was well established in camp on the stream, and dinner in progress.
Jack had returned to the spring too, holding a conference with the
colonel as soon as he arrived there, explaining that he was not a
quarter of a mile away from a good trail to Fort Harker, that ran a
little distance west of the Elkhorn, where they now were.
Jack was thinking and congratulating himself upon the curious chain of
circumstances which had thwarted all his plans, provided better for the
wounded Susie, and at the same time saved his honor, if indeed it were
at all involved, in breaking his word to the colonel.
Both of the doctor's patients in a short time received some excellent
nourishment, prepared by the hospital steward out of the medical
stores, under the surgeon's direction, reviving the wounded girl
materially and putting Jack fairly "on his feet" again, for he was "as
tough as a knot."
About half-past two the column was ready to move out. Susie was
made comfortable on a litter, fashioned after the Indian method of
transporting their wounded, constructed of saplings and blankets,
which was carefully slung between two pack-mules of the supply train,
respectively led by two troopers detailed for that duty. This novel
equipage the colonel ordered to march in advance of the column, so
that the dust raised by the company's horses should not annoy Susie;
while Jack, who was able to mount Tatonka, though he was terribly sore
and stiff, rode alongside of her and piloted the command on the trail.
Before they left the ruined ranch, however, the colonel caused the
bodies of the unfortunate Réaumes to be temporarily interred and large
stones put over their graves, to prevent the wolves from digging up and
eating the flesh off their bones, as it was Hart's intention to have
them taken to the post and decently buried in the little cemetery there.
After an eventful march the command arrived at Fort Harker just as the
sun was setting, where Susie was kindly cared for, and Jack went to his
own quarters, to be patched up and plastered by the post surgeon.
Hart was out and ready for duty inside of a week; but Susie did not
gain rapidly. She seemed to be slowly wasting away with a fever, though
the wound in her side had closed, and there was no longer danger
from that source. It was the terrible agony of her soul; she did not
complain, and the doctor was puzzled. The awful mental strain incident
to what she had passed through, coupled with the morbid fear that the
marriage with the man she loved could not be consummated, was doing its
work. Only time, the great healer of sorrows, could bring relief, and
both she and Jack were impatient.
The weeks dragged their weary length along, and the golden October
days came before she was convalescent; but with that subdivision of
the year came also the inauguration of that celebrated winter campaign
against the allied tribes, for which Gen. Sheridan had been making
vigorous preparations all summer. Of course there could be no marriage
now until the war was over, and it lasted (officially) for one hundred
and sixty-three days, counting from the 21st of October, but virtually
ending with Gen. Custer's annihilation of Black Kettle and his band of
warriors in the battle of the Washita, in November.
At last, in May, 1869, that month of floral beauty on the Central
Plains, on a delicious Sabbath morning, Jack and Susie were married
by the post chaplain in the large unoccupied ward of the hospital
at Fort Harker, which had been garlanded with wild flowers, roses
predominating, and great bunches of the creamy-petaled yucca, for the
occasion.
Gens. Sheridan, Custer, Sully, and all the officers, with their wives,
who were part of the garrison stationed there, graced the ceremony with
their presence. Buffalo Bill, Wild Bill, and all the other famous
scouts on duty at Fort Harker, were also present; and many substantial
presents were received from all the distinguished guests by the favored
couple.
Nearly a quarter of a century has elapsed since then. All the famous
generals mentioned are dead. Hart is now a prosperous ranchman, with
large herds of mild-eyed Jerseys and broad-backed Shorthorns peacefully
grazing in his extensive pastures. On the porch of his beautiful home,
Susie, now a stately matron, and Jack with his pipe in his mouth, may
be seen sitting in their large arm-chairs at the close of day, resting
from the labors the ranch imposes. A bevy of handsome children are busy
with hammock or swing under the great trees of the lawn; and as the
twilight gathers, the old folks relate to the little ones the story of
those terrible hours on the Elkhorn so many years ago--a picture on
"memory's walls" that time can never efface.
WAL. HENDERSON.
In one of the busy little mining camps just over the range in New
Mexico there prowled around, about twenty-five years ago, a notorious
character whose life was made up of desperate adventures, and whose
tragic death, which is the subject of this sketch, illustrates the
inevitable fate of the average border bully.
Wal. Henderson was born and "raised"--as he termed it--in Missouri. He
came over the mountains into the New Mexico mines from Colorado soon
after the first discovery of gold in the Moreno hills, where he staked
off a claim in Humbug Gulch, and commenced working in an apparently
honest way. He was a rough, illiterate fellow, possessing the physique
of a giant, courageous as a she-grizzly with cubs, and such a dead shot
with his revolver that he soon became a terror to the whole mountain
population. He was a desperado in its fullest sense, without one
redeeming quality, except that he was kind to his dog, a wicked-looking
cur, fit companion for such a surly master.
[Illustration: WAL. HENDERSON.]
Any more intercourse with Wal. than was absolutely necessary was
carefully avoided by every one, and the idea of getting into a dispute
with him--who would rather shoot than eat--never entered the heads
of those who worked claims in the vicinity; so that, virtually, he
commanded the respect of a king. One afternoon Wal. was seized with a
desire to start off on a little prospecting tour to another portion of
the range, where he suspected the existence of a quartz lead. He left
his claim in the "Gulch" only partially opened, never dreaming for an
instant that anyone would have the temerity to jump it in his absence,
after they had discovered that he owned it; which he took good care
they could easily learn, for before he went he asked one of his more
educated neighboring miners to "come over and cut his name" on a dead
pine stump that stood near the mouth of his pit.
This friend was nothing loth to oblige his surly comrade, so just after
dinner he came over, and with his keen bowie-knife slashed out a huge
"Wal henDerSoN his KLaime"
on the dead stump.
It took him nearly two hours to complete his literary labors, while
Wal. stood by impatiently watching him, and when his friend had just
finished the last touch of his rude letters, remarked:
"Well, I guess there hain't no one goin' for to touch that thar."
Then, swinging his pick and shovel over his shoulder, he whistled to
his dog, took his bearings by a look at the sun, started down the cañon
on a sort of shuffling trot, and was soon out of sight.
He was gone three days. When he returned he found that his ground had
been "jumped" by a party of Irish miners who had come into the diggings
during his absence.
Wal., in as quiet a manner as his bulldog nature permitted, told them
to "git!" But they swore they would hold the claim in spite of him; and
if he was as big as "Finn McCool" they would fight him.
Wal. smothered his rage for the moment, coolly walked off to his cabin,
where he armed himself with two revolvers, a Spencer carbine, and a
wicked-looking IXL blade, and started back to the gulch, determined to
drive the intruders away, or kill them if necessary--it mattered little
as to choice.
"Git out of this!--quick!--jump! or I'll fill you full o' holes!" was
Wal.'s greeting as on his return he came in sight of the intruders. But
one of the plucky Irishmen made a break for Wal., intending to finish
him by a well-directed blow from his shovel.
Wal. quick as thought brought down his revolver, killing his man
instantly, the bullet hitting him in the forehead directly between the
eyes--a spot that was Wal.'s invariable target, which in his list of
nearly a score of victims he never failed to center.
The two now thoroughly frightened companions of the dead miner fled to
camp and told the story of the murder.
Wal., believing that he would have a crowd on his heels in a little
while, started hurriedly for his cabin, proposing to "light out" for
a while as he said; but a mob of plucky men intercepted him. He was
arrested, taken to camp, and confined in a little log building, around
which a guard was placed.
As the news of Wal.'s latest exploit spread around the hills, the Irish
miners flocked in from all directions, bent on revenge. The people of
the town expected a general outbreak between the Irish and American
elements, if any resistance was offered to the infuriated friends of
the murdered man in their attempt to take Wal. from the improvised
jail, which they openly proclaimed they would do as soon as night came
on.
The building used for the incarceration of Wal. was an abandoned log
store, about sixteen feet square; the interstices of the logs were
"chinked" with mud, and the whole surmounted by a brush-and-dirt roof.
In the corner of the room, after the Mexican fashion, a huge but rude
fireplace had been constructed of stone and earth, from which a large
chimney composed of the same material communicated with the open air
through the roof above.
No sooner had the heavy door closed on Wal. than he began an accurate
survey of his quarters, with a view of escaping as soon as the mob he
confidently expected should make their appearance.
One glance at the immense fireplace, which yawned like the opening to a
cave, and a look at the clear sky above through the chimney, satisfied
him that he would be out of his prison and up some mountain gulch
before his intended captors could think twice.
Shortly after dark a motley crowd of rough miners, half-crazed with
the villainous liquors they had been drinking all the afternoon,
assembled at the jail. They at once ordered the guard away, fired their
pistols in the air, and made the very hills ring with their curses and
imprecations upon the prisoner within the little hut.
Wal. meanwhile had determined to escape; in fact, at the very time the
crowd had reached the door he was on the roof, quietly waiting for the
mob to make a rush inside, at which moment he proposed to leap to the
ground from the rear of the building.
He waited for the signal, which soon came in the shape of a volley of
pistol- and carbine-shots, and a wild yell from the would-be avengers,
who with a desperate rush made for the door. Under the pressure it flew
from its fastenings, and swung open with a loud report, throwing half a
dozen of the mob upon the dirt floor.
For a moment or two no one could enter, as those nearest the door
became wedged together, while the pressure from the crowd in the rear
held them more securely imprisoned than Wal., who at this juncture
jumped from the roof, and, to use his own expression, "lit out ----
lively."
When the crowd became aware that Wal. had escaped they threatened
to lynch the guard, and but for the intercession of some of the
cooler-headed and less drunken members of the party, no doubt their
threats would have been carried into execution.
They divided into little bands and scoured the camp, visiting every
suspected house or hole where their game might possibly be secreted,
and it was not until early morning that the search was abandoned.
The following day the events of the preceding night were fully
discussed, and as many conjectures were suggested in relation to Wal.'s
escape and whereabouts as there were groups of men: each had his own
theory, each knew exactly how and when he got away.
Old Sam Bartlett, a short, thick-set, grizzly veteran miner, expressed
it as his opinion that "Wal. went up that thar chimbly, and by this
yer time is well heeled somewhar near camp, surrounded by a battery of
small-arms, ready to fight the whole outfit."
Sam's surmises proved true. No sooner had Wal. made his escape than
he went to his own den for a moment, to secure arms and ammunition;
then to an abandoned tunnel about a mile up the nearest gulch, where
he immediately commenced to fortify his position, prepared to sell his
life as dearly as possible if the mob pursued him. As he afterward
said, "Did not intend to pass in his checks until he had made a sieve
of a few of 'em."
The Mexican woman with whom he lived proved a faithful ally. Under the
shadow of the night she secretly conveyed food and blankets, never
revealing to a soul where her "Americano" was; always earnestly denying
any knowledge of the fugitive.
For nearly a week Wal. lived in the abandoned mining tunnel. At the
expiration of that time, when the excitement had somewhat subsided,
and it was generally supposed he had fled the country, he quietly
walked into camp at midnight, broke open a stable, took out a horse,
saddled him, and galloped off to Taos, which place he reached next
morning. In justice to Wal., let it be said he was not a professional
horse-thief--he had not gotten so low as that; but having perfect faith
in the old saw that "self-preservation is the first law of nature," he
seized upon the only reliable means to escape strangling by a mob. On
his arrival at Taos, where he felt secure, he returned the animal to
his owner with thanks, complimenting him on his architectural skill in
constructing a stable that could be entered so easily, and upon the
endurance of his horse that had carried him so well.
A little more than a month later, the camp was somewhat startled
one afternoon at seeing Wal. riding down the main street mounted on
a Mexican pony, with four revolvers buckled around his waist and
a carbine slung across his back. Halting in front of a saloon, he
alighted, and with a devil-may-care sort of a nod to the loafers
hanging around, invited them all in to take a drink. To the crowd
at the bar he related his adventures since he had been among them;
said he was tired of Taos, and had come back to look after his mining
interests up Humbug Gulch, which he thought he had neglected too long.
He added "if any gentlemen (?)" were sympathizers with the would-be
stranglers, he would be pleased to step out on the street and give them
an exhibition of his peculiar manner of managing the portable battery
he had provided himself with. No one seeming particularly anxious to
witness the proffered entertainment, war was not declared, and after a
round or two of "Taos lightning," as whisky was called in those days,
Wal. quietly mounted his horse and made his way toward his little
"dug-out," where he was met by his faithful Señora and provided with a
bountiful repast of tortillas and frijoles (corn cake and beans).
The excitement in camp gradually exhausted itself, and it was mutually
agreed that Wal. should not be molested if he kept away from Humbug
Gulch.
Wal. apparently accepted the situation; turned his attention to the
laudable ambition of supplying the camp with cord-wood, and almost any
day thereafter could be seen coming into town with his load.
One day about two months after he had settled himself down to
legitimate pursuits, while sitting in a saloon, fatigued by a somewhat
arduous morning's work, a party of Irish miners entered, all of whom
were more or less under the influence of liquor. After bandying words
with Wal. in reference to his claim and the murder of their companion,
one, rather more bold then discreet, approached Wal. holding a large
stone, and said, "Be jabers, Wal., you would look better dead than
alive;" when Wal., as quick as thought, drew his pistol, and drawing a
bead on the Irishman, said, "Drop that rock!"
The stone dropped. Wal. quietly resumed his seat without another word,
replaced his pistol in its holster, coolly lighted his pipe, and
commenced to smoke. The gang were evidently bent on mischief; but Wal.
could not be intimidated, and made no move to leave his seat, but kept
his keen eye on every act of the drunken mob.
He listened coolly and indifferently for a while to their coarse jests
and braggadocio threats cast at him. But there comes a moment when
"patience ceases to be a virtue," and comes soonest to men of such
caliber as Wal. When another of the belligerents approached too near
with an outrageous remark, Wal. jumped to his feet and said, "By ----!
I think I'll kill one of you just for luck, and put a stop to this
---- nonsense." Drawing out his pistol he fired, the ball, as always,
taking effect in the bridge of his victim's nose, passing through the
right eye and coming out in front of the ear.
At the report of the pistol a crowd rushed in, but no one attempted to
interfere with Wal., who took a position against the side of the room,
where he invited any one who wanted him, to "step up; but if any one
did he would make a sieve of him."
No one desirous of being converted into that useful article just then,
not a soul stepped forward.
The alcalde[1] and sheriff were sent for, and soon arrived. Wal. gave
himself up, and was remanded to his old quarters, the little log jail
from which he had so successfully made his escape by way of the huge
chimney, on a former occasion.
[1] The Spanish title of a magistrate corresponding to justice
of the peace.
The drunken companions of the murdered miner immediately upon the
arrest of Wal. started off to muster up a crowd of their countrymen,
determined this time to mete out summary vengeance upon the assassin of
their comrade.
To preclude the possibility of an escape on the part of the prisoner,
an additional guard was employed to watch the outside of the jail, and
two men were posted on the roof--"no goin' up that thar chimbley this
time."
Shortly after dark another mob, composed of the friends of Wal.'s last
victim, poured into camp from the gulches and hills and proceeded
directly to the jail, determined that this time their game should not
slip through their fingers.
In a few moments the infuriated and howling would-be lynchers forced
the door of the building open in the same manner as they had done
before, but their bird had flown--Wal. was not there!
Knowing the desperate character of the men who had come to take his
life, Wal. had resolved to make a determined effort to get away from
them if possible, when he first heard them surging and howling in the
distance, and putting all his quick wits at work, soon decided what
might be done.
Standing at the side of the door as it was crushed from its fastenings,
he allowed the crowd to tumble and rush pell-mell into the dark room,
while he quickly slipped past them out into the street, walked slowly
to the first corner, then shot into the night--and was free!
The rage and disappointment of the exasperated miners on the discovery
that their man had again eluded them, can better be imagined than
described.
Wal. proceeded to his little home, took one of his horses from the
stable, rode rapidly out of camp over a mountain trail, and in a few
hours was miles away, where he found a safe retreat.
The disappointed crowd on discovering that for the present at least
Wal. was beyond their power, slowly retired to their homes, swearing
they would kill Wal. on sight if he ever made his appearance in camp
again.
But a few days elapsed before Wal. again dropped into town; though
strange as it may seem, no attempt was made to arrest him.
For weeks everything about camp moved along quietly, and it was hoped
that further disturbance was at an end. One afternoon, however, while
Wal. was standing in front of one of the little stores scattered
at intervals through the long main street of the town, engaged in
conversation with a lot of miners who had congregated there, a horseman
came galloping up the principal thoroughfare, halting directly in front
of the door where Wal. and his companions were talking.
Taking a single glance at Wal., he exclaimed, "You are the man I am
looking for!" and drawing his revolver, commenced shooting. He fired
three shots in rapid succession, neither of which, however, took
effect; but before he could cock his pistol again, which he was in the
act of doing, Wal. had "drawn a bead" on him and fired.
The ball struck him in the trigger thumb and thereby turned, or it
would have found its proper center between the eyes. Finding himself
disabled, the rider put spurs to his horse and fled to the friendly
shelter of the nearest ravine, but soon returned dismounted, as he
discovered that he had not been followed by the terrible Wal.
A crowd gathered around to "shoot the wretch who had so deliberately
jeopardized the lives of innocent citizens"; but he called out that he
was wounded--"for God's sake not to kill him!" He would give himself up
quietly if he could be permitted to see a doctor.
The doctor happened to be sitting in front of his office near by, and
took him in and amputated his thumb.
He was then turned over to the sheriff, who placed him in an unoccupied
log building, and appointed a guard to watch him.
During the night, however, following in the footsteps of the
illustrious Wal., he eluded the vigilance of the guard, made good his
escape and ran to the mountains, where he was received by friends, who
were determined to protect him from rearrest.
The following day word was sent the doctor to come out and dress his
wounds. Obeying the summons, the doctor found him within a hundred
yards of his cabin, at the side of a mining-ditch, surrounded by an
array of pistols, carbines, and knives, determined to resist any
attempt to rearrest him, the point selected commanding every avenue of
approach up the mountain-slope.
Here he remained several days. He sent word to the alcalde, through
some of his friends, that he would die before giving himself up to the
"stranglers," but would submit if soldiers were to come for him.
Upon this message of defiance no further effort was made to capture
him, and the town lapsed once more into its wonted quietude. Even
Henderson became remarkably docile, no further disturbances occurring
between him and the miners--the trouble ending, apparently, by mutual
consent.
* * * * *
Some months subsequent to the incidents related in the foregoing,
the little camp was again thrown into a state of excitement, in
consequence of a report of the robbery of the mail in the cañon between
Elizabethtown and Ute creek.
It was bruited about, and proved true, that when the coach (which made
tri-weekly trips between the camp and the Cimarron, to connect with the
great Southern Overland Line) reached a lonely point in the cañon where
the road was narrow and wound around a side-hill covered with a dense
growth of scrubby pines, three disguised men would slip out and order
the driver to halt; then, without moving from their place on either
side of the confined pass, with their rifles pointed toward him, demand
that the express box be thrown from the boot.
This modest request was always complied with, after which they ordered
the driver to move on, much to the relief of the thoroughly frightened
conductor, and the two or three passengers inside.
Five or six depredations of this character were committed in the course
of a month. The people in camp began to have their suspicions aroused,
and many were the conjectures as to who the guilty parties could be.
A company was formed to scour the cañon, but not even a clue of the
highwaymen could be found, nor a place that exhibited any signs of a
rendezvous.
This fact confirmed the suspicions of the law-abiding portion of
the community, that there existed in their midst and neighboring
settlements on Ute creek an organized band of "road agents," who
started out only on favorable opportunities for carrying on their
nefarious purposes.