(Note: I created this image and all the other "Words of Wisdom" graphics on my site. Please feel free to share them. Credit is not necessary, but links always are appreciated. If you use the image on your website, blog, Facebook page, Twitter stream, etc., drop me a line and I'll link to you.)
El Muerto: the Headless Horseman of South Texas
Serial published in 1865 |
South Texas has its own gruesome headless horseman legend. Unlike Irving’s unforgettable spook, however, Texas’s decapitated caballero rode among the living once upon a time.
Some say he still does.
In the summer of 1850, a Mexican bandito by the name of Vidal made an egregious error: He and several compadres rustled a sizable herd of horses from several ranches south of San Antonio. One of the ranches belonged to Texas Ranger Creed Taylor, a veteran of the Texas War for Independence and a man not inclined to forgive his enemies. (Taylor later would be one of the participants in the Sutton-Taylor Feud, a bloody, years-long running gun battle that rivaled the better-known fracas between the Hatfields and McCoys.)
Rustling cattle already had earned Vidal’s head a dead-or-alive bounty. Stealing a Texas Ranger’s horses proved the proverbial last straw. Together with fellow Ranger William A.A. “Big Foot” Wallace and another local rancher, Taylor set out to put a stop to Vidal’s unbearable insolence.
Creed Taylor, c. 1872 |
After tracking the banditos to their camp, Taylor, Wallace, and the third man mounted a surprise attack while the outlaws were asleep. Killing the desperados was not enough for the vigilantes, though. The entire Ranger force was fed up with the rash of rustling plaguing Texas at the time. Not even leaving bodies hanging from trees or hacking them to pieces and using the bits for predator bait had made a strong enough statement.
So Wallace got creative. After beheading Vidal, he secured the corpse upright on the back of the wildest of the rustled horses, lashed the bandito’s hands to the saddle horn and his feet to the stirrups, and tied the stirrups beneath the animal’s belly. Just to make sure anyone who saw the ghoulish specter got the message, he looped a rawhide thong through the head’s jaws and around Vidal’s sombrero, and slung the bloody bundle from the saddle’s pommel. Then Wallace and his friends sent the terrified mustang galloping off into the night.
Not long thereafter, vaqueros began to report seeing a headless horseman rampaging through the scrub on a dark, wild horse. As sightings spread, some claimed flames shot from the animal’s nostrils and lightning bolts from its hooves. Bullets seemed to have no effect on the grisly marauder. They dubbed the apparition el Muerto — the dead man — and attributed all sorts of evil and misfortune to the mysterious rider.
William A.A. "Big Foot" Wallace, c. 1872 |
Even the revelation of the truth behind the legend did not end el Muerto’s reign of terror. Until nearby Fort Inge was decommissioned in 1869, soldiers reported seeing a headless rider roaming the countryside around Uvalde, near Taylor’s ranch. Thirty years later, a rise in the ground 250 miles to the southeast, near San Patricio, Texas, was christened Headless Horseman Hill after a wagon train reported an encounter with el Muerto. A sighting occurred in 1917 outside San Diego, Texas, and another near Freer in 1969.
El Muerto reportedly still roams the mesquite-covered range in Duval, Jim Wells, and Live Oak counties — still fearsome, still headless, and still reminding those who see him that Texas Rangers didn’t come by their tough-hombre reputation by accident.
This post originally appeared on Sweethearts of the West, a blog maintained by a group of western historical romance authors and devoted to the history and lore of the American West. I post a new entry on the 12th of each month, and I'd be delighted to see you there. —Kathleen
'Death Rode a Pinto Pony'
Death rode a pinto pony
Along the Rio Grande,
Beside the trail his shadow
Was riding on the sand.
Along the Rio Grande,
Beside the trail his shadow
Was riding on the sand.
The look upon his youthful face
Was sinister and dark,
And the pistol in his scabbard
Had never missed its mark.
Was sinister and dark,
And the pistol in his scabbard
Had never missed its mark.
The moonlight on the river
Was bright as molten ore
The ripples broke in whispers
Along the sandy shore.
Was bright as molten ore
The ripples broke in whispers
Along the sandy shore.
The breath of prairie flowers
Had made the night-wind sweet,
And a mockingbird made merry
In a lacy-leafed mesquite.
Had made the night-wind sweet,
And a mockingbird made merry
In a lacy-leafed mesquite.
Death looked toward the river,
He looked toward the land
He took his broad sombrero off
And held it in his hand,
And death felt something touch him
He could not understand.
He looked toward the land
He took his broad sombrero off
And held it in his hand,
And death felt something touch him
He could not understand.
The lights at Madden's ranch-house
Were brighter than the moon,
The girls came tripping in like deer,
The fiddles were in tune,
Were brighter than the moon,
The girls came tripping in like deer,
The fiddles were in tune,
And death saw through the window
The man he came to kill,
And he that did not hesitate
Sat hesitating still.
The man he came to kill,
And he that did not hesitate
Sat hesitating still.
A cloud came over the moon,
The moon came out and smiled,
A coyote howled upon the hill,
The mockingbird went wild.
The moon came out and smiled,
A coyote howled upon the hill,
The mockingbird went wild.
Death drew his hand across his brow,
As if to move a stain,
Then slowly turned his pinto horse
And rode away again.
As if to move a stain,
Then slowly turned his pinto horse
And rode away again.
—Whitney Montgomery (from The Road to Texas, 1940)
Texas in Poetry
Cattle
Other states were carved or born,
Texas grew from hide and horn.
Other states are long or wide,
Texas is a shaggy hide,
Dripping blood and crumpled hair;
Some flat giant flung it there,
Laid the head where valleys drain,
Stretched its rump along the plain.
Other soil is full of stones,
Texans plow up Cattle-bones.
Herds are buried on the trail,
Underneath the powdered shale;
Herds that stiffened like the snow,
Where the icy northers go.
Other states have built their halls,
Humming tunes along the walls.
Texans watched the mortar stirred,
While they kept the lowing herd.
Stamped on Texan wall and roof
Gleams the sharp and crescent hoof.
High above the hum and stir
Jingle bridle-rein and spur.
Other states were made or born,
Texas grew from hide and horn.
—Berta Hart Nance, 1931
(Thanks to the University of North Texas for the illustration "A Drove of Texas Cattle Crossing a Stream," from the Oct. 19, 1867, edition of Harper's Weekly.)
Words of Wisdom: Guy de Maupassant
(Note: I created this image and all the other "Words of Wisdom" graphics on my site. Please feel free to share them. Credit is not necessary, but links always are appreciated. If you use the image on your website, blog, Facebook page, Twitter stream, etc., drop me a line and I'll link to you.)
Words of Wisdom: Eleanor Roosevelt
(Note: I created this image and all the other "Words of Wisdom" graphics on my site. Please feel free to share them. Credit is not necessary, but links always are appreciated. If you use the image on your website, blog, Facebook page, Twitter stream, etc., drop me a line and I'll link to you.)
Are you telling stories...or immortalizing crap?
Image: ©hvaldez1, December 2008 |
Guy Kawasaki advises, "Write a book because you have something important to say."
Kawasaki is talking about non-fiction in the Forbes piece quoted above — but extrapolate and apply the concepts to fiction. Unless every book is the much-maligned “book of your heart,” you’re playing the wrong game. No matter how many words you vomit onto pages daily, how much you hone your craft, how manic you are with promotion, how many friends and family members and other writers you convince to like and tag and talk about your books ad nauseam … the moment you lose sight of the story as the thing that really matters, you’re finished.
Always write the story of your heart. If your stories haven’t left scars all over your heart, they sure as heck won’t even nick anyone else’s.
Black-eyed Peas, Texas Style
When I was growing up, New Year’s Day dinner included three things: black-eyed peas, collard greens, and cornbread baked in a cast-iron skillet. The peas are supposed to bring good luck; the collards, prosperity. Being a superstitious lot, of course we Texans are gonna glom onto traditions like that.
To be perfectly frank, black-eyed peas are not my favorite dish. They don’t even look all that appetizing to me. As a kid, I used to hold my nose and swallow a couple of mouthfuls as insurance for the coming year. I was hardly alone in that behavior — lots of folks find what we colloquially call “cowpeas” objectionable in both taste and texture. Regardless, I still cook a big mess of them on New Year’s Day every year and serve them with sautéed collards and a batch of Texas-style cornbread. If I can’t round up collard greens, I substitute spinach.
I’ve actually grown fonder of black-eyed peas as I’ve gotten older. The trick is not to overcook the peas. When done, they should be just this side of mushy, especially if you, like me, intend to foist off the leftovers on your family in a variety of guises over the coming week. Very little goes to waste in our house — sometimes with positively dreadful results. But that’s a tale for another day.
Black-eyed peas are one of those foods I cook without a recipe. The ingredients are simple, and approximate measurements work just fine. Here’s how I cook mine. Any of the spices can be replaced with something more to your liking: Try oregano, sage, or thyme instead of cumin, for example.
6-8 slices bacon
Ham (hocks, slab, hambone, whatever trips your trigger)
1 small to medium onion, chopped
1/2 green bell pepper, chopped
2 or 3 celery ribs, chopped
1 small to medium carrot, chopped
1-2 cloves garlic, chopped or pressed (to taste)
Water or chicken stock
3 or 4 bay leaves
Dash of cumin
Salt
Pepper
Fresh jalapeños to taste, seeded and chopped
Garnish: Parsley, chopped fresh tomatoes, chopped green or red onions, fresh or pickled jalapeño slices, pico de gallo, or whatever else you like
1) If using dried or fresh peas, wash and pick through to remove any small pebbles or bad peas. (Note: It’s not necessary to soak or pre-boil dried peas, but if you feel compelled to do so, go right ahead.) If using canned peas, drain. If using frozen peas, thaw for a few minutes under running water in a colander.
2) In a deep, heavy pot, fry bacon until almost crisp. Remove and drain, leaving drippings in the pot. (If you like, you may toss in whatever ham you’re using at this point and fry it a bit, too. Then remove it from the grease and drain with the bacon.)
3) Add onion, celery, bell pepper, and carrot to the drippings and sauté until onion is clear. (Southerners call this “sweating” the veggies. The process releases flavors and aromas guaranteed to make your mouth water.) Add garlic and sauté for a minute or so more.
4) Dump peas, jalapeños, ham and bacon into the pot with the veggies. Add enough water or chicken stock (or a combination) to cover. Add bay leaves and season to taste with salt, pepper, and cumin. Bring pot to a boil, then reduce heat, cover, and simmer until the broth is creamy and the peas are tender. Add water or stock as necessary to keep the peas covered as they cook.
That’s it! Garnish as desired when serving, or set out a bunch of potential garnishes and let everyone add their own. Serve over rice, and you’ve got the Southern staple we call Hoppin’ John. Add crispy-on-the-outside cornbread and a green vegetable or salad for a tummy-filling, soul-warming meal.
If you and your family are adventurous, leftover black-eyed peas may be pureed or mashed and combined with spices, cheese, sour cream, and/or a variety of other condiments to create interesting and tasty dips and spreads that make great football-watching snacks.
Image from Joanie at Cookoree |
To be perfectly frank, black-eyed peas are not my favorite dish. They don’t even look all that appetizing to me. As a kid, I used to hold my nose and swallow a couple of mouthfuls as insurance for the coming year. I was hardly alone in that behavior — lots of folks find what we colloquially call “cowpeas” objectionable in both taste and texture. Regardless, I still cook a big mess of them on New Year’s Day every year and serve them with sautéed collards and a batch of Texas-style cornbread. If I can’t round up collard greens, I substitute spinach.
I’ve actually grown fonder of black-eyed peas as I’ve gotten older. The trick is not to overcook the peas. When done, they should be just this side of mushy, especially if you, like me, intend to foist off the leftovers on your family in a variety of guises over the coming week. Very little goes to waste in our house — sometimes with positively dreadful results. But that’s a tale for another day.
Black-eyed peas are one of those foods I cook without a recipe. The ingredients are simple, and approximate measurements work just fine. Here’s how I cook mine. Any of the spices can be replaced with something more to your liking: Try oregano, sage, or thyme instead of cumin, for example.
Black-eyed Peas, Texas Style
A mess of black-eyed peas (1 small bag dried, a couple of cans, or 3-4 cups fresh or frozen)6-8 slices bacon
Ham (hocks, slab, hambone, whatever trips your trigger)
1 small to medium onion, chopped
1/2 green bell pepper, chopped
2 or 3 celery ribs, chopped
1 small to medium carrot, chopped
1-2 cloves garlic, chopped or pressed (to taste)
Water or chicken stock
3 or 4 bay leaves
Dash of cumin
Salt
Pepper
Fresh jalapeños to taste, seeded and chopped
Garnish: Parsley, chopped fresh tomatoes, chopped green or red onions, fresh or pickled jalapeño slices, pico de gallo, or whatever else you like
1) If using dried or fresh peas, wash and pick through to remove any small pebbles or bad peas. (Note: It’s not necessary to soak or pre-boil dried peas, but if you feel compelled to do so, go right ahead.) If using canned peas, drain. If using frozen peas, thaw for a few minutes under running water in a colander.
2) In a deep, heavy pot, fry bacon until almost crisp. Remove and drain, leaving drippings in the pot. (If you like, you may toss in whatever ham you’re using at this point and fry it a bit, too. Then remove it from the grease and drain with the bacon.)
3) Add onion, celery, bell pepper, and carrot to the drippings and sauté until onion is clear. (Southerners call this “sweating” the veggies. The process releases flavors and aromas guaranteed to make your mouth water.) Add garlic and sauté for a minute or so more.
4) Dump peas, jalapeños, ham and bacon into the pot with the veggies. Add enough water or chicken stock (or a combination) to cover. Add bay leaves and season to taste with salt, pepper, and cumin. Bring pot to a boil, then reduce heat, cover, and simmer until the broth is creamy and the peas are tender. Add water or stock as necessary to keep the peas covered as they cook.
That’s it! Garnish as desired when serving, or set out a bunch of potential garnishes and let everyone add their own. Serve over rice, and you’ve got the Southern staple we call Hoppin’ John. Add crispy-on-the-outside cornbread and a green vegetable or salad for a tummy-filling, soul-warming meal.
If you and your family are adventurous, leftover black-eyed peas may be pureed or mashed and combined with spices, cheese, sour cream, and/or a variety of other condiments to create interesting and tasty dips and spreads that make great football-watching snacks.
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