Los Angeles, California, 1860

The prototype for the ‘American cowboy’ was in fact, the Mexican ‘charro’, or more commonly called, the ‘vaquero’.  The roots of the vaquero sub-culture reach back to Spain. The tools of the trade, the lariat, the branding iron, the saddle, the spur, and the gun, as well as the animals themselves, cattle and horses, all came from Spain.  Prior to the arrival of Europeans, wild horses in the Americas had become extinct by the end of the Ice Age.

However, the vaquero of old Mexico, which, prior to the Mexican-American War of 1846-48, included the modern states of California, Texas, Arizona, New Mexico, Colorado and Utah, was different from his European-Spanish predecessor, who only worked with already domesticated and tamed animals. The vaquero of the New World dealt with wild and often times dangerous animals, as well as having to face the threat from both hostile native Indians and from the men of rival ranches, situated on lands where law and order were practically non-existent. The Mexican vaquero lived a dangerous life, due to the hazards of his occupation. Though he often times found himself technically at the bottom of the social ladder in Mexican society, due to the dangers he faced on a daily basis, he formed close bonds with his compatriots and was renowned by the common folk for his raw courage and his skill at riding, roping, and his marksmanship with a gun. Quite simply, he was extremely good at what he did, because his life depended upon his skill. He had to be the best.

Though the Mexican bandido has been made famous within the lore of California's Wild West mythos, the Mexican-American lawman has in fact, been given little recognition.  One of the most skillful of these remarkable men, who successfully bridged the culture and color line to be highly successful at law-enforcement, was the real-life sheriff of Los Angeles County, Tomas Sanchez. This former vaquero was in fact, Los Angeles' first sheriff, elected in 1859 after he successfully broke up the notorious Juan Flores Gang two years before. A crack shot, an expert with the rope, and a master horseman, Tomas Sanchez was not only one of early California's most famous vaqueros, but like Harry Morse of Oakland and Tom Cunningham of Stockton, Tomas Sanchez was one of early California's most celebrated lawmen...

Dan Reid had made trips to California to visit in on his friends, the Sepulvedas, whose daughter had married Sanchez. Though many Texas Rangers had a reputation for treating Mexican-Americans ruthlessly, Dan Reid not only was an exception, he was one of those who often risked his life by speaking out against the unjust treatment that Mexican-Americans often had to face when dealing with ‘officers of the law.’ Young John Reid remembered his brother talking about the legendary Los Angeles county lawman.

For the past two years, John Reid had trained himself in every conceivable skill necessary carry out his life's mission. He had trained in various forms of the martial arts, had studied the art of disguise, of changing his voice, his manner, his appearance at will. He had also studied the art of escape, of how to conceal hidden tools necessary to free him from bindings and locks, as well as how to displace his bones, if necessary, to escape from bonds, a painful, yet effective science. Now came the final stage of his training. Fortunately, it was less training and more of a re-learning, for as a boy his brother had taught him these skills, Dan. It was only fitting that the man who would bring John Reid's skills in marksmanship, the use of the lariat, riding, and even deductive reasoning, the art of criminal detection, up to the highest levels of performance, would be a trusted friend of his brother's, the one-time vaquero turned lawman, Tomas Sanchez.

Sanchez had been working late in the night at his office. His wife, Maria came over with a basket full of his supper, as she often did whenever her husband worked late. Though Tomas didn't like the idea of his wife riding up to his office alone at night, he also knew better than to try and stop her. She was a very strong willed woman.

She came in and started laying out the food on his desk, while he of course, did not look up from his paperwork and reports. This was normal for them. She'd bring dinner and set it up, while he would slightly move out of her way while continuing to do his work quietly. When she was finished, he would eat while continuing to do his work while saying his thanks, while all the time, never looking up. He was a fortunate man to be married to her, not only because she cared, but also because she was strong enough not to be hurt by her husband's unwavering attention to work while she was there. This night was different, however. As Maria finished up, they both heard horses riding up near the back of the sheriff's office. There was no one in the jail, so it obviously couldn't be anyone attempting a breakout. However, the fact that it was late and that the riders were coming up at the rear rather than the front made Tomas cautious. He motioned for Maria to keep back while he took out his pistol, just as a precaution. As he started towards the rear, a voice called out. 

"Hermano. You won't need that gun. Please, put it away." Sanchez slowly lowered his gun then turned around, slowly facing the visitor while raising his hands. He saw that the visitor wore a mask. He also had a gun, pointed in his direction. 

Maria wisely got out of the way. "Who are you?" asked Sanchez. 

"You were one of my brother's closest friends before he was murdered. You may lower your hands if you wish." Sanchez lowered his hands, the initial fear being replaced now by curiosity. "Forgive me," continued the visitor. "I had to come around the back, as I wished to avoid being seen as much as possible. Besides, my traveling companion is an Indian, and for his safety, we had to avoid the main street. He's in the back watching our horses." To Maria, who was reaching for the gun rack, the visitor said, "Please senora. I mean you no harm."  

"A masked visitor, late at night, gun in hand, and you mean us no harm?" was her reply.  

The visitor replied, "The gun was a precaution." The visitor then lowered the pistol. "As is the mask. Believe me, I've seen Tomas' skill with this, when I was younger. That's why I came. To learn." 

"Learn?   I am not a teacher, senor. Especially not to masked bandits in the night," was
Tomas' answer. 

"I'm no bandit. As I said, you and my brother were once friends. I hope that you and I are friends," said the visitor. 

"Take off the mask, 'friend', so that I may see you are telling me the truth." 

"There are men hunting me, the men who murdered my brother. For your own safety, it's best that this mask remain. Now, if that's not good enough for you-," the visitor, the Masked Man, John Reid, said as he now slowly handed over his gun to Tomas, "then
you'll have to shoot me." Tomas took the gun and thought to himself for a moment while Maria looked on. He then lowered the pistol and nodded. John Reid, the Masked Man now had found his final instructor.

"With all due respect, senore, it is fine shooting, but you can't expect your opponents to stand still patiently and let you shoot them like those cans and bottles," said Tomas. It was late afternoon on his ranch and the visitor from the previous night, young John Reid in disguise, the Masked Man, had blasted a row of cans and bottles lined up on one of Tomas Sanchez's fence posts.

"Well, I have to start somewhere," was Reid's reply. 

Tomas took out some coins from his pocket. "Yes. Start. But staying at one place without pushing yourself, that's another thing. You are beyond that already." Tomas then threw the coins in the air behind them, then rapidly turned around, drew his pistol, and fired rapidly at the coins. "Pick them up, please," asked Tomas. Reid went over and picked up every coin. All of them had a hole in them. 

"How . . . how the hell did you do that?" asked Reid, astonished. 

"Well that is what you came here to learn, is it not?" was Tomas' reply. Tomas then called out, "Tonto!" The Kiowa warrior came forward. As Indians in California were summarily hunted, the visiting Kiowa was dressed in the clothing of a Mexican peasant for his own protection. "Tonto had an idea which at first, I thought was a ridiculous idea . . . simply because of the potential cost. However, your friend assured me that he had a nearly unlimited source for this material that would eliminate the cost. And after I saw him loose his arrows-." 

"What material are you talking about?" asked Reid. 

Tomas looked to the Kiowa, Tonto, who then took out something from his medicine pouch. Tonto then explained, "Mother Earth gives us many gifts, John. To the white man, the white metal is a source of wealth, like the yellow metal. He uses it to own things. But to my people, the white metal is symbol of purity and strength. In the past, many of our great chiefs had used it on their arrows, to guide them in flight and to find their mark. I told Sheriff Sanchez of this and using his forge, I made these." Tonto handed John Reid the contents of his medicine pouch. Reid looked the contents over in his hand. 

"Silver bullets," said the astonished John Reid as he rolled them around in his hand.

*****

Sept. 10, 1862

The Oregon Trail, 1861.

Joshua Smith held the shell casing in his hand while putting it to his nose, smelling to find out how recently it had been fired. He had been trailing Sheriff Lom Trevors ever since he had disappeared while looking for his friend, Thaddeus Jones. The search had led him out of town, onto the Oregon Trail, the emigrant road that was now the focus of attack by angry warriors of the Sioux and Northern Cheyenne nations, young men who's relatives were now missing, with all evidence pointing towards Fort Laramie.

Joshua Smith knew better than to stay around too long in one place. Even now, he realized, he might be watched. Smith and Jones had experience dealing with the Northern Plains tribes before, both during their days as 'outlaws', and when they were first granted amnesty by the local authorities, provided they stay out of 'trouble' for one year. Now of course, it seemed as if trouble had followed them wherever the two of them went. In any case, Joshua re-mounted his horse and decided that his best recourse would be to follow the trail and find the Oglala camp, where he was sure to find some of the answers needed.

Mounting his horse, he rode up onto a nearby hill so as to gain a vantage point and scout around. That's when Joshua saw the wood detail out of Fort Laramie. It was a small troop of about thirty men, having just completed their work gathering timber from the grove of trees at the edge of the foothills, and water from the stream that flowed nearby. As Joshua watched the troop round the bend, he saw that they were riding right into an ambush.

Joshua saw the warriors hidden behind a long cluster of rocks and bushes that lined the edge of the road, about one hundred warriors in all, from different bands. Oglalas, Brules, Hunkpapas, Siasapas, Sans Arcs, Two Kettles, Miniconjuou, as well as what appeared to be the Lakotas' 'Eastern cousins', the Santees, and their allies, the Northern Cheyennes.   Joshua also observed that these warriors were very well armed, many possessing repeating rifles, which was unusual for these warriors. In the past, the Indians relied on their bows and lances, the only firearms in their possession being obsolete trade muskets. 
However, these warriors were actually better armed than the Union soldiers who were fighting back East and the wood detail that was now walking to their deaths.

Joshua had been an outlaw. In the past, he and Thaddeus Jones had been at odds with the soldiers at Laramie, who were for all intents and purposes, the only semblance of law and order in the 'unceded territory' that would become Wyoming, the Dakotas, and Montana.   However, in all of their deeds, they had never intentionally killed anyone. Nor could Joshua Smith ever stomach the sight of murder. He drew his pistol, but even if he were within range to shoot the warrior at the head of the war party, it would mean that he would have to kill and bring down the wrath of a hundred angry warriors down upon him. He then raised his pistol high in the air and fired while yelling out, making war whoops in the fashion of the would be ambushers.

At the head of the wood detail was the rabid 'Indian hater' from Laramie, Lieutenant Jackson Ward. Upon hearing the shot, Ward raised his hand up high to halt the troop and yelled out, "Indians!" The warriors knew they had no choice but to press the attack, the element of surprise completely gone. The warriors came charging out of the bush on their ponies, whooping and firing while the soldiers fired back, putting their spurs to their mounts' back-sides, urging the horses on to ride out of the area and back in the direction of the fort as quickly as possible. All of the much-needed timber, and most of the barrels of water, had to be left behind.

It was a running fight for the soldiers, who knew that a rapid retreat was their only chance for survival, since the warriors outnumbered them more than three to one. Ironically enough, though most of the warriors were actually better armed than their blue-coat adversaries, most of the warriors that did get within range of the fleeing soldiers were more concerned with 'counting coup', gaining 'war honors' by touching the soldiers with the barrels of their rifles first, before blasting the white men out of their saddles. This concern over 'war honors' did cost the lives of several of the warriors, who could have simply blown apart the fleeing soldiers who's backs were often turned to them.

Leading the band of warriors was a Lakota warrior of small physical stature. As such, he had been given the name 'Little Big Man.' Little Big Man was a close friend of the young warrior who kept by himself, the warrior with the unbound hair and the smooth ground pebble worn behind his left ear, the son of Worm . . . Crazy Horse. Often times, it seemed that Little Big Man was 'in the shadow' of his close friend. As a result, the desire to prove himself, to prove to the tribe his worth on his own merits, was often overwhelming. That explained why, in addition to his pistol and the bow strapped around his back, Little Big Man carried a long 'coup stick', a pole, ten feet long, covered in rawhide, and curved at the end. Any warrior could kill an enemy from afar, but to drag an enemy off of his horse and count coup was the greatest honor a warrior could have. Little Big Man wanted that honor. When he saw where the warning shot had come from, Little Big Man knew that this was his chance to gain honor. He took three other warriors with him and led them up the hill towards Joshua Smith.

Joshua should have known better than to look on. However, for a few seconds, the sight of the battle awakened a morbid curiosity in him. He stayed where he was for just a little too long. It was only when he saw Little Big Man and his three cohorts come charging towards him that he turned his horse around, put his spurs to it's backside, and raced out.

The Indians' fast ponies were almost on Joshua and his mount. Joshua Smith detested killing. Yet, this was now life and death. He drew his revolver and fired point blank at the Oglala who was almost on him. The warrior fell back over his horse as the bullet struck his chest, falling over the backside of the running pony. A second warrior was more prudent, having no desire for war honors today. He simply wanted to kill the fleeing white man. He took aim with his rifle and fired. However, the weapon was too new and as such, the warrior's aim was off, the bullet whizzing harmlessly past Joshua's left ear. As the warrior recocked his rifle to expel the used shell and bring up another one from the breech, Joshua turned and fired his revolver again. The bullet slammed into the neck of the second warrior's pony and the animal fell face first. The rider flew forward, 12 feet in the air over the pony, falling face first himself, and into unconsciousness. Now it was Little Big Man and the third warrior who were almost on Joshua. The third warrior also took aim. However, Little Big Man had no intention of letting anyone take his 'honor' from him. He brought the warriors to help him subdue the white man, but he still wanted the glory to himself. He reached out with his long hooking coup stick and dragged Joshua Smith off of his horse. As a result, ironically, Little Big Man saved Joshua Smith's life, or at least from being shot.

Joshua hit the ground with a loud thud, his pistol flying from his hand. Quickly, Joshua got up. However, Little Big Man, while turning his horse around to come down on Joshua again, tucked the end of his coup stick under his armpit and charged forward, curved end pointing. The curve of the hook slammed into Joshua's face. It was the last thing he saw before falling into unconsciousness.