Showing posts with label horse stories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label horse stories. Show all posts

Sunday, March 10, 2013

MUSTANG JANE AND HER LEGEND


Peggy L Henderson was scheduled to be a guest today, but her schedule prevented her from appearing. Instead, we're running a previous post about a famous woman in Southwest history.



Let me share the legend of a woman about whom I’ve recently learned. Sally Newman, the woman later called “Mustang Jane” by her vaqueros, was born in Illinois in 1817 to Rachel (nee Rabb) and Joseph Newman. Her parents followed her maternal grandparents through several states to eventually settle in southeastern Texas and become part of Stephen F. Austin’s “Old Three Hundred.” (Sorry if you’re not familiar with Texas history, but Stephen F. Austin’s 300 is a big deal here.) As a pioneer wife, Mrs. Newman was no stranger to conflict. On at least two occasions, she thwarted attacks from Comanche or Apache with quick and decisive action while young Sally watched.

When Sally was sixteen, she registered the brand for the cattle she had inherited from her father. Although she registered the brand in her maiden name, she noted on the application that she was the wife of Jesse Robinson, a man eighteen years her senior. The alliance lasted for ten years. Custody of their children, Nancy and Alfred, was ceded to Jesse when the couple divorced in 1843. Sally kidnapped Nancy, but was forced to return her to Jesse.

Sally’s luck with her second, third, fourth and fifth husbands was no better. She went by the last name of her second husband, Sally Scull. It was while she was married to George Scull (sometimes spelled Skull) that she developed her love for and interest in horsetrading.


While she was losing husbands (with some speculation that she might have assisted a couple of them in departing this life), Sally was gaining a reputation for marksmanship. Whether in skirts or pants, she always wore two pistols belted to her waist and usually wore a bonnet. She was a dead shot with both pistol and rifle, in either hand. A tiny woman with steel blue eyes, she weighed 125 pounds at most. Her rough language was notorious, and she spoke Tex-Mex as well as if it were her native tongue. When she wasn’t traveling alone, she rode in the company of several Mexican vaqueros. She roamed the wide territory between the Sabine River and the Rio Grande, making her headquarters at a small settlement called Banquette, about twenty miles west of Corpus Christi. The vaqueros who worked for her and other Mexicans who knew her called her “Juana Mestena,” Mustang Jane. She could out shoot any of her ranch hands, roped and rode with the best of them, and could drive a herd better than any of the wranglers in her employ.

Horses were Sally's primary business
Horsetrading was her primary business, a profitable one, and often under questionable circumstances. After a trip into Mexico, she always returned with a nice herd of stock, yet her money belt was still full. Sally knew all the ranches in the area. Ranch wives sometimes hinted that while Sally made eyes at the menfolk, her vaqueros were busy cutting the best horses from the herd. There were also rumors that she had assistance from the Comanche. If Sally admired particular horses and the owner refused to sell, Comanche raiders mysteriously visited the ranch shortly after Sally’s departure. No one ever caught Sally in possession of a horse for which she couldn’t show rightful ownership because she never let anyone inspect her herd.

Sally worked hard and played hard.  She was an avid poker player and her favorite haunts included Old St. Mary’s Saloon at Copano Bay, Pancho Grande’s in Corpus Christi, and several places in Refugio. She attended many a fandango due to her love of dancing. Can’t you imagine her dancing while wearing those two pistols belted around her waist?

During the Civil War, Sally’s knowledge of the southern Texas backcountry served the Confederacy. Union forces blockaded Texas ports, stopping all shipments from England. The United States could not block ports south of the border, so Mexico’s ports were open. Sally sold her stock of horses, bought wagons, and turned her vaqueros into cotton haulers. Her wagons became a common sight on the roads from San Antonio to Matamoros on what became known as the Cotton Road. Cotton was traded in Matamoros for guns, ammunition, medicines, coffee, shoes, clothing and other goods vital to the Confederacy and need by inland Texas settlements. When the war ended in 1865, Sally sold her wagons and resumed the horse business.

Sally had little to do with her son, Alfred, who lived with his father and stepmother and their eight children on Ramerania Creek, about fifty miles northwest of Corpus Christi. No one knows what happened to Alfred Robinson. Nancy and her mother were closer. Sally sent her to one of the best boarding schools in New Orleans. Nancy returned to Texas, married, and lived up to her mother’s dreams. They were close until one visit when one of Nancy’s family dogs growled at Sally and she shot the dog.

No one knows what happened to Sally Scull. Texas mothers used to cajole their children to behave or “Old Sally Skull will get you.” Not a nice remembrance, but Sally Scull had defied all expectations of womanhood for her era or any other. She walked tall in a world of strong men and made anyone in her path step aside. 


 Caroline Clemmons is the author of the Men of Stone Mountain series. Her third book in this series, BLUEBONNET BRIDE, is now available for sale in print or e-book from Amazon, and in e-book from other online stores.

Thanks for stopping by!

Sunday, September 16, 2012

Introducing Jack Ransom ~Tanya Hanson w/a Miss Prinsella Primm


Miss Prinsella Primm of Culdesac County, California, will be guest-blogging for Miss Tanya Hanson for the foreseeable future. As a lifestyle editor for the Culdesac County Current, (how she does love the alliteration!), Miss Primm will be presenting charming  interviews of heroes and heroines, lawmen and outlaws, ranchers and horsemen, cowpokes and country girls.

Her first subject is outlaw Jack Ransom. (hubba hubba)



September 16, 1880

Miss Primm, primly:  Mr. Ransom, although I do detect a glint of naughtiness in your eyes, I also sense a good heart beneath the bulging muscles of your chest. So how is it you sank so low as to become a notorious outlaw?

Jack, fingering his pocket for his flask:  How is it, Miss Primm, you rose up to become a newspaperwoman?

Miss Primm, more primly:  My dear Mr. Ransom, journalism is not  naughty word. It is a most honorable profession. Unlike yours. And this interview is about you, not me. So for our readers’ sake, how did your career path as an outlaw come about?

Jack, eyes downcast:  When my gram-maw died, I lost my direction. She raised me up, and with her gone, I discovered I was good at something bad: stealing horses.

Miss Primm, shuddering:  Goodness gracious, I believe your grandmother must be looking down in horror at your disgraceful behavior.

Jack, cheeks that bear three days-stubble turning red:   I reckon you’re correct, ma’am. I loved her so. That’s why I decided to mend my evil ways and honor one of her deathbed requests. Jacky, learn to read.

Miss Primm, holding up two fingers.  Would you mind sharing the other?

Jack, forehead wrinkling like a piece of paper:  Share what, ma’am? A book? I got either the Good Book or some Walt Whitman. I find I admire poetry.

Miss Primm, lips pursed No. Not books. The other request.

Jack, redder yet:  Oh, that. To live a righteous life. As you see, that trail never got blazed.  

Miss Primm, glaring with disapproval:  Who coached you in this dreadful life-altering decision?

Jack, with a wicked yet disarming grin:   That would be Ahab Perkins, leader of the pack. We met up at approximately age thirteen. No folks, no home. No nothing. So we picked up a few more hooligans along the way. Truth is, our gang got along so good for a time we might have been a Boy Scout troop.

Miss Primm, peering over her spectacles:  Try again, Mr. Ransom. Boy Scouting won’t originate for twenty years. Besides, horse stealing would be anathema to the Scout slogan Do a Good Turn Daily.

Jack, his whiskey-colored eyes widening:  Mighty big word there, ma’am.

Miss Primm, wearing a schoolmarm frown:  Why, I thought you had honored that deathbed vow and learned to read.

Jack, eyelids lowering like they might do when he slept:  Did so. Hiring a tutor is how I met my Eliza. She’s the schoolteacher in Pleasure Stakes, Texas.

Miss Primm, somewhat jealous:  Your Eliza?

Jack, proud as punch:  Yep. My lady love, Y’all will be reading her interview next month. She’s quite a gal, my Eliza. You see, she had no notion whatsoever it was me who thieved her granny’s horses last Thanksgiving night...  For that matter, neither did I.

Miss Primm, profoundly jealous, disheartened and ready to close out the interview:  Well, I hope you did all your homework for your schoolmarm.

Jack, triumphant:  That I did, ma’am. Eliza and me, we’ll have a good life with me gone all reformed. Miss Primm, I surely do thank you for your time today.

He leans across her battered desk and kisses her soft spinster cheek. Her face flames in pure delight as he saunters out of the Current office, his backside swaying over his boot heels in just the right way
Available November 26, 2012, The Wild Rose Press