The
Legend of Will James, Cowboy Extraordinaire by Elizabeth Clements
I first learned about this amazing
cowboy and gifted artist from a gentleman in our local historical society. A
few years ago during our annual exhibition and stampede, Alan Jensen had a huge
collection of his Will James memorabilia on display in a cabin at our pioneer
village. A big fan, Alan, at the drop of a hat, could talk enthusiastically for hours about Will James.
As I gazed at the newspaper articles, art work and books, I couldn’t believe I
had missed reading this author’s stories. As a child, I had reread the Black
Stallion series numerous times as well as any other books about horses, so how
could I have not read Will’s most famous book, Smoky the Cowhorse
and all the amazing illustrations in it? So, let me go back to when it all
began….
I can’t say for certain what
prompted James to drift to Montana and eventually Nevada. There is conflicting research.
One source suggests he may have shot someone in a barroom brawl and fled south to
Montana while another source states he ran from the law for cattle rustling either
before or after he headed for Montana. The cowboy life is a hard life with
little pay. A little cattle rustling and rebranding provides quick cash. In
1914 James and a friend came across an untended herd of cattle in Nevada. He
and his partner herded them to the train for shipment to the stockyards. James stayed
behind, waiting for his partner to return with the money. Obviously, something
went wrong because James was arrested and convicted for cattle rustling. He was
sentenced and imprisoned in the penitentiary at Ely, Nevada.
Out
of boredom and missing the freedom of the cowboy life, he sketched pictures of
broncos on paper and when that wasn’t available, drew on the white-washed walls
of his cell, stimulated by his ranching experiences. He gave some of his
drawings to the prison guards. Perhaps that’s how they became published in The
Ely Record with this statement: "with proper
training he would soon be able to do first class work." When Will
spent the rest of his imprisonment in Carson City, he became serious about
working on his drawing skills. As part of his parole application, he made a
sketch entitled A Turning Point, with the note: "Have
had ample time for serious thought and it is my ambition to follow up on my
art." Upon his release, he dreamed of a new life as an artist and the
legend of William Robert James began.
“According to cowboy and
folksinger Ian Tyson,
James traveled to San Francisco to sell sketches and began working as a
stuntman in western movies there.” Will James served in the U.S. army from 1918
to 1919 and after his discharge, was determined to further his artistic career.
He returned to Nevada in time for the First Annual Nevada Round-Up in Reno and
got a job as a horse wrangler for the round-up. He also illustrated the program
cover and was paid $50. He reconnected with two pre-war friends and performed
in their “broncobusting” exhibitions. During one such
performance, James was thrown and seriously injured. He spent his recovery time
at his friend’s ranch where he met Conradt’s fifteen-year-old sister, Alice.
Impressed with his drawings, she encouraged James to pursue a career in art.
After his recovery, James moved to
San Francisco and enrolled in evening art classes at the California School of
Fine Arts while earning income during the day taking theater tickets. Through a
friend’s connections, James sold a couple of sketches, along with text, to Sunset
magazine. The following year, James went back to Reno and married 16-year-old
Alice. After a couple of moves, they settled near an artists’ colony in Santa
Fe, New Mexico. There, he befriended several ranchers who were instrumental in
getting James enrolled in Yale University; they even supported James
financially. It was not a good fit for James, who loved and missed the wide
open spaces of Nevada. After his cowboy sketches were rejected by Life
Magazine, the couple left New York and returned to Nevada. They lived in a
cabin built by Alice’s father and there he began to seriously write for
publication.
At last success turned in James
direction in late 1922 when his article on horse bucking was bought by Scribner’s
Magazine for $300. The editor, Max
Perkins, liked the “authentic American vernacular” (likened to western
Texas). He published James first story: Bucking Horses and Bucking
Horse Riders, complete with James’ illustrations. His editor requested
and bought more short stories and books, giving James the finances to finally
buy a small ranch in Nevada where he continued to write. His most famous book, Smoky
the Cowhorse, was published in 1926 and
the next year it won the Newbery Medal for children’s literature.
With growing fame and fortune, there
also came questions. People wanted to know more about Will James. Since coming
to Montana, he had made up a new name and a life for himself that did not
include his origins. He wrote to his parents not to reveal his true identity,
denying his father the privilege of bragging about his famous son. Even though
he irregularly sent money home, guilt ate at his conscience. Thus, sadly, his
road to alcoholism probably began in earnest.
To satisfy the curiosity of his clamoring
fans, James wrote Lone Cowboy, a fictionalized autobiography, in
1930. He fabricated that his father was a Texan and his mother was from
California and that they moved to Montana where he was born. He wrote that his mother died of influenza when he was a baby and three years later,
his father was gored by a steer, leaving Will an orphan. Will claimed he was
adopted by “Jean" Beaupré, a
French-Canadian fur trapper whom he called "Bopy". No doubt he used Bopy
to explain why he spoke English with an accent. (He had worked very hard at adopting an American
jargon likened to cowboy slang.
Lone
Cowboy became a bestselling Book-of-the-Month
selection. Only twenty years after his death did the real truth about Will
become revealed in a biography written by Anthony Amaral. Yet, despite Will’s autobiographical fabrications,
the popularity of his books never waned and his creative gift lives on in his
books. A search on the internet will give you a list of all his books and the
movies adapted from his books.
Will
James is a legend in Nevada as one of their most famous cowboys. His depiction
of wild broncos and their riders is often compared with Will’s hero, Charlie
Russell. Will drew in black and white whereas Charlie Russell’s work was painted
in oils. Ian Tyson also wrote a song about Charlie Russell titled: The
Gift. Whenever I listen to that
song and see Russell’s paintings, I get a little misty. Ian
Tyson The Gift - YouTube
Spanning
over two decades, James had written and illustrated 23 books, 20 of them
published by Scribner Publishing House. Five books were made into feature
films. There were several adaptations of Smoky the Cowhorse—the 1933
version included Will James himself, as the narrator. This classic remains in print all these years
since and is available on Amazon.
In
1988, the Canadian
National Film Board sponsored
a 83-minute biography, Alias Will James, to commemorate his
life and legacy. https://www.nfb.ca/film/alias_will_james_en/ “This feature-length documentary tells the
incredible story of Ernest Dufault, a.k.a. Will James, a French-Canadian man
who became one of the most legendary cowboys of the American West. For over 30
years, as he went from cattle rustler to ex-convict, he managed to keep his
secret. And when he took up the pen, he became a Hollywood legend.”
I highly recommend
you watch this documentary as the interviews and footage gives you so much more
insight into the life and legend of Will James than I can possibly relate here
in this short blog. Ian Tyson, the singer and songwriter I wrote about in my
December blog, is interviewed in the documentary, which includes the musical
score Ian wrote and sings in tribute to James, his hero: The
Man They Called Will James. Some of the documentary was filmed on Tyson’s
scenic ranch in the Alberta foothills near Calgary. Will James was his
inspiration. Tyson’s father gave him many books, but the books by Will James
were his favorites and hold a special place on his bookcase at his ranch.
I
can’t help but think of the parallels between Will James and Ian Tyson’s lives.
Just like Will, Ian was an avid reader, fascinated at a very young age with tales
of cowboys and horses when he read the books Will James had written and
illustrated. Ian, too, had left home at age 15 to take up the cowboy life (in
Alberta), was active in the rodeo circuit and later studied art in California before
switching to songwriting. Gathered around the campfire after a hard day in the
saddle, James’s creative mind entertained the cowboys, spinning yarns he made
up, thus earning him the nickname, Windy Bill. On the other hand, Ian
Tyson had the gift of putting stories to music, just as entertaining. In their
early days on the rodeo circuit, the two hard-drinking cowboys also earned the reputation
of being womanizers. And they both ended up famous, owning a ranch, and living
the cowboy way. No wonder Ian participated in the documentary.
Will
James was inducted into the Nevada Writers Hall of Fame in 1991. In 1992, on
the hundredth anniversary of his birth, Will James was inducted into the Hall of
Great Westerners of
the National Cowboy and Western Heritage Museum in
1992. The Yellowstone
Art Museum in Billings, Montana,
has preserved the largest public collection of James' writings, artwork, and
personal effects.
Excerpt: Beneath
A Horse Thief Moon
Someone’s
behind me.
Chase Reynolds dipped his head to block the
campfire with his hat brim while inching his hands toward his holsters. Better to die fighting than be shot in the
back by a yellow-bellied bushwhacker.
“Touch ’em and yer dead,” snarled a guttural
voice.
Chase froze. He risked a glance over his
shoulder. Moonlight outlined a rifle aimed at his back. Teeth clenched, Chase
raised his hands.
“Git
up.”
Chase rose slowly, turned and took satisfaction
in towering over the bastard, who scooted back three steps. So much for knocking away his rifle.
But I
still have my knife stashed in my boot.
A floppy hat shadowed the man’s face. Kinda
puny, yet the menace in his voice was as real as the aim of his rifle. Light on
his feet and good enough to sneak past his horse without Blaze snorting a
warning. Could this man be a member of
Billy Cranston's gang? The fact he hadn't been already killed gave Chase
hope. And if I get real lucky, I might
even be taken to your hideout. Alive.
First, he had to be sure. “What brand do you
ride for?”
“Shuddup.”
You’re
an outlaw, all right. No name, no trail.
“Drop yer guns.”
Chase hated giving up his Colts. Felt naked
without them. “Trust me, I won't try to shoot.”
“Do it.”
Grimly, Chase unbuckled his gun belt and slid
it to the ground. You’re not gonna shoot
me. Yet. So, what the hell are you up to? “Butch Cassidy's got his eye on a
payroll shipment into Billings next week. He needs some extra guns to rob the
train. You interested?”
The man went still. “Keep talkin’.”
Chase smiled inwardly. Good. This fool doesn’t know things got too hot for Butch and he’s
headed east.
“I gotta lie low till things cool off in
Montana,” he went on. “Butch says the Frank Jones gang is holed up here in the Cypress
Hills. Frank's looking for a quick gun. Can you take me to him?” With a little luck, you'll lead me straight
to Jones. Or better yet, Billy. Thieves tend to hang together.
“Why should I trust yuh?”
“Guess you're gonna have to trust me…like I
trust you.”
The man snorted and whistled. “Fang,” he called
out.
A wolf-like dog materialized from the darkness.
Firelight gleamed on its shaggy gray fur and glittered in its pale eyes. The
creature stopped in front of Chase and growled.
“Aptly named,” Chase muttered, his gaze riveted
on the animal's sharp teeth.
The outlaw jerked his rifle at the flames.
“Douse it.”
Warily, Chase bent and dumped his coffee pot.
The fire sizzled, sputtered, and died. A plume of acrid smoke spiraled into the
air, lighting a spark in the dry grass. The man stomped it into the ground. Interesting. Most outlaws wouldn’t give a
damn.
“Call yer horse.” The outlaw picked up Chase's
gun belt.
Chase smiled grimly. Somehow, I’ll get my guns back. And I’ll get you, too.
If his hunch was right, he was close to
capturing Billy Cranston. Hell, the
reward alone for recovering the robbery will put Big Jake back on his feet.
Chase whistled. A few moments later his big
black trotted into view. The outlaw reached out and snagged the dragging reins,
all the while speaking in a soothing voice too low for Chase to make out.
Slowly, he extended his hand to the horse. Blaze snuffled the man's palm, then
with a little nudge, allowed his nose to be rubbed.
Chase’s eyebrows shot up. You damn traitor. No rations for you.
With careful movements, the man removed Chase's
rifle from its holder. He gestured with it. “Walk.”
Huh?
Why not shoot me and take Blaze? “What do
you want from me?”
“Shuddup. Walk.”
Sunburned grass whispered against his boots as Chase
was ordered north toward the stretch of dense forest the Blackfoot called
The-Thunder-Breeding-Hills. Full moonlight flooded this stretch of flat prairie
sparsely dotted with pines. In the distance spanning east and west, the dense forest
lurked, holding in its secrets. Any thought of making a run for it was hampered
by the mongrel padding so close that the heat from his breath fanned Chase's
leg. Nearby, an owl swooped from a cluster of pines and captured its prey in an
explosion of squeaks.
The outlaw was nobody's fool and kept back a
safe distance, holding onto the reins as Blaze plodded beside him, the
well-oiled saddle creaking rhythmically. His voice suited a bigger man and he
was clean, no stench of sweat on the breeze. Not your run-of-the-mill outlaw.
“Have you been with Jones long?” Chase said.
“Shuddup.”
Real
friendly, too.
They'd walked about fifty yards when the outlaw
let out a low whistle. A horse whinnied. Chase glanced back. A dark horse
emerged from a shallow gully screened by tall bushes. It trotted over and
nudged the man's shoulder. Speaking softly, the outlaw patted his mount's neck,
swung easily into the saddle and again pointed his rifle at Chase. “Mount. No
tricks.”
Cunning
bastard. Chase was glad he’d first stopped at the fort
to identify himself and state he was here to recapture Billy Cranston. The
major had mentioned there had been reports of ranchers missing cattle, but the
hilly area was too big and the border to Montana too close for the small
detachment to patrol. Chase had a strong hunch Billy was behind the rustling.
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https://www.amazon.com/Beneath-Horse-Thief-Moon-Prairie-Trilogy-ebook/dp/B07BHQNBDW/ref=as_li_ss_tl?
