A TRIP DOWN THE REO PECOS.
On my return I found that the "L. X." ranch had changed bosses. Moore had quit and bought a ranch of his own, while John Hollicott, one of the old hands had been put in his place. Hence in the future I had to be governed by Mr. Hollicott's orders—that is while working around the ranch. One of the firm, Erskine Clement, had charge of outside matters, now, since Moore had left.
I put in the summer running a branding outfit, loafing around Tascosa, working up a cattle stealing case, etc., until the middle of October, when Clement received a letter from John Poe, who was prosecuting Cohglin, stating for Chambers and I to come over to Lincoln as witnesses in the Cohglin case. The time set for us to be there, was on the 7th day of November, therefore we had no time to lose, it being five hundred miles over there, by the shortest route.
Hollicott and Clement talked the matter over and concluded that I had better not come back until thenext spring—"just put in the winter drifting over the country, wherever you can do the most good," was my orders.
Chambers and I struck out from Tascosa on the 22nd of October. He had only one horse, while I had two of the best animals on the ranch, Croppy and Buckshot.
We traveled up the river to Liberty, New Mexico, and from there cut across the Staked Plains to Ft. Sumner, on the Reo Pecos.
The distance from "Sumner" to the "Oaks" was about one hundred miles on a bee line across the country, while it was one hundred and fifty around by the road. We chose the former route, although we were told that there wasn't any water until reaching the Capitan mountains within thirty miles of the "Oaks." We both wished though, that we had followed the road, for, our progress being very slow on account of the loose dirt which would give away under a horse, allowing him to sink almost to his knees, we came very near perishing from thirst; and so did our poor horses.
We landed in White Oaks about noon of the fourth day out from Ft. Sumner; and had been on the road twelve days from Tascosa. We werewelcomed back to the "Oaks" by all of our old acquaintances, especially those whom we had furnished with stolen beef all winter.
As we had five days to loaf in, before court set in, we went to work prospecting for gold, every body in the town being at fever heat over recent rich strikes.
The first day was spent in climbing to the top of Baxter mountain, where most of the rich mines were located, and back. The only thing we found of interest was a lot of genuine oyster shells imbedded in a large rock on the extreme top of the mountain. Of course this brought up a discussion as to how they came there. Chambers contended that they grew there during the flood, and I argued that they were there before God made the earth. We both finally got mad, each one, over the other's weak argument, and began to slide down hill towards town, which looked something like a checkerboard from where we were.
The next day we tied the pick and shovel behind our saddles and struck out on horseback to prospect in the valleys. At last we struck it, a fine gold bearing lead. It cropped out of the ground abouta foot. I told Chambers to go to work and dig the prospect-hole, while I wrote out the location notices.
Finally an old miner by the name of Stone came to us. I was sitting under the shade of a pinyon tree writing, while Chambers was sweating like a "Nigger at election." "What are you fellows trying to do?" spoke up Mr. Stone, after grinning a few moments. We told him. He then said: "Why neither one of you fellows has got as much sense as a last year's bird's nest; that's nothing but a very common ledge of rock." We took him at his word and went back to town.
That night Mr. Stone gave us one of his mines, if we would sink a twenty foot shaft on it. We done so; that is, Chambers did, while I carried water, and rode into town every day at noon to bring him out his dinner.
Finally our time was out and we had to pull for Lincoln, a distance of thirty-five miles. Poe had written to me to come in after night, and on the sly, as he wanted to make Cohglin believe that we wouldn't be there to appear against him, so he would let his trial come off, instead of taking a change of venue. I left Croppy in a feed stable to be taken care of until my return.
Arriving in Lincoln, Poe sent us down the Reo Bonetta, twelve miles, to stop with a Mr. Cline, with whom he had made arrangements, until sent for.
Mr. Cline was a Dutchman who had married a mexican wife and had a house full of little half-breeds around him.
Time passed off very slowly to Chambers and I, although our host tried to amuse us by telling his hairbreadth escapes from wild indians and grizzly-bears.
We were indeed glad when Mr. Poe rode up, after we had been at the Cline ranch twelve days, and told us that we were free. Cohglin had "smelled a mice" and taken a change of venue to Mesilla, in Dona Anna County.
Before leaving Lincoln I had to sign a five hundred dollar bond for my appearance in Mesilla, as a witness against Cohglin, on the first Monday in April, 1882, which was the following spring. Mr. Chambers being sworn and not knowing anything of importance, was allowed to return home. We both received ninety dollars apiece, for mileage and witness fees.
Returning to White Oaks, Chambers remained there a week, making love to his mexican widow, and then struck for the "L. X." ranch, by way of Anton Chico, and down the Canadian River. The route he and I had come was too far between ranches for him, traveling alone.
I remained in the "Oaks" about a week after my "pard" had left, waiting for some more money which I had written for.
From the "Oaks" I went to Roswell on the Reo Pecos, a distance of one hundred and twenty-five miles, by the route I took. There I struck company, a jovial old soul by the name of "Ash" Upson, who was just starting to the Texas Pacific Railroad, two hundred miles down the river, to meet Pat. Garrett, who had written to come there after him, in a buggy. Ash was making his home at Garrett's ranch, a few miles from Roswell.
We laid over Christmas day at the mouth of Seven Rivers and helped kind Mrs. Jones, one of Mr. Upson's old-time friends, get away with a nice turkey dinner.
While sitting around our camp-fire at nights "Old" Ash would amuse me by relating circumstances connected with the "bloody Lincoln County war." Healso gave me a full sketch of "Billy the Kid's" life, a subject which I am going to devote the next chapter to, as I imagine it will be interesting reading to some.
We arrived at Pecos Station, on the T. P. R. R., one afternoon about three o'clock. And it being a terribly lonesome place, we, after leaving our horses and things in care of an old wolf hunter who promised to see that the horses were well fed, boarded the west bound passenger train for Toyah, a distance of twenty-two miles.
We put up at the Alverado House, in Toyah. It was kept by a man named Newell, who had a pretty little fifteen-year old daughter, whose sparkling eyes were too much for me; to use a western phrase, she broke me all up on the first round.
After supper Ash went out to take in the town, while I remained in the office exchanging glances with Miss Bulah.
It was New Year's eve and Mr. and Mrs. Newell were making preparations for a ball to be given New Year's night.
Toyah was then one of those terrible wicked infant towns, it being only a few months old and contained over a dozen saloons and gambling halls.
About midnight Ash got through taking in the town and came back to the hotel. He was three sheets in the wind, but swore he hadn't drank anything but "Tom and Jerry."
The next morning the town was full of railroaders, they having come in to spend New Years. A grand shooting match for turkeys was advertised to come off at ten o'clock, and everybody, railroaders and all, were cleaning up their pistols, when Ash and I got up, we having slept till about nine o'clock.
Miss Bulah made a remark, in my presence, that she wished someone would win a fat turkey and give it to her. Now was my time to make a "mash," so I assured her that I would bring in a dozen or two and lay them at her feet.
When the shooting commenced I was on hand and secured the ticket which was marked number eleven. The tickets were sold at twenty-five cents apiece, and if you killed the bird, you were entitled to a free shot until you missed.
Mr. Miller, the Justice, was running the business for what money there was in it. He had sent to Dallas, six hundred miles east, after the turkeys, which had cost him three dollars apiece. Hencehe had to regulate the distance and everything so that there would be considerable missing done.
Everything being ready, he placed the turkey in an iron box, with nothing but its head visible and then set the box thirty-five yards from the line. The shooting to be done with pistols "off hand."
Ten shots were fired and still Mr. turkey was casting shy glances towards the large crowd of several hundred men. Mr. Miller wore a pleasant smile, when he shouted number eleven.
I stepped forward trembling like an aspen leaf, for fear I would miss and thereby fail to win Miss Bulah's admiration. I was afraid, should the bullet miss its mark, that the few dozen birds would be all killed before my time would come around again, there being so many men waiting for a shot. At last I cut loose and off went the turkey's head, also Mr. Miller's happy smile. You see he lacked "two bits" of getting cost for the bird.
Another one was put up, and off went his head. This was too much for Mr. Miller, two birds already gone and only two dollars and "six bits" in the pot. He finally after humming and hawing awhile, said:
"Gentlemen, I don't like to weaken this early in the game, but you all know I have got a largefamily to support and consequently I will have to rule this young man out of the ring. He's too slick with a pistol to have around a game of this kind anyway."
I hated to quit of course, but it was best, for I might have missed the very next time, and as it was Bulah would think that I would have carried out my promise if I had been allowed to keep on.
After that, during my stay on the T. P. R. R., I was called the "Turkey shooter." Often while riding near the railroad track, maybe four or five hundred miles from Toyah, some one would hail me from a passing train by that name; and whenever I would ride into a town there was sure to be some fellow on hand to point me out. They all knew me so well by my horse, Croppy, he being milk white and both ears being off close up to his head. He was indeed a notable animal, as well as a long, keen, good one.
That night nearly everybody got drunk, old Ash excepted of course, as he was already full. The ball was a grand success. The dancers on the womens' side, were all married ladies, with the exception of Miss Bulah and a Miss Lee; and those on the opposite side were a terribly mixed mob, butmostly gamblers, horse thieves and cow boys. The railroaders didn't take any stock in the ball. Maybe it was because there were so many on the floor wearing six-shooters and bowie knives around their waists.
It was indeed a grand sight next morning looking at black eyes and swollen heads. Every Chinaman, there being a dozen or two living in town, skipped for parts unknown that night. There was too many loose bullets flying through the air to suit them; and it is said that the "Pig-tails" have shunned Toyah ever since that New Year's night.
A few days after New Years a telegram came to Ash, from Garrett who had arrived at Pecos Station stating: "Come on the first train as I am in a hurry to get home." Ash got me to answer it as he, having drank too much Tom and Jerry, was unable to walk to the Telegraph office. I sent the following message: "Can't leave here; owe every man in town."
In a few minutes another one came, an answer to the one just sent, stating: "If you don't come down on the morning train I will strike out and leave you."
This one raised Ash's spunk, so he told me to write down just what he told me, and then give it to the operator. I done as requested, which ran thus: "Go to, hic, h—l, d—— you!"
The next evening, Garrett arrived on the west bound passenger, and next morning, after paying a lot of saloon bills, etc., took old Ash back with him.
I had, the day after New Year's, went down to the Pecos and brought my ponies up to Toyah, therefore I took a little spin out into the country to pass off the time, every now and then, or at least to look through a few herds of cattle in that vicinity.
After spending about two weeks around Toyah, I struck out for Colorado City, two hundred miles east. Of course I hated to part with Miss Bulah; and so did Mr. Newell hate to part with me, for he was losing a good cash boarder.
"BILLY THE KID."
"BILLY THE KID."
A TRUE SKETCH OF "BILLY THE KID'S" LIFE.
The cut on opposite page was taken from a photograph and represents the "Kid" as he appeared before the artist after having just returned from a long, tiresome raid; and the following sketch of his short but eventful life was gleaned from himself, Ash Upson and others. The circumstance connected with his death I got from the lips of John W. Poe, who was with Garrett when he fired the fatal shot.
Billy Bonney, alias the "Kid" was born in New York City, November the 23rd, 1859; and at the age of ten he, in company with his mother and step-father, Antrim, landed in the Territory of New Mexico.
Mr. Antrim, shortly after his arrival in the Territory, opened up a restaurant in Santa Fe, the Capitol, and one of his boarders was the jovial oldAsh Upson, my informant, who was then interested in a newspaper at that place.
Often when Ash was too busily engaged about his office to go to dinner, Mrs. Antrim would send it by her little merry-eyed boy, Billy, who was the pride of her life.
Finally Ash sold out and moved to Silver City, which was then booming on account of its rich mines. And it wasn't long until Mr. Antrim followed and opened up another eating house there, with Ash as a boarder again. Thus it will be seen that my informant was just the same as one of the family for quite a while.
The "Kid's" first man, as told to me by himself, was a negro soldier in Ft. Union, whom he shot in self-defence.
His next killing was a young blacksmith in Silver City whom he killed in a personal encounter, but not according to law, hence it was this scrape that first caused him to become an outcast; driven from pillar to post, out of reach of a kind mother's influence.
It was a cold stormy night when he, after kissing his mother's pale cheeks for the last time on this earth, rode out into the darkness, headed westfor the wilds of Arizona, where he soon became an adept at cards and horse stealing.
He finally landed in the City of Chihuahua, Old Mexico, with a pocket full of Arizona gold. Here he led a gay life until one night when a bullet from his trusty revolver sent a rich mexican monte-dealer to his long and happy home.
The next we hear of him is in the friendly land of Texas, where he remained in retirement until the spring of 1876, when he drifted across the lonely Gandalupe mountains into Lincoln County, New Mexico, then the outlaw's Paradise.
At Lincoln, the county seat, he hired out as a cow boy to a young Englishman by the name of Tunstall.
In the spring of '78 Mr. Tunstall was killed by a mob, headed by a fellow named Morton, from the Reo Pecos.
The "Kid" hearing of his employer's foul murder, rode into Lincoln from the Tunstall ranch to learn the full particulars concerning the killing. He and the young Englishman were warm friends and before leaving the ranch he swore vengeance against every one of the murderers.
Arriving in the mexican Plaza of Lincoln the "Kid" learned that Morton and crowd had pulled back to the Reo Pecos. So he joined a crowd composed of the following named parties: R. M. Bruer, J. G. Skurlock, Charlie Bowder, Henry Brown, Frank McNab, Fred Wayt, Sam Smith, Jim French, McClosky and Johnny Middleton, and started in pursuit. This was just the beginning of the "bloody Lincoln County war" which you have all read so much about. But it is said that the "Kid" killed every man connected with the murder of his friend before the war ended.
Billy was caught in a great many close places during the six month's bloody encounter, but always managed to escape, as though possessed of a charmed life. There is one of his hair-breadth escapes I wish to relate, just to show how cool he was in time of danger.
He and about a dozen of his men were housed up at lawyer McSween's in Lincoln, when thirty-five of the Seven River "warriors" and two companies of United States Soldiers under command of Col. Dudly of the Ninth Cavalry, surrounded and set the large two-story building on fire, determined to capture or kill the young outlaw.
The house was burning on the south side from whence the wind came, and as the fire advanced the little crowd would move further north, into an adjoining room. There was a fine piano in the parlor, the property of Mrs. McSween, who was absent, and on this the "Kid" played during the whole time, "just to amuse the crowd outside" he said.
Finally everything was wrapped in flames but the little kitchen which stood adjoining the main building on the north, but still the coarse music continued to sail forth out onto the night air.
At last the blaze began to stick its firey tongues into the kitchen. Then the music ceased, and the little band, headed by the "Kid" made a bold dash for liberty, amidst the thick shower of hot lead. The balance can be described best by quoting a negro soldier's words, he being nearest the kitchen door when the dash was made: "I jes' tell you white folkses dis nigger was for getting away from dah, kase dat Billy-goat was shooten wid a gun and two six-pistols all bofe at de same time."
The "Kid" and Tom O'Phalliard were the only ones who came out of this scrape unhurt. Mr. McSween, owner of the burned building was among the killed. He had nine bullets in his body.
Late that fall when the war had ended, "Kid" and the remainder of his little gang stole a bunch of horses from the Seven River warriors, whom they had just got through fighting with and drove them across the Plains to the Texas Panhandle, at Tascosa on the Canadian, where they were soon disposed of at good figures.
After lying around the little town of Tascosa for nearly a month, squandering their surplus wealth on poor whisky and mexican woman, they, with the exception of Fred Wayt and Henry Brown who struck east for the Chickisaw nation where the former's mother and two half-breed sisters lived, pulled back to Lincoln County, New Mexico, to continue their lawlessness.
From that time on, the "Kid" made a specialty of stealing cattle and horses, although he would kill a man now and then, for what he supposed to be a just cause. Let it be said right here that the "Kid" was not the cruel hearted wretch that he was pictured out to be in the scores of yellow-back novels, written about him. He was an outlaw and maybe a very wicked youth, but then he had some good qualities which, now that he is no more, he should be credited with. It has been said and written thathe would just as soon shoot an innocent child as a mule-eared rabbit. Now this is all wrong, for he was noted as being kind to the weak and helpless; there is one case in particular which I can prove:
A man, now a highly respected citizen of White Oaks, was lying at the point of death in Ft. Sumner, without friends or money, and a stranger, when the "Kid," who had just come into town from one of his raids, went to his rescue, on hearing of his helpless condition; the sick man had been placed in an old out-house on a pile of sheep skins. The "Kid" hired a team and hauled him to Las Vegas, a distance of over a hundred miles, himself, where he could receive care and medical aid. He also paid the doctor and board bills for a month, besides putting a few dollars in money in the sick man's hand as he bid him good bye.
This circumstance was told to me by the sick man himself, who at the time was hale and hearty, on hearing of the "Kid's" death. While relating it the tears chased one another down his manly cheeks, to the end, at which time he pulled out a large red handkerchief and wiped them away.
After the "Kid's" capture at Stinking Springs, he was lodged in jail at Santa Fe, and the followingspring taken to Mesilla, county seat of Dona Ana county, and tried before Judge Bristol for the murder of Sheriff Brady, during the Lincoln county war.
He was sentenced to be taken to Lincoln, and hung on the 13th day of May. On the 21st day of April he was turned over to Pat. Garrett, who, being sheriff, was to see that the law was carried out.
There being no jail in Lincoln, Garrett used his office, which was up-stairs in the two-story court house, to guard the prisoner in. Robert Ollinger and J. W. Bell, two men who should have been hung before William Bonney was born—judging from reliable reports, were secured to do the guarding.
The morning of April, 28th, Garrett was making preparations to go to White Oaks, when he told the guards to be very watchful as the prisoner, not having but a few more days to live, might make a desperate effort to escape.
Ollinger who hated the "Kid," they having fought against one another in the Lincoln County war, spoke up and said: "Don't worry Pat, we'll watch him like a goat." So saying he unlocked the armory,a small closet in the wall, and getting out his double-barrel shot gun, put eighteen buck-shot in each barrel. Then setting it back, remarked, at the same time glancing over in the opposite corner at the "Kid" who was sitting on a stool, shackled and hand-cuffed: "I bet the man that gets them will feel it!" The "Kid" gave one of his hopeful smiles and said: "You might be the one to get them yourself."
After Garrett left, the two guards had five more prisoners to look after. But they were allowed to wear their pistols, for fear of being mobbed by a crowd of Tulerosa mexicans who had chased them into Lincoln. They had given themselves up to Garrett more for protection than anything else. They had killed four Tulerosa mexicans, in a hand to hand fight, the day before, hence the mob being after them. One of those prisoners was a young Texan by the name of Chas. Wall, who had received two almost fatal bullet wounds in the fracas of the day before. It was from this young man, Mr. Wall, whom I became personally acquainted with afterwards, that I received my information from, in regard to the "Kid's" escape, etc.
About five o'clock, that evening, Ollinger tookthe armed prisoners across the street, to the hotel, to supper, leaving Bell to guard the "Kid."
According to what the "Kid" told after his escape, Bell became interested in a newspaper, and while thus engaged, he slipped one of his hand-cuffs, which he could have done long before if the right chance had been presented, and made a leap towards his guard, using the hand-cuff as a weapon.
Bell almost fainted on looking up from his paper. He broke for the door after receiving a stunning lick over the head with the hand-cuff. But the "Kid" was right at his heels; and when he got to the door and started down stairs the "Kid" reached forward and jerked the frightened man's pistol which still hung at his side, he having never made an effort to pull it. Bell fell dead out in the back yard, near the foot of the stairs, with a bullet hole through his body.
"Kid" then hobbled, or jumped, his legs being still shackled, to the armory and kicking the door open secured Ollinger's shot-gun, which contained the eighteen buck-shot in each barrel. Then springing to an open window, in an adjoining room, under which the other guard would have to come to getup stairs, he waited patiently for his "meat," as he termed it.
He hadn't waited long though when Ollinger, who had started on hearing the shooting, came trotting under the window. "Kid" called in a pleasant voice: "Hello, Bob!" Robert looked up, but just in time to receive eighteen buck-shot in his breast. The "Kid" then walked out onto the balcony, fronting on Main street, and emptied the other barrel into the dead body of Ollinger. Then breaking the gun in two over the balcony railing he threw the pieces at the corpse, saying: "Take that you s—— of a b——h! You will never follow me with that gun again!"
This proceeding was witnessed by nearly a hundred citizens, nearly all of whom sympathized with the "Kid," although they didn't approve of his law-breaking. There was a few of his bitter enemies in town, though, but they soon hunted their holes, each one trying to pull the hole in after him, so as to be hid from the outside world.
After being supplied from the armory with a good winchester, two colts "45" pistols and four belts of cartridges, he ordered a file thrown up to him, which was done without ceremony; he also ordered thedeputy County Clerk's pony and saddle brought out into the street, which was also done in double quick time.
The shackles being filed in two he danced around on the balcony quite a while, as though he was the happiest mortal on earth.
As he went to mount, the firey pony, which was being held out in the street, and which had once belonged to him, broke loose and ran back to the stable. But he was soon brought back, and this time held until the "Kid" was securely seated in the saddle.
After bidding everybody in sight adieu he rode slowly towards the setting sun, the winchester still gripped in his right hand. But when he arrived at the end of Main street he pulled off his hat, and waving it over his head, yelled at the top of his voice: "Three cheers for Billy the Kid!" Then putting spurs to the pony he dashed out of sight.
After traveling about four miles west he turned north-east, across the Capitan mountains, towards Ft. Sumner.
About the first of July, Garrett, who hadn't hunted much for the "Kid" since his escape, received a letterfrom a Mr. Brazil, who lived near Ft. Sumner, informing him of the "Kid's" presence in that vicinity.
Garrett after answering the letter, asking Mr. Brazil to meet him at a certain spot on a certain night, secured the services of John W. Poe, one of the whitest and bravest men in the Territory, and taking his Deputy, "Kip" McKinnie along, struck out for "Sumner" to capture the Kid if possible.
The little party of three arrived at the mouth of Tayban Arroyo, on the Reo Pecos, where Garrett had written Brazil to meet him, about dark on the night of July 13th. They waited there all night and Mr. Brazil failed to show up.
Mr. Poe being a stranger in that country, and not known in the Post, Garrett sent him to the town, a distance of five miles, to try and learn, by keeping his ears open and mouth shut, of the "Kid's" whereabouts, while he and "Kip" would meet him at "Sunny-side" a ranch seven miles above "Sumner."
About sundown Poe met his two companions, at Sunny-side, but was no wiser than when he had left them. Garrett then concluded that they would all ride into the town and if Peet Maxwell was at home he could maybe get some information from him.
Arriving in an old orchard back of the Maxwell mansion about ten o'clock that night, they tied their horses and crawled around to the front of the building.
There was a long porch on the south side of the house and about midway was Peet's room, the door of which opened onto the porch. Garrett knew where the room was, and there they headed for.
On arriving in the front yard opposite the door of Peet's room, which was wide open, the night being very hot, Garrett told his companions to lie flat down in the grass while he slipped into the room.
He found Peet asleep, but awakened him. He then laid down by the side of Peet, and they began talking.
Back of the Maxwell house was an adobe cabin in which lived an old mexican Peon. The mexican had gone to bed, and by a greasy looking table sat the "Kid," who had just come in from the hills. He had pulled off his boots to rest his tired feet, and was glancing over a newspaper.
Throwing down the paper he told the Peon to get up and cook him some supper, as he was very hungry. Being told that there was no meat in the house hepicked up a butcher-knife which was lying on the table, and said: "I will go and get Peet to rustle me a piece." He started without either hat or boots.
While walking along on the porch, butcher-knife in hand, he discovered the two men out in the grass, and, drawing his pistol, asked in mexican: Quien es? Quien es? (Who's there? Who's there?) Not getting an answer, the boys thinking he was one of the Peons, he backed into the door of Peet's room, and then turning towards the bed, which was to the left of the door, he asked: "Peet, who is that out there?" Not receiving an answer again, and being suspicious of some one being in bed with Peet, he began backing towards the opposite side of the room, at the same time asking: "Who in the h—l is in here? Who in the h—l is in here?"
Peet whispered to Garrett: "That's him Pat." And by that time the "Kid" had backed until the light shone full upon him, through one of the south windows, giving Garrett a good chance to make a center shot.
Bang! Bang! went Garrett's pistol. The first bullet took effect in the "Kid's" heart, while the next one struck the ceiling.
The remains of what was once a fond mother's darling were buried next day in the old dilapidated Military Cemetery, without a murmer, except from one, a pretty young half-breed mexican damsel, whose tears, no doubt, has dampened the lonely grave more than once.
Thus ended the life of William H. Bonney, one of the coolest-headed, and most daring young outlaws that ever lived. He had dwelt upon this earth just 21 years, seven months and 21 days.
WRESTLING WITH A DOSE OF SMALL POX ON THE LLANO ESTICADO.
After leaving Toyah I followed the railroad east cross the Reo Pecos, out onto the Llano Esticado and through the sixty mile stretch of Sand Hills.
At Sand Hill Station, about midway through the sand hills, I left the railroad and branched off in a north-easterly direction in search of buffalo-hunter's camps. Knowing buffalo were getting scarce, and having heard of a great many hunters being in the vicinity of Ceader Lake, I thought it a good idea to go out there and see what kind of game they were killing. Being nearly south of the Canadian River country, I thought maybe they were killing cattle which had drifted down in there during the winters. But I was mistaken. I found their camps black with genuine buffalo hides. There being no ranches in that wild scope of country the buffalo,what few there were left, had nearly all congregated in there.
I played a single-handed game of freeze-out the first two nights after leaving the railroad, for there came a terrible snow storm, which covered up the buffalo-chips, there being no wood in that whole country, so that I couldn't make a fire to warm by.
After striking the first buffalo-camp, then I was all right, for I could get directions how to find the next one, etc.
I finally, by circling around to the east, and then south, struck the railroad again, and landed in the town of Big Springs; where I was mistaken for a horse-thief, whom I answered the description of, and told to "skip" by one of my friends, a stranger who recognized me as the turkey shooter from Toyah. I didn't skip; and the thing was finally straightened up to their entire satisfaction.
I was out of money by this time, but found a draft in the express office awaiting me. Not having any particular use for the draft I swapped it off for a hundred dollars in money, to the express manager.
After looking through a few herds around the Springs I pulled north-east for the head of ColoradoRiver, to take a look over the Lum Slaughter range, which extended from the head of Colorado River down to Colorado City on the railroad, a distance of about sixty miles. I went to all the sign camps, and also the head-quarter ranch, but didn't let my business, residence or name be known, which caused the boys to believe I was "on the dodge."
I rode into the lively little town of Colorado City one afternoon about four o'clock, and imagine my surprise at meeting Miss Bulah Newell on her way home from school. She and Mrs. Newell had left Toyah shortly after I did. They had left Mr. Newell at home to run the Hotel. And Mrs. Newell had accompanied Bulah to Colorado City, the nearest place where there was a school, so as to keep "the wild rattled-brain girl," as she called her, under her wing. They had rented a little cottage and were keeping house.
I ran out of money shortly after striking Colorado City, my expenses being high, having to pay three dollars a day to keep my two horses at a feed stable, and one dollar and a half per day for my own board, lodging, etc., but found a good friend, Mr. Snyder, a merchant, who let me have all I wanted on my good looks until I could write to the ranch for some.
While waiting for an answer to my letter I would put in my spare time taking little spins out into the country, looking through herds of cattle, etc. The longest trip I made was three days, down on the Concho River, and that was just two days and a half longer than I cared to be away from Miss Bulah.
The mail finally brought two hundred dollars worth of "L. X." drafts, wrapped up in a letter from Mr. Erskine Clement, reminding me of the fact that his company wasn't a First National Bank. This of course was a hint for me to be more economical.
Having to be in Mesilla, New Mexico, a distance of five hundred and fifty miles, by the last of March, and wanting to look over some small cattle ranges on the route, I struck out. I hated to leave Colorado City on account of Bulah, but was anxious to leave on account of the small-pox beginning to spread there.
A forty-mile ride brought me to Big Springs, where I lay two days with a burning fever. The morning of the third day I pulled out, across the Staked Plains for the Reo Pecos, still feeling sick.
That night I stopped at one of the section houses, which were located every ten miles along the railroad. And the next morning after riding about fivemiles I became so sick that I had to dismount and lie down in the grass. After groaning and tumbling around about two hours I fell asleep.
About sundown an east bound freight train came along, which scared my ponies and awakened me. I felt terribly; my lips were parched, my bones ached and my tongue felt as though it was swollen out of shape. I started to lie down again, after the noise from the passing train had died out, but there being an ugly looking black cloud in the north, which indicated a norther, I concluded to brace up and ride to the next section house, a distance of about five miles.
Arriving there, just as a cold norther was springing up, and riding up to the fence I called: "Hello!" in a feeble voice. A gentleman came out, and on informing him that I was sick, he told me to go in the house, that he would unsaddle and take care of my horses.
I walked into a large room where a nice blazing fire greeted my eyes. There was a lady sitting by the fire sewing. On looking up at me, as I stepped into the door, she gave a scream, which brought her husband in on the double quick. "Small-pox, small-pox," was all she could say. The gentleman lookedat me and asked: "Are you from Colorado City?" "Yes," was my answer. "Well, you have got it, and I am sorry we can't keep you here to-night. I hate to turn a sick man out such a night as this, but I have got a wife and three little children here whose lives are at stake."
I had never thought of small-pox since leaving Colorado City, until the good lady put me in mind of it.
Oh, how my heart did ache at the thoughts of that dreadful disease, and having to go out into the cold night air. It was pitch dark and beginning to sleet when I mounted and struck out, west, aiming to go on to the next section house, ten miles, and try my luck there.
About half an hour after the light over my shoulder had disappeared I began to grow weaker, so much so that I could hardly sit on my saddle. So finally, dismounting, I unsaddled and staking the two hungry ponies out to a telegraph pole, rolled myself up in my blankets, my saddle for a pillow, and went to sleep.
I awakened just as day was breaking. The ground was covered with snow, and I was almost frozen. I felt as though I had been sent for andcouldn't go. My mouth, I could tell by feeling it, was covered with sores, in fact it was one solid scab, and so were my shoulders and back. Strange to say there wasn't a sore on any other part of my body. Those sores on my mouth was what attracted the lady's attention the evening before, although they had just began to show themselves then.
With great difficulty I saddled up and continued on towards the section house. This time I made up my mind not to let the folks know where I was from, and if they had cheek enough to ask I intended to say Ft. Concho. To avoid the sores on my mouth being seen I tied a silk handkerchief around it. And should they ask any questions about that, I intended telling them I had some fever blisters on my mouth, etc.
I found only one man, the cook, at the Section house this time, the section hands having gone to work. I was treated like a white head by the cook, who no doubt took me for a desperado or horse-thief, by my looks. He thought no doubt the handkerchief was tied over my face to keep from being recognized.
I informed him that I was feeling bad and would like to lie down a few moments, etc. He led theway up stairs where the section hands slept and told me to occupy any of the dirty looking beds there. I laid down and told him to bring me up a cup of coffee. He brought up a good breakfast and after he left I undone the handkerchief and tried to eat, but couldn't, on account of my tongue being so badly swollen.
I found a looking glass in the room and took a squint at myself, and must say that I was indeed a frightful looking aspect, my face from nose to chin being a solid scab and terribly swollen. No wonder I frightened the lady so badly, I thought.
After drinking the hot cup of coffee I went down stairs, gave the cook a silver dollar for his kindness and pulled out. I was very anxious to get to a doctor, and Toyah was the nearest place to find one unless I turned back to Colorado City, which I hated to do on account of having to attend court in Mesilla, soon.
I arrived in Toyah about noon of the sixth day out from Big Springs. I headed straight for the Alverado House and who do you suppose was standing in the door when I rode up? Miss Bulah. The small pox had scared her and her mother away from Colorado City. The first thing she said was:"Hello, what's the matter with your face?" "Nothing but fever blisters." was my answer.
I didn't dismount, for fear of giving the pretty little miss the small pox, but rode a few blocks to Doctor Roberson's office, telling her that I was going after some fever medicine and would be back in a few minutes, etc.
The Doctor informed me that the danger was all over with, and that, if I hadn't been made of good stuff, I would have surely died, being exposed to bad weather, etc. He gave me some salve to dry up the sores, that being all there was to do at that stage of the disease, he said, and advised me to leave town, for said he: "If the citizens discover that you have had the small pox, they will have you taken to the pest house, where there are already three occupants, although the danger of it being catching from you is past." I assured him that I would fix it so they wouldn't find it out.
On arriving back to the Alverado House, my face still tied up, I hired a boy to take care of my ponies and then telling Miss Bulah that I wanted a room to myself, I went to bed.
Bulah would bring my meals into the room and sometimes sit down to wait until I got througheating, but I would never commence until she left. I would generally let her stay until she got ready to go, telling her that I wasn't hungry just then, but would try and eat it after awhile, etc. She would finally get tired and go, then I would lock the door and undo the handkerchief from my face. I kept this up a week, before eating my meals at the table with the rest of the boarders.
I finally struck out for El Paso, two hundred miles over a dry, waterless plain, and another hundred up the Rio Grande valley, making three hundred miles in all.
I hove in sight of the Rio Grande River one morning, but never got there until sundown.
When I arrived within a few miles of the river I noticed a covered wagon and what I supposed to be a camp, down the valley, about three miles out of my way. I finally concluded to turn off and go and stop with whoever they were for the night.
I found it to be a mexican camp, an old man, two boys and a grown girl. They had come from Larado and were on their way to El Paso. They gave me a hearty welcome.
Next morning about daylight I got up and went out to change Croppy, he having been staked andBuckshot hobbled the evening before, in a fresh place, but lo, and behold! there was nothing there but the stake.
I circled around and found both of the ponies tracks leading towards the river, a few hundred yards west, I followed, and found they had crossed over. After standing on the bank a few seconds, dreading to get wet, I went over too. The water was only about waist deep.
Near the water's edge on the other side I found some mocassin tracks in the soft sand. I could see through the whole thing then, from indications, etc: two footmen, who wore mocassins, had stolen my horses and pulled into Old Mexico for safety. Where the tracks were visible in the sand, there was no doubt, they had dismounted and taken a farewell drink, or maybe filled a canteen, before leaving the river.
After following the trail, there being just the tracks of two horses, a few hundred yards out from the river I turned and went back to camp, to try and hire the old mexican's horse to follow them on.
The old fellow only had one pony, his team being oxen and I had to talk like a Dutch uncle to get it, as he argued that I was liable to get killed and helose the pony by the operation. I finally though put up the price of the horse as security and promised the old fellow ten dollars a day for the use of him, when I returned. This seemed to give satisfaction, even with the two boys who would have to hoof it after the oxen every morning, in case the pony never returned.
Just about sundown as I turned a sharp curve, near the top of the long chain of high mountains which run parallel with the river, I came in sight of both of my ponies staked to a pinyon tree, grazing.
I immediately rode out of sight, dismounted, tied my tired pony to a tree and crawled to the top of a knoll, where I could see the surrounding country for half a mile around. But I couldn't see a living thing except the two horses, and the one I had just left.
Finally, bang! went a shot, which sounded to be at least half a mile away, on the opposite side of the mountains.
Thinks I now there's either a ranch over there and the two thieves have walked to it, to keep from being seen with the horses, or else they have gone out hunting to kill something for supper. At any rate I took advantage of their absence and stole myponies back. Near where they were tied was a small spring of cool water; the first water I had seen since leaving the river.
After taking a hasty drink myself, and letting the pony I was on, fill up, the other two not being dry, I took a straight shoot down grade, for the "eastern shores of the Rio Grande," a distance of about thirty-five miles. It was then nearly dark.
I arrived in camp next morning just as the big yellow sun was peeping over the top of the Sierra Blanco mountains; and the old mexican, who was awaiting my return, was glad to see me back.
That night I stopped with an old fat fellow by the name of Chas. Willson, in the little town of Camp Rice, and the next night I put up in the beautiful town of San Elizario, which is situated in the centre of the garden spot of the whole Rio Grande valley.
The next morning I crossed the river into Old Mexico and took a three day's hunt through the mountains in search of a herd which had come from the north, and had crossed the river at San Elizario about a week before. I found it, but was unacquainted with any of the brands that the cattle wore. The herd had been stolen though, I think, from the way the men acted.
I finally landed in El Paso and found a letter in the Post Office from John Poe, written at Lincoln, New Mexico, advising me not to go to Mesilla until the day that Court set, as Cohglin, who was out on bond, was there and might have my light blown out, I being one of the main witnesses against him. Also, it had been reported that he had said he would give five thousand dollars to get me out of the way. He furthermore advised me in the letter to take the train from El Paso, as the old fellow might have some mexicans watching along the road for me.
IN LOVE WITH A MEXICAN GIRL.
I found El Paso, to be a red-hot town of about three thousand inhabitants. There were also about that number of people in Paso Del Norte, across the river in Old Mexico. I spent several days in each place.
I finally, after leaving my ponies in good hands, boarded one of the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe trains for Las Cruces, two and a half miles from Mesilla, the county seat.
There being better accommodations, in the way of Hotels, in "Cruces," nearly every one who was attending court would stop there and ride to the county seat in one of the "hacks" which made hourly trips between the two places. Consequently I put up at the Montezuma House, in Las Cruces.
There were several Lincoln County boys there when I arrived. Poe and Garrett came down next day. Mr. and Mrs. Nesbeth also came as witnesses against Cohglin. Mrs. Nesbeth had heard Mr. Cohglin make the contract with, "Billy the Kid," tobuy all the stolen cattle he would bring to his ranch. But the good lady didn't live long afterwards, for she, her husband, a stranger, who was going from "Cruces" to Tulerosa with them, and a little girl whom they had adopted were all murdered by unknown parties. Cohglin was accused of having the crime committed, but after fighting the case through the courts, he finally came clear.
A few days after my arrival in Las Cruces I went back to El Paso after my ponies. I ate dinner there and rode into Las Cruces about sundown. A pretty quick fifty-five mile ride, considering part of it being over a rough mountain road. The cause of my hurry was, we couldn't tell what minute the Cohglin case would be called up for trial.
I had a little love scrape while loafing in Las Cruces. I don't mention it because my love scrapes were so scarce, but because it was with a Mexican girl, and under curious circumstances, that is, the circumstances were curious from the fact that we became personally acquainted and never spoke to one another, except by signs, and through letters.
Her name was Magdalena Ochoa, niece to the rich Bankers Ochoa's in El Paso, Tucson, Arizona, and Chihuahua, Old Mexico, and she was sweet sixteen.She lived with her grandmother, whose residence was right straight across the street from the Montezuma Hotel, and who wouldn't let a young man, unless he was a Peon, come inside of her house. And she wouldn't let Magdalena go out of her sight, for fear she would let some of the young "Gringoes" make love to her.
I first saw her one Sunday morning when she and her grandmother were going to church. I was standing out in front of the Hotel hugging an awning post, and wishing that I had something more human-like to hug, when they passed within a few feet of me. The girl looked up, our eyes met, and such a pair of eyes I had never seen. They sparkled like diamonds, and were imbedded in as pretty a face as was ever moulded. Her form was perfection itself; she had only one drawback that I didn't like and that was her grandmother. I immediately unwound my arms from around the post and started to church too.
The church house was a very large building, and the altar was in one end. The couple I was following walked up near the altar and took a seat on the right hand side—on the dirt floor, there being no such thing as seats in the building—which was reservedfor ladies, while the left hand side, of the narrow passage way, was for the men. I squatted myself down opposite the two, and every now and then the pretty little miss would cast sparks from her coal black eyes over towards me which would chill my very soul with delight.
When church was over I followed, to find out where she lived. I was exceedingly happy when I found she was a near neighbor to me, being only a few steps across the street.
I spent the rest of that day setting out under the awning in front of the Hotel, straining my eyes in hopes of getting a glimpse of her beautiful form through the large bay window which opened out from the nicely furnished parlor onto the street. But not a glimpse did I get. I retired that night with the vision of a lovely sunburnt angel floating before my eyes.
The next morning I went to Mesilla and answered to my name when it was called, by the Judge, and then told Poe that I had some very important business to attend to in "Cruces" and for him, in case the Cohglin case was called, to hire a man at my expense and send him after me.
On arriving back to the Hotel I took a seat in an old arm-chair under the awning. I was all alone, nearly every one being in Mesilla.
Finally Magdalena brought her sewing and sat down among the flowers in the bay window. It was indeed a lovely picture, and would have been a case of "love among the roses" if it hadn't been for her old grandparent, who every now and then appeared in the parlor.
At last I, having a good chance, no one being in sight but her and I, threw a kiss, to see how I stood in her estimation. She immediately darted out of sight, but soon re-appeared and peeping around a cluster of roses, returned the compliment. She then left the room and I never seen her again till after dinner.
I then started into the Hotel, but was detained by a voice calling, through the closed blinds of a window near by: "Me ketch you! Me ketch you!" Come to find out it was the proprietor's wife, Mrs. Duper, an old mexican lady, who had been watching our maneuvers. She then opened the blinds and asked me in broken English, what I was trying to do?
"Oh, nothing, much, just trying to catch on, is all;" was my answer.
The old lady then broke out in one of her jovial fits and said: "You ketch on? Me bet you ten tousand dollars you no ketch him!" She then went on and told me how closely the old lady "Grandma Ochoa" watched her young niece. In fact, she gave me the girl's history from the time of her birth: Her father and mother were both dead and she, being the only child, was worth over a million dollars, all in her own name. This of course was good news to me, as it gave my love a solid foundation, and spread a kind of gold-like lining over the young lady's beauty.
Finally, after court had been in session two weeks the Cohglin case was called up. His lawyers were Col. Rynerson and Thornton, while the Territory was represented by Newcomb, District Attorney, and A. J. Fountain whose services Poe had secured.
Mr. Cohglin began to grow restless, for the "Pen" stared him in the face. There were eight indictments against him, but the worst one was where he had butchered the cattle after being notified by me not to.
His only hopes now was to "sugar" the prosecuting Attorney, and that no doubt was easily done, or at least it would have looked easy to a man up a tree. You see Cohglin was worth at least a hundred thousand dollars, and therefore could well afford to do a little sugaring, especially to keep out of the Penitentiary. At any rate whether the Attorney was bought off or not, the trial was put off, on account of illness on said Attorney's part, until the last days of court.
When the case came up again Mr. Prosecuting Attorney was confined to his room on account of a severe attack of cramp-colic. Judge Bristol was mad, and so was Poe. They could see through the whole thing now.
That night Cohglin made a proposition that he would plead guilty to buying stolen cattle knowing they were stolen, if the one case in which he had killed cattle after being notified not to, would be dismissed, or thrown entirely out of court.
It was finally decided to do that, as then he could be sued for damages, so the next day he plead guilty to the above charge, and was fined one hundred and fifty dollars besides costs.
Fountain, our lawyer then entered suit against him for ten thousand dollars damage.
I was then relieved. My mileage and witness fees amounted to something over a hundred dollars, this time. Of course that was appreciated as it was my own, over and above my wages. It came handy too as I was almost broke and needed it to take me home. I had spent all of my own money, besides nearly one hundred and fifty dollars borrowed from Poe.
It was the first day of May, I think, when I mounted Croppy in front of the Hotel, threw a farewell kiss at Miss Magdalena, who was standing in the bay-window, and started east, in company with Chas. Wall—the young man I mentioned as being a prisoner in Lincoln at the time of "Kid's" escape. I hated to part with the pleasant smiles of my little mexican sweetheart, but then it had to be done. I still hold a rose and a bundle of beautifully written letters to remember her by.
We stopped at San Augustine the first night out from "Cruces," and from there we struck south-east across the white sands for the mouth of Dog canyon—the noted rendezvous of old Victoria and his band of blood-thirsty Apache's.
I had heard so much about this beautiful Dog canyon that I concluded to see it before going home, so that if it proved to be as represented I could secure it for a cattle ranch.
It was a ticklish job going there by ourselves, as a telegram was received in Las Cruces, the morning we left, that a band of Apache's had crossed the Rio Grande at Colorow, killing three men there, and were headed toward Dog canyon. But I had faith in Croppy and Buckshot, they being well rested and hog fat, carrying us out of danger should we come in contact with them.
We arrived at the noted canyon after being away from water nearly two days. It was a lovely place, at the foot of Gandalupe mountains.
After leaving there we went through the following towns: La Luz, Tulerosa, South Fork and Ft. Stanton.
At the last named place Charlie Wall left me, and I continued on alone.
I remained in White Oaks a few days, looking over my town property, I having bought some lots and built cabins thereon, and examining the 'Old Panhandle Tiger' gold mine, the one Stone, Chambers and I owned. I had some of the rock assayedand it run twelve dollars in gold to the ton, besides a few ounces in silver and about two million dollars worth of hopes.
From White Oaks I went through Anton Chico, San Lorenzo, Liberty and Tascosa, and arrived at the "L. X." ranch after an absence of nearly eight months, and about a three thousand mile ride.