to try to enforce such things. You've got to stand over a place like
that with a gun to make it behave, and when you catch a man, no matter
what the evidence is against him, they'll turn him loose. In Groveton,
for instance, when I was there they had only two law-respecting
officers--the district clerk and the county attorney, and the county
attorney they killed. Good citizens were so completely in the minority
that they were helpless. Kittrell's Cut-off was probably one of the
most lawless places you could find anywhere, though it was named after
a judge. It's a strip cut off of Houston and Trinity counties and
added to Walker, and its name is the only thing about it that ever had
anything to do with the law. Many murders have been committed there and
no one ever convicted for them, so far as I know."
Captain Bill was ordered to investigate a Kittrell's Cut-off murder
during December, 1903. A man had been assassinated from ambush, in the
fashion of that section, and such attempts as had been made by the
local authorities to uncover the murderers had been without result.
But such murders had become so common there that the few respectable
citizens of the locality had decided to appeal to Governor Lanham for
aid, and their plea asked especially for Captain McDonald.
McDonald went down; looked over the ground and sent for one of his men,
Blaze Delling, to assist in handling the situation--the community
being simply infested with men of low, desperate natures. Already the
Ranger Captain had taken up the trail and had arrested three men, and
these were brought for trial.
What was the use? Before the final trial, the three principal witnesses
suddenly sickened and died; the District Attorney found himself without
a case; the prisoners were discharged.
It was about this time that County Attorney H.L. Robb (himself a
victim later), asked that Captain McDonald be sent to Groveton in
Trinity County to unravel the mystery surrounding the murder of an old
lady, committed about a year before. Captain Bill went reluctantly, for
he was tired of that section and cared not much for a "cold" trail at
best.
On arrival at Groveton, he learned the facts so far as known. A feeble
old lady named Touchstone, living alone, had been murdered for a
stocking full of money supposed to be hidden somewhere on the premises.
She had only a life interest in the money, anyway, but the heirs to her
trifling hoard of probably not more than a few hundred dollars, had
been impatient and had frequently demanded their shares. They were a
devilish brood, but the old lady did not seem to fear them and carried
a stout stick for defense. She had been found murdered, one afternoon,
her throat cut, and her body left lying in the dooryard, where it had
been mangled by hogs. Naturally the relatives were suspected, but thus
far no evidence had been found against them.
There was evidence enough, however, for a man who had eyes trained to
follow clues and to distinguish signs. In a comparatively brief time,
Captain McDonald felt warranted in causing the arrest of one Ab Angle,
and several others. Angle had married a granddaughter of the murdered
woman and all were relatives. In the course of time, Angle's heart
failed him and he confessed the crime in full. In his sworn statement,
he said:
"We all talked the matter over about going and robbing Mary Jane (Mrs.
Touchstone) and Hill Hutto said: 'Let's have an understanding.' George
Angle, Wash and Joe Tullis, Hill Hutto and Mrs. Tullis and myself (all
relatives) were to meet over at Mary Jane's to see where she kept the
money, and to get it. That was our intention--to get the money on
Saturday night. Hill Hutto was to be there when we got there. It was
just dark when we got started, and we went through the fields in an
easterly direction, in a trail through the woods.
"The understanding was that Joe Tullis and I were to do the watching,
and Joe was on one end of the gallery and I was on the other end--he
being told to watch the east end of the road, and I to watch the west
end. Hill Hutto was to be there, talking to Mary Jane, while George
Angle and Mrs. Tullis were to go in at the front, and Wash was to
go in at the back of the house. She (Mrs. Touchstone) had some meal
spread out on the floor to dry. She was sitting down--I do not know on
what--talking to Hill.
"Mrs. Tullis said, 'Mary Jane, we have come to see whether you have
that money yet, or not.' Mary Jane started to get up, but Hill Hutto,
George Angle, Wash Tullis and Mrs. Tullis grabbed her and carried her
out on the gallery and told me and Joe to watch the road, good, and
we told her (Mrs. Tullis) we would, as far as we could see. She (Mrs.
Touchstone) started to holler, but Wash put a handkerchief over her
mouth. He had a white handkerchief in his right coat-pocket...."
The confession then relates how they put out the fire (fearing its
light) by throwing a bucket of water on it and how they jerked off a
bonnet which the old lady had on. It proceeds:
"They (her precious relatives) carried her to the edge of the gallery
and asked her to say where the money was, and she said she did not
have any, and they pushed her off, and as they pushed her off, Hill
Hutto struck her with a stick."
It was at this point probably that they cut their victim's throat--a
detail which Angle's confession does not mention--through delicacy,
perhaps. He says:
"They went out and examined her, going through her clothes carefully,
in search for her possessions. Hill Hutto, Wash Tullis, George
Angle and Mrs. Tullis did the examining, and they got one-half and
one-quarter of a dollar. George Angle and Wash Tullis spent the money.
Hill Hutto, Wash Tullis, George Angle and Mrs. Tullis looked over the
house and went through the trunks and the bed. If they got any money,
I do not know of it. They came out of the house and looked under the
house to see if they could find any dirt dug up, or any fresh signs,
but they could not find any, and we went out at the west end of the
gallery, and climbed over the fence and took the trail through the
fields and Hill went the back way...."
Many half-burnt matches were found under the house by Rangers McDonald
and Delling to confirm this statement. The confession proceeds:
"The stick and the bucket were thrown out near where she was. The
stick was her walking-stick and the bucket the one Wash put the
fire out with. Hill threw the stick out, and Wash threw out the
bucket. Hill said he would leave the bucket out there and the people
would think she just went out to slop the hogs and fell out. It was
understood that night by all six of us that Wash and George would come
back and get the hogs in there, and that they would dig a hole on the
left of the gate as you go in."
He details how Wash Tullis and George Angle changed their shirts before
breakfast--for the removal of ghastly evidence, of course-and how
_after breakfast_ they changed their trousers. He relates how the hogs
were to be "tolled into the yard," and adds:
"The understanding was that we were to find her by the buzzards, but
Jim Ray found her before the time."
Now, it would be natural to suppose that a confession like that would
hang the confessor and his confederates as high as Haman. It did
nothing of the sort. Angle's relatives prevailed upon him to retract
his confession, and under the law, as administered in that district,
they were all discharged except Angle himself who was sentenced for
three years for having _committed perjury by swearing to a confession
which he subsequently declared a lie_!
It is hardly to be wondered at that men like Bill McDonald should
lose interest in a neighborhood where conditions like these exist.
What use is it to track and bring home criminals only to see them go
free, perhaps vowing vengeance against their captors. A detective
was assassinated in Groveton, and Ranger Dunaway, on invitation of
Attorney Robb, went over to look into the matter. On their way to the
court-house both Robb and Dunaway were fired upon from the window of a
law office. Dunaway was severely wounded, and Robb, fatally injured,
lived but a short time.
It would be monotonous to detail the instances of crime and of the
captures made in the neighborhood of Groveton, Madisonville and
neighboring communities; to record the careful and brave work of
Captain McDonald and his Rangers which led only to failure in the end,
through the lack of public and official co-operation. When the men who
administer the law, and a controlling number of the citizens, do not
want justice, then perhaps it is just as well that law abiding citizens
should move away and let the rest murder one another to their hearts'
content.
A father and son waylaid and killed an old man named Tummins in Madison
County, and were arrested single-handed by Captain Bill. The two were
discharged on the plea of self defense.
A young man by the name of Hunter Gibbs was entrapped and assassinated
near Madisonville, and his murderers were traced home and arrested by
McDonald and his Rangers. They were eventually discharged.
A man named Wright Terry (this was in Groveton) after killing an
officer and a doctor and nearly killing a drummer, was brought to book
by Captain Bill, and might have gone free like the others if he hadn't
good-naturedly agreed to plead guilty and take a life sentence rather
than discommode his friends. But enough, let us turn to pleasanter
things.[14]
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 14: For certain details of the Touchstone episode and other
work of this period, see Captain McDonald's report for two years ending
August 31, 1904, Appendix C.]
XXXIV
A Wolf-hunt with the President
CAPTAIN BILL SEES THE PRESIDENT THROUGH TEXAS AND ACCOMPANIES HIM ON
THE "BEST TIME OF HIS LIFE." QUANAH PARKER TELLS STORIES TO THE HUNTERS
It was early in April, 1905, that Governor Lanham summoned Captain
McDonald and informed him that a wolf-hunt had been arranged for
President Roosevelt, by these two big ranchmen, Tom Waggoner and Burke
Burnett, somewhere in their pastures up in Comanche County, Oklahoma,
and that he, McDonald, was to accompany the President as a special
body-guard, particularly through the State of Texas.
Captain Bill looked unhappy.
"Governor," he said, "you know I'm a hell-roarin' democrat, and
don't care much for republican presidents in general and this one in
particular. I'd rather you picked another man for the job."
"All the same, Captain, we've picked you, and you'll have to serve,"
said Lanham.
Captain Bill saluted.
"Just as you say, Governor," he said, "only if I'd done the picking
I'd picked a man that wanted the job. There's enough of 'em."
Captain Bill proceeded to Fort Worth to join the President's party.
Col. Cecil Lyon introduced the Ranger Captain to President Roosevelt,
and Burke Burnett, also present, said:
"Now, Captain, you've got a very precious charge--the President of the
United States. He's in your hands, don't let anything happen; don't let
anybody assassinate him."
Captain Bill smiled, in his quaint fashion.
"Burke," he said, pleasantly, "if anybody gets killed on this trip I'll
be the man charged with it, and the President of the United States
won't be the victim, either."
Without delay the President and party took the Fort Worth and Denver
train toward the Pan-handle. Once inside, out of the throng and under
way President Roosevelt with his accustomed good-nature and friendly
fellowship promptly struck up a conversation with his Master of Affairs.
"Look here," he said, "you were introduced to me as Captain McDonald:
you're not Captain Bill McDonald of the Rangers, are you?"
Captain Bill nodded.
"That's my name, Mr. President," he said, "I've been captain of a
company of Rangers for a long time."
"Is it possible? Well, I've heard a good deal about you."
Theodore Roosevelt has been accused of a good many things, but no one
ever accused him of not being able to make friends, or to keep them.
Captain Bill smiled, as who wouldn't.
"Why, Mr. President," he said, "I didn't think you'd ever heard about
the Rangers."
The President's teeth shone in an expansive appreciation.
"Yes, indeed I have, and I've heard all about you. I remember very
well when you captured Kid Lewis and his partner, Crawford, up here at
Wichita Falls, and kept the crowd from lynching them as long as you
stayed there."
After that, conversation was easy, and Captain Bill's opinion of
his distinguished guest improved steadily. They discussed hunting,
marksmanship, the Rough Riders, the capture of bad men and all the
subjects of the strenuous life of the frontier.
With the President had come a body-guard of four secret-service men,
whose chief duty at this time was to protect him from the crowds who
pressed upon him here and there when the train halted and he went out,
as he did when there was time, to greet the people and perhaps make
a brief address. Captain Bill noticed that the secret-service men
did not seem quite equal to these occasions. Perhaps they were not
accustomed to handling the range-bred enthusiasm of that elemental
region. When the presidential party pulled into Wichita Falls the
platform was thronged. The crowds made a rush as the train came to a
standstill--trying to climb over one another, it would seem--to get
near the President. The secret-service men were helpless--they pushed
and protested, but accomplished little. Captain Bill stepped out on
the platform. Hardly a man in that crowd but recognized that lean
weather-beaten face, and that white hat. A good many remembered that
picture from a night and a morning nine years before when, at their
jail, a lone Ranger Captain had risen up in wrath and ruled the mob.
Some there remembered Bill McDonald a good deal longer than that--for
twenty years or more, when he had found that place a lawless settlement
on an untamed frontier and brought order out of human chaos and put a
governor on the wheels of law. When he spoke, now, they listened.
"Get out of the way, boys! Stay down there, you fellows; don't crowd up
here!" he said, and a sudden impulse of order was the result.
Now and then he added a word of caution, but it was hardly needed.
Captain Bill knew his crowd, and the crowd knew Captain Bill.
The President observed and marveled. At Vernon there was another
crowd--rollicking and noisy--and again the Ranger Captain held the
disorder in hand. When the train started once more President Roosevelt
said to his body-guard of four:
"Boys, you ought to take a few pointers from Captain McDonald in
handling a crowd," and the "Boys" agreed to do it, knowing all the
time, as everybody there knew, that it would need Captain Bill's
twenty years' special acquaintance with that crowd to achieve his
results.
At Vernon they took a train for Frederick--a little station in Comanche
County, from which place they would ride a distance of twenty-five
miles to the camping place, located on a creek called the Deep Red. At
Frederick the President relieved his special guard of four, and sent
them back to Fort Worth to wait his return.
It was on April 8th that they arrived at Frederick where a good share
of the hunting party, and an enthusiastic crowd had gathered to welcome
them. The hunting party set out immediately for the camp, arriving
about nightfall.
Whoever chose the camping place made a good selection. The Deep Red--a
branch of Red River--is a fine running stream, with plenty of timber
and good grass. From all about the howling of their game--the small
gray wolves, or coyotes, which infest that country. The surroundings
were ideal.
There were about fifteen in the hunting party, which included their
hosts, Tom Waggoner and Burke Burnett; also young Tom Burnett, who was
in charge of the horses--himself a daring horseman--Lieut.-General
S.M.B. Young (known to the Indians as "War Bonnet"); Lieutenant
Fortescue (formerly of the Rough Riders); Dr. Alexander Lambert of New
York; Col. Cecil Lyon of Texas; Sloan Simpson, Postmaster of Dallas;
John R. Abernethy of Tesca, Oklahoma (later, by the President's
appointment, United States Marshal); certain ranchmen and cowboys--by
no means forgetting Chief Quanah Parker, of whom we have heard before
in these chapters, now specially invited by the President's request.
Chief Quanah was then about sixty--tall, straight as an arrow and a
fine rider.
It was a pretty extensive camp, altogether. There were a hundred horses
and a "chuck" wagon--a regular "cow outfit";--a buggy for Burke Burnett
and General Young; two hacks, one of which belonged to Chief Quanah,
and other vehicles. Then there was a pack of forty greyhounds, some
stag-hounds, and about a half-dozen long-eared deer or fox-hounds, for
special work.
The excitement and joy of the tents and blazing campfires, and the
howling of the wolves, made everybody eager for morning and an early
start. So when supper was over and the guard set for the night, the
Great National Hunter and his friends and protectors lay down to rest,
the campfires still throwing a wide circle of light, on the fading
edges of which the coyotes gathered and looking up howled their anguish
to the stars.
It was a little more than daylight, next morning, a bright cool
morning, when the hunting party was up and away. The hunters were
mounted, all except General Young and Burke Burnett, who were in the
habit of following the chase in their buggy. The dogs to be used for
the morning run mingled with the riders, the others being confined
in the chuck wagon in a large cage, to be kept fresh, and used in the
afternoon, when the first detachment should be run down. At the head
of the party rode Tom Burnett and "Bony" Moore and behind these came
President Roosevelt of the United States, and Captain Bill McDonald of
Texas.
It was no trouble to find a wolf in that locality. One was soon
started up and the hounds were away, with the party of horsemen and
Burke Burnett's buggy following pell-mell in a general helter-skelter,
for which the President set the pace. As the Ranger Captain saw the
Chief Executive of the nation go careering over ditches and washouts
and through prairie-dog cities, his admiration grew literally by
leaps and bounds. He wished, however, he hadn't promised to bring the
President home intact. Bill McDonald was considered something of a
rider, himself, but he was not entirely happy in this Tam O'Shanter
performance. Still he stayed in the game.
"It looked mighty scary to me," he said afterward, "but I wouldn't
quit. The others followed, but some of them would go slower."
It was great excitement, great sport and great fun--a wild race across
the prairie--a final bringing of the wolf to bay with the "worry" and
"death" by the dogs, and general rejoicing by all.
But when the next wolf--or it may have been the third one--was cornered
there was a genuine exhibition. It was not killed by the dogs, it was
taken alive, by one man. John Abernethy was that man, and he took that
wolf with his hands. This was the manner of it. Whenever the dogs ran
upon the wolf, the wolf would turn and snap savagely, and if those
teeth of his happened to touch any part of the dog they left their
mark, and sometimes that part of the dog remained with the wolf. This
made the dogs careful--and shy.
But Abernethy was not careful--at least he was not shy. He ran up close
to that cornered wolf and fell upon him, and when the wolf snapped
at him, just as he had snapped at those dogs, Abernethy by a quick
movement of his hand caught the wolf by the lower jaw and held him
fast, and in such a way, that jerk and writhe and twist as he might
he could not get free. Then Abernethy, who was about thirty years old
and a muscular man, quick of movement and fearless, holding fast to
the wolf's jaw, carried that wolf to his horse, mounted and rode away,
still carrying his captive, alive.
Well, of course, President Roosevelt admired that beyond any feature of
the expedition. He had Abernethy do it again and again, and Abernethy
never made a failure. Sometimes he tied the wolf's jaws together with a
handkerchief; just held him and tied him in a deft workman-like way and
made off with him hanging on his saddle. It looked easy enough, to see
Abernethy seize the wolf, and presently a young fellow in the group of
hunters decided that it _was_ easy. But when he tried it, he only got
a knife-like slit across his hand and abandoned the contract. Then the
President wanted to try it, himself, as of course he would, but there
are some things which even a President cannot be permitted to attempt.
However, he was not to be kept altogether out of danger, and in the
characteristic incident which follows, those who will, may, perhaps,
find some allegorical significance.
As the party rode along--this was during a quiet recess between
wolves--they came upon a big rattlesnake, about five feet long, and
thicker than a man's wrist, coiled up, on a prairie-dog hill. When the
President saw it, he got down from his horse and taking his quirt (a
small rawhide riding whip about two feet long) he went up to the big
rattler and struck him. The snake was coiled, and sprang, but Roosevelt
stepped aside and quickly struck him again and again, then stamped his
head into the earth. There were plenty of rattlesnakes around there,
for the country was one great prairie-dog colony, and when they came
upon another, the President, like Abernethy, repeated his special
performance. The others did not like it--it looked too risky--and
that night when the President was not in the vicinity, Cecil Lyon and
Captain McDonald quietly removed the quirt which had been left hanging
on the Presidential saddle, and said nothing of the matter at all.
But the President was a good deal disturbed when he wanted to use
the quirt next day, and wondered and grumbled about it, until finally
Captain Bill confessed the fact and reasons of its disappearance.
"We were afraid you'd get snake-bit, Mr. President," he said, "and
we're having too much fun to have it stopped by an accident like that."
Theodore Roosevelt saw the joke and laughed. Then he led them away on
a race that if not as dangerous as coquetting with rattlesnakes was at
least more boisterously exciting.
They got four or five wolves that first day and the next, most of them
also taken alive by Abernethy, and these they carried to camp and
lariated out. It was a good start for a menagerie, and they added to it
daily.
It was on the second day that Chief Quanah's family arrived--his
favorite wife, Too-nicey, and the two others whose names are not
remembered, but may have been Some-nicey and Quite-nice-enough,
together with a small boy and a papoose; and these in their hack
followed the hunt with the others. It was a genuine jubilee when a
coyote was started up and was followed by that boisterous company;
the buggy of "War Bonnet," and Burnett hitting only the high places;
Too-nicey and her matrimonial alliance bouncing along in the hack, with
the dog-wagon, wildly excited--a regular canine explosion--bringing
up the rear. Then, what excitement when the wolf was finally run down
and killed or captured; what rejoicing by everybody--including
Too-nicey, Quite-nicey, and Pretty-nicey, or whatever their names might
be.
[Illustration: IN CAMP WITH THEODORE ROOSEVELT.
"They gathered about the big fire, cowboy fashion."]
But now it developed that the three Nicey's could serve a good
purpose on a hunt like that as well as for mere decoration. They had
eyes--marvelous eyes--that could see a wolf far across the prairie when
the eyes of white men could not distinguish even a sign. There was no
need of a glass when the wives of Quanah sat in their hack and scanned
the horizon. Certainly that was an unusual hunting party, and very
likely a unique experience, for all concerned.
But perhaps the best part of the hunting was the evening, after all.
Then it was that they gathered about the big fire, cowboy fashion,
with Chief Quanah Parker in their midst, talking to them--repeating
the traditions of his father and his tribe--the tale of his mother's
capture, the story of his own life and battles--his views and his
religion of later years.
In a former chapter we have told of the massacre of Fort Parker and
the capture of the little girl, Cynthia Ann Parker, who was adopted by
the tribe, married a chief, and in time became Chief Quanah's mother.
Gathered about the campfire on Deep Red Creek, in a wide circle of
loneliness, with "Tom" Burnett, who understands the Indian language
"better than the Indians themselves," acting as interpreter and the
President of the United States listening, the son of that little
captured girl told that story, now, and he supplemented it with the
story of his father--a sequel that will not be out of place here.