Squawteat Peak

I.H. 10 snakes across Pecos County, just south of Squawteat Peak. The peak is a dominant
feature of the landscape that rises high above the surrounding desert floor and is visible for
miles around. Prehistoric hunter-gatherers returned to camp in the shadow of the peak for
thousands of years. TARL Archives.

Back in the 1980s we lived in Alpine, Texas for a few years. My mother lived in Brownwood and I drove our son back to see his friends. One trip they rode back with us to visit the area. When we traveled the I 10 route Squawteat Peak always signified we were almost home; however, this trip the sign was gone. You know those green highway signs naming the mountain and elevation. Confused I studied every peak we passed. I'd planned to give the boys a history lesson and alas, had nothing to show them. There were several mountains that somewhat resembled the original, but none were in the right place. After some studying, I learned that TXDOT's highway construction had changed the landscape somewhat.

Burned rock middens are all that remain of large rock ovens.

This is what I remembered, but now there were roads around it. From my research I learned that Squawteat Peak is a cone shaped limestone hill hat juts 300 feet from the desert floor. "It is known for its wickiup and tipi rings—all that remain of shelters constructed by prehistoric hunter-gatherers at the site hundreds, perhaps even thousands of years ago." Though there is little vegetation, the bare bedrock supports an abundance of natural resources. They include lechuguilla, sotol, cacti, and mesquite. "Flint resources are also abundant in nearby natural outcroppings."

"Squawteat Peak was first examined by the Archeology Section of the State Department of Highways and Public Transportation (now TxDOT) during mitigation of I.H. 10 in the summer of 1974." A large burned rock midden (trash heap) was located in the right of way and excavated under the direction of Gary Moore. In the early 1980s Wayne Young and Wayne Belyeu of TxDOT returned to Squawteat Peak to make a topographic and feature map of the portions that had not been destroyed, but much information had been lost.

The most important features identified at Squawteat Peak are 14 clusters of stones believed to be wickiup and tipi rings and the rocks were used to hold up the branch supports of small brush shelters. The larger rings would have supported large wooden poles for hide tipis.

One of Squawteat Peak's wickiup rings. The rocks in this ring would have been
used to bolster the branch supports of a small brush structure. TARL Archive.

Pair of mortar holes carved into the bedrock of Squawteat Peak.

Also found were burned rock hearths and mortar holes that have been worn into the exposed bedrock. Some of the mortar holes have been ground to over 12 inches in depth which suggested they were used over long periods of time. They may have used wooden manos to grind cactus fruit (or tunas) or mesquite pods for meal.

"According to archeologist Michael Collins, who surveyed the area in the 1980s prior to the proposed construction of oil rig roads in the area, the use of this quarry goes back to at least the Late Archaic period, if not further, based  on several Shumia projectile points that he recovered during his investigation."

"The largest burned rock hidden was the focus of the 1974 excavation and is the only area of the site that has been radiocarbon dated. The midpoints of the dates taken from the around around the midden range from A.D. 900 to 1530, and midden itself (technically, the last use of the midden) dates to approximately A.D. 1300."

The research data on Squawteat Peak continues but this is all I had room for. I hope if you're interested you'll do more researching on your own. At this time there are no hiking trails to the top of the peak that reaches and elevation of 2,884 feet.

Contributions:
Carly Whelan; Michael Collins; Miller, Miles R and Nancy A. Kenmotsu; Young, Wayne.

Here is my favorite picture. I wish I could say I took it, but I actually found in in in Google images.

Thank you for stopping by Sweethearts of the West today and I hope you'll return often. Please let me know your thoughts on this post.

Linda LaRoque

www.lindalaroque.com

http://www.lindalaroqueauthor.blogspot.com

From There to Here

by Rain Trueax

Much as I love learning about other writers, from where they came, and what motivates them in their writing, when it comes to write something about myself, to introduce myself to those who don't know me, I freeze up. What to tell? What is interesting? What matters? 

Many times, I've written about living on a sheep and cattle operation in the Oregon Coast Range with my husband of 53 years. Our home is on the banks of a creek and where we raised two children to adulthood and enjoy having four grandchildren visit when they aren't too busy with their activities. I've written less about from where I come and how that has impacted what I write today.

My parents' story probably influences some of that. Mom, born in Oregon, was a professional musician who traveled around the country including Mexico, with all girl orchestras where she played bass and sang. Dad, born in South Dakota but moved to Oregon with his parents, was a stagehand at the Portland theater where her band was playing. He was a carnie, a guy who dropped everything to travel with the carnival through the summers. They dated. Then, leaving without a word, he stood her up. One of the hands told my mom that he'd never amount to anything for her. He returned at the end of the summer. By May, he'd changed her mind, and they were married. A little older, they weren't sure children were in the cards but turned out two were. 

A WWII baby, as I became a child, the United States was coming off a major war, and we were under the threat of a nuclear holocaust. If we could forget that, our schools had bomb shelters where we were supposed to go in the event of an attack (exactly what those were supposed to benefit us, I'm not sure as we all knew about the dangers of radiation).   

Thanksgiving Wasn't Very Nice by E. AYERS

Thanksgiving in America like many holidays has its roots in the East. Although Plymouth, MA tends to be thought of as the birthplace of Thanksgiving, I'm going to talk about another Thanksgiving, the first continuous settlement in the New World, Jamestown, VA. We think of the wonderful Powhatan Indians bringing gifts of food to the new settlers in a gesture of friendship. Exactly how much is fable and how much is truth seems to be muddied. One thing we do know was it wasn't very pretty.

What do we know? Not much. We think that the Indians who lived in these parts greeted us as intruders. They were skeptical and it didn't take them long to decide that we were not their friends. We put a settlement on their hunting lands. We brought infectious diseases from Europe and the we also succumbed to all sorts of illness from the Virginia environment and blamed it on the Indians. It's a bad case of finger pointing.

Knowing this area as I do, I can't imagine the settlers drinking water directly from the James River. For starters, it's brackish water. The salt content is almost as high as the Atlantic Ocean as the tides push ocean water into the Chesapeake Bay and into the rivers and inlets. It didn't take the settlers long to run out of food. And a bad growing season left them starving. They ate shoe leather and turned to cannibalism of their fellow dead. They wanted land to expand and hunt. The Indians didn't want them encroaching on their lands. Major fighting broke out.

We were better armed with guns and cannons! Can you imagine the surprise the Indians faced with these loud weapons when they only had spears and other primitive methods to protect themselves? It wasn't just the Englishmen's guns. The thing that sent the Indians to their knees was the simple act of burning their canoes. The settlers were ordered to burn any and all canoes as a way to overpower and control the Indians. Don't think of today's modern canoes or even those birch bark canoes, instead think of taking a tree trunk and hallowing it out. The canoes were massive often as much as 40-60 feet long and were virtually chipped out. It wasn't unusual for one to take maybe as much as two years to build.

The tribal leaders decided they had enough. If they continued to loose canoes, they would end up starving because it was their way to get around. They went hunting and after they had killed several deer, they took them to the English settlers of Jamestown. Please take the deer and stop burning our canoes. And we all lived happily ever after. (Not even close!)

Things remained rocky. And it probably didn't hurt that Pocahontas married John Rolfe. But, it's presumed that Chief Powhatan had probably long since given up on the daughter who had been kidnapped by the English, taught Christianity, how to act like a proper Englishwoman, and dress like one.

There was a feast in Virginia, except we don't know exactly when it took place. Probably fall or early winter because that would be the prime time to hunt deer but the year.... Actually there were several feasts along the east coast. Plymouth got to claim it and that still might not be correct. The Spaniards probably have the right to claim the first Thanksgiving and that's still ignoring the fact that the Indians had been celebrating a bountiful harvest long before any Europeans stepped foot in the New World.

Yes, the English settlement of Jamestown was grateful for the deer. Much like a child who

receives a gift, they then expected it all the time. And their demands on the Indians only lead to more problems. The English were superior to the Indians, not in intelligence, but in weapons.

The lovely notion of everyone sitting around the fire and enjoying a meal together is more of a fantasy then an actual event. The old harvest festival was alive and well. Although it would be another 200 years before Thanksgiving became a holiday.

Our new president, George Washington, declared the last Thursday in November as Thanksgiving. But he only had one such celebration. It was meant as a celebration for our success in the Revolutionary War. Various states created their own Thanksgiving, mostly as a religious holiday. Lincoln declared the holiday for the last Thursday in November to honor the widows and orphans of the Civil War and as a day of prayer to heal the nation being torn apart. Then during the Great Depression, Franklin D. Roosevelt moved the date back a week to help spur the economy's health.

The real person who helped to make Thanksgiving a holiday was Sarah Josepha Hale, author and magazine editor. She worked diligently for over 36 years to make it a recognized holiday, but with a religious bent. She wrote articles, editorials, and letters to senators, governors, presidents, and just about anyone who might listen. She even suggested the menu, complete with recipes, and that menu became today's normal table. She succeeded when she convinced Pres. Lincoln who declared it in the midst of the Civil War.

Those first Thanksgivings weren't the traditional meal of today, unless your table consists of venison, and maybe a goose or duck. New England had cranberries, but they weren't in a sauce, try a bowl full of berries. (Can we say tart? Just thinking about it makes my mouth pucker.) Of course there were beans, and there was plenty of popped corn. (What we call kettle corn today minus the sugar and all the salt.) No pumpkin pie or even pie shells - no wheat flour. No potatoes, they were a South American thing and hadn't made their way here. And sweet potatoes also hadn't made their way this far north. The fare was plain, but to the early settlers, it was a true feast, a celebration that lasted several days.

To many American Indians, the holiday marks a day of mourning. It was the beginning of the end of their rule over this great land. It's a day for them to honor their forefathers who ruled.

For the rest of us, it's a day to be with family, count our blessings, watch a football game with loved ones, and eat until we can't handle another bite while the kitchen explodes with dirty pots, pans, and dishes. Lately, it's also become the early shoppers start of the Black Friday sales.

For me, it's a day to spend with my girls. They take turns hosting such events. I get called upon to make the gravy or whatever last minute culinary need arises. We all chip in with the clean up and it's done in a flash. We laugh and joke, I play with the granddogs, and in general, it's a quiet family sort of a day, but at least we are all together. No one is burning any canoes...although there was that year I got the flat tire. It didn't take to two years to replace.

WINTER WISHES--new 99cent release

By: Celia Yeary

Winter Wishes—Three short romance stories.

The three short stories in Winter Wishes came about in an odd way. I was with my first publisher back then, and on the main website was a list of Free Reads. I asked my editor if I could write one, and if so, what were the criteria?

Fifteen hundred words, basically. “Is that all? I can’t write a story that short." My editor replied,” You can if you omit useless words.

So, I wrote Merry Christmas, Victoria. Good little story, she said, but you have 2200 words. Cut it down to 1500 words.

“What? No way, I need those words.”

Her reply. “No you don’t. Now work on it.” I did, over and over when I finally got it down to 1500 words.

At one point I begged her to do it for me..I can still hear her laughing.

Anyway, I did cut it down.

Now, about the story—how do you get ideas for stories? I was listening to a CD by Ray Charles, and he sang, “You give your hand to me, and then I say Hello, and I can hardly speak, my heart is beating so..but you don’t know me…You don’t know the one who dreams of you at night..etc.”

Aha.

So, Merry Christmas, Victoria was easy to write.

Another one—Wishes Do Come True—This one just popped in my head. I had been reading stories that involved Orphan Train children, and yes…this story came to me. I hope you like it.

The third one is The Cattleman’s Ball—I was writing a novel titled TEXAS DREAMER, and the hero of the story got his start when as a fifteen year old runaway, he stumbled upon a rundown ranch owned by one elderly rancher. The rancher took him in…and together they built it up. The hero here was old enough to travel to Chicago to sell his cattle by himself and was instructed to attend the Cattleman’s Ball to “make contacts.” But this young man found a lovely woman instead, and even with his unpolished demeanor..well, you’ll just have to read this story.

WINTER WISHES IS 99cents, and I thank PRP for putting these three stories in one volume: WINTER WISHES. 

Amazon Link:

https://www.amazon.com/Winter-Wishes-Celia-Yeary-ebook/dp/B076Z6JS7D/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1510087914&sr=1-1&keywords=celia+yeary

BEARCREEK, MONTANA: A BEGINNING AND AN END

At the end of the end of this week I will be moving to Montana for a few months. The area I’m going to is now known for tourism, but in the early 1900s coal mining was what brought thousands to this mountain area of the state. On a drive around the area, I found a piece of history.

In Carbon County Montana, there’s a  small town consisting mainly of a U.S. Post Office and a saloon.  Plotted in 1905 by George Lamport and Robert Leavens, in its heyday during World War I, Bearcreek boasted a population of nearly 2000 people. Ethnically diverse the town included Serbians, Scotsmen, Montenegrins, Germans, and Italians.  There were seven mercantiles, a bank, two hotels, two billiard halls, a brickyard and numerous saloons.

Old merchantile in Bearcreek (photo by Kirsten Lynn)

The town also had concrete sidewalks and an extensive water system. Something odd about Bearcreek, for a Montana town, no church was ever built in Bearcreek.  

Many of the buildings were constructed from the sandstone quarried in the nearby hill.  The local railway, the Montana Wyoming and Southern carried coal from the mines through Bearcreek where it was shipped to communities across Montana.  The Lampert Hotel, once located there, was built in 1907 and was described as, “well furnished…the beds being especially soft and sleep producing.  The meals are served with a desire to please the guests and no one leaves without a good impression and kindly feelings for the management.” 

However, not all times were good in the bustling town.  The Smith Mine is the site of the worst underground coal mine disaster in Montana history. The decaying buildings that still stand are a memorial to 74 men who gave up there lives in the mine on the morning of February 27, 1943.

Smoke pouring from the entrance to No. 3 vein was the first indication of trouble, “There’s something wrong down here, I’m getting out,” the hoist operator called up. He and two nearby miners were the last men to leave the mine alive.

Smith Mine (photo by Kirsten Lynn)

Families of the men anxiously awaited as rescue crews came from as far as Butte and worked around the clock to clear debris and search for survivors.  Their efforts in vain as there were no survivors.  Some men died as a result of a violent explosion, but most fell victim to the deadly methane gasses released by the blast. The tragedy sparked investigations at the state and national level that resulted in improvements in mine safety.

Long before any other markers or historical posts marked the site, a simple marker was left by two miners trapped underground waiting for the poisonous gas they knew would come.  “Walter and Johnny. Good-bye wives and daughters. We died an easy death. Love from us both. Be good.”

The tragedy at the mine hastened another death…that of the town. Many buildings were moved to other communities or demolished. The railroad tracks were removed in 1953 and the last mine closed in the 1970s.

The tragedy of the mine has stirred some plot bunnies for a story I’d like to write while living in the area. The rise and fall of Bearcreek is not an unfamiliar tale, but a part of the history of Montana and the region that should never be forgotten.

I hope that over these past few years since I have been a part of this amazing group of storytellers that I’ve been able to give you all a small glimpse into the history of Wyoming and Montana.  It has been an absolute pleasure and honor to be a part of Sweethearts of the West.  Unfortunately, while new opportunities arise something has to end.  Thank you all for reading and commenting on my posts, for sharing the information you’ve found in research, and for your support.   Hope to see you on the trail soon!

I leave you with the words of Walter and Johnny.  Be good. 

Kirsten Lynn is a Western and Military Historian. She worked six years with a Navy non-profit and continues to contract with the Marine Corps History Division for certain projects. Making her home where her roots were sewn in Wyoming, Kirsten also works as a local historian. She loves to use the history she has learned and add it to a great love story. She writes stories about men of uncommon valor…women with undaunted courage…love of unwavering devotion …and romance with unending sizzle. When she’s not writing, she finds inspiration in day trips through the Bighorn Mountains, binge reading and watching sappy old movies, or sappy new movies. Housework can always wait.

GAMBLING IN THE OLD WEST By Cheri Kay Clifton

After moving to Henderson, Nevada, I recently posted a brief history of Las Vegas. It seems only natural that I write a follow up on the origin of gambling in the Old West. 

Allow me to begin by saying that as a little girl, I loved to watch TV westerns with my dad. One of our favorites was a show called Maverick. The Maverick bothers, Bret (actor, James Garner who was my favorite) and Bart (actor, Jack Kelly) were cardsharps who played poker on Mississippi riverboats and throughout the American Old West. Getting in and out of life-threatening trouble, often with comedic effect, they always won out, good over evil. Granted the program was embellished with a lot of "Hollywood," but was based on the historical fact that in the mid 1800's on the frontier, the popularity of gambling flourished.

As towns spread through the West, along river crossings, near mining and logging sites, at railroad stops and outside Army forts, saloons, brothels and gambling halls sprang up for the mainly male population. Early camps with dirt-floor tents and bars made from boards balanced between two whiskey barrels grew into prosperous towns with wooden buildings with false fronts to make them look larger.

By mid-19th century, cities boasted elegant saloons with ornate bars, huge bar mirrors and chandeliers.

One of the most popular gambling games was poker. The exact origin of the game is unknown. Some historians believe that it came from a 16th century Persian card game called As Nas. Still others say it can't be pinpointed in time and believe the game evolved from many different countries. 

Another, vingt-et-un (twenty-one), was introduced in the predominately French community of New Orleans, a game now called blackjack. However, the most popular gambling game in the West was faro, its name supposedly derived from Egyptian pharaohs depicted on the back of French playing cards.

The historic California gold rush of 1849 brought many of the Mississippi gamblers to San Francisco where large gambling houses never closed their doors and enormous sums changed hands over the tables. Then in the 1860's came the great mining excitement of the Comstock Lode in Nevada. As in San Francisco, gambling houses dominated the main streets of the new towns, the most populated centering around Virginia City. 

The construction of the transcontinental railroad across the continent produced a number of towns with flimsy erected gambling halls, saloons, dance halls and brothels that became known as "Hell on Wheels." Men working in the remote frontier, far from home, gave cardsharps (depending on the region, also known as card sharks) plenty of opportunity to separate such men from their wages. As the Union Pacific rail line continually moved westward to meet the Central Pacific in its historic linkup in Utah Territory on May 10, 1869, Hell on Wheels followed, reconstructing their shacks, whiskey barrels, gambling equipment and other belongings to the next location at the end of the line. A few of those communities remained; today's cities, North Platte, NE, Julesburg, CO and Cheyenne, WY can trace their origins to Hell on Wheels.

The decade of the 1870's brought more boomtowns along its mining communities, namely Deadwood in Dakota Territory, Tombstone in Arizona Territory and Leadville in Colorado. The famous Wild Bill Hickok was shot to death as he sat in a poker game in a Deadwood saloon, and the hand he held - aces and eights, became the legendary expression, ‘Dead Man's Hand.’

With the advent of trail drives of Texas Longhorns to the Kansas cow towns of Abilene, Wichita, and Dodge City, more gambling meccas were built and more legendary names made Western history. With backs to the wall and guns at their sides, lawmen, Wyatt Earp and Bat Masterson were well known for their gambling professions, as were Doc Holliday, Ben Thompson and Luke Short. 

During the late 19th century many frontier towns and states enacted new laws against gambling, establishing limits and mainly targeting the professional gamblers. At first, the anti-gaming laws were weak and penalties were light. But with the rise of woman suffrage reform movements across the nation in the early 20th century and the prohibition of alcoholic beverages, the gambling laws were gradually strengthened. Ironically, Nevada was one of the first states in the West to make gambling illegal in 1909, other states soon following suit.

By the time construction on the Hoover Dam was underway in 1931, Nevada relaxed its gambling laws and casinos soon were back in business. By 1939, six casinos and sixteen saloons were flourishing in Las Vegas. As is often said, "the rest is history." Las Vegas became the gambling and entertaining mecca it is today. 

Over the years, gambling has grown in popularity.  And you don't have to travel to Las Vegas to place a bet. Today many states have reintroduced gambling in limited formats and with carefully regulated laws. One doesn't even have to leave the comfort of the home, as anyone can log onto a computer to tempt the fates. 

But the professional gamblers of the western frontier are long lost legends and only remembered in history books .... or seen on old TV western reruns .... or quite possibly read in books written by Sweethearts of the West!

Born in Nebraska, Cheri Kay Clifton loved researching the Oregon Trail, historically known as the "Gateway to the West." Her passion for those brave pioneers, Native Americans and 19th Century America led her to write the epic western historical Wheels of Destiny Trilogy.  Cheri is married and has one grown son.  If she’s not riding on the back of her husband’s Harley, she’s writing the third book in the Wheels of Destiny Trilogy which includes published Book 1, Trail To Destiny and Award Winning Book 2, Destiny’s Journey.

"The Old West isn't just a time or place, it's a state of mind.  I get germs of ideas, do a lot of research, then breathe life into my characters.  I like strong heroines, but loveable; and strong heros, but vulnerable."

Reviews from Easychair Bookshop judges:  "A must read western romance." "A10/10 read." "Action, adventure, romance at its very best."

My Links:

Amazon author page

My Web Site

Facebook

Stage Coach Mary

By Paisley Kirkpatrick

Mary Fields, also known as Stagecoach Mary and Black Mary, was the first African-American woman to be a star route mail carrier in the United States. She wasn't an employee of the United States Post Office because the Post Office Department did not hire or employ mail carriers for star routes. Instead, they awarded star route contracts to persons who presented the lowest qualified bids, and who posted bonds and sureties to substantiate their ability to finance the route. Once they obtained a contract, the contractor could drive the route themselves, sublet the route, or hire an experienced driver. Some individuals obtained multiple star route contracts and conducted the operations as a business.

Mary Fields obtained the star route contract for the delivery of U.S. mail from Cascade, Montana to Saint Peter's Mission in 1885. She drove the route with horse and wagon, not a stagecoach, for two four-year contracts from 1885 to 1889 and from 1889 to 1893.

Born a slave in Hickman County, Tennessee, in 1832, Mary was freed when slavery was outlawed in the United States in 1865. She took the opportunity to work in the home of Judge Edmund Dunne. When Dunne's wife Josephine died in 1883, in San Antonio, Florida, Mary took the family's five children to their aunt, Mother Mary Amadeus, the mother superior of an Ursuline convent in Toledo, Ohio.

In 1884, Mother Amadeus was sent to Montana Territory to establish a school for Native American girls at St. Peter's Mission, west of Cascade. Learning that Mother Amadeus was stricken with pneumonia, Mary hurried to Montana to nurse her back to health. After Mother Amadeus recovered, Mary stayed at St. Peter's, hauling freight, doing laundry, growing vegetables, tending chickens, and repairing buildings. Eventually she became the forewoman.

The Native Americans called Mary Fields 'White Crow' because she acted like a white woman even though she had black skin. Local whites didn't know what to make of her. One schoolgirl wrote an essay saying, "She drinks whiskey, and she swears, and she is a republican, which makes her a low, foul creature."

In 1894, after several complaints and an incident that involved gunplay with a disgruntled male subordinate, the bishop ordered her to leave the convent. Mother Amadeus helped her open a restaurant in nearby Cascade. Mary served food to anyone, whether they could pay or not. The restaurant went broke in about ten months.

In 1895, although she was approximately 60 years old, Mary Fields was hired as a mail carrier because she was the fastest applicant to hitch a team of six horses. This job made her the second woman, and first African American woman, to work for the U.S. Postal Service.

She drove the route with horses and a mule named Moses. She never missed a day of work, and her reliability earned her the nickname of Stagecoach Mary. If the snow was too deep for her horses, Mary delivered the mail on snowshoes, carrying the sacks on her shoulders.

Mary Fields died in 1914 at Columbus Hospital in Great Falls, Montana, but she was buried outside Cascade.