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Since Dodge was a key hub for cattle from the 1870s up to 1884, I could have chosen any year in that window. Could have, but I didn’t. I selected 1880 for a specific reason. Two reasons, actually, and those two were brothers—The Masterson brothers.
One, Marshal Jim Masterson, eliminated guns on the streets of
Dodge. The other, Bat, served as sheriff of Ford County, where that town is
located.
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| Wkipedia |
It is all too easy to forget that this fictional hero was
also a flesh and blood man, one who did his best to provide order and justice
to a county during the early years of Kansas’s statehood. Though a lawman, he
was invested in a local saloon and was a known gambler. No doubt, he must have
turned a blind eye to some goings on in Dodge. Regardless, what does matter was
that he served Kansas as a cautious and cool-headed lawman, helping his brother
control a wild town, a place populated for a time by cowboys fresh from the
trail and looking for a good time.
At first a buffalo hunter and an army scout, Bat reinvented
himself as a lawman when he became sheriff of Ford County. Later, he found a
new role as a sportscaster. What an excellent reminder that the Old West was
not that far removed from the modern age!
From Marriage and Mayhem:
After breakfast, he [Clint] scooped
up the ledgers. With those tucked under one arm, he led Clementine down busy
Front Street to the two-story building that sat next to the Courthouse and its
limestone basement. The front door of the wooden jail stood open to catch a
stray breeze. Clint took it as an invitation and entered.
“Hey, Masterson, you here?” He
hollered as he handed Clementine into a chair that fronted a scarred desk.
Bump-bump. Bump-bump. Footsteps
sounded below them, and then a door near the rear of the room opened. A
dome-shaped hat appeared first, followed by the handsome face of Bat Masterson.
The man’s neatly trimmed mustache twitched. “Well, if it isn’t the newlyweds.
What’s brought the two of you to the jail?”
“My wife and I want to report a
shooting. The bullet nearly lodged in her head.”
Clementine widened her eyes and
nodded. “I was so scared.”
Clint threw a frown at her. She exaggerated
her innocent act too much, and he needed to warn her. Seeing his hint, she
merely winked.
“Shot at you, huh? My brother
doesn’t allow guns in town. We’re not having another death like our brother
Ed.”
“Yeah, I heard tell that Jim took
over as marshal after your brother was killed. But I am telling you, Bat.
There’s someone out to kill us. It wasn’t a stray bullet, not with the way the
marshal controls the guns in town.”
Bat reached up a finger to rub the
left side of his mustache. “Well, we’ll need to talk to Jim. I’m the sheriff of
Ford County, not the law here in Dodge.”
Those two men drew me to that specific
year. It was a more controlled time in the town. One when I believed my main
characters would get the support they needed from the law.
It was later, in 1881, that Masterson left Kansas and traveled
to Tombstone, Arizona, where he joined his friend Wyatt Earp. Earp asked him to
deal faro and ferret out robbers terrorizing local stagecoaches. Later, he was
part of Earp’s vendetta to punish the cowboys who killed Earp’s brothers.
So, my choice of 1880 was specific. I wanted Masterson to be
the county sheriff in my story, and I had to time it right to line up the
historical events. (By the way, it is no coincidence that my last name is also
Masterson. I chose that for my pen name to honor Bat. Of course, I had
to include him in this story!)
As much as I focused on the characters and their story, I also wanted to recreate the busy main street of Dodge City in 1880. I chose a time during the town’s peak years when cattle and cowboys streamed there to ship beef back east, mostly to Chicago’s slaughtering houses. Imagine it. This was a time before fences ended the open range, and the West was wild.
From Marriage and Mayhem:
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A boot appeared, followed by the hem of a blue skirt. More of the traveling suit showed until a frowning woman with arms akimbo stood outside the coach. No boardwalk invited her to escape the hard-packed dirt that was the street.
Clementine Bradley’s nose and chin tipped upward, ever so slightly, but there it was. She allowed dislike for the situation—and her discomfort—to show. A glance to the left and to the right might have signaled that distress to any male observers. It should have signaled it to them, if any bothered to glance her way. Alone, she stood in the street without so much as one masculine arm willing to escort her to the hotel.
Dodge City’s main street teemed with men. Roughly dressed cowboys rode past her on horses, skirting her while never meeting her eyes. Others stumbled along with whiskey bottles clutched in their fists. Their hoots and hollers nearly sent Clementine’s hands up to cover her ears.
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