Greetings, Pardners. June is here with all its heat, which means Rapid City is just around the corner. Hope everyone who's going has a great time. It'll be a lot cooler up there in those beautiful Black Hills than down here in the deserts of Arizona! On to the newsletter, another great one because of the wonderful contributions!

Let's start off with some good news about WW members:
First, some books on the way:

HANNAH AND THE HORSEMAN ON THE WESTERN TRAILS
by Johnny Boggs

THE WHITE HORSES
by Carol Bauer

MAXMILLIAN'S GOLD
by John Truett

Now, some Wonderful news from Hoglips:

My short story "CHARITY," which won the Spur in 1995 for best short story, will be reprinted in an anthology of short stories by NAL/Dutton by and for the Western Writer's of America. This anthology was open to any Spur-Award winning story published after 1987 and also for any short story by Spur Award winning novelists. I fit the category for a Spur-Award winning short story published after 1987. Richard Wheeler is the editor for the anthology and picked the stories that will be included.

And congratulations to Corinne Brown

The Jane Dystel Literary Agency of New York has offered our own Corinne Brown a contract on MacGregor's Lantern for full representation, book and film rights. They are very excited about the book.

We're all very excited for you, too!

Corinne is a staff writer for Persimmon Hill, the official publication for the NATIONAL COWBOY HALL OF FAME. She is also a frequent contributor to other publications. This year she will be one of the panelist at the Western Writers of America convention in Rapid City from June 27 to July 1. The panel will be EXPANDING YOUR WESTERN HORIZONS: WRITING FOR THE MAGAZINE MARKET.

And, finally,

Sounding Drum,
by Larry Jay Martin is out there adorning bookstore racks now. The hardcover is a thriller with a Native American protagonist, set around the Indian gambling biz.

And, now, some examples of members' writing skills:

Time for a lesson:

Like a musician who has an ear for precise tuning, a writer finds the proper words to write a sentence, to create perfect chapters in forming a book. However, many words can often be misused. Some of the following are interesting:

Already, all ready, are ones that can be misused in interesting ways. Already is an adverb in a past statement ("They had already gone."), while all ready as an adjective would be the opposite ("We are all ready to go.")

All right is often misspelled as alright. It should not be confused with the words, already, altogether, almost, which are correct words.

Among and between are interesting in their usage. Among would be for more than two people or things: "The horses were divided among the five thieves." Between signifies two things or people: "The horses were divided between Alex and Steve."

Dual or duel: Dual refers to two things, such as dual controls. Duel, on the other hand, is a fight of honor between two men (usually).

Farther or further: Farther is a physical distance: "We'll ride no farther today." Further is a degree or an extent of distance: "We'll not go into this any further."

Hanged or hung: Hanged is what happens to a person when he or she is strung up: "He was hanged by the vigilantes." Hung, however, is the usage for inanimate objects: "They hung the picture of the naked lady behind the bar."

Presently or at present: These are tricky. Presently means soon or shortly; be there in a shake: "I'll join you presently." At present means now: "At present he is in jail."

Myself: Never use myself without its helper noun or pronoun. "I myself will do it.""I cut myself." Indeed, you can forgo using it in almost all cases. However, don't get trapped by "me and myself" —"They sent for Jeb and me" (not myself). Then there's, me, myself and I . . . but that's a different story.

Interesting: Usually a lame and lazy word, primarily used as a filler: "Jeb rode into town and it was interesting to see he was still sober." Get to the "meat" of the sentence: "Jeb rode into town sober."

And now, on to some history lessons:

Thomas E. Ketchum was born in San Saba County, Texas, in 1861 during the War Between the States. There was evidently a war going on inside of this young man's head, too, as his self-inflicted wounds would indicate. He often beat his head with his six-shooter as a self-reprimand for mistakes. When the woman he fancied rejected his friendship, he beat himself with the six-shooter, leaving multiple bruises as well as bloody wounds. His aggressive "devil go hang" attitude did not attract the women even though he was a good-looking man.

Ketchum's dark completion and black hair led to his being called "Black Jack" after well-known outlaw Black Jack Christian, who was killed in Arizona in 1897.

Ketchum worked on a cattle ranch but spent far more time drinking at local saloons then riding herd. Being a bar leaner, he attracted two drifters, Will Carver and Dave Atkins from the Hole-in-the-Wall gang. The three soon became known as the "Black Jack Ketchum Gang." Ketchum's older brother, Sam, joined the gang, making it a foursome. They were soon riding through several states, terrorizing townspeople in a rampage of killing and robbery. Out-of-state lawmen soon tagged them as the "Snaky Four" because they were exactly like snakes. If they became riled for some reason they would strike out like a cornered snake.

On July 2, 1899, the four strode into a saloon at Camp Verde, Arizona. The place was full of miners relaxing at the end of a hard day's work. Tom slid into a chair at the table with three miners to play a hand of cards. A few insulting words were said at which Tom took offense. He drew his gun and shot two of the miners dead. On the run again, the four headed out before a posse could form.

A few days later, they met up with Elza Lay, another Wild Bunch recruit out on a long ride. He knew Carver and took up with the four men, telling them about a train coming through the area with $70,000 aboard. The sound of so much money played music along their backbones and they rode to Folsom to do something about it. They managed to stop the train and ride off with the money.

They headed their horses toward open country, not thinking about trouble. They'd been riding on mother luck's apron string for a long time. Dawn came with cold reality at Turkey Canyon when they were suddenly jumped by some angry lawmen. The gang was not going to be taken very easily, however, and they put up a battle. The bloody fight lasted two days. A couple of lawmen fell dead, Elza Lay and Sam Ketchum were wounded. When night crept in, the gang managed to slip away.

Sam Ketchum's wound was bleeding profusely. He was weakening as they rode through the long night. Somewhere, Sam slipped silently off the saddle and lay on the trail mortally wounded. Tom had no idea his brother was left behind. The posse found Sam and took him into town. Tom snooped around long enough to find out that Sam died of blood poisoning.

Carver, Lay and Atkins broke away to ride back to the Hole in the Wall. They didn't invite Tom along. Ketchum continued on his own, downhearted to have lost his brother. He rode into different towns, drinking as he went. Then, returning to Folsom, he stopped a train on his own. He shot the express messenger in the face as he boarded the train. The conductor, who was running from the front end of the train to the express car, fired his shotgun at Tom and shattered his arm with a load of buckshot. Ketchum's gun blasted in return and the bullet wounded the conductor in the neck. Ketchum staggered, dropped his gun and fell off the train. He quickly crawled off into the brush and to the safety of the night. But Ketchum could not go any further than an old tree stump. He crawled against the trunk and lay back in a weary daze. Tom was soon unconscious. He was found at dawn by the railroad crew and they took him into town.

The sheriff arrested Ketchum and sent for the doctor to take care of his arm. There was nothing the doctor could do but to amputate the mutilated limb. Ketchum was laid up recovering for several months and was then brought to trial. He was sentenced to hang under the New Mexico law of a capital offense of "molesting a train." He was taken to Clayton to be hanged.

On the early morning of April 29, 1901, at the age of 38, Tom Ketchum walked out into the yard directly to the newly built gallows. The gathered crowd sneered as Tom stomped up the long wooden steps with his one arm tied to his side.

"I'll be in hell before you start breakfast, boys," Ketchum yelled.

The hood was dropped over Tom's head and his voice boomed under the cloth, "Let her rip!"

Defiant and mean to the end, Ketchum's heavy body stood like a statue over the spring-loaded trap doors. The lever was pulled and Ketchum shot through the opening. True to his words — "let her rip" — the rope tore his head from his body. While the sheriff and his deputies investigated the corpse, a photographer snapped a picture of Ketchum's tall, lanky body lying on the ground with no head. The photographer made out like a bandit selling copies of the gruesome picture.

Mattie Silks, at the age of nineteen, operated the finest brothel in Springfield, Illinois. Considered the youngest madam of her time, Mattie never revealed the name of her financial backer. She saw to it that the house was a masterpiece, with fancy furniture, rich draperies and smooth sheets on the beds. She hired beautiful women to add glamour to her elegant parties.

Mattie herself was a lovely, petite woman with a delicate, creamy complexion, long golden blonde hair and crystal blue eyes. Her hair was always worn up off the neck with curls piled atop her head. She wore the finest, most fashionable outfits, instructing her dressmaker to insert two pockets into her gown. One was for gold pieces and the other for a pearl-handled pistol for her sense of security. She often claimed she was the madam of the house but not a prostitute.

Born on a small Kansas farm in 1846, she would sit for hours dreaming of pretty clothes and fancy parties. She believed at a young age that money was the most important thing in life and she meant to have lots of it. She envisioned that other people would pay her for what she wanted.

In 1876, at the age of thirty, Mattie took her girls to Denver, Colorado. There was much talk about gold strikes and easy money from men who had few women around in their leisure time. She bought a house on Holladay Street right in the middle of the busiest red light district in Colorado. With her creative business mind spinning, she soon had a thriving operation. She termed it the "carriage trade," because money was rolling in.

The next year, she met Cort Thomson, a foot racer who wore pink tights and star-spangled running shorts. Mattie became infatuated with the man. When she found out another Holladay Street madam was interested in him, she fought a duel over the man. However, two women with blazing guns and a selected male in their midst, ended with Cort getting wounded. Mattie blamed the other madam and ran her off. She took her new found love to her room and spent the next month healing his wound.

During the next several years, Cort, who professed he could never do a day's work, began to spend Mattie's money on gambling, expensive whiskey and other women. Mattie ignored his running around. The fact that he had a wife somewhere and a small daughter didn't matter to Mattie. When Cort's wife was reported to have died in 1884, Mattie married him. Cort found out his daughter had died and left a young girl for him to raise. Cort refused to take in his little granddaughter, but Mattie took the child and saw to her upbringing.

Cort died in 1900. Mattie knew he had been a worthless man who spent more than $50,000 of her money, but she had still loved him and saw to it his funeral was one of the finest. She raised his granddaughter and visited his grave site often.

Mattie was putting on age as well as weight. Her face was sagging, wrinkles set in and her hair began to gray. She met Jack Ready, a dashing young muscle man who loved money. She hired him as her bouncer and financial adviser. They soon became lovers and lived wild and extravagant moments. In 1923, at the age of 77, Mattie married Jack. She lived quite happily with the thought that Jack treated her well and was true. He didn't stray or play around with other women. She felt she would know if he did. He kept her business matters in order.

In 1929, at the age of 83, Mattie passed away. It was estimated that two million dollars passed through Mattie's hands but her estate consisted of $4,000 dollars, a few pieces of jewelry and some properties, all which was divided between her adopted granddaughter and Jack. She was buried next to Cort Thomson, her only true love.

The white tops of the covered wagons had crossed the mysterious expanse of the country from Missouri to California. Pony Express riders had delivered messages in a hard ten-day ride. Stagecoaches delivered the mail and passengers. The railroad brought speed and comfort to the wide crossing.

Then came the telegraph, and communication suddenly was faster that had ever been thought possible. Man demanded speed. Get it there now! It didn't matter if it was a message or a human body, the idea was to deliver it fast.

Samuel F.B. Morse developed the electromagnetic telegraph in 1853. A device that triggered a message at great speed across a long stretched electrical line. A dot here and a dash there meant words from one station to the next. An exciting accomplishment. Lines from Missouri to San Francisco, to Los Angeles were growing across the nation bringing east to west into a more closer bond.

Jeptha H. Wade organized the California side, setting up the Overland Telegraph Co. at a cost of $1,250,000. James Gamble constructed lines east to the Salt Lake region. Western Union joined the Pacific Telegraph lines.

It wasn't an easy task to connect the long expanse of lines from coast to coast. There were special glass insulators that had to be ordered from South America. Timber had to be cut and made into usable poles as well as the need for men as a digging crew to install the poles. The open, treeless prairies were a big problem as the poles had to be shipped from the tall timber areas.

The Indians didn't appreciate the white man's strange array of naked, limbless trees being lined across the country. Were the whites crazy? What kind of evil things were the whites doing to deface the land? Wasn't it bad enough they marred the earth with their wagon wheels? The warriors raided the workers often. They noticed the white man crawled up the poles to stretch some kind of line between them. If they cut the wire would all those naked poles fall down? They climbed the poles and used their knives to cut the lines, causing more work. But the poles remained.

The Indians brought havoc on the prairies as there was no place to hide. It was wide open land and the Indians killed many telegraph workers. They frequently burned the poles, hoping to drive the whites away. But it only brought out the U.S. Cavalry and they were forced to retreat.

Despite all the opposition, the line workers managed to stretch the telegraph cables from east to west. On October 24, 1861, the first message was received by President Lincoln. The telegram read: THE LINES ARE CONNECTED AND ARE IN FULL OPERATION. CALIFORNIA WILL BE LOYAL TO THE UNION.

Till next time, pards, happy trails!
Jack and Marge

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