Setting: What’s Unique about the Wild West? by @JacquieRogers

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Many genre writers start with setting. Yes, they say they start with characters, or with situations, but the truth is, if you’re writing a Regency, it’ll be set in England between 1811 to 1820, give or take. If you’re writing a Scottish Medieval, then it has to be set in Scotland between the 5th and 15th centuries. If you’re writing a Western, it’ll be set west of the Mississippi, usually sometime after the first wagon train went to Oregon and before automobiles. If you’re writing to the commercial market, the setting needs to be marketable.

So yes, many of us do start with setting.

Setting is far more than a time and a place. Woven properly into a story, it becomes a character in itself. Louis L’Amour was a master at this. How did setting come into play in the first book in my Hearts of Owyhee series, Much Ado About Marshals, which is set in 1885 Owyhee County, Idaho Territory? The seeds of the idea came to me when we visited Idaho to see relatives and while there, made some research trips to local sites.

I grew up in Owyhee County, so I’d been to the former boom town, Silver City, many times, but as I stood in front of the Idaho Hotel taking in the view, the huge bank safe sparked my imagination. What if a desperate bumbling cowhand botches up a bank robbery, is saved by his sensible friend, but then his friend is shot? Hmmm.

Setting and character were on equal footing at this point—couldn’t have one without the other. Why? Because the bank and its proximity to the other buildings in Silver City were firmly a part of the story. Besides, the sensible friend is Cole Richards and he has a ranch on Sinker Creek. The bumbling cowhand is Bosco Kunkle and he’s Cole’s best friend. Okay, so I moved geography around a little. Writers can do this.

As I contemplated that scenario, we stopped by Our Lady Queen of Heaven Catholic Church in Oreana. Even though I grew up not far from there, I never knew that the church was originally built as a general store by stonemasons John Pierson and Jim Kelly, the best stonemasons in the area. A store! It’s a good-sized rock building and was actually built later than my story is set, probably 1888, but is typical of the rock buildings constructed during the 1870s and 1880s. My book is set in 1885 so I felt comfortable using the building.

General Mercantile converted to
Our Lady Queen of Heaven Church
Oreana, Idaho

(To read more about the history of the church in Oreana, visit St. Paul's website.  The graphic on the right is from there.)

Aha! In my imagination, I saw a vivacious young woman run down the steps, carrying a package. She has a purpose and no one can stop her. Her name is Daisy Gardner. The store is Gardner’s Mercantile, owned and operated by her father. An aside note—I’ve always thought Oreana was the prettiest name for a town, and so I envisioned a lively little town full of fun characters. It was the perfect place for Bosco to take Cole for medical care.

That little rock building behind the store-now-church?  It was originally a saloon—extremely small, with room for maybe three customers.  Short ones.  I was told that men came in to buy their drinks but usually went outside to socialize and play cards while imbibing.

And no, the real Oreana isn’t on the way to Sinker Creek from Silver City, so I moved it, too. Literary license, you know. Bustling? Hardly. (See Google Maps satellite photo.  Yes, that's the whole town for real.)

So let’s say the editor wanted this story set in Boston. First problem is law and order—Boston had some, but Owyhee County wasn’t nearly as “civilized.” (Many would contend that’s still true, but in my opinion it depends on your definition.) At least 50% of the events could never have happened in Boston or any metropolitan area. Worse, Cole would never have been accepted by the city fathers, and Daisy would’ve been ostracized by society for her behavior. This story simply can’t be moved.

The point of all this is to not underestimate the value of setting. When well written, setting emphasizes conflict and every aspect of a character’s decisions. Writers: how do you use setting to the best effect in your stories? Readers: how does setting influence your perception of the characters? Would Hondo be the same character if the story took place in New Orleans or Paris?

Free Book!!!

One commenter will win a free Kindle copy of Much Ado About Marshals. Also, if anyone who sends a message to jacquierogers @ gmail.com telling me that you’ve posted a review and where, I’ll send you a Kindle copy of your choice of the second book in the series, Much Ado About Madams or the third book, Much Ado About Mavericks.

Drawing will be February 9 at 9pm Pacific Time. Please leave your email address in your comment. Thanks!

Jacquie Rogers, author of the
♥ Hearts of Owyhee ♥ series
#1 Much Ado About Marshals (RttA Winner)
#2 Much Ado About Madams
#3 Much Ado About Mavericks
A short story: Willow, Wish For Me (Merlin’s Destiny #1)

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The Frontier Doctor by Paty Jager

These days it is unheard of to have a house call by a doctor, but back in the 19^th and early 20^th century it was the norm.

Most families tried to take care of medical needs themselves because the services were expensive. Mothers or older relatives usually knew a cure for most common injuries or diseases. But when no one knew the remedy or could help the patient a doctor was called.

A house call could last hours or days. The best doctors spent a good deal of time at the patient’s bedside. A wise doctor always sat beside the bed never looming over the patient making them more agitated. He kept a conversation going with family members hovering in the room. The age old practice of checking the pulse has been around since the Romans and so the doctor would pull out his watch and hold the patient’s wrist counting the pulse. He also consulted with the elders in the family to learn particulars about the patient and the symptoms. A doctor tested the patient’s forehead, neck and cheeks to decide if they were running a fever. Thermometers didn’t travel well in the rugged conditions.

The “laying on of hands” was recommended. After feeling to fever a doctor then felt the patient’s abdomen for masses, tender areas, and enlargements of organs. When through with that phase of the examination the doctor then listened to the heart and lungs with a stethoscope, asking the patient to breathe deeply. A doctor taped on a patient’s chest with his fingers and listened for abnormal resonance if the patient had a respiratory problem.

Using a tongue depressor, the doctor would check the tongue and lips for dehydration and anemia. Then it was, “Open wide and say ahh.”  This allowed the doctor to look at the patient’s throat.

If the patient was extremely ill the doctor stayed in the room with the patient, tending to their needs and dosing them with the prescribed cure.  In some cases the only thing a doctor could do was be a comforting presence for the patient. If the doctor had to have a prolonged stay the conditions were not always congenial. Bed bugs, lice, and an uncomfortable bed could be what he or she found when given a place to rest during their vigilance.

Medical equipment from the former Ashland State General Hospital

The doctor’s leather handbag or saddlebags held everything he needed to cure and heal. The saddlebags were often fitted with compartments to hold bottles and instruments. Some of the items in a doctor’s bag were: vials of powdered and liquid drugs, antiseptics, syringes and needles, sutures, tourniquets, plasters, stomach pump, and other instruments for diagnosing and treating injuries and illnesses.

Some of the rural doctors also carried a small leather case for scalpels, artery forceps, needles, scissors, and suture.

When the doctor found himself out in the wilds without proper equipment he would have to improvise.

www.patyjager.net

www.patyjager.blogspot.com

Source: Bleed, Blister, and Purge: A History of Medicine on the American Frontier by Volney Steele, M.D.

What to do with ornary cowboys...

I thought it might be fun to research the history of the Texas State Penitentiary at Huntsville.  The local jails were small and in some cases, just cages set out of doors. No privacy and very little hygiene to speak of. But in 1848, the Texas legistlature passed a bill providing for the building of a state prison that would house convicted felons. They built a temporary structure of logs and iron bars for inmates who arrived before construction of the main building was finished. It soon became evident that money had not been set aside to support the keeping of inmates so a cotton and woolen mill was built so the inmates could “earn” their keep and pay back society at the same time. The photo on the right is a jail used in an Oklahoma town. I can't even imagine.

Interestingly enough, the Huntsville Penitentiary was the only state prison left standing in the south after the Civil War.  The end of the war brought about a surge of lawlessness and a need to accommodate more prisoners with no way to financially support this increase. In 1867, the prison entered into lease agreements with individuals willing the hire convict labor.

Other changes came about shortly after that whereby the prison held worship services, bible studies and even classes that taught the basics of reading and writing.

In 1931, Marshall Lee Simons instituted the Texas Prison Rodeo as a way to provide recreation for the inmates and entertainment for staff and families. This was a very popular event for those residing nearby and I even had the opportunity to attend one before they had to quit due to structural problems with the stadium in 1986.

I did some of this research when writing Julia's Golden Eagle as the hero, Jake Nolan is accused of a murder he didn't commit and sentenced to time in the State Penitentiary. Please enjoy the scene where he's traveling by way of the prison wagon:

The prison wagon rumbled along the rough road, jostling its only occupant. Uncomfortable and bruised from the ride, Jake stared out the small, barred window. The stifling air made breathing difficult. Jake rubbed his chafed wrists where the manacles cut into the skin. His throat, dry from the dust and heat, yearned for water. People treated horses better than this, but he was accustomed to the cruelty observed by domineering prison guards. Alton had been hell. He expected no less from the pen.

His uncomfortable ride gave him time to plan. Julia Stanton had to pay. He wasn’t a vindictive man, but Julia pushed the limits of his restraint. He could find little forgiveness in his heart. He would relish his vengeful fantasies now and ask God for forgiveness later when his anger and frustration subsided. God help the woman if he ever got a chance to act any of them out.

Ping!

Jake jumped when a shot rang out, and the wagon came to an abrupt stop.

“Find cover!”

Ping! Zing!

“Who’s firing?”

The wagon lurched as the prison guards jumped from their perch.

Jake crouched on the floor of the wagon, listening intently to the exchange outside. The shot had come from the left, so the guards used the right side of the wagon as a shield. He heard a rapid session of gunfire. One guard yelped in pain. Had he been hit?

More shots rang out, this time from the right. A shuffling noise came from under the wagon. The guards must be hiding beneath him. They fired off a few rounds, but the return fire kept them pinned. An eerie silence ensued.

After a few moments of inactivity, Jake crept to a window and peered out. Movement to the far right rustled the trees, but the guards remained strangely silent.

“Throw out your weapons.”

A thunk followed by another thud sounded on the damp ground.

The guards must have done as asked, for the bandits then instructed them to crawl from under the wagon with their hands on their heads.

Jake didn’t know whether to be happy or scared. He didn’t recognize the voices, nor could he see very well from his viewpoint.

“Keys.”

The high tenor voice sounded almost feminine. He wrinkled his brow. What were their intentions?

A few minutes later, keys jangled outside the door. Metal scraped against metal, and a sharp click indicated the lock released. The door hinges groaned. He took a step back and shielded his eyes from the bright sunlight. He immediately came nose to nose with the barrel of a Winchester shotgun.

Mountain Man Tales and Romance Novels

by: Peggy Henderson

History is so full of events and memorable people that a writer is never short of a good story to tell. I enjoy researching about the early explorers and fur trappers in the Rocky Mountains because a majority of my romance novels are based in that era and that time in history. The stories and lore of the mountain men is sometimes as tall as the mountains themselves. Several stories I’ve stumbled across, whether true or not, are just too good to pass up, and I love to incorporate them into my romances, adding my own little spin.

In my book, Yellowstone Redemption, I knew when I was planning the book, that my hero would have an experience similar to what happened to John Colter, a man who is considered to be the first true mountain man, and the first non-native to see the Yellowstone and Grand Teton Regions.

Colter was a member of the Lewis and Clark Expedition, and after leaving them in 1806, returned to the wilderness over and over again, leading other trappers to find beaver. In 1809, he was traveling by canoe with another trapper, John Potts, when a party of Blackfoot warriors attacked them. They killed Potts, and captures Colter. He was asked if he was a fast runner, and then ordered to strip off al his clothing and told to run. The young warriors of the group then pursued him. Here is the account as told to a newspaper reporter, John Bradbury, in 1817:

Again he turned his head, and saw the savage not twenty yards from him. Determined if possible to avoid the expected blow, he suddenly stopped, turned round, and spread out his arms. The Indian, surprised by the suddenness of the action, and perhaps at the bloody appearance of Colter, also attempted to stop; but exhausted with running, he fell whilst endeavouring to throw his spear, which stuck in the ground, and broke in his hand. Colter instantly snatched up the pointed part, with which he pinned him to the earth, and then continued his flight.

Colter next reached the Madison River, and hid inside a beaver lodge for the night, then walked for eleven days to reach the nearest trading outpost.

Here is an excerpt of my version of “Colter’s Run”, as it happened to my hero, Chase Russell in Yellowstone Redemption.

Nothing would stop him now from reaching the Firehole. He was running for his life, running to the woman he loved, and for the first time ever, he felt free. His lungs burned and his heart pounded in his throat. It was the most exhilarating feeling he’d ever had, and he felt alive.

He turned his head, looking over his shoulder again. Only one pursuer remained. The other had barely left the tree line. The one behind him was close enough that he could throw the spear he held in his hand.

Game time, Russell. Do something the opposition will least likely expect.

Chase stopped in his tracks. He whirled around, and assumed a fighting stance, his legs wide apart, his knees bent, and his arms out at his sides, holding his weapons in his hands. Breathing hard, a wide sneer crossed his face. The maneuver had worked. His opponent looked stunned and surprised. He tried to stop, tried to brandish his spear, but in his shocked disbelief, he tripped and fell to the ground. With a loud splintering noise, the spear broke in half. Chase gave him no chance to recover. With a loud roar he ran at the man on the ground. He dropped his weapons and grabbed for the broken lance. The man tried to struggle, but Chase used his size to his advantage, holding the warrior to the ground. He rammed the spearhead into the dirt, pinning the man’s shirt into the ground. He could have easily killed the warrior, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He hoped rendering him immobile would buy enough time to put some distance between them.

Chase stood and righted himself. His other pursuer was gaining ground, and he could also see several more warriors emerge from the trees. He lunged for his weapons, and took off again, straight for the bison herd. He remembered all the warning pamphlets he’d read that the park service provided, which stated to stay at least 25 yards away from bison. They were dangerous and could gore a man in seconds.

To hell with that. Chase needed another tactical surprise element. He ran straight for the herd. Several of the lumbering beasts looked up from their grazing when he approached. He didn’t slow down. He ran and darted between the big beasts. Several shied away, kicking and galloping in the opposite direction – the direction his pursuers came from. Chase whooped and punched the air with one hand, sending even more bison scurrying.

He could hear the rushing sound of the river now. It was just up ahead. He’d made it through the herd unharmed. He hoped his tactics had paid off. He couldn’t run any further. Plunging head first into the cold water, he welcomed the soothing feeling on his scorched skin. He gulped mouthfuls of water even as he swam downstream, aided by the current. He was swept past a beaver lodge. What had Sarah told him?

“I once hid from my brothers for an entire day inside a beaver lodge. They were so furious with me that I outsmarted them.”

“Thank you, Angel.” He grinned. He pulled himself through the water, back upstream towards the beaver dam. He dove and swam under the lodge, until he found the opening. When he resurfaced, he was in a dark, muddy chamber. A beaver sat in the mud, chatting loudly at seeing the intruder. Chase ignored it.

How long would he have to stay hidden? The cold water began to chill him, and it was dank inside the lodge. He pulled himself up onto the muddy platform. The beaver abandoned his perch and dove into the water, slapping his tail in protest. Did those Indians know this little trick? He could be a sitting duck for all he knew.

He drew his legs up close to his body, shivering as the minutes turned to hours. Once, he thought he heard voices just above, but they quickly died away. His surroundings darkened even more. Chase huddled against the mud, gritting his chattering teeth. He closed his eyes. If he could sleep for a few hours, he could continue to the geyser basin in the morning. He knew it might be best in the cover of night, but he’d get lost. In the blackness, he wouldn’t be able to see anything.

He drifted in and out of sleep. Sarah’s face materialized before him. Imagining her smile warmed his insides.

He was in love with her.

The realization still stunned him. Did she have feelings for him, too? Why should she? He wasn’t the kind of man she needed. She needed a strong man who knew his way around the mountains and would protect her from its dangers. He couldn’t even keep his own ass out of trouble.

Eating Out in the Good Old Days ~ Ellen O'Connell

The new romance I’m working on now has a scene in an elegant hotel dining room, which led me to research what a restaurant like that would really serve. My time period is later than most of what we discuss here (1899), but once I found a site with images of real Nineteenth Century menus, I couldn’t help but look at all the oldies.

To my surprise every one of these old menus listed many items even a picky, plain food person like me would be happy to order.

• Roast Prime Beef, Dish Gravy; Mashed Potatoes; Green Peas; Blackberry Pie; Canadian and Edam Cheese (Alamo Hotel, Colorado Springs, April 14, 1895)

• Baked Salmon au Vin Blanc; Shrimp Salad (Albert Café, Denver, November 16, 1891)

• Porterhouse Steak; Pork Chops; Eggs done in many ways (Bazaar Dinning [sic] Room, Denver, probably circa 1892)

I know that during the great slaughter of the buffalo the only parts taken were hides and tongues and that tongues had value because they were a delicacy served in New York restaurants at the time. Bits of information like that led to an expectation of finding many such eeyew! items, and I did find a few.

• Ox Heart with Jelly (Alert Restaurant, Denver, probably circa 1894)

• Calves Brains Scrambled with Eggs (Boston Bakery and Lunch Room, Denver, probably circa 1892)

• Boiled Tongue (Alamo Hotel, Colorado Springs, April 14, 1895)

I’m as unsophisticated as my character who questions the listing of roast domestic duck. A Google search showed that this description is still used and it wasn’t just in the Good Old Days that chefs differentiated between plump, shotgun pellet free duck and scrawny, shot from the sky duck. I couldn’t help but use that one in my story.

The fact oyster soup, salmon, and halibut were served in Colorado in those days was another surprise. How fresh could ocean fish be so far from the sea back then? By 1899 shipping on ice and some primitive refrigeration was available, but still.... In my memory many Coloradans didn’t consider ordering ocean fish in restaurants here a good idea even in the 60's and 70's.

Other things that tickled me were mentions of deposits and extra charges for dishes taken out (or rules forbidding takeout entirely). No Styrofoam to pack things in back then. They worried about whether dishes would be returned. One menu mentions an extra charge for two people who ordered a single meal and shared.

All in all this research went as it almost always does—I needed a small amount of information for one scene in an entire novel, spent a short time finding out what I needed to know and a long time checking out things that caught my interest.

There's Gold In Them-Thar Hills...

(Though that quote was supposedly said in Georgia, pertaining the hills in the northern part of the state, in hopes of keeping miners from racing to California in 1849—I’m using it in reference to Colorado.)

It’s said Colorado gold mining began in 1858 after a discovery that set off the Denver gold rush, even though explorer Zebulon Pike noted gold in the ground in 1807. Either way, St. Charles, later renamed Denver City, was established in the spring of 1858 and by the fall of that year towns had sprung up throughout the territory.  

Once originally part of the Nebraska, Kansas, Utah and New Mexico Territory, this gold bearing region became known as the Territory of Jefferson when a provisional territorial government was formed in 1859. In 1861 Territorial officials, approving the name the Spanish used for the red dirt area decided to rename it the Territory of Colorado, which was approved by the Government that year. Fifteen years later, in 1876 Ulysses S. Grant proclaimed Colorado the 38^th state to join the Union on August 1. 

The gold discoveries around Denver were small and miners began tracing the gold to its source higher in the Mountains westward. There, near the top of the mountain, towns such as Black Hawk and Central City cropped up after miners found over a thousand dollars worth of gold in five days work. (That would be over $20,000 in today’s money.)

This not only brought on more miners, it brought others who made their millions by providing the miners what they needed, merchants, railroads, saloons, banks, even playhouses and charity organizations. Soon the surface gold was all taken, and extracting the gold from the harder ore was impossible for most miners. In 1868 Colorado’s first ore smelter was built in Black Hawk, which extracted the gold and other metals and minerals from the ore, and once again, mining in the area was at its peak—which lasted until about 1959. During that hundred year time span, 1859-1959, it’s estimated that area of Colorado produced 6,3000,000 troy ounces of gold. 

Traveling to the area was precarious, though. The narrow gauge railroad had to have tight switchbacks to make the ever increasing grade, and vast bridges were built over gulches that some claimed had never ending bottoms. Once built, the Colorado Central Railroad had numerous trains traveling from Denver to Black Hawk, Central City, and Nevadaville on a daily basis. 

In my February 19th release, Inheriting a Bride, Kit Becker must travel to this area of Colorado to lay claim to a gold mine she inherited from her grandfather. 

Blurb: He’ll get beneath every delicious layer of her disguises...

Kit Becker travels to Nevadaville prepared to use any pretense necessary to discover why she must share her inheritance, and with whom.

Clay Hoffman knows a thing or two about moneygrabbing females, so when he finds one posing as his new ward he’s determined to get beneath every delicious layer of her disguises. Discovering she’s telling the truth, Clay is torn—he should be protecting her, not thinking about making her his bride! All he knows for sure is that he’s inherited a whole heap of trouble!

www.laurirobinson.blogspot.com

RIDING THE STAGE COACH

Contrary to those in the movies, stage coaches came in several sizes and styles. Some had three seats, some two. But they all had rigorous rules of travelers’ deportment. The following list is from the 1877 Omaha Herald via the source at the end:

Hints For Plains Travelers

The best seat inside a stagecoach is the one next to the driver…you will get less than half the bumps and jars than on any other seat. When any old “sly Eph,” who traveled thousands of miles on coaches, offers through sympathy to exchange his back or middle seat with you, don’t do it.

Never ride in cold weather with tight books or shoes or close-fitting gloves. Bathe your feet the night before starting in cold water, and wear loose overshoes and gloves about two three sizes too large.

When the driver asks you to get off and walk, do it without grumbling. He will not request it unless absolutely necessary. If a team runs away, sit still and take your chances. If you jump, nine times out of ten you will be hurt.

In very cold weather, abstain entirely from liquor while on the road. A man will freeze twice as quick while under its influence.

Don’t growl at food stations; stage companies generally provide the best they can. Don’t keep the stage waiting; many a virtuous man has lost his character by doing so.

Don’t smoke a strong pipe inside, especially early in the morning. Spit on the leeward side of the coach. If you have anything to take in a bottle, pass it around. A man who drinks by himself in such a case is lost to all human feeling. Provide stimulants before starting. Ranch whisky is not always nectar.

Don’t swear, nor lop over on your neighbor when sleeping. Don’t ask how far it is to the next station.

Never attempt to fire a gun or pistol while on the road. It may frighten the team, and the careless handling and cocking of the weapon makes nervous people nervous.

Don’t discuss politics or religion, nor point out places on the road where horrible murders have been committed.

Don’t linger too long at the pewter wash basin at the station.

Don’t grease your hair before starting or dust will stick there in sufficient quantities to make a respectable ‘tater’ patch. Tie as silk handkerchief around your neck to keep out dust and prevent sunburn.

A little glycerin is good in case of chapped hands.

Don’t imagine for a moment you are going on a picnic. Expect annoyance, discomfort, and some hardships. If you are disappointed, thank heaven.

In my western historical HIGH STAKES BRIDE, the heroine tries to reach a stage to escape her two evil stepbrothers. She is plagued by bad luck, that is, until she throw in with the hero.

I’ve ridden briefly in a stage coach a couple of times. I have to say I am very grateful for my nice air-conditioned sedan. How about you?

Source:

KEEPING HEARTH AND HOME IN OLD TEXAS: The How-To Book Your Great-Great- Grandmother Used, pages 201-202, by Carol Padgett, Sweetwater Press.

Caroline Clemmons is the author of numerous western historical and contemporary romances. See her books at her Amazon Author Page:

http://www.amazon.com/Caroline-Clemmons/e/B001K8CXZ6/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1358718598&sr=1-2-ent

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