Part Two: Underground Tunnels and Wolf Caves by Elizabeth Clements

 

Part Two: Underground Tunnels and Wolf Caves by Elizabeth Clements

Isn’t it interesting  what a chance encounter can lead to? Back in the 1990’s, a giant poster in a booth at the Medicine Hat Exhibition & Stampede drew my attention and the lonely-looking author seated at the table with a stack of her book. Most Stampede attendees are more interested in buying cowboy hats or candy floss than a book to carry around on the midway or while watching rodeo events. Being a writer myself, I had empathy for her, stopped to chat, and bought her book—One Hundred Years of Grasslands. It remains my favorite book of all my dozens of research books of Canadian history.

Marjorie Rohde Mason was born and raised on a ranch in the Grasslands region of southern Saskatchewan. The ranch has been in her family for over a hundred years and thus she had heard lots of stories passed down about the lawless days of horse-thieves and cattle rustlers in the Big Muddy badlands. The book is full of history and reminisces by pioneers of the area. One quote speaks volumes: “Most of the time, you could not tell the colour of the horses for mosquitos.” One chapter heading and photograph particularly intrigued me: wolf caves. I had to visit them.

Nineteen years ago we made that trip to celebrate the new millennium. The day following our tour of the Chinese tunnels in Moose Jaw (Part 1), we drove approximately 160 kilometers south to the hamlet of Coronach. As luck would have it, we were the only ones who’d booked a tour that day, so instead of being crammed in a passenger van with a dozen  tourists, we had the guide all to ourselves in the comfort of our van with her giving my husband directions. What a stroke of luck that was having her undivided attention! I took lots of pictures and notes, which I can’t find right now,  so I’m writing from nineteen-year-old memories, Marjorie’s book, and a little help from Google for pictures.

Many of the places our guide took us to were located on private land, under lock and key, accessible only through her. We wandered around a one-room schoolhouse where we saw old school desks,  a pot-bellied stove, lessons  written on the blackboard and breathed in the dusty air of the old building.  In my mind I heard the children’s voices reciting their lessons, imagined the teacher walking down the aisles checking their arithmetic, and glanced out the tall fly-specked windows at the two outhouses near the play area.

We visited an Indian burial site and ceremonial circles that were fenced off.  Two particularly interesting sites  displayed effigies of a large turtle and also a buffalo, each a pattern of carefully placed stones that have rested undisturbed for decades. “Dakota Siksika legends use turtles to represent wise and highly respected people. Buffalo were the “staff of life” for Indigenous people and this (buffalo) effigy is believed to be the only one in Canada if not North America.”

Then at last we left the main road and traveled along a gravel trail on private land to the old Giles ranch. I still remember the lonely, deserted feel of the weathered fence rails with no cattle or horses in sight, the heat blasting on my shoulders, and the stillness of the prairie with only the breeze whispering stories too low to hear. Our guide had keys to unlock the gate. I don’t recall a sign on the gate then, but apparently one exists now that warns “All trespassers will be given a fair trial and then hung.”  Friendly, eh?

We drove a little further, disembarked, and at last I gazed at the entrance to Sam Kelly’s caves. One cave was used by the outlaws and the other held their horses to keep them hidden from sight. The caves were originally occupied by wolves; outlaws enlarged them. (For the safety of modern-day tourists, the caves have been reinforced with wooden beams.) 

I ducked inside the bigger one used by the men and just stood there, eyes closed, and breathed in the cloying smell of dirt walls all around me. Imagined two outlaws hunched over a tiny fire, heating their coffee and beans while another outlaw kept watch above on the high bluff for any sign of the red-coated North West Mounted Police approaching. If so, he’d warn the others and they’d rush their stolen horses across the narrow gully and up the slope of Peake's Butte  and cross the International Boundary (49^th parallel) just a few yards away. There was also an escape tunnel in case the "Redcoats" were to close.

This memory was used in the third book of my trilogy: Beneath A Desperado Moon which will be published sometime next year by Prairie Rose Publications. Reliving these memories, I may just want to go back and revisit that cave <grin>.

This area of the Big Muddy was the first point of the Outlaw Trail, which was carefully organized well over a century ago by Butch Cassidy and  Kid Curry (whose real name was Harvey Logan). Patterned after the successful efficiency of the Pony Express before railroads made the Express obsolete, Butch had set up relay stations all along the route from Canada to New Mexico for the convenience of The Wild Bunch. Butch arranged to always have stations equipped with fresh horses, food, and protection. There were “friendly” American ranchers all along the border and down through the western states who willingly helped the outlaws by keeping fresh horses at the ready. For more information about the Outlaw Trail in the Big Muddy area, check out this link: https://www.coronach.ca/outlaw-trail.html

The discovery of gold in Montana enticed not only the gold-seekers but also the building of railroads to transport the ore—and ruthless outlaws who were happy to relieve them of their gold and money. The drought of 1883 caused tremendous cattle losses; the price of beef went down and many cowhands were let go accordingly. Unable to find work, many of them drifted into robbing banks and horse-stealing to survive. If you can buy or rent the movie, Monte Walsh played by Tom Selleck, here’s the trailer to give you a good idea of a cowboy’s life herding cattle: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0r0fBbTjEo8 .

The Wild Bunch outlaws were excellent horsemen and accomplished horse thieves. Although they were most noted for their bank and train robberies, one branch of the gang concentrated on stealing as many as 200 horses and driving them across the border, selling them, stealing them back and fleeing into Montana and North Dakota where they’d resell them again. The Nelson-Jones Gang, reportedly a part of The Wild Bunch, and Dutch Henry were known to do this quite successfully. 

In my book, Beneath A Horse-Thief Moon, the Billy Cranston Gang was inspired by the Nelson-Jones Gang that raided the border ranches, causing a lot of grief and hardship. Nelson was a tall, skinny red-haired, red-bearded man described as having sharp eyes as “cold as fish”.

In Montana, Nelson was known as a rustler and a killer and was never without a gun. One of the stories about him involved him boldly breaking a gang member, Trotter, and another prisoner out of a Montana jail in 1894. Seffick promptly joined the outlaws. Nelson’s gang created so much trouble that ranchers banded together and posted a $1500 reward each for Nelson and Carlyle, an ex-mountie turned outlaw, and lesser amounts for several other outlaws.

Charles "Red" Nelson (also known as Sam Kelly) eventually gave himself up in Plentywood, Montana, but due to insufficient evidence and because most shootings were considered self-defense, he was released. He (ironically) bought a ranch in the Big Muddy area and it was rumored he was periodically visited by former gang members. I love this little tidbit: “If the rain barrel was tipped a certain way it was a signal to visitors that it was not safe to be in the area.” He supposedly died in 1954.

Another outlaw in my novel is French Henri, whom I mentioned in my author’s notes as being patterned after Dutch Henry, an excellent horseman and bronc buster, but best known for being a horse thief in the Big Muddy area. After being kicked out of Dodge by Wyatt Earp, Dutch hooked up with a trail drive to Montana and proceeded to swindle his boss, eventually causing the man to go bankrupt. Dutch and his men would haze as many as 400 horses across the border, selling, re-stealing and reselling just like certain members of the Wild Bunch. His gang had some interesting names: Bloody Knife, Pigeon-Toed Kid, James McNab, Duffy, and Birch. With names like the first two, no wonder they were feared by the border ranchers.

There are conflicting accounts of Dutch Henry’s death. One story is that he was killed in Canada by the North West Mounted Police—twice! Another account says he was found dead in the Minnesota brush, yet a third report claims he was hanged in Mexico. Or did he marry and live peacefully in Minnesota until he died of a gunshot wound? This has stimulated some history buffs to play detective to solve the mystery. Check out this link for a little more history on Dutch Henry: https://www.coronach.ca/dutch-henry.html

The Big Muddy Badlands is an amazing narrow valley about a two hours’ drive south-west from Regina, Saskatchewan. It has amazing scenery, created by the Ice Age traveling through the area  millions of years ago and melt water creating all kinds of formations. Wind and rain also play a part in erosion of the cliffs and buttes. They also provide great hiding places for outlaw activity. On our last day we did some exploring on our own.

We traveled off the main roads onto a trail across the prairie to see Castle Butte, an amazing large sandstone and clay hill pockmarked with caves—perhaps wolf caves in the past?

It stands 200 feet high and is a one-quarter of a mile around the base. We didn’t climb it, but I saw all kinds of possibilities for this in a book. Apparently, some of the caves are narrow and deep so you take a risk exploring them. Years ago, when lost, people used the landmark to get their bearings again. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Big_Muddy_Badlands

On our way home to Alberta, we headed west toward Eastend, south of the Cypress Hills to visit a friend. Along the way near Wood Mountain, we came across a small North West Mounted Police Museum but sadly after the Labor Day weekend, it was open only on weekends so we couldn’t go inside. Perhaps we’ll see it on our next trip. The mounted police had a base at Wood Mountain and had their hands full with whiskey smugglers and outlaws whipping in from Montana, stealing cattle and horses and escaping across the border again and avoid prosecution. All they could hope was to catch them in the act in Canada and incarcerate them.

There are lots of interesting, historic places to visit in western Canada that give you glimpses of our pioneer days, the difficult task the police force had to control the whiskey trade, horse-stealing and cattle rustling. I could only touch on a bit of that history. I’m glad you came along for the brief outing.

Note: My computer was down because of a glitch since Wednesday, so my son came to my rescue tonight...thus because of this and not feeling well, I have re-posted a blog from a couple of years ago.

 
                                        www.elizabethclements.com

CHOCOLATE AND OTHER PLEASURES by Elizabeth Clements

 

 

CHOCOLATE AND OTHER PLEASURES   by Elizabeth Clements

     Have you ever leafed through a cookbook, searching for a new recipe, then stood in front of your pantry, frustrated at being short a few uncommon ingredients? So, back to the same old tried and true. And that’s when I mentally slap myself up the side of my head, reminding myself to be grateful that I am in the present day, not in the old west, heating up a can of beans over a small campfire. If I planned well, I might also have had some beef jerky and even a dried-up biscuit that I could wash down with strong, black coffee. Coffee was quite a staple in the old west, and even when consumed black, still tasted better than the warm, brackish water in the cowboy’s canteen.

Coffee can be traced back at least to the 15^th century. One legend attributes the discovery of coffee to a goat herder in Yemen. He noticed his goats being unusually frisky after eating berries from one of the trees. After consuming some of the beans, he, too, was energized. He brought the beans to his superiors at the monastery. The abbot boiled the berries and after consuming the drink, was alert for hours, even through evening prayers. He shared this discovery with the other monks and over the next two centuries, the benefits of coffee consumption was enjoyed throughout the middle East.

It was served in coffee houses where people socialized and enjoyed entertainment. These gahveh khaneh became such important gathering places and exchanges of information that they were often referred to as Schools of the Wise. Pilgrims to the holy city of Mecca talked of this wine of Araby when they returned home from their travels. Thus, the news spread even further.

By the 17th century, coffee arrived in Europe. When it reached Venice in 1615, not everyone welcomed the drink. The clergy demanded that Pope Clement VIII ban this bitter invention of Satan. Being a wise man, he tasted it first, liked it, and to the consternation of the clergy, gave coffee his papal approval.

            In England penny universities sprang up, so called because for the price of a penny one could purchase a cup of coffee and engage in stimulating conversation. Up until then, beer and wine were the prevalent breakfast drink, but gradually they were replaced by coffee when consumers realized they could function better without starting their day fuzzy-headed with alcohol.

As the popularity of coffee grew in London, savvy business owners brought coffee to America in the mid-1600’s. It had to compete with the preferred drink, tea, until King George III levied such high taxes on tea that the colonists revolted with the now famous Boston Tea Party.

The Dutch are credited for being the first to obtain coffee seedlings and growing them outside of Arabia, with increased success on the Island of Java. In 1714, the Mayor of Amsterdam gave a coffee plant seedling to King Louis XIV.  A few years later, Gabriel de Clieu stole a seedling from the King’s botanical garden and brought the coffee plant to Martinique. The seedling thrived and 50 years later there were over 18 million coffee trees on the island.

People from all walks of life brought coffee seeds with them in their travels and established plantations in new lands. By the end of the 18th century, coffee had become one of the world's most profitable export crops. After crude oil, coffee is the most sought commodity in the world.

            The other night I watched a movie that actually triggered the idea for this blog.  In one scene, poor, immigrant homesteaders were given an orange by a friendly neighbor. The orange passed from hand to hand, each person just caressing it and holding it to their nose.  Then the orange was carefully peeled, broken into sections, and two given to each person.

Oh, the joy and wonder on their faces as their tongue savored the juicy sweetness, probably for the very first time. It was slowly chewed, enjoyed with a reverence that squeezed my heart. (I love oranges best when they’ve been chilled straight from the fridge.) Yet, in the old west, fresh fruit was harder to come by, if at all, or too expensive for most pockets except the wealthy. This point was well made in another movie where even the shopkeeper couldn’t afford to eat the oranges he sold.

Here’s a short history about my favorite variety, the navel orange.These oranges are called Ambersweets. (Picture by Wikipedia)

In the 1850’s, in Brazil, a tree growing in a monastery garden was making very odd fruit. Inside each orange skin there was a large orange with no seeds. At the bottom of the orange were smaller sections that looked like a smaller squashed orange inside the same skin, which was really the bigger orange's twin. The little orange made a strange bump at the bottom of the orange skin, that looked just like a human navel or belly button. These oranges were named "Navel Oranges". They tasted very sweet, had no seeds and they peeled quite easily. This made them a very good orange to grow commercially. But they could not grow from seed. They could only grow from plant cuttings. Nowadays, thousands of these orange trees have been planted from cuttings. "Navel Oranges" are grown in California and exported to many countries of the world. Every navel orange in the world has the same genetic make up as the oranges on that tree in the monastery in Brazil.

I remember in Grade Five history class reading how the sailors, spending weeks on the ocean, suffered from scurvy for lack of fresh fruit. The water in those oak barrels must have become quite disgusting with time. Perhaps that’s why so many sailors drank rum to help offset the taste. Just like in westerns, the men ask for whiskey, never water, when they belly up to the bar.

Talking about sailors triggers thoughts of explorers of the high seas.  Thanks to them mistakenly sailing west in search of spices, silver and gold, explorers discovered America and introduced a new rage to Europe in the early 1500’s: hot chocolate.

There is some confusion by historians over who first introduced chocolate to Europe. Some credit Christopher Columbus of having intercepted a trade ship and brought cacao beans to Spain in 1502. Others say it was Hernán Cortés who met with an Aztec emperor and was served a bitter ceremonial brew made from cacao seeds.

Fermented beverages made from the cacao bean date back to 450 BC Mesoamerica (present-day Mexico).  Theobroma cacao is Latin for the cacao tree, which means food of the gods. The cacao tree produces the bean, and anything made from the bean is called chocolate. Research shows the word chocolate originates from the Aztec word xocoatl, which means a bitter drink. It was brewed from cacao beans. (I can’t help noting how the two words sound so similar: xocoatl and chocolate).

“The Aztecs believed that cacao seeds were the gift of Quetzalcoatl, the god of wisdom, and the seeds once had so much value that they were used as a form of currency.”

The ancient Olmec civilization of southern Mexico can quite possibly be credited as having invented the chocolate drink dating back to 1500 B.C. The Olmec left no written history, so it can only be assumed this bitter drink continued through the centuries because it was reserved for ceremonial rites and medicinal healing.

When archaeologists unearthed Olmec containers and had them analyzed, traces of theobromine, a stimulant compound found in chocolate and tea, were found in the pots.

            “Centuries later, the Mayans praised chocolate as the drink of the gods. Mayan chocolate was a revered brew made of roasted and ground cacao seeds mixed with chillies, water, and cornmeal. Mayans poured this mixture from one pot to another, creating a thick foamy beverage called xocolatl, meaning bitter water.”

By the 15th century, the Aztecs used cocoa beans as currency. They believed that chocolate was a gift from the god Quetzalcoatl, and drank it as a refreshing beverage, an aphrodisiac, and even to prepare for war.

Therefore, when that Aztec emperor honored Cortés by serving him with this food of the gods, Cortés must have seen this revered drink as a lucrative venture and he reportedly brought it to Spain in 1528. The Spanish found the fermented brew too bitter, but by adding sugar and/or honey, it was quite pleasing to the palate—but only the wealthy could afford to purchase the beans. Even Catholic monks enjoyed the beverage and used it in their rituals.

The Spanish managed to keep chocolate a well-kept secret for nearly a century until the daughter of the Spanish king married Louis XIII of France. Princess Anne loved the drink and brought it with her to the French court. It didn’t take long for the craze for chocolate to reach England, where it was offered at special chocolate houses for the English aristocracy.

In 1828, the invention of the chocolate press revolutionized chocolate making. This innovative device could squeeze cocoa butter from roasted cacao beans, leaving a fine cocoa powder behind. The powder was then mixed with liquids and poured into a mold, where it solidified into an edible bar of chocolate.

And thus, the chocolate bar as we enjoy it today, was created.

            Over the decades, variations of chocolate were introduced by creative confectioners, particularly the Swiss. There is milk chocolate, dark chocolate, baking chocolate, semi-sweet and bittersweet chocolate, white chocolate and even raw chocolate, compound chocolate and modeling chocolate.

Much of today’s chocolate is criticized for being unhealthy because of the ingredients, but dark chocolate is considered to be an antioxidant-rich, heart-healthy treat.

It is estimated that $75 billion is spent annually worldwide on chocolate and that Americans consume 12 pounds of this tasty treat yearly. I bet some chocolate lovers eat more than 12 pounds—and that’s not including hot chocolate. <grin>

With all this talk of chocolate, I now want some, too. And the Halloween bars are all gone. Oh, did I mention chocolate tastes divine in coffee?

For further reading about the addictive history of chocolate, try these links:      https://www.history.com/topics/ancient-americas/history-of-chocolate

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/History_of_chocolate

https://www.chocolate.org/blogs/chocolate-blog/a-brief-history-of-chocolate

Excerpt: Beneath A Desperado Moon 

Josh carried the supplies into the lean-to, then leading his horse behind him through the moonlight, headed toward their cave. Molly ran to meet him, leaped into his arms and covered his face with kisses.

“Bloody hell, maybe I should leave more often.” She stuck out her tongue and he laughed. “Sorry, I don’t really mean that. I worry about you when you’re out of my sight. I want to get you away from here.”

“I know you do, Josh.” With one arm still around her, he turned toward his horse, opened a saddlebag, and dug out something wrapped in paper. “Here’s something for you, my sweet.”

“A gift?” Her heart lifted, touched more by the endearment than the secrets hiding inside the parcel. “What is it?”

He chuckled. “Open it and find out.”

 She tore at the paper. The scent hit her first, sweet to the nose. Then her mouth watered. And still she didn’t know what it was. She’d never seen anything like it before. Something dark. “What is it?”

“You really don’t know?” His voice echoed his amazement. He took the packet from her, broke off a piece and held it to her lips. “Open wide. Chocolate. Swiss chocolate.”

Smiling, she opened her mouth. The instant the chocolate touched her tongue, her starved taste buds shot to clamoring life. The crispness soon melted, filling her mouth with soft, delicious sweetness. She moaned her pleasure.

“Swallow. There’s more, Sweeting. Lot’s more.” Josh couldn’t take his eyes off the pleasure spreading her lips into a wide smile. The way her eyes sparkled. It reminded him of how she looked when making love. Her tongued slipped out and swept across her bottom lip, then the top.

He wanted to taste her, lay her down on the blankets and love her senseless. From the tightening of his pants, another part of him eagerly agreed. Yet, he put his anticipation aside, not wishing to interrupt her sensual enjoyment of the chocolate.

He broke off another small piece, wanting to prolong their mutual pleasure—she eating, and he, watching her enchantment. The pressure grew inside him, wanting her, needing her. He placed another piece against her lips. She took it from him and pressed it against his. “I want you to have some, too.”

“I’d rather have you.” Chocolate melted against his lips. He obliged, but refused any more. “This is for you. I’ve had it often growing up.”

“Yes, it must be nice being rich,” she said with a dreamy smile, savoring one more piece. Then, with a sigh, she folded up the paper and tucked it into her shirt pocket. “I’ll save some for later.”

He liked this trait in her. Not selfish, grasping, greedy. A memory from childhood slipped in—sitting underneath the huge Christmas tree in the great hall. Sharing bonbons with an enchanting girl with long, golden hair. How her blue eyes had lit with delight. And how, quickly, she’d consumed one after another, then dashed away with the rest. And later, he’d learned Phaedra had eaten too many in bed and become violently sick.

“What is it? You’ve grown so still.”

A soft touch on his arm shook him from his reverie. He looked down, confused for a moment by the upturned face, concerned cinnamon brown eyes gleaming in the moonlight. Desperate to erase that childhood memory, he cupped Molly’s face and kissed her.

Ah, yes, so much better. Chocolate sweetness seduced his senses. He drew her against him. “You’re like that chocolate. Sweet and enticing. Bewitching.”

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/elizabeth.clements.549

Website: https://www.elizabethclements.com/

 Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/17898781.Elizabeth_Clements

 https://www.amazon.com/Beneath-Horse-Thief-Moon-Prairie-Trilogy-ebook/dp/B07BHQNBDW/ref=as_li_ss_tl?

 https://www.amazon.com/Beneath-Fugitive-Moon-Prairie-Trilogy-ebook/dp/B07SZ4LHVS

https://www.amazon.com/Beneath-Desperado-Moon-Prairie-Trilogy-ebook/dp/B08JLG6K5P/ref=pd_sbs_351_1/141-1415496-7468914

Link for Diamond Jack’s Angel/Hot Western Nights Anthology

https://www.amazon.com/Western-Nights-Karen-Michelle-Nutt-ebook/dp/B07T9F21B5/ref=pd_rhf_se_p_img_3?

Part Two: Underground Tunnels and Wolf Caves by Elizabeth Clements

PART TWO: UNDERGROUND TUNNELS AND WOLF CAVES – Elizabeth Clements

Isn’t it interesting  what a chance encounter can lead to? Back in the 1990’s, a giant poster in a booth at the Medicine Hat Exhibition & Stampede drew my attention and the lonely-looking author seated at the table with a stack of her book. Most Stampede attendees are more interested in buying cowboy hats or candy floss than a book to carry around on the midway or while watching rodeo events. Being a writer myself, I had empathy for her, stopped to chat, and bought her book—One Hundred Years of Grasslands. It remains my favorite book of all my dozens of research books of Canadian history.

Marjorie Rohde Mason was born and raised on a ranch in the Grasslands region of southern Saskatchewan. The ranch has been in her family for over a hundred years and thus she had heard lots of stories passed down about the lawless days of horse-thieves and cattle rustlers in the Big Muddy badlands. The book is full of history and reminisces by pioneers of the area. One quote speaks volumes: “Most of the time, you could not tell the colour of the horses for mosquitos.” One chapter heading and photograph particularly intrigued me: wolf caves. I had to visit them.

Nineteen years ago we made that trip to celebrate the new millennium. The day following our tour of the Chinese tunnels in Moose Jaw (Part 1), we drove approximately 160 kilometers south to the hamlet of Coronach. As luck would have it, we were the only ones who’d booked a tour that day, so instead of being crammed in a passenger van with a dozen  tourists, we had the guide all to ourselves in the comfort of our van with her giving my husband directions. What a stroke of luck that was having her undivided attention! I took lots of pictures and notes, which I can’t find right now,  so I’m writing from nineteen-year-old memories, Marjorie’s book, and a little help from Google for pictures.

Many of the places our guide took us to were located on private land, under lock and key, accessible only through her. We wandered around a one-room schoolhouse where we saw old school desks,  a pot-bellied stove, lessons  written on the blackboard and breathed in the dusty air of the old building.  In my mind I heard the children’s voices reciting their lessons, imagined the teacher walking down the aisles checking their arithmetic, and glanced out the tall fly-specked windows at the two outhouses near the play area.

We visited an Indian burial site and ceremonial circles that were fenced off.  Two particularly interesting sites  displayed effigies of a large turtle and also a buffalo, each a pattern of carefully placed stones that have rested undisturbed for decades. “Dakota Siksika legends use turtles to represent wise and highly respected people. Buffalo were the “staff of life” for Indigenous people and this (buffalo) effigy is believed to be the only one in Canada if not North America.”

Then at last we left the main road and traveled along a gravel trail on private land to the old Giles ranch. I still remember the lonely, deserted feel of the weathered fence rails with no cattle or horses in sight, the heat blasting on my shoulders, and the stillness of the prairie with only the breeze whispering stories too low to hear. Our guide had keys to unlock the gate. I don’t recall a sign on the gate then, but apparently one exists now that warns “All trespassers will be given a fair trial and then hung.”  Friendly, eh?

We drove a little further, disembarked, and at last I gazed at the entrance to Sam Kelly’s caves. One cave was used by the outlaws and the other held their horses to keep them hidden from sight. The caves were originally occupied by wolves; outlaws enlarged them. (For the safety of modern-day tourists, the caves have been reinforced with wooden beams.) 

I ducked inside the bigger one used by the men and just stood there, eyes closed, and breathed in the cloying smell of dirt walls all around me. Imagined two outlaws hunched over a tiny fire, heating their coffee and beans while another outlaw kept watch above on the high bluff for any sign of the red-coated North West Mounted Police approaching. If so, he’d warn the others and they’d rush their stolen horses across the narrow gully and up the slope of Peake's Butte  and cross the International Boundary (49^th parallel) just a few yards away. There was also an escape tunnel in case the "Redcoats" were to close.

This memory was used in the third book of my trilogy: Beneath A Desperado Moon which will be published sometime next year by Prairie Rose Publications. Reliving these memories, I may just want to go back and revisit that cave <grin>.

This area of the Big Muddy was the first point of the Outlaw Trail, which was carefully organized well over a century ago by Butch Cassidy and  Kid Curry (whose real name was Harvey Logan). Patterned after the successful efficiency of the Pony Express before railroads made the Express obsolete, Butch had set up relay stations all along the route from Canada to New Mexico for the convenience of The Wild Bunch. Butch arranged to always have stations equipped with fresh horses, food, and protection. There were “friendly” American ranchers all along the border and down through the western states who willingly helped the outlaws by keeping fresh horses at the ready. For more information about the Outlaw Trail in the Big Muddy area, check out this link: https://www.coronach.ca/outlaw-trail.html

The discovery of gold in Montana enticed not only the gold-seekers but also the building of railroads to transport the ore—and ruthless outlaws who were happy to relieve them of their gold and money. The drought of 1883 caused tremendous cattle losses; the price of beef went down and many cowhands were let go accordingly. Unable to find work, many of them drifted into robbing banks and horse-stealing to survive. If you can buy or rent the movie, Monte Walsh played by Tom Selleck, here’s the trailer to give you a good idea of a cowboy’s life herding cattle: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0r0fBbTjEo8 .

The Wild Bunch outlaws were excellent horsemen and accomplished horse thieves. Although they were most noted for their bank and train robberies, one branch of the gang concentrated on stealing as many as 200 horses and driving them across the border, selling them, stealing them back and fleeing into Montana and North Dakota where they’d resell them again. The Nelson-Jones Gang, reportedly a part of The Wild Bunch, and Dutch Henry were known to do this quite successfully. 

In my book, Beneath A Horse-Thief Moon, the Billy Cranston Gang was inspired by the Nelson-Jones Gang that raided the border ranches, causing a lot of grief and hardship. Nelson was a tall, skinny red-haired, red-bearded man described as having sharp eyes as “cold as fish”.

In Montana, Nelson was known as a rustler and a killer and was never without a gun. One of the stories about him involved him boldly breaking a gang member, Trotter, and another prisoner out of a Montana jail in 1894. Seffick promptly joined the outlaws. Nelson’s gang created so much trouble that ranchers banded together and posted a $1500 reward each for Nelson and Carlyle, an ex-mountie turned outlaw, and lesser amounts for several other outlaws.

Charles "Red" Nelson (also known as Sam Kelly) eventually gave himself up in Plentywood, Montana, but due to insufficient evidence and because most shootings were considered self-defense, he was released. He (ironically) bought a ranch in the Big Muddy area and it was rumored he was periodically visited by former gang members. I love this little tidbit: “If the rain barrel was tipped a certain way it was a signal to visitors that it was not safe to be in the area.” He supposedly died in 1954.

Another outlaw in my novel is French Henri, whom I mentioned in my author’s notes as being patterned after Dutch Henry, an excellent horseman and bronc buster, but best known for being a horse thief in the Big Muddy area. After being kicked out of Dodge by Wyatt Earp, Dutch hooked up with a trail drive to Montana and proceeded to swindle his boss, eventually causing the man to go bankrupt. Dutch and his men would haze as many as 400 horses across the border, selling, re-stealing and reselling just like certain members of the Wild Bunch. His gang had some interesting names: Bloody Knife, Pigeon-Toed Kid, James McNab, Duffy, and Birch. With names like the first two, no wonder they were feared by the border ranchers.

There are conflicting accounts of Dutch Henry’s death. One story is that he was killed in Canada by the North West Mounted Police—twice! Another account says he was found dead in the Minnesota brush, yet a third report claims he was hanged in Mexico. Or did he marry and live peacefully in Minnesota until he died of a gunshot wound? This has stimulated some history buffs to play detective to solve the mystery. Check out this link for a little more history on Dutch Henry: https://www.coronach.ca/dutch-henry.html

The Big Muddy Badlands is an amazing narrow valley about a two hours’ drive south-west from Regina, Saskatchewan. It has amazing scenery, created by the Ice Age traveling through the area  millions of years ago and melt water creating all kinds of formations. Wind and rain also play a part in erosion of the cliffs and buttes. They also provide great hiding places for outlaw activity. On our last day we did some exploring on our own.

We traveled off the main roads onto a trail across the prairie to see Castle Butte, an amazing large sandstone and clay hill pockmarked with caves—perhaps wolf caves in the past?

It stands 200 feet high and is a one-quarter of a mile around the base. We didn’t climb it, but I saw all kinds of possibilities for this in a book. Apparently, some of the caves are narrow and deep so you take a risk exploring them. Years ago, when lost, people used the landmark to get their bearings again. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Big_Muddy_Badlands

On our way home to Alberta, we headed west toward Eastend, south of the Cypress Hills to visit a friend. Along the way near Wood Mountain, we came across a small North West Mounted Police Museum but sadly after the Labor Day weekend, it was open only on weekends so we couldn’t go inside. Perhaps we’ll see it on our next trip. The mounted police had a base at Wood Mountain and had their hands full with whiskey smugglers and outlaws whipping in from Montana, stealing cattle and horses and escaping across the border again and avoid prosecution. All they could hope was to catch them in the act in Canada and incarcerate them.

There are lots of interesting, historic places to visit in western Canada that give you glimpses of our pioneer days, the difficult task the police force had to control the whiskey trade, horse-stealing and cattle rustling. I could only touch on a bit of that history. I’m glad you came along for the brief outing.

www.elizabethclements.com

Link for Castle Butte and pictures https://ibackpackcanada.com/exploring-the-big-muddy-badlands-castle-butte/

https://www.tripadvisor.ca/Attraction_Review-g3347603-d155807-Reviews-Big_Muddy_Badlands-Coronach_Saskatchewan.html#photos;aggregationId=101&albumid=101&filter=7&ff=329947225

No Good Option

Sometimes you have a choice between bad and worse...and sometimes your choice turns out to be an unexpected blessing.

Over the weekend, my family had a lively discussion about the whiplash of women’s status through the ages, comparing gender equality in ancient Egypt and the modern Western world vs. women’s status in ancient Greece and some modern Middle Eastern countries.

Why would women let that happen? One nephew asked.

Women hardly let it happen. 

When a civilization collapses and you’re fighting for survival for yourself and your children, men’s superior physical strength quickly unlevels the playing field. 

The fall from equality to second-class citizen with the legal status of a child might be quick or slow, but I suspect it’s always a shock to the individuals involved—and it chafes future generations of women no matter how much time passes.

Because I write medieval romances, I think a lot about the tensions between men and women within society. Medieval women knew they deserved better and many got better from individuals, but they still faced institutional misogyny.

In An Unexpected Gift—available tomorrow as a stand-alone novella—the heroine is at her most vulnerable, physically and emotionally. She’s pitted against a society that sees her as someone to exploit or protect, but not stand beside or respect.

Ada is probably my most traditional heroine in that she is at a powerless moment in her life, which is how most of her historical peers would have lived their lives. She’s brave and strong and resourceful, but ultimately she cannot rescue herself, a fact that she hates.

She must place her faith in a stranger—a man who could be her savior or someone even more dangerous than the man who wants to kill her and her unborn child—and that is where the story begins.

Will her worst fears come true or will Ada find an unexpected gift?

Here's an excerpt:

He shrugged. “I have not brought you here just to see you killed. 

“Why would they not think me dead?” 

A secret lay in his hesitation. His looked over her left shoulder. “If they return to the road and find you gone, this is the first place they will look. The nuns will say naught to the attackers, but the men would easily find you in the warming room.” 

Ada stared at him. In a hundred years, she wouldn’t have thought of such danger. If almost a year in captivity hadn’t honed her thoughts, what had sharpened his? Montbray wanted her. No, he wanted Bew and thought to get it through her. She ran a hand over her stomach again. If she thought like her captor, killing Thomas and Henry made a horrible kind of sense, but why then leave her behind? 

Or had they? 

Fear rose with the swiftness of a thunderclap. She knew nothing of him, not his name, his family, his errand. He could be outlaw, for all she knew. 

Run! As if she could. She could barely get out of bed of a morning or rise from a bench if she sat for a long time. Running was impossible. She could throw herself on the mercy of the nuns, but who would protect them from these men?

As part of Prairie Rose Publications Third Anniversary Bash, I’m giving away a copy of An Unexpected Gift to two people selected from among those who comment on this blog by midnight Wednesday, Aug. 17.

Keena Kincaid writes historical romances in which passion, magic and treachery collide to create unforgettable stories. You can find out more about her books here. Leave a comment for a chance to win one of her books.