It was a bleak January at the 101. Everyone was already beaten to exhaustion from the Mexican tour. It had been financially successful, but to the members of the show troupe, exhausting and dangerous. Bill Pickett would take months to recover and heal from his near-death adventure in the bullring.
The fire seemed to have been the last straw, but there was more to come. That very day, word came from the nearby town of Bliss, that one of the 101 employees had died in a rooming house there. He was Henry Breslow, foreman of the “canvas unit,” in charge of all the tents and equipment as the Wild West Show traveled. Henry was a young bachelor, not yet thirty, and a critical link in the show operation. His death was rather sudden, from a tonsillitis infection. Like the rest of the exhausted show troupe, Henry had had little stamina left with which to fight one more battle.
Despite these depressing events, and the continuing bitter cold of the winter, life went on. The ranch office was reopened temporarily in Joe Miller’s home in Ponca City, and preparation for the coming season moved ahead.
The ashes of the White House were hardly cooled when plans began for reconstruction. Joe Miller would supervise the new building, and swore that it would be fireproof. So safe, in fact, that “a bonfire could be set in every room without damaging the house.” An architect was hired, and within a month plans had begun, encompassing the latest in modern construction, including plumbing, hot and cold running water, electricity, ventilation, and
steam heat. All of these systems were self-contained, even the electrical generators.
The building itself was larger than the original White House. It was three stories tall, built of reinforced concrete and steel with an asbestos roof. The third floor “attic,” a dormitory-style facility, held enough beds to sleep one hundred visitors during special occasions.
With all the modern features, the new White House was built in a Colonial style and, in appearance, would resemble a southern plantation home.
That spring, there was other excitement, too, as modern developments startled the country and the world. Henry Ford, a manufacturer of automobiles, was mass-producing a family vehicle that he called the Model T.
Inspired by the success of the Wright brothers’ experiments with “aeroplanes,” other aeronautical engineers were quickly discovering flight principles that led to more successes.
All of this in turn created a demand for petroleum products to fuel the futuristic machines. During the absence of Joe and Zack Miller on the Mexican tour, George had been approached by E. W Marland, an oil prospector, with a proposal for exploration drilling on the vast 101 ranch.
The Millers were always eager for new innovation, even with their love of the old ways of the Wild West. They felt a need to preserve the record of that West, even as it seemed to be slipping away. The death of Frederic Remington at forty-eight, one of the West’s great painters, called this to the attention of the public that year. With the diversity of the vast 101 empire, they were in a position to promote this preservation. Their far-flung enterprises in livestock, farming, ranching and entertainment was a major influence on a rapidly evolving modern America.
The Millers were fascinated by the idea and engineering of motion pictures. In turn, some of the pioneers in that budding industry were attracted by the Old West. Theirs seemed to be a natural medium to preserve what was left. This led to an alliance between the early movie pioneers and the Millers, with the same goals approached from different sides.
“John, you want to be in one of them movin’ pictures?” asked Tom Mix.
“What do I have to do?” John was suspicious.
“Nothin’ much. Nothin’ you ain’t been doin’ already in the show. This here’s Mr. Selig.” He introduced the producer with a wave of his hand.
John recognized the name, which was well known at the 101. Selig had been at the ranch during a flood on the Salt Fork, and had offered fifty dollars to any cowboy who would attempt to swim his horse across the flooded river for the camera. There were no takers until Tom Mix accepted the challenge.
Mix had blindfolded his horse, worked him a little to get him used to the blindfold, and then urged the animal into a hard run, off the bluff and into the flooded stream. Then they swam to the other side. Selig had kept cranking his camera, capturing the entire event on film.
“Here’s the scene,” said Selig. “We’ll bring the wagon train around the shoulder of the hill, and then have the Indians attack, from the west, there. The wagons will try to circle, and we’ll burn a couple of them … . Pour some oil in the wagon beds to make a black smoke … . Then the cavalry comes in, pennants fluttering, shooting, from over there, and the Indians flee … .”
“Pretty much like the show, then?” John asked.
“Yeah,” said Mix, “except for burnin’ the wagons. “We’ll have a few riders fall off of horses like they was shot.”
“Who’s gonna do that?” John asked suspiciously.
“We’ve got a couple of cowboys to do it,” said Selig. “They get extra pay, of course. You want to try it?”
“Don’t think so,” said John. “I take enough lumps without doin’ it on purpose.”
“Fair enough,” chuckled Selig, “but if you change your mind, it’s a rising profession.”
“Am I a cowboy or an Indian today?” John asked Tom.
“Prob’ly cavalry,” Mix answered. “We’re long on cowboys, and White Eagle’s bringin’ some Poncas over to ride with the Oglalas.”
“When does this happen?”
“About noon, a little after,” said Selig. “Our light will be best then.”
“Good. I’ll be there.”
“Oh, John,” Mix called after him as he turned away, “borrow a bay to ride instead of Strawberry. You’re Army issue today.”
The cavalry was quite strict about the colors and markings of their mounts. A strawberry roan in a platoon of sorrel or bay horses would be inappropriate. Of course, a mare would be, too. Cavalry animals were all neutered males. But this would not be so noticeable in an action scene as an animal that was off color.
There was always a bit of excitement when the act started. There was more today, just knowing that they could watch themselves later in a darkened theater. It was an eerie feeling, different from the usual thrill of the act in the arena of the Wild West Show. This would take on more importance because it would be preserved.
Sitting on his borrowed bay, John watched the wagons wind their way across the rolling prairie and around the hill. Then a shot, a yell, more shots, screams from the wagons, teamsters lashing their horses into a canter, attempting to circle for defense.
Now the Poncas swept down, whooping and firing. The cottony white puffs of smoke could be seen a few heartbeats before the sounds reached the ears of the cavalry on the hill.
One of the wagons overturned, breaking away from the madly galloping team. The passengers and the driver jumped clear, and it took John only a moment to realize that this was one of William Selig’s “stunts.” The moviemaker was hunched over his camera, cap on backward to allow his eye closer to the viewfinder, steadily cranking the machine of his own design.
One of the wagons caught fire, then another, and black smoke rolled from under the burning canvas. The Poncas were shooting flaming arrows from the hill, but it was apparent that the fires in the wagons were set by Selig’s crews. It certainly produced an exciting film, though John doubted that the Poncas had often launched flaming arrows at anyone.
Now the cavalry bugler blew the charge. It would not be heard on the screen, of course, but served to raise the emotions and quicken the pulse, adding to the realism. The blue-clad troop swarmed down the hill, firing their carbines, and the Poncas wheeled away in retreat.
It was an amusing diversion, but as the scene ended and everyone laughingly returned to more normal activity, John felt a pang of regret, and some smattering of guilt. Would the moviemakers ever film an act where the Indians won? What about Custer?
Meanwhile, the cast and crew of the Wild West Show was gathering, after the winter break. The cowboys and cowgirls had largely remained on the ranch, but many of the specialty performers had spent the winter in warmer climes, working the off season. Now, with the 1909 season pending, they began to gather. The Millers and their partner and advance man, Edward Arlington, were constantly recruiting new acts. The cowboy band was already an attraction, as well as Vern Tantlinger, boss of the cowboy unit and expert with the boomerang. His assistant would catch the boomerang in flight.
There were also sideshow acts; Magicians, jugglers, ax throwers, a minstrel troupe, trained mules, lion tamers, and dancing bears.
Bill Pickett was still recovering from his wounds, but there was no shortage of other headliners. “Prince Lucca,” of Russia, led a troop of Cossack horsemen.
Zack Miller himself performed in the ring, displaying marksmanship on the back of his trained Arabian stallion.
Vern Tantlinger had also recruited a number of Sioux Indians from the Pine Ridge Reservation, to ride with the Poncas and other Indian performers. Princess Wenona, “world’s best female shot alive,” would continue to be a crowd pleaser.
Taking advantage of the opportunity to film working cowboys, cattle, and buffalo as backdrops for his scenes, William Selig produced three movies that spring on the 101.
Oil exploration was in progress, too, occasionally spoiling the movie crews’ plans for a scene. On top of all this, the farm operations continued to expand, with new crops and new varieties.
Celebrity guests were common at the ranch after the restoration of the White House, and there was always an increasing air of excitement. It was easy to become intoxicated with the excitement of being a part of what appeared to be a rising star: the Hundred and One.
John and Hebbie were pleased to be a part of such excitement, and to be with each other. Once more, John mentioned marriage.
Hebbie hesitated a long time, and finally sighed deeply.
“Oh, John, I don’t know. I was burned, once. I’m afraid … Oh, let’s not spoil what we’ve got.”
She kissed him softly.
“I’ll think about it, though … . Thank you … .”