The first thing after putting our horses up at the livery stable, we went to Wright & Beverly's store and deposited our "wealth." John had a draft for one hundred and fourteen dollars, while I had about three hundred and fifty dollars. We then shed ourold clothes and crawled into a bran new rig out and out. Erskine Clement, one of Mr. Beal's partners, was in town waiting to ship the herd which should have been there by that time. But he hadn't heard a word from it, since getting Moore's letter—which, by the way, had to go around through Las Vegas, New Mexico, and down through the southern part of Colorado—stating about what time it would arrive in Dodge. He was terribly worried when I informed him that John and I had neither seen nor heard anything of the outfit since it left the ranch.
That night about ten o'clock John, who had struck a lot of his old chums, came and borrowed twenty-five dollars from me, having already spent his one hundred and fourteen dollars that he had when he struck town.
I went to bed early that night, as I had promised to go with Clement early next morning to make a search for the missing herd.
The next morning when Clement and I were fixing to strike out, John came to me, looking bad after his all night rampage, to get his horse and saddle out of "soak." I done so, which cost me thirty-five dollars, and never seen the poor boy afterwards. Shortly after that he went to Ft. Sumnerand was killed by one of "Billy the Kid's" men, a fellow by the name of Barney Mason. Thus ended the life of a good man who, like scores of others, let the greatest curse ever known to mankind, whisky, get the upper hand of him.
Clement and I pulled south, our ponies loaded down with ammunition so in case the indians got us corralled we could stand them off a few days, at least. We were well armed, both having a good winchester and a couple of colts' pistols apiece.
We found the outfit coming down Crooked Creek; they having left the main trail, or road, on the Cimeron, and came over a much longer route, to avoid driving over a dry stretch of country, forty miles between water. Hence John and I missing them. No doubt but that it was a lucky move in them taking that route, for, on the other, they would have just about come in contact with the three or four hundred Cheyenne reds, whose bloody deeds are still remembered in that country.
On arriving in town with the herd we split it in two, making four hundred head in each bunch, and put one half on the cars to be shipped to Chicago. I accompanied the first lot, while Clement remained to come on with the next.
In Burlington, Iowa, I met Mr. Beals. We lay there all day feeding and watering the cattle.
On arriving in Chicago, I went right to the Palmer house, but after paying one dollar for dinner I concluded its price too high for a common clod-hopper like myself. So I moved to the Ervin House, close to the Washington Street tunnel, a two dollar a day house.
That night I turned myself loose taking in the town, or at least a little corner of it. I squandered about fifteen dollars that night on boot-blacks alone. Every one of the little imps I met struck me for a dime, or something to eat. They knew, at a glance, from the cut of my jib, that they had struck a bonanza. They continued to "work" me too, during my whole stay in the city. At one time, while walking with Mr. Beals and another gentleman, a crowd of them who had spied me from across the street, yelled "Yonder goes our Texas Ranger! Lets tackle him for some stuff!"
About the third day I went broke, and from that time on I had to borrow from Mr. Beals. I left there about a hundred dollars in his debt.
After spending six days in the city I left for Dodge City, Kansas, in company with Mr. Bealsand Erskine Clement, who, instead of stopping at Dodge, continued on to Grenada, Colorado, where the "Beals Cattle Co." still held their headquarters.
Arriving in Dodge City, I found Whiskey-peet, whom I had left in Anderson's stable, all O. K., and mounting him I struck out all alone for the "L. X." ranch, two hundred and twenty-five miles.
Arriving at the ranch I found the noted "Billy the Kid" and his gang there. Among his daring followers were the afterwards noted Tom O'Phalliard, and Henry Brown, leader of the Medicine Lodge Bank tragedy which happened in 1884, who was shot in trying to escape, while his three companions were hung. "The Kid" was there trying to dispose of a herd of ponies he had stolen from the "Seven River warriors" in Lincoln County, New Mexico—his bitter enemies whom he had fought so hard against, that past summer, in what is known as the "bloody Lincoln County war of '78." During his stay at the ranch and around Tascosa, I became intimately acquainted with him and his jovial crowd. I mention these facts because I intend to give you a brief sketch of Billy's doings, in the closing pages of this book.
A LONELY RIDE OF ELEVEN HUNDRED MILES.
After laying around the ranch a couple of weeks, Mr. Moore put me in charge of a scouting outfit and sent me out on the South Plains to drift about all winter, watching for cattle thieves, etc.; also to turn back any cattle that might slip by the "sign riders" and drift across the Plains.
During that winter we, that is my crowd, went to church several times. A little Colony of Christians headed by the Rev. Cahart, had settled on the head of Salt Fork, a tributary of Red river, and built a church house in which the little crowd, numbering less than fifty souls would congregate every Sunday and pray.
That same little church house now ornaments the thriving little city of Clarendon, County seat of Donley County. The old inhabitants point to it with pride when telling of how it once stood solitary and alone out on the great buffalo range two hundred miles from nowhere.
The Colony had come from Illinois and drifted away out there beyond the outskirts of civilization to get loose from that demon whisky. And early that coming spring a lot of ruffians started a saloon in their midst. A meeting was called in the little church house and resolutions passed to drive them out, if in no other way, with powder and lead. They pulled their freight and I am proud to state that I had a hand in making them pull it; for the simple reason that they had no business encroaching upon those good people's rights.
When spring opened Mr. Moore called me in from the Plains and put me in charge of a rounding-up outfit, which consisted of twelve riders and a cook.
To begin rounding-up, we went over to Canyon Paladuro, where Chas. Goodnight had a ranch, and where a great many of the river cattle had drifted during the winter. There was about a hundred men and seven or eight wagons in the outfit that went over. We stopped over Sunday in the little Christian Colony and went to church. The Rev. Cahart preached about the wild and woolly Cow Boy of the west; how the eastern people had him pictured off as a kind of animal with horns, etc.While to him, looking down from his dry goods box pulpit into the manly faces of nearly a hundred of them, they looked just like human beings, minus the standing collar, etc.
About the first of July, Moore sent me to Nickerson, Kansas, with a herd of eight hundred shipping steers. My outfit consisted of five men, a chuck wagon, etc. Our route lay over a wild strip of country where there was no trails nor scarcely any ranches—that is, until reaching the southern line of Kansas.
We arrived at Nickerson after being on the road two months. "Deacon" Bates, Mr. Beals partner, was there waiting for us. He had come through with several herds that had left the ranch a month ahead of us. He was still holding some of the poorest ones, south of town, where he had a camp established.
After loading my wagon with a fresh supply of grub, Mr. Bates, or the "Deacon" as he was more commonly called, sent me back over the trail he and his outfits had come, to gather lost steers—some they had lost coming through.
I was gone about a month and came back with eighteen head. We had a soft trip of it, as mostof our hard work was such as buying butter, eggs, etc., from the scattering grangers along the Kansas border. We never missed a meal on the trip, and always had the best the country afforded, regardless of cost. Deacon Bates was always bragging on some of his bosses, how cheap they could live, etc. I just thought I would try him this time, being in a country where luxuries were plentiful, and see if he wouldn't blow on me as being a person with good horse sense. An animal of course, as we all know, will eat the choicest grub he can get; and why not man, when he is credited with having more sense than the horse, one of the most intellectual animals that exists?
On our return to Nickerson, I concluded to quit and spend the winter with mother, whom I received letters from every now and then begging me to come home. As I wasn't certain of coming back, I thought it best to go overland and take Whisky-peet along, for I couldn't even bear thethoughtof parting with him; and to hire a car to take him around by rail would be too costly.
I got all ready to start and then went to Deacon Bates for a settlement. He took my account book and, after looking it over, said: "Why, Dum-it toh—l, I can't pay no such bills as those! Why, Dum-it all, old Jay Gould would groan under the weight of these bills!" He then went on to read some of the items aloud. They ran as follows: Cod-fish $10; eggs $40; butter $70; milk $5; bacon $150; flour $200; canned fruits $400; sundries $600, etc., etc. Suffice it to say, the old gent told me in plain Yankee English that I would have to go to Chicago and settle with Mr. Beals. I hated the idea of going to Chicago, for I knew my failings—I was afraid I wouldn't have money enough left when I got back to pay my expenses home.
That same evening a letter came from Mr. Beals stating that he had just received a letter from Moore, at the ranch, in which he informed him that there were two more herds on the trail for Nickerson, and, as it was getting so near winter, for Joe Hargraves, better known as "Jinglebob Joe," and I to go and turn them to Dodge City, the nearest shipping point.
After putting Whisky-peet and my "Missouri" mare, one I had bought to use as a pack-horse going home, in care of an old granger to be fed and taken good care of until my return, Joe and I struck outwith only one horse apiece—just the ones we were riding.
On our arrival in Dodge I pulled out for Chicago, to get a settlement, with the first train load we shipped. I took my saddle, bridle, spurs, etc. along and left them in Atchison, Mo., the first point we stopped to feed at, until my return.
Arriving in Chicago, I told Mr. Beals that I was going home to spend the winter, and therefore wanted to settle up.
He set 'em up to a fine Havana and then proceeded. Every time he came to one of those big bills, which caused the Deacon's eyes to bulge out, he would grunt and crack about a forty-cent smile, but never kicked.
When he had finished there was a few hundred dollars to my credit. He then asked me if I could think of anything else that I had forgotten to charge the "company" with? Of course I couldn't, because I didn't have time; his question was put to me too sudden. If I could have had a few hours to myself, to figure the thing up just right, I think I could have satisfied the old Gent.
I remained in the city three days taking in the sights and feeding the hungry little boot blacks.When leaving, Mr. Beals informed me that he was going to buy a lot of southern Texas cattle, to put on his Panhandle ranch, the coming spring, and if I wanted a job, to hold myself in readiness to boss one of the herds up the trail for him. Of course that just suited me, providing I couldn't make up my mind to remain at home.
Landing in Nickerson I hired a horse and went out to the old granger's ranch where I had left my two ponies. They were both fat and feeling good.
Before starting out on my little journey of only eleven hundred miles, I bought a pack-saddle and cooking outfit—that is, just a frying pan, small coffee pot, etc. I used the mare for a pack animal and rode Whisky-peet. I had just six dollars left when I rode out of Nickerson.
I went through Fort Reno and Fort Sill, Indian territory and crossed Red river into Texas on the old military road, opposite Henrietta.
When within ten miles of Denton, Texas, on Pecan creek, Whisky-peet became lame—so much so that he could scarcely walk. I was stopping over night with a Mr. Cobb, and next morning I first noticed his lameness.
I lacked about twenty-five cents of having enough to pay Mr. Cobb for my night's lodging that morning. I had sold my watch for five dollars a short while before and now that was spent.
Whisky-peet being too lame to travel, I left him with Mr. Cobb while I rode into Denton to try and make a raise of some money.
I tried to swap my mare off for a smaller animal and get some boot, but every one seemed to think that she had been stolen; I being so anxious to swap.
I rode back to Mr. Cobb's that night in the same fix, financially, as when I left that morning.
The next day I made a raise of some money. Mr. Cobb and I made a saddle swap, he giving me twenty dollars to boot. He and I also swapped bridles, I getting four dollars and a half to boot. One of his little boys then gave me his saddle and one dollar and a half for my pack-saddle, which had cost me ten dollars in Nickerson. I then had lots of money.
Whisky-peet soon got over his lameness, having just stuck a little snag into the frog of his foot, which I succeeded in finding and pulling out beforeit had time to do serious damage, and I started on my journey again.
On arriving in Denton that time, a negro struck me for a horse swap right away. I got a three year old pony and six dollars in money for my mare; the pony suited just as well for a pack animal as the mare.
The next day after leaving Denton, I stopped in a negro settlement and won a fifty-dollar horse, running Whisky-peet against a sleepy looking grey. I had up twenty dollars in money and my Winchester, a fine silver mounted gun. I won the race by at least ten open feet, but the negroes tried to swindle me out of it.
While riding along that evening three negroes rode up and claimed the horse I had won. They claimed that the parties who bet him off had no right to him, as they just had borrowed him from one of them to ride to the Settlement that morning. I finally let them have him for twenty dollars.
I went through the following towns after leaving Denton: Ft. Worth, Clenborn, Hillsborough, Waco, Herrene, Bryant, Brenham and Columbus; besides scores of smaller places.
I rode up to mother's little shanty on Cashe's creek after being on the road just a month and twelve days.
To say that mother was glad to see me would only half express it. She bounced me the first thing about not coming back the next fall after leaving as I had promised. I had been gone nearly four years.
ANOTHER START UP THE CHISHOLM TRAIL.
I hadn't been at home but a few days when I came very near getting killed by a falling house.
Mother had become tired of the neighborhood she lived in and wanted me to move her and her shanty down the creek about a mile, to Mr. Cornelius's. So hiring a yoke of oxen—although a pair of goats would have answered the purpose—I hauled her household goods down to the spot selected. I then went to work tearing the shanty down.
In building it I had set eight pine posts two feet in the ground, and then nailed the sidings, etc., to them. There was only one room and it was eight feet wide and fourteen long. The roof had been made of heavy pine boards. After tearing both ends out, I climbed onto the roof to undo that.
I was a-straddle of the sharp roof, about midway, axe in one hand and a large chisel in the other, when all at once the sides began spreading out at the top. Of course I began sinking slowly but surely, until everything went down with a crash. The pine posts had become rotten from the top of the ground down; and just as soon as the roof and I had struck bottom the sides flopped over onto us.
A neighbor's little boy by the name of Benny Williams, had been monkeying around watching me work, and unluckily he was inside of the shanty when the collapse came.
I was sensible, but unable to move, there being so much weight on me.
Finally little Benny who was one thickness of boards under me woke up and began squalling like a six months old calf being put through the process of branding.
After squalling himself hoarse he began to moan most pitiously. That was too much for me. I could stand his bleating but his moaning for help put new life into my lazy muscles, causing me to exert every nerve in my body, so as to get out and render the poor boy assistance. I had, before theboy's cries disturbed me, made up my mind to lie still and wait for something to turn up.
In exerting myself I found that I could move my body down towards my feet, an inch at a time. The weight was all on my left shoulder. But it soon came in contact with something else, which relieved my bruised shoulder of most of the weight.
I got out finally after a long and painful struggle; and securing help from the Morris ranch, fished Benny out. He had one leg broken below the knee, besides other bruises. I was slightly disfigured, but still in the ring.
I put in the winter visiting friends, hunting, etc. I had sold my cattle—the mavricks branded nearly four years before—to Mr. Geo. Hamilton, at the market price, from five to ten dollars a head, according to quality, to be paid for when he got his own brand put on to them. Every now and then he would brand a few, and with the money received for them I would buy grub and keep up my dignity.
About the first of March I received a letter from Mr. Rosencrans, one of D. T. Beals' partners, stating that Mr. Beals had bought his cattle in middle Texas instead of southern as he had expected, and as he had told me in Chicago. "But," continued theletter, "we have bought a herd from Charles Word of Goliad, on the San Antonia River, to be delivered at our Panhandle ranch and have secured you the job of bossing it. Now should you wish to come back and work for us, go out and report to Mr. Word at once."
The next day I kissed mother good-bye, gave Whisky peet a hug, patted Chief—a large white dog that I had picked up in the Indian Territory on my way through—a few farewell pats on the head, mounted "Gotch"—a pony I had swapped my star-spangled winchester for—and struck out for Goliad, ninety miles west. Leaving Whisky-peet behind was almost as severe on me as having sixteen jaw-teeth pulled. I left him, in Horace Yeamans' care, so that I could come back by rail the coming fall. I failed to come back though that fall as I expected, therefore never got to see the faithful animal again; he died the following spring.
A three days' ride brought me to Goliad, the place where Fannin and his brave followers met their sad fate during the Mexican war. It was dark when I arrived there. After putting up my horse, I learned from the old gent Mr. Word, who was a saddler, and whom I found at work in his shop, that his sonCharlie was out at Beeville, gathering a bunch of cattle.
Next morning I struck out for Beeville, thirty miles west, arriving there about four o'clock in the afternoon.
About sun-down I found Charles Word, and his crowd of muddy cow-punchers, five miles west of town. They were almost up to their ears in mud, (it having been raining all day,) trying to finish "road branding" that lot of steers before dark. The corral having no "chute" the boys had to rope and wrestle with the wild brutes until the hot iron could be applied to their wet and muddy sides.
When I rode up to the corral, Charlie came out, and I introduced myself. He shook my hand with a look of astonishment on his brow, as much as to say, I'll be——if Beals mustn't be crazy, sending this smooth-faced kid here to take charge of a herd for me! He finally after talking awhile told me that I would have to work under Mr. Stephens, until we got ready to put up the Beals herd—or at least the one I was to accompany. He also told me to keep the boys from knowing that I was going to boss the next herd, as several of them were fishing for thejob, and might become stubborn should they know the truth.
I went on "night-guard" after supper and it continued to rain all night, so that I failed to get any sleep; but then I didn't mind it, as I was well rested.
The next day after going to work, was when I caught fits though, working in a muddy pen all day. When night came I didn't feel as much like going on guard as I did the night before. A laughable circumstance happened that morning after going into the branding-pen.
As the pen had no "chute" we had to rope and tie down, while applying the brand. The men working in pairs, one, which ever happened to get a good chance, to catch the animal by both fore feet as he run by which would "bump" him, that is, capsize him. The other fellow would then be ready to jump aboard and hold him until securely fastened. There being only seven of us to do the roping that morning, it of course left one man without a "pard," and that one was me. Each one you see is always anxious to get a good roper for a "pard," as then everything works smoothly. Mr. Word told me tosit on the fence and rest until Ike Word, an old negro who used to belong to the Word family, and who was the best roper in the crowd, returned from town where he had been sent with a message.
It wasn't long till old Ike galloped up, wearing a broad grin. He was very anxious to get in the pen and show "dem fellers de art of cotching um by boaf front feet." But when his boss told him he would have to take me for a "pard" his broad grin vanished. Calling Mr. Word to one side he told him that he didn't want that yankee for a "pard," as he would have to do all the work, etc. He was told to try me one round and if I didn't suit he could take some one else. Shortly afterwards while passing Mr. Word old Ike whispered and said: "Dogon me if dat yankee don't surprise de natives!" When night came, and while I was on herd, old Ike sat around the camp fire wondering to the other boys "whar dat yankee learned to rope so well." You see Mr. Word had told the boys that I was from the Panhandle, and old Ike thought the Panhandle was way up in Yankeedom somewhere, hence he thinking I was a yankee. A few days after that though, I satisfied old Ike that I was a thoroughbred.
Mr. Word bought a bunch of ponies, new arrivals from Mexico, and among them was a large iron-grey, which the mexicans had pointed out as being "Muncho Deablo." None of the boys, not even old Ike, cared to tackle him. So one morning I caught and saddled him. He fought like a tiger while being saddled; and after getting it securely fastened he threw it off and stamped it into a hundred pieces, with his front feet, which caused me to have to buy a new one next day. I then borrowed Mr. Stephens' saddle, and after getting securely seated in it, raised the blinds and gave him the full benefit of spurs and quirt. After pitching about half a mile, me, saddle and all went up in the air, the girths having broken. But having the "hackimore" rope fastened to my belt I held to him until help arrived. I then borrowed another saddle, and this time stayed with him. From that on, old Ike recognized me as a genuine cow-puncher.
We finally got that herd, of thirty-seven hundred steers, ready for the trail; but the very night after getting them counted and ready to turn over to Mr. Stephens the next morning, they stampeded, half of them getting away and mixing up with thousands of other cattle.
Mr. Stephens thought he would try a new scheme that trip up the trail, so he bought a lot of new bulls-eye lanterns to be used around the herd on dark, stormy nights, so that each man could tell just where the other was stationed by the reflection of his light.
This night in question being very dark and stormy, Stephens thought he would christen his new lamps. He gave me one, although I protested against such nonsense.
About ten o'clock some one suddenly flashed his bulls-eye towards the herd, and off they went, as though shot out of a gun.
In running my horse at full speed in trying to get to the lead, or in front of them, me, horse, bulls-eye and all went over an old rail fence—where there had once been a ranch—in a pile. I put the entire blame onto the lamp, the light of which had blinded my horse so that he didn't see the fence.
I wasn't long in picking myself up and mounting my horse who was standing close by, still trembling from the shock he received. I left the lamp where it lay, swearing vengeance against the use of them, around cattle, and dashed off after the flying herd.
When daylight came I and a fellow by the name of Glass, found ourselves with about half of the herd, at least ten miles from camp. The rest of the herd was scattered all over the country, badly mixed up with other cattle. It took us several days to get the lost ones gathered, and the herd in shape again.
After bidding Stephens and the boys who were to accompany him, adieu, to meet again on Red River where he was to wait for us, we pulled for Goliad to rig up a new outfit, horses, wagon, etc.
The horses, Word bought out of a mexican herd which had just arrived from Old Mexico. He gave eighteen dollars a head for the choice, out of several hundred head.
Being all ready to start for Kimble County, two hundred miles northwest, where the herd was to be gathered, Mr. Word turned the outfit over to me, while he went around by stage.
A TRIP WHICH TERMINATED IN THE CAPTURE OF "BILLY THE KID."
We went through San Antonio and lay there long enough to have all of our horses shod, as we were going into a mountainous country where they couldn't stand it without shoes. While there I visited the Almo building where poor Davy Crocket and his brave companions bit the dust.
We arrived at our destination, Joe Taylor's ranch, on Paint creek a small tributary to the Llano, at last; and it was one of the roughest, rockiest, God-forsaken countries I ever put foot on.
We finally, after three weeks hard work, got the herd of twenty-five hundred head started towards the north star. We were awful glad to get out of there too, for our horses were all nearly peetered out, and the men on the war-path, from having to work twenty-six hours a day.
At Red river we overtook Stephens and changed herds with him, his being the ones to go to Beal'sranch, while the others were for the Wyoming market.
After parting with Stephens again we turned in a northwesterly direction and arrived at the "L. X." ranch on the first day of July.
Moore sent me right out on the Plains to hold the herd I came up with, until fall. That just suited me as I needed a rest.
After turning the herd loose on the range about the first of September, I was put in charge of a branding outfit. Our work then was drifting over the range branding calves.
Late in the fall when all the branding was done, Moore put me in charge of a scouting outfit and sent me out on the Plains to drift around, the same as previous winters.
I hadn't been there long, though, when he sent word for me to turn my outfit over to James McClaughety and come in to the ranch; and to bring three of my picked men along.
On arriving at the ranch I found that he wanted me to take an outfit and go to New Mexico after a lot of cattle that "Billy the Kid" had stolen and run over there.
The cattlemen along the Canadian river had hired a fellow by the name of Frank Stuart to keep a lookout for stolen cattle in New Mexico; and along in the summer he came to the Panhandle and notified the different cattlemen who had him employed that "Billy the Kid" and his gang were making a regular business of stealing Panhandle cattle and selling them to an old fellow named Pat Cohglin who had a large ranch on Three rivers, close to Ft. Stanton.
The outfits then made up a crowd between them, and sent with Stuart, giving him orders to go right to the Cohglin ranch and take all the cattle found there, in their brands.
But Mr. Stuart failed to go nearer than forty miles from where the cattle were reported to be. He claimed that Cohglin, who had a blood-thirsty crowd around him, sent him word that if he got the cattle he would have to take some hot lead with them, or something to that effect. So Stuart came back, claiming he didn't have men enough.
This made Moore mad, so he concluded to rig up an outfit of his own and send them over after the cattle, hence he sending out after me.
My outfit, after getting it rigged up, consisted of a chuck wagon with four good mules to pull it, acook and five picked men, named as follows: James East, Lee Hall, Lon Chambers, Cal Pope and last but not by any means least "Big-foot Wallace." They all, except me, had one extra good horse apiece; I had two. Moore thought it best not to have many horses to feed, as corn would be scarce and high. He thought it best to buy more if we needed them.
On starting, Moore gave me these orders: "Stay over there until you get those cattle or bust the "L. X." company. I will keep you supplied in money just as long as they have got a nickel left, that I can get hold of. And when you get the cattle if you think you can succeed in capturing "Billy the Kid" do so. You can hire all the men you need; but don't undertake his capture until you have first secured the cattle."
At Tascosa we met Stuart who had succeeded in raising a little crowd to join us. Mr. McCarty, boss of the "L. I. T." ranch had furnished five men, a cook and chuck wagon; and Torry, whose ranch was further up the river, a wagon and two men, while a man by the name of Johnson furnished a man and wagon. The "L. I. T." outfit was in charge of a fellow by the name of "Bob" Roberson, whoseorders were to get the stolen cattle before trying to capture the Kid, but in the meantime, to be governed by Stuart's orders. This placed "Bob" in bad shape, as you will see later.
Stuart, after we all got strung out, took the "buck-board" on the mail line, and went on ahead to Las Vegas to put in a week or so with his solid girl.
On arriving at San Lorenzo, New Mexico, I mounted a buck-board and struck out ahead, to Las Vegas, to buy a lot of corn, grub, ammunition, etc., to be delivered at Anton Chico, twenty-five miles south of "Vegas," by the time the crowd got there, so as not to cause any delay. "Bob" Roberson also gave me money to buy a lot of stuff for his outfit.
Arriving in Vegas, during a severe snow storm, I found there wasn't fifty bushels of corn in town, the snow storm having delayed the freight trains. One merchant had just got a bill of several car loads which he expected to arrive any minute. So I concluded I would wait—and help Stuart hold the town down.
I wrote a letter to Anton Chico, telling the boys to lay there and take it easy, as I might be detained several days waiting for corn.
Every morning I would go to the grain merchant, and receive this reply: "Am looking for it every minute; t'will certainly be here by night."
Not being acquainted in town, time passed off very slowly, so I finally got to "bucking" at my old favorite game—monte. I won for a while, but finally my luck took a turn and I lost nearly every dollar I had in my possession, most of which belonged to my employers. The one hundred dollars that "Bob" Roberson gave to buy stuff for his outfit, also went.
While standing over the exciting game, after my pile had dwindled down to an even seventy dollars, I put just half of it, thirty-five dollars, on the Queen, or "horse," as it is called, being the picture of a woman on horseback, and made a vow, if I lost that bet that I never would as long as I lived, "buck" at monte again. I lost, and my vow has been sacredly kept.
The corn finally arrived, but having no money, I had to run my face by giving an order on the "L. X." company, payable on demand. The other stuff, ammunition, etc., also things "Bob" had sent for, I had to buy in the same manner. Of course I hated to give orders so soon after leaving the ranch with a pocketfull of money, but then thatwas the best I could do under existing circumstances.
After getting the goods started for Anton Chico, Stuart and I hired a rig and followed.
Arriving in "Chico" we found Barney Mason, (an ex-chum of the "Kid's," but now a deputy sheriff under Pat Garrett) there, with a message from Garrett telling Stuart to meet him in Vegas at a certain date, on important business. So Stuart struck right back to Vegas, accompanied by Mason, as the date fixed was only a few days off.
I found the boys all well and having a fat time. The only thing that bothered me they had run in debt head over heels on the strength of me having lots of money. The merchants expected their pay according to contract, immediately after my arrival. I had to satisfy them with orders on the "L. X." firm.
The boys had lots of news to relate, things that had happened after I left: One of "Bob's" men had had a shooting scrape with some mexicans; and "Billy the Kid" and his crowd had been in town, they having come in afoot, and went out well mounted. He and his five men having hoofed itthrough deep snow from the Greathouse ranch, over a hundred miles southwest of there.
After getting everything in shape we pulled out for White Oaks, one hundred and fifty miles southwest.
The second night out we camped at the Lewelling Wells, where bright and early next morning Stuart overtook us; accompanied by Pat Garrett and Barney Mason. They came with a scheme all cut and dried, by which they could get the big reward offered for the "Kid." Garrett knew the Kid and his few remaining followers had been to Chico and left for Fort Sumner a few days before; and that they were wore out from having been chased all over the country by a gang of ninety men from White Oaks and vicinity. Now was his time to strike, if he could just get Stuart to go in cahoots with him. That was soon accomplished; a promise of half of the reward, I suppose, done the work. Hence he sending for Stuart to come and see him in "Vegas" on important business.
After eating breakfast Stuart broke the ice by telling a lie. He knew our orders were strictly to get the cattle first, and then if we could assist in the capture of the "Kid" to do so. Therefore hebranched out thus: "Well boys, we have got a job on our hands: 'Kid' is on his way to Old Mexico with a bunch of Panhandle cattle; and we want every man in the outfit, except just enough to accompany the wagons to White Oaks, to go with Garrett and I to overtake them."
"How can that be," someone asked "when Kid and his men just left Anton Chico a few days ago?"
"Don't know," was the quick answer, unless some of his outfit had the cattle under herd somewhere down the river waiting for him. If you doubt my word about it, just ask Mr. Garrett, there.
Of course we all did doubt his word, and were well satisfied that it was a put up job, to gain the reward.
"Bob" Roberson and I went to one side and talked the matter over, while Stuart and his little party remained at camp wondering whether their little scheme would have strength to hold out, on its weak legs or not.
"Bob" was in favor, after we had talked the thing over, of going right back and telling Stuart in plain English that he lied. But I wouldn't agree to that for fear it might accidently be true. I thought it strange that Garrett, who had the reputation ofbeing a model of a man, would sit by with his mouth shut and listen to such a falsehood. Of course Garrett couldn't be blamed very much for he, being Sheriff, was interested in the "Kid's" capture, no matter what became of the cattle we had come after.
"Bob" and I finally concluded, for fear the statement might be true, to let them have a few men, but not enough to completely cripple us so that we couldn't go on after the cattle should we think it best, after getting to White Oaks.
I let them take three out of my crowd: "Jim" East, "Lon" Chambers and "Lee" Hall. While "Bob" gave up two, "Tom" Emory and Louis Bozman. Stuart wasn't satisfied, he wanted more. But not being successful in getting his whole wants supplied, they all rode off down the Pecos valley.
Shortly after they left we pulled out on the White Oaks road. That night it began to snow, and kept it up for several days until the whole ground was covered to the depth of from two to three feet; so that it was slow work getting our wagons along through it.
A few days afterwards we came to the Greathouse ranch, or at least to the hot ashes where it once stood, where "Kid" and six of his daring followerswere surrounded by ninety men one whole night and day. It was as follows:
A squad of men left White Oaks to hunt the "Kid" who was lurking in the neighborhood. They suddenly came upon him and Bill Willson cooking their breakfasts, one morning.
On discovering their enemies they both, after firing a shot apiece, sped through the mountains like deer, leaving their horses, saddles, coats and breakfast behind.
One of the shots fired at the White Oaks party took effect in the brain of a good horse that a young man by the name of Johnny Hudgens was riding, while the other, went through a hat, on the head of a young man.
After following the trail through the deep snow awhile, and after satisfying themselves that the two young outlaws couldn't hide their tracks, the party struck back to White Oaks after something to eat, and more men.
When they returned, that same evening, there was ninety men in the crowd. They got on the trail and followed it, until shortly after dark, when it brought them to within a few hundred yards ofthe Greathouse ranch, on the "Vegas" and White Oaks road.
To satisfy themselves that the game was bagged, they circled around the ranch to see that no trails were leading out from it.
They then stationed themselves in a circle around the house and, dismounting, began to make breast-works out of pine logs—the ranch being in the midst of a large pine grove.
When day-light came Greathouse sent a negro, who was stopping with him, out after the horses which had been hobbled the night before.
Mr. "Nig" hadn't gone but a few hundred yards when he was captured by the White Oaks boys.
After learning from him that the "Kid" and five of his men were in the house they sent him back with a note to the "Kid," telling him if he and his party would come out with their hands up they would be treated as prisoners of war; if not they would have to stand the consequences, etc.
In a few minutes the negro returned with a note from the "Kid," stating: "You fellers go to h—l!" or something to that effect.
A consultation was then held, and finally decided to give the boys one more chance for their lives,before storming the house. So they sent Mr. Coon back with another note stating, that that would be their last chance, etc.
In a short while a new messenger came forward. It was "Jim" Greathouse, proprietor of the ranch. He stated that the "Kid" desired to have a talk with their leader. On asking him what assurance he could give that their leader wouldn't be harmed, he replied, "myself." He told them that they could hold him a prisoner, and if anything happened to Carlyle, he was willing to stand the consequences.
So Mr. "Jim" Carlyle, he being the leader, marched forward—never more to return—to have a talk with the "Kid".
Arriving in the house where there was also a saloon, kept there to accommodate the thirsty traveler, he was made to go up to the bar and drink "health to Billy the Kid." This of course went against the grain with "Jim," but then what else could he do now, being at their mercy?
Finally the Kid spied one of the gloves he had left behind in his retreat the day before, sticking out of "Jim's" coat pocket.
This revived the hardships he and Billy Willson were compelled to endure, nearly all day the day before, traveling through snow up to their knees. So pulling the glove out of "Jim's" pocket and holding it up at arms length, he asked: "Jim, was you with that mob yesterday who caused me such a tramp through the snow?"
"Yes," was the answer.
"Well then, come up and take your last drink on this earth, for I am going to blow your light out."
"Jim" of course didn't relish the half pint of rotgut that he was forced to drink at the point of a colts "45."
After drinking a full glass himself the "Kid" threw his pistol down in "Jim's" face, full cocked, telling him at the same time to say his prayers while he slowly counted "three."
The "one, two, three!" was uttered, and then a pistol shot rang out upon the still air, re-echoing from the mountain sides, in every direction.
The bullet had struck its mark, a tin can hanging on the wall a few inches above "Jim's" head.
"Well, Jim," was the first words that broke the death-like silence within, "you are worth several dead men yet, ain't you?" Said "Kid" grabbing"Jim's" trembling hand and leading him up to the bar, over which Billy Willson handed the fiery bug-juice.
"You didn't think I would be brute enough to shoot you insucha cowardly manner, did you, Jim?" continued the "Kid" setting his empty glass down on the counter.
The shot from within had excited the crowd outside almost to fever heat; they thinking that it meant their leaders' death. One fellow during the exciting moment scribbled off a note which read thus: "If Carlyle ain't out here in ten minutes by the watch, your friend Greathouse will be a corpse," and sent it to the "Kid" by the negro, who had returned after delivering the last message which brought Greathouse out.
The note was read in the presence of Carlyle, so that he heard every word it contained.
"Kid" then answered it by stating: "Carlyle is safe, but we can't give him up just yet. Now remember, if we hear a shot from the outside we will take it for granted that you have carried out your threats by killing Greathouse, and will have to pay you back by killing our prisoner," etc.
"Jim" knew the substance of the note and trembled in his boots at the thoughts of an accident shot being fired by his party. He was satisfied that his men wouldn't do as they threatened in the note after hearing, from the negro's own lips, that he was still alive. It was theaccidentshot that disturbed his mind.
The negro hadn't more than got behind the breastworks with the note when a man, stationed behind another breastwork, who knew nothing of the threat having been made, fired a shot at the house "just for fun."
Carlyle, on hearing the shot, made a leap at the only glass window in the house, taking sash and all with him. But before striking the ground several bullets from the "Kids" well aimed "45" had pierced his body. He crawled a few yards and then fell over dead, in plain view of his eighty odd companions.
"Kid" claimed afterwards that he was sorry for having had to kill "Jim." Their intentions were to hold him prisoner until dark, when they would tie him down, so he couldn't give the alarm, and then make their escape.
From that on, the mad crowd outside kept up a continued firing at the log house until dark. But doing no damage, as the boys had breast-works built of sacks of flour, boxes, bedding, etc.
Jim Greathouse during the excitement gave his guards the slip and pulled for "tall timber" up in the mountains where it was almost impossible for a mounted man to follow. I have often afterwards heard Greathouse laugh over the matter and tell how he "just hit the high places," and beat Goldsmith Maid's fastest time, for the first half mile.
About ten o'clock that night the White Oaker's began to get tired and hungry, so concluded they would go back to town, forty miles, fill up, get a fresh mount and return by daylight, without the "Kid" and his men knowing anything of it. They stole off very slyly, without making any noise, and when they got about a mile, put their horses down to their best licks.
About midnight the little party inside made a bold break for liberty. They headed north-east, with cocked winchesters, determined on fighting their way out. But they were happily disappointed.
A ten-mile tramp through snow brought them to the Spencer ranch, which was kept by a kind oldman by the name of Spencer, who lived there all alone, and was trying to establish a shorter route from "Vegas" to the "Oaks" by turning the road by his place, where there was a fine spring of water, a luxury the Greathouse ranch lacked, they having to haul water a distance of several miles from up in the rough mountains.
Just as day was breaking the crowd returned from the "Oaks," and finding their game had fled they set fire to the house and struck out on the newly made foot prints.
Arriving at the Spencer ranch they learned, from the old gentleman, that the "Kid" and his little party of five had been gone about two hours, and that they had eaten breakfast with him.
After continuing on the trail about an hour longer, until it brought them to a rough strip of country where they would be compelled to take it afoot, they gave up the chase, and turned back to take their spite out on poor old Spencer for feeding the "Kid" and his crowd.
They took the poor old harmless fellow out to a neighboring tree, after setting fire to his ranch, and put a rope around his neck; but before they had time to swing him up, a few of the men, who hadbeen opposed from the start, interfered in the old man's behalf. Thus his neck was saved, and he is to-day a highly respected citizen in that community, which has since that time become a rich mining district.
The "Kid" and his men made it into Anton Chico, where, as I stated before, they stole a good horse and saddle apiece, while the boys were there waiting for me to arrive from "Vegas," and pulled down the Reo Pecos.