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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
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CLAY ALLISON 
 OF THE WASHITA 
 
 •j^f'rst a Cow IXf/an and then an ^xitn^ui'sher of ^ad 9, 
 
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 RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 of 
 Colorado, New Mexico and the Texas Panhandle 
 
 S^otrtf" 
 
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 To My Friends in the Enehatttii^g East 
 
 Td ^h d^ompadrttf \x\ the fascina^ifiig West 
 
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CLAY ALLISON 
 OF THE WASHITA 
 
 First a Ccnu Man and then an Extim^iiishcr oj Bad Men 
 
 RECOLLECTIONS 
 
 OF COLORADO. NEW MEXICO AND THE 
 TEXAS PANHANDLE 
 
 Reminiscences of a ' jger 
 
 O.S, Clark 
 
 To My Friends in the Enchanting East 
 To Mis Conipadres in the Fascinating West 
 
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 Copyrighted 1922 
 by O. S. Clark 
 
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 PEGGY HINER AND GRANDFADDA' 
 
HOW I HAPPENED TO WRITE CLAY ALLISON OF THE 
 
 WASHITA. 
 
 For a number of years there has been appearing: in the 
 Saturday Evening Post several interesting: stories of Western 
 happenings, written by some eminent authors. At last there 
 appeared a particularly interesting number and one where the 
 scenes were laid close to some of my old stamping grounds, 
 where I was doing my very best to be a good and well behaved 
 Cow Puncher, relating incidents and mentioning some char- 
 acters that I had heard of and some men that I knew, while "on 
 the range." It occurred to me that perhaps one or two of these 
 writers might know of others that I had known, so, with some 
 fear and trembling, I wrote some of them, asking if they knew 
 certain fellows in the old "wooley, eat'em alive" days. I men- 
 tioned Clay Allison, v/hom I happened to know, and incidentally 
 suggested that if they knew Clay, that they were the right ones 
 to put in history the life of this "wooliest of the wooley," since 
 he had so many weird and unique ways of killing his victims, 
 some twelve or thirteen. It had been my privilege to be ac- 
 quainted with this Masterful Man with the gun and I would like 
 very much to see some of his exploits written by some men who 
 knew him and knew how to write. I received some very kind 
 and courteous letters from these writers and they answered 
 that they did not know Allison, but since I knew him, that it 
 would be advisable for me to gather such facts and all of the 
 data possible and put it together in a sketch, and send it in, and 
 that they thought they could dig out enough material to use 
 for some future article in the Saturday Evening Post or some 
 other magazine. I started this work, using odd times, and be- 
 came very much interested, as the work enabled me to locate 
 and renew many old acquaintances with whom I had not "fan- 
 ned" for forty years and at the same time I have been gaining 
 many new acquaintances "who were there" but whom I had not 
 met. One man I dug up was Charley Seringo, now at Santa Fe. 
 Charley was a frequenter of our country on the Palo Duro 
 country of the Pan Handle, Texas, and knew and was associated 
 with all of the big Cattle Men from the coast to Montana, as 
 cow boy, as foreman of outfits, as Indian fighter, and as a 
 chaser of all kinds of thieves, horse, cattle or otherwise, and 
 of late years as a Wild West Detective, running down cattle 
 rustlers, outlaws, and since which period has written several 
 books. He told me of the sad fates of many I knew— some got 
 in jail, some were hung — and he mentioned some who have 
 crossed the Divide and how each left an enviable past. He 
 mentioned one who was a prominent fighter at the Adobe Walls 
 Battle, under Billie Dixon and Bat Masterson in 1874. He 
 then calls my attention to his death "you knew him, he was a 
 
wonderful Buffalo Hunter and an expert horse thief, his wife 
 writes that he passed away last winter." I had forgotten this 
 celebrity, hence I was pleased to learn that, now, the cow ponies 
 would not all of them fall into the clutches, and mow of this 
 expert thief. They used to say he could steal a horse corral 
 full of ponies, with his eyes shut. Another interesting cor- 
 respondence that was developed in the work was with Mrs. 
 Olive Dixon, who was the widow of Billie Dixon, who, with Rat 
 Masterson, whom everybody in this country knew, vv^ere the 
 heroes with twenty-four others and a woman at the Adobe 
 Walls Indian Battle in 1874, when these brave buffalo hunters 
 stood off over eight hundred Hostile Indians, composed of all 
 the Allied Tribes of the great southwest, and licked them to a 
 stand still. Billie Dixon knevi^ Clay Allison well and I think 
 speaks of him in his Book of History. Mrs. Dixon told me the 
 address of some others whom we knew on the Palo Duro. By 
 the way our ranch was only about twenty-five miles from this 
 famous battle field of the Adobe Walls. Billie Dixon, with 
 Amos Chapman, who is still living and whom Charley Shideler 
 knew and whom Seringo knew, after the Adobe Walls fight and 
 four others, were trapped in the open and stood off a Hostile 
 Band of Indians without any protection whatever. This was 
 called the Buffalo Wallow Battle and was located about fifty 
 miles from our ranch. Mrs. Dixon told me of the Cators. 
 The reader will notice in the book how closely we were related 
 to the Cators in our acquaintance. Seringo furnishes the 
 skunk story, which J have quoted. He was also one of the 
 stanch friends of the Cators. Seringo is a close friend of one 
 of the writers I mention above and he knew him "back yonder" 
 when he was running a newspaper at White Oaks, New Mexico. 
 He also knew Pat Garrett and also helped Pat trail Billie, the 
 Kid, the desporado, who was shooting up the country at about 
 the t'me I was making a trip alone from Colorado to the Pan 
 Handle. I had two horses and was riding light and mostly nights 
 on Billie's account. My late friend Dr. George F. Butler, whom 
 all Attica will remember, revere and respect as being the very 
 efficient and able Medical Director at the Mudlavia Springs for 
 several years, was a very close friend of one of these writers, 
 Emerson Hough. A word to the friends the Doctor knew 
 here in Attica so well, and also to the very eminent acquaint- 
 ances and associates of his whom he had made all over the 
 United States, will at this time not be unfitting. Dr. Butler 
 was a giant in his profession, and under that apparent indif- 
 ference was the frame of a Man, and under that cool, calculat- 
 ing exterior was the stone wall of honesty, and under the re- 
 laxation of sterner thoughts was the bulwark of a genius. Dr. 
 Butler's niche will be long in filling. Not easy to approach, 
 but once the ice was broken, he was the genial, generous, 
 gentlemanly man of much influence and poise, and it was our 
 honor to know him. His epitaph should be a simple one, but 
 rich in sentiment, just this — "Our beloved Physician." The 
 Doctor and myself, after our first acquaintanceship started, 
 and we thawed out, (we were each of us naturally hard to get 
 next to) and commenced, advisedly, to tell some of our early 
 experiences. We discovered that we were both in the wild 
 west at about the same time. He could "fan" on sheep and I 
 
could "fan" on cattle — ordinarily in the rough, early days a 
 cattle man would not speak to a sheep man. However, the 
 Doctor and I got along fine together and never had any occasion 
 to shoot up one another. His tales were always different from 
 mine, hence the tales of each were interesting to the other. 
 
 I, of course, sert one of the little books to my friend, 
 the Doctor, who was at that time the Medical Director of the 
 North Shore Sanitarium, Winnetka. I cautioned him and hop- 
 ed that the little thing, when he read it, would not serve him 
 like the "old Jordan" whiskey in the Pan Handle, served the 
 boys in my time. I told him that it was always the custom 
 in those free and boisterous days to furnish a whisk broom 
 with each drink. The reason for this was to enable the fellow, 
 when he downed his poison, to immediately take the whisk 
 broom and brush off a place on the floor and have a full sized 
 fit. The Doctor an,=^wered back that he had always understood 
 that the whiskey in the Pan Handle would kill rattlesnakes at 
 forty rods, but it did not compare at all with the barbed wire 
 variety they had in Kansas at that time. He said that when- 
 ever a fellow took a drink of that stuff in that country "he did 
 not care a durn where he had his fit." You are privileged now 
 to read some of the real facts connected with the History of 
 Clay Allison who was a full sized man, and also a few reminis- 
 cences of my own experiences, which are mild and docile com- 
 pared to some of th<.' carrying ons of many that I knew in the 
 Land of the Sunset. 
 
 Your humble servant, 
 
 0. S. CLARK. 
 
CLAY ALLISON OF THE WASHITA. 
 
 The writer, together with two cow boy friends, Charley 
 Shideler and Sam Hanna, had gone into NewMexico in the eigh- 
 ties at different times and had purchased cattle, and driven 
 them to the Pan Handle of Texas. 
 
 Our principal stunt in the cattle trade was to take our out- 
 fit, generally enough cow ponies, a mess wagon and three or 
 four riders, and go into New Mexico and buy mixed cattle, and 
 drive them on the trail to Texas or Colorado. We most always 
 had made previous arrangements with some big cattle outfit 
 for employment for wages with the privilege of running so 
 many head of our own cattle on the employers range. When 
 we arrived with the herd, we turned them loose and after they 
 had fattened some v,e usually sold them on the range to our 
 Boss on our count. We bought cheap, had no expense, we 
 could not lose. 
 
 On one of the trips to buy cattle we had gone into the 
 Trimentena Creek country, some twenty or thirty miles from 
 Las Vegas, where there had not been any rain to speak of for 
 two years, and of course where the cattle were cheap and poor, 
 but we decided to take a chance on being able to get them to 
 the Pan Handle where the grass was good, so we helped the 
 Mexican Vaqueros round-up and cut-out what we thought we 
 could handle, and after the usual dickering and collective bar- 
 gaining, we made the trade and invested our little wad and 
 started on the trail. 
 
 We have in mind yet our first transaction and remember 
 our deal was made through a Mr. Blanchard, in Las Vagas, 
 New Mexico, who represented his mother-in-law, a Mexican 
 lady by the name of Mrs. Del Desmarias. 
 
 The cattle were so poor the Vaqueros had to round up for 
 several days before they were able to get enough for us to make 
 our selection from. They were so emaciated we could not put 
 our road brand on and for a while we were obliged to tail 
 them up in the morning and shove them along the trail. The 
 other day I ran across the Bill of Sale for a part of the herd 
 we bought, issued to. us before we started with the cattle on 
 the trail. It is well preserved and reads as follows: 
 
 Trimintina Ranch, May 13, 1880. 
 This is to certify that we have this day sold to Clark, Shid- 
 eler and Hanna, for value received (180) One Hundred & Eigh- 
 ty Dry Cows and (158) One Hundred and Fifty Eight yearling 
 heifers branded AE,S-B,JG,NE, and we guarantee peaceable 
 possession of the same. 
 
 Chas. Blanchard. 
 Mrs. Del Desmarias, 
 
We did our banking business with the Reynolds Bros, and 
 I have in my possession a receipt for the 1st or 2nd deposit of 
 money we made. The Reynolds, I understand, are still in the 
 banking trade at Las Vegas. 
 
 We started on the trail short-handed, short-grubbed and 
 short-horsed, and after a day or two of driving hit the "Chas 
 Les Goodnight Trail," as the natives called it. We'll never 
 forgive him for locating it where he did. It was all right in 
 shortening the distance from Mex to Tex, but otherwise it will 
 shorten the span of every man's soul that ever drove cattle 
 over that trail. After getting straightened out comfortably, 
 and the cattle were doing fairly well, the two years of accumu- 
 lative rain that had been coming to that country was dumped 
 on us in about one week, but after many storms, stampedes and 
 hardships, such as riding all day and night herding without 
 relief, we finally struck our horn of plenty, God's Country, the 
 Texas Pan Handle. While in camp one day at noon, you know 
 at the noon hour with cattle on the trail the herd is turned 
 loose to graze wh-le the cow punchers get their dinner and 
 catch up a little on sleep. On this particular day with wood 
 and water running by, handy to our camp, we were busily en- 
 gaged in trying to coax the wet cow chips to burn so that we 
 could cook our dinner and prepare the succulent sow belly and 
 the dainty sour dough bread, in the true cafeteria style, 
 Has the reader ever had any experience with a cow-chip 
 camp fire in a rainy time? We should judge not, and 
 we want to say new that no heaven born man v/ill ever 
 reach that realm, that has ever had anything to do with 
 that pesterin', pusillanimous kind of a cooking fire, It 
 requires all of the juggling art of a Herrman, and all the blow- 
 ing power of a Sampson, and all of the patience of a Job, to 
 keep it alive. You may juggle it sidewise and length wise, 
 and you may balance it under or over the Dutch Oven, skiletts, 
 etc., and you may blow the last breath that is in you, and you 
 may coax, and cuddle and pamper, but if it is in the proper 
 mode it will calmly and cooly, and without passion, sputter its 
 last breath on you, and then you will retire, and become the 
 quiet, serene man that you should be — maybe. When dinner 
 was ready and as usual one of the boys had expres.->ed his wish 
 that some of his rich relatives in the East could be present on 
 that particular occasion and partake of that elegant lunch, 
 which had all of the rich flavor that a real cow chip fire could 
 give it, we noticed a lone horseman approaching. As he came 
 nearer we noticed that he was well equipped with plenty of 
 shooting irons and was riding a magnificent black gelding. 
 When he got into the camp circle we invited him to light and 
 have some dinner. He did so, and upon closer inspection we 
 observed that he and his mount were completely covered with 
 Winchester rifles, the regulation 45 Colts, and the conven- 
 tional Bowie knives. As he sat down, he remarked that he 
 was lost and inquired where we were. We stated that we were 
 not certain, but thoiight that we were on the head waters of 
 the Beaver — this afterwards proved true. He was a magnifi- 
 cent type of man, handsome, six feet or more tall, with a clear, 
 keen, blue eye; well dressed and he had the absolute qualities 
 of a gentleman, polite in the extreme. After we had all circled 
 
 10 
 
the camp fire and sat down we tried to relieve his reticence 
 somewhat, as he seemed rather quiet and observing, by one of 
 the boys, who was tender in the feet, asking some most unusual 
 and unbecoming questions. This boy violated all the rules 
 and regulations and specifications of polite Texas society. He 
 went contrary to all of the customs and traditions of that elite 
 communitiy, as every body should know, that all gentlemen res- 
 idents of that country were expected to, at all times, taboo the 
 delicate and touchy question of inquiring where you were from. 
 The man realized at once that we were three very young and 
 juicy Tenderfeet and he proceeded very slowly and deliberate- 
 ly to answer any pertinent or personal questions. After a few 
 common place remarks had passed and he had let us lope our 
 heads off and had allowed us to circle around some, and the 
 rope "had tightened on our necks sufficient," he said, as the 
 Virginian would express it, "in a casual like way," that he was 
 from the Washita Country and was then on his way to New 
 Mexico, where he had a brother living, and who was at that 
 time in trouble. We boys again got very busy with our ques- 
 tions, as we had previously heard a great deal about a man 
 by the name of Clay Allison who had considerable of a reputa- 
 tion and name as a brave and daring character, and who it was 
 reported, had killed some twelve or thirteen men, and had some 
 fancy, unique and unusual ways of killing his men, all however 
 in self defense — it was always, also decided both by public 
 opinion and by the courts that the fellow who usually got kill- 
 ed was always to blame for the row — and who we understood 
 and had heard was from the Washita country. Blunderingly 
 and ignorantly we bumped on more inquiries as to his asso- 
 ciates and his associations, by asking him if he knew or had 
 heard of Clay Allison in that country. Again he turned the 
 subject and put the conversation on another tact, and taking 
 his time, as old practiced cow punchers had a way of doing, he 
 came back to the point in question, and said quietly, determin- 
 edly and with some emphasis, that he was CLAY ALLISON, 
 "What are you going to do about it?" Well, we were sudden- 
 ly struck with the drunken reels and some fancy knee shaking. 
 We couldn't even get up off our haunches or fall over, we were 
 so scared so we did oiir best to keep from swallowing our Adams 
 Apple and choking to death. Finally suspecting that at that 
 particular time he might be perfectly harmless we were de- 
 termined to keep him that way if possible, and we at once be- 
 came three' of the best table waiters the banks of that old 
 Beaver Creek had ever seen. It was Allison, or rather Mr. 
 Allison, have some more meat (and meat was durn scarce too), 
 and it was Clay, or rather Mr. Allison, take more of these ele- 
 gant sour dough sinkers, and it was Mr. Allison take plenty of 
 the Frijoles (and it was over sixty miles to more beans). We 
 sure did keep his plate, side boards and all, well filled, and he 
 did sure eat some, which fact verified his statement that he 
 had been living on Jack Rabbits for two or three days and was 
 some hungry. When the time arrived for the dessert, we of 
 course apologized, as his coming at that time had found us un- 
 prepared, as the rich cream that we had been using had failed 
 to whip, so that the best we could do was to offer him just plain 
 prunes. We lied a little about the cream — we hadn't had any 
 
since the fall before. He seemed to have a regular prune 
 tooth, as he cleaned out that Prune Ranch in short order. 
 
 After having devoured the most of our lunch there was 
 nothing more to say or do, so we all arose together, at one and 
 the same time, that was another necessary and precautionary 
 practice, due to the experience and mistakes that some of the 
 former citizens and old timers had made, by remaining on the 
 ground in a sitting position too long, so that the other fellow 
 got the drop. When he expressed the notion that he "must 
 pull his freight" one of us took special pains and pride in di- 
 recting him on the right trail, and another helped him cinch 
 his saddle and arrange his artillery, while the other filled his 
 holsters and saddle bags with the balance of the grub that was 
 in camp. 
 
 It was a pleasing and relieving sight to see Mr. Allison, 
 with his magnificent array of preparedness disappear over the 
 darkening horizon. It was always a source of gratitude to us 
 that he did not, while visiting us and partaking of our hospital- 
 ity get funny with his guns and shoot at our toes just to see us 
 dance the highland fling and make our hair stand up pompadore 
 like, but as I have said before he was considered a perfect 
 gentleman, either in a fight or a visit. And thus we first knew 
 Clay Allison. 
 
 As we watched him cut the divide we then, as usual, loaded 
 the mess wagon and each one hid his plate and cup. That 
 was necessary, because in every trail camp some one of the un- 
 scrupulous members might, if the plates and cups were all as- 
 sembled in the box, be so unconventional as to pick out the 
 nicest and cleanest licked plate for himself and leave the dirty 
 ones for the rest. It was very seldom that the dishes got 
 washed on account of the scarcity of water, both body and cul- 
 inary. After we rounded up the cattle we silently, thought- 
 fully and reverently pointed the leaders down the long trail 
 and dressed up the side lines and commenced to wallop the 
 drags toward the cottonwoods and breaks of the Palo Duro 
 country. 
 
 As I have mentioned before, Allison told us that he was 
 going to his brother's place in New Mexico, as his brother was 
 in trouble. We learned afterwards that it was on this partic- 
 ular trip of his, or one previously, that Clay got in a very close 
 and dangerous situation, while engaged in a free for all fight 
 against some of his own or his brother's old time enemies. The 
 odds were terribly against him, so much so that he had to de- 
 fend his life by shooting his way out. When the census was 
 taken there were two dead and several wounded. I think that 
 this occured near Las Vegas, New Mexico. 
 
 On another occasion, after our first acquaintance, we met 
 Allison in New Mexico, but by that time we had grown a little 
 wild and wooly our.'-elves, so much so that our teeth did not 
 chatter when we came in contact with noted men like Allison, 
 and again we found him the perfect gentleman and the true 
 knight of western valor and honor, and at the same time always 
 ready to kill any one who needed it. 
 
 It's appropriate and fitting at this time to tell about the 
 true character and ihe many fine qualities of this cleaner up 
 of bad men. This comes from first hand and is told by one of 
 
 12 
 
the boys who was with the party on the Beaver, previously 
 spoken of, Sam Hanna, when Allison rode into our camp. This 
 boy met Allison afterwards in the Palo Duro country and spent 
 some days with him and had a good chance and opportunity to 
 study his makeup. He says: "He lived in the Washita coun- 
 try not far from Mobeetie. I am not sure whether his ranch 
 was in Wheeler county or Hemphill county. I remember him 
 quite well and had a nice visit with him once at our ranch when 
 you were not there. He was a quiet, unassuming man, with no 
 element of the desporado about him. He never killed any one 
 except in self defense, but he had about one dozen to his credit, 
 all of whom needed killing for the good of society. The bad 
 men were always hunting him and we expected he would event- 
 ually die with his boots on, but, strange to relate he had a most 
 unusual and strange, not at all in keeping with his past, death. 
 He died in bed from the result of an injury received in falling 
 off a loaded wagon and the wagon running over his neck. 
 
 "He once told me that he was not a good shot at a mark, 
 except when the mark was a bad man. He seemed to think 
 that he had just been simply lucky." 
 
 One of the storics, which has been vouched for, was about 
 his killing a bad Me:^rican desperado in the dining room of the 
 hotel (I suppose the Wright Hotel) at Dodge City. The Mexi- 
 can came in the room with his gun in his hand, expecting to 
 catch Allison off his guard. Clay had heard that the fellow 
 was looking for him and had said he was going to kill him. 
 Allison had taken a seat in the rear of the dining room, facing 
 the door, with his gun in his lap. When the Mexican entered 
 the room with his gun drawn, Allison quickly pulled up and 
 shot him in the center of the forehead, killing him instantly 
 and proceeded to finish his meal without rising from his chair. 
 
 On another occasion, when he was living on the Washita, 
 he went to Dodge City for supplies, with his guns on him as 
 was his usual custom. At that time the authorities were try- 
 ing to enforce an ordi^nce requiring every one to disarm on 
 entering the town. One reason given for this was the fact 
 that that thickly populated cemetery. Boot Hill, was becoming 
 crowded. When the marshal demanded and ordered that Clay 
 rem.ove his pistols, Allison protested, stating that it would be 
 as much as his life was worth to lay them off for even one hour. 
 After a conference on the part of the officials they decided that 
 he must be disarmed. When they gave Clay the ultimatum he 
 said to them, "Gentlemen, when these pistols go off they will go 
 off smoking." They knew they would have to kill him if they 
 persisted in their action, this they did not want to do, so they 
 reconsidered the matter and gave him the freedom of the city 
 and it's told that he -lid not abuse the privilege in any way and 
 left town in a decent and orderly manner. 
 
 Allison was on the first grand jury ever convened in Hemp- 
 hill County, Texas, the foreman of which, "Uncle Dick Bussell, 
 a veteran of the Adobe Walls Indian fight, still lives in Cana- 
 dian. Texas. While Bussell was not exactly in the fight and is 
 not mentioned by Billie Dixon, he was on his way, but arrived 
 after it was all over. There was a preponderence of citizen- 
 ship just like him on that grand jury, as they stayed a little 
 tipsey so much that the Foreman could not get them to act on 
 
 13 
 
any bills of indictment. He kept them together for twenty- 
 eight days before he gave up trying to turn in some indictments 
 to the court, and Clay was just as hilarious when turned loose 
 as he was the first day that he served as a grand juror. 
 
 Getting to ^he ridiculous side of Allison we have it related 
 that on one occosion he rode into town and stopped his horse at 
 the top of what is known now as College Hill, (we think located 
 at Canadian, Texas). He removed all of his clothes except his 
 boots, which he left on. He then tied his clothes on behind 
 his saddle and rode down through the town on the run, shoot- 
 ing and yelling, and so proceeded with the exhibition until he 
 reached the outskirts of town. As he was a tall man of strik- 
 ing proportions this ride made something of a sensation, even 
 in those days. 
 
 T. D. McCarthy who is very familiar with many of the old 
 timers and also the border towns, in confirming the episode just 
 related, describes College Hill in this way, and writes. "Col- 
 lege Hill you speak of is at the head of Main St. in Canadian. 
 This town is built on a fairly steep hill side, and on top of the 
 hill, on a flat, is a bit- brick school house, hence the name — Col- 
 lege Hill." 
 
 Probably the most dramatic and dramaturgy of all Alli- 
 son's fights occured at Las Animus, Colo., where one of the of- 
 ficers of the town had a fear and hatred for Allicon, and had 
 stated that if he ever got the drop on him, Allison, he would 
 shoot to kill. On this fateful day Allison and his brother John 
 went into a dance hall, when the marshal came in and ordered 
 them not to go on the floor with their guns on their hips. Clay 
 said, "You notice that the rest of the boys still have their guns 
 on. Why do you order us to take our guns off when you don't 
 the other fellow?" The officer went out and the two brothers 
 separated, each going to opposite sides of the room. The of- 
 ficer came back and Clay was watching the door, as he always 
 did on such occasions, and his brother was watching the dance. 
 The Marshal pushed open the door and threw down a double 
 barreled shot gun loaded with buckshot on the first of the boys 
 he saw, not knowing exactly where the other of the brothers 
 was. Clay yelled. "Look out" and as he yelled all three shot, 
 at one and the same time. Clay and his brother both shot the 
 marshal through the heart. It was impossible to tell which 
 killed him. The buckshot splintered the right arm and pene- 
 trated the right side of John. Clay immediately demanded a 
 doctor for his brother before he would consent to arrest. John 
 Allison was taken to the army post and later recovered from 
 his wounds. Clay then consented to be arrested, providing 
 they would not put the chains on him. But when he was dis- 
 armed they took advantage of him and chained him to the wall 
 of his cell. He was finally liberated on habeas corpus proceed- 
 ings and before the court set the trial, all of the dance house 
 girls, ditto gamblers, etc., had received transportation to New 
 York, Palm Beach, and San Francisco, or some other and sun- 
 dry places, and consequently there were no witnesses, hence the 
 boys came clear. Ferd Davis' account of this battle comes 
 nearer being authentic, since he knew the participants and was 
 a partner of Clay Allison. He says: — 
 
 "There were two dance halls in Las Animas, they were 
 
 14 
 
drinking some but were not making any disturbance. Charlie 
 Faber was town mart^hall. He went to Clay and told him that 
 he would have to give up his arms. Allison told him no, said 
 he would give his pistol to hia brother John, which he did. 
 Charlie went out to get a shot gun, but while he (Charlie) was 
 gone Clay gets his pistol from John, and when Charlie returned, 
 he had Tom Russell open the door and he (Charlie) fires one 
 barrel of his gun into John Allison, but the next barrel goes 
 into the floor. Clay killed Faber instantly. I never knew 
 Allison to give up his gun but once, and that was to Dick 
 Wooton, Jr., former sheriff of Las Animas county. He knew 
 Dick didn't want to murder him. Clay Allison fell off a wagon 
 and was killed. 
 
 At the beginning of the civil war he was on his father's 
 farm down in Tennessee, and he learned to fight during the 
 civil war, and you know what General Sherman said war was. 
 When sober he was pleasant and kind. So young man let 
 whiskey alone. For "Wine is a mocker, and strong drink is 
 raging, and he that is deceived thereby is not wise." 
 
 In Allison's early days on the Washita the usual epidemic 
 of cattle rustling broke out in his neighborhood. Calves were 
 seen with mysterious brands, and they were not Mavericks 
 either. Steers and cows would have their brands changed, 
 som_e so recent that the burnt flesh would indicate that it was 
 the handiwork of thti rustler. The situation got so tense that 
 the decent cattle men called for a meeting of the cow men to 
 be held at some central ranch. The meeting was at night and 
 after a good deal of discussion as to who were doing the dirty 
 work, and suggesting means of catching the thieves, and no 
 practical indications for finding or catching the rustlers, Clay 
 Allison arose from his chair, and in his cool and deliberate way 
 addressed the meeting. He said, "Men do you want to know 
 
 who these d cattle -thief rustlers are?" They said yes. 
 
 Allison shouted, pointing his finger, "There they are. It's the 
 
 A^ boys." As he pointed toward them he said, "And D 
 
 you know it." There was an instant shifting of guns, and each 
 individual looked for a point of vantage. After a moment of 
 intense silence the strain was broken by the A boys pull- 
 ing their guns and leaping for the open doorway. They dash- 
 ed around the corner of the house toward an open window lead- 
 ing into the house, when some one noticed their actions and 
 called to Allison, "Look out or they will shoot you through the 
 window." With both pistols drawn he leaped to the corner of 
 the room and yelled, "Come back here you calf stealing cattle 
 rustlers." They slunk off in the darkness, knowing down in 
 their dishonest hearts, that at the next meeting with Clay Al- 
 lison their time would have arrived. He hated a sneak, he dis- 
 pised a thief, ho loatned a cattle rustler. The A boys dis- 
 appeared and went to a different climate for better or worse. 
 
 Allison naturally despised the cheap murdering Mexican 
 desperado, and was most always in the mode to soak one if he 
 needed killing. The following story illustrates how quickly 
 and expeditiously he sent one to the bone hill. This Mexican 
 had a big sombrero and was holding it in front of his stomach 
 trying to hide the action of his right hand in reaching for his 
 gun, after an altercation with Allison, and Allison shot him 
 
 13 
 
through the heart before he could null. The acting Sheriff 
 did not have the nerve to place Allison under arrest, and he 
 represented to a Captain of the military post that there was a 
 notorious out-law resisting arrest and he would have to have 
 some soldiers' help to make the arrest. The Captain and some 
 soldiers went out to get Allison. When Allison found out 
 what they wanted he asked the sheriff why he did not come out 
 and call for him himself without bringing up the United States 
 Army. As soon as the Captain heard this he said, "This is 
 different, if that's the case you are at liberty to stay here and 
 you do not have to go to town with me." Allison said to the 
 Sheriff, "Did you ever try to arrest me?" "NO." "Did I 
 ever refuse to be placed under arrest?" Again he answered 
 "NO". "Well then why didn't you come out here like a white 
 man and get me?" Finally the Captain remarked that he was 
 going back, and Allison said he guessed he would also go back 
 w'"th him and clear the matter up. He was all prepared to go 
 and told the Sheriff to ride about fifty yards in the rear "like 
 a pup," because he, Allison, had some pride and didn't want 
 people in town to see him riding in the same company as the 
 sheriff. They came to a creek or water hole and were prepar- 
 ing to dismount for a short rest when Allison exclaimed, "Wait 
 a minute. I don't want to desecrate good, honest ground while 
 there is inferior dirt around" — meaning the sheriff. Then he 
 made the officer of the law remove his little narrow brimmed, 
 close fitting felt hat, which he filled with some sweet smelling 
 water from an odoriferous water hole. He then commanded 
 the sheriff to put on }iis hat, without spilling a drop or he would 
 kill him, and he was to wear it clear into town, and riding be- 
 hind all of the way. The sheriff was glad to follow instruc- 
 tions, though it must have been humiliating to a grandiose high 
 sheriff. 
 
 One of the most interesting letters that I have received 
 recently is from Jim East, Ex-Sheriff in the early days at Tas- 
 cosa, and he. having a splendid memory, has told me a little 
 more regarding Allison, although his story connected with 
 Sheriff Rhinehart does not fit with the story as told above, 
 either by Ferd Davis or W. W. Owen, both early partners of 
 Clay Allison. Jim says: — "I am glad to get your letter of Nov. 
 2nd, 1921. I am always glad to hear from an old timer of the 
 Pan Handle. In answer will say that I last saw Clay Allison 
 of Mobettie, Tex., in June, 1882. I was on the round-up in 
 charge of a Bar X wagon that year. Allison lived then on the 
 Washita, north of Mobettie, but later moved to the Pecos Valley, 
 New Mexico. There he met with an accident that caused his 
 death, which I was sorry to hear. A freight wagon ran over 
 his neck and killed him. (W. W. Owens tells the fuil account 
 of his death, but does not mention where it occurred.) Allison 
 was a strong character, true to his friends, but dangerous to 
 his enemies. Clay was inclined to be unreasonable when drink- 
 ing, but at other times a good friend and neighbor. His broth- 
 er, John, had, I consider, better and cooler judgment in a fight 
 than Clay. Not so ready to start a fight, but a "stayer". The 
 Old Timers on the Cimmanon in Colfax County, New Mexico, 
 used to relate some good stories of Allison — probably you re- 
 member some of them. On one occasion Clay went into a res- 
 
 16 
 
taurani in Cimmarron to get dinner. At the table was a 
 mortal enemy, by the name of "Chalk", who it appears was look- 
 ing for Clay, and had pulled one of his six shooters, and some 
 say laid it by his plate. Clay however, was too quick for him. 
 He shot and killed "Chalk" in his seat. After getting dinner 
 Clay leisurely mounted his horse and rode out to his ranch. 
 Some days later Sheriff Rinehart obtained a warrant for the 
 arrest of Allison and rode out to the ranch to serve same, and 
 bring m his prisoner. Clay asked the Sheriff to see the war- 
 rant which was handed him. Clay then tore it up, reached 
 over and took the sheriff's hat off his head, took it to a water 
 hole and filled it with dirty water and put it back on the Sher- 
 iff's head. After the Sheriff got the water out of his eyes he 
 mounted his horse and rode back to town without his prisoner. 
 When it suited Clay's convenience he rode into town voluntari- 
 ly and appeared in court for trial. He was acquitted of course, 
 I did not see the above occurrence but Jule Howard our old 
 Postmaster at Tascosa related it to me and vouched for its 
 truth. 
 
 By the way Jule Howard killed the first white man that 
 was killed in Tascosa. This man's name was Bob Russell and 
 a son-in-law of old Ex-Sheriff Rinehart, formerly of Cimmarron, 
 New Mexico." Jim gives me more interesting information 
 about Dave Berry am, Henry Boice. We sold our last herd to 
 these men. He writes as follows: "Dave Berry of the old 
 777 ranch (ours was a part of this ranch on the Palo Duro). 
 died in Montana. Henry Boice (Henry was the Manager of the 
 outfit) was his partner up there, but some time after that Boice 
 was engeged in the cattle commission business in Kansas City. 
 Then he came back to the Pan Handle and managed XIT ranch 
 at Channing, Texas, just north of Tascosa. After closing up 
 the company cattle business he came to Arizona and had inter- 
 ests in the Chitahua Cattle Co. Henry Boice died quite a 
 wealthy man about rhree or four years ago, but was not shot 
 and killed in Fort Worth, as you were informed." 
 
 As an illustration of Allison's devilish disposition and his 
 boisterous ways, it is told that on one of his many trips to New 
 Mexico, he seemed to shuttle back and forth from Tex to Mex 
 pretty often. He hung up at Las Vegas and was taken with an 
 attack of the toothache. He visited a dentist and the operator 
 pulled what was thought to be the trouble maker. Allison left 
 the office and sauntered down the street, between drinks. From 
 some cause or another the whiskey did not have that quieting 
 and soothing effect that most good whiskey was expected to 
 have, and the pain returned. This time he decided to visit a 
 different dentist. He did so and the operator told him that 
 the first dentist had pulled the wrong tooth. Allison left 
 the office and headed for the first one under full sail and all 
 cylinders wide open. He arrived spitting blood, and fire in 
 his eye He grabbed the operator and at the same time snatch- 
 ed the forceps, threw the man down, and held him until he had 
 pulled the most of his teeth out, then he released him and said, 
 "Good day sir." 
 
 For forty years we have had a faint memory of a story that 
 was tofd us about that many years ago with reference to one of 
 Allison's most thrilling and unique manner of killing his vic- 
 
 17 
 
tims, and of late we have made many endeavors to reach the 
 facts connected with this particular episode, but after writing 
 a great many letters, making or having made for me investiga- 
 tions, we had almost given it up and decided that it all must 
 be a myth or fiction or else we had dreamed it, although we had 
 remembered quite distinctly of passing close to the place where 
 it had happened and no doubt the natives had told us about it 
 at the time. 
 
 And I had also remembered of having read in the Kansas 
 City Times an account of this particular encounter and killing. 
 This must have been some thirty years ago. I had made a 
 clipping of the story and gave it to my wife for safe keeping. 
 As the years advanced I would occasionally ask her if in the 
 annual "round up" of house cleaning she might be able to find 
 this carefully stored away newspaper yarn. It was impossible, 
 she said, to find it, so it finally became a yearly night mare and 
 I think she got a little sore and said once that I never gave her 
 any such thing, besides it was rough stuff anyway and ought to 
 be lost. Well this spring we found it and the story of Alli- 
 son's killing Chunk is verified. The writer of this article how- 
 ever is considerably off regarding Allison's habits in after life 
 and some other statements, since Ferd Davis and others give 
 us the true facts of his death and how it was caused. The 
 Kansas City Times story is as follows: 
 
 The man who told the story between the puffs of his cigar 
 was from Texas, says the Kansas City Times. "Clay Allison's 
 life was a tragic romance," he began. "Clay Allison was a 
 desperado. He lived in the Red River country, in the Pan 
 Handle. His trigger finger was busiest in the early '80s. His 
 record was twenty-one. He boasted of it. Twenty-one dead 
 men, whose graves were scattered from Dodge City to Santa Fe. 
 I myself saw him kill Bill Chunk, a bad man, who shot people 
 just for fun of seeing them fall. The two men had no cause 
 for quarrel. They were the prize killers of the same section 
 of the country. It was a spirit of rivalry which made them 
 swear to shoot each other on sight. Their friends bet on the 
 result of their first chance reconotre. They met one night at 
 a cross-road inn in New Mexico and sat down at tables opposite 
 each other, with their drawn six-shooters resting on their laps 
 beneath their napkins. A plate of oysters on the shell had 
 just been set before Chunk, when he dropped his hand, in care- 
 less fashion, and sent a ball at Allison beneath the table. Quick 
 as a leap of lightning Allison's gun replied. A tiny red spot 
 between Chunk's eyes marked where the bullet entered. The 
 dead man rolled over on the table and was still, with his face 
 downward in the dish of oysters. 
 
 "Allison was a large cattle owner. He went on a drive to 
 Kansas City once, and while here fell in love, married, and took 
 the woman to his home in the west to live. A child was born 
 to them — a child whose face was as beautiful as the face of a 
 cherub, but whose poor little body was horribly deformed. Al- 
 lison loved the child with the great love of his passionate na- 
 ture. In the babe's misshapen and twisted form his super- 
 stitiou.s mind read a meaning as significant as that of the mes- 
 sage which the divine hand wrote on the palace walls of the 
 king of old in Babylon. God, he thought, had visited a curse 
 
 18 
 
upon him for his sins. He quit his wild ways. He drank no 
 more No man ever after the birth of his child fell before his 
 deadly pistol. He was completely changed. In the new life 
 which followed he devoted himself with absorbing energy to 
 his business interests. He became rich in time. Ten thous- 
 and cattle on the Texas ranges bore his brand. A few years 
 ago he was driving from his ranch in a heavy road wagon to 
 town. The front wheels jolted down into a deep rut. Allison 
 was pitched headforemost to the ground. His neck was broken. 
 The team jogged on 'nto the distance and left him lying there 
 dead and alone upon the prairie.' " 
 
 I never heard of the circumstances he mentions connect- 
 ing Allison's life with the afflicted child, and I think the mag- 
 intude of his wealth is considerable exaggerated, as are some 
 of the rest of ihe statements, but the story of Chunk's death 
 corresponds very closely with Ferd Davis's account. I note 
 that this writer says he was present at the fight, I very much 
 doubt it, because usually on such occasions spectators were 
 pretty scarce, in fact, as a rule, there were no printed or other 
 kind of invitations issued. 
 
 Now we have also to announce that some one has just sent 
 to our address a newspaper, of recent number, containing a full 
 description, giving in detail all of the circumstances connected 
 with same and the place where it occurred, which was at Clif- 
 ton, New Mexico, and it agrees exactly with the story and loca- 
 tion as it was told us forty years ago. This newspaper ac- 
 count, is the product of Ferd Davis of Sunflower Valley, Colo., 
 who was one of the earliest partners of Allison, and to whom 
 we had written, but not having received any reply we despaired 
 of getting him to answer. I presume we are indebted to him 
 for this newspaper copy and we thank him. He tells the story 
 and also other stories, accurately and with effect as follows: 
 
 "Clay Allison wps a native of Tennessee, was six foot, two 
 inches tall, weight about 175, black hair and big blue eyes, high 
 forehead, and chin whiskers. He was a cripple. He never 
 was shot but once, he did that himself accidentally. It made 
 him a cripple for life. This shot was in the instep of his right 
 foot. It was difficult for him to walk any great distance. Dur- 
 ing the civil war he was in the southern army, was captured, 
 tried and condemned as a spy, and was sentenced to be shot. 
 
 There are some of the old timers who will read this article 
 know Clay Allison as well as myself. They know that he had 
 a very small hand, more like a woman's than a man's. The 
 evening before he was to be shot the next morning, he slipped 
 off the hand cuffs, killed the guard and got away. This story 
 was told me by his brother, Monroe Allison, and I do not ques- 
 tion it 
 
 In 1873 there was a desperado by the name of Chunk, who 
 killed Walter Walled on the San Francisco between former 
 Senator Barela's ranch and Trinidad. It was said that Chunk 
 had killed 14 men. He went from here to New Mexico, saying 
 that his next man would be Clay Allison. It was but a short 
 time till the two men met at the "Old Clifton" house in Colfax 
 County, New Mexico. Both of these had good horses, those 
 big blue eyes were gazing on Chunk for the first time, and if 
 there ever was a man could read a gun man's thoughts it was 
 
 19 
 
Allison. The first thing to do of course was to take a drink, 
 and the next thing another drink until both men were filled with 
 the worst stuff that ever went down a man's whistle. One 
 proposed a horse race, and they went down to the race track 
 below Old Clifton and ran a race, then they took some more of 
 that stuff that destroys the youth and business qualities of a 
 young man. 
 
 "Chunk beat Clay in the horse race, and there was some 
 words between the two men, Allison slapped Chunk in the face, 
 finally Chunk pretended to apologize. He told Clay he was 
 sorry any trouble had come between them, and that he (Chunk) 
 would give a supper to show his sincerity. So Chunk ordered 
 the supper, and it was to be served by an old Spanish-American 
 woman and it was to be across the road from the Clifton House 
 in a lonely cabin. By the time supper was ready it was neces- 
 sary to have a lamp because it was dark. The two men's plates 
 were put facing each other, and they sat down to supper as 
 friends, but I don't think either of them enjoyed their meal or 
 paid much attention to what was on the table. Both men must 
 have had their pistols on their laps. Chunk made a desperate 
 attempt to pull his gun, but struck the table with the barrel, 
 then Allison drew his gun and shot him in the head, it was 
 proven beyond a doubt that Chunk wanted the name of kill- 
 ing Allison." 
 
 "There was a man by the name of King at Crow Creek who 
 had a vega, and King would dog his cattle a long ways over the 
 country. Allison rode up to where King was digging a well 
 and told him he must quit dogging his cattle. King became very 
 abusive, had his shot gun leaning against the windlass of the 
 well. Allison sprang like a lion between him and his gun, he 
 cut King all to pieces with a knife. There was a man in the 
 well, Allison pulled him out, got on his horse, went to Cim- 
 maron City and sent out a doctor. King recovered. 
 
 "Allison's next trouble was caused by a preacher, I think 
 he was a Methodist. Whatever church he belonged to ought 
 to have his record, for he was a fearless preacher of early days. 
 His name was Golby. He was murdered between Cimmaron 
 City and Taos. It was thought at the time that some one hired 
 him murdered. The murder had been committed sometime, 
 and the murderer was still at large. There was another 
 preacher (don't remember his name) went around to all of the 
 cow camps in the country showing the bloody saddle that 
 preacher, Goldby was riding when he was killed. He told the 
 cow boys that he knew the man that committed the murder, and 
 knew where he was. Allison and some very prominent cattle- 
 men of that day started to hunt for the murderer, and took the 
 preacher along to identify him. They caught him. The 
 preacher says, "We will now turn him over to the authorities." 
 Allison told him, "We are the authorities." The preacher says, 
 "I want him to have justice." Allison says, "I will see that 
 he gets justice, according to your testimony." A few days 
 after Allison went to Cimmaron City. Pancho, who was town 
 marshal hadn't been there but a short time. The two men had 
 never met before. They went into Lambert' saloon, and took 
 drinks together. Pancho asked Allison to step back in the 
 corner of the saloon, as if he had something confidential to 
 
 20 
 
say to him, and Lambert heard the report of a pistol, and look- 
 ed back in the corn'^r and saw Pancho dead. Pancho was 
 known to have killed several men. 
 
 "There was a company of colored soldiers sent out from 
 Santa Fe to arrest Allison. They surrounded I. W. Lacey's 
 house where they found him. The captain demanded his sur- 
 render, Allison told him that he would go with him anywhere 
 if he would allow him to keep his arms. The captain agreed 
 to do so. Allison was taken to Cimmaron City and turned over 
 to Sheriff Rinehart. The sheriff says, "what can I do with 
 him." The captain told him to take as many soldiers as he 
 needed, so he asked for ten men, and started with Clay Allison 
 to Taos. On the way Allison pretended that he wanted to re- 
 cinch his saddle. He jumped behind a big rock and told Rine- 
 hart he would have to take the other end of the road, which he 
 did. One of the colored soldiers says: "If de sheriff don't 
 want Mistah Allison, what use have we for him." So Allison was 
 left behind the rock " 
 
 Cap Arrington, who is still living and enjoying the quiet- 
 ness and retirement that is due the old timer, and who was in 
 his day a snappy and fearless officer of the law, and in com- 
 mand of a company of rangers, had the following experience 
 with Allison. A fr-cnd now of Lipscomb, Tex., knew Cap. Ar- 
 rin;j,'ion very well, he writes me and says, "I always called him 
 Harrington, thinking that was his name. He belongs to old, 
 and the good old type of Texas Rangers. This is a story told 
 by Cap himseff. The Captain was sent, with a detail to Rob- 
 erts County to be present and to assist in holding down the lid 
 a little, while the boys organized the county. He and his com- 
 pany stopped a': Fort Elliott, and were entertained and detain- 
 ed and encanteened long enough so that the Captain learned 
 
 the P 1 was in the vicinity. The Cap was not hunting 
 
 P — 1 particularly, but knew there was a warrant for him, so de- 
 cided to go and get P 1 and bring him into Elliott. P 1 
 
 had his trial and was acquitted. He found Allison was pres- 
 ent also, and had just bought P I's cattle and had paid 
 
 down a small amount, with the understanding that the con- 
 tract would be completed in Mobettie. They all met at Elliott 
 on their way to Mobettie, and Allison in his devilish, joking way 
 slipped up behind the Captain and removed his pistol. Cap 
 told him with a calm and firm voice to "put the gun back". He 
 did so. While Allison was itching for a fuss, he very seldom 
 started one. They drove the cattle on to Mobettie and Al- 
 lison proceeded to pay over the balance of the purchase price 
 to P— 1. Arrington told him not to pay the money to P — 1, as 
 a prisoner could not receive money while under arrest. P — 1 
 consented to this, providing the Captain would give a receipt 
 for the money. Allison immediately demanded a receipt from 
 Arrington also. The latter refusing to issue two receipts Al- 
 lison got hostile and commenced to shift for position but Ar- 
 rington was a little quicker in this instance and Clay realized 
 that he had best back up and retire, under the existing circum- 
 stances. 
 
 An old time beef buyer for the government, first at Fort 
 Dodge until about 1880, and then at Fort Elliotte, knew Clay 
 Allison well, and at times Allison would stop at his place and 
 
 21 
 
spend some days with him. Allison told him the details of hi^ 
 troubles and fight in New Mexico that have been referred to 
 before, where it was mentioned that he was on his way to New 
 Mexico to get his broher, John Allison, out of a scrape. 
 
 He also tells of a trip with Allison on horse back, and he 
 had been told before starting, that if Allison ever asked him 
 to take a drink, to be sure and drink, as Allison would in ail 
 probability kill him if he refused. After they had been on 
 their way some time Clay pulled his bottle and passed it to him 
 saying, "Take a drink" but he only smiled and thanked him, 
 saying "he never drank." Allison took a regulation drink at 
 that time but not another one on the entire trip. He also tells 
 of an incident that occurred while Allison and he were on an- 
 other trip. When they went into camp, Allison being pretty 
 tight, found a certain species of what is called citron melon 
 which grows wild in that section, and Allison in his maudlin 
 condition mistook it for a water melon and made all kinds of 
 frantic efforts to cut it open. That Citron could not have been 
 opened with a buzz saw. 
 
 A very entertaining story is told of Clay Allison in "The 
 Sunset Trail", written by Alfred Henry Lewis, and all credit 
 is due the writer of this book for the vivid and true-to-life way 
 he puts things that happened in the "bad man" age. However, 
 there is some diverging opinions as to just the part that Bat 
 Masterson took on this occasion and one of the boys who was 
 present at this httle pink tea, puts a different light on the facts 
 from what Alfred Henry Lewis does. Charley Seringo, who 
 has written me relating to his views of this fight or rather lack 
 of a fight, is quite different, and does not give Bat quite as much 
 Lime Light as Lewis, does. Charley was one of the twenty- 
 six Cow Boys who came all armed to the teeth and when Alli- 
 son defied all of the Authorities, both city and county, and Bat 
 being an officer, followed him around with his big buffalo rifle 
 on cock, had he have even raised the gun, these twenty six boys 
 would have annihilated the town and all of the officers therein. 
 And when McNulta, a big cow man. finally put Allison to bed, 
 Masterson and his gang were somewhat relieved, and loosened 
 up their belts somewhat. McNulta had a brother and while I 
 was at Doan's Crossing on the Red River they brought his body 
 to the store. He had just been killed by one of his cow boys. 
 There it was they prepared the body for removal to Dodge City. 
 It is just announced in the daily papers that Bat Masterson was 
 found dead, seated at his desk as sport reporter on some big 
 paper in New York City. It is said that he had started to 
 write a book on the West and some of us are curious to know 
 what amount of red fire Bat will put on himself at this fight, 
 the account of which follows by Lewis. There was one place 
 however, that Bat showed up fine and that was at the Adobe 
 Walls Indian Battle in 1874, when he and Billie Dixon shot out 
 of the same window for two days and when they and twenty- 
 four others stood off eight hundred hostile Indians. See Billie 
 Dixon's full account of this remarkable battle at a later chapter 
 of this book. 
 
 Quoting from Charley Seringo's book "A Lone Star Cow 
 Boy" and describing one of his rides to Dodge City, "the tough- 
 est town on earth", he mentions that the first man he met on 
 
 22 
 
the streets was Cape Willingham, who was sheriff of Tascosa 
 and killed the first cow boy in Tascosa. Cape told him of many 
 depredations committed by the Indians south of Dodge. Rid- 
 ing up the main street of Dodge he saw twenty-five mounted 
 cow boys, holding rifles in their hands, facing one of the half 
 dozen saloons, adjoining each other, on that side of the street. 
 In passing this armed crowd one of them recognized Charley 
 and calling him by name he said, "Fall in line quick, h — -1 is go- 
 ing to pop in a few minutes." He jerked his Winchester riflle 
 from the scabbard and fell in line, "like most fool cow boys 
 would have done." In a monment Clay Allison, the man killer, 
 came out of one of the saloons, holding a pistol in his hand. 
 With him was Mr. McNulta, (I mentioned Mr. McNulta's 
 brother being brought into the store at Doans Crossing on the 
 Red River, the day I was there by his cow boys, after one of 
 them had killed him) owner of the lar2"e Pan Handle "Turkey 
 Track" cattle outfit. Clay who was a little tight, remarked 
 
 to the boys in line that none of the d cowards were in that 
 
 saloon, referring to the officers. Then a search was made in 
 the next saloon for some of the policemen or the City Marshal 
 (Bat Masterson and his deputies) so as to wipe them off the 
 face of the earth, he said. His twenty-five cow boy friends 
 had promised to help him clean up Dodge City and make it be 
 good. After all the saloons had been searched Mr. McNulta 
 succeeded in getting Clay to bed at Bob Wright's Hotel. Soon 
 after the city law officers began to crowd out of their hiding 
 places, and appear on the streets again. This account of 
 Charley's, who was a participant, differs considerably from Al- 
 fred Henry Lewis' version and write up. It is really surmis- 
 ed by many, that Bat Masterson was the real author of that 
 story and that Lewis polished it up and gave it the vernacular 
 coloring. Bat was really painting himself in the red. 
 
 As we read Lewis' other stories, however, there is stirred 
 in us the memories of those old scenes, and we feel the call to 
 those wondrous, ever widening prairie lands and the weather- 
 beaten breaks of the creeks and the rim rocked canyons and the 
 wash of the water holes. The average man who has ever been 
 there certainly feels the twangs of his heart strings, which are 
 tuned like the plaintive harp to play that good old familiar song, 
 "Somewhere A Voice Is Calling". 
 
 OLD PAL. 
 
 I wish that we could live the old days over, 
 
 Just once more. 
 I wish that we could hit the trail together, 
 
 Just once more. 
 Say, or Pal, the years are slipping by, 
 With many a dream and many a sigh — • 
 Let's chum together, you and I, 
 
 Just once more. 
 
 After a summary of how one Bennington Du Pont, just 
 from the east, with a character not to the liking of any red 
 blooded sport of those days, who from the beginning was nick 
 named by Cimmarron Bill, "Ground Owl", because as he said, 
 "the rattle snake don't kill 'em and no one knows wherefore," 
 
 23 
 
Lewis, the author stnrts his story thus : 
 
 "The Ground Owl's address was the Wright House. It 
 was at this hostlery he received his earliest glimpse of Mr. Al- 
 lison, and organized those insult-born differences. 
 
 "Mr. Allison's country was Las Animas and the region 
 round about. He had been over in the Panhandle, and was 
 spurring homeward by way of Dodge. Having put his weary 
 pony in the corral, he- sought his own refreshment at the Wright 
 House. 
 
 "Mr. Allison was celebrated for force of character, and the 
 democratic frankness of his sixshooters. His entrance into 
 Las Animas' social circles had been managed with effect. That 
 was seven years before, and Mr. Hixenbaugh told this of Mr. 
 Allison's debut. 
 
 "Which I was ii\ the Sound Asleep Saloon," explained Mr. 
 Hixenbaugh, "tryin' to fill a club flush, when the music of fire- 
 arms floats over from across the street. I goes to the door on 
 the lope, bein' curious as to who's hit, an thar on t'other side 
 I observes a sport who's sufferin' from one of them deformities 
 called a clubfoot, and who's got a gun in each hand. He's jest 
 caught Bill Gatling in the knee, an' is bein' harassed at with 
 six-shooters by Gene Watkins an' Len Woodruff,"'' who's whang- 
 in' away at him from Crosby's door. I lands on the sidewalk in 
 time to see him hive Gene with a bullet in the calf of his laig. 
 Then Gene an' Bill an Len, the first two bein' redooced to chawl 
 on hands an' knees by virchoo of them bullets, takes refooge in 
 Crosby's, an' surveys this club-foot party a heap respectful 
 from a winder. As I crosses over to extend congratyoolations, 
 he w'rls on me. 
 
 " 'Be you too a hostile?' he asks, domineerin' at me with 
 his guns. 
 
 'Hostile nothin'!' I replies; 'I'm simply comin' over in a 
 sperit of admiration. What's the trouble?' 
 
 " 'Stranger,' he says, 'that question is beyond me. I've 
 only been in your town four minutes, an' yet thar seems to be a 
 kind o' prejewdyce ag'inst me in the minds of the ignorant 
 few. But never mind,' he concloods; 'we're all cap'ble of mis- 
 takes. My name's Clay Allison, an' these folks'U know me bet- 
 ter by an' by. When they do know me, an' have arrived at a 
 complete onderstandin' of my pecooliarities, they'l Iwalk 'round 
 me like I was a swamp.' " 
 
 "Following this mtroduction, it would appear that Mr. Al- 
 lison was taken into fellowship by Las Animas. The crippled 
 foot and the consequent limp were lost sight of when he was 
 in the saddle. When he was afoot they went verbally un- 
 noticed, since it was his habit to use a Winchester for a crutch. 
 
 "After eight weeks in Las Animas, Mr. Allison felt as 
 much at home as though he had founded the town. Also, he 
 became nervously sensitive over the public well-being, and, 
 mounted on a milk-white pony, which he called his "wah hoss," 
 rode into open court, and urged that convention of justice, then 
 sitting, to adjourn. Mr. Allison made the point that a too per- 
 
 (Len Wocdruff was the Bar Tender in Jim East's saloon and was the 
 real hero in the Big Gun fight at Tascosa in 1886, when he killed King, 
 Chilton and Valley. The story of this battle at Tascosa follows in a 
 lattT chapter.) 
 
 24 
 
sistent holding of court militated against a popular repose. In- 
 asmuch as he accompanied his opinions with the crutch-Win- 
 chester aforesaid, thrir soundness was conceded by the presid- 
 ing judge. Tne judge, as he ordered an adjournment, said 
 that in the face of what practical arguments were presented 
 by Mr. Allison he was driven to regard the whole theory of 
 courts as at best but academic. 
 
 "Later, by two months, Mr. Allison was driven to slay the 
 Las Animas marshal. In this adventure he again demonstrat- 
 ed the accurate worKings of his mind. The marshal, just be- 
 fore he drifted into the infinite, had emptied the right barrel 
 of a Greener lO-gau^^je into Mr. Allison's brother, John. A 
 shotgun has two barrels, and the jury convoked in the premises, 
 basing decision on that second barrel and arguing from all the 
 circumstances that the late officer was gunning for the entire 
 Allison family, gave -^ verdict of self-defence. 
 
 "Mr. Allison was honorably acquitted, and the acquittal 
 much encouraged his belief in justice. It showed him too the 
 tolerant spirit of Las Animas, and he displayed his apprecia- 
 tion thereof by engaging in that rugged Western pastime known 
 as "Standing the Town on Its Head." Indeed, Mr. Allison 
 made the bodily reversal of Las Animas a sacred duty to be 
 performed twice a year; but since he invariably pitched upon 
 Christmas and the Fourth of July for these pageantries, the 
 public, so far from finding invidious fault, was inclined to join 
 with him. In short, so much were Mr. Allison and Las Animas 
 one in soul and sentiment, that the moment they had conquer- 
 ed the complete acquaintance of each other they — to employ 
 a metaphor of the farms — "fell together like a shock of oats." 
 Mr. Allison was proud of Las Animas, while Las Animas looked 
 upon Mr. Allison as the chief jewel in its crown. 
 
 "On the breath of admiration some waif-word of the hardy 
 deeds of Mr. Allison would now and again be wafted down the 
 river to Dodge. Envious ones, who hated Dodge and resent- 
 ed its high repute as "a camp that was never treed," had been 
 even heard to prophesy that Mr. Allison would one day devote 
 a leisure hour to subjecting Dodge to those processes of in- 
 version which Las Animas had enjoyed, and leave its hitherto 
 unconquered heels where its head should be. These insolent 
 anticipations would wring the heart of Cimarron Bill. 
 
 " 'You can hock spurs an' pony," he was wont to respond, 
 ' that if Clay ever shakes up Dodge, he'll shake it in the smoke.' 
 
 " ' Mr. Masterson, when the threats of an Allison invasion 
 were brought to his notice, would say nothing. He held it 
 unbecoming his official character to resent a hypothesis, and 
 base declarations of war on an assumption of what might be. 
 
 " 'It's bad policy,' quoth Mr. Masterson, 'to ford a river 
 before you reach it. It'll be time to settle what Dodge'll do 
 with Clay, when Clay begins to do things to Dodge. He'll 
 have to open a game, however, that no one's ever heard of, if 
 Dodge don't get better than an even break." 
 
 " 'Shore!' coincided Cimarron Bill, confidently. 'The idee, 
 because Clay can bluff 'round among them Las Animas tarra- 
 pins without gettin' called, that he can go dictatin' to Dodge, 
 is eediotic. He'd be too dead to skin in about a minute! That's 
 straight; he wouldn't last as long as a drink of whiskey!' 
 
 25 
 
"The Ground Owl was alone in the breakfast room of the 
 Wright House when Mr. Allison limped in. All men have their 
 delicate side, and it was Mr. Allison's to regard the open wear- 
 ing of one's iron-mongery as bad form. Wherefore, he was 
 accustomed to hide the Colt's pistols wherewith his hips were 
 decked, beneath the tails of a clerical black coat. Inasmuch 
 as he had left the Crutch-Winchester with his sombrero at the 
 hatrack, even an alarmist like the Ground Owl could discover 
 nothing appalling in his exterior. The halting gait and the 
 black coat made for a harmless impression that went far to un- 
 lock the derision of the Ground Owl. He treated himself to 
 an evil grin as Mr. Allison limped to a seat opposite; but Mr. 
 Allison didn't catch the malicious gleam of it, the grin got by 
 unchallenged. 
 
 "It was a breakfast custom of the Wright House to provide 
 doughnuts as a fashion of a side-dish whereat a boarder might 
 nibble while awaiting the baking-powder biscuit, 'salt hoss,' 
 canned tomatoes, tinned potatoes, coffee^ and condensed milk 
 that made up the lawful breakfast of the caravansary. Las 
 Anim.as being devoid of doughnut example of the Ground Owl, 
 he tasted that delicacy. The doughnut as an edible proved 
 kindly to the palate of Mr. Allison, and upon experiment he de- 
 sired more. The dish had been drawn over to the elbow of the 
 Ground Owl, and was out of his reach. Perceiving this, Mr. 
 Allison pointed with appealing finger. 
 
 " 'Pard,' said Mr. Allison, politely, 'please pass them fried 
 holes.' 
 
 " 'Fried holes!' cried the Ground Owl, going off into deri- 
 sive laughter. 'Fried holes! Say! you limp in your talk 
 like you do in your walk! Fried holes-' and the Ground Owl 
 again burst into uninstructed mirth. 
 
 "The Ground Owl's glee was frost-bitten in the bud. The 
 frost that nipped it was induced by a Colt's pistol in the hand 
 of Mr. Allison, the chilling muzzle not a foot from his scared 
 face. The Ground Owl's veins ran ice; he choked and fell 
 back in his helpless chair. Not less formidable than the Colt's 
 pistol was the fury-twisted visage of Mr. Allison. 
 
 "Even in his terror the Ground Owl recalled the word of 
 Mr. Masterson. 
 
 " 'Don't shoot,' he sqeaked. 'I'm unarmed!' 
 
 "For one hideous moment Mr. Allison hesitated; it was in 
 his mind to violate a precedent, and slaughter the gunless 
 Ground Owl where he sat. But his instincts and his education 
 made against it; he ;;ammed his weapon back into its scabbard 
 with the terse command: 
 
 " ' Go heel yourse'f, you bull-snake! Dodge'U have you 
 or me to plant!' 
 
 "The Ground Owl groped his frightened way to the door. 
 A moment later he was burrowing deep beneath a stack of al- 
 falfa hay in Mr. Trask's corral, and it would have been neces- 
 sary to set fire to the hay to find him. Mr. Allison sat glaring, 
 awaiting the Ground Owl's return — which he never doubted. He 
 no longer wanted breakfast, he wanted blood. 
 
 "Dodge knew nothing of these ferocious doings — the insult, 
 the flight of the Ground Owl, and the vicious waiting of Mr. 
 Allison. The first news of it that reached Dodge was when 
 
 26 
 
Mr. Allison — rifle in its saddle-scabbard, six-shooters at his 
 belt — came whooping' and spurring, the sublimation of warlike 
 defiance, into the town's main thoroughfare. He had saddled 
 that bronco within twenty feet of the Ground Owl. shivering 
 beneath the hay. The explosive monologue with which he had 
 accompanied the saddling, and wherein he promised a host of 
 bloody experiences to the Ground Owl, rendered that recreant 
 as cold as a key and as limp as a rag. 
 
 "After a mad dash up and down the street, enlivened by 
 divers war shouts, Mr. Allison pulled up in front of Mr. Web- 
 ster's Alamo Saloon. Sitting in the saddle, he fiercely de- 
 manded the Ground Owl at the hands of the public, and threat- 
 ened Dodge with extinction in case he was denied. 
 
 "Affairs stood thus when Jack turned Mr. Masterson out 
 of his blankets. The soul of Jack was in arms. It would have 
 broken his boy's heart had Mr. Allison flung forth his challenge' 
 in the open causeways of Dodge and departed, unaccommodat- 
 ed, unrebuked, to cheer Las Animas with a recount of his 
 prowess. 
 
 " 'That's business!' exulted Jack, 'as the double cluck-' of 
 Mr. Masterson's buffalo gun broke charmingly upon his ear. 
 'Send daylight plumb through him! Don't let him go back to 
 Las Animas with a yarn about how Dodge laid down to him!' 
 
 "It was the first impression of Mr. Masterson that Mr. Al- 
 lison's purpose was to merely feed his self-love by a general 
 defiance of Dodge. He would ride and shout and shoot and 
 disport himself unlawfully. In this he would demonstrate the 
 prostrate sort of the Dodgeian nerve. 
 
 "Mr. Masterson was clear that this contumely must be 
 checked. It would never do to let word drift into Texas that 
 Dodge had wilted. Were that to occur, when the boys with 
 the Autumn herds came in, never a mirror in town would sur- 
 vive; the very air would sing and buzz with contemptuous bul- 
 lets. Mr. Masterson, from his window, came carefully down 
 on Mr. Allison with the buffalo gun; he would reprove that 
 fatuous egotist, who.se conceit it was to fancy that he could 
 stand up Dodge. 
 
 'Mr. Masterson would have instantly shot Mr. Allison from 
 the saddle, but was withstood by a detail. Mr. Allison's six- 
 shooters were still in his belt; his Winchester was still in its 
 scabbard beneath his leg. These innocuous conditions con- 
 strained Mr. Masterson to pause; he must, according to the rule 
 in such case made and provided, wait until a weapon was in the 
 overt hand of Mr. Allison. 
 
 "Mr. Masterson could make neither head nor tail of what 
 Mr Allison was saying. For the most it was curse, and threat, 
 coupled with pictures of what terrific punishments — to cure it 
 of its pride — Mr. Allison would presently inflict upon Dodge. 
 This being all, however, Mr. Masterson could do no more than 
 wait — being at pains meanwhile, to see the oratorical Mr. Al- 
 lison through both sights of the buffalo gun. When Mr. Al- 
 lison snatched a pistol from his belt, that would be Mr. Master- 
 son's cue; he would then drill him for the good of Dodge and 
 the instruction of Las Animas. 
 
 "Having the business wholly in hand, it was next the 
 
 27 
 
thought of Mr. Masterson to obviate interference. He turned 
 to Jack: 
 
 " 'Skip out, and tell Kell and Short and Cimarron not to 
 run in on Clay. Tell 'em I've got him covered and to keep 
 away. If they closed in on him, they might blank my fire.' 
 
 "When Jack was gone, Mr. Masterson again settled to his 
 aim, picking out a spot under the right shoulder of Mr. Allison 
 wherein to plant the bullet. 
 
 " 'It's where I'd plug a buffalo bull,' ruminated Mr. Master- 
 son, 'and it ought to do for Clay.' 
 
 "Mr. Allison maintained his verbal flow unchecked. He 
 had elocutionary gifts, had Mr. Allison, and flaunted them. 
 Mingling scorn with reproach, and casting defiance over all, he 
 spake in unmeasured terms of Dodge and it inhabitants. But 
 never once did he la.v hand to gun; it was solely an exhibition 
 of rhetoric. 
 
 "Mr. Masterson waxed weary. There ^were spaces when 
 the mills of Mr. Allison's vituperation ran low; at such inter- 
 vals Mr. Masterson would take the buffalo gun from his shoul- 
 der. Anon, Mr. Allison's choler would mount, his threats and 
 maledictious against all things Dodgeian would soar. There- 
 upon, hope would relight its taper in the eye of Mr. Masterson; 
 he would again cover Mr. Allison with his buffalo gun. Mr. 
 Allison's energy would again dwindle, and the light of hope 
 again sink low in the Masterson eye. The buffalo gun would 
 be given another recess First and last, by the later word of 
 Mr. Masterson, Mr. Allison was covered and uncovered twenty 
 times. It was exceedingly fatiguing to Mr. Masterson, who 
 was losing respect for Mr. Allison, as one all talk and no shoot. 
 
 "While Mr. Allison vituperated, his glance roved up and 
 down the street. 
 
 " 'What's the matter with him!' considered Mr. Masterson 
 disgustedly. 'Why doesn't he throw himself loose!' 
 
 "Mr. Masterson's disgust became amazement when Mr. 
 Allison turned in his saddle, and asked in tones wherein was 
 more of complaint than challenge: 
 
 " 'Where's Bat Masterson? He's on the squar-' He 
 won't let no cheap store clerk put it all over me, an' get away! 
 Where's Bat?' 
 
 "As though seeking reply, Mr. Allison in a most pacific 
 manner got down from the saddle, and limped away out of 
 range into Mr. Webster's Alamo. 
 
 "Mr. Masterson pitched the buffalo gun into a corner, put 
 on his more personal artillery, and repaired to the Alamo with 
 the thought of investigating the phenomenon. In the Alamo 
 he found Mr. Allison asking Mr. Webster — who looked a bit 
 pale — to send for Mr. Masterson. 
 
 " 'Have somebody round Bat up," said Mr. Allison, peevish- 
 ly. 'Which I want a talk with him about my injuries.' 
 
 " 'What's wrong, Clay?' asked Mr. Masterson — outwardly 
 careles.s, inwardly as alert as a bobcat. 'What's gone wrong?' 
 
 " 'Is that you, Bat?' demanded Mr. Allison, facing around 
 on his lame foot. 'Wherever have you been for the last half 
 hour? I've hunted you all over camp.' 
 
 " 'Where have I been for a half hour? I've been seesawing 
 on you with a Sharp's for the better part of it.' 
 
 28 
 
" 'Is that so!' exclaimed Mr. Allison, while his face lighted 
 up with a kind of pleased conviction. 'Thar, d'ye see now I 
 While I was in that saddle I could feel I was covered every 
 moment. It was the sperits tellin' me! They kept warnin' me 
 that if I batted an eye or wagged an ear I was a goner. It was 
 shore one of them prov'dential hunches which is told of by 
 gospel sharps in pra'r-meetin's.' 
 
 "Mr. Masterson'.^ indignation was extreme when he had 
 heard the story of Mr. Allison's ill usage. And at that, his 
 anger rested upon the wrongs of Dodge rather than upon those 
 of Mr. Allison. 
 
 " 'One may nov/ see,' said Mr. Masterson, 'the hole into 
 which good people can be put by a cowardly outcast of the 
 Ground Owl tpye. That disgusting Ground Owl might have 
 been the means of killing a dozen men. Here he turns in an' 
 stirs Clay up ; and then, when he's got him keyed to concert 
 pitch, he sneaks away and hides, and leaves us with Clay on our 
 hands!' 
 
 "Cimarron Bill came into the Alamo; his brow turned dark 
 with the scandal of those friendly relations between Mr. Mas- 
 terson and Mr. Allison, which he saw and did not understand. 
 Drawing aside, he stood moodily at the end of the bar, keeping 
 a midnight eye the while on Mr. Allison, thirsting for an out- 
 break. 
 
 "Mr. Masterson approached him craftily — being diplomatic 
 and having a mind to preserve the peace. 
 
 " 'There's something I want you to do, Cimarron,' said Mr. 
 Masterson, easily. The other brightened. 'No, not that-' con- 
 tinued Mr. Masterson, intercepting a savage look which Cimar- 
 ron bestowed upon Mr. Allison, 'not Clay.' 
 
 " 'Who then?' demanded Cimarron, greatly disappointed. 
 " 'The other one,' responded Mr. Masterson, 'Still I don't want 
 you to overplay. You must use judgment, and while careful 
 not to do too little, be equally careful not to do too much. This 
 is the proposition: You are to go romancing 'round until you 
 locate that miscreant Ground Owl. Once located, you are to 
 softly, yet sufficiently, bend a gun over his head.' 
 
 " 'Leave the Ground Owl to me,' said Cimarron Bill, his 
 buoyant nature beginning to collect itself. As he went forth 
 upon his mission, he tossed this assurance over his shoulder: 
 'You gents'll hear a dog howl poco tempo, an' when you do you 
 can gamble me an' that Ground Owl clerk has crossed up with 
 one another.' 
 
 " 'That,' observed Mr. Short, who arrived in time to hear 
 the commission give Cimarron Bill, 'that's what I call getti' 
 action both ways from the jack. You split out Cimarron from 
 Clay here; an' at the same time arrange to stampede that mal- 
 ignant Ground Owl out o' camp. Which I always allowed you 
 had a head for business. Bat.' 
 
 "Cimarron Bill v/as wrong. He did not cut the trail of 
 the vermin Ground Owl — lying close beneath the alfalfa of Mr. 
 Trask! Neither did any dog howl that day. But Dodge was 
 victorious without. It was rid of the offensive Ground Owl; 
 when the sun went down that craven one crept forth, and fled 
 by cloak of night. 
 
 'Which it goes to show,' explained Cimarron Bill, judg- 
 
 29 
 
matically, when a week later he was recovered from the gloom 
 into which Mr. Allison's escape had plunged him, ' which it 
 goes to show that every cloud has a silver linin' Clay saves 
 himse'f ; but that Ground Owl has to go. It's a stand-off. We 
 lose on Clay; but we ?hore win on that Ground Owl man.' " 
 
 Either before or after this happening Charley Shideler and 
 myself, had an experience in Dodge City which calls to my mind 
 a character, but one who made good, similar to the Ground Owl 
 as he is described. One early spring when we were East, there 
 lived in Attica, Indiana, a young fellow by the name of Otis 
 Green. He was well named as he was certainly some green. 
 He was ambitious, however, and wanted to learn the cattle trade 
 and insisted on going west with us. We discouraged him and 
 told him that prairie dogs as big as calves would eat him up, 
 besides we ourselves were regular hard boiled, well seasoned 
 cow men and we had no use for a boy who was of that particular 
 green hue. The day of departure came and Otis was at the 
 train with his 'ittle Smith and Weston revolver and high top 
 boots. We could net shake him. We all landed in Dodge at 
 Bob Wright's Hotel. We were waiting for a way to get down 
 to the Palo Duro, one hundred and sixty-five miles due south. 
 While in town we found out that Otis was not afraid and had 
 no yellow streak like the Ground Owl, but at the same time we 
 felt that he would not look well in a cow camp, where we were 
 going, so on the morning of our departure, we "causually like" 
 slipped out of town raid left Otis to the tender mercies of the 
 town limits of this wicked cow town. The moral to this story, 
 and the shame that came to us, was the successful career of 
 this green lad, who after all had the stuff in him. He wanted 
 work and hired to some big outfit in Clay Allison's country and 
 in the spring round r.p Clay Allison was elected captain of the 
 round-up, and Otis was detailed by Allison as horse wrangler 
 for the entire round-up. He made good and afterwards did 
 better than being a horse wrangler, and after getting his nerve 
 in tune, his father. Dr. Green, moved to Florida. Otis's ambi- 
 tion was unquenched. He resolved to be a lawyer and he made 
 a good one too. His goal was reached when he was elected 
 Attorney General of his adopted state, Florida. 
 
 After considerable research for the facts and localities 
 connected with Allison's numerous reported killings we are led 
 to believe that his supposed record of twelve killings is some- 
 what exaggerated, and we now think, and can testify that he 
 may have had as many as twelve or more fights, but it is quite 
 doubtful if he killed a man every time he had a fight. 
 
 Men who are now living and who knew Allison well, re- 
 late, and their testimony shows that Allison was always well 
 thought of, and was a man of considerable influence for the 
 good things. Among such men is Levy Shick, now of Plain- 
 view, Texas, who says, "Allison was a fine man when sober, and 
 a very intelligent man." He liked him very much and had no 
 fear of him, but says, "Allison was by far the most fearless man 
 on the plains and in that part of the country at any time in its 
 history, barring none." 
 
 I have been fortunate in having a writing acquaintance, 
 who sent an inquiry about my writing the history of Clay Alli- 
 son, and he has proved so interesting, since he is a man of wide 
 
 30 
 
experience and much travel in nearly all of the wildest parts 
 of the west, and also has a very entertaining pen, that it is a 
 pleasure to print one of the best stories which he furnishes of 
 Clay Allison, that I have been able to obtain. Although it 
 shows Clay in this instance as a vengeful man, a trait that I 
 did not think he had; however, I suppose, after the beating he 
 got, he felt so ashamed that he had to have revenge. He tells 
 it in a splendid way and I think got the story from an old judge 
 of the court, who used to hold court in Colfax county. New Mex- 
 ico, in an early day and who knew Clay Allison well. He says, 
 "An incident in Clay Allison's life, and there must be some 
 truth in it, for I heard of it on more than one occasion. I even 
 read it once, and that was, that three men beat him up unmerci- 
 fully one time, laid him out and put him to bed, and that when 
 he recovered, he started out to find them and followed them for 
 months, trailed two of them into Montana and killed them in 
 Musselshell or Judith Basin Country. It seems to me that he 
 found one of them in Lewiston, which is in the Musselshell 
 country. The two men he was hunting were not together at 
 the time but were killed separately in the vicinity I speak of. 
 If the beating up didn't take place in Trimidad, and I don't 
 think it did, then it happened in Durango. Allison was cer- 
 tainly in and around Durango, and he was also in Rico, on 
 the Dolores River, the wildest camp in Colorado. He ran, or 
 was with, Ike Stockton for a while in that part of Colorado, 
 Stockton was hanged in Durango, lynched I believe." 
 
 Mr. McCarthy, the gentleman spoken of before, has rec- 
 ently interviewed Ex-Sheriff Bill Hale, of Lipscomb County, 
 Texas, who is an old Texas man, and a man who lived next door 
 neighbor to Clay Allison's sister, and her husband for several 
 years, in Texas. Hale stated that Allison's sister's married 
 name was Haggert, and that she is now living in Missouri. 
 Clay Allison visited a good deal with his brother, John, who 
 had a ranch once on the Washita, a few miles below where 
 Billy Dixon had the Buffalo Wallow fight. They all lived to- 
 gether one time, also, a few miles south of Higgins, Texas, in 
 Hemphill County. (The reader will recall that in the fight, 
 in the Dance House, at Las Animas, when the Allison's killed 
 Charley Faber, the Marshal, who had said that he would kill 
 Allison on sight, John was shot in the arm by Faber, but not 
 killed. Jim East, :n a comparison of Clay and John makes 
 the statement of the fact that he considered John the cooler 
 and of better judgment in a gun fight than Clay, and in addi- 
 tion was a stayer.) 
 
 Hale adds, that Clay Allison was about thirty-five years 
 old in 1886, and might have weighed from 180 to 190 pounds. 
 Was broad shouldered, round, full face, large prominent fea- 
 tures, heavy black hair and mustache, six foot two, or there- 
 abouts, and very active and quick in his movements, an Apollo. 
 This description is from a man who knew him, dealt with, and 
 bought hogs from him when the family lived below Higgins, 
 but who knew little pertaining to his boisterous early history. 
 (The above correct description of Allison and his appearance 
 and peculiar movements, are very accurate and tally with our 
 impressions of the man as we knew him and as we remember 
 his many characteristics. 
 
 31 
 
earlv^'raLtlnff ^^^%born in Tennessee and commenced his 
 early ranching m southern Colorado, near Animas. Soon he 
 moved to the Washita and married there. It seems strange 
 
 and type of Clay Allison, and knowing of the many chances he 
 
 should at^lfs?^"' d "• :''' '''' "^^^* ^^•^' ^ fairl/deceSt way! 
 Should at last, and m his prime, succomb and come to the in- 
 Mgnificant manner of his death that is vouched for by W W 
 
 SiTh.T tLT r%°Y^^'/^fi^ P^^^""^^ ^" ^^^ ^^ttle business; 
 M, f ?L % '^' ^^ ^/P,^- ^^^ circumstances connected with 
 AlH Sn Wtt,-'^''' f f^!^°^«-- Mr. Owens states that when 
 Allison left his section he went to New Mexico, but what point 
 he was not certain He says that Allison wro e him freqSent- 
 
 ngT led was"' All"'' u''''' ^"' ^'^ "^^ ^^ ^^^ ^^rtTe- 
 mg killed was , Allison became angry at a cow boy of his who 
 
 for some reason or another, had done something which he di^ 
 not approve of so be got his gun and started for the place 
 where the cow boy was. On the road Allison stopped at the 
 home of an old freighter friend and was preUy tyT^e>^ The 
 freighter soon learned what Allison was up to, so he persuaded 
 him to stop and eat dinner with him, thinking that he could in 
 STeT'e'ioht^r''""'' '" mind from committing the homicide: 
 on «m1 In !n ''^''u "^^^ ^^"^"^^^ ^'^^ ^^'th the teams hitched 
 on, and Allison soon became possessed of the idea that he must 
 ? rJ^' freighter that he, Allison, was the best dr ver T a 
 
 cZt^" ^""^ Z'' '''^'^'^ ^ ^hiP °^^r the horses So he 
 climbed up on the wagon, gathered the lines, gave a yip and 
 
 ni '"'T'T'^ '^y''^ ^" '' ^^°^ h°^ to do some fanc^^driV 
 ing. The team of course answered the yip, and the waeon 
 struck a chuck hole and Allison fell off the te ering seat He 
 fell between the wheels of the wagon, and the rear wheel of the 
 heavily loaded wagon ran over his back, breaking his back and 
 of course killini:^ him. udLK, ana 
 
 li^n J^L'^^" of forty years has passed since we met Clay Al- 
 rffTV M ''Vf %^'' ;mromantic death. After that time Dodge 
 .? ^i:. f 1"^^^^' Tascosa, Mobettie, and other border towns ha?e 
 washed the war paint off, the buffalo hunter has hunThis big 
 Sharpe" on the pegs in the wall, the Indian and his squaw ar? 
 fairly content on the reservation and the Cow Man halhM his 
 
 andne^rlTalfnf^hT '^f ?'''""'' ''^ ^^°"^->^' ^^^ automobile 
 and nearly all of the early denizens, who are now living, are not 
 at all averse to hitfng the old Sante Fe, Jones, Plunfmer and 
 Chisholm trails in the newer and faster ways. The Red Skin 
 particularly, now looks disdainfully on the'lowly cayuse as he 
 enjoys his oil wealth in his Packard, and with his pl^no PWr 
 and his Victrola— what an evolution ^^ 
 
 Some desultory and off hand stories have been told and 
 pubhshed touching on the early life of such oM Cow Towns as 
 
 I lui T^r^^'""'^ ^^r"' ^^''"' ^" ^'^^^^^ «f the characters there- 
 in, but I have never been able to find any books written bvanv 
 
 TamtM tSat B^h Vm" T''""' *'^^^ ^^^^ borsterfo^s'^days" 
 1 am told that Bob Wright who was in Dodge, and was a Dart of 
 Its early history, has published his book and I amTow endeav- 
 oring to locate one. Mr. E. M. Dearley of the Da llalNews a 
 very forceful writer and a reporter who has a digging nose has 
 pubhshed some articles on those lines and has rf cently put out 
 
 32 
 
a good description of the early days and present condition, de- 
 scribing the rise and fall of Tascosa and has promised to write 
 up other towns, and with his permission I take the liberty of 
 reprinting his story, from the fact that we knew the place and 
 some of the high flyers in this Cosmopoliton Cow town, on the 
 banks of the Canadian River the belligerent Tascosa. 
 
 One of the biggest Gun Fights ever pulled off in the West 
 was at this same Tascosa, which we have referred to as being 
 one of the wild border towns, and it is fitting to analyze the 
 prime cause of some of these battles. It's most probable that 
 women were the cause of most of them. 
 
 In the following article it will show that Lem Woodruff, 
 the real hero, of the battle was at the outs with some woman, 
 and she immediately took up with King, and urged King to get 
 even with Woodruff by killing him. It is necessary at this 
 time to cite the fact that of all the Gun Fights that Clay Alli- 
 son was engaged in, it is not recorded that a single one of these 
 battles were brought about by the presence, or at the instiga- 
 tion of women, and I feel safe in saying that while Allison was 
 in appearance a very handsome man, in fact an Appolo, yet he 
 did not appear to ever have been entangled in any Gun Fight 
 over women. 
 
 A BIG GUN FIGHT 
 
 By Edward M. Dealey. 
 
 "In the golden days of the cattle industry, when fences were 
 unknown and grass was free, the Panhandle cov/boys on a tear 
 used to mount the bar in old Tascosa, Texas, and sing out: 
 
 " 'I'm a wolf and this is my night to howl. I've got two rows 
 of teeth — one for ransacking graveyards and one for devouring 
 human beings.' 
 
 "And they howled. For Tascosa in those days was the livest 
 town in the Panhandle — a wide-open, red-hot coal of vitality, 
 whose saloons, gambling palaces and dance halls neyer closed, 
 day or night, except for funerals. 
 
 "It was an oasis in a dreary waste. For miles and miles 
 around the cattle ranges stretched away in grassy monotony, 
 and under the broiling sun a man could ride all day without 
 meeting another human being, 
 
 "But in Tascosa itself all was different. Here was the 
 Western cow-town de luxe. Scores of sleek horses stood tied 
 day and night to the rails at the side of the main street. Bronz- 
 ed cowpunchers with jingling spurs and broad-brimmed hats 
 swung sturdily along on high-heeled boots. From the brilli- 
 antly-lighted saloons, lurid squares of light ascended to the 
 skies through doors that were seldom closed. Women laugh- 
 ed to the accompaniment of the rattle of dice on mahogany bars. 
 From Hogtown way, the strains of lively music floated in the 
 iir, Poker chips clinked and men swore loudly. Now and then, 
 with a rush of hoofs, a little knot of cowpunchers swung down 
 the main street in close and swiftly-moving formation — bound 
 for the open prairie and the long ride back to headquarters. 
 Occasionally a pistol shot rang out — the trigger pulled now in 
 a mere spirit of fun and hilarity, now with more sinister intent. 
 
 "Dangerous days, but pleasant ones. An uncertain at- 
 
 33 
 
mosphere where sudden death might be met just around the 
 corner, but one in which the very elixir of life floated. The 
 men of Tascosa were of the West — men cradled in violence who 
 lived and died violently. None came here who was not pre- 
 pared to accept it as it was. The calmness and peace of the 
 older civilization, with its less poignant joys and sorrows, was 
 purposely forsaken by these young and virile men of the fron- 
 tier in order that whatever life held for them might be quaffed 
 to the dregs in one swift drink — and forgotten. 
 
 "Such was Tascosa in the late '70s and early '80s and such 
 was the spirit of its inhabitants. 
 
 "And today, what? Is Tascosa a sleepy little village that, 
 with the passage of time, has become tamed? Do the same 
 men that once made these streets resound with their good-na- 
 tured ribaldry and their wholesome laughter still hang on to 
 life in the old town — sober, sedate and dignified citizens? 
 
 "The answer is no. For Tascosa there was no such peace- 
 ful old age. True to the spirit of the times which gave her 
 birth, she lived her life and died before the glory of those color- 
 ful days had quite departed. 
 
 "Today Tascosa is no more. The solid double lines of 
 adobe saloons and stores have given way before the ravages 
 of the wind and the rain. Only with difficulty can one trace 
 through the tangled grass and underbrush the line of what was 
 once the main street. In its palmy days a town of several 
 hundred people, it is now deserted except for one old woman 
 and her dog. Desolution reigns supreme. The birds of the 
 air and the little rodents of the field now hold undisputed sway 
 over what was once the second city of the Panhandle. 
 
 "After all, perhaps, it is fitting that it is so — fitting that 
 Tascosa should pass into the discard along with the old-time 
 cowboy and the longhorn steer — fitting that this old town which 
 buried so many of the boys with their boots on should itself 
 finally be 'bumped ofl^' with its own boots on. 
 
 "Tascosa's .'■tory has been hinted at here and there, but the 
 tale as a whole has never been told. And yet it most richly 
 deserves to be. At Tascosa, in the late 70's and early 80's the 
 'wild and wooly' West lived in epitome. At Tascosa it is that 
 the famous Boot Hill Cemetery stands— the hill upon which are 
 buried the bodies of some twenty-five or more men, all of whom 
 'died with their boots on.' At Tascosa it was, in the free grass 
 days, that the old troil drivers often stopped for a few hours*^ 
 rest before making the long jump to Dodge City. Here it was, 
 also, that the famous New Mexico bandit, Billy the Kid, some- 
 times sojourned between killings. Here it was, too, that Pat 
 Garrett, the man who 'got' Billy the Kid, frequently stopped. 
 And here it was, on March 21, 1886, that one of the most bloody 
 gun battles of early Panhandle days took place — a battle in 
 which four men were killed and two wounded, a battle that, in 
 the matter of a successful fight against overwhelming odds, de- 
 serves to go down in frontier history as second only to the 
 famous fight of 'Wild Bill' Hickok with the McCandlas gang — 
 one man against ten — and to that of 'Buckshot' Roberts with 
 the gang of Billy the Kid at Blazer's Mill, one man against 
 thirteen. 
 
 34 
 
The Big Fight at Tascosa. 
 
 "There are ' everal versions of this fight at Tascosa. Some 
 say that it started in an argument about cattle. This report, 
 however, probably owes its origin to the fact that three of the 
 men killed were cowboys on the L. S. ranch. One knowing 
 this, and not knowing the real bone of contention, would na- 
 turally ascribe the cause of the hostilities to some kind of a 
 mixup about cattle — as this, indeed, was a most fertile soil for 
 the production of feuds and battles in those early days. How- 
 ever, the real ^ause of the trouble, according to persons who 
 were there at the time and who are yet living, was that which 
 is responsible foi^ most of man's troubles, the same as that 
 which started the original difficulty of mankind in the Garden 
 of Eden — woman. 
 
 "This is the tale of the fight. Len Woodruff, a Tascosa 
 bartender and a forrr.er L X cowpuncher, had a sweetheart nam- 
 ed Sally. Woodruff and Sally had a falling out, and the lady 
 in the case began 'keeping company' with Ed King, an L S cow- 
 puncher. Sally, still holding a grudge against her former lov- 
 er, asked King to 'get' Woodruff for her. King, with the gal- 
 lantry of the times, and perhaps also with a natural liking for 
 a fight, proceeded to do his best to accommodate the lady. He 
 made preparations to go gunning for Woodruff. 
 Breeding Trouble. 
 
 "A few nights previous to the fatal shooting — so the tale 
 goes — Woodruff, in company with a lady friend and Captain 
 Jinks, the owner of the 'Hogtown' dance hall, was sitting in- 
 side a building fronting on the main street of the town. Hoof- 
 beats and yelling were heard outside. Woodruff walked to the 
 window and looked out. Ed King, accompanied by two of his 
 fellow-cowpunchers, Frank Valley and Fred Chilton, was rid- 
 ing past the house. King, who was pretty well 'tanked up.' 
 was crying: 
 
 " 'Where is that , pretty Ed?' 
 
 " 'Pretty Ed' was a cognomen he had manufactured extem- 
 poraneously for the purpose of humiliating Woodruff. Wood- 
 ruff, of course, knew that the epithet was meant for him. He 
 came back from his position at the window and, sitting 
 down again, burst into tears. He said he knew that King and 
 Valley and Chilton were going to kill him. 
 
 " 'But I would rather be killed like a dog and buried here 
 in Tascosa.' he said, determinedly, 'rather than to have anyone 
 
 say that those s ran me out of town. D — d me if I 
 
 leave!' 
 
 The Fatal Night. 
 
 "A few nights later, on March 21, 1886, to be exact, Wood- 
 ruff, who was tending bar at Martin Dunn's saloon, closed up 
 shop about midnight and went out by the back door. It was a 
 clear, moonlit night. The stars were shining overhead, and all 
 was deathly quiet except that, from across the street, where 
 two or three saloons were still open, there floated the sound of 
 music, the clink of glasses, the rattle of poker chips and the 
 monotonous undertone of men's voices. 
 
 "In his hip pocket Woodruff had a bottle of brandy which 
 he was taking to 'Rocking Chair Emma,' a new sweetheart he 
 had acquired in Hogtown, the underworld district of the town, 
 
 35 
 
With Woodruff was a man named Charlie Emory. 
 
 "Emory and Woodruff walked from the rear door of the 
 saloon to the street. To do this it was necessary for them to 
 walk through a narrow passageway formed by the walls of two 
 buildings. Naturally, in this passageway it was very dark and 
 anyone on the street would be hard put to distinguish a man's 
 form in the gloom. Hence, as Woodruff and Emory stepped 
 onto the sidewalk of the street, they, to the surprise of all, came 
 face to face with Ed King and a cowboy by the name of John 
 Lang. Lang was a friend of King's. 
 
 King Is Killed. 
 
 "No one knows to this day what words pased between these 
 four men at this unexpetced meeting, or whether any words 
 were passed at all. All that is known is that the shooting 
 started right there. All four men were armed with six- 
 shooters and all used them. When the smoke cleared away 
 Ed King was lying on his face in the street, dead. Woodruff 
 was shot through the groin and Emory was wounded in several 
 places. 
 
 "John Lang, King's companion, the only man not hit in 
 the shooting, took to his heels and ran into Jim East's saloon, 
 where Frank Valley and Fred Chilton were playing poker. He 
 rushed over to the card table and informed these men that Len 
 Woodruff and his gang had killed Ed King and that Charlie 
 Emory was shot to pieces. 
 
 "Meanwhile Woodruff had retreated to his sleeping-room, 
 a little adobe square just at the rear of Dunn's saloon, while 
 Emmory had managed to drag himself into the sheUer of a 
 near-by blacksmith shop. 
 
 King's Companions Seek Revenge 
 
 "Valley and Chilton, upon being informed by Lang of what 
 had taken place, jumped from their chairs, and running to the 
 bar, demanded their sixshooters from Button Griffith, the bar- 
 tender. In accordance with the standing order of Sheriff Jim 
 East," they had turned in their guns at the bar when they en- 
 tered the saloon. This was a necssary precaution in those days. 
 
 "Button Griffith, of course must have sensed that there 
 was trouble in the air, and could perhaps have avoided further 
 bloodshed had he refused to give these men their guns. Or 
 perhaps by refusing he might have caused the letting of even 
 
 .Jim East could be i good slieriff and a square saloon keeper at the 
 same time. I have recently received some letters from him, which of 
 course touch on the historic times in and around Tascosa and other powder 
 smoked cow towns. He cites the fact of our being on the Palo Duro 
 wh^le he was officiating as sheriff and trying to keep the lid on and at the 
 same time loosening up enough so the boys could kill some cheap gambler 
 occasionally. He tells me he remembers our outfit, known as the old 
 Newell ranch, and says he knew well Berrv, the man whom we sold our 
 cattle to, and who used this brand, 777. Henry Boice was his foreman. 
 Jim says that Boice became a prosperous Commission Man in Kansas City, 
 although we had heard that he was killed in the stock yards at Fort 
 Worth by a Cow Puncher, who Henry had rebuked for abusing his horse. 
 East refers to a noted character around Dodtre who was called "Croppy". 
 He had lost an ear and that fact caused the nick name. He is prosperous 
 and active yet. During Roosevelt's administration he was appointed U. S. 
 Marshall of some District in the West. Jim is now living at Douglas, 
 Ariz., and is a prominent and influential citizen, enjoying a life of ease 
 and comfort and awaits the long call to night herd. 
 
 36 
 
more blood, includi:;g his own. Whatever his mental reflec- 
 tions might have been on this occasion, at any rate, he did not 
 demur, but promptly handed Chilton and Valley their guns. 
 
 "Immediately the two men ran out and cut diagonally a- 
 cross the street, passing along the side of Dunn's saloon and 
 making toward Woodruff's sleeping quarters. 
 Sheets Killed by Mistake. 
 
 "Meantime, a man by the name of Jesse Sheets, who con- 
 ducted a little restaurant adjoining Dunn's saloon, heard the 
 early shooting and pulling on his pants and shoes, had stepped 
 out at the rear of his place of business to see what the rumpus 
 was all about. As Valley and Chilton rounded the rear end 
 
 of Dunn's saloon they "spotted" Sheets standing there in the 
 dark. They took him to be Louis Bozeman, supposedly one of 
 Woodruff's gang. Valley, therefore, at once stopped short, 
 and, resting the gun along the rear wall of Dunn's saloon, fired. 
 The bullet struck Sheets right between the eyes, killing him in- 
 stantly Valley cried to Chilton: 
 
 " 'I got one of them-' 
 
 "He then ran forward to join his partner, who was by this 
 time nearing Woodruff's door. 
 
 "Woodriff, taking advantage of the few moments of re- 
 spite that had elapsed since the killing of King, had barricaded 
 himself inside his room. He had with him his sixshooter and 
 a 45-70 Winchester rifle. 
 
 "Chilton and Valley, without hesitation ran up to the door 
 of the little adobe building that served Woodruff as a house, 
 and in rapid succession fired five times through the soft pine of 
 the door. 
 
 "Woodruff realized at once that if he remained in the dark- 
 ness of his room he would be killed like a rat in a trap. The 
 bullets plowed through the door as easily as if it had been made 
 of butter, and the sod walls of the house leaked like a sieve. 
 He made a desperate resolve. Limping to the door, he threw 
 it open. 
 
 "Within a few foet of him stood Valley and Chilton, guns 
 in hand. Before they oculd recover from the surprise occa- 
 sioned by the sudden and unexpected appearance of Woodruff, 
 the latter fired point blank at Frank Valley. Velley fell in a 
 heap with a bullet in the face. Chilton retreated, firing as he 
 went. His objective was an old water well about fifteen yards 
 distance from the house. Before he could get behind this 
 cover, however. Woodruff drilled him through and through with 
 his Winchester. 
 
 WoodruflF Escapes. 
 
 "Not knowing how many more of King's friends might be 
 after him. Woodruff then thought it best to try to escape from 
 Tascosa. He was weak from loss of blood and suffering great 
 pain from the wound in his groin. Using his rifle as a crutch 
 he dragged himself down toward the creek and across. He 
 then slowly made his way toward a ranch house in the distance. 
 He still had the bottle of brandy in his pocket, and it now stood 
 him in good stead. He was not ordinarily a drinking man — 
 bartenders seldom are — but during the hours that followed, he 
 kept up his strength by occasional sips of the fiery liquid. Af- 
 ter several hours of painful crawling through the grass, he 
 
 37 
 
managed to reach the ranch house of Theodore Briggs. This 
 was about a mile and a half from Tascosa. Here he remained 
 until morning. Briggs cared for him. Shortly after dawn, 
 however, Briggs went to Tascosa and reported to Sheriff Jim 
 East that Woodruff was present in his house. East thereupon 
 came over and, placing Woodruff under arrest, brought him 
 back to Tascosa. 
 
 "Woodruff was tried some time later at Mabeetie, and final- 
 ly came off clear. He lived for some vears afterward. 
 Buried on 'Boot Hill.' 
 
 "Ed King, Frank Valley, Fred Chilton and Jesse Sheets 
 are all buried on Boot Hill. In the cemetery on Boot 
 
 Hill may be seen the graves of the first three. Their 
 
 graves are those marked with the limestone slabs, the only 
 three stones of this character on the hill. These stones were 
 no doubt put up by the L. S. ranch, for which the three cowboys 
 worked. Jesse Sheets, the fourth victim of the tragedy, being 
 only a proverty-stricken eating-house proprietor, whose family 
 was not able to afford such a memorial, lies beneath the sod 
 with only a wooden post to mark his last resting place. 
 
 "This is. as near as can be ascertained, the real history of 
 this gun fight. There are some old inhabitants of Tascosa who 
 claim that Valley and Chilton were not killed by Woodruff at 
 all, but were shot by the Catfish Kid and Louis Bozeman, who 
 were concealed in a woodpile near Woodruff's house. How- 
 ever, this story is hardly plausible, as. if this were the case, the 
 five bullet-holes through Woodruff's door could not be explain- 
 ed. And those bullet-holes were actually there, and remained 
 there until the house fell in. 
 
 "At any rate, however, there was sufficient suspicion di- 
 rected against the Cf tfish Kid and Bozeman at the time to cause 
 their arrest and imprisonment. They were later tried and ac- 
 quitted. 
 
 'Hell About to Pop.' 
 
 "A. L. (Bud) Turner, who lived at Tascosa at the time of 
 this shooting, and who now lives in the same house as that 
 formerly occupied by Theodore Briggs (*to which Woodruff 
 crawled for refuge) says that on the night of the fight, he and 
 Tobe Robison (later Sheriff) were at an L. S. camp on Rita 
 Blanco. He states that he and Robison received orders to ride 
 north and cut off the escape of WoodruflF, Bozeman and the Cat- 
 fish Kid. Thev roda as far north as the point where the city 
 of Dalhart now stands, and then turned south toward Tascosa, 
 arriving there about three o'clock the next afternoon. 
 
 "Mr. Turner says that at the time of his arrival the whole 
 town was in a great state of tension. Cowboys from adjoin- 
 ing ranches had ridden in from all directions. On March 22, 
 during the afternoon, he thinks that there were at least 400 or 
 500 men on the streets of Tascosa, all armed and all siding with 
 one faction or the other. For a while it looked as if a regular 
 war would break out, but, thanks to the strategy and cool nerve 
 of Sheriff East, his Deputy, L. C. Pierce, and other leaders, 
 further trouble was averted. 
 
 Ed King's Past, 
 
 "Ed King, the first man to be killed in this fight, had one 
 notch on his gun, which means that, in his time he had killed 
 
 38 
 
'One man. Strictly speaking, he was not a 'bad man,' as the 
 term in those days was generally understood. He was a hard- 
 working cowboy, earning an honest living. But when 'tank- 
 ed up' he was rather easy on the draw, as is illustrated by the 
 following story told by Sam Dunn, now of Amarillo, but former- 
 ly a cowpuncher on the Frying Pan ranch near Tascosa. 
 
 "King according to Mr. Dunn, was the only man who ever 
 'threw a gun' on him. 'When this incident occurred,' says Mr. 
 Dunn, 'King was standing at the bar of Captain Jink's saloon. 
 He had a sixshooter that he called "old blue". He was lean- 
 ing against the bar twirling the gun on his finger. As he 
 rolled it, he would, at each revolution, cock it and let down the 
 hammer. I was playing cards at some distance from the bar 
 when I decided that I would like to have a drink of water. 
 There was an old bucket with a rusty tin cup standing at the 
 end of the bar beyond King. I walked over and dipped out a 
 cup of water and started to drink. I had hardly taken a swal- 
 low when I heard King speaking to me. 
 " ' What the h do you want?' he said. 
 
 "I did not stop drinking, but I did cut my eyes down and 
 saw that King had his gun poked into my ribs. I finished 
 drinking, keeping my eyes on the gun all the while. Then, as 
 I reached down for another cup of water, I replied: 
 
 " 'I just wanted to get a drink.' 
 
 "I drank the second cup. King kept his gun jammed unto 
 my ribs all thetime. When I finished, I turned around and 
 walked back to the poker table, and resumed my game. That 
 was all there was to it. 
 
 "Mr. Dunn said that he supposes the reason why King 
 threw his gun on him was because he did not like to have a 
 stanger come so close to him. 
 
 The 'Catfish Kid.' 
 
 "Another 'bad actor', who has been said, is supposed by 
 some to have been mixed up in this battle, was the 'Catfish Kid.' 
 The 'Catfish Kid' was of the type most despicable in frontier 
 days. He was an imitation bad man — one who shot and kill- 
 ed for no reason whatsoever save for the pleasure of killing, 
 and who usually shot when the other man was unarmed or at a 
 disadvantage. 
 
 "Old Tascosaites say that at one time when the 'Catfish 
 Kid' and Louis Bozeman were sleeping in a wagon yard at Tas- 
 cosa, a poor, inoffensive German tramp came in and endeavored 
 to take up his sleeping quarters in the same place. The Kid, 
 who was a great buHy, ordered the tramp to dance for him. 
 The tramp either refused, or else did not dance to suit the Kid, 
 At any rate, the Kid shot him dead in cold blood. For this 
 murder he got sixteen years in the penitentiary. He died be- 
 fore the expiration of his term. 
 
 Tascosa's Inaccessibility. 
 
 "Tascosa, in its flourishing days, was the only town be- 
 tween Mobeetie, Texas, on the east, Springer, N. M., on the 
 west, and Dodge City. Kan., on the north. Everything used in 
 the town was freighted in wagons from Dodge City or Spring- 
 er, the round trip requiring weeks and sometimes months. 
 Whatever lumber was needed to build the town was brought in 
 in this manner, as tiiaber is a scarce article around Tascosa. 
 
 39 
 
< 
 
 O 
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 CO 
 
 O 
 
 'X 
 
 CQ 
 O 
 
 Q 
 
 < 
 
 H 
 en 
 
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 -J 
 
 H 
 
A Deserted Village. 
 
 "Tascosa, that lively little cowtown of the eighties, now 
 boasts of a population of one old lady. But this old lady is as 
 interesting as any 200 or 300 people would be in an ordinary 
 town. She is Mrs. Mickie McCormack, and she has been living 
 in Tascosa for forty years. She lived in the old town when it 
 was the best town in the Panhandle — and the only one besides 
 Mobeetie. She was present on the night of the big fight. She 
 saw the funeral procession wending its way to Boot Hill the 
 following afternoon. Today she still exists among the ruins, 
 a bent and pathetic little figure. Her only companion is a dog. 
 
 "Mrs. McCormack refused to allow her picture to be taken, 
 and was very reluctant to talk about herself. She was willing, 
 however, to talk of the fight and of the early days of the town. 
 She was asked if it was not rather lonesome in Tascosa now. 
 She looked off toward the river a few moments and reflected. 
 Then, haltingly, she said: 
 
 " 'Yes, it is. This used to be a real lively town, you know. 
 But I don't like it much any more.' She sighed. 
 
 "Inasmuch as she is the only person living among these 
 ruins her remark about not liking it much any more contains 
 quite a lot of unconscious humor. But the pathos of that re- 
 ply is even greater. 
 
 'Frenchy's History.' 
 
 "Mrs. McCormack is known to all the old-timers as 
 Frenchy. Quite a lot of romantic stories are told about her 
 past, but those in a position to know the real truth character- 
 ize these tales as "bunk." One story, for instance, is to the 
 effect that she comes from a prominent and wealthy New Or- 
 leans family; that she ran away from home and got married 
 against her parents' wishes, and that now she refuses to give 
 out any informaion about herself because she does not want 
 her people to know where she is, preferring rather to die in old 
 Tascosa, the scene of her youth and of her happier days. 
 
 "This, of course, would make a nice story if it were true, 
 but the more convincing evidence points the other way. Old 
 inhabitants of Tascosa say that Frenchy was the wife of Mickie 
 McCormack, a livery stable proprietor of Tascosa and 'as fine 
 a little Irishman as ever drank a toddy.' Mickie McCormack 
 died among the ruins of Tascosa a few years go after his wife 
 had spent practically the entire family wealth taking him on 
 trips designed to bring back his lost health. After his death, 
 which occurred only three days after his return to old Tascosa, 
 his wife continued to live there with her dog. She has never 
 left since — and perhaps never will. 
 
 How Tascosa Was Named. 
 
 "The story of how Tascosa got its name is itself an inter- 
 esting one. The original application to the Postoffice De- 
 partment was for the name 'Atascosa,' which, in Spanish, means 
 'muddy,' or 'boggy.' The low lands of the Canadian River are 
 full of marshes and bogs, the river bed itself being very treach- 
 erous with its quicksands and shifting holes, and it was for this 
 reason that the namers of the town thought Atascosa would be 
 suitable. But it happened that there was already an Atascosa 
 County in Texas and an Atascosa River, so that the postoflSce 
 authorities refused to allow the new town in the Panhandle to 
 
 41 
 
have this name. Hence the 'a' was struck off and the town 
 named Tascosa. One well-known writer on Western subjects, 
 Emerson Hough, in one of his books, several times makes the 
 mistake of referring to this old town as 'Atascosa.' 
 Fun in the Early Days. 
 
 "Quite a few humorous little anecdotes of early days in 
 Tascosa are told by oldtimers who once lived in the town. Here 
 is one: 
 
 "Before the courthouse was built the town authorities used 
 to have some trouble in finding a place to lock up prisoners. At 
 one time a certain worthless character drifted into town, and, 
 after getting into all kinds of trouble, finally landed plump in 
 the arms of the Sheriif. This latter gentleman was a man of 
 resources. He chained his prisoner, for safekeeping, .to a pil- 
 lar supporting the cottonwood beam in the roof of one of the 
 town's largest saloons. When the saloon was closed for the 
 night a roaring fire was built in the grate, and the prisoner left 
 to sleep on the floor at whatever spot he might choose within 
 the radius of the length of his chain. 
 
 "But if the Sheriff was a man of resource, the prisoner was 
 more so. During the night he decided he would like to have a. 
 drink. His chain was too short to admit of his getting as far 
 as the bar. Therefore he tore up one of his blankets, and, 
 weaving himself a lariet, tried his hand at roping bottles of 
 brandy that stood on the floor at the corner of the bar. After 
 several unsuccessful attempts he managed to 'ring' a bottle 
 neck and drag the liquor over to him. 
 
 "This was encouraging, and when the first bottle gave out 
 he persevered. When the 'cold, gray dawn' of the next morn- 
 ing broke the proprietor of the saloon, coming into his place of 
 business, found this redoubtable booze fighter peacefully un- 
 conscious in the arms of Bacchus as an evidence of his prowess 
 empty bottles lay about him in a complete circle. What the 
 proprietor said or what the Sheriff did is not a part of the 
 record. 
 
 Jack Ryan and the Jury. 
 
 "Another of the classics of old Tascosa centers around an 
 old individual by the name of Jack Ryan. Ryan and Frank 
 
 James (not the brother of the famous Jesse, but another man,) 
 were the joint proprietors of a saloon in Tascosa in the 80's. 
 Ryan was called from the duties of this business at one time 
 to serve on a jury. When the jury went out to deliberate, 
 eleven stood for acquittal and Ryan alone stood for conviction. 
 He was obstinate. He insisted that the prisoner ought to have 
 his neck stretched, and announced that he would see to it that 
 this little operation was performed, or else he would force the 
 jury to report itself as unable to agree. Ryan's fellow-jurors 
 pleaded with him, argued with him and very nearly fought with 
 him in an endeavor to win him over to their side of the fence. 
 But Ryan refused to give in. 
 
 "Just at this juncture, Frank James climbed a ladder, 
 stuck his head into the window of the juryroom and nodded ex- 
 citedly to Ryan to come over. Ryan came. James whispered 
 to him that the biggest and best poker game ever seen in Tas- 
 cosa was at that very time in progress in their saloon, and ask- 
 ed Ryan for money. Ryan peeled three $100 bills off his roll, 
 
 42 
 
and eave them to James. Then he said: 
 
 " 'Hurry back! f'on't let the game break up! Keep it go- 
 ing until I p-et there!' 
 
 "He then returned to the conference with his fellow-jurors 
 and told them that, while he personally believed in the guilt of 
 the prisoner, he was forced to admit that human judgment was 
 fallible and that, inasmuch as all of them seemed to be firmly 
 convinced that the accused ought to be set free, he was willing 
 to waive his own convictions in the matter and acquiesce in 
 their judgment. 
 
 "A verdict of acquittal was at once returned and Ryan* 
 hurried over to the poker game. 
 
 "Jim East, Sheriff for four terms in Tascosa, has been men- 
 tioned before in this r-tory. Just in passing, it v/ill be of inter- 
 est to remark that this same Jim East was one of the bunch that 
 captured Billy the Kid and his gang at a little rock house near 
 Stinking Spring. New Mexico, in 1881. East is the only sur- 
 vivor of the group that made this capture. He lives at present 
 in Douglas, Ariz., where he is a well-to-do and much respected 
 citizen. 
 
 Billy the Kid Visits Tascosa. 
 ■'Billy the Kid, perhaps the most famous desperado of fron- 
 tier days, was probably in Tascosa several times. One visit 
 of his to the town is known of definitely. In the fall of 1878 
 he came to Tascosa with his gang, consisting of Charlie Bowdre 
 (later killed by Pat Garrett), Doc Skurlock, Tom O'Folliord or 
 O'Phalliard (later killed by Pat Garrett), Henry Brown and 
 others. This gang, just previous to their visit to Tascosa, had 
 been engaged in a horsestealing expedition and had n\oved 
 northeastward from New Mexico in disposing of their stolen 
 property. They came to Tascosa and there got rid of ihe last 
 of their stolen horses. They then spent a few days in the old 
 town before returning to their stamping grounds in New Mex- 
 ico. 
 
 'During this stay in Tascosa Billy the Kid and his gang 
 went from ranch to ranch, 'visiting' and occasionally taking a 
 meal. At one time they stopped for a day or so on the ranch 
 of a certain Captain Torey, a retired ship captain even then 
 along in years. When Captain Torey heard of it he gave ord- 
 ers to his foreman that Billy the Kid and his men were not to 
 be fed any more at the ranch, as he did not want people to 
 think that he was' in cahoots' with this gang of cutthroats and 
 robbers. This news came to the ears of the Kid. 
 
 "Forthwith he looked Captain Torey up. Meeting him one 
 day in front of Jack Ryan's saloon on the main street of Tas- 
 cosa, he asked him point-blank whether it was true or not that 
 he had given his foreman these orders. Captain Torey said it 
 was. Instantly the Kid drew his sixshooter and rammed it 
 into the Captain's stomach, telling him that if he wanted to 
 say any prayers he ;iad better be quick about it, as he was go- 
 ing to fill him full of lead. 
 
 Charley Shidler, when in Tascosa,. used to room with Tom Monroe, 
 who ran a wagon for the L. S. outfit, (The Bates & Beal Co.) This room 
 was located just back of Ryan's saloon. 
 
 43 
 
"Captain Torely,* believing that his life on this sphere was 
 destined to end right then and there, broke down and said that 
 he would take it all back. The Kid put up his gun. Later he 
 told Charlie Siringo that he never did intend to shoot the Cap- 
 tain, but was merely giving him a good scare to teach him a 
 lesson. Siringo tells of this incident in his book, 'A Lone Star 
 Cowboy.' 
 
 Pat Garrett in Tascosa. 
 
 "Pat Garrett, one of the most famous, if not the most fam- 
 ous of all the peace officers of the Southwest, lived in and about 
 Tascosa for about a year and a half, centering on the year 1884. 
 Garrett was the man who killed Billy the Kid at Fort Summer 
 on the Pecos in New Mexico. At the time of his death the Kid 
 was just 21 years old and is said to have killed twenty-one men, 
 one for each year of his life, and this was not counting Mexi- 
 cans. Garrett in 1884 was in charge of a company of Texas 
 Rangers operating in Wheeler County and made Tascosa his 
 headquarters. C. B. ('Cape') Willingham, the first Sheriff of 
 Oldham County, shot the first man ever killed on the streets of 
 Tascosa. It happened in this wise: A group of drunken cow- 
 punchers came riding into town from their camp, which was 
 situated near by. As they galloped down the street they 
 whooped and yelled and shot off their guns. One of the bunch, 
 seeing a lady in her yard feeding a flock of ducks, took a shot 
 at one of the birds. He drilled it dead center, all right, but 
 at the same time frightened the lady to such an extent that she 
 fainted. 
 
 "The cowboys rode on down the street, drew up in front of 
 Jack Ryan's saloon and entered. Willingham, armed with a 
 shotgun went to arrest them. The Sheriff ordered him to get 
 down from his horse and surrender. Instead of doing this, the 
 cowboy* reached for his gun. Before he could get it into ac- 
 tion Sheriff Willingham planted a load of buckshot in his body. 
 
 "This was the first occupant of a plot on Boot Hill. He 
 was a stranger in Tascosa, he and his companions being in 
 charge of a herd of longhorn cattle that was being driven up 
 the trail north. 
 
 "After this, killings in Tascosa came with such frequency 
 that today no one knows the exact count of men killed 'with 
 their boots on." 
 
 * Captain Torey, after he had established his ranch, sent back east to 
 Boston, I think, for his family. His ranch was just above Tascosa, on 
 the Canadian River. His family consisted of two daughters and his wife. 
 On their trip from Dodge City, on the stage, a distance of One Hundred 
 Seventy-five miles, to Tascosa, Charley Shidler made the trip with them. 
 He was sitting on the front seat with the driver. When a few hours out 
 of Dodge City, a bunch of antelope jumped out in front of the stage, as 
 antelope always do. He took a shot at them as they passed, and killed 
 one the first shot. He could see from the dust that his bullet hit about 
 thirty feet from them, glancing and making- the fatal shot. Of course 
 the party thought this a wonderful shot and he heard the Captain say to 
 them that this was not an uncommon thing for the Cow Boys to do. 
 
 * Charley talked with the uncle of the boy. The uncle was in charge 
 of the herd to which these Cow Boys belonged. He stated that the boy 
 had never been away from home before and was of a peaceable disposition, 
 but that he supposed the booze made him want to be a He-Man. 
 
 44 
 
The Famous Boot Hill Cemetery. 
 
 "A few words about Boot Hill. In the days of Tascosa's 
 prime, Dodge City, Kan., as has been said, was the nearest city 
 of any consequence and the city to which the cowpunchers re- 
 paired to buy whatever equipment they needed or to have a 
 pfood time. Now at Dodge City there was very early a Boot 
 Hill Cemetery in which, before the town was a good year old, 
 more than eighty men had been buried. What was more na- 
 tural than that Tascosa should attempt to emulate the exemple 
 of Dodge City in the upbuilding of their own little metropolis? 
 When Tascosa began to come into prominence as a wild and 
 woolly cow town it was but the logical consequence that it 
 should imitate the older Dodge City by establishing its own 
 special Boot Hill. 
 
 "The account of all these escapades and adventures, of 
 course, sounds extremely wild and wooly. But it must be re- 
 memebered that things were done in those times that today 
 would be outlandish in the highest degree. In defense of these 
 pioneers of the Panhandle frontier it must be said that the bet- 
 ter class of the people got into the saddle and fashioned things 
 to their own way of thinking just as soon as it was possible for 
 them to do so. Prohibition was adopted in the Panhandle 
 counties of this State long before it became law in other sec- 
 tions of the State. Today the Panhandle yields the palm to 
 no other district of Texas in the matter of law enforcement and 
 order. 
 
 "Tascosa was a Mexican settlement as far back as 
 1870. Perhaps the first man to settle there permanently 
 
 was Henry M. Kimball, a carpenter and buffalo hunter, 
 and later, at Channing, Texas, a blacksmith and wheel- 
 wright. Kimball first came to Tascosa on the fourth of July, 
 1876. During this year he planted a garden at Tascosa and 
 hunted buffalo in the vicinity. He also did carpenter work in 
 his spare moments for a Mexican there named Casimira Rom- 
 ero. In February, 1877, two men named Howard and Rinehart 
 came to Tascosa from New Mexico and established a store there. 
 They first rented a place from Romero, but later, in April, 1877, 
 they built their own abode store. In 1878 the cattlemen of the 
 region roundabout began to make Tascosa a kind of headquar- 
 ters and from, this time on its growth was rapid. In 1879 John 
 Cone and a man named Duran opened another store in Tascosa 
 and in the same year Rinehart, the former partner of Howard, 
 opened a third store. This made three stores in 1880, and 
 stores in those days meant a town. 
 
 Town Dependent on Ranches. 
 
 "Tascosa's growth and prosperity as before said, were al- 
 most entirely dependent upon the near-by cattle ranches. In 
 fact, it was the presence of these cowboys that is really to ac- 
 count for Tascosa's existence as a white man's town rather 
 than as a mere Mexican settlement. The old town never did 
 have any business other than that of selling liquor and a few 
 supplies to the cowpunchers living close at hand and those who 
 came throu-3rh on the trail. 
 
 "In 1879 and in subsequent years Tascosa was untilized as 
 a kind of assembling point of the various outfits about to take 
 part in the great annual roundup. There were no fences in 
 
 45 
 
those days and the cattle ranged all over the Panhandle and 
 into New Mexico, Colorado and Kansas. Hence in the roundup 
 outfits from these distant points came to Tascosa to help make 
 the liquor flow and the town liven up. 
 
 "Some of the ranches in the vicinity of Tascosa were the 
 L. I. T., the L. S., the L. X. and other smaller ranches belong- 
 ing to such old-time cowmen as Goodrich, Jim Kennedy and 
 Nick Chaffin. Many of these ranches, of course, are today still 
 in existence. 
 
 "In the early days of Tascosa there were no organized 
 counties in Texas north of the Red River. Oldham County was 
 organized in 1889. 
 
 Mingled Feelingg. 
 
 "There is something sad and at the same time something 
 uncanny about a deserted town. Where once this noisy little 
 cow village stood, today there are no sounds to be heard save 
 those made by hundreds of little birds in the cottonwoods. 
 Where formerly the mainstreet of the town stretched its lurid 
 way, today only a dim ootline can be traced through the scrubbv 
 underbrush. Once along this street there were ranged two 
 lines of solidly built adobe stores. Now only a single broken 
 wall raises its jagged and crumbling outlines from the grass. 
 Along that street forty years ago five saloons operated at full 
 blast day and night, stopping only for funerals. Today the 
 town is a mourning: witness of its own funeral. 
 
 "Forty years ago many famous characters walked up and 
 down the road that ran through this cottonwood grove. Today 
 most of them are dead. A few old-timers are still left, but it 
 has been along time since any of these has gazed on the site 
 of old Tascosa, for the railroad runs south of the river and the 
 old town can not be reen from the windows. 
 
 "At evening the wind stirs the dead leaves at the foot of 
 the cottonwoods, the rays of the setting sun glance through the 
 boughs, flecking the grass and creek water with light, shifting 
 shadows, a few little birds cheep as they go to roost, and then 
 a deathly silence throws its mantle over the scene. 
 
 "One can stand here and know intellectually that this 
 place was once one of the wildest and wooliest and noisiest of 
 all the towns of the frontier, but even that definite knowledge 
 can not bring back in all their old-time richness the atmosphere 
 and coloring the vivid pictures of the old town as it used to be 
 in the days of its glory. The contrast of today with yesterday 
 is too great. 
 
 It is a measure of some pride, pardon the boast, that we are 
 the last, in this vicinity at least, now living, as we do, in a small 
 industrious and thriving western Indiana town, who have had 
 his little experiences and skirmishes with the Red Skins, who 
 had his buffalo hunters friendships, who was acquainted with 
 some of the bad men, and who was of the Cow Man type, on the 
 broad plains of the Pan Handle, No Man's Land, and the old 
 Indian Territory. Now we have 'lit', and will stand without 
 hitching until such time as we hit that long trail from which 
 no 'Cow Puncher' ever returns. 
 
 We are indebted to the courtesey of several men, who are 
 still living and who were acquaintances and in some instances 
 companions and partners of Clay Allison in the wild days, for 
 
 46 
 
a part of the facts and stories connected with Allison and his 
 boisterous, dare-devil ways. It's been difficult to get at most 
 of the history of this man for the reason, as one of the residents 
 of what was Allison's old stamping grounds says, "There are 
 many pertinent facts connected with the gathering of early day 
 history. In the first place, if you can get an old timer to sit 
 on the sunny side of a building on a comfortable day with an 
 appreciative audience and a good cigar at your expense, you 
 can get him to talk at considerable length about what a bull 
 moose he was in the early days. But when you get him pinned 
 down to lines you will probably discover that he is repeating 
 second-hand stuff and it all happened in the next county. Again 
 when you find a man who really knows, he will spin tales by 
 the hours, not boastingly, but in a matter-of-fact, truthful way. 
 This same man will not write three lines however, pertaining 
 to such subjects." The consensus of opinion, as we get it from 
 those who know and are now living, bears out a former state- 
 ment that Clay Allison was the best known man in the real 
 pioneer days in the Pan Handle country, especially in the neigh- 
 borhood of that thriving town of Canadian, Texas. As one of 
 his old time companions tells it, "He was a whale of a good fel- 
 low, and considerate of his fellowmen, but throw a drink or two 
 into him and he was a hell hound turned loose, rearin' for a 
 chance to shoot — in ?elf defense." We are indebted to Messers 
 Bussell, Arrington, Owens and the editor of The Canadian 
 Record, Mr. L. P. Loomis, all of Canadian, and also to Mr. Shick, 
 of Amarillo, for the way they have "thawed out" and helped us 
 in our feeble efforts to portray and describe the life of Clay Al- 
 lison. 
 
 Jim East, Charley Seringo, D. F. McCarthy and others 
 have helped me also. While Clay Allison has left a trail of 
 blood, no man can say that he had a murderous heart or a sull- 
 en and sordid mind. He held the respect of the better cow 
 men but was hated by the villaneous, murderous, cowardly 
 gunman. 
 
 47 
 

 THE PICTURESQUE RIO GRANDE DEL NORTE. 
 
 One of the many beautiful scenic pictures along the Rio 
 Grande River, leading up towards the Wagon Wheel Gap — a 
 magnificient, glorious and continuous piece of grand views. 
 Near Wagon Wheel Gap, where the solid granite walls are split, 
 in order to let the rushing Rio Grande River through, was 
 where John C. Fremont lost his wagons, on one of his exploring 
 expeditions — hence the name. Wagon Wheel Gap. 
 
 48 
 
RECOLLECTIONS OF COLORADO. NEW MEXICO, 
 AND THE TEXAS PANHANDLE 
 
 Reminiscences of a 'yger 
 
 I do not claim to have cut any figure or to have been neces- 
 sary in any way to the development, history or advancement of 
 the great West in the old days, but speaking in a measure of ex- 
 periences we, my partners and I, have met many men and knew 
 of many others, who were great characters and were essential 
 in the carving of the Great Way; besides we were considerable 
 travelers in a short .--pace of time, ourselves. We have, all of 
 us, camped on the head waters of the Red River, the Arkansas 
 and the Rio Grande. We followed these wonderful rivers from 
 their source to almost their joining of the great water ways. 
 We have seen the rise and fall of many of the so called "end of 
 the railroad town," along the right of way of the old pioneer, 
 the Sante Fe railroad, where Brown, Manzaners & Co., the great 
 merchant princes, would build and then move onto the next end 
 of the railroad. Wc have seen this real developer, the Sante 
 Fe, string its first ties along and upon the virgin soil, and we 
 have noticed the old time Cow Man, who was possibly a gal- 
 vanized greaser, which means a white man who has married a 
 Mexican woman, come down to the "cars" with a look of re- 
 sentment, and growl about trespassing on the cattle man's do- 
 main. We have heard the screech of the Ingin' in no-man's- 
 land which would sfnd the coyote scooting back to the foot 
 hills, and have at last seen the cattle man considerably pacified, 
 and the coyote, the wild cat and the antelope, stand curious 
 while the trains pass. We have driven cattle over the old 
 Sante Fe and the old Jones and Plummers Trails, where great 
 furrows and ridges were worn by the cattle, for several rods 
 across the trail and where the red dust and the alkali white 
 would almost choke the fellows who had to keep up the drags, 
 in a cattle herd on the trail. 
 
 We have seen Alamosa as an "end of the railroad town" 
 when it was a better town than it is today, where the Bull 
 Whacker and the Mule Skinner and the Cow Puncher and the 
 Miner were all boon companions while they were taking a little 
 recreation by playing those wiley, ensnaring and fascinating 
 games of Stud Poker, Roulette, etc., and where the winsome 
 Senorita Baca would twang her guitar and sing her love songs. 
 
 In those days the boys knew nothing of that home brew, the 
 mild and insipid Raisin or Prune Whiskey, which is so common 
 now. They always required something that would bite and 
 scratch as it went down, just like barbed wire — no Sundaes oi 
 soft drinks went then. We have known Tom Tobin, who endej 
 
 49 
 
his days in the willows on the Trinchera Creek, in the San Luis 
 Valley, who was a famous scout and a partner and boon com- 
 panion of the great Kit Carson. When the famous corres- 
 pondent, William E. Curtis, was traveling over the U. S., some 
 ten or fifteen years ago, stopping at different places long 
 enough to write up local history, he related the following story 
 connected with the life of Tom Tobin and Kit Carson. He 
 said that in an early day some prominent Mexican had gone 
 loco and was killing many people, he became such a desperate 
 outlaw that the provisional governor decided to offer a reward 
 for his head. Tobin and Carson started out with their guns 
 and a gunny sack. After many days of scouting they got on 
 his trail and finally arrived with the drop and killed him. They 
 chopped off his head, placed it in the gunny sack and took it 
 to Fort Garland and claimed the reward — that would be con- 
 sidered now days a matter of high finance. 
 
 While it is shown that Kit Carson was not with Tom Tobin, 
 as some have thought, on the pursuit of Juan Espinoses and his 
 desperate gang and was not with Tobin at the killing, yet his- 
 tory tells of his many thrilling adventures and puts him in the 
 gratitude of this great nation, not only as a conqueror of many 
 Indian Tribes, but as an acquirer and preserver of many leagues 
 and domains of Territory for our use as a Nation. 
 
 It was during his fur trapping days that Carson's expedition 
 took him into the northwest and he was one of the group of 
 pioneers who saved Oregon for the United States, just as later 
 he helped win California and the southwest from the Mexicans 
 and again helped save these lands from the confederacy during 
 the Civil War. Mosi biographers record all these events brief- 
 ly. His guiding of John C. Fremont, the "Path Finder", on 
 these expeditions in the west; his services in the Mexican War 
 under Fremont and Gen. Stephen Kearney; his Indian Cam- 
 paigns, including the defeat of the Navajos, and the great battle 
 with the Kiowas and Comanches at Adobe Walls in 1864. (This 
 battle was ten years previous to the battle at the same place, 
 when Billie Dixon, Bat Masterson, Dutch Henry and about 
 twenty others stood off over eight hundred Indians and killed a 
 large number.) Later biographers record his appointment as 
 Indian Agent; his trips to Washington as a member of the U. S. 
 Commission; his services in the Civil War, which won him the 
 rank of brevet brigadier general, and finally his retirement to 
 his home, Taos, New Mexico, and his death at Fort Lyons, May 
 23, 1868. 
 
 While he was an implacable foe of the bad Indian he was 
 respected and called friend by the good and great chiefs. He 
 had their confidence and they believed in him. There is in the 
 Historical Museum of Colorado, some relics belonging to Kit 
 Carson. Among them is one of his Rifles which was hand 
 made by Hawken, a gun maker of the first half of the nine- 
 teenth century. On this rifle there are ninteen notches. 
 Each notch marks the death of an Indian, each of them, how- 
 ever, of the murderous, bad type. Kit had a good sized family 
 and among the children were two boys, young Kit and Billie. I 
 knew both Kit and Billie. The latter was a son-in-law of Tom 
 Tobin and I worked v/ith Kit Carson Jr. on the Dicky Bro. Cattle 
 Ranch in the San Luis Valley. As an illustration of the force 
 
 50 
 
of character and the sublime control that this great man had 
 over Indians it has been told me that on one occasion, while he 
 was stationed at Fort Garland and in the employment of the 
 United States Army f.s a Scout, he was detailed on some expe- 
 dition and he left the Fort with an ambulance, and mule team 
 and took his boys, Billie and Kit, with him. After several 
 hours travel he noticed a large body of Indians following him 
 and as they drew nearer he noticed they had on all of their War 
 insignia and were horribly decorated with the blood signs. They 
 were on the War Path. He stopped the ambulance and left 
 the two little boys behind and started towards the hostile band 
 which was in battle array. As he approached them he held 
 up his hands. They stopped and he called for a conference 
 with the leading chiefs. He proposed they smoke the tradi- 
 tional pipe of peace. He then delivered an ultimation of some 
 sort, no one knows what he said or promised, but what ever it 
 was, it inspired the spirit of confidence in those battling red 
 skins, for at once they turned and went back from whence they 
 came. Kit turned and walked slowly toward the ambulance 
 and his two little boys, without even glancing backward. He, 
 too had confidence that the Indians would keep faith. The 
 little sketch that follows gives a very brief, but accurate history 
 of this great and just man. Every citizen of this country 
 should go to his or her library and get some authentic history 
 of this pioneer and read the life of Kit Carson, the Scout, the 
 Indian fighter, the Army Officer. 
 
 There is no other frontiersman who has figured in stories 
 and in Western history as has Kit Carson. He was born in 
 Kentucky Dec. 24, 1809, and removed with his parents when 
 a child to Missouri. When 17 years old he joined a party go- 
 ing west, which brought him out into the practically unexplor- 
 ed wilderness of all this region west of the Missouri river, es- 
 pecially Colorado. For eight years he was a hunter for Bent's 
 fort, and in the years that followed a guide for Fremont's two 
 expeditions in Colorado; Indian fighter, trapper, scout, Union 
 officer, friend of the Indians and on almost every page of Colo- 
 rado history for many years his name was written. 
 
 Death of Scout. 
 
 Kit Carson was taken sick in Denver on his return from a 
 trip to Washington on a peace mission with the Ute Indians. He 
 ■recovered sufficiently to go, to Fort Lyon, in the San Luis valley, 
 where he died May 24, 1868. He was buried in Boggsville, his 
 old home near Las Animas, but later the body was removed to 
 Taos and interred and a great monument erected to his memory. 
 
 Carson's name is linked with gaps, springs, trails and 
 mountains in Colorado, and especially in the San Luis valley, 
 where he lived for so many years. 
 
 It transpires that Curtis did not give a very accurate ac- 
 count of the capture and killing of this blood thirsty desporado. 
 In the first place Kit Carson was not with Tobin, because he 
 was in Texas when this happened in 1864. On a recent visit 
 to the San Luis Valley in September 1921, I was able to learn 
 some new history connected with the story of this outlaw. The 
 McCarty boys, early residents with their old father near Ft. 
 Garland and whom I met at Rifle on Apple Pie Day, told me the 
 true story of how Juan Espinoses and his nephew were killed 
 
 51 
 
THE TWO CARSONS, FATHER AND SON. 
 
 Brig. Gen., Kit Carson, Sr. and Kit Carson, Jr. 
 Young Kit was riding for the Dickey outfit while 
 I was also working for the same company in 1878 and 
 1879. We were told that he was afterwards killed, but 
 never got any particulars. The hunting coat that he is wear- 
 ing was presented to his father by some big and distinguished 
 Chief. Young Kit must have borrowed it for this picture. He 
 looks much more distinguished than when I knew him. 
 
by Tom Tobin, and they also described the place where they 
 were killed, as being at a gulch off the LaVeta pass and not so 
 very far from old Ft. Garland. Old man McCarty, old man 
 Nolan, Tom Tobin and Kit Carson were the early day pioneers 
 of this part of the West and helped subdue the desperate char- 
 acters, be they either white man or red man. McCarty told his 
 boys the story of Tobin's achievement as follows: — A Company 
 of soldiers were detailed from Ft. Garland with Tobin, as guide, 
 to run down Espinoses and his young nephew. Tobin knew 
 about where they were hiding in the Sangre De Christi (Blood 
 of Christ) Mountain Range. As the party approached the 
 place where Tobin thought they were, early in the morning he 
 excused himself to the officer in command and made some ex- 
 cuse for leaving camp alone. He explained afterwards that 
 he knew the exact spot where these desperados were hiding 
 and that he did not want any soldiers along, for the reason that 
 the commanders in giving their orders in loud voices would 
 frighten the outlaws and thus they would escape again. Tobin 
 crawled up to their camp just at day break and waited for them 
 to get through breakfast. Presently Juan arose from the camp 
 fire and threw his arms in the air and stretched up his full 
 length. It was his last stretch. Tobin killed him the first 
 shot and he fell across the camp fire. The younger one made 
 a dash but Tobin intercepted him. He plead for his life but 
 Tobin killed him also. There is no disputing the fact that 
 Tobin chopped Juan's head off and carried it to the Fort in a 
 gunny sack, and placed it before the officers and demanded they 
 take cognizance of the proof that the Espinoses were dead. 
 
 I have the past several months had a very pleasing corres- 
 pondence with Mr. Elmo S. Watson, a Professor of Journalism 
 at the niinois University and a writer who is so much interest- 
 ed in Western History and who has writen a great many News- 
 paper Syndicate Articles and sketches on Indian Scouts, Buf- 
 falo Hunters, and Outlaws of the old days. He has gotten to- 
 gether a good article and explains in detail many new facts 
 and stories of the life of this particularly atrocious Juan Espi- 
 noses, and since the t^cenes are laid in lands that are so familar 
 and dear to me and since he describes the facts and particulars 
 of the killing of Espinoses by Tom Tobin, whom we knew, we 
 take this opportunity of printing the young man's able and en- 
 tertaining article, although his story varies a little from that 
 told by Tobin to McCarty and other old timers. 
 
 Before we use his story I wish to call the reader's attention 
 to still another version of this occurrence as furnished me late- 
 ly by an old time friend who was in Alamosa and now lives 
 there. Doc Ball. We used to buy our Bull Durham of Doc in 
 the '80s. Doc struck Alamosa in 1880 and has stuck ever since. 
 
 "I met Tom Tobin for the first time in 1880, and knew him 
 well thereafter, until he died. My first recollection, and one 
 of the many things that attracted my attention to him, was the 
 incident of the Espinosa Brothers. (There is some difference 
 of opinion as to whether they were brothers, some say Juan 
 was the uncle of the younger man.) It seemed that these 
 two desperados committed some depredations around or about 
 Fort Garland, and the Government offered a liberal re- 
 ward for their apprehension, dead or alive, so Tom took a 
 
 53 
 
nephew, a small boy, and went hunting for the Espinosas. This 
 he told me himself, that late in the afternoon, he spotted them 
 away off in the Mountains near Mt. Blanca, by magpies circl- 
 ing over head, and settling down, being carniverous birds, the 
 Indian instinct of old Tom assured him that they were after 
 meat food, and that meat was being fried by the Espinosas in 
 camp, close by. So early the next morning he sneaked up on 
 them, and shot them both before they ever had a chance of 
 getting the drop on him. He then cut their heads off, put them 
 in a gunny sack, and brought them in to the Fort and demanded 
 the reward. Captam McCook, Lieut Gilta or which ever or 
 who ever was in command, asked for evidence, whereupon he 
 emptied the two heads on the floor at their feet. Imagine the 
 consternation. This evidence not being sufficient, as the 
 whole carcass was in demand, Tom never got the reward from 
 the Government, but later. Senator William H. Adams (this 
 was Billie Adams, his brother, Alva, ran a store in Alamosa 
 in our time), had a bill passed by the State Legislature paying 
 him $1000.00 for this very purpose. This was just before he 
 died." 
 
 "There were some rumors of family troubles between the 
 Tobins and Carsons, but no one seems to be so very familiar re- 
 garding the causes,, suffice it to say that in some altercation 
 between Billy Carson and his father-in-law, Billy shot Tom, 
 wounding him, as Billy claimed, in self defense; however that 
 may be, Billy was cleared. Not long afterwards Billy was 
 shot in the back of the neck with his boots on, and passed away 
 suddenly. It was never known who did it, although there were 
 some grave suspicions at the time, but no arrests made. Tomisi- 
 to Tobin, Tom's son, was one of the finest men in the country 
 and was well known. Afterwards he was appointed, through 
 Billy Adams, one of the guards at the state penitentiary, and 
 was killed while rounding up some escaped convicts. At one 
 time when the Sherman girls were on a visit to Fort Garland 
 with their father. Gen. Sherman, they took quite a fancy to 
 Billy, especially as he was the son of the Old Scout Kit Carson, 
 and besides was a very handsome boy. They took him to Wash- 
 ington and had him educated and showed him many favors and 
 courtesies. Upon his return he was elected Sheriff of Conejos 
 county and made a good officer." 
 
 WATSON'S STORY OF THE ESPINOSAS. 
 
 "Tourists today who drive to Canon City pass through a 
 beautiful canon about 10 miles from Colorado Springs and 
 there they see some of the most romantic and inviting spots 
 along the highway connecting the two cities. But the average 
 traveler, as he motors smoothly and swiftly along the graceful 
 curves of the road, little imagines or realizes the sinister his- 
 tory of the region through which he is passing, for this canon 
 is Dead Man's canon, and nearly 60 years ago it received it 
 name with a baptism of blood. 
 
 "In the spring of 1863 an old man named Harkins was op- 
 erating a sawmill on the little stream which winds through the 
 canon. One day he went to his mill and never returned. A 
 few days later his body was found with his head split open by 
 an ax or hatchet, and a terrified whisper ran through the scat- 
 tered settlements of the Pikes Peak region — "The 'Bloody Es- 
 
 34 
 
pinoses' are here!" For the marlcs on the slain man were 
 those made by Juan Espinosa, Mexican bandit, robber and as- 
 sassin, on each of his victims and the killing of Old Man Har- 
 -kins was one in a long series of murders by the original 'ax- 
 man' of Colorado, unparalleled in the criminal history of the 
 west, which created a veritable reign of terror in this state a 
 century ago. 
 
 "From that day to this, the canon has been known as Dead 
 Man's canon and firmly rooted in the minds of the early settlers 
 of the surrounding region was the belief that since that day the 
 ghost of the murdered man appears nightly in the canon, some- 
 times on foot, but more frequently mounted on a white horse. 
 Persons of undoubted veracity assert that they have seen this 
 phantom rider, and one person is said to have lost his reason 
 after an adventure with this mysterious stranger one dark and 
 stormy night in the canon. At any rate, before the advent of 
 the road builder and the automobilist, lone travelers gave Dead 
 Man's canon a wide berth at night and usually avoided it al- 
 together by taking a circuitous route around it. 
 Bandits Spurs Here. 
 
 "Down in the county court house, in the exhibit cases of 
 the ElPaso County Pioneer association, hangs a pair of spurs, 
 the sight of which recalls to old-timers the murder of Old Man 
 Harkins and the reign of terror that followed, for they are the 
 spurs once worn by the younger brother of Juan Espinosa, tak- 
 en from the heels of the dead bandit after he had been shot by 
 Joseph Lamb on Foui Mile creek, about 20 miles south of Flor- 
 issant and 15 miles west of Cripple Creek, in the summer of 
 1863. Lamb sold the spurs to Judge Castello of Florissant 
 and they remained in the possession of his family until a few 
 years ago when they were presented to the Pioneer association 
 by John B. Castello, a son of the judge. 
 
 "The spurs are of hand-wrought Mexican manufacture and 
 still have the broad straps which held them on the bandit's 
 boots. The rowels are three inches in diameter with 12 long, 
 sharp steel spikes, for the Espinosas were no kinder to the 
 horses which they rode than they were to their fellow men, and 
 in their vocabulary there was no such word as 'mercy.' On 
 the spurs are steel chains which passed under the boot just in 
 front of the heel and hanging from each shank are two little 
 iron pendants whose tinkling sound was a concession to the 
 vanity of the bandit as he strode about among his fellow des- 
 peradoes. The Espinosas were men whe 'died with their boots 
 on' and these spurs, taken from the boots of one of them, re- 
 main as silent witnesses to the story of the infamous bandit 
 gang, a story of mad fanaticism and wanton cruelty, of ruthless 
 pillage and cowardly assassination, of unprovoked and cold- 
 blooded murder, a red page in Colorado history. 
 Don Juan Espinosa. 
 
 "At the time of the acquisition of New Mexico by the Unit- 
 ed States, Juan Espinosa was a wealthy landowner, residing 
 upon his ancestral hacienda in a sort of barbaric luxury with 
 a host of peons to do his bidding. He owned vast herds of 
 cattle and sheep and was one of the many self-styled aristo- 
 crats of the southwest who boasted of their Castilian blue 
 blood, claiming descent from the nobles of Cortez's army. With 
 
 55 
 
him lived his brother and sister, the latter a beautiful senorita 
 of 17 years. Into this semibarbaric household came a young 
 American between whom and Espinosa a strong bond of friend- 
 ship was established. The young American fell in love with 
 the Espinosa girl, according to tradition, and she reciprocated 
 his affection. 
 
 "The American had with him a large sum of money which 
 Espinosa coveted. One night the Mexican stole into his 
 guest's room but in withdrawing the money from beneath the 
 American's pillow, he awoke the boy and the American, suppos- 
 ing him to be an ordinary thief, shot at him. Espinosa stabbed 
 him to the heart. The report of the shot aroused the house- 
 hold and the sister, rushing into the room and seeing her broth- 
 er with a bloody dagger in his hand and her lover dead before 
 him, was stricken with insanity, from which she never recover- 
 ed. With her curses ringing in his ears, Juan Espinosa, accom- 
 panied by his younger brother, fled to the mountains and estab- 
 lished his headquarters in the Sangre de Cristo mountains in 
 the San Luis valley, where he gathered about him a gang of 
 other murderers, thieves and desperadoes. 
 
 Beginnings of Bandit Gang. 
 
 "Then began the operations of this gang which soon ter- 
 rorized the whole country about them. They robbed indis- 
 criminately the overland coaches to Santa Fe, the wagon trains 
 of traders and the £Overnment, the ranches of Mexicans and 
 anyone else within the radius of their operations. Of this 
 gang, Juan Espinosa was the archfiend and in addition to his 
 robbing tendencies he seems to have become imbued with the 
 idea that he had been selected by some power on high as an 
 avenging angel whose special commission was to kill all Amer- 
 icans who came into his power. With this idea in mind he set 
 about the career which made him infamous and before it ended 
 with his death he had killed 32 Americans without provocation, 
 shooting them from ambush in the daytime or creeping upon 
 tham at night and dispatching them with dagger or an ax, his 
 favorite method. 
 
 "The deeds of Espinosa began to fill men's minds and with 
 the increasing number of settlers in the country through which 
 he raided, decisive measures were taken to put an end to his 
 murderous career. A systematic man hunt began. Espinosa 
 was driven out of the San Luis valley. Repeated repulses of 
 his attacks on wagon trains decimated his band until it was 
 broken up and Espinosa and his brother fled north. Their 
 visit to the Pikes Peak region was signalized by the murder of 
 Old Man Harkins in Dead Man's canon. They passed on into 
 what is now Park county, killing one man near the site of Lake 
 George on the Colorado Midland railroad and four at the pres- 
 ent town of Fairplay. 
 
 Murders in Park County. 
 
 "Two of the latter were well known prospectors named 
 Lyman and Seyga, citizens of California Gulch, now Leadville, 
 and when the news of their murder reached that mining camp, 
 a posse headed by Captain John McCannon and Joseph Lamb 
 left California Gulch with the grim determination of ending the 
 career of the "Bloody Espinosas" for all time. The posse trail- 
 ed the bandits from Red Hill in Park county to Four Mile creek 
 
 56 
 
and, following the trail down this stream, the miners came up- 
 on the Espinosas' camp in a little side-canon about 20 miles 
 north of Canon City. In the battle that followed the younger 
 Espinosa was shot by Joseph Lamb, but Juan Espinosa escaped. 
 Lamb took from the boots of the dead bandit as a trophy of the 
 man hunt, the spurs which now are in the collections of the 
 Pioneer association here and the posse returned to California 
 Gulch, believing that its mission had been accomplished. But 
 they did not realize that the master murderer had eluded them 
 once more. 
 
 "He returned to his old haunts and in 1864 induced his 
 nephew to join him in renewed depredations. Their return 
 was signalized by more murders and rewards aggregating $1,- 
 500 were offered for the capture, dead or alive, of the Espinosa. 
 Espinosa next captured an American but^ instead of killing 
 him, decided to hold him for ransom. However, the man es- 
 caped and went immediately to Fort Garland where he demand- 
 ed that Espinosa be caught and punished. A troop of cavalry 
 was dispatched in pursuit of the bandits but it returned empty 
 handed for the fugitives had little difficulty in eluding such a 
 large force. 
 
 "When the soldiers returned, Tom Tobin, a famous old 
 jnountaineer and one of Kit Carson's closest friends, was sent 
 for and went out alone to "get" the Espinosa. He trailed them 
 into the Sangre de Christi mountains and at last one evening 
 found them encamped under the shelter of a shelving rock 
 above a small stream. Stalking his quarry as he would wild 
 animals, Tobin crept closer and closer until he was near enough 
 to make sure that he would not miss. The two men were 
 crouched over a tiny fire warming their hands, but in the dim 
 light they presented a poor target even for a marksman of 
 Tobin's ability. At last Juan Espinosa, withdrawing his hands 
 from the flame, rose .slowly to his feet and stretched both arms 
 wide, forming with his body a perfect cross and presenting a 
 target which loomed up clearly in the fading light. 
 End of the Espinosas. 
 
 "Tobin fired and Juan Espinosa fell forward across his 
 campfire. The nephew whirled about and scrambled to his 
 feet. The mountaineer fired again and the last of the Espino- 
 sas dropped dead. Tobin is said to have cut off the head of 
 Juan Espinosa and to have carried it back to Fort Garland, 
 where he claimed the reward. The head is reported to have 
 been preserved in alcohol and afterward taken to Pueblo, where 
 it is now said to occupy a place in a collection of skulls of noted 
 murderers." 
 
 JOHN EVANS ASSISTS IN THE EXTERMINATION 
 
 John Evans, Governor, an early resident of Attica, Ind., as- 
 sists in the extermination. 
 
 We had always understood that the reward that was offer- 
 ed for this bad man was very liberal and one account makes 
 the statement that it was $2000.00 for his body dead or alive, 
 since Tobin only produced the head, which was only a part of 
 his body, we suppose technically he was not awarded the full 
 amount, because you know, the jowl of a hog, likened to Esp- 
 inoses, never did bring full price. (This is verified some- 
 
 what in Ball's account.) This reward was offered by John 
 
 57 
 
TOM TOBIN, THE OLDEST SCOUT. 
 
 Tom Tobin, Scout, Indian Fighter, and boon companion and 
 neighbor of Kit Carson, when they lived near old Ft. Garland. 
 Note the pose, even in the picture he is apparently looking and 
 listening for Indian signs. It was a habit of the old scouts to 
 be ever on their guard and continually turning their heads, 
 looking for Indians, and other "Varments." 
 
 58 
 
Evans, provisional Governor of Colorado. It's remarkable and 
 fitting at this time to recall and exploit the life of this great 
 Governor. John Evans was in the very earliest times asso- 
 ciated with the life cf Attica, Ind., my native home, in making 
 her first history, and who was also instrumental in the death 
 of Espinoses by putting the instrument, the reward, into the 
 hands of Tom Tobin to kill him with. Tobin I met near the 
 scene of this blood thirsty encounter. I get many facts re- 
 lated by J. Wesley Whickcar, of Attica, on this great man, John 
 Evans, and many other characters in this, our home, vicinity. 
 The very first history of Evans discloses the fact that he came 
 from Ohio, Waynesboro I think, as a young doctor, with a 
 young wife, to the new and untried west, of which Attica was 
 the center of a new world. Shortly afterwards, an itinerate 
 young preacher, a companion and great friend of John Evans 
 in the home of their youth in Ohio, also cast his lot in pioneer 
 preaching with the settlers of this wonderful new country, 
 Henry Benson was this preacher man's name and he has left 
 many of his progeny of that name and many men and women 
 of much influence, many of afluence, and all of respectability. 
 Some old citizens say that he preached alternately at Bethel 
 and Attica and was cf the old fashioned Methodist faith. Na- 
 turally he and Evans were associated together, and they enjoy- 
 ed and renewed their comradship and became closer bound in 
 their companionship These were the days when the saloon 
 and the whiskey questions were momentous ones and Benson 
 was energetically opposed to them and he undertook a series 
 of revivals both at Bethel and at Attica, with the paramount 
 subject and text showing strong prejudices against the whiskey 
 and its entanglements. It's told that while campaigning at 
 Bethel he boarded with Tom Campbell's grandfather, an old 
 resident of Attica, Jonathan Campbell. Evans of course at- 
 tended these meetings and took some interest. Finally Ben- 
 son "spiked" him to join the church on the plea that he needed 
 Evans to use his influence and help him fight the liquor demon. 
 Evans consented and was of some help during these revivals 
 and showed that he had lots of stuff in him suitable for the 
 making and uplifting of this wild west and wooly metropolis. 
 Time went on and he achieved fame as a physician. He es- 
 tablished his oflfice on the corner of what is now a vacant lot 
 adjoining Horace Brant's store on the east. His wife died 
 after they moved to Chicago and she was buried in what we call 
 the old cemetery at Attica and her grave was properly marked 
 by a substantial tombstone and the same is standing today, 
 with the letters in good preservation and the same can be read 
 clearly and distinctly as follows: "Hannah R. Evans, wife 
 of Dr. John Evans, born at Lebanon, Ohio, June 9, 1813, died 
 in Chicago, 111., October 1850." There are three sons buried in 
 the same lot. These must have died in Attica and their names 
 are marked, "Joseph C, David, and John," And it is recalled 
 that the body of Mrs. Evans was brought overland in a wagon, 
 from Chicago. Evans left Attica for the reason that Chicago 
 was coming to the fore and on some of his trips with parties 
 delivering products to the city by wagon, he realized that the 
 field was about the right size for his dreams, since his friends 
 at home called him a dreamer. One day when the spirit of 
 
 59 
 
prophecy was upon him, he disclosed to a group of his friendsu 
 that before he died he intended to build a city, found a college;, 
 be governor of a State, go to the United States Senate, make 
 himself famous and amass a fortune — he did more. He es- 
 tablished the State Hospital for the Insane at Indianapolis and 
 was its first Superintendent, and remained as such until 1848,. 
 then retired to move to Chicago and accept a chair in Rush Med- 
 ical College. He cast about for an opening for the building 
 of a city and became impressed with the beauties and practica- 
 bility of the North Shore, twelve miles from the Chicago River. 
 He purchased a large body of land, and builded a city and call- 
 ed it Evanston. He made a fortune in this and other enter- 
 prizes and with part of it he established the Northwestern Un- 
 iversity, in Evanston, and endowed two chairs with $50,000.00 
 each. He was an ardent and loyal supporter of Lincoln in the 
 Convention that nominated Lincoln for the Presidency. After 
 Lincoln was elected President he wanted Evans to be a member 
 of his Cabinet, but he declined, saying there were many others 
 better fitted for that place than he. Lincoln then asked him 
 to be provincial governor for some Western State and suggest- 
 ed that Evans visit the different Western States and make the 
 selection of the state that he liked best. He choose Colorado, 
 and moved to Denver. This was when his history linked itself 
 with the history of Tom Tobin, of the Trinchera, and also with 
 some other rugged characters of that time. He established 
 the University of Denver, giving towards the erection $200,000, 
 he builded a Railroad in Colorado, and practically erected the 
 Grace Methodist Church in Denver, and aided many educational 
 institutions and churches throughout the States. He died in 
 Denver July 3, 1897, and was buried there far from the modest 
 little plot where rests the ashes and dust of his first wife, 
 Hannah, and his three sons. J. Wesley Whickcar says in the 
 conclusion of his article on this famous man, "Judged by his 
 achievements Dr. John Evans is undoubtedly the greatest man 
 who ever made his home in Attica." 
 
 THE MEDINO RANCH, SAN LOUIS VALLEY 
 The Dicky Brothers were extensive cattle owners of that day, 
 having herds in the Indian Territory, Montana and Colorado. 
 One of the best friends that we ever had, east or west, Charles 
 Plowman, was the foreman of the herd in the Territory at a 
 time when it took nerves of steel and a man of iron will to 
 handle the Indian situation. He could do this because he was 
 a diplomat, square and fearless. When we first joined the 
 Dickey forces, in Colo., there was a man by the name of Wild 
 Bill — not the Hickok Wild Bill. I really never knew his cor- 
 rect name — have learned since it was Coleman — but at that 
 time he was cooking for the outfit, afterwards becoming the 
 foreman of the Montana herd, he did not fancy the culinary 
 department, and asked me to take his place. I consented as I 
 had had my fill of stacking hay, so I undertook the task of cook- 
 ing for about fifteen or twenty of the most hecklin', complainin' 
 and critical bunch of husky Cow Punchers and Hay Restlers 
 that was ever unloaded on a pilgrim cook. But with all that 
 handicap I became fumous as a cook, pardon the thought. My 
 famous piece de resistance was what is known in the east as, 
 the lowly and despised dried apple pie. I used a peculiar and 
 
 60 
 
fetchy way in baking this pie. For instance I would heap up 
 great gobs of apples for the filling and over the top I would 
 place some fantastic strips of dough, with cunning little de- 
 signs thereon, and then on the rind I would affix emblamatical 
 little cupids, and then I would throw a God's quantity of sugar 
 inside. This was d^ne so that if any one had a sweet tooth 
 they would have no difficulty in downing it. This pie became 
 so famous that the Mexicans would ride for many miles to the 
 ranch and inquire of me if I had "any pies este dios Senor." 
 They just loved those artful and wonderful pies, and they 
 thought so well of me as a chef that they got to calling me 
 "Compadre." That must have had some deifical significance, 
 as no doubt the Virgin Mary was a good cook also. 
 
 Probably thirty years ago I cut from a Chicago paper the 
 following clipping announcing the death of Will Dickey, who 
 was one of the Brothers for whom we worked, on their big 
 ranch in the San Luis valley, Colo. We have been told that 
 Will in making his will, gave to some of the boys quite a sum of 
 money. He remembered his foremen especially, so that Theo. 
 Worthington, Ed Creighton, and Wild Bill Coleman no doubt 
 came into their share. We of course had not been with the out- 
 fit long enough to be entitled to any bequest. 
 
 BEGAN LIFE AS A COWBOY. 
 Sudden Death of W. W. Dickey, the Millionaire Ranchman. 
 
 "W. W. Dickey, president of the Dickey Cattle company of 
 Chicago, died at Wichita Falls, Texas, Thursday afternoon of 
 injuries received from a fall while attending to duties on the 
 company's ranch in Texas. Mr. Dickey has been a resident of 
 Chicago for five years. He was a prominent member of the 
 Chicago club; also of the Washington Park club. He lived 
 with his brother, Valentine B. Dickey, at 370 Dearborn avenue. 
 
 "W. W. Dickey was born in Dayton, Ohio, in 1853 — the son 
 of R. R. Dickey, a prominent business man of Ohio. He was 
 educated in Dayton and entered Princeton college in 1873. The 
 following spring he and his younger brother, Valentine, went 
 to Colorado and engaged in the service of a Denver capitalist as 
 cowboys. A year later they received aid from their grand- 
 father and engaged in the cattle business themselves. Their 
 first venture proved a failure, and a second time they borrowed 
 money from their grandfather and located a ranch at Colorado 
 Springs. This effort proved a success. They tripled their 
 capital and extended their herds into Indian territory and Mon- 
 tana. For ten years the young men lived in the saddle, sell- 
 ing their cattle through a Chicago commission man. In 1881 
 they established headquarters in this city, forming the Dickey 
 Cattle company, with a capital of $1,000,000. They were pi- 
 oneers in crossing with shorthorns, then with Angus and other 
 approved English and Scotch blood. 
 
 "At the time President Cleveland issued the order for 
 cattlemen to vacate" Indian territory Mr. Dickey had a lease 
 from the Indians of 100,000 acres of land on which were 60,000 
 head of cattle. The moving of the stock at the late season and 
 the forfeiture of the lease cost the firm $400,000.00. Mr. Dickey 
 was able to find only a temporary place for the herds, and at 
 
 61 
 
the time of his death he was seeking permanent grazing fields, 
 
 "W. W. Dickey was 33 years old. In thirteen years the 
 brothers had amassed $2,500,000. They had cattle in Texas, 
 Colorado, and Montana. 
 
 A word of description of the Sunny San Luis Valley. The 
 cattle man, that was the principal class of citizen in there at 
 our time, did not appreciate the wonderful virtues it had as a 
 cow country, and hooted at any possibility of its ever develop- 
 ing into anything but a place to run cattle, and he reluctant- 
 ly admitted that it was a fairly good Valley for harboring and 
 grazing of cattle, and as for water there was a plenty, since 
 the scenic Rio Grande River cut the Valley in the middle. 
 They also granted that protection was ample, since this hugh 
 saucer was entirely surrounded by The Sange De Christe 
 and other ranges of Mountains, topped by old Sierrie 
 Blanca, one of the highest peaks in Colorado, but as an offset 
 to any complimentary statements, they hollered their heads 
 
 off about the D Mosquitos and the prevailing high winds. 
 
 Little did they appreciate or show much interest in the many 
 phenomenon or historic and picturesque things connected with 
 this, one of the greatest and largest valleys in the west. Their 
 vision was dimmed if there was mentioned the two oldest 
 passes, the Costilla and the LaVeta, with their many box 
 canons, now the more prominent ones are the Marshal and Ten- 
 nessee, leading to the city of Leadville and the Cochetopa, 
 where the government has built a beautiful National Park and 
 put boulevards ovei- the Mountains. John C. Fremont and 
 Kit Carson, the Path Finders, and whose spirits of expeditions 
 are still felt, tramped these passes and trailed the Valley in 
 every little by-path. No mention was made of the many re- 
 markable health giving hot and medicinal springs, which the 
 red man untilized by bringing his ailing squaw or his fighting 
 buck for medical treatment. The mud bath was known then 
 as well as now. 
 
 No thought was given to that wonderful, strange sight, the 
 Sand Dunes, but on the other hand they were cussed as being 
 a nuisance and conclusively they had no expectation of any 
 possibility of the watering of this desert and its blossoming 
 into a Garden of Eden, and which now is the champion Spud 
 center of the world and a wonderful yielder of all small grains, 
 and the big herds have become the little dairy mites, and early 
 peas are making the Berkshire and the Poland China curl their 
 tails. We knew how the boys felt and the thoughts they 
 thought. It was ride all day and stand night herd all night, 
 
 counting the days until we would get to town and then — . 
 
 He'd race over the shifting sands, breasting the sage brush 
 clumps, kicking the despised grease wood, and skirting the 
 great Medino Lakes, then for the night herd in hugh alkali 
 beds — happy, carefree, independent, uncomplaining, quick to 
 resent an insult, free with his tobacco, proud of his pony and 
 a crank for a Stetson Sombrero. His like never was, and never 
 again his like will be. No moving picture can portray him as 
 he was and no actor can play him. Bill Hart, the master that 
 he is, does not know him. Here's what he used to do when he 
 lived in his saddle and slept in his saddle blankets: — 
 
 62 
 
All day long on the prairie I ride, 
 
 Not even a dog to trot by my side, 
 My fire I kindle with chips gathered round, 
 
 And I boil my coffee without being ground. 
 My bread like unleaven, I bake a pot, 
 
 I sleep on the ground for want of a cot, 
 I wash in a puddle, wipe on a sack. 
 
 And carry my wardrobe all on my back. 
 The skies are my ceiling, my carpet the grass. 
 
 My music the lowing herds as they pass. 
 My books are the brook, and my sermons the stones. 
 
 My parson a wolf; on a pulpit of bones. 
 But now if my cooking ain't complete, 
 
 Hygienists can't blame me for living to eat. 
 And where is the man who sleeps more profound 
 
 Than a puncher who stretches himself on the ground. 
 My books teach me consistency ever to prize. 
 
 My sermons that small things I should not despise. 
 My parson remarks from his pulpit of bones. 
 
 The Lord favors those who look out for their own. 
 
 AN INTERVIEW OF MANY YEARS AGO 
 
 Our old beloved editor friend, Al Peacock, a good many 
 years ago took advantage of us one evening and succeeded in 
 having us give him, unconsciously on our part, an interview 
 covering a small part of our lives in the San Luis Valley. The 
 same was published in his paper and the following is a copy: 
 
 "A congenial party were gathered on an inviting lawn, on 
 Monday evening, cooling off from the day's perspiration and 
 giving bits of experiences that wore off the effect of the heated 
 hours of business. The desultory talk switched around to the 
 Attica emigration to the San Luis valley in Colorado, to the 
 number of people that had followed the leadership of "Dad" 
 Ahrens. 
 
 " * That's a great climate,' said 0. S. Clark, as he tilted his 
 chair and relighted his cigar — an indication that the man of 
 few words was going to open up and tell something worth hear- 
 ing. T was there ^,wenty-nine years ago when the San Luis 
 valley had nothing but cattle and cowboys and a climate that, 
 in a measure, made up for its lonesomeness. Monte Vista, and 
 Center, and Pagosa Springs and LaJara and other towns, were 
 unheard of and the big town in the valley was Alamosa, which 
 was the end of the railroad. Charles Shideler and I herded 
 cattle all over that valley. Never knew we were cow-punch- 
 ers? Why, we were in the "perfesh" six or eight years in that 
 valley and in the Texas Panhandle, long enough to get past the 
 degree of "tenderfoot" and to be recognized as members in good 
 standing of the order of Quick Trigger Cowboys. I remember 
 our farewell to San Luis valley as though it were yesterday. 
 Charley and I had concluded that the pot of gold was in the 
 Panhandle and we sold our cattle and started for the fortune. 
 We concluded to say good-bye after a roundup of the sights at 
 Alamosa, which was then a typical western town. The place 
 was over-crowded with cowboys who had come in for their 
 weekly revelry and Charley and I were perfectly contented in 
 beds constructed in a livery stable stall. We had expected to 
 
 63 
 
put in a few days recreating. We put in one night and on the 
 following morning we went down inside of our leather belts, 
 hauled out our cash and counted it. We had spent $50 in one 
 night in seeing just a few of the minor sights. Neither of us 
 said a word; as each made for his horse and threw on the sad- 
 dle. Words were useless at such a time. The leather pouch 
 silently told of our finish if we remained in that rapid town. It 
 was no place for us. 
 
 " ' Charley was to go out of the way to see about the pur- 
 chase of some calves and it was agreed that I should take the 
 pack horse and go down the trail, to meet in the canon, thirty 
 or forty miles away. I met with a mishap in packing and had 
 to remain another n'ght in Alamosa. I secured a room in a 
 log hotel and retired early, to keep away from the 'sights' that 
 ate up money like an electric sausage-grinder chews meat. All 
 went well until the cowboy gang opened up business in the bar 
 room, which was directly under where I was trying to sleep. 
 The shooting in that bar room be^an at 10 o'clock and con- 
 tinued, with intervals of rest, until 4 o'clock the following 
 morning. I knew that when the cowboys shot just to let the 
 natives know they were in town their aim was usually at the 
 chandeliers and the ceiling, so you can imagine how comfort- 
 able I felt. I perched on the headboard of the bed, then climb- 
 ed on the washstand. then rolled the bed to the farthest corner, 
 expecting every minute to have my body as full of holes as a 
 sieve. The cowboys were not the only busy people that 
 night I was just as busy dodging imaginary bullets as they 
 were in firing real ones. The next morning I started down the 
 canon and had gone about twenty miles when the pack-horse 
 got to bucking because the bundles were chafing him. When 
 he got through, the trail for miles was strewn with clothes, and 
 grub and cooking utensils. I was so discouraged that I left 
 the animal and proceeded without the outfit. Shortly after 
 midnight my pony was picking his way along the mountain side 
 when I heard the click of a rifle. I stopped and a short dis- 
 tance ahead I saw the outline of a man crawling towards me 
 with a rifle in front of him. "Don't shoot!" I yelled. "Halt 
 then, and tell your business," came back the reply. And by 
 this time he had advanced until I could look into the barrel of 
 his gun. "Take that gun down, please," I pleaded, "I've lost my 
 way — that's all." He came up and looked me over, like I was 
 a prize hog at a county fair, and concluded to let me pass. He 
 was a sentinel watching for cattle thieves who had committed 
 many depredations in the valley, and I firmly believe that if I 
 had not spoken first he would have fired on me, for little warn- 
 ing was ever given night marauders. 
 
 " *I know of nc recreation that would give me so much 
 pleasure as to spend a month in San Luis valley, every inch of 
 which I knew when a boy and none of which I have seen since 
 the memorable trip out of Alamosa and away from the cowboys' 
 guns. It is all changed now, of course, but I think I can find 
 some spots where danger lurked and where the wooly way of 
 doing things were so impressed upon my memory as to never 
 be effaced. Charley and I are going to renew our youth in 
 the San Luis valley next year, (the next year came in September 
 1921,) and it will be the greatest trip of our lives. Gee whiz! 
 
 64 
 
»t f * 
 
 A SAMPLE OF THE WILD WEST SPORTS. 
 Stampede Day at Monte Vista, Colorado. 
 
 65 
 
It's 11 o'clock. Goodnight.' And the mild-mannered ex-cow 
 puncher departed, while the host gathered up half a box of 
 burned matches that had been used in keeping the cigar going 
 while the interesting narrative was being given." 
 THE OLD AND THE NEW 
 
 O. S. Clark, our fellow townsman, recently returned from a 
 three weeks trip to the San Luis Valley, and the intervening 
 territory over which he cow punched and broncho busted for 
 several years during the late 70's and the early 80's. As he 
 went along in this trip over the grounds of his youth, he jotted 
 down some of the observations and experiences of those thrill- 
 ing days, as they were brought back to his memory by the few 
 old landmarks which still stand somewhat as they did then. 
 By his permission wc publish his story which is as follows: 
 
 The writer for a number of years has been attending the 
 Rifle, Colorado, rodeos and this year as usual we have been 
 anticipating this event, marked for September 1 and 2, and we 
 were all set on the eve before when according to Nature's own 
 blessings, the flood gates and the irrigation ditches turned loose 
 and considerably interfered with the ridin', ropin' and broncho 
 bustin.' 
 
 "After endeavoring to dig up a little excitement of some 
 sort out of the general disappointment occasioned by the rain, 
 we gave it up and commenced to make some observations and 
 also comparisons with the old time buster and the new fancy 
 bustin'. This comparison has a span of forty years and our 
 earliest recollection is of the affairs that were held in Alamosa, 
 Dodge City, Caldwell and other cow towns in the late 70's and 
 early 80's. Alamosa was the end of the railroad then and after 
 the round-ups the boys just had to blow off steam and go to 
 town — the mule skinner, the bull whacker and the miner would 
 be there to help along with the fun while at the same time Sen- 
 orita Baca would sing her love songs and several New York 
 dressed "chickens" would of course be at the Long Branch 
 dance hall. The cvw punchers from all over the San Luis 
 valley would of course be on hand, the boys from the Adee and 
 Durkee outfit (Mr. Durkee was a son of the famous Durkee 
 salad dressing manufacturer in the east) and from the Dicky 
 Bros, outfit were always present. We are not naming any 
 names or giving anything away, but Theo Worthington, Ed, 
 Creighton, Kit Carson Jr., George Craig, Hank Hocker and sev- 
 eral other fellows whom we knew were there, yes, and Wild Bill 
 Coleman and Charley Shideler of Rifle were included. 
 
 "The writer, of course, was not an active participant, owing 
 to his inborn, modes-: disposition, besides we never had as much 
 money to blow in as those other rich fellows who thought they 
 were millionaires, temporarily, maybe. It was discovered 
 
 that We could play the piano a little back east where it was 
 tolerated and one night the boys urged us to play a little gallop 
 or something at the Long Branch. I happened to be close to 
 the piano and I glanced up and saw suspended over the piano a 
 good sized sign printed in large letters with the following, "Do 
 not shoot the pianist, he is doing his best," I declined playing 
 as I always had a hunch that I would not like to be shot in the 
 back. 
 
 Since we are showing a good picture of the old corral at 
 
 66 
 
THE OLD CORRAL, MEDINO RANCH. 
 
 The old corral, south of the Dickey Ranch House. Our 
 first work was helping to build this corral. Inside it was 
 
 where Vol Dicky was bucked off the yearling calf he was brand- 
 ing. The big post in the fore part of the picture, was where 
 the wild bulls hit it broadside and spilt me and the beans, 
 coming from the Zapato, and described elsewhere. 
 
 67 
 
the Dickey brothers' ranch on the Medino, it will be fitting to 
 mention the fact thut the first work that these work-finding 
 brothers got out of Charley and I was to place the large cotton- 
 wood poles on the top layers of this ungainly looking corral, 
 assisted by some humbres. The Mexicans did the work and 
 we did the grunting After the corral was completed and I 
 got a promotion to the culinary department, we were ordered 
 one day to this corral and told to pilot a freshly yoked pair of 
 Oxen over to the Zapata, the Adee and Durkea Ranch and 
 get some supplies. The boys took special pains to advise me 
 that these particular two bulls were perfectly docile and gentle 
 and counseled me as to just how I should proceed, since it was 
 new business to me. I became, however, an old hand at the 
 business in about twenty minutes from the flag pole. When 
 they let down the bars and we cleared the corral, headed for 
 the prairie I found myself in the front end of the wagon with 
 nothing to hold to but a couragious spirit and a strong resolve. 
 We hit broadside every clump of sage brush there was on that 
 prairie and the alkali dust resembled a dust storm. Those 
 bulls had a most friendly disposition for other cattle and every 
 herd that they saw they disposed to run down and visit them a 
 while and there was no way to stop them or start them on the 
 road again. After some balking, much bucking and a reason- 
 able amount of swearing we reached our destination, loaded up 
 and pointed Mushaway and Buck homeward where some dis- 
 grunted cow punchers were awaiting for the cook to come 
 back. We negotiated all of the sage brush clumps, sand hills 
 and alkali beds and passed the time of day with all visiting 
 herd of cattle on our return as we had on our going over. We 
 were in sight of the corral at dusk and as soon as those bulls 
 saw the old corral they made a run and jump for the opening. 
 Their calculations were bad and their eyesight was worse. 
 We struck one of the posts broadside and in a second the wagon 
 was turned upside down and I was underneath, mussing around 
 with the bacon and lard and my whiskers frosted with the 
 flour. I yelled for assistance, but the average cow puncher is 
 an unfeeling cuss and a hard hearted wretch. I eventually 
 crawled out and noticed the bulls nonchallantly chewing their 
 cud and any observing man could see that these particular 
 oxen, from their present appearance were perfectly docile and 
 always innocently inclined and never ran off, under any cir- 
 cumstance. 
 
 My one vivid recollection of my early days working on a 
 cow ranch brings to my mind when I hired to Vol Dicky of the 
 Dicky Bros., on the Medano. My profession at that time was 
 as cook and as such I was hired. They asked me one day to go 
 to the corral and help brand calves. I did so and my duty 
 after the calf was roped and thrown was to put my foot behind 
 the calf's under leg and then hold the upper leg with my hands 
 and all my might. The roper brought out a big frisky calf 
 and we got into position. Vol was doing the branding and 
 contrary to the rules he straddled the calf and commenced to 
 bum him with the iron. Immediately the calf gave a bellow, 
 pulled away from mc and got on his feet with Vol and his iron 
 on his back. He commenced to buck and circled the corral, 
 Vol doing his best to get off. The calf finally gave a big buck 
 
 68 
 
THE OLD RANCH HOUSE ON THE MEDINO. 
 
 The Dickey Bros. Ranch House on the Medino, where we 
 did some fancy and decorative cooking in 1878. The window 
 on the left leads into the kitchen, and off the kitchen was the 
 Commissary where the Store Keeper sold us Star Plug Tobacco 
 at double prices and took it out of our wages. On the right 
 is Charley Shideler, Rifle Colo., and 0. S. Clark, Attica, Ind., on 
 the left. Picture taken in 1921. 
 
 69 
 
and Vol cleared the hurricane deck. When Vol lit, I was un- 
 fortunately close by and what he said to me was quite awful 
 and for 43 years I have been endeavoring to forget his harsh 
 and unbecoming mode of address. I slinked off to the cook 
 camp and put on a pot of frijoles — I was not hired to brand 
 calves anyway. 
 
 Of course the old fashioned cow town was always painted 
 in tints of red and was always ready and willing for any rough 
 stuff and a little accidental shooting that might take place. 
 This is where the real comparison is noticeable. Why, these 
 new boys couldn't eat sage bush and cook with a cow chip fire 
 like every old rough "puncher" in the old days and on the old 
 ranges had to. We notice now when the late and so called up- 
 to-date one comes in, he breaks for the barber shop and gets all 
 dolled up — the first thing the old fellow used to do was get a 
 drink. They had no use for a dude, especially one that was a 
 little tender in the feet. 
 
 Paddy Welsh was the Boss Cook on the big round-ups, and 
 he could sting the lead mule on a four mule Mess Wagon with 
 his black snake to a ricety. He could get his cooking outfit to 
 camp the quickest and have the meals ready the most promptly, 
 and sing the loudest of any chef in the West. It was from him 
 that I got my few brief lessons in cookery, peace to his pies, and 
 may his spirit never return with any of his rock ribbed, sour 
 dough biscuits that would sink to the bottom of your stomach 
 like a chunk of lead. Paddy was averse to anything in the 
 Dude line. By some circumstance one of this species drifted 
 into the cow camp, and one day Paddy was mixing a batch of 
 bread and in order to introduce the boy to the rough ways of a 
 well regulated cow camp, and while the boy was actively watch- 
 ing Paddy mix the bread, he spit in the Dutch Oven in which 
 he was going to bake the bread, and immediately slapped the 
 batch in the oven and went off whistling. The boy at supper 
 that night "went around the bread," and it was apparent that 
 he did not care for any sour dough "pan" that had been doc- 
 tored like that was. He remarked to some of the cow punch- 
 ers one day that he liked the cattle business pretty well, ex- 
 cept that he did not like to "set up with the cows", he meant 
 night herding. 
 
 He was standing close to the mess wagon one day, trying 
 to manipulate a fresh cigarette, and Paddy espied him, he turn- 
 ed in disgust, and muttered to himself, "look at 'im smokin' 
 
 them D paper cigars, he'll be atin' custard pie and hash 
 
 nixt." 
 
 On the present trip it has been my privilege to visit the 
 San Luis valley with my side partner, Charles Shideler, and 
 his estimable wife and we have hunted and located the ranches 
 where we worked and have endeavored to find some of the boys 
 who worked with us in the old days. We located Dr. Ball and 
 Myron Wilkins at Alamosa, and some others. We found the 
 old Dicky ranch on the Medano, but of course greatly enlarged 
 and now operated by the Lingers. The old Adee and Durkee 
 ranch is practically as it was 40 years ago. While at Alamosa 
 we heard about most of the boys, but do not find many of the 
 78'ers there. John Gergason has recently retired from busi- 
 ness. We b ught our overalls and red shirts from him. It 
 
 70 
 
has been difficult to find the location of some of the famous 
 places but we found the site of the old hotel and the only build- 
 ing remaining is the livery barn a little below the San Luis 
 hotel. This barn was operated by Myron Wilkins who is still 
 running it. This place was always a meeting and visiting 
 place for the boys — h was lodging room by night and sandwich 
 rooms by day. One night after a thoroughly enjoyable even- 
 ing, Charley and I became separated and he went to bed first. 
 When I arrived at the Hotel de Horse the outer vestibule was 
 closed, and the night clerk had retired. I looked for a means 
 to get in and found a board off on the east side of the barn and 
 I stepped in — down I went into the well, which was uncovered. 
 Despite my yells for help, those old case-hardened and unfeel- 
 ing cow punchers would not take enough interest to even look 
 down the weU. I got out, however, and went to my stall and 
 slept till morning. I have made a kodak picture of this his- 
 toric hostelry, as in all probability my children should in time 
 know how dad was bard boiled and could snuflf alkali off his 
 whiskers like a greaser. We have just driven around the Big 
 Lakes in the Medano country and remember the old Indian 
 tradition, when a certain tribe was passing through the valley 
 and 40 of their best bucks rode into the lake and disappeared. 
 No Indians were ever seen in that vicinity thereafter. Their 
 superstition taught them that the spirits of their departed 
 brothers was associated with the lake and that they should not 
 be disturbed. We also noticed that Dead Man's gulch is still 
 gulching and that the Sand Dunes are still duneing, but there 
 does not seem to be ?!ny effort to dig out, resuscitate or resur- 
 rect the traditional 1500 sheep and their herders that were 
 buried by these rolling and tumbling mountains of sand. 
 
 We found the ever persistant Medano Creek, still trickling 
 through the Big Sand Dunes, still fighting for its very existance. 
 
 These Sands have threatened for hundreds, and perhaps 
 thousands, of years to choke the source and obliterate this 
 charming little stream, by their rolling and tumljling, hissing 
 particles. 
 
 After some search among the Sand Hills we located the 
 familiar Dickey Bros. Horse Ranch, through which the classic 
 stream flows, the Medano, and where Claude Lindley, as Boss, 
 and myself held a bunch of cattle during a part of the summer, 
 while Charley Shidtler and the other boys threw the cattle in 
 to us from off the round-up. 
 
 All of the old timers in the Valley knew Lindley, but none 
 knew where he is now, although the McCarty boys, who used to 
 be on the Trincher^, and whom we met at Apple Pie Day in 
 Rifle told me that he was in Pueblo. 
 
 The McCarty boys and their old father lived near Fort 
 Garland and the old gentleman. Kit Carson, Tom Tobin, and old 
 man Nolen were all boon companions and were the real Indian 
 Fighters for that part of the west in very early days. 
 
 One of the happiest parts of our trip occurred at Alamosa 
 while my partner, Charley Shideler, and myself were browsing 
 around hunting China Pete's old location. Pete was a woman, 
 As we turned the corner at the Victoria hotel we bumped into 
 Sam Hannah, his wife and her sister, whom we did not know 
 were any place but Howard, Kans. Mr. Hannah was in the 
 
 71 
 
*N5 . 
 
 
 -^Z^^ 
 
 'i^y^r.4 
 
 SAN LUIS. 
 
 A good miniature map of the eastern slope of the San Luis 
 Valley, showing a prominent point of the Sange De Christi 
 Range, Mount Sierre Blanca, one of the highest Peaks in the 
 Western country. Just north of this peak is the Zapato Creek, 
 where, in the foot hills nestled the old Adee and Durkea Ranch, 
 where we first worked. Between Hooper and the Sand Dunes 
 ran the Medino creek, on which was located the old Dickey 
 Bros. Home Ranch, (a picture of the house is shown elsewhere), 
 Claude Lindley and I held a herd of cattle on this creek, a part 
 of one summer, while the cow punchers threw the cattle in to 
 us from off the round-ups. The Great Sand Dunes are of spec- 
 ial interest, and a description of them appears elsewhere. 
 Blanca South and near it was Fort Garland, all historic ground, 
 since Kit Carson, Tom Tobin, and others, together with John 
 C. Fremont, the Path Finder, made this country safe for incom- 
 ing expeditions, that were headed by Fremont. In a gulch, on 
 the La Veta Pass, not far from Blanca, marks the place where 
 Tom Tobin killed the Espinosas boys. 
 
 72 
 
'vaTley two years before we were, so we had a three-handed 
 game of famnin' and hunting recollections of the old red and 
 woolly days. We took a day to drive over to Wagon Wheel 
 Gap, where Charley and I took a bath in 1878, and haven't taken 
 one since. 
 
 Society in the early days in the Valley was not so slow, 
 either, if you please. At Alamosa especially we used to have 
 our «well dances, of course there were no Clubs or Pink Teas, 
 however. 
 
 One of the young ladies just out from the east was quite 
 active, both as a fashionable dresser and as a participant in all 
 of the social functions. She had not been out from the east 
 long and was considerably proud of her ancestry and rich rela- 
 tives back there. 
 
 It was noticed that she was continually shopping and in- 
 quiring for expensive goods and clothing, and her penchant and 
 desire, and specialty was silk underwear — so she said, well 
 Johnny Gergeson had everything in his store except silk under- 
 wear, and she was generally apparently disappointed that she 
 was unable to procure just what she wanted in such a small 
 town like Alamosa. 
 
 A big dance was announced and as usual the young lady, all 
 bedecked and bedolled was in fine fetter and was going to show 
 us old hard boils how they did things in the east. The dance 
 warmed up and was going at a fast and furious rate, and as 
 Charley Siringo, an old time Cow Puncher in the Texas Pan 
 Handle, now of Sante Fe, recites in one of his songs, 
 
 Saloot yer lovely critters; 
 
 Now swing and let 'em go ; 
 
 Climb the grapevine round 'em; 
 Now all hands do-ce-do? 
 
 You maverick, jine the roundup, 
 Jes skip the waterfall," 
 
 Huh? hit was getting active. 
 
 The Cow Boy's Christmas Ball. 
 
 Finally in order to create one lasting impression she took 
 out on the floor a particularly energetic and swell dancing Cow 
 Boy, but in some unaccountable way things did not break just 
 right and owing to the splinters in the floor being a little rough 
 she ungracefully tripped and fell, accidentally her clothing be- 
 came a little disarranged and on some parts of the exposed pet- 
 icoats, could be read in bold type "The Pride of Denver," this 
 was a popular brand of flour, in those days, which was packed 
 in cotton sacks. 
 
 At Alamosa, the old cow town, there was a famous and 
 well known boarding house keeper of the Irish persuasion. 
 When one would go to her table the invariable question from 
 the lady waiter would be "Tay or Cofl'ee?" If you said "Tay", 
 she would say, "Well, you'll take coffee, we have no Tay." 
 
 With most of the kick taken out of the ancient rodeo, we 
 still have a hankering to mingle with the boys and listen to 
 their talk it harks me back to when we were not particular as to 
 our looks and when the boys took everything rough and the 
 bronchos bucked harder and when the long horns could run 
 faster and when the cow man took it straight — no sundaes or 
 soda water then. 
 
 73 
 
Every two years Charley Shideler sends me a little sprig 
 of sage brush and upon receipt of same I silently and quickly 
 pack my grip and go to him where he sings me new songs and 
 tells me new stories. The end of the trail is approaching and 
 should there be a place in Heaven for such as we, we pray God 
 to temper his mercy and let up pass to the great eternal range 
 of eternal good grass. 
 
 And then the lonely traveler, 
 When passing to his grave, 
 
 Will shed a farewell tear 
 
 Over the bravest of the brave; 
 
 And he'll go no more a ranging, 
 The savage to affright; 
 
 He has heard his last war whoop 
 
 And fought his last fighf. 
 
 GEORGE ADAMS 
 
 We have borrowed baking powder from George Adams at 
 his ranch north of the Star Ranch in the San Luis valley. 
 Adams was one of the first men to take up the fancy breeding 
 of pure Herefords in the west, and who has since built a hotel 
 and I think a theater under his name in the city of Denver, 
 Colorado. 
 
 NOT AFRAID 
 
 I have stood up. straight too, in front of a big Winchester 
 rifle^ with a barrel twenty feet long, at least it looked that 
 long, with a determined man, a keen eye, and a nervous trigger 
 finger behind it — and its a funny feeling too. You don't know 
 whether to blubber or bluff. In this case my hands went up 
 faster than an air plane, and I bellowed lustily "not to shoot." 
 After explaining and re-explaining and explaining again that 
 I was lost and was peaceably inclined and only hunting Ute 
 Creek they released the tension somewhat by allowing me to 
 depart. After I got some little ways away from that trouble- 
 some and irritating 'scene I noticed that my boots were almost 
 full of cold sweat so that I had to take them off and empty 
 them. This distressing and horribly unfortunate misunder- 
 standing took place at the Government Corral, connected with 
 old Fort Garland — they were expecting horse thieves that eve 
 and I suppose that I looked the part. 
 
 JOHN CHIZUM OF THE PECOS 
 
 Among some of the big characters that my partner has met 
 was John Chizum, of the Pecos country New Mexico. My 
 partner has told me that in meeting this man he always made 
 you feel as if you were his long lost brother. He was said to 
 have been one of the most enterprizing and'thrifty cow men of 
 his time. He also had the born instincts in all of the angles 
 and twists of that business. I remember some ten of fifteen 
 years ago to have read in the Saturday Evening Post, an article 
 written by some one who was describing the instincts of cer- 
 tain men, and as an illustration of how some men worked out 
 their instincts to practical uses, related the following story — a 
 true one, he claimed, of John's prowess. This is as I remember 
 it: 
 
 "It was in the fall of the year when the round-ups were 
 gathering the beef cattle and grazing them along the trail 
 towards the loading stations to be shipped to market. One of 
 
 74 
 
JoTiTi's "beef Tierds, composed of 1000 head of those clean limbed, 
 •wild-eyed, long-horned steers, ready for a fight or a run, started 
 off with one of his best outfits. After they had laeen out two 
 or three days the herd became very nervous, scarey and jumpy 
 and would stampede every night, and after the foreman, his 
 horses and men became worn out the boss sent one of the boy^ 
 back to the ranch to report the condition of things and to re- 
 quest that John come out to the herd. John cranked up his 
 one cylindered Bu (i)ck Board and hitched a couple of buck 
 skin cayuses to it, and away he went across the plains, jump- 
 ing the arroyos and hitting the hills in the high places. When 
 he reached the herd in the evening he told them to bed the 
 cattle down and directed the horse wrangler to bring in some 
 liorses. He saddled one and called for the foreman to follow. 
 They rode around the herd, through it and across it. Nothing 
 looked wrong. Finally John stopped in front of a steer and 
 looked him in the eye. He seemed to have a suspicious look 
 to John and seemed to assume the attitude that he was a per- 
 fectly innocent and law abiding steer, and was playin' as 
 though he hadn't dene nothin'. John rode around him and 
 again faced the steer and caught his eye and at once decided 
 that that steer was not the quiet and peaceful individual that 
 he pretended to be. He then called his foreman and said to 
 him. 'Get that steer up and run him out of the herd and keep 
 liim out." This was done and the rest of the drive was made 
 in peace. John's instinct was too much for a troublesome, 
 trouble-making, long-horned steer." 
 
 John Chizum was the very biggest cattle fiend in all of the 
 Pecos Country. He owned thousands of cattle and was not 
 particular whether they had his brand on or not. He ran big 
 outfits and made big deals. Charley Seringo, now of Sante Fe, 
 speaks of him in his Lone Star Cow Boy Book. He tells of the 
 plans for the usual spring round-up and says: — 
 
 "We laid up for a week to wait for John to organize the 
 spring round-up on his 'Jingle Bob' range, containing sixty 
 thousand cattle. During this time we attended dances on 
 Pum.pkin Row, where a bunch of Texan's had settled a few 
 miles south of what is now Roswell City. At his home ranch, 
 on south Spring River, Jno. had built a new frame dwelling, 
 under which flowed n sparkling irrigation stream, to water the 
 young orchard just planted. On the front of this new house 
 we used to sit for hours talking to cattle King John Chizum. 
 His whole heart seemed to be wrapped up in this large, young 
 orchard. It is now the home of Herbert J. Hagerman hence 
 Mr. Chizum planted the orchard and developed it for others lo 
 enjoy, as he died a few years later." 
 
 John claimed to be the first man that ever crossed the 
 staked plains with a herd of cattle. This was a stretch of 
 desert ninety miles wide from the Pan Handle to the Pecos 
 River, without water. He started from the East side of it with 
 3400 cattle and a fine outfit of fifteen or twenty cow boys, mess 
 wagons a plenty, and many extra horses in the rumuda. This 
 Trail required at least four dry camps and he figured that it 
 would take about four days to drive it, during which time the 
 cattle would not have a drop of water. In order that the rid- 
 ing ponies and cow boys could have water to drink he rigged a 
 
 75 
 
tarrel on the front wheels of a wagon and filTed it up when- 
 they started. The second day out the team that was pulling^ 
 the rig ran away anj. upset the water, the third day the Cow 
 Punchers and horses, almost crazed for the want of water, 
 began to desert him and as they each left the herd they re- 
 marked, "they were going to water." They all left him except 
 one. The cattle were also getting in a desperate condition, 
 becoming weary, blear eyed, and their tongues swollen, John' 
 and the one boy tryii^g to control them. The fourth day some 
 of the cow boys returned to the herd and said they could find 
 some water holes in an arroyo, towards the river (Pecos). They 
 pointed the leaders in the direction the cow boys indicated 
 As the herd approached the anticipated region, the cattle all at 
 once threw up their heads and commenced to run, they smelled 
 the water, not however, the water in the arroyos, but the water 
 in the Pecos river, rriles and miles distant. The riders could 
 hardly keep up with their tired and worn out horses. The 
 herd finally reached the River banks, which were high, and 
 John and his punchers had lost all control of these 3400 head of 
 maddened cattle. They commenced to plunge off the high 
 banks into the water, it being but a moment until there were 
 mountains of cattle in places and hundreds were drowned. 
 When he got the suivivors across and counted them he found 
 he had lost seventeen hundred head. 
 
 The Llano Estacado or Staked Plains, is described, briefly 
 by some one who can paint descriptions well as follows: — 
 
 "The breaks of the plains, corresponding to second valley 
 prairie, incrusted wich pure white gypsum, and mica, assuming 
 many dazzeling shapes, remind one of the battlements of an 
 old fort or castle, or the profile of a large city with its cathedral 
 walls and varied habitations of the humble and princely of a 
 hugh Metropolis. Romance lingers on the summit of these 
 horizontal, fancifully shaped bluffs of the Llano Estacado, so 
 called, and the dreamer or romancer would never exhaust his 
 genius in painting vivid pictures of the imagination." 
 
 We Sell Out. 
 
 We concluded to sell the modest herd of cattle we owned 
 in the San Luis valley and go to the Pan Handle of Texas, where 
 we could flop our wings and have a little more room. Having 
 done so, I took two of our best horses and started alone for that, 
 the best cattle country that was known at that time. It was 
 fool-hardy to undertake such a trip, but as they say it takes a 
 fool for luck, I was fortunate enough not to be molested or de- 
 tained, although I went through some places where they might 
 have taken my horses away from me, called me a horse thief 
 and strung me up to a large, tall and always handy cottonwood. 
 I went through Costilla Pass and along the Vermejo River, 
 Both sections looked particularly menacing. I followed the 
 Cimmaron river where it was out of its banks and was over- 
 flowing nearly all the country tributary to it. Dead cattle and 
 horses were floating in it and drinking water was mighty 
 scarce. I had nothing much to eat for two or three days, but 
 had plenty of cigarettes to smoke. After leaving the Cim- 
 maron my horses and I were pretty lonesome but grateful that 
 we had not come into contact with Billy the Kid, who at that 
 time was shooting everything up in New Mexico. When we 
 
 76 
 
left the breaks of the Cimmaron and struck east across the 
 staked plains we met with many deceptive marages, making us 
 believe that we were about to meet a horseman or some outfit 
 perhaps, and making us see beautiful cities and wonderful 
 castles, and magnificent bodies of water, lakes and rivers. This 
 latter delusion was particulary distressing because water in 
 the reality was very scarce. It would be forty or fifty miles 
 from one water hole to another. We of course did not have 
 many comforts at night, but with all that there was one mit- 
 igating circumstance and that was the fact that there were no 
 tiresome people around to keep us awake. We finally reached 
 the mesa and from there the breaks of the Palo Duro without 
 any serious mishaps, but considerably gaunted. 
 
 Before we reached the Cimmaron River I had stopped at a 
 little hamlet where there was but one store. The name of this 
 place was Maxwell. Like a New Jersey Philosopher I provided 
 for future wants by buying a dimes worth of cheese and crack- 
 ers at this place.. The man in the store warned me against 
 being run into and possibly captured by Billy the Kid, a notor- 
 ious and wantom Killer, who might appear at any moment. 
 Billy had some time before killed his two guards while a pris- 
 oner at Cimmaron, New Mexico, and was again on the rampage. 
 Maxwell was about thirty-five or forty miles north of Ft. Sum- 
 ner, where finally, eventually and effectively Pat Garratt, John 
 W. Poe and "Kip" McKinney put Billy out of business. This 
 Maxwell Village was named after the great Maxwell Grant, 
 since it was located near the center of it. The Maxwell Grant 
 was one of the most extensive Grants in the west and was own- 
 ed by Pete Maxwell, who married it, by getting a Spanish wife. 
 It was at Maxwell's "Feudal Castle" that Garrett shot and kill- 
 ed Billy the Kid. The following description of the Maxwell 
 family and their grant appeared in the newspapers several 
 years ago and is very interesting, reading as follows: — 
 
 "This little mountain town of a few hundred inhabitants 
 was once the headquarters of one of the greatest estates that 
 ever belonged to one man in America — the famous Maxwell 
 ranch — and the remains of the baronial dwelling from which it 
 was administered, still stands here. 
 
 "In old books you can find facts about the Maxwell ranch, 
 and from old-timers hereabouts you can learn a good deal more. 
 Indeed, there are few persons in this vicinity who can not tell 
 you something either from hearsay or from first-hand knowledge 
 about Maxwell and his doings. 
 
 'But to the world at large he and his great estate are for- 
 gotten. 
 
 "And this is to be regretted, for it would be hard to find 
 a more significant and dramatic passage in early southwestern 
 history than the story of this bit of land. 
 
 "Maxwell was really an absolute monarch, ruling over a 
 domain larger than many of the states of the union, and several 
 times as large as some European states that have flags and 
 crowns. 
 
 "Furthermore, he was evidently a born ruler and organizer, 
 He was one of the first men to gather and hold land in the greal 
 southwestern wilderness, to organize and to make other me'j 
 work for his profit. 
 
 77 
 
"In a word he was one of the first American capitalists in 
 the west. The establishment of his little kingdom marked the 
 beginning of the transition from the pioneer days, when every- 
 thing was free to everybody, to the system of private ownership 
 upon which industrial America was built. 
 
 "That whole transition was fought out; bloodily on this bit 
 of soil. 
 
 Missouri "Showed" 'Em. 
 
 "Maxwell was a penniless and adventurous young man 
 from Missouri who joined the Fremont expedition to the west. 
 He was discharged and paid off at Taos, New Mexico, together 
 with a number of others, one of whom was Kit Carson, the 
 famous scout and Indian fighter. 
 
 "Maxwell and Carson were friends as long as they both 
 lived. 
 
 "In Taos lived some old Spanish families who owned wide 
 lands granted them by the Spanish king. They did little or 
 nothing with these lands and had only the vaguest idea how 
 much they owned. 
 
 "In addition to their lands these Mexican dons had large 
 families, including beautiful daughters. 
 
 ''Nearly all of the discharged members of the Fremont ex- 
 pedition, Carson and Maxwell among them, promptly fell in 
 love with senoritas, and both of these young adventurers were 
 soon married. 
 
 "Here the difference between them asserted itself. Car- 
 son, a born fighter and wanderer, deposited his wife and family 
 in an adobe house and left them there, while he went out to 
 make a place for himself in history as an Indian fighter and ex- 
 plorer. 
 
 "He never gathered enough property to hamper his move- 
 ments. But Maxwell took his bride, who was Luz Baubien 
 before he married her, went across the mountains, and settled 
 here on the Cimarron, which was within the Baubien and Mi- 
 randa grant. 
 
 "The Spanish owners had done little with this great piece 
 of land. It was a rugged wilderness filled with wild Indians; 
 they preferred to stay in Taos. 
 
 "But their Yankee son-in-law from Missouri proceeded to 
 do much with it. He built a house, he brought in sheep and 
 cattle, he planted corn and wheat. 
 
 "He did not heroically fight the savages, either; he made 
 friends with them. Thus he displayed one of the first prin- 
 ciples of capitalism which is never to compete when you can 
 co-operate. 
 
 A Stroke Of Genius. 
 
 "His greatest stroke of commercial genius came later when 
 New Mexico was being surveyed by a government surveyor- 
 general. The deputy surveyors were paid by the mile of line 
 they ran. 
 
 "It was therefore to their advantage to survey as many 
 miles as possible. The boundaries of the Baubien and Mi- 
 randa grant, of which Maxwell had now by purchase and in- 
 heritance become sole owner, were vaguely defined by natural 
 landmarks. 
 
 "The surveyors were easily persuaded to choose landmarks 
 
 78 
 
which allowed for a very liberal grant, in fact, astonishingly 
 liberal. Most of the Spanish grants were about 100,000 acres 
 each, and there seems to have been some Spanish law limiting 
 them to that extent. 
 
 "Maxwell managed to have included within the boundaries 
 of his grant about 2,000,000 acres, and his right to this enor- 
 mous territory was confirmed by congress. 
 
 "Thus he came into possession of an estate about sixty 
 miles long and thirty miles wide, including some of the best 
 cattle range in the state, several fine arable valleys, and a sec- 
 tion of high mountain range where were gold, coal and other 
 minerals, and fine forests of pine and spruce. 
 
 "Game abounded, and the streams swarmed with trout. 
 Here, truly, was a domain worth owning. 
 
 "Maxwell was at the height of his glory as a land baron 
 about the year 1867. He had a great house which must have 
 contained about forty rooms, for less than half of it stands now, 
 and that part contains nineteen rooms. 
 
 "And this was no crude pioneer dwelling. The walls were 
 tastefully papered, and it is said, elaborately furnished. Max- 
 well had 500 men working for him. He had thounsands of 
 sheep, cattle and horses, a flour mill and a sawmill. He was 
 Indian agent for several tribes, and this gave him the right to 
 have a troop of cavalry on his place, so that he may be said to 
 have had a standing army. 
 
 Money To Burn. 
 
 "He kept a free dining room where anyone might come and 
 eat, but none was allowed to pay. In fact, he dispensed a 
 practically unlimited hospitality. 
 
 "Once a young Englishman passing- through the country 
 inquired of a man sitting on the front porch of the ranch house 
 where he would find Maxwell, so that he might pay for his 
 breakfast. This m-an was a rough-looking fellow, dressed in 
 dirty breeches and riding boots and a bright red shirt which 
 was open at the neck to display a flourishing growth of coal 
 black hair, of which its owner was evidently very proud. The 
 man had long black mustaches and smoked a short cuddy pipe. 
 
 "This uncouth individual responded, to the amazement of 
 the visitor, that he was Maxwell, but that no one paid him for 
 meals. 
 
 "The young Englishman insisted on paying, and Maxwell 
 steadily refused. Finally, however, he yielded to the im- 
 portunities of the stranger and said that the price of the break- 
 fast was $25. 
 
 "Now the Englishman backed water. He would pay no 
 such price for a meal. Maxwell let a whoop and a large red- 
 haired cowboy, about six feet four inches tall, appeared on the 
 scene. 
 
 "Rope this son-of-a-gun and choke him till he gives up 
 twenty-five bucks," ordered the King of Cimarron. 
 
 The next moment the young Englishman felt a strand of 
 rawhide close about his neck and at the same time he dived 
 into his pocket and brought forth the desired amount in bills, 
 which he chokingly tendered to his host. 
 
 "With a gesture of incomparable grandeur. Maxwell touch- 
 ed a match to the money and lit his pipe at the flames, the! 
 
 79 
 
tossed the charred remains away. The incident was closed. 
 
 "Such was one of America's earliest plutocrats." 
 
 Billy the Kid was such an atrocious and uncompromising, 
 cowardly murderer that it affords one a great deal of pleasure 
 to print the account of his being killed and one can at last real- 
 ize that he is dead enough to stay dead. John W. Poe, now of 
 Roswell, New Mexico, a banker, tells his story to E. M. Dealy, 
 of the Dallas News, who wrote it up and published it. 
 
 I have a recent letter from Mr. Poe which verifys the story 
 of the killing in all respects. He writes as follows: — 
 
 Roswell, New Mexico. 
 
 Dated Dec. 28, 1921, and addressed, 0. S. Clark, Attica, 
 Ind., quoting it as follows: — 
 
 "Yes, I knew Clay Allison very well, first in the Pan Handle 
 country when he was ranching near Mobettie and later here 
 in New Mexico after his marriage. If 1 had the time I could 
 tell you a few stories about him that would be more or less in- 
 teresting. Allison was a very brave man with many fine quali- 
 ties as well as some that were not altogether admirable. 
 
 "He was accidently killed about one hundred miles south 
 of here in 1884 or 1885. 
 
 "I note that you have read Mr. Dealy's account of the kill- 
 ing of "Billy the Kid", practically all of the data for which was 
 furnished him by me, and which I wrote at the solicitation of 
 friends some five years ago. 
 
 "I came to New Mexico early in 1881, and consequently did 
 not known many characters who came to the Pan Handle after 
 that date. However I knew most of those who were about old 
 Tascosa during the years 1879 and 1880, as I had occasion to go 
 there at numerous times, my head quarters then being at Mo- 
 beetie. (Mr. Poe was an officer of some kind at that time.) If 
 you ever have occasion to come to these parts and will call on 
 me, I will be glad to give you any information I can about any 
 of these old time characters that I knew. John W. Poe." 
 
 His account of the killing was a thriller and is herewith 
 printed as it was authentically published in the papers a num- 
 ber of years ago, Mr. Poe tells the Story as follows : — 
 
 "I was somewhat skeptical as to the correctness of this in- 
 formation as it seemed almost unbelievable that the Kid, after 
 nearly three months had elapsed from the time of his escape, 
 with a price on his head and under sentence of death, would 
 still be lingering in the country. However, in view of the fact 
 that the Kid had many friends and sympathizers who looked 
 upon him as a hero and who would probably shelter and pro- 
 tect him, I came to the conclusion that there was possibly 
 truth in the story which had been told me and immediately 
 went to the county seat where I laid the matter before the 
 Sheriff as it had been told me. 
 
 "The Sheriff was much more skeptical as to the truth of 
 the story than I was; said he could not believe there was any 
 truth in what the Whiteoaks individual had told me, but finally 
 said that if I desired it he and I would go to Roswell where we 
 would find one of his deputies named McKinney and from there 
 the three of us would go to Fort Sumner with the determination 
 of unearthing the Kid if he was there. This was agreed upon 
 and the following day we went to Roswell, where we found Mc- 
 
 80 
 
Kinney, who expressed his disbelief in the Whiteoaks story but 
 willingly joined in with us for the expedition to Fort Sumner, 
 which place is some eighty miles distant from Roswell. 
 The Man Hunt. 
 
 "After a few hours spent in Roswell in arranging for the 
 trip we started about sundown, riding out of town in a different 
 direction from that which we intended to travel later, as it was 
 absolutely necessary to keep the public in ignorance of our 
 plans if anything was to be accomplished. After we were well 
 out of the settlements we changed our course and rode in the 
 direction of Fort Sumner until about midnight, when we stop- 
 ped, picketed our horses and slept on our saddle blankets for the 
 remainder of the night. The next day we rode some fifty or 
 fifty-five miles, halting late in the evening at a point in the sand 
 hills some five or six miles out from Fort Sumner, where we 
 again picketed our horses and slept until morning. 
 
 "It was here agreed that, inasmuch as I was not known in 
 Fort Sumner, while the other two men were, Garrett having a 
 year or two previous resided there, that I should ride into the 
 place with the object of reconnoitering the ground and getting 
 such information as was possible that might aid us in our pur- 
 pose, while the other two men were to remain out of sight in 
 the sand hills for the day and in case of my failing to return to 
 them before night, were to meet me after darkness came on at 
 a certain point agreed on, some four miles out from Fort Sum- 
 ner. In pursuance of this plan I next morning left my com- 
 panions and rode into town, where I arrived about 10 o'clock. 
 Fort Sumner in 1881. 
 
 "Fort Sumner at that time had a population of only some 
 two or three hundred people, nearly all of whom were natives 
 or Mexicans, there being perhaps not more than one or two 
 dozen Americans in the place, a majority of whom were tough 
 or undesirable characters. A majority of the entire popula- 
 tion were in sympathy with the Kid, while the remainder were 
 in terror of him. 
 
 "When I entered the town I noticed I was being watched 
 from every side, and soon after I had stopped and hitched my 
 horse in front of a store which had a saloon annex a number of 
 men gathered around me and began to question me as to where 
 I was from, whither I was bound, etc, I answered with as 
 plausible a yarn as I was able, telling them that I was from 
 Whiteoaks, where I had been engaged in mining, and was on my 
 way to the Panhandle, where I had formerly lived. This story 
 seemed to allay their suspicions to some extent and I was in- 
 vited to join in a social drink at the saloon, which I did, being 
 very careful that I absorbed only a very small quantity of the 
 liquor. This operation was repeated several times, as was the 
 custom in those days, after which I went to a near-by restau- 
 rant for something to eat, as I was by this time beginning to 
 realize that I was getting hungry, having been on very short 
 rations for several days. 
 
 Suspicious of Poe. 
 
 "After I had gotten a square meal I loitered about the vil- 
 lage for some hours, chatting casually with the people I met in 
 hope of learning something definite as to whether or not the 
 Kid was there or had recently been there, but was unable to 
 
 81 
 
learn anything further than that the people with whoml con- 
 versed were still suspicious of me and that it was plain that 
 many of them were on the alert, expecting something to happen. 
 In fact, there was a very tense situation in Fort Sumner that 
 day, as the Kid was at that time hiding in one of the native 
 houses there, and if the object of my visit had become known I 
 would have stood no chance for my life whatever. 
 
 "It was understood when I left my companions in the morn- 
 ing that in case of my being unable to secure definite informa- 
 tion in Fort Sumner as to the object of our visit I was to go to 
 the ranch of a Mr. Rudolph (an acquaintance and friend of 
 Garrett's), whose ranch was located some seven miles north of 
 Sumner at a place called 'Sunnyside,' with the purpose of se- 
 curing from him, if possible, some information as to the where- 
 abouts of the man we were after. 
 
 "Mr. Po9 spent the afternoon with Mr. Rudolph but was 
 unable to secure any information from him as to the where- 
 abouts of the Kid. About dark, therefore, he saddled up and 
 rode directly to the point where he had agreed to meet Garrett 
 and McKinney. 
 
 "We here held a consultation," continues Mr. Poe, "as to 
 what further course we should pursue. I had spent the day in 
 endeavoring to hear something definite of the whereabouts of 
 the man we wanted, without success, except from the actions 
 of the people I met at Fort Summer. I was more firmly con- 
 vinced than before that our man was in that vicinity. 
 In Wait for the Outlaw. 
 
 "Mr. Garrett seemed to have but little confidence in our 
 being able to accomplish the object of our trip but said that he 
 knew the location of a certain house occupied by a woman in 
 Fort Sumner which the Kid had formerly frequented; that if 
 he was in or about Fort Sumner he would most likely be found 
 entering or leaving this house sometime during the night, and 
 proposed that we go into a grove of trees near the town, con- 
 ceal our horses, then station ourselves in the peach orchard at 
 the rear of the house in question and then keep watch on who 
 might come or go. This course was agreed upon and we enter- 
 ed the peach orchard at about 9 o'clock that night, stationing 
 ourselves in the gloom or shadow of the peach trees, as the 
 moon was shining brightly. 
 
 "We kept up a fruitless watch here until some time after 
 11 o'clock, when Mr. Garrett stated that he believed we were on 
 a cold trail ; that he had very little faith in our being able to 
 accomplish anything when we started on the trip, and proposed 
 that we leave the town without letting the people know that we 
 had been there in search of the Kid. I proposed that, before 
 leaving we should go to the residence of Peter Maxwell, a man 
 who, up to that time, I had never seen, but who, by reputation, 
 I knew to be a man of considerable wealth and influence, and 
 who, by reason of his being a leading citizen and having large 
 property intertests should, according to my reasoning, aid us in 
 ridding the country of a man who was looked upon as a scourge 
 and a curse by all law-abiding people. 
 
 Search at Maxwell's House. 
 
 "Garrett agreed to this and thereupon led us from the 
 orchard by circuitous by-paths to Maxwell's residence, which 
 
 82 
 
was a building formerly used as officers' quarters during the 
 days when a garrison of troops had been maintained at the Fort. 
 
 "Upon our arrival at the residence (a very long, one-story 
 adobe building standing end to and flush with the street, hav- 
 ing a porch on the south side which was the direction from 
 which we approached, the premises all being inclosed by a pal- 
 ing fence, one side of which ran parallel to and along the edge 
 of the street up to and across the end of the porch to the corner 
 of the building) Garrett said to me: 'This is Maxwell's room in 
 the corner; you fellows wait here while I go in and talk with 
 him.' and thereupon he stepped onto the porch and entered Max- 
 well's room through the open door (left open on account of ex- 
 tremely warm weather), while the other two of us stopped on 
 the outside, McKinney squatting on the outside of the paling 
 fence and I sitting on the edge of the porch in the small, open 
 gateway leading from the street onto the porch. 
 Billy the Kid Appears. 
 
 "It should be mentioned here that, up to this moment, I had 
 never seen either Billy the Kid or Maxwell, which fact, in view 
 of the events transpiring immediately afterward, placed me at 
 an extreme disadvantage. It was probably not more than 
 thirty seconds after Garrett had entered Maxwell's room when 
 my attention was attracted from where I sat in the little gate- 
 way to a man approjiching me on the inside of and along the 
 fence some forty or fifty steps away. I noticed that he was 
 only partially dressed, was both bareheaded and barefooted, 
 or rather had nothing but sox on his feet, and, as it seemed to 
 me, v/as fastening his trousers as he came toward me in a very 
 brisk walk. 
 
 "Quien Es?" 
 
 "As Maxwell's was the one place in Fort Sumner that I 
 had considered above suspicion of harboring the Kid, I was en- 
 tirely off my guard, the thought that came to my mind being 
 that the man approaching was either Maxwell himself or some 
 guest of his who had occasion to go to the rear of the premises 
 during the night. He came on until he was almost within 
 arm's length of where I sat before he saw me, as I was parti- 
 ally concealed from his view by the post of the gate. Upon 
 his seeing me, he, as quick as lightning, covered me with his 
 six-shooter, sprang onto the porch and called out in Spanish, 
 'Quien es' (Who is it?), and backing away from me toward the 
 door through which Garrett only a few moments before had 
 passed, repeating his query, 'Who is it?' several times in Span- 
 ish. 
 
 Shots Inside the Room. 
 
 "At this I stood up from where I had been seated, stepped 
 onto the porch and advanced toward him, telling him not to be 
 alarmed — that he should not be hurt, still without the least 
 suspicion that this was the man we were looking for. As I 
 moved toward him, trying to reassure him, he backed up into 
 the doorway of Maxwell's room, where he halted for a moment, 
 his body concealed by the thick adobe wall at the side of the 
 doorway, put his head out and asked in Spanish for the fourth 
 or fifth time who I was. I was within a few feet of him when 
 he disappeared into the room. After this until after the shoot- 
 ing I was unable to see what took place on account of the dark- 
 
 83 
 
ness of the room but plainly heard what was said on the inside. 
 
 "An instant aftsr this man left the door I heard a voice 
 inquire in a sharp tone, 'Pete, who are those fellows on the out- 
 side ' An instant later a shot was fired in the room followed 
 immediately by what everyone within hearing thought was two 
 other shots. However, there were only two shots fired, the 
 third report, as we learned afterward, being caused by the re- 
 bound of the second, bullet which had struck the adobe wall 
 and rebounded against the headboard of the wooden bedstead. 
 The Kid Is Killed. 
 
 "I heard a groan and one or two gasps as of someone dying 
 in the room. An instant later Garrett came out, brushing a- 
 gainst me as he passed, stood by me close to the wall at the side 
 of the door and said to me. 'That was the Kid that came in 
 there onto me and I think I've got him.' I said, 'Pat, the Kid 
 would not come to this place. You have shot the wrong man.' 
 Upon my saying this Garrett seemed for a moment to be in 
 doubt himself as to whom he had shot, but quickly spoke up 
 and said, 'I am sure that was him for I know his voice too well 
 to be mistaken.' This remark of Garrett's relieved me of con- 
 siderable apprehenson, as I had felt almost certain that some- 
 one whom we did not want had been killed. 
 
 "A moment after Garrett came out of the door Pete Max- 
 well rushed squarely onto me in a frantic effort to get out of 
 the room and I certainly would have shot him but for Garrett 
 striking my gun down, saying, 'Don't shoot Maxwell!' 
 
 "I have ever since felt grateful that I did not shoot Max- 
 well, for, as I learned afterward, he was at heart a well mean- 
 ing, inoffensive and very timid man. We afterward learned 
 that the Kid had frequently been at this house after his escape 
 from Lincoln but Maxwell stood in such terror of him that he 
 did not dare inform against him. 
 
 End of a Bloody Desperado. 
 
 "By this time all was quiet within the room and as on ac- 
 count of the darkness we were unable to see what the condi- 
 tions were inside or what the result of the shooting had been, 
 we, after some rather forceful persuasion, induced Maxwell to 
 procure a light, which he finally did by bringing an old-fash- 
 ioned tallow candle from his mother's room at the further end 
 of the building, passing by the rear end, where the shooting oc- 
 curred, and placing the candle on the window sill from the out- 
 side. This enabled us to get a view of the inside where we saw 
 a man lying stretched upon his back dead in the middle of the 
 room with a six-shooter lying at his right hand and a butcher 
 knife at his left. Upon our examining the body we found it to 
 be that of Billy the Kid. Garrett's first shot had penetrated 
 his breast just above the heart, thus ending the career of a 
 desperado who, whil3 only about 23 years of age at the time of 
 his death, had killed a greater number of men than any of the 
 many desperadoes and killers I have known or heard of during 
 the forty-five years I have been in the Southwest. 
 
 "Within a very short time after the shooting quite a num- 
 ber of the native people had gathered around, some of them be- 
 wailing the death of their friend, while several of the women 
 pleaded for permission to take charge of the body, which we 
 allowed them to do, they carrying it across the yard to a car- 
 
 84 
 
penter sliop, wTiere it was laid out on a work bencli, tTie women 
 placing burning candles around it, according to their ideas of 
 properly conducting a wake for the dead. 
 
 What Happened in Maxwell's Room. 
 
 "All that occurred after the Kid came into view in the yard 
 up to the time he was killed happened in much less time than "it 
 takes to tell it, not more than thirty seconds intervening be- 
 tween the time I first saw him and the time he was shot. From 
 Garrett's statement of what took place in the room after he 
 entered it, appears that, leaving his Winchester standing by 
 the side of the door, he approached the bed where Maxwell was 
 sleeping, arousing him and sitting down on the edge of the bed 
 near the head. A moment later after he had taken this posi- 
 tion for a talk with Maxwell, he heard voices on the porch and 
 sat quietly listening when a man came into the doorway and a 
 moment later ran up to Maxwell's bed saying, 'Pete, who are 
 those fellows outside?' It being dark in the room he had not 
 up to now seen Garrett sitting at the head of the bed. When 
 he spoke to Maxwell Garrett recognized the voice and made a 
 move to draw his six-shooter. This movement attracted the 
 Kid's attention, who, seeing that a man was sitting there, in- 
 stantly covered him with his six-shooter, backing away and de- 
 manding several times in Spanish to know who it was. Gar- 
 rett made no reply and, without rising from where he was sit- 
 ting, fired with the result stated. This occurred on the night 
 of July 14, 1881, about midnight. 
 
 "We spent the remainder of the night on the Maxwell 
 premises, keeping constantly on our guard, as we were expect- 
 ing to be attacked hv the friends of the man killed. Nothing 
 of the kind occurred, however. The next morning we sent for 
 a Justice of the Peace, who held an inquest over the body, the 
 verdict of the jury being such as to justify the killing, and later 
 on the same day the body was buried in the old military bury- 
 ing ground at Fort Sumner. 
 
 Many Wild Stories. 
 
 "There have been many wild and untrue stories told of this 
 affair, one of which was that we had in some way learned in 
 advance that the Kid would come to Maxwell's residence that 
 night and had concealed ourselves there with the purpose of 
 waylaying and killing him. Another was that we had cut off 
 his fingers and carried them away as trophies or souvenirs, and 
 of later years it has been said many times that the Kid was not 
 dead at all, but had been seen alive and well in various places. 
 The actual facts, however, are exactly as herein stated and 
 while we no doubt would under the circumstances, have laid in 
 wait for him at the Maxwell premises if there had been the 
 slightest reason for our believing that he would come there, the 
 fact that he would come there, the fact that he came was a 
 complete surprise to us, absolutely unexpected and unlooked 
 for so far as we three were concerned. The story that we had 
 cut off and carried away his fingers was even more absurd, as 
 the thought of such never entered our minds, and besides, we 
 were not that kind of people. 
 
 "The killing of the Kid created a great sensation through- 
 out the Southwest and many of the law abiding citizens of New 
 Mexico and the Panhandle contributed spontaneously and liber- 
 
 85 
 
ally toward a reward for the officers whose work had finally 
 rid the country of a man who was nothing less than a scourge. 
 "The taking off of the Kid had a very salutary effect in 
 New Mexico and the Panhandle, most of his remaining follow- 
 ers leaving the country for the time being, at least, and a great 
 many people who had sympathized with or had been terrorized 
 by him completely changed their attitudes toward the enforce- 
 ment of the law. 
 
 Why Didn't the Outlaw Shoot? 
 
 "The events which transpired at Maxwell's residence on 
 the night of that 14th of July to this day seem to me strange 
 and mysterious, as the Kid was certainly a killer, was absolute- 
 ly desperate and had 'the drop' first on me and then on Garrett. 
 Why did he not use it? Possibly he thought that he was in the 
 house of friends and had no suspicion that the officers of the 
 law would ever come to that place searching for him. From 
 what we learned afterward there was some reason for believ- 
 ing that we had been seen leaving the peach orchard by one of 
 his friends, who ran to the house where he was stopping for 
 the night, warning him of our presence and upon thinking that 
 by reason of the standing of the Maxwell family he would not 
 be sought for there. However this may be, it is still, in view 
 of his character and the condition he was in, a mystery. 
 
 "I have been in many close places and through many try- 
 ing experiences, both before and after this occurrence, but 
 never one where I was so forcibly impressed with the idea that 
 a higher power controls and rules the destinies of men. To 
 me it seemed that what occurred in Fort Sumner on that night 
 had actually been foreordained." 
 
 Career of John W. Poe. 
 
 John W. Poe was born in Mason County, Ky., on the 17th of 
 October, 1850. He came west to Kansas City in 1869 and to 
 Texas in 1872. 
 
 For several years after his arrival in Texas he lived near 
 old Fort Griffin, ser\^ing part of that time as City Marshal of 
 Fort Griffin. The remainder of the time he worked with cattle 
 and hunted buffaloes. 
 
 In 1879 he moved to Mobeetie, then the only town in the 
 Panhandle of Texas with the exception of Tascosa, and there 
 served as Deputy United States Marshal and Deputy Sheriff 
 until the spring of :881. 
 
 In 1881 he was -^mployed by the Canadian River Cattle As- 
 sociation to go to New Mexico and hunt cattle thieves. It was 
 while in this service that he assisted in "getting" Billy the Kid, 
 as has been recounted in the foregoing paragraphs. 
 
 In 1882 he was elected Sheriff of Lincoln County, N. M., 
 and served in this capacity until 1886. At the expiration of 
 his second term as Sheriff he settled at Roswell, where he has 
 ever since been engap^ed in the banking business. In 1900 and 
 1901 Mr. Poe served as a member of the Territorial Board of 
 Equalization and in 1915-16 he served as a member of the State 
 Tax Commission. During the World War he acted as Federal 
 Fuel Administrator for New Mexico. He has a host of friends 
 in New Mexico, Texas and all over the West. 
 
 86 
 
OUR NEW LOCATION 
 
 We located our modest dobe shack, on the Palo Duro, 165 
 TOiles from the railroad or Dodge City, in what is known as 
 Hansford county, about thirty or forty miles south of what was 
 called the Rifle Pits — so called from the fact that in the Indian 
 war of '74 and '75 the soldiers made a stand at this place and 
 dug-in. We were about fifty miles from Tascosa, where it was 
 .a poor Saturday if some cow puncher or bad man was not kill- 
 ed. We were also about twenty-five miles from the Adobe 
 Walls where the famous Indian battle of '74 was fought and 
 about the same distance from the battlefield of Buffalo Wallow 
 where Billie Dixon also saved the day. During that year and 
 a year previously tho Indian outbreak was so acute and serious 
 that it was apparent that it would be impossible for the sol- 
 diers to handle it alone so it was decided to enlist the services 
 of the cow men and buffalo hunters. They organized and 
 broke for the Adobe Walls where they made a stand and were 
 immediately besieged by the Red Skins. When the Indians 
 had surrounded the fort they tried every way to get a foot-hold 
 l)ut the boys waited their opportunity and with plenty of can- 
 non and rifles gave them several broadsides. It was said that 
 they literally piled them up like cord-wood. This battle stop- 
 ped any further uprisings. 
 
 ADDENDUM TO THE LIFE OF BILLY DIXON. 
 
 Without presuming that we could improve upon or add any 
 particular historical facts, we have taken the liberty to write an 
 additional preface or rather something that might be of some 
 interest to readers of the life of Billy Dixon. These few com- 
 ments, if of any interest or value, can be attached to or placed 
 in the book containing the historical life of this pioneer, Billy 
 Dixon. 
 
 It seems almost like a dream to see in print a description 
 of the scenes that we had the privilege of visiting and being 
 associated with, and also reading of the character and exploits 
 of some of the men we knew so well and others that we had 
 lieard of, and who were so necessary and essential to the de- 
 velopment and history of the early days of Pan Handle life. Of 
 course Billy Dixon was an "older timer" than we were and yet 
 the scenes and some of the "Way Backs" were still there when 
 we were residents of thereabouts. Throughout, the country 
 had commenced to take on a transitory period, gone were the 
 large buffalo herds, and gone was the buffalo hunter's occupa- 
 tion, and in their stead, the Cow Man, both little and big, was 
 Ijeginning to stock the ranges with the long horns from Old 
 Mexico and from the Coast Country of Texas. Now comes the 
 small farmer and stock man, and all the power under God's 
 dome will not be able to move or displace this persistent and 
 ■"stick tight" little "Nester". 
 
 I sing to thee, pioneer. 
 
 Whose manly strength without fear. 
 
 And purpose firm in heaven's sight. 
 
 Gives thee a place by crested knight, 
 
 Or feuded lord o'er country side. 
 
 Thou art the nation's honest pride! 
 
 87 
 
noble, noble pioneer! 
 
 We give thee honor now and here, 
 In this, our middle west, a part, 
 
 Thanks comes to thee from every heart, 
 In words of love and hope and cheer. 
 
 All hail Our noble pioneer! 
 
 There were a few scattering small bunches of buffalo af- 
 that time, in 1880, and we had the privilege and honor, and not 
 much honor at that, of helping to slaughter the last small herd 
 of buffalo that was ever seen in the Texas Pan Handle. This, 
 occurred at a stopping place on the Cimaroon River, in No 
 Man's Land. This place was run by two old Buffalo Hunters 
 
 by the names of Rob Ray and Crawford. The latter had 
 
 at some time had his toes frozen off, but he could sure shoot 
 some just the same. There were eleven in the herd and they 
 got them all. We hauled the meat to Dodge City. I was a 
 little disappointed in reading the description of the Adobe 
 Walls' fight not to have seen the names of these two intrepid 
 Buffalo hunters mentioned as they were no doubt in that part 
 of the country at the time of the battle and were a part of the 
 Buffalo History of that section and would have been a help to 
 the little band who were besieged. 
 
 One of our partners, Sam Hannah, now of Howard, Kan.,, 
 was fortunate enough to meet and become acquainted with Billy 
 Dixon at Canadian, Tex., although there is no definite state- 
 ment of the year. 
 
 He tells us that his recollections of Billy Dixon showed 
 that he was greatly impressed by his make-up as a man, who 
 was a famous buffalo hunter, an uncanny scout and soldier, a 
 sagacious Indian fighter, and a resourceful Cow Man, a quiet, 
 Unassuming character, which trait is always indicative of a 
 brave and honorable man. 
 
 We can not help but have a sort of a relationship feeling 
 for such characters as Billy Dixon as we read his history, for 
 the reason, of course, that we have lived and trailed and rode 
 and camped in all the rim rocks and on all of the mesa's, and 
 on all of this hallowed ground that this man practically made 
 safe for the inevitable coming of the new civilization. 
 
 We notice, of course, that he was a prototype, and a 
 worthy follower, and a man as brave and true as the wonderful 
 Buffalo Bill, and it is fitting at this time to say that we also have 
 the same close feeling towards this true Knight of the western 
 plains from the fact that my father and his father before him 
 were among the thousands of eager and hopeful travelers who 
 were reaching out for that Star of the Western Empire, and 
 seeking the golden glows on the American Fork in '49 and '50. 
 This period was a little ahead of Buffalo Bill's time, but shortly 
 afterward he too made it safe for these gold fever stricken ad- 
 venturers who were going to Pike's Peak or "bust". My fath- 
 er's father was one of the many who returned from this land of 
 promise empty handed. 
 
 In traveling over and along the present Union Pacific rail- 
 road, it's understoqd that this iron trail marks the old Cali- 
 fornia trail. It's with a feeling of awe and reverence that we 
 pass over this prehistoric ground and realize that we, my father 
 
aiTid "his father, had passed along that old trail from the Miss- 
 ouri River, through the beautiful Platte River Valley, Jules- 
 Iburg, Fort Laramie, Salt Lake City and on to the placers of 
 California. We have a letter written by one of that party, 
 posted at Fort Laramie, which expresses their buoyant feelings 
 in the highest degree. It says, "We are safe so far, and we are 
 •ever traveling westward full of liope and expectancy. There 
 are thousands ahead of us and tens of thousands behind us." 
 But alas, there were some in this party who never reached the 
 banks of the Wabash again. 
 
 When we had reached the Palo Duro (hardwood), one hun- 
 dred and sixty-five miles from the railroad, and a good ways for 
 a tender foot to be from civilization, the most of the big cattle 
 lellows had established their ranges and ranches, and the little 
 fellows were taking the leavings (we were of this class). We 
 knew, or had heard, of the the most of the big fellows, such as 
 Charles Goodnight, on the Canadian (the Mexicans call him 
 Char Les Goodnightie), Doc Day on the Wolf Creek, Col. 
 Slaughter on Cold Water, Col. Littlefield, Jack Hardesty and 
 others; and we must mention Clay Allison of the Washita, who 
 was first a Cow Man and then a killer of bad men, a true knight, 
 a brave man and one that was necessary to rid the country of 
 many undesirables. 
 
 We note with a great deal of interest Billy Dixon's de- 
 scription of Buffalo Springs. On one of our trips, my partner, 
 Charley Shideler, and I left the Palo Duro with some saddle 
 "horses and struck for the San Luis Valley of Colorado where 
 we had a small bunch of cattle to be rounded up and sold or 
 driven to the Pan Handle. We passed through what Billy calls 
 the Buffalo Springs (we knew it then as Buffalo Gap), and it 
 was a veritable Gap, because as one came out of the broken and 
 rough country back in New Mexico, this Gap seemed to be the 
 place for entering the broad prairies, the staked plains of north 
 Texas. His description covers this scene nicely with one ex- 
 ception, and after forty years has elapsed, my mind pictures a 
 one roomed, good sized stone building, a substantial and well 
 preserved structure, a description of which he has omitted. 
 This house served as a good defense in case of an Indian attack 
 and no doubt was built by Buffalo Hunters, either Mexican or 
 Americans, as the surrounding grounds, dotted here and there 
 with many water holes, were completely covered with buffalo 
 bones. 
 
 Billy's history of the fight at the Adobe Wall must of 
 course be true, but he does not enlarge or give any inside his- 
 tory, of the conditions and causes for the buffalo hunters and 
 cow men having to take such a prominent part in subduing the 
 Red Skins at that period. We fellows had understood that 
 really the soldiers, at that time, and previously, had endeavored 
 to put down these Indian raids but had failed and realized that 
 the Reds were a little too much for them, so that the authori- 
 ties finally called out the buffalo hunters and cow men to as- 
 sist them. 
 
 Just north of our ranch, on the main freight and mail trail 
 from Dodge, was a place called Rifle Pits. These were pits 
 placed there by the soldiers, where they "dug in", but we never 
 learned of there being much of a fight at that point 
 
 89 
 
To my mind Billy's description of the Buffalo Wallow fight 
 was the most thrilling and showed more of a desperate condi- 
 tion of affairs than the battle of Adobe Walls. At this place- 
 they were literally trapped in open ground, and had to take it in 
 the open until they were able to get a little bit of cover in a 
 wallow. There were less men and he had nearly as many 
 wounded and killed to take care of, so that he was short-hand- 
 ed, but like all of the resourceful fellows of the time he and his 
 little band were victorious. 
 
 We were greatly pleased to read Dixon's tribute to the 
 Cator Boys, sturdy English men, Bob and Jim. The Cators: 
 lived just south of us on the adjoining ranch, and on the Palo 
 Duro. We were neighbors and friends, staunch and true. Of 
 late years we have made frequent inquiry concerning the loca- 
 tion and later history of these indomitable and necessary people 
 to the taming and future development of the great way, but 
 were always unable to locate them. 
 
 In conclusion I will coincide and agree with Billy in his 
 comments concerning the feelings of some who have had their 
 experiences in the West, and who have afterwards "gone back" 
 by shunning and forgetting their old stamping grounds. {He 
 refers to Bat Masterson.) 
 
 I may be a little bit sentimental myself, but when that pe- 
 culiar western brash breaks out on me, and I hear the call of 
 those broad billowy prairies, and feel the beckon of those shel- 
 tering crags in the grand old snow capped and timber lined 
 mountains and catch the aromatic scent of the scraggly sage 
 brush I silently, secretly and reverently pack my grip and sneak 
 out with my face westward Ho, and when I shall have reached 
 the "home ranch", I revel with the Cow Man, as he teaches me 
 new tricks in cow punching, tells me new stories, and sings me 
 new songs. When I have reached the stage that the little boy 
 at the public Thanksgiving Day dinner table did when he was 
 asked to have more turkey, and replied. "No more, mister, I can 
 chaw but I can't swallov/," then I will have had my little sat- 
 isfying rest and vacation, and I will be perfectly willing to 
 come back to that place which the Easterner calls the true 
 civilization and still continue to make a modest living selling: 
 money through the grill of a bank window. 
 Across the world the ceaseless march of men 
 
 Has been through smouldering fires, left by the bold. 
 Who first beyond the guarded outposts ran 
 
 And saw with wondering eyes, new lands unrolled, 
 Who built the hut in which the home began 
 
 And around a camp-fire's ashes broke the mold. 
 
 Meredith Nicholson. 
 
 It will be interesting to the readers to have Billy Dixon's 
 detailed account of this battle and with the permission of his 
 wife, Mrs. Olive Dixon, I am privileged to use it. It's told by 
 Billie before he died. 
 
 THE ADOBE WALLS BATTLE JUNE, 1874. 
 By Billy Dixon. 
 
 "The night was sultry and we sat with open doors. In all 
 that vast wilderness, ours were the only lights save the stars 
 that glittered above us. There was just a handful of us out 
 
 90 
 
tliere on tTie Plains, each bound to the other by the common tie 
 of standing together in the face of any danger that threatened 
 us. It was a simple code, but about the best I know of. Out- 
 side could be heard at intervals the muffled sounds of the stock 
 moving and stumbling around, or a picketed horse shaking him- 
 self as he paused in his hunt for the young grass. In the 
 timber along Adobe Walls Creek to the east owls were hooting. 
 We paid no attention to these things, however, and in our fanc- 
 ied security against all foes frolicked and had a general good 
 time. Hanraran saloon did a thriving trade. 
 
 "On that memorable night, June 26, 1874, there were 28 
 men and one woman at the Walls. The woman was the wife 
 of William Olds. She had come from Dodge City with her 
 husband to open a restaurant in the rear of Rath & Wright's 
 (Bob Wright — we knew Bob at Dodge in 1880) store. Only 
 eight or nine of the men lived at the Walls, the others being 
 buffalo-hunters who by chance happened to be there. There 
 was not the slightest feeling of impending danger. 
 
 "As was the custom in the buffalo country, most of the men 
 made their beds outside on the ground. I spread my blankets 
 near the blacksmith's shop, close to my wagon, I placed my gun 
 by my side between my blankets, as usual, to protect it from 
 dew and rain. A man's gun and his horse were his two most 
 valuable possessions, next to life, in that country in those days. 
 
 "Every door was left wide open, such a thing as locking a 
 door being unheard of at the Walls. One by one the lights 
 were turned out, the tired buffalo-hunters fell asleep, and the 
 Walls were soon wrapped in the stillness of night. 
 
 "Late that evening I had gone down on the creek and 
 caught my saddle horse — a better one could not be found — and 
 tied him with a long picket rope to a stake pin near my wagon. 
 
 "About 2 o'clock in the morning Shepherd and Mike Welch 
 were awakened by a report that sounded like the crack of 
 a rifle. They sprang up and discovered that the noise was 
 caused by the big cottonwood ridge pole. 
 
 "This ridge pole sustained the weight of the dirt roof, and 
 if the pole should break the roof would collapse and fall in, to 
 the injury or death of those inside. Welch and Shepherd woke 
 up a number of their companions to help them repair the roof. 
 Some climbed on top and began throwing off the dirt, while 
 others went down to the creek to cut a prop for the ridge pole. 
 
 "This commotion woke up others, and in a little while about 
 fifteen men were helping repair the roof. Providential things 
 usually are mysterious ; there has always been something mys- 
 terious to me in the loud report that came from that ridge pole 
 in Hanrahan's saloon. It seems strange that it should have 
 happened at the very time it did, instead of at noon or some 
 other hour, and, above all, that it should have been loud enough 
 to wake men who were fast asleep. Twenty-eight men and one 
 woman would have been slaughtered if the ridge pole in Han- 
 rahan's saloon had not cracked like a riflle shot. 
 
 "By the time we had put the prop in place, the sky was 
 growing red in the east, and Hanrahan asked me if I did not 
 think we might as well stay up and get an early start. I 
 agreed, and he sent Billy Ogg down on the creek to get the 
 hoT-ses. Some of the men, however, crawled back into bed. The 
 
 91 
 
Worses were" gfazfng southeast of the buildings, along Adobe^ 
 Walls Creek, a quarter of a mile off. 
 
 "Turning to my bed, I rolled it up and threw it on the front 
 of my wagon. As I turned to pick up my gun, which lay on 
 the ground, I looked in the direction of our horses. They were 
 in sight. Something else caught my eye. Just beyond the 
 horses, at the edge of some timber, was a large body of objects 
 advancing vaguely in the dusky dawn toward our stock and in 
 the direction of Adobe Walls. Though keen of vision, I could 
 not make out what the objects were, even by straining my eyes. 
 
 "Then I was thunderstruck. The black body of moving 
 objects suddenly spread out like a fan, and from it went up one 
 single, solid yell — a warwhoop that seemed to shake the very 
 air of the early morning. Then came the thudding roar of 
 running horses, and the hideous cries of the individual wor- 
 riors, each embarked in the onslaught. I could see that hun- 
 dreds of Indians were coming. Had it not been for the ridge 
 pole, all of Us would have been asleep, 
 
 "In such desperate emergencies, men exert themselves al- 
 most automatically to do the needful thing. There is no time 
 to make conscious effort, and if a man lose his head, he shakes 
 hands with death. 
 
 "I made a dash for my saddle horse, my first thought being 
 to save him. I never thought for an instant that the oncoming 
 Indians were intending an attack upon the buildings, their pur- 
 pose being, as I thought, to run off our stock, which they could 
 easily have done by driving it ahead of them. I overlooked the 
 number of Indians, however, or else I might have formed a dif- 
 ferent opinion. 
 
 "The first mighty warwhoop had frightened my horse un- 
 til he was frantic. He was running and lunging on his rope 
 so violently that in one more run he would have pulled up the 
 stake pin and gone to the land of stampeded horses. I man- 
 aged to grab the rope, and tie my horse to my wagon. 
 
 "I then rushed for my gun, and turned to get a few good 
 shots before the Indians could turn to run away. I started to 
 run forward a few steps. Indians running away! They were 
 coming as straight as a bullet toward the buildings, whipping 
 their horses at every jump. 
 
 "There was never a more splendidly barbaric sight. In 
 after years I was glad that I had seen it. Hundreds of wor- 
 riers, the flower of the fighting men of the southwestern Plains 
 tribes, mounted upon their finest horses, armed with guns and 
 lances, and carrying heavy shields of thick buffalo hide, were 
 coming like the wind. Over all was splashed the rich colors 
 of red, Vermillion and ochre, on the bodies of the men, on the 
 bodies of the running horses. Scalps dangled from bridles,, 
 gorgeous war-bonnets fluttered their plumes, bright feathers 
 dangled from the tails and manes of the horses, and the bronz- 
 ed, half-naked bodies of the riders glittered with ornaments of 
 silver and brass. Behind this head-long charging host stretch- 
 ed the Plains, on whose horizon the rising sun was lifting its 
 morning fires. The warriors seemed to emerge from this glow- 
 ing background. 
 
 "I must confess, however, that the landscape possessed 
 little interest for me when I saw that the Indians were coming 
 
 92 
 
to attack us, and that they would be at hand in a few moments. 
 War-whooping had a very appreciable effect upon the roots of 
 a man's hair. 
 
 "I fired one shot, but had no desire to wait and see where 
 the bullet went. I turned and ran as quickly as possible to the 
 nearest building, which happened to be Hanrahan's saloon. I 
 found it closed. I certainly felt lonesome. The alarm had 
 spread and the boys were preparing to defend themselves. I 
 shouted to them to let me in. An age seemed to pass before 
 they opened the door and I sprang inside. Bullets were whist- 
 ling and knocking up the dust all around me. Just as the door 
 was opened for me, Billy Ogg ran up and fell inside, so exhaust- 
 ed that he could no longer stand. I am confident that if Billy 
 had been timed, his would have been forever the world's record. 
 Bill had made a desperate race, and that he should escape seem- 
 ed incredible. 
 
 "We were scarcely inside before the Indians had surround- 
 ed all the buildings and shot out every window pane. When 
 our men saw the Indians coming, they broke for the nearest 
 building at hand, and in this way split up into three parties. 
 They were gathered in the different buildings, as follows: 
 
 "Hanrahan's Saloon — James Hanrahan, 'Bat' Masterson, 
 Mike Welch, Shepherd, Hiram Watson, Billy Ogg, James Mc- 
 kinley, 'Bermula' Carlisle, and William Dixon. 
 
 "Myers & Yeonard's Store — Fred Leonard, James Campbell, 
 Edward Trevor, Frank Brown, Harry Armitage, 'Dutch Henry,' 
 Billy Tyler, Old Man Keeler, Mike McCabe, Henry Lease, and 
 'Frenchy.' (Myers was evidently the W. C. Myers we speak 
 of elsewhere in the book.) 
 
 "Rath & Wright's Store — James Longton, George Eddy, 
 Thomas O'Keefe, William Olds and his wife; Sam Smith, and 
 Andy Johnson. (Dutch Henry was the famous expert and 
 practiced horse thief.) 
 
 "Some of the men were still undressed, but nobody wasted 
 any time hunting their clothes, and many of them fought for 
 their lives all that summer day barefoot and in their night 
 clothes. 
 
 "The men in Hanrahan's saloon had a little the best of the 
 others because of the fact that they were awake and up when 
 the alarm was given. In the other buildings some of the boys 
 were sound asleep and it took time for them to barricade the 
 doors and windows before they began fighting. Barricades 
 were built by piling up sacks of flour and grain, at which some 
 of the men worked while others seized their guns and began 
 shooting at the Indians. 
 
 "The number of Indians in this attack has been variously 
 estimated at from 700 to 1,000. I believe that 700 would be a 
 safe guess. The warriors were mostly Kiowas, Cheyennes and 
 Comanches. The latter were led by their chief Quanah, whose 
 mother was a white woman, Cynthia Ann Parker, captured dur- 
 ing a raid by the Comanches in Texas. Big Bow was another 
 formidable Comanche chieftain; Lone Wolf was a leader of the 
 Kiowas, and Little Robe and White Shield, of the Cheyennes. 
 
 For the first half hour the Indians were reckless and daring 
 enough to ride up and strike the doors with the butts of their 
 guns. Finally, the buffalo-hunters all got straightened out 
 
 93 
 
and were firing with deadly effect. The Indians stood up a- 
 gainst this for awhile, but gradually began falling back, as we 
 were emptying buckskin saddles entirely too fast for Indian 
 safety. Our guns had longer range than theirs. Further- 
 more, the hostiles were having little success — they had killed 
 only two of our men, the Shadier brothers who were caught 
 asleep in their wagon. Both were scalped. Their big New- 
 foundland dog, which always slept at their feet, evidently show- 
 ed fight, as the Indians killed him, and "scalped" him by cutting 
 a piece of hide off his side. The Indians ransacked the wagon 
 and took all the provisions. The Shadlers were freighters. 
 
 "At our first volleys, a good many of the Indians jumped 
 off their horses and prepared for a fight on foot. They soon 
 abandoned this plan; and for good reason. They were the tar- 
 gets of expert rough-and-ready marksmen, and for the Indians 
 to stand in the open meant death. They fell back. 
 
 "The Indians exhibited one of their characteristic traits. 
 Numbers of them fell, dead or wounded, close to the buildings. 
 In almost every instance a determined effort was made to 
 rescue the bodies, at the imminent risk of the life of every war- 
 rior that attempted this feat in front of the booming buffalo- 
 guns. An Indian in those days would quickly endanger his 
 own life to carry a dead or helpless comrade beyond reach of 
 the enemy. I have been told that their zeal was due to some 
 religious belief concerning the scalp-lock — that if a warrior 
 should lose his scalp-lock his spirit would fail to reach the 
 happy hunting grounds. Perhaps for the same reason the In- 
 dian always tried to scalp his fallen enemy. 
 
 "Time and again, with the fury of a whirlwind, the Indians 
 charged upon the building, only to sustain greater losses than 
 they were able to inflict. This was a losing game, and if i-he 
 Indians kept it up we stood a fair chance of killing most of 
 them. I am sure that we surprised the Indians as badly as 
 they surprised us. They expected to find us asleep, un})repar- 
 ed for an attack. Their "medicine" man had told them tliat all 
 they would have to do would be to come to Adobe Walls and 
 knock us on the head with sticks, and that our bullets would 
 not be strong enough to break an Indian's skin. The old man 
 was a bad prophet. 
 
 "Almost at the beginning of the attack, we were surprised 
 at the sound of a bugle. This bugler was with the Indians, 
 and could blow the different calls as cleverly as the bugler on 
 the parade ground at Fort Dodge. The story was told that he 
 was a negro deserter from the Tenth Cavalry, which I never be- 
 lieved. It is more probable that he was a captive halfbreed 
 Mexican that was known to be living among the Kiowas and 
 Comanches in the 60's. He had been captured in his boyhood 
 when these Indians were raiding in the Rio Grande country, and 
 grew up among them, as savage and cruel as any of their war- 
 riors. How he learned to blow the bugle is unknown. A 
 frontiersman who went with an expedition to the Kiowas in 
 1866 tells of having found a bugler among them at that time. 
 The Kiowas, he said, were able to maneuver to the sound of the 
 bugle. This bugler never approached the white men closely 
 enough to be recognized. 
 
 "In the fight at Adobe Walls, the fact was discovered that 
 
 94 
 
the Indian warriors were charging to the sound of the bugle. 
 In this they "tipped" their hand, for the calls were understood, 
 and the buffalo-hunters were "loaded for bear" by the time the 
 Indians were within range. 'Bat' Masterson, recalling this 
 incident long after the fight, said: 
 
 " ' We had in the building I was in (Hanrahan's saloon), 
 two men who had served in the United States army, and under- 
 stood all the bugle calls. The first call blown was a rally, 
 which our men instantly understood. The next was a charge, 
 and that also was understood, and immediately the Indians come 
 rushing forward to a fresh attack. Every bugle call he blew 
 was understood by the ex-soldiers and were carried out to the 
 letter by the Indians, showing that the bugler had the Indians 
 thoroughly drilled. 
 
 " 'The bugler was killed late in the afternoon of the first 
 day's fighting as he was running away from a wagon owned by 
 the Shadier brothers, both of whom were killed in this same 
 wagon. The bugler had his bugle with him at the time he was 
 shot by Harry Armitage. Also he was carrying a tin can filled 
 with sugar and another filled with ground coffee, one under 
 each arm. Armitage shot him through the back with a 50- 
 caliber Sharp's rifle, as he was making his escape.' 
 
 "Billy Tyler and Fred Leonard went into the stockade, but 
 were compelled to retreat, the Indians firing at them through 
 the openings between the stockade pickets. Just as Tyler was 
 entering the door of the adobe store, he turned to fire, and was 
 struck by a bullet that penetrated his lungs. He lived about 
 half an hour after he was dragged into the store. 
 
 "The Indians were not without military tactics in trying to 
 recover their dead and wounded. While one band would pour 
 a hot fire into the buildings, other Indians on horseback would 
 run forward under the protection of this fusilade. They suc- 
 ceeded in dragging away a good mSny of the fallen. 
 
 "Once during a charge I noticed an Indian riding a white 
 horse toward where another Indian had gone down in the tall 
 grass. The latter jumped up behind the Indian on the horse, 
 and both started at full speed for safety. A rifle cracked and 
 a bullet struck the horse, breaking one of its hind legs. We 
 could see the blood streaming down the horse's leg. Both In- 
 dians began whipping the poor brute and, lurching and stagger- 
 ing on three legs, he carried them away. 
 
 "By noon the Indians had ceased charging and had station- 
 ed themselves in groups in different places, maintaining a more 
 less steady fire all day on the buildings. Sometimes the In- 
 dians would fire especially heavy volleys, whereupon wounded 
 Indians would leap from the grass and run as far as they could 
 and then drop down in the grass again. In this manner a num- 
 ber escaped. 
 
 "Along about 10 o'clock, the Indians having fallen back at 
 a safer distance from the buffalo-guns, some of us noticed a 
 pony standing near the corner of a big stack of buffalo hides 
 at the rear of Rath's building. We could see that an Indian 
 behind the hides was holding the pony by the bridle, so we shot 
 the pony and it fell dead. The pony was gaily decorated with 
 red calico plaited in its mane. 
 
 "The falling of the pony left the Indian somewhat exposed 
 
 95 
 
to our fire, and the boys at Hanrahan's and Rath's opened upon 
 him full blast. They certainly 'fogged' him. No Indian 
 ever danced a livelier jig. We kept him jumping like a flea 
 back and forth behind the pile of hides. 
 
 "I had got possession of a big "50" gun early in the fight, 
 and was making considerable noise with it. I sized up what 
 was going on behind the pile of buffalo hides, and took careful 
 aim at the place where I thought the Indian was crouched. I 
 shot through one corner of the hides. It looked to me as if that 
 Indian jumped six feet straight up into the air, howling with 
 pain. Evidently I had hit him. He ran zig-zag fashion for 
 thirty or forty yards, howling at every jump, and dropped down 
 in the tall grass. Indians commonly ran in this manner when 
 under fire, to prevent our getting a bead on them. 
 
 "I managed to get hold of the '50' gun in this manner. The 
 ammunition for mine was in Rath's store, which none of us was 
 in the habit of visiting at that particular moment. I had no- 
 ticed that Shepher, Hanrahan's bartender was banging around 
 with Hanrahan's big '50', but not making much use of it, as he 
 was badly excited. 
 
 " 'Here, Jim,' I said to Hanrahan, 'I see you are without a 
 gun; take this one.' 
 
 "I gave him mine. I then told 'Shep' to give me the '50'. 
 He was so glad to turn loose of it, and handed it to me so quick- 
 ly that he almost dropped it. I had the reputation of being a 
 good shot and it was rather to the interest of all of us that I 
 should have a powerful gun. 
 
 "We had no way of telling what was happening to the men 
 in the other buildings, and they were equally ignorant of what 
 was happening to us. Not a man in our building had been 
 hit. I could never see how we escaped, for at times the bullets 
 poured in like hail and made us hug the sod walls like gophers 
 when a hawk was swooping p'ast. 
 
 By this time there were a large number of wounded horses 
 standing near the buildings. A horse gives up quickly when 
 in pain, and these made no effort to get away. Even those 
 that were at a considerable distance from the buildings when 
 they received their wounds came to us, as if seeking our help 
 and sympathy. It was a pitiable sight, and touched our hearts, 
 for the boys loved their horses. I noticed that horses that had 
 been wounded while grazing in the valley also came to the 
 buildings, where they stood helpless and bleeding or dropped 
 down and died. 
 
 "We had been pouring a pile of bullets from our stronghold, 
 and about noon were running short of ammunition. Hanrahan 
 and I decided that it was time to replenish our supply, and that 
 we would have to make a run for Rath's store, where there 
 were thousands of rounds which had been brought from Dodge 
 City for the buffalo-hunters. 
 
 "We peered cautiously outside to see if any Indians were 
 ambushed where they could get a pot shot at us. The coast 
 looked clear, so we crawled out of a window and hit the ground 
 running, running like jack-rabbits, and made it to Rath's in 
 the fastest kind of time. The Indians saw us, however, before 
 the boys could open the door, and opened at long rage. The 
 door framed a good target. I have no idea how many guns 
 
 96 
 
were cracking away at us, but I do know that bullets rattled 
 round us like hail. Providence seemed to be looking after the 
 boys at Adobe Walls that day, and we got inside without a 
 scratch, though badly winded. 
 
 "We found everybody at Rath's in good shape. We re- 
 mained here some time. Naturally, Hanrahan wanted to re- 
 turn to his own building, and he proposed that we try to make 
 our way back. There were fewer men at Rath's than at any 
 other place, and their anxiety was increased by the presence 
 of a woman, Mrs. Olds. If the latter fact should be learned 
 by the Indians there was no telling what they might attempt, 
 and a determined attack by the Indians would have meant death 
 for everybody in the store, for none would have suffered them- 
 selves to be taken alive nor permitted Mrs. Olds to be captured. 
 "The boys begged me to stay with them. Hanrahan finally 
 said that he was going back to his own place, telling me that I 
 could do as I thought best. Putting most of his ammunition 
 into a sack, we opened the door quickly for him, and away he 
 went, doing his level best all the way to his saloon, which he 
 reached without mishap. 
 
 "In the restaurant part of Rath's store, a transom had been 
 cut over the west door; this transom was open, as no glass had 
 even been put in. This door had been strongly barricaded with 
 sacks of flour and grain, one of the best breastworks imagin- 
 able, the Indians having no guns that could shoot through it. 
 
 "Climbing to the top of this barricade, to take a good look 
 over the ground west of the building, I saw an object crawling 
 along in the edge of the tall grass. Levelling my gun, and 
 taking aim with my body resting on one knee, I fired. The re- 
 coil was so great that I lost my balance and tumbled backward 
 from the top of the barricade. As I went down I struck and 
 dislodged a washtub and a bushel or two of cooking utensils 
 which made a terrific crash as they struck the floor around me. 
 I fell heavily myself, and the tumbling down of my big '50' did 
 not lessen the uproar. The commotion startled everybody. The 
 boys rushed forward believing that I had been shot, even kill- 
 ed. I found it quite difficult to convince them that I had not 
 been shot, and that most of the noise had been caused by the 
 tub and the tin pans. 
 
 "I was greatly interested in the object I had shot at, so I 
 crawled up on the sacks again. By looking closely, I was able 
 to see the object move. I now fired a second time, and was 
 provoked at seeing the bullet kick up the dirt just beyond the 
 object. I tried the third time and made a center shot. 
 
 "By 2 o'clock the Indians had fallen back to the foot of the 
 hills and were firing only at intervals. They had divided their 
 force, putting part on the west side and part on the east side of 
 the buildings. Warriors were riding more or less constantly 
 across the valley from one side to the other, which exposed 
 them to our fire. So we began picking them off. They were 
 soon riding in a much bigger circle, and out of range. 
 
 "This lull in the fighting was filled with a kind of disturb- 
 ing uncertainty. Since early morning, we had been able to 
 hold the enemy at bay. We were confident that we could con- 
 tinue to do so as long as we had ammunition. We thanked our 
 stars that we were behind thick adobe walls, instead of thin 
 
 97 
 
pine boards. We could not have saved ourselves had the 
 buildings been frame, such as were commonly built in frontier 
 towns in those days. Still, there was no telling how desperate 
 the Indians might become, rather than abandon the fight; it- 
 was easily possible for them to overwhelm us with the brute 
 force of superior numbers by pressing the attack until they had 
 broken down the doors, and which probably would have been at- 
 tempted, however great the individual sacrifice, had the enemy 
 been white men. Luckily, it was impossible to set the adobes 
 on fire, oi; else we should have been burned alive. 
 
 "About 4 o'clock in the afternoon a young fellow at Hanra- 
 han's 'Bermuda' Carlisle, ventured out to pick up an Indian 
 trinket which he could see from the window. As he was not 
 shot at, he went out a second time, whereupon others began go- 
 ing out, all eager to find relics. For the first time, we now 
 heard of the death of Billy Tyler at Leonard & Myer's. Tyler 
 had been killed at the beginning of the fight, as had the Shad- 
 lers. 
 
 "When I saw that it was possible to leave the buildings 
 with reasonable safety, I determined to satisfy my curiosity 
 about three things. 
 
 "An iron-gray horse had been standing for hours not far 
 from the south window of Hanrahan's saloon. I could not un- 
 derstand what had held him so long, before he was finally 
 shot by the Indians themselves. When I reached the carcass, 
 the mystery was clear- — there lay a dead warrior who had fallen 
 in such a way as to make fast the rope that held the horse. The 
 horse wore a silver-mounted bridle. With a buffalo bone I 
 pried open the stiffened jaws and removed the bridle, also tak- 
 ing the rawhide lariat. 
 
 "On one of the reins, about ten inches from the bit, was 
 fastened a scalp, which evidently had been taken from the 
 head of a white woman, the hair being dark brown in color and 
 about fifteen inches in length. The scalp was lined with cloth 
 and edged with beads. Several other scalps were found that 
 day. One was on a war shield. 
 
 "My attention likewise had been attracted by an object at 
 the rear of the little sod house west of Rath's store. We had 
 fired at it over and over until we had cut a gap in the corner of 
 the sod house. The object finally had disappeared from sight. 
 For a considerable time we had seen feathers whipping round 
 the corner in the wind, and had thought that probably three 
 or four Indians were concealed there. Every time I had turn- 
 ed loose my big '50' I had torn out a chunk of sod. 
 
 "When I reached the sod house, I was startled at what I 
 saw. There sat a painted and feathered warrior in a perfect- 
 ly upright position with his legs crossed and his head turned 
 to one side in the most natural way imaginable. His neck was 
 broken and he was as dead as they, ever made 'em. I am 
 bound to admit that I jumped back, fearful that he was alive 
 and would bore me through and through before I could pull 
 down on him. 
 
 "What we had been shooting at so frequently was the dead 
 
 . warrior's lance, which was covered with webbing and adorned 
 
 with black feathers at intervals of every five or six inches. The 
 
 lance had been stuck upright in the ground, and had been shot 
 
iin two, wTiicTi caused tlie feathers to disappear — the upper part 
 •had doubled over across the dead Indian's legs. I added the 
 lance to my 'prizes of war.' 
 
 "The object that I had seen crawling along the edge of the 
 tall grass was the third that demanded my attention. I found 
 a dead Indian lying flat on his stomach. He was naked, save 
 for a white cloth wrapped round his hips. His six-shooter was 
 in his belt. The Indian had been shot through the body, and 
 tone knee had been shattered. I could plainly see the trail he 
 had made by the blood on the grass. A short distance away 
 lay a shot pouch and a powder horn ; these were about fifteen 
 army cartridges in the pouch. A few steps further, was his 
 50-caliber needle gun, an army Springfield. Next, were his 
 bow and his quiver. I confiscated the whole outfit. 
 
 "There were several dogs at the Walls, but all of them cut 
 for tall timber when the fighting began and did not show up 
 for several days. All our horses were killed or run off. The 
 five horses that had been left in the stockade were quickly 
 shot down, the Indians poking their guns between the cotton- 
 wood pickets. Four head tied to a wagon near Rath's were 
 •cruelly killed. I saw the Indians when they first rode up and 
 tried to cut the rope with a butcher knife. One was a gray 
 mare that was notorious for her vicious kicking. She would 
 not let the Indians approach her, so all were shot. My own 
 saddle horse, which I had owned for years and highly prized, 
 was among the first tb be shot, and still lay tied to the wagon 
 when I found him. 
 
 "The Indians were not without military strategy. They 
 had planned to put every man of us afoot, thereby leaving us 
 without means of escape and powerless to send for aid save as 
 some messenger might steal away in the darkness, to traverse 
 on foot the weary distance and the dangerous and inhospitable 
 region that lay between us and Dodge City. By holding us con- 
 stantly at bay and keeping fresh detachments of warriors rally- 
 ing to the attack they probably thought it possible to exhaust 
 our strength, and then overwhelm us. It should be remember- 
 ed that Adobe Walls was scarcely more than a lone island in 
 the vast sea of the Plains, a solitary refuge uncharted and prac- 
 tically unknown. For the time we were at the end of the 
 world, our desperate extremity pressing heavily upon us, and 
 our friends and comrades to the north ignorant of what was 
 taking place. 
 
 "Despite the utmost efforts of our savage foes to carry 
 away their dead and wounded, thirteen dead Indians were left 
 on the ground near the buildings, so closely under the muz- 
 zles of our guns that it would have been suicide for their com- 
 rades to have attempted their recovery. By the time we had 
 buried our three comrades, darkness had come, and we aban- 
 doned further outside work and returned to the protection of 
 the buildings, completely exhausted by the strain and excite- 
 ment of the day's fighting. 
 
 "What we had experienced ate into a man's nerves. I 
 doubt if any of us slept soundly that June night. Somewhere 
 out there in the darkness our enemies were watching to see that 
 nobody escaped from the beleagured adobe buildings. Inas- 
 much as Indians rarely, if ever, attack at night, preferring the 
 
 99 
 
.'Shadows of early morning when sleep is soundest, and when 
 there is less chance of their being ambushed, we felt reason- 
 ably certain of not being attacked before daybreak. As for 
 myself I dreamed all night, the bloody scenes of the day pass- 
 ing in endless procession through my mind — I could see the 
 Indians charging across the valley, hear the roar of the guns 
 and the blood-curdling war-whoops, until everything was a be- 
 wildering swirl of fantastic colors and movements. 
 
 "All my comrades at Adobe Walls that day showed much 
 courage. It is with pride that I can recall its many incidents 
 without the feeling that there was the slightest inclination on 
 the part of any man to show the 'white feather.* To be nerv- 
 ous or fearful of death is no sign of weakness — sticking at 
 one's post and doing the thing that is to be done is what counts. 
 " 'Bat' Masterson should be remembered for the valor that 
 marked his conduct. He was a good shot, and not afraid. He 
 has worked his way up in the world, and has long been a suc- 
 cessful writer for a New York newspaper. He was sheriff of 
 Ford county, Kansas, at Dodge City, in 1876-77. It has always 
 seemed strange to me that finally he should prefer life in a big 
 city, after having lived in the west. I have been told tliat he 
 has said that he had no wish again to live over those old days, 
 that they no longer appealed to him, but I never believed it. 
 Such a thing is contrary to human nature. ('Bat' died in New 
 York, October, 1921.) 
 
 "Our situation looked rather gloomy. With every horse 
 dead or captured, we felt pretty sore all round. The Indians 
 were somewhere close at hand, watching our every movement. 
 We were depressed with the melancholy feeling that probably 
 all the hunters out in the camps had been killed. Late that 
 afternoon our spirits leaped up when we saw a team coming up 
 the valley from the direction of the Canadian. This outfit be- 
 longed to George Bellfield, a German who had been a soldier in 
 the Civil War. 
 
 "A black flag was fiyng from one of the buildings, and 
 when Bellfield and his companions saw it they thought we 
 were playing some kind of joke on them. In broken English 
 Bellfield remarked to his men, 'Dem fellers tink day's damn 
 smart, alretty.' But when he drew nearer and began seeing 
 the dead horses, he put the whip to his team and came in at a 
 dead run. 
 
 "When asked if they had been attacked by Indians, Bell- 
 field and his men said that they had not seen a sign of one. 
 That same day Jim and ^ob Cator came in from their camp 
 north of Adobe Walls. (We knew the Cators. Jim Cator is 
 still living at his old ranch, on the Palo Duro, about twenty 
 miles from Spearman in the Pan Handle, 1921.) 
 
 "On the third day a party of about fifteen Indians appeared 
 on the side of the bluff, east of Adobe Walls Creek, and some 
 of the boys suggested that I try my big '50' on them. The 
 distance was not far from three-fourths of a mile. A number 
 of exaggerated accounts have been written about this incident. 
 I took careful aim and pulled the trigger. We saw an Indian 
 fall from his horse. The others dashed out of sight behind a 
 clump of timber. A few moments later two Indians ran quick- 
 ly on foot to where the dead Indian lay, seized his body and 
 
 100 
 
scurried to cover. They liad risked tlieir lives, as we had 
 frequently observed, to rescue a comrade who, might be not 
 only wounded but dead. I was admittedly a good marksman, 
 yet this was what might be called a 'scratch' shot. 
 
 "More hunters came in on the third day, and as news of 
 the Indian outbreak spread from camp to camp the boys were 
 soon coming in like blackbirds from all directions — and they 
 lost no time making the trip. By the sixth day there were 
 fully a hundred men at the Walls, which may have given rise 
 to the statement so frequently made in after years that all 
 these men were in the fight. 
 
 "The lone woman who was at Adobe Walls, Mrs. Olds, was 
 as brave as the bravest. She knew only too well how horrible 
 Tier fate would be if she should fall into the hands of the In- 
 dians, and under such circumstances it would have caused no 
 surprise had she gone into the wildest hysterics. But all that 
 first day, when the hand of death seemed to be reaching from 
 <every direction, this pioneer woman was cool and composed and 
 lent a helping hand in every emergency. 
 
 "By the fifth day enough hunters had arrived to make us 
 feel comparatively safe, yet it was expedient that we should 
 protect ourselves as fully as possible, so the men began fortify- 
 ing the buildings. None of them had been finished, nor had 
 any port-holes been cut in the walls. Our shooting was done 
 from the windows and transoms. With portholes we could 
 have killed many more Indians. A little inclosure with sod 
 walls was now built on top of Rath's store, and another on top 
 of Myer's for lookouts. A ladder led from the inside to these 
 lookouts. 
 
 "On the fifth day William Olds was stationed in the lookout 
 on Rath's store, to watch for Indians while the other men were 
 at work. The lookout on the other buildings shouted that In- 
 dians were coming, and all of us ran for our guns and for shel- 
 ter inside the buildings. Just as I entered Rath's store I saw 
 Olds coming down the ladder with his gun in his hand. A 
 moment later his gun went off accidentally, tearing off the top 
 of Olds' head. At the same instant Mrs. Olds rushed from an 
 adjoining room — in time to see the body of her husband roll 
 from the ladder and crumple at her feet, a torrent of blood 
 gushing from the terrible wound. Olds died instantly. Glad- 
 ly would I have faced all the Indians from the Cimarron to Red 
 River, rather than have witnessed this terrible scene. It seem- 
 ed to me that it would have been better for any other man there 
 to have been taken than the husband of the only woman among 
 us. Her grief was intense and pitiable. A rough lot of men, 
 such as we were, did not know how to comfort a woman in such 
 distress. We did the best we could, and if we did it awkward- 
 ly, it should not be set down against us. Had we been called 
 upon to fight for her, we would not have asked about the odds, 
 hut would have sailed in, tooth and toe-nail. When we tried 
 to speak to her we just choked up and stood still. We buried 
 Olds that same evening, about sixty feet from the spot where 
 lie was killed, just southeast of Rath's store. 
 
 "The Indians that had caused the alarm numbered between 
 twenty-five and thirty, and were up the valley of Adobe Walls 
 Creek headed east. Finally, they disappeared, and we did not 
 
 m 
 
see them again. They may not have belonged to the attacking 
 party, and were merely passing through the country. 
 
 "I always regretted that I did not keep the relics I picked 
 up at Adobe Walls. Mrs. Olds asked me for the lance when I 
 returned to the building, and I gave it to her. The other relics 
 I took to Dodge City, and gave them away to first one person 
 and then another." 
 
 BUFFALO WALLOW FIGHT. 
 By Billy Dixon. 
 
 "The most perilous adventure of my life occurred Septem- 
 ber 12, 1874, in what was known as the Buffalo Wallow Fight. 
 My escape from death was miraculous. The year 1874, as the 
 reader doubtless may have observed, brought me full measure 
 of things I had dreamed of doing when a boy. I came in con- 
 tact with hostile Indians as frequently as the most devoted 
 warrior might wish, and found that it was serious business. 
 
 "On September 10, 3 874, General Nelson A. Miles, in com- 
 mand of the troops campaigning against the Indians in the 
 Southwest, was on McClellan Creek, in the Panhandle, when he 
 ordered Amos Chapman and myself, scouts, and four enlisted 
 men to carry dispatches to Fort Supply. The enlisted men 
 were Sergeant Z. T. Woodhull, Troop I; Private Peter Rath, 
 Troop A.; Private John Harrington, Troop H; and Private 
 George W. Smith, Troop M, Sixth Cavalry. When General 
 Miles handed us the dispatches, he told us that we could have 
 all the soldiers we thought necessary. His command was 
 short of rations. We preferred the smallest possible number. 
 
 (Charley Seringo says he knows Amos Chapman v/ho is 
 still living. He says. "I have known Amos Chapman since 1877, 
 the man who lost a leg in the Buffalo Wallow fight." (I have a 
 letter from Mrs. Olive Dixon, the widow of Billy Dixon, in 
 which she states that Chapman is the only survivor of that 
 battle and she and others interested, are this fall, 1921, en- 
 deavoring to get Amos over from Oklahoma, with the view of 
 having him point out the exact location of that battle, as they 
 want to mark it with a monument.) Seringo continues: "He 
 told me all about the scrap and I often hear of him. A few 
 year^ ago one of his half breed daughters committed suicide by 
 jumping in the river because her father wouldn't let her marry 
 an Indian Buck." Charley Shideler also knew Chapman and 
 writes me, "This Amos Chapman spoken of, I recollect was a 
 Squaw Man ( a white man who marries an Indian woman), and 
 lived near Fort Cantonment, and through his right as a squaw 
 man, the Dickey Brothers were permitted to put their herd in 
 the Indian Territory." (The Dickey outfit was the company 
 that Charley and I worked for in the San Luis Valley, Colorado, 
 and Charley Plowman was their Foreman in the Indian Terri- 
 tory.) Charley continues and says, "I think it was in the 
 spring of '79, the year after the Sioux Indians were taken to the 
 territory. They kept trying to go back and word came that 
 thirty or forty of them started and were determined to return 
 to their old reservation. Chapman, with a squad of soldiers, 
 was detailed to bring them back. The second day out Chap- 
 man heard of them six or eight miles off the trail, about forty 
 of them with one squaw, doing the death dance and circling 
 
 102 
 
around the squaw. He rode up and marched them back to the 
 Fort without the aid of a single soldier." It is said that Chap- 
 man married the daughter of one of the chiefs who attacked 
 and came near wiping out Chapman and Billy Dixon and the 
 others at the Buffalo Wallow fight.) 
 
 (Amos Chapman is still living November 15, 1921. Charley 
 Shideler knew him, he was a squaw man — he married into one 
 of the Tribe that staged this fight.) 
 
 "Leaving camp, we traveled mostly at night, resting in 
 secluded places during the day. War parties were moving in 
 every direction, and there was danger of attack at every turn. 
 On the second day, just as the sun was rising, we were nearing 
 a divide between the Washita River and Gageby Creek. Rid- 
 ing to the top of a little knoll, we found ourselves almost face 
 to face with a large band of Kiowa and Comanche warriors. The 
 Indians s.iw us at the same instant and, circling quickly, sur- 
 rounded us. We were in a trap. We knew that the best 
 thing to do was to make a stand and fight for our lives, as there 
 would be great danger of our becoming separated in the ex- 
 citement of a running fight, after which the Indians could the 
 more easily kill us one by one. We also realized that we could 
 do better- work on foot, so we dismounted and placed our horses 
 in the care of George Smith. In a moment or two poor Smith 
 was shot down, and the horses stampeded. 
 
 "When Smith was shot, he fell flat on his stomach, and his 
 gun fell from his hand, far beyond his reach. But no Indian 
 was ever able to capture that gun; if one ventured near Smith, 
 we never failed to bring him down. We thought Smith was 
 dead when he fell, but he survived until about 11 o'clock that 
 night. 
 
 "I realized at once that I was in closer quarters than I had 
 ever been in my life, and I have always felt that I did some 
 good work that day. I was fortunate enough not to become 
 disabled at any stage of the fight, which left me free to do my 
 best under the circumstances. I received one wound — a bul- 
 let in the calf of my leg. I was wearing a thin cashmere shirt, 
 slightly bloused. This shirt was literally riddled with bul- 
 lets. How a man could be shot at so many times at close range 
 and not be hit I could never understand. The Indians seemed 
 to feel absolutely sure of getting us, so sure, in fact, that they 
 delayed riding us down and killing us at once, which they could 
 easily have done, and prolonged the early stages of the fight 
 merely to satisfy their desire to toy with an enemy at bay, as a 
 cat would play with a mouse before taking its life. 
 
 "We saw that there was no show for us to survive on this 
 little hillside, and decided that our best fighting ground was a 
 small mesquite flat several hundred yards distant. Before we 
 undertook to shift our position a bullet struck Amos Chapman. 
 I was looking at him when he was shot. Amos said, 'Billy, I 
 am hit at last,' and eased himself down. The fight was so hot 
 that I did not have time to ask him how badly he was hurt. 
 Every man, save Rath and myself, had been wounded. Our 
 situation was growing more desperate every minute. I knew 
 that something had to be done, and quickly, or else all of us in 
 a short while would be dead or in the hands of the Indians, 
 
 103 
 
who would torture us in the most inhuman manner before tak- 
 ing our lives. 
 
 "I could see where the buffaloes had pawed and wallowed 
 a depression, commonly called a buffalo 'wallow,' and I ran for 
 it at top speed. It seemed as if a bullet whizzed past me at 
 every jump, but I got through unharmed. The wallow was 
 about ten feet in diameter. I found that its depth, though 
 slight, afforded some protection. I shouted to my comrades 
 to try to come to me, which all of them save Smith and Chap- 
 man, commenced trying to do. As each man reached the wal- 
 low, he drew his butcher knife and began digging desperately 
 with knife and hands to throw up the dirt round the sides. The 
 land happened to be sandy, and we made good headway, though 
 constantly interrupted by the necessity of firing at the Indians: 
 as they dashed within range, 
 
 "It was probably about noon before we reached the wal- 
 low. Many times that terrible day did I think that my last 
 moment was at hand. Once, when the Indians were crowding 
 us awfully hard, one of the boys raised up and yelled, 'No use, 
 boys, no use; we might as well give it up.' We answered by 
 shouting to him to lie down. At that moment a bullet struck 
 in the soft bank near him and completely filled his mouth with 
 dirt. I was so amused that I laughed, though in a rather sick- 
 ly way, for none of us felt much like laughing. 
 
 "By this time, however, I had recovered from the first ex- 
 citement of battle, and was perfectly cool, as were the rest of 
 the men. We were keenly aware that the only thing to do was 
 to sell our lives as dearly as possible. We fired deliberately, 
 taking good aim, and were picking off an Indian at almost every 
 round. The wounded men conducted themselves admirably, 
 and greatly assisted in concealing our crippled condition by 
 sitting upright, as if unhurt, after they reached the wallow. 
 This made it impossible for the Indians accurately to guess 
 what plight we were in. Had they known so many of us were 
 wounded undoubtedly they would have rode in and finished us. 
 
 "After all had reached the wallow, with the exception of 
 Chapman and Smith, all of us thinking that Smith was dead, 
 somebody called to Chapman to come on in. We now learned 
 for the first time that Chapman's leg was broken. He called 
 back that he could not walk, as his left knee was shattered. 
 
 "I made several efforts to reach him before I succeeded. 
 Every time the Indians saw me start, they would fire such a 
 volley that I was forced to retreat, until finally I made a run 
 and got to Chapman. I told him to climb on my back, my plan 
 being to carry him as I would a little child. Drawing both 
 his legs in front of me, and laying the broken one over the 
 sound one, to support it, I carried him to the wallow, though 
 not without difficulty, as he was a larger man than myself, and 
 his body a dead weight. It taxed my strength to carry him. 
 
 "We were now all in the wallow, except Smith, and we felt 
 that it would be foolish and useless to risk our lives in attempt- 
 ing to bring in his dead body. We had not seen him move 
 since the moment he went down. We began digging like goph- 
 ers with our hands and knives to make our little wall of earth 
 higher, and shortly had heaped up quite a little wall of dirt a- 
 
 104 
 
round us. Its protecttion was quickly felt, even though our 
 danger was hardly lessened. 
 
 When I look back and recall our situation, I always find my- 
 self thinking of how my wounded companions never complain- 
 ed nor faltered, but fought as bravely as if a bullet had not 
 touched them. Sometimes the Indians would ride towards us 
 at headlong speed with lances uplifted and poised, undoubt- 
 edly bent upon spearing us. Such moments made a man brace 
 himself and grip his gun. Fortunately, we were able to keep 
 our heads and to bring down or disable the leader. Such 
 charges proved highly dangerous to the Indians and gradually 
 grew less frequent. 
 
 "Thus, all that long, hot September day the Indians circl- 
 ed around us or dashed past, yelling and cutting all kinds of 
 capers. All morning we had, been without water, and the 
 wounded were sorely in need of it. In the stress and excite- 
 ment of such an encounter, even a man who has not been hurt 
 grows painfully thirsty, and his tongue and lips are soon as 
 dry as a whetstone. Ours was the courage of despair. We 
 knew what would befall us if we should be captured alive — we 
 had seen too many naked and mangled bodies of white men 
 who had been spread-eagled and tortured with steel and fire to 
 forget what our own fate would be. So we were determined 
 to fight to the end, not unmindful of the fact that every once 
 in a while there was another dead or wounded Indian, 
 
 "About 3 o'clock a black cloud came up in the west, and in 
 a short time the sky shook and blazed with thunder and light- 
 ning. Rain fell in blinding sheets, drenching us to the skin. 
 Water gathered quickly in the buffalo wallow, and our wound- 
 ed men eagerly bent forward and drank from the muddy pool. 
 It was more than muddy — that water was red with their own 
 blood that had flowed from their wounds and lay clotting and 
 dry in the hot September sun. 
 
 "The storm and the rain proved our salvation. The wind 
 had shifted to the north and was now drearily chilling us to 
 the bone. An Indian dislikes rain, especially a cold rain, and 
 these Kiowas and Comanches were no exception to the rule. 
 We could see them in groups out of rifle range sitting on their 
 horses with their blankets drawn tightly around them. The 
 Plains country beats the world for quick changes in weather, 
 and in less than an hour after the rain had fallen, the wind 
 was bitterly cold. Not a man in our crowd had a coat, and 
 our thin shirts were scant protection. Our coats were tied 
 behind our saddles when our horses stampeded, and were lost 
 beyond recovery. I was heart-sick over the loss of my coat, 
 for in the inside pocket was my dearest treasure, my mother's 
 picture, which my father had given me shortly before his death. 
 I was never able to recover it. 
 
 "The water was gathering rapidly in the wallow and soon 
 had reached a depth of two inches. Not a man murmured. Not 
 one thought of surrender. The wounded were shivering as 
 if they had ague. 
 
 "We now found that our ammunition was running low. 
 This fact rather appalled us, as bullets, and plenty of them, 
 were our only protection. At the fight at the Walls, not only 
 was there plenty of ammunition, but the buildings themselves 
 
 105 
 
gave confidence. Necessity compelled us to save every cart- 
 ridge as long as possible, and not to fire at an Indian unless we 
 could see that he meant business and was coming right into us. 
 "Late in the afternoon somebody suggested that we go out 
 and get Smith's belt and six-shooter, as he had been shot early 
 in the fight and his belt undoutbedly was loaded with cart- 
 ridges. 
 
 "Rath offered to go, and soon returned and said that Smith 
 was still alive, which astonished us greatly, as well as causing 
 us to regret that we had not known it earlier in the day. Rath 
 and I at once got ready to bring Smith to the buffalo wallow. 
 By supporting the poor wounded fellow between us, he manag- 
 ed to walk. We could see that there was no chance for him. 
 He was shot through the left lung and when he breathed the 
 wind sobbed out of his back under the shoulder blade. Near 
 the wallow an Indian had dropped a stout willow switch with 
 which he had been whipping his pony. With this switch a 
 silk handkerchief was stuffed into the gaping bullet hole in 
 Smith's back. 
 
 "Night was approaching, and it looked blacker to me than 
 any night I had ever seen. Ours was a forlorn and disheart- 
 ening situation. The Indians were still all around us. The 
 nearest relief was seventy-five miles away. Of the six men in 
 the wallow, four were badly wounded, and without anything 
 to relieve their suffering. We were cold and hungry, with 
 nothing to eat, and without a blanket, coat or hat to protect us 
 from the rain and the biting wind. It was impossible to rest 
 or sleep in the two inches of water in the wallow. 
 
 "I remember- that I threw my hat, a wide-brimmed som- 
 brero, as far from me as I could when our horses stampeded — 
 the hat was in my way and too good a target for the Indians to 
 shoot at. 
 
 "We were unable to get grass for bedding, as the whole 
 country had been burnt off by the Indians. It was absolutely 
 necessary, however, that the men should have some kind of bed 
 to keep them off the cold, damp ground. Rath and I solved the 
 problem by gathering tumble-weeds which in that country the 
 wind would drive for miles and miles, until the weeds lodged 
 and became fast. Many of them were bigger than a bushel 
 basket, and their twigs so tough that the weeds had the 
 'spring' of a wire mattress. We crushed the weeds, and lay 
 down on them for the night, though not a man dared close his 
 eyes in sleep. 
 
 "By the time heavy darkness had fallen every Indian had 
 disappeared. Happily, they did not return to molest us dur- 
 ing the night. There was a new moon, but so small and 
 slender that in the clouded sky there was little light. While 
 there was still light, I took the willow switch and sat down on 
 the bank and carefully cleaned every gun. 
 
 "While I was cleaning the guns, we held a consultation to 
 decide what would be best for us to do. We agreed that some- 
 body should go for help. No journey could have been beset 
 with greater danger. Rath and I both offered to go. The task 
 was squarely up to us, as all the other men were injured. I 
 insisted that I should go, as I knew the country, and felt con- 
 
 106 
 
fident that I could find the trail that led to Camp Supply. I 
 was sure that we were not far from this trail. 
 
 "My insistence at once caused protest from the wounded. 
 They were willing that Rath should go, but would not listen to 
 my leaving them. Once I put my hand on my gun with the in- 
 tention of going anyway, then yielded to their wishes against 
 my better judgment, and decided to remain through the night. 
 The wounded men relied greatly upon my skill as a marksman. 
 
 "Bidding us goodbye, Rath disappeared in the darkness. 
 After he had been gone about two hours he came back, saying 
 that he could not find the trail. 
 
 "By this time Smith had grown much worse and was beg- 
 ging us in piteous tones to shoot him and put an end to his ter- 
 rible sufferings. We found it necessary to watch him closely 
 to prevent his committing suicide. 
 
 "There was not a man among us who had not thought of 
 that same melancholy fate. When the fight was at its worst, 
 with the Indians closing in on all sides, and when it seemed 
 that every minute would be our last, I was strongly tempted to 
 take my butcher knife, which I kept at razor edge, and cut off 
 my hair. In those days my hair was black and heavy and 
 brushed my shoulders. As a matter of fact, I was rather 
 proud of my hair. Its luxuriance would have tempted any 
 Indian to scalp me at the first opportunity. I had a further 
 and final plan — ;to save my last bullet for self destruction. 
 
 "Poor Smith endured his agony like a brave soldier. Our 
 hearts ached but we could do nothing to relieve his pain. A- 
 bout 10 o'clock that night he fell asleep and we were glad of it, 
 for in sleep he could forget his sufferings. Later in the night 
 one of the boys felt of him, to see how he was getting along. 
 He was cold in death. Men commonly think of death as some- 
 thing to be shunned. There are times, however, when its 
 hand falls as tenderly as the touch of a mother's hand, and 
 when its coming is welcomed by those to whom hopeless suf- 
 fering has brought the last bitter dregs of life. We lifted the 
 body of our dead comrade and gently laid it outside the buffalo 
 wallow on the mesquite grass, covering the white face with a 
 silk handkerchief. 
 
 "Then the rest of us huddled together on the damp ground, 
 and thought of the morrow. That night is indelibly stamped 
 in my memory; many a time have its perils filled my dreams, 
 until I awoke startled and thrilled by a feeling of imminent 
 danger. Every night the same stars are shining way out 
 there in the Panhandle, the winds sigh as mournfully as they 
 did then, and I often wonder if a single settler who passes the 
 lonely spot knows how desperately six men once battled for 
 their lives where now may be plowed fields, and safety and the 
 comforts of civilizaton. 
 
 "Like everything else, the long night finally came to an 
 end, and the sun rose clear and warm next morning. By this 
 time all the men were willing that I should go for help, and I 
 at once started. Daylight exposed me to many dangers from 
 which the night shielded me. By moving cautiously at night. 
 It was possible to avoid the enemy, but if surprised, to stand a 
 good chance of escape. In the daytime, however, the enemy 
 could lie in hiding and scan the country in every direction. On 
 
 107 
 
the Plains, especially in the fall when the grass is brown, the 
 smallest moving object may be perceived by the trained eye at 
 an astonishingly long distance. I knew that I must proceed 
 with utmost caution, lest I fall into an ambush or be attacked 
 in the open by superior numbers. 
 
 "I had traveled scarcely more than half a mile when I 
 struck the plain trail leading to Camp Supply. Hurrying a- 
 long as rapidly as possible and keeping a constant lookout for 
 Indians, I checked myself at the sudden sight of an outfit that 
 seemed to cover about an acre of ground, two miles or so to the 
 northwest. The outfit at first did not appear to be moving and 
 I could not tell whether it was made up of white men or In- 
 dians. I skulled to a growth of tall grass and hid for a while. 
 My nerves were too keen to endure hiding and waitng, so I stole 
 back and took another look. The outfit was moving toward 
 me. Shortly I was able to see that they were troops — Indians al- 
 ways traveled strung out in a line, while these were traveling 
 abreast. 
 
 "I never felt happier in my life. I whanged loose with 
 my old '50' to attract the attention of the soldiers, and saw the 
 whole command come to a halt. I fired my gun a second time, 
 which brought two soldiers to me. I told them of our condi- 
 tion, and they rode rapidly back to the command and reported. 
 The commanding officer was Major Price, with a troop, ac- 
 companying General Miles' supply train which was on its way 
 with supplies from Fort Supply to field headquarters. 
 
 "The same Indians that we had been fighting had been 
 holding this supply train corralled for four days near the 
 Washita River. Major Price, luckily for the outfit, happened 
 along and raised the siege. The Indians had just given up the 
 attack when we ran into them. 
 
 "Major Price rode over to where I was waiting, bringing 
 his army surgeon with him. I described the condition of my 
 comrades, after which Major Price sent the surgeon and two 
 soldiers to see what could be done for the wounded. I point- 
 ed out the place, which was about a mile distant, and asked 
 the surgeon if he thought he could find it without my going 
 along, as Major Price wanted me to tell him about the fight. 
 The surgeon said that he could and rode away. 
 
 "I was describing in detail all that had happened when I 
 looked up and saw that the refief party was bearing too far 
 south. I fired my gun to attract their attention, and then wav- 
 ed it in the direction which they were to go. By this time 
 they were within gunshot of my comrades in the buffalo wal- 
 low. To my utter astonishment, I heard the roar of a gun and 
 saw a puff of smoke rise from the wallow — one of the men had 
 fired at the approaching strangers, killing a horse ridden by 
 one of the soldiers. 
 
 "I ran forward as rapidly as possible, not knowing what 
 the men would do next. 'They were soon able to recognize me, 
 and lowered their guns. When we got to them the men said 
 that they had heard shooting — the shots I had fired to attract 
 the attention of the troops — and supposed that the Indians had 
 killed me and were coming for them. They were determined 
 to take no chances, and shot at the surgeon and the two sol- 
 diers the moment they got within range. 
 
 108 
 
"Despite tTie sad pligTit of the wounded men, about all the 
 surgeon did was to examine their injuries. The soldiers turn- 
 ■Bd over a few pieces of hardtack and some dried beef, which 
 happened to be tied behind their saddles. Major Price refused 
 "to leave any men with us. Por this he was afterwards severe- 
 ly censured, and justly. He would not even provide us with 
 lirearms. Our own ammunition was exhausted and the sol- 
 diers carried guns of different make and caliber from ours. 
 However, they said they would let General Miles know of our 
 condition. We were sure that help would come the moment 
 General Miles heard the news. At the time we were glad just 
 to have seen these men and did not think much about how they 
 treated us. 
 
 "We watched and waited until midnight of the second day 
 after the troops had passed before help came. A long way off 
 in the dark we heard the faint sound of a bugle. It made us 
 swallow a big lump in our throats and bite our lips. Nearer 
 and clearer came the bugle notes. Our nerves were getting 
 'jumpy,' so strong was our emotion. We fired our guns, to let 
 them know where we were, and soon the soldiers came riding 
 out of the darkness. 
 
 "As soon as the wounded could be turned over to the sur- 
 geon, we placed the body of our dead comrade in the wallow 
 where we had all fought and suffered together, and covered it 
 with the dirt which we had ridged up with our hands and 
 butcher knives for breastworks. Then we went down on the 
 creek where the soldiers had built a big fire and cooked a meal 
 for us. 
 
 "Next day the wounded were sent to Camp Supply where 
 they were given humane and careful treatment. Amos Chap- 
 man's leg was amputated above the knee. Amos was as tough 
 as second growth hickory and was soon out of the hospital and 
 in the saddle. All the men recovered and went right on with 
 the army. Chapman could handle a gun and ride as well as 
 ever, the only difference being that he had to mount his horse 
 from the right side, Indian fashion. 
 
 "I should like once more to meet the men with whom I 
 fought in the Buffalo Wallow Fight, but I seldom hear from 
 them. When I last heard of Amos Chapman he was living at 
 Selling, Oklahoma. My last letter from Sergeant WoodhuU 
 was dated Fort Wingate, New Mexico, 1883. This was short- 
 ly after Colonel Dodge had published his book, "Our Wild In- 
 dians," in which he attempted to give a circumstantial ac- 
 count of the Buffalo Wallow Fight. Sergeant Woodhull was 
 displeased with the statement of facts, and resented the in- 
 accuracies. 
 
 Billy Dixon, in relating his history, mentions a man by the 
 name of A. C. Myers whom he met in Dodge City in 1874, where 
 the buffalo hunters were wintering and discussing the increas- 
 ing scarcity of the buffalo. He says that Myers was at that 
 time engaged in the general merchandise business and had 
 once been a buffalo hunter and had built a smoke house on 
 Pawnee Creek where he cured buffalo hams for the eastern 
 markets. The meat was prepared for smoking by taking the 
 two hind quarters and dividing each into three chunks, which 
 made six pieces of boneless meat, about the size of an ordinary 
 
 109 
 
fiam of pork. Myers sugar eured each piece, smoked it, and 
 sewed it in canvas. This kind of buffalo meat was of the 
 choicest and commended a high price in the eastern market. 
 Only a few dealers cured their meat this way. When Sam 
 Hanna, Charley Shideler and I decided to try our luck in the 
 cattle business and locate in the Pan Handle, Charley and 
 Sam went in advance from Colorado by wagon, to locate or take 
 up ranch and range. They got as far as the Palo Duro and 
 were in camp and that night they lost their horses and they 
 had to lay up to find them. One day Charley came to a man's 
 camp on the head of the Palo Duro. The man was alone and 
 he asked Charley his business, Charley answered that he was 
 hunting his horses. The man inquired what further business 
 he had in that vicinity, Charley replied that he and his part- 
 ner were hunting a place to run some cattle. The man offered 
 to help find the horses, and saddled two ponies and started out. 
 On the way, he told Charley there was a good location further 
 down on the Palo Duro at the Newell ranch. (This was where 
 we finally squated and Newell was the man who killed the 
 young buffalo hunter for his horses and money.) 
 
 The man inquired where Charley's partner was. He told 
 him back on the trail in camp. After a day's riding they found 
 the horses and returned to camp. Charley started on towards 
 camp where the wagon was when the man called him back and 
 said, "Dog gone it, go and get your outfit and move up close to 
 my camp and stay a few days, I'm awful lonesome." They did 
 so and remained several days. This man was A. C. Myers, the 
 buffalo hunter and merchant. Hannah has just recently 
 written me of his experiences with this man, and his opinion 
 of the character of this pioneer and pathfinder, he writes in a 
 letter November 20, 1921, as follows : — 
 
 "The A. C. Myers, that Billy Dixon speaks of in his book, 
 is the same man that Charley and I met on the head of the Palo 
 Duro. He lived on the ranch that Tyler afterwards owned. 
 (Tyler, Joe Arnold, Charley Shidler and I made the drive on 
 the trail with a herd of cattle from the Trimintina in New Mex- 
 ico in 1880 or 1881). He was a prince of a good fellow and 
 a rare character in every respect. Myers built the trading 
 post at Adobe Wall?. At that time he was in business in 
 Dodge. The troopB that followed up the Indians after the 
 Adobe Walls fight destroyed all of Myers' goods and buildings 
 and it broke him financially, so that he had his creditors take 
 the Dodge store and he settled on the Palo Duro, and never 
 went back to Dodge to live. All of the cattle men were his 
 friends and one of the outfits let him have fifty good heifers 
 and two bulls for a start. I think they gave them to him, and 
 with good care he was able to sell out for a nice little stake, and 
 went to Durango, where he became a prosperous citizen. One 
 time I saw him kill eleven buffalo at one stand. We rode to- 
 gether and he told me that he killed as many as fifty buffalos 
 at one stand." 
 
 OUR LOCATION ON THE PALO DURO 
 
 Our ranch was known in the buffalo times as the Newell 
 Ranch or Place and was not of the ordinary kind. For in- 
 stance the house was not of the dug-out variety but was built 
 with fanciful and fantastic designs in mud and with a window 
 
 no 
 
a,Tid a perfectly tight dirt roof. It was truly well arranged and 
 "had all of the conveniences of the modern bungalow. For ex- 
 ample we had the flour bin under the parlor table, so that we 
 could easily unscramble the harness and saddles when we re- 
 quired flour to bake a batch of bread. What few horse hairs 
 and pieces of saddle blankets that happened to remain in the 
 flour did not affect the appetites of the fellows when the "pan" 
 (bread) was taken from the dutch oven and reached the table. 
 We were very proud of, and in fact were the only ones on the 
 creek who could aflford to have a carpet. It was composed of 
 gunny sacks laid on the dirt floor and of varying layers. When 
 the layers got too thick it was the duty of the boss housekeeper 
 to peal off the top layer, take it to the prairie and shake out 
 the "dust of ages." Our plumbing and water system was the 
 talk of the country. We did not belong to that improvident class 
 who were compelled and seemed to be contented to drink from 
 the odorous water hole. We had a well and a pump with a 
 handle and a spout and the water would splash on the ground 
 from the spout just like it would on the prairies of Indiana, 
 It's true enough the water was so alkili that one's stomach 
 would double up so that you would expect your belly band to 
 split any time of the day or night. 
 
 Most of the resident houses were of the dug-out type, and 
 we want to say some of them were truly works of design. They 
 had the advantage, if modesty and retirement was intended and 
 desired, in not being seen, as usually they were built in side a 
 steep bank, close to a water hole, there was difficulty in even 
 discovering the entrance. Paddy O'Neil, a neighbor, had 
 
 things so near at hand that he could sleep with his feet in the 
 fire place and his head in the flour hag. 
 
 This Newell Hanch had a very unsavory reputation given 
 it by the man who established it and developed it as a buffalo 
 hunting headquarters and who was a murderous outlaw and 
 used buffalo hunting as a blind. His name was Newell. 
 
 Charley Seringo has written me recently and gives me a very 
 graphic account of one of this man's dastardly deeds. He 
 says: "In '77 I put up with Newell, who had just killed a 
 young hunter by the name of Cartright, to get his money and 
 ponies, so I was told. He later drove the horses to Colorado 
 and sold them. Newell told me that he killed Cartright be- 
 cause he insulted his pretty little Spanish wife. I saw Cart- 
 right's fresh grave in a clump of hackberry trees between 
 Newells and Cators." (We never saw this grave.) Not until 
 two years ago (1919) when Jim East wrote me the facts, did I 
 know that Cartright's old mother lived for ten years in Tascosa 
 and died of a broken heart, trying to find out where her son 
 was buried. She had been told in Dodge City that he was 
 killed in the Pan Handle. I could have told her all about the 
 matter had I known of it." 
 
 We have known all of the cattle men of those times, in 
 that section — Doc Day on Wolf Creek, Slaughter on Coldwater, 
 Charles Goodnight on the Palo Duro creek. Col. Littlefield, Jack 
 Hardesty, Clay Allison, and many of the Buffalo Hunters among 
 which were the Cator brothers, just over from England 
 and good sports. Their ranch was just above us on the Palo 
 Duro- One of the bright and relieving experiences during the 
 
winter on that classic stream was the Christmas box sent from 
 ol' Indiana, from wlience everything in the food line has that 
 peculiar and familiar taste that all Hoosiers appreciate. This 
 box was filled to the brim with those wonderful fruit cakes, 
 those splendid jars of jam, and those big cans of marmalade^ 
 which Aunt Cordelia (Charley's mother) and my mother knew, 
 by their mother's love and instinct would just please the "boys; 
 out yonder." After the arrival of said box there was a gener- 
 al invitation extended to all of the friends on the creek. Among 
 the guests on that beautiful Christmas celebration were the 
 Cator boys. Bob and Jim, and their sister— the sister was the 
 only woman in that country outside of the Canadian country 
 and she sure did have a good time all the time, as the cow 
 punchers would ride for many miles in order to make their 
 calls and win a little feminine favor. She became a proficient 
 horse woman and she and her "Pinto Caballo" were familiar 
 sights up and down the Palo Duro creek country. 
 
 An old time cow puncher who knew Miss Cator and her 
 Irish maid writes me this little history and incident connected 
 with their first experience in a wild Cow Country, the Pan 
 Handle, on the Palo Duro. He says, "It does me good to hear 
 from Miss Cator." (I had written him previously that I had 
 gotten in communication with hef, and we had developed an in- 
 teresting correspondence, she living then at Bentonville, Ark.) 
 "Here is a piece of unwritten history about her: — A few weeks; 
 after her arrival from England in the Pan Handle, in the late 
 winter of '77 or the spring of '78, I stopped at the Cator Ranch- 
 over night. We were seated at the table eating supper when, 
 two pretty young women ran into the dining room all excited, 
 having just come in from a long ride horse back. One was: 
 Miss Cator and the other was the Irish lassie, whom Bob Cator 
 or Jim Cator married afterwards. They both smelled ta 
 Heaven with the odor of skunk perfume. The Irish maid said, 
 'Oh, say! We saw the prettiest little striped animal and tryed 
 to catch him. It stunk all over us.' " 
 
 We had occasion to go into Dodge once and it happened 
 that a rig drove up to the ranch one day and it proved to be a 
 buck board to which was hitched a team of mules and was in 
 charge of two of Col Littlefield's Cow Punchers. They, also, 
 were bound for Dodge. They invited me to join them. I did 
 so and we all piled in and fteaded north. On our last stage 
 before we reached Dodge we camped on Mulberry creek. This 
 place was always considered the last drive on the trail and it 
 was a magnificent cattle park, where all herds were held for a 
 few days in order to condition them, "slick them up a little,"^ 
 and gentle them preparatory to entraining them for the great 
 Metropolis. 
 
 We of course turned our mules loose that night, expecting 
 that good mules like they were supposed to be would stay close 
 to camp, but in the morning they were gone, and the next day 
 they were gone and the day following they were gone and final- 
 ly we abandoned the search and the camp and caught a ride into 
 Dodge. I have often wondered whether or not the Col. ever 
 got his mules. 
 
 The most amusing and the man that could furnish more 
 good stories than all of the cattle men was Jack Hardesty. After 
 
 112 
 
forty years I call to mind the following : Jaclc had a cook oil 
 one of the round-up? whose ways of cooking did not suit the 
 epicurean tastes of Jack, besides he despised him on general 
 principles. Realizing that he could not lick him himself he 
 hired one of the biggest cow punchers he had to undertake the 
 job. The arrangements were made and opportunity was only 
 wanting. One day at dinner while the cook was stooped over 
 fixing the Dutch Oven full of dough the hired fighter came 
 into camp and walked up to the Dutch Oven and kicked it over, 
 
 and said, *'What the H you got there." The cook raised 
 
 up with his trusty club, which he always seemed to have near, 
 and said, "Bread you cayote," and then and there knocked him 
 down. As Jack edged up to see the outcome of the fight the 
 cook pulled his gun and ran Jack behind a big cottonwood tree. 
 After that the vituals seemed unusually good to Jackie, and he 
 just loved the chef. 
 
 We have seen the killing, or rather tlie slaughter, of the 
 last herd of buffalo that was ever in the Pan Handle of Texas. 
 This occured at the crossing of the Cimmaron river, in No 
 Man's Land, where we stayed all night at a "stopping place" 
 run by Rob Ray and a man by the name of Crawford, who had 
 a part of his feet frozen off — both expert hunters ; where the 
 .squirrel whiskey would make you pitch some, and the sow belly 
 would sear your throat as it went down, and the bread would 
 sour a swill barrel, and where the imbibitory cow boys would 
 assemble, and gargle a few slugs from that old bottle behind 
 the bar, the contents and composition of which no man knew 
 "whereof he drank, but could plainly see on the lable "Old Jor- 
 dan," consequently it was all right, and where he would play 
 a little stud poker, and then as a parting night cap would hi- 
 lariously shoot out the lights and depart, leaving the ever ring- 
 ing yip as a parting memory. 
 
 In the early morning they called to us that there was a 
 herd of buffalo off seme four or five miles and to follow them, 
 not too close. They soon got within range and opened-up 
 with their big guns, killing eleven full grown buffalo. We 
 skinned them, stretched the hides and Ray took the meat to 
 Dodge and sold it. 
 
 DODGE— AS SHE WAS 
 
 We have seen Dcdge City when everything was wide open 
 and the boys were allowed as many guns on their persons as 
 they thought they needed. And, we have been there after 
 the authorities would disarm the boys when they got within 
 the city limits, and it seemed to an observing man that the kill' 
 ings did not seem to diminish much, as you know if a cow man 
 makes up his mind to "get his man" there is no stopping him. 
 I have visited Boot Hill, a cemetery at the edge of the city, 
 where there were twenty-six men buried with their boots on, 
 and no one knew just how many were buried there with their 
 boots off. We have been in the city when it was no uncom- 
 mon sight in the early morning twilight to see two or three 
 "undesirables" strung along the girders of the old wooden 
 bridge across the Arkansas River. We have seen the Red Star 
 Dance House shine for an indefinite period. We have been 
 present when some big, lumbering gambler would get " his all", 
 and some of the "svy-ops" would drag the body out to the side 
 
 113 
 
walk and the"n go" "on with the dance," and Tet "joy be uncort-' 
 fined," 
 
 We have been in Dodge when the great Earps, Bat Mas- 
 terson, Doc Holliday and many other boisterous characters 
 held forth, and at times would either clear the muddy waters 
 or rile. same. We have been at Keley's Place, on Whiskey Row, 
 where he had a big Cinnamon Bear chained to a post in front of 
 his saloon, and I have seen the boys buy the beer in order to 
 have the bear sit on his haunches, drink from a bottle, and act 
 and behave just like any other human being would by getting 
 tipse^ and quarrelsome, 
 
 I don't know that Kelly was any more of a Bandit Saloon 
 keeper than some of the rest of them, but the main idea was in 
 those days to get the cow boys' money away from him as quick- 
 ly as possible, either by overcharging him for his drinks, short 
 changing him or gambling, and sometimes by plain and broad 
 day robbery. The reason for this, aside from the gain, was 
 
 to put the boys Hors de Combat as quickly as possible and get 
 him out of town post haste. He might kill some one. A story 
 which was going the rounds, might be applicable to Kelly and 
 some of the other bandit saloonists in Dodge at that time and 
 it can be related as taking place in Kelley's joint as well as any 
 other. A young Irish lad, a Cow Boy, from some where, threw 
 a dollar on the counter and called for whiskey. Kelley set out 
 the bottle, put the dollar in the drawer and threw a quarter in 
 change on the bar. The boy took his two-bits and walked out. 
 Presently he came back and walked up to Kelley and said, "Pat, 
 do you want to buy a horse?" Pat looked at him curious and 
 replied, "No! What the devil would I do wid a horse." The 
 boy, with a twinkle in his eye, said, "Jesse James had a horse." 
 
 If the reader should care to be familiar with or would be 
 at all interested in some of the carrying ons, as pulled off at 
 Dodge in the halcyon days, I would recommend that they read 
 the "Log Of A Cow Boy," by Andy Adams, the "Sunset Trails,"' 
 by Alfred Henry Lewis, which is a truthful and fascinating 
 protrayal of the old days on the trail, the local times and in 
 towns like Dodge, Caldwell and other cow towns. 
 THE BATH AGE 
 
 On our way to the Wagon Wheel Gap in Colorado to take a 
 bath in '78, Charley and I stopped at Del Norte and stayed all 
 night with Charley's uncle, Gabriel Shideler. We also had the 
 opportunity of meeting U. S. Sen. Tom Bowen, who had just 
 come into his own by selling his mine called the "Little Annie" 
 for a large sum of money and by reason of his newly acquired 
 affluence was elected Senator for the short term, while Tabor 
 was elected for the long term. Bowen up to that time had 
 had many rocky roads to travel but when he got rich he was 
 truly grateful to all of his friends, who had supported him 
 and kept trials and tribulations from his door. About the 
 time we were there he was beginning to pay back the boys 
 whom he recollected that he owed. One night he gave a party 
 and as the most of them were hilariously inclined things were 
 moving along humorously and decorously. All at once Tom 
 grabbed one of the boys and threw him on the floor and seem- 
 ed to be fumbling at the fellows head. When he arose the fel- 
 low had a $100,00 bill stuffed in his ear. Tom took them one 
 
PUBLIC SQUARE, DEL NORTE, COLORADO. 
 
 In the Public Square of the beautiful little city of Del 
 Norte, for the convenience of any thirsty visitor is this pic- 
 turesque and artistic Well House. Inside it are two deep ar- 
 tisian u^ells, each impregnated with different minerals, salts 
 and tastes, and both of high medicinal properties. In this 
 picture, taken September, 1921, reading right to left, Mrs. Sam 
 Hanna and Sam Hanna, of Howard, Kan., Charles Shideler of 
 Rifle, Colo., 0. S. Clark, Attica, Ind., Mrs. Chas. Shideler, and 
 Miss Ruth Scott. 
 
 ns 
 
at a time and went through the same performance, one fellow 
 receiving a $1,000.00 bill in his ear. There was not a single 
 disappoint'^d person — Tom owed 'em all. 
 
 We remember a thrilling incident, at this place, in the 
 bath age, in '78. Time was going a little slow and we ran 
 across a herd of burros down on the river which needed riding, 
 we thought, Charley and I each selected a good one and 
 mounted for a little ride. They did not buck, strange, since 
 everything in that country does buck, even the hunter with his 
 first deer gets buck ague. These ancient steeds, with their 
 biblical names and apparent religious disposition, started 
 down the trail uncomparasoned and unbedecked with any 
 saddlery or bridlery raiment, and we riders were unarmed ex- 
 cept with a good size cotton wood club as a prode. The Rio 
 Grande River at that place was quite wide and Mr. Burro 
 thought they just had to cross the river in its widest place. We 
 thought so, also, we couldn't do otherwise. When we arrived 
 at the middle and the water commenced to reach our belly band, 
 our even minded and calm dispositioned mounts stopped and 
 looked at the scenery, which was really charming to an ob- 
 servant burro. I pride myself on my persuasion powers and 
 at once commenced the practice of this art and culture, for 
 the principle reason that daylight was disappearing quite fast, 
 the burros were immovable, however, and held themselves like 
 a marble statue, wiien lo! our clubs came in action. The 
 whacks echoed up the the gulchs and the welts were raised on 
 their hurricane decks, but not an inch did they give. After 
 great effort and an occasional spell of persuasion and alternate- 
 ly a spell of whacks and bad temper we commenced to yell helpT 
 Praise be a lone Cow Puncher shows up and with great speed 
 and a true eye he threw his lasso over the neck of Charley's 
 charming steed and literally pulls burro and Charley out to dry 
 land. The same process got me to "the beautiful shore" and 
 we could truly sing "what a gathering there will be." 
 
 OUR EXPERIENCES WITH THE CATTLE RUSTLERS 
 Somewhere in New Mexico the trail led into a most beauti- 
 ful vega, where the green grass was still virgin and uncropped. 
 The cattle being skin poor, it was impossible to drive them 
 through it without their continually stopping to feed, so we de- 
 cided to turn them loose and let them fill up. The boys all 
 went under the mess wagon for a little sleep and I went on the 
 wagon to keep an eye on the scattering herd. We had all of 
 us composed ourselves and were taking things easy and having 
 dreams and inspirations of happier days, when I noticed a tiny 
 speck of a dust cloud approaching. When it had arrived it 
 surrounded an old crippled wagon, hitched to two pinto cayu- 
 Res, with an angry, red faced, galvanized greaser in the front 
 seat. He was promiscuously, and unreliably, and nervously 
 pointing a big Winchester in my direction. He shouted, in 
 what I thought was a very commanding and audacious voice, 
 "Get off my land." Being in favor of the League of Nations, 
 and of a neutral disposition, I, of course, endeavored to calm 
 him with some soft voiced explanations, but he became quite 
 unruiy and so boisterous that one of the boys (Charley Shide- 
 ler) was aroused, and crawling from under the wagon, he arose, 
 half asleep, with a gun in each hand, and shouted, "Get out of 
 
 ]\6 
 
here you d , trifling greaser." He got, going down the 
 
 vega, with his gun rattling in the front end of the wagon, his 
 hat off and larraping the caballos with an old black snake. We 
 at once realized that we too had better "pull our freight", and 
 had best hit the trail again. 
 
 After a hard drive the balance of the afternoon we reached 
 a vex'y rough country through which the trail led, and being 
 late in selecting a camp site, we drove until almost dark. While 
 the cattle were strung out we noticed a slight commotion in a 
 part of the herd and upon investigating we found that five or 
 six of them were mi?sing. We figured that some fellow, with 
 help, had slipped int'. the herd and cut out five or six head and 
 the same had completely disappeared. We could do nothing 
 that night in a strange country, so we held up the herd the 
 next day and rode the country in every direction, but we could 
 not even get a trail on them. The cattle rustler was running 
 true to form, and ouv "humbre" of the vegas was richer by five 
 or six steers. 
 
 A LITTLE RECREATION IN LAS VEGAS, NEW MEX. 
 After our purchase of cattle on the Trimintena, and we 
 had started them on the trail, a couple of the boys could not 
 resist the temptation of going into Vegas for the last and best 
 highball, etc. The rest of us took the herd on, with their 
 agreement to come cut to the herd sometime during the night. 
 As was the custom, they were disarmed by the authorities as 
 they entered the cily limits of that chaste and at that time 
 supposed to be, docile city. The boys found what liquor they 
 thought they could hide and about midnight called for their 
 horses and their guns. They mounted and hit the riiain street 
 on the run. In passing the hotel Joe's hat blew off and one of 
 the guests of the hotel seeing it on the ground decided to curry 
 a little favor with a leal cow boy, and started to pick it up and 
 present it to the rider. Joe sized him up quickly and saw at 
 once that he was evidently a dude and a choice specimen of 
 
 the tender-foot class. Joe yelled, "Lay off the hat you d , 
 
 soft boiled tender-foot." He, the dude, with trembling legs 
 and some active footracing, ran up on the steps of the hotel, 
 and Joe, who was of the bon ton when it came to riding, start- 
 ed away back of the hat and put the spurs to his horse and 
 came down the street like a whirlwind. When near the hat 
 he dropped and picked it up on the full run. Charley and Joe 
 then put the spurs to their horses and made a run out of town, 
 shooting and yelling. They finally reached the herd and 
 succeeded in creating a small stampede with the cattle, but 
 finally lit and retired. We stood double guard that night, 
 and had not participated in any of the frolics either. 
 
 A description of a wild and unusual scene some miles from 
 Buffalo Gap as partly described in Billy Dixon's book: — 
 
 The trail, somewhere in the Pan Handle had been leading 
 up a very slight and almost imperceptible incline for some days 
 and in the darkening- twilight we reached the line where the 
 circling horizon touched the pale blue skyline. We tipped 
 over the edge. LOOK! Our eyes met the vista of thousands 
 and tens of thousands of leagues — an empire, a world, primi- 
 tive and wild, untouched by man, except the Indian and the 
 buffalo hunter. This magnificient and awfully huge panorama 
 
 117 
 
and moving picture was shaped and had the resemblance and 
 appearance of a world-sized saucer. The colorings started 
 from the outer rim, resembling the lighter shades of green and 
 darkening to the center, where there was reposing a tiny, 
 bright, dazzling and shimmering lake. We started down 
 
 quickly and reaching the edge soon, we noticed the water com- 
 pletely covered with wild geese and ducks, so thick it was im- 
 possible to even throw a stone in the water without hitting one. 
 On the other side of the water was a band of Antelope, twenty- 
 five or thirty, who had evidently just come in for water. Our 
 larder was empty. One of the boys, claiming to be the best 
 shot, took the Winchester and fired. He knocked one down, 
 
 but looking around in astonishment he said, "H , I did not 
 
 shoot at that one." We as friends did not care so much for 
 the one he shot at, but were more interested in the one he had 
 hit. More pictures were to come. Away off in the gloaming 
 there appeared a band of wild horses, led by a big, black, ma- 
 jestic stallion, and breaking in a wild drive for the outer edge 
 of this huge saucer, LOOK AGAIN! In the opposite direction 
 in the scintilating, western light, silhouetted against the shim- 
 mering sun waves, appears a good sized herd of buffalo, led by 
 the bull who is preparing to give the signal for the ineffable 
 stampede. They too are off and away. Now comes the bands 
 of range cattle, in herds of tens and hundreds, seeking, appar- 
 ently, to tame and temper this primeval scene. They too, get 
 the signal, and with a snort are off to other pastures, where 
 man may not disturb and throw the fears of capture into them. 
 This scene, taken as a whole, certainly was as wild as one could 
 wish and needed but the Indian and the buffalo hunter to take 
 their places in the flys and thus complete the stage setting. 
 
 OKLAHOMA 
 
 We made the first run to the first opening in Oklahoma in 
 April 1889. We arrived on the line at three o'clock in the 
 morning at a squaw man's place, expecting to make the run in 
 our own wagons. We immediately discovered that the other 
 fellows had race horses and cow ponies. We cut our horses 
 out of the harness and at noon when the soldiers fired the sig- 
 nal to run, we pulled out bare backed. It's thirty years since, 
 and I am just beginning to get over the effects of that ride. It 
 was weeks before I could eat off a table. We rode for the town 
 site of Kingfisher. The lots we got were left for safe keeping 
 in the hands of a good and true Knights of Pythias brother, 
 who was to keep all "jumpers" off. We had not reached the city 
 limits, which was on the first day a place of 3000 inhabitants, 
 until our brother had jumped them. We redeemed them and 
 again left them in charge of a good honest man, and they were 
 jumped by the custodian. We realized that it would keep us 
 on the road too long to chase the jumpers off so we sold our 
 equity. I presume today those lots have elegant sky-scrapers 
 built on them. 
 
 CHANGE OF LOCATION 
 
 Finally on another trip to the San Luis valley my partner 
 and I decided to go a little further west for a location. We 
 crossed the mountains and stopped at and around Durango. It 
 was arranged there, however, that he should go still further 
 west toward the setting sun, as he expressed it, the older coun- 
 
 116 
 
tries seemed to be netting more crowded all the time and the 
 new civilization wae cramping and disturbing to an old cow 
 man veteran. He went into Utah, and I and one of the other 
 jboys faced about, left Durango and back-tracked towards Ala- 
 mosa. As we passed through Pagosa Springs, a most wonder- 
 ful and unusual hot water resort, there was brought into town 
 a man who had just been killed by a bear. It was surprising to 
 us, that as soon as we reached the outskirts of the town, how 
 many bear tracks we could see and all fresh too. After travel- 
 ing a day or two along a most beautiful tumbling turbulent 
 mountain stream, where the bright spotted trout would flip 
 their tails at you and say "ta ta", and the hills were complete- 
 ly covered by cedars and pines, from which the green never 
 comes off, summer or winter, and the grass sparkled and shown 
 through the early morning sun and frost. We came to an 
 open park studded here and there with big pines, and shortly 
 We heard a great bombardment of shooting and as we got closer 
 we realized that we were within the target line of some two or 
 three hundred Indians, to whom Uncle Sam had just issued a 
 lot of new rifles, and child like the Indians had to immediately 
 try them out in our presence, and proximity in order to see just 
 how close they could come to hitting us without actually punc- 
 turing our hides. 
 
 Fortunately we dodged all of the bullets that came our 
 way, but as we undertook to cut their acquaintance and get out 
 of their careless and unprecautious endeavors, all at once, in 
 squads of twenty-fi\e or thirty they came pounding down the 
 hard road, with one big buck, who had a face like a buffalo bull 
 and a voice like a seven year old bull frog, in the lead, shout- 
 ing, what sounded to us like, "show up your ponies." That de- 
 mand took the most of the heart beats away from me, as I 
 thought they were going to take our horses from us and set us 
 afoot, but my companion, Joe Shock, an old timer who could 
 swear forty proof and then some, lit into them and after con- 
 siderable of a row we discovered that they really meant "swap 
 your ponies" instead of the first expression. As we were not, 
 just at that moment keen or capable of doing ourself justice in 
 a horse trade, we planned to get away in as becoming a manner 
 as possible, and noticing that some of them had venison tied 
 on behind them, we conceived the notion that we must at once 
 buy some meat. We purchased a good sized saddle of deer 
 and did not hagle over the price either. We departed in what 
 seemed to us a calm., casual and becoming manner, expecting 
 any time to change our attitude, and our pretended unconcern 
 to one of precipitousness and make a run for it. 
 
 Since this experience we have heard many thrilling bear 
 stories and the following will appeal to many of the old timers 
 and perhaps to some of the young fellows who have hoped, some 
 time in their life, to become real for sure Bear Hunters. This 
 little story, like most bear stories, might be true, and no doubt 
 will take its little niche on the great bear statue, as a truthful 
 and reliable bear sto?-y. It was told by an old hunter. Teddy 
 Roosevelt you know was a bear hunter. 
 
 Two hunters were in camp one day, when whoff ! a big bear 
 jumped into the circle. One of the fellows landed in a tree 
 and went up it like a coon. The other could not climb a tree 
 
 U9 
 
in time, so it was a race around a big cedar. Around they . 
 went, the gravel hitting the bark and his coat tails extended. 
 The fellow in the tree yelled, "Run d — it run." With redoubl- 
 ed efforts the fellow dug in and tryed to out-foot the bear and 
 just as he was about to blow up and the bear swished around 
 the tree again, the fellow in the tree again yelled, "Run d — you 
 run." The fellow could barely get breath enough to yell back 
 at him, as he started on another lap, and with a despairing look 
 and with weak voice, he choked out the words: — "Hell! do you 
 think I'm throwin' this race?" 
 
 Another of the same kind of truthful bear stories comes 
 to my mind. It was told to me by Bear John of Mamm Creek, 
 Garfield County, Colorado. John had all of the truthful char- 
 acteristics and instincts there was in that county, in fact he 
 learned this virtue from Teddy Roosevelt when he took Teddy 
 up on Divide Creek, close to the Little Blue Hen Church and 
 showed him how to kill a real, for sure bear, in the year 1908, 
 near Charley's ranch. John absorbed all the truthful and 
 authentic bear stories from Teddy that there was and that left 
 Teddy pumped dry. John said that one time two fellows were 
 going across a field and a bull took after them. The nimbler 
 one reached safety in a tree. The other one looked around 
 for a place to light for protection. He noticed a good sized 
 hole in a hill. He made for that confidently and swiftly, the 
 bull at his heels. He plunged in to the cavern and immedi- 
 ately plunged out, with fear on his face. The bull again 
 charged him. Again he jumped into the cave, when lo! out 
 he came again. This performance lasted some little time. The 
 man shuffled back and forth on high, with the bull and his 
 engine racin'. At last the fellow up the tree yelled, "You idiot! 
 Why don't you stay in the hole?" The chasee, with fear in his 
 
 voice, and a trembling in his legs, yelled back. "You d fool. 
 
 there's a Bear in the hole." There's a place here for a little 
 moralizing. Some times we criticise when people do not re- 
 spond and many times fail to help in some charitable way with 
 donations or they fail to pay their assessments for the preach- 
 ers upkeep, resent patronizing the church suppers, etc. Did 
 you ever stop to think that there might be a "bear in the hole." 
 They may be poor m their homes and have many afflictions, 
 sickness, helpless cripples or ill dependents. Let's be kind 
 and charitable to them and not press them into something that 
 is a physical impossibility for them to provide. Be more char- 
 itable ourselves, until it hurts. 
 
 THE BULL WHACKER 
 Has the reader ever had the extreme pleasure and serene 
 satisfaction of driving and working with a bull-headed, strong- 
 minded team of oxen?? If you say no, please do not endanger 
 any religous sentiment that you may have by learning the art 
 of whacking bulls — we have had our little experience and know 
 when we have enough. 
 
 Somewhere in the Apache country of New Mexico, while on 
 the trail with a herd of cattle, we were short of horses and 
 bought a couple of Mushaways to be driven to the mess wagon, 
 which would release a couple of saddle ponies of which we 
 were badly in need. 
 
 At once the other boys decided that I, being of a patient and 
 
 120 
 
unruffled disposition, should be chief chariot driver and the 
 grandiose bull whacker, and I accepted the job with a full un- 
 derstanding with myfielf as to just how I was going to do it. 
 
 I had observed that in order to get full duty and efficiency 
 out of an ox team you had to "treat 'em rough." After a day 
 or two I noticed Sam, one of my partners, was inclined to be 
 a little cynical, and he commenced to criticise the manner and 
 mode of my handling the bulls, intimating that my policy of 
 rough treatment was inhuman and brutal. 
 
 On that particular day, as usual, we turned the herd loose 
 and unhitched the oxen, while the noon day lunch was prepar- 
 ing. After dinner Sam made the announcement he would 
 drive the oxen and that Charley and I could take the herd, re- 
 marking he would certainly show us how "by treating 'em 
 kind, and using gentle persuasion instead of clubs and the long 
 handled whip, bulls like they were could be taught to lie down 
 and get up just like a trained dog. Charley and I rounded up 
 the herd and started them on the trail, glancing back once in a 
 while. We could hear some soft chuttering and persuasions 
 as he confidently placed the yoke on his shoulders and called to 
 Mushaway and Buck to get under. They hesitated as they 
 noticed a strange driver. Finally, Presto, and they are yoked. 
 Now comes the artful science of hitching the team to the wagoii 
 tongue. Sam drives them up to the wagon with gentle cau- 
 tion and some fear — they break way — again he almost gets 
 them to the wagon, and then once more they are gone. Sam 
 has altered his disposition and his mode somewhat, and we hear 
 a little something that sounds like swear words. Presently he 
 commences the chase in deadly earnest and with menacing ges- 
 tures and, lo, he has a club. This time the bulls break for the 
 timber and crash through the undergrowth and are soon out of 
 sight. Sam is prostrate and full of heat and hate. Had we 
 been close enough to have touched his flaming face we would 
 have gotten a seventy-five kilowatt shock. He was speechless 
 with hate and silent with chagrin. He dropped to the ground 
 and commenced vigorously to pull grass. We took another 
 glance backward as we went on and called back to him, "Treat 
 'em kind Sam and they'll come back." That night there was a 
 different man came into camp. The new driver, with fire in 
 his eye, was perched on the spring seat, with his black snake 
 and his clubs and his prods close by and he wasn't treating 'em 
 kind either. 
 
 My partner afterwards returned to Colorado on the White 
 river. He has stayed with his trade ever since and gotten 
 rich. I came east and have been making a living ever since 
 selling a little money through the grill of a bank window. 
 About every two ye^.rs he sends me a little sprig of sage brush 
 from Rifle, Colo., and by the way this Rifle town has a Win- 
 chester Hotel, and 1 presume that it is in Cannon county, I 
 know there are lots of "Colts" there because it is somewhat of 
 a horse country; and I quietly sneak my grip from under the bed 
 and go to him. I arrange to arrive about the time they pull 
 off their annual rodeo, which is Apple Pie Day. They of 
 course have wild horse riding, the Broncho Bustin', the ropin' 
 and the racin', but to an old timer the riding and the roping 
 does not seem to be as good as in the old days. It may be 
 
 121 
 
however, that the hc/rses are not so wild and the cattle not so 
 peppy as they were torty years back. 
 
 The writer's Grandfather, Samuel B. Clark, almost a cen- 
 tury ago was one of the earliest settlers of Warren County, In- 
 diana. At the first election held in the county he was elected 
 as Associate Judge. After his term had expired, he probably, 
 naturally, took up the duties of a Justice of the Peace, also 
 becoming the counselor and advisor of his friends, and assisted 
 in preparing legal papers, contracts, making out notes, etc. 
 
 The writer has in his possession a speciman note in the 
 form that was used in those early days. He starts with the 
 date and fills in the words "One year after date I promise to 
 pay to John Smith, ON MY HONOR," etc. 
 
 Billy Myers of Conejos County, Colo., had promised to pay 
 to Sam Hannah and Charley Plowman, "on his honor," so many 
 cows and their increase on a certain date. Billy was one of 
 the big men and became prominent in his state, as also did 
 Alva Adams, respectively Lieut. Governor and Governor of 
 Colorado. 
 
 Billy, at this particular time, had moved to New Mexico 
 and had notified the boys that he was ready to make delivery 
 and liquidate the debt. 
 
 On a trip with our own cattle it was arranged that we 
 branch off the main trail and go past the Myers ranch and pick 
 up the cattle and then proceed to the Pan Handle. One day 
 when we all thought that we were in close proximity to the 
 ranch, Sam offered to take the mess wagon and proceed to 
 Billy's place and there wait for us, and have supper ready when 
 we arrived. We punched the cattle along leisurely until late 
 in the afternoon when we could see the outlines of the corrals 
 and buildings. We arrived at the corral about dusk with the 
 cattle and we had difficulty in getting them in. We were a 
 little anxious, too, for the reason that we were all worn out 
 with the loss of s'.eep and expected to have a good night's 
 sleep if we could corral the cattle. Finally we succeeded in 
 getting them all in but some three or four, and they became un- 
 ruly and mad and wild. After some strenuous riding and 
 chasing we got them back close to the corral and they at once 
 saw Sam and his camp close to the corral fence. 
 
 Sam had been promising us for several days some syrup 
 made from sugar which he had been frugally saving for some 
 time, and this was the night when he had a nice can of it pre- 
 pared. 
 
 The mad cows made for Sam and the camp. He made no 
 attempt to dissuade the nasty things to stay out and not dis- 
 turb a nuce orderly camp like that, but he at once took flight and 
 hopped for the top pole on the corral fence. When we came 
 charging down he was looking down on a somewhat disorgan- 
 ized camp and sadly spilled supper. He being of rather a 
 swearing disposition, we have endeavored all of these years to 
 forget just what all he called us, as it was awful. We recall 
 however the pathetic and the plaintive tone of voice that he 
 used after the explosion was over and when his flaming temper 
 
 had gotten all of the blankity, blankity D words out, he 
 
 directed our attention to the camp and whispered "Now, you 
 d fools, look at them nice molasses.,' A mad cow had 
 
 122 
 
spilled the "lasses", and gotten Sam all "het" up. 
 
 We were assisted in rounding up the cattle to be delivered 
 on Billie Myers' contract by John Frazier, an old time Cow Man 
 from the San Luis Valley, and who was running some cattle 
 with Myers on the share, in New Mexico. We are not sure just 
 where that was, but think it was near the little town marked 
 on the map as Springer. Frazier afterwards drifted to Kan- 
 sas and Sam Hanna tells me he was killed in Howard County, 
 Kansas. He, together, with others had brought up from Texas 
 some native cattle and they arrived before the quarantine was 
 out, consequently many of the herds in that country were in- 
 fected with the Texas tick and there were great losses from 
 the dreaded Texas fever. Cattle owners became enraged at 
 John and threatened his life. He asked Sam what he had bet-, 
 ter do. Sam asked fsim if he was armed. He said, "No". Sam. 
 told him to at once get some guns. John said he guessed there 
 was no danger and went home. That night he was killed. They 
 found twenty or twenty-five knife wounds on him. Billie My- 
 ers at this place hart the ideal cattle ranch. He was blessed 
 with many sheltering gulches, splendid grass and an abundance 
 of water. By building a stone fence across the neck of a vast 
 scope of country he could enclose thousands of acres of land 
 and thus keep his ccttle at home without much riding. Billie 
 Myers was an educated gentleman and while we were accepting 
 of his hospitality on this trip, hundreds of miles from habita- 
 tion, we noticed his library contained many works of a scientific 
 nature and many high class books of literature. We are told 
 that he is still living and is at present located near Ft. Garland, 
 San Luis Valley. 
 
 SAM BASS, A VERY EARLY BANDIT 
 Sam Bass seemed to be one of the most popular and de- 
 serving outlaws that there was in the west and since he was a. 
 native of Indiana, we must boost him along a little by quoting 
 a very popular Cow Boy song with Sam as the hero. We never 
 met Sam although he was born at Mitchell, Ind. Here is the 
 song. 
 
 "Sam Bass was born in Indiana 
 
 It was called his Native Home, 
 And at the age of seventeen. 
 
 Young Sam began to roam. 
 He first went ouS: to Texas, 
 A Cow Boy for to be; 
 And a kinder hearted fellow 
 
 You'd scarcely ever see." 
 "Sam left the Collin's ranch in the merry month of May, 
 
 With a herd of Texas cattle the Black Hills for to see, 
 Sold out in Custer City and then got on a spree, 
 
 A harder set of cow boys you seldom ever see. 
 "On their way back to Texas they robbed the U. P. train, 
 
 And then split up in couples and started out again, 
 Joe Collins and his partner were overtaken soon, 
 
 With all their hard-earned money they had to meet 
 their doom. 
 "Sam made it back to Texas all right side up with care; 
 Rode into the town of Denton with all his friends to 
 , share, 
 
 123 
 
Sam's life was short in Texas; three robberies did he do, 
 He robbed all the passenger, mail and express car^ 
 too."- . , 
 
 THE HYROPHOBIA DANGER 
 
 Thomas Bugsby. with his J^oung wife, had his home ranclt 
 near Adobe Walls and there was born to them a girl baby — the 
 only white child in that part of the country. Seringo states 
 that she was called the "White Papoose" by the Indians. When 
 about eight years old she was bitten by an Hydrophobia skunk. 
 We knew of this case and remember that Mr. Bugsby had cut a 
 hole in the bottom of the outside door in order to give the pet 
 cat, belonging to his only child, ingress and egress to the house. 
 During the night the skunk came through the hole and bit the 
 little girl. After lingering several days she died a horrible 
 death. There were no doctors short of Dodge City, 175 mile 
 away. Of all of the dangers from being bitten or stung by in- 
 sects we always feared the hydrophobia skunk, which seemed 
 plentiful in the Pan Handle, and New Mexico. The prime 
 danger was while sleeping on the plains at night, as we always 
 feared they might bite while sleeping in camp on the ground. 
 We never thought much of the dangers of the Taarantula, Cen- 
 tipedes or other big spiders, although there were some fatali- 
 ties from the bite of these pests. Rattle snakes we would kick 
 out of our way, but the smell of a skunk sure made us scringe 
 and cover up tight while in camp. 
 
 THE GUN FIGHTER VS THE GUN MAN 
 In all cattle countries the pioneer buffalo hunter, Indian 
 fighter, and cow man was a Cosmopolitan cuss and the Pan 
 Handle Country wa.^ no exception, where we were acquainted 
 and associated with many and had heard of all of the different 
 characters of what so ever disposition and reputation. Near- 
 ly every one had killed his man. Not all of this class, how- 
 (Bver, were murderers in any sense of the word. There was a vast 
 difference between the "Gun Fighter" and the murderous "Gun 
 Man". Some men we came in contact with had murder in their 
 hearts for gain, and had robbed their victims. The honest "Gun 
 Fighter" was usually picked on and taken advantage of and in 
 many instances his adversary got the drop on him so that he had 
 to shoot his way out. The true knight, a gallant Gun Fighter was 
 almost a chivalrous individual, and often times would go so far, 
 in a fight, as to let his adversary, if not so expert, to get some 
 little advantage. Of course the most common killing was among 
 the cow boys and the booze was the direct responsible factor. 
 One of these boys would get loaded and draw his pistol and 
 Shoot at some one in the outfit, his best friend perhaps, claim- 
 ing some fancied offense, and of course the other boy, in order 
 to protect himself, would have to return the shots. As an il- 
 lustration of the true knighthood of chivalry and showing how 
 this feature was instilled and even taught in the young lads on 
 the plains, it is told in a story in "A Lone Star Cow Boy" how, 
 during a certain feud, where many on both sides of the factions 
 had been killed, one of the leaders was riding along the road 
 on a skittish horse. On the ground near by was sitting a 
 twelve year old boy, eating his noon day lunch. Near by graz- 
 ed his small band of sheep which he was herding. The boy's 
 tiog ran out and scared this feudists skittish horse. Then he 
 
 124 
 
sclrew his pistol and I'illed the dog. l^Iow the boy sprang to his 
 feet and, pulling his powder and ball pistol, opened fire on the 
 killer of his dog, who at once began shooting at the boy. But 
 his horse jumping around made his aim bad and untrue. The 
 man emptied his pistol and shot his wad, while the boy with 
 wisdom had only shot twice, and was taking aim for the third 
 ;shot. Here the ma a threw up his hand, which held the pistol 
 and said, "Don't shoot, I'm empty." The boy replied: "All 
 right, load up." Then the boy squatted down on the ground, 
 and taking his powder horn from his shoulder proceeded to load 
 the two empty chambers of his six shooter. The man replied 
 as he rode away. "No I've got enough." He was wounded in 
 the left hand by one of the boy's shots. Later the man reward- 
 ed the boy for his cool bravery. As we have defined the differ- 
 ence between the cool, brave and chivalrous Gun Fighter and 
 the skulking, cowardly Gun Man for gain, we will mention some 
 men of both classes, whom we either knew or had heard of in 
 the Pan Handle. In the first class were such men as Clay Al- 
 lison, a holy terror, but never the less a fearless man, and Lem 
 Woodruff, who we think was more imposed on than an aggres- 
 ror. He was the principle actor in the big gun fight at Tascosa 
 in 1886. Of Bat Masterson it can be said that he may never 
 have taken advantage of another in a gun fight, although he 
 was not liked by the cow boys, as they classed him as belonging 
 to the gamblers gang. Bat was naturally prejudiced against 
 the cow boys from the fact that his brother, while Marshal at 
 Dodge was trying to disarm some cow boys, when one of them 
 killed him. We do not think, however, that Bat was of the 
 murderous, killing disposition. It was reported that he had 
 killed twenty-eight men, which was a greatly exaggerated story. 
 Of the other class who never killed only with murder in their 
 heart and gain in their mind was the arch fiend, W. C. Moore, 
 the foreman of the L. S. Outfit. In a few cases it used to be 
 thought by some big outfits that it was necessary to hire "Man 
 Killers" as cow boy riders, but we do not think that Messers 
 Bates and Beal had this in mind when they hired Moore. This 
 man was considered the greatest Cow Man in the country and 
 many of the boys said they learned more about the cow busi- 
 ness from him than under the directions and instructions of 
 any other man, and yet he was a villianious and heartless mur- 
 derer for gain. He betrayed his employers, wherever he work- 
 ed. He first killed his brother-in-law in California and made 
 his get-away to Wyoming; killed another and drifted to the 
 Pan Handle on an old broken down pinto pony, hired to the L. S. 
 outfit and immediately commenced to steal cattle from his ben- 
 efactors and friends. He started his own herd from these 
 stealings on the Cold Water, where we have camped many 
 times. He sold his ranch and cattle, quit the L. S. and started 
 another herd, in New Mex. His stay was short there as he 
 shot and killed two men, supposedly for the reason that he 
 wanted the range belonging to them. Charley Seringo ran 
 across him in Alaska afterwards, where he was peddling whis- 
 key under an assumed name. Charley recognized him readily 
 because he had worked for him in the Pan Handle. Another 
 villianious Gun Man, with murderous heart, was Newell, who 
 killed the young buffalo hunter for his money and horses, 
 
 125 
 
Newell was the man that had the ranch on which we located. I 
 have mentioned this man in another part of the book. Of 
 course the most uncompromising and reckless man killer in all 
 the west was Billy the Kid. He did it wantonly and without 
 excuse. His murders, many of them, were for gain also, as 
 he was a horse thief and a cattle rustler and depended on sell- 
 ing them for gain. The reader will note the chapter giving 
 full account of his death and the end of his career, by Pat Gar- 
 rett and John W. Poe, in another part of the book. 
 A FELLOW COW PUNCHER 
 Speaking more particularly of Claude Lindley, a boy I 
 rode with a great deal ; my partner, Charley Shideler has re- 
 cently told me something of his character and what became of 
 him. In the summer of eighty, we, Charley and I, made the 
 trip from the Palo Duro, Texas, country to the San Luis Valley, 
 Colo., to close out a remnant of cattle we still had there. We 
 sold the cattle and decided to return to the Pan Handle. In 
 the fall we met Claude Lindley at Ft. Garland, or to be exact, 
 on Ute Creek. (This was where I parted with Charley and 
 took two horses, "Old Baldy" and a grey horse, and made the 
 trip alone, expecting to meet him some time later on the Palo 
 Duro, in Texas.) Charley asked Lindley, after I had left them, 
 to make the trip with him to Texas. He agreed and after fin- 
 ishing a contract for putting up hay for the Post they started. 
 During the putting up of the hay Lindley had a bad fight with 
 Juan Igular. Claude was then about twenty years old, a quar- 
 ter breed Indian, big, powerful, raw boned, long arms and big 
 hands, and with a heighth of full six feet. He could speak 
 Mexican better than he could his own language, he had a fine 
 personality and the officers at the Post took quite an interest 
 in him and trained him to be very proficient with the boxing 
 gloves. Igular started the fuss, and jumped off the high hay 
 stack and made for Claude like a wild bull. Claude braced 
 himself, and told Juan that he was going to lick him. Juan 
 said in Mexican "imbuckity," meaning "pitch in". When the 
 Mexican advanced Lindley let him have one between the eyes. 
 He lit on his head and the blood spurted as he lay on the 
 ground, knocked out. Then eight or ten Mexicans jumped off 
 the fence and came running over. Charley started to stand 
 them off with a pitch fork. Claude jumped in front of him and 
 told them he could lick the whole D bunch, and that stop- 
 ped them. They washed Juan up and that night went down to 
 the Fort to a "fandango", and met Tomisito Tobin and Billie 
 Carson. (Tomisito was a son of Tom Tobin and Billie a son of 
 Kit Carson, the great scout.) After they had danced a while 
 they heard a shot outside and Tomisito and Charley went out 
 to see what was up. Carson was standing a bunch of Mexicans- 
 off with a gun. Charley went back to call Lindley and found 
 him in the corner, knocking the Mexicans down as fast as they 
 came up. When Charley told him of the trouble outside, he 
 knocked his way through the whole crowd, and they got on their 
 horses and went home without a scratch. They started on 
 their trip and had to go through some bad Mexican country and 
 got into some trouble by Claude killing some Greaser's dog and 
 after they had left the Plaza and camped, three Greasers came 
 into their camp. Claude commenced to talk to them in Mexi- 
 
 126 
 
fcan. One of the fellows called Charley out to one side aTid 
 asked him if the other fellow wasn't a "Coyate" (that meant 
 Tialf breed.) Charley told him yes. He replied, he knew his 
 "sangre per undi cure", meaning that he knew his own blood 
 where ever he saw it The Mexicans finally left without start- 
 ing anything. In some of the Mexican settlements the people 
 were very menacing, and they found afterwards that 
 they were lucky to escape some of the bad settlements. They 
 went through Taos, New Mexico, and were directed from there 
 to a short cut to Ft. Summer. (Near this Fort was where Pat 
 Garrett and John W. Poe killed Billie the Kid.) They were 
 met by a bunch of Ir.dians who had never seen a spring seated 
 wagon, and the Squaws took turn about in riding on the seat 
 and having a good t;me, laughing and giggling. The Indians 
 treated them civily and directed them correctly on their way 
 to the Pan Handle, where we all finally met again. 
 
 Mr. D. F. McCarty, of Lipscomb, Texas, my writing friend, 
 and who is generally producing something from a deft pen, 
 and who has had a vide experience in almost all of the wilder- 
 nesses of the great west, however not as a cow man, but as an 
 expert miner, and who loves every castle crag, and gilded gulch 
 therein, has written a most beautiful historic story of an Indian 
 tragedy, not a fiction, but one in which he is familiar with the 
 location and in knowing friends of some of the participants. 
 He, in his generosity, offers this story to his friends for pub- 
 lication, and in his modest way does not ask for any credit or 
 gain I have advi,>ed him that he has. in this story, a most 
 wonderful foundation for what could be made a beautiful and 
 interesting historical novel, and that he has a splendid oppor- 
 tunity to show his touch as an author, and that he is the cap- 
 able writer to produce the story of "The Harringtons." 
 "MISS HARRINGTON." 
 
 In the early settlement of the San Pedro Valley in Arizona, 
 at that time a hostile Indian country, there was established for 
 the protection of the white settlers, then planning to move into 
 that valley to make homes, a military post known as Camp 
 Grant, the policy of the government being to subdue the In- 
 dians and place them on a reservation, where they would be 
 issued rations and otherwise provided for. In all they num- 
 bered about 200, and were ruled over by a notorious Apache 
 Chief named Eskimezene, and were part of an outlaw band 
 that formerly overran the whole San Pedro Valley country. 
 The reservation as finally set aside for them, included a broad 
 expanse of river bottom covered here and there with groves of 
 Cottonwood trees, and was one of the most beautiful spots along 
 the course of the San Pedro River for many miles, and extend- 
 ed from the military post down the east side of the valley for 
 six or eight miles. Since the Indians were now confined to this 
 reservation, the Government extended them the liberty of go- 
 ing beyond it wherever they choose, so they did not interfer 
 with the settlers, with the arrival of the whites, who shortly 
 began to move into the country. Camp Grant was abandoned 
 and the soldiers removed. In the days I speak of and some- 
 time after the departure of the soldiers, the Indians, who in the 
 meantime had quieted down considerably, were ever ready to 
 sweep the valley if molested, and as their presence remained 
 
 127 
 
more or less of a menace to the white settlers, the Government, 
 was asked to remove them, but refused instead, and in an effort 
 to appease their fears, the Government ordered the whites 
 throughout the lower San Pedro to be supplied with arms and 
 ammunition, believing they were now in sufficient numbers to- 
 protect themselves. As a result of this order, a wagon load 
 of 50 caliber Springfield rifles, that had gone through the Civil 
 War, but discarded by the Government for the more improved 
 45 caliber type of Springfield rifle, and several thousand 
 rounds of ammunition, were distributed to the different settlers, 
 and in every ranch house stood a stack of these rifles in the 
 corner of some room, loaded in many instances, and ready for 
 immediate use. Tried and true was the 50 caliber Springfield 
 up to 300 yeards, while at close range it was the most deadly 
 rifle ever made, up to that time. The space between the lower 
 end of the Indian villages and where the San Pedro empties 
 into the Gila River, was about twelve miles long, and was oc- 
 cupied with various ranches, and a combination store, post of- 
 fice and saloon, called Dudleyville. The country contiguous to 
 the San Pedro River, became an important cattle range for 
 fifty miles above its junction with the Gila, and there being no 
 water on the range either side of it, cattle were forced to come 
 in there every day or two to drink, and were thus easily taken 
 care of. Heifers matured there and became mothers when 
 only 18 months old, and cattlemen soon grew rich. Among the 
 more prosperous cattlemen there at that time was Dudley Har- 
 rington, after whom the post oflRce was named. Mr. Harring- 
 ton, with his wife and family had traveled across the Texas 
 plains to the San Pedro in wagons, and being well off when he 
 arrived there, was not long in getting settled and building up 
 a fine ranch, which was beautifully situated, in that the San 
 Pedro river flowed through it. The house was built of adobe, 
 and large, with loop holes in the walls for rifle fire, as was 
 customary those days in the Indian country, and contained S 
 or 10 rooms, with a wide covered passage way running through 
 its center, and stood in a grove of cottonwood trees. Among 
 Mr. Harrington's family at this time, was a daughter about 16 
 years old, a remarkably fearless girl, and a good rider, who 
 spent much of her time in the saddle looking after her father's 
 cattle. She was slight build, and a blonde, and might weigh 
 120 pounds, and was one of the best known and most admired 
 girls in that valley. Across the river, a few hundred yards 
 from the Harrington ranch, was the store and post office, where 
 there always gathered on mail day, which came once a week, 
 prospectors, miners, cow men and others, to the number of 15 
 or 20, from the outlying sections, and was the only store with- 
 in fifty miles of there. The Indians all traded there and more 
 or less of them, with their squaws and children, were at the 
 store every day and usually came down the east side of the 
 valley, where the villages were located and crossed the river at 
 the Harrington ranch, where, except in very high water there 
 was always a foot bridge to cross on for those who came afoot. 
 The comparatively few settlers who lived there, realizing how 
 exposed they were *.j an Indian attack, should anything occur 
 to arouse the Indians, carefully avoided giving cause for any 
 such trouble, and to that end the Indians hid their natural re- 
 
 128 
 
sentment towards the whites and remained at peace. It was 
 under such conditions as these, that there happened one after- 
 noon, in the Harrington home, a tragedy that threatened, not 
 only the peace of the whole white settlement, but its destruc- 
 tion as well. Among the Indians who frequently came to the 
 store, and who never failed to call in at the Harrington ranch, 
 was a big powerful Indian, with a bad reputation in his own 
 tribe and a known murderer of his own people. He carried a 
 deep scar across his face, extending from below the ear to al- 
 most the chin, made apparently with a large knife in the hands 
 of some Indian, who evidently tried to kill him. When he 
 got drunk, as he occasionally did, the scar reddened perceptibly, 
 and that, coupled with the drunken expression he bore, gave 
 him a savage look — a hard proposition for Miss Harrington to 
 battle with alone, but that is exactly what happened. 
 
 This mail day that made the girl famous throughout Ari- 
 zona, found her at home that afternoon doing the ironing. The 
 room she occupied had but one doorway, and setting back from 
 the entrance some distance and crosswise of it, was a long 
 table, behind which she was ironing, while behind her in the 
 corner, stood a stack of these 50 caliber rifles, all loaded. Pres- 
 ently and unexpectedly the Indian with the big scar, drunk and 
 smiling, stood in the covered passage way looking in at her. 
 She never heard him, only saw him, and it terrified her, but she 
 kept her nerve and presence of mind. She was alone at the 
 ranch that afternoon, and knew it, and the Indian knew it also. 
 Dreading the outcome, that she now felt was in store for her, 
 unless she could escape, and that seemed a forlorn hope since 
 the Indian was in tho doorway. She ordered him away, think- 
 ing he might move to one side and let her by, but he only 
 laughed at her and started to come in. 
 
 As he entered the room, and had almost reached the table, 
 she picked up the hot iron she was using and threw it at him, 
 a heavy and unwieldly weapon for a young girl to hurl with 
 much force, but it, nevertheless, stopped him, and stopped him 
 long enough to enable her to reach one of the big rifles, throw 
 it down on him and shoot him through the heart before he 
 could close in on her. The Indian staggered back a few steps, 
 then fell face down, across the doorway but within the room. 
 She stepped lightly over his body and fled to the store where 
 she found ten or twelve men, who were still there, and some 
 Indians, and telling them what she had done, led them back to 
 the ranch. When they viewed the dead Indian and were made 
 acquainted with the circumstances that brought about his 
 death, the gravity of the situation dawned on them, and couriers 
 were dispatched up and down the valley to arouse the whites. 
 The Indians who followed the crowd over, viewed their lead 
 tribesman, and then hurriedly left the villages to notify the 
 chief. The excitement among the settlers that afternoon be- 
 came tense and expectant, and war, with possible extermina- 
 tion in the back ground, seemed close at hand. When the news 
 reached "Skimezene," he called his warriors together, and with 
 a big band of them, hurried down to the Harrington ranch, ar- 
 rived there, and leaving all but a few of his Indians in the river 
 bottom among the cottonwoods, he strode into the dooryard of 
 the ranch house, and addressing those who were there, told 
 
 129 
 
them that if the dead Indian had been shot face to face with 
 the girl, he would commend her for her bravery and proclaim 
 it to the whole trib?, but if he had been shot in the back it 
 would mean war. To that end, he approached the house and 
 entered the room where the dead Indian lay, and found him just 
 as he had fallen. — The girl, cool and self-possessed, stood there 
 also, and in Indian speech, which she knew well, told him how 
 the tragedy had occurred. 
 
 He examined the jagged wound and torn flesh left by the bul- 
 let as it passed through the Indian's back, and then turning 
 the body over, face up, and finding the wound over the heart 
 no larger than the bullet that made it, he was satisfied. He 
 then faced the girl, and in his Indian tongue, praised her, told 
 her that it was well, ^nd that she was brave. 
 
 Into a little wagon that evening, drawn by two Indian pon- 
 ies, the dead Indian was placed, and followed by the warriors, 
 who had come there to avenge his death, and who, in suspense, 
 awaited the decisioi. of their chief, upon whose findings, that 
 afternoon, hung the fate of the white settlers, they moved away 
 and returned to the villages, where, as became the Indian cus- 
 tom to their dead, and as a fitting close to that afternoon's 
 tragedy, there could be heard throughout all that night, to the 
 beat of the tom-toms, the mournful death song of the Indians. 
 
 Donald F. McCarthy. 
 A SOLEMN, DESOLATE WASTE- 
 
 We have lately been fortunate enough in having a friend 
 send us some beautiful pictures of the wonderful phenomenon 
 of these moving mountains of sand and accompanying same 
 was a splendid article describing accurately and vividly, the 
 grandeur of the great Sand Dunes lying at the foot of the Sanges 
 De Christi Range of Mountains on the east side of the San Luis 
 Valley. The gentleman who writes the article gives his name 
 as Frank J. McEniry. 
 
 I do not know the writer but take this means of giving him 
 full credit for his excellent description and his writing talent. 
 HISSING SANDS OF COLORADO'S "SAHARA" ONE OF THE 
 WORLD'S GREATEST SCENIC WONDERS. 
 
 "Shielded from the outside world by an almost insurmount- 
 able barrier of towering snow-capped sentinels and low-lying, 
 timber-clad mountain slopes to the north and east, and hugging 
 the eastern border of the rich agricultural lands in the San 
 Luis valley, beyond the Sangre de Cristo mountain range in 
 southwestern Colorado, may be found the Sahara of Colorado, 
 better described by the early pioneers and gold seekers of 'he 
 West as the "hissing sands." 
 
 "This bit of Colorado, destined to become a world famous 
 wonder and scenic attraction of the great West, in some re- 
 spects even more spectacular than the great Sahara itself, is 
 said to represent the largest inland shifting sand dune tract in 
 the world. 
 
 "Even to the untrained eye these sand dunes, awe inspir- 
 ing and virtually expressionless, invariably present a vari-col- 
 ored bit mysterious shifting scenery, continually changing 
 with the lights and shadows. Their surface even, resembles a 
 series of water effect ripples. In winter, when covered with 
 just a little snow, they present a most unique setting, combined 
 
 130 
 
A SOLEMN, DESOLATE WASTE. 
 The Sand Dunes, of the San Luis Valley, Colorado. 
 
 131 
 
with variable wreaths to lend a panorama unexcelled. Per- 
 haps the first impulse would prompt the observer to scan the 
 horizon in search of a camel train or an Arab's shelter tent. 
 
 "A trip when made to these dunes in the early morning 
 with the sun at one's back affords a general shimmering effect 
 over the surface of the sand dunes, caused by the sun rays 
 breaking thru the clouds of fine white sand as they are driven 
 over the tract. 
 
 "The strange hissing of the sand particles resulting from 
 the swift but sometimes gentle breezes is indeed more than mel- 
 ancholy noise to the understanding listener. 
 
 "Depending on the changing direction and force of the 
 winds, these dunes, which in some cases rise more than 1,500 
 feet above the floor of the valley, are torn down and rebuilt, 
 remodeled or shifted to a lower or higher area of the tract. 
 Thru exposure to certain strong winds, these dunes are con- 
 stantly changing their general topography, and frequently re- 
 semble, in their billowy formations, scenes common to the ocean 
 voyager during rough weather at sea. Naturalists and scien- 
 tists willingly acknowledge their amazement at the rapid rate 
 with which these dunes persistently climb and rebuild over 
 their older and more turbulent formations. Even more aston- 
 ishing, these same dunes have encroached upon the adjacent 
 mountain slopes, in some sections to a considerable extent, thus 
 burying century old trees and other interesting objects in their 
 march toward pinnacles almost lost in the azure sea overhead. 
 
 "To be caught in one of the brushing winds during a se- 
 vere storm is something to be religiously avoided. Due to the 
 comparative lowness of nearby mountain passes east and south 
 of the dunes, occasional three-sided sand mountains are formed 
 on the tract. Medano creek, which plays at the very edge of 
 the mammoth sand pile area, is continually changing its course 
 by reason of the sliding of large tracts of sand down into the 
 creek bed below. Aften times loud crashes may be heard as 
 these bulky sand tracts are swept down to a less elevated posi- 
 tion. These crashes may frequently be heard night or day and 
 sometimes a considerable distance away. 
 
 "A few months have but to pass, when this same sand has 
 again been lifted many hundreds of feet from the creek bed to 
 the top of the dunes proper by the gigantic force of the winds. 
 A truck load of sand is on the crest of the dunes today and at 
 the bottom, or on the creek bed tomorrow, or vice versa. Dur- 
 ing hot summer months the stream sinks out of sight a short 
 distance below the sand tract. Residents and ranchers of the 
 Wet Mountain valley on the opposite side of the Sangre de 
 Cristo range, have frequently complained, it is said, of sand 
 storms — heavy winds, which carry fine sand particles up and 
 over the dividing range. These said particles are swept across 
 this lofty range, which in most places reaches a point well 
 above 'timber-line.' The vast sand dune tract itself is in the 
 very shadow of the Siera Blanca, the southernmost tower of the 
 Sangre de Cristo range and the fifth highest mountain peak in 
 the entire United States. 
 
 "Plant life, incidentally, is the next thing to an impossibil- 
 ity on this bit of mysterious shifting loyality. True it is, the 
 nature worshiper here would miss the sarcastic chatter of the 
 
 132 
 
chipmunks and magpies, both of which are well known to all 
 Coloradoans. 
 
 "De Zuldiver, who with a party or cavalry crossed the Sangre 
 de Cristo dange from theSan Luis valley in 1598, traveling 
 northward to a point at which Denver now is located, is said to 
 have been the first white man to visit these dunes. They also 
 mark the spot where Zebulon Pike was taken prisoner by the 
 earlier stage turnpikes, constructed through Mosca pass to the 
 north, under a charter grant of November 12, 1873. This orig- 
 inal cross-country route has since been entirely obliterated by 
 the severe winter weather of that section. The dunes them- 
 selves are to be found a few miles north of the little town of 
 Blanca, toward the upper bowl of the valley. 
 
 "Pike with his small party of followers, ventured across 
 the Greenhorn mountain range, southwest of Canon City, to the 
 present site of Rosita, in January, 1807. He was later forced 
 to abandon two of his party at the latter point, but continuing 
 his journey to a point a trifle north of the dunes, he is accredit- 
 ed with there raising the American flag for the first time in 
 Colorado. He subsequently was forced to haul it down, how- 
 ever, by the dominating Spaniards who caused his arrest .rd 
 removal to the present site of Santa Fe, N. M." 
 
 In closing we feel that the relating of a little story which 
 was an actual occurrence will be appropriate and will describe 
 fittingly the feeling of one who, at least should think of the 
 hereafter that is to corr>e. The story happened not so long 
 ago, and in our town, and shows the quick and sparkling wit of 
 the true Irish lad. One of the older citizens had been ill for 
 a number of weeks and a good many inquiries had been made of 
 Pat, who lived across the street from the sick man, as to the 
 state of the sick man's health. Finally on the fateful day one 
 of the town's people was passing Pat's house and as usual ask- 
 ed Pat how Frank was, he replied, "Be God I think he is worse, 
 I see the undertaker there." 
 
 The time will come soon when we will reach that awful 
 "worse" stage, and we can no longer hear the clarion call of 
 the wild west, and can no longer carry the memory of the fam- 
 iliar scenes, and we will have to leave to the younger genera- 
 tion the thoughts of our early associations, our experiences and 
 skirmishes with the Red Skins, our friendships with buffalo 
 hunters, our acquaintance with the bad men, and our love for 
 the Cow Man. May our genealogy please, be as devoted as we 
 have been, and keep green these thoughts and memories, is the 
 wish of a tottering father and grandfather. 
 
 Finally with all of the experiences that I have had, and all 
 of the information that I have gained, and the pleasure of meet- 
 ing and associating with these old rugged, true and tested 
 Plain's People, I have no regrets, but I do have an unmistakable 
 longing for the great wide ways and the wild days, and at times 
 I feel that I must satisfy that western streak that is in me and 
 take my horse and go to those broad open prairies and mesas, 
 and in the even tide when the Night Star comes up over the 
 horizon and the gentle breeze waves the big headed gramma 
 grass, then I must make down my bed with my saddle blankets 
 and with no one in my presence but my horse and my God, sleep 
 the just sleep of peace and contentment, and then when the 
 
 133 
 
Morning Star breaks over the divide and the old battle scarred- 
 prairie dog sentinel shall commence his discordant signal bark- 
 ing, and the whirring owl shall go to his rest and the deadly 
 rattle snake shall take his morning siesta, then I will have had 
 my little satisfying outing and be prepared to return to the 
 true and more civilized ways again. 
 
 With a never forgetful admiration for all of thei exper- 
 iences that I have had and with an everlasting feeling of awe 
 and reverence, as I go down the Mountain Slope, I still revere 
 those long, wide, billowy prairies, and may they roll on to times 
 eternity. Here's to those grand old snow capped, timber lined 
 castles and battlements. May their magnificence never fade, 
 and finally here's to that old seared Cow Man, when he shall 
 have reached that which is richer than riches and more preci- 
 ous than jasper and feldspar, and when he shall take that long 
 trail from which no Cow Man ever returns, and he shall reach 
 the end of his journey, and he shall meet his Maker and his 
 God, and he shall sny to Him, "Here I am, with all my faults 
 and sins, take me and I pray thee give me Mercy, Peace, Com- 
 fort." 
 
 "Out where the hand clasps a little stronger; 
 Out where a smile dwells a little longer; 
 That's where the West begins; 
 
 Out where the sun is a little brighter; 
 Where the snows that fall are a trifle whiter; 
 
 Where the bonds of home are a wee bit lighter; 
 That's where the West begins. 
 "Out where the <5kies are a trifle bluer; 
 
 Out where friendship's a little truer; 
 That's where the West begins. 
 
 Out where a fresher breeze is blowing; 
 Where there's laughter in every streamlet flowing; 
 
 Where there's more of reaping and less of sowing; 
 That's where the West begins. 
 "Out where the world is in the making; 
 
 Where fewer hearts with despair are aching; ;• 
 
 That's where the West begins. 
 
 Where there's more of singing and less of sighing; 
 Where there's more of giving and less of buying; 
 
 And a man makes friends without trying; 
 That's where the West begins." 
 
 Chapman. 
 And now the finis and in conclusion — we of course realize 
 that this little book will be of no particular interest to a gen- 
 eral reading public, and perhaps our own personal friends and 
 immediate family relations, to whom we will expect to offer one, 
 may pass it up, but withall, that will not make us feel sad or 
 resentful or hurt, because some one may know and I will feel 
 that I have had my little pleasures in writing it, and will have 
 had my little satisfactions in putting it together, and I will 
 have had those little delightful memories brought up from the 
 stirring scenes related herein. 
 
 And finally when the curiosity and novelty has worn off 
 and the little thing is, scuffed about, trampled on, battered 
 around, and shoved behind the clock, and from there to the old 
 garret, where all of the old literary gems are often stored, then 
 
 134 
 
eventually it will reach the woodhouse ready for the junk pile. 
 About this time it may happen that our little granddaughters, 
 Peegy Hina', and Ruth Ellen, in their dear sweet childish way, 
 will be looking, some day, for something to play with — they may 
 dig the little thing out from the bottom of an old barrel. It 
 may have the back torn off, there may be some leaves missing, 
 it may be disheveled and dirty; let's hope and wish that some 
 little word or some short phrase may hold their attention to the 
 end, and then perhaps they will realize and be able to tell their 
 little playmates and companions what a whale of a feller Gran- 
 fadda' was since Eighteen Hundred and Seventy Eight. 
 
 Adios 
 and 
 Buenos Noches 
 
 THE END OF THE TRAIL 
 
 135 
 
>^0y 2 o jy2.% 
 
 '^OV 1 6 Y9ft 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 016 092 760 4