Do Horses Fly? ~Tanya Hanson

Leland Stanford (1824-1893), who wore such hats as California governor, railroad baron, university founder and race horse owner, sought to settle one of the hottest debates of the 1870’s: Is there a moment in a horse’s gait when all four hooves are off the ground at once?

Legend says he bet $25,000 that it was true. Common opinion at the time nixed the idea. After all, if God wanted horses to “fly”, He would have given the creature wings. But determined to settle the question, Stanford hired celebrity photographer Eadweard Muybridge (1830-1904) to prove it.

One of San Francisco’s most celebrated landscape photographers, Muybridge took more than 2,000 photographs with 20x24 inch negatives. His 1867 photographs of Yosemite Valley brought the valley…and himself…almost mythic status.

Accepting Stanford’s challenge in 1877, Muybridge captured Stanford’s horse, Occident, silhouetted against white sheets with all four feet off the ground. He used 12 to 24 cameras and a self-designed shutter that gave an exposure of 2/1,000 of a second. Although these original pictures didn’t survive, Muybridge continued to work with Stanford to develop techniques in the “science of animal motion.”

In 1878, he succeeded in photographing a sequence of frames produced on wet plate with 12 cameras that proved the “flying horse.” The slow wet plate collodion process produced images that were mostly silhouettes, but they showed something never before seen by the human eye.

Scientific American and other prominent publications featured articles on Muybridge’s accomplishment. However, Stanford invited his close friend, horseman and medical physician Dr. J.D.D. Stillman to produce a book analyzing the horse-in-motion. Stillman used Muybridge’s photography without crediting the photographer. Interestingly, when Muybridge sued Stanford and Stillman for copyright infringement, he lost his suit.

Eadweard Muybridge migrated to the University of Pennsylvania after that. His invention of the zoopraxiscope earned him the title of the father of the motion picture. To illustrate his lectures, he developed the scope; its lantern projected images in rapid succession onto a screen. The images came from his photographs, printed on a glass disc. From the rotating disc came the illusion of moving pictures.

Muybridge’s zoopraxiscope display, an important predecessor of the modern cinema, was a sensation at the World's Columbian Exposition of 1893 in Chicago. His works are still in demand by art students.

--Tanya Hanson
www.tanyahanson.com
www.petticoatsandpistols.com

P.s. Right to Bragg, fourth book in the Hearts Crossing Ranch series, will be released 11-11-11. How about that for a magic number?

Why Isn’t My Muse Listening to Me?

by Anna Kathryn Lanier

Even though I know my day to post is coming up, I always procrastinate writing my piece.  This week has been especially hard, as I have been dealing with an infected tooth, which has given me a lot a pain.  So, here it is, the morning of the 14^th and I am just now writing my post.

Actually, my life has been pretty busy all year and my writing has suffered.  My muse has taken a vacation, along with my characters, who used to talk to me all the time. It’s rather odd not to have them in my head, wanting attention.  Recently, however, a couple, literally, has returned.

My tag line is ‘Where Tumbleweeds Hang Their Hats.’  That’s because the last four stories I’ve had published have Western settings, one is historical, the other three are contemporaries with cowboys.  Most of the stories I have started but not worked on in a while are also Western set.

There’s Kaitlyn and Gage, high school sweethearts who went their separate ways in college. This story is based on the Carrie Underwood’s song “Last Name,” where the gal wakes up married and doesn’t remember the name of the guy she was with the night before, let alone what her new last name is.  Yep, Kaitlyn and Gage meet up in Reno or Vegas and tie the knot, while drunk and neither really remembers it.  Another story is one I started about 5 years ago.  Admittedly, I’ve never quite figured out Gordon’s GMC, but shouldn’t he be telling me that? Talking to me, explaining things?  Nope, he’s as silent as a tomb.

Oh, and then there’s the historical story I want to write about the couple on the Wagon Train heading west.  I’ve done a lot of research on this subject, as the class on Pioneering Women of the West I gave in August can attest.  Are Garrison and Sam talking to me?  No, they aren’t.

So, with all these Western stories in my mind, who is talking to me? Jane and Marcus, a Regency couple, that’s who! I love Jane and Marcus and I love their story, but I really want to write a western story right now. And a short western story would be even better.  Jane and Marcus have a rather complicated romance.  I’m not sure I can write it in a  short way. But they are the ones who decided to take up residency in my head and my muse has decided to let them.

I really am glad, that after the dry spell, someone is talking.  I will work on Marcus and Jane’s story, but I’m hoping for a simple, sexy cowboy story to show up, too.

I’m heading to the Northwest Houston RWA Chapter’s Lone Star Conference this weekend. I hope to get some spark there!  Everyone have a great weekend!

Anna Kathryn Lanier
Where Tumbleweeds Hang Their Hats
www.annakathrynlanier.com
www.annakathrynlanier.blogspot.com

Story behind Christmas Redemption

Because I write historical western romance set in Oregon, I'm always on the look out for books that can spark an idea or premise for a story.  One such book is Oregon Outlaws by Gary and Gloria Meier. While reading this book I came across an interesting event that took place in Wallowa Valley where I grew up.

A young man participated in a bank robbery, was caught and sentenced then twenty-seven years later became the vice president of the same bank.

This premise intrigued me and the more I thought about it the more I wanted to have a hero who learned from a bad experience and came back to his home town and made good.  So I came up with Van Donovan. At the rebellious age of fifteen he was the lookout for a bank robbery and the only one who was caught. He was given a harsh sentence and lost all contact with his family.

He returns twelve years later an accomplished bootmaker, a skill he learned from another prison inmate. He's determined to prove to the town, himself, and his family he's a new man.

I researched to discover when the railroad arrived in Pleasant Valley to take his former sleepy little town into a bustling place that would support his business and give him access to ship his custom made boots across the country.  I also had to make sure the town had a bank at the time of the robbery.

That is how I gathered the research for my Christmas Novella, Christmas Redemption which is a free download at Smashwords until December 31st.

Blurb:

Van Donovan returns to Pleasant Valley, Oregon where twelve years earlier as a boy of fifteen he left in handcuffs after standing guard for a bank robbery. He's learned a trade and excelled at it and is ready to prove to his father and the town he can amount to something.

Upon his return he learns the fate of the daughter of an innocent man who died in the robbery crossfire. To make amends he takes her out of the saloon and gives her a job, not realizing she'd been squatting in the very building he'd purchased for his business.

Can two battered hearts find solace or will the past continue to haunt their lives?

Excerpt:

Van worked hard to wash away the images of the men handling Tessa like she was a whore.  He'd witnessed the fear and humiliation in her large green eyes. Now fear widened those same eyes. Only this fear was almost frantic.

"What's wrong?" He stepped closer.

"I-I…" She glanced at the building in front of them and then at her feet.

The calico cat slinked around the corner of the building, set its yellow eyes on Tessa, and trotted over, lacing back and forth around her ankles.

"You and the cat seem to be friends."  The minute he spit the words out it dawned on him- Tessa was his squatter.

She bent, scooped the cat into her arms, and buried her face in the animal's thick fur. Van's heart squeezed.

"I have a feeling it's your pallet in my storeroom." He motioned to the cat when her face and wide eyes appeared over its back.  "The cat and I met before. In the back room."

She sucked in air then coughed. The cat launched out of her arms. Tears streamed down her rosy cheeks.

Van slipped an arm around her and maneuvered her into the building, away from the prying eyes peering through the saloon doors and from the street around them. Inside, he closed the door and moved to add wood to the potbelly stove he'd started before heading to the saloon.

She stood just inside the door, huddled in his coat, the whole time he added two sticks of wood and placed a chair beside the stove.

"Sit and get warm." He maneuvered her to the chair and she sat.

"W-why are you doing this?" she asked, gazing up at him, searching his face. He could stare into her spring green eyes—round and wondering like an innocent child—all day.

"You didn’t look like you wanted those men pawing you, and I need help setting up and running my shop."  And I can't let your life be awful because of me.

"Who are you? Why are you here? In Pleasant Valley?"

Van swallowed the wad of shame strangling his throat and studied the stove. She deserved the truth but would she understand his part in her father's death? He wouldn't know until he told her. He looked her square in the eyes.

"I lived in Pleasant Valley some years back and after learning a trade decided to return and reconnect with family."  There until she heard his name that should suffice.

"Who's your family?  I've been around here my whole life I probably know them."  Tessa pulled his coat tighter around her shoulders.

The action reminded him of the men at the saloon and her scant clothing. "Why don’t you go back and change into your clothes. I'll get a pot of coffee going. Then we'll sit down and discuss what I see as your job."  He turned his back to her and dug in the box he'd placed by the stove. The old battered pot he used for shop coffee was in it somewhere.

The cat's purring and the soft skim of her shoes across the wood floor faded. He ran a hand over the back of his neck. The muscles started knotting when she'd asked about his family. Damn! Sooner or later he'd have to tell her, but it would be best if he could keep it quiet until she fully trusted him and learned to see he wasn't the same boy who raised havoc on the town just to get his father riled.

Paty Jager

www.patyjager.net

www.patyjager.blogspot.com

BORDER STATES AND THE CIVIL WAR

Quantrill's Raiders

Those of us who love American history are acutely aware of the devastation the Civil War brought to the Southern states, but we don’t always remember the effects of the conflict on the Border States, where slaveholders rubbed shoulders with abolitionists and bloodshed often ensued.

I grew up in Kansas City on the border of Missouri (a "slave" state) and Kansas (a "free" state), and reminders of the conflict still remained in many neighboring towns when I was a child. One of my father’s law partners owned a farm in Lane, Kansas, with a small house that had once been a stop on the Underground Railroad. I was always fascinated by how little the building had changed during the hundred-plus years since the last slaves passed through on their way to freedom. Whenever we visited, I half-expected to run face-to-face into John Brown. For me, a trip to that farm was like a step back in time.

The small town of Weston, on the Missouri side of the state line north of Kansas City, is the setting for my first historical, HARVEST OF DREAMS. Weston represented the other side of the conflict. Around 1840, farmers from Kentucky settled the area and founded the town, bringing with them their heritage of tobacco farms and slaves. The Southern influence was so strong the county later became known as "Little Dixie." During the war, Union and Confederate troops took turns commandeering supplies from the citizenry until there was nothing left to take. By the time the war ended, the local economy was in tatters and freed slaves accounted for a significant portion of the population.

The setting was ripe for rootless men to form outlaw bands and take what they wanted by force. Some of those men had pillaged the area during the war under the command of guerrilla leaders such as the infamous Silas Gordon and William Quantrill--among them Frank and Jesse James. The James brothers were local boys, born in Clay County. They were credited with the first daylight armed bank robbery in peacetime in U.S. history—the robbery of the Clay County Savings Association in Liberty, MO, on Feb. 13, 1866, and continued to plague citizens and lawmen alike until Jesse’s death in 1882 at the age of 34.

My latest historical romance, A MAN LIKE THAT, takes place in the Ozark Mountains of central Missouri just after the end of the Civil War when the wounds were just starting to heal. A MAN LIKE THAT is a story of healing, redemption, and the value of family – all as important today as they were in 1867

During the war years, Missouri was officially still part of the Union (unlike its neighbor, Arkansas) but recognizing slavery (unlike Kansas). The Show Me state was a veritable "No Man’s Land", with neighbors and families split by competing loyalties.

In truth, many people changed sides depending on which army was in the neighborhood because the soldiers, both Union and Confederate, uprooted civilians, burned towns, and confiscated provisions whenever they passed through. The thin, rocky soil and steep terrain of the Ozarks provided a sparse living in the best of times, and 1867 was not the best of times. But for the fiercely independent folk who called them home, the lure of the mountains remained strong, and my hero, Morgan Bingham, is no exception.

Morgan bears the scars of fighting with the notorious Confederate guerilla, "Bloody" Bill Anderson, and joining a band of renegade outlaws after the war. His brother, Ethan, was conscripted by the army then sent home after losing a leg. Only love can save these damaged brothers from the demons that haunt them.

Here’s a blurb:

Jessamine Randall, fearless crusader and champion of the downtrodden, is not a woman to be left waiting at the altar. When her fiancé disappears hours before their wedding, the ever-resourceful Jessy hatches a plan to track him down and bring him back where he belongs.

Morgan Bingham knows he’s no good. Never has been. Never will be. A former outlaw is no fit husband for the only daughter of the town judge, despite her misguided notions. Besides, after ten long years away from home, it’s time to return to the hills and face his demons.

Ill-prepared, but armed with unshakeable certainty, Jessy follows Morgan to his family’s cabin deep in the Ozark Mountains where she’s sucked into a whirlpool of deep secrets and old hatreds. While she struggles to bring light and hope into their dark lives, her greatest challenge is Morgan himself. Can she ever convince him he’s worthy of love?

Thanks so much hosting me today. It’s been great fun! For more details about HARVEST OF DREAMS and A MAN LIKE THAT, I invite everyone to visit me at www.alisonhenderson.com

Alison

 

HANG FIRE - CAN YOUR HERO LOAD HIS PEACEMAKER?

By Kathy Otten

This short article is Part Two of last month’s blog, Gunmen and Peacemakers. It comes from information I accumulated for my newest work-in-progress.

Movie hero
John Wayne

In my new WIP novel my hero carries a brand new 1873 Colt Single Action Army revolver. At one point the heroine tries to shoot someone with it, but when she pulls the trigger nothing happens. In order to write this teensy part of the scene I needed to learn how to load and fire this gun.


The term single-action simply means that there was only one way to fire the gun, by first cocking the hammer then pulling the trigger. Cocking the hammer was done with the second joint of the thumb and not the ball of the thumb. Because my heroine knows nothing about guns, she doesn’t cock the hammer and the Colt does not fire.

Colt Single Action

I remember being a kid and hearing John Wayne say in one of his movies that only five cartridges were loaded in a six shooter. This is because the firing pin, (the pointed part on the inside of the hammer which strikes the bullet’s primer), rests very close to the chamber beneath the hammer. A fall from a horse or a sharp blow or bump would cause that firing pin to strike the primer and the gun would go off.


Which is also why your hero would probably have the outlaw set his gun down carefully, not toss it out a window or throw it on the ground. Nor would he nail wanted posters to a tree with the butt of his gun. The villain probably wouldn’t pistol whip anyone. To do either the gun would have to be held by the barrel, which wouldn’t be too smart if a sharp blow caused it to fire.

To properly load the five cartridges, the hammer was pulled back to the half-cock position. This freed the cylinder so it could rotate. With the thumb, the loading gate was flipped open. This was located behind the cylinder on the right side of the revolver.

One chamber was visible, and the bullet was gently pushed in. Then the cylinder was rotated clockwise to reveal the next chamber. This chamber was skipped and the cylinder rotated. The next four bullets were loaded. So it went, one--skip one--one, two, three, four. This way when the hammer was de-cocked it rested on the empty chamber.

To fire the Colt, the hammer was fully cocked, which tightened the springs inside and rotated the cylinder to a loaded chamber. When the trigger was pulled, a spring released the hammer. The hammer slammed the firing pin into the primer at the back of the cartridge. The primer detonated, igniting the gun powder inside the cartridge and propelled the bullet out of the barrel.

A misfire could occur if the primer was defective. If a bullet was old or stored where there was dampness, moisture or corrosion could foul the powder, making it unable to burn and go off.

If a misfire occurred, it was best to wait sixty seconds with the barrel pointed in a safe direction in case there was a delayed firing. This was known as a hang fire.
If nothing happened, then the round could be ejected.

To unload the gun, the hammer was again pulled to half-cock and the loading gate opened. The barrel was pointed up. Unfired bullets dropped out by their own weight. Empty cartridges need to be pushed using the spring-loaded ejection rod. This was found under the barrel and was pushed into one chamber at a time, as the cylinder was rotated.

Colt Single Action Army

Despite inside mechanisms that were easily damaged, the Colt’s one advantage was that it could still be made to shoot. If the hammer notches broke, the shooter could thumb his shots. If the pawl (ratchet) or springs which rotate the cylinder broke, the cylinder could be rotated by hand. And if the mainspring broke, it was possible to pound the hammer with a rock.

Though I now have way more information on Colt’s Single Action Army revolver than I’ll ever need for my story, it was fun finding it. And hopefully I’ve passed along some tidbit you might find useful for one of your stories.

A Very Western Halloween!

Last year I placed a poll on my personal blog, The Cozy Page, for readers to choose which western Halloween costume I should wear. The two costumes I was having a tough time picking between were that of an Indian maiden to go with the new calf-length moccassins I had recently received as a gift from my father...or the sassy western showgirl, which came with a special sheriff outfit for one of my four-legged companions. (See the choices here.) The readers chose the Indian maiden though I have to admit while the poll lasted it was a fun dilemna! This year I'm even thinking about trading my Indian maiden costume in for the showgirl and canine sheriff. (And I wouldn't mind seeing the hub spiffed up like an outlaw in ten-gallon hat and spurs either!)

I've learned to love Halloween. It wasn't always my favorite holiday. I'm easily spooked and pretty superstitious. I definitely don't like horror movies and I ate enough candy corn as a child I simply can't stand to see it anymore. However, with a mother and a sister who absolutely LOVE Halloween and everything that it entails...it's no wonder I've grown to love the spooktacular day again. One thing I've always loved about All Hallows Eve, however, is the dressing up - being somebody else for an evening. (I once won second place in a costume contest for dressing up as a lady pirate! Captain Jack Sparrow would definitely have appreciated it....)

I take my costume shopping very seriously. And again, of course, I find myself steering more toward the western variety. For example, the Elite Indian Maiden from CostumeDiscounters.com...

Though the Snow Princess might be a little warmer....

If I did indeed go the cowgirl route this year, I could do with the Sassy Lone Ranger to go with the hub's outlaw....

Or a couple of classic cowgirls - Annie Oakley...

...and Jesse from Toy Story....

I'm leaning toward Jesse myself! Especially, hehe, when it's paired with this....

Here's some more cowboy eye candy for ya....

So have I given anyone ideas yet for their own Halloween fun? What are you planning on dressing up as this Halloween?

I saved this one for last. This year I'm definitely going with a different approach for my three goofy labs. Hope everyone's Halloween is as enjoyable as this!!!

Amber Leigh Williams

www.amberleighwilliams.com

"Williams has brought the romantic back to romance!" ~ Long & Short Reviews

Old Hangtown, California

From Dry Diggins to Hangtown to Placerville
Dry Diggins was the first of thirty mining camps to spring up around Coloma, where gold was discovered by James Marshall on January 24, 1848. While other camps, such as Bottle Hill, Georgia Slide, and Murderer's Bar just faded away, Hangtown, or Placerville, was a survivor, along with Diamond Springs, El Dorado, Shingle Springs and Georgetown.

Dry Diggins became known as Hangtown in the fall of 1849, due to vigilante justice meted out to criminals at the end of a rope, often at the giant old oak tree on the thoroughfare in town. With the large influx of fortune hunters from around the world came the usual portion of unsavory characters committing all manner of despicable deeds, from robbery to murder.

The miners quickly became short-tempered with the rising crime rate and the lack of readily-available law enforcement, so they took the "law" (or lack thereof) into their own hands. Criminals were punished in short order, whether it be flogging or hanging, based on snap decisions made by impromptu courts with hastily-formed juries. If you voiced your reasonable objections in favor of a more lengthy, but fair trial for the accused, you'd risk swinging, too.

Flog Five, Hang Three - The first lynching in the camp, a triple hanging, came after a gang of five tried to rob a miner of his gold dust. They were caught and each received a whipping of nearly 40 strokes. Then someone in the crowd of 2,000 said he recognized three of the five as being wanted for involvement with a murder on the Stanislaus River. At that, the three suspects, who were still weak from the flogging they took, were immediately tried, sentenced and hanged by the mob.

There was one dissenter, E.G. Buffum, who stood on a stump and protested on behalf of the accused, saying they were too weak from loss of blood to either stand or speak in their own defense. His valiant efforts were in vain, however, and he himself was threatened with lynching by the angry mob if he didn't 'shut up'. Buffum escaped with his life and later became the senior editor of the Alta newspaper in San Francisco.

The three suspects were hanged together from the huge oak tree in camp. The location of this well-used hangin' tree is marked by an effigy dangling by his neck from the second story of the Hangman's Tree Historic Spot in downtown Placerville. The stump is said to be in the cellar.

A lynching in 1850 resulted from an incident that happened at the El Dorado Hotel, when a miner accused a young Monte dealer of "waxing the cards". The card dealer was the infamous Dick Crone, who threatened to cut the miner's heart out if he accused him of cheating again. When the miner repeated the words, the gambler drew a large bowie knife, plunging it into the miner's chest twice, twisting it around the second time (obviously trying to make good on his threat to cut his heart out). Miners flocked into town from outlying diggins to locate and punish Crone. He was found hiding in Coffee's tavern, and was promptly tried (with witnesses testifying), convicted, and hanged that very evening by a mob jury of thousands.

The vigilante lynchings, with their often deserved but sometimes questionable justice, brought about a measure of peace within the camp. The criminals hadn't left the scene completely, however. They just moved their business to the outskirts of town, ambushing miners. These bushwhackers had a gang-like network, complete with in-town spies, secret handgrips, and special passwords. A vigilante committee was formed to deal with this problem.