by David Fisher
He also believed in bringing prisoners back alive, although he didn’t hesitate to shoot when it became necessary. During a tense confrontation with a horse thief named John Cudgo, he laid out his philosophy. In 1890, Reeves went to Cudgo’s spread on the Seminole Nation to arrest him for larceny. The two men had known each other for almost a decade. As Reeves approached Cudgo’s house, the outlaw suddenly popped out from beneath his front porch, holding his Winchester. Reeves ordered him to surrender and he refused, warning that no marshal was taking him back to Fort Smith—especially not Reeves. He then asked Reeves to send his posse men away so that the two of them might talk. When the men were gone, Cudgo cocked his rifle and said he wanted to be allowed to die in the house he’d built, trying to provoke Reeves into shooting him. Reeves shook his head and told him, “Government law didn’t send me out here to kill people, but to arrest them.” Hours later, Cudgo surrendered without a single shot being fired.
Bass Reeves (far left) had served as a deputy marshal for twenty-eight years when this “family photo” was taken in 1907—the year Oklahoma entered the Union and instituted the Jim Crow laws that forced him to end his federal law-enforcement career.
As for his integrity, few tasks could possibly be more difficult for a lawman than having to arrest his own son, and that was the situation Reeves faced in 1902 when his son Bennie was accused of fatally shooting his wife when he caught her cheating on him. After the murder, Bennie Reeves had fled into the Territory. When the district marshal initially gave the warrant to another deputy, Reeves supposedly insisted that he be the man to serve it, explaining, “There’s no sense in nobody else getting hurt over my son. I’ll bring him in.” He tracked Bennie to a small town. Nobody knows what took place between the two of them, but Reeves brought his son to justice. Bennie Reeves was convicted of the crime and sentenced to life imprisonment at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, but was released for good behavior after ten years.
Reeves also arrested his own minister for selling whiskey. Reeves himself served as a deacon of his church in Van Buren, Arkansas, and it was said that some nights while on the trail he would chain captured fugitives to a log and preach the Gospel to them, asking them to confess their sins and repent.
Bass Reeves served as a US deputy marshal for thirty-three years. Although the precise number of men he tracked down and brought to justice isn’t known, he is credited with more than three thousand arrests. The number of men he shot or killed also isn’t known, although newspapers reported that he had killed twenty men. Outlaws used to say that drawing on Bass Reeves was as good as committing suicide. Whatever the number, by the time he retired he had become a legend, and songs were being written about him. It was said that when the famous outlaw Belle Starr heard that Reeves had been given the warrant for her arrest, she actually walked into Fort Smith and surrendered.
Just like the Lone Ranger, Reeves would travel light and move as quickly as possible. Because he couldn’t read the warrants, when getting ready to go out on the trail he would have someone read as many as thirty of them to him. He would memorize each one, including the crime and the description of the wanted man, and was said to have perfect recall. He usually traveled with a wagon driven by his cook, one posse man, and a long chain. He often traveled with two horses; if he had to work in disguise he didn’t want his good riding horse attracting attention. His posse would stay on the trail for several weeks, sometimes months, and the wanted men he captured would be chained to the rear axle of the wagon, usually in pairs, until he’d caught his fill and decided to bring them all back to Judge Parker’s court. Other deputies were bringing in five or six men at a time; on one trip Reeves returned with sixteen men and collected seven hundred dollars in fines; he always claimed that the largest number he brought in at one time was nineteen horse thieves, for which he was paid nine hundred dollars. On occasion he was also known to pack his bedroll and go out into the wilderness by himself, an image of the lone deputy that easily can be seen as inspiration for the Lone Ranger.
In 1902, Reeves went into the Indian Territory and captured his son, Bennie, who had shot his wife. Ben Reeves served ten years before being released for good behavior.
Among his most famous arrests was the nefarious Seminole To-Sa-Lo-Nah, also known as Greenleaf, who was wanted for the brutal murders of at least seven people, as well as for selling whiskey to the tribes. Four of his victims were Indians who had worked with deputies as posse men to try to capture him—he had shot the last one, in fact, twenty-four times. That made it very difficult to find an Indian tracker who would even speak his name. Greenleaf had successfully eluded capture for eighteen years when Reeves got the warrant for his arrest. Reeves used his own network of informants, men who trusted him to protect them, and one of them got word to him that Greenleaf had recently brought a wagonload of whiskey into the area. In the middle of the night, Reeves and his posse man crawled close enough to the house in which Greenleaf was staying to hear him whooping and shouting. When the house finally grew quiet, Reeves led his posse in an assault, jumping over a fence and getting the drop on the killer before he could go for his gun. After Reeves had put the cuffs on Greenleaf, a steady stream of people came to look at the vicious killer long believed to be uncatchable, now in chains.
Perhaps the Lone Ranger’s most instantly identifiable feature was the black mask he wore to disguise his true identity. Although Reeves didn’t wear a mask, like the fictional character he did sometimes use disguises to help him draw close to dangerous criminals. He was known to impersonate preachers, cowboys, hobos, farmers—whatever seemed suitable for the situation. Once, for example, he was tracking two brothers who had a five-thousand-dollar bounty on their heads. No one had been able to get near them. Knowing that the two men had remained in contact with their mother, Reeves supposedly shot two holes through an old hat, put it on along with ragged clothes and shoes with broken heels, hid his pistol and handcuffs under his clothes—then walked twenty miles to the mother’s home. He arrived there filthy, sweating, and thirsty and pleaded with her for water and a square meal, complaining that he was on the run from a posse. The woman invited him in and permitted him to stay the night, telling him that her two boys were also on the run and suggesting they might work together. After dark the two fugitives snuck into the house. While they were sleeping, Reeves snapped his cuffs on both of them. When he marched them out in the morning, their mother is said to have walked with them for the first several miles, yelling and cursing at Reeves every single step of the way.
In another case, he learned that two wanted men were traveling on a certain road. Cutting across the brush to get ahead of them, he ran his wagon into a ditch. When the two men rode by, they saw a lone black man struggling to get his wagon back on the trail. They offered to help him, and when they placed their hands on the wagon, he revealed his identity and took them into custody.
Perhaps his best-known deception led to the capture of the killer Jim Webb in 1883. Webb was foreman of the Washington and McLish Ranch on the Chickasaw Nation. A black minister, Reverend William Steward, owned a piece of adjoining land. When Steward set a controlled fire to burn some brush on his property, it got out of control and burned off feed grass on Bill Washington’s spread. Washington sent his foreman to see Steward and set things right, but their conversation grew heated and Webb killed him. Reeves was given the warrant for his arrest.
Reeves and his posse man, Floyd Wilson, rode up to the ranch pretending to be cowboys looking for work. As they approached, they saw Webb and one of his ranch hands, a man named Frank Smith, sitting on the veranda with their pistols ready in their laps. Reeves explained that they had been riding for a spell and were hoping to get some breakfast and feed for their horses. Webb told them to take the horses over to the stable, but as they did he kept a wary eye on them. As the horses watered, Bass took his Winchester from his saddle and stood it up against a wall, hoping to calm any suspicions Webb might hold. Then Reeves and Wilson sat down for breakfast.
There was a mirror in the bunkhouse, and in the reflection Reeves saw Webb and Smith having a serious discussion, seemingly about them. Reeves told his man that when he gave the sign, he would grab Webb, and Wilson needed to take down Smith.
After the meal, the deputy and his posse man sat down with Webb and Smith, supposedly to have a friendly chat about possible employment. Something happened during the conversation to convince Reeves that Webb was on to him. He reacted just like the Lone Ranger would have done on the radio or in the early years of television: He grabbed Webb by the throat and started squeezing. His posse man was too stunned to move, and Smith raised his pistol. Before he could take aim, Reeves, still holding Webb tightly by the throat, drew his own six-gun and fired. Smith reeled backward, mortally wounded.
Wilson slipped the irons on Webb’s wrists and they got him out of there quickly. Webb was delivered to the court to be tried for the murder of Reverend Steward. Somewhat surprisingly, he was released on seventeen thousand dollars’ bail, truly a small fortune, supposedly put up by Bill Washington. As soon as Webb was released, he took off. The bail was forfeited. He wasn’t heard from for more than two years, when Reeves suddenly got word that he’d returned to the ranch. Reeves had no intention of letting Webb get away a second time.
Reeves and posse man John Cantrell headed back into the Territory, where they learned that Webb had recently been seen at Bywater’s General Store. When they got to the store, Reeves sent Cantrell ahead to scout out the situation. Webb was there, sitting by a window—and he spotted the two men as they rode up. He jumped out a side window and made for his horse. Reeves cut off his escape. Webb turned and started running for the brush. He had his pistol and Winchester with him. As Reeves closed in on him, Webb spun around and pegged several shots at him. At least one of those shots took a button off Reeves’s coat; another supposedly knocked his hat off his head. Reeves reined in his horse and jumped off. Taking his own Winchester out of its scabbard, he aimed and fired twice. Historians put the distance between them anywhere between two hundred and five hundred yards. Both of Reeves’s shots found their mark, ripping into Webb’s chest; he fell in his tracks.
Reeves, Cantrell, and Jim Bywater approached Webb carefully. Playing possum was a well-known trick, and Reeves wasn’t about to fall for it. But when they came closer they saw the blood flowing from Webb’s wounds. He was still alive, a revolver in his hand, but his injuries were bad. Reeves didn’t take any chances; holding his gun on Webb, he ordered him to throw away his weapon. Webb tossed it into the bushes, then asked Reeves to come close. Bywater later reported that with his dying breath, Webb said to Reeves, “You are a brave man. I want you to accept my revolver and holster as a present. Take it, for with it I have killed eleven men, four of them in Indian Territory. I expected you would be number twelve, but you were too good for me.”
No one was too surprised that Reeves was able to put two slugs into Webb at more than two hundred yards. Hitting a running target at several hundred feet wasn’t extraordinary for him. Reeves’s training growing up as a slave had enabled him to become, just like the fictional Lone Ranger, a crack shot. Historians tell several amazing stories about his proficiency with guns. He wore two Colt revolvers butt-forward for a quick draw, and he carried a Winchester in his saddle. Historian Art Burton, the author of the Reeves biography Black Gun, Silver Star, once interviewed an elderly man who many years earlier had worked for the legendary deputy James Bud Ledbetter. Ledbetter was renowned as a crack shot himself, one time killing five men in a gunfight without being so much as scratched. This elderly man had been riding with Ledbetter when they tracked down a wanted man. He had holed himself up well, and Ledbetter’s posse couldn’t get close; they’d spent the afternoon throwing lead at him but hadn’t come close to hitting anything. Finally Ledbetter got angry because all they were doing was wasting his ammunition inventory, so he sent a man back to Muskogee to get Bass Reeves. The sun was just starting to set when Reeves arrived. Whether the desperado knew that Reeves was there or just grew tired of being shot at, he suddenly took off across a field. The posse opened up on him, but he was at least a quarter mile away, out of range of their pistols. Finally Ledbetter yelled above the din, “Get ’im, Bass!”
Bass responded very calmly and cooly, promising, “I will break his neck.” He put his Winchester to his shoulder, took aim, and fired a single shot—right through the outlaw’s throat. Then he slipped his rifle back into its scabbard, got on his horse, and rode away.
The Lone Ranger was a fictional character; Reeves was not. But some of the stories told about his shooting skills made him appear larger than life. Supposedly, for example, a desperado was hiding behind the thick trunk of a large tree. It seemed impossible to dislodge him. Somehow, Reeves fired a shot that ricocheted between branches to bring down the outlaw. On another occasion he purportedly rode over a rise and saw six wolves pulling down a steer. Shooting from a moving horse, he killed all six wolves with only eight shots—it took eight shots because two of his first shots were gut shots, so he had to shoot those wolves a second time!
Perhaps because he had spent so much time living and working with Indians, Bass Reeves also was considered the best manhunter among the marshals. When he got on a man’s trail, he wouldn’t quit until he brought him in. At one point, Reeves was tracking an outlaw named Bob Dozier, a successful rancher who had turned to crime; he was a cattle thief and a bank robber; he held up stagecoaches and bushwhacked travelers going through the Territory; he was a con man and a fence; and it was rumored that he tortured people for information before he killed them. He had successfully eluded deputies—until Reeves picked up his scent.
Because Dozier was known to keep moving, Reeves knew it would be easier to pursue him alone or, at times, with just one posse man. Reeves chased him for months without laying eyes on him. But he wouldn’t give up. When Dozier found out that the great Bass Reeves was on his trail, he sent word that if Reeves didn’t stop he would be obliged to kill him. Apparently Reeves sent his own return message to the outlaw: To make that play, Dozier would have to stop running, and Reeves made it clear he would welcome that confrontation.
Reeves and his posse man pursued Dozier into the Cherokee Hills, eventually picking up fresh tracks. The outlaw was riding with one other man, and they had only a few hours’ lead. A fierce lightning storm erupted, washing out the tracks, and Reeves decided to bed down. As Reeves and his posse man rode into a ravine, Dozier opened up on him. A shot whizzed right by his head. The two lawmen made for cover, successfully putting timber between themselves and the ambush. Reeves finally found a safe place behind a tree and didn’t move. Several quiet minutes passed; then Reeves spotted a shadow moving between trees, trying to circle around on him. He waited. The next time that man moved, Reeves stepped out from behind the tree and fired twice, bringing down that shadow.
However, he had been forced to reveal himself, and the second outlaw opened up on him. Reeves stood upright—then fell facedown in the brush. He lay there motionless, his eyes wide open, his Colt cocked and ready. After a few minutes, the shooter stepped out from behind a tree. He waited, watching and listening. Finally he took a couple of wary steps toward the prone figure, probably assuming Reeves was dead and his posse man had fled, knowing he was no match for an experienced hand.
As the gunman came closer, Reeves was probably smiling. When Dozier was only a few yards away, Reeves suddenly raised his Colt and shouted at him to throw away his gun. Dozier dived for the good earth but he wasn’t quick enough. Reeves put his first shot through the outlaw’s neck. They had finally reached the end of the trail.
One man did get away from Reeves, though: the legendary Indian Ned Christie. His place in history remains unsettled: To some he was a vicious outlaw; to others he was a warrior fighting the railroads for the rights of Indians. At one point Reeves believed he had trapped Ned Christie in his impregnable cabin, so he burned it down. Christie wasn’t there. Later it was reported that Christie had
killed Reeves, causing the Eufaula Indian Journal to report in 1891, “Deputy Marshall [sic] Bass Reeves lacks lots of being dead as was reported recently from Muskogee to the Dallas News. He turned up Saturday from west with two wagons of prisoners going to Ft. Smith. He had twelve prisoners in all; Eight for whisky vending, three for larceny and one for murder.” Christie eventually was trapped in his “mountain fort” by a sixteen-man posse and died there.
It might be that the Lone Ranger’s greatest attribute was his courage. As every red-blooded American boy knew, no matter what the odds, the Lone Ranger sat tall in the saddle. The same was true of Reeves: Historians wrote that he had no fear of anything that walked the face of the earth. In the Territory, outlaws were known to post notes on trees in an area known as “the dead line,” warning deputies that if they crossed that line they would be killed. Several of those notes were addressed specifically to Reeves; at his retirement, in fact, Reeves claimed to have made a nice collection of them.
It was said that Reeves never blinked, even when he was looking danger in the eye. Among the many stories admirers told to illustrate his bravery was of the day the murderous Brunter brothers got the drop on him. One of the three brothers had his pistol aimed right at Reeves’s chest and ordered him off his horse. “What are you doing here?” he asked Reeves.