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THE
STORY OF THE OUTLAW
_A STUDY OF THE WESTERN DESPERADO_
WITH HISTORICAL NARRATIVES OF FAMOUS OUTLAWS;
THE STORIES OF NOTED BORDER WARS;
VIGILANTE MOVEMENTS AND ARMED
CONFLICTS ON THE FRONTIER
BY
EMERSON HOUGH
NEW YORK
THE OUTING PUBLISHING COMPANY
1907
COPYRIGHT, 1905, BY
THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY
COPYRIGHT, 1907, BY
EMERSON HOUGH
Entered at Stationers' Hall, London, England
_All Rights Reserved_
THE OUTING PRESS
DEPOSIT, N. Y.
The Story of the Outlaw
[Illustration: From a painting by John W. Norton
PLUMMER'S MEN HOLDING UP THE BANNACK STAGE
(_See page 119_)]
PREFACE
In offering this study of the American desperado, the author constitutes
himself no apologist for the acts of any desperado; yet neither does he
feel that apology is needed for the theme itself. The outlaw, the
desperado--that somewhat distinct and easily recognizable figure
generally known in the West as the "bad man"--is a character unique in
our national history, and one whose like scarcely has been produced in
any land other than this. It is not necessary to promote absurd and
melodramatic impressions regarding a type properly to be called
historic, and properly to be handled as such. The truth itself is
thrilling enough, and difficult as that frequently has been of
discovery, it is the truth which has been sought herein.
A thesis on the text of disregard for law might well be put to better
use than to serve merely as exciting reading, fit to pass away an idle
hour. It might, and indeed it may--if the reader so shall choose--offer
a foundation for wider arguments than those suggested in these pages,
which deal rather with premises than conclusions. The lesson of our
dealings with our bad men of the past can teach us, if we like, the best
method of dealing with our bad men to-day.
There are other lessons which we might take from an acquaintance with
frontier methods of enforcing respect for the law; and the first of
these is a practical method of handling criminals in the initial
executive acts of the law. Never were American laws so strong as to-day,
and never were our executive officers so weak. Our cities frequently are
ridden with criminals or rioters. We set hundreds of policemen to
restore order, but order is not restored. What is the average policeman
as a criminal-taker? Cloddy and coarse of fiber, rarely with personal
heredity of mental or bodily vigor, with no training at arms, with no
sharp, incisive quality of nerve action, fat, unwieldy, unable to run a
hundred yards and keep his breath, not skilled enough to kill his man
even when he has him cornered, he is the archetype of all unseemliness
as the agent of a law which to-day needs a sterner upholding than ever
was the case in all our national life. We use this sort of tools in
handling criminals, when each of us knows, or ought to know, that the
city which would select twenty Western peace officers of the old type
and set them to work without restrictions as to the size of their
imminent graveyards, would free itself of criminals in three months'
time, and would remain free so long as its methods remained in force.
As for the subject-matter of the following work, it may be stated that,
while attention has been paid to the great and well-known instances and
epochs of outlawry, many of the facts given have not previously found
their way into print. The story of the Lincoln County War of the
Southwest is given truthfully for the first time, and after full
acquaintance with sources of information now inaccessible or passing
away. The Stevens County War of Kansas, which took place, as it were,
but yesterday and directly at our doors, has had no history but a
garbled one; and as much might be said of many border encounters whose
chief use heretofore has been to curdle the blood in penny-dreadfuls.
Accuracy has been sought among the confusing statements purporting to
constitute the record in such historic movements as those of the
"vigilantes" of California and Montana mining days, and of the later
cattle days when "wars" were common between thieves and outlaws, and the
representatives of law and order,--themselves not always duly
authenticated officers of the law.
No one man can have lived through the entire time of the American
frontier; and any work of this kind must be in part a matter of
compilation in so far as it refers to matters of the past. In all cases
where practicable, however, the author has made up the records from
stories of actual participants, survivors and eye-witnesses; and he is
able in some measure to write of things and men personally known during
twenty-five years of Western life. Captain Patrick F. Garrett, of New
Mexico, central figure of the border fighting in that district in the
early railroad days, has been of much service in extending the author's
information on that region and time. Mr. Herbert M. Tonney, now of
Illinois, tells his own story as a survivor of the typical county-seat
war of Kansas, in which he was shot and left for dead. Many other men
have offered valuable narratives.
In dealing with any subject of early American history, there is no
authority more incontestable than Mr. Alexander Hynds, of Dandridge,
Tennessee, whose acquaintance with singular and forgotten bits of early
frontier history borders upon the unique in its way. Neither does better
authority exist than Hon. N. P. Langford, of Minnesota, upon all matters
having to do with life in the Rocky Mountain region in the decade of
1860-1870. He was an argonaut of the Rockies and a citizen of Montana
and of other Western territories before the coming of the days of law.
Free quotations are made from his graphic work, "Vigilante Days and
Ways," which is both interesting of itself and valuable as a historical
record.
The stories of modern train-robbing bandits and outlaw gangs are taken
partly from personal narratives, partly from judicial records, and
partly from works frequently more sensational than accurate, and
requiring much sifting and verifying in detail. Naturally, very many
volumes of Western history and adventure have been consulted. Much of
this labor has been one of love for the days and places concerned, which
exist no longer as they once did. The total result, it is hoped, will
aid in telling at least a portion of the story of the vivid and
significant life of the West, and of that frontier whose van, if ever
marked by human lawlessness, has, none the less, ever been led by the
banner of human liberty. May that banner still wave to-day, and though
blood be again the price, may it never permanently be replaced by that
of license and injustice in our America.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I THE DESPERADO 1
II THE IMITATION DESPERADO 14
III THE LAND OF THE DESPERADO 22
IV THE EARLY OUTLAW 35
V THE VIGILANTES OF CALIFORNIA 74
VI THE OUTLAW OF THE MOUNTAINS 98
VII HENRY PLUMMER 105
VIII BOONE HELM 127
IX DEATH SCENES OF DESPERADOES 137
X JOSEPH A. SLADE 145
XI THE DESPERADO OF THE PLAINS 154
XII WILD BILL HICKOK 167
XIII FRONTIER WARS 187
XIV THE LINCOLN COUNTY WAR 196
XV THE STEVENS COUNTY WAR 227
XVI BIOGRAPHIES OF BAD MEN 256
XVII THE FIGHT OF BUCKSHOT ROBERTS 284
XVIII THE MAN HUNT 292
XIX BAD MEN OF TEXAS 313
XX MODERN BAD MEN 340
XXI BAD MEN OF THE INDIAN NATIONS 371
XXII DESPERADOES OF THE CITIES 393
ILLUSTRATIONS
FACING PAGE
Plummer's Men Holding Up the Bannack Stage (_Frontispiece_)
The Scene of Many Little Wars 12
Types of Border Barricades 36
The Scene of Many Hangings 138
How the Rustler Worked 164
Wild Bill Hickok's Desperate Fight 172
John Simpson Chisum 198
Men Prominent in the Lincoln County War 218
The "Women in the Case" 222
The McSween Store and Bank 240
Billy the Kid 258
"The Next Instant He Fired and Shot Ollinger Dead" 272
Pat F. Garrett 294
A Typical Western Man-Hunt 302
The Old Chisum Ranch 330
The Old Fritz Ranch 358
A Border Fortress 358
"Afterward" 398
Chapter I
The Desperado--_Analysis of His Make-up_--_How the Desperado Got to Be
Bad and Why_--_Some Men Naturally Skillful with Weapons_--_Typical
Desperadoes_.
Energy and action may be of two sorts, good or bad; this being as well
as we can phrase it in human affairs. The live wires that net our
streets are more dangerous than all the bad men the country ever knew,
but we call electricity on the whole good in its action. We lay it under
law, but sometimes it breaks out and has its own way. These outbreaks
will occur until the end of time, in live wires and vital men. Each land
in the world produces its own men individually bad--and, in time, other
bad men who kill them for the general good.
There are bad Chinamen, bad Filipinos, bad Mexicans, and Indians, and
negroes, and bad white men. The white bad man is the worst bad man of
the world, and the prize-taking bad man of the lot is the Western white
bad man. Turn the white man loose in a land free of restraint--such as
was always that Golden Fleece land, vague, shifting and transitory,
known as the American West--and he simply reverts to the ways of
Teutonic and Gothic forests. The civilized empire of the West has grown
in spite of this, because of that other strange germ, the love of law,
anciently implanted in the soul of the Anglo-Saxon. That there was
little difference between the bad man and the good man who went out
after him was frequently demonstrated in the early roaring days of the
West. The religion of progress and civilization meant very little to the
Western town marshal, who sometimes, or often, was a peace officer
chiefly because he was a good fighting man.
We band together and "elect" political representatives who do not
represent us at all. We "elect" executive officers who execute nothing
but their own wishes. We pay innumerable policemen to take from our
shoulders the burden of self-protection; and the policemen do not do
this thing. Back of all the law is the undelegated personal right, that
vague thing which, none the less, is recognized in all the laws and
charters of the world; as England and France of old, and Russia to-day,
may show. This undelegated personal right is in each of us, or ought to
be. If there is in you no hot blood to break into flame and set you
arbiter for yourself in some sharp, crucial moment, then God pity you,
for no woman ever loved you if she could find anything else to love, and
you are fit neither as man nor citizen.
As the individual retains an undelegated right, so does the body social.
We employ politicians, but at heart most of us despise politicians and
love fighting men. Society and law are not absolutely wise nor
absolutely right, but only as a compromise relatively wise and right.
The bad man, so called, may have been in large part relatively bad. This
much we may say scientifically, and without the slightest cheapness. It
does not mean that we shall waste any maudlin sentiment over a
desperado; and certainly it does not mean that we shall have anything
but contempt for the pretender at desperadoism.
Who and what was the bad man? Scientifically and historically he was
even as you and I. Whence did he come? From any and all places. What
did he look like? He came in all sorts and shapes, all colors and
sizes--just as cowards do. As to knowing him, the only way was by trying
him. His reputation, true or false, just or unjust, became, of course,
the herald of the bad man in due time. The "killer" of a Western town
might be known throughout the state or in several states. His reputation
might long outlast that of able statesmen and public benefactors.
What distinguished the bad man in peculiarity from his fellowman? Why
was he better with weapons? What is courage, in the last analysis? We
ought to be able to answer these questions in a purely scientific way.
We have machines for photographing relative quickness of thought and
muscular action. We are able to record the varying speeds of impulse
transmission in the nerves of different individuals. If you were picking
out a bad man, would you select one who, on the machine, showed a
dilatory nerve response? Hardly. The relative fitness for a man to be
"bad," to become extraordinarily quick and skillful with weapons, could,
without doubt, be predetermined largely by these scientific
measurements. Of course, having no thought-machines in the early West,
they got at the matter by experimenting, and so, very often, by a
graveyard route. You could not always stop to feel the pulse of a
suspected killer.
The use of firearms with swiftness and accuracy was necessary in the
calling of the desperado, after fate had marked him and set him apart
for the inevitable, though possibly long-deferred, end. This skill with
weapons was a natural gift in the case of nearly every man who attained
great reputation whether as killer of victims or as killer of killers.
Practice assisted in proficiency, but a Wild Bill or a Slade or a Billy
the Kid was born and not made.
Quickness in nerve action is usually backed with good digestion, and
hard life in the open is good medicine for the latter. This, however,
does not wholly cover the case. A slow man also might be a brave man.
Sooner or later, if he went into the desperado business on either side
of the game, he would fall before the man who was brave as himself and a
fraction faster with the gun.
There were unknown numbers of potential bad men who died mute and
inglorious after a life spent at a desk or a plow. They might have been
bad if matters had shaped right for that. Each war brings out its own
heroes from unsuspected places; each sudden emergency summons its own
fit man. Say that a man took to the use of weapons, and found himself
arbiter of life and death with lesser animals, and able to grant them
either at a distance. He went on, pleased with his growing skill with
firearms. He discovered that as the sword had in one age of the world
lengthened the human arm, so did the six-shooter--that epochal
instrument, invented at precisely that time of the American life when
the human arm needed lengthening--extend and strengthen his arm, and
make him and all men equal. The user of weapons felt his powers
increased. So now, in time, there came to him a moment of danger. There
was his enemy. There was the affront, the challenge. Perhaps it was male
against male, a matter of sex, prolific always in bloodshed. It might be
a matter of property, or perhaps it was some taunt as to his own
personal courage. Perhaps alcohol came into the question, as was often
the case. For one reason or the other, it came to the ordeal of combat.
It was the undelegated right of one individual against that of another.
The law was not invoked--the law would not serve. Even as the quicker
set of nerves flashed into action, the arm shot forward, and there
smote the point of flame as did once the point of steel. The victim
fell, his own weapon clutched in his hand, a fraction too late. The law
cleared the killer. It was "self-defense." "It was an even break," his
fellowmen said; although thereafter they were more reticent with him and
sought him out less frequently.
"It was an even break," said the killer to himself--"an even break, him
or me." But, perhaps, the repetition of this did not serve to blot out a
certain mental picture. I have had a bad man tell me that he killed his
second man to get rid of the mental image of his first victim.
But this exigency might arise again; indeed, most frequently did arise.
Again the embryo bad man was the quicker. His self-approbation now,
perhaps, began to grow. This was the crucial time of his life. He might
go on now and become a bad man, or he might cheapen and become an
imitation desperado. In either event, his third man left him still more
confident. His courage and his skill in weapons gave him assuredness and
ease at the time of an encounter. He was now becoming a specialist. Time
did the rest, until at length they buried him.
The bad man of genuine sort rarely looked the part assigned to him in
the popular imagination. The long-haired blusterer, adorned with a
dialect that never was spoken, serves very well in fiction about the
West, but that is not the real thing. The most dangerous man was apt to
be quiet and smooth-spoken. When an antagonist blustered and threatened,
the most dangerous man only felt rising in his own soul, keen and stern,
that strange exultation which often comes with combat for the man
naturally brave. A Western officer of established reputation once said
to me, while speaking of a recent personal difficulty into which he had
been forced: "I hadn't been in anything of that sort for years, and I
wished I was out of it. Then I said to myself, 'Is it true that you are
getting old--have you lost your nerve?' Then all at once the old feeling
came over me, and I was just like I used to be. I felt calm and happy,
and I laughed after that. I jerked my gun and shoved it into his
stomach. He put up his hands and apologized. 'I will give you a hundred
dollars now,' he said, 'if you will tell me where you got that gun.' I
suppose I was a trifle quick for him."
The virtue of the "drop" was eminently respected among bad men.
Sometimes, however, men were killed in the last desperate conviction
that no man on earth was as quick as they. What came near being an
incident of that kind was related by a noted Western sheriff.
"Down on the edge of the Pecos valley," said he, "a dozen miles below
old Fort Sumner, there used to be a little saloon, and I once captured a
man there. He came in from somewhere east of our territory, and was
wanted for murder. The reward offered for him was twelve hundred
dollars. Since he was a stranger, none of us knew him, but the sheriff's
descriptions sent in said he had a freckled face, small hands, and a red
spot in one eye. I heard that there was a new saloon-keeper in there,
and thought he might be the man, so I took a deputy and went down one
day to see about it.
"I told my deputy not to shoot until he saw me go after my gun. I didn't
want to hold the man up unless he was the right one, and I wanted to be
sure about that identification mark in the eye. Now, when a bartender is
waiting on you, he will never look you in the face until just as you
raise your glass to drink. I told my deputy that we would order a couple
of drinks, and so get a chance to look this fellow in the eye. When he
looked up, I did look him in the eye, and there was the red spot!
"I dropped my glass and jerked my gun and covered him, but he just
wouldn't put up his hands for a while. I didn't want to kill him, but I
thought I surely would have to. He kept both of his hands resting on the
bar, and I knew he had a gun within three feet of him somewhere. At last
slowly he gave in. I treated him well, as I always did a prisoner, told
him we would square it if we had made any mistake. We put irons on him
and started for Las Vegas with him in a wagon. The next morning, out on
the trail, he confessed everything to me. We turned him over, and later
he was tried and hung. I always considered him to be a pretty bad man.
So far as the result was concerned, he might about as well have gone
after his gun. I certainly thought that was what he was going to do. He
had sand. I could just see him stand there and balance the chances in
his mind.
"Another of the nerviest men I ever ran up against," the same officer
went on, reflectively, "I met when I was sheriff of Dona Aña county, New
Mexico. I was in Las Cruces, when there came in a sheriff from over in
the Indian Nations looking for a fugitive who had broken out of a
penitentiary after killing a guard and another man or so. This sheriff
told me that the criminal in question was the most desperate man he had
ever known, and that no matter how we came on him, he would put up a
fight and we would have to kill him before we could take him. We located
our man, who was cooking on a ranch six or eight miles out of town. I
told the sheriff to stay in town, because the man would know him and
would not know us. I had a Mexican deputy along with me.
"I put out my deputy on one side of the house and went in. I found my
man just wiping his hands on a towel after washing his dishes. I threw
down on him, and he answered by smashing me in the face, and then
jumping through the window like a squirrel. I caught at him and tore the
shirt off his back, but I didn't stop him. Then I ran out of the door
and caught him on the porch. I did not want to kill him, so I struck him
over the head with the handcuffs I had ready for him. He dropped, but
came up like a flash, and struck me so hard with his fist that I was
badly jarred. We fought hammer and tongs for a while, but at length he
broke away, sprang through the door, and ran down the hall. He was going
to his room after his gun. At that moment my Mexican came in, and having
no sentiment about it, just whaled away and shot him in the back,
killing him on the spot. The doctors said when they examined this man's
body that he was the most perfect physical specimen they had ever seen.
I can testify that he was a fighter. The sheriff offered me the reward,
but I wouldn't take any of it. I told him that I would be over in his
country some time, and that I was sure he would do as much for me if I
needed his help. I hope that if I do have to go after his particular
sort of bad people, I'll be lucky in getting the first start on my man.
That man was as desperate a fighter as I ever saw or expect to see. Give
a man of that stripe any kind of a show and he's going to kill you,
that's all. He knows that he has no chance under the law.
"Sometimes they got away with desperate chances, too, as many a peace
officer has learned to his cost. The only way to go after such a man is
to go prepared, and then to give him no earthly show to get the best of
you. I don't mean that an officer ought to shoot down a man if he has a
show to take his prisoner alive; but I do mean that he ought to remember
that he may be pitted against a man who is just as brave as he is,
and just as good with a gun, and who is fighting for his life."
[Illustration: THE SCENE OF MANY LITTLE WARS
More men have been killed in this street than in any other in America]
Of course, such a man as this, whether confronted by an officer of the
law or by another man against whom he has a personal grudge, or who has
in any way challenged him to the ordeal of weapons, was steadfast in his
own belief that he was as brave as any, and as quick with weapons. Thus,
until at length he met his master in the law of human progress and
civilization, he simply added to his own list of victims, or was added
to the list of another of his own sort. For a very long time, moreover,
there existed a great region on the frontier where the law could not
protect. There was good reason, therefore, for a man's learning to
depend upon his own courage and strength and skill. He had nothing else
to protect him, whether he was good or bad. In the typical days of the
Western bad man, life was the property of the individual, and not of
society, and one man placed his life against another's as the only way
of solving hard personal problems. Those days and those conditions
brought out some of the boldest and most reckless men the earth ever
saw. Before we freely criticize them, we ought fully to understand them.