I don’t know if I can really claim to be a science fiction fan – I am not hard-core, at any rate. I have had my moments with particular authors in the genre, I’ve been to a couple of cons (Salt Lake City and Albuquerque – the con here in San Antonio costs too much at the door for my budget) – I have all of Blake’s 7 on VHS tape (taped from broadcast on Salt Lake City’s public TV station in the early 1990s), most of Babylon 5, and I have purchased every on of Lois McMaster Bujould’s Vorkosigan novels when and if they present themselves in paperback. Oh, and I really enjoy Terry Pratchett’s Discworld novels, but they’re not really science fiction – more fantasy with a wry twist. I watched Star Trek when it was originally broadcast – but who of the age that I am now didn’t, unless their parents were Luddites who wouldn’t have a TV in the house?
And Dad worked as a scientific sub-contractor for NASA, now and again. Something to do with circadian rhythms and space travel might possibly affect them, either positively or negatively, so –yes, science!
More »
I went ahead and assembled various posts on historical incidents and famous – or not-so-famous people – this last weekend, and put it up on Amazon as a Kindle edition:
To The Farthest Frontier is a collection from the last year or so; featuring people like Dame Shirley Clappe, Billy the Kid, Tiberico Vasquez and the McCulloch brothers. I should have it up on Nook in a bit – these things take a bit of time and care to set up, and I get most sales for eBooks from Amazon anyway. So – priorities.
My previous collection, Westering Wagons is available, of course – other essays about the frontier, the Gold Rush, the emigrant experience and all: 
I have also made some other eBook collections of blog posts available on Amazon and Barnes & Noble. For instance – divers essays and reminiscences regarding my two decades in the Big Blue Air Force Machine: Air Force Daze
Travels With Blondie touches a little on my time in the military as well, since for sixteen years of it, I was also a single parent – and one with the inestimable good luck to be stationed overseas with my daughter. She was born in Japan (where I happened to be at the time) and was raised in Greece and Spain until we returned to the States more or less permanently when she was twelve years old. Yes, the culture shock was huge. 
And finally – there is a whole collection dedicated to Texas, The Heart of Texas which can be seen as a very extended footnote to the Adelsverein Trilogy. All of these individual essays and posts are widely scattered over in their original format over several websites and about a decades’ worth of archives, so having them all assembled and organized makes it much more convenient for the reader. 
Chapter 3 – Dead Man Well
(This is the next book after Lone Star Sons – the picaresque adventures of young Fredi “Dutch” Steinmetz, on his way to California in 1855, seeking his fortune and adventure … and maybe some other stuff along the way. The first chapter is here.)
The Fabreaux herd set off on the long trail drive to California late in April; four hundred cattle, thirty drovers, twice that many horses and three wagons. The night before they left, Gil Fabreaux and his brothers hosted a fandango at the ranch house; they roasted a whole pig, and the local Mexican-made whiskey flowed fairly liberally among the hired drovers, the Fabreaux boys and their kin and neighbors. They ate, drank and danced with the few women among them, ate some more, boasted of their own prowess with knives, guns and women, drank a little more and told wild tales of the Indians and the deserts beyond Fort Thorn. O’Malley’s little dog, Nipper, capered on his hind legs, appearing to dance at the bidding of his master, who brought out a tin penny-whistle and played a merry Irish tune which Fredi did not recognize. At close to midnight, when two of the other hired hands challenged each other to a contest of marksmanship by shooting the flame from a lighted candle at forty paces, Fredi prudently withdrew to the bunkhouse. Gil Fabreaux had repeatedly said how they should get an early start – and he would be stubborn enough to insist on it, no matter how many aching heads there were.
O’Malley had already done so himself, but he was not asleep yet, lying on his bunk fully-dressed, but with his boots side-by side underneath, and Nipper curled into a tight brindle ball at his feet. “Freddy-boyo, are you out of humor with celebration so soon? It is not near eleven of the clock, now. You’re just a young sprout an’ likely this is the last bit of merriment until California – I thought you’d be up with the larks at dawn.”
“They are drinking,” Fredi answered, sitting down on his pallet to take off his own boots and work trousers. “And Eb and Zeke Satterwaite are contesting over who is a better shot … the others are merry … I do not care for the smell of bad whiskey, O’Malley. There is a man who works for my sister’s husband. Now and again, he drinks until he is sodden with it. The smell alone makes me sick. Don’t tell the other hands,” Fredi added, hastily. “I’m afraid that they will laugh at me and say that I have a stomach like a maiden girl. But it is true.”
“A great pity, boyo,” O’Malley remarked, as Fredi pulled the blankets over himself. “For good whiskey is the water of life and the lubrication of foine conversation and elegant philosophy – but the wise men of old advised temperance and moderation in all things. I do not imbibe any more than it takes to be cheerful and at one with the world. For I too saw what comes when a man drinks to excess … an’ Mister Gilbert Fabreaux, he will have no sympathy come morning.”
“That’s what I thought,” Fredi agreed, and promptly fell asleep, only a little disturbed by the sounds of merriment and pop of gunshots coming from the other side of the Fabreaux’ sprawling rancho. More »
(Yes, I am finally getting back to the latest Jim Reade and Toby Shaw adventure, and the secret treasure of San Saba! Part One is here. Sorry I am so late with continuing the story, but … you know. Real life and all that.)
“Buried treasure is always a nice thing to find,” Jim ventured, judicially. “But I would like to know why it would be particularly advantageous for us to find such treasure now.”
Albert Biddle cleared his throat – a small gesture which to Jim had come to know that hat Albert Biddle was about to embark on a fairly involved explanation or discussion.
“Your Republic – I should say – our Republic is in debt. Well, so is everyone else, but the bond issue that went out a couple of years ago … well, hardly anyone bought – and if they had, at favorable rates, the Republic would have been in fine fettle. By the way, lovely design for your banknotes, and the bonds, too – but alas, essentially worthless, save for the artistic content. I hope (Albert Biddle added in an undertone) that the engraver and the printers got paid in gold and silver for their service – otherwise they were contributing to a country-sized patriotic charity. The only savior on the horizon for Texas now is annexation, by the United States, or to become a protectorate of the British Crown … as cheerful as President Houston may be regarding our chances, we are in a hard place. Finding a great treasure in gold and silver may ameliorate his position when it comes down to brass tacks. And it will pay off a great deal of accumulated debt, as well as salaries. You …” Albert Biddle looked keenly at Jim. “You are one of those owed such, I expect.”
“I’m paid in certificates for land,” Jim answered stoutly. “And General Sam has been in tight places before.”
“Land,” Jack spoke with a sigh, as he set aside his pipe. “Land we have in plenty – that’s all we have. And I should know, as I’ve surveyed or gone rangering over most every scrap of it. But a treasure like this – if you find it – now, that will allow General Sam a good deal more latitude in securing our future.”
“I take it you have already settled on our next assignment,” Jim bent a keen look on his captain. “For Toby and I to go to San Saba and search for this treasure … it’s well into Comanche hunting grounds, Captain. I’ve no objection, but I fear that they might…”
“Yes … and no,” Jack smiled. “For don’t the two of you have the friendship of Old Owl, the wise elder of the Penateka Comanche? Under his protection, couldn’t you travel safely there and return.”
“And would his protection extend to me, as well?” Albert Biddle put in. He met Jim’s eyes fairly, even as he patted Dona Graciela’s hand. Dona Graciela did not seem as distressed as Jim thought that a wife would be, upon hearing that her husband was about to venture into the dangerous, Comanche-haunted uplands of the Llano country.
“I believe that it would,” Jack agreed. “You’re certain of this, Mr. Biddle? I hesitate to ask such a thing of a man of family.”
Albert Biddle and Dona Graciela exchanged a calm and sober look, before Dona Graciela nodded; a tiny and almost imperceptible gesture.
“I am agreeable,” Albert Biddle answered, “and my wife naturally has fears for my welfare – but she is the daughter of a long line of brave soldiers of Spain. Duty to kin and country comes as a natural thing.” More »
Special frosted shortbread cookies from the Bear Moon Bakery in Boerne
We spent all day Sunday at the Sisterdale Dance Hall and Opera House, where the Kendall County Historical Commission had set up an event to observe the 170th anniversary of Jack Hays’ big fight near where the old trail between San Antonio and the deserted San Saba presidio and mission crosses the Guadalupe. This was an event gone down in song and story, for Jack Hays and his fourteen Rangers were matched against sixty to eighty Comanche warriors looking for glory, scalps and the odd bit of good horseflesh. The Rangers were armed with Colt’s patent revolving pistols, so what would have been a very one-sided fight turned into a vicious slugging match to the Ranger’s clear advantage. With a few years of that fight, Sisterdale was settled by Germans brought over by the Mainzer Adelsverein, and within a few years after that, the line of the frontier had moved north and west … and within a few more years after that, the remnant of the fighting Comanche had moved to a reservation in Oklahoma, and the Hill Country eventually became the charming, and bucolically Texan cross between Napa-Sonoma-Mendicino and the English Lake Country that it is now.
Tipi displayed on the banks of the creek
Although, as we were driving up on Sunday morning, and it began to pour simply buckets between Boerne and Sisterdale, I did have my doubts that it would actually happen. It would be a bust and a misery, and we would sit in a wet tent, looking at the rain falling down, hoping that some intrepid visitor with water-wings or maybe a small kayak would come drifting by. Really, I was that worried. But we set up the pink and zebra-striped pavilion and made ourselves at home … and the rain went to a drizzle, the clouds thinned, and more and more people appeared, and oh, my – was there a crowd, by noon. I think there must have been cars parked by the roadside halfway to Luckenbach.
Reenactor Rangers – Ranger on the left is dressed as Ad Gillespie would have been
And the Dance Hall and Opera House and the little row of rooms that are part of a B&B are quite charming a venue, all shaded with oak trees, and nicely landscaped. It seems to be a pretty popular venue for weddings, which would explain why the ladies restroom is palatial beyond all belief. There were Ranger reenactors, veteran for-realsies Rangers, historians and collectors, and displays of books and weapons and relics … and people keen for books. I actually sold the last copy I had of The Gathering in German to a stray German visitor and Karl May fan, who was so tickled that he insisted on taking a picture of me autographing his copy.
Replica of a 1903 Oldsmobile Ranger paddy-wagon
We talked to some of the other writers, discovered some mutual author and historian acquaintances, sold a LOT of books – definitely well-worth the drive—and made some interesting contacts. I am supposed to check in with the Genealogical Society in Boerne, for the president of that charming organization is interested in them selling my books. I forgot to bring my copy of Empire of the Summer Moon, so never got a chance to ask S.C. Gwynne to autograph it for me. He was doing his talk at 3:00, just about when the crowd cleared out of the author area, and we looked around and discovered that well … many of the other exhibitors and authors were folding their tents or pop-up canopies and slipping away.
Weapons of the time – Colt Paterson and Walker model revolvers
An excellent and hopefully profitable day in the long-term as well as in the short term; with luck I’ll have a chance to do other events in Kendall County. So that was my weekend – yours?
Recent Comments