Chap O'Keefe asks when is a hero not a hero?
DILLARD RIDES AGAIN

Keith Chapman

An early example was Deadwood Dick created for publisher Erasmus Beadle by Edward L. Wheeler in the late 1870s. The tradition continued through the Clarence E. Mulford Bar 20 decades, the Louis L'Amour Sackett years, and to the present day.

In modern times in Britain, a small crowd of Piccadilly Cowboy writers each had or shared a series character, like Edge, Angel, Bodie and Hart, and in the United States publishers scored worthwhile sales for adult western series of the Longarm and Spur kind, written under house bylines. July will mark the return of the series character Joshua Dillard to the BHW list. If you haven't already met him in previous adventures, no better introduction can be be had than by reading the opening pages from his latest adventure, Ride the Wild Country.

Hoppy days.

Chapter One "Fight in Frisco" recaps on Dillard's history and character, and is a showcase example of BHW blood-and-thunder. The touchy hero is robbed at a parlour house and puts on a bravura performance!

Dillard made his first appearance in the second BHW I wrote, Shootout at Hellyer's Creek. Publisher John Hale described that book as "an expertly written and splendidly prepared novel . . . we will send the typescript straight to the setter". What the book wasn't written or prepared as was the first in a series. Dillard was the central character, but the dizzy heroine, Dorothy-May Pennydale, and the greenhorn dime-novel author, Clement P. Conway, were from an author's standpoint equally satisfying and colourful creations.

Dillard's first.

Dillard, a lone rider with an ex-Pinkerton background, came on the scene on page 17 in the opening lines of chapter two, which was headed "The Hired Gun". He was imbued with rugged motivations and trademarks of his own, but at bottom he was the detective character it's handy to have around when you write books that have a strong crime or mystery element.

Others have remarked how traditional westerns are related to the crime story, sharing murder, robbery, guns for hire and other characteristics. It's also remarkable how many successful western writers have played the crossover card, sometimes switching full-time into the crime genre. Elmore Leonard comes to mind, and Britain has Hart writer John Harvey's much-applauded Resnick contemporary police procedurals.

In my early editorial career, the Sexton Blake detective series loomed large, and in 1992 that continued to exert its influence on the style and content of the first Chap O'Keefe westerns. So with Joshua Dillard I was adopting a comfortable, convenient convention rather than adopting a character I felt could become special.

Series heroes can be a pain as well as a pleasure. They must be consistent, book after book, or their fans will complain. They can become monsters to their creators. Think of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Leslie Charteris and Ian Fleming — all to their regret dominated by their brain-children, and at least one forced to enlist the services of ghost writers to satisfy a demand which became unpalatable.

The "Loser" Hero

After Shootout at Hellyer's Creek (which was given a brilliant Faba cover), I wrote another two westerns before picking up the Dillard thread with The Sandhills Shootings. His entry into that book was again determined by the plot's need of a troubleshooting, detective character. Why invent a new one when one was ready-made? The irony which has added personal spice to writing BHWs about Joshua Dillard is that he is in a large sense a loser. He might solve the mysteries and confound the badmen brilliantly every time, but he never makes a financial profit from his cases. Thus his first book ended:

Unwanted competition.

As for Joshua Dillard himself, he was thinking he'd have to resign his commission [protecting Clem Conway] and settle for the measly hundred dollars advance on account of his expenses.

He could save Clement P. Conway from the hardcases, but he was damned if he could rescue him from the toils of a designing woman.

Aw, well, maybe Wells Fargo would make him an ex gratia payment.

That was something for him to dream about as he rode on out of Hellyer's Creek.

By the time I'd finished The Sandhills Shootings, my fifth western novel, I was hoping myself to cover more than expenses. Consequently, the book was submitted to several publishers and agents in the United States. The replies were uniformly dispiriting:

• "We are sorry to tell you that Fawcett Gold Medal has decided to discontinue its western line."
• "I've read through your material and think that you are a talented writer. Unfortunately, the market for traditional western novels is so soft these days that I just cannot offer representation to new western writers. It has become increasingly difficult to sell the projects that my established writers have sent in."
• "I am sorry, but I am not taking on any new western writers now, as I already have some prominent ones, and with the industrywide cutbacks on category fiction, taking on anyone else in this field would compete with what I already have going."

The response was better than rejection slips, but brought no joy. The shop was closed, even if the work done could be reckoned competition for prominent writers. Never being one who spends life hovering hopefully by the mailbox, I'd meanwhile pressed on and written The Gunman and the Actress. I'd also sent this book straight to Hale, so it appeared before the travelled second Dillard tale. Much can be said for "riding for the brand" — being loyal to the publisher who has given you previous backing.

Melodrama.

A Benchmark Tale

G & A was a romp — fast-moving and full of comedic touches, as good a benchmark as any for the Dillard stories.

Joshua took on the job of troubleshooter for a French theatre company touring the West. Just routine bodyguarding, he supposed . . . till he met the amazing Gisèle Bourdette, a publicity-hungry superstar ahead of her time, choking the 1880s New World puritans on their censorious piety. Joshua committed the blunder of forming a liaison with the eager Gisèle, falling foul of her leading man and lover, Henri Rabier-Roget — a talentless hunk scourged by jealousy and the morphine habit.

Meanwhile, ruthless Borderland bandit "Loco Louey" Velarde was after the actress's unbanked takings, transported at her quaint insistence in gold coins. And sensitive Lorena, daughter of domineering rancher and cow-town opera house founder Bennett Maxwell, resisted an unwelcome suitor. . . .

This high melodrama was partly inspired by the US tours and character of actress Sarah Bernhardt (1844-1923). A popular quote from Bernhardt runs, "Life begets life. Energy creates energy. It is by spending oneself that one becomes rich."

I like to think I captured some of this spirit in my book. Publisher Mr John Hale's first reaction was that he enjoyed the book though the plot was perhaps not as strong as its predecessor's. He also said, "Incidentally I would be grateful if in future westerns you could restrict the sex scenes as we are just not quite sure how the librarians throughout our territory react."

But this second Dillard in order of publication was well received and reprinted in a Linford Western Library large-print edition. As far as I know, no one was scandalized by the goings-on of Dillard and my lively French actress. Or not as much as folks had been by the real Sarah Bernhardt. . . .

I followed up with the book already written, The Sandhills Shootings, then the more sober Doomsday Mesa, a non-Dillard western. It was at this stage circumstances determined I could no longer justify making time for writing fiction, so I dropped out of the BHW team.

Back again years later, and with a favourable response to Frontier Brides and The Rebel and the Heiress, I had a story idea that would be a perfect vehicle for Joshua Dillard. I knew Mr Hale hadn't been Dillard's biggest fan, but gave it a try. The verdict on Ride the Wild Country was "has plenty of action and indeed all the ingredients we require". Though with fewer of the lighter touches that brightened G & A — and having darker characters, darker motives — R W C has a stronger plot while keeping the Dillard gusto, which I hope a reading of the opening extract will demonstrate.

Return ticket.

Joshua's Last Bow?

Confidence in Joshua Dillard renewed, time was ripe to fill in some of the detail of the back story that began during his Pinkerton years. But Mr Hale was reserved on receiving the synopsis for The Lawman and the Songbird. "It is very difficult," he wrote, "to give a judgement on the strength of sample material, particularly when there is a skilful author at work."

Mr Hale said he didn't think it normally satisfactory to have as a central character a man (Dillard) who was a non-hero and perhaps a failure. Secondly, the ending was inconclusive. A third hurdle was how much space I intended to devote to the flashback. "You could in effect be writing two novels and this would not really be acceptable."

Rashly, I ignored the warnings, forged ahead and wrote the book as I saw it. My feeling was that L & S would be Joshua Dillard's fifth outing for BHW, and the previous books had worked. Joshua's success/failure conundrum was what made him different, appealing. He always solved the mystery, disposed of the real villains, but never made his fortune. He was like a lot of us — doing his best and sticking to his values, but never winning the big money. Loser or not, most BHW readers seemed happy to identify with that.

The story was set in a gold-rush Montana, with settings modelled loosely on those in Ernest Haycox's 1941 classic Alder Gulch. The ending was conclusive inasmuch as what had happened to some stolen gold was revealed, the dastardly Blackie Dukes and his gang were routed, and a bigger villain unmasked and sent to his death.

Kate Thompson, the heroine, solved a marital problem and — remaining true to character — vanished a second time. But Joshua met his match in a lady, as other famous heroes throughout fiction history have done. I didn't really see a Joshua story ending in wedding bells. He had to ride on alone, in the way central characters in traditional westerns so often do.

The novel was a coherent whole — though if you will, of two parts with a time lapse marked by little more than a new chapter. Tying it all together were: Joshua's determination to use his position as town marshal in part two to clear his previous record in Cox City; the unfinished business nature of the early chapters; the same primary cast of characters and setting. In fiction, unity is not decided by calendar or clock. Even a short story can successfully span years.

Alas, on his first reading of the book Mr Hale didn't agree his reservations had been overcome. He saw too many drawbacks, which he again enumerated.

Since I had a summons to do jury service hanging over me, it would have been unwise to leap into a completely fresh book until the decks were cleared. So instead I put on a well-worn editorial hat in between times and set to work to remedy the perceived flaws, quite certain it could be done without compromising the established Dillard persona. Several broken days later, I printed out the new version of L & S readers will see in November.

Joshua's customary failures were more precisely explained as a result of others' interference or interpretation. I adjusted the emphasis to show a man of action, decisive and successful in accordance with his personal principles.

The leading female character, Kate, who Mr Hale had regarded as unsympathetic, was given a briefly sketched "orphan and wicked aunt" background to win her reader support from the outset.

The text pointed up that this wasn't two stories. In 1866, the gold goes missing and the Pinkerton Joshua's record is blackened. Nothing is resolved, so the story isn't over. Seven years later, the freelance Joshua (moneyless as usual) gets a chance to pick up the threads as Cox City's town marshal, and he takes it. To trim the first half, some of the historical detail on the Pinkerton Detective Agency was taken out.

Mr Hale was pleasantly surprised. He had envisaged a necessity for drastic shortening and compression before the story "might ultimately pass muster". What was delivered was a conservative re-tuning. He responded, "When I started reading the revised version I have to confess I could see no difference between this and the original version. Fortunately though, as the story progressed, I could see that you had dealt with the points I raised. I am most grateful to you for this and am pleased to say we should like to publish the novel. May I send you the usual contract, please?"

The BHW readers' jury will deliberate on the results in due course.

But The Lawman and the Songbird will be the last Dillard for a while. The next two Chap O'Keefe novels don't feature him. Nor are there plans for another comeback. I've been working on a couple of books which introduce a small cast of original characters who currently appeal to me. They and their setting could well become the focus of a new series. The antecedents, once again, date back to the 1860s and the dime novels.

Exit Joshua Dillard? Who knows?