Fair time! Kansas City was gay with flags and streamers and banners. It was a holiday season. The streets were thronged and trains from Leavenworth and Sedalia, and St. Joseph and Moberly, and Lawrence and Clinton and regions further removed from Kansas City, brought crowds of men, women and children to see the show. It was a lovely October day. The temperature was mild, and the sun shone through an atmosphere which tinged his rays with gold.

All day the great crowd surged and circled about the grounds and through the textile hall, and the art gallery, and the agricultural exhibition, and among the fat kine and the lazy swine, the sheep and the horses, and the poultry coops. It was a good day, so the "management" thought, one of the very best they had ever had. Shrewd mental arithmeticians declared there was not a soul less than twenty thousand visitors present that day, and an incident of some importance has placed it forever out of the power of any one to disprove the statement of the mental arithmetician. The management, too, from that day to this, have been unable to count the gate money. Why not we now proceed to tell.

The people visiting the fair were deeply interested in "the speed and bottom" of sundry "blooded horses" which were making time around the race track. The sun was getting low in the west. It was the last "ring" to be exhibited that day. Of course no one would think of paying their entrance fee and go away without seeing the races.

While the great multitude was so engaged, there was a commotion near the entrance gate. The level beams of the declining sun cast gigantic shadows over the ground. A sudden clattering of horses, hoofs on the beaten road aroused the guardians at the gate. What could it mean? The noise came nearer. The guardians looked up. A strange sight met their gaze. A band of well mounted, well armed, strange, weird looking men, seven in number, dashed up to the gate. Among some of the spectators it was supposed that these singularly brigandish looking men, were simply actors, that they had been employed by the "management" for the entertainment of the visitors to the fair—that it was, in short, an irruption of the "Cowbellions," or some such mystic order of men. Even the treasurers in their "cuddy boxes" did not comprehend the character of the movement.

But they were not kept in doubt long. Riding directly to the receiver of money, who, like Matthew, of saintly memory, was sitting at the receipt of customs, two of them sprang to the ground, drew their pistols, and rushed up to the cashier. With a fearful threat they commanded him to remain quiet, and designate the money box. What could he do? Instantly the other robber seized the cash-box. The men who still remained mounted covered the retreat of the two who did the seizing. They remounted, fired a volley as a warning, and dashed away with the receipts of the day, probably $8,000 or $9,000.

There were twenty thousand people, they said, on the ground. And yet in the sight of all these the brigands had done this thing, and were galloping away unmolested. There were hundreds who saw them, and if any old Guerrilla comrade was one of them, and recognized Frank and Jesse James, and Cole and Bob Younger, they said nothing about it.

As soon as the "management" of the fair and the police authorities, and sheriffs, and constables, and marshals had time to think and consider the necessity for energetic measures in efforts to capture the brigands, there was mounting in hot haste of police officers, marshals and other enforcers of the law, and pursuit was commenced with great vigor. But the pursuers had little better success than those who went after young Lord Lochinvar when he eloped with the bride of Netherby Hall, whom "they never did see." The pursuers of the robbers of the gate did hear of a man who was riding along a country road in Clay county who looked as if he might have been a robber, but the robbers they never did see.

The fact of the matter is, the robbers rode away about five miles over the hills, until they came to a piece of wild forest country, rode into the woods; came to a sequestered glade; struck a light; emptied the cash out of the box; counted and divided the spoils; remounted their horses, and favored by the darkness of the night, and their thorough knowledge of the country, they went their way, every man choosing his own route. Jesse and Frank James made a visit to the east part of Jackson county to see some friends, and Cole and Bob Younger, passing down to the neighborhood of Monegaw Springs, to visit Mr. Theodoric Snuffer and others of their friends and relatives.

A great many people did not believe that the James Boys and Younger Brothers had anything to do with this robbery, or had ever had anything to do with any robbery at that time. But there is now no longer a doubt that the Boys enjoyed the good in this life which the receipts at the fair ground gate could procure for them.

An incident in connection with the robbery at the fair ground gate is of sufficient interest to bear reproduction here. As we have before related, the robbery took place while the attention of the people was deeply engrossed in the horse races then in progress on the track. That day Mr. Ford, a well known journalist of Kansas City, was acting treasurer at "the pool stand." There was a sum of money in the box amounting to between $8,000 and $9,000. Mr. Ford was seated upon the box when a couple of strangers came along. One of them approached the treasurer, and entered into a conversation about as follows: The stranger remarked,

"You must have considerable money in there?"

"Well, yes," responded Mr. Ford. "There is a considerable amount of cash in here."

"Suppose the James Boys should come and demand it; what would you do?" asked the stranger.

"Well, they would have to fight for it," replied Mr. Ford. "They might kill me, but somebody would have to be killed before they could get this box away, that is certain."

"You would fight for it, eh?" responded the stranger.

"That I would," said Mr. Ford.

"If you knew it was the James Boys who made the demand?" asked the stranger.

"Certainly I would," replied Mr. Ford.

The stranger gazed sharply at the treasurer of "the pool stand" for an instant, and, turning about, walked away without further remark.

Mr. Ford had met Frank James before, on some occasion, and was convinced that the person who addressed him was no other than Frank James. He recognized him beyond a doubt before he had passed out of sight.

That evening the robbery was consummated. Other respectable parties saw Frank and Jesse James that day about Kansas City, but for a time they were able to beguile the public into the belief that they were not present on that occasion. But time has furnished sufficient evidence to connect them with that daring enterprise.

Ste. Genevieve! To many it calls up sweet memories, and in many hearts the name is sacred and holy. The very words sound as if full of gentleness, and love, and purity. And yet, in the very midst of the Ste. Genevieve of Missouri, acts of wickedness have been committed which from, their very nature, startled the whole people of the West.

Ste. Genevieve, Missouri, is an old, old town. More than a century ago it was a beacon light of civilization, in the midst of the vast wilderness then called the "far West." And the people of Ste. Genevieve are quiet and sedate, and still preserve, with the traditions of the venerable past, the grand, courtly ways inherited from their ancestors from the banks of the Rhone and the Saone. When spring-time comes, Ste. Genevieve is redolent with the perfumes of many flowers, and when the sun climbs higher toward the northern parallel, Ste. Genevieve reposes amid gardens of summer roses. Why should brigands dare place their unhallowed feet on the dust in these ancient streets? If they were not brigands, they would have loved to inhale the perfumed air of the old gardens. But being brigands, they preferred to handle the gold which the fathers of some generations of men commenced to hoard. And for this cause they came to Ste. Genevieve. Brigands are not a sentimental race of beings.

Tuesday morning, May 27th, 1873, was lovely, as such spring days are, when the sun is bright, and the flowers blooming, and the air balmy. Mr. O. D. Harris, cashier of the bank known as the Ste. Genevieve Savings Association, being a gentleman of fine sensibilities, thought so as he sniffed the delicious aroma of the perfume-laden air, when he wended his way to the bank, and so he said to his friends who saluted him by the way. Arriving at the bank—it was just about the hour of opening—he was joined by young Mr. Rozier, a son of General Firman A. Rozier, then president of the bank. As Mr. Harris was about to enter the bank office, his attention was momentarily engaged by the appearance of two men who were walking on the street in front of the building, and looking up at it with an intense interest. They were just passing it, when suddenly they turned, and came back as though they intended to enter. They approached the steps and commenced to ascend them, preceded by Mr. Harris, who, having reached the front office, started at once to go behind the counter. He had not progressed half the distance when he was suddenly arrested by a harsh, authoritative command:

"Stop! Surrender, d—n you!"

Of course Mr. Harris stopped, but could not turn round, because the fellow who had given the command had two pistols, with muzzles against his temple.

The other fellow presented a pistol at the head of young Rozier, and called out:

"You keep still, you d—d little rat, if you don't want to die in an instant."

"I? for what?"

"Not another word, young chap! That's enough! A blabbing tongue can be stopped d—d easy."

Fearing to remain, and impelled by a sudden and overpowering desire to take his departure, young Rozier sprang down the steps, near the landing of which he was standing, and fled swiftly from the place. As he ran away, the fellow fired at him, the bullet cutting its way through his coat on the shoulder, and just grazing his person.

A neighbor across the way saw the robber with his pistols at the cashier's head, and started to get his gun. Just at that moment the other robber fired at Mr. Rozier, and the wife of the neighbor, seeing the predicament of Mr. Harris, dissuaded her husband from attempting to fight them, because she feared resistance would inevitably lead to the shooting of Mr. Harris. Young Rozier, after his escape, gave the alarm to the citizens, who at once began preparations to make an attempt to capture the bold marauders.

Meanwhile Mr. Harris, without arms, was helpless, and could only comply with the demands of the robbers.

"Open that safe!" thundered out one of them.

"Certainly, sir. I cannot do otherwise," said Mr. Harris. The safe was opened.

By this time the other robber, who had pursued young Rozier, joined his comrade in the bank. A money package, containing upwards of $3,600, was secured. Then the thief took the coin box, containing between three and four hundred dollars, principally in gold. By this time the town was aroused, and men began to move toward the bank. The robbers had no time to waste. Turning to Mr. Harris, they emphatically commanded:

"D—n you, come with us!" Mr. Harris obeyed. What else could he do?

When they had gone about fifty yards along the street, they turned to the little knot of women and boys collecting about the bank building, and shouted:

"Hurrah for Sam Hilderbrand!" and continued to move rapidly away. Two hundred yards from the bank they came to two other men equally well armed, and all having superb horses, who awaited their coming. Here, perceiving that Mr. Harris wore an elegant gold watch, one of the robbers took it from him, and transferred it to his own person.

Then all four of the men started to get on their horses. Just at that time one of the horses got loose and ran off. A German farmer, in a wagon, happened to be passing. Him they compelled, under the most dire threats of immediate extermination, to go after the horse. The German caught the horse and brought him back to where the robbers still held Mr. Harris. Then they all mounted and rode rapidly away, not forgetting to fire a salute at the crowd of citizens who had started in their direction. By this time fully a dozen citizens had armed themselves, and taking horses, were ready for pursuit. They followed the robbers rapidly, and soon came up with them. But it was at once evident that the four men were desperadoes, who would not submit to arrest. They fired at the pursuing posse, and compelled them to fall back. Then the whole population turned out, and went in pursuit. But they never came up with them, and soon lost even the trail which they followed.

Some miles from Ste. Genevieve the robbers met a farmer going toward the town. They informed him that he would find something valuable, which belonged to the bank, in the road ahead of him. In accordance with their statement, the farmer found the empty coin box and a lot of papers scattered about. The robbers had taken away a number of valuable papers belonging to the sheriff and others, for which they had no use, and these they had considerately thrown away.

This was one of the boldest robberies which had ever taken place at that time in the West. The "Ste. Genevieve Savings Association" building was situated in the most populous part of the town of Ste. Genevieve, with a population of about three thousand souls. The street through which they passed to reach the bank was the most traveled thoroughfare in that part of the country. It happened in broad daylight, when all the people of the village were engaged about their ordinary concerns.

Of course a deed like this was calculated to create a sensation. The citizens of Ste. Genevieve pursued the bandits, but lost them, and even all traces of the route which they had taken. What could be done? That was the question.

Mr. Harris went up to St. Louis on the 28th of May to see the police authorities in that city. General Rozier, at that time a State Senator, and on duty at Jefferson City, as a member of the State Board of Equalization, was advised of the robbery, and went down to St. Louis to confer with Mr. Harris and the Chief of Police. Then the hunt was commenced, and prosecuted with a great show of vigor for a time. Theories as to who the robbers were appeared in the public journals almost every day. Some said it was Sam Hilderbrand—who was not known to be dead then—and his gang of desperadoes; some said that it was Cullen Baker's crowd from Arkansas; others thought it might possibly be the James Boys and Younger Brothers who "put up the job," but were far from satisfied that they "were the lads who did it." In those days there were a vast number of very respectable people who, while admitting that Frank and Jesse James, and Coleman and James Younger, were dangerous men, so far as taking the life of fellow-beings was concerned, would at the same time repel any insinuations that they might possibly raid a bank or flag a train. No, they were too honorable and honest for that sort of business. While the people were discussing these questions, the band, of which the James Boys were the leading spirits, was enjoying life on the spoils of Ste. Genevieve.

"Robin Hood and his merry men," of Sherwood forest fame, have left a name indelibly written on the pages of history. In the days of our youth we have heard or read about Claude Duval and Jack Shepherd, and their wonderful exploits in old England; and we have a faint recollection of one John A. Murrell, who obtained great distinction as an outlaw in the Southern section of our own country. The Harps who infested the passes of the mountains of East Tennessee were celebrated robbers in their days. And that shrewd mongrel of the commingled blood of old Castile and a red daughter of the western wilds, Agatone, the terror of the Rio Grande border, made no little noise in his day as a daring brigand. But neither these nor the celebrated Fra Diavola were like the brigands we are speaking about.

William de la Marck, the outlawed nobleman of the low countries, and known in history as "The Wild Boar of Ardennes," plundered by the wholesale. There was nothing little or mean in his methods. He would scorn to pounce upon a lonely traveller and demand his purse. He sacked villages and plundered caravans. In this our Missouri outlaws resemble "The Wild Boar of Ardennes." They do not wait in gloomy places to catch a single wayfarer; they do not meet a weary traveller on the highway and cry out to him, "Your money or your life!" They would despise such petty meanness.

After Ste. Genevieve they rested. But their season of repose was not long. A new campaign was planned. Hitherto they had depredated on the banks. But they were about to commence another line of business. The whole question was, no doubt, discussed with profound interest in their secret conclave. Such a thing as plundering a railway train was something new. The public mind had not become accustomed to read accounts of the arrest of railway trains and the robbery of the passengers by a band of armed robbers. The Missouri bandits thought to create a sensation.

In the early part of July, 1873, Frank James, Cole Younger, Robert Moore, a desperado from the Indian Territory, Jesse James and Jim Younger, held a conference in Jackson county, Missouri, when a scheme was broached to overhaul and rob a railway train. The first suggestion was to rob a train on the Hannibal & St. Joe. railway, or some other road in the state of Missouri. But that was rejected after due deliberation. The plan of going into Iowa was suggested and met with favor. The plans were matured before the gang separated. About the 14th of the month the robbers met at the house of a friend in Clay county, and the final arrangements were made; a place of rendezvous was appointed, and the gang then separated into couples. As usual, Frank and Jesse James took the same route; Cole Younger and Bob Moore another, and Jim Younger and a Texas desperado who went by the name of Commanche Tony, followed another route. The robbers leisurely pursued their journey, and on the 20th of July they were near the line of the Chicago, Rock Island & Pacific railway, about fourteen miles east of the city of Council Bluffs. At the appointed place of rendezvous they all meet after dark, on the night of the twentieth. During that day Jesse James and Cole Younger made a reconnoissance, and selected the exact spot to carry out the enterprise in which they were engaged. It was agreed that they would "throw" the morning train bound east from Council Bluffs, as it was supposed to carry a large amount of specie en route east from the Pacific slope. The robbers didn't care much for silver, but they were willing to accept all the gold bricks that might fall into their hands. The place selected was about three miles from the rendezvous, in the edge of a belt of timber, and where the road bed was in an excavation about four feet deep. The train was due at that point about three o'clock in the morning.

With deliberate purpose the robbers took their station in the underbrush near the track. Several cross ties were placed in a position to be immediately utilized when the time came. Three or four rails were loosened from the ties, and in silence the bandits waited for the approach of the train.

In due time the train was descried by the watcher at the upper end of the curve—the road was very straight for a long distance to the west of the place selected. At that point there is a rather sharp curve and an obstruction placed on the track could not be seen by the engineer until he was within sixty yards of it. As soon as the train was seen coming down the long straight track, the robbers suddenly awoke into life and activity. The loosened rails were thrown apart, and half a dozen cross ties were thrown across the tracks just above.

The engineer saw the danger when too late. He reversed his engine, but the momentum was too great. The ponderous locomotive plunged on, struck the obstruction, and careened on the side of the track. The shock was terrific. The engineer was killed and the fireman seriously injured. But the train stood still. The aroused passengers had no time to inquire the cause of the sudden stoppage. They knew full soon. The presence of armed men—strange, weird, desperate—appearing on the platforms of the coaches informed them concerning the situation. The train passed into the hands of bandits. The passengers were ordered in a peremptory manner to keep still. The command was accompanied by dreadful threats of instant annihilation on the least evidence of disobedience. Surprised and unnerved by the suddenness of the attack, the passengers obeyed. Then three of the band proceeded through the train and commanded the passengers to surrender up their money and their jewelry. They made a searching examination of each person in the cars. It is understood that several thousand dollars were obtained in this way. The express and mail car were searched and rifled. The spoils of the examination were put into a sack, and the robbers sought their horses, and mounting, speedily galloped away.

Of course the intelligence of such an occurrence was telegraphed far and wide. A most determined pursuit of the robbers was at once organized and set on foot. The sheriff of the county in which the robbery was committed summoned a large posse of men and started in pursuit. His theory was that they were Missouri outlaws. He got on the trail of the robbers, and tracked them through western Missouri as far as St. Clair county. Here he lost their trail, and efforts to find the outlaws proved unavailing. The sheriff finally gave up the chase and returned home.

It is proper to add that friends of Cole Younger denied that he could possibly have had anything to do with this robbery. They assert that he was at the Monegaw hotel, St. Clair, on Sunday morning, the 20th of July, and therefore could not have been in Iowa the next morning. But there is no doubt that the Youngers—at least Bob and Jim—were present with the Jameses on that occasion. At any rate, the bandits escaped with their booty.

They used to say that the James Boys and the Younger Brothers might kill men who attempted to impose upon them, but they would not rob or steal. Those who rob men of life must be the greatest criminals, and the lesser crimes are included in the greater. The career they had chosen required the service which money alone can render. These men had need for money which their legitimate resources were inadequate to supply. Those who have taken many lives will not hesitate long to take a few dollars when their necessities require it. Such are the laws which govern human actions.

Long before many of the very respectable citizens of Clay, Clinton and Jackson counties believed it, the sons of the excellent minister whom they had known were the most unscrupulous and daring highwaymen who had ever followed the roads on this continent. The Jameses early became the most dangerous outlaws of which history gives us any account. They were bold, but cautious; skilled in the school of cunning; trained in the art of killing; shrewd in planning, and swift in the execution of their designs.

They seldom attempted a robbery except in out-of-the-way places where the presence of robbers was not expected. Nor did they ever attempt robberies a second time at the same place. Their plan was to strike unexpected blows. This week they would rob a train at Gad's Hill, next week at Muncie, Kansas; again, they would arrest a stage on the Malvern and Hot Springs road, and then again they would flag a train at Big Springs, Wyoming Territory, a thousand miles from the scene of their last exploit.

It was a gray, raw day in January, 1874, when the regular stage running from Malvern, on the St. Louis, Iron Mountain & Southern Railway, to Hot Springs, pulled out from the little town. Two ambulances for the accommodation of the afflicted pilgrims bound for that Mecca of relief, accompanied the stage on the road. This cavalcade had reached the romantic vale of the Golpha, near the old Gains' mansion. This is a narrow dell, shut in by abrupt hills, clad with a dense forest of pine and tangled underbrush and evergreen vines. At this particular place the valley widens, and there is a beautiful farm and lovely grounds bordering the roadside on the east and north side of the stream. West and south the deep, tangled forest crowns the hills, which rise to a great height. Here is a favorite halting place for travelers along that way. The clear waters of the Golpha afford refreshing draughts to the wearied teams.

We have said it was a gray, raw morning in January. The long drive from Malvern over the stony roads inclined the passengers, as well as the horses, to rest. That particular Thursday morning the drivers had stopped, as usual, directly opposite the Gains residence, which is about two hundred yards from the road, toward the northeast. The spot is about five miles southeast from Hot Springs. A little beyond the stopping place the road crosses the stream at a ford. Beyond the creek the country is very rugged, and covered with forest trees. And in those trees a band of robbers were crouched, waiting the approach of the stage and ambulances. The unsuspecting pilgrims were soon moving on, inwardly congratulating themselves on the near termination of their fatiguing journey.

The stage and ambulances had proceeded well into the wood on the Hot Springs side of the Golpha, perhaps half a mile from "the watering place," when a strong, emphatic voice called out from the borders of the brush: "Stop! d—n you, or I'll blow your head off!" Thus commanded, of course the driver of the stage brought his team to a standstill. The passengers naturally threw aside the flaps of the vehicles and thrust out their heads to ascertain what the strange proceedings meant. They saw at once. Cocked revolvers yawned before them, and stern, harsh voices exclaimed in chorus, "D—n you, tumble out!" "Certainly, under the circumstances, we will do so with alacrity," replied one of the passengers, a Mr. Charles Moore. "Raise your hands, you d—d——." Of course every passenger promptly obeyed the order. One passenger, a rheumatic invalid, alone, was left undisturbed. Then the leader cried out:

"Come! be quick, form a circle here!"

The order was obeyed. Then two of the robbers, one of whom was armed with a double-barrel shot-gun and the other with a navy repeater, mounted guard over the prisoners, and made many sinister remarks, doubtless intended to be jocose, but which kept the prisoners in a tremor of apprehension all the while.

Then two of the brigands proceeded to examine the effects and pockets of the passengers.

When the affable gentlemen of the road had completed their undertaking, they proceeded in the coolest manner imaginable to cast up their accounts. They had lost in cash—nothing; in jewelry—naught; in conscience—well, it happened they didn't have any to lose. They had gained from sundry passengers as follows:

It was a very good morning's work, and the bandits were so well pleased that they were inclined to indulge in a sort of grim facetiousness. One of them unharnessed the best stage horse, saddled him and mounted him, and after trying his gait by riding up and down the road a few times, called out:

"Boys, I reckon he'll do!"

Another one of the band went to each passenger as he stood in the circle. John Dietrich was the first to pass through the ordeal of cross-examination.

"Where are you from?"

"Little Rock," replied Dietrich.

"Ah, ha!"

"Yes, have a boot and shoe store there," remarked Dietrich.

"You'd better be there attending to it," was the observation of the chief of the bandits.

"Are there any Southern men here?"

"I am," replied Mr. Crump and three others.

"Any who served in the army?"

"I did," said Crump.

The leader then asked him what regiment he belonged to, and what part of the country he had served in. The answers were satisfactory, and then the robber handed Crump his watch and money, remarking as he did so:

"Well, you look like an honest fellow. I guess you're all right. We don't want to rob Confederate soldiers. But the d—d Yankees have driven us all into outlawry, and we will make them pay for it yet."

Mr. Taylor, of Lowell, Mass., was examined.

"Where are you from?"

"St. Louis."

"Yes, and d—n your soul, you are a reporter for the St. Louis Democrat, the vilest sheet in the land. Go to Hot Springs and send the dirty concern a telegram about this affair, and give them my compliments, will you?"

Then Governor Burbank felt encouraged to ask a favor of them.

"Will you please return me my papers?" asked the Governor. "They are valuable to me, but I am sure you can make no use of them."

"We'll see," said the leader, sententiously, and took the packet and kneeled down to examine them.

In a few moments he took up a paper with an official seal, that excited his ire, and before he paused to examine it sufficiently to enable him to determine its character, he reached the conclusion that the bearer was a detective, a class which he held in the utmost hatred.

"Boys, I believe he's a detective—shoot him, at once!" was the sententious command. In an instant Governor Burbank was covered by three ready cocked dragoon pistols. The ex-Governor was on the border of time.

"Stop!" cried the robber, "I reckon it's all right. Here, take your papers."

And the ex-Governor felt that a mighty load had suddenly been lifted from him, and that a dark cloud, which but a moment before had enshrouded the world in the deepest gloom of midnight, had drifted away, allowing the bright sun to shine out on the scenes of time.

The passenger from Syracuse asked for the return of $5, to enable him to telegraph home for assistance.

The chief looked at him rather sternly for a few moments, and said:

"So, you have no friends nor money. You had better go and die. Your death would be no loss to yourself or the country. You'll get nothing back, at any rate."

All this while one of the robbers, said to have been James Younger, held a double-barrel shot-gun cocked in his hand, which he pointed ever and anon at Mr. Taylor, the supposed Democrat reporter, making such cheerful remarks as these: "Boys, I'll bet a hundred dollar bill I can shoot his hat off his head and not touch a hair on it." And the others would respond with a banter of a very uncomfortable character, while the facetious bandit went on: "Now, wouldn't that button on his coat make a good mark. I'll bet a dollar I can clip it off and not cut the coat!" With such grim jests did he amuse himself and torment the captive.

Having thoroughly accomplished their work, the bandits made the drivers hitch up their teams and drive away. The whole transaction was completed in less than ten minutes. The robbers did not linger. In a few minutes they scattered through the brush. Some "struck out," as they expressed it, for the Nation, another for Texas, and one for Louisiana.

Of course, denials of complicity on the part of the Jameses in this affair were at once entered by their friends. But it has since been ascertained that the party who did the deed consisted of Frank and Jesse James, Coleman and James Younger, and Clell Miller, one of the associates of the daring outlaws.

During the morning of January 31, at the hour of 9:30 o'clock, the St. Louis and Texas express train, with a goodly number of passengers, and the mails and valuable express freight, departed from the Plum street depot in St. Louis, bound for Texas, via the St. Louis, Iron Mountain and Southern railroad. Mr. C. A. Alford was the conductor in charge of the train when it departed, and when the event which we are about to describe occurred.

Gadshill, a name rich in historical associations, is a lonely wayside station on the road, situated in the northeast corner of Wayne county, Missouri, about seven miles from Piedmont, which is the nearest telegraph station.

The 31st of January, 1874, was a dreary, winter day. The cold gray clouds veiled the sky, and no ray of sunlight filtered through the wintry pall.

The day wore away, wearily enough, with the passengers on Mr. Alford's train. They had not yet been together a sufficient length of time to assimilate, and each one was left to his, or her, own device for amusement or entertainment. Slowly the hours passed away. The landscape was cold, dreary and forbidding; the winds came blowing from the north with a chill in their breath that made the passengers think longingly of "sweet home." Iron Mountain, and Pilot Knob, and Shepherd's Mountain, and the beautiful valley of Arcadia, in their winter dress, wore anything but a pleasing aspect. In fact, it was a comfortless sort of day, which made the passengers feel anything but merry.

Nightfall was approaching. Already the thick atmosphere was becoming sombre in hue, and it was evident the curtains of darkness were falling over the earth.

By this time it was about 5:30 o'clock in the afternoon. The train was approaching the little station dignified by the name of Gadshill, in honor of the locality where Sir John Falstaff so valiantly met the Buckramite host, an event graphically delineated by the historian and poet of all climes and times. As the train drew near, the engineer saw the red flag displayed, and whistled "down brakes."

Before proceeding to relate what happened to the train and the passengers on it, we shall state what had happened at Gadshill before the train came.

About half-past three o'clock that afternoon, a party of seven men, splendidly mounted and armed to the teeth, rode to the station, secured the agent, then took in a blacksmith, and afterwards all the citizens and two or three countrymen, and one lad, who were waiting for the arrival of the train. Among the persons so detained was the son of Dr. Rock, at that time Representative in the Legislature from Wayne county. The captives were taken to the little station-house and confined there, under the surveillance of one of the armed robbers. Then the bandits set about completing their arrangements for executing the work which they had come to perform. The signal flag was displayed on the track and the lower end of the switch was opened, so that the train would be ditched if it attempted to pass. Then the bandits waited for their prey.

In due time the train came dashing down the road. The engineer saw the flag and gave the signal for stopping. Mr. Alford, the conductor, was ready to step upon the little platform as soon as the train came alongside. The robbers did not show themselves until the cars were at the station. No sooner had the train come to a full halt than Mr. Alford stepped off to the platform. He was instantly confronted by the muzzle of a pistol and greeted with the salutation:

"Give me your money and your watch, d—n your soul! quick!"

Mr. Alford had no alternative. He gave up his pocketbook containing fifty dollars in money, and an elegant gold watch.

"Get in there!" they commanded, and Mr. Alford obeyed.

While this was going on, one of the brigands had covered the engineer with a revolver, and compelled him to leave his cab. Meanwhile, part of the band occupied the platforms at the ends of the passenger coaches, while two of them went through the train with a revolver in one hand and commanded the passengers to give up their money. Of course the defenseless travellers yielded their change to the uttermost farthing into the hands of the robbers.

Mr. John H. Morley, chief engineer of the St. Louis, Iron Mountain & Southern Railroad, was among the passengers, and was plundered along with the rest of them. The robbers made a clean sweep, taking money, watches and jewelry from all. Among the passengers robbed, were Silas Ferry, C. D. Henry, Geo. G. Dent, Mr. Scott, Sr., Mr. Scott, Jr., Mr. Lincoln, Mr. Meriam, O. S. Newell and A. McLain. After having effectually stripped the passengers of worldly wealth, the robbers proceeded to the express car, broke open the safe, and secured the contents. The mail bags were next cut open and their contents rifled of everything of value. The whole amount of money secured by the robbers was somewhere between eight and ten thousand dollars. After completing their work the bandits went to Mr. Alford and remarked that as he was conductor he needed a watch, and they gave him back his timekeeper.

When they had satisfied themselves that there was no more plunder to be gained, they released the conductor and engineer, and told them to draw out at once.

As the robbers, whose part of the business it was to relieve the passengers of their spare cash, passed through the cars, they asked each one of the gentlemen passengers his name. One of the victims, a Mr. Newell, asked the brigands,

"What do you want to know that for?"

"D—n you, out with your name, and ask questions afterward!" was the profane reply.

"Well, my name is Newell, and here's my money, and now I want to know why you ask me for my name?" said Mr. Newell, with an attempt at pleasantry, fortified by a sort of grim smile.

"You seem to be a sort of jolly coon, anyhow," said the robber, "and I'll gratify you. That old scoundrel, Pinkerton, is on this train, or was to have been on it, and we want to get him, so that we can cut out his heart and roast it."

During the time they were in the cars among the passengers, they mentioned the name of Pinkerton many times, and exhibited the most intense hatred of the distinguished detective. It was very fortunate for Mr. Allan Pinkerton that he was not a passenger on the train that lumbered up to the dreary station of Gadshill that winter day.

This circumstance is confirmatory of the evidence that Jesse and Frank James were leaders in the Gadshill affair. They, for years, have cherished the most bitter animosity toward the detective, and the very mention of his name was sufficient to render them almost frantic with rage.

The citizens were released, and the robbers mounted their horses and rode away in the gathering darkness, over the forest-crowned hills to the west.

Some of the features of this bold robbery were ludicrous in the extreme. The trepidation of the passengers made the job a quick one, because they were ready on demand to give up everything to the freebooters. One passenger complained at the hardship, and the following dialogue ensued:

"Give me your money, watch and jewelry, you blamed cur! quick!"

"Now, please, I—"

"Dry up, d—n you, and shell out!" And the robber thrust a pistol against his temple.

"Oh, yes! Excuse m-m-me, p-p-p-please, d-don't shoot. Here's a-all I've g-got in t-t-the world." And the poor fellow, all tremblingly, handed up his wealth.

"I'm a good mind to shoot you, anyhow," remarked the robber, "for being so white livered."

At this the alarmed traveller crouched down behind a seat.

It was nightfall when the robbers rode away. Gadshill is in the midst of a wilderness country. There are but few settlements among the hills, and it was impossible to organize an effective posse at once for pursuit. At Piedmont, on the arrival of the train, the news was telegraphed to St. Louis and Little Rock. The citizens of that vicinity were aroused, and before midnight a well armed posse of a dozen men were riding over the hills westward in pursuit.

But the robbers, who were all mounted on blooded horses, rode swiftly away. Before the dawn of day they were sixty miles from the scene of the crime. They called at the residence of a widow lady named Cook, one mile above Carpentersville, on the Current river, to obtain a breakfast. There were but five of them in the party, and these were each armed with a pair of pistols and a repeating rifle. They continued on, and passed Mr. Payne's on the Big Piney, in Texas county, and went to the house of the Hon. Mr. Mason, then a member of the State Legislature, and who was at that time absent attending its session, and demanded food and lodging from Mrs. Mason. They remained there all night, and proceeded westward in the morning. The same day that the five men took breakfast with Mrs. Cook, a dozen pursuers from Gadshill and Piedmont arrived at the same place, having tracked them sixty miles.