Central States Lawman and Outlaws Historic Assoc. In the late 1800s - and early 1900s The River of humanity flowing west, was both wide and deep. Caught in the current of manifest destiny, were settlers, soldiers, business interests, and Outlaws. It was a perfect whirlwind of the Wild west. G.C. Stevens This page is copyrighted (c)
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October
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- Bison Bold Coffee!
- Angel & The Badman, & It's Remake By G.C. Stevens ...
- The Adair Iowa Autumn Market by G.C. Stevens
- Angel and the Badman, Movie Review by G.C. Stevens
- Fiction; Chato, Indian Scout, Apache Dawn, By G.C...
- An Author in the Mid-West by G.C. Stevens
- National Bison Day: Saturday, November 7th & 8th,...
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October
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Friday, October 16, 2026
National Bison Day: Saturday, November 7th & 8th, 2026 at Sunset Hills Bison Ranch, Malcom Iowa
An Author in the Mid-West by G.C. Stevens
Wednesday, October 14, 2026
Fiction; Chato, Indian Scout, Apache Dawn, By G.C. Stevens
Chato was a scout for the U.S. Army, was a man caught between worlds, trusted by few in a changing world, and understood by fewer. His latest assignment came straight from Indian Agent John Clum, a wiry, bald headed man with a stubborn streak and a vision for peace on the San Carlos Reservation. Clum had handpicked Chato for a delicate mission: track down a band of Apache renegades who’d slipped off the reservation, stirring unrest among the settlers and threatening Clum’s fragile truce.
“Chato,” Clum had said, peering over his desk in the dusty agency office, “you’re the only one who can do this. You speak their tongue, know their ways. Find them—bring them back alive if you can.” I will support you with a detachment of soldiers and all the supplies you need.
Chato nodded, his face unreadable. He didn’t care much for Clum’s idealism—peace was a word men like Clum tossed around too easily—but he respected the man’s grit. And Chato was actually John Clum's favorite Scout. Besides, Chato knew the renegades: young warriors, restless and proud, led by a firebrand named Naiche. They weren’t outlaws, not yet—just men who’d rather die free than live penned up like cattle.
Mounted on his wiry mustang, Chato rode alone into the canyons, following trails only an Apache could read: a broken twig, a scuff in the dirt, the faint scent of smoke on the wind. By nightfall, he found their camp nestled in a dry arroyo, a flicker of firelight betraying their position. He tethered his horse and approached on foot, silent as a shadow. In the distance he saw Apache warrior's. He knew he and his detachment had probably been watched for many hours. But Naiche spotted him first, riding briskly up to Chato in charge while whooping, then dismounted his horse while leaping up with a knife in hand. “You,” he spat in Apache, recognizing Chato’s mixed features. “Clum’s dog. Come to drag us back?” Chato raised his hands, empty. “Not his dog,” he replied in the same tongue. “Just a man who knows what it’s like to not fit anywhere. Clum wants you alive. The Army? They’ll shoot first, ask later. Your choice.” The warriors muttered among themselves, weighing his words. Naiche’s eyes burned with defiance, but Chato saw the flicker of doubt. He pressed on, switching to Spanish, a language they all understood from border raids. “Vivir para luchar otro día,” he said quietly. Live to fight another day. Suspecting an attack, Chato and the detachment took up a defensive positions crouched behind a ridge of jagged boulders, his dark eyes scanning the horizon. After several hours of waiting, it became apparent that the hostiles had no intention of surrender, and that they had fled into the desert. His detachment—eight soldiers under Lieutenant Harrow—tracked the band of Apache warriors for another three days, following hoofprints and broken twigs through the unforgiving terrain. But now, the chase had ended. The Apache waited ahead, concealed among the rocky outcrops of a narrow canyon.
Chato adjusted the bandana around his neck, his rifle resting lightly in his calloused hands. He’d warned Harrow that the Apache leader, a cunning warrior named Tza-Ke, wouldn’t flee forever. “He’ll turn and fight when the ground favors him,” Chato had said that morning, his voice low and steady. Harrow, a green officer fresh from West Point, had nodded but said little, his jaw tight with untested confidence.
Now, the trap was sprung. A sharp cry echoed through the canyon, followed by the crack of gunfire. Bullets ricocheted off the rocks as the soldiers scrambled for cover. Chato darted to Harrow’s side, pulling the lieutenant down just as a shot whizzed past his head. “They’re above us,” Chato hissed, pointing to the canyon rim where faint silhouettes moved like ghosts against the orange sky. “Tza-Ke’s got the high ground.”
Harrow cursed under his breath, his face pale but resolute. “We’ll flank them. Take three men and circle left. I’ll hold here.”
Chato nodded, though doubt gnawed at him. The Apaches knew this land better than anyone—every crevice, every shadow. Still, he signaled to Privates Dunn, Lopez, and Carter, and the four slipped away, moving low through the brush. The air smelled of gunpowder and dust as they climbed a steep incline, Chato’s moccasins silent against the stone.
At the canyon’s edge, they spotted Tza-Ke, Naiche and six warriors, their rifles trained on the soldiers below. Chato raised a hand, halting his men. He studied Tza-Ke—a lean figure with a red cloth tied around his head, his eyes fierce and unyielding. For a moment, Chato felt a pang of kinship; he, too, had once lived by the old ways before the Army claimed him. But duty was duty.
He whispered a plan: Dunn and Lopez would draw fire while he and Carter closed in. The privates nodded, grim-faced, and opened fire. The Apaches spun toward the noise, and Chato moved like a shadow, his knife flashing as he tackled a warrior to the ground. Carter’s rifle barked, dropping another. Below, Harrow’s men rallied, their shots echoing up the canyon walls.
Tza-Ke turned, spotting Chato. The Apache lunged, his tomahawk gleaming in the fading light. Chato rolled aside, the blade striking sparks from the rock, and drove his shoulder into Tza-Ke’s chest. They grappled, dust swirling around them, until Chato’s knife found its mark. Tza-Ke slumped, his breath fading with a final, defiant glare.
The battle ended as swiftly as it began. Three Apaches lay dead, the rest vanished into the dusk. Two soldiers were wounded, but none lost. Harrow clapped Chato on the shoulder, his voice hoarse. “Good work, Villareal. Damn good work.”
Chato said nothing, wiping his blade clean. He gazed at the canyon, the weight of the fight settling into his bones. Victory tasted bitter when the enemy wore a face so like his own.
“Didn’t do it for you,” Chato muttered, tugging his hat lower. He mounted his horse and rode off, a solitary figure dissolving into the desert heat—half Apache, half Mexican, and entirely his own.
Saturday, October 10, 2026
Angel and the Badman, Movie Review by G.C. Stevens
ANGEL AND THE BAD 2026
This is where I have to put a on date myself, because it's important to how I viewed this movie. I am sixty-eight years old, and trust me, I've viewed a whole bunch of westerns. The very first important western movies that I the pleasure to watch were "The Magnificent Seven" (1960) which I saw on T.V. in 1965, which was a movie that set the tone for westerns that came after it, The Good The Bad and The Ugly" (1966) which I actually saw the theater when it came out. In between all of that, I was raised on a healthy dose of John Wayne movies, T'.V. westerns, "Gun Smoke", "Have Gun, will travel", "Bonanza" and "Davy Crocket" and a whole cavalcade of other westerns and frontier movies that came along. Add to that, the next level dramatic westerns like Sam Peckinpah's , "The Wild Bunch.", "True Grit", and 'The Long Riders." In the author's humble opinion, the last great western made was "Tombstone." But I must point out, that during the last fifty years of film making, a whole lot of things have changed in the way that films were shot and produced. Especially with the introduction of computer technology in film making. The technical aspects and cinemaphotography are considerably different than they were in 1960, but so is the mindset of our culture, this last fact is very important to take note of where Angel and the Badman is concerned.
But with all of that said, if you're looking for the Good The Bad and the Ugly or true Grit, you're not going to find it in Angel and the Bad Man, but if you go back and watch the original version of Angel and the Badman that was made in 1947, you'll find the actual model for the 2026 version, except that the 21st century version moves Angel and The Bad Man into a more mature vision that deals with immorality, violence, family and faith in God, which by the way, isn't any different than the original and just like the days of early film making, there are no emotional or dramatic movie musical scores, you'll only hear the typical music that supports each scene. In fact, the background music isn't very memorable at all. A big take away here is that Angel and the Badman relied on something ancient and obscure to both actors and movies goers, in that the movie relied on two basic things, that being cinemaphotography and real acting and dialog between people, just like the 1947 version employed. I enjoyed the simple rolling scenery of the desert and rolling plains, because I understand that most of the American west is rolling plains and scrub brush desert and it's not all monument Valley Utah. A warning to historians and thread counters, the wardrobe in Angel and the Badman is not exactly historically correct attire, and it seems that the wardrobe is used as a way to highlight the characters and scenes. I won't go into too many details of the movie, and you'll get no spoilers from me, because I think you should see the movie. If you do decide to see this movie for any reason, my advice is to see it as a witness to the shift in culture and to watch the western genre trying repeat its formula for success from the very beginning. On October 4th, 2026, I wrote a review of the original 1947 version of Angel and the Badman, you can read that here. The Angels Studios version used a lot of the original plot, but it made some significant artistic changes. The biggest part of the plot leaves western fans with one mystery and question, where did the Confederate gold come from? My mind went to Jesse James and the Knights of the Golden Circle. But you'll have to figure it out on your own.
G.C. Stevens, See you on the dusty trail!
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Sunday, October 4, 2026
The Adair Iowa Autumn Market by G.C. Stevens
Angel & The Badman, & It's Remake By G.C. Stevens Updated 10/10/2026
Angel and The Badman Press Release
The 1947 Version of Angel and the Badman IMDB Page
Friday, October 2, 2026
Bison Bold Coffee!
Thursday, September 24, 2026
The Great American Western & The Central States Lawman and Outlaws Historic Association Team Up!
Wednesday, September 23, 2026
Frontier Photo, US Cavalry Indian Wars (?) Taken by Palmquist and Jergens: By G.C. Stevens
- Sitting Bull / Photographed and published by Palmquist & Jurgens, Cor. Seventh and Robert Str., St. Paul Minn. Summary: Photograph shows Sitting Bull, three-quarter-length portrait, seated, facing front, holding a calumet. Courtesy of the Library of Congress.
The Palmquist & Jurgens Studio today is mostly known for its series of iconic photographs taken of Sitting Bull in 1884. Sitting Bull had first visited Saint Paul in March 1884, being accompanied by one of his wives, his nephew One Bull, Indian agent James McLaughlin and an interpreter. He returned again the same year on September 4th, this time accompanied by Colonel Alvaren Allen, the owner of the Merchant Hotel in Saint Paul where Sitting Bull had stayed during his first visit. During the earlier visit in March he sat for a photography session with the Palmquist & Jurgens studio, then located at 225 East Seventh Street. It has been reported that a dozen glass plate negatives were taken of Sitting Bull and an additional one of him together with his nephew One Bull. It clearly was not a chance undertaking, in fact Sitting Bull was actually permitted to enter into a contract with the photographers reportedly giving them the exclusive right to sell and market these twelve photographs, finished in the form of albumen print cabinet cards, for a one-year period. It is also certain that Sitting Bull was given supply of prints of the photographs, for him to either give away or to sell.
Saturday, September 19, 2026
Photographer C.H. Hall, Witness to History, Springfield Illinois: By G.C. Stevens
Sponsored by Bison Bold Coffee
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Stories of the Frontier and Wild West!
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