by Fifteen Years on the Hurricane Deck of a Spanish Pony A Texas Cowboy or
We first sent one of our crowd up-town to the billiard hall, where most of the men generally congregated, and especially “Pinto Tom,” the marshal, whose maneuvers we were anxious to learn, to watch and see what kind of an effect our shooting had on the people.
At precisely twelve o’clock we got out with winchesters and six-shooters, cooks and all, and turned ourselves loose. About one hundred shots were fired in quick succession. We then went up town to note the effect.
Arriving at the billiard hall we found old “Uncle Jimmie,” our man, standing in the door laughing fit to kill himself. The hall was empty, with the exception of a few who were still hid under tables, chairs, etc. Most of them had gone out of the back door, there being a rough canyon within a few yards of it leading to the mountains, right at the marshal’s heels. It was said that “Pinto Tom” didn’t get in from the mountains for two days, and when he did come, he swore he had been off prospecting.
Shortly after New-Years some of our men arrived, bringing the news of the “Kid’s” capture, while the rest, Jim East and Tom Emory had accompanied Garrett and Stuart to “Vegas” with the prisoners.
Stuart sent a letter by one of the boys, stating that he, East and Emory, would be in the “Oaks” just as quick as they could get there, after turning the prisoners over to the authorities in “Vegas.”
So, knowing that we were destined to remain around the “Oaks” a week or two at least, we pulled out in the mountains and camped, so as to save expenses by letting our horses eat grass instead of hay.
That night, after the boys arrived and after we had moved camp out in the timber, while seated around a blazing pinyon fire, Lon Chambers who was a splendid single-handed talker, began relating how they captured the “Kid,” etc., which ran about this way, as near as I can remember:
“After leaving you fellers we caught—. It began snowing that night, and kept it up for two or three days and nights.
Arriving in Ft. Sumner, Garrett got word that the Kid and outfit would be in town that night from Los Potales,1 where the ‘Kid’s’ ranch or cave was situated, so he secured a house near the road leading to ‘Potales,’ to secret his men in. He then kept a man out doors, on guard, watching the road.
“About ten o‘clock that night, while we were all inside playing a five-cent game of poker, the guard opened the door and said, ‘Garrett, here comes a crowd down the road!’ We all dashed out, winchesters in hand, and hid behind an adobe fence, close by, which they would be compelled to pass.
The moon was shining and we could tell who it was, or at least Garrett and Mason could; they being well acquainted with them. There was six in the approaching crowd, and thirteen of us.
When they rode up within speaking distance Garrett yelled, ‘throw up your hands!’ His voice had hardly died out when thirteen shots from our nervously gripped winchesters were fired into their midst.
When the smoke cleared off we found that they had all vanished, with the exception of Tom Ophalliard who was mortally wounded, and died shortly after. He had several bullet holes through his body. ‘These,’ pointing down to his feet, ‘are his over shoes, and this,’ pulling off a finely finished mexican sombraro and displaying it, “is the hat I pulled from his head before he had quit kicking.”
The next morning we struck out on the trail which led back towards Los Potales. The white snow along the trail was red with blood, having flowed from the wounds in Rudabaugh’s horse. The poor animal died though after carrying his heavy master through twelve miles of deep snow.
About midnight we hove in sight of a little rock house standing on the banks of a small arroyo. The trail led right up to the door which faced the south. Right near the door stood four shivering horses.
Knowing we had the little band trapped, we took things cool until daylight, when we stationed ourselves around the house.
There being no opening in the building except the door, Garrett and Lee Hall crawled up to the end wall so they could watch the door from around the corner, while the rest of us concealed ourselves behind knolls, etc.
We had left our horses behind a hill quite a distance from the house.
When it became light enough to see, Charlie Bowdre stepped out doors to see about his horse, but he hadn’t more than hit the ground when two bullets, fired by Garrett and Hall, who were still at the corner not a dozen feet from the door, sent him to his long home. He only uttered a few words, which were: ‘I wish, I wish,’ before his last breath left him.
Of course that caused a stirring around inside; they knew what it meant and began making preparations for an escape. The ‘Kid’ had his pony inside, out of the cold and the other four—Rudabaugh having secured another one—were tied to the door frame so that they could reach the ropes without exposing their bodies. Now thought they if we can pull three of the horses inside we will mount and make a bold dash out of the door. But when they got the first animal about half way into the house Garrett sent a bullet through its heart. The dead animal of course blocked the way so that they had to give up that scheme.
They then tried picking port holes through the thick rock walls, but had to give it up also, as they had nothing to do it with but their knives and firearms.
The ‘Kid’ and Garrett finally opened up a conversation. The former seemed to be in fine humor. Every now and then he would crack some kind of a joke and then laugh, so that every one of us could hear him. At one time he asked in a jovial way: ‘Garrett, have you got a fire out there?’ ‘Yes, a good one!’ was the answer. ‘Can we come out and warm if we behave ourselves?’ ‘Yes,’ replied Garrett, ‘but come with your hands up.’ ‘Oh, you go to h—l won’t you? You old long-legged s—n of a b—h!’
You see they were without fire, water or provisions, consequently we had the advantage. We had a good fire out behind one of the knolls and would take turns about, during the day and coming night, going to warm.
They held out until next day, when they surrendered, after being promised protection from mob violence. Kid was the last man to come out with his hands up. He said he would have starved to death before surrendering if the rest had stayed with him.”
Chambers, after finishing gave a heavy sigh and wondered whether Garrett and Stuart would act white and whack up the reward evenly among the whole outfit, or not.
“Bob” and I made arrangements with the boys to loan us their part of the reward, which would amount to considerable over a hundred dollars apiece, until we got back to the ranch, to pay our debts with.
CHAPTER XXIII.
A trip to the Rio Grande on a mule.
ABOUT THE TIME we were getting out of patience waiting, the two boys, East and Emory, arrived with the good news that Stuart would be along in a few days, he having to remain over to get their part of the reward.
Stuart arrived finally; he came in a buggy with a gentleman from “Vegas.” His orders to Roberson and Torry’s men were: “Boys, you fellows pull right back to the ranch, as I have got some important business to look after in ‘Vegas.’ We can come back after those cattle in the spring.”
The boys who had helped capture the “Kid” and outfit rounded him up for their part of the reward, but he said it was already spent. Oh no, they wasn’t mad! Some of them swore that he would be a corpse before morning. But luckily for him he pulled for “Vegas” that night. I am not certain whether he was aware of his danger or not, but there is one thing I am certain of and that is, it wouldn’t have been healthy for him to remain in that locality very long. “Bob” had even consented to the crowd hanging him. I was the only one who protested, for the simple reason that I do not believe in mob law. Of course I thought it very wrong in swindling the boys out of equal share of the reward, after they had shared equally in the danger and hardships.
“Bob” was in a bad fix, in debt, no money and ordered home, by one whose orders his boss had told him to obey. The question was, how to stand his creditors off and get grub, corn, etc. enough to last him home.
I finally cam
e to his rescue. As I intended remaining, I went to the merchants and told them his fix and guaranteed that he would send the money he owed as soon as he got home, or else I would let them take it out of my four mules and wagon, which were worth a thousand dollars at least.
They let him off; also let him have grub, corn, etc. enough to last him home, which would take fifteen days to make the trip.
As some of my boys became homesick, on seeing Roberson’s outfit getting ready to pull back and as I was anxious to cut down expenses, knowing that I would have to lay there the rest of the winter, waiting for money to pay up my bills before the merchants would let me move my wagon, I let three of them go along with “Bob.” Those three were James East, Cal. Pope and Lee Hall. “Bob” let Tom Emory, one of his men, who was stuck on the light mountain air of New Mexico remain with me. This left me there with a cook and three warriors, Emory, Chambers and “Big-foot” Wallace.
Just as soon as “Bob” had pulled out, I moved into town and rented a house, so that we could put on style, while waiting for the money I had written to the ranch for.
The mails were so irregular, on account of the deep snow which lay on the ground up there in the mountains nearly all winter, that I didn’t get a letter from Moore for three weeks. In the letter were drafts for three hundred dollars; and Moore stated that I had done just right by not taking Stuart’s advice and coming home. He also reminded me that I mustn’t come back until I got the cattle, if it took two years; and also that I must scour out the Sand hills on the Plains around Las Potales, “Kid’s” den, on my return. I distributed the three hundred dollars among my creditors and then wrote back to the ranch for some more, as that was already gone.
We found the citizens of White Oaks to be sociable and kind; and everything went on lovely with the exception of a shooting scrape between a School teacher and “Big-foot.”
About the last of February I received another three hundred dollars and I then struck out, accompanied by Tom Emory, to hunt the noted Pat Cohglin and find out if he would let us have the cattle without bloodshed or not. As he had a slaughter house in Fort Stanton I struck out for there first.
We left the “Oaks” one morning early, Emory mounted on his pet “Grey” and I on one of the fat work mules and arrived in “Stanton” about sundown.
We rode up to Cohglin’s slaughter pen the first thing and found a man by the name of Peppen in charge. On examining the hides which hung on the fence we found five bearing the “L. X.” brand. I laid them to one side and next morning brought two men Crawford and Hurly, down from the Post to witness the brands. I then told Mr. Peppen, or “Old Pap”1 as he was called, not to butcher any more of those cattle sold by “Billy the Kid.” He promised he wouldn’t unless he got new orders from Cohglin.
From there we pulled for Tulerosa where Cohglin lived. The first night out we stopped at the Mescalero Apache Indian Agency, which is known as South Fork. There I learned from the storekeeper of a bunch of eight hundred cattle having passed there in a terrible hurry, about three weeks before, going west. He said that they were undoubtedly stolen cattle, for they drove night and day through the deep snow. I came to the conclusion that maybe it was Tom Cooper, one of “Kid’s” right-hand bowers with a stolen herd of Panhandle cattle, so made up my mind to keep on his trail.
We rode into Tulerosa the next evening about sundown. A young man from the Panhandle, by the name of Sam Coleman, who was on his way to Willcox, Arizona, was with us. We found the town to be a genuine mexican “Plaza” of about one thousand souls. We put up for the night at Cohglin’s store and learned from the clerk, Morris, that the “King of Tulerosa,” as Cohglin was called, was down on the Rio Grande on trail of a bunch of cattle stolen from him by Tom Cooper. I put that down as a very thin yarn, having reasons to believe that he and Cooper stood in with one another. I made up my mind that it was our cattle he was trying to get away with, after hearing of us being in the “Oaks.”
The clerk had told the truth though, for he was after Cooper. The way it happened, Cohglin had only paid Cooper and the “Kid” half down on the last bunch of Panhandle cattle he bought from them and Cooper hearing of “Kid’s” capture and of us being in the “Oaks” on our way after the cattle came onto Cohglin for the rest of the money so he could leave the country. On being refused he got his crowd together and stole three hundred head of the latter’s best cattle and pulled for Arizona with them.
After supper Emory and Coleman went to bed while I struck out to a mexican dance, at the outskirts of town, to keep my ears open for news connected with Panhandle cattle.
There being plenty of wine, or “mescal,” on the ground the “Greasers”2 began feeling pretty good about midnight. Of course I had to join in their sports, so as to keep on the good side of them. There was only one American in the crowd, besides myself.
I became pretty intimate with one old fellow of whom I made scores of inquiries in regard to Mr. Cohglin and the herd—the one I heard about at South Fork—that had passed there a few weeks before.
He knew nothing of the herd, no further than having seen it, but he pointed out a long-haired “Greaser,” who was three sheets in the wind and swinging his pistol around on his forefinger, who could tell me all about it, as he had piloted it through San Augustine Pass.
I learned that the herd was owned by Charlie Slaughter and that their destination was the Heeley River, near Tombstone, Arizona.
Marking out a lot of brands which I had never heard of on a piece of paper, I asked the long-haired fellow if he noticed any of them on the cattle. He did not. So I then marked off a lot of Panhandle brands. He picked out several, the “L. X.” among them, this time, that he remembered of seeing in the herd. This satisfied me that the herd would bear inspection.
The next morning I told Emory what the old mexican had said and that my intentions were to kill two birds with one stone; find Cohglin and then follow the herd.
This didn’t impress Emory very favorably. He advised me to return and get the wagon and outfit. I couldn’t see the point, for we would lose at least a week by the operation. He took the back track while I continued single handed, accompanied by Sam Coleman, whose route was the same as mine until arriving on the Rio Grande, where he would change his course to southward.
CHAPTER XXIV.
Waylaid by unknown parties.
AFTER LEAVING TULEROSA our route lay across a young desert, called the “White Sands,” a distance of sixty miles. That night Sam and I camped at a lonely spot called “White Water,” where there wasn’t a stick of wood in sight. We had to make a fire out of a bush called the “oil weed” to keep warm by.
The next night we put up with an old man by the name of Shedd, who kept a ranch on the east side of Osscuro mountains, near San Augustine Pass.
On arriving in the Pass next morning, on our way to Las Cruces, we could see the whole Rio Grande valley, dotted with green fields, for at least a hundred miles up and down. And by looking over our shoulder, in the direction we had come, we could see the white looking plain or desert, which extends for two hundred miles north and south. It was indeed a beautiful sight, to one who had just come from a snowy country, and we were loath to leave the spot.
Arriving in Las Cruces, (City of the Crosses) on the Rio Grande, twenty-five miles from Shedd’s where we had left that morning, I went to making inquiries about Mr. Pat. Cohglin’s whereabouts. I found out by the Postmaster, Cunnifee, who was an intimate friend of his that he was in El Paso, Texas, fifty miles below, and would be up to “Cruces” the next day.
That night Sam and I proceeded to take in the town, which was booming, on account of the A. T. and S. F. R. R.1 being only forty miles above, and on its way down the river to El Paso.
The next morning Sam bid me adieu and struck out on his journey for Willcox, Arizona, about two hundred miles distant.
That evening Mr. Cohglin, whom I found to be a large, portly looking half-breed Irishman, drove up to Mr. Cunnifee’s store in a buggy d
rawn by a fine pair of black horses.
I introduced myself as having been sent from the Panhandle after the cattle he had purchased from the “Kid.” He at first said I couldn’t have them, but finally changed his tone, when I told him that I had a crowd at White Oaks, and that my instructions were to take them by force if I couldn’t secure them in any other way.
He then began giving me “taffy,”2 as I learned afterwards. He promised faithfully that, as he didn’t like to have his whole herd, which was scattered through the whole White Mountain district, disturbed at that season of the year, if I would wait until the first of April, at which time the new grass would be up, he would help me round-up every hoof of Panhandle cattle on his range. I agreed to do so providing he would promise not to have any more of them butchered.
The old fellow was worried considerably about the three hundred head of cattle Cooper had stolen from him. He told me about having followed him with a crowd of mexicans into the Black Range, near the Arizona line, where he succeeded in getting back a few of the broken-down ones.
There being a fellow by the name of “Hurricane Bill,” of Ft. Griffin, Texas notoriety, in town, direct from Tombstone, Arizona, I concluded to lay over a few days and “play in” with him and his gang of four or five, in hopes of learning something about Slaughter and his herd, the one I was on trail of.
I went under an assumed name and told them that I was on the “dodge” for a crime committed in Southern Texas.
I found out all about their future plans from one of the gang, by the name of Johnson, who seemed to be more talkative than the rest. He said they were waiting for the railroad to get to El Paso; and then they were going into the butchering business on a large scale. He wanted me to join them; and said the danger wouldn’t be very great, as they intended stealing the cattle mostly from ignorant mexicans.
One morning while Johnson and I were eating breakfast at a restaurant a man sat down at the same table and, recognizing me, said: “Hello,” calling me by name; “where did you come from?” He then continued; although I winked at him several times to keep still, “So you fellows succeeded in capturing Billy the Kid, did you?”