Shot All to Hell

by Mark Lee Gardner

  Sheriff Dill located their trail the next morning and sent this message to General Pope: “We struck the trail of the two fugitives, still on the gray horses, five miles south of here. We have started after them, and are in hot pursuit.”

  Dill neglected to say that the outlaws had avoided his checkpoints the day before and were now seventeen-plus hours ahead of him—too far to have much hope of catching the James brothers. Dill and Bresette would never even lay their eyes on the boys.

  Frank and Jesse rode all through the night Saturday, and on Sunday morning, September 17, arrived at the farm of Charles and Sarah Rolph on the west bank of Rock Creek, about nine miles northeast of the town of Luverne. Charles was away from the house so Sarah greeted them. They asked for breakfast, and, without the slightest hesitation, she invited them into her home. Ten days after the raid, there were still people like Mrs. Rolph who had not heard of the robbery or the great manhunt.

  The brothers had trouble getting off their horses because of their injuries and how many hours they’d spent in the saddle. They shuffled along, hardly able to lift their legs. Over breakfast, Jesse said something had startled their team, causing a runaway, which wrecked their wagon before they could get the animals under control. He said Frank had received two broken ribs in the accident. Sarah noticed that Frank was suffering so much he could hardly sit up to eat his breakfast. Jesse’s stiffness, he told her, came from a recent bout of rheumatism.

  Frank and Jesse kept their rubber coats on at the table, even though Sarah offered to hang them up. And when they paid her for breakfast, they reached up under their coats instead of unbuttoning them. Mounting the grays to leave was even more interesting to watch. The men finally led the horses next to a fence, stepped up on the fence rails, and then, their faces contorted in pain, slid onto the horses’ backs. Before riding away, they asked Sarah if there was a telegraph office in Luverne. She thought they wanted to send a message about their broken wagon, but Frank and Jesse were trying to figure out how much time they might have before their visit was telegraphed to the posses.

  Telegraph or not, word got out quickly about the boys being at the Rolph farm. Charles’s brother-in-law visited later that morning and told Sarah and Charles about the Northfield robbery. They looked at each other, stunned. Charles left immediately to go to Luverne to give the alarm. On his way to town, he saw the outlaws in the distance, moving slowly southwest, their horses nearly played out.

  When Charles reached Luverne about noon, he told Sheriff Ezra Rice of Rock County everything Sarah had told him about her visitors. They “looked enough alike to be brothers,” he said. One was taller than the other, the taller man having sandy whiskers. The shorter man had a sandy mustache. And one of them wore a fine pair of boots with small heels and square toes.

  Within minutes, several parties set off on the bandits’ trail, including Sheriff Rice with three men. Rice caught up to the outlaws, at which time the sheriff suddenly became timid. He pulled out a rifle, and the bandits were within easy rifle range, but the sheriff chose not to get into a gun battle with the Missouri desperadoes, even though he had the advantage in weapons and men. In a move that would be roundly criticized, Rice chose to follow the two fugitives at a distance, eventually abandoning the chase that night.

  About dusk, Frank and Jesse reached the farm of Andrew Nelson on Split Rock Creek, in Dakota Territory. The Nelsons’ sod home was located a few miles downstream from the jagged quartzite cliffs of today’s Palisades State Park and about twenty miles southwest of Luverne. They found Nelson, a native of Sweden, sitting on a fence. Nelson lit his pipe as they talked, and the brothers asked him several questions about the fords and roads. Finally, Frank, who had been eyeing the farmer’s stable, asked the man if he intended to sit there all night. The boys had left their coats open, and Nelson could see their revolvers. He took Frank’s question as a strong hint, answered no, and went into his house.

  Frank and Jesse led the grays to the stable, brought out two black horses, and transferred their straw-filled saddles. The mares had been as good as their reputation, having carried the brothers for at least 150 miles. But now the animals had raw backs and cruel gashes in their sides due to the brothers’ unrelenting pace. As Jesse and Frank were about to leave, Nelson’s teenage son ran out of the house and asked them not to take the blacks. The outlaws quickly told the young man there were at least four men on their trail, and they had no choice.

  As they rode off, one of the brothers gave the lad a message for their pursuers. The newspapers later described the message as “a vulgar invitation.”

  Young Nelson may have told the Jameses about a defect with the blacks. If not, they soon discovered it: one of the horses was completely blind and the other was blind in one eye. After about twelve miles, the brothers stole a pair of gray geldings to replace the blacks. The fugitives boldly passed through the town of Sioux Falls in the middle of the night and, two miles south of town, stopped the stage en route to Yankton. They asked the driver where he was going and asked about a certain road.

  When the driver asked them where they were going, the outlaws rode off without answering. The time was 3:30 A.M.

  Frank and Jesse were smart to keep out of sight during daylight hours because there were posses scouring the countryside along the Big Sioux River, and telegraphs were alerting the communities south of Sioux Falls that they were likely in the path of the Missouri-bound outlaws. About dusk, the fugitives found a place to stay with an unsuspecting Norwegian immigrant named Ole Rongstad (or Rogustad), seven miles northeast of the town of Canton. They told the sixty-four-year-old Norwegian they were laborers looking for work. Early the next morning, September 19, the bandits continued south, determined to cross the Big Sioux. On the road, they encountered two men, both driving teams. The outlaws unholstered their revolvers, leveled them at the terrified men’s heads, and told them a horse trade was about to take place. Jesse and Frank picked out the two best horses from the lot and rode off.

  A short time later, a small posse, which included a mixture of locals and a Minnesota squad of eight men from the Worthington area, spotted the Jameses as they splashed across the Big Sioux into Iowa. Three of the pursuers rode a good distance in advance of the main posse. Not keeping together was a big mistake, but an even greater blunder was that the three manhunters in the lead were unarmed. As Jesse and Frank galloped up the side of the bluff overlooking the Big Sioux, the three possemen boldly crossed the river right after them.

  Reaching the top of the bluff, the outlaws stopped and got down from their horses. Suddenly, bullets began whistling past the surprised pursuers, who, because of the distance, saw the puffs of smoke in front of the outlaws’ outstretched arms before hearing, a split second later, the reports of the revolvers. One of the possemen’s horses reared when a bullet ripped through its neck. The possemen could instantly see that they might actually get killed, so they turned and raced for cover. Frank and Jesse got back on their horses and galloped away over the hills to the southeast.

  The posse decided they needed reinforcements (preferably men with guns), so they abandoned the hot trail of the outlaws and headed for Beloit, just across the Big Sioux from Canton. Within an hour, approximately twenty-five men from Canton and Beloit had answered the call and were headed out to capture Jesse and Frank. But soon after hitting the trail, claps of thunder echoed overhead, followed by sheets of rain. In only a few minutes, the heavy, pelting drops had washed out all trace of the outlaws’ horses.

  A little past twelve noon on Wednesday, September 20, Sioux City doctor Henry Mosher received an urgent message asking him to come to the home of Rudolph Mann, twenty-five miles northeast of town on the west fork of the Little Sioux River. Mann’s wife, Phoebe, was seriously ill. The forty-year-old doctor dropped everything, grabbed his medical case, and walked to Broadbent’s livery stable. The roads were in terrible shape from the rain, and the doctor dared not take a buggy through the remote, broken country between Sioux City and
the Mann place. Instead, he hired a stout bay horse with a good saddle and bridle.

  After about ten miles, Mosher became concerned that he had strayed from his route. He saw a man working in the distance, rode up to him, and said he was headed for the Mann place. The man, a German, sent Mosher to a road about a half mile away that ran parallel to the road he was now on. Mosher tipped his hat to the German and started across the prairie for this other road. But he still worried that he might be going the wrong way, and with the Mann woman desperately needing his attention, he could not afford to get lost. Soon after he left the German, Mosher spotted two men riding toward Sioux City. Hoping these men were locals, he changed his course to intercept them.

  The doctor got to within sixty yards of the pair when he shouted, “Hold on!”

  The men stopped and turned their horses to face Mosher, who rode up to within a few feet of them. The taller of the two, Frank James, rode a bay. Mosher saw that Frank’s hands were white, long, and slender, and he had a long, thin face. He wore black pants, a snuff-colored coat and vest, a fine shirt made of ladies’ cloth, and a felt hat. The blacking on Frank’s expensive calf boots had worn off from traveling through the wet grass and mud, and the boots had several holes. Frank’s expression struck the doctor as “the highest degree intelligent and dignified, resembling the countenance of a Presbyterian minister.”

  Jesse rode a gray horse. Mosher thought Jesse exhibited intelligence also, and noted that he was well proportioned and muscular, probably weighing 150 pounds, and had a squarely built face with firmly set lips. He wore a striped cotton or gingham shirt with no collar, and his gray pants and coat were heavily soiled. Both Jesse and Frank had a mustache and whiskers that appeared as if they had been roughly trimmed with shears. Jesse’s hair was sandy brown, while Frank’s had a reddish cast. Everything about the pair suggested “hard travel.”

  “Do you live about here?” Mosher asked.

  “We do.”

  “Do you know a family here by the name of R. Mann?”

  “We do.”

  “Where does he live?” the doctor asked, relieved that he had found someone who knew the family. But the outlaws now became vague, never really answering his questions. The doctor was about to ask more questions when one of the outlaws suddenly spoke up: “Who are you?”

  “I am Dr. Mosher, of Sioux City, and I am going to visit a patient. Are you hunting the robbers?”

  “We are. Can you tell us anything about them?”

  Mosher actually knew a good deal about the robbers and the robber hunt, all of which he proceeded to tell the brothers. A large sheriff’s posse from Sioux City was on the fugitives’ trail at that very moment, he told them, and there was a very good chance the posse would catch the outlaws this time. As Mosher spoke, Jesse and Frank slowly urged their horses forward until the brothers were on either side of the doctor.

  When the doctor finished, Jesse said, “We guess you are one of the robbers, and you had better go with us.”

  This surprised and angered Mosher. “Such smart, intelligent-looking men as you ought to know better,” he said. “You know I do not look like a robber.”

  Mosher had hardly finished uttering the word robber before two big revolvers were pointed at his head.

  “We are two of the Northfield boys,” Jesse said, his blue eyes blazing. “And you are a detective, and, God damn you, we will kill you!”

  The blood drained out of Mosher’s face. Never in his wildest imagination had he supposed he would encounter the Northfield ruffians. He swiftly raised his open hand in the air.

  “Stop! I am Dr. Mosher and nobody else! Give me a chance! If I am not he, shoot me!”

  Jesse and Frank looked at each other. They were highly suspicious because this man had come up on their trail as if he’d been following them, and he seemed to know far too much about the robber hunt. Slowly, the brothers lowered their revolvers until the shiny weapons pointed at Mosher’s chest.

  “We are honorable robbers,” Jesse said, “and if you are Dr. Mosher, we won’t shoot you. Hand me your pistol and get down from your horse!”

  Mosher dismounted, telling the brothers he carried no weapon. Frank took the reins of Mosher’s horse in one hand while keeping his pistol trained on the doctor with the other. Jesse holstered his revolver and slid off his horse. He ran his hands inside Mosher’s coat and along the man’s torso, finding no revolver. Jesse then took Mosher’s medicine case and opened it. It contained several vials of medicine and nothing more. Mosher certainly appeared to be what he claimed, but Jesse and Frank were not satisfied quite yet. Jesse next removed Mosher’s overcoat and rubber coat from behind his saddle. He unrolled the garments and carefully went through all the pockets.

  There was a farmhouse not far from where they were, and soon the entire family stood in the yard taking in the odd scene, talking to one another and gesturing at the men with the guns. Jesse got on the doctor’s horse and rode over to the family. He told them he was one of the bandit hunters and asked if there was anyone who lived nearby named Mann and if they knew if anyone in the household was sick. Members of the family said yes to both questions. Jesse then asked if they had heard of a Dr. Mosher of Sioux City. Again, the answer was yes.

  Jesse reined his horse around and rode back, chuckling as he neared Mosher and brother Frank. “Doc, I guess you are right, but we’ll have to keep you till after dark.”

  “But I am in a hurry,” the doctor protested. “My patient is very sick, and I must go.”

  “Oh, we’ll take you right there,” Jesse said. “Get on the gray horse and come with us.”

  As the three men ambled toward the West Fork, Frank behind Mosher with his gun trained on the doctor and Jesse in the lead, Jesse remained talkative. Suddenly, he blurted out, “Are you Dr. Mosher?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hell! You are not him. I know Dr. Mosher. I have been in his office twice in Chicago, and you are not the man.”

  Mosher thought either Jesse was trying to get his goat or he was crazy—maybe both. “I am Dr. Mosher and nobody else,” he said.

  The doctor had not had his lunch when he received the urgent message from Rudolph Mann, so by 4:00 P.M., he was famished, and he told his captors so. They said they were hungry, too. As they neared a small farm, Frank took the doctor to a nearby grove while Jesse rode up to the house. He soon returned loaded down with bread, butter, and cake and gave the doctor first pick, before passing any to Frank or taking anything for himself. Mosher accepted some bread and butter, but he passed on the cake.

  “Take some, Doctor,” Jesse said, holding the cake out in front of him. “You needn’t be afraid; we haven’t put anything in it to hurt you.” (The ever-suspicious Jesse was always scared that someone was trying to poison him.)

  “But I never eat cake,” the doctor replied, drawing a strange look from the brothers.

  The party shortly came to the house of a farmer named Wright. Frank kept Mosher back as Jesse rode ahead and knocked on the door. Jesse had found some of Mosher’s business cards while going through the doctor’s clothes, and now he presented a card to Mr. Wright, stating that the doctor was on his way to attend to Mrs. Mann but his buggy had broken down, and they were taking him down by horseback. The doctor wanted to know if Mr. Wright might have a saddle they could borrow for a day or two. The farmer gladly gave Jesse a saddle.

  Jesse returned very pleased with himself, taking great delight in telling how he had tricked farmer Wright out of a saddle. Jesse and Mosher now helped Frank, stiff and weak, off his horse. Mosher got a good look at the hole in Frank’s bloodstained pants, just above the right knee. Frank said he got the wound at Northfield. Frank then removed the hay sack he had been using for a saddle, pointed to it, and said to Mosher, “You can get that for [a] saddle tomorrow when you come back.”

  And then, in a boastful tone, Frank added, referring to himself, “The man that shot Heywood has ridden one hundred miles in the last twenty-four hours.”


  Jesse placed Mr. Wright’s saddle on Frank’s horse, and Jesse and Mosher helped “the man that shot Heywood” to get back up. The brothers seemed more relaxed now, and the doctor was chatting pleasantly with the two. At some point, Jesse reached into his pocket, pulled out a piece of clean white paper, no rumples or creases whatsoever, and began reading a description of one of the detectives who had traveled to St. Paul and Northfield to help the authorities, possibly Detective Larry Hazen.

  The brothers had initially thought the description matched up well with Dr. Mosher, which is why they were suspicious. No one knows where they got the paper.

  “Tell the bankers of Sioux City when we come there not to do as Heywood did,” Frank said, “but to give up the keys and there will be no trouble.” Jesse added that “they were not robbing farmers, or the poor, but were trying to put down monopoly by taking from the men who were robbing the poor, and they were holding a good hand at it, too!”

  Near dark, they met a man on the road driving a team of mules and asked for directions to the Mann place. Then they rode on.

  “Remember when we let you loose,” Frank warned, “to do just as we tell you to. If you do, it will be all right. If you don’t, it won’t.”

  About 8:00 P.M., they stopped and ordered the doctor to get off his horse and take off his pants. Frank then got down and removed his own pants, exchanging them with the doctor. “Hadn’t you better let the doctor dress your wound now?” Jesse asked his brother. Frank said nothing.

  Frank also took the doctor’s drawers, socks, and coat. Jesse dismounted and claimed Mosher’s rubber overcoat, giving the doctor his old one, which had several bullet holes. Jesse said it had been shot full of holes while he was on horseback.

  “Are you ready?” Jesse finally asked Mosher.

  “I am.”

  “Do you see the light yonder?” Jesse said, pointing to a single, flickering orb about a mile distant.