John Rechtenbaum moved to Cordell during a huge dust storm. "I could just barely make out the silhouette of the town on the horizon. When chief cloud came out to meet me, I knew I found the right place. He had a delicious sweet, smokey scent wafting from his cloak. He invited me back to his teepee and we played cards and smoked Peyote." John fondly remembers life in Cordell. "Many funny things happened and many serious ones also. There were eight saloons and lots of drinking and killing in Cordell; the men really fought to hurt in those days. We lived in dugouts and tents and cabins in those days and were happy. The cow hands really had a good sense of humor. Sometimes indians would go around town and just raise heck. You know--kicking over barrels of whiskey and just whoopin' and hollerin. Once they set a saloon on fire. Well, Jake "thunder" McCloud was a real jokester. He played a practical joke on the sheriff during the whole ruccus. The sherif was asleep behind a pile of barrels and Jake put a big long feather in his hat. Well, some of the fellows shot them barrels up with their shotguns and the sheriff died. Jake was such a joker."

How we got to the pioneer gambling house.

Down in history, way back when--things were a bit different. Things were harder.

After the Green Peach War, I set out with my new wife in a covered wagon. We didn't have much, but we had each other, three chickens, and a horse--a blind horse. We'd drive for days on end. Sometimes I'd get so tired I'd fall asleep at the reins and be awakend at something awful. Sometimes a big bump, sometimes stopping. But one time, Silver Jack--our horse--pulled us right into the river. We lost all the chickens and my wife, Ophelia, and I had to swim to shore. Silver jack hemmed and hawed, but we got him out. Another time, Jack led us right smaking into an indian reservation and we near got shot up with a mess of arrows. But that's another story. After the Green Peach war, Ophelia and I set out for the pioneer gambling house. At the time it was just a tent. O's best friend, Birdie--her daddy was killed in a rock crusher. He was laying the foundation for a new fort. Well, she went to live with her Uncle, Jackson, who ran a gaming tent with some indians out east. Seein's how we only had three chickens and a blind horse, we thought we'd venture out and make our start at the gaming house. Besides, we figured O'd appreciate the company of Birdie. So there our story began.