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Caldwell Journal 1882--1904

 

THE ORIGIN OF THE TERM MAVERICK

 

May 3, 1882—Caldwell Journal—A few years ago, when cattle were of little value as compared with the present, when there were no pastures and the stock roamed at large and upon a thousand hills, the custom of marking and branding unmarked stock from a year old and upwards was a privilege that, by general use became almost a law among stockmen.  The right to mark and brand stock of the age mentioned was undisputed until the insignia of some man’s stock possessions were placed upon them.  But the office has been consigned to the past as one of the practices that grew up under its loose and unsatisfactory business system.

            We have frequently seen what were claimed to be ‘correct statements” of how the term “maverick” as applied to such unclaimed stock, but none of them, so far as we can recollect, were correct.  The term was derived from the late Samuel A. Maverick, of this city, and one of the republics, and the State afterwards.  In early time Mr. Maverick established a stock ranch on Matagorda by and placed a couple of Negroes in charge of his cattle.

 

 

 

May 17, 1882--Caldwell Journal—There is likely to be more trouble at Dodge City, growing out of the driving out of Luke Short and other parties by the authorities of Dodge.  It is well to state right here that the aforesaid authorities are about the same class of people as those driven out.  Now comes the report that other “former citizens” of Dodge, have taken to heart the treatment of Short, and are concentrating at Kansas City with a view to visiting Dodge in a body for the purpose “seeing their friends.”  Among those citizens are Bat Masterson, Rowdy Joe, Wyatt Earp, Doc Holliday and “Shotgun Collins, al interesting gentlemen who think no more bout killing a man than they do about killing a dog.  They all have some grudges to settle at Dodge, and unless they are headed off, there will be music in the air at that place before many days.

 

KILLED BY THE MARSHAL

 

May 17, 1882--Caldwell Journal—Spotted Horse is no more.  He departed this life last Monday morning, at the hands of city marshal, H. N. Brown.  The manner of his death and the circumstances leading thereto are about as follows:

          Spotted Horse was a Pawnee Indian, whose custom it was to make periodical visits to Caldwell with one or more of his squaws, battering their persons to the lusts of two legged white animals in whom the dog instinct prevailed.  Last Friday on Saturday Spotted Horse drove into town in a two-horse wagon, with one of his squaws, and went into camp on a vacant lot between Main and Market streets.  About half past six on Monday morning he walked into the Long Branch Restaurant with his squaw and wanted the proprietors to give them breakfast.  This they refused to do, when he left and wandered around town, taking in the Moreland House, where he was given a sack full of cold meat and bread.  From thence he and the squaw went over to E. H. Beals’ house on Market street north of fifth.  Mr. Beals and his family were just sitting down to breakfast when Spotted Horse and his squaw walked in without the least ceremony and demanded something to eat.  Mr. B.’s wife and daughter were considerably alarmed and the former ordered the Indians to leave.  They went out and the Spotted Horse handed to the squaw the bundle of grub he had obtained at the Mooreland, and walked back into the house, up to the table and put his hand on Miss Beals’ head.  Mr. B. immediately jumped to his feet and made signs for the Indian to go out, at the same time applying an opprobrious epithet to him.  The Indian immediately pulled out his revolver and Mrs. Beals told him to go out and they would settle the trouble there.  As Spotted Horse put up his pistol and walked out, and Mr. B. after him.  Once outside, the Indian pulled his revolver again, and Mr. Beals seized a spade that was a hand.  Just about this time Grant Harris run up to the Indian and told him to go away, that he ought not to attack an old man.  The Indian then opened out with a volley of abuse, directed to Mr. Beals in good plain English.  Young Harris finally induced him to put up his pistol and leave.

          The next heard of S. H. and his squaw was that they had walked into the back door of the Long Branch kitchen and helped themselves to breakfast, Louis Heironymous being the only one connected with the restaurant present I the building at the time, made no objections and the two reds had a good feast.

          It appears that after breakfast the squaw went to the wagon while Spotted Horse strolled into Morris’ grocery one door north of the Long Branch.  Meantime a complaint had been made to city marshal Brown in reference to the Indian’s conduct at Beals’ house and the marshal had started out to hunt him up, finally finding him I Morris’ grocery.  The marshal approached Spotted Horse and requested him to go with him to Mr. Covington, in order that the latter might act as an interpreter.  Thee Indian refused, when the marshal took hold of him.  Spotted Horse didn’t like that, and commenced to feel for his revolver.  The marshal pulled his out and told the Indian to stop.  On the latter refusing to do so, the marshal fired at him.  In all four shots were fired by the marshal, the last one striking the Indian about where the hair coma down to his forehead and came out at the back of his head.  Parties who were present state that if the officer’s last shot had failed, the Indian would have had the advantage, because he had just succeeded in drawing his revolver when the shot struck him.

          The Indian was shortly after removed to the ware house two doors north, here very attention was given him, but he died in about two hours without uttering a word, although he seemed to be conscious up to within a few moments before breathing his last.

          Coroner Stevenson was telegraphed for and came down late in the afternoon viewed the body and held an inquest that night.  On Tuesday morning the jury brought in a verdict that the deceased came to his death by a gun shot would in the hands of H. N. Brown, and that the shooting was done in the discharge of his duty as an officer of the law and the verdict of the entire community is the same.

          The squaw, we are told, upon hearing the first shot fired hitched the horses to the wagon and drove off as fast as she could toward the Territory.

 

 

May 17, 1882--Caldwell Journal—The killing of the Pawnee Indian Spotted Horse, last Monday has aroused the attention of our people to the fact that members of that tribe are continually on the go.  They leave their reservation without any permission and wander all over at their own sweet will, generally taking up their quarters close to some town, where they will remain for weeks.  During their stay they wander through streets and alleys to see what they can pick up and frequently open a door and walk right into a house, to the terror or women and children.  Of course, in addition to their persistent begging, they do not hesitate to steal.  They are intolerable nuisances, and should not be allowed to come into town unless furnished with a permit from their agent.  The Indians belonging to the Cheyenne and Arapahoe and the Kiowa and Comanche agencies never come here except on business and while here conduct themselves in a manner to give no offense to anyone.  At least we have not heard any complaints against them.  Not so the Pawnee, and our people have no desire to see them come within the limits of town.

 

MRS. JESSE JAMES

 

June 15, 1882—Caldwell Journal—The widow of the noted outlaw, since the “removal” of her husband, has been so besieged by reporters and publishers that, in self protection, has been compelled to publish a sworn statement denying that she has authorized the use of her name in connection with any pretended history of her husband’s life.

          In this connection it may not be out of place to suggest that persons desiring to get at the facts in the lives of all the great America highwaymen would do well to examine Col. J. W. Buels famous “Border Outlaws,” which has just been revised and a new edition published from new plates throughout by the enterprising publishers, Dan Linahan & Co., St. Louis.  See advertisement elsewhere in this paper.

 

 

 

 

 

THE COWBOY

 

January 19, 1883—Caldwell Journal—We find the following description of the cowboy going the rounds without any credit.  It is the best one of many we have red.

          The genuine cowboy is worth describing.  In many respects he is a wonderful creature.  He endures hardships that would take, the live of most men, and is, therefore a perfect type of physical manhood.  He is the finest horseman I the world, and excels in all the rude sports of the field.  He aims to be a dead shot, and universally is.  Constantly during the herding season he rides seventy miles a day and a majority of the year sleeps in the open air.  His life in the saddle makes him worship his horse, and it, with a rifle and six-shooter, complete his happiness.  Of vice in the ordinary sense he knows nothing.  He is a rough, uncouth, brave and generous creature, who never lies or cheats.  It is a mistake to imagine that they are a dangerous set.  Any one is as safe with them as with any people in the world, unless he steals a horse or is hunting for a fight.  In their eyes death is a mild punishment for horse stealing.  Indeed it is the very highest crime known to the unwritten law of the ranch.  Their life habits, educational and necessities breed this feeling in them.  But with all this regard of human life, there are less murders and cutthroats graduate from the cowboy than from among the better class of the east who come out here for venture or gain.  They delight in appearing rougher than they are.  To a tender foot, as they call an eastern man, they love to tell blood curdling stories and impress him with the dangers on the frontier.  But no man need get in a quarrel with them unless he seeks it, or gets harmed unless he seeks some crime.  They very often own an interest in the herd they are watching, and very frequently become owners of ranches.  The slang of the range they always use to perfection, and in season or out of season.  Unless you wish to insult them, never offer a cowboy pay for any little kindness he has done you or for a share of his rude meal.  If the changes that are coming to stock raising should take the cowboy from the ranch, the most interesting features will be gone.

 

 

Another Big Cattle Pool.

 

July 23, 1884- Caldwell Journal --A pool of all the cattlemen holding between the Cimarron and Canadian Rivers, in Oklahoma, was formed Tuesday. The pool is composed of seven outfits, and will contain, when stocked up to the limits, 50,000 cattle under its control.

A board of seven directors was elected, and on August 1 a full set of officers, consisting of president, treasurer, secretary, and pool boss.

The ranchmen turn all their stock into the pool, each with his own brand, and then put the pool brand on in addition thereto. The pool pays all expenses by assessment, pro rata with the number of cattle held by each member. To 1,000 cattle one man and eight horses are turned in. The annual payroll and expense bill on the pool plan will be cut down over 75 percent, as under the pool plan twenty-five men and 150 horses will do the work that it now takes over 75 men, and 500 horses to accomplish. The name is to be "Cimarron and Canadian Pool."  

 

FRANK JAMES

The Noted Outlaw Is Requested To Remove An Offensive Neighbor

 

December 10, 1885--Caldwell Journal—A tall, stoop-shouldered man, wearing a queer straw hat and jeans clothes, arrived here this morning early in quest of Frank James.  Aside from his lean figure, restless black eyes, and inquiries, there was nothing about him calculated to excite attention.  He registered at the hotel as “Mike Bennett, Kansas.”  Later in the day the strange purpose of his visit transpired.

          Nearly six weeks ago Frank James received a letter, bearing a Kansas postmark, in which the writer offered a reasonable sum of money for the speedy taking off of a person whom he would name after having been satisfactorily assured that the murderous work would be quickly and secretly done.  In reply James stated that he would “remove” the objectionable person as desired, but before doing so he would require that the payment he agreed upon and that the money be handed over to himself or friends.  Failing in several subsequent letters to clinch the negotiations, Bennett at length decided to come on and talk the matter over with the retired desperado.  He lost no time in calling upon James.  The latter insisted upon entering into a contract in the presence of friends, and Bennett reluctantly consented.  Six of the neighbors were summoned, and together they retired to a barn to discuss the matter.  The interview was brief.

          “How much do you want for killin’ your man?” asked the visitor.

          “One hundred dollars,” was the reply.

          “When will you do the job?”

          “Right away.”

          “Well, here’s your money.”

          A friend of Frank’s took the package of bills.

          “You haven’t told me where to find him,” said Frank.

          “Johnson County, Kansas; he’s a near neighbor of mine and the orneriest cuss in fifteen States.  His land butts right up again’ mine and the reservation schoolhouse.  You can’t miss him; I’ll attend to that part of it.”

          “What’s his name?”

          “I’d rather not say just now.”

          “Why do you want him killed?”

          “No use goin’ into explanations; you’ve got your money and I’ve paid for the job.  I’ll see that you don’t get the wrong man.”

          “You seem to thin that this is my regular business.”

          “Exactly.”

          “Well, it isn’t,” exclaimed James, with an oath that made the Kansas man pale and shiver, “and the smartest thing that you can do is to get out of here as quickly as your legs will carry you.  Don’t wait for a train.”

          Completely astounded at the turn proceedings had taken, the bloodthirsty Kansan replaced the money in his pocket and hastily obeyed the injunction to walk out of town.  He did not even linger long enough to pay his hotel bill.

         

 

OUR HUNTING EXPEDITION

 

December 10, 1885--Caldwell Journal—On Saturday night last our hunting party returned from the Indian Territory after putting in ten days in chasing deer and turkeys through the black-jacks on the Cimarron and ducks and geese on Turkey creek and tributaries.  It was most an enjoyable excursion, so far as physical exercise and the excitement of the chase were concerned; but as for large game, our receipts were small and not very great in number.  One deer and five turkeys was all we had to show for the trip on our return.  Of course this does not include the dozens of quail, chickens, ducks, prairie dogs, catfish and mud hens that fell a prey to our marksmanship.

          The black-jacks bounding the Cimarron from Chisholm trail west to the Cantonment road almost are burned out, except in spots of from one to one thousand acres.  In these spots, near springs and ponds, there is game in abundance, both deer and turkeys.  The game has been hunted so much of late, though, that it takes a might expert hunter to come within shotgun range of it.

          As the saying goes, “the woods are full of hunters” of more or less skill and it keeps the game on the continual move to prevent some one from putting a load of buckshot into its carcass.

          One party we met are sinking a well in the edge of the timber, southwest of Mr. Tuttle’s pasture, and putting up comfortable winter quarters.  Their intentions are to make a business of killing and marketing game this winter.

          The cattle on the ranges over which we passed were looking well and are going into winter quarters with plenty of tallow on them to live thorough all right if no more of the grass is burned by boomers or hunters.

          Mr. Tuttle lost about one third of his range by a fire that started near the Cimarron.  All the country south of his range is burned to the river.  All the range in sight of the trail on the east side of Red Fork Ranch to within a few miles of Skeleton is burned.

          The boomers say boldly that the range-burning business is not at an end yet, and that not an acre of grass shall stand on either the Cherokee Strip or the Oklahoma country this winter.

          If no more range is burned there will yet be enough grass on the strip to carry the cattle through in pretty fair shape by relocating some of the herds.

          The hunting fever has stuck so many this fall that by the first of January one will have to hunt a long time before he finds much game.  So if any of our friends want to have a good big time and get some game they had better arrange to go during December.  Look out for the soldiers.

 

WHAT THE BOOMERS HAVE COST US

 

December 19, 1885--Caldwell Journal—It is asserted every day in our hearing that the boomer business is a grand thing for the town and county, that it makes business lively, that they spend their money here, that they are engaged in a glorious cause, that success is bound to perch itself upon their banner in the next few weeks, and we will then blossom as the rose.

          All this is the verriest tomfoolery, and those making the assertions are as well aware of it as we are; yet they think they find it profitable to so talk it.  Let us see what good they have done the town of Caldwell or the farmers of southern Sumner County.

          In the first place, the two or three hundred boomers that came here from Arkansas City last spring had but a very few dollars left upon their arrival.  They camped near the town, and the few of them who would work under any circumstances engaged in whatever work they could find, but at greatly reduced prices from what our own laboring men had been receiving.  This reduced our own laborers’ ability to purchase, and thereby caused a shrinkage in trade to that extent.  Then a few of them put their teams on the road, freighting.  This again increased the supply of freighters and reduced the tariff.  In the haying season these boomers, with no additional expense in a haying camp in the Territory over their camp on Bluff Creek, run the price per ton down so that our hay contractors and farmers could not make decent wages at it and hence their ability to buy was reduced.

          By the agitation and racket kept up by the dishonest leaders of the boomers and papers in the East subsidized for the purpose and other little jealousies, the removal of the cattlemen from the Cheyenne and Arapahoe country was affected.  This causes the loss to our farmers and freighters of over $70,000 between October 1st, 1885 and February 1st, 18886, in freighting alone of corn and supplies to that country.  Orders had been filed for between 50,000 and 75,000 bushels of corn to be delivered at the cow camps in that country alone, before the order for the removal was made.  By these order being countermanded the corn market of Caldwell is today fifteen cents a bushel lower that it would have been.  This item affects every farmer in the south half the county, as well as the merchants.

          The Cherokee Strip men, by the oft repeated threats of boomers to burn their ranges as soon as grass would burn and the unqualified expressions of approval of such a course by the boomer organ, have desisted from ordering their supplies of corn and other necessary feed for the winter up to the present time.  It would be useless to have their corn sent down and then have their ranges all burned off, as they would have to move their cattle and corn too.  In view of the vast fires of the past week that are reported from that country, many of them will not need any corn, as they cannot hold their cattle there.  This again reduces the price of corn here and deprives many of our farmers of good strong pay for delivering the corn at the camp, besides receiving fifteen or twenty cents more per bushel that they are now getting on the market.

          A big lot of these boomers are reported here under escort of the United States troops from Oklahoma.  What they have gained by this invasion no one can see, except that they are poorer than when they went in a few weeks ago.  Winter is a hand, and but little work to be done at any price; what money they gathered together during the past summer all spent on this trip they certainly are not a colony that any community could reap a very rich harvest from.

          It appears to the Journal, in view of the action of a portion of our citizens, that Caldwell did a very foolish and unwise thing when she gave succor and aid to the poor little outfit that came over here last summer and turned her back upon the men who, for six long years, have made it possible for business men to make money here, opposable for the farmers of this county to have a ten cents a bushel better market for corn, oats, potatoes, etc., than Chicago; made it possible for the laboring man, with but his ten hours from sun to sun, to earn by the sweat of his brow his daily bread, and gather around him home comforts such as are enjoyed only by the moneyed classes of other towns I Kansas.  After six months of silence on this subject the Journal feels it to be its duty to say these things and say them so that all may understand.  Caldwell has made a fool of herself on this boomer business and the sooner she puts her foot down on it the better off she will be.  She has never gained a dollar by it and what is more, she never will.  We are reliably informed that negotiations are now dending whereby, for a consideration, the headquarters of the colony are to be removed.  Let them go.  We lose nothing but it and may save much.

 

OKLAHOMA TERRITORY

 

December 31, 1885--Caldwell Journal—Congressman Weaver, of Iowa, introduced his bill in Congress Monday providing the creation of a portion of the Indian Territory into a Territory to be known as Oklahoma.  The press dispatch of Tuesday gave the following synopsis of the bill:

          “It provides that the unoccupied lands ceded to the United States by the Creeks and Seminoles by the treaties of 1876, and the public land strip to be declared a part of the public domain and opened to settlers; that the lands only be taken under the homestead laws and that there be no commutation of claims in cash.  All Indian leases in the Territory except those for cultivating the soil, are declared void and contrary to public policy.  The bill provides for a commission to negotiate with the Indians with a view to assigning the lands in severalty and purchasing all relinquished and unoccupied lands.

          The bill also provides for a temporary government for the territory.

          It is not likely the bill will become a law this winter in view of the Senate bill on the same subject occupying the time of the senate and house.  Further than this it is not likely the friends of the President an Secretary of the Interior will pewit this bill to pas so long as thee is a show of having the commission created as suggested in the President’s message.  Mr. Weaver’s bill is too radical to be accepted by the east and it si doubtful whether he can bring the members from the west to support it.

 

LAMAR AND CHEROKEE STRIP LEASE

 

December 31, 1885--Caldwell Journal—The secretary of the interior, in his report, speaking of the Cherokee Strip has the following to say concerning it:

          “The strip of land in the Indian Territory known as the “Cherokee Outlet,” sometimes called the “Cherokee Strip,” remaining unappropriated by the United States for the purpose specified in the treaty of July 19, 1866, with the Cherokee Indians, is subject to the possession and jurisdiction of those Indians.

          On May 19, 1883, the Cherokee national council passed an act for the purpose of securing from these lands “revenue nearly equal to their real value, so long as they remain in possession of and under the jurisdiction of the Cherokee Nation.”  It directed the principal chief to execute a lease for all of those unoccupied lands of the Cherokee Nation being and lying west of the Arkansas River to “E. M. Hewins, J. w. Hamilton, A. J. Day, S. Tuttle, M. H. Bennett, Benjamin S. Miller, A Drum, E. W. Payne and Charles Eldred, directors, in trust for the Cherokee Strip Livestock Association, for the term of five years, in consideration of a yearly rental.”  The lease appears to have been made accordingly on July 7, 1883.

          Inasmuch as the leases set up not claim or right of permanent settlement as against the Indian title and as there has been no dissatisfaction manifested by the Indians.  I have not deemed it the duty of this Department to interfere with the Cherokee Nation except in cases especially required by the treaty with that nation.”

 

 

December 8, 1887—Caldwell Journal—Deputy Sheriff Lee returned Saturday night from Cheyenne, Wyoming Territory, where he went in response to a telegram from the sheriff there that two of the desperadoes implicated in the Talbot raid here a few yeas ago, were under arrest and in jail there for assisting in the escape of a man who was in jail for murder.  The descriptions given were exactly the same as those of Bigtree and Marin, and as they were two very tough citizens, there was no thought but they were the men.  Mr. Lee left for Cheyenne, but as he was not well enough acquainted with Martin and Bigtree to identify them he telegraphed for Dan Jones, who was well acquainted with the parties and could identify them.  Mr. Jones upon seeing them soon displaced all evidence that these were the parties.  Although they answered the descriptions of Martin and Bigtree as to gun shot wounds and the loss of one thumb, it was very easy for Dan to see that they were the wrong parties.  The authorities were very positive that these were the men wanted here, and seemed very anxious to get rid of the.  The parties that are wanted here for that raid have been looked for every where, and there probably has been more men that have tried to get the rewards offered for their capture than any set of men in the west.

 

 

BULLDOG AND BUFFALO

Story of a Fierce Battle That Ended In a Victory For The dog

 

January 5, 1888—Caldwell Journal—When Fort Concho, Texas, was one of the new and remote posts on the Western frontier, bordering upon the “Staked Plains,” buffalo grazed almost at the back doors of the company quarters.  On one occasion, writes an officer of the Fourth United States Cavalry in Outing, a large, white English bulldog belonging to the regimental band had a desperate fight with a bull buffalo that had been wounded by a rifle ball, “King,” the bulldog, singled out the immense wounded leader, who had slackened his speed and was faltering in his tracks.  He sprang at his throat with great courage, fastened upon him and the battle commenced, with the columns as silent spectators.

          It was a novel spectacle.  The bronzed troopers; the great, shaggy beasts, thundering by; the white-topped wagon train closed up and halted; the fleeting shadows, and the almost limitless stretch of surrounding prairie and vast solitude.  The bull went down upon his knees, but so great was his strength that he quickly arose and whirled the dog in great circles over his head.  “King” had been taught never to let go.  The entire command now watched with breathless attention the apparently unequal struggle, expecting every moment to see the dog crushed to death.  Down went the bull again on his knees, this time not from any weakness but to gore the dog; rising, he would stamp his feet in rage, then shaking him while he would resume swinging and snapping him like whipcord through the air.  The foam, now bloody, flecked the long, tawny beard of the bison bull.  His eyes, early concealed in the long, matted hair that concealed his shaggy head, flashed fire, and his rage knew no bounds.  The dog, which had commenced the fight a pure white, now turned to a spotted crimson from blood which had flowed from the buffalo’s wounds, and still his brute instincts, tenacious courage and training led him to hold on.  Had he let go for a moment the crazed bull would have gored him to death before he could have retreated.  The bull grew perceptibly weaker; he rose to his feet less often. He could no longer throw the dog in circles above his head.  The blood stained “King’ to a more vivid red, and begrimed with dirt, he had lost all semblance to his former self.  All wore anxiously look for the struggle to end.  Impatience was already displayed upon the men’s faces, when suddenly General McKenzie shouted:  “Kill the animal and put him out of his misery!”  It was a merciful command.  Two men stepped forward to the enormous beast, now on his knees and rocking to and fro, the dog still holding on, and placing their carbines behind the left shoulder, to reach a vital point, fired.  He gave one great quiver, one last spasmodic rocking, and spread himself upon the vas prairie dead. Not till then did “king” let go!

 

 

LYNCHED

Masked Burglars Rob a Bank of $30,0-00, After Shooting and Killing the Brave Cashier

 

 

January 26, 1888—Caldwell Journal—Limestone, I. T., Jan 23—Four men, all heavily armed, entered the Citizens’ bank Saturday and presenting a pistol at the cashier, W. T. Reynolds, demanded that he turn over the cash on hand.

          While pretending to comply, Reynolds slammed the door of the safe to and turned the lock.

          He was at once laid out by a bullet from the pistol of one of the men, which struck him above the heart, killing him instantly.

          The bank was then ransacked of all the money in the cash drawer, some $30,000 being taken.  An attempt was made to open the safe, but failed.  As the sound of pistol shots was heard, several people come running in the bank to ascertain the cause of the trouble.

          They were fired upon by three of the men who were on guard and retreated to get arms.  In a few minutes the town was aroused and twenty or thirty armed men hurried towards the bank.  The robbers were just mounting their horses, and a hot fire started in which Thomas Evans, one of the robbers was killed outright, being shot several times in the head and body. He was identified as a ranchman living near town.

          In the melee four citizens were fatally and two other slightly wounded.

          The three surviving robbers then rode away with the booty captured.  A posse of pursuers was soon upon the trail of the flying outlaws, who were riding rapidly in the direction of Atoka.

          After about an hour’s hard pursuit they were surrounded, captured and take to Limestone where Judge Lynch was called in to hold court.  The leader was found guilty of murder of Reynolds and was at once strung up.  The other two were place in charge of a strong guard and started for Ft. Washita where they will be turned over to the United State authorities.

          The stolen money was recovered.

 

INDIAN WARS

Historical Battle With Sons Of The Forest—Contests With Savage Americans From The Earliest Days

 

March 15, 1888—Caldwell Journal—Philip, of Mount Hope, organized a great Indian confederacy in 1675, but he and nearly all his adherents were killed.  On the 19th of December the Narragansett nation was annihilated in the noted Rhode Island swamp; more than one thousand warriors were slain and nearly all the women and children burned to death and taken into slavery.  But it cost New England a thousand lives, thirteen towns destroyed, and over $500,000.  The Pequods tried it in Connecticut; 60 warriors, with their women and children, were slaughtered I one fort and roasted in a hideous heap.  In Virginia the Indians surprised Braddock, and 778 British and Americans were killed and wounded.  The tide of civilization and settlement rolled on from New England to New York and the Iroquois Confederacy made the next grand stand.  Sullivan, “The Long Knife,” literally swept their towns with destruction.  A great Native American civilization was completely blotted out.  The whites suffered in like manner at Wyoming and Cherry Valley.  Pontiac had previously formed his great confederacy in the Northwest, and been defeated and slain.  Tecumseh, the Shawnee, was the next to form the design of uniting all the Indians against the every encroaching whites; but after many minor battles and massacres, his confederacy was broken November 7, 1811, at Tippecanoe.  He went to Canada to renew the war against the Americans and died fighting the battle of the Thames.  Since his time there has been no extensive confederacy, but there have been many Indian wards, many awful massacres.  Indeed, every step in the log and wonderful march of American civilization from the Atlantic to the Rocky Mountains has been on bloody battlegrounds.

          The long peace after 1815 was broken by the Florida war, which no American considers a matter of pride.  After the Seminoles ere hunted down, another and much longer peace endured, till civilization invaded the Rocky Mountains; then Indian warfare was resumed under new and peculiar conditions.  Between the whites of Texas and New Mexico and the Comanche and Apaches war never entirely ceased for thirty years; but further north was still the exceptional state.  The great war with the Navajos began in 1857 and was only ended in 1864 by the destruction of all their crops and herds of sheep—the Zunis and Utes helping the Americans.  By war and starvation the Navajos were reduced one-third in numbers.  Meanwhile Sand Creek Indians of Eastern Colorado had given a little trouble.  A force under Col. Chivington fell upon them while in their home camp and unsuspecting and massacred men, women and children.  The tribe was annihilated.  Early in 1865 General P. E. Conner fell on the Bannocks and Shoshones I their winter camp on Bear River, Idaho, slaughter some hundred and brought the rest to terms.  In 1862 the Sioux of Minnesota rose and massacred all the border settlers for 20 miles, save those who escaped to the larger towns and military posts.  The Indians were subdued and partially punished.  The slaughter of Black Kettle’s band in their winter camp by General Custer and of the Piegans by a force sent by General Sheridan, next excited attention and the latter was severely denounced.  Both these, however, were forgotten in the interest excited by the famous, or infamous “Camp Grant massacre” in Arizona.  After this the monotony was somewhat broken and it was the Indian’s turn to have some revenge.

          In 1872 the Modocs of Southeastern Oregon “refused to go to a new reservation,” and war began; they ought all winter and in the spring of 1873 took position in the noted “lava beds”—a region of wild gorges and hidden valley, the remains of a volcanic field—and there withstood the troops till mid-summer.  At a conference with the Indians General Canby and Dr. Thomas were treacherously killed and Mr. Meacham, a member of the Peace Commission, wounded.  For this the noted Captain Jack and other chiefs were hanged.  On the 25th of June 1876, occurred the noted Custer massacre, which provoked long and angry controversy.

               Sitting Bull and Rain-in-the-Face, the Sioux leaders, became men of national fame.  The war resulted in their retreat into British America, whence they have since returned; and now that particular band is among the most peaceful and several warriors who took part in that massacre are now quiet farmers on the Sioux Reservation at Devil’s Lake, D. T.  Fort Custer now dominates the once hostile section of Montana.  The next year the Nez Perces war interested the country; but it was settled by hard marching more than fighting.  General O. O. Howard’s troops made forced marches in pursuit of the Indians, over mountains and across deserts for 1,600 miles.  In August 1881, the Apaches of Arizona broke out again, committing the most horrible atrocities.  Four hundred warriors fell upon Colonel Carr’s command in the White Mountains and massacred every one—seventy men and seven officers.  Thus began the last Arizona Indian war.

 

 

OUTLINE MAP OF OKLAHOMA TERRITORY

CALDWELL, THE GATEWAY TO OKLAHOMA

 

As Designated Is The Springer Bill, Showing The Location Of Caldwell, The Gateway To Oklahoma

 

 

May 24, 1888—Caldwell Journal—This map correctly shows the position of Caldwell in its relation to Oklahoma.  It shows that Caldwell’s claim to the title of “Gateway to Oklahoma” properly belongs to her.  There is no city in Southern Kansas with better railroad service than Caldwell. We now have through trains to St. Louis, Kansas City Atchison and St. Joseph and two short routes to Chicago, with but one change of cars—The Santa Fe and Rock Island Routs.  The Frisco carries its passengers though to St. Louis without change of cars.

          The beautiful fertile country surrounding Caldwell, the beauty of the city, our location in respect to Oklahoma and the progressive character of our people, will bring thousands here this summer and a large portion of them will stay.

 

THE JUSTICE OF THE BORDER

A Kansas Pioneer’s Recollections Of A Thrilling Incident At Medicine Lodge

 

November 1904—Paper unknown)—The clouds had been hanging low over the valley of the Medicine, enveloping river and cottonwoods and the lands that sloped away to the range of hills.  In a gray fog through the night, began at break of day to dissolve themselves in a steady downpour of rain.  That was why on that May morning back in the spring of 1883 there were fifty horses saddled and waiting in the cattle town of Medicine Lodge.  The Cattle Growers’ association had announced that there would be a “round-up” that day on Antelope Flat and the cattle herders from a range of twenty miles around were in town with “cow horses” saddled and ready.  As the morning wore on and the clouds grew thicker and the downpour heavier the gathered cowmen looked out at the weather with impatience and disgust and expressed their feelings in the language that seemed to them to come nearest suiting the occasion.  “This here—country is gettin’ to be no good for the cattle business,” remarked the weather beaten captain of the round-up as he went to the door of the livery barn for the twentieth time to see if there might not be some signs of “clearing up.”  ‘If this rain business keeps up you will see this country as gull of grangers as h--ll is with fiddlers.  There won’t be enough free range left in this county to rope a yearlin’ calf on.  The blue stem and the grangers will shore take this country and the cowman will have to quit the business or hunt a new location.”

              “Reckon we might as well unsaddle,” said another bronzed knight of the range who had lived so much of his life in the saddle that his lower limbs had curved themselves to fit the rounded sides of the horse he rode.  “It looks to me as if it had settled down for all day and if it keep this up for another hour or two the ground will be too soft for good cuttin’.”

              “Back in the state whar I was raised,” said the captain, “I used to hear ‘em say that when it commenced rainin’ before 10 it’d quit before 11, but there ain’t no mule that’ll work out here in this---country.  But we’ll wait an hour or two anyway.  Maybe it will let up after a while.

          And so, it happened that at o o’clock the livery barn was still full of saddled horses and impatient, weather-beaten vital men.  These were all so busy watching the weather that no notice was taken of four men who rode into town from the west and dismounted just back of the only bank in the place.  Medicine Lodge was proud of the bank.  The president, Wylie Payne, was a leader of the great Comanche Pool, whose range stretched over 1200 square miles of plain and hill and valley land.  The president was proud of the fact that scattered over that range were not less than 3000 head of cattle that carried his brand and which might be sold, range count, for a hundred thousand dollars.  He was a dominant personality, was the bank president.  Born in poverty he had made his own way to success in the rugged, rude, wild life of the border.  A hard rider, a hard wearer, keen-eyed, square jawed, not bad tempered, but fearless and ready always for a fight if his will was opposed, the president was the dominant spirit in the bank, as he was in any enterprise in which he was engaged.  The bank was known among all of the cattlemen of the Southwest.  It numbered among its depositors the owners of herds that grazed to the Arkansas River, and the report went out that its vaults were bulging with money.  That report was perhaps responsible for the four horsemen who rode into Medicine Lodge, through the dripping rain.  The leader of the four was a lean, sallow man, whose skin appeared to have been drawn tight over the bones of his face.  There was a cruel look about the thin, close-set lips and the cold gray eye; a hard, cold, sinister face, that was never lighted by a smile and which could look on flowing blood without a tremor.  This was Henry Brown, who at one time had followed the fortunes of that human tiger that white Apache of New Mexico “Billie the Kid,” who followed murder as a pastime, who killed to satisfy his lust for blood, and who before he had attained his majority had already murdered in cold blood more than twenty men.  When the gang was broken up, Henry Brown wandered eastward.  The town of Caldwell had been overrun with gamblers and “killers” from the range.  City marshals and an ex-mayor had been shot in the street and the bad men had ridden their horses boastfuly into the business houses of the town to show their contempt for the constituted authorities.  The city government was in despair.  The people who objected to being killed even for so laudable a purpose as affording brief but pleasant entertainment for a band of drunken ruffians insisted that unless some protection was afforded they would leave the town.  Just then Henry Brown arrived fresh from the exhilarating scenes witnessed under the leadership of the New Mexican bandit.  The city fathers wanted a man who could keep order and they had heard somehow that Brown was the sort of man that they wanted.  The job suited Henry Brown.  The lust for blood was in his veins and here looked like a chance to exercise his abilities.  The wages offered were good and he undertook the job.  It must be said that he demonstrated that confidence in his ability, as a preserver of the peace had not been misplaced.  He was an expert with the revolver, but his favorite weapon was the Winchester.  One of two “killers’ undertook to run the town and Henry killed them as coolly as he would have killed a stray dog.  And other “killers” understood and shot up the town no more.

                  But it might be surmised that the business of keeping the peace in a little town like Caldwell would grow irksome to a man like Henry Brown.  That was why he rode into Medicine Lodge through the rain that morning with the other three and stopped just outside of the bank.  With him rode big Ben Wheeler, a giant, with a weak rather than cruel face, heavy sensual lips and a sort of hand-dog look about the eyes.  He was the deputy marshal of Caldwell.  He understudy of his chief, and ready to do his bidding even to the engaging in any sort of crime.  The other two were cowboys from the T5 range, Billie Smith and Wesley, who had been induced to follow the leadership of Henry Brown. Wheeler and Wesley entered the bank and Smith was left outside to hold the horses.  The cashier of the bank had opened up the safe and the counter was stacked with currency and coin when Wheeler appeared at the window and pointing his revolver at the heart of the cashier, ordered him to throw up his hands.  Wesley had gone to the little window beside the president’s desk and with his gun leveled at the president, gave the same order.  The cashier promptly put up his hands, and if the president had done the same there would have been no tragedy.  But the president had never yet put up his hands at the order of any man.  The desire to fight with him was instinctive.  He reached forward to get his pistol lying on the desk.  The room was filled with the roar of two guns and, with a gasping cry, the cashier staggered back, shot through the heart, while the president fell from the chair with a bullet through his spine.  There seems to be a different tone when a revolver is shot to kill a man than when it is fired in reckless sport.  The people who heard the bark of those two huge revolvers that morning knew instinctively that murder had been done. The little red headed city marshal, who up to that time had never had a baptism of fire, rushed up the street, gun in hand, to find out the trouble.  Smith, who was holding the horses saw him coming, and a bullet from his revolver cut through the wooden awning over the head of the little marshal.  The auburn haired guardian of the peace might have been excused if he had shown some trepidation under the circumstances, but it may be said to his credit that he did not.  His gun answered that of the cowboy, once, twice and still again, but unfortunately his courage was better than his aim. Smith might have done better if he had not been bothered with horses, which he was trying to hold with one had while he shot with the other.  The plunging of the horses disturbed his aim and to that fact the red headed city marshal probably owes his life. The duel in the street disturbed the men in the bank.  Ben Wheeler coward at heart dropped his revolver and the grain sack that he had brought along to carry the money in and dashing wildly out of the door mounted his horse.  Brown and Wesley followed all in a panic and the four without having secured a cent, dashed out of the town.  Within five minutes fifty armed and mounted men were in hot pursuit.

              At some time in the far distant past the forces of nature have played queer pranks with the country found about the town of Medicine Lodge.  The erosion of prehistoric waters had hollowed out great pockets in the hills, as if some giant shovel had bitten into their sides.  Into one of these pockets the hotly pursued robbers dashed for shelter.  It was an admirable place for defense.  The sides and end of the pocket were perpendicular, except at the top, which slightly overhung, so that the attacking party by way of the narrow entrance to the pocket, where they would be in easy range of the guns of the robbers.  But the pursuers had an ally that was more powerful than the fear of guns. All the forenoon the cold spring rain poured down steadily.  Over the shelving rim of the pocket the water dripped and pored.  In an hour the four were standing in muddy, cold water up to their knees.  They were drenched to the skin and shivering with the cold.  There is nothing that will take the courage out of a man more completely than cold water.  A mob that will defy bullets has been known to scatter and weaken when a strong steam of water from the nozzle of a fire hose was turned on them in full force.  As the water in the pocket grew deeper, until they were standing nearly waist deep in the slowly rising flood, what courage there was left in them as they dashed out of the bank, oozed out and Brown came to the mouth of the pocket carrying a handkerchief on his gun as an indication that he wanted to parley.  It was agreed that the four were to be delivered safe and unharmed to the sheriff.

                        The afternoon sun was struggling through the slowly breaking clouds when the triumphant cavalcade retuned to town, bringing with them the four robbers.  The cashier was lying at his home, the look of surprise and horror still lingering on his dead face, while the bank president was slowly dying in uncomplaining but horrible agony.  The little cottonwood shanty with two cells answered for the jail, and into this the four robbers were locked, fastened together with the single pair of handcuffs and the one pair of shackles, which made up for the sheriff’s equipment in the line of fetters.

  “We will give you a thousand dollars if you save us alive until morning.”  Henry Brown was speaking in a dry throat tone to the county attorney, who had gone to the jail to get the statement of the four.

                         “It is my business to see that the law takes its course if I can,” said the county attorney.  “I cannot take the thousand dollars and I cannot promise that you will be alive at daylight.”

  As the darkness gathered over the town there was an ominous stillness, no shouting, no sound of revolver shots common in the frontier town.  But the crowd was gathering at the corner near the little jail and by the dim light of the stars could be seen the gleam of many gun barrels.  A grizzled veteran was seen to make his way to the front of the cowed, carrying coils of rope over his arm.  He had had some experience in ting hangman’s knots in the troublesome times in California.  Silently, as by common consent, the crowd fell in behind the leader and made its way toward the jail, where the sheriff and his deputies were on guard.   “What’s wanted?” demanded the sheriff.

                    “We want the four men in the jail,” answered the leader of the crowd.  The request was refused and then commenced a fierce fusillade.  To one who was not near enough to see it, it might have seemed like a terrific battle between the officers of the law defending the prisoners on the one hand and the crowd thirsting for their blood on the other, but the nearby spectator could plainly observed by the flash of guns that they were all pointed towards the sky and not toward each other.  This bit of farce lasted a minute, then the sheriff and his deputies were overcome and the door of the cottonwood jail was broken in.  A surprise was awaiting the crowd.  The handcuffs and shackles had been slipped from the hands and ankles and our desperate men had made a dash for liberty.  A hundred buns and revolvers roared almost in unison.  Brown leaped like a panther out into and through the crowd and then dashed down the hillside.  A farmer stood silently watchful at the brow of the little hill.  In his hands he carried double-barreled, sawed off shotgun, which he had carefully loaded with buckshot. As Brown leaped past him both barrels spoke at once and Brown with a groan pitched forward and fell dead.  Smith and Wesley were caught as they leaped from the doer of the jail and were overpowers. Wheeler, fought his way, desperately wounded, through the crowd, and ran, with all the fleetness that fear could give him, until two horseman ran him down.

                      In the bottom land to the east of the town there was a grove of spreading elm trees.  To one of these with a strong limb branching out some 12 or 14 feet from the ground came the crowd, bringing with it the three doomed men, Wheeler, Wesley and Smith.  With the ends of the ropes fastened about their necks while the other ends had been thrown over the ends of a great limb that branched out from the elm tree, stood the three.

                   “Maybe,” said the leader of the crowd, “before these gents swing off they would like to make some last remarks and give any reasons that may occur to them why they shouldn’t die.”

                    Big Ben Wheeler, his great body trembling like an aspen leaf, his face livid with a deadly fear and beaded with great drops of cold sweat, began to plead for his life.  “Oh, men!” he wailed, “spare my life and I’ll tell you everything.  “There’s a lot of other fellers mixed up in this business, and I know all of them.”  Like the great hulking coward, he was willing to betray any associate he might have, to death if by so doing he could save his own life.  Wesley tired several times to speak, but terr0or paralyzed his vocal organs and his words died away in a husky rattle in his throat.  He managed to whisper, “I have a mother in Texas, but don’t let her know.”  Smith alone showed fortitude. “What is the use?” he asked sullenly, but without a tremor in his voice. ‘It’s all up with us and no use to beg or whine,   Pull when you’re ready.”

          “Pull boys,” commanded the leader of the mob.  There was the sound of ropes rasping the bark of the elm limb and three bodies swung slightly in the night wind.