Captain Bill was satisfied with the game as it stood, and set out for his hotel. He was not to arrive there, however, without further complications. The commotion of the foot-race had aroused a squad of police-a poor lot, in greasy white uniforms—and these bore down upon him now with a good deal of excited talk and gesticulation, none of which he understood. Apparently they thought he was a bloodthirsty person, who was in the habit of knocking men over the head with his gun and chasing others into stone walls, for amusement. He explained in the best Texan he could muster that the men had been trying to rob him, but it was no use. They insisted by signs that he must come with them. When he shook his head in refusal, they began reaching for their long revolvers, which they wore in clumsy holsters.
Captain Bill knew this game, also. He had played it in No-man's Land, in the Cherokee Strip, and he was still playing it in the Pan-handle. It was his favorite and daily occupation. Before their gunswere half way to any effective position, he had them covered, and in tones that are universally understood, even when they convey words of strange meaning, he warned them to desist.
Men are in the habit of obeying Bill McDonald under such conditions. The Mexican police obeyed him, and when he indicated that they were to march in front of him, they did so in a formation at once orderly and well-maintained. He directed them toward the Hotel Guadaola, where he was stopping. Arriving there, he explained to the guard, who understood English, what had happened, and instructed him to convey the information to the police, with his thanks for their courteous and prompt attention, and a request that they should meet him at the office of President Diaz at ten o 'clock the following morning. The guard undertook to do this, and the police went away, dazed and muttering.
They were on hand next morning at the President's office when Captain Bill arrived. During his sojourn in the city, McDonald had come in contact a number of times with President Diaz, and a pleasant friendship had sprung up between them. Diaz, who has an excellent knowledge of English, heard the Captain's explanation now with a good deal of amusement, and after dismissing his policemen with some paternal advice, he presented Captain Bill with a pass which gave him the freedom of any portion of the city at any hour and under all circumstances.
The friendship between Diaz and Captain Billripened into something like intimacy now, and a few days later, the Mexican President, in discussing the nation's troubles with Guatemala, invited the Ranger Captain's opinion of the situation, and of the force in the field.
"Well, Mr. President," said Captain Bill, "I don't think much of your Mexican soldiers, but I could take a squad of Texas Rangers and go down to Guatemala and clean up that outfit down there, capture their finances and bring their Government to terms in twenty-four hours."
The Mexican President's eyes showed his approval of this scheme.
"I think a good deal of your Texanrurales," he said, "but they have killed a lot of our people, too."
Captain Bill nodded.
"Only the kind that needed killing," he said.
"Very likely," assented Diaz; then added, a moment later,
"Captain, I propose that you enlist with us for the purpose you mentioned just now, and bring over five hundred of your Texas cowboys to assist in the undertaking."
Diaz waxed enthusiastic over this idea, and Captain Bill was not unwilling to enter into the scheme. The matter went so far as to get into the newspapers, but at that point it came to a sudden end. Governor Hogg and Adjutant-General W.S. Mabry—a fine soldier, who later died in the Cuban war—did not propose to have their Ranger Captain go offon any such filibustering expeditions, and promptly nipped the whole matter in the bud.
Captain Bill stayed for a considerable time in the Mexican capital, for his companion, the bank official, fell very ill, and the Captain turned nurse to pull him through. He very soon became a well-known figure in the city, being often pointed out as the man who had taken a squad of police in charge; who was going to bring his Rangers down to whip the Guatemalans, and whose skill with the six-shooter was nothing short of miraculous. This last belief was in some manner sustained one day when he visited a shooting gallery in company with an American dentist, who had taken pleasure in showing him the sights of the quaint old town.
"Captain, suppose you shoot at those targets as rapidly as you can, and see how many you'll miss," he said, when they were inside.
Without hesitation, McDonald drew his revolver and opened a perfect fusillade, hitting a target at each shot. Two Mexicans who were practising in the gallery made a wild break for the open air and safety. Soldiers and police came running in excitement and confusion to discover the cause. It was all over by this time, and the officers, seeing only Captain Bill and the dentist, stood gaping, waiting an explanation.
"It is nothing," said the dentist, in Spanish; "my friend the Captain was only practising a little to keep his hand in."
XXV
A New Style in the Pan-handle
CHARLES A. CULBERSON PAYS A TRIBUTE TO RANGER MARKSMANSHIP. CAPTAIN BILL IN A "PLUG" HAT
Itwas during the Pan-handle period that Charles A. Culberson—son of the Dave Culberson who nearly thirty years before had cleared the boy, Bill Jess McDonald, from a charge of treason—was Attorney-General for the State of Texas. Captain Bill was at Quanah, one day, when he received notice from Culberson that the latter was anxious to locate the 100th meridian, preliminary to beginning a suit against the United States to test the claim made by Texas for Greer County—now a portion of Oklahoma. The Attorney General invited Captain Bill to accompany him as guide and body guard, knowing him to be familiar with the district and capable of taking care of such an expedition.
They left the railroad at Vernon, Wilbarger County, proceeded in a buck-board to Doan's Store on the Red River, and crossed over into Greer County. It was a pleasant drive across the prairies, and Captain Bill who felt in good practice beguiled the time by bringing down prairie dogs, running rabbits, sailing hawks and the like, using his six-shooter with one hand and his Winchester with theother, riding along as they were, without stopping. To Culberson, this performance was amazing enough.
"Captain," he said, "that beats anything I ever saw. Why, I believe you could throw a nickle up in the air and hit it before it touched the ground."
McDonald smiled in his quiet way.
"Do you think so?" he said. "Well, I reckon I might, but I wouldn't want to waste a nickel that way."
Captain Bill then gave a few exhibitions of what he really could do in the way of shooting, and Culberson declared without hesitation that there was not such another marksman in the State of Texas. The Attorney General was enjoying himself immensely.
They camped that night, and next morning were continuing their journey toward Mangum, the county seat of Greer, when they began to meet men and women on horseback, evidently getting out of that section of the country without much waste of time. Captain Bill inquired the reason of this exodus and was told that a cowboy had killed an Indian over on the North Fork of the Red, and that the Indians were getting on their war-paint, preparatory to making a raid—Comanches and Kiowas.
"General," said Captain Bill, "I'll have to look into this thing. You can go on to Mangum with the team and I'll get me a horse and go over and take a hand in the trouble."
"Not at all," said Culberson, "you've undertaken to see me through this trip and I'm not going to let you desert now, Indians or no Indians."
"But I've got to, General. This is a pleasure trip, and that's business. Them devils are goin' to start something over there and it's my duty as Ranger to investigate it."
Culberson laughed.
"Now, Captain," he said, "you know very well that all you want is to get over there where there's a chance to give a shooting exhibition. You've got tired of hawks and prairie dogs and want to try your hand on Indians."
A new arrival just then furnished the information that the offending cowboy had been jailed at Mangum, and that the Indians were likely to storm the jail. This settled the matter, for Ranger duty and inclination now lay in the same direction. McDonald and Culberson drove as rapidly as possible toward Mangum, then about fifty miles away, changing horses once on the hard journey. The town was well-nigh deserted, as nearly everyone who could get a gun had gone to the scene of the killing. Captain Bill therefore established himself as guard of the jail where the cowboy was confined, and waited results. Nothing of consequence happened. The country quieted down, Culberson and Captain Bill presently returned to Quanah.
But a few days later when the Attorney General had arrived in Austin, Captain Bill received a package by express, prepaid. On opening it he was stupefied to find that it contained a "plug" hat of very fine quality. It was the first silk hat in the Pan-handle, where the soft wide-rimmed cowboy Stetson predominated, and it took more courage to wear it than to face an assault with intent to kill.
But Captain Bill was game. He was a "brother-in-law to the church" as he said—his wife being a member—and the following Sunday he put on the silk hat and accompanied her to meeting.
Their seat was up near the front, only a step from the pulpit—a good thing for the minister, otherwise nobody would have looked in his direction. As it was, all eyes were aimed toward Captain Bill and his hat. The congregation had seen him come in with it in his hand, and they could still observe the wonder, for it would not do to put so fine a piece of property on the floor, while to set it toppling on his lap would be to court disaster. It seemed necessary therefore to hold it in his hand, raised a little, and at a distance from his body, in order that by no chance movement the marvelous gloss of it should be marred. The people of Quanah who attended church that day were glad to be there. They are still glad. They do not remember the sermon they heard, but they do remember that hat. Even the minister wandered from his text in his contemplation of that splendid exhibition. Those of Quanah who remained away from service on that memorable Sunday have never entirely recovered from theirregret. For it was their only opportunity ever to see Captain Bill in a plug hat. When services were over, the congregation crowded about for a nearer view. Cowboys stood up on the backs of the pews to look over the shoulders of those in front of them. Homesick women who remembered such things back east, shed tears. Many wanted to touch the precious thing—to stroke its silken surface, and among these were little children who insisted on rubbing the fur the wrong way.
Captain Bill got out at last and headed for home. Once there, the gift of the Attorney General was reverently damned and laid away. Somewhere in a secret stronghold, deep buried from mortal eye, it exists to this hour.
XXVI
Preventing a Prize-fight
THE FITZSIMMONS MAHER FIGHT THAT DIDN'T COME OFF AT EL PASO, AND WHY. CAPTAIN BILL "TAKES UP" FOR A CHINAMAN
Culbersonbecame Governor in the course of time, and remembering Captain Bill's peculiar talents was wont to rely upon him for special work in any portion of the State where nerve, determination and prompt, accurate marksmanship were likely to be of value.
During February, 1896, a national sporting event—a ring contest between Bob Fitzsimmons and Pete Maher—was advertised to take place at El Paso, a busy city dropped down on the extreme western point of the Texas desert, on the banks of the Rio Grande. Governor Culberson, speaking for himself as well as for the better class of citizens in his State, announced that so long as he was in office, Texas would not go on record as a prize-fighting commonwealth, and that the fight would not take place. Thereupon there came a crisis. Certain interested citizens of El Paso had made up a purse of ten thousand dollars to bring this event to the "Paris of Texas" and these and their friends were filledwith indignation. Dan Stuart, prominent in Texas sporting matters and promoter of this particular event, issued a proclamation which bore not only the announcement that the fight would take place as advertised, but a picture of Dan himself. Also, it was declared that there was no law in Texas which would prevent prize-fighting, and the preparations for this particular event continued; whereupon Governor Culberson promptly called a special session of the legislature to pass a law which would be effective, and Adjutant-General Mabry ordered the State Ranger Service to assemble at El Paso to see that this law was enforced—it having been widely reported that Bat Masterson with a hundred fighting men would be present to see that the fight came off. Then, when it was rumored that the contest would take place in either Old or New Mexico—the boundaries of both being near El Paso—President Cleveland ordered the United States Marshal of New Mexico to proceed to the vicinity of El Paso and guard the isolated districts of that territory, while the Governor of Chihuahua took measures to discourage the enterprise in that State.
Things began to look pretty squally for the sporting fraternity, both in El Paso and at large, and they were mad clear through. The city council assembled and passed a denunciatory measure, condemning the Governor for asking for Rangers; the Adjutant-General for sending them, and the Rangers for being present.
It was no use. The Rangers went quietly about the streets, paying no attention to unfriendly looks and open threats as they passed along. Efforts were made by the principals and their friends to elude the Rangers, but with no other result than that a Ranger was appointed as a special body-guard to each of the pugilists, while a third, Captain McDonald, became the temporary associate of Dan Stuart. They had nothing particular to do—these Rangers—except to be companionable, and pleasant, and to stay with their men. Wherever Stuart and Maher and Fitzsimmons went their official attendants went with them, and even if not always welcome they were entertained with sufficient courtesy, for the person of a Ranger is sacred—besides, he is reputed to be quick and fatal.
Such sport became monotonous. The pugilists and their friends gave up the El Paso idea, and, still accompanied by the Rangers, took the train for Langtry, a point where the Southern Pacific Railway touches the Rio Grande. The State of Coahuila lay across the river, and Langtry itself was at that period the proper gateway to a pugilists' paradise, its law being administered by one Roy Bean, justice of the peace and saloon-keeper, whose sign read:
MIXED DRINKSLAW WEST OF THE PECOS.
It is said that Bean's drinks were about on apar with his law, and that the latter was administered with a gun. He tried court cases, granted divorces, and handed down decisions without the trammel of a jury or other assistance. Once when a citizen killed a Chinaman in his place, Bean consulted the statutes, and finding nothing in reference to the murder of a Chinaman in his saloon, discharged the prisoner as having committed no offense. At another time, when a man walking across a high bridge over the Pecos had fallen and broken his neck, and the matter was brought before Bean, the dispenser of "Law West of the Pecos," discovered that the pockets of the unfortunate contained a six-shooter and forty-one dollars in money; whereupon he fined the dead man twenty-five dollars and costs for carrying a concealed weapon, and appropriated the forty-one dollars and the six-shooter, in settlement. A whole chapter could be written about Bean and his official service, but this is not the place for it. It is the place, however, for another incident concerning a Chinaman—a case in which, though tried west of the Pecos, the Chinaman's rights were sustained.
The train bound for Langtry with the pugilistic party and Rangers aboard stopped at Sanderson, a small wayside station in the desert, for lunch. Everybody was hungry and hurried over to a Chinese restaurant for something to eat, and the Chinese waiters scurried about to serve them. They were doing their best, but it was not easy to satisfyeverybody at once. Next to Captain McDonald sat Bat Masterson. Bat has since given up all his reckless ways and become a good citizen, but at that time he was training with the unreformed and not feeling very well, anyhow. It seemed to Bat that a Chinese waiter was not getting around as promptly with food as he might and he set in to admonish him. The Chinaman replied to the effect that he was doing his best, whereat Masterson decided to correct him with a table-castor. Captain Bill had been sitting quietly, saying nothing; but as Masterson raised the castor the Ranger Captain clutched his arm.
"Don't you hit that man!" he said.
Masterson wheeled.
"Maybeyou'dlike to take it up!"
Captain Bill regarded him steadily for an instant.
"I done took it up!" was his quiet answer.
The castor was put down. Masterson reflected silently while he waited for his food. Perhaps that was the beginning of his reform.
Arriving at Langtry, Stuart, Fitzsimmons and Maher were escorted to the Rio Grande, where, with all their fraternity, they crossed over to Mexican soil and the fight was pulled off in good order. It was a good fight, as fights go, and Fitzsimmons won with a knock-out landed on Maher's jaw; but it did not take place on Texas soil.[9]
FOOTNOTES:[9]For official details of the situation at El Paso, etc., see Appendix A, Adjutant-General W.H. Mabry's report.
FOOTNOTES:
[9]For official details of the situation at El Paso, etc., see Appendix A, Adjutant-General W.H. Mabry's report.
[9]For official details of the situation at El Paso, etc., see Appendix A, Adjutant-General W.H. Mabry's report.
XXVII
The Wichita Falls Bank Robbery and Murder
KID LEWIS AND HIS GANG TAKE ADVANTAGE OF THE ABSENCE OF THE RANGERS. HE MAKES A BAD CALCULATION AND COMES TO GRIEF
Theabsence of Captain Bill and his Rangers from the Pan-handle, was construed by Kid Lewis as an invitation to rob a bank. He selected the City National of Wichita Falls for his purpose and with a partner named Crawford rode up to that institution one day about noon, and entering, demanded the bank funds. Cashier Frank Dorsey failing to comply with that demand, was shot dead; H.H. Langford, bookkeeper, was wounded, and the Vice-President of the bank escaped by having in his left breast-pocket a small case of surgical instruments. This deflected the ball which otherwise would have entered his heart.
The robbers then secured whatever money was in sight—about six hundred dollars in gold and silver—ran out the back door, mounted their waiting horses and galloped away. The citizens were by this time alarmed and a number set out in pursuit, full speed. There was a running fight, during which Lewis' horse was shot, but an instant later he wasclear of it, and leaping behind Crawford the two went plunging away double until they met an old man driving into town with a single horse. This they appropriated forthwith, leaving their pursuers a good way behind. Still further on, they crossed Holiday Creek and came to a field where a man was plowing. They now abandoned their blown horses and at the point of a gun took his heavy Clydesdale team and once more dashed away, making for the Wichita River. Their pursuers gained on the clumsy animals and fired several more shots at the fugitives, then decided to return and organize a posse, which they raised in short order. This posse followed the track of Lewis and Crawford beyond the Wichita River, to a place where the robbers had taken to the thick brush overgrowing the river bottom. Here the trail was lost.
Captain McDonald, returning from the Fitzsimmons-Maher contest, via Fort Worth, had got as far as Bellvue in the adjoining county when he was met by a telegram, containing the news of what had happened that morning at Wichita Falls. He immediately wired the authorities at the Falls to have horses in readiness for himself and men.
The Rangers reached the city about two in the afternoon and mounting the horses, already waiting, dashed away in the direction the robbers had taken. With him, Captain Bill had Rangers McCauley, Harwell, Sullivan, Queen, and McClure—the tried, picked men whom Lewis and Crawford had beenmost anxious to avoid. The horses were picked, too, for speed and endurance and went at a wild headlong gait—almost too headlong for safety. A small creek that had become a bed of mud lay across the road and Captain Bill's horse, stumbling on the brink, sent him head first into the soft mixture, which literally daubed him from head to foot before he could get on his feet. His men thought for a moment that he was killed, but he rose spluttering and swearing, wholly unhurt, though fearfully disfigured, and with no time to remove his disguise. Instantly mounting, he galloped on, a sight to behold, the others respectfully restraining any tendency to mirth.
Presently they met the local posse coming back. The posse had given up the chase, but was able to furnish information. Captain Bill and his Rangers learned where the robbers had disappeared, and pressed on in that direction, the posse following.
It was now getting toward evening and would soon be dusk. It was desirable to make an end of matters by daylight, if possible, and the Rangers wasted no time. They picked their way rapidly into the thick undergrowth of the bottoms, and suddenly in a bend of the river discovered the Clydesdale horses tied close to the bank. Their riders were believed to be close by, and the Rangers expected to be fired upon at any moment. Without waiting for any such reception they charged in the direction of the horses, with no other result than that RangerSullivan broke a stirrup, fell, and with a fractured rib, retired from action.
Lewis and Crawford had abandoned the horses, and their trail led down the river bank. The Rangers also left their horses at this point, for it was hard going. McDonald now took Queen and Harwell, one on either side of him, their guns in readiness while he gave his attention to the trail. The light was getting very dim where they were, but Captain Bill is a natural trailer and followed the tracks without difficulty. Here and there they found stray articles which the men had dropped in their flight. Finally the tracks led to the river where it was evident the bandits had crossed.
It was February and the water was very cold. Captain Bill had not yet recovered from the terrible bullet wounds received in the fight with Matthews, two months before, and was bent and debilitated, but he did not falter. With Queen and Harwell he plunged in and waded the icy water, chin deep, to the other side. Twice more the trail led to the river and crossed, and twice more McDonald and his men waded that bitter current, holding their fire-arms above their heads, their bodies literally numb with cold. It was a severe experience, but as Captain Bill said afterwards, it removed a good deal of his mud.
McDonald now made up his mind that the robbers would be likely to cross a road that had been cut through the bottoms, and head toward the Territory, which they were evidently trying to reach, believing the Rangers would not follow them across the line. He called to one of his men—Ranger McClure, who appeared just then, a little distance away—to get all the force he could and guard that road, while he, McDonald, with Queen and Harwell, would continue to beat the brush and search carefully through the bottoms. At that moment Lewis and Crawford were near enough to hear this order, and the realization that it was Bill McDonald and his Rangers who were on the trail gave them a sudden and more severe chill than the icy water they had waded.
They had been heading for the Territory, as McDonald suspected, but decided to change their course toward a creek that ran parallel with the river. On their way to it they were obliged to cross an open field, and though by this time it was night—between nine and ten o'clock—a full moon had risen and they were discovered by the men guarding the road, and fired upon. They returned the fire as they ran, but no damage was done on either side. Meantime, McDonald and his two companions, nearly perishing with wet and cold, having come upon a house in their search, had stopped to try for a cup of hot coffee. At the sound of the shots they rushed out. A horse was hitched at the door and Captain Bill leaped into the saddle and hurried in the direction of the alarm. As he approached, he saw in the moonlight a crowd—the local posse—gathered onthe little hill overlooking the wheatfield where the robbers had crossed. The Ranger Captain fully expected to find the captured or dead bandits in that crowd, and called out as he came up:
"Boys, where are they? Where are the robbers?"
They pointed in the direction of some brush about a quarter of a mile away.
"They went into that creek bottom, over yonder."
"Well, then, what in the devil are you all doing up here?"
Somebody answered:
"You must think we're dam' fools to go in there after those fellows. Of course we didn't go in there, and don't intend to."
"Well," said Captain Bill, "I'm going, and if any of you fellows want to go, come ahead, but I don't want any man that don't go willingly."
Ranger McCauley had ridden up.
"You can't get away from me, Uncle Bill," he said.
The two loped off in the direction of the thicket, but presently found their way barred by a wire fence. Leaving their horses they made a circuit around the enclosure and soon struck what seemed to be a road, leading into the bottom. Hurrying along they came upon Ranger McClure, who had been in charge of the posse when the shooting had occurred, and had set out alone to locate the robbers.
"Hello, Bob, where are they?" asked Captain Bill, as he and McCauley came up.
"Right over there, Cap. They ran in the brush, over by yonder big tree."
"Well, boys, we've got to get them. We'll charge in there."
They pushed rapidly into the bushes without further parley—McDonald heading for the tree, McCauley and McClure spreading out to the right.
Captain Bill made straight for the big tree pointed out by McClure, his gun ready for quick service. It was a still, moonlit place, but brushy and full of shadows, and not easy going. The crack of Winchesters might be expected at any moment.
Suddenly the Captain found himself confronted by a creek, and looking across saw two men with guns, squatting in the weeds. They appeared to be on the point of raising their guns to fire, but with McDonald's appearance and his sharp command, "Hold up there!" made from behind his own leveled Winchester, they were unable to complete the action. Their guns dropped into their laps—they seemed stupefied.
"Throw up your hands!" was the next order.
The hands went up.
"Get up from there!"
One of the men found his voice.
"We can't, Captain, our guns are lying across our laps, cocked. They'll go off if we get up."
"Get up or I'll turn you over!"
They rose hastily, their guns sliding to the ground.
"Back off there, now, and face the other way."
They obeyed like soldiers on drill.
Captain Bill stepped into the creek, about three feet deep, and waded across. He noticed a bag, doubtless containing the stolen money, and observed that the robbers had laid their cartridges out on a log for convenient use. At that moment McCauley and McClure came hurrying up, apparently ready to shoot.
"Hold up boys! It's all right," said McDonald, "I've got 'em!"
McCauley and McClure waded across and assisted in searching the prisoners. A purse of gold was found in one of the men's pockets; the sack on the ground contained silver.
"Now, let's get out of this," said McDonald, "and get where it's warm."
"You're not going to make us wade that cold creek, are you" said Lewis, shivering.
"Look here," said Captain Bill. "If you don't get across there and pretty quick, too, I'll duck you, head first. You've made me wade water up to my neck, all the afternoon."
They all crossed, then—the fifth time in the cold water that day for McDonald—and made their way to where he and McCauley had left their horses. Here they got a rope and bound the prisoners, their arms behind them. Captain Bill then called to theposse, still waiting in the road a quarter of a mile away listening for the sound of the shots that would probably bring down Rangers.
"Come on, boys," he yelled, "we've got em!"
So they came "lickety brindle," but presently stopped.
"Captain, are you sure you got 'em!"
"Yes, I've got 'em, and got 'em tied. Come on—there's no danger, now!"
The crowd tore through the brush to get over there, and some of them began abusing the captured men, declaring they had murdered the best man in Wichita Falls, and furnishing a graphic outline of what would happen to them, in consequence. What they said was all true enough, maybe, but the saying of it seemed in rather poor taste to Captain Bill.
"Look here," he said, "these men are my prisoners, now; you let them alone."
He marched Lewis and Crawford over to Mart Boger's ranch, where all got some hot coffee and something to eat. Boger also supplied a wagon in which to haul the prisoners.
It was McDonald's first intention to take the men to Henrietta, for safe keeping, but against his judgment he was persuaded to take them to Wichita Falls. He gave orders, however, that none of the crowd should leave, as he did not wish the news of the capture to travel ahead of them—realizing that a mob of citizens would be likely to gather.
On the way to the Falls the Rangers fell into conversation with Lewis; and McCauley and Harwell discussed with him the fight that he and Hill Loftus and the others had made, that night in the dug-out when Joe Beckham had been killed. Lewis explained how he and Red Buck and Loftus had managed to slip away without being seen. Then McDonald said:
"Boys, how was it you didn't shoot me a while ago, when you saw me coming through the bushes? You-all had your guns cocked and ready—and you knew you'd be hung, anyway, if you got caught. You saw me first—why didn't you shoot?"
"Cap," said Lewis, "we thought you were out of the country and wouldn't get back before we could get to the Territory. When we heard you giving orders and knew who it was, we lost our nerve, and when we saw you, we somehow got paralyzed."
When the procession had arrived within a mile or two of the Falls, Captain McDonald, realizing that some one had doubtless slipped away and carried the news, sent one of his men to have the jail door open in order that there might be no delay in entering. His suspicion was correct, for the news had traveled, and though it was then about two o 'clock in the morning, several hundred men were congregated about the jail when the Rangers with their prisoners arrived. Captain Bill rode ahead and opened the way with his gun.
"Give room, here, men!" he commanded, and the way opened.
Lewis and Crawford were marched into the jail—Rangers McCauley and Queen being left to guard the door. The prisoners were taken to cells, carefully searched, and locked in. Captain McDonald then descended to disperse the crowd, which had grown noisy and ugly in its demands for the prisoners, and was apparently making ready to attack the jail. Captain Bill addressed this assembly.
"Boys," he said, "I reckon you-all are my friends, and if you are, you'll go home now and go to bed. My Rangers and I captured these men and they are our prisoners. We've got them locked up, and they'll have a fair trial. You men didn't capture them, and you have nothing to do with them. They're unarmed now, and can't defend themselves, but if you make an attack on this jail I'll give the prisoners their guns, and we'll lick this crowd. I command you to disperse immediately. If you don't, we'll begin business right now."
The mob dispersed. Some of the leaders wanted to call Captain Bill away to discuss matters, but he would have none of it, and cleared the grounds. Then in spite of his wet, cold, weary condition, and the terrible wounds received less than three months before, he stayed with his men, on guard, till morning. Then a message was brought to him that Hill Loftus had been concerned in the robbery and that he was hiding in a dug-out near town.
Knowing that Loftus and Lewis trained together, Captain McDonald did not discredit this report, orsuspect that it was part of a ruse to get him away from the jail. He ordered a horse from the stable at once and made ready to start.
"Aren't you going to take your men with you?" asked the men who had brought the word.
"No," said Captain Bill. "I want them to stay here."
"But Loftus is a bad man, and will have the advantage of you, being in the dug-out."
"That's all right—I can take care of him; but I do want somebody to come and show me the place."
A man volunteered to do this, and rode with Captain Bill to a dug-out some distance away, in the edge of the town. The place was empty, but another man appeared just then who claimed to have seen Loftus leave, a little while before, taking a northerly direction.
Still unsuspecting, Captain Bill set out at full speed, but after riding three miles and seeing no sign of Loftus, or his trail, he rode back to Wichita Falls. At the edge of the town he was met by his nephew, Henry McCauley, with the news that everybody who could get a gun had marched on the jail, and that no doubt Lewis and Crawford were already hung.
Captain Bill did not wait for another word. A mob of several hundred men had gathered about the jail, wild with excitement, determined to have Lewis and Crawford and to lynch them, forthwith. Suddenly this multitude saw Captain Bill bearing downon them—his Winchester in position for business and fury in his eye.
QUELLING A LYNCHING MOB AT WICHITA FALLS."Boys, have you still got the prisoners?"
"Boys," he called to his Rangers, as he dashed up, "have you still got the prisoners?"
"Yes," they called back, "they're still in the jail!"
Captain Bill wheeled on the mob.
"Now!" he shouted, "damn your sorry souls! march out of here and get away from this jail, every one of you, or I'll fill this yard with dead men!"
He had his Winchester leveled as he spoke and those who considered themselves in range made a wild, hasty effort to get into some safer locality. Captain Bill swung the point of his gun a little so it covered a good many in its orbit, and nobody knew when it might go off. They knew if it did go off it would hit whatever spot he selected, and nobody wanted to own that spot. The crowd moved—some of it hurried a good deal—and Captain Bill helped things along with language. He escorted the mob well into town.
The Ranger Captain now prepared to move the prisoners to Fort Worth, but was notified by the District Judge that this could not be done—that any attempt to do so would result in general trouble with the citizens of Wichita Falls. McDonald protested that the citizens had already shown that they were unable to take care of the prisoners in a legal way. The judge said:
"I will appoint twenty-five men to guard the jail."
"You mean you will appoint twenty-five men to keep me from taking Lewis and Crawford away," McDonald said:
"No, only to help you guard them."
"But if you have a guard of twenty-five men you don't need the Rangers."
The judge argued for the moral support of the Rangers. McDonald informed him that it was impossible for his force to remain in Wichita Falls, guarding prisoners; that other work was waiting for them; that there was already a requisition for them at Quanah; that furthermore they had been away from their headquarters for two weeks, besides being wet and cold and worn out from exposure and want of sleep.
"Let the others go, Captain, and you stay," urged the judge.
"Judge," said Captain Bill, "you know I'm all shot up, and it's the first time I've rode any, and what with yesterday, and last night, and to-day I'm about used up, and likely to be sick. Now, if you can take care of those prisoners with your guard, all right. If you think you can't, I'll take 'em to Fort Worth, where they'll be safe. But I'm going to get out of here to-night, unless you get an order from Governor Culberson for me to stay. It ain't far to the telegraph office, only about thirty steps—you can go and wire him, if you want to. If he says for me to stay, I will, of course. But otherwise I'm going. I've done my whole duty, now. When I getprisoners in jail, and guarded, my duty ends. Your guard of twenty-five men with your local officers can hold that jail if they want to. I could hold it alone."
No order came to the Rangers from Governor Culberson, and they left that afternoon, when the local guard had been duly installed. That night the mob once more marched on the jail, and in spite of the armed guard and the sheriff, deputies and constables, Lewis and Crawford were taken from their cells and hung to telephones poles, close to the bank where they had committed their crime.
Citizens of Wichita Falls complained to Governor Culberson that Captain McDonald and his Rangers had gone away, leaving the prisoners to the mercy of the mob. Culberson wired to McDonald, and receiving the facts in reply, commended him throughout.
A reward of two thousand dollars for the capture of Lewis and Crawford was paid by the two banks of Wichita Falls. The local posse divided it into thirty-two equal parts, in which they generously permitted the Rangers to share.
XXVIII
Captain Bill as a Peace-maker
HE ATTENDS CERTAIN STRIKES AND RIOTS ALONE WITH SATISFACTORY RESULTS. GOES TO THURBER AND DISPERSES A MOB
Duringthe years that ended the old century and began the new—from about 1896 to 1902, or later—there occurred in Texas a series of strike and mob disorders of various kinds. To quiet troubles of this sort is the special province of the Ranger Service, and as the Pan-handle became more tractable—more range-broken, as one may say—Captain Bill McDonald and his little force were summoned to points far and near to put down disturbance and to check agitation.
It was not long after the bank murder at Wichita Falls, and the capture of Lewis and Crawford, that Captain McDonald was summoned there again, this time to investigate a strike on the Fort Worth and Denver Railroad. Things were in bad shape at the Falls. Trains were not allowed to run, engines were not permitted to move. Riot and bloodshed were imminent.
Captain Bill did not think it necessary to take his men. He went up to Wichita Falls alone, and learning where the main body of the strikers were assembled, went over there. They had gathered in a hall, and were holding a secret meeting when he arrived. The Captain knocked on the door. A doorkeeper came, but refused admission.
"I am Captain McDonald, of the Rangers," said McDonald quietly, "and I'm here to talk to you men and see what the trouble is. You're all here? now, and I think I'll talk to you together."
The doorkeeper went away and reported, and presently returned.
"Where are your Rangers?" he asked.
"I didn't bring any. I don't need any. I'm a pretty good single-handed talker, myself."
There was another consultation inside, and the door opened. Captain Bill went in with a friendly greeting for everybody, given in his genial natural way. Then he got up where he could see his audience.
"Boys," he said, in his slow, friendly way, "I understand you-all are acting mighty sorry over here, interfering with business and making out like you're going to tear up things generally. Now, you know me, and you know that I don't want anything that ain't right, and if a man behaves himself I'll try to get him what's right, if I can. I suppose you think you have a grievance and perhaps you have, but you'll never get it settled this way, and it's my business, as you-all know, not to have this sort of work going on. You have a perfect right to quit work, but you haven't any right to keep other menfrom working, or to injure people's business or to break up property. Nothing good can come out of such doings. I didn't bring any of my men along, because I didn't believe I'd need 'em, and I don't think so now, but of course if this thing goes on, I'll have to bring 'em, and then it will be too late to talk all friendly here together as we're talking now.
"I'm well acquainted with President Good of this road, and I know you can't get anything this way; and if you take my advice you'll go back to work: and tell him your troubles afterward. Now, boys, that's all I've got to say, and I reckon if you listen to it you'll come out a good deal better than if you listen to one or two men that for some reason of their own are trying to stir up a lot of trouble, and will be in jail before night, as like as not."
Captain Bill went down on the street and the crowd soon followed. A good many came to him and expressed willingness to go to work. Here and there he talked to a little group in his friendly, earnest way. The strike at Wichita Falls was over.
From Wichita Falls McDonald went over to Fort Worth, where there was similar trouble, but learned that a more serious situation existed at the Thurber coal-mines, in Erath County. The miners were of many nationalities—ignorant and brutish—and they were swayed by anarchical leaders. The Ranger Captain was urged to take his men to Thurber, but decided to go alone.
Arriving at Thurber, he hunted up the mine officials, for consultation. Colonel Hunter, President of the mines, looked at Captain Bill—bent over from his wounds and battered up from illness and exposure—and shook his head.
"You should have brought your men," he said. "You can't do anything with a gang like ours, alone."
"Well, Colonel, I'm using my men in other places. I'll look around a little and do what I can, anyway."
Loitering about the town, he discovered that a number of kegs of beer were going out to a high hill, beyond the outskirts—headquarters of the striking miners. He learned that there was to be a sort of mass meeting there that night, when the leaders and chief agitators would be on hand. He decided to be present.
It was well after dark when he set out, and a good crowd had assembled when he reached the place. It was out on a mountain where the timber had been cut off, about half a mile from Thurber, and there was no light except from a misty moon. At one place there was a big log, used by the speakers to stand on, and about this the crowd and the beer-kegs were gathered. Captain Bill, unnoticed, blended with the outer edges.
It was near eleven o'clock, and a speaker had come to the conclusion that the crowd was in the proper condition to take some good radical advice—which might be followed by prompt action—sohe proceeded to give it. He told them how they had been mistreated and what they should do. They were to begin by blowing up the mines and the superintendent's office, and he told them which mine to blow up first. Then he told them what they were to do to "Old Hunter," and it was clear from the faces and the muttering of the listeners that they were ready to do these things.
Captain Bill worked his way through the crowd until he was close to the speaker's log. When the agitator reached what seemed a good stopping place, the Ranger Captain suddenly stepped up beside him. The speaker stopped dead still, in his surprise. It was Captain Bill's turn.
"Men," he said, "this rascal that has been talking to you is an enemy to you and to the country. He's trying to get you to commit murder, and to get you sent to the penitentiary, or hung. You can quit work, but you can't kill people and destroy property, not in this State. These walking delegates and leaders that are telling you to do these things are just a sorry lot of damned scoundrels, and I'm going to put them where they belong, and where they're trying to get you. I'm Captain of Company B, Ranger Service, and I'm here alone, but I'll have my men here, if I need them, and I'll hang just such fellows as this man—"
Captain Bill turned to indicate his selected victim, but he was no longer there. He had melted into the crowd, and was seen no more. A man from theassembly came up and urged the Ranger Captain to desist—warning him that there were desperate men there, and that he would be killed.
"Don't mind me," Captain Bill proceeded, "that's been tried on me more than once without much success. You see I'm here yet—spared, I reckon, to give you some good advice. Now, you men had better take it and give up these meetings, and if you've got to jump onto anybody, jump onto the fellows that's trying to get you into trouble. Good-night!"
Captain Bill walked back to Thurber and next morning a messenger came to his room to tell him that there was a big crowd outside, hunting for him. He rose and dressed, and taking his Winchester went out to see what was going on. When he appeared he was waited on by some miners who wanted him to talk a little more to the men. He was told that a number of them had decided to go to work and wanted to know what kind of protection they would have. Captain Bill assured them of protection and fair treatment. Then he asked where their leaders had gone—the men who had been urging them to do murder. But they could not tell. Those ill-advisers had vanished over night. Within a brief time the men were nearly all back at work, doing better than ever before.
At other points McDonald or his Rangers quieted the strikers and prevented trouble of various kinds. Usually Captain Bill went alone. It was his favoriteway of handling mob disorders, as we have seen. It is told of him in Dallas how once he came to that city in response to a dispatch for a company of Rangers, this time to put down an impending prize-fight.
"Where are the others?" asked the disappointed Mayor, who met him at the depot.
"Hell! aint I enough?" was the response, "there's only one prize-fight!"
XXIX
The Buzzard's Water Hole Gang
THE MURDER SOCIETY OF SAN SABA AND WHAT HAPPENED TO IT AFTER THE RANGERS ARRIVED
Butthe San Saba affair was a different matter. It was in 1897 that certain citizens of San Saba County petitioned the Governor to send Rangers to investigate the numerous murders which had been committed in that locality—the number of assassinations then aggregating forty-three within a period of ten years.
In fact, San Saba and the country lying adjacent was absolutely controlled at that time by what was nothing less than a murder society. San Saba County, situated about the center of the State, lies on the border of the great south-west wilderness, and is crossed by no railroad. In an earlier day a sort of Vigilance Committee or mob had been organized to deal with lawless characters, but in the course of time the usual thing happened and the committee itself became the chief menace of the community. Whatever worthy members it had originally claimed, either dropped out or were "removed," and were replaced by men who had a private grudge against a neighbor; or desired his property; or were fond of murder on general principles. In time this deadly organization became not only a social but a political factor, and as such had gathered into its gruesome membership—active and honorary—county officials ranging from the deputy constabulary to occupants of the judicial bench. Indeed, it seemed that a majority of the citizens of San Saba were associated together for the purpose of getting rid—either by assassination or intimidation—of the worthier element of the community.
This society of death was well organized. It had an active membership of about three hundred, with obligations rigid and severe. Their meeting place was a small natural pool of water, almost surrounded by hills. It bore the curiously appropriate name of "Buzzard's Water Hole," and here the Worthy Order of Assassins assembled once a month, usually during full moon, to transact general business and to formulate plans for the removal of offending or superfluous friends. Sentinels were posted during such gatherings, and there were passwords and signs. These were forms preserved from the original organization; hardly necessary now it would seem, since the majority of the inhabitants were in sympathy with the mob, while those who were not could hardly have been dragged to that ghastly spot. They preserved other things—they kept up the semblance of being inspired by lofty motives, and they maintained the forms that go with religious undertakings; wherefore, being duly assembled to plot murder, they still opened their meetings with prayer!
After which, the real business came up for transaction. Members in good standing would make known their desires, setting forth reasons why citizens in various walks of life were better dead, and the cases were considered, and the decrees passed accordingly. Sometimes when a man's offense was only that he owned a piece of desirable real estate, a resolution was passed that a committee of fifty should wait on that citizen and give him from three to five days to emigrate, this to be supplemented by a second committee of one whose duty it would be to call next day and make the said undesirable citizen a modest, not to say decent, offer for his holdings. It was not in human nature to resist a temptation like that. The man would be likely to go. He would accept that offer, whatever it was, and he would get out of there before night. The organization acquired a good deal of choice property by this plan. When an election was coming on, the society decided who was to be chosen for office, and who for assassination, and committees were likewise appointed to see that all was duly performed. It was a remarkable society, when you come to think about it—a good deal like Tammany Hall, only more fatal.
To break up the Buzzard's Water Hole roost, and to discourage its practices in and around San Saba, was the job cut out for Bill McDonald and his Rangers during the summer and fall of 1897.
Captain McDonald began the work by sending over three of his men—John Sullivan, Dud Barkerand Edgar Neil—to investigate. There was plenty of trail and the Rangers ran onto it everywhere. It wound in and out in a hundred directions, and gathered in a regular knot around the seat of justice. Perhaps there were town and county officials who were not in the toils of the deadly membership, but if so they were not discoverable. Sullivan promptly got into trouble with the sheriff by re-jailing a man whom he found outside, holding a reception with his friends, when the State had paid a reward for his capture. Sullivan and the sheriff both drew guns, but were kept apart, and the District Judge, who seemed to have been a sort of honorary "Buzzard," holding his office by virtue of society favor, undertook to get rid of Sullivan by sending him a long way off, after some witness supposed to be wanted; though why they should want any witness, in a court like that, would be hard to guess.
Captain Bill himself now came down to look over the field. He had his hands full from the start. When he arrived, Rangers Barker and Neil were patrolling the town with guns, while a number of citizens similarly armed were collected about the streets.
"Hello, Dud," he said, "are you-all going to war?"
"Looks like it, Cap," returned Barker.
Captain Bill looked over at the armed citizens, and raised his voice loud enough for them to hear.
"Well, Dud, if that's the best they can do," he said, "we can lick 'em, can't we?"
"Yes, sir, if you say so, Cap."
The armed citizens showed a reluctance in the matter of hostilities and began to edge away. McDonald now got his mail and reviewed the situation, for prior to his coming he had scarcely known what the trouble in San Saba was all about. By and by he went to his hotel. It was about ten o'clock and he was sitting out in front, when he saw flashes and heard shots across the public square. The mob was shooting up the town for his benefit. Captain Bill seized his gun and went up there. The main disturbance seemed to be in and about a saloon. The Ranger Captain pushed into the place alone, compelled every man of the assembly to put up his hands and allow himself to be disarmed. He then required them to appear for examination, next morning. They did appear, and were discharged, of course, but, nevertheless, it was evident that a man who would not be scared and who was not afraid to do things, was among them. Members of the society felt a chill of uneasiness. Worthy citizens, heretofore silent through fear of their lives and property, began to take heart.
McDonald now interviewed the sheriff and county officials in general and delivered his opinion of them, individually and collectively, concluding with the statement that he would bring Sullivan back as soon as a message and steam would get him. The sheriff replied that Sullivan and he could not stay in the same town.
"Then move," said Captain Bill. "The countywill be rid of one damned rascal. It will be rid of more before I get through here."
Captain Bill went to Austin, himself, after Sullivan, so that there might be no mistake about his coming. He presented the case to Governor Culberson and got his sanction, then sent word to his men at San Saba to meet them, and he arrived with Sullivan, promptly on time. He had expected that there would be a demonstration by the sheriff and his friends, instead of which the streets of the little town were deserted. Perhaps the sheriff and his party had given out that war was imminent and this was the result.
It was clear now that to obtain evidence and convictions under such conditions as they prevailed in San Saba was going to be a long, slow job. With officials incriminated and good citizens intimidated; with witnesses ready to come forward and swear anything in defense of the murderers, knowing they would be upheld in their perjury, the securing of good testimony and subsequent justice would be difficult.
The Rangers went into camp in a picturesque spot on the banks of the San Saba River, a mile from town; pitched their tents under the shelter of some immense pecan trees; arranged their "chuck boards," staked their horses and made themselves generally comfortable. Then they posted sentinels (for a fusillade from the society was likely to come at any time), and settled down to business. Evidently they had come to stay. The society postponed its meetings.
Captain Bill now began doing quiet detective work, a labor for which he has a natural aptitude; anybody can see from the shape of his ears and nose, and from the ferret look of his eyes that this would be so. Good citizens took further courage and came to the camp with information. The Ranger Captain looked over the field and undertook a case particularly coldblooded and desperate.
A man named Brown, one of the society's early victims, had been hanged by that mob some ten or twelve years before, and his son Jim, though he had never attempted to avenge his father's death, had fallen under the ban. Jim Brown never even made any threats, but he must have been regarded as a menace, for one Sunday night while riding from church with his wife and her brother, he was shot dead from ambush; his wife, whose horse became frightened and ran within range, also receiving a painful wound.
Captain Bill secured information which convinced him that one Bill Ogle had been the chief instigator in this crime, and that the father and brother of Brown's wife were likewise members of the society and concerned in the plot. He learned, in fact, that the plan had been for Mrs. Brown's brother to ride with her, and for her father, Jeff McCarthy, to carry her baby by a different route to keep it out of danger. The brother, Jim McCarthy, was to stayclose to his sister, to look after her horse and keep her out of harm's way while her husband was being murdered. It was due to the fact that Jim McCarthy did not perform his work well, that the sister was wounded. McDonald in due course uncovered the whole dastardly plot.
The murderers now realized that trouble was in store for them. Some of the men began quietly to leave the country. Others consulted together in secluded places and plotted to "kill Bill McDonald." Sympathizing citizens encouraged this movement, and anonymous warnings—always the first resort of frightened criminals—began to arrive in the Ranger camp. Captain Bill paid no attention to such communications; he was used to them. He went on gathering and solidifying his evidence, preparatory to the arrest of Ogle and such of his associates as the proofs would warrant. Ogle, the "tiger" of the society, as he was considered, McDonald had not yet seen, for the reason that the tiger did not live in the town, and for some cause had lately avoided those precincts. He arrived, however, in due season. Perhaps the brotherhood let him know that it was time he was taking a hand in the game.
Captain McDonald, one hot afternoon, was talking to an acquaintance on the streets of San Saba, when he noticed a stout surly-looking man, with the village constable, not far away. Now and then they looked and nodded in his direction and presently an uncomplimentary name drifted to his ear.
"Who is that fellow talking to that sorry constable?" he asked.
His companion lowered his voice to a discreet whisper.
"That is Bill Ogle," he said, "the worst man of the murder mob."
Captain Bill looked pleased.
"Good-by," he nodded, "I want to see Bill Ogle."
He stepped briskly in the direction of the two men who, seeing him approach, separated and loafed off in different directions. Captain Bill overhauled the constable.
"See here," he said composedly, "I heard you call me a name a while ago when you were talking to that murderer, Bill Ogle, who is going down the street yonder. Now, an officer that throws in with a murder mob, ain't worth what it would cost to try, and hang, and if I hear any more names out of you I'll save this country the expense of one rope, anyway."
The constable attempted to mutter some denial. Captain Bill left him abruptly with only a parting word of advice and set off down the street after Ogle. Ogle had crossed the street and passed through the court-house to a hardware store on the other side—where a number of his friends had collected.
"Don't go over there, Captain," cautioned his friend, "you'll be killed, sure."
"Well, I'll go over and see," Captain Bill repliedquaintly, continuing straight toward the mob store.
As he entered there was a little stir, then silence. Evidently those present had not expected that he would walk straight among them. Here he was—they could kill him and put an end to all this trouble in short order. But somehow they didn't do it. There seemed no good moment to begin. Captain Bill walked over and faced Ogle.
"Come outside," he said quietly, "I want to talk to you."
Ogle hesitated.
"What do you want to say?" he asked sullenly.
Captain Bill laid his hand on Ogle's shoulder.
"I want to say some things that you might not want your friends to hear," he said—and a quaver in his voice then would have been death—"Come outside!"
He applied a firm pressure to Ogle's shoulder and steered him for the door. The others, as silent as death, made no move. They did not offer to interfere—they did not attempt to shoot. They simply looked on, wondering.
Outside, Captain Bill led Ogle to the middle of the street. It was blazing hot and the sand burned through his boots, but he could talk to Ogle out there and keep an eye on the others, too.
"Now, Bill Ogle," he said, in his deliberate calm way—"I know all about you. I know how you and your outfit murdered Jim Brown—just how you planned it, and how you did it. I've got all theproof and I'm going to hang you if there is any law in this country to hang a man for a foul murder like that. That's what I'm here for, and I am not afraid of you, nor of any of the men over there in that store that helped you do your killing. You are all a lot of cowardly murderers that only shoot defenseless men from ambush, and I'm going to stay here until I break up your gang if I have to put you every one on the gallows or behind the bars, and I'm going to begin with you."
As Captain Bill talked the sweat began to pour off of Ogle and his knees seemed to weaken. Presently they could no longer support his stout body and he sat heavily down in the hot sand, trying weakly to make some defense.
"Get up," said Captain Bill, "haven't you got your gun?"
"No, sir, Captain, I haven't."
"Well, you'd better get one if you're going to go hunting for me. And there's the men over there who helped you kill Jim Brown, and your Greaser-lookin' constable and your sorry sheriff. Get your whole crowd together, and get ready and then I'll gather in the whole bunch. Go on, now, and see what you can do."
"Yes, sir, Captain."
Ogle made several attempts to get on his feet, finally succeeded, and went back to his friends. Captain Bill immediately set about getting out a warrant for his arrest, but after some delay, found hecould not get the papers until next morning. Ogle, meantime, had been to his friend, the District Judge, who now appeared before the Ranger Captain with the statement that Ogle, whom he believed to be a square man, had said he wanted to leave the country for fear McDonald would kill him; McDonald, he said, having the reputation of being a killer and a bad man generally.
"Yes, Judge," said Captain Bill, "that's the proper reputation to give me, so that some of your crowd of murderers can assassinate me and your court can deliver a verdict that I was a bad citizen and ought to have been killed sooner, the way you've done about all the rest of the forty-three that have been murdered and no one tried for it in this section. Now, I intend to see that he don't leave this country, unless he leaves it in shackles. He committed this murder, and I can prove it. I've got one of the members of the mob as a witness."
"You will stir up old trouble and get things in worse shape than ever," protested the judge.
"If I can't get things in better shape, I'll lay down my hand," said McDonald.
A little later, on the street, Captain Bill saw Ogle approaching. He was armed this time—with a big watermelon. He approached humbly.
"Captain," he said, "you've done me a great wrong, and I want you to accept this watermelon."
Captain Bill did not know whether to laugh or to swear. Presently he said:
"You scoundrel! I suppose that thing is poisoned. I believe I'll make you eat it, rind and all."
Ogle backed away with his melon and presently set out for home. Fearing now that he would escape before the warrant could be issued, Captain McDonald instructed Rangers McCauley, Barker, Neil and Bell, members of his camp, to keep watch, and if Ogle attempted to leave the county to hold him until he (McDonald) could arrive with the proper papers. These were obtained next morning, about ten o 'clock, and Captain Bill starting out with them, met his Rangers with Ogle, who had, in fact, attempted to escape. He was taken to jail and a strong guard was set.
Consternation now prevailed among the society and its friends; in the cowboy term they were "milling." Members of the mob were to turn State's evidence; one Josh McCormick, who had been made a member by compulsion—having run into one of their meetings—had been brought from an adjoining county and would testify; a grand jury composed of exemplary citizens had been secured.
And that was not all. Captain Bill one day went to the District Judge, ostensibly for advice.
"Judge," he said, "I want some legal information."
The judge was attentive, and took him to a quiet place.