BILLY THE KID'S CAPTURE
We arrived in the beautifully located town of White Oaks on the 23d day of December, (1880). The town, which consisted of 1000 inhabitants, mostly American miners, was then not quite two years old and pretty lively for its age. It contained eight saloons; and Saturday nights when the boys would come in from the surrounding mountains, to spend the Sabbath, is when the little burg would put on city airs.
We rented a large log house in the lower end of town and went to living like white folks. We had no money, but we struck two of the merchants who gave us an unlimited credit until we could make a raise. Our greatest expense was feeding the horses corn which cost five cents a pound and hay, two cents a pound. The grub we ate wasn't very expensive as we stole all of our meat, and shared with our honest neighbors who thought it a great sin to kill other people's cattle. You see "Bob" and I stillclung to the old Texas style which is, never kill one of your own beeves when you can get somebody else's.
We had concluded not to go after the stolen cattle until the rest of the boys got there, by which time the deep snow would be melted, maybe, so that we could scour the White Mountains, where the cattle were reported to be, out thoroughly.
New-Year's night we had a bushel of fun making the citizens think that "Billy the Kid" had taken the town. Billy was in the habit of "shooting the town up a lot" every now and then, hence, every time a few dozen shots were fired at an unusually late hour, they putting it down as being some of his devilment.
We first sent one of our crowd up-town to the billiard hall, where most of the men generally congregated, and especially "Pinto Tom," the marshal, whose maneuvers we were anxious to learn, to watch and see what kind of an effect our shooting had on the people.
At precisely twelve o'clock we got out with winchesters and six-shooters, cooks and all, and turned ourselves loose. About one hundred shots werefired in quick succession. We then went up town to note the effect.
Arriving at the billiard hall we found old "Uncle Jimmie," our man, standing in the door laughing fit to kill himself. The hall was empty, with the exception of a few who were still hid under tables, chairs, etc. Most of them had gone out of the back door, there being a rough canyon within a few yards of it leading to the mountains, right at the marshal's heels. It was said that "Pinto Tom" didn't get in from the mountains for two days, and when he did come, he swore he had been off prospecting.
Shortly after New-Years some of our men arrived, bringing the news of the "Kid's" capture, while the rest, Jim East and Tom Emory had accompanied Garrett and Stuart to "Vegas" with the prisoners.
Stuart sent a letter by one of the boys, stating that he, East and Emory, would be in the "Oaks" just as quick as they could get there, after turning the prisoners over to the authorities in "Vegas."
So, knowing that we were destined to remain around the "Oaks" a week or two at least, we pulled out in the mountains and camped, so as to save expensesby letting our horses eat grass instead of hay.
That night, after the boys arrived and after we had moved camp out in the timber, while seated around a blazing pinyon fire, Lon Chambers who was a splendid single-handed talker, began relating how they captured the "Kid," etc., which ran about this way, as near as I can remember:
"After leaving you fellers we caught——. It began snowing that night, and kept it up for two or three days and nights.Arriving in Ft. Sumner, Garrett got word that the Kid and outfit would be in town that night from Los Potales, where the 'Kid's' ranch or cave was situated, so he secured a house near the road leading to 'Potales,' to secret his men in. He then kept a man out doors, on guard, watching the road.About ten o'clock that night, while we were all inside playing a five-cent game of poker, the guard opened the door and said, 'Garrett, here comes a crowd down the road!' We all dashed out, winchesters in hand, and hid behind an adobe fence, close by, which they would be compelled to pass.The moon was shining and we could tell who it was, or at least Garrett and Mason could; theybeing well acquainted with them. There was six in the approaching crowd, and thirteen of us.When they rode up within speaking distance Garrett yelled, 'throw up your hands!' His voice had hardly died out when thirteen shots from our nervously gripped winchesters were fired into their midst.When the smoke cleared off we found that they had all vanished, with the exception of Tom Ophalliard who was mortally wounded, and died shortly after. He had several bullet holes through his body. 'These,' pointing down to his feet, 'are his over shoes, and this' pulling off a finely finished mexican sombraro and displaying it, "is the hat I pulled from his head before he had quit kicking."The next morning we struck out on the trail which led back towards Los Potales. The white snow along the trail was red with blood, having flowed from the wounds in Rudabaugh's horse. The poor animal died though after carrying his heavy master through twelve miles of deep snow.About midnight we hove in sight of a little rock house standing on the banks of a small arroyo. The trail led right up to the door which faced the south. Right near the door stood four shivering horses.Knowing we had the little band trapped, we took things cool until daylight, when we stationed ourselves around the house.There being no opening in the building except the door, Garrett and Lee Hall crawled up to the end wall so they could watch the door from around the corner, while the rest of us concealed ourselves behind knolls, etc.We had left our horses behind a hill quite a distance from the house.When it became light enough to see, Charlie Bowdre stepped out doors to see about his horse, but he hadn't more than hit the ground when two bullets, fired by Garrett and Hall, who were still at the corner not a dozen feet from the door, sent him to his long home. He only uttered a few words, which were: 'I wish, I wish,' before his last breath left him.Of course that caused a stirring around inside; they knew what it meant and began making preparations for an escape. The 'Kid' had his pony inside, out of the cold and the other four—Rudabaugh having secured another one—were tied to the door frame so that they could reach the ropes without exposing their bodies. Now thought they ifwe can pull three of the horses inside we will mount and make a bold dash out of the door. But when they got the first animal about half way into the house Garrett sent a bullet through its heart. The dead animal of course blocked the way so that they had to give up that scheme.They then tried picking port holes through the thick rock walls, but had to give it up also, as they had nothing to do it with but their knives and firearms.The 'Kid' and Garrett finally opened up a conversation. The former seemed to be in fine humor. Every now and then he would crack some kind of a joke and then laugh, so that every one of us could hear him. At one time he asked in a jovial way: 'Garrett, have you got a fire out there?' 'Yes, a good one!' was the answer. 'Can we come out and warm if we behave ourselves?' 'Yes,' replied Garrett, 'but come with your hands up.' 'Oh, you go to h—l, won't you? You old long-legged s—n of a b——h!'You see they were without fire, water or provisions, consequently we had the advantage. We had a good fire out behind one of the knolls andwould take turns about, during the day and coming night, going to warm.They held out until next day, when they surrendered, after being promised protection from mob violence. Kid was the last man to come out with his hands up. He said he would have starved to death before surrendering if the rest had stayed with him."
"After leaving you fellers we caught——. It began snowing that night, and kept it up for two or three days and nights.
Arriving in Ft. Sumner, Garrett got word that the Kid and outfit would be in town that night from Los Potales, where the 'Kid's' ranch or cave was situated, so he secured a house near the road leading to 'Potales,' to secret his men in. He then kept a man out doors, on guard, watching the road.
About ten o'clock that night, while we were all inside playing a five-cent game of poker, the guard opened the door and said, 'Garrett, here comes a crowd down the road!' We all dashed out, winchesters in hand, and hid behind an adobe fence, close by, which they would be compelled to pass.
The moon was shining and we could tell who it was, or at least Garrett and Mason could; theybeing well acquainted with them. There was six in the approaching crowd, and thirteen of us.
When they rode up within speaking distance Garrett yelled, 'throw up your hands!' His voice had hardly died out when thirteen shots from our nervously gripped winchesters were fired into their midst.
When the smoke cleared off we found that they had all vanished, with the exception of Tom Ophalliard who was mortally wounded, and died shortly after. He had several bullet holes through his body. 'These,' pointing down to his feet, 'are his over shoes, and this' pulling off a finely finished mexican sombraro and displaying it, "is the hat I pulled from his head before he had quit kicking."
The next morning we struck out on the trail which led back towards Los Potales. The white snow along the trail was red with blood, having flowed from the wounds in Rudabaugh's horse. The poor animal died though after carrying his heavy master through twelve miles of deep snow.
About midnight we hove in sight of a little rock house standing on the banks of a small arroyo. The trail led right up to the door which faced the south. Right near the door stood four shivering horses.
Knowing we had the little band trapped, we took things cool until daylight, when we stationed ourselves around the house.
There being no opening in the building except the door, Garrett and Lee Hall crawled up to the end wall so they could watch the door from around the corner, while the rest of us concealed ourselves behind knolls, etc.
We had left our horses behind a hill quite a distance from the house.
When it became light enough to see, Charlie Bowdre stepped out doors to see about his horse, but he hadn't more than hit the ground when two bullets, fired by Garrett and Hall, who were still at the corner not a dozen feet from the door, sent him to his long home. He only uttered a few words, which were: 'I wish, I wish,' before his last breath left him.
Of course that caused a stirring around inside; they knew what it meant and began making preparations for an escape. The 'Kid' had his pony inside, out of the cold and the other four—Rudabaugh having secured another one—were tied to the door frame so that they could reach the ropes without exposing their bodies. Now thought they ifwe can pull three of the horses inside we will mount and make a bold dash out of the door. But when they got the first animal about half way into the house Garrett sent a bullet through its heart. The dead animal of course blocked the way so that they had to give up that scheme.
They then tried picking port holes through the thick rock walls, but had to give it up also, as they had nothing to do it with but their knives and firearms.
The 'Kid' and Garrett finally opened up a conversation. The former seemed to be in fine humor. Every now and then he would crack some kind of a joke and then laugh, so that every one of us could hear him. At one time he asked in a jovial way: 'Garrett, have you got a fire out there?' 'Yes, a good one!' was the answer. 'Can we come out and warm if we behave ourselves?' 'Yes,' replied Garrett, 'but come with your hands up.' 'Oh, you go to h—l, won't you? You old long-legged s—n of a b——h!'
You see they were without fire, water or provisions, consequently we had the advantage. We had a good fire out behind one of the knolls andwould take turns about, during the day and coming night, going to warm.
They held out until next day, when they surrendered, after being promised protection from mob violence. Kid was the last man to come out with his hands up. He said he would have starved to death before surrendering if the rest had stayed with him."
Chambers, after finishing gave a heavy sigh and wondered whether Garrett and Stuart would act white and whack up the reward evenly among the whole outfit, or not.
"Bob" and I made arrangements with the boys to loan us their part of the reward, which would amount to considerable over a hundred dollars apiece, until we got back to the ranch, to pay our debts with.
A TRIP TO THE RIO GRANDE ON A MULE.
About the time we were getting out of patience waiting, the two boys, East and Emory, arrived with the good news that Stuart would be along in a few days, he having to remain over to get their part of the reward, etc.
Stuart arrived finally; he came in a buggy with a gentleman from "Vegas." His orders to Roberson and Torry's men were: "Boys, you fellows pull right back to the ranch, as I have got some important business to look after in 'Vegas.' We can come back after those cattle in the spring," etc.
The boys who had helped capture the "Kid" and outfit rounded him up for their part of the reward, but he said it was already spent. Oh no, they wasn't mad! Some of them swore that he would be a corpse before morning. But luckily for him he pulled for "Vegas" that night. I am not certain whether he was aware of his danger or not, but there is one thing I am certain of and that is, it wouldn't have beenhealthy for him to remain in that locality very long. "Bob" had even consented to the crowd hanging him. I was the only one who protested, for the simple reason that I do not believe in mob law. Of course I thought it very wrong in swindling the boys out of equal share of the reward, after they had shared equally in the danger and hardships.
"Bob" was in a bad fix, in debt, no money and ordered home, by one whose orders his boss had told him to obey. The question was, how to stand his creditors off and get grub, corn, etc. enough to last him home.
I finally came to his rescue. As I intended remaining, I went to the merchants and told them his fix and guaranteed that he would send the money he owed as soon as he got home, or else I would let them take it out of my four mules and wagon, which were worth a thousand dollars at least.
They let him off; also let him have grub, corn, etc. enough to last him home, which would take fifteen days to make the trip.
As some of my boys became homesick, on seeing Roberson's outfit getting ready to pull back and as I was anxious to cut down expenses, knowing that I would have to lay there the rest of the winter,waiting for money to pay up my bills before the merchants would let me move my wagon, I let three of them go along with "Bob." Those three were James East, Cal. Pope and Lee Hall. "Bob" let Tom Emory, one of his men, who was stuck on the light mountain air of New Mexico remain with me. This left me there with a cook and three warriors, Emory, Chambers and "Big-foot" Wallace.
Just as soon as "Bob" had pulled out, I moved into town and rented a house, so that we could put on style, while waiting for the money I had written to the ranch for.
The mails were so irregular, on account of the deep snow which lay on the ground up there in the mountains nearly all winter, that I didn't get a letter from Moore for three weeks. In the letter were drafts for three hundred dollars; and Moore stated that I had done just right by not taking Stuart's advice and coming home. He also reminded me that I mustn't come back until I got the cattle, if it took two years; and also that I must scour out the Sand hills on the Plains around Las Potales, "Kid's" den, on my return. I distributed the three hundred dollars among my creditors and then wrote back to the ranch for some more, as that was already gone, etc.
We found the citizens of White Oaks to be sociable and kind; and everything went on lovely with the exception of a shooting scrape between a School teacher and "Big foot."
About the last of February I received another three hundred dollars and I then struck out, accompanied by Tom Emory, to hunt the noted Pat Cohglin and find out if he would let us have the cattle without bloodshed or not. As he had a slaughter house in Fort Stanton I struck out for there first.
We left the "Oaks" one morning early, Emory mounted on his pet "Grey" and I on one of the fat work mules and arrived in "Stanton" about sundown.
We rode up to Cohglin's slaughter pen the first thing and found a man by the name of Peppen in charge. On examining the hides which hung on the fence we found five bearing the "L. X." brand. I laid them to one side and next morning brought two men Crawford and Hurly, down from the Post to witness the brands. I then told Mr. Peppen, or "Old Pap" as he was called, not to butcher any more of those cattle sold by "Billy the Kid." He promised he wouldn't unless he got new orders from Cohglin.
From there we pulled for Tulerosa where Cohglin lived. The first night out we stopped at the Mescalero Apache Indian Agency, which is known as South Fork. There I learned from the storekeeper of a bunch of eight hundred cattle having passed there in a terrible hurry, about three weeks before, going west. He said that they were undoubtedly stolen cattle, for they drove night and day through the deep snow. I came to the conclusion that maybe it was Tom Cooper, one of "Kid's" right-hand bowers with a stolen herd of Panhandle cattle, so made up my mind to keep on his trail.
We rode into Tulerosa the next evening about sundown. A young man from the Panhandle, by the name of Sam Coleman, who was on his way to Willcox, Arizona, was with us. We found the town to be a genuine mexican "Plaza" of about one thousand souls. We put up for the night at Cohglin's store and learned from the clerk, Morris, that the "King of Tulerosa," as Cohglin was called, was down on the Rio Grande on trail of a bunch of cattle stolen from him by Tom Cooper. I put that down as a very thin yarn, having reasons to believe that he and Cooper stood in with one another. I made up my mind that it was our cattle he was tryingto get away with, after hearing of us being in the "Oaks."
The clerk had told the truth though, for he was after Cooper. The way it happened, Cohglin had only paid Cooper and the "Kid" half down on the last bunch of Panhandle cattle he bought from them and Cooper hearing of "Kid's" capture and of us being in the "Oaks" on our way after the cattle, came onto Cohglin for the rest of the money so he could leave the country. On being refused he got his crowd together and stole three hundred head of the latter's best cattle and pulled for Arizona with them.
After supper Emory and Coleman went to bed while I struck out to a mexican dance, at the outskirts of town, to keep my ears open for news connected with Panhandle cattle, etc.
There being plenty of wine, or "mescal," on the ground the "Greasers" began feeling pretty good about midnight. Of course I had to join in their sports, so as to keep on the good side of them. There was only one American in the crowd, besides myself.
I became pretty intimate with one old fellow of whom I made scores of inquiries in regard to Mr. Cohglin and the herd—the one I heard about atSouth Fork—that had passed there a few weeks before.
He knew nothing of the herd, no further than having seen it, but he pointed out a long-haired "Greaser," who was three sheets in the wind and swinging his pistol around on his fore-finger, who could tell me all about it, as he had piloted it through San Augustine Pass.
I learned that the herd was owned by Charlie Slaughter and that their destination was the Heeley River, near Tombstone, Arizona.
Marking out a lot of brands which I had never heard of on a piece of paper, I asked the long-haired fellow if he noticed any of them on the cattle. He did not. So I then marked off a lot of Panhandle brands. He picked out several, the "L X." among them, this time, that he remembered of seeing in the herd. This satisfied me that the herd would bear inspection.
The next morning I told Emory what the old mexican had said and that my intentions were to kill two birds with one stone; find Cohglin and then follow the herd.
This didn't impress Emory very favorably. He advised me to return and get the wagon and outfit.I couldn't see the point, for we would lose at least a week by the operation. He took the back track while I continued single handed, accompanied by Sam Coleman, whose route was the same as mine until arriving on the Rio Grande, where he would change his course to southward.
WAYLAID BY UNKNOWN PARTIES.
After leaving Tulerosa our route lay across a young desert, called the "White Sands," a distance of sixty miles. That night Sam and I camped at a lonely spot called "White Water," where there wasn't a stick of wood in sight. We had to make a fire out of a bush called the "oil weed" to keep warm by.
The next night we put up with an old man by the name of Shedd, who kept a ranch on the east side of Osscuro mountains, near San Augustine Pass.
On arriving in the Pass next morning, on our way to Las Cruces, we could see the whole Rio Grande valley, dotted with green fields, for at least a hundred miles up and down. And by looking over our shoulder, in the direction we had come, we could see the white looking plain or desert, which extends for two hundred miles north and south. It was indeed a beautiful sight, to one who had just come from a snowy country, and we were loath to leave the spot.
Arriving in Las Cruces, (City of the Crosses) on the Rio Grande, twenty-five miles from Shedd's where we had left that morning, I went to making inquiries about Mr. Pat Cohglin's whereabouts. I found out by the Postmaster, Cunnifee, who was an intimate friend of his that he was in El Paso, Texas, fifty miles below, and would be up to "Cruces" the next day.
That night Sam and I proceeded to take in the town, which was booming, on account of the A. T. and S. F. R. R. being only forty miles above, and on its way down the river to El Paso.
The next morning Sam bid me adieu and struck out on his journey for Willcox, Arizona, about two hundred miles distant.
That evening Mr. Cohglin, whom I found to be a large, portly looking half-breed Irishman, drove up to Mr. Cunnifee's store in a buggy drawn by a fine pair of black horses.
I introduced myself as having been sent from the Panhandle after the cattle he had purchased from the "Kid." He at first said I couldn't have them, but finally changed his tone, when I told him that I had a crowd at White Oaks, and that my instructionswere to take them by force if I couldn't secure them in any other way.
He then began giving me "taffy," as I learned afterwards. He promised faithfully that, as he didn't like to have his whole herd, which was scattered through the whole White Mountain district, disturbed at that season of the year, if I would wait until the first of April, at which time the new grass would be up, he would help me round-up every hoof of Panhandle cattle on his range. I agreed to do so providing he would promise not to have any more of them butchered at "Stanton."
The old fellow was worried considerably about the three hundred head of cattle Cooper had stolen from him. He told me about having followed him with a crowd of mexicans into the Black Range, near the Arizona line, where he succeeded in getting back a few of the broken-down ones.
There being a fellow by the name of "Hurricane Bill," of Ft. Griffin, Texas notoriety, in town, direct from Tombstone, Arizona, I concluded to lay over a few days and "play in" with him and his gang of four or five, in hopes of learning something about Slaughter and his herd, the one I was on trail of.
I went under an assumed name and told them that I was on the "dodge" for a crime committed in Southern Texas.
I found out all about their future plans from one of the gang, by the name of Johnson, who seemed to be more talkative than the rest. He said they were waiting for the railroad to get to El Paso; and then they were going into the butchering business on a large scale. He wanted me to join them; and said the danger wouldn't be very great, as they intended stealing the cattle mostly from ignorant mexicans.
One morning while Johnson and I were eating breakfast at a restaurant a man sat down at the same table and, recognizing me, said: "Hello," calling me by name; "where did you come from?" He then continued; although I winked at him several times to keep still, "So you fellows succeeded in capturing Billy the Kid, did you?" etc.
Johnson gave a savage glance at me as much as to say: d——m you, you have been trying to work us, have you? I kept my hand near old colts "45" for I expected, from his nervous actions, for him to make a break of some kind. He finally got up and walked out without saying a word. This man whohad so suddenly bursted our friendship was a friend of Frank Stuart's and had met me in Las Vegas, with his chum, Stuart.
I concluded it wouldn't be healthy for me to remain there till after dark, nor to undertake the trip to Tombstone, for I had manifested such an interest in the Slaughter herd, etc., that they might follow me up, on hearing that I had left town. So I wrote a letter to Mr. Moore, telling him of the whole circumstances, and asking him if I had better take my men and follow the herd to the jumping-off place or not? I then struck back to White Oaks over the same route I had come.
That night I stopped at Shedd's ranch; and so did Cohglin, he being on his way back to Tulerosa.
The next day I rode the entire sixty miles, across the "white sands," and landed in Tulerosa about a half hour behind Cohglin and his fast steppers. I was tired though, and swore off ever riding another mule on a long trip. I had figured on being in mountains all the time, where I would have lots of climbing to do, is why I rode the mule instead of a horse.
The next morning I made up my mind that I would take a new route to the "Oaks" by goingaround the mountains through Mr. Cohglin's range which was on Three Rivers, twenty odd miles north. So before starting I inquired of Cohglin's clerk as to the best route, etc.
I stopped at the Cohglin ranch that night and was treated like a white head by Mr. Nesbeth and wife who took care of the ranch, that is, done the cooking, gardening, milking, etc. The herders, or cowboys, were all mexicans, with the exception of Bill Gentry, the boss, who was away at the time.
While getting ready to start for White Oaks next morning one of the eight or ten, mexicans, who were sitting on the fence sunning themselves, came to me, and told me of a near cut to the "Oaks," by taking an old Indian trail over the White Mountains, and advised me to take that route as I could save at least twenty miles, it being forty around by the road.
Mr. Nesbeth spoke up and said it would be better for me to travel on the road, even if it was further, as I might experience some difficulty in finding the old Indian trail, etc.
The "Greaser" then offered me his service, saying that he would go and put me on the trail so that it would be impossible for me to miss my way. Iagreed, so he mounted a pony and we rode east up a rough canyon.
A ride of about five miles brought us to the almost obliterated trail. It lead up an awful brushy and rocky canyon towards the snowy crags of the White Mountain range.
About an hour after bidding the "Greaser" adieu, I came to where the trail made a short curve to the left, but I could tell from the lay of the ground that, by keeping straight ahead, I would strike it again. So I left it, and luckily for me that I did, for there was some one laying for me not far from there.
I hadn't gone but a rod or two when bang! bang! bang! went three shots in quick succession, not over fifty yards to the left; and at the same time my mule gave a lunge forward, on the ice-covered stones, and fell broad-side, throwing me over a precipice about eight feet to the bottom. My winchester and pistol both were hanging to the saddle-horn, but I managed to grab and pull the latter out of the scabbard as I went off, and took it with me.
The first thing I done on striking bottom was to hunt a hole. I found a nice little nook between two boulders and lay there with cocked pistol, expecting every second to see three Indians or "Greasers"peep over the ledge on the hunt for a dead "Gringo"—as the mexicans call an American.
After waiting a few minutes I became impatient and crawled on top of a small knoll and, on looking in the direction the shooting had come from, I got a faint glimpse of what I took to be two half-stooped human forms retreating, through the pinyon brush, at a lively gait. Suffice it to say I found my mule standing in a grove of trees, with his front feet fastened in the bridle-reins, about two hundred yards from where he fell. And between his forelegs, on the ground was a small pool of sparkling red blood, which had dripped from a slight bullet wound in his breast.
On examination I found that one bullet had cut a groove in the hind tree of my saddle, and another had plowed through a pair of blankets tied behind the saddle. I arrived in the Oaks, on my almost broken-down mule about dark that night, after an absence of nearly two weeks.
LOST ON THE STAKED PLAINS.
About a week after my return to White Oaks, I received a letter from Mr. Moore stating that I need not go to Arizona to look after the Slaughter herd as he had hired a United States Deputy Marshal by the name of John W. Poe, now Sheriff of Lincoln County, New Mexico, to go around by rail and tend to the matter. But when Poe arrived there the herd had been sold and driven to Old Mexico, so that we never knew whether there were any Panhandle cattle in it or not, except what I learned from the mexican, which appeared to me very good evidence, that there were.
On the tenth day of March, while taking it easy waiting for the first of April to arrive so that we could round up the Cohglin range according to agreement, I received a confidential letter from Mr. Geo. Nesbeth of the Cohglin ranch, giving me a broad hint that Mr. Cohglin was getting rid of ourcattle as fast as possible, before the first of April should arrive.
The letter arrived in the evening and next morning I took "Big foot" along and struck out for "Stanton"—after giving Chambers and Emory orders to load up the wagon with grub and corn, and follow.
"Big-foot" and I arrived in the Post about three o'clock in the afternoon and went through the Cohglin slaughter pens, finding several freshly butchered "L. X." hides, which went to show that I had been duped, and that the hint from Nesbeth was true. We then rode down the "Bonetta" River nine miles to Lincoln, to go through the hides there and to look for a herd we expected the old fellow had hidden out somewhere along the river.
We stopped in "Stanton" that night and next morning struck out on the White Oaks road to meet the wagon and turn it towards Three Rivers.
We met the outfit at the mouth of Nogal canyon and camped for dinner.
It was sixty miles around by the road to Cohglin's ranch, the route the wagon would have to go and about twenty-five or thirty on a straight line over the White Mountains.
After dinner "Big-foot" and I struck out over the mountains, while Emory and Chambers went around by the road to pilot the cook, etc.
About twelve o'clock that night, after a very hard ride over one of the roughest strips of snow covered countries a man ever saw, we arrived at the Cohglin ranch.
We found the corral full of cattle, but, being very dark, couldn't tell whose they were.
Mr. and Mrs. Nesbeth got up out of bed and gave us a cold supper; and he also gave us a few pointers in regard to his employer's doings, etc. He informed me that Bill Gentry, the boss, had just began, that day, gathering the remaining Panhandle cattle, that might still be left on the range, to take to the "Stanton" slaughter pens. Hence those cattle in the corral.
After breakfast Gentry and his seven "Greasers" turned the herd out of the corral with the intention of keeping right on with his work. There was only five head of "L. X.'s," all large steers, in the bunch and I told Gentry that I would have to take charge of those and also gather up the rest that were on his range. He couldn't agree to that, he said, for his orders from Cohglin were, not to giveup any of the Panhandle cattle, etc. I told him that I didn't care what his orders were, as I was bound to have the cattle.
Just about the time we were arguing the case the rest of my outfit hove in sight; they had been traveling all night.
After camping the wagon we all went out to the herd, which the mexicans were guarding and proceeded to cutting our five head out. Gentry tried to get me to wait until he could send for Cohglin, he having already dispatched a mexican to Tulerosa after him, but I wouldn't reason the matter at all, as I was mad about the way I had been served.
We went right to work after cutting out the five head, rounding up the whole range in search of more, but after three days hard work we only succeeded in finding three head more. But we left there with nine head, the ninth one being one of Cohglin's own steers which we butchered in the Oaks on our arrival back there, for the benefit of our many friends whom had been depending on us all winter for their fresh beef. Thus I had the satisfaction of getting even with the old fellow to the extent of one steer and a fat hog which we hadbutchered and stowed away in the wagon the night before leaving.
The mexican that Gentry sent to Tulerosa with the dispatch had to go on down to Las Cruces, on the Rio Grande, Cohglin having started down there the day before; hence we not having the old fellow to contend with.
After looking over the "Carezo" range, which was owned by Catron and Waltz and several small mexican ranges, we pulled into White Oaks with lots of experience but very few cattle.
On arriving in the "Oaks" I wrote to Mr. Moore telling him all about the way in which Cohglin had taken advantage of me, etc. Also advised him to have the old fellow prosecuted as I had sufficient evidence to send him to the "Pen," etc.
Mr. Moore on getting my letter, sent John Poe, the United States Deputy Marshal that he had sent to Tombstone, Arizona, over to have Cohglin arrested and put through the mill.
On leaving the "Oaks" for good, I bought a wagon load of corn, chuck, etc. for which I gave orders on the "L. X." company, not having any money left. The merchants had by this time, becomeacquainted with me, so that my name to an order was just the same as cash to them.
From the "Oaks" I pulled due east, around the "Capitan" mountains to Roswell on the Pecos River. I overhauled scores of little mexican ranches scattered through the mountains on my route, but failed to find any of our stock. At Roswell though we found two large steers which swelled our little herd to ten head.
From Roswell we went to John Chisholm's ranch on the head of South Spring River; and got there just in time as he was rigging up his outfit for spring work. They were going to start down the Reo Pecos to the Texas line, next day, to begin work and I concluded we had better work with them, in search of Panhandle cattle which might have drifted across the Plains.
I took my outfit back to Roswell, five miles, where I made arrangements with Capt. J. C. Lea, who kept a store, to board one of my men whom I wanted to leave there to take care of the ten head of steers until my return, not caring to drive them two hundred miles down the river and then back again.
Not having grub enough to last on the trip I bought a supply from the accommodating Capt. Lea,who took my note for pay. He also sold me two horses on the same terms.
We were absent two weeks on this trip, but failed to find any of our cattle. We came back with the satisfaction though of knowing that there wasn't any in that part of the world.
On our arrival back to Roswell we learned of the "Kid's" escape from Lincoln after having killed his two guards. That night Lon Chambers wore a different hat; he had swapped his star-spangled mexican sombraro off to one of Chisholm's men. This hat had been presented to Tom O'Phalliard by the "Kid," hence Chambers not wanting it in his possession for fear he might run across the "Kid." Chambers of course denied the above, saying that he never thought of such a thing, but traded it off just because it, being so heavy, made his head ache. But that was too thin we thought under the circumstances. Any of us would have done the same though, no doubt, knowing that the "Kid" had sworn vengeance against all of O'Phalliard's "murderers" as he termed them.
We found Emory and the ten steers doing finely. Tom hated to see us back for he was having such a soft time. All he had to do was turn the steersout of the corral, mornings, and then round-up and pen them at night again.
After drawing on the whole-souled Capt. Lea again for more grub, etc., we pulled up the Reo Pecos—looking through all the cattle on our route—to Ft. Sumner, a distance of one hundred miles.
We laid over in Sumner two days and went to a mexican fandango both nights, at the Maxwell mansion in which the "Kid" was killed shortly afterwards. The "Kid" was in the building while the dance was going on but we didn't know it at the time. The way I found it out, I had escorted a young woman, after the dance, one night, to her room, which was in the same building as the dance, and she bid me good night without asking me in. I thought it strange but never said anything. That fall when I came back there she explained matters, by saying that the "Kid" was in her room at the time, reading. I had noticed that she stood outside of the door until I had turned the corner out of sight. She also explained that: The "Kid" had the door locked and she had to give a private rap to get him to open it.
From Ft. Sumner we pulled due east on the Los Potales road, on our way to scour out the "SandHills" according to Moore's instruction in one of his letters to me at White Oaks. Before leaving the Post, the last settlement or store that we would come to before reaching the Canadian River, I sold one of the horses bought from Capt. Lea, for thirty-five dollars and laid in a small supply of grub with the money. Not being acquainted there my credit wasn't good, hence having to sell the horse.
Two days out from Ft. Sumner we came to the little rock house, at Stinking Springs, where the "Kid" and his companions held out so long without fire, food or water. Chambers and Emory of course had to explain and point out every place of interest, to "Big-foot Wallace," the mexican cook, Frank, or Francisco, and myself.
The second day after leaving Stinking Springs, we came to the "Kid's" noted "Castle" at Los Potales, on the western edge of the great "Llano Estacado."
Los Potales is a large alkali Lake, the water of which is unfit for man or beast. But on the north side of the lake is two nice, cool springs which gurgle forth from a bed of rock, near the foot of "Kid's" Castle—a small cave in the cliff. In front of the cave is a stone corral about fifty feet square;and above the cave on the level plain is several hitching posts. Outside of those things mentioned there is nothing but a level prairie just as far as the eye can reach.
We found about one hundred head of cattle, mostly from the Canadian River, but a few from as far north as Denver Col., at "Potales," which improved the appearance of our little herd considerably.
From there we went to the Coyote lake, twelve miles further east, where we found about fifty head more cattle, a mixed lot like the first. They were almost as wild as deer.
We then pulled into the Sand Hills, which extend over a scope of country from ten to fifty miles wide, and two hundred long—that is, two hundred miles north and south.
After about ten days hard work we came out onto the Plains again, our herd having increased to about twenty-five hundred head. We were undoubtedly a worn out crowd—horses and all. To do that amount of work we should have had at least five more men, and three or four more horses apiece. We only had one horse apiece, besides one extra, and the four work mules, which we had to pressinto double duty by using them to guard the cattle at night.
The next day about noon, after getting out of the Sand Hills, we came to a buffalo-hunter's camp on the head of Yellow-house canyon, a tributary to the Brazos River. There was one man in camp, the other one being away on a hunt. Our cattle being nearly dead for water, there being none there, with the exception of a small spring, just large enough to allow one animal to drink at a time, I asked the hunter to give me directions to the nearest water from there, on our route.
Pointing to a cluster of sand hills about fifteen miles to the east, he said: "You will find Running Water, the head of Canyon Blanco, just eight miles east of those sand hills." As we learned, after it was too late, he should have said; eight milesnorthof the sand hills, instead ofeast. We were all acquainted with the country from Running Water north, but had never been south of it; hence us having to depend on the "locoed" buffalo-hunter's directions.
We camped for the night within a few miles of the sand hills. The cattle were restless all night,on account of being thirsty, which caused us all to lose sleep and rest.
The next morning, after eating a hasty breakfast, we let the moaning herd string out towards the big red sun which was just making its appearance.
Giving the boys orders to keep headed east, and telling the cook to follow behind the herd with his wagon, I struck out ahead on my tired and weak pony, Croppy, to find the water, which was "so near, and yet so far."
I rode about fifteen miles, and still no water. I then dismounted to wait for the herd to come in sight, but changed my notion and galloped on five miles further, thinking maybe the hunter might have meant eighteen miles instead of eight. The five miles was reached and still nothing but a dry, level plain, with no indications of water ahead, as far as I could see.
Thinking maybe I had bore too far to the south, I then rode five or six miles to the north, but with the same result. I then, after letting Croppy blow awhile started back towards the herd at a slow gait.
Finally a cloud of dust appeared, and shortly after, the herd hove in sight. The poor cattle were coming in a trot, their tongues hanging out a foot.
The way the boys cursed and abused that poor old hunter, at a distance, was a sin, after I had told them of our luck. Chambers wanted to go right back and eat the poor "locoed" human up alive without salt or pepper. But I pacified him by saying that maybe he had made a mistake of a few miles, meant eighty instead of eight. At any rate we continued right on, east.
About noon our ten-gallon keg run dry, and then we began to feel ticklish, scared, or whatever you wish to call it. But about three o'clock, we spied a bunch of mustangs off to the right, about five miles, and on galloping over to where they had been, before seeing me, I found a small pool of muddy rain water, which they had been wallowing in.
After letting Croppy fill up, and eating a drink of the muddy stuff myself, I struck back to let the other boys come on and fill up; also sent the cook to fill the keg, and to water his mules, I kept the herd, they being anxious to travel in search of water, pointed east, by myself, while the rest of the boys were absent.
We traveled till midnight and then pitched camp to get something to eat. After getting supper cooked, it was almost an impossibility to find timeto eat it, as the herd kept milling and trotting around like so many crazy animals.
We remained there all night, and next morning used the last drop of water to make coffee. We found the keg, after draining it, to be about half full of solid mud.
I concluded that we had gone far enough east, so, that morning changed our course to north.
About eleven o'clock, while the hot June sun was coming down with vengeance, we struck a large lake about a mile wide. If ever a crowd was happy it was us. The poor cattle drank till some of them fell down and was unable to move.
We laid there resting up until the next day after dinner. Our grub had given out by this time, therefore we had nothing to eat but coffee and beef "straight."
When we left the lake our course was due north.
About noon the next day we came to the head of Canyon Blanco, twelve miles below Running Water, consequently we turned west, and traveled twelve miles up the dry canyon before pitching camp.
From there we turned due north again and traveled two days before striking any more water.
On arriving at Terra Blanco, fifty miles south of the Canadian river we struck Mr. Summerfield, and his outfit, from whom we borrowed grub enough to last us home. There were also two "L. X." boys in the Summerfield camp, and they, having five good horses apiece, divided with us. Our ponies were just about completely peetered out.
We landed at the "L. X." ranch on the 22nd day of June, with the herd of twenty-five hundred head of cattle, after having been absent just seven months, to a day.