Outlaws and Peace Officers

by Stephen Brennan

  Mason was considerably surprised when he knew that this was the very business on which I had sent for him. Accompanied by Mason, I returned to Lincoln, and Wild, after giving Mason full instructions, and finding that he comprehended them, employed him, at a stipulated salary, per them and expenses, to go to White Oaks and fall in with any proposition which might be made to him by West, Dedrick, or any other parties.

  Mason left Lincoln for White Oaks, November 20. The night he arrived there, he went to West and Dedrick’s stable to look after his horse. Let it be understood that there are three brothers of the Dedrick’s—Dan who lived at Bosque Grande at this time, but is now a partner of Sam at Socorro, is the oldest. Sam at that time was a partner of West, at White Oaks, and Mose, the youngest, who was floating promiscuously over the country, stealing horses, mules, and cattle, is now on the wing, having jumped a bail bond.

  As Mason entered West and Dedrick’s corral, he met The Kid, Dave Rudabaugh, and Billy Wilson. Rudabaugh had killed a jailer at Las Vegas in 1879 whilst attempting to liberate a friend named Webb. He was on the dodge, and had associated himself with The Kid. Billy Wilson had sold some White Oaks property to W. H. West and received in payment $400 in counterfeit money. This he had spent (as is alleged), and flourished around promiscuously. He, also, was on the dodge. There was no graver charge at that time against Wilson; but the murder of Carlyle, a few days subsequent, as related in the last chapter, renders him liable to indictment for complicity in that crime.

  Mason was well known to the three outlaws, and had always been on friendly terms with them. They addressed him in their usual good-natured manner, The Kid asking him what brought him there. Mason’s reply intimated that a chance to “take in” a band of horses near by was the cause of his presence. The Kid “smelled a rat,” had an interview with his friends and Dedrick, and wanted to kill Mason right there, of which design Mason was ignorant until afterwards. Dedrick vetoed the plans at once—he knew it would be dangerous to him and to his business.

  J. W. Bell, afterwards my deputy, was known by Mason to be a friend of mine, so he sought him and advised him of the presence of The Kid and party at the corral. Bell raised a posse of citizens and then went alone to the stable. He interviewed West, who assured him that those he sought were not there. He then inquired about their horses, and West declared that they had no horses there. That statement was false, as West and Dedrick slipped the horses out to the gang during the night.

  Mason remained at White Oaks several days, but, owing to the intense excitement caused by the presence of The Kid, and his pursuit by the citizens, he did not deem it a fitting time to broach the subject of his visit to West. I had told him to be sure and see me before he started to Mexico and to come to Roswell in a few days at all hazards. He reached my house on the 25th.

  In the meantime I was daily hearing of the depredations of The Kid and gang in the vicinity of White Oaks. I had heard that they were afoot, and guessed that they would go to Dan Dedrick, at Bosque Grande, for horses. I sent word to my neighbors, requesting them to meet me at Roswell, five miles from my house, after dark. I imparted my plans to Mason and he volunteered to accompany me. We left home in the evening. When near Roswell we saw a man riding one horse and leading another. He was going south, in the direction of Chisum’s ranch. We went on to Roswell, and found that this wayfarer had avoided that place, and concluded he was dodging. Knowing that The Kid’s party had become separated, we thought he might be a straggler from that band, trying to get out of the country.

  Mason knew all The Kid’s party, so taking him with me, we pursued and caught up with the fugitive near Chisum’s ranch. Mason at once recognized him as Cook, who had fled from the fight at Coyote Springs. We disarmed him, took him back to Roswell, and put him in irons. Capt. J. C. Lea had Cook in charge for some three or four weeks, then sent him to jail at Lincoln, from whence he made his escape.

  My neighbors had responded to my call, and, about nine o’clock that night, I started up the Rio Pecos with a posse, consisting of the following named citizens: Messrs. Lawton, Mitchell, Mason, Cook, Whetstone, Wildy, McKinney, Phillips, Hudson, Olinger, Roberts, and Alberding. At daybreak we surrounded Dedrick’s ranch, at Bosque Grande twenty-eight miles north of Roswell. Here we found two escaped prisoners from the Las Vegas jail. One was Webb, who had been sentenced to hang for the killing of a man named Killeher, at Las Vegas, and had taken an appeal. The other was Davis, who was awaiting trial for stealing mules. These two had made their escape, in company with three others, two of whom had been killed whilst resisting re-arrest, and the other had been returned to the jail at Las Vegas. We found no other person whom we wanted; so, causing Webb and Davis to fall into ranks, we proceeded up the Rio Pecos, arriving at Fort Sumner about daylight the morning of the 27th of November. Here I received a letter from Capt. Lea, detailing further depredations of The Kid and band about White Oaks, the killing of Carlyle, etc. I gained some further information from a buck-board driver, and determined to leave the two prisoners, Webb and Davis, under guard at Sumner, and pursue the outlaws. I went to A. H. Smith, a citizen of Sumner, and made inquiries. He assured me that The Kid and his two companions had not yet returned from the vicinity of White Oaks, but that Foliard, Bowdre, and Pickett were at Cañaditas, about twenty miles, north of east, from Fort Sumner, where Bowdre was in the employ of T. G. Yerby.

  Stopping at Fort Sumner only long enough to get breakfast, I left four of my men in charge of the prisoners and, with the balance, started for Las Cañaditas. Olinger and myself were both commissioned as deputy United States marshals, and held United States warrants for The Kid and Bowdre for the killing of Roberts on an Indian reservation.

  * * *

  The Country between Fort Sumner and Las Cañaditas, was well known to me, and, in order to approach the ranch unobserved, we took across the prairie, designing to make observations from the surrounding hills through our field glasses. When yet some eight miles distant from the ranch, we discovered a horse-man riding in that direction, evidently coming from another ranch about twelve miles from Fort Sumner, and bound for Las Cañaditas. He was a long distance from us, but with the assistance of excellent field glasses we recognized Tom O. Foliard. There was a pass through the hills, unknown to all our party except myself, which would surely intercept him if we could get through in time. This was a “hard road to travel.” It was overgrown with weeds and brush and encumbered with loose rock, rendering it almost impassable. With much difficulty we made through the path and came out on the beaten road within three hundred yards of Foliard, who had not before suspected our presence. He was equal to the situation. Soon as he saw us the splendid animal he rode sprang away under whip and spur, and his Winchester pumped lead fast and furious as he ran. We pursued, but, instead of riding on to him, as I had anticipated, he left us like the wind. He fired twenty-six shots, as he afterwards declared. I fired but three times. There were but Lawton and Mitchell with me, as the others had fallen behind in the almost inaccessible ravine. These two used their rifles industriously. No harm was done by this fusillade on either side, except that Foliard’s horse was wounded in the thigh. He made a splendid run and a brave horseback fight, reaching the ranch and giving the alarm in time, as when we reached there the birds had flown to the hills.

  We were not sure whether Foliard had succeeded in reaching the ranch, and if he had, presumed the party might remain and give us a fight. So we approached with caution. Lawton, Mason, McKinney, and Roberts, only, were with me, as I had sent Mitchell back to bring up the rear. I proposed to divide what force we had and charge on the house. I was overruled. My companions advised to await the rest of the posse. When we did walk up to the ranch, unopposed, our precautions appeared rather ludicrous to us, as we only found Bowdre’s wife and another Mexican woman, who hailed our advent with “terror-born lamentations.” Our labor, however, was not without its reward, as we captured a pair of mules stolen from a stage company on the Rio Grande by Mose Dedrick, and by hi
m turned over to The Kid. We also secured four stolen horses.

  We returned to Fort Sumner, stayed one night, and relieving guard over the prisoners, started for The Kid’s stronghold, Los Portales, where he was wont to harbor his stolen stock. This is sixty miles east of Fort Sumner and is the veritable castle so graphically described by newspaper correspondents; its approaches impassable except to the initiated—inaccessible and impregnable to foes. Here is where romance has surrounded the young brigand with more than oriental luxury, blest him with the loves of female beauties whose charm would shame the fairest tenant of an eastern seraglio, and clothed him in gorgeous splendor. It seems cruel to rob this fairy castle of its magnificence, to steal the romance from so artfully woven a tale; but the naked facts are: Los Portales is but a small cave in a quarry of rock, not more than fifteen feet high, lying out and obstructing the view across a beautiful level prairie, and bubbling up, near the rocks, are two springs of cool clear water, furnishing an ample supply for at least one thousand head of cattle. There is no building nor corral. All signs of habitation are a snubbing post, some rough working utensils and a pile of blankets. “Just that and nothing more.”

  The Kid had about sixty head of cattle in the vicinity of Los Portales, all but eight of which were stolen from John Newcomb at Agua Azul. We found only two cows and calves and a yearling, and heard afterwards that The Kid had moved his stock to another spring about fifteen miles east. We had brought no provisions with us and found only some musty flour and a little salt in the cave. We killed the yearling and banqueted on beef straight while there. The next day we circled the camp, found no more stock, and, after an absence of four days, returned to Fort Sumner.

  On our return trip we took dinner at Wilcox’s ranch, twelve miles from the Fort. Wilcox told me that Bowdre was very anxious to have an interview with me. He wanted to see if he could get bonds in case he came in and gave himself up. I left word with Wilcox for Bowdre to meet me at the forks of the road, two miles from Sumner, at two o’clock the following day. He kept the appointment, and I showed him a letter from Capt. J. C. Lea, of Roswell, wherein it was promised that if he, Bowdre, would change his evil life and forsake his disreputable associates, every effort would be made by good citizens to procure his release on bail and give him an opportunity to redeem himself.

  Bowdre did not seem to place much faith in these promises, and evidently thought I was playing a game to get him in my power. He, however, promised to cease all commerce with The Kid and his gang. He said he could not help but feed them when they came to his ranch, but that he would not harbor them more than he could help. I told him if he did not quit them or surrender, he would be pretty sure to get captured or killed, as we were after the gang and would sleep on their trail until we took them in, dead or alive. And thus we parted.

  On my arrival at Fort Sumner I dismissed the posse, except Mason, and they returned to Roswell. I hired C. B. Hoadley to convey the prisoners to Las Vegas. On my arrival at Sumner with them from below, I had written to Desiderio Romero, sheriff of San Miguel County, advising him that I had them under guard at Fort Sumner and requesting him to come after them. I had heard nothing from him, and concluded to take them to Las Vegas myself, and get them off my hands. The day we were to start, Juan Roibal and two other Mexicans came into Sumner from Puerto de Luna to inquire about the horses of Grzelachowski stolen by The Kid. They returned as far as Gayheart’s ranch with us, assisting Mason and myself to guard the prisoners. At Gayheart’s they took the direct route to Puerto de Luna, and, after some delay, we started by the right-hand road. We were only three or four miles on our way when a messenger from Roibal intercepted us with information that a sheriffs posse, from Las Vegas, were at Puerto de Luna on their way to Fort Sumner after the prisoners.

  This changed my route and I took the other road. We met the Las Vegas posse about eight miles from Puerto de Luna. They were led by two deputy sheriffs, Francisco Romero and a Dutchman—and he was a Dutchman. They had arrived at Puerto de Luna with three men, in a spring wagon, and had there swelled the party of five to twenty or twenty-five, all Mexicans, except the irrepressible Dutchman. Discarding the wagon, they were all mounted, and came down upon my little party like a whirlwind of lunatics—their steeds prancing and curveting—with loud boasts and swaggering airs—one would have drought they had taken a contract to fight the battle of Valverde over again, and that an army of ten thousand rebels opposed them instead of two manacled prisoners.

  At Puerto de Luna the deputies receipted to me for the prisoners, and, as I was turning them over, Webb accosted me and said he had but ten dollars in the world, but would give me that if I would accompany him to Las Vegas; that he thought it was my duty to do so, as I had arrested him, and he never would have surrendered to such a mob as this. I replied that if he looked at it in that light, and feared for his safety—I would go on, but, of course, refused his money.

  The deputies took the prisoners to have them ironed. I was sitting in the store of A. Grzelachowski, when Juanito Maes, a noted desperado, thief, and murderer, approached me, threw up his hands and said he had heard I wanted him and had come to surrender. I replied that I did not know him, had no warrant for him, and did not want him. As Maes left me a Mexican named Mariano Leiva, the big bully of the town, entered, his hand on a pistol in his pocket, walked up to me, and said he would like to see any d—d Gringo arrest him. I told him to go away and not annoy me. He went out on the porch, where he continued in a tirade of abuse, all directed against me.

  I finally went out and told him that I had no papers for him and no business with him, that whenever I did have he would not be put to the trouble of hunting me, that I would be sure to find him. With an oath, he raised his left arm in a threatening manner, his right hand still on his pistol. I slapped him off the porch. He landed on his feet, drew his pistol and fired without effect. My pistol went off prematurely, the ball striking at his feet—the second shot went through his shoulder, when he turned and ran, firing back as he went, way wide of the mark.

  I entered the store and got my Winchester. In a few moments Deputy Romero came in and informed me that I was his prisoner. I brushed him aside and told him I did not propose to submit, asking him the cause of my arrest. He said it was for shooting at Leiva, and reached for my gun. I told him I had no intention of evading the law, but he could not disarm me; that I did not know what sort of mob I had struck; that one man had already deliberately shot at me, and I proposed to keep my arms and protect myself. Mason had come in, and now picked up his rifle and said: “Shall I cut the son-of-a in two, Pat?” I told him not to shoot, that I did not mind the barking of these curs. My friend, Grzelachowski, interfered in my defense and the bold deputy retired. I went to an Alcalde the next morning, had an examination, and was discharged.

  Deputy Romero had written to the sheriff at Las Vegas that he had arrested the two prisoners, and was on his way up with them, and, also, had Barney Mason, one of The Kid’s gang, in charge. The sheriff immediately started his brother, with five or six men, to meet us at Major Hay’s ranch. They came in all the paraphernalia of war; if possible, a more ludicrously bombastic mob than the one inaugurated at Puerto de Luna. Threats and oaths and shouts made a pandemonium there. The Romero who had just joined us swore that he had once arrested The Kid at Anton Chico (which was a lie, notwithstanding he proved it by his posse), that he wanted no weapons to arrest The Kid—all he wanted was to get his eyes on him. And yet it is pretty sure that this poodle would have ridden all night to avoid sleeping within ten miles of an old camp of The Kid’s.

  Rudabaugh once remarked that it only required lightning bugs and corn-cobs to stampede officers of Las Vegas or Puerto de Luna.

  Before we reached Hay’s ranch, I had heard that Frank Stewart, agent for cattle-owners on the Canadian, with a numerous party, was at or near Anton Chico, and was on the trail of The Kid and his band; that he wanted to recover some stock stolen by them, but would much rather have the beeves. On this
information I had started Mason to Anton Chico with a message for Stewart. The Las Vegas deputies offered objections to his leaving the posse, as they had, by some process of reasoning, got it in their heads that Mason was their prisoner, although they had no warrant for him and had not arrested him. I paid no attention to their senseless gabble, except to tell them that Mason would be in Las Vegas nearly as soon as we would, and if they wanted him then, they could arrest him. I pointed him out to the sheriff, a few days afterwards, in Las Vegas, but they had changed their minds and did not want him.

  A few miles from Las Vegas, this delectable posse stopped at a wayside tendejon to hoist in a cargo of aguardiente; I seized the opportunity to escape their objectionable society, and rode on, alone, into the town. I was ashamed to be seen with the noisy, gabbling, boasting, senseless, undignified mob, whose deportment would have disgusted The Kid and his band of thieves.

  As Mason and myself had left the direct road from Fort Sumner to Las Vegas to meet the officers at Puerta de Luna, we missed The Kid, Rudabaugh, and Wilson, who were then on their way to Las Cañaditas, as heretofore related. I had understood that Frank Stewart, the agent of Panhandle stockmen, was going below to hunt The Kid, and my message, sent to him at Anton Chico by Mason, mentioned in the last chapter, was to the effect that I wanted to see him before he started. He came, with Mason, and met me at Las Vegas, but had sent his party on to White Oaks.

  Stewart had planned to search in the vicinity of White Oaks, and, should he miss the gang there, to cut across the mountains, strike the Rio Pecos below, and follow it up. I opposed this course, as giving the outlaws time to leave the country or seek a safe hiding place. Stewart was convinced that his plan would not work, and, about 1:00 p.m., on the 14th day of December, 1880, Stewart, Mason, and myself left Las Vegas to overtake Stewart’s posse and turn them back. We stopped at Hay’s ranch, eighteen miles from Las Vegas, got supper, and continued our ride. About one o’clock at night we fell in with some Mexican freighters, camped by the roadside, and slept until daylight. We rode hard until about nine o’clock on the morning of the 15th, when we hove in sight of Stewart’s party.