They were, as it happened, cousins. Two rawboned, lean-bodied young men, one of them twenty-one, the other a year or two older.
As I had been a stranger in other towns before this, I knew no one could get anywhere by whipping a local boy, and the best thing to do was to leave. I said as much to Red, one of the cowboys.
He asked me if I could ride, as they had horses and were heading south. At the moment almost any direction looked good, so I joined them.
That night before a campfire we discussed the events of the morning, and Red commented, "We never get into fights."
"You're lucky," I agreed.
"It isn't luck," his cousin suggested, "it's our family. There's thirteen boys in his family and sixteen in mine. If they tackle any one of us they'll have to whip us all."
In the rough years that followed, I often remembered that.
West of Yuma, Arizona a few years later I had occasion to look for and find a desert water hole (if you dug out two barrels of sand) called Sackett's Well. Arthur Woodward, in his excellent notes to The Journal of Lt. Thomas Sweeny, 1846-1855 says the wells were named for Russell Sackett, a stationkeeper on a stageline. I believe this to be a mistake. The wells were named for Lt. Delos B. Sackett who discovered the water hole in time to save the expedition's mules.
That was my introduction to the Sackett name. Crudely lettered on an old piece of board were the words: SACKETT'S WELL. A few years later I stopped by again but the sign was gone, carried off by some thoughtless souvenir hunter or used to start a fire.
It was from Sackett's Well I got the name, and from the two cowboy cousins, whose family came from the Appalachians, that I got the idea. A lot of wandering, hard work, and World War II intervened before I wrote the first of the Sackett stories, which was THE DAYBREAKERS.
Much of American history has been the story of families moving westward, and after I had written THE DAYBREAKERS, I decided to tell the story of the opening of a continent as seen through the eyes of three families, the Sacketts, Chantrys, and Talons.
Historians as a rule follow the main lines of history--the wars, the politics, the rise and fall of empires--yet the true history is that of the people themselves: where they lived, their ways of making a living, their inventions, discoveries, problem-solving, business dealings, and their relations with each other.
The curious involvement of families with each other has always intrigued me. When one is constantly researching, certain family names recur again and again. Shortly after my wife and I were married, I was glancing over some of her family history and it immediately became apparent that our families must have known each other at several times in the past. If such was the case with our families, it must have happened often.
Samuel Maverick, one of the first half-dozen settlers on the site of what is now Boston, and a minor character in my book THE WARRIOR'S PATH, was an ancestor to the Maverick whose name was given to unbranded calves in Texas. Two members of my own family had occasion to meet Tench Tilghman, aide to General George Washington in the Revolutionary War, and about one hundred and fifty years later Bill Tilghman, frontier marshal at Dodge City and in Oklahoma, showed me how a six-shooter should be used.
There is, of course, no end to the number of such chance meetings, each a part of a thread woven into the tapestry of history. We are all much more closely connected than is generally assumed and a good genealogist can demonstrate that everybody is related, in one way or another, with everybody else.
In the stories of the Sacketts, Chantrys, and Talons, which will eventually become one story, there are casual meetings between the families. Occasionally they will be associated in business, feud, or war, and sometimes a character friendly with one family will appear in the history of another. Or perhaps they will have dealings with the same enemies.
Over a period of nearly four hundred years a family can have many relationships with other families, and with these intermarriages will come many family traditions and memories.
History and historical fiction have most often related the stories of kings, nobles, presidents, and generals. They have dealt, until recently, largely with wars and politics, or with exploration of the land through stories that have survived. But what of the countless other, largely unrecorded explorations and discoveries? What of the many seafaring men and explorers who could not write, so left no written accounts of their ventures? What of the many who went out and did not return? What of the many who are known but are ignored by history?
What we must always remember when reading history is that we can never have more than a small part of the story, and it is a story often told in highlights. The story of a party of French people from Illinois who traveled west before Lewis and Clark and went to live in Idaho and Washington, is almost unknown, and only a little more is known of several explorers who supplied Lewis and Clark with maps and information.
Many of the names of the first men who went west are unknown. In some of my stories I have tried to let my readers know that others were there, and something of how they reached the western mountains and what they did there.
History has to follow main lines or the story would never be told. The average historian cannot afford the time to explore the bypaths or follow trails that had no recognizable influence upon subsequent events.
My stories are history of a kind. The difference is that I write of the nameless ones, and when they have left no stories I write what must have been, what could have been, using knowledge of the country itself, how it was traveled, how many people lived by hunting and gathering, and what their relationships might have been with the Indians and others.
Yet my stories or any others, as well as history itself, must always be read with the understanding that we know only a small part of the whole picture.
There are many indications that others were here before us, yet as the scattered clues indicate no pattern that fits into known events, they are ignored.
THE DAYBREAKERS was the first of the Sackett stories to be written, and was largely the story of Orrin and Tyrel Sackett who came west after the Civil War to try to find a new home for their mother and their family. What happened to them was simply what was happening to many people; their involvement and their reactions to events was due to their personalities and character.
Growing up in the mountains of Tennessee and North Carolina, the Sacketts were accustomed to farming their few acres, hunting and gathering food from the forests around them. They were also accustomed to feuding and fighting, and had just ended a long-running feud with the Higgins family, whose menfolks were rugged as the Sacketts themselves, although the Sacketts edged them somewhat when it came to rifle shooting.
Hard work was a way of life for them and they understood nothing else, so when they hired on with the first cattle drive they ever saw they were no strangers to long hours and short rations. What else was needed they soon learned, and when trouble came they were prepared for it. They'd served their apprenticeship in a rough school.
Later, when they became involved in a land grant fight, they were equally at home.
These were things happening at the time. Nothing was dragged in for effect, nothing manufactured. It was all there waiting for them, and what they did was just what many others were doing, except that their early life had prepared them well. The Sacketts were, like most of the mountain people, simple, God-fearing folk who attended meetin' on a Sunday and went to "sings" to compete with singing of songs, and accompanying themselves on the fiddle, the dulcimer, or whatever instrument was handy. The men attended barn-raisings and turkey-shoots, the women went to quilting bees, and the like. Those who favored strong drink could find stills a-plenty making moonshine of quality.
Boys in the mountains of those days all went to church, even if they were not religious. And many were not, so they went because that was the place to meet the girls. Most of what they knew of sinning they learned from preachers who told them about it; where else would you hear such stories, even with fire
and brimstone added?
When mountain boys got right down to Hell-bent-for-Georgia sinning, they found it right disappointing, compared to what the preachers had been telling them.
What happens in my stories is what was happening in reality. My method of telling such tales is simple: I place my characters in an existing situation and let it happen to them.
No man can be judged except against the background of his own time. The standards of yesterday are not the standards of today, and the circumstances of daily life were vastly different. Before one attempts to render judgment, one should consider the world in which the man existed, and the customs of the time and the place.
The men who came west following the Civil War were accustomed to weapons. Most were veterans of that war on one side or another, and many who had not been active participants in the war had been active resisting attacks by guerrillas, outlaws, or Indians.
Such men did not hesitate to use weapons to defend their lives or property. The law, when it existed, was often many miles away. So if cattle or horses were stolen it was easier to pursue and recover, if possible, than to take the time to call the law. By the time a man had ridden to town, the cattle could be miles away and beyond the jurisdiction of local law or hope of recovery. Moreover, in many areas a man was expected to handle such problems himself, until about 1890 or later.
The pistol was the accepted way to settle disputes in the West, but not only in the West. Those were the last days of the Code Duello, when gentlemen settled their disputes by personal combat. It was considered a matter of honor to respond when challenged, not only in the West but over much of the world.
For many years it was believed that the outcome of a duel was the judgment of God, hence trial by combat was accepted as just and right. Even a king could be challenged but as it was not considered wise, for the good of the state, that he risk his life, each king had a champion, a noted fighting man, who would respond on his behalf.
A century before the gunfighting days in the American West, an English diplomat at the court of France commented that he did not know even one man about the court who had not killed his man in a duel.
At the time of Louis XIII the Chevalier d'Andrieux was reputed to have killed seventy-four men in duels, and no western gunfighter ever reached such a total, although Alexander McClung is said to have killed almost as many. McClung was a former attorney turned riverboat gambler.
Our American Navy of the period encompassing the War of 1812 and the fights with the Barbary pirates had as many gunfighters and duellists as ever came out of Texas. Stephen Decatur was one of the best known.
Andrew Jackson, before he became president of the United States, participated in a number of duels in one capacity or another, but killed only one man, Charles Dickinson.
Jackson was defending the honor of his wife, and both men were noted pistol shots. Dickinson fired first and Jackson was seen to waver. He then returned the fire and killed Dickinson. Not until Dickinson fell was it noticed that Jackson was bleeding badly. Dickinson's bullet had broken three ribs, inflicting a severe chest wound.
Where most men carried weapons, it was natural that some would prove more skillful than others. When a fight ensued, he who was most skillful, better coordinated, and coolest usually won. By the time he had won several such fights, he had the reputation of being a gunfighter, whether he wanted it or not. Among those who became known as gunfighters were doctors, lawyers, and cattlemen, as well as gamblers and cowboys (the latter but rarely), and men from all walks of life.
Temple Houston was a lawyer, Doc Holliday a dentist, John Slaughter a cattleman, and Buckskin Frank Leslie a bartender.
For every known gunfighter there were a dozen just as capable who did not become famous for one reason or another. Ninety percent of Wyatt Earp's reputation is due to his biographer, Stuart Lake. Without a doubt Wyatt's brother Virgil was as good with a gun and had a longer career as an officer of the law. Wild Bill Hickok, a known and respected man in his time, owed much of his later notoriety to a story written by George Ward Nichols who came west looking for sensationalism. Nichols credited Hickok with saying he had killed a hundred men. Those who knew Hickok doubted he ever made such a remark, and if he did he was undoubtedly referring to those killed during the war when he was, for a time, a sharpshooter.
Most of the famous gunfighters were peace officers, with-- when all is considered--remarkably few shootings in line of duty. Most of them were fully aware there were men in the town or the surrounding country who were as good with a gun as they were. Men who survived Gettysburg, Shiloh, and the battles in the Wilderness not only possessed weapons but were prepared to use them if necessary. Such men as Hickok, Tilghman, and the Earps walked the streets so storekeepers, bankers, and cattle buyers could carry on their lives in peace.
A fact too little understood is that in the decade of the 1860s as well as just before and after, moral and social standards were vastly different than now. A large percentage of those who lived on the frontier attended church regularly, and a person who did not had little place in the community, and small chance of success in business.
Women did not drink in public and only a few drank in private. It simply was not done. In the East a woman might have wine at a formal dinner. Anything else was frowned upon.
Juvenile problems were, for the most part, almost nonexistent, as a boy simply could not wait to become a man and be accepted as such. He sought approbation not from his peers but from adults. Boyhood ended at thirteen or fourteen, and from that time on a boy was apt to be doing a man's work and drawing a man's wages.
What made the difference then, as now, was the boy's willingness to accept responsibility. Few allowances were made for youth. If you were working with men you were expected to do a man's share of the work. If you did not, it placed an added burden on those who worked with you. However, almost any range hand was willing to show a new boy or man the ropes, and guide him during his first weeks on the job.
An example of a boyhood in the West is that of Buffalo Bill Cody. By the time he was twelve Cody was carrying messages from one train of wagon freighters to another, riding long distances on horseback and alone, and in Indian country. He was in his first Indian fight at about that time, when one of the wagon trains was attacked while he was present. Often remembered only as a showman, Cody had done it all, from riding for the Pony Express to buffalo hunting, scouting for the Army to working as a guide.
Buffalo Bill Cody was one of those who, though never considered a gunfighter, could have coped with the best of them. Another was Major Frank North, commander of the Pawnee Scouts. In target shooting North out-shot Hickok on several occasions and was accredited as one of the best. His brother, Luke North, was nearly as good.
The western frontier was a place of hard work and hardship, and as far as the range was concerned it was a case of first come, first served, if you could hold what you claimed. Unhappily, the story of the West has often been badly told by those who simply did not know or did not care. Recently a failed film, Heaven's Gate, told the story of western ranchers riding roughshod over some poor Russian immigrants in what they called the Johnson County War.
The actual Johnson County War was a fight waged between the big cattlemen and nesters, and there were no Russian immigrants anywhere around. The men involved on both sides were of Anglo-Saxon and Irish origin.
The simple truth of the war was that the big cattlemen imported something more than fifty hired gunmen to come into the state of Wyoming to murder eighty or more nesters or so-called rustlers. An armed body of citizens surrounded them, and was on the verge of wiping them out but for the intervention of the United States Army, who escorted the invaders back to Cheyenne, from which place they faded into the sunset. Due to the influence of those involved, there was no prosecution of any of the invaders, despite the fact that they murdered Nate Champion and Nick Ray.
Often the motion picture maker has neither respect for nor knowledge of history, an
d they believe their audience is the same. The Nate Champion who was killed after a daylong siege, and who was the man the cattlemen most wanted to kill, appears in the movie as one of the killers! The Russian immigrants were a product of the producer's imagination.
The sort of men and women it took to open the West were the kind of whom stories are told. Strongly individual, willing to risk all they possessed as well as their lives, they were also prepared to fight for what they believed was theirs. Right or wrong, they had both strength and character, and about such people stories gather.
The land was crossed and recrossed by explorers, fur traders, and trappers, as well as prospectors for gold and silver who often left nothing behind but fading footprints. Those who came later tried to dig in and stay. They built homes on range land or government claims, they established towns, schools and hospitals, and later raised grain enough to feed half the world.
There were blizzards and dust storms, crops were destroyed by hail or by clouds of hungry grasshoppers, but the pioneers survived. Often the ownership of cattle or land was disputed at gunpoint. From all of this are stories born. But there is no way the fiction writer with all his imagination can surpass the truth.
the Sackett Companion (1992) Page 2
