Story by Michael D. King

On a tranquil Sunday afternoon in April 1935, the soft sunlight streamed through the kitchen window of Lola Adams' family farm, casting gentle shadows on the scattered papers she tirelessly graded. Suddenly, tranquility shattered as the world outside was consumed by an ominous darkness. A colossal wall of dust, ominously dubbed a "black blizzard," surged across the Kansas sky with a ruthless swiftness that seemed almost supernatural. By the time Lola hastily traversed the room to illuminate a lamp, the air had thickened into an impenetrable haze; she could not even discern the matchbox resting just inches from her face. This harrowing phenomenon signified Black Sunday, the most ferocious tempest of the Dust Bowl, and in that heart-stopping moment, Lola found herself unceremoniously thrust into the very eye of nature's wrath.

For many, this apocalyptic event would become the defining story of their lives. For Lola Mae Adams Crum, however, it was just one chapter in a remarkable 96-year journey that transformed her from the daughter of pioneers into a dedicated teacher, a survivor of a national catastrophe, and ultimately, the indispensable historian and memory-keeper of Dodge City, Kansas.

However, her teaching career in Kansas was cut short by a discriminatory policy known as the "marriage bar." She bluntly explained that in Kansas, "you couldn't teach school if you were married. You either had to be a widow or an old maid." In 1939, her marriage to Robert Carter meant the automatic loss of her teaching position. What was intended to be a barrier instead became a catalyst for change. Refusing to abandon her calling, Lola pursued a full bachelor's degree and moved west—first to Arizona and then to California—where, as she noted, "they didn't care if you were married, just so you had a degree." She would go on to teach in California for 19 years before retiring.

Lola's most harrowing experiences unfolded during her years of teaching in and around Dodge City in the 1930s, a time when the devastating effects of the Dust Bowl cast a shadow over everyday life. In her later years, she recounted her memories through oral histories, offering some of the most vivid and poignant firsthand accounts of this ecological catastrophe.

She vividly described her daily six-mile trek from the family farm to the schoolhouse, a perilous journey shrouded in swirling clouds of dust that transformed the landscape into an otherworldly scene. "Many days, I couldn't see more than one telephone post ahead of me," she recalled, her voice laden with the weight of nostalgia and hardship. "By the time I reached that post, I could barely discern the next one through the choking haze." Each step was a struggle against nature's fury, illustrating the resilience required to navigate a world consumed by the very dust that rose up to engulf it.

The dust storms were both an ecological and economic catastrophe. A combination of severe drought and farming practices that stripped the plains of their native grasses left the topsoil vulnerable to relentless winds. Lola witnessed financial ruin on her own family's farm when a promising barley crop was "parched" by hot winds, turning "white overnight" and becoming worthless except for animal feed.

Her vivid account of Black Sunday, April 14, 1935, serves as a haunting historical testament to a moment of nature's fury. She vividly recalled watching an ominous, swirling mass emerging on the horizon, resembling "the blackest cloud you ever saw." Panic surged through her as she and her father dashed into the safety of their home just as the storm unleashed its wrath. "That dirt came in so quickly and just engulfed you," she remembered, her voice tinged with the remnants of fear. "You couldn't see anything." Her recollections resonate eerily with official weather logs, which documented an eerie state of "almost total darkness" as a relentless wall of dust, traveling at an astonishing 60 miles per hour, descended upon Dodge City. This was no ordinary storm; it was a "terror" storm, unleashing millions of tons of topsoil that cascaded across the Great Plains like a suffocating shroud.

Story by Michael King

​Born in Engelholm, Sweden, in 1845, Andrew Johnson was swept up in the great tide of Scandinavian immigration destined for a new life in America. He arrived on these shores in 1869, at the age of 24, with dreams of opportunity. Settling in Sweetwine, Ohio, he crossed paths with Charles Rath, an ambitious merchant who recognized the immense potential of the uncharted frontier. In 1870, Rath persuaded Johnson to join him on a westward journey, sensing a burgeoning market ripe for cultivation.

As Rath's steadfast "right-hand man," Johnson followed the advancing tracks of the Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe Railway, assisting in supplying the influx of hunters and settlers streaming onto the plains. Though he was not a hunter himself, his vital contributions to the booming buffalo hide trade were invaluable. He expertly managed the transportation of precious buffalo hides from remote hunting grounds to bustling markets, bringing him to the very location where Dodge City would soon flourish.

In the spring of 1874, Johnson's formidable skills as a builder were put to the ultimate test. Rath dispatched him to the Texas Panhandle to oversee the construction of a crucial trading post known as Adobe Walls. Employing locally sourced materials like sod and picket poles, Johnson erected not only the Rath and Company store but also a saloon owned by James Hanrahan.

However, chaos erupted on June 27, 1874, as approximately 700 warriors from the Comanche, Cheyenne, and Kiowa tribes, led by the renowned war chief Quanah Parker, launched a surprise assault on the settlement. Outnumbered and outgunned, Johnson found himself among only 28 defenders, including one woman, charged with protecting this remote stronghold. As the attackers attempted to breach the doors of the Rath store, Johnson's craftsmanship truly shone. The heavy cross planks he skillfully fitted into the doors resisted all efforts to break through, showcasing that his building skills were as pivotal to their defense as any rifle in fending off the attackers and preserving the lives of the besieged.

Following the battle, Johnson endured over a month amid the besieged post before returning to Dodge City. He arrived not empty-handed but with an astonishing collection of battlefield artifacts — war bonnets, shields, bows and arrows, spears, and even scalps taken from the deceased. This collection represented a tangible connection to one of the most consequential conflicts on the Southern Plains, each piece telling a fragment of a larger story.

Tragically, the weight of history proved fleeting. In late 1885, a series of calamitous fires swept through Dodge City's Front Street, obliterating nearly all of Johnson's irreplaceable collection. Although a few artifacts were later preserved in various museums, the fires consumed a vital piece of both his personal history and the broader saga of the frontier.

Once back in Dodge City, Johnson's influence was visible throughout the burgeoning town. In the spring of 1874, he and his brother John established the first blacksmith shop in Western Kansas, laying the groundwork for many local enterprises. While his brother chose to pursue a homestead, Andy adapted to the evolving economic landscape, becoming the "gentlemanly stock agent" for the Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe Railway — a prestigious role that positioned him at the heart of the booming cattle industry.

Perhaps Johnson's most lasting imprint on the city was his involvement in its infrastructure. As a public contractor, he was responsible for laying many of the town's sidewalks, pressing his initials into the concrete of each one as a signature. For decades, residents knew that any sidewalk marked "A. J." was a testament to the high quality of craft that Andy Johnson represented. As he aged, he embraced the life of a local businessman, owning both a restaurant and a liquor store, further establishing his presence in the community.

Johnson stood out for his unwavering integrity in a town notorious for its vices and lawlessness. This became particularly evident in 1892 when he was called to testify in a lawsuit filed by his former employer, Charles Rath, concerning lost hides from the Adobe Walls conflict. While many might have exaggerated details to benefit a friend, Johnson stood unwaveringly by the truth, steadfastly recounting his experiences without embellishment. His commitment to honesty was a rare virtue in an era rife with opportunism and deceit.

As the Old West faded into myth, Johnson emerged as a custodian of its authentic narrative. In his twilight years, he became well-regarded for his reliable and detailed firsthand accounts of the Battle of Adobe Walls. In 1922, alongside another veteran, he revisited the site of the battle, meticulously drawing a detailed map of the post from memory to aid historians in accurately recording events. Two years later, as one of the last surviving defenders, he was the honored speaker at the 50th anniversary celebration of the Battle of Adobe Walls.

Andrew "Andy the Swede" Johnson passed away in June 1925, and he now rests in Maple Grove Cemetery in Dodge City, a plot he had carefully purchased and marked with his own intention, ensuring that his lifelong contributions would not be forgotten. His story embodies the spirit of the American West, reminding us that behind the legends of the gunslingers were everyday heroes whose labor and integrity built the communities we cherish today.

By Michael King

​The name Dodge City evokes a vivid and lasting image in the American imagination: a crucible of the Wild West, where dusty streets echo with the footsteps of legendary lawmen and the sounds of gunfire. The town is defined in popular culture by figures like Wyatt Earp, Bat Masterson, and Doc Holliday, men whose often tumultuous and violent lives have been immortalized in dime novels and films. This version of Dodge City, dubbed the "Wickedest Little City in America," is characterized by saloons, gambling halls, and dramatic gunfights, such as the one that sparked the Dodge City War of 1883. 

However, beneath this sensationalized surface lies a deeper and more authentic story—the tale of the town's builders. These were not the gamblers and gunslingers who brought fame to the city but rather the laborers, freighters, merchants, and farmers who established its permanence. Among these foundational figures is John T. Riney, an Irish immigrant whose life story reflects the evolution of Dodge City itself. His journey from a rough frontier outpost to a settled agricultural community mirrors the town's transformation. Riney was neither a lawman nor an outlaw; he was a railroad worker who connected the town to the nation, a freighter who supported its growth, a tollkeeper who guarded its southern gateway, and a farmer who cultivated the prairie that would become its future.

His legacy is deeply intertwined with the city's identity, so much so that he is frequently associated with its most esteemed group of founders. The user's inquiry identifies him as one of the "Seven Old Timers of Dodge City," a title that presents an intriguing historical puzzle. Who, exactly, were these seven men, and what is John Riney's true standing among them? The answer sheds light on the nature of historical memory and the distinction between formal records and community recognition. This is the biography of a man whose contributions were not highlighted in headlines but were etched into the very land he helped to shape—a testament to the quiet, enduring strength of the true American pioneer.

In the early 1880s, Riney took on a new role as the first tollkeeper for the Arkansas River bridge, a critical piece of infrastructure hailed as the "Gateway to the Southwest." While Riney was the official keeper, his wife, Mary, managed the daily operations from the small toll house, collecting fees from passing wagons while raising their young sons. When the bridge was eventually dismantled, Riney moved the toll house to his farm, attaching the sturdy one-room structure to his home, where it served as a bedroom for his daughters, Maude and Blanche.
As the era of the great cattle drives ended in the mid-1880s, Riney once again adapted to the shifting landscape, mirroring Dodge City's transition to a more stable, agriculture-based economy. In 1885, he moved his family to a farm west of the city, securing his first tract of land through the Homestead Act. He became known as a "progressive and successful farmer" and stockman and established a dairy that served the local community.
John and Mary Riney raised ten children, establishing a large, respected family in Ford County. When he died on August 20, 1921, at the age of 79, he was mourned as one of the community's most "widely known citizens," described as a "good citizen, a true friend, and a loyal father."
Today, while tales of gunfights may capture the imagination, John T. Riney's legacy endures in the tangible fabric of the city he helped build. The modern Second Street bridge, named the John T. Riney Bridge in his honor, stands as a lasting tribute to the quiet, constructive work of a true pioneer who laid the groundwork for Dodge City's enduring prosperity.

By Michael D. King: Author of Cattle Drives

The term "saddle" has an intriguing history that reflects the development of the object itself. Its journey through language and its pivotal role in civilization showcases human ingenuity and our enduring relationship with horses.

    The word "saddle" derives from the Old English term "sadol," which has roots in older Germanic languages and traces back to the Proto-Indo-European language, a common ancestral language. Its original meaning relates to "sitting," which underscores the saddle's primary function: providing riders with a secure and comfortable place to sit while mounted. This concept is deeply entrenched in various European languages, highlighting the shared historical significance of the saddle.
    The design of saddles has evolved over time, leading to significant impacts on travel, warfare, and sports.
    In ancient times, before the development of modern saddles, riders utilized basic materials such as animal hides or soft cloth. Evidence suggests that the ancient Assyrians, around 700 B.C., were among the first to employ rudimentary padded cloths secured with straps. These early saddles offered some comfort but lacked stability.
    A significant advancement in saddle design was the introduction of the saddle tree, a sturdy frame typically crafted from wood or modern synthetic materials. The Scythians, warriors from the Eurasian steppes, are believed to have created an early version of this design around 500-400 B.C.         The saddle tree aids in distributing the rider's weight evenly across the horse's back, enhancing comfort for the horse and reducing strain. Additionally, it provides the rider with better stability and grip, improving balance.
    The evolution of saddles is closely linked to the invention of stirrups. While some early versions appeared in India, the modern stirrup was refined in China and became widely adopted by the early first millennium A.D. When combined with a sturdy saddle tree, stirrups revolutionized mounted combat, allowing soldiers to wield weapons effectively while remaining securely positioned on their horses. This advancement is often associated with the military triumphs of groups like the Mongols.
    The Romans employed a "four-horn" saddle to secure their cavalry, although this design lacked stirrups. In the Middle Ages, saddles further evolved to accommodate knights in heavy armor, incorporating features such as raised backs and fronts (known as cantles and pommels) to ensure stability during jousting and battles.
    Over time, saddles have been adapted for specific purposes, leading to the emergence of distinct styles. Two well-known types today are the English and Western saddles.
   Originating in Europe, this saddle is distinguished by its lighter weight and flatter seat, which facilitates closer contact between the rider and horse. It is favored for disciplines such as show jumping, dressage, and racing, where flexibility and communication with the horse are essential.
Developed in the American West, the Western saddle is designed to support the lengthy hours cowboys spend managing cattle. It is larger and heavier, featuring a deep, secure seat and high cantle, along with a distinctive horn used for securing ropes.
    The invention and continuous refinement of the saddle have had a profound impact on human history, enabling exploration, trade, and advancements in warfare. From its simple beginnings associated with the concept of "sitting," the saddle has evolved into a sophisticated tool that exemplifies the intersection of art and science in equestrian practices.

By Michael D. King: Author of Cattle Drives

    ​The term "spur" encompasses more than just its association with horses; it carries a historical significance that illustrates the evolution of language over time. Initially, a spur referred to a metal tool affixed to a rider's heel, designed to prompt a horse to move forward. Its origins trace back to ancient languages, emphasizing the concept of prodding, which aligns with its intention to motivate the horse.
    The history of spurs can be traced back to the Celts and Romans, who crafted basic pointed tools, known as prick spurs, to convey clear signals to their horses. By the Middle Ages, the design of spurs evolved to include the rowel—a revolving wheel with points—which enabled riders to communicate with greater precision rather than merely urging horses onward.
   During the era of knights, spurs acquired a symbolic significance representing status and honor. The type of spur worn by a knight was indicative of their rank, and the expression "to win one's spurs" originates from the concept of attaining knighthood through valor. Furthermore, the giving of golden spurs was a significant element of the knighting ceremony.
   Over time, spur designs diversified to reflect various styles and requirements, such as the elaborate spurs associated with Spanish conquistadors, which ultimately influenced the Western-style spurs we recognize today.
    By the late 14th century, the definition of "spur" began to broaden, representing not only the physical tool but also the notion of encouragement or motivation in diverse contexts. For instance, the phrase "spur to action" implies that a deadline can motivate individuals to complete their tasks.
This expanded meaning has led to idiomatic expressions such as "on the spur of the moment," which describes actions taken suddenly or without prior planning.
    In addition to its equestrian connections, "spur" is utilized in various fields; in geography, it refers to a ridge of land that extends from a mountain, and in transportation, a "spur line" denotes a short railway or road that branches off from the main route. Both these definitions maintain the imagery of something pointed or extending outward.
    In conclusion, the word "spur" exemplifies an intriguing evolution from a specific riding implement to a broader concept of motivation and encouragement. It reflects humanity's ongoing need for vocabulary that conveys the impetus to take action, a connection that has united riders and horses for centuries.

By Michael D. King

Before Hollywood immortalized icons like John Wayne and Clint Eastwood, and before the thrilling tales in dime novels captivated imaginations with daring lawmen and nefarious villains, there was a captivating figure named Stuart N. Lake. A former press aide, wrestling promoter, and World War I veteran, Lake emerged as an unlikely architect of the mythology surrounding the American West, crafting a legacy forged from a mix of embellished truths and masterful storytelling.
His most notable work, the groundbreaking 1931 bestseller "Wyatt Earp: Frontier Marshal", did more than simply recount Earp's life; it solidified the archetype of the Western hero in the American psyche. Yet, the story of Stuart N. Lake is as riveting and intricate as the legends he wove—an exploration of a man who understood the allure of a compelling narrative, even if it meant bending the truth just a little bit.

Born in 1889 in Rome, New York, Lake's early life gave little hint of his future as a chronicler of the frontier. His experience as a press aide to Theodore Roosevelt during the tumultuous Bull Moose presidential campaign of 1912 sharpened his skills in shaping public opinion. Later, he ventured into the flashy world of professional wrestling, where showmanship often reigned supreme—a fitting precursor for his storytelling career.
The turning point in Lake's journey occurred, surprisingly, not in a dusty Western town but in the vibrant streets of New York City. While working as a journalist, he crossed paths with the legendary lawman Bat Masterson, who sensed the public's growing hunger for tales of the Old West and nudged Lake toward the man who would become synonymous with frontier justice: Wyatt Earp.

By the late 1920s, Earp was an elderly man living in relative obscurity. Seizing an opportunity, Lake sought him out, conducting a series of interviews that would lay the groundwork for *Wyatt Earp: Frontier Marshal*. The book, published just two years after Earp's death, became an instant classic, portraying Earp not as a multifaceted figure with his share of controversies but as a valiant hero—a white knight gallantly roaming the plains.
While the book's success was undeniable, its historical precision raised eyebrows. Critics and historians have since unraveled Lake's narrative, revealing a complex web woven with threads of exaggeration, invention, and pure fiction. One of the standout myths Lake fostered was that of the "Buntline Special," a long-barreled Colt .45 reportedly gifted to Earp and his lawman colleagues. There's just one problem: no credible historical evidence supports that Earp ever owned such a weapon!

Lake's storytelling manipulated timelines, embellished incidents, and polished Earp's character to present him as a flawless icon for public admiration. The messy realities of Earp's life, filled with complicated relationships and dubious methods, conveniently fell by the wayside. Lake didn't just write a biography; he created a resounding legend.
The impact of "Wyatt Earp: Frontier Marshal" was nothing short of revolutionary. It resurrected Earp from the shadows of history and catapulted him into the national spotlight. The book's thrilling narrative served as a blueprint for a multitude of Western films and television shows, with Hollywood eagerly embracing Lake's romanticized vision of the Old West.

Stuart N. Lake passed away in 1964, leaving behind a complex legacy. Was he a historian or a huckster? A biographer or a mythmaker? Perhaps the most fitting answer lies in a line from John Ford's iconic Western, "The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance": "When the legend becomes fact, print the legend." Stuart N. Lake didn't just print the legend; he crafted it. In doing so, he indelibly shaped our collective memory of the American West, ensuring its tales would resonate for generations to come.

Below Stuart N. Lake Meets Merritt Beeson in Dodge City, Kansas

The Marshal's Maker: Stuart N. Lake and the Invention of an American Hero

​"Wyatt Earp: Frontier Marshal" is a book that embodies the power of storytelling through profound contradictions. While it falls short as a historical biography—marked by fabrications, deliberate omissions, and exaggerations—it shines brilliantly as a masterpiece of American myth-making. Stuart Lake didn't simply write about Wyatt Earp; he crafted the iconic version that the 20th and 21st centuries would come to admire. His work stands as a powerful reminder that a compelling narrative can resonate deeply, becoming more influential—and seemingly more "real" in the public consciousness—than the complex and often inconvenient truths of history.

The analysis reveals that Lake, with the enthusiastic support of an elderly Earp seeking a polished legacy and the careful oversight of his widow, Josephine, constructed a heroic ideal through an active process of creation and curation. Using a hagiographic writing style, Lake presented Earp as the "greatest gun-fighting marshal the Old West ever knew." He invented key events like the "Ellsworth Showdown" to provide his hero with a legacy of superiority while systematically omitting facts that might tarnish Earp's reputation, such as his early criminal charges, associations with prostitution, and even the existence of his first two wives, Urilla Sutherland and Mattie Blaylock. He transformed a complex local feud in Tombstone into a national epic, illustrating it as a battle between the forces of civilization and savagery.

The legacy of this carefully crafted myth has been profound and enduring. Lake's book set the standard for nearly every subsequent popular portrayal of Wyatt Earp. John Ford's classic 1946 film, "My Darling Clementine," drew on Lake's biography, embracing its heroic tone and romanticized narrative. The beloved 1950s television series, "The Life and Legend of Wyatt Earp," starring Hugh O'Brian, brought Lake's version to millions of American households each week, solidifying Earp's legacy. Even films like "Tombstone" (1993) and "Wyatt Earp" (1994), which sought greater historical accuracy, remained within the mythic framework established by Lake. While they confronted the darker aspects of Earp's character, the essential image of Earp as the stoic protagonist in a grand frontier narrative endures, inherited directly from "Frontier Marshal".

The question arises: why has this crafted version of Wyatt Earp proved so influential? The answer lies in the archetype that Lake skillfully fashioned. The Wyatt Earp of "Frontier Marshal" symbolizes a fantasy of perfect American masculinity. He is level-headed and courageous, embodying decisive action over empty words. As an individualist, he upholds a personal code of honor, ensuring his actions benefit the community. He stands as a beacon of justice in a lawless land, the taming force of the wilderness, and a figure capable of restoring order through righteous action when established institutions falter. He embodies everything generations of Americans, from the Depression-era readers of 1931 to today's moviegoers, aspire their heroes to be. Stuart Lake recognized this deep cultural yearning. He understood that the real Wyatt Earp—a flawed, complex man who was a gambler, a pimp, a fugitive, and a vigilante, alongside his role as a lawman—was not the hero America sought. So, Lake created one. In doing so, he ensured that his version of "truth" would resonate powerfully and lastingly, allowing his Wyatt Earp to eternally inspire within the fabric of the American imagination.

Article by Michael D. King

Before the dust settled on the legendary streets of Dodge City—long before Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday became icons—a visionary entrepreneur was laying the foundations of the "Queen of the Cowtowns." George M. Hoover, a man of remarkable foresight and civic devotion, emerged as the principal architect of Dodge City's enduring legacy.

Born in Canada in 1847, Hoover arrived near Fort Dodge in 1872 with a keen eye for opportunity. He established the town's first business: a sod and plank saloon for soldiers and buffalo hunters. This humble beginning marked the genesis of Dodge City. However, Hoover's business acumen extended far beyond providing libations and quickly made him a cornerstone of the burgeoning community's commercial and civic life.

His entrepreneurial spirit was matched only by his commitment to public service. As Dodge City's second mayor—the first to be elected—Hoover held the office for four inspiring terms. His leadership extended beyond city limits, representing Ford County in the Kansas State Legislature and tirelessly advocating for his adopted home.

Dangers were constant companions. One sweltering afternoon, a thunderstorm rolled in from the horizon, lightning splitting the sky. The herd grew restless. Cap Stone's orders cut through the rising wind: "Hold 'em steady, boys! Keep 'em pointed north!" Then, a deafening crack of thunder sent the world into chaos—a stampede. Billy's heart leaped into his throat as the cattle surged, a terrifying wave of panicked flesh. He spurred his horse, riding alongside the torrent, shouting and waving his hat, trying to turn the leaders just as Cap had instructed. Dust and rain blinded him. Horses screamed, and men yelled. It felt like an eternity before they managed to get the herd milling and slowly brought them under control. Two steers were lost, their necks broken in the melee.

River crossings presented another trial. They reached the South Canadian River, swollen from recent rains. Cap Stone scouted for an hour, his face grim. "Current's strong," he announced. "We'll take 'em across in smaller bunches." Billy watched his heart in his mouth, as the point riders urged the lead cattle into the churning water. Some swam strongly; others floundered, their eyes wide with fear. One young steer was caught by the current and swept downstream despite Miguel's desperate attempt to rope it.

The story of the Soule Canal unfolds like an epic tale—one marked by towering dreams and heart-wrenching disillusionment. Set against the backdrop of the Gilded Age, this ambitious project, spearheaded by the relentless drive and immense wealth of Asa T. Soule, aimed to transform the sprawling, semi-arid plains of western Kansas into a verdant agricultural paradise. The canal's construction showcased the remarkable labor and ingenuity of the nineteenth century, a time when society was fueled by the belief that technology could tame nature's wildest forces.

However, the journey wasn't smooth. The canal quickly faced a multitude of challenges that threatened to derail its dreams. The Arkansas River, meant to be its lifeblood, proved utterly unpredictable, leaving the canal often parched and lifeless. Seepage through the land's porous soil only added to the woes, while the engineering knowledge and materials available at the time fell woefully short. Nature's unforgiving cycles of floods and drought bared their teeth, washing away hopes or baking them under an unrelenting sun. To complicate matters, upstream diversions in Colorado siphoned off vital water resources, further choking the ambitious plan. In just a few short years, the dream of irrigation dwindled, and the once-noble canal was reduced to a derelict ditch that became known as "Soule's Folly."

Yet, the legacy of the Soule Canal is far from a simple tale of failure. It stands as a foundational chapter in the story of Western irrigation and played a crucial role in shaping regional settlement patterns. The remnants of the canal—both physical and historical—continue to resonate across the landscape, weaving a complex narrative of human ambition set against nature's formidable power.

More than just a failed irrigation project, the Soule Canal serves as a vital case study with profound historical significance. It embodies the spirit of Gilded Age expansionism, where the thirst for growth and industrial solutions often overshadowed the environmental impact and long-term effects of such grand endeavors. The canal's collapse starkly highlights the rift between ambitious technological dreams and the harsh realities of the natural world, especially when faced with the intricate challenges of the High Plains, including its unpredictable hydrology and geology.

Moreover, the tale of the Soule Canal marks an early and crucial episode in the ongoing saga of water management in the American West. Its downfall, driven largely by the upstream depletion of the Arkansas River—a reflection of increasing demand—throws a glaring spotlight on the conflicts that arise when multiple stakeholders compete for limited water resources in a parched land. This struggle laid the groundwork for a century-long legal battle between Kansas and Colorado, born in the very era of the canal's creation, showcasing the clash of differing doctrines of water law. The precedents established during this tumultuous time still echo today, influencing ongoing disputes over water allocation across the West.

Ultimately, the dry, earthen remnants of the Soule Canal wind their way through the Kansas prairie—a poignant monument to a moment in history woven with extraordinary dreams and remarkable miscalculations. Its story stands as a captivating reminder of the contentious dance between human ambition, engineering feats, financial risks, and the unwavering truths of the natural world that shaped the development of the American West. The land near the Santa Fe Trail, where traces of the canal remain, bears witness, holding onto the valuable lessons of past endeavors—both triumphant and flawed—for future generations who seek to navigate the intricate management of essential resources in arid terrains.

Wyatt Earp's epic journey through the untamed American West—traversing the farmlands of Illinois and Iowa to the booming silver camps of Arizona and the glittering gold fields of Alaska—is nothing short of a thrilling reflection of the nation's restless expansion and tumultuous transformation. He stands tall in the annals of American folklore as the ultimate frontier lawman and the legendary hero of the O.K. Corral. Yet, peeling back the layers of legend reveals a man far more complex and contradictory than the myth suggests.

Born on October 30, 1847, in New Bedford, Massachusetts, Charles E. Bassett was the fourth of six children born to Benjamin and Julia (Norton) Bassett. His parents' separation during his adolescence markedly influenced his formative years, resulting in his relocation to live with his father in Philadelphia. In February 1865, toward the conclusion of the Civil War, he enlisted in the Union Army in Frankford, Pennsylvania, serving as a private in Company I of the 213th Pennsylvania Infantry, a volunteer regiment. He received a $100 enlistment bounty for his one-year commitment; however, his military tenure was truncated after approximately nine months, as he was mustered out in Washington, D.C., on November 18, 1865—likely a consequence of troop reductions following General Lee's capitulation.

After his military service, Bassett undertook a westward migration from late 1865 to early 1873, engaging in various frontier professions, including mining, bartending, and buffalo hunting. These roles not only broadened his skill set but also exposed him to diverse individuals and challenges inherent in the burgeoning West. He was probably in the vicinity of what would eventually become Dodge City when he received news of his father's death in Philadelphia on January 2, 1872. This eclectic work background underscores his resourcefulness—an essential trait for survival and success on the frontier. His bartending experience, in particular, afforded him critical insights into the emerging social dynamics of frontier settlements and facilitated the development of significant personal and professional connections.

In late 1872, Bassett partnered with Alfred J. Peacock to establish the original Long Branch Saloon in Dodge City. This establishment rapidly evolved into a focal point within the town, which was notorious for its saloons, gambling, and frequent violence. The Long Branch became a vital social hub, attracting a varied clientele that contributed to the dynamic and often tumultuous atmosphere of Dodge City. Ultimately, Bassett and Peacock sold the saloon, which underwent various ownership changes before being managed by Luke Short. This entrepreneurial initiative solidified Bassett's role within the early social and economic infrastructure of Dodge City, providing him with both financial stability and an expansive network of contacts.

The formal establishment of law enforcement in Ford County, Kansas, dates back to June 5, 1873, when Charles Bassett was elected the inaugural sheriff. His jurisdiction was centered in Dodge City, the county seat. Before this, the community relied on a Vigilance Committee, which increasingly attracted unsavory characters, underscoring the necessity for a structured and dependable law enforcement agency.

During his first term, Bassett prominently appointed figures such as Wyatt Earp and William "Bat" Masterson to his deputy positions. He was re-elected twice, continuing in office until 1878. One significant event during his tenure involved the pursuit of the notorious outlaw Sam Bass and his gang in September 1877, following their heist of a Union Pacific train in Nebraska. Although Bassett's posse—comprising Masterson and John Joshua Webb—did not apprehend the outlaws, this incident illuminated his commitment to law enforcement beyond Ford County's borders. His re-elections indicated the community's trust in his capacity to maintain order during an era characterized by rapid expansion and potential lawlessness. Furthermore, his selection of deputies, who subsequently rose to prominence in law enforcement, illustrates his astute judgment regarding effective policing in the volatile frontier milieu.

Due to Kansas legislation restricting sheriffs to two consecutive terms, Bat Masterson was elected as the new Sheriff of Ford County in November 1877, succeeding Bassett. Acknowledging Bassett's extensive experience, Masterson appointed him as undersheriff. Concurrently, Bassett served as the assistant city marshal under Bat Masterson's brother, Edward J. Masterson, who held the position of City Marshal in Dodge City. The Dodge City Times acknowledged Bassett's comprehensive training and qualifications for ensuring public order in the city.
​
In February 1878, Bassett played a pivotal role in apprehending several members of a train robbery gang in Dodge City, collaborating closely with Sheriff Bat Masterson and Marshal Ed Masterson. However, on April 9, 1878, tragedy struck with the assassination of City Marshal Ed Masterson. In the aftermath, the Dodge City Council appointed Charles Bassett as the new City Marshal on May 12, 1878, granting him a salary of $100 per month. Throughout his tenure as marshal, both Wyatt Earp and James Earp served as his deputies. Notably, that same year, Bassett participated in the pursuit and arrest of James "Spike" Kenedy, implicated in the murder of Dora Hand, known in the theatrical world as Fannie Keenan.

This era underscores Charles Bassett's unwavering commitment to law enforcement in Dodge City. Through his multifaceted roles—as sheriff, undersheriff, and city marshal—he effectively reinforced stability and order in a rapidly transforming frontier community.

In November 1879, Bassett resigned as Marshal of Dodge City and relocated to New Mexico, where he served as a guard for the Adams Express Company. The following year, he engaged in gold mining in Montana and traveled through Colorado and Texas while maintaining connections with Dodge City. Ultimately, he settled in Kansas City, where he owned and managed several saloons. His ties to Dodge City resurfaced in 1883 during the "Dodge City War," a conflict involving municipal authorities and Luke Short. Facing opposition from local governance, Short sought support from allies, prompting Bassett, alongside other notable figures such as Wyatt Earp and Bat Masterson, to return to Dodge City. This convergence of prominent ex-lawmen and gunfighters led to the establishment of the Dodge City Peace Commission in June 1883, which included members like W.H. Harris, W.F. Petillon, Frank McLain, and Neil Brown. A significant photograph captured this assembly on June 10, 1883. The Commission was instrumental in mediating the conflict, ultimately averting any violence during the "Dodge City War." Bassett returned to Kansas City after this involvement to open the Senate Saloon, earning him the moniker "Senator." However, this venture was not profitable, and he later found employment as a bartender in another establishment. His return to Dodge City during this tumultuous period and participation in the Peace Commission highlight Bassett's enduring influence and reputation, even post-retirement from formal law enforcement.

Charles Bassett's life story is a fascinating lens through which we can understand the dramatic evolution of law and order in Dodge City during its frontier days. His remarkable journey—from daring early ventures to his steadfast role as a lawman—highlights his commitment to bringing stability to a tumultuous environment. Bassett was crucial in pivotal events, including the notorious Dodge City War. Yet, his name often doesn't resonate as loudly as those of more famous figures of his time. Nevertheless, his tireless pursuit of peace amid chaos firmly establishes him as a key player in the saga of the American West. His legacy is a powerful reminder of the countless brave souls who built the frontier communities, bravely tackling immense challenges and dangers.
​Article by Michael King

“You get up every morning and you think about what you need to do that’s best for your cows. That’s your responsibility. You look after cattle. You don’t think twice about it.” Joe Magee, Texas Panhandle cowboy.
Cowboys work[ed] regardless of weather. On the Great Plains a blue norther (or Texas norther), refers to an Arctic cold front that develops suddenly on the northern horizon as dark, wet clouds appear bluer than the sky above the cloud mass. On January 9, 1887, a blizzard covered parts of the Great Plains in more than 16 inches of snow and temperatures dropped to around 50 below. Cattle losses numbered as high as 75 percent and changed open-range cattle ranching forever. This series of events became known as The Big Die-Up.
Montana artist Charles M. Russell captured the conditions of this tragedy with his famous small watercolor, Waiting for a Chinook (later given the title The Last of Five Thousand). The Big Die-Up is fairly well known in terms of the costs to live stock and open range ranching. What is less well known are the human costs to those who did (and do) the cow and horse work during harsh winters. Cowboys froze to death trying to save cattle.
Another giant of Western art, Frederic Remington, sculpted The Norther, his first bronze to be cast using lost wax in 1900.  The Norther was a marketplace flop, although it is now considered one of Remington’s finest works as he captured the conditions cowboys endure[d] to look after cattle. Depicting a mounted Great Plains cowboy and his cow pony with their backs hunched over to the bitter wind and snow; Remington even used a special patina to evoke frost on the horse and the cow hand.

By the year 1872, Fort Dodge, originally established in 1865 as a modest military outpost, had dramatically transformed into an active trading post and vital gathering hub for the surrounding community. Nestled along the Santa Fe Trail, it served as a vital stopover for intrepid traders and hardy buffalo hunters, significantly contributing to the economic vitality of the region. At this time, Fort Dodge was ensconced within a sprawling military reservation, its western boundary extending a full five miles from the fort itself, a distance that would soon shape the course of another development.
The post store, commonly dubbed the Sutler's store, was a lively hub of activity, frequented by soldiers and traders alike seeking a variety of supplies, including alcoholic beverages that flowed freely. However, the specter of excessive drinking loomed large, prompting Colonel Richard Dodge, the fort's commandant, to take decisive action. In an effort to mitigate the rampant alcohol consumption, he restricted sales to officers only, effectively putting an end to the availability of liquor at the fort.
The origins of Dodge City can be traced back to May 28, 1872, when Robert Wright, the proprietor of the trading post at Fort Dodge, received a letter to cease all whiskey sales within the military reservation. In an audacious move prompted by this mandate from Major Irving Dodge, the post commander, businessman George Hoover set off for Kansas City. He carefully loaded his wagon with barrels of whiskey, determined to transport them as close to the fort as regulations would allow, halting just shy of the five-mile boundary.

To ensure he adhered to this distance, Hoover ingeniously tied a rag to a wagon wheel and meticulously counted the number of rotations, multiplying that figure by the wheel's diameter to arrive at an exact measurement. On June 17, 1872, accompanied by his business partner Jack McConnell, Hoover established a rustic bar, constructed from sod and wooden planks, just beyond the five-mile limit. This inviting establishment was strategically positioned south of the anticipated A.T. & S.F. railroad tracks, providing a much-needed refuge for soldiers, buffalo hunters, and traders who found themselves barred from Fort Dodge’s saloon.
The opening of Hoover's bar sparked the emergence of additional enterprises, igniting a wave of commercial activity in the area. Hoover, along with his fellow pioneers, initially christened the burgeoning town "Buffalo City," a name that reflected the region's rich hunting grounds. In their quest to establish a U.S. Post Office, the founders faced a significant challenge: the name they initially favored, Buffalo City, was already used by another location within the United States. They ultimately chose the name Dodge City to navigate this obstacle and create a distinctive identity.
This new name not only encapsulated the essence of the community but also resonated with the adventurous spirit of the American frontier. Dodge City quickly became a symbol of the Wild West, embodying the rugged individualism and vibrant energy that characterized this burgeoning era of American history. As a result, the name Dodge City would go on to evoke images of cowboys, saloons, and the untamed landscape that defined the westward expansion.

Dodge City, strategically nestled in the prairie's heart, marked the cattle drive's westernmost point. It offered vast grasslands spanning thousands of acres for cattle to fatten on while they awaited their trains to the East and recuperated from the arduous drive. This pivotal position was the key to the city's role in the cattle trade and American frontier history. Fredric R. Young, in his book "Dodge City: Up through the Century," explained in 1972 an advertisement that appeared in the Dodge City Times as a means to draw the cattle trade to Dodge City:

The article "Texas Cattle," provided by Keith Wondra, curator of the Boot Hill Museum, presents a valuable firsthand account of the report's original publication, which is interpreted by Fredric Young. It was featured in the Dodge City Times shortly before the commencement of the inaugural cattle season in Dodge City. A transcription of the article follows below.

Through our exchanges, and through private sources, we are daily receiving information of the almost superhuman exertions that are being made through the "ring" operators of the K. P. and U. P. railroads, to induce the drives of the incoming season to pass northward over the grazing territory of tho Canadian and Arkansas. They have sent into Texas men who are expected to inform the drovers that their knowledge of the geography of this northern country in prefect, and that they are capable of advising the drovers where to hold their herds. Tho fallacy of this scheme will become amazingly developed should any Texas cattle man be duped into following their advice. Some of the specimens sent out upon this cattle! mission are wholly ignorant of the part of the country they go to represent. They are working for pay, and any parties that are duped by them will find their mistake in time. The citizens of Dodge City have gene to work in a legitimate and honest way. They have adopted wholesome measures whereby the cattle men can be treated upon general principles of equity and reciprocity.

The business men have reduced the prices of their liquors, cigars, tobacco, etc., for the especial trade of the cattle men. Reductions have also been made in prices generally. Accommodations for a large influx of people are being made by the hotels and restaurants, and with a view to the adage of “live and let live.” Trustworthy men; who are familiar with all of the ranges from the Canadian to the North Platte, will be in readiness to assist in showing the best pasturage where water and other accommodations can be found. Everything that can be made conducive to the interests and general welfare of the cattle men will be duly attended to. Our citizens do not intend that anything shall be omitted. They do not believe in sending out runners and cappers to impose upon tho credulity of honest men.
The agents of the A. T. & S. F. load at this point are gentlemen of integrity and cattle men will always find them alive to the interests of shippers.
The stock yards are commodious and capable of accommodating a large number of cattle.
These pens afford accommodations for feeding, watering, branding, assorting, shipping, etc., with stabling for horses.
A general effort is being made to make Dodge City an attractive point for the Texas cattle dealers, and our united citizens send forth their greeting to our Texas neighbors inviting their presence to our community, tendering of our whole people.

On The Western Trail

In March 1874, a momentous event unfolded in the annals of the cattle trail industry. John T. Lytle, a dauntless cattleman and drover, embarked on a daring journey with a colossal herd of 3,500 Texas cattle. Their destination was the Red Cloud Agency, now known as Fort Robinson, in Nebraska. This monumental expedition, spanning four states, blazed a trail and left an enduring mark on the vibrant history of American cattle droving, a testament to Lytle's indomitable spirit.
The newly established Western Trail, a name that would soon resonate across the cattle industry, swiftly surpassed the renowned Chisholm Trail system, cementing its place in history as a pivotal conduit for the cattle industry. Stretching across vast distances and enduring for an extended period, the Western Trail revolutionized the transportation of an unprecedented number of cattle, leaving an indelible mark on the industry. Its operational span from 1874 to 1884 played a crucial role in the industry's growth and evolution, significantly reshaping the landscape of cattle transportation.
The Western Cattle Trail system spanned thousands of miles and facilitated the movement of an astonishing six million cattle. This remarkable feat played a pivotal role in shaping the development of the American West. Along the trail, specific locations became iconic symbols of the cattle drives, such as Doan's Crossing, a vital resting point where cattle were watered and grazed; Dodge City, a bustling center of cattle trade and commerce; Ogallala, a significant starting point and supply center for the trail; Belle Fourche, a crucial hub for cattle markets and transactions; Miles City, a central location for the shipment of cattle to various destinations; and Fort MacLeod, an essential outpost in Canada that connected the trail to northern territories. These landmarks stand as testaments to the enduring legacy and impact of the Western Cattle Trail on the development and expansion of the Western frontier.
Gary Kraisinger, a knowledgeable historian of the Western Cattle Trail, recently shared the captivating history of Dugan's Roadhouse, a pivotal stop along the Western Trail near Dodge City. This historical site facilitated trade and travel in the American West. Dugan's Roadhouse was the first stopover for travelers south of Dodge City and a significant freight center on the Atchinson, Topeka, and Santa Fe Railway. This made it a bustling hub for freight wagons destined for Fort Supply and other points south as they traversed the pathway by Dugan's Road House from Dodge City.
In the 1870s, Mulberry Creek flowed gently through the landscape, adding a soft soundtrack to the surrounding scenery. Positioned about a mile and a half southeast of where we stand today, Dugan's Road House and Ranche served as a mere rest stop and a vital focal point along the bustling Fort Dodge—Fort Supply military road.

The year was 1874, and James Dugan and his wife were the proprietors of a quaint store housed in a sod building with two modest rooms and floors made of dirt. At first, their clientele consisted of soldiers and freighters traveling along the military road. Still, soon, they found themselves serving the cowboys from Texas as they journeyed along the Western Cattle Trail. The flexibility and resourcefulness exhibited by Dugan's Road House during this time were truly remarkable.
Josephine, the daughter of James Dugan, entered into matrimony with Hamilton B. Bell, a highly regarded figure in Dodge City, in the same year. Later, in 1878, Ham Bell ingeniously repurposed lumber from his Dodge Varieties Can-Can dance hall to establish a trading post next to his father-in-law's Roadhouse.

The Roadhouse and trading post were strategically positioned at the junction of two major routes. One route led northeast to Fort Dodge, while the other went north to Dodge City. This prime location made it a bustling hub for business, attracting trail drivers and travelers from various routes in Texas and the Chisholm Trail. Several Texas feeder trails, including the Jones de Plummer, the Adobe Walls/Palo Duro-Dodge City Trail, the Tascosa and Fort Bascom Trail, and the Tuttle Trail, all interconnected near or passed through Dugan's Road House on Mulberry Creek.
Notably, just north of the roadhouse location, an earlier branch of the Santa Fe Trail ran east-west toward Santa Fe, New Mexico. This area, steeped in history, also holds significant importance, as it is where Coronado passed in 1541 on his journey to Quivira. The sheer historical weight of this area is genuinely awe-inspiring.

Gain valuable insights into the unparalleled history of the Western Cattle Trail from Michael Grauer, a renowned expert in cowboy culture and the curator of Cowboy Collections and Western Art at the McCasland Chair. His recount of the narrative of this remarkable chapter in American history will provide you with a comprehensive understanding of the Western Trail. In this Brown Bag presentation, you will delve into the fascinating history of The Western Trail, a critical cattle route operational from 1874 to 1897. This historical phenomenon facilitated the transportation of an estimated six to eight million cattle across a vast network of roads, pivotal in establishing renowned ranches in the northern Great Plains region. The trail connected crucial locations such as Doan’s Crossing, Dodge City, Ogallala, and Fort MacLeod, spanning nine states, northern Mexico, and western Canada. Surpassing the Chisholm Trail in duration, cattle volume, and distance covered, the Western Trail is a testament to the enduring significance of American cowboy culture and Western history, becoming “The Greatest Cattle Trail of All! Click here to join us at the 150th Anniversary Conference.

Article by Michael King

Michael Grauer, the McCaslin Chair of Cowboy Culture and curator at the National Cowboy and Western Heritage Museum, is scheduled to present at the 150th-anniversary Western Cattle conference at Boot Hill Museum in Dodge City, Kansas, on November 1st and 2nd, 2024.

During the conference, Michael will deliver two presentations. His first presentation will begin with an engaging exploration of the vibrant history and cultural significance of the King Ranch, focusing on its pivotal role in the Western Cattle Trail. One aspect of "Trailing Cattle from the King Ranch in South Texas" will feature a recording of Bob Kennan, a renowned King Ranch resident historian. 

Michael will examine the utmost importance of Bob's dedicated career, which has been crucial in unveiling the King Ranch's rich history. Michael adds, "Bob Kennan has played a vital role in uncovering the rich tapestry of the ranch's past. His work dates back to the ranch's establishment in 1853 when Captain Richard King purchased a creek-fed oasis in the Wild Horse Desert of South Texas."

Michael's second presentation will be on The Art of the Cattle Trail, a collection of Western Art. For those attending this presentation, it will be a unique and privileged opportunity to learn from his extensive research into this collection, which he has dedicated several years. His discussion will focus on this unique and extensive exploration, providing an exciting opportunity for the audience to delve into the depth of Western art. 

One of his notable publications delves into the life and work of the Texas artist Frank Ray. Titled 'Rounded Up at Glory,' this biography is significant as Ray was the sole artist to witness the cattle drives in their raw, unromanticized form. As Michael puts it, 'Frank Ray's pioneering role in bringing realism to Western art is enlightening. Most depictions we see of these drives were nostalgic or romanticized by artists such as Frederick Remington and Charlie Russell, who were contemporaries of Mr. Ray. Initially, the phenomenon of moving cattle from one part of the US and northern Mexico to another was utterly unfamiliar to the general public in the United States and the world.’ 

During his presentation in Dodge City on November 2nd, Michael Grauer will describe an illustration that vividly captures the intense chaos of cattle stampeding down Front Street. In this illustration, he will humorously debunk the popular culture portrayal of moving cattle through downtown Dodge City. Michael will underscore that this false portrayal, despite its widespread acceptance, is far from the truth and has, unfortunately, shaped what most people think they know about the American West. However, Michael's rigorous research has successfully corrected these misconceptions, providing a more accurate understanding of the American West and the cattle trail phenomenon and enlightening the audience.

Those interested in attending the conference should note that the registration fee is $75.00 per person, and registration can be completed via the organization's website or mail. Active participation from attendees is not just encouraged; it's essential to ensure the success of this significant event. To learn more about how to register to attend this conference, go to www.westerncattletrailassoc.com/conference-info and reserve a seat at this two-day event on November 1st and 2nd.

Second Battle of Adobe Walls by Michael King

Under the terms of the Medicine Lodge Treaty of 1867, the federal government fixed the Arkansas River as the northern boundary of the Indian country for the tribes of the Southwestern plains. It guaranteed that white hunters should not cross that stream. But they did. In 1872, the mushroom town of Dodge City, Kansas, sprang into existence and became the outfitting point and center of activity of the hide hunters who, with their big Sharps buffalo guns, were constantly invading the Red Man's country.

​The hides of the buffalo could be sold for $3 apiece. Since the buffalo were plentiful then, a man could kill as many as fifty per day. The buffalo hunters would take their hides with large team-pulled wagons to Dodge City, Kansas, the nearest railroad point at the time. Supplies also had to be purchased at Dodge City. Provisions and ammunition for hunters would be freighted back to them by the wagons that took their buffalo hides to market.

By the spring of 1874, the slaughter had been so great that the buffalo had been virtually wiped out near Dodge City. The future economy of Dodge City came into question as the hide trade became less profitable, for there were no buffalo to be found. Although no accurate sources are available, Colonel Richard Irving Dodge of Fort Dodge estimated the buffalo kill in Kansas to be close to 3.5 million over the 1872-1874 period. An estimated 850,000 buffalo hides were shipped from Dodge City in 1872-1874.

So A. C. Myers, who was in the Dodge general merchandise business, organized an expedition to establish a trading post farther south where the hunters could get their supplies and to which they would bring their buffalo hides, which Myers would freight back to the Kansas "hide capital." Forming a partnership with Fred Leonard and accompanied by a party of 20-odd frontiersmen, Myers set out for the forbidden Indian country.

Among the party members were Jim Hanrahan, an old buffalo hunter who was going along to open a saloon at the new trading post; Thomas O'Keefe, a blacksmith; and two young buffalo hunters destined for future fame—Billy Dixon and Bat Masterson. After a Journey of 160 miles, the expedition reached a spot on the south fork of the Canadian where stood the ruins of an old trading post, Walls, which had been known as Adobe, built by William Bent and Ceran St. Vrain sometime before 1840. A mile or so farther on, in a broad valley with a pretty stream called East Adobe Walls Creek, Myers and his companions unloaded their wagons and set about establishing the second Adobe Walls, which was to become even more famous than the first.
​
Myers and Leonard built a picket house, 20 by 60 feet In size; Lianruhan put up a sod house. 25 by 60, and O'Keefe opened his blacksmith shop in a picket structure, 15 feet square. My-ers and Leonard also built a stockade corral by setting big cottonwood logs on end in the ground. A short time later, Rath and Wright, leading merchants of Dodge City, decided to establish a branch store at Adobe Walls and built a sod house, 16 by 20 feet, leaving James Langton In charge of the new business there. Willam Olds and his wife also came to Adobe Walls to open a restaurant.

For several years, the Indians had been watching with increasing alarm the wasteful slaughter of the buffalo by the white hunters. So when, in the spring of 1874, a Comanche medicine man named Isatal announced that he had a new medicine that would enable them to wipe out the white men who were exterminating the buffalo, he found the tribesmen ripe for such a crusade.
​
The first Indian leader to agree to help in this laudable enterprise was a chief of the Comanches, Quanah, the half-breed son of Cynthia Ann Parker, who, as a little girl, had been stolen from her home in Texas and had become the wife of the great Chief Peta Nocona. Then, the medicine man "carried the pipe" to the Cheyennes, Arapahoes, Kiowas, and Kiowa Apaches, and they readily agreed to accompany their Comanche brethren.

So, a great war party of between 600 and 700 mounted warriors set out for the buffalo hunters camp, and on the night of June 26, they camped about five or six miles from Adobe Walls, began painting themselves and their horses, and preparing themselves for the charge against the hated white men. "Those men shall not fire a shot; we shall kill them all," was the promise of Isatai.

Before going to sleep, Dixon and Hanrahan prepared themselves for an early start in the morning for the buffalo hunting grounds to the northwest. When the repairs to the saloon's roof were completed, the sky was growing red in the east. So Hanrahan proposed to Dixon that instead of going back to bed, they get ready to start out as soon as it was light. Dixon agreed, and as he started to get his horse, he looked down the valley. There, through the dim light of the morning, he saw a sight that almost paralyzed him for a moment. 

A dark mass of horsemen was moving swiftly up the valley, and the next moment, it had spread out like a fan, and a mighty war-whoop shattered the stillness. Isatai was coming with his host of wild tribesmen to make good his promise to wipe out the buffalo hunters at Adobe Walls. Throwing his rifle to his shoulder, Dixon fired one shot, then turned and sped toward the Hanrahan saloon as the wild charge of the Indians swept down upon him. But this hasty warning was enough to bring the occupants of the saloon, who were already awake and dressed, to the windows with their big buffalo guns in their hands. 

"We were scarcely inside before the Indians surrounded all the buildings and shot out every window pane." Billy Dixon says. "For the first hour, the Indians were reckless and daring enough to ride up and strike the doors with the butts of their guns." Andrew Johnson recorded how the savages backed their horses up against the doors of the buildings and tried to push them in, showing a willingness to fight at close quarters almost unparalleled in Indian warfare. 

But the steady fire of the buffalo hunters soon discouraged this, and after beating off several attacks, the white men had a chance to take stock of their losses. Strange to say, there were only three. The two Shadler boys, asleep in their wagon outside the stockade, had been killed and scalped. Their big Newfoundland dog had evidently put up a fight, for he was also killed and scalped - a piece of hide having been cut from his side. Billy Tyler, one of the defenders of the Leonard and Myers store, was killed early in the fighting, and except for some minor wounds, these were the only casualties. 
​
Time after time, the Indians charged, but as their ponies were knocked down by the heavy slugs of lead from the buffalo guns and more and more of their warriors were killed or wounded, it began to dawn upon them that Issatai had been a false prophet. So, the charges ceased. During one of these lulls, a young Comanche, gorgeously appareled in a war bonnet and scalp shirt and mounted on a fine pony, made a lone charge toward the buildings in the face of hot fire from the hunters. Ridding up close to one of the buildings, he leaped from his pony, thrust a six-shooter through a port hole, and emptied it. He then attempted to retreat but was shot down. This daring warrior who had hoped to make a name for himself by his lone charge was Pe-ah-rite, the son of Horseback, one of the leading chiefs of the Comanches.

By late afternoon on the first day, the Indians had given up hope of wiping out the defenders of Adobe Walls and began to withdraw. After an anxious night of watchfulness, the buffalo hunters discovered the next morning that only a few Indians were lingering around the place, and some long-distance shots soon drove them off. During the second day, hunters from some of the outlying camps made their way unmolested into Adobe Walls, and that night, one of them, Henry Lease, was sent to Dodge City for help. Mike King, the author of Buffalo Days, gives Billy Dixon's account of a scratch shot he made on the afternoon of the third day. 

More hunters came in on the third day, and by the seventh day, fully a hundred men were gathered there. Among these latecomers, so many of the "survivors" of later years were numbered. But by this time, the danger from the Indians had passed. The Red Men had departed for a series of raids in Kansas and Texas, which soon brought the military into the field and resulted in their eventual defeat. But before the attack at Adobe Walls ended, there was one more tragedy, one which darkened the life of the brave woman defender, Mrs Olds. On the fifth day, her husband was coming down a ladder with a gun in his hand when it went off accidentally, and she rushed from an adjoining room in time to see his body roll from the ladder and crumple at her feet. 
​
As the sun descended, casting a warm golden glow over the rugged landscape, the small town of Dodge City buzzed with anticipation. A cloud of dust on the horizon heralded the long-awaited return of the hunters, the brave men who had ventured out to find economic relief but ended in a battle confronting the Indians who tried to protect their way of living. The townspeople lined the dusty streets, young and old alike, their eager faces lit with excitement and anticipation.  Banners and streamers adorned the buildings, fluttering in the gentle breeze, and the sound of joyful chatter filled the air. As the riders drew nearer, the crowd erupted into cheers and applause. The returning hunters rode at the head of the procession, their faces weathered and stern but with a glint of pride in their eyes. Behind them trailed a line of packhorses laden with the spoils of their hard-won victory. The news of their return and the fight at Adobe Walls made each man a hero. The returning hunters became legends, recognized for their sacrifice to torch the spirit of bravery that will be passed on from generation to generation. The return of the great hunters gave each citizen of Dodge City a spark, setting a fire in hearts that had become tinder dry with economic disparity, which would soon turn to another economic boom, the Western Trail, and becoming a Cow Town. 

Active participation from attendees is essential in ensuring the success of this significant event. Additionally, those who register early will be guaranteed a place and receive a special commemorative gift. To learn more about how to register to attend this conference, go to www.westerncattletrailassoc.com/conference-info and reserve a seat at this November 1st and 2nd two-day event. ​

Article by Michael D. King

    In the rugged terrain of the American West, there existed a tribe known as the Cheyenne. They were proud and resilient people deeply connected to their ancestral homeland and had long lived in harmony with the land in their northern homes. However, encroaching settlements and the shifting tides of history forced them to confront a grim reality. A series of events known as the Cheyenne Exodus forever altered their lives.
    In May 1877, the renowned Oglala Sioux war leader Crazy Horse surrendered his band at Fort Robinson, Nebraska. Accompanying him were at least two bands of northern Cheyenne, united under the leadership of chiefs Dull Knife and Little Wolf. Following their victory against Custer at the Little Bighorn, the bands separated due to the US Army's winter campaigns. Many endured harsh winter conditions and finally found relative safety, only to be greeted with this news of surrender, adding to their considerable hardships. Despite much suffering among the women, children, and elders in the spring, Crazy Horse took his bands to the fort. One officer on the scene remarked that it looked more like a victory parade than a surrender.

   The Cheyenne were unexpectedly ordered to move to the southern Cheyenne reservation in Indian Territory (present-day Oklahoma). This news angered Little Wolf and Dull Knife, who had signed the Fort Laramie Treaty of 1868, which permanently ceded lands in Montana and South Dakota, including the Black Hills, to the Sioux and Cheyenne. The Cheyennes were hesitant to leave their homes in the north. However, leading chiefs like Standing Elk, Dulknife, Wild Hog, and Little Wolf, who held significant influence within the tribe, eventually convinced them to move to the Cheyenne and Arapaho Agency under John D. Miles. Under the leadership of these chiefs, the Cheyenne people found themselves at a crossroads.
     In the summer of 1877, approximately one thousand Northern Cheyennes embarked on a journey south towards Fort Dodge en route to Indian Territory. This relocation, under government supervision, was a testament to the Cheyennes' unwavering resilience. Just a year prior, they had participated in the Battle of the Little Bighorn, and some of the warriors still proudly wore clothing they had taken as trophies from the men of General Custer's U.S. Seventh Cavalry.
     As the Cheyennes camped near Fort Dodge in late July, before their journey continued to Camp Supply, a fascinating cultural exchange took place. Many Dodge City residents seized what they believed to be one of their last opportunities to observe the Cheyennes in their natural state. In return, the Cheyennes, out of curiosity and perhaps a sense of diplomacy, spent several days in the town, engaging in door-to-door begging and periodically performing native dances for the amusement of their hosts. Unknown to the residents of Dodge City, they would later have a second opportunity to encounter many of these same Native Americans under much less friendly circumstances.
     Once they arrived at the reservation in Oklahoma, their hopes of a new life were dashed, and they encountered disappointment and mistreatment at the agency. Nevertheless, the Cheyennes, especially Dulknife's people, did not succumb to despair. They struggled to adapt to their new home, their resilience shining through even in the face of unheard pleas for assistance. The harsh winter brought misery as disease and starvation claimed the lives of 47 Cheyennes, casting a dark shadow over their already troubled journey. 
      Faced with such dire circumstances, the Cheyennes longed to return to their Montana homeland. The harsh, dry, and dusty conditions, coupled with a measles outbreak, made life on the reservation unbearable. It became clear to Dull Knife that the unfamiliar territory of the southern reservation was proving to be just as grim as their previous struggles. 

     In the early morning of September 9, 1878,  Dull Knife made a daring and fateful decision. With his heart set on returning to his homeland at any cost, he quietly led his people north, their determination palpable in the air. Despite dwindling numbers, consisting of only about 353 individuals, Dull Knife's resolve remained unwavering. They departed from Indian Territory with 92 men, 120 women, 69 boys, and 72 girls, making their way through two-thirds of western Kansas in less than three weeks. No bison could be found en route, so they survived by stealing. Dysentery, chills, and fever plagued them, but their determination to reclaim what was rightfully theirs never wavered. 
     Following their departure, approximately 240 infantry and cavalry detachments swiftly activated the pursuit of Dull Knife and his band. Yet, the group's adept use of defensible terrain and shock tactics during combat allowed them to elude their pursuers. This strategic maneuvering showcases a tightly controlled yet precarious military society in motion, with the Cheyennes' individual warfare style giving way to centralized, disciplined leadership under a master strategist.
     Raiding parties fanned out on a large scale to seize fresh horses and supplies; feeding more than three hundred people daily made foraging for civilian livestock essential. Warriors captured dozens of horses and killed several employees at ranches along the Cimarron River. In Ford County on September 16, a cook in a cattle camp, "a colored man" named George Simmons, lost his life during a raid. In total, Northern Cheyenne violence claimed nine lives in Indian Territory and southwest Kansas. These attacks drove Dodge City residents into a state of near trepidation.
    The journey north was perilous, with the threat of capture looming over them at every turn. However, Dull Knife and his people's determination was unyielding, fueled by their yearning for freedom and their ancestral lands. The pursuit was intense, but Dull Knife and his band pressed on, their spirits unbroken. Their resolute march northward carried with it the echoes of defiance, a powerful force that fueled their unwavering strength and their refusal to be confined any longer.

       Their determination to reclaim what was rightfully theirs led to clashes with settlers and conflicts with the U.S. Army. The struggles, sacrifices, and losses during their attempted escape from Indian Territory to Montana left a lasting mark on American Indian history. The echoes of the Cheyenne Exodus continue to resonate through time, shaping the narratives of Native Americans and settlers. This poignant chapter, chronicled by historians, novelists, and filmmakers, ensures the memory of the Cheyennes' trials endures, underscoring the enduring impact of their struggle. ​

However, Leiker and Powers deconstruct and surpass these stereotypes, emphasizing that history is a complex tapestry of narratives, never simple. They point out that the Cheyennes' flight left both white and Indian bones scattered along its route from Oklahoma to Montana. According to them, the descendants of the Cheyennes and the settlers they encountered are all Westerners who require a nuanced understanding of history to make sense of the bones and arrowheads scattered across the plains.
Leiker and Powers portray a rural West where diverse peoples, both Euro-American and Native American, seek to preserve their heritage through memory and history. This book is a compelling read for anyone living in the contemporary Great Plains or seeking to understand the West.
Join us on November 1st and 2nd, 2024, for the 150th Anniversary Conference of the Western Cattle Trail. James N. Leiker will share the story of the Cheyenne Exodus, shedding light on the harsh realities experienced by the Cheyennes as they were forcefully taken from their northern homes. The journey was marked by disease, despair, and death.
Sign up today to reserve your seat @ https://www.westerncattletrailassoc.com/conference-info.html

References:
Leiker, James N, and Ramon Powers. The Northern Cheyenne Exodus in History and Memory. University of Oklahoma Press, 9 Nov. 2012. 52-54
“The Northern Cheyenne Exodus in History and Memory.” University of Oklahoma Press, www.oupress.com/9780806143705/the-northern-cheyenne-exodus-in-history-and-memory/. Accessed 1 Aug. 2024.
https://www.oupress.com/9780806143705/the-northern-cheyenne-exodus-in-history-and-memory/
richfed. “There’s No Place like Home … the Exodus of the Northern Cheyenne.” Richard’s Meanderings, 2 Jan. 2016, richfed.com/2016/01/01/isnt-it-a-long-way-home/. Accessed 1 Aug. 2024.
https://richfed.com/2016/01/01/isnt-it-a-long-way-home/

Article By Michael D. King

By the 1730s, ranching had become vital to the region, transitioning to private ownership as Spanish missions declined. Central to our story is Margaret Borland, whose family journeyed from Ireland to Texas in the 1820s, driven by the promise of land and opportunity under John McMullen's impresario contract. The Heffernan family, including a young Margaret, faced immense challenges as they adapted to life in the untamed Coastal Bend region. Their remarkable resilience in overcoming cultural, environmental, and health obstacles set the stage for Margaret's significant role in the Texas cattle industry.

The episode also explores the tumultuous period of the Texas Revolution, highlighting the resilience and determination of Irish settlers. We follow the Heffernan family as they navigate the dangers posed by both Mexican and Texan forces, bandit attacks, and the harsh realities of war. Key events such as the Battle of Concepcion, the Goliad Declaration of Independence, and the infamous Goliad Massacre are examined for their impact on the settlers. The narrative shifts to the capture and negotiation involving Santa Anna, marking the end of hostilities and the beginning of a new era for Texas. We also touch upon the personal struggles and tragedies faced by the Heffernan family in the aftermath, including Margaret's life as a widow and single mother in the uncertain times of the Republic of Texas.

One of the pivotal moments in Margaret Borland's life was her journey along the Chisholm Trail, which played a crucial role in transforming Wichita into a bustling cow town. The Chisholm Trail, established by Jesse Chisholm in 1863, was instrumental in the Texas cattle trade. Margaret's journey along this trail is vividly recounted, highlighting the challenges and beauty encountered on the way to Wichita. Significant infrastructure developments like the Waco Suspension Bridge, which facilitated the cattle trade, are also discussed. Reflecting on Margaret's legacy and her untimely passing in 1873, the episode underscores the immense risks and hardships faced by those who dared to shape the early Texas cattle industry.

The story of Margaret Borland is not just one of personal triumph but also a testament to the broader historical context of the time. The Texas cattle industry was born in the Coastal Bend region, a geographical area of immense importance. The Heffernan family's journey from Ireland to Texas in 1829 marked the beginning of a wave of Irish immigration to the region and played a pivotal role in shaping the industry. The challenges they faced, from adapting to the new environment to dealing with cultural and health obstacles, highlight the resilience and determination required to build a new life in Texas.

Margaret Borland's contributions to the Texas cattle industry were significant, but they were also marked by personal tragedy. Her life was shaped by the loss of her father during the Texas Revolution, the death of her first husband in a pistol duel, and the cholera epidemic that claimed her second husband. Despite these challenges, Margaret persevered, marrying Alexander Borland, one of the wealthiest cattle ranchers in South Texas. Together, they recognized Texas's potential as the hub of the American cattle industry, playing a significant role in its survival during the Civil War. These personal triumphs amidst adversity are a testament to Margaret's resilience and determination.

The post-Civil War era brought new challenges, from a declining economy to the yellow fever epidemic of 1867. Margaret's resilience was again tested as she lost several family members to the epidemic, yet she continued to run the vast ranch by herself. Her determination was further demonstrated during the freak blizzard of 1871-72, which killed thousands of her cattle. Undeterred, Margaret organized a cattle drive to Kansas in 1873, marking the first time a woman led a trail drive. This monumental feat was a testament to her pioneering spirit and determination.

Margaret Borland's story is one of courage, resilience, and innovation. Her journey from Ireland to Texas, her contributions to the Texas cattle industry, and her personal triumphs and tragedies are a testament to the pioneering spirit of the Irish in Texas. This episode is rich in history, courage, and the indomitable spirit of those who shaped the early Texas cattle industry.

Join us for an episode that delves into the trailblazing legacy of Margaret Borland, a woman whose remarkable journey from Ireland to the heart of Texas cattle country continues to inspire. From the Spaniards introducing livestock in the 1690s to the critical role of ranching by the 1730s, we set the stage for Margaret's significant contributions. Experience the Heffernan family's resilience as they adapt to the rugged Coastal Bend region, navigating cultural, environmental, and health challenges that forged their indomitable spirit. Witness the harrowing trials during the Texas Revolution and follow Margaret's incredible journey along the Chisholm Trail, highlighting her role in transforming Wichita into a bustling cow town. Reflect on Margaret's legacy and the immense risks and hardships faced by those who dared to shape the early Texas cattle industry.