truly one who has blessed us with her knowledge and passion for stories of the West that havenât been, but need to be, told.
R IDE HARD AND SHOOT STRAIGHT !
âP ETER S HERAYKO
INTRODUCTION
If he isnât a pet with the women he ought to be .
âO BSERVATION FROM A FEMALE NEWSPAPER REPORTER , J. M. W., IN AN ARTICLE ENTITLED âC OLONEL C ODY T ALKS â (1894)
A sea of elegantly dressed, excited guests lined the hallway of a refined hotel in Omaha, Nebraska. The buzz of conversation was deafening as they clustered into an open door leading to a gigantic suite. Waiters in tails and white gloves and carrying trays of champagne-filled glasses weaved around the congregation. It was the winter of 1877, and people from all walks of life were at the posh inn. Entertainers, businessmen and -women, cattle barons, and politicians helped them-selves to the abundance of wine and toasted one anotherâs good fortune.
The chatter and drinks were set aside when the guest of honor arrived on the scene. The entire room was galvanized into a tumultuous applause as thirty-one-year-old William F. Cody entered and made his way through the crowd. He smiled appreciatively in response to the enthusiastic welcome. Standing six feet one inch tall, the man was draped in a tuxedo-style waistcoat, vest, and perfectly pressed trousers. 1 His dark, curly, shoulder-length hair, thin mustache, and small goatee completed his handsome, polished look.
Beautiful women in taffeta gowns and lace bonnets jockeyed for a place beside him. He reveled in the attention and politely allowed one of the coquettish disciples to slide her dainty arm into the crook of his.
He held the audience that had gathered around him captive with his genteel manner and fascinating tales of life on the wild frontier. âI was fourteen when I signed on as one of the Pony Express riders,â William proudly announced. âThey argued that I was too young for the job, but I insisted I could do it, and finally they gave me the shortest route, a ride of thirty-five miles with three changes of ponies.â 2 William explained to the crowd that he rode seventy miles every day for three months. âWhen it became apparent to the men in charge that the boys could do better than forty-five miles a day the stretches were lengthened,â he continued. âThe pay of the rider was from $100 to $125 a month. It was announced that the further a man rode the better would be his payâ¦. In stretching my own route I found myself getting further and further west. I never was quite sure when I started out when I should reach my destination or whether I should never reach it at all.â
Williamâs admirers gushed and commended him for his service. As he was graciously accepting the praise, his wife, Louisa, entered the room from an adjoining suite and faded inconspicuously into the crowd. She surveyed the inspired faces watching her husband, taking particular notice of the ladies flanking him on either side. The petite, porcelainskinned woman fought to maintain her composure as one of the brazen ladies leaned in closely to William and whispered in his ear. He grinned a schoolboy grin and casually glanced around the room. His expression changed slightly when his eyes met Louisaâs. 3
The occasion for this well-attended event was a farewell party for Williamâs theatrical troupe. The coupleâs marriage, already strained because of months of separation, was further harassed by rumors of infidelity. Louisa had spent the better part of her relationship with William struggling with insecurities. 4 Vying for his attention were the vast, untamed plains, the love of adventure and scouting, and the intoxicating limelight. At the beginning of their marriage, she had tried to get him to settle into a predictable and steady life-style. William made a valiant effort. He purchased an inn in Leavenworth, Kansas, and tended to the needs of travelers passing
R IDE HARD AND SHOOT STRAIGHT !
âP ETER S HERAYKO
INTRODUCTION
If he isnât a pet with the women he ought to be .
âO BSERVATION FROM A FEMALE NEWSPAPER REPORTER , J. M. W., IN AN ARTICLE ENTITLED âC OLONEL C ODY T ALKS â (1894)
A sea of elegantly dressed, excited guests lined the hallway of a refined hotel in Omaha, Nebraska. The buzz of conversation was deafening as they clustered into an open door leading to a gigantic suite. Waiters in tails and white gloves and carrying trays of champagne-filled glasses weaved around the congregation. It was the winter of 1877, and people from all walks of life were at the posh inn. Entertainers, businessmen and -women, cattle barons, and politicians helped them-selves to the abundance of wine and toasted one anotherâs good fortune.
The chatter and drinks were set aside when the guest of honor arrived on the scene. The entire room was galvanized into a tumultuous applause as thirty-one-year-old William F. Cody entered and made his way through the crowd. He smiled appreciatively in response to the enthusiastic welcome. Standing six feet one inch tall, the man was draped in a tuxedo-style waistcoat, vest, and perfectly pressed trousers. 1 His dark, curly, shoulder-length hair, thin mustache, and small goatee completed his handsome, polished look.
Beautiful women in taffeta gowns and lace bonnets jockeyed for a place beside him. He reveled in the attention and politely allowed one of the coquettish disciples to slide her dainty arm into the crook of his.
He held the audience that had gathered around him captive with his genteel manner and fascinating tales of life on the wild frontier. âI was fourteen when I signed on as one of the Pony Express riders,â William proudly announced. âThey argued that I was too young for the job, but I insisted I could do it, and finally they gave me the shortest route, a ride of thirty-five miles with three changes of ponies.â 2 William explained to the crowd that he rode seventy miles every day for three months. âWhen it became apparent to the men in charge that the boys could do better than forty-five miles a day the stretches were lengthened,â he continued. âThe pay of the rider was from $100 to $125 a month. It was announced that the further a man rode the better would be his payâ¦. In stretching my own route I found myself getting further and further west. I never was quite sure when I started out when I should reach my destination or whether I should never reach it at all.â
Williamâs admirers gushed and commended him for his service. As he was graciously accepting the praise, his wife, Louisa, entered the room from an adjoining suite and faded inconspicuously into the crowd. She surveyed the inspired faces watching her husband, taking particular notice of the ladies flanking him on either side. The petite, porcelainskinned woman fought to maintain her composure as one of the brazen ladies leaned in closely to William and whispered in his ear. He grinned a schoolboy grin and casually glanced around the room. His expression changed slightly when his eyes met Louisaâs. 3
The occasion for this well-attended event was a farewell party for Williamâs theatrical troupe. The coupleâs marriage, already strained because of months of separation, was further harassed by rumors of infidelity. Louisa had spent the better part of her relationship with William struggling with insecurities. 4 Vying for his attention were the vast, untamed plains, the love of adventure and scouting, and the intoxicating limelight. At the beginning of their marriage, she had tried to get him to settle into a predictable and steady life-style. William made a valiant effort. He purchased an inn in Leavenworth, Kansas, and tended to the needs of travelers passing
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