Latest Western Reproductions
'The Burro and the Bad Men'
Our plan was
perfect. Storm the Freight Office when they least expected it and
Adios Wells Fargo! On to Mexico.
So, there
we were, quietly moving to the door when this burro up and kicks Gonzo,
who howled and launched a return kick. That burro staggers back, gathers
himself, cocks his head and.... well, the particulars of what happened
next are painful in the retelling and that's all I'm going to say.
But, if I
ever get out of here, there will be hell to pay for that damned burro.
Tales of the Old West
new painting Reproductions coming soon!
In 1839, Jim Baker left the civilized
world to become a mountain man in the vast and cruel American West. He survived
to live long enough to see the city of Denver emerge where he and the Arapho and
Cheyenne had once roamed.
By 1895, Denver was a city of 120,000
people with a telephone system, an opera house, and modern refrigeration.
Baker could enjoy a frosty Coors beer or perhaps an ice cream sundae. In the
Denver Evening Post, he could read the news from Europe, perhaps events of the
same day, thanks to transatlantic cables. From Denver, Baker could have
traveled in a comfortable rail car across the continent.
American Storytellers
Available as a reproduction!
Oh, to be there and
hear the stories. Imagine hearing Mark Twain and Will Rogers trade witticisms,
or Ronald Reagan tell a good story. Charles Russell, Frederick Remington and
Norman Rockwell told incredible stories in their paintings and writings. Ben
Franklin was once called the First American and somehow that seems right.
Ernest Hemingway took the American character and planted him around the world.
Buffalo Bill, a real man of the West, created a mythical man of the West through
his Wild West show. Teddy Roosevelt, a true blue blood from the east, went west
to test his mettle.
Oh, the stories that would be told.
Leaving Old Mexico
Sold at
2009 Scottsdale Art Auction
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Those fellows mistook our meaning. We were
just looking for a little tonic to see us down the road to home. All was
well enough when Henry’s friendly parley with another table was not well
received and we were obliged to leave the cantina and Old Mexico with less
dignity than when we entered.
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I draw two conclusions from this… the
senorita was that gent’s sister and Henry’s Espanol is not as good as he led
us to believe.
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It’s
a cowtown Saturday night and young, hardworking cowboys, imbued with whiskey
and a sense of invincibility, are intent on living a full and adventurous
life, tonight, in this very saloon.
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Adventure turns to misadventure and it is fortunate these boys ride better
than they shoot. The whole affair can be explained. Bad whiskey.
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"Stampede! Stampede!"
Reproduction available now!
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A peaceful night camp on the
Western Cattle Trail explodes into action as the cowboys mount their night
horses and race to overtake the riotous mob of half-wild longhorns. Hours of
fast, hard work lie ahead.
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Andy Adams vividly
describes two such stampedes in his book “The Log of a Cowboy”. It’s
compelling drama: frantic shouts and orders, blind plunges through thickets,
firing pistols and the relentless efforts of the men.
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The Wild
Ones
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- Amid the
torrent of a prairie squall, cowboys try to turn the leaders of a stampeding
herd of longhorn cattle. They’ll either turn and control the herd or spend
the next day rounding up the scattered remnants.
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are untamed creatures not suited for domestic life… and that describes the
cattle, the horses and the men. Half wild cowboys riding half wild range
horses trying to herd half wild cattle. That’s the real Wild West.
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Ambush on
the Bandit Trail
The farmer had called the
trail “las pistas del bandido”. Miguel asked, Does it go the river? Si, Si.
How long will it take us to get to the river? With his hand, the man had
indicated a low sun, late afternoon. Then he smiled and said something in
Spanish but his meaning was clear.
We might not get there at
all.
The Hunted
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We followed
the Marshal’s lead and bade our mounts down the ridge. Thank the good Lord
for the horses we had that day for they managed the mad descent, stumbling
and sliding before a hard drop into the creek at the bottom. There the
Marshal had pulled his revolver and started a steady fire that checked the
heathens who had waylaid us.
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This Indian Territory is a beautiful but vile land. I do believe that every
disreputable human west of the Mississippi is drawn to this sanctuary of the
lawless where the burden of civilization is carried by the tough men of the
U.S. Marshal’s Office. We could not trust the kindness of strangers. We,
the representatives of the law, were the outsiders.
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