The history of the North American West—whether real or imagined—is one in which violence looms large. The Archimedean spirals of winter counts depict men and animals red with gore; the journals of black-robed priests, fur traders, explorers, and emigrants note the ravages of war and a catalog of much smaller misdeeds. Indigenous rivals vied for control over millennia and across landscapes; European invaders charted a path of destruction across the continent, the legacy of which remains today. Murder, assault, and arson connect events as diverse as the Washita massacre and the sack of Lawrence, Kansas. To this litany of destruction, Never Caught Twice adds a seemingly innocuous transgression. Through meticulous analysis that is by turns qualitative and quantitative, the book is equally a microhistory of a particular time and a very specific place, and a grand tale about power, greed, and desire. The time and place are western Nebraska in the second half of the nineteenth century; the objects of desire are horses.From the outset, the author makes a strong case for the unique nature of his subject. Western Nebraska is not merely a place to be endured on the seemingly endless trek between Gothenburg and Scottsbluff, nor are horses mere beasts of burden. Aridity, isolation, sand-topped hills, and riparian valleys conspired to make the region a place where horses, horse owners, and thieves collided. The obvious qualities of horses—power, speed, and nimble action—made them indispensable to anyone wishing to get from one point to another. But horses’ intangible attributes—their grace, beauty, generosity, and indefatigable memories—also made them a vital part of many people’s lives. Luckett’s attention to “the miracle of the horse” allows for a truly monumental reading of horse theft—an activity that bound people together, pushed them apart, and shaped an entire continent.Never Caught Twice opens with the historical and cultural geography of western Nebraska. A summary worthy of the late D. W. Meinig points to factors that encouraged horse theft, including terrain and the presence of major wagon roads. Though the author’s reading of Plains equestrian cultures is rather conventional, he makes the familiar interesting by delving into Indigenous accounts of horse-based reciprocity. Horse raids, horse gifts, and ceremonial practices pointed to the complexities of horse wealth and ways in which horses were intertwined with human emotions and interactions. Horse theft functioned as proxy warfare (warriors seized horses instead of killing one another) and an economic system in which Indigenous communities transferred horse wealth among themselves.Anglo-Americans disrupted this delicate balance when they invaded the grasslands, decimated wild game populations, carved paths through Native homelands, and unwittingly inserted themselves into Indigenous rivalries. The United States Army, occupying a line of forts throughout the plains, often interposed itself between the two groups. Though the military carried out violent punitive campaigns against Native peoples, many army officers also helped Native people recover stolen horses, warned them to beware white thieves, and worked with Native leaders to preserve peace. The author is careful to distinguish between major military campaigns (the focus of much scholarly and popular literature) and the far less visible efforts of army officers committed to upholding treaty obligations.Never Caught Twice focuses on Anglo-American horse thieves in at least three of its six chapters; material on the habits and characteristics of outlaws functions as an ethnography of sorts. Scholars of Plains Indigenous communities—and lovers of horses—will find much of interest nevertheless.
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Oct 18, 2024
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