Alice Tubbs: A Free Spirit of the Old West by Sarah J. McNeal

Most of us have either heard of, or unearthed in our research the wild and wicked ways of the old west. Just so happens, the old west was home to some pretty crazy, eccentric, and innovative residents—including the members of the “gentler” sex. Yes, women could be a mite different out there on the plains of America. Maybe it was the harsh circumstances of their existence or the feeling of freedom the west provided these people, or maybe it was their real nature, but the women of the west were not your conventional mild mannered darlings.

I’ve written about some of these wild and crazy women recently, but I did not want to leave this captivating subject without presenting good old Alice Tubbs.

Not to be confused with the poor or rough beginnings of so many women of the west, Alice was born in Sudbury England as Alice Ivers. She moved with her family to America in 1865. Her family sent her to a boarding school for young ladies and I am certain they expected a proper young lady who would marry a gentleman and make them proud. Well, parents usually have dreams for their kids that may not turn out the way they had hoped.

Some have speculated that Alice’s father taught her to play poker, but others believe Alice learned by watching her gambler husband, Frank Dunning, wheel and deal those cards. In any case, the end result was, after moving out west, Alice began cleaning out just about every cowboy stupid enough to play cards with her. Because of her extraordinary skills, she became known as “Poker Alice” and won approximately $250,000 over her lifetime. That’s huge money for those days.

Alice began to travel the country after her husband died and played in some of the most populated towns in the west. She ran a table in a saloon owned by Bob Ford, the man who shot Jesse James and, in fact, was there when someone shot Bob down.

Photo credit: South Dakota Historical Society

This well-bred woman wore the best dresses money could buy. Some believe she wore these fantastic dresses to distract her male competitors, but I believe she just wanted to look pretty despite the fact that she usually smoked big cigars. I’m trying to imagine how others must have perceived that well-dressed woman with a big stogie hanging from her lips. Alice created the expression, “Praise the Lord and place your bets, and I’ll take your money with no regrets.” Okay, she wasn’t exactly a poet, but it was a bit intimidating for her to say that. Our lovely, proper Alice, liked to quote scriptures and never played cards on Sunday. Such a fine lady, wouldn’t you say?

After some time, Alice married Warren Tubbs and retired from the gambling tables to have children and raise them on a chicken farm. However, in 1910, after her second husband died, Alice pawned her wedding ring to pay for Warren’s funeral, and next thing ya know, she went right back to the poker table and won enough money to get her ring back. Now that’s the lady we all love.

Alice married a third time and opened a casino near Fort Meade in South Dakota. Winters there must have created big business for her. What else could people do in South Dakota during winter besides hunker down? Before Alice died in 1930 she was arrested for operating a brothel, murdered a man once for his bad behavior, publicly defied Prohibition laws, and finally, at age 75 earned a gubernatorial pardon. I couldn’t find anything about her children and what became of them in my research. I can’t help but think they must have been a bunch of free spirits like their mother though. 

Well, there you have it, another wild and inventive western woman living the way she wanted. Could it happen anywhere else besides the old west?—well maybe, but it wouldn’t be half as interesting.

My Wilding western romances begin with Harmonica Joe’s Reluctant Bride where I introduced Belle, the owner of a bordello, saloon, and gambling establishment named The Iron Slipper. If I had known about Alice Tubbs then I could have used her character to define Belle.  In the second Wilding romance, the young man Banjo has inherited the saloon from Belle, but with the help of Lola Wilding, transforms it into a hotel for decent folk. You can find all my Wilding western romances by clicking onto “The Wildings” in my list of media places after my bio., or check out my Wildings books and bargains on my Amazon Author’s Page listed after my bio.

Sarah J. McNeal is a multi-published author of several genres including time travel, paranormal, western and historical fiction. She is a retired ER and Critical Care nurse who lives in North Carolina with her four-legged children, Lily, the Golden Retriever and Liberty, the cat. Besides her devotion to writing, she also has a great love of music and plays several instruments including violin, bagpipes, guitar and harmonica. Her books and short stories may be found at Prairie Rose Publications and its imprints Painted Pony Books, and Fire Star Press. Some of her fantasy and paranormal books may also be found at Publishing by Rebecca Vickery and Victory Tales Press. She welcomes you to her website and social media:

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Professional Gamblers in the Old West

Most every western I've come across references the most popular cowboy pastime of the frontier. The triple W, some called it...whiskey, whoring and wagering.

Saloons, brothel's and gambling halls popped up all across the frontier when new towns sprang up, outside army forts and along wagon trails and railroads. Most were crude establishments of nothing more than tents, which allowed them to pick up and move if needs be, while other permanent structures were made of wood.

Faro

In the early west, gambling was considered a profession by some. Professional gamblers made a career out of finding high stakes games and bet their fortunes on them. One popular game in the west was a bluffing game that transformed into our modern day poker. Other's included Black Jack, Monte and the most popular was Faro. The foremost Faro player was a man by the name of Charles Cora, who won $85,000.00 and broke several Faro banks. He was banned from playing at gaming halls all across New Orleans.

Most gamblers were easy to spot as their expensive suits and flashy jewelry always gave them away. Tristan Avery, the hero in my story The Gambler, was no different. One glance at him told my heroine, Emmaline, exactly who he was.

The Gambler (Book 3 in the Willow Creek Series)

Emmaline lifted the shotgun and pulled back the hammer. She sighted in on the stranger riding up the road and waited until she knew he was within hitting distance. She pulled the trigger and grinned when he ducked, his horse dancing underneath him enough to knock him from the saddle to end up sprawled on the ground. He cursed as the horse ran a few feet away and Emmaline sighted on him again and waited.

He stood, dusted off his pants with his hat and turned toward the cabin. One look at him and she knew it was the gambler from last night. Butterflies started dancing in her stomach. What did he want? She waited, watching him take a few steps closer and aimed for a spot by his head and pulled the trigger again. He shouted, ducked and hunkered low to the ground.

“Stop your damn shooting!”

Holding his hands up as if to surrender, Emmaline lowered the barrel an inch. “State your business.”

He straightened and reached into his coat pocket. Emmaline lifted the gun again. “Hang on a minute,” he said. “I’ve got the deed to this property.” He waved it in the air and took a few more steps closer.

Emmaline let him get close enough to see his face. He was handsome and his clothes told her he had enough money to buy the place three times over. His brocade vest was a rich purple in color, shot with gold threads throughout, his black jacket tailored. His hair was blonde and cut short, which was unusual for these parts, and she was sure he was up to something. After their encounter last night, him riding out here to give her the deed back was too ridiculous to think. “That’s close enough, mister.”

He stopped, repositioned his hat on his head, and tossed her a smile she was sure was supposed to flatter her. It didn’t.

Glancing down at the paper in his hand for a brief moment, he looked at the cabin and the surrounding forest. “This is the Hunt place, right?” He stared at her, his head tilting just a fraction before his brows lowered. “Are you the girl from last night?”

Emmaline raised the gun again. “Unless you’re here to give me the deed, you’ve no business here. Now either hand it over or go grab that horse and get back on it.”

The man grinned and lifted his hand, the paper he held blowing in the breeze. “Can’t do that, Ma’am. According to this piece of paper, you’re standing on my property. If anyone should leave, it would have to be you.”

“I can make you leave.”

He smiled and tucked the deed back into his jacket pocket. “And I’ll go get the sheriff and have you hauled out of here like an unwanted squatter.”

She huffed out a frustrated breath, glared at him for a full minute and turned, walked back inside the cabin, and slammed the door behind her.

Emmaline placed the gun back on the shelf and walked to the stove, laying her hands over the top to warm them. The old hunk of iron was barely throwing off heat but compared to the brisk wind outside, it felt like heaven.

Her thoughts were a tangle of what ifs. The man outside wouldn’t be here if he didn’t want the land and her situation had turned from bad to worse. She should have known Harold would eventually ruin them beyond repair and now that he had, knowing she’d been right left a bad taste in her mouth.

The rumbling of her stomach echoed in the room and the tears she’d been fighting rolled down her cheeks. She swiped at them angrily, refusing to be beaten, once again, by her idiotic stepfather’s choices. He’d been a careless bum his whole life and she’d forgiven him one time too many. Not this time. She’d never forgive him for leaving her homeless. She couldn’t.

Hearing the door to the cabin open, she wiped away the rest of the tears and stared at the wall. “I don’t recall inviting you in.”

“Well, legally, it's my cabin so I don’t need your permission. You are officially trespassing and unless we can come to some sort of agreement…”

She whirled and locked eyes with him. “Evicting me already? Such a gentleman. I bet the ladies just fall at your feet with such sweet talk.”

He grinned and she tried to ignore the dimple in his cheek or how much younger he looked in the bright light of day. He couldn’t have been more than a couple years older than she was. And he was even more handsome up close. His eyes were bluer than they appeared in the saloon and his fancy clothes and fresh barbered look appealed to her. She scowled when she realized she was looking at him as any woman would a man she found attractive and reminded herself he was a lying, cheating, murdering dog. “Get out.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the door, his smile widening. “Make me.”

Read more about Tristan and Emmaline in their book, The Gambler, which is available at a special price for a limited time in The Avery's of Willow Creek boxset. The Lawman, The Outlaw, The Gambler and The Rancher are being offered for .99¢ until Nov. 6th. Find the boxset at the following links.

The Averys of Willow Creek by Lily Graison 

Travel back to the 1800′s and tangle with ornery town marshals, Indians and schoolmarms who are anything but docile. Willow Creek may be a sleepy little frontier town but the characters who live there are as untamed as the land itself!

BUY THE EBOOK FROM:

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About Lily Graison

USA TODAY  bestselling author Lily Graison writes historical western romances and dabbles in contemporary and paranormal romance. First published in 2005, Lily has written over a dozen romance novels that range from sweet to spicy.

She lives in Hickory, North Carolina with her husband, three high-strung Yorkies and more cats than she can count and is mother of two and grandmother of three. On occasion, she can be found at her sewing machine creating 1800’s period clothing or participating in civil war reenactments and area living history events. When not portraying a southern belle, you can find her at a nearby store feeding her obsession for all things resembling office supplies.

To see the dresses Lily has created, visit her Pinterest page.

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Lottie Deno – The Lady Was a Gambler

By Anna Kathryn Lanier

First, I want to thank Tanya Hanson for switching days with me.  My usual monthly post date, the 14th, snuck up on me this month and I was not prepared. I do appreciate your kindness!

Now, to talk about one of the more fascinating women in gambling history....

Carlotta “Lottie” Thompkins was born in Warsaw, Kentucky on April 21, 1844 into a substantially wealthy tobacco family.   Lottie and her younger sister were blessed with every advantage possible.  During her education at an Episcopal convent, Lottie would also accompany her father on business trips to Detroit, New Orleans and Europe. An avid gambler, her father took Lottie with him to horse races and gambling dens.  He also taught her everything he knew about cards. By the time she was sixteen, Lottie was an expert card player in her own right.

Lottie’s life, like that of most of America, changed drastically with the outbreak of the Civil War.  Her father, a Southerner at heart, joined the Confederate army and was killed in his very first battle.  The news devastated her mother, whose health began to fail.  Lottie took over the role as head of household and ran the farm. However, distant family members felt it inappropriate for a woman to run a business and they persuaded her mother to send Lottie to Detroit to live with family friends.  Her mother sent her, also, in the hopes of finding a suitable husband, but Lottie’s meager funds did not last long during the height of the social season.  Lottie’s mother and sister were struggling financially as well since the war was taking its toll on the farm. A lack of workers prevented crops from being planted and harvested. Lottie decided to get a job.

Jeopardizing her social standing, she took up gambling.  Her talent for winning, however, earned her enough money to not only send home for her sister and mother’s care, but for her own support in style.  At this time, she also met Johnny Golden, a gambler and Jew. Her mother disapproved of him immensely for both reasons.

The couple gambled up and down the Mississippi, but Johnny was not as lucky at cards as Lottie and the couple finally went their separate ways.  Lottie had just settled into a New Orleans hotel, when she learned of her mother’s death.  The care and education of her younger sister became her prime concern.  Lottie took up riverboat gambling and earned enough money to send her sister to private school.  After graduation, Lottie and her sister moved to San Antonio. (I’ve not be able to discover what happened to Lottie’s sister after this move).

San Antonio was the perfect city for a gambler.  The establishments were open twenty-four hours a day and Lottie played poker at the Cosmopolitan Club.  After seeing her play, the owner of the University Club offered Lottie a job as a house gambler, someone who would use saloon-provided money to gamble with. The professional card player would receive a percentage of the winners.

The novelty of not just a woman, but a beautiful, dignified woman dealing cards drew droves of men to the club who challenged Lottie to five-card  draw and her favorite game, faro. 

The owner, Frank Thurmond, had another reason for asking Lottie to join his club. He was smitten with her.  Lottie soon fell in love with Frank, too.  Johnny showed up in San Antonio and stated that Lottie was his wife, a claim she denied. Frank, meanwhile, was in an argument with a fellow gambler and a fight ensued.  Frank drew his bowie knife and stabbed the man. The dead man’s family put a bounty on Frank, forcing him to leave San Antonio.

Lottie also left, bouncing around the west Texas towns of Fort Concho, Jacksonboro, San Angelo, Dennison and Fort Worth. She was so good at winning many accused her of cheating.  One saloon-keeper told a newspaper reporter, “The likelihood of a woman being able to win enough pots to make a living playing cards is far fetched. That could only happen if she were crooked.” If Lottie cheated however, she was never caught.

It was a winning hand that earned her a new name. A drunken cowboy yelled out to her “Honey, with winnings like that, you ought to call yourself Lotta Denero.” She didn’t take his full advice, but she did change her name to Lottie Deno.

Finally, Lottie ended up in Fort Griffith, a rowdy town full mostly of rough cowboys and soiled doves. But Lottie thrived and had great success as a gambler there.  She set up a regular game at the Bee Hive Saloon and was treated as royalty by the men who frequented the bar.  Mike Fogarty, the bar tender, treated her especially well.  Mike, was in fact, Frank Thurmond.  Afraid that someone would make a connection between Mike and the man Lottie used to be romantically involved with, the pair would sneak away to a nearby town for romance.

Johnny followed Lottie to Fort Griffith, but he was killed just days after finding her.  Lottie paid for his funeral and coffin, but she did not attend his funeral. Instead, she stayed inside her home with the curtains drawn.

Johnny’s death was not the only violence Lottie witnessed during her gambling career.  Fights broke out constantly. In one instant, two cowboys accused each other of cheating and fists started to fly.  The sheriff rushed in to calm things, but both men drew on him and Sheriff Cruger ended up killing them both.  Everyone in the saloon had scattered. Everyone that is except Lottie. She sat calmly at her table stacking her chips.  The sheriff commented that he couldn’t believe Lottie had stayed at the grisly scene.  “You’ve never been a desperate woman, Sheriff,” she replied.  She may not have feared for her life, but she did fear being poor.

Lottie soon became a legend of the West.  Artists painted pictures of the lady gambler.  Authors and songwriters wrote about her.  One such author was Dan Quin, cowhand turned writer.  He wrote a series of Old West adventures, including one with a female gambler fitting Lottie’s descriptions and named Faro Nell.  Lottie, however was not happy with the book, published in 1913.  She said it was an “unfair representation” of her, portraying her as an “unsophisticated lady without proper breeding.”

It was at the Bee Hive that Lottie often played cards with Doc Holliday, of the OK Corral fame.  It’s also alleged that she got into an argument with Holliday’s girlfriend, Big Nose Kate, because Kate thought Holliday was cheating on her with Lottie.  “Why you low down slinkin’ slut!” Lottie shouted. “If I should step in soft cow manure, I would not even clean my boot on that bastard!  I’ll show you a thing or two.”  Lottie is alleged to have pulled a gun then, and Kate drew a weapon as well.  Doc Holliday placed himself between the women and stopped a shoot out then and there. Knowing of Lottie’s reputation for being an elegant lady, it’s questionable if the conversation went as now retold, since things tend to be embellished as they are repeated over time. 

After five years in Fort Griffith, Lottie moved to Kingston, New Mexico, where she met up with Frank Thurmond again.  The two went into business together in 1878, opening a small gambling room in the Victorio Hotel and a saloon in nearby Silver City.  The couple also acquired several silver mines.  They were soon very wealthy and loaned out money to mining operations in exchange for a stake of the claims.

It was there that Frank and Lottie finally married on December 2, 1880. Lottie continued to deal cards and Frank managed the saloons, restaurant and hotel they owned.  The couple also purchased a liquor distribution business in Deming, New Mexico, property in the heart of town and a ranch at the foothills of the mountains.

If not for the brutal murder of Dan Baxter, Lottie may have stayed in the gambling business for a while longer. Baxter and Frank got into a fight and Baxter threw a billiard ball at Frank, who pulled out his bowie knife and stabbed Baxter in the abdomen.  Baxter died and the authorities called the death self-defense. But it was enough violence for Lottie and she decided to retire.

Frank and Lottie settled in Deming to live quiet, orderly lives. He concentrated on the mines, cattle ranching and land. Lottie became involved in civic organizations and helped build St. Luke’s Episcopal Church. It’s said that the $40,000 for the original structure of the church was financed with winnings in a poker game with Doc Holliday.  Lottie made the altar cloths used by St. Luke’s.  Lottie was a respected community leader, forming a social club Golden Gossip Club. The women gathered to swap recipes, play cards and sew quilts.

After 40 years together, Frank died in 1908 of cancer. Lottie lived another twenty-nine years, dying at the age of eighty-nine on February 9, 1934.  However, Lottie has lived long past her death.  The character of Laura Denbo in the movie Gunfight at the OK Corral and that of Miss Kitty in the television show Gunsmoke are based on Lottie Deno.

Works cited and for more reading:

http://www.legendsofamerica.com/we-lottiedeno.html

http://www.tshaonline.org/handbook/online/articles/fde59

THE LADY WAS A GAMBLER by Chris Enss; ISBN 978-0-7627-4371-1

Anna Kathryn Lanier
www.aklanier.com annakathrynlanier.blogspot.com

Never let your memories be greater than your dreams. ~Doug Ivester 

Ante Up

Contributed by Lauri Robinson

The Western Romance genre is strictly American, nowhere else in the world can lay a claim to the “Old West”. Other countries had their wild and rowdy times, but no one else had the vast open land west of the Mississippi—land of promise, change, beauty, wonder and riches. Of course there was also pain, hardship, broken dreams and death. Men had to be bold, women tough. But above all, they had to be willing to gamble. Ante up. 

People of all walks of life went west. Rich and poor alike. Single men and women and families. Those with trades and those with nothing more than dreams. And it was one big gamble. Not just with their lives, but with their money and possessions. 

Though it’s somewhat of a slapstick movie concerning gambling in the old west, I love the move Maverick with James Garner and Mel Gibson. It portrays how acceptable gambling was. 

As communities formed, some local laws were put into place, but ultimately, gambling wasn’t illegal. It was a much sought after activity and in some instances, the only hope people had. Prostitution was illegal either, and very few, if any, laws governed guns, alcohol, or drugs. 

Just like those who set up other businesses—trading posts, hotels, bath houses, blacksmith shops and general stores—those setting up gaming halls were welcomed, especially by groups building churches and schools. Many gambling entrepreneurs were known for their generosity, and community leaders recognized that. 

Gambling wasn’t any more taboo than riding a horse or wearing a gun. It was a part of life. Not even churches preached against gambling until after the temperament movement. Ultimately, gambling played a huge role in winning the west.

In my May 1st release from Harlequin, The Sheriff’s Last Gamble, the heroine, Stacy Blackwell is a gambler. (Yes, many, many women gambled.) She’s not a ‘soiled dove’, gambling to survive. Raised by her gambling grandfather, Stacy’s a thoroughbred gambler who excels in her chosen profession. Trouble happens when she encounters Sheriff Jake McCrery, a faro gambler turned lawman. The sparks fly between these two and Stacy recognizes she’s in the game of a lifetime. 

Here’s a short excerpt:

It was the man astride the animal that held her attention. Tall, broad, and with hair as golden brown as the horse’s, Sheriff Jake McCrery had to be the most handsome man in these entire United States, based on her experience leastwise, which was considerable.  Pappy had hauled her to most every state and all the territories in their twenty-three years of living together. The past three months in Founder’s Creek Township was the longest span of time she’d ever spent in one place.

Stopping on the bottom step, she pushed open the parasol that matched the mint-green linen dress, tailored just for her without the prominent bustle some women found so stylish. All that extra material made sitting much too difficult.

“Hello, Sheriff.”

Jake McCrery swung one leg over the saddle horn and landed on the ground as smoothly as an eagle swoops into its nest.

“Miss Blackwell.” He greeted her with a slight nod.

With her insides tingling, and without a doubt he’d follow, Stacy started walking along the road. “Tell me, how is dear Uncle Edward today?”        

“Fine,” Jake answered. “He’d like you to visit soon.”

“I’ll bet,” she said flatly. There was no sense getting riled over Edward Blackwell. She’d told him exactly what she thought of him three months ago, shortly after arriving. Her heart, not always in agreement with her mind, stung strongly enough to make her tighten her hold on her parasol.

“Speaking of bets,” Jake said, “how much did you win today?”

Stacy pretended to glance over her shoulder at the palomino at their heels; in reality she wanted Jake to see the smile on her face. “Now, Sheriff McCrery, this morning you specifically forbade me from gambling.”

“That hasn’t stopped you before.”

“Tsk, tsk.” She shook her head so the hair she’d spent an hour curling this morning fluttered around her shoulders. She’d learned years ago to style its mousy brown color to catch attention, therefore keeping people from watching her face too closely during an intense point in a game. Lately, though, thoughts of the handsome sheriff filled her head while curling the tresses—actually, while she did most everything. “We both know I never gamble while you’re in town.”

“How much was it?”

At times Jake seemed immune to her charms, and that had her wondering if she’d missed a lesson or two of Pappy’s teachings along the way—not that Pappy had taught her about men, but he’d taught her about life and the two went hand in hand.

Shrugging, mainly to keep a sigh from slipping out, she answered. “A few hundred.”

Jake caught her arm, and though the heat of his touch had her toes curling, fury flashed in his mahogany-brown eyes.

“Gambling’s a dangerous game, Stacy. You’re going to get yourself shot.”

His concern was genuine, and that warmed her heart, but not even Jake McCrery would stop her from playing. “I’ve played in far worse places than Founder’s Creek.”

“Then go there to play.”

An unreadable poker face was one of her most prized accomplishments, but keeping it on right now was a struggle. Not only did Jake sound exasperated, he said the words like he meant them. Wrenching her arm from his hold, she started up the street. Anger snapped inside her, but more painful was the possibility he wanted her to leave. “I can’t,” she said.

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