the life and times of waldo cantrell...

Colt Peacemaker--nickel finish
engraved Schofield model 3 breaktop

Sharps rifle



Waldo Cantrell was born in Ohio 1830 , fought in the Mexican American war 1846-48 serving under General Winfield Scott and in that campaign , learned the value of swiftness and ruthless audacity when hopelessly outnumbered. Later Waldo went farther west into the newly gained Mexican territories where he earned fame as an explorer, trapper, adventurer, army scout, buffalo hunter and Indian fighter.

Among others--most unrecorded and unknown--Cantrell would eventually kill Simon “no sense “ Spence over an accused robbery and insult in an ongoing dispute but then would stand trial for manslaughter and afterwards would have to deal with Sy’s brothers: d’Borsgrave ( D.B. ) Spence , Emory and, Emmanuel Spence , Zed and Zion Spence.

Each of the “no-sense Spence” boys were unquestionably thieves , brigands and gunmen of the worst morals, and favoring the newer ‘fast draw’ pistols over the longer barreled Colt, Smith and Wesson , and Remington Arms revolvers that were much more prevalent in the frontier regions . The newer , shorter 5 ½ inch barrels were preferred by gunmen because the weapon could be de-holstered more quickly giving them a distinctive edge over victims , lawmen and other opponents in close range gun battles . These pistols were not the standard hardware and had to be special ordered from the manufacturers back east at almost twice the price of the regular 15 to 25 dollars .

Weary of being at disadvantage, in neighboring Kansas, famous Dodge City law man Bat Masterson would special order a nickel-plated , ivory handled Colt Peacemaker with the reduced 5 ½ inch barrel which was shipped to him at the Long Branch Saloon in Dodge .

“This land is over run with dullards and outright idiots since them Spence boys arrived, ”once remarked Waldo with his usual uninhibited directness . “When it comes to idiots,” said Waldo dryly, “ Simon Spence is uncontested king.”

In one of their earlier confrontations The Spence brothers made it clear there would be trouble between them and Cantrell .


“ Look at him , the ‘Great Indian Fighter’ --dead drunk again--this time in broad daylight. This is easy pickings boys --let’s see if he’s got any more money. He’s drunk as a barkeep‘s monkey . “

Waldo sat upright in the wooden chair rising from the slouch of his late morning outdoor siesta . The sun was bright, the sky clear and the effects of alcohol no longer clouded his senses --or reflexes .

Next to him within easy reach was propped the Sharp’s 44 rifle --instrument of choice by Buffalo hunters of the Great Plains and US Army snipers because of its high accuracy at extreme distance . Able to hit with adequate stopping force targets almost a mile away , in the right hands the Sharps rifle made a formidable opponent .

“ Well if it isn’t Sy , D.B., Emory, Emmanuel , Zed and Zion , the “no sense” Spence boys,“ remarked Waldo relighting his pipe. “All six together aren’t worth a thimble full of bird shit.”

Passersby recognizing the Spence boys and expecting trouble, hurried past. Sitting in warm sunshine outside "Aunt Josie’s Fine Dining Eatery", Waldo had smoked his pipe, gotten sleepy and rested a while after enjoying a mid-morning breakfast of beefsteak, home fry potatoes, cornbread with strawberry jam, eggs, coffee and toasted apple slices with cinnamon. Despite Aunt Josie’s protestations Waldo refused her offer of a free meal and insisted on chopping her some wood and stove kindling in exchange for the breakfast.

“ He don’t carry no side arm, ” weezed Sy Spence’s nasal voice “ Just that old buffalo gun --and it ain’t a repeater, just an old fashion single shot. “

“A single shot is all I need to plow your numb skull from stem to stern .” Cantrell warned.

Tom Reed on horseback rounded the corner in time to see his friend Waldo potentially at odds with the Spence boys. Like a policeman parting a crowd , he rode right between the Spences and Waldo, Tom’s horse’s closeness and size, enough to force Sy to step out of the way.

Pretending to ignore the Spences , Tom stopped in front of Aunt Josie’s directly blocking out the brothers from the object of their anger. With Tom on horseback as obstruction and his hands poised akimbo--suspiciously convenient for pulling pistols , the Spence brothers saw their opportunity to be immortally enshrined as the killers of "the Great Waldo Cantrell", slipping away.

Emboldened , white-haired Aunt Josie herself , despite her advancing age, surprised them all by stepping out onto the Eatery’s porch and quickly handing Cantrell a double-barreled shotgun .

" Excuse me , I hate to interrupt you boys’ conversation , but Waldo can you have a look at this thing for me ? Be careful. It must have some kind of hair-trigger because it goes off when you least expect it.”

If Cantrell’s friend Tom Reed and the indomitable Aunt Josie had not intervened to tip the odds less in the Spence boys favor , Sy might have been tempted to seek battle with old Waldo right then and there, but Waldo's rifle , Aunt Josie’s scatter gun and Reed’s reputation with the .45 caliber Schofield model 3 pistol and it’s fast reloading capabilities was enough to convince the Spences to retreat and await a better moment.

"Waldo , I have to take a ride outta town with Dan Brady, why don't you get your horse and go with us a ways ," Tom suggested loudly enough for the retreating Spences to hear. Tom's reasoning in part being that the prospect of a three on six fight out in open range--the type of encounter that was Cantrell's specialty-- was not likely to entice any cowards to follow .

further exploits of thaiff carson -- the golden colossus hostelry...

The great Indian fighter, Waldo Cantrell, scout and hero of the Cheyenne-Arapaho Wars was blind drunk. Tall, with fringed buckskin vest, bear claw necklace and eagle feathered cap, he presented still, an inspiring sight. Useless now with no more Indians to fight, Waldo had more time on hand than he could productively use. Getting up from a table, Tom walked over and sat down across from the older man." Maybe you should eat something, Wal. Roast mutton here's pretty decent ",Tom suggested.

Emerging from fog enough to recognize Tom, Waldo dismissed his advice with a wave. He insisted Tom sing him, "Bring the Barley" ,an old drinking song. "Nobody sings that like you, Tommy boy ." Waldo patted Tom's face like a favorite kid brother. Tom chuckled at drunken Waldo and obliged.

Cantrell drifted in and out of fog. "As I recall, Tom, I owe you nine dollars." Not realizing they were left emptied, turned inside out, Waldo fumbled at his pockets.

"Forget it, Wal" ,Tom replied looking downwards.

"A man can't hold nothing out here, "Cantrell growled. "If we fought and won them wars and won this land, how in God's sweet name we lose everything so fast?"

" Hell, I don't know Wal . You're asking the wrong person. I'm in Colorado working for the son of the Illinois dry goods man who owned my Pa by the bollocks. Tom shook his head, shrugging. Waldo was snoring when Tom noticed the new girl watching him from the stairs.


The Golden Colossus Hostelry never closed. Drinking, gambling, music, or whoring went on all hours, but the times around dawn sporadically saw lulls in activity. The gambling tables' insatiable appetites somehow managed to miss Tom Reed's last few dollars. He'd pull out late the next morning on special assignment for his occasional employer, Joss Seward. A little feminine companionship would be nice Tom thought since he hadn't won anything at the tables. He didn't know how long he'd be gone and because of the nature of his work the next day, could risk getting only pleasantly drunk.

Most of Joss' girls upstairs were either with their last clients of the evening, or had already locked themselves in for the night. Tom was a little surprised to see Lucinda, the attractive new girl coming down the stairs and peering directly at him. She lingered when she appeared to have his attention and seemed to give her best "Are you interested?" smile.

Tom rose from the table, bringing his whiskey bottle. In Lucinda's small room that she paid Joss a big percentage of her earnings for, she sniffed Tom-likely from precaution-as she took the coins he handed. Apparently finding him no more objectionable than any other man she had been with, she asked him about his moniker. Tom related the story and believed her gaze began to lose more of its inaccessibility. That she bothered to ask about his unwarranted handle's origin, made her seem more likable to him.



"You don't smell any more than most men", Lucinda said, testing the air around Tom.
"Sweat and horses, no worse than usual. So why they call you 'Stinkin' Tom ?"

"Joss Seward brought it here from Illinois," he replied.

"You knew Mr. Seward?" she asked.

"We were kids, grew up there. I had this old dog. Wasn't much, but I loved that mutt. Well one day we call ourselves 'hunting'--neither one could hit anything back then. We flushed some pheasant from tall grass. Joss had his Pa's new bird gun, all I had was a stone sling but by gosh, I flung and nailed one of those birds. Just a lucky toss."

"Old Joss missed completely --the whole flock. He didn't hit nothing'. Finally I outdid him at something. We're walking home . My chest is out all proud -bringing home food for my family's table. That dog started barking and ran ahead. My dumb dog cornered some skunks. I ran to get Barkin'…"

"You named your dog 'Barkin'?" she giggled.

"Pa named him that. 'Barkin' Fool', Pa called him. 'What the Hell's that Barkin' Fool yelping about now ? " Tom chuckled, imitating his father's irritation.

"I grabbed Barkin in time to save him, but old Joss, laughed and threw a stick to hit the skunks, so me and Barkin both got sprayed."

"Joss dubbed me 'Stinkin' Tom', the nickname stuck", he chuckled.

"That bird was ruined though, we went hungry that night." he added softly.