and local officers were in charge of the jail. When the indictment was
found, Captain McDonald demanded that the prisoner be removed to San
Antonio for safety and the District Judge consented to the removal.
Threats that such a removal would not be permitted were plenty enough,
but the Rangers, without announcement or manifestation of any sort,
made ready, and when the train was about due quietly and swiftly
hurried him to the station and put him aboard. He landed in San Antonio
safely and for the time the Conditt case was quiescent. Felix Powell
was turned out of jail as soon as the Rangers were gone, evidently
as an affront to McDonald, and to show the community's disbelief in
his theories as well as their general disapproval of his efforts.
McDonald with plenty of other work crying to be done was not eager to
continue a thankless task, though it was work of a kind he loved. That
winter, when Gibson's trial was coming on in San Antonio, he urged the
prosecutors to try him as one of several and not as the one alone, who
had committed the crime. They would not listen to him, and they would
not let him testify, declaring that his theories and so-called evidence
would spoil their case. They tried Monk Gibson for the entire killing
and a rational jury naturally failed to convict, though Felix Powell
and Henry Howard were brought from Edna as witnesses and did their best
to aid the prosecution. The jury was divided and Monk was taken back to
jail.
It was not until the spring of 1906 that Captain McDonald was again
actively concerned in the Conditt case. Early in the season, while
attending the Stockmen's Convention at Dallas, he met prominent men
from the South Texas districts and reviewed with them the story of the
crime and the progress that had been made, or rather had not been made,
in convicting the guilty. He stated freely his theories concerning
Powell, Howard and other negroes and went over the details of his
evidence.
The stockmen began by opposing Captain Bill's theories and ended by
joining in a movement to have the State continue the investigation at
Edna under his direction. They employed a young lawyer named Crawford
to bring the matter before the Governor, who agreed to reopen the
investigation, but suggested that it be done by another man than
McDonald for the reason that the citizens of Edna were prejudiced
against the Ranger. The stockmen's answer to this was, that unless
McDonald could be sent they would have nothing further to do with the
matter.
The Governor agreed, then, and Captain Bill made ready to go to Edna
and remain there until he should succeed in establishing his theory or
be ready to acknowledge himself baffled.
XXXVI
The Death of Rhoda McDonald
THE END OF A NOBLE WOMAN'S LIFE. HER LETTER OF GOOD-BY
It is at this point that we must pause to record a circumstance which
seems totally out of place in the midst of an episode of this kind, but
which, because of its association with events, cannot be elsewhere set
down. Yet, after all, why should not the end of a noble life be written
here, when that life had been always a part of the active service of
him whose career we have been following--the life of an unfaltering
hero of the home who never said "stay" but "go," no matter what the
danger; who even at the very end sent him back to his duty, and died
alone.
Rhoda McDonald had not been a robust woman for a number of years. Those
early frontier days on Wanderer's Creek had been hard, and must have
told on her in the long run, as well as all the anxious nights and days
that had filled up the years of a Ranger's wife.
At Alice, though manifestly in poor health, she still maintained a
home, doing such light housekeeping as her strength permitted. Her
interest in her husband's work was as active as ever; she knew every
detail of the situation at Edna as reported by the press, and when in
May, 1906, he was ordered there for further investigation, she bade
him go, despite reluctance on his part, for she believed that he alone
could bring to punishment the perpetrators of that terrible crime.
They arranged that in his absence she should go to a sanatorium in San
Antonio, and try to regain strength; and in accordance with this plan
she closed the little household at Alice, and at San Antonio went under
a doctor's care. When Captain McDonald had been in Edna a short time,
he was notified that an operation would be necessary to save her life.
He hurried to San Antonio and found her cheerful, though evidently
aware of her danger. Her talk, however, was all of his work and the
prospects of his further progress. When the ordeal was over and the
physicians declared that her chances for recovery were very good, she
would not let him stay to verify this opinion, but hurried him back to
his work.
"I want you to find the men that murdered that poor woman and those
little innocent children," she said, "and you must not waste your time
here with me."
So he went back, and for a few days encouraging letters came from
doctors and attendants. Then came a telegram which said: "Conditions
not so favorable; come."
She was dead when he got there, but she had left a letter of good-by.
That letter is a classic. As an epitome of a simple, noble, unselfish
life--calm and fearless in the face of the supreme mystery--it seems
without a flaw.
"My Dear Husband:
"When your eyes look on these lines I will have crossed the Great
Divide, and these wishes of mine I am sure you will fulfil. Enclosed
is a note from Lee (my brother), which matures next spring. I managed
to save it from my means, or some of it, two years ago, and Lee
has been so good to keep it at interest, which I have added to the
original amount, until it has reached the amount of the note.
"Please send Sister, your sister, $25.00 and give Ruth $25.00. She has
to work very hard. Allow Lee this year's interest for his kindness and
trouble. I want Eula (your niece) to have the brooch you gave me; Dot
(your niece) my fur and the small diamond ear-bob. Give Mollie (my
sister) the other diamond ear-bob. Give Jim my books, which are at
Quanah, and my cameo ring. I want Ruth to have my watch and the breast
pin that was our mother's. Give Helen White my engagement ring--the
little one with the small diamonds. In the little bag is $15.00
that belongs to the Lord. Be sure to give it to the 'Salvation Army
People,' to feed the poor and hungry.
"My clothes, turn over to Mollie and Ruth and what they don't want
tell them to give to the poor. Of course, the diamond ring will be
yours.
"I want you to keep my Bible and read it, because you will derive more
comfort from it than all else besides. My prayers for you have always
been mingled with those for myself, and I hope they have not been in
vain.
"Please see that my grave has plenty of trees, so that the birds may
build their nests in them. Give Ruth my black silk dress, which is at
Wichita Falls. Get Ruth or Mollie to help you find the things.
"I am sorry for every cross word or look that I ever gave you, but
feel sure you will not hold them against me.
"With lots of love--Good-by.
"Rhoda."
He took her to Greenville, Texas, for burial, for they had no settled
home, while in Greenville there were relatives. Then he returned to
Edna to carry out the mission which in her last spoken words to him she
had bade him fulfil.
XXXVII
The Conditt Mystery Solved
CAPTAIN BILL AS A "SLEUTH." THE TELL-TALE HAND-PRINT. A RANGER
CAPTAIN'S THEORIES ESTABLISHED
Captain McDonald realized that his task in Edna was to be a hard
one--made harder by the fact that the citizens of Edna still bitterly
opposed his investigation; still believed that his chief purpose was
to cheat them of Monk Gibson's life. There was one important exception
to this opposition. Sheriff Egg of Edna, though with little faith in
the Ranger Captain's theories, volunteered to help test them and his
assistance was valuable.
Another favorable condition for his work was, that certain of the
suspected negroes had fallen out among themselves, and he presently
discovered that there were strange insinuations and implied charges
drifting about the settlement which might mean much, or nothing at all.
Felix Powell had been arrested for knocking down his sister-in-law,
Warren Powell's wife, and was working out his time on the road when
Captain McDonald returned to Edna. The Ranger Captain gave the
disturbed elements a little judicious stirring and they fomented.
"If I told all I know about that nigger, he'd hang for murder," Irene
Powell blurted out. Detective McDonald smiled quietly, but did not use
undue haste. He had Felix Powell removed from the public highways and
once more put in jail. Then quietly he went to the negroes and made it
easy and even enticing for them to talk. He knew the negro character
very well--its weaknesses and its animosities, and these he played
on--gently, very gently, at first, but effectively. Little by little
he learned that Felix had already been accused of the crime by those
of his own color--some of whom were said to know the facts. He learned
that Felix had been greatly exercised over the arrival of the first
blood-hounds.
"They'll trail a man to town," he had said, "but they can't follow a
man that has oil on his shoes."
All night he had lain awake, listening for the bay of the hounds. Once
he had sat bolt upright in bed.
"Here they come!" he had exclaimed to a man who was staying with him.
Soon after, he said: "I could put my hand on the man that committed
that murder." And again: "There's one woman knows, and she may tell. As
for Monk, he's told so many lies, the white people won't believe him,
anyway."
Two little children named Reed, looking at the bleeding legs of some
tied chickens, said to each other that the bloody string reminded them
of the clothes their mother had washed for Felix Powell. This was
repeated and whispered, and one of Powell's acquaintances charged him
with the crime.
"They'll hang you for it, Felix," he said.
"When they do, a lot of white folks will go to hell with me," was the
reply.
All these things came in due course to Captain Bill, and by and by an
affidavit for murder was prepared and Powell was formally accused of
the crime. When he knew of this he became furious and attacked McDonald
in his cell and had to be overpowered and chained. Later, in a fit of
rage, he snapped these chains and tore the shackles from his limbs.
Then a heavier chain was put on him and he was padlocked to the floor.
Besides Felix Powell, charges were brought against Henry Howard
and four women believed to be concerned in the killing--directly
or as accessories to it, either before or after the fact. One of
these--Augusta Diggs--on the second day of the examining trial,
confessed her knowledge of the crime. She confirmed Captain Bill's
belief that the murder of the Conditts had taken place in the morning
and declared that Powell had come to her with the story of how he and
Monk Gibson had killed the Conditts, bringing his bloody clothes for
her to wash. She had refused and he had taken them elsewhere--to Bethel
Reed. Other witnesses, willingly or unwillingly, gave further damaging
evidence. Listeners began to wonder if there wasn't something in all
these accusations besides a mere negro feud--to suspect that perhaps
Bill McDonald might be able to establish his theories, after all.
But it is likely they would still have doubted and the case would have
come to naught, had there not been one more link in Captain Bill's
chain of circumstance. He had been closely observing Felix Powell's
right hand when he could do so without attracting the prisoner's
attention, and mentally comparing it with the bloody print sawed from
the Conditt house. The print was a peculiar one; it showed an oblong
spot for the thumb; a longer one for the forefinger; then two somewhat
shorter ones for the middle and third finger, with a mere dot for the
little finger. It was as if the hand had been maimed by accident, and
the fingers cut away. Captain Bill at first had made a sketch of the
print, which he could surreptitiously compare with the hand of Powell,
when opportunity offered. The comparison puzzled him. Powell's little
finger might make the dot, for it had been deformed by a bone felon
and had a crooked bone at the end. But his other fingers were normal,
and it was hard to imagine they had made that bloody impress. Still,
the Ranger detective did not give up. He wanted to see the hand and
the print together, or to see actual prints of the hand, by the side
of tell-tale evidence left on the Conditt walls. Finally, one day,
he got Felix Powell, whose diversions were few enough, interested in
an experiment of camphor-smoked paper upon which almost photographic
reproductions of any yielding object could be made. The negro was
attracted by the results and willingly enough made the impress of his
open hand. Captain Bill felt a qualm of disappointment. Only the dot
for the stub of a little finger compared at all with the print left by
the murderer. Then suddenly he had an inspiration. He put an object
the size of a closed knife into Felix's hand, and told him to make a
print with his fingers closed. The shadow of the gallows stretched out
toward Felix Powell in that instant, but he did not know it. He pressed
his hand to the paper, and as he lifted it Bill McDonald's heart gave
a fierce bound of triumph. The likeness to the print of blood was
exact. As Captain Bill said afterward, "I saw that Felix Powell's hand
with a knife in it, would fit the print left on the Conditt walls, to
a gnat's heel." Something of what was in his captor's mind must have
filtered into the skull of Felix Powell, then, for he became wary and
frightened, and when Captain Bill urged him to make other prints he
moved his hand each time and blurred them. He was anxious, too, to know
what use was going to be made of the ones already taken. When later he
learned what had been done with them, and that his hand was identical
with a bloody print found on the Conditt premises, he broke out in a
rage.
"Aren't there any other hand like that in the world?" he cried.
There could be none. The tests of measurement and the similarity of
line had been applied. They tallied exactly. They convinced Sheriff
Egg completely--they convinced the most skeptical in Edna. When that
examining trial ended, Captain Bill McDonald, Ranger and detective,
from being a man whose presence was resented and whose theories were
despised, became suddenly to the people of Edna a mighty criminal
sleuth; a veritable Sherlock Holmes; a hero whose name was on every
tongue. Outside of Edna, Texas had suspected this before, but now Edna
took the lead in singing his praises, and every paper in the State
joined in the chorus.
It is not within the purpose of this book to follow here the case of
the Conditt murderers through the courts. The evidence as finally
accumulated was voluminous and damning so far as Felix Powell and Monk
Gibson were concerned. That Monk Gibson was a tool of Powell (and
perhaps of others) was most likely, for it was proven that Powell had
been seen walking around and around the field with him as he plowed,
early on the morning of the murder, and the big track and the smaller
one had been found there, side by side. That Powell had enticed the
negro boy to join in the crime, we may easily believe, and that Monk
Gibson _had_ joined in that fearful tragedy cannot be doubted, and he
had plowed on until one o'clock with those dead bodies lying there
close by, thus giving his confederate, or confederates, a chance to
establish an alibi, probably in accordance with a preconcerted plan.
Both Powell and Gibson paid the extreme penalty of their crime. Powell
went to the gallows at Victoria, Texas, on the 2d of April, 1907. Monk
Gibson was hanged at Cuero, Texas, a year later, in June. Neither made
any confession that was of legal value, though Gibson, a few minutes
before his execution, gave to Captain McDonald a rambling statement in
which he involved others besides Powell.
The cases of Henry Howard and of the women arrested as accessories to
the plot and its execution, had not been disposed of when this was
written. Howard was then under indictment as principal and accessory
on evidence supplied by McDonald. Whether that evidence is found
sufficient to convict will only be decided by the juries of the future.
XXXVIII
The Brownsville Episode
AN EVENT OF NATIONAL IMPORTANCE. THE TWENTY-FIFTH INFANTRY'S MIDNIGHT
RAID
The year 1906 was Captain Bill McDonald's last and most important
year in the Ranger service. He was still concerned in the work at
Edna when there occurred not far away an event in which certain negro
characteristics were even more strikingly manifested--an event which
was presently to grow into an episode of national importance.
On the night of August 13, 1906, armed men, in number from ten to
twenty, believed to be colored soldiers of the Twenty-fifth Infantry,
quartered at Brownsville, Texas, appeared about midnight upon the
streets and "shot up the town," firing recklessly into many buildings,
killing one man, severely wounding another and endangering the lives of
many citizens. Official investigation failed to identify the offenders,
and three months later, President Roosevelt assuming that the offense
was nevertheless committed by certain members of the Twenty-fifth
Infantry, with guilty knowledge on the part of their comrades,
dismissed the entire command, "without honor," on the ground that the
three companies, numbering one hundred and seventy men, had banded in
a "conspiracy of silence for the purpose of shielding those who took
part in the original conspiracy of murder."
Captain William J. McDonald, then of the State Rangers, was prominently
identified with the early investigation of this unusual episode, and
the story of his court of inquiry, with its revelations, and of his
remarkable experiences following the same, has become history.
Brownsville, Texas, is a city of less than ten thousand population,
situated on the north bank of the Rio Grande, in the extreme southern
portion of the State. It has long been a military point--its garrison,
Fort Brown, being situated but a little way from the business center.
Opposite Brownsville, on the Mexican side of the river, lies Matamoras.
Late in the summer of 1906, three negro companies--B, C, and D,
of the Twenty-fifth Infantry, Major C.W. Penrose commanding, were
ordered to Brownsville, and quartered at Fort Brown. They arrived
July 28th, in bad humor. There was a military encampment of State
troops at Austin, and they had not been permitted to participate in
the maneuvers--drills, sham battles and the like--in progress there.
They had been told that the Texas boys did not care to drill with
them--that if they went to Austin and took part in the sham battles,
blank cartridges might be discarded for real ones by the white troops.
Of course this was idle talk, but they repeated it and nursed their
resentment, becoming noisy and braggart, as ignorant men, whether
white or negro, will. On the way they had torn down the signs, "For
Negroes," placed by law, in the South, in the cars intended for colored
passengers, and had boasted to the conductor that "all women in
Brownsville would look alike to them, whether white, negro or Mexican."
They were not long in beginning their demonstrations. They set in
drinking immediately upon their arrival, and their anger grew when
they found they were not permitted to drink at the bar with white men,
increasing still further in violence when one or more of the saloons
set up a separate bar for their accommodation. They became loud and
insolent on the street; crowded white women from the walks, and made
themselves generally offensive and hateful.
Brownsville as a community did not openly resent these indignities,
but individuals did. A Mr. Tate, an inspector of customs, whose wife
was run over and rudely jostled by a negro soldier, administered
summary correction with the butt of his revolver. In another case an
ex-ranger named Bates applied like treatment for similar offense. A
third instance is recorded of a negro soldier who, returning drunk from
Matamoras--a favorite excursion point--was ordered to move on by a Mr.
Baker, another inspector of customs, and upon becoming more obnoxious
was eventually pushed into the mud. But public feeling reached
the boiling-point when a Mrs. Evans--a lady of refinement--upon
dismounting from her horse was seized by the hair and dragged violently
to the ground by a tall negro soldier. She clung to the bridle of the
frightened animal, that reared and plunged and finally tore her free
from her assailant, who then ran away. As a result of this assault,
patrols were put on and soldiers' passes canceled. This doubtless added
to the ire of the negroes, and whatever purpose of retaliation they may
have had would appear to have assumed definite form. The catastrophe
was not delayed.
Monday, August 13, was a rather quiet day, owing to the new
restrictions, and a majority of the citizens perhaps believed that
their troubles with the military were over. But there were others who
claimed to have heard muttered threats, and these, as evening drew on,
were anxious and watchful. It was about midnight that a bar-keeper
named Natus was serving a final round of drinks to a few belated
customers, white men, in a saloon where a bar had been erected for
the accommodation of negro soldiers. The men lingering about the bar
were talking quietly, and it is certain that they had been discussing
the possibility of an outbreak from the garrison. Suddenly they were
startled by a succession of shots, loud voices and general commotion
from the direction of the fort. One of the group cried out:
"That must be the niggers coming, now!"
A fusillade followed, coming nearer. The bar-keeper, Natus, sprang to
the front doors, flung them shut, and fastened them. An instant later,
he ran into the back yard to prevent entrance in that quarter. He was
not in time. Before he could close the gate, he received a volley, and
dropped dead.
The mob of murderers passed on, pouring their fire into houses where
men, women and little children were asleep. Their course was up an
alley, leading from the fort through the town. Already, before killing
Natus, they had fired on a house in which were two women and five
children--one of the shots putting out a lamp. Ten shots had passed
through this house, all aimed about four and a half feet above the
floor, evidently intended to kill. They had next met the chief of the
police, fired upon him, killing his horse and shattering his arm. Next
came the Miller Hotel, where they fired at guests in the windows,
breaking the glass and filling the casements with bullets. They shot
at whatever they saw moving, and wherever they saw a light. In a
house where a woman and two children were asleep, two bullets passed
through the mosquito bar that covered their bed. For two blocks and a
half the assault on the defenseless street continued, then suddenly
the assassins disappeared in the direction of the fort--the midnight
raid was over. In ten minutes had been written a unique chapter in the
history of the American Army--a chapter that would be told, and retold,
and debated and deformed until its volumes would fill a library.
And now from the garrison came shouts and the sound of bugle--a general
call to arms. The town, already in a turmoil, fell into a panic of
fear and disorder. A renewal of the attack was expected at any moment.
It was believed that a general massacre would take place. Men armed
themselves with whatever they could lay hands on; women and children
hid themselves and waited in terror and trembling.
Morning came without further assault. Daylight showed the shattered
glass, the bullet holes in the weather-boards and window casings,
and, on the street, empty shells, cartridges and clips--of government
rifles. At one place in the mud lay a soldier cap. The night had been
too dark and the town too poorly lighted to identify the individuals of
the mob, but the evidence as to its origin seemed unmistakable.
A citizen committee to deal with the situation was quickly formed.
Telegraphic reports of the outbreak, with urgent demands for immediate
action and for the removal of the negro troops, were sent to Governor
Lanham, General Hulen, Senators Bailey and Culberson and to the
President of the United States. No immediate relief seemed forthcoming
from any source. Governor Lanham waited for Washington, Washington
waited for an investigation. The public at large took but a small
interest in the whole affair--the metropolitan dailies according it but
the barest mention in obscure corners. It would be a big matter to
them some day. It was a big matter to Brownsville already.
"We cannot convince our women and children that another outbreak
may not occur at any time. Their condition is deplorable. They will
scarcely venture out of their homes and only feel secure there by
our maintaining a heavy guard and patrol of armed citizens every
night. We know the accidental discharge of a fire-arm, any overt act
of an excited citizen--and our citizens are fearfully excited--would
precipitate upon us the whole negro force at Fort Brown." ... This from
a telegram sent to President Roosevelt on August 18, five days after
the raid. Brownsville was in a sad plight indeed.