Books'nSundries

          ~ The Legend
               of
    EL GATO ~

            ...Cat, Man, or Spirit?
                                              by Emil T. Miller

(Click to enlarge the book cover)

             FOREWORD:

        This book had its beginnings in the late l950's when I was in the U. S. Army at Fort Ord near Monterey, California. There, the bunkmate to my left was a mixed but full-blood Apache/Cherokee Indian from Oklahoma who, apparently because I thought myself part Cherokee at that time, told me the compelling story (legend) of El Gato. I have since found that I am strictly of Scotch/Irish descent, but this story is a part of Indian lore only passed by word of mouth, having been passed down through the years in hushed tones only among those of direct Indian descent. Since my army days I have otherwise been able to definitively document only parts of the story. The manner in which my stoic friend of theretofore few words recounted it to me was in solemn, hushed tones which were akin to a religious rite he might have been conferring on his young Indian son. He spoke as much through his piercing, intense black eyes, as his mouth... and the tale raised the hair on the back of my neck as he told it. I strove to re-create this feeling as I wrote the book.
     Then later through the years in my travels, working, hunting, exploring and researching Courthouse records in the West, I discovered much hard evidence of the first (perhaps the only) true trail drive from Texas to Colorado. It was to the original town of Cleora (now Salida), 8000+ feet high in the heart of both the Rocky Mountains and one of the largest gold and silver mining districts in the territory during those earliest, rip-roaring boom days. The Arkansas River, with its headwaters at Leadville, Colorado, just 40 miles north of our ranch, and the fastest whitewater river in North America, ran within 500 yards of our house. The impact of that drive on the nature and development of that whole Arkansas River Valley area is much in evidence even today, a legacy of the Texas ranchers (the Eddy brothers), and their cowboy drovers, most of whom settled in the area after the drive.   Our ranch, just 5 miles north of Salida, was a part of one which had been originally homesteaded by one of those cowboys named Sandusky. And as well, though I did not document it, I understood at the time that the owner of the huge ranch adjacent to ours was also a direct descendent of one of the original cowboys on that drive. (This rancher was also "The Marlborough Man" for some years, and his ranch next to ours, was the setting for all those gorgeous Rocky Mountain photographs).
     All this came together for me some years later when the essence of my book "EL GATO, Cat, Man, or Spirit?", came to me early one morning as I lay in those wispy, surreal regions between sleep and wakefulness. Writing it was supremely enjoyable to me, for I wrote as it came to me during the next few months - it poured out as if I were there and seeing it all transpire before my eyes as it happened, never knowing what would come next. "Inspired" writing? I am absolutely sure of it.
     A rousing, descriptive adventure of history in action from start to finish, with elements of mystery and the supernatural along with a natural, unhindered love story interwoven. It is a mosaic of harsh, elemental struggle ranging over a huge, virgin expanse of country from what is now called Central and West Texas and extending through New Mexico, parts of present-day Arizona, Colorado, and on down through and including the Sonoran Desert of Mexico - that whole area being known back in those fearful days as "Apacheria".   The romance was between El Gato and a beautiful Yaqui Indian princess whose father had been a rich Castillian Spanish Mexican of their ruling elite, and all is based on carefully researched history and word-of-mouth Indian lore.
     You the reader will decide as you go, whether El Gato was a cat, man, spirit or all three; whether he was a white man, Apache Indian or a half-breed; whether he was a hero... or something far less; whether he has been long dead or if he still roams the West as many Indians even today, profoundly believe.
                                                                                       ...© Emil T. Miller (Tony Miller)
                                                                                                 (Click here for the AUTHOR'S BIO)

1852, SOUTH OF THE RIO GRANDE...

     He was not old. Yet he was not young, this rider. Age-wise as in many other ways, he was enigmatic. Unobtrusive, even nondescript was the first impression of the man. Of average height and build, one could not place his age within 15 years one way or the other unless around him for some length of time. Few ever were. As his horse picked its’ way along, he sat it fluidly, like he was a part of the animal. Hat pulled low he slouched, looking neither right nor left, and he gave the impression of being half asleep.
     It was hot. Dusty. Dry. It was always so here in the Sonoran desert of north central Mexico where seasons were hardly noticeable to the unaccustomed eye, and where every living thing whether plant or animal, either pricked or bit. But this year, in the summer of 1852, it was unusually dry in all of Mexico.
     Upon closer examination, the rider presented still more contradictions. Dark skinned, but naturally so or from constant exposure to the elements? Dark haired but not black, it was tied at the back of his head in the manner common to half-breeds of the time, with a rawhide thong. Mustaches were common to white men of that era, yet he did not have one. Neither did he appear to be part Indian, having two weeks heavy beard growth. His breeches were of worn denim, and he wore a buckskin shirt with a dark blue bandanna around his neck. A black, low crowned Mexican style hat and a worn, low slung, tied down holster with a .44 Walker Colt, lent an ominous aspect to his appearance. A Hawken carbine, also .44 calibre, was in his scabbard. His saddle was the Spanish type with a wide pommel, and bags were of Indian made parfleche. A light bedroll in a black oilcloth ground cover was tied behind. Aside from these contradictions, if anything really stood out it was his footgear. Not boots, but thigh length leggin' moccasins folded down to the top of the calf with breeches tucked in, in the manner of the Apache. They were carefully made, soft, supple, form fitted to leg and foot, neither plain nor fancy. Contrary to Indian practice, he wore socks under them. Man and horse were thinly coated with days of trail dust and sweat.
     The horse the rider rode was more notable, yet it too was deceiving in appearance. Looks mattered not at all to this rider, but still, he rode a stunning animal. It was a cream colored Mustang mare with a pure white mane and tail, an extremely rare horse, almost albino. It was smallish, deep-chested, wild eyed and ornery except with its master. The animal was fast but not exceptionally so, but it could run all day at a ground eating pace without jading, if called upon and carefully handled. It had so been called upon as recently as two days ago. The animal would forage on whatever was available almost, and could go far on very little to eat or drink, if need be. More than once the rider felt he owed his life to this companion who had struggled on as other horses of lesser heart jaded and died.
     Hunger and thirst were this riders' only other companions. His pinole cakes, a baked mixture of ground corn, mesquite beans and buffalo tallow, along with his venison jerky, had run out three days ago. Dry camps had been the norm for days. Thirst was his biggest problem. His canteens had been empty since noon the day before. It was not because water was not to be had, even here. The Apache could find it. So could this rider if he took the time. So could the man he was tracking.
     The rider knew his quarry was close. He reckoned also that the man was in worse straights than he, and was becoming both angry and frustrated as well. Yesterday the rider had made sure his quarry knew he was close up on him, and in fact the rider had dogged him close since leaving El Paso no matter what measures the man had taken to throw off his pursuer. Until this morning however, the rider had been content to keep a certain distance and outlast him, but knowing they were nearing Ortiz, now about a days ride, the rider had begun to crowd.
     But he was under no illusions. His quarry was a uniquely dangerous half-breed Comanchero bandit leader, equally enigmatic in his own way and as at home in the desert as any man or beast. Maybe more so since he had been born and raised with the Comanches in the Sierra Madres, now only 75 miles or so off to the northwest. The rider had gained a small advantage early, in that the half-breed had not known he had been caught up to until long after crossing the Rio Grande. But as it had happened, neither had been able to secure provisions at El Paso, or had time to find water since, as the pursuit led deeper and deeper into the stark, foreboding desert. The riders' other advantage lay in the pemmican Little Dove had lovingly placed in the rider's saddlebag as a parting gesture of endearment. Though just a small entrails casing of it, it was giving him the nourishment he needed.
     The rider knew that in addition to beginning to weaken from lack of food and water, the Breed himself was aware that his horse could not pull away from this rider and make Ortiz ahead of him, where both knew the brutal assassin had his henchmen waiting. Nor could either of them take time to find water.
     And so the confrontation would come soon. Both man and beast will turn and fight when cornered, and the Breed, for the first time in his treacherous life, knew he was cornered. His would be the advantage though, as he not the rider, would choose the time and place to ambush the trail. The Breed had been misjudging the rider from the beginning, but now knew this was a formidable adversary--an unknown quantity -- and one with a fearful reputation. The knowledge of all these things had brought both the pursuer and the pursued to profound expectations.
     Though the rider seemed to be dozing, the opposite was true. His head did not turn but his steely, pale, blue-green eyes missed nothing, particularly noting the significance of the imperceptible change in the flight of the grayhawk hunting low ahead, and the sounds of such insects as there were at this time of day in the desert.   He was close.
     The sun was nearing its zenith as the rider's horse picked its way through a narrow rocky defile where the footing changed momentarily from rock to sand and back. Seeing the strip of wash sand the width of the trail in which a horse would have to step, the rider stopped momentarily, then abruptly dismounted, moved forward and stooped down to examine the track, knowing this was an ideal opportunity to see exactly how close he was to the Comanche breed. He did so in such non-human, silent, fluid motions that it was both fascinating and disturbing to he who lay in a shallow hidden crack in the rock on a slightly higher level, 100 yards off to the south of the trail, as the rider rode past. The movement could only have been matched by a puma or panther, thought Peludo (the hairy one). Not even the leather of the rider's saddle had creaked! The sudden quickness and unusual motion of the action spoiled the shot the Breed had intended to take, and his hurried adjustment as the cat-like man stooped to examine the hoof print could have been off the mark . . . .
                                                                                                                     © Emil T. Miller
                                                                                               (Click here for the AUTHOR'S BIO)

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             ~ Of MASSACRES in the West ~
                                               and
                 MISREPRESENTATIONS
                            about them and other History:

►(BE SURE TO VIEW the rare photographs of TWO MASSACRES which are shown below this article.   They are exemplary)

    There have been many false accounts and intentionally warped, slanted versions of our American history put forward by various Socialist political agendas with the help of their counterparts in the TV and print News Media, the Hollywood Elite, and in most of Academia regarding various eras in our American history. These have led to disruptive misconceptions now held by many, even though true and verifiable facts are available for any and all who care to seek them out as did this writer. Particularly egregious are their lies and distortions about the War for Southern Independence, purposely (and erroneously) referred to by them as the "Civil" War.
     Equally as distorted are their misrepresentations of "the West." They have ignored, belittled, and misrepresented our Christian religion and the central part it had in the foundation of our country and in the opening and development of the West. They have misrepresented cowboys and demonized firearms and their importance then as today, in the hands of honest law-abiding citizens. Moreover they are distorting our Indian heritage according to their perversion of the facts and are attempting to place fault and blame entirely on "white males," when in fact neither side was any less culpable than the other. According to the reasoning of these revisionists, when the European emigrants landed at Plymouth Rock they should have gotten back on the boat and left a whole continent to the relative few inhabitants; warring wandering hunters, who themselves had displaced others before them (i.e., the Anastazi "Basketweavers", 700 years earlier), and so left millions of people oppressed and starving in Europe.
     In fact what happened was inevitable. The native "Indians" had to absorb these teeming Europeans who were oppressed in religion as well as politically, and sadly it cost them their nomadic way of life. Nobody likes that but it could have been no other way in the end. Let us revere and strive to preserve the truth while emphasizing the good parts of our Indian heritage. But for these Liberals (Socialists) to seek to drive a wedge between those of Indian descent and everyone else with a totally false mantle of guilt, is disingenuous to say the least.
     All things considered, the Indians were dealt with even-handedly, according to the context of the times. Yes, there was greed for their treaty lands which resulted in broken promises when for instance, gold was discovered in Utah and white, black freedmen and other races disregarded the treaty and crowded in after it. And yes, the government did little about it. In fact, there was little the hard-pressed and almost penniless Federal government was able do about it at the time. Being just after the so-called "Civil" war (War for Southern Independence in the face of exorbitant, oppressive and tyrannical Northern taxation, the denial of States' Rights as accorded all states by the Constitution, and then the subsequent Northern Aggression), the people in the northeastern states insisted that the bulk of Union Army be mustered out to come home, and except for a relative few troops, neither the people nor their politicians in Washington had the will to then re-mobilize and send soldiers West and away from home again. It was just after this time that the black "Buffalo Soldiers" were enlisted into the U. S. Calvary to fill out the ranks and send west. But until this policy changed and the efforts became effective, the settlers were the ones who suffered at the hands of the marauding massacres of the savage Indians.
     Of course we of the present generation would have handled things differently we say. Certainly we would have genuinely tried, but the situation at the time would still have been the very same. It is easy enough for some today to say that the emphasis should have been on assimilation and integration rather than keeping the Indians apart from us on reservations. Or that we should have kept and honored all treaties made in the direct aftermath of battle as sacrosanct and without reasonable revision forever, though it is true in some instances that we made insufficient effort at reason and found it more expedient to revise and procrastinate. But at the time, it must be remembered, most Indians refused to accept, accommodate or assimilate, and for our part we misunderstood their reasons and feared their savagery.
    Simply put, it was war, the emigrant settlers with the help of United States Calvary (which included the black "Buffalo Soldiers" as the Indians called them) won it, eventual mismatch though it became, and to the victor go the spoils. It has always been so, and nothing will ever change that. It is instructive to note that as Harry M. Caudills' research as shown in his "DARK HILLS TO WESTWARD" (published by Atlantic-Little, Brown Books, 1969, Library of Congress card No. 70-7938) it is a verifiable fact that between 1492 and 1892 more white (and black, Latin, Asian) people - men, women and children, perished at the hands of Indians than were killed on all America’s battlefields, in both the "Civil" War at home and all our wars abroad! Few people are aware of this fact, including at one time, this writer who was not aware of the true extent of the Indian depredations. Ever moving westward from the eastern seaboard in search of a new life, pioneering souls from all over the world were savaged and killed day in and day out, many times whole families at a time, and later whole wagon trains at a time, over the space of those many decades. No living person today, white or Indian, could ever feel or experience the fear, tragedy, loss of loved ones and hard won homesteads, much less the hate and burning desire for retribution that was felt and endured by both sides back during those times.
     So should we of today (blacks, Latins and Asians along with whites) be ashamed that we were the victors? And should those of us of all or some part Indian ancestry reach back and bring bitterness forward? Certainly not. Especially (if for no other reason) since it was all before our time. It must be realized too, as it was until recently and still is by impartial historians, that those making the decisions at the time were either directly affected by, or had close relatives who had been brutalized and savagely murdered by marauding Indians. Indeed, had the Indians prevailed, it was their way to torture, kill, scalp and mutilate their enemies after defeating them. So the proper perspective is in order here as it has been until this recent effort at "revisionism" which must be rejected out of hand. These "blame (white) Americans firsters" love to pit "groups" against each other rather than see us united and reconciled all together as Americans. They have now given us hyphenated Americans for the first time in our 220+ year history, i.e., Spanish-Americans, African-Americans, Italian-Americans, Irish-Americans, Chinese-Americans, Indian-Americans ...ad nauseam.
     Yet there is one sad and dark episode which gives such agenda-driven revisionists a measure of cover, that being the Indian removal known as the "Trail of Tears" which occurred just after the Cherokee Nation sold their remaining lands in certain areas, mainly Georgia, South Carolina, and Alabama. The justification was both lawful and agreed to by the Indian leaders, the sale was fairly made and millions paid, yet most people Indian and white are ignorant of these facts today. But at the same time, for the few Indians who actually held private title to their homes under American law and who had bitterly disagreed with their leaders who did the selling, this uprooting and removal of all the Cherokee Indians including them, from these regions, was heart-rending.
     More than this, the Cherokee were unused to life in the semi-arid regions of the Oklahoma Territory to which they agreed to be removed. Their home had always been near the rich, well-watered soil of the Southeast, and there those holding private title should have been allowed to remain. This removal overland to the "Indian Nation" was a tragedy not only for those particular "landed" Indians, but for their white neighbors as well, most of whom were as outraged as some of the Cherokee at the time, many of whom lined the route, some crying in compassion. In his book "THE EDUCATION OF LITTLE TREE", Forrest Carter (full blood Cherokee, Indian name "Little Tree") points out in his first hand narrative of one who was a part of the removal, that the "tears" were not Cherokee tears (for they were too proud to cry), the tears shed were by white people who lined their route in many places. This fact is also not generally known because it does not serve the purpose of the Liberals.
     The writer, believing himself some part Cherokee most of his life, feels the tragedy of it personally, because his ancestors in North Georgia were neighbors to some of these Cherokee, and were some who felt the outrage of the event. It was an outrage because these few Cherokee by that time were in fact well assimilated and integrated into our agrarian Southern society of the times. Their clannishness had alienated some, but they had clearly demonstrated that they had renounced warfare and savagery. They were farmers, owned their land, and were good neighbors to all by minding their own business and bothering no one. They had their own schools, their own written language and their own printing presses. They were not placing these things above their adopted country. Indeed, many also wrote, spoke, and commerced in English, and it was wrong for the Washington politicians to have faulted them for wanting to preserve their heritage in these ways and to include those with private title in the removal. This tragedy for those particular Indians is, in the writer’s opinion, truly a shameful episode in our past history. But it is now and will always remain, just that. Past history. No one living today can in any way be blamed for either, just as no one living today can claim victimization for either, and to attempt to do so as some do, is every bit as outrageous as those wrongs of past history. This applies equally to the contrived Liberal (Socialist) "issue" of "Slavery" as well.

     Efforts by some to distort and rewrite history, to continually call forward and flagellate us all with yesterday’s falsely presented and grotesquely magnified mistakes, serves a vicious, distorted, even treasonous purpose, tearing at the very fabric and well-being of our nation and leaving ill will on all sides. Such is the epitome of the Liberal's wickedness in quest of ideological gain using their tactic of foisting a mind-set of "victimization" on these minorities in their shameful lust for the votes of the simple-minded and gullible among them so as to maintain their positions of political power. And this only a small part of their agenda. The mockery these Liberal Socialists are attempting to make of our Constitution and Bill of Rights with it's Christian foundation is robbing our present generation, especially our children and minorities, of their true heritage, morals, and work ethic as well as their Christian beliefs. It has left the devastation of personal perversion, broken homes, rampant crime, and lazy “something for nothing” attitudes along with a Socialist oriented Welfare State, and it has left a mockery of our founding religion of Christianity . . . all in its wake, and our Republic is suffering a precipitous and dangerous decline of decency, morality, and pride of self sufficiency because of it.
     We, ALL Americans, white, black, red, yellow, and tan must keep our personal lives as pure as possible, take personal responsibility for our lives and well-being, and each fight against the interior as well as exterior enemies of our Republic by defeating tyrannical totalitarian Socialism day by day, both at home and in our personal political lives as well as on the battlefield, in order to preserve our individual freedoms and our Constitutional Republic. Our worst enemies lie within, not without. We are ALL Americans and can ALL be proud of it. This is the attitude that best reflects our TRUE heritage as Americans of white, black, Indian, Asian, Irish, Latin and other ancestries.
                                                                                        © Emil T. Miller
                                                                                    (Click here for the AUTHOR'S BIO)

                                                                     NOW...
                      For a different mood as you read, you could CLICK HERE (if Dial-Up a little long to Dnload)

* White Massacre

Fredrick Wyllyams lies scalped, tortured, killed, mutilated, and beheaded by Cheyennes, near Ft. Wallace, Kansas. [NOTE: At the Massacre of Almo Creek, east of the "City of Rocks" in now southern Idaho, all 60 wagons were burned and all but a handful of the 300 white men, women, and children were massacred by Bannock Indians under Chief Pocotello.]

(Click the picture to Enlarge)

Photo courtesy of Fossil Country Museum, William Tully Collection, Kemmerer, Wyoming

Sioux Chief Big Foot: lies frozen where he fell in the snow with a U.S. Troopers' bullet in his brain. One of the last Indian uprisings resulted from the so called "Ghost Dance Religion" in which a Piaute medicine man spread the belief among the tribes that an Indian millennium was at hand wherein Indians dead and alive were about to rise and overwhelm the white men. A protective "shirt" was worn under all clothing and was thought to be impervious to bullets. The Army hurried to disarm the main Sioux chiefs and their bands in the Reservation. Sitting Bull refused, and his warriors opened fire on the arresting Indian policemen and he and 7 other Indians along with 6 policemen were killed. Then at Wounded Knee Creek in South Dakota, Chief Big Foots' warriors refused to surrender their arms as well. While in the process of taking them by force, an Indian pulled a pistol from under his blankets and fired. He apparently hit no one, but it caused the nervous troopers to immediately commence firing and the rest of the warriors rushed the soldiers who had Hotchkiss guns trained on the camp. Before the cease-fire could be effected, approximately 180 Indians including some women and children were killed, as well as 25 troopers.

(Photo courtesy of the National Numismatic Collection, Smithsonian Institute, Washington, D. C.)

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