Captain Bill McDonald, Texas Ranger - A Story of Frontier Reform

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Title: Captain Bill McDonald, Texas Ranger - A Story of Frontier Reform
Author: Paine, Albert Bigelow
Language: English
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RANGER ***

[Illustration: _W.J. McDonald_]

CAPTAIN BILL McDONALD
TEXAS RANGER

_A Story of Frontier Reform_

BY
ALBERT BIGELOW PAINE

Author of "Th: Nast--His Period and
His Pictures," etc., etc.

With Introductory Letter by Theodore Roosevelt

"No man in the wrong can stand up
against a fellow that's in the right
and keeps on a-comin'."

Bill McDonald's Creed.

SPECIAL SUBSCRIPTION EDITION
Made by J.J. Little & Ives Co.
New York, 1909

EDWARD M. HOUSE

WITHOUT WHOSE ENDURING
FRIENDSHIP, WISE COUNSEL
AND ACTIVE INTEREST THIS
BOOK WOULD NEVER HAVE
BEEN WRITTEN

CONTENTS

Page

Foreword: A letter from Theodore Roosevelt 11

I.--Introducing "Captain Bill" 13

II.--An Old-Time Mississippi Childhood

The kind of education for a young Ranger. Presence of
mind early manifested 16

III.--Emigration and Adventure

A boy at the head of a household. Meeting the "Devil
and his wife." An early reform 21

IV.--The Making of a Texan

Reconstruction and "treason." "Dave" Culberson to the
rescue. Education, marriage and politics 26

V.--The Beginning of Reform

Subduing a bad man. First official appointment. A
deputy who did things. "Bill" McDonald and "Jim" Hogg 33

VI.--Into the Wilderness

A New Business in a New Land. A "Sand-lapper" shows
his "sand" 43

VII.--Commercial Ventures and Adventures

Bill McDonald's method of collecting a bill; and his method
of handling bad men 48

VIII.--Reforming the Wilderness

The kind of men to be reformed. Early reforms in Quanah.
Bad men meet their match 55

IX.--Getting Even with the Brooken Gang

The Brooken Gang don't wait for callers. One hundred
and twenty-seven years' sentence for an outlaw 65

X.--New Tactics in No-Man's Land

A man with a buck-board. Holding up a bad gang single-handed 69

XI.--Redeeming No-Man's Land

Bill McDonald and Lon Burson gather in the bad men.
"No man in the wrong can stand up against a fellow that's
in the right and keeps on a-comin'" 78

XII.--Some of the Difficulties of Reform

"Frontier" law and practice. Caught in a Norther in
No-Man's Land 87

XIII.--Captain Bill as a Tree-Man

The lost drove of Lazarus. A pilgrim on a "paint-hoss."
A new way of getting information in the "Strip" 95

XIV.--The Day for "Deliveries"

The tree-man turns officer, and single-handed wipes out a
bad gang 106

XV.--Cleaning Up the Strip

Deputy Bill gets "stood off," but makes good. Bill Cook
and "Skeeter," "A hell of a court to plead guilty in!" 115

XVI.--Texas Ranger Service and Its Origin

The massacre of Fort Parker; Cynthia Ann Parker's capture.
Rangers and what they are for. Their characteristics
and their requirements 126

XVII.--Captain of Company B, Ranger Force

Capture of Dan and Bob Campbell. Recommendations for
a Ranger Captain. Governor "Jim" Hogg appoints his old
friend on the strength of them 136

XVIII.--An Exciting Indian Campaign

First service as Ranger Captain. Biggest Indian scare on
record 145

XIX.--A Bit of Farming and Politics

Captain Bill and his goats. The "car-shed" convention 149

XX.--Taming the Pan-handle

The difference between cowboys and "bad men." How
Captain Bill made cow-stealing unpopular 154

XXI.--The Battle with Matthews

What happened to a man who had decided to kill Bill
McDonald 165

XXII.--What Happened to Beckham

An outlaw raid and a Ranger battle. Joe Beckham ends
his career 176

XXIII.--A Medal for Speed

Captain Bill outruns a criminal and wins a gold medal 179

XXIV.--Captain Bill in Mexico

Mexican thieves try to hold up Captain Bill and get a surprise.
Mexican police make the same attempt with the
same result. President Diaz tries to enlist him 182

XXV.--A New Style in the Pan-handle

Charles A. Culberson pays a tribute to Ranger marksmanship.
Captain Bill in a "plug" hat 189

XXVI.--Preventing a Prize-Fight

The Fitzsimmons-Maher fight that didn't come off at El
Paso, and why. Captain Bill "takes up" for a Chinaman 194

XXVII.--The Wichita Falls Bank Robbery and Murder

Kid Lewis and his gang take advantage of the absence of
the Rangers. They make a bad calculation and come
to grief. Good examples of Bill McDonald's single-handed
work, and nerve 199

XXVIII.--Captain Bill as a Peace-maker

He attends certain strikes and riots alone with satisfactory
results. Goes to Thurber and disperses a mob 214

XXIX.--The Buzzard's Water-Hole Gang

The Murder Society of San Saba and what happened to it
after the Rangers arrived 221

XXX.--Quieting a Texas Feud

The Reece-Townsend trouble, and how the factions were
once dismissed by Captain Bill McDonald 243

XXXI.--The Trans-Cedar Mystery

The lynching of the Humphreys and what happened to the
lynchers 250

XXXII.--Other Mobs and Riots

Rangers at Orange and at Port Arthur. Five against four
hundred 260

XXXIII.--Other Work in East Texas

Districts which even a Ranger finds hopeless. The Touchstone
murder. The confession of Ab Angle 265

XXXIV.--A Wolf-Hunt with the President

Captain Bill sees the President through Texas and accompanies
him on the "best time of his life." Quanah Parker
tells stories to the hunters 273

XXXV.--The Conditt Murder Mystery

A terrible crime at Edna, Texas. Monk Gibson's arrest
and escape. The greatest man-hunt in history. 290

XXXVI.--The Death of Rhoda McDonald

The end of a noble woman's life. Her letter of good-by 304

XXXVII.--The Conditt Mystery Solved

Captain Bill as a "sleuth." The tell-tale handprint. A
Ranger captain's theories established 308

XXXVIII.--The Brownsville Episode: An Event of National
Importance

The Twenty-fifth Infantry's midnight raid 315

XXXIX.--Captain Bill on the Scene

The situation at Brownsville. Rangers McDonald and
McCauley defy the U.S. army. Captain Bill holds a
court of inquiry 323

XL.--What Finally Happened at Brownsville

How State officials failed to support the men who quieted
disorder and located crime 341

XLI.--The Battle on the Rio Grande

Assassination of Judge Stanley Welch. A Rio Grande
election. Captain Bill ordered to the scene. An ambush;
a surprise, and an inquest. Captain Bill's last battle. 357

XLII.--The End of Rangering and a New Appointment

State Revenue Agent of Texas. The "Full Rendition"
Bill enforced. A great battle for Tax Reform, and a bloodless
triumph 373

XLIII.--Conclusion

Captain Bill McDonald of Texas--what he has been and
what he is to-day 388

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Page

Portrait of Capt. Bill McDonald _Frontispiece_

Facsimile of Letter from Theodore Roosevelt 11

Introducing Reform in the Wilderness 46

Beginning a Campaign in No-man's Land 75

The Capture of Dan and Bob Campbell 138

The Battle with Matthews at Quanah 173

Quelling a Lynching Mob at Wichita Falls 211

In Camp with Theodore Roosevelt 283

Captain Bill's Last Battle 367

[Illustration: THEODORE ROOSEVELT'S LETTER TO CAPTAIN McDONALD

THE WHITE HOUSE
WASHINGTON

December 19, 1908.

My dear Captain:

I am glad you are to publish your memorials. I shall always look back
with pleasure to our wolf hunt in Oklahoma. Yours has been a most
interesting life. You are one of the few men now living who served
in that warfare against crime and on behalf of order, which has well
nigh passed away with the old frontier conditions which called it
into being. For a number of years you were deputy sheriff, or deputy
marshal, or representative of the cattle men's association employed by
them to put a stop to cattle stealing and robbery under arms, and you
served for twenty years in that unique body, the Texas Rangers. It is a
career which henceforth it will be difficult to parallel.

With all good wishes, believe me,

Sincerely yours,

Theodore Roosevelt

Captain W.J. McDonald,
New Amsterdam Hotel,
New York, N.Y.]

FOREWORD

_A Letter from Theodore Roosevelt to Captain McDonald_

The White House,
Washington.

December 19, 1908.

MY DEAR CAPTAIN: I am glad you are to publish your memorials. I shall
always look back with pleasure to our wolf-hunt in Oklahoma. Yours has
been a most interesting life. You are one of the few men now living who
served in that warfare against crime and on behalf of order, which has
well-nigh passed away with the old frontier conditions which called it
into being. For a number of years you were deputy sheriff, or deputy
marshal, or representative of the cattlemen's associations, employed by
them to put a stop to cattle stealing and robbery under arms, and you
served for twenty years in that unique body, the Texas Rangers. It is a
career which henceforth it will be difficult to parallel.

With all good wishes, believe me,

Sincerely yours,

THEODORE ROOSEVELT.

CAPTAIN BILL McDONALD, TEXAS RANGER

Introducing "Captain Bill"

Captain Bill McDonald is a name that in Texas and the districts lying
adjacent thereto makes the pulse of a good citizen, and the feet of an
outlaw, move quicker. Its owner is a man of fifty-six, drawn out long
and lean like a buckskin thong, with the endurance and constitution of
the same.

In repose, Captain Bill is mild of manner; his speech is a gentle
vernacular, his eyes are like the summer sky. I have never seen him in
action, but I am told that then his voice becomes sharp and imperative,
that his eyes turn into points of gray which pierce the offender
through.

Two other features bespeak this man's character and career: his ears
and his nose--the former, alert and extended--the ears of the wild
creature, the hunter; the latter of that stately Roman architecture
which goes with conquest, because it signifies courage, resolution and
the peerless gift of command.

His nerves are of that quiet and steady sort which belong to a
tombstone and he does not disturb them with tobacco or stimulants of
any kind--not even with tea and coffee. In explanation, he once said:

"Well, you see, sometimes I have to be about two-fifths of a second
quicker than the other fellow, and a little quiver, then, might be
fatal."

Incidentally, it may be added that Captain Bill--they love to call him
that in Texas--is ranked as the best all-round rapid-fire marksman in
the State, and for the "other fellow" to begin shooting is believed to
be equivalent to suicide. Add to these various attributes a heart in
which tenderness, strict honesty and an overwhelming regard for duty
prevail, and you have in full, Captain William Jesse McDonald, formerly
Deputy Sheriff, Deputy U.S. Marshal and Ranger Captain, now State
Revenue Agent of Texas.

It is the story of this man that we shall undertake to tell. During
his twenty-five years or more of service in the field, he reduced
those once lawless districts known as the Pan-handle, No-man's Land,
and, incidentally, Texas at large to a condition of such proper
behavior that nowhere in this country is life and property safer than
in the very localities where only a few years ago the cow-thief and
the train-robber reigned supreme. Their species have become scarce
and "hard to catch" there now, and the skittish officials who used
to shield them have been trained to "stand hitched." The story of a
reform like that is worth the telling, for it is the unwritten history
of a territory so vast that if moved to the Atlantic seaboard it
would extend from New York to Chicago, from Lake Erie to the Gulf of
Mexico--its area equal to that of France and England combined, with
Wales, Belgium, the Netherlands and Switzerland thrown in, for good
measure. Furthermore, it is the story of a man who, in making that
history, faced death almost daily, often under those supreme conditions
when the slightest hesitancy--the twitch of a muscle or the bat of an
eyelid--a "little quiver," as he put it--would have been fatal; it is
the story of a man who time and again charged into the last retreat
of armed and desperate murderers and brought them out hand-cuffed,
the living ones, of course; it is the story of a man who, according
to Major Blocksom, in his report of the Brownsville troubles in 1906,
would "Charge hell with a bucket of water." In a word, it is the story
of a man who has done things, who is still doing them, and whose kind
is passing away forever.

An Old Time Mississippi Childhood

THE KIND OF AN EDUCATION FOR A YOUNG RANGER. PRESENCE OF MIND EARLY
MANIFESTED

In those days when the Mississippi planter was only something less
than a feudal baron, with slaves and wide domain and vested rights;
with horses, hounds and the long chase after fox and good red deer;
with horn and flagon and high home wassail in the hall--in those days
was born William Jesse McDonald, September 28th, 1852. His father,
Enoch McDonald, was the planter of the feudal type--fearless, fond of
the chase, the owner of wide acres and half a hundred slaves--while
his grandfather, of the clan McDonald on its native heath, was a step
nearer in the backward line to some old laird who led his men in
roistering hunt or bloody fray amid the green hills and in dim glens of
Scotland.

That was good blood, and from his mother, who was a Durham--Eunice
Durham--the little chap that was one day to be a leader on his own
account, inherited as a clear a strain. The feudal hall in Mississippi,
however, was a big old plantation house, built of hewn logs and riven
boards, with woods and cotton-fields on every hand; with cabins for the
slaves and outbuildings of every sort. That was in Kemper County, over
near the Alabama line, with DeKalb, the county-seat, about twenty miles
away.

It was a peculiar childhood that little "Bill Jess" McDonald had. It
was full of such things as the home-coming of the hunters with a deer
or a fox--sometimes (and these were grand occasions) even with a bear.
Then there were wonderful ball-games played by the Bogue Chita and
Mucklilutia Indians; exciting shooting-matches and horse races; long
fishing and swimming days with companions black and white, and the ever
recurring chase, with the blood-hounds, of some runaway slave. There
was not much book-schooling in a semi-barbaric childhood such as that.
There was a school-house, of course, which was used for a church and
gatherings of any sort, and sometimes the children had lessons there.
But the Kemper County teaching of that day was mainly to ride well,
to shoot at sight, and to act quickly in the face of danger. That was
the proper education for the boy who was one day to make the Texas
Pan-handle and No-man's land his hunting ground, with men for his
quarry.

Presence of mind he had as a gift, and it was early manifested. There
was a lake not far away where fishing and swimming went on almost
continuously during the summer days, and sometimes the small swimmers
would muddy the water near the shore and then catch the fish in their
hands. They were doing this one day when Bill Jess was heard to
announce excitedly:

"I've got him, boys! I've got him! You can't beat mine!" at the same
instant swinging his catch high for them to see.

That was a correct statement. They couldn't beat his catch and
they didn't want to. What they wanted to do was to get out of his
neighborhood without any unnecessary delay, for the thing he held up
to view was an immense deadly moccasin, grasped with both hands by
the neck, the rest of it curling instantly around the lower arm. His
hold was so tight and so near its head that the snake could not bite
him, but the problem was to turn it loose. His friends were all ashore
and at a safe distance. He did not lose his head, however, but wading
ashore himself he invited them one after another to unwind that snake.
Nobody cared for the job and he told them in turn and collectively what
he thought of them. Then he offered the honor to a little slave boy on
attractive terms.

"Alec," he said, "ef you-all don't come an' unwind this heah snake,
I'll beat you-all to death an' cut off yo' ears an' skin you alive and
give yo' carcass to the buzzards."

Those were the days when a little slave-boy could not resist an earnest
entreaty of that sort from the son of the household, and Jim came
forward, his face gray with gratitude, and taking hold gingerly he
unwound a yard or so of water-moccasin from Bill Jess, who, with the
last coil, flung his prize to the ground, where it was quickly killed,
it being well-nigh choked to death already.

But even the great gift of presence of mind will sometimes balk at
unfamiliar dangers. It was about this time that the Civil War broke
out, and Enoch McDonald enlisted a company to defend the Southern
cause. The little boy left behind was heart-broken. His father was his
hero, and when by and by the news came that the soldiers were encamped
at Meridian--a railway station about fifty miles distant--the lad made
up his mind to join them. He set out alone afoot and being used to
finding his way in unfamiliar places he made the journey with no great
difficulty, eating and sleeping where opportunity afforded. He arrived
at Meridian one morning, and began to look over the ground and to make
a few inquiries as to his father's headquarters. There was a busy
place, where a lot of supplies were being unloaded from what appeared
to be little houses on wheels. They were freight cars, but Bill Jess
didn't know it. He had never seen a railroad before, and he followed
along the track with increasing interest till he reached the engine,
which he thought must be the most wonderful and beautiful thing ever
created. Then suddenly it let off steam, the bell rang and the air
was split by a screaming whistle. It was too sudden and too strange
for his gift to work. The son of all the McDonald's and of a gallant
soldier set out for the horizon, never pausing until halted by the
sentry of his father's camp.

He was permitted to enter, and was directed to the drill ground, where
his father, who had been promoted for bravery to the rank of Major,
was superintending certain maneuvers. The little boy in his eagerness
ran directly into the midst of things, and Major McDonald, suddenly
seeing him, was startled into the conclusion that some dire calamity
had befallen his family and only Bill Jess had escaped to tell the
tale. Half sliding, half falling he dropped from his horse to learn the
truth. Then gratefully he lifted the lad up behind him and continued
the drill. Eunice McDonald was only a day or two behind Bill Jess, for
her instinct told her where the boy had gone. They remained a few days
in camp and then bade their soldier good-bye. They never saw him again,
for he was killed at the battle of Corinth, October 3d, 1862, charging
a breastworks at the head of his regiment, his face to the enemy, as a
soldier should die.[1] The boy, Bill Jess, ten years old, went after
his father's effects, which included two horses, both wounded. These
he brought home, but his soldier father had been buried on the field,
where he fell.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: Col. Rogers of Texas was killed in the same charge; Major
McDonald and Col. Rogers fell side by side, within a few feet of the
works.]

III

Emigration and Adventure

A BOY AT THE HEAD OF A HOUSEHOLD. MEETING "THE DEVIL AND HIS WIFE." AN
EARLY REFORM

The boy of ten was now the head of the household. He had his mother and
sister, and most of the negroes still remained; but he was the "man
of the house" and was mature before his time. Except in the matter of
strength, he was a man's equal--he could do whatever a man could do.
Already he was a crack shot, and at the age of twelve he hunted deer,
and killed them, alone. Long before, even during his father's first
absence, he had followed runaway slaves with the blood-hounds and
without other assistance had captured them and marched them back to the
plantation. It was not a child's work, and we may not approve of it
to-day, but we must confess that it constituted a special training for
the part he was to play in after years.

The war ended at last, and with it the McDonald fortune. Slaves and
cotton were gone. Only a remnant of land, then worthless, remained.
Eunice McDonald, widowed, with two children--her home left desolate by
the ravages of war--knew not which way to turn. A bachelor brother with
his face set Texasward offered to make a home for her in the new land.
She accepted the offer, and in 1866 they reached east Texas and settled
in Rusk County, near Henderson, the county-seat. Here the brother and
sister made an effort to retrieve their broken fortunes, with moderate
success. All the family worked hard, and young McDonald, now in his
fifteenth year and really a man in achievements, did a man's part on
the farm, attending school a portion of the year. His uncle permitted
him to earn some money for himself by cutting wood and hauling it to
the village, and a part of this money he laid away. Such leisure as
he had, he spent in following the hounds, and presently, even as a
boy, became famous for his marksmanship. Coon hunting was perhaps his
favorite diversion, and frequently with his dogs he threaded the dark
woods all night, alone.

But he had not as yet achieved that perfect fearlessness which
distinguished him in later years, and there is still another instance
recorded where his presence of mind failed to work. This latter is a
curious circumstance, indeed, and should be investigated, perhaps, by
the Society of Psychical Research.

He had been out on one of his long night tramps and was very tired next
evening when his work was done. Coming in, he threw himself down on a
lounge in the hallway and was soon sound asleep. By and by his mother
came along and wakened him.

"It's bed-time, Bill Jess," she said.

He got up, walked out toward the gate, and she supposed he was awake.
When he really awoke, he was a mile from there, leaning on the gate of
one Jasper Smith, the father of two young ladies whom Bill Jess was in
the habit of visiting. Realizing where he was, and what might happen to
him if discovered just there, he set out for home down the wide public
road, when suddenly a little way ahead he saw two objects perched on
the top of the rail fence. At first he thought they were two men, and
was not disturbed; then all at once they had left the top of that fence
and in the wink of an eye, lit in the road directly in front of him.

"It was the devil and his wife," McDonald declared. "They had horns and
tails, exactly like all the pictures of the devil I ever saw. Of course
it might have been the devil and his brother; anyway they belonged to
that family. I got by those things. I didn't debate a minute, but went
home as fast as my legs could carry me, emptying my pockets as I ran,
which I had always heard the darkeys say would keep off witches. There
was a short way home by the graveyard, but I didn't take it. I kept
to the big road, and when I did get home, I didn't wait to go around
to the door, but went right in the open window where my mother was.
She said that I had imagined everything, but I hadn't. There was no
imagination about it."

Curiously enough, soon after this happened a little flock of
school-children passing near the same rail fence in daylight, saw
something that scared them so badly that some of them fainted. But by
this time Bill Jess had gathered himself, and taking his gun he loaded
it heavily and went devil hunting. However, without success.

In spite of this slight lapse, young McDonald probably considered
himself a man, now. We have seen that he was already calling on the
young ladies, and in the locality where he lived an ability to drink
whiskey was regarded as another manly achievement. There was a small
still-house located not far from his home, and he got into the habit
of visiting it and of tasting the output. One day he tasted too much
and did not return either in good season or condition. When his mother
prepared to administer punishment, he pulled away from her and stated
that he would not take a whipping. But Eunice McDonald was not one
to condone such rebellion. She put away the rod and bided her time.
One night when Bill Jess was fast asleep she wrapped and pinned
him securely in a sheet and laid on such a thrashing as gave him a
permanent distaste both for liquor and disobedience.

At another time it was attentions paid to a young lady that got him
into difficulties. The young lady was the sister of his school teacher,
and the latter did not approve of anything resembling attachment
between the two. One day the young wooer wrote a letter in school,
and passing it down the line it unluckily fell under the eye of the
teacher, who captured and read it, forthwith.

"I'll settle with you at recess, sir," he said, nailing Bill Jess to
the seat with his eye.

Bill Jess didn't care to have him settle. He was willing to let the
account run right along, and to knock off the interest. He decided not
to wait. The teacher had his back to the board, working out something
hard, when Bill Jess went away. He didn't rush wildly. He didn't even
run--not exactly--but he lost no time, tip-toeing out of there. Neither
did he go home. He'd gone home once in disgrace, and he remembered what
had happened. Eunice McDonald's combination of sheet and horse-whip
offered no fresh inducements in that direction. He walked twenty miles
to a saw-mill and got a job. Then, by and by, everything blew over;
everybody was sorry, and he returned home to forgiveness and safety. A
cyclone hit the school-house for some reason or other about this time
and demolished it, Bill Jess being raked out of the debris undamaged in
any particular. Perhaps this was vindication.

The Making of a Texan

RECONSTRUCTION AND "TREASON." "DAVE" CULBERSON TO THE RESCUE.
EDUCATION, MARRIAGE AND POLITICS

But though still a boy in years, being not more than sixteen, his
youth really came to an end now. It was the period of Reconstruction
in the South--a time of obnoxious enforcements on the one hand, and
rebellious bitterness on the other, with general lawlessness in the
back settlements. The military dominated the towns and there were
continuous misunderstandings between the still resentful conquered and
the aggressive and sometimes insolent conquerors. Young McDonald, with
the memory of his hero father, shot dead while leading his regiment
against these men in blue, was in no frame of mind to submit to any
indignity, real or fancied, at their hands. It happened just at this
time that one Colonel Greene, a relative of the McDonalds, was murdered
by negroes, who, being arrested, confessed the killing, stating that
they had mistaken Greene for a mule-buyer supposed to have a large
sum of money. The men were lodged in jail, but it was believed that
under the "carpet-bag" military law then prevailing they would escape
punishment. In later years, young McDonald was to become one of the
most strenuous defenders of official procedure--one of the bitterest
opponents of lynch-law the State of Texas has ever known; but he was
hot-blooded in 'sixty-eight, and the situation was not one to develop
moral principles. When, therefore, a mob formed and took the negroes
out of jail and hanged them, there is no record of Bill Jesse having
distinguished himself in their defense as he certainly would have done
in later years. Indeed, it is likely that if he did not help pull a
rope that night it was only because the rope was fully occupied with
other willing hands.

Of course the military descended on Henderson and set in to discipline
it for this concerted lawlessness. The townspeople as a whole, and the
relatives of Colonel Greene in particular, resented this occupation.
Charley Greene, a brother of the murdered man, in company with Bill
Jess, presently got into trouble with some soldiers who were deporting
themselves in a manner considered offensive, and the result was a
running fight with the military in the lead. The soldiers made for
their quarters in the court-house. It would have been proper to
leave them alone, then--to retire flushed with victory, as the books
say, and satisfied. But Greene could not rest. He persuaded Bill
Jess to stay with him, and they rode up and down in front of the
court-house, occasionally taking a shot at the windows, to punctuate
their challenge to warfare. Finally Greene decided that they could
charge the court-house and capture it. He primed himself with liquor
for the onset, and refused to heed his companion's advice to abandon
the campaign. The two ascended the court-house stairs, at last, with
pistols cocked. Greene had one in each hand and, with them, shoved open
the double doors at the head of the stairs. That was another mistake.
The soldiers were "laying for him" just inside, and in an instant
later his arms were pinioned, and he was a prisoner. The doors swung
to, then, and Bill Jess stood outside, wondering whether he ought to
charge to the rescue, wait there and be captured, or retire in good
order. With that gift of logic and rare presence of mind which would
one day make him famous, he decided to get out of there. He had a plan
for organizing a rescue party, and did in fact get a crowd together,
but in the meantime, under cover of rain and darkness, the soldiers
had taken their prisoner from Henderson and he was well on the way to
Jefferson, where there was a stockade. No attempt was made at the time
to arrest young McDonald, though soldiers frequently loitered about his
home premises, and with these he had many collisions, usually coming
off victorious. He was strong, wiry and fearless, and he had then, as
always, that piercing eye and a manner of going straight at things
without flutter or hesitation.

Still, he was laying up trouble for himself, for Greene's
court-martial was coming off, and Bill Jess, who went over to see if
he could be of any assistance, was promptly arrested while nosing
about the stockade, and landed with his relative on the inside. This
was a serious matter. The boy realized that it was, as soon as the
gates closed behind him. He realized it still more forcibly when a few
days later he and Greene were led into the court-house for military
trial, and he took a look at the men who were to prosecute him for
aiding in the crime of treason. Nor was he reassured when one of the
lawyers present announced that he would "defend that boy's case."
For there was nothing inspiring about this champion's appearance.
Nothing about him except his generosity seemed worth while. He wore
ill-fitting home-spun clothes, smoked a common clay pipe and his long
hair straggled down over his forehead. His shirt collar was carelessly
unbuttoned, and his trousers, too short for him, revealed common
home-knit yarn socks. Moreover, his eyes were half-closed and he had
a general air of sleepy indifference which did not disappear until it
came his turn to take part in the proceedings. Then suddenly the sleepy
eyes became alive, the shaggy hair was tossed back, the clay pipe was
laid on the table, and Dave Culberson, afterward known as an eminent
lawyer and statesman, arose and made such a plea in behalf of the boy
whose father had died at Corinth, and whose mother and sister relied
on him to-day for protection, that only one verdict remained in the
minds of his hearers when he closed. Bill Jess was acquitted, but his
relative, Charley Greene, was less fortunate. He remained in a Northern
prison several years before he was finally released. Dave Culberson
afterward represented his district in Congress, and the boy he defended
eventually served the son, Charles A. Culberson--then Governor--now, in
1909, United States Senator from Texas.

It is likely that this bit of experience with hot-headed lawlessness,
and the result thereof, proved of immense value to young McDonald. From
that time forward we find him a peace-maker, a queller of disturbances,
a separator of combatants, even at great personal risk. He had never
been a seeker after trouble and he seemed now to develop a natural
talent for preserving the peace. Wherever guns are drawn, and they were
drawn pretty frequently and upon small provocation in that day and
locality, he stepped in without hesitation and the would-be slayers
were disarmed by what seemed a veritable sleight-of-hand. In 1871, when
he was nineteen years old, he decided to follow a commercial life,
and with the money saved from the sale of the wood he had cut and
hauled, he took a course in Soule's Commercial College, at New Orleans,
graduating in 1872. Penmanship came easy to him, and upon his return
to Henderson he taught a writing class. Within the year he was able
to establish a small store in connection with the ferry at Brown's
Bluff on the Sabine River, between Henderson and Longview. Here, with
his ferry assistant he kept bachelor's hall, not the most congenial
existence, perhaps, for one with his natural leaning toward female
society. At all events, he gave it up, by and by, and after a brief
sojourn in Longview established himself in Wood County, at Mineola,
then a newly established and busy railway terminus. This was in 1875,
and his venture was a success. Soon he was considered the leading
grocer of the town.

It was during this period that McDonald made the acquaintance of
James S. Hogg, who in later life, as Governor of Texas, was to confer
his most useful official appointment--that of Ranger Captain, thus
enabling him to do much of the work which has identified his name
with the State's constructive history. Hogg, then a young man, was
Justice of the Peace at the county-seat, Quitman, a few miles distant
from Mineola, and was also conducting a paper there. He bought his
groceries of McDonald, and the account ran along in a go-as-you-please
sort of a way. They were good friends, and courted together, and it
was through Hogg that young McDonald met Miss Rhoda Isabel Carter,
a young woman with fine nerve and force of character--just the girl
for a Texas regulator's wife. And such, in due season, she was to
become, for he married her in January, 1876. His friendship for Hogg
continued for some time after that, but came to a sudden end, one day,
when Hogg, who had been elected County Attorney, with characteristic
conscientiousness prosecuted McDonald and others for carrying concealed
weapons--McDonald's possession of such a weapon having been revealed
through his aiding in the capture of a gang of boisterous disturbers of
the peace. McDonald rose and defended his own case, declaring he had
quit business to do his duty as a good citizen, and that he would stay
in jail the balance of his days before he would pay a fine.

With his usual frank fearlessness he said some hard things to Hogg
in the presence of the court, and though discharged, the two were
estranged for a considerable period. Then a truce was patched up,
but only for a time. Both were sharply interested in politics and
on opposing sides in the congressional convention. They were near
coming to blows over their differences, and were only separated by the
intervention of friends. It is not pleasant to record this of these two
worthy men, but after all they were only human beings, and young, and
then the sequel makes it still further worth while.

The Beginning of Reform

SUBDUING A BAD MAN. FIRST OFFICIAL APPOINTMENT. A DEPUTY WHO DID
THINGS. "BILL" MCDONALD AND "JIM" HOGG

But now came Bill McDonald's first official appointment and service.
Living just outside of Mineola was a man named Golden, alias George
Gordon, of hard character, and the owner of several bulldogs, similarly
endowed. Man and dogs became a menace to travel in that neighborhood,
as they lived near a public road and were allowed at large. The man was
particularly quarrelsome and ugly and was said to have killed several
more or less inoffensive persons. He always carried arms--the customary
pistol, and a bowie knife--the latter worn in a scabbard "down his
back." He was an expert at throwing this weapon, and altogether a
terror to the community. Bill McDonald would naturally resent the
domination of a man like Gordon, and when one day the latter came to
town with one of his unruly bulldogs, and the dog set upon and injured
McDonald's prized pointer, there was trouble, active and immediate.
McDonald's reputation as a good man to let alone was already
established at Mineola. He was known as a capable marksman--fearless,
resolute and very sudden. When, therefore, he produced a six-shooter
for the avowed purpose of killing the bulldog, its master, who,
like every bully by trade, was a coward at heart, interceded humbly
for the dog's life, promising to take the animal home and leave him
there. McDonald agreed to the arrangement, but for the benefit of the
community at large he promptly applied to Sheriff Pete Dowell for
a commission as deputy, in order that in future he might restrain
officially the obnoxious Gordon and others of his kind. The commission
was promptly conferred, and thus Bill Jess McDonald, quietly and
without any special manifest, stepped into the ranks of Texas official
regulators, where, in one capacity or another, he was to serve so long
and well.

But, however quiet his enlistment, his service was to be of another
sort. Those were not quiet days, and the officer who set out to enforce
the law was apt to become a busy person. Gordon very soon appeared
again in Mineola, and after investing in a good deal of bad whisky,
went on the war-path, flourishing a six-shooter and giving out the
information that nobody could arrest him. He was in the very midst of a
militant harangue when Deputy McDonald suddenly appeared on the scene,
and before Gordon could gather himself, he was, by some magic "twist
of the wrist," disarmed, arrested and on the way to the calaboose. He
demurred and resisted, but slept that night behind lock and bars. Next
morning he refused breakfast and demanded release. Deputy McDonald left
him in a mixed condition of reflection and profanity, returning at noon
to find him sober, subdued and hungry. Upon promise of good behavior
for the future, he was taken before a justice, where he pled guilty
and paid a fine. Then he took his place as the first example of a long
line of wonderful cures set down to Captain Bill McDonald's credit,
to-day; for he gave little trouble after that and remained mostly in
retirement, to be set upon, at last, by his own dogs, who inflicted
terrible wounds. His death soon afterward was thought to be the result
of this attack.

But the Gordon experience was mild enough, after all, compared with
the many which followed, and is only set down because it marks the
beginning of a career. Indeed, an episode of larger proportions was
already under way. In the timber lying adjacent to Mineola, some three
hundred tie-cutters were encamped, supplying cross-ties for the I. &
G.N. road. They were a drinking, lawless lot, and on Saturday nights
the Mineola streets were filled with riot and disorder. The city
marshal, George Reeves, and Deputy McDonald had on several occasions
made arrests and such enforcement of the law had been regarded by the
tie-gang as an affront to all. They sent word to the officers, at last,
that they would be on hand in full force, on the following Saturday,
and that the calaboose might as well go out of commission, so far as
they were concerned.

Saturday night came, and according to promise the tie-cutters were on
the street, numerous and noisy. McDonald and Reeves were among them,
keeping a general lookout for trouble, not always together. The saloons
were full, presently, and the men getting constantly more noisy and
quarrelsome. Seeing a commotion at the rear of a cheap hotel where a
number of the men had gathered, McDonald went over there, and found
Reeves surrounded. Without hesitation he shoved a way through, with his
pistol, until he stood by Reeves's side. Reeves had arrested a man, and
a general riot was imminent. The prisoner was very drunk and disorderly
and demanding that he be allowed to go to his room before accompanying
the officer. Of course the whole intention was to precipitate a general
fight, during which the officers were to be pummeled and battered to a
jelly. Catching the drift of matters, McDonald said:

"All right, take him to his room, if he's got one. I'll take care of
this crowd."

There was something in the business-like confidence of that statement
which impressed the crowd. And then he had such a handy way of holding
a six-shooter. Nobody quite wanted to die first, and Reeves started for
the back entrance of the hotel with his man. As they entered the door
the fellow reeled against the casing and fell to the ground. Then a
general stampede started, for it was called out that Reeves had struck
him. McDonald said:

"Stop you fellers! The fool fell down. I'll shoot the first man that
interferes!"

That was another discouraging statement from a man who had a habit of
keeping his word. It seemed to the crowd that an officer like that
didn't play fair. He didn't argue at all. Somebody was likely to get
hurt, if they didn't get that gun away from him. Movements to this end
were started here and there, but they didn't get near enough to the
chief actor to be effective. Finally when Reeves and his prisoner set
out for the calaboose, the crowd moved in that direction, timing their
steps to a chorus of threats and profanity. Reeves and McDonald made
no reply until they arrived at the lockup; then, the disturbers being
there handy, the officers began gathering them in, a dozen at a time.
It was a genuine surprise-party for the tie-men. They were too much
astonished for any concerted movement, and when invited at the points
of those guns to step inside and make themselves at home, they did not
have the bad taste to refuse.

"Step in, gentlemen; always room for one more," might have been
the form of the invitation, but it wasn't. It was a Bill McDonald
invitation and it was full of compliments and promises that burnt holes
wherever they hit anything. The calaboose was full in a brief time and
a box-car on a nearby switch was used as an annex. By the time it was
full, there were no more disturbers. The outer edges had melted away.
The woods were full of them. The turbulent tie-men of Texas were sober
and sensible by Monday morning and allowed to go, under promise of good
behavior, and upon payment of adequate fines.

Mineola suddenly became a moral town. Amusements of the old sort
languished. Drunk or sober, it was humiliating to flourish a gun, only
to be suddenly disarmed and marched to the calaboose by a man who acted
as if he thought he was gun-proof. It was hard to understand--it was
supernatural. It was better to go to the next town to nourish the gun.

But by this time Deputy Bill Jess was not satisfied with the quiet
life. He had found his proper vocation--that of active enforcement of
the law--and he was moved to pursue it in remoter places. A certain
desperate outlaw, a white man by the name of Jim Bean, had committed
crimes in Smith County, whence he had escaped to Kansas. There he had
killed a city marshal and returned once more to Smith County, which
adjoins Wood on the south. The officers of Smith County had surprised
Jim Bean and his brother Ed, at a small station where they had gone to
rob some freight cars, but the two men had handled their revolvers so
desperately that they had been allowed to escape, and pursuit of them
had been abandoned.

This was the kind of game that Deputy Bill always enjoyed hunting.
It was worth while. He made frequent still-hunts along the Sabine
River, the dividing line between Wood and Smith, hoping to locate his
quarry on the side of his jurisdiction. Perhaps the men knew of these
excursions and remained safely, as they believed, on the other side.
At last, however, the temptation to cross the line became too strong
for a hunter like Bill Jess. The impulse of the Ranger was already upon
him. He crossed the Sabine River into Smith, with his Winchester on his
saddle, and became an official poacher. The river bottom was overgrown
in places with tall cane-brake, and he had reason to believe that the
Beans were hiding, and storing their loot, in the dense growth. He had
heard a rumor, too, that a certain family of swamp-dwellers (negroes)
were in league with the men, and, reflecting on the matter, he
concluded to visit this house, both for the purpose of investigation,
and to borrow a shot-gun, which he thought might be more useful, in a
man-chase through a thick cane-brake swamp, than his rifle. Arriving at
the suspected house, he told in his mildest manner a tale of a wounded
deer not far away, and borrowed a shot-gun, as well as the information
that the men and dogs of the place were in the brakes. He now began a
careful still-hunt for his game, and presently came full upon Jim Bean,
who was on a horse, with a shot-gun, guarding some stolen hogs. Bean
was a great burly creature, more animal than man, from having lived and
slept so long in the woods and brakes. He had been shot at many times,
and had been desperately wounded, but such was his natural vitality,
and so hardened was he by exposure that it seemed impossible to kill
him.

Before Bean could move, now, Deputy McDonald had him covered and
commanded him to get off his horse or he would shoot him dead. Bean
obeyed and McDonald threw his own leg over his saddle and slid to the
ground, still covering Bean with his gun. Suddenly Bean made a dash for
a large tree, turning to shoot just as he reached this cover. McDonald
was too quick, however, and let go with two loads of buckshot, which
struck Bean in several places, knocking him down. He then made off in
the direction of a slough, toward thick hiding. The shot-gun was a
muzzle loader and before McDonald could get it charged again he heard
somebody coming through the brush. It was Ed Bean and some negroes. He
was ready for them by the time they came in sight, and throwing his gun
to position he commanded them to halt. Instead of doing so they turned
and disappeared in the direction from which they had come. McDonald
now mounted his horse and started in pursuit of the wounded Jim Bean.
He found where he had crossed the slough, and presently came to the
desperado's gun, which had been thrown away in his hurry. Blood-stains
made the trail easy to follow. Soon a powder-horn and then a pair of
boots lay in the path of flight. McDonald followed six miles to a cabin
occupied by negroes. Bean was not in the cabin, but barefoot prints
led into the woods. The man-hunter followed them and finally overtook
their owner. It was not Bean. The officer had been tricked--Bean had
escaped while his pursuer had been following this false lead. It was
dark, now, and further search was hopeless. Next morning the outlaws
had vanished from the country. They never returned and were heard of no
more until some time after, when news came from Wise County that both
the Bean brothers had been killed, resisting arrest.

While this episode did not turn out altogether successfully, inasmuch
as the game got away, it had a better result in that it effected a
complete reconciliation between McDonald and his old, and what was to
be his lifetime friend, James S. Hogg. Certain jealous officials were
bent upon making trouble for the young deputy for overstepping his
authority by working outside of his own county, and especially for
shooting a man in attempting an illegal arrest. McDonald held that
the conditions justified his act, and was going to make his fight on
that ground. But it never came to a fight, for when the matter was
brought to the notice of the grand jury, Hogg, by this time District
Attorney, went before that body, and regardless of the old animosity
between McDonald and himself, and of the fact that they were not yet on
speaking terms, declared that if the jury found an indictment against
the deputy for so worthy an undertaking as that which, irregular
or not, had resulted in ridding the country of a gang of outlaws,
he would _nolle pros_ the case--in other words, he would refuse to
prosecute.

When McDonald heard of this, he went to his old friend at once.

"Jim," he said, "you're a gentleman, and I know I want to act right.
Let's not be enemies any more." And they never were.

Ten years later, Jim Hogg, as Governor of Texas, would make it possible
for Bill McDonald to bring down criminals in any county of that mighty
State. But this is further along in our story.

Into the Wilderness

A NEW BUSINESS IN A NEW LAND. A "SAND-LAPPER" SHOWS HIS SAND

Hard times came on in Mineola. Railroad building was at an end; crops
failed; men who had bought goods on long credit could not pay. "Bill"
McDonald, as he was now usually called, had been one to carry long
lines of credit for his customers, and he was hurt accordingly. He gave
up business, at last, and in 1883 invested in cattle whatever remained
to him, and set his steps further westward where there was free grass.
He headed toward Wichita County, which was almost an unknown land in
that day, driving his cattle before him, his young wife at his side,
both eager to begin a new life in a new land.

To drive cattle across the wild Texas prairies, twenty-five years ago,
was an experience worth while. There were no fences, no boundaries and
few roads. Settlers were far between. The climate in any season was
likely to be mild; the air was pure and stimulating; society, such as
it was, had not many conventions.

Yet, few and fundamental as were the conditions, they were of a sort to
develop sudden situations, and one had to be ready to face them fairly
and firmly or write himself down as unfit for the wild free life of the
range. The grass was free, but there were always those who wanted to
form a trust of its vast areas and make trespassers of the smaller men.
McDonald had scarcely located his herd and pitched his tent when two of
these magnates notified him that he had better move. It was a bluff, of
course, and the man who had been deputy sheriff for half a dozen years
and purified a bad community was the wrong man to use it on. He asked
in that quiet way of his, to let him have a look at their titles, and
when they could not produce them, he added that he thought he'd stay
where he was. They began to tell him of some of the things that were
likely to happen if he did that, but he did not seem impressed by the
information. He repeated that he would stay where he was, and that
anyone who did not wish to be in his neighborhood had his permission to
move on, to other free grass. Perhaps they looked him over a bit more
carefully, then, and noticed the peculiarity of his nose and of his
eyes, and the handy and casual way he had of picking off the heads of
rattlesnakes and such things, with a six-shooter, while he talked. At
all events they did not refer to the matter again and even cultivated
his friendship. In a neighborhood where cattle thieves were beginning
to be troublesome a man like that would be handy to have around. They
were to have an example presently of his willingness and ability to
defend the rights of ownership--a small example, but convincing.

It was no easy matter to keep a herd intact in those days. In a land
of free grass, where the cost of cattle was chiefly the expense
of herding, it was not likely that the moral title to the cattle
themselves would be very highly regarded, especially where brands had
been obliterated, or where a few strays mingled with a larger herd.
The outlaw pure and simple was bad enough, but to the newcomer with a
small bunch of "cows" (cattle, regardless of gender), the vast roaming
herd, guarded by a veritable army of punchers whose respect for any
law was small enough, was an even greater menace. McDonald knew of
these conditions, and when, soon after his arrival, some of his cattle
strayed away, he set out to inspect the surrounding herds. After riding
some distance he came upon a large drove, evidently on its way to
market. It was about noon and the men were "rounding-in" for dinner.
McDonald started to address a herder, when the man turned abruptly and
started off. McDonald immediately began looking through the cattle,
whereupon the herder wheeled.

"What do you want in there?" he asked roughly.

"I was looking for hobbled horses," was the easy reply. The puncher
made some surly comment and rode away.

McDonald, presently satisfied that his stray cattle were not with that
portion of the drove, continued his search further along and came up
with the "chuck-wagon" where dinner was being prepared. Cow-men are
hospitable and the foreman invited him to dismount and join them. He
did so, and a little later the surly puncher came in, giving the camp
guest anything but a friendly look. In the course of the meal the
visitor was asked where he was from.

"Mineola," he said, "Wood County." The surly herder spoke up.

"These d--d sand-lappers (east-Texans) are getting too thick out here."

McDonald set down his coffee.

"The d--d skunks and prairie dogs are already too thick," he said.

An instant later the puncher had out his pistol, but the sand-lapper
was still quicker. The puncher was covered before he could bring his
weapon to bear. McDonald said:

"Turn it loose! Drop it!"

[Illustration: INTRODUCING REFORM IN THE WILDERNESS.

"He was disarmed with amazing suddenness."]

The herder still clutched the weapon which he was afraid to raise. The
sand-lapper stepped nearer to him, and with a sudden movement rapped
him smartly on the head with the heavy barrel of his six-shooter. It
was a thing that as a deputy he had done often, and it was always
effective. The puncher dropped his gun. One of his comrades sprang to
his assistance, but was covered and disarmed with amazing suddenness.
The foreman interfered, now, and the beginner of the disturbance was
led away to a brook to have his head bathed and bandaged; whereupon the
sand-lapper quietly finished his dinner, thanked his host, continued
the search for his missing stock, and when he had found them, set
out for home. Meeting a group of punchers among which was his surly
friend with a now bandaged head, he expected further trouble. Nothing
happened. The sand-lapper and his missing cows had the right of way.

VII

Commercial Ventures and Adventures

BILL MCDONALD'S METHOD OF COLLECTING A BILL; AND HIS METHOD OF HANDLING
BAD MEN

The inclination to commercial enterprise still survived. At the end of
a year McDonald sold his cattle and invested in the lumber business at
Wichita Falls--another railway terminus, dropped down in the prairie,
with a population of about two thousand, at that time. A little later
he established a branch business at Harrold when the railway reached
that point. Two big lumber yards were already established at Wichita
Falls, and the competition was strenuous. It was a brief experience for
McDonald, for he presently yearned for the freer life of the range,
and soon abandoned commerce, once more, for cattle--this time for
good. Yet the experience was not without valuable return, inasmuch as
it established for him in Wichita Falls, quickly and permanently, a
reputation of a useful kind in a country where law and order are likely
to be of an elemental, go-as-you-please sort. It happened in this wise:

There was a merchant in Baylor County, Texas, to whom Lumberman
McDonald sold a good bill, on time. The account ran along, until one
day the county judge of Baylor, one Melvin, dropped in and stated
that he had called to settle the amount for his neighbor. He gave his
own check for it and McDonald supposed the matter had ended. A few
days later the bank returned Melvin's check as worthless. Evidently
the quiet unobtrusive life which Bill Jess had been living as a lumber
merchant had given the impression that he was an inoffensive person who
would pocket a loss rather than make trouble, especially with a county
judge, who added to his official prestige the reputation of being a
very bad man from "far up Bitter Creek." However, this impression was
a mistake. McDonald ascertained that his customer had really sent the
money by Melvin, to pay his bill, and considered what he ought to do.
Morally, perhaps legally, he could have demanded payment a second time,
on the ground that the said customer, being acquainted with Melvin,
should have selected a more reliable messenger. But that was not the
Bill McDonald way. What he did was to write to Melvin, demanding an
explanation; adding in pretty positive terms that he expected immediate
settlement. No reply came and a second and a third letter followed,
each getting more definite as to phrase. Then one day Melvin and
certain henchmen from Baylor appeared on the streets of Wichita Falls.
McDonald who had heard of their arrival, suddenly confronted Melvin and
delivered himself in whatever terms and emphasis as he had on hand at
the moment. Melvin withdrew, gathered his clans and laid for McDonald
in a saloon where the latter had to pass. Though previously warned of
the ambush, McDonald did pass, with the result that next morning Melvin
settled his bill in full, paid for a glass door that he had broken,
and a fine and costs amounting to sixty-five dollars, for carrying
concealed weapons. What really happened to Melvin is best told in Bill
Jess's own testimony when that same morning he had, himself, been
summoned to answer a charge for carrying concealed weapons, disturbing
the peace, and for assault--said action being the result of Melvin's
judicial pull. Arriving at the court-room the prosecuting attorney
asked McDonald if he had a lawyer.

"No," he said, "I don't need anybody to defend me for knocking that
scoundrel over. I'll attend to my own case, whatever is necessary."

The attorney then stated the charge to the court. Bill Jess waited
until he was through and then asked permission to speak.

"Your honor," he said, rising, "I'm a busy man with no time to be
fooling around this way with men who give bogus checks and steal
horses and such like, but if your honor will spare about a minute I'll
tell the court what happened." He then gave a history of the lumber
transaction, and added the sequel, as follows:

"When I wrote him as strong a letter as I could frame up, and as would
go through the mail, he came down with a crowd of what he thought was
fighting men, and I met him and tried like a gentleman to persuade him
to settle up and to convince him what a dad-blamed rascal he was; which
he pled guilty to, and didn't deny. Then he gathers his feeble bunch
of fighters together, arms them up with six-shooters and corrals them
in Bill Holly's saloon, that I had to pass, going home. I met Johnny
Hammond who tried to persuade me not to take that street--said those
fellows were up there and I'd better go in some other direction. I
said I wasn't in the habit of going out of my way for such cattle, and
proceeded on up the street. When I got in front of Bill Holly's, Melvin
and his warriors stepped out. Melvin wanted an explanation of my former
remarks, and I gave it to him and added some more which I would not
like to mention in the presence of the court. Then he pulled out a big
white-handled forty-five six-shooter, but being a little slow with it,
I grabbed it by the barrel and hit him with my fist two or three times,
which kind of jarred him loose from his gun. Then I gave him a rap on
the head with it and knocked him through Bill Holly's glass-front door,
into the saloon. His pals pulled their guns, but I covered them with
the one I took away from Melvin and they nearly broke the furniture to
pieces getting out of there. I didn't see any more of any of them until
next morning. Then I looked up the bunch and got a check in full, with
interest, from Melvin, and made him pay Bill Holly five dollars for
his glass door. So far as carrying a gun is concerned, I had one, and
I got another from this fellow here who had pulled it on me. I took
it away from him and hit him with it, and I have the same here in my
possession now, to turn over to the Court."

Bill Jess reached down somewhere and drawing forth the big white
handled six-shooter, laid it down in front of the court. Then suddenly
turning upon Melvin who was present, he looked him straight through.

"Melvin, is not all I have told the Court true?" he demanded.

Melvin found himself unable to tell anything but the truth, just then.

"Yes, sir," he said, quite meekly.

McDonald was discharged and Melvin paid a fine as before noted.
Following this incident came another which solidified Bill
McDonald's reputation for nerve, in Wichita Falls. Bill Holly, the
aforementioned--whose name in another part of the State had been Buck
Holly, which he forgot when he left East Texas, after getting into a
mix-up, during which the other man died--one day absorbed an overdose
of his own stock-in-trade and set forth to shoot up the town. He went
afoot and let go at things generally, emptying the streets and bringing
business to a standstill. The city marshal was organizing a posse to
take him, and summoned McDonald, when McDonald said:

"Give me the key to the calaboose, and the' won't be no need of a
posse."

He took the key in one hand and a six-shooter in the other; marched up
to where Holly was practicing on front-doors and hardware signs; struck
the gun close up under the nose of the disturber, and with his quick
magic, disarmed him and set out with him for the lockup. Holly begged
and pleaded and was finally locked in a room in the hotel. He broke a
window before morning and promptly paid for it by McDonald's request.
He made a fairly quiet citizen during the remainder of McDonald's stay
in Wichita Falls.

Removing to Hardeman County was the only thing that saved Bill
McDonald from being drafted into official service where he was. Law
abiding citizens with his gifts are scarce enough anywhere, and
they were needed in the cattle districts of Texas. There was not
much law in those parts, none at all outside of the towns. In the
countries bordering on Indian Territory and up through the Pan-handle
a man had to "stand pat" whatever his hand, and hold his own by
strength of arm and quickness of trigger. Cow thieves and cut-throats
abounded. Officials often worked in accord with them, or were afraid
to prosecute. The man who would neither co-operate with outlaws nor
condone their offences was already on the ground and would presently be
in the field. It was a wide field and a fruitful one and the harvest
was ripe for the gathering.

Hardeman County was a tough locality in the early eighties. It had
lately been organized, and the settlers were cow-men, cowboys and
gamblers--lawless enough, themselves--and another element, which
pretended to be these things, but in reality consisted of outlaws,
pure and simple. The latter lived chiefly off of the herds, driving
off horses and cattle and hiding them in remote and inaccessible
places. Often cattle were butchered; their hides, which were marked
with brand and ear-marks were destroyed to avoid identification, and
the meat was sold. Men who did these things were known well enough,
but went unapprehended for the reasons named. In certain sections of
the Territory itself and in No-man's Land (a piece of disputed ground
lying to the north of the Pan-handle, now a part of Oklahoma) matters
were even worse. In these places there was hardly a semblance of law.
Certainly the need of active reform--of an official crusader, without
fear and above reproach--was both wide and vociferous.

VIII

Reforming the Wilderness

THE KIND OF MEN TO BE REFORMED. EARLY REFORMS IN QUANAH. BAD MEN MEET
THEIR MATCH

It was in 1885 that Bill McDonald disposed of his lumber interests in
Wichita Falls and at Harrold, reinvested in cattle and set out once
more for the still farther west. He had filed on some school-land
on Wanderer's Creek in Hardeman County, about four miles from where
the town of Quanah now stands, and in the heart of what was then the
wilderness. Somewhat previous to this, McDonald, whose reputation as
a man of nerve had traveled to Harrold, was one night called upon by
Ranger Lieutenant Sam Platt to assist in handling a gang of outlaws,
known as the Brooken Band, that infested the neighborhood. The Brookens
had ridden into Harrold and were running things in pretty much their
own way. Platt and McDonald promptly bore down upon them and a running
fight ensued as the Brookens retreated. About one hundred shots were
fired altogether, but it was dark and the range was too great for
accuracy. Nothing was accomplished, but the event marked the beginning
of a warfare between Bill McDonald and a band of cut-throats, the end
of which would be history. It was soon after this first skirmish that
McDonald sold out his lumber business and set out for his Hardeman
County ranch. As on his former migration he drove his cattle to the new
land, and after the first hard day's drive, camped at nightfall in a
pleasant spot where grass was plentiful and water handy. It seemed a
good place, and man and beast gladly halted for food and rest.

But next morning there was trouble. When preparations for an early
start were under headway, it was suddenly discovered that four of the
best horses and a fine Newfoundland dog were missing. Investigation
of the surrounding country was made, and two of the horses were found
astray, evidently having broken loose from their captors. It was
further discovered that the Brooken Band had a rendezvous in what was
known as the Cedar-brakes, a stretch of rough country, densely covered
with scrubby cedar, located about twelve miles to the south westward.
McDonald naturally felt that it was again his "move" in the Brooken
game, but it did not seem expedient to stop the journey with the herd
and undertake the move, just then, so biding his time he pushed on, to
his land on Wanderer's Creek, where he established his ranch, fenced
his property, built a habitation for himself and the wife who was
always ready to follow him into the wilderness; then he rode over to
Margaret, at that time the county-seat, and asked Sheriff Jim Alley--a
good man with his hands over full--to appoint him deputy that he might
begin the work which clearly must be done in that country before
it could become a proper habitation for law abiding citizens. The
commission was readily granted, and from that appointment dates "that
tired feeling" which the bad men of Texas began to have when they heard
the sound of Bill McDonald's name.

Another word as to the kind of men with which an officer in those days
had to deal. They were not ordinary malefactors, but choice selections
from the world at large. "What was your name before you came to Texas?"
was a common inquiry in those earlier days, and it was often added
that a man could go to Texas when he couldn't go anywhere else. It was
such a big State, with so many remote fastnesses, so many easy escapes
across the borders. It was the natural last resort of men who could
not live elsewhere with safety or profit. There is a story of a man
arrested in Texas in those days for some misdemeanor, who was advised
by his lawyer to leave the State without delay.

"But where shall I go?" asked the troubled offender, "I'm in _Texas,
now_."

They were the men who had borne other names before they came to Texas
and who were "in Texas, now," because they could not live elsewhere and
keep off of the scaffold, that Bill McDonald undertook to exterminate.
He was willing to undertake the task single handed, if necessary, and
in reality did much of his work in that manner, as we shall see.

With his commission in his pocket Bill Jess was not long in getting
down to his favorite employment, that of man-hunting. He began quietly,
for he wanted to identify some of the men nearer at hand who were in
one way and another connected with the Cedar-brakes gang. Bill Brooken,
a notorious outlaw, was the head of the band, and his brother Bood was
one of its chief members. The Brookens were wanted not only for cattle
stealing, but for train-robbing and murder, as well. A certain Bull
Turner was one of their victims. Turner was said to have been one of
the Brooken gang at an earlier time, but had abandoned that way of life
and made an effort to become a decent citizen. The gang believed he had
given information, and somewhat later when he was driving across the
country with a prominent stockman--a Hebrew named Lazarus--the Brookens
and half a dozen of their followers suddenly dashed out of a roadside
concealment and began firing. Turner was instantly killed, and Lazarus
fell over the dash-board in a wild effort to get behind something.
The frightened horses, one of them wounded in the foot, ran madly all
the way to town with Lazarus still clinging to the whiffletrees. He
received no injury, but acquired a scare which was permanent.

With the assistance of Sheriff Alley--also short a horse, through
the industries of the Brooken gang--and one Pat Wolforth, who was
acquainted with certain of the silent partners of the outlaws and stood
ready to give information, several arrests were made, presently, and
trouble filled the air.

Threatening letters now began to come to the new deputy, warning
him against further procedure--promising him death and torture of
many varieties if he did not suspend operations. Such letters always
stimulated Bill McDonald to renewed enterprise. He redoubled his
efforts and brought in offenders of various kinds almost daily.
Cattle stealers began to migrate to other counties. Their friends and
beneficiaries grew nervous.

Meantime, the railroad had reached Hardeman and the town of
Quanah--named for Chief Quanah Parker, son of the historic Cynthia
Ann Parker--had sprung up. It was the typical tough place and certain
bad men still at large came there to proclaim vengeance and to "lay"
for the men who were making them trouble. Among these disturbers was
one John Davidson of Wilbarger County, on the borders of which the
Cedar-brakes gang was located. Davidson was reputed to have killed
several men and was believed to be an accessory of the Brooken Band,
but was thus far not positively identified, and remained unapprehended.
He did not hesitate, however, to boast of his always being armed and
ready for men like Bill McDonald, and especially for Pat Wolforth who
was getting good friends and neighbors into trouble.

Davidson appeared presently on the streets of Quanah, flourishing his
fire-arms and making his boasts. McDonald suddenly arrived on the
scene, and without any parley whatever stepped quickly up to Davidson
and disarmed him so suddenly that the terror of Wilbarger stood dazed,
and did not recover himself until he was half way to the office of
justice, where he paid a fine. It was an unusual proceeding. It was
unprecedented. The customary thing was a noisy warfare of words,
followed by a general shooting, with the bad man in possession when the
smoke had cleared away. This new method was prosaic. Davidson couldn't
understand it at all. He tried it again the next week, with the same
result. He kept on trying it, and each time settled for his amusement
with a fine. Why he did not kill somebody he couldn't understand. He
never seemed to get in action before Bill McDonald had his gun and
was marching him to the "Captain's Office." Finally he got himself
appointed Deputy Sheriff of Wilbarger and came triumphantly to Quanah,
with his commission, which he believed would entitle him to carry
arms. Met suddenly, as usual, by McDonald and promptly disarmed, he
flourished his commission.

"That's all right, Bill McDonald, but I'm fixed for you this time. Give
me back that gun."

McDonald said:

"Your commission won't do you much good up here. If Sheriff Barker
wants to appoint a man that throws in with thieves, all right. But in
Hardeman County we don't have to recognize him."

There was never such a stubborn man, Davidson decided, as that fool
deputy, Bill McDonald. He decided to wait until McDonald should be
absent, and then have it out with Wolforth. When the time came,
Davidson brought a gang along with him and they followed Wolforth about
with pestering remarks, until their victim suddenly grew tired of the
annoyance, and opened fire. This was unexpected and the gang retired
for reorganization. Then some rangers, quartered at Quanah, appeared
on the scene, and Wolforth was put under arrest. He was taken before a
justice, who fixed his bond at a thousand dollars, which he was unable
to raise, because of the dread in which Davidson and his crowd were
held. It was just about this moment that Deputy McDonald returned, and
the Rangers delivered Wolforth into his hands.

"What's the matter, Pat?" McDonald asked.

His co-worker explained how he had fired on the Davidson gang, though
without damage to anybody.

"And they put you under a thousand dollar bond for it?" commented
Deputy Bill.

"Yes."

"Well, they ought to have made it a good deal heavier for your not
being a better shot. Never mind, I'll fill your bond all right," and
this McDonald did, immediately.

The Davidson crowd was still in town, and far from satisfied. Davidson
felt that he had support enough now to tackle even that hard-headed
McDonald, and he enlisted a big butcher named Williams to stir up the
mess. The gang armed themselves with long butcher knives from Williams'
shop and started out to hunt up their victim. They located him in a
saloon where troubles of various kinds were likely to originate and the
presence of an officer was desirable. Big Bill Williams, the butcher,
entered first and coming near to McDonald, slightly bumped against him.
Not wishing trouble, McDonald walked away, followed by Williams who
bumped against him again. Deputy Bill then walked to the other side of
the room, which was unoccupied, and when Williams and his crowd started
to follow, he warned them not to come any closer. At this a number of
cow-men who were present saw the trouble and stepped in, and Williams
and his crowd worked toward the door. Outside, the disturbers gave vent
to their animosity for McDonald in violent language and opprobrious
names. Suddenly McDonald himself stepped out among them and seeing a
piece of scantling about four feet long lying by the door, he seized
it and as Williams started toward him he gave the big butcher a lick
across the face with it that flattened his features and put a habitual
crook in his nose. The crowd thought Williams was killed and his
supporters began to get out of the way of the scantling. But McDonald
dropped it and had out his guns in a moment.

"Halt!" he said, "every one of you. Hold up there!" Then to the Rangers
who at that moment appeared on the scene, "Search those men for
weapons."

Search was made and the long butcher knives, intended for McDonald,
came to light. A knife of the same kind was found on Williams.

"Now get a doctor quick," commanded McDonald, "that fellow looks like
he's pretty badly hurt."

A doctor was found and Williams was removed. McDonald's wife, then
stopping at a nearby hotel, had been an interested, not to say
excited, spectator of the proceedings, and now called down a few words
of encouragement and approval. Somewhat later, word was brought to
Deputy Bill that what was left of the Davidson and Williams crowd had
collected in Tip McDowell's saloon, where a brother of Williams tended
bar, and these were declaring war to the death. McDonald promptly
went down there and entered, with a revolver in each hand. The crowd
of would-be assassins, about a dozen or so, took one look and made a
break for the back window, climbing over chairs, counters and billiard
tables--some of them almost tearing the bar down in an effort to get
behind it. Deputy Bill held enough of them with the persuasion of his
two six-shooters to give them some useful information in the matter of
running a town like Quanah and the surrounding country, as long as he
was in office.

"You thieves that have been trying to run over this country, and
stealing cattle and shooting the town up," he said, "from now on
are going to stop it. And you fellows like Bill Williams that are
selling stolen beef, are going to stop that, too. If any one of you
sells a pound of beef hereafter without showing me the hide and the
brand-marks, you'll go behind the bars and I'll put you there."

There was something about the tone of that brief address that made it
sink in, and from that time forward when beef was brought to Quanah the
hide came with it, and they would wake up Deputy Bill McDonald to show
it to him as early as three o'clock in the morning.

As for Davidson, he now became an officer of the law, in reality.
Satisfied, no doubt, that the Cedar-brakes gang was doomed, he came
to McDonald and offered to guide him to the den of the Brookens if
McDonald would cause to be dismissed certain indictments which had been
lodged against him. McDonald consulted Sheriff Barker of Wilbarger and
the arrangement was made. Davidson then ascertained when his former
business associates would be at their headquarters in the brakes, and
the raid was planned accordingly.

Getting even with the Brooken Gang

THE BROOKENS DON'T WAIT FOR CALLERS. ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-SEVEN YEARS
SENTENCE FOR AN OUTLAW

The brakes of the Big Wichita made an ideal cover for outlaws engaged
in the industry of stealing cattle and horses. There were plenty of
grass and water there and the ground was so densely covered with
scrub cedar as to afford any number of hiding places. Moreover, there
were deep gulches and canyons that made travel dangerous to those not
familiar with the region. The place was remote and not often molested.

Everything being arranged, the raiders set out--Sheriff Barker of
Wilbarger, in charge--the party including two Rangers from Quanah. On
drawing near the locality, Barker proposed that all but two men should
halt, several hundred yards from the stronghold--a dug-out occupied
by the gang when at home. To this, Deputy Bill strenuously objected.
He wanted to charge forthwith, believing always in a surprise attack.
Barker, however, being in his own county, was in command and was for
more gradual tactics. He added that McDonald's big white hat would
attract attention before they could get near enough to charge. Two men
were therefore sent to reconnoiter and report. The rest lay in hiding.
Presently peering through the trees they saw two other men ride up to
the dug-out and go in. Deputy Bill was all excitement.

"There they are now," he said, "let's get down there and get them."

Again he was overruled. In a few minutes a number of men issued from
the dug-out, mounted horses and rode away. The first two had been
scouts, and had given warning. At the same moment Barker's two men came
running back with the information that the Brookens were getting away.

"Of course they're getting away," said McDonald. "Do you suppose they
are going to wait and hold an afternoon tea when we arrive?"

Accompanied by one of the Rangers, he started in pursuit of the
outlaws, but it was impossible to follow far in that dense unfamiliar
place. Returning to the dug-out they were rejoiced to find Sheriff
Alley's horse, so something was accomplished, though the expedition as
a whole had failed, through over-caution.

McDonald now resolved to hunt on his own hook. As deputy sheriff,
he was restricted to his own county, but this handicap was speedily
removed, through Ranger Captain S.A. McMurray, who had him appointed
by Governor L.S. Ross as special ranger, with sheriff's rights in any
county in the State.

His authority was to be still further extended, very soon. One day he
received a letter from Captain George A. Knight of Dallas, Texas, U.S.
Marshal of the Northern District of Texas, asking him to come to Dallas
and be made U.S. Deputy Marshal, with authority to operate in Southern
Indian Territory and No-man's land, where a man like him was sorely
needed. McDonald went down without delay and reported at Knight's
office.

"I have heard about you and your work up in Hardeman," said Captain
Knight, "and I want you for a deputy. But first tell me what are your
politics?"

McDonald did not hesitate. Knight was a Republican.

"Captain Knight," he said, "I am the damndest, hell-roaringest,
allfiredest Democrat you ever saw. If politics has anything to do with
this appointment I'd just as well go back."

"Well," said Knight, "you're pretty emphatic, but I guess you'll do.
Your kind of politics seem to suit your job pretty well."

It was only a little while after this that Bill McDonald was also
made Deputy U.S. Marshal of the southern district of Kansas, which
enabled him to work in the remaining portion of the Territory, and now,
with his four offices--two Deputy U.S. Marshalships, Deputy Sheriff
of Hardeman County, and that of Special Ranger--he was qualified to
undertake at any time any sort of a man-hunt in any territory likely
to invite his services. He went after the Brooken gang forthwith, but
this time they did not wait for him. His fame was already in their ears.

He followed them like a hound on the trail. He never recovered his two
horses and his Newfoundland dog, but he broke up the gang, utterly. He
brought in Bood Brooken at last and got him sentenced for five years.
Bill Brooken himself escaped to Mexico, was captured there, brought
back and sentenced for one hundred and twenty-seven years. He has a
good deal of that time still to serve.

The life work of the boy who long ago had begun it by hunting slaves
in the swamps of Mississippi was well started, now; his name as a
thief-catcher was beginning to be known, and honored, and feared.
Yet his more active days--his more valuable days to the community at
large--still lay all ahead, and of these we shall undertake to tell.

New Tactics in No-man's Land

A MAN WITH A BUCK-BOARD. HOLDING UP A BAD GANG SINGLE-HANDED

Something which resembled a sense of security began to manifest itself
in Hardeman and the surrounding counties. There were still cattle
thieves--plenty of them--but with their rendezvous in the immediate
neighborhood broken up, their work became less deliberate. They
harbored now further away--in the remoter places of the Pan-handle, in
the Cherokee Strip and in the fastnesses of No-man's Land. From these
strong-holds they made their raids, which though more sporadic and less
devastating were still a vast nuisance, particularly along the border
counties, where the outlaws could run over at night, raid a herd none
too well guarded, and have the stolen cattle hidden in some gully or
canyon or brake in their own lawless land by morning.

No-man's Land was a favorite retreat for cattle thieves. It was that
strip of public land which was set down on the map as a part of Indian
Territory, but really belonged to nobody at all. Different ones of the
surrounding States claimed it, and the outlaws owned it, by possession
and force of arms. There was no law there and few law abiding citizens.
What there were, were hard to find, and they didn't want officers to
stop with them for fear of the enmity of the thieves, who were so
greatly in the majority. It was a fine, sightly land--with good grass
and plenty of water--level land, some of it, though there was rough
country there too--with good places for outlaws to hide. Here they
built their dug-outs or cabins, established their households and herded
their stolen stock. Some of the cattle they butchered, peddling the
meat in Kansas or the Pan-handle. Some of the beef they had the nerve
and assurance to drive to market--even to ship--openly, to Kansas City
or Chicago.

It was necessary that No-man's Land should be reclaimed, and it
was partly for this purpose that U.S. Marshal George A. Knight had
commissioned Bill McDonald his deputy. Thus far all statutory law had
been disregarded in No-man's Land--all officers had been defied. When,
as had happened now and then, an officer had made his way into that
wilderness, he either lost his life, or had his revolver and whisky
and tobacco taken away from him and was booted back across the border.
It had been demonstrated that Bill McDonald had a convincing way with
his words and movements, and that he had a nose for locating cow
thieves. Furthermore, it was believed that he would not be likely to
submit to any liberties taken with his six-shooter and tobacco, or to
indignities of any sort. So, when the Brookens and other established
"dealers of the range" had been evicted from Hardeman and adjoining
counties, it fell to Bill McDonald to begin the No-man's Land crusade.

He was working over in the Pan-handle in 1887 when he learned of a
horse that had been stolen somewhere below, and he set out in pursuit
of the thief. Such trail as he could find led straight for No-man's
Land and he knew that he was bound at last for that lawless locality
where U.S. deputy marshals were favorite victims.

He was alone, but this fact did not disturb him. He had always
preferred to hunt in that way. There was less chance of frightening
the game. When he reached Hutchinson County, which is in the second
tier from the north Texas line, he stopped at Turkey Track Ranch and
borrowed a buck-board in which to bring home his catch. It was still
seventy-five miles to the No-man's Land line, but buck-boards were few
in the Pan-handle in those days and this was likely to be the last
chance to get one. It is possible that Turkey Track Ranch said good-by
to that buck-board when he drove away, for while they had heard of Bill
McDonald, they also knew of the usual fate of the U.S. deputy marshals
who, with or without a buck-board, set out on an invasion of No-man's
Land.

It was a long lonesome drive across Hutchinson and Hansford Counties,
and up through No-man's Land, to the waters of Beaver Creek. The trail
was not very difficult here, for the thief probably did not expect to
be followed--certainly not farther than the border line, and had made
little effort to cover his track. It was toward the end of the second
or third day, at last, that the trail became very fresh, and the man
in the buck-board came to a halt and set out on foot to locate his
game. As silently and cautiously as an Indian he crept through the
brush until he reached a place where peering through he located, some
distance away on the river bank, a camp consisting of four men and the
same number of horses. His man had found comrades, that was evident,
and it was likely they would join in his defense. McDonald lay in the
brush, watching them, as long as it was light and then crept closer,
trying to identify the horse he was after, and which of the men had him
in charge. He had no intention of beginning operations that night, for
he had long since made up his mind that the proper time for a surprise
attack is in the early morning. Men have not gathered themselves,
then, and have not been awake long enough to be fearless, and quick of
thought and action. His purpose now was to know his ground exactly, so
that with daylight he could act with a clear understanding.

He was obliged to wait until daylight before he could be sure of his
ground; then, awake and watching, he saw the different men go to look
after their horses. He located a bay horse that answered to the
description of the stolen animal, and identified the man who had him
in charge. He crept back to his buck-board now, got in and drove up
leisurely to the outlaw camp, looking as inoffensive and guileless as
any other fly with a horse and buck-board, driving straight into the
spider's den.

"Good-morning, boys," he said pleasantly, "you-all look mighty
comfortable with that fire going. I lost my way and laid out last
night. Mebbe you-all can tell me something about the trails around
here. There don't seem to be none that I can find."

They invited him cordially to get down and warm himself and said they
would show him the trail. McDonald stepped out and walked over to the
fire, still talking about the country and the weather, working over
close to the man he wanted. The deputy wore a short overcoat, and he
had a pair of hand-cuffs in the left side-pocket. He got just in front
of his man at last and reached out his right hand as if to shake hands
with him. Instinctively the man extended his own right hand and at
that instant McDonald's left with the open hand-cuffs was out like a
flash--there was a quick snap, a sudden movement--a slight-of-hand
movement it was--then another quick snap and the horse thief, dazed and
half stupefied stood gazing down at the manacles on his wrists, while
Bill McDonald, a gun in each hand, quietly regarded the other three
members of the camp.

The captive was first to break the silence.

"Boys," he said, "what does this mean?"

One of the men turned to McDonald.

"Yes," he said, "what does this mean? Who are _you_ and what are you
going to do with that man?"

"I'm Deputy U.S. Marshal McDonald, of Texas," was the cheerful reply,
"and I'm going to take this man with me and put him in jail."

"What for?"

"For stealing that bay horse out there."

The outlaw advanced a step.

"And you'll just about play hell doing it!" he said.

"All right, I am ready to start the game right now," said McDonald.

The men whispered a little among themselves. Their saddles were off to
one side and their Winchesters lay across them, all there together.
They wore six-shooters also, but they realized who their man was, now,
and they were careful to make no movement toward them. Presently one of
the men said:

"You say you are going to put that fellow in jail?"

"That's what I'm going to do."

"Well, now let's see about that."

The men were starting in as if to make an argument. One of the party
began working a little in the direction of the guns. The idea was to
distract the officer's attention for a moment and get the drop
on him. It was a good game, but it failed to work in this instance.
McDonald brought his guns exactly to bear on the men in front of him.

[Illustration: BEGINNING A CAMPAIGN IN NO-MAN'S LAND.

"Three pairs of hands went up."]

"Throw up your hands!" he commanded, "every one of you quick! Throw
them up, you scoundrels!"

Three pairs of hands went up. That command from Bill McDonald has
almost never been disobeyed. Perhaps it is the tone of the voice
that makes it convincing. Perhaps it is the curious look in those
needle-pointed eyes of his; perhaps it is something more than
these--something psychologically imperative. Whatever it is, it has
filled the air of Texas with hands, from Red River to the Rio Grande.

"Now, face the other way!" was the next command.

The men faced about, their hands still high above their heads. With
one six-shooter still on them, McDonald went up behind each man and
disarmed him, sticking the revolvers in his own belt. Then he went
over and took the cartridges out of the Winchesters. He now marched
his men to where the horses were hitched, secured the stolen one and
tied him to the buck-board. Then he ordered his prisoner to get in and
proceeded to shackle him to the slats of the vehicle. The other three
men, meantime, were kept in a group, a rod or so ahead in the direction
of Texas.

"Now, march for Texas, you devils!" McDonald said, when he was seated
beside his prisoner. The procession started, the men complaining that
they had done nothing, and that he had no right to take them back, even
if he were authorized to take the other man.

Deputy Bill said:

"You fellows have been in the habit over here of resisting and killing
officers, or driving them out, and doing as you please. I just want
to show you how easy it is to take your kind. Come, move right along
there, now. I don't know what you've done, but you probably stole all
those horses back yonder."

The men now began to beg for their horses, complaining that the
animals left behind would stay there and starve. McDonald really had
no intention of taking them all the way back with him. He had no
warrants for them, and besides he did not care to march and camp with
that number unless necessary. His purpose was to get them far enough
away so that they would not be likely to try to overtake him and catch
him asleep when he should halt for the night. He made no concessions
however, until they were well along toward the Texas line. Then he said:

"Now, if you fellows think you can behave yourselves and want to go
back and tend to your horses, I may let you go back on that account.
But you can make up your minds, and you can tell your friends about it,
that I'm not afraid of any of you, and I'm going to clear you dam'd
thieves out of this country. I'm going to show you that there's one man
you won't kill nor run out. Now, will you do what I tell you?"

The men protested that they were good citizens, and that if he would
let them off they would undertake missionary work in the cause of law
and order. He let them go, then, and handed back their unloaded arms,
promising them another fate, if he ever caught them in mischief. He
watched them disappear behind the first rise; then, whipping up, he
made the best time he could for Turkey Track Ranch, where he rested
a day, delivered the borrowed buck-board, taking his prisoner next
morning to jail.

Redeeming No-man's Land

BILL MCDONALD AND LON BURSON GATHER IN THE BAD MEN. "NO MAN IN THE
WRONG CAN STAND UP AGAINST A FELLOW THAT'S IN THE RIGHT AND KEEPS ON
A-COMIN'"

It was natural that other work in No-man's Land should follow this
first experiment. It having been demonstrated that Bill McDonald could
go into that infested place and not only come out alive, but bring back
his man, other and more extensive contracts were laid out for him.
There were several bad gangs there to be broken up before legitimate
settlers could live there, and it was decided that McDonald was the man
for the job.

McDonald on his part was ready for the undertaking, it being of a sort
which he found always most congenial. Deciding that it was a good thing
to have a reliable partner in the handling of a gang, he selected for
his associate another deputy marshal--one Lon Burson of Henrietta--a
quiet athletic fellow with plenty of grit and endurance.

"I could always rely upon Lon," McDonald said, in speaking of that
period, long after; "I believed I knew just what he would do, every
time, and he never failed me." It may be added that Burson on his part
had complete faith in McDonald, and that their ideas of conducting a
campaign were in exact accord.

They began on what was thought to be one of the worst gangs, a band
of nine who had established on Beaver Creek a general headquarters
from which they conducted a miscellaneous business in crime--stealing
cattle and horses, robbing trains and shooting down bank officials when
occasion offered, frequently crossing over into adjoining States for
that purpose.

McDonald had laid out the plan of attack, which was to arrive on the
scene at his favorite early hour--daybreak--and then to do no parleying
or long distance firing, but to charge at once and storm the works. His
theory was--and is to-day--that the criminal cannot stand up against
the man who is not afraid of him and does not hesitate.

"If you wilt or falter he will kill you," he has often said, "but if
you go straight at him and never give him time to get to cover, or to
think, he will weaken ninety-nine times in a hundred. No man in the
wrong can stand up against a fellow that's in the right and keeps on
a-comin'. I made up my mind to that long ago, and I've never made a
mistake yet."

Here in homely vernacular is expressed a mighty truth. Crime is always
coward and cannot stand against the conviction of right. Error cannot
survive in the face of truth that does not falter and "keeps on
a-comin'."

McDonald and Burson proceeded in the saddle to Higgins, in Lipscomb
County--a station on the Santa Fe Bail road, and their last base of
supplies. Here they chartered a big three-seated hack in which to bring
back their prisoners, should their raid prove successful. They put
their own horses to this vehicle, loaded their saddles in behind and
continued their journey.

It was toward evening when they arrived in the neighborhood of the
outlaw den and camped in a secluded place, to wait for morning. The
house stood in the edge of the prairie, near Beaver Creek and was easy
of access. It was made of logs and seemed to be a deserted ranch place,
probably built by some adventurous person who had long since departed
for a locality where there was more law, even if less grass.

One of the band--an early riser--had just gone out to round up the
horses when the two deputies, mounted, made their approach, next
morning. He discovered them when they were about four hundred yards
away and made for the house, McDonald and Burson following at full
speed. The outlaw was a little in advance, and his eight companions
were out in front with their Winchesters when the officers bore down on
them.

"Go round the house, Lon, and come in from behind. I'll 'tend to them
on this side," said McDonald as they dashed up.

This maneuver was immediately put into action and in less than a
minute later the deputies were on the spot, their game between them. In
another instant both deputies had slid from their horses and were in
the midst of the confused, half awake outlaws.

"Drop them guns! Drop 'em, and put up your hands!" commanded
McDonald--his own gun and Burson's leveled.

There was not even an attempt at resistance. The bandits were simply
dazed, overwhelmed by the suddenness and vigor of the onslaught.
Heretofore, attacks--always made by a posse--had begun with scouting
and skirmish and ended with a running fight, usually at long range.
The plan of two mere deputies coming straight upon them and demanding
sudden and complete surrender was wholly new. As before remarked, there
was something about it terribly convincing--almost supernatural.

McDonald kept the men covered, now, while Burson secured their weapons.
Then, hand-cuffed and shackled, they were marched to the big hack,
crowded into it and driven fifty miles to Higgins; thence by rail to
the United States Commissioner at Wichita Falls.

McDonald, as usual, was sociable enough with his prisoners, once
secure, and delivered to them his customary homily, as they drove along.

"I just want to show you fellows, up here, how easy it is to take
you," he said affably. "You-all have got the notion that you can run
this country your own way, and that there ain't any officers that can
come up here and make you behave. Now, you-all are mightily mistaken.
I'm going to put every one of you fellows in jail and a lot more like
you. You know well enough it ain't right to act like you-all have been
doing--driving off other men's cattle and robbing trains and shooting
men that you had the drop on. You might know you'd get into trouble.
The United States has made laws against such business as that, and them
laws cover this country the same as anywhere else and every one of your
kind up in here is going to find it out."

The gang was landed safely in Wichita Falls. Some of them were
eventually convicted; the rest either became better citizens or sought
quieter territory for their industries. The cleaning up of No-man's
Land had begun.

The work of active reform was not allowed to languish. News of the
first successful raid traveled quickly, and State Senator Temple
Houston--son of Governor Sam Houston--notified McDonald that the
Sheriff of Hansford County was in need of assistance to cope with a bad
gang which had a rendezvous just across the border from Hansford, in
No-man's Land. These bandits had been carrying on the usual business of
horse and cattle stealing, and general highway robbery. Unlike some of
the officials, the sheriff of Hansford, though not noted for reckless
bravery, was in no way in league with the thieves and desired only
their extermination. His jurisdiction, however, extended no farther
than the Texas line, and thus far no State or federal officer had
rendered any assistance. As a result, the band, becoming very bold, had
pitched their camp just over the line, and had defied arrest, declaring
they would shoot the first man that stepped across.

When Bill McDonald got the word from Senator Houston, he immediately
sent over for Lon Burson and then proceeded to Canadian, Hemhill
County, where Houston lived. Here they learned more fully what work
was cut out for them, and presently continued their journey over into
Hansford, where, from the sheriff, they secured the names of the
offenders, as far as possible, and a partial list of their misdeeds.
Complaints were now filed against six men, the usual commodious hack
was secured; also, a light buggy for possible side excursions, and
McDonald and Burson, accompanied by the sheriff as a guide, drove
through the gray of early morning, to the line which divided Hansford
County from No-man's Land.

Arriving at the border, the sheriff pointed out where the robber den--a
log building--was located, not more than eight hundred yards beyond.
Then he said he would wait there until they got back.

"Come right along with us," said McDonald, "we need you to identify the
men."

But the officer said. "No," that the men knew him, and it might alarm
them if they saw him coming. Besides, he had no authority over there.

"Never mind that," urged McDonald, "I'll risk the consequences, and
I'll make you one of a deputy's posse, which fixes your authority all
right."

But the sheriff still said "No," that he didn't care for any more
authority than he had--that anything new in that line might make him
proud. He said he thought he would enjoy sitting there in the hack
where he would have a good view of what happened to them when they
tackled that outfit.

McDonald and Burson, therefore, set out in the light buggy, driving
leisurely across the intervening space. Arriving near the log-house,
they discovered that five men were up, and sitting sleepily on the
ground in front of their cabin, their Winchesters leaning against the
wall behind them. Evidently they did not look for any attack, and even
when they saw the approaching buggy, their wits were not sufficiently
collected to suspect that these might be officers; nor could they
realize that any two men in a buggy would drive over to attempt their
capture. In another instant they were covered.

"Get up from there and throw up your hands!" was the word of greeting
they received. "And don't try to touch them guns. The first man that
tries it I'll kill him."

The five men rose--it was polite to do so--also, they refrained from
offering any discourtesy in the matter of the guns. McDonald now called
the roll of the names he wanted, and curious as it may seem, each man
answered to his name. One man of the six wanted, being missing, the
officers proceeded to hand-cuff and shackle the five captured men,
and marched them back to the hack, where the sheriff of Hansford was
waiting.

Of course the sheriff didn't believe it was true. He had had such
dreams before and thought he would wake up, presently, at home, in bed.
When he convinced himself at last that he was not asleep, he offered
to aid in the search for the sixth man. He was well acquainted with
the Territory trails, and McDonald decided to send Burson to Hansford
with the hack-load and to proceed with the buggy and the sheriff after
Number Six of the gang who, it appeared, had a place of his own some
twenty miles away.

Number Six was out looking after his cattle--about thirty in
number--the result of industry--when McDonald and the sheriff of
Hansford arrived, and not expecting official guests, was unprepared.
He had, in fact, "no more gun than a rabbit," as Deputy Bill said
afterward, and his capture was child's play. That night the gang
complete set out for Wichita Falls, to be tried later in the United
States Court at Dallas.

Raids followed each other rapidly. One gang of cattle thieves after
another was gathered in, and took up the march for Dallas and trial.
Outlawing in No-man's Land became an unpopular occupation. Men of more
legitimate enterprise began to wonder if the time was not coming, by
and by, when they could do business on or within the borders of that
territory without the protection of a company of soldiers. The fame of
Bill McDonald was on every man's tongue, and those who had not seen
him, especially the outlaws still at large, usually conceived him to
be a very terrible person: large, bushy, heavy of voice and fierce of
mien. Yet he was just the opposite of all these things. He was slender,
quiet, blue-eyed, and gentle of voice--only, he had that gift of
command--that look, and that manner of speech with law-breakers which
they did not disobey. The time came presently in No-man's Land when his
name alone and a rumor that he was coming was sufficient to cause a
gang to contemplate emigration. Perhaps they believed he bore a charmed
life, and it was useless to resist him. If so, they were hardly to be
blamed for such a conviction.

XII

Some of the Difficulties of Reform

"FRONTIER" LAW AND PRACTICE. CAUGHT IN A NORTHER IN NO-MAN'S LAND

It is neither necessary nor possible to give a full history of all the
raids that during the brief period of little more than a year broke up
organized lawlessness in that stray corner of the nation and redeemed
an abandoned land. The general plan was the same in all. The early
morning hour; the hack and the Winchester; the surprise attack, and
the pleasant drive home with the guests duly hand-cuffed and shackled;
these were features common to each episode. Though conducted against
desperate men, it was a bloodless warfare. Nobody was killed--scarcely
a gun was fired. Bill McDonald's career was not to be always like that.
There was to be shooting enough and blood-letting too, but the No-man's
Land campaign was peculiar in the absence of these customary attributes
of border warfare.

Yet there are one or two aspects of the happenings of that period which
may not be overlooked here. As before suggested, the administrators of
the law were not always to be relied upon. Some of them were actually
in league with the law-breakers; others were honest enough, but afraid
of them. But there was still another sort, who being both honest and
courageous lacked information. Sometimes this resulted in curious
complications which were annoying and discouraging to an officer.
Often, the results were rather humorous in their nature. The following
is an illustration of frontier jurisprudence.

McDonald had heard of a cow thief in No-man's Land who was working
on his own hook--a sporadic case, as one might say--and went over to
arrest him. He descended upon him in an unexpected moment, and though
the outlaw strenuously protested that it being Sunday the law of arrest
did not hold good, Deputy Bill conveyed him across the border and down
into Roberts County where the cattle had been stolen and where there
was a justice of the peace--it being hardly worth while to take a
single prisoner to Wichita Falls. McDonald's idea was that the justice
would have authority to bind his prisoner over until such time as the
grand jury of that district should meet and indict him in regular form.

Now, Roberts County was a wild desolate place in those days. There was
no town anywhere about, and few people. There had been no previous call
for administration of the law of any sort, and up to that time no case
had come before this justice of the peace. On the arrival of McDonald
with his prisoner, his honor convened court with a sort of a helpless
look. His office was merely a title, so far as he was concerned, and
the wide realm of the law was to him an unexplored country. He had a
copy of the "Revised Statutes," however, which he now took down and
examined, perhaps for the first time. With McDonald's help he found
the section which related to cattle stealing, and the penalty. Regular
procedure, with indictments and trial by jury were as nothing to him.
He only knew that he had been elected to his office, and that his duty
was to administer the law as laid down. He read the law as pointed out,
and assumed a judicial severity.

"You own up that you stole them cattle?" he said to the prisoner.

The prisoner nodded.

"Then as justice of the peace of this county I hereby send you to the
penitentiary for ten years."

McDonald gasped.

"Judge," he said, "I don't believe that's quite regular."

"Why; ain't that the law?"

"Well, yes, but you see he's entitled to trial, an' mebbe it would be
just as well to bind him over under a good heavy bond, and if he can't
raise it send him to jail over in Canadian until the grand jury meets.
Of course I only mention that as being the usual way of doing things."

The justice looked a little disappointed.

"Why, yes, of course, if you want it that way," he said, "but the man's
guilty and I thought you'd like to put the thing through as quick and
easy as possible, and save expense. Oh, well, any way to suit you.
I'll make his bond heavy enough, anyway." He paused to think, perhaps
trying to imagine a sum large enough for a man who had plead guilty
to the heinous crime of cattle stealing. "I'll put him under a heavy
bond--a _good heavy bond_--I'll make it three hundred dollars!"

It will be seen that an official who was given to inspirations such as
these could become a trial, even with the best intentions in the world;
and there were others who added arrogance to their ignorance, and
connivance at crime. Nor were the raids into No-man's Land altogether
pleasure excursions even though Deputies Bill McDonald and Lon Burson,
with their headlong tactics and general disregard of death, had things
pretty much their own way when it came to the final show-down. There
were long wearying journeys in a trailless land and long night vigils
when bone and muscle and nerve were racked and the whole body cried
out for sleep. The onset might be swift and reckless, once begun, but
the preparation for that moment was cautious and slow and often beset
with difficulties. The few dwellers in No-man's Land really desirous
of getting rid of the outlaws, were afraid to reveal their anxiety, to
give anything resembling information, or even to offer shelter to the
officers. They knew that to manifest any interest on the side of law
and order would incur the enmity of the gangs and bring down reprisal
swift and bloody. McDonald and Burson realized this, and, however
severe the conditions of weather and weariness, faced them, rather than
impose any risk upon men whose only offense was to dwell among very bad
neighbors.

At one time the deputies were after a gang of five men, wanted for
murder and theft, and were driving from Higgins into No-man's Land,
with hack and team, their saddles loaded in behind, as usual. It
was late in the year, now, and suddenly in the swift Texas fashion
a norther came down, with piercing wind and fine driving snow. If
the reader has never seen a Texas norther, or a Dakota blizzard, he
will hardly understand their predicament. The wind leaps up in a wild
gale almost in an instant; the air from being balmy takes on a sudden
bitterness that wrings the body and numbs the heart and pinches the
very soul. Then the snow comes, fine and blinding--sharp and hard as
glass. No living being was ever created that could survive long in the
face of a storm like that. Cattle know when a norther is coming and
find shelter in canyons, or gather into thick bunches in the open,
their heads to the center. Birds speed away to the south, ahead of it,
or find shelter in hollows and crannies until the demon has passed by.
A storm like that always means death. The Texas norther and the Dakota
blizzard have strewn the prairies with bones.

McDonald and Burson in the face of such a tempest tried to press on,
hoping to find a shelter of some sort--anything that would break the
terrible wind. But everywhere was only the wide prairie, level as the
sea and lost now in the swirling drift. Night was coming on rapidly,
and unless a place for camp was found soon, their case would be
hopeless, indeed. It seemed to them that they had drifted for hours,
battling against the norther--though it probably was less than one
hour--when they came upon some stacks of prairie hay, which indicated
the habitation of men. Without seeking further, they made for the
shelter of the stacks, burrowed themselves and their horses into them,
allowing the latter to feed liberally from the hay. There they remained
all night and until the afternoon of the next day, the men without
food. The storm abated then, and the officers undiscouraged, pressed
on, reaching the outlaw camp late in the afternoon, instead of at their
favorite morning hour.

The surprise was quite as complete, however, for the last thing that
those bandits expected was that two officers should suddenly appear
out of that white devastation to take them to jail. They were too much
astonished to attempt resistance and were on their way to Wichita Falls
that night, following the road which earlier in the year so many of
their kind had taken.

Indeed it was this capture at the end of 1888 that marked about the
close of the heaviest work in that particular section. The year's
crusade had demonstrated that No-man's Land was not big enough to
hold a band of cow thieves and two deputies like Bill McDonald and
Lon Burson at the same time. It was no encouragement to a band of
hard-working outlaws, just as they had got their plant established and
things well under way to be suddenly pounced down upon and put out
of business by two men who had no regard for the customary rules of
fighting, but just rushed right in with a lot of impertinent orders and
an assortment of hand-cuffs and always had a big hack ready to start at
a moment's notice for Wichita Falls.

"What is the use?" one of the freebooters is said to have complained,
"A fellow no more than gets started when these dam' fools come in and
upset everything."

What _was_ the use? Such of the No-man's Land fraternity as still
remained unhung and out of jail set out for other fields of labor. Some
of them located in the more barren districts of New Mexico and Arizona.
Some of them settled in the further places of what was then known as
the Cherokee Strip, where they joined with congenial spirits in that
territory, and pretending to be engaged in agriculture--for they were
in a more settled country--Indian country--continued their old business
at the new stand. These we shall meet again presently, for if they had
said good-by to Bill McDonald, he had not said good-by to them. It
would require new tactics to deal with the new conditions--to identify
the outlaw in the pretended agriculturist, and to get evidence for his
conviction. It would require the development of another talent in Bill
McDonald's make-up, and that talent was ready for cultivation, as we
shall see.

XIII

Captain Bill as a Tree-man

THE LOST DROVE OF LAZARUS. A PILGRIM ON A "PAINT HOSS". A NEW WAY OF
GETTING INFORMATION IN THE "STRIP"

Meanwhile, the ranch on Wanderer's Creek had suffered. Compelled to be
absent most of the time, McDonald was unable to give his herd personal
protection, and now and again bunches of his cattle were driven off
by outlaws from across the border. His brave wife, facing the problem
of the wilderness with only a few hired helpers, did her best, but
was not always able to prevent these raids. The thieves would seem to
have taken especial delight in watching for the times when Deputy Bill
was absent and then descending on his herds, mainly for the booty, no
doubt, but also by way of retaliation. It was a dangerous thing for
them to do, and though they were certain to pay for it in the end; the
double temptation of profit and revenge was not to be resisted.

But while the ranch did not prosper, its owner was in no immediate
danger of bankruptcy. With his success in breaking up the gangs in
Hardeman and adjoining counties, and in No-man's Land, McDonald's fame
had grown amazingly. As a thief-taker he was regarded as a past-master.
That an outlaw could neither intimidate nor elude him, and that when he
was feeling well he could whip any number of them single-handed, before
breakfast, was the current belief. The Cattle-men's Association--a
combination of law abiding ranchmen, one of the strongest organizations
ever known--invited his special attention to their herds and
contributed a monthly acknowledgement of one hundred and fifty dollars,
which with his numerous fees made his income an ample one--often as
large as five hundred dollars a month--sometimes double this amount.

Among the members of the association was Sam Lazarus, who was with Bull
Turner when he was shot by the Brookens, and who came into town on the
whiffletrees, undamaged, but a good deal shaken up as to nerves. Soon
after McDonald's arrangement with the cattlemen, Lazarus was sending a
herd of perhaps a thousand head into Kansas, driving them across the
Territory. Pat Wolforth, whose name may also be recalled in connection
with the Brookens, was in charge of this herd, and when just beyond the
Territory line, in a very lonely district, met with misfortune. One
evening near nightfall the cattle suddenly became frightened, doubtless
through some device of the outlaws, and Wolforth and his men found it
impossible to control them. A general stampede followed and Lazarus's
cattle were scattered over the prairies and through the fastnesses of
the Strip--a prey to the spoilers lying in wait on every hand. It was
a heavy disaster and there seemed little hope of much in the way of
recovery. The spring round-up might gather in a few stragglers, but for
the most part the herds of Lazarus were believed to be beyond all hope
of restoration.

Bill McDonald took no such view of the situation. With Pat Wolforth
he immediately visited the scene of the stampede, and began looking
for cattle with the "Diamond-tail" brand, such being the symbol of
the Lazarus herd. It was a ticklish undertaking. Some of the cattle
had been butchered, and these of course were lost. Others had been
absorbed by the herds of men who though not regularly engaged in cow
stealing were in nowise particular as to whose cows they got and
welcomed anything that browsed unguarded on the range. Still others had
been collected in "pockets"--small gullies or canyons--where they were
retired from general circulation, guarded, as a rule, by one or two
ostensible cowboys.

McDonald began by prevailing upon the honest ranchmen in that section
to join at once in a general round-up by which means a great number of
cattle could be collected and distributed to their rightful owners.
The result was fairly satisfactory and a good many of Lazarus's cattle
were recovered, though not always without disputes and a display of
fire-arms, especially where the brands had been grown over by the long
winter-coat of hair. Such cases were settled first and tried afterward.
In other words, McDonald and Wolforth possessed themselves of the
cattle and then at their leisure "picked the brand," which is the range
idiom for picking the hair from around the brand with a pocket-knife,
so the brand may be seen. If the brand proved to be other than that of
the Lazarus herd, the cattle were turned over to their true owners.
When the round-up was over the cow-hunters took up the search in other
directions.

It mattered little to McDonald and Wolforth where they found the
Diamond-tail brand--they took the cattle, peaceably if possible,
forcibly if necessary. They conducted the campaign with an enthusiasm
and vigor which did not invite argument. Large herds they searched
without ceremony and if any cattle of their brand were found, they were
"cut out" with few formalities and with scant courtesy. When they came
upon bunches of the Diamond-tail brand in secluded places, they did not
pause to present any credentials except their Winchesters which they
carried always ready for instant action, and set out at once with the
cattle; also, sometimes, with the astonished cowboys as well. It was
a sudden and energetic procedure and resulted in the recovery of the
greater number of the lost drove of Lazarus.

It resulted further in a definite plan by Bill McDonald for the
discouragement of cattle stealing in the Territory, and for the
capture of the most actively engaged in that industry. As set down
in a foregoing chapter, the outlaws in the Cherokee Strip were not
likely to be congregated in a single rendezvous, as had been the case
in No-man's Land, but were scattered as individual squatters through
neighborhoods more or less friendly to their business, or at least not
bold enough openly to oppose it. Indeed, the back country was very
sparsely settled, and the Indians and half-breed whites and negroes
were not especially interested in law and order, even where they were
not directly concerned in opposing these things. Along the rivers--the
Cimmaron, the Canadian, the Washita and the North Fork of the Red
River, the country was rugged, and the hiding places for plunder were
good. The prairies were nice and level with fine land and plentiful
grass. White men had no legal right of residence there, except where
they were intermarried with the Indians, and those who acquired
citizenship in this manner were not likely to be any more desirable
than those others whose occupation was itself an infringement on the
law.

"Did they raise anything there, Bill?" McDonald was asked in discussing
the conditions, long afterward.

"Just raised hell!" the old Ranger answered drily.

Nearly all, however, made a pretense of agricultural employments; for
after all, the country, unlike No-man's Land, was really under a
regular form of government; legitimate settlement was considerable, and
there was a semblance, at least, of law and order. Also, there were
towns of considerable size, and railroads--the latter affording liberal
returns now and then when some train was waited upon in a lonely place
and the express messengers, mail agents and passengers were invited at
the point of six-shooters to contribute to a highway development fund.
The writer of these chapters was himself a resident of Kansas during
this earlier period, and he recalls now what an uninteresting month it
was when an M.K. & T. or Santa Fe or Rock Island train did not come up
out of the Territory with passengers telegraphing home for money and
the express and mail cars full of bullet holes.

Bill McDonald decided to break up this sort of thing, and set about
it in a way suggested by his own peculiar genius. It was necessary
first to identify the men who were really concerned in these various
employments, for in a country where all were "settlers," even if
unofficial ones, it was not worth while working at hap-hazard
and bothering men whose only offense might be that of squatting.
Investigation must be conducted openly and yet in a way to avoid
suspicion. His gentle manner and seemingly inoffensive personality
suited him for just such an undertaking, and he prepared and "made up"
carefully for the part.

Returning to Quanah and Wanderer's Creek, he bought a "paint horse"
(a spotted pony); an old tenderfoot saddle, such as a plainsman would
never use, and a book with pretty pictures of fruit in it--a regular
nurseryman's plate-book--the kind of a book fruit-tree salesmen always
carry. Then dressed as unlike an officer, or a cow-man, or a Texan
as possible, with these properties he set out--to all appearances
a genial, garrulous, easy-going tree-man, inviting orders and
confidences--willing to sit around all day and whittle and swap knives
and yarns, and to express any kind of interest or sympathy necessary
to encourage a man to tell his business ventures and those of his
neighbors.

It was a pleasant excursion, enough. No fruit-tree man had been through
that section before--none ever had dared, or perhaps thought it worth
while, to go. McDonald's excursion proved that profit awaited the
seller of trees who should first make that wilderness his territory.
He had expected not much in the way of sales, for he did not imagine
that men engaged in driving off and slaughtering other men's cattle,
and in waylaying trains and robbing banks would have any special taste
for horticulture. This was an error of judgment. Most of these bad
men had been fairly good boys at home at some time in the past, and
the sight of those luminous plates presenting fruit of extravagant
size and coloring, made their mouths fairly water at the thought of
its cultivation by the doorway of their own dug-outs or sod houses
or log cabins. They turned the pages lovingly, and lingered over
the wonderful plums and pears and peaches, and as they turned they
talked and somehow almost without realizing it they told a great
many things about themselves and neighbors which no well-trained and
properly constructed outlaw should tell, even to a sympathetic and
simple-hearted fruit-tree man who wrote down the orders and listened
and chuckled at some of the yarns, while he encouraged further
confidences.

He would drift around presently to his customer's former place of
residence, and to the reason for his leaving. It was easy enough for an
alert tree-man to detect a lack of complete frankness in the replies,
especially if the reason had "something about a cow or horse" in it,
that being the usual first admission that the isolation of the Strip
had been found congenial for other reasons than those connected with
its soil and climate. The tree-man did not hesitate to give a generous
return for any such confidences, inventing on the spot some of his
own for the purpose. The number and character of crimes he confessed
to having been accused of in the States would be worth recording in
this history if they could be remembered now. But, alas, like other
gay bubbles, they were blown only to charm for the moment, and once
vanished cannot be recalled. The tree-man would then fall to abusing
laws in general and the men who enforced them, and end by declaring
that he was mightily in love with that particular section and would
stay where there was little or no chance of meeting any of those
obnoxious officials, if the boys would consider him one of them and all
stand together in time of trouble. Talk like this would open the door
for anything. The rest of the interview was likely to run something as
follows:

Picture: Two men seated on a log, or down on the grass cowboy style, in
front of a dug-out; one the slim, mild-looking tree-man; the other a
burly person, very dirty, hairy and unkempt, bent over a large book of
gay pictures which the tree-man leans forward to explain. Nearby, two
horses are grazing, the "paint-hoss" with the old tenderfoot saddle and
saddle-bags; the other a very good looking animal, often saddled and
bridled for prompt use.

"By gum," nods the big burly individual, staring at a picture of such
peaches as grow only in paradise, "eating peaches like them would be
like holdin' up the Santa Fe express."

"That's what," assents the salesman gayly, "regular picnic all the
time. I s'pose you fellers in here have money to throw at the birds
after that kind of a job."

"Well, not so much after all. Too many have to have a piece out of it.
Everybody wants to help. It has to be a pretty big basket of money to
cut in two more'n twice and leave enough to pay."

The salesman shows a sympathetic interest.

"Of course," he agrees, "it's too bad to spoil a good bunch of money
by making little piles of it. I guess you have to have a good many
though for a job like that."

"No, two _can_ do it, an' there ain't no need of more'n three. One to
take care of the engineer, another to pull down on the passengers and
the other man to go through 'em. It's plum easy. They give up like
sinners at a camp-meetin', and the messengers and mail fellers come
down pretty easy, too. If they don't we put a few shots through their
cars and that fetches 'em."

"But you had to kill the messenger in that Rock Island job, last fall."

"Well, I wasn't in that mess--that was another outfit. Them boys are
huntin' trouble and 'll find it some day, good an' plenty. When I put a
job through, the' ain't nobody going to get killed unless they commit
reg'lar suicide. You ought to come down here an' go in with _me_.
You've got a persuadin' way about you that would make a man give up
anything he had and thank you for takin' it. It 'ud pay yeh better,
I reckon, than ridin' a paint-hoss over the country, peddlin' trees.
That reminds me--you c'n give me six o' them peaches, an' a few o' them
pears an' plums an' a couple o' cherry-trees and some grape-vines--the
big yaller ones--Niagaries, I think you said they was."

And this was the drift of more than one conversation between the
Cherokee agriculturists and the genial tree-man who certainly did have
a "persuadin' way" in making a man give up anything he had, in the
way of information. No one could dream that this inoffensive mild-eyed
pilgrim on a paint-hoss could ever make trouble in that wilderness of
lawless living and of desperate men.

So for several weeks the tree-man on his paint-horse with his old
tenderfoot saddle and his picture-book loitered up through the Strip
and on over into the Territory, on the surface taking orders for spring
delivery, and beneath it all locating the different communities of
offenders; the individuals of the same; stolen cattle and horses, and
securing data of particular crimes. He ended his canvass at Guthrie, a
busy frontier point on the Santa Fe, with twenty-five hundred dollars
worth of orders for trees--trees which might be bearing to this day if
the spring deliveries had been made as planned.

XIV

The Day for "Deliveries"

THE TREE-MAN TURNS OFFICER AND SINGLE-HANDED WIPES OUT A BAD GANG

But McDonald was ready now for deliveries of a different
sort--deliveries of the purchasers themselves, into the hands of the
law. As a preliminary step he swore out warrants for eight men--the
chief operators in a very bad community located along a small creek
between Guthrie and Kingfisher--about fifteen miles west of the latter.
He then went with his warrants to a deputy marshal at Guthrie and
invited his co-operation in making the arrests. The Guthrie deputy
looked at him with curiosity, wondering perhaps if this circuit-riding
Texas person was in his right mind. Clearly the fame of Bill McDonald
had not yet penetrated into darkest Oklahoma. Then, when he had looked
over Bill Jess's credentials, and perhaps felt his pulse, he said:

"If you can get a company of soldiers to go along I might undertake
that job with you. You don't know that Sand Creek crowd--I do. No two
men nor ten men could go up against that outfit and get back alive.
Bring a company of regulars over here, if you want to undertake that
campaign."

McDonald argued, and related what he had done in No-man's Land, but to
no purpose. A sudden charge might work, over there, the deputy said,
where the gangs were bunched, and were surprised before they were
awake enough to fight. But it was different over here. The bad men
were scattered a mile or so apart and while you might get the drop on
one, there'd be a lot more left to get the drop on you, and you'd be
full of lead before sunrise. No-siree, nothing less than soldiers, and
plenty of them, would do that job.

McDonald went about the town trying to enlist volunteers. He realized
that a scattered gang would require time to corral, and that its
members would be likely to be awake and busy, before he got them all
in. He did not want a company of soldiers, for such a force would scare
the gang and accomplish nothing; but he did want a few quick fearless
men for this work. Finally he wired U.S. Marshal Walker at Topeka,
Kansas, to come on first train. Walker came, and McDonald explained the
situation.

"I've got these men located, and warrants for their arrest," he said,
"and now I can't get your deputies or anybody else to give me a hand on
the job. It ain't just the sort of a thing I want to do alone, for we
ought to get to several of these men's houses simultaneous like, an' I
thought you might be able to persuade these boys to come along."

"Certainly," said Walker, "that's all right--they don't know who you
are. I'm satisfied from what U.S. Marshal Knight, of Dallas, has
written me that you know what you want to do, and how to go at it. I'll
get the men together and explain the situation."

They collected about a dozen deputies and posse-men, and Walker
explained as agreed. It was no use. The men declared that no small
force could go into the Sand Creek neighborhood and come out alive,
and nothing short of a squad of trained soldiers would be of any use.
McDonald looked them over scornfully. Then he turned to Walker.

"If I had as sorry a lot of men as that," he said, "I'd discharge them
on the spot. I'll go out there alone, if I can get a man with nerve
enough to drive a hack, and I'll bring back a load of criminals, too."

This was regarded as a bluff. Walker returned to Topeka, and Bill
McDonald's fruit-tree expedition began to look like a failure.
McDonald, however, was not the sort of a person to whom the words
"bluff" and "failure" were likely to apply. He discovered a man
presently who agreed to drive a hack, provided he would be asked to do
no fighting, and would be allowed to remain out of range.

"If you ever get 'em to the hack and tied, I'll haul 'em," he said,
but it was clear that he expected to haul home a dead deputy marshal,
instead.

They set out long before daybreak, next morning, with a big
three-seater--McDonald with an extra horse--and drove to the home of
what was considered the most desperate of the Sand Creek gang--a very
hard looking customer who lived with his wife in a dug-out in a small
clearing. When they had arrived within about two hundred yards of the
place, the driver declared that he was satisfied with his position
and did not think it necessary by the terms of his contract to go any
closer. It was full early, barely daybreak, and everything was very
still. McDonald lost no time, therefore, for a whinny of the horses
might rouse the occupants of the dug-out, and with his Winchester
cocked stepped across the little clearing and without ceremony pushed
open the door. As he did so a woman stepped directly in front of him,
calling out a warning to some one behind her. In the dimness of the
place McDonald saw a man on a bed in the corner reaching for a gun
which lay on the mattress near him. It was no time for manners. With a
quick sweep of his gun the officer pushed the woman aside and covered
the man on the bed, before he could bring his weapon to bear.

"Drop it," he said. "Drop it or you're a dead man!"

There was no mistaking the sincerity of that order. The mild fruit-tree
peddler, was merged completely into the resolute officer with eyes of
steel and a crisp voice that uttered words of unmistakable meaning. The
gun fell upon the bed. McDonald stepped forward and slipping hand-cuffs
on his prisoner, ordered him to start for the hack and to make no
suspicious movements. Arriving at the awaiting vehicle he invited him
to step in and be shackled.

"First delivery," he said to the astonished driver. "We'll go on now
and make the rest."

The next hut was perhaps a mile further along, and the sun was getting
up when they arrived. As they approached, they saw the occupant
standing in the doorway. He saw them about the same time, and suspected
trouble. His horse was hitched to a mesquite tree, and making for it he
mounted and fled. McDonald was mounted also and gave chase. The race
continued for perhaps half a mile when the officer realized that his
man had the better horse and would presently get into the brakes and
escape. He dismounted quickly, therefore, and taking careful aim began
to shoot at the ground near the flying horse in such a manner that the
bullet striking the earth would go singing by, very close to the ears
of the fugitive. He had long since discovered that a bullet singing
in that way, close to a man's ears has an impressive and convincing
sound. A man hearing a bullet sing by like that would be willing to bet
any reasonable sum that the next one would hit him, especially when
the command, "Halt! or I'll get you, next time," came with it. With
the second shot the disturbed rider brought his horse up suddenly,
dismounted and made motions of surrender. McDonald signaled him to
approach, still keeping him covered. He came up in good order, and was
marched toward the hack, the driver of which headed in that direction,
now that the danger was over.

It was thought that the sound of the shooting might have aroused
the neighborhood by this time, and the thief-hunters worked more
cautiously. There was no need, however. Gun-fire was of too frequent
occurrence to create alarm in that locality, and the sense of immunity
from the law had become too chronic to be lightly disturbed. The
desperadoes had been left unmolested so long that they had become
established in their security and careless of intrusion. Two men were
at breakfast at the next place, and deputy Bill's Winchester covered
them before they fairly realized that they had a morning visitor. These
two were hand-cuffed together and marched to the hack. The driver by
this time had picked up a good deal of courage and remained only a few
yards behind. As for the outlaws, they were inclined to be sociable,
and with the true Western American spirit discerned a certain humor in
the situation.

"Hello, Jim, you been buying fruit trees too?" was the greeting of one
of the men already loaded as the hand-cuffed pair came in. "What did
you get, peaches or pears?"

"You go to hell, will you? You'll get a tree with a rope on it before
you get out of this mess."

"That's all right--you must have bought sour grapes, I reckon, the way
you talk."

"No, his got frost-bit. They'll be all right in the spring. My apples
got a little case of dry-rot, too. I wonder how Buck Dillon 'll like
them blue plums o' his'n."

McDonald, always good-natured with his prisoners, joined in the
bantering.

"I'm delivering," he said, "I brought in a nice pair, this time," as
he loaded his double capture into the hack. Truly no situation can
entirely destroy the breezy Western point of view.

The next house lay across quite a stretch of prairie and the hack and
its contents were discovered before the approach was near enough for
effective action. McDonald on horseback immediately charged, but the
outlaw suspected the nature of his visitor and mounting his horse raced
away, emptying his six-shooter at his pursuer. Riding, and shooting
backward disturbed his aim and his bullets flew wild. McDonald also
began shooting, to bring him to a halt, not to kill. As the outlaw
uncased his Winchester, however, the officer decided that it was time
to bring matters to a focus. Dropping to the ground he knelt and set
some bullets singing close to the ear of the fugitive. At first this
only had the effect of making him sink his spurs into the pony, but at
the third crack of the gun and just as Deputy Bill was taking careful
aim for a shot that would be likely to save the cost of prosecution the
rider dropped his gun back into the scabbard, and leaped to the ground.

"Well, you've got me," he called as he came up.

"Hello, Joe, what you been buyin'? Prickly pears I reckon," was the
greeting from the hack as he came nearer--the latter half of the remark
due to a trickle of blood on the man's ear where the last bullet had
sung its warning song a trifle too close.

"Must a struck a stone and glanced a little," commented Bill Jess as
he looked at it. "I aim to make 'em miss just about three inches.
They sing nicer when they don't really hit. That either glanced off
of a stone or else it's mighty sorry shooting. Dad-slap it, that
sorter makes me ashamed of myself. Oh, well, get in an' make yourself
comfortable. I want to get along."

The boy who had been "born with a gun in his hand" as we say, and could
pick cherries with a rifle was humiliated by anything that resembled
bad marksmanship. Still, it was good enough under the circumstances,
and was justified by the result.

That was a busy day. His favorite hour for working (daybreak) was over,
now, but matters were going too well to knock off on that account.
There were at least three more of this gang, and he would get as many
as he could.

He got them all in fact, and one extra--a bad man who happened to be
visiting his brother at a bad time. The houses being a good way apart,
and the work being done rapidly and with such system and neatness, the
alarm had no time to spread. Deputy Bill knew the exact location of
each house and of course used more caution in making the approaches
as the day advanced. He stalked his game like the true hunter that he
was, creeping up unnoticed until he had it covered, keeping the hack
well out of view, though by this time the driver had lost all concern,
except that of eagerness to see the fun, and was disappointed as were
the captured fruit-tree buyers when kept out of view.

The hack went into Kingfisher next morning with every seat full and the
driver sitting on the knees of two prisoners. The Sand Creek gang--one
of the toughest gangs in the Territory--in the space of a single day
and by a single man had been retired from active business.

From Kingfisher, their captor wired U.S. Marshal Walker at Topeka
that he had his men and would proceed with them to Wichita, Kansas,
as soon as he had rested a little. Within a few days the men were
being distributed to the various points where they were wanted for an
assortment of crimes. When McDonald and his driver returned to Guthrie,
the men he had invited to assist had a downcast look. They had heard
the news of the Sand Creek gang. They had heard also from Mr. Walker.
Their excuses were many and various, and to a man they offered to join
the next expedition.

"No," said Bill Jess, drily, "you fellows are a little too slow. My
deliveries in this section are all made."

Cleaning up the Strip

DEPUTY BILL GETS "STOOD OFF," BUT MAKES GOOD. BILL COOK AND "SKEETER."
"A HELL OF A COURT TO PLEAD GUILTY IN"

The Cherokee Strip campaign was not allowed to languish. An outlaw
community about twenty-five miles north of Kingfisher, and seven miles
west of Hennessey, on Turkey Creek, was raided next. In the course of
his tree selling, McDonald had fallen in with a man who was peddling
stolen beef. He had learned that this man was operating for the Turkey
Creek gang, and that the beef he was selling was really the property of
the Cherokee Strip Livestock Association, which, it may be mentioned,
at that time had a lease on the Cherokee grazing lands for which they
paid an annual rental of one hundred thousand dollars.

McDonald now went over to Kingfisher and established headquarters;
took the beef peddler to Wichita, Kansas, put him in jail, and got on
friendly terms with him. Then he gave his prisoner some good fatherly
advice about bad company and the usual rewards of becoming the tool
of lawless men. The result was a general confession and turning
of State's evidence. The peddler of beef lodged information as to
the identity of his employers; the exact nature of their business;
the hiding place of their stolen cattle, and the locality of a deep
water-hole where they had sunk the hides in order to get rid of the
brands and ear-marks. McDonald returned to Kingfisher, next morning,
swore out warrants for the men named, and with a deputy marshal, who
declared himself willing to go, set out for Turkey Creek. They went
in a hack as usual and arrived before daylight at the house of one
Charlie Tex, where they thought it likely they might find most of the
men wanted. When they entered, however, they found only a man in bed,
who declared he had just arrived in that country; that there was nobody
at home, and that he knew nothing of the owner's whereabouts. They took
him along, however, and proceeded to another house not far away, but
found it also empty. The officers now concluded that the men had in
some manner got wind of their coming and were hiding in the bottoms.
They followed a way down the creek, breaking through to the prairie
again, not far from the Tex house. As they did so they noticed the man
with them apparently trying to signal in that direction. Then they
became aware that several men with Winchesters were walking leisurely
along the top of the grassy hill, either unaware of the presence of the
officers, or indifferent to it.

McDonald and his associate, satisfied that these were the men wanted,
set out up the hill, briskly. Their companion discouraged this
movement, insisting that they would all certainly be killed if they
molested that crowd. They continued to advance, however, and presently
the men with the Winchesters, without appearing to have noticed the
deputies, dropped leisurely back behind the hill-top. McDonald now
started running, straight up the hill, while his brother deputy set out
in a sort of diagonal flank movement around it. In a moment or two he
had apparently reached a place where he could see the retreating men,
for he called out:

"Hey, Mack, they're right over the hill. They'll get you sure."

McDonald was too interested to stop, now. He raced to the top of the
rise, his gun presented, ready for shooting, expecting to see the flash
of guns as he broke the sky-line. Instead, he saw the men running for
Tex's dug-out, and noticed that still another fellow was already there,
pacing about, like a picket, with a gun.

McDonald did not take time to guess at their plans, but kept straight
after them, supposing his companion-in-law was following. The men did
not pause when they reached the house, but made for a half-built log
stable, which formed a sort of pen, and leaping into it put their guns
through the spaces between the logs and yelled at McDonald to stop,
swearing they would kill him if he came any further.

A brave man is not necessarily a rash man, and to establish bravery
it is not necessary to throw oneself in front of a moving train or to
charge alone a half-finished log stable full of outlaws who poke their
Winchesters through the cracks at you and call you names. McDonald
discovered now that his partner was not with him, or anywhere in the
neighborhood, and he concluded to stop and negotiate. One might get an
outlaw or two through the cracks, but on the whole it didn't seem the
part of wisdom to play the game in that way.

He checked his speed when he was about sixty yards from the fort,
though he continued to advance in a leisurely walk, talking
persuasively meantime.

"Now you fellers better have some sense," he said. "You're going up
against the United States law, and even if you killed me it wouldn't
make any difference. I've got a posse coming that would be right down
on you anyhow. Besides you'd have the United States army after you, and
they'd take you and hang you for murder. I only want two out of your
bunch anyway, this time; that's all I got warrants for, and maybe none
of you are the right ones. You'd better come out and let me look you
over."

The men swore they would do nothing of the sort, and if he came a step
further they would kill him.

McDonald slackened his pace a bit--some nervous man's gun might go off
by accident. He could talk very well from where he was.

"Oh, pshaw!" he said. "You fellers wouldn't kill a kitten. Six of you
men behind breastworks to get away from one. Come out where I can look
at you. What kind of men are you, anyway?"

"Where's your partner?" called the outlaws.

"You see him, way up yonder, don't you?" Bill Jess said quaintly--"on
that hill. I haven't got a rope on him; I couldn't bring him along
unless he'd come. You-all are actin' mighty sorry the way you're doin'.
Come out of there now, and quit this foolishness."

The outlaws repeated their refusal and their warning that if he came
another step they would shoot him dead. McDonald took out his watch.

"Well, boys," he said, "if you want to make a fight you might as
well get at it. It's time for my men to be here. Your partner I got
yesterday said you'd likely try to start something, so I come fixed for
such fellows as you. Come, let's see what you can do."

McDonald waved his hand as if signaling to his companion half a mile in
the rear and made a start toward the log fort. Before he had taken two
steps, out of it piled the six outlaws and broke "lickety brindle" for
the creek bottom, like a bunch of frightened steers. McDonald ran after
them and saw them leap on their horses that they had tethered in the
bushes and go tearing down the creek, without stopping to look behind.
Evidently they did not doubt for a moment that the deputy had a posse,
waiting nearby, for they would not be likely to believe that he had
dared to face them alone unless assistance was close at hand. Deputy
Bill, on his part was not sorry to see them go, for they had him at a
serious disadvantage, and his only backing had weakened.

His companion was at the hack when he returned. The one man they had
taken in charge had disappeared. Bill Jess made a few choice remarks
and they set out for Kingfisher by way of Hennessey.

The following night as McDonald came out of a drug-store in Kingfisher,
several shots were fired at him from the darkness. He pulled his
six-shooter immediately and emptied it at the flash of the guns,
running toward them as he did so. He heard retreating footsteps, but
did not follow, as he discovered that he had left his cartridge belt in
the hotel.

He was satisfied that the attack had been made by some of the Turkey
Creek gang of the day before, trying to get rid of him, and resolved
to delay no further in putting them out of business. He enlisted a
man whom he knew, one Charley Meyers, and two other young men anxious
for adventure, and next morning struck the trail which led, as they
expected, in the direction of Turkey Creek. They followed it rapidly
and toward evening came upon their game. There was no parleying this
time. McDonald headed his force and they charged with a rush. Three of
the men threw down their arms and surrendered--the others fired some
scattering shots as they ran, and they must have kept on running, for
they troubled that country no more. The Turkey and Sand Creek gangs no
longer existed.[2]

It was while McDonald was at Kingfisher that he came in contact
with Bill Cook and one "Skeeter," both of whom were later to become
notorious in matters connected with the looting of banks and trains.
The deputy was making some purchases in a store one evening when Cook
attempted to ride his horse in the front door. McDonald grabbed the
animal's bridle and set him back on his haunches, and before Cook could
draw his gun--had him covered and under arrest. Immediately Cook's
"side-partner," Skeeter, came up swearing vengeance, and was also
suddenly disarmed and landed in jail. The incident closed there, but a
sort of sequel was to come along a good many years later, as we shall
see presently.

Meanwhile the work of "delivery" by the erstwhile tree-man was not
delayed. Following the backward track he gathered up one undesirable
citizen after another, until by the end of the season he had
established official relations with no less than fifty of his former
customers, and the rest had concluded not to wait. The story of the
work of that year alone would fill a volume if fully told, but the
telling is not necessary. Having planned a campaign along special lines
it is only needful to give one or two examples of Bill McDonald's work
to see what the rest would be in that particular field. Each field of
labor was different and called for different treatment--requiring as
much genius to conceive the method as bravery and presence of mind to
carry it out. We have now seen what he accomplished in reclaiming a
land so lost that it was called No-man's Land, and in cleaning up a
strip of country infested by desperadoes supposed to be invincible.
We have seen that he could do these things with thoroughness and
despatch and with little bloodshed. The old manner of going in with a
big posse and engaging in a general fight in which men were killed on
both sides and nothing of value accomplished he had rendered obsolete.
Men politically and personally opposed to Bill McDonald have referred
to him in print and in spoken word as bloodthirsty, and a desperado.
Certainly the reader who has followed these chapters thus far will find
it hard to agree with such opinions. That he was fearless almost to the
point of rashness we may believe, but that he ever wantonly shed blood,
or, with all his opportunities, deliberately took human life will be
harder to demonstrate.

"I never was a killer," he said once. "Some fellows seem to want to
kill, every chance they get, and in a business like mine there's plenty
of chances. But I never did want to kill a man, and I never did it when
there was any other way to take care of his case."

It may not be out of place here to refer to the method of disarming
men which McDonald used. The author has been asked how this sudden and
efficient action was performed. His reply is that it is just about
as hard to explain as those sleight-of-hand tricks which depend on
deftness and exactness of motion--the result of a natural ability
combined with long practice. Bill McDonald was born "as quick as a
cat," and disarming became his special sleight-of-hand trick. He could
locate a man's weapon and could daze and disarm him with a sudden
movement that even he himself could not convey in words, and it was
this performance that saved the lives of many men, good and bad, and
often-times his own.

It was some six years after the Kingfisher incident that McDonald was
to renew relations with the "Cook-Skeeter" outfit. He had become Ranger
Captain meantime and was engaged in some work in North Texas when he
heard of a suspicious gang, heavily armed, camped in a vacant house
in the neighborhood of Bellvue, in Clay County. Unable to go himself,
he sent his sergeant, J.L. Sullivan, his nephew, W.J. McCauley and
another ranger named Bob McClure, to investigate. Before the Rangers
reached the house a picket discovered them and set out to give warning
to his associates. The Rangers overtook and captured him, but by this
time they had been discovered by the occupants of the shanty who began
firing through the cracks in the walls.

The Rangers promptly returned the fire and charged, shooting as they
came on. The fire became very hot, but McCauley, who had many of the
characteristics of his "Uncle Bill," kicked in the door, though the
bullets were coming through it from the other side. The outlaws now
took refuge in the loft and began shooting down through the floor, the
Rangers shooting straight up from below. The Rangers would seem to
have had the best luck in this blind warfare for one of the men above
was wounded; another had his gun shot from his hand, and a third had
his hat shot through. One of them came to the opening, presently, and
offered his six-shooter as a sign of surrender. Four were captured,
including the aforenamed "Skeeter," but Bill Cook, though a member of
the gang, was absent at the time, and escaped. The captured men were
taken to Wichita Falls and one of them, a young fellow named Turner,
turned State's evidence, through McDonald's persuasive probing, and
detailed their plan for robbing the Fort Worth and Denver, next day,
giving a list of their crimes. Skeeter and the others were taken to
the United States courts at Fort Smith for trial, and pleaded guilty.
Skeeter was given thirty years and upon hearing the verdict made his
now famous remark:

"Well, this is a hell of a court for a man to plead guilty in."

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 2: Somewhat later when McDonald's work, as Ranger Captain,
was confined to Texas, another gang did rendezvous in this section--the
gang headed by the Dalton boys (formerly deputy marshals); and for a
period terrorized the surrounding country. Their crimes were daring and
bloody and their end was sudden and violent. They were shot, one after
another by a brave and accurate liveryman as they came out of a bank
they had been looting, in daylight, in Coffeyville, Kansas. According
to Bill Dalton two of the Daltons were United States deputy marshals
and lived near Hennessey at the time McDonald was selling trees in that
section.]

XVI

Texas Ranger Service and its Origin

THE MASSACRE OF FORT PARKER. CYNTHIA ANN PARKER'S CAPTURE. RANGERS, AND
WHAT THEY ARE FOR. THEIR CHARACTERISTICS AND THEIR REQUIREMENTS

The early history of Texas was written in blood and fire. Her counties
preserve the names of her martyrs. Parker, Coleman, Crockett, Fannin,
Travis, Bowie and a hundred others have the map for their monument;
their names are given daily utterance by those for whom their deeds
have little meaning.

In the beginning, after the Indian tribes--friendly at first--became
hostile, the warfare was almost solely with the savages. For a full
half century every settler who built his campfire on the frontier did
so at the risk of his property and his scalp. Those who established
homes and settlements must have been a daring race indeed, for raids
upon horses and herds were always imminent and massacres were as
regular as the seasons.

We have already mentioned in these chapters the name of Chief Quanah
Parker (still living) for whom the town of Quanah, Texas, was named.
Quanah Parker's mother was Cynthia Ann Parker, a little white girl
captured by the Tehaucano Indians, during a raid on what was known as
the Austin Colony, in 1836. A brief story of that raid will serve as
an example of a thousand others of a similar sort. The Austin Colony
settled in what is now Grimes County,[3] and consisted of something
more than a score of persons, including women and children. The Indians
who dwelt in the neighborhood seemed friendly enough until a small
party of unknown settlers came along and attempted to steal their
horses. Immediate trouble was the result and the loss of Tehaucano
friendship for the entire settlement. When the reader considers what
follows, I believe I shall be forgiven for hoping that those newcomers
who stirred up the first trouble received the sort of a reward which
only an Indian would know how to confer.

As the Austin Colony consisted chiefly of the Parker family, a rude
fortification which they erected was called Fort Parker, a name that
to-day still suggests something of shuddering horror to those who have
heard its history.

It was a fair May morning when that history was made. The early risers
noticed that a body of restless Indians had collected within about four
hundred yards of the fort. A white flag was hoisted by the savages
to signify their peaceable intentions, and a warrior approached as
if for conference. Benjamin Parker, commander of the fort, went out
to meet him. He came back presently with the word that he believed
the Indians intended to fight. He returned, however, to the hostile
camp, where he was at once set upon and literally chopped to pieces
by the savages, who then with wild yells and bloodcurdling war-whoops
charged on the fort. Some of the inmates had already left the stockade.
Others were trying to escape. John Parker and wife and a Mrs. Kellogg
were overtaken a mile away. Parker was killed and scalped, his wife
was speared and Mrs. Kellogg was made captive. Other members of the
colony were butchered right and left, and mutilated in the barbarous
fashion which seems to give an Indian joy. Silas Parker was brutally
killed and his two children, one of whom was the little girl, Cynthia
Ann, were carried away. A Mrs. Plummer--daughter of Rev. James W.
Parker--attempted to escape, carrying her little son in her arms. A
huge painted savage, begrimed with dust and blood overtook her, felled
her with a hoe, and seizing her by the hair dragged her, still clinging
to her child, back amid the butchery and torture of her friends. She
and the others who were living were beaten with clubs and lashed with
rawhide thongs. That night such of the captives as remained alive,
and these included three children, were flung face down in the dust,
their hands bound behind their backs while the Indians, waving bloody
scalps and shrieking, danced about them and beat them with their bows
until the prisoners were strangling with their own blood. Later, they
took the infant child of Mrs. Plummer and slowly choked it before her
eyes. When it was not quite dead they flung it again and again into
the air and let it fall on the stones and earth. Then they tied a rope
around its neck and threw its naked body into the hedges of prickly
pear, from which they would jerk it fiercely with demoniacal yells.
Finally they fastened the rope attached to its neck to the pommel of a
saddle and rode round and round in a circle until the body of the child
was literally in shreds. The poor fragments were then thrown into the
mother's lap. For some reason, the little girl, Cynthia Ann Parker,
received better treatment, and lived. She grew up an Indian, forgot her
own race and tongue, married a chief and became the mother of another
chief, Quanah, surnamed Parker, to-day a friend of the white race.

It was the massacre of Fort Parker and events of a similar nature
that resulted in the organization of the Texas Rangers. The Rangers
were at first a semi-official body, locally enlisted and commanded,
with regulations and duties not very clearly defined. Their purpose,
however, was not in doubt. It was to defend life and property, and
their chief qualifications were to be able to ride and shoot and stand
up against the warfare of bloodthirsty savages.

"Exterminate the Indians" became a watchword in those days, and the
warfare that ensued and continued for forty years, can be compared
with nothing in history unless it be with the fierce feuds of the
ancient Scottish clans.

Early in 1836 Texas fought for and gained her independence, the only
State in the Union to achieve such a triumph. On the following year the
Texas congress recognized the Ranger movement and authorized several
persons to raise Ranger companies to scour the country and annihilate
marauding bands. Indians and low class Mexicans ("greasers") often
consorted, and the work, desperate and bloody, continued along the ever
widening and westering frontier up to within a period easily remembered
to-day by men not beyond middle age. Many names of those early Rangers
have been preserved in Texas annals and in local song and traditions,
and it would take many volumes to recount their deeds. Jack Hays, James
and Resin Bowie, "Big-foot" Wallace, Kit Ackland, Tom Green "Mustang"
Grey, of whom the song says:

"At the age of sixteen
He joined that jolly band
And marched from San Antonio
Out to the Rio Grand,"----

these and a hundred others are names that thrilled the Texan of that
elder day and they are still repeated and linked with tales of wild
warfare and endurance that are hardly surpassed in the world's history
of battle. A.J. Sowell, himself a Ranger in the early seventies, when
Indian outbreaks were still frequent and disastrous, speaking of the
Ranger equipment says:

"We had to furnish our own horses, clothing and six-shooters. The State
furnished us carbines, cartridges, provisions, etc., and we got fifty
dollars a month."[4]

It will be seen from the foregoing how different the Ranger service
and regulations were from those of either the federal or state troops.
Unlike the army they wore no uniform, and they provided, for the
most part, their own equipment. They differed from State and county
officials in that they were confined to no county or portion of the
State, but could "range" wherever their service was needed and with
little or no direction from headquarters until their mission was
accomplished. It will be clearly seen that men constituting such a band
must be not only brave, and quick and accurate with fire-arms, but
must be men of good character and high, firm principle as well. It is
the moral qualification more than any other that has given the Ranger
organization its efficiency and power. A force, however small, composed
of men who can shoot straight and are brave, and who believe in the
right, is well-nigh invincible. The Rangers, originally organized for a
great and sacred purpose, the defense of homes, went forth like knights
inspired by lofty motives and high resolves, and during whatever change
that has come in the aspect of their duties the tradition of honor
seems to have been preserved. Indeed they have been from the beginning
not unlike the knights of old who rode forth without fear and without
reproach to destroy evil and to redress wrong.

Speaking further of Ranger equipment Sowell says:

"In the first place he wants a good horse; strong saddle,
double-girted; a good carbine (this was before the day of Winchesters);
pistol and plenty of ammunition. He generally wears rough clothing,
either of buckskin or strong durable cloth and a broad-brimmed hat
of the Mexican style; thick over-shirt, top boots[5] and spurs, and
a jacket or short coat so that he can use himself with ease in the
saddle."

And the author adds:

"A genuine Texas Ranger will endure cold, hunger and fatigue, almost
without a murmur, and will stand by a friend and comrade in the hour of
danger and divide anything he has got from a blanket to his last crumb
of tobacco."

So much for the Ranger and his origin. As the years went by and the
Indian was conquered or driven away, the Ranger's work changed, but
his personality remained the same. The Ranger of seventy years ago
is the Ranger of to-day--only, his duties have altered. Long before
the conquest of the savages a new element of disorder had entered the
field. The desperado who had stirred up the first Indian troubles had
survived and increased, to plunder his own race. The new and sparsely
settled land invited every element of lawlessness and every refugee of
crime. Local authorities would not or could not contend with them. It
was for the Rangers, now much reduced in numbers, to solve the problem
of destroying the disturber in their midst as they had driven the
savage enemy from their frontiers. They were made peace officers, and
became a mounted constabulary, their duties being to quell disorders,
to prevent crime and to bring criminals to justice. It was new
work--less romantic than the wild Indian warfare of the frontier; work
full of new dangers and what was still worse it was work which instead
of inviting the encouragement and enthusiasm of a community, was of a
sort to incur its displeasure, for the desperadoes of a neighborhood
were either the heroes or the terrors of it, and in either case to
molest them was likely to prove unpopular. So it was, during this new
order of things, that the Ranger service had to contend not only with
the offenders but sometimes with the very people whom they were hoping
to protect. This made the work hard and discouraging, as work always
is hard and discouraging when it is done amid enemies who wear the
guise of friends. How well they have succeeded is told in the official
reports. W.H. Mabry, Adjutant General of Texas in 1896, says in his
report for that year, referring to the Rangers:

"This branch of the service has been very active and has done
incalculable good in policing the sparsely settled sections of the
State where the local officers, from the very nature of the conditions,
could not afford adequate protection. Including the meanderings of the
Rio Grande we have about 3,000 miles of frontier line. Part of this
borders on a foreign country, with different customs, law and language.
Only a river fordable at most any point intervenes. But for the Ranger
force, specially equipped for continued rapid movements, this border
line would be the rendezvous for criminals of nearly every description
and class."

General Mabry then sets down the fact that the Ranger service has
increased the State revenues by something like four hundred thousand
dollars for the year through the protection of leased frontier State
lands which otherwise could not be inhabited and would yield no return
in either rental or taxes.

In concluding he adds: "It is true that the frontier force does not
and could not cover all this territory, but the fact that they exist
and are scouting over every foot they can travel prevents organized
bands from being established along this border line.... They are
circumscribed by no county limits; can easily and rapidly move from
one section to another and criminals do not care to invite their
pursuit. Specially equipped for continued rapid motion, they take up
the trail and follow it with a persistency of the sleuth hound, until
the criminal is either run out of the country, captured or killed.

"In every train robbery which has occurred in Texas, the robbers have
been either captured or killed, whenever it was possible to carry
the Rangers to the scene, so they could take the trail. The broad
expanse of sparsely settled territory in this State would offer easy
opportunity for such crimes, if it were not for the protection given by
our mobile and active Ranger force."

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 3: The scene of the Parker Massacre is located by some
authorities, in Limestone County, somewhat further north. Accounts
of the event itself also differ. The details here given are from
"Texas Rangers" by A.J. Sowell, and are said to have been supplied by
eye-witnesses.]

[Footnote 4: "Texas Rangers," by A.J. Sowell, of Seguin, Tex., 1884.]

[Footnote 5: The Ranger's boots like those of the cowboy are made with
high heels to prevent his foot from slipping through the stirrup. Both
the Ranger and the cowboy ride with the stirrup in the middle of the
foot, it being safer and also less fatiguing on a long ride, sometimes
a distance of a hundred miles between daylight and dark.]

XVII

"Captain of Company B, Ranger Force"

CAPTURE OF DAN AND BOB CAMPBELL. RECOMMENDATIONS FOR A RANGER CAPTAIN.
GOVERNOR "JIM" HOGG APPOINTS HIS OLD FRIEND ON THE STRENGTH OF THEM

It will be seen from the foregoing, and from the chapters already
published of these memoirs, that a man like Bill McDonald would be
well qualified for Ranger service. Already he had been appointed a
special Ranger in Company B., commanded by Captain S.A. McMurray, but
his duties as U.S. Deputy Marshal, in No-man's Land and in the Cherokee
Strip, had been his chief work. Nevertheless, he had, on occasion,
engaged in bandit-hunting in his own State, during this period, either
alone or in company with other officials, usually with good results.
An instance of this kind was the capture of Dan and Bob Campbell which
occurred about the time of his concluding the Cherokee Strip campaign.

With his wife, McDonald was on the way from Quanah to Fort Worth,
when, at a switch now known as Iowa Park, they met a special, standing
on a sidetrack, waiting for them to pass. It was the sort of train
that is made up for an urgent purpose, consisting only of an engine
and a single car, and McDonald recognized upon it the sheriff of
Wichita Falls, also the marshal and others of a posse, evidently out
for action. Upon inquiry, he learned that the Campbell boys, two
well-known desperadoes of that time, were believed to be somewhere in
the neighborhood, preparing to waylay a train. A good reward had been
offered for the Campbells and the sheriff and his men were considerably
moved. McDonald asked if they would like his assistance, and being
assured that they would, sent word back to his wife by the conductor of
the down train that he was going to catch some bad men, and boarding
the special already impatient to start, took the back track toward
Burke, a small station where the outlaws had been seen. When they
reached there, it was McDonald's wish to procure horses and begin the
search at that point, but the sheriff and his posse thought better to
proceed to Harrold, some twenty miles further along, in which direction
it was supposed the bandits had traveled.

Leaving word at Burke that they were to be notified in case of any
fresh discoveries, the officers again boarded the special, and upon
arriving at Harrold found a telegram that the outlaws had been seen
entering a thicket not far from Burke. Horses, and a freight car
in which to load them, were immediately secured, and the train was
backed to Burke. Here the officials separated, the sheriff directing
McDonald and the guide who had located the burglars, with a man
selected from the posse, to go in one direction, while the sheriff
with the remainder of the posse, took another course; the general plan
being to round in on the thicket where the outlaws were supposed to
be concealed. Arriving near the place, Deputy McDonald and the two
men with him discovered two horses hitched in the brush--undoubtedly
the mounts of the two Campbells. It was certain now that the quarry
was near by, and the three men waited a little for the sheriff and
his party to come up. It became evident, however, that their tactics
were of a different sort. The posse was scattering out as if they were
deer-hunting, taking stands at various distant and semi-distant points,
evidently expecting McDonald and his companions to go in and start up
the game. McDonald noticed now that his guide was not armed, and was
therefore of no further service. Turning to his other companion, he
said:

"I don't like this kind of performance. I'm in favor of charging
straight in on them."

[Illustration: THE CAPTURE OF DAN AND BOB CAMPBELL.

"He charged straight into the thicket, and suddenly found himself
almost on top of them."]

His companion seemed to agree to this plan, and without further word
Deputy Bill put spurs to his horse, charged straight into the thicket,
and suddenly found himself almost on top of Dan and Bob Campbell.
Without a breath of hesitation, he leaped to the ground, leveled at the
former, who was already in the act of shooting, and commanded him to
drop his gun. The order was obeyed; but Bob Campbell, who would seem to
have been asleep, reached for his six-shooter, and though commanded
not to touch it upon penalty of death, paid small attention to that
order. He did not attempt to fire the weapon, but lay there on the
ground with it raised, defying his would-be captor with language that
was both violent and uncomplimentary. McDonald now suddenly realized
that he was alone; that his companion had failed to join in the charge.
Bob Campbell realized this too, and became momentarily more defiant.
Then, all at once, help arrived. A dentist who had joined the sheriff's
posse, had observed Deputy McDonald's single-handed charge, and now
came bravely to his assistance. The Campbells both surrendered, then,
for the posse was not far behind. They were taken to Wichita Falls,
where the sheriff promptly claimed credit for the capture--also,
the reward. Later, the Campbells broke jail, but were eventually
recaptured, and served a long sentence.

Events of this sort kept Bill McDonald's name fresh in the Texas
mind, and made him seem peculiarly eligible for regular service.
The resignation of Captain S.A. McMurray, who had long and bravely
commanded Company B became his opportunity, and he hurried to Austin to
try for that command.

His old friend, James Hogg, was now governor of the State. Since the
settlement of their differences so long before, there had been no
discord of any kind, and each had admired the other's career, proud to
remember the friendship. Arriving at the capital, McDonald was shown
into the governor's room. Greeting him, he said:

"Well, I hardly know what to call you, since you got to be governor. I
don't know whether to call you 'Jim' or 'Mister.' I'll have to call you
'Governor,' I guess, as I want to get a place."

They shook hands cordially. Governor Hogg said:

"What is it, Bill? What can I do for you?"

"Why," said McDonald, "I came down to get to be Ranger Captain--to take
McMurray's place in Company B."

Hogg looked at him reprovingly.

"Why didn't you let me know sooner?" he said. "There are two other
applications for the place; both from good men, with long petitions and
fine endorsements."

The applicant for position forgot his old friend's title.

"Why, Jim," he said, "I never thought of it until a day or two ago. I
didn't have time to get endorsements, but I can get 'em, if you want
them. I have been working mostly in No-man's Land and the Territory
lately, but have done work in Texas too, and I can get about any kind
of endorsement you want."

Hogg laughed. He had a robust sense of humor.

"By gatlins!" he said, using his favorite expression. "That's all
right, Bill, you have already got the best endorsement I ever saw."

McDonald looked puzzled.

"I don't understand," he said, "I didn't know anybody knew I wanted a
place."

"All the same, you have got the endorsements," insisted Hogg.

He turned to his desk, and got out a bundle of letters.

"Look over these," he said. "You probably know some of the writers."

McDonald took the letters, and read them one after another. They
were from well-known criminals, their lawyers, their friends and
their associates. They had been received by Hogg while he was
attorney-general, and each was a protest and a complaint against
McDonald, declaring him to be a ruthless and tyrannical official, whose
chief recreation was hounding good citizens for the sake of revenge
or glory, enforcing laws that were not on the statute books, adding
that it was not unusual for him to put the said citizen in jail, or in
box-cars, declaring further that he sometimes hitched them to posts
with chains, and that he was a menace to legitimate settlement and
society in general.

McDonald looked over some of these documents, and grinned.

"That's so, Jim," he said, "I do put 'em in box-cars when there ain't
a jail; the way I used to do back in Mineola--you recollect, when the
jail was full--and I lariat 'em out with a chain and a post when there
ain't a box-car handy; but I don't reckon they're innocent."

Hogg nodded.

"By gatlins! Those endorsements are good enough for me," he said. "They
carry the flavor of conviction, I appoint you Ranger Captain on the
strength of them."

McDonald returned to Quanah with his appointment as captain of "Company
B, Frontier Battalion." The headquarters of the company were then at
Amarillo, in the southern part of Potter County, near the Randall
County line. This was almost the exact center of the Pan-handle, and in
a locality sparsely settled, untamed, and lawless.

Since the early days of "Ranging" there had been not much change in
Ranger regulations and equipment. The character of the work, however,
had changed and the force had been reduced in numbers. Company B now
consisted of only eight members all told. These were supposed to range
over all that vast section known as the Pan-handle, and were subject
to orders that might take them to any other portion of the State where
their assistance was needed. The Rangers were peace-officers, their
duty being to assist the local officers, rather than to take the
initiative and predominate.[6] In the Pan-handle, however, and in many
other portions of the State, the Rangers were obliged to lead, for the
reason that the local officers were either incapable, indifferent, or
incriminated, as we have already seen.

The Ranger camp at Amarillo--besides the eight men mentioned--consisted
of tents, furnished by the State, a wagon and mule team, a hack, and
two pack-mules. Each Ranger furnished his own horse and arms; the State
paid for food and ammunition, also for transportation when necessary.
In Company B were enrolled Sergeants J.M. Brittain and W.J. Sullivan;
Privates John and Tom Platt, Jim Green, John Bracken and John Bishop;
also somewhat later, W.J. McCauley--McDonald's nephew--a daring
youth--then about eighteen years old, but a natural plainsman, dashing
and fearless; an ideal Ranger.

Expeditions were always made with horses. When the distance was far,
the horses and pack-mules were shipped to the nearest railway-point,
sometimes by special train; an engine and car being secured for
such excursions. This train would stop at any point required; the
horses and pack-mules were jumped from the door of the car to the
ground--sometimes a distance of several feet--and when the point of
attack was close by, this wild little army would sweep across the
prairie or through the bushes; the pack-mules, loaded with cooking
utensils and tinware, often clattering ahead--riderless, but seeming to
know by instinct where to go--braying, with tail in air, constituting
an advance guard of reform. It would seem that such a charge might have
given the alarm and frightened every outlaw within a radius of several
miles; but as a matter of fact, these charges were generally planned
and undertaken with great secrecy, and the sudden clamor of such an
approach was likely to create an amazement which did not subside to the
point of action before the time for escape had slipped by. Speaking of
it afterwards, Captain McDonald said:

"That infernal racket seemed to jar the nerve of a criminal, for I
never knew a pack-mule charge where the men we wanted seemed to have
either spunk enough to put up a good fight or sense enough to get
away."

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 6: This came into dispute somewhat later and the
Twenty-seventh Legislature passed an Act confirming what had always
been their custom.]

XVIII

An Exciting Indian Campaign

FIRST SERVICE AS RANGER CAPTAIN. BIGGEST INDIAN SCARE ON RECORD

It was in January, 1891, that Bill McDonald received his appointment
as Ranger Captain, and his first official service was not long
delayed. He arrived at Amarillo about midnight, and was received with
congratulations, for the news had traveled ahead of him. He was tired,
however, and the hour was late, so he presently slipped away to bed.
He had hardly fallen asleep when he was rudely awakened and handed
a telegram which stated that the Indians had made a raid across the
border, and were killing and robbing in Hall County, near Salisbury.

Captain McDonald read the telegram and laughed. There had been no
Indian troubles in Texas for a number of years. White renegades there
were in plenty, but Indian outbreaks had long since ceased.

"I guess the boys are trying to have some fun with me on my first
night," he said, and turned in once more to sleep. But a few minutes
later another telegram came; and another; this time from the
superintendent of the railroad company--a Mr. Good, whom McDonald knew
as a man not given to practical joking.

The Ranger Captain dressed himself, hurried over to the telegraph
office and got the operator there to talk over the wire to the operator
where the scare had originated. He learned that it seemed to be
genuine, and that everybody was leaving the neighborhood. The operator
at Salisbury ended his information with "Good-by, I'm going now myself."

Captain Bill still could not believe it a genuine Indian incursion.
Hall County was in the second tier from the Territory line, and the
Indians would have had to cross Childress County to get to it. He did
not believe that they would undertake to do this, or that they could
have accomplished it without previous alarms. Still, it was his duty
to investigate. He got a special train; loaded in men, horses and
pack-mules, and set out on a hunt for Indians. It was about a hundred
miles to Salisbury, and they reached there early in the day. Not a soul
was in sight anywhere. The inhabitants were hidden, some in dug-outs,
some in haystacks, some in the tall grass. Here and there, as the train
pulled in, McDonald saw a head stick out from a sod house far out on
the prairie, then suddenly disappear, like a prairie-dog dropping into
his hole. He set out to interview some of these wary settlers, and
learned that the Indian alarm had been given by a man--a new settler
just arrived in the country--who had ridden his horse to death and lost
one of his children--having left him far behind somewhere--in his wild
eagerness to escape the savages who, he declared, were burning and
scalping not far away. Captain Bill found this man, and after a little
talk with him was convinced that what he had seen was nothing more nor
less than some cowboys on a round-up, disporting themselves around
their campfire at night, as cowboys will--dancing and capering in the
mad manner of young plainsmen whose ideas of amusement are elemental,
and whose opportunities for social diversions are few. The man and the
neighborhood, however, remained unconvinced, so it was decided to visit
the scene of the disturbance.

Horses, men and pack-mules unloaded themselves from the freight car,
and went racing over the prairie; the pack-mules, as usual, plunging
and braying with tail in air, their tinware clattering in a manner
calculated to put a whole tribe of Indians into a panic and send them
capering across the eastern horizon into their own domain. But there
were no Indians. It was as Captain Bill had thought; a gang of cowboys,
the evening before, had rounded up some cattle; killed a beef; carried
it to their camp near by, where they had built a great fire and roasted
it, doing a wild war-dance of celebration, and shooting off their
six-shooters in their prodigal expression of joy. Viewed from a little
distance, through a sort of mirage condition which had exaggerated the
whole effect, the scene to the newcomers was a horrifying picture of
savages about a burning home, with the inhabitants fleeing for their
lives.

The man who had just moved in had stampeded for his own safety and
started a general alarm, which did not subside even when the cowboys
themselves came in and testified to the truth. The panic spread
throughout that section of the country and other reports of Indian
outbreaks were circulated, becoming magnified until it was believed
that the Indians had broken out, and were making a general raid on the
Pan-handle. The inhabitants of one town, south of Amarillo, threw up
breastworks, got behind them, and put out pickets in preparation for
the arrival of the Indians. Every man seen loping across the prairie
was reported as an Indian; and all this happened as late as 1891,
when there had been no Indian outbreaks for years, and when there was
scarcely a possibility of anything of the sort. It was a big joke, of
course, afterward, but it seemed no joke at the time, and it was Bill
McDonald's initiation as Captain of Company B.

XIX

A Bit of Farming and Politics

CAPTAIN BILL AND HIS GOATS. THE "CAR-SHED" CONVENTION

There were to be plenty of real alarms soon enough, with plenty of
desperately hard work. Before taking up this part of the story,
however, it may not be out of place to dwell briefly on certain other
labors and interests incident to this period in Captain McDonald's
career.

The ranch on Wanderer's Creek, conducted for the most part by his
plucky wife, remained one of his possessions and in time became not
unprofitable. McDonald was one of the first to break land in that
section and when he put in a sowing of wheat it was thought that he had
gone daft. But the following year when the plowed land turned off a
crop of from twenty to thirty bushels to the acre, those who had been
first to scoff were likewise the earliest to imitate.

Captain Bill now became chief promoter in a plan for the irrigation
of this fruitful soil--the water to be obtained by damming Wanderer's
Creek. Several years later, two men of influence and substance, Cecil
Lyon and Joseph Rice, gave able support to this project with the result
that thousands of acres of grazing land became fertile farms--the
cowman's domain passing into the hands of tillers of the soil. The town
of Quanah reflected the steady agricultural increase, and what had been
an antelope range when McDonald and his wife first drove their herds to
that region, became a bustling city--in due time law-abiding--with a
population steadily increasing to this day.

The mention of the McDonald herds opens a way here for recording an
incident connected with the stocking of the Wanderer's Creek range.
McDonald and his wife had decided that they would raise goats as a
sort of by-product and began business in this line by introducing a
flock of considerable size. However, it was a mistake. The goats were
a great nuisance. They would be feeding quietly on the range, when
suddenly, without warning, they would be seized with an impulse for
violent exercise, and would break away and go racing over the prairie
for seven or eight miles, to the brakes of the Pease River, where it
was very mountainous and hilly--altogether in accord with a goat's idea
of landscape. All the horses on the range were in danger of being run
to death chasing goats, getting them together and bringing them back to
the range. Finally it got to be a regular occupation, when there was
nothing else to do, to head for the Pease River and chase goats. One of
the men came in one morning when Captain Bill happened to be at home,
and asked:

"Well, Cap, what shall I do to-day?"

"Oh, I don't know. Go chase goats, I reckon."

"All right; but if you want me to do that, you'll have to get you some
goats. I rode all my horses down a couple o' days ago, hunting for them
in the brakes, and there ain't a goat to be found within forty miles.

"D----n the goats," said Captain Bill, "I don't care much for goats,
anyhow."

There had been about two hundred of them, and for several years
afterward, hunters from other States in these wilds used to bring down
"mountain sheep" and "antelope," which bore strong resemblance to the
flocks which had once been Captain Bill's.

It was not long after McDonald's appointment as Ranger Captain that
the State political campaign came on. He had never lost his interest
in politics since the first awakening in the old Mineola days, when
he and Jim Hogg had been ranged against each other, ready to shed
blood for their candidates. Now, Hogg was governor and a candidate
for reëlection, with Bill McDonald ready to show what he could do in
the way of gratitude for favors past and present. The convention for
the nomination of the State officials was to be held at Houston, and
there was a good deal of excitement, as the opposition was likely
to be strong, with nominations closely contested. McDonald resolved
to be on hand and ready for any condition or emergency. Arriving in
Houston he learned upon investigation that the supporters of Hogg's
opponent, George Clark of Waco, had laid a plan to pack the convention
with Clark's friends; to occupy it so fully in fact, that it would be
impossible for the regular delegates to get seats. This would make
it necessary for them to meet elsewhere, and would cause them to be
regarded as bolters from the regular convention. Upon satisfying
himself that this was to be the program, Captain McDonald promptly went
to his old friend and other leaders, and proposed to take charge of
matters. As Captain of the Rangers, he was under the Governor's orders,
and with Hogg's sanction he could use his own methods for preserving
the peace and for the prevention of scrambling and riot.

The convention was to be held in the "car-shed," a very large building,
which had been seated for the purpose. It had a wide entrance to
admit cars, and it could easily have been filled and crowded by a
mob. Captain Bill's plan was to put a good capable fence across this
wide opening, leaving a narrow passageway for a gate, which would be
completely guarded. No one unable to show credentials as a delegate
would be permitted to enter until the delegates were in and seated.

Governor Hogg approved of the idea and issued an order accordingly.
There was no delay in carrying it out. Captain Bill got some men
together, worked all night, and by sunrise the wide gateway of the
car-shed had been narrowed down to the little wicket-gate of official
admission. It was a complete surprise to the opposition. The gang that
had arranged to rush and pack the convention, regarded the barrier
and the men delegated to defend it, with amazement and profanity.
They began with epithets, and these they followed with more tangible
missiles, such as umbrellas, old shoes, and handbags. In another part
of the State they might have attempted the use of more effective
ammunition. As it was, they were obliged to confine themselves to
protests more spectacular than effectual. The regular delegates filed
in and were seated. Then the crowds were permitted to enter in the
usual way, whereupon another convention was immediately organized in
the same hall, with another chairman on the same platform, and for a
time two conventions were running side by side.

Captain McDonald was finally called to the platform to preserve order.
There was a lively scene. The Ranger was kept busy keeping the two
factions separate, taking away their knives, a few pistols, canes,
umbrellas and such other weapons and missiles as they attempted to
bring into action. The final result was that both Clark and Hogg
were nominated, at the same time, in the same convention, and by
the same political party, though the Clark followers were styled
"Anti-Democrats" and bolters.

Hogg was re-elected in due time, by a good majority. The episode passed
into history as the "Car-shed" Convention.

Taming the Pan-handle

THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN COWBOYS AND "BAD MEN." HOW CAPTAIN BILL MADE
COW-STEALING UNPOPULAR

The Texas Pan-handle is that portion of the State which lies directly
south of what was No-man's Land, extending from parallels 100 to 103,
east and west. Its shape suggests its name, and its name suggests
limitless areas of waving grass; vast roving herds; cowboys and
ponies--both of the unbridled variety; bad men whose chief business was
to start graveyards, and the glad primeval lawlessness that prevails
when worlds are new.

Not so many years ago the Pan-handle was distinctly a world apart, and
a new one. With No-man's Land on the north, Indian Territory on the
east and New Mexico on the west, civilization could come only from the
south, and it did not come very fast. Indeed there was still plenty
of territory to the southward to be subdued--two or three tiers of
counties in fact--before the Pan-handle would be reached. So, it was a
place apart--an isolated fertile land, justifying the assertion of a
tramp that he had lost a hundred thousand dollars there in one year by
not having cattle to eat up the grass.

The cattle came in due time, fighting back the Apache and the
Comanche, protected by Rangers from Ft. Griffin, accompanied by
stockmen of every nation, cowboys of every grade and criminals of
every breed. That was a wild epoch--chaotic and picturesque--a time of
individual administration and untempered justice.

It was also a time of mighty domain. Ranches there were as big as some
kingdoms. One, the X.I.T., covered a good portion of the northern
part of the Pan-handle. Another, the Matador, spread itself into five
counties. When settlement became thicker--when there were ranch-houses
not more than twenty-five to thirty miles apart--official allotment of
the lands was made. Then there was a grand gobble. The big stockmen
fenced everything with little regard for boundaries and less for the
law.

With such examples as these in high places, it is not strange that
a general indifference for legal rights and possessions prevailed.
Next to cattle raising, cattle-stealing was the chief industry. The
cowboy proper was not concerned in such work. He was likely to be a
clean-handed, straightforward, even if reckless, individual, honest
according to his lights. True, loyalty to his employer might render
him a trifle indifferent as to brands and marks when strays mixed with
the herd, but it was the employer and not the cowboy who profited
by such laxity. The cowboy was a retainer who would fight for his
ranch, would die for it when circumstances seemed to require such a
sacrifice, and the increase of the ranch herd by any means short of
actual raid and theft was a custom which bore no relation to disrepute.
But individually the cowboy was likely to be the soul of honor and
good-nature, troublesome only on holidays when he was moved to ride
into the nearest settlement, drink up all the whisky he could buy, and
then, with six-shooter drawn, go careering up and down the streets,
shooting in random directions, explaining meantime with noisy and
repetitious adjectives, that he was a bad man--a very bad man from very
far up the Creek.

On such inspired occasions he would sometimes exclaim:

"Hide out little ones! Dad's come home drunk!" after which he would
let go a round of ammunition and the inhabitants of that neighborhood,
regardless of size, would proceed to hide out, as admonished. Sometimes
a whole group of cowboys would engage in this pastime, whereupon the
rest of the town disappeared and sat in cellars or flattened themselves
under beds until the cyclone passed by.

It was in such manner that the cowboy found relaxations and social joy.
He was not a bad man, in spite of his declaration. He was not really
hunting for trouble and would be the last to kill, without offense.[7]

The truly bad man was of entirely different make-up. Always posing, and
sometimes accepted, as a man of valor, he was in nearly every case
merely a boaster and a coward. He would kill when he got the drop on
his man, and he built his reputation upon such murders. He passed as a
cowboy, when he was merely a cow-thief; as a hero, when he was only an
assassin. Driven into a corner he would fight, but his favorite method
was to slay from ambush. It was seldom that his reckless disregard for
human life included his own.

The Pan-handle was full of bad men in the early nineties. Most of them
had graduated from other schools of crime and found here a last resort.
Some of them--a good many of them--had obtained official positions and
were outlaws and deputies by turns, or worked conjunctively as both. As
a rule they were in one way and another associated with a gang.

Local authorities, even when conscientious, were poorly equipped to
cope with such an element, and it was for Company B, Ranger Force,
consisting of eight men with quarters at Amarillo, Captain W.J.
McDonald commanding, to police this vast wilderness, and to capture and
convert, or otherwise tame, its undesirable citizens.

Some of them would not wait to be captured; some, of course, could not
be tamed alive. Others, and these were not a few, would be able to
wield official influence through which they would escape conviction,
regardless of the evidence.

Soon after McDonald's appointment he was notified of a marauding
band that across in Hutchinson County were committing the usual
crimes. They had burned the hay belonging to a ranchman on Turkey
Creek--several hundred tons in quantity--they had cut his wire fences;
they had killed cows for their calves, butchered beef cattle, cut out
brands--in a word they had conducted the business of cattle-stealing
and general depredation on a large scale.

Taking a portion of his force, Captain McDonald went over to
investigate. There seemed to be a good deal of mystery concerning
the identity of the offenders; but a mystery of that sort does not
stand a very good chance when it is operated upon by a man with eyes
like those of Captain Bill and with a nose and pair of ears of his
peculiar pattern. In a short time he had identified one member of the
band in a young man prominently connected in that section. This young
fellow--a dupe, no doubt, of professional cow-thieves, whose glittering
reputation as bad men had dazzled him--was the son of an able and
reputable lawyer, a member of the State legislature. The son, supposed
to be a cowboy, had become in reality an outlaw.

Captain McDonald took him in charge one day, questioned him and secured
sufficient evidence to file a complaint. The prisoner was turned over
to the sheriff of Hutchinson County, and Captain Bill pursued his
investigation. He located a bunch of stolen calves, herded in the
brakes of the Canadian River, guarded by another member of the gang.
He brought a man who had lost a number of milk cows and calves to
identify the calves; no very difficult matter, for the man declared
that he knew them as well as he knew his own children. The cows had
been killed for their calves--and the latter had been "hobbled and
necked." After locating the calves, Captain McDonald investigated the
canyons and after several days found the cows that had been shot and
killed. One after another the missing bunches of cattle were located,
and the members of the band were brought in, and lodged in jail. The
case against them was clear. They were found with the stolen property;
some of them did not even attempt to make denial. Their examining
trial was held at Plemons, the county seat of Hutchinson County, and
the settlers gathered from far and near for the event. The trial was
held in a big barn of a court house, and the prisoners were bound over
to the district court. The Rangers were preparing to take them to
Pan-handle City, where there were safer and more commodious quarters,
when the sheriff--who had already distinguished himself by setting
free the prominent young outlaw first captured--appeared and demanded
the prisoners, on the ground that being sheriff of that county,
they could not be removed without his consent. The Ranger Captain
promptly informed him that, sheriff or no sheriff, he had shown his
disqualifications for office, and that these prisoners would be taken
to more secure quarters than he seemed willing to provide. The officer
departed, and presently mustered a crowd, armed with Winchesters. Then
he appeared once more before Captain Bill, produced the law which under
proper conditions might have supported him in his demand, and again
declared that he would have those prisoners, or that there would be
bloodshed and several Ranger funerals. Captain Bill promptly called his
men together.

"We are not going to stand any foolishness," he said. "If an attempt is
made to take these prisoners, cut down on any one who takes a hand in
it. Come, let's move on now, and get these men in jail."

The crowd that had gathered expected battle, then and there, but
nothing of the kind took place. The sheriff's armed bluff had been
called. Later, he obtained a writ of habeas corpus, but it was not
effective for the reason that the men had been committed under bond.
At all events it was not effective so long as McDonald and his Rangers
were in charge of the jail.

It was now evident that conviction of these offenders was not to be
expected in that county. Most of them had official influence of one
kind or another. In fact, there appeared to be nobody except those
whose property had suffered who seemed concerned in bringing these
bandits to justice.

With such overwhelming evidence McDonald was determined, if possible,
to secure their punishment. He kept them in jail several months and
eventually was instrumental in getting their cases distributed and
sent to other counties for trial. Even so, they managed to evade the
law. Through influence of one kind or another, and the coöperation of
officials--former associates, perhaps, in the business of crime--their
cases were one by one dismissed.

In spite of this miscarriage of justice, the general effect of
McDonald's vigorous prosecution was wholesome. The members of that
band either left for the far isolations, or decided to reform. The
case is given, one of many such, as an example of what the honest
official had to contend with in the early Pan-handle days. Sometimes,
indeed, justice was even more openly and briskly side-tracked. Once,
when Captain Bill had caught a notorious cattle-thief, red-handed;
brought him to trial and secured his conviction by jury; the judge,
instead of passing sentence, took the law wholly into his own hands,
and administered it in a manner rather startling for its unexpectedness
and originality. He delivered an elaborate oration, which no one in
the court room comprehended in any large degree--himself included,
perhaps--and then read a lengthy decision concerning captures made upon
the high seas; closing with his own decision to the effect that the
clause covered this particular case as perfectly as if it had been made
for it, and that the entire proceedings were irregular, irrelevant,
without warrant and without effect; concluding his amazing declaration
with the statement that the prisoner was discharged.

Cases like these would have discouraged and disgruntled a man of less
resolution and character than Bill McDonald. To him such things meant
only renewed determination. Strong in the knowledge that unless he
happened to be killed he would eventually make criminals scarce, and
corrupt or weak-kneed officials unpopular in that section, he gave
neither rest nor respite to those who broke the law in the field, or to
those who warped and disfigured it in the courts. Individually and in
groups he brought the bad men in and filled the jails with them, and
the box-cars, and when neither was handy he lariated them out, set a
guard, and rode off after more. When he failed to convict in one court
he tried another, and when he found an honest official he kept him
busy. In a recent letter written by Col. W.B. Camp of San Antonio, to
Edward M. House, one of the best known citizens of Texas, the writer
says:

"When he (Captain McDonald) was captain of the Rangers in Texas,
and doing his most effective work, I was District Attorney of the
Thirty-fifth Judicial District, in the Pan-handle, and I learned to
love, respect and admire this fearless officer, who always placed duty
before his own life. In those days on the frontier of Texas, it was
almost worth a man's life to uphold the majesty of the law, and the
five years of such experience I had in doing so teaches me the value of
such men as Captain Bill McDonald. History should hand down his name
for the coming generations by the side of the heroes of the Alamo and
San Jacinto."[8]

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 7: "The Kansas City Journal" recently printed the following
cowboy song, with comments, offering it as a side-light on cowboy life
and character. The Journal said:

"The night guards of cattle or horse herds were wont to sing to their
charges as they slowly rode round and round them, keeping watch. If the
cattle stampeded, and were then brought together again and began moving
in a circle, which the punchers called 'milling,' and on all occasions
of fear or uneasiness among the stock, the boys sang to them, and it
had a quieting effect. These night riders were perfect horsemen and
seasoned to the trail and range. Their hours were endless; the calls
upon them for endurance were almost beyond human strength. Picture
a night on a lonely prairie, wild, disconcerting, horse elements, a
stampede among half-wild cattle, and it is not hard to know the task
that the cowboy confronted. It is something fine to think that in such
hours of danger the cattle could be 'crooned' back to normal quiet. Out
of such occasions were the cowboy songs born." Then follow the words of

The Dim and Narrow Way.

"Last night as I lay on the prairie,
Looking up at the stars in the sky,
I wondered if ever a cowboy
Would go to that sweet by and by;
I wondered if ever a cowboy
Would go to that sweet by and by.

The trail to that fair mystic region
Is narrow and dim so they say,
While the broad road that leads to perdition
Is posted and blazed all the way;
While the broad road that leads to perdition
Is posted and blazed all the way.

They say there will be a grand round-up,
Where cowboys like cattle must stand,
To be cut out by riders of judgment,
Who are posted and know every brand;
To be cut out by riders of judgment,
Who are posted and know every brand.

Perhaps there will be a stray cowboy,
Unbranded by anyone nigh,
Who'll be cut out by riders of judgment
And shipped to the sweet by and by;
Who'll be cut out by riders of judgment
And shipped to the sweet by and by."]

[Footnote 8: That Captain McDonald and his little force had the entire
supervision of that vast district is shown by Adjutant-General Maby's
report for 1896. See Appendix A.]

XXI

The Battle with Matthews

WHAT HAPPENED TO A MAN WHO HAD DECIDED TO KILL BILL MCDONALD

It was strange, indeed, that McDonald did not "happen to get killed"
in those busy days of the early nineties. One of the favorite vows
of tough "pan-handlers" was to shoot Bill McDonald on sight. But the
reader will remember that there was a suddenness and vigor about Bill
McDonald's manner and method that was very bad for a vow like that
when the moment for its execution arrived. Still, there were those who
tried to make good, and one of these, duly assisted, came near being
successful. He would have succeeded, no doubt, if he had had time.

This man's name was John Pierce Matthews, which became simply John
Pierce after its owner had got the drop on a steamboat captain one day
in Louisiana and shot him dead. He took the new name with him to the
Pan-handle, where in due time he got the drop on another man, somewhere
up in the northern tier of counties, with the same result. This was
a good while before he came down to Childress County and got to be
sheriff, but there were those who had not forgotten, and among them
was Captain Bill McDonald, then stopping at Wichita Falls. Matthews,
or Pierce, as he was called, frequently came down to the Falls for a
spree, and on one such visit made application to join a secret society.
McDonald was a prominent member of that society and Matthews did not
get in. This stirred the animosity of Matthews, and he began to clean
his six-shooter daily and to practise sudden and accurate firing, which
he knew would be necessary in case of a show-down.

By and by there was a sheriff's convention at Houston, and on a boat
excursion between Houston and Galveston, Matthews spoke disrespectfully
to Governor Hogg, who was on board. McDonald, who was also present,
promptly called Matthews to account, and a general settlement might
have been reached then and there had well-meaning, but misguided
friends of both parties not interfered, and spoiled a very pretty
sheriff's-picnic newspaper story. As it was, Matthews kept on oiling
his pistol and practising, meantime enlisting the sympathy of friends,
to whom he confided that some day when he had a little leisure he was
going to look up Bill McDonald and kill him, suggesting that they be
present and take a hand; _they_ being of the sort naturally interested
in such an enterprise.

Matthews also had another enemy, one Joe Beckham, sheriff of Motley
County, an officer of his own kind, who presently got as short as
possible in his accounts, absconded, and set out for Indian Territory.
Matthew had no right to go outside of his own county after a fugitive,
and no business in this matter, any way, as he wanted Beckham only
for a misdemeanor, whereas he was charged in his own county with
felony. But Matthews had an itch for Beckham on his own account, so he
picked up another enemy of Beckham, named Cook, a citizen of Motley
with an ambition for Beckham's office, and the two came with peaceful
attitude and fair words to Quanah where Captain Bill was then stopping,
requesting the loan of a Ranger to go over into the Territory after the
defaulting officer. McDonald refused, but said he would send a man as
far as the Territory line--Ranger authority not extending beyond that
border. He did send one Ranger McClure, who being strongly persuaded,
overstepped, at the same instant, his authority and the State line;
captured Beckham, whom he lost through a writ of habeas corpus; fell
into a plot devised by Matthews and Cook to get rid of him, and was
finally brought back to Quanah by Captain Bill, who drove a hundred
miles on a bad night to get him out of the mess; after which McClure
was a wiser and better Ranger.

Beckham, meanwhile, had fallen a victim to remorse, or more likely had
been promised immunity, and now hurried over to Quanah and gave himself
up again to Ranger McClure, Captain Bill being absent from Quanah at
the time. Beckham asked to be taken to Matador, county seat of Motley,
for trial, and begged McClure to see him through Childress, where he
expected to be killed by Matthews and Cook.

McClure assured Beckham that he would see him safely to Matador, and
they set out by rail for Childress, at which point they would take a
team for the Motley county seat.

Matthews was on hand at Childress. He demanded Beckham of McClure, who
refused to deliver his prisoner. Matthews then started to organize
a posse to take Beckham. Word of this came to McClure who promptly
gave his prisoner a revolver and told him to help defend himself.
Matthews and his crowd now tried to enlist the co-operation of Sheriff
Cunningham of Abilene who, as soon as he understood the situation,
resigned from the Matthews force and offered to assist the McClure
contingent. McClure thanked him, but said he guessed he'd go along
to Matador, now, with his prisoner, as the team was waiting. Captain
Bill was in Matador when Ranger and prisoner arrived, and Beckham was
jailed without further difficulty. Cook got appointed sheriff, by the
Commissioners' Court, but the District Judge refused to accept him
and selected a man named Moses for the job, whereupon Cook refused
to resign and Captain Bill was sent over to turn him out, which he
did with promptness and vigor. On his way back to Quanah, waiting for
a train in Childress, Matthews appeared and demanded that McDonald
dismiss Ranger McClure on general charges connected with the Beckham
episode. McDonald mildly but firmly refused and spoke his mind pretty
freely on the subject. All of which added fuel to the old resentment
which Matthews nursed and nourished in his bosom for Captain Bill.

If Matthews wanted to commit suicide he began preparing for it, now,
in the right way. He gave it out openly that he was going to wander
over to Quanah some day and kill Bill McDonald, just as a matter of
pastime, and he sent word to the same effect by any of Captain Bill's
friends that he found going that way. Perhaps he thought these messages
of impending death would unnerve the Ranger Captain and interfere
with his sleep. That was bad judgment. Bill McDonald needed only the
anticipation of a little pistol practice like that to make him sleep
like an angel child.

"I didn't talk as loud as he did--nor as much," Captain Bill said
afterward. "I reckon he thought I was afraid of him."

Matthews had really cut the work out for himself, however, and had
enlisted help for the occasion. He was satisfied with his target
practice and the condition of his fire-arms, and he had taken to
wearing a plug of tobacco or a Bible or something solid like that in
the coat-pocket just over his heart, about where one of Bill McDonald's
bullets would be apt to strike, provided the Ranger happened to get a
bead on him, though he had planned against that, too.

It was in December, 1895, at last that Matthews and his pals came down
to Quanah for the declared purpose of killing a Ranger Captain. It was
a cold, dreary day and they visited one saloon after another, getting
a supply of courage for the job and explaining what they were going to
do. Then they took to following McDonald, always in a group, evidently
waiting the proper opportunity, confident enough that McDonald would
not take the offensive. Finally, however, they pressed him so close
that he suddenly turned and told them to quit following him or trouble
would ensue. Perhaps it did not seem a good place to do the job--there
being no sort of protection; perhaps there was something disquieting in
the manner of Captain Bill's warning. They dropped away, for the time,
and McDonald gave the matter no further thought. Men threatening to
kill him was an item on every day's program.

It was nearly dusk of that bleak day, and McDonald was in the railway
station, sending an official telegram to his men at Amarillo, when an
old man named Crutcher, whom McDonald knew, came in with the word that
Matthews wanted to see him and fix up matters without any more trouble.

Captain Bill regarded Crutcher keenly; evidently he was sincere enough.

"John says he wants to see you and fix up everything right," repeated
the old man persuasively.

Captain Bill finished writing his telegram and sent it. Then turning to
Old Man Crutcher he said in his slow mild way:

"Well, that all sounds mighty good to me. I never want any trouble that
I can help. Come on, let's go find him."

They left the depot on the side toward the town, and as they did so
they saw the sheriff of Hardeman County, whose name was Dick Coffer,
with Matthews and two of the latter's friends, coming to meet them.
Sheriff Coffer was a step ahead of Matthews when they started across
the street. Old Man Crutcher in a friendly way put his arm through
McDonald's as they advanced. When they were but four or five feet
between the groups, all stopped and there was a little silence.

Then McDonald said:

"Well?"

And Matthews answered, keeping Coffer just a trifle in advance:

"Well, what is it, Bill?"

Captain Bill began quietly.

"I understand," he said, "that you have been saying some pretty hard
things about me, and that you-all are going to wipe up the earth with
me. Is that so?"

Matthews edged a trifle nearer to Coffer.

"No," he said, "I didn't say that, but by God I'll tell you what I did
say," at the same moment pointing his left index finger in McDonald's
face, while his right hand slipped in the direction of his hip pocket.

Captain Bill saw the movement and his own hand dropped into his side
overcoat pocket where in winter he carried a part of his armament.
Matthews' practice in drawing, for some reason failed to benefit him.
His gun seemed to hang a little in the scabbard. A second later he had
jerked it free and stepping behind Coffer fired at Captain Bill over
the sheriff's right shoulder. But the slight hitch spoiled his aim,
perhaps, for the bullet missed, passing through McDonald's overcoat
collar, though the range was so short that the powder burned his face.

The game could now be considered open. Captain Bill with a quick
movement that was between a skip and a step, got around Coffer and
let go two shots in quick succession, at Matthews. But the latter's
breast-piece was a success. Both of McDonald's bullets struck within
the space of a fifty-cent piece, just above Matthews' heart, penetrated
a thick plug of Star Navy, found a heavy note-book behind it and
stopped.

With a thought process which may be regarded as cool for such a moment,
Captain Bill realized that for some reason he could not kill Matthews
by shooting him on that side, and shifted his aim. Matthews, meantime,
had again dodged behind Coffer, who now dropped flat to the ground,
where it was quieter. Captain Bill was bending forward at the time,
trying to get a shot around Coffer, and as the latter dropped, Matthews
fired, the bullet striking McDonald in the left shoulder, ranging down
through his lung to the small of his back, traveling two-thirds the
length of his body for lodgment.

[Illustration: THE BATTLE WITH MATTHEWS AT QUANAH.

"He started to cock his gun, when he received another ball in his right
shoulder."]

The Ranger was knocked backward, but did not fall. Matthews quickly
fired again, but McDonald was near enough now to knock the gun aside
with his own, and the ball passed through his hat-brim. Aiming at
Matthews' other shoulder, McDonald let go his third shot and Matthews
fell.

Meantime the two deputy assassins had opened fire, and one of them
had sent two bullets through McDonald's left arm. To these he gave no
attention until Matthews dropped. Wheeling now he started to cock his
gun, when he received another ball, this time in his right shoulder,
along which it traveled to his neck, thence around the wind-pipe to
the left side. His fingers were paralyzed by this wound and he made an
effort to cock his gun with his teeth; but there was no further need,
for with the collapse of Matthews his co-murderers fled wildly to
cover, behind the depot, nearly upsetting a box-car in their hurry, as
a spectator remarked.

Captain Bill walked a few steps to the side-walk. There was a post
there, and holding to this he eased himself to a sitting position. A
man ran up to him.

"Cap, how about it?"

"Well, I think I'm a dead rabbit."

They gathered him up and took him to a drug-store, and they took
Matthews to a drug-store across the street. By and by they carried
Captain Bill home and a doctor came to hunt for the bullets.

"Don't fool around with that one in my neck, Doc," Captain Bill said.
"Go after the one in the small of my back, and let out the blood.
There's a bucket of it sloshin' around in there."

The doctor obeyed orders. It was proper to gratify a dying man.

"Now, Doc," the Ranger Captain said when the operation was over, and
the surplus cargo had been removed, "now, I'll get well," and Rhoda
McDonald, his nervy wife, who had arrived on the scene, echoed this
belief.

"If Bill Jess says he'll get well, he'll do it!" she declared.

But this was a minority opinion, and that night when it was rumored
that Captain Bill would not pull through, there were threats that in
case he didn't, the two men who had trained with Matthews would be
strung up without further notice. Some word of this was brought to
Captain Bill, perhaps as a message of comfort.

"Don't you do it, boys," he said. "I'm going to get well, and even if I
don't, I want the law to take its course. I'm opposed to lynching."

Matthews died in a few days. He was removed to Childress and died
there. Before his death he sent word to McDonald.

"You acted the man all through," was his message. "I'm only sorry that
I can't see you and apologize."

"Tell him that I'm doing all right," was the answer returned, "and
that I hope he'll get well."

The mending of Captain Bill was a slow process. For about two months
he was laid up, and then with his wife he sojourned for a time at a
sanitarium. After that, he was up once more, pale and stooped but ready
and eager for action. In time he was apparently as fit as ever; though,
in truth, the physical repairing was never quite complete.

XXII

What Happened to Beckham

AN OUTLAW RAID AND A RANGER BATTLE. JOE BECKHAM ENDS HIS CAREER

Meantime the cause of the final and fatal difference between Matthews
and McDonald--Joe Beckham, former sheriff of Motley--was out on bond,
disporting himself in picturesque fashion. He got a change of venue,
and when his case came up in Baylor County, Cook--his old rival and now
his successor, by election--started over to testify; whereupon Beckham
met the train and promptly shot Cook dead as he struck the platform.
Beckham then mounted a fast horse and cantered away into the Territory,
where he joined in organizing a new gang made up of old offenders,
with a view to doing a wholesale general business in crime. In this
gang were Red Buck, and Hill Loftus, both justly celebrated; also Kid
Lewis--later hung. They established headquarters in a neighborhood
thought to be comparatively safe, since Bill McDonald's work had been
confined to Texas, and opened business with every prospect of reaping
the natural reward of perseverance and industry.

They began by making a general raid on what is now Electra, Texas,
where they cleaned out some stores and knocked a storekeeper on the
head; after which, they looted a country store and post office, kept
by one Al Bailey, then rode away in the direction of their Territory
headquarters.

Company B, Ranger Service, was promptly notified, and Captain McDonald,
not yet able to undertake a hard chase, sent his nephew McCauley with
Jack Harwell and two other Rangers to join the sheriff of Wilbarger
County at Electra, in the pursuit. The Rangers quickly struck the trail
and had followed forty miles toward the Territory at a hard gait when
they spied a dug-out, not far ahead. At the same moment they met an
ostensible cowboy--a "line-rider," he said, on his rounds. The dug-out,
he told them, was his, and that they would find something to eat there.

The party hurried on in the hope of food and warmth, for with the
coming of evening it had grown very cold, and snow was beginning to
fall. They were a little surprised to see a light in the dug-out, but
pushed on toward it, when suddenly a volley of shots rang out from
that cover, and three horses dropped dead. Not one of the riders was
injured, and they promptly returned the fire. Then followed a regular
exchange of shots which kept up to some extent all that bitter cold,
snowy night. When morning came, only McCauley and Harwell of the Ranger
Force remained in action, the others having been driven by the cold and
storm to find shelter.

The dug-out was silent enough, now, but McCauley and Harwell, nearly
dead from exposure, were in no condition to charge it, alone. They were
without horses, and set out for Waggoner's ranch twenty-five miles
away, afoot. Red River lay between, and when they arrived there the
prospect of wading that icy current was miserable enough. Nevertheless,
they did it, arriving at Waggoner's ranch, frostbitten and almost dead
of hunger. The others had reached there several hours earlier.

When all were in condition again, they returned to investigate the
dug-out. The place was deserted. Red Buck (wounded, as they learned
later) with Hill Loftus, had been able to get away; also, Kid Lewis,
for whom a telephone pole was already waiting at Wichita Falls.

Joe Beckham lay stretched upon the floor, dead.

XXIII

A Medal for Speed

CAPTAIN BILL OUTRUNS A CRIMINAL AND WINS A GOLD MEDAL

We are not through with the Pan-handle, but we will relate here an
incident which belongs outside of that district, though within the
period. It seemed always a part of Bill Jess McDonald's peculiar
fortunes that wherever he went he found work suited to his hand.

He had been in Fort Worth on official business, in this instance,
and boarded the north-bound train just as it was pulling out of the
station. As he did so, he noticed two disreputable-looking characters
crowding against a well-dressed old gentleman, and an instant later
heard the latter exclaim, "I have been robbed!" At the same moment the
two toughs started to leap from the car-steps.

Captain Bill's presence of mind responded promptly. His six-shooter
was out with small delay, and seizing one of the men, he called to the
other to halt. The man detained made an attempt to strike his captor,
who promptly "bent" his gun over his head--mildly at first, then with
force, bringing the offender to his knees. The Ranger Captain now
pulled the bell-cord; brought the train to a standstill; turned his
prisoner over to a policeman who had appeared on the scene, and set out
in pursuit of the other thief, who by this time had obtained a healthy
start.

Captain Bill is built like a greyhound, with long hind legs, and a
prow designed for splitting the wind. The thief was active, and making
good time, but he was no match for a Ranger of that architecture. The
distance between them closed up rapidly, and after a race of over a
mile the fugitive, having reached what was known as "Niggertown,"
dived into one of the houses, causing a regular stampede among the
inhabitants. Men, women, and a rabble of little pickaninnies fell
out in every direction. Captain Bill, now close behind, added to the
excitement as he plunged in, only to find the room vacant. A quilt,
however, hung across a second doorway, and stepping over to it, his
six-shooter ready for emergency, he drew the hanging quickly aside. As
he did so, he was confronted by a man standing on a chair, holding in
his hand a bottle filled with some transparent liquid, which he was in
the act of throwing. The crack of McDonald's revolver was followed by
such a sudden collapse of the would-be vitriol-thrower, that the Ranger
Captain thought he had wounded him seriously, though his intention
had been merely to disable the arm in action. Investigation showed,
however, that the thief was only frightened; that the ball had grazed
his arm, also his ear, cutting a hole through the rim of his hat.

Securing the vitriol as evidence, Captain Bill marched his man back to
where he had left thief Number One, only to find that the inexperienced
policeman had allowed him to escape. He did not trust him with his
second capture, but personally saw him safely locked up, and then set
out for home by the next train.

Not long after, a package arrived one day in Amarillo, and upon being
opened, it was found to contain a handsome gold medal, contributed by a
prominent jeweler and others of Fort Worth.

This decoration was engraved with Captain McDonald's name and official
title; and an accompanying letter stated that it was awarded as a token
of appreciation of his efforts in bringing criminals to justice, and as
a premium for his superior swiftness of foot on a mile and a quarter
track.

XXIV

Captain Bill in Mexico

MEXICAN THIEVES TRY TO HOLD UP CAPTAIN BILL AND GET A SURPRISE. MEXICAN
POLICE MAKE THE SAME ATTEMPT WITH THE SAME RESULT. PRESIDENT DIAZ TRIES
TO ENLIST HIM

The First National Bank of Quanah failed in 1893, and one of the
head officials, wanted for embezzlement and forgery, made his escape
to Mexico, where he was arrested. Governor Hogg immediately made
requisition for him, and Captain McDonald was detailed to bring him
back across the line. Accompanied by one of the bank directors,
McDonald set out for Mexico, only to find that his man had been
set free, and was then making his way to remoter hiding. It was no
difficult matter, however, to trace him, and the Ranger Captain
presently overhauled him and put him in jail, there to await certain
red-tape formalities incident to the deliberate Mexican official
methods.

Having a good deal of time on his hands, Captain Bill spent it in
sight-seeing. It was interesting enough, but he could not understand
why he used up so many handkerchiefs. They seemed to disappear from
his pockets in some magic way, and no matter how many he set out with,
he presently found his supply entirely exhausted. He realized at last
that this curious condition was not due altogether to accident, nor to
carelessness on his own part. Laying in a fresh stock of handkerchiefs,
he strolled warily along, seemingly unconscious of those who loitered
near him, apparently absorbed in sight-seeing. Presently, from the
corner of his eye, he noticed a Mexican passing near him make a quick
movement with his hand, and caught a glimpse of white passing from
his pocket to that of the Mexican. His sudden grab so startled this
industrious person that he did not even attempt flight. Captain Bill
thereupon promptly recovered his handkerchief, which he found had been
lifted with a slender wire hook; an effective implement in busy and
skilful hands. Without any further preliminaries, he set out for the
jail with his prisoner, but meeting an American acquaintance to whom he
explained the situation, he was advised to proceed no further with the
case.

"If you take him there, they will lock you up with him," he said.

"Well, I guess they won't," said McDonald.

"They certainly will," insisted his friend. "The law here is to confine
the witness with the prisoner, and there is no telling when you'll get
out."

Captain Bill reconsidered, whirled his prisoner around, gave him an
impetuous kick or two, and some advice, which perhaps reached his
comprehension, though in an unknown tongue.

The man fled; it is not known whether he took the advice or not.

Captain Bill's adventures in Mexico were not over. A few nights later
he visited a large casino where gambling was conducted openly, and
mildly diverted himself by taking a hand at bucking the national game,
monte. He played in luck, and the stakes became high. His winnings grew
to a considerable sum, and there were greedy eyes in the group who
watched his play. When he left the place, at last, and descended the
stairway, he noticed that two men seemed to be following him. As he
reached the dim hallway below, he stopped; they stopped also.

Captain Bill was pleased. This was a game he preferred even to monte,
he had played it so much oftener. He stepped out into the middle of the
street, where he would have a clear field of observation, and set out
leisurely, as if he had not noticed anything wrong. The men following
gained upon him, one dropping a little in the rear, the other working
his way to the front. As they reached a dark locality, the man in front
began to drop back a little, evidently getting ready to close in, while
the one behind stepped up a little more lively, until he was about on
a line with Captain Bill, who now noticed him throw back his serape
as if to free his arm for action. No longer in doubt as to what they
meant to do, the Captain brought out his "forty-five" with a swing
that landed the barrel of it with full force on the head of the man in
front. Wheeling, he covered the other, who, seeing his companion drop
with a thud, promptly fled, the Ranger Captain close behind. They raced
down the dim street, and the Mexican, trying to keep his eye on his
pursuer and turn a corner at the same time, ran into a stone wall and
nearly knocked his head off.

Captain Bill was satisfied with the game as it stood, and set out
for his hotel. He was not to arrive there, however, without further
complications. The commotion of the foot-race had aroused a squad of
police-a poor lot, in greasy white uniforms--and these bore down upon
him now with a good deal of excited talk and gesticulation, none of
which he understood. Apparently they thought he was a bloodthirsty
person, who was in the habit of knocking men over the head with his gun
and chasing others into stone walls, for amusement. He explained in the
best Texan he could muster that the men had been trying to rob him,
but it was no use. They insisted by signs that he must come with them.
When he shook his head in refusal, they began reaching for their long
revolvers, which they wore in clumsy holsters.

Captain Bill knew this game, also. He had played it in No-man's Land,
in the Cherokee Strip, and he was still playing it in the Pan-handle.
It was his favorite and daily occupation. Before their guns were half
way to any effective position, he had them covered, and in tones that
are universally understood, even when they convey words of strange
meaning, he warned them to desist.

Men are in the habit of obeying Bill McDonald under such conditions.
The Mexican police obeyed him, and when he indicated that they were
to march in front of him, they did so in a formation at once orderly
and well-maintained. He directed them toward the Hotel Guadaola,
where he was stopping. Arriving there, he explained to the guard, who
understood English, what had happened, and instructed him to convey
the information to the police, with his thanks for their courteous and
prompt attention, and a request that they should meet him at the office
of President Diaz at ten o 'clock the following morning. The guard
undertook to do this, and the police went away, dazed and muttering.

They were on hand next morning at the President's office when Captain
Bill arrived. During his sojourn in the city, McDonald had come
in contact a number of times with President Diaz, and a pleasant
friendship had sprung up between them. Diaz, who has an excellent
knowledge of English, heard the Captain's explanation now with a
good deal of amusement, and after dismissing his policemen with some
paternal advice, he presented Captain Bill with a pass which gave
him the freedom of any portion of the city at any hour and under all
circumstances.

The friendship between Diaz and Captain Bill ripened into something
like intimacy now, and a few days later, the Mexican President, in
discussing the nation's troubles with Guatemala, invited the Ranger
Captain's opinion of the situation, and of the force in the field.

"Well, Mr. President," said Captain Bill, "I don't think much of your
Mexican soldiers, but I could take a squad of Texas Rangers and go
down to Guatemala and clean up that outfit down there, capture their
finances and bring their Government to terms in twenty-four hours."

The Mexican President's eyes showed his approval of this scheme.

"I think a good deal of your Texan _rurales_," he said, "but they have
killed a lot of our people, too."

Captain Bill nodded.

"Only the kind that needed killing," he said.

"Very likely," assented Diaz; then added, a moment later,

"Captain, I propose that you enlist with us for the purpose you
mentioned just now, and bring over five hundred of your Texas cowboys
to assist in the undertaking."

Diaz waxed enthusiastic over this idea, and Captain Bill was not
unwilling to enter into the scheme. The matter went so far as to
get into the newspapers, but at that point it came to a sudden end.
Governor Hogg and Adjutant-General W.S. Mabry--a fine soldier, who
later died in the Cuban war--did not propose to have their Ranger
Captain go off on any such filibustering expeditions, and promptly
nipped the whole matter in the bud.

Captain Bill stayed for a considerable time in the Mexican capital, for
his companion, the bank official, fell very ill, and the Captain turned
nurse to pull him through. He very soon became a well-known figure in
the city, being often pointed out as the man who had taken a squad of
police in charge; who was going to bring his Rangers down to whip the
Guatemalans, and whose skill with the six-shooter was nothing short of
miraculous. This last belief was in some manner sustained one day when
he visited a shooting gallery in company with an American dentist, who
had taken pleasure in showing him the sights of the quaint old town.

"Captain, suppose you shoot at those targets as rapidly as you can, and
see how many you'll miss," he said, when they were inside.

Without hesitation, McDonald drew his revolver and opened a perfect
fusillade, hitting a target at each shot. Two Mexicans who were
practising in the gallery made a wild break for the open air and
safety. Soldiers and police came running in excitement and confusion
to discover the cause. It was all over by this time, and the officers,
seeing only Captain Bill and the dentist, stood gaping, waiting an
explanation.

"It is nothing," said the dentist, in Spanish; "my friend the Captain
was only practising a little to keep his hand in."

XXV

A New Style in the Pan-handle

CHARLES A. CULBERSON PAYS A TRIBUTE TO RANGER MARKSMANSHIP. CAPTAIN
BILL IN A "PLUG" HAT

It was during the Pan-handle period that Charles A. Culberson--son of
the Dave Culberson who nearly thirty years before had cleared the boy,
Bill Jess McDonald, from a charge of treason--was Attorney-General
for the State of Texas. Captain Bill was at Quanah, one day, when he
received notice from Culberson that the latter was anxious to locate
the 100th meridian, preliminary to beginning a suit against the United
States to test the claim made by Texas for Greer County--now a portion
of Oklahoma. The Attorney General invited Captain Bill to accompany him
as guide and body guard, knowing him to be familiar with the district
and capable of taking care of such an expedition.

They left the railroad at Vernon, Wilbarger County, proceeded in a
buck-board to Doan's Store on the Red River, and crossed over into
Greer County. It was a pleasant drive across the prairies, and Captain
Bill who felt in good practice beguiled the time by bringing down
prairie dogs, running rabbits, sailing hawks and the like, using his
six-shooter with one hand and his Winchester with the other, riding
along as they were, without stopping. To Culberson, this performance
was amazing enough.

"Captain," he said, "that beats anything I ever saw. Why, I believe you
could throw a nickle up in the air and hit it before it touched the
ground."

McDonald smiled in his quiet way.

"Do you think so?" he said. "Well, I reckon I might, but I wouldn't
want to waste a nickel that way."

Captain Bill then gave a few exhibitions of what he really could do in
the way of shooting, and Culberson declared without hesitation that
there was not such another marksman in the State of Texas. The Attorney
General was enjoying himself immensely.

They camped that night, and next morning were continuing their journey
toward Mangum, the county seat of Greer, when they began to meet men
and women on horseback, evidently getting out of that section of the
country without much waste of time. Captain Bill inquired the reason
of this exodus and was told that a cowboy had killed an Indian over on
the North Fork of the Red, and that the Indians were getting on their
war-paint, preparatory to making a raid--Comanches and Kiowas.

"General," said Captain Bill, "I'll have to look into this thing. You
can go on to Mangum with the team and I'll get me a horse and go over
and take a hand in the trouble."

"Not at all," said Culberson, "you've undertaken to see me through this
trip and I'm not going to let you desert now, Indians or no Indians."

"But I've got to, General. This is a pleasure trip, and that's
business. Them devils are goin' to start something over there and it's
my duty as Ranger to investigate it."

Culberson laughed.

"Now, Captain," he said, "you know very well that all you want is to
get over there where there's a chance to give a shooting exhibition.
You've got tired of hawks and prairie dogs and want to try your hand on
Indians."

A new arrival just then furnished the information that the offending
cowboy had been jailed at Mangum, and that the Indians were likely
to storm the jail. This settled the matter, for Ranger duty and
inclination now lay in the same direction. McDonald and Culberson
drove as rapidly as possible toward Mangum, then about fifty miles
away, changing horses once on the hard journey. The town was well-nigh
deserted, as nearly everyone who could get a gun had gone to the scene
of the killing. Captain Bill therefore established himself as guard of
the jail where the cowboy was confined, and waited results. Nothing of
consequence happened. The country quieted down, Culberson and Captain
Bill presently returned to Quanah.

But a few days later when the Attorney General had arrived in Austin,
Captain Bill received a package by express, prepaid. On opening it
he was stupefied to find that it contained a "plug" hat of very fine
quality. It was the first silk hat in the Pan-handle, where the soft
wide-rimmed cowboy Stetson predominated, and it took more courage to
wear it than to face an assault with intent to kill.

But Captain Bill was game. He was a "brother-in-law to the church" as
he said--his wife being a member--and the following Sunday he put on
the silk hat and accompanied her to meeting.

Their seat was up near the front, only a step from the pulpit--a good
thing for the minister, otherwise nobody would have looked in his
direction. As it was, all eyes were aimed toward Captain Bill and his
hat. The congregation had seen him come in with it in his hand, and
they could still observe the wonder, for it would not do to put so fine
a piece of property on the floor, while to set it toppling on his lap
would be to court disaster. It seemed necessary therefore to hold it in
his hand, raised a little, and at a distance from his body, in order
that by no chance movement the marvelous gloss of it should be marred.
The people of Quanah who attended church that day were glad to be
there. They are still glad. They do not remember the sermon they heard,
but they do remember that hat. Even the minister wandered from his text
in his contemplation of that splendid exhibition. Those of Quanah who
remained away from service on that memorable Sunday have never entirely
recovered from their regret. For it was their only opportunity ever
to see Captain Bill in a plug hat. When services were over, the
congregation crowded about for a nearer view. Cowboys stood up on the
backs of the pews to look over the shoulders of those in front of them.
Homesick women who remembered such things back east, shed tears. Many
wanted to touch the precious thing--to stroke its silken surface, and
among these were little children who insisted on rubbing the fur the
wrong way.

Captain Bill got out at last and headed for home. Once there, the gift
of the Attorney General was reverently damned and laid away. Somewhere
in a secret stronghold, deep buried from mortal eye, it exists to this
hour.

XXVI

Preventing a Prize-fight

THE FITZSIMMONS MAHER FIGHT THAT DIDN'T COME OFF AT EL PASO, AND WHY.
CAPTAIN BILL "TAKES UP" FOR A CHINAMAN

Culberson became Governor in the course of time, and remembering
Captain Bill's peculiar talents was wont to rely upon him for special
work in any portion of the State where nerve, determination and prompt,
accurate marksmanship were likely to be of value.

During February, 1896, a national sporting event--a ring contest
between Bob Fitzsimmons and Pete Maher--was advertised to take place
at El Paso, a busy city dropped down on the extreme western point of
the Texas desert, on the banks of the Rio Grande. Governor Culberson,
speaking for himself as well as for the better class of citizens in
his State, announced that so long as he was in office, Texas would
not go on record as a prize-fighting commonwealth, and that the fight
would not take place. Thereupon there came a crisis. Certain interested
citizens of El Paso had made up a purse of ten thousand dollars to
bring this event to the "Paris of Texas" and these and their friends
were filled with indignation. Dan Stuart, prominent in Texas sporting
matters and promoter of this particular event, issued a proclamation
which bore not only the announcement that the fight would take place as
advertised, but a picture of Dan himself. Also, it was declared that
there was no law in Texas which would prevent prize-fighting, and the
preparations for this particular event continued; whereupon Governor
Culberson promptly called a special session of the legislature to pass
a law which would be effective, and Adjutant-General Mabry ordered the
State Ranger Service to assemble at El Paso to see that this law was
enforced--it having been widely reported that Bat Masterson with a
hundred fighting men would be present to see that the fight came off.
Then, when it was rumored that the contest would take place in either
Old or New Mexico--the boundaries of both being near El Paso--President
Cleveland ordered the United States Marshal of New Mexico to proceed
to the vicinity of El Paso and guard the isolated districts of that
territory, while the Governor of Chihuahua took measures to discourage
the enterprise in that State.

Things began to look pretty squally for the sporting fraternity, both
in El Paso and at large, and they were mad clear through. The city
council assembled and passed a denunciatory measure, condemning the
Governor for asking for Rangers; the Adjutant-General for sending them,
and the Rangers for being present.

It was no use. The Rangers went quietly about the streets, paying no
attention to unfriendly looks and open threats as they passed along.
Efforts were made by the principals and their friends to elude the
Rangers, but with no other result than that a Ranger was appointed as
a special body-guard to each of the pugilists, while a third, Captain
McDonald, became the temporary associate of Dan Stuart. They had
nothing particular to do--these Rangers--except to be companionable,
and pleasant, and to stay with their men. Wherever Stuart and Maher and
Fitzsimmons went their official attendants went with them, and even if
not always welcome they were entertained with sufficient courtesy, for
the person of a Ranger is sacred--besides, he is reputed to be quick
and fatal.

Such sport became monotonous. The pugilists and their friends gave up
the El Paso idea, and, still accompanied by the Rangers, took the train
for Langtry, a point where the Southern Pacific Railway touches the
Rio Grande. The State of Coahuila lay across the river, and Langtry
itself was at that period the proper gateway to a pugilists' paradise,
its law being administered by one Roy Bean, justice of the peace and
saloon-keeper, whose sign read:

MIXED DRINKS
LAW WEST OF THE PECOS.

It is said that Bean's drinks were about on a par with his law, and
that the latter was administered with a gun. He tried court cases,
granted divorces, and handed down decisions without the trammel of a
jury or other assistance. Once when a citizen killed a Chinaman in his
place, Bean consulted the statutes, and finding nothing in reference
to the murder of a Chinaman in his saloon, discharged the prisoner
as having committed no offense. At another time, when a man walking
across a high bridge over the Pecos had fallen and broken his neck,
and the matter was brought before Bean, the dispenser of "Law West of
the Pecos," discovered that the pockets of the unfortunate contained a
six-shooter and forty-one dollars in money; whereupon he fined the dead
man twenty-five dollars and costs for carrying a concealed weapon, and
appropriated the forty-one dollars and the six-shooter, in settlement.
A whole chapter could be written about Bean and his official service,
but this is not the place for it. It is the place, however, for another
incident concerning a Chinaman--a case in which, though tried west of
the Pecos, the Chinaman's rights were sustained.

The train bound for Langtry with the pugilistic party and Rangers
aboard stopped at Sanderson, a small wayside station in the desert, for
lunch. Everybody was hungry and hurried over to a Chinese restaurant
for something to eat, and the Chinese waiters scurried about to serve
them. They were doing their best, but it was not easy to satisfy
everybody at once. Next to Captain McDonald sat Bat Masterson. Bat has
since given up all his reckless ways and become a good citizen, but
at that time he was training with the unreformed and not feeling very
well, anyhow. It seemed to Bat that a Chinese waiter was not getting
around as promptly with food as he might and he set in to admonish him.
The Chinaman replied to the effect that he was doing his best, whereat
Masterson decided to correct him with a table-castor. Captain Bill
had been sitting quietly, saying nothing; but as Masterson raised the
castor the Ranger Captain clutched his arm.

"Don't you hit that man!" he said.

Masterson wheeled.

"Maybe _you'd_ like to take it up!"

Captain Bill regarded him steadily for an instant.

"I done took it up!" was his quiet answer.

The castor was put down. Masterson reflected silently while he waited
for his food. Perhaps that was the beginning of his reform.

Arriving at Langtry, Stuart, Fitzsimmons and Maher were escorted to
the Rio Grande, where, with all their fraternity, they crossed over to
Mexican soil and the fight was pulled off in good order. It was a good
fight, as fights go, and Fitzsimmons won with a knock-out landed on
Maher's jaw; but it did not take place on Texas soil.[9]

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 9: For official details of the situation at El Paso, etc.,
see Appendix A, Adjutant-General W.H. Mabry's report.]

XXVII

The Wichita Falls Bank Robbery and Murder

KID LEWIS AND HIS GANG TAKE ADVANTAGE OF THE ABSENCE OF THE RANGERS. HE
MAKES A BAD CALCULATION AND COMES TO GRIEF

The absence of Captain Bill and his Rangers from the Pan-handle, was
construed by Kid Lewis as an invitation to rob a bank. He selected the
City National of Wichita Falls for his purpose and with a partner named
Crawford rode up to that institution one day about noon, and entering,
demanded the bank funds. Cashier Frank Dorsey failing to comply with
that demand, was shot dead; H.H. Langford, bookkeeper, was wounded,
and the Vice-President of the bank escaped by having in his left
breast-pocket a small case of surgical instruments. This deflected the
ball which otherwise would have entered his heart.

The robbers then secured whatever money was in sight--about six
hundred dollars in gold and silver--ran out the back door, mounted
their waiting horses and galloped away. The citizens were by this
time alarmed and a number set out in pursuit, full speed. There was a
running fight, during which Lewis' horse was shot, but an instant later
he was clear of it, and leaping behind Crawford the two went plunging
away double until they met an old man driving into town with a single
horse. This they appropriated forthwith, leaving their pursuers a good
way behind. Still further on, they crossed Holiday Creek and came to a
field where a man was plowing. They now abandoned their blown horses
and at the point of a gun took his heavy Clydesdale team and once more
dashed away, making for the Wichita River. Their pursuers gained on
the clumsy animals and fired several more shots at the fugitives, then
decided to return and organize a posse, which they raised in short
order. This posse followed the track of Lewis and Crawford beyond the
Wichita River, to a place where the robbers had taken to the thick
brush overgrowing the river bottom. Here the trail was lost.

Captain McDonald, returning from the Fitzsimmons-Maher contest, via
Fort Worth, had got as far as Bellvue in the adjoining county when he
was met by a telegram, containing the news of what had happened that
morning at Wichita Falls. He immediately wired the authorities at the
Falls to have horses in readiness for himself and men.

The Rangers reached the city about two in the afternoon and mounting
the horses, already waiting, dashed away in the direction the robbers
had taken. With him, Captain Bill had Rangers McCauley, Harwell,
Sullivan, Queen, and McClure--the tried, picked men whom Lewis and
Crawford had been most anxious to avoid. The horses were picked, too,
for speed and endurance and went at a wild headlong gait--almost too
headlong for safety. A small creek that had become a bed of mud lay
across the road and Captain Bill's horse, stumbling on the brink, sent
him head first into the soft mixture, which literally daubed him from
head to foot before he could get on his feet. His men thought for a
moment that he was killed, but he rose spluttering and swearing, wholly
unhurt, though fearfully disfigured, and with no time to remove his
disguise. Instantly mounting, he galloped on, a sight to behold, the
others respectfully restraining any tendency to mirth.

Presently they met the local posse coming back. The posse had given up
the chase, but was able to furnish information. Captain Bill and his
Rangers learned where the robbers had disappeared, and pressed on in
that direction, the posse following.

It was now getting toward evening and would soon be dusk. It was
desirable to make an end of matters by daylight, if possible, and
the Rangers wasted no time. They picked their way rapidly into the
thick undergrowth of the bottoms, and suddenly in a bend of the river
discovered the Clydesdale horses tied close to the bank. Their riders
were believed to be close by, and the Rangers expected to be fired upon
at any moment. Without waiting for any such reception they charged in
the direction of the horses, with no other result than that Ranger
Sullivan broke a stirrup, fell, and with a fractured rib, retired from
action.

Lewis and Crawford had abandoned the horses, and their trail led down
the river bank. The Rangers also left their horses at this point, for
it was hard going. McDonald now took Queen and Harwell, one on either
side of him, their guns in readiness while he gave his attention to the
trail. The light was getting very dim where they were, but Captain Bill
is a natural trailer and followed the tracks without difficulty. Here
and there they found stray articles which the men had dropped in their
flight. Finally the tracks led to the river where it was evident the
bandits had crossed.

It was February and the water was very cold. Captain Bill had not
yet recovered from the terrible bullet wounds received in the fight
with Matthews, two months before, and was bent and debilitated, but
he did not falter. With Queen and Harwell he plunged in and waded the
icy water, chin deep, to the other side. Twice more the trail led to
the river and crossed, and twice more McDonald and his men waded that
bitter current, holding their fire-arms above their heads, their bodies
literally numb with cold. It was a severe experience, but as Captain
Bill said afterwards, it removed a good deal of his mud.

McDonald now made up his mind that the robbers would be likely to cross
a road that had been cut through the bottoms, and head toward the
Territory, which they were evidently trying to reach, believing the
Rangers would not follow them across the line. He called to one of his
men--Ranger McClure, who appeared just then, a little distance away--to
get all the force he could and guard that road, while he, McDonald,
with Queen and Harwell, would continue to beat the brush and search
carefully through the bottoms. At that moment Lewis and Crawford were
near enough to hear this order, and the realization that it was Bill
McDonald and his Rangers who were on the trail gave them a sudden and
more severe chill than the icy water they had waded.

They had been heading for the Territory, as McDonald suspected, but
decided to change their course toward a creek that ran parallel with
the river. On their way to it they were obliged to cross an open field,
and though by this time it was night--between nine and ten o'clock--a
full moon had risen and they were discovered by the men guarding the
road, and fired upon. They returned the fire as they ran, but no damage
was done on either side. Meantime, McDonald and his two companions,
nearly perishing with wet and cold, having come upon a house in their
search, had stopped to try for a cup of hot coffee. At the sound of the
shots they rushed out. A horse was hitched at the door and Captain Bill
leaped into the saddle and hurried in the direction of the alarm. As he
approached, he saw in the moonlight a crowd--the local posse--gathered
on the little hill overlooking the wheatfield where the robbers had
crossed. The Ranger Captain fully expected to find the captured or dead
bandits in that crowd, and called out as he came up:

"Boys, where are they? Where are the robbers?"

They pointed in the direction of some brush about a quarter of a mile
away.

"They went into that creek bottom, over yonder."

"Well, then, what in the devil are you all doing up here?"

Somebody answered:

"You must think we're dam' fools to go in there after those fellows. Of
course we didn't go in there, and don't intend to."

"Well," said Captain Bill, "I'm going, and if any of you fellows want
to go, come ahead, but I don't want any man that don't go willingly."

Ranger McCauley had ridden up.

"You can't get away from me, Uncle Bill," he said.

The two loped off in the direction of the thicket, but presently found
their way barred by a wire fence. Leaving their horses they made a
circuit around the enclosure and soon struck what seemed to be a road,
leading into the bottom. Hurrying along they came upon Ranger McClure,
who had been in charge of the posse when the shooting had occurred, and
had set out alone to locate the robbers.

"Hello, Bob, where are they?" asked Captain Bill, as he and McCauley
came up.

"Right over there, Cap. They ran in the brush, over by yonder big tree."

"Well, boys, we've got to get them. We'll charge in there."

They pushed rapidly into the bushes without further parley--McDonald
heading for the tree, McCauley and McClure spreading out to the right.

Captain Bill made straight for the big tree pointed out by McClure, his
gun ready for quick service. It was a still, moonlit place, but brushy
and full of shadows, and not easy going. The crack of Winchesters might
be expected at any moment.

Suddenly the Captain found himself confronted by a creek, and looking
across saw two men with guns, squatting in the weeds. They appeared
to be on the point of raising their guns to fire, but with McDonald's
appearance and his sharp command, "Hold up there!" made from behind his
own leveled Winchester, they were unable to complete the action. Their
guns dropped into their laps--they seemed stupefied.

"Throw up your hands!" was the next order.

The hands went up.

"Get up from there!"

One of the men found his voice.

"We can't, Captain, our guns are lying across our laps, cocked. They'll
go off if we get up."

"Get up or I'll turn you over!"

They rose hastily, their guns sliding to the ground.

"Back off there, now, and face the other way."

They obeyed like soldiers on drill.

Captain Bill stepped into the creek, about three feet deep, and waded
across. He noticed a bag, doubtless containing the stolen money, and
observed that the robbers had laid their cartridges out on a log for
convenient use. At that moment McCauley and McClure came hurrying up,
apparently ready to shoot.

"Hold up boys! It's all right," said McDonald, "I've got 'em!"

McCauley and McClure waded across and assisted in searching the
prisoners. A purse of gold was found in one of the men's pockets; the
sack on the ground contained silver.

"Now, let's get out of this," said McDonald, "and get where it's warm."

"You're not going to make us wade that cold creek, are you" said Lewis,
shivering.

"Look here," said Captain Bill. "If you don't get across there and
pretty quick, too, I'll duck you, head first. You've made me wade water
up to my neck, all the afternoon."

They all crossed, then--the fifth time in the cold water that day for
McDonald--and made their way to where he and McCauley had left their
horses. Here they got a rope and bound the prisoners, their arms behind
them. Captain Bill then called to the posse, still waiting in the road
a quarter of a mile away listening for the sound of the shots that
would probably bring down Rangers.

"Come on, boys," he yelled, "we've got em!"

So they came "lickety brindle," but presently stopped.

"Captain, are you sure you got 'em!"

"Yes, I've got 'em, and got 'em tied. Come on--there's no danger, now!"

The crowd tore through the brush to get over there, and some of them
began abusing the captured men, declaring they had murdered the best
man in Wichita Falls, and furnishing a graphic outline of what would
happen to them, in consequence. What they said was all true enough,
maybe, but the saying of it seemed in rather poor taste to Captain Bill.

"Look here," he said, "these men are my prisoners, now; you let them
alone."

He marched Lewis and Crawford over to Mart Boger's ranch, where all got
some hot coffee and something to eat. Boger also supplied a wagon in
which to haul the prisoners.

It was McDonald's first intention to take the men to Henrietta, for
safe keeping, but against his judgment he was persuaded to take them to
Wichita Falls. He gave orders, however, that none of the crowd should
leave, as he did not wish the news of the capture to travel ahead of
them--realizing that a mob of citizens would be likely to gather.

On the way to the Falls the Rangers fell into conversation with Lewis;
and McCauley and Harwell discussed with him the fight that he and Hill
Loftus and the others had made, that night in the dug-out when Joe
Beckham had been killed. Lewis explained how he and Red Buck and Loftus
had managed to slip away without being seen. Then McDonald said:

"Boys, how was it you didn't shoot me a while ago, when you saw me
coming through the bushes? You-all had your guns cocked and ready--and
you knew you'd be hung, anyway, if you got caught. You saw me
first--why didn't you shoot?"

"Cap," said Lewis, "we thought you were out of the country and wouldn't
get back before we could get to the Territory. When we heard you giving
orders and knew who it was, we lost our nerve, and when we saw you, we
somehow got paralyzed."

When the procession had arrived within a mile or two of the Falls,
Captain McDonald, realizing that some one had doubtless slipped away
and carried the news, sent one of his men to have the jail door open
in order that there might be no delay in entering. His suspicion was
correct, for the news had traveled, and though it was then about two o
'clock in the morning, several hundred men were congregated about the
jail when the Rangers with their prisoners arrived. Captain Bill rode
ahead and opened the way with his gun.

"Give room, here, men!" he commanded, and the way opened.

Lewis and Crawford were marched into the jail--Rangers McCauley and
Queen being left to guard the door. The prisoners were taken to cells,
carefully searched, and locked in. Captain McDonald then descended to
disperse the crowd, which had grown noisy and ugly in its demands for
the prisoners, and was apparently making ready to attack the jail.
Captain Bill addressed this assembly.

"Boys," he said, "I reckon you-all are my friends, and if you are,
you'll go home now and go to bed. My Rangers and I captured these men
and they are our prisoners. We've got them locked up, and they'll have
a fair trial. You men didn't capture them, and you have nothing to do
with them. They're unarmed now, and can't defend themselves, but if you
make an attack on this jail I'll give the prisoners their guns, and
we'll lick this crowd. I command you to disperse immediately. If you
don't, we'll begin business right now."

The mob dispersed. Some of the leaders wanted to call Captain Bill
away to discuss matters, but he would have none of it, and cleared
the grounds. Then in spite of his wet, cold, weary condition, and the
terrible wounds received less than three months before, he stayed with
his men, on guard, till morning. Then a message was brought to him that
Hill Loftus had been concerned in the robbery and that he was hiding in
a dug-out near town.

Knowing that Loftus and Lewis trained together, Captain McDonald did
not discredit this report, or suspect that it was part of a ruse to
get him away from the jail. He ordered a horse from the stable at once
and made ready to start.

"Aren't you going to take your men with you?" asked the men who had
brought the word.

"No," said Captain Bill. "I want them to stay here."

"But Loftus is a bad man, and will have the advantage of you, being in
the dug-out."

"That's all right--I can take care of him; but I do want somebody to
come and show me the place."

A man volunteered to do this, and rode with Captain Bill to a dug-out
some distance away, in the edge of the town. The place was empty, but
another man appeared just then who claimed to have seen Loftus leave, a
little while before, taking a northerly direction.

Still unsuspecting, Captain Bill set out at full speed, but after
riding three miles and seeing no sign of Loftus, or his trail, he
rode back to Wichita Falls. At the edge of the town he was met by his
nephew, Henry McCauley, with the news that everybody who could get a
gun had marched on the jail, and that no doubt Lewis and Crawford were
already hung.

Captain Bill did not wait for another word. A mob of several hundred
men had gathered about the jail, wild with excitement, determined to
have Lewis and Crawford and to lynch them, forthwith. Suddenly this
multitude saw Captain Bill bearing down on them--his Winchester in
position for business and fury in his eye.

[Illustration: QUELLING A LYNCHING MOB AT WICHITA FALLS.

"Boys, have you still got the prisoners?"]

"Boys," he called to his Rangers, as he dashed up, "have you still got
the prisoners?"

"Yes," they called back, "they're still in the jail!"

Captain Bill wheeled on the mob.

"Now!" he shouted, "damn your sorry souls! march out of here and get
away from this jail, every one of you, or I'll fill this yard with dead
men!"

He had his Winchester leveled as he spoke and those who considered
themselves in range made a wild, hasty effort to get into some safer
locality. Captain Bill swung the point of his gun a little so it
covered a good many in its orbit, and nobody knew when it might go off.
They knew if it did go off it would hit whatever spot he selected, and
nobody wanted to own that spot. The crowd moved--some of it hurried
a good deal--and Captain Bill helped things along with language. He
escorted the mob well into town.

The Ranger Captain now prepared to move the prisoners to Fort Worth,
but was notified by the District Judge that this could not be
done--that any attempt to do so would result in general trouble with
the citizens of Wichita Falls. McDonald protested that the citizens had
already shown that they were unable to take care of the prisoners in a
legal way. The judge said:

"I will appoint twenty-five men to guard the jail."

"You mean you will appoint twenty-five men to keep me from taking Lewis
and Crawford away," McDonald said:

"No, only to help you guard them."

"But if you have a guard of twenty-five men you don't need the Rangers."

The judge argued for the moral support of the Rangers. McDonald
informed him that it was impossible for his force to remain in Wichita
Falls, guarding prisoners; that other work was waiting for them; that
there was already a requisition for them at Quanah; that furthermore
they had been away from their headquarters for two weeks, besides being
wet and cold and worn out from exposure and want of sleep.

"Let the others go, Captain, and you stay," urged the judge.

"Judge," said Captain Bill, "you know I'm all shot up, and it's the
first time I've rode any, and what with yesterday, and last night,
and to-day I'm about used up, and likely to be sick. Now, if you can
take care of those prisoners with your guard, all right. If you think
you can't, I'll take 'em to Fort Worth, where they'll be safe. But
I'm going to get out of here to-night, unless you get an order from
Governor Culberson for me to stay. It ain't far to the telegraph
office, only about thirty steps--you can go and wire him, if you want
to. If he says for me to stay, I will, of course. But otherwise I'm
going. I've done my whole duty, now. When I get prisoners in jail, and
guarded, my duty ends. Your guard of twenty-five men with your local
officers can hold that jail if they want to. I could hold it alone."

No order came to the Rangers from Governor Culberson, and they left
that afternoon, when the local guard had been duly installed. That
night the mob once more marched on the jail, and in spite of the armed
guard and the sheriff, deputies and constables, Lewis and Crawford were
taken from their cells and hung to telephones poles, close to the bank
where they had committed their crime.

Citizens of Wichita Falls complained to Governor Culberson that Captain
McDonald and his Rangers had gone away, leaving the prisoners to the
mercy of the mob. Culberson wired to McDonald, and receiving the facts
in reply, commended him throughout.

A reward of two thousand dollars for the capture of Lewis and Crawford
was paid by the two banks of Wichita Falls. The local posse divided it
into thirty-two equal parts, in which they generously permitted the
Rangers to share.

XXVIII

Captain Bill as a Peace-maker

HE ATTENDS CERTAIN STRIKES AND RIOTS ALONE WITH SATISFACTORY RESULTS.
GOES TO THURBER AND DISPERSES A MOB

During the years that ended the old century and began the new--from
about 1896 to 1902, or later--there occurred in Texas a series of
strike and mob disorders of various kinds. To quiet troubles of
this sort is the special province of the Ranger Service, and as the
Pan-handle became more tractable--more range-broken, as one may
say--Captain Bill McDonald and his little force were summoned to points
far and near to put down disturbance and to check agitation.

It was not long after the bank murder at Wichita Falls, and the
capture of Lewis and Crawford, that Captain McDonald was summoned
there again, this time to investigate a strike on the Fort Worth and
Denver Railroad. Things were in bad shape at the Falls. Trains were not
allowed to run, engines were not permitted to move. Riot and bloodshed
were imminent.

Captain Bill did not think it necessary to take his men. He went up to
Wichita Falls alone, and learning where the main body of the strikers
were assembled, went over there. They had gathered in a hall, and were
holding a secret meeting when he arrived. The Captain knocked on the
door. A doorkeeper came, but refused admission.

"I am Captain McDonald, of the Rangers," said McDonald quietly, "and
I'm here to talk to you men and see what the trouble is. You're all
here? now, and I think I'll talk to you together."

The doorkeeper went away and reported, and presently returned.

"Where are your Rangers?" he asked.

"I didn't bring any. I don't need any. I'm a pretty good single-handed
talker, myself."

There was another consultation inside, and the door opened. Captain
Bill went in with a friendly greeting for everybody, given in his
genial natural way. Then he got up where he could see his audience.

"Boys," he said, in his slow, friendly way, "I understand you-all are
acting mighty sorry over here, interfering with business and making
out like you're going to tear up things generally. Now, you know me,
and you know that I don't want anything that ain't right, and if a man
behaves himself I'll try to get him what's right, if I can. I suppose
you think you have a grievance and perhaps you have, but you'll never
get it settled this way, and it's my business, as you-all know, not to
have this sort of work going on. You have a perfect right to quit work,
but you haven't any right to keep other men from working, or to injure
people's business or to break up property. Nothing good can come out
of such doings. I didn't bring any of my men along, because I didn't
believe I'd need 'em, and I don't think so now, but of course if this
thing goes on, I'll have to bring 'em, and then it will be too late to
talk all friendly here together as we're talking now.

"I'm well acquainted with President Good of this road, and I know you
can't get anything this way; and if you take my advice you'll go back
to work: and tell him your troubles afterward. Now, boys, that's all
I've got to say, and I reckon if you listen to it you'll come out a
good deal better than if you listen to one or two men that for some
reason of their own are trying to stir up a lot of trouble, and will be
in jail before night, as like as not."

Captain Bill went down on the street and the crowd soon followed. A
good many came to him and expressed willingness to go to work. Here and
there he talked to a little group in his friendly, earnest way. The
strike at Wichita Falls was over.

From Wichita Falls McDonald went over to Fort Worth, where there was
similar trouble, but learned that a more serious situation existed
at the Thurber coal-mines, in Erath County. The miners were of many
nationalities--ignorant and brutish--and they were swayed by anarchical
leaders. The Ranger Captain was urged to take his men to Thurber, but
decided to go alone.

Arriving at Thurber, he hunted up the mine officials, for
consultation. Colonel Hunter, President of the mines, looked at Captain
Bill--bent over from his wounds and battered up from illness and
exposure--and shook his head.

"You should have brought your men," he said. "You can't do anything
with a gang like ours, alone."

"Well, Colonel, I'm using my men in other places. I'll look around a
little and do what I can, anyway."

Loitering about the town, he discovered that a number of kegs of beer
were going out to a high hill, beyond the outskirts--headquarters of
the striking miners. He learned that there was to be a sort of mass
meeting there that night, when the leaders and chief agitators would be
on hand. He decided to be present.

It was well after dark when he set out, and a good crowd had assembled
when he reached the place. It was out on a mountain where the timber
had been cut off, about half a mile from Thurber, and there was no
light except from a misty moon. At one place there was a big log, used
by the speakers to stand on, and about this the crowd and the beer-kegs
were gathered. Captain Bill, unnoticed, blended with the outer edges.

It was near eleven o'clock, and a speaker had come to the conclusion
that the crowd was in the proper condition to take some good radical
advice--which might be followed by prompt action--so he proceeded to
give it. He told them how they had been mistreated and what they should
do. They were to begin by blowing up the mines and the superintendent's
office, and he told them which mine to blow up first. Then he told them
what they were to do to "Old Hunter," and it was clear from the faces
and the muttering of the listeners that they were ready to do these
things.

Captain Bill worked his way through the crowd until he was close to the
speaker's log. When the agitator reached what seemed a good stopping
place, the Ranger Captain suddenly stepped up beside him. The speaker
stopped dead still, in his surprise. It was Captain Bill's turn.

"Men," he said, "this rascal that has been talking to you is an enemy
to you and to the country. He's trying to get you to commit murder, and
to get you sent to the penitentiary, or hung. You can quit work, but
you can't kill people and destroy property, not in this State. These
walking delegates and leaders that are telling you to do these things
are just a sorry lot of damned scoundrels, and I'm going to put them
where they belong, and where they're trying to get you. I'm Captain of
Company B, Ranger Service, and I'm here alone, but I'll have my men
here, if I need them, and I'll hang just such fellows as this man--"

Captain Bill turned to indicate his selected victim, but he was no
longer there. He had melted into the crowd, and was seen no more.
A man from the assembly came up and urged the Ranger Captain to
desist--warning him that there were desperate men there, and that he
would be killed.

"Don't mind me," Captain Bill proceeded, "that's been tried on me more
than once without much success. You see I'm here yet--spared, I reckon,
to give you some good advice. Now, you men had better take it and give
up these meetings, and if you've got to jump onto anybody, jump onto
the fellows that's trying to get you into trouble. Good-night!"

Captain Bill walked back to Thurber and next morning a messenger came
to his room to tell him that there was a big crowd outside, hunting for
him. He rose and dressed, and taking his Winchester went out to see
what was going on. When he appeared he was waited on by some miners
who wanted him to talk a little more to the men. He was told that a
number of them had decided to go to work and wanted to know what kind
of protection they would have. Captain Bill assured them of protection
and fair treatment. Then he asked where their leaders had gone--the men
who had been urging them to do murder. But they could not tell. Those
ill-advisers had vanished over night. Within a brief time the men were
nearly all back at work, doing better than ever before.

At other points McDonald or his Rangers quieted the strikers and
prevented trouble of various kinds. Usually Captain Bill went alone. It
was his favorite way of handling mob disorders, as we have seen. It is
told of him in Dallas how once he came to that city in response to a
dispatch for a company of Rangers, this time to put down an impending
prize-fight.

"Where are the others?" asked the disappointed Mayor, who met him at
the depot.

"Hell! aint I enough?" was the response, "there's only one
prize-fight!"

XXIX

The Buzzard's Water Hole Gang

THE MURDER SOCIETY OF SAN SABA AND WHAT HAPPENED TO IT AFTER THE
RANGERS ARRIVED

But the San Saba affair was a different matter. It was in 1897 that
certain citizens of San Saba County petitioned the Governor to send
Rangers to investigate the numerous murders which had been committed
in that locality--the number of assassinations then aggregating
forty-three within a period of ten years.

In fact, San Saba and the country lying adjacent was absolutely
controlled at that time by what was nothing less than a murder society.
San Saba County, situated about the center of the State, lies on
the border of the great south-west wilderness, and is crossed by no
railroad. In an earlier day a sort of Vigilance Committee or mob had
been organized to deal with lawless characters, but in the course of
time the usual thing happened and the committee itself became the chief
menace of the community. Whatever worthy members it had originally
claimed, either dropped out or were "removed," and were replaced
by men who had a private grudge against a neighbor; or desired his
property; or were fond of murder on general principles. In time this
deadly organization became not only a social but a political factor,
and as such had gathered into its gruesome membership--active and
honorary--county officials ranging from the deputy constabulary to
occupants of the judicial bench. Indeed, it seemed that a majority of
the citizens of San Saba were associated together for the purpose of
getting rid--either by assassination or intimidation--of the worthier
element of the community.

This society of death was well organized. It had an active membership
of about three hundred, with obligations rigid and severe. Their
meeting place was a small natural pool of water, almost surrounded
by hills. It bore the curiously appropriate name of "Buzzard's Water
Hole," and here the Worthy Order of Assassins assembled once a month,
usually during full moon, to transact general business and to formulate
plans for the removal of offending or superfluous friends. Sentinels
were posted during such gatherings, and there were passwords and signs.
These were forms preserved from the original organization; hardly
necessary now it would seem, since the majority of the inhabitants were
in sympathy with the mob, while those who were not could hardly have
been dragged to that ghastly spot. They preserved other things--they
kept up the semblance of being inspired by lofty motives, and they
maintained the forms that go with religious undertakings; wherefore,
being duly assembled to plot murder, they still opened their meetings
with prayer!

After which, the real business came up for transaction. Members in
good standing would make known their desires, setting forth reasons
why citizens in various walks of life were better dead, and the cases
were considered, and the decrees passed accordingly. Sometimes when a
man's offense was only that he owned a piece of desirable real estate,
a resolution was passed that a committee of fifty should wait on that
citizen and give him from three to five days to emigrate, this to be
supplemented by a second committee of one whose duty it would be to
call next day and make the said undesirable citizen a modest, not to
say decent, offer for his holdings. It was not in human nature to
resist a temptation like that. The man would be likely to go. He would
accept that offer, whatever it was, and he would get out of there
before night. The organization acquired a good deal of choice property
by this plan. When an election was coming on, the society decided who
was to be chosen for office, and who for assassination, and committees
were likewise appointed to see that all was duly performed. It was a
remarkable society, when you come to think about it--a good deal like
Tammany Hall, only more fatal.

To break up the Buzzard's Water Hole roost, and to discourage its
practices in and around San Saba, was the job cut out for Bill McDonald
and his Rangers during the summer and fall of 1897.

Captain McDonald began the work by sending over three of his men--John
Sullivan, Dud Barker and Edgar Neil--to investigate. There was plenty
of trail and the Rangers ran onto it everywhere. It wound in and out
in a hundred directions, and gathered in a regular knot around the
seat of justice. Perhaps there were town and county officials who were
not in the toils of the deadly membership, but if so they were not
discoverable. Sullivan promptly got into trouble with the sheriff by
re-jailing a man whom he found outside, holding a reception with his
friends, when the State had paid a reward for his capture. Sullivan
and the sheriff both drew guns, but were kept apart, and the District
Judge, who seemed to have been a sort of honorary "Buzzard," holding
his office by virtue of society favor, undertook to get rid of Sullivan
by sending him a long way off, after some witness supposed to be
wanted; though why they should want any witness, in a court like that,
would be hard to guess.

Captain Bill himself now came down to look over the field. He had
his hands full from the start. When he arrived, Rangers Barker and
Neil were patrolling the town with guns, while a number of citizens
similarly armed were collected about the streets.

"Hello, Dud," he said, "are you-all going to war?"

"Looks like it, Cap," returned Barker.

Captain Bill looked over at the armed citizens, and raised his voice
loud enough for them to hear.

"Well, Dud, if that's the best they can do," he said, "we can lick 'em,
can't we?"

"Yes, sir, if you say so, Cap."

The armed citizens showed a reluctance in the matter of hostilities
and began to edge away. McDonald now got his mail and reviewed the
situation, for prior to his coming he had scarcely known what the
trouble in San Saba was all about. By and by he went to his hotel. It
was about ten o'clock and he was sitting out in front, when he saw
flashes and heard shots across the public square. The mob was shooting
up the town for his benefit. Captain Bill seized his gun and went up
there. The main disturbance seemed to be in and about a saloon. The
Ranger Captain pushed into the place alone, compelled every man of the
assembly to put up his hands and allow himself to be disarmed. He then
required them to appear for examination, next morning. They did appear,
and were discharged, of course, but, nevertheless, it was evident that
a man who would not be scared and who was not afraid to do things, was
among them. Members of the society felt a chill of uneasiness. Worthy
citizens, heretofore silent through fear of their lives and property,
began to take heart.

McDonald now interviewed the sheriff and county officials in general
and delivered his opinion of them, individually and collectively,
concluding with the statement that he would bring Sullivan back as soon
as a message and steam would get him. The sheriff replied that Sullivan
and he could not stay in the same town.

"Then move," said Captain Bill. "The county will be rid of one damned
rascal. It will be rid of more before I get through here."

Captain Bill went to Austin, himself, after Sullivan, so that there
might be no mistake about his coming. He presented the case to Governor
Culberson and got his sanction, then sent word to his men at San Saba
to meet them, and he arrived with Sullivan, promptly on time. He had
expected that there would be a demonstration by the sheriff and his
friends, instead of which the streets of the little town were deserted.
Perhaps the sheriff and his party had given out that war was imminent
and this was the result.

It was clear now that to obtain evidence and convictions under such
conditions as they prevailed in San Saba was going to be a long, slow
job. With officials incriminated and good citizens intimidated; with
witnesses ready to come forward and swear anything in defense of the
murderers, knowing they would be upheld in their perjury, the securing
of good testimony and subsequent justice would be difficult.

The Rangers went into camp in a picturesque spot on the banks of the
San Saba River, a mile from town; pitched their tents under the shelter
of some immense pecan trees; arranged their "chuck boards," staked
their horses and made themselves generally comfortable. Then they
posted sentinels (for a fusillade from the society was likely to come
at any time), and settled down to business. Evidently they had come to
stay. The society postponed its meetings.

Captain Bill now began doing quiet detective work, a labor for which
he has a natural aptitude; anybody can see from the shape of his
ears and nose, and from the ferret look of his eyes that this would
be so. Good citizens took further courage and came to the camp with
information. The Ranger Captain looked over the field and undertook a
case particularly coldblooded and desperate.

A man named Brown, one of the society's early victims, had been hanged
by that mob some ten or twelve years before, and his son Jim, though
he had never attempted to avenge his father's death, had fallen under
the ban. Jim Brown never even made any threats, but he must have been
regarded as a menace, for one Sunday night while riding from church
with his wife and her brother, he was shot dead from ambush; his wife,
whose horse became frightened and ran within range, also receiving a
painful wound.

Captain Bill secured information which convinced him that one Bill
Ogle had been the chief instigator in this crime, and that the father
and brother of Brown's wife were likewise members of the society and
concerned in the plot. He learned, in fact, that the plan had been
for Mrs. Brown's brother to ride with her, and for her father, Jeff
McCarthy, to carry her baby by a different route to keep it out of
danger. The brother, Jim McCarthy, was to stay close to his sister, to
look after her horse and keep her out of harm's way while her husband
was being murdered. It was due to the fact that Jim McCarthy did not
perform his work well, that the sister was wounded. McDonald in due
course uncovered the whole dastardly plot.

The murderers now realized that trouble was in store for them. Some of
the men began quietly to leave the country. Others consulted together
in secluded places and plotted to "kill Bill McDonald." Sympathizing
citizens encouraged this movement, and anonymous warnings--always the
first resort of frightened criminals--began to arrive in the Ranger
camp. Captain Bill paid no attention to such communications; he was
used to them. He went on gathering and solidifying his evidence,
preparatory to the arrest of Ogle and such of his associates as the
proofs would warrant. Ogle, the "tiger" of the society, as he was
considered, McDonald had not yet seen, for the reason that the tiger
did not live in the town, and for some cause had lately avoided those
precincts. He arrived, however, in due season. Perhaps the brotherhood
let him know that it was time he was taking a hand in the game.

Captain McDonald, one hot afternoon, was talking to an acquaintance on
the streets of San Saba, when he noticed a stout surly-looking man,
with the village constable, not far away. Now and then they looked and
nodded in his direction and presently an uncomplimentary name drifted
to his ear.

"Who is that fellow talking to that sorry constable?" he asked.

His companion lowered his voice to a discreet whisper.

"That is Bill Ogle," he said, "the worst man of the murder mob."

Captain Bill looked pleased.

"Good-by," he nodded, "I want to see Bill Ogle."

He stepped briskly in the direction of the two men who, seeing him
approach, separated and loafed off in different directions. Captain
Bill overhauled the constable.

"See here," he said composedly, "I heard you call me a name a while
ago when you were talking to that murderer, Bill Ogle, who is going
down the street yonder. Now, an officer that throws in with a murder
mob, ain't worth what it would cost to try, and hang, and if I hear any
more names out of you I'll save this country the expense of one rope,
anyway."

The constable attempted to mutter some denial. Captain Bill left him
abruptly with only a parting word of advice and set off down the
street after Ogle. Ogle had crossed the street and passed through the
court-house to a hardware store on the other side--where a number of
his friends had collected.

"Don't go over there, Captain," cautioned his friend, "you'll be
killed, sure."

"Well, I'll go over and see," Captain Bill replied quaintly,
continuing straight toward the mob store.

As he entered there was a little stir, then silence. Evidently those
present had not expected that he would walk straight among them. Here
he was--they could kill him and put an end to all this trouble in short
order. But somehow they didn't do it. There seemed no good moment to
begin. Captain Bill walked over and faced Ogle.

"Come outside," he said quietly, "I want to talk to you."

Ogle hesitated.

"What do you want to say?" he asked sullenly.

Captain Bill laid his hand on Ogle's shoulder.

"I want to say some things that you might not want your friends
to hear," he said--and a quaver in his voice then would have been
death--"Come outside!"

He applied a firm pressure to Ogle's shoulder and steered him for the
door. The others, as silent as death, made no move. They did not offer
to interfere--they did not attempt to shoot. They simply looked on,
wondering.

Outside, Captain Bill led Ogle to the middle of the street. It was
blazing hot and the sand burned through his boots, but he could talk to
Ogle out there and keep an eye on the others, too.

"Now, Bill Ogle," he said, in his deliberate calm way--"I know all
about you. I know how you and your outfit murdered Jim Brown--just how
you planned it, and how you did it. I've got all the proof and I'm
going to hang you if there is any law in this country to hang a man for
a foul murder like that. That's what I'm here for, and I am not afraid
of you, nor of any of the men over there in that store that helped you
do your killing. You are all a lot of cowardly murderers that only
shoot defenseless men from ambush, and I'm going to stay here until I
break up your gang if I have to put you every one on the gallows or
behind the bars, and I'm going to begin with you."

As Captain Bill talked the sweat began to pour off of Ogle and his
knees seemed to weaken. Presently they could no longer support his
stout body and he sat heavily down in the hot sand, trying weakly to
make some defense.

"Get up," said Captain Bill, "haven't you got your gun?"

"No, sir, Captain, I haven't."

"Well, you'd better get one if you're going to go hunting for me. And
there's the men over there who helped you kill Jim Brown, and your
Greaser-lookin' constable and your sorry sheriff. Get your whole crowd
together, and get ready and then I'll gather in the whole bunch. Go on,
now, and see what you can do."

"Yes, sir, Captain."

Ogle made several attempts to get on his feet, finally succeeded, and
went back to his friends. Captain Bill immediately set about getting
out a warrant for his arrest, but after some delay, found he could
not get the papers until next morning. Ogle, meantime, had been to his
friend, the District Judge, who now appeared before the Ranger Captain
with the statement that Ogle, whom he believed to be a square man, had
said he wanted to leave the country for fear McDonald would kill him;
McDonald, he said, having the reputation of being a killer and a bad
man generally.

"Yes, Judge," said Captain Bill, "that's the proper reputation to give
me, so that some of your crowd of murderers can assassinate me and
your court can deliver a verdict that I was a bad citizen and ought to
have been killed sooner, the way you've done about all the rest of the
forty-three that have been murdered and no one tried for it in this
section. Now, I intend to see that he don't leave this country, unless
he leaves it in shackles. He committed this murder, and I can prove it.
I've got one of the members of the mob as a witness."

"You will stir up old trouble and get things in worse shape than ever,"
protested the judge.

"If I can't get things in better shape, I'll lay down my hand," said
McDonald.

A little later, on the street, Captain Bill saw Ogle approaching. He
was armed this time--with a big watermelon. He approached humbly.

"Captain," he said, "you've done me a great wrong, and I want you to
accept this watermelon."

Captain Bill did not know whether to laugh or to swear. Presently he
said:

"You scoundrel! I suppose that thing is poisoned. I believe I'll make
you eat it, rind and all."

Ogle backed away with his melon and presently set out for home. Fearing
now that he would escape before the warrant could be issued, Captain
McDonald instructed Rangers McCauley, Barker, Neil and Bell, members
of his camp, to keep watch, and if Ogle attempted to leave the county
to hold him until he (McDonald) could arrive with the proper papers.
These were obtained next morning, about ten o 'clock, and Captain Bill
starting out with them, met his Rangers with Ogle, who had, in fact,
attempted to escape. He was taken to jail and a strong guard was set.

Consternation now prevailed among the society and its friends; in
the cowboy term they were "milling." Members of the mob were to turn
State's evidence; one Josh McCormick, who had been made a member by
compulsion--having run into one of their meetings--had been brought
from an adjoining county and would testify; a grand jury composed of
exemplary citizens had been secured.

And that was not all. Captain Bill one day went to the District Judge,
ostensibly for advice.

"Judge," he said, "I want some legal information."

The judge was attentive, and took him to a quiet place.

"Now, Judge," said Captain Bill, "you know that the Buzzard Water
Hole mob holds its meetings over there once a month, and the monthly
meeting is about due. You know that they meet there to decide to kill
somebody or to run him out of the country and take his property, and
that they've already done such deviltry as that here for years."

The judge assented uneasily.

"Well, then," continued the Ranger Captain, "I want to know if it will
be all right for me to charge in there on that meeting with my Rangers
and kill any of them that might make any resistance, and round up the
rest and drive them into town and put them in jail--just drive them
afoot like a lot of cattle and let their horses be sent for, later;
would that be all right, Judge?"

The District Judge was a good deal disturbed.

"No, Captain," he said, "I don't think you'd better undertake that, I
should advise against such a move."

"Well, Judge," said Captain Bill, "that's exactly what I propose to do.
I'll take chances on the results and I'll bring in the prettiest bunch
of murderers you'll find anywhere. Good-day, Judge, and thank you for
the advice."

However, this program was not carried out--not in full. There was no
material with which to make it complete. Within a brief time from his
talk with the District Judge, Captain Bill's purpose was known to every
member of the mob. It was a time to take to tall timber and high trees.
The society adjourned _sine die_.

The Rangers did, however, visit the Buzzard's Water Hole at the time
when the mob meeting was due. Not a soul was to be found anywhere. Then
knowing certain members of the gang, and having learned the society
signals, Captain Bill and his men went riding over the country from
house to house, halting outside to call "Hello!----Hello! Hello!"
which was a signal call between members of the society. In reply to
each such call a door opened and a man came out quickly, only to find
the Rangers, who inquired if he were going to attend the meeting at
Buzzard's Water Hole; whereupon, as Captain Bill put it later, "they
like to died," and vigorously pretended ignorance of the meaning of the
"Hello" signal. Next morning the Rangers were back in San Saba, and
when the news came in that they had been around calling on mob members
there was not only anxiety, but mystery, for some of these members of
the society lived a distance of twenty-five miles away. But a fifty or
seventy-five mile ride in a night on an errand of that kind was merely
a little diversion, to a Ranger.

The grand jury's work was difficult. It found indictments against many
of the assassins, but the district judge made an effort to annul most
of these actions on one ground and another, and to trump up charges
against the Rangers. McDonald finally gave this official a lecture
which he probably remembers yet, if he is alive. About the same time
one of the gang leveled a Winchester at Ranger Barker, who with his
revolver shot him five times before he could pull the trigger, and was
promptly cleared--all of which had a wholesome effect on the community
as a whole.

With the arrest of Ogle, the anonymous letters became very terrible
indeed. Captain Bill had brought his wife to the San Saba camp for the
winter, and one morning appeared before her with one of these letters
in his hand.

"Well, I've got to leave San Saba," he said.

"Why," she asked. "Has the Governor ordered you away?"

"No, the Governor hasn't, but read this."

He handed her the letter which informed him that if he did not leave
San Saba in two days he would be filled so full of lead that it would
require a freight train to haul him to the graveyard. Rhoda McDonald
read the communication through. Then she said:

"Bill Jess, if you leave here on account of a thing like that, _I'll_
leave _you_."

"Well," said Captain Bill, sorrowfully, "I seem to be in a mighty bad
fix. If I stay, I'll be filled with bullets, and if I go, I'll lose my
wife. I s'pose I'll have to stay."

The examining trial of Bill Ogle was an event in San Saba. Josh
McCormick was chief witness for the State, and was a badly scared man,
in spite of the fact that the Rangers had taken him to their camp and
guaranteed him protection from the members of the Buzzard's Water Hole
crowd. Other witnesses on both sides were frightened enough, for nobody
knew what might happen before this thing ended. It was the program
of the mob forces, of which Ogle and his lawyers were the acting
principals, to impeach the State's witnesses and thus break down their
evidence before the court, as was their custom. Unfortunately for them
they selected as one of their perjurers old Jeff McCarthy, father of
Brown's wife, himself accessory to the crime for which Ogle was being
tried. Captain Bill knew of McCarthy's relation to the affair, though
the evidence had not been sufficient for his indictment. Furthermore,
Captain Bill believed that the old man, like McCormick, whose uncle
he was, had been forced into the band, and had acted under compulsion
throughout.

McCormick was placed on the stand, and told what he knew about the
society and its crimes in general, and about the killing of Jim Brown
in particular. His absolute knowledge did not extend to the connection
of the two McCarthy's with the killing, and they were not mentioned in
his evidence. When he left the stand, a number of nervous witnesses
were called by the other side to swear that they would not believe him
on oath. Finally old Jeff McCarthy was reached. He was frightened and
trembling and in a wretched state altogether. Captain Bill watched him
closely while he was making his statement concerning the worthless
character of his nephew, McCormick, and the old man shifted and
twisted to evade those eyes that were piercing his very soul. Now and
then the Ranger Captain leaned toward him and lifted his finger like
the index of fate, prompting the District Attorney meantime as to what
questions to put to the witness. The old man became more and more
confused and miserable, and when at last he was excused he tottered
from the stand. He lingered about the place, however, seemingly unable
to leave, and by and by, when court adjourned for the day, McDonald
found him just outside the door, with others of his kind.

"Jeff," Captain Bill said in his calm drawl, "you did not tell the
truth on the stand; you know every word you said was a lie."

Old Jeff McCarthy gasped, tried to get his words, gasped again and
failed.

"I don't blame you so much," Captain Bill went on, "for you were afraid
this mob would kill you if you didn't testify according to orders--now,
wasn't you?"

Again the wretched old man made an effort to reply, but he was past
speech.

Captain Bill's finger was pinning him fast.

"They frightened you and made you join their gang, didn't they? And now
you would like to get out, but you don't know how--ain't that so?"

The old man was on the verge of utter collapse. He backed off and slunk
away. After that Old Jeff haunted the Ranger Camp and finally when he
could stand it no longer made full confession to Captain Bill of his
connection with the mob, revealing the mob's secrets, its signs and
passwords, the names of its members and its gruesome oath.

"They will kill me," he said, "but I don't care. I'm happier now than
I've been for years!"

"I don't reckon they'll try that," said Captain Bill. "That thing's
about over, around here."

They formed a guard, and escorted the old man home, for he was full of
fear.

When the court of examination adjourned, Ogle was held without bail.
Through the efforts of District Attorney Lynden it was decided to
transfer Ogle's case to Llano County for final trial, Lynden making
his fight for this change on the grounds that no fair trial could be
obtained in the San Saba court.

In Llano County, Ogle's case was fairly tried, and he received a life
sentence. Two accessories to the killing of Brown, were arrested, but
just then war was declared with Spain; the Rangers were hastily ordered
off to protect the Rio Grande frontier, where a Mexican incursion was
expected, and without Captain Bill to keep up the vigorous action, and
a sharp oversight on the witness stand, convictions were not obtainable.

However, the San Saba campaign was a success. The society that murdered
men for spite, or gain, or pastime, no longer existed. When the next
election of county officials came around the old lot was wiped out
clean, and men of character and probity came into power. The roads
that led to the Bad Lands were kept dusty with the emigration of men
who had formerly gathered at Buzzard's Water Hole, and in their stead
came those who would give to San Saba nobler enterprise and worthier
fame. Eight Rangers were among the new blood that came to rehabilitate
San Saba County. That long winter of '97-98 had not been altogether
spent in chasing criminals. These eight had found wives, or rumors of
wives; in due time they were all married, and with eight established
resident Rangers, how could any county help becoming as serene and safe
as a Sunday-school? Ranger Edgar Neil was elected sheriff; Ollie Perry
was chosen constable; Dud Barker, Ed. Donnelly, Forest Edwards and Bob
McClure also settled in San Saba, and caused Company B to go recruiting
for Rangers.

Bill Ogle is still in the Penitentiary at Huntsville, Texas. As late as
May, 1908, he wrote to Captain McDonald as follows:

"Huntsville, Texas, 5/21/08.

"Capt. W.J. McDonald,
"Austin, Texas.

"Dear Sir:

"It has come to my ears from some of my friends, who have recently
visited Austin in my behalf, that you are bitterly opposed to my
being released from the Penitentiary. I regret very much that you are
taking this stand against me. My friends also told me that one of your
reasons of being in opposition to my release was, that you had fears
of your own life, should I be pardoned.

"Capt. McDonald, I want to assure you that I have no feeling of
bitterness against you, and you may rest assured, that I would never
harm you in the least or try to injure you in any way, should I regain
my liberty. I feel that in doing what you did, you were doing your
duty as an officer.

"My conduct in the Penitentiary ought to be a guarantee to you of my
intention to lead a correct life, when I get out, and I feel, that if
you will investigate my standing here, and find out what the officers
here think about me, you will be convinced of this.

"I trust that you will reconsider this matter, and soften your heart
in my case, and you may rest assured, that I will appreciate anything
you will do for me as long as life shall last.

"I would be pleased to hear from you, and I hope that you will give me
some little encouragement.

"Thanking you in advance for anything you may say or do for me, I am,

"Yours respectfully,
"WILL OGLE."

Captain McDonald's reply to Ogle's letter was, in part, as follows:

"Austin, Texas, June 4, 1908.

"Mr. Bill Ogle,
"Huntsville, Penitentiary.

"Dear Sir:

"Your letter of the 21st inst. received, and contents duly and
carefully noted.

"I note what you say in regard to what your friends say about my
opposing your pardon, claiming that in case of your release I had
fears of my own life. Now, Bill, ... my advice to you is to make a
clear truthful statement, giving all the facts connected with numerous
murders committed by this mob, and thereby secure your liberty.

"You know I'm not in the Ranger service now, and it makes no
difference to me who is released, and I so notified the Board of
Pardons.

"You say you have no feeling of bitterness against me, and that you
would not attempt to harm me. You can rest assured that I have no
fears in that line. I only did my duty as an officer, as you say I
did, and I have no animosity against you; and would not have gone
before the Board of Pardons, had I not been sent for.

"I understand your conduct has been all right while in jail, and in
the Penitentiary, and I am sorry that your conduct wasn't better
before you got into that mob, because you know that was an awful
thing. Now, don't you?

"You asked me to consider this matter, and that you will appreciate it
as long as life shall last. I certainly will not utter any protest,
unless the Governor asks me what I know about it, and I'll then tell
the truth about it.

"Very respectfully,
W.J. MCDONALD."

What Captain Bill had said before the Board of Pardons was:

"I don't know the gentleman that is presenting this petition and
making this talk to you, but I do know the names of a good many of
those signers, and I know Bill Ogle is guilty of this murder, and I
know that a good many of these other fellows ought to be where Bill is
now."

XXX

Quieting a Texas Feud

THE REECE-TOWNSEND TROUBLE, AND HOW THE FACTIONS WERE ONCE DISMISSED BY
CAPTAIN MCDONALD

As the old century drew near its end, a wave of disorder and crime that
amounted to an inundation swept over the eastern and south-eastern
portion of Texas. Murders, lynchings, mobs and rumors of mobs, were
reported daily. The Pan-handle, even in its palmiest days, had been
a Young Men's Christian Association as compared with the older, more
thickly settled portions of the State. In the Pan-handle, crime was
likely to be of a primitive, elemental kind-the sort of crime that
flourished in the old, old days when the Patriarchs pastured their
flocks on a hundred hills and protected them with a club.

In the long-settled districts to the eastward, crime had ripened,
as it were, and manifested itself in more finished forms. Feuds had
developed, and race prejudice. Communities had been established which
found it necessary to hang their only respectable citizens in order
to preserve peace. In other places old ladies, supposed to have a few
hundred dollars, were murdered by relatives who could not wait for them
to die. These are the things that come only with long settlement, and
where certain human impulses have been carefully bred and nourished.

The Reece-Townsend feud in Colorado County gave the State no end of
trouble. The Reece and Townsend families killed one another in the
regulation way, when good opportunities offered. They had a fashion
of gathering in the streets of Columbus, the county seat, for their
demonstrations, and sometimes on a field-day like that they killed
members of other families, by mistake. But errors of this sort were not
allowed to interfere with the central idea of the feud; they apologized
and went on killing one another, just the same.

It was when a boy who belonged to neither faction was shot and killed,
at one of these reunions, that Captain Bill McDonald and his Rangers
were ordered to Columbus to put down what seemed about to become a
general war.

Captain Bill failed to receive the order in time to get his men the
same day, but did not wait. He wired two to follow him on first train
and set out for Columbus alone. Arriving on the streets of Columbus he
saw detachments of armed men gathered here and there--the streets being
otherwise deserted. He set out at once for the home of District Judge
Kennon to whom he had been ordered to report. After the exchange of
greetings, McDonald said:

"We haven't much time, Judge, from appearances. I saw a lot of armed
men as I came along, and it looks like we're going to have war."

"You are right," Judge Kennon said, "we are expecting it any minute.
Where are your men, and how many have you?"

"None, Judge. I came alone, but I expect two in the morning."

"In the morning! Why, man, by that time the fight will be over! And
what can you do with two men here? Nothing less than twenty-five or
thirty will help this case."

"Judge," said Captain Bill, in his deliberate way, "I believe I can
stop this thing if you will come down to the court-house with me.
Anyhow, it's my duty to try; and we'd better be getting over there,
now, Judge, for this ain't going to wait long. If we can't stop it we
can see a mighty good fight, anyhow."

They set out together. The court-house in Columbus stands in the middle
of a big square, with a street on each of its four sides. On one corner
of the square, was gathered the Reece faction, and near another corner
the Townsend crowd had assembled. Both were fully armed. They were
making no active demonstrations as yet, but were evidently organizing
for business. It was a still, sunny summer day, and both crowds were in
easy calling distance of the court-house.

"Now, Judge," said Captain Bill, when they had arrived at the
court-house, "who is your sheriff, and where is he."

"His name is Burford, J.C. Burford, and he's over there with the
Townsend crowd. He belongs to that faction."

Captain Bill stepped to the window and called in the strong official
manner of a witness summons: "J.C. Burford," repeated three times.

There was a movement in the Townsend crowd and a man crossed over and
ascended the court-house stair. McDonald introduced himself, as the
sheriff entered, and added:

"Now, Mr. Burford, why don't you stop this row? Looks as if we're going
to have a killing match here, right away."

"Captain, I can't. I'm powerless to do anything with these men. If I
undertake to disarm them, it will start a fight that nobody can stop."

"Well, Burford, if you'll do as I tell you, I'll stop it in thirty
minutes or I'll resign my job as Ranger."

"All right, Captain, I'll do whatever you say," assented Burford.

"Then call your crowd over here. I want to talk to them."

Sheriff Burford stepped to the window and signed to the Townsend
faction. They trooped over and ascended the court-house stair, carrying
their guns.

"Mr. Burford," said McDonald, "which are your regular deputies here?"

The sheriff indicated his three deputy officers. Captain Bill motioned
them to stand apart from the others.

"Now, Sheriff," he said, "disarm the rest of these men."

The officer looked a little bewildered.

"I don't know about that," he began.

"Didn't you agree to do what I ordered?" Then, to Kennon--"Didn't he,
Judge?"

The judge nodded. The sheriff still hesitated.

"Never mind," said McDonald, "I'll do it myself. Here, boys," he went
on in his mild friendly drawl, "come in here and stack your guns in
this wardrobe. It's a good safe place for them. They won't be likely to
go off and hurt anybody, in there."

What was it about the manner of the man that made men obey? Those
aroused, bloodthirsty Texans, full of an old deep hatred and the spirit
of revenge, marched in and put away their guns at his direction, with
scarcely a word of dissent.

"I don't blame you-all for having your guns until now," Captain Bill
went on, as he locked the wardrobe and took the key. "But we want to
stop this war if we can. It ain't good for the population. Now, I'll
just go over and look after the other crowd."

He went out of the court-house, and crossed the street to where the
Reece crowd was gathered. He carried his Winchester and the faction
watched him curiously as he approached.

"I guess you boys are going to war, ain't you?" he said cheerfully as
he came nearer.

Nobody replied, and Captain Bill came up close.

"Boys," he said, "your guns are all right, up till now, but the
Governor has sent me down here to stop this trouble, and I want you-all
to help me."

"How can we help you?" asked one of the Reece faction.

"Like them boys did over yonder, just now--by giving up your guns. Then
by going quietly home."

There was a little murmur of dissent and one big husky fellow said:

"Well, you'll play hell getting my gun!"

In less than an instant, a Winchester was under his nose and Captain
Bill was crisply saying:

"I will, hey? Well I'll just put you in jail, anyway, to show you how
easy it is to do _that_."

The big fellow gave a great jump and nearly fell over with surprise and
fright. His gun dropped as if it had been hot. The leader of the Reece
faction spoke up quickly.

"Boys, he is right," he said. "The Governor sent him here, and he's
obeying orders. He has no interest in one side or the other."

McDonald marched the Reeces over to a store, nearby, where they laid
down their guns, and the clerk was ordered to take charge of them.
The big man under arrest promised all manner of things if Captain
Bill would let him go. He was set free, with a warning. Peace now
seemed to be restored, and in the general gratitude of the community,
refreshments and invitations were tendered to Captain Bill from both
sides. He decided, however, to remain on duty during the rest of the
day and night. His two men arrived next morning, but everything was
still quiet, and there appeared no sign of a renewal of hostilities.
The Reece-Townsend trouble, for the time, at least, was over.[10]

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 10: Report of Adjutant-General Thomas Scurry of Texas (1899):

"During the month of March, 1899, Captain McDonald and two men were
ordered to Columbus, Colorado County, for the purpose of preventing
trouble between the Townsend and Reece factions. Captain McDonald went
alone, his men not being able to reach him in time, and his courage
and cool behavior prevented a conflict between the two factions." For
fuller official details of this and other work of that period, see
Appendix B.]

XXXI

The Trans-cedar Mystery

THE LYNCHING OF THE HUMPHREYS AND WHAT HAPPENED TO THE LYNCHERS

Captain McDonald was still at Columbus when he received a telegram
ordering him to report at once to Assistant Attorney General Morris and
the local officials at Athens, Henderson County, Texas, for the purpose
of investigating the lynching of three respectable citizens--a father
and two sons, named Humphrey--in a timbered tract between Trinity River
and Cedar Creek, known as the Trans-cedar Bottoms.

Henderson County is in East Texas, and the Trans-cedar Bottoms
constitute just the locality and neighborhood for a murder of the
Humphrey kind. Shut-in, thickly timbered and lonely--it is a place for
low morals to become lower with each generation--for scant intellect
to become scantier--for darkened minds to become darker and more
impervious to pity, indeed to any human impulse except crime.

The Humphreys had not fitted an environment like that. They were
honest, sturdy men--fearless and open in their dealings. They were a
menace to a gang who made moonshine whisky, stole whatever they could
lay hands on and would swear a man's life away for a lean hog. It was
necessary for the welfare of the neighborhood that the Humphreys be
disposed of, and they were taken by a mob one night and hanged--three
of them to one tree--they having been placed upon horses and the horses
driven from under them. Then, when the ropes had proven too long, and
the feet of the three Humphreys had touched the ground, the mob had
bent back the legs of the victims at the knee and tied the feet upward
to the hands, so that the Humphreys might swing clear.

Bill McDonald knew something of the Trans-cedar country, and the
character of its settlement, for, as we have seen in a former chapter,
he had passed his youth and his early manhood at Henderson and at
Mineola, both within seventy-five miles of that very district. He set
out alone by first train, and arriving at Athens, learned the details
of the ghastly crime which already, through the telegraphed reports,
had stirred the entire State. He learned that the lynching had taken
place about twenty-five miles from Athens, near a little post-office
named Aley, and he hurried to that place, without delay, taking with
him one Guy Green, an Athens lawyer, familiar with the neighborhood.
With Green, the Ranger went straight to the scene of the murder and
made an examination of the tracks and various clues that remained.
Two days had passed since the crime, and many of the signs had been
obliterated. Still there were enough for a man with the faculties
of Captain Bill. He identified no less than four trails--one, as he
decided, made by five horses; another by three; a third by two, and
a fourth the track of a single horse. The trails wound in and out,
crossed and recrossed, and were evidently made with the idea of balking
pursuit. Captain McDonald did not consider them especially difficult,
and having satisfied himself that they could be followed, he went on to
Aley, for it was near nightfall.

At Aley he joined Assistant Attorney General Ned Morris; District
Attorney Jerry Crook; Tom Bell, sheriff of Bell County, and Ben.
E. Cabell, sheriff of Dallas County, who had come over to aid the
investigation. He was assured that the work was going to be hard--that
the greater portion of the inhabitants were either in sympathy with
the lynchers or were so much in terror of them that it would be almost
impossible to get direct evidence. Captain Bill looked thoughtful as he
listened.

"Well," he said, "I'm going to stay here till I get it, and I'm going
after it just like I was going for a doctor. You can give it out that I
mean business and that nobody need to be afraid to testify. I'll take
care of them."

He discussed the case with the officials and learned that one Joe
Wilkerson was suspected as having been connected with the murder--it
being well-known that Wilkerson had pursued the Humphreys and
bemeaned them; finally accusing them of stealing hogs, and swearing
to some meat which the Humphreys had earned by digging wells. In the
evidence it had developed that the Wilkerson hogs, though mortgaged
by him, had in reality been sold, and that he had thus attempted to
evade the consequences of this illegal act by saddling the Humphreys
with a still heavier crime. The Humphreys had not been convicted, but
Wilkerson had never ceased to vilify them. Later, one of the Humphrey
boys, George, had been set upon by some of the Wilkerson crowd and in
defending himself had killed, with a knife, one of his assailants. The
courts--there were honest courts in Athens--had cleared him, but in
the Trans-cedar tribunal he had been doomed. These facts constituted
about all the foundation of known motive upon which McDonald would have
to build his evidence. It was while he was discussing these things
with the attorneys on the night of his arrival that a man rode up to
the gate just outside and called his name. Captain Bill rose, but the
others protested, declaring that it might be a plot to shoot him in the
dark. However, he went, six-shooter in hand, and sticking it in the
face of the caller, demanded his business. The man protested that he
meant no harm, but had come from one Buck Holley, who lived two miles
down the road and said he knew Captain McDonald and wanted to see him.
The Ranger Captain reflected a minute.

"I don't know any Buck Holley," he said. "I knew a scoundrel by the
name of Bill Holley some years ago up in the Pan-handle, and if that is
who it is I don't want to see him. I judge you fellows have got a gang
down the road there to shoot me from ambush. Who are you, anyway?"

The man said his name was Monasco; that he was staying at Holley's and
that he had a brother named Bill Monasco, in Amarillo.

"I know Bill Monasco," McDonald said, "and he has a brother that was
sent to the penitentiary. Is that you?"

The visitor acknowledged that he was the man--that he had been recently
released.

"Well," said McDonald, "that's about the kind of a crowd that I would
expect to find Bill Holley running with, and you can tell this _Buck_
Holley, as you call him, that I suspect him of being connected with
this mob, and that I used to make him stand hitched in the Pan-handle,
and that I'm going to do the same here."

Monasco said "good-night," and Captain McDonald never saw him again.
Somewhat later, when he met Bill Holley on the streets of Athens, he
said:

"Look here, Bill, I'm afraid your partner, Monasco, didn't tell you the
message I sent the night I came. I said I didn't know Buck Holley, but
that I knew a sorry bulldozing scoundrel by the name of Bill Holley,
and that I supposed he was down the road there to take a shot at me
from ambush. You weren't in this lynching mob, I reckon, but they're
your friends, and you'd help 'em if you could. Now, Bill, you've been
courting a funeral a good while, and if you try any of your nonsense
here, you'll win out."

He searched Holley for weapons and relieved him of a big pocket-knife,
the bully protesting that he was no longer a bad man. Captain Bill
learned, however, that he had recently whipped his wife, taken her
clothes and driven her away from home, and later had attempted to kill
her father for interfering in her behalf.

The Ranger Captain was out early the morning after his arrival in
Aley, and on the trail. The tracks of the five horses were followed
to the houses of Joe Wilkerson and his tenant, and to the homes of
John and Arthur Greenhaw. In Wilkerson's lot the officers found part
of a well-rope, the remainder of which had been cut away. It matched
precisely with the rope used to hang the Humphreys--the freshly cut
ends being the same on both. The Wilkersons and one of the Greenhaws
were taken into custody forthwith, and other arrests followed, as the
criminals were tracked home.

But it was hard to get evidence. A few who were anxious to testify,
hesitated through fear. Others, subpœnaed and examined, were evidently
in sympathy with the mob and withheld their knowledge accordingly.
Captain Bill had been reinforced by Private Olds from Company C, and
now began systematic investigation. He established his court of
inquiry under a brush arbor--a framework of poles, with brush a-top to
keep out the sun--and there for two months held high inquisition. It
was a curious, exclusive court. The Ranger Captain gave it out that he
would invite such attendance as he needed, and that mere spectators
would kindly remain away. His wishes were heeded.

Little by little evidence collected. Men willing to testify gained
confidence from Captain Bill's assurance of protection and told what
they knew. Men unwilling to testify found themselves unable to hide
their facts where they could not be reached by the keen persuasive
probing of the man with those ferret eyes, that quiet voice and those
alert extended ears. The testimony brought out the facts the Humphreys
had known of an illicit still run by two men--one Polk Weeks and a man
named Johns. Also that they had known of John Greenhaw stealing cattle
and hogs, and that John Greenhaw had once drawn a gun on the elder
Humphrey, who had taken it away from him, unloaded and returned it,
instead of killing him with it and rendering the community a service.
These things, added to the other provocations already named, had
made the Humphreys sufficiently unpopular in a neighborhood like the
Trans-cedar Bottoms to warrant their being hung to a limb, trussed up
to swing clear of the ground.

In the course of time, practically every resident of that district
had been before the brush-arbor court of inquiry, and if a shorthand
report had been taken of that testimony it would have furnished
material for many a character study and tale of fiction.

Guilty knowledge of the crime actually killed a man named Eli Sparks,
whose conscience tortured him day and night to the point of giving
testimony, yet whose fears upon the witness stand caused him to
withhold the truth. He was a large red-faced man, evidently greatly
excited when questioned, and concealing more than he told. Soon after
his first examination he met Captain McDonald and offered to testify
again, saying that he had been too frightened to tell the truth, the
first time, but thought he could do better, now. The Ranger Captain
scrutinized him keenly and made the prophecy that Eli Sparks would not
live thirty days, unless he got rid of the load on his conscience. He
died in just half that time; not, however, until he had fully confessed
a complete knowledge of the details of preparation for the crime, and
how once he had gone with the mob when they had intended hanging the
Humphreys, but for some reason had postponed the event. The poor wretch
did not go the second time, but his guilt nevertheless dragged him to
the grave.

Another who came to the brush-arbor inquiry was a banker who testified
that the Humphreys had received their just deserts for the reason that
they were thieves and should have been hung long before.

"How did _you_ come to escape, then?" asked McDonald. "I understand
that you were once indicted for cattle-stealing yourself, and that you
actually got the cattle. Is that so?"

Under severe pressure the witness admitted that there had been such a
charge and that the cattle had by some means got into his possession.
He got away at last and disappeared out of the case entirely, though he
had been active up to that point.

The efforts of the men believed to be concerned as principals in the
crime, to establish their innocence, were sometimes wary, sometimes
crudely absurd, and always fruitless. The mesh of fact that was weaving
and linking itself about them became daily more tightly woven, more
impossible to tear away. Knowing themselves closely watched, they dared
not attempt flight. To do so would be to confess guilt, and capture
would be well-nigh certain. Like Ahab, having compassed the death
of a neighbor, they "lay in sackcloth and went softly." Finally it
came to pass that three of these "children of Belial" turned State's
evidence--that is, they confessed fully, sacrificing their comrades,
under the law, to save themselves. Eleven men, including these three,
were brought to trial.

Yet, conviction was not easy, in spite of the direct character of the
evidence. The accused men employed lawyers who were ready to balk at
no methods that would save their clients, and there were plenty of
witnesses willing to testify as instructed. Efforts were also made to
influence and coerce the State's witnesses, and McDonald found it
necessary to threaten certain counsel for the defense with subornation
proceedings, before he could get the way clear for action. Even then
it was thought advisable to transfer the cases to Palestine, in the
adjoining county, for trial--sentiment in the neighborhood of Athens
being regarded as too favorable to the accused. In the final trial
John and Arthur Greenhaw and Polk Weeks, who were not only murderers,
but cowardly traitors, were given their freedom in exchange for their
evidence that sent their eight associates to the Penitentiary for life.

Polk Weeks, in giving his evidence, appeared much disturbed, but
confessed how he had climbed the tree and tied the ropes, and tied them
too long, making it necessary for the legs of the Humphreys to be bent
upwards, to clear the ground. John Greenhaw corroborated this, but
grinned as he told it, remembering how amusing it had been. He did not
live to enjoy his freedom, for he was shot soon after his discharge by
a son of one of the murdered Humphreys--young Willie Humphrey, who was
never punished for that righteous act.[11]

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 11: Extract from a letter relating to the Humphrey case,
written by Assistant Attorney General N.B. Morris to Adjutant-General
Thos. Scurry; included in the latter's Annual Report for 1899-1900.

"You will remember that at the request of the sheriff, county attorney,
and other local authorities of that county, Captain McDonald and
Private Old were sent to assist them and myself in the investigation
of that horrible murder which was then enshrouded in a mystery that it
seemed almost impossible to uncover. Before the Rangers reached us the
people in the neighborhood seemed afraid to talk. They said they would
be murdered, too, if they took a hand in working up the case. About the
first thing that Captain McDonald did was to assure the people that he
and his associates had come to stay until every murderer was arrested
and convicted, and that those who assisted him would be protected. They
believed him, and in consequence thereof, soon began to talk and feel
that the law would be vindicated, and I am glad to say that it was. The
work of the Rangers in this one case is worth more to the State, in my
opinion, than your department will cost during your administration. In
fact such service cannot be valued in dollars and cents."[12]]

[Footnote 12: For further official details of this and other work of
that period, see Appendix B.]

XXXII

Other Mobs and Riots

RANGERS AT ORANGE AND AT PORT ARTHUR. FIVE AGAINST FOUR HUNDRED

A riot at Orange, Texas, followed the Trans-cedar episode. Orange is
a lumber town on the Sabine River in the extreme south-east portion
of Texas, and many negroes are employed in the sawmills. A white mob
composed of the tougher element in and about the city had organized,
with the purpose of driving the negroes away. The negroes received
anonymous warnings, and as they did not go immediately, were assaulted.
Some twenty or more of the mob, one dark night, surrounded a house
where a number of the colored men were assembled and opened fire,
killing one man and wounding several others. Ranger Captain Rogers
of Company E, with his men, was ordered to Orange, but soon after
his arrival, while making an arrest among desperate characters, was
disabled through injury to an old wound. Captain McDonald then came
down from Athens with Rangers Fuller, Jones, Old, McCauley, Saxon and
Bell. They lost no time in taking a firm grip on the situation and
landed twenty-one of the offenders in jail, with evidence sufficient
to convict. But it was a hard profitless work. Whatever the citizens
might want, Orange officially did not care for law and order. A gang
controlled the law of the community, and the order took care of itself.
Private Fuller found it necessary to kill one man who interfered with
an arrest and attempted to use a knife. Later, Fuller was summoned to
Orange, ostensibly to answer to the charge of illegal arrest, but in
reality for purposes of revenge. Captain McDonald protested to the
Governor that it was simply an excuse to get Fuller over there to kill
him.

It turned out accordingly: Fuller was washing his face in a barber shop
when the dead man's brother slipped up behind and shot him through
the head with a Winchester, killing him instantly. The assassin was
made chief deputy sheriff, as a reward, and in due time was himself
killed by the city marshal, who, in turn, was killed by the dead man's
family; which process of extermination has probably continued to this
day, and perhaps Orange has improved accordingly. There was room for
improvement. The cases against the twenty-one men arrested by Captain
Bill and his Rangers were all dismissed, as soon as the Rangers got out
of town.[13]

Port Arthur, also on the Sabine River, below Orange, is a city of oil
refineries, and is a port of entry, as its name implies, its outlet
being through Sabine Pass. In March, 1902, trouble broke out there
between the longshoremen and the operators of the refineries. As a
result the longshoremen struck, and when the operators introduced
Mexican laborers, the strikers, numbering about four hundred, drove
them away and issued a manifesto, declaring that no more Mexicans need
apply.

It was at this stage of the proceedings that Captain Bill was ordered
by Adjutant-General Scurry to take several men and be on hand when
the next Mexicans arrived. He took four--Privates Grude Brittain, Jim
Keeton, John Blanton and Blaze Delling--picked men--and arrived on the
ground a day in advance of the next hundred Mexicans, then on the way.

The Rangers proceeded immediately to the refineries, which are located
several miles from the city, and saw nothing of the longshoremen that
day. It was likely they would be on hand next morning when the Mexicans
would arrive. Threats had been made that these Mexicans would not be
allowed to leave the train for the refineries, and that if any such
attempt was made, blood would flow.

When the train pulled in next morning Captain Bill and his men were on
hand, fully expecting trouble. Everything was quiet, and the Mexicans
were marched by the "Rangers to the refineries and went immediately to
work. Then, there still being no sign of interference, Captain Bill
said:

"Well, boys, let's go down in town now and see what's become of the
mob."

The mob was not hard to find. It had assembled on the street and was a
good deal excited. Men were talking, and gesticulating, and denouncing,
in words noisy and violent. As Captain Bill and his men drew up, a
voice loud enough for them to hear said:

"There are them damned Rangers, now."

The little company of five continued to advance until within easy
talking distance; then McDonald said:

"What are you men doing here, gathered in a crowd this way, on the
street?"

A longshoreman asked:

"Are you the Rangers?"

"That's what we are," said Captain Bill.

"Come down to protect the Mexicans, I guess."

"That's what the Adjutant-General sent us for," returned Captain Bill
pleasantly.

"Well, we're not going to let them work."

"They're already working," smiled Captain Bill.

"How many men did you bring with you?" asked the leader of the rioters.

"Enough to whip this crowd, if a fight is what you're looking for,"
Captain Bill answered--still pleasant.

"Where are they?"

"Here," said Captain Bill, indicating his brigade of four--five with
himself.

"Hell!" said the leader of the longshoremen, "there are four hundred of
us."

"Well, that makes it just about even," drawled Captain Bill, more
pleasant than ever, "if you think you want to fight, get at it!"

The leader of the strikers looked at the little army thoughtfully. Then
he turned to the others.

"Boys," he said, "I think these Rangers are all right. Let's all have a
drink!"

The Rangers politely declined this invitation, but continued on
friendly terms with the strikers. There was no further trouble, and a
few days later Captain McDonald and one of his men left Port Arthur.
The remainder of his force stayed a few weeks longer, but the war was
over.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 13: For official particulars concerning this incident and
other work of that period, see Appendix B.]

XXXIII

Other Work in East Texas

DISTRICTS WHICH EVEN A RANGER FINDS HOPELESS. THE TOUCHSTONE MURDER.
THE CONFESSION OF AB ANGLE

It was only a short distance--as distances go in Texas (only a hundred
miles or so, in a southeasterly direction)--from the Trans-cedar
country, made celebrated by the Humphrey lynching, to certain sections
of Walker, Houston, Madison and Trinity counties, where similar social
conditions have developed.

In Kittrell's Cut-off, for instance, and around Groveton, there has
developed a special talent for assassination. Men walking along the
road in daylight are sometimes shot from behind. When it is nightfall
the assassin may lie in wait by the roadside. If he gets the wrong man
by mistake, it is no difference--it keeps him in practice. Sometimes
the victim is called to his door at night and shot down from the dark.
These are a few of the methods for removing individuals not favorably
regarded by the active set, and many other forms of murder are adopted
or invented for particular cases. Even Captain Bill McDonald found
these districts hopeless as fields for reform, he said.

"If a whole community has no use for law and order it's not worth while
to try to enforce such things. You've got to stand over a place like
that with a gun to make it behave, and when you catch a man, no matter
what the evidence is against him, they'll turn him loose. In Groveton,
for instance, when I was there they had only two law-respecting
officers--the district clerk and the county attorney, and the county
attorney they killed. Good citizens were so completely in the minority
that they were helpless. Kittrell's Cut-off was probably one of the
most lawless places you could find anywhere, though it was named after
a judge. It's a strip cut off of Houston and Trinity counties and
added to Walker, and its name is the only thing about it that ever had
anything to do with the law. Many murders have been committed there and
no one ever convicted for them, so far as I know."

Captain Bill was ordered to investigate a Kittrell's Cut-off murder
during December, 1903. A man had been assassinated from ambush, in the
fashion of that section, and such attempts as had been made by the
local authorities to uncover the murderers had been without result.
But such murders had become so common there that the few respectable
citizens of the locality had decided to appeal to Governor Lanham for
aid, and their plea asked especially for Captain McDonald.

McDonald went down; looked over the ground and sent for one of his men,
Blaze Delling, to assist in handling the situation--the community
being simply infested with men of low, desperate natures. Already the
Ranger Captain had taken up the trail and had arrested three men, and
these were brought for trial.

What was the use? Before the final trial, the three principal witnesses
suddenly sickened and died; the District Attorney found himself without
a case; the prisoners were discharged.

It was about this time that County Attorney H.L. Robb (himself a
victim later), asked that Captain McDonald be sent to Groveton in
Trinity County to unravel the mystery surrounding the murder of an old
lady, committed about a year before. Captain Bill went reluctantly, for
he was tired of that section and cared not much for a "cold" trail at
best.

On arrival at Groveton, he learned the facts so far as known. A feeble
old lady named Touchstone, living alone, had been murdered for a
stocking full of money supposed to be hidden somewhere on the premises.
She had only a life interest in the money, anyway, but the heirs to her
trifling hoard of probably not more than a few hundred dollars, had
been impatient and had frequently demanded their shares. They were a
devilish brood, but the old lady did not seem to fear them and carried
a stout stick for defense. She had been found murdered, one afternoon,
her throat cut, and her body left lying in the dooryard, where it had
been mangled by hogs. Naturally the relatives were suspected, but thus
far no evidence had been found against them.

There was evidence enough, however, for a man who had eyes trained to
follow clues and to distinguish signs. In a comparatively brief time,
Captain McDonald felt warranted in causing the arrest of one Ab Angle,
and several others. Angle had married a granddaughter of the murdered
woman and all were relatives. In the course of time, Angle's heart
failed him and he confessed the crime in full. In his sworn statement,
he said:

"We all talked the matter over about going and robbing Mary Jane (Mrs.
Touchstone) and Hill Hutto said: 'Let's have an understanding.' George
Angle, Wash and Joe Tullis, Hill Hutto and Mrs. Tullis and myself (all
relatives) were to meet over at Mary Jane's to see where she kept the
money, and to get it. That was our intention--to get the money on
Saturday night. Hill Hutto was to be there when we got there. It was
just dark when we got started, and we went through the fields in an
easterly direction, in a trail through the woods.

"The understanding was that Joe Tullis and I were to do the watching,
and Joe was on one end of the gallery and I was on the other end--he
being told to watch the east end of the road, and I to watch the west
end. Hill Hutto was to be there, talking to Mary Jane, while George
Angle and Mrs. Tullis were to go in at the front, and Wash was to
go in at the back of the house. She (Mrs. Touchstone) had some meal
spread out on the floor to dry. She was sitting down--I do not know on
what--talking to Hill.

"Mrs. Tullis said, 'Mary Jane, we have come to see whether you have
that money yet, or not.' Mary Jane started to get up, but Hill Hutto,
George Angle, Wash Tullis and Mrs. Tullis grabbed her and carried her
out on the gallery and told me and Joe to watch the road, good, and
we told her (Mrs. Tullis) we would, as far as we could see. She (Mrs.
Touchstone) started to holler, but Wash put a handkerchief over her
mouth. He had a white handkerchief in his right coat-pocket...."

The confession then relates how they put out the fire (fearing its
light) by throwing a bucket of water on it and how they jerked off a
bonnet which the old lady had on. It proceeds:

"They (her precious relatives) carried her to the edge of the gallery
and asked her to say where the money was, and she said she did not
have any, and they pushed her off, and as they pushed her off, Hill
Hutto struck her with a stick."

It was at this point probably that they cut their victim's throat--a
detail which Angle's confession does not mention--through delicacy,
perhaps. He says:

"They went out and examined her, going through her clothes carefully,
in search for her possessions. Hill Hutto, Wash Tullis, George
Angle and Mrs. Tullis did the examining, and they got one-half and
one-quarter of a dollar. George Angle and Wash Tullis spent the money.
Hill Hutto, Wash Tullis, George Angle and Mrs. Tullis looked over the
house and went through the trunks and the bed. If they got any money,
I do not know of it. They came out of the house and looked under the
house to see if they could find any dirt dug up, or any fresh signs,
but they could not find any, and we went out at the west end of the
gallery, and climbed over the fence and took the trail through the
fields and Hill went the back way...."

Many half-burnt matches were found under the house by Rangers McDonald
and Delling to confirm this statement. The confession proceeds:

"The stick and the bucket were thrown out near where she was. The
stick was her walking-stick and the bucket the one Wash put the
fire out with. Hill threw the stick out, and Wash threw out the
bucket. Hill said he would leave the bucket out there and the people
would think she just went out to slop the hogs and fell out. It was
understood that night by all six of us that Wash and George would come
back and get the hogs in there, and that they would dig a hole on the
left of the gate as you go in."

He details how Wash Tullis and George Angle changed their shirts before
breakfast--for the removal of ghastly evidence, of course-and how
_after breakfast_ they changed their trousers. He relates how the hogs
were to be "tolled into the yard," and adds:

"The understanding was that we were to find her by the buzzards, but
Jim Ray found her before the time."

Now, it would be natural to suppose that a confession like that would
hang the confessor and his confederates as high as Haman. It did
nothing of the sort. Angle's relatives prevailed upon him to retract
his confession, and under the law, as administered in that district,
they were all discharged except Angle himself who was sentenced for
three years for having _committed perjury by swearing to a confession
which he subsequently declared a lie_!

It is hardly to be wondered at that men like Bill McDonald should
lose interest in a neighborhood where conditions like these exist.
What use is it to track and bring home criminals only to see them go
free, perhaps vowing vengeance against their captors. A detective
was assassinated in Groveton, and Ranger Dunaway, on invitation of
Attorney Robb, went over to look into the matter. On their way to the
court-house both Robb and Dunaway were fired upon from the window of a
law office. Dunaway was severely wounded, and Robb, fatally injured,
lived but a short time.

It would be monotonous to detail the instances of crime and of the
captures made in the neighborhood of Groveton, Madisonville and
neighboring communities; to record the careful and brave work of
Captain McDonald and his Rangers which led only to failure in the end,
through the lack of public and official co-operation. When the men who
administer the law, and a controlling number of the citizens, do not
want justice, then perhaps it is just as well that law abiding citizens
should move away and let the rest murder one another to their hearts'
content.

A father and son waylaid and killed an old man named Tummins in Madison
County, and were arrested single-handed by Captain Bill. The two were
discharged on the plea of self defense.

A young man by the name of Hunter Gibbs was entrapped and assassinated
near Madisonville, and his murderers were traced home and arrested by
McDonald and his Rangers. They were eventually discharged.

A man named Wright Terry (this was in Groveton) after killing an
officer and a doctor and nearly killing a drummer, was brought to book
by Captain Bill, and might have gone free like the others if he hadn't
good-naturedly agreed to plead guilty and take a life sentence rather
than discommode his friends. But enough, let us turn to pleasanter
things.[14]

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 14: For certain details of the Touchstone episode and other
work of this period, see Captain McDonald's report for two years ending
August 31, 1904, Appendix C.]

XXXIV

A Wolf-hunt with the President

CAPTAIN BILL SEES THE PRESIDENT THROUGH TEXAS AND ACCOMPANIES HIM ON
THE "BEST TIME OF HIS LIFE." QUANAH PARKER TELLS STORIES TO THE HUNTERS

It was early in April, 1905, that Governor Lanham summoned Captain
McDonald and informed him that a wolf-hunt had been arranged for
President Roosevelt, by these two big ranchmen, Tom Waggoner and Burke
Burnett, somewhere in their pastures up in Comanche County, Oklahoma,
and that he, McDonald, was to accompany the President as a special
body-guard, particularly through the State of Texas.

Captain Bill looked unhappy.

"Governor," he said, "you know I'm a hell-roarin' democrat, and
don't care much for republican presidents in general and this one in
particular. I'd rather you picked another man for the job."

"All the same, Captain, we've picked you, and you'll have to serve,"
said Lanham.

Captain Bill saluted.

"Just as you say, Governor," he said, "only if I'd done the picking
I'd picked a man that wanted the job. There's enough of 'em."

Captain Bill proceeded to Fort Worth to join the President's party.
Col. Cecil Lyon introduced the Ranger Captain to President Roosevelt,
and Burke Burnett, also present, said:

"Now, Captain, you've got a very precious charge--the President of the
United States. He's in your hands, don't let anything happen; don't let
anybody assassinate him."

Captain Bill smiled, in his quaint fashion.

"Burke," he said, pleasantly, "if anybody gets killed on this trip I'll
be the man charged with it, and the President of the United States
won't be the victim, either."

Without delay the President and party took the Fort Worth and Denver
train toward the Pan-handle. Once inside, out of the throng and under
way President Roosevelt with his accustomed good-nature and friendly
fellowship promptly struck up a conversation with his Master of Affairs.

"Look here," he said, "you were introduced to me as Captain McDonald:
you're not Captain Bill McDonald of the Rangers, are you?"

Captain Bill nodded.

"That's my name, Mr. President," he said, "I've been captain of a
company of Rangers for a long time."

"Is it possible? Well, I've heard a good deal about you."

Theodore Roosevelt has been accused of a good many things, but no one
ever accused him of not being able to make friends, or to keep them.

Captain Bill smiled, as who wouldn't.

"Why, Mr. President," he said, "I didn't think you'd ever heard about
the Rangers."

The President's teeth shone in an expansive appreciation.

"Yes, indeed I have, and I've heard all about you. I remember very
well when you captured Kid Lewis and his partner, Crawford, up here at
Wichita Falls, and kept the crowd from lynching them as long as you
stayed there."

After that, conversation was easy, and Captain Bill's opinion of
his distinguished guest improved steadily. They discussed hunting,
marksmanship, the Rough Riders, the capture of bad men and all the
subjects of the strenuous life of the frontier.

With the President had come a body-guard of four secret-service men,
whose chief duty at this time was to protect him from the crowds who
pressed upon him here and there when the train halted and he went out,
as he did when there was time, to greet the people and perhaps make
a brief address. Captain Bill noticed that the secret-service men
did not seem quite equal to these occasions. Perhaps they were not
accustomed to handling the range-bred enthusiasm of that elemental
region. When the presidential party pulled into Wichita Falls the
platform was thronged. The crowds made a rush as the train came to a
standstill--trying to climb over one another, it would seem--to get
near the President. The secret-service men were helpless--they pushed
and protested, but accomplished little. Captain Bill stepped out on
the platform. Hardly a man in that crowd but recognized that lean
weather-beaten face, and that white hat. A good many remembered that
picture from a night and a morning nine years before when, at their
jail, a lone Ranger Captain had risen up in wrath and ruled the mob.
Some there remembered Bill McDonald a good deal longer than that--for
twenty years or more, when he had found that place a lawless settlement
on an untamed frontier and brought order out of human chaos and put a
governor on the wheels of law. When he spoke, now, they listened.

"Get out of the way, boys! Stay down there, you fellows; don't crowd up
here!" he said, and a sudden impulse of order was the result.

Now and then he added a word of caution, but it was hardly needed.
Captain Bill knew his crowd, and the crowd knew Captain Bill.
The President observed and marveled. At Vernon there was another
crowd--rollicking and noisy--and again the Ranger Captain held the
disorder in hand. When the train started once more President Roosevelt
said to his body-guard of four:

"Boys, you ought to take a few pointers from Captain McDonald in
handling a crowd," and the "Boys" agreed to do it, knowing all the
time, as everybody there knew, that it would need Captain Bill's
twenty years' special acquaintance with that crowd to achieve his
results.

At Vernon they took a train for Frederick--a little station in Comanche
County, from which place they would ride a distance of twenty-five
miles to the camping place, located on a creek called the Deep Red. At
Frederick the President relieved his special guard of four, and sent
them back to Fort Worth to wait his return.

It was on April 8th that they arrived at Frederick where a good share
of the hunting party, and an enthusiastic crowd had gathered to welcome
them. The hunting party set out immediately for the camp, arriving
about nightfall.

Whoever chose the camping place made a good selection. The Deep Red--a
branch of Red River--is a fine running stream, with plenty of timber
and good grass. From all about the howling of their game--the small
gray wolves, or coyotes, which infest that country. The surroundings
were ideal.

There were about fifteen in the hunting party, which included their
hosts, Tom Waggoner and Burke Burnett; also young Tom Burnett, who was
in charge of the horses--himself a daring horseman--Lieut.-General
S.M.B. Young (known to the Indians as "War Bonnet"); Lieutenant
Fortescue (formerly of the Rough Riders); Dr. Alexander Lambert of New
York; Col. Cecil Lyon of Texas; Sloan Simpson, Postmaster of Dallas;
John R. Abernethy of Tesca, Oklahoma (later, by the President's
appointment, United States Marshal); certain ranchmen and cowboys--by
no means forgetting Chief Quanah Parker, of whom we have heard before
in these chapters, now specially invited by the President's request.
Chief Quanah was then about sixty--tall, straight as an arrow and a
fine rider.

It was a pretty extensive camp, altogether. There were a hundred horses
and a "chuck" wagon--a regular "cow outfit";--a buggy for Burke Burnett
and General Young; two hacks, one of which belonged to Chief Quanah,
and other vehicles. Then there was a pack of forty greyhounds, some
stag-hounds, and about a half-dozen long-eared deer or fox-hounds, for
special work.

The excitement and joy of the tents and blazing campfires, and the
howling of the wolves, made everybody eager for morning and an early
start. So when supper was over and the guard set for the night, the
Great National Hunter and his friends and protectors lay down to rest,
the campfires still throwing a wide circle of light, on the fading
edges of which the coyotes gathered and looking up howled their anguish
to the stars.

It was a little more than daylight, next morning, a bright cool
morning, when the hunting party was up and away. The hunters were
mounted, all except General Young and Burke Burnett, who were in the
habit of following the chase in their buggy. The dogs to be used for
the morning run mingled with the riders, the others being confined
in the chuck wagon in a large cage, to be kept fresh, and used in the
afternoon, when the first detachment should be run down. At the head
of the party rode Tom Burnett and "Bony" Moore and behind these came
President Roosevelt of the United States, and Captain Bill McDonald of
Texas.

It was no trouble to find a wolf in that locality. One was soon
started up and the hounds were away, with the party of horsemen and
Burke Burnett's buggy following pell-mell in a general helter-skelter,
for which the President set the pace. As the Ranger Captain saw the
Chief Executive of the nation go careering over ditches and washouts
and through prairie-dog cities, his admiration grew literally by
leaps and bounds. He wished, however, he hadn't promised to bring the
President home intact. Bill McDonald was considered something of a
rider, himself, but he was not entirely happy in this Tam O'Shanter
performance. Still he stayed in the game.

"It looked mighty scary to me," he said afterward, "but I wouldn't
quit. The others followed, but some of them would go slower."

It was great excitement, great sport and great fun--a wild race across
the prairie--a final bringing of the wolf to bay with the "worry" and
"death" by the dogs, and general rejoicing by all.

But when the next wolf--or it may have been the third one--was cornered
there was a genuine exhibition. It was not killed by the dogs, it was
taken alive, by one man. John Abernethy was that man, and he took that
wolf with his hands. This was the manner of it. Whenever the dogs ran
upon the wolf, the wolf would turn and snap savagely, and if those
teeth of his happened to touch any part of the dog they left their
mark, and sometimes that part of the dog remained with the wolf. This
made the dogs careful--and shy.

But Abernethy was not careful--at least he was not shy. He ran up close
to that cornered wolf and fell upon him, and when the wolf snapped
at him, just as he had snapped at those dogs, Abernethy by a quick
movement of his hand caught the wolf by the lower jaw and held him
fast, and in such a way, that jerk and writhe and twist as he might
he could not get free. Then Abernethy, who was about thirty years old
and a muscular man, quick of movement and fearless, holding fast to
the wolf's jaw, carried that wolf to his horse, mounted and rode away,
still carrying his captive, alive.

Well, of course, President Roosevelt admired that beyond any feature of
the expedition. He had Abernethy do it again and again, and Abernethy
never made a failure. Sometimes he tied the wolf's jaws together with a
handkerchief; just held him and tied him in a deft workman-like way and
made off with him hanging on his saddle. It looked easy enough, to see
Abernethy seize the wolf, and presently a young fellow in the group of
hunters decided that it _was_ easy. But when he tried it, he only got
a knife-like slit across his hand and abandoned the contract. Then the
President wanted to try it, himself, as of course he would, but there
are some things which even a President cannot be permitted to attempt.

However, he was not to be kept altogether out of danger, and in the
characteristic incident which follows, those who will, may, perhaps,
find some allegorical significance.

As the party rode along--this was during a quiet recess between
wolves--they came upon a big rattlesnake, about five feet long, and
thicker than a man's wrist, coiled up, on a prairie-dog hill. When the
President saw it, he got down from his horse and taking his quirt (a
small rawhide riding whip about two feet long) he went up to the big
rattler and struck him. The snake was coiled, and sprang, but Roosevelt
stepped aside and quickly struck him again and again, then stamped his
head into the earth. There were plenty of rattlesnakes around there,
for the country was one great prairie-dog colony, and when they came
upon another, the President, like Abernethy, repeated his special
performance. The others did not like it--it looked too risky--and
that night when the President was not in the vicinity, Cecil Lyon and
Captain McDonald quietly removed the quirt which had been left hanging
on the Presidential saddle, and said nothing of the matter at all.
But the President was a good deal disturbed when he wanted to use
the quirt next day, and wondered and grumbled about it, until finally
Captain Bill confessed the fact and reasons of its disappearance.

"We were afraid you'd get snake-bit, Mr. President," he said, "and
we're having too much fun to have it stopped by an accident like that."

Theodore Roosevelt saw the joke and laughed. Then he led them away on
a race that if not as dangerous as coquetting with rattlesnakes was at
least more boisterously exciting.

They got four or five wolves that first day and the next, most of them
also taken alive by Abernethy, and these they carried to camp and
lariated out. It was a good start for a menagerie, and they added to it
daily.

It was on the second day that Chief Quanah's family arrived--his
favorite wife, Too-nicey, and the two others whose names are not
remembered, but may have been Some-nicey and Quite-nice-enough,
together with a small boy and a papoose; and these in their hack
followed the hunt with the others. It was a genuine jubilee when a
coyote was started up and was followed by that boisterous company;
the buggy of "War Bonnet," and Burnett hitting only the high places;
Too-nicey and her matrimonial alliance bouncing along in the hack, with
the dog-wagon, wildly excited--a regular canine explosion--bringing
up the rear. Then, what excitement when the wolf was finally run down
and killed or captured; what rejoicing by everybody--including
Too-nicey, Quite-nicey, and Pretty-nicey, or whatever their names might
be.

[Illustration: IN CAMP WITH THEODORE ROOSEVELT.

"They gathered about the big fire, cowboy fashion."]

But now it developed that the three Nicey's could serve a good
purpose on a hunt like that as well as for mere decoration. They had
eyes--marvelous eyes--that could see a wolf far across the prairie when
the eyes of white men could not distinguish even a sign. There was no
need of a glass when the wives of Quanah sat in their hack and scanned
the horizon. Certainly that was an unusual hunting party, and very
likely a unique experience, for all concerned.

But perhaps the best part of the hunting was the evening, after all.
Then it was that they gathered about the big fire, cowboy fashion,
with Chief Quanah Parker in their midst, talking to them--repeating
the traditions of his father and his tribe--the tale of his mother's
capture, the story of his own life and battles--his views and his
religion of later years.

In a former chapter we have told of the massacre of Fort Parker and
the capture of the little girl, Cynthia Ann Parker, who was adopted by
the tribe, married a chief, and in time became Chief Quanah's mother.
Gathered about the campfire on Deep Red Creek, in a wide circle of
loneliness, with "Tom" Burnett, who understands the Indian language
"better than the Indians themselves," acting as interpreter and the
President of the United States listening, the son of that little
captured girl told that story, now, and he supplemented it with the
story of his father--a sequel that will not be out of place here.

The tribe had loved the little captive white girl, the story runs, and
the little girl had learned to love her captors. She had learned their
speech and forgot her own; then, by and by when she was no longer a
little girl, a great chief named Nacona had wooed her and made her his
wife. Nacona was a mighty warrior and made frequent raids on the white
settlements and carried off much property--cattle and horses.

But finally his last raid came. Captain Sul. Ross (later Governor
Ross), stationed at Fort Griffin with a troop of Rangers--sixty trained
Indian fighters--was watching for an opportunity to fall upon Nacona,
unawares. The opportunity came when Nacona, with his braves and many
of their squaws and children, were camped one day at the mouth of
Talking John Creek in Hardeman County. There was good hunting on
Talking John Creek, and Nacona and his braves, fresh from a raid on the
white settlements below, had stopped there for a few days to rest and
recuperate before taking up the final homeward march. They felt secure
and had no thought that Rangers were anywhere in the vicinity.

Then suddenly there was a clatter of horses' feet, a crack of carbines,
and Captain Ross with his sixty fighting devils were upon them. There
was no time for preparation. Most of the Indians fled wildly, leaving
their squaws and their captured plunder. Nacona's wife, who had been
the little captured Parker girl, was in the camp with him; also their
two children, Quanah, and his little sister, Prairie Flower.

With the first charge of the Rangers, Nacona seized his rifle, leaped
upon his horse and rushed after his braves, in the hope of gathering
them for battle. That his wife and children would not be harmed by the
white men he knew. He knew also, that the case was desperate, and he
realized this more fully when he found that his braves were hopelessly
scattered, and in full flight.

Nacona prepared to meet his death. The mounted Rangers were already
close upon him and he would die like the great chief that he was.
Beneath a large mesquite tree he dismounted and seating himself began
chanting the death song. Captain Ross and a detachment of Rangers rode
up. Nacona still chanted on. Then suddenly it may have occurred to him
that they meant to take him alive. They would imprison him, perhaps
hang him. He would die fighting.

Rousing as from a dream, he ceased his chant and throwing his rifle
to his shoulder, fired. The bullet missed, but it brought a quick
answering shot from a Ranger at Captain Ross's side, and the chief
dropped forward, his face in the grass.

So died Nacona, bravely, as a chief should die, and was buried where
he fell. In time his grave became a landmark. And Nacona's wife, who
had been Cynthia Ann Parker--no longer of the white race, but an
Indian in language and habits and affiliations--was brought by her
new captors, once more to dwell among her own kind, bringing with her
the boy Quanah, and his little sister, Prairie Flower. The mother was
never satisfied with civilization and always longed to return to the
tribe. Little Prairie Flower--homesick and delicate--pined away and
soon followed Nacona to the Spirit Land. The boy Quanah was sent back
to his father's people, for he was a chief in his own right. In time he
became a great leader of the Comanche Tribe, and, unlike his father, a
friend of his mother's race. He surrounded himself with the comforts
and many of the luxuries of white men; his home to-day is truly a white
man's home, with handsome furnishings, a piano and pictures; his voice
has been heard in the white man's councils, and a white man's city
was named in his honor. But the language of white men he has never
learned.[15]

Altogether that wolf hunt was a great success. Seventeen wolves
completed the result of the five days of hunting, most of them
taken alive and lariated out around the camp--a lively and musical
collection that delighted all parties concerned, except possibly
the wolves themselves. As for President Roosevelt he enjoyed this
vigorous isolated vacation continuously. But it was not easy to
preserve the isolation of that camp. Every day visitors came riding
or driving across the country, from somewhere, to seek an audience
with the nation's Chief Executive. There were men who wanted office
for themselves; men who wanted office for other people; men who
wanted every sort of Presidential assistance under the sun; men who
came merely out of curiosity and for the purpose of relating how
they had visited "Teddy" in his hunting camp and taken a hand in the
sport. A guard of soldiers from Fort Sill was supposed to picket the
reservation, but would-be visitors eluded the men and somehow got
through the lines. They did not get past Captain Bill, who met them and
serenely but surely turned them back. If they had business, Washington
was the place to transact it, he said. The President was here only
for pleasure. Some went willingly enough--others protested, but all
went. The President's days in the field, and those rare evenings about
the campfire were not to be marred by business or any mere social
diversions.

And when it was all over Theodore Roosevelt, in his enthusiasm
pronounced it all "Bully!" and repeated it, and said he had never had a
better time in his life, which was probably a correct statement.

And when they all rode back to Frederick he led the way again, and they
set out with a whoop and a run and yell, regular cowboy style, and as
they came into town where there was a great crowd waiting, the people
went fairly wild, as of course they would. Then the President had to
talk to the crowd again--he had said a few words on his arrival--and
tell them what a good time he had had, and what a great country this
was in general, and that part in particular, and how much he thanked
them for letting him come there, and how he was going on to Colorado
for a bear hunt, but how he never expected to have any better time than
he had had right there in Comanche, on the Deep Red wolf-hunt with Tom
Waggoner and Burke Burnett, and Bill McDonald and John Abernethy, and
Quanah Parker and Too-nicey, Some-nicey and Plenty-nice-enough--

No, he didn't say all that either, but he said the right thing for the
occasion, just as he always does, and especially on an occasion like
that, where he is happy and full of life and the wild freedom of the
open. And every man within sound of his voice was his friend forever,
from that moment, regardless of his politics, and no man of all there,
was a warmer admirer and friend than Captain Bill McDonald of Texas,
who was a "hell-roaring" democrat and hadn't wanted to go.

He did not accompany the President to Colorado, though the arrangement
would have just suited both sides. But after all, he was a Ranger,
and there was other kind of game--game on which it is always open
season--waiting to be brought home. He accompanied the President's
party a distance on their journey; then he said:

"Well, Mr. President, I'm getting out of my jurisdiction. I guess I'll
leave you, now."

"But Captain, you are coming to see me in Washington, some day," said
the President as he grasped his hand.

"I don't know, Mr. President. I don't know how to put on a plug hat and
one of these spike-tailed coats, and pigeon-toed shoes."

"Well, don't try. Come exactly as you are, and there are a few of those
spike-tailed fellows around the Capitol that I'll let you take a shot
at. Now remember, you're coming--just as you are!"

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 15: The story as told by Chief Quanah not having been
preserved, most of the details here given are drawn from an article by
Fred. Harvey.]

XXXV

The Conditt Murder Mystery

A TERRIBLE CRIME AT EDNA, TEXAS. MONK GIBSON'S ARREST AND ESCAPE. THE
GREATEST MAN-HUNT IN HISTORY

It was during the latter part of 1905 and the spring of 1906 that
Ranger Captain McDonald was engaged in unraveling a mystery which gave
opportunity for the employment of his natural talent for detective
work, combined with the skill and experience acquired during a long
period of following criminals and uncovering crime.

On September 28th, 1905, two miles from the little town of Edna,
Jackson County, Texas, during the temporary absence of J.F.
Conditt--employed in rice harvest, seven miles distant--his wife and
four young children, ranging in ages from a baby boy of three to a
little girl of twelve, were murdered in broad daylight--their bodies
left as they had fallen in and about the premises. The murders were
committed in the most brutal and bloody way, with knife, adz, and such
household tool and implement as came to hand. Three of the murdered
children were boys. The little girl of twelve had been violated. Only
an infant of a few months had been left alive. The story of that
ghastly crime--its motive; its commission; its detection and the
punishment of its perpetrators--can only be epitomized here, for its
details would fill a volume and belong only in the official records;
neither are they yet complete. We shall attempt, therefore, no more
than the outlines, with such particulars as will show the scope and the
importance of Captain McDonald's work in solving a mystery and fixing
the guilt, not only without the assistance of those most interested,
but in the face of their bitter opposition.

The Conditt family had but recently moved to Edna. They were working
people, respectable but poor, and had taken a house formerly occupied
by negroes. This in itself was an offense to their immediate
neighborhood--a negro settlement--and when Mr. Conditt repaired his
fences and thereby shut off from public use a windmill where the
negroes had been accustomed to go for water, his offense in their eyes
became a crime. They did not want him there and resolved to get rid
of him. How many or how few were concerned, directly and indirectly,
in the conspiracy to drive out or destroy the white family that had
settled among them, will perhaps never be known. That negroes seldom
betray one another, and that a negro conspiracy is the most difficult
of all plots to illuminate, are facts only too well established by our
recently recorded history. The Conditt murder plot furnishes an unusual
example of this peculiar African phase.

The negroes were sullen, at first, in their manner toward the Conditts.
Then one of them--a certain Felix Powell--spoke insultingly to Mildred
Conditt, the little girl of twelve. Then came September 28th--nine
o'clock in the morning--the day and hour of destruction.

It was one o'clock in the afternoon before the crime became known. Monk
Gibson, a colored boy of sixteen who had been plowing for Mr. Conditt
in a field about two hundred yards from the house, carried the news.
He ran to the house of a white man named John Gibson, some distance
away, and reported that he had just seen Mrs. Conditt being chased
around the house by two men. John Gibson went on a run to the Conditt
premises; found no trace of the two men, but did find the murdered
family, a house like a slaughter pen, and in the midst of this horror,
a wailing infant. Gibson, the white man, hurried the colored boy off
to bring Mr. Conditt from the rice field, and set out to spread the
alarm. In a brief time the country was aflame. Monk Gibson, returning
with Mr. Conditt, was put under arrest, and it was now found that he
was smeared and splashed with blood. He explained the stains by saying
that his nose had bled and that he had hurt himself creeping through a
wire fence, but there were no indications of his nose having bled, and
he could show only the merest scratch of a wound. That he was concerned
in the crime was never doubted, but only the unreasoning then believed
he had committed it alone. Questioned, he told conflicting stories,
finally stating that men whom he did not know had dragged him to the
house, compelled him to view their work, splashed him with blood and
set him free.

Of course these statements were not believed. The whole country round
about Edna, now terribly aroused, was determined to have the truth.
If Monk Gibson was alone in the crime, and there were many who soon
reached this conclusion, his punishment would not wait the slow process
of the law. If he were one of several, he must reveal the names of his
associates. He was put through the severest ordeal of examination, but
he would utter nothing more than the confused contradictory stories
already told. Every method was tried to extort information, yet he only
repeated his conflicting stories and refused to tell names.

It was now pretty generally assumed that he had nothing to tell and
that he alone had committed the crime. A lynching mob was forming,
and a report came from Bay City that two hundred men had chartered a
special train for Edna and were coming to destroy the boy murderer
that night. Sheriff Egg of Edna and his deputies resolved to remove
the prisoner to a place of safety, and quietly arranged their plan.
As soon as it was dark they had swift horses taken to the back of the
jail, one for Gibson and others for the officers who would accompany
him. Then quietly they got him out through a back window; mounted
him, unfettered, between two officers, and slipped away toward
Hallettsville, where it was believed he would be safe.

They never reached Hallettsville. While galloping at full speed along
an open road they came to a curve. The officers had no thought that
Gibson would try to escape, and he was riding free. But at the curve,
Gibson did not turn. He kept straight on, drove his animal over a fence
and disappeared in the thick darkness. When the officers recovered
themselves and made their way into the field, they found the horse he
had been riding, but their prisoner had vanished. They came back to
Edna crestfallen and discredited. The people at first declared that
the deputies had put Gibson in hiding. Then, only half convinced, and
fiercely angry, they joined in what was, perhaps, the greatest man hunt
ever known in Texas. Every available horse and gun was secured--every
available man was presently in the saddle.

But this was only a beginning. Within a brief time fresh car-loads
of horses were shipped to Edna; ranchmen sent their cowboys; every
pack of blood-hounds in south Texas was mustered into the service;
commissary camps were established; leaders were appointed for the
various bands; business was suspended, the country became one vast
encampment and all for the purpose of running down a single boy of
sixteen who had slipped away from the deputies and was believed to be
hiding in the swamps. In the midst of all this, Governor Lanham ordered
Adjutant-General Hulen with four companies of State troops to invest
the place; whereupon Edna became a military camp in fact.

Captain McDonald was working in another part of the State when he first
saw the reports of the Conditt murder. His headquarters being now at
Alice, the scene of the crime was in his territory, and before many
days he was notified by General Hulen to report at Edna with men and
blood-hounds to join in the search. Arriving at the front he found
such a turmoil of excitement and animosity and trouble of many kinds
as is not often gathered in any one place. Men and groups of men,
each more distracted than the other, were rushing hither and yon on
a hundred fruitless and mainly imaginary errands. Nobody was really
doing anything; everybody was blaming everybody else; everybody was mad
at the soldiers, mad at the arriving Rangers, mad at each other; and
meantime Monk Gibson was still at large.

Captain McDonald looked over the ground, as quietly as they would let
him, and gave it out as his conclusion that no one man could have
committed all that crime in open daylight, let alone a boy of sixteen.
The sentiment was almost wholly the other way by this time, and the
Ranger Captain's opinion was bitterly opposed from the start. What
the people wanted was a victim. If they could capture Monk Gibson
they would have a victim, and they did not want any complication that
would interfere with this elementary proposition and the summary idea
of justice which lay behind it. The presence of military and especially
of Rangers was a menace, and for Bill McDonald to try to confuse
matters with his detective theories, which might result in Gibson going
clear, even if captured, would not be lightly borne. He was given to
understand that the people of Edna knew what they wanted, and when they
wanted Rangers they would invite them.

Captain Bill, however, followed his own ideas. He felt sure that
Gibson was only one of several that had perpetrated the crime, and was
doubtless a tool of older men. Moreover there were bloody hand-prints,
left by one or more of the Conditt murderers, and these he could not
believe had been made by the hand of a boy of sixteen, small for his
years as Monk Gibson was declared to be. He further believed that
Gibson was somewhere in hiding near his home, for by long experience he
had learned that the hunted negro will always go home, regardless of
risk.

Meantime, Monk Gibson's parents were in jail, and their premises had
been searched more than once. Other negroes had been arrested on
suspicion, only to be discharged for lack of any tangible evidence.
Captain McDonald went his own way, holding to the theory that the
negro boy would be found in the neighborhood of his own home. His two
blood-hounds, Trouble and Rock, he took there repeatedly to try to pick
up the trail, yet always without success. He believed the boy would
come home for food, and to the nearby windmill for water. The barn
near his father's house was searched daily, and while for some reason
Captain Bill did not attend to this detail himself he was assured each
time that the search had been thorough.

Yet Monk Gibson was hiding in that barn all the time. There were
some unthreshed oats in the barn, and he had found a place where he
could work himself under the straw, leaving no trace on the outside.
Sometimes at night he had crept out to a pig-pen for water, and had
picked some ears of corn in a nearby patch. One morning when he could
stand it no longer he came out and called to a negro named Warren
Powell, whose brother, Felix Powell, already mentioned, was to play an
important part in this tragic drama. Warren Powell immediately took
charge of the boy, Monk, tied him and notified the officers. General
Hulen, Captain McDonald, Sheriff Egg and others responded quickly,
and putting the boy in a buggy made a wild gallop for the jail, by a
circuitous route, to avoid the crowds. He was landed safely inside,
tossed from man to man between a line of bayonets, and when the
infuriated populace gathered they were driven back by a cordon of armed
officials.

Captain McDonald now got himself disliked in more ways than one. For
one thing he persisted in his theory that Monk Gibson alone could not
have committed the crime; for another, he urged that Gibson be taken to
a safer, quieter place for protection. Furthermore he would not permit
them to obtain testimony from the prisoner by torture. Approaching
the jail one night he heard screams of agony. Entering, he found an
assembly of examiners in Monk Gibson's cell, with Gibson tied up by the
thumbs, the boy screaming, but refusing to tell anything more than the
conflicting incoherent stories told at first.

"Take that boy down," said Captain Bill. "Don't you know that anything
you get out of a witness by torture is not evidence enough for a mob,
let alone a court of law?"

Meantime, the Ranger Captain had been picking up threads of evidence
of his own. For one thing he had observed that two negroes--Felix
Powell, already mentioned, and one Henry Howard--had taken a curiously
intense interest in all the investigations--seemingly fascinated by
every movement of the officers, especially of the Rangers. He noticed,
too, that certain other negroes of the settlement were acting in a
manner which to one with a special knowledge of their characteristics,
appeared suspicious. He made carefully guarded inquiries, and learned
that while Powell and Howard claimed to have been working for a man
named John Young all day on the day of the murder, they had in reality
worked for Young only during the afternoon. When he spoke to them
about it their answers were contradictory. Finally Powell acknowledged
that he had not worked for Young during the forenoon, and could give
no satisfactory account of his whereabouts for the morning. It was
generally believed, at first, that the murder had been committed about
one o'clock--the time of the alarm by Monk Gibson--but the condition of
the bodies when found made it evident that the crime had occurred much
earlier--Captain McDonald believed as early as nine o'clock. McDonald
finally questioned Powell directly, and believed he detected guilt in
his every look and word. Powell denied knowing Monk Gibson at all,
though the two had been raised in the same neighborhood. Gibson on the
other hand had already acknowledged that he knew Powell, and had always
known him. Finally Captain Bill said:

"Well, Felix, I think I will put you in jail awhile to refresh your
memory."

The suspected man nearly collapsed at this and protested his innocence.
Searched, a knife was found on him, which had a rusty, inoffensive look
on the outside and according to its owner was very dull and used only
for cutting tobacco. But when this knife was opened it was found to be
of razor-like sharpness, and when a match was passed through the jaws
and blade recesses, the end of the match brought up blood! Two of the
Conditt children had died of ghastly knife wounds. Captain McDonald
believed that this knife had made them.

* * * * *

Evidently he was alone in that belief. The arrest of Powell was
condemned generally as a diversion, to aid in clearing Gibson--it being
widely declared that such was the Ranger Captain's purpose. To this,
however, he paid not much attention--his one desire being to get as
much evidence as possible and bring the guilty to justice. He did not
feel warranted in arresting Howard and the others at this time, though
fully believing them concerned as accessories, if not as principals,
in the plot to kill. That Monk Gibson had not been alone in the crime
he was quite positive. The prints of the bloody hand-mark sawed out of
the Conditt house could not be made to fit Gibson's hand by any stretch
or adjustment of that member. Neither did it look as if it would fit
Powell's hand, though the actual fitting was not then tried, for
Powell was wary, and must be entrapped into a test that would require
such nicety of adjustment. But there had been one more suspicious
circumstance. A shirt had been found tucked away under a bridge over a
creek where it had been washed, though it still bore evidence of blood
stains. Captain McDonald approached Powell with the shirt in a small
bundle under his arm. "That is not my shirt!" declared Powell quickly,
before a word had been said, and before it was possible to tell what
the folded garment was.

Yet the grand jury then in session refused to listen to McDonald's
evidence, or to indict any one but Gibson, who was charged by that body
with the entire crime.

By this time the soldiers had gone back to Austin and only the Rangers
and local officers were in charge of the jail. When the indictment was
found, Captain McDonald demanded that the prisoner be removed to San
Antonio for safety and the District Judge consented to the removal.
Threats that such a removal would not be permitted were plenty enough,
but the Rangers, without announcement or manifestation of any sort,
made ready, and when the train was about due quietly and swiftly
hurried him to the station and put him aboard. He landed in San Antonio
safely and for the time the Conditt case was quiescent. Felix Powell
was turned out of jail as soon as the Rangers were gone, evidently
as an affront to McDonald, and to show the community's disbelief in
his theories as well as their general disapproval of his efforts.
McDonald with plenty of other work crying to be done was not eager to
continue a thankless task, though it was work of a kind he loved. That
winter, when Gibson's trial was coming on in San Antonio, he urged the
prosecutors to try him as one of several and not as the one alone, who
had committed the crime. They would not listen to him, and they would
not let him testify, declaring that his theories and so-called evidence
would spoil their case. They tried Monk Gibson for the entire killing
and a rational jury naturally failed to convict, though Felix Powell
and Henry Howard were brought from Edna as witnesses and did their best
to aid the prosecution. The jury was divided and Monk was taken back to
jail.

It was not until the spring of 1906 that Captain McDonald was again
actively concerned in the Conditt case. Early in the season, while
attending the Stockmen's Convention at Dallas, he met prominent men
from the South Texas districts and reviewed with them the story of the
crime and the progress that had been made, or rather had not been made,
in convicting the guilty. He stated freely his theories concerning
Powell, Howard and other negroes and went over the details of his
evidence.

The stockmen began by opposing Captain Bill's theories and ended by
joining in a movement to have the State continue the investigation at
Edna under his direction. They employed a young lawyer named Crawford
to bring the matter before the Governor, who agreed to reopen the
investigation, but suggested that it be done by another man than
McDonald for the reason that the citizens of Edna were prejudiced
against the Ranger. The stockmen's answer to this was, that unless
McDonald could be sent they would have nothing further to do with the
matter.

The Governor agreed, then, and Captain Bill made ready to go to Edna
and remain there until he should succeed in establishing his theory or
be ready to acknowledge himself baffled.

XXXVI

The Death of Rhoda McDonald

THE END OF A NOBLE WOMAN'S LIFE. HER LETTER OF GOOD-BY

It is at this point that we must pause to record a circumstance which
seems totally out of place in the midst of an episode of this kind, but
which, because of its association with events, cannot be elsewhere set
down. Yet, after all, why should not the end of a noble life be written
here, when that life had been always a part of the active service of
him whose career we have been following--the life of an unfaltering
hero of the home who never said "stay" but "go," no matter what the
danger; who even at the very end sent him back to his duty, and died
alone.

Rhoda McDonald had not been a robust woman for a number of years. Those
early frontier days on Wanderer's Creek had been hard, and must have
told on her in the long run, as well as all the anxious nights and days
that had filled up the years of a Ranger's wife.

At Alice, though manifestly in poor health, she still maintained a
home, doing such light housekeeping as her strength permitted. Her
interest in her husband's work was as active as ever; she knew every
detail of the situation at Edna as reported by the press, and when in
May, 1906, he was ordered there for further investigation, she bade
him go, despite reluctance on his part, for she believed that he alone
could bring to punishment the perpetrators of that terrible crime.
They arranged that in his absence she should go to a sanatorium in San
Antonio, and try to regain strength; and in accordance with this plan
she closed the little household at Alice, and at San Antonio went under
a doctor's care. When Captain McDonald had been in Edna a short time,
he was notified that an operation would be necessary to save her life.
He hurried to San Antonio and found her cheerful, though evidently
aware of her danger. Her talk, however, was all of his work and the
prospects of his further progress. When the ordeal was over and the
physicians declared that her chances for recovery were very good, she
would not let him stay to verify this opinion, but hurried him back to
his work.

"I want you to find the men that murdered that poor woman and those
little innocent children," she said, "and you must not waste your time
here with me."

So he went back, and for a few days encouraging letters came from
doctors and attendants. Then came a telegram which said: "Conditions
not so favorable; come."

She was dead when he got there, but she had left a letter of good-by.
That letter is a classic. As an epitome of a simple, noble, unselfish
life--calm and fearless in the face of the supreme mystery--it seems
without a flaw.

"My Dear Husband:

"When your eyes look on these lines I will have crossed the Great
Divide, and these wishes of mine I am sure you will fulfil. Enclosed
is a note from Lee (my brother), which matures next spring. I managed
to save it from my means, or some of it, two years ago, and Lee
has been so good to keep it at interest, which I have added to the
original amount, until it has reached the amount of the note.

"Please send Sister, your sister, $25.00 and give Ruth $25.00. She has
to work very hard. Allow Lee this year's interest for his kindness and
trouble. I want Eula (your niece) to have the brooch you gave me; Dot
(your niece) my fur and the small diamond ear-bob. Give Mollie (my
sister) the other diamond ear-bob. Give Jim my books, which are at
Quanah, and my cameo ring. I want Ruth to have my watch and the breast
pin that was our mother's. Give Helen White my engagement ring--the
little one with the small diamonds. In the little bag is $15.00
that belongs to the Lord. Be sure to give it to the 'Salvation Army
People,' to feed the poor and hungry.

"My clothes, turn over to Mollie and Ruth and what they don't want
tell them to give to the poor. Of course, the diamond ring will be
yours.

"I want you to keep my Bible and read it, because you will derive more
comfort from it than all else besides. My prayers for you have always
been mingled with those for myself, and I hope they have not been in
vain.

"Please see that my grave has plenty of trees, so that the birds may
build their nests in them. Give Ruth my black silk dress, which is at
Wichita Falls. Get Ruth or Mollie to help you find the things.

"I am sorry for every cross word or look that I ever gave you, but
feel sure you will not hold them against me.

"With lots of love--Good-by.

"Rhoda."

He took her to Greenville, Texas, for burial, for they had no settled
home, while in Greenville there were relatives. Then he returned to
Edna to carry out the mission which in her last spoken words to him she
had bade him fulfil.

XXXVII

The Conditt Mystery Solved

CAPTAIN BILL AS A "SLEUTH." THE TELL-TALE HAND-PRINT. A RANGER
CAPTAIN'S THEORIES ESTABLISHED

Captain McDonald realized that his task in Edna was to be a hard
one--made harder by the fact that the citizens of Edna still bitterly
opposed his investigation; still believed that his chief purpose was
to cheat them of Monk Gibson's life. There was one important exception
to this opposition. Sheriff Egg of Edna, though with little faith in
the Ranger Captain's theories, volunteered to help test them and his
assistance was valuable.

Another favorable condition for his work was, that certain of the
suspected negroes had fallen out among themselves, and he presently
discovered that there were strange insinuations and implied charges
drifting about the settlement which might mean much, or nothing at all.
Felix Powell had been arrested for knocking down his sister-in-law,
Warren Powell's wife, and was working out his time on the road when
Captain McDonald returned to Edna. The Ranger Captain gave the
disturbed elements a little judicious stirring and they fomented.

"If I told all I know about that nigger, he'd hang for murder," Irene
Powell blurted out. Detective McDonald smiled quietly, but did not use
undue haste. He had Felix Powell removed from the public highways and
once more put in jail. Then quietly he went to the negroes and made it
easy and even enticing for them to talk. He knew the negro character
very well--its weaknesses and its animosities, and these he played
on--gently, very gently, at first, but effectively. Little by little
he learned that Felix had already been accused of the crime by those
of his own color--some of whom were said to know the facts. He learned
that Felix had been greatly exercised over the arrival of the first
blood-hounds.

"They'll trail a man to town," he had said, "but they can't follow a
man that has oil on his shoes."

All night he had lain awake, listening for the bay of the hounds. Once
he had sat bolt upright in bed.

"Here they come!" he had exclaimed to a man who was staying with him.
Soon after, he said: "I could put my hand on the man that committed
that murder." And again: "There's one woman knows, and she may tell. As
for Monk, he's told so many lies, the white people won't believe him,
anyway."

Two little children named Reed, looking at the bleeding legs of some
tied chickens, said to each other that the bloody string reminded them
of the clothes their mother had washed for Felix Powell. This was
repeated and whispered, and one of Powell's acquaintances charged him
with the crime.

"They'll hang you for it, Felix," he said.

"When they do, a lot of white folks will go to hell with me," was the
reply.

All these things came in due course to Captain Bill, and by and by an
affidavit for murder was prepared and Powell was formally accused of
the crime. When he knew of this he became furious and attacked McDonald
in his cell and had to be overpowered and chained. Later, in a fit of
rage, he snapped these chains and tore the shackles from his limbs.
Then a heavier chain was put on him and he was padlocked to the floor.

Besides Felix Powell, charges were brought against Henry Howard
and four women believed to be concerned in the killing--directly
or as accessories to it, either before or after the fact. One of
these--Augusta Diggs--on the second day of the examining trial,
confessed her knowledge of the crime. She confirmed Captain Bill's
belief that the murder of the Conditts had taken place in the morning
and declared that Powell had come to her with the story of how he and
Monk Gibson had killed the Conditts, bringing his bloody clothes for
her to wash. She had refused and he had taken them elsewhere--to Bethel
Reed. Other witnesses, willingly or unwillingly, gave further damaging
evidence. Listeners began to wonder if there wasn't something in all
these accusations besides a mere negro feud--to suspect that perhaps
Bill McDonald might be able to establish his theories, after all.

But it is likely they would still have doubted and the case would have
come to naught, had there not been one more link in Captain Bill's
chain of circumstance. He had been closely observing Felix Powell's
right hand when he could do so without attracting the prisoner's
attention, and mentally comparing it with the bloody print sawed from
the Conditt house. The print was a peculiar one; it showed an oblong
spot for the thumb; a longer one for the forefinger; then two somewhat
shorter ones for the middle and third finger, with a mere dot for the
little finger. It was as if the hand had been maimed by accident, and
the fingers cut away. Captain Bill at first had made a sketch of the
print, which he could surreptitiously compare with the hand of Powell,
when opportunity offered. The comparison puzzled him. Powell's little
finger might make the dot, for it had been deformed by a bone felon
and had a crooked bone at the end. But his other fingers were normal,
and it was hard to imagine they had made that bloody impress. Still,
the Ranger detective did not give up. He wanted to see the hand and
the print together, or to see actual prints of the hand, by the side
of tell-tale evidence left on the Conditt walls. Finally, one day,
he got Felix Powell, whose diversions were few enough, interested in
an experiment of camphor-smoked paper upon which almost photographic
reproductions of any yielding object could be made. The negro was
attracted by the results and willingly enough made the impress of his
open hand. Captain Bill felt a qualm of disappointment. Only the dot
for the stub of a little finger compared at all with the print left by
the murderer. Then suddenly he had an inspiration. He put an object
the size of a closed knife into Felix's hand, and told him to make a
print with his fingers closed. The shadow of the gallows stretched out
toward Felix Powell in that instant, but he did not know it. He pressed
his hand to the paper, and as he lifted it Bill McDonald's heart gave
a fierce bound of triumph. The likeness to the print of blood was
exact. As Captain Bill said afterward, "I saw that Felix Powell's hand
with a knife in it, would fit the print left on the Conditt walls, to
a gnat's heel." Something of what was in his captor's mind must have
filtered into the skull of Felix Powell, then, for he became wary and
frightened, and when Captain Bill urged him to make other prints he
moved his hand each time and blurred them. He was anxious, too, to know
what use was going to be made of the ones already taken. When later he
learned what had been done with them, and that his hand was identical
with a bloody print found on the Conditt premises, he broke out in a
rage.

"Aren't there any other hand like that in the world?" he cried.

There could be none. The tests of measurement and the similarity of
line had been applied. They tallied exactly. They convinced Sheriff
Egg completely--they convinced the most skeptical in Edna. When that
examining trial ended, Captain Bill McDonald, Ranger and detective,
from being a man whose presence was resented and whose theories were
despised, became suddenly to the people of Edna a mighty criminal
sleuth; a veritable Sherlock Holmes; a hero whose name was on every
tongue. Outside of Edna, Texas had suspected this before, but now Edna
took the lead in singing his praises, and every paper in the State
joined in the chorus.

It is not within the purpose of this book to follow here the case of
the Conditt murderers through the courts. The evidence as finally
accumulated was voluminous and damning so far as Felix Powell and Monk
Gibson were concerned. That Monk Gibson was a tool of Powell (and
perhaps of others) was most likely, for it was proven that Powell had
been seen walking around and around the field with him as he plowed,
early on the morning of the murder, and the big track and the smaller
one had been found there, side by side. That Powell had enticed the
negro boy to join in the crime, we may easily believe, and that Monk
Gibson _had_ joined in that fearful tragedy cannot be doubted, and he
had plowed on until one o'clock with those dead bodies lying there
close by, thus giving his confederate, or confederates, a chance to
establish an alibi, probably in accordance with a preconcerted plan.

Both Powell and Gibson paid the extreme penalty of their crime. Powell
went to the gallows at Victoria, Texas, on the 2d of April, 1907. Monk
Gibson was hanged at Cuero, Texas, a year later, in June. Neither made
any confession that was of legal value, though Gibson, a few minutes
before his execution, gave to Captain McDonald a rambling statement in
which he involved others besides Powell.

The cases of Henry Howard and of the women arrested as accessories to
the plot and its execution, had not been disposed of when this was
written. Howard was then under indictment as principal and accessory
on evidence supplied by McDonald. Whether that evidence is found
sufficient to convict will only be decided by the juries of the future.

XXXVIII

The Brownsville Episode

AN EVENT OF NATIONAL IMPORTANCE. THE TWENTY-FIFTH INFANTRY'S MIDNIGHT
RAID

The year 1906 was Captain Bill McDonald's last and most important
year in the Ranger service. He was still concerned in the work at
Edna when there occurred not far away an event in which certain negro
characteristics were even more strikingly manifested--an event which
was presently to grow into an episode of national importance.

On the night of August 13, 1906, armed men, in number from ten to
twenty, believed to be colored soldiers of the Twenty-fifth Infantry,
quartered at Brownsville, Texas, appeared about midnight upon the
streets and "shot up the town," firing recklessly into many buildings,
killing one man, severely wounding another and endangering the lives of
many citizens. Official investigation failed to identify the offenders,
and three months later, President Roosevelt assuming that the offense
was nevertheless committed by certain members of the Twenty-fifth
Infantry, with guilty knowledge on the part of their comrades,
dismissed the entire command, "without honor," on the ground that the
three companies, numbering one hundred and seventy men, had banded in
a "conspiracy of silence for the purpose of shielding those who took
part in the original conspiracy of murder."

Captain William J. McDonald, then of the State Rangers, was prominently
identified with the early investigation of this unusual episode, and
the story of his court of inquiry, with its revelations, and of his
remarkable experiences following the same, has become history.

Brownsville, Texas, is a city of less than ten thousand population,
situated on the north bank of the Rio Grande, in the extreme southern
portion of the State. It has long been a military point--its garrison,
Fort Brown, being situated but a little way from the business center.
Opposite Brownsville, on the Mexican side of the river, lies Matamoras.

Late in the summer of 1906, three negro companies--B, C, and D,
of the Twenty-fifth Infantry, Major C.W. Penrose commanding, were
ordered to Brownsville, and quartered at Fort Brown. They arrived
July 28th, in bad humor. There was a military encampment of State
troops at Austin, and they had not been permitted to participate in
the maneuvers--drills, sham battles and the like--in progress there.
They had been told that the Texas boys did not care to drill with
them--that if they went to Austin and took part in the sham battles,
blank cartridges might be discarded for real ones by the white troops.
Of course this was idle talk, but they repeated it and nursed their
resentment, becoming noisy and braggart, as ignorant men, whether
white or negro, will. On the way they had torn down the signs, "For
Negroes," placed by law, in the South, in the cars intended for colored
passengers, and had boasted to the conductor that "all women in
Brownsville would look alike to them, whether white, negro or Mexican."

They were not long in beginning their demonstrations. They set in
drinking immediately upon their arrival, and their anger grew when
they found they were not permitted to drink at the bar with white men,
increasing still further in violence when one or more of the saloons
set up a separate bar for their accommodation. They became loud and
insolent on the street; crowded white women from the walks, and made
themselves generally offensive and hateful.

Brownsville as a community did not openly resent these indignities,
but individuals did. A Mr. Tate, an inspector of customs, whose wife
was run over and rudely jostled by a negro soldier, administered
summary correction with the butt of his revolver. In another case an
ex-ranger named Bates applied like treatment for similar offense. A
third instance is recorded of a negro soldier who, returning drunk from
Matamoras--a favorite excursion point--was ordered to move on by a Mr.
Baker, another inspector of customs, and upon becoming more obnoxious
was eventually pushed into the mud. But public feeling reached
the boiling-point when a Mrs. Evans--a lady of refinement--upon
dismounting from her horse was seized by the hair and dragged violently
to the ground by a tall negro soldier. She clung to the bridle of the
frightened animal, that reared and plunged and finally tore her free
from her assailant, who then ran away. As a result of this assault,
patrols were put on and soldiers' passes canceled. This doubtless added
to the ire of the negroes, and whatever purpose of retaliation they may
have had would appear to have assumed definite form. The catastrophe
was not delayed.

Monday, August 13, was a rather quiet day, owing to the new
restrictions, and a majority of the citizens perhaps believed that
their troubles with the military were over. But there were others who
claimed to have heard muttered threats, and these, as evening drew on,
were anxious and watchful. It was about midnight that a bar-keeper
named Natus was serving a final round of drinks to a few belated
customers, white men, in a saloon where a bar had been erected for
the accommodation of negro soldiers. The men lingering about the bar
were talking quietly, and it is certain that they had been discussing
the possibility of an outbreak from the garrison. Suddenly they were
startled by a succession of shots, loud voices and general commotion
from the direction of the fort. One of the group cried out:

"That must be the niggers coming, now!"

A fusillade followed, coming nearer. The bar-keeper, Natus, sprang to
the front doors, flung them shut, and fastened them. An instant later,
he ran into the back yard to prevent entrance in that quarter. He was
not in time. Before he could close the gate, he received a volley, and
dropped dead.

The mob of murderers passed on, pouring their fire into houses where
men, women and little children were asleep. Their course was up an
alley, leading from the fort through the town. Already, before killing
Natus, they had fired on a house in which were two women and five
children--one of the shots putting out a lamp. Ten shots had passed
through this house, all aimed about four and a half feet above the
floor, evidently intended to kill. They had next met the chief of the
police, fired upon him, killing his horse and shattering his arm. Next
came the Miller Hotel, where they fired at guests in the windows,
breaking the glass and filling the casements with bullets. They shot
at whatever they saw moving, and wherever they saw a light. In a
house where a woman and two children were asleep, two bullets passed
through the mosquito bar that covered their bed. For two blocks and a
half the assault on the defenseless street continued, then suddenly
the assassins disappeared in the direction of the fort--the midnight
raid was over. In ten minutes had been written a unique chapter in the
history of the American Army--a chapter that would be told, and retold,
and debated and deformed until its volumes would fill a library.

And now from the garrison came shouts and the sound of bugle--a general
call to arms. The town, already in a turmoil, fell into a panic of
fear and disorder. A renewal of the attack was expected at any moment.
It was believed that a general massacre would take place. Men armed
themselves with whatever they could lay hands on; women and children
hid themselves and waited in terror and trembling.

Morning came without further assault. Daylight showed the shattered
glass, the bullet holes in the weather-boards and window casings,
and, on the street, empty shells, cartridges and clips--of government
rifles. At one place in the mud lay a soldier cap. The night had been
too dark and the town too poorly lighted to identify the individuals of
the mob, but the evidence as to its origin seemed unmistakable.

A citizen committee to deal with the situation was quickly formed.
Telegraphic reports of the outbreak, with urgent demands for immediate
action and for the removal of the negro troops, were sent to Governor
Lanham, General Hulen, Senators Bailey and Culberson and to the
President of the United States. No immediate relief seemed forthcoming
from any source. Governor Lanham waited for Washington, Washington
waited for an investigation. The public at large took but a small
interest in the whole affair--the metropolitan dailies according it but
the barest mention in obscure corners. It would be a big matter to
them some day. It was a big matter to Brownsville already.

"We cannot convince our women and children that another outbreak
may not occur at any time. Their condition is deplorable. They will
scarcely venture out of their homes and only feel secure there by
our maintaining a heavy guard and patrol of armed citizens every
night. We know the accidental discharge of a fire-arm, any overt act
of an excited citizen--and our citizens are fearfully excited--would
precipitate upon us the whole negro force at Fort Brown." ... This from
a telegram sent to President Roosevelt on August 18, five days after
the raid. Brownsville was in a sad plight indeed.

Three days more brought no relief from any source. At the fort, the
soldiers were kept under arms, perhaps fearing a general attack from
the citizens, while on their part the citizens expected a general
outbreak of the troops, at any moment. The officers in command were
supposed to be conducting an investigation, and when it was given out
that the midnight attack could not have come from the garrison, but had
probably been made by a gang of Mexicans from across the river; when it
was further stated that the garrison had been attacked, and the shots
said to have been fired from there during the raid, had been fired in
defense; such statements only meant, to the citizens of Brownsville,
that Major Penrose and his officers were going to protect their
troops, or had been intimidated by them. Rumors of another outbreak
continued. Women barely slept. Men began to move their families
away. Two rangers of Captain McDonald's command--Blaze Delling and
Sam McKenzie--came over from a subordinate ranger camp at Harlingen,
twenty-five miles distant, and these undertook to collect evidence,
and aided in patrolling the town. Other appeals for help had brought
no result. Telegrams for relief were answered non-committally, or not
at all. When Captain McDonald himself, with the other two members of
his little company--Sergeant W.J. McCauley and C.T. Ryan--arrived on
the evening of the twenty-first, Brownsville, resentful and despairing,
hailed the veteran regulator with open arms.

XXXIX

Captain Bill on the Scene

THE SITUATION AT BROWNSVILLE. RANGERS MCDONALD AND MCCAULEY DEFY THE
U.S. ARMY. CAPTAIN BILL HOLDS A COURT OF INQUIRY

Captain McDonald had been serving as Sergeant-at-Arms for the
Democratic State Convention at Dallas when the Brownsville attack
occurred. Brownsville was in his district and he had expected to
be ordered there at once, but was counseled by Governor Lanham to
remain in Dallas until Adjutant-General Hulen, of the State troops,
then maneuvering at Austin, should be advised to act. On the morning
after the outbreak, General Hulen had been implored by the mayor and
citizens of Brownsville to come to their relief, and Captain McDonald
supposed that Hulen would promptly respond, with troops from the Austin
encampment. A few days later, when the convention ended, the Ranger
Captain hurried to Austin and found that no action of any kind was in
progress, or contemplated. The State troops were still at Camp Mabry,
maneuvering, and firing blank cartridges. Captain Bill went out there.

"Give me some of the men that are over there bombarding the hills, and
I'll go down and settle that Brownsville business," he said.

General Hulen replied that he had no authority to investigate any
action of Federal troops; to do so would be to invite a charge to
treason.

"Treason!" said Captain Bill, "Why, them hellions have violated the
laws of the State, shooting into people's houses and committing murder.
I don't care what else they are, they're criminals. It's my sworn duty
to investigate such business as that, and I'm going to do it, if I have
to go there alone!" And Captain Bill might have added, "If this be
treason, make the most of it."

Certainly he did not consider that he needed other authority to hunt
down criminals than that invested in him as Captain of Company B,
Ranger Force. The Commonwealth of Texas and its laws had been for
a quarter of a century--first, last and all the time--his chief
consideration. To him, Texas was the biggest thing under the sky.
Without further discussion, now, he proceeded immediately to his
headquarters at Alice, picked up McCauley and Ryan, and hurried to
Brownsville. At Corpus Christi, District Judge Stanley Welch, who
had an office at Brownsville, boarded the train. He greeted Captain
McDonald and his Rangers with enthusiasm, and spoke feelingly of the
fact that nothing had been done by either State or Federal authorities.
He assured the Rangers that they had full power to take such steps
and to use such means as were necessary to identify and punish the
offenders.

It was about six o'clock in the evening of Tuesday, August 21, that
Captain Bill and his little force of two reached Brownsville. The
Captain immediately paid a visit to Mayor Combe, and to Chairman of
the Citizens' Committee Kelley. He learned that a Major Blocksom,
under orders from Washington, had arrived at the fort, to join Major
Penrose in his investigations, but that neither these officers nor the
Citizens' Committee had made any progress toward the identification of
the criminals. Members of the committee further informed the Captain
that in spite of some existing prejudice among the townspeople, Major
Penrose was an estimable gentleman, doing all in his power to bring the
offenders to justice. He had stated, they said, that he would get to
the bottom of the mystery if it took him ten years to do it.

"Ten years!" said Captain Bill. "What does he need all that time for!
He could do it in ten minutes, if he wanted to and tried. He knows his
men, and he could find out who was absent during the shooting. And he
knows just about who would be likely to get into a gang like that. I'll
find them out, myself, and I won't be ten years about it--nor ten days,
neither."

They applauded Captain Bill, then, and added him to the Citizens'
Committee. They knew the sort of thing he had done, time and again, and
that he was not given to vain boastings. Also, they denounced their
chief State officials and the country generally for indifference and
inaction.

Captain McDonald now looked up his two men, Delling and McKenzie, to
learn what they had done. They had done a good deal in a quiet way.
They had discovered Mexicans living near the post who claimed to have
seen shots fired from there, before and during the raid, and to have
followed the track of the raiders by the flash of their guns. Further,
the Rangers had learned that a squad of soldiers, with Captain Lyon of
Company C, had visited the jail immediately after the shooting-up of
the town, claiming that citizens had fired on the post, and making a
demand for Captain Macklin (white) and Corporal Miller (colored), of
Company B. Captain Lyon had not explained why he expected to find these
officers in jail, perhaps leaving it to be assumed that they had taken
refuge there during the attack mentioned. Delling and McKenzie also
had located two ex-soldiers (negroes) supposed to have been out with
the mob--at least, it seemed certain that they had inside knowledge
of the matter. One of these ex-soldiers kept a saloon a distance
from the center of the town, and the Rangers had ascertained that on
the evening of the raid this saloon had closed earlier than usual, a
suspicious circumstance. McDonald and his men worked most of the night,
continuing these investigations. They located one of the ex-soldiers
and lodged him in jail, where Captain Bill put him through a sort of
"third degree" examination. Later he looked up the prisoner's wife and
questioned her. By morning he had learned enough to warrant him in
beginning an investigation in the fort itself.

With his sergeant, W.J. McCauley, "one of the bravest and best," he was
on his way to the fort next morning, when he was stopped by members of
the Citizens' Committee.

"You can never go into that fort and come out alive," they said.

"Why not?"

"Because those men are all under arms, and excited. Unless you can show
an order from Major Penrose they will shoot you down, sure."

"Well, I'm sorry, but I'm not going to get any order from Penrose.
Them niggers have violated the laws of the State, and it's my duty to
investigate the crime. I never yet had to have an order to go any place
my duty called me. I'm going into that fort, and the only pass I want
I've got right here."

The Captain carried an automatic shot-gun that would go off about half
a dozen times a second, and his sergeant bore a Winchester repeating
rifle, also automatic in its action. These lay in position for easy and
immediate use. The two men had been together in many conflicts, and had
faced death too often to waver now. McKenzie, Delling and Ryan had been
left behind so that in event of a fight at the entrance, and another
outbreak, the town would not be without protection. The committee
stepped aside, and McDonald and McCauley proceeded to the garrison. At
the entrance they were suddenly confronted by a file of about twenty
soldiers, with rifles leveled.

"Halt!"

Captain Bill and his sergeant never even hesitated. With their own arms
in position for instant action they marched steadily into the muzzles
of those leveled guns--the Captain, meantime, admonishing the men
behind them.

"You niggers, hold up there! You've already got into trouble with them
old guns of yours. I'm Captain McDonald, of the State Rangers, and I'm
down here to investigate a foul murder you scoundrels have committed.
I'll show you niggers something you've never been use' to. _Put up them
guns!_"

And the guns went up, with the quick, concerted movement of a drill.
There was something in that total disregard of danger--in that tone
and manner and in those eyes, now gray and hard and penetrating--that
inspired awe and obedience. Captain Bill gave them no time to reflect.

"Now, where's Major Penrose?" he said.

The negroes became respectful, even deferential. One of them said:
"Yes, suh, cap'n--yes, suh. Major Penrose is right over in his
house--second building, suh."

"One of you niggers come and show him to me."

Captain Bill, it may be remembered, does not mince his words. A white
man who has committed a crime is, to him, always a "scoundrel," or
worse, openly. A black offender, to him, is not a negro, or a colored
man, but a "nigger," usually with pictorial adjectives.

One of the men now hastily escorted the Ranger Captain and his sergeant
to Major Penrose's headquarters. Major Blocksom, who already, perhaps,
had seen enough to warrant his subsequent characterization of Captain
Bill's willingness to "charge hell with a bucket of water," was on
hand; also, District Attorney Kleiber. As the Captain entered, he said:

"I am Captain McDonald, of the State Rangers. I am here to investigate
a very foul murder, which these men of yours have committed."

Major Penrose, rising, said:

"Come into my office."

They went in, followed by the others. Captain McDonald seated himself
at the end of the table, with Sergeant McCauley at his left and Major
Penrose at his right. Attorney Kleiber and Major Blocksom sat below, on
either side. The court of inquiry was open. There were no preliminaries.

"Major Penrose," Captain Bill began, "I have come here to see what you
can tell me about this murder that has been committed in Brownsville."

Penrose replied readily, and with apparent frankness:

"I can tell you absolutely nothing. I cannot find out a thing from my
men."

Captain Bill faced him steadily.

"Well, it seems very strange to me," he said, "that you cannot find
out anything about your own men. I've been in charge of men for twenty
years, and I've never had any that I couldn't find out anything I
wanted to know from, if they knew it."

Major Penrose looked a trifle depressed.

"Here in a little camp of less than two hundred men," Captain Bill went
on, "fifteen or twenty of them break out and shoot into people's houses
and commit murder and then come back to quarters. And yet you can't
detect any of the criminals. How about the officer of the day and the
guard in charge of the guns and ammunition? Don't they know anything?"

Major Penrose shifted a little.

"The colored officers probably know whatever there is to know about
this matter," he said, "but I have no way of getting it out of them."

"Well then, I have," declared Captain Bill.

"Very well," assented Penrose, "I wish you would do it."

The Ranger Captain became suddenly a fox--his ears alert, his nose
sharp, his eyes needle-pointed.

"What niggers were out that night?" he asked.

"Only two were out that night, and all answered to roll-call, at eight
and eleven o'clock."

"You are sure only two were out that night?"

"Perfectly sure."

"How about Corporal Miller and Sergeant Jackson?"

"Corporal Miller was here, I know, because I saw him. Captain Macklin
also saw him and talked with him."

"Where was Captain Macklin, at the time?"

"He was officer of the day, and in charge that evening."

"Send and get Captain Macklin; I want to talk to him."

Captain Macklin of Company B arrived, wearing a sort of uneasy bravado,
which did not improve under Captain Bill's keen scrutiny.

"How many of your men, Captain Macklin, had passes on the evening of
August 13th?" was the first question.

"Only two," replied Macklin, giving two names not down on Captain
McDonald's list of suspects.

"Where were the others?"

"They were all in the barracks and answered to eight o'clock and eleven
o'clock roll-call."

"What happened after that time?"

"I don't know. I went to my quarters soon after eleven o'clock and
turned in a little before twelve. I was asleep when I heard somebody
knock on my door. I got up and found it was about ten minutes after
midnight. I didn't know what the knock was for, so I smoked a couple of
pipes and drank a bottle of beer and went back to bed. I got up again
at three o'clock, when everything was in commotion."

"Now, Macklin, your quarters are just back of Company B's barracks; it
was a hot night and the windows were open, and according to your own
story you were awake just when all this shooting and racket and the
call to arms came off. How does it come you didn't hear it?"

Captain Macklin looked rather discomposed.

"Well, I was only awake a little while, and of course I was pretty
sleepy."

"You were awake enough to smoke two pipes and drink a bottle of beer?"

"Yes."

"And you couldn't have done it in a minute."

"Well, no."

"And yet you say you didn't hear a thing of what was going on outside?"

"Well, of course, I suppose I did hear noises, but I didn't think them
anything unusual."

"Nothing unusual about shooting and bugle blowing and a general call to
arms?"

"I didn't say that I heard those. Of course I didn't hear them."

"How did it happen, Macklin, that Captain Lyon and some men, after the
raid that night, went to the jail to find you?"

"They didn't do it. I never heard of it, at all."

"Where was Corporal Miller that night?"

Captain Macklin was clearly relieved to get away from the story of his
own personal movements on the night of that fateful 13th.

"Corporal Miller was in the barracks. He was present at both
roll-calls."

"Very well, send for Corporal Miller. Send and get that Miller nigger
and let me talk to him."

Corporal Miller came promptly. He carried his gun and wore the air of a
major general. His manner was distinctly defiant and insolent. Nobody
said anything for a moment, but Captain Bill's X-ray eyes were boring
him through. Miller grew uneasy, shifted his feet and seemed to be
shriveling. Major Blocksom said:

"Corporal, Captain McDonald wants to ask you some questions. Set your
gun down over there."

Miller obeyed rather sullenly, and came to attention.

"Miller," said Captain Bill, "where were you on the night this murder
was committed?"

The tone and directness of the question dazed the man. He did not
immediately find words. The Captain repeated:

"I want you to tell me, Miller, where you were when this murder was
committed, on the night of August the 13th."

If Corporal Miller had any other story to tell, he had forgotten it.

"I was down town," he said.

"How long had you been down there?"

"All the evening, ever since dark."

"Where were you before that?"

"I was over in Matamoras. I came back to Mack Hamilton's house
(Hamilton was the ex-soldier already in jail), and sat talking to his
wife. Then I went up town. When the shooting happened, I was down the
other side the beef market, at a saloon."

Captain Bill's eyes gleamed a little. All of this was in direct
contradiction to the testimony of Major Penrose and Captain Macklin.

"Now, Miller," he said, "you couldn't have been anywhere you say,
because you were here at eight o'clock and eleven o'clock, and answered
to roll-call."

It was impossible for the man to reason, just then. He only realized
that his statement was being contradicted, and that he was on the
defensive.

"I reckon I know where I was!" he said sullenly.

Captain Bill was seemingly aroused.

"You scoundrel, don't you give me any of your back talk! You answer my
questions, sir!"

At this point Major Penrose interposed a query as to the whereabouts
of Miller at some previous time--during a shooting affair that
had occurred ten years before. Captain Bill promptly checked this
diversion. He said:

"Hold on there, Penrose, we don't care for that now. I'm investigating
what happened last week. You-all failed to find out anything. I'm
finding out something. When I get through with Miller you can ask him
about ninety-six or seventy-six, if you want to." Then, to Miller:
"What did you do after the shooting?"

The man's reply became a mixture of incongruities. He had stayed at
the saloon, he said, until all was quiet, about one o'clock. Then he
had come up to the Post, to defend it, having heard that it had been
attacked by citizens. Captain Lyon had a squad of forty-five men out
looking for Captain Macklin at the jail. He, Miller, had taken a gun
from a gun-rack that had been broken open, and joined the search. He
didn't know why Captain Lyon had expected to find Captain Macklin in
jail.

Corporal Miller was excused and other negroes summoned and examined.
Their stories were confused, contradictory and full of guilt. Finally
a soldier appeared, whose name, C.W. Askew, corresponded with the
initials written in the cap, found in the street the morning after the
raid.

Askew came in with the usual "sassy" look, faced Captain Bill, wilted,
and lost his memory. He had previously lost his hearing, it would seem,
for like Captain Macklin, he had heard nothing of the shooting, or the
confusion, until the call to arms, when he had hurried to a rack that
was broken open and got the first gun he came to.

"Let me see your cap," said Captain McDonald.

Askew handed it over.

The cap was a new one. Inside were the initials, "C.W.A." freshly
written and corresponding exactly with those in the cap found on the
street.

Captain Bill handed it back.

"Where is your old one?" he said.

"I've got two or three old ones."

"I want to see them; get them and bring them here."

Askew started for his caps and Captain Macklin went with him. They
returned, presently, with two old caps, in size 7-1/4 and 7-3/4,
respectively. Askew's new cap and the one found in the mud were both
number 7's. Captain Bill look them over, then turned to Askew.

"Don't you generally write your name in your caps?" he asked.

"Yes, sir, most generally. Anyhow, I do sometimes."

"Did you write your initials in this new cap? Is the handwriting yours!"

"Yes, sir."

"That will do. You can go, now."

C.W. Askew of Company B, Twenty-seventh Infantry, withdrew, and Captain
Bill was alone with his board of inquiry. For some moments he regarded
the two officers with silent scorn. Then, to Major Penrose, he said:

"When I came here you told me you couldn't find out anything. I've been
here a half an hour and I've found out enough, with what I got last
night, to warrant me in charging a bunch of your men with murder. How
do you explain that?"

Major Penrose's face showed that he was unhappy. He said:

"You have had more experience in such matters, and understand better
how to go at it than I do."

"Yes, I have only asked for the facts--that's all. I didn't try to
get anybody to tell me a lie. I've found that a whole bunch of these
niggers was out that you and your captain said was in. You-all are
trying to cover up this matter, and it makes you just as sorry and
guilty as these niggers, making you accessories to the crime."

In employing the word "sorry" here, Captain Bill meant "mean" and
"paltry," but any one could see that the word applied equally well in
its other uses.

"You are sorrier than these niggers," he went on, "because you, as
their officers, and as men of the United States Army, ought to be first
to hunt out the guilty ones, instead of trying to hide them. As for
Macklin there I think he was out with the niggers, and when he didn't
come home with them--he having got scared and hid out, I reckon--they
thought he'd got caught and put in jail."[16]

Captain Bill turned to District Attorney Kleiber.

"I want to make a complaint," he said, "against these men here for
being accessories to this murder by trying to cover it up. If this kind
of thing is going on in the army, it's time the country found it out."

Neither Major Penrose nor Captain Macklin made any coherent defense
to these charges, and Captain McDonald, with his sergeant, left the
Post. The Rangers spent the rest of the day in completing the evidence
against the thirteen suspects--one ex-soldier and twelve privates of
Company B. It did not appear that members of the other two companies
had taken part in the raid, though there was plenty of evidence to show
that many of them had full knowledge of the affair and of the parties
concerned. District Judge Welch issued the warrants, declaring the
evidence amply sufficient, and heartily approving Captain McDonald's
action throughout--District Attorney Kleiber assenting. They agreed
that the statutes clearly gave the Ranger Captain the right to arrest
and hold any offender against the State law, whether in federal or
civil employ. The cases of Officers Penrose and Macklin, however, they
decided to leave to military tribunals.

On the following morning, Thursday, August 23d, armed with the
warrants, Captain McDonald and Sergeant McCauley again appeared at the
entrance of Fort Brown. Evidently the garrison had recovered its poise
a little over-night, and was again defiant, for once more a file of men
with guns stood there to bar admission. Among this guard were Corporal
Miller, Sergeant Jackson and most of the other suspects. As the Rangers
approached, the U.S. rifles once more came to a level accompanied, as
before by the peremptory word,

"Halt!"

Captain Bill, looking along the barrel of his automatic shot-gun, was
inclined to be almost polite.

"What do you damned niggers want, this time?" he said.

"You must get an order from Major Penrose to come in here to-day," was
the answer.

"You niggers put up them guns! You've already committed one murder!"
was Captain Bill's single comment as with Sergeant McCauley he pushed
straight ahead. Both Rangers entered with their own guns leveled, and
would have opened fire instantly had there been the slightest movement
on the part of the guard. But whatever their orders, the negroes gave
way and made no further resistance.

The Rangers presently found Major Penrose and showed him a warrant for
twelve of his men. The officer appeared to have cheered up a bit. He
ran down the list with quite a business-like air.

"You've got six or eight of the right men," he said, "but the others
were not in it."

"Oh, then you do know that some of your men are guilty--and who they
are," commented Captain Bill. "Well, pick 'em out. Which ones are
they?"

Penrose hesitated.

"I mean that you have six or eight of the right kind of men," he
qualified.

"All right, then pick out the ones that are not the right kind of men."

But the major would not or could not undertake to do this. McDonald
then said:

"Now, I'll tell you what I want you to do with these men. I don't want
to put them in the jail; the sheriff is no good, and it would take too
many of my men to guard them. I want you to put them in the guardhouse
here and hold them on this warrant until I get through investigating.
Will you do that much?"

Penrose first refused, but Major Blocksom, who was present, said
that this was a fair proposition, and the major agreed to do it. The
men were placed under guard and there seemed a reasonable chance
that the whole matter would be sifted by the courts and that the
guilty would be punished. The Rangers left the garrison to continue
their inquiries about town, in the pursuit of further evidence, well
satisfied with their progress thus far, and greeted everywhere with the
congratulations of thankful citizens.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 16: "Captain Lyon claimed he could not find Captain Macklin
anywhere and went to the jail and other places looking for him....
Some of Lyon's men after leaving the jail met five white gentlemen
and threatened to shoot hell out of them and called them 'd--d white
s--o--b--.' I have their names (meaning the names of the gentlemen),
and some of them claim they could identify the soldiers that used
this epithet.... Lyon and his crowd then went to where the murder was
committed and found a policeman with a gun, and one of them said:
'There is a s-- of a b-- now with a gun.' The whole crowd of forty-five
men cocked their guns on him and would have taken his gun, but he was
one that was not afraid of them and talked back to the black devils,
and of course they let him alone."

_From Captain McDonald's report to Governor Lanham and
Adjutant-General Hulen._]

What Finally Happened at Brownsville

HOW STATE OFFICERS FAILED TO SUPPORT THE MEN WHO QUIETED DISORDER AND
LOCATED CRIME

But, meantime, something was going on. Telegrams were racing to and fro
between Fort Brown and Washington, and in the course of the day Captain
McDonald noticed that Major Penrose and his officers were paying
visits to prominent Brownsville attorneys. A whisper came to him that
the three companies were to be moved--the prisoners with the others.
Noticing that the major and his companions went into the office of
James B. Wells--a prominent lawyer, formerly judge of the district--the
Ranger Captain and one of his men followed them. Immediately upon
the entrance of the Rangers, the conference, such as it was broke
up. Evidently something was on foot, but Captain McDonald, strong in
his faith in the law as expounded to him by Judge Welch and Attorney
Kleiber; also, in the co-operation of these officials, expected nothing
more serious than the removal of the remainder of the troops. An order
for such removal was, in fact, received on that day--August 23d.

It was on Friday, the 24th, that matters reached a climax. Early that
morning Judge Wells--"Jim" Wells, as he was familiarly called--met
Captain McDonald with some news. (The two were of old acquaintance.)
Wells said:

"They are going to take your prisoners away, Bill, and you can't help
yourself."

"The hell I can't! I'd like to see them take my niggers away from me,
and me with warrants for them, issued on the authority of the judge and
attorney of this district. Where'd you get your information?"

Wells replied that it had come through the telegraph operator, and that
the order was to move the prisoners with the balance of the troops.
Captain Bill did not fully credit this news, but he set out at once
for the office of Judge Welch, who had issued the warrants. In front
of the clerk's office he met Welch; also, District Attorney Kleiber
and Major Blocksom. Captain Bill suspected that Major Blocksom was in
league with Penrose to get the prisoners away, and he did not much like
the appearance of the three there together. With his usual frankness he
stated what was in his mind, adding the information just received from
Judge Wells. He was assured by Judge Welch that no movement looking to
the removal of the prisoners was in progress, and by Major Blocksom
that Major Penrose's agreement to hold the prisoners subject to his
(McDonald's) orders would be carried out.

Still, the captain was not entirely satisfied. For some reason there
appeared to be a change in the official atmosphere of Brownsville
since his arrival. When the city was in despair, he had been welcomed
with open arms and accorded all authority. Now that he had entered the
dreaded stronghold, in defiance of loaded muskets, and placed the very
criminals behind them under arrest; now that nobody was any longer
afraid of an outbreak, and women and children could sleep at night,
there seemed a disposition to ignore his work and his authority. He
could not believe that in their anxiety to be rid of the negro troops,
the citizens of Brownsville would willingly surrender men who had
committed murder in the streets, and trust to the meager chance of the
offenders getting justice in a military investigation, a sample of
which the city had already seen. It was his purpose not to allow the
accused men to leave the jurisdiction of the county until a complete
investigation could be made. He was satisfied that Major Penrose and
his associates were fighting that investigation, and he suspected
that they had by some means obtained the co-operation of the local
authorities.

While considering what to do next, Captain Bill became aware that a
company of negro troops had already left the Fort and were marching to
the railway station. Promptly mustering his Rangers he accompanied the
soldiers, making sure, meantime, that they had none of his prisoners
among them. As a precaution against being taken unawares, he then
notified the railway officials that the special train made up for the
removal of the troops would not be permitted to leave Brownsville until
he was satisfied that it had none of his prisoners aboard. It did not
occur to Captain Bill that there was any suggestion of humor in the
fact that he was ranging himself, with his little company, against what
is usually regarded as a strong combination--a railroad company backed
by the United States Army; the latter represented by three companies of
armed and unruly negroes. It may be added that in the performance of
his duty he would without a moment's hesitation have opened fire on all
three companies. Captain Bill has almost no sense of humor, sometimes.

Returning from the station he saw another company of soldiers leaving
Fort Brown. Seeing the approach of the Rangers, this company halted,
hesitated, wheeled and once more entered the fort. The Rangers now
arrayed themselves in front of the entrance, and stood guard. Presently
the company that had marched to the station also returned and entered
the enclosure. Nothing further happened. Nobody else attempted to leave
the Fort. By and by, the Ranger Captain left his men on guard and went
over to the office of District Judge Welch. As he entered, he noticed
that Major Penrose and one of his officers, Captain Lyon, were in close
conversation with Welch, and he heard Welch say:

"Well, that will be all right!"

Captain did not hesitate.

"Judge," he said earnestly, "you are not compromising with these
people?"

"No, Captain, but the Major here has some orders about these men. I've
agreed to send them out of the State, after we get through with them,
so they won't be bothered," and to Penrose he added: "This is the man
who will have to escort them out."

Captain Bill regarded him sternly. He believed this to be a subterfuge.

"Judge," he said, "those niggers are not going to be moved from here.
They are my prisoners, and I'm going to hold them. I'm going to wire to
the Governor for assistance to help me hold them."

"And I am going to move them away," said Penrose, "for I have an order
from the President to do it."

Captain Bill looked interested.

"I should like to see something from President Roosevelt," he said. "I
was on a wolf hunt with him once, and I know him very well. I should
like to see something from the President."

Major Penrose replied:

"This is confidential. I have shown it to the judge, here; he can tell
you."

"If it is confidential, how in the devil can you show it to the judge,
and not to me, when they're my prisoners, and I'm here representing the
State?"

Penrose qualified:

"It isn't exactly from the President; it's from the Secretary of War."

"Well, I should like to see that."

"I'm sorry, but I can't show it to you. I'm going to move those men,
however, at all hazards."

"And I'm going to hold them at all hazards, until I get orders from
Governor Lanham to the contrary. I'm going now to wire for instructions
and assistance, and with my four men I can hold them niggers, and your
whole command, if necessary, until the Governor says to let them go."

Captain McDonald wired Governor Lanham immediately, as follows:

"To Gov. S.W.T. Lanham and Gen. John A. Hulen, Austin, Texas.

"The military authorities are trying to take our prisoners from here
for the purpose of defending them and defeating justice, and will
attempt to do so at once, over my protest. Please send assistance
to prevent this outrage. The officers are trying to cover up the
diabolical crime that I am about to uncover, and it will be a shame
to allow this to be done. I turned warrants over to them in due form,
with the promise that they would hold the prisoners in the guardhouse,
and turn them over to me when called for. Everything is quiet, but I
propose to do my duty.

"Signed, W.J. MCDONALD,
"Capt. Co. B, Ranger Force."

No reply came from the Governor after a reasonable wait, and without
further delay Captain McDonald sent to the fort a formal demand for
his prisoners, reviewing fully the nature of their offence. Major
Penrose replied that he had been directed by higher authority to assure
the safety of the said prisoners, and added that when such safety was
assured they would be delivered to the civil authorities for trial. He
added further,

"_After a most careful investigation I am unable to find anyone, or
party, in any way connected with the crime of which you speak._"

The cat was out of the bag, and in full view, now. Major Penrose,
regardless of the revelations made in his office, two days before (or,
perhaps, because of them); regardless also of his own confession that
Captain McDonald had got at least six of the right men, had determined
now to make a general and complete denial. He had consulted legal
advice--the best in Brownsville--and the result was a plea of "not
guilty" for the entire command.

The captain immediately repeated the demand for his prisoners, closing
his note by requesting Major Penrose, politely enough, to wait until he
(McDonald) had received instructions from his superior officers (the
governor and adjutant general), before attempting to move the men.

Major Penrose made no reply to this, and the eventful day wore on.
Toward evening it was noticed that a group of officials was gathering
in the office of Judge Wells. Captain Bill took one of his men and
went over there, each carrying an automatic gun across his arm, as
usual. They entered unnoticed, and found a group which included Judge
Welch, Attorney Kleiber, Mayor Combe, Congressman Garner, State Senator
Willacy and others. Some very earnest talk was in progress in this
group, concerning a row and bloodshed which Bill McDonald was likely to
bring down upon the community, when, as a matter of fact, the Rangers
had brought to the community the only sense of security it had known
since the raid. Judge Welch, who had been first to welcome the Ranger
Captain and to accord him authority, was now strenuously condemning
that very authority and advocating its removal. Just then he happened
to catch sight of Captain Bill and his Ranger, standing close by, their
guns across their arms. He came near falling over in his surprise and
there followed a moment of general embarrassment for the "Anti-Ranger"
party. Judge "Jim" Wells was the first to address the captain.

"Bill," he said, "you won't listen to us. You're going against the law
and you're going to start a row here that can't be stopped without
terrible sacrifice. Those nigger soldiers won't go away and leave those
prisoners behind without breaking out again, and next time it will be a
good deal worse. They think those prisoners will be lynched, if they're
left here. They'll look after them all right, and turn them over to the
proper authorities. Don't, for God's sake, get us into another row,
Bill."

The Ranger Captain looked from one to another.

"There was a row here before I came," he said. "There's been none
since. I come here when the town couldn't get anybody else to come,
and you fellows was all scared to death. As for the law, I didn't go
into that post until Judge Welch here and the district attorney told me
it was all right, and I arrested them niggers on warrants that Judge
Welch issued. It's a strange thing to me that the law ain't all right
to-day, when it was all right yesterday and day before. As for the rest
of the niggers leaving, they'll go fast enough when they get a chance,
and I'm going to keep my prisoners here till I get orders from Governor
Lanham to turn 'em loose. Furthermore, I don't believe the people of
Brownsville want them taken away from here, and I'll tell you right
now, that so long as I and my men are here, them niggers are in no
danger, nor the people neither."

Judge Welch spoke up. He said:

"You haven't any sense, McDonald. You're running up against the local
authorities as well as the United States. I'll settle this thing, right
here. I want those warrants."

"Judge," said Captain Bill, "those warrants are not returnable until
the third day of September, and this is the Twenty-fourth of August.
I'm going to hold that bunch of niggers with those warrants until I
hear from Governor Lanham. I've wired the governor for assistance, and
I'm waiting now to hear from him."

Congressman Garner spoke up at this point.

"That is a very reasonable request of Captain 'McDonald's," he said,
"that the prisoners be held until he can hear from the governor."

Captain Bill parleyed no further, but leaving the group, crossed over
to the Miller Hotel--the same that had been fired on by the mob.

Still no word from the governor and adjutant general. That they were
being bombarded with telegrams and protests, and that every influence
was being brought to bear, the Captain did not doubt. Yet he did not
wholly lose faith. He believed that in the end the governor would
stand by what had been done and support him in the position he had
taken. He left a part of his force to keep watch on the entrance of the
fort, and went in to supper. When he had finished, he came outside to
take his turn at standing guard. Presently he saw a body of armed men
approaching. There appeared to be forty or fifty of them, most of them
dressed in khaki, and in the dusk he at first took them to be soldiers.
Then as they drew nearer, he discovered that they were led by Judge
Welch, District Attorney Kleiber, and the Mexican sheriff, who for the
first time was taking an active part in the Brownsville drama--having
previously been safely locked up in his own jail. Viewed at this
distance of time and space, how silly it seems that those officials,
knowing Bill McDonald, as all Texas knew him, could have hoped to
frighten him with a nondescript muster like that. They drew their
posse--Mexican riff-raff--up in front of the hotel. Judge Welch asked:

"Where's Captain McDonald?"

Captain Bill himself came forward.

"What's the trouble, now, judge?" he said. "Looks like you're going to
war, with all these armed men."

"I've come for those warrants," said Welch. "I've got an order for
them."

"All right, Judge; you don't need an army, if you've got an order from
the proper authorities. Come in here by the light, where I can see it."

So they went in, followed by the Mexican sheriff and his khaki muster,
and all the other crowd that could get in--all the citizens and guests
of the hotel; the drummers and ranchmen and tourists--they all pushed
and elbowed in until the hotel lobby was full and the balcony around
the court was crowded (and there were ladies on the balcony), a fine
audience indeed for this, the closing scene. Everybody was inside that
could get in, now, and the room grew quiet. In the center of the lobby,
in a little group, were the chief actors. The Ranger Captain and his
sergeant stood together, their automatic guns, as usual, in position
for quick and easy service. They made a picturesque pair, with their
typical Texas hats, and arms, and dress, and their determined faces.
Judge Welch facing them, fumbled a little and produced his order.

Captain Bill held it to the light. It ran as follows:

"To Captain William J. McDonald, Company B, Ranger Force, Brownsville,
Texas.

"You are hereby directed and required to immediately turn over the
warrants for the twelve soldiers and one ex-soldier, delivered to you
for the arrest of these men, without any further attempt at execution
of the same.

"Signed, Stanley Welch, Dist. Judge,
"39th Dist. State of Tex."

Captain Bill finished reading and regarded the judge steadily.

"This is your own order, Judge," he said. "What is the meaning of it?"

Judge Welch started in to repeat some of the arguments of the afternoon.

"You won't take the advice of your best friends," he said, "and are
bound to start something here that will cause the blood to flow in
these streets."

Captain Bill looked at him and let his gun rest a little more easily on
his arm.

"If that is what you brought this gang here for, we'll start it now,"
he said.

There was a spontaneous round of applause, from both the lobby and the
balcony. The ladies in the latter strained forward to get a view of the
man who had defied a command of soldiers and who now, before their very
eyes, was facing a sheriff's armed posse, undismayed.

"I'll tell you, Judge," Captain Bill went on. "You-all look like
fifteen cents in Mexican money, to me, when I'm doing my duty, you and
your ki-ki militia here, and your Mexican sheriff that you told me
yourself was no good, and had done nothing, and was locked up in his
own jail for protection when I come here."

There was more applause at this point--also, laughter, the latter
rather nervous, on the part of the ladies. Captain Bill proceeded:

"Now, you bring him and his gang down here to arrest me for contempt of
court, I suppose--you, and your district attorney, after you both told
me that I had a full right to enter the post and use such means as was
necessary to bring those criminals to justice. Looks like as soon as I
get things started and some of the guilty men locked up, the law is all
changed and you come here demanding my warrants, and expect to put me
in jail if I don't give them up-is that it?"

Judge Welch assumed an air of superior virtue.

"I'm not afraid to do my duty," he blustered.

"Nor I," said Captain Bill, "so fly at it!"

There was more applause then, of course. It was the moment of the
dramatic climax--the instant for a telegram from the governor,
upholding the position of Captain Bill and putting his enemies to rout.
The stage machinery was perfect, too, for a telegram did indeed come at
that moment, only, instead of sustaining the chief actor in the drama,
it cut the ground from under his feet. Captain Bill took the yellow
envelope from the messenger, opened it and read the contents. There
were just two sentences. The first was equivocal and meant nothing. The
last meant surrender and humiliation.

"Austin, Texas, August 24, 1906.

"To Captain W.J. McDonald, Brownsville, Texas.

"Have requested Gen. McCaskey to prevent removal of soldiers charged
with recent murder. Consult district judge and sheriff and act under
and through them.

"Signed,
"S.W.T. LANHAM, Governor."

After all, it requires defeat to reveal true greatness. Few they are
who with the eyes of the multitude upon them can stand with calm eye
and steady nerve, unmoved and unfaltering, when the last support is
snatched away. It was all at an end, now; all his effort had gone for
little or nothing--his final hope had failed. But those watching him
could not have told that the crushing blow had fallen. He folded the
telegram with a hand that betrayed not the slightest tremor, and with a
voice that was entirely steady, and even pleasant, he said:

"Well, Judge, if nothing else will do you, I am ready, now, to give you
my warrant for those prisoners. Major Penrose has the other copy and is
holding them with it. I can get along, I guess, without a warrant. The
train won't leave until tomorrow morning, for the men in charge are
instructed not to leave until I say so, and I don't intend to say so,
to-night."

The crowd that had been still and breathless during the last few
moments, gave a great round of applause at this, and the drama was over.

Captain McDonald still had a very small hope that affairs might take a
turn before morning, and all night, with his little army, he patroled
the entrance of the fort to see that the prisoners were not moved.
That a battle would have followed any such attempt there is not the
least doubt. He withdrew all interference next morning, and the train
carrying the troops, including the prisoners, left about six o'clock,
for San Antonio. The prisoners were taken to Fort Sam Houston, the
remainder of the command to Fort Rena, Oklahoma. When the final
investigations took place, the man who, according to Major Blocksom,
had been willing to "charge hell with a bucket of water," in the cause
of justice and duty, was lying ill--the result of his old wounds
combined with the misery of unfair treatment. Sergeant McCauley, who
was ready with all the evidence, was invited to testify, and did so,
but not a single indictment was found by officials, civil or military.
The "conspiracy of silence was complete."[17]

But, perhaps, after all, the efforts of Captain Bill had not
been wholly without result; for he made a report of the matter to
Washington, and President Roosevelt, doubtless recalling that wolf-hunt
and knowing the integrity and courage of the writer, viewed that report
in the light of evidence. When the official verdict, "Not guilty,"
was reached, he dismissed, "without honor," the entire command of the
Twenty-fifth Infantry.

The Brownsville episode had become national history; a curious
chapter--the end of which would not soon be written.[18]

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 17:

AUSTIN, TEXAS, Sept. 5, 1906.

To Whom it May Concern:

This is to certify that I did on yesterday examine Captain W.J.
McDonald and found him suffering from chronic bronchitis of both
lungs, but worse on the left side, having been shot and these organs
having been injured.

He is now suffering a great deal and very much debilitated. I advised
him to suspend his active life for a short while and to go to some
water-place for a few weeks of rest. I think it may take three or four
weeks for him to recuperate. Respectfully,

L.L. LACEY, M.D.

That Sergeant McCauley was on hand and turned over the cap marked
C.W.A. to the grand jury is shown by the following receipt:

BROWNSVILLE, TEXAS, Sept. 12, 1906.

Received from William J. McCauley, Sergeant Company B, State Rangers,
one United States soldier's cap, marked on sweat-band with name of
C.W. Askew.

WILLIAM VOLZ,
_Foreman of Grand Jury_.]

[Footnote 18: During 1908 a secret investigation was being conducted
by the War Department, with the result that President Roosevelt
recommended the reinstatement of such men as could establish their
innocence and were willing to help bring the guilty to justice. A
partial report of this investigation will be found in Appendix D, at
the end of this volume.

JUDGE'S WELCH'S CHARGE TO THE GRAND JURY.

However much we may be inclined to criticise Judge Welch's attitude
during Capt. McDonald's stay in Brownsville, his charge to the Grand
Jury that somewhat later took up the investigation, leaves little to be
desired. He said:

"And now, gentlemen of the Grand Jury, among the other responsible
duties of your position is that of making a full, thorough, and
complete investigation of the unprovoked, murderous, midnight assault
committed by the negro soldiers of the Twenty-fifth United States
Infantry upon the citizens and homes of Brownsville on the night of the
13th of August. An inoffensive citizen was shot down and killed by them
while closing his gate. An unwarranted and cowardly assault was made on
the Lieutenant of Police of Brownsville, and his arm shattered by their
bullets, requiring its amputation.

"Fiendish malice and hate, showing blacker than their skins, was
evidenced by their firing of volley after volley from deadly rifles
into and through the doors and windows of family residences, clearly
with the brutish hope on their part of killing women and children, and
thus make memorable their hatred for the white race. Hard words these,
but strictly true and warranted by uncontested facts.

"It was my province to come among your patient people even while
their terrible fears and horror of another outbreak were upon them,
and God spare me in my life the sorrow of ever again witnessing the
faces of agonized women and fear-stricken children, tensioned with
days and nights of suffering and waiting for relief, with none coming
from either Nation or State to give them assurance that greater and
unspeakable outrages were not to follow.

"Tardy relief did come. At the eleventh hour the fiends, who disgraced
the uniforms they were permitted to wear and shamed a nation, were
removed. That all of the three companies were blamable must be
conceded, for they knew who were guilty and they shielded and sheltered
them, and failed to give them up. Hence it is that it has been left to
the civil authorities of the State, and especially to this District
Court, to apprehend, if possible, those directly guilty of murder,
assault to murder, and the ruffianly conspiracies to that end, as
the authorities of the United States, in charge, have declared their
inability to discover who were the uniformed thugs and murders that
committed the outrages.

"The lengthy investigation of a committee of your leading citizens,
made while these outrages were fresh, is at your service. I also
present to you three affidavits made before me by W.J. McDonald,
Captain of Company B of the ranger force of Texas, against twelve of
the negro soldiers and one civilian, a negro ex-soldier. All these
parties are under arrest, and within the jurisdiction of the civil
authorities of the State, and to await the action of our courts. Hence
it is that if it has ever been known by committee, Sheriff, State
Ranger or other officer or individual who, if any of these men are
guilty, that knowledge should come to you as the grand inquisitorial
body that represents, not only the County of Cameron, but the State of
Texas.

"I have no hesitation in saying that I share in the universal belief
that among those under arrest are many of the murderers, but something
more than mere belief and opinion are required to vindicate the
law. Evidence must be had upon which to predicate an indictment,
and warrant a trial. If you indict on mere suspicion or opinion and
without evidence, you leave our people and community open to the charge
of injustice and the proceedings will resolve themselves into mere
delay, for in the end an indictment unsustained by evidence must be
dismissed."]

XLI

_The Battle on the Rio Grande_

ASSASSINATION OF JUDGE STANLEY WELCH. CAPTAIN BILL ORDERED TO THE
SCENE. AN AMBUSH; A SURPRISE AND AN INQUEST

Within three months from the night of the Brownsville raid, there
occurred another tragedy in the banks of the Rio Grande. In the hours
of earliest morning of Tuesday, November 6th--Election Day--while
asleep in his office room at Rio Grande City, District Judge Stanley
Welch, prominently connected with the Brownsville episode, was shot
dead in his bed by some unknown assassin; this cowardly killing being
doubtless the harvest of factional discord, widely sown and carefully
tended in that hotbed of political corruption and violence along the
Mexican border.

Rio Grande City lies up the river from Brownsville a distance of about
one hundred miles. It is the county seat of Starr County, and has
no railroad nearer than Sam Fordyce, the terminus of the St. L.B. &
M., some twenty miles away. There are no railroads at all in Starr
County--a big county, full of cactus, hard, spiny mesquite grass,
Mexicans, and hot burning sand. Riot and plot would flourish naturally,
in a place like that, as they do in all Latin-American territory.

Starr County, in fact, is rather more Mexican than Mexico herself,
using the word to convey the less fortunate characteristics of that
hybrid race. It is not the better class of citizens that leave Mexico,
or Italy, or China, and the United States has suffered accordingly.
The border counties of Texas, because of their situation have been
peculiarly unfortunate in this regard. In Starr County the elective
offices are held almost entirely by Mexicans, and the struggle for
place is very fierce and bitter. Affairs generally are conducted by
Mexicans, and even the schools are in Mexican hands. From a statement
concerning the school trustees and teachers, in Starr County, it
appears that out of twenty-four trustees only seven could speak and
write the English language, and out of thirty-nine teachers nineteen of
them had no knowledge whatever of our national tongue. Commenting on
this report, D.C. Rankin of Dallas, in an article in the Corpus Christi
Crony, says:

"The male teachers are political heelers for the party in power, and
the lady teachers are backed by workers in the ring.... No wonder that
law and order amount to nothing in that rotten section, and no wonder
that District Judge, Stanley Welch, was assassinated while asleep in
his bed. No wonder that when Rangers were sent there to preserve the
peace and protect the citizenship from the ravages of the so-called
Americanized Mexicans, that they were ambushed and fired upon by a lot
of these desperadoes."

It is this story of crime and ambush that we shall undertake to
tell in this chapter. When the assassination occurred, District
Attorney Kleiber, who also may be remembered as having figured in the
Brownsville story, was asleep in the room adjoining the one occupied
by Judge Welch--the two inhabiting a small one-story brick building
not far from the court-house. They had retired about the same time and
Kleiber slept soundly until next morning at seven. Hearing no movement
in Judge Welch's room, he called, but received no answer. Thinking the
judge had overslept, Kleiber then rose, and opening the door between,
called again. The judge did not stir, and going nearer the district
attorney saw blood coming from his left side. Judge Welch was lying
on that side; the window behind him was up--the shutter closed. He
had been shot in the back, from without, through a broken slat in the
blind. Attorney Kleiber recalled having been partially roused from his
sleep by some sudden noise, and now supposed it to have been the fatal
shot.

Mr. Kleiber at once notified the authorities, and by eight o'clock
news of the murder was on the street. It was Election Day, as already
stated, and excitement followed the report, with demoralization among
the better element--the party to which Judge Welch belonged. It should
be explained here that the two parties in that section are the "Reds"
and the "Blues"--nominally Democrats and Republicans, though the
distinction would seem one of patronage rather than of politics. In Rio
Grande City the party of Judge Welch, called the Reds (Democrats)--is
in the minority.

On this Tuesday, November 6th, 1906, its franchise was even more
restricted than usual. When the fact of the murder became known about
fifty mounted men, "Blues," went through the crowds, demanding that
the polls be instantly opened. Local officers were either unwilling
or unable to deal with this mob, and open warfare between the Blues
and the Reds was imminent. To avoid bloodshed, Chairman Seabury of
the Reds assembled the best men among the leaders of the Blues and
persuaded them to agree with him that no armed men should approach the
court-house, where the voting place had been established; also that one
man of each party should be appointed as special peace officer at the
polls, and that a Blue and a Red should vote alternately as long as
there existed material for such an arrangement.

The agreement was kept two hours, after which the Blues took possession
of the court-house; entered the door, and held the same, backed by
armed men on foot and on horseback, terrorizing and keeping out most of
the opposition voters. When the polls closed at 6:30 p.m., about one
hundred and twenty-five electors had not cast their votes.[19] There
had been plenty of intimidation and some personal violence, but no loss
of life. The elements for riot and bloodshed, however, were all there,
and it needed only a little brisk stirring to precipitate a general
killing.

Meantime, news of the murder of Judge Welch, with a report of the
general situation at Rio Grande City, and a request for Rangers, had
traveled overland to Sam Fordyce and by telegraph to Austin, not
arriving in time for action that day. Captain McDonald's territory
included Starr County--his headquarters having been removed to Alice
in 1903,[20] and on Wednesday morning of November 7th, 1906, he was
called by telephone from the governor's office at Austin. Governor
Lanham himself was at the Austin end and conveyed the news of the
assassination, which McDonald had just learned from another source.

"How many men have you at Alice?" inquired the governor.

"Two, including myself. My sergeant, W.J. McCauley, is here. One of my
men is on a scout below Corpus Christi, and the other (his force had by
this time been reduced to three) is guarding two murderers at Edna."

"Captain," was the governor's next question, "would the fact that
you have not been favorably disposed toward Judge Welch since the
Brownsville affair make any difference in your undertaking this matter,
now?"

"If you think so, Governor, you ought to get another Ranger Captain
for this company; a Ranger that would let a thing like that make any
difference in a case of this kind would be no good for any purpose that
I know of."

"Well, then, Captain, take whatever force you have, and proceed as soon
as possible to Rio Grande City, and I will send additional men there,
as quickly as possible. I will wire the authorities that you are on the
way with one Ranger and that more will follow at once."

"All right, Governor, I'll start first train, and do the best I can."

"And Captain" (The governor had suddenly remembered Brownsville).

"Yes, sir."

"Be conservative, Captain. Investigate, and try to quiet matters, but
be conservative, quite conservative, Captain."

"Yes, sir, Governor, all right. I'll be conservative--as conservative
as the circumstances will permit."

"Now, do that, Captain. Just quiet matters, and I'll send you
reinforcements at once. Only be as conservative as possible till they
come."

Captain Bill wasted no time in his preparation. The train would leave
in half and hour, and he didn't stop to pack a dress suit. He notified
McCauley, and gathered up a young fellow named Marsden, who had Ranger
ambitions, and started with such clothes and guns as he had on.

It is a slow, roundabout way from Alice to Rio Grande City. You have
to go from Alice over to Corpus Christi and there wait for a train
that takes you down to Harlingen. Then at Harlingen you must wait for
another train to take you to Sam Fordyce, and at Sam Fordyce you can
hire a hack that will carry you to Rio Grande City, unless you are
waylaid and murdered along that lonely road which follows the river and
winds between a thick growth of cactus, mesquite and all the thorny
rank vegetation of that sandy semi-tropical land. Starting from Alice
in the forenoon, one with good luck may reach Rio Grande City by ten
o'clock at night, though it will be safer to wait at Sam Fordyce until
next morning. Those who travel from Sam Fordyce to Rio Grande City
after nightfall, go armed, and need to.

Captain Bill had good luck on the way down. While waiting for the
Harlingen train at Corpus Christi he fell in with Sam McKenzie, his
ranger, who had been on a scout in that section, and at Harlingen he
found Blaze Delling, who had resigned from Company B to become U.S.
River Guard. He brought both men along, and with a force like that
he felt able to cope with a mob of whatever size or nationality. Of
course, nothing was known at Rio Grande City of the increase in the
Ranger army. It had been given out there that Captain McDonald and
one man had been ordered down, and that reinforcements would follow,
accordingly as Governor Lanham had wired.

The day was well along when the little army finally reached Sam Fordyce
and secured a conveyance for the final stage of their journey. An old
frontiersman by the name of Inman, who owned a hack and pair of small
mules, agreed to undertake the journey. It was late in the afternoon
when they started.

Night fell, clear and starlight, but there was no moon, and the narrow
winding southern road hedged thickly with mesquite and yucca and cactus
growth was dark enough, except here and there where it opened to the
river or to a hacienda (Mexican ranch), with its half dozen thatched
huts, or hackles, surrounded by brush fences.

The Rangers drove along quietly, speaking in low voices when they spoke
at all, peering into the darkness ahead, for they had no knowledge of
what conditions were awaiting them, or what they were likely to meet
along the way. Besides, it is the Ranger practice to go warily on dark
nights and not traverse an unknown road with festivity and boisterous
mirth.

It was about 8:30 o'clock and they had covered a little more than
half the distance to Rio Grande City, when they heard the noise of
approaching wheels and vaguely distinguished the outlines of some
vehicle in the darkness ahead. They were at the time about opposite
Casita Ranch--a poor place with the usual brush fences. Mr. Inman
slackened down his mules and pulled the Ranger hack a little to one
side of the road, supposing it to be only one of the traveling coaches
that make daily trips between Rio Grande City and the railway terminus.
But when the approaching vehicle was about thirty paces away, there was
a sudden flash in the dark, a report, and a bullet went singing over
the heads of the Rangers.

The Rangers were instantly in battle front, guns up and ready. They did
not fire at once, however, for there might be some mistake.

"Hold up there!" called McDonald. "We are Texas Rangers! Stop that
shooting!" and this admonition Private McKenzie quickly repeated in the
Mexican tongue.

[Illustration: CAPTAIN BILL'S LAST BATTLE.

"As pretty a fight as ever took place on the banks of the Rio Grande."]

There was no chance for mistake, after that. The hacks had been moving
right along and were now not more than twelve feet apart. Then the
approaching hack stopped and three figures with guns were seen to
leap to the ground. Captain Bill, who was standing up in the hack
with his Winchester leveled on them, thought at first that they
were getting out to surrender their arms, and three of his Rangers,
McCauley, McKenzie and Delling quickly jumped down, facing them. But at
that instant the epithets "Cavarones!" and "Gringoes!" came from the
Mexicans, and then "Tetterly! Tetterly!" (Shoot! Shoot!) with which
signal the Mexicans, both on the ground and in the hack, let go at the
Rangers, point blank, while from behind the brush fence two guns in
ambush opened an enfilading fire.

Then for the thirty seconds or so that it lasted, there was as pretty
a fight as ever took place on the banks of the Rio Grande. With seven
Mexican and five Ranger rapid-fire guns going--a round dozen in
all--there was one continuous explosion, and an unceasing glare.

"From where I stood in the hack, I could see the whites of their eyes,"
Captain Bill said afterward, "and I felt as if I could pick the buttons
off their coats. I let go as fast as I knew how, and at a different
Mexican every time."

But though rapid, the Ranger fire was cool and accurate, while the
Mexican marksmanship was inexcusably bad.

In less than half a minute it was all over. The seven Mexican guns were
silenced, the Mexican force demolished. In the road, a man lay across
his gun, dead. Two were limping and staggering away--one with a broken
leg, the other to die; two more--the ambushers--were hiding in the
weeds (where they were presently captured), while in the Mexican hack,
which was now once more moving slowly along, was a freight of yet two
more, both dead.

Sergeant McCauley, from his position on the ground, looked up to where
Captain McDonald, still standing in the hack, was already reloading.

"Pretty little fight, Uncle Bill," he said, casual like.

"Yes," said Captain Bill, thoughtfully filling the magazine of his
Winchester, "but do you reckon the governor will think we've been
conservative enough?"

When the dead and wounded and prisoners were gathered and a general
observation of the field was taken, it was found, from the empty
shells, that each side had fired about an equal number of shots--some
sixty, in all.

Marvelous as it may seem, not a Ranger was touched by any of the thirty
or more shots fired at them, though Mr. Inman, the driver, got a pretty
hot bullet through the very narrow space just under his arm a bullet
that cut his undershirt and scorched his skin, and made him think for
the moment that he was wounded. Old veteran that he was, he sat quietly
holding his team--a silent observer of the spectacle--only regretting
that, being unarmed, he could not have a more active part.

Captain Bill now took Delling and started for Rio Grande City,
leaving the remainder of his force in charge of the dead, wounded and
prisoners. They kept a sharp lookout for new attacking parties as
they drove along, and discussed the recent battle in voices that were
jubilant, but modulated.

"Of course, from the governor's telegram, they only expected to meet
two men," Captain Bill reflected. "It must have been a sunrise when
they suddenly found five guns going." And a little later, speaking out
of what seemed a troubled conscience, "But I'm afraid the Governor
won't think I was conservative."

Then presently they met two more vehicles coming, this time in a hurry.
Ready for action, the Rangers waited until they were up close, then
stopped them. They, also, had come to meet the Rangers, but this time
with a note from the county judge, telling them to hurry, as the town
was up in arms, and an outbreak was momentarily expected.

Captain McDonald sent one of the hacks after his men and their
prisoners, with orders to get Mexicans from the Casita Ranch to watch
the dead men until the inquest, next day. Then with the other hack he
pushed on to Rio Grande City. From the tone of the judge's note he
expected to find matters in a desperate condition. When he arrived,
however, there seemed to be no special excitement. Everybody was armed
and there were groups on the street, but there was little noise or
open disturbance. The Ranger Captain looked up the judge and sheriff
and made a report of his battle and its results, the news of which was
soon both general and effective. When he went out among the crowds and
told them to disarm--to go home and put their guns away and quit their
foolishness--it was like the dismissal of a State encampment. By the
time his men arrived everything was peaceable. It was too late that
night to make a report to the governor, but Captain Bill summed up the
situation in a telegram next morning. Governor Lanham had protested at
the length and cost of a telegraphic report from Brownsville; this time
there was no waste of words.

"Rio Grande City, Nov. 8, 1906.

"Gov. S.W.T. Lanham,
"Austin, Texas.

"We were ambushed; four Mexicans dead, one wounded, two captured;
preparing to hold inquest. Everybody disarmed; everything quiet.

"W.J. MCDONALD,
"Capt. Co. B,
"Ranger Force."

That told the story, adequately, cheaply and modestly. The papers over
the State made a good deal to-do over it, and reviewed Captain Bill's
other exploits--real and imaginary--but to him it was only in the day's
work, the work he had been carrying on for a long time, now, nearly a
quarter of a century.[21]

The inquest was held that morning according to program, and the verdict
justified the Rangers. After which, the four unlucky Ranger-hunters
were buried in a lonely old graveyard near the place where they fell.
The names of the four were, Farias, Osuna, Vincia and Perez--all known
in Rio Grande City. Their comrade who was wounded, another Osuna,
confirmed the Rangers' account of the battle. The original plan had
been for all to lie in ambush behind the fence and fire on the Rangers
deliberately, at close range. Losing patience, however, in an attempt
to clamber over the thick barrier, all but two decided to remain in the
hack.

The better element of Rio Grande City, though rejoicing over the
results of the ambush, were naturally apprehensive as to what might
happen next. Friends of the dead men were numerous, and it was believed
that a bloody outbreak with reprisals would follow. Captain McDonald
assured the citizens that he had no such fears, and the arrival of
State troops and Ranger Company D, Captain Hughes, helped to restore
confidence.

Captain Bill did not remain long in Rio Grande City. He was still
engaged in solving the Conditt problem at Edna and could not undertake
to unravel the mystery of Judge Welch's assassination. It remains
unraveled to this day. Perhaps time will furnish a clue. Perhaps the
secret lies buried in the old graveyard back of the Casita Ranch.

Nothing was ever done with the prisoners taken by the Rangers. That is,
nothing was done with the two men caught in ambush. The wounded man was
afterward made deputy sheriff, probably as a reward of merit for having
engaged in a shooting match with the Rangers and escaped alive.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 19: For further details of the condition at Rio Grande City
at this time, see Appendix E.]

[Footnote 20: Company B had been transferred from Amarillo to Fort
Hancock in 1902 for a comparatively brief period.]

[Footnote 21: "The Fort Worth Record," commenting on this report,
compared it to Perry's famous "We have met the enemy and they are
ours." The Record adds: "Perry and McDonald are made of the same stuff.
If McDonald had been in Perry's place he would have been equal to the
emergency. If Perry had been in McDonald's place he couldn't have done
better."]

XLII

The End of Rangering and a New Appointment

STATE REVENUE AGENT OF TEXAS. THE "FULL RENDITION" BILL ENFORCED. A
GREAT BATTLE AND A BLOODLESS TRIUMPH

The Rio Grande affair was Captain Bill's last Ranger service of
dramatic importance. He was continuously busy during the two months
that elapsed between that episode and his official retirement, but it
was only in the usual line of duty, chasing murderers, putting down
riot and disarming unruly men--the things he had done so often that to
look back on his career now was to gaze down a kaleidoscopic vista of
death and disorder--a whirling maze of bad men and guns.

It was in January, 1907, that he went to Bellville as a witness in a
murder case, and it was while he was there, January 16th, that Governor
T.M. Campbell, who had just succeeded Governor Lanham, appointed him
State Revenue Agent of Texas. Captain Bill's first knowledge of the
matter came to him through the morning paper at Bellville. When his
duties were over there, he set out for Austin to inquire into it.
He knew that a State Revenue Agent was appointed to keep a general
supervision over the collection of the State revenues--taxes, license
money and the like--but he had only a dim idea as to the specific
duties of the office. He was by no means certain that he wanted to
exchange the wide free life of Rangering, whatever might be its
drawbacks, for the routine duties of an office in the Capitol, with
a desk, a revolving chair and a stenographer, whatever might be
the comforts and perquisites of these things. He was no longer a
young man, and he had been shot through from different directions.
Desperate wounds, long hard vigils, cold and exposure, had left him
weather-beaten and with shoulders and chest no longer as full and erect
as in the old days. Yet his eye was just as clear, his ear as alert and
his nerve as steady as in the beginning, and if this appointment was
merely a sinecure; a reward for deeds performed--a sort of official
manifest that he was down and out--he would have none of it. He could
_wear_ out, and he might some day stop a conclusive bullet, but he
declined to _rust_ out.

Perhaps there was a pretty general belief in Texas that Captain
McDonald's appointment was, in fact, a sinecure, but if so the idea
was transient. Arriving at the State Capitol, he called on Governor
Campbell, without delay.

"How about this appointment, Governor?" he said. "What kind of a job is
it?"

"Well, it's a better job than you've got, Captain. The pay is better
and it's safer, too. You're going to die, or be killed, someday, going
about in all kinds of weather and getting shot at, from ambush. We
can't afford to lose you, just yet."

"Thank you, Governor, I don't want to be lost, either," Captain Bill
said in his gentle drawl, "but I don't know as I can fill the bill.
What do I have to do as State Revenue Agent, anyway. No chance to
handle a gun, is there? I can do that about as well as anything."

Governor Campbell laughed and handed Captain Bill a copy of the
statutes.

"There's the law, on the subject," he said. "You'll find all the
information you need, right there."

Captain Bill took the book and spent several days reading and
re-reading whatever he could find bearing on the matter of tax-paying;
also on the duties of tax-assessors and tax-gatherers in general, and
on those of the State Revenue Agent in particular. He found that he
knew a good deal on the subject, after all; not in technical detail,
perhaps, but fundamentally and vitally. In his wide general knowledge
of the conditions prevailing in every portion of the State he knew that
the poorest counties--those least able to bear the burden--carried a
disproportionate load of the State expenses. He had never given the
matter much consideration before, taking it for granted that in a
new county, and a poor county, taxes could not help being high. This
was true, no doubt, but he saw clearly enough, now, that in such
counties, taxes had been by far too high, all along, and that the "Full
Rendition" law provided a remedy for just that thing. Captain Bill had
but one idea about law, which was that it must be enforced. To enforce
that law would be interesting, and righteous. He went back to Governor
Campbell.

"Governor," he said, "I think this job will suit me pretty well, if I
can run it my way."

"Well, Captain, that was what you were appointed for."

"Governor," Captain Bill proceeded, "there's some of our counties and
people paying twice as much tax as they ought to, and some of them, the
ones that ought to pay most, and the railroads and corporations, are
not paying half enough."

Governor Campbell nodded.

"How would you rectify that, Captain?" he asked.

"Well, you see, the tax rate is the same for all counties, and the
poor counties to provide for their own home expenses have to assess on
a high valuation in order to make the amount big enough to go around,
while the rich counties that are practically out of debt assess on
a low valuation, sometimes not more than a fourth the value of the
property. That might be all right if it was only the _home_ levy that
counted, but you see the _State_ levy is assessed on the same valuation
as the home levy, and the result is that a county that is in debt is
paying State taxes on a valuation about twice or three times as big as
those big rich counties that have had the most benefit from the State
and are best able to pay for it. Why those old rich counties get an
allowance of school money from the State that is actually more than
all the taxes they turn in. Now the way to fix that is to make all the
counties assess exactly alike--on full valuation--and get the State
levy down where it belongs and the State expense fairly apportioned.
The Full Rendition bill provides clearly for this case, and ought to be
enforced."

Governor Campbell looked thoughtful. He foresaw the storm that a man
with the convictions and determination of Bill McDonald could stir up
in a State like Texas. Presently he said:

"Well, Captain, that was what the Full Rendition Bill was passed for,
but it's been considered a dead letter, so far."

"It won't be a dead letter if I take the job, Governor. It will be the
livest letter in the statute book, for a while."

Campbell smiled grimly. In imagination he already heard the howl that
would go up, and the imprecations that would descend upon appointer as
well as appointee. After all, perhaps a Ranger Captain in a job like
that was not a perfect selection. Then presently he turned to Captain
Bill.

"Well, Captain, you've got your appointment," he said.

The State Revenue Agent lost no time in beginning his work. Already
many of the annual assessments for 1907 had been made, and if any
re-assessments were to be taken there was no time to lose. In 1906 the
assessed values of Texas properties had aggregated $1,210,000,000.
State Agent McDonald resolved that they should properly be more than
double this amount, and he undertook at once the first step in that
direction. He did this knowing full well what would result. He knew
that a man's purse is his tenderest point, and that to lay a finger on
his taxes is to touch a spot already sore. He knew that what he was
about to do meant to antagonize practically every corporation in the
State, and every rich county as a whole. Also, perhaps, a majority of
the press. Papers that had lauded him to the skies for his achievements
would be first to belittle him, now, and to cry him down. What he was
undertaking was distinctly a minority crusade; a struggle for the
pioneer; a fight for the under dog.

Yet I think his chief consideration was the enforcement of the law.
That would be likely to be so; the law's enforcement had been his habit
so long. If the other things weighed at all, they probably only added
zest to his resolve.

He began by issuing a general letter to assessors throughout the State.
In part the letter ran:

"Dear Sir:

"As State Revenue Agent with well defined duties imposed upon me,
I feel called upon to communicate with Tax Assessors relative to
the rendition and assessment of real and personal property for
Taxation....

"An inspection of the tax rolls of your county for 1906 and some years
prior thereto, discloses the fact that real and personal property is
assessed at only a certain percentage of its value instead of "at
its value" as required by the Constitution and laws of the State. I
will take occasion during the year to visit such counties as may be
practicable and examine into the mode of rendition and assessment ...
and I hope to have your assistance."

The letter then called attention to, and quoted from, the law, setting
forth the duties which good officers and citizens would perform in
full, and the penalties for being, and doing, otherwise. Near the end
of this letter he said:

"This duty is imposed upon you by the law, and I suppose I am not
presumptuous in asking you to follow it strictly so that there
will be no embarrassment when I call for the purpose of making an
investigation," etc., etc.

It was a careful dignified letter, entirely justified by the
conditions. It is true the Revenue Agent did not fully explain in that
last clause just what would be likely to cause the "embarrassment"
when he appeared upon the scene "for the purpose of making an
investigation," and the thoughtful assessor who had followed Bill
McDonald's career and remembered some of his former investigations may
have inferred that it would have something to do with guns.

Certainly that letter made those assessors mad. Also it made the people
mad. And the newspapers. Even the people and newspapers of the counties
that would benefit by the Full Rendition law--not quite understanding,
at first--got mad as a preparation for further enlightenment. Never,
since Joseph laid a twenty per cent. levy on the Egyptians, after first
taking away all of their land, was there such a general madness over
any tax order under the sun. In all the history of Texas there had been
no such commotion--such a cyclone of indignation as that which had its
storm center in the State Revenue Agent's office at Austin. Newspapers
that only a week before had been praising Bill McDonald as the bravest
man since Bowie and Travis--a fit successor to those heroes of the
Alamo--now denounced him as a bloodthirsty desperado, who proposed to
hold up the people of Texas as he had held up bad men--at the point
of a six-shooter. They declared that his sole purpose was to fill the
State Treasury to bursting with the people's money, so that it might
be an easy prey for grafters, already lying in wait with schemes.
Then they denounced Governor Campbell for appointing such a man, and
prophesied his political ruin and general downfall. Some of them could
not, and others would not, see that a full assessment for all was the
only fair system, and that, if the values increased, the general
rate of levy would lower accordingly. None so blind as those who will
not see, and property owners, public and private, in counties where
assessments had long been far too low to give them a fair share of the
State's burdens, were naturally blinded by that self-interest which was
stirred in with Adam's dust.

Indignation meetings prevailed. Assessors elected "by the people," told
their constituents that they would "obey the will of the people," and
tell any petty Revenue Agent that he could go to, with his bluff--that
the "people" of Texas were bigger than any individual in it and knew
what they wanted in the way of assessments, regardless of any fool laws
to the contrary.

Perhaps the coolest man in the State sat in the State Revenue Agent's
office at Austin, and smiled that bland winning smile of his as he
greeted the reporters and declined to get mad or to recede from his
position, merely referring them to the law as set down; dictating,
between times, answers to excited assessors in which he assured them
that his first letter was quite genuine and meant what it said, and
that furthermore if they had--as some of them stated--already turned
in their assessment rolls for 1907, they must go back and do it again,
observing the law both in letter and spirit, in order to avoid, that
little "embarrassment" when he should call somewhat later in the year.
And this kicked up the dust worse than ever.

There was, however, a percentage of public sentiment in favor of the
law and justice, regardless of personal interest. There were men in
high places who stood boldly for the new order of assessment, and there
were newspapers, even in the old rich counties that for a principle
were willing to lose subscribers and pay the additional tax, besides.
The names of those men and of those newspapers Texas should inscribe on
a roll of honor in her State Capitol, for it was by such as those that
some seventy years ago her independence was won.

Governor Campbell, assailed on every side, breasted the storm and
stood firm. If his political structure must go down to ruin because
of an effort to secure justice and the enforcement of the statutes as
laid down, then perhaps the ruin would be better than the edifice. He
discussed the matter thoughtfully and earnestly, here and there, when
called upon, and was listened to with respect though with uncertain
approval. Other officials throughout the State were inclined to be
governed by the temper of their constituents. Yet there were notable
exceptions. In February, 1907, at a convention of county judges,
in Dallas, the statement was made that an attempt to carry out the
instructions of the State Revenue Agent in the matter of the Full
Rendition law would mean the political death of such county judges
or commissioners as engaged in that effort. This statement, though
wide, was not general. Among others to dissent was Judge Hill of
Eastland County, who declared that if the people of Texas did not
want a man in office who would carry out the law he, for one, would be
glad to resign. That was a fine brave statement and had its effect. A
resolution pledging the members of the association, individually and
as a whole, to support and maintain the letter and spirit of the Full
Rendition law, to the end that the taxes of the entire State might be
equal and uniform, was unanimously adopted. The right word from the
right source had been spoken. It began to be echoed in public places.

It was along in March, 1907, that the State Revenue Agent decided that
he would not wait to call on the assessors during the year, but that he
would gather them in Austin where he could talk to them, all together.
A meeting of the State Association of Assessors, near the end of the
month, was the result.

The assessors came together in many frames of mind, but mainly
belligerent. Some of them had given it out to their constituents before
they started that they were going down to tell that old Ranger that he
might be able to round-up cattle-thieves and Mexicans, but that a bunch
of county assessors would be a different matter. When these officials
began to collect around the Capitol there was plenty of talk--not
always complimentary. The State Revenue Agent loafed around among them.
It was noticeable how the criticism subsided in the various groups as
he sauntered in their direction. It was rumored that, though a civil
officer, he still wore a "forty-five" in a holster and carried an
"automatic" in his hip-pocket. When the members were finally assembled
in general meeting, and "Captain Bill" rose to address them--they were
quite still. He did not make a long speech, but it was to the point.

"We have been assessing in this go-as-you-please sort of a fashion a
good while," he said, "and now we are going to do it the other way.
We've been assessing by custom--now we're going to do it by law. The
present tax rate is twenty cents on the hundred. We want to get it down
to five cents on the hundred and adjust it so that every man will pay
what he should--no more and no less. I don't want to pay out money any
more than the next one, but I want to pay what is right, and I know
you men want to _do_ what is right, with your people, when you find
out what the right thing is. This law is right, and just because we've
been going according to an old unjust custom, is no reason now, why we
shouldn't go according to an old and just law."

It was in this strain that he talked to them, using the friendly
familiar vernacular which meant sincerity and a genuine interest in
their welfare. They saw that he was in earnest, and he spoke to their
better inclination. Also, he had the strong side of the argument. A
paper commenting on the matter said:

"Thrice was the Captain armed, for the reason that he was in the right,
and had the laws of the State to back him"--a statement true in the
main, though it leaves the reader to guess in what third way the
"Captain" was thought to be armed.

At all events, whatever rebellion may have existed must have been
pretty well quieted by the next day, for the following resolution was
unanimously adopted:

"_Resolved_, That we, the Assessors of the State of Texas, in
convention assembled, will make what improvements we possibly can to
increase the renditions of 1907, and promise to fully comply with the
law, in the assessments of the future, and we hereby authorize the
secretary of this convention to notify all assessors not present to
co-operate with us in this matter."[22]

When that association disbanded, if there was any indignation and
resentment existing for the State Revenue Agent it made no outward
manifestation. One assessor said:

"As to what my duty was, I very well knew that before I went to Austin.
But like most other assessors I followed a custom instead of the law.
When a change was demanded I though it would cause a great deal of
confusion among the people who had made an inventory of their property.
I find it is not the case. I have very little trouble, and in my
judgment I will get forty per cent. raise, for an average."

And another assessor, writing to the Fort Worth Record, said:

"Well, I am going to do my duty. I am swearing every man to the value
of his property, as well as to the rendering of it, so when brother
McDonald comes around, if he ever does, there will be no kick coming my
way."

The result came when the inventories were all gathered and the items
footed. Between the figures of 1906 and 1907 there was an actual
difference of $414,137,246 in favor of the latter year. A part of
this vast increase would come from the natural property growth of
the State, but in the main it was due to the revised inventories and
valuations. And this was a mere beginning, undertaken under disturbing
and adverse conditions. The increase of 1908 over 1907 added another
total of $561,297,248 to the property assessment values, aggregating
an increase over the year 1906 of $975,434,494. Perhaps Texas will be
a three billion dollar State yet, as has been prophesied, and the tax
rate in the pioneer counties will be such as to encourage still further
settlement and progress.

Not that the system is perfect yet. There are still assessors who
shirk their duty, and hence counties who default in their burdens.
No great reform can be immediately complete, but if State Revenue
Agent McDonald survives long enough, this one will be so, in time, and
already it stands as his greatest monument and victory.[23]

[Full rendition of property values for the purposes of taxation has
always been the law in Texas. The Thirtieth Legislature provided for
the reestablishment of an old and dishonored system. For a fuller
understanding of the conditions before and after the enforcement
of this and other laws the reader may refer to Governor Campbell's
Message of Jan., 1909 (Appendix F), and an address by Hon. W.D.
Williams (Appendix G), at the end of this volume.]

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 22: The New York "Sun," commenting on this, said:

"Many of the assessors came to Austin with a feeling of animosity
toward Captain McDonald, but he brought them all into line and before
the meeting adjourned resolutions were unanimously adopted thanking
him for taking up the question of assessments and promising to assess
property at its full market value."]

[Footnote 23: In addition to this work, State Revenue Agent McDonald
has very largely increased the State income by the systematic and
vigorous enforcing of the law, providing for the licensing of various
public entertainments and for regulating the sale of liquors. His
experience in putting into effect the new "Baskin-McGregor" law
somewhat resembled his adventures with the Full Rendition law and ended
with as signal a victory.]

XLIII

In Conclusion

CAPTAIN BILL MC DONALD OF TEXAS--WHAT HE HAS BEEN AND WHAT HE IS TO-DAY

So now we have arrived at the end of our story--the story of "a man who
does things"--who has been making history for twenty-five years, who is
still making it, to-day. It is the story of a life so full of incident
and episode that we have been able to give only a chapter here and
there--to touch the high places as it were; for the tale entire would
fill a library, and would involve the chronology of a State, which in
that quarter of a century has increased its population nearly five
times, its wealth in a like proportion, while its progress in education
and morals has been incalculable. It is with the improvement last named
that Bill McDonald, and the little army of State Rangers from which he
had been selected as an example, have been chiefly concerned, though
advancement in other directions has been collateral and dependent on
moral growth. Order is not only the first law of Heaven, but of the
frontier, and by the sturdy Frontier Battalion has the fight for order
been made, and won. For in spite of plague-spots here and there (and
in a State of so vast an area, and so recent and motley a settlement,
it would be strange indeed if these did not exist), Texas is to-day a
splendid empire of beautiful towns and cities--of fair and fruitful
farms, and of handsome, hardy law-abiding men and women.

The Pan-handle has become a garden--not a Garden of Eden, exactly, but
a garden of agriculture and home-culture--a larger garden than Eden,
and happier and more profitable than Eden has ever been, since the fall.

And the best evidence of what the Ranger Force has done for Texas may
be found in the steady reduction of its numbers. By the very nature
of its achievements it has each year reduced the necessity of its
existence. To-day it consists of four little companies, aggregating
about thirty men, all told. They are brave, picked men--who face death
daily and are not afraid. If from among these Bill McDonald has been
marked for special distinction, it is not because he has been more
willing to do and dare, or more resolute in its purpose of reform,
but because he was at his birth marked by that special genius which,
whatever his environment, would make episodic achievement and peculiar
distinction his inevitable portion. Long before he became an officer he
was a peace-maker. Wherever trouble occurred, McDonald had a genius for
being there, separating and disarming the combatants, admonishing them
in that convincing manner which few men ever resented. No one ever knew
him to flinch at a time like that--perhaps no one ever dreamed that he
would be likely to do so.

He was variously gifted. His perceptions were abnormally keen--his
deductive conclusions often startling in their exactness. In his
detective work, he was sometimes referred to as the Sherlock Holmes of
Texas, though his processes would seem to have been more instinctive,
and perhaps less intellectual, than those of Dr. Doyle's imaginary
hero. For he had the eyes of a fox, the ears of a wolf and he could
follow a scent like a hound.

"Cap, you have eyes in the back of your head and can smell a criminal
in the dark," was once said to him, and perhaps this statement was not
so wide of the mark.

His understanding of character--frontier character--was likewise a
gift. Almost every man has a right side, and Bill McDonald always
seemed to know how to reach that side. When no right side developed,
he knew how to handle the wrong one. He seldom failed to win the
confidence and the respect--even the friendship--of his prisoners.
Such enemies as he has to-day are not among the men he caused to be
punished, but among those who feared--and still fear--capture and
punishment. There may be a good many such. Time and again his removal
was not only requested, but demanded--sometimes by a whole community--a
community which did not want the law's enforcement, and such a demand
was likely to be accompanied by the threat of political revolt. But
Texas, from the days of Sam Houston, has had good governors--governors
to whom such a demand was in the nature of a compliment and the best
reason for retaining the "offending" incumbent. Hence Bill McDonald not
only remained in service, but was given an ever widening usefulness.

His "suddenness" and determination was a constant amazement to
law-breakers. Once when he was in El Paso he received a telegram
stating that some of his horses had been stolen from a ranch he then
owned on the Oklahoma and Texas line. That ranch was nearly five
hundred miles away as the crow flies, but Bill McDonald was on the
train bound in that direction while the telegram was still damp.
Arriving at his ranch, he struck the trail and set out alone to follow
it, without rest, through Greer County, riding hot foot a distance of
three hundred miles; overtaking the thieves at last somewhere beyond
Norman, Oklahoma. Sid Woodring, a wary old outlaw, was in that gang,
also his nephew, Frank Woodring, and a third member whose name is not
recalled. It was a genuine surprise when Bill McDonald, whom they
thought at the other end of Texas, charged in among them and had them
disarmed almost before they realized what was going on. He marched them
back to the jail at Norman; had them indicted in Greer County, where
court was then in session; got them convicted for terms ranging from
five to ten years, and returned with his recovered horses--completing,
in the space of a few days, one of the neatest and most spectacular
bits of official work on record.

The amount of his work was something enormous. In the two years ending
August 31st, 1904, Ranger Company B, which he commanded, traveled
74,537 miles, made 205 scouts and 174 arrests. Thirty-one of the
arrests were for murder, and nearly all for desperate crimes. When
it is remembered that some of those scouts required days, and some
of the arrests were hundreds of miles apart, and the result of long
and arduous trailing and persistent detective work, the labor and the
result can be better understood. Nor is this an unusual report. It has
been selected at random and is by no means of the busiest period--the
period of the early nineties--those riotous Pan-handle days.[24]

There was no show, no fuss and feathers about this work. Riot
threatened or broke out here and there--the newspapers carried a line
that Captain Bill was on the way to the scene. He arrived--often
alone--disarmed a mob; made an arrest or two, perhaps; gave out a few
quiet admonitions, and it was all over--next day to be forgotten. With
many another man such cases would have meant resistance, bloodshed,
troops, and the long animosities of years. That was his genius: to
settle matters--to dispose of them--to get through and to be at other
work without waste of time. Once when he was ordered to Galveston to
prevent a prize-fight, he arrived at the hall where it was to take
place, after the crowd had gathered. He did not bother to discuss
matters with the managers or principals, but walked out on the stage
and announced briefly to the audience that the fight would not take
place, for the reason that it was against the law which he was there to
enforce. That was a fair sample of his method--to know the law, and to
enforce it, without a fire-works and without violence. No man has ever
been his equal, perhaps, in that field.

It was true he was lucky, for bullets missed him, as a rule, and he
steered clear of many dead-falls. Among the Mexicans, and bad men
generally, there grew up a superstition that he was bullet-proof, and
after the Rio Grande affair there would seem to be some reason for such
a belief, for he stood up there in plain view, a tall and shining mark,
blazing away, and no bullet touched him.

He has been always modest concerning his achievements, discussing them
in the few words of an official report. When he has spoken at all it
has been his habit to present the general result, rather than his part
in it. It was this characteristic that made difficult the securing of
material for these chapters. In preparing for the Rio Grande battle,
for instance, I said to him:

"Of course you hit some of those Mexicans?"

"Well, you see, standing up as I was I had a good place to shoot from."

"Then you did hit some of them?"

"Well--of course, as I say, I had the best place to shoot from, and I
_felt_ as if I could pick the buttons off their coats."

"But, Captain, what I want to know is, if you think you _really hit_
any of them."

"Oh, well, hell (very reluctantly), I don't guess I _missed_ any of
'em!"

"Did you feel afraid?"

"No--I don't reckon I thought of that."

Yet every man is afraid of something. It was about the time of the
conversation just noted (he was then visiting New York City), that he
said anxiously to a companion who was steering him through the mess of
traffic at one of the Twenty-third Street crossings:

"Look here, you'll get me killed, yet, in a place like this. I don't
know the game."

The muzzle of a Colt 45, or of a Winchester, had no terrors for him,
but a phalanx of automobiles and traction-cars, mingled with a medley
of other vehicles, bearing down from four different directions--a
perfect tangle of impending death--proved disturbing to one accustomed
to simpler, even if more malignant, dangers.

With conditions of his own kind, however, he was at home, even in the
metropolis. Visiting Coney Island one night he came upon two tough
individuals, clutched in a fierce grip and trying to damage each other
vitally. Texas was a long way off, but it did not matter. He took hold
of those men saying:

"Look here, what are you men acting so sorry for? Stop this, now, and
go home!"

They were the sort of men who would have resisted a policeman--who
might have killed him. What they did now was to cease their warfare and
stare in a dazed way at the tall lean figure, the unusual features and
the large white hat of Captain Bill.

"You fellows go on home, now," he admonished, in his slow, homely way,
and the two set out in different directions, without a word.

It was on his way back to Texas that he paid his promised visit to
President Roosevelt. He was a bit nervous over the prospect, but found
himself altogether at ease a moment after his arrival at the White
House. For he was given the sort of hearty welcome that goes with the
wider life he knew best, and was introduced without formality to men
who were delighted to honor him for what he was, and had been. If
Theodore Roosevelt had enjoyed his visit to the plains, so no less
did Captain Bill McDonald find delight amid the halls and highways of
legislation.

Captain Bill McDonald of Texas--the last of a vanishing race and a
vanished day; of the race to which Crockett and Bowie and Travis
and Fannin belonged; of a day when a hip and a holster were made one
for the other--when to reach in that direction meant, for somebody,
post-mortem and obsequies. State Revenue Agent of Texas--such to-day is
his title--and the work he has undertaken in his new field goes bravely
on. Texas still needs his honesty, his courage, and his determination.
When those qualities direct the affairs of the body politic, the
prosperity and predominance of that commonwealth are assured.

THE END

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 24: For details of this report with tabulated statement of
all Ranger work for that period see Appendix C.]

APPENDIX

APPENDIX A

EXTRACTS FROM REPORT OF ADJUTANT-GENERAL W.H. MABRY OF TEXAS; 1896. THE
FITZSIMMONS-MAHER PRIZE FIGHT

ADJUTANT-GENERAL'S OFFICE,
STATE OF TEXAS.

AUSTIN, Feb. 27, 1896.

_Lieutenant-Governor George T. Jester, Acting Governor_:

SIR:--I herewith briefly submit a few facts connected with my presence
at El Paso.

Much of the views sent over the wires were all colored in the interest
of the managers of the prize fight. In fact, two reporters informed
me that Stuart exercised a kind of censorship over all dispatches;
that he demanded they be colored in his favor, with the threat that
unless it was so worded they could not see the fight. The dispatches
contained the denunciatory proceedings of a city council against the
Governor's order in sending the rangers, and by my action there, in
having close watch kept over all that was done so far as it pertained
to the bringing off of the fight, but failed, with one exception, to
contain the resolutions of the Ministers' Union, who represented a
large class among the best citizens approving the Governor's action and
upholding my methods. I talked with many of the best citizens, among
whom were district officials, who stated they believed the fight would
have been pulled off on some adjacent disputed territory about El Paso.
Of course, Mr. Stuart assured me that he would not bring the fight
off in Texas, but the Governor of Chihuahua also informed me that Mr.
Stuart assured him that he would not pull off the fight in Old Mexico,
and at the same time he had the dispatches to quote him as saying he
would never violate the laws of Texas. If he does not do so every day
in some of his gambling establishments, then common report has woefully
misrepresented him.

I had a close and constant espionage placed, not only on the
principals, but also on the passenger depot and the cars loaded with
paraphernalia of the ring, with instructions to follow the latter to
wherever hauled. Not only did I do this, up to the 14th, but kept it
up to the 21st, notwithstanding Mr. Albers' outburst of virtuous (?)
indignation, because I kept a surveillance over Maher when taken to
Albers' room, over the latter's place of business, on the night of the
13th, the day before the fight was to occur. I did this on the night of
the 20th, when Maher was domiciled in the same room. By the way, from
the report of Captains Hughes and Brooks, I find it hard to reconcile
Mr. Albers' high sounding document with his action in going on the bond
of some bunco men whom Captain Hughes arrested for swindling and placed
in jail. They were let out of jail, and Captains Hughes and Brooks
investigated the facts, and found Mr. Albers and a man by the name of
Burns, a keeper of a "red light" joint, were the bondsmen. Now, the
surveillance over men who were advertised to commit a crime which was
a felony in Texas, made these people very mad, and much was said about
the liberty of the citizen, martial law, etc. The drippings from such
sanctuaries should come very seldom, and then in very broken doses. I
usurped no authority, nor interfered with local officers in any duty
they saw fit to perform. I was ordered there to see that no such crime
as was widely advertised to come off near El Paso should be perpetrated
upon any isolated Texas soil, nor even on any so-called neutral
strip between Texas and Mexico. The presence of the ranger force was
evidently very much appreciated by a certain business element there,
when these people called on me for protection and to leave a detachment
in El Paso to protect the banks, while most of my force would be out
of the city on the day of the fight. The city was full of desperate
characters looking for spoils from whatever source.

From the utterance of Mr. Stuart, and most of his friends, as
expressed in press dispatches, it would appear that the rangers and
he were there for the same purpose--to prevent the fight in Texas.
Nevertheless, Mr. Stuart's side kept up their misrepresentations
until it became a foregone conclusion that no fight could occur on
any disputed or neutral ground convenient to El Paso, notwithstanding
the press dispatches reported him as having Mr. Bat Masterson and 100
men to protect his ring. I never heard of one cat squalling because
another cat's tail got mashed. They began looking for another place,
and Maher's eyes became very sore, and apparently remained in that
condition until a secure place was found in Old Mexico, some 400 miles
from El Paso. Then his eyes began to improve every day. Still, they may
have been sore, but Dr. Yandell, who was reported in press dispatches
as saying "Pete had acute ophthalmia," informed me that he never
diagnosed his case, nor saw Maher at the time.

The prize fighters were merely dough in the hands of Mr. Stuart and the
hundreds of others who were present for the money they hoped to win,
and would have fought in the ring, wherever located, if unmolested by
officers at that time. It is hard to believe that Mr. Stuart had so
much respect for law he regarded as wrong, and which he believed was
passed to affect his interests. To illustrate his great respect for
laws generally, Mr. Brooks, manager of the Western Union Telegraph
Company, came to me the night before the start was to be made for
Langtry, and demanded protection. He stated that a representative of
Mr. Stuart had come to him and informed him that unless his company
paid $10,000 to Mr. Stuart, that he (Mr. B.) could not use his own
office and his own wires to send off the report of the fight at
Langtry. This same representative of Mr. Stuart's informed Mr. Brooks
that said Mr. Stuart would place his (Mr. Stuart's) men in the office
and keep him out by force. I readily granted him protection to do his
legitimate business and had my rangers about the office, with the
proper instructions, and no such high-handed measures were undertaken.

The statement wired, that I and the rangers crossed the river to see
the fight, was palpably made to belittle the force. They knew it was
false at the time.

I desire to express my approbation for the intelligent and efficient
manner in which Captains Brooks, McDonald, Hughes, and Rogers executed
every order and performed every duty. The rangers conducted themselves
in such manner as to reflect additional credit upon the name of a
ranger--always a synonym for courage and duty well performed. They were
active in the execution of every order, quiet and orderly in manner,
determined in mien, fearless and vigilant on duty; they thus naturally
incur the displeasure of the law-breakers everywhere.

I have the honor to be your obedient servant,

W.H. MABRY, Adjutant-General.

Thanks are due Captains Orsay and Owen for the manner in which they
have performed their respective duties.

I beg to here express my appreciation for the thoughtful and courteous
consideration always accorded to me by Your Excellency, and my
obligations for the cordial and able co-operation and advice which you
have rendered to me in the administration of my department.

I have the honor to subscribe myself,

Very respectfully your obedient servant,
W.H. MABRY, Adjutant-General.

STRENGTH AND OPERATIONS OF THE FRONTIER BATTALION

As now organized, the frontier force consists of four companies,
commanded by Captains J.A. Brooks, W.J. McDonald, Jno. R. Hughes and
J.H. Rogers.

Three are stationed along the Rio Grande and one (McDonald) in the
Pan-handle, with headquarters at Alice, Cotulla, Ysleta and Amarillo.
They scout over a large section of country, and detachments are sent
to different sections where needed, if it is possible to send them.
Demands for rangers have been greater than this department could
furnish, because of the limited number of men in the service. But every
effort has been made to cover as much territory as possible.

The report of operations for the two years show that they have traveled
in scouting 173,381 miles; arrested 676 criminals; returned 2,856 head
of stolen stock to their owners; have assisted the civil authorities
162 times, and guarded jails 13 times.

The duties of the ranger are arduous and often dangerous. The most
desperate criminals would naturally seek that isolated section, and
when on the trail of the bold desperadoes, often life is the forfeit in
the encounter that may follow. Praise is due the commanding officers
and their men for the prompt and fearless manner with which they
perform their duties. While the pay is small, none but young men of
character, standing, and good habits are enlisted, and they so conduct
themselves as to reflect credit upon the State in the efficient service
they render.

Because of the limited force, and the great demands made upon the
service, there have been enlisted 82 special rangers, who serve without
pay from the State. They are almost exclusively located in the frontier
sections, and are paid principally by private interests, who claim they
are compelled to stand the hardship of the extra burden, or tax it
imposes, because, in conjunction with the regular force as a standing
menace to criminals, they are thus enabled to enjoy some of the
protection which a State really guarantees to them. These "specials"
are always enlisted upon the recommendation of the sheriff and the
district attorney, or the sheriff and some other officer of the county
or district.

APPENDIX B

PART OF TWO YEARS' REPORT OF ADJUTANT-GENERAL THOS. SCURRY

December 1st, 1898--October 31st, 1900

THE RANGER SERVICE

The fact that the State has had for some years past a force always
ready to suppress disorder, arrest criminals and aid the civil
authorities in the protection of courts and jails, has been the cause
of hundreds of criminals taking refuge in the border States, outside
of the jurisdiction of Texas, and in Mexico, who would return to Texas
to continue their depredations and murders were it not for the ranger
force. Instances can be shown where the moral effect of having the
rangers ready to co-operate with the civil authorities anywhere in
the State has been a deterrent to the commission of lawless acts, and
numerous instances can be shown where whole counties have been purged
of their criminal element by the presence of the rangers, who alone
were able to restore peace and good order in the community.

In reality, the so-called Frontier Battalion is but four small
detachments. The reports received at this office indicate that these
men, while fearless and prompt in the performance of their duty, have
always acted with discretion and in the most orderly manner. Their
well-known reputation for courage of itself has had a most salutary and
good moral effect on the lawless element of the communities where they
have been stationed.

Since January 1, 1899, the officers and men of the Frontier Battalion
have been very actively engaged in running down the criminal element in
the west, and in subduing lawlessness in other portions of the State.
The rangers have only been used in other portions of the State when a
direct request on your Excellency was made by the civil authorities of
cities or counties needing them. That their work has been effective
and to the satisfaction of those requesting their service, it is only
necessary to refer to letters on file in this office in reference to
their efficiency received from citizens and officials of the various
cities and towns to which rangers have been ordered. It is probably
appropriate to mention some prominent features of the work of the
rangers during the past two years, outside of the duties usually
performed by them in the way of scouting in the sparsely settled
district of the west, and the work accomplished in recovering stolen
cattle, arresting thieves, murderers, etc.

During the month of March, 1899, Captain McDonald, with two men, was
ordered to Columbus, Colorado county, for the purpose of preventing
trouble there between the Townsend and Reece factions. Captain
McDonald went alone, his men not being able to reach him in time, and
his courage and cool behavior prevented a conflict between the two
factions. The district judge and district attorney both informed him
that it was impossible to handle the situation, but he told them that
he could make the effort, and he gave the members of each faction
a limited time in which to get rid of their weapons, stating that
he would put those in jail who refused to comply. His order had the
desired effect.

Captain McDonald was ordered by your Excellency to Henderson county to
work on the cases against the lynchers of the Humphreys. In reference
to this affair, I take the liberty of quoting from a letter from Hon.
N.B. Morris, ex-Assistant Attorney-General:

"You will remember that at the request of the sheriff, county
attorney and other local authorities of that county, Captain McDonald
and Private Old were sent there to assist them and myself in the
investigation of that horrible murder which was then enshrouded in a
mystery that it seemed almost impossible to uncover. Before the rangers
reached us the people in the neighborhood of the murder seemed afraid
to talk. They said they would be murdered, too, if they took any hand
in working up the case. About the first thing that Captain McDonald did
was to assure the people that he and his associates had come there to
stay until every murderer was arrested and convicted, and that he would
see that all those who assisted him would be protected. They believed
him, and in consequence thereof they soon began to talk and feel that
the law would be vindicated, and I am glad to say that it was. The
work of the rangers in this one case is worth more to the State, in my
opinion, than your department will cost during your administration. In
fact, such service cannot be valued in dollars and cents....

"The rangers were at all times sober, orderly and quiet, and left that
country on good terms with all factions. They paid no attention to the
criticism of the mob sympathizers, but went straight along, did their
duty and now have the confidence not only of the good citizens, but of
the members of the mob and their friends."

Three of the lynchers turned State's evidence and eight of them were
sentenced to the penitentiary for life.

In March, 1899, Company E, Captain J.H. Rogers commanding, was ordered
to Laredo to assist the State health officer to enforce the quarantine
laws, there being an epidemic of smallpox in that city. The Mexicans
living there objected to being moved from their homes to the hospital,
and the State health officer, considering it absolutely necessary for
them to be moved in order to stop the spread of the disease, required
force to accomplish his object. The Mexicans showed a disposition to
riot on the 19th, collecting together in hundreds, some of them being
armed. The city officials had a fight with them, several shots being
fired, and on the 20th, Captain Rogers, followed by one ranger and
a special ranger, went with the sheriff of the county to search for
arms secreted in the house of an ex-policeman, it is supposed, for the
purpose of making an assault upon the State health officer and his
force if approached. These officers met resistance from the inmates
of the house. A fight ensued in which Captain Rogers received a wound
in the right arm, and one of the Mexicans was killed. The remaining
detachment of Company E, having been advised of the fight, and having
met Captain Rogers in a disabled condition, and presuming that the
lives of the ranger and special ranger were in jeopardy, went to the
scene of action without hesitation, and immediately upon reaching
the street in which the Mexicans were assembled were fired upon by
the latter. The six rangers proceeded up the street firing as they
went, being under the impression that a man seen lying in the street,
dead, was one of the rangers who accompanied Captain Rogers. Several
disinterested citizens have said that these rangers showed remarkable
pluck and daring in coming down the street, fighting several times
their number without the slightest hesitation. Several Mexicans were
wounded. After this the work of moving the smallpox patients to the
hospital was an easy task.

In April, 1899, two rangers of this company were sent into Wharton
County by request, and were successful in breaking up a gang of cattle
thieves operating in that locality. Several were arrested, including
the recognized leader.

In September, 1899, Captain Rogers and several of his men were
ordered to Orange by request of the civil authorities, on account of
an organized mob killing one negro and wounding another, and sending
anonymous letters to others directing them to move out of the country.
Several arrests were made. Captain Rogers was removed from Orange on
account of his wound, and Captain McDonald and several of his men were
ordered there to relieve him. Captain McDonald succeeded in arresting
and having indicted four men for murder and a great number of men for
conspiracy to murder in connection with the above mob. It is to be
regretted that Ranger T.L. Fuller, while in the discharge of his duty
at Orange, Texas, found it necessary to shoot and kill Oscar Poole in
self-defense.

On the 15th day of October, 1900, while Captain W.J. McDonald,
Lieutenant T.L. Fuller and Private A.L. Saxon, of Company B, were
attending court at Orange, Texas, as witnesses, and Lieutenant Fuller
to answer the charge of false imprisonment (for making an arrest
while a private),[25] the latter was shot and killed by Tom Poole, a
brother of Oscar Poole, while in a barber shop talking to one of the
barbers. From the information received it is certain that Lieutenant
Fuller did not know of the presence of Tom Poole when shot. While this
ranger was enlisted on account of his previous good record as a deputy
sheriff, he enlisted with the hope of saving sufficient money to finish
his education in the University of Texas, having at that time just
completed his freshman year. He was a young man of temperate habits,
quiet in his manner and a fearless ranger.

RECOMMENDATION

I recommend that the law governing the ranger service be so amended
"that the officers, non-commissioned officers and privates of the
ranger force be clothed with the powers of peace officers to aid the
civil authorities in the execution of the laws anywhere in the State;
that they be given authority to make arrests, and in such cases to
be governed by the laws regulating and defining the powers and the
duties of sheriffs when in discharge of similar duties." That this
force consist of not to exceed four companies of twenty men each. The
commissioned officers to be four company commanders, each with the rank
of captain, one quartermaster with the rank of captain, and four 1st
sergeants. The pay of the officers and non-commissioned officers to
be as heretofore prescribed, and the pay of privates to be $40.00 per
month. By increasing the pay of the privates, the State will secure
the service of a better class of men, who will remain in the service a
longer time and do more efficient work.

In view of the fact that a number of criminal suits have been
brought against privates in the ranger force for false imprisonment
by reason of arrests made by them prior to the promulgation of the
attorney-general's opinion advising that only the officers of the
ranger force had authority to execute criminal process under the law
(see General Orders No. 24, Exhibit P), I respectfully recommend that
an act be passed by the Legislature legalizing the official acts of the
rangers as peace officers prior to May 26, 1900.

Officers and privates have for twenty-four years been acting in good
faith under the impression that all rangers had the authority of peace
officers, and privates of the Frontier Battalion have, during that
time, received orders from higher authority to exercise the power of
peace officers.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 25: This tragedy resulted in the following recommendation by
the Adjutant-General, which recommendation was duly acted upon.]

APPENDIX C

REPORT OF CAPTAIN W.J. McDONALD, COMMANDING COMPANY B, RANGER FORCE

September 1st, 1902 to August 31st, 1904

_The Adjutant-General, State of Texas_:

SIR:--I have the honor to herewith inclose a report of the operations
of Company B, Ranger Force, for the two years ending August 31, 1904:

September, 1902.--Captain McDonald, with Privates Blanton, Ryan and
Taylor, scouted to Hutchinson County, from Amarillo. Private Taylor
arrested James Newlin for assault to murder and turned him over to
Sheriff Randal. Sergeant McCauley and Private Delling were ordered to
Newlin county on a scout, and escorted a party of surveyors, who had
been run out of pastures with Winchesters, and protected them from
violence. Captain McDonald with Privates Blanton and Taylor went to
Columbus to carry Gregorio Cortez to Karnes County district court. His
life being threatened by a mob, it was necessary to secure two men
from Company C and guard the jail in which he was placed. By order of
the district judge we carried him back to Columbus and put him in jail
there. Captain McDonald arrested S. Harvard for theft of a bale of
cotton valued at $25.20 and put him in jail at Quanah.

October, 1902.--I went to Norman, O.T., to appear in cases against
horse thieves previously caught by me, for theft of horses. Accompanied
by Privates Taylor and Ryan, I went to Eagle Lake to investigate the
attempted assassination of W.T. Eldridge and to protect Mr. Eldridge
from further violence, and succeeded in finding out who did the
shooting. Privates Blanton, Warrent and Ryan scouted Oldham, Moore,
Hutchinson, Roberts, Hemphill, Wheeler, Gray and Carson counties during
the month, locating cow thieves, reported to be in that section.
Sergeant McCauley assisted Sheriff Johnson in carrying a crazy man
to the asylum at Austin, Texas. During this month, 2,600 miles were
scouted and traveled.

November, 1902.--Accompanied by Privates Ryan and Taylor, I attended
district court at Richmond, where trouble was anticipated in connection
with the attempt to assassinate Mr. Eldridge. I went to Texline and
Clayton, N.M., to investigate cattle stealing.

December, 1902.--With Privates Blanton and Kenton I took Will Carr,
who had turned State's evidence on the county clerk, cattle inspectors
and others in Hutchinson County, to Lipscomb County to district court,
where one of the cases had been transferred. By order of the Governor
of the State, Company B was ordered to Fort Hancock, on the Rio Grande,
which was made headquarters, instead of Amarillo.

January, 1903.--Private Smith scouted to Alpine, to Santiago and to
Comstock. Arrested Joe Hammon for murder and delivered him to the
sheriff at Alpine. Also arrested a man for theft.

February, 1903.--Privates Smith and Taylor arrested a man at Sanderson
for burglarizing Lockhamden ranch. He recovered the stolen property and
turned it over to the owner. He turned the burglar over to the sheriff
of the county. Sergeant McCauley and Private Ryan arrested Joe Jones,
wanted at Pecos for forgery, and turned him over to the sheriff of the
county. The money in his possession was secured and turned over to
the sheriff of the county, and the defendant sent to the penitentiary
at once. Privates Bean and Blanton scouted to Shafter and guarded the
money for the mines. I assisted the local officials of El Paso several
times during the month, and went to Mangum, O.T., as witness, and to
assist in the prosecution of Sid Woodring, Frank Woodring and others
for stealing my horses. These men were followed by me from the line of
Collingsworth County to Cleveland County, O.T., and caught with the
horses. They were sent to the penitentiary for the theft.

March, 1903.--Sergeant McCauley and Privates Bean and Blanton scouted
on two trips to Shafter and Marfa, and up the Rio Grande in search for
the notorious Bill Taylor, the train robber and murderer, and who had
broken jail on several occasions, but he escaped into Mexico. Privates
Taylor and Smith scouted to Sanderson and assisted the constable in
preventing trouble at a trial in court, where the defendant, a sheriff,
had killed the justice of the peace. Private Taylor, at the request of
the sheriff, went with him to El Paso to bring Geo. Maglovlin, who was
charged with rape, to Alpine court. He also assisted in the arrest of a
man for rape, one for horse theft, and one for murder, and put them in
jail. Many scouts were made along the river in search of cow and horse
thieves during the month.

April, 1903.--I assisted the officers and went with the sheriff of
Pecos County to locate a man, but he escaped into Mexico. Sergeant
McCauley and Private Bean arrested two men for theft of wood, and
one for theft of a horse. Sergeant McCauley assisted the sheriff in
arresting a man for threatening to take life. Privates Delling and
Ryan scouted to Valentine and assisted in following horse thieves, but
the thieves escaped into Mexico. They recovered one stolen horse and
returned it to owner. Private Smith arrested a man for assault, and
went to Sanderson to investigate the attempted burning of a hotel.
He also went to Del Rio to look after several horse-stealing cases.
Private Taylor went with Inspector Cook on a scout, looking for stolen
cattle.

May, 1903.--I assisted in bringing to justice Gil Brice, a Mexican,
charged with killing a lawyer named Tusselman several years ago, and
who had escaped at Fort Hancock while shackled. Privates Ryan and Bean
were sent to Sanderson to investigate the killing of a justice of peace
and another man. Private Taylor arrested Thos. Chappis for attempt to
murder, and succeeded in getting him in jail. Arrested R.C. McMahan for
killing of Mr. Bob Smith, a justice of the peace, and Chas. Reed for
lunacy.

June, 1903.--Private Ryan scouted down the river and to Sanderson.
Sergeant McCauley scouted with and assisted river guards. Private Bean
scouted from Sanderson in pursuit of a Mexican wanted in Tom Green
County for attempt to rape. Scouted to Sanderson and arrested Tom
Brown for killing Mr. Morris, the operator. Private Delling scouted to
Ferlingin and investigated some cattle stealing.

July, 1903.--Privates Bean and Dunaway scouted four days down the river
looking for stolen cattle. They arrested three Mexicans for shooting at
Fort Hancock. Privates Delling and Ryan scouted to Sanderson to prevent
trouble between factions, and to Fort Stockton to be present at the
examining trial of McMahan, who was charged with murder, as trouble was
expected. They also arrested a man charged with rape.

August, 1903.--Sergeant McCauley and Private Bean scouted in the
northern part of El Paso County, looking after cattle and horse
thieves. Private Dunaway arrested John McCain while he was in the act
of robbing a T. & P. caboose. Private Taylor scouted during the month.
Various other scouts were made during the month.

September, 1903.--By order of General Hulen, I took Private Dunaway
and went to Marfa to investigate an attack made on L.N. Holbert,
county attorney. Mr. Holbert had been taken from the hotel by a mob
and seriously beaten. I found who the guilty parties were, and brought
Mr. Holbert to go before the grand jury to prosecute them, but through
fear he begged off from the district attorney and wanted the matter
dropped. I made an investigation of some whitecappers, and furnished
the grand jury with evidence of same. One man was indicted. By order of
General Hulen, Sergeant McCauley and Private Dunaway went to Eagle Pass
to assist in the quarantine regulations and guarded the river until
the quarantine was raised. Accompanied by Sergeant McCauley, I went
with Deputy Sheriff Kenton to capture a man, but failed to get him out
of Mexico. Several scouts were made to Sanderson and Fort Stockton to
assist the officers. Private Bean arrested two Mexicans for carrying
pistols, and carried them to jail, by order of the justice of the
peace. Privates Delling and Ryan arrested two Mexicans for disturbing
the peace. Private Taylor went to Columbus as witness in the Cortez
case. Privates Delling and Smith went with Sheriff Walton to assist him
in his county for several days.

October, 1903.--Sergeant McCauley and Private Dunaway were still on
quarantine service at Eagle Pass. Private Dunaway arrested a Mexican
for running a night watchman from his duty, and put him in jail.
Privates Ryan and Bean arrested a man for burglarizing Finley ranch;
recovered the property stolen, and turned it over to its owner. The
man was put in jail at El Paso. Private Smith assisted the sheriff and
scouted with him over the county, and then went to Marfa and assisted
the officers there. Sergeant McCauley and Private Dunaway returned from
Eagle Pass, where they have been on duty for several months. Private
Bean scouted after outlaws during the month. Private Ryan went to Fort
Stockton to attend district court, and went to Sanderson to do some
work for the sheriff in serving some papers. Privates Taylor, Smith and
Delling carried prisoners from Fort Stockton to Marfa for safe keeping.
Privates Smith, Taylor and Delling attended district court in Del Rio.

December, 1903.--By order of General Hulen, I went to Walker County to
look after parties who waylaid and assassinated Bob James in Kittrell's
"Cut-off" on December 4th. I arrived there on the 12th, and on the
13th and 14th arrested Buck Shaw, Henry Shaw, P. Clark and Jim Alston
as being implicated in the murder, carried them to Huntsville, and had
them put in the penitentiary for safe keeping. Held a court of inquiry
before Judge Cox, a justice of the peace, every few days. On the 24th
Buck Shaw, the leader of the gang, had an examining trial, and was held
without bail. Chas. Rhoden was tried on the 29th and held without bail.
The defendants then sued out writs of habeas corpus before District
Judge Smithers. Alston was allowed bail in the sum of $1,500. Private
Delling arrived in the "Cut-off" on the 16th and has been assisting
me since in the cases. Private Delling assisted in arresting two men
for theft of cattle. Private Bean killed a negro porter at El Paso for
knocking him down with an iron poker, and was promptly acquitted in
district court at El Paso in January. Sergeant McCauley went to Marfa
to investigate some stealing there and then went to investigate the
killing of William Johnson.

January, 1904.--I, together with Private Delling, went to Corrigan and
Livingston to look after some witnesses. I went after a bad negro for
Sheriff Brooks. The negro was armed with a shot-gun, and considerable
shooting occurred. After the negro ran out he shot at me and I wounded
him in the side. Went to Huntsville to attend habeas corpus trial of
the murderers of Bob James, which resulted in holding Shaw, Rhoden and
Clark without bail. Assisted Sheriff Brooks in arresting a bad negro,
wanted for robbing. Scouted in Houston, Trinity and Walker counties
during the month, continually. Private Delling went to Polk County and
arrested four men for theft of hogs and put them in jail at Huntsville.
Sergeant McCauley arrested C. Marsden for murder. Sergeant McCauley,
Privates Ryan and Bean scouted to Love's ranch to stop an invasion of
Mexicans who were coming over after parties charged with murder on this
side.

February, 1904.--I went to Crockett after attached witness. Private
Delling arrested a man in the "Cut-off" for theft of hogs. I was
ordered to Groveton by Adjutant General Hulen for the purpose of
investigating the murder of an old lady. Touchstone, who was murdered
for her land and money and thrown out the door for the hogs to eat.
After investigation, I found that her throat had been cut and that she
had been killed outright. Assisted by Private Delling I arrested Ab
Angle, who had run off, as principal, and five others as accomplices.
These parties were indicted by the grand jury. I caught one of them
over the line of Arkansas while running away and put him in the pen
at Henderson. Private Delling arrested a man in the "Cut-off" for
horse theft, and put him in jail at Groveton. Private Dunaway arrested
a man for robbing a camp. Private Bean arrested five Mexicans for
disturbing the peace, and one man for assault to murder. Privates
Taylor and Smith attended district court at Marfa. Privates Smith and
Dunaway were ordered to Groveton to assist me in holding down the
toughs of east Texas. Private Ryan attended district court at Amarillo;
attended district court at Huntsville; assisted the sheriff in handling
prisoners. Private Delling arrested three men for shooting up the town.
He also arrested one who was charged with adultery in the "Cut-off"
and one for waylaying and shooting two men at Phelps with a shot-gun.
Private Dunaway arrested a man for carrying a pistol at Groveton, and
two men for conspiring to kill Abe Hyman, the only eyewitness to the
murder of Dr. Gary, and another man at Groveton. One of the men had
fixed a plan to make the other believe that Abe Hyman was going to
do him some violence, and succeeded in getting him to get a shot-gun
in order to kill Abe Hyman. Private Dunaway took the gun and landed
both men in jail. The accused men admitted the whole truth. One of
these men was made constable, deputy sheriff and jailer as soon as
he was released from jail. The other was run off at once, but I have
his sworn statements of the facts. Private Dunaway arrested a man for
burglary and rape and put him in jail. Private Taylor arrested a man at
Sanderson for stealing cattle. Private Taylor was ordered to report to
me at Groveton. Private Dunaway arrested a man for carrying a pistol,
put him in jail, but the sheriff released him soon after, pretending he
was an assistant of his.

April, 1904.--I carried two of the accomplices in the Touchstone
murder from Huntsville to Groveton. By order of the Adjutant General
I went to Leon County to investigate the murder of Tummins, who was
waylaid and killed. Two men were arrested at the house of the murderer
and put under $5,000 bond, but the grand jury failed to find a bill
against them. They then began shooting into houses and had the people
considerably disturbed. With Private Delling, I arrested them and held
them without bail at the examining trial and also in habeas corpus
trial. I was ordered to San Jacinto County to investigate lawlessness
there, especially wire cutting, but found some of the wire cutters
on the grand jury, and it was the opinion of the district and county
attorney that we could do no good under existing circumstances, and
nothing was accomplished there. Private Dunaway arrested a man for
assault to rape. Assisted by Privates Dunaway and Delling, I arrested
four persons charged with murder. They had previously been arrested for
being accomplices to the Touchstone murder. I arrested a man for theft
of a horse. Sergeant McCauley scouted in different counties on the Rio
Grande, and investigated the stealing of horses. I went to Waverly to
investigate the poisoning of a well and cistern, but decided it was
done by the parties themselves, in order to accuse others of it. I went
to Palestine to assist the sheriff in hanging a negro charged with
rape. Private Delling went to Leon County to investigate the murder
of Bob Blackwell, and succeeded in securing the required evidence. He
attended the examining trial of the two men charged with the murder,
who were held without bail. Privates Smith and Dunaway arrested a man
for attempting to murder A.A. Smith and put him in jail. They also
arrested the same man for carrying a pistol. Private Ryan arrested two
Mexicans for stealing sheep in El Paso County and another for stealing
wood.

June, 1904.--Private Delling and myself scouted in Kittrell's
"Cut-off," Houston and Trinity Counties. I went to Comstock; made
a scout on Devil's River, to El Paso and to Fort Hancock. Sergeant
McCauley arrested a man for embezzlement and started to jail with
him at El Paso, but he escaped by jumping out of a window while the
train was in motion. Sergeant McCauley and Private Ryan arrested two
Mexicans for theft of horses and saddles, recovered the property and
returned the same to its owners. Private Ryan attempted to arrest a
man for theft of cattle, and had a running fight with and wounded him.
He escaped across the river. Private Dunaway arrested a man and put
him in jail for carrying a pistol. Privates Delling and Smith went to
Centerville to court to prevent trouble between citizens there, when a
malicious prosecution was filed against him. Private Delling arrested a
man for carrying a pistol in the "Cut-off."

July, 1904.--Accompanied by Privates Delling and Wilcox, I went to
Oakwood to investigate train robbing of the I. & G.N. We captured two
of the men without a doubt. They were put in jail at Palestine and
identified by the conductor as the two men that came into the sleeper,
and the only two tracks that led up to where the express packages were
torn open fitted theirs. They afterwards admitted them to be their
tracks. While we made a strong case against them, the influence of the
officers and others was too strong to find any bills. I would like to
have space to add in this report the testimony taken at the examining
trial.

August, 1904.--I went to Groveton to attend court, and carried Ab
Angle before the grand jury, but he failed to testify, as he had been
persuaded not to do so. I arrested a man for being implicated in train
robbery, but he proved an alibi and was released. Private Delling went
to Centerville to district court. Sergeant McCauley recovered six
stolen horses and turned them over to the owners. He arrested four
Mexicans for theft of cattle.

Very respectfully,
W.J. MCDONALD,
Commanding Company B, Ranger Force.

Table Showing Result of Operations of the Ranger Force from September
1, 1902, to August 31, 1904.

COMMANDERS OF |Captain J. |Captain W. |Captain J.|Captain Jno.|
COMPANIES. |A. Brooks |J. McDonald|H. Rogers | R. Hughes | Totals
---------------------+-----------+-----------+----------+------------+------
Letter of company. | A | B | C | D |
Murder. | 26 | 31 | 8 | 5 | 70
Arrests Made. | | | | |
Assault to murder. | 28 | 19 | 3 | 6 | 56
Aggravated assault.| 5 | 4 | 4 | | 13
Horse, cattle and | | | | |
other theft. | 43 | 37 | | 39 | 119
Swindling, | | | | |
embezzlement and | | | | |
forgery. | 15 | 2 | 2 | 4 | 23
Robbery and | | | | |
burglary. | | 12 | 17 | 1 | 30
Mail and train | | | | |
robbery. | | 3 | 1 | | 4
Perjury. | | | 4 | 1 | 5
Rape and adultery. | | 6 | 1 | 7 | 14
Smuggling. | | | | 27 | 27
Carrying concealed | | | | |
weapons. | 17 | 23 | 10 | | 50
Seduction. | 2 | | | 1 | 3
Escaped convicts | | | | |
(captured). | 2 | | | | 2
Rioting. | | | | |
Minor offenses. | 206 | 35 | 6 | 75 | 352
Total arrests. | 44 | 172 | 86 | 166 | 768
---------------------+----------+------------+----------+------------+-------
Scouts. | 140 | 205 | 81 | 204 | 630
Attempts at arrest. | | | | |
District courts | | | | |
assisted. | 19 | 25 | 16 | 16 | 76
Number days | | | | |
quarantine guard. | | | | 224 | 224
Jail guards. | | 15 | 13 | | 28
Other assistance to | | | | |
to civil authority.| | 30 | 12 | 20 | 62
Engagements with | | | | |
criminals. | 3 | | 1 | | 4
Persons killed in | | | | |
resisting arrest. | 2 | | 1 | | 3
Wounded in | | | | |
resisting arrest. | | | | |
Escorts. | 3 | 5 | | | 8
Rangers killed in | | | | |
line of duty. | 1 | | | | 1
Rangers wounded in | | | | |
line of duty. | 1 | | | | 1
Horses and cattle | | | | |
recovered and | | | | |
returned to owners.| 362 | 28 | 21 | 168 | 579
Miles traveled in | | | | |
discharge of duty. |47,834 | 4,537 | 57,347 | 45,839 |225,557
---------------------+-----------+-----------+----------+------------+-------

APPENDIX D

REPORT OF AN INVESTIGATION MADE BY HERBERT J. BROWN, EMPLOYED BY THE
WAR DEPARTMENT IN CONJUNCTION WITH CAPTAIN W.G. BALDWIN, WITH A VIEW
OF LEARNING WHAT HAPPENED AT BROWNSVILLE, TEX., ON THE 13TH AND 14TH OF
AUGUST, 1906

WASHINGTON, _D.C._, _December 5, 1908_.

SIR: I have the honor to submit the following report relative to the
investigation of the Brownsville raid:

Ex-Private Boyd Conyers, of Company B, Twenty-fifth Infantry, now at
Monroe, Ga., told William Lawson, a detective in the employ of Captain
William G. Baldwin, of Roanoke, Va., that he and three [or four] other
men of the Twenty-fifth Infantry were the leaders in the Brownsville
raid. This information was obtained at different dates during the month
of June, 1908. (See Exhibit A.)

I submit the affidavit as presented. There are certain discrepancies
of a minor character, due to the fact that Lawson is illiterate and
had to depend on his memory for details. But it should be borne in
mind that Lawson was unacquainted with the details of the Brownsville
raid and was given information which could have come only from one
familiar with the secret history of the affair. Lawson's first report
included the names of Conyers, John Holloman, John Brown, and "another
man." Subsequently he supplied the name of James Powell, but I think
the original name given was that of Robert L. Collier, Company C, one
of the relief guard. This information was corroborated in the presence
of witnesses, but before Lawson could finish his work Conyers became
suspicious and would give no further evidence incriminating himself.
From then on he furnished to A.H. Baldwin, Captain W.G. Baldwin, and
to myself information piecemeal and reluctantly. The name of Carolina
de Saussure, his bunk mate, was the last one obtained.

Conyers tried to commit suicide after he found that he had made his
statements to a detective, declaring that the other negroes would kill
him when it got out. He finally wrote to Senator Foraker and received a
reply, a copy of which is annexed. That reply he construed to mean that
he should stick to his original story told before the Senate committee
at all hazards, and there he stands. I have every reason to believe
that his confession is genuine and gives for the first time the true
secret history of the Brownsville raid.

The list of participants given in this report Conyers furnished me
personally. I believe it is substantially correct, but with the
influences shown to be backing Conyers to adhere to his false testimony
given before the Senate committee still being exerted he cannot
be relied on to support his own confession until it is thoroughly
sustained from other sources.

Evidences of similar encouragement to stick to the lies told at
Brownsville and before the Senate committee were found in many places,
and subsequent to the date of the Foraker letter they became stronger
and more obstructive than ever.

The investigation has been conducted with strict recognition of the
advisability of preserving secrecy, and with discretion. No promises of
immunity were made. The knowledge on the part of the ex-soldiers that
the Government could not punish them after their separation from the
service, coupled with the belief that by preserving silence they would
aid in the passage of the relief legislation now pending in Congress,
has added to the difficulty of securing information.

The issue has evidently become racial. The colored detectives would be
confronted frequently in the smaller towns where these men are living
with a demand from colored men for information as to their business.

We have located over 130 of these ex-soldiers, and have been in thirty
States in quest of information. The appendices give statements as to
the results obtained. They indicate a general knowledge on the part of
the ex-soldiers that the raid came from inside the fort, and that the
soldiers of Company B were the guilty parties.

We earnestly urge that we be permitted to continue the investigation.
Several detectives are still in the field, and within the coming week a
number of affidavits will be forthcoming.

With some repetition of matter appearing later in the report, Boyd
Conyers's story is given here in narrative form:

REPORT OF T.B. SKIDMORE.

"The rumors of trouble over the assignment of colored troops to
Brownsville were circulated before the troops left Fort Niobrara, and
preparations were made among the men to 'get even with the crackers,'
so the whites were called. Some cartridges were held out at range
practice, but more en route to Brownsville. Pretense was made that they
were given away at stations along the road. Some were, but a large
number were secreted.

"At inspection in Brownsville, Lieutenant Lawrason, Company B,
threatened punishment to the men who were short of ammunition, but
nothing was done about it, and the deficiency was supplied.

"The friction with citizens of Brownsville began at once. In Boyd
Conyers's language, 'Whisky made all the trouble. If we hadn't been
drinking we wouldn't have had the nerve to shoot up the town.'

"It was agreed, at a gathering of a few men in the saloon of Allison,
the colored ex-soldier, on the afternoon of August 13, 1906, that the
raid should take place that night at 12 o'clock. It seems to have been
delayed a few minutes to let Tamayo, the Mexican scavenger, get away
from the B barracks.

"John Holloman, the money lender of Company B, was the chief
conspirator and leader in the raid and custodian and distributor of
the cartridges, but his plans could not have been carried out had not
Sergeant George Jackson, of Company B, in charge of the keys of the
gun racks in B barracks, and Sergeant Reid, in command of the guards,
co-operated both before and after the raid.

"The four men who led the raid were John Holloman, John Brown, Boyd
Conyers, and Carolina de Saussure, all of Company B (and probably R.L.
Collier, of Company C). Holloman was in barracks, Brown in the bake
shop, Conyers and De Saussure in the guardhouse. The two latter were in
the same detail, and had been relieved at about 11 o'clock, de Saussure
on the post at the guardhouse, and Conyers on No. 2, around the
barracks and facing the town. Holloman got the party together. Conyers
and De Saussure slept on the same bunk in the guardhouse, claiming that
they wanted to get under the mosquito net, and they had the trick of
taking their guns into the bunk instead of placing them in the open
rack, on the excuse that they didn't rust so badly under cover, but
really so the absence of the guns from the open guardhouse rack would
not attract attention, and their own absence would be ascribed to a
visit to the closet, which was back of the guardhouse. These two men
slipped out the rear door of the guardhouse, passed through the sally
port, and joined Holloman and Brown.

"The party crossed the wall of the fort down near the end of A
barracks, went up the roadway to the entrance to the Cowen alley, where
the signal shots were fired. These shots were immediately tallied onto
by the alarm shots of Joseph B. Howard, guard on No. 2, and formed
the series testified to by Mrs. Katie E. Leahy, of Brownsville. Her
testimony is further borne out by the statement that not over thirty
seconds elapsed before a number of men of Company B swarmed out on the
upper gallery and opened a fusillade on the town.

"It is an absolute certainty that it would have been impossible
for Sergeant Jackson to have opened the gun racks, for the men to
have assembled, secured their guns, loaded them, gone out to the
gallery, and started firing, all after the first shot was fired; all
aroused, as they testified unanimously, from sound slumber, in less
than two minutes, in the confusion of a dark barrack room. Beyond
the possibility of a doubt, the racks had been opened and the inside
conspirators were ready to pour out on the signal shots. The testimony
is ample that there were scarcely twenty seconds between the last of
the signal shots and the first general volley from B barracks.

"The number firing from the barracks is unknown, but perhaps 20 men
were involved. A smaller number went to the ground and followed the
leaders up the alley. It will be remembered that one of the witnesses
testified to hearing some one of the group of soldiers exclaim, 'There
they go!' Whereupon these men leaped over the wall and ran up the alley.

"Boyd Conyers is the man whose gun jammed at the exit of the alley by
the Cowen house, testified to by Herbert Elkins, and it was taken from
him by De Saussure and fixed in the street where the light from the
street lamp at the corner of Elizabeth Street shone on them.

"Less than five minutes elapsed from the time the first shot was fired
until these men were all back inside the fort.

"Conyers stated that Reid was told that they were going to shoot up
the town, and he had laughed and said, 'Don't go out there and let the
crackers get the best of you.'

"When Conyers and De Saussure reached the guardhouse they ran in the
back way and got into their bunks. Sergeant Reid came in and swore at
them, but Conyers was so excited and out of breath that he could hardly
stand, so Reid stationed him at the rear of the guardhouse in the dark
where he could not be scrutinized so closely.

"Holloman came around with extra cartridges about daybreak and Reid
passed them out. The guns were all cleaned before daylight."

This day personally appeared before me William Lawson, who, being duly
sworn, deposes and says:

"On June 5, 1908, I was sent to Monroe, Ga., to interview Boyd Conyers,
one of the soldiers who was stationed at Brownsville, Tex., in August,
1906. I was sent by Mr. Baldwin to get in with Conyers and ascertain if
he knew who did the shooting at that point. I was not given the names
of any of the members of either of the companies stationed at that
point, nor was I given any other information, except the fact that a
shooting occurred at the time and place above mentioned, and that Boyd
Conyers was suspected of knowing who did same.

"I arrived at Monroe, Ga., on June 5, and stopped at the home of Esther
Crews, colored. I met Boyd Conyers, who is known as 'Buddie' Conyers,
on the morning of June 6, but had very little conversation with him,
but was introduced to him as an old soldier. On the morning of June
8, between 8 and 9 o'clock, I met Conyers about halfway between the
station house and Main Street. We talked some twenty or twenty-five
minutes. I broached the Brownsville case, and mentioned the fact that
the soldiers had shown their good sense by keeping their mouths while
at Washington. I then asked him what the motive was for the shooting.
He told me that the 'crackers' at Brownsville had made threats that
they would have no negro soldiers at Brownsville, and the soldiers had
made it up in their minds that if they bothered them that they would
go in and clean up the ground. He also said that they mentioned this
to Sergeant Reid, who was commander of the guards, and that Reid said,
'All that I have to say is to take care of yourself and the boys when
you go down there.' S.H. Parker, whose home is at Charleston, S. C, was
present and heard the same conversation.

"About then a gentleman called Conyers to come and clean some clothes,
and Conyers left, and nothing further was said about the matter at this
time. I was with Conyers nearly every day, and went to Gainesville,
Ga., on an excursion with him on the 15th of June. I did not mention
the Brownsville matter to Conyers again until on the 29th of June, when
I returned from Atlanta, having gone there on June 27. On this date I
met him at Joe Blassingame's and had a pint bottle of liquor, offered
him a drink--he would not drink in the house, but we went up the street
and we stopped under a storehouse porch, near Main street. We took a
drink or two, and I started the Brownsville case again. He told me that
he was doing guard duty at the time of the shooting at Brownsville,
and was stationed at the outlet toward the town. He said that when the
guard was called the night of the shooting they mentioned to Sergeant
Reid what had occurred downtown, and he said, 'Boys, if you are not
satisfied, you will have to go and get satisfied,' and they remarked
that they were going to get satisfaction that night. Reid then laughed
and said, 'Boys, don't you go down there and let them get the best of
you.' He then assigned the guard and went away.

"In this conversation Conyers told me that John Brown, J.H. Holloman,
and a man named Powell, and several others, came down where he was on
guard, and that they went downtown and just gave them hell, and after
they shot out all of their cartridges they ran back to the barracks,
and when they got back to the barracks they found that the alarm had
been sounded and the officers were calling the roll. Holloman, Brown,
and himself were late for roll call, but that some one answered for
Brown and Holloman, but that he was late, and that Reid told him that
they had gotten themselves and himself in a hell of a hole, and told
him to go to the guardhouse and pretend to be asleep, which he did.

"He told me that they had slipped a few cartridges when at target
practice and that before inspection, after the shooting, Reid gave
him some cartridges to replace the ones he had used. He further said
that they had all agreed before they went out that they would keep
their mouths, and that he would have told them at the investigation at
Washington all about the shooting, but that he was afraid. I had no
further talk with Conyers, because I saw that I was being suspected by
the negroes around Monroe, Ga.

"WILLIAM (his x mark) LAWSON."

Witnesses:

H.J. Browne.
Geo. W. Madert.

DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA, _ss._:

Subscribed and sworn to before me, a notary public in and for the
District aforesaid, this 16th day of October, A.D. 1908.

[SEAL] GEO. W. MADERT,
_Notary Public_.

This day personally appeared before me Herbert J. Browne, of
Washington, D.C., who, being duly sworn, deposes and says:

"I was employed by the War Department in May, 1908, in company with
Captain William G. Baldwin, of Roanoke, Va., chief of the Baldwin
Detective Agency, to investigate the conduct of the battalion of the
Twenty-fifth Infantry, stationed at Brownsville, Tex., which conduct
resulted in the Brownsville raid, so called, on the night of August
13-14, 1906, wherein one Frank Natus was killed, Lieutenant of Police
Dominguez badly wounded, and the houses of several citizens were shot
into. Captain Baldwin has charge of the secret work for the Norfolk and
Western Railway, the Chesapeake and Ohio Railway, the Southern Railway,
and the Atlantic Coast Line, and is one of the best known and most
responsible detectives in the country.

"In conjunction with him I have been continuously employed upon this
work since its inception in May.

"The facts set forth in my report addressed to General George B. Davis,
Judge-Advocate-General, War Department, under date of December 5, 1908,
are true to the best of my knowledge and belief.

"In particular I visited Monroe, Ga., to corroborate the investigation
at that point of William Lawson, a colored detective in the employ of
Captain Baldwin, whose affidavit and reports are annexed to and made a
part of my report of December 5, 1908, above referred to.

"I had several interviews at Monroe with Boyd Conyers, ex-private
of Company B, Twenty-fifth Infantry, one of the guard on the night
of the Brownsville raid, and found that William Lawson's statements
regarding Conyers were substantially and essentially correct. I
personally obtained from Conyers further information detailing how
the cartridges used in the raid were surreptitiously and illegally
obtained and distributed, how the principal raiders proceeded, when
and by whom the gun racks in Company B were unlawfully and secretly
opened for the purpose of the raid, how the raiders were protected
during and subsequent to the raid and given opportunity to clean their
guns, and, in particular, was furnished by Conyers with the names of
eight participants in the raid other than the three named by him in his
statements to William Lawson, a total of eleven, including himself, the
said Conyers, all members of Company B, Twenty-fifth Infantry.

"The leaders of the raid, as named by Boyd Conyers, were John Holloman,
John Brown, Carolina de Saussure, and himself. Following them were
William Anderson, James Bailey, Charles E. Cooper, William Lemons,
Henry Jimerson, James 'Rastus' Johnson, and Henry 'Sonny' Jones.
Sergeant Reid, in charge of the guard, was accused by Conyers of
knowledge before and after the raid. Sergeant George Jackson, in charge
of the keys of the gun racks of Company B, was accused of opening the
racks for the raiders, and of again opening them subsequent to the raid
in order that the guns might be removed and cleaned.

"I found Boyd Conyers in a disturbed frame of mind. No claim is made
that his original declarations to William Lawson were other than those
of a criminal boasting to one of his own race of his crime and of his
success in escaping discovery. His subsequent declarations to me were
given partly during moments of contrition and in a desire to unload
his conscience by a confession and partly as the result of careful and
persistent questioning.

"I found the effect of the letter from Senator Foraker to Conyers
extremely obstructive. He seemed to regard it as a mandate to adhere
to the false story told by him before the Senate Committee on Military
Affairs, and as absolving him from any and all obligations to aid in
uncovering the truth. Similar influences were encountered at many
points, adding largely to the difficulty of obtaining admissions of
even the most obvious facts relative to the raid.

"HERBERT J. BROWNE."

Subscribed and sworn to before me this 9th day of December, 1908.

[SEAL.] J.B. RANDOLPH, _Notary Public_.

APPENDIX E

REPORT OF T.B. SKIDMORE,

Presiding Judge of Election, Precinct No. 1, Rio Grande City, November,
1906

RIO GRANDE CITY, TEXAS, 11/12/06.

_Hon. Jno. R. Hulen, Adj.-Gen.,
City._

SIR:

As the presiding judge for this Precinct, No. (1) one of Starr County,
Texas, at the late general election held in this city on the 6th day
of November, 1906, in the upstairs room at the court-house, used by
the district judge as the court-room, permit me to make the following
report of the proceedings had that day:

Having had no call nor communication from the Republicans of this place
for representation among the (4) four clerks of the election subject
to appointment by the presiding officer, they had already been named,
taking care that one man who had theretofore voted the Republican
ticket was chosen and also one man whom I knew to favor Mr. Gregorio
Duffy, the ruling spirit locally of the opposition to the Democrats.

Also, having heard ugly rumors of threats accredited to the
Republicans, I had notified eighteen (18) law abiding citizens to be
present at the polls as early as half-past seven A.M. on the 6th of
November, 1906, then and there to take the oath of office and act as
the peace officers during the election. Of these only 12, I think,
appeared and were sworn in.

As soon as the election judges assembled they and those of the peace
officers present and the supervisors were sworn in.

At this point the presiding officer stepped to the front door and
noting that a body of armed men on horseback and afoot had assembled
on the outside at the 100-foot limit from the polling place, asked
who had dared come to the polls thus armed and was told they were the
Republican voters.

Immediately Mr. F.W. Seabury called me to the foot of the first flight
of steps and introduced me to a Mr. Creager, who, after replying
that the armed men outside were Jose Pina's peace officers, demanded
representation among the clerks of election. I told him that all
parties had representation, but when he insisted on some of the names
he suggested, it being agreed to by the person, I put Domingo L. Garza
in the place of the Duffy representative I had called to act as clerk.

From the names Mr. Creager suggested as inside officer, I also chose
Mr. Jose Pina, believing that by having him under my direction, the
agreement between Mr. Seabury and the presiding judge on the one
hand and Mr. Creager on the other, that the voters should come up
stairs in pairs--one Democrat and one Republican together--could best
be maintained, for the reason that the said Jose Pina had been the
agency who, through his magisterial capacity incident to him as county
commissioner for this Precinct, had appointed the (40) forty peace
officers that Mr. Creager said the Republicans had at hand to preserve
the peace and insure a fair and quiet election.

Thereupon Mr. Garza and Mr. Pina and the balance of the peace officers
called by the presiding judge were sworn in, and word reaching me that
threats of breaking in the front door below were being made by the
Republican crowd outside, the janitor was ordered to open it; the polls
were declared open and the timepiece set at eight o'clock A.M.

During the course of the first half hour--possibly it was that
long--the agreement of pairing the voters coming up to the vote was
observed. Then, noting that for some minutes nearly all the voters had
been Republicans, inside peace officer, Jose Pina, was directed to see
why there were no Democrats coming in.

On his return he told me it would be all right and that there were no
Democrats at the door just then, but another of my deputies from below
in response to my call came up and told me the Republicans had taken
possession of the staircase and lower door and would only let such
Democrats in as forced their way by them at peril of their lives.

At the end of about (2) two hours the disorder became so great that
repeated demand had to be made on Mr. Jose Pina and the other inside
officers to regulate the people outside the rail. On seeing that even
Mr. Pina could not control his Republican friends I had to threaten the
crowd with closing the polls if they did not preserve order, and remain
in line instead of filling the area outside the railing to such an
extent as to threaten to tear it loose from the floor.

Immediately after the fourth threat of this kind, I was informed and
could see from the faces of the crowd that only trouble would ensue
if I tried that method to handle them, so I let them have their own
way and thereafter they did break the railing supports loose from
the floor. Thereafter, I repeatedly called on Mr. Juan Hinajosa, the
Republican challenger, to enforce order and refused to receive any more
votes until his people should get into line.

On entering the polling place, my only object was to see that a fair
election should take place, and I do not think that I neglected any
precaution to have it so. I repeatedly sent word to my peace officers
below, after about half-past ten A.M., to clear the stairs and lower
corridor of all who had already voted, but none of them could be found
generally, and when one was found he would send back word that he could
do nothing with the crowd and that Democratic voters were being turned
away from the lower door and only Republican voters were being allowed
to enter.

I have since been told by the peace officers of the election, that fear
for their lives led them to desist from trying to enforce the entry of
Democrats into the line going to the polls.

I have also since learned that Democratic voters who were business men
of the town, left their places of business as many as three and four
times and went to the polls to vote, but were denied entrance by Mr.
Pina's armed deputies and other Republicans and their sympathizers. And
also that four desperate characters with Winchesters in their hands
were picketed in front of the lower entrance to the court-house, and
that when asked if they were voters Mr. Gregorio Duffy replied, "No,
they are only some posts driven in the ground there for a rear-guard to
keep out the Democrats."

Also on examination of the certified list of poll-tax payers of this
precinct after the election, I find that 126 of them did not vote, and
nearly all were Democrats. Why, I have not had time yet to inquire, but
you will note that this failure to vote bears out the statements of the
peace officers appointed by the presiding judge.

During the course of the election 160 out of the 367 voters who
deposited their ballots were sworn, and I believe that if the legal
voters only of those 160 had been permitted to vote and the Democrats
of the 126 poll-tax payers who did not get to vote had been permitted
to do so that the majority would have stood about 40 in favor of the
Democrats instead of 103 against them, as it did result.

Permit me to explain in closing that I had reasons to believe before
the election that the Republicans intended to appear in force and with
arms at the election, but, under the advice of Judge Welch, I had
made no arrangements up to the evening before the election for peace
officers of my appointing, but that, when I told him about five o'clock
P.M. on November 5th that 30 or 40 strangers from Mexico were in town,
Judge Welch told me to appoint whatever number I thought proper to
guarantee a peaceable election, but especially admonished me not to
have so many as to give the semblance of an armed force at the polls.

Such being my course beforehand, I felt myself morally responsible for
the lives of the men I had appointed as peace officers, and therefore
never sent them any command during the day to use force in handling
the crowd, and that they were all men of good enough sense to see the
futility of such a course is shown by the fact that they did not in any
instance act arbitrarily.

In conclusion let me add that I had no interest to serve and none at
stake in this election, and that my only interest now in submitting
this report is to help, as best. I may, in maintaining the majesty of
American law and the purity of the ballot box, and the sanctity of the
elective franchise thereunder to the utmost confines of this American
Union.

I am, Sir, yours sincerely,
T.B. SKIDMORE,
_Late Pres. Judge of Election in Precinct No. 1 of Starr Co.,
Tex., on Nov. 6, 1906_.

Duffy has since been murdered.

APPENDIX F

PORTION OF A MESSAGE FROM GOVERNOR T.M. CAMPBELL, REFERRING TO RECENTLY
ENACTED LAWS AND THEIR ENFORCEMENT

AUSTIN, January 14, 1909.

_To the Senate and House of Representatives_:

As members of the Thirty-first Legislature, you have each voluntarily
undertaken an important task. Your duties are important and your
responsibilities are serious. You have assembled under favorable
conditions. The State Treasury is on a cash basis. The State is
generally prosperous, and the people are contented and happy. The law
is supreme in Texas, and all the laws are now very generally enforced
and obeyed.

There is no substantial reason to doubt that the welfare of the State
and the happiness of the people will be promoted by the intelligence
of your work, and by your fidelity to the people with whom you made a
covenant at the ballot box. You need make no serious mistakes, as the
will of the people has been ascertained upon all important matters
which demand the attention of the Legislature at this time.

Organized avarice, though in attempted disguise, can hardly be expected
to override the popular will. Selfish interests and those seeking
special advantages and exclusive privileges will have their ready
advocates on every hand, and wholesome legislation heretofore enacted
for the protection of the people will doubtless be assailed. A word of
caution is therefore offered to the end that the chosen representative
of a confiding constituency may be on his guard. It is not unlikely
that designing forces have organized and will be maintained at the
Capitol which will test the wisdom, integrity and patriotism of this
Legislature.

The laws enacted and the reforms wrought under the present
administration in behalf of the great masses of the people of Texas
have been under fire for nearly two years, and have repeatedly
received the emphatic endorsement of the Democratic voters of our
State, and have been approved and re-affirmed by the organized
Democracy in convention assembled. The platform of the opposition
party demanded the repeal or modification of many of these important
laws, and that party, its candidates and its platform were repudiated
and defeated by about 150,000 majority. Desperate efforts have been
employed by sinister agencies to discredit these laws, and to defeat
the operation of these reforms, but the people have willed otherwise,
and the laws have come to stay. Such changes as may be sought by the
friends of the laws to strengthen them, and which may be dictated by
experience, may, with propriety, be made, but these laws were demanded
by the people; they were enacted by their trusted representatives, and
in spirit and substance they should stand.

They are just and right and ought to stand. The result of the recent
political contests involving these laws and reforms strikingly
demonstrate that the agencies of corrupt and sinister special interests
can not dominate and control in Texas. The patriotism of our people and
the freedom of speech which obtains in Texas make it certain that her
incorruptible electorate can be safely trusted to uphold the public
official who keeps the faith and redeems his pledges made to them.
Those who have contended that modifications and exceptions in their
interest should be made in the laws enacted by the last Legislature
might have placed their propositions upon the Democratic primary
election ticket, and thus tested them at the ballot box, or they could
have uncovered their schemes in the last Democratic convention, and
these plans were suggested time and again as open to them. This course
was open under the law, but they chose rather to undertake the defeat
of candidates who stood for these laws. In this they signally failed
in every instance. The State Democratic Convention, following the lead
of nearly all the county conventions, endorsed the laws as they stood,
and placed the party candidates upon a platform committed to their
perpetuation. The enemies of the legislation and reforms enacted by the
last Legislature chose to submit their demands for repeal, changes and
modifications thereof in the Republican State platform, which of course
binds all representatives of that party faith. Democrats are bound by
party action, by the verdict rendered at the polls, and by the platform
made by its convention.

The Democratic platform declaration with respect to the laws enacted
during this administration is as follows:

"We heartily endorse * * * the acts of the Thirtieth Legislature
enacted in obedience to platform demands, and we rejoice at the
emphatic endorsement given said laws and administration by the
Democratic voters of Texas in the recent primary election."

The measures of commanding importance enacted during the present
administration are in the interest of justice, equality, good
government and decency. They have resulted in no harm or injustice to
any man or to any legitimate business enterprise within this State. The
truth of this statement has already been demonstrated, and any effort
to emasculate, destroy or weaken them would be a fraud upon the people
and a betrayal of the Democratic party. These laws became effective in
the midst of a great national panic, and Texas has been and is in a
better financial and economic condition to-day than any State in the
Republic.

* * * * *

To effect needed reforms and to check evil tendencies, laws were
enacted by the last Legislature to the following effect:

1. The keeping of gambling houses and the exhibiting of gambling
devices was made a felony.

2. The practice of drinking intoxicating liquors on railroad trains was
prohibited.

3. A law passed requiring contests of local option elections to be
promptly instituted, and providing that otherwise the legality of such
elections should be conclusively presumed.

4. Authority was granted district judges, on proper showing, to
prevent by injunction the sale of intoxicating liquors in prohibition
communities.

5. A tax of $5,000 was levied on express companies shipping
intoxicating liquors into prohibition districts, the effect of which
was to take the express companies out of the liquor and saloon business.

6. An effective bucket shop law which prohibits gambling in cotton and
other futures, thereby guarding against depression in the prices of
the farmers' crops, as a result of unnatural speculative or gambling
transactions.

7. To encourage and promote agricultural development, a separate
Department of Agriculture was created, and has been organized, and
is at this time actively promoting, with the facilities at hand, our
agricultural interests.

8. The occupation tax on useful occupations was repealed.

9. A law prohibiting the free-pass evil was enacted.

10. A law against nepotism was passed.

11. Charter fees of corporations were increased in a just and fair
amount.

12. The depository law enacted keeps in circulation State funds and
the rates of interest secured yields a return largely in excess of
the entire expenses of the State Treasurer's office, and provides a
handsome yield in interest on county funds heretofore deposited in
banks without interest.

13. Laws increasing franchise taxes, and gross-receipts taxes, and
securing the listing, rendition and assessment of the railways'
intangible values for taxation, were enacted, and their operation has
resulted in shifting a large portion of the burden theretofore unjustly
borne by the individual property taxpayers to those who had been
evading and escaping taxation.

14. A mine inspection law for the protection of laborers engaged in
mining business, a law against black-listing, and a law lightening the
labors of trainmen, enginemen, and telegraph operators and to protect
the public, and other just laws, were passed for the benefit and
protection of workingmen.

15. The law known as the "Robertson Insurance Law" having for its
object the better protection of the policy-holders in Texas, and to
promote investments in our State, was passed. The practical operation
of this law is to require the investment of seventy-five per cent. of
the Texas reserve of life insurance companies doing business in Texas,
in Texas securities, and to require the deposit of such securities in
the State Treasury, or other depository designated by the law. It is
also provided that the deposit and investment features may be waived by
the Commissioner of Insurance upon substantial showing under the terms
and conditions of the law.

16. The "Full Rendition Law," as it is called, and the "Automatic Tax
Law," having for their respective objects the rendition and assessment
of all taxable property at its full value, greater uniformity and
the adjustment of the tax rates and tax burdens in keeping with the
absolute requirements of the government.

17. A uniform text-book law, providing for the adoption of a uniform
system of text-books for all the public free schools of the State was
passed.

18. A law prohibiting insolvent corporations from doing business in
Texas was enacted.

19. A law prohibiting lobbying, and many other useful laws, were passed
in the interest of the people.

* * * * *

In the administration of the State government during the past two
years, an earnest effort has been made by the Executive and all
other departments of the public service, to give the people a clean,
efficient, and economical government.

That the full measure of our success may be ascertained, and the
people more fully informed, the most careful and rigid investigation
into the administration of every department of government and into the
management of each State institution is invited and suggested. That the
laws should be properly enforced upon all alike, no law-abiding man
will deny. The Constitution provides that "the Governor shall cause
the laws to be faithfully executed," and every means and power that
could be appropriately exercised has been brought into requisition to
meet this mandate of the Constitution. No one should be strong enough
to escape the power of the law, and none too weak to receive its
protection.

The mandate of the Constitution is clear and the duty of the Governor,
with respect to enforcing the law, is plain, but the Governor's powers
are not adequate, and adequate statutory powers as contemplated by
the Constitution should be promptly provided by legislation suited to
present conditions as well as for future contingencies.

Obedience to all criminal laws should be a condition in liquor dealers'
bonds, and jurisdiction for suits for breach thereof should be given to
the district courts of Travis County.

The transactions of the Treasury Department are set out in detail
in the State Treasurers annual report for the fiscal year ending
August 31, 1908. The report, together with the tables accompanying
the same, contain much useful information, and it is suggested that
an examination of the same will be useful and profitable to the
legislators.

At the beginning of this administration, the Comptroller estimated the
deficit for the fiscal year ending August 31, 1907, to be approximately
$300,000, and possibly more. However, as a result of careful and, we
believe, efficient administration, aided by more effective revenue
legislation, the deficit was avoided, and the State has been able to
meet all of its current obligations for the past two years, and at all
times to maintain an adequate working surplus in the State Treasury.
Instead of a deficit, as predicted, on August 31, 1907, the State had
met all of its obligations, and had a cash balance of $692,612.81 to
the credit of the general revenue, and at the close of the fiscal year,
August 31, 1908, after paying all claims when presented, the State had
to the credit of the general revenue fund a balance of $888,985.61.

This very satisfactory financial condition was secured and has been
maintained under the operation of the present tax system without
additional tax burdens upon the individual property-tax payers.
Interests theretofore escaping and property theretofore unrendered have
been required, under the new laws, to contribute more to the support of
the government, thereby lessening the burden upon those who were under
the old laws bearing more than their just share.

To illustrate: Under the operation of the intangible tax law,
$173,698,318 of intangible values of railways and bridge and ferry
companies were listed for State and county taxes for the year 1908. The
physical values of the railways increased under the new rendition law
from $100,166,782, in 1906, to $157,822,790, in 1908. The intangible
tax law, and the full rendition law has added to the tax rolls more
than $250,000,000 of railway and other corporate values theretofore
escaping taxation. The credits of money of banks and bankers and
of others than banks and bankers are not now being properly listed
for taxation; still there has been a great improvement, as the tax
rolls show that they were increased from $42,112,424, in 1906, to
$80,717,825, in 1908; an increase of more than 91 per cent. These are
prominent illustrations of property values heretofore escaping, which,
under the new laws, have contributed to the reduction of the ad valorem
tax rate of 20 cents on the one hundred dollars in 1906, to the low
rate of 6-1/4 cents on the one hundred dollars in 1908. The average tax
rate in the counties throughout the State for 1906 was 55 cents on the
one hundred dollars. This average rate of 55 cents was reduced in 1908
to an average rate of 40 cents on the one hundred dollars for county
purposes by the operation of the new laws. The individual citizens who
have been paying taxes upon their homes and farms at a fair valuation
will pay less taxes in 1908 in proportion to value than they have paid
for the support of the State government in any year since 1860, and
as the receipts from other sources to the credit of general revenue
increases, the ad valorem tax rate for State purposes will be reduced
in proportion.

Under the operation of the tax laws of the last Legislature, the
property values on the tax rolls increased from $1,221,159,869, in
1906, to $2,174,122,480, in 1908. The amount of taxes paid in 1906
on the tax rate of 20 cents on the one hundred dollars, amounted to
$2,435,412.92, and in 1908, with the tax rate of 6-1/4 cents, the
total tax amounts to $1,358,826.55; an increase in assessed values of
$952,935,411, and a reduction of $1,076,586.37 in the total amount of
ad valorem State taxes levied for 1908 as compared with 1906, and a
much more equitable distribution of the taxes has been secured.

The valuation of property assessed for taxes, the rates and the amounts
of State ad valorem taxes for the years 1906, 1907, and 1908, are as
follows:

1906--Valuation, $1,221,259,869; rate, 20 cents; amount of taxes,
$2,435,412.92.

1907--Valuation, $1,635,297,115; rate, 12-1/2 cents; amount of taxes,
$2,040,625.58.

1908--Valuation, $2,174,122,480; rate, 6-1/4 cents; amount of taxes,
$1,358,826.55.

Receipts to the credit of the State's general revenue for the year
1906, 1907, and 1908, from special corporation taxes and from all other
sources, not including the ad valorem taxes on tangible and intangible
values, is shown below; $375,418.94 received from the United States
government in 1906 not included:

1906--Amount of receipts $1,826,682.26

1907--Amount of receipts 2,024,434.80

1908--Amount of receipts 2,416,218.46

The county tax rolls for 1906, 1907, and 1908 disclose the gross
inequalities obtaining throughout the State prior to the recent tax
legislation, and they further show that an earnest effort was made in
the large majority of the counties to comply with the laws respecting
rendition, assessment and equalization. In a few counties, however,
the law was ignored, and the conduct of the tax officials of such
counties was little short of unconscionable. These counties received
the full benefits of the reductions in the State ad valorem tax rate
from 20 cents to 6-1/4 cents, and the State school ad valorem rate
from 20 cents to 16-2/3 cents, and received the full benefit of the
increase in the apportionment of the available school fund, but by
the dereliction and disregard of duty on the part of their trusted
tax officials they contributed practically nothing to the increase of
values resulting in such general good. This is so manifestly unfair
and unjust that an effective remedy should be speedily provided by
law. It is inconceivable that the oath of office prescribed by the
Constitution, to say nothing of the oath prescribed by the new statute,
and to which all tax officials must solemnly subscribe, should be so
lightly considered by some men who have been honored with official
station. Each county and each citizen and corporation of the State
should contribute a just share and no more of the taxes necessary to
support the State government and to maintain the public free school
system, and no county, citizen or corporation through the dereliction
of tax officials should be permitted to share in the benefits of
reduced rates, and the increase of school funds when they fail to do
their part. They should not be allowed by official dereliction to shift
their just share of the taxes to the taxpayers of other counties and
communities. It is just to say that the people of some of the counties
where the law was disregarded repudiated the derelict tax officials
upon their first opportunity.

Article 5124e, of Chapter XI, of the Acts of the First Called Session
of the Thirtieth Legislature should be amended so that suits for
removal from office may be instituted and prosecuted either in the
county of such officer's residence, or in the district courts of Travis
County, at the option of the Attorney-General. Laws should also be
enacted providing that resignations or expirations of terms of office
shall not abate action for removal from office, and the law should
further provide that county officers who are removed from office for
malfeasance or misfeasance or for any dereliction shall not thereafter
hold office in this State until their eligibility is established and
restored by act of the Legislature.

In this connection, I invite your attention to the respective annual
reports of the State Tax Commissioner and the State Revenue Agent. The
data and the difficulties encountered in the laws enforcement, and the
suggestions made by these faithful officials, will, I believe, be of
much value to the Legislature in improving our system of taxation and
in enacting legislation to secure equality and more uniformity in the
distribution of its burdens.

APPENDIX G

ADDRESS OF THE HON. W.D. WILLIAMS IN REFERENCE TO THE FULL RENDITION
LAWS

I am altogether sensible, gentlemen, of the honor which you have done
me by inviting me to discuss before you that act of the Thirtieth
Legislature of Texas commonly known as the Full Rendition Statute. I
am fully aware of the honor done me, as I have said, and yet I am not
averse to accepting the invitation. I have heard so much said about
this law; I have heard it so wildly praised and so extravagantly
denounced; I have heard its promoters and all who were concerned in the
enactment so severely condemned on the one hand and so unreservedly
lauded on the other; I have read so many editorials in favor of full
rendition and so many more against it, that the fever of strife has
been set to circulating in my own blood, and I have come at last really
to desire to speak my own thoughts on this subject. And especially
is this true when I am afforded to-day the opportunity of addressing
upon this issue the body of distinguished citizens which is assembled
here before me, and which represents the opinions, the aspirations and
the sentiments of the commercial classes of my own State. For this
too is true, gentlemen, that however much I may in some particulars
and on some occasions dissent from the prevailing beliefs of what is
called the business world, I am now and always compelled to admit
that the leaders of commerce are not only keen of intellect, but that
they are full of courage, ready to give weighty reasons for the faith
that is in them, loyal and patriotic citizens, commanding the respect
and admiration of the world, true and sincere friends and generous
adversaries.

That statute, which is generally called the Full Rendition statute,
was enacted at the Regular Session of the Thirtieth Legislature, and
is published by official authority as Chapter XI on page 459 of the
General Laws of 1907. By provisions of this act, assessors are required
to list the property for taxation at its reasonable cash market value
or, if it has no market value, then at its real and intrinsic value.

Practically this is what is meant by the words "full value rendition,"
that the rendition shall be at the reasonable cash value of the article
or thing which is listed. But it is well settled by repeated decisions
of appellate courts that where the word "value" is used in a statute
and is not limited either by qualifying words or by the context of the
statute, it has the same meaning as if it had been written "reasonable
cash market value," or "real and intrinsic value."

So that, as respects its actual intent, the Full Rendition statute
brings into operation no new principle and does nothing more than to
deprive our assessors of a common excuse, sometimes honestly made and
sometimes not, of misunderstanding the meaning of the word "value,"
as used in former statutes upon the same subject. The act was not
intended to and did not introduce a new practice in the assessment of
property for taxation, but on the contrary, was aimed at persuading or
compelling obedience to methods already established by law, but fallen
into partial or total disuse.

The Constitution of 1876, which is now in force, commands that "all
property in this State shall be taxed in proportion to its value," and,
as already explained, the word "value," as used in this connection,
means fair cash market value, or if the article has no market value,
then its real and intrinsic. The Constitution fixes the same standard
of compensation as does the Act of 1907, and if the latter is correctly
designated as a full rendition law then is the Constitution itself also
a full rendition Constitution.

Now, when we are inclined to complain of the trials and hardships of
the present, it is sometimes the part of wisdom for us to recall for
a moment the conditions and circumstances which surrounded us in the
past. For it is by such a comparison alone that we may truly know
whether our situation has indeed changed for the worse, or whether our
complaints are justified.

We have had an ad valorem general property tax in Texas since the
beginning of the Anglo-Saxon government within our boundaries. The
Constitution of 1836 gave to the legislative department of the Republic
an absolutely free hand to shape laws for the raising of a public
revenue at its sole will and pleasure. "Congress," so it was written,
"shall have power to levy and collect taxes and imposts, excise and
tonnage duties." Article 2, Section 1. This authority was sufficiently
broad to enable the Legislature of an independent sovereignty, such as
Texas then was, to determine what persons and what property should be
burdened for the support of the government and what persons and what
property should be exempted. There was no limitation upon the power,
nor any restrictions to prevent whatever discriminations Congress
should see fit to enact.

With this unlimited charter in its hands, the first Congress of Texas
met together in October, 1836, the founders of a new nation, a truly
representative body, great in intellect, great in character and
courage, but greater than all in devotion and loyalty to the eternal
principles of right and justice, which are now, always have been and
always will be the principles of Democracy also. And those ancient
heroes in home-spun, being thus the sovereign legislative body of an
independent people, legislating as well for the planter, with his
broad and fertile lands, tilled by his hundreds of slaves, as for the
wandering hunter and scout, whose Kentucky rifle and pouch of bullets
and horn of powder constituted his sole possessions, passed that
act, entitled "An Act to raise a public revenue by direct taxation,"
approved June 12, 1837. And, after this manner, there came into
being the first "full rendition" statute, which was also the first
statute for the direct taxation of property enacted under Anglo-Saxon
domination in Texas.

For, by this act, Congress required all property owners and all
agents and representatives of such owners, to make out and deliver to
the proper assessing officers inventories showing the value of all
their properties, and to swear that same were just, true and faithful
valuations and lists. If the assessor believed any valuation offered to
him was too low, it was made his duty, summarily and without notice or
formality, to call to his assistance two neighboring citizens, to be
selected by himself, and the three of them were required to persuade
and encourage the reluctant property owner into those straight and
narrow paths where duty leads and virtue is its own and only reward.
From the assessor and his chosen helpers there was no appeal. That
which they said was the full value was the full value, both in law and
in fact, and there was an immediate end of the controversy.

In these modern days of frock coats and silk stockings and peace and
comfort, we would incline to think that the Act of 1837, which put a
"big stick" in the hands of the assessor, would have been sufficiently
strenuous to have satisfied even that most strenuous of officers, our
worthy President Theodore Roosevelt. But there were mighty men in those
old days, when Sam Houston was at the head of the Lone Star Republic,
and this problem was as meal between their teeth. They enjoyed it to
the uttermost. They enjoyed it so much that they could not keep their
minds occupied with other things, and, in 1838, Congress amended and
strengthened the original "full rendition" bill so as to require every
property owner to swear a still harder swear, to wit, that his list
was a true and perfect inventory and account of his property and its
value. A true and perfect valuation! Think of it, O ye who strain at
gnats in these meek and modern day! A most vigorous oath, indeed, was
that. Strong and bitter, like the medicines they took in those good old
times. And yet I must own to it, gentlemen, that I have nowhere heard
or read that either the oaths or the medicines did them any harm.

I have recalled to your recollection those old days of the golden age
of Texas for one purpose only, which is that you may be reminded how,
in the words of Solomon, "there is nothing new under the sun." There
is nothing new, not even our troubles, and I can imagine that, even
in the time of the Republic, our citizens desisted momentarily from
the lighting of Mexicans and the pursuit of hostile Indians to hold
indignation meetings all the way from Nacogdoches to Matagorda Bay,
where fierce protests were drawn and adopted, condemning Houston and
Lamar and the members of the First Congress for their wickedness in
procuring the enactment of a "full rendition" statute with which to
oppress and impoverish the Lone Star people.

I, myself, am reminded in this connection of the solemn utterances of
some of the daily newspapers, most excellent oracles of Democracy,
warning us in editorial columns long that this is a new country, where
a continuous stream of bottoms is dropping out of our real estate
booms, and that it is a great big mistake to assess our new and fragile
values at anything approaching their face. And in my mind's eye, I
can see right now one of those ancient and beloved heroes, recently
companion to the immortal Davy Crockett, the tails of his coonskin cap
fluttering in the wind, addressing an indignation meeting in the days
of the First Congress, arousing unlimited enthusiasm with the very
same argument which is now so commonly used, founded upon the newness,
three-quarters of a century ago, of this country of ours, which some of
us profess to believe has not yet grown sufficiently old to tell the
truth for purposes of taxation.

The statutes of Texas have always been "full rendition" statutes, and
our Constitutions, except for that one which was adopted in 1836,
have always been "full rendition" Constitutions. And, in my judgment,
there can be no honest attempt at a fair adjustment of the burdens of a
direct tax upon the general property of this or any other country which
does not make a decent effort at an equalization in proportion to the
true value of each article which is taxed. The true value of an article
is necessarily its fair, full value, nothing more and nothing less. If
we levy general property taxes, we are compelled to require by law that
all property subject to the levy shall be taxed in proportion to its
value, and such a rule is inevitably a law for a "full rendition."

If a government were to command that its taxables should be listed at
one-fourth their full value, and that a tax of $1 on the $100 should
be levied on the values so listed, it would in substance have enacted
a law for the taxation of its property, at full value, at 25 cents on
each $100, and no amount of figuring can make out of it anything less
or anything more.

The proposition that property shall be taxed at one-fourth, or at
one-fifth, or at any other fractional part of its true and full value
is wholly inadequate to meet any of the objections which are urged
against the "full rendition" bill. If a tract of land be assessed at
$100 an acre at its full value, January 1, 1908, and by reason of any
change in conditions, the value has diminished before the arrival of
the tax-paying season, say December 31, 1908, to $50 an acre, and, if
it be assumed that it would be an injustice under those circumstances
to require the owner to pay a tax in December which is based upon such
a valuation, still the slightest reflection will convince you that this
injustice has not been obviated by assessing the land at $25 an acre
and, at the same time, multiplying the tax rate by four. In either case
precisely the same amount of money is exacted from the owner, and, in
either case, the tax is in truth based upon the full value January 1st,
which we have assumed to be $100 an acre, and no account is taken of
any subsequent depreciation.

But, if it be urged that the owner will be better satisfied to pay 25
cents an acre if his land be valued at $25 an acre than he will be to
pay the same 25 cents on the same acre upon a valuation of $100, then
I can only answer by saying that the Texans with whom I am acquainted
are so well fixed with brains that you can not fool them with a trick
so transparent as this. If a citizen pays a tax of $50 on a 200-acre
farm, he knows that he is out just $50 in good, common, hard cash, and
all the assessors and collectors in the State can not fool him into
the belief that he has paid only $40 by showing him how low his land
was assessed and how high it was taxed. Having paid his money, he will
feel neither better nor worse because of the valuation put upon his
property, provided only that he has had a square deal as compared with
the other taxpayers.

This is the whole of the tax question, as I see it--to deal justly
with every man in the sight of God--to tax every person as nearly as
possible in proportion to his ability to pay. And under any ad valorem
system the measure of the ability of each individual and the only
approximately fair measure which the ingenuity of man has ever been
able to devise is found in the reasonable, full value of the taxable
property of every owner.

No revenue law is wholly bad which tends in this direction and, on the
other hand, every such law is good and valuable in direct proportion as
it is so drawn that it will aid in bringing about this all-desirable
equality in the imposition of public burdens.

Granting that taxes are apportioned with reasonable fairness, there
is but one way whereby an impartial reduction can be had and the
benefits of such reduction distributed proportionately and honestly
among the taxpayers, and this way is by cutting down the expenses of
the government. Every other effort is either the pursuit of a ghost,
leaving the pursuer empty handed if he were to succeed in catching it,
or it is an effort at tax dodging. The average taxpayer is no shirk,
and the very best for which he can hope and the things for which he
should always be demanding are, first, an economical administration of
public affairs, and, second, the utmost fairness in the distribution of
public burdens.

The Constitution of Texas, as I have already shown, has always
commanded an equality in taxation, to be attained by levying upon
all property in proportion to its value. The laws of Texas have been
enacted in obedience to the constitutional mandate, as full rendition
laws, but have until the late session of the Thirtieth Legislature
failed in one respect, at least, for they provided no adequate means by
which they might be enforced. And under these laws, which on the face
required a fair assessment, but did not undertake to compel obedience
to their provisions, a practice of evasion was begun and spread all
over the State, until a condition prevailed which was anarchy, pure and
simple. County strove against county and neighbor against neighbor,
each one trying unjustly to shift some portion of his rightful burden
to the shoulders of another. It was a reign of lawlessness, gentlemen,
when, as some of you members have demonstrated, the average assessment
in one county was only 24 per cent. of the value of the property
assessed, while the average in another county was as much as 75 per
cent. And the remaining counties of the State ranged themselves
anywhere you please between these two extremes.

Equality in taxation was a thing dead and forgotten, and honorable
people were being taught to look with contempt upon the affidavits
which were required to be made before the assessors. A strong and manly
people who throughout their history had held the vice of lying in
peculiar detestation, were made accustomed to falsehoods, uttered for
profit, under the supposed sanction of an oath. A condition prevailed
which would in time have compelled the moral deterioration of all
citizens.

Now, it is certain that it is one of the most important of the
functions of government that it shall secure justice and fair dealing
as between all those who are subject to its jurisdiction. But more
than this, and more than all else, it is the duty of those who are
in control of public affairs that they shall permit no condition to
continue which threatens to undermine the moral character of its
people. For I venture the opinion that civilization is not builded of
capital and labor alone, but that its chief component parts are the
love of virtue and the sense of honor and the devotion to truth and
integrity which are in the hearts of all persons, and if these good
attributes are no longer actuated by these high ideals, then I predict
that mankind will have become from that moment forward incapable of
maintaining social order.

The practice of undervaluing property for purposes of taxation, which
had become common and almost universal in Texas, was destructive of
all possibility of justice as between the respective owners, and
had in addition thereto a distinct tendency to debase the morals of
an uncontaminated and virtuous people. The movement for what I will
venture to call purer and better laws did not begin in the Thirtieth
Legislature, but years and years ago, and the so-called Full Rendition
act of 1907 is merely a mile-stone in the forward march of a progress
which has continued throughout the ages, and which will never end.

The statute for the taxation of banks and banking capital is a "full
rendition" statute, designed to enable and to require assessors to
list at full value the stocks or properly of such institutions and all
funds employed in that particular business. The act for the taxation
of the intangible assets of railroads, an act which I had the pleasure
of assisting to pass in the Twenty-ninth Legislature, is another "full
rendition" law, under the operations of which nearly $174,000,000 of
additional railroad values is exposed to view and listed and taxed.
These and other statutes of the same kind, which I have not the time
to mention, are just and fair, if all other property is also assessed
approximately at its value, but they become discriminatory and
oppressive as soon as undervaluations of other taxables are purposely
allowed.

I am fully aware that there are certain vices which appear to be
necessarily inherent in any system that can be devised for the direct
taxation of both real and personal property. And while I am not
inclined to believe that these vices render this character of tax more
difficult of fair apportionment than is any other, yet I would not
for a moment attempt to render blind either myself or you to those
imperfections and weaknesses of human nature which make it apparently
impossible entirely to effect the purpose of any law, no matter how
just or wise it may be. But I would remind you that we can not give
ground in the face of this argument without abandoning all effort at an
orderly rule of society and plunging headlong into the deadly chaos of
anarchy. If our inability, entirely and in all cases, to enforce a full
rendition law is just cause for the abandonment of the full rendition
principle, then, in the same way and for the same reason, we shall be
driven from any other plan that we may adopt. Indeed, if we once admit
the force of this objection, we must abandon all law, for in no case
are we able satisfactorily to enforce any statute which is upon our
books.

Remember, gentlemen, I make no pretense that perfection has been
attained in the act of the Thirtieth Legislature, or that the act
is incapable of improvement. What I am contending is that it is a
step forward, and that this body, standing as it does for the ideal
aspirations of the business men of Texas, must take no step backward.
To repeal this statute, setting up nothing better in its place,
retreating to a condition of which you, as thoughtful and patriotic
citizens, must have been sick at heart, may bring us to have "fewer
laws," but I am not able to persuade myself that those laws which are
left will thereby have become any the better.

In my judgment, _ex parte_ affidavits, which have the effect of making
the truth cost money and of rewarding falsehood as if it were a virtue
and not a vice, ought not to be exacted in any but the rarest of cases,
and only where no other source of information can reasonably be found.
And, for this reason, I have long preferred that the visible property
of the State should be valued and assessed by the assessor rather than
by the owner. But I am greatly in the minority in my opinion of this
subject, and because that opinion is of absolutely no consequence, I
refrain from enlarging upon it.

Proceeding, then, along the only road which is open for travel, and
assuming that each owner shall continue to fix the _prima facie_ value
of his own assets, it can not be successfully denied that the interests
of society demand that such valuation shall be made under oath, and
that the value stated in every affidavit shall be the true, full value
and not an arbitrary, assumed and fictitious proportion of the same.

The "full rendition" law, considered in connection with other statutes
in force upon the same subject, provides an admirable system of
local equalization, and tends in a very considerable degree toward
equalization throughout the limits of Texas.

But this is a State of vast areas and of prodigious distances, and in
any such widely extended territory it seems to me that the physical
conditions alone are sufficient to demand the enactment into law of
some method of apportionment which will not depend entirely upon
local views and local sentiments. It must be kept in mind that, while
the Attorney-General may sue to remove from office any assessor or
member of a board of equalization whom he believes to be guilty of
intentionally accepting undervaluations, yet, convictions for such
offenses are always difficult to secure and the prosecution of the
vast majority of such cases would be no better than a farce. The
State government is practically without power to compel reasonable
assessments in any county or section where the citizens are largely
opposed to full rendition. The administration has no legal authority
which it can effectually use, but must confine itself to moral suasion
alone, and in controversies where interested parties are arrayed upon
opposite sides, we, as a people, have never regarded moral suasion and
merely moral responsibilities as a sufficiently effective force to be
worthy of serious mention. We will not permit a judge to hear a case in
court, or a juror to sit on a jury where either the plaintiff or the
defendant is related to him within the third degree, either by blood
or marriage. Arbitrators must be without interest and not related to
the parties, and, in general, wherever an act is authorized which may
affect the rights of others, the law is vigilant in requiring that
the officer or person acting shall be disinterested and impartial.
Everyone will agree that these precautions against injustice are right
and necessary, and yet I can conceive of no good reason why interested
parties or their relatives may not be permitted to adjudge any other
disputed claims quite as well, and with just as large a probability
that justice will be done as when they were asked to determine what
amount of State taxes they will pay.

A compulsory equalization of some character seems to me the next step
to be taken in the forward march toward fairer taxation in Texas. We
have come a long way from that original plan of 1837, by which an
assessor and two neighbors arbitrarily determined what a property
owner should pay, but we are still very far from home. Nor should this
occasion surprise, for if the law is to be worthy of respect, if it
is to be in any way effective as a force for the right, it must not
be fixed and unchangeable, but, on the contrary, must be capable of
infinite variety and infinite development, growing with the growth
of the people who are its creators and enforcers, eternal in seeking
justice, but flexible in adapting itself to the present.

In conclusion, gentlemen, permit me to call to your attention very
briefly a few of the effects of the new tax laws. For if we are to
return, as at least one candidate for high office is insisting, to the
old order of things, we are abandoning not merely the so-called Full
Rendition law, but all other of the recent enactments upon the same
subject. We are to abandon the intangible tax law, the franchise tax
law, the law taxing the gross receipts of certain corporations, and all
other of the statutes of the Twenty-ninth and Thirtieth Legislatures by
which a fairer adjustment of the burdens of government was sought to be
secured. And if we abandon these laws we must abandon their undeniable
benefits as well as their doubtful disadvantages, and pay taxes as we
paid them in the good old times.

Now, in 1906, when these laws were either tied up in court or not yet
in force, the property owners of Texas were called upon to pay a total
ad valorem tax for the expense of the State government of $2,443,637,
but in 1907 the ad valorem tax for State expenses was reduced to
$2,044,566. The operation of the new tax laws reduced the burdens put
upon property owners by $400,000, and of the amount which property was
still required to pay, something near $214,000 was levied upon railroad
intangibles. The saving upon the general property, aside from railroad
and corporation taxes, was $614,000 for that single year, for State
expenses alone. In the same way, the saving for the year 1908 will not
be less than $900,000 on State expenses, not including the school fund.

It can not be successfully denied that the new tax laws have tended
largely toward an equitable distribution of tax burdens and that
in doing this they have diminished the amount paid by the average
citizen. The intangible assets tax alone brought in a revenue for
1907 of $1,470,000 to the State and its counties, and cost for its
administration the insignificant sum of $2,650, a result which can not
be surpassed in the history of governmental finance.

These are the triumphs which we are asked to abandon by returning to
that system where "the assessors under the commissioners courts made
the assessments as under former laws."

Now, gentlemen, I for one am not disposed to retreat. I am intending to
go forward, not backward. And in the course which I am determined to
pursue I am expecting to go arm in arm in the company of the most of
those who are here to-day as the representatives of commercial Texas.

*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Captain Bill McDonald, Texas Ranger - A Story of Frontier Reform" ***

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