"Turn it loose! Drop it!"
INTRODUCING REFORM IN THE WILDERNESS."He was disarmed with amazing suddenness."
The herder still clutched the weapon which he was afraid to raise. The sand-lapper stepped nearer to him, and with a sudden movement rapped him smartly on the head with the heavy barrel of his six-shooter. It was a thing that as a deputy he had done often, and it was always effective. The puncher dropped his gun. One of his comrades sprang to his assistance, but was covered and disarmed with amazing suddenness. The foreman interfered, now, and the beginner of the disturbancewas led away to a brook to have his head bathed and bandaged; whereupon the sand-lapper quietly finished his dinner, thanked his host, continued the search for his missing stock, and when he had found them, set out for home. Meeting a group of punchers among which was his surly friend with a now bandaged head, he expected further trouble. Nothing happened. The sand-lapper and his missing cows had the right of way.
VII
Commercial Ventures and Adventures
BILL MCDONALD'S METHOD OF COLLECTING A BILL; AND HIS METHOD OF HANDLING BAD MEN
Theinclination to commercial enterprise still survived. At the end of a year McDonald sold his cattle and invested in the lumber business at Wichita Falls—another railway terminus, dropped down in the prairie, with a population of about two thousand, at that time. A little later he established a branch business at Harrold when the railway reached that point. Two big lumber yards were already established at Wichita Falls, and the competition was strenuous. It was a brief experience for McDonald, for he presently yearned for the freer life of the range, and soon abandoned commerce, once more, for cattle—this time for good. Yet the experience was not without valuable return, inasmuch as it established for him in Wichita Falls, quickly and permanently, a reputation of a useful kind in a country where law and order are likely to be of an elemental, go-as-you-please sort. It happened in this wise:
There was a merchant in Baylor County, Texas, to whom Lumberman McDonald sold a good bill, on time. The account ran along, until one day thecounty judge of Baylor, one Melvin, dropped in and stated that he had called to settle the amount for his neighbor. He gave his own check for it and McDonald supposed the matter had ended. A few days later the bank returned Melvin's check as worthless. Evidently the quiet unobtrusive life which Bill Jess had been living as a lumber merchant had given the impression that he was an inoffensive person who would pocket a loss rather than make trouble, especially with a county judge, who added to his official prestige the reputation of being a very bad man from "far up Bitter Creek." However, this impression was a mistake. McDonald ascertained that his customer had really sent the money by Melvin, to pay his bill, and considered what he ought to do. Morally, perhaps legally, he could have demanded payment a second time, on the ground that the said customer, being acquainted with Melvin, should have selected a more reliable messenger. But that was not the Bill McDonald way. What he did was to write to Melvin, demanding an explanation; adding in pretty positive terms that he expected immediate settlement. No reply came and a second and a third letter followed, each getting more definite as to phrase. Then one day Melvin and certain henchmen from Baylor appeared on the streets of Wichita Falls. McDonald who had heard of their arrival, suddenly confronted Melvin and delivered himself in whatever terms and emphasis as he had on hand at the moment. Melvinwithdrew, gathered his clans and laid for McDonald in a saloon where the latter had to pass. Though previously warned of the ambush, McDonald did pass, with the result that next morning Melvin settled his bill in full, paid for a glass door that he had broken, and a fine and costs amounting to sixty-five dollars, for carrying concealed weapons. What really happened to Melvin is best told in Bill Jess's own testimony when that same morning he had, himself, been summoned to answer a charge for carrying concealed weapons, disturbing the peace, and for assault—said action being the result of Melvin's judicial pull. Arriving at the court-room the prosecuting attorney asked McDonald if he had a lawyer.
"No," he said, "I don't need anybody to defend me for knocking that scoundrel over. I'll attend to my own case, whatever is necessary."
The attorney then stated the charge to the court. Bill Jess waited until he was through and then asked permission to speak.
"Your honor," he said, rising, "I'm a busy man with no time to be fooling around this way with men who give bogus checks and steal horses and such like, but if your honor will spare about a minute I'll tell the court what happened." He then gave a history of the lumber transaction, and added the sequel, as follows:
"When I wrote him as strong a letter as I could frame up, and as would go through the mail, hecame down with a crowd of what he thought was fighting men, and I met him and tried like a gentleman to persuade him to settle up and to convince him what a dad-blamed rascal he was; which he pled guilty to, and didn't deny. Then he gathers his feeble bunch of fighters together, arms them up with six-shooters and corrals them in Bill Holly's saloon, that I had to pass, going home. I met Johnny Hammond who tried to persuade me not to take that street—said those fellows were up there and I'd better go in some other direction. I said I wasn't in the habit of going out of my way for such cattle, and proceeded on up the street. When I got in front of Bill Holly's, Melvin and his warriors stepped out. Melvin wanted an explanation of my former remarks, and I gave it to him and added some more which I would not like to mention in the presence of the court. Then he pulled out a big white-handled forty-five six-shooter, but being a little slow with it, I grabbed it by the barrel and hit him with my fist two or three times, which kind of jarred him loose from his gun. Then I gave him a rap on the head with it and knocked him through Bill Holly's glass-front door, into the saloon. His pals pulled their guns, but I covered them with the one I took away from Melvin and they nearly broke the furniture to pieces getting out of there. I didn't see any more of any of them until next morning. Then I looked up the bunch and got a check in full, with interest, from Melvin, and made him payBill Holly five dollars for his glass door. So far as carrying a gun is concerned, I had one, and I got another from this fellow here who had pulled it on me. I took it away from him and hit him with it, and I have the same here in my possession now, to turn over to the Court."
Bill Jess reached down somewhere and drawing forth the big white handled six-shooter, laid it down in front of the court. Then suddenly turning upon Melvin who was present, he looked him straight through.
"Melvin, is not all I have told the Court true?" he demanded.
Melvin found himself unable to tell anything but the truth, just then.
"Yes, sir," he said, quite meekly.
McDonald was discharged and Melvin paid a fine as before noted. Following this incident came another which solidified Bill McDonald's reputation for nerve, in Wichita Falls. Bill Holly, the aforementioned—whose name in another part of the State had been Buck Holly, which he forgot when he left East Texas, after getting into a mix-up, during which the other man died—one day absorbed an overdose of his own stock-in-trade and set forth to shoot up the town. He went afoot and let go at things generally, emptying the streets and bringing business to a standstill. The city marshal was organizing a posse to take him, and summoned McDonald, when McDonald said:
"Give me the key to the calaboose, and the' won't be no need of a posse."
He took the key in one hand and a six-shooter in the other; marched up to where Holly was practicing on front-doors and hardware signs; struck the gun close up under the nose of the disturber, and with his quick magic, disarmed him and set out with him for the lockup. Holly begged and pleaded and was finally locked in a room in the hotel. He broke a window before morning and promptly paid for it by McDonald's request. He made a fairly quiet citizen during the remainder of McDonald's stay in Wichita Falls.
Removing to Hardeman County was the only thing that saved Bill McDonald from being drafted into official service where he was. Law abiding citizens with his gifts are scarce enough anywhere, and they were needed in the cattle districts of Texas. There was not much law in those parts, none at all outside of the towns. In the countries bordering on Indian Territory and up through the Pan-handle a man had to "stand pat" whatever his hand, and hold his own by strength of arm and quickness of trigger. Cow thieves and cut-throats abounded. Officials often worked in accord with them, or were afraid to prosecute. The man who would neither co-operate with outlaws nor condone their offences was already on the ground and would presently be in the field. It was a wide field and a fruitful one and the harvest was ripe for the gathering.
Hardeman County was a tough locality in the early eighties. It had lately been organized, and the settlers were cow-men, cowboys and gamblers—lawless enough, themselves—and another element, which pretended to be these things, but in reality consisted of outlaws, pure and simple. The latter lived chiefly off of the herds, driving off horses and cattle and hiding them in remote and inaccessible places. Often cattle were butchered; their hides, which were marked with brand and ear-marks were destroyed to avoid identification, and the meat was sold. Men who did these things were known well enough, but went unapprehended for the reasons named. In certain sections of the Territory itself and in No-man's Land (a piece of disputed ground lying to the north of the Pan-handle, now a part of Oklahoma) matters were even worse. In these places there was hardly a semblance of law. Certainly the need of active reform—of an official crusader, without fear and above reproach—was both wide and vociferous.
VIII
Reforming the Wilderness
THE KIND OF MEN TO BE REFORMED. EARLY REFORMS IN QUANAH. BAD MEN MEET THEIR MATCH
Itwas in 1885 that Bill McDonald disposed of his lumber interests in Wichita Falls and at Harrold, reinvested in cattle and set out once more for the still farther west. He had filed on some school-land on Wanderer's Creek in Hardeman County, about four miles from where the town of Quanah now stands, and in the heart of what was then the wilderness. Somewhat previous to this, McDonald, whose reputation as a man of nerve had traveled to Harrold, was one night called upon by Ranger Lieutenant Sam Platt to assist in handling a gang of outlaws, known as the Brooken Band, that infested the neighborhood. The Brookens had ridden into Harrold and were running things in pretty much their own way. Platt and McDonald promptly bore down upon them and a running fight ensued as the Brookens retreated. About one hundred shots were fired altogether, but it was dark and the range was too great for accuracy. Nothing was accomplished, but the event marked the beginning of a warfare between Bill McDonald and a band ofcut-throats, the end of which would be history. It was soon after this first skirmish that McDonald sold out his lumber business and set out for his Hardeman County ranch. As on his former migration he drove his cattle to the new land, and after the first hard day's drive, camped at nightfall in a pleasant spot where grass was plentiful and water handy. It seemed a good place, and man and beast gladly halted for food and rest.
But next morning there was trouble. When preparations for an early start were under headway, it was suddenly discovered that four of the best horses and a fine Newfoundland dog were missing. Investigation of the surrounding country was made, and two of the horses were found astray, evidently having broken loose from their captors. It was further discovered that the Brooken Band had a rendezvous in what was known as the Cedar-brakes, a stretch of rough country, densely covered with scrubby cedar, located about twelve miles to the south westward. McDonald naturally felt that it was again his "move" in the Brooken game, but it did not seem expedient to stop the journey with the herd and undertake the move, just then, so biding his time he pushed on, to his land on Wanderer's Creek, where he established his ranch, fenced his property, built a habitation for himself and the wife who was always ready to follow him into the wilderness; then he rode over to Margaret, at that time the county-seat, and asked Sheriff Jim Alley—agood man with his hands over full—to appoint him deputy that he might begin the work which clearly must be done in that country before it could become a proper habitation for law abiding citizens. The commission was readily granted, and from that appointment dates "that tired feeling" which the bad men of Texas began to have when they heard the sound of Bill McDonald's name.
Another word as to the kind of men with which an officer in those days had to deal. They were not ordinary malefactors, but choice selections from the world at large. "What was your name before you came to Texas?" was a common inquiry in those earlier days, and it was often added that a man could go to Texas when he couldn't go anywhere else. It was such a big State, with so many remote fastnesses, so many easy escapes across the borders. It was the natural last resort of men who could not live elsewhere with safety or profit. There is a story of a man arrested in Texas in those days for some misdemeanor, who was advised by his lawyer to leave the State without delay.
"But where shall I go?" asked the troubled offender, "I'm inTexas, now."
They were the men who had borne other names before they came to Texas and who were "in Texas, now," because they could not live elsewhere and keep off of the scaffold, that Bill McDonald undertook to exterminate. He was willing to undertake the task single handed, if necessary, and in realitydid much of his work in that manner, as we shall see.
With his commission in his pocket Bill Jess was not long in getting down to his favorite employment, that of man-hunting. He began quietly, for he wanted to identify some of the men nearer at hand who were in one way and another connected with the Cedar-brakes gang. Bill Brooken, a notorious outlaw, was the head of the band, and his brother Bood was one of its chief members. The Brookens were wanted not only for cattle stealing, but for train-robbing and murder, as well. A certain Bull Turner was one of their victims. Turner was said to have been one of the Brooken gang at an earlier time, but had abandoned that way of life and made an effort to become a decent citizen. The gang believed he had given information, and somewhat later when he was driving across the country with a prominent stockman—a Hebrew named Lazarus—the Brookens and half a dozen of their followers suddenly dashed out of a roadside concealment and began firing. Turner was instantly killed, and Lazarus fell over the dash-board in a wild effort to get behind something. The frightened horses, one of them wounded in the foot, ran madly all the way to town with Lazarus still clinging to the whiffletrees. He received no injury, but acquired a scare which was permanent.
With the assistance of Sheriff Alley—also short a horse, through the industries of the Brooken gang—and one Pat Wolforth, who was acquainted with certain of the silent partners of the outlaws and stood ready to give information, several arrests were made, presently, and trouble filled the air.
Threatening letters now began to come to the new deputy, warning him against further procedure—promising him death and torture of many varieties if he did not suspend operations. Such letters always stimulated Bill McDonald to renewed enterprise. He redoubled his efforts and brought in offenders of various kinds almost daily. Cattle stealers began to migrate to other counties. Their friends and beneficiaries grew nervous.
Meantime, the railroad had reached Hardeman and the town of Quanah—named for Chief Quanah Parker, son of the historic Cynthia Ann Parker—had sprung up. It was the typical tough place and certain bad men still at large came there to proclaim vengeance and to "lay" for the men who were making them trouble. Among these disturbers was one John Davidson of Wilbarger County, on the borders of which the Cedar-brakes gang was located. Davidson was reputed to have killed several men and was believed to be an accessory of the Brooken Band, but was thus far not positively identified, and remained unapprehended. He did not hesitate, however, to boast of his always being armed and ready for men like Bill McDonald, and especially for Pat Wolforth who was getting good friends and neighbors into trouble.
Davidson appeared presently on the streets of Quanah, flourishing his fire-arms and making his boasts. McDonald suddenly arrived on the scene, and without any parley whatever stepped quickly up to Davidson and disarmed him so suddenly that the terror of Wilbarger stood dazed, and did not recover himself until he was half way to the office of justice, where he paid a fine. It was an unusual proceeding. It was unprecedented. The customary thing was a noisy warfare of words, followed by a general shooting, with the bad man in possession when the smoke had cleared away. This new method was prosaic. Davidson couldn't understand it at all. He tried it again the next week, with the same result. He kept on trying it, and each time settled for his amusement with a fine. Why he did not kill somebody he couldn't understand. He never seemed to get in action before Bill McDonald had his gun and was marching him to the "Captain's Office." Finally he got himself appointed Deputy Sheriff of Wilbarger and came triumphantly to Quanah, with his commission, which he believed would entitle him to carry arms. Met suddenly, as usual, by McDonald and promptly disarmed, he flourished his commission.
"That's all right, Bill McDonald, but I'm fixed for you this time. Give me back that gun."
McDonald said:
"Your commission won't do you much good up here. If Sheriff Barker wants to appoint a manthat throws in with thieves, all right. But in Hardeman County we don't have to recognize him."
There was never such a stubborn man, Davidson decided, as that fool deputy, Bill McDonald. He decided to wait until McDonald should be absent, and then have it out with Wolforth. When the time came, Davidson brought a gang along with him and they followed Wolforth about with pestering remarks, until their victim suddenly grew tired of the annoyance, and opened fire. This was unexpected and the gang retired for reorganization. Then some rangers, quartered at Quanah, appeared on the scene, and Wolforth was put under arrest. He was taken before a justice, who fixed his bond at a thousand dollars, which he was unable to raise, because of the dread in which Davidson and his crowd were held. It was just about this moment that Deputy McDonald returned, and the Rangers delivered Wolforth into his hands.
"What's the matter, Pat?" McDonald asked.
His co-worker explained how he had fired on the Davidson gang, though without damage to anybody.
"And they put you under a thousand dollar bond for it?" commented Deputy Bill.
"Yes."
"Well, they ought to have made it a good deal heavier for your not being a better shot. Never mind, I'll fill your bond all right," and this McDonald did, immediately.
The Davidson crowd was still in town, and farfrom satisfied. Davidson felt that he had support enough now to tackle even that hard-headed McDonald, and he enlisted a big butcher named Williams to stir up the mess. The gang armed themselves with long butcher knives from Williams' shop and started out to hunt up their victim. They located him in a saloon where troubles of various kinds were likely to originate and the presence of an officer was desirable. Big Bill Williams, the butcher, entered first and coming near to McDonald, slightly bumped against him. Not wishing trouble, McDonald walked away, followed by Williams who bumped against him again. Deputy Bill then walked to the other side of the room, which was unoccupied, and when Williams and his crowd started to follow, he warned them not to come any closer. At this a number of cow-men who were present saw the trouble and stepped in, and Williams and his crowd worked toward the door. Outside, the disturbers gave vent to their animosity for McDonald in violent language and opprobrious names. Suddenly McDonald himself stepped out among them and seeing a piece of scantling about four feet long lying by the door, he seized it and as Williams started toward him he gave the big butcher a lick across the face with it that flattened his features and put a habitual crook in his nose. The crowd thought Williams was killed and his supporters began to get out of the way of the scantling. But McDonald dropped it and had out his guns in a moment.
"Halt!" he said, "every one of you. Hold up there!" Then to the Rangers who at that moment appeared on the scene, "Search those men for weapons."
Search was made and the long butcher knives, intended for McDonald, came to light. A knife of the same kind was found on Williams.
"Now get a doctor quick," commanded McDonald, "that fellow looks like he's pretty badly hurt."
A doctor was found and Williams was removed. McDonald's wife, then stopping at a nearby hotel, had been an interested, not to say excited, spectator of the proceedings, and now called down a few words of encouragement and approval. Somewhat later, word was brought to Deputy Bill that what was left of the Davidson and Williams crowd had collected in Tip McDowell's saloon, where a brother of Williams tended bar, and these were declaring war to the death. McDonald promptly went down there and entered, with a revolver in each hand. The crowd of would-be assassins, about a dozen or so, took one look and made a break for the back window, climbing over chairs, counters and billiard tables—some of them almost tearing the bar down in an effort to get behind it. Deputy Bill held enough of them with the persuasion of his two six-shooters to give them some useful information in the matter of running a town like Quanah and the surrounding country, as long as he was in office.
"You thieves that have been trying to run over this country, and stealing cattle and shooting the town up," he said, "from now on are going to stop it. And you fellows like Bill Williams that are selling stolen beef, are going to stop that, too. If any one of you sells a pound of beef hereafter without showing me the hide and the brand-marks, you'll go behind the bars and I'll put you there."
There was something about the tone of that brief address that made it sink in, and from that time forward when beef was brought to Quanah the hide came with it, and they would wake up Deputy Bill McDonald to show it to him as early as three o'clock in the morning.
As for Davidson, he now became an officer of the law, in reality. Satisfied, no doubt, that the Cedar-brakes gang was doomed, he came to McDonald and offered to guide him to the den of the Brookens if McDonald would cause to be dismissed certain indictments which had been lodged against him. McDonald consulted Sheriff Barker of Wilbarger and the arrangement was made. Davidson then ascertained when his former business associates would be at their headquarters in the brakes, and the raid was planned accordingly.
IX
Getting even with the Brooken Gang
THE BROOKENS DON'T WAIT FOR CALLERS. ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-SEVEN YEARS SENTENCE FOR AN OUTLAW
Thebrakes of the Big Wichita made an ideal cover for outlaws engaged in the industry of stealing cattle and horses. There were plenty of grass and water there and the ground was so densely covered with scrub cedar as to afford any number of hiding places. Moreover, there were deep gulches and canyons that made travel dangerous to those not familiar with the region. The place was remote and not often molested.
Everything being arranged, the raiders set out—Sheriff Barker of Wilbarger, in charge—the party including two Rangers from Quanah. On drawing near the locality, Barker proposed that all but two men should halt, several hundred yards from the stronghold—a dug-out occupied by the gang when at home. To this, Deputy Bill strenuously objected. He wanted to charge forthwith, believing always in a surprise attack. Barker, however, being in his own county, was in command and was for more gradual tactics. He added that McDonald's big white hat would attract attention before they couldget near enough to charge. Two men were therefore sent to reconnoiter and report. The rest lay in hiding. Presently peering through the trees they saw two other men ride up to the dug-out and go in. Deputy Bill was all excitement.
"There they are now," he said, "let's get down there and get them."
Again he was overruled. In a few minutes a number of men issued from the dug-out, mounted horses and rode away. The first two had been scouts, and had given warning. At the same moment Barker's two men came running back with the information that the Brookens were getting away.
"Of course they're getting away," said McDonald. "Do you suppose they are going to wait and hold an afternoon tea when we arrive?"
Accompanied by one of the Rangers, he started in pursuit of the outlaws, but it was impossible to follow far in that dense unfamiliar place. Returning to the dug-out they were rejoiced to find Sheriff Alley's horse, so something was accomplished, though the expedition as a whole had failed, through over-caution.
McDonald now resolved to hunt on his own hook. As deputy sheriff, he was restricted to his own county, but this handicap was speedily removed, through Ranger Captain S.A. McMurray, who had him appointed by Governor L.S. Ross as special ranger, with sheriff's rights in any county in the State.
His authority was to be still further extended, very soon. One day he received a letter from Captain George A. Knight of Dallas, Texas, U.S. Marshal of the Northern District of Texas, asking him to come to Dallas and be made U.S. Deputy Marshal, with authority to operate in Southern Indian Territory and No-man's land, where a man like him was sorely needed. McDonald went down without delay and reported at Knight's office.
"I have heard about you and your work up in Hardeman," said Captain Knight, "and I want you for a deputy. But first tell me what are your politics?"
McDonald did not hesitate. Knight was a Republican.
"Captain Knight," he said, "I am the damndest, hell-roaringest, allfiredest Democrat you ever saw. If politics has anything to do with this appointment I'd just as well go back."
"Well," said Knight, "you're pretty emphatic, but I guess you'll do. Your kind of politics seem to suit your job pretty well."
It was only a little while after this that Bill McDonald was also made Deputy U.S. Marshal of the southern district of Kansas, which enabled him to work in the remaining portion of the Territory, and now, with his four offices—two Deputy U.S. Marshalships, Deputy Sheriff of Hardeman County, and that of Special Ranger—he was qualified to undertake at any time any sort of a man-hunt in anyterritory likely to invite his services. He went after the Brooken gang forthwith, but this time they did not wait for him. His fame was already in their ears.
He followed them like a hound on the trail. He never recovered his two horses and his Newfoundland dog, but he broke up the gang, utterly. He brought in Bood Brooken at last and got him sentenced for five years. Bill Brooken himself escaped to Mexico, was captured there, brought back and sentenced for one hundred and twenty-seven years. He has a good deal of that time still to serve.
The life work of the boy who long ago had begun it by hunting slaves in the swamps of Mississippi was well started, now; his name as a thief-catcher was beginning to be known, and honored, and feared. Yet his more active days—his more valuable days to the community at large—still lay all ahead, and of these we shall undertake to tell.
X
New Tactics in No-man's Land
A MAN WITH A BUCK-BOARD. HOLDING UP A BAD GANG SINGLE-HANDED
Somethingwhich resembled a sense of security began to manifest itself in Hardeman and the surrounding counties. There were still cattle thieves—plenty of them—but with their rendezvous in the immediate neighborhood broken up, their work became less deliberate. They harbored now further away—in the remoter places of the Pan-handle, in the Cherokee Strip and in the fastnesses of No-man's Land. From these strong-holds they made their raids, which though more sporadic and less devastating were still a vast nuisance, particularly along the border counties, where the outlaws could run over at night, raid a herd none too well guarded, and have the stolen cattle hidden in some gully or canyon or brake in their own lawless land by morning.
No-man's Land was a favorite retreat for cattle thieves. It was that strip of public land which was set down on the map as a part of Indian Territory, but really belonged to nobody at all. Different ones of the surrounding States claimed it, and the outlaws owned it, by possession and force of arms. There was no law there and few law abiding citizens. What there were, were hard to find, and they didn't want officers to stop with them for fear of the enmity of the thieves, who were so greatly in the majority. It was a fine, sightly land—with good grass and plenty of water—level land, some of it, though there was rough country there too—with good places for outlaws to hide. Here they built their dug-outs or cabins, established their households and herded their stolen stock. Some of the cattle they butchered, peddling the meat in Kansas or the Pan-handle. Some of the beef they had the nerve and assurance to drive to market—even to ship—openly, to Kansas City or Chicago.
It was necessary that No-man's Land should be reclaimed, and it was partly for this purpose that U.S. Marshal George A. Knight had commissioned Bill McDonald his deputy. Thus far all statutory law had been disregarded in No-man's Land—all officers had been defied. When, as had happened now and then, an officer had made his way into that wilderness, he either lost his life, or had his revolver and whisky and tobacco taken away from him and was booted back across the border. It had been demonstrated that Bill McDonald had a convincing way with his words and movements, and that he had a nose for locating cow thieves. Furthermore, it was believed that he would not be likely to submit to any liberties taken with his six-shooter and tobacco, or to indignities of any sort. So, when the Brookens and other established "dealers of the range" had been evicted from Hardeman and adjoining counties, it fell to Bill McDonald to begin the No-man's Land crusade.
He was working over in the Pan-handle in 1887 when he learned of a horse that had been stolen somewhere below, and he set out in pursuit of the thief. Such trail as he could find led straight for No-man's Land and he knew that he was bound at last for that lawless locality where U.S. deputy marshals were favorite victims.
He was alone, but this fact did not disturb him. He had always preferred to hunt in that way. There was less chance of frightening the game. When he reached Hutchinson County, which is in the second tier from the north Texas line, he stopped at Turkey Track Ranch and borrowed a buck-board in which to bring home his catch. It was still seventy-five miles to the No-man's Land line, but buck-boards were few in the Pan-handle in those days and this was likely to be the last chance to get one. It is possible that Turkey Track Ranch said good-by to that buck-board when he drove away, for while they had heard of Bill McDonald, they also knew of the usual fate of the U.S. deputy marshals who, with or without a buck-board, set out on an invasion of No-man's Land.
It was a long lonesome drive across Hutchinson and Hansford Counties, and up through No-man'sLand, to the waters of Beaver Creek. The trail was not very difficult here, for the thief probably did not expect to be followed—certainly not farther than the border line, and had made little effort to cover his track. It was toward the end of the second or third day, at last, that the trail became very fresh, and the man in the buck-board came to a halt and set out on foot to locate his game. As silently and cautiously as an Indian he crept through the brush until he reached a place where peering through he located, some distance away on the river bank, a camp consisting of four men and the same number of horses. His man had found comrades, that was evident, and it was likely they would join in his defense. McDonald lay in the brush, watching them, as long as it was light and then crept closer, trying to identify the horse he was after, and which of the men had him in charge. He had no intention of beginning operations that night, for he had long since made up his mind that the proper time for a surprise attack is in the early morning. Men have not gathered themselves, then, and have not been awake long enough to be fearless, and quick of thought and action. His purpose now was to know his ground exactly, so that with daylight he could act with a clear understanding.
He was obliged to wait until daylight before he could be sure of his ground; then, awake and watching, he saw the different men go to look after their horses. He located a bay horse that answered tothe description of the stolen animal, and identified the man who had him in charge. He crept back to his buck-board now, got in and drove up leisurely to the outlaw camp, looking as inoffensive and guileless as any other fly with a horse and buck-board, driving straight into the spider's den.
"Good-morning, boys," he said pleasantly, "you-all look mighty comfortable with that fire going. I lost my way and laid out last night. Mebbe you-all can tell me something about the trails around here. There don't seem to be none that I can find."
They invited him cordially to get down and warm himself and said they would show him the trail. McDonald stepped out and walked over to the fire, still talking about the country and the weather, working over close to the man he wanted. The deputy wore a short overcoat, and he had a pair of hand-cuffs in the left side-pocket. He got just in front of his man at last and reached out his right hand as if to shake hands with him. Instinctively the man extended his own right hand and at that instant McDonald's left with the open hand-cuffs was out like a flash—there was a quick snap, a sudden movement—a slight-of-hand movement it was—then another quick snap and the horse thief, dazed and half stupefied stood gazing down at the manacles on his wrists, while Bill McDonald, a gun in each hand, quietly regarded the other three members of the camp.
The captive was first to break the silence.
"Boys," he said, "what does this mean?"
One of the men turned to McDonald.
"Yes," he said, "what does this mean? Who areyouand what are you going to do with that man?"
"I'm Deputy U.S. Marshal McDonald, of Texas," was the cheerful reply, "and I'm going to take this man with me and put him in jail."
"What for?"
"For stealing that bay horse out there."
The outlaw advanced a step.
"And you'll just about play hell doing it!" he said.
"All right, I am ready to start the game right now," said McDonald.
The men whispered a little among themselves. Their saddles were off to one side and their Winchesters lay across them, all there together. They wore six-shooters also, but they realized who their man was, now, and they were careful to make no movement toward them. Presently one of the men said:
"You say you are going to put that fellow in jail?"
"That's what I'm going to do."
"Well, now let's see about that."
The men were starting in as if to make an argument. One of the party began working a little in the direction of the guns. The idea was to distract the officer's attention for a moment and get the dropon him. It was a good game, but it failed to work in this instance. McDonald brought his guns exactly to bear on the men in front of him.
BEGINNING A CAMPAIGN IN NO-MAN'S LAND."Three pairs of hands went up."
"Throw up your hands!" he commanded, "every one of you quick! Throw them up, you scoundrels!"
Three pairs of hands went up. That command from Bill McDonald has almost never been disobeyed. Perhaps it is the tone of the voice that makes it convincing. Perhaps it is the curious look in those needle-pointed eyes of his; perhaps it is something more than these—something psychologically imperative. Whatever it is, it has filled the air of Texas with hands, from Red River to the Rio Grande.
"Now, face the other way!" was the next command.
The men faced about, their hands still high above their heads. With one six-shooter still on them, McDonald went up behind each man and disarmed him, sticking the revolvers in his own belt. Then he went over and took the cartridges out of the Winchesters. He now marched his men to where the horses were hitched, secured the stolen one and tied him to the buck-board. Then he ordered his prisoner to get in and proceeded to shackle him to the slats of the vehicle. The other three men, meantime, were kept in a group, a rod or so ahead in the direction of Texas.
"Now, march for Texas, you devils!" McDonaldsaid, when he was seated beside his prisoner. The procession started, the men complaining that they had done nothing, and that he had no right to take them back, even if he were authorized to take the other man.
Deputy Bill said:
"You fellows have been in the habit over here of resisting and killing officers, or driving them out, and doing as you please. I just want to show you how easy it is to take your kind. Come, move right along there, now. I don't know what you've done, but you probably stole all those horses back yonder."
The men now began to beg for their horses, complaining that the animals left behind would stay there and starve. McDonald really had no intention of taking them all the way back with him. He had no warrants for them, and besides he did not care to march and camp with that number unless necessary. His purpose was to get them far enough away so that they would not be likely to try to overtake him and catch him asleep when he should halt for the night. He made no concessions however, until they were well along toward the Texas line. Then he said:
"Now, if you fellows think you can behave yourselves and want to go back and tend to your horses, I may let you go back on that account. But you can make up your minds, and you can tell your friends about it, that I'm not afraid of any of you, and I'mgoing to clear you dam'd thieves out of this country. I'm going to show you that there's one man you won't kill nor run out. Now, will you do what I tell you?"
The men protested that they were good citizens, and that if he would let them off they would undertake missionary work in the cause of law and order. He let them go, then, and handed back their unloaded arms, promising them another fate, if he ever caught them in mischief. He watched them disappear behind the first rise; then, whipping up, he made the best time he could for Turkey Track Ranch, where he rested a day, delivered the borrowed buck-board, taking his prisoner next morning to jail.
XI
Redeeming No-man's Land
BILL MCDONALD AND LON BURSON GATHER IN THE BAD MEN. "NO MAN IN THE WRONG CAN STAND UP AGAINST A FELLOW THAT'S IN THE RIGHT AND KEEPS ON A-COMIN'"
Itwas natural that other work in No-man's Land should follow this first experiment. It having been demonstrated that Bill McDonald could go into that infested place and not only come out alive, but bring back his man, other and more extensive contracts were laid out for him. There were several bad gangs there to be broken up before legitimate settlers could live there, and it was decided that McDonald was the man for the job.
McDonald on his part was ready for the undertaking, it being of a sort which he found always most congenial. Deciding that it was a good thing to have a reliable partner in the handling of a gang, he selected for his associate another deputy marshal—one Lon Burson of Henrietta—a quiet athletic fellow with plenty of grit and endurance.
"I could always rely upon Lon," McDonald said, in speaking of that period, long after; "I believed I knew just what he would do, every time, and he never failed me." It may be added that Burson onhis part had complete faith in McDonald, and that their ideas of conducting a campaign were in exact accord.
They began on what was thought to be one of the worst gangs, a band of nine who had established on Beaver Creek a general headquarters from which they conducted a miscellaneous business in crime—stealing cattle and horses, robbing trains and shooting down bank officials when occasion offered, frequently crossing over into adjoining States for that purpose.
McDonald had laid out the plan of attack, which was to arrive on the scene at his favorite early hour—daybreak—and then to do no parleying or long distance firing, but to charge at once and storm the works. His theory was—and is to-day—that the criminal cannot stand up against the man who is not afraid of him and does not hesitate.
"If you wilt or falter he will kill you," he has often said, "but if you go straight at him and never give him time to get to cover, or to think, he will weaken ninety-nine times in a hundred. No man in the wrong can stand up against a fellow that's in the right and keeps on a-comin'. I made up my mind to that long ago, and I've never made a mistake yet."
Here in homely vernacular is expressed a mighty truth. Crime is always coward and cannot stand against the conviction of right. Error cannot survive in the face of truth that does not falter and "keeps on a-comin'."
McDonald and Burson proceeded in the saddle to Higgins, in Lipscomb County—a station on the Santa Fe Bail road, and their last base of supplies. Here they chartered a big three-seated hack in which to bring back their prisoners, should their raid prove successful. They put their own horses to this vehicle, loaded their saddles in behind and continued their journey.
It was toward evening when they arrived in the neighborhood of the outlaw den and camped in a secluded place, to wait for morning. The house stood in the edge of the prairie, near Beaver Creek and was easy of access. It was made of logs and seemed to be a deserted ranch place, probably built by some adventurous person who had long since departed for a locality where there was more law, even if less grass.
One of the band—an early riser—had just gone out to round up the horses when the two deputies, mounted, made their approach, next morning. He discovered them when they were about four hundred yards away and made for the house, McDonald and Burson following at full speed. The outlaw was a little in advance, and his eight companions were out in front with their Winchesters when the officers bore down on them.
"Go round the house, Lon, and come in from behind. I'll 'tend to them on this side," said McDonald as they dashed up.
This maneuver was immediately put into actionand in less than a minute later the deputies were on the spot, their game between them. In another instant both deputies had slid from their horses and were in the midst of the confused, half awake outlaws.
"Drop them guns! Drop 'em, and put up your hands!" commanded McDonald—his own gun and Burson's leveled.
There was not even an attempt at resistance. The bandits were simply dazed, overwhelmed by the suddenness and vigor of the onslaught. Heretofore, attacks—always made by a posse—had begun with scouting and skirmish and ended with a running fight, usually at long range. The plan of two mere deputies coming straight upon them and demanding sudden and complete surrender was wholly new. As before remarked, there was something about it terribly convincing—almost supernatural.
McDonald kept the men covered, now, while Burson secured their weapons. Then, hand-cuffed and shackled, they were marched to the big hack, crowded into it and driven fifty miles to Higgins; thence by rail to the United States Commissioner at Wichita Falls.
McDonald, as usual, was sociable enough with his prisoners, once secure, and delivered to them his customary homily, as they drove along.
"I just want to show you fellows, up here, how easy it is to take you," he said affably. "You-all have got the notion that you can run this countryyour own way, and that there ain't any officers that can come up here and make you behave. Now, you-all are mightily mistaken. I'm going to put every one of you fellows in jail and a lot more like you. You know well enough it ain't right to act like you-all have been doing—driving off other men's cattle and robbing trains and shooting men that you had the drop on. You might know you'd get into trouble. The United States has made laws against such business as that, and them laws cover this country the same as anywhere else and every one of your kind up in here is going to find it out."
The gang was landed safely in Wichita Falls. Some of them were eventually convicted; the rest either became better citizens or sought quieter territory for their industries. The cleaning up of No-man's Land had begun.
The work of active reform was not allowed to languish. News of the first successful raid traveled quickly, and State Senator Temple Houston—son of Governor Sam Houston—notified McDonald that the Sheriff of Hansford County was in need of assistance to cope with a bad gang which had a rendezvous just across the border from Hansford, in No-man's Land. These bandits had been carrying on the usual business of horse and cattle stealing, and general highway robbery. Unlike some of the officials, the sheriff of Hansford, though not noted for reckless bravery, was in no way in league with the thieves and desired only their extermination.His jurisdiction, however, extended no farther than the Texas line, and thus far no State or federal officer had rendered any assistance. As a result, the band, becoming very bold, had pitched their camp just over the line, and had defied arrest, declaring they would shoot the first man that stepped across.
When Bill McDonald got the word from Senator Houston, he immediately sent over for Lon Burson and then proceeded to Canadian, Hemhill County, where Houston lived. Here they learned more fully what work was cut out for them, and presently continued their journey over into Hansford, where, from the sheriff, they secured the names of the offenders, as far as possible, and a partial list of their misdeeds. Complaints were now filed against six men, the usual commodious hack was secured; also, a light buggy for possible side excursions, and McDonald and Burson, accompanied by the sheriff as a guide, drove through the gray of early morning, to the line which divided Hansford County from No-man's Land.
Arriving at the border, the sheriff pointed out where the robber den—a log building—was located, not more than eight hundred yards beyond. Then he said he would wait there until they got back.
"Come right along with us," said McDonald, "we need you to identify the men."
But the officer said. "No," that the men knew him, and it might alarm them if they saw him coming. Besides, he had no authority over there.
"Never mind that," urged McDonald, "I'll risk the consequences, and I'll make you one of a deputy's posse, which fixes your authority all right."
But the sheriff still said "No," that he didn't care for any more authority than he had—that anything new in that line might make him proud. He said he thought he would enjoy sitting there in the hack where he would have a good view of what happened to them when they tackled that outfit.
McDonald and Burson, therefore, set out in the light buggy, driving leisurely across the intervening space. Arriving near the log-house, they discovered that five men were up, and sitting sleepily on the ground in front of their cabin, their Winchesters leaning against the wall behind them. Evidently they did not look for any attack, and even when they saw the approaching buggy, their wits were not sufficiently collected to suspect that these might be officers; nor could they realize that any two men in a buggy would drive over to attempt their capture. In another instant they were covered.
"Get up from there and throw up your hands!" was the word of greeting they received. "And don't try to touch them guns. The first man that tries it I'll kill him."
The five men rose—it was polite to do so—also, they refrained from offering any discourtesy in the matter of the guns. McDonald now called the roll of the names he wanted, and curious as it may seem,each man answered to his name. One man of the six wanted, being missing, the officers proceeded to hand-cuff and shackle the five captured men, and marched them back to the hack, where the sheriff of Hansford was waiting.
Of course the sheriff didn't believe it was true. He had had such dreams before and thought he would wake up, presently, at home, in bed. When he convinced himself at last that he was not asleep, he offered to aid in the search for the sixth man. He was well acquainted with the Territory trails, and McDonald decided to send Burson to Hansford with the hack-load and to proceed with the buggy and the sheriff after Number Six of the gang who, it appeared, had a place of his own some twenty miles away.
Number Six was out looking after his cattle—about thirty in number—the result of industry—when McDonald and the sheriff of Hansford arrived, and not expecting official guests, was unprepared. He had, in fact, "no more gun than a rabbit," as Deputy Bill said afterward, and his capture was child's play. That night the gang complete set out for Wichita Falls, to be tried later in the United States Court at Dallas.
Raids followed each other rapidly. One gang of cattle thieves after another was gathered in, and took up the march for Dallas and trial. Outlawing in No-man's Land became an unpopular occupation. Men of more legitimate enterprise began to wonderif the time was not coming, by and by, when they could do business on or within the borders of that territory without the protection of a company of soldiers. The fame of Bill McDonald was on every man's tongue, and those who had not seen him, especially the outlaws still at large, usually conceived him to be a very terrible person: large, bushy, heavy of voice and fierce of mien. Yet he was just the opposite of all these things. He was slender, quiet, blue-eyed, and gentle of voice—only, he had that gift of command—that look, and that manner of speech with law-breakers which they did not disobey. The time came presently in No-man's Land when his name alone and a rumor that he was coming was sufficient to cause a gang to contemplate emigration. Perhaps they believed he bore a charmed life, and it was useless to resist him. If so, they were hardly to be blamed for such a conviction.
XII
Some of the Difficulties of Reform
"FRONTIER" LAW AND PRACTICE. CAUGHT IN A NORTHER IN NO-MAN'S LAND
Itis neither necessary nor possible to give a full history of all the raids that during the brief period of little more than a year broke up organized lawlessness in that stray corner of the nation and redeemed an abandoned land. The general plan was the same in all. The early morning hour; the hack and the Winchester; the surprise attack, and the pleasant drive home with the guests duly hand-cuffed and shackled; these were features common to each episode. Though conducted against desperate men, it was a bloodless warfare. Nobody was killed—scarcely a gun was fired. Bill McDonald's career was not to be always like that. There was to be shooting enough and blood-letting too, but the No-man's Land campaign was peculiar in the absence of these customary attributes of border warfare.
Yet there are one or two aspects of the happenings of that period which may not be overlooked here. As before suggested, the administrators of the law were not always to be relied upon. Some of them were actually in league with the law-breakers;others were honest enough, but afraid of them. But there was still another sort, who being both honest and courageous lacked information. Sometimes this resulted in curious complications which were annoying and discouraging to an officer. Often, the results were rather humorous in their nature. The following is an illustration of frontier jurisprudence.
McDonald had heard of a cow thief in No-man's Land who was working on his own hook—a sporadic case, as one might say—and went over to arrest him. He descended upon him in an unexpected moment, and though the outlaw strenuously protested that it being Sunday the law of arrest did not hold good, Deputy Bill conveyed him across the border and down into Roberts County where the cattle had been stolen and where there was a justice of the peace—it being hardly worth while to take a single prisoner to Wichita Falls. McDonald's idea was that the justice would have authority to bind his prisoner over until such time as the grand jury of that district should meet and indict him in regular form.
Now, Roberts County was a wild desolate place in those days. There was no town anywhere about, and few people. There had been no previous call for administration of the law of any sort, and up to that time no case had come before this justice of the peace. On the arrival of McDonald with his prisoner, his honor convened court with a sort of a helpless look. His office was merely a title, so far as he was concerned, and the wide realm of the lawwas to him an unexplored country. He had a copy of the "Revised Statutes," however, which he now took down and examined, perhaps for the first time. With McDonald's help he found the section which related to cattle stealing, and the penalty. Regular procedure, with indictments and trial by jury were as nothing to him. He only knew that he had been elected to his office, and that his duty was to administer the law as laid down. He read the law as pointed out, and assumed a judicial severity.
"You own up that you stole them cattle?" he said to the prisoner.
The prisoner nodded.
"Then as justice of the peace of this county I hereby send you to the penitentiary for ten years."
McDonald gasped.
"Judge," he said, "I don't believe that's quite regular."
"Why; ain't that the law?"
"Well, yes, but you see he's entitled to trial, an' mebbe it would be just as well to bind him over under a good heavy bond, and if he can't raise it send him to jail over in Canadian until the grand jury meets. Of course I only mention that as being the usual way of doing things."
The justice looked a little disappointed.
"Why, yes, of course, if you want it that way," he said, "but the man's guilty and I thought you'd like to put the thing through as quick and easy as possible, and save expense. Oh, well, any way tosuit you. I'll make his bond heavy enough, anyway." He paused to think, perhaps trying to imagine a sum large enough for a man who had plead guilty to the heinous crime of cattle stealing. "I'll put him under a heavy bond—agood heavy bond—I'll make it three hundred dollars!"
It will be seen that an official who was given to inspirations such as these could become a trial, even with the best intentions in the world; and there were others who added arrogance to their ignorance, and connivance at crime. Nor were the raids into No-man's Land altogether pleasure excursions even though Deputies Bill McDonald and Lon Burson, with their headlong tactics and general disregard of death, had things pretty much their own way when it came to the final show-down. There were long wearying journeys in a trailless land and long night vigils when bone and muscle and nerve were racked and the whole body cried out for sleep. The onset might be swift and reckless, once begun, but the preparation for that moment was cautious and slow and often beset with difficulties. The few dwellers in No-man's Land really desirous of getting rid of the outlaws, were afraid to reveal their anxiety, to give anything resembling information, or even to offer shelter to the officers. They knew that to manifest any interest on the side of law and order would incur the enmity of the gangs and bring down reprisal swift and bloody. McDonald andBurson realized this, and, however severe the conditions of weather and weariness, faced them, rather than impose any risk upon men whose only offense was to dwell among very bad neighbors.
At one time the deputies were after a gang of five men, wanted for murder and theft, and were driving from Higgins into No-man's Land, with hack and team, their saddles loaded in behind, as usual. It was late in the year, now, and suddenly in the swift Texas fashion a norther came down, with piercing wind and fine driving snow. If the reader has never seen a Texas norther, or a Dakota blizzard, he will hardly understand their predicament. The wind leaps up in a wild gale almost in an instant; the air from being balmy takes on a sudden bitterness that wrings the body and numbs the heart and pinches the very soul. Then the snow comes, fine and blinding—sharp and hard as glass. No living being was ever created that could survive long in the face of a storm like that. Cattle know when a norther is coming and find shelter in canyons, or gather into thick bunches in the open, their heads to the center. Birds speed away to the south, ahead of it, or find shelter in hollows and crannies until the demon has passed by. A storm like that always means death. The Texas norther and the Dakota blizzard have strewn the prairies with bones.
McDonald and Burson in the face of such a tempest tried to press on, hoping to find a shelter ofsome sort—anything that would break the terrible wind. But everywhere was only the wide prairie, level as the sea and lost now in the swirling drift. Night was coming on rapidly, and unless a place for camp was found soon, their case would be hopeless, indeed. It seemed to them that they had drifted for hours, battling against the norther—though it probably was less than one hour—when they came upon some stacks of prairie hay, which indicated the habitation of men. Without seeking further, they made for the shelter of the stacks, burrowed themselves and their horses into them, allowing the latter to feed liberally from the hay. There they remained all night and until the afternoon of the next day, the men without food. The storm abated then, and the officers undiscouraged, pressed on, reaching the outlaw camp late in the afternoon, instead of at their favorite morning hour.
The surprise was quite as complete, however, for the last thing that those bandits expected was that two officers should suddenly appear out of that white devastation to take them to jail. They were too much astonished to attempt resistance and were on their way to Wichita Falls that night, following the road which earlier in the year so many of their kind had taken.
Indeed it was this capture at the end of 1888 that marked about the close of the heaviest work in that particular section. The year's crusade had demonstrated that No-man's Land was not big enough tohold a band of cow thieves and two deputies like Bill McDonald and Lon Burson at the same time. It was no encouragement to a band of hard-working outlaws, just as they had got their plant established and things well under way to be suddenly pounced down upon and put out of business by two men who had no regard for the customary rules of fighting, but just rushed right in with a lot of impertinent orders and an assortment of hand-cuffs and always had a big hack ready to start at a moment's notice for Wichita Falls.
"What is the use?" one of the freebooters is said to have complained, "A fellow no more than gets started when these dam' fools come in and upset everything."
Whatwasthe use? Such of the No-man's Land fraternity as still remained unhung and out of jail set out for other fields of labor. Some of them located in the more barren districts of New Mexico and Arizona. Some of them settled in the further places of what was then known as the Cherokee Strip, where they joined with congenial spirits in that territory, and pretending to be engaged in agriculture—for they were in a more settled country—Indian country—continued their old business at the new stand. These we shall meet again presently, for if they had said good-by to Bill McDonald, he had not said good-by to them. It would require new tactics to deal with the new conditions—to identify the outlaw in the pretended agriculturist, and to getevidence for his conviction. It would require the development of another talent in Bill McDonald's make-up, and that talent was ready for cultivation, as we shall see.
XIII
Captain Bill as a Tree-man
THE LOST DROVE OF LAZARUS. A PILGRIM ON A "PAINT HOSS". A NEW WAY OF GETTING INFORMATION IN THE "STRIP"
Meanwhile, the ranch on Wanderer's Creek had suffered. Compelled to be absent most of the time, McDonald was unable to give his herd personal protection, and now and again bunches of his cattle were driven off by outlaws from across the border. His brave wife, facing the problem of the wilderness with only a few hired helpers, did her best, but was not always able to prevent these raids. The thieves would seem to have taken especial delight in watching for the times when Deputy Bill was absent and then descending on his herds, mainly for the booty, no doubt, but also by way of retaliation. It was a dangerous thing for them to do, and though they were certain to pay for it in the end; the double temptation of profit and revenge was not to be resisted.
But while the ranch did not prosper, its owner was in no immediate danger of bankruptcy. With his success in breaking up the gangs in Hardeman and adjoining counties, and in No-man's Land, McDonald's fame had grown amazingly. As a thief-taker he was regarded as a past-master. That an outlaw could neither intimidate nor elude him, and that when he was feeling well he could whip any number of them single-handed, before breakfast, was the current belief. The Cattle-men's Association—a combination of law abiding ranchmen, one of the strongest organizations ever known—invited his special attention to their herds and contributed a monthly acknowledgement of one hundred and fifty dollars, which with his numerous fees made his income an ample one—often as large as five hundred dollars a month—sometimes double this amount.
Among the members of the association was Sam Lazarus, who was with Bull Turner when he was shot by the Brookens, and who came into town on the whiffletrees, undamaged, but a good deal shaken up as to nerves. Soon after McDonald's arrangement with the cattlemen, Lazarus was sending a herd of perhaps a thousand head into Kansas, driving them across the Territory. Pat Wolforth, whose name may also be recalled in connection with the Brookens, was in charge of this herd, and when just beyond the Territory line, in a very lonely district, met with misfortune. One evening near nightfall the cattle suddenly became frightened, doubtless through some device of the outlaws, and Wolforth and his men found it impossible to control them. A general stampede followed and Lazarus's cattle were scattered over the prairies and through thefastnesses of the Strip—a prey to the spoilers lying in wait on every hand. It was a heavy disaster and there seemed little hope of much in the way of recovery. The spring round-up might gather in a few stragglers, but for the most part the herds of Lazarus were believed to be beyond all hope of restoration.
Bill McDonald took no such view of the situation. With Pat Wolforth he immediately visited the scene of the stampede, and began looking for cattle with the "Diamond-tail" brand, such being the symbol of the Lazarus herd. It was a ticklish undertaking. Some of the cattle had been butchered, and these of course were lost. Others had been absorbed by the herds of men who though not regularly engaged in cow stealing were in nowise particular as to whose cows they got and welcomed anything that browsed unguarded on the range. Still others had been collected in "pockets"—small gullies or canyons—where they were retired from general circulation, guarded, as a rule, by one or two ostensible cowboys.
McDonald began by prevailing upon the honest ranchmen in that section to join at once in a general round-up by which means a great number of cattle could be collected and distributed to their rightful owners. The result was fairly satisfactory and a good many of Lazarus's cattle were recovered, though not always without disputes and a display of fire-arms, especially where the brands had been grownover by the long winter-coat of hair. Such cases were settled first and tried afterward. In other words, McDonald and Wolforth possessed themselves of the cattle and then at their leisure "picked the brand," which is the range idiom for picking the hair from around the brand with a pocket-knife, so the brand may be seen. If the brand proved to be other than that of the Lazarus herd, the cattle were turned over to their true owners. When the round-up was over the cow-hunters took up the search in other directions.
It mattered little to McDonald and Wolforth where they found the Diamond-tail brand—they took the cattle, peaceably if possible, forcibly if necessary. They conducted the campaign with an enthusiasm and vigor which did not invite argument. Large herds they searched without ceremony and if any cattle of their brand were found, they were "cut out" with few formalities and with scant courtesy. When they came upon bunches of the Diamond-tail brand in secluded places, they did not pause to present any credentials except their Winchesters which they carried always ready for instant action, and set out at once with the cattle; also, sometimes, with the astonished cowboys as well. It was a sudden and energetic procedure and resulted in the recovery of the greater number of the lost drove of Lazarus.