JUSTICE IN THE SADDLE
It was an hour after the usual time when we bedded down the cattle. The
wagon had overtaken us about sunset, and the cook’s fire piloted us
into a camp fully two miles to the right of the trail. A change of
horses was awaiting us, and after a hasty supper Tupps detailed two
young fellows to visit Ogalalla. It required no urging; I outlined
clearly what was expected of their mission, requesting them to return
by the way of Flood’s wagon, and to receive any orders which my
employer might see fit to send. The horse-wrangler was pressed in to
stand the guard of one of the absent lads on the second watch, and I
agreed to take the other, which fell in the third. The boys had not yet
returned when our guard was called, but did so shortly afterward, one
of them hunting me up on night-herd.
“Well,” said he, turning his horse and circling with me, “we caught
onto everything that was adrift. The Rebel and Sponsilier were both in
town, in charge of two deputies. Flood and your brother went in with
us, and with the lads from the other outfits, including those across
the river, there must have been twenty-five of Lovell’s men in town. I
noticed that Dave and The Rebel were still wearing their six-shooters,
while among the boys the arrests were looked upon as quite a joke. The
two deputies had all kinds of money, and wouldn’t allow no one but
themselves to spend a cent. The biggest one of the two—the one who gave
you the cigar—would say to my boss: ‘Sponsilier, you’re a trail foreman
from Texas—one of Don Lovell’s boss men—but you’re under arrest; your
cattle are in my possession this very minute. You understand that,
don’t you? Very well, then; everybody come up and have a drink on the
sheriff’s office.’ That was about the talk in every saloon and
dance-hall visited. But when we proposed starting back to camp, about
midnight, the big deputy said to Flood: ‘I want you to tell Colonel
Lovell that I hold a warrant for his arrest; urge him not to put me to
the trouble of coming out after him. If he had identified himself to me
this afternoon, he could have slept on a goose-hair bed to-night
instead of out there on the mesa, on the cold ground. His reputation in
this town would entitle him to three meals a day, even if he was under
arrest. Now, we’ll have one more, and tell the damned old rascal that
I’ll expect him in the morning.’”
We rode out the watch together. On returning to Flood’s camp, they had
found Don Lovell awake. The old man was pleased with the report, but
sent me no special word except to exercise my own judgment. The cattle
were tired after their long tramp of the day before, the outfit were
saddle weary, and the first rays of the rising sun flooded the mesa
before men or animals offered to arise. But the duties of another day
commanded us anew, and with the cook calling us, we rose to meet them.
I was favorably impressed with Tupps as a segundo, and after breakfast
suggested that he graze the cattle over to the North Platte, cross it,
and make a permanent camp. This was agreed to, half the men were
excused for the day, and after designating, beyond the river, a clump
of cottonwoods where the wagon would be found, seven of us turned and
rode back for Ogalalla. With picked mounts under us, we avoided the
other cattle which could be seen grazing northward, and when fully
halfway to town, there before us on the brink of the mesa loomed up the
lead of a herd. I soon recognized Jack Splann on the point, and taking
a wide circle, dropped in behind him, the column stretching back a mile
and coming up the bluffs, forty abreast like an army in loose marching
order. I was proud of those “Open A’s;” they were my first herd, and
though in a hurry to reach town, I turned and rode back with them for
fully a mile.
Splann was acting under orders from Flood, who had met him at the ford
that morning. If the cattle were in the possession of any deputy
sheriff, they had failed to notify Jack, and the latter had already
started for the North Platte of his own accord. The “Drooping T” cattle
were in the immediate rear under Forrest’s segundo, and Splann urged me
to accompany him that forenoon, saying: “From what the boys said this
morning, Dave and Paul will not be given a hearing until two o’clock
this afternoon. I can graze beyond the North Fork by that time, and
then we’ll all go back together. Flood’s right behind here with the
‘Drooping T’s,’ and I think it’s his intention to go all the way to the
river. Drop back and see him.”
The boys who were with me never halted, but had ridden on towards town.
When the second herd began the ascent of the mesa, I left Splann and
turned back, waiting on the brink for its arrival. As it would take the
lead cattle some time to reach me, I dismounted, resting in the shade
of my horse. But my rest was brief, for the clattering hoofs of a
cavalcade of horsemen were approaching, and as I arose, Quince Forrest
and Bob Quirk with a dozen or more men dashed up and halted. As their
herds were intended for the Crow and Fort Washakie agencies, they would
naturally follow up the south side of the North Platte, and an hour or
two of grazing would put them in camp. The Buford cattle, as well as
Flood’s herd, were due to cross this North Fork of the mother Platte
within ten miles of Ogalalla, their respective routes thenceforth being
north and northeast. Forrest, like myself, was somewhat leary of
entering the town, and my brother and the boys passed on shortly,
leaving Quince behind. We discussed every possible phase of what might
happen in case we were recognized, which was almost certain if
Tolleston or the Dodge buyers were encountered. But an overweening
hunger to get into Ogalalla was dominant in us, and under the excuse of
settling for our supplies, after the herd passed, we remounted our
horses, Flood joining us, and rode for the hamlet.
There was little external and no moral change in the town. Several new
saloons had opened, and in anticipation of the large drive that year,
the Dew-Drop-In dance-hall had been enlarged, and employed three shifts
of bartenders. A stage had been added with the new addition, and a
special importation of ladies had been brought out from Omaha for the
season. I use the term LADIES advisedly, for in my presence one of the
proprietors, with marked courtesy, said to an Eastern stranger, “Oh,
no, you need no introduction. My wife is the only woman in town; all
the balance are ladies.” Beyond a shave and a hair-cut, Forrest and I
fought shy of public places. But after the supplies were settled for,
and some new clothing was secured, we chambered a few drinks and
swaggered about with considerable ado. My bill of supplies amounted to
one hundred and twenty-six dollars, and when, without a word, I drew a
draft for the amount, the proprietor of the outfitting store, as a
pelon, made me a present of two fine silk handkerchiefs.
Forrest was treated likewise, and having invested ourselves in white
shirts, with flaming red ties, we used the new handkerchiefs to
otherwise decorate our persons. We had both chosen the brightest
colors, and with these knotted about our necks, dangling from
pistol-pockets, or protruding from ruffled shirt fronts, our own
mothers would scarcely have known us. Jim Flood, whom we met casually
on a back street, stopped, and after circling us once, said, “Now if
you fellows just keep perfectly sober, your disguise will be complete.”
Meanwhile Don Lovell had reported at an early hour to the sheriff’s
office. The legal profession was represented in Ogalalla by several
firms, criminal practice being their specialty; but fortunately Mike
Sutton, an attorney of Dodge, had arrived in town the day before on a
legal errand for another trail drover. Sutton was a frontier advocate,
alike popular with the Texas element and the gambling fraternity,
having achieved laurels in his home town as a criminal lawyer. Mike was
born on the little green isle beyond the sea, and, gifted with the
Celtic wit, was also in logic clear as the tones of a bell, while his
insight into human motives was almost superhuman. Lovell had had
occasion in other years to rely on Sutton’s counsel, and now would
listen to no refusal of his services. As it turned out, the lawyer’s
mission in Ogalalla was so closely in sympathy with Lovell’s trouble
that they naturally strengthened each other. The highest tribunal of
justice in Ogalalla was the county court, the judge of which also ran
the stock-yards during the shipping season, and was banker for two
monte games at the Lone Star saloon. He enjoyed the reputation of being
an honest, fearless jurist, and supported by a growing civic pride, his
decisions gave satisfaction. A sense of crude equity governed his
rulings, and as one of the citizens remarked, “Whatever the judge said,
went.” It should be remembered that this was in ’84, but had a similar
trouble occurred five years earlier, it is likely that Judge Colt would
have figured in the preliminaries, and the coroner might have been
called on to impanel a jury. But the rudiments of civilization were
sweeping westward, and Ogalalla was nerved to the importance of the
occasion; for that very afternoon a hearing was to be given for the
possession of two herds of cattle, valued at over a quarter-million
dollars.
The representatives of The Western Supply Company were quartered in the
largest hotel in town, but seldom appeared on the streets. They had
employed a firm of local attorneys, consisting of an old and a young
man, both of whom evidently believed in the justice of their client’s
cause. All the cattle-hands in Lovell’s employ were anxious to get a
glimpse of Tolleston, many of them patronizing the bar and table of the
same hostelry, but their efforts were futile until the hour arrived for
the hearing. They probably have a new court-house in Ogalalla now, but
at the date of this chronicle the building which served as a temple of
justice was poorly proportioned, its height being entirely out of
relation to its width. It was a two-story affair, the lower floor being
used for county offices, the upper one as the court-room. A long
stairway ran up the outside of the building, landing on a gallery in
front, from which the sheriff announced the sitting of the honorable
court of Keith County. At home in Texas, lawsuits were so rare that
though I was a grown man, the novelty of this one absorbed me. Quite a
large crowd had gathered in advance of the hour, and while awaiting the
arrival of Judge Mulqueen, a contingent of fifteen men from the two
herds in question rode up and halted in front of the court-house.
Forrest and I were lying low, not caring to be seen, when the three
plaintiffs, the two local attorneys, and Tolleston put in an
appearance. The cavalcade had not yet dismounted, and when Dorg Seay
caught sight of Tolleston, he stood up in his stirrups and sang out,
“Hello there, Archibald! my old college chum, how goes it?”
Judge Mulqueen had evidently dressed for the occasion, for with the
exception of the plaintiffs, he was the only man in the court-room who
wore a coat. The afternoon was a sultry one; in that first bottom of
the Platte there was scarcely a breath of air, and collars wilted limp
as rags. Neither map nor chart graced the unplastered walls, the
unpainted furniture of the room was sadly in need of repair, while a
musty odor permeated the room. Outside the railing the seating capacity
of the court-room was rather small, rough, bare planks serving for
seats, but the spectators gladly stood along the sides and rear, eager
to catch every word, as they silently mopped the sweat which oozed
alike from citizen and cattleman. Forrest and I were concealed in the
rear, which was packed with Lovell’s boys, when the judge walked in and
court opened for the hearing. Judge Mulqueen requested counsel on
either side to be as brief and direct as possible, both in their
pleadings and testimony, adding: “If they reach the stock-yards in
time, I may have to load out a train of feeders this evening. We’ll bed
the cars, anyhow.” Turning to the sheriff, he continued: “Frank, if you
happen outside, keep an eye up the river; those Lincoln feeders made a
deal yesterday for five hundred three-year-olds.—Read your complaint.”
The legal document was read with great fervor and energy by the younger
of the two local lawyers. In the main it reviewed the situation
correctly, every point, however, being made subservient to their
object,—the possession of the cattle. The plaintiffs contended that
they were the innocent holders of the original contract between the
government and The Western Supply Company, properly assigned; that they
had purchased these two herds in question, had paid earnest-money to
the amount of sixty-five thousand dollars on the same, and concluded by
petitioning the court for possession. Sutton arose, counseled a moment
with Lovell, and borrowing a chew of tobacco from Sponsilier, leisurely
addressed the court.
“I shall not trouble your honor by reading our reply in full, but
briefly state its contents,” said he, in substance. “We admit that the
herds in question, which have been correctly described by road brands
and ages, are the property of my client. We further admit that the two
trail foremen here under arrest as accessories were acting under the
orders of their employer, who assumes all responsibility for their
acts, and in our pleadings we ask this honorable court to discharge
them from further detention. The earnest-money, said to have been paid
on these herds, is correct to a cent, and we admit having the amount in
our possession. But,” and the little advocate’s voice rose, rich in its
Irish brogue, “we deny any assignment of the original contract. The
Western Supply Company is a corporation name, a shield and fence of
thieves. The plaintiffs here can claim no assignment, because they
themselves constitute the company. It has been decided that a man
cannot steal his own money, neither can he assign from himself to
himself. We shall prove by a credible witness that The Western Supply
Company is but another name for John C. Fields, Oliver Radcliff, and
the portly gentleman who was known a year ago as ‘Honest’ John Griscom,
one of his many aliases. If to these names you add a few moneyed
confederates, you have The Western Supply Company, one and the same. We
shall also prove that for years past these same gentlemen have belonged
to a ring, all brokers in government contracts, and frequently finding
it necessary to use assumed names, generally that of a corporation.”
Scanning the document in his hand, Sutton continued: “Our motive in
selling and accepting money on these herds in Dodge demands a word of
explanation. The original contract calls for five million pounds of
beef on foot to be delivered at Fort Buford. My client is a
sub-contractor under that award. There are times, your honor, when it
becomes necessary to resort to questionable means to attain an end.
This is one of them. Within a week after my client had given bonds for
the fulfillment of his contract, he made the discovery that he was
dealing with a double-faced set of scoundrels. From that day until the
present moment, secret-service men have shadowed every action of the
plaintiffs. My client has anticipated their every move. When beeves
broke in price from five to seven dollars a head, Honest John, here,
made his boasts in Washington City over a champagne supper that he and
his associates would clear one hundred thousand dollars on their Buford
contract. Let us reason together how this could be done. The Western
Supply Company refused, even when offered a bonus, to assign their
contract to my client. But they were perfectly willing to transfer it,
from themselves as a corporation, to themselves as individuals, even
though they had previously given Don Lovell a subcontract for the
delivery of the bees. The original award was made seven months ago, and
the depreciation in cattle since is the secret of why the frog eat the
cabbage. My client is under the necessity of tendering his cattle on
the day of delivery, and proposes to hold this earnest-money to
indemnify himself in case of an adverse decision at Fort Buford. It is
the only thing he can do, as The Western Supply Company is execution
proof, its assets consisting of some stud-horse office furniture and a
corporate seal. On the other hand, Don Lovell is rated at half a
million, mostly in pasture lands; is a citizen of Medina County, Texas,
and if these gentlemen have any grievance, let them go there and sue
him. A judgment against my client is good. Now, your honor, you have
our side of the question. To be brief, shall these old Wisinsteins come
out here from Washington City and dispossess any man of his property?
There is but one answer—not in the Republic of Keith.”
All three of the plaintiffs took the stand, their testimony supporting
the complaint, Lovell’s attorney refusing even to cross-examine any one
of them. When they rested their case Sutton arose, and scanning the
audience for some time, inquired, “Is Jim Reed there?” In response, a
tall, one-armed man worked his way from the outer gallery through the
crowd and advanced to the rail. I knew Reed by sight only, my middle
brother having made several trips with his trail cattle, but he was
known to every one by reputation. He had lost an arm in the Confederate
service, and was recognized by the gambling fraternity as the gamest
man among all the trail drovers, while every cowman from the Rio Grande
to the Yellowstone knew him as a poker-player. Reed was asked to take
the stand, and when questioned if he knew either of the plaintiffs,
said:
“Yes, I know that fat gentleman, and I’m powerful glad to meet up with
him again,” replied the witness, designating Honest John. “That man is
so crooked that he can’t sleep in a bed, and it’s one of the wonders of
this country that he hasn’t stretched hemp before this. I made his
acquaintance as manager of The Federal Supply Company, and delivered
three thousand cows to him at the Washita Indian Agency last fall. In
the final settlement, he drew on three different banks, and one draft
of twenty-eight thousand dollars came back, indorsed, DRAWEE UNKNOWN. I
had other herds on the trail to look after, and it was a month before I
found out that the check was bogus, by which time Honest John had
sailed for Europe. There was nothing could be done but put my claim
into a judgment and lay for him. But I’ve got a grapevine twist on him
now, for no sooner did he buy a herd here last week than Mr. Sutton
transferred the judgment to this jurisdiction, and his cattle will be
attached this afternoon. I’ve been on his trail for nearly a year, but
he’ll come to me now, and before he can move his beeves out of this
county, the last cent must come, with interest, attorney’s fees,
detective bills, and remuneration for my own time and trouble. That’s
the reason that I’m so glad to meet him. Judge, I’ve gone to the
trouble and expense to get his record for the last ten years. He’s so
snaky he sheds his name yearly, shifting for a nickname from Honest
John to The Quaker. In ’80 he and his associates did business under the
name of The Army & Sutler Supply Company, and I know of two judgments
that can be bought very reasonable against that corporation. His record
would convince any one that he despises to make an honest dollar.”
The older of the two attorneys for the plaintiffs asked a few
questions, but the replies were so unsatisfactory to their side, that
they soon passed the witness. During the cross-questioning, however,
the sheriff had approached the judge and whispered something to his
honor. As there were no further witnesses to be examined, the local
attorneys insisted on arguing the case, but Judge Mulqueen frowned them
down, saying:
“This court sees no occasion for any argument in the present case. You
might spout until you were black in the face and it wouldn’t change my
opinion any; besides I’ve got twenty cars to send and a train of cattle
to load out this evening. This court refuses to interfere with the
herds in question, at present the property of and in possession of Don
Lovell, who, together with his men, are discharged from custody. If
you’re in town to-night, Mr. Reed, drop into the Lone Star. Couple of
nice monte games running there; hundred-dollar limit, and if you feel
lucky, there’s a nice bank roll behind them. Adjourn court, Mr.
Sheriff.”