after all, the country, unlike No-man's Land, was really under a
regular form of government; legitimate settlement was considerable, and
there was a semblance, at least, of law and order. Also, there were
towns of considerable size, and railroads--the latter affording liberal
returns now and then when some train was waited upon in a lonely place
and the express messengers, mail agents and passengers were invited at
the point of six-shooters to contribute to a highway development fund.
The writer of these chapters was himself a resident of Kansas during
this earlier period, and he recalls now what an uninteresting month it
was when an M.K. & T. or Santa Fe or Rock Island train did not come up
out of the Territory with passengers telegraphing home for money and
the express and mail cars full of bullet holes.
Bill McDonald decided to break up this sort of thing, and set about
it in a way suggested by his own peculiar genius. It was necessary
first to identify the men who were really concerned in these various
employments, for in a country where all were "settlers," even if
unofficial ones, it was not worth while working at hap-hazard
and bothering men whose only offense might be that of squatting.
Investigation must be conducted openly and yet in a way to avoid
suspicion. His gentle manner and seemingly inoffensive personality
suited him for just such an undertaking, and he prepared and "made up"
carefully for the part.
Returning to Quanah and Wanderer's Creek, he bought a "paint horse"
(a spotted pony); an old tenderfoot saddle, such as a plainsman would
never use, and a book with pretty pictures of fruit in it--a regular
nurseryman's plate-book--the kind of a book fruit-tree salesmen always
carry. Then dressed as unlike an officer, or a cow-man, or a Texan
as possible, with these properties he set out--to all appearances
a genial, garrulous, easy-going tree-man, inviting orders and
confidences--willing to sit around all day and whittle and swap knives
and yarns, and to express any kind of interest or sympathy necessary
to encourage a man to tell his business ventures and those of his
neighbors.
It was a pleasant excursion, enough. No fruit-tree man had been through
that section before--none ever had dared, or perhaps thought it worth
while, to go. McDonald's excursion proved that profit awaited the
seller of trees who should first make that wilderness his territory.
He had expected not much in the way of sales, for he did not imagine
that men engaged in driving off and slaughtering other men's cattle,
and in waylaying trains and robbing banks would have any special taste
for horticulture. This was an error of judgment. Most of these bad
men had been fairly good boys at home at some time in the past, and
the sight of those luminous plates presenting fruit of extravagant
size and coloring, made their mouths fairly water at the thought of
its cultivation by the doorway of their own dug-outs or sod houses
or log cabins. They turned the pages lovingly, and lingered over
the wonderful plums and pears and peaches, and as they turned they
talked and somehow almost without realizing it they told a great
many things about themselves and neighbors which no well-trained and
properly constructed outlaw should tell, even to a sympathetic and
simple-hearted fruit-tree man who wrote down the orders and listened
and chuckled at some of the yarns, while he encouraged further
confidences.
He would drift around presently to his customer's former place of
residence, and to the reason for his leaving. It was easy enough for an
alert tree-man to detect a lack of complete frankness in the replies,
especially if the reason had "something about a cow or horse" in it,
that being the usual first admission that the isolation of the Strip
had been found congenial for other reasons than those connected with
its soil and climate. The tree-man did not hesitate to give a generous
return for any such confidences, inventing on the spot some of his
own for the purpose. The number and character of crimes he confessed
to having been accused of in the States would be worth recording in
this history if they could be remembered now. But, alas, like other
gay bubbles, they were blown only to charm for the moment, and once
vanished cannot be recalled. The tree-man would then fall to abusing
laws in general and the men who enforced them, and end by declaring
that he was mightily in love with that particular section and would
stay where there was little or no chance of meeting any of those
obnoxious officials, if the boys would consider him one of them and all
stand together in time of trouble. Talk like this would open the door
for anything. The rest of the interview was likely to run something as
follows:
Picture: Two men seated on a log, or down on the grass cowboy style, in
front of a dug-out; one the slim, mild-looking tree-man; the other a
burly person, very dirty, hairy and unkempt, bent over a large book of
gay pictures which the tree-man leans forward to explain. Nearby, two
horses are grazing, the "paint-hoss" with the old tenderfoot saddle and
saddle-bags; the other a very good looking animal, often saddled and
bridled for prompt use.
"By gum," nods the big burly individual, staring at a picture of such
peaches as grow only in paradise, "eating peaches like them would be
like holdin' up the Santa Fe express."
"That's what," assents the salesman gayly, "regular picnic all the
time. I s'pose you fellers in here have money to throw at the birds
after that kind of a job."
"Well, not so much after all. Too many have to have a piece out of it.
Everybody wants to help. It has to be a pretty big basket of money to
cut in two more'n twice and leave enough to pay."
The salesman shows a sympathetic interest.
"Of course," he agrees, "it's too bad to spoil a good bunch of money
by making little piles of it. I guess you have to have a good many
though for a job like that."
"No, two _can_ do it, an' there ain't no need of more'n three. One to
take care of the engineer, another to pull down on the passengers and
the other man to go through 'em. It's plum easy. They give up like
sinners at a camp-meetin', and the messengers and mail fellers come
down pretty easy, too. If they don't we put a few shots through their
cars and that fetches 'em."
"But you had to kill the messenger in that Rock Island job, last fall."
"Well, I wasn't in that mess--that was another outfit. Them boys are
huntin' trouble and 'll find it some day, good an' plenty. When I put a
job through, the' ain't nobody going to get killed unless they commit
reg'lar suicide. You ought to come down here an' go in with _me_.
You've got a persuadin' way about you that would make a man give up
anything he had and thank you for takin' it. It 'ud pay yeh better,
I reckon, than ridin' a paint-hoss over the country, peddlin' trees.
That reminds me--you c'n give me six o' them peaches, an' a few o' them
pears an' plums an' a couple o' cherry-trees and some grape-vines--the
big yaller ones--Niagaries, I think you said they was."
And this was the drift of more than one conversation between the
Cherokee agriculturists and the genial tree-man who certainly did have
a "persuadin' way" in making a man give up anything he had, in the
way of information. No one could dream that this inoffensive mild-eyed
pilgrim on a paint-hoss could ever make trouble in that wilderness of
lawless living and of desperate men.
So for several weeks the tree-man on his paint-horse with his old
tenderfoot saddle and his picture-book loitered up through the Strip
and on over into the Territory, on the surface taking orders for spring
delivery, and beneath it all locating the different communities of
offenders; the individuals of the same; stolen cattle and horses, and
securing data of particular crimes. He ended his canvass at Guthrie, a
busy frontier point on the Santa Fe, with twenty-five hundred dollars
worth of orders for trees--trees which might be bearing to this day if
the spring deliveries had been made as planned.
XIV
The Day for "Deliveries"
THE TREE-MAN TURNS OFFICER AND SINGLE-HANDED WIPES OUT A BAD GANG
But McDonald was ready now for deliveries of a different
sort--deliveries of the purchasers themselves, into the hands of the
law. As a preliminary step he swore out warrants for eight men--the
chief operators in a very bad community located along a small creek
between Guthrie and Kingfisher--about fifteen miles west of the latter.
He then went with his warrants to a deputy marshal at Guthrie and
invited his co-operation in making the arrests. The Guthrie deputy
looked at him with curiosity, wondering perhaps if this circuit-riding
Texas person was in his right mind. Clearly the fame of Bill McDonald
had not yet penetrated into darkest Oklahoma. Then, when he had looked
over Bill Jess's credentials, and perhaps felt his pulse, he said:
"If you can get a company of soldiers to go along I might undertake
that job with you. You don't know that Sand Creek crowd--I do. No two
men nor ten men could go up against that outfit and get back alive.
Bring a company of regulars over here, if you want to undertake that
campaign."
McDonald argued, and related what he had done in No-man's Land, but to
no purpose. A sudden charge might work, over there, the deputy said,
where the gangs were bunched, and were surprised before they were
awake enough to fight. But it was different over here. The bad men
were scattered a mile or so apart and while you might get the drop on
one, there'd be a lot more left to get the drop on you, and you'd be
full of lead before sunrise. No-siree, nothing less than soldiers, and
plenty of them, would do that job.
McDonald went about the town trying to enlist volunteers. He realized
that a scattered gang would require time to corral, and that its
members would be likely to be awake and busy, before he got them all
in. He did not want a company of soldiers, for such a force would scare
the gang and accomplish nothing; but he did want a few quick fearless
men for this work. Finally he wired U.S. Marshal Walker at Topeka,
Kansas, to come on first train. Walker came, and McDonald explained the
situation.
"I've got these men located, and warrants for their arrest," he said,
"and now I can't get your deputies or anybody else to give me a hand on
the job. It ain't just the sort of a thing I want to do alone, for we
ought to get to several of these men's houses simultaneous like, an' I
thought you might be able to persuade these boys to come along."
"Certainly," said Walker, "that's all right--they don't know who you
are. I'm satisfied from what U.S. Marshal Knight, of Dallas, has
written me that you know what you want to do, and how to go at it. I'll
get the men together and explain the situation."
They collected about a dozen deputies and posse-men, and Walker
explained as agreed. It was no use. The men declared that no small
force could go into the Sand Creek neighborhood and come out alive,
and nothing short of a squad of trained soldiers would be of any use.
McDonald looked them over scornfully. Then he turned to Walker.
"If I had as sorry a lot of men as that," he said, "I'd discharge them
on the spot. I'll go out there alone, if I can get a man with nerve
enough to drive a hack, and I'll bring back a load of criminals, too."
This was regarded as a bluff. Walker returned to Topeka, and Bill
McDonald's fruit-tree expedition began to look like a failure.
McDonald, however, was not the sort of a person to whom the words
"bluff" and "failure" were likely to apply. He discovered a man
presently who agreed to drive a hack, provided he would be asked to do
no fighting, and would be allowed to remain out of range.
"If you ever get 'em to the hack and tied, I'll haul 'em," he said,
but it was clear that he expected to haul home a dead deputy marshal,
instead.
They set out long before daybreak, next morning, with a big
three-seater--McDonald with an extra horse--and drove to the home of
what was considered the most desperate of the Sand Creek gang--a very
hard looking customer who lived with his wife in a dug-out in a small
clearing. When they had arrived within about two hundred yards of the
place, the driver declared that he was satisfied with his position
and did not think it necessary by the terms of his contract to go any
closer. It was full early, barely daybreak, and everything was very
still. McDonald lost no time, therefore, for a whinny of the horses
might rouse the occupants of the dug-out, and with his Winchester
cocked stepped across the little clearing and without ceremony pushed
open the door. As he did so a woman stepped directly in front of him,
calling out a warning to some one behind her. In the dimness of the
place McDonald saw a man on a bed in the corner reaching for a gun
which lay on the mattress near him. It was no time for manners. With a
quick sweep of his gun the officer pushed the woman aside and covered
the man on the bed, before he could bring his weapon to bear.
"Drop it," he said. "Drop it or you're a dead man!"
There was no mistaking the sincerity of that order. The mild fruit-tree
peddler, was merged completely into the resolute officer with eyes of
steel and a crisp voice that uttered words of unmistakable meaning. The
gun fell upon the bed. McDonald stepped forward and slipping hand-cuffs
on his prisoner, ordered him to start for the hack and to make no
suspicious movements. Arriving at the awaiting vehicle he invited him
to step in and be shackled.
"First delivery," he said to the astonished driver. "We'll go on now
and make the rest."
The next hut was perhaps a mile further along, and the sun was getting
up when they arrived. As they approached, they saw the occupant
standing in the doorway. He saw them about the same time, and suspected
trouble. His horse was hitched to a mesquite tree, and making for it he
mounted and fled. McDonald was mounted also and gave chase. The race
continued for perhaps half a mile when the officer realized that his
man had the better horse and would presently get into the brakes and
escape. He dismounted quickly, therefore, and taking careful aim began
to shoot at the ground near the flying horse in such a manner that the
bullet striking the earth would go singing by, very close to the ears
of the fugitive. He had long since discovered that a bullet singing
in that way, close to a man's ears has an impressive and convincing
sound. A man hearing a bullet sing by like that would be willing to bet
any reasonable sum that the next one would hit him, especially when
the command, "Halt! or I'll get you, next time," came with it. With
the second shot the disturbed rider brought his horse up suddenly,
dismounted and made motions of surrender. McDonald signaled him to
approach, still keeping him covered. He came up in good order, and was
marched toward the hack, the driver of which headed in that direction,
now that the danger was over.
It was thought that the sound of the shooting might have aroused
the neighborhood by this time, and the thief-hunters worked more
cautiously. There was no need, however. Gun-fire was of too frequent
occurrence to create alarm in that locality, and the sense of immunity
from the law had become too chronic to be lightly disturbed. The
desperadoes had been left unmolested so long that they had become
established in their security and careless of intrusion. Two men were
at breakfast at the next place, and deputy Bill's Winchester covered
them before they fairly realized that they had a morning visitor. These
two were hand-cuffed together and marched to the hack. The driver by
this time had picked up a good deal of courage and remained only a few
yards behind. As for the outlaws, they were inclined to be sociable,
and with the true Western American spirit discerned a certain humor in
the situation.
"Hello, Jim, you been buying fruit trees too?" was the greeting of one
of the men already loaded as the hand-cuffed pair came in. "What did
you get, peaches or pears?"
"You go to hell, will you? You'll get a tree with a rope on it before
you get out of this mess."
"That's all right--you must have bought sour grapes, I reckon, the way
you talk."
"No, his got frost-bit. They'll be all right in the spring. My apples
got a little case of dry-rot, too. I wonder how Buck Dillon 'll like
them blue plums o' his'n."
McDonald, always good-natured with his prisoners, joined in the
bantering.
"I'm delivering," he said, "I brought in a nice pair, this time," as
he loaded his double capture into the hack. Truly no situation can
entirely destroy the breezy Western point of view.
The next house lay across quite a stretch of prairie and the hack and
its contents were discovered before the approach was near enough for
effective action. McDonald on horseback immediately charged, but the
outlaw suspected the nature of his visitor and mounting his horse raced
away, emptying his six-shooter at his pursuer. Riding, and shooting
backward disturbed his aim and his bullets flew wild. McDonald also
began shooting, to bring him to a halt, not to kill. As the outlaw
uncased his Winchester, however, the officer decided that it was time
to bring matters to a focus. Dropping to the ground he knelt and set
some bullets singing close to the ear of the fugitive. At first this
only had the effect of making him sink his spurs into the pony, but at
the third crack of the gun and just as Deputy Bill was taking careful
aim for a shot that would be likely to save the cost of prosecution the
rider dropped his gun back into the scabbard, and leaped to the ground.
"Well, you've got me," he called as he came up.
"Hello, Joe, what you been buyin'? Prickly pears I reckon," was the
greeting from the hack as he came nearer--the latter half of the remark
due to a trickle of blood on the man's ear where the last bullet had
sung its warning song a trifle too close.
"Must a struck a stone and glanced a little," commented Bill Jess as
he looked at it. "I aim to make 'em miss just about three inches.
They sing nicer when they don't really hit. That either glanced off
of a stone or else it's mighty sorry shooting. Dad-slap it, that
sorter makes me ashamed of myself. Oh, well, get in an' make yourself
comfortable. I want to get along."
The boy who had been "born with a gun in his hand" as we say, and could
pick cherries with a rifle was humiliated by anything that resembled
bad marksmanship. Still, it was good enough under the circumstances,
and was justified by the result.
That was a busy day. His favorite hour for working (daybreak) was over,
now, but matters were going too well to knock off on that account.
There were at least three more of this gang, and he would get as many
as he could.
He got them all in fact, and one extra--a bad man who happened to be
visiting his brother at a bad time. The houses being a good way apart,
and the work being done rapidly and with such system and neatness, the
alarm had no time to spread. Deputy Bill knew the exact location of
each house and of course used more caution in making the approaches
as the day advanced. He stalked his game like the true hunter that he
was, creeping up unnoticed until he had it covered, keeping the hack
well out of view, though by this time the driver had lost all concern,
except that of eagerness to see the fun, and was disappointed as were
the captured fruit-tree buyers when kept out of view.
The hack went into Kingfisher next morning with every seat full and the
driver sitting on the knees of two prisoners. The Sand Creek gang--one
of the toughest gangs in the Territory--in the space of a single day
and by a single man had been retired from active business.
From Kingfisher, their captor wired U.S. Marshal Walker at Topeka
that he had his men and would proceed with them to Wichita, Kansas,
as soon as he had rested a little. Within a few days the men were
being distributed to the various points where they were wanted for an
assortment of crimes. When McDonald and his driver returned to Guthrie,
the men he had invited to assist had a downcast look. They had heard
the news of the Sand Creek gang. They had heard also from Mr. Walker.
Their excuses were many and various, and to a man they offered to join
the next expedition.
"No," said Bill Jess, drily, "you fellows are a little too slow. My
deliveries in this section are all made."
XV
Cleaning up the Strip
DEPUTY BILL GETS "STOOD OFF," BUT MAKES GOOD. BILL COOK AND "SKEETER."
"A HELL OF A COURT TO PLEAD GUILTY IN"
The Cherokee Strip campaign was not allowed to languish. An outlaw
community about twenty-five miles north of Kingfisher, and seven miles
west of Hennessey, on Turkey Creek, was raided next. In the course of
his tree selling, McDonald had fallen in with a man who was peddling
stolen beef. He had learned that this man was operating for the Turkey
Creek gang, and that the beef he was selling was really the property of
the Cherokee Strip Livestock Association, which, it may be mentioned,
at that time had a lease on the Cherokee grazing lands for which they
paid an annual rental of one hundred thousand dollars.
McDonald now went over to Kingfisher and established headquarters;
took the beef peddler to Wichita, Kansas, put him in jail, and got on
friendly terms with him. Then he gave his prisoner some good fatherly
advice about bad company and the usual rewards of becoming the tool
of lawless men. The result was a general confession and turning
of State's evidence. The peddler of beef lodged information as to
the identity of his employers; the exact nature of their business;
the hiding place of their stolen cattle, and the locality of a deep
water-hole where they had sunk the hides in order to get rid of the
brands and ear-marks. McDonald returned to Kingfisher, next morning,
swore out warrants for the men named, and with a deputy marshal, who
declared himself willing to go, set out for Turkey Creek. They went
in a hack as usual and arrived before daylight at the house of one
Charlie Tex, where they thought it likely they might find most of the
men wanted. When they entered, however, they found only a man in bed,
who declared he had just arrived in that country; that there was nobody
at home, and that he knew nothing of the owner's whereabouts. They took
him along, however, and proceeded to another house not far away, but
found it also empty. The officers now concluded that the men had in
some manner got wind of their coming and were hiding in the bottoms.
They followed a way down the creek, breaking through to the prairie
again, not far from the Tex house. As they did so they noticed the man
with them apparently trying to signal in that direction. Then they
became aware that several men with Winchesters were walking leisurely
along the top of the grassy hill, either unaware of the presence of the
officers, or indifferent to it.
McDonald and his associate, satisfied that these were the men wanted,
set out up the hill, briskly. Their companion discouraged this
movement, insisting that they would all certainly be killed if they
molested that crowd. They continued to advance, however, and presently
the men with the Winchesters, without appearing to have noticed the
deputies, dropped leisurely back behind the hill-top. McDonald now
started running, straight up the hill, while his brother deputy set out
in a sort of diagonal flank movement around it. In a moment or two he
had apparently reached a place where he could see the retreating men,
for he called out:
"Hey, Mack, they're right over the hill. They'll get you sure."
McDonald was too interested to stop, now. He raced to the top of the
rise, his gun presented, ready for shooting, expecting to see the flash
of guns as he broke the sky-line. Instead, he saw the men running for
Tex's dug-out, and noticed that still another fellow was already there,
pacing about, like a picket, with a gun.
McDonald did not take time to guess at their plans, but kept straight
after them, supposing his companion-in-law was following. The men did
not pause when they reached the house, but made for a half-built log
stable, which formed a sort of pen, and leaping into it put their guns
through the spaces between the logs and yelled at McDonald to stop,
swearing they would kill him if he came any further.
A brave man is not necessarily a rash man, and to establish bravery
it is not necessary to throw oneself in front of a moving train or to
charge alone a half-finished log stable full of outlaws who poke their
Winchesters through the cracks at you and call you names. McDonald
discovered now that his partner was not with him, or anywhere in the
neighborhood, and he concluded to stop and negotiate. One might get an
outlaw or two through the cracks, but on the whole it didn't seem the
part of wisdom to play the game in that way.