A comment made concerning an earlier post said that we might be on the edge of a 1775 moment. That may well be true. I certainly hope we, as a people, have both the endurance and the taste for real liberty that carried that historical moment through for another seven or eight years. I am beginning to believe that we are in the middle of one of those windows of history where a will born of “we have had enough” solidifies for the long fight ahead – or the lack of vision and will from others “swamps” over us. If it is the latter the children of our children may never know the feel of real liberty that our fathers and grandfathers knew so well and passed to us for safeguarding.

But since this seems to be a time for “theories” I will offer yet another possible vision of a Biden/Harris administration and what could become of it. There is a real possibility that we could have more of an 1828 moment.

Although I doubt we will ever know a “for sure” vote count for the 2020 presidential election, I believe that it will be recorded as the most “stolen” election in our history. That is, of course, discounting a genuine “Perry Mason” moment in the upcoming weeks. But my instincts tell me that there is simply not enough time for that which means that the battle for truth and disclosure will have to continue, hopefully at full speed. I will continue to pray for that “Mason” moment and be thankful for the work of the warriors who are trying to put it all together.

So I will float one real possibility (at least it seems to me). I hold no crystal ball or even average judgment about such things and we know that there will be surprises along the way.

If Joe Biden does prevail to become the next president, I seriously doubt he will finish more than a year of his term. I realize I am hardly the only one with this view. In fact, I doubt if a majority of honest Democrats (I am sure there are some – somewhere) would disagree. Biden is still the only thing he has ever been, a mere party henchman to be used as needed and discarded. There are a few folks right behind him pulling strings who are in the same boat but are just too full of themselves to know it.

The small, quiet signs are already showing themselves this early. The few news conferences (if they can honestly be called that) Biden has exposed himself to since the election are becoming worse. Even this media which is being so kind to him has begun to actually go past him to “Vice-President Elect” Harris to get a clearer answer. Although it didn’t make the NBC Nightly broadcast, that public broadcast race-baiter Yamiche Alcindor stood with her mouth stuck open and a puzzled look on her face as she tried to follow his senseless ramblings.

Already the networks are allowing just the slightest hints of news about shady Biden dealing with both China and Russia. These were sealed tight by the media hacks right up to the election. Either the 25^th Amendment route or a just plain old “there is just too much negative stuff here, Joe” resignation, will bring in the Harris administration.

I have come to believe that the left will try and make a “get it all while you can” move because of their surprise at the strength of the grassroots vote against their broad agenda. Harris is the perfect agent for this: a political ladder climber with a radical background, no executive or foreign policy experience who is clay in the hands of the elites. She has never (as in not one time) finished a term of office she has been elected to at any level. She will extend that streak.

She is not the first light-weight to be plucked from the masses by an elite looking for a young, manageable radical who checked some of the politically correct boxes. But she lacks the personal “punch” as the last one. She dropped out of the primaries before a single vote was cast and was polling no better than 2% in her home state. She is unlikable on several levels. She will do the bidding given her but will not win an election.

Ok, so why 1828? Andrew Jackson lost the presidential election of 1824 in the House of Representatives. He had the most popular votes but failed to win a majority of electoral votes. Henry Clay had just missed the cut-off of being in consideration but he was Speaker of the House. When it came time for Clay to throw his support to a “run-off” candidate, he chose the “establishment”, John Quincy Adams, over the more “populist” Jackson. Adams quickly named Clay as the new Secretary of State, then considered a stepping stone to the presidency. Jackson screamed to high heaven.

As some may already know, Jackson could be brash, outspoken. He was known to notice every insult and most often met each one head-on. He was a fighter who had not just led men in battle but had more than one duel in his history as well as a spur-of-the-moment shot out in a Nashville hotel lobby with William Hart Benton and his family. He took two bullet wounds in that affair and that evening it was thought he would surely “bleed out” as he soaked two different beds in his life’s blood. In the Charles Dickinson duel, Jackson dressed in a loose-fitting coat which hide his thin upper body in the hope that the younger man who was a superior shot would miss the heart allowing Andrew more time to place his own shot. The bullet from Dickinson’s pistol missed the Jackson heart by hardly more than an inch, striking the breastbone and shattering into the ribs. Jackson held his ground and standing tall aimed at Dickinson. He even had to pull the hammer of his pistol off of half-cock before firing. Jackson then mounted his horse and rode off to Miller’s Tavern.

While at what was then an advanced age, Jackson was within a few months of finishing his second presidential term when a hopeful assassin got within eight feet of him with two pistols. The man fired both point-blank at Jackson’s narrow chest and against all odds the percussion caps on both firearms fired but failed to explode the powder load in the weapon. Jackson charged the man with his walking cane.

The point is that in no time in his life did Andrew Jackson, a flawed, brash and sometimes wrong human being, give up or quit. One is free to draw any modern-day parallels they wish. Jackson spent the four years of Adams’ term reminding all of the wrong done him and building his support for another run in ’28.

I am convinced that we are at a watershed moment if our republic is to survive as founded. I can envision, I can hope, the possibility of the 2022 mid-terms seeing the House being taken back. More importantly, it has to be a time when the statehouses are strengthened by individuals intent on protecting the integrity of our votes. Among our own many necessary tasks is to put them there.

Another is these tasks is to hold the feet of our Senators to the fire as being a true resistance to the agenda that would be rammed down the American throat. This will no time for a “business as usual” approach from the Romneys of the world. Too much is being lost as it is.

It is not necessary that the one who carries the presidential banner in 2024 be Donald Trump but I suspect that to be a real possibility. It is necessary that the banner is carried not by one with the mindset of the “old guard”. Despite the power of their personalities, the so-called “Jacksonian Era” and the place we find ourselves now are not about Andrew Jackson and Donald Trump. They are very much about grass roots, everyday people of every status and stripe demanding to have the voice promised by a government not just “for the People” but “by” and “of” the People.

The election of 2020 is hardly settled yet, in more ways than one. But it will be recorded as a truly historic one. It is also one that leaves some feelings in the pit of the stomach.

It will be historic for one of two things. We just don’t know which one yet.

I will first deal with the pit of the stomach. We are a vastly ill-informed, ill-educated nation. Ours is the greatest secular story in Man’s long history. And so many of our own have no genuine knowledge or understanding of it, either in just the simple 250-odd-year epic or the context it has over the thousands of years mankind has struggled to have even a glimpse of what we stand ready to toss aside in favor of retread promises and deceptions that actually are aged not by hundreds but thousands of years.

As a nation, we were born of a desire to govern ourselves. In fact, we considered it to be our right. We designed a system of self-governance built around that concept of rights which were undeniable. The protection of those rights depended on the consent of those who accepted the authority of a justly constructed government which honored the rule of law. That consent was primarily manifested in the vote.

It was not perfect but it was perfectable. And we have the means for that. Even the majority does not reign supreme because that also can be tyranny. When the individual, legal vote is not protected, there is no longer consent. Period.

On the national level, the members of the House of Representatives are selected by direct vote. Originally, the members of the Senate were selected by the legislatures of the states to represent the interests of the states. That, of course, was changed by constitutional amendment in the early 20^th century.

But the executive officer of the United States, the President, is selected not by popular vote but by electors of the several states. Each state legislature has the sole authority under the Constitution to decide the manner in which these electors are chosen. No President is elected until they have been chosen and actually cast their votes. This a matter of law and there are very good reasons for all of it.

If any presidential election is conducted in a state and fails to follow the procedure passed by the state legislature, it is outside of the law and the Constitution. Anyone who cheers the bending, or outright breaking, of this vital safeguard is saying that some outcome at a peculiar time is more important than the rule of law, than individual rights, than the consent of those governed.

The constitutional system we are so lucky to have in place is not about outcomes and policies as much as it is about liberty. Liberty is a word I hear very rarely. It is certainly isn’t talked about by those who seek to be our “informers”: the media, the entertainment industry, and any excitable mouth over-impressed with their 15 minutes of fame. Like some other things we should value more, this system is for the ages, not just the minutes. But all of those important things can be destroyed or at least greatly damaged when the minutes are allowed to outweigh the foundational principles basic to the ages.

In the last two months before the election on November 3, there was a stampede of lawsuits filed in state courts of several “swing” states. These suits were not to increase or insure the legality of ballots but actually to lessen the procedures used to determine if the ballots were proper. The result was chaos caused by rulings by state court judges that were counter to laws passed by the legislature. But the constitutional rub is that these courts, the state’s Secretary of State, the state election commissions, any state official including the governor do not have authority over the presidential election. Only the legislatures have that authority. Most of these measures were unconstitutionally used in the handling of mail-in ballots.

Mail-in ballots have long been known to be the most insecure way to vote. Most of the reasons are obvious to any open mind. Most European nations, for example, have abandoned their use after trying to make them work during a wave of misplaced liberalism. A couple won’t even allow citizens living in other nations to vote by mail. Anyone truly interested in having a secure, accurate vote would not favor wide use of mail-in ballots. Period

I will shift your attention to somewhere you should be much more familiar with if we had a more responsible and truthful media. The 2004 Ukrainian election was classified as “rigged” by our State Department. Among the things cited to prove that judgment were the illegal use of absentee ballots, opposition observers ejected from the ballot counting, mobile ballot box fraud, and computed data altered. In just eight days, there are already mountains (as in hundreds) of sworn affidavits, videos, and signed confessions detailing exactly those activities in this 2020 election. They are not “hearsay.” They are not the so-called “whistleblowers” of the past few years whose names were never disclosed and thus protected by the media. These are sworn to by real people coming forward to publicly stand by their words. Regardless of how you feel about any one candidate, these are facts. This is real evidence. The outcome is still to be determined but there is creditable evidence and a lot of it.

Any vote taken that is not legal is a violation of your vote no matter who it is for.

It is a fact that several of these things were put in place in Pennsylvania only days after being instructed by the Supreme Court not to. It is a fact that Republican poll watchers were first barred from the counting of ballots in violation of state law for over a day. There were even barriers put up to block the view. And when finally allowed in by direct court order the observers were made to stand at least 20 feet away while votes were counted. The same was done in Michigan where barring the observers is not only against state law but also a crime. The subject here is purposely ignoring the law, overt, in-your-face stepping around both state statute and the Constitution.

The list goes on but those who have advocated for all these far less secure measures have backed off the claim we have heard for the last few years that there is no such thing as voter fraud. A few days ago the claim moved from that to “very little fraud.” But now as more and more comes to full light it is said to be “not enough to make a difference.”

This does beg the question: Exactly how much fraud is acceptable before you actually do something about it?

None of us should have much faith in polls based on recent performance but a Rasmussen survey from just yesterday indicates that less than half of the nation believe that Joe Biden was elected without fraud. That would mean around half of the nation have a pretty good notion that the results reported so far are not honest. That is a death sentence for a self-governing republic.

If a government is to be based on consent, there have to be secure elections. Why would anyone lobby for less security? What is the purpose of not checking signatures? What is the purpose of removing observers who have a legal right to watch the counting?

Once again the list can go on. But the point is that none of these measures make the voting more secure or increase confidence in the validity of the outcome. In fact, it is exactly the opposite.

No matter how un-woke it is, how un-techy it is, there have to be real ballots that can be counted. There has to be a positive identification of the person casting the ballots. There has to be the ability to actually physically check all of that in a by-hand recount if it becomes necessary. To have anything less is saying that we are not serious about elections or our system of governance. There cannot be secret counting of ballots and expect that the government which prevails deserves respect from the people. Period.

What the pit of my stomach churns over is the real possibility that we may not have enough people left in this most blessed of nations who value Truth and Liberty at a level that leaves behind personal wants and anger. I know we do not have enough people who are well informed or who are well enough educated in the governmental system, our own actual history, or how it all fits into the story of mankind itself. This last one we can work on, we have to.

But the first part of that last paragraph should scare us all. It does not even require a large majority to keep Truth and Liberty alive. It is said by many that no more than one-third of the American colonists supported the Revolution all the way through it. About a third would swing back and forth depending on how things were going and the last third reminded loyal to the King. But that one-third who won out had to be a determined lot! And the third in the middle had to be won over and then reassured.

Also, winning independence only meant that the real work had to begin! Truth and Liberty are never easy. They are always hard and always under attack. There is never a time to let up or they will lose ground. And there has been a lot of ground surrendered over the 100 years or so.

As to the historic nature of this 2020 election, I do see this as very possibly the watershed moment when we take to path to no more meaningful elections. They certainly don’t have many in California anymore or Cook County, IL, etc. This does not mean that any one side has to prevail. It does mean that Americans of any political leanings should realize that this is no way to run a national election. Any fraud is fundamentally changing the voting system, not to reflect popular will but to bypass it.

This requires all political views to commit to rule of law instead of dogma and not bow to fashion as has happened in so many cultures of the past which rose, flamed for a while, and destroyed themselves.

It is vital that more than half the nation believe there actually can be a fair vote that reflects their will. Our duty to protect the vote is not about policy or any individual. It is about Liberty, easily lost, hard-won Liberty.

It would be good for some to remember not to celebrate anything won by another’s cheating. If they cheat “for” you, they will certainly cheat against you. They cannot be gifted with power because sooner or later – it will be your turn, it will be your vote, your voice, your opinion, your liberty that is in their way. And there will no way to defend it.

The first time I met Billy Joe Shaver I wasn’t old enough to drive a car (legally) and he was riding horses for his father-in-law. It was also before he cut off parts of those fingers in the sawmill where he was working nights to make ends meet. I have seen him in every stage of life since then. He is still the best three-fingered bull rider I have seen – as well as the worst, he kinda liked that line from me. Because of him, I did have a few moments around the likes of Nelson, Jennings, Clark, and the like (“Boys, here is the only real cowboy in this whole damn place”) but in many ways, he always was the simplest and most honest soul among them. He never failed to come to sit with me between sets regardless of the stage of life he was caught in and no matter what he might put into his body he always respected that my limits were beer and whiskey. He was hard-headed and tough as hell, as open and honest as the sky above and saw live at the bare soil level. I have put off saying anything about the passing of Jerry Jeff Walker until I finished some thoughts on a couple of other things and got my Dad to his deer lease. It will be a few days past that before I return to the subject of the insightful crafter of words whose education came from the cotton fields outside of Emhouse and the honky-tonks east of Waco. Rest easy Ol’ Hoss.

When Charles Goodnight and Oliver Loving started their herd of beef steers out in the summer of 1867, it was actually the third drive, not second, for the partnership along the route from the headwaters of the Middle Concho to the Pecos and then northward. The first drive had been fortunate to have found a surprise market for their steers at the Bosque Redondo where the federal government had begun what was to be yet another failed experiment. The government needed to feed the Navaho and the Mescalero Apaches who had been foolishly herded there to share space. The “Redondo” was not only ill-suited for it but the fact that the Navaho and Mescalero were traditional enemies and hated each other seemed to have escaped the government planners.

But as a result of the government being in a fix of its own making, the Texas partners were able to pocket about 8 cents a pound on the hoof for the steers in gold (twice the price in Denver and almost four times the price in Texas). But they had driven a “mixed” herd up the Pecos so they still had the cow and calf pairs to sell. Loving took the “stock cattle” north toward Las Vegas and then through the Raton Range to strike Arkansas and then to Denver where he sold the herd out to John W. Iliff.

Goodnight took the gold, three reliable hands, and went back to Texas to gather or buy a new herd, hire hands and make one more trip before winter prevented it. After bringing in that new bunch of beeves, the partners had trouble selling them to the army at Fort Sumner because of a newly invented policy of not buying directly from former rebels. Goodnight had scouted in the ranger service during the war on the frontier and was not technically a Confederate. Loving, now 54, had not served in any army since the Mexican War but had sold herds to the CSA (which was mostly why he was broke, having been paid in Confederate script to the tune of 150,000 uncollectable dollars). The pair took their case a step higher to the commander in Santa Fe, got their money, and a promise of contracts for 1867.

So in the early spring 1867, the Texas partners trailed the 500 head they still had in New Mexico northeast and left them to summer graze on the Capulin Vega to the west of the volcanic crater of the same name. James Foster was left in charge of the cattle and according to Goodnight had “the entire country to himself”. The cowmen then headed back toward the Elm Fork country of Texas to purchase and gather for “heavier drives than before”.

The Comanche had been avoided on the first 1866 drive, which was the purpose of that southern route which forded at Horsehead Crossing. But there are few good crossing along the Pecos, especially south of the New Mexican border. And Horsehead had long been a favorite crossing for Comanche raiding parties returning for the interior of Mexico. In fact, the crossing’s very name was supposedly due to the skulls of stolen horses which reached the bitter waters of the Pecos too weak to withstand the brine and alkali in their first drink in days.

The Lords of the Plains now knew there was plunder to be had, even before Goodnight made his first trip back. In fact, J.D. Hoy lost three different herds to Comanche raiders trying to copy Goodnight/Loving before the pair even started their 1867 drive.

The famous drive did not start until July. It had been a dry May and June on the western side of the Concho country and migrating buffalo had picked it bear to the point of starving themselves. But the eastern side toward the Brazos had fared better and provided plenty of grazing. So the gather was strengthened for the drive there while the rains which finally came at the end of June freshened the ground along the Middle and Western Concho.

Years later Goodnight would reflect on how the 1867 drive was rough and difficult from the very beginning. “The signs just wasn’t right”, he told J. Evetts Haley.

The drive had not yet started when the Comanche attacked and stampeded the herd during the night while it was being held on the Clear Fork of the Brazos near Old Camp Cooper. The next morning while tracking on wet ground Goodnight saw where a large party of warriors had taken to the brush in the Clear Fork bottoms. He took this to mean another attack during the coming night. He sent back word for Loving to move the remainder of the herd to more open ground and expect an attack. He then trailed the lost cattle north, found them, and took them back about 15 miles from camp.

The Goodnight party didn’t get back to the main herd until well after dark and its exhausted leader caught some sleep with his tired horse still saddled. The Indians attacked again just before the morning light. A Comanche arrow was deflected by the edge of Goodnight’s buffalo robe which was upright having hung on some tall grass or he would have been killed in the first moment of the attack. After finding is pistols in the dark, the trail boss led a group to save the horse herd from being stampeded but a part of the beef herd had been scattered.

Although no one was killed in the attack, Long Joe Loving did have an arrow in his head, stuck in the bone behind the ear. Long Joe wasn’t related to the Loving family who owned a share of this herd but he did have the same name as Oliver’s son. Being a fairly tall feller, he had been tagged as “Long Joe” to distinguish him from the other Joe Loving.

Since the plains tribes had first begun to trade with Europeans most arrowheads used by them were metal, beaten out of some metal object either traded for or taken. This one was made from the hoop-iron of a wagon wheel and not steel. That meant it had to be taken out before it began to corrode. The sinew holding it to the shaft was removed so that just the metal was left. The only “instrument” that Goodnight could find to remove the object was a pair of old shoe pinchers. Two big men were assigned to holding down the cowboy while Goodnight took as good a hold as he could with the “instrument”. The cowman pulled hard enough to raise all three men off the ground and the arrowhead came free. The wound was packed with wet mud and the victim sent to the Keechi to be nursed by Goodnight’s mother. It is not recorded if the wet mud had any effect on Long Joe’s brain, just beyond the open wound in his skull.

The day was spent rounding up scattered cattle and it was determined that about 160 head were missing. It was decided they would leave that night after grazing the herd as much as time allowed and feeding the men.

That first night was an omen of things to come throughout the drive. Goodnight had placed “two first-class men” in the rear “at the corners” and he and “One-Armed” Wilson were at the point as they headed west in the darkness.

They had not gone far before they endured one of the strangest stampedes Goodnight was to ever experience. Half of the herd began to run and came up one side of the herd. Wilson and then Goodnight got to the front and turned them back into the other cattle. But instead of being the start of a “mill” where they mix into the herd and run themselves down, they simply ran down the other side. The men “at the corners” turned them back into the other cattle again. The stampeders simply continued to run a circle around the other cattle until “their tongues were out”. The other cattle had merely kept moving along quietly while their more excitable cousins ran rings around them. Goodnight remembered that he and Wilson were on two good horses but “it took all we could get out of them with quirts and spurs to head those cattle.”

Later that night it began to storm with rain heavy enough to chase out what little light was provided by moon and stars. As was his custom when driving at night, Goodnight had belled work oxen toward the front of the herd and toward the back so the sound of the bells could tell him when the herd was split or too strung out.

Once cattle began to stampede on such a drive, they can become a nervous bundle of energy that might run night after night, each time to exhaustion. This became such a trip with runs started by weather, Comanche, and who knew what.

They had passed through Buffalo Gap (in the area where Abilene, Texas is now) when they seemed to be having a better evening. Goodnight and Bose Ikard had the last guard and the animals seemed to be quiet. With daylight coming soon, Goodnight went back to camp to wake the cook and some of the men. He tied his horse to the wheel of the chuck wagon and left enough slack in his “get down rope” for the mount to graze some.

It was while he was waking the men that the cattle broke. They were heading for the edge of camp and it seemed some of the men might be trampled. Goodnight grabbed a blanket out of one of the bedrolls to wave in an attempt to turn the cattle and some of the men did the same. Most of the camp was saved but Goodnight’s horse was knocked down and the cattle were jumping over him as he tried time and again to get up. As the last steer cleared Charlie (the strong and fast night horse) the other Charlie (Goodnight) jumped on his neck, cut the lead rope with his belt knife, and was in the saddle when the horse Charlie came to his feet.

From there both Charlies raced together toward the front of the herd. Goodnight was surprised to find Ikard racing along with the front of the herd. But when he got close enough for Bose to see him clearly the ex-slave’s horse broke like lighting to turn the cattle.

After the run was over and the cattle quieted, Goodnight asked Ikard why he had not begun to turn the cattle any sooner. With a grin, Bose told him that until he identified Goodnight and his horse he wasn’t sure if they still had the herd or the Comanches had it.

Goodnight had learned on the first drive of ’66 to simply drive the cattle around the clock across the last, waterless 80 miles before the Pecos. He also had the herd “squeezed down”, closing the flanks of the herd constantly to force the cattle toward the back to tighten and push the whole group to a higher pace. They just were not allowed to trot. After the last push through Castle Gap and then across the next 10 miles to Horseback, they watered the herd and drifted them a few hundred years from the river and bedded.

That night another storm came blowing in. Of course, the cattle ran. When the tally was made, there was about 200 head missing. Goodnight and Loving began a circle of about 5 miles since most of the trail had been wiped out by the rain. During this time, they ran across Jim Burleson and his crew who had lost control of around 2000 head they were driving north as well. Goodnight broke off with some men to help.

“One-Armed” Wilson was sent to search for the 200 head and was given Yankee Bill and young, fearless John Kutch as help. The three cowboys caught sign of the cattle and followed it along the eastern side of the river for about 25 miles.

The Pecos is hardly a straight flowing river. In fact, one old-timer called it the “crookest river this side of hell”. So there are plenty of bends in it with normally the lower side of each bend as the best place to reach the water’s edge. About mid-afternoon, Wilson and his party spotted the cattle several hundred yards ahead. But they were being held by a large band of Comanche and it was clear that recovering the cattle was not going to be as important as keeping their scalps.

Always cool in a fix, Wilson didn’t turn and make a panicked ran for it. “One-Armed” Bill directed his party into a bend of the river where the mesquite was high and thick. The Indians had made a dash for the hill to cut the drovers off but didn’t discover their mistake until it was too late and Wilson had his crew were out the opposite side and with a fair start. The only thing that slowed the cowboys down on their return was the mule that Yankee Bill was riding. But with help from quirt and spur as well as some sharp-edged encouragement from the other two drovers both Yankee Bill and his steed arrived back in camp at Horsehead only slightly behind the pace. Years later, Wilson recalled simply, “seeing we were greatly outnumbered, and as it was about sundown, we decided to turn back and go to our camp, which we did.”

When the two owners decided that the herd was settled enough to drive, they began the push up the Pecos. The herd now seemed broken to the trail and it was fairly quiet for 100 miles toward the New Mexican border. Then Oliver Loving became impatient and made a fateful decision.

*Note: Having again spent too many words getting this far along, I will beg indulgence, take a break, pour three more fingers, and promise to get Wilson and Loving to that battle under the bluff of the Pecos!

*Another Note: Although there is some question about the picture in the previous piece about Wilson, the one here is the only completely verified one – taken in the 1920s as he approached 80 years of age.

There are is an almost endless collection of stories comparing the Goodnight-Loving trail drives of the 1860s to the Lonesome Dove book and movie. I have passed on more than a few of them and some can be found in past offerings here. As highly as I regard Gus and Call, I still consider the real events (and people) more compelling.

One of those people is Oliver Loving’s companion on his fatal trip up the Pecos that ended with the loss of an arm for the veteran trail driver, and eventually his life. In the novel, this companion is the slow thinking but loyal Pea-Eye. In reality, this man was a skilled cowman, first-class fighting man, someone known for his cool head in any situation and not only a highly trusted Goodnight hand but one of the most skilled despite only having one arm. There was a reason that “One-Armed” Bill Wilson was selected to make that dangerous tract with Loving.

The Wilson family had come from Arkansas to the brutal edge of the Texas frontier along the Cross Timbers in 1857 and settled along Keechi Creek. The great historian/cowman J. Evetts Haley noted that it was tradition that the Wilsons were “born for trouble, and they never belied their birthright”.

Bill was the second of eight children born to James Wilson and his first wife. When that first wife died James was left with eight children, half of them comprised of two sets of young twins, to raise. In the mid-1850s, he married a young widow with two children of her own and headed for Texas. That union would produce five more Wilsons before the second wife died in the Comanche raids of 1869. James Wilson ran stock over parts of Texas, Colorado and what became Oklahoma for a quarter-century, lost two herds to hoof and mouth disease, and constantly rebuilt with a will common to those who came to the plains and became a part of them.

Bill Wilson lived into the 1920s to recall his life on the trail for the original Frontier Times magazine and for that historical treasure The Trail Drivers of Texas, collected and edited by J. Marvin Hunter. But he never left a record of how he came to lose an arm. There are a few accounts left by unknown tellers of tales and most are clearly not true. Two of those include suggestions that he lost it to a threshing machine when 8 years old or to a hay bailer about the same time. That would have been about 1849 and anyone who knows much about farm equipment can easily see that as a historical impossibility. Another account has him losing the arm to a savage horse bite around the age of 4. The best guess is that it was a birth defect. If he ever spoke of it, it is not recorded.

In Texas, young Bill Wilson quickly became the best cowman of a clan who took to the wild cow plains like hogs to mud. He helped the family keep the Carruthers stock on shares and worked regularly for Charles Goodnight and his stepbrother and business partner Wes Sheek, taking his pay in cattle. In the late summer of 1865, Bill had a small herd of his own that he prepared to drive to Old Mexico for sale.

At the same time, Goodnight was gathering a herd to drive to New Mexico and Colorado. The Civil War was just ended and constant Indian trouble, the uncertainties of Reconstruction and an abundance of thieving neighbors had convinced him there were greener pastures to be found and he didn’t trust the Yankee markets to the northeast.

In early September, Indians stampeded the Goodnight herd while it was being held in Young County. Goodnight followed with 14 men for about 30 miles and found where the Indians had crossed the Brazos and joined with yet another raiding party. Determining that there were too many of “them” and not enough of “us”, Goodnight turned back to protect what was left of his herd. But still, it was already late in the year, the chances for gathering another herd for a 1865 drive were over. The stage was set for what would be a history-making drive in 1866 as soon as spring’s fresh grass appeared.

Spring saw Goodnight gather only about 1000 head of beeves and fresh cows for a drive due to losses to both Indians and whites. But he was determined to drive toward the mining fields of the Rockies and avoid the Yankee markets to the east. He bought the gear from a government wagon, had the wooden axles replaced with iron, rebuilt it with the tough wood of the bois d’arc tree, and had the first-ever “chuck box” mounted on the back. After securing the horses he needed, he was ready to sign on his hands. The first was Bill Wilson.

But getting started on the drive was not a smooth affair for the young Wilson. In the meantime, he had invested in a few barrels of whiskey and planned to haul them to Jacksboro to make a profit. Goodnight advised him against it since there was a federal garrison at Jacksboro filled with out-of-state Unionists who had no use for Texans. But the young man smelled a quick profit and made the haul to Jacksboro where he was cheated by a man named Fox. One dark night, shots were fired and Mr. Fox was left dead. A detachment of soldiers arrested Wilson and was holding him in the guardhouse pending taking him to Decatur for trial.

Goodnight sent his best horse for Wilson to ride on the Decatur trip along with about 7 dollars and advised the young drover to have plenty of whiskey for the trip. Along the way, Wilson followed his employer’s advice and pretended to be drinking while sharing the whiskey with his guards. At the right time as they were crossing the Trinity Bottoms, he sank spur to his mount and made a dash for the brush. All shots fired at him missed and he rode ahead to join Goodnight, who had formed a partnership with Oliver Loving who had over 1000 head of his own ready to drive, after his herd left the Belknap area. At the time, Loving had probably trailed more cattle than anyone in the southwest but like most in Texas “cow-poor” and in debt.

Goodnight related to J. Evetts Haley that the two men he most wanted either breaking “point” with him or riding beside him in a stampede were Bose Ikard and Bill Wilson. Wilson was there through the first drive across the Pecos and into New Mexico as well as the next two. It was Wilson who Goodnight took with him to reclaim some of his cattle that were being killed by a butcher in the Raton Range in 1868. The two men took back the cattle and when challenged announced “Send over any sons-of-a-bitches you don’t want to see again” before driving the bovines off.

If you are saying to yourself, “he skipped over the eventful year of 1867”, you are right. That drive deserves a space of its own and not just for the fight Wilson and Loving put up on that bluff on the Pecos. I will try and do justice to it with the next “installment”. But it is good to develop a feel for the man who will play such a central part.

Wilson and his brothers struck out on their own by 1868, went into the Rockies, and settled around Spanish Peaks. In February of 1872, the brothers had ridden into Trinidad and George Wilson ran into a streak of bad luck gambling in the Exchange Saloon. George left the saloon while declaring loudly he had been robbed. He returned shortly with his brother Fayette and another cowboy named Axtell to demand his money back. Sheriff Juan Tafolla tried to quiet Wilson down and in the exchange, there was a scuffle and both pulled guns. George shot Tafolla in the stomach and the sheriff’s gun discharged into the barroom floor.

Frank Bloom had a store at the site which became the First National Bank. He was standing in front of it and talking with one of his cowboys when George and his brother ran up. George had lost his hat in the action back at the Exchange and grabbed the hat off the cowboy’s head and called to Bill who was nearby. They ran east past the Thatcher Store toward an arroyo which at that time had a small footbridge across it. On the other side was the United States Livery Stable where the Wilson horses had been left. A mob of about twenty were hot on their heels. But when everyone in the Wilson party had crossed over, Bill turned and threw his rifle across his stub arm and informed the followers that “the first man on that bridge is dead”.

Years later when Goodnight was recalling the event to J. Evetts Haley, he remarked that he thought the members of the mob were Mexicans and speculated that even if they didn’t understand much gringo they fully understood completely the rifle and the type of man holding it. The Wilson party then mounted their horses and according to the Trinidad Enterprise “rode slowly out of town”.

George Wilson was later killed in Arizona. But “One-Armed” Bill had returned to the Cross Timbers of Texas to ranch and cowboy between the Forks of the Trinity and the Fingers of the Brazos. He married Emma Sheek, a cousin of Charles Goodnight’s stepbrother and lived into the 1920s.

Now it is time to make a gather of my words and talk about that difficult and eventful cattle drive of 1867.

*Note: the picture here is often identified as Bill and Emma Wilson and although there are some doubts about its origin, it is generally accepted as being the couple

I am sure we all have a collection of adjustments from the last few weeks of the Great COVID Panic of 2020. It will be recalled as a time like few others when the story-telling is done for another generation, each individual saga with its own twist.

In my case, one small part of that saga tends to remind me of a favorite movie whose main “underlying message” might not be too “woke” but is generally simple and feels good; the 2003 flick Secondhand Lions.

For those with too refined a taste in cinema to have wasted a couple of hours on so simple a film, the story is centered on a summer spent by a 14-year old boy who is dumped on his two great-uncles who are living on the ancient farmstead they have returned to late in life. For my own reasons, I have a tender spot for a pair of eccentric bachelor brothers with little use for the outside world and their own twist of a world view. But that is a story reserved for only a select few.

In the course of that summer, one of the brothers decides that country gentlemen with time on their hands should have a garden. As some of you might know, despite all necessary work, new bright denim overalls, and cleanly hoed, straight rows the movie garden did not turn out as planned. The fact that all the seeds turned out to be corn instead of the variety expected didn’t help. But the head-high corn did make for a splendid hide-out for the “secondhand” lion that the brothers decided to import to the farm.

My 91-year-old “housemate” no longer gets horseback. The knee replacements of a decade or so ago worked out fine. But they still don’t have the bounce of the originals and the old hips won’t allow for getting the back leg over the cantle even with a step or two up. To compensate some, he has doubled down on his supervisory role. And this spring he has decided again to give gardening a try.

To be honest, the only real successful gardening that I recall from either of us goes all the way back to my high school days. We had a large tractor tire laying in the corner of a horse lot next to the fence. I was instructed to haul some of the potential “soil” from a stud stall to be mixed with some sand. The mixture was filled into the middle of the tire and strawberries were planted. They turned out great.

But that is about the extent of the gardening success, mostly due to lack of attention when the truth is told. But back in that more simple time, there were always plenty of garden items supplied from friends and relatives who were more inclined to the task. The main crops were tomatoes and okra. And for about three weeks I could expect those two in every evening meal towards the end of July. In those high school and college days, that time meant I was usually running hills in the night cool to get ready for two-a-days and fighting down the still fresh taste of tomatoes and fried okra with every step. Some memories just never go away.

There was a period of time when there was consistently a quality variety of garden produce grown on our place. But it was the handiwork of a pretty good hand who worked for Dad for about ten years. He always had a good garden spot behind the corrals and there was plenty to gather at any time. He always had several rows of peppers and was considerate enough to mark the rows that he called “gringo peppers” to avoid any surprises for those with weaker palates.

I will admit that both the “housemate” and myself take more pride in growing grass than vegetables, and we’re pretty good at it. So the plot in question might not be a candidate for “Garden of the Season”. It actually looks a little ragged out. After tilling the ground, some rain and neglect left it a little grown up with both grass and weeds before the planting started. But that was solved with a doze of Roundup. But there are now two rows of tomatoes among the dead and brown grass and weeds. Okra, squash and two varieties of melons are also showing green just above the black soil and between the clumps of brown grass.

I have bought Dad the newest gardening book from the acknowledged expert of this region and he has been trying to follow instructions, as best he can. The other day he was dishing out fertilizer carefully with a spoon. The only other time I have ever seen him fertilize a garden plot was been the tractor pulling a two-ton fertilizer spreader by the edge of a plot while we were putting nitrogen out on grass hay. These are a changing times.

By the movie’s end, the brothers had reached their 90s but boredom had encouraged them to try flying an old airplane upside down through the hall of a barn. They missed the hall. But they did manage to hit the rest of the barn and forfeited their chances of making 100.

I don’t expect any such boredom to overtake either of us but I do happen to know the fellow who delivered the airplane to the pair in the movie. I am pretty sure he doesn’t have any left in stock.

But there are other distractions and even some action from time to time. I have seen a very young grandson rope and drag his first calf to the branding fire this spring. So I suppose some things have a way of going on regardless of the virus.

And thanks to spring rains and a little time, bluestem hay is almost past time for cutting. So we are making ready the cutters and tractors for me to begin that task but under close supervision!

With a storm pending from the southeast, I checked the vegetable plot this afternoon. Don’t worry about the acreage involved. Even if it were all corn as in the movie, it would hardly provide jungle cover for a cottontail rabbit. We know our limits!

In my considered opinion, the melons have a better than even chance. The squash and okra will probably offer some returns as well. But less I am a poor judge of tomato plants, most of the tomatoes we get to the table will have to be “secondhand”.

Lately, we have been preached to a lot about “following the science” by some people who have consistently accepted only the “science” which seems to reinforce their own worldview. At times in the past, we have “followed the science” down a path leading to both failure and death.

In this country, the drift toward “progressivism” more or less began with the proclaimed need to have “experts” be in charge of the major decisions of society. The world had just become too complicated, too advanced to allow the individual whims of uninformed masses to have dominant sway over critical issues. Things would just run better for everyone if we turned from the individualism on which we were founded in the first place. Top-down decisions for everyone by the experts of each concern were to be the answer to the future.

You do, of course, recall the “science” of eugenics? Only a small amount of research will show you an array of celebrated masters of science in the early 20th century who saw this as a true science and not just the wave of the future, but its best for hope human society. Of course, some us more basic types would have considered it to be little more than selective breeding of human beings – as well as plain discrimination against those deemed unworthy of taking part in the process. Naturally “experts” were able to create “models” which made it easy to decide whose bloodlines would be allowed to continue in this upgrade. It was, after all, the best for everyone. Well, almost everyone.

One of the practical tools of carrying out this enlightened improvement of mankind was abortion. So you see, the term eugenics might not be heard much today but parts of its model are still “following the science.”

Actually models were hardly new things even at the beginning of the 20th century. Simply take the time to read, or re-read, Machiavelli’s The Prince. It certainly is a model for developing and holding political power. But even that was hardly new. Machiavellian method was taken from studying all the regimes and monarchies that had come before. It was a “model” formed on the best information available. Or, at least, the “information” that the model designer was most comfortable with.

We raised a generation who fear “climate change” more than welfare socialism. Model after model fashioned by experts have warned of one disaster after another, all “just around the corner.” When we held the first Earth Day in 1970, the expert’s model assured us that millions upon millions were sure to die in the coming ice age. And, of course, by then we would have run completely out of oil so better have the axes ready!

But by 1989, the United Nations had a whole team of experts whose model proved we only had 10 years left to “solve” global warming. As it has turned out since, the warming deal has not quite worked out. So the emphasis has switched to the more general “climate change.” This way both ice ages and burning deserts can easily fall inside the model. After a short while, it was decided that even this general term was a little too plain sounding and might not be impressive enough for the unlettered so “Anthropogenic Climate Change” was been the “in” term. It simply means “man-made” but does have the ring of expert science to it.

The media was assured by experts in 2008 that both Miami and New York City could be underwater by 2015. “Science” accepted by the popular media tells us that it is acceptable for “transgenders” to be on the same sports field with those players who have blindly accepted the sex assigned them by nature.

For those of us who have to live and survive in the real world “following the science” consists of knowing and considering all of the provable information that we can have on any one subject. In the practical sense, a model is little more than a prediction based on whatever information is used. The information may be complete – or not. In most cases, it is not since it is very hard to know everything about anything (was that too tangled a phrase?). That is especially true with a developing situation. It may well be ever-changing. That is certainly true today.

It is also true that the decisions of a society have more than one dimension. Always. Therefore, any expert in any one field cannot have the complete answer to the question. Experts are for consultation. They advise the decision-makers. It is always wise to consult more than one “expert.” The odds of any one of them being completely right are very small – if not zero.

It was wisely decided long ago that this was to be a society, a nation, which would not be ruled by self-appointed experts or their models. All may have contributions to make in the decisions made. But we have leaders chosen by the people, answerable to the people, who have that terrible responsibility.

In my mostly unsophisticated (and wandering) mind, I wondered what it would have looked like if those disgruntled colonists of 1775 would have consulted the experts about the wisdom of facing up to the most developed military power of the age over some infractions of personal rights. What if their model had shown several long years of war, of periods of literally brother against brother and son against father, of death and struggle, of gut-wrenching decisions, of lost fortunes and of the trials of forming a government the likes of which had never appeared on the earth before? How many would have continued on the path which led past Lexington to Yorktown to a Constitution which truly is a “shining city on the hill” for the rest of the world?

Those disgruntled colonists first defined their purpose. They knew tribulations were to come. They just didn’t know exactly what they would be. Decisions don’t rely solely on data. They must first rely on direction and purpose. Data is not to be ignored. It is to be considered. But it is not the key to who you are. Or what you aspire to be.

One of the great tools of tyranny has always been unreasoned panic. It can cause a person, a group, or even a nation to forget purpose while grasping for momentary and imagined safety, while it is purpose which actually makes them worthwhile as either a person or a nation.

These are a few of the varied directions of my reflections for the last few days as I work to put a more understandable finish on them. But I do know that regardless of what decisions we make as individuals or as a nation if we leave behind our called purpose, we have lost far more than lives.

I also understand that panic and fear without reflection have caused some to favor closing churches while opening jails in the name of our momentary safety. That in itself is enough to cause us pause. Sometimes a good, deep breath and some clarity of purpose are the beginning of the best model.

There are some who believe there are strong bloodlines that will always show themselves and their qualities when the test is put to the individuals carrying them. That goes for both critters and people.

Harry Vold began making his way in life as an auctioneer in his native Alberta, like his father. But also like his father, he was a sure-enough cowboy who traded in livestock as well. He especially liked trading in bucking horses in a time when there were plenty of spoiled saddled horses around. He more or less drifted into supplying such animals to rodeos and developed a keen eye for finding bulls that would both buck and fight.

By 1967, he had begun his second career as a rodeo producer and had moved south of the Medicine Line to southern Colorado. In 1970 he formally launched the Harry Vold Rodeo Co. which became the standard for the next few decades. Vold was one of the very first to raise his own bucking stock. In those days it was considered easy to search the country for spoiled horses and cross-bred bulls with an edge on them. But Vold waved off the advice of the great Harry Knight and began his own breeding program. He believed in breeding “the best to the best” and the bucking horses he produced are legends beginning with the great General Custer who produced a line with five different “Bucking Horses of the Year” to its credit. Later, there was a string of years when a Vold horse won the honor for six straight years. Crooked Nose was not only his first Bucking Bull of the Year but was a notorious fighter as well. Harry Vold was named the PRCA’s Rodeo Producer of the Year a record 11 times.

Mr. Vold preferred a handshake and straight look in the eye to a contract and often supplied most of the biggest rodeos in the country on that basis. He had a big laugh and when you got the full smile you could see the gap where a tooth was missing half way around on the top left. It was Bob Tallman who first called him the “Duke of the Chutes” because he was always around the bucking chutes controlling things. And he was about as close as one could get to a real-life John Wayne.

Mr. Vold came to mind when I came across another one of those iconic black-and-white rodeo pictures. I know I have already written one time about my favorite old-time picture but this could certainly be a candidate. I honestly don’t remember the year. But it was either 1971 or ’72. I have slept since then but still have the details of the story trapped in the back of the mind. It was in Ellensburg, WA, and the bucking horse was a mare out of British Columbia they called Paper Doll. The bareback rider was Larry Mahan who already had five All-Around Championships to his name. He would earn another but his right leg would have to heal first.

The most common quick description of a bareback rigging is that of a suitcase handle. But it is actually nothing like that in my altered mind. To begin with, it certainly doesn’t pivot. It is locked solidly in place. It is hard and the leather is much more like sole leather but more inflexible. It is wide at the top of the grip but narrows to a point at the end nearest the rider. And there is a twist to it near that end. If it is made right the hand almost has to be worked into it. Both the “handle” and the glove will be heavily rosined to tighten the grip.

Mahan “hung up” on Paper Doll that day. The two pick-up men were the Vold sons, Wayne and Doug. Wayne rode in on the left side and was able to reach Mahan’s hand with his own right hand. But as the mare ran and buck down the arena with Larry hanging on her left side, Wayne was unable to work the hand loose. In the picture above, that is Dougie Vold leaving his own horse on the other side to finally work the rider’s hand out of the rigging at full speed.

Larry Mahan came away with a broken leg and would have to wait for another year to claim his next All-Around. But he also left with his life due to a pair of pretty good cowboys with a championship bloodline of their own.

I should also give a hat-tip to John P. Foster, the photographer who stood his ground during the wreck and took the shot.

It was my intention to just give Wayne and especially Doug their due. But it will be hard to close without giving my favorite Harry Vold story and it happens in a simple sorting pen and not a rodeo arena. So I will measure out another two fingers and try to remember it right!

It was Christmas Day and Mr. Vold’s daughter and her husband had driven down to take dinner with her parents. When the couple arrived, Bill Larsen (the son-in-law) was advised that before there was any visiting they would all get horseback and gather the cow herd in the next pasture. Mr. Vold wanted to sort out some dry cows to sell because the price was high and there were a few who would soon be on the decline. It was snowing and the wind was blowing (no surprise for southern Colorado). According to Larsen, the cows “gathered kinda like antelope,” which meant hardly at all.

But they finally got the cows penned and the women went to the house to put the finish on the holiday dinner. Mr. Vold positioned himself on the top rail of the fence to tell Bill which cows to sort out and give him fair warning about some of them. “Keep about four cows between you and that old yellow cow. She’s Crooked Nose’s mother and will sure get you.”

The snow was falling a little harder and the temperature had dropped about 10 degrees but the sort was finally finished and there were about 15 dry cows left in a smaller pen to themselves. They were all without calves and probably only had a few producing years left.

Larsen walked around to the outside to join Mr. Vold. The veteran rodeo producer moved over to the fence, put his hands on the top rail and looked over the bunch. After a long, thoughtful look the Duke gave an upward nod of the head with, “Where could you look over a set of cows like that? Hell, turn ’em out.”

With the cows trotting back to the high plains prairie grass they belonged on, the two men headed to the house for Christmas dinner.

One of the few men who truly was a legend in his own time, the 93-year-old Harry Vold passed away in his sleep in 2017. But he left behind some strong bloodlines as evidenced in some bone-jarring bucking horses, some gut-twisting bulls and some pretty good human critters who are worthy of his name.

Mitt Romney has been able to make himself feel relevant again, for a fleeting moment, to the class that really matters to him. The major media network NBC, its baby sister known as MSNBC, as well as CNN have all declared him a “profile in courage”. All those who hate the existence of Donald Trump, because he has proven to actually be relevant, are allowing Romney another five minutes or so of self-delusion before he will again fade back into their midst. When tested his conservatism wasn’t that severe after all.

We all want to feel relevant to those that matter most to us. Sometimes the key to our inner peace is the honest definition of what they are. And yes, they can change depending on our rate of maturity or insight.

Yesterday, February 5, 2020, was not the first time we have seen Romney buckle when faced with being an outcast from the class where he feels the warmest. It came in front of us all in a televised debate. He allowed himself to be cowed by a biased “journalist” whose name we can barely recall from pressing the very relevant point that the Obama administration had willfully abandoned Americans to die in a foreign land.

I still waver back and forth about the relationship between the so-called modern progressive Democrat Party and the bulk of the media. The only question is which one is really pulling the wagon and which one is holding the reins. But they both belong to the same class, the political class. The media, those who “serve” throughout the administrative state, those who chase elective office and those who find it warm and safe to thoughtfully stroke their chins while being pundits to others who thoughtfully nod are all in the same class. One can have a safe membership in this class if they understand their place. Far too many of what I have come to call “professional conservatives” cherish that membership.

While some can make an honest argument about parts of Donald Trump’s persona, his real sin has been that he has challenged the relevance of these class members, and he has exposed it.

They consider Trump a class apart. And so does he.

Romney did not hesitate to court Trump for the position of Secretary of State. A simple “search” can find the picture of them having dinner together as the former candidate graciously offered to help guide the successful candidate through the forests of foreign policy, perhaps adding a needed touch of professionalism to this peasant uprising.

But his offer was rejected. And somewhere in all of this Donald Trump was “classless” enough to point out that Romney himself had lost a race that was winnable. But that would have required him tearing up his membership card.

Despite turning into a Never-Trumper after the rejection, Romney again did not hesitate to ask for the president’s endorsement in the 2018 Senate race in Utah. That is the Utah he had just recently moved to where there was an empty seat. President Trump endorsed him and was rewarded with an immediate flip by Romney back to Never-Trumper status.

Mitt’s feelings might not have been that different from those of his father from whom the younger Romney inherited his class membership card. George Romney must not have been too comfortable with having a B actor from Hollywood invading the realm. He, like most of the “establishment” GOP, undercut him whenever possible.

Reagan was relevant. There were real outcomes from his conservatism. But because of that he could never be fully accepted by the political class.

Donald Trump is relevant. Things actually change and move. And all that change and movement makes it oh-so apparent how really irrelevant the professional pundits and political class “conservatives” have been – for decades.

All that change and movement are also poison to another division of that political class, the dominate one. It is what I have come to call the Saul Alinsky members. They have had their way for some time now. The America of today is distinctly different from the America of 1900 because of them. There are times when the ball moves more slowly than others but they know that the compliant members from the lower “conservative” division will not risk their status by actually changing the entire course. This division is panicked by a serious change of direction and real outcomes. The more outcomes, the more desperate they are.

But these Alinskites are even more desperate because they now have a serious challenge from an even more overtly radical division. Their rise makes the issue of re-electing Donald Trump even more important for those intent on preserving the principles and vision of the Founding.

In the final analysis, all members of the political class have a real problem with the relevance of the agenda that the peasants were finally able to move forward by voting for an impolite outsider. That agenda had been either ignored or slow-walked by all certified (or is that certifiable?) members of the political class which pushed the grass-roots Tea Party to the corner. It is that agenda they hate most of all.

Romney’s vote was against that agenda and against the Constitution which protects it. That vote will get him a pat on the back from the Georgetown crowd and a brief clap from a media that would gladly turn on him in a second. But it is the relevance of that agenda that has to survive for the sake of that Constitution.