kingdoms. One, the X.I.T., covered a good portion of the northern
part of the Pan-handle. Another, the Matador, spread itself into five
counties. When settlement became thicker--when there were ranch-houses
not more than twenty-five to thirty miles apart--official allotment of
the lands was made. Then there was a grand gobble. The big stockmen
fenced everything with little regard for boundaries and less for the
law.
With such examples as these in high places, it is not strange that
a general indifference for legal rights and possessions prevailed.
Next to cattle raising, cattle-stealing was the chief industry. The
cowboy proper was not concerned in such work. He was likely to be a
clean-handed, straightforward, even if reckless, individual, honest
according to his lights. True, loyalty to his employer might render
him a trifle indifferent as to brands and marks when strays mixed with
the herd, but it was the employer and not the cowboy who profited
by such laxity. The cowboy was a retainer who would fight for his
ranch, would die for it when circumstances seemed to require such a
sacrifice, and the increase of the ranch herd by any means short of
actual raid and theft was a custom which bore no relation to disrepute.
But individually the cowboy was likely to be the soul of honor and
good-nature, troublesome only on holidays when he was moved to ride
into the nearest settlement, drink up all the whisky he could buy, and
then, with six-shooter drawn, go careering up and down the streets,
shooting in random directions, explaining meantime with noisy and
repetitious adjectives, that he was a bad man--a very bad man from very
far up the Creek.
On such inspired occasions he would sometimes exclaim:
"Hide out little ones! Dad's come home drunk!" after which he would
let go a round of ammunition and the inhabitants of that neighborhood,
regardless of size, would proceed to hide out, as admonished. Sometimes
a whole group of cowboys would engage in this pastime, whereupon the
rest of the town disappeared and sat in cellars or flattened themselves
under beds until the cyclone passed by.
It was in such manner that the cowboy found relaxations and social joy.
He was not a bad man, in spite of his declaration. He was not really
hunting for trouble and would be the last to kill, without offense.[7]
The truly bad man was of entirely different make-up. Always posing, and
sometimes accepted, as a man of valor, he was in nearly every case
merely a boaster and a coward. He would kill when he got the drop on
his man, and he built his reputation upon such murders. He passed as a
cowboy, when he was merely a cow-thief; as a hero, when he was only an
assassin. Driven into a corner he would fight, but his favorite method
was to slay from ambush. It was seldom that his reckless disregard for
human life included his own.
The Pan-handle was full of bad men in the early nineties. Most of them
had graduated from other schools of crime and found here a last resort.
Some of them--a good many of them--had obtained official positions and
were outlaws and deputies by turns, or worked conjunctively as both. As
a rule they were in one way and another associated with a gang.
Local authorities, even when conscientious, were poorly equipped to
cope with such an element, and it was for Company B, Ranger Force,
consisting of eight men with quarters at Amarillo, Captain W.J.
McDonald commanding, to police this vast wilderness, and to capture and
convert, or otherwise tame, its undesirable citizens.
Some of them would not wait to be captured; some, of course, could not
be tamed alive. Others, and these were not a few, would be able to
wield official influence through which they would escape conviction,
regardless of the evidence.
Soon after McDonald's appointment he was notified of a marauding
band that across in Hutchinson County were committing the usual
crimes. They had burned the hay belonging to a ranchman on Turkey
Creek--several hundred tons in quantity--they had cut his wire fences;
they had killed cows for their calves, butchered beef cattle, cut out
brands--in a word they had conducted the business of cattle-stealing
and general depredation on a large scale.
Taking a portion of his force, Captain McDonald went over to
investigate. There seemed to be a good deal of mystery concerning
the identity of the offenders; but a mystery of that sort does not
stand a very good chance when it is operated upon by a man with eyes
like those of Captain Bill and with a nose and pair of ears of his
peculiar pattern. In a short time he had identified one member of the
band in a young man prominently connected in that section. This young
fellow--a dupe, no doubt, of professional cow-thieves, whose glittering
reputation as bad men had dazzled him--was the son of an able and
reputable lawyer, a member of the State legislature. The son, supposed
to be a cowboy, had become in reality an outlaw.
Captain McDonald took him in charge one day, questioned him and secured
sufficient evidence to file a complaint. The prisoner was turned over
to the sheriff of Hutchinson County, and Captain Bill pursued his
investigation. He located a bunch of stolen calves, herded in the
brakes of the Canadian River, guarded by another member of the gang.
He brought a man who had lost a number of milk cows and calves to
identify the calves; no very difficult matter, for the man declared
that he knew them as well as he knew his own children. The cows had
been killed for their calves--and the latter had been "hobbled and
necked." After locating the calves, Captain McDonald investigated the
canyons and after several days found the cows that had been shot and
killed. One after another the missing bunches of cattle were located,
and the members of the band were brought in, and lodged in jail. The
case against them was clear. They were found with the stolen property;
some of them did not even attempt to make denial. Their examining
trial was held at Plemons, the county seat of Hutchinson County, and
the settlers gathered from far and near for the event. The trial was
held in a big barn of a court house, and the prisoners were bound over
to the district court. The Rangers were preparing to take them to
Pan-handle City, where there were safer and more commodious quarters,
when the sheriff--who had already distinguished himself by setting
free the prominent young outlaw first captured--appeared and demanded
the prisoners, on the ground that being sheriff of that county,
they could not be removed without his consent. The Ranger Captain
promptly informed him that, sheriff or no sheriff, he had shown his
disqualifications for office, and that these prisoners would be taken
to more secure quarters than he seemed willing to provide. The officer
departed, and presently mustered a crowd, armed with Winchesters. Then
he appeared once more before Captain Bill, produced the law which under
proper conditions might have supported him in his demand, and again
declared that he would have those prisoners, or that there would be
bloodshed and several Ranger funerals. Captain Bill promptly called his
men together.
"We are not going to stand any foolishness," he said. "If an attempt is
made to take these prisoners, cut down on any one who takes a hand in
it. Come, let's move on now, and get these men in jail."
The crowd that had gathered expected battle, then and there, but
nothing of the kind took place. The sheriff's armed bluff had been
called. Later, he obtained a writ of habeas corpus, but it was not
effective for the reason that the men had been committed under bond.
At all events it was not effective so long as McDonald and his Rangers
were in charge of the jail.
It was now evident that conviction of these offenders was not to be
expected in that county. Most of them had official influence of one
kind or another. In fact, there appeared to be nobody except those
whose property had suffered who seemed concerned in bringing these
bandits to justice.
With such overwhelming evidence McDonald was determined, if possible,
to secure their punishment. He kept them in jail several months and
eventually was instrumental in getting their cases distributed and
sent to other counties for trial. Even so, they managed to evade the
law. Through influence of one kind or another, and the coöperation of
officials--former associates, perhaps, in the business of crime--their
cases were one by one dismissed.
In spite of this miscarriage of justice, the general effect of
McDonald's vigorous prosecution was wholesome. The members of that
band either left for the far isolations, or decided to reform. The
case is given, one of many such, as an example of what the honest
official had to contend with in the early Pan-handle days. Sometimes,
indeed, justice was even more openly and briskly side-tracked. Once,
when Captain Bill had caught a notorious cattle-thief, red-handed;
brought him to trial and secured his conviction by jury; the judge,
instead of passing sentence, took the law wholly into his own hands,
and administered it in a manner rather startling for its unexpectedness
and originality. He delivered an elaborate oration, which no one in
the court room comprehended in any large degree--himself included,
perhaps--and then read a lengthy decision concerning captures made upon
the high seas; closing with his own decision to the effect that the
clause covered this particular case as perfectly as if it had been made
for it, and that the entire proceedings were irregular, irrelevant,
without warrant and without effect; concluding his amazing declaration
with the statement that the prisoner was discharged.
Cases like these would have discouraged and disgruntled a man of less
resolution and character than Bill McDonald. To him such things meant
only renewed determination. Strong in the knowledge that unless he
happened to be killed he would eventually make criminals scarce, and
corrupt or weak-kneed officials unpopular in that section, he gave
neither rest nor respite to those who broke the law in the field, or to
those who warped and disfigured it in the courts. Individually and in
groups he brought the bad men in and filled the jails with them, and
the box-cars, and when neither was handy he lariated them out, set a
guard, and rode off after more. When he failed to convict in one court
he tried another, and when he found an honest official he kept him
busy. In a recent letter written by Col. W.B. Camp of San Antonio, to
Edward M. House, one of the best known citizens of Texas, the writer
says:
"When he (Captain McDonald) was captain of the Rangers in Texas,
and doing his most effective work, I was District Attorney of the
Thirty-fifth Judicial District, in the Pan-handle, and I learned to
love, respect and admire this fearless officer, who always placed duty
before his own life. In those days on the frontier of Texas, it was
almost worth a man's life to uphold the majesty of the law, and the
five years of such experience I had in doing so teaches me the value of
such men as Captain Bill McDonald. History should hand down his name
for the coming generations by the side of the heroes of the Alamo and
San Jacinto."[8]
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 7: "The Kansas City Journal" recently printed the following
cowboy song, with comments, offering it as a side-light on cowboy life
and character. The Journal said:
"The night guards of cattle or horse herds were wont to sing to their
charges as they slowly rode round and round them, keeping watch. If the
cattle stampeded, and were then brought together again and began moving
in a circle, which the punchers called 'milling,' and on all occasions
of fear or uneasiness among the stock, the boys sang to them, and it
had a quieting effect. These night riders were perfect horsemen and
seasoned to the trail and range. Their hours were endless; the calls
upon them for endurance were almost beyond human strength. Picture
a night on a lonely prairie, wild, disconcerting, horse elements, a
stampede among half-wild cattle, and it is not hard to know the task
that the cowboy confronted. It is something fine to think that in such
hours of danger the cattle could be 'crooned' back to normal quiet. Out
of such occasions were the cowboy songs born." Then follow the words of
The Dim and Narrow Way.
"Last night as I lay on the prairie,
Looking up at the stars in the sky,
I wondered if ever a cowboy
Would go to that sweet by and by;
I wondered if ever a cowboy
Would go to that sweet by and by.
The trail to that fair mystic region
Is narrow and dim so they say,
While the broad road that leads to perdition
Is posted and blazed all the way;
While the broad road that leads to perdition
Is posted and blazed all the way.
They say there will be a grand round-up,
Where cowboys like cattle must stand,
To be cut out by riders of judgment,
Who are posted and know every brand;
To be cut out by riders of judgment,
Who are posted and know every brand.
Perhaps there will be a stray cowboy,
Unbranded by anyone nigh,
Who'll be cut out by riders of judgment
And shipped to the sweet by and by;
Who'll be cut out by riders of judgment
And shipped to the sweet by and by."]
[Footnote 8: That Captain McDonald and his little force had the entire
supervision of that vast district is shown by Adjutant-General Maby's
report for 1896. See Appendix A.]
XXI
The Battle with Matthews
WHAT HAPPENED TO A MAN WHO HAD DECIDED TO KILL BILL MCDONALD
It was strange, indeed, that McDonald did not "happen to get killed"
in those busy days of the early nineties. One of the favorite vows
of tough "pan-handlers" was to shoot Bill McDonald on sight. But the
reader will remember that there was a suddenness and vigor about Bill
McDonald's manner and method that was very bad for a vow like that
when the moment for its execution arrived. Still, there were those who
tried to make good, and one of these, duly assisted, came near being
successful. He would have succeeded, no doubt, if he had had time.
This man's name was John Pierce Matthews, which became simply John
Pierce after its owner had got the drop on a steamboat captain one day
in Louisiana and shot him dead. He took the new name with him to the
Pan-handle, where in due time he got the drop on another man, somewhere
up in the northern tier of counties, with the same result. This was
a good while before he came down to Childress County and got to be
sheriff, but there were those who had not forgotten, and among them
was Captain Bill McDonald, then stopping at Wichita Falls. Matthews,
or Pierce, as he was called, frequently came down to the Falls for a
spree, and on one such visit made application to join a secret society.
McDonald was a prominent member of that society and Matthews did not
get in. This stirred the animosity of Matthews, and he began to clean
his six-shooter daily and to practise sudden and accurate firing, which
he knew would be necessary in case of a show-down.
By and by there was a sheriff's convention at Houston, and on a boat
excursion between Houston and Galveston, Matthews spoke disrespectfully
to Governor Hogg, who was on board. McDonald, who was also present,
promptly called Matthews to account, and a general settlement might
have been reached then and there had well-meaning, but misguided
friends of both parties not interfered, and spoiled a very pretty
sheriff's-picnic newspaper story. As it was, Matthews kept on oiling
his pistol and practising, meantime enlisting the sympathy of friends,
to whom he confided that some day when he had a little leisure he was
going to look up Bill McDonald and kill him, suggesting that they be
present and take a hand; _they_ being of the sort naturally interested
in such an enterprise.
Matthews also had another enemy, one Joe Beckham, sheriff of Motley
County, an officer of his own kind, who presently got as short as
possible in his accounts, absconded, and set out for Indian Territory.
Matthew had no right to go outside of his own county after a fugitive,
and no business in this matter, any way, as he wanted Beckham only
for a misdemeanor, whereas he was charged in his own county with
felony. But Matthews had an itch for Beckham on his own account, so he
picked up another enemy of Beckham, named Cook, a citizen of Motley
with an ambition for Beckham's office, and the two came with peaceful
attitude and fair words to Quanah where Captain Bill was then stopping,
requesting the loan of a Ranger to go over into the Territory after the
defaulting officer. McDonald refused, but said he would send a man as
far as the Territory line--Ranger authority not extending beyond that
border. He did send one Ranger McClure, who being strongly persuaded,
overstepped, at the same instant, his authority and the State line;
captured Beckham, whom he lost through a writ of habeas corpus; fell
into a plot devised by Matthews and Cook to get rid of him, and was
finally brought back to Quanah by Captain Bill, who drove a hundred
miles on a bad night to get him out of the mess; after which McClure
was a wiser and better Ranger.
Beckham, meanwhile, had fallen a victim to remorse, or more likely had
been promised immunity, and now hurried over to Quanah and gave himself
up again to Ranger McClure, Captain Bill being absent from Quanah at
the time. Beckham asked to be taken to Matador, county seat of Motley,
for trial, and begged McClure to see him through Childress, where he
expected to be killed by Matthews and Cook.
McClure assured Beckham that he would see him safely to Matador, and
they set out by rail for Childress, at which point they would take a
team for the Motley county seat.
Matthews was on hand at Childress. He demanded Beckham of McClure, who
refused to deliver his prisoner. Matthews then started to organize
a posse to take Beckham. Word of this came to McClure who promptly
gave his prisoner a revolver and told him to help defend himself.
Matthews and his crowd now tried to enlist the co-operation of Sheriff
Cunningham of Abilene who, as soon as he understood the situation,
resigned from the Matthews force and offered to assist the McClure
contingent. McClure thanked him, but said he guessed he'd go along
to Matador, now, with his prisoner, as the team was waiting. Captain
Bill was in Matador when Ranger and prisoner arrived, and Beckham was
jailed without further difficulty. Cook got appointed sheriff, by the
Commissioners' Court, but the District Judge refused to accept him
and selected a man named Moses for the job, whereupon Cook refused
to resign and Captain Bill was sent over to turn him out, which he
did with promptness and vigor. On his way back to Quanah, waiting for
a train in Childress, Matthews appeared and demanded that McDonald
dismiss Ranger McClure on general charges connected with the Beckham
episode. McDonald mildly but firmly refused and spoke his mind pretty
freely on the subject. All of which added fuel to the old resentment
which Matthews nursed and nourished in his bosom for Captain Bill.
If Matthews wanted to commit suicide he began preparing for it, now,
in the right way. He gave it out openly that he was going to wander
over to Quanah some day and kill Bill McDonald, just as a matter of
pastime, and he sent word to the same effect by any of Captain Bill's
friends that he found going that way. Perhaps he thought these messages
of impending death would unnerve the Ranger Captain and interfere
with his sleep. That was bad judgment. Bill McDonald needed only the
anticipation of a little pistol practice like that to make him sleep
like an angel child.
"I didn't talk as loud as he did--nor as much," Captain Bill said
afterward. "I reckon he thought I was afraid of him."
Matthews had really cut the work out for himself, however, and had
enlisted help for the occasion. He was satisfied with his target
practice and the condition of his fire-arms, and he had taken to
wearing a plug of tobacco or a Bible or something solid like that in
the coat-pocket just over his heart, about where one of Bill McDonald's
bullets would be apt to strike, provided the Ranger happened to get a
bead on him, though he had planned against that, too.
It was in December, 1895, at last that Matthews and his pals came down
to Quanah for the declared purpose of killing a Ranger Captain. It was
a cold, dreary day and they visited one saloon after another, getting
a supply of courage for the job and explaining what they were going to
do. Then they took to following McDonald, always in a group, evidently
waiting the proper opportunity, confident enough that McDonald would
not take the offensive. Finally, however, they pressed him so close
that he suddenly turned and told them to quit following him or trouble
would ensue. Perhaps it did not seem a good place to do the job--there
being no sort of protection; perhaps there was something disquieting in
the manner of Captain Bill's warning. They dropped away, for the time,
and McDonald gave the matter no further thought. Men threatening to
kill him was an item on every day's program.
It was nearly dusk of that bleak day, and McDonald was in the railway
station, sending an official telegram to his men at Amarillo, when an
old man named Crutcher, whom McDonald knew, came in with the word that
Matthews wanted to see him and fix up matters without any more trouble.
Captain Bill regarded Crutcher keenly; evidently he was sincere enough.
"John says he wants to see you and fix up everything right," repeated
the old man persuasively.
Captain Bill finished writing his telegram and sent it. Then turning to
Old Man Crutcher he said in his slow mild way:
"Well, that all sounds mighty good to me. I never want any trouble that
I can help. Come on, let's go find him."
They left the depot on the side toward the town, and as they did so
they saw the sheriff of Hardeman County, whose name was Dick Coffer,
with Matthews and two of the latter's friends, coming to meet them.
Sheriff Coffer was a step ahead of Matthews when they started across
the street. Old Man Crutcher in a friendly way put his arm through
McDonald's as they advanced. When they were but four or five feet
between the groups, all stopped and there was a little silence.
Then McDonald said:
"Well?"
And Matthews answered, keeping Coffer just a trifle in advance:
"Well, what is it, Bill?"
Captain Bill began quietly.
"I understand," he said, "that you have been saying some pretty hard
things about me, and that you-all are going to wipe up the earth with
me. Is that so?"
Matthews edged a trifle nearer to Coffer.
"No," he said, "I didn't say that, but by God I'll tell you what I did
say," at the same moment pointing his left index finger in McDonald's
face, while his right hand slipped in the direction of his hip pocket.
Captain Bill saw the movement and his own hand dropped into his side
overcoat pocket where in winter he carried a part of his armament.
Matthews' practice in drawing, for some reason failed to benefit him.
His gun seemed to hang a little in the scabbard. A second later he had
jerked it free and stepping behind Coffer fired at Captain Bill over
the sheriff's right shoulder. But the slight hitch spoiled his aim,
perhaps, for the bullet missed, passing through McDonald's overcoat
collar, though the range was so short that the powder burned his face.
The game could now be considered open. Captain Bill with a quick
movement that was between a skip and a step, got around Coffer and
let go two shots in quick succession, at Matthews. But the latter's
breast-piece was a success. Both of McDonald's bullets struck within
the space of a fifty-cent piece, just above Matthews' heart, penetrated
a thick plug of Star Navy, found a heavy note-book behind it and
stopped.
With a thought process which may be regarded as cool for such a moment,
Captain Bill realized that for some reason he could not kill Matthews
by shooting him on that side, and shifted his aim. Matthews, meantime,
had again dodged behind Coffer, who now dropped flat to the ground,
where it was quieter. Captain Bill was bending forward at the time,
trying to get a shot around Coffer, and as the latter dropped, Matthews
fired, the bullet striking McDonald in the left shoulder, ranging down
through his lung to the small of his back, traveling two-thirds the
length of his body for lodgment.
[Illustration: THE BATTLE WITH MATTHEWS AT QUANAH.