diff options
Diffstat (limited to '29692-h/29692-h.htm')
| -rw-r--r-- | 29692-h/29692-h.htm | 10452 |
1 files changed, 10452 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/29692-h/29692-h.htm b/29692-h/29692-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..605630b --- /dev/null +++ b/29692-h/29692-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10452 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of When the West was Young, by Frederick R. Bechdolt.</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + @media screen { + hr.pb {margin:30px 0; width:100%; border:none;border-top:thin dashed silver;} + .pagenum {display: inline; font-size: x-small; text-align: right; text-indent: 0; position: absolute; right: 2%; padding: 1px 3px; font-style: normal; font-variant:normal; font-weight:normal; text-decoration: none; background-color: inherit; border:1px solid #eee;} + .pncolor {color: silver;} + } + @media print { + hr.pb {border:none;page-break-after: always;} + .pagenum { display:none; } + } + body {margin-left: 11%; margin-right: 10%;} + p {margin-top: 0.5em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: 0.5em;} + + blockquote {display: block; margin: .75em 5%; font-size: 90%;} + h1 {font-size:1.8em;} + h1,h2,h3 {text-align:center; font-weight:normal;} + h2 {font-size:1.2em;} + h3 {font-size:1.0em;} + p.tp {font-size:1em; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:center;} + + .caption {font-size: 90%; text-align:center;} + .chsp {margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em;} + .figcenter {margin: 2em auto 2em auto; text-align: center; width: auto;} + .figtag {height: 1px;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + a {text-decoration: none;} + hr.tb {border: none; border-bottom:1px solid black; width: 33%; margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;} + hr.toprule {width: 65%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid silver; clear:both;} + p.cg {margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-align: left; width: 101%;} + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; clear: both;} + td.chalgn {text-align:right; margin-top:0; padding-right:1em;} +</style> + +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's When the West Was Young, by Frederick R. Bechdolt + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: When the West Was Young + +Author: Frederick R. Bechdolt + +Release Date: August 15, 2009 [EBook #29692] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHEN THE WEST WAS YOUNG *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<h1>WHEN THE WEST<br />WAS YOUNG</h1> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='figtag'> +<a name='linki_1' id='linki_1'></a> +</div> +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/illus-fpc.jpg' alt='' title='' width='359' height='533' /><br /> +<p class='caption'> +John Slaughter was gathering a great herd<br /> +</p> +</div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<pre> +WHEN THE WEST<br />WAS YOUNG + +BY + +FREDERICK R. BECHDOLT + +D. APPLETON-CENTURY COMPANY + +INCORPORATED + +NEW YORK LONDON + +1938 +</pre> +<hr class='pb' /> +<pre> +Copyright, 1922, by +<span class='smcap'>The Century Co.</span> + +All rights reserved. This book, or parts +thereof, must not be reproduced in any +form without permission of the publisher. +</pre> +<hr class='pb' /> +<pre> +<span class='smcap'>To My Father +Dr. A. F. BECHDOLT</span> +</pre> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p style='text-align:center;margin-top:1.5em;margin-bottom:1em;font-size:larger;'>ACKNOWLEDGMENT</p> +<p>The writer is indebted for the material in this book +to a goodly number of the old-timers, from whose lips +came much of which is written in the following pages, +and to numerous printed works which he consulted, +sometimes to authenticate data and sometimes to get +additional facts.</p> +<p>Among the former to whom he wishes to make acknowledgment +are: Former Sheriff John Ralphs, San +Bernardino, California; Captain Harry C. Wheeler, +Douglas, Arizona; A. M. Franklin, Tucson, Arizona; +Colonel William Breckenbridge, Tucson, Arizona; Dr. +D. T. MacDougal, Carnegie Institution; William Lutley, +Tombstone, Arizona; Judge Duncan, Tombstone, +Arizona; A. H. Gardner, Tombstone, Arizona; C. M. +Cummings, Tombstone, Arizona; Andy Smith, Tucson, +Arizona; Guy C. Welch, Tombstone, Arizona; Mr. and +Mrs. John Slaughter, Douglas, Arizona; James East, +Douglas, Arizona; Horace Stillman, Douglas, Arizona; +D. F. McCarthy, Lipscomb, Texas; and the Arizona +Pioneers’ Association.</p> +<p>Among the latter are old files of the “Tombstone +Epitaph” and other Arizona newspapers; Manley’s +“Death Valley in ’49”; Upton’s “Pioneers of Eldorado”; +Ridge’s “Life of Joaquin Murieta”; Dukes’ “Famous +Criminal Cases”; Farish’s “History of Arizona”; +McClintock’s “History of Arizona”; Hittel’s “History +of California”; Bancroft’s Works; Visscher’s “Pony +Express”; G. D. Bradley’s “Story of the Pony Express”; +“Overland Stage to California,” by F. A. Root +and W. E. Connely; Inman’s “Santa Fé Trail”; Humphreyville’s +“Twenty Years Among Our Hostile Indians”; +Richardson’s “Beyond the Mississippi”; +Bourke’s “On the Border With Crook”; J. Ross Brown’s +“Adventures in the Apache Country”; Charles Siringo’s +“History of Billy the Kid”; Bard’s “Life of +Billy Dixon, Scout and Plainsman”; Brown’s “History +of Texas.”</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<h3>CONTENTS</h3> +<table border='0' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='Contents' style='margin:1em auto;'> +<tr> + <td /> + <td valign='top' align='right'>PAGE</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>HOW DEATH VALLEY WAS NAMED</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#HOW_DEATH_VALLEY_WAS_NAMED'>3</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>JOAQUIN MURIETA</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#JOAQUIN_MURIETA'>25</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>TOMBSTONE</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#TOMBSTONE'>54</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>TOMBSTONE’S WILD OATS</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#TOMBSTONES_WILD_OATS'>80</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>THE SHOW-DOWN</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#THE_SHOWDOWN'>105</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>THE PASSING OF JOHN RINGO</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#THE_PASSING_OF_JOHN_RINGO'>132</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>JOHN SLAUGHTER’S WAY</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#JOHN_SLAUGHTERS_WAY'>160</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>COCHISE</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#COCHISE'>190</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>ONE AGAINST MANY</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#ONE_AGAINST_MANY'>218</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>THE OVERLAND MAIL</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#THE_OVERLAND_MAIL'>248</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>BOOT-HILL</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#BOOTHILL'>277</a></td> +</tr> +</table> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p style='text-align:center;margin-top:1.5em;margin-bottom:1em;font-size:1.6em;'>WHEN THE WEST<br />WAS YOUNG</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<a name='HOW_DEATH_VALLEY_WAS_NAMED' id='HOW_DEATH_VALLEY_WAS_NAMED'></a> +<h2>HOW DEATH VALLEY WAS NAMED</h2> +</div> +<p>There were three of us sitting on a pile of lumber +in a sun-baked little mining town down near +the Arizona border. One of my companions was the +sheriff of the county and the other was an old man with +snowy beard and sky-blue eyes whom every one called +“Mac.” To look at him was to behold a vision of the +past.</p> +<p>As we were whiling away the time with idle talk +something was said which aroused the spirit of reminiscence +within this survivor of the unfenced West. He +closed his jack-knife with a snap, threw away a pine +stick from which he had been peeling shavings, and +turning his sky-blue eyes on the sheriff, “I remember––” +he began.</p> +<p>After which he told of cheating Death in quicksand +fords, of day-long battles with naked Apaches in the +malapi, of fighting off bandits from the stage while the +driver kept the horses on a run up Dragoon Pass, of +grim old ranchmen stalking cattle-thieves by night, of +frontier sheriffs and desperadoes and a wilderness that +was more savage than the wild riders who sought sanctuary +within its arid solitudes. He did not talk for +more than forty-five minutes at the most and the words +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_4' name='page_4'></a>4</span> +came slowly from his lips, but when he had done my +head was spinning from more visions of bold men and +large deeds than it had held since the Christmas night +when I reeled off to bed after bolting a full half of the +“Boy’s Froissart.”</p> +<p>And after that old man had sauntered away in the +hot-white Arizona sunshine I thought of other grizzled +chroniclers to whom I had listened in other parts of the +West. Some of their tales came back to me, straightforward +simple stories of the days before the farmers, +barbed-wire fences, and branch railroad lines; and I +marveled at the richness of a lore whose plain unvarnished +narratives of fact stand out with values exceeding +those of most adventure fiction, more vivid and colorful +than the anecdotes of the Middle Ages which the +French chronicler set down for all the world to read.</p> +<p>Every State between the Mississippi and the Pacific +has its own stories of deeds that took place during an +era when even the lawbreakers attained a certain harsh +nobility, and when plain men must prove themselves +heroic if they would survive. The names of many +heroes in these tales have become like household words +all over the United States, and what they did in many +places is printed on the maps of school geographies; but +there is a vanished legion of those old-timers who are +remembered only in the immediate neighborhoods where +they lived swiftly and died hard. Emigrant and prospector, +pioneer and Indian chief, cow-boy and cattle-thief, +sheriff, stage-robber, and pony express rider––only +the old men can tell their stories now.</p> +<p>All of those men, whether they be famous or forgotten, +owned a common virtue which still survives among the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_5' name='page_5'></a>5</span> +people who came after them. That pioneer spirit which +makes the average American eager to try what no one +else has done is the common motive in the tales of their +exploits. It stands out strongly in this story which tells +how Death Valley got its name.</p> +<p>One evening early in November, 1849, a party of emigrants +was encamped near Mountain Meadows down in +southern Utah close to the Nevada line. It was a glorious +night of the intermountain autumn; the stars burned +large and yellow overhead. In their faint radiance the +white tops of more than one hundred prairie-schooners +gleamed at the base of the hillside which rose into the +west. Here and there one of the canvas covers glowed +incandescent from a candlelight within, where some +mother was tucking her children into their beds. Out +on the long slope the feeding oxen moved like shadows +through the sage-brush, and beyond them coyotes +shrieked incessantly.</p> +<p>Fairly in the middle of the camp a leaping flame +shone on the faces of a crowd of men. For the world-old +question of a short cut had arisen to divide opinions +in this company and they had gathered around +a large fire to try to settle the matter.</p> +<p>They were on their way to California and the placer +fields. In Salt Lake City they had learned that the +season was too far advanced to permit their crossing +the Sierras by the northern passes and they had organized +into what they called the Sand Walking Company, +with John Hunt, a bearded Mormon elder, as their +captain and their guide. He was to conduct them by a +trail, unmarked as yet by any wagon track, over which +some of his people had traveled to the old Spanish +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_6' name='page_6'></a>6</span> +grant recently acquired by their church at San Bernardino. +This route to the gold-fields followed the Colorado +watershed southward taking advantage of such +few streams as flowed into the basin, to turn northward +again at the pueblo of Los Angeles. Thus it +described a great loop nearly parallel with what is +now Nevada’s southern boundary.</p> +<p>But before the Sand Walking Company left Salt +Lake City a man named Williams drew a map for one +of its number showing what he claimed was a shorter +pathway to the Land of Gold. This Williams Short +Route, as it came to be called during many a heated +discussion, struck off straight into the west bearing to +the San Bernardino road the relation of a cord to its +arc; until it reached a snow-clad peak. This peak, +according to the map, was visible for many miles, a +clear landmark during-nearly half the journey. Reaching +it the trail turned sharply north to cross the range +by an easy pass and traverse a long rich valley to the +gold-fields. There were many legends of good feed +and water-holes on the drawing. The promise of time +saved was an important consideration, for all of the +company were getting impatient to reach the placer +diggings lest they be too late.</p> +<p>The trail forked near this place where they were encamped +to-night. John Hunt had halted the party here +for two days while scouts crossed the long divide to +the west and looked over the country beyond the +summit to see if wagons could travel that way. And +now his pathfinders were giving their reports. They +stood in the open space by the fire, three lean and sunburned +men dressed in semi-Indian costume with their +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_7' name='page_7'></a>7</span> +powder-horns slung from their shoulders and long +sheath-knives in their beaded belts. One after the other +they addressed the crowd and each gave it as his opinion +that the short cut was impractical. The country was +too rough, they said.</p> +<p>The murmur of many voices arose among the audience. +Most of the men there were nearing middle age +and doubt showed on the bearded faces of the great +majority; doubt and disappointment, for they were +eager to see their journey’s end and that Williams map +had aroused high hopes. Here and there a woman +stood beside her husband, listening anxiously to what +he said, watching his eyes as he harkened to the talk +of those about.</p> +<p>But there was one portion of the circle which stood +out in marked contrast to the rest. The men here were +for the most part in their early twenties; their faces +were serene, their eyes untroubled by any doubt; and +there were no women with them. While the others +stood weighed down by uncertainty, they lounged full +length on the ground basking in the heat of the flames, +or sat in groups on near-by wagon-tongues, laughing +and whispering jests among themselves. Several of +them were wearing bits of Indian finery, after the manner +of the guides, and this sprinkling of buckskin shirts, +fringed leggings, and beaded moccasins, together with +an occasional crop of thick hair that reached to a pair +of broad young shoulders, gave a dash of savage picturesqueness +to their section of the audience. They were a +company of bachelors from Illinois and called themselves +the Jayhawkers. Their end of the camp had been +the scene of wrestling matches and frolic every night +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_8' name='page_8'></a>8</span> +since the train had left Salt Lake City; and, as one +might expect, it was one of their number who had gotten +that map of the Williams Short Route. They were +unanimous in advocating it.</p> +<p>Now Ed Doty, their captain, stepped forward into +the open space by the fire. Fixing his bold young eyes +on John Hunt, whom he addressed rather than the +audience, “We haven’t found the country yet,” he +said, “that could stop us and we’re not afraid of that +over there.” He pointed out into the darkness where +the summit of the divide showed black against the +western sky. “We’re going to try the Williams Short +Route.”</p> +<p>Hunt nodded. “All right,” he answered quietly, +“and if the rest try it, I’m going through with you if +I have to pass through hell to reach the other end of +the trail. But if one wagon sticks to the San Bernardino +road I’ll stay with that wagon, for I passed +my word to take you that way.”</p> +<p>It was sometime near midnight when the crowd left +the fire, but the sun was barely up the next morning before +the wagons were lined out along the side hill. Far +ahead of them where the trail forked, John Hunt stood +waiting alone.</p> +<p>The white-topped prairie-schooners came on slowly +toward him from the northward through the sage; +the heads of the long-horned oxen swinging low from +side to side before their heavy wooden yokes. The first +span reached the solitary figure of the captain and +went straight on south; the wagon rumbled by and Hunt +knew by its passing that he must keep to the San Bernardino +trail.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_9' name='page_9'></a>9</span></div> +<p>But the second driver halted his team and leaned +out from his seat to take the hand which Hunt extended +him. “We’ll try the short route,” he said.</p> +<p>“Good-by,” the captain bade him; “good luck.” +The man called to his lead span; the great yokes +creaked and the front wheels whined against the wagon-box +as the animals swung the prairie-schooner to the +west.</p> +<p>And now wagon after wagon halted briefly while its +occupants exchanged a brief farewell with the bearded +man beside the road; then the outfit struck out straight +westward up the long steep slope; until, when Hunt +turned to rejoin his remnant of a following, three quarters +of its members had forsaken the Sand Walking Company.</p> +<p>The prairie-schooners of the seceders made a slender +white line in the wilderness of sage which reached on +before them, up and up. Beyond the crest which rose +gray-brown against the cloudless Indian summer sky, +the desert waited silent as Death itself.</p> +<p>They traveled for three days up that long steep slope +and when they reached the summit to look down upon +the other side they discovered that the Williams map +was worthless as a guide. Here, where it promised +easy going, a steep-walled cañon led down from the +north blocking their road. Beyond, a wilderness of +sandstone pinnacles and naked cliffs dropped away and +away to depths invisible.</p> +<p>Then most of the drivers turned back their oxen to +follow Captain Hunt and overtake him on the San +Bernardino trail by which he led his company in safety +to Los Angeles. But twenty-seven wagons remained +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_10' name='page_10'></a>10</span> +parked among the twisted junipers, their occupants +biding the return of scouts whom they had sent ahead +to seek a pass. Although the map had proved of no +value when it came to showing a road, they still believed +in the snow-clad peak which it had promised, somewhere +before them in the hidden west. They were +determined to find that landmark and strike out for it.</p> +<p>The scouts came back on the fourth day and reported +a pass far to the northward around the cañon head. +But before the prairie-schooners lined out on the ridge +to make the long detour, the unmarried owners of outfits +banded together in a company, advising those with families +to return to Captain Hunt. They did not care, they +said, to be responsible for the lives of women and children +in this unmapped wilderness. The advice was not +taken and the train set forth in two sections, twenty +wagons belonging to the Jayhawkers and their bachelor +companions and seven owned by men who traveled +with their wives and little ones.</p> +<p>The scouts had picked an easy route through rolling +hills where bunch-grass stood in thick clusters among +the tall gray sage; the oxen cropped the rich feed as +they went along. Clear streams ran noisily in most +of the ravines. The train passed the cañon head, and +one day, after considerable aimless wandering, it +turned westward to cross a succession of wide tablelands +where feed was good and water still plentiful.</p> +<p>The Indian summer season was at its height now, +clear balmy days and cloudless nights. Their progress +was steady for some time, uninterrupted by ill luck of +any kind. When they halted for the midday meal it +was like a great picnic in the soft warm sunshine, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_11' name='page_11'></a>11</span> +when evening came the Jayhawkers rollicked around +their fires or gathered where one of their number had +tuned up his fiddle. William Isham was his name, +a great bearded fellow who hailed originally from +Rochester, New York; he would sit by the hour on the +tongue of his wagon playing “Oh Susannah” and other +lively airs, or strike up a jig tune while Negro Joe, who +had fled from slavery in Mississippi, did a double shuffle +in the firelight. The children slipped away from their +mothers to set peeps at the fun from the edges of the +crowd or play hide and seek in the shadows of the sage-brush; +there were ten of these youngsters in all.</p> +<p>Many of these evenings would find a number of the +older men clustered around the wagon of Asahel Bennett, +an Iowa pioneer whose outfit included a young +hunter by the name of William Manley. For Manley +went ahead nearly every day to spy out the country +and these men were eager for tidings of the snow-clad +peak which lay before them hidden in the west.</p> +<p>Now gradually as they went onward the country +began to change; the sage-brush became more stunted, +the grass tufts sparser; the streams ran smaller and +smaller. Until there came a day when they traveled +from dawn until long after sunset before they encountered +any water; and this lay lukewarm in hollows of +the sandstone, accumulations from rains of long ago. +The earth was hard and dry and there were stretches +where there was no earth at all, only a rubble of sharp +rock fragments radiating heat-waves under the glaring +sun.</p> +<p>There was no rollicking about the camp-fires any +more. When evening came the men were weary from +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_12' name='page_12'></a>12</span> +hurrying their wagons over rugged ground or climbing +lofty buttes to look ahead for signs of water. Isham +the fiddler left his violin in its case; he never took it +from that case again. The oxen had grown gaunt from +lack of feed and drink; they wandered about the +night camps nibbling disdainfully at what growth there +was, low bitter sapless weeds.</p> +<p>The change in the country had come so imperceptibly +that they did not realize the presence of the desert +until they were confronted by an-appalling revelation +one afternoon.</p> +<p>All that day and all the day before the drivers had +been goading the failing oxen while they peered with +reddened eyes out on the glaring plain, from which +arose a series of isolated cone-shaped buttes. For the +water in the barrels was running very low and they +were always seeking some sign of stream or pool.</p> +<p>Then one of them uttered a loud cry and at that +shout the others saw, two miles or so off to the right +where the plain opened out between the cone-shaped +hills, a lake whose waters were bluer than any they had +ever looked upon. A little breeze was stirring its surface, +and on the further bank there were some trees +whose branches were moving as if perhaps the wind +were stronger over there.</p> +<p>Now every driver lashed his oxen to a lumbering +run, and the women lifted the canvas tops of the prairie-schooners +to show their children the pretty lake. The +whole train turned away from its course and went +rumbling across the plain, one mile, then a second; and +another followed before they found themselves in the +midst of a glaring expanse of snow-white alkali, baked +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_13' name='page_13'></a>13</span> +by the sun to rock-like hardness. The vision of blue +waters had vanished with the suddenness of a dream +which ceases on the instant of awakening.</p> +<p>The mothers lowered the canvas wagon-covers and +soothed their crying children, and the drivers turned +the oxen back toward the trail which they had forsaken +for the lure of the mirage. There was no word +of grief among the men, no outcry of despair; but the +shoulders of some were sagging when they made their +dry camp that night, and there was a new hardness +in the eyes of all of them. For they had looked upon +the desert and they knew it for what it was.</p> +<p>As they were sitting about their little fires a man +came staggering among them out of the darkness. It +was Manley, the young hunter of the Bennett outfit, +who had been away for two days on one of his reconnoitering +expeditions. They gathered around him in silence +but he read the question in their eyes and shook +his head.</p> +<p>“No water,” he answered, “nor sign, of it, but I have +seen a snow mountain straight west of us.”</p> +<p>He told them how he had lain out on the summit of +a high butte the night before until dawn came revealing +a dead world. Dark ragged mountains of volcanic +rock lay to the north, and to the south a tangle of naked +ridges whose sides were discolored as though by fire. +Between these scorched ranges a plain stretched for a +good one hundred miles into the west, as level as a floor +and gleaming white. Beyond that plain a low chain +of mountains rose, as black as ink, and behind this +gloomy range he saw a snow-clad peak that glistened in +the morning sun.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_14' name='page_14'></a>14</span></div> +<p>They talked the situation over; all of them were convinced +that Manley had found the peak described by +the Williams map, and now they argued for different +routes. Of the four points of the compass there was +only one which lacked an advocate. For, while some +urged a northward circuit and others believed there +would be greater safety to the south and many were +determined to push straight on west across the gleaming +plain of alkali, there was not one word said of turning +back into the east.</p> +<p>Survivors tell how some of the women wept under +the covers of the prairie-schooners that night, but none +of those mothers raised her voice in favor of retreat. +They were pioneers, these people, and it seemed as if +they did not know how to turn back.</p> +<p>None can ever set the fulness of their story down +in words; for the Amargossa Desert has a wicked beauty +which is beyond the telling, and one must journey out +beyond the black escarpments of the Funeral Mountains +and fight for his life in the silent reaches of that +broken wilderness if he would begin to realize what +they went through.</p> +<p>They made their last camp together at a brackish +water-hole near the edge of the plain which Manley had +described. Beyond it they could see the snow-clad +peak. They repeated to one another the legends on +the Williams map, its promise of a pass close by that +summit and of a fertile valley leading to the gold-fields +in the north. If they could only reach the mountain, +they agreed their hardships would be over, their +journey as good as ended.</p> +<p>They separated here to set forth by two different +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_15' name='page_15'></a>15</span> +routes. The Jayhawkers struck straight out across the +flat, while the little company of families kept to a more +roundabout course in the south, hoping to find water +in the mountains there. From this time on, although +their trails converged and crossed, the wagons never +united in one train again.</p> +<p>In that silent land where the skeletons of dead +mountain ranges lie strewn among the graves of seas +that died in ages past, they held their eyes on the one +sign of life that rose into the clear sky beyond, the +peak whose promise kept them moving on into the west.</p> +<p>Days passed and the smaller party found no water in +any of the cañons which came down to them from the +south. They used the last drops from their casks; and +now they could not eat for thirst, they could not sleep. +The children wailed for drink until their voices died +away to dry whisperings, and when the mothers strove +to comfort them they found their arid tongues had lost +the power of shaping any words.</p> +<p>At last Mauley, the young hunter with the Bennett +wagons, discovered a warm spring near a cañon head, +but the oxen lay down in their traces on their way up +the gorge and the men were obliged to bring water down +to them in buckets before they could get the unhappy +brutes to rise. They filled the barrels with the tepid +fluid and goaded the teams on, seeking some sign of a +pass in the low black range which lay between them and +the snow peak. If there were only an opening, it +seemed as if they might win through.</p> +<p>Meantime the Jayhawkers were pressing hard across +the gleaming plain. The surface of that plain was +white as snow, as level as a floor. It was so hard that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_16' name='page_16'></a>16</span> +the wheels left no track on it; no shrub grew from it, +only a low bitter weed that crumbled to a gray powder +at the slightest touch. The oxen plodded along with +their heads hung so low that their muzzles almost swept +the ground; they stood about the camp at night, emaciated +beyond belief, swaying from weakness, grating +their teeth as they moved their jaws with a pathetic +instinct of rumination. Five days passed and on the +night of the fifth, when these young fellows knew they +could not live another twenty-four hours without water, +a light cloud came between them and the stars. They +felt the cool touch of snowflakes on their faces and they +spread their blankets to gather what they could while +the oxen licked the moisture from the earth. The next +morning the sun shone hot again upon the plain against +whose vast expanse the wagons showed, a little line of +dots creeping slowly toward the white-topped mountain +in the west.</p> +<p>At Ash Meadows where the bitter waters of the Amargossa +River rise from their hidden depths to flow for a +few hundred yards between gray hills of shifting sand, +the trails of the two parties converged. By the time +they reached this dismal oasis they were killing their +oxen for such shreds of meat as they could strip from +the bones; but as every wagon left the place, climbing +the divide beyond, the occupants forgot their sufferings +and talked of the desert as something which they had +left behind. For Furnace Creek Cañon lay ahead of +them, a rift in the black range which rose between them +and the snow-clad peak.</p> +<p>The Jayhawkers were now in the lead. They went +down the gorge whose black walls seemed to shut out +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_17' name='page_17'></a>17</span> +the sky in places, and on Christmas morning, 1849, they +emerged from its mouth to see the great peak just ahead +of them.</p> +<p>But, as they looked up at the mountain toward which +they had been striving for so many weary days, they +discovered that its sides were verdureless, bare of any +earth, so steep no man could climb them. And there +was no pass.</p> +<p>They had descended into the pitfall at its lowest +depths. Here where they first saw the place, more than +two hundred feet below the level of the sea, great beds +of rock salt covered its floor worn by the wind into a +myriad of pinnacles, as high as a man’s waist, sharp as +knives and coated with brown dust. In the center of +this weird forest a level sheet of white salt lay glistening +in the sun. Northward the deposit stretched +away to dunes of shifting sand, and in the south long +mud flats lay, covered with traceries of sun cracks as +far as the eye could reach. The eastern mountains +came straight down in cliffs as black as ink. Eight +miles away the western mountains rose in a sheer wall +surmounted by Telescope Peak, whose snow-clad crest +towered eleven thousand feet above the heads of the +men whom it had lured here. There was no sound of +any life, no track of any animal. No bird––not even a +buzzard––flew overhead. The very air was a desert like +the burning earth.</p> +<p>Now, even as they came down out of Furnace Creek +Cañon into this trap, they began their efforts to escape +from it.</p> +<p>The Bennett party crossed the sink through the forest +of rock-salt pinnacles and headed southward along +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_18' name='page_18'></a>18</span> +a strip of loose sand which lay between the mud flat and +the mountains. They believed the range might yet show +a rift at this end which their wagons could traverse. +But the Jayhawkers turned to the north, seeking some +outlet through the Panamints at that end of the range. +One family followed them. J. W Brier, a minister from +a little frontier community in the Middle West, left the +other section with his wife and three children in the +hope that the young men might find a route to safety.</p> +<p>Sometimes to this day the winds, moving the dunes of +white sand in the valley’s northern arm––a task which +they are always at from year’s end to year’s end––uncover +the fragments of wagons, and prospectors come +upon a tire or spoke or portion of a sun-dried axle. +Then they know that they are at the place where the +Jayhawkers abandoned their prairie-schooners.</p> +<p>They killed some of their oxen at this point and +divided the meat––there was so little of it that although +the men were now very weak two of them were able to +carry the beef from an animal. Then they started out +on foot across the sand dunes toward the Panamints. +Most of them still believed that feed and water lay just +beyond those heights.</p> +<p>And now, while they were straggling along through +the loose sand in single file, one of their number, a man +named Fish, was seen to throw his hands above his head +and pitch forward on his face. Those who were behind +came upon him lying with arms outspread, dead.</p> +<p>The next afternoon as they were climbing toward the +head of a steep cañon in the range, several of the foremost +ones found a little spring among the rocks. While +they were resting here they saw a man far below them. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_19' name='page_19'></a>19</span> +He was crawling toward them on his hands and knees. +One of the party filled his canteen and hurried down +to meet him; but when he arrived, the other was gasping +his last in the bottom of the sun-baked gorge. It +was Captain Culverwell, a skipper who had forsaken +the deep sea and its ships to make this journey with +them in the hope of finding gold.</p> +<p>That evening the strongest of their number reached +the summit of the Panamints and looked down the +western side where they had thought to find that fertile +valley which the Williams map had promised leading +to the north. They saw dead mountain ranges and +dried lake floors like those through which they had +been traveling for months. The Mohave Desert lay +in front of them.</p> +<p>When they were crossing those arid reaches William +Isham, who had fiddled so blithely for them every +evening in the Utah hills, sank down beside the trail; +and the others passed him with empty canteens, unable +to give him any help. Some of the stragglers buried +his body a few days later on.</p> +<p>During the next day or two a Frenchman, whose +name none of the survivors remember, went insane +from thirst and wandered off into the sand-hills. No +one ever saw him afterward.</p> +<p>So one after another of their number lay down and +died or went mad and ran off toward some of the +mirages which were perpetually torturing all of them +with visions of cool lakes, until thirteen had perished. +The others struggled on and on into the southwest; for +they knew that Los Angeles lay somewhere in that +direction and it offered them their only hope.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_20' name='page_20'></a>20</span></div> +<p>Meantime the Bennett party went southward along the +western edge of the sink where the sands lie as loose +and fine as ashes between the mud flats and the mountains, +until they found a little spring with a few +patches of coarse grass among the mesquite thickets +which surrounded it. From this point they tried escape +by one route and then another, only to reach a blind +wall in each case and retrace their steps to the water-hole.</p> +<p>In later years the mule-drivers of the borax company +enlarged the well which Asahel Bennett and J. B. +Arcane dug here in the sand. Otherwise the place +remains unchanged, a patch of mesquite in a burning +plain where heat devils dance all day long from year’s +end to year’s end. The plain reaches on and on between +black mountain walls, and even the mirage which +springs from its surface under that hot sun throws +off the guise of a cool lake almost on the moment of its +assumption to become a repellant specter that leaps and +twists like a flame. The Paiute Indians called the spot +Tomesha, which means “Ground Afire.”</p> +<p>The party held a council when they had retreated +here after the last unsuccessful attempt to escape. +It was clear that they could not take the women and +children out of the sink unless some one got food for +the journey and found a route between water-holes. +They appointed Manley, the young hunter, and an +ox-driver named John Rogers for the venture, and +the pair set out across the Panamints just north +of Telescope Peak with the beef from an ox in their +knapsacks, while the others sat down to await their +return––or death.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_21' name='page_21'></a>21</span></div> +<p>There were two wagon outfits of unmarried men +among them; they had forsaken the Jayhawkers +at about the time the Brier family joined that section. +When several days had passed these bachelors departed +to seek the trail of their former companions in the +valley’s north arm. They said that the chances were +ten to one that Manley and Rogers would never get +through alive, and if they did they would be fools +to attempt coming back. The others watched the two +prairie-schooners crawling off into the gray plain until +a mirage engulfed them and lifted them distorted into +the blazing sky.</p> +<p>And now the families faced the question which these +men had left with them. Would Manley and Rogers get +through? They did not know what hazards lay beyond +those mountains to the west, but none of them +had the Jayhawkers’ faith in a fertile valley leading +to the north. As it turned out Mount Whitney was +the snow-clad peak to which the faulty Williams map +referred and the valley was the Owens Lake country, +many a weary mile from this sink.</p> +<p>If the pair did survive the desert, would they be +men enough to face it for the second time? The +marooned ones could only hope. That hope had become +an abiding faith in Bennett’s wife. She had +given the two young fellows a double handful of rice––half +her store of grain––on the morning of their departure, +and pointed mutely to her children as she +placed the little bag in Manley’s hand. “They will +come back,” she told the others many times.</p> +<p>The food was running low; the few remaining oxen +could not last them long. There was a dog with the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_22' name='page_22'></a>22</span> +Bennett wagons; he had followed them all the way +from Iowa; and in this time of dire extremity some +talked of killing him. But even in his starved condition +he was able to wag his tail when the children +came near him; sometimes he comforted them by his +presence when their mothers could not. The men had +not the heart to do away with him.</p> +<p>Hope lingered within those people like the breath +in an old man who is dying hard. Rogers and Manley +had gone northward on the burning plain to reach a +ridge which mounted toward the Panamints. Now +as the days dragged by to weary weeks, the men and +women always gazed into the north where nothing +lived except the hatred for the sun. But no man came, +and when the weeks had grown beyond a month, they +knew the time was here when they must make one +last attempt to save themselves. They yoked up the +oxen and set out into the south toward a spot where +Bennett had discovered what looked like a gap in the +mountains. Three days later they returned, half dead +from thirst, and unhitched the staggering animals by +the well.</p> +<p>There remained one shadow of a chance, as ephemeral +as the mirage which came before them with the mounting +of each morning’s sun. They stripped the tops +from the prairie-schooners and began to make pack-saddles +from them with the idea of abandoning the +vehicles and following the trail of the Jayhawkers.</p> +<p>At midday they were sitting under the wagons for +what shade they gave, working at this task. They +knew it was a futile proceeding; the time had long +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_23' name='page_23'></a>23</span> +since gone when they had enough provisions to last +them through that long northern route. But they +were not the sort of people who can sit down and die. +If they must perish it would be while they were still +fighting. No one spoke. The silence of the dead land +had crept over them.</p> +<p>That silence was broken by a shot. Unbelieving, +they crept forth and saw three figures moving toward +them from the north. Manley and Rogers were hurring +across the flat leading a laden mule.</p> +<p>While the others ate from the store in the pack-sacks, +the two young fellows told of their journey +two hundred and fifty miles across the Mohave Desert; +of the dead of the Jayhawker party whom they had +found beside the trail; of the survivors whom they +passed shortly before reaching a ranch near the head +of the San Fernando valley where the little town of +Newhall stands to-day; of great arid mountain ranges +and shimmering floors of dried lakes; and of the long +torture between water-holes. At the Newhall ranch a +man named French had given them the mule and the +provisions. With this food supply they believed the +women and children stood a chance of getting through.</p> +<p>They slung the sacks of canvas on the gaunt oxen +and placed the children in them; then they set out +on their long climb up the Panamints.</p> +<p>Before they left the summit of the divide to go +downhill into the west, they halted for one last look +back. And as they stood there among the rocks gazing +down into the sink which lay thousands of feet below +them walled in by the mountains on both sides, one +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_24' name='page_24'></a>24</span> +of the mothers lifted her arm in a gesture of farewell.</p> +<p>“Good-bye, Death Valley!” she cried.</p> +<p>That is the way the place was named.</p> +<p>They turned their backs on it and descended the +long western slope. The dog, which they had taken +with them all this distance, limped along behind the +little train. The mule went on before. And in Los +Angeles, where they joined the other survivors of the +company weeks later and told the people of the pueblo +of their sufferings, they called the sink Death Valley +when they spoke of it.</p> +<p>Later, when they had gone into the north––for all of +them pressed on as soon as they were able to travel +again––they separated, seeking their fortunes in the +mines. Years passed and occasionally some of them +met again. At such times, or when they told others of +the pitfall into which they descended striving toward +the snow peak, they always used the name Death Valley. +And so it has come down to us to-day.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_25' name='page_25'></a>25</span> +<a name='JOAQUIN_MURIETA' id='JOAQUIN_MURIETA'></a> +<h2>JOAQUIN MURIETA</h2> +</div> +<p>In the days of ’49 when Murphy’s Diggings was as +lively a little placer camp as one could find in a +long ride through the red foot-hills of the Sierras, a +young Mexican monte-dealer disappeared. He was a +handsome fellow, lighter of complexion than most of +his countrymen, owned a sunny smile and spoke English +fluently, all of which things made him a favorite among +the American customers and consequently an asset +to the house. So when dusk came and the booted +miners began drifting into the long canvas-roofed +hall, the proprietor scanned the crowd for him with +some anxiety.</p> +<p>But the proprietor might as well have saved himself +the trouble of that search; the monte-dealer had +forsaken his table for a different sort of job.</p> +<p>Just at this time he was on the hill beyond the upper +end of the camp kneeling beside an open grave; and in +his clasped hands, uplifted high above his head, he held +a naked bowie-knife. Some light still lingered here +among the stiff-branched digger-pines, a faint reflection +of the sunset far beyond the flat lands of the San +Joaquin valley. It shone upon his face revealing a +multitude of lines, so deeply scored, so terrible in their +proclamation of deadly hate, that the sight of them +would have startled the most case-hardened member of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_26' name='page_26'></a>26</span> +the crowds down there where the candles were twinkling +in the humming camp.</p> +<p>The waning light which sifted through the long +plumed tassels of the digger-pines showed a little group +of Mexicans standing at some distance listening in +frightened silence to what he was saying. He spoke to +the dead man in the open grave; and when events that +followed brought the words back to their minds some of +these auditors repeated the vow he made: to color that +knife-blade and his hands bright red with the blood of +twenty men of Murphy’s Diggings; and after that to +devote his life to killing Americans.</p> +<p>This was the monte-dealer’s new job, and in order to +understand how he came to undertake such a piece of +work it is necessary to go back a little.</p> +<p>He was only nineteen, but life had been moving so +swiftly with him that the beginning of these events +finds him in that year overseer of his father’s great +rancho down in Sonora, a Mexican of the better class, +well educated as education went in those days, a good +dancer as every girl in the section could bear witness, +pleasure-loving, easy-going, and able to play the guitar +very prettily. Sometimes––and more often as the +weeks went by––he played and sang at the home of +Reyes Feliz, a packer in his father’s employ; and +Rosita, the packer’s daughter, liked his music well +enough to encourage his visits.</p> +<p>Class counted then, as it does to this day in Mexico, +and parents liked to have a hand in marriages. But +Reyes Feliz was away from home a great deal with his +train of mules, the landholder was busy at his own +affairs; the girl was a beauty and the landholder’s son +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_27' name='page_27'></a>27</span> +had a winsome way with him. So one night Rosita took +the horse which he brought for her and rode off with +him to California.</p> +<p>They made their journey with their mounts and a +single pack animal across the hot plains and arid +mountains of the south, then up the long King’s Highway +which the padres had beaten down nearly one +hundred years before their time. It was winter and +California winter means Eastern spring; green grass +rippling in the soft breezes, poppy-fields and a rioting +of meadow-larks to make their honeymoon ideal. They +rode on northward into the Santa Clara valley where a +gleaming mist of mustard blossoms hung under the +great live oaks as far as the eye could reach; then they +struck off eastward across the Coast Range and the flat +lands of the San Joaquin, to climb into the red foot-hills +where the Stanislaus comes out from the Sierras. +Here they settled down and took a mining claim.</p> +<p>The feeling engendered by the Mexican War still +rankled in many neighborhoods; and every mining +camp had its lawless element whose members took full +advantage of that prejudice against the conquered race. +The claim proved rich enough to tempt some ne’er-do-wells. +They gathered a crowd of their own breed and +the mob came to the young pair’s cabin one evening +with the purpose of jumping the property. When the +owner made a show of resistance they bound him hand +and foot, after which they subjected the girl to such +abuses as will not bear the telling. She pleaded with +her lover when the crowd had gone and managed to +induce him to leave the place without attempting vengeance. +They went to Columbia and within the month +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_28' name='page_28'></a>28</span> +were driven out by another anti-Mexican mob. Their +next move took them to Murphy’s Diggings, where the +boy got his job at dealing monte and was doing very +well––until this evening came, and with it, tragedy.</p> +<p>He had been visiting his brother, who had come to +California and settled near Murphy’s; and the latter +had lent him a horse to ride home. As he was nearing +the upper end of the camp a group of miners stepped +out into the road before him and halted him. The horse +had been stolen from one of their number and they +were searching for it at the time.</p> +<p>They listened to his explanations and went with him +to his brother who told them how he had bought the +animal in good faith from a stranger. Whereat they +seized the narrator, bound him, and hanged him to the +nearest live-oak tree; then stripped the monte-dealer to +the waist, tied him to the same tree, and flogged him +until the blood ran down his bare back. After which +they departed, satisfied that they had done their share to +bring about law and order in a neighborhood where thefts +were becoming altogether too frequent. But some of +them mentioned in Murphy’s Diggings––during the +brief space of time while they had the opportunity––the +strange expression which came over their victim’s +face while the lash was being applied. Each of these +men spoke of the look as having been directed at himself. +Had they been members of one of the dark-skinned +races, to whom the vendetta is peculiarly an +institution, they would have understood the purport of +that look.</p> +<p>But none of them understood and the monte-dealer +was left to keep his promise to his dead brother. He +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_29' name='page_29'></a>29</span> +turned his back upon the grave and went about the fulfilment +of that vow as ambitious men go about the +making of careers; and in the days that followed, while +his swarthy company was sweeping through California +like fire on a chaparral hillside when the wind is high, +he gained a dark fame, so lasting that there is hardly +an old settled community from Mount Shasta to the +Mexican line which has not some tale of the bandit, +Joaquin Murieta.</p> +<p>Sometimes during the weeks after the lynching a +miner on his way to the gambling-houses after supper +got a glimpse of Joaquin Murieta in the outskirts of +Murphy’s Diggings, as he glided among the tents +cloaked to his eyes in his serape. Occasionally a late +reveler, returning to his cabin in the darkness, was +startled by the sight of his figure beside the road, as +black and silent as the night itself; or was chilled to +dead sobriety by the vision of that drawn face confronting +him on a narrow trail. And in the chilly mornings +men going to their work came on the bodies of his +victims in the soft red dust of path or wagon-track, +or stumbled over them in the chaparral.</p> +<p>And now fear began to seize the survivors of that +lynching party. By the time its twenty members had +dwindled to something like a dozen, the succession of +spectacles afforded by the companions whom they had +been summoned to identify was getting on the stoutest +nerves; the dullest imaginations were working +feverishly. Some found friends to act as body-guards; +others moved away to try their fortunes in new camps; +but the body-guards could not be on duty all the time +and the departing ones in most instances made the mistake +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_30' name='page_30'></a>30</span> +of confiding their intentions to acquaintances. All +authorities agree that Joaquin Murieta managed to kill +at least fifteen––and possibly two or three more––of the +score whose faces he had so carefully imprinted on his +memory while the lash was biting into his bare back.</p> +<p>When he had finished with the work which the first +part of his vow demanded, he rode away from Murphy’s +with Rosita and set about the task of gathering a band +that he might be able to carry out the second half.</p> +<p>There were plenty of cutthroats in California during +that spring of 1850, and no lack of Mexicans among +them. Several swarthy leaders of banditti were then +operating throughout the State. One of these was +Manuel Garcia, better known as Three-Fingered Jack, +who had been ranging over the Sonoma valley for +several years, occasionally varying the monotony of +murder by tying a victim to a tree and flaying him alive. +Joaquin Valenzuela was another, a middle-aged outlaw +who had learned the finer arts of bushwhacking down in +Mexico under Padre Jurata, the famous guerrilla chief. +There were also Claudio, a lean and seasoned robber +from the mountains of Sonora, adept in disguises, skilful +as a spy, able to mingle with the crowd in any plaza +unrecognized by men who had known him for years; +and Pedro Gonzales, a specialist at horse-stealing, who +had driven off whole bands under the very noses of +armed herders.</p> +<p>Every one of these leaders had his own ugly gang of +riders and his own ill fame long before young Joaquin +Murieta ceased dealing monte; and every one was +getting rich pickings from pack trains, stage-coaches, +valley ranches, and miners’ cabins. Yet within six +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_31' name='page_31'></a>31</span> +months they all turned over their bands and became +lieutenants of the nineteen-year-old boy. That list of +victims at Murphy’s Diggings, his superior breeding, +and his finer intelligence gave him high standing from +the beginning, but his greatest asset was the purpose +which had driven him forth among them. They had +robbed and killed and fled with the aimlessness of common +murderers, but here was one with a definite plan, +to leave the whole State a smoking shambles. They +submitted their lives and fortunes to the possessor of +this appealing idea.</p> +<p>During the first year, while organization was being +perfected, Joaquin Murieta traveled through northern +California with Rosita gathering recruits, establishing +alliances among disaffected Mexicans, and spying out +new fields for plunder. Gradually, as he accomplished +these things, the bands under his different lieutenants +began to rob and plunder more systematically, and the +scene of their operations shifted with bewildering +rapidity. To-day a number of travelers were dragged +from their horses by the reatas of swarthy ambuscaders +in the Tuolomne County foot-hills and to-morrow +a rancher down in the valley found the bodies of his +murdered herders to mark the beginning of the trail +left by his stolen cattle. As the months went by suspicion +that these different bands were working under +one leader grew to certainty among the longer-headed +officers. Then the name of Joaquin Murieta began to be +spoken as that of the mysterious chief. He was quick +to confirm the rumors of his leadership, and before the +spring of 1851 was over he managed by grimly +spectacular methods to let more than one community +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_32' name='page_32'></a>32</span> +know that he was responsible for some outrage which +had startled its inhabitants.</p> +<p>That was the case in San José. A number of the +robbers had swooped down into the Santa Clara valley +and their chief was living with Rosita in the outskirts +of the town, directing their raids, giving them such +information regarding travelers and plunder as he was +able to pick up by mixing with the crowds in the +gambling-houses. A deputy sheriff by the name of +Clark captured two of the marauders red-handed, and +Murieta determined to make such an example of him +as would put fear into the hearts of other officers.</p> +<p>In those days the fandango was a popular function in +San José, which still retained all the characteristics of +a Mexican pueblo, and there was not a night without +the strumming of guitars and the lively stepping of the +dancers in some public hall. Murieta went to one of +these fandangos and, by arrangement with confederates, +brought it about that Clark came to the place searching +for a criminal.</p> +<p>The dancing was in full swing when the deputy +entered; scores of lithe dark men and their black-eyed +partners were whirling in the fervid Spanish waltz; +but as he crossed the threshold a discordant note arose: +disturbance broke out in a corner of the hall; a woman +screamed; a knife-blade flashed. Clark shoved his way +through the crowd and reached the fight in time to disarm +a good-looking young Mexican who was flourishing +the weapon; placed him under arrest and took him away +to the nearest justice of the peace, who passed sentence +of twelve dollars’ fine.</p> +<p>“I have not the money on me,” the prisoner said, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_33' name='page_33'></a>33</span> +“but if this officer will go with me to my house I can get +it there.” It was an easy-going period and such small +matters as pulling a knife were of frequent occurrence. +The deputy consented to the request and the pair went +forth together from the lighted streets to the fringes of +the town. They were talking pleasantly enough when +they came to a dark place where willow thickets lined +the road on either side.</p> +<p>Here the prisoner halted abruptly. “I am Joaquin +Murieta,” he announced, “and I brought you here to +kill you.” Upon which he stabbed Clark to the heart.</p> +<p>All this was told the next day in the streets of San +José, but where the information came from no one knew. +Murieta’s custom of sending out such tidings through +confederates was not so well understood then as it came +to be later.</p> +<p>From San José Murieta went northward into the +Sacramento valley and took quarters with Rosita in +Sonorian Camp, a Mexican settlement near Marysville. +About twenty cutthroats under Valenzuela and Three-Fingered +Jack began working in the neighborhood. +The ambush was their favorite method––three or four +in a party and one of the number ready with his reata. +When this one had cast the noose of rawhide rope over +the neck of some passing traveler and dragged him from +the saddle into the brush the others killed the victim at +their leisure. The number of the murders grew so +appalling that Sheriff R. B. Buchanan devoted all his +time to hunting down the criminals. Finally he got +word of the rendezvous in Sonorian Camp and took +a small posse to capture the leaders.</p> +<p>But the news of the sheriff’s expedition had preceded +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_34' name='page_34'></a>34</span> +him, and when they had crept upon the tent houses in +the dark, as silent as Indians, the members of the posse +found themselves encircled by unseen enemies whose +pistols streaked the gloom with thin bright orange +flashes. While the others were fighting their way out +of the ambush Sheriff Buchanan emptied his own +weapon in a duel with one of the robbers, and collapsed +badly wounded in several places. Weeks later, during +his recovery, Joaquin Murieta sent the sheriff word that +he was the man who had shot him down.</p> +<p>Northward the band rode now from Marysville until +they reached the forest wilderness near Mount Shasta, +where they spent the most of the winter stealing horses. +Before spring they went south again, traveling for the +most part by night, and drove their stolen stock into +the State of Sonora. Their loot disposed of and a permanent +market established down across the line, Murieta +led them back into California to begin operations on a +more ambitious scale. He planned to steal two thousand +horses and plunder the mining camps of enough gold-dust +to equip at least two thousand riders who should +sweep the State in such a raid as the world had not +known since the Middle Ages.</p> +<p>In April––almost two years to a day after the monte-dealer +had left his job at Murphy’s Diggings––six +Mexicans came riding into the town of Mokelumne Hill, +which lies on a bench-land above the river. A somewhat +dandified sextet in scrapes of the finest broadcloth +and with a wealth of silver on the trappings +of their dancing horses, they passed up the main street +into the outskirts where their countrymen had a neighborhood +to themselves.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_35' name='page_35'></a>35</span></div> +<p>Here they took quarters in those tent-roofed cottages +which were so common in the old mining camps, and +now three of them appeared in their proper garb, well-gowned +young housewives and discreet to a degree +which must have exasperated those of their neighbors +inclined to gossip. For these ladies had nothing +to say concerning whence they had come or the business +of their husbands. Two of those husbands were now +spending much of their time in other camps and came +home but seldom to pay brief visits to their wives. +The third stayed here in Mokelumne Hill.</p> +<p>The days went by; the pack-trains jingled down out +of the hills; the processions of heavy wagons lumbered +up from the San Joaquin valley enwrapped in clouds +of red dust; an endless stream of men flowed into the +town on its bench-land above the cañon where the river +brawled. Men from all the world, they came and went, +and the milling crowds absorbed those who lingered, nor +heeded who they were. Gold was plentiful, and while +the yellow dust was passing from hand to hand life +moved so swiftly that no one had time to think of his +neighbor’s business. The good-looking young Mexican +was as a drop of water in a rapid stream.</p> +<p>When dusk crept up out of the cañon and the candles +filled the gambling-houses with floods of mellow +radiance he mingled with the crowds. He drank with +those who asked him and talked with those who cared to +pass a word with him; talked about the output of the +near-by gulches, the necessity of armed guards for the +wagons and pack-trains, or the chances of capturing +Joaquin Murieta. In spite of his good looks and expensive +clothes he was about as unobtrusive as a Mexican +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_36' name='page_36'></a>36</span> +could be, which is saying a good deal at the period.</p> +<p>One April evening he was sitting at a monte-game. +The gambling-hall was filled with raw-boned packers +from the hills, dust-stained teamsters from the valley +towns, miners from the diggings, and a riffraff of adventurers +from no one knew––or cared––where. It was +a booted crowd with a goodly sprinkling of red shirts to +give it color, and weapons in evidence on every side. +Here walked one with a brace of long-barreled muzzle-loading +pistols in his belt, and there another with the +handle of a bowie-knife protruding from his boot-top; +and every one of those frock-coated dealers at the tables +had a Derringer or two stowed away on that portion of +his person which he deemed most accessible. The bartender +kept a double-barreled shotgun under the +counter across which the drinks were being served.</p> +<p>In the midst of this animated arsenal the dark-eyed +young Mexican dandy sat placing his bets while the +dealer turned the cards and luck came, after luck’s +fashion, where it pleased. As he played, a group of +miners just behind him began arguing about the bandit +whose name was now famous all the way from Mount +Shasta to the Mexican line. One of them, a strapping +fellow with a brace of pistols at his waist, became impatient +at something which another had said concerning +the robber’s apparent invulnerability and raised his voice +in the heat of his rejoinder.</p> +<p>“Joaquin Murieta!” he cried. “Say! I’d just like +to see that fellow once and I’d shoot him down as if he +was a rattlesnake.”</p> +<p>A noise behind him made him turn his head, and +now, like all the others in that room, he stared at the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_37' name='page_37'></a>37</span> +dandified young Mexican-who had leaped to the top of +the monte-table and was standing there among the litter +of cards and gold. His broadcloth serape was thrown +back; his two hands moved swiftly to his belt and came +away gripping a pair of pistols.</p> +<p>“I am Joaquin Murieta,” he shouted so loudly that +his voice carried the length of the hall. “Now shoot!”</p> +<p>A moment passed; he stood there with his head thrown +back, his dark eyes sweeping the crowd, but no man on +the floor so much as moved a hand. Then laughing he +sprang down and walked slowly among them to the +front door. They fell away before him as he came and +he vanished in the shadows of the narrow street before +one of them sought to follow him.</p> +<p>The others of the sextet were waiting for him when +he reached the Mexican quarter; their horses were saddled; +and at a word from him they mounted. For he +and his two lieutenants had finished their work; they +knew all they cared to know about the gold trains and the +caches of the miners, and this was to have been their +last evening in camp. With their gathered information +they rode southward to Arroyo Cantoova, in the foot-hills +of the Coast Range at the western edge of the +upper San Joaquin valley. This was the band’s new +headquarters.</p> +<p>They remained here for some days resting before the +next raid. Gold was plentiful among them; the leaders +dressed with the splendor of noblemen; not one of +those leaders––save Three-Fingered Jack––but had his +mistress beside him decked out like a Spanish lady; nor +one but rode a clean-limbed thoroughbred. When the +hills were turning brown with summer’s beginning +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_38' name='page_38'></a>38</span> +young Murieta led them out across the range and southward +to the country around Los Angeles.</p> +<p>Success had made him so serene that during the journey +he sometimes forgot his grim vow of shedding +blood and showed mercy to a victim who had no great +store of gold. More than once Rosita induced him to +spare the lives of prisoners; and if his career had ended +at this time his name would have come down surrounded +by legends of magnanimity. But as he went on now +that large plan of bloodshed became more of a power +in his life. And as it grew to master him he saw Rosita +less; he sought more frequently the companionship of +Three-Fingered Jack, who killed for killing’s sake alone. +During the last two years he had often slipped away +from his followers and stolen into the church of some +near-by town, to recite the dark catalogue of his sins +in the curtained confessional; but no priest heard him +tell his misdeeds from this time on.</p> +<p>In the north end of Los Angeles, where the old plaza +church fronts the little square of green turf and cabbage-palms, +you can still find a few of the one-story +adobe buildings which lined the streets on the July +afternoon when Joaquin Murieta whispered into Deputy +Sheriff Wilson’s ear.</p> +<p>He was a young man, this deputy, and bold, and he +had come all the way from Santa Barbara to help hunt +down the famous bandit whose followers were burning +ranch buildings and murdering travelers from the summits +of the southland’s mountains to the yellow beaches +by the summer sea. Unlike many of the pueblo’s citizens, +who had formed the habit of talking of such +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_39' name='page_39'></a>39</span> +matters in undertones and looking over their shoulders +as they did so, for fear some lurking Mexican might be +one of Murieta’s spies, he voiced his opinions loudly +enough for all to hear. “Get good men together,” he +said, “and smoke these robbers out. I’m ready to go +with a posse any time.” He preached that gospel of +action in the drinking-places, in the gambling-halls, and +on the street, until the very vigor of his voice put new +heart into the listeners. It was beginning to look as if +young Deputy Sheriff Wilson had really started things +moving.</p> +<p>On a hot July afternoon he was standing on the +narrow sidewalk surrounded by a group whose members +his enthusiasm had drawn out of doors. Few others +were abroad; an occasional Mexican woman in her black +skirt and tight-drawn reboso, a peon or two slouching +gracefully by with the inevitable brown cigarette, and a +solitary horseman who was coming down the street.</p> +<p>The men in the group were so intent on what the +deputy was saying that none of them observed the approach +of this horseman until he reined in his animal +close to the sidewalk’s edge. Then they saw him lean +from the saddle and whisper into Wilson’s ear.</p> +<p>What words passed from his lips these others never +knew. There was not time for him to utter more than +one or two; perhaps to tell his name. They saw his +white teeth flashing in an unpleasant smile; and Wilson’s +hand moved toward his gun. But in the middle +of that movement the young officer pitched forward on +his face. The sharp report of a pistol, the scrape of +hoofs, the smell of black powder smoke, and the vision of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_40' name='page_40'></a>40</span> +the rider through the tenuous wreaths as he whirled his +horse about––these things came to the dazed witnesses +in a sort of blur.</p> +<p>The sound of the shot awakened the drowsing street +and many who ran to their doorways saw the murderer +riding away at a swinging gallop. Some of these claimed +to recognize him as Joaquin Murieta, and in the days +that followed their statements were confirmed by captured +members of the band.</p> +<p>Deputy Sheriff Wilson’s death aroused more men +than his words had, and when General Joshua Bean +began organizing two companies of militia during the +weeks after the murder he found plenty of recruits. +The officers were just getting the new companies into +shape for an expedition against the bandits who were +now ravaging most of the country south of the Tehachapi, +when Murieta and Three-Fingered Jack waylaid +General Bean one night near San Gabriel Mission, +dropped the noose of a reata over his head, dragged +him from his horse, and stabbed him through the heart. +And the two companies of militia did nothing more.</p> +<p>Now, while posses were foundering their lathered +horses on every southland road and the flames of blazing +ranch buildings were throwing their red light on +the faces of dead men almost every night, a lean and +wind-browned Texan by the name of Captain Harry +Love took a hand in the grim game of man-hunting.</p> +<p>He had gained his title during the Mexican War. As +an express-rider for different American generals he had +dodged the reatas of guerrilla parties who were lurking +by water-holes and had outjockeyed swarthy horsemen +in wild races across the flaming deserts of Sonora until +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_41' name='page_41'></a>41</span> +he had come to know the science of their fighting as +well as old Padre Jurata himself. And when he started +after Murieta’s men he did his hunting all alone.</p> +<p>One day he ran across the trail of Pedro Gonzales, +the horse-thief, and another lieutenant named Juan, +and followed it until he overtook the pair at the Buena +Ventura rancho. Like most of his Southwestern breed +he was a better man at action than at words, and so +the story of the gun-fight which took place when he +came upon them has never been told; but when the +smoke of the three pistols cleared away Gonzales was +in custody and Juan was riding hard toward the hills +with the blood running over his face from a bullet’s +furrow along his scalp. The fugitive found five others +of the band in a sun-baked arroyo that night, told them +the news of the catastrophe, and got a fresh horse to +ride back with them and rescue their companion.</p> +<p>Captain Love was well on his way to Los Angeles +with his prisoner when the sound of drumming hoofs +came down the wind. He glanced over his shoulder +and, on a hilltop half a mile behind, saw six horsemen +coming after him at a dead run. If he had any doubt +of the nature of that party he lost it when he turned his +head in time to catch Gonzales waving a handkerchief +to them.</p> +<p>The elements of the situation were simple enough,––the +Texan’s jaded mount, the fresh horses of the pursuers, +the desperation of the prisoner for whom the +gallows was waiting in Los Angeles,––but most men +would have wasted some time in determining on a solution. +Love, who had learned in a hard school the +value of seconds in such races as this, did not choose to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_42' name='page_42'></a>42</span> +part with any more of his handicap than he had to. So +he whipped out his pistol, shot Gonzales through the +heart, and spurred his horse down the dusty road with +enough start to distance the bandits into town.</p> +<p>That was the first noteworthy casualty the band had +suffered. It was followed by the capture of young +Reyes Feliz, Rosita’s brother, who was hanged in Los +Angeles; and shortly afterward Murieta led his whole +company northward into the oak-dotted hills back of +San Luis Obispo where they lost twenty men––among +them Claudio the expert spy––in a day-long battle with +a posse of ranchers whom they had sought to ambush.</p> +<p>Then Joaquin Murieta rode back with the survivors to +Arroyo Cantoova; and if Rosita, who had been sent +with the other women to the rendezvous early in the +summer, felt her heart leap when she saw her lover +coming, she soon felt it sink again, for he spent but few +moments in her company. Horses and gold and his +large plan to sweep like fire through California––these +were the only thoughts he had. Within a week he had +divided the band into several parties, two of which +under himself and Three-Fingered Jack went north to +plunder the placer camps.</p> +<p>There is hardly an old town in the whole Bret Harte +country that has not its stories of the raiding during the +winter of 1852-53. With the knowledge which he and +his lieutenants had gained at Mokelumne Hill the chief +directed operations, but as the weeks went by the influence +of Three-Fingered Jack grew until his methods +were employed in every robbery. By December the list +of wanton murders had grown so great that the State +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_43' name='page_43'></a>43</span> +of California offered a reward of five thousand dollars +for Joaquin Murieta, alive or dead.</p> +<p>The notices announcing this reward were posted in +Stockton one Sunday. The town was then the point of +departure for the southern placer district, a lively place +with craft of all kinds coming from San Francisco to tie +up at its levee and an endless procession of wagons +traveling out cross the flat lands of the San Joaquin +valley to the foot-hills. Everything was running wide +open and the sidewalks were crowded with men, most +of whom were ready to take a rather long chance for +five thousand dollars.</p> +<p>One of the bills, tacked to the flag-pole in the public +square, attracted more readers than the others, and +many a group gathered about it to discuss what show a +bold man might have of earning the reward. The sidewalk +loungers watched these debaters come and go until +the thing was beginning to be an old story; and they +were almost ready to turn their jaded attention elsewhere +when a well-dressed Mexican came riding down +the street, turned his fine horse into the square, and +reined up before the flag-pole. The audience watched +him leap from the saddle and write something at the +bottom of the bill.</p> +<p>When he had touched his horse with the spurs and +ridden away at a slow Spanish trot, one of the onlookers, +more curious––or perhaps he was less lazy––than his +fellows, sauntered over to read what had been written; +and when he read it waved his hand in so wild a gesture +that every one who saw him came running to the flag-pole. +At the bottom of the placard with its offer of five +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_44' name='page_44'></a>44</span> +thousand dollars’ reward for Joaquin Murieta, alive or +dead, they found this subscription set down in a good +bold hand:</p> +<p>“And I will pay ten thousand dollars more. <span class='smcap'>Joaquin +Murieta.</span>”</p> +<p>Faith in the State’s promise rather than that of the +robber sent many riders out of Stockton that day to scour +the willow thickets by the river and the winding tulle +sloughs. The posses were speeding back and forth all +night long and the excitement attending their comings +and goings lasted into Monday. So there were few on +hand to watch the departure of a schooner for San +Francisco that morning.</p> +<p>She left the levee with her crew of three and with two +passengers, miners from San Andreas who were taking +out about twenty thousand dollars in gold-dust. The +crew let out the sails, the canvas bellied before the easy +breeze, the schooner glided down the reed-lined slough +whose smooth waters held her reflection like a mirror. +Flocks of wild fowl rose before her as she came along.</p> +<p>A rowboat shot out of the tulles just ahead of her. +The helmsman took one look at the five men in the little +craft and dropped his tiller to pick up a double-barreled +shotgun. He shouted to the sailors; they sprang for +weapons, and the two miners in the cabin leaped up the +companion stairs, their pistols in their hands. Before +the foremost was half-way up the flight the shooting had +begun; he gained the deck in time to see the body of +the helmsman drooping over the swinging tiller, overhung +by a thin white cloud of powder-smoke. The small +boat lay alongside with a dead man huddled between the +thwarts. The other four bandits were swarming over +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_45' name='page_45'></a>45</span> +the rail, firing at the sailors on the forward deck as they +came.</p> +<p>It was a short fight and sharp. When it ended every +man in the ship’s company was lying dead or mortally +wounded and two of the robbers were killed. Murieta +and Three-Fingered Jack lingered aboard long enough +to lower the gold-dust overside into the small boat and +set fire to the schooner; and the pillar of black smoke +drew horsemen from Stockton in time to hear the story +which the dying men gasped out.</p> +<p>Up in Sacramento where the State legislature was +considering the extermination of Joaquin Murieta some +weeks later the Stockton incident was used by a lean +and wind-browned lobbyist as an argument for a company +of rangers, and this argument by Captain Harry +Love had much to do with the passage of the bill authorizing +such a body under his leadership.</p> +<p>From Stockton the two companies of bandits fled +southward up the San Joaquin valley and brought more +than fifty thousand dollars in gold-dust to Arroyo Cantoova. +Then Murieta took seventy men and rode back +to make his final raid on the placer camps. Three-Fingered +Jack went by his side: the only human being +whose companionship he shared. What talks those two +men had together one can only guess from the nature of +the deeds that followed. No miner was too small game +for the chief now, he slit the throats of Chinamen for +their garnerings from worked-over tailings, he tortured +teamsters to learn where they kept their wages hidden, +and where he passed during the night men found +corpses in the morning, until those of his own countrymen +who had befriended him in other days turned +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_46' name='page_46'></a>46</span> +against him and betrayed his hiding-places to the officers, +and the whole foot-hill country from the Tuolomme +to the Feather River was patrolled by riders hunting +him.</p> +<p>In Hornitas he sought out a Mexican who had notified +a posse of his presence in the neighborhood, shot +him down at broad noonday on the main street, and +galloped away with the pistol-bullets of his pursuers +raising little spurts of dust about his horse’s flying +hoofs. A few weeks later he revisited the town; killed +a deputy sheriff who sought to capture him; and then +hanged another of his countrymen, who had informed +the officer of his hiding-place.</p> +<p>One spring day he was riding alone in the foot-hills +of Calaveras County when he came on a party of twenty-five +miners at the head of a box cañon. They were encamped +in a sort of amphitheater among the rocks with +steep walls on three sides and only one outlet, a narrow +Digger trail along the cliff a hundred feet above the +brawling stream.</p> +<p>Murieta had ridden up the ravine by that dangerous +pathway and now he was sitting with one leg thrown +over his saddle-horn, talking to the members of the +party. They were on their way out from some winter +diggings, they told him, and they had plenty of dust +with them. He spoke of Joaquin Murieta and they +pointed to their belts; they were heavily armed, every +man of them. Why should they fear the bandit? He +let his eyes go around the place taking quick appraisal +of their numerous pack and saddle animals, their camp +equipment, their plump buckskin sacks––rich booty if +only he had a party of cutthroats at his heels. But he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_47' name='page_47'></a>47</span> +was alone; the best he could do was to put a good face +on the matter and, in his rôle of honest traveler, learn +what he could, to store it up for future reference.</p> +<p>He was doing this and getting on very nicely at it, +when one of the party, who had gone down to the stream +for water before his arrival, came climbing up among +the rocks with two filled buckets. The man looked up +at hearing a stranger’s voice and Murieta glanced down +at the same instant. The eyes of each proclaimed recognition. +For the water-carrier was James Boyce, who +had played monte over the table of the good-looking +young dealer many a night in Murphy’s Diggings.</p> +<p>Boyce dropped the buckets of water and, drawing his +pistol, “Boys!” he shouted, “That’s Murieta. Shoot +him!” Then he fired.</p> +<p>But Murieta had wheeled his horse and was already +spurring it on a dead run down the gulch. The miners +were lining their sights on him; and now the cañon +walls echoed to the volley they sent after him.</p> +<p>He gained the trail along the cliff. A bullet knocked +off his hat and his long hair streamed behind him as the +horse leaped out on the narrow path. The rocks +spurned by its flying hoofs dropped over the brink into +the roaring stream one hundred feet below. The +leaden slugs that sang about the rider’s head chipped +bits from the sheer wall beside him. He drew his +bowie-knife and brandished it as high as his arm could +reach.</p> +<p>“I am Murieta,” he shouted, turning in the saddle +to look back at them. “Kill me if you can.”</p> +<p>The cliff on one side was so close that he scraped +it with his stirrup and on the other side the horse’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_48' name='page_48'></a>48</span> +upflung hoofs hung in mid-air beyond the brink. The +weapons flamed behind him at the cañon-head. Their +bullets rained on the rocks about him as he flourished +his knife in a final gesture of defiance and passed +round a turn of the trail beyond sight of his enemies.</p> +<p>But Boyce and his companions were a hardy crowd, +and instead of letting the incident end here they broke +camp the next morning to follow Murieta’s trail. They +traced him without much trouble down the cañon, +over a ridge and into another steep-walled gulch, where +they came on tracks of fourteen others of the band. +From this point the robbers had struck off toward the +high country.</p> +<p>All that day the miners climbed the tall ridges where +the sugar-pines stood like enormous pillars in the vast +cathedral of the out of doors, until night found them +in the midst of the forest right under the bare granite +peaks. Here they made camp, and when the cold +breath of the snow-fields came down upon them they +kindled a great fire. They lounged about the flaming +logs smoking their pipes and warming their wearied +limbs. Beyond the circle of firelight the enshadowed +woods gave forth no sound to tell them that fifteen men +were crawling through those black aisles among the +trees like fifteen swarthy snakes.</p> +<p>The click of a pistol-hammer coming to full cock +brought one of the lounging miners to his feet. He +fell forward in the instant of his rising, and the woods +gave back a hundred crashing echoes to the volley which +the bandits fired. Their aim was so true––for they +had stolen close in and taken good time to settle themselves +before cocking their weapons––that when the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_49' name='page_49'></a>49</span> +echoes died away fifteen men were lying dead and +dying in the red light of that fire.</p> +<p>The others were springing for their pistols, for nearly +every one of the miners had laid aside his belt to ease +himself, but before one of them had pulled a trigger +there came the crackling of a second fusillade and +seven fell. Then Boyce and two of his companions +leaped outside that fatal circle of radiance in time to +save themselves. As they were creeping away in the +darkness they saw Joaquin Murieta and Three-Fingered +Jack rush into the camp waving their bowie-knives exultantly +above their heads, and for a long time afterward +they heard the band whooping like Apaches while +they killed the wounded.</p> +<p>Murieta and his company rode away from this massacre +with thirty thousand dollars in gold-dust and +about forty horses as their loot. But the story which +Boyce and the other two survivors told turned the +mining towns into armed camps; and now Sheriff +Charles Ellis of Calaveras County started so fierce a +warfare against the bandits that they had to flee the +country.</p> +<p>When Murieta rode back to Arroyo Cantoova that +spring, a closely hunted fugitive, he found that Rosita +had deserted him for an American settler by the name +of Baker. Even at this critical period when he was +beginning actual preparations for his enormous raid +he took the time to track her to a cabin among the +hills nearly a hundred miles from the rendezvous. He +shot her down and set fire to the place, but perhaps +the very frenzy of his anger blinded him or perhaps he +rushed away in horror of his own deed, for she survived +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_50' name='page_50'></a>50</span> +her wounds, the only one of his victims who lived when +he had the time to kill, and showed the scars to officers +years afterward.</p> +<p>The boy who had taken her northward so short a +time ago––for his years were barely a man’s years +yet––rode back to Arroyo Cantoova and the one thing +he had in life––his plan.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Captain Harry Love and his company of twenty +rangers rode down the King’s Highway into the little +town of San Juan. In the plaza, where the California +poppies bloom to-day before the cloistered arches of +the mission as they bloomed on that July afternoon in +1853, the dusty horsemen drew rein outside the old +adobe inn. Their captain dismounted and went inside +and while he stayed the others lounged in their deep +stock saddles smoking cigarettes or eased the cinches to +rest their sweaty horses; a sunburned troop and silent as +men who know they have large work ahead of them.</p> +<p>An hour passed and Captain Love came out, to swing +into his saddle and ride off without a word with the +twenty behind him. They followed the King’s Highway +where it looped upward along the flanks of San +Juan Hill, came down the other side into the Salinas +valley––the Salinas plains, men called it then––and +made camp near the river.</p> +<p>That night Captain Love told them what he had +learned in the Plaza Inn at San Juan where Joaquin +Murieta had often come to confer with friendly Spanish +Californians in other days. One of these former friends +had betrayed to him the rendezvous at Arroyo Cantoova +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_51' name='page_51'></a>51</span> +and told him how to reach the place by a pass across +the Coast Range near Paso Robles.</p> +<p>The ranger company rode on southward day after +day until the wind-swept plain grew narrower between +oak-dotted hills; then turned eastward to climb among +a tangle of grassy mountains scorched by the sun +to the color of a lion’s coat. They crossed the divide +and descended into the upper valley of the San Joaquin. +And one morning, when they were following +the trail of several horsemen, they saw the thin smoke +of a little camp-fire rising from the ravine-bed ahead +of them. Captain Love deployed his company to close +in on the place from three sides, and sent one man +to the rear with orders to hang back until the others +had all ridden in. The man was William Byrnes who +had known Joaquin Murieta well in the days before that +lynching at Murphy’s Diggings.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Murieta was washing his thoroughbred mare in the +bed of the ravine. She stood, without halter or tie-rope, +as docile as a dog while he laved her fine limbs with +a dampened cloth. His saddle lay about ten or fifteen +yards away with his pistols in the holsters beside the +horn. Four or five bandits were cooking their breakfast +over the fire; and Three-Fingered Jack lay at a +little distance, sprawled full-length in the morning sunshine +like a basking rattlesnake. The mare raised her +head; her ears went forward, and Murieta glanced up +in time to see the rangers riding in across the pale +saffron ridges from three sides.</p> +<p>They came at a dead run. Before he could reach +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_52' name='page_52'></a>52</span> +his saddle one of the company had pulled up between +him and the weapons. Captain Love was leaning from +his horse questioning Three-Fingered Jack. Murieta +took another step toward his weapons; the ranger +stopped him with a gesture; he halted, glanced at Captain +Love, and scowled.</p> +<p>“If you have any questions to ask,” he cried, “I am +leader of this party. Talk to me.”</p> +<p>“I’ll talk to whom I please,” Love answered, and +just then William Byrnes came riding into sight.</p> +<p>Murieta took one look at the man whom he had +known in the days when he walked unfeared among his +fellows and let his eyes go around the circle of riders; +he saw Three-Fingered Jack watching him narrowly. +His hand stole up along the mare’s glossy neck. Her +ears moved back and forth as she stood there biding +some word from him.</p> +<p>Then, “Vamos, amigos!” he shouted, and sprang on +the mare’s back. He leaned far forward as she leaped +down the bed of the ravine.</p> +<p>Three-Fingered Jack took advantage of the moment +of confusion that followed to mount his own horse, and +half the rangers followed him across the grass ridge +firing as they went. He fought a running battle with +them for five miles before they shot him down.</p> +<p>Murieta lay along the mare’s back like an Indian. +The hoofs of the pursuing company thundered behind +him in the ravine-bed; their bullets spattered on the +rocks about him. Before him the land broke in a +twenty-foot precipice. He called into the mare’s ear +and she headed bravely for the cliff, leaped out into +space, and turned a complete somersault at the bottom. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_53' name='page_53'></a>53</span> +He rolled among the rocks beside her, lay for a moment +stunned, then rose and found her waiting for him where +she had gained her feet. He sprang to her back again +and urged her on.</p> +<p>Several of the rangers were pressing their horses +along the hillside to gain the bed of the ravine by that +roundabout route; one who had ridden full-tilt over the +cliff lay stunned beside his injured animal; and three +or four others had dismounted. These lined their sights +on the fleeing mare, and now her legs went from under +her; she crashed down with the blood gushing from +her nostrils.</p> +<p>The rangers rested their rifles for more careful aim +as the rider started to flee on foot. The volley raised +rattling echoes in the hills. He took four or five strides +and then, halting, faced about. He raised one hand.</p> +<p>“No more,” he called. “Your work is done.”</p> +<p>And as they slowly came toward him, their rifles +ready to fly to their shoulders at the first suspicious +movement, Joaquin Murieta swayed slightly and sank +slowly into a heap near the dead mare. The breath was +gone from his body when they reached it.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_54' name='page_54'></a>54</span> +<a name='TOMBSTONE' id='TOMBSTONE'></a> +<h2>TOMBSTONE</h2> +</div> +<p>More than forty years ago a raw young mining +camp down in southeastern Arizona was preparing +to assume the functions of a duly organized municipality, +and its population––at that period nearly every +one in the place was a male of voting age––was considering +the important question of a name.</p> +<p>The camp stood out against the sky-line at the crest +of a ridge in the foot-hills of the Mule Mountains, not +far from the Mexican boundary. For the most part +it consisted of tents; but there were a few adobe buildings +and some marvelous creations from goods-boxes and +tin cans. Facing one end of its single brief street +you looked out upon a dump of high-grade silver ore, +and if you turned the other way you surveyed a sprouting +little graveyard hard by a large corral. From almost +any point you had a good view of the Dragoon +mountains across a wide stretch of mesquite-covered +lowlands, and at almost any hour of the day you were +likely to see the smoke of at least one Apache signal-fire +rising from those frowning granite ramparts.</p> +<p>The men in the camp were, nearly all of them, old-timers +in the West: miners from the Comstock lode +whose boom was then on the wane, teamsters who had +been freighting all over the blazing deserts of the Southwest, +investors and merchants from Tucson, buffalo-hunters +from western Kansas, Texas, and Colorado, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_55' name='page_55'></a>55</span> +gamblers from Dodge City, El Paso, and Santa Fé, +Indian-fighters, cattle-rustlers, professional claim-jumpers, +and some gentle-voiced desperadoes of the +real breed, equally willing to slay from behind or take +a long chance in front, according to the way the play +came up. Few of these men wore coats; a great many of +them carried single-action revolvers in holsters beside +the thigh; the old-fashioned cattleman’s boot was the +predominant footgear; and, excepting among the faro-dealers, +there was a rather general carelessness in +sartorial matters. Nicknames were even more common +than surnames, and it was bad form––sometimes dangerously +so––to ask a man about his antecedents until he +had volunteered some information on that point.</p> +<p>In such a crowd it is easy to see there would be +many ideas on any given subject, and the question of +the new town’s name had evoked a multitude of suggestions. +Amusements were still few; the purveyors of +hectic pleasure had thus far succeeded in bringing only +one piano and a half-dozen dance-hall girls––all decidedly +the worse for wear––into the camp; and either faro +or whisky has its limitations as a steady means of relaxation. +So it came about that any advocate could +usually find an audience to harken to his arguments +for his pet selection.</p> +<p>At intervals when they were not toiling at assessment +work in the shafts which pocked the hillside or dodging +Apaches in the outlying country, the citizens found +diversion in discussing the ideas thus submitted. And +the merits of these propositions were debated by groups +in the brief street, by players seated before the tables +in the gambling-halls, by members of the never-absent +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_56' name='page_56'></a>56</span> +lines before the bars, and by dust-mantled travelers +within the Concord stages which came tossing over the +weary road from Tucson.</p> +<p>Gradually public opinion began to crystallize. One +name was spoken more often as the days went by. Until +it became evident that the great majority favored +it, and it was chosen.</p> +<p>They called the town Tombstone and placed one more +tradition on the Western map.</p> +<p>The old-timers always showed a very fine sense of the +fitness of things when they christened a river, mountain +range, or town. If one were to devote his time to +studying the map of our country west of the Mississippi +River and resuscitating the tales whose titles are printed +thereupon, he could produce a large volume of marvelous +stories. But the entire compilation would contain +nothing more characteristic of the days when men carried +rifles to protect their lives than the story of that +name––Tombstone.</p> +<p>It deals with a period when southeastern Arizona was +Apache-land. Geronimo, Victorio, and Nachez were +constantly leading their naked warriors into the mountain +ranges which rise from those mesquite-covered +plains, to lurk among the rocks watching the lower +country for travelers and when these came to descend +upon them for the sake of loot and the love of murder. +A few bold cattlemen, like John Slaughter and Peter +Kitchen, had established ranches in this region; these +held their homes by constant vigilance and force of arms. +Escorts of soldiers frequently guarded the stages on +their way to and from Tucson; and there was hardly +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_57' name='page_57'></a>57</span> +a month in the year when driver, guard, and passengers +did not make a running fight of it somewhere along +this portion of the route.</p> +<p>Such were conditions during the summer of 1877 +when the tale begins in the dry wash which comes down +from the Tombstone hills into the valley of the San +Pedro, near where the hamlet of Fairbank stands to-day.</p> +<p>Fragments of horn silver lay scattered among the +cactus and dagger-plants in the bed of the dry wash. +There was a point where the stony slope above the +bank was strewn with them. A little farther up, an +outcropping of high-grade ore showed plainly in the +hard white sunshine. The flank of the hill was leaking +precious metal like a rotting treasure-chest.</p> +<p>A solitary Apache stood on a mesa ten miles away. +He had cut a fresh trail down in the valley at dawn, +and had dogged it reading every minute sign––a displaced +rock, a broken twig, a smudge of disturbed +earth––until he had the fulness of its meaning: two +prospectors leading a pack-mule, both men armed and +keeping sharp lookout against attack. Then he had +climbed to this remote vantage-point and caught sight +of them as they turned from the river-bottom up the +wash. They were traveling straight toward that outcropping.</p> +<p>The Apache stood at the edge of the mesa facing +the newly risen sun, a savage vision in a savage land. +His narrow turban, shred of loin-cloth, and knee-high +moccasins merely accentuated his nakedness; they +held no more suggestion of clothing than his mass of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_58' name='page_58'></a>58</span> +rusty black hair and the ugly smears of paint across +his cheeks. A tiny fire beside him sent a tenuous smoke +column into the glaring sky.</p> +<p>He kept his malignant little eyes on a notch in the +Dragoon Mountains twenty miles away, scowling against +the sun’s bright flood. Across the far-flung interval +of glowing mesas and dark mesquite flats the stark +granite ramparts frowned back at him. And now a +hair-line of pallid smoke twined upward from the +point he watched.</p> +<p>He sank down, crouching beside his fire. He swept +his hand over it sprinkling bits of powdered resin into +the wisp of flame. The smoke turned black.</p> +<p>He waited for some moments, scanning the rising +fumes, then swerved his lean brown torso toward a +mesquite bush. He stripped the leaves from a twig and +scattered them upon the blaze. A white puff climbed +into the sky.</p> +<p>From time to time he moved, now dropping on his +belly to blow the coals, now feeding them with resin, +now with leaves. The slender column crawled on upward +taking alternate complexion, white and black.</p> +<p>Where the bare summits of the Dragoon range broke +into a multitude of ragged pinnacles against the eastern +horizon, another swarthy warrior stood, remote as +a roosting eagle on the heights. Beneath his feet––the +drop was so sheer that he could have kicked a pebble to +the bottom without its touching the face of the cliff +in its fall––the shadows of the mountain lay black on +the mesquite flat. He gazed across that wide plain and +the mesas climbing heavenward beyond it in a series +of glowing steps. His face assumed a peculiar intentness +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_59' name='page_59'></a>59</span> +as he watched the distant smoke column; it was +the intentness of a man who is reading under difficulties. +In dot and dash he spelled it as it rose––the tidings of +those two prospectors who traveled up the wash.</p> +<p>While the last puff was fading away he glided down +from pinnacle to narrow shelf, from shelf to cliff, and +made his way toward the rocks below to tell the news +to the rest of his band.</p> +<p>Their camp lay at the head of a steep gorge. Several +low wickiups had been fashioned by binding the +tops of bushes together and throwing skins or tattered +blankets over the arched stems. Offal and carrion were +strewn all about the place; it swarmed with flies. +Nesting vultures would have built more carefully and +been fully as fastidious. When the warrior reached +the spot the rocks became alive with naked forms; they +appeared from all sides as suddenly and silently as +quail.</p> +<p>He told the tidings to the men. An unclean, vermin-ridden +group, they squatted around him while he repeated +the smoke message, word for word. There was +no particular show of enthusiasm among them, no sign +of haste. They began to prepare for this business as +other men begin getting ready for a day’s work, when +they see good wages ahead of them and the task is very +much to their taste. Prospectors were becoming an +old story in that summer of 1877; two of them meant +good pickings––bacon, coffee, sugar, and firearms; and +there was the fun of killing with the chance for torture +thrown in.</p> +<p>Some of the band departed leisurely to catch the +ponies. The victims would be busy for a long time in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_60' name='page_60'></a>60</span> +the wash. They would not travel far to make their +camp. And wherever they went they must leave tracks. +The day was far advanced when the party rode forth +upon the flat, their dirty turbans bobbing up and down +above the mesquite bushes as they came along.</p> +<p>Several of them carried lances; there was a sprinkling +of bows and arrows; a number bore rifles across +their saddles, wearing the cartridge-belts athwart their +naked bodies. All of them moved their thin brown +legs ceaselessly; their moccasined shanks kept up a constant +drumming against the ponies’ sides.</p> +<p>The afternoon was old when they reached the dry +wash. They left two or three of their number behind +in charge of the ponies. The others came on afoot. +Two leaders went well in advance, one of them on +each bank, creeping from rock to tufted yucca and +from yucca to mesquite clump, watching the sun-flayed +land before them for some sign of their game. A +squad of trackers slipped in and out among the dagger-plants +and boulders in the bottom of the gulch.</p> +<p>One of the trackers held up his hand and moved it +swiftly. To the signal the others gathered about him. +He pointed to the outcropping of high-grade ore. They +saw the traces left by a prospector’s pick. For some +minutes their voices mingled in low gutturals. Then +they scattered to pick up the trail, found it, and resumed +their progress down the arroyo.</p> +<p>Evening came on them when they reached the river-bottom; +and with the deepening shadows, fear. Night +with the Apache was the time of the dead. They made +their camp. But when the sun was coloring the eastern +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_61' name='page_61'></a>61</span> +sky the next morning they were crawling through +the bear-grass on the first low mesa above the stream, +silent as snakes about to strike.</p> +<p>The prospectors awoke with the growing light. They +crept forth from their blankets. Two or three rifles +cracked. And then the stillness came again.</p> +<p>The Apaches stripped the clothing from the dead +men and left them to the Arizona sun. They took +away with them what loot they found. They never +noticed the little heap of specimens from the outcropping. +Or if they noticed it they thought it of no importance. +A few handfuls of rock fragments meant +nothing to them. And so the ore remained there near +the bodies of the prospectors.</p> +<p>The old-timers go on to tell how Jim Shea came riding +down the dry wash one day late in the summer with +his rifle across his saddle-horn and a little troop of grim +horsemen about him. Of that incident few details remain +in the verbal chronicle which has come down +through four decades. It is like a picture whose background +has been blurred by age.</p> +<p>Somewhere ahead of these dusty, sunburned riders a +band of Apaches were urging their wearied ponies onward +under the hot sun. They herded a bunch of stolen +horses before them as they fled.</p> +<p>The chase had begun with the beginning of the day, +at Dragoon Pass. What bloodshed had preceded it is +not known. But Shea and his companions were following +a hot trail, eager for reprisals, cautious against ambush. +As they came on down the wash the leader +scanned the stony bed reading the freshening signs left +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_62' name='page_62'></a>62</span> +by the fugitives; while two who rode on either side of +him watched every rock and shrub and gully which +might give cover to lurking enemies.</p> +<p>Now, as they clattered along the arroyo’s bed, Shea +suddenly drew rein. Leaning far to one side and low, +after the lithe fashion of the cow-boy, he swept his +hand earthward, picked up a little fragment of dark +rock, straightened his body in the saddle once more, +and, glancing sharply at the bit of ore, dropped it into +his pocket. He repeated the movement two or three +times in the next hundred yards.</p> +<p>Chasing Apaches––or being chased by them––was almost +as much a part of life’s routine in those days as +sleeping without sheets. And no one remembers how +this particular affair ended. But Jim Shea kept those +bits of silver ore.</p> +<p>Later he showed them to an assayer somewhere up on +the Gila and learned their richness. Then he determined +to go back and locate the ledge from which the elements +had carried them away. But that project demanded +a substantial grubstake, and other matters of moment +were taking his attention at the time. He postponed +the expedition until it was too late.</p> +<p>In Tucson they tell of a prospector by the name of +Lewis who wandered into those foot-hills during that +year, found some high-grade float, and traced it to a +larger outcropping than the one down by the dry wash. +But he had hardly made the marvelous discovery when +he caught sight of a turbaned head above a rocky ridge +about fifty yards away. He abandoned his search to +seek the nearest cover. By the time he had gained the +shelter a dozen Apaches were firing at him.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_63' name='page_63'></a>63</span></div> +<p>He made a good fight of it with his rifle, and the +luck which had caused him to look up before the savages +had their sights trained on him had put a wide space of +open ground about his natural fort. No Apache ever +relished taking chances, and Lewis was able to hold +the band off until darkness came. Then he crept forth +and wormed his way through the gullies to the San +Pedro Valley. Dawn found him miles from the spot.</p> +<p>He came back to Tucson with his specimens. Marcus +Katz and A. M. Franklin, who were working for +the wholesale firm of L. M. Jacobs & Co., heard his story, +saw the ore, and grubstaked him for another trip.</p> +<p>But when he reached the foot-hills of the Mule +Mountains Lewis found that the long afternoon of battle +and the ensuing night of flight had left him utterly +at sea as to the location of that large ledge. He had +to begin his hunt all over again. He used up his grubstake, +got a second from his backers, and subsequently +a third.</p> +<p>And now while Lewis was combing down the gullies +between those broken ridges for the ore body––he slew +himself from disappointment later on––and while Jim +Shea was meditating an expedition after the riches of +which he had got trace down in the dry wash, Ed Schiefflin +came to the Bruncknow house to embark on the +adventure which was to give the town of Tombstone its +name.</p> +<p>The Bronco house, men call it now, but Bruncknow +was the man who built it and the new term is a corruption. +Its ruins still stand on the side-hill a few +miles from the dry wash, a rifle-shot or so from the +spot where the two prospectors met their deaths. In +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_64' name='page_64'></a>64</span> +those days it was a lonely outpost of the white man in +the Apache’s land. The summer of 1877 was drawing +to a close, its showers were already a distant memory, +and all southeastern Arizona was glowing under the +white-hot sun-rays when Schiefflin rode his mule up +from the San Pedro to seek the protection of its thick +adobe walls.</p> +<p>The flat lands of the valley stretched away and away +behind him to the foot of the Huachucas in the west. +They unfolded their long reaches to the southward until +they melted into the hot sky between spectral mountain +ranges down in Mexico. He came up out of that +wide landscape, a tall wild figure, lonesome as the setting +sun.</p> +<p>His long beard and the steady patience in his eyes––the +patience which comes to the prospector during his +solitary wanderings in search of rich ore––gave him +the appearance of a man past middle age although he +had not seen his thirtieth year. His curling hair reached +his broad shoulders. Wind and sun had tanned +his features so deeply that his blue eyes stood out +in strange contrast to the dark skin. His garments +were sadly torn, and he had patched them in many +places with buckskin. Such men still come and go in +the remote places among the mountain ranges and deserts +of the West. They were almost the first to penetrate +the wilderness and they will roam over it so long +as any patch of it remains unfenced.</p> +<p>Schiefflin had left his father’s house in Oregon ten +years before. He searched the Cœur d’Alênes for +riches, and, finding none, struck out from Idaho for +Nevada. There he remained through two blazing summers +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_65' name='page_65'></a>65</span> +traveling afoot from the sage-brush hills in the +north across the silent deserts east of Death Valley. +He wandered on to Colorado, where he toiled in the +new mining camps between prospecting trips into the +great plateaus along the western slope of the Rockies. +From Colorado he went southward into New Mexico; +thence westward to Arizona. He accompanied a troop +of cavalry from Prescott down to the foot of the Huachucas +where they established a new post. During +the last leg of that journey he saw these foot-hills of +the Mule Mountains in passing, and in spite of warnings +from the soldiers, he was now returning to prospect +the district.</p> +<p>He had spent some days at the Herrick ranch down +in the valley, and the men about the place had strongly +advised him against traveling into the hills. They +cited various gruesome examples of the fate which overtook +solitary wanderers in this savage land. They +might as well have saved their breath; Schiefflin had +seen some mineral stains on a rock outcropping when +he passed through the country with the cavalry earlier +in the season.</p> +<p>So now he came on toward the Bruncknow house, +where he could make his camp closer to the hills upon +whose exploration his mind was set.</p> +<p>There were several men lounging about the adobe +when he reached it. Even in those days, when the most +peaceful border-dweller carried his rifle almost everywhere +except to his meals and was as likely as not to +have slain one or two fellow-creatures,––days when the +leading citizens of that isolated region presented a sinister +front with their long-barreled revolvers slung +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_66' name='page_66'></a>66</span> +beside their thighs,––the members of the group showed +up hard.</p> +<p>A lean and seasoned crew, dust-stained from many a +wild ride, burned by the border sun, they watched the +new-comer with eyes half-curtained, like the eyes of +peering eagles, by straight lids. They welcomed him +with a few terse questions as to where he had come +from and what the troops were doing over at the new +post. Of themselves they said nothing nor offered any +information of their business in this lonely spot.</p> +<p>But when Schiefflin had made his camp close to the +shelter of those thick adobe walls he learned more of +his hosts. There was a mine hard by, at least it went +by the name of a mine, and it was a sort of common +understanding that the owners were doing assessment +work. The fragments on the dump, however, were +only country rock. In later years gorgeous tales of +rich ore at the bottom of the shallow shaft resulted in +a series of claim-jumpings which in their turn netted +no less than eleven murders, but the slayers only wasted +their powder, for the ground here never yielded anything +more interesting than dead men’s bones. And +at the time when Schiefflin was abiding at the Bruncknow +house the inmates were letting their mining tools +rust, the while they kept their firearms well oiled.</p> +<p>For the mine was nothing more nor less than a blind, +and the adobe was simply a rendezvous for Mexican +smugglers.</p> +<p>In that era, when a man practised pistol-shooting +from the hip,––as a man practises his morning calisthenics +in this peaceful age, for the sake of his body’s +health,––the written statutes were one thing and local +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_67' name='page_67'></a>67</span> +conceptions of proper conduct another. Here, where +the San Pedro valley came straight northward across +the boundary, affording a good route for pack-trains, +smuggling American wares into the southern republic +was nearly a recognized industry. As long as a man +could bring his contraband to market past marauding +Apaches and the bands of renegade whites who had +drifted to the border, he was entitled to the profit he +made––and no questions asked.</p> +<p>So the men at the Bruncknow house accepted Schiefflin’s +presence without any fear of ill consequences. +Had their calling been more stealthy they would not +have worried about him; prospectors went unquestioned +among all sorts of law breakers then, owning something +of the same immunity which simple-minded persons +always got from the Indians. He came in at evening +and rolled up in his blankets after cooking his supper; +and in the morning he went forth again into the hills. +No one minded him.</p> +<p>Now and again a cavalcade came out of the flaming +desert to the south, appearing first as a thin dust-cloud +down on the flat, as it drew nearer resolving +itself into pack burros and men on mule-back; then +jingling and clattering up the stony slope and into +the corral. And when they had dismounted, the +swarthy riders in their serapes and steep-crowned +sombreros trooped into the adobe, their enormous +spurs tinkling in a faint chorus upon the hard earthen +floor.</p> +<p>Then the men of the house got out the calicoes and +hardware which they had brought over the hot hills and +through the forests of giant cacti from Tucson. The +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_68' name='page_68'></a>68</span> +smugglers spread blankets, unbuckled broad money-belts +from their waists, and stripped out the dobie dollars, +letting them fall in clinking heaps upon the cloth. The +bargaining began.</p> +<p>And when the last wares had been disposed of and +the last huge silver coin had been stowed away by the +hard-eyed merchants, the Mexicans opened little round +kegs of mescal, the fiery liquor which is distilled from +the juice of the cactus plant.</p> +<p>They gambled at monte, quien con, and other games +of chance. They drank together. The night came on.</p> +<p>Sometimes pistols flamed under those adobe walls and +knives gleamed in the shadows.</p> +<p>Then, when the hot dawn came on, the burros were +packed and the whole troop filed down the hill; the +seraped Mexicans riding along the flanks of the train, +their rifles athwart their saddles. The dust rose about +them, enwrapped them, and hid them from sight. +Finally it vanished where the flat lands reached away +into the south.</p> +<p>But Schiefflin was indifferent to these wild goings +on. To him the Bruncknow house meant shelter from +the Apaches; that was all. He could roll up in his +blankets here at night knowing that he would waken +in the morning without any likelihood of looking up +into the grinning faces of savages who had tracked him +to his camp.</p> +<p>He minded his own business. As a matter of fact +his own business was the only thing he deemed worth +minding. It was the one affair of importance in the +whole world. The more he saw of those hills the surer +he became that they contained minerals. Somewhere +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_69' name='page_69'></a>69</span> +among them, he fervently believed, an ore body +of great richness lay hidden from the world. And he +had been devoting the years of his manhood to seeking +just such a secret. In those long years of constant +search a longing mightier than the lust for riches had +grown within him. Explorers know that longing and +some great scientists; once it owns a man he becomes +oblivious to all else.</p> +<p>Every day Schiefflin set forth on his mule from the +adobe house. He rode out into the hills. All day he +hunted through the winding gullies for some bits of +float which would betray the presence of an outcropping +on the higher levels. Once he cut the fresh trail of a +band of Apaches and once he caught sight of two +mounted savages riding along a slope a mile away. +Several times he picked up specimens of rock which +bore traces of silver. But he found no ore worth assaying.</p> +<p>The men at the Bruncknow house saw him departing +every morning and shook their heads. They had seen +other men ride out alone into the hills and they had +afterward found some of those travelers––what the +Apaches had left of them. It was no affair of theirs––but +they fell into the habit of watching the tawny slopes +every afternoon when the shadows began to lengthen +and speculating among themselves whether the bearded +rider was going to return this time. Which was as +close to solicitude as they could come.</p> +<p>One of their number––he had lost two or three small +bets by Schiefflin’s appearing safe and sound on +various evenings––took it upon himself to give their +visitor a bit of advice.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_70' name='page_70'></a>70</span></div> +<p>“What for,” he asked, “do yo’-all go a-takin’ them +pasears that-a-way?”</p> +<p>Schiefflin smiled good-naturedly at the questioner.</p> +<p>“Just looking for stones,” he said.</p> +<p>“Well,” the other told him, “all I got to say is this. +Yo’-all keep on and yo’ll sure find yo’r tombstone out +there some day.”</p> +<p>He never dreamed that he had named a town.</p> +<p>Nor did Schiefflin think much of it at the moment: +he had received other warnings, just as strong, before. +But none of them had been put as neatly as this. So the +words abode in his memory although they did not affect +his comings and goings in the least.</p> +<p>Only a few days later he left the Bruncknow house +for a longer trip than usual. He rode his mule down +the San Pedro toward the mouth of the dry wash in +which the two prospectors had found that silver ore the +day before they died.</p> +<p>And the luck that guides a man’s steps toward good +or ill, as the whim seizes it, saw to it that he came into +the old camp where the Apaches had enjoyed their +morning murder months before.</p> +<p>Some one had buried both bodies but whoever had +done this––possibly it was one of the self-styled miners +at the Bruncknow house––had not enough interest in +minerals to disturb the little heap of specimens. It lay +there near the graves, just as the Apaches had left it, +just as its original owners had piled it up before they +sought their blankets; to dream perhaps of their big +strike while death waited for the coming of the dawn, +to cheat them out of their discovery.</p> +<p>The story was as plain as printed words on a page: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_71' name='page_71'></a>71</span> +the nameless graves among the tall clumps of bear-grass +proclaimed the penalty for venturing into this neighborhood. +The little handful of dark-colored stones betrayed +the secret of the riches in the hills. The dry +wash came down between the ridges half a mile ahead +to show the way to other float like this.</p> +<p>It was as though, after the years of long and constant +search he found himself faced by a grim challenge, to +attain the consummation of his hopes on pain of death.</p> +<p>When he had examined the bits of rock he mounted +his mule and struck out for the mouth of the dry +wash.</p> +<p>After he had ridden for some distance up the stony +bed of the arroyo he dismounted and came on slowly +leading the patient animal. He searched the rocks for +fragments of float. At times he left the mule and crept +to the summit of a near-by ridge where he remained for +some minutes looking out over the country for some sign +of Indians.</p> +<p>The day wore on and as he went further the hills to +the south became loftier; the banks drew closer in on +both sides of him; the boulders in the arid bed were +larger. Cactus and Spanish bayonet harassed him +like malignant creatures; skeleton ocatillas and +bristling yuccas imposed thorny barriers before him. +The sun poured its full flood of white-hot rays upon +him. He wound his way in and out among the obstacles, +keeping his intent eyes upon the glaring rocks, save only +when he lifted them to look for lurking savages. The +shadows of noonday lengthened into the shades of afternoon; +they crept up the hillsides until only the higher +peaks remained a-shine; evening came.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_72' name='page_72'></a>72</span></div> +<p>Schiefflin picked up a sharp fragment of blackish +rock.</p> +<p>Horn silver. In those days when the great Comstock +lode was lessening its yield and the metal was at a +premium, such ore as this which he held meant millions––if +one could but find the main ledge. He scanned the +specimen closely, looked round for others and then, as +his eyes roved up the hillside the exultation born of that +discovery passed from him.</p> +<p>Dusk was creeping up from the valley. The time +had passed when he could return by daylight to the +Bruncknow house. He must make the most of the scant +interval which remained before darkness, if he would +find a hiding-place where he could camp.</p> +<p>He glanced about him to fix the landmarks in his +memory, that he might return to this spot on the morrow. +Then he led the mule away into the hills and +picketed it out behind a ridge where it would be out of +sight from passing Apaches.</p> +<p>He found his own hiding-place a mile away from +where he had tethered the animal. Here three huge +bare knolls of granite boulders rose beside the wash. +From the summit of any one of these a man could survey +the whole country; between its ragged rocks he would +be invisible to any one below. He chose the highest one +and crept to its crest.</p> +<p>The gray twilight was spreading over the land when +he raised his head above one of the boulders. In that +instant he dropped to earth as if he had been shot. An +Indian was riding up to the bottom of the knoll.</p> +<p>The Apache’s rifle lay across his lean bare thighs; +his gaunt body bent forward as he scanned the rocks +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_73' name='page_73'></a>73</span> +above him. He had been heading for the hill from this +side while Schiefflin was climbing up the opposite slope. +Evidently he was coming to the summit to look over the +country for enemies. There must be others of the band +close by.</p> +<p>Schiefflin found a narrow crack between two boulders +and peeped out.</p> +<p>Another savage appeared at that moment on the summit +of the next knoll. He was afoot; and now he stood +there motionless searching the wide landscape for any +moving form. He was so near that in the waning light +the smear of war-paint across his ugly face was visible.</p> +<p>Schiefflin crooked his thumb over the hammer of his +rifle and raised it slowly to the full cock, pressing the +trigger with his finger to prevent the click.</p> +<p>The first Apache had dismounted and was climbing +the hill. As he drew closer the clink of ponies’ hoofs +sounded down in the dry wash. A number of dirty +turbans came into sight above the bank. More followed +and still more, until thirty-odd were bobbing up and +down to the movement of the horses.</p> +<p>A moment passed, one of those mighty moments when +a man’s life appears before him as a period which he +has finished, when a man’s thoughts rove swiftly over +what portions of that period they choose. And Schiefflin’s +mind went to that talk with the man at the +Bruncknow house.</p> +<p>“Yo’-all keep on and yo’ll sure find yo’r tombstone +out there some day.”</p> +<p>He could hear the old-timer saying the words now. +And, as he listened to the grim warning again, he felt––as +perhaps those two prospectors felt in the moment of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_74' name='page_74'></a>74</span> +their awakening down by the river––that fate had sadly +swindled him. He was stiffening his trigger-finger for +the pull, peering across the sights at the Indian who had +climbed to within a few yards of the weapon’s muzzle, +when––the warrior on the summit of the next knoll +waved his hand. The Apache halted at the gesture and +Schiefflin followed his gaze in time to see the lean brown +arm of the sentinel sweep forward. Both of the savages +turned and descended the knolls.</p> +<p>They caught up their ponies and rode on, following +the course of the wash below them. The band down in +the arroyo’s bed were receding. The rattle of hoofs +grew fainter. Schiefflin lowered the hammer of his +rifle and took his first full breath.</p> +<p>A low outcry down the wash stopped his breathing +again. The band had stopped their ponies; some of +them were dismounting. He could see these gathering +about the place where he had led his mule up the bank.</p> +<p>Two of them were pointing along the course he had +taken with the animal. Several others were creeping +up the slope on their bellies following the fresh trail. +The murmur of their voices reached the white man +where he lay watching them.</p> +<p>Then, as he was giving up hope for the second time, +a mounted warrior––evidently he was their chief––called +to the trackers. They rose, looked about and +scurried back to their ponies like frightened quail. The +whole band were hammering their heels against the +flanks of their little mounts. The coming of the night +had frightened them away.</p> +<p>The shadows deepened; stillness returned upon the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_75' name='page_75'></a>75</span> +land; the stars grew larger in the velvet sky. Schiefflin +crouched among the boulders at the summit of the +knoll and fought off sleep while the great constellations +wheeled in their long courses. The dawn would +come in its proper time, and it seemed as certain as that +fact that they would return to hunt him out.</p> +<p>He dared not leave the place, for he might stray into +some locality where they would find him without shelter +when the day revealed his trail. So he waited for the +sunrise and the beginning of the attack.</p> +<p>At last the color deepened in the east. The rocks below +his hiding-place stood out more clearly. He could +see no sign among them of creeping savages. The sun +rose and still nothing moved.</p> +<p>He came forth finally in the full blaze of the hot +morning and found the mule where he had picketed it +behind the ridge. When he returned to the dry wash +he saw the tracks where the band had passed the evening +before. For some reason of their own they had +found it best to keep on that course instead of coming +back to murder him.</p> +<p>He resumed his search for float where he had left it +off. It showed more frequently as he went on. He +followed the bits of ore to a narrow stringer of blackish +rock. He dug into it with his prospector’s pick, +chipped off specimens, and carefully covered up the +hole. The danger of Apaches had passed, but a new +fear had come to him, the dread that some rival prospector +might happen upon his discovery before he could +establish possession.</p> +<p>For his provisions were running low. He had no +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_76' name='page_76'></a>76</span> +money. He needed a good grubstake––and companions +to help him hold down the claim against jumpers––before +he could begin development work.</p> +<p>He hurried back to the Bruncknow house. An attack +of chills and fever, brought on by his night among the +rocks, gave him a good excuse to leave the place. The +climate, he said, did not agree with him.</p> +<p>While he was trying to think of one with whom to +share his secret, one whom he could trust to take his full +portion of the dangers which would attend the claim’s +development, he remembered his brother Al, who was +working at the Signal mine way over in Mohave County, +There was the man. So he made his way across the +State of Arizona. He stopped at times to earn money +for food to carry him through and it was December before +he reached his destination.</p> +<p>Al Schiefflin had a friend, Dick Gird, who was an +assayer. Gird saw the specimens, tested them, and was +on fire at once. He joined forces with the brothers, +helped them to procure a grubstake, and in January, +1878, the three men set forth from Williams Fork of +the Colorado River in a light wagon drawn by two +mules.</p> +<p>Spring was well on its way when they reached Tucson +and made their camp in Bob Leatherwood’s corral. +The Apaches were raiding throughout the southeastern +part of the territory and the little town of adobes was +getting new reports of murders from that section every +day.</p> +<p>They drove their mules on eastward up the long mesas +leading to the San Pedro Divide. At the Pantano stage +station they saw the fresh scars of Apache bullets on +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_77' name='page_77'></a>77</span> +the adobe walls. The men had held the place against +a large band of Geronimo’s warriors only a few days +before.</p> +<p>Now as they drove on they kept constant lookout +and their rifles were nearly always in their hands. +Every morning they rose long before the dawn, and +two of them would climb the ridges near the camp to +watch the country as the light came over it, while the +other caught up the mules and harnessed them.</p> +<p>They turned southward up the San Pedro, avoiding +the stage station at the crossing of the river lest some +other party of prospectors might follow them. They +made a circuit around the Mormon settlement at St. +Davids and came on to the Bruncknow house, to find +two more fresh graves of Apache victims under the +adobe walls.</p> +<p>They made their permanent camp here, and Schiefflin +took his two companions up the dry wash. They +found the outcropping undisturbed. Gird and Al +Schiefflin dug away at the dark rock with their prospector’s +picks. Less than three feet below the surface +the stringer pinched out. The claim was not worth +staking.</p> +<p>Beside the little strip of ore, whose false promises +of riches had lured them into this land of death, +they held a conference. The hills opened to a low +swale which led up toward the loftier summits in the +south. They decided to follow that depression in +search of another ledge.</p> +<p>They made their daily journeys along its course, returning +with evening to the Bruncknow house, whose +inmates were away at the time on some expedition of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_78' name='page_78'></a>78</span> +their own. Sometimes they saw the smoke of signal-fires +over in the Dragoons; sometimes the slender +columns rose from the summit of the Whetstone +Mountains in the north. One morning––they had spent +the previous night out here in the hills––they awoke to +find a fresh trail in the bear-grass within a hundred +yards of where they had been sleeping, and in the +middle of the track Dick Gird picked up one of the +rawhide wristlets which Apaches wore to protect their +arms from the bowstring.</p> +<p>That day Ed Schiefflin discovered a new outcropping. +Gird assayed the specimens in a rude furnace +which he had fashioned from the fireplace at the +Bruncknow house. Some of them yielded as high as +$2,200 to the ton. Exploration work showed every +evidence of a great ore body. Two or three of the +fragments which they had chipped from it below the +surface assayed $9,000 a ton. They had made their +big strike. They staked the claim, and when they came +to fixing on a name Ed Schiefflin remembered once +more those words of the old-timer at the Bruncknow +house.</p> +<p>“We’ll call it the Tombstone,” he said, and told +the story.</p> +<p>It was recorded in Tucson as the Tombstone. And +when the big rush came, Ed Schiefflin, then a figure of +importance in the new camp, recited the tale to some +of the men who had risked their lives in traveling to +these hills. And so they in turn retold the tale.</p> +<p>That is the way the town got its name.</p> +<p>In after years when men had learned the fulness of +that secret which the Apaches had guarded so well from +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_79' name='page_79'></a>79</span> +the world––when Bisbee and Nacosari and Cananea were +yielding their enormous stores of metal and Tombstone’s +mines had given forth many millions of dollars in silver, +Ed Schiefflin remained a wealthy man. But the habit +of prospecting abided with him and he used to spend +long months alone in the wilderness searching for the +pure love of search.</p> +<p>Just before one of these expeditions he was driving +out of Tombstone with Gus Barron, another old-timer +and a close friend, and as they went down the Fairbank +road they reached the spot where the three great +boulder knolls rise beside the dry wash. Schiefflin +drew rein.</p> +<p>“This,” he said to Barron, “is the place where I +camped that night when the Apaches almost got me, the +night before I found the stringer on the hill. And +when I die I want to be buried here with my canteen +and my prospector’s pick beside me.”</p> +<p>So when he died up in Cañon City, Oregon, just +about twenty years after he had made that discovery, +they brought his body back and buried it on the summit +of the knoll. And they erected a great pyramid +of granite boulders on the spot for his monument.</p> +<p>And within sight of that lonely tomb the town +stands out on the sky-line, commemorating by its name +the steadfastness of Ed Schiefflin, prospector.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_80' name='page_80'></a>80</span> +<a name='TOMBSTONES_WILD_OATS' id='TOMBSTONES_WILD_OATS'></a> +<h2>TOMBSTONE’S WILD OATS</h2> +</div> +<p>In the good old days of Indians and bad men the +roaring town of Tombstone had a man for breakfast +every morning. And there were mornings when +the number ran as high as half a dozen.</p> +<p>That is the way the old-timers speak of it, and there +is a fond pride in their voices when they allude to +the subject; the same sort of pride one betrays when +he tells of the wild oats sowed by a gray-haired friend +during his lusty youth. For Tombstone has settled +down to middle-aged conventionality and is peaceable +enough to-day for any man.</p> +<p>But in the early eighties!</p> +<p>Apaches were raiding; claim-jumpers were battling; +road-agents were robbing stages; bad men were +slaying one another in the streets; and, taking it altogether, +life was stepping to a lively tune.</p> +<p>Geronimo’s naked warriors were industrious. Now +they would steal upon a pair of miners doing assessment +work within sight of town. Now they would +bag a teamster on the road from Tucson, or raid a +ranch, or attack the laborers who were laying the +water company’s pipe-line to the Huachucas. Hardly +a week passed but a party of hard-eyed horsemen rode +out from Tombstone with their rifles across their saddle-bows, +escorting a wagon which had been sent to +bring in the bodies of the latest victims.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_81' name='page_81'></a>81</span></div> +<p>In the two years after the first rush from Tucson to +the rich silver district which Ed Schiefflin had discovered, +there was much claim-jumping. And claim-jumping +in those days always meant shooting. Some +properties were taken and retaken several times, each +occasion being accompanied by bloodshed. Surveying +parties marched into the foot-hills of the Mule Mountains +under escort of companies of riflemen; in more +than one instance they laid out boundary lines and +established corner monuments after pitched battles, +each with its own formidable casualty list.</p> +<p>What with the murders by the savages and these +affrays––together with such natural hazards of disease +and accident as accompany any new mining camp––the +boot-hill graveyard out beyond the north end of the +wide main street was booming like the town. And +now there came a more potent factor in stimulating +mortuary statistics.</p> +<p>The bad men took possession of Tombstone.</p> +<p>They came from all over the West. For railroads and +telegraph lines were bringing a new order of things +from the Missouri to the Rio Grande, and those who +would live by the forty-five hastened to ride away +from sight of jails and churches, seeking this new haven +down by the border.</p> +<p>One by one they drifted across the flaring Southwestern +deserts; from California, Montana, Colorado, +Kansas, Texas, and New Mexico, with their grim mouths +tight shut against all questions and their big revolvers +dangling beside their thighs. The hair of some of them +was gray from many winters and their faces deeply +lined; and some were boys with down on their smooth +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_82' name='page_82'></a>82</span> +cheeks. But once his hand started moving toward his +pistol, every man of them was deadlier than a bull +rattlesnake in rutting time.</p> +<p>No man challenged them on their arrival. The +town was too busy to heed their presence. The one-story +buildings which lined the wide streets were +packed to the doors with customers; saloons, dance-halls, +and gambling-houses roared on through day and night; +the stores were open at all hours. The wide sidewalks +under the wooden awnings which ran the length of +every block, were crowded from wall to gutter with men +intent on getting wealth or spending it.</p> +<p>The bad men mingled with the sidewalk throngs; +they dropped into the Bird-Cage Opera House, where +painted women sang in voices that clanged like brazen +gongs; they took their places before the gambling-tables +of the Crystal Palace, where girls were oftentimes +to be found dealing faro; they joined the long lines +before the bars and drank the stinging whisky which +the wagon-trains had brought from Tucson. And +they met one another.</p> +<p>It was like the meeting of strange dogs, who bristle +on sight, and often fly at one another’s throats to +settle the question of supremacy. Their big-caliber +revolvers spat streams of fire in the roadways and bellowed +in the dance-halls. And gradually among the +ranks of the survivors there came a gradation in their +badness.</p> +<p>Several loomed far above the others: John Ringo, +Prank Stilwell, Zwing Hunt, the Clanton brothers, +and Billy Grounds. They were “He Wolves.” And +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_83' name='page_83'></a>83</span> +there was Curly Bill, the worst of all. He might +be said to rule them.</p> +<p>They settled down to business, which is to say they +started to do the best they could for themselves according +to their separate capacities for doing evil unto +others.</p> +<p>They rustled stock. They drove whole herds over +the boundary from Mexico. They pillaged the ranches, +which were now coming into the adjacent country, stealing +horses, altering brands, and slaying whoever interfered +with them, all with the boldness of medieval +raiders. They took a hand in the claim-jumping. +They robbed the stage.</p> +<p>Hardly a day passed without a hold-up on the Tucson +road––and, when the railway went through, on the +road to Benson. Shotgun guards and drivers were +killed; occasionally a passenger or two got a bullet. +And the bad men spent the money openly over the bars +in Tombstone.</p> +<p>Then the Earp brothers came upon the scene. From +this time their figures loom large in the foreground. +Whatever else may be said of them they were bold +men and there was something Homeric in their violence. +Wyatt, Virgil, Morgan, and Jim, the first three were +active in the wild events which followed their incumbency +to power. California knew them in their boyhood, +and during their manhood years they wandered +over the West, from mining camp to cow-town, until +they came to Tombstone from Dodge City, Kansas.</p> +<p>They brought a record with them. Back in the +seventies, in the time of the trail herds, Dodge was +a howling cow-town. There was a period of its existence +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_84' name='page_84'></a>84</span> +when the punchers used to indulge in the pastime +of shooting up the place; but there were a great +many of these frolicsome riders, and too much wanton +revolver shooting is sure to breed trouble if it is combined +with hard liquor, gambling, and a tough floating +population. The prominent business men of Dodge +watched the hectic consequences of this lawlessness +over their faro layouts with speculative eyes and came +to the conclusion that killings were becoming altogether +too promiscuous. The town, they said, needed +a business administration; and forthwith they selected +Bat Masterson as marshal. He established, and enforced, +a rule which amounted to this:</p> +<p>If a man pulled his gun he did it at his own peril. +Whoever fired a shot within the town limits, whether +he did it for sport or murder, faced arrest.</p> +<p>Resistance followed. There were nights when the +main street echoed with the roaring of firearms. But, +by the force of his personality and by his remarkable +ability at the quick draw, Bat Masterson subdued the +rebels. It came about that of what killing was done +he did his full share, which greatly diminished the death +list.</p> +<p>Wyatt and Virgil Earp succeeded Bat Masterson in +this office and carried on its administration with a +boldness which left them famous. With the coroner behind +them they were lords of the high justice, the +middle, and the low; and they sustained their positions +by good straight shooting.</p> +<p>At such times as they were not performing their +functions as peace officers they were dealing faro; and +when the imminence of a less interesting era was made +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_85' name='page_85'></a>85</span> +apparent in the dwindling of the trail herds and the +increase of dry farmers, they left the good old cow-town +along with many other professional gamblers.</p> +<p>They arrived in Tombstone in the days when the +outlaws were rampant, and they began dealing faro in +Oriental. They found many a friend––and some +enemies––from those years in western Kansas among +the more adventurous element in the new town. Former +buffalo-hunters, teamsters, quiet-spoken gamblers, and +two-gun men sat down before their layouts and talked +over bygones with them. There was an election at +about this time. Virgil was chosen town marshal, and +Wyatt got the appointment of deputy United States +marshal soon afterward.</p> +<p>Old friends and new rallied around them. Of the +former was Doc Holliday, a tubercular gunman with +the irascible disposition which some invalids own, who +had drifted hither from Colorado. Among the latter +were the Clanton brothers and Frank Stilwell, who +robbed the stage and rustled cattle for a living. John +Ringo, who was really the brains of the outlaws, and +Curly Bill, who often led them, are listed by many old-timers +among the henchmen in the beginning.</p> +<p>It was a time when the old spoils system was recognized +in its pristine simplicity. If you trained with +the victorious political faction you either wore a star or +had some one else who did wear a star backing you. +If you trained with the minority you were rather sure, +sooner or later, to have your name engrossed on a warrant. +In such an era it was as well to vote wisely; else, +in the vernacular, you were “short” in your home town, +which meant you could not go back there.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_86' name='page_86'></a>86</span></div> +<p>How much the Earps knew of what their henchmen +did is beyond the telling in this story. An official history +of Arizona published under the auspices of the +State legislature and written by Major McClintock, an +old Westerner, states that first and last they were accused +of about 50 per cent. of the robberies which took +place in the town. It is, however, altogether possible +that their cognizance of such matters was no greater +than many a city official to-day holds of crimes committed +in his bailiwick. When one comes to analyze +police politics he finds they have not changed much +since the time of the Crusades: desire for power has +always blinded reformers to the misdeeds of their followers. +One thing is certain; the Earps did protect +their friends, and some of those friends were using +very much the same methods which the Apaches employed +in making a living.</p> +<p>To a certain extent this was necessary. What one +might call the highly respectable element of the town +was busy at its own affairs. Mine-owners and merchants +were deeply engrossed in getting rich. And unless he +liked gun-fighting, a man would have to be a good deal +of a busybody to give the town marshal anything more +tangible than his best wishes in the way of support. It +was up to that official to look out for himself. At any +time when complications followed his attempt to arrest +a lawbreaker he could depend upon the average +citizen––to get outside the line of fire.</p> +<p>And the gun-fighters were eager to get into the game. +They were right on hand, to make a stand in front of +the enemy if need be––but preferably to murder the foe +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_87' name='page_87'></a>87</span> +from behind. Which was ever the way with the Western +bad man.</p> +<p>There were determined men of another breed in Tombstone +and the surrounding country, men who had outfought +Apaches and desperadoes on many an occasion; +dead shots who owned high moral courage. Such a man +was John Slaughter, who had established his ranch +down on the Mexican line and had driven the savages +away from his neighborhood. But these old-timers +were not enlisted under the Earp banner and the town’s +new rulers had only the other element for retainers.</p> +<p>So now Frank Stilwell robbed stages on the Bisbee +road until the drivers got to know his voice quite well; +and he swaggered through the Tombstone dance-halls +bestowing the rings which he had stripped from the +fingers of women passengers upon his latest favorite. +Ike and Billy Clanton enlarged their herds with cattle +and horses from other men’s ranges, and sold beef with +other men’s brands to Tombstone butchers. And taking +it altogether, the whole crew, from Doe Holliday +down, did what they could to bring popular disfavor +upon the heads of the new peace officers.</p> +<p>But if their followers were lacking in the quality of +moral courage, that cannot be said of the Earp brothers. +And not long after they took the reins in their strong +hands, an occasion arose wherein they proved their +caliber. Wyatt in particular showed that he was made +of stern stuff.</p> +<p>It came about as a result of the reforms under the +new régime. After the manner of their Dodge City +administration the brothers ruled in Tombstone. They +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_88' name='page_88'></a>88</span> +forbade the practice of shooting up the town. He who +sought to take possession of a dance-hall according to +the old custom, which consisted of driving out the inmates +with drawn revolvers and extinguishing the lights +with forty-five caliber slugs, was forthwith arrested. +To ride a horse into a saloon and order drinks for all +hands meant jail and a heavy fine. To slay a gambler, +or make a gun-play in a gambling-house, when luck was +running badly, resulted in prosecution.</p> +<p>Virgil Earp attended to these matters, and after +several incidents wherein he disarmed ugly men whose +friends stood by eager to let daylight into the new marshal, +he owned a certain amount of prestige. It is only +fair to remark in passing that he had a disposition––in +ticklish cases––to shoot first and ask questions afterward; +but that was recognized as an officer’s inalienable +right in those rude days.</p> +<p>Now this new order of things did not meet universal +popular favor in Tombstone. There were always three +or four hundred miners off shift on the streets, and +while a large percentage of them were peaceable men, +there was a boisterous element. This element, and the +cow-boys who had been in the habit of celebrating their +town comings after the good old fashion, felt resentful. +An occasional killing of one of their number with the +invariable verdict from a carefully picked coroner’s +jury, “met his death while resisting an officer in performance +of his duty,” made the resentment more general. +The recalcitrants said that Tombstone was being run by +a gang of murderers in the interest of the gamblers.</p> +<p>Opposition to the administration began to crystallize. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_89' name='page_89'></a>89</span> +Things reached the point where in a twentieth century +community reformers would be preparing to circulate +recall petitions. But in the early eighties they did +things more directly, and instead of the recall they had +the “show-down.” The malcontents eagerly awaited +its coming.</p> +<p>It came. And its origin was in Charleston.</p> +<p>Charleston was eleven miles across the hills from +Tombstone down by the San Pedro River. There was +a mill there, and the cow-boys from the country around +came in to spend their money. Jim Burnett was justice +of the peace. Early in the town’s history he had seceded +from the county of Pima because the supervisors +over in Tucson refused to allow him certain fees. +“Hereafter,” so he wrote the board, “the justice court +in Charleston will look after itself.” Which it did. +Once the court dragged Jack Harker from his horse, +when that enthusiastic stockman was celebrating his arrival +by bombarding the town, and fined the prisoner +fifty head of three-year-old steers. And once––it is a +matter of record––a coroner’s jury under his instruction +rendered the verdict: “Served the Mexican right for +getting in front of the gun.”</p> +<p>Things always moved swiftly in Charleston. There +is a tale of a saloon-keeper who buried his wife in the +morning, killed a man at high noon, and took unto himself +a new bride before evening. If that story is not +true––and old-timers vouch for it––it is at least indicative +of the trend of life in the town.</p> +<p>And to Charleston came those followers of John +Ringo and Curly Bill who did not get on with the Earps. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_90' name='page_90'></a>90</span> +Several of them became men of influence down here on +the San Pedro. Hither flocked those boisterous spirits +who craved more freedom of action on pay-day than the +mining town afforded.</p> +<p>Guns blazed in Charleston whenever the spirit moved. +The young fellow who was ditch-tender for the company +had to give up his lantern when he made his nightly +trip of inspection, because, as surely as that light +showed up on the side hill, there was certain to be some +one down in the street who could not resist taking a +shot at it. So while dissatisfaction was crystallizing +among the miners of Tombstone a keen rancor against +the Earps was developing over by the San Pedro.</p> +<p>This was the state of affairs when Johnny Behind the +Deuce brought matters to a crisis by killing an engineer +from the mill.</p> +<p>Johnny Behind the Deuce was an undersized, scrawny +specimen of the genus which is popularly known as +“tinhorn,” a sort of free-lance gambler, usually to be +found sitting in at a poker-game. The engineer was a +big man and abusive.</p> +<p>There was a game in which these two participated; +and when he had lost his wages to Johnny Behind the +Deuce, the engineer sought solace first in vituperation, +then in physical maltreatment. Whereat Johnny Behind +the Deuce shot him. Charleston’s constable took +the slayer into custody. The rustlers and other exiles +from Tombstone knew the prisoner for a friend of the +Earps, and so they decided to lynch him. They sent +one of their number to get a reata for that purpose.</p> +<p>The constable learned what was going on. He commandeered +a buckboard and a team of mules, put +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_91' name='page_91'></a>91</span> +Johnny Behind the Deuce aboard, and drove the animals +on the dead run for Tombstone.</p> +<p>When the man who had been sent for the reata returned, +the rustlers set out after the prisoner and found +they were five minutes too late. They saddled up and +started in pursuit.</p> +<p>The road wound along the lower levels between the +foot-hills of the Mule Mountains; there were two or +three dry washes to cross, some sharp grades to negotiate, +and several fine stretches which were nearly level,––a +rough road, admirably suited for making a wild race +wilder.</p> +<p>And this was a wild race. The constable and the +prisoner were just getting their team nicely warmed up +when they heard a fusillade of revolver-shots behind +them. They glanced over their shoulders and saw more +than fifty horsemen coming on at that gait which is so +well described in the vernacular as “burning the wind.” +From time to time one of these riders would lean forward +and “throw down” his six-shooter; then the +occupants of the buckboard would hear the whine of a +forty-five slug, and a moment later the report of the +distant weapon would reach their ears.</p> +<p>The mules heard these things too. What with the +noise of the firearms and the whoops of the pursuers +they were in a frenzy; they threw their long ears flat +back and entered into the spirit of the occasion by +running away. The constable, who was a cool man and +a good driver, centered his energies on guiding them +around the turns and let it go at that.</p> +<p>Now as the miles of tawny landscape flashed behind +them the two fugitives saw that they were being overhauled. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_92' name='page_92'></a>92</span> +And the pursuers found that they were gaining; +their yells came louder down the wind; they +roweled their lathered cow-ponies. And they drew +closer to the buckboard.</p> +<p>The constable negotiated the dry wash near Robbers +Rock on two wheels, and as the light vehicle was reeling +along the easy grade beyond, the prisoner took another +look behind. He told his captor that the wild riders +were not much more than four hundred yards away.</p> +<p>They came to a stretch of level road. The mules were +doing a little better now, and they clattered down into +the next dry wash with an abandon which all but ended +matters; the outer wheels went over the high cut bank, +but by the grace of good luck and marvelous driving the +buckboard was kept right side up. And now the lynching +party, who had made a short cut, appeared between +the rolling hills not more than two hundred yards +behind.</p> +<p>Johnny Behind the Deuce reported the state of affairs. +The constable answered without turning his head.</p> +<p>“Looks like we’re up against it, kid,” said he, “but +we’ll play it out ’s long as we got chips left.”</p> +<p>Three miles outside of Tombstone stood an adobe +building wherein a venturesome saloon-keeper had installed +himself, a barrel of that remarkable whisky +known as “Kill Me Quick,” and sufficient arms to maintain +possession against road-agents. The sign on this +establishment’s front wall said:</p> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'><i>LAST CHANCE</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>It was a lucky chance for Johnny Behind the Deuce. +For Jack McCann, who owned a fast mare, was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_93' name='page_93'></a>93</span> +exercising her out here this afternoon preparatory for a +race against some cow-ponies over on the San Pedro +next week. He had trotted her down the road and was +about to head her back toward the saloon for her burst +of speed when he saw the buckboard coming over a +rise.</p> +<p>The mules were fagged. The constable was lashing +them with might and main. The lynching party were +within a hundred yards.</p> +<p>As Jack McCann surveyed this spectacle which was so +rapidly approaching him the constable waved his hand. +The situation was too tight to permit wasting time. McCann +ranged his mare alongside the buckboard as soon +as it drew up; and before the breathless driver had begun +to explain, he cried.</p> +<p>“Jump on, kid.”</p> +<p>Johnny Behind the Deuce leaped on the mare’s back. +The constable pulled off the road as the lynching party +came thundering by with a whoop and halloo. He +peered through the dust which the ponies’ hoofs had +stirred up and saw the mare fading away in the direction +of Tombstone with her two riders.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>It was nearly four o’clock in the afternoon. That +hour was the dullest of the twenty-four in the gambling-houses, +for the evening shift was on its way to work +and the day shift had not yet come off. The Earps were +dealing faro in the Oriental.</p> +<p>To the onlooker who does not know its hazards faro is +a funereal game. The dealer slides one card and then a +second from the box. The case-keeper moves a button +or two on his rack. The dealer in the meantime is paying +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_94' name='page_94'></a>94</span> +winners and collecting chips from losers, all with the +utmost listlessness. In his high chair above them, all +the lookout leans back with every external sign of world-weary +indifference. And the players settle a little +lower on their stools. There was about as much animation +in the Oriental that afternoon as there is in a +country church on a hot Sunday morning; less in fact, +for there was no preacher present.</p> +<p>Into this peaceful quiet came the sound of hoofbeats +from the street. It stopped abruptly. Two men burst +through the front door on a run. The players looked +around and the faro-dealers dropped their right hands +toward the open drawers where they kept their loaded +pistols. Jack McCann and Johnny Behind the Deuce +had arrived.</p> +<p>But before the prisoner finished his story, to which +he did not devote more than twenty words or so, a man +ran into the Oriental with the tidings that the miners +who were coming off shift were arming themselves as +fast as they left the cages. The rustlers had ridden up +the hill and were gathering reinforcements.</p> +<p>Wyatt Earp at once took charge of the affair. He +was a medium-sized man with a drooping sandy mustache.</p> +<p>“We’ll close up, boys,” he said.</p> +<p>The show-down had come.</p> +<p>Wyatt, Virgil, Morgan, and Jim took counsel. Doc +Holliday advised with them. A handful of their supporters +stood by awaiting their decision. All others +left; the neighborhood was no healthy place for non-combatants.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_95' name='page_95'></a>95</span></div> +<p>The Oriental gambling-house stood on Tombstone’s +main street at the intersection of a cross street. Because +of its size it would be a hard place to defend +against so formidable a mob as this which was now moving +down the hill. Several doors north on the main +street and on the opposite side, there was a bowling-alley. +Its narrowness gave that building a strategic +value. They took Johnny Behind the Deuce there and +set guards at both ends.</p> +<p>Wyatt Earp remained alone out in the middle of the +main street just below the corner. He held a double-barreled +shotgun over the crook of his arm.</p> +<p>The ugly sound which rises from a mob came into +the deserted thoroughfare; the swift tramp of many feet, +the growl of many voices. More than three hundred +miners, the majority of whom were armed with rifles +from the company’s arsenal, and the fifty-odd members +of the Charleston lynching party swept into Toughnut +Street, turned the corner, and rushed down the cross +street toward the Oriental.</p> +<p>They reached the intersection of the main street, and +as they faced the closed doors of the Oriental their left +flank was toward Wyatt Earp. They filled the roadway +and the front ranks surged upon the sidewalk toward +the portals of the gambling-house.</p> +<p>Then some one who had seen the prisoner taken to the +bowling-alley shouted the tidings. The throng changed +front in the instant and faced the solitary man who +stood there a few yards before them.</p> +<p>Wyatt Earp shifted his shotgun into his two hands +and held it as a trap-shooter who is waiting for the +clay pigeons to rise.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_96' name='page_96'></a>96</span></div> +<p>In the moment of discovery the mob had checked itself, +confronting him as one man confronts another +when the two are bitter enemies and the meeting is entirely +unexpected. There followed a brief, sharp surge +forward; it emanated from the rear ranks and moved +in a wave toward the front. There it stopped. And +there passed a flash of time during which the man and +the mob eyed each other.</p> +<p>That was no ordinary lynching party such as some +communities see in these days. Its numbers included +men who had outfought Apaches, highwaymen, and +posses; men who were accustomed to killing their fellow +beings and inured to facing death. And the +hatred of the Earp brothers, which had been brewing +during all these months, was white-hot now within +them.</p> +<p>“Come on,” called Wyatt Earp, and added an epithet.</p> +<p>Above the mass of tossing heads the muzzles of rifles +were bobbing up and down. The trampling of feet +and the shuffling of packed bodies made a dull under-note. +Shouts arose from many quarters.</p> +<p>“Go on!” “Get him!” “Now, boys!”</p> +<p>Wyatt Earp threw back his head and repeated his +challenge.</p> +<p>“Come on!” He flung an oath at them. “Sure you +can get me. But”––he gave them the supreme insult +of that wild period’s profanity––“the first one makes a +move, I’ll get him. Who’s the man?”</p> +<p>Those who saw him that afternoon say that his face +was white; so white that his drooping mustache seemed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_97' name='page_97'></a>97</span> +dark in contrast. His eyes gleamed like ice when the +sun is shining on it. He had the look of a man who has +put his life behind him; a man who is waiting for just +one thing before he dies––to select the ones whom he +will take with him.</p> +<p>The cries behind redoubled, and the crowding increased +in the rear. Some leaped on the backs of those +before them. But the men in the front ranks––some of +them were bold men and deadly––withstood the pressure. +They held their eyes on that grim, white face, +or watched the two muzzles of that shotgun which he +swept back and forth across their gaze with hypnotic +effect.</p> +<p>It was a fine, large moment. Any one of them could +have got him at the first shot. There was no chance of +missing. And scores yearned to get him. Undoubtedly +he had attained that pitch where he yearned for them +to do it. And being thus to all intents a dead man,––save +only that he retained the faculty of killing,––he +was mightier than all of them.</p> +<p>Those in the front ranks were beginning to slip back; +and as these escaped his presence the others, who had +become exposed to it, struggled against the pressure of +their fellows who would keep them in that position. +Some of the cooler spirits were stealing away. The +contagion of indifference spread. The mob was melting.</p> +<p>In the meantime one or two members of the Earp +faction had procured a team and wagon. As soon as +the lynchers had dispersed they stowed the prisoner +in the vehicle, and set out for Tucson with a heavy +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_98' name='page_98'></a>98</span> +guard. But there was no pursuit. The reaction which +follows perfervid enthusiasm of this sort had settled +down upon the miners and cow-boys. Johnny Behind +the Deuce was tried before the district court, and––as +was to be expected––he was acquitted.</p> +<p>Time went on and dissensions came among the followers +of the Earp brothers. Curly Bill and John +Ringo were among the first to fall out with the leaders, +and they took the path of previous exiles to Charleston. +But the country by the San Pedro was being +settled up, and not long afterward they emigrated to +Galeyville over in the San Simon valley. Thenceforth +this little smelter town became the metropolis of +the outlaws. Ringo spent most of his time here with +occasional trips to Tombstone, where, on more than +one occasion, he dared the Earps to try to take him. +They did not accept his challenges. Finally he died +by his own hand and his friend Curly Bill left the +country.</p> +<p>In the meantime new secessions were taking place in +the Earp following. The county of Cochise had been +established. Tombstone was made the county seat. +Johnny Behan, an old-timer and an Indian fighter, was +the first sheriff. He was hostile to the city administration +from the beginning. Nor was that all. Lawyers +came into the town and henceforth––provided a dead +man’s friends had money––killing an opponent no +longer settled a dispute. There remained such complications +as indictment, sworn testimony, and the jury. +The good old days were passing.</p> +<p>Sheriff Johnny Behan charged the Earps with participation +in robberies and wilful cognizance of murders.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_99' name='page_99'></a>99</span></div> +<p>It was about as far as he did go as a public official. The +brothers issued profane and pointed defiance and went +on dealing faro.</p> +<p>About this time Frank Stilwell quarreled with the +Earps and hastily departed from Tombstone And +henceforth, until the wind-up of the ugly affairs that +followed, he remained at large, awaiting his opportunity +for revenge.</p> +<p>Sheriff Behan was trying to get some good charge to +bring against the brothers, and various lawyers––some +of them widely known throughout the Southwest––were +anxiously awaiting opportunity to appear as special +prosecutors when the Benson stage was held up.</p> +<p>The Benson stage had been robbed often enough before, +but this time the crime brought far-reaching consequences. +Bud Philpots was driver and Bob Paul, +afterward United States marshal, was shotgun messenger. +There was a large currency shipment––some eighty +thousand dollars––in the express-box. The stage was +full inside and one passenger, a Mexican, was riding +on top. For some reason or other Bob Paul had taken +the reins and Philpots was sitting in his place. As +the vehicle came to the top of a hill the robbers showed +themselves.</p> +<p>The old-timers speak of the conduct of the highwaymen +with profane contempt for instead of shooting +a horse or two, they opened fire on Bud Philpots, whom +they believed from his position to be the messenger. +They killed him and the Mexican passenger who was +seated behind him. But the team took fright at the +noise and ran away and the eighty thousand dollars +went on up the road in a cloud of dust.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_100' name='page_100'></a>100</span></div> +<p>Johnny Behan, the sheriff, said that the Earp brothers +sent Doc Holliday out with the Clanton brothers to +commit the crime.</p> +<p>Ike Clanton said that he was rustling cattle at the +time down in Mexico, and accused the Earps of sole responsibility.</p> +<p>The Earps in turn stated that the Clanton boys were +the bandits.</p> +<p>And that began the Earp-Clanton feud.</p> +<p>It did not last long, but there was much happening +while it was going on.</p> +<p>The Clanton brothers, Ike and Billy, betook themselves +to their ranch and gathered their friends around +them. Frank and Tom McLowrey were prominent +among these allies. And now the statement was made +in Tombstone that the members of this faction had +promised to shoot the Earps on sight.</p> +<p>One October evening Ike Clanton came to town with +Tom McLowery, and Virgil Earp arrested the two on +the charge of disturbing the peace. He did it on the +main street and disarmed them easily enough. The +justice of the peace, whose name was Spicer, fined the +prisoners fifty dollars.</p> +<p>The next morning these two defendants went to the +0. K. corral on Fremont Street, where they had put up +their horses the night before. And there they met Bill +Clanton and Frank McLowery. All four were leading +their ponies out of the gate when Wyatt, Virgil, and +Morgan Earp, together with Doc Holliday, confronted +them.</p> +<p>“Hands up!” Wyatt ordered.</p> +<p>The shooting began at once. Holliday killed Tom +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_101' name='page_101'></a>101</span> +McLowery, who was unarmed, at the first volley. Billy +Clanton fell mortally wounded but continued shooting +up to his last gasp. Frank McLowery got a bullet +through his pistol hand but shifted his weapon to the +other and kept on firing until Morgan Earp, who had +fallen with a ball through his shoulder, killed him from +where he lay. Ike Clanton jumped a high fence and +fled.</p> +<p>Justice of the Peace Spicer held an examination and +exonerated the slayers on the ground that they had +done the thing in performance of their duty as officers, +but friends of the Clantons had money. Some one retained +lawyers to assist in prosecuting the Earps. The +sheriff saw his opportunity and became active getting +testimony.</p> +<p>And then, while the town was seething with gossip +concerning the coming trial, Frank Stilwell stole into +Tombstone with a half-breed and slew Morgan Earp, who +was playing billiards at the time. The murder accomplished, +Stilwell took a fast horse and rode to Tucson. +The half-breed fled to the Dragoon Mountains.</p> +<p>The next day the three surviving Earp brothers and +Doc Holliday started for California with Morgan’s +body. At dusk that evening the train reached Tucson. +Now Ike Clanton was in the town, out on bail awaiting +trial for a stage-robbery. And Frank Stilwell was +there. It was no more than natural that the Earps +should keep a sharp lookout when the locomotive stopped +at the station.</p> +<p>Their vigilance was rewarded. Stilwell came slipping +through the shadows just as the train was pulling out. +The passengers in the Pullman were startled by a crackling +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_102' name='page_102'></a>102</span> +of revolver shots from the rear platform. Directly +afterward the Earps came back inside and took their +seats. And Tucson was given something to talk about +that evening by the discovery of Frank Stilwell’s body +riddled with bullets beside the track.</p> +<p>The Earp party held council in the Pullman and determined +to return to Tombstone. Leaving Virgil to +complete the journey with Morgan’s body, the other two +brothers and Doc Holliday left the train at a way station +and flagged a freight which took them back to Benson. +Here they procured horses and rode to the county +seat.</p> +<p>Sheriff Johnny Behan received telegraphic advices +from Tucson to arrest them. He found the trio sometime +in the afternoon. They had got their effects together +and sent them ahead on a wagon. They were +themselves on horseback, about to set forth for Colorado.</p> +<p>Wyatt glanced down upon the sheriff as the latter +came up.</p> +<p>“Listen,” he said. “Don’t you even look as if you +wanted to arrest us.”</p> +<p>And with that the three rode down the main street. +They passed the saloons and gambling-houses, and men +came flocking to the doors to see them go by.</p> +<p>At the running walk the horses came on, three abreast; +the faces of the riders were set; their eyes swept the +crowds on the sidewalks. They went on by. They +turned the corner into the road that leads to the Dragoons. +That was the last that Tombstone ever saw of +them.</p> +<p>They stopped at Pete Spence’s ranch, where the half-breed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_103' name='page_103'></a>103</span> +was working who had been with Frank Stilwell on +the evening of Morgan’s murder, and a cow-boy found +the man’s body the next morning.</p> +<p>They rode across wide flats and through great dark +mountain ranges, eastward and to the north, until they +came into Colorado.</p> +<p>After the departure of these bold men outlawry took +on a new lease of life in southeastern Arizona. Cattle-rustling, +stage-robbery, and murder went on throughout +Cochise County. And at last the people found a strong +man, to whom the law stood for something more than a +means of personal power. They chose for sheriff John +Slaughter, who had been waging war for years on his +own account against Apaches and bad men. But the +story of how he brought the enforcement of the statutes +into Tombstone is too long to tell here, although it is a +stirring tale and colorful.</p> +<p>Tombstone to-day stands just as it was back in those +wild days of the early eighties; just as it was––the +buildings are unchanged. You may see them all, and +see the streets as they looked when pistols flamed and +men died hard out in the roadway.</p> +<p>But other crowds walk those streets now. And sometimes +on an evening you will see automobiles going down +the block with family parties on their way for a spin +along the Benson road where the Clanton boys, Frank +Stilwell, John Bingo, and the other bad men used to +rob the stages in daytime.</p> +<p>On such an evening, should you travel down that +highway, you may see the leaping light of a bonfire +by which a group of young people are toasting marshmallows +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_104' name='page_104'></a>104</span> +on the summit of the knoll where Ed Schiefflin +hid from the passing Apaches.</p> +<p>Tombstone is peaceable enough to-day for any man; +so peaceable that one finds it hard to believe there was +a time when the town had a man––or more––for breakfast +every morning.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_105' name='page_105'></a>105</span> +<a name='THE_SHOWDOWN' id='THE_SHOWDOWN'></a> +<h2>THE SHOW-DOWN</h2> +</div> +<p>In the early days of Tombstone when miners and merchants +and cow-men and faro-dealers and outlaws +were drifting into Cochise County from all over the +West, a young fellow by the name of William C. +Breckenbridge came down from Colorado to the new +camp. He was, so the old-timers say, one of those smallish +men who can wear a flannel shirt and broad-brimmed +hat so jauntily that, although their breeches be tucked +into their boot-tops, they still look marvelously neat; but +while he could come through a hard day’s ride still +suggesting a bandbox, there was nothing of the dandy +about him.</p> +<p>His people had staked him to go out West and at +their suggestion he had hunted up an older brother in +Colorado. But two years in the wide reaches of the +Platte country, where the monotony of teaming was +varied by occasional brushes with the Indians, failed to +satisfy his spirit. And so he came riding down into +the flaring valleys of the Southwestern border along +with the first influx of adventurers.</p> +<p>He was still in his early twenties and the world looked +good to him; one of those quiet youths who preface most +remarks with a smile because, all other things being +equal, they like their fellow-men.</p> +<p>He knocked about the camp, trying this thing and +that, and was starting in at mining engineering with an +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_106' name='page_106'></a>106</span> +old marine compass as his only instrument when Johnny +Behan, who was newly appointed sheriff by the governor, +gave him a job as a deputy. Then straightaway +the eyes of men were turned upon him, and the query +arose:</p> +<p>“How’s he going to stack up when it comes to a +show-down?”</p> +<p>Those were the days, you understand, when––to indulge +in a Scriptural figure––he who took up the sword +must be prepared to perish by the sword. If you +buckled on a gun you must be ready to draw it, and +once you started to draw it, heaven help you if you did +not reckon on going through with the play.</p> +<p>A man could get by, as the saying has it, if he played +the part of a neutral; but if, on the one hand, you +started in at stealing cattle or if, on the other hand, you +pinned on a star––why then, sooner or later, the big +issue was going to come to a head; you were going to +find yourself faced by a foe or foes, armed like yourself, +and like yourself prepared to shoot it out. Then when +the show-down came you would comport yourself according +to the stuff that you were made of––the material +which was hidden away deep down under your skin––and +according to your conduct the world would judge +you.</p> +<p>So naturally enough in those days men asked this +question and waited for events to bring its answer. +And those among them who were not gifted with the +faculty of reading character but needed to see a man +for themselves when the guns were blazing––those individuals +had to wait a long time.</p> +<p>As for the others, what they said to themselves as one +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_107' name='page_107'></a>107</span> +adventure followed another now in the career of Billy +Breckenbridge you who read these words can judge, if +you be blessed with ordinary perspicacity. For many +things took place and many months went by before he +reached down along his lean right thigh toward the butt +of his forty-five single-action revolver.</p> +<p>It is quite likely that Johnny Behan was among those +who wanted the new deputy to give a demonstration +of the stuff he was made of. Perhaps that was the reason +the sheriff sent young Breckenbridge over into the +eastern end of the county to collect the taxes before the +latter had worn his star long enough to get used to it.</p> +<p>In those days the sheriff’s office levied assessments +and did the collecting on personal property at the same +time. Payments were made in cash; bank-checks were +virtually unknown in Cochise County. And thus far +the country east of the Dragoon Mountains had yielded +no revenues for the simple reason that it looked as if +nothing short of a troop of cavalry could go forth into +that region and return again with the money.</p> +<p>Beyond those rocky peaks which frowned across the +mesquite flat at Tombstone lay other ragged mountain +ranges; the Chiracahuas, the Dos Cabezas, the Swiss-helms, +and the Grahams. Between their towering walls +the valleys of the Sulphur Springs and the San Simon +stretched away and away southward across the Mexican +border great tawny plains pulsating under the hot sun.</p> +<p>Upon their level floors the heat-devils danced all +the long days like armies of phantom dervishes gone +mad with their interminable leapings and whirlings. +And strange grotesque mirages climbed up into the glaring +heavens. A savage land wherein savage men rode, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_108' name='page_108'></a>108</span> +as packs of gray wolves range in the wintertime when +meat is scarce, searching the distant sky-line for some +sign of life on which to prey.</p> +<p>For this was no-man’s-land. Bands of renegade +Apaches lurked among its empurpled peaks. Companies +of Mexican smugglers came northward through +its steep-walled border cañons driving their laden burros +to lonely rendezvous where hard-eyed traders awaited +them with pack-mules loaded down with dobie dollars. +A few lonely ranch-houses where there was water in the +lowlands; in the mountains a sawmill or two and some +far-flung mines; here the habitations were like arsenals. +Honest men must go armed to work and sleep with arms +by their bedsides, and even then it was advisable for +them to ask no questions of those who rode up to their +cabins.</p> +<p>And it was best for them to make no protests at what +such guests did unto their own or the property of others. +For since the days when the first semblances of law had +come to Tombstone this region had been the sanctuary +of the bad men.</p> +<p>When you crossed the summits of the Dragoon Mountains +you were beyond the pale. Hither the stage-robber +came, riding hard when the list of his crimes had +grown too long. The murderer, the rustler, and the outlaw +spurred their ponies on eastward when the valley +of the San Pedro was too hot for them and took refuge +here among their kind. On occasion the bolder ones +among them ventured back to show themselves on Tombstone’s +streets or swagger into Charleston’s dance-halls; +but never for long and never unless they were traveling +in formidable groups.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_109' name='page_109'></a>109</span></div> +<p>And then sooner or later they would slip away again +to the wild passes and the long and lonely valley flats +where there was no law excepting that which a man +carried in his pistol-holster. One after another those +who were “short” in other places had drifted before the +winds of public opinion to gather in this eastern end +of Cochise County where two whose qualities of deadliness +surpassed those of all the rest were recognized, +because of that superior ability at killing, as the big “He +Wolves.” These two were Curly Bill and John Ringo.</p> +<p>When they were not leading their followers in some +raid against the herds of border cattlemen, or lying in +wait to ambush one of the armed bands of smugglers, or +standing up the stage, these two were usually to be found +in Galeyville. You will not see Galeyville named nowadays +on the map of Arizona and if you look ever so +long through the San Simon country, combing down the +banks of Turkey Creek ever so closely, you will not discover +so much as a fragment of crumbling adobe wall to +show that the town ever existed.</p> +<p>But it did exist during the early eighties and its +life was noisy enough for any man. There came a day +when the neighboring mines shut down and the little +smelter which furnished a livelihood for the honest +members of the population went out of business; later +the Apaches erased everything that was combustible +from the landscape and the elements finished the business.</p> +<p>But when John Ringo and Curly Bill held forth in +Galeyville there was a cattle-buyer in the place who did +a brisk business because he asked no embarrassing questions +concerning brands. Which brought many a hard-eyed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_110' name='page_110'></a>110</span> +rustler thither and sent many a dollar spinning +over the battered bars.</p> +<p>Such were the eastern end of Cochise County and its +metropolis when Johnny Behan told young Billy +Breckenbridge to cross the Dragoons and collect taxes +throughout that section. If he expected a protest he +was mistaken, for Breckenbridge took the bidding with +his usual good-natured smile. And if the sheriff looked +for a request for a posse he was disappointed. The new +deputy saddled up his horse one morning and rode forth +alone, trim and neat as usual and, for all that any one +could see, without a care on his mind.</p> +<p>He rode up the wide main street which bisects Tombstone +from end to end, descended the hill and started +his horse across the flatlands toward the ragged pinnacles +of Cochise’s stronghold.</p> +<p>Eastward he rode through tall mesquite thickets, over +rolling hills where clumps of bear-grass grew among +spiked yuccas and needle-pointed tufts of Spanish +bayonet, and climbed the pass beyond. From its +summit he looked down upon the wide reaches of the +Sulphur Springs valley, level as a floor, as tawny as a +lion’s skin.</p> +<p>Then he descended from the sky-lined pinnacles of +granite to the plain. Under the blazing heavens pony +and rider showed upon that glowing surface as a tiny +dot; a dot that moved slowly on and on until the yellow-brown +carpet of the bunch-grass came to an end and was +replaced by a gleaming sheet of alkali. Before that +crawling dot the mirage wavered and undulated like a +weirdly painted back-drop stirring in the wind.</p> +<p>The dot crept on, took strange new shapes that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_111' name='page_111'></a>111</span> +changed phantasmally, then vanished behind the +curtain of which for a passing moment it had been a +part. Thus young Breckenbridge rode beyond the +dominion of the written law and was swallowed up by +no-man’s-land.</p> +<p>When he had started forth from Tombstone he merely +knew his errand; he owned no plan. Now as the +splendid star-lit nights followed the long, blazing days +he began, to see a course of action and this led him on, +until one day he came down into the San Simon country +and rode into the town of Galeyville.</p> +<p>The enterprising citizen whose cattle-buying business +helped to keep dollars spinning across the bars of this +outlaw metropolis was mildly curious when young +Breckenbridge introduced himself that afternoon. The +presence of a sheriff’s deputy was enough to set any one +to thinking in those days.</p> +<p>His curiosity gave way to unspoken wonder as the +caller unfolded his mission and stated the name of the +man whom he wanted to see. Anyhow, this meeting +promised to be worth while witnessing; the cattle-buyer +said as much.</p> +<p>“Reckon we’ll find him up the street right now,” he +added, and led the way to a near-by saloon.</p> +<p>There were a number of men in the place when the +pair entered; a quintet playing cards, and as many +others scattered about a quiet pool-game. And one +burly fellow was lying on a poker-table, curled up for +all the world like a sleeping dog. Now and then one of +the gamblers would lift his head to take a look at the +new-comers, and for a brief instant young Breckenbridge +would find himself gazing into a pair of hard, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_112' name='page_112'></a>112</span> +steady eyes. Then the eyes would be lowered and the +player would go on with the game.</p> +<p>It was during this uncomfortable interval of general +sizing-up that the proprietor entered, a red-faced man +and short of stature. He had been out to get a bucket +of water; he set the pail down by the end of the bar and +filled a tin cup from it.</p> +<p>“Here’s how, boys,” he said with loud facetiousness, +and lifted the cup.</p> +<p>The burly man, who had apparently been awakened +by the words, uncoiled himself, came to crouch with one +arm supporting his body on the table-top and––all in +the same lithe movement––drew his big-caliber revolver +from the holster.</p> +<p>“Don’t drink that stuff. It’s pizen,” he shouted, +and with the last word his weapon flamed.</p> +<p>The tin cup flew from the saloon man’s hand. A +shout of laughter rose from the crowd at the two games; +then the pool-balls clicked again and––</p> +<p>“Raise you ten,” a poker-player said.</p> +<p>Breckenbridge’s guide beckoned to the man who had +done the shooting. He came across the room, shoving +his gun back into the holster, a rather thickly built man +but well-knit and there was a soft spring in his slowest +movements which suggested snake-like quickness. He +was dark-eyed, and his hair was a mat of close black +curls. The cattle-buyer nodded, to indicate the introduced +one.</p> +<p>“This,” he said, “is Mr. Breckenbridge, one of +Johnny Behan’s deputies.”</p> +<p>And––</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_113' name='page_113'></a>113</span></div> +<p>“This is Curly Bill.”</p> +<p>Young Breckenbridge smiled as usual and stretched +forth his right hand. But the eyes of Curly Bill were +narrow and his hand came out slowly. There was that +in his whole manner which said he was on guard, +watching every movement of the deputy.</p> +<p>And for this there was good reason. It was not long +since Curly Bill had stood in very much the same attitude +on Tombstone’s street facing Town Marshal White, +the only difference being that his right hand on that occasion +had been proffering his pistol, butt foremost, to +the officer. And in the passing of the instant while +Marshal White had touched the weapon with his fingertips +the forty-five had swiftly reversed ends, to spit +forth one leaden slug.</p> +<p>The officer had dropped in the dust of the roadway +and Curly Bill had ridden out of town with a thousand +dollars on his head. A thousand dollars was a thousand +dollars and there was no telling what a man who wore +a nickel-plated star might have up his sleeve.</p> +<p>“Mr. Breckenbridge,” the cattle-buyer said as the +two palms met, “is here on civil business.”</p> +<p>The eyes of Curly Bill resumed their normal shape. +His fingers tightened over the deputy’s.</p> +<p>“Howdy,” he said. “What yo’ going to have?”</p> +<p>While the sting of the cow-town whisky was still +rankling in their throats a man entered the front door.</p> +<p>“Oh, Bill,” he called across the room, “your hoss is +daid.”</p> +<p>Deserting the bar to delve into this mystery, they +found the outlaw’s pony stretched out beside the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_114' name='page_114'></a>114</span> +hitching-rack near the rear of the building. The owner +cast one glance at the dead animal; then his eyes went +to a shattered window.</p> +<p>“’Twas when I shot that cup from Shorty’s hand.”</p> +<p>He shrugged his big shoulders and, with a grin––</p> +<p>“Plenty more good ponies in the valley––and the +nights are moonlight now.”</p> +<p>When they were back facing the battered bar young +Breckenbridge explained, his business in no-man’s-land.</p> +<p>“And this end of the county,” he wound up, “is sort +of rough. If I’d ride around alone, packing that +money, somebody’s liable to get the best of me when +I’m not looking for it. I’ve got to have a good man +along to help take care of that roll. And I’d admire to +have you make the trip with me.”</p> +<p>Curly Bill was a great deal slower at thinking than he +was at drawing his gun and there was much food for +thought in that bold proposition. He gazed at young +Breckenbridge for some moments in silence. Gradually +his lips relaxed. Smiling, he turned and addressed the +occupants of the room.</p> +<p>“Boys,” he cried, “line up.”</p> +<p>And when the line was formed before the bar he +waved his hand.</p> +<p>“This here’s the deputy sheriff, come to collect the +taxes in our end of the county; and I aim to help him do +the job up right.”</p> +<p>By what means Curly Bill supplied himself with a +new pony this chronicler does not know. But it is a +fact that the outlaw rode forth from Galeyville the next +day along with Johnny Behan’s deputy, to guide the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_115' name='page_115'></a>115</span> +latter through the Sulphur Springs valley and the San +Simon––and to guard the county’s funds.</p> +<p>Travel was slow in those days; accommodations were +few and far between. Outlaw and deputy jogged down +the long, glaring flats enshrouded in the dust-fog which +rose from their ponies’ hoofs; mile after mile of weary +riding under a scorching sun. They climbed by +winding trails through narrow cañons where the heat-waves +jigged endlessly among the naked rocks. They +camped by lonely water-holes and shared each other’s +blankets under the big yellow stars.</p> +<p>By day they watched the sky-line seeking the slightest +sign of moving forms; by night they kept their weapons +within easy reach and slept lightly, awakening to the +smallest sound. They scanned the earth for tracks and, +when they found them, read them with the suspicion +born of knowledge of the country’s savagery.</p> +<p>And sometimes other riders came toward them out of +the desert to pass on and to vanish in the hazy distance; +men who spoke but few words and watched the right +hands of the two riders as they talked. But none attacked +them or made a show toward hostility. Now and +again the pair stopped at a ranch-house or a mine where +Breckenbridge added to the county’s money in his +saddle-bags.</p> +<p>And as the days wore on, each with its own share of +mutual hardship to bring these two to closer companionship, +they began, as men will under such circumstances, +to unfold their separate natures. Under the long trail’s +stern necessity they bared to each other those traits +which would have remained hidden during years of acquaintance +among a city’s tight-walled streets.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_116' name='page_116'></a>116</span></div> +<p>A carelessly spoken word dropped at hot noontide +when the water in the canteens had given out; a sincere +oath, uttered by the fire at supper-time; a long, drowsy +conversation as they lay in their blankets with the +tang of the night breeze in their nostrils, gazing up +at the splendor of the flaming stars; until they knew +each other man to man––and Curly Bill began to feel +something like devotion to his purposeful young companion. +Thenceforth he talked freely of his deeds and +misdeeds.</p> +<p>“Only one man that ever got the drop on me,” the +outlaw said one evening when they were lying on their +blankets, enjoying the long inhalations from their after-supper +cigarettes, “and that was ol’ Jim Burnett over +in Charleston, two years ago.”</p> +<p>He paused a moment to roll another smoke. A coyote +clamored shrilly beyond the next rise; a horse blew +luxuriously feeding in the bunch-grass. Curly Bill +launched into his tale.</p> +<p>“He was justice of the peace and used to hold co’t +in those days whenever he’d run on to a man he wanted. +Always packed a double-barrel shotgun and he’d usually +managed to throw it down on a fellow while he +tried the case and named the fine.</p> +<p>“Well, me and some of the boys was in town this +time and things was slack. Come a Sunday evenin’ and +I heard how some married folks had started up a church. +I hadn’t been inside of one since I could remember +and we all made up our minds to go and see what it was +like.</p> +<p>“Things had opened up when we come into the door +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_117' name='page_117'></a>117</span> +and we took our seats as quiet as we could. But the +jingle of our spurs made some people in the congregation––the’ +wasn’t more’n a dozen of ’em––look around. +And of co’se they knew us right away. So, pretty +quick one or two gets up and leaves, and soon afterward +some more, until first thing we knew our bunch +was all the’ was stickin’ it out.</p> +<p>“Along about that time the preacher decided he’d +quit too, and he was edging off to head for the back +door when I got up and told him to stop. Folks said +afterwards that I throwed down my fo’ty-five on him +but that wasn’t so. Wasn’t any need of a gun-play. +I only said that we’d come to see this deal out and +we meant to have it to the turning of the last card +and if he’d go ahead everything would be all right.</p> +<p>“So he did, and give out a hymn and the boys stood +up and sang; and he preached a sermon, taking advantage +of the chanc’t to light into us pretty rough. Then +it come time for passin’ round the hat and I’ll bet the +reg’lar congregation never done half so well by the +collection as we did.</p> +<p>“Well, sir, next mo’nin’ I was sittin’ in front of the +hotel in the shade of those big cottonwoods, sort of +dozing, having been up kind of late after the church-going; +and the first thing I knew somebody was saying––</p> +<p>“‘Hanzup.’</p> +<p>“I opened my eyes and here was ol’ Jim Burnett with +that double-barrel shotgun throwed down on me, I +knew there was no use tryin’ to get the play away +from him, either; only a day or two before that he’d +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_118' name='page_118'></a>118</span> +stuck up Johnny Harker and fined him a bunch of +three-year-old steers for shootin’ up the town. So I +obeyed orders and––</p> +<p>“‘Curly Bill,’ says he, ‘yo’ ’re tried herewith and +found guilty of disturbin’ the peace at the Baptis’ +Church last evenin’; and the sentence of this co’t is +twenty-five dollars’ fine.’</p> +<p>“I shelled out then and there and glad to do it, too. +Them two muzzles was lookin’ me right between the +eyes all the while.”</p> +<p>Up in the San Simon country they ran short of grub +and after going two days on scanty rations––</p> +<p>“The’ ’s a cañon fifteen miles south of here,” the +outlaw said. “I reckon some of the boys might be +camping there now.”</p> +<p>They rode hard that afternoon and reached the place +some time before sundown. The boys of whom Curly +Bill had spoken were there all right, ten of them, and +none of the number but was known at the time over +in Tombstone either as a rustler or a stage-robber. His +guide introduced Breckenbridge with the usual terseness +of such ceremonies among his kind.</p> +<p>Whatever of constraint there was at the beginning +wore away during the progress of the evening, and on +the next morning before they left the gorge the young +deputy worked his way into the good graces of his +hosts by winning twenty dollars from them shooting +at a mark.</p> +<p>By this time they were nearing the end of their tour +and it was only a few days later, when they were crossing +the Sulphur Springs valley toward the frowning +Dragoons, that Curly Bill bestowed a final confidence +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_119' name='page_119'></a>119</span> +upon his companion. They were nooning at the time +and somehow or other the usual question of revolver-handling +had come up.</p> +<p>“I’m goin’ to tell yo’-all something,” said Curly +Bill, “that mebbe it will come in handy to remember. +Now here.”</p> +<p>He drew his forty-five and held it forth butt foremost +in his right hand.</p> +<p>“Don’t ever go to take a man’s gun that-a-way,” he +went on, “for when yo’ are figuring that yo’ have the +drop on him and he is makin’ the play to give it up––Jest +reach out now to get it.”</p> +<p>Breckenbridge reached forth with his right hand. +The outlaw smiled. His trigger-finger glided inside the +guard; there was a sudden wrist movement and the revolver +whirled end for end. Its muzzle was pressing +against the deputy’s waist-band.</p> +<p>“Did it slow so’s you could see,” said Curly Bill. +“Now yo’ understand.”</p> +<p>And Breckenbridge nodded, knowing now the manner +in which Marshal White had met his death on +the day when his companion had fled from the +law.</p> +<p>In no-man’s-land they shook hands at parting.</p> +<p>“So-long,” said Curly Bill. “See you later.”</p> +<p>And the deputy answered with like brevity, then +rode on to Tombstone. Those who had banked on the +big issue wherein Breckenbridge would smell the other +man’s powder-smoke were disappointed. And there +were some among them who shook their heads when the +young fellow’s name was mentioned, saying, as they had +said in the beginning:</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_120' name='page_120'></a>120</span></div> +<p>“Wait till the show-down comes; then we’ll see how +he stacks up.”</p> +<p>But Sheriff Johnny Behan was open in his rejoicings. +For the sheriff’s enemies were many and some +of them were powerful, and his conduct in office +was being subjected to a great deal of harsh criticism, +oftentimes, it must be admitted, with entire justice. So +when the smiling young deputy returned from a region +where Cochise County had hitherto been unable to +gather any taxes, and deposited a sum wherein every +property-owner in that region was properly represented, +here was good news with which to counteract accusations +of laxity.</p> +<p>And that was not all. As far as law and order went, +the country east of the Dragoons was a foreign land; +and when Breckenbridge had told the story of his journeyings +with Curly Bill, explaining how the outlaw +had been zealous in nosing out those citizens whose +property was assessable, how he had safeguarded the +county’s money, then the sheriff saw how he had on +his force one whom he could use to good account.</p> +<p>Other officials were unable to carry the law into no-man’s-land; +but he had, thenceforth, at least an envoy. +And he knew that there would be times when diplomatic +representation was going to come in very handy.</p> +<p>From that day on, when anything came up in the +Sulphur Springs valley or in the San Simon, Billy +Breckenbridge was despatched to attend to the matter. +Time and again he made the journey until the cow-men +in the lowlands came to know his face well; until the +sight of a deputy sheriff’s star was no longer an unwonted +spectacle in Galeyville. And as the months +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_121' name='page_121'></a>121</span> +went by he enlarged the list of his acquaintances among +the outlaws.</p> +<p>But his errands were for the most part concerned +with civil matters. Now and again there was a warrant +for stock-rustling, but the rustlers carried on their +business in the open at that time and there were few +who dared to testify against them. Bail was always +arranged by the accommodating cattle-buyer at Galeyville, +so that such arrests invariably turned out to be +amicable affairs.</p> +<p>Among those who were sitting back and waiting for +the big show-down there was a little stir of anticipation +when young Breckenbridge rode forth armed with a +warrant for John Ringo. For Ringo was a bad man +of larger caliber than even Curly Bill. He was the +brains of the outlaws, and the warrant charged highway +robbery.</p> +<p>But the thrill died away when the deputy came riding +back with his man; and there was something like disgust +among the waiting ones when it was learned that +the prisoner had stayed behind in Galeyville to arrange +some of his affairs and had ridden hard to catch up with +his captor at the Sulphur Springs ranch.</p> +<p>Anticipation flamed again a little later and it looked +as if there was good reason for it. For this time it was +a stolen horse and Breckenbridge had set forth to recover +the animal. A rustler might be willing to go +through the formalities of giving bail at the county +court-house, or even to stand trial, but when it came +to turning over stolen property––and doing it without +a struggle––that was another matter. Moreover, this +horse, which had been taken from the Contention Mine, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_122' name='page_122'></a>122</span> +was a thoroughbred, valued high and coveted by many a +man. There was good ground for believing that the +fellow who had made off with him would put up a fight +before letting him go again.</p> +<p>Now when he left Tombstone on this mission Johnny +Behan’s young diplomatic representative was riding a +rented pony, his own mount being fagged out from a +previous journey; and this fact has its bearing on the +story later on. The wild country is always easier +ground in which to trace a fugitive or stolen property +than the crowded places for the simple reason that its +few inhabitants are likely to notice every one who passes; +besides which there are few travelers to obliterate tracks.</p> +<p>And Breckenbridge learned before he had gone very +many miles that the badly wanted horse was headed in +the direction of the McLowery ranch. The McLowery +boys were members of the Clanton gang of rustlers and +stage-robbers. It did not need a Sherlock Holmes to +figure out the probabilities of where that horse was +being pastured now. Breckenbridge pressed on to the +McLowery place.</p> +<p>Night had fallen when he arrived and the barking of +many dogs heralded his approach to all the surrounding +country. Breckenbridge knew the McLowery boys well, +as well as he knew the Clantons and a dozen other outlaws, +which was well enough to call one another by +their first names.</p> +<p>But these were ticklish times. The big Earp-Clanton +feud was nearing its climax. The members of the latter +faction––several of whom were wanted on Federal +warrants which charged them with stage-robbery––were +keeping pretty well holed up, as the saying is, and it +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_123' name='page_123'></a>123</span> +was not unlikely that if any of them were in the ranch-house +at the time, the visitor who was not extremely +skilful in announcing himself would be shot first and +questioned afterward.</p> +<p>So when Billy Breckenbridge came to the house +he did not draw rein but kept right on as if he +were riding past. Fortune had favored him by interposing +in his path an enormous puddle, almost a +pond, the overflow from a broken irrigation ditch. +He pulled up at this obstacle and hallooed loudly.</p> +<p>“Any way through here?” he shouted. “This is +Breckenbridge.”</p> +<p>A moment’s silence, and then a streak of light showed +where the front door had been opened a crack.</p> +<p>“Sit quiet on that there hoss,” a gruff voice commanded, +“and lemme see if you <i>be</i> Breckenbridge.”</p> +<p>“Hallo, Bill,” the deputy sheriff answered. “Yes, +it’s me all right.”</p> +<p>And Curly Bill opened the door wider, revealing his +burly form.</p> +<p>“Put up yo’r pony in the corral,” he said, “and +come in.”</p> +<p>When Breckenbridge had complied with the last +part of the invitation he found the bare room filled +with men. The McLowery boys were there, two of +them, and the Clantons. Half a dozen other outlaws +were lounging about, and Curly Bill himself was +looking none too pleasant as he nodded to the visitor.</p> +<p>“Cain’t tell who might come ridin’ in these nights,” +he growled by way of explanation for his curt welcome. +“Set up and eat a bite now yo’ ’re here.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_124' name='page_124'></a>124</span></div> +<p>The lateness of the meal and the general dishevelment +of the room’s occupants made it clear to the guest +that every one had been riding hard that day. It was +an awkward moment and the constraint endured long +after the last man had shoved back his chair and rolled +his brown-paper cigarette.</p> +<p>Curly Bill found an opportunity to get young Breckenbridge +off to one side during the evening.</p> +<p>“What’s on yore mind?” he asked.</p> +<p>The deputy told him.</p> +<p>“The superintendent owns that horse,” he explained, +“and he’s a good friend of mine. Not only that, but +if I get it back it means a whole lot to the office; it’ll +put Behan solid with those people over at Contention, +and that helps me.”</p> +<p>The outlaw nodded but made no remark by way of +comment. Some time later he sat up at the oilcloth-covered +table talking quietly with Frank McLowery. And +Brenckenridge saw McLowery scowling. Then he felt +reasonably sure who had stolen that blooded animal +and who was going to bring it back to Tombstone in the +morning.</p> +<p>Bedding-rolls were being unlashed within the half-hour. +McLowery brought Breckenbridge a pair of +blankets.</p> +<p>“Reckon you’ll have to make down on the floor same +as the rest of the boys,” the outlaw growled and then, as +if it were an afterthought, “That there boss yo’ ’re +looking fer is near the ranch.”</p> +<p>And that was all the talk there was on the subject +during the evening. But Breckenbridge spread his +blankets and lay down among the rustlers serene in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_125' name='page_125'></a>125</span> +mind. Evidently the horse was going to be in his possession +the next morning.</p> +<p>McLowery’s sullenness seemed to have been contagious +and there were no good-nights said to the guest. He +knew every man in the room; some of them he had +known ever since that evening when Curly Bill had +taken him to the rustler’s camp is the San Simon. But +the best he got from any of them was an averted look; +several were scowling openly. Even Curly Bill had put +aside his usual heavy joviality. It was clear that the +burly leader had strained a point in going as far as he +had. Some men might have felt uneasy in dropping off +to sleep under the circumstances, but Breckenbridge +understood his hosts well enough to be certain that, so +long as he was on the ranch, the sacred rites of hospitality +were going to be observed. So he closed his +eyes and the last thing he heard was the snoring of outlaws +and murderers.</p> +<p>The next morning he awakened to find that several of +the company had departed. No one made any comment +on that fact and there was no mention of the stolen horse. +But when the deputy had downed his last cup of coffee +Frank McLowery took him outside and showed him the +animal tethered to a hitching-rack.</p> +<p>“Much obliged, Frank,” said Breckenbridge.</p> +<p>The stage-robber gave him a sour grin.</p> +<p>“Bet yo’ never fetch him back to Tombstone,” he +answered quietly.</p> +<p>The two looked into each other’s eyes and smiled. +You may have seen a pair of fighters smiling in that same +way when the gong has sounded and they have put up +their hands at the beginning of a finish contest.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_126' name='page_126'></a>126</span></div> +<p>Now under these circumstances and remembering the +absence of several of the best horsemen in the bunch +from the ranch-house, many a man would have put his +saddle on the thoroughbred that morning. But Breckenbridge +had managed to assimilate some of the wiles of +diplomacy during these last few months and he reasoned +that if there were a pursuing-party waiting for him to +leave the ranch they would be prepared for that same +contingency. Better let them think him unready; then +perhaps they would let him get the lead. And once he +got it, luck would have to help him carry out his plan. +He saddled the hired pony and rode away, leading the +recovered animal.</p> +<p>Before he had gone a half-mile beyond the ranch +buildings he saw that he had figured rightly. The floor +of the Sulphur Springs valley did not hold so much as a +bush by way of cover; and here, off to the left, his eyes +fell on a group of horsemen. Evidently they had been +watching him ever since he left the corrals and knew the +poorness of his mount, for they were making no effort +to overhaul him as yet.</p> +<p>But he realized that the gang must have graver business +on hand than the recovery of the thoroughbred; +they were not going to waste any too much time over +this affair and he would not be allowed to travel far if +they could help it. Just then a wagon outfit climbed +out of a dry wash directly ahead of him and he saw how +luck had given him his chance.</p> +<p>He rode on, leisurely closing in upon the train. Off +there to the left the outlaws were keeping pace with him, +but as yet they were making no attempt to lessen the +distance between them. He came up with the last +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_127' name='page_127'></a>127</span> +wagon, turned off the road beside it, and had the clumsy +covered vehicle between him and the rustlers. Then +he dismounted.</p> +<p>The wagons kept on moving; now and again the teamsters +glanced toward him curiously. He barely heeded +them save to see that they made no sign to the now invisible +outlaws. It took all the skill that he owned to +keep both his horses walking while he unsaddled the +one and threw the saddle upon the other. But at last +the change was made and he flung himself upon the +thoroughbred’s back. Shouting to the nearest teamster +to lead the abandoned pony back to Tombstone, he put +spurs to his fresh mount and came out in the road ahead +of the foremost span of leaders on a dead run.</p> +<p>There were six of the outlaws and they were less than +half a mile away. Breckenbridge had been out of +sight behind the wagons just a little too long to suit +them and they were cutting in toward the road now at +top speed.</p> +<p>From the beginning it was a stern chase and they had +only one hope of winning. Nothing less swift than a +bullet could ever catch that thoroughbred. They pulled +up at once and began shooting. But although some of +the slugs from their rifles came uncomfortably close +none found its mark and Breckenbridge was fast drawing +away from them. However, they were not the men +to give up so long as there was any chance remaining, +and they swung back into their saddles to “burn up the +road” in his wake.</p> +<p>Now all hands settled down to make a long race of it, +and it was not until he was climbing the first slopes toward +South Pass in the Dragoon Mountains that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_128' name='page_128'></a>128</span> +Breckenbridge looked back for the last time and saw the +shapes of those six horsemen diminishing in the distance +as they jogged back toward the McLowery ranch.</p> +<p>So through the good-will of Curly Bill young Breckenbridge +recovered the thoroughbred from the man who +had stolen it and brought it to Tombstone without being +obliged to reach for his own gun. And moreover there +were no hard feelings about it when he rode back into no-man’s-land +the next time. So far as Frank McLowery +and the Clanton boys were concerned the incident was +closed. The deputy had won out and that was all there +was to it.</p> +<p>As a matter of fact only a month or so later a horse-thief +from Lincoln County, New Mexico, came to grief +at Galeyville because he did not understand Breckenbridge’s +status in the rustlers’ metropolis. This bad +man from the Pecos had a pretty sorrel pony and the +deputy, who was in the place on civil business, happened +to notice the animal at the hitching-rack in front of the +hotel.</p> +<p>“Say,” he said to its possessor, who was standing +near by, “that’s a nice horse; where’d you get him?”</p> +<p>The remark was a careless one in a country where +ponies often changed owners overnight, and the man +from the Pecos was sensitive enough on the subject to +resent the question from one who wore a star. He +answered it by drawing his gun.</p> +<p>Breckenbridge, who was as dexterous with his left +hand as with his right, reached down as the weapon +came forth from its holster and gripped the stranger’s +wrist. He gave a sharp wrench and the revolver +clattered down on the sidewalk. And then Curly Bill, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_129' name='page_129'></a>129</span> +who had witnessed the incident, stepped forward and +ordered the visitor out of Galeyville.</p> +<p>“Yo’-all don’t need to think,” the desperado added, +“that you can come here and make a gun-play on our +deputy. We get along all right with him and I reckon +we ain’t going to stand for any cow-thieves from Lincoln +County gettin’ brash with him.”</p> +<p>Something like two years had passed now since young +Billy Breckenbridge first rode across the Dragoon +Mountains into no-man’s-land and, as the old-timers who +had been watching him all this time well knew, things +could not go on in this way forever. The show-down +was bound to come. It came one day at the Chandler +ranch and the old-timers got the answer to their question.</p> +<p>There were two young fellows by the name of Zwing +Hunt and Billy Grounds who had been working at Philip +Morse’s sawmill over in the Chiracahua Mountains.</p> +<p>Somehow or other they had got mixed up with the +stock-rustlers and the temptation to make easy money +proved too strong for them. One evening they went +over to the Contention mill and held up the place, killing +the man in charge.</p> +<p>Johnny Behan was out of town at the time with +several deputies after the Earps who had departed from +Tombstone. The under-sheriff detailed Breckenbridge +on the case and drafted a posse of three men to help +him.</p> +<p>“No, sir,” the former said when the young deputy +remonstrated against the presence of these aides. +“This ain’t a case of talking John Ringo into coming +over and putting up a bond. This here’s murder and +those lads are going to show fight.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_130' name='page_130'></a>130</span></div> +<p>Orders were orders; there was no use arguing further. +The erstwhile diplomat made the best of a bad matter +and rode away with his three companions. It was evening +when they left Tombstone and the Chandler ranch +lay several hours distant. Those who saw them leave +the camp spread the news. And now the old-timers +settled down, certain that when Billy Breckenbridge +returned they were going to know just what he was +made of.</p> +<p>He came back the next evening, riding alongside a +lumber-wagon. In those days the mining companies +maintained a hospital at the edge of the town. The +vehicle made one stop at this institution and unloaded +three of its occupants. It made a second stop before the +establishment of a local undertaker, where two bodies +were removed. And then young Breckenbridge rode on +alone to the court-house. Two outlaws and four men in +the deputy sheriff’s party makes six altogether. Out +of the six he was the only one left on his feet.</p> +<p>“And the hull thing didn’t last five minutes,” said +“Bull” Lewis, the driver of the wagon. “I was asleep +in the ranch-house along with these two outlaws when +some one knocked on the door. Right away I heard a +shot in the next room and I busted out with my hands +up and yelling that I was a nootral. Before I’d gone +twenty yards Hunt and Grounds had killed two of the +posse and by the time I was over that rise behind +the house they’d laid out the other. And then I +watched this little deputy get the two of them.</p> +<p>“He was out in the open and they were inside, and +both of ’em were sure burnin’ powder mighty fast. +But he waited his chance and tore the top of Grounds’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_131' name='page_131'></a>131</span> +head off with a charge of buckshot when he stepped to +the door to get a better shot. And a second or two later +Zwing Hunt came out of the cabin, firing as he ran. +The little fellow dropped him with a bullet from his +forty-five before he’d come more ’n a half a dozen +jumps.”</p> +<p>But Breckenbridge was a long way from being jubilant +when Johnny Behan and the under-sheriff congratulated +him on his behavior.</p> +<p>“If you hadn’t wished those three fellows on me I’d +have brought both these boys back without firing a +shot,” he told the under-sheriff. “The blamed posse +made such a noise coming up to the cabin that the two +of ’em thought ’t was a lynching-party and opened fire +on us. Yes, sir. I could have talked them into coming––if +I’d only been alone.”</p> +<p>And so when it did finally come to the show-down all +hands learned of just what material young Breckenbridge +was made.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_132' name='page_132'></a>132</span> +<a name='THE_PASSING_OF_JOHN_RINGO' id='THE_PASSING_OF_JOHN_RINGO'></a> +<h2>THE PASSING OF JOHN RINGO</h2> +</div> +<p>There were all kinds of bad men in the days of the +old West. John Ringo was one sort and Buckskin +Frank was another. While this tale deals most with +the former, still it concerns the two of them.</p> +<p>In its wild youth the town of Tombstone knew both +men. To this day the old-timers who witnessed the +swift march of events during the years 1879, 1880, and +1881 will tell you of their deeds. But things were happening +fast when those deeds took place. There was, +if one may be allowed to use a poetic figure, a good deal +of powder-smoke floating in the air to obscure the vision. +And so although no men were ever more just in passing +judgment than these same old-timers, the story has its +sardonic ending.</p> +<p>John Ringo was the big “He Wolf” among the outlaws, +a man of quick intelligence who did not seem to +care much whether he or the other fellow died. To +him who wants the ornate trappings of the motion-picture +bad man or the dialect which makes some desperadoes +popular in fiction, Ringo would prove a disappointing +figure as he showed up in southeastern +Arizona.</p> +<p>For he wore no hair chaps, nor do those who saw him +tell of a knotted colored handkerchief about his throat. +Like most of those riders who drifted into the territory +when other portions of the West had grown too +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_133' name='page_133'></a>133</span> +hot for them, his costume was unobtrusive: light-colored +jean breeches tucked into his boot-tops, a flannel shirt +and the gray Stetson peculiar to the country west of the +Pecos, a limp-brimmed hat with a high crown, which +may be creased after the old “Southern Gentleman” +fashion but was most often left with such dents as come +by accident. Of hardware he carried his full share; +sometimes two forty-five revolvers and a Winchester; +but if he were in town the arms were as likely as not +concealed.</p> +<p>It would take a second look to separate him from the +herd. That second look would show you a fine, lean +form whose every movement was catlike in its grace, +a dark face whose expression was usually sullen, whose +eyes were nearly always somber; slender hands and +small feet. And his speech, whenever you heard it, +was sure to be comparatively free from the idioms +of the region; the English was often more correct +than otherwise. A man of parts, and he looked it; +they all say that.</p> +<p>This was John Ringo. He had fought in one of +those numerous cattle wars which raged throughout +western Texas during the seventies. Before that period +a certain California city had known him as the +reckless son of a decent family.</p> +<p>And in passing note the fact that he still got letters +from his people after he came to Tombstone with a +price on his head. Which helps to explain that somber +demeanor, the whisky which he drank––and the ending +of his life’s story.</p> +<p>Buckskin Frank fulfils the requirements of some traditions +much better when it comes to externals. He +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_134' name='page_134'></a>134</span> +wore leathern fringes on his shirt and breeches, and +his sombrero was bedecked with much silver. His weapons +were always in evidence; a pair of silver-mounted +revolvers were the most noticeable among them.</p> +<p>Because he called himself a scout some men used +the term in speaking of him. He did not ride with +the outlaws, although he often vanished from Tombstone +for considerable periods; in town he was always +to be found in some gambling-house or dance-hall.</p> +<p>Of women there were many who fancied him. And +he could shoot to kill––from in front if the occasion demanded +it; from behind if the opportunity was given +him. A handsome fellow, and he had a persuasive way +with him.</p> +<p>Whisky got the best of him in his later years, but +that was after the period with which this narrative has +to deal; and when he drank, it was not because of any +brooding. The past held no regrets for him; thus far he +had managed to handle every situation to his own satisfaction.</p> +<p>These are the two men; and as for Tombstone, it was +booming. The mines were paying tremendously; business +was brisk twenty-four hours a day. An era of +claim-jumping, faro-playing, dance-halls, the Bird-Cage, +Opera House, Apache scares, stage hold-ups; and, of +course, gun-fighting.</p> +<p>The Earps virtually ran the town government; they +enforced the local laws against shooting up the place +and so forth very much after the manner of Dodge +City; and they were strong, resolute men. Buckskin +Frank was on good terms with their henchmen; he was, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_135' name='page_135'></a>135</span> +if the statements of the old-timers are to be believed, +anxious to remain in the good graces of these stern +rulers.</p> +<p>John Ringo, on the other hand, was at outs with +them; and soon after their advent into power he +drifted away from Tombstone along with the other outlaws. +To use the expression of the times, he was “short” +in the mining town, which means that when he came +there he had to be ready at all times to defend his life +and liberty.</p> +<p>And now that you have seen the men and the town, +the tale can go on; it is a mere recital of certain incidents +which took place during the last year or two of +John Ringo’s life; incidents which show the difference +between his breed of bad man and the breed to which +Buckskin Frank belonged. To the chronicler these incidents +appeal for that very reason. The days of the +old West strike one as being very much like the days +of old knighthood; they were rude days when some men +tried hard to live up to a code of chivalry and some +men made themselves mighty by very foul means indeed. +And while we may not always be sure that the +names which have come down to us––from either of +these wild eras––are those that should have been coupled +with fame, still we can be certain of one thing: the +chivalry existed in both periods.</p> +<p>According to the code in the Middle Ages the challenge +and the single combat were recognized institutions; +and they say that knights-errant used to go riding +through the country seeking worthy opponents. And +according to the cow-boy code in southeastern Arizona +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_136' name='page_136'></a>136</span> +during the early eighties among the outlaws, a champion +must be ready to try conclusions in very much +that same way on occasion.</p> +<p>It was one of those traditions which some men observed +and some––wisely––ignored. This desperado +John Ringo was among those who observed it; and one +day, like poor old <i>Don Quixote</i>, he found himself trying +to force conclusions with men whose ideas were more +modern than his own, which led him––like Cervante’s +lean hero––into a bad predicament and also brought +him to a strange friendship.</p> +<p>The Earp brothers and their followers, as has been +said, were ruling Tombstone, and the outlaws had fled +into the country east of the Dragoon Mountains. But +the outlaws did not fancy remaining out in the open +country; sometimes they came back to town in force and +hung about the place for days; always they were hoping +to return permanently. And always the Earps +were looking to drive them out of the country for good +and all.</p> +<p>Eventually the situation came to a climax in the great +Earp-Clanton gun-fight, and there was a long period +when this battle was brewing. During this period +whenever they came to town the desperadoes used to +stay at the Grand Central Hotel; and Bob Hatch’s +saloon, where the Earp boys and their friends were +accustomed to take their “morning’s morning,” was +directly across the street. Things came to a pass where +the noon hour would often find a group of outlaws on +the sidewalk before the hotel and a number of the Earp +faction in front of the saloon, both outfits heavily armed, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_137' name='page_137'></a>137</span> +the members of each glowering across the street at those +of the other.</p> +<p>Now Wyatt Earp, Doc Holliday, and others of the +law-and-order party had come here with big reputations +from Dodge City, where they had taken part in more +than one affair when the lead was flying. They had +sustained those reputations by their deeds in Tombstone; +they were champions––“He Wolves.” And so +one noontime when he was standing on the sidewalk +among his fellow outlaws, John Ringo was seized with +an idea.</p> +<p>He looked across the street at the members of the +Earp party, who were regarding the desperadoes in +ominous silence. The idea grew more powerful, until +it owned him. He stepped down from the sidewalk’s +edge into the roadway, crossed it, and came to a halt +within a few feet of his enemies. Addressing Wyatt +Earp by name––so goes the story––</p> +<p>“This sort of thing,” John Ringo said, “has been +going on for a long time now. Pretty soon there’s +bound to be a big killing if it keeps up. Now I’ve got +a proposition. You, or Doc Holliday if you’d rather +have him, step into the street here with me, and the two +of us will shoot it out, and, if you’re game, why we’ll +do it holding the opposite corner of a handkerchief +in our teeth. I give my word, my gang will stand by +the result.”</p> +<p>Wyatt Earp made no answer. What temptation that +offer held to him one can judge only by the fact that he +was a bold man who had a long record of large deeds +to his credit. But also he was the recognized head of a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_138' name='page_138'></a>138</span> +movement for law and order, a movement which had +already stopped indiscriminate street-shooting in +Tombstone; just at this time he was being groomed in +certain quarters as a candidate for sheriff, and the +banner of his party was emblazoned with the word Reform.</p> +<p>It is easy enough to see how John Ringo was behind +the times when he made that proposition on Tombstone’s +main street. It is easy also to imagine his feelings +when without a word by way of answer or acknowledgment +the members of the Earp faction stood regarding +him. He turned his back upon them and he +recrossed the street, and when he had gained the opposite +sidewalk they were gone within Bob Hatch’s +saloon.</p> +<p>Johnny Behan was sheriff then, politically an enemy +of the Earps and politically friendly to the outlaws. +He was sitting in his office with young William Breckenbridge, +his diplomatic deputy, when some one brought +word that John Ringo had made a gun-play and was +holding down the main street with drawn revolvers.</p> +<p>“Go and fetch him in,” the sheriff bade Breckenbridge.</p> +<p>The latter found the outlaw pacing up and down before +the Grand Central Hotel after the fashion of the +cow-boy who has shot up a saloon and driven all hands +out of the place. The two had met months before when +the deputy was out in the eastern part of the county +collecting taxes with Curly Bill as his guide and protector.</p> +<p>“What’s up?” the youthful officer demanded, and +John Ringo recited his version of the affair.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_139' name='page_139'></a>139</span></div> +<p>“Well,” the other told him when he had finished, +“the sheriff wants to see you.”</p> +<p>The desperado shrugged his shoulders, but went along +quietly enough; bail was easy to arrange in those days, +and this was not a serious matter.</p> +<p>In his office Johnny Behan heard the tale and frowned. +There were times when his cow-boy constituents became +a source of embarrassment to him; this was one +of them.</p> +<p>“Guess you’ll have to turn over those guns of yours,” +he bade the prisoner.</p> +<p>Ringo handed the revolvers to him, and he put them +into a desk drawer. There followed several moments of +awkward silence. At length Johnny Behan arose and +started to leave the room.</p> +<p>“Going to lock me up?” Ringo asked. “I’d like +to fix it to get bail, you know.”</p> +<p>“No charge against you,” the sheriff said in the +doorway. “You can go back downtown whenever +you want to.”</p> +<p>With which he passed out into the corridor and forgot +all about the matter. In the office Ringo stood scowling +at the deputy.</p> +<p>“That’s plain murder,” he said at length. “Before +I get a block away from here without my guns those +coyotes will kill me.”</p> +<p>Breckenbridge had been doing some thinking on his +own account during the last few moments, and he realized +the justice of this argument. But the law was +the law, and the sheriff was boss. It was not his business +to interfere. He looked Ringo in the eyes, got up +from his chair, opened the desk drawer––and left the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_140' name='page_140'></a>140</span> +room. And when he came back the guns and their +owner had departed.</p> +<p>In itself the incident wasn’t much to talk about. In +those times all sorts of things were being done according +to different standards from those which rule now. +But it brought its consequences.</p> +<p>The days went by. In Tombstone politics seethed; +the law-and-order party was making things hot for +Johnny Behan, whose sympathies with the cow-boys +gave him the support of the desperadoes, a support +which in its turn brought the accusation that he +was extending leniency to wanted men.</p> +<p>Over in the Sulphur Springs valley and the San +Simon John Ringo nursed his grudge against the sheriff +for having disarmed him when his guns were so sorely +needed; he cherished that unpleasant memory while he +directed the movements of Curly Bill and their followers, +while he rode forth from Galeyville with them +to raid the herds of border cow-men, or to ambush +bands of Mexican smugglers, or to rob the stages.</p> +<p>And so gradually it became known among his fellows +that their leader held a grievance against the sheriff, +that he was biding his opportunity to play even with +Johnny Behan for that blundering piece of thoughtlessness. +John Ringo was the biggest man among them +all, the brains of the whole crowd; they wanted to see +in what manner he would settle the score. And finally +the time came when he got his chance.</p> +<p>A man who rejoiced in the name of Kettle-Belly Johnson +was the indirect means of bringing about this opportunity. +He enters the story on a blistering afternoon +in the little town of Galeyville.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_141' name='page_141'></a>141</span></div> +<p>It has been told in another of these tales how Galeyville +was the bad men’s metropolis, headquarters for all +the rustlers and stage-robbers of Cochise County; how +the place enjoyed a brisk prosperity through the enterprise +of a wide-awake citizen who had established a cattle-buying +business––and no questions asked. On the +afternoon in question John Ringo was the only outlaw +in the place; his followers were absent on some +wild errand or other and he was putting in the time +at a poker-game.</p> +<p>There were four men seated around the table in the +dingy bar-room, silent as four owls, mirthless as high +priests at a sacred rite. Observing the full ceremonials +which dignify draw-poker, they let the chips and +cards do all the talking––and made signs when they +chose to pass.</p> +<p>It has been said that John Ringo’s face was sullen +and his eyes were somber; the depth of his unpleasant +expression had grown this afternoon as the shabbiness +of his luck increased. Or was it luck?</p> +<p>He sat, of course, facing the door, and Kettle-Belly +Johnson occupied the opposite chair. On the two other +players, one of whom was flanking John Ringo on each +side, there is no need to waste words; they belonged to +the same breed as the poetically rechristened Johnson, +the breed that got its name from shaking dice against +Mexicans out of tin horns.</p> +<p>It was no more than natural that the desperado +should ask himself whether he was right in blaming +fortune for the cards which he drew. There came a +new deal and time to draw again.</p> +<p>“Two,” John Ringo muttered.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_142' name='page_142'></a>142</span></div> +<p>Kettle-Belly Johnson held up a single finger; and +when he had got his card, performed one of those prestidigital +feats by which he made his living. And when +this was accomplished––with the aid of a device known +as a “hold-out”––his moist, plump fingers clutched a +full house––jacks on kings. The betting went briskly +to the bitter end.</p> +<p>John Ringo scowled down on the hand which beat +his; pushed back his chair, fumbled briefly at his vest, +and laid his gold watch on the table.</p> +<p>“Lend me a hundred,” he growled. “She’s worth +a hundred and fifty.” But Kettle-Belly Johnson shook +his head.</p> +<p>“Easy come,” said he, “easy go. Get out and +rustle some more cows or hold up the stage again. We +ain’t a-runnin’ no pawn-shop.”</p> +<p>John Ringo left the room without more words, and +the three tin horns fell to cutting for low spade to while +away the time. They had been at it just as long as it +would take a man to go down to the corral, saddle his +pony, and bring the animal up in front of the building, +when the outlaw reëntered. His single-action Colt’s +forty-five revolver was in his right hand; its muzzle +regarded the trio at the table like a dark, baleful eye.</p> +<p>The bearer of the weapon uttered a single word, a +word which is not found in any dictionary although it +has come down from the time when the first Englishman +took to the highway to seek his daily meat.</p> +<p>“Hanzup!”</p> +<p>They obeyed and the ensuing silence was broken by +the pleasant chink of money as John Ringo’s left hand +raked the winnings into his pocket. There was no +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_143' name='page_143'></a>143</span> +pursuit as he rode away down Galeyville’s main street; +but he spurred his pony hard, for self-righteousness +was boiling within him and he had to find relief some +way.</p> +<p>“Damn bunch of robbers!” he told the horse.</p> +<p>Ordinarily the incident would have closed then and +there; but fate so willed it that Kettle-Belly Johnson +came to Tombstone a few days later and voiced his +plaint in Bob Hatch’s saloon, where he found himself +suddenly surrounded by sympathizers. He did not +know––and if he had he would not have cared one way +or the other––that the new law-and-order party had +grown to a point where it wanted to get action in the +courts; that its members were looking for an opportunity +to swear out a warrant against some of the bigger +outlaws in order to “show up” Johnny Behan, who––so +men said––was unwilling to arrest any of the cow-boy +faction. The grand jury was in session; they got +Kettle-Belly Johnson sober enough to face star-chamber +inquisition and led him to the court-house in the morning.</p> +<p>So it came that young Billy Breckenbridge, whose +business was serving warrants and not bothering over +the whys and wherefores of their issuance, knocked at +the door of John Ringo’s cabin in Galeyville a few days +later; and then, being a prudent man, stepped to one +side where he would be beyond the zone of fire.</p> +<p>“Got a warrant for you,” he announced when the +desperado had demanded to know who was there. +“Highway robbery.”</p> +<p>There was a bit of parleying through the closed door +and finally––</p> +<p>“Man by the name of Johnson is the complaining +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_144' name='page_144'></a>144</span> +witness,” young Breckenbridge elucidated. “According +to what I hear, the play came up along of a poker game.”</p> +<p>John Ringo swore lightly.</p> +<p>“Come in,” he bade the deputy. “I’ll get my clothes +on in a minute.”</p> +<p>He laughed sourly as he was pulling on his boots some +moments later.</p> +<p>“Looks as if the grand jury’s hard up for something +to do,” he observed.</p> +<p>He rose and belted on his gun, a proceeding about +which his custodian, being unburdened with any desire +to burn powder over such hair-splitting technicalities as +a man’s right to wear weapons on his way to jail, +made no comment.</p> +<p>“We’ll go down the street,” the prisoner suggested +as they were leaving the cabin, “and I’ll fix it up to +get bail.”</p> +<p>But the accommodating cattle-buyer who arranged +such matters for the bigger outlaws was out of town +and would not be back until evening. Breckenbridge’s +horse was jaded, and if he wanted to reach Tombstone in +good time he should be setting forth at once.</p> +<p>“You go ahead,” John Ringo bade him. “I’ll catch +up with you before you pass Sulphur Springs ranch.”</p> +<p>Those were queer days, and if you judge things from +our twentieth-century point of view you will probably +find yourself bewildered.</p> +<p>John Ringo was known to be a cattle-rustler, stage-robber, +and––according to the law––a murderer. And +Breckenbridge, whose duty it was to enforce the statutes, +set out for the county seat alone on the strength of that +promise. Nor was he in the least surprised when his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_145' name='page_145'></a>145</span> +prisoner, who had ridden all night to make good his word, +overtook him in the middle of the valley.</p> +<p>Queer days indeed! And the threads of some men’s +lives were sadly tangled. Such desperadoes as Curly +Bill were easy enough to read; just rough-and-tumble +cow-boys who had taken to whisky and bad company. +But behind the somber mask of John Ringo’s face there +lurked a hidden history; something was there which he +did not choose to reveal to the rest of the world.</p> +<p>The mail had come to Galeyville after young Breckenbridge +left. There is nothing more conducive to confidences +than a long ride through a lonely country. And +when these two were jogging across the wide, arid reaches +of the Sulphur Springs Valley the outlaw pulled a letter +from his pocket; the envelope was already broken. +Evidently he had read its contents before; now he +scanned them for a long time and his dark face was set. +He thrust the paper back into its enclosure; then suddenly, +as one who yields to impulse, reined his pony +closer to his companion and held forth the envelope for +him to read.</p> +<p>“Look at that writing,” he said quietly.</p> +<p>The hand was unmistakably that of a woman of education.</p> +<p>“My sister,” he added, and shoved the letter into his +pocket.</p> +<p>They rode some distance in silence and then––</p> +<p>“And I’m here,” John Ringo added in the same even +voice. “She writes me regularly. Thinks I’m doing +fine!”</p> +<p>He did not bring up the subject again; it was as if he +had opened a curtain a little way and let it fall at once; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_146' name='page_146'></a>146</span> +but the deputy, who came from good people himself, had +been able to see much during that brief glimpse into the +outlaw’s hidden life. And having seen those tangled +threads he was able to understand certain matters all the +better when the end came.</p> +<p>Now while Deputy Sheriff Breckenbridge and John +Ringo were riding toward Tombstone things were brewing +in that wild young mining camp. The law-and-order +party was preparing to make a clean-up of the desperadoes.</p> +<p>And when the pair arrived the news went forth; the +hour was late, but late hours meant little in those days of +all-night gambling; a number of the leaders gathered in +Bob Hatch’s saloon and discussed the situation. It +looked promising, for Ringo was the brains of the bad +men; with him in custody it should be easy to lay hands +on Curly Bill, who was at the time over in the lawless +town of Charleston on the San Pedro. They made their +plans toward that end; and, just to make doubly sure, +they arranged with the district attorney to see that +Ringo should be kept in jail for at least twenty-four +hours.</p> +<p>That was the situation when the pair arrived from no-man’s-land; +there was no chance of getting bail at this +time of night. The outlaw slept behind the bars; and +when the morning came he sent for the lawyer who was +always retained by the stock-rustlers, a criminal attorney +by the name of Goodrich.</p> +<p>Goodrich brought news that the law-and-order party +were preparing an expedition to Charleston to round up +Curly Bill. Knowing the habits of his burly aide, John +Ringo was reasonably sure that the crusaders would find +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_147' name='page_147'></a>147</span> +the latter the worse for whisky and bring him back a +captive. His natural itching to depart from custody was +aggravated by the feeling that his presence in the cow-town +by the San Pedro was badly needed. He urged +Goodrich to hurry to the bank and get the bail-money.</p> +<p>The conference took place in Johnny Behan’s office, +and after the lawyer’s departure on this errand the outlaw +remained there pacing the floor. Half an hour +passed; a man had brought Ringo’s pony from the O.K. +corral and left it at the hitching-rack before the court-house. +Everything was in readiness––except the cash. +Finally Goodrich returned.</p> +<p>“All right,” he told the sheriff, who was seated at his +desk. “I’ve got the bail here, Johnny. Everything’s +arranged.”</p> +<p>And Johnny Behan, who was, if the truth be owned, a +very easy-going peace officer indeed, bade his prisoner +depart. He did not know––and Goodrich did not know––that +on this occasion the bailing out of John Ringo was +going to be something more than a mere formality.</p> +<p>So it came about that a number of people met with +surprises this same morning. Included in these were a +delegation from the law-and-order party who rode over +to Charleston to gather in Curly Bill but got no further +than the approach to the bridge which spanned the San +Pedro River. A solitary figure at the other end of the +structure made them draw rein. John Ringo’s voice +reached them from across the stream.</p> +<p>“Come on,” he called. “I’m waiting for you.”</p> +<p>Something had gone wrong, and when something goes +wrong the wise general does well to investigate before +continuing his advance. The posse deliberated briefly; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_148' name='page_148'></a>148</span> +and then turned back for Tombstone. But their +astonishment at finding the leader of the desperadoes at +large was as nothing compared to Johnny Behan’s bewilderment +when he met the district judge in the court-house +corridor some time near noon.</p> +<p>“I’ll be ready to take up the matter of that man +Ringo’s bail in a few minutes,” Judge Stilwell said +pleasantly.</p> +<p>The sheriff remained inarticulate for several seconds. +Finally––</p> +<p>“Ringo!” he managed to gasp. “Why, he’s gone. I +thought–––”</p> +<p>Perfervid language followed. Johnny Behan had been +a cow-boy in his time, and the court had––in his unofficial +capacity––a rather large vocabulary of his own. +In the end certain facts began to outline themselves +through the sulphuric haze: the district attorney had +offered objections to the proffered bail.</p> +<p>“I’ll take this matter up,” the judge told the stricken +sheriff, “to-morrow morning, and I’ll hold you responsible +for the appearance of the defendant in court at +that time.”</p> +<p>The news flew fast, and when the posse returned from +Charleston they found the town of Tombstone discussing +Johnny Behan’s predicament. Being wise politicians, +the leaders of the law-and-order party kept to themselves +the information as to John Ringo’s whereabouts. +That evening they called a meeting of their followers, +and a second posse set forth through the darkness for +Charleston.</p> +<p>There were some fifty-odd of them, well armed and +enthusiastic. Their purpose was to bring the outlaw to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_149' name='page_149'></a>149</span> +the court-house the next morning. Thereby the reform +movement should gain much prestige––and the sheriff +lose standing.</p> +<p>But Charleston was full of stock-rustlers and bad men +that night, and when the members of the law-and-order +party rode into the place they found themselves surrounded +by a half a hundred of the worst men in the +Territory of Arizona. John Ringo had been looking +for further trouble, and his forces were so well disposed +that the invaders had their choice between surrender and +being massacred.</p> +<p>They yielded to necessity like wise men and gave over +their arms to their captors, who forthwith took them to +the nearest saloon and bought them many drinks. It +was during this portion of the proceedings that Curly +Bill, who had led the ambushing-party, learned whom +the prisoners were seeking. He brought the news to +John Ringo.</p> +<p>“So it’s me they’re after,” the outlaw said.</p> +<p>“And it looks,” said Curly Bill, “like Johnny Behan +is in a mighty tight box, the way things has turned out.”</p> +<p>Knowing the grudge which his friend held against +the sheriff, he was not surprised to see John Ringo’s face +grow darker and the light in his eyes more devilish.</p> +<p>“I tell you what,” the latter bade him after some +moments of thinking. “You keep those fellows here to-night. +Don’t let one of them leave Charleston.”</p> +<p>And Curly Bill departed to see that the command was +obeyed. They say that the celebration which attended +the holding of the captives was one of the large events +in the tumultuous history of the cow-town by the San +Pedro, and those who witnessed it are unanimous in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_150' name='page_150'></a>150</span> +stating that the Tombstone contingent upheld the reputation +of their camp when it came to whisky-drinking. +It was late the next day before the last of them rode +back through the foot-hills of the Mule Mountains to +their homes. But all of this is apart from the story.</p> +<p>The point is that John Ringo saddled up that very +night and journeyed to Tombstone, where he sought +out young Billy Breckenbridge.</p> +<p>“Heard there was some trouble about my being turned +loose,” he announced when he had roused the deputy +from his slumbers, “and I didn’t know but what maybe +you’d lose your job if Johnny Behan got turned out +of office.”</p> +<p>Wherefore it came about that when court convened +in the morning and the matter of John Ringo’s bail was +brought up the prisoner was produced to the utter astonishment +of all concerned––except himself and the man +who had allowed him to recover his confiscated revolvers.</p> +<p>Within the hour John Ringo walked out of the court-house +under bond to insure his appearance at the trial. +And no one expected the case to come to anything. In +short, the situation was unchanged, and the head men of +the reform movement settled down to bide their opportunity +of killing off the bigger desperadoes, which was +apparently the only way of settling the issue.</p> +<p>So John Ringo went his way, a marked man, and +many a trigger-finger itched when he appeared in Tombstone; +many a bold spirit longed to take a shot at him. +But the knowledge of his deadliness kept him from being +made a target.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_151' name='page_151'></a>151</span></div> +<p>He went his way, and it was a bad way. Dark deeds +piled up to fill the debit pages of his life’s ledger.</p> +<p>If he was influenced by those letters, which came regularly +to remind him of gentle womanhood disgraced by +his wild career, it was only to make him drink harder. +And the more he drank the blacker his mood became. +Those who rode with him have said so. A bad man, +there is no doubt about it; and big in his badness, which +made it all the worse.</p> +<p>There came a blazing day in the late summer, one +of those days when the Arizona sun flays the wide, arid +valleys without surcease, when the naked rock on the +mountain heights is cloaked in trembling heat-waves +and the rattlesnakes seek the darkest crevices among +the cliffs. Deputy Sheriff Breckenbridge on his way +back to Tombstone from some errand in the eastern end +of the county was riding through Middle Pass in the +Dragoons.</p> +<p>As he came forth against the flaring sky-line at the +summit he saw a rider coming toward him from the +west. He turned to one side where the lay of the land +gave him a vantage-point, loosened his revolver in its +holster, and awaited the traveler’s closer approach.</p> +<p>Some moments passed; the pony drew nearer, and the +deputy withdrew the hand which was resting on his +weapon’s butt. His face relaxed.</p> +<p>“Hello there, John,” he called, and Ringo rode up to +him in silence. “Hot day,” Breckenbridge announced +cheerfully.</p> +<p>The desperado swore at the sun in the drawling monotone +wherein your artist at profanity intones his curses +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_152' name='page_152'></a>152</span> +when he means them. His face was a good shade +darker than usual; his eyes were satanic. He reached +to his hip and brought forth a flask of whisky.</p> +<p>“Have a drink.” He uttered it rather as a demand +than an offer.</p> +<p>The deputy took the bottle and made pretense of +swallowing some of the lukewarm liquor. The outlaw +laughed sourly, snatched it from him, and drained it.</p> +<p>“Got another quart,” he announced as he flung the +empty flask against a boulder.</p> +<p>“Better hit it mighty light,” Breckenbridge advised. +“The sun’s bad when you get down there in the valley.”</p> +<p>He waved his hand toward the wide flat lands which +lay shimmering like an enormous lake a thousand feet +below them. Ringo raised his somber face toward the +blazing heavens and launched another volley of curses +upon them before he rode away. And that was the +last time young Breckenbridge saw him alive.</p> +<p>The thing which took place afterward no man beheld +save John Ringo, and his lips were sealed for all time +when others came upon him. But the desert holds +tracks well, and the men of southeastern Arizona were +able to read trails as you or I would read plain print. +So they picked the details of that final chapter from +the hot sands of the Sulphur Springs Valley as they are +set down here.</p> +<p>Morning was drawing on toward noon when John +Ringo’s pony bore him downward from the living granite +pinnacles to the glaring plain. Noon was passing +as he jogged onward across the Sulphur Springs Valley.</p> +<p>To this day, when ranchers have drawn floods of +limpid water from the bowels of the earth, the place +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_153' name='page_153'></a>153</span> +sees long periods whose heat is punishing. At that time +the whole land was a desert; a flat floor, patched in spots +by alkali deposits, girded round by steep-walled mountain +ranges. Cacti grew there, and huge tufts of +Spanish bayonets.</p> +<p>John Ringo’s pony jogged on and on; the fine dust +rose from its hoofs, surrounding animal and rider like a +moving wraith of fog, settling down upon their sweating +skins in a whitish-gray film which stung like fire. Before +them the mirage wavered like an enormous, vague +tapestry stirring in a breeze.</p> +<p>But of breeze there was none, nor was there any sign +of water save that phantom of a lake––dead now for +ages––which kept its distance always ahead. And the +sun climbed higher; its scourgings grew ever fiercer.</p> +<p>Scourged also by thoughts and memories which he +had never revealed to men––save only as he had hinted +at them on that other afternoon to Breckenbridge––the +bad man drank the lukewarm whisky as he rode. And +the liquor did its work until when he had gone two +hours from the foot of the pass he realized that it was +overcoming him.</p> +<p>He drew rein, dismounted, and sought the shade of a +clump of soto-bushes. But before he flung himself +upon the baking sands he took off his boots and, tying +their tops together, hung them over his saddle-horn. +The pony he turned loose with the reins down cow-boy +fashion. After which he yielded to the whisky and +knew no more.</p> +<p>The sun was still glaring in the cloudless sky when he +came back to his senses; and the torture of that thirst +which comes after heavy drinking was upon him. He +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_154' name='page_154'></a>154</span> +got to his feet. The pony had gone. Afterward the +searchers tracked the animal to the Sulphur Springs +ranch, where it had come with the boots hanging to the +saddle-horn.</p> +<p>John Ringo was alone, a speck in the middle of the +shimmering plain, and there was no water for miles. +He started walking eastward toward the pass which +leads over into the San Simon. The cactus did its +work; the alkali sands scalded his bleeding feet; he took +off his shirt, tore it into strips and bound them round +his ankles for footgear; and when the strips were cut +through he used his undershirt, until finally he walked +barefooted and the blood-drops showed beside his tracks.</p> +<p>Toward the end the same blindness which comes to +thirst-maddened cattle seized upon him. When they +found him he was within a stone’s throw of water and +the sound of the stream must have been in his ears, for +his footprints showed where he had circled and zigzagged, +striving to reach the spot whence that limpid +murmuring came. Among the cartridges in his +belt were two whose lead was deeply dented by his teeth +as he chewed upon them in the vain hope of moistening +his lips.</p> +<p>He was seated on a boulder between two dwarf live-oaks +and his big forty-five revolver lay beside him, with +one empty shell. The bullet-hole was fairly between his +eyes, all powder-marked.</p> +<p>And so they knew just how he died; and young Billy +Breckenbridge, who came over into no-man’s-land a day +or two later, was able to piece out the story by backtracking +along that trail through the sands; able to +read those signs from the foot of the Dragoons on across +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_155' name='page_155'></a>155</span> +the valley; and able also––because he had seen that +letter––to realize the torture of memories which had +come along with the torture of thirst to goad John +Ringo on to self-destruction.</p> +<p>In this manner it came about that the outlaws of +Cochise County lost their leader; and now that the man +of brains was gone it became possible for events to shape +up, as they did soon afterward, toward the big Earp-Clanton +gun-fight.</p> +<p>The old-timers are unanimous in saying that had John +Ringo been alive that battle wherein the leaders of the +Earp faction slew several of the biggest desperadoes +would never have taken place as it did. The forces would +have been differently disposed than they were on that +bloody morning when Billy Clanton and the McLowery +boys died in Tombstone’s street by the O.K. corral; the +chances are the victory would have gone the other way. +To this day they tell how Ringo’s passing was the beginning +of the end; how Curly Bill vanished soon afterward; +how the stage-robbers and rustlers became disorganized +and were no longer any match for the law-and-order +faction.</p> +<p>And when the old-timers, who witnessed these wild +doings, recount the history of the wind-up, laying the +cause as has been stated, they give the credit to the +man whom they believe entitled to it; which brings us +back to Buckskin Frank.</p> +<p>On that blazing day when John Ringo rode out into +no-man’s-land Buckskin Frank was away from Tombstone. +And this time there were more urgent reasons +for his departure from the camp than the mere seeking +after plunder. He was, as has been said, a bad man; a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_156' name='page_156'></a>156</span> +bad man of the type who can kill from in front but +relishes best that opportunity which offers the back of +his enemy as a target.</p> +<p>During the long period while the outlaws were swaggering +down Tombstone’s streets, defying the leaders of +the law-and-order movement, the two-gun man managed +to cling to the good graces of the Earp faction; just +as in these days you may have seen a crooked ward-heeler +hanging to the skirts of a good-government +crusade. Nobody loved him, but there were those who +thought he might be useful. He traded on their names +and––when there was dirty business to be done, as there +always has been since politics began––he was there +to do it. Also he was right there to ask favors in +return.</p> +<p>So it came that the knowledge of his killings spread +abroad; men told how he had slain one victim who was +drinking in a dance-hall when the bullet entered his +back; how another had fallen, shot from behind in a +dark alley. But prosecutions never followed, and the +buckskin-clad figure with its bad, handsome face became +a sinister object in Tombstone’s streets.</p> +<p>However, a man can not keep up this sort of thing +forever without getting an ill name, and the time came +when Buckskin Frank was beginning to be a source of +embarrassment to those who had thus far tolerated +him. On top of which his prestige was suddenly +threatened.</p> +<p>There was, in the camp, a fellow by the name of +Nigger Jim, one of those black negroes whose blood is +undiluted by the white man’s; a former slave; more than +six feet tall and––to this very day––as straight as a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_157' name='page_157'></a>157</span> +ramrod. He had fought Apaches and on more than one +occasion held his own against outlaws; and the early +settlers, of whom he was one, treated him as an +equal.</p> +<p>This Nigger Jim had staked a silver claim over Contention +way, and one day Buckskin Frank jumped the +property. The owner heard that the bad man had put +up new location notices in place of his own and hastened +to the place to investigate. He found Frank camped +on the ground, well armed and ready to maintain possession.</p> +<p>What followed does not amount to much when it +comes to action with which to adorn a tale.</p> +<p>Nigger Jim walked up to the bad man, his hand on his +revolver-butt. The luck which sometimes looks out for +the righteous party in a quarrel was with him to the +extent of seeing to it that the meeting took place out in +the open where there was no chance for ambush.</p> +<p>The break was even. And the black man was determined +to see the issue through, willing to abide by +whatever consequences might follow. Moreover he had +earned his reputation with a six-shooter. So, as has +been said, he came walking up to Buckskin Frank––from +in front.</p> +<p>And Buckskin Frank allowed him to approach until +the two stood facing each other out there among the +rocks and Spanish bayonets. Then the two-gun man +spoke, holding forth his right hand.</p> +<p>“I heard some parties were jumping your claim, +Jim,” said he, “and, being near, I thought I’d come +over and look out for you.”</p> +<p>“Thanky,” said Nigger Jim, but made no offer to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_158' name='page_158'></a>158</span> +take the extended hand; nor did he turn his back upon +the bad man, who evidently did not think the claim +worth the hazards of an honest gun-fight, for he left +soon afterward.</p> +<p>In Tombstone Nigger Jim kept silent regarding the +incident, but the news leaked out within a week or two +when Buckskin Frank tried to slay the black man from +behind and was prevented by a woman who threw her +arms over him and held him until the prospective victim +turned his head and took in the situation. With the +spread of the story Frank saw that Tombstone was no +place for him at present and he left the camp. +Whereby it happened that he was over in the San +Simon on that hot day when John Ringo came across +the Dragoon Mountains. And on the morning when the +body was discovered he was riding through the pass on +some dubious errand or other.</p> +<p>News traveled slowly in those days. Frequently it +came to its destination sadly garbled. On this occasion +young Billy Breckenbridge was the only man who +brought the facts back to Tombstone; and he arrived +there long after Buckskin Frank.</p> +<p>For the two-gun man had seen his opportunity to +make men forget that incident wherein he had figured +so poorly against Nigger Jim, and had spurred his pony +all the way to the county seat, where he told his story––how +he had seen the desperado sitting under the dwarf +live-oaks, had stalked him as a man stalks big game, and +shot him through the head. And just to give his tale +versimilitude he said he had done the killing from +behind.</p> +<p>The times were brisk; one shooting came so fast on the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_159' name='page_159'></a>159</span> +heels of its predecessor that every affair in its turn +swiftly passed from public attention. By the time that +Deputy Sheriff Breckenbridge arrived with the facts +people were turning their minds to the big Benson stage +hold-up. And so Buckskin Frank’s story lived, and to +this day in speaking of that bad man the old-timers +give him grudging credit for having slain the big “He +Wolf.”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_160' name='page_160'></a>160</span> +<a name='JOHN_SLAUGHTERS_WAY' id='JOHN_SLAUGHTERS_WAY'></a> +<h2>JOHN SLAUGHTER’S WAY</h2> +</div> +<p>It was springtime in southwestern Texas and John +Slaughter was gathering a great herd near the +mouth of Devil’s River for the long drive northward +over the Pecos trail. Thousands of cattle were moving +slowly in a great mass, obliterating miles of the landscape, +trampling out clouds of dust which rose into the +blue sky; the constant bellowing came down the wind +as a deep, pulsating moan which was audible for miles.</p> +<p>The Man from Bitter Creek reined in his horse and +turned in the saddle to look back upon that scene. He +was a small man with hard, quick eyes; they grew +harder as they rested on that wealth of beeves.</p> +<p>In the wild country farther up the Pecos the Man +from Bitter Creek was known by the name of Gallagher. +Among the riders who roved over that Land Beyond the +Law, taking their toll from the north-going herds as gray +wolves take it under cover of the night, he passed as the +big “He Wolf,” the leader of the pack. Wyoming’s +sage-brush hills gave sepulture to eleven of his dead, +and since he had fled hither he had added two graves to +the boot-hill cemeteries of the Southwest.</p> +<p>Now as he gazed over John Slaughter’s cattle, he +promised himself that when they came on into the region +where he maintained his supremacy, he would seize +them and, at the same time, increase his grim list of +victims to fourteen.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_161' name='page_161'></a>161</span></div> +<p>It was an era in some respects very much like the +feudal days of Europe, a time of champions and +challenges and deeds of arms, a period when strong men +took definite stands for right or wrong and were ready at +all times to defend those positions with their lives. The +Man from Bitter Creek had received John Slaughter’s +gage within the hour. He had dismounted from his +pony at the cattle-buyer’s camp, attracted by the +spectacle of that enormous herd destined to pass +through the country where he and his companions held +sway, and he had hung about the place to see what he +could see.</p> +<p>He noted with satisfaction that the cattle were sleek +and fat for this time of the year; and the satisfaction +grew as he peered through the dust-clouds at the riders +who were handling them, for every one of the wiry +ponies that passed him carried a swarthy vaquero––and +half a dozen of those Mexicans would not be a +match for one of the hard-eyed rustlers who were waiting +along the upper Pecos in that spring of 1876. Just +as he was congratulating himself on such easy pickings +the cattle-buyer noticed him.</p> +<p>John Slaughter was in his early thirties but his lips +had settled into an unrelaxing line, and his eyes had +grown narrow from the habit of the long sun-smitten +trails. He was black-bearded, barely of middle stature, +a parsimonious man when it came to using words. +When he was a boy fighting under the banner of the +Lost Cause he sickened, and his colonel sent him home, +where he did his recuperating as a lieutenant of the +Texas rangers fighting Comanche Indians and border +outlaws.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_162' name='page_162'></a>162</span></div> +<p>Then he drove cattle into Kansas over the Chisholm +and Western trails and got further seasoning +in warfare against marauders, both red and white. To +maintain his rights and hold his property against armed +assault had become part of his every-day life; guardedness +was a habit like those narrowed eyes. And when +he recognized the Man from Bitter Creek, whose reputation +he well knew, he lost no time in confronting him.</p> +<p>So they faced each other, two veteran paladins who +had been riding under hostile banners ever since they +first bore arms; and John Slaughter delivered his ultimatum +in three syllables.</p> +<p>“Hit the trail,” he said, and clamped his lips into a +tight line as if he begrudged wasting that many words.</p> +<p>His eyes had become two dark slits.</p> +<p>It was a case of leave or fight and the Man from +Bitter Creek had never allowed such a challenge to go +unanswered by his gun. But during the moment while +he and John Slaughter stood looking into each other’s +eyes he reflected swiftly, and it occurred to him that +it would be wise to postpone this killing until the +cattle-buyer had brought the herd on into the upper +country where, without their employer, the Mexican +vaqueros would be of no more consequence than so many +sheep.</p> +<p>That was an inspiration: thousands of cattle for his +own, where he had hoped to steal a few hundred at +the very outside. He felt that he could well afford +to mount his pony and ride away in silence. Now +as he settled himself in his saddle after that last look +backward, his heart was light with the thought of the +wealth which was to come to him within the next two +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_163' name='page_163'></a>163</span> +months. He urged the pony forward at a gallop toward +the Land Beyond the Law.</p> +<p>The days went by, and late springtime found the Man +from Bitter Creek in the upper river country which +lies just west of the great Llano Estacado. Among +those lonely hills the badness of the whole frontier +had crystallized that year. Outlaw and murderer, +renegade, rustler, and common horse-thief––all for whom +the eastern trails had been growing too hot––had ridden +into this haven beyond the range of the boldest sheriff +until even the vigilance committee could not function +here for the simple reason that there were too many to +adorn the ropes and too few to pull them.</p> +<p>The ranchers of Lincoln County were starting in +business, and the temptation to increase one’s herds +by means of rope and running-iron––a temptation which +was always strong on the frontier––was augmented +among some by a wholesome regard for their own lives +and property: better to give shelter to outlaws and +buy stolen cows for a dollar or two a head, than to defend +your own stock against an overwhelming force +of dead shots. There were others––and these included +several of the bigger cow-men––who held that this was +their territory and, deeming all outsiders interlopers, +levied such toll of plunder on them as the old feudal +barons levied on travelers by the Rhine in medieval +times.</p> +<p>That was the way they reasoned; and the rustlers +had easy pickings, stampeding range cattle across the +bedding-grounds of the trail herds, gathering unto +themselves the strays, disposing of their loot right on +the spot. They were taking full advantage of the opportunity, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_164' name='page_164'></a>164</span> +and the Man from Bitter Creek was getting +his share of the spoils.</p> +<p>But all of this struck Gallagher as petty business +now; he was waiting impatiently for John Slaughter’s +herd. At Chisum’s ranch, where he and a number of +his companions had enforced their presence as unbidden +guests since the passing of the spring, he proclaimed +his plan openly after the manner of his breed; and he +even went so far as to exhibit a forged power of attorney +by virtue of which he intended selling the beeves +in the Northern market, after he had killed their owner +and driven off the Mexicans.</p> +<p>“I’ll lay for him up Fort Sumner way,” he told his +fellow-wolves, nor did he take the trouble to lower his +voice because he saw several cow-boys from neighboring +outfits among his auditors. It was a tradition +among those who lived by the forty-five thus to brag +and then––make good. And it was a firmly established +habit in Lincoln County to mind your own business; so +the project, while it became generally known, created +no excitement.</p> +<p>The Man from Bitter Creek went up the river to +the neighborhood of Fort Sumner when John Slaughter’s +herd drew near the Chisum ranch. He made his +camp and bided the arrival of the cattle; but that +arrival did not materialize. He was beginning to wonder +what could have delayed them, for the fords were +good and this particular section was one where no +drover cared to linger. And while he was wondering +a rider came to him with tidings that brought oaths +of astonishment to his lips. John Slaughter had taken +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_165' name='page_165'></a>165</span> +his herd off the trail and made camp at the Chisum +ranch.</p> +<p>Now every one in the country knew that the Man +from Bitter Creek was holding down the Chisum place +that season, and the action was nothing more nor less +than a direct challenge. It did not matter whether sublime +ignorance or sublime daring prompted it; it was +defiance in either case. There was only one thing for +Gallagher to do––get the killing over in quick time. +Moreover he must attend to the affair by himself––for +just as surely as he took others to help, his prestige +was going to be lowered. So he saddled up at +once and rode back to Chisum’s with a double-barreled +shotgun across his lap and two single-action forty-five +revolvers at his hips.</p> +<p>He was an old hand at ambush and so he took no +chances when he drew near the ranch but reconnoitered +a bit from a convenient eminence. The house stood +on the summit of a knoll; the land sloped away before +it to the river, bare of shrubs or trees. Those +of the Mexicans who were not riding herd were down +among the cottonwoods by the stream, busy over some +washing. In the middle of the open slope, two hundred +yards or so from the ranch buildings and a good +quarter of a mile from the nearest vaqueros, a solitary +figure showed. It was the cattleman. No chance for +ambush here. The Man from Bitter Creek spurred +his pony to a dead run and came on blithely to shoot +his way to wealth.</p> +<p>John Slaughter watched him approaching and waited +until he was within easy range. Whereat he picked +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_166' name='page_166'></a>166</span> +up a forty-four caliber rifle and shot his horse from +under him.</p> +<p>Pony and rider crashed down together in a thick cloud +of dust. The Man from Bitter Creek sprang to his +feet and the flame of his revolver made a bright orange +streak in the gray-white haze. He left his shotgun +where it had fallen; the distance was too great for it.</p> +<p>As a matter of fact it was over-long range for a +Colt forty-five; and now, as he came on seeking to close +in, it occurred to Gallagher that his prospective victim +had used excellent judgment in selecting a weapon with +reference to this battleground. Evidently he was engaged +with one who knew some things about the +deadly game himself.</p> +<p>He took good care to keep weaving about from side +to side during his advance, in order that the bead of +that Winchester might find no resting-place with his +body outlined before it. And he kept his revolvers busy +throwing lead. One bullet was all it needed to do the +work and he was trying hard to put one into the proper +place, using all the skill he had attained in long practice +under fire, when a shot from John Slaughter’s +rifle broke his arm. The Texan was firing slowly, lining +his sights carefully every time before he pressed the +trigger. The Man from Bitter Creek was darting to +and fro; his revolver bullets were raising little clouds +of dust about the cattleman. He was nearing the area +wherein the forty-five revolver was more deadly than +the clumsier rifle, when John Slaughter shot him +through the body.</p> +<p>But he was made of tough fiber and the extreme +shock that would leave some men stunned and prostrate +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_167' name='page_167'></a>167</span> +only made him stagger a little. His revolver was spitting +an intermittent stream of fire and it continued this +after a second slug through his lungs had forced him +to his knees. He sank down fighting and got his third +fatal wound before the cow-boys carried him up to the +ranch-house to die. There, after the manner of many +another wicked son of the border, he talked the matter +over dispassionately with his slayer and in the final moment +when death was creeping over him he alluded +lightly to his own misdeeds.</p> +<p>“Anyhow I needed killing twenty years ago,” he +said.</p> +<p>No one mourned the passing of the Man from Bitter +Creek; the members of the pack who hunt the closest +to the big he wolf are always the gladdest to see him +fall. Nor was there any sorrowing when John Slaughter +departed for the north. On the contrary both outlaws +and cow-men watched the dust of his herds melting +into the sky with a feeling of relief.</p> +<p>The outlaws continued as the weeks went by to speak +his name with the hard-eyed respect due one whose +death would bring great glory on his slayer; the cow-men +cherished his memory more gratefully because hundreds +of cattle bearing his road-brand were grazing on +their ranges. All hands were more than willing to +regard the incident as closed––all save John Slaughter.</p> +<p>That was not his way. And in the season of the autumn +round-up when the ranchmen of Lincoln County +were driving their cattle down out of the breaks into +the valley, when their herds were making great crawling +patches of brown against the gray of the surrounding +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_168' name='page_168'></a>168</span> +landscape, the black-bearded Texan came riding back +out of the north. He visited every outfit and greeted +the owner or the foreman with the same words in every +case.</p> +<p>“I’ve come to cut your herd for my brand.”</p> +<p>That was the law of the cattle-trails; every man +had the right to seek out his strays in the country +through which he had passed. But it was not the custom +along the Pecos. In that Land Beyond the Law +the rule of might transcended any rule of action printed +in the statute-books. And the new possessors did not +fancy giving up the beeves which had been fattening +on their ranges during all these weeks. In those lonely +hills John Slaughter made a lonely figure, standing +on his rights.</p> +<p>But those who gathered around him when he made +the declaration always noticed that he had his right +hand resting on his pistol-butt and the memory of what +had taken place at Chisum’s ranch was still fresh in +every mind. So they allowed his vaqueros to ride into +their herds and in silence they watched them drive out +the animals which bore his brand. Sometimes the affair +came to an issue at this point.</p> +<p>Chisum, who was an old-timer in the country and +had fought Comanches all along the river before others +had dared to drive up the trail, produced a bill of sale +for sixty rebranded cattle which the Texan’s vaqueros +had cut out. John Slaughter allowed his tight lips to +relax in a grim smile.</p> +<p>“You bought ’em all right––but too cheap,” he said, +and ordered his foreman to take them away.</p> +<p>Chisum stormed a bit, but that was as far as it went. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_169' name='page_169'></a>169</span> +And John Slaughter rode off behind his vaqueros without +so much as looking back.</p> +<p>At Underwood’s there was trouble. The cattle-buyer +had recovered 110 steers from a bunch of 160, and when +Underwood heard about it that evening he stated, in +plain and profane terms, that he would kill John +Slaughter unless those beeves were turned back to him. +He had a reputation as a dead shot and he took two +friends, who were known as good gunmen, along with +him. They set forth for the Texan’s camp. All three +were armed with rifles beside their six-shooters.</p> +<p>But John Slaughter saw them coming, for he was +keeping his eyes open for visitors these days, and dismounted +on the opposite side of his pony. He received +them with his Winchester leveled across his saddle and +he answered their hail without lifting his eyes from +the sights.</p> +<p>“Where’s Underwood?” he demanded.</p> +<p>The cow-man announced his identity; it took more +than the muzzle of a rifle to silence him.</p> +<p>“I bought those cattle and I paid for them,” he +shouted.</p> +<p>“And I’ll pay you,” Slaughter proclaimed across +his sights, “just as sure as you try to take them +away.”</p> +<p>This was about all there was to the debate. The +Texan was never strong when it came to conversation +and the other party seemed to realize that further +words would merely amount to so much small talk under +the circumstances. It was a show-down––shoot or +ride away. And the muzzle of that rifle had an unpleasant +way of following any one of the trio who +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_170' name='page_170'></a>170</span> +made a move in the saddle. They were men of parts, +seasoned fighters in a fighting land, but they were men +of sense. They rode away.</p> +<p>Some miles farther down the river John Slaughter +was biding the arrival of two half-breeds and a pair +of rustlers who had announced their intention to get +him, when a vaquero whom he had summoned to help +him receive the guests showed symptoms of reluctance. +While the vaquero was talking the invaders came into +view, riding fast.</p> +<p>“Fight or hit the road,” John Slaughter bade his +swarthy aide.</p> +<p>The latter announced his choice in Spanish; and the +cattle-buyer paid him off with one hand while he pulled +his rifle from its sheath with the other. The discharged +vaquero did not wait to gather his scanty personal +possessions and started down the road as fast as his +legs could take him, but before he was out of sight his +former employer had fortified himself behind his pony +and brought the rustlers to a stand.</p> +<p>A cattleman by the name of Richardson tried swearing +out a warrant as a means of recovering the beeves +which John Slaughter cut out of his herds, but the +deputy returned with the paper unserved.</p> +<p>“He told me to keep it in my pocket,” the officer explained. +“Said I couldn’t serve it.”</p> +<p>Richardson met the cattle-buyer riding to his ranch +the next day, having heard in the meantime some stories +of what had taken place farther up the river.</p> +<p>“I’ve made up my mind to withdraw that complaint,” +the ranchman said. “I saw a chance to buy +cheap cattle and I guess I got off wrong.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_171' name='page_171'></a>171</span></div> +<p>So John Slaughter rode on southward taking with +him such of his cattle as he could find, and men who +boasted that they would kill him before nightfall came +back to their companions in the evening, glad that they +were there to tell the tales of their defeats. Finally he +vanished down in Texas with his vaqueros and the salvaged +herd.</p> +<p>When he had come up the river that spring one man +was seeking his life; now he left behind him a full score +who were as eager to slay him as the Man from Bitter +Creek had been. But the outlaws of Lincoln County +did not see him again for three years.</p> +<p>The next spring he began breaking trail to a new +market through a country where others did not dare to +drive their herds. The market was southeastern Arizona, +on whose ranges the grass grew belly-deep; its +stockmen, who were beginning operations in 1877, were +in sore need of cattle. But the interval between the Rio +Grande and these virgin pastures was a savage land; +Victorio’s bands of turbaned Apache warriors lurked +among its shadowed purple mountains; there were long +stretches of blistering desert dotted with the skeletons +of men and animals who had died of thirst.</p> +<p>John Slaughter brought his first herd west of the +Pecos with the coming of the grass, and his cow-boys +lined them out on this forbidding route. They crossed +wide reaches of sand-dunes and alkali flats––ninety +miles was the length of one of those dry drives––where +they never saw a water-hole for days, until the cattle +went blind from thirst and sun-glare and wandered +aimlessly over the baked earth lolling their tongues, +moaning for drink, ignoring the red-eyed riders who +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_172' name='page_172'></a>172</span> +spurred their famished ponies through the stifling dust-cloud +and sought by shouts and flaming pistols to hold +them to the proper course.</p> +<p>The Apaches watched them coming from the heights +and crept down to ambush them, but John Slaughter +had learned Indian-fighting while he was still in his +teens until he knew its tricks as well as the savages +themselves; and he led his cow-boys out against them, +picking his own ground, swooping down on them +from vantage-points, routing them.</p> +<p>The herd came on into the long thin valleys which +reach like fingers from northern Mexico to the Gila +River. On the San Pedro the cow-boys turned them +southward and the outfit made its last camp near +where the town of Hereford stands to-day.</p> +<p>Here the Texan established his home ranch, for he +had made up his mind to forsake the valley of the Rio +Grande for this new country; and hither now, over the +trail which he had broken, his men drove other herds; +he sold them to the cow-men of southeastern Arizona +as fast as they came in. From now on he devoted +himself to stocking the ranges of the Santa Cruz, +the San Pedro, the Sulphur Springs, and the San Simon, +turning a tawny wilderness into a pastoral commonwealth.</p> +<p>For he brought more than Texas cattle into this land +which had heretofore been the hunting-ground of +Apaches, the wild refuge of white renegades more savage +than the Indians. Where he came he took with him +the law. It was his way––the way he had taken on +the Pecos and he kept it now––to stand for his own +rights, to fight for them if need be, until he established +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_173' name='page_173'></a>173</span> +them; thus he maintained a rule of action, a +rule that accorded with the definition of the old English +jurist, “prescribing what is right and prohibiting what +is wrong.”</p> +<p>During those days he rode on far journeys, eastward +to the Rio Grande, northward to the country where +the land breaks toward the gorges of the Colorado; and +because a cattle-buyer was always a marked man, carrying +large sums of money with him, there were many +who sought his life. But these he slew or drove away.</p> +<p>There came a time when the demand for stock was +so heavy that he looked about him for a new point of +supply and saw Mexico. Troops of bandits rode through +the southern republic, gathering tribute where they +willed. He loaded down pack-mules with dobie dollars, +led his cow-boys down across the boundary, played hide +and seek with bands of swarthy murderers in the mountains, +and battled with them at the desert water-holes.</p> +<p>His fame spread until forty-five guerrillas came riding +up from Sinaloa to gain wealth and glory by murdering +his little company. They found John Slaughter +and two cow-boys encamped in a hamlet down beyond +Moctezuma with the nucleus of a herd which they were +gathering. A sharp-eyed scout reported two pack-mules, +their aparejos bulging with dobie dollars, in the +train. Immediately thereafter the Mexicans whom the +drover had employed as vaqueros and guides deserted +him; the people of the hamlet closed their houses against +the trio of gringos.</p> +<p>The bandits watched their prospective victims going +from door to door, seeking four walls to shelter them +against attack, and laughed. That was fine sport to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_174' name='page_174'></a>174</span> +their way of thinking; they held off, just as a cat holds +off from a cornered mouse; there was plenty of time for +the killing, no use of hurrying.</p> +<p>The shadows lengthened between the little adobe +buildings; dusk came on. They had a final round of +drinks in a mescal groggery, swung into their saddles, +and went jingling down the street to enjoy the massacre.</p> +<p>Bad news travels fast. The tidings sped northward +like a stray horse running home. One day a rider came +to the ranch on the San Pedro with the story: how John +Slaughter was last seen alive in the dismal hamlet at +the foot of the Sierra Madre, abandoned by his Mexicans, +with two cow-boys as his only companions, and half a +hundred well-armed bandits on their way to murder +him. A grim tale for the ears of a woman who was +waiting word from Mexico.</p> +<p>A woman heard it out––John Slaughter’s young +bride. He had brought her to the ranch-house a few +months before and in these first days of her happiness, +a happiness made the more poignant by those deep anxieties +which the brave-souled women of the frontier +had to bear, she listened to the announcement which +abiding dread had foreshadowed during many a lonely +night. When the rider had departed she ordered a +team harnessed to the buckboard and set forth for +Mexico within the hour.</p> +<p>It was growing late when she passed the customhouse; +they had no confirmation of the rumor for her +there, nor contradiction either; the best they could +do was to try to hearten her and to advise her to wait. +But she shook her head at the advice and drove on southward +in the darkness. She was alone. Blackness hid +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_175' name='page_175'></a>175</span> +the land before her; save for the drumming of the hoofs +and the scrape of the wheels in the rough roadway +there was no sound. The wilderness remained silent, +invisible, offering no sign of what tragedy it held for +her.</p> +<p>The night passed; gray dawn came; the sky flamed +above the ragged crests of the Sierra Madre; the sun +climbed past the mountain wall; morning grew on +toward noon. Far to the south––so tenuous at first that +it barely showed against the clear air, now thickening +until it was unmistakable at last––a gray-brown dust +column was climbing into the cloudless sky. It came +on toward her as she urged on the jaded team, the +signal of an advancing herd.</p> +<p>She strained her eyes and saw the thin, undulating +line beneath it; the sun gleamed on the tossing horns +of the cattle, their lowing sounded faint with distance, +growing into a deep pulsating moan. She distinguished +the dots of horsemen in the van; and now one rode +on swiftly before the moving mass. She recognized +her husband from afar.</p> +<p>John Slaughter had seized his opportunity while the +bandits were drinking to their own good luck and his +death in the mescal shop. He and John Roberts, his +foreman, had taken the treasure-laden mules up a steep-walled +cañon five miles away. When the murderers +followed the hot trail they found themselves, with the +coming of darkness, in the narrowest part of the defile, +so neatly ambushed that they wheeled their horses and +rode down the gorge in full flight before the fight had +fairly begun.</p> +<p>John Slaughter’s wife was a brave woman. She rode +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_176' name='page_176'></a>176</span> +beside him now on many an expedition; into the sand-hills +of southwestern New Mexico, and down across the +border into northern Sonora. She saw the smoking +remnants of wagon-trains beside the road, the bodies +of Apaches’ victims sprawled among the ruins. She +looked upon the unutterably lonely crosses which marked +the graves of travelers where Victorio’s turbaned warriors +had traveled before her into Mexico. She slept beside +her husband where the desert night wind whispered +of lurking enemies; and watched enshadowed soap-weeds +beyond the ring of firelight taking on the semblance +of creeping savages.</p> +<p>He beheld her drinking deeply from the cup of dread +which was the bitter portion of the strong-hearted women +of the frontier. And when he journeyed away +without her he had for company the constant knowledge +of what other men had found on return to their ravaged +homes––what might be awaiting him when he came +back. And so he enlarged the scope of his warfare, +which heretofore had been confined to the defensive; +he began a grim campaign to keep the Apaches out of +his portion of the San Pedro valley for all time.</p> +<p>He led his own war-parties out to hunt down every +roving band who passed through the country. He used +their own science of reading trails to track them to +their camping-places; and their own wiles to steal upon +them while they rested. He improved on their methods +by making his raids during the darkness when their +superstitions made them afraid to go abroad.</p> +<p>One midnight he was deploying a company of Mexicans +about the mesquite-thicket which sheltered a band +of warriors. As he was about to give the whispered +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_177' name='page_177'></a>177</span> +order to close in, the unknown dangers which awaited +them within the blackness became too much for his +followers. They balked, then began to fall back. He +drew his forty-five.</p> +<p>“First man that shows another sign of hanging back, +I’ll kill him,” he said in Spanish, and drove them before +him to the charge.</p> +<p>Gradually the Apaches began changing their warpaths +into Mexico, and as they swung away from his +ranges John Slaughter increased the radius of his raids +until he and his cow-boys rode clear over the summits +of the passes in the Sierra Madre which lead eastward +into Chihuahua.</p> +<p>With nine seasoned fighters at his heels he attacked +a war-party in the heights of the range on the dawn of +a summer morning; and when the Indians fled before +the rifle-fire of the attackers––scurrying up into the +naked granite pinnacles like frightened quail––they +left a baby behind them. The mother had dropped it +or missed it in her panic, and the little thing lay whimpering +in the bear-grass.</p> +<p>John Slaughter heard it and stopped shooting long +enough to pick it up. With the bullets of her people +buzzing around his ears he carried the brown atom down +the mountain-side and took her home on his saddle to +his wife.</p> +<p>That was one of his last expeditions, for his name had +become a byword among the tribes, and Geronimo himself +gave instructions to his people to leave John +Slaughter’s herds inviolate, to avoid his range in traveling. +With this degree of peace ensured, the cow-man +had bought an old Spanish grant not far from where +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_178' name='page_178'></a>178</span> +the town of Douglas stands to-day and was settling +down in the security for which he had been fighting, +when the Tombstone rush brought the bad men from all +over the West into the San Pedro and Sulphur Springs +valleys; and with them came the outlaws of the Pecos +who had been waiting to kill him during these three +years.</p> +<p>In the wild cow-town of Charleston where the lights +turned pale under the hot flush of every dawn the desperadoes +from the Pecos learned how John Slaughter +had established himself before them in this new land; +how his cow-boys patrolled the range which he still held +on the San Pedro and the new range farther to the east, +guarding his herds by force of arms; and how the silent +Texan had already declared war on the whole incoming +tribe of cattle-thieves by driving Ike and Billy Clanton +from his old ranch at revolver’s point, bidding them +never to show their faces there again.</p> +<p>They heard these things in the long adobe dance-halls +while rouge-bedizened women went whirling by in the +arms of bold-eyed partners wearing revolvers on their +hips. From stage-robber, stock-rustler, horse-thief, +and the cold-faced two-gun man who sold his deadly talents +to the highest bidder, the stories came to them. +And then, to the beat of the piano and the cornet’s +throbbing blare, the bad men of the Pecos told of the +passing of the Man from Bitter Creek, and how his +slayer came back down the river recovering his stolen +cattle in the autumn.</p> +<p>Now another champion had risen among the bad +men of the Pecos since the day of Gallagher, a burly, +headstrong expert with the forty-five, known by the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_179' name='page_179'></a>179</span> +name of “Curly Bill.” Already he had shot his +way to supremacy over the other “He Wolves” who had +flocked into the new country; he had slain Tombstone’s +city marshal and defied the Earps when they came +into power in the booming mining camp.</p> +<p>When it came to a question of single combat he was +acknowledged champion among those who lived by what +toll they could exact at the muzzles of their deadly +weapons; when it came to warfare he was the logical +leader. And so, when John Slaughter’s name was +spoken in Charleston’s dance-halls, the eyes of his followers +were turned on him. He saw those glances and +he read the unspoken question which they conveyed; he +met it with a laugh.</p> +<p>“I’ll go and get that fellow,” he proclaimed. “I’ll +kill him and I’ll fetch his herd in to Charleston myself.”</p> +<p>He started forth to make good his boast, and twenty-five +hard-eyed followers went riding at his heels. It +was a wild project even in that wild era and Curly +Bill deemed it wise to do his massacring down in Mexico, +where it was every man for himself and coroner’s juries +were not known. He took his company across the +boundary and lay in wait for John Slaughter on a mesa +overlooking a little valley, down which the herd must +pass.</p> +<p>Mesquite-thickets gave the outlaws good cover; the +slopes below them were bare brush; the valley’s floor +was open ground. They bided here and watched the +country to the south. The dust column showed one +cloudless morning and they saw the undulating line of +cattle reveal itself beneath the gray-brown haze. The +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_180' name='page_180'></a>180</span> +herd came on down the valley, with dust-stained riders +speeding back and forth along its flanks, turning back +rebellious cows, urging the main body forward. Curly +Bill spoke the word of command and the twenty-five +bad men rode forth from their hiding-place.</p> +<p>The sun gleamed on their rifle barrels as they +spurred their ponies down the open slope. They rode +deep in their saddles, for the ground was broken with +many little gullies and the horses were going at a +headlong pace. They drew away from the shelter of +the mesquite and descended toward the valley bed. +Some one heard a rifle bullet whining over his head. +The man glanced around as the sharp report followed +the leaden slug; and now every face was turned to +the rear. Twelve cow-boys were following John +Slaughter keeping their ponies to a dead run along +the heights which Curly Bill and his band had so +blithely forsaken.</p> +<p>It was a custom as old as Indian-fighting; this bringing +on of the main force over the high ground whence +they could guard against surprise and hold the advantage +over luring enemies. By its result the ambuscaders +were ambushed, riding headlong into a trap.</p> +<p>It was a simple situation, apparent to the dullest +mind. Who lingered on the low ground would never +steal cattle again. The outlaws wheeled their ponies +to a man; and now as they raced back up the hill they +saw the cow-boys coming onward at a pace which threatened +to cut them off from the shelter of the mesquite. +Then panic seized them and it held them until the last +cow-thief had spurred his sweating horse into the thickets. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_181' name='page_181'></a>181</span> +By the time Curly Bill had re-gathered his scattered +forces the herd was nearly out of sight.</p> +<p>He did not seek renewal of the attack. He let it +go at that. And when he came to Charleston he announced +that so far as he was concerned the incident +was closed; he was going to do his cattle-rustling henceforth +over San Simon way where cow-men did not maintain +rear-guards and scout out the country ahead of +them for enemies. He changed his base of operations +to Galeyville within a month and came to Charleston +for pleasure only.</p> +<p>The story spread and every man who deemed himself +as bad as Curly Bill saw his opportunity to demonstrate +his qualifications as a killer by succeeding where the +leader had failed. Doc Holliday tried it one night on +the Charleston road. Next to Wyatt Earp he ranked as +the highest in the faction that was ruling Tombstone. +Unquestionably he was an artist with deadly weapons, +and the trail of his wanderings through the West was +marked by wooden headboards. On the evening in question––it +was the evening after the bloody and unsuccessful +attempt to rob the Benson stage, and several men +were riding hard toward home and help and alibis––he +was spurring his sweating horse to Tombstone when he +got sight of John Slaughter’s double rig ahead of him.</p> +<p>The cattle-buyer had drawn ten thousand dollars +from the bank that afternoon and was taking the specie +home with him; the fact was known in Charleston where +Doc Holliday had stopped within the last hour. The +vehicle was rounding a long turn; the horseman cut +across country through the mesquite; he reached the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_182' name='page_182'></a>182</span> +farther end of the curve just in time to draw alongside +the team.</p> +<p>John Slaughter’s wife was beside him on the driver’s +seat. She saw the rider bursting out of the gloom, and +then her eyes fell on the forty-five which he was in the +very act of “throwing down.”</p> +<p>“That man has a gun in his hand,” she cried.</p> +<p>Without turning his head her husband answered, +“So have I.”</p> +<p>She glanced down at his cocked revolver; its muzzle +was moving, to follow the enshadowed figure in the +saddle less than ten feet away. She raised her eyes; the +horseman had lowered his weapon and was wheeling his +pony off into the night.</p> +<p>“Knew his bronco as soon as I saw that blazed face +show,” John Slaughter said in explanation of his quick +draw.</p> +<p>That same vigilance, which had grown to be second +nature with him, combined with an almost uncanny +swiftness in putting two and two together, which latter +had come to him during the years when guarding his +life was a part of his trade, kept the cow-man a step +ahead of his enemies on every occasion. These things +were instinctive from long habit; he prepared himself +to meet a situation just as an expert gunman draws his +forty-five––just as a scientific boxer blocks a blow––without +wasting an instant in thinking.</p> +<p>It was thus with him when Ed Lyle and Cap Stilwell +waylaid him on the road to the Empire ranch over near +Port Huachuca. These two, who had endured humiliation +under the muzzle of the Texan’s pistol on the +Pecos trail, brought four others along with them and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_183' name='page_183'></a>183</span> +planned to do the murder in the night. Three took +their stations on one side of the wagon track and three +on the other, all well armed. They had spotted the victim’s +buckboard several miles back.</p> +<p>Now when it came on to the spot which they had selected, +the two trios galloped up to do the killing––and +found John Slaughter leveling a double-barreled shotgun +while his wife held the reins. One glimpse of that +weapon at the cattle-buyer’s shoulder was enough; they +did not wait for him to pull the trigger but fled.</p> +<p>John Slaughter was wearying of this sort of thing. +Lyle and Stilwell were men of parts; good men of whom +to make examples. He sought the former out in Charleston. +They met in front of a saloon on the main +street. John Slaughter drew and, as he threw down––</p> +<p>“I’ve got no gun,” Lyle cried.</p> +<p>“If you were armed,” the cow-man said, “I’d kill +you now. But if I ever see you in this country again, +I’ll kill you anyhow.”</p> +<p>Lyle left and Cap Stilwell, receiving his sentence of +banishment in the same manner, departed within a week. +From that time the bad men let John Slaughter alone; +he was too big for them. He took his family to his new +San Bernardino ranch and it was beginning to seem as +if the days of constant warfare were over. He was settling +down to enjoy peace in his home, when a call for +help made him forsake the security which had been so +hard to earn.</p> +<p>That security was unknown elsewhere in Cochise +County. The strong men who had seized the reins in +Tombstone, wielding their power for their own selfish +ends, were gone; they had ridden away with warrants +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_184' name='page_184'></a>184</span> +out against them. The outlaw leaders were dead: John +Ringo, Curly Bill, the Clantons, and others who had +swaggered where they willed, had met violent ends.</p> +<p>With their passing the courts were trying to administer +the statutes, but the courts were impotent. The +statutes were mere printed words. For the rank and +file of the bad men were raiding and murdering under +the guidance of new leaders who furnished them with +food and ammunition, notified them of the movements +of the officers, procured perjured witnesses to take the +stand in their behalf, and bribed jurymen.</p> +<p>Money and influence were taking the place of deadly +weapons to uphold a dynasty whose members reigned +unseen and under cover, whose henchmen looted express-cars, +stole cattle, and murdered men on the highways, +until things had come to such a pass that President +Arthur had issued a proclamation threatening martial +law in Southeastern Arizona.</p> +<p>And now the people of Tombstone, grown sick with +blood and much violence, called to John Slaughter to +take the office of sheriff and bring the law to them. It +meant the abandonment of his herds just as he was getting +them well started, the putting aside of plans which +he had cherished through the years. But he answered +the call and forsook the San Bernardino ranch for the +dingy little room beside the court-house entrance. Before +he had got fairly acquainted with the new quarters +war was on.</p> +<p>Cochise County was being used as a haven by bandits +throughout the Southwest. Four train-robbers fled +hither from Mexico, where they had looted an express-car +and killed the messenger, soon after John Slaughter’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_185' name='page_185'></a>185</span> +term began. He took his chief deputy, Bert Alvord, +and two others and followed their trail high into +the Whetstone Mountains. In the night-time the posse +crawled through the brush and rocks to the place where +they had located the camp of the fugitives.</p> +<p>A man must leave many things to chance when it +comes to choosing his position in the dark, and it so +happened that when dawn came the sheriff and his deputy +found themselves right under the nook where the +bandits were ensconced; the other members of their +party had become separated from them.</p> +<p>They had the enemy nicely cornered, with a cliff to +cut off escape to the rear, but they were themselves in +the open; two men against four and the four entrenched +behind outcroppings of the living rock.</p> +<p>A small space of time was jammed with many large +incidents immediately after this discovery. Men attaining +supreme exaltation died in the instant of that +attainment; pulses that leaped with the joy that comes +when sight lines with bead, bead with living target and +the trigger-finger begins to move, ceased their beating +more abruptly than a machine stops when the power is +turned off.</p> +<p>The leaden slugs snarled as thick as angry wasps +when the nest has been disturbed; the crackling of the +rifles was as a long roll; little geysers of dust spouted +among the rocks; the smoke of black powder arose in a +thin blue haze.</p> +<p>A bullet clipped away a little portion from John +Slaughter’s ear. He called to Alvord:</p> +<p>“Bert; you’re shooting too high; pull down; I see +you raising dust behind ’em every time.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_186' name='page_186'></a>186</span></div> +<p>Alvord, fighting his first battle, clenched his teeth and +lowered his front sight. John Slaughter had prefaced +his advice by killing one of the bandits; he supplemented +it by putting a bullet through a head that bobbed +above the rocks. And when the other two members of +the posse came to take part in the fight, there was only +one train-robber living. They found him breathing his +last where he had crept away among the cliffs.</p> +<p>But killing desperadoes would not eradicate the reign +of lawlessness unless a man slew the entire pack; and +John Slaughter had no intention of instituting a St. +Bartholomew’s eve in Cochise County. Thus far he +had managed to get along with less bloodshed than many +a man who had not accomplished nearly as much as he. +So now he went on with his task as he had gone about +his business always and proceeded to smoke out the men +who were responsible for this state of affairs.</p> +<p>It was not so hard to learn their identity as it was to +get the proof of what they were doing. That was slow +work. But he had hired Bert Alvord as his deputy with +just this end in view. For Alvord was hail-fellow-well-met +in every bar-room of the county; owner of a multitude +of friends, many of whom were shady characters. +In later years he gained his own dark fame as an outlaw, +but that was long after John Slaughter left the +office of sheriff.</p> +<p>At present Alvord was working honestly and hard, +getting such information as he could concerning who +was who among the desperadoes, gathering data as to +their movements. The facts began to accumulate: a +word dropped in a gambling-hall, a name spoken before +a noisy bar, a whispered confidence from a prisoner +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_187' name='page_187'></a>187</span> +who felt his companions had not done all they might in +his behalf.</p> +<p>Gradually the evidence took the shape of a long finger +pointing toward Juan Soto, who was living in the little +town of Contention, as the leader who was handling +matters in the San Pedro valley. About this time John +Slaughter began riding out of Tombstone under cover +of the night. The days went by; the sheriff came back +to Tombstone morning after morning, red-eyed with +weariness, put up his pony, and went about his business +saying nothing as usual.</p> +<p>One day news came to the county seat that two +cattle-buyers had been robbed and murdered down near +the Mexican line. John Slaughter saddled up and rode +over to Charleston that morning, and when Juan Soto +came into town he met the sheriff who addressed him +over the barrel of a leveled forty-five.</p> +<p>“I’ll just take you along with me to-day,” John +Slaughter said.</p> +<p>It was a good tight case. Tombstone was startled +by the news that Juan Soto had been a member of a +bandit band in California. The sheriff was able to +give some first-hand testimony concerning the defendant’s +nocturnal habits. But the community’s excitement +slumped to sullen anger when the jury brought +in its verdict and Juan Soto smiled as he departed +from the court-house a free man.</p> +<p>Things had reached a pass where a vigilance committee +appeared to be the appropriate climax. But +that was not John Slaughter’s way; if any one were +going to take the power of the high justice he proposed +to be the man. He rode over to Contention and camped +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_188' name='page_188'></a>188</span> +in front of Juan Soto’s house late in the evening. +The night passed, and when the bandit leader came +riding home from Charleston with the dawn, he saw +the sheriff standing before his door.</p> +<p>Both men reached for their revolvers at the same +moment, but John Slaughter’s hand was quicker. It +was his chance to kill; according to the ethics of the +gun-play he had that right. But he chose a different +course.</p> +<p>“Leave the country,” he said. “If you’re here +after ten days, I’ll kill you on sight.”</p> +<p>Soon after Juan Soto departed on his exile, the +town of Wilcox over in Sulphur Springs valley was +treated to a sensation, in the banishment of Van Wyck +Coster. Every one thought Coster had enough money +and influence to keep him immune from legal proceedings, +but John Slaughter wasted none of the county’s +money in arrest or trial.</p> +<p>“I’ve known what you were doing for a long time +now,” he announced, holding his revolver leveled on +his auditor while he spoke. There was some debate, +but the sheriff clinched his argument by going into details, +and when he had finished outlining the prosecution’s +case he delivered his ultimatum: “Get out or +I’ll kill you.”</p> +<p>Coster joined Juan Soto in exile. And then it became +a simple matter of hunting down outlaws and +bringing them in for trial. The arm of the law was +limbered and justice functioned in the Tombstone court-house +as well as it does in any city of the land; far +better than is the case in some more pretentious communities. +There was of course plenty of work left. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_189' name='page_189'></a>189</span> +Tombstone is full of stories of John Slaughter’s exploits.</p> +<p>A desperado, seeking to kill him, threw down on him +as he was entering a saloon. Caught unawares for once, +the sheriff flung up his hand and, as he grasped the +pistol, thrust his thumb under the descending hammer. +Meantime he drew his own weapon and placed the +man under arrest. Two train-robbers sought to lure +him to Wilcox by a decoy letter stating that his nephew +had been killed. The instinct which had saved him +from other ambuscades made him investigate; and when +he learned that his nephew was living he summoned a +friend who made the journey with him. The spectacle +of these two old-timers emerging from opposite doors +of the day coach, each with a double-barreled shotgun +under his arm, drove the conspirators from the station +platform. Years afterward one of them confessed +the details of the plot.</p> +<p>John Slaughter served two terms as sheriff, and +when he retired from office Cochise County was as +peaceable as any county in the whole Southwest. The +old-timers who witnessed the passing of events during +his régime invariably speak of him when they are telling +of great gunmen. Yet, from the time when he +started up the Pecos with that herd in the spring of +1876 until the day when he went to his San Bernardino +ranch to take up life as a peaceful cattleman, he slew +fewer men than some whose names are absolutely unknown. +What he did he managed to accomplish in +most instances without pulling a trigger. That was his +way.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_190' name='page_190'></a>190</span> +<a name='COCHISE' id='COCHISE'></a> +<h2>COCHISE</h2> +</div> +<p>Darkness had settled down upon the wide mesquite +flat, smoothing off all irregularities, hiding +outlines until the tallest thickets were but deeper shadows +merging into the lesser shades of the open places. +Only one object showed, a Sibley tent glowing from the +light within.</p> +<p>Under the flaming yellow stars it stood out luminous, +marking the exact center of an enormous circle; +a circle roofed by the radiantly flecked heavens, +bounded by mountains which rose against the sky-line, +abrupt as a wall, black as ink. In the different segments +of this far-flung ring the peaks of the Chiracahuas, +the Grahams, the Dragoons, and the Galiuros betrayed +their ranges by varying outlines.</p> +<p>But to the eye they all formed portions of one huge +circumference, whose center was a glowing point, the +Sibley tent.</p> +<p>On the translucent walls of canvas there was a weird +design of black shadows, a design which was constantly +shifting and taking on new shapes. And as the shadows +moved, sometimes with grotesque effect and swiftly, +sometimes slowly, voices filtered through the gleaming +cloth to mingle with the whispering of the night wind +in the bear-grass, the dull stamping of tethered horses, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_191' name='page_191'></a>191</span> +the intermittent jingling of bitt-chains and the steady +soft footfalls of two sentries.</p> +<p>The voices changed as often as the shadows on the +tent-wall; now it was the abrupt, clipping speech of a +white man and now the deep, inflectionless bass of an +Indian. But most often it was the droning monotone +of the post interpreter, uttering his translations in +English or in the tongue of the Apache.</p> +<p>Of what was taking place within those luminous +walls of canvas, official records still exist; and of what +followed there are whole volumes of further records in +Washington. Dry reading in themselves, they hold +the meat of a remarkable story, a story whose colorful +narration has been given by its own main characters +and thus has come down among the true chronicles of +the old-timers.</p> +<p>On that evening in 1859 two groups of men faced +one another, and the lantern which hung on the center-pole +of the Sibley tent shone down on their faces, revealing +the growing passion in their eyes. One of the +groups was composed of soldiers, wearing the blue uniforms, +the queer straight-visored caps, and the huge +wide-topped boots which our cavalry used during those +times; a guard of sunburnt troopers under a hard-bitten +nom-com.; and standing a pace or so ahead of them, +a young second lieutenant fresh from West Point: +Lieutenant Bascom, a stranger in a strange, harsh land, +just a little puzzled over the complications which he +saw arising here, but dead sure of himself and intolerant +of the men with whom he was treating. That intolerance +showed in his stare as he regarded them.</p> +<p>There were half a dozen of the Apaches, chiefs every +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_192' name='page_192'></a>192</span> +one of them, a ragged group clad in a mixture of their +native garb and cast-off clothes of the white man; +frowzy hair hanging to their shoulders and bound +round at the brows by soiled thin turbans. But they +stood erect and there was a dignity in the way they +held their heads back, a dignity in their immobility of +feature and in their slow, grave speech. It was the +dignity of men who knew that they were leaders of +their people; who felt themselves on entire equality +with the leader of the white man’s warriors; who felt +the gravity of this occasion where they had been invited +into conference with this blue-clad representative +of a mighty government. Their head man was Cochise.</p> +<p>Like Lieutenant Bascom, he stood a pace ahead of +his followers, a lean Apache, with a thinner face than +most of his tribesmen and a remarkably high forehead. +And as he looked into the eyes of the young man in blue +who had just come from the far cities of the east coast +there began to come into his own eyes the shadow of +suspicion. The talk went on; the interpreter droned +out one answer after another to his speeches, and that +shadow in the eyes of Cochise deepened.</p> +<p>In itself the matter at issue was a small one. A +settler had lost a cow and he had accused the Apaches +of stealing the animal. Young Lieutenant Bascom +had summoned the chiefs to conference and they had +come––they said––to help him find the culprit. After +the manner of the Indian, of whose troubles the passing +of time is the very least, they talked slowly, listened to +the interpreter’s rendition of the lieutenant’s answers, +and then talked more.</p> +<p>They did not know the man who had stolen the cow; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_193' name='page_193'></a>193</span> +that was the sum and substance of their speeches. And +Lieutenant Bascom, fretting with the passage of the +hours, looked on the ragged group in their dirty nondescript +garments and chafed with fresh intolerance.</p> +<p>Cochise read that intolerance in the eyes of the +smooth-cheeked officer and, being an Apache, managed +to conceal the suspicion in his own eyes. He did not +want trouble with the white man. He had never yet +had trouble with soldier or settler. Ever since he had +been a chief among the Chiracahua Apaches he had +held down the turbulent spirits in his portion of the +tribe; he had out-intrigued savage politicians and had +smoothed over more than one difficulty like this. As +a matter of fact he was assimilating some of the white +man’s ways; he was getting into business; working a +crew of his people at wood-cutting, selling cord-wood +to the stage company at the Stein’s Pass station. He +was doing well, saving money, and saw ahead of him +the time when he would own many cattle, like some of +the settlers.</p> +<p>All of this was very comfortable and to his taste, and +because he liked it he held a firm stand against the suasions +of warring chiefs from his and other tribes. He +even came to cool terms with his relative Mangus Colorado, +the greatest leader the Apaches had ever known. +But while he was keeping to his position he had to +listen to many an argument and many a tale of the +white man’s treachery, and a man cannot listen often +without sometimes finding himself inclined to believe.</p> +<p>Settler and soldier, so said Mangus Colorado and +other men of parts among his people, regarded their +promises to the Indians as nothing; they were forever +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_194' name='page_194'></a>194</span> +trying to entice the Apaches into conference and then +taking advantage of them––sometimes by massacre. +While he argued slowly against the impatient utterances +of Lieutenant Bascom, reading the growing intolerance +in the other’s eyes, Cochise remembered some +of the stories which he had frowned down when his +people told them.</p> +<p>That was the state of affairs when Lieutenant Bascom, +with the cocksureness of the young and the intolerance +of the Easterner for frowzy Indians, made a +decision. To him it was evident that these tattered +savages were lying, they were a treacherous lot at +the best, and always thieves. So, now that he was getting +sick of the whole drawn-out business, he turned +from the interpreter to his sergeant.</p> +<p>“Arrest ’em,” he said.</p> +<p>Cochise heard him and slipped to the rear of the +tent as the troopers stepped forward. The other chiefs, +who could understand no English, did not need an +interpreter to tell them the meaning of this movement. +At once the quiet of the Arizona night was shattered +by the thud of blows and savage outcries. The crowded +space within the tent was filled with struggling men.</p> +<p>And while that fight went on, Cochise, aflame with +hatred, outraged by this violation of the sacred custom +of conference, believing now every word that had been +spoken to him by Mangus Colorado and the other war-chiefs, +whipped out his knife. The sound of the blade +as it rent the canvas was drowned by the other noises, +and when Lieutenant Bascom and his breathless troopers +surveyed their bound captives Cochise was in full +flight across the darkened plain.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_195' name='page_195'></a>195</span></div> +<p>Now word was sent by courier to the agency, and +government runners went forth that night to all parts +of the reservation, but they found no Indians to receive +their messages. The Chiracahua Apaches were already +riding toward their mountains where Mangus Colorado +and the renegade members of their tribe were biding on +the heights, like eagles resting on the rocky peaks before +they take their next flight.</p> +<p>Like roosting eagles the warriors of Mangus Colorado +scanned the wide plains beneath the mountains. Their +eyes went to the ragged summits of the ranges beyond. +Now as the day was creeping across the long, flat reaches +of the Sulphur Springs valley, tipping the scarred crests +of the Dragoons with light off to the west, touching the +distant northern pinnacles of the Grahams with throbbing +radiance, one of these lookouts beheld a thread of +smoke unraveling against the bright morning sky.</p> +<p>Under the newly-risen sun Cochise and his followers +were traveling hard away off there to the northward. +The turbaned warriors came on first, half-naked, armed +some of them with lances, some with bows and poisoned +arrows, and a goodly number bearing rifles. Their +lank brown legs moved ceaselessly in rhythm with the +trotting of the little ponies; their moccasined heels +thudded against the flanks of the animals.</p> +<p>In the rear of the column the squaws rode with the +children and the scanty baggage. As they traveled +thus, an outrider departed from the column to leave his +horse upon an arid slope and climb afoot among the +rocks above until he stood outlined against the clear +hot sky, kindling a wisp of flame. Now he bent over +the fire, casting bits of powdered resin upon the blaze, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_196' name='page_196'></a>196</span> +holding a square of tattered blanket over it after the +first puff of black smoke had risen, feeding it then with a +scattering of green leaves which in their turn gave forth +a cloud of white fumes.</p> +<p>And so the smoke thread unwound its length, showing +itself in black and white; spelling forth, by the same +system of dot and dash which the white man employs +in his telegraph, the tidings of what had taken place +back there in the Sibley tent.</p> +<p>From his nook in the Chiracahuas the watching +warrior read its message. And long before the first +faint haze of mounting dust betrayed the approach of +the fugitives, Mangus Colorado knew that his nephew +and his nephew’s people had quit the reservation and +the rations of meat and flour to make their living henceforth, +as their savage forebears had made theirs as far +back as the memory of the oldest traditions went––by +marauding. So he gathered all his forces and welcomed +Cochise into a council, where they planned their +first series of raids against the white men.</p> +<p>In this manner Cochise reverted to the customs of +his ancestors; customs which had come gradually to the +Apaches when they wandered down from Athabasca, +passing southward through regions held by hostile tribes +snatching their sustenance from these enemies, fleeing +before superior forces of warriors, until they reached +the flaming deserts down by the Mexican border, past-masters +of the arts of ambush and raid and retreat, owning +no longer any love of home or knowledge of tepee +building; nomads who made their lodges by spreading +skins or blankets over the tops of bushes which they +had tied together; to whom the long march had become +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_197' name='page_197'></a>197</span> +an ingrained habit and all the arts of bloody ambush +an instinctive pleasure.</p> +<p>Now he devoted all his mind and bent his talents to +these wiles of Apache warfare; he directed his young +men in making a living for the rest of the tribe by theft +and murder.</p> +<p>His uncle, Magnus Colorado, was the most skilful +leader the Apaches had ever known, a marvelously tall +savage with an enormous head. Cochise learned from +him and in time surpassed him as a general. For +nearly a decade and a half he made a plunder ground +of southeastern Arizona and southwestern New Mexico, +extending his forays away down across the line into +Sonora and Chihuahua until a remarkable man among +his white enemies came to him, and by a daring bit of +frontier diplomacy, put an end to the bloodiest outbreak +in the history of the Southwest.</p> +<p>But in the beginning there was neither diplomat nor +general among the white men. The days before the +Civil War witnessed a withdrawal of the troops from +Arizona, and the Apaches had things very much their +own way. From their home in the Chiracahua Mountains +they rode westward across the wide reaches of the +Sulphur Springs valley to the ridges of the Catalinas +away beyond the San Pedro, then turned southward, +making their way toward Mexico by the Whetstone +and the Huachuca ranges.</p> +<p>Now, as they trekked along the heights, they paused +at times to send bands of warriors down into the flat +lands which lie along the course of the Santa Cruz. +Here were ranches and a few small settlements. It was +the custom of the raiders to steal upon these places, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_198' name='page_198'></a>198</span> +always in force superior to that of their enemies, camouflaging +themselves by bits of brush and handfuls of +earth which they stuck among the folds of their turbans +and spread over their bare backs until one looking at +them from a distance of twenty-five yards would never +suspect the presence of lurking warriors.</p> +<p>In this manner they lay along the roadside biding the +wagon-trains and stages, or crept up on ranch-houses, +or wormed their way toward sleeping prospectors at the +hour of dawn. And when they felt sure that the issue +was safely in their hands they opened fire.</p> +<p>During the Civil War times they put the Butterfield +stage line out of business and were an important factor +in determining the northern route for the carrying of +the United States mails to California; they wiped out +the ranches of the valleys until cattle-raising and agriculture +ceased entirely; they raided the pueblo of Tubac +until its people finally fled for safety to Tucson and +then they burned the deserted buildings. They made a +howling waste out of southeastern Arizona.</p> +<p>Travel was suspended; there was no ranching and +nearly every mine in this portion of the territory was +abandoned. Of northern Sonora they made a source +of supply for their horses and drove whole herds out of +Mexico, using the surplus animals for food, keeping the +rest for mounts until these knuckled under from hard +treatment.</p> +<p>During the years that followed the Civil War those +fat days came to an end. Fresh troops were sent out +from Washington. Mangus Colorado was captured by +a detachment of cavalry and, according to the story of +one present, was killed in his blankets by the troopers +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_199' name='page_199'></a>199</span> +who guarded him. White settlers, stung to reprisals +by the barbarity of successive massacres, hunted down +several bands of the Apaches at their rancherias and +wiped them out in night attacks, men, women, and +children. Cochise found himself faced with a new set +of conditions and changed his tactics to meet them.</p> +<p>It was the habit of the Apaches to rest between the +long forced marches of their raids, choosing always a +spot high in the mountains where the mescal plant grew. +Here they would gather the roots of the thorny +vegetable, bury them in the earth, kindle roaring fires +over them, and bake them. Thus they got the sugar +which their wasted bodies needed; and during the days +at these camps they gained the rest which their aching +bones craved.</p> +<p>But the white man’s cavalry, guided by scouts recruited +from the Touto Basin Apaches and from settlers +who knew the country, began tracking the renegades to +their aërial refuges, and sometimes massacred whole +bands of them. Failing to steal upon them, the cavalry +always managed to get them on the run once more, and +that meant scant rations when full bellies were long +overdue.</p> +<p>In this manner the soldiers and the settlers were making +the Chiracahuas too hot for Cochise and his people.</p> +<p>Then the war-chief led his tribe across the Sulphur +Springs valley to the northern end of the Dragoon +Mountains where the peaks rise straight from the +mesquite flat lands, two thousand feet of sheer walls +whose summits command a view for many miles; whose +pinnacles and overhanging rocks give endless opportunity +for hiding and ambush. In this sanctuary they +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_200' name='page_200'></a>200</span> +found rest between raids during the early seventies; and +the place is known to this day as Cochise’s Stronghold.</p> +<p>Here one time a force of several hundred soldiers +made camp in the lowlands, and strung a series of strong +outposts through Middle Pass, cutting off the northern +part of the range from all the rest of the world, holding +it inside a ring of armed men. It was such a siege as +the warriors of the Middle Ages used to wage, starving +their walled-in enemies to surrender. For weeks the +soldiers bided and sometimes got glimpses of the turbaned +heads of Apache warriors who were gazing down +on them from the rocks above.</p> +<p>Then, one dark night, Cochise took his entire tribe, +numbering somewhere between two and three hundred +men, women, and children, down the niches among the +cliffs. Carrying their arms and their scanty baggage, +the Apaches wormed their way from the crest to the +plain two thousand feet below and crawled through the +line of the besiegers. So adroitly was the thing manœuvered +that no one cut their trail, and two days passed +before the escape was discovered. By that time the +whole band were raiding down along the headwaters of +the San Pedro, getting new horses from the herds of +ranchers on the border.</p> +<p>In the old days this northern end of the Dragoon +Mountains, which towers above the flat lands of the +Sulphur Springs valley on the one side and the rolling +plains of the San Pedro on the other, had been known +among the Apaches as the abode of the dead. Here, +they said, the departed spirits of their ancestors +whispered among the granite caves and pinnacles every +evening with the coming of the night wind.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_201' name='page_201'></a>201</span></div> +<p>But from now on they forgot the tribal legends and +looked upon the place as their inviolable refuge.</p> +<p>Time after time the blue-clad troopers chased them +as far as the base of the cliffs, but never pressed them +farther. For Cochise had developed into a consummate +strategist and, for the first time in their history, the +Apaches learned the art of making a stand against +superior forces.</p> +<p>To this day the rolling hills under those pinkish +granite precipices show traces of the camps which the +troopers occupied during successive sieges, only to +abandon them on learning that their turbaned enemies +had stolen away in some other quarter to resume their +raiding all along the border.</p> +<p>In some of the cañons which lead up toward the +ragged crests of naked rock one can still pick up old +brass cartridge-shells, the relics of grim battles where the +soldiers always found themselves at a disadvantage, +targets for the frowzy, naked savages who slipped and +squirmed among the granite masses above them like +rattlesnakes.</p> +<p>Far to the southward the Sierra Madre reared its +lofty crests toward the flaring sky; and there Cochise +established another sanctuary where his people could +rest and hunt when the chase became too hot in Arizona. +His breech-clouted scouts discovered some dry placer +diggings here, and he bade the squaws mine the dust +which he exchanged with crooked-souled white traders +for ammunition.</p> +<p>And now, having mastered the art of flight as he had +mastered the art of raiding, the war-chief of the Chiracahua +Apaches waged his vendetta against the white +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_202' name='page_202'></a>202</span> +men more remorselessly than any of his forefathers had +done in their time.</p> +<p>But few men are absolutely consistent and Cochise +had some idiosyncracies, which it is just as well to note +in passing, for they give an inkling of a side of his character +that was instrumental in bringing an end to the +whole bloody business.</p> +<p>For one thing he could not enjoy torturing his prisoners. +He tried that once on a Mexican down Agua +Prieta way. After the custom of his nation he pegged +out the luckless prisoner near an ant-hill, with his +mouth propped open by a wooden gag and a trail of +honey leading into it.</p> +<p>But when he settled down that night to enjoy the +torments of the man, he found that pleasure would not +come to him; and during the long hours that followed, +the groans of the slowly dying Mexican became a punishment +to his savage captor, a punishment which endured +for years afterward, for in his sleep Cochise sometimes +heard those moanings when he was an old man, and +hearing them sweated in agony of mind.</p> +<p>Another of his peculiarities was a love of the truth. +He was no hand at lying like the ordinary Indian. In +an era when the white men were careless with their +compacts, an era when Washington set the fashion in +breaking treaties with the hostile Indians, he came out +with the reputation of always keeping his word.</p> +<p>“If you can not tell the truth,” he said, “keep silent +or avoid the subject.”</p> +<p>That was the way he put it to Captain Thomas +Jonathan Jeffords, to whom he also confessed the weakness +which had overcome him in the case of the tortured +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_203' name='page_203'></a>203</span> +Mexican. And the knowledge of this side of Cochise’s +character helped Captain Jeffords to pave the way for +the wind-up of the war-chief’s maraudings. That +knowledge came after a long strange intimacy which began +in a remarkable manner.</p> +<p>This Captain Thomas Jonathan Jeffords owned a +wagon outfit and not only contracted for government +freighting in those times when teaming was a perilous +venture, but rode as an express messenger for various +military posts along the border. During the days when +Cochise was using the northern end of the Dragoon +Mountains as his stronghold, the days before these two +men became acquainted, the lean brown warriors made +several attacks on Jeffords’s wagon-trains and on more +than one occasion forced the old-timer himself to do +some extremely hard riding.</p> +<p>Finally when he had lost fourteen employees and +property amounting to thousands of dollars in ambuscades +and raids, Jeffords decided that it was high +time to put an end to this sort of thing as far as he was +concerned. He had tried reprisals on his own account +but although he and his leather-skinned followers had +managed to kill off numerous Apaches, there were more +warriors in the tribe than he could ever hope to +massacre.</p> +<p>He had worked with the soldiers as a scout but had +found the cavalry hampered by too many conflicting +orders from Washington, and in some cases too inefficiently +officered in high places, to be very formidable. +Cochise was too much for them to handle and that was +all there was about it. Now he made up his mind to +try a new scheme.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_204' name='page_204'></a>204</span></div> +<p>Captain Jeffords had mixed a great deal with Apaches +of various tribes, until he knew their customs as well as +they did themselves. He could speak their tongue +and he knew the sign language which was the lingua +Franca of the western tribes. He could read smoke +signals; he had made friends among those of the renegades +who sometimes took a long chance and drifted +down to the government posts in company with peaceful +Indians. Gradually he got such information as he +could, and as he got it he stored it away in his mind until +he felt he was as well equipped with knowledge as he +could hope.</p> +<p>Then he set forth one day to pay a visit to Cochise in +person. It was a risky venture but the old-timers never +balked at taking long chances; else they would never +have come west of the Rio Grande. Jeffords induced +an Apache who had been with Cochise to accompany +him part way on the journey; and before the Indian +back-tracked for the military post, he had him send up +a smoke signal announcing the visit and stating that its +nature was peaceable.</p> +<p>When the last shreds of smoke vanished in the clear +sky the native departed and Jeffords resumed his +journey toward the Dragoons. No answering sign had +come from those scarred granite peaks; and as he rode +on across the blazing plain they stood forth against the +cloudless sky, frowning, inscrutable. For all that the +eye could see they might have been deserted, without +life among them since the beginning of time; or they +might be at this moment sheltering hundreds of biding +enemies. He had to wait until he got among those rocks +before he knew what they held in store for him.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_205' name='page_205'></a>205</span></div> +<p>He rode to the edge of the plain and from the lowlands +up the first slopes of talus at the mouth of a long, +steep-walled cañon. He pressed his horse on up the +narrow gorge. On either side the cliffs loomed above +him; in places they were so close together that he could +have tossed a pebble from one to the other. There was +no sign of life; no sound, no movement.</p> +<p>But this tall lean rider knew that somewhere among +those granite pinnacles which stood out against the sky-line +before him and on either side, scores of venomous +black eyes were watching him. He knew that for every +pair of eyes there was a rifle; and that many a crooked +brown finger was fairly itching to press the trigger.</p> +<p>Thus he rode his sweating pony up and up where the +gorge wound toward the summit, up and up until he +reached the nests of enormous granite boulders which +hang seemingly poised between the heavens and the +flat plain beneath. And finally he saw before him the +lodges made of bended bushes with skins and blankets +spread over their curved sides. He reined in his horse, +dismounted, and walked into the camp of the renegades.</p> +<p>Cochise was sitting in his lodge, which was but a bare +shelter from the sun’s rays––a number of bushes bound +together at their tops formed the ribs for a haphazard +sort of tent made of outspread skins,––and whether he +was awaiting this visit no man knows. For the war-chief +showed no sign of surprise or of welcome when +Captain Jeffords entered the place. But when the tall +white man had seated himself upon the skins which +covered the dry earth and announced his purpose, +Cochise betrayed astonishment.</p> +<p>“I have come here,” Jeffords said with the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_206' name='page_206'></a>206</span> +deliberation which one must use when he is talking with +an Indian, “to see you, to know you better, and to talk +over certain matters with you. I will stay here two days +or maybe three; and while I remain––to show my good +faith––one of your squaws may keep my weapons.” +With which he laid aside his rifle and revolver.</p> +<p>After a silence whose length would have been disconcerting +to any other than an old-timer owning a +knowledge of the Indian ways, Cochise called a squaw, +who picked up the firearms at his bidding and took +them away with her. Then these two men of parts +settled down to talk business.</p> +<p>It took them two days and two nights, for Jeffords +was careful not to crowd matters in the slightest, hanging +to the savage custom of long silences and few words at a +time between them. As the hours went on he sat there +patiently listening to the war-chief recounting at great +length his experiences with the white men, reciting the +stories of bad faith and broken compacts; and when +these recitals were finished he continued to sit in silence +for long intervals, before he resumed his own arguments.</p> +<p>Thus the talk went on in the little brush shelter +during the hot days and the cool evenings; and what it +all came to was this:</p> +<p>Jeffords said that this war between Cochise and the +soldiers was not his war. It was, he maintained, no +business of his excepting when the officers who carried +the authority of the great father in Washington, bade +him to do their bidding and act as a guide or scout. +Otherwise, why should he take up his good time and risk +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_207' name='page_207'></a>207</span> +his life in fighting a people against whom he held no +personal grudge?</p> +<p>And why should that people bother their heads and +risk their lives in fighting him? He followed that +question by reminding Cochise of the reprisals which he +had launched against the Chiracahua Apaches. They +had killed fourteen of his men and stolen much of his +property; but he and his men had killed several times +fourteen of Cochise’s warriors and had wrought devastation +in proportion. Did that pay the Apaches?</p> +<p>Well, then, why keep on with it? He knew good +things of Cochise and had respect for him. Cochise +knew who he was and the sort of man he was. No +need for them to go on injuring each other and each +other’s people. They could call it a draw and quit +right now.</p> +<p>If the white soldiers demanded Jefford’s services, all +well and good; he would go and serve them as scout or +interpreter or guide, and do what fighting one must do +when he is on the war-path. And on such occasions, if +the warriors of Cochise could kill him or capture him, +all right; it was their privilege. But no more of this +attacking each other out of season. If Cochise would let +his men and property alone, he would no longer make +any raids on Cochise’s people.</p> +<p>That was the gist of it and it took a long time to say; +a long time during which Cochise told Jeffords many +things and Jeffords spoke with Cochise of many subjects +outside the direct line of discussion. For that was the +Indian manner; they must feel each other out and +satisfy themselves each as to the other’s personality.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_208' name='page_208'></a>208</span></div> +<p>In the end they shook hands on their bargain, and +Captain Thomas Jonathan Jeffords got back his weapons +from the squaw, saddled up his pony, and rode forth +from the camp of the Apache war-chief, the party of +the first part to a compact such as never had been heard +of up to that time in the history of Indian warfare.</p> +<p>That compact stood. And there were times when its +observance was a delicate matter; times when Captain +Jeffords had to draw fine lines between his duty as a +government scout and his obligations to Cochise. But +he managed to perform those duties and to keep the +faith; and although he went forth with the cavalry +troopers on many an occasion, serving them faithfully +and well, he never fell out with the war-chief of the +Chiracahuas.</p> +<p>In fact their friendship grew as the years went by and +they came to regard each other as brothers. +During such visits as he paid to the stronghold in lulls +of the border warfare, Jeffords got to know much of +Cochise’s history, of his grievances, and of his point of +view.</p> +<p>During these same years there came a change in the +command, and General George Crook, who is looked +upon by the old-timers as perhaps the greatest of our +Indian-fighters, led the cavalry against the Apaches. +Crook’s understanding of the Indian was perfect; and +not only was he able to beat the natives at their own +game of ambuscade but he thoroughly sympathized with +their cause. He knew how Washington and incompetent +officers had blundered and lied to them.</p> +<p>It was therefore with the utmost willingness that he +combined his campaign of savage fighting with another +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_209' name='page_209'></a>209</span> +and quieter campaign of diplomacy which was being +waged by General O. O. Howard.</p> +<p>The latter had been sent out by President Grant to +get the Chiracahua Apaches back on the reservation. +And one day he made up his mind to open negotiations +with the war-chief in person.</p> +<p>He asked his scouts for a man who could find where +Cochise was hiding at the time and conduct him to the +place, and they told him that there was only one man +in the territory of Arizona, who stood a chance of doing +this––Captain Jeffords.</p> +<p>General Howard sent for Jeffords and the two conferred +in the presence of a number of cavalry officers. +And when the general had announced his purpose a +dispute arose; the officers advised him to take along a +strong escort of troops if he intended making this call. +Jeffords declared flatly that such an escort would need +all the cavalry along the border. No troops or else an +army, was his way of putting it; and if there were an +army he did not purpose accompanying the expedition. +On the other hand he would willingly take General +Howard alone. They compromised by sending along a +single aide, a captain.</p> +<p>Then these three men journeyed to the northern end +of the Dragoon Mountains; and as they crossed the +wide plains toward the somber range, they halted two +or three times while Captain Jeffords built a little fire. +The general and his aide watched the old-timer standing +by the wisp of flame, sprinkling upon it now one sort +of fuel and now another, occasionally smothering the +rising fumes with his saddle blanket. And as they rode +onward they saw the smoke of Apache signal-fires rising +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_210' name='page_210'></a>210</span> +from the ragged summits ahead of them. They saw +these things, and it is a fact that they thought but little +of them.</p> +<p>So they marveled when Captain Jeffords chose his +route into the mountains without hesitation; and their +wonder grew when he pointed to a group of enormous +boulders which topped the ridge ahead of them, +saying––</p> +<p>“We will find Cochise’s people camped there to-day.”</p> +<p>They rode on upward and came into the camp of the +Apaches. Here and there a ragged squaw peered out +of a dirty lodge at them; they saw a group of children +scattering like frightened quail. There were no warriors, +only one or two old men.</p> +<p>“Where is Cochise?” General Howard asked.</p> +<p>“He will be here within an hour,” Jeffords answered, +“and when he comes you will know him because +you will see riding ahead of him the ugliest-looking +Apache in Arizona carrying a lance.”</p> +<p>And because Jeffords had exchanged no word as yet +with the Indians, the two white men marveled again.</p> +<p>The old-timer led them to the chief’s lodge, where +they sat down and waited.</p> +<p>Within the hour a group of Apaches came riding +up the nearest gorge, and at their head General Howard +saw one whose sinister face conformed to the description +which Jeffords had given him. The warrior was +carrying a lance. And behind him rode the war-chief. +Cochise dismounted and entered his lodge. After the +Mexican fashion he kissed Jeffords on both cheeks embracing +him warmly. Then––</p> +<p>“What is it these men want?” he asked.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_211' name='page_211'></a>211</span></div> +<p>Jeffords introduced General Howard and the aide, +and stated the former’s motive in making this visit. +Cochise sat silent for some moments. At length, +pointing to General Howard––</p> +<p>––“Will he keep his word if we exchange promises?” +he demanded.</p> +<p>“I have advised him not to promise too much, as is +the habit of many white men,” Jeffords answered, +“and I believe he is honest.”</p> +<p>The old war-chief fell silent again. Finally he +turned to General Howard.</p> +<p>“Some of my young men,” he said slowly, “are +away now. They are making their living. They may +come back at any time. And when they come back +there may be trouble. It would be better if you were +not here then.”</p> +<p>And General Howard knew enough about the Apaches +and their habits to be sure in what manner those +young men were making their living; what sort of +trouble would probably follow their arrival in the +camp. It would be an awkward situation if he were +to be in this place during a battle between the savages +and his fellow-soldiers. But he was not a young +man and the prospects of a long ride back to the nearest +military post were not alluring. He said as much.</p> +<p>“Four of my young men will take you to a good +place,” Cochise told him, “and after the third day +they will bring you back.”</p> +<p>On the advice of Jeffords this course of action was +agreed to; and four Apaches took General Howard +down into the valley as far as the point where the +Sulphur Springs ranch buildings now stand.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_212' name='page_212'></a>212</span></div> +<p>Jeffords and the aide bided here on the heights +with the Indians. And on the second day, true to +Cochise’s prophecy, a band of renegades came riding +hard up the gorge. The spot where the Indians +were encamped was a saddle at the summit, some +hundreds of feet lower than the adjoining ridges. +Now as the fugitive warriors threw themselves from +their lathered ponies, announcing that two troops of +cavalry were close behind them, the aide of General +Howard witnessed one of those spectacles which are +easier to tell than to believe.</p> +<p>With the announcement of this emergency, the camp +moved. In the same time that it takes to say the foregoing +sentence, it moved––men, women, children, and +every bit of impedimenta. It was like one of those +magic transformations of which we used to read in +fairy-tales when we were children.</p> +<p>One moment the Apaches were squatting among +their lodges; and in the next moment people and goods +and wickiups were gone; the place was bare.</p> +<p>Every warrior and squaw and child seized what +objects were nearest at hand, overlooking none, and +scampered off with them. Within a few minutes of +the arrival of the fugitives, the entire band was scattered +among the boulders and pinnacles on the higher +portion of the ridge; Cochise was disposing his warriors +to the best advantage to repel the attack.</p> +<p>But the cavalry made no advance beyond the cañon +mouth, and there was no fight. When General Howard +returned at the end of the next day he saw the +manner in which the war-chief had deployed his men +and was struck with admiration. No general, he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_213' name='page_213'></a>213</span> +said in telling of the incident afterward, no matter +how highly schooled in the arts of modern warfare, +could have disposed of his forces to better advantage +than this savage had done.</p> +<p>Then General Howard, his aide, and Captain Jeffords +were given one of those primitive lodges and settled +down here among the lofty heights of Cochise’s stronghold, +isolated from all white men, surrounded by the +most bloodthirsty savages in America, rubbing elbows +with naked warriors who had spent the years of their +manhood perfecting themselves in the fine arts of ambush +and murder.</p> +<p>Cochise saw to it that they were well supplied with +robes and blankets; by his orders they were feasted +as became ambassadors; and General Howard ate +with a relish one evening a stew which he afterward +learned was made from the meat of a fat half-grown +colt.</p> +<p>The conference went on at a leisurely rate; but at +that it was conducted much more swiftly than most +discussions in which Indians have taken part, for +since the party had come to these heights they had +sent back no word of how they were faring, and they +dared not drag out the business to too great a length +lest an expedition come after them. Such a development +would effectually stop the negotiations and, in all +probability, forever prevent their renewal.</p> +<p>General Howard told Cochise his purpose in coming +to Arizona, and dwelt with emphasis on the fact that +President Grant had sent him. The name of this +famous warrior of the white men had weight with the +leader of the Chiracahuas. If the man who led the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_214' name='page_214'></a>214</span> +armies of the great father to victory was behind this +movement, he must at least respect the overtures. +Howard went on to say that all the President wanted +was peace with the Indians; to get them back on the +reservation and to treat them fairly.</p> +<p>Cochise replied with a long statement of his own +grievances beginning with the incident wherein Lieutenant +Bascom was a main figure; he told of other +cases wherein the white man had not shown up well. +Many promises had been made to the Apaches but none +had been kept. Still he was willing to go on with this +thing; President Grant was a mighty warrior, and +Captain Jeffords had vouched for his envoy’s honesty.</p> +<p>Thus they sat within the rude shelter of boughs +and skins, smoking and talking while the naked braves +passed outside eying them through the doorway with +sharp sidelong glances, and lean withered squaws +cackled all day long among the vermin-ridden lodges +about them.</p> +<p>Then Cochise announced that he and his people would +go back to live upon a reservation and to eat the white +man’s rations––on certain conditions. The reservation +must be in their own country; he named a portion +of the Sulphur Springs valley and the adjoining +Chiracahuas. And the agent must be Captain Jeffords.</p> +<p>There was justice in these conditions. The tribe +had always roved over the country which Cochise +named. As for the agent, it was a notorious fact that +about nine-tenths of the Indian troubles originated +through dishonesty of officials; either they were thieves +or their friends were, which amounted to the same +thing. And Jeffords was honest.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_215' name='page_215'></a>215</span></div> +<p>When General Howard had heard out the war-chief, +he at once accepted the stipulations. President +Grant had given him carte blanche in this matter; +he was sure that he could keep his promises. But +Captain Jeffords interposed an obstacle.</p> +<p>The last thing that he wanted was to be an Indian +agent. The government owed him about twenty thousand +dollars and if he took the office it would prevent +his collecting the claims which were then under adjudication +in Washington. Besides he well knew the +political forces which were always working on an Indian +agent, the strings which were being pulled in Washington, +the various grafts, big and petty, to which +one must shut his eyes if he wanted to remain in +charge of a reservation. He stated his position.</p> +<p>Cochise remained firm. No agent other than +Jeffords. That was his ultimatum. He would rather +go on fighting until his people were extinct than to +take them back and have them robbed. General Howard +turned in appeal to the old-timer. And Captain +Jeffords then capitulated––under conditions.</p> +<p>He would give up the hope of collecting the money +which the government owed him and he would take +charge of the new reservation. But if he did these +things he must be in complete control. His word +must be law and there must be no outside interference. +If he gave the order, no white man––not even the +commander of the United States army––could come +within the boundaries of the district set apart for the +Indians. Beyond his judgment there could be no +appeal. He did not purpose to have matters taken +to Washington over his head.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_216' name='page_216'></a>216</span></div> +<p>And, to make a long story short, General Howard +not only consented to all of this, but he saw to it +that President Grant confirmed his promises. He +made a special trip to Washington and placed the +matter before the nation’s chief executive, who issued +the necessary orders. And so late in 1872 Cochise and +his people came back to the reservation.</p> +<p>That was not all, either. They lived there, during the +lifetime of Cochise, in peace and quiet. There were +thefts and there were cases of whisky-peddling with +their inevitable accompaniments in the way of murder. +There were times when the young men got restless; when +passing Apaches from the White Mountains tried to induce +the tribe to rise and leave the reservation with +them, when medicine-men from these other clans +preached bloody war.</p> +<p>But Cochise and Captain Thomas Jonathan Jeffords +attended to all of these things as they came up. They +ferreted out the criminals; they hunted down the +whisky-peddlers; they drove the recalcitrant spirits +from other tribes away and quelled the dissatisfaction +which they had stirred up.</p> +<p>And because there was no appeal beyond their judgment; +because no hungry politician could bring it about +that his friends got the chance to swindle the Apaches +or to rob them of their rations––as was being done with +other Indians all over the West at the time––these two +old men were able to enforce their edicts and to keep at +peace the most warlike savages in the whole Southwest. +They kept the faith with the government, those two; +and they kept the faith with each other; and the friendship +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_217' name='page_217'></a>217</span> +which had begun that day when Jeffords rode up +into Cochise’s stronghold, grew closer and closer.</p> +<p>That friendship never wavered until the day of Cochise’s +death. And when he knew that the end was +coming he called for Jeffords, who was brought to his +bedside. It was about two hours before noon.</p> +<p>“To-morrow at this time in the morning,” Cochise +said, “I will die. I want to say good-by to you.”</p> +<p>They talked for some time over things that had happened +in days gone by. And finally Cochise asked the +old-timer whether he believed in a hereafter. Jeffords, +like many another man, could only hope that there +might be such a thing.</p> +<p>“Well,” Cochise told him finally, “I believe that +after I am gone I will see you again, my friend.”</p> +<p>And those were their last words together. The next +morning, at the hour which he had named, Cochise +breathed his last.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_218' name='page_218'></a>218</span> +<a name='ONE_AGAINST_MANY' id='ONE_AGAINST_MANY'></a> +<h2>ONE AGAINST MANY</h2> +</div> +<p>Maybe you will get an insight into certain traits +of the old-timers and so will find it easier to believe +the facts set forth in this chronicle, if I begin with +the tale of “Big Foot” Wallace.</p> +<p>Away back in the days before the Mexican War this +Big Foot Wallace, lusty then and in his prime, was +taking part in a bushwhacking expedition into Northern +Chilhuahua; and his little company was captured +by the soldiers of the southern republic. No one was +losing any sleep in those parts over the laws of nations, +and the officer commanding the victorious enemy was +in a hurry to be moving on. Wherefore, like many +another handful of Americans, the prisoners soon found +themselves surrounding a jar within whose hidden +depths were white and black beans, in number corresponding +to their own.</p> +<p>The idea was that each man must draw his bean, and +he who got a white one lived, while he who picked a +black kernel was lined up with his luckless friends before +the nearest wall and shot within an hour. Thus +the Mexican commander intended to reduce by one-half +the number of his prisoners, and at the same time afford +his troops a little entertainment in witnessing the drama +of the bean-picking.</p> +<p>There was in Big Foot Wallace’s company a young +fellow with a wife and children waiting for him back +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_219' name='page_219'></a>219</span> +in Texas, and as the tattered group crowded around the +jar to thrust their hands within and draw forth their +different fates this soldier broke down. The thought +of the woman and the babies was too much for him.</p> +<p>Big Foot Wallace had just plunged in his hand when +the man began to sob. He glanced down at the white +bean which his fingers clutched and turned to the +stricken youth.</p> +<p>“Here,” he whispered with an oath thrown in to +show his indifference to the heroics, “take this, I’m +feeling lucky to-day.”</p> +<p>With which he turned over his precious bean and––proceeded +to draw another white one.</p> +<p>The tale is told to this day by white-bearded men who +maintain that it came to them from the lips of Big Foot +Wallace. It has been used as the basis for at least one +bit of fine fiction, but in its original form it illuminates +for us of a later generation the characters of those extraordinary +men who won the great Southwest away +from the Apaches. They were, whenever occasion came, +perfectly willing to take a long chance against ugly +death. That willingness made every one of the old-timers +a host in himself.</p> +<p>During the decades between the end of the Mexican +War and the coming of the railroads these men drifted +westward from the Rio Grande and the Pecos. A lean +and sunburned crew, they came by saddle-horse and +wagon, by thorough-brace Concord stage-coach and by +bull team, dribbling into the long, thin valleys which +reach northward from the Mexican border to the Gila +River.</p> +<p>They found such spots as suited them; there they +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_220' name='page_220'></a>220</span> +built their cabins, gouged their prospect-holes from the +rocky hillsides, and dug the irrigation-ditches for their +ranches. There were few settlements and these remote +from one another; the military posts were so insufficiently +garrisoned that the troopers had all they +could do to look out for themselves; and the Apaches +roamed unhindered whither the lust for plunder led +them.</p> +<p>These savages had owned the valleys and the ragged +mountain ranges between them. They saw the white +men drifting in, in twos and threes; they saw the lonely +camps and cabins, tenanted by little groups of settlers, +beyond all reach of help; they saw the wagon-trains and +stages traveling without convoys. Their chiefs were +wily, their warriors past masters of the art of ambush. +They started in to kill off the new-comers; and they undoubtedly +would have succeeded in depopulating most +of New Mexico and Arizona if it had not been for that +one trait of which Big Foot Wallace furnishes an example.</p> +<p>Therein lies the key-note to the incidents within this +little chronicle; the contemptuous disregard for danger, +the willingness to take the supreme risk, which made +those old-timers perform exploits that were seemingly +impossible; which made them outface their naked +enemies––who were always looking out for their own +swarthy skins––and come forth unscathed from situations +wherein death seemed the only means by which +they could emerge; which made them win in many +a grim fight where the odds were one man against +many.</p> +<p>One man against many. That was the case with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_221' name='page_221'></a>221</span> +Uncle Billy Rhodes. Back in the early sixties he and +his partner had taken up some land down in the Santa +Cruz valley near the pueblo of Tubac. If you drive +southward in your car to-day from Tucson you will pass +the spot where Tubac stood until the Apaches laid waste +the town during Civil War times, and go within a +stone’s throw of the place where Uncle Billy Rhodes ran +one of the biggest and finest bluffs in all the history +of Indian-fighting.</p> +<p>It was the custom of the Apaches to raid southward +from their reservations into Mexico, scooping up such +loot and lives as they could during their journeys. +Usually at this particular time they traveled by way +of the Santa Catalina Mountains, keeping well to the +heights until they reached the Pantano Wash, where +they frequently swooped down on the Butterfield stage-station +before climbing to the summits of the Whetstones +and the Huachucas. Clinging to the rocky ridges, they +went on southward and watched the lowlands for signs +of victims.</p> +<p>Such a war-party descended into the Santa Cruz +valley one afternoon and found Billy Rhodes’s partner +alone at the ranch. When they got through with him +there was little left in the semblance of a man, but they +took good care to postpone burning the ranch-buildings, +contenting themselves with promiscuous looting.</p> +<p>The idea was that smoke creates a warning signal and +Uncle Billy Rhodes would never come within rifle-shot +of the spot once he got sight of the ascending cloud. +He was their meat; they possessed their souls in patience +and settled down to await his home-coming.</p> +<p>Afternoon was waning and the first long shadows of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_222' name='page_222'></a>222</span> +early evening were beginning to steal across the plain +from the base of the mountains when Uncle Billy rode +his jaded pony down the faint wagon-track toward the +ranch-house. He was weary from the saddle, for he +had come a long distance that day––so long a distance +that the horse was unfit for much more travel.</p> +<p>He passed his first rude fence and was within two +hundred yards or so of the cabin when something made +him pull up. He did not know what that something +was; but the bronco added to his suspicions by its behavior. +And then, while he was reconnoitering, an over-eager +brave took a pot-shot at him.</p> +<p>The bullet missed, as most Apache bullets had a habit +of doing. Next to the courage of the old-timers the +utter inability of the North American Indian to grasp +the necessity of pulling down his front sight was perhaps +the largest factor that helped the white man to +win the country west of the Mississippi River. Uncle +Billy Rhodes whirled his pony and started back in +the direction he had come from.</p> +<p>But the ponies of the Apaches were fresh from the +rest they had enjoyed while their masters were prolonging +the death agonies of Uncle Billy’s partner. It +took but a short time for the Indians to catch them +up and within a minute or two something like fifty warriors, +turbaned, naked from the waist up, were crowding +their frenzied mounts in the wake of the fugitive.</p> +<p>The chase, as might have been expected, was a short +one. Before he had gone a half-mile Uncle Billy saw +that he was going to be overtaken. Already the savages +were spreading out, and he could hear the yells of +those who were drawing up on each side.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_223' name='page_223'></a>223</span></div> +<p>It was the proper time for a man to despair; but +Uncle Billy was too busy looking about him for a +point of vantage to indulge in any such emotion as +that. He had an old-fashioned cap-and-ball revolver, +all of whose chambers were loaded; and it was his intention +to make those six bullets if possible account +for six Apaches before he resigned himself to unkind +fate.</p> +<p>The river-bed was close at hand; in places the road +skirted the willow thickets which lined the stream. Before +the fugitive a particularly thick clump of the +green shrubs showed; all about it the ground was open. +Uncle Billy hardly bothered to check his pony’s lame +gallop before casting himself bodily into the midst of +this shelter. And thereafter the affair took on a different +complexion.</p> +<p>The Apache was never foolhardy. Possessed of +marvelous patience, he was willing to wait when waiting +was the more prudent course of action. And in +the beginning the pursuers, who had encircled the willow +thicket, contented themselves with shooting from +a distance where they could keep to cover.</p> +<p>But evening was growing on, and these savages were +imbued with more superstitious fears of the dark than +the members of most Indian tribes. It became evident +that they must rush matters if they would go to camp +before the night enwrapped them.</p> +<p>So the forty-odd came wriggling down the surrounding +slopes toward the willow thicket, keeping as close to +the earth as possible, striving to close in before they +made their open charge. Uncle Billy waited until he +got a good shot, and “turned loose” for the first time. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_224' name='page_224'></a>224</span> +A spattering of bullets answered his, but he had the +satisfaction of seeing one naked form lying motionless +on the hillside.</p> +<p>There came a yell, and now the Apaches showed themselves +as they ran forward. The old revolver spoke +again and then the third time. The charge broke in +its inception; and the retreating enemy left two more +of their number behind them when they went back to +cover.</p> +<p>There followed an interval of silence. It was succeeded +by another rush. Uncle Billy fired twice from +the depths of his thicket, and both shots scored. The +Apaches sought the rocks once more; but the old-timer +lay among the willows with a broken elbow from one +of their bullets. There was no time, nor were there +means, for dressing the wound. He gritted his teeth, +dug the elbow into the soft sand to stanch the flow +of blood, and waited for the next onset.</p> +<p>It came within a few minutes, and Uncle Billy fired +his last shot. The good luck which sometimes helps +out a brave man in time of trouble saw to it that the +ball from his revolver found the chief of the party. +When they saw him fall the Indians retired in bad +order.</p> +<p>And now, where force had failed them, the Apaches +resorted to diplomacy. All they wanted was to get +their hands on the white man, and a little lying might +be the means to help them to it. In Spanish one of +them called from his cover, bidding Uncle Billy give +himself up as a prisoner. He had, the herald said, +been so brave that they would observe the amenities of +the white man’s warfare; they would not harm a hair +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_225' name='page_225'></a>225</span> +of his head. But if he refused they surely would come +on this time and kill him.</p> +<p>To which Uncle Billy Rhodes replied profanely inviting +them to make the charge.</p> +<p>“Because,” he ended, “I’m plumb anxious to get +some more of you.”</p> +<p>And then he sat back biding their coming––with +his empty revolver. But the silence continued uninterrupted; +the shadows merged to dusk; twilight deepened +to darkness. The Apaches had stolen away, and +Uncle Billy Rhodes crept forth from the willows to +catch up his horse and ride with his broken arm to +Tucson, where he told the story.</p> +<p>Now there is no doubt what would have happened +to Uncle Billy had he been gullible enough to believe +that statement of the Apaches as to his personal safety +in case of surrender. As a matter of cold fact neither +Indian nor white man had any particular reason to +look for favor or expect the truth from his enemy during +this long struggle.</p> +<p>Just to get an idea of the relentlessness of their warfare +it is worth while noting this incident in passing––one +of those incidents which were never reported to +Washington for the simple reason that Washington +could never understand them.</p> +<p>A band of renegade Apaches had left the reservation +to go a-plundering down in Mexico. A certain +troop of cavalry was riding after them with the usual +instructions from Washington to bring them back without +bloodshed.</p> +<p>The captain of the troop was a seasoned Indian-fighter, +and he managed to keep the fugitives moving +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_226' name='page_226'></a>226</span> +so fast that they got next to nothing to eat. When you +are traveling without rations along the ridges during +an Arizona summer and there is no time to stop for +hunting, no time to bake mescal roots; when you need +every pony for riding and you have eaten the last lean +dog; then bellies draw in and the ribs begin to stand out.</p> +<p>There were a number of squaws and children in the +Apache outfit, and by the time the chase had been +going on for two weeks or so with back-trackings, twistings +and turnings, and every march a forced one, why +then the pace of the fugitives began to slacken. And +the troopers overtook them one fine day right out in the +open where there was no opportunity for stand or +ambush.</p> +<p>According to his instructions from the men who ran +our Indian affairs in Washington, the captain of the +troopers must bring these renegades back unharmed or +face the necessity of making a great many explanations. +So he drew up his men in formation and rode +forward to parley with the half-starved savages. He +rode right up to them, and their chief came forth to +have a talk with him.</p> +<p>This captain was a fine figure of a man, and those +who watched him say that he made a noble picture on +his big troop-horse before the frowzy band whose gaunted +members squatted in the bear-grass, their beady eyes +glinting on him under their dirty turbans. And he +was a good, persuasive talker. He promised them safe-conduct +to the reservation and assured them that their +truancy would be overlooked, were they to come back +now.</p> +<p>He went on to tell of the rations which would be +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_227' name='page_227'></a>227</span> +issued to them. He dwelt on that; he mentioned the +leanness of their bodies and described at length the +stores of food that were awaiting for them in the reservation +warehouse.</p> +<p>And the words of the captain were beginning to have +an effect. There was a stirring among the warriors and +a muttering; men glanced at their squaws and the +squaws looked at their children. The captain went on +as if unconscious that his eloquence was bearing fruit.</p> +<p>All the time he was speaking a girl just grown to +womanhood kept edging toward him. In the days when +food was plenty she must have owned a savage sort of +beauty; but her limbs were lank now and her cheeks +were wasted. Her eyes were overlarge from fasting +as they hung on the face of the big captain.</p> +<p>So she stood at last in the very forefront of her +people, quite unconscious that other eyes were watching +her. And behind her her people stirred more and +more uneasily; they were very hungry.</p> +<p>Under the hot, clear sky the troopers sat in their +saddles, silent, waiting. The lieutenant who had been +left in charge watched the little drama. He saw how +the moment of the crisis was approaching; how just +one little movement in the right direction, one word +perhaps, would turn the issue. He saw the half-starved +girl leaning forward, her lips parted as she listened to +the big captain. He saw an old squaw, wrinkled and +toothless, venom in her eyes, crouching beside the hungered +girl.</p> +<p>Suddenly the girl took an eager step forward. As +if it were a signal a full half of the band started in the +same direction.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_228' name='page_228'></a>228</span></div> +<p>And just then with the turning of the scales, just +as the captain’s eloquence was winning, the old squaw +sprang to her feet. She whirled an ax over her head +and brought it down upon the girl. And before the +body had fallen to the earth a warrior leveled his rifle +and shot the captain through the heart.</p> +<p>The lieutenant started to turn toward his troopers. +But he never had a chance to give his order. The +whole blue-clad band was charging on a dead run. +What followed did not take long. There was not a +single prisoner brought back to the reservation.</p> +<p>When men are warring in that relentless spirit, no +one who is blessed with the ordinary amount of reasoning +power looks for mercy even if it be promised. +And Uncle Billy Rhodes did well to run his bluff down +there in the willows by the river.</p> +<p>Sometimes, however, the Apaches felt themselves +forced to show respect for their dead enemies. There +was, for instance, the short-card man from Prescott. +Felix was his name; the surname may be chronicled +somewhere for all the writer knows; it ought to be. +A short-card gambler, and that was not all; men say +that he had sold whisky to the Indians, that he was in +partnership with a band of stock-rustlers, and that on +occasion he had been known to turn his hand to robbery +by violence. In fact there is no good word spoken of his +life up to the time when the very end came.</p> +<p>In Prescott he owned none of that friendship which +a man craves from his fellows; respect was never bestowed +upon him. He walked the streets of that frontier +town a moral pariah.</p> +<p>Those who associated with him––those who made +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_229' name='page_229'></a>229</span> +their living by dubious means––looked up to him with +an esteem born only of hard-eyed envy for his prosperity. +For he was doing well, as the saying goes; making +good money.</p> +<p>Felix had managed to find a wife, a half-breed Mexican +woman; and she had borne him children, two or +three of them. He had a ranch some distance from +the town, and many cattle.</p> +<p>And on the great day of his life, the day when he +became glorious, he was driving from the ranch to +Prescott with his family: a two-horse buckboard and +Felix at the reins; the woman and the children bestowed +beside him and about him.</p> +<p>Somewhere along the road the Apaches “jumped” +them, to use the idiom of those times. A mounted +band and on their way across-country, they spied the +buckboard and started after it. The road was rough; +the half-broken ponies weary; and the renegades gained +at every jump. Felix plied the whip and kept his +broncos to the dead run until their legs were growing +heavy under them and the run slackened to a lumbering +gallop.</p> +<p>Prescott was only a few miles away. They reached +a place where the road ran between rocky banks, a place +where there was no going save by the wagon-track.</p> +<p>Felix slipped his arm around his wife and kissed her. +It was perhaps the first time he had done it in years; +one can easily believe that. He kissed the children.</p> +<p>“Whip ’em up,” he bade the woman. “I’ll hold +the road for you.”</p> +<p>And he jumped off of the buckboard with his rifle +and sixteen rounds of ammunition.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_230' name='page_230'></a>230</span></div> +<p>In Prescott the woman told the story and a relief +party rode out within a half-hour. They found the +body of the short-card man and stock-thief with the +bodies of fourteen Indians sprinkled about among the +rocks. And the surviving Apaches, instead of mutilating +the remains of their dead enemy as was their +custom on such occasions, had placed a bandanna handkerchief +over his face, weighting down its corners with +pebbles lest the wind blow it away.</p> +<p>It was near Prescott––only four miles below the village––that +a woman fought Apaches all through a +long September afternoon. The Hon. Lewis A. Stevens +was in town attending a session of the Territorial Legislature +and his wife was in charge of the ranch near +the Point of Rocks that day in 1867. A hired man was +working about the place.</p> +<p>One hundred yards away from the house an enormous +pile of boulders rose toward the nearer hills. Beneath +some of the overhanging rocks were great caves, +and the depressions between the ridges gave hiding-places +to shelter scores of men.</p> +<p>Shortly after noon Mrs. Stevens happened to look +from the window of the kitchen where she was at work. +Something was moving behind a clump of spiked niggerheads +between the back door and the corrals; at +first glance it looked like a dirty rag stirring in the +wind, but when the woman had held her eyes on it a moment +she saw, among the bits of rock and the thorny +twigs with which it had been camouflaged, the folds of an +Apache warrior’s head-gear.</p> +<p>Now as she stepped back swiftly from the window +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_231' name='page_231'></a>231</span> +toward the double-barreled shotgun which was a part of +her kitchen furnishings and always hung conveniently +among the pots and pans, she caught sight of more turbans +there in her back yard. With the consummate patience +of their kind some twenty-odd Apaches had been +spending the last hour or so wriggling along the baked +earth, keeping to such small cover as they could find +as they progressed inch by inch from the boulder hill +toward the ranch-house.</p> +<p>The majority of the savages were still near the pile +of rocks when Mrs. Stevens threw open her kitchen +door and gave the warrior behind the niggerheads one +load of buckshot; and the more venturesome among +them who had been following their luckless companion’s +lead broke back to that shelter at the moment she +fired. Fortunately the hired man was out in the front +and the roar of the shotgun brought him into the house +on a run. By this time more than twenty Apaches were +firing from the hill; the tinkling of broken glass from +the windows and the buzzing of bullets was filling the +intervals between the banging of their rifles.</p> +<p>Like most Arizona ranch-houses in those days, the +place was a rather well-equipped arsenal. By relaying +each other at loading Mrs. Stevens and the hired +man managed to hold down opposite sides of the building. +Thus they repelled two rushes; and when the +enemy made an attempt to reach the corrals and run +off the stock, they drove them back to their hillside a +third time.</p> +<p>The battle lasted all the afternoon until a neighbor +by the name of Johnson who had heard the firing came +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_232' name='page_232'></a>232</span> +with reënforcements from his ranch. That evening +after the savages had vanished for good Mrs. Stevens +sent a message into Prescott to her husband.</p> +<p>“Send me more buckshot. I’m nearly out of it,” +was what she wrote.</p> +<p>During the late sixties and the seventies the stage-lines +had a hard time of it, what with Apaches +driving off stock and ambushing the coaches along the +road. There were certain stations, like those at the +Pantano Wash and the crossing of the San Pedro, whose +adobe buildings were all pitted with bullet-marks from +successive sieges; and at these lonely outposts the arrival +of the east or west bound mail was always more +or less of a gamble.</p> +<p>Frequently the old thorough-brace Concord would +come rattling in with driver or messenger missing; and +on such occasions it was always necessary to supply the +dead man’s place for the ensuing run. Yet willing +men were rarely lacking, and an old agent tells how +he merely needed to wave a fifty-dollar bill in the +faces of the group who gathered round at such a time +to secure a new one to handle the reins.</p> +<p>In those days an Indian fight wasn’t such a great +matter if one bases his opinion on the way the papers +handled one of them in their news columns. Judge by +this paragraph from the “Arizonian,” August 27, 1870:</p> +<blockquote> +<p>On Thursday, August 18, the mail buggy from the Rio +Grande had come fifteen miles toward Tucson from the San +Pedro crossing when the driver, the messenger, and the escort +of two soldiers were killed by Apaches. The mail and stage +were burned. Also there is one passenger missing who was +known to have left Apache Pass with this stage.</p> +</blockquote> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_233' name='page_233'></a>233</span></div> +<p>You are of course at liberty to supply the details of +that affair to suit yourself; but it is safe to say there +was something in the way of battle before the last of +these luckless travelers came to his end. For even the +passengers went well armed in those days and were entirely +willing to make a hard fight of it before they +knuckled under; as witness the encounter at Stein’s +Pass, where old Cochise and Mangus Colorado got the +stage cornered on a bare hilltop with six passengers +aboard one afternoon. The writer has given that story +in detail elsewhere, but it is worth mentioning here +that it took Cochise and Mangus Colorado and their +five hundred warriors three long days to kill off the Free +Thompson party––whose members managed to take +more than one hundred and fifty Apaches along with +them when they left this life.</p> +<p>But drivers were canny, and even the Apache with +all his skill at ambush could not always entrap them. +In the “Tucson Citizen” of April 20, 1872, under the +heading “Local Matters,” we find this brief paragraph:</p> +<blockquote> +<p>The eastern mail, which should have arrived here last +Monday afternoon, did not get in until Tuesday. The +Apaches attacked it at Dragoon Pass and the driver went +back fifteen miles to Sulphur Springs; and on the second +trial ran the gauntlet in safety.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Which reads as if there might have been considerable +action and much manœuvering on that April day in +1872 where the tracks of the Southern Pacific climb the +long grade up from Wilcox to Dragoon Pass.</p> +<p>There was a driver by the name of Tingley on the +Prescott line who had the run between Wickenburg +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_234' name='page_234'></a>234</span> +and La Paz back in 1869. He had seen much +Indian-fighting and was sufficiently seasoned to keep his +head while the lead was flying around him. One February +day he was on the box with two inside passengers, +Joseph Todd of Prescott and George Jackson of Petaluma, +California.</p> +<p>Everything was going well, and the old Concord +came down the grade into Granite Wash with the horses +on the jump and Tingley holding his foot on the brake. +They reached the bottom of the hill, and the driver +lined them out where the road struck the level going.</p> +<p>And then, when the ponies were surging into their +collars, with the loose sand and gravel half-way to the +hubs, somewhere between thirty and forty Apaches +opened fire from the brush on both sides of the wagon-track.</p> +<p>The first volley came at close range; so close that in +spite of the customary poor marksmanship of their kind +the Indians wounded every man in the coach. A bullet +got Tingley in the wrist. He dropped the reins, +and before he could regain them the team was running +away.</p> +<p>The six ponies turned off from the road at the +first jump and plunged right into the midst of the Indians. +Tingley could see the half-naked savages leaping +for the bridles and clawing at the stage door as +they strove to get hand-holds; but the speed was too +great for them; the old Concord went reeling and bumping +through the entire party, leaving several warriors +writhing in the sand where the hoofs of the fright-maddened +broncos had spurned them.</p> +<p>By this time Tingley had drawn his revolver, and the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_235' name='page_235'></a>235</span> +two passengers joined him in returning the fire of the +enemy. Now he bent down and picked up the reins, +and within the next two hundred yards or so he managed +to swing the leaders back into the road.</p> +<p>From there on it was a race. The Apaches were +catching up their ponies and surging along at a dead +run to overtake their victims. But Tingley, to use the +expression of the old-timers, poured the leather into +his team, and kept the long lead which he had got.</p> +<p>The stage pulled up at Cullen’s Station with its load +of wounded; and word was sent to Wickenburg for +a doctor, who arrived in time to save the lives of the +two inside passengers, although both men were shot +through the body.</p> +<p>Stage-driver and shotgun messenger usually saw +plenty of perilous adventures during the days of Mangus +Colorado, Cochise, Victorio, Nachez, and Geronimo; +but if one was hungry for Indian-fighting in those times +he wanted to be a mule-skinner. The teamsters became +so inured to battling against Apaches that the cook who, +when the savages attacked the camp near Wickenburg +one morning before breakfast, kept on turning flapjacks +during the entire fight and called his companions to +the meal at its conclusion, is but an example of the ordinary +run of wagon-hands. That incident, by the way, +is vouched for in the official history of Arizona.</p> +<p>Bronco Mitchel’s experiences afforded another good +illustration of the hazards of freighting. In the +latter seventies and the early eighties, when Victorio, +Nachez, and Geronimo were making life interesting +for settlers, he drove one of those long teams of +mules which used to haul supplies from Tucson to the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_236' name='page_236'></a>236</span> +military posts and mining camps of southeastern Arizona. +Apparently he was a stubborn man, else he would +have forsaken this vocation early in the game.</p> +<p>At Ash Springs near the New Mexican boundary a +wagon-train with which he was working went to camp +one hot summer’s day. They had been warned against +the place by some one who had seen Apaches lurking +in the vicinity; but the animals needed water and feed, +and the wagon-master took a chance. Bronco Mitchel, +who was young then, and a foreigner who was cooking +for the outfit were placed on sentry duty while the +mules were grazing.</p> +<p>The heat of the early afternoon got the best of Bronco +Mitchel as he sat on the hillside with his back against +a live-oak tree; and after several struggles to keep +awake, he finally dropped off. How long he had been +sleeping he never was able to tell, but a shot awakened +him.</p> +<p>He opened his eyes in time to see the whole place +swarming with Apaches. The cook lay dead a little +way from him. The rest of his companions were making +a desperate fight for their lives; and a half-dozen of +the Indians, who had evidently just caught sight of +him, were heading for him. There was one thing to +do, and no time to lose about it. He ran as he had never +run before, and after a night and day of wandering +was picked up, all but dead, by a squad of scouting +cavalry.</p> +<p>One evening two or three years later Bronco Mitchel +was freighting down near the border, and he made +his camp at the mouth of Bisbee Cañon. The mules +were grazing near by, and he was lying in his blankets +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_237' name='page_237'></a>237</span> +under the trail-wagon, with a mongrel puppy, which he +carried along for company, beside him.</p> +<p>Just as he was dropping off to sleep the puppy +growled. Being now somewhat experienced in the ways +of the Territory, Bronco Mitchel immediately clasped +his hands over the little fellow’s muzzle and held him +there, mute and struggling.</p> +<p>He had hardly done this when the thud of hoofs came +to his ears; and a band of Apaches appeared in the +half-light passing his wagon. There was a company +of soldiers in camp within a mile or two, and the savages +were in a hurry; wherefore they had contented +themselves with stealing the mules and forbore from +searching for the teamster, who lay there choking the +puppy as they drove the plundered stock within three +yards of him.</p> +<p>Now it so happened that Bronco Mitchel’s team included +a white mare, who was belled; for mules will +follow a white mare to perdition if she chooses to wander +thither. And knowing the ways of that mare, +Bronco Mitchel was reasonable certain that she would +seize the very first opportunity to stray from the camp +of her captors––just as she had strayed from his own +camp many a time––with all the mules after her. So +when the Indians had gone far enough to be out of earshot +he took along his rifle, a bridle, and canteen, and +dogged their trail. He did not even go to the trouble of +seeking out the soldiers but hung to the tracks alone, +over two ridges of the Mule Mountains and up a lonely +gorge––where, according to his expectations, he met his +stock the next day and, mounting the old bell mare, +ran them back to Bisbee Cañon.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_238' name='page_238'></a>238</span></div> +<p>Other encounters with Victorio’s renegades enriched +the teamster’s store of experience, but his narrowest escape +remained as the climax of the whole list during +the days when old Geronimo was off the reservation. +One torrid noon he had watered his mules and drawn +his lead and trail wagons off the road over in the San +Simon country.</p> +<p>At the time it was supposed that no renegades were +within a hundred miles, and Bronco Mitchel felt perfectly +safe in taking a siesta under one of the big vehicles. +Suddenly he awakened from a sound sleep; +and when his eyes flew open he found himself gazing +into the face of an Apache warrior.</p> +<p>The Indian was naked save for his turban, a breech-clout, +his boot-moccasins, and the usual belt of cartridges. +Even for an Apache he was unusually ugly; and +now as he saw the eyes of the white man meeting his, +he grinned. It was such a grin as an ugly dog gives +before biting. At that instant Bronco Mitchel was +laying flat on his back.</p> +<p>An instant later, without knowing how he did it, +Bronco Mitchel was on all fours with the wagon between +him and the renegade. In this posture he ran for some +distance before he could gather his feet under him; +and to stimulate his speed there came from behind +him the cracking of a dozen rifles. He rolled into a +shallow arroyo and dived down its course like a hunted +rabbit.</p> +<p>Once he took enough time to look back over his +shoulder and saw the turbaned savages spreading out +in his wake. After that he wasted no energy in rearward +glances, but devoted all his strength to the race, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_239' name='page_239'></a>239</span> +which he won unscathed, and kept on teaming thereafter +until the railroad spoiled the business.</p> +<p>Such incidents as these of Bronco Mitchel’s, however, +were all in the day’s work and weren’t regarded +as anything in particular to brag about in those rough +times. As a matter of fact the “Weekly Arizonian” of +May 15, 1869, gives only about four inches under a one-line +head to the battle between Tully & Ochoa’s wagon-train +and three hundred Apaches, and in order to get +the details of the fight one must go to men who heard its +particulars narrated by survivors.</p> +<p>Santa Cruz Castañeda was the wagon-master, an old-timer +even in those days, and the veteran of many Indian +fights. There were nine wagons in the train, laden +with flour, bacon and other provisions for Camp Grant, +and fourteen men in charge of them. The Apaches ambushed +them near the mouth of a cañon not more than +ten miles from the post.</p> +<p>Somehow the wagon-master got warning of what was +impending in time to corral the wagons in a circle with +the mules turned inside the enclosure. The teamsters +disposed themselves under the vehicles and opened fire +on the enemy, who were making one of those loose-order +rushes whereby the Apache used to love to +open proceedings if he thought he had big enough +odds.</p> +<p>Before the accurate shooting of these leather-faced +old-timers the assailants gave back. When they had +found cover they sent forward a warrior, who advanced +a little way waving a white cloth and addressed +Santa Cruz in Spanish.</p> +<p>“If you will leave these wagons,” the herald said, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_240' name='page_240'></a>240</span> +calling the wagon-master by name, “we will let all of +you go away without harming you.”</p> +<p>To which Santa Cruz replied:</p> +<p>“You can have this wagon-train when I can’t hold +it any longer.”</p> +<p>The Apache translated the words and backed away +to the rocks from behind which he had emerged. And +the fight began again with a volley of bullets and a cloud +of arrows. At this time there were about two hundred +Indians in the ambushing party, and they were surrounding +the corral of wagons.</p> +<p>Occasionally the Apaches would try a charge; but +there never was a time on record when these savages +could hold a formation under fire for longer than a +minute or two at the outside; and the rushes always +broke before the bullets of the teamsters. Between these +sorties there were long intervals of desultory firing––minutes +of silence with intermittent pop-popping to vary +the deadly monotony. Once in a while the surrounding +hillsides would blossom out with smoke-puffs, and the +banging of the rifles would merge into a sort of long +roll.</p> +<p>Always the teamsters lay behind the sacks of flour +which they had put up for breastworks, lining their +sights carefully, firing with slow deliberation. Now and +again a man swore or rolled over in limp silence; and +the sandy earth under the wagons began to show red +patches of congealing blood.</p> +<p>By noon the forces of the enemy had been augmented +by other Apaches who had come to enjoy the party until +their number now reached more than three hundred. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_241' name='page_241'></a>241</span> +And the afternoon sun came down hot upon the handful +of white men. Ammunition began to run low.</p> +<p>The day dragged on and the weary business kept up +until the sun was seeking the western horizon, when a +squad of seven cavalrymen on their way from Camp +Grant to Tucson happened to hear the firing. They +came charging into the battle as enthusiastically as if +they were seven hundred, and cut right through the +ring of the Apaches.</p> +<p>Under one of the wagons the sergeant in charge of the +troopers held counsel with Santa Cruz Castañeda. +Cartridges were getting scarce; the number of the +Apaches was still growing; there was no chance of +any other body of soldiers coming along this way for a +week or so at the least.</p> +<p>“Only way to do is make a break for it,” the sergeant +said.</p> +<p>The wagon-master yielded to a fate which was too +great for him and consented to abandon the train. +They bided their time until what seemed a propitious +moment and then, leaving their dead behind them, the +sixteen survivors––which number included the seven +soldiers––made a charge at the weakest segment of the +circle. Under a cloud of arrows and a volley of bullets +they ran the gantlet and came forth with their wounded. +Hanging grimly together, they retreated, holding off +the pursuing savages, and eventually made their way to +Camp Grant.</p> +<p>Now the point on which the little newspaper item +dwells is the fact that the Indians burned the entire +wagon-train, entailing a loss of twelve thousand dollars +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_242' name='page_242'></a>242</span> +to Tully & Ochoa and of twenty thousand dollars to the +United States government. On the heroics it wastes no +type. It seems to have been regarded as bad taste in +those days to talk about a man’s bravery. Either that, +or else the bravery was taken for granted.</p> +<p>In that same cañon near Camp Grant two teamsters +died, as the berserks of old used to like to die, taking +many enemies with them to the great hereafter. James +Price, a former soldier, was the name of one, and the +name which men wrote on the headboard of the other +was Whisky Bill. By that appellation you may sketch +your own likeness of him; and to help you out in visualizing +his partner, you are hereby reminded that the gray +dust of those Arizona roads used to settle into the deep +lines of the mule-skinners’ faces beyond all possibility of +removal; the sun and wind used to flay their skins to a +deep, dull red.</p> +<p>Whisky Bill and Jim Price with an escort of two +cavalry troopers were driving two wagons of Thomas +Venable’s, loaded with hay for Camp Grant, when fifty +Apaches ambushed them in the cañon. Price was killed +at the first volley and one of the soldiers was badly +wounded in the face.</p> +<p>The three living men took refuge under the wagons +and stood off several rushes of the savages. Then the +soldier who had been wounded got a second bullet and +made up his mind he would be of more use in trying +to seek help at Camp Grant than in staying where he +was. He managed to creep off into the brush before +the Indians got sight of him.</p> +<p>Now Whisky Bill and the other soldier settled down +to make an afternoon’s fight of it, and for three hours +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_243' name='page_243'></a>243</span> +they held off the savages. Half a dozen naked bodies lay +limp among the rocks to bear witness to the old teamster’s +marksmanship when a ball drilled him through +the chest and he sank back dying.</p> +<p>There was only one chance now for the remaining +trooper, and he took it. With his seven-shot rifle he +dived out from under the wagon and gained the nearest +clump of brush. At once the Apaches sallied forth +from their cover in full cry after him.</p> +<p>Heedless of their bullets, he halted long enough to +face about and slay the foremost of his pursuers; then +ran on to a pile of rocks, where he made another brief +stand, only to leave the place as his enemies hesitated +before his fire. Thus he fled, stopping to shoot when +those behind him were coming too close for comfort; +and eventually they gave up the chase.</p> +<p>In Camp Grant, where he arrived at sundown, he +found his fellow-trooper, badly wounded but expected +to live, under care of the post surgeon. And the detachment +who went out after the renegades buried the two +teamsters beside the road where they had died fighting.</p> +<p>One against many; that was the rule in these grim +fights. But the affair which took place on the Cienega +de Souz, fifteen miles above the old San Simon stage-station +and twenty-five miles from Port Bowie, tops +them all when it comes to long odds. On October 21, +1871, one sick man battled for his life against sixty-odd +Apaches and––won out.</p> +<p>R. M. Gilbert was his name; he was ranching and +for the sake of mutual aid in case of Indian raids he +had built his adobe house at one end of his holding, +within two hundred yards of his neighbor’s home. The +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_244' name='page_244'></a>244</span> +building stood on bare ground at the summit of a little +rise near the Cienega bottom, where the grass and tulles +grew waist-high.</p> +<p>Early in the month of October Gilbert was stricken +with fever, and Richard Barnes, the neighbor, moved +into his house to take care of him. The patient dragged +along after a fashion until the early morning of the +twenty-first found him wasted almost to skin and bone, +weak, bedridden. And about six o’clock that morning +Barnes left the house to go to his own adobe.</p> +<p>The Apaches, according to their habit when they +went forth to murder isolated settlers or prospectors, +had chosen the dawn for the hour of attack, and they +were lying in the tall grass in the Cienega bottom when +Barnes emerged from the building. They let him go +almost to the other adobe before they opened fire; and +he dropped at the volley, dying from several wounds.</p> +<p>Then Gilbert, who had not stirred from his bed for +many days, leaped from his blankets and took down a +Henry rifle from the cabin wall. He had been weak; +now that thing which men call “sand” gave strength +unto him; and he ran from the house to rescue his +companion.</p> +<p>The Apaches were rushing from the tulles toward +the prostrate form. He paused long enough to level +his rifle and fire; then came on again. And the savages +fell back. It was easier to bide in the shelter of the +tulles and kill off this mad white man than to show themselves +and run a chance of getting one of his bullets.</p> +<p>They reasoned well enough; but something mightier +than logic was behind Gilbert that morning. With +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_245' name='page_245'></a>245</span> +the strength which comes to the fever-stricken in +moments of supreme excitement he reached his friend, +picked him up, and while the bullets of his enemies +kicked up dust all about him bore him on his shoulders +back into the cabin. There he laid him down and proceeded +to hold the place against besiegers.</p> +<p>The Apaches deployed until they were surrounding +the house. Then they opened fire once more, and as +they shot they wriggled forward, coming ever closer +until some of them were so near that they were able to +place their bullets through the rude loopholes which +the settler had made for defense of his home.</p> +<p>All the morning the battle went on. Sometimes the +savages varied their tactics by rushes and even thrust +the barrels of their rifles through the windows. The +room was filled with smoke. During lulls in the firing +Gilbert heard the groaning of his companion; he heard +the moans change to the long, harsh death-rattle.</p> +<p>Some time during the noon-hour as he was standing +at a loophole shooting at a bunch of naked, frowzy-haired +warriors who had appeared in front of the building, +an Apache brave who had stolen up behind the +adobe took careful aim through a broken window and +got him in the groin. But the sick man bound a handkerchief +about the wound and dragged himself from +window to window, loading his rifle, firing whenever +a turban showed.</p> +<p>About midafternoon a venturesome group of warriors +rushed the side hill, gained the cabin wall and flung +bundles of blazing fagots on the roof. And within ten +minutes the inside of the place was seething with smoke-clouds; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_246' name='page_246'></a>246</span> +showers of sparks were dropping on the floor; +flaming shreds of brush were falling all about the sick +man.</p> +<p>He groped his way to the bed and called Barnes. +There was no answer. He bent down and peered +through the fumes at the other’s face. Death had +taken his friend.</p> +<p>Gilbert loaded his rifle and a revolver. With a +weapon in either hand he flung open the door, and as he +ran forth he saw in the hot afternoon sunshine the +shadow of an Indian who was hiding behind a corner +of the building. He leaped toward the place and as +the warrior was stepping forth shot him in the belly. +Then he fled for the tulles in the Cienega bottom.</p> +<p>Under a shower of bullets he gained the shelter of +the reeds. And during all the rest of that afternoon +he lay there standing off the Apaches. When darkness +came he crawled away. All night and all the next +day he traveled on his hands and knees and finally +reached the hay camp of David Wood, sixteen miles +away.</p> +<p>Wood dressed his wounds and sent word to Camp +Bowie, and a troop of cavalry chased the renegades +into the Chiracahua Mountains, where they eventually +escaped, to make their way back to the reservation +in time for next ration-day.</p> +<p>These tales are authentic, and are but a few examples +of the battles which the old-timers fought during the +years while they were winning the Southwest away from +the Indians. Some of those old-timers are living to +this day.</p> +<p>There is one of them dwelling in Dragoon Pass, where +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_247' name='page_247'></a>247</span> +the mountains come down to the lowlands like a huge +promontory fronting the sea. Uncle Billy Fourrs is his +name; and if you pass his place you can see, on a +rocky knoll, the fortress of boulders which he built to +hold his lands against the renegades back in the seventies.</p> +<p>Not many years ago some Federal agents had Uncle +Billy up in Tucson on a charge of fencing government +land, for according to the records he had not gone +through the formality of taking out some of the requisite +papers for proper possession. That case is one instance +of a man pleading guilty and getting acquittal.</p> +<p>For Uncle Billy Fourrs acknowledged the formal +accusation and still maintained the land was his own.</p> +<p>“How,” asked the government prosecutor, “did you +get it?”</p> +<p>“I took it away from the Indians,” was the answer. +And the jury, being an Arizona jury, promptly acquitted +him. Which, was, when you come to think +over such incidents as the foregoing, only simple justice.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_248' name='page_248'></a>248</span> +<a name='THE_OVERLAND_MAIL' id='THE_OVERLAND_MAIL'></a> +<h2>THE OVERLAND MAIL</h2> +</div> +<p>From the time when the first lean and bearded horsemen +in their garments of fringed buckskin rode +out into the savage West, men gave the same excuse +for traveling that hard road toward the setting sun.</p> +<p>The early pathfinders maintained there must be all +manner of high-priced furs off there beyond the sky-line. +The emigrants who followed in the days of ’49, +informed their neighbors that they were going to gather +golden nuggets in California. The teamsters who drove +the heavy freight-wagons over the new trails a few +years later told their relatives and friends that they +were going West to better their fortunes. And when +the Concord coaches came to carry the mail between the +frontier settlements and San Francisco, the men of +wealth who financed the different lines announced there +was big money in the ventures; the men of action who +operated them claimed that high wages brought them +into it.</p> +<p>So now you see them all: pathfinder, argonaut, teamster, +stage-driver, pony-express rider, and capitalist, +salving their consciences and soothing away the +trepidations of their women-folk with the good old +American excuse that they were going to make money.</p> +<p>As a matter of fact that excuse was only an excuse +and nothing more. In their inmost hearts all these +men knew that they had other motives.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_249' name='page_249'></a>249</span></div> +<p>There was one individual who did not try to hoodwink +himself or others about this Western business, +and if you will but take the time to look into his case +you will be able easily to diagnose an itching which +was troubling all the rest of them.</p> +<p>That Individual was usually taken most acutely with +his ailment on a warm May morning, one of those +mornings when the lawless youths of the village decided +to play hooky in the afternoon and test the temperature +of the swimming-hole. On such a morning +he was to be found somewhere near the center of the +school-room, this being the point most remote from the +distraction of open windows and hence selected for him +by the teacher. He was seated at a small desk whose +top was deeply scored by carven initials and monograms +of rude design, all inked in to give them the +boldness of touch necessary when one would have his +art impress the beholder. An open book lay on that +desk-top but the eyes of the Individual were not focused +on its pages.</p> +<p>He was gazing––aslant so that the teacher would not +detect him at it––through one of those remote open +windows. And he was not seeing the roofs of the little +town or the alluring line of low wooded bluffs across +the river. He was seeing swarms of Indians mounted +bare-back on swift ponies.</p> +<p>Swarms and swarms of them, stripped to the waist, +befeathered, trousered in tightly fitting buckskin, they +were defying all the laws of gravitation by the manner +in which every one clung by a single heel to his mustang, +allowing his body to droop alongside in a negligently +graceful attitude. These savages were circling round +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_250' name='page_250'></a>250</span> +and round a stage-coach. And on the top of that stage-coach, +with his trusty rifle at his shoulder––while the +driver beside him died a painful death,––sat the +Individual himself. None other. And he was certainly +playing havoc with those redskins.</p> +<p>We need not undergo the weary ordeal of waiting +with him while the clock’s slothful hands creep around +the dial. We may skip the interval––as he would do +ever so gladly if he only could––and see him that night +as he climbs from his bedroom window, crawls down the +woodshed roof, and drops from the low eaves to make +his way across the vacant lot next door and thence––out +West.</p> +<p>As far perhaps as the next town, which lies seven +miles or so away; where he is overhauled and ignominiously +dragged back to civilization.</p> +<p>That Individual––the only one of them all who did +not attain the consummation of his hopes, the only one +who had to stay at home––is the sole member of the +foregoing list who acknowledged his true motives. For +he asserted loudly, and with lamentations, that the +spirit of adventure was blazing within him; he wanted +to go out West to fight Indians and desperadoes.</p> +<p>Resisting the temptation to indulge in dissertation +concerning the beneficial effects of the dime-novel on +the morale of successive younger generations, we return +to the men who said that they went beyond the Mississippi +to gain money. Like the schoolboy they were +hot with the lust for adventure. The men of action +wanted to risk their lives, and the men of wealth +wanted to risk their dollars.</p> +<p>Which does not imply that the latter element were +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_251' name='page_251'></a>251</span> +anxious to lose those dollars any more than it implies +that the former expected to lose their lives. But both +were eager for the hazard.</p> +<p>Like the schoolboy all of them dreamed dreams and +saw visions. And the dreams were realized; the visions +became actualities. Few of them justified their excuse +of money-making; many came out of the adventure +poorer in this world’s goods than when they went into +it. But every man of them had the time of his life +and lived out his days with a wealth of memories more +precious than gold; memories of a man’s part in a great +rough drama.</p> +<p>The Winning of the West, that drama has been called. +Perhaps no act in the play attained the heights which +were reached by the last one before the coming of the +railroad, the one with which this story has to deal, +wherein bold men allied themselves on different sides +to get the contract of carrying the mails by stage-coaches +on schedule time across the wilderness.</p> +<p>And in the tale of this great struggle there is another +motive in addition to the love of adventure––and like +that love, unacknowledged by those whom it stirred,––the +strong instinctive desire for a closer union which +exists among all Americans.</p> +<p>In the beginning there was a frontier two hundred +miles or so west of the Mississippi River. Behind that +frontier wide-stacked wood-burning locomotives were +drawing long trains on tracks of steel; steamers came +sighing up and down the muddy rivers; cities smeared +the sky with clouds of coal smoke; under those sooty +palls men in high hats and women in enormous hoop-skirts +passed in afternoon promenade down the sidewalks; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_252' name='page_252'></a>252</span> +newspapers displayed the day’s tidings in black +head-lines; the telegraph flashed messages from one end +of that land to the other; and where the sharp church +steeple of the most remote village cut the sky, the +people read and thought and talked the same things +which were being discussed in Delmonico’s at the same +hour.</p> +<p>Beyond the Sierra Nevadas there was another civilization. +In San Francisco hotel lobbies men and women +passed and repassed one another dressed in Eastern +fashions––some months late, but Eastern fashions none +the less. Newspapers proclaimed the latest tidings +from the East in large type. Men were falling out +over the same political issues which embroiled men by +the Atlantic seaboard; they were embarking in the +same sort of business ventures.</p> +<p>But two thousand miles of wilderness separated these +two portions of the nation. That vast expanse of +prairies as level as the sea, of sage-brush plains, of +snow-capped mountains and silent, deadly deserts, was +made more difficult by bands of hostile Indians.</p> +<p>In Europe such an interval would have remained for +centuries, to be spanned by the slow migration of those +whom ill-fortune and bad government had driven from +the more crowded communities on each side. During +that time these two civilizations would have gone on +in their own ways developing their own distinct customs, +until in the end they would have become separate countries.</p> +<p>But the people east of the Mississippi and the people +west of the Sierras were Americans, and the desire +for a close union was strong within them. Their business +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_253' name='page_253'></a>253</span> +habits were such that they could not carry on +commercial affairs without it. Their political beliefs +and their social tendencies kept them chafing for it. +And furthermore it was their characteristic not to +acknowledge nature’s obstacles as permanent. Two +thousand miles of wild prairie, mountain ranges, and +deserts simply meant a task, the more blithely to be +undertaken because it was made hazardous by the +presence of hostile savages.</p> +<p>So now the East began to cry to the West and the +West to the East, each voicing a desire for quicker +communication, and to get letters from New York to +San Francisco in fast time became one of the problems +of the day.</p> +<p>The first step toward solution was the choice of a +route, and while this was up to Washington, the proof +on which it rested was up to the men of wealth and +the men of action. Immediately two rival groups +began striving, each to prove that its route was the +quickest. Russel, Majors & Waddel, who held large +freighting contracts on the northern road, from Independence, +Missouri, via Salt Lake to Sacramento, bent +their energies to demonstrating its practicability; the +Wells-Butterfield coterie of stage and express men +undertook to show that the longer pathway from St. +Louis by way of the Southwestern territories to San +Francisco was best.</p> +<p>In 1855 Senator W. M. Gwinn of California, who had +conceived the idea with F. B. Ficklin, general-superintendent +of the Russel, Majors & Waddel Co., introduced +a bill in Congress for bringing the mails by horseback +on the northern route, but the measure was pigeonholed. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_254' name='page_254'></a>254</span> +Snow in the mountains was the main argument against +it.</p> +<p>In 1857 James E. Birch got the contract for carrying +a semimonthly mail from San Antonio, Texas, to San +Diego, and the southern route’s champions had the +opportunity to prove their contention.</p> +<p>Save for a few brief stretches in Texas and Arizona +there was no wagon road. El Paso and Tucson were +the only towns between the termini. A few far-flung +military outposts, whose troops of dragoons were having +a hard time of it to hold their own against the Comanches +and Apaches, afforded the only semblance of +protection from the Indians.</p> +<p>Horsemen carried the first mail-sacks across this +wilderness of dark mountains and flaming deserts. On +that initial trip Silas St. Johns and Charles Mason rode +side by side over the stretch from Cariso Creek to +Jaeger’s Ferry, where Yuma stands to-day. That ride +took them straight through the Imperial valley. The +waters of the Colorado, which have made the region +famous for its rich crops, had not been diverted in +those days. It was the hottest desert in North America; +sand hills and blinding alkali flats, and only one tepid +spring in the whole distance. One hundred and ten +miles and the two horsemen made it in thirty-two hours––without +remounts.</p> +<p>The company now began to prepare the way for stage-coaches. +During the latter part of November, St. Johns +and two companions drove a herd of stock from Jaeger’s +Ferry to Maricopa Wells. The latter point had been +selected for a relay station because of water and the +presence of the friendly Pima and Maricopa Indians, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_255' name='page_255'></a>255</span> +who kept the Apaches at a distance. During that +drive of something like two hundred miles the pack-mule +lost his load one night in the desert. The men +went without food for three days, and for thirty-six +hours traveled without a drop of water in their +canteens.</p> +<p>The first stage left San Diego for the East in December +with six passengers. Throughout the trip a hostler +rode behind herding a relay team. The driver kept his +six horses to their utmost for two hours; then stock +and wearied passengers were given a two hours’ rest, +after which the fresh team was hooked up and the +journey resumed.</p> +<p>In this manner they made about fifty miles a day. +Luck was with them. There were several runaways +along the route; at Port Davis, Texas, they found the +garrison, whom they had expected to supply them with +provisions according to orders from Washington, short +of food, and they subsisted for the next five days on +what barley they felt justified in taking away from the +horses; they arrived at Camp Lancaster just after the +departure of a Comanche war-party who had stolen all +the stock, and were obliged to go two hundred miles +further before they could get a relay. But these incidents, +and a delay or two because of swollen rivers, +were accounted only small mishaps. They came through +with their scalps and the mail-sacks––only ten days +behind the schedule.</p> +<p>Thereafter the Birch line continued its service; and +letters came from San Francisco to St. Louis in about +six weeks. Occasionally Indians massacred a party of +travelers; now and then renegade whites or Mexicans +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_256' name='page_256'></a>256</span> +robbed the passengers of their belongings and looted +the mail-sacks. But such things were no more than +any one expected. James Birch had proved his point. +The southern route was practical, and in 1858 the government +let a six years’ contract for carrying letters +twice a week between St. Louis and San Francisco, to +John Butterfield of Utica, New York.</p> +<p>Thus the Wells-Butterfield interests scored the first +decisive victory.</p> +<p>Butterfield’s compensation was fixed at $600,000 a +year and the schedule at twenty-five days. The route +went by way of Fort Smith, Arkansas, El Paso, Tucson, +and Jaeger’s Ferry. Tie one end of a loose string to +San Francisco and the other to St. Louis on your +wall-map; allow the cord to droop in a semicircle to the +Mexican boundary, and you will see the general direction +of that road, whose length was 2760 miles. Of +this nearly two thousand miles was in a hostile Indian +country.</p> +<p>Twenty-seven hundred and sixty miles in twenty-five +days, meant a fast clip for horses and a lumbering +Concord coach over ungraded roads. And such a clip +necessitated frequent relays. Which, in their turn, demanded +stations at short intervals. While a road gang +was removing the ugliest barriers in the different mountain +passes––which was all the smoothing away that +highway ever got during the stage-coach era––a party +went along the line erecting adobe houses. These houses +were little forts, well suited for withstanding the attacks +of hostile Indians. The corrals beside them were +walled like ancient castle-yards.</p> +<p>William Buckley of Watertown, New York, headed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_257' name='page_257'></a>257</span> +this party. Bands of mounted Comanches attacked +them on the lonely Staked Plains of western Texas. +Apaches crept upon them in the mountains of southwestern +New Mexico. Of the battles which they fought +history contains no record; but they went on driving +the Mexican laborers to their toil under the hot sun, +and the chain of low adobe buildings crept slowly westward.</p> +<p>In those days Mexican outlaws were drifting into +Arizona and New Mexico from Chihuahua and Sonora; +and these cutthroats, to whom murder was a means of +livelihood, were almost as great a menace as the Indians. +Three of them got jobs on the station building +gang and awaited an opportunity to make money +after their bloody fashion.</p> +<p>At Dragoon Springs they found their chance.</p> +<p>Here, where the Dragoon Mountains come out into the +plain like a lofty granite promontory that faces the sea, +the party had completed the walls of a stone corral, +within which enclosure a storehouse and stage station +were partitioned off. The roofing of these two rooms +and some ironwork on the gate remained to be completed. +The main portion of the party moved on to the +San Pedro River, leaving Silas St. Johns in charge of six +men to attend to these details. The three Mexican +bandits were members of this little detachment. The +other three were Americans.</p> +<p>The place was right on the road which Apache war-parties +took to Sonora. For this reason a guard was +maintained from sunset to sunrise. St. Johns always +awoke at midnight to change the sentries. One starlight +night when he had posted the picket who was to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_258' name='page_258'></a>258</span> +watch until dawn, St. Johns went back to his bed in +the unroofed room that was to serve as station. He +dropped off to sleep for an hour or so and was roused +by a noise among the stock in the corral. The sound +of blows and groans followed.</p> +<p>St. Johns leaped from his blankets just as the three +Mexicans rushed into the room. Two of them were +armed with axes and the third with a sledge.</p> +<p>The fight that followed lasted less than a minute.</p> +<p>St. Johns kicked the foremost murderer in the stomach, +and as the man fell, sprang for a rifle which he +kept in the room. The other two attacked him with their +axes. He parried one blow, aimed at his head, and the +blade buried itself in its hip. While the man was tugging +to free the weapon St. Johns felled him with a blow +on the jaw. The third Mexican struck downward at +almost the same instant, severing St. Johns’ left arm +near the shoulder.</p> +<p>Then the white man got his right hand on his rifle +and the three murderers fled. They had killed one of +the Americans who was sleeping in the enclosure, left +another dying near him and the third gasping his last +outside the gate.</p> +<p>St. Johns staunched the blood from his wounds and +crawled to the top of a pile of grain-sacks whence he +could see over the unroofed wall. Here he stayed for +three days and three nights. With every sunrise the +magpies and buzzards came in great flocks, to sit upon +the wall after they had sated themselves in the corral, +and watch him. With every nightfall the wolves slunk +down from the mountains and fought over the body +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_259' name='page_259'></a>259</span> +outside the gate. Night and day the thirst-tortured +mules kept up a pandemonium.</p> +<p>A road-grading party came along on Sunday morning. +They gave him such first aid as they could and +sent a rider to Fort Buchanan for a surgeon. The +doctor amputated the arm nine days after the wound +had been inflicted. Three weeks later St. Johns was +able to ride a horse to Tucson.</p> +<p>Silas St. Johns is offered as a sample of the men who +built and operated the overland mail lines. Among the +drivers, stock-tenders, and messengers there were many +others like him. Iron men, it was not easy to kill +them, and so long as there was breath in their bodies +they kept on fighting.</p> +<p>John Butterfield and his associates were made of the +same stuff as these employees.</p> +<p>How many hundred thousand dollars these pioneer investors +put into their line before the turning of a single +wheel is not known; it must have been somewhere near a +cool million, and this was in a day when millions were +not so common as they are now; a day, moreover, when +nothing in the business was certain and everything remained +to be proved.</p> +<p>They established more than a hundred stage-stations +along that semicircle through the savage Southwest. +They bought about fifteen hundred mules and horses, +which were sent out along the route. To feed these animals, +hay and grain were freighted, in some cases for +two hundred miles, and the loads arrived at the corrals +worth a goodly fraction of their weight in silver. There +was a station in western Texas to which teamsters had to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_260' name='page_260'></a>260</span> +haul water for nine months of the year from twenty-two +miles away. At every one of these lonely outposts +there were an agent and a stock-tender, and at some it +was necessary to maintain what amounted to a little +garrison. Arms and ammunition were provided for +defense against the savages; provisions were laid in to +last for weeks. One hundred Concord coaches were +purchased from the Abbot-Downing Co., who had been +engaged in the manufacture of these vehicles in the New +Hampshire town since 1813; they were built on the +thorough-brace pattern, and were regarded as the best +that money could buy. Seven hundred and fifty men, +of whom a hundred and fifty were drivers, were put on +the pay-roll and transported to their stations.</p> +<p>Nearly all this outlay was made before the beginning +of the first trip. It was the greatest expenditure of +money on a single transportation project of its kind up +to this time in America. And there were a thousand +hazards of the wilderness to be incurred, a thousand +obstacles of nature to be overcome before the venture +could be proved practical.</p> +<p>The men of money had done their part now. The +line was ready for the opening of traffic. On September +15, 1853, the mail-sacks started from St. Louis +and San Francisco. It was up to the men of action to +get them through within the schedule.</p> +<p>Twenty-five days was the allowance for the 2760 +miles. The westbound coach reached San Francisco +about twenty-four hours inside of the limit. On that +October evening crowds packed Montgomery Street; +the booming of cannon and the crashing of anvils loaded +with black powder, the blaring of brass bands and the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_261' name='page_261'></a>261</span> +voices of orators, all mingled in one glad uproar, to tell +the world that the people by the Golden Gate appreciated +the occasion.</p> +<p>In St. Louis, the eastbound mail was an hour earlier. +John Butterfield stepped from the Missouri Pacific +train with the sacks, and a great procession was on hand +to escort him to the post-office.</p> +<p>Bands and carriages and a tremendous display of +red, white, and blue bunting enlivened the whole city. +President Buchanan sent a telegram of congratulation.</p> +<p>It looked as if the northern route were out of it for +good now, but it remained for the men to keep the +southern line in operation. What had been done was +only a beginning; the long grind of real accomplishment +still lay ahead.</p> +<p>Storm and flood and Indian massacre were incidents; +hold-ups and runaways mere matters of routine in +carrying on the task. The stock was for the most part +unbroken. At nearly every change the fresh team +started off on a mad gallop, and if the driver had a wide +plain where he could let them go careering through the +mesquite or greasewood, while the stage followed, +sometimes on two wheels, sometimes on one, he counted +himself lucky. There was many a station from which the +road led over broken country––along steep side hills, +across high-banked washes, skirting the summits of +rocky precipices; and on such stretches it was the rule +rather than the exception for the coach to overturn.</p> +<p>The bronco stock was bad enough but the green mules +were the worst. It was often found necessary to lash +the stage to a tree––if one could be found near the station, +and if not to the corral fence––while the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_262' name='page_262'></a>262</span> +long-eared brutes were being hooked up. When the +last trace had been snapped into place the hostlers +would very gingerly free the vehicle from its moorings +and, as the ropes came slack, leap for their lives.</p> +<p>They called the route a road. As a matter of fact +that term was a far-fetched euphemism. In some places +approaches had been dug away to the beds of streams; +and the absolutely impassable barriers of the living +rock had been removed from the mountain passes. But +that was all. What with the long climbs upgrade and +the bad going through loose sand or mud, it was always +necessary for the driver to keep his six animals at a +swinging trot when they came to a level or a downhill +pull. Often he had to whip them into a dead run for +miles where most men would hesitate to drive a buckboard +at a walk.</p> +<p>During the rainy seasons the rivers of that Southwestern +land proceeded to demonstrate that they had +a right to the name––to which they never pretended to +live up at other times––by running bank full. These +coffee-colored floods were underlaid by thick strata of +quicksands. Occasionally one of them simply absorbed +a coach; and, unless the driver was very swift in cutting +the traces, it took unto itself two or three mules for +good measure.</p> +<p>The Comanche Indians were on the war-path during +these years in western Texas. On the great Staked +Plain they swooped down on many a stage, and driver +and passengers had to make a running fight of it to save +their scalps. The Indians attacked the stations, two or +three hundred of them in a band. The agents and stock-tenders, +who were always on the lookout, usually saw +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_263' name='page_263'></a>263</span> +them in time to retreat inside the thick adobe walls of +the building, from which shelter they sometimes were +able to stand them off without suffering any particular +damage. But sometimes they were forced to watch the +enemy go whooping away with the stampeded stock +from the corral. And now and again there was a +massacre.</p> +<p>Under Mangus Colorado, whom historians account +their greatest war-chief, the Apaches were busy in +New Mexico and Arizona. They worked more carefully +than their Texan cousins, and there was a gorge +along the line in that section which got the name of +Doubtful Cañon because the only thing a driver could +count on there with any certainty was a fight before he +got through to the other side.</p> +<p>Nor were the Indians the only savage men in that +wilderness. Arizona was becoming a haven for fugitives +from California vigilance committees and for +renegade Mexicans from south of the boundary. The +road-agents went to work along the route, and near +Tucson they did a thriving business.</p> +<p>Yet with all these enemies and obstacles, it is a matter +of record that the Butterfield overland mail was only +late three times.</p> +<p>In spite of runaways, bad roads, floods, sand-storms, +battles, and hold-ups, the east and west bound stages +usually made the distance in twenty-one days. And +there was a long period during 1859 when the two +mails––which had started on the same day from the two +termini––met each other at exactly the half-way point. +Apparently the Wells-Butterfield interests had won +the struggle. Service was increased to a daily basis and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_264' name='page_264'></a>264</span> +the compensation was doubled. The additional load +was handled with the same efficiency that had been +shown in the beginning.</p> +<p>It is hard, in these days of steam and gasolene and +electricity, to understand how men did such things +with horse-flesh. The quality of the men themselves +explains that. One can judge that quality by an affair +which took place at Stein’s Pass.</p> +<p>“Steen’s Pass,” as the old-timers spelled it––and as +the name is still pronounced––is a gap in the mountains +just west of Lordsburg, New Mexico. The Southern +Pacific comes through it to-day. One afternoon +Mangus Colorado and Cochise were in the neighborhood +with six hundred Apache warriors, when a smoke signal +from distant scouts told them that the overland stage +was approaching without an armed escort. The two +chieftains posted their naked followers behind the rocks +and awaited the arrival of their victims.</p> +<p>When one remembers that such generals as Crook have +expressed their admiration for the strategy of Cochise, +and that Mangus Colorado was the man who taught him, +one will realize that Stein’s Pass, which is admirably +suited for all purposes of ambush, must have been a +terribly efficient death-trap when the Concord stage +came rumbling and rattling westward into it on that +blazing afternoon.</p> +<p>There were six passengers in the coach, all of them +old-timers in the West. And they were known as the +Free Thompson party, from the name of the leader. +Every one of these men was armed with a late model +rifle and was taking full advantage of the company’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_265' name='page_265'></a>265</span> +rule which allowed the carrying of as much ammunition +as one pleased. They had several thousand rounds of +cartridges.</p> +<p>Such a seasoned company as this was not likely to go +into a place like Stein’s Pass without taking a look or +two ahead; and six hundred Apaches were certain to +offer some evidence of their presence to keen eyes. +Which probably explains why the horses were not killed +at once. For they were not. The driver was able to +get the coach to the summit of a low bare knoll a little +way off the road. The Free Thompson party made +their stand on that hilltop.</p> +<p>They were cool men, uncursed by the fear of death, +the sort who could roll a cigarette or bite a mouthful +from a plug of chewing-tobacco between shots and enjoy +the smoke or the cud; the sort who could look upon +the advance of overwhelming odds and coolly estimate +the number of yards which lay between.</p> +<p>These things are known of them and it is known that +the place where they made their stand was far from +water, a bare hilltop under a flaming sun, and round +about them a ring of yelling Apaches.</p> +<p>There were a few rocks affording a semblance of +cover. You can picture those seven men, with their +weather-beaten faces, their old-fashioned slouching +wide-rimmed hats, and their breeches tucked into +their boot-tops. You can see them lying behind those +boulders with their leathern cheeks pressed close to +their rifle-stocks, their narrowed eyes peering along +the lined sights; and then, as time went on, crouching +behind the bodies of their slain horses.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_266' name='page_266'></a>266</span></div> +<p>And you can picture the turbaned Apaches with +their frowzy hair and the ugly smears of paint across +their grinning faces. You can see them creeping on +their bellies through the clumps of coarse bear-grass, +gliding like bronze snakes among the rocks, slowly +enough––the Apache never liked the music of a rifle-bullet––but +coming closer every hour. Every gully +and rock and clump of prickly pear for a radius of a +half-mile about that knoll sheltered its portion of the +venomous brown swarm.</p> +<p>Night followed day; hot morning grew into scorching +noontide; the full flare of the Arizona afternoon +came on; and night again. The rifles cracked in the +bear-grass. Thin jets of pallid flame spurted from +behind the rocks. The bullets kicked up little dust-clouds.</p> +<p>So for three days and three nights. For it took those +six hundred Apaches that length of time to kill the +seven white men.</p> +<p>But before the last of them died, the Free Thompson +party slew between 135 and 150 Indians.</p> +<p>In after years Cochise told of the battle.</p> +<p>“They were the bravest men I ever saw,” he said. +“They were the bravest men I ever heard of. Had +I five hundred warriors such as they, I would own all +of Chihuahua, Sonora, New Mexico, and Arizona.”</p> +<p>That was the breed of men who kept the Butterfield +stage line open, and the affair at Stein’s Pass is cited +to show something of their character, although it took +place after the company began removing its rolling-stock. +For in 1860 Russel, Majors & Waddel accomplished +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_267' name='page_267'></a>267</span> +a remarkable coup and brought the overland +mail to the northern route.</p> +<p>They performed what is probably the most daring +exploit in the history of transportation. The +story of their venture bristles with action; it is +adorned by such names as Wild Bill Hickok, Pony +Bob Haslam, Buffalo Bill, and Colonel Alexander +Majors.</p> +<p>Colonel Majors held the broadhorn record on the +old Santa Fé trail, ninety-two days on the round trip +with oxen. He was the active spirit of the firm of +Russel, Majors & Waddel. In 1859 these magnates of +the freighting business had more than six thousand +huge wagons and more than 75,000 oxen on the road +between St. Joseph, Missouri, and Salt Lake City, +hauling supplies for government posts and mining +companies; they were operating a stage line to Denver +where gold excitements were bringing men in droves.</p> +<p>One day in the winter of 1859-60 Senator W. M. +Gwinn of California had a meeting with Majors’ +senior partner, William H. Russel, and several New +York capitalists in Washington. Senator Gwinn proposed +a plan to show the world that the St. Joseph-San +Francisco route was practical throughout the +year.</p> +<p>That scheme was the pony express; men on horseback +with fresh relays every ten or twelve miles, to +carry letters at top speed across the wilderness. Congress +had pigeonholed his bill to finance such a venture. +He urged now that private capital undertake +it, and he talked so convincingly that Russel committed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_268' name='page_268'></a>268</span> +himself to enlist his partners in the enterprise.</p> +<p>Russel went back to Leavenworth, Kansas, the headquarters +of the firm, and put the matter up to Majors +and Waddel. They showed him in a very few minutes +that he had been talked into a sure way of losing several +hundred thousand dollars. But he reminded them that +he had committed himself to the undertaking. They +said that settled it; they would stand by him and make +his word good.</p> +<p>Their stage line had stations every ten or twelve +miles as far as Salt Lake; beyond that point there +was not a single building; but within two months +from the day when Russel had that talk with Senator +Gwinn, the firm had completed the chain of those stations +clear to Sacramento, purchased five hundred +half-breed mustang ponies which they apportioned +along the route, hired eighty riders and what stock-tenders +were necessary, and hauled feed and provisions +out across the intermountain deserts. They +had droves of mules beating down trails through the +deep drifts of the Sierras and the Rockies.</p> +<p>On April 3, 1860, Henry Roff swung into the saddle +at Sacramento and Alexander Carlyle leaped on a +brown mare in St. Joseph, Missouri. While cannon +boomed and crowds cheered in those two remote cities, +the ponies came toward each other from the ends of that +two-thousand-mile trail on a dead run.</p> +<p>At the end of ten miles or so a relay mount was +waiting for each rider. As he drew near the station +each man let out a long coyote yell; the hostlers led +his animal into the roadway. The messenger charged +down upon them, drew rein, sprang to the earth, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_269' name='page_269'></a>269</span> +while the agent lifted the pouches from one saddle to the +other––as quickly as you read these words describing +the process––gained the back of his fresh horse and +sped on. At the end of his section––the length of these +intervals varied from seventy-five to a hundred and +twenty-five miles––each rider dismounted for the +last time and turned the pouches over to a successor.</p> +<p>In this manner the mail went across prairie and +sage-brush plain, through mountain passes where the +snow lay deep beside the beaten trail and across the +wide silent reaches of the Great American Desert. +And the time on that first trip was ten days for both +east and west bound pouches.</p> +<p>The riders were light of weight; they were allowed +to carry no weapons save a bowie-knife and revolver; +the letters were written on tissue-paper; the two pouches +were fastened to a leathern covering which fitted over +the saddle, and the thing was lifted with one movement +from the last horse to the relay animal. When +one of these messengers came within earshot of a station +he always raised his voice in the long shrill coyote yell, +and by day or night, as that signal came down the wind +to them, the men who were on duty scrambled to get +the waiting horse into its place.</p> +<p>Many of these half-breed mustangs were unbroken; +some were famous for their ability at bucking. There +is a man in my town, Joe Hand––he would hate to +acknowledge that he is getting on in years even now––who +used to ride the western end, and he said:</p> +<p>“They’d hold a bad horse for a fellow long enough to +let you get the rowels of those big Mex spurs fastened +in the hair cinch. Then it was you and that horse for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_270' name='page_270'></a>270</span> +it. The worst of it was that the pony would usually +tire himself out with his pitching, and you’d lose time. +I remember one that left me pretty badly stove up for +a while, but I had the satisfaction of knowing he’d +killed himself trying to pile me.”</p> +<p>But bad horses were a part of the game; like bad men +every one in the business expected them and took them +as a matter of course. The riders of the pony express +hardly recall such incidents because of the larger adventures +with which their lives were filled.</p> +<p>There was the ride of Jim Moore, for a long time +famous among the exploits on the frontier. His route +went from Midway station to old Julesburg, one hundred +and forty miles across the great plains of western +Nebraska. The stations were from ten to fourteen miles +apart. Arriving at the end of that grueling journey, he +would rest for two days before making the return trip.</p> +<p>One day Moore started westward from Midway station, +knowing that his partner, who carried the mail +one way while he was taking it the other, was sick at +Julesburg. It was a question whether the man would be +able to take the eastbound pouches, and if he should +not be there was no substitute on hand.</p> +<p>Realizing what might lie ahead of him, Moore pressed +each fresh horse to its utmost speed during that westward +ride. A man can endure only so long a term of +punishment, and he resolved to save himself what +minutes he could at the very beginning. He made that +one hundred and forty miles in eleven hours.</p> +<p>The partner was in bed, and there was no hope of his +rising for a day or two. The weary messenger started +toward one of the bunks to get a bit of rest, but before +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_271' name='page_271'></a>271</span> +he had thrown himself on the blankets, the coyote yell +of the eastbound rider sounded up the road.</p> +<p>It was up to Moore to take the sick man’s place now. +While the hostlers were saddling a pony and leading +it out in front of the station, he snatched some cold +meat from the table, gulped down a cup of lukewarm +coffee, and hurried outside. He was just in time to +swing into the saddle. He clapped spurs to the pony +and kept him on a run. So with each succeeding mount; +and when he arrived at Midway he had put the two +hundred and eighty miles of the round trip behind him +in twenty-two hours.</p> +<p>In western Nevada, where the Paiute Indians were +on the war-path, several of the stations were little forts, +and riders frequently raced for their lives to these +adobe sanctuaries. Pony Bob Haslam made his great +three hundred and eighty mile ride across this section of +scorching desert.</p> +<p>He rode out of Virginia City one day while the inhabitants +were frantically working to fortify the town +against war-parties whose signal-fires were blazing at +the time on every peak for a hundred miles.</p> +<p>When he arrived at the Carson River, sixty miles +away, he found that the settlers had seized all the +horses at the station for use in the campaign against +the savages. He went on without a relay down the +Carson to Fort Churchill, fifteen miles farther. Here +the man who was to relieve him refused to take the +pouches.</p> +<p>Within ten minutes Haslam was in the saddle again. +He rode thirty-five miles to the Carson sink; got a +fresh horse and made the next thirty miles, without a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_272' name='page_272'></a>272</span> +drop of water; changed at Sand Springs and again at +Cold Springs; and after one hundred and ninety miles +in the saddle turned the pouches over to J. G. Kelley.</p> +<p>Here, at Smith’s Creek, Pony Bob got nine hours’ +rest. Then he began the return trip. At Cold Springs +he found the station a smoking shambles; the keeper and +the stock-tender had been killed, the horses driven off by +Indians. It was growing dark. He rode his jaded +animal across the thirty-seven-mile interval to Sand +Springs, got a remount, and pressed on to the sink of +the Carson. Afterward it was found that during the +night he had ridden straight through a ring of Indians +who were headed in the same direction in which he was +going. From the sink he completed his round trip of +three hundred and eighty miles without a mishap, arriving +at the end within four hours of the schedule time.</p> +<p>Nine months after the opening of the line the Civil +War began, and the pony express carried the news of +the attack on Fort Sumter from St. Joseph to San +Francisco in eight days and fourteen hours.</p> +<p>Newspapers and business men had awakened to the +importance of this quick communication, and bonuses +were offered for the delivery of important news ahead +of schedule. President Buchanan’s last message had +heretofore held the record for speedy passage, going +over the route in seven days and nineteen hours. But +that time was beaten by two hours in the carrying of +Lincoln’s inaugural address. Seven days and seventeen +hours––the world’s record for transmitting messages +by men and horses!</p> +<p>The firm of Russel, Majors & Waddel spent $700,000 +on the pony express during the eighteen months of its +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_273' name='page_273'></a>273</span> +life; they took in something less than $500,000. But +they accomplished what they had set out to do. In +1860 the Butterfield line was notified to transfer its +rolling-stock to the west end of the northern route; +their rivals got the mail contract for the eastern portion.</p> +<p>The Wells-Butterfield interests were on the under side +now. The change to the new route involved enormous +expense; and with the withdrawal of troops at the +beginning of the Civil War, Apaches and Comanches +plundered the disintegrating line of stations. The +company lasted only a short time on the west end of the +overland mail and retired. Its leaders now devoted +their energies to the express business.</p> +<p>At this juncture a new man got the mail contract. +Ben Holliday was his name, and in his day he was +known as a Napoleon. Perhaps it was the first time that +term was used in connection with American promoters. +Holliday, who had begun as a small storekeeper in a +Missouri village, had made one canny turn after another +until, at the time when the mail came to the +northern route, he owned several steamship lines and +large freighting interests and was beginning to embark +in the stage business. The firm of Russel, Majors & +Waddel was losing money, owing in part to bad financial +management and in part to the courageous venture +of the pony express. Holliday absorbed their property +early in the sixties. He was the transportation magnate +of his time, the first American to force a merger in +that industry.</p> +<p>One of his initial steps was to improve the operation +of the stage line. Some of the efficiency methods of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_274' name='page_274'></a>274</span> +his subordinates were picturesque to say the least. In +Julesburg, which was near the mouth of Lodge Pole +Creek in northeastern Colorado, the agent was an old +Frenchman, after whom the place had been named. +This Jules had been feathering his own nest at the expense +of the company, and the new management supplanted +him with one Jack Slade, whose record up to +that time was either nineteen or twenty killings. Slade +was put in charge at Julesburg with instructions to clean +up his division.</p> +<p>While the new superintendent was exterminating +such highway robbers and horse-thieves as Jules had +gathered about him in this section, his predecessor was +biding in the little settlement, watching for a chance to +play even.</p> +<p>One day Slade came into the general store near the +station, and the Frenchman, who had seen a good opportunity +for ambush here, fired both barrels of a double-barreled +shotgun into his body at a range of about fifty +feet.</p> +<p>Slade took to his bed. But he was made of the stuff +which absorbs much lead without any great amount of +permanent harm. He was up again in a few weeks. +He hunted down Jules, who had taken refuge in the +Indian country to the north on hearing of his recovery. +He brought the prisoner back to Julesburg, and bound +him to the snubbing-post in the middle of the stage +company’s corral.</p> +<p>Accounts of what followed differ. Some authorities +maintain that Slade killed Jules. Others, who base +their assertions on the statement of men who said they +were eye-witnesses, tell how Slade enjoyed himself for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_275' name='page_275'></a>275</span> +some time filling the prisoner’s clothing with bullet holes +and then exclaimed,</p> +<p>“Hell! You ain’t worth the lead to kill you.” And +turned the victim loose.</p> +<p>But all narrators agree on this; before Slade unbound +the living Jules––or the dead one, whichever it may +have been––he cut off the prisoner’s ears and put them +in his pocket.</p> +<p>It may be noted in passing that this truculent efficiency +expert went wrong in after years and wound up +his days at the end of a rope in Virginia City, Montana.</p> +<p>Ben Holliday carried the mails overland throughout +the early sixties. But during the summer of 1864 the +Indians of the plains, for the first time in their history, +made a coalition. They united in one grand war-party +against the outposts along the line, and for a distance of +four hundred miles they destroyed stations, murdered +employees, and made off with live stock. The loss to +the company was half a million dollars.</p> +<p>It crippled Holliday. And the government so delayed +consideration of his claims for reimbursment that he was +glad to sell the property. The firm of Wells Fargo, +who had been increasing their express business until +they virtually monopolized that feature of common +carrying throughout the West at the close of the Civil +War, took the line over. Wells Fargo! It was the old +Wells Butterfield Co. again. The first winners in the +struggle were the last.</p> +<p>The railroad came. Men said that the day of adventure +was over. But this adventure has not ended yet.</p> +<p>While this story was being written another pioneer +died on that overland mail route. And when his aëro-plane +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_276' name='page_276'></a>276</span> +came fluttering down out of a driving snowstorm +to crash, in a mass of tangled wreckage, on the side of +Elk Mountain, Wyoming, Lieutenant E. V. Wales went +to his death within a rifle-shot of the road where so +many of his predecessors gave up their lives trying––even +as he was then striving––to quicken communication +between the Atlantic and the Pacific.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_277' name='page_277'></a>277</span> +<a name='BOOTHILL' id='BOOTHILL'></a> +<h2>BOOT-HILL</h2> +</div> +<p>Boot-Hill! Back in the wild old days you found +one on the new town’s outskirts and one where the +cattle trail came down to the ford, and one was at the +summit of the pass. There was another on the mesa +overlooking the water-hole where the wagon outfits +halted after the long dry drive. The cow-boys read the +faded writing on the wooden headboards and from the +stories made long ballads which they sang to the herds +on the bedding grounds. The herds have long since +vanished, the cow-boys have ridden away over the sky-line, +the plaintive songs are slipping from the memories +of a few old men, and we go riding by the places where +those headboards stood, oblivious.</p> +<p>Of the frontier cemeteries whose dead came to their +ends, shod in accordance with the grim phrase of their +times, there remains one just outside the town of Tombstone +to the north. Here straggling mesquite bushes +grow on the summit of the ridge; cacti and ocatilla +sprawl over the sun-baked earth hiding between their +thorny stems the headboards and the long narrow heaps +of stones which no man could mistake. Some of these +headboards still bear traces of black-lettered epitaphs +which tell how death came to strong men in the full +flush of youth. But the vast majority of the boulder +heaps are marked by cedar slabs whose penciled legends +the elements have long since washed away.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_278' name='page_278'></a>278</span></div> +<p>The sun shines hot here on the summit of the ridge. +Across the wide mesquite flat the granite ramparts of +the Dragoons frown all the long day, and the bleak hill +graveyard frowns back at them. Thus the men who +came to this last resting-place frowned back at Death.</p> +<p>There was a day when every mining camp and cow-town +from the Rio Grande to the Yellowstone owned +its boot-hill; a day when lone graves marked the trails +and solitary headboards rotted slowly in the unpeopled +wilderness. Many of these isolated wooden monuments +fell before the long assaults of the elements; the low +mounds vanished and the grass billowed in the wind hiding +the last vestiges of the leveled sepulchers. Sometimes +the spot was favorable; outfits rested there; new +headboards rose about the first one; for the road was +long and weary, the fords were perilous from quicksands; +thirst lurked in the desert, and the Indians were +always waiting. The camp became a settlement, and in +the days of its infancy, when there was no law save that +of might, the graveyard spread over a larger area. +There came an era when a member of that stern straight-shooting +breed who blazed the trails for the coming of +the statutes wielded the powers of high justice, the middle, +and the low. Outlaw and rustler opposed the dominion +of this peace officer. Then the cemetery boomed +like the young town. Finally things settled down to +jury trials and men let lawyers do most of the fighting +with forensics instead of forty-fives. Churches were +built and school-houses; a new graveyard was established; +brush and weeds hid the old one’s leaning headboards. +Time passed; a city grew; the boot-hill was +forgotten.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_279' name='page_279'></a>279</span></div> +<p>This is a chronicle of men whose bones lie in those +vanished boot-hills. If one could stand aside on the +day of judgment and watch them pass when the brazen +notes of the last trump are growing fainter, he would +witness a brave procession. But we at least can marshal +the shadowy host from fast waning memories and, +looking upon some of their number, recall the deeds they +did, the manner of their dying.</p> +<p>Here then they come through the curtain of time’s +mists, Indian fighter, town marshal, faro-dealer, and +cow-boy. There are a few among them upon whom it is +not worth while to gaze, those whose lives and deaths +were unfit for recording; there are a vast multitude +whose heroic stories were never told and never will be; +and there are some whose deeds as they have come down +from the lips of the old-timers should never die.</p> +<p>Thus in the forefront pass lean forms clad for the +most part in garments fringed with buckskin. You can +see where some have torn off portions of the fringes to +clean their rifles.</p> +<p>Old-fashioned long-barreled muzzle-loaders, these +rifles; and powder-horns hang by the sides of the bearers. +They are long-haired men; and their faces are +deeply burned by sun and wind, one hundred and +eighty-three of them; and where they died, fighting to +the last against four thousand of Santa Ana’s soldiers, +rose the first boot-hill. That was in San Antonio, Texas, +at the building called the Alamo; and in this day, when +schoolboys who can describe Thermopylæ in detail know +nothing of that far finer stand, it will do no harm to +dwell on a proud episode ignored by most text-book +histories.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_280' name='page_280'></a>280</span></div> +<p>On the fifth day of March, 1836, San Antonio’s streets +were resonant with the heavy tread of marching troops, +the clank of arms and the rumble of moving artillery. +Four thousand Mexican soldiers were being concentrated +on one point, a little mission chapel and two long +adobe buildings which formed a portion of a walled enclosure, +the Alamo.</p> +<p>For nearly two weeks General Santa Ana had been +tightening the cordon of cavalry, infantry, and artillery +about the place. It housed one hundred and +eighty-three lank-haired frontiersmen, a portion of +General Sam Houston’s band who had declared for +Texan independence. The Mexicans had cut them off +from water; their food was running low. On this day +the dark-skinned commander planned to take the square. +His men had managed to plant a cannon two hundred +yards away. When they blew down the walls the infantry +would charge. It only remained for them to load +the field-piece. Bugles sounded; officers galloped +through the sheltered streets where the foot soldiers +were held in waiting. There came from the direction +of the Alamo the steady rat-tat-tat of rifles. The hours +went by but the cannon remained silent.</p> +<p>A little group of lean-faced men were crouching on +the flat roof of the large out-building. The most of them +were clad in fringed garments of buckskin; here and +there was one in a hickory shirt and home-spun jeans. +Six of them, some bareheaded and some with hats whose +wide rims dropped low over their foreheads, were clustered +about old Davy Crockett, frontiersman and in his +day a member of Congress. Always the six were busy, +with ramrods, powder-horns, and bullets, loading the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_281' name='page_281'></a>281</span> +long-barreled eight-square Kentucky rifles. The +grizzled marksman took the cocked weapons from their +hands; one after another, he pressed each walnut +stock to his shoulder, lined the sights, pulled the trigger, +and laid the discharged piece down, to pick up its successor.</p> +<p>He crouched there on the flat roof facing the Mexican +cannon. As fast as men came to load it, he fired. Sometimes +a dozen soldiers rushed upon the muzzle of the +field-piece surrounding it. At such moments Davy +Crockett’s arms swept back and forth with smooth +unhurried swiftness and his sinewy fingers relaxed +from one walnut stock only to clutch another; his hands +were never empty. Always a little red flame licked the +smoke fog before him like the tongue of an angered +snake. He was getting on in years but in all his full +life his technic had never been so perfect, his artistry +of death so flawless, as on this day which prefaced the +closing of his chapter. The bodies of his enemies +clogged the space about their cannon; the rivulets of +red trickled from the heap across the roadway. The +long hours passed. Darkness came. The field-piece +remained silent.</p> +<p>Long before daylight the next morning the four +thousand were marching in close ranks to gather for +the final assault. The sun had not risen when they +made the charge. The infantry came first; the cavalry +closed in behind them driving them on with bared +sabers. The Americans took such toll with their long-barreled +rifles from behind the barricaded doors and +windows that the foot-soldiers turned to face the naked +swords rather than endure that fire. The officers reformed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_282' name='page_282'></a>282</span> +them under cover; they swept forward again, +and again fell back. Santa Ana directed the third +charge in person. They swarmed to the courtyard +wall and raised ladders to its summit. The men behind +bore those before them onward and literally shoved +them up the ladders. They overwhelmed the frontiersmen +through sheer force of numbers. Colonel W. B. +Travis fell fighting hand to hand here. The courtyard +filled with dark-skinned soldiers.</p> +<p>The Alamo was fallen. But there remained for the +lean hard-bitten men of Texas, who had retired within +the adobe buildings, the task of dying as fighting +men should die. It was now ten o’clock, nearly six +hours since the beginning of the first advance. It +took the four thousand two hours more to finish the +thing.</p> +<p>For every room saw its separate stand; and every +stand was to the bitter end.</p> +<p>There were fourteen gaunt frontiersmen in the +hospital, so weak with wounds that they could not +drag themselves from their tattered blankets. They +fought with rifles and pistols until forty Mexicans +lay heaped dead about the doorway. The artillery +brought up a field-piece; they loaded it with grape-shot +and swept the room, and then at last they crossed the +threshold.</p> +<p>Colonel James Bowie, who brought into use the +knife that bears his name, was sick within another +apartment. How that day’s noises of combat roused +the old fire within his breast and how he lay there +chafing against the weakness which would not let him +raise his body, one can well imagine. A dozen Mexican +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_283' name='page_283'></a>283</span> +officers rushed into the place, firing as they came. +Colonel Bowie waited until the first of them was +within arm’s length. Then he reached forth, seized +the man by the hair and, dying, plunged the knife that +bore his name hilt-deep into the heart of his enemy.</p> +<p>So they passed in stifling clouds of powder smoke +with the reek of hot blood in their nostrils. The noon +hour saw Davy Crockett and five or six companions +standing in a corner of the shattered walls; the old +frontiersman held a rifle in one hand, in the other a +dripping knife, and his buckskin garments were sodden, +crimson. That is the last of the picture.</p> +<p>“Thermopylæ had its messenger of defeat. The +Alamo had none.” So reads the inscription on the +monument erected in latter years by the State of +Texas to commemorate that stand. The words are +true. But the Alamo did leave a memory and the +tale of the little band who fought in the sublimity of +their fierceness while death was slowing their pulses +did much toward the development of a breed whose +eyes were narrow, sometimes slightly slanting, from +constant peering across rifle sights under a glaring +sun.</p> +<p>The procession is passing; trapper and Indian +fighter; teamsters with dust in the deep lines of their +faces––dust from the long dry trail to old Santa Fé; +stage-drivers who have been sleeping the long sleep +under waving wheat-fields where alkali flats once +stretched away toward the vague blue mountains; and +riders of the pony express. A tall form emerges +from the past’s dim background, and comes on among +them.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_284' name='page_284'></a>284</span></div> +<p>Six feet and an inch to spare, modeled as finely as an +old Greek statue, with eyes of steel grey, sweeping +mustache and dark brown hair that hangs to his +shoulders, he moves with catlike grace. Two forty-fives +hang by his narrow hips; there is a hint of the +cavalier in his dropping sombrero and his ornately +patterned boots. This is Wild Bill Hickok; he was +to have gone with Custer, but a coward’s bullet cheated +him out of the chance to die fighting by the Little Big +Horn and they buried him in the Black Hills in the +spring of 1876.</p> +<p>James B. Hickok was the name by which men called +him until one December day in the early sixties when +the McCandless gang of outlaws tried to drive the +horses off from the Rock Creek station of the Overland +Stage on the plains of southwestern Nebraska +near the Kansas boundary.</p> +<p>There were ten of the desperadoes, and Hickok, who +was scarcely more than a boy then, was alone in the +little sod house, for Doc Brinck, his partner, was off +hunting that afternoon. He watched their approach +from the lonely cubicle where he and Brinck passed +their days as station-keepers. They rode up through +the cottonwoods by the creek. Bill McCandless leaped +from the saddle and swaggered to the corral bars.</p> +<p>“The first man lays a hand on those bars, I’ll shoot,” +Hickok called. They answered his warning with a +volley, and their leader laughed as he dragged the topmost +railing from its place. Laughing he died.</p> +<p>Now the rifles of the others rained lead against +the sod walls and slugs buzzed like angry wasps through +the window. He killed one more by the corral and a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_285' name='page_285'></a>285</span> +third who had crept up behind the wooden well-curb. +The seven who were left retired to the cottonwoods to +hold council. They determined to rush the building +and batter down the door.</p> +<p>When they came forth bearing a dead tree-trunk +between them, he got two more of them. And then +the timber crashed against the flimsy door; the +rended boards flew across the room; the sod walls +trembled to the shock. He dropped his rifle and drew +his revolver as he leaped to meet them.</p> +<p>Jim McCandless and another pitched forward across +the threshold with leveled shotguns at their shoulders. +Young Hickok ducked under the muzzle of the nearest +weapon, and its flame seared his long hair as he swung +for the bearer’s mid-section with all the weight of his +body behind the blow. Whirling with the swiftness of +a fighting cat he spurned the senseless outlaw with his +boot and “threw down” on McCandless. Revolver and +shotgun flamed in the same instant; McCandless fell +dead; Hickok staggered back with eleven buckshot in +his body.</p> +<p>The other three were on him before he recovered his +balance. He felt the searing of their bowie-knives +against his ribs as they bore him down on the bed. +Fingers closed in on his windpipe. He seized the arm +in his two hands and twisted it, as one would twist +a stick, until the bones snapped. He struggled to his +feet, and the warm blood bathed his limbs as he hurled +the two who were left across the room.</p> +<p>They came on crouching and their knives gleamed +through the thick smoke-clouds. His own bowie-knife +was in his hand now, and he stabbed the foremost +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_286' name='page_286'></a>286</span> +through the throat. The other fled. Hickok stumbled +out through the door after him, and Doc Brinck came +riding back from his hunting expedition in time to lend +his rifle to his partner, who insisted profanely that he +was fit to finish what he had so well begun.</p> +<p>So young James Hickok shut his teeth against the +weakness which was creeping over him and lined his +sights on the last of his enemies; for the man whom he +had felled with his fist and he with the broken arm +had escaped some time during the latter progress of +the fight. That final shot was not so true as its predecessors; +the outlaw did not die until several days later +in the little town of Manhattan, Kansas.</p> +<p>When the eastbound stage pulled up that afternoon +the driver and passengers found the long-haired young +station-keeper in a deep swoon, with eleven buckshot +and thirteen knife wounds in his body. They took him +aboard and carried him to Manhattan where he recovered +six months later, to find himself known throughout +the West as Wild Bill Hickok.</p> +<p>How many men he killed is a mooted question. But +it is universally acknowledged that he slew them all +fairly. Owning that prestige whose possessor walks +amid unseen dangers, he introduced the quick draw on +his portion of frontier; and many who sought his life +for the sake of the dark fame which the deed would +bring them died with their weapons in their hands.</p> +<p>In Abilene, Kansas, where he was for several years +town marshal, one of these caught him unawares as he +was rounding a corner. Wild Bill complied with the +order to throw up his hands and stood, rigid, expressionless, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_287' name='page_287'></a>287</span> +while the desperado, emulating the plains Indians, +tried to torture him by picturing the closeness +of his end. He was in the midst of his description when +Hickok’s eyes widened and his voice was thick with +seeming horror as he cried,</p> +<p>“My God! Don’t kill him from behind!” The outlaw +allowed his eyes to waver and he fell with a bullet-hole +in his forehead.</p> +<p>As stage-driver, Indian fighter, and peace officer Wild +Bill Hickok did a man’s work in cleaning up the border. +He was about to go and join the Custer expedition as +a scout when one who thought the murder would give +him renown shot him from behind as he was sitting in +at a poker game in Deadwood. He died drawing his +two guns, and the whole West mourned his passing. It +had never known a braver spirit.</p> +<p>The silent ranks grow thicker: young men, sunburned +and booted for the saddle; the restless souls who forsook +tame Eastern farm-lands, lured by the West’s +promise of adventure, and received the supreme fulfilment +of that promise; the finest of the South’s manhood +drawn toward the setting sun to seek new homes. They +come from a hundred boot-hills, from hundreds of solitary +graves; from the banks of the Yellowstone, the +Platte, the Arkansas, and the two forks of the Canadian.</p> +<p>There are so many among them who died exalted +that the tongue would weary reciting the tales. This +tattered group were with the fifty who drove off fifteen +hundred Cheyennes and Kiowas on Beecher Island. +The Battle of the Arickaree was the name men gave the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_288' name='page_288'></a>288</span> +stand; and the sands of the north fork of the Republican +were red with the blood of the Indians slain by +Forsythe and his half hundred when night fell.</p> +<p>These three who follow in boots, jean breeches, and +Oregon shirts are Billy Tyler and the Shadler brothers, +members of that company of twenty-eight buffalo +hunters who made the big fight at Adobe Walls. The +sun was just rising when Quanah Parker, Little Robe, +and White Shield led more than eight hundred Comanches +and Kiowas in the first charge upon the four +buildings which stood at the edge of the Llano Estacado, +one hundred and fifty miles from the nearest settlement. +The Shadler boys were slain in their wagon at that +onslaught. Tyler was shot down at midday as he ventured +forth from Myers & Leonard’s store. Before the +afternoon was over the Indians sickened of their losses +and drew off beyond range of the big-caliber Sharp’s +rifles. They massacred one hundred and ninety people +during their three months’ raiding but the handful behind +the barricaded doors and windows was too much +for them.</p> +<p>Private George W. Smith of the Sixth Cavalry is +passing now. You would need to look a second time to +notice that he was a soldier, for the rifle under his arm +is a long-barreled Sharp’s single shot and he has put +aside much of the old blue uniform for the ordinary +Western raiment. That was the way of scouting expeditions, +and he, with his five companions, was on the +road from McClellan’s Creek to Fort Supply when they +met two hundred Indians on that September morning of +1874.</p> +<p>Up near the northeast corner of the Texas Panhandle, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_289' name='page_289'></a>289</span> +where the land rises to a divide between Gageby’s Creek +and the Washita River, the five survivors dug his +grave with butcher-knives. They pulled down the +banks of a buffalo wallow over his body in the darkness +of the night; and they left him in this shallow sepulcher, +unmarked by stone or headboard. There his bones lie +to this day, and no man knows when he is passing over +them.</p> +<p>The six of them had left General Miles’s command +two days before. At dawn on September 13, they were +riding northward up the long open slope: Billy Dixon +and Amos Chapman, two buffalo hunters serving as +scouts, and the four troopers, Sergeant Z. T. Woodhull, +Privates Peter Rath, John Harrington, and George W. +Smith. You could hardly tell the soldiers from the +plainsmen, had you seen them; a sombreroed group, +booted to the knees and in their shirt-sleeves; all bore +the heavy, fifty-caliber Sharp’s single-shot rifles across +their saddle-horns.</p> +<p>The bare land rolled away and away, dark velvet-brown +toward the flushing east. The sky was vivid +crimson when they turned their horses up a little knoll. +They reached its summit just as the sun was rising. +Here they drew rein. Two hundred Comanches and +Kiowas were riding toward them at the bottom of the +hill; the landscape had tricked them into ambush.</p> +<p>There passed an instant during which astonishment +held both parties motionless: the white men on the crest, +unshaven, sunburned, their soiled sombreros drooping +over their narrowed eyes; and at the slope’s foot the +ranks of half-naked braves all decked out in the war-path’s +gaudy panoply. Their lean torsos gleamed under +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_290' name='page_290'></a>290</span> +the rays of the rising sun like old copper; patches of +ocher and vermilion stood out in vivid contrast against +the dusky skins; feathered war-bonnets and dyed scalp-locks +fluttered, gay bits of color in the morning breeze. +The instant passed; the white men flung themselves from +their saddles; the red men deployed forming a wide +circle about them. A ululating yell, so fierce in its exultation +that the cavalry horses pulled back upon their +bridles in a frenzy of fear, broke the silence. Then the +booming of the long Sharp’s fifties on the summit +mingled with the rattle of Springfields and needle-guns +on the hill’s flank.</p> +<p>Now, while the bullets threw the dust from the dry +sod into their faces, five of the six dropped on their +bellies in a ring. And by the sergeant’s orders Private +George Smith took charge of the panic-stricken horses. +Perhaps that task fell to him because he was the poorest +shot, perhaps it was because he had the least experience; +but it was a man’s job. He stood upright clinging to +the tie-ropes, trying to soothe the plunging animals; and +he became the target for a hundred of those rifles which +were clattering along the hillside below him. For every +warrior in the band knew that the first bullet that found +its mark in his body would send the horses stampeding +down the slope; and to put his foes afoot was the initial +purpose of the plains Indian when he went into battle.</p> +<p>So Private Smith clinched his teeth and did his best, +while the deep-toned buffalo-guns roared and the rifles +of the savages answered in a never-ending volley all +around him. The leaden slugs droned past his ears as +thick as swarming bees; the plunging hoofs showed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_291' name='page_291'></a>291</span> +through the brown dust-clouds, and his arms ached from +the strain of the tie-ropes.</p> +<p>Billy Dixon had thrown away his wide-rimmed +sombrero and his long hair rippled in the wind. He +had been through the battle at Adobe Walls and men +knew him for one of the best shots in the country south +of the Arkansas River. He was taking it slowly, lining +his sights with the coolness of an old hand on a target-range. +Now he raised his head.</p> +<p>“Here they come,” he shouted.</p> +<p>The circle was drawing inward where the land sloped +up at the easiest angle. A hundred half-naked riders +swung toward the summit, and the thud-thud of the +ponies’ little hoofs was audible through the rattle of the +rifles. The buffalo-guns boomed in slow succession like +the strokes of a tolling bell. Empty saddles began to +show in the forefront. The charge swerved off, and as +it passed at point-blank range a curtain of powder smoke +unrolled along the whole flank.</p> +<p>Private George Smith pitched forward on his face. +His rifle flew far from him. He lay there motionless. +A trooper binding his wounded thigh glanced around +when the assault had become a swift retreat.</p> +<p>“Look!” he cried. “They’ve got Smith.”</p> +<p>“Set us afoot,” another growled and pointed after the +stampeded horses.</p> +<p>Smith lay quite still as he had fallen. They thought +him dead. Within the hour, a dozen whooping +Comanches ran their ponies up the hill toward his limp +form. To gain that scalp-lock under fire would be an +exploit worth telling to their grandchildren in after +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_292' name='page_292'></a>292</span> +years. And there was the long-barreled rifle as a bit +of plunder. But the five white men, who had changed +their position under a second charge, emptied four saddles +before the warriors were within a hundred yards of +the spot, and the eight survivors whipped their ponies +down the slope again.</p> +<p>The sun was climbing high when Amos Chapman +rolled over on his side and called to Billy Dixon that +his leg was broken. Dixon lifted his head and surveyed +the situation. The Indians were gathering for another +rush. Thus far they had taken things as though they +were so sure of the ultimate result that they did not see +fit to run great chances. But this could not last. The +next charge might be the final one. Down on a little +mesquite flat about two hundred yards distant, he saw +a buffalo wallow. He pointed to it.</p> +<p>“We got to make it,” he told the others, and they +followed him as he ran for the shelter. But Amos +Chapman crawled only a dozen paces or so before he had +to give it up. The four fell to work with their butcher-knives +heaping up the sand at the summit of the low +bank which surrounded the shallow circular depression. +They dropped their knives and picked up their rifles, +for the savages were sweeping down upon them.</p> +<p>So they dug and fought and fought and dug for another +hour and then Billy Dixon was unable to stand the +sight of his partner lying helpless on the summit of the +knoll.</p> +<p>“I’m going to get Amos,” he announced, and set +forth amid a rain of bullets. Those who saw him after +the fight was over––and General Miles was among them––said +that his shirt was ripped in twenty places by flying +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_293' name='page_293'></a>293</span> +lead. He halted on the hilltop and took up Chapman +pick-a-back, then bore him slowly down the slope to +the little shelter.</p> +<p>Noon came on. The sun shone hot. Dixon had got a +bullet in the calf of his leg when he was bearing his +companion on his back. Private Rath was the only man +who was not wounded. They all thirsted as only men +can thirst who have been keyed up to the high pitch of endeavor +for hours. The savages charged thrice more; +and when they came, numbers of them always deployed +toward the top of the knoll where Private Smith lay +dying: dead his companions thought, but they were +grim in their determination that the red men should +never get the scalp which they coveted so sorely. The +big Sharps boomed; the saddles emptied to their booming. +Private Smith wakened from one swoon only to +fall into another. Sometimes he wakened to the thudding +of hoofs and saw the savages sweeping toward him +on their ponies.</p> +<p>Near midafternoon the warriors formed for a charge +and it was evident from the manner of their massing +that they were going to ride down on the buffalo wallow +in one solid body. But while their ranks were gathering +there came up one of those sudden thunderstorms for +which the Staked Plains were famous. The rain fell +in sheets; the lightning blazed with scarcely an intermission +between flashes. And the charge was given up +for the time being. The braves drew off beyond rifle-shot +and huddled up within their blankets.</p> +<p>Morris Rath seized the respite to go for ammunition. +For Smith’s cartridge-belts were full. He came back +from the knoll breathless.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_294' name='page_294'></a>294</span></div> +<p>“Smith’s living,” he cried.</p> +<p>“Come on,” Billy Dixon bade him and the two went +back to the summit.</p> +<p>“I can walk if you two hold me up,” Private George +Smith whispered. A bullet had passed through his +lungs and when he breathed the air whistled from a hole +beneath his shoulder-blade. They supported him on +either side and half-carried him to the buffalo wallow.</p> +<p>The thunder-shower had passed. Another was coming +fast. The Indians were gathering to take advantage +of the brief interval. The agony which had come from +rough motion was keeping Smith from swooning now. +He saw his companions preparing to stand off the assault. +Amos Chapman was holding himself upright by +bracing his body against the side of the wallow. Private +Smith whispered to the others,</p> +<p>“Set me up like Chapman. They’ll think there’s +more of us fit to shoot that way.” And they did as he +had asked them.</p> +<p>So he held his body erect while the life was ebbing +from it; and the rain came down again in sheets. The +Indians fell back before the charge was well begun. It +was their last attempt.</p> +<p>The wind rose, biting raw. The savages melted away +as dusk drew down over the brown land. Some one +looked at Smith. His head was sunk and he was moaning +with pain. They found a willow switch and +tamped a handkerchief into the wound. And then they +laid him down in the rain-water which had gathered in +the wallow. His blood and the blood of the others +turned that water a dull red.</p> +<p>Some time near midnight he died. And several days +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_295' name='page_295'></a>295</span> +later, when General Miles’s troops came to rescue them, +the five others buried his body. It was night-time. The +fires of the troopers glowed down at the foot of the +slope. They made the grave with their butcher-knives +by pulling down the sand from the wallow’s side upon +the body. And then they went to the camp-fires of the +soldiers.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>They are passing from bleak graveyards on the +alkali flats and in the northern mountains where the +sage-brush meets the pines: gaunt men in laced boots +and faded blue overalls who traveled once too often +through the desert’s mirage searching for the golden +ledges; big-boned hard rock men who died in underground +passages where the steel was battering the living +granite; men with soft hands and cold eyes who fattened +on the fruits of robbery and murder.</p> +<p>This swarthy black-haired one in the soft silk shirt +and spotless raiment of the gambler is Cherokee Bob, +who killed and plundered unchallenged throughout eastern +Washington and Idaho during the early sixties; until +the camp of Florence celebrated its third New Year’s +Eve with a ball in which respectability held sway, and +he took his consort thither to mingle with the wives of +others. Then he kindled a flame of resentment which +his blackest murders had failed to rouse. The next +morning the entire camp turned out to drive him forth +together with Bill Willoughby, his partner. The two +retreated slowly, from building to building, facing the +mob. Shotguns bellowed; rifle-bullets sang about their +ears, and they answered with their revolvers, until death +left their trigger fingers limp.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_296' name='page_296'></a>296</span></div> +<p>Here comes one with catlike tread, slender and with a +dignity of presence which proclaims the gentleman. +But when you glance at the lean immobile face, there is +that in the pale eyes which checks your blood; their +gray is like the gray of old ice late in the wintertime. +This is Henry Plummer. Behind him troop thirty +others, bearded men, and the evil of their deeds is plainly +written on their features; the members of his band who +slew for gold, leaving the dead to mark their trail +through Washington, Oregon, Idaho, and Montana. In +Alder Gulch their leader was elected sheriff and planned +their murders for them while he held the office. Finally +such men as Sam Hauser, N. P. Langford, J. X. Beidler, +and Colonel W. F. Saunders took their lives in their +hands and organized a vigilance committee at Virginia +City. They got their evidence; and in January, 1864, +they lynched the sheriff and his thirty, whose deeds +would make a long story were they worthy of a place +within this chronicle. But the mining camps never produced +the type of desperado who was willing to take his +share of chances in a shooting affair; excepting when the +cattle country was close by. The bad man who could +command a measure of admiration always was a horseman.</p> +<p>Here pass those who died boldly in the glaring lands +by the Arizona border; a multitude of sunburned men +with revolvers swinging low beside their hips and in +their hands the deadly Winchesters. One comes among +them, rugged of frame, big-featured, red from weather +and the fulness of his blood. There is, in the poise of his +head and in his eyes, a fierce intolerance. This is Joe +Phy. More than forty years have passed since they +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_297' name='page_297'></a>297</span> +buried him in the little boot-hill at Florence, Arizona. +To-day the town is as conventional as any Eastern village, +but it saw a time when men lived up to the rude +clean code of our American age of chivalry. During +that era Joe Phy met his end with a grimness befitting a +son of the Old West.</p> +<p>Florence was the county-seat and Pete Gabriel was +sheriff. He was a handsome man with his twisted +mustache and Napoleon goatee, free-handed with his +money, widely liked. Moreover he was a wonderful shot +with his rifle and deadly quick with a single-action +revolver. Among the gun-fighters of southern Arizona +none was better known than he, and Joe Phy was his +deputy.</p> +<p>The county of Pinal extended from the glaring flats +below the Gila northward beyond the Superstition Mountains, +a savage land where the sun was killing hot in +summer-time, where forests of giant cacti stretched for +miles like the pine woods that cloaked the higher plateaus. +Phy and Gabriel rode together through the country +on many a bold errand; they shared their blankets +and the hardships of dry camps; they fought beside each +other while the bullets of wanted men snarled, ricochetting +from the rocks about them.</p> +<p>Then politics brought a rift in their friendship and +the day came when the deputy ran for office against his +former chief. The campaign was made bitter by +accusations. There was, men said, a court-house ring; +the big companies were dodging taxes, the small ranchers +were getting the worst of it. Election came and +the rancor of the reformers grew hotter when the count +showed that Gabriel had won. Many openly proclaimed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_298' name='page_298'></a>298</span> +that the court-house crowd had juggled with the ballots, +and Phy was among these. When a contest was instituted +and the result of the election was carried to the +courts, he grew to hate Gabriel. The hatred flamed +within him until he could stand it no longer and one +night he hunted the town over until he found the sheriff +in Keating’s saloon.</p> +<p>“Pete,” he said, “I’m going home after my six-shooter +and I’m coming back to fight it out with you. +Get ready while I’m gone.”</p> +<p>And Gabriel answered quietly, “All right, Joe. I’ll +be here when you come back.”</p> +<p>The swinging doors closed behind Phy’s back and the +sheriff turned to the man behind the bar.</p> +<p>“Call ’em up,” he said. “This is on me.” He ordered +whisky and those who lined up beside him kept +looking toward the street entrance; but he remained +with his back to the swinging doors. The minutes +passed; the doors flew open. Within the threshold Joe +Phy halted.</p> +<p>“Commence!” he shouted and flung an oath after the +word. “Commence!”</p> +<p>Pete Gabriel turned, and his revolver flew from its +holster spitting fire. Phy’s forty-five ejected a thin +stream of orange flame. The voices of the weapons +mingled in one loud explosion. The two men took a +pace toward each other and the smoke grew thicker as +they shot again in unison. They came on slowly, pulling +the triggers until the room was filled with the black +powder fumes.</p> +<p>Then Pete Gabriel stood swaying within arm’s +length of Joe Phy’s prostrate form. And as he struggled +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_299' name='page_299'></a>299</span> +against the mortal weakness which was now creeping +through his lead-riddled body the man on the floor +whispered,</p> +<p>“I cain’t get up. Get down. We’ll finish it with +knives.”</p> +<p>“I guess we’ve both of us got enough,” the sheriff +muttered, and staggered out through the door, to lie all +night in a near-by corral and live for two years afterward +with a bullet through his kidneys.</p> +<p>Joe Phy died hard on the saloon floor. Those in the +room gathered about him, and Johnny Murphy strove +to lift his head that they might give him a sip of water. +A year before he and two others had slain Joe Levy, +a faro-dealer in Tucson, and they had done it foully +from behind. Since that time men had avoided him, +speaking to him only when it was absolutely necessary, +and his hair had turned snow-white. Joe Phy opened +his eyes and recognized his would-be helper.</p> +<p>“Don’t you dare lay a hand on me,” he cried, “you +murderer,” and struck Murphy full in the face. His +hand fell limply back. The breath had departed from +his body with that blow.</p> +<p>The long procession is waning. Now those are coming +whose headboards were erected in the early eighties. +A company of swarthy black-eyed riders in the flaring +trousers and steep-crowned sombreros of Mexico jog +along elbow to elbow with hard-eyed horsemen from the +valleys of the San Simon and the Animas. Smuggler +and cow-thief, there is a story in their passing which +centers about a deep gorge near the place where the +boundary between New Mexico and Arizona meets the +international line. That story goes a long way back.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_300' name='page_300'></a>300</span></div> +<p>Down in the southwestern corner of the Animas valley +the Guadalupe Cañon trail approached the gorge from +which it got its name. In the days when the American +colonists were still contented with Great Britain’s rule +it was a main thoroughfare between the Piños Altos +mines and old Mexico. Long trains of pack-mules, laden +with treasure which the Spaniards had delved from the +sun-baked mountains near where Silver City now stands, +traveled this route. Apaches and bandits made many +an attack on them in the cañon.</p> +<p>The Piños Altos mines were abandoned. The trail fell +into disuse. The years passed by. The ’49 rush brought +new travelers of another breed who beat down the old +track again. Passing through the gorge they too found +the Apaches lurking among the rocks and more than +one old argonaut laid down his eight-square rifle for +the last time within the shadow of those arid cliffs.</p> +<p>Old Man Clanton came with one of these ’49 outfits, +a typical specimen of that lean-jawed leathern-faced +breed who have fought Indians, lynched Mexicans, and +established themselves in hundreds of dreary outposts +beyond the last settlements. He went on to California, +failed to find the gold, and returned some time during the +latter seventies to the upper San Pedro valley. Here +he “raised his family,” as the old expression has it, and, +his sons grew up, Finn, Ike, and Billy. Those were +wild days, and the two last-named boys became more +proficient with rope, running-iron, and forty-five revolver +than they ever did with their school-books. In +time they were known as rustlers and in the lawless +town of Charleston by the San Pedro River they fell +in with Curly Bill. When the outlaw went eastward +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_301' name='page_301'></a>301</span> +into the valleys of the San Simon and the Animas the two +young Clantons went with him. The cow-thieves of the +San Simon and the Animas did not go to the trouble +of altering brands or “sleepering,” as their successors +have in later years, but drove entire herds and sold +them, as they were, to shippers. Occasionally they rode +down into Sonora to raid the ranges south of the border. +One July day in 1881 a number of them embarked on +such an expedition and they gathered a bunch of several +hundred longhorns. They brought them up through +Guadalupe Cañon and came on northward to the Double +Dobe Ranch. Here they left the cattle with a man to +hold them, while they rode over to Curly Bill’s place, +not far distant.</p> +<p>But the Mexicans had been suffering from this sort +of depredations until patience had ceased to be a virtue +and a band of thirty dusky vaqueros were following the +trail of those stolen longhorns. On the afternoon of +July 26 the man who was riding herd caught sight of +the steep-crowned sombreros coming out through the +mirage on the flats to the south. He waited only long +enough to satisfy himself as to the nationality of the +riders, then clapped spurs to his pony and raced to +Curly Bill’s place.</p> +<p>It took the rustlers some time to saddle up. When +they arrived at the Double Dobe they found nothing +of their former prizes but a fresh trail. They made the +best speed they could, but the Mexicans were “shoving +those cattle hard,” as the old-timers say. They had a +good lead and they held it clear to Guadalupe Cañon. +The running fight that followed lasted half-way through +the gorge. The men from Sonora were seasoned hands +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_302' name='page_302'></a>302</span> +at Indian warfare, and they had no mind to give up +their beef. They left a small rear-guard, who fell back +slowly from rock to rock while their companions urged +the longhorns to a run. The shouts of “Toro! Toro! +Vaca! Vaca”! mingled with the crackling of the rifles. +And when the rustlers finally routed the stubborn defenders +to chase the herders on through the ravine and +reassemble the panic-stricken stock, they took back three +dead men across their saddles. They buried the bodies +at the Cloverdale ranch and so started a lonely little +boot-hill whose headboards showed on the edge of the +mesa for many years.</p> +<p>There came now to the old Guadalupe Cañon trail a +new traffic. Mexican smugglers who had formerly been +crossing the boundary at the southern end of the San +Pedro valley shifted their route hither and traveled +northward to Silver City. They were hard men, accustomed +to warring with the Apaches, bandits, and +border officers. They banded together in formidable +outfits to guard the dobie dollars which loaded down the +aparejos during the northern journey. And Curly +Bill’s companions saw them passing on more than one +occasion: a scuffle of hoofs, a haze of dust, through which +showed the swarthy faces of the outriders under the +great sombreros––and, what lingered longest in the +memories of these hard-faced men of the Animas, the +pleasant dull chink of the dobie dollars in the rawhide +pack-sacks.</p> +<p>In Galeyville the rustlers talked the matter over. It +was a simple problem: go and get the money. They +went one day and made their camp near Guadalupe +Cañon. They sent scouts on through the gorge to watch +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_303' name='page_303'></a>303</span> +the country from the mesa above the spot where John +Slaughter’s ranch buildings now stand. One hot noontide +the scouts came riding in.</p> +<p>“There’s a big outfit coming. Must be a dozen mules +and nigh on to thirty men.” The outlaws were in the +saddle before those who brought the tidings had time +to breathe their horses.</p> +<p>In those days you were supposed to give a man what +the old-timers called an even break before you killed him. +The supposition was lived up to by the chivalrous and +ignored by many who gained large reputations. But +when it came to Mexicans there was not even that ideal to +attain; they were not rated as full-fledged human +beings; to slay one meant no addition to the notches on +one’s gun, nor did one feel obliged to observe the rules +of fair play. You simply killed your greaser in the +most expeditious manner possible and then forgot about +it. The rustlers went about the business according to +this custom. Save for Curly Bill the members of the +party left their horses in charge of a man around a +turn of the gorge. They hid themselves behind the +rocks on the steep mountain-side and waited while their +burly leader rode slowly to meet the smugglers.</p> +<p>The train was traveling after the Mexican fashion, +which is very much like the Spanish California manner +of driving a herd. The chief of the outfit rode in the +lead some distance before the first pack-mule. The +laden animals followed in single file. Flanking them +on each side were the armed guards, with one or two +closing in on the rear. Thus they came, winding their +way among the stark rocks and the clumps of Spanish +bayonet, and when the leader caught sight of Curly Bill +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_304' name='page_304'></a>304</span> +from under his huge, silver decked sombrero, he reined +in his horse; his grip tightened on the rifle which he +carried across his saddle. The outriders pulled up; +there was a low rattle of shifting weapons and the bell +of the first mule stopped tinkling as the train came to a +stand.</p> +<p>But the strange rider was alone. The leader raised +his arm in signal and the straggling procession resumed +its advance. The solitary American rode on until he +was alongside their head man.</p> +<p>“Buenos dias, Señor,” he said and checked his pony. +The Mexican answered. The pair shook hands. When +they had talked for some moments, Curly Bill turned +and rode back up the cañon beside the smuggler. The +pack-train followed and the men on the flanks eased +their rifles back into the sheaths. They traveled until +the lead mule had passed the last hidden rustler.</p> +<p>Curly Bill’s right hand swept to his revolver holster +and came on upward clutching the weapon’s butt. The +movement was so quick that before those who were +looking at him really grasped its meaning the hot rocks +were bandying echoes of the report. The Mexican was +sliding from his saddle, quite dead. The outlaw was +spurring his pony up the mountain-side.</p> +<p>Now the outriders dragged their rifles from the +sheaths but while they were seeking to line their sights +on the murderer the rustlers opened fire on them. +Those cow-thieves of the Animas were good shots; the +range was brief. The flat explosions of the Winchesters, +the scuffling of hoofs, the voices of dark-skinned +riders calling upon their saints as they pitched forward +from their frenzied horses, dying; the squealing of a hit +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_305' name='page_305'></a>305</span> +burro; these things the arid cliffs heard and repeated to +one another. And then the rat-tat-tat of hoofbeats as +the surviving smugglers fled westward.</p> +<p>That is the way the rustlers told the story in Galeyville +amid grim laughter; and the voices of the narrators +were raised to carry above the staccato pounding of the +painos, the scuffling of boot heels on the dance-hall +floors, the shrill mirthless outcries of rouge-bedizened +women, and the resonant slapping of dobie dollars on +the unpainted pine bars. Now and again the recitals +were interrupted by the roaring of forty-five revolvers +as the more fervid celebrants showed their expertness at +marksmanship by shooting the French heels from the +shoes of the dance-hall girls.</p> +<p>John Ringo, the king of the outlaws, got wind of what +was going on and rode over from Tombstone, silent as +usual, and with that saturninity of expression which +grew darker as the whisky began to work within him. +He took no part in the celebration but sat through one +day and two blazing nights, dumbly sardonic, at a +round table. Save for his dark countenance, the faces +which ringed that table were changing constantly. Men +came noisily, sat down for a time, and departed at length +in chastened silence as the poker-game which he had +organized went on and on––until a large share of those +dobie dollars passed unto him. Then, with the sudden +flare of recklessness which invariably came to him sooner +or later, he in his turn flung away the silver over the +unpainted bars. So the incident passed and was forgotten––by +the rustlers.</p> +<p>The Mexicans did not forget.</p> +<p>Old Man Clanton started with a Tombstone butcher +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_306' name='page_306'></a>306</span> +and three others on a journey for the Animas valley a +few weeks later. They were going to buy beef cattle +and they took the Guadalupe Cañon route. One night +they made camp near the middle of the gorge. And +while they slept a dozen swarthy men, who wore the +steep-crowned sombreros and the trousers with leathern +facings which were a part of every Mexican smuggler’s +costume, came creeping in and out among the +boulders like the Apaches whose ways they had studied +in years of border warfare.</p> +<p>They had waited a long time in the lofty mountains +south of the boundary, watching the malapi flats for a +party of Americans; and at last these had come. They +had dogged their trail through the long hot afternoon, +keeping well back lest they should be discovered. Now +they were closing in. The air grew cooler and the hour +of dawn approached. They slipped, black shadows a +little deeper than the night which enfolded them. The +light climbed up the eastern sky and leaked down between +the cliffs; the cold gray dusk which comes before +the dawn. The shadows melted slowly; the heavens began +to blush. Down here a man could line the notch of +his hindsight with the bead. A pebble tinkled in the +arid watercourse. One of the sleepers stirred in his +blankets. He caught the sound, opened his eyes, and +saw the crown of a sombrero rising behind a rock. He +leaped from his bed and flung himself among a clump +of boulders just as the rifles began to talk.</p> +<p>Two or three cow-boys were lounging about the +Cloverdale ranch-house on a blazing summer afternoon +when a queer figure came into sight upon the palpitating +plain. The spectacle of a man on foot was so uncommon +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_307' name='page_307'></a>307</span> +in those days that they had a hard time making themselves +believe that this form, which at times took distorted +shapes in the wavering overheated air, was that of +a human being. Then they set forth to meet him, and +they brought the one survivor of the Canton party to the +ranch-house. His bare-feet were bleeding; he was half-clad; +and his tongue was swollen with thirst. They got +his story and they rode to Guadalupe Cañon where they +found the bodies of his companions. They buried them +on the little boot-hill overlooking the ranch buildings.</p> +<p>But the episode was not yet finished.</p> +<p>Time went by. Billy Clanton and the two MacLowery +boys, who are said to have been parties to the dobie +dollar hold-up, died one autumn morning fighting it out +against the Earp faction in Tombstone’s street. Curly +Bill’s fate remains something of a mystery, but one +story has it that Wyatt Earp killed him near Globe two +years or so later. John Ringo killed himself up in the +San Simon, delirious from thirst. Rattlesnake Bill, who +helped to spend the Mexican silver, was shot down by a +fellow-rustler in Galeyville. Jake Gauz, another of the +participants, was lynched for horse-stealing not far +from the head of Turkey Creek Cañon.</p> +<p>So they went one after the other, and it is possible that +every man who was present at the massacre of the Mexicans +died with his boots on.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>“Those who take up the sword shall perish by the +sword.” The words come from one who rides near the +grim procession’s end; a slim young fellow, beardless, +his hair hanging to his shoulders. It is the boy whom +men called Billy the Kid. He quoted the passage to Pat +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_308' name='page_308'></a>308</span> +Garret when the Lincoln County sheriff and his posse +were taking him and his captured companions to +Santa Fé.</p> +<p>“Those who take up the sword shall perish by the +sword.” Only a few nights before he spoke, Tom +O’Phalliard, one of the last of his band, had fallen from +his horse with a bullet through his chest in Fort Sumner +to die, cursing the tall silent sheriff, in the room where +the posse had carried him. Two mornings afterward at +the Arroyo Tivan, Charley Bowdre had staggered into +the stone house where the outlaws were hiding, wounded +unto death by the rifles of these same pursuers.</p> +<p>“Charley, you’re done for. Go out and see if you +can’t get one of them,” Billy the Kid had told the dying +man, and through the crack of the door had watched +him stumbling over the frozen snow toward the posse, +while his numbed fingers fumbled with his revolver butt +in a final access of vain effort.</p> +<p>And now this youth, the deadliest of the Southwestern +outlaws, spoke from the Scriptures to Pat Garret; perhaps +it was all of his Bible that he knew. He said it in +December. In July Garret shot him in Pete Maxwell’s +room at Fort Sumner. The years went by. One day +the former sheriff fell in the sand hills west of Tularosa +with an assassin’s bullet in his back.</p> +<p>Thus, throughout the Old West: bad man and frontier +officer, Indian fighter, cow-boy, stage-driver, trooper, +and faro-dealer, they lived their lives in accordance with +bold customs which bridged the gap between savagery +and modern civilization. In a strange land they did the +best they could; and, bad or good, they came to their +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_309' name='page_309'></a>309</span> +ends with a fine unflinching disregard for the supreme +adventure.</p> +<p>To-day fat prairie corn-fields stand tasseled in the +sunlight, the smoke of lusty young cities rises black +against the sky; while automobiles speed upon concrete +highways over the forgotten graveyards where +their bones lie.</p> + +<!-- generated by ppg.rb version: ppg0814 --> +<!-- timestamp: Sat Aug 15 02:22:19 -0600 2009 --> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's When the West Was Young, by Frederick R. Bechdolt + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHEN THE WEST WAS YOUNG *** + +***** This file should be named 29692-h.htm or 29692-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/9/6/9/29692/ + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +http://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at http://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + + +</pre> + +</body> +</html> |