The Adobe Wall Raid; Reason for Description; A Day and a Night of
Terror--Some Hitherto Unknown Heroes, Etc.
Before setting down in detail the series of events that comprise what is
called the 'Adobe Wall' raid, I wish to put forth my reason for
undertaking the task of making known to the public an event that will long
be remembered, not only by those who took part in the occurrence, but,
also, by many of the early settlers of the then Far West. So many accounts
of the above mentioned raid have been written that it is impossible for
the seeker after the truth in the matter to discover what he is looking
for, that I deem it proper to narrate the story of the raid as it was told
me by one of the most prominent members of the little band who so
heroically defended themselves from the murderous assault of the Indian
marauders. So much has, also, been written in the past, that sets the real
West before the unenlightened in a manner that is misleading, that I think
it fitting to give credit to whom credit is due wherever it is due. The
ordinary writer from the East is not in a position to narrate the
occurrences of the West, because he has no immediate knowledge of events,
and, moreover, when he undertakes to set them before the public after
receiving them from another, his, narrative will lack the ring of truth
because he does not know the environments and the atmosphere of the events
he is trying to describe. True, the rank and file of readers may not know
the difference, but for those who know the facts of the case, the effort
to portray the history of the West by writers who have gleaned their
knowledge by hear-say, is pitiful and puerile.
In regard to the narrative of the "Adobe Wall" raid, I shall state again,
before proceeding farther, that my authority for the facts to be mentioned
hereafter was a member of the fighting squad. I have had the honor of the
acquaintance of several of the individuals who took part in the defense of
the place, and have had the story related by them, and in its entirety,
they all agreed on the most salient features of the narrative, and being
men of integrity, their word is sufficient guarantee for the truth of what
I write about the matter. The story I tell was related by Jimmie Langton.
If the reader wishes any corroboration of my tale, he may refer to R. M.
Wright, Charlie Rath, or James Langton, whose addresses I shall append to
the end of this article.
The "Adobe Walls" ranch was situated about one hundred miles west of the
north line of the Indian Territory, and about thirty-five miles south of
what was then called No-Man's-Land, on a little creek, about a mile and a
half north of the South Canadian River, in what is now called Hutchinson
County, Texas. The settlement consisted of one sod building, a saloon, and
a blacksmith shop. The sod building was used as a store and in it occurred
the chief events of this narrative. The saloon was owned by a man who went
by the name of Jim Hanrahan, and the blacksmith shop was operated by
Andrew Johnson, who now resides in Dodge City, Kansas.
The store, or what was then called the "Dobe Walls," was owned by R. M.
Wright, Chas. Rath, and James Langton, better known as Jimmie, and who
performed the duties of book-keeper for the firm. As I said above, I am
indebted to Jimmie for the facts of the story as he was the only one of
the partners present in the store at the time of the raid, the others
being in Dodge City.
Those who took part in the fight numbered, at most, about fifteen, not
fifty or sixty, as some writers have it. In the saloon at the time there
were five or six, but their part in the fray was only a minor one, as the
Indians did not have any particular purpose in making an attack on that
place. In the store were Jimmie Langton, Andy Johnson, Billy Tyler, Miller
Scott, A. J. Chappell, Bat Masterson, Mr. and Mrs. Olds, who did the
cooking for the ranch, and six or seven other freighters or travellers who
happened to be there at the time.
Of the Indians who took part in the raid, I shall enumerate them by
tribes, with their chiefs.
Big Bow led the Comanches on the occasion. Quanah Parker was not present,
as he was too young to be a participant in the capacity of chief.
The Kiowas took part in the raid under the leadership of Lone Wolf. This
gentleman now resides in Hobart, Okla., and has become so much converted
to the white man's mode of life that he wears a celluloid collar and a
derby hat.
The Cheyennes, who played no small part in the expedition, were led by Red
Moon, Chief Mininic, and Gray Beard. Chief Mininic also played the role of
Medicine Man, and claimed that his medicine was so strong that the bullets
of the white man's gun could not injure him. However, when his horse was
shot from under him, he explained the matter by saying that the bullet
struck a part of his horse's anatomy where there was no paint.
Besides the above mentioned tribes, there were the Arpahoes, who, however,
did not have a hand in the fight. True, they had come for the purpose of
exterminating the white man from the buffalo-hunting grounds, but when
they had arrived at the scene of action, the Comanches informed them that
they were not to take part in the annihilation of the pale-faces, but
requested them to remain in the distance and see how they, the Comanches
and their other friends, would put an end to the intruders on their sacred
plains. I believe it was not the mere quest of glory that induced the
Comanches to forbid the Arpahoes taking a hand in the extermination of the
common foe, but rather the knowledge that there were several hundred high
power buffalo guns and an abundant supply of ammunition that would be part
of the spoils of war when they wiped out the obnoxious white man, and they
did not care to have too many on hand when the dividend was to be
declared. That they would surely secure such a prize, they had no doubt,
but whether they did or not remains to be seen.
The list of the white men killed on the occasion of the raid is comprised
of only about half a dozen, and nearly all of them were killed before the
raid took place. There were the Scheidler brothers who were slain and
mutilated at some distance from the ranch. They had gone off to seek new
pasture for the cattle, as that around the ranch house was completely
destroyed, both by being eaten off and then being tramped out of the
ground by the stock. According to the usual Indian custom, they were also
scalped. There was also a Mexican "bull-whacker" who happened to be
camping near the Scheidler brothers, and he met the same fate as they, and
a negro. The only other death among the white folks, was that of Mr. Olds,
who met his end in a very peculiar manner, as will be shown later on in
the narrative.
On the morning of June 27th, 1874, the Indians made their descent upon the
"Adobe Walls" ranch. There had been rumors of Indian outbreaks in other
parts of the country, but those present at the ranch on the occasion had
not the remotest idea that there was an Indian within the neighborhood of
fifty miles. As they did not come with the blare of trumpets to announce
their arrival, the little party at the ranch did not know that death and
destruction was prowling in the neighborhood until the early hours of the
dawn, on the morning of the 27th of June. That was the hour the Redskin
preferred in making his calls upon his white neighbors, especially if the
visit was to be one of a warlike nature, and they were on the war-path on
this occasion. There is a good deal of philosophy in the Indian's reason
for preferring the early hours of the dawn for his first attack. It gives
him an opportunity to steal upon his enemy unawares. He made it his
business to hide his approach so that his white foe would fall asleep in
apparent security, and then with one fell swoop, rush in upon him and deal
death and disaster before the unsuspecting victims could become alive to
the dangers of the moment until it was too late. On this occasion, they
followed their usual custom and crept silently on the sleeping inhabitants
of the little hamlet. The first warning that the sleeping white men had,
originated in the screams of the negro who was being done to death at the
door of the ranch house. The night was hot, and for the sake of fresh air
and whatever coolness he could find, he spent the night in a wagon box at
the door of the ranch. Were it not for the coolness and calmness of Miller
Scott, the whole party would have suffered the fate of the negro. As soon
as he heard the first scream of the unfortunate black, he immediately
divined that the Indians were upon them. Without a moment's delay, he
seized his gun and through the open door of the ranch poured out such a
deadly fusilade of shot that the invaders were compelled to flee. The
shouts of the Indians and the roar of the buffalo gun pouring out its
relentless fire, soon turned the little peaceful hamlet into a den of
confusion. How many there were in the attacking party at that moment he
did not know, and apparently did not care, for he was determined to defend
himself against all odds or die in the attempt to do so. Apparently the
Indians had enough of the entertainment offered on that occasion as they
withdrew in a hurried fashion to the protection of the timbers and the
hills. Nor was Miller Scott the only one that took a part in giving their
unwelcome guests a vigorous welcome, but the others who played their parts
were rather slow in getting into action. They had just awakened from a
sound sleep and it took some time for them to realize their predicament,
but when they did, there was no further delay, but they set out to aid
Scott in repelling the attack as vigorously as possible. When the Indians
had retreated nursing their discomfiture and several wounds, the first
attack was repulsed.
The object the Indians had in view was to get possession of the stock of
goods and fire-arms that were in the store. Mr. Langton says that he had
more than one hundred buffalo guns, and about eleven thousand rounds of
ammunition. Besides these desirable commodities, there were on the outside
several horses, mules, and oxen, that attracted the attention of the
Indians. There was also the additional reason that they wanted to
exterminate the buffalo hunters who had been killing off the game in large
quantities, shipping the hides East, and leaving the bulk of the carcasses
on the ground to become the food of coyotes, wolves and buzzards. They had
laid their plans well, and as far as they could see, they were sure to
produce a successful issue, but they had no means of knowing that a negro
teamster would offer such strenuous objections to shuffling off the mortal
coil that he would arouse the whole neighborhood in the loudness of his
protestations. That the ranch people would be in a position to offer any
vigorous resistance, they did not dream. They knew they had that little
band of pale faces surrounded, and there remained only the formality of
killing them with the usual amount of ferocity, take their goods and
return to their camping grounds and plot another raid. For the ranch
folks, there was nothing to do but fight like grim death. One thing
favored the little band in the ante-chamber to eternity. The walls of the
building were about three feet thick and were impervious to the bullets
from such guns as the Indians then had. It was, moreover, impossible to
set fire to the building from a distance, as the invaders tried that
procedure later on and failed. As far as guns and fire were concerned they
were as safe as if they were defended by the Rock of Gibraltar.
Nor were things inside the adobe building very inviting. They all
realized that it was no holiday affair. In fact, most of them had just
about come to the conclusion that they were about to assist at their own
funeral with the flowers and music lacking. Nor could one blame them for
feeling that things had a very hopeless appearance. There they were, a
mere handful, surrounded by hundreds of hostile Indians in war dress,
ready to swoop down upon them at any time, without the least chance of
assistance from outside sources. If anything were to be done, it had to be
done by themselves, or perish in the attempt. It was certainly critical
enough to try the stoutest heart. I have no doubt that, at the first
charge, there were not half a dozen of them that were fully aware of what
was occurring around them, and whatever they did, they performed on the
spur of the moment because they saw others doing it. Some of them became
so excitedly helpless that they were unaccountable for what they did, and
it was providential that they did not do anything imprudent. Others became
nauseated and freely parted with the contents of their stomachs. Mr.
Langton confesses that he himself became so overcome with the realization
of the horror of the situation that he too parted with his supper of the
night before and the only reason why he did not lose his breakfast was
that he had not had time to eat it when the first attack was made. He
recovered his composure hurriedly, as the exigences of the situation were
such that one could readily forget a little inconvenience when one's life
was at stake. After the first display of nervousness had passed he did his
duty like a man, and played a very important part in the defense of the
ranch. It is not to be imagined that the Indians had not put up some kind
of a fight. The fact of the matter is that they did considerable shooting
in their own behalf, and that they failed to accomplish anything in the
way of killing the white folks was due to the fact that they were rather
hurried in their movements. How many of the Indians were killed in this
first encounter, it is not possible to say, but the sight of several
empty saddles, and several lifeless bodies on the ground around the ranch
bore testimony to the fact that the bullets from the buffalo guns had done
some execution. Stationed at the one window of the store, stood Miller
Scott spiting out death and demoralization from the mouth of his buffalo
gun upon the savages as they madly careered around the place on their wiry
ponies. Crack, crack, as fast as he could push home the charge, went the
gun, and another warrior was sent to join his forefathers in the Happy
Hunting Grounds. As soon as one gun became too hot to handle, another was
put in his hands to carry on the defense. Mr. Langton personally saw to it
that he was amply provided with ammunition and guns to perform his duty.
Nor were the other members of the party idle all the while. They punched
holes in the sides of the building and through the opening did what
execution their opportunity afforded them.
It was an appaling situation for a dozen people to be over a hundred miles
from civilization, surrounded by five or six hundred, yelling, whooping,
devil-daring redskins thirsting for their blood. There they rode, painted
in all manner of colors, cavorting like demons around them, roaring
defiance, and threatening at every moment to break through the zone of
fire and burst in upon them in overwhelming numbers and put them to death
mercilessly. It was well for them that they did not lose their nerve
completely, as the situation was one to try the stoutest heart. It was
well for them that Miller Scott rose to the importance of the occasion and
dealt out such a rain of death dealing bullets as to appal the intrepid
Indians. Outside roared and ranged the howling mob and inside things were
not any too assuring. Poor Mrs. Olds fainted. She was the only woman in
the hamlet. Kind hands poured water on her face until she revived. When
she recovered her senses, the realization of the predicament in which they
all were, and particularly the awful fate that awaited her, if they were
overcome, so overpowered her that she tried to commit suicide. She set up
a series of yells and screeches in her fright, that the Indians outside
must have thought they were killing one another to save themselves from
butchery. Strong hands prevented her from doing violence to herself, but
there was no way to prevent her screeching, and the only thing to do was
to give her freedom to screech until she became exhausted.
In the meantime, the Indians, feeling that their attack was somewhat of a
failure withdrew to the shelter of the hills. According to the words of an
old timer, the first assault upon the place was not a howling success. But
the little party in the ranch knew that they would return, and they made
what preparations they could to entertain them on their arrival. They did
not seem to be in any particular hurry about making the second attack, as
in the distance could be seen Indians riding in pairs, scurrying back and
forth on their war ponies, dragging the dead and wounded between them. All
of the rider that was visible was an arm and a leg. They made a dash on
each side of a fallen victim, and seizing him by the hair, dragged him to
a place of safety, either for the attention of the Medicine Man, or for
burial. Whenever an opportunity presented itself to the little band of
whites to take a shot at them, they did so, and in this manner, if they
did not do much damage, they, at least, hastened their movements to a
considerable degree.
The little party within the ranch was delighted with the success of the
first repulse. None of them had been injured, and beyond the first
nervousness, or nausea, suffered nothing. They realized to its fulness the
necessity of meeting the marauders when they returned. Every man saw to it
that enough weapons were within reach for immediate use, besides having
near at hand a dish of cartridges for rapid reloading when the fight was
at its zenith. With anxiety and nervousness they awaited the second
attack. They did not have long to wait. In less than an hour after the
first repulse, they saw them breaking over the hills and descending upon
them in dense array. On they came chanting their war songs, or raising
their raucous voices in wild war whoops in the weirdest manner possible.
For some reason or other, they seemed to halt at some distance from the
ranch. Out of their midst rode a chief, who swept on his way chanting
wildly, dragging a dry buffalo hide by the tail. Apparently he was trying
to incite them on to glory by performing a deed of valor. It may have been
that they were a trifle bashful about exposing themselves to the galling
fire of the little band entrenched behind the walls. Whatever the reason
of their delay, it had no effect upon the lone rider who advanced
fearlessly up to the very door of the ranch, gesticulating in a wild
manner. He threw the hide upon the ground, and with a spring from his pony
landed upon it and began a weird chant to incite his followers to follow
his example. To show his contempt for those within, he seized an empty
barrel that happened to be standing near and threw it with full force
against the door of the building. Just as he let fly the missile, a bullet
from Miller Scott's rifle tore its way through his chest. He gave a leap
into the air and with a wild shriek fell dead upon the buffalo hide. When
his followers saw their chief fall, their enmity was aroused and on they
came in one wild charge. Bullets spat upon them as they came, emptying
many a saddle in their wild charge. Pit, pit, the bullets sank into the
three foot walls of the ranch, and boom, boom responded the buffalo guns
in a roar that was interrupted only for such time as it took to send
another charge home, and then they boomed again. Indians were falling
thick and fast, dead and dying, men and horses were tumbling about on the
open plain in a confused mass. Pitilessly the little band poured out the
rain of bullets, until no living being could stand the galling fire. The
Indians retreated sullenly before their deadly aim, to the shelter of the
hills, once more.
The little incident of throwing the empty barrel against the door, called
to the attention of the defenders of the ranch the necessity of
barricading it. In the excitement of the first charge they entirely
overlooked that important matter, and it was only the foolhardiness of the
Indian chief that called the matter to their minds. As soon as they saw
how much they were exposed to danger through their oversight, willing
hands began to pile sacks of corn and other commodities against the door
until there must have been a ton of material stacked up against it.
Apparently it was the intention of the chief to break in through the door,
and had he succeeded, his followers would have completed the work begun by
him. Happily for them, Miller Scott's bullet cut short his career, and
probably saved them all from death.
The death of the chief had rather a chilling effect upon the rest of the
invaders. Instead of continuing the rush upon the place, they withdrew to
a rather safe distance, and contented themselves with doing some long
range shooting. The firing became desultory. The Indians had withdrawn for
about a mile, and though the buffalo guns would carry that far, it was
practically impossible to do any accurate shooting at such a distance. The
only chance of doing any execution was possible when any of the Indians
gathered in any prominent locality. Then a bullet from a buffalo gun would
sing around them, and they would seek safety in the shelter of the hills.
Another motive that impelled the besieged to save their ammunition was
that they did not know how long they would have to entertain their
unwelcome visitors, and it was necessary to keep that thought in mind.
The Indians seemed to have re-organized again, and once more set out to
make their third attack on the resolute little band. It was galling to
their pride to think that a mere handful of pale-faces were able to
withstand their onslaughts so successfully. Besides, it was rather
disconcerting to have the principal object of their invasion frustrated
just when success seemed to perch upon their banners. The killing of the
few inhabitants of the ranch was not so important as securing the arms and
ammunition they knew was stored up behind the "Adobe Walls." It was doubly
galling to the Comanches to think that they had invited the Arpahoes to
remain out of the fight to witness the extermination of the hated
pale-face, and now they would have to suffer the humiliation of defeat
where they expected to return laden with the spoils of victory. On they
flew the third time, urging their little ponies to topmost speed, more
maniacal than ever in their wild shouts and gestures. Around the little
ranch they rode in a fusilade of shots as they passed and repassed, but
all to no purpose. Their ranks were thinning through the unflinching fire
of the besieged. When a buffalo gun boomed, it was a signal for an Indian
to throw up his hands with a screech and fall dead or wounded from the
back of his flying steed. The nearer they approached the ranch, the hotter
became the fire, until it was impossible to draw sufficiently near to do
any damage. They fully realized that their shooting had been in vain. They
experienced no diminuation in the rapid fire of the little band within
those three-foot walls. They felt that it was useless to attempt to take
the place by assault, and consequently they withdrew beyond the range of
the guns of the besieged, beaten. Three times seemed to satisfy their
efforts for pillage and murder. They hovered around at some distance as
they did not wish to abandon their dead and wounded. There was no Red
Cross Society there to attend to that matter for them, nor was there any
flag of truce hoisted to denote a cessation of hostilities. As far as the
besieged were concerned, they took good aim and shot to kill whenever an
enemy came within range.
Several times during the day they had attempted to recover the body of the
chief lying before the door of the ranch, but all their efforts proved
futile. They finally gave the matter up for a time, acting as though they
thought the whites were using him for a bait to lure them on to
destruction. They did not intend, however, to leave him there, for, during
the night that followed, under the cover of darkness, they succeeded in
removing the body from where it lay. Apparently one of them sneaked up
during the night and fastened a rope around it, hitched the other end to a
pony and dragged the body off to their encampment. He did not do this
without attracting the attention of those within. Anxious ears were
listening for every move outside, and when they heard the body begin to
drag along the ground, they knew that someone was near, and they
immediately poured out a volley upon the rescuer. If they did not hit him,
they at least compelled him to hasten his footsteps on his way. They
afterwards came to the conclusion that the rescuing party got away
successfully as there was no sign of his dead body encumbering the plain
the next morning.
As may be imagined, there was no sleep during the night that followed the
day of the battle. What the Indians could not do during the light of the
day, they might attempt at night, and this thought kept every man alive to
the exigencies of the desperate situation. Every man did sentry duty all
night long, not on the outside, as that would have been suicidal, but
within the walls. When not pacing back and forth across the floor, they
strained their ears listening at the openings in the walls for any noise
that would indicate the approach of the foe. Light they had none, as they
did not dare to so much as burn a match. It was maddening to have to spend
the weary hours waiting for they knew not what. They tried to be brave,
but it was a difficult matter to do so at such a critical time. There was
not a one of them that was not willing to die in defense of the ranch, but
the uncertainty of the situation was more galling than the attack itself.
Hour followed hour, each one seemed an age, and yet there was no sign of
another assault. Wearily, anxiously they waited, each moment dreading what
the next might bring.
Morning dawned at last and the little band breathed easier. They felt that
there was more than an even chance while daylight lasted. The condition of
the place was deplorable. With weary haggard looks they gazed at each
other in the pale morning light and tried to smile encouragement to each
other but it was a wan effort. The excitement of the previous day, and the
anxiety of the night just passed, was plainly visible on their
countenances. But one thing remained, they were undaunted and ready to
face their foe again if necessary. The sanitary condition of the place
resembled the Black Hole of Calcutta in a lesser degree. True, they had
food in abundance, but their water supply was exhausted. Fortunately for
them, there was a supply of canned goods in the store. Some of these they
cut open, and drained off the liquid to quench their thirst. It was not
entirely, satisfying as water, but it tided them over a difficulty.
In the meantime the silence from their enemies continued to cause them
considerable uneasiness. They could not imagine what new kind of deviltry
they were planning to effect the purpose of the raid. They awaited another
attack, but apparently it was either being delayed purposely, or the
Indians had decided to forego any further attempt on the place. Which of
the two it was, they did not know. Finally, when their anxiety became
unendurable, Mr. Olds, the husband of the good lady who had stirred up so
much excitement in the early part of the fray, volunteered to make a
reconnoitre. For this purpose he built a temporary ladder. When the rude
implement was constructed, he ascended to the roof of the building. Then
he proceeded to make an opening in the sod roof, through which he might
make a survey of the country in the neighborhood. To guard against any
attack from nearby, he took a rifle up with him for safety. He looked out
through the opening he had so laboriously made, and reported that there
was not an Indian in sight. All were overjoyed at this bit of information.
Then Mr. Olds began to descend. In some way or other, his gun caught in
one of the rounds of the ladder and was discharged when he was about half
way down. With a lurch from the ladder he fell heavily to the floor.
Whether from the force of the blow as he fell on his head to the hardened
earth, or whether it was the bullet that struck him, his brains were
scattered round about in gruesome fashion. It was a very unfortunate
occurance, and it cast a gloom over the whole party. Mrs. Olds was
heartbroken over the sudden and untimely death of her husband. Needless to
say, the other members of the heroic little band offered her what
consolation their rough ways would permit. As she had just experienced the
fidelity of the manhood around about her, she was much comforted, but it
was hard to bear the burden of her loss with the evidence of the accident
before her.
When the first duties to the afflicted had been accomplished, others
thought of the feasibility of making a more extended reconnoitre from the
outside of the ranch. There was also another reason for wishing to breathe
again the pure air of the plains. Their water supply needed replenishing,
as they were all suffering in some degree from the want of it. With
anxious hearts, they removed the barricading sacks from the door and
prepared for what might come. Andrew Johnson proposed that some one should
go for water, and offered to make the journey himself. To this they all
agreed. He took a bucket and as he stepped out, he took a good look around
for any possible redskin that might be lurking in hiding. Seeing nothing
to indicate the presence of the foe in the neighborhood, he set out for
the creek. His companions covered his journey all the way with their
buffalo guns, so that if any Indian put in an appearance, they would have
either driven him to flight, or adorned the landscape with his remains.
Happily for all, no foe appeared and Mr. Johnson made the journey without
molestation. When he returned, he was greeted by his friends in
misfortune, with all manner of expressions of gratitude. As there was no
indication the presence of the foe, they did not barricade the door again.
The next move was to send out scouts to discover, if possible, whether
there was any further danger of attack. Needless to say, they did not
wander far afield, as, just then, it was a wise proceeding to be in close
proximity to the base of supplies and protection. Those who did not go on
the scouting tour, performed the humane task of burying Mr. Olds, and
those who had been killed outside the ranch house. With what tenderness
their natures possessed they laid away the mortal remains of their
companion not far from the spot where they had spent such a heart-rending
day and night. As for burying the Indians that lay around them on the
plain, they left that part of the duty to the coyotes and the buzzards. At
least, I have never heard of any burial service being read over them, on
that occasion. Such a method of procedure was common enough in those days,
as it seemed to be the usual way in which the enemy regarded the disposal
of the remains of his victims. They could not be charged with neglect of
duty, as, of all the white men that I have heard of being scalped,
murdered, and mutilated in any part of the West, I do not know of one case
where the Indian ever took the time and trouble to bury them. There is
more truth than poetry in the remark of Gen. Sherman, that "War is Hell,"
and the little skirmish had a strong resemblance to a section of the
infernal regions while it lasted.
The above is the general outline of the fight as it occurred. As I have
said in the beginning, my authority for the truth of what I have said was
one of the leading men of the battle, if there were any leading men in
that terrific struggle where every man stood up to the fight like a 'man.'
I have read several accounts of the affray from sources that are
unreliable. As a proof of what I say in that regard, though the article
purport to be written by some one who had a hand in the affray, it is
apparent that they did not write them personally, but left it to some
scribe to put down some of the salient features, passing over some of the
most important events of the struggle. How would it be possible for a
writer who had a share in the battle to forget the important part played
by Miller Scott? You say it would be impossible, yet I have seen accounts
of the battle in which he is not even mentioned. How could he forget the
tragic death of Mr. Olds? However, some writers fail to mention it. How
about the killing of the negro in the wagon? And some of them narrate the
story in an entirely different manner. I fear that the imagination of many
a writer has filled up with fancy when facts of the most thrilling kind
were at hand. I know that a writer, in narrating a hair-raising episode
under the pressure of excitement is liable to overlook some important
feature, nevertheless, for the sake of accuracy and truth, he should
revise what he has written and correct the error when discovered if he
knows it.
To satisfy the curiosity of the reader in regard to the origin of the
Adobe Walls, and how it happened that there were buffalo hunters in that
neighborhood in preference to any other locality, I shall append an
explanation as well as mention many of the old-timers who followed that
occupation.
In regard to the origin of the Adobe Walls, of which some writers appear
to know nothing, I shall narrate the story as told me by those who know.
The original walls were built of brick dobe made out of clay and grass,
and were sun-dried before being set into place. Under the ordinary care,
these walls would have lasted one hundred years or more. These walls were
built by the Mexicans before the country was granted its freedom, and long
before it entered the union. There was a chain of such structures built
across the country to be utilized as trading posts, as well as for
fortifications. This chain of little forts extended from the Wichita
Mountains down through Texas to Mexico. The reason of their being located
so far northward was due to the fact that there were mines in operation in
the Wichita range long before the country gained its freedom, and these
forts served as protection to the freighters who were engaged in
transferring the ore down to Old Mexico. When Texas gained her
independence, all these forts and supply stations were abandoned, and in
course of time were rubbed and horned down by the countless buffalo that
ranged at will over the territory. Then the country became almost a waste,
the home of the buffalo, the cougar, and the other wild beasts that grew
in number unmolested by man.
About thirty-five years ago I became acquainted with two Mexicans named
Romero. They told me that they had freighted ore from the Wichita
mountains to old Mexico, and that if I would go with them they would show
me where they got it. As I did not know anything about mining I declined
the kind offer. Today there are hundreds of men exploring these mountains
in search of the precious metal, and if ever they come upon the site of
the Mexican mines, their fortune is assured.
In regard to the presence of the buffalo hunters near the Adobe Walls, I
am compelled to say that they were there, more by necessity than by
choice. The trail passed by the Adobe Walls and offered an opportunity for
the hunters to ship their hides into Dodge City, the only trading post
within the radius of over a hundred miles. They were compelled to pitch
their camp where they could find water for their stock as well as for
themselves. For this reason they located themselves at the head of Wolf
Creek, in what is now Ochiltree county, Texas. Others located their
outfits in the breaks of Clear Creek, on the south line of No-Man's Land,
and a few more were established in the hills on the north side of the
South Canadian river, and west of the Adobe Walls. They could not
possibly camp on the flats on account of the scarcity of water. There
extended there a strip of territory thirty-three miles wide where there
was no water except after a prolonged wet-spell, which seldom occurred.
Regarding the other conveniences, such as fuel and other things, they had
little difficulty, as the buffalo chips supplied the demands in abundance.
As an aftermath of the raid, when the various hunting outfits received
word of it, they assembled on Clear Creek for mutual protection, as they
did not know when they might receive a visit from the same band who would
not be in any friendly mood after the defeat at the Adobe Walls. When they
had all assembled, they began to discuss the matter from all angles, and
came to the conclusion that the most prudent thing for them to do just
then was to move into Dodge City until things became more settled. Having
decided what to do, they lost no time in putting the plan into execution.
They gathered up their belongings and set out on their hundred mile drive
fully alive to the danger of the situation. They crossed Beaver Creek, and
slowly trudged along their way over the divide to the Cimmaron River. It
was a rather difficult journey, and when they crossed the Cimmaron they
went into camp to give their stock a chance to rest up and enjoy a
breathing spell themselves. When the stock had been turned loose to graze,
they spread out their bedding to give it a sun-bath. Some of the boys went
down to the river to have a swim, and others went off in search of game.
They wanted a change of diet as they had been munching buffalo meat three
times a day for some time past and the regularity with which it came
became monotonous. George Ray and Jim Lane remained at the camp to look
after whatever needed attention, and prepare the wagons for the next day's
journey. Everything was going along peacefully when Lane happened to look
up and he saw an Indian coming out of the mouth of a canyon not more than
a hundred yards away. He spoke to George, and they both grabbed their
rifles and opened fire. As they were seen by the Indian first, before they
had a chance to shoot, there was nothing visible of him but one arm and
one leg, for he fell over to the opposite side of his pony and put him on
the dead run. The two of them fired three shots each before he could get
out of sight into the canyon. They told me afterwards that they did not
think that their shooting had any more effect than to speed the Indian on
his way.
At the sound of the shooting, the boys who were absent, lost no time in
returning to camp. However, they did not lose the object of their hunting
expedition as they brought back a fine antelope. When the matter had been
discussed, they felt somewhat uneasy, but as no other Indian appeared in
the neighborhood, they did not become unduly alarmed. They spent what
remaining time they had before making their departure in cutting up their
meat and curing it for future use. They were soon on their way again. They
crossed the river, and pulled through the sand hills out on the Adobe
Walls trail. Their journey led them across Crooked Creek, then over the
divide. On their way they met General Nelson A. Miles at Mulberry. He was
leading his troops to the assistance of those men who were at the Adobe
Walls, but that was hardly necessary then, as the disturbance caused by
the raid had in a great measure subsided. The buffalo hunters pursued
their journey to Dodge City, where they waited until matters began to
adjust themselves. Some of them then returned to the range, while others
went to freighting, some to Fort Supply, others to Fort Ellis, or
Mobeetie, Tex.
There were no cow ranches in that territory at the time of the raid, nor
for some years afterwards. For the information of the reader, and also to
let the old-timers know that they have not been forgotten, I shall give
here the names of several of them. I knew the most of them personally and
followed their interesting careers with pleasure.
Nelson Cary and Jim Lane, after freighting a few trips, built the first
house where Beaver City now stands. They went into the mercantile business
and remained at it for years with considerable success.
Jack and Bill Combs, George Ray, and Johnny Loughead continued freighting
for some time after the Adobe Wall raid. They remained at this occupation
until they built what was known as the wild-horse corral, on Crooked
Creek, north of the County Seat of Meade County, Kansas. This they
maintained for some years and then went back to the old life of hunting
and freighting.
Bob and Jim Cader settled down on Pladuro Creek and established a small
cow ranch. By close attention to business and industry, they became
wealthy.
Ben Jackson, another old-timer, hunter and plainsman, settled on Wolf
Creek, about five miles from its source, and went into the business of
raising cattle.
I could mention many others, and I knew nearly the whole of them, who were
engaged in the business of hunting and freighting in the early days, but
their numbers, by no stretch of the imagination, would ever reach
two-hundred as some of the narrators of early days would have it.
I shall close this article by giving the present location of some of the
principal actors in the drama of the "Adobe Walls."
James Langton, Salt Lake City, Utah.
Charlie Rath,
A. J. Chappell, El Reno, Oklahoma,
R. M. Wright, Dodge City, Kansas,
Miller Scott, Santa Fe, New Mexico.
I trust that my readers will see from the internal evidence of the
narrative just given, that it rings true, and when reading other so-called
accounts of the "Adobe Wall" raid, will be able to sift the truth from the
fiction which such writings portray.
[Illustration: CHIEF DULL KNIFE]