The Indians' Last Fight; Or, The Dull Knife Raid

Yours Truly,
DENNIS COLLINS

The Indians’ Last Fight

OR

THE DULL KNIFE RAID

BY
DENNIS COLLINS

COPYRIGHT RESERVED
BY
DENNIS COLLINS

PRESS OF
THE APPEAL TO REASON
GIRARD, KANSAS

PREFACE

The work of writing a book is one that requires a vast amount of knowledge, natural ability and educational advantages, to produce something that is reliable, as regards information imparted, unimpeachable authority, and, at the same time, a power of expression that will present the matter to the reader in a manner that will convey the proper meaning of the author. I would not have undertaken the present work, were it not that I was encouraged by the friends of former days who felt confident in my ability to portray the scenes to be depicted in a fitting manner. I should probably be able to perform the task before me with greater success if I had some of the advantages of what is called Higher Education, but, I set out on my journey through this new domain, encouraged particularly, by a statement made by a certain ex-President, that he did not believe in all the “Ph’s”, and “Ch’s”, that are in common use in our language; that he believed in a plain, intelligent expression of ideas that conveys the full meaning of the speaker or writer, without any unnecessary verbiage.

My own personal qualifications for undertaking the task before me, might be considered too inadequate to many. True, I have not had the advantage of a University Education, but with a solid foundation of learning laid in the little school of boyhood in Canada, supplemented by a wide course of reading through all the years I have spent in the West, I feel that the difficulties before me are not too great to be overcome, especially as I have the example of so many men before me who have become self-educated by an earnest application of time and energy to the opportunities presented. If I have developed any facility of expression, I must attribute it to the wealth of good books I have had the good fortune to have at my disposal at various times.

Another motive that has impelled me to undertake the task of presenting the “West” to the general reader, is that there has been so much written about it that is not veracious, and that many have a false notion of what the term really means. I shall endeavor to set before the public a true account of many of the recent happenings in the vast country that lies west of the Mississippi, that they may have a better idea of its history and its people. I have read in numerous Magazines and Journals, accounts of the habits and customs of the Western People in general, and of the cow-puncher in particular, with a full description of the Indian at peace and at war, that, from the reality, it would be impossible to recognize any of them. I am quite satisfied that the authors of the so-called narrations did not have an opportunity of studying the subject at close quarters, and, consequently, were not in a position to do the topic justice. As a consequence of this unreliable mode of narration, people who do not know, imagine that the cow-puncher was half-man and half-horse, or, if not so bad as that, pictured him as a ranting, roaring, rollicking, bloodthirsty, oath-emitting, unconstrained son of perdition, whose chief occupation was murder and rapine, and whose avocation was herding cattle. As for the Indian, he was supposed to have no other qualification for attention than murder and pillage, totally depraved, and beyond the scope of all civilizing influences. Such ideas are based on imaginary authority, and are as far from the truth as it is possible for any narrative to be. I shall endeavor to set before the reading public a proper appreciation of both the Indian and the cow-puncher. Both had faults, but, in view of their surroundings and circumstances of life, they both will bear comparison with those who have had all the advantages of the higher education, and the influence of civilization. One thing that will always stand in their favor is that they were “men,” and played the game of life, in “man” fashion. Smallness, or rather, pettiness of character was entirely lacking in their general scheme of life; that remained in the big cities of the East.

Having spent more than thirty years among the cow-men and the Indians of the different tribes, from the Dakota line to the Panhandle of Texas, I feel that I am not presuming when I say that in that time I have acquired considerable knowledge of both classes of men, their habits, and ideals, and I trust that the present narrative may be interesting to all my old comrades of the “Plains” as well as instructive to the friends of my boyhood days in the “Land of the Maple Leaf.” I have the further hope, that if any of the readers of this little work contemplate coming west to grow up with the country, they may find the difficulties of the way overcome, and the rough places made smooth. They will find a generous welcome awaiting them from the whole-souled men of the Great West, and will discover that their lot has fallen on pleasant places.

THE AUTHOR.

INDEX

CHAPTER I.

At one time, of the early settlement of Western Kansas, Indian Territory and Western Texas, there were no mail routes established except between the military posts, Fort Dodge, Kansas, Fort Elliot, Texas, Camp Supply, Fort Reno and Fort Sill, I. T. About this time, 1870, Dodge City, Kansas, sprang into existence, and became the Mecca for the cowmen of the Southwest, and like Rome, all roads led to it. If mail was wanted, or trading was necessary, one had to go from fifty to seventy-five miles for the purpose, and in no case less than twenty, as the S. F. R. R. had a land grant of twenty miles on each side of the roadway, and one could not homestead inside of that limit more than eighty acres, and that is why settlers who wanted 160 acres went farther out.

In making those trips two neighbors usually went together, leaving their families in one place until their return. Their outfit for the journey consisted generally of a few blankets, a shot gun, a Winchester, a coffee pot, a frying pan, tow lariat ropes to picket out the horses, and a box of axle grease. The time required for the trip from three to five days and sometimes longer, owing to the distance and condition of the roads. There were no hotels on the way. In fact, there was nothing but the open prairie, and when it came to camping out time they picketed out the horses, gathered some buffalo chips for a fire, made coffee and flapjacks, fried some bacon and then satisfied their appetites with the fare at hand. Supper over, they discussed prospects for the future and then rolled up in their blankets for a good sound sleep with nothing to disturb them but the howling of the coyotes that were around looking for something to eat. At times something would stampede a herd of antelopes and in their mad flight they would create a noise like the roll of distant thunder. One thing that was in the favor of the camper-out was that it seldom rained and any dust that was made on the trail was blown away, leaving the way as clean as a pavement. The wind generally blew from the South for four days at a time, or thereabouts, at a rate of about forty miles an hour, and then returned at the same rate from the North.

On a trip of this kind, one became the messenger and delivery boy for all the neighbors. It was mail for one, paregoric for another, Epsom Salts for a third, and tobacco, coffee, sugar and other commodities which they were in need of at the time the journey was undertaken. The return of the expedition was looked forward to with as much interest and anxiety as is the return of the Cunard steamer at the port of New York. Each day found the children on the hillside watching and waiting for the return of the dear ones, and night was made hideous by the howling of the family watchdog wailing over the absence of his master. The neighbors, too, shared the general feeling and called several times a day to see if any tidings had been received of them, or if there was anything they stood in need of.

The next step in the way of progress was to sink a well. This was a necessity of the first degree, as the early settlers were compelled to haul water from the distant creeks, or rivers, in barrels, and the quality of the supply was not very high class. The presence of a well near at hand would solve the problem and at the same time save a lot of time which would naturally be required to bring it from a distance. The task was the work of two men, as the well had to be sunk from one hundred to one hundred and twenty-five feet before water could be found that would meet the needs of the situation. One man could not do the work alone, so a neighbor lent his assistance. By means of a derrick and a cheap mule purchased for the purpose they raised the water when the well was dug. The animal was left at the well and each man that went to draw water was to see to it that his muleship did not suffer from want of attention.

The above were only a few of the difficulties that the pioneer encountered in his endeavor to get a start in life. Those who came to the country in ’79 or the early 80’s found difficulties in abundance. As it rained very little during those years, their means were soon exhausted, and a great many were forced through necessity to abandon their claims and return East in search of employment. All would have been compelled to go were it not for the carcasses left by the buffalo hunters who had taken nothing but the hide and the hump. Buffalo bones were worth about $14 per ton, and the pioneers that remained gathered them up and hauled them to market at Dodge City. It took from eight to ten days to gather and market a load of bones. This source of revenue, while not very remunerative, served as an opportunity for them to keep body and soul together. By the time the bones began to disappear entirely, they had succeeded in getting some land in a state of cultivation and raised a fair crop of millet, sorghum and Kaffir corn, crops adapted to the dry climate. Besides these things, a few chickens and a cow or two relieved the situation a great deal. Most of the old-timers who had the courage to stay, or rather lacked the means of getting away, are today in good circumstances, and the land that was then almost a desert, is now as productive as any in the United States.

CHAPTER II.

The man who enlists in the army under the influence of patriotic speeches delivered by some great orator, accompanied by a brass band, has no conception of the nerve, energy and enterprise that was required of the first man who popped his bull-whip over the backs of his oxen at little old Westport on the banks of the Missouri River, and shouted to his men, “Come on, boys, we are bound for Santa Fe.” There were no mile posts before him to direct him on his way, and no scouts in advance to warn him of impending dangers. There was nothing before but the open prairie, trackless as the ocean, but onward he pressed across the unmarked plains, over hills and canyons, across creeks and rivers, until he reached his destination. His whole route lay through dangers from hostile tribes who, if not on the warpath one day, were liable to be on the next. Everybody was supposed to sleep with one eye open, otherwise he would be likely to wake up in an unknown land, while his poor habitation of clay would be left minus part of its thatch. Such were the conditions confronting the heroes who opened up the trail and made it possible for the immigrants to take Horace Greeley’s advice to “Go West and grow up with the country.” It is true that there was a great profit in the freighting business in the early days, but the difficulties and dangers were proportionally great. The Indian was not the only risk—there was the prairie fire, the Texas fever, and numerous other dangers confronting one at every step. When the Texas fever seized the cattle, as the ox teams were called, the game was up. I knew one man who drove into Dodge City with over a hundred head of fine work oxen, and in less than six weeks he did not have enough stock left to pull the empty wagons out of town, such was the fatal results of the Texas fever.

The prairie fire could be handled in most cases if it caught in the short prairie or buffalo grass. All that was necessary was to start a back fire, drive onto the burned space and wait until the head fire had passed. But if it caught one in the river, or creek bottoms, where the grass grew from four to six feet high, the only hope lay in flight with the chances very much against one.

Such were the principal difficulties to be encountered on the trail. There were others of a less serious nature, but, nevertheless, very irksome and sometimes dangerous, such as bogging down in the quicksand while crossing a river, or creek. If the sand was not thoroughly packed by driving the cattle back and forth over it before driving into it with a wagon, one was liable to lose a wagon or two, and possibly the entire outfit.

Freighting soon became quite an important industry. New trails were laid off from the little towns that sprang up along the Santa Fe trail to the different ranches in the Territory and Texas. The price paid for freighting was at one time two to three dollars per hundred pounds, to the Panhandle ranches. I have seen a train of wagons half a mile long going to the Panhandle. It was about this time that the great American promoter, or capitalist, came out of the jungles with a railroad scheme, went before Congress and begged assistance for the infant industry. The idea was to build the Santa Fe R. R. westward from Kansas City, and they could not afford to do it without a land grant. It is needless to say that they received it. It consisted of each alternate section for twenty miles on each side of the track. The same railroad at about the same period gave birth to another railroad (they came near being twins.) That is the branch that runs southward through Kansas and the Indian Territory, through the richest oil field in America. It is needless to say that they got this grant through Congress also. I may here remark that I have watched our legislators for a number of years and have never seen them make any special effort to protect the farmer’s infant industry, though the farmer outnumbers the promoter and the capitalist five hundred to one. The same can be said of the mechanic’s infant industry.

Moreover, it is to be noted that in a time of national distress, it is the farmer and the mechanic who take their places in the ranks of the army to fight the battle of the country. I have seen Congress take a hand in the protection of the cattlemen in the Cherokee Strip, but at the same time there was a certain Senator from Kansas who had interests there and who wished that tract of land to remain a sort of “No Man’s Land” for the sole benefit of himself and the Cattle Syndicate in which he was very much interested. This condition endured for fourteen years. During this time Payne and Couch organized a colony of settlers or “Nesters” as they were called, and set a movement on foot to take up some of that land, and establish their homes. Although it was unclaimed land, as soon as the settlers had their little homes built and things in shape to take up the burden of their lives, the soldiers through the influence of the Cattle Syndicate swooped down upon them, arrested the settlers, tore down their houses, and drove the offending parties back across the Kansas line. Through all these discouraging conditions the settlers maintained the fight and finally won out against the powerful Syndicate, but at what a cost! Payne was arrested and taken to Fort Smith, handcuffed like a criminal, and was held there for a long time but was not given a trial, as there were no legal grounds for his arrest. Poor Payne did not live to enjoy the fruits of his labors for the early settlers, but he made it possible for them to make homes for themselves and enjoy them in peace, unmolested by the powerful Syndicate and those who were in league with them. Were it not for the fight put up by Payne and Couch, the land now occupied by homes of thousands of happy and contented farmers would now be the grazing ground of cattle owned by the Syndicate. Verily the wheels of Justice move slowly when the interests of the poor man are at stake.

CHAPTER III.

The foreman always kept one or two saddle horses, a pair of forty-five six-shooters, a Winchester, and a slicker, as it was one of his duties to ride a few miles in advance of the train to pick out the crossings and to avoid all difficulties of the journey, and to keep the teamsters posted on the best route to follow. Very frequently the foreman kept the commissary department of the train supplied with fresh meat, as deer, antelope and other large game were plentiful, and the prairie was literally covered with buffalo. It was no difficult matter to kill such game, as they were unacquainted with the sound of a gun, or the sight of man, which condition changed as they soon learned that the proximity of a man spelled danger and consequently they became very wild. When a buffalo or deer was killed, it was skinned and the hide salted and taken along for use, or to sell. The hide of the antelope was considered worthless. The meat that was not intended for immediate use was cut into strips, dipped in salt water and hung on a line or the wagon bows to dry and was then preserved for future use. Flies never bothered meat treated in this manner. Such meat was said to be “jerked,” and would remain in good condition for use for over a year.

The outfits usually made a journey of about twelve miles a day, as it was impossible to carry enough feed along for the stock and have at the same time room enough for the freight. Consequently, it was necessary to graze the stock, which required a considerable time and caused much delay. It was necessary also to have the cattle graze during the daytime owing to the fact that the Indians had a penchant for stampeding a herd at night and running it off to parts unknown for their own use. As a result of this condition, what traveling was done was accomplished in one shift, as it would require too much time and trouble to hitch up twice in the same day. At times, when the grazing was exceptionally good, the freighter remained in such a place for some time, as some of the stock would be footsore and besides the wagons needed greasing, the harness and the rest of the outfit had to be examined and repairs made where needed, sore shoulders had to be given medical treatment, and, in fine, everything had to be done to keep the expedition in proper shape. The teamsters particularly spent considerable of their spare time in looking after their own accoutrements, as it was a matter of pride with a teamster to have his implements in proper condition. The whip to the teamster was the same as the rifle to the soldier. It had to be looked after with care. New tips, called “poppers,” or “crackers,” had to be provided. The lash, usually about twelve feet in length, required considerable skill in the handling of it. A green hand was as likely to wrap it around his own neck as to hit the object intended to receive the blow. The whip in the hands of an expert was a different weapon, and he could perform wonders with it. I have seen drivers wrap the tip of their whip around the neck of a prairie chicken or a grouse and jerk it into the wagon without leaving their seats. If it were necessary some of them could tear a patch of hide off the side of a refractory mule with the deftness of a surgeon.

In going into camp there was one rule that the old-timers always lived up to rigidly, and that was to form a corral by driving one part of the wagons to the right and the other part to the left, making the two lead wagons meet and forming a circle with the trail wagons six or eight feet apart. The space thus left open served the purpose of a gate, and they usually made their beds inside the corral. The stock was usually held inside the corral for the night, or if permitted to graze were driven in to be hitched. If any of them proved unruly, they were usually roped and drawn up to the wagon while being yoked and harnessed. In case of an attack by the Indians the corral offered a good protection for the men as well as the stock.

The third trail wagon attached to some of the teams was never as heavy nor loaded as heavily as the others, but was used as a sort of trap-wagon or “catch-all” for all the extras that were brought along to supply the place of any of the parts that were broken or suffered damage. Each man looked after his traps and particularly his own bed, consisting of a blanket. When not in use it was rolled up and carried in the trap wagon.

With each large outfit there was a night herder, or a horse wrangler. It was his duty to go out with the stock during the night and bring them into the corral in the morning. In case the Indians were on the warpath or were reported near at hand, he had to stand guard over the outfit, as the stock in such a case would be left in the corral until daylight. This system was maintained by all outfits, whether they drove oxen or mules.

The cowman’s outfit was entirely different. He never used more than two wagons, one the lead wagon, and the other the trail, to carry his supplies and cooking utensils. He always used mules or horses in preference to oxen, as oxen were too slow for the needs of his business. The trail wagon was used principally for carrying bedding. In the rear of it there was a cupboard, or grub box, built about three feet in height and fastened to the wagon by means of bolts. The door of the cupboard, instead of swinging as in ordinary articles of the kind, swung downwards and was used as a dining table. The interior of the cupboard was so arranged that the dishes could be safely stored away together with some canned goods, if it were possible to obtain the latter, as they were seldom seen in the early days along the trail. Outside of the necessary articles required for the journey, nothing else was carried, so that the cowman and his party had little opportunity to enjoy any luxuries. As supply points were few and far between, the price of goods, especially bacon, baking powder, salt, tobacco and other essentials was very high. The lead wagon was used for general supplies, and it required an abundance of the same to carry the outfit from one replenishing point to another. I am speaking here of what is called “through herds,” that is, herds on the way to market.

While provisions were scarce and difficult to obtain, it is a remarkable fact that the ranchers never tried to improve the situation in any appreciable degree. They never planted a garden. No vegetables ever appeared at mess excepting, once in a while, potatoes and onions. Nevertheless, all kinds of garden produce might have been had at a very small outlay, and with very little labor, but the average, and you might say, all the cowboys had an aversion for anything that had the appearance of farming, which they considered degrading. I have been at a number of ranches that maintained from twenty-five to thirty thousand head of cattle and did not see a pound of butter or a drop of milk on the table. Eggs, chickens and fresh pork were unknown to them. In fact, they produced nothing but cattle and considered everything else unimportant.

When the railroad was extended to Dodge City, that place became the shipping point for the beef-cattle of the whole Southwest. When that assembling point was established to supply the Eastern market, it relieved the tedium and difficulties of an overland journey to Kansas City. As a consequence of this, the cattle industry in Indian Territory received an impetus, and many cattlemen moved into that district from Colorado and Texas, and established themselves along the North and South Canadian rivers and their tributaries. Quite a number of them became very wealthy in a few years owing to the rise in the price of beef and the low cost of production. While some of them grew wealthy through taking advantage of the natural resources, others lost all they possessed owing to the severe winters, lack of protection for their stock and an insufficient supply of food for their herds. The result of their misfortune was that they slipped back among the vast army of the luckless ones and were seldom heard of, while those who had the foresight to provide against all the contingencies of the uncertain climate by putting up hay in the summer time and protecting their ranches from the destructive prairie fires, prospered handsomely.

CHAPTER IV.

The Cader Brothers, formerly engaged in the hunting business, chose for themselves a ranch on Paladuro Creek and met with great success, if rumor is to be believed.

Colonel Hardesty, more familiarly known as Old Jack, established two ranches, one in Beaver county and another on the Cimmaron river, which were known as the “Hardesty” and “Smith” ranches, and at one time claimed to have forty thousand head of cattle.

Another successful ranchman of those early days was John George, who is still residing in the district where he met with such success. After the opening of Oklahoma Territory for settlement, he was chosen to represent his district in the Oklahoma legislature, and was one of the very few members thereof who gave complete satisfaction to his constituents. He was a staunch Democrat, an honest and upright man, just the kind that was sorely needed in the Territorial Legislature at that time, and of which there was a lamentable scarcity.

Fred Tainter, of Boston, Massachusetts, established a ranch on Cottonwood Creek, and bred a fine grade of stock. He remained in those parts for years.

There were many others who succeeded in attaining success in the business of raising cattle, but I mention only a few of the most successful ones.

I here mention another branch of the ranching business that met with great difficulties in its day and which, to the cowman, was most unwelcome. The Tarbox Brothers, Rufe and Wall, moved in with a drove of sheep from Colorado and settled on the Cimmaron river. A sheepman is always received with scant courtesy in a cattle country. There has always been ill feeling between the sheepman and the cattleman, and in the trouble that generally ensued on their meeting, the sheepman was the one to move to other quarters. In fact, even if the cattlemen were left out of consideration, the sheepmen would be compelled to move by force of circumstances, as sheep are very destructive feeders, and soon ruin the range for themselves as well as for the cattle. In a very short time after their arrival, every vestige of grass will disappear from the range, and the prairie will be converted into a desert. The reason lies in the fact that the sheep crop the grass into the ground and cut up the soil with their hoofs so that the high wind which invariably blows drives the sand before it, cutting off the new grass that may spring up. This, together with the long dry periods, soon kills out the roots, and the prairie is left a waste. Moreover, cattle will not eat off the range that has been grazed over by sheep, so of the two industries it was a case of the survival of the fittest.

The struggle between the cattlemen and the sheepmen was little, if any, short of war. This condition existed for many years in Texas, Indian Territory, Western Kansas, Wyoming, Montana, the Dakotas, and in all of the states adapted to the raising of stock. The usual arguments advanced by both sides of the question, in order to determine who was to hold any particular section, generally sounded like the exhausts of a few racing automobiles. One of the sufferers of misfortune due to the habitual state of hostility between the two industries was the firm of Tarbox brothers, who gave up the business of raising sheep, moved to Dodge City, Kansas, where Rufe was afterwards elected Mayor.

As the most desirable location for the establishment of a ranch was along the creeks and rivers, through the necessity of having plenty of water for the stock, and as the rivers and creeks were few and far between, all the choice sections were soon taken up.

As none of the ranchers cared to venture into the semi-arid plains that lay between the far distant sources of their water supply, and being equally unwilling to depend upon the deep wells that would be required if they would branch out into the open flat lands around them, they left that part of the prairie for the small farmer, or the “nester,” as they called them.

Each cattleman had his own private brand which was duly registered and was known to every other cattleman in the entire West. They were, also, very careful to employ the said brand on all cattle, mules and horses, and any young stock that had been weaned and was not running with the mother was classified as a maverick and belonged to the first man who put his brand upon them.

There were many men who became very wealthy in the cattle country, whose sole assets in the beginning were, a branding iron, a rope, a pony and a saddle. They branded mavericks, and the natural increase of their original find belonged to them also. In this way, in a very short time, they accumulated quite a herd. Then, by establishing their headquarters somewhere, they became full-fledged ranchers without the outlay of any capital whatever. This was successful as long as they were not caught, but woe to the man whose brand was upon a calf that was running with a cow that carried another brand. The meanest way such men had of carrying on their nefarious trade was to kill the mother cow after the calf was old enough to live on grass, brand the calf and run it off to another part of the range.

CHAPTER V.

A few buffalo that had escaped the hunters still remained on the range, and frequently furnished diversion for the cowboy during the dull season. It was his sport and, at the same time, a test of his skill, to rope a buffalo calf and bring it to the ranch to be mothered by an old cow that already was devoting her time and energy to raising a young one of her own. Then was displayed the motherly instinct for the protection of one’s own. As soon as the young buffalo was introduced to his foster-mother there ensued a vigorous protest against the additional burden imposed upon her by the scheming of others. Strenuosity was displayed at all angles, particularly fore and aft, in her efforts to rid herself of the new-found charge. She kicked and hooked and kicked again till kicking was a failure. The more she objected, the more the self-adopted buffalo persisted in devoting his time and attention to her. Once he had a taste of that cow’s milk he hung to her with all the persistency and tenacity of an Oklahoma office-seeker, and she finally submitted with more or less bad grace to the inevitable, and consented to act as mother to the mascot of the ranch.

CHAPTER VI.

There was considerable immigration into this county in ’79 and ’80, as most of the desirable land in Kansas had been pre-empted. Hundreds of good men and women came in and selected homes, and those who could not find locations along the water courses went out into the flat prairie lands, erected houses, fenced their fields to protect them against the range cattle, broke up as much land as they could conveniently handle, and made what improvements their means would permit. As soon as the neighbors became acquainted with one another, they organized Sunday Schools, held meetings at some convenient place weekly, divided the districts into school sections and built schools. Each school house served the purpose of a meeting house for Sunday services as well as for any other business that required a meeting of the people. In a short time the county began to develop the earmarks of civilization.

Following in the footsteps of those law-abiding citizens came a class of criminals who migrated from their native heaths expecting immunity from the punishment due to the crimes they had committed, and which caused their departure to this haven of refuge. Nor did they abstain from their criminal pursuits while in this “refugium peccatorum,” or asylum of the wicked. As soon as they had become familiar with the topography of the county, and, as they were too lazy to work, they soon took up their old practice of lying in wait for the unsuspecting and carrying off his goods when possible. They usually drifted from one ranch to another pretending to look for work, and imposed upon the hospitality of the rancher, who provided for their wants free of charge as long as they cared to remain. I may here remark that the hospitality of the Western people has never been surpassed, and I may say, never equalled. A cowman considered himself insulted if one should leave or pass his ranch at meal time without partaking of his hospitality. Not only this, but as nothing was ever locked up, it was considered the proper etiquette if no one were at home, to enter and help oneself to his supplies and to make oneself perfectly at home. No one was ever asked whence he came or whither he was going. If he volunteered the information without being asked, it was received, and if not given the result was the same, namely, no questions asked. In this way it was a very easy matter for the criminal to gain an intimate knowledge of conditions, which they used to their own advantage later on to the detriment of people generally. They did not confine their depredations to Beaver county only, nor to No-Man’s Land, but thoroughly organized themselves into bands and extended their nefarious business to Western Kansas, Indian Territory, and West Texas. Those who actually stole stock from the farms and ranches, usually took them a few miles and passed them on to their companions in crime, so that no familiar face was absent from the scene of the theft, and thus they avoided suspicion. When a settler’s stock was stolen, he very seldom had the slightest idea of the direction to be taken to recover them, and in most cases was financially unable to make an extended search in any direction. Many a time the loss of a few head of cattle meant all that he had, wiping out his whole accumulation of years of hard work and privation and just at a time when he began to see better times ahead as he was getting something to work with. This condition of affairs could not be permitted to continue, and while the means employed by the settlers to terminate this organized pilfering, and at the same time make some return to the culprit for the wrongs suffered at his hands, may seem hard to the people who were never subjected to conditions such as prevailed in that country, they were as a matter of fact nothing more nor less than cold-blooded Justice. Those who are ignorant of the conditions must remember that the loss of a milch cow meant the principal part of his family’s support, and his wife and children were thus put in a state of actual want thereby, and as there were no means of obtaining legal redress for such losses, they had the law of self-preservation to guide them and from it there was no appeal.

At this point the idea forced itself upon the settlers that they must organize, as it was a physical impossibility to combat a well-regulated band of outlaws single-handed; so, after calling a meeting of the best citizens and discussing the matter carefully, it was decided to organize a Vigilance Committee and see what effect the hanging of a few of the “rustlers” would have upon the remainder of them, and at the same time how it would affect the welfare of the settlers. The moral effect of the organization of the Committee resulted in checking to a certain degree the depredations of the criminals, but it did not wipe it out entirely. A great many of the more timid ones abandoned their evil ways, but the more daring were willing to take a chance and abide by the consequences, which several of them experienced. The Vigilantes occupied the positions of Sheriff, Judge, Jury and Executioner, and when a culprit was caught red-handed his case was summarily disposed of in about thirty minutes, except for the funeral and burial services, which were left usually for anybody that cared to participate in them.

I had a ranch in Texas during those troublous times, and was one time wintering a herd of cattle near Fowler City, Kansas. Consequently I had to make a number of trips through that unsettled district, sometimes on horseback and at others in a buckboard, and it seemed almost invariably my good or bad fortune, as you wish to call it, to enter some place or other at a time when a tragedy was being enacted.

I was once crossing in a buckboard in the direction of Englewood, Kansas, with a consignment of eggs that were beginning to suffer breakage owing to the roughness of the journey, and I began to look for a place to dispose of them to some settler. I soon reached a place that bore the sign, “Groceries,” and there sold my eggs, bought some tobacco and a few other necessaries. While talking to the store-keeper, I noticed a group of men at another sod building, and I inquired of him what they were doing. “Oh, nothing much. They have just been hanging a man over there.” I asked him what the unfortunate had done. “Well,” said he, “he has been stealing horses.” I went out to water my horses just as a part of the group were passing. Recognizing two of them I inquired of them what the fellow had done and where they had arrested him. They replied he had been stealing horses both in the neighborhood and in Clark county, Kansas. The sheriff had followed his trail and caught him South of where we were then, and was taking him back to Kansas. He was bringing him through that section and they took him away from the sheriff and hanged him. I asked him if he did not think the punishment rather severe. He replied that he did not think so, and besides there was no use of letting the sheriff take all the trouble of bringing him back to Kansas where the judges would turn him loose in ninety days and then he would be back at his criminality again. Mike Shrugrue was the name of the sheriff who had the prisoner in charge, and a braver man was not to be found in the State of Kansas, but he could not stand off the Vigilantes. To attempt anything of the kind was to invite disaster. It would be only throwing away another life needlessly, as the one was doomed under any circumstances.

The difference between the Vigilantes and a mob must be thoroughly understood to be appreciated. The one stood for law and order, was organized from necessity, as there was not any law than theirs, and was approved of by the residents of the country in which they operated in the interests of justice; the other, the mob, is a hot-headed, angry, or rather frenzied crowd that usually defeats the claims of justice by taking the law into its own hands in most cases where the law would handle the case in a more satisfactory manner, if allowed to take its course. This mode of procedure is always condemned by the better class of citizens, while the actions of the Vigilantes, who were, with few exceptions, of the better class, were performed usually through stern necessity, rather than from anger. The trial given was usually very short. In most cases the guilt was very clear, as the criminal was nearly always taken manifest, as he was usually taken in the act of committing a crime. If the prisoner had a plausible story to tell, it was investigated before any further proceedings took place. If he happened to be one of the notorious class of criminals, which was commonly the case, the culprit was given short shrift. Neither mode of procedure is to be recommended as the safest course to attain the ends of justice.

The greatest difficulty to be met with in the interest of justice, was in handling the cases of “rustlers,” as there were always some of the same ilk on hand to prove a complete alibi. Fifty men could be assembled on a day’s notice to prove that the accused was a hundred miles away from the scene of the crime when it was committed. As a consequence of this, most of the accused were released, or, if caught red-handed in their rascality, were admitted to bail, which was furnished by their companions in crime, and then they forfeited the bail and took leave to parts unknown.

My next experience occurred not long afterwards while making a trip from Timms City, Texas, across the country to the Fred Taintor ranch. On this occasion my family accompanied me in the then up-to-date means of travel, namely, a lumber wagon. The trail was in good condition and we were making good time. One day, about dinner time, I was keeping a lookout for a good camping place for the purpose of supplying the needs of both the family and the cattle. It was impossible to build a fire, as the wind was blowing a gale, and the prairie was very dry and a fire would likely spread and lay waste the whole county. Seeing the impossibility of camping, though I had found a suitable place, I determined to push on to some ranch where our wants would be supplied. I knew where a man by the name of Kingston, from Illinois, had put up a small frame building and had laid in a stock of groceries. I finally reached the object of my search and when approaching the store I had to pass another building occupied by a family. As I was passing a woman stepped out and asked me if I was going to the store. I replied that I was, and told her what my business was there. She informed me that it was of no use as Mr. Kingston had been murdered the evening before. She showed me where they were burying him at that moment. She also informed me that one of the bullets fired at Mr. Kingston had passed under the cow she happened to be milking at the time. It is needless to say that I did not tarry long in that neighborhood, but went on until I finally reached the Taintor ranch, where the latch string always hung on the outside of the door. The reception we had and the supper provided soon made us forget that we had had no dinner. After a good night’s rest we proceeded on our way to sunny Kansas.

In the meantime I had learned the circumstances leading up to the Kingston tragedy. It appeared that Mr. K—had received through the mail a draft for several hundred dollars and the Postmaster had mentioned the fact to a neighbor. The conversation had been overheard by two cut-throats who waited until they thought it had been cashed and then hatched up a plan to murder him for his money. It seemed from the appearance of things inside the house that they had intended to hang him so as to give it the appearance of suicide and then get away with the cash. The room was not ceiled and a rope was found hanging over a joist with a noose in one end. While making their preparations it seemed that he had broken away from them and had reached the prairie in front of the store, where they shot him.

Someone has said that the way of the transgressor is hard, and in this instance it proved undoubtedly correct, for the Vigilants set out after those men, ran them down in the brakes of a creek and sent sixteen bullets through one of them; the other escaped and made his way to Dodge City, Kan., where he proceeded to fill up on whiskey and made other arrangements to take in the town. The City Marshall’s opinion was that the town was too small for two men to run at the same time, especially as one was a stranger who had not been duly elected for the position. As a result, a gun argument was introduced to settle the question and the bad man was killed in the first round. His funeral occurred next day with all the ceremonies befitting a man of his calling and he was interred on “Boot-hill” without flowers on his casket, or tears shed over his demise. It turned out afterwards that Mr. Kingston had not cashed the draft, so all the money that the rogues obtained by murder and robbery was what was in the cash drawer at the time.

The Vigilants, for the time being, performed valuable services for the settlers and were largely instrumental in driving out of that country a lot of thugs, thieves, and cut-throats, who were preying upon the people. But, strange to say, time proved that some of themselves were not entirely above suspicion, as the following incident will show. One day as I was riding along the divide between Kiowa Creek and the Beaver, I met a man whom I recognized to be Jake Smith. I use the name Smith for convenience, as that was not his name, and I do not care to use his rightful cognomen as he left that country shortly afterwards, went over to Kansas, married a nice girl, went into business and became a leader socially and a pillar in the Church, is generally respected and is living an upright life. Knowing him well, I hailed him.

“Well, Jake,” I said, “your horse looks pretty well jaded, you must have had a long ride.”

Said he, “Oh, that’s nothing. I must ride to Alpine tonight as there is to be a meeting of the Vigilants at eight o’clock and I want to be there.”

“Do you belong to the Vigilants?” I asked.

“Why, yes,” he replied. “I was one of the first to join them and have been working with them ever since.”

“Well, Jake,” said I, “you’re a jewel, a regular diamond. You know that you have been stealing cattle and branding ‘mavericks’ ever since you landed in this country, and all the old-timers know it, and now you are running your horse to death to catch a rustler. That is a great joke!”

“I see plainly that you do not understand,” said he. “The situation is this: I had to join them for self-protection and also to look after the interests of my friends. Talk of running my horse to death! I have just been returning a favor. I have just been up to the head of Clear Creek to tell Slim Jim to skip, because if they catch him he will stretch hemp for stealing Old Dusenberry’s mules, and besides, Slim ain’t no bad fellow when he has a good paying job.”

I have never had the pleasure of meeting Jake since, but if I ever visit Kansas I shall be certain to call and see him to find out how he managed to keep from stealing his own goods and hiding them out in the canyons, through force of habit after having resolved to leave other men’s chattels alone.

It seemed to be the custom whenever a small settlement was formed, for some one to put up a grocery store, locate a postoffice and call it by some high-sounding title and establish the nucleus of a city. For instance, there was Boyd City, Beaver City, Benton City, Alpine City, Neutral City, and Gate City, mostly located on the divides, or flat prairie lands on the established trails. “Sod Town,” whose name was not so high-sounding as descriptive, soon sprang into existence as the Monte Carlo, or sporting center of the whole country. It was there at round-up time, each spring and fall, that the boys were accustomed to meet and run their horses, discuss matters of common interest, and, in general, to have a good time. As nearly every ranch had a fast horse or two, also a prize roper, whenever the convention took place, things were bound to be lively and at times quite a little money changed hands on the result of a horse race, or other contest of skill.

Among the famous horses of that day that I recall, were “Old Pumpkin,” a general favorite, “Stick-in-the-Mud,” “Greasy Heels,” “Wobble Shanks,” and “Sore Toes” with a dozen or so of others to select from, and each and every one had its backers and admirers.

Frank Biggers, Jim Mahoney, Sour-dough-Charlie, Heel-Fly Bill, Snake Eater, and Bull Joe were generally the leading spirits at the race course, and as Frank Biggers was a lover of fair play, he was usually chosen to act as judge; besides, he had a manner of enforcing his decisions which commanded respect and the compliance of the wildest and wooliest of the assembly.

For the benefit of the readers who are unaccustomed to the ways and phrases of the Western people, I shall here state that the nicknames of a great many of them were acquired from their calling, or from some incident or occurence on the range. If one were to drop into the Panhandle country and inquire for Mr. Chas. Deitrich, Mr. Joseph Parish, or some others who were mostly known by nickname, I doubt very much if the inquirer would find his man, but if he were to ask for Sour-dough Charlie, or Bull Joe, any one could tell them at once where to find them or what their business was. Some of the names allotted to individuals may seem rude to the elite of the East and give the impression of vulgarity and rudeness, but on acquaintance one would find them good, kind, and obliging men as ever saddled a broncho or branded a maverick. The congregation at Sod Town was composed of men who knew one another and any money won or lost was taken as a matter of course, and there was no grief over spilt milk. Theirs was a vigorous life and healthy outdoor sport appealed to them. When their sport was over, they were off to the ranch again in good spirits.

Among the early settlers of Sod Town were two young men, named Ellis and Fiske, who opened a Grocery and Supply store. They kept a large stock of provisions, as well as, boots, shoes, slickers, and other articles adapted to the trade of the cattlemen. In a short time they built up a good trade and were liked by all. One night, two bad men, or would-be road agents, called at the store and rapped for admission. This was not at all out of the ordinary as the cattleman’s business kept him at all hours. It was nothing unusual for him to rout out the store-keeper at any hour of the night and have his wants supplied. On the night in question, when Ellis heard the rapping, he donned his trousers and fortunately had his six-shooters in his waistband. As soon as he opened the door of his store he was commanded to put up his hands. He proceeded to do so, but in the act of raising his hand he drew his gun and shot one of the bad men, wounding him badly. Both turned to flee. Ellis pulled down on them in their flight, and by the aid of light from a prairie fire that was burning at the time, fired at the fleeing bad men and killed outright the man he had wounded at the door. The other villian made his escape into the darkness. Of course, Ellis was arrested and taken before the U. S. Court for that district and was honorably discharged. He should not have been arrested for a case of that kind, but there were milage fees to be considered, and the marshall seldom if ever overlooked an opportunity of the kind for increasing his wealth. I have never heard of any other bad men calling on Ellis and Fiske in search of assistance in a financial way, especially in the manner mentioned above.

Sour-dough Charlie had a little ranch of his own on Wolf Creek where he kept a few horses. He raised a few colts each year, and to fill in his odd time he tanned deer skin, made gloves for the cow punchers, and at times used to cook for a round-up as he was an artist in that line of work as well as being a very entertaining fellow. His chief work of art was the construction of sour dough bread and he had the reputation of being a master in the work. One afternoon a cow-puncher pulled up to the wagon and called for his chuck-a-way, and said he wanted it at once as he had to return to the herd and stand guard while his partner came for his supply. The cook told him he would have to wait for awhile as he did not have things in shape to get an extra meal. Without further parley and without any warning the puncher picked up a crock full of sour dough and struck the cook over the head with it. The contents spilled over his head and ran down into his eyes and mingled with his whiskers. Right then and there was originated and conferred upon him the title of “Old Sour-dough Charlie,” a name that will remain with him as long as he lives.