felt that he had support enough now to tackle even that hard-headed
McDonald, and he enlisted a big butcher named Williams to stir up the
mess. The gang armed themselves with long butcher knives from Williams'
shop and started out to hunt up their victim. They located him in a
saloon where troubles of various kinds were likely to originate and the
presence of an officer was desirable. Big Bill Williams, the butcher,
entered first and coming near to McDonald, slightly bumped against him.
Not wishing trouble, McDonald walked away, followed by Williams who
bumped against him again. Deputy Bill then walked to the other side of
the room, which was unoccupied, and when Williams and his crowd started
to follow, he warned them not to come any closer. At this a number of
cow-men who were present saw the trouble and stepped in, and Williams
and his crowd worked toward the door. Outside, the disturbers gave vent
to their animosity for McDonald in violent language and opprobrious
names. Suddenly McDonald himself stepped out among them and seeing a
piece of scantling about four feet long lying by the door, he seized
it and as Williams started toward him he gave the big butcher a lick
across the face with it that flattened his features and put a habitual
crook in his nose. The crowd thought Williams was killed and his
supporters began to get out of the way of the scantling. But McDonald
dropped it and had out his guns in a moment.
"Halt!" he said, "every one of you. Hold up there!" Then to the Rangers
who at that moment appeared on the scene, "Search those men for
weapons."
Search was made and the long butcher knives, intended for McDonald,
came to light. A knife of the same kind was found on Williams.
"Now get a doctor quick," commanded McDonald, "that fellow looks like
he's pretty badly hurt."
A doctor was found and Williams was removed. McDonald's wife, then
stopping at a nearby hotel, had been an interested, not to say
excited, spectator of the proceedings, and now called down a few words
of encouragement and approval. Somewhat later, word was brought to
Deputy Bill that what was left of the Davidson and Williams crowd had
collected in Tip McDowell's saloon, where a brother of Williams tended
bar, and these were declaring war to the death. McDonald promptly
went down there and entered, with a revolver in each hand. The crowd
of would-be assassins, about a dozen or so, took one look and made a
break for the back window, climbing over chairs, counters and billiard
tables--some of them almost tearing the bar down in an effort to get
behind it. Deputy Bill held enough of them with the persuasion of his
two six-shooters to give them some useful information in the matter of
running a town like Quanah and the surrounding country, as long as he
was in office.
"You thieves that have been trying to run over this country, and
stealing cattle and shooting the town up," he said, "from now on
are going to stop it. And you fellows like Bill Williams that are
selling stolen beef, are going to stop that, too. If any one of you
sells a pound of beef hereafter without showing me the hide and the
brand-marks, you'll go behind the bars and I'll put you there."
There was something about the tone of that brief address that made it
sink in, and from that time forward when beef was brought to Quanah the
hide came with it, and they would wake up Deputy Bill McDonald to show
it to him as early as three o'clock in the morning.
As for Davidson, he now became an officer of the law, in reality.
Satisfied, no doubt, that the Cedar-brakes gang was doomed, he came
to McDonald and offered to guide him to the den of the Brookens if
McDonald would cause to be dismissed certain indictments which had been
lodged against him. McDonald consulted Sheriff Barker of Wilbarger and
the arrangement was made. Davidson then ascertained when his former
business associates would be at their headquarters in the brakes, and
the raid was planned accordingly.
IX
Getting even with the Brooken Gang
THE BROOKENS DON'T WAIT FOR CALLERS. ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-SEVEN YEARS
SENTENCE FOR AN OUTLAW
The brakes of the Big Wichita made an ideal cover for outlaws engaged
in the industry of stealing cattle and horses. There were plenty of
grass and water there and the ground was so densely covered with
scrub cedar as to afford any number of hiding places. Moreover, there
were deep gulches and canyons that made travel dangerous to those not
familiar with the region. The place was remote and not often molested.
Everything being arranged, the raiders set out--Sheriff Barker of
Wilbarger, in charge--the party including two Rangers from Quanah. On
drawing near the locality, Barker proposed that all but two men should
halt, several hundred yards from the stronghold--a dug-out occupied
by the gang when at home. To this, Deputy Bill strenuously objected.
He wanted to charge forthwith, believing always in a surprise attack.
Barker, however, being in his own county, was in command and was for
more gradual tactics. He added that McDonald's big white hat would
attract attention before they could get near enough to charge. Two men
were therefore sent to reconnoiter and report. The rest lay in hiding.
Presently peering through the trees they saw two other men ride up to
the dug-out and go in. Deputy Bill was all excitement.
"There they are now," he said, "let's get down there and get them."
Again he was overruled. In a few minutes a number of men issued from
the dug-out, mounted horses and rode away. The first two had been
scouts, and had given warning. At the same moment Barker's two men came
running back with the information that the Brookens were getting away.
"Of course they're getting away," said McDonald. "Do you suppose they
are going to wait and hold an afternoon tea when we arrive?"
Accompanied by one of the Rangers, he started in pursuit of the
outlaws, but it was impossible to follow far in that dense unfamiliar
place. Returning to the dug-out they were rejoiced to find Sheriff
Alley's horse, so something was accomplished, though the expedition as
a whole had failed, through over-caution.
McDonald now resolved to hunt on his own hook. As deputy sheriff,
he was restricted to his own county, but this handicap was speedily
removed, through Ranger Captain S.A. McMurray, who had him appointed
by Governor L.S. Ross as special ranger, with sheriff's rights in any
county in the State.
His authority was to be still further extended, very soon. One day he
received a letter from Captain George A. Knight of Dallas, Texas, U.S.
Marshal of the Northern District of Texas, asking him to come to Dallas
and be made U.S. Deputy Marshal, with authority to operate in Southern
Indian Territory and No-man's land, where a man like him was sorely
needed. McDonald went down without delay and reported at Knight's
office.
"I have heard about you and your work up in Hardeman," said Captain
Knight, "and I want you for a deputy. But first tell me what are your
politics?"
McDonald did not hesitate. Knight was a Republican.
"Captain Knight," he said, "I am the damndest, hell-roaringest,
allfiredest Democrat you ever saw. If politics has anything to do with
this appointment I'd just as well go back."
"Well," said Knight, "you're pretty emphatic, but I guess you'll do.
Your kind of politics seem to suit your job pretty well."
It was only a little while after this that Bill McDonald was also
made Deputy U.S. Marshal of the southern district of Kansas, which
enabled him to work in the remaining portion of the Territory, and now,
with his four offices--two Deputy U.S. Marshalships, Deputy Sheriff
of Hardeman County, and that of Special Ranger--he was qualified to
undertake at any time any sort of a man-hunt in any territory likely
to invite his services. He went after the Brooken gang forthwith, but
this time they did not wait for him. His fame was already in their ears.
He followed them like a hound on the trail. He never recovered his two
horses and his Newfoundland dog, but he broke up the gang, utterly. He
brought in Bood Brooken at last and got him sentenced for five years.
Bill Brooken himself escaped to Mexico, was captured there, brought
back and sentenced for one hundred and twenty-seven years. He has a
good deal of that time still to serve.
The life work of the boy who long ago had begun it by hunting slaves
in the swamps of Mississippi was well started, now; his name as a
thief-catcher was beginning to be known, and honored, and feared.
Yet his more active days--his more valuable days to the community at
large--still lay all ahead, and of these we shall undertake to tell.
X
New Tactics in No-man's Land
A MAN WITH A BUCK-BOARD. HOLDING UP A BAD GANG SINGLE-HANDED
Something which resembled a sense of security began to manifest itself
in Hardeman and the surrounding counties. There were still cattle
thieves--plenty of them--but with their rendezvous in the immediate
neighborhood broken up, their work became less deliberate. They
harbored now further away--in the remoter places of the Pan-handle, in
the Cherokee Strip and in the fastnesses of No-man's Land. From these
strong-holds they made their raids, which though more sporadic and less
devastating were still a vast nuisance, particularly along the border
counties, where the outlaws could run over at night, raid a herd none
too well guarded, and have the stolen cattle hidden in some gully or
canyon or brake in their own lawless land by morning.
No-man's Land was a favorite retreat for cattle thieves. It was that
strip of public land which was set down on the map as a part of Indian
Territory, but really belonged to nobody at all. Different ones of the
surrounding States claimed it, and the outlaws owned it, by possession
and force of arms. There was no law there and few law abiding citizens.
What there were, were hard to find, and they didn't want officers to
stop with them for fear of the enmity of the thieves, who were so
greatly in the majority. It was a fine, sightly land--with good grass
and plenty of water--level land, some of it, though there was rough
country there too--with good places for outlaws to hide. Here they
built their dug-outs or cabins, established their households and herded
their stolen stock. Some of the cattle they butchered, peddling the
meat in Kansas or the Pan-handle. Some of the beef they had the nerve
and assurance to drive to market--even to ship--openly, to Kansas City
or Chicago.
It was necessary that No-man's Land should be reclaimed, and it
was partly for this purpose that U.S. Marshal George A. Knight had
commissioned Bill McDonald his deputy. Thus far all statutory law had
been disregarded in No-man's Land--all officers had been defied. When,
as had happened now and then, an officer had made his way into that
wilderness, he either lost his life, or had his revolver and whisky
and tobacco taken away from him and was booted back across the border.
It had been demonstrated that Bill McDonald had a convincing way with
his words and movements, and that he had a nose for locating cow
thieves. Furthermore, it was believed that he would not be likely to
submit to any liberties taken with his six-shooter and tobacco, or to
indignities of any sort. So, when the Brookens and other established
"dealers of the range" had been evicted from Hardeman and adjoining
counties, it fell to Bill McDonald to begin the No-man's Land crusade.
He was working over in the Pan-handle in 1887 when he learned of a
horse that had been stolen somewhere below, and he set out in pursuit
of the thief. Such trail as he could find led straight for No-man's
Land and he knew that he was bound at last for that lawless locality
where U.S. deputy marshals were favorite victims.
He was alone, but this fact did not disturb him. He had always
preferred to hunt in that way. There was less chance of frightening
the game. When he reached Hutchinson County, which is in the second
tier from the north Texas line, he stopped at Turkey Track Ranch and
borrowed a buck-board in which to bring home his catch. It was still
seventy-five miles to the No-man's Land line, but buck-boards were few
in the Pan-handle in those days and this was likely to be the last
chance to get one. It is possible that Turkey Track Ranch said good-by
to that buck-board when he drove away, for while they had heard of Bill
McDonald, they also knew of the usual fate of the U.S. deputy marshals
who, with or without a buck-board, set out on an invasion of No-man's
Land.
It was a long lonesome drive across Hutchinson and Hansford Counties,
and up through No-man's Land, to the waters of Beaver Creek. The trail
was not very difficult here, for the thief probably did not expect to
be followed--certainly not farther than the border line, and had made
little effort to cover his track. It was toward the end of the second
or third day, at last, that the trail became very fresh, and the man
in the buck-board came to a halt and set out on foot to locate his
game. As silently and cautiously as an Indian he crept through the
brush until he reached a place where peering through he located, some
distance away on the river bank, a camp consisting of four men and the
same number of horses. His man had found comrades, that was evident,
and it was likely they would join in his defense. McDonald lay in the
brush, watching them, as long as it was light and then crept closer,
trying to identify the horse he was after, and which of the men had him
in charge. He had no intention of beginning operations that night, for
he had long since made up his mind that the proper time for a surprise
attack is in the early morning. Men have not gathered themselves,
then, and have not been awake long enough to be fearless, and quick of
thought and action. His purpose now was to know his ground exactly, so
that with daylight he could act with a clear understanding.
He was obliged to wait until daylight before he could be sure of his
ground; then, awake and watching, he saw the different men go to look
after their horses. He located a bay horse that answered to the
description of the stolen animal, and identified the man who had him
in charge. He crept back to his buck-board now, got in and drove up
leisurely to the outlaw camp, looking as inoffensive and guileless as
any other fly with a horse and buck-board, driving straight into the
spider's den.
"Good-morning, boys," he said pleasantly, "you-all look mighty
comfortable with that fire going. I lost my way and laid out last
night. Mebbe you-all can tell me something about the trails around
here. There don't seem to be none that I can find."
They invited him cordially to get down and warm himself and said they
would show him the trail. McDonald stepped out and walked over to the
fire, still talking about the country and the weather, working over
close to the man he wanted. The deputy wore a short overcoat, and he
had a pair of hand-cuffs in the left side-pocket. He got just in front
of his man at last and reached out his right hand as if to shake hands
with him. Instinctively the man extended his own right hand and at
that instant McDonald's left with the open hand-cuffs was out like a
flash--there was a quick snap, a sudden movement--a slight-of-hand
movement it was--then another quick snap and the horse thief, dazed and
half stupefied stood gazing down at the manacles on his wrists, while
Bill McDonald, a gun in each hand, quietly regarded the other three
members of the camp.
The captive was first to break the silence.
"Boys," he said, "what does this mean?"
One of the men turned to McDonald.
"Yes," he said, "what does this mean? Who are _you_ and what are you
going to do with that man?"
"I'm Deputy U.S. Marshal McDonald, of Texas," was the cheerful reply,
"and I'm going to take this man with me and put him in jail."
"What for?"
"For stealing that bay horse out there."
The outlaw advanced a step.
"And you'll just about play hell doing it!" he said.
"All right, I am ready to start the game right now," said McDonald.
The men whispered a little among themselves. Their saddles were off to
one side and their Winchesters lay across them, all there together.
They wore six-shooters also, but they realized who their man was, now,
and they were careful to make no movement toward them. Presently one of
the men said:
"You say you are going to put that fellow in jail?"
"That's what I'm going to do."
"Well, now let's see about that."
The men were starting in as if to make an argument. One of the party
began working a little in the direction of the guns. The idea was to
distract the officer's attention for a moment and get the drop
on him. It was a good game, but it failed to work in this instance.
McDonald brought his guns exactly to bear on the men in front of him.
[Illustration: BEGINNING A CAMPAIGN IN NO-MAN'S LAND.
"Three pairs of hands went up."]
"Throw up your hands!" he commanded, "every one of you quick! Throw
them up, you scoundrels!"
Three pairs of hands went up. That command from Bill McDonald has
almost never been disobeyed. Perhaps it is the tone of the voice
that makes it convincing. Perhaps it is the curious look in those
needle-pointed eyes of his; perhaps it is something more than
these--something psychologically imperative. Whatever it is, it has
filled the air of Texas with hands, from Red River to the Rio Grande.
"Now, face the other way!" was the next command.
The men faced about, their hands still high above their heads. With
one six-shooter still on them, McDonald went up behind each man and
disarmed him, sticking the revolvers in his own belt. Then he went
over and took the cartridges out of the Winchesters. He now marched
his men to where the horses were hitched, secured the stolen one and
tied him to the buck-board. Then he ordered his prisoner to get in and
proceeded to shackle him to the slats of the vehicle. The other three
men, meantime, were kept in a group, a rod or so ahead in the direction
of Texas.
"Now, march for Texas, you devils!" McDonald said, when he was seated
beside his prisoner. The procession started, the men complaining that
they had done nothing, and that he had no right to take them back, even
if he were authorized to take the other man.
Deputy Bill said:
"You fellows have been in the habit over here of resisting and killing
officers, or driving them out, and doing as you please. I just want
to show you how easy it is to take your kind. Come, move right along
there, now. I don't know what you've done, but you probably stole all
those horses back yonder."
The men now began to beg for their horses, complaining that the
animals left behind would stay there and starve. McDonald really had
no intention of taking them all the way back with him. He had no
warrants for them, and besides he did not care to march and camp with
that number unless necessary. His purpose was to get them far enough
away so that they would not be likely to try to overtake him and catch
him asleep when he should halt for the night. He made no concessions
however, until they were well along toward the Texas line. Then he said:
"Now, if you fellows think you can behave yourselves and want to go
back and tend to your horses, I may let you go back on that account.
But you can make up your minds, and you can tell your friends about it,
that I'm not afraid of any of you, and I'm going to clear you dam'd
thieves out of this country. I'm going to show you that there's one man
you won't kill nor run out. Now, will you do what I tell you?"
The men protested that they were good citizens, and that if he would
let them off they would undertake missionary work in the cause of law
and order. He let them go, then, and handed back their unloaded arms,
promising them another fate, if he ever caught them in mischief. He
watched them disappear behind the first rise; then, whipping up, he
made the best time he could for Turkey Track Ranch, where he rested
a day, delivered the borrowed buck-board, taking his prisoner next
morning to jail.
XI
Redeeming No-man's Land
BILL MCDONALD AND LON BURSON GATHER IN THE BAD MEN. "NO MAN IN THE
WRONG CAN STAND UP AGAINST A FELLOW THAT'S IN THE RIGHT AND KEEPS ON
A-COMIN'"
It was natural that other work in No-man's Land should follow this
first experiment. It having been demonstrated that Bill McDonald could
go into that infested place and not only come out alive, but bring back
his man, other and more extensive contracts were laid out for him.
There were several bad gangs there to be broken up before legitimate
settlers could live there, and it was decided that McDonald was the man
for the job.
McDonald on his part was ready for the undertaking, it being of a sort
which he found always most congenial. Deciding that it was a good thing
to have a reliable partner in the handling of a gang, he selected for
his associate another deputy marshal--one Lon Burson of Henrietta--a
quiet athletic fellow with plenty of grit and endurance.
"I could always rely upon Lon," McDonald said, in speaking of that
period, long after; "I believed I knew just what he would do, every
time, and he never failed me." It may be added that Burson on his part
had complete faith in McDonald, and that their ideas of conducting a
campaign were in exact accord.
They began on what was thought to be one of the worst gangs, a band
of nine who had established on Beaver Creek a general headquarters
from which they conducted a miscellaneous business in crime--stealing
cattle and horses, robbing trains and shooting down bank officials when
occasion offered, frequently crossing over into adjoining States for
that purpose.
McDonald had laid out the plan of attack, which was to arrive on the
scene at his favorite early hour--daybreak--and then to do no parleying
or long distance firing, but to charge at once and storm the works. His
theory was--and is to-day--that the criminal cannot stand up against
the man who is not afraid of him and does not hesitate.
"If you wilt or falter he will kill you," he has often said, "but if
you go straight at him and never give him time to get to cover, or to
think, he will weaken ninety-nine times in a hundred. No man in the
wrong can stand up against a fellow that's in the right and keeps on
a-comin'. I made up my mind to that long ago, and I've never made a
mistake yet."
Here in homely vernacular is expressed a mighty truth. Crime is always
coward and cannot stand against the conviction of right. Error cannot
survive in the face of truth that does not falter and "keeps on
a-comin'."
McDonald and Burson proceeded in the saddle to Higgins, in Lipscomb
County--a station on the Santa Fe Bail road, and their last base of
supplies. Here they chartered a big three-seated hack in which to bring
back their prisoners, should their raid prove successful. They put
their own horses to this vehicle, loaded their saddles in behind and
continued their journey.
It was toward evening when they arrived in the neighborhood of the
outlaw den and camped in a secluded place, to wait for morning. The
house stood in the edge of the prairie, near Beaver Creek and was easy
of access. It was made of logs and seemed to be a deserted ranch place,
probably built by some adventurous person who had long since departed
for a locality where there was more law, even if less grass.
One of the band--an early riser--had just gone out to round up the
horses when the two deputies, mounted, made their approach, next
morning. He discovered them when they were about four hundred yards
away and made for the house, McDonald and Burson following at full
speed. The outlaw was a little in advance, and his eight companions
were out in front with their Winchesters when the officers bore down on
them.
"Go round the house, Lon, and come in from behind. I'll 'tend to them
on this side," said McDonald as they dashed up.
This maneuver was immediately put into action and in less than a
minute later the deputies were on the spot, their game between them. In
another instant both deputies had slid from their horses and were in
the midst of the confused, half awake outlaws.
"Drop them guns! Drop 'em, and put up your hands!" commanded
McDonald--his own gun and Burson's leveled.