Ft. Uncompahgre was not a fortified fort in the sense that it had big thick adobe walls like Old Bent’s fort down the trail a ways. It was mostly a place where trading could take place, things could be stored, families could live in the surrounding area while the men were off doing a job of work, and due to its good relations with their neighbors a pretty safe place to live.
Which meant that there were mothers and children there much of the time. When you added their small voices and activities to the work-a-day mix you had a lively place whose bustle and excitement were constant. There were quiet times too, times when you just grabbed one of little ones and took a rest from everything around you. That’s what Abigail and Issac are doing at this moment.
Back around Fort Uncompahgre in the early days if you were new to the area and you wanted to go out to make your fortune, you would best be advised to acquire a suitable guide. One that not only knew the area but knew the tribes and how they were particularly feeling at the moment. Did they feel peckish about folks wandering around in their hunting grounds, or were they amenable to visitors if they behaved themselves. That knowledge could be invaluable if you were to unexpectedly meet some of the locals.
This was knowledge that was normally gained the hard way on your own with little chance of a do over if you screwed it up. A good guide could mean the difference between success, which was measured not only materially, but in whether you stayed alive or not, always a desired outcome.
A good guide was measured by many things. Did he appear to be a sober, substantial individual with a good grasp of the country and current conditions. Did he have all of his natural hair. Spots on his head minus hair were acceptable if they occurred naturally but were to be avoided at all cost if they appeared to be gone due to native surgery. Always ask the prospective guide to remove his hat before entering into serious negotiating.
The fellow above is one of the good guides, one of the best actually. Honest, intelligent, a man of few vices, smoking was not considered a vice, nor was spitting unless you were down wind of him. Drunken brawling in your Union suit was considered very bad form, but he was never seen engaging in that behavior so he had an excellent reputation and was sought after if he was in residence at the fort. Dependable, that’s what he was known for. And he didn’t beat his mules.
A good guide meant the difference between a successful trip where you’d finish above the grass or an unsuccessful one, where you’d get to meet some of the Utes who were mostly friendly, and maybe the Shoshone who were not so much, who could give you a more scary outcome. So be advised, if you’re headed out Ft Uncompahgre way and want to make sure you have a good trip check out the guide situation and if you’re lucky hire this guy.
What we have here is an example of an age old conflict between a bull that cannot abide seeing a cowboy standing and wearing a hat, and a cowboy standing and wearing a hat that is not about to take that attitude from any bull.
When the two come together, usually in an arena where there is the possibility of a confrontation, such as an event that features American Bullfighting, and say, the bull says something off color about the cowboys hat, and the cowboy says “Oh yeah, why you don’t you do something about it then, hamburger walking”, the situation can get explosive.
In the image above we see the aftermath of this provocative exchange. The bull is happy to provide a direct physical response to the cowboys’ taunt and the cowboy is making absolutely certain to note where his hat has landed so he can retrieve it when he hits the ground. It is very likely that this situation will repeat itself over and over again due to the inability of the opposing sides to come to any type of agreement.
It could be that this situation can be seen as a metaphor for life in general where there are two opposing points of view and no good way for one side or the other to work it out in a less violent manner. Remember when everything is said and done the bull does most often wind up as hamburger, and the cowboy loses his ability to wear his coveted hat due to the knots on his head from his many hard landings, so it’s a non-win for both points of view. It begs that age old question “Why can’t we all just be friends.” I guess the answer for me is “I don’t know, really. I like hamburger and I like wearing my hat. That’s a tough one to answer.”
Wild Turkeys taken at the former World Headquarters of The Institute
Happy Thanksgiving !
Happy Thanksgiving! It’s that day again, a day to relax even if you’re cooking, a day to lay on the couch after the big meal, watch the game, stuff your face yet again, crack the wishbone with someone you love, or your old enemy if you still have a score to settle, listen to Uncle Skids dumb jokes, watch Aunt Pheeb smack him for his language, join the kids playing video games, go for a walk if you’re with those that can’t stand the thought of pigging out on the one day you can, and most of all give thanks for all you have, or in some cases all you don’t.
Do whatever makes the day meaningful for you even if it’s having a TV turkey dinner in front of the tube alone, it’s ok, really. Me, I’m going to spend it with friends that I love, hope you do too.
First there is a low whistling sound as if something thin and dangerous is cutting through the air. Then a sharp cracking, staccato-like report that is as loud as a Colt 45 discharging next to your ear. That is the unmistakable sound of one of the deadliest weapons used in the old west, the whip known as the Blacksnake.
Originally used to keep cattle under control during a cattle drive or to move some of the larger, meaner bulls from one place to another, they often became a deadly weapon in the hands of a skilled operator. The small diameter lash at the end of the whip, called a cracker, made the rifle-like sound of the whip cracking, by breaking the sound barrier as the whip reached the end of its trajectory before being pulled back, completing the cycle.
Actually the whips used in the image above are really bullwhips, being a whip with a short wooden handle that the whip itself is braided around, rather than a whip that has no handle just 6′ to 12′ or longer of flexible braided bull hide as supple and sinuous as the snake it is named after.
If you were hit by the lash it could lay open the skin as if you were cut by a knife. Many movies were made with the whip being one of the hero’s or villian’s primary weapons, along with their trusty pistols, with the most notable being Lash Larue who was famous for using a 18′ bullwhip. Many a villain was brought to heel by the expert use of his bullwhip. After a Saturday morning at the Bijou boys would go home and practice with a piece of rope trying to emulate their hero.
The whipmaster above is showing tremendous skill by using not one but two bullwhips to demonstrate the weapons unique characteristics. This takes enormous skill as the whip can strike the operator as well as its intended victim if it wasn’t kept under absolute control. It wasn’t unusual to see a vivid scar running across a beginners face as they tried to master the weapon.
Most of the altercations in Wichita were handled by the use of pistols or shotguns but occasionally you would hear the report of a different kind of weapon and that would be the Blacksnake. An exotic weapon to be sure but deadly none the less.
There was a time when the law was spread pretty thin in the west and some would-be desperados, bandits, outlaws, rustlers and those with just plain bad attitudes took full advantage of the situation.
Good god-fearing people trying to do the right things and live in a law abiding way were taken advantage of and suffered at the hands of these no good criminal types until they finally had enough. To fight this lawlessness they banded together and formed a group called Vigilantes or Regulators to take the law into their own hands and protect themselves. These groups or individuals had no real legal standing other than Might makes Right and sometimes were as bad as the criminals they brought their heavy handed justice to.
Usually the Regulators would ride out and capture and administer western justice in the form of a swift hanging, or shooting whoever they thought were scoundrels, on sight. However sometimes the use of a Regulator was perverted and misused by a wealthy rancher hiring a fast gun as a Regulator to protect his holdings. That meant that anybody who even looked cross-eyed at his stock, or crossed his fences, or used water that wasn’t theirs or decided to free graze their herds across his land on the way to market, were fair game and could be and usually were, shot on sight by his Regulator.
Regulators have a mixed reputation with some folks thinking they were a good and necessary organization, used to uphold what little law existed by removing the bad elements as necessary, while others saw them as just as lawless and murderous as the bad men they were regulating. This was especially prevalent thought with the sheepmen and farmers moving in to share the west who often bore the brunt of the Regulators wrath.
Regulators usually only lasted as long as there was no legal law in an area and soon disbanded as real law enforcement moved in. Whether you thought killing somebody was justified or not, you couldn’t just kill them because it felt good. If you did, whether you were a Regulator or not, then you went to jail or were hanged just a like a common criminal. Being a Regulator soon quickly fell out of favor.
Regulators may or may not have been a necessary evil but the men who chose this profession were a hard lot. Quick to dispense their form of justice, they were tough, single-minded men that served a purpose during those lawless times in the old west.
There were good people in the town of Wichita. Probably more than we thought were there. We’ve heard about the ones that weren’t so good, and the ones who were borderline good with a dash of bad thrown in. But not all that much about the good folks. The ones who did good things out of their need to bring some sort of balance and harmony to the town just because of who they were.
Such was Florence Nightshade, known as the Angel of the Night. Not much is known about her background, she just showed up one day on the morning stage and by the time night fell she was out roaming the mean streets of Wichita offering solace to all who needed it. Rumors were rampant about her. She was a nurse from back east who after suffering a terrible loss in her own life came west to Wichita to help those in need, some said. Others said she once caused a death due to being inebriated on the job and swore to make up for it by tirelessly ministering to those most in need no matter what their station in life was.
Whatever her reasons she was always the first to show up after a shooting, helping the wounded and saying a quick prayer over the dead. Many a expecting mother knew her as the one who brought their child into the world when the town Doc was too drunk or sitting in on a winning hand in the saloon and couldn’t be bothered.
Most people never wondered about why she was so quiet. She kept to herself and never socialized preferring to wander the streets doing her work. Mercy was dealt by her hands and her heart and there were legions who survived their wounds only because she was there when they needed her most.
One day however she was gone. No one saw her leave. No one knows where she went. Some said she wandered off into the prairie to die from a hidden disease, others said she was abducted by terrible men. Others said she went to a little border town near the Mexican border that had even more killings and knifings than Wichita. Wherever she went we can assume she is still tending to those in need at a new place in desperate need of an Angel of the Night.
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