In spite of the general impression of frontier lawlessness that
prevailed during the 'eighties', Arizona had probably as clean a moral
standard as many of the Eastern States which considered themselves far
in advance of the unsettled country. Though men 'packed' guns, and
personal affronts were settled out of Court, Arizona could brag that any
good woman was protected by every man in the Territory.
So, when the Southern Pacific train was held up west of Willcox, the
community was as much surprised and shocked as any more conventional
town might be. Seventy thousand dollars were taken from the express car
by the robbers, and no definite clue to their identity or whereabouts
could be discovered.
The railroad people, believing the first success would encourage others,
secretly armed all express messengers with sawed-off shotguns, heavily
loaded with buckshot, the most deadly weapon known for short-range work.
These precautions were justified six months later, when the regular
west-bound train was nearing Cochise, a little place twelve miles west
of Willcox. The engineer, observing a danger signal, slowed down and
finally stopped. As the track was treacherous at that point during rainy
weather, he had no suspicions. Frequent washouts occurred in the sandy
roadbed. The track-walker approached, swinging his lighted lantern.
"What's the trouble?" asked the engineer, as he and the fireman leaned
over the side of the engine, staring through the darkness.
"Track's soft. You'll have to go slow for about a quarter of a mile,"
was the reply. "They wired to Willcox from Cochise but you had left on
time. Hold on a minute and I'll ride back with you."
"All right," answered the engineer, then as the man swung on the cab,
"You're a new man?"
"Yes. Just went to work this week. I was on the Santa Fe before I came
down here," he drew a pipe from his pocket, filled and lighted it as the
engineer turned to start the engine.
The fireman had returned to the rear of the cab and set to work
shovelling coal.
"Hands up!"
Two armed, masked men confronted the engineer and the fireman faced
three others. There was no alternative except to obey. The train was
made up of an engine, express car, three Pullmans and two day coaches;
the express, as usual, being directly back of the engine and coal car.
Three of the bandits guarded the fireman and engineer, the other two
running back a short distance. As the brakeman approached to ascertain
the trouble, he was met and commanded to uncouple the express car and
engine from the rest of the train. Then, having complied under protest,
he was compelled to join the other two men who were under guard.
"Pull ahead till we tell you to stop," was the order, and the engine
puffed on its way, leaving the passengers and conductors to discover
their predicament later.
Four miles from Cochise, in a spot where there was no human habitation,
the engineer was forced to halt. Three robbers remained on guard while
the other two went to the express car and knocked sharply on the door.
"What is it?" the messenger demanded.
"Open the door!"
There was no reply.
"Open the door, and we won't hurt you;" called the robber a second
time.
Again there was absolute silence.
"We'll give you one minute to open that door, or we'll blow you and the
car to Hell!"
The man inside the car knew there was nothing to be gained by delay.
"All right," he called. "I'll open it, boys."
There was slipping of bolts and creaking of wood. The door opened slowly
about two inches. Three-fingered Jack standing close to it, jumped
backward and thrust the barrel of his pistol through the aperture. A
flash, a scream of agony, and the door closed with a bang. The messenger
stood with blood streaming from his right arm, the sawed-off shot gun
smoking at his feet; but as he slipped unconscious to the floor, he knew
one of the robbers was badly hurt.
Outside, the men surrounded Three-fingered Jack, who had torn the red
handkerchief from his face. Blood poured from a gaping wound in his
side. His comrades eased him to the ground, then turned their attention
to the express car. This time it would be short work--dynamite.
"Hurry!" urged the leader.
They moved to obey; but stopped with oaths. Down the track from Cochise
shone the headlight of an engine. They knew there was no other passenger
train due either way at that hour; but they could not count on freights
or specials. The railroad officials had given instructions that each
train-despatcher keep close watch on the time between stations, and if
any train were late to wire at once to the last station; then, unless
satisfied, rush out an extra engine, or pusher, with armed men.
These men, seeing the headlight of the stalled engine, were ready for
action as the 'pusher' raced forward at full speed. The robbers,
realizing that flight was imperative, ran to the horses they had left
tied in the brush, only pausing long enough to seize their wounded
comrade. They boosted him roughly to a pony, leading it by the reins
while Jack clung moaning to the horn of the saddle. Each movement was
excruciating agony, as they rode madly through the mesquite brush in the
darkness.
The rescue party found the unconscious messenger, and the kidnapped
engine and express car were backed to the rest of the train, while the
pusher raced to Cochise for a posse and horses to trail the robbers.
It did not take very long to load armed men and saddled ponies into an
empty box-car at Cochise, and in record-breaking time the little special
again reached the hold-up. While they were unloading their ponies, the
belated passenger train, carrying its excited passengers, its untouched
express car and the wounded man, rattled past the posse. The engineer
leaned from his cab, waved a grimy hand and sounded a long-drawn
whistle. Out in the darkness, the fleeing outlaws heard and knew what it
meant. Their progress had been impeded by the condition of Jack, and
each movement of his pony brought groans and curses.
The leader halted.
"It's him, or all of us," he said, and the rest agreed.
"We're sorry. Jack, but it can't be helped. We've got to leave you
behind."
The wounded man cursed them for cowards and traitors; but fell limp as
they helped him to the ground and made him as comfortable as possible.
Then they rode away, carrying his pistol with them, for they would need
it worse than Jack. His curses followed them.
The darkness made it impossible for the posse to strike the trail until
dawn, but no time was lost after that. Whether the robbers had some
definite plan, or had become too demoralized at their surprise, puzzled
the trailers; for the riders had kept together instead of scattering in
order to make pursuit more difficult. The work of following was made
easy by the softened condition of the country from recent rain, and
occasionally a splatter of blood on a stone proved that the messenger
was justified in his assertion that he had wounded one of the outlaws.
Five miles from the railroad track they found Three-fingered Jack at
the point of death. He lay gasping, and watched them approach until they
stood looking down on him. A sardonic smile twisted his features. He
would have his revenge on the men who had deserted him. With curses and
vituperation he told the names of those who had fled to save
themselves--then added names of others in the band. Several names
mentioned were not unexpected, as they were men known to be ready for
any crime; but no one was prepared to hear him accuse Jim Glendon and
Alpaugh, who was the constable of Willcox and Deputy Sheriff of Cochise
County.
Tom Graham, the constable of Cochise and leader of the posse, leaned
down and said, "What was that? Did you say Alpaugh and Glendon?"
Jack saw the incredulity on the faces above him. Quietly, but with
rasping voice, he replied, "I said Glendon and Alpaugh. I'm making this
statement before I die, and I want you all to witness what I say. They
didn't play square with me;--they even took my pistol so I couldn't
shoot myself. Glen and Alpaugh were staying home to prove an alibi--We
were to go to Glendon's after the job was done--give the money--to
him--till row was over." His eyes closed. The men thought he was dead,
but he gathered his ebbing strength once more. "We were to
share--and--quit the country--" Blood choked his utterance; his head
sank back and the jaws relaxed.
The group looked at him, then glanced at each other dubiously. The
accusation against Alpaugh astonished them. He was acknowledged a good
officer, sober, fearless and apparently worthy of the confidence the
community placed in him while Glendon, though known to drink heavily and
be aggressive in his cups, had never been considered criminal in his
tendencies. But, Jack's statement, made in full consciousness that he
was dying, and with apparently clear mind, was damning evidence.
Slowly the posse returned to the track, carrying the dead man across a
saddle-horse, while the original rider sat behind, balancing the limp
form. When they reached the railroad the body was placed on the floor of
the caboose and the engine started to Willcox.
Rumours of the hold-up drew a curious crowd to the depot and questions
were asked eagerly; but no information was vouchsafed for fear of
alarming those implicated.
Limber was crossing the street of Willcox when Graham saw him, and
taking him aside, said, "I want to swear you in as deputy, Limber, and
may need you several days. I want men who can hold their tongues and be
relied upon. We're up against a well-organized bunch."
The cowboy listened to Graham's concise statement of the hold-up and
Three-fingered Jack's death; but was not told of the accusation
regarding Alpaugh and Glendon.
"I'm ready any time you want me," was Limber's assertion.
"Might as well come with me now."
"Which way you goin' first?"
"Alpaugh's house."
Believing that the constable of Cochise intended to co-operate with
Alpaugh, the Willcox constable, Limber strode beside big Tom Graham,
though neither of them again spoke. When they reached the neat little
cottage where Alpaugh and his wife resided, the constable was sitting on
the porch smoking, and came down the steps to meet them.
"Hear you had a lively time out your way last night, Tom," he commented.
"I was ready to go out and join the chase but as it was in your section
and you did not wire for help, supposed you did not need me. Catch your
men?"
"One of 'em. The others had a good start; but a strong posse with relay
horses is trailing them. Three-fingered Jack is dead." Graham watched
the effect of his information.
Alpaugh started, but recovered himself. "Dead? Was he one of them? Well,
you know he's always had a fishy reputation."
"He was wounded by the express messenger. Lived long enough to make a
full confession."
"Who?" asked Alpaugh, trying to appear unconcerned.
"Hold up your hands, Dick. Don't make trouble. I've got to arrest you."
Limber controlled his amazement, and in obedience to a nod from Graham,
removed the pistol from Alpaugh's hip pocket. Then Graham told his
prisoner he might put down his hands.
The constable laughed in amusement. "Well, I might get mad if it wasn't
all so darned foolish. I can't figure out whether you are off your
cabeza, Tom, or if it was Three-fingered Jack trying to get back at me
because I arrested him once." His voice dropped and his face grew
serious. "I don't want my wife to know this. It's all a big mistake and
you'll find it out later on; but I don't want her to worry. You've got
to do your duty, Tom, so I haven't any hard feelings against you or
Limber. I'd like to make an excuse to Jennie about going away, if you
don't mind."
"All right. Don't stir up trouble, Dick; that's all," warned Graham.
"It's too silly to make any row over," Alpaugh answered with open
contempt as he walked to the hall door and called to his wife, "I've got
to go out of town at once, Jennie. Graham wants me. There's been a
hold-up near Cochise. Don't get worried if I'm gone several days. I
won't need any war-bag. Be back as soon as I can make it."
Mrs. Alpaugh was a plump, quick body, with brown eyes, brown skin,
smooth brown hair and alert way of cocking her head on one side, much
like an impudent sparrow. She came on the porch and smiled at them.
"I might as well be an old maid," she pouted. "Dick is away nearly all
the time, lately."
"Good-bye, Jennie," interrupted her husband, fearing she might
innocently complicate matters.
"Don't let the train-robbers catch you all," she laughed as they headed
across the street, where Alpaugh was taken to a room in the hotel, to be
held in custody until the Sheriff from Tombstone, the County seat,
should arrive.
Limber and Graham walked together from the hotel. "Got to get our
horses," said the officer.
At the Cowboy's Rest they were joined by other men who were waiting.
Limber flung the saddle on Peanut, adjusted the headstall of the bridle
and mounted.
Out on the street Graham rode up to him, and Limber's eyes met his. "Who
else, Tom?"
"Glendon," was the reply.
The cowboy twisted quickly in his saddle, his face filled with
consternation. "How did he get in?"
"Don't ask me," was the moody answer. "Three-fingered Jack made a dying
statement and accused them both; so I've got to arrest him. 'Tain't a
pleasant job when you've known the men for years and have slept with
them, shared chuck and worked together. It's bad enough mess when there
ain't any women, but Alpaugh and Glendon have decent wives. What
business has a man with a family getting into such a mess, anyhow?" he
growled, voicing the thoughts of the man who rode beside him.
Limber wished heartily that Powell were home at the Springs, now. In
imagination he pictured Glendon's wife alone at the Circle Cross with
only Juan and the dog to sympathize with her in this new trial; he
regretted that Graham had selected him as one of the posse, but it could
not be helped now.
It was a very quiet quartette which rode up to the gate of the Circle
Cross. Glendon came down the front walk.
"Hello, boys! Off on a hunting trip?" he asked affably. "Get down and
have a drink."
"We're after you, Jim," said Graham bluntly. "Three-fingered Jack split
on the gang."
Glendon started in surprise. "What the Dickens are you talking about.
What have I to do with Three-fingered Jack? You must be joking!" He
regarded them so frankly that they wondered uncomfortably whether the
dead man had told the tale in spite, as Glendon hastened to suggest.
"I had trouble with Jack over two months ago, and I suppose this is his
way of getting even with me."
"He said you were with them on the first hold-up, and that they were to
bring the loot to you this time for you to take care of for them. I
guess it's up to you to go quietly, Jim. We don't go much on what he
said, but we can't help ourselves."
"It's a fine proposition when a man stays home and minds his own
business, then finds he's accused of being mixed in a thing like this,"
Glendon spoke indignantly. "I bet Three-fingered Jack won't repeat that
story to my face."
"No he won't, Jim;" returned Graham quietly. "He's dead. He made his
statement when he knew he was dying, and called the posse to witness
what he said. He shot the express messenger;--got a load of buckshot
himself."
Glendon shrugged his shoulders impatiently. "Oh, well, I suppose I've
got to go, but you're on the wrong trail this time, boys. I haven't been
away from home for over a month, as my wife can tell you."
He turned toward the house as though to call for corroboration.
"No use dragging Mrs. Glendon into it," said Limber, quickly. "I guess
you can get other witnesses outside of her, if you need 'em Jim. It
ain't the sort of thing for any woman to be mixed up in, and we don't
want to make it harder for her than we have to."
The others nodded approvingly; but Glendon's eyes narrowed and he faced
Limber in sudden fury.
"Look here, Limber, you're an old friend, but don't presume too far. I'm
not as big a fool as you think I am. You mind your own business, damn
you! What's my wife to you anyhow? You and Powell have butted in a good
bit in my family affairs!"
Limber's face was white; his right hand flashed to his pistol, then
fell away. His eyes stared in dumb misery toward the house. The other
men saw Katherine Glendon standing in the doorway. Every head was bared
instantly. She understood that something was wrong, and an expression of
dread darkened her eyes as she moved to her husband's side.
"What is it, Jim?" she asked.
Glendon kicked the gravel but no one answered. Then as her eyes moved
from face to face, she recognized Limber.
"What is wrong, Limber?"
The cowpuncher kept his eyes on the horn of his saddle. He would have
shot Glendon for the insult passed, but he could not force himself to
tell Glendon's wife their mission.
Graham cursed inwardly. Glendon's lips wore an ugly smile, and he
refused to speak.
"The train was robbed again last night, Mrs. Glendon," explained Graham,
at last. "Three-fingered Jack was killed. He made a statement accusing
Glendon and Alpaugh. We're all friends of Glendon's and don't believe
the story was true; but we have to take him back with us. We can't help
ourselves."
Katherine held tightly to the picket fence while the man was speaking.
"You are making a terrible mistake," she cried in relief. "He has not
been away from home for over a month."
"He told us that," was the answer, "and we're glad of it, too."
She turned to her husband, her hand rested on his arm. "Jim, tell me you
are innocent, and I will believe in you in spite of everything," she
implored.
He glanced suspiciously at the men. "You forget, Katherine, these men
will be witnesses to every word I speak."
"We will ride off a bit, Glendon, but we've got to watch you," replied
Graham. Following the constable, the rest rode out of earshot, leaving
husband and wife practically alone.
"Are you mixed up in it, Jim?"
"No;" he replied boldly, trying to look her in the eyes. As his glance
wavered, she knew that he was lying, and he knew that she read his
guilt. The knowledge roused his resentment.
"Jim, be honest with me," she begged earnestly. "Trust me. No matter
what has happened--what you may have done, you are my husband and I will
stand by you. Tell me the truth."
"There is nothing to go into hysterics over," he retorted. "You know as
much about the affair as I do. You know I have not been away from home
for a month. If you want to help me, as you pretend you do, that
statement from you will counteract anything Jack may have said. I don't
know whether your testimony would even be admitted as evidence."
"I could say that truthfully," she answered; "and, oh, Jim! I am so
thankful."
"I know you have already accused, tried and sentenced me as guilty," he
shrugged his shoulders and walked over to the men. "I'll be ready as
soon as I can saddle up."
Katherine stood by the gate, numb with the shock, and as the men rode
past, they touched their hats. She only saw the careless nod that her
husband gave her, and he rode away, chatting with the men.
Motionless Glendon's wife watched the last trace of the dust-cloud from
the horses' hoofs, then, she turned with dragging steps into the house.
A few days later, she learned through Juan, who had been to see Chappo,
that the posse had caught up with the fleeing bandits near the Mexican
border. Their surrender was effected after the ponies of the outlaws had
been shot from under them.
Downing, Burks, Wentz and two brothers, named Rowan, constituted the
remainder of the band. They, together with Alpaugh and Glendon, were
taken to the County jail at Tombstone to await their trial.
Then a note from Glendon reached Katherine. He wanted her to come to
Tombstone at once and stay there until the trial was over. So, leaving
Juan in full charge, she obeyed the wishes of the man she had married.