Chris Enss's Blog - Posts Tagged "sam-sixkiller"
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Here’s a sample of just one of the books in the collection.
Sam Sixkiller: Frontier Cherokee Lawman
Sam Sixkiller was one of the most accomplished lawmen in 1880s Oklahoma Territory. And in many ways, he was a typical law enforcement official, minding the peace and gunslinging in the still-wild West. What set Sam Sixkiller apart was his Cherokee heritage. Sixkiller’s sworn duty was to uphold the law, but he also took it upon himself to protect the traditional way of life of the Cherokee. Sixkiller’s temper, actions, and convictions earned him more than a few enemies, and in 1886 he was assassinated in an ambush. This new biography takes a sweeping, cinematic look at the short, tragic life of Sam Sixkiller and his days policing the streets of the Wild West.
Winners will be chosen on Thursday, December 31.
Ready, set, GO!
GRAND PRIZE: Win a copy of ALL of my books in print including: Entertaining Women: Actresses, Singers, and Dancers of the Old West, Hearts West: Mail Order Brides of the Frontier, The Young Duke: The Story of John Wayne’s Early Life, The Cowboy and the Senorita: The Life and Times of Roy Rogers and Dale Evans, Happy Trails: A Pictorial of Roy Rogers, Dale Evans, and Trigger, Sam Sixkiller: Cherokee Frontier Lawman, and fifteen other titles about women of the Old West. For a total of 20 books!! PLUS a western book bag and $50 Amazon gift card! Now is that a prize or what??
Second prize: You choose TEN of my books and a $25 gift Amazon gift card.
Third prize: You choose FIVE of my books and a $15 gift Amazon gift card.
All you have to do to enter is using form below. You must be a subscriber of the blog (signed up to the email newsletter) to win.
Easy enough, right? If you want to comment and tell me where you’d put that big collection of books in your home, I’d love to hear about it.
Here’s a sample of just one of the books in the collection.
Sam Sixkiller: Frontier Cherokee Lawman
Sam Sixkiller was one of the most accomplished lawmen in 1880s Oklahoma Territory. And in many ways, he was a typical law enforcement official, minding the peace and gunslinging in the still-wild West. What set Sam Sixkiller apart was his Cherokee heritage. Sixkiller’s sworn duty was to uphold the law, but he also took it upon himself to protect the traditional way of life of the Cherokee. Sixkiller’s temper, actions, and convictions earned him more than a few enemies, and in 1886 he was assassinated in an ambush. This new biography takes a sweeping, cinematic look at the short, tragic life of Sam Sixkiller and his days policing the streets of the Wild West.
Winners will be chosen on Thursday, December 31.
Ready, set, GO!
Cherokee Frontier Lawman
Enter now to win a copy of
Sam Sixkiller: Cherokee Frontier Lawman
Sam Sixkiller was one of the most accomplished lawmen in 1880s Oklahoma Territory. And in many ways, he was a typical law enforcement official, minding the peace and gun slinging in the still-wild West. What set Sam Sixkiller apart was his Cherokee heritage. Sixkiller’s sworn duty was to uphold the law, but he also took it upon himself to protect the traditional way of life of the Cherokee. Sixkiller’s temper, actions, and convictions earned him more than a few enemies, and in 1886 he was assassinated in an ambush.
This biography takes a sweeping, cinematic look at the short, tragic life of Sam Sixkiller and his days policing the streets of the Wild West.
To learn more about
Sam Sixkiller and his career as a fearless peace officer read
Sam Sixkiller: Cherokee Frontier Lawman
Sam Sixkiller: Cherokee Frontier Lawman
Sam Sixkiller was one of the most accomplished lawmen in 1880s Oklahoma Territory. And in many ways, he was a typical law enforcement official, minding the peace and gun slinging in the still-wild West. What set Sam Sixkiller apart was his Cherokee heritage. Sixkiller’s sworn duty was to uphold the law, but he also took it upon himself to protect the traditional way of life of the Cherokee. Sixkiller’s temper, actions, and convictions earned him more than a few enemies, and in 1886 he was assassinated in an ambush.
This biography takes a sweeping, cinematic look at the short, tragic life of Sam Sixkiller and his days policing the streets of the Wild West.
To learn more about
Sam Sixkiller and his career as a fearless peace officer read
Sam Sixkiller: Cherokee Frontier Lawman
Comes a Lighthorseman
Enter to win a copy of the award winning book
Sam Sixkiller: Cherokee Frontier Lawman
Lawman Sam Sixkiller led his horse through a belt of sparse timber along the Illinois River in Southeast Oklahoma. He was a stocky, dark-skinned, heavy-shouldered man with a neatly trimmed, droopy mustache, and small dark eyes that were flatly calculating.1 They shifted purposely from the streams of sunlight off a growth of blackberry bushes to the rocky path dancing before him. Apart from the sound of his roan’s hooves slowly moving through the sweet-gum shrubs and short grass, there was a mingling of a trio of agitated voices wafting through the warm air.2
Sam urged his ride into a clearing where three half-blooded Cherokee-Seminole Indians sat playing dice.3 In between rolls of the die the men drank from an amber-colored bottle they eagerly shared with each other. Scattered beside the men were four empty bottles of liquor. The drunken Indians barely noticed Sam slowly inching his horse into their crude camp.
The men were undisturbed by Sam’s presence and continued with their game. They argued over whose turn it was, nearly coming to blows over which player went next. Sam watched them toss the dice on a thick blanket. At first glance, the blanket appeared to be draped over a log. The closer he got to the action the more it became clear the make-shift table was actually the body of a fourth Indian. A stream of dried blood had trickled out from under the covering and pooled around a stand of butterfly weeds.
Sam scrutinized the scene more carefully and spotted a massive knife within reach of the Indian closest to him. Sam casually pushed his jacket over the six-shooter strapped on his side, revealing not only the weapon, but the slightly tarnished badge that showed he was a member of the Cherokee Nation police force. One by one the men turned and looked at the lawman. For a breathless instant Sam watched the knife, expecting one of the Indians to snap it up. Without saying a word the three got to their feet, wavering a bit as they did so. Sam pulled his gun out of his holster and leveled it at the men as he lifted his five feet eight inch frame off his horse. He motioned for the men to back away from the body, and they reluctantly complied. Disgusted, Sam walked over to one of the bottles and kicked it hard. It spun into a nearby rock and broke. What little booze was left inside it spilled out and quickly soaked into the dry land.
Sam made his way to the motionless man on the ground and, using the toe of his boot, rolled him out from under the blanket. The man was dead. There was a deep cut across his throat, and his limbs were stiff.
To learn more about the life and times of Sam Sixkiller read
Sam Sixkiller: Cherokee Frontier Lawman
Visit www.chrisenss.com for more information.
Sam Sixkiller: Cherokee Frontier Lawman
Lawman Sam Sixkiller led his horse through a belt of sparse timber along the Illinois River in Southeast Oklahoma. He was a stocky, dark-skinned, heavy-shouldered man with a neatly trimmed, droopy mustache, and small dark eyes that were flatly calculating.1 They shifted purposely from the streams of sunlight off a growth of blackberry bushes to the rocky path dancing before him. Apart from the sound of his roan’s hooves slowly moving through the sweet-gum shrubs and short grass, there was a mingling of a trio of agitated voices wafting through the warm air.2
Sam urged his ride into a clearing where three half-blooded Cherokee-Seminole Indians sat playing dice.3 In between rolls of the die the men drank from an amber-colored bottle they eagerly shared with each other. Scattered beside the men were four empty bottles of liquor. The drunken Indians barely noticed Sam slowly inching his horse into their crude camp.
The men were undisturbed by Sam’s presence and continued with their game. They argued over whose turn it was, nearly coming to blows over which player went next. Sam watched them toss the dice on a thick blanket. At first glance, the blanket appeared to be draped over a log. The closer he got to the action the more it became clear the make-shift table was actually the body of a fourth Indian. A stream of dried blood had trickled out from under the covering and pooled around a stand of butterfly weeds.
Sam scrutinized the scene more carefully and spotted a massive knife within reach of the Indian closest to him. Sam casually pushed his jacket over the six-shooter strapped on his side, revealing not only the weapon, but the slightly tarnished badge that showed he was a member of the Cherokee Nation police force. One by one the men turned and looked at the lawman. For a breathless instant Sam watched the knife, expecting one of the Indians to snap it up. Without saying a word the three got to their feet, wavering a bit as they did so. Sam pulled his gun out of his holster and leveled it at the men as he lifted his five feet eight inch frame off his horse. He motioned for the men to back away from the body, and they reluctantly complied. Disgusted, Sam walked over to one of the bottles and kicked it hard. It spun into a nearby rock and broke. What little booze was left inside it spilled out and quickly soaked into the dry land.
Sam made his way to the motionless man on the ground and, using the toe of his boot, rolled him out from under the blanket. The man was dead. There was a deep cut across his throat, and his limbs were stiff.
To learn more about the life and times of Sam Sixkiller read
Sam Sixkiller: Cherokee Frontier Lawman
Visit www.chrisenss.com for more information.
A Killing in Tahlequah
Enter to win a copy of the award winning book
Sam Sixkiller: Cherokee Frontier Lawman
Although his exploits on the job were as courageous as Wild Bill Hickok or Wyatt Earp, the name of Sam Sixkiller is scarcely recognized today. The criminal class that invaded the Indian Nation in the region now known as Oklahoma from 1870 to 1886 had to contend with an Indian police force known as the Lighthorsemen, of which Sam Sixkiller was a member. His ability to fearlessly handle horse thieves, bootleggers, murderers, and rapists that perpetrated such illegal acts on Indian land earned him the respect of his people and fellow officers.
As High Sheriff in Tahlequah, the capitol of the Cherokee Nation, Sixkiller apprehended white lawbreakers selling rot-gut whiskey to Indians and squared off against hostile mixed-bloods like “Badman Dick Glass.” Glass had a reputation that rivaled Jesse James; some said he was even more ruthless. The sheriff wasn’t intimidated by the outlaw and did what was needed to bring him in. Sam Sixkiller not only arrested outlaws and placed them in jail, but also served as the warden of the very facility that housed the lawbreakers.
From Tahlequah, Sixkiller moved on to Muskogee, in present-day Oklahoma where he was promoted to Captain of the Lighthorsemen and helped to bring peace to the volatile area. When the railroads sliced through the landscape, Captain Sixkiller was named a special agent to the rail lines, thwarting attempted robberies and staying off whiskey peddlers hoping to transport their goods across the region. Isaac Parker, the famous 12th Judicial Circuit Judge that held court at Fort Smith, Arkansas from 1868 to 1898, was so impressed with Captain Sixkiller’s tenacity and dedication to law and order he recommended the officer be given a commission as a United States Deputy Marshal. These additional responsibilities further exposed the lawman to some of society’s most dangerous characters.
A legal altercation between Sixkiller and a pair of violent repeat offenders named Richard Vann and Alf Cunningham sparked a vendetta that led to the lawman’s death. Off duty and unarmed, Sixkiller was ambushed and killed by the criminals on Christmas Eve in 1886.
The death of Captain Sixkiller exposed a serious void in the federal law as it pertained to those who murdered Native American U.S. Deputy Marshals. There was nothing on the books that made it a federal offense to kill an Indian officer. Although legislation to correct this heinous oversight eventually passed, it came too late to affect the cowards that robbed Sixkiller of his life.
Sam Sixkiller died a martyr to the cause of law and order. His story is not only about his life and untimely demise, but also about the everyday life of a frontier lawman and the duties he performed, from the mundane to the perilous.
To learn more about the life and times of Sam Sixkiller read
Sam Sixkiller: Cherokee Frontier Lawman
Sam Sixkiller: Cherokee Frontier Lawman
Although his exploits on the job were as courageous as Wild Bill Hickok or Wyatt Earp, the name of Sam Sixkiller is scarcely recognized today. The criminal class that invaded the Indian Nation in the region now known as Oklahoma from 1870 to 1886 had to contend with an Indian police force known as the Lighthorsemen, of which Sam Sixkiller was a member. His ability to fearlessly handle horse thieves, bootleggers, murderers, and rapists that perpetrated such illegal acts on Indian land earned him the respect of his people and fellow officers.
As High Sheriff in Tahlequah, the capitol of the Cherokee Nation, Sixkiller apprehended white lawbreakers selling rot-gut whiskey to Indians and squared off against hostile mixed-bloods like “Badman Dick Glass.” Glass had a reputation that rivaled Jesse James; some said he was even more ruthless. The sheriff wasn’t intimidated by the outlaw and did what was needed to bring him in. Sam Sixkiller not only arrested outlaws and placed them in jail, but also served as the warden of the very facility that housed the lawbreakers.
From Tahlequah, Sixkiller moved on to Muskogee, in present-day Oklahoma where he was promoted to Captain of the Lighthorsemen and helped to bring peace to the volatile area. When the railroads sliced through the landscape, Captain Sixkiller was named a special agent to the rail lines, thwarting attempted robberies and staying off whiskey peddlers hoping to transport their goods across the region. Isaac Parker, the famous 12th Judicial Circuit Judge that held court at Fort Smith, Arkansas from 1868 to 1898, was so impressed with Captain Sixkiller’s tenacity and dedication to law and order he recommended the officer be given a commission as a United States Deputy Marshal. These additional responsibilities further exposed the lawman to some of society’s most dangerous characters.
A legal altercation between Sixkiller and a pair of violent repeat offenders named Richard Vann and Alf Cunningham sparked a vendetta that led to the lawman’s death. Off duty and unarmed, Sixkiller was ambushed and killed by the criminals on Christmas Eve in 1886.
The death of Captain Sixkiller exposed a serious void in the federal law as it pertained to those who murdered Native American U.S. Deputy Marshals. There was nothing on the books that made it a federal offense to kill an Indian officer. Although legislation to correct this heinous oversight eventually passed, it came too late to affect the cowards that robbed Sixkiller of his life.
Sam Sixkiller died a martyr to the cause of law and order. His story is not only about his life and untimely demise, but also about the everyday life of a frontier lawman and the duties he performed, from the mundane to the perilous.
To learn more about the life and times of Sam Sixkiller read
Sam Sixkiller: Cherokee Frontier Lawman
Principals of Peace
Enter to win a copy of the award winning book
Sam Sixkiller: Cherokee Frontier Lawman
The sweeping prairie lay quietly under the heat of a brassy sun as a lone wagon topped a grassy knoll that afforded an arresting view from every direction. Redbird Sixkiller drove the team of two horses pulling the vehicle toward the town of Tahlequah, Oklahoma Territory, in the near distance. His four-year-old son, Sam, sat beside him captivated by the sights and listening intently to the stories he told him about his ancestors and the origin of the Sixkiller family name. Redbird shared with Sam a tale about one of their fearless relatives. The ancestor was engaged in battle against the Creek Indians and had killed six braves and then himself before allowing another band of hostile Creek Indians that surrounded him to attack. The Cherokee Indian warriors who witnessed the daring act referred to the warrior as Sixkiller.1
Conversation between father and son died down as they rode into Tahlequah. Thousands of Cherokee Indians from the eastern and western portions of the state had descended upon the location to attend a convention that promised to unite the two factions. Since being removed from the Native homes, divided and sent to live at opposite ends of the territory, the Cherokee people were battling among themselves.2 The central theme of the convention was “one body politic under the style and title of the Cherokee Nation.”3 Redbird and Sam attended the ambitious meeting in September 1846 along with more than two thousand other Indians.4 Redbird wanted his son to see the efforts being made to resolve the violent conflict that had erupted between the groups. The factions did not agree on the concessions that should be made to the United States government over the land. The Cherokees in the east were opposed to leaving their homeland no matter what the government promised in exchange. Those in the west were in favor of the removal of the Cherokee to Oklahoma Territory, the funds and improved provisions that accompanied the move.5 Redbird was in favor of the Cherokee people coming together as one. He felt the prosperity and welfare of the Indian Nation and his family depended upon an undivided front.
To learn more about the life and times of Sam Sixkiller read
Sam Sixkiller: Cherokee Frontier Lawman
Sam Sixkiller: Cherokee Frontier Lawman
The sweeping prairie lay quietly under the heat of a brassy sun as a lone wagon topped a grassy knoll that afforded an arresting view from every direction. Redbird Sixkiller drove the team of two horses pulling the vehicle toward the town of Tahlequah, Oklahoma Territory, in the near distance. His four-year-old son, Sam, sat beside him captivated by the sights and listening intently to the stories he told him about his ancestors and the origin of the Sixkiller family name. Redbird shared with Sam a tale about one of their fearless relatives. The ancestor was engaged in battle against the Creek Indians and had killed six braves and then himself before allowing another band of hostile Creek Indians that surrounded him to attack. The Cherokee Indian warriors who witnessed the daring act referred to the warrior as Sixkiller.1
Conversation between father and son died down as they rode into Tahlequah. Thousands of Cherokee Indians from the eastern and western portions of the state had descended upon the location to attend a convention that promised to unite the two factions. Since being removed from the Native homes, divided and sent to live at opposite ends of the territory, the Cherokee people were battling among themselves.2 The central theme of the convention was “one body politic under the style and title of the Cherokee Nation.”3 Redbird and Sam attended the ambitious meeting in September 1846 along with more than two thousand other Indians.4 Redbird wanted his son to see the efforts being made to resolve the violent conflict that had erupted between the groups. The factions did not agree on the concessions that should be made to the United States government over the land. The Cherokees in the east were opposed to leaving their homeland no matter what the government promised in exchange. Those in the west were in favor of the removal of the Cherokee to Oklahoma Territory, the funds and improved provisions that accompanied the move.5 Redbird was in favor of the Cherokee people coming together as one. He felt the prosperity and welfare of the Indian Nation and his family depended upon an undivided front.
To learn more about the life and times of Sam Sixkiller read
Sam Sixkiller: Cherokee Frontier Lawman
Mayhem in Muskogee
Enter to win a copy of the award winning book
Sam Sixkiller: Cherokee Frontier Lawman
A hot sun beat down on the busy residents of Muskogee, Oklahoma, in June 1880. A heavy veil of humidity, like a stifling blanket hung over the town as well.1 The primitive railroad stop was slowly coming into its own. More than five hundred people called the area home, among them were employees of the Missouri-Pacific Railroad. The workers gathered by the score and milled about the hamlet of lean-tos, tents and cabins. Gamblers had pitched their canvas dwellings in prime spots, and crowds flocked around their tables. Quarrels flared up between slick poker dealers and inexperienced card players. Soiled doves prowled around the gaming tents and curious male bystanders like panthers. They enticed men looking for a fight to their crude dens then stripped them of any funds they had not lost in a crooked card game. Unsuspecting shoppers and their families roamed in and out of the heated arguments that made it into the street. They gawked warily at the chaos while on their way to and from various stores.2
City officials watched the scene play out in disgust. Bootleg alcohol was usually sold to the railroad crews and the houses of ill repute, and the clientele had a hard time controlling the amount they consumed. More often than not customers who frequented bawdy houses and who drank to excess were prone to violence.3 They terrorized the neighborhood surrounding the brothels, recklessly firing their guns at women and children and brawling with townsmen who challenged them to put away their weapons.4
In spite of repeat warnings from law enforcement officers like Colonel J.Q. Tuffts, a United States Agent for the Union Indian Agency in Muskogee, to the madams who ran the brothels to shut their businesses down voluntarily, no efforts had been made by them. Brothels were considered a necessary evil; a portion of the income spent at such houses supported public services such as the police department.5 Agent Tuffts didn’t care about that. He considered the bordellos a hangout for criminals and delinquents from all over the area. When Agent Tuffts made Sheriff Sixkiller captain of the Indian police in early February 1880, he made ridding Muskogee of such houses a priority for Sam’s administration.6 Anxious to prove himself in Muskogee since leaving office under a cloud of turmoil in Tahlequah, Sixkiller was eager to accept the job and the challenge.7
Captain Sixkiller and seven deputies, representing the full force of the police force, marched through the streets of Muskogee to a house in the red light district occupied by the most sought after working women in town. A sign in front of the structure read Hotel de Adams.8 Captain Sixkiller and his men stopped short of the building and studied their next move carefully. A couple of cattle punchers tromped out of the enterprising establishment and headed off in the opposite direction of the lawmen unaware anything out of the ordinary was about to happen. Laughter wafted out through the open windows of the building. Captain Sixkiller motioned for deputies on his left and right to cover the back of the business. When he thought the men had time to get into place he moved up the dusty path to the front door with the other lawmen.9
To learn more about the life and times of Sam Sixkiller read
Sam Sixkiller: Cherokee Frontier Lawman
Sam Sixkiller: Cherokee Frontier Lawman
A hot sun beat down on the busy residents of Muskogee, Oklahoma, in June 1880. A heavy veil of humidity, like a stifling blanket hung over the town as well.1 The primitive railroad stop was slowly coming into its own. More than five hundred people called the area home, among them were employees of the Missouri-Pacific Railroad. The workers gathered by the score and milled about the hamlet of lean-tos, tents and cabins. Gamblers had pitched their canvas dwellings in prime spots, and crowds flocked around their tables. Quarrels flared up between slick poker dealers and inexperienced card players. Soiled doves prowled around the gaming tents and curious male bystanders like panthers. They enticed men looking for a fight to their crude dens then stripped them of any funds they had not lost in a crooked card game. Unsuspecting shoppers and their families roamed in and out of the heated arguments that made it into the street. They gawked warily at the chaos while on their way to and from various stores.2
City officials watched the scene play out in disgust. Bootleg alcohol was usually sold to the railroad crews and the houses of ill repute, and the clientele had a hard time controlling the amount they consumed. More often than not customers who frequented bawdy houses and who drank to excess were prone to violence.3 They terrorized the neighborhood surrounding the brothels, recklessly firing their guns at women and children and brawling with townsmen who challenged them to put away their weapons.4
In spite of repeat warnings from law enforcement officers like Colonel J.Q. Tuffts, a United States Agent for the Union Indian Agency in Muskogee, to the madams who ran the brothels to shut their businesses down voluntarily, no efforts had been made by them. Brothels were considered a necessary evil; a portion of the income spent at such houses supported public services such as the police department.5 Agent Tuffts didn’t care about that. He considered the bordellos a hangout for criminals and delinquents from all over the area. When Agent Tuffts made Sheriff Sixkiller captain of the Indian police in early February 1880, he made ridding Muskogee of such houses a priority for Sam’s administration.6 Anxious to prove himself in Muskogee since leaving office under a cloud of turmoil in Tahlequah, Sixkiller was eager to accept the job and the challenge.7
Captain Sixkiller and seven deputies, representing the full force of the police force, marched through the streets of Muskogee to a house in the red light district occupied by the most sought after working women in town. A sign in front of the structure read Hotel de Adams.8 Captain Sixkiller and his men stopped short of the building and studied their next move carefully. A couple of cattle punchers tromped out of the enterprising establishment and headed off in the opposite direction of the lawmen unaware anything out of the ordinary was about to happen. Laughter wafted out through the open windows of the building. Captain Sixkiller motioned for deputies on his left and right to cover the back of the business. When he thought the men had time to get into place he moved up the dusty path to the front door with the other lawmen.9
To learn more about the life and times of Sam Sixkiller read
Sam Sixkiller: Cherokee Frontier Lawman
Defending a Nation
Enter to win a copy of the award winning book
Sam Sixkiller: Cherokee Frontier Lawman
A springboard wagon topped a ridge surrounded by a grove of ancient juniper trees seven miles outside Muskogee. The wagon was weighted down with several heavy crates and made little sound. The contents inside the crates slouched as the vehicle slogged through the rain-soaked turf. The soft ground muffled the hardworking wheels and the horse’s hooves. Solomon Coppell, an unshaved man dressed in a dirty, fawn-tan suit with a long-tailed coat, drove the wagon over a crude trail cut deep in mud and dirt. His roving button eyes scanned the scene in front of him, looking for anything out of the ordinary.
Just beyond Solomon’s line of sight, tucked behind a thicket of brush, Captain Sam Sixkiller sat on his horse watching him.1 Sweat rolled down the lawman’s face as the sun in late spring of 1883, riding up into a leaden sky, empty and cloudless, and touched the captain with a sticky heat. Solomon was uncomfortable too. He pulled off the flat-brimmed $50 hat on his head and backhanded a bead of perspiration off his hairline. He then put his hat back on as he continued along his way. The captain waited for just the right moment and then in one fast, flawless movement spurred his horse onto the trail directly in front of Solomon’s team.
A stunned Solomon quickly jerked back on the reins of the animals and brought the skittish horses to a stop. “Hold it, Coppell!” Captain Sixkiller announced in a sober, stern voice. “You’re under arrest.” Solomon glanced at the cargo he was hauling and back to the captain. The lawman was alone and the bootlegger was confident he could survive a confrontation with his wagon load intact. Solomon stared at the captain for a moment shaking his head. “I got a tip you were bringing booze into the Nation,” the captain informed him. Solomon didn’t reply and showed no signs of cooperating “Surrender, Coppell,” Captain Sixkiller warned him again. “Throw your guns out in the road.” The captain was empty-handed, his leg gun still resting in a holster on his thigh. Coppell made a grab for the shotgun on the wagon seat.2 The captain’s hand whipped forward in a short, small arc. There was no strain. He saw Coppell’s face, distorted and desperate. His gun kicked back against his wrist. One shot. He saw Coppell’s body jerk. Captain Sixkiller’s gun exploded before it cleared his coat. He saw the flame of the shot lick through the fabric and curl to form a smoldering ring. Coppell swayed and fell into the trace chains and wagon tongue. The team reared and snorted and pawed at the air. The captain calmed the horses and kept them from running away.3
Most Muskogee residences agreed that Captain Sixkiller was an effective policeman, quick to enforce the laws regarding the buying and selling of alcohol. Some thought the rules should be relaxed. Cherokee Indian business owners believed they should have the right to purchase liquor to be sold to white railroad workers and settlers passing through. Indian leaders maintained such measures would lead to an increase in violence on the Nation and insisted that troublemakers who peddled whiskey were to be stopped.4
Although Captain Sixkiller was never accused of being too harsh on those who violated the law, there were Indians like former chief of the Cherokee Nation, Lewis Downing and Indian agents like John B. Jones who thought that the United States marshal and his deputies went too far in upholding the law. “Some deputy marshals make forcible arrests,” Chief Downing told Indian agent Jones in a letter, “without regard to circumstances or the facts of the case, and without any of the forms of law.”5 Smugglers occasionally planted whiskey on innocent people making their way across the Nation. If they were stopped by Captain Sixkiller or his deputies and alcohol was found in their possession they were arrested and taken immediately to Fort Smith, Arkansas, to be prosecuted. Chief Downing strenuously objected to the captain’s rush to judgment and believed in those instances such individuals should be given the benefit of the doubt.6
To learn more about the life and times of Sam Sixkiller read Sam Sixkiller: Cherokee Frontier Lawman.
Sam Sixkiller: Cherokee Frontier Lawman
A springboard wagon topped a ridge surrounded by a grove of ancient juniper trees seven miles outside Muskogee. The wagon was weighted down with several heavy crates and made little sound. The contents inside the crates slouched as the vehicle slogged through the rain-soaked turf. The soft ground muffled the hardworking wheels and the horse’s hooves. Solomon Coppell, an unshaved man dressed in a dirty, fawn-tan suit with a long-tailed coat, drove the wagon over a crude trail cut deep in mud and dirt. His roving button eyes scanned the scene in front of him, looking for anything out of the ordinary.
Just beyond Solomon’s line of sight, tucked behind a thicket of brush, Captain Sam Sixkiller sat on his horse watching him.1 Sweat rolled down the lawman’s face as the sun in late spring of 1883, riding up into a leaden sky, empty and cloudless, and touched the captain with a sticky heat. Solomon was uncomfortable too. He pulled off the flat-brimmed $50 hat on his head and backhanded a bead of perspiration off his hairline. He then put his hat back on as he continued along his way. The captain waited for just the right moment and then in one fast, flawless movement spurred his horse onto the trail directly in front of Solomon’s team.
A stunned Solomon quickly jerked back on the reins of the animals and brought the skittish horses to a stop. “Hold it, Coppell!” Captain Sixkiller announced in a sober, stern voice. “You’re under arrest.” Solomon glanced at the cargo he was hauling and back to the captain. The lawman was alone and the bootlegger was confident he could survive a confrontation with his wagon load intact. Solomon stared at the captain for a moment shaking his head. “I got a tip you were bringing booze into the Nation,” the captain informed him. Solomon didn’t reply and showed no signs of cooperating “Surrender, Coppell,” Captain Sixkiller warned him again. “Throw your guns out in the road.” The captain was empty-handed, his leg gun still resting in a holster on his thigh. Coppell made a grab for the shotgun on the wagon seat.2 The captain’s hand whipped forward in a short, small arc. There was no strain. He saw Coppell’s face, distorted and desperate. His gun kicked back against his wrist. One shot. He saw Coppell’s body jerk. Captain Sixkiller’s gun exploded before it cleared his coat. He saw the flame of the shot lick through the fabric and curl to form a smoldering ring. Coppell swayed and fell into the trace chains and wagon tongue. The team reared and snorted and pawed at the air. The captain calmed the horses and kept them from running away.3
Most Muskogee residences agreed that Captain Sixkiller was an effective policeman, quick to enforce the laws regarding the buying and selling of alcohol. Some thought the rules should be relaxed. Cherokee Indian business owners believed they should have the right to purchase liquor to be sold to white railroad workers and settlers passing through. Indian leaders maintained such measures would lead to an increase in violence on the Nation and insisted that troublemakers who peddled whiskey were to be stopped.4
Although Captain Sixkiller was never accused of being too harsh on those who violated the law, there were Indians like former chief of the Cherokee Nation, Lewis Downing and Indian agents like John B. Jones who thought that the United States marshal and his deputies went too far in upholding the law. “Some deputy marshals make forcible arrests,” Chief Downing told Indian agent Jones in a letter, “without regard to circumstances or the facts of the case, and without any of the forms of law.”5 Smugglers occasionally planted whiskey on innocent people making their way across the Nation. If they were stopped by Captain Sixkiller or his deputies and alcohol was found in their possession they were arrested and taken immediately to Fort Smith, Arkansas, to be prosecuted. Chief Downing strenuously objected to the captain’s rush to judgment and believed in those instances such individuals should be given the benefit of the doubt.6
To learn more about the life and times of Sam Sixkiller read Sam Sixkiller: Cherokee Frontier Lawman.
Keeping the Peace
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Sam Sixkiller: Cherokee Frontier Lawman
Captain Sam Sixkiller crossed the timber lined banks of the Arkansas River atop a big, brown roan. The well-traveled trail lay out in front of him looked like an ecru ribbon thrown down across the prairie grass. Riding a few paces behind the lawman was Deputy Bill Drew. Neither man spoke as they traveled. A herd of cattle in the near distance plodded along slowly toward a small stream. A couple of calves held back, bawling for their mothers who had left them a safe distance behind. Upon reaching the stream the cows buried their noses in the water. They paid no attention to the approaching riders as they enjoyed a refreshing drink.1
Captain Sixkiller pulled back on the reins of his horse, slowing the animal’s pace. He stared thoughtfully considering the proximity of the cattle to the crude camp behind the field of prairie grass reaching into the horizon. Deputy Drew watched the captain, waiting for the officer to proceed. Both men knew the danger inherent in the job they’d set out to do in early January 1886. They were tracking a murderer named Alfred “Alf” Rushing also known as Ed Brown.2
Nine years prior to Captain Sixkiller leaving Muskogee on a cold winter’s day to apprehend Rushing, the elusive rowdy had shot and killed the marshal of Wortham, Texas.3 The Houston and Texas Central Railway ran through the busy cotton farm community of Wortham, attracting nefarious characters like Rushing. Rushing was a cattle rustler and bootlegger who hoped to make a fortune selling liquor and robbing business owners in the farming town. On December 8, 1879, Rushing and two accomplishes had ridden into Wortham and made their way to J.J. Stubb’s general store. All three were armed with shotguns and hell-bent on retrieving a pistol they claimed Stubbs had stolen from them.4
It wasn’t the first time Stubbs had been accused of stealing the pistol from Rushing. Although he denied taking the gun, the men continued to come around and harass him for the item. They refused to accept the storeowner’s claim that he knew nothing of it. Rushing finally told him they intended to get $17 for the weapon before he left or there would be “hell to pay.” 5
The volatile display Rushing and his cohorts, Harv Scruggs and Frank Carter, made attracted the attention of Wortham’s dutiful and dedicated city marshal, Jackson T. Barfield. According to the newspaper, the Galveston Daily News, “Marshal Barfield quietly walked across the street (from the jail) to the store and asked the men in a friendly manner not to raise a disturbance and to be more quiet.6
The marshal was not accused to his face of having taken the pistol, but seemed to be trying to pacify them and apprehend no danger to himself. Turning his back upon them to walk off, he was shot in the back by Alf Rushing with nine buckshot passing through his body and three through the heart.
To learn more about the life and times of Sam Sixkiller read Sam Sixkiller: Cherokee Frontier Lawman
Sam Sixkiller: Cherokee Frontier Lawman
Captain Sam Sixkiller crossed the timber lined banks of the Arkansas River atop a big, brown roan. The well-traveled trail lay out in front of him looked like an ecru ribbon thrown down across the prairie grass. Riding a few paces behind the lawman was Deputy Bill Drew. Neither man spoke as they traveled. A herd of cattle in the near distance plodded along slowly toward a small stream. A couple of calves held back, bawling for their mothers who had left them a safe distance behind. Upon reaching the stream the cows buried their noses in the water. They paid no attention to the approaching riders as they enjoyed a refreshing drink.1
Captain Sixkiller pulled back on the reins of his horse, slowing the animal’s pace. He stared thoughtfully considering the proximity of the cattle to the crude camp behind the field of prairie grass reaching into the horizon. Deputy Drew watched the captain, waiting for the officer to proceed. Both men knew the danger inherent in the job they’d set out to do in early January 1886. They were tracking a murderer named Alfred “Alf” Rushing also known as Ed Brown.2
Nine years prior to Captain Sixkiller leaving Muskogee on a cold winter’s day to apprehend Rushing, the elusive rowdy had shot and killed the marshal of Wortham, Texas.3 The Houston and Texas Central Railway ran through the busy cotton farm community of Wortham, attracting nefarious characters like Rushing. Rushing was a cattle rustler and bootlegger who hoped to make a fortune selling liquor and robbing business owners in the farming town. On December 8, 1879, Rushing and two accomplishes had ridden into Wortham and made their way to J.J. Stubb’s general store. All three were armed with shotguns and hell-bent on retrieving a pistol they claimed Stubbs had stolen from them.4
It wasn’t the first time Stubbs had been accused of stealing the pistol from Rushing. Although he denied taking the gun, the men continued to come around and harass him for the item. They refused to accept the storeowner’s claim that he knew nothing of it. Rushing finally told him they intended to get $17 for the weapon before he left or there would be “hell to pay.” 5
The volatile display Rushing and his cohorts, Harv Scruggs and Frank Carter, made attracted the attention of Wortham’s dutiful and dedicated city marshal, Jackson T. Barfield. According to the newspaper, the Galveston Daily News, “Marshal Barfield quietly walked across the street (from the jail) to the store and asked the men in a friendly manner not to raise a disturbance and to be more quiet.6
The marshal was not accused to his face of having taken the pistol, but seemed to be trying to pacify them and apprehend no danger to himself. Turning his back upon them to walk off, he was shot in the back by Alf Rushing with nine buckshot passing through his body and three through the heart.
To learn more about the life and times of Sam Sixkiller read Sam Sixkiller: Cherokee Frontier Lawman
Difficulties with Dick Vann
Last week to enter to win a copy of the award winning book
Sam Sixkiller: Cherokee Frontier Lawman
It was a warm September evening in 1886 when the citizens of Muskogee gathered in the center of town to enjoy a concert given by the Muskogee Amateur Italienne Musical Society. Horses and wagons lined the streets. The performers tuned their instruments and greeted crowd members anxious to express their support for them. Excited children chased one another around and families jockeyed for the best positions in front of a crude bandstand. Women huddled together in discussions of their own and comforted the infants with them that were unsettled by the flurry of activity.1
Before the event had officially begun, the sound of rapid gunfire echoed off the buildings that framed the main thoroughfare. The gunshots grew louder and suddenly a pair of horsemen appeared riding pell-mell toward the congregation. People scattered. Running for cover, they disappeared into businesses and homes. The cries of astonishment and fear from the unassuming townspeople had no effect on the two rides. Black Hoyt, a half-blooded Cherokee Captain Sixkiller had previous dealings with, and a white man named Jess Nicholson gouged the spurs on their boots into the sides of their mounts and charged down the street, shooting their weapons at anything that moved.2
The out of control men were drunk and enjoying the chaos derived by their wild behavior. Captain Sixkiller and the police officers that worked with him, including Charles LeFlore, rushed onto the scene brandishing their own guns. The captain shouted at Black and Nicholson to stop, but the men took their time at it. After a few moments waiting for the two rowdies to do as they were told, the Muskogee police force managed to corner the riders. LeFlore ordered them to throw their pistols down, and Captain Sixkiller informed them they were under arrest. Neither of the men complied.3
A tense hush filled the air as Black and Nicholson considered their options. The captain studied the belligerent looks on their darkly flushed features. “Give us your guns now,” he demanded, “before someone gets hurt.” Black shifted in his saddle and rubbed off the sweat standing on his chin with his right shoulder. His arm was missing from the elbow down, and his shirtsleeve was pinned over the remaining portion of the limb. Black had lost his arm in June 1886, after he was shot by an unknown assailant while at Fort Gibson, Oklahoma. A bullet fractured the lower third of the appendage, and amputation was his only chance of recovery. Black and his father objected at first but, after conferring with a second doctor, realized there was no other option. He recovered quickly from the chloroform, and as soon as he could left the post doctor’s office to avoid any further attempts on his life. With Milo’s help, he learned how to ride and shoot holding the reins of his horse and pistol in the same hand.4
To learn more about the life and times of Sam Sixkiller read
Sam Sixkiller: Cherokee Frontier Lawman
Sam Sixkiller: Cherokee Frontier Lawman
It was a warm September evening in 1886 when the citizens of Muskogee gathered in the center of town to enjoy a concert given by the Muskogee Amateur Italienne Musical Society. Horses and wagons lined the streets. The performers tuned their instruments and greeted crowd members anxious to express their support for them. Excited children chased one another around and families jockeyed for the best positions in front of a crude bandstand. Women huddled together in discussions of their own and comforted the infants with them that were unsettled by the flurry of activity.1
Before the event had officially begun, the sound of rapid gunfire echoed off the buildings that framed the main thoroughfare. The gunshots grew louder and suddenly a pair of horsemen appeared riding pell-mell toward the congregation. People scattered. Running for cover, they disappeared into businesses and homes. The cries of astonishment and fear from the unassuming townspeople had no effect on the two rides. Black Hoyt, a half-blooded Cherokee Captain Sixkiller had previous dealings with, and a white man named Jess Nicholson gouged the spurs on their boots into the sides of their mounts and charged down the street, shooting their weapons at anything that moved.2
The out of control men were drunk and enjoying the chaos derived by their wild behavior. Captain Sixkiller and the police officers that worked with him, including Charles LeFlore, rushed onto the scene brandishing their own guns. The captain shouted at Black and Nicholson to stop, but the men took their time at it. After a few moments waiting for the two rowdies to do as they were told, the Muskogee police force managed to corner the riders. LeFlore ordered them to throw their pistols down, and Captain Sixkiller informed them they were under arrest. Neither of the men complied.3
A tense hush filled the air as Black and Nicholson considered their options. The captain studied the belligerent looks on their darkly flushed features. “Give us your guns now,” he demanded, “before someone gets hurt.” Black shifted in his saddle and rubbed off the sweat standing on his chin with his right shoulder. His arm was missing from the elbow down, and his shirtsleeve was pinned over the remaining portion of the limb. Black had lost his arm in June 1886, after he was shot by an unknown assailant while at Fort Gibson, Oklahoma. A bullet fractured the lower third of the appendage, and amputation was his only chance of recovery. Black and his father objected at first but, after conferring with a second doctor, realized there was no other option. He recovered quickly from the chloroform, and as soon as he could left the post doctor’s office to avoid any further attempts on his life. With Milo’s help, he learned how to ride and shoot holding the reins of his horse and pistol in the same hand.4
To learn more about the life and times of Sam Sixkiller read
Sam Sixkiller: Cherokee Frontier Lawman
Last Chance to Win
Last week to enter to win a copy of the award winning book Sam Sixkiller: Cherokee Frontier Lawman
In the hours leading up to Christmas Day 1886, Muskogee was crowded with trail hands, farmers, drifters, and families. Mothers with their children in hand filtered in and out of the various stores that lined Main Street. Upon exiting the businesses, they would stop to admire the few displays in the windows. Most of the people visiting the mercantile, restaurants, and hotels on December 23 and 24 were primarily interested in horse racing. They hurried back and forth from the two-mile-long stretch of track outside town carrying food, alcohol, and cash. Men laid money out recklessly on long-legged, sleepy-eyed geldings, some with United States Army brandings on their rumps. Spectators stood on either side of the unmarked track anxiously waiting for the races to begin. Horses and riders lined up for the ‘dropped flag’ start. The shouts and cheers from the onlookers nearly drowned out the sound of the animals’ pounding hooves hurrying toward the finishing mark.1
Dick Vann was among the enthusiastic group enjoying the festivities. Whenever the horse he bet on won, he would celebrate with a round of thunderous applause and a long swig from a half-empty bottle of whiskey. Alf Cunningham had had his share of drinks during the event, and he and Dick took turns slapping one another on the backs each time their wager paid off and laughing uproariously at their good fortune.
By early afternoon on Christmas Eve both men were well on their way to getting drunk. They were belligerent with anyone jockeying for a better position to see the races than they had and were not immune from spitting in the face of people who celebrated a win when they had lost. Vann had finished off his bottle of whiskey and persuaded Cunningham to return to a place in town that would sell them more bootleg alcohol. Heavy grey clouds hung over the busy hamlet. A great V-shaped mass of ducks and Canadian geese flying south passed overhead of the two as they walked away from the race track. The whole sky was filled with the soft whir of wings. Cunningham removed a gun tucked inside his coat pocket, pointed it at the birds, and pretended to shoot. Amused with himself, Cunningham laughed at his playful antics. Vann was too distracted by the sight of Tom Kennard, a Creek Lighthorseman to do more than grin.2
Kennard stood in the doorway of the Commercial Hotel surveying the plethora of activity around him. Vann watched the officer carefully, then crossed to the other side of the street to avoid coming in contact with him. Unaware that anything was out of the ordinary at first, Cunningham followed after his brother-in-law. When he spotted Kennard he slowed down. Deciding against continuing on with Vann, he crossed the street to the lawman. Cunningham wore a contemptuous look as he approached Kennard. The bitterness he had for the law grew with magnificent intensity as he drew closer to the Lighthorseman. Kennard, a descendant of black slaves once owned by the Creek Indians, saw Cunningham walking toward him but did not anticipate any trouble.3
Without hesitating, Cunningham jerked his gun out and pointed it at the lawman’s face. He swore angrily at Kennard and threatened to kill him. Neither calm reasoning nor the promise of jail could persuade Cunningham to lower his weapon. A passerby, Mrs. Renfoe (wife of the town butcher), witnessed the exchange and grabbed the pistol. Before Cunningham was able to wrench it free, Kennard drew his own gun. He brought the butt of the weapon down hard on the cursing assailant’s head, and Cunningham collapsed at his feet. Kennard took the gun away from him and left him where he fell.
To learn more about the life and times of Sam Sixkiller read Sam Sixkiller: Cherokee Frontier Lawman
In the hours leading up to Christmas Day 1886, Muskogee was crowded with trail hands, farmers, drifters, and families. Mothers with their children in hand filtered in and out of the various stores that lined Main Street. Upon exiting the businesses, they would stop to admire the few displays in the windows. Most of the people visiting the mercantile, restaurants, and hotels on December 23 and 24 were primarily interested in horse racing. They hurried back and forth from the two-mile-long stretch of track outside town carrying food, alcohol, and cash. Men laid money out recklessly on long-legged, sleepy-eyed geldings, some with United States Army brandings on their rumps. Spectators stood on either side of the unmarked track anxiously waiting for the races to begin. Horses and riders lined up for the ‘dropped flag’ start. The shouts and cheers from the onlookers nearly drowned out the sound of the animals’ pounding hooves hurrying toward the finishing mark.1
Dick Vann was among the enthusiastic group enjoying the festivities. Whenever the horse he bet on won, he would celebrate with a round of thunderous applause and a long swig from a half-empty bottle of whiskey. Alf Cunningham had had his share of drinks during the event, and he and Dick took turns slapping one another on the backs each time their wager paid off and laughing uproariously at their good fortune.
By early afternoon on Christmas Eve both men were well on their way to getting drunk. They were belligerent with anyone jockeying for a better position to see the races than they had and were not immune from spitting in the face of people who celebrated a win when they had lost. Vann had finished off his bottle of whiskey and persuaded Cunningham to return to a place in town that would sell them more bootleg alcohol. Heavy grey clouds hung over the busy hamlet. A great V-shaped mass of ducks and Canadian geese flying south passed overhead of the two as they walked away from the race track. The whole sky was filled with the soft whir of wings. Cunningham removed a gun tucked inside his coat pocket, pointed it at the birds, and pretended to shoot. Amused with himself, Cunningham laughed at his playful antics. Vann was too distracted by the sight of Tom Kennard, a Creek Lighthorseman to do more than grin.2
Kennard stood in the doorway of the Commercial Hotel surveying the plethora of activity around him. Vann watched the officer carefully, then crossed to the other side of the street to avoid coming in contact with him. Unaware that anything was out of the ordinary at first, Cunningham followed after his brother-in-law. When he spotted Kennard he slowed down. Deciding against continuing on with Vann, he crossed the street to the lawman. Cunningham wore a contemptuous look as he approached Kennard. The bitterness he had for the law grew with magnificent intensity as he drew closer to the Lighthorseman. Kennard, a descendant of black slaves once owned by the Creek Indians, saw Cunningham walking toward him but did not anticipate any trouble.3
Without hesitating, Cunningham jerked his gun out and pointed it at the lawman’s face. He swore angrily at Kennard and threatened to kill him. Neither calm reasoning nor the promise of jail could persuade Cunningham to lower his weapon. A passerby, Mrs. Renfoe (wife of the town butcher), witnessed the exchange and grabbed the pistol. Before Cunningham was able to wrench it free, Kennard drew his own gun. He brought the butt of the weapon down hard on the cursing assailant’s head, and Cunningham collapsed at his feet. Kennard took the gun away from him and left him where he fell.
To learn more about the life and times of Sam Sixkiller read Sam Sixkiller: Cherokee Frontier Lawman
