Cowboys and Their Music

Cowboys and Their Music

www.laurirobinson.blogspot.com

 

I recently attended a Garth Brooks concert. I’d attended his concerts in the past, and knew we were in for a great show. He didn’t disappoint, and our entire group had very hoarse voices the next morning—which is what happens when you sing along with 20,000 other people for three hours. Two of the people in our group had so much fun, they went online early the next morning and snagged tickets to go again that night. They weren’t disappointed. The concert was just as top notch and the night before.

I enjoy music of all kinds, but admit country is my favorite. I love storytelling and set to music, it’s the best.

Music has always been part of a cowboy’s life, and played a major role in winning the west. 

Shortly before the Santa Fe Railroad arrived, Dodge City, Kansas was incorporated. The booming business was buffalo bones and hides and the town provided a social gathering place for the soldiers from nearby Fort Dodge. In 1875 its cattle days were born and for the next ten years it was known as the “Cowboy Capital” as well as “Queen of Cowtowns”. Well known lawmen and gunfighters took their turn in Dodge- Wyatt Earp; Bat, Ed, and Jim Masterson; Doc Holliday; William Tilghman; Clay Allison; Ben and Billy Thompson; Lake Short; and many others. In fact, it was often hard to tell the good guys from the bad in Dodge City.

A highly attractive event for Dodge City that became extremely popular was the performances of The Dodge City Cowboy Band. Their musical abilities were high quality; however it was said it was their manner of dress that attracted fans by the hundreds. The members wore flannel shirts, gray cowboy hats, leather chaps, spurs and pearl-handled revolvers, and the band leader used a revolver to keep time instead of a baton.

The Cowboy Band also played in Denver, Chicago and Minneapolis, and in Washington, D.C., at the inaugural celebration of President Benjamin Harrison.

Though known as the “Dodge City Cowboy Band” not one of the ‘cowboys’ was from Dodge.

My latest release isn’t set in Dodge, nor does it have music, but it does have a cowboy, just the wrong one. 

The Wrong Cowboy by Lauri Robinson

Cowboys, Christmas, and Whittling #history #romance @JacquieRogers

Website | Pickle Barrel Gazette | Amazon

Cowboys, Christmas, and Whittling

Just about every cowpoke had a pocket jack knife, and a good share of those men sat around the campfire and whittled. Judd Shaw, in How the Texan Stole Christmas (in Wild Texas Christmas—to be released the day after Thanksgiving from Prairie Rose Publications), is a cowhand who whittles. While writing him, I got to wondering why so many people whittled in the 19th century. So let’s take a look.

History of Whittling

Wood was one of the first items shaped, if not the first, by modern humans. Whittling could produce a spear or an arrow—although these items were single-use, which is probably why stone tools quickly replaced them. Decorative whittling goes back as far. No one knows when it started, but has been prevalent throughout written history and before.

I was surprised to find out that whittling wasn’t popular until the Civil War. Nearly every soldier, North or South, and a knife, and there was no shortage of wood. They might not have had sufficient food or blankets, but they always had wood. Once the war was over, these soldiers went about making a living—logging, punching cattle, farming, or whatever—and they took their newfound whittling skills with them. Whittling was a popular pastime clear up until the end of World War II.

Whittling vs. Wood carving

This article is about whittling, not woodcarving. The latter requires a variety of tools and generally produces more elaborate artworks. Even with whittling, there’s plain whittling and then there’s chip carving.

Here’s a snippet from How the Texan Stole Christmas, my short story in Wild Texas Christmas.  We meet Judd, and this is what spurred him to take out his frustrations by whittling.

In an instant, her [Winnie's] feet went out from under her and she knocked Judd off balance, too. She landed on her back, the cold hard ice knocking the wind out of her. Judd fell on top of her with his face buried in her bosom. She couldn’t speak for lack of air and she couldn’t move because he pinned her down. 

He lifted his head after a moment. “I’m, uh, sorry.” 

Winnie wasn’t sorry at all. No man had had his face on her bosom for a long time, and if she had to choose one to be there, Judd’s would be it.

♥ ♥ ♥

Sleight of Heart

A gamblin' man with magic hands

A strait-laced spinster

A missing brother

A crazy adventure

Kindle | Print

The Wickedest Cowtown in Kansas

“Abilene was the first, and Dodge City was the last…but Ellsworth was the wickedest cattle town of them all.”

US Army Troops at Fort Harker - 1867

When we think of “the wild west”, we often think of the geographical regions around Wyoming, Montana, Colorado, Texas, and Arizona. Let’s not forget Kansas, though. Located in the center of the continental United States, the state of Kansas was – and is – a major transportation hub for the distribution of goods throughout the country.

Back in the day, of course, that meant cattle, and visitors to the state of Kansas today can still visit the towns that grew up along the railroad lines. Everyone knows of Abilene, and of course, we’ve all heard of Dodge City. But what about Ellsworth, Kansas?

Once the home to several Native American tribes, the area became a dangerous place as the Santa Fe Trail cut through the “Smoky Hills” region. The Cheyenne and other tribes raided wagon trains and stagecoaches, and soon Fort Ellsworth was constructed for the protection of travelers.

Soon, a small town had sprung up around the fort. Although the fort was re-named Fort Harker, the town became known as Ellsworth, and when the railroad completed a line to the fort in July, 1867, the little community boomed, quickly swelling to a population of two thousand.

The early years were marked with difficulties. In addition to continued raids from Indians, the town faced a cholera epidemic, and severe flooding from the Smoky Hill river. Yet it survived.

From 1871 to 1875, Ellsworth served as a thriving cattle market, dominating the other “cowtowns” in Kansas. Along with the rough frontiersmen and hard-working cowboys who called Ellsworth home, a wild and wicked population of gamblers, outlaws, and prostitutes were drawn to the town.

It wasn’t long before Ellsworth had gained a reputation as a “wild and wooly” place.  In addition to drunken cowboys and occasional shoot-outs, the town was subjected to violence and havoc from a gang led by two men, Craig and Johnson. The set out to take over and to establish a “reign of terror” with their desperado deeds. They robbed, they killed, they bullied.

Finally the good folks of Ellsworth set out to put an end to the terror and rid the town of such “vermin”. A vigilante committee was formed, and it was agreed that the best way to solve the problem was to get rid of the gang’s leaders.

Both Craig and Johnson were captured, taken to the Smoky Hill, and strung up on the limbs of an old cottonwood tree growing along the river’s banks.  Their cohorts took note and figured it might be a wise thing to pack up and move on.

Even with the outlaw gang routed, the town of Ellsworth saw its share of excitement. Tales of gunfights, hangings, and fortunes won and lost at the gambling tables are legendary. Wild Texas longhorns were driven through the streets toward the Kansas Pacific stockyards. Cowboys rode hard and played hard, spending their hard-earned wages at one of the many saloons.

The shipping pens closed in 1875, but the reputation Ellsworth had gained has lived on. Today, the area is home to about three thousand residents who live peaceful lives as ranchers and farmers.

Visitors can learn of the town’s rich history at many museums and other tourist attractions, including the Ellsworth jail, built in 1873. Oh, the stories those walls could tell!

Of course, the walls themselves can’t speak, so fortunately today’s western writers are taking pen in hand to tell the tale of Ellsworth, Kansas. Those of us who write romance can’t resist throwing in a little love along with the lust. 

For more information on Ellsworth, you can also make a virtual visit through Facebook: 

Ellsworth County Historical Society

I hope you've enjoyed this trip back in time! 

Until next month... Christina                          

Guest Author - Debra Holland on writing Sweet Historical Westerns

Due to some personal issues, I didn't have time to put a post together for my scheduled posting day. I'm so grateful that NYT best-selling author, Debra Holland, agreed to fill in for me. Thank you so much for helping me out today, Debra!

USING FAMILY HISTORY TO WRITE SWEET HISTORICAL WESTERNS

By Debra Holland

I write sweet (meaning not sexy) historical Western/prairie romance set in the 1880s and 1890s in my fictional town of Sweetwater Springs, Montana. One of the reasons I don’t write sexy books is because I want to remain true to the morality of the time period.

In those days, couples often didn’t indulge in physical gestures of affection until after they were affianced or maybe not until they wed. A woman who engaged in premarital sex risked the loss of her reputation (an important value in those days) as well as becoming pregnant. Any child of an unwed mother was illegitimate. Being born a “bastard” had significant lifelong social and legal stigmas.

Keeping to historical parameters of physical affection with a modern romance novel can be difficult for an author. In order to do so, I’ve often drawn on stories of my great-grandparents, told me by my grandmother as told to her by her grandmother--not necessarily the details, but the pattern of behavior and the essence of their courtship and marriage.

My great-great grandparents didn’t even kiss until they were married. Yet the romantic connection between them must have been strong. During their courtship, he wrote her a love letter that she cherished all her life. When he died, she tucked the letter in his breast pocket, and he was buried with it.

With my latest book, Glorious Montana Sky, I had the dilemma of writing a romance with a hero who was a minister. The constraints of the time period would be even stricter for Reverend Joshua Norton, a missionary returning home to Sweetwater Springs, than for other men.

A minister in 1895 (the time of Glorious Montana Sky) would likely not kiss the woman he was courting. In addition to his own beliefs about physical affection before marriage, the couple would have all the eyes of their community watching them and judging—after all, the minister was supposed to be the moral compass for his community.

Yet I needed some kisses in my book. How could I make that happen? I did a whole lot of thinking about possible love scenes, discarding all of them. I also brainstormed with some author friends.

I knew Joshua had to be caught up in the moment—the encounter innocent and unplanned. Finally, I realized he’d have to be moved by emotion instead of passion, and the scene came to me.

EXCERPT FROM GLORIOUS MONTANA SKY

No sign of Delia. Anxious to see her, Joshua stepped through the glass door and onto the brick path. He moved toward the fountain, then veered to the right, checking underneath the arbor, and then looked across to the other. The wooden benches under both were empty.

Disappointed and wondering if she’d gone in to check on her father, Joshua continued his stroll around the fountain, choosing the slanting path toward the gazebo. The breeze brought the scent of the roses growing in beds along the wall. From this angle, he could see through the doorway to where Delia sat reading on a cushioned bench that circled the interior. His stomach did a little flip, and his feet rooted to the ground.

Sunlight filtered through the lattice and hanging morning glory vines to gild her gold-and-brown patterned dress and burnish auburn highlights into her dark hair. He could see her profile…the line of her throat, the soft rise and fall of her chest.

Somehow, Joshua knew he’d always remember this image of her. Reluctant to shatter the picture, he watched for another moment before taking off his hat. “Miss Bellaire,” he called softly.

Delia looked up from her book and saw him.

The way she smiled and how her eyes lit up caused Joshua to catch his breath.

“Reverend Joshua.” She placed a bookmark between the leaves and closed the volume. “How good to see you.” She waved him in.

“Mrs. Graves tells me your father is resting.”

“Yes, I insisted. Although Papa does seem much stronger and has started to chafe at staying in bed.”

“I don’t blame him.”

“Your son is a godsend, the way he entertains my father. After their chess game, Micah walks him in the area outside the bedroom. It’s something to see, Papa’s hand on Micah’s shoulder, their painstaking progress, that boy’s patience with a sick man.”

Her words gave Joshua a sense of pride. For so long, he’d only heard complaints and criticism about his son, mostly he reflected with some guilt, from the boy’s own mother. And she’d made him believe their son’s normal boyhood mischief was a more serious behavioral problem. Thank goodness, Micah and I are gradually growing closer.

“Visiting with Andre has helped Micah too,” he said. “My son seems happier lately. I’m hopeful adapting to Montana won’t be as difficult as he and I feared.”

She patted the bench next to her. “Come sit. I imagine my father will awaken soon and will be happy to see you.”

Joshua took a seat next to her, perhaps closer than he would for any other lady, setting down the bowler on his other side. “I’ve been in better spirits, too.”

Delia gazed at him, sympathy in her eyes. “You’ve been in mourning.”

He let out a long breath. “Yes, but I’ve also struggled with a feeling of malaise.”

She touched his hand. “I’ve seen signs of that.”

“Being home…with my family and old friends…” He gazed at her sure she could see his feelings in his eyes. “And new ones…has proven to be a tonic.”

Pink rose in her cheeks, and she glanced away.

He reached inside his coat, pulled out the letter from his vest pocket, and handed it to her. “The stationmaster sent this with me. He says it’s from New Orleans.”

The light left her eyes, and her skin paled. With obvious reluctance, Delia reached to take the letter from him.

Concerned, Joshua leaned toward her.

Delia glanced up at him, her eyes wide and apprehensive. “It’s from my mother.”

“Would you like me to leave so you can read in private?”

Her hand shot out to clasp his. “Oh, no. Please stay.”

Joshua squeezed her fingers and had to prevent an instinctive need to bring her hand to his lips. Reluctantly he released her.

Delia took a deep breath, opened the envelope, pulled out the single sheet of paper, and began to read.

From the glimpse Joshua had of the writing before he turned his face away, her mother had only written a few paragraphs.

Delia made a small gasping sound of distress.

His stomach tightened. What’s wrong?

When she finished reading, Delia kept her head averted. With shaking hands, she clumsily folded the paper and tried to stuff the sheet back into the envelope.

Buy Link (Amazon exclusive) http://amzn.com/B00KAHYWHA

Debra Holland is the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of the Montana Sky Series, sweet, historical Western romance. She’s a three-time Golden Heart finalist and one-time winner. Debra is also the author of The Gods’ Dream Trilogy (fantasy romance) and the nonfiction book, The Essential Guide to Grief and Grieving. She’s a contributing author to The Naked Truth About Self-Publishing. Learn more about her at http://drdebraholland.com

Sandra Jones - Guest Author at Cowboy Kisses - #Giveaway

Mississippi River Gamblers

by Sandra Jones

Personally, I’m a pitiful card player—usually the last person anyone wants as a partner at the table. But I think that’s why I admire the psychological skill and brilliance of players like George Devol and Canada Bill Jones.

George De Vol

While researching for my new historical romance, Her Wicked Captain, I read an autobiography written by Devol, entitled Forty Years A Gambler on the Mississippi. In this 1887 memoir, the card sharp paints vivid pictures of his escapades (whether imagined or real) including high-stakes games, lost loves, and fights with dangerous opponents.

According to Devol, he was a runaway living on a riverboat by age ten. By fourteen, he knew how to stack a deck of cards, and he eventually bilked players out of thousands of dollars without remorse. Yes, he was a cheat.

Canada Bill Jones

A contemporary and partner of Devol’s, Jones was born in Yorkshire and migrated to Canada and later Mississippi looking for bigger games.  He’s been said to be the greatest of all riverboat gamblers at the three-card-monte. His cunning, charm, and sense of charity were all attributes I included when I created the riverboat gambling hero of Her Wicked Captain. In fact, it was probably Jones’s sense of selflessness that made him the target of George Devol when his longtime friend attempted to cheat him, thus causing the end of their business dealings together. Afterward, Jones worked his way from boats to railways, moving west and attempting to open gaming establishments. He died of consumption by age 40.

My Visit to New Orleans in May for the RT Booklovers’ Convention and a “Floating Palace”

Excerpt

If he hadn’t introduced himself, Dell wouldn’t have recognized him. Her childhood memories came in spurts and flickers like sparks drifting up from a burning log, to vanish into the void of a black sky. She recalled how big everything had seemed—her mama’s dressing room, the nice bed where she slept the day away, and the giant paddle wheels as the steamboats came into port. How the kids would come running from the city streets to gather around each arriving ship like a swarm of giddy flies, and the older girls would wave at her friend—her playmate, Rory.

“Gory Rory. You ate a pollywog catfish? Ew!” She’d once teased. Gory Rory? Had she really called him that?

Presently, the captain’s strong arms went around her as he lifted her over the rail. His hands lingered on her sides a moment past propriety.

Flushing, she stepped aside. “Thank you.”

He winked at her and helped hoist the rest of the party up from the keelboat onto the packet’s leaning deck. Standing behind her cousins, Dell could still feel the branding on her ribs where his hands had touched her. She willed herself not to panic, but her pulse fluttered wildly at the base of her throat. She couldn’t hide, nor could she return to the riverbank, though every second she stood under his nose was another second he might recognize her.

She couldn’t allow that to happen.

The steamboat’s whistle rattled to life, and she jerked as if she’d been shot, grabbing the rail. The deafening roars and metallic tones sounded overhead as she gritted her teeth. She vaguely recalled standing too near as a babe, and now fought the instinct to cover her ears like the wailing brat she’d been back then.

For whatever reason, her mama had moved her hundreds of miles away, leaving their home and her husband, Quintus Moreaux. Now here was his former ward, Rory Campbell, standing more than six foot tall with wide shoulders and a rogue’s grin, less than eight feet away.

He and the freedman gave the final visitor, Mr. Gaskin, a boost onto the boat. The lumber mill owner joked that he’d gladly salvage the boards of the vessel, to which Rory declined with rich laughter and clapped a hand on his back.

The shy Rory that Dell remembered had soft, boyish round cheeks, and wasn’t able to put together more than two words around her pretty mother. The confident man standing before them now wore a shadow of golden whiskers on a rigid jaw, but he had the same eyes, the color of green bottle glass lit by sunlight. While the others headed for the bow, her former friend singled her out, sharing his infectious smile.

He bowed slightly, gesturing with his hat. “Ladies first.”

Dell ran unsteady hands down the pleats of her dusty clothes to chase away the twinges of her stomach. She mustn’t call attention to herself. If she lost her composure, he would surely figure out she was Eleanor’s bastard daughter, fathered by one of Moreaux’s black workers. One word from him about her mixed blood, and the town would turn on her.

“Thank you,” she murmured again and glided past, keeping her head down. She felt his measuring gaze, and her chest heated in response.

Sarah and Nathaniel were just steps ahead with the preacher, weaving from the rail, straining to see as much of the vessel as possible. Dell hurried to catch up. Rory’s tread creaked ominously on the deck behind her.

Book Blurb

She played right into his hands. Possessing uncanny people-reading skills like her mama, Philadelphia “Dell” Samuels has spent thirteen years in her aunt’s rustic Ozarks home, telling fortunes over playing cards and trying to pass as white. But the treacherous Mississippi River childhood her mama dragged her away from finally catches up to her on a steamboat captained by her old friend Rory Campbell.

Known to his crew as the Devil’s Henchman, Rory is a gambler in need of a miracle. Following the cold trail of his boss’s wife and bastard daughter, Dell, Rory has only one goal in mind: saving his crew from the boss’s cruelty by ruining him. The only one who can defeat the Monster of the Mississippi is the man trained to take his place. Rory’s convinced he can lure his boss into a high-stakes game against a rival, and with Dell’s people-reading skills, the monster will lose everything.

Under Rory’s tutelage and protection, Dell agrees to the tortured captain’s plan. Passion and peril quickly bring them together as lovers. But when Rory’s plan goes awry, the lives of the innocent depend on Dell’s ability to read the situation correctly—and hopefully save them all.

Goodreads link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/22922437-her-wicked-captain

Buy Links

Amazon:  http://www.amazon.com/Her-Wicked-Captain-River-Rogues-ebook/dp/B00M497W56/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1410398050&sr=8-1&keywords=her+wicked+captain

B&N:  http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/her-wicked-captain-sandra-jones/1120006611?ean=9781619223752

Kobo: http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/her-wicked-captain

iTunes:  https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/her-wicked-captain/id903379545?mt=11

Author Info

Historical romance author Sandra Jones was born and raised in Arkansas. She loves living in a cabin overlooking White River where she enjoys watching eagles and dreaming about the adventurous frontiersmen who once traveled past in steamboats. When she’s not reading, writing or researching, she’s the cook for her cranky old tom cat, her husband of more than 25 years, and her two grown sons. She also loves to chat with her fans.

Author Links

Website: http://www.sandrajonesromance.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/sandrajones.author

Twitter:  https://twitter.com/SJonesRomance

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/SandraJones

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