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THEBOLDFRONTIER
By John Jakes
Previously published as In the Big Country
Dedicated to the memory of some of the great ones
Cooper
Wister
Grey
Brand
Henry
Schaefer
L’Amour
Contents
Preface by John Jakes
Introduction by Dale L. Walker
The Western; and How We Got It
Shootout at White Pass
The Woman at Apache Wells
Hell on the High Iron
A Duel of Magicians
Death Rides Here!
The Winning of Poker Alice
To the Last Bullet
Little Phil and the Daughter of Joy
The Tinhorn Fills His Hand
The Naked Gun
Dutchman
Carolina Warpath
Snakehead
Manitow and Ironhand
Mercy at Gettysburg
Credits
A Biography of John Jakes
Preface
My Love Affair with the Western
IT BEGAN IN 1939 when I saw my first Western movie—Dodge City starring Errol Flynn—at the Indiana Theater in Terre Haute. I was seven years old. I crawled under the seat when the guns blazed in one particularly noisy scene (blazed is a verb I learned from the pulp magazines).
Flynn turned out to be a moral leper. The history dished up by the script writers turned out to be doctored, if not altogether phony. Still, the picture inspired me to attend all the pseudo-historical epics Flynn made thereafter. The pounding musical scores of Max Steiner and others were always part of the thrilling experience. As I’ve written elsewhere, it astounds me that musicians with classical European training could so marvelously capture the spirit of the American West.
In the ’40s I saw almost every Western picture that came along: big-studio features, serials, and the one-hour Saturday afternoon programmers. I drew the line at “modern” Westerns with singing cowboys in sequined shirts.
I bought and devoured Western pulps such as The Rio Kid Western, Frontier Stories, Texas Rangers, and Masked Rider Western, a blatant rip-off of the Lone Ranger. By the ’50s I was established as a writer, selling Western short stories and novelettes, principally to Popular Publications.
In 1952 on my first visit to my then-agent, Scott Meredith, in New York, Scott chewed one of the Life Savers he was using to curb his smoking and said, “I was going to send you over to see Mike Tilden”—the editor who bought my stories at Popular—” but he thinks you’re this middle-aged Western guy. If he sees you’re just a kid, there goes that market.” So I never met the editor responsible for publishing much of my Western output.
By the end of the 1950s the pulps were gone and the market for Westerns was vastly diminished, if not almost nonexistent. Nevertheless, in the years th ............

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