.
Historically, “Thanksgiving” in the U.S. started with the pilgrims in 1621. It was a three-day event celebrating a good harvest.
Traditionally, Thanksgiving began in 1863 when President Lincoln proclaimed “Thanksgiving Day” but it wasn’t declared a legal holiday until 1941.
Some would consider the pilgrims our countries first refugees. In 1620 they left their homes in Europe due to religious persecution.
They said goodbye to family and friends and sailed off across a vast ocean in relatively small wooden ships to seek a better life. Once here, they found the conditions harsh. Within one year 46 of the original 102 pilgrims had died. Some of the Native Americans were friendly and helped them through that first grueling year but by 1676 the pilgrims were referring to the Indians as “Heathen” natives.
I think the pilgrims could also be considered pioneers, as they were the first non-native settlers opening the way for others to follow. There are stark similarities between the pilgrims and the pioneers…
They both left their homes for a better life.
Some left due to religious persecution.
They left behind friends and family.
They traveled across a vast expanse in small wooden wagons/ships.
The conditions were harsh and many died along the way.
Some of the Native Americans were friendly. Some were not.
The Indians were referred to as “Heathens.”
So what does that have to do with Thanksgiving anyhow?
Everything.
I’m sure the Pilgrims and the Pioneers were offering up prayers of thanks all along the voyage/trail. Thank you for the opportunity for a new life. Thank you for getting me through another day. Thank you for keeping our boat from sinking or our wagon from breaking down. Thank you for the friends I’ve made along the way. Thank you for keeping me, and my family safe.
I’m sure you can think of many other things they were thankful for.
These days as always, Thanksgiving is a day to step back from our hectic lives and consider the things we have and the things were thankful for as individuals and as a Nation.
In my opinion, giving thanks is something we should all be doing on a daily basis.
And, as we consider our blessings and give thanks for them, we should also consider taking an action step to help those who are less fortunate than ourselves. To give back a portion of what has been so graciously given to us is an honorable thing to do.
We have so much more than our pioneer ancestors ever dreamed of. Yet THEY were some of the most giving people in our Nations history. Their hearts were not hard toward their neighbor. They didn’t hide from each other behind privacy fences. They helped a neighbor in need. They were thankful for what they had and they willingly shared with those who needed a helping hand. They didn’t turn away from their neighbors who were truly in need they turned toward them.
Here is my concern.
These days too many of us see Thanksgiving as nothing more than a couple days off from work, a big meal at mom’s house and an afternoon of watching football. Maybe an obligatory prayer over the food, but that’s it. No thought of truly giving thanks for the blessed moments of our lives or our standing amongst the people of this world. Did you know that from the poorest to the richest, we are in the top five percent of the wealthiest people on this planet! How blessed we are. But yet, right here on our own doorstep there are still those who are truly in need.
As individuals and as a Nation, I wonder if we aren’t losing our hard earned pioneer spirit?
I hope not.
This Thanksgiving and throughout the Christmas season…
In all you do Give Thanks and help a neighbor in need.
Scott
Big Bend Death Trap
By James J. Griffin
A Rope and Wire Review
I took this book with me to read on a recent flight to a vacation spot my wife and I were heading for. I didn’t expect to finish the book before we landed and figured I would complete it on the return flight. But once I got into it, I didn’t want to put it down. I was hoping beyond reason to finish it before we landed but to no avail. Once on the ground I was forced by my wife to pack it away and get off the plane, which I reluctantly did.
I didn’t wait for the return flight. I finished the book sitting on a beach in Maui.
Jim Griffin has authored several Western novels. Big Bend Death Trap is his latest venture in the genre of western fiction.
His Texas Ranger series continues with another exciting adventure of Texas Ranger Cody Havlicek who has been assigned to unravel the mystery behind the death and disappearance of two fellow Rangers. It’s an extremely dangerous assignment and Cody Havlicek finds himself in the middle of a daring and complicated plan involving murder and deceit. A Plan, if successful, would put a fair section of Texas into the hands of notorious outlaws.
The main character, Texas Ranger Cody Havlicek is intelligent and resourceful. The same can be said for his horse, Yankee. Cody is a true and honest Western hero who uses his brain as well as his brawn to get to the bottom of strange and suspicious happenings in the Big Bend region of Texas.
Along the trail to the town of Alpine Cody befriends Tommy, a young boy down on his luck. Its here Tommy learns the meaning of responsibility and friendship and plays a crucial role in helping Cody complete his mission.
Alpine is also the center of the storm so to speak. It’s a town where honest men and outlaws have coexisted in an uneasy relationship and where the outlaws are beginning to get the upper hand.
Big Bend Death Trap is not an overly complicated, drawn out novel, which in my opinion is a good thing. It’s filled with excitement, fast action and intrigue from one page to the next. The plot contains a good share of twists and turns that will peak your interest and keep you guessing to the very end.
Find out how it all turns out. Read the book. Big Bend Death Trap. You’ll enjoy every word.
Today in History
The Gunfight at the OK Corral
On October 26. 1881, this one event would become a legendary piece of American Old West History. It has been dramatized, theorized and idolized for one hundred and twenty six years now. Numerous articles and books have been written about it and several movies have been made depicting this event.
The members of the Clanton/McLaury gang were notorious murderers and cattle thieves.
The Earp brothers and Doc Holiday were there to help Wyatt keep the peace in one of the wildest towns in the West, Tombstone Arizona.
The showdown was actually a power struggle for the control of Tombstone. If the Clanton gang had taken down the Earp brothers that day, the history of Tombstone would have read very different today. It was imperative to bring law and order to Tombstone and ending the reign of the Clanton gang was a necessary step toward that end.
Thirty seconds and thirty shots was all it took, and 126 years later, were still talking about it. It’s a very important piece of Arizona as well as Old West and American history.
The Mule
Horses have always been at the forefront of Western culture. They’re great animals for working cattle and a cowboys preferred mode of transportation.
Mules on the other hand, most people don’t think too much about mules.
At one time in this countries history, they were pretty darned important. Maybe even more important than the horse.
Admittedly they’re not as glamorous as a horse. You don’t see too many magazines out there dedicated to mules. I think the Lone Ranger and Roy Rogers would have looked awful silly riding mules. And the Kentucky Derby… it’s certainly not a mule race.
Horses have always enjoyed the spotlight while mules have always been in the background.
(Except for Francis the talking mule, but that’s another story).
And so it is with horses and mules.
The old Western movies tend to show covered wagons being pulled by horses. The truth is, during this countries Westward expansion most wagons rolling along the trail were pulled by either oxen or that ol’ beast of burden, the mule.
The best draft mules came out of Missouri. Their breeding program was darn good. Typically, a Missouri mule was a cross between a draft breed mare and a mammoth jack, which is the largest American breed of donkey. The Missouri mule was very stout and easy to manage.
During the great migration west, Missouri was a “jumping off” place where hundreds of thousands of pioneers began their journey west, with Missouri mules.
Mules were typically faster and more dependable than oxen and the ox’s split hoof had a bad tendency to splinter on the rocks in mountainous terrain.
Not exactly the best place to have “engine failure.”
By the 1870’s Missouri breeders were promoting their mules to the U.S. cotton, mining and timber industries.
Missouri mules were supplied to the British military by the hundreds of thousands during WWI and the U.S. army in WWII.
Early freight wagons were pull by teams of mules. A typical “freight train” was two or three wagons pulled by ten or more mules.
The drivers of these wagons were called “mule skinners.” They actually rode one of the mules. It was their job to keep their freight wagon under control and moving. They would guide the entire team with a single rein called a jerk line.
For a time, mules were even pulling stagecoaches, as they were more dependable and sure-footed in treacherous terrain.
Up until the early 1900’s, mules were used to plow most of the agricultural land in this country. The industrial revolution brought forth the advent of the tractor and by 1940 it had replaced most of the working mules in this country.
For the most part, horses do take center stage. They’re big, sleek, and stately and let’s not forget smart. The image of the horse was permanently cast into the minds of countless youngsters by the likes of Roy Rogers, Tom Mix, The Lone Ranger, Hopalong Cassidy and many others. While the lowly mule had only Francis (the talking mule) to boost it’s image.
Horses may get the glory but lets not forget the mule. It pulled and packed our weapons of war. It pulled our wagons across the country and pulled our plows across our fertile land. If it weren’t for this humble beast of burden, our countries history would read differently today.
***
I briefly mentioned Francis, the talking mule. I can’t in all good conscience sign off on this without at least giving equal time to the smartest and most famous of all horses, Mr. Ed. You know, the talking horse.
Willlberrr!
The Stagecoach
My wife and I took a trip to Twin Falls, Idaho a while back. It’s about six hundred miles from Eugene, Oregon where we make our home. We loaded up the car early in the morning and headed out of town. It was chilly so we turned on the car’s heater as well as the ones we have in our seats. We stopped off at a drive up coffee hut and ordered two coffee drinks to go. My wife likes vanilla latte’s and I’m partial to a good mocha, which is basically hot chocolate with a shot of espresso.
We hit the freeway and traveled at seventy miles an hour. We took an hour or so for a good lunch at a nice restaurant. By the afternoon it started to get warm so we turned on the air conditioning. We made it to our destination in less than 12 hours. It was a long day and we were glad to be in Twin Falls and out of the car.
Now contrast this with the same trip by stagecoach around 150 years ago.
Lets say there even was such a thing as a stage that went from Eugene to Twin Falls.
You could be traveling with up to eight other passengers inside the stage. There could be as many as another dozen passengers on top, the luggage was secured to the back in what was called a boot. When the boot was full the remainder would have been put up topside. There is no doubt you needed to travel light.
The stage did have leather seats. Three of them in fact, bench style. But there was virtually no legroom. If you were lucky enough to get one of the end seats you had a backrest. If you ended up in the center seat all you had were leather straps to hold onto. Either way, you were lucky if you had much more than a foot of bench space.
Coffee drinks to go? I don’t think so. Heated seats? No way. Heat on cold mornings? Well, with nine people crammed into one stage, heat may not have been a problem in the morning.
And what about air conditioning during the heat of the day? Well, you still had nine people crammed into the stage so heat was probably still an issue as well as stagnant air, dust and possibly body odor. Sorry, no air conditioning on this ride.
How about a nice lunch? Well there was the occasional stage stop where the horses were changed out but the food was notoriously bad.
Oh yes, time. By car we made it in twelve hours.
You would have needed plenty of time to reach your destination by stage. Most stages traveled between five and ten miles per hour. So, lets do some math. If you left town at first light and you traveled for twelve hours per day at five to ten miles per hour, you would have to endure this ‘adventure’ for five to ten full days.
And what about a motel 6 at the end of each long day? More than likely it was a sheltered corner of some corral or possibly even the street.
Stagecoaches are pretty cool to look at up close. There is some great craftsmanship involved in building one. To be perfectly honest, the stagecoach played an important part in the evolution of transportation in this country. Some people wish we would return to this simpler time. Back when everyone rode horses and stagecoaches were the most advanced mode of transportation. It might be better for the environment and maybe even fun in a novel sort of way. But to travel by stage? Dream on. It was no picnic. I think I would almost rather walk.
Oh, I almost forgot, when traveling by stage, if the road was rough, you did walk. And if the stage needed a push, you did that too.
The Code of the West
The code of the West. It comes in many different versions.
Most of the early Hollywood TV cowboys had their own version they shared with their audience. No doubt written by some Hollywood scriptwriter.
Hopalong Cassidy had the “Creed for American Boys and Girls,” Roy Rodgers had “Riders Rules” and the Lone Ranger had the “Lone Ranger’s Creed.” Even Gene Autry had a version called “Ten Commandments of the Cowboy”
They all carry a great moral message on life and living. It’s something I tend to see less and less of as I get older.
Texas Bix Bender, the author of “A Cowboys Guide to Life” put it this way.
“Write it on your heart. Stand by the code, and it will stand by you. Ask no more and give no less than honesty, courage, loyalty, generosity and fairness.” I like that.
Most versions of the “Code” can be related back to something that was written over two thousand years ago. It’s out of the book of “Galatians.” It’s called the fruit of the spirit and you can find it in the “Bible.”
But for the Cowboy version the one I like best is “The Lone Ranger’s Creed.” Here it is...
THE LONE RANGER’S CREED
I believe that to have a friend, a man must be one.
That all men are created equal and that everyone has within them the power to make this a better world.
That God put the firewood there, but that every man must gather and light it himself.
In being prepared physically, mentally and morally and to fight when necessary for that which is right.
That a man should make the most of what equipment he has.
That “This government, of the people, by the people and for the people,” shall live always.
That men should live by the rule of what is best for the greatest number.
That sooner or later…somewhere…somehow…we must settle with the world and make payment for what we have taken.
That all things change, but the truth and the truth alone lives on forever.
I believe in my Creator, my country and my fellow man.
I’m sure all societies in this world have their own version of the “Code.”
If only we all lived by it.
Rodeos and wiener dogs
Well the rodeo season is all but over for another year. Cowboys around the country are nursing broken bones and bruised egos.
Belt buckles the size of dinner plates have been handed out and the sting of a friendly slap on the back is merely a memory. Also fading into the distance for another year is the background noise of animal rights activists who insist that rodeo stock are treated inhumanely.
Is a cow being roped and dropped to the ground inhumane? Is it inhumane to ride a Brahma bull? Insane maybe, but certainly not inhumane.
Cowboys have been roping and dropping cattle ever since they started to brand em’.
Oh, I’m sure some think that’s inhumane too.
Rodeo cowboys are doing nothing more than showing off the finely honed skills used by buckaroos for the past 200 years.
Well, maybe not the bull riding part. I have a feeling that got started on a drunken bet.
But ropin’, bronc ridin’ and steer wrestlin’ are definitely part of our Western heritage and bringing ones skills into the confines of the arena for friendly competition has been happening for thousands of years. Rodeo cowboys are well trained and the stock is well cared for. They are both athletes in every sense of the word. Neither one is treated inhumanely.
Although I’m afraid I will have to admit; I’m sort of an animal rights activist myself. I tend to get upset whenever I see a greased pig contest. Pigs weren’t meant to be all greased up like that and they weren’t meant to be chased around in an enclosed area while adults and children alike watch and giggle with delight. How inhumane! That poor little piggy must be scared half to death and rubbing all that grease on the poor little thing. Why, that can’t be good for it.
But that’s not the half of it.
Let me tell you about the thing that really gets my dander up.
Wiener dog racing. That’s right, wiener dog racing.
How is it that people can abuse those cute little wiener dogs like that? They strap those numbers on their backs and make them run great distances without giving it a second thought. Why, those short little wiener dog legs weren’t meant to run like that. It’s down right cruel and inhumane. Wiener dog racing should be banned in the worst way.
All kidding aside, animal abuse is not right and I’m glad there are people who are willing to stand up for animals when they see them being abused. But unfortunately there are differing opinions on what constitutes abuse and trying to make an issue out of something that doesn’t exist is wrong.
Cowboys…way out West
When I mention cowboys and cattle, what part of the country comes to mind? Texas or maybe Arizona? Cattle country for sure and the American cowboy has been around these parts for well over 100 years. But did you know there is a state even further West that has been the home to cattle ranching and cowboys for even longer than that? And I’m not talking California.
What could be further West than California you say? Well, how about Hawaii.
No, I’m not crazy. It’s true. There are both cowboys and cattle ranches in Hawaii. In fact cowboys and cattle ranching have been at home in Hawaii for 175 years. Long before the white man gave a whole lot of thought about venturing West of the Mississippi.
History tells us there have been longhorn cattle in Hawaii since 1793. They were a gift from England to the King of Hawaii. The King was so impressed with the longhorns he placed them under “sacred” protection and they were allowed to roam and breed freely for many years. But, as the old saying goes, all good things must come to an end.
Within twenty years the cattle had grown so numerous and unmanageable the sacred protection was lifted and life for the once protected Hawaiian cow was changed forever. Some of the cattle were hunted for sport and others were rounded up into herds.
So the question is, what came first, the cow or the cowboy? Well, in Hawaii, it was obviously the cow.
The Hawaiians really didn’t know what to do with the longhorns once they had rounded them up. They had no experience in the cattle ranching business. So in 1832 the King of Hawaii sent an ambassador to Mexico for some much needed help in managing this new herd.
The ambassador returned with three Spanish-Mexican “Vaqueros”. The native Hawaiians trained by these South of the border cowboys soon became known as “Paniolos”. That’s “Hawaiian cowboys” to us mainlanders.
The Vaqueros were so skilled in their craft and the King was so impressed with their abilities he requested more Vaqueros be sent to Hawaii to teach the Hawaiians how to ranch. The Vaqueros not only taught the Hawaiians how to handle cattle, they also taught them their crafts such as how to work with leather and metal. They became skilled in making saddles, lariats and bullwhips as well as bits and spurs.
Not only did the Paniolos take on new and valuable skills, they also took on the colorful dress of the Vaqueros, and do so to this very day.
By the 1830’s cattle ranching had become a very successful and intricate part of the Hawaiian economy. Cattle hides and beef were exported to an international market. In fact, Hawaiian beef was shipped to the mainland during the California gold rush.
You know, I find it interesting that Hawaii has such a rich heritage in the cattle industry and that the “Paniolos” have excelled at the necessary skills needed to manage cattle. But, if compared to the Western cowboy of the continental United States, the similarities end there. There’s something very unique about the cowboy of the old West and when you put the two saddle to saddle, they are worlds apart.
Cowboy Coffee
I’m a coffee lover. I admit it. I love a good cup of hot coffee. I’m not talking about one of those $tarbuck$ coffee flavored drinks. I’m talkin’ about strong, black coffee. The kind that will curl your toes. I love it. I drink it every day. But I have to admit, I won’t drink just anything. It has to taste good. I roast my own beans and use filtered water and I don’t perk it, I filter it. It’s my “refined” version of cowboy coffee.
I spend a fair amount of time on the Internet and as I was researching cowboy coffee I found very little information on its history but quite a few versions of how to brew it. Most of them are basically the same…except for the humor. That part of the recipe can vary some but it is definitely a part of the mix. As I said, I didn’t find much on the history of cowboy coffee but I did come across one article which stated that out on the range, the cook actually roasted green coffee beans in a skillet before he brewed the coffee. If that’s true then maybe my “refined” version isn’t so refined after all.
Basically, cowboy coffee is a generous helping of ground coffee thrown into a pot of boiling water. Some recipes call for an eggshell, I’m not sure why. Some call for the whole egg. Just crack it into the coffee and throw the shell in after it. I Really don’t understand that one. Maybe it’s one of the humorous ingredients.
Here are a few more.
Strain the coffee through an old sock. (My guess is a clean one).
The coffee should be so thick a six-gun or a horseshoe will float in it.
(Does this mean you may need to eat it with a spoon, like pudding???)
Authentic cowboy coffee needs to be made over a real campfire and you have to drink it from a tin can.
For me, I wouldn’t use just any ol’ can. If given the choice I would use a can that once had beans in it.
Now that would be authentic.
Oh yes, one more. Use the remaining coffee to extinguish the campfire… I’m guessing that would be most of it.
There you have it. Cowboy coffee. Good to the last spoonful. Ah…I mean drop.
All kidding aside, Cowboy coffee was part of the American Western tradition. It was very strong, very hot and very much loved by the men who made and drank it.
The Mighty Buffalo
“Oh give me a home where the buffalo roam…”
In case you didn’t already know, that is the opening line to a song written in 1876 by Brewster Higley. The song is called “Home on the range.” It’s the official state song of Kansas and the unofficial anthem of the American West.
The thing that strikes me about this is that in 1876, when the above words was first penned, This country was in the middle of a mass slaughter of over 30 million American buffalo. By 1889 there was reported to be only 1,091 American buffalo left alive. You read it correctly. Only one thousand and ninety one American buffalo left alive…out of 30 million.
Higley would have been virtually homeless.
So what was the reason behind this wholesale slaughter of the American bison?
Well, there are several reasons floating around out there. Two of them have to do with technology.
For instance, the advancement of hide tanning methods first developed in Europe. This new method made the soft hide of the buffalo much tougher and therefore highly marketable as industrial leather. Europe’s demand for American buffalo hides was extreme.
The other development was the breech loading carbine rifle. This new rifle gave hunters the ability to kill buffalo in large numbers. Buffalo hunters could kill in just a few minutes, all the buffalo they could skin in one day.
Except for the skin and the tongue, which was considered a delicacy, the carcass was left to rot.
There is also a more sinister theory behind the slaughter of the American buffalo.
It involves money, greed and man’s inhumanity to his fellow man.
It goes something like this.
White settlers were migrating to the West and Native Americans were not making it easy. The U.S. Government wanted to give white settlers clear passage to the West so they began a military campaign to remove and relocate the Native American population from the Western plains. As part of that campaign, it encouraged hunters to shoot and exterminate the buffalo. Why? Because Native Americans were dependent on the buffalo. It was their main source of food, clothing and shelter. The thought was that by eliminating the buffalo, you would eliminate the Native Americans who stood in the way of the Westward migration.
Well, it worked in part. During the same time span the buffalo herds were being wiped out, the Native American population dropped by fifty percent.
The other part to this little story is that there was also a high interest in the growing cattle industry. The buffalo were a hindrance to that growth as they were located on prime grazing land. They needed to be removed to make room for cattle.
What was left of the great American buffalo herds was moved to protected Federal land.
And just for the record.
What was left of the Native American population was moved to designated reservations.
The white man had successfully cleared the land of the American buffalo and the Native American Indian. The way was made clear for commerce and cattle.
Well, those are the theories; you can draw your own conclusions.
If you would like to comment please feel free to do so on the Rope and Wire forum.
Wild Horses in America
Living in the West you tend to hear a lot about wild horses from both sides of the issue. Ranchers, wild horse enthusiasts and the BLM (Bureau of Land Management) all have concerns about the wild horse and they don’t always agree on how to handle the wild horse issue.
Let’s start at the beginning. How did we end up with wild horses anyhow?
It seems to have started several hundred years back when Spain began to establish missions in North America. The Native Americans in the area often raided those missions for the horses.
Some escaped.
In 1680 the Native Americans successfully resisted the domination of Spain in what is known as the “Pueblo Revolt”. The revolt provided the Pueblo Indians with several thousand horses. With these horses they started breeding larger herds selling many of them to other Native American tribes.
Some escaped.
By the mid 1700’s the Native American horse culture was well established.
At about this same time the Western short grass prairies were supporting large herds of bison. It was a natural choice for horses to join the bison in these areas.
By the mid 1800’s large herds of horses were turned loose on the open range to pasture. They were an important resource to ranchers. It was a way to provide them with new ranch stock, gathering them when they were needed.
Those who fell upon hard times and couldn’t afford to keep their stock abandoned them on the open plains. These included Draft, Carriage and saddle horses. Left to fend for themselves, these horses became what we refer to today as “wild” horses.
Eventually, as the white man migrated further West, the great bison herds were all but wiped out. Cattle and sheep were eventually introduced to the short grass prairie. So with what was left of the bison plus the cattle, sheep and horses all grazing in the same basic area, overgrazing slowly and permanently altered the short grass prairies. So much so, that over the years, the natural selection process has produced wild horses that are not only strong and sure-footed. They are also sound-minded and intelligent. They function well within a natural social unit and once they overcome their fear of people, they can be trained to perform a variety of tasks.
Managing wild horses.
Up until the 1970’s, wild horses were seen as having little value and were routinely rounded up and slaughtered for the pet food market.
During this time a successful public awareness campaign was under way. In 1971 the U. S. Congress passed the “Wild and Free-Roaming Horses and Burros Act” which required the protection and management of wild horses and burros. The BLM was put in charge of these wild herds. They are now under the protection and management of our Federal Government.
There are an estimated fifty thousand wild horses on Western public lands these days. One way the BLM manages the wild horse and burro population is by holding an annual roundup putting wild horses up for public adoption to whoever is willing and able to provide them with good homes.
Unfortunately, the Federal protection only covers wild horses, and not all of them at that. Thousands of domestic horses are still slaughtered in this country or shipped to foreign slaughterhouses each year. These are mainly riding horses and former racehorses. But my understanding is that some wild horses still manage to get caught on the wrong side of the fence, so to speak.
Horses played a major roll in the history of our country. Before the automobile, they were our main mode of transportation. They pulled the plows that cultivated our land and they carried the soldiers who fought so bravely for it. Many horses died alongside the soldiers they carried. Horses were a huge part of the American culture for both the white man and the Native American. From the East coast to the West. They played a big part in the Westward expansion of this country. They are still a big part of our culture even to this day. Many Western ranchers are very much dependant on horses as part of there day to day operations.
There was a time in our history when a horse was so important, a man would pay with his life for stealing another mans horse. And now we slaughter them for dog food. In my opinion, to send even one of these magnificent animals to the slaughterhouse is wrong. It may not be a hangin’ offence, but it’s definitely criminal.
If you want to add your two cents worth, you can do so on the Rope and Wire forum.
The humble “Chuck Wagon”
How one mans idea revolutionized the cattle industry.
The civil war had ended and the country was on the mend. The West was opening up and cattle ranchers were moving cattle across the country from as far South as Texas to the railheads of Kansas and Missouri. From there they were dispersed as far North as Canada.
Before 1866 cattle drives offered no organized method of feeding and caring for the men who drove those cattle. Most were on their own when it came to feeding and caring for themselves. Their rations were very basic and often lean.
The year was 1866.
While preparing to drive two thousand head of cattle from Texas to Denver, a young man named Charles Goodnight came up with a very progressive idea. Instead of having his men fend for their meals themselves, he would organize a way to feed and care for them along the trail. This would not only keep up their physical strength and mental awareness, it would also free the men from the burden of carrying essential supplies and equipment.
Charles purchased a surplus military wagon and designed it to be a mobile kitchen.
He also hired a cook to prepare hot meals for his men.
The wagon was bowed on top and covered with waterproof canvas. It was about ten feet in length and a little more than three feet wide. He filled it with the supplies and equipment they would need along the trail. The back of the wagon was fitted with a box. It was well supplied with an assortment of food and cooking utensils that would be needed for the long trail drive. The lid was hinged at the bottom and doubled as the cooks work table when it was opened.
A barrel hooked to the side of the wagon carried a two-day supply of water.
A cowhide cradle under the wagon carried the fuel supply gathered by the cook as he drove on ahead of the herd.
The cook was expected to have a hot meal ready for the outfit when it arrived at a predetermined spot at the end of the day. He was also up several hours before the rest of the men preparing the morning meal. Most cooks doubled as a barber, a medic and sometimes a referee. The cook worked harder and slept less than any other man in the outfit. But he was paid well for his trouble. Sometimes double the wages of any of the other men.
The chuck wagon was a natural gathering place. Meals were served up at the wagon and eaten in the general area. As the sun went down cowboys would gather around the cooks fire and recount the experiences of the day, tell stories and enjoy each other’s company over a hot cup of coffee.
The cook usually went by the name of “cookie” but behind his back he was often known as the “bean wrangler”, “dough puncher” or “biscuit shooter.”
But even so, he was the most respected member of the outfit.
At the time, the concept of the chuck wagon was the single most important factor in the growth of the American cattle industry.
Its place in Western history is assured.
Learning to Winnow
It amazes me how we are given opportunities throughout our lives to get to know others but, for one reason or another, some people don’t take advantage of it. I admit it. I’m one of those people.
Here’s a prime example...
I became acquainted with a man named Dallas McCord through the Emerald Valley Opry, a local Western music show here in Eugene, Oregon. I knew he played the guitar and sang. He played at the opry on several occasions, but I didn’t really know him. We were formally introduced at one of our opry board meetings. We were interviewing him for a position on the board.
After the meeting I knew he was also involved with Cowboy Poetry, but I didn’t know to what extent and I didn’t bother to ask.
He ended up with the position where we served together for some time. I learned he worked for Lane Transit District (LTD) and hosted a weekly radio show on KNND out of Cottage Grove, Oregon. Over time I learned a few general things about him but we never really talked much. When we did, our conversations didn’t evolve much past saying hi and a general statement about the weather and maybe a comment about the local college football team. (How ‘bout those Ducks)
I’ve moved on from the Emerald Valley Opry. Dallas took over as the Chairman of the Board.
I’ve recently heard he has been awarded the Will Rodgers Cowboy award as the Academy of Western Artists small region disc jockey of the year. WOW! He’s that good? I never knew.
It turns out there are a lot of things about Dallas I didn’t know. For example, he’s not only an extremely talented musician and singer, he’s also a talented songwriter, and poet. I’m sure he’s really good at his job with LTD as well, and he’s obviously a darn good DJ.
I’m sure there’s much more about Dallas I didn’t bother to learn while I had the opportunity and that’s my loss.
I’m really not writing this to be a namedropper. I do have a point and I’ll get to it soon. The thing is, this award I hear he’s getting got me to thinking. Even though for the most part Dallas and I didn’t run in the same circles, our paths did cross for a time. I had the opportunity to get to know him better. I just didn’t bother.
I may be using Dallas as my example but believe me, he’s not the only person to cross my path that I’ve done this to.
My point being… we all have opportunities in our lives to get to know people we’re acquainted with. Maybe we work with them or maybe were on the same bowling team or something. But for one reason or another, we don’t bother to really get to know them.
We really should take the time and make the effort to get to know the people around us.
My guess is it would enrich our lives.
For me, I tend to be lazy when it comes to knowing people past the “How ‘bout those Ducks” stage. I’ve got this mindset that most people just aren’t worth the effort. It’s been proven to me on many occasions.
But you know, as I get older I look back on those who have indeed enriched my life and I have to reconsider. Maybe it is worth the effort. Maybe I’m just going about it wrong. Maybe the thing I really need to do is to learn how to winnow.
Webster puts it this way: “To winnow is to analyze or examine carefully, to eliminate the worthless.”
There will be some effort involved in this. Getting to know the people around me and winnowing out the worthless ones. It’ll involve changing my mindset and not being so lazy.
I think I may give it a try…a little later. But for right now…
Congratulations on your recent award Dallas.
How ‘bout those Ducks!
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