Texas Cakewalk

By Patricia Stinson and Patricia Louise Stinson

In the Wyoming Territory in the 1800's there was little law. People took what they wanted. Lynchings, called Texas Cakewalk, happened. This is a true account of the motives and aftermath of the lynchings. What were the motives of six men to lynch people? Did they get away with it?

Texas Cak

• Language: English
• Publisher: P.S. Read LLC
• Release date: Feb 26, 2024
• ISBN: 9781959483588

Patricia Stinson

A Minnesota native who like riding horses and reading. Patricia Stinson writes historical fiction of events in the West.

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Copyright © 2024 by Patricia Stinson.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

Published by Parchment Global Publishg

Printed in the United States of America

This book is creative non-fiction based on historical facts.

2024

First Edition

ISBN: 978-1-959483-57-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-959483-58-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2023907220

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I could not have written this true crime story without the help and encouragement of Cobblestone Writers’ Group.

A big debt of gratitude to Margaret Campbell, who was very patient in reading the manuscript, even parts of it over the phone during COVID.

And Jehovah, who would not let me rest until I wrote this story.

INTRODUCTION

My dear reader,

Texas Cakewalk is a phrase used for a lynching in the 1800s.

This book is historical fiction. There are eight main characters. Each person lived in the 1840s.

The main characters of this true crime story lived and worked in Casper, Rawlins, Cheyenne, and the prairies of the Wyoming Territory in the 1880s.

This book contains mini stories featuring one of the eight main characters and their coming together in their pursuit of what they wanted.

Each person is profiled as accurately as my research took me. They were people who loved, laughed and struggled. They were human and even the best of them had flaws but also virtues. Each had his or her own identity. Motives and personalities are as I saw from my research.

This is part non-fiction in that the eight main characters, seven men and one woman, lived and came together in one historical event. It is fiction in the dialogue, as I was not there more than one hundred years ago, despite what my gray hair may imply, and a few minor characters.

The background of each character influenced their decisions and actions. They all faced difficulties and opportunities. Each felt he was independent, unknowing they were manipulated.

I portray six men who left their past behind and became rich cattle men. The men were Albert John Bothwell, Robert B. Conner. Tom Soleil (aka Tom Sun), Robert M. Galbraith, John Henry Durbin and Ernest McLean.

I portray two people who left their past behind and became small ranchers and farmers, aka nesters. They were James (Jim, Jimmy) Averell and Ellen Watson.

The characters came from different backgrounds, but they collided at an historic time in the Wyoming Territory.

THE STORY BEGINS WITH THOMAS SOLEIL

CHAPTER ONE

Hey kid, I’ll give you two-bits to watch my mule and horse while I get some tonsil paint. If anyone tries to steal them, come into the saloon, and tell me.

A grubby boy in stained cotton pants and shirt stopped and eyed the man. The grizzled old man, wearing rugged black leather pants, under his leather hunting shirt, and a turban hat made of a big bandanna, which covered the top of his long, dirty hair, was standing in front of the St. Louis groggery.

Crossing the wide, dusty street by dodging horses, and mules pulling drays and carriages and several piles of horse dung, he stepped onto a narrow boardwalk in front of the saloon.

Shur, mister. If I steal them and come and tell you someone else stole your outfit, what then? the boy asked as he grinned.

I’d hand you your guts after I slit you open. The man grinned, showing yellow and brown teeth.

The boy smiled. Okay, I’ll keep an eye on your trappin’s. Hey, what’s your name?

Folks call me Dakota. What’s yours?

Folks call me Tom DeBeau Soleil.

Let’s just make it Tom Soleil. After a wink and a grin, Dakota stepped into the bar.

Shade provided by the building made it the best place to sit and keep an eye on the animals. A breeze swept up the dusty street as Tom sat in the dirt and listened to his grumbling stomach.

Three hours later, the bat-wing doors of the hootch house opened and Dakota flipped a coin to Tom. You did fine. You kept your word and stayed here. He walked over to his bay.

Dakota, where are you goin’? I see you packed your mule with supplies.

Goin’ cross the Mississip. I trap for beaver furs. Make it to St. Louis every three or four years.

Will you be goin’ near Montana? I’ve an uncle there I want to make acquaintance with.

Might be eventually. Where are your people?

My ma died, and pa married a mean woman. He has to put up with her as he’s hitched to her, but I ain’t, so I left.

So, you be a guttersnipe. How old are you?

Yes sir, I’m eleven.

Where do you hale from?

Canada. I got me a mule. Figured my pa owed me that much, him getting’ married to such a hag.

Reckon, it’s okay. Do as I say, or I’ll leave ya wherever we be. I’ll stake you to provisions, and you can pay me back after you learn how to trap for yourself. You can ride your mule.

Deal. Tom flashed a smile.

Come on, if you’re comin’.

*     *     *

Wading into the shallow water near the pond’s tree line, Tom thrust a pole through the ring on the beaver trap to open the mouth and mark the placement. He placed a willow twig over the trap with one end in the pond bottom and one in the crown slightly below the water surface. After securing the trap, he smeared the beaver scent he got from the glands of earlier catches on the exposed part of the willow switch. The musky odor drifted in the air until he put a plug-stopper back into the bottle made of buffalo horn. After working and living with Dakota for several years, he was confident in his skills and did not waste time.

After setting his eighth and last trap, he retraced his way to the campsite he had with Dakota.

His partner was stretching his pelts over willow frames to dry. Without a word, Tom laid the drowned beavers he had collected during the day by a tree and began skinning their hides.

Took you longer than usual. What delayed you? asked Dakota.

An Arapaho brave took a beaver from one of my traps. Had to track him down.

Did you catch him?

I got the beaver back. The brave won’t be needin’ it.

Good. You’ve got to keep what is yours. Fight for it if need be. Dakota eyed his stack of beaver pelts and compared it to Tom’s The same. Each man had his personal mark on his hides. Smiling, he put an iron pot half full of river water over the low fire. After you shot the deer this morning, hung, and bled it, I cut out the heart, liver, and kidneys. I pulled out the bile bladder so the liver and kidneys can be boiled and the heart I’ll roast. We will have a tongue-licking’ supper tonight. I’ll save the fat from the kidneys for making pemmican later. I’ll cook while you skin the deer and cut up the meat.

Tom nodded.

*     *     *

Seems like a fair spot to hunker down for the night. Dakota reined his horse into the shade of a tree.

Early, ain’t it? Tom halted his horse.

Yep, but my bones say this is a top-notch spot by the stream. You gut the rabbits and raccoon and get the hides ready to cure while I start a fire. Dakota eased off his horse.

Tom, taller than Dakota and a younger-looking version, put his hands on the withers and jumped from his horse. He threw the dead animals to the side. Uh-ha. But first, I’ll unsaddle the broncs and stake them out to graze near the river while you gather the wood for the fire. Tom noticed Dakota’s swollen knuckles, and knew his partner’s joints ached, although he never said a word. He is crippled from working in the cold river water and staying in the mountains in the winter. Likely, I’ll be the same if I keep doing this. I’ve got to think of my future. I have to go on my own and leave our partnership. Tom’s thoughts tumbled in his head as he staked out the horses to graze.

Not long after Tom returned to the campsite he handed the rabbit meat to Dakota, who slid it onto a sharpened stick and hung the skewer over the fire. With his skinning blade, Tom worked on the raccoon and rabbit pelts.

Dakota kept watching the meat. Tom, we been trappin’ together for six or seven years now, I figure. You know all I can teach you about trappin’, huntin’, and survivin’. We never got to Montana.

Yup.

Got me a notion of spendin’ the winter in St. Louis. My bones don’t hanker for the icy winds and snow with just cabin shelter anymore. You be welcome to come with me. Or might be, you still be interested in findin’ your uncle.

The skinning blade stopped for a moment and then continued dislodging the fat from the fur’s inside. Don’t need to now. I can care for myself. I’d like to join the army, but I’m too young. Last month, when we sold some pelts at the fort, I heered tell there was construction work in Oklahoma where the army wants to build another fort. I’ve pondered on things, and it’s the place for me to learn somethin’ else besides trappin’. Maybe I can scout for the army. Don’t think there is an age requirement for that.

Dakota smiled and nodded his head. Hear you. I was your age once. I didn’t want to sit around in a tenderfoot place. Wanted the outdoors. But trappin’ doesn’t make as much as it did.

Still working with the knife, Tom replied, I love these mountains. Ain’t nothin’ better, in my mind. After the War Between the States, I’ll likely be comin’ back to these parts.

A skewed hunk of meat hanging over the fire let drops of blood fall into the flames. The fire sputtered, and the sparks flew into the air. Dakota turned the skewer as he said, Well, you’re gritty enough for it. A wide grin spread out under his beard and mustache.

The following day, Tom stood and extended his hand to Dakota. I’m beholding to you. You taught me how to survive and fight for what I want. You made me strong with grit. Without you, I’d likely have ended up as a gutter rat. You were better than my real pa. Tom’s serious look in his eyes told him he was saying the truth.

Dakota shook Tom’s hand and said, You’ve been like a son to me. Hope the best for you.

"I’m giving you ten of my beaver hides to thank you and