Draw! by Darrel Sparkman

Alright you lily-livered polecat—draw!

Were there fast gun artists in the old west?  Sugar Guns?  Quick as the blink of an eye? Hollywood would have us think so.

 I’m visualizing two steely-eyed antagonists facing off in the street, hands hovering over their shootin’ irons and honoring the code of the west—waiting for the other to make the first move.  Both have killed men.  Neither have a drop of sweat on their palms.  Confident.  Deadly.  Waiting.

Then, someone like Val Kilmer totally blows out all your nerve endings and turns your legs to jelly with his little smirk and famous, “Say when.”  Or, Clint Eastwood saying, “Well? You going to pull them pistols, or whistle Dixie?”

Along about this point the bad guy realizes the challenge issued wasn’t a real good idea. It’s not going to end well.

Reading accounts and journals of “Ye Olde West”, the stylized standoff in the middle of the street rarely happened. The better question is why should it?

 

Now, all you old west gun experts don’t start railing on me. There were a plethora of firearms for just about every desired use.  These are the firearm’s I’m choosing to talk about.  Run of the mill, readily available shootin’ irons.

The cap and ball pistols, and later brass cartridges conversions, were heavy and cumbersome.  A case in point is my .44 mag pictured here. 

It’s close in size and weight to older cap and ball pistols and weighs in at three pounds and change.  Until the shorter barreled pistols came on the market, the longer pistols like the Dragoon Colt and Remington were just plain hard to get out of your holster, pants, or coat pocket in any kind of hurry.  If you thought a gun was going to be needed, like as not it was already in your hand. 

Folks carried pistols in a variety of ways, because for most it was a tool, for varmints and such—or an occasional runaway horse.  If you’re dumped from the saddle and your boot is caught in the stirrup, you better hope you can get to your pistol.  Not that I’ve ever read of that happening except in fiction.

But when it comes to arguments between men it’s like the adage says, “don’t strap it on unless you’re willing to use it—don’t use it unless you’re prepared to kill.”  And, that could happen by accident.  Think of trying to shoot the gun out of the hand of your opponent, happens all the time in the movies, right? 

Well, a little harder trigger pull might move the barrel of your gun over a fraction and you’ve just punched his ticket--or missed!  And pistols have something called recoil, especially shooting one-handed. Or, you might start fanning the hammer and hit him, his uncle Jake, three bystanders standing by the saloon, and the team mascot right in the butt.  Is that six?  Of course, you might miss them all.

However, even with the inception of Sam Colt’s finest—all men are not created equal.  I’m sure there were plenty of lawmen and outlaws whose eye-hand coordination was a sight to see, unless it was the last thing you saw. 

But, did it really happen like Marshal Dillon on Gunsmoke?  Rarely.  Some accounts tell of troublemakers showing up saying they’re going to kill some dirty scoundrel, or what they’ll do if he shows up.  Typically called a loudmouth—we’ve all seen them.  Then said scoundrel steps out of an alley with his gun already drawn and shoots the poor misguided soul with no warning.

Unfair?  Depends on your point of view.

I can see it now.  A gunman steps out in the street with his Peacemaker .45 or sheriff’s version—they’re short barreled and you can get them out fast.  The other gunman is standing about fifty yards away with a long barreled Dragoon, or Remington—maybe that Buntline Special.  Much more accurate.  Not going to end well for the short barreled shootist. As a case in point:

GUNFIGHTERS OF THE OLD WEST

by Norman B. Wiltsey

From the 1967 Gun Digest

  

In his celebrated duel with Dave Tutt in Springfield, Mo., in 1865, Wild Bill displayed the cool nerve and accurate marksmanship his legion of admirers claim was always his. The shootout even went off according to fictionalized protocol, to a degree. After an argument each warned the other that the next time they met there’d be powder burned. 

Hickok killed Tutt at an estimated range of 75 yards the next day; Bill on one side of the town square, Dave on the other. Tutt, tensed and nervous, drew first and got off 4 shots – all misses—before Bill, steadying his 1860 Army Colt with both hands, fired one shot that drilled Tutt dead center.

That may have been a Dragoon Colt with a long barrel.

Or, maybe out steps Chuck Connors with his rifle.  Well, that’s not fair!

For more information on Hickock and Tutt you should mosey over to Tom Rizzo’s blog page. http://tomrizzo.com/duel-to-death/  Or, his Facebook page.  Good stuff either place. https://www.facebook.com/thomas.rizzo.writes

From the marshal’s point of view, his job was to keep the peace and rid the town and territory of riff raff... not engage in some kind of contest about who has faster hands.  It’s not a contest, nor a game. 

There were a lot of cranky lawmen and it wasn’t smart to say anything bad about them that might catch their attention.  Many bad guys and law officers alike were shot in the back just for that reason.

But, it goes farther than that.  Anyone going into harm’s way will tell you—if they need someone to watch their back, they don’t care if that person CAN shoot, how many trick shots they can make, or how proficient they are with a firearm.  Give me someone who WILL shoot.

 

I think that was the difference between the normal citizen and the pistoleer.  That line in their mind was already crossed.  While the normal person was thinking should I draw, the gunman was already doing it with no hesitation.  He didn’t need to be fast.

 

This question is explored in my western Hallowed Ground.  Is it murder to kill a man that you know isn’t as fast or good, even if they are trying to kill you?

You hear "he had his chance" bandied about. Did he?

A not so famous frontier character was Frank ‘Pistol Pete’ Eaton who reportedly killed eleven men by the time he was sixteen.  At seventeen he was a U.S. Deputy Marshal working for Judge Parker out of Ft. Smith, Arkansas.  Just to the west of Ft. Smith, the Missouri, Kansas and Texas Railroad (Farther north I think this was the KATY) was the start of no-man’s land, or Indian Territory—later to be Oklahoma.  Posters tacked on trees stated any law officer would be killed on sight.

This outlaw territory was patrolled by Eaton, and the likes of Heck Brunner, Bud Ledbetter, Grant Johnson, Bill Tilghman and sometimes Pat Garrett.  These men served warrants into the territory frequently. 

Quoting from the U. S. Marshals service:  On April 15, 1872, eight deputy marshals were shot and killed in what came to be known as the Going Snake Massacre, which occurred in Tahlequah, Indian Territory.

In 1872 it was reported over a hundred marshals died serving warrants in the territory.  Some reports put it at two hundred.  

Now, I’m betting the marshals that survived working in that country didn’t walk up to the bad guys and challenge them to a shootout on a dusty street.  I’m thinking the outlaw was cut out of the herd, one way or another.  

Logic tells me the lawman would have the ‘drop’ on them and give them a choice to surrender or die.  Many times I’m betting there was no choice given at all, since all they needed to take the outlaw off Judge Parker’s list was provide some identification, in some cases even ears, as proof.

 

A Marine General said, “Anyone engaging the enemy in a fair fight is showing a serious lack of preparation.”  That would be a good rule for ‘way back then’, and today. 

Think of James Garner in Support Your Local Sheriff.  Now there was a man prepared.  I can still see him blowing up Madam Orr’s house. Or was that Support Your Local Gunfighter? Dunno.

Oh, by the way, Pistol Pete died at the ripe old age of 97.  Does ‘ripe old age’ mean old folks start to smell?  I need to do a sniff test.

So, back to the fast draw.  Just Google Cowboy Fast Draw and you’ll find tons of information.  There are several clubs and associations for quick gun artists today.  Everything is about weight, no trigger guards, aluminum alloy barrels, and types of holsters.  Body angle and least amount of movement play a big part.  Methods of firing go from fanning the hammer of the revolver to thumbing and ‘slap cocking’.  Looking over the listed times, the fastest seems to come in at about a third of a second to a quarter of a second.

 

So there you are.  That’s fast.  Real fast.  Sugar guns.  In the blink of an eye.  Especially if the other guy is wondering if the loop is still over his hammer.

Could those fast draws have been duplicated in the old west?  Maybe.

 

Maybe it depends on how scared they were.

Have a great day,

Darrel Sparkman resides in Southwest Missouri with his wife.  Their three children and eleven grandchildren and great grands live nearby.  His hobbies include gardening, golfing, and writing.  In the past, Darrel served four years in the United States Navy, including seven months in Viet Nam as a combat search & rescue helicopter crewman.  He also served nineteen years as a volunteer Emergency Medical Technician, worked as a professional photographer, computer repair tech, and along with his wife Sue, owned and operated a commercial greenhouse and flower shop.  Darrel is currently retired and self-employed.  He finally has that job that wakes you up every day with a smile

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Many thanks to Tom Rizzo for letting me steal part of one of his articles.

ANDREW McBRIDE on how THE BUFFALO SOLDIERS by JOHN PREBBLE inspired his novel THE PEACEMAKER

I’ve been fortunate enough to receive wide acclaim already for my Sundown Press novel THE PEACEMAKER. Of 25 reviews and ratings 2 are 4 star, 23 5 star! This includes 5 star reviews from 2 of the most successful western authors. Spur award-winning and Pulitzer Prize-nominated author ROBERT VAUGHAN describes it as ‘a great book’. Meanwhile RALPH COTTON (also a Pulitzer-prize nominated novelist) writes: ‘For pure writing style, McBride’s gritty prose nails the time and place of his story with bold authority. …this relatively new author has thoroughly, and rightly so, claimed his place among the top Old West storytellers.’ I’m very grateful to both Robert and Ralph for their fantastic support.

One of the biggest influences on me, writing THE PEACEMAKER and my other western novels, was THE BUFFALO SOLDIERS by JOHN PREBBLE which I re-read recently.

John Prebble (1915-2001) was (like me) an Englishman who wrote westerns. His short story ‘My Great Aunt Appearing Day’ was turned into the 1955 movie ‘White Feather.’

Robert Wagner and Jeffrey Hunter in ‘White Feather’

But he also wrote thrillers, some distinguished histories of Scotland, one of which was made into the acclaimed 1964 documentary ‘Culloden,’

and co-wrote the screenplay of the epic movie ‘Zulu,’ also 1964.

Michael Caine in ‘Zulu’

His novel ‘The Buffalo Soldiers’ is the story of Lt. Garrett Byrne, a white officer commanding a patrol of black troopers of the 10^th U.S. Cavalry – the so-called ‘buffalo soldiers’ - in Oklahoma c. 1869. He is tasked with escorting a party of Comanches living on the reservation on a buffalo hunt; then, when they turn renegade and flee into the wilderness of the Texas Staked Plains, of hunting them down.

This is the most un-western western I’ve ever read – as well as being one of the best. Although it deals with wildly familiar subject matter – the U.S. Cavalry versus the Indians, the Texas Rangers, Comancheros etc. – I’d defy anybody to find a cliché in the entire book. Prebble, as an outsider, seems to have no pre-conditioning about the Old West. All aspects are looked at with a fresh eye, particularly his startling depiction of the Texas Rangers. This is partly through absolutely authenticity, shown by small, convincing details, (down to using brandy to treat gum sores,) partly through complex characterisation.

These are flawed, ambiguous individuals. We can see heroism behind the cavalrymen, rangers and Comanches, but also obstinacy, cruelty and confusion. Byrne is no lantern-jawed idealist. He’s a middle-aged loner, unhandsome, socially awkward and makes mistakes – including some very bad ones. Born in Ireland, he’s struggled to escape the hatred that his father tried to instil in him – but then he finds himself hating the Comanches, something that drives and tortures him through the second half of the book.

This is a realistic – and therefore hard-hitting – novel, with elements of tragedy. There’s one chapter I find particularly tough to read. But the writing is superb. Prebble has the absolute knack (which he shares with the likes of A.B. Guthrie Jnr.) of capturing vast cinematic landscapes concisely and vividly. ‘The set of the sun revealed a long tableland in the far west, an indigo pencil-stroke between the red of the sky and the yellow grass.’ ‘The whole plain was miraculous, an ocean of grass moving against the far escarpments, and a wind rushing ceaselessly.’

‘The Buffalo Soldiers’ throws up a portrait of tragic racial conflict and issues, asking questions that the world is still trying to answer. Revisiting it, I realised the book was a tremendous influence on me. Stimulating, disturbing and powerful, it never loses its humanity even when showing humanity at its worst.

Some of the background to THE BUFFALO SOLDIERS:

Formed in 1866 the 9th and 10th Cavalry and the 24th and 25th Infantry were the U.S. army units comprised of black enlisted men and white officers. Their nickname may have originated with Plains Indians - buffalo hunting tribes. ("We called them 'buffalo soldiers' because they had curly, kinky hair... like bisons.")

Buffalo soldiers, a 10th Cavalry chaplain observed, 'are possessed of the notion that the coloured people of the whole country are more or less affected by their performance in the Army.'

 
These regiments enjoyed high re-enlistment rates and - in contrast to much of the frontier army - low desertion rates. 

In 1874 General Sherman said of them: ‘They are good troops, they make first-rate sentinels, are faithful to their trust, and are as brave as the occasion calls for.’

Despite this, black regiments were the subject of what Robert M. Utley, in ‘Frontier Regulars’ calls ‘searing racial prejudice.’ Utley writes: ‘The black regiments endured discrimination in both the quantity and quality of supplies, equipment and horses, and for 25 years they remained without relief in the most disagreeable sectors of the frontier.’

Buffalo soldiers have featured in film westerns like John Ford’s ‘SERGEANT RUTLEDGE’ (1960.)

On TV they were featured in shows like ‘THE HIGH CHAPARRAL’ (‘The Buffalo Soldiers’, ‘Ride the Savage Land.’)

High Chaparral episode: ‘Ride the Savage Land.’

BLURB for THE PEACEMAKER:

Eighteen-year-old scout Calvin 'Choctaw' Taylor believes he can handle whatever life throws his way. He’s been on his own for several years, and he only wants to make his mark in the world. When he is asked to guide peace emissary Sean Brennan and his adopted Apache daughter, Nahlin, into a Chiricahua Apache stronghold, he agrees—but then has second thoughts. He’s heard plenty about the many ways the Apache can kill a man. But Mr. Brennan sways him, and they begin the long journey to find Cochise—and to try to forge a peace and an end to the Indian Wars that have raged for so long. During the journey, Choctaw begins to understand that there are some things about himself he doesn’t like—but he’s not sure what to do about it. Falling in love with Nahlin is something he never expected—and finds hard to live with. The death and violence, love for Nahlin and respect for both Cochise and Mr. Brennan, have a gradual effect on Choctaw that change him. But is that change for the better? Can he live with the things he’s done to survive in the name of peace?

EXTRACT:
Choctaw blinked sweat and sunspots out of his eyes and began to lower the field glasses; then he glimpsed movement.

He used the glasses again, scanning nearer ground, the white sands. He saw nothing.

And then two black specks were there suddenly, framed against the dazzling white. They might have dropped from the sky.

They grew bigger. Two horsebackers coming this way, walking their mounts. As he watched they spurted into rapid movement, whipping their ponies into a hard run towards him.

The specks swelled to the size of horses and men. Men in faded smocks maybe once of bright colour, their long hair bound by rags at the temple. They had rifles in their hands.

Breath caught in Choctaw’s throat. Fear made him dizzy. His arms started to tremble. He knew who was coming at him so fast.

Apaches.

And you killed them or they killed you.

**** 

To buy THE PEACEMAKER visit Amazon.com:

https://www.amazon.com/Peacemaker-Andrew-McBride-ebook/dp/B01GZFKAPI/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=

Or Amazon.co.uk: 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Peacemaker-Andrew-McBride-ebook/dp/B01GZFKAPI/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1473952196&sr=8-1

Livin’ on Jacks and Queens: An Anthology of Gambling in the Old West

Are you a gambler at heart? What kind of wagers would you make—and just how much would you be willing to risk in a game of chance?

LIVIN’ ON JACKS AND QUEENS is an unusual collection of eleven traditional western stories that all have one thing in common—a high stakes bet! This anthology contains stories by some of today’s award-winning western authors, including Robert J. Randisi, Johnny Boggs, Rod Miller, John Nesbitt, Phil Dunlap, Christine Matthews, Lori Van Pelt, Charlie Steel, Jerry Guin, Chuck Tyrell, and Randy Lee Eickhoff.

How far would you go to see an old score settled? Would you wager your savings, a precious gem, or your very life? Settle into your easy chair with this set of stories to experience the vicarious chances—and risks—of a lifetime—LIVIN’ ON JACKS AND QUEENS!

     

New Release -- THE LAST RIDE OF SHADOW BRIGGS by Sam Fadala

Justice must be served when eighteen-year-old Billy Point is murdered on the Arizona-Mexico border. But the prominent family of the young man is incensed that the lawman chosen to go after the killers is a retired Arizona Ranger—John Shadow Briggs.

Shadow Briggs has never been one to shirk his duty—and this time is no different. The best of the best, he follows the cold trail of the murderers, muddied by the attempts of the young man’s hot-headed father to take the law into his own hands.

The re-telling of this last assignment, the steady pursuit, and the final outcome is the precious gift Shadow Briggs bequeaths an aspiring young writer. This is the story of how tangled justice was sorted by one man. Duty lies heavy on a man’s shoulders, and some things can never be forgotten. Such was THE LAST RIDE OF SHADOW BRIGGS…

EXCERPT

     “There ain’t no call for this!”

     “Shet up, Luke!”

     “Por que?” Diego asked. “What for?” Archibald delivered another kick, this one landing in the heavy man’s stomach, making him wretch. “We only brought a little saint to del Bac,” he groaned in Spanish.

     “Fetch them horses.” The boys did. “Mount up,” he ordered Diez. Diego stood by his brother, reaching out to the cuts and bruises, pulling helplessly at cactus needles protruding from his face. Archibald landed his third kick, directed between the heavy man’s thighs and down he went. Point created two loops on the rope now, firing the double-noose into the air over an outstretched oak limb ten feet from the ground. The vaqueros were forced into their saddles, a horse on either side of the limb, both men mounted. Archibald slipped a noose over each head. “Drawed a bead on a helpless boy, did ya?”

     “Mi culpa!” Diego confessed. “I’m guilty. It was me.”

     “Too late, amigo,” Archibald laughed. “Too late.”...