Get Along, Little Doggie!

What does an Eastern greenhorn know about a cattle drive? Very little.

In Double Crossing, my western historical mystery, I introduced a handsome Texan -- Ace Diamond -- a mix of Rooster Cogburn and LaBoef from True Grit. His background reeled out while I wrote the first draft several years ago. Born in Texas, check. Easy to pull up a map and figure out where he might have been born (around Anderson), and that he'd worked at the Fanthorpe Inn as a stable boy after his brothers left to fight in the War of Rebellion. Three brothers killed at Shiloh, check. I had plenty of books about battles and conditions, weapons, military gear for both sides.

But when Ace mentioned he'd worked a few cattle drives after the War -- say what? That's when the real digging came into play. I had a dictionary, Western Words: A Dictionary of the Old West by Ramon Adams. Great resource, really. There's even an on-line website for slang. I'd done some general research on Charles Goodnight, dug up a trail map, etc. But did I really know that much about what a cowboy did on a trail drive? No. Luckily I'm a member of the Western Fictioneers, and have learned a LOT more since writing my Double series about horses, cattle, life on the trail and such.

Such as calling coffee 'brown gargle.' That cattle ought to walk four head across for best results when trailing them. That the youngest cowboys always ride drag and get the dirtiest (I'm sure Ace's younger brother had that lovely job). I had mentioned Ace carrying a Bowie knife (check), a Colt (check), a suede jacket, boots and hat (check), and along with his horse he probably had a saddle, spurs and rope. But I'd forgotten that a cowboy was never without a handy dandy bandanna. Huh. 

How odd that Ace never had one when he met Lily in Omaha, or after he showed up on the train in Double Crossing. Why didn't I do an image search? Surely I'd have seen what I'd missed. Readers are pretty forgiving! I guess I never mentioned he kept one in his pocket. (wink)

Do readers realize how little of all that research we writers dig up make it into the book? Probably not. But for authenticity, writers ought to know as much as possible about the character's past experiences.

For Double Crossing, however, I only knew Ace had lost his "cutter" -- not that 'riding shank's mare' was something he would confess to right off the bat! I had to research what a "cutter" was (a horse skilled in matching a steer's movements to 'cut' them from the herd), but that was it. Ace refused to explain what happened. But for Double or Nothing, when Lily asks him in detail about his cutter, I had to research the type of horse and color and what kind of accidents might have occurred while riding. And Ace reluctantly gave out bits of his background. I had to arm-wrestle him for the details. (wink)

Sometimes characters just won't cooperate! But since I plan to write a short story about Ace and his brother, I figured I better know a lot more about them, the slang they use, their manners (or lack of them) and their horses. For now, here's a brief excerpt from Double or Nothing about Ace's cutter.

After sharing a passionate kiss, I breathed in his scent of musk, bay rum and soap. He tasted salty, too. “Remember you said how you lost your cutter? Your horse, right?”

“Yep. Good old Reb.”

“Reb?” I laughed. “For Rebel, I suppose. That seems to fit.”

Ace snorted. “Best gelding I ever had. A bay roan, and his coat turned darker in winter. Reb knew which way a steer would run, a few seconds before it moved. He was more intelligent than most people I ever met in my life.”

“So what happened? How did you lose him?”

“Broke his leg in a gopher hole, and had to put him down,” he said, eyes downcast. “Worst day of my life, too. Kept my brother company from Fort Riley, Kansas, up to Nebraska. He was headin’ west to his next assignment. I started back but never made it.”

“And then—”

“Ended up in Omaha. No horse, sold my saddle for a room and a few meals. No jobs till that boardinghouse landlady took pity on me.”

“We’d never have met if not for your horse,” I whispered in his ear. “I’m sorry you lost the cutter, though. How did you learn to speak Spanish?”

He ran his tongue around my earlobe, his breath hot, making me shiver. “Told ya that me and Layne worked to round up mossy horns down in Texas. A few men never learned English, so we picked up Spanish pretty quick. Is that important?”

“No, but I remember something else you told me on the train.”

“Mm? What’s that?”

“That I’d never get a chance to see your scars.”

Ace flashed a mischievous smile and leaned back, arms held out wide. “Go ahead and search for ‘em. What, are you too scared? I dare you.”

“It wouldn’t be proper,” I said, my cheeks burning.

“I’m all yours, Lily Diamond. Whenever and wherever you want me.”

From DOUBLE OR NOTHING -- the sequel to the Spur Award-winning Double Crossing!

CLICK HERE TO SEE THE BOOK VIDEO!

Book blurb: A mysterious explosion. A man framed for murder. A strong woman determined to prove his innocence.

October, 1869: Lily Granville, heiress to a considerable fortune, rebels against her uncle’s strict rules. Ace Diamond, determined to win Lily, invests in a dynamite factory but his success fails to impress her guardian. An explosion in San Francisco, mere hours before Lily elopes with Ace to avoid a forced marriage, sets off a chain of consequences.

When Ace is framed for murder before their wedding night, Lily must find proof to save him from a hangman’s noose. Will she become a widow before a true wife?

BUY LINKS — Amazon for Kindle and print, B&N for Nook, Smashwords

Great Caesar's Ghost - the Ides of March!

GREAT CAESAR'S GHOST!!

DOUBLE OR NOTHING, Book 2 of the Double Series,

is releasing today!

How wonderful that today, March 15th, also known as the Ides of March, and my usual day to post something on Cowboy Kisses, happens to be the day my sequel to Double Crossing is being released! It's also my husband's birthday. Watch out, Caesar -- there's a knife in my new book, too.

Here's some of the research details I discovered about the Bowie knife. My hero Ace Diamond uses one, since he's from Texas.

Rezin Bowie, Jim Bowie's brother, created a single edged knife after a bull attack, which he survived (obviously!), and fitted it with a wood handle. The  nine inch long blade resembled a butcher knife, and he gave it or a similar knife to his brother. In fact, the brothers gave many knives out to friends, which is why it's so difficult to pin down the exact one.

After getting shot by the local sheriff, Jim swore he'd always have a knife on hand. So he used the one his brother gave him in what was famously termed the 'sandbar fight' on the Mississippi at Vidalia, Louisana, in September of 1827. Despite being stabbed and shot, he disemboweled one attacker, wounded another and chased off a third. 

The local newspaper spread his fame. He was also renowned for surviving an Indian raiding party with a small band of colleagues -- they'd been outnumbered 15 to 1, but only lost one man compared to 40 Indian dead and 30 wounded. More fame to claim, yet he rarely spoke of his adventurous exploits.

Sometime around 1829 or 1830, Jim Bowie had  asked blacksmith James Black to improve on his brother's design. He modified it to include a clipped point which was double-edged and added to its lethal power.


And of course, Bowie ended up at the Alamo in 1836 -- which really pushed the legend. Despite being ill in bed, he managed to use his knife, a gun and his fists to escort many Mexican soldiers with him to the pearly gates. 

Here's what a present day Bowie knife looks like, to the right.


I'm not a weapons expert, and I've been known to cut myself with a cheap Dollar Store paring knife. Give me those safety blades to carve pumpkins. Now those are safe! Here's an example of the other weapon my hero Ace Diamond uses in both books -- a stiletto. Minus the hand guard, I'm sure.

Ace kept the stiletto in his boot. Whether or not that's actually possible--well, the reader has to give an author a little slack! It is fiction, after all.

And now I come to sharing about my new release! Today I'm hosting a FB event, so come join the fun! I'll share more details about how writing this book almost disemboweled me (just kidding, of course, but close to it!)

Here's the dynamic cover -- the pocket watch is Lily's father's, the photograph could be of her parents, and the cards are from Ace's poker hand. 

A mysterious explosion. A man framed for murder. A strong woman determined to prove his innocence.

October, 1869: Lily Granville, now heiress to a considerable fortune, rebels against her uncle’s strict rules in Sacramento, California. Ace Diamond, determined to win Lily, invests in a dynamite factory for a quick “killing,” but his status as a successful businessman fails to impress her guardian.

An explosion in San Francisco, mere hours before Lily elopes with Ace to avoid a forced marriage, sets off a chain of unforeseen consequences.

Despite Lily’s protests that her new husband has been framed, Ace is dragged off to jail as the culprit. 

Evidence mounts against him. Lily must learn who was actually behind the diabolical plan… and save Ace from the hangman’s noose.

Will she become a widow before a true wife?

Here's the BOOK TRAILER!!! YEEEHAW!

BUY LINKS -- Amazon for Kindle, B&N for Nook, Smashwords for other ereader devices! Print edition coming coming later!

Meg Mims -- Down and Dirty in the Old West: What's a Woman to Do?

Let's face it. When you think of a "western" the first image you have is dirt. Horse manure and dust from carriages and wagons. Mud when it rains. Ugh.

I have a scene in my Double Series sequel where the heroine gets plastered with mud. Oh, sure, grab the bath tub. Wash her hair. With what? Time to research. I read that soap made of lye and ashes was pretty harsh and left a film, but it worked to a point. Then I wandered into other research territory (as usual) in terms of what a lady would resort to in terms of keeping herself as ladylike as possible.

The visible signs of a lady in the 1800s, given the neck to ankle coverage in clothing, had to do with hair, complexion and hands. Many westerns I've read have women wearing their hair flowing over their shoulders -- heaven forbid! One badge of womanhood (besides the embarrassing secret of the menstrual cycle, of course) was a girl pinning up her hair and lowering her skirt hems to the shoe-tops or the floor. And ladies had many ways of utilizing hairpins, ribbons, combs, flowers both real and made of ribbon, switches of hair if God didn't gift them with luxurious tresses, etc. Women almost never cut their hair, and some women had hair long enough to sit on.

How often did women wash their hair? Seldom, from what little I've found in research. If anyone can point me to a book or website, let me know! Shampoo wasn't formulated until the late 1800s. Women used soap, vinegar rinses, mineral oil, whatever they could get their hands on to get dust, dirt, bugs, etc. out of their hair. I still remember my grandmother talking about brushing her hair 100 times each night when she was young.

Let's move on to complexions. Women of the 1800s who wore greasepaint and rouge were either actresses in the theater or 'fallen women' -- and many people considered them one and the same. Who remembers Scarlett O'Hara pinching her cheeks and biting her lower lip in the movie Gone With the Wind? That's about it.

Real ladies kept their skin white, without blemish or freckles. Middle and upper class women bleached their skin if necessary and kept out of the sun. Woe to western pioneer women who worked out in the sun and wind, since sunbonnets were of little help. And ladies always wore hats and gloves to go out, throughout the 1800s until the mid-1960s.

This leads to how often did a lady bathe. Wealthier ladies might have a real tub and servants to carry water, but I'd guess they might bathe once or twice a week. Poorer women might have a washtub for a once a week bath, if that, depending on how plentiful water would be. Daily sponging for cleanliness made more sense.

Most clothes were not washed more than once a week. Ladies' skirts and dresses dragged on the ground and collected dirt and other grime. "Monday is Wash Day, Tuesday is Ironing Day" -- I still remember that little ditty. And everything (and I mean everything given the cotton and muslin fabrics) from underclothes and outer clothing, to linens, handkerchiefs, kitchen towels, etc., would be wrinkled and in need of ironing. No wonder it took all day. If you could afford a laundress, lucky you!

Let's face it. Women had it rough 150+ years ago without today's modern conveniences of vacuums, showers and shampoo, washers/dryers and dishwashers.

Here's the excerpt from the sequel to Double Crossing, coming soon -- titled Double or Nothing -- after Lily is covered in mud and heads home.

Once upstairs in my bedroom, I stripped every bit of clothing off with a weary sigh and tied a wrapper around my waist. My hairpins seemed to be plastered into place. I pulled one out and dislodged a hunk of dried mud. Ugh.

Etta knocked. “I’ve heated water. Let me have your clothes, miss.”

“There’s no use salvaging them.”

“Now, Miss Lily. Your uncle explained everything. It’s not your fault what happened,” she said and bent to gather the filthy clothes. Etta held out a small bowl with creamed paste. “Your favorite type—lavender, honey and a bit of oatmeal. Cover your face and hands with that, and I’ll mix some fresh beeswax with rose hips and almond oil when you’re done.”

I sank into the hot bath water in the screened alcove. Once I scrubbed all over, Etta washed my hair and brought fresh water to rinse all the dirt out. She poured a mixture of rose-scented mineral oil and massaged it into my curls. The room’s chilly air sent shivers up my spine. I slathered my face and hands with cream, slipped into my nightdress and crawled into bed...

Meg Mims is an award-winning bestselling author and artist. She writes blended genres – historical, western, adventure, romance, suspense and mystery. Her first book, Double Crossing, won the 2012 Spur Award for Best First Novel from Western Writers of America and  was named a Finalist in the Best Books of 2012 from USA Book News for Fiction: Western. She also wrote two contemporary romances, The Key to Love and Santa Paws. Follow her on Twitter (@megmims), on Facebook and her website blog.

Much Ado About Mutton - Meg Mims

I confess. I stole the clever title for this blog post. The original was used for a conference workshop about mutton-eating in Detroit's old days. But it certainly fits the history of the cattle-sheep wars in the old West from 1870 to the 1920s. I also confess I had to do some quick research about the topic, since I haven’t read enough Western history of the cattle barons, trails, stockyards, open range and the like.

Cattle vs. sheep wars were not like the big, bad Johnson County cattle range wars -- not that I'm up on that history either. I discovered the most common states experiencing cattle vs. sheep troubles were Arizona, Texas, Wyoming and Colorado. Were murders and the slaughter of animals really rampant? Numbers prove it – over fifty men murdered and between 50,000 and 100,000 sheep slaughtered. Serious enough! 

Remember I’m an eastern greenhorn, born and raised in Michigan. Land of trees, the Great Lakes, lighthouses, beaches and cars. Yes, the automobile – which replaced horses after the turn of the 20^th century. And yes, prior to that, horses were common (along with horse dung) all across the country, whether for riding or pulling omnibuses, wagons and stagecoaches. So the “beef vs. mutton” dispute is news to me.

Let’s face it, cowboys (cow hands, really, since they were anything but boys) worked cattle drives on horseback. After the buffalo herds were slaughtered, the open range favored cattle driven northward on “trails” to stockyards where they were sent east to meat-packing plants in St. Louis and Chicago. Ranches could be small or huge, sprawling affairs, and disputes arose about rustling or branding mavericks to swell the herds. But sheep? Cowhands considered them an insult.

What factors played a role in the conflict between cattle and sheep men in the Old West? First, some believed that sheep with their smaller mouths grazed closer to the ground and ruined the range, and that cattle would not drink from water sources “polluted” by sheep. Second, ethnicity may have played a shadowy role – men of Spanish origin herded sheep, and herders worked the sheep on foot or burro, sometimes on horseback. The ratio of animals to men were far smaller with sheep than cattle. You can imagine how “outnumbered” the sheep and herders would be in a range dispute.

For example, Charles Goodnight’s cowhands drove over four hundred sheep into the Canadian River and drowned them after herders “invaded” their range along the Texas-New Mexico border in 1875. 2400 sheep were slaughtered in Oregon in 1903 by driving them off a cliff, or “rimrock,” and the survivors shot. Other sheep herds were stampeded or poisoned.

But some disputes turned into murder. The 1886-1887 Pleasant Valley war (not so pleasant, really) in Arizona between the Graham and Tewksbury feuding factions resulted in about thirty dead men. Plenty of books and movies, some factual and some far-fetched, were spawned out of these Old West range wars.

By 1920 disputes between cattle and sheep ranchers cooled down, since the “open range” had been fenced off by that time. I'm partial to beef burgers over mutton on my dinner plate, but I do enjoy gyros. That's about as close to a cow or sheep I'll ever get.

Here’s a few interesting books, blogs and movie resources.

Dane Coolidge, Hidden Water, 1910

Bill O'Neal, Cattlemen vs. Sheepherders: Five Decades of Violence in the West, 1880–1920, Eakin Press, 1989

http://www.ohs.org/education/oregonhistory/historical_records/

http://www.tshaonline.org/handbook/online/articles/azs01

The Sheepmen – 1958 Glenn Ford film

Picture credits: 

Book cover and illustrations by Maynard Dixon, from the 1910 edition of Hidden Water – which I “rustled” from Ron Scheer’s BUDDIES IN THE SADDLE blog. Slaughtered sheep image from en.wikipedia.org

Meg Mims is the award-winning author of DOUBLE CROSSING (2012 Spur Award - Best First Novel, Finalist in Best Books of 2012 by USA Book News), available on Amazon, B&N, and Smashwords, in e-book, trade paperback and hardcover. To the right is the cover for the HC large print edition from Center Point Publishing.

Meg is working on the sequel, DOUBLE OR NOTHING, and hopes to release it in early spring. Want a sneak peek? Check out her blog for The Next Big Thing!

In the Zone - with Meg Mims

TV jingles make me crazy, since I rarely watch the tube. But one inspired me to think of that sacred place a writer (hopefully) gets into when a work-in-progress is chugging along. Any interruption is met with dismay. Whether it's another let-the-dogs-out... let-the-dogs-in, telephone call, bathroom break, mealtime or when's-dinner type of interruption. So when I'm In The Zone -- The Writing Zone...

I want to keep writing. I don't want the TV on when I can listen to music or blessed silence. I don't want to hear barking dogs, the doorbell, the telephone. Even listening to the answering machine is a distraction. Call me crazy. But blame it on being In The Zone -- The Writing Zone.

Wild horses running... yep! That's being In The Zone -- The Writing Zone. You get excited, you write for the sheer joy of it. To get to the next page, the next scene, the next chapter. Pantsers are especially good at this. But Plotters can get Into The Zone too! Just follow the outline, and if you get a little off-track, you can get back on without a problem -- unless it's a "happy accident" as Bob Ross used to say.

Thankfully the dogs and I time ourselves for bathroom/outdoor breaks. I grit my teeth when the phone rings, and I've been known to turn it off. I can't prevent the dogs from barking at neighborhood cars, walkers, Mr. Brown delivering UPS packages anywhere on my street, or the mailman (they particularly dislike anyone daring to come so close to the door.) As for meals - I have breakfast, quickly check my mail and approve Triberr posts (trying to avoid Facebook and Twitter), write, then "take a lunch" and get back to writing afterward. Dinner is either something fast, something left-over or something take-out.

Hey. I'm In The Zone -- The Writing Zone! But derailment happens.

When it does, I get cranky. Even routine planned-ahead stuff can derail The Writing Zone. Whether it's a doctor's appointment, a lunch day with friends, an evening meeting, a weekend event... augh! It's enough to seriously get you out of The Zone. What can you do to get back in, to refresh those juices?

I'm writing this blog post now to get myself back Into The Zone after an event across the state. It was fun, great meeting fellow authors, but that little devil whispered in my ear...  "if only you'd stayed home -- you'd be fifty pages ahead!" I try to ignore it. I did find it worthwhile talking with the other writers and meeting new readers. Gone are the days when writers were in their caves hibernating and The Editors were the contact people. You gotta meet-greet these days, in conferences, workshops, school appearances, book clubs, or checking Facebook or Twitter, updating your website. It all takes time. Precious writing time. But the overall goal? To make it to the end.

So what can you do?

Courtesy of http://web.mit.edu

Schedule that PRECIOUS writing time, like the spurts between the Pony Express stations over a hundred years ago. Check your schedule. Block out several days -- or one day. Or a weekend spurts, or evening spurts, or two-three hour morning spurts. Whatever works for you.

And then get yourself In The Zone -- The Writing Zone.

...Meg Mims is In The Zone, at work on the sequel to her Spur-Award winning book, Double Crossing. Check out her website for updates on The Double Series and her WIP, Double or Nothing.

Western Birthday Buddies

Today I’m sharing my birthday with two famous people – Davy Crockett and Maureen O’Hara.

Both were not born in the American West, like me, but ended up living in the west – Davy in Texas, Maureen in California (unlike me, but I might end up out there at some point!) Both were pretty famous, unlike me. My claim to fame is meeting famous people like the actor Wes Studi and novelists Nora Roberts (romance), David Morrell (Rambo action/adventures) and Loren Estleman (mystery/westerns).

Oldest first -- David Crockett. was born on August 17, 1786 (only 200+ years before me) in Greene County, Tennessee (only three states away from Michigan), the fifth of nine kids (I’m the 4^th of six kids). Parents John and Rebecca Hawkins Crockett no doubt had a log cabin and lived off the land. I’ve always been fascinated by log cabins, but enjoyed my parents’ suburban house.

David (not Davy -- Crockett was always known by his full Christian name) learned to shoot at eight years old and only attended school for four days. He was a born woodsman. He married at 20 years old, and Mary Finley gave him two sons and a daughter. After Mary’s death, David wed Elizabeth Patton, who gave him two more children. He then became a scout during the War of 1812, and participated in a massacre on the Cree Indians in retaliation for an attack on Fort Mims, Alabama. Whoa! We really *do* have a connection, even though it might be a branch of my husband's family.

Once he returned home to Tennessee, David served as a member of the State House of Representatives from 1821 until 1823. He also won a seat in the U.S. Congress in 1826. His reputation and folk legend status may have ballooned during elections due to his “backwoods oratory” style -- and comic illustrations portrayed him in that coonskin cap. After his defeat in 1833, David grew tired of politics and decided to join the fight for Texas independence. Crockett was killed on March 6, 1836, at the Alamo in San Antonio. I remember watching native Texan Fess Parker on the Disney channel and enjoyed the episodes, even if they were based on the legends. He sort of *looks* like legendary "Davy" Crockett. Sort of. 

Now let’s get to another birthday buddy of mine. Maureen FitzSimons was born on August 17, 1920 (eight years before my own mom) in Ranelagh, Ireland (I wish! I'd love to visit the Emerald Isle), the second of six children. Her father worked as a businessman and her mother was an actress and opera singer. Good genes clearly passed from mother to daughter (just like my mom’s artistic gene passed to me). After her debut as Esmeralda in The Hunchback of Notre Dame, Maureen’s early career focused on swashbuckling films like Jamaica Inn, The Spanish Main, The Black Swan and Sinbad the Sailor, plus How Green Was My Valley and the holiday classic Miracle on 34th Street.

Maureen starred with John Wayne in The Quiet Man, set in Ireland (my favorite wanna-vacation-there-spot). She also appeared in the westerns Buffalo Bill, The Redhead From Wyoming, Rio Grande, McClintock! and Big Jake. Maureen was well-known for portraying a strong-willed heroine. Sound familiar? Yep, my heroine, Lily Granville of DoubleCrossing, is strong-willed but also independent. Lily may not have fiery red hair, green eyes, and a peaches and cream complexion, but Maureen O’Hara certainly had some influence on her characterization.

<------ To the left is the silent film actress Mary Miles Minter, whose ethereal look is perfect for Lily.  To the right is Duke (John Wayne) and Maureen O'Hara in the western film and comedy McClintock!  --------->

Ace Diamond might not take Lily over his knee, but she will definitely give him a run for his money in Double Crossing's sequel! Keep an eye out for Double or Nothing later this year.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, Maureen, and many more to you, too! I'll raise a cupcake in your honor.
--Check out a few of the 5-star reviews on Meg Mims' website!

A Cowboy’s Cutter Horse

While writing Double Crossing, I had to explain why the cowboy hero Ace Diamond was without his horse. Being a man of few words, all he would say to the heroine Lily Granville was “I lost my cutter.” Hm. Wait a minute. I’m the writer. I’m supposed to know what that means, right? Well, Ace has yet to explain.

So I decided to do some research. Eventually, no matter what course Ace takes in the sequel to Double Crossing (Double or Nothing, hopefully out later this year), I had to figure out what a cutter was and why/how Ace lost it. Being a born-and-raised in Michigan, only been on a regular horse twice (and the horses sure didn’t enjoy me) greenhorn, I turned to my friend Google.

A “cutter” is an elite horse in the “remuda” which is a term for all the horses that cowboys use for a cattle drive. Every “outfit” made drives with a large remuda. And each cowboy kept their “string” of horses within the remuda – using some horses for riding drag (at the dusty, dirty end), or for patrol or for other specific jobs. A cutter has a special sensitivity to cattle. They tend to prick their ears toward cows, or follow each move of one with their eyes, and not crowd a cow by instinct. A cutter can separate cattle, which is a difficult job, far easier than most horses.

It isn’t training that makes a cutter. That horse has to be born with the instinct. I’ve seen Youtube videos now with cutters in action, and they remind me (remember I’m no expert when it comes to horses) of dogs herding sheep – only cows are a lot crazier. That horse has to turn and twist and go back again, anticipate the cow’s every move, and not be afraid of it.

Now an actual sport of cutting has evolved from the cowboys who worked cattle. Back in 1898, the first contest was held in Haskell, Texas – and advertised in the Dallas and Kansas City newspapers. 15,000 people swarmed to see it, arriving by horseback or wagons. No railroad station was close enough. Eleven cowboys competed for the prize of $150 – an astonishing amount back then. Sam Graves brought his horse Old Hub out of retirement. This horse had a reputation for cutting, and some people thought he could “work blindfolded and without a bridle” – Graves set aside half his winnings to care for Old Hub until he died.

Will Rogers once said while visiting a ranch in 1920s Texas, "It was worth the trip to brush country just to sit above Ol' Gotch and feel his shoulders roll, watch his ears work and his head drop low when he looked an old steer in the eye."

To the right is a bronze sculpture - check out the western art of Bob Stayton by clicking here.

Of course, nowadays pickup trucks and chutes have replaced horses. Even huge cattle ranches have gone the way of the open prairie and cattle drives over open range. And cutting has become a rich man’s game nowadays due to the National Cutting Horse Association. Perhaps breeding and pedigree have lessened the cowboy’s necessity for riding skills, but I’m no expert. I’d rather watch the video of the first filmed “cowpuncher” who literally did that—punched a cow while herding cattle into the pens in 1897, Texas. Click here to see it.

So what about Ace and his cutter? I still haven’t been “informed” by my hero about how he “lost” his horse. Come on, Ace! Tell me what happened. I know it was a traumatic experience, since you ended up horseless in Omaha – but perhaps fate arranged for you to meet Lily.

Ducking under a low hanging tree branch, we crept through the stable’s open doorway. I had to stifle a sneeze at the musty scent of hay and dust. Sunlight streamed into the stalls where several horses nickered. In an empty one, we found Ace Diamond sleeping on his stomach. When I prodded him with my foot, he rolled over with a loud pig’s grunt and squinted up at us both. A glass bottle lay in the dirty hay.

“Uh, wh-what time is it? Who the devil—ouch,” he said and touched the crusty stitches on his forehead. “Dagnabbit. My head feels like a squished melon.”

“Do you remember our meeting yesterday, Mr. Diamond?” I asked. Kate peered over my shoulder. “I see you found a doctor as well as some whiskey.”

“Needed it to cut the pain.” Ace sat up and scratched his soiled shirt. “Thought you was headin’ to California.”

“I am leaving in a few hours, yes. This is Miss Kimball, she’s also traveling on the Union Pacific.” I brushed sawdust off my split skirt and jacket. “I spoke to Mrs. Burkett, your landlady, who sounded quite unhappy with you.”

“That dried-up prune?” Scrambling to his feet, he weaved sideways until grabbing the half wall. A horse nuzzled his arm. “Never satisfied, no matter what I do.”

“Not if you’re prone to drink.”

Ace rubbed his eyes with the back of one hand. “I don’t suppose this is a social call, miss. Or that you’d lend me two bits. I got a powerful headache.”

I eyed him from head to foot. A beggar would look more presentable. “You wished to go to California. Miss Kimball and I need protection on the Union Pacific. Perhaps we can come to an agreement, Mr. Diamond. Is that your real name?”

He dodged the question. “What are your terms, miss? Sorry, I forgot your name.”

“Miss Granville. I’ll provide you with a ticket now and twenty dollars when we arrive safe in Sacramento. Provided no harm comes to us, that is.”

He stared with bleary eyes. “Why would two pretty fillies need me to ride shotgun? It’s a far sight safer on a train than travelin’ by stagecoach.”

“I’m tracking a murderer—”

“Whoa,” Ace cut in, fully alert now. “Who was murdered?”

Letting out a deep breath, I folded my hands together over the pocketbook’s strap. “My father was shot on Saturday in Evanston, north of Chicago. I believe someone’s following me, too. Perhaps the killer or his colleague…”

“You realize we’ll be stuck on a train for near five days,” Ace said. “With nowhere to run if there is trouble.”

“‘Man is born unto trouble as the sparks fly upward,’” I quoted but he rubbed his mismatched eyes. I retrieved the Pullman ticket from my pocketbook. “Are we agreed on the terms? My uncle may reward you extra when we arrive in California.”

“Is that right.” Ace Diamond lurched toward the doorway and then staggered outside. At the trough, he dunked his head and came up spluttering, tossing water droplets everywhere. He coughed and then slapped his hat into place. “How about this? Fifty dollars now, and a hundred when we get there. Plus meals on the train and the ticket.”

“Twenty now, plus meals and the ticket.”

“Thirty-five.”

“Twenty-five, take it or leave it.”

“Thirty. You don’t have a choice,” Ace said, grinning again, “unless that preacher man you were with last night has a wicked left hook.”

Ignoring that, I rummaged for a slip of paper and a pencil from my pocketbook, plus extracted the coins from my money belt. Thirty dollars—it reminded me of the thirty pieces of silver paid to Judas.

 Western Writers of America Spur Award for Best First Novel!
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Badlands of South Dakota

You haven’t truly seen “the west” until you’ve seen the Badlands.

Why do I say this? I am no expert, but to me, this area had a surreal quality about it. A weather-beaten aged beauty. Lots of dust, and those varying shades of rust, brown, gold I’d always envisioned “the west” to be. I could picture horse herds here more than anywhere else, and bands of Indians (er, Native Americans) roaming the prairie.

On a drawn-out trip out west to visit family in Montana in 2002, my husband, daughter and I decided to hit a few landmarks along the way in South Dakota, plus Yellowstone. The Corn Palace was one, since I’d run across that oddity (to us) on some type of “Don’t Miss” travel tips. Wall Drugs was another, of course, due to all the signs we’d seen. Mount Rushmore, of course—and I was stunned that we could glimpse part of the massive stone heads from the highway. That was a majestic sight. But we all loved seeing the Badlands.

And I mean big time “l-o-v-e-d” as in “we HAVE to stop here on the way home again” love.

Why? We couldn’t explain that. Sure, they have a ‘rugged beauty’ and ‘striking geologic deposits’ according to the National Park website. It’s nice to know that ‘ancient mammals such as the rhino, horse and saber-toothed cat once roamed here.’ Yes, it’s astonishing that it covers almost a quarter of a million acres, that it includes mixed-grass prairie. And that ‘bison, bighorn sheep, prairie dogs and black-footed ferrets live there today.’ Great.

I don’t know about the other animals, but we saw prairie dogs. Hundreds of ’em. I could have watched them pop in and out of their holes for hours. Cute little buggers.

First of all, a disclaimer. I live in a state known for its “leafies” – oak, maple, elm, birch, ash, pine plus plenty more, and that’s just in my neighborhood. Michigan is known for its forests and Great Lakes, plus all the small lakes in the Mitten and the UP. Green and blue are the primary colors (and I’m not talking green and white for Michigan State or blue and maize for UM). The prairie, as I first caught sight of it when we crossed from Minnesota farmland into South Dakota farmland, was fairly green, mostly brown. Wide open spaces, as the song goes, cottonwoods (I think) that usually grew near creeks or rivers. You could see rain clouds in the distance and never get wet. Very odd to us. Even the trees looked different.

So at first we didn’t notice a whole lot, driving the expressway – being from Michigan, a car ride can be pretty much "same old, same old" boring. Then we turned off to where we’d scoped out Google maps ahead of time. No trees here. Like none. Just a few scattered houses in dry, brown land. I have to say it was the middle of a hot summer, too. Anything above 85 is hot to us. It must have been 90+. And don’t tell me it’s a dry heat. Hot is hot. We drove down a two-lane country road and suddenly the world dropped off.

That’s the Badlands to me.

We stopped the car, although the road curved along the rim’s edge – maybe for a ways, we didn’t know. Or care. We all piled out. Stood on that rim, my husband and daughter closer than I ever could get to the edge. And just stared. Awestruck. The rock formations, the little gullies, the striations in the soil and the way the sunlight hit them just right, giving the browns, gold and rust hues a tinge of purple, blue, rose, even a faint gray brown. It was marvelous. No photograph can do it justice.

I can’t even describe it here all that well. But my imagination lit up, and whether or not any cowboys drove their cattle along the rim or the Indians meandered around the gullies at the bottom, I had a sense of the true magic of “the west.” Yes, the Rockies are just as magnificent. I’m sure there are other canyons that are just as wonderful. I guess it struck me so hard because this was my first visit past the Mississippi River. I’m still a greenhorn. I haven’t seen Wyoming’s Wind River range, or Colorado’s Pike's Peak, or Utah’s Green River area, or Nevada’s desert, or even Idaho and Arizona. We saw plenty of cowboy gear at Wall Drugs. Hats, boots, scarves, chaps, belts, weapons and spurs, you name it.

There was no fence along the rim. A sign here and there, maybe, warning of a sheer drop off and the danger in trying to climb down. On our drive back home from Montana, we chose a spot where we could drive through a larger area (off 240, or whatever they call the roads there) and that was even better. Again, hard to explain the scenery. We parked and walked along part of the gully bottom, saw the interesting types of “greenery” – not sure if they were grasses, or cacti, or some type of heather or what have you – and my husband and daughter climbed to a rocky hill (I’m too chicken and dislike heights) so I could take photos.

Alas, I haven’t scanned those in yet to my computer. But we sure enjoyed our visit out west. To me, the Badlands epitomize what “the wilder west” might have looked like when I thought of “the Hole in the Wall” and other remote spots for black-hat bad guys to hide.

The Badlands do not figure in my book, Double Crossing, which is set for the most part on the transcontinental railroad from Omaha, Nebraska to Sacramento, California. But it did win the 2012 Spur Award for Best First Novel! That's a great honor.

Check out the 5-star reviews on Amazon and Goodreads!

2012 Spur Award Winner for Best First Novel from

Western Writers of America

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