unnecessary adjunct to the pursuing party. These hounds, one of which
was a veteran in the service, while the other two, being younger, were
without that practice which perfects, showed an exuberance of energy
and ambition in following the trail. The ancestry of the dogs was
Russian. Hounds of this breed never give mouth, thus warning the hunted
of their approach. Man-hunting is exciting sport. The possibility,
though the trail may look hours old, that any turn of the trail may
disclose the fugitives, keeps at the highest tension every nerve of the
pursuer.
All day long the marshal and posse climbed higher and higher on the
rugged mountainside. Night came on as they reached the narrow plateau
that formed the crest of the mountain, on which they found several
small parks. Here they made the first halt since the start in the
morning. The necessity of resting their saddle stock was very apparent
to Banks, though he would gladly have pushed on. The only halt he could
expect of the robbers was to save their own horses, and he must do the
same. Forcing a tired horse an extra hour has left many an amateur
rider afoot. He realized this. Knowing the necessity of being well
mounted, the robbers had no doubt splendid horses. This was a
reasonable supposition.
Near midnight the marshal and posse set out once more on the trail. He
was compelled to take it afoot now, depending on his favorite dog,
which was under leash, the posse following with the mounts. The dogs
led them several miles southward on this mountain crest. Here was where
the dogs were valuable. The robbers had traveled in some places an
entire mile over lava beds, not leaving as much as a trace which the
eye could detect. Having the advantage of daylight, the robbers
selected a rocky cliff, over which they began the descent of the
western slope of this range. The ingenuity displayed by them to throw
pursuit from their trail marked Peg-Leg as an artist in his calling.
But with the aid of dogs and the dampness of night, their trail was as
easily followed as though it had been made in snow.
This declivity was rough, and in places every one was compelled to
dismount. Progress was extremely slow, and when the rising sun tipped
the peaks of the Continental Range, before them lay the beautiful
landscape where the Rio Grande in a hundred mountain streams has her
fountain-head. With only a few hours’ rest for men and animals during
the day, night fell upon them before they had reached the mesa at the
foot-hills on the western slope. An hour before nightfall they came
upon the first camp or halt of the robbers. They had evidently spent
but a short time here, there being no indication that they had slept.
Criminals are inured to all kinds of hardship. They have been known to
go for days without sleep, while smugglers, well mounted, have put a
hundred miles of country behind them in a single night.
The marshal and party pushed forward during the night, the country
being more favorable. When morning came they had covered many a mile,
and it was believed they had made time, as the trail seemed fresher.
There were several ranches along the main stream in the valley, which
the robbers had avoided with well-studied caution, showing that they
had passed through in the daytime. There are several lines of railroad
running through this valley section. These they crossed at points
between stations, where observation would be almost impossible either
by day or night. Inquiries at ranches failed on account of the lack of
all accurate means of description. The posse was maintaining a due
southwest course that was carrying them into the fastnesses of the main
range of the western continent. Another full day of almost constant
advance, and the trail had entered the undulating hills forming the
approach of this second range of mountains. Physical exertion was
beginning to tell on the animals, and they were compelled to make
frequent halts in the ascent of this range.
The fatigue was showing in the two younger dogs. Their feet had been
cut in several places in crossing the first range of mountains. During
the past nights in the valley, though their master was keeping a sharp
lookout, they encountered several places where sand-burrs were
plentiful. These burrs in the tender inner part of a dog’s foot, if not
removed at once, soon lame it. Many times had the poor creatures lain
down, licking their paws in anguish. On examination during the previous
night, their feet were found to be webbed with this burr. Now, on
climbing this second mountain, they began to show the lameness which
their master so much feared, until it was almost impossible to make
them take any interest in the trail. The old dog, however, seemed
nothing the worse for his work.
On reaching the first small park near the summit of this range, the
pursuers were so exhausted that they lay down and took their first
sleep, having been over three days and a half on the trail. The marshal
himself slept several hours, but he was the last to go to sleep and the
first to awake. Before going to sleep, and on arising, he was
particular to bathe the dogs’ feet. The nearest approach to a liniment
that he possessed was a lubricating tube for guns, which he fortunately
had with him. This afforded relief.
It was daybreak when the pursuers took up the trail. The plateau on the
crest of this range was in places several miles wide, having a
luxuriant growth of grass upon it. The course of the robbers continued
to the southwest. The pursuers kept this plateau for several miles, and
before descending the western slope of the range an abandoned camp was
found, where the pursued had evidently made their first bunks.
Indications of where horses had been picketed for hours, and where both
men and horses had slept were evident. The trail where it left this
deserted camp was in no wise encouraging to the marshal, as it looked
at least thirty-six hours old. As the pursuers began the descent, they
could see below them where the San Juan River meanders to the west
until her waters, mingling with others, find their outlet into the
Pacific. It was a trial of incessant toil down the mountain slope,
wearisome alike to man and beast. Near the foot-hill of this mountain
they were rewarded by finding a horse which the robbers had abandoned
on account of an accident. He was an extremely fine horse, but so lame
in the shoulders, apparently owing to a fall, that it was impossible to
move him. The trail of the robbers kept in the foot-hills, finally
doubling back an almost due east course. Now and then ranches were
visible out on the mesa, but in all instances they were carefully
avoided by the pursued.
Spending a night in these hills, the posse prepared to make an early
start. Here, however, they met their first serious trouble. Both of the
younger dogs had feet so badly swollen that it was impossible to make
them take any interest in the trail. After doing everything possible
for them, their owner sent them to a ranch which was in sight several
miles below in the valley. Several hours were lost to the party by this
incident, though they were in no wise deterred in following the trail,
still having the veteran dog. Late that afternoon they met a _pastor_
who gave them a description of the robbers.
“Yesterday morning,” said the shepherd, in broken Spanish, “shortly
after daybreak, four men rode into my camp and asked for breakfast. I
gave them coffee, but as I had no meat in my quarters, they tried to
buy a lamb, which I have no right to sell. After drinking the coffee
they tendered me money, which I refused. On leaving, one of their
number rode into my flock and killed a kid. Taking it with him, he rode
away with the others.”
A good description of the robbers was secured from this simple
shepherd,—a full description of men, horses, colors, and condition of
pack. The next day nothing of importance developed, and the posse
hugged the shelter of the hills skirting the mountain range, crossing
into New Mexico. It was late that night when they went into camp on the
trail. They had pushed forward with every energy, hoping to lessen the
intervening distance between them and the robbers. The following
morning on awakening, to the surprise and mortification of everybody,
the old dog was unable to stand upon his feet. While this was felt to
be a serious drawback, it did not necessarily check the chase.
In bringing to bay over thirty criminals, one of whom had paid the
penalty of his crime on the gallows, master and dog had heretofore been
an invincible team. Old age and physical weakness had now overtaken the
dog in an important chase, and the sympathy he deserved was not
withheld, nor was he deserted. Tenderly as a mother would lift a sick
child, Banks gathered him in his arms and lifted him to one of the
posse on his horse. To the members of the posse it was a touching
scene: they remembered him but a few months before pursuing a flying
criminal, when the latter—seeing that escape was impossible and turning
to draw his own weapon upon the officer, whose six-shooter had been
emptied at the fugitive, but who with drawn knife was ready to close
with him in the death struggle—immediately threw down his weapon and
pleaded for his life.
Yet this same officer could not keep back the tears that came into his
eyes as he lifted this dumb comrade of other victories to a horse. With
an earnest oath he brushed the incident away by assuring his posse that
unless the earth opened and swallowed up the robbers they could not
escape. A few hours after taking up the trail, a ranch was sighted and
the dog was left, the instructions of the Good Samaritan being
repeated. At this ranch they succeeded in buying two fresh horses,
which proved a valuable addition to their mounts.
Now it became a hunt of man by man. To an experienced trailer like the
marshal there was little difficulty in keeping the trail. That the
robbers kept to the outlying country was an advantage. Yet the latter
traveled both night and day, while pursuit must of necessity be by day
only. With the fresh horses secured, they covered a stretch of country
hardly credible.
During the day they found a place where the robbers had camped for at
least a full day. A trail made by two horses had left this camp, and
returned. The marshal had followed it to a rather pretentious Mexican
rancho, where there was a small store kept. Here a second description
of the two men was secured, though neither one was Peg-Leg. He was so
indelibly marked that he was crafty enough to keep out of sight of so
public a place as a store. These two had tried unsuccessfully to buy
horses at this rancho.
The next morning the representative of the express company left the
posse to report progress. He was enabled to give such an exact
description of the robbers that the company, through their detective
system, were not long in locating the leader. The marshal and posse
pushed on with the same unremitting energy. The trail was now almost
due east. The population of the country was principally Mexican, and
even Mexicans the robbers avoided as much as possible. They had,
however, bought horses at several ranches, and were always liberal in
the use of money, but very exacting in regard to the quality of
horseflesh they purchased; the best was none too good for them. They
passed north of old Santa Fé town, and entering a station on the line
of railway by that name late at night, they were liberal patrons of the
gaming tables that the town tolerated. The next morning they had
disappeared.
At no time did the pursuers come within two days of them. This was
owing to the fact that they traveled by night as well as day. At the
last-mentioned point messages were exchanged with the express company
with little loss of time. Banks had asked that certain points on the
railway be watched in the hope of capture while crossing the country,
but the effort was barren of results. In following the trail the
marshal had recrossed the continuation of the first range of mountains
which they had crossed to the west ten days before, or the morning
after the robbery, three hundred miles southward. There was nothing
difficult in the passage of this range of mountains, and now before
them stretched the endless prairie to the eastward. Here Banks
seriously felt the loss of his dogs. This was a country that they could
be used in to good advantage. It would then be a question of endurance
of men and horses. As it was, he could work only by day. Two lines of
railway were yet to be crossed if the band held its course. The same
tactics were resorted to as formerly, yet this vigilance and precaution
availed nothing, as Peg-Leg crossed them carefully between two of the
watched places. Owing to his occupation, he knew the country better by
night than day.
Banks was met by the officials of the express company on one of these
lines of railroad. The exhaustive amount of information that they had
been able to collect regarding this interesting man with the wooden leg
was astonishing. From out of the abundance of the data there were a few
items that were of interest to the officer. Several of Eldridge’s
haunts when not actively engaged in his profession were located. In one
of these haunts was a woman, and toward this one he was heading, though
it was many a weary mile distant.
At the marshal’s request the express people had brought bloodhounds
with them. The dogs proved worthless, and the second day were
abandoned. When the trail crossed the Gulf Railway the robbers were
three days ahead. The posse had now been fourteen days on the trail.
Banks followed them one day farther, himself alone, leaving his tired
companions at a station near the line of the Panhandle of Texas. This
extra day’s ride was to satisfy himself that the robbers were making
for one of their haunts. They kept, as he expected, down between the
two Canadians.
After following the trail until he was thoroughly satisfied of their
destination, the marshal retraced his steps and rejoined his posse. The
first train carried him and the posse back to the headquarters of the
express company.
Two weeks later, at a country store in the Chickasaw Nation, there was
a horse race of considerable importance. The country side were gathered
to witness it. The owners of the horses had made large wagers on the
race. Outsiders wagered money and livestock to a large amount. There
were a number of strangers present, which was nothing unusual. As the
race was being run and every eye was centred on the outcome, a stranger
present put a six-shooter to a very interested spectator’s ear, and
informed him that he was a prisoner. Another stranger did the same
thing to another spectator. They also snapped handcuffs on both of
them. One of these spectators had a peg-leg. They were escorted to a
waiting rig, and when they alighted from it were on the line of a
railroad forty miles distant. One of these strangers was a United
States marshal, who for the past month had been very anxious to meet
these same gentlemen.
Once safe from the rescue of friends of these robbers, the marshal
regaled his guest with the story of the chase, which had now
terminated. He was even able to give Eldridge a good part of his
history. But when he attempted to draw him out as to the whereabouts of
the other two, Peg was sullenly ignorant of anything. They were never
captured, having separated before reaching the haunt of Mr. Eldridge.
Eldridge was tried in a Federal court in Colorado and convicted of
train robbery. He went over the road for a term of years far beyond the
lease of his natural life. He, with the companion captured at the same
time, was taken by an officer of the court to Detroit for confinement.
When within an hour’s ride of the prison—his living grave—he raised his
ironed hands, and twisting from a blue flannel shirt which he wore a
large pearl button, said to the officer in charge:—
“Will you please take this button back and give it, with my
compliments, to that human bloodhound, and say to him that I’m sorry
that I didn’t anticipate meeting him? If I had, it would have saved you
this trip with me. He might have got me, but I wouldn’t have needed a
trial when he did.”
XII
IN THE HANDS OF HIS FRIENDS
There was a painting at the World’s Fair at Chicago named “The Reply,”
in which the lines of two contending armies were distinctly outlined.
One of these armies had demanded the surrender of the other. The reply
was being written by a little fellow, surrounded by grim veterans of
war. He was not even a soldier. But in this little fellow’s countenance
shone a supreme contempt for the enemy’s demand. His patriotism beamed
out as plainly as did that of the officer dictating to him. Physically
he was debarred from being a soldier; still there was a place where he
could be useful.
So with Little Jack Martin. He was a cripple and could not ride, but he
could cook. If the way to rule men is through the stomach, Jack was a
general who never knew defeat. The “J+H” camp, where he presided over
the kitchen, was noted for good living. Jack’s domestic tastes followed
him wherever he went, so that he surrounded himself at this camp with
chickens, and a few cows for milk. During the spring months, when the
boys were away on the various round-ups, he planted and raised a fine
garden. Men returning from a hard month’s work would brace themselves
against fried chicken, eggs, milk, and fresh vegetables. After drinking
alkali water for a month and living out of tin cans, who wouldn’t love
Jack? In addition to his garden, he always raised a fine patch of
watermelons. This camp was an oasis in the desert. Every man was Jack’s
friend, and an enemy was an unknown personage. The peculiarity about
him, aside from his deformity, was his ability to act so much better
than he could talk. In fact he could barely express his simplest wants
in words.
Cripples are usually cross, irritable, and unpleasant companions. Jack
was the reverse. His best qualities shone their brightest when there
were a dozen men around to cook for. When they ate heartily he felt he
was useful. If a boy was sick, Jack could make a broth, or fix a cup of
beef tea like a mother or sister. When he went out with the wagon
during beef-shipping season, a pot of coffee simmered over the fire all
night for the boys on night herd. Men going or returning on guard liked
to eat. The bread and meat left over from the meals of the day were
always left convenient for the boys. It was the many little things that
he thought of which made him such a general favorite with every one.
Little Jack was middle-aged when the proclamation of the President
opening the original Oklahoma was issued. This land was to be thrown
open in April. It was not a cow-country then, though it had been once.
There was a warning in this that the Strip would be next. The dominion
of the cowman was giving way to the homesteader. One day Jack found
opportunity to take Miller, our foreman, into his confidence. They had
been together five or six years. Jack had coveted a spot in the section
which was to be thrown open, and he asked the foreman to help him get
it. He had been all over the country when it was part of the range, and
had picked out a spot on Big Turkey Creek, ten miles south of the Strip
line. It gradually passed from one to another of us what Jack wanted.
At first we felt blue about it, but Miller, who could see farther than
the rest of us, dispelled the gloom by announcing at dinner, “Jack is
going to take a claim if this outfit has a horse in it and a man to
ride him. It is only a question of a year or two at the farthest until
the rest of us will be guiding a white mule between two corn rows, and
glad of the chance. If Jack goes now, he will have just that many years
the start of the rest of us.”
We nerved ourselves and tried to appear jolly after this talk of the
foreman. We entered into quite a discussion as to which horse would be
the best to make the ride with. The ranch had several specially good
saddle animals. In chasing gray wolves in the winter those qualities of
endurance which long races developed in hunting these enemies of
cattle, pointed out a certain coyote-colored horse, whose color marks
and “Dead Tree” brand indicated that he was of Spanish extraction.
Intelligently ridden with a light rider he was First Choice on which to
make this run. That was finally agreed to by all. There was no trouble
selecting the rider for this horse with the zebra marks. The lightest
weight was Billy Edwards. This qualification gave him the preference
over us all.
Jack described the spot he desired to claim by an old branding-pen
which had been built there when it had been part of the range. Billy
had ironed up many a calf in those same pens himself. “Well, Jack,”
said Billy, “if this outfit don’t put you on the best quarter section
around that old corral, you’ll know that they have throwed off on you.”
It was two weeks before the opening day. The coyote horse was given
special care from this time forward. He feasted on corn, while others
had to be content with grass. In spite of all the bravado that was
being thrown into these preparations, there was noticeable a deep
undercurrent of regret. Jack was going from us. Every one wanted him to
go, still these dissolving ties moved the simple men to acts of boyish
kindness. Each tried to outdo the others, in the matter of a parting
present to Jack. He could have robbed us then. It was as bad as a
funeral. Once before we felt similarly when one of the boys died at
camp. It was like an only sister leaving the family circle.
Miller seemed to enjoy the discomfiture of the rest of us. This
creedless old Christian had fine strata in his make-up. He and Jack
planned continually for the future. In fact they didn’t live in the
present like the rest of us. Two days before the opening, we loaded up
a wagon with Jack’s effects. Every man but the newly installed cook
went along. It was too early in the spring for work to commence. We all
dubbed Jack a boomer from this time forward. The horse so much depended
on was led behind the wagon.
On the border we found a motley crowd of people. Soldiers had gathered
them into camps along the line to prevent “sooners” from entering
before the appointed time. We stopped in a camp directly north of the
claim our little boomer wanted. One thing was certain, it would take a
better horse than ours to win the claim away from us. No sooner could
take it. That and other things were what all of us were going along
for.
The next day when the word was given that made the land public domain,
Billy was in line on the coyote. He held his place to the front with
the best of them. After the first few miles, the others followed the
valley of Turkey Creek, but he maintained his course like wild fowl,
skirting the timber which covered the first range of hills back from
the creek. Jack followed with the wagon, while the rest of us rode
leisurely, after the first mile or so. When we saw Edwards bear
straight ahead from the others, we argued that a sooner only could beat
us for the claim. If he tried to out-hold us, it would be six to one,
as we noticed the leaders closely when we slacked up. By not following
the valley, Billy would cut off two miles. Any man who could ride
twelve miles to the coyote’s ten with Billy Edwards in the saddle was
welcome to the earth. That was the way we felt. We rode together,
expecting to make the claim three quarters of an hour behind our man.
When near enough to sight it, we could see Billy and another horseman
apparently protesting with one another. A loud yell from one of us
attracted our man’s attention. He mounted his horse and rode out and
met us. “Well, fellows, it’s the expected that’s happened this time,”
said he. “Yes, there’s a sooner on it, and he puts up a fine bluff of
having ridden from the line; but he’s a liar by the watch, for there
isn’t a wet hair on his horse, while the sweat was dripping from the
fetlocks of this one.”
“If you are satisfied that he is a sooner,” said Miller, “he has to
go.”
“Well, he is a lying sooner,” said Edwards.
We reined in our horses and held a short parley. After a brief
discussion of the situation, Miller said to us: “You boys go down to
him,—don’t hurt him or get hurt, but make out that you’re going to hang
him. Put plenty of reality into it, and I’ll come in in time to save
him and give him a chance to run for his life.”