During the autumn of the year 1878, a young gentleman of the highest respectability, a citizen of the State of Georgia, being on a tour through Texas, expressed to his friends a desire to make the personal acquaintance of the celebrated outlaws, Frank and Jesse James. His friends endeavored to dissuade him from making the attempt to see them at their own retreat. They represented to him that such an undertaking would be fraught with no little personal danger. The Boys have been hounded and hunted over so large a territory, through so many years, that they have become extremely cautious, and very suspicious of all strangers.

But the young Georgian was courageous and determined. There was a tinge of romance in his composition, and the career of the Boys, to his mind, was the most romantic in all history. He felt that he would venture farther to see them than to behold the face of any living man. The advice of his friends fell unheeded upon his ear. He resolved to seek their retreat at whatever hazard. He had learned to admire their cool bravery, indomitable energy, and shrewd ability to evade the snares laid for them by the officers of the law.

The Jameses, outlaws as they are, do not want for friends. They have devoted admirers and staunch friends even in the ranks of respectable circles—persons who would suffer death rather than betray them. Such a friend was a Texas relative of the young Georgian. Finding that his kinsman was resolved upon a visit—that he would in all probability be able to discover the retreat of the outlaws, and, believing that he might possibly meet with a misfortune by venturing to penetrate to their place, the Texan gave his relative a letter addressed to a certain name—which is not that of James—described the route to be taken, and gave a minute description of the personnel of the renowned desperadoes, and with many admonitions and cautions, after having solemnly pledged his kinsman to reveal nothing concerning the exact whereabouts of their home, the Texan bid his Georgia kinsman God-speed, and they parted.

Many days he rode over the plains, and crossed many a limpid stream, and pushed his way through many a tangled wold before he approached the retreat of the outlaws. He found it, however, but in what county or division of the state, he declines to say.

In a letter written to the author, subsequent to that visit, he gave a most interesting account of his reception and sojourn with the outlawed brothers on their own ranche. We have obtained his permission to use that portion of the letter relating to the Jameses, which we herewith present to our readers:

"It was a lovely afternoon. The grass was brown and sere. A few late autumn flowers relieved the otherwise monotonous landscape. The country through which I was passing was high, undulating prairie. Here and there, from the tops of the long swells in the surface, the course of streams far away to the right and the left, were well defined by dark lines of trees from which the foliage had not yet been cast. The journey had become lonely and irksome. I had lost interest in the landscape. The faded grass and the golden-hued flowers no longer possessed charms for me. The limpid brooks and darting minnows in their clear waters even failed to awaken the slightest interest. The truth is, I was worn out by the excessive fatigue of the long journey.

"I had just crossed a small stream, skirted by some wind-twisted trees, and was ascending a long slope. Looking toward the crest of the ridge, I saw two horsemen, splendidly mounted, riding rapidly directly toward me. They wore low-crowned, broad-brimmed felt hats, looped up at the side. I could see at a glance that they were heavily armed. A repeating-rifle was swung behind the shoulder of each, and a holster was attached at the saddle-bow. When the horsemen had approached within seventy-five yards of me, they suddenly halted, and each drew a heavy pistol, and simultaneously presented them at me, calling out at the same time for me to raise my hands. I confess that I felt a little shaky about that time. I readily complied with their command, and held up both hands as high over my head as possible. The horrible thought occurred to me that I was to be shot, and left out there to make a feast for voracious vultures and ferocious wolves. A cold shudder thrilled through my veins. I had dropped the reins, and my horse stopped still. It was a dreadful moment. There were the two men, grim in features and steady of hand, with their horrible, yawning repeaters pointed at my heart. I felt sure they were murderous highwaymen. Strange that I never once thought of the renowned outlaws! I know not how long I looked at those dreadful pistols; it seemed half an age. I was aroused by the voice of one of the men calling out,

"'Why don't you come on?'

"I did go on. Once I let my hands droop slightly, as I advanced up the slope.

"'Up with your hands, I say!' exclaimed one of them.

"You may readily suppose that I threw up my hands without further admonition.

"When I had arrived within fifteen paces of the spot where the men were sitting on their horses, the thought that these were no other than the men whom I was seeking, flashed through my brain.

"'What are you doing here?' asked the larger one of the two.

"I must have stammered a little, and appeared awkward and frightened as I made answer that I had a great desire to meet Mr.—— and his brother—naming the person to whom the letter was addressed—and I have a message for Mr.—— here with me now.

"One of them—it was Frank—turned to me sharply, and asked me what I knew about Mr. ——. I told him that I had never met the gentleman, but that I had a great desire to do so. He then asked me when I was last in St. Louis. I replied that I had not been in St. Louis for a period of more than five years. 'What are you doing here?' he asked. 'Looking about the country,' I replied. 'You like it, do you?' he inquired. 'Very well,' I said. 'You go to Chicago, do you?' 'Never was there in my life,' I answered. 'Do you know Allan Pinkerton?' 'I don't,' I said. 'What state do you hail from?' 'Georgia.' 'A very good state,' he soliloquized. 'From whom did you say you had a message for Mr.——?' 'From Col.——, of——,' I answered. 'You know where you can find——?' 'I do not.' 'Give me the message; I'll see that he gets it.' 'Are you Mr.——?' 'No matter,' he answered, 'I'll see that he gets the communication.' 'But I've come all the way here to see him myself. I do not want to go back without seeing him,' I remarked. 'What do you want to see him for?' 'Well,' I stammered, 'I have heard a great deal about him and his brother, and I just wanted to visit them at home.' 'You know who he is then?' 'Certainly, he is Jesse James and——.' 'An outlaw!' he interrupted me. 'Mind how you act, young man.' The tones of his voice were dry and harsh, and the pistol which had been allowed to droop was once more raised, and pointed at my breast.

"You may be sure I was thoroughly alarmed, and it required some effort to speak distinctly. At last I managed to say in a tolerably low tone, 'I wish you would read this letter which I have brought.' The pistol was lowered and he reached out his hand to take the letter from the breast-pocket of my coat. Meanwhile, Frank kept me under cover of a pistol. Jesse secured the letter, and commenced to read it. I watched his features closely. A change came over his countenance. The cold, stern look relaxed, and his face put on a sunny smile as he read on. When he had finished, he turned to Frank and said, 'I guess this is all right.' Then he turned to me and said, 'So you are a kinsman of Colonel——?' 'I am,' I replied. He continued, 'He is a good friend of ours, and I reckon you're all right. You wanted to see the James Boys. You see before you what is left of them. I guess you had better give us your pistols to keep for you until you are ready to leave again, for you know we are the only armed men allowed around our place. This is a very odd world anyhow. We do not trust anyone.' 'I have but one, and here it is,' I said, presenting it to him, while I held the muzzle. He took the pistol and thrust it into a side-pocket, and turning full toward me, he said with a smile on his face, and a merry twinkle in his bright blue eyes: 'So you wanted to see the notorious outlaws?' 'Yes.' 'Well, did you expect we wore horns, and had split feet, and spouted fire and brimstone, eh? But you see you are mistaken. There are a hundred, yes, a thousand, worse men along the borders here than the James Boys. But they have not been lied about as we have been; they have not been hunted all over the states as we have been; they have not been so grossly misrepresented and abused, and we must bear not only our sins, but the sins of many others. It is a pretty hard fate, young man.' The hard, unpitying expression came upon his features once more, but it was only for a moment, and the cloud passed away, and his countenance was illuminated by a smile that was genial and pleasant, and whoever could have gazed into the face of Jesse James at that moment, would not have concluded that he was a desperado and an outlaw.

"'I suppose,' said Frank, 'that you will accept an outlaw's invitation to his humble retreat?' 'Most gladly,' I said.

"They turned their horses' heads, and Jesse taking a position on one side and Frank on the other, we rode on to the crest of the ridge. 'There is where we camp,' said Frank, as he pointed away to the northwest. Camp! Indeed, it seemed more like the residence of a well-to-do planter in Georgia. The situation which they had selected was beautiful as any I had yet seen in the West. Before us a broad, green valley lay spread out in the sunlight, bounded by a line of high hills toward the northeast, and widening toward the southwest. A noble grove of timber skirted the margin of the stream, which appeared to be of considerable size, and meandered through the valley. Beyond the stream and the grove, situated on a gentle slope in the midst of gardens and cultivated fields, and vigorous young trees, rose a pleasant house of two stories in elevation, with a garden in front. Some distance away were the barns, stables and other outbuildings. 'A lovely home!' I exclaimed. Frank smiled at my evident delight, and remarked that he found it very comfortable, after the exposure and hardships through which he had passed.

"So we rode on down the slope into the grove, and across a beautiful broad pebble-bottom stream, and up the slope to the front of the mansion, talking, by the way, of many things in the past, and expressing views and opinions concerning the future.

"The James Boys are far from being loquacious. They seem to maintain a perpetual guard over their words. Sometimes this reserve is momentarily cast aside, and the brothers will converse with considerable freedom. But the fits of relaxation do not last long. They speedily relapse into their accustomed reticent state, and then they answer questions only in monosyllables.

"It was not long before I discovered that I was at the home of Frank James, and that Jesse and his family were only visitors. My peculiar reception was due to the fact that a person supposed to be a detective, had been making inquiries concerning the Boys at San Antonio, some weeks before my arrival.

"Arriving at the yard gate, we dismounted, and I was invited into the house. At the door we were met by a neatly dressed and handsome lady, whose deep blue eyes and regular features produced a favorable impression at once, to whom I was introduced. It was Mrs. Frank James. She received me with much dignity, yet with a genial cordiality which assured me that I was a welcome visitor. Her manner toward her husband was trusting and affectionate. 'We welcome you,' said Frank, 'as a relative of one of our best friends. We hope you will prove as manly as he. Annie, this is Mr.——, a near relative of Colonel——, who was so kind to you when you arrived at——, on your way out here.' 'I am very, very glad to meet you. We all feel extremely grateful to Col.——, for his kindness toward us, and we are only too glad to serve any of his friends,' she said.

"Such was the welcome which I received at the home of Frank James. I felt myself quite at ease very soon, and the four days and nights which I spent under their hospitable roof gave no occasion for me to think hard of the outlaws. Indeed, I could not bring myself to think of them in that light. Mrs. James is a lady who is suited by education and disposition to grace any circle. And where is this model home? you ask. Well, it is in Texas—just what part of Texas I must leave you to find out. I know that I never met with better treatment in any home, anywhere."

Jesse James is not an educated man in the scholastic sense of that term. In this respect he differs widely from his brother Frank, who has a fair knowledge of the Latin and Greek languages, and is said to be able to converse fluently in the Spanish and German tongues. Frank was a college student when the war was commenced, and Jesse a school boy in a country place. He had made some progress, had learned to "read, write and cipher," and was wrestling with "the knotty intricacies" of English Grammar and Geography, when his career in school was stopped short by the political events occurring about him.

It cannot be expected that Jesse's literary performances should exhibit the classic finish of an Addison or an Irving, and yet barring his faulty orthography, his style is direct and pointed, and under other circumstances he might have become a very good newspaper reporter. Although Jesse is deficient in the command of language to express his views in accordance with the canons of literary criticism, yet his letters, if not elegant specimens of composition, are at least vigorous and clear. It is a matter of regret that so few specimens of his epistolary ability are available. We have succeeded in obtaining copies of a few of his letters, but unfortunately none which reveal the domestic relations and characteristics of the man. Such of Jesse's letters as we have been able to secure, which have any interest for the public, we present in this chapter.

The following note was addressed from Jesse to "a friend" in Missouri, and came into the hands of a gentleman who, for reasons which the author is bound to respect, desires his name to be withheld. The orthography alone is revised. The year, it will be observed, is not given.

The date of the murder of Askew, given in the above letter, is wrong. That event occurred on the night of April 12th, and not May, as the writer of the above note assumes.

The following is a characteristic note. It contains several allusions unintelligible to the uninitiated. It was written to an old comrade, who long ago abandoned a "wild life," and is living as a respectable citizen.

The following letter was obtained in Colorado, by a gentleman who claims to be well acquainted with the handwriting of Jesse James, and claims that it was dropped by Jack Bishop. As to its authenticity, we leave the reader to judge. It is in style much such a letter as Jesse James might have written.

The last letter, to an individual, which we here present, is vouched for as being in the handwriting of Jesse James, by Marshal James Liggett. It was written to George W. Shepherd about two weeks after the Glendale train robbery. In this, as in the other notes given above, we have revised the orthography, without correcting the grammatical errors. The letter is without date, and runs as follows:

On many occasions Jesse has written, or caused to be written, exculpatory letters for publication in the public journals. We present a few of these as specimens of Jesse's epistolary style, and because of the interesting character of their allusions to his own conduct. It will be observed that the dates of outrages on banks and railways, are wrong in several instances, as given in these letters. For instance:

The following communication appeared in the Nashville (Tenn.) Banner, of July 10th, 1875:

The following communications appeared in the Kansas City Times during the excitement succeeding the great train robbery at Rocky Cut, near Otterville, Missouri. The first one appeared in the Times in its edition of August 14th, 1876, and the second one came out on the morning of the 23d of the same month.

JESSE JAMES' FIRST LETTER.

SECOND LETTER.

The eastern part of Jackson county, the western part of Lafayette, and down southward through Cass county, constitute the very center of the field of operation chosen by the old Guerrilla leaders—Quantrell, Todd, Anderson, Younger, Pool, Clements, and the Jameses—during the war. The Sni hills and the timber-crowned undulations bordering the Big Blue, afforded them excellent hiding places when sorely pressed, and from their fastnesses in the hills they could easily make forays into the very suburbs of the garrisoned towns of Kansas City, Independence, Lexington, Pleasant Hill and Harrisonville. They knew every pathway over the hills, and every crossing place along the streams. Around and among these forests were the farms and dwellings of their friends, and warm sympathizers in their cause. Time has wrought some changes in the country since those days; but the forest-crowned hills and the deep, tangled thickets, and the sparkling streams still are there. The face of Nature has changed but little among the hills of the Sni, or along the banks of the Blue. It was meet that the bandits, who are believed to be the same men who once were Guerrillas, should come back to the scenes of their earlier adventures, to consummate their latest and most daring robbery.

October 7th, 1879, was a beautiful, sunny, warm day. The woods had not yet assumed the sober brown hues of autumn, but nature was lovely in the rich ripeness of the summer's close. The great tide of human life flowed on in its accustomed channels. Some were engaged in the pursuit of pleasure; some were in search of gain; others were toiling for bread; some were happy in having accomplished their designs; others were wretched in realizing the bitterness of disappointment; some were glad in the knowledge that they had contributed to the happiness of their fellow-mortals; others were miserable because they beheld the gladness of their neighbors, and knew of the triumphs of their rivals; some planned good deeds; others plotted dark crimes. These all go to constitute the atoms of the mighty tide of human life; and their plans, purposes and deeds all contribute to the production of the surges and swirls of the stream as it flows through time to the gulf of eternity.

There were always plotters. Since the world began men have schemed, and until the end of time there will be the good and the bad in humanity, sometimes one and sometimes the other quality predominating. And so, while the autumn sunshine was golden, and the wood-cricket's chirp was mournful, the schemers were prodding their brain in the devising of a scheme to commit a grievous crime.

Glendale is a lonely wayside station in the western part of Lafayette county, Missouri, on the line of the Chicago & Alton railway, Kansas City branch. There is a water-tank, a little station-house, and a few houses in a narrow vale, wedged in between rugged hills, which are covered with lofty trees and tangled thickets, a fit place for the rendezvous of a banditti.

Glendale is about twenty miles from Kansas City, and on the line of the road between Independence and Blue Springs, in the very midst of a region where many of the darkest crimes and deeds of blood which marked the Guerrilla warfare of the border were committed both by the Federal militia and the Confederate Guerrillas. The country about Glendale is one of the wildest regions in Western Missouri, and the hills and dark ravines afford excellent opportunities for the concealment of both men and horses. A better situation for a successful foray by brigands does not exist on the line of the road between Chicago and Kansas City.

The night express train, bound from Kansas City to Chicago and St. Louis, left the Union Depot in the first-named city on the evening of the 7th, at six o'clock, and consequently was due at Glendale at about seven o'clock—a short time after daylight had faded from the west.

Now, as we have before intimated, Glendale is a place with a nice name, but few inhabitants. Though perhaps it is not destined to go down to history with the historic interest attached to Arbela, Malplaquet, Shiloh, Kennesaw or Waterloo, yet so early in its history Glendale has become famous. The incident which contributed so much to this result occurred on the evening of the 7th of October, 1879. In addition to the station-house, the business of Glendale is represented by a post-office and a general store, kept by the postmaster. The evening in question was very pleasant outside of houses, and when the curtains of night were drawn, and the store was lighted, the postmaster and four others, who constituted the male population of the place, except the station agent, Mr. McIntire, had gathered in front of the little store to discuss the neighborhood's affairs. They were quietly interchanging views. Suddenly a stranger joined the circle, and, walking quickly to where the proprietor was sitting, he tapped him on the shoulder and said:

"I want you."

"What do you want?" asked the other.

The new arrival did not deign to answer the question, but quietly stepped away, and said:

"Here, boys."

In a minute—nay, a moment—half a dozen rough-looking men, muffled and masked, stood by his side, armed with huge pistols and wicked-looking knives. Their pistols they held cocked in their hands. Then the leader, in a harsh, grating voice, said:

"Now, take care, make tracks out of this!"

The terrified citizens started to obey. As they were going, the leader said:

"To the depot, do you hear!"

In great consternation, the little company of citizens filed away to the depot. In the depot was the operator and agent, Mr. McIntire, and Mr. W. E. Bridges, assistant auditor of the Chicago & Alton railway company, already under duress. When the citizens were all assembled in the room, the leader said:

"Now, sit down, act clever and keep still, or you will not have heads left on you."

Of course, obedience to such an order was just then regarded by all the parties as a great virtue, and they therefore obeyed.

The masked men, who had now assembled to the number of twelve, according to one account—fourteen by another witness—tore away the telegraphic instrument and went out and cut the wires. The instrument was smashed.

"Now," said the leader, whose only mask was a long dark beard, "I want you to lower that green light!"

"But," said the agent, "the train will stop if I do."

"That's the alum! precisely what we want it to do, my buck, and the sooner you obey orders the better. I will give you a minute to lower the light," said the bearded leader, at the same time thrusting a cocked pistol to the face of the agent.

The operator could see the long, bright barrel of the pistol, and the dark, cavernous interior of the tube had a forbidding appearance. He looked up into the face of the long-bearded man. He saw a cold, fixed look, and every indication, so far as features could reveal intentions, that the robber chieftain meant just what he said, and he lowered the light. Of course the position of the light was an order to the conductor to stop at Glendale and receive fresh instructions, according to the code of signals in use among railway men.

But to be perfectly sure of the expected plunder, and in order to destroy even the possibility of the train passing without making a stop, the robbers heaped a pile of cross-ties, fence rails and other lumber across the track. Having completed their preparations, the robbers quietly awaited the coming of the train.

It was a little after seven o'clock. The prisoners in the station-house were wondering about what would happen next, and especially were they concerned and anxious respecting what should happen to them. Then the distant rumbling of the train was heard; louder and louder it fell upon the ears of the listeners. The engineer saw the signal displayed which commanded him to stop. He sounded the whistle and ordered the brakes on. The train stood still on the track, with the engine at the tank.

The conductor, with lantern in hand, sprang upon the platform ere the wheels had ceased to revolve, and was about to proceed to the little station-house to receive his orders. But he had made little progress in that direction, when a man rushed up to him with a cocked revolver, which he held out as if about to fire. This man was speedily joined by another, who was also armed in like manner. Both the men wore masks. Mr. Greeman, the conductor, was of course powerless to resist such odds, and with mingled feelings of alarm and disgust was compelled to await the pleasure of the strange men whom he now knew to be robbers. Two men rushed up to the cab of the locomotive and made prisoners of the engineer and fireman by the presentation of pistols, and the stern declaration that instant death would certainly follow a failure to obey, or an attempt at resistance. One of the robbers, addressing the engineer, called out:

"Hand me that coal hammer of yours!"

"What do you want of it?" asked the other.

"Hand it here very quick, or you'll never have use for another," was the emphatic command of the robber, accompanied by a very significant movement of the pistol arm.

Thus appealed to, the engineer obeyed. The large hammer used by stokers to break coal was handed to the masked desperado.

Then a group of the masked men, with the long-bearded man at their head, gathered at the door of the express car. One of the men with the coal-hammer then commenced beating in the door of the car. The messenger, who was in charge of a large sum of money—more than $35,000 in currency, and much other valuable property—was inside, but had refused to open the door. The messenger, Mr. William Grimes, could hear the blows of the ponderous hammer, and knew that his place would soon be open to the marauders. The door was already yielding—it was falling to splinters, and a minute later the car was broken into by the masked and armed robbers. Grimes, in the meanwhile, had formed a hasty plan to escape with the money. While the robbers were beating in the door, he opened the safe, took therefrom a large amount of money, hastily deposited it in a satchel, re-locked the door of the safe, and was in the act of attempting to escape by the other door.

He was too late. The robbers sprang into the car before he was ready to leave it. In any event, escape was rendered impossible by the fact that the other door of the car was guarded. He could only have escaped a part of the band to fall into the hands of their comrades.

When the robbers rushed into the car, after having broken the door open, one of them cried out to the messenger:

"Here, you! Give me that key!"

"I will not. You may take it," answered the messenger.

The words had no more than escaped his lips, when one of the gang in the car dealt him a terrible blow with the butt of a heavy revolver, which felled him to the floor. They took the key, opened the safe, and rifled it of all its contents which were of value to them. They then took the packages from the messenger's satchel, and the great railway and express robbery at Glendale was an accomplished fact.

During the time occupied by a part of the robber band about the express car, a patrol was distributed along the sides of the train, and these were discharging fire-arms at intervals, for the purpose, as is supposed, of intimidating the passengers.

The whole time occupied in completing this great robbery probably did not exceed ten minutes. The whole amount of booty secured was probably fully forty thousand dollars. The passengers were greatly alarmed during these proceedings. Valuables were hastily concealed under seats, about the persons of the owners, and wherever else a place not likely to be examined by the robbers could be found. After concluding the work which brought them to Glendale, the brigands, amid the reports of pistol shots, set up a shout which echoed among the hills for a long distance around, sought their horses, mounted, and rode away through the gloom. They had locked the citizens in the little station-house. These waited until everything seemed still about the place, for the train had moved on, and then they broke down the door and walked out of their temporary prison-house.

After the affair at Glendale, the marshal of Kansas City, Major James Liggett, a cool-tempered, clear-headed man, took charge of the case and directed all movements intended to result in the discovery of the robbers. It was soon ascertained beyond a doubt that Jesse James had been in Kansas City only a few days before the robbery. Then the inquiry proceeded as to who else had probably been participants. It came to the knowledge of the marshal that Jim Cummings, Ed. Miller, and a hard character named Blackamore, had been moving about the country in a suspicious way. Little by little, fragmentary scraps of information were secured, and a generalization of all the facts led to the general conclusion that the train robbery at Glendale had been effected under the direction of the James Boys; that certainly Jesse, and probably Frank, had participated in it, and that Jim Cummings, Ed. Miller and Blackamore were probable accomplices.

The next important point to gain, was information concerning the route travelled by the bandits in their retreat from the scene of their lawless depredation. This was not so easy a task as the uninitiated might conclude. The character of much of the country in western Missouri, with the thorough knowledge of the region possessed by the principals in the outrage, forbade an easy discovery of the route which they had taken. But the marshal had called about him men as well acquainted with the country as any of Quantrell's old raiders could be, and the little information gathered by each one, finally brought together, led to the inference that they had gone in a southerly direction toward the Indian Territory. The inference afterward became a certainty. Their "trail" was discovered.

Men were at once placed at various points on their probable line of retreat; men were dispatched on their trail to hunt them to their places of concealment. There were men in western Missouri who had ridden with the old Guerrilla band, bold, daring men, who laid aside the weapons of destruction when the war closed; men who had never learned the meaning of the word fear, who yet became weary of turmoil and strife, and settled down in life as quiet citizens, who long ago ceased to sympathize with their old comrades in their acts of outlawry, and who, notwithstanding their peaceable demeanor, were subjected to annoying suspicions at every recurrence of the visitations of their former associates; who felt when the train was robbed at Glendale that it was time to take a positive stand on the side of the law and to co-operate with the officers in every endeavor to put an end to such depredations for all time by capturing the depredators. These persons became active allies of Marshal Liggett in his efforts against the bandits, and materially contributed to the discovery of the robbers and the line which they had chosen on their retreat. So the active campaign began. There is reason to believe that after the robbery was consummated, at least a part of the band went into Clay county, and remained in seclusion there for some days. Then they started south.

It was pending these events that Marshal Liggett made an arrangement with George W. Shepherd, formerly a Guerrilla captain, under whom Jesse James served near the close of the war, to take part in the campaign, then about to be prosecuted against the bandits. As subsequent events have brought Shepherd prominently before the public, and the mystery which attaches to some of the proceedings will continue to excite the interest of the public until it is cleared up, it is deemed best to present a brief history of the career of George W. Shepherd in this connection.