Whilst eating a hearty breakfast, Stewart, who wanted to sound the disposition of his men but did not wish to confide all our plans to them, said:
“Boys, there is a bunch of steers down near Fort Sumner, which I am anxious to round up and take in.”
They all dropped on the class of property he was after, and a few of them weakened when they understood that a conflict with The Kid and his desperate band was, probably, impending, whilst others were more than willing to take a hand.
At last Stewart said: “Do as you please, boys, but there is no time to talk. Those who are going with me, get ready at once. I want no man who hesitates.”
In a moment, Lon Chambers, Lee Halls, Jim East, “Poker Tom,” “The Animal,” and “Tenderfoot Bob” were in the saddle ready to accompany us.
We took a southwesterly direction, aiming to strike the Rio Pecos at Puerto de Luna. We made about forty-five miles that day and pulled up at a Mexican ranch about nine o’clock at night, some fifteen miles north of Puerto de Luna, where we found entertainment for neither man nor beast. We, however, consoled ourselves with remembrances of buffalo humps we had consumed in days past, and feasted on anticipation of good cheer on the morrow.
On the morning of the 16th, we took the road at daylight. It was intensely cold, and some of our party walked, leading their horses, to save their feet. Between eight and nine o’clock we drew up in front of Grzelachowski’s store, were cordially welcomed and hospitably entertained. To rest and save our horses we determined to lay over until the next morning. We spent the day infusing warmth into our chilled clothes and through the medium of mesquite-root fires and internal applications of liquid fuel, and in eating apples and drawing corks. We were entertained by the vaporings of one Francisco Arragon, who was a veritable Don Quixote—with his mouth.
Over and over again, he took in The Kid and all his band—each time in questionable Spanish. His weapons were eloquence, fluency, and well-emphasized oaths, inspired by frequent potations of a mixed character. This great brave did not take to me kindly, but lavished all his surplus affection, attention, and maudlin sentiment on Stewart and Mason, and threw before them the aegis of his prowess and infallibility. At last he invited my two companions to accompany him to his house, “just across the street,” where he promised to regale them with rock and rye, ad infinitum. Little persuasion was necessary to start my friends. The rock and rye was produced, and after two or three libations, Don Francisco opened his combat with the windmills. It was his philosophy that, as they were run by wind, they must he fought by wind and he launched whole tornadoes against invisible foes. It was evidently the object of this hero to impress the wife of his bosom with his bravery, and he succeeded to such an extent that his ravings elicited from her a thousand impassioned entreaties that he would stay his dreadful hand and refrain from annihilating The Kid and all his cohorts, thus endangering his own precious life. This was what Arragon was playing for, and, if she had failed to exhibit distress and alarm he would, doubtless, have hammered her black and blue so soon as he had her alone. And yet her entreaties only redoubled his profane threatenings. He was eager to get at the bloody desperadoes. He wanted me, nor none of my party to accompany him. He, alone, would do all the fighting; would round them up, bring them in, and turn them over to me. He seemed to think Americans were scarce, and he wanted to save them. He was going to get me all the volunteers I wanted in the morning—ten, twenty, or thirty. After fighting this range battle until near night, he concluded to start out immediately, and bring them in right away; that they would take shelter when they saw him coming, but he would tear the walls down over their heads and drag them out by the heels. At last, the trio, Stewart, Mason, and the wife, elicited from him a solemn pledge that he would give The Kid and his followers a few hour’s lease of life.
In the morning I thought I would waste a little time and see if I could get this doughty ally along. Stewart begged that he might he allowed to go, just to see how he did it. He said he would he ready at ten o’clock, and mounting his horse he rode furiously up and down the streets and plaza pretending to be enlisting recruits, but secretly dissuading citizens from going. At ten o’clock we asked him if he was ready. He was not, but would be almost immediately.
About two o’clock, the bold Arragon announced that he had no legal right to interfere with the outlaws and declined to accompany us. It was with difficulty I prevented Stewart from roping and dragging him by the horn of his saddle.
We got away from Puerto de Luna about three o’clock in the evening, with but one recruit—Juan Roibal. Of all the cowardly braggarts, not one could be induced to go when the time came. They were willing to ride in any direction but that in which The Kid might be encountered. I must, however, except two young men, Americans, Charlie Rudolph and George Wilson, who did not start with us, having neither horses nor arms; but, ashamed of the pusillanimity of their townsmen, they borrowed horses and arms and overtook us at John Gayheart’s ranch, eighteen miles below Puerto de Luna and twenty-five above Fort Sumner. We reached here about nine o’clock in the night of December 17th in a terrible snow storm from the northwest.
At Gayheart’s we got a lunch, rested a while, and by twelve o’clock were again in the saddle, with a ride of twenty-five miles before us, which we were determined to make by daylight. I had started a spy, Jose Roihal, brother to Juan, from Puerto de Luna to Fort Sumner the day previous. He was a trustworthy fellow, recommended to me by Grzelachowski. He had ridden straight through to Fort Sumner without stopping, obtained all the information possible, and, on his return, met me at Pablo Beaubien’s ranch, a mile above Gayheart’s, where he reported.
His appearance at Fort Sumner excited no suspicion. He kept his eyes open and his mouth closed. When necessary to talk he pretended to be a sheep-herder looking for strays. It was a sure thing that The Kid, with five adherents, was at Fort Sumner and that he was on the que vive. George Farnum, a buckboard driver, had told him that Mason and myself were on the way down, but neither of them knew that we were not alone. They kept horses saddled, and were prepared to “take us in,” when we should heave in sight, or to run, as occasion demanded.
After gaining all the information possible, without exciting suspicion, Jose rode leisurely out from Fort Sumner, crossing the river on the west. Foliard and Pickett followed him across the river and asked him who he was, his business, etc. He replied that he was a herder and was hunting stray sheep. His interlocutors seemed satisfied, and allowed him to depart.
The Kid, Foliard, Bowdre, Rudabaugh, Wilson, and Pickett, after their meeting at Las Cañaditas, had gone directly to Fort Sumner, and were there putting in a gay time at cards, drinking, and dancing. The Kid had heard of the capture of mules and other stolen stock at Yerby’s ranch, and was terribly angered thereat. The gang had squandered many precious hours in cursing me, and threatening me with bloody death. The Kid had written to Capt. Lea, at Roswell, that if the officers would give him a little time, and let him alone until he could rest up his horses and get ready, he would leave the country for good; but if he was pursued, or harassed, he would inaugurate a bloody war and fight it out to the fatal end.
With this information from our faithful spy, we left Gayheart’s ranch about midnight, reaching Fort Sumner just before daylight. I camped the outfit a little above the plaza, took Mason with me, and went prospecting. We understood that the outlaws kept their horses at A. H. Smith’s corral when in Sumner, and we first visited him. We found that their horses were not there, then wakened Smith, who told us that they had left after dark the night before. We all turned in at Smith’s except Mason, who went to the house of his father-in-law. He returned, however, immediately, and said he had heard that The Kid and gang were in an old deserted building nearby. This report served to excite us, rouse us out of bed, and disappoint us, as there was no one at the house designated. We concluded we would, per force, possess our souls in patience until daylight.
* * *
As soon as an
y one was stirring in the plaza of Fort Sumner on the morning of the 18th, I left our party, except Mason, in concealment and started out to take observations. I met a Mexican named Iginio Garcia, in my rounds, whom I knew to be a tool of The Kid’s, and spoke to him. I warned him not to betray my presence to any of tire gang and not to leave the plaza. He represented that he had urgent business below, but assured me that he would keep my counsel. I consented that he should go, as it did not matter much. If they knew I was there, they would labor under the impression that my only support in an engagement would be Mason and, perhaps, a Mexican or two. The fact of the presence of Stewart and his party, I felt sure had not been betrayed. Garcia lived twelve miles south of Fort Sumner, and started in that direction.
A day or two previous to these events, A. H. Smith had sent Bob. Campbell and Jose Valdez to Bosque Grande, to drive up a bunch of milch cows which he had bought from Dan. Dedrick. Garcia met these two near his home. He knew that Campbell was a friend and accomplice of The Kid and that Valdez was, at least, a friend. He told them that I was at Fort Sumner, and they immediately turned the cows loose and separated; Campbell went to a camp close by, hired a Mexican boy, and sent him to The Kid with a note. The Kid and gang were at Wilcox’s ranch, twelve miles east of Sumner. Valdez rode into Sumner, where I met him and inquired if he had seen Garcia. He said he saw him at a distance, but did not speak to him. I asked no further questions, as I was convinced I would get no word of truth from him.
On receipt of Campbell’s note, The Kid sent Juan, a stepson of Wilcox, to the Fort to see how the laird lay, with instructions to return and report as soon as possible. Wilcox and his partner, Brazil, were law-abiding citizens and, subsequently, rendered me invaluable assistance in my efforts to capture the gang; but had they been betrayed to The Kid, he would have killed them with-out compunction. Seeing Juan in the plaza, I suspected his errand, accosted him, and found my surmise was correct. After a little conversation I concluded that I would fully trust him. I made known my business to him; he promised to faithfully follow my instructions, and I believed him. I gleaned from this messenger the following information.
The Kid and all his hand had intended to come to Fort Sumner the following day in a wagon. The Kid had, that morning, received a note from Bob Campbell, by a Mexican boy, wherein Bob related how he and Valdez met Garcia, and that Garcia had notified them of my presence at Sumner. Hence Valdez had lied to me. This note disarranged The Kid’s plans, and he had sent Juan in to try to learn something of my movements, number of my force, etc. I asked Juan if he would work with me to deceive the outlaws. He said he would do anything I told him. I left him and went to Valdez. I made him write a note to The Kid saying that I and all my party had gone to Roswell, and there was no danger. I then wrote a note to Wilcox and Brazil, stating that I was at Fort Sumner with thirteen men, that I was on the trail of The Kid and gang, and that I would never let up until I got them, or run them out of the country, and asking them to cooperate with me. So soon as Juan had transacted his business in the plaza, he came to me; I gave him the two notes, warning him not to get them mixed, and started him home.
The Kid and party were impatiently awaiting Juan’s return. They scanned Valdez’s note eagerly—then shouted their scorn at my timidity; said this news was too good for them; that they had intended to come in after me anyhow; had a good will to follow us; if they could kill me, they would not be further molested; if we had not run away, they would have “shot us up a lot,” and set us on foot. Juan was not asleep and, when opportunity served, gave the other note to Wilcox.
I was confident that the gang would be in Fort Sumner that night, and made arrangements to receive them. There was an old hospital building on the eastern boundary of the plaza—the direction from which they would come—the wife of Bowdre occupied a room of the building, and I felt sure they would pay their first visit to her. I took my posse there, placed a guard about the house, and awaited the game.
They came fully two hours before we expected them. We were passing away the time playing cards. There were several Mexicans in the plaza, some of whom, I feared, would convey information to the gang, as I had them with me, in custody. Snow was lying on the ground, increasing the light outside. About eight o’clock a guard cautiously called from the door, “Pat, someone is coming!” “Get your guns, boys,” said I. “None but the men we want are riding this time of night.”
The Kid, with all his reckless bravery, had a strong infusion of caution in his composition when not excited. He afterwards told me that as they approached the building that night he was riding in front with Foliard. As they bore down close upon us, he said, a strong suspicion arose in his mind that they might be running into unseen danger. “Well,” said I, “what did you do?” He replied, “I wanted a chew of tobacco, bad. Wilson had some that was good, and he was in the rear. I went back after tobacco, don’t you see?” and his eye twinkled mischievously.
One of the Mexicans followed me out, and we two joined the guard, Lon. Chambers, on one side, and Mason, with the rest of the party, went round the building to intercept them should they aim to pass on into the plaza. The gang were in full sight approaching. In front rode Foliard and Pickett. I was under the porch and close against the wall, partly hidden by some harness hanging, Chambers close behind me, and the Mexican behind him. I whispered:—“That’s them.” They rode up until Foliard’s horse’s head was under the porch, when I called, “Halt!” Foliard reached for his pistol—Chambers and I both fired; his horse wheeled and ran at least one hundred and fifty yards. Quick as possible I fired at Pickett. The flash of Chambers’s gun disconcerted my aim, and I missed him; but one would have thought, by the way he ran and yelled, that he had a dozen balls in him. When Foliard’s horse ran with him, he was uttering cries of mortal agony, and we were convinced that he had received his death. He, however, wheeled his horse and, as he rode slowly back, he said, “Don’t shoot, Garrett. I’m killed.” Mason called, “Take your medicine old boy, take your medicine,” and was going to Foliard. I called to Mason and told him that he was killed, and might want revenge. He could pull a trigger yet, and to be careful how he approached him. I called to Tom to throw up his hands, that I would give him no chance to kill me. He said he was dying and could not throw up his hands, and begged that we would take him off his horse and let him die as easy as possible. Holding our guns down on him we went up, took his gun out of the scabbard, lifted him off his horse, carried him into the house and laid him down, took off his pistol, which was full-cocked, and found that he was shot through the left side, just below the heart, and his coat was cut across the front by a bullet. During this encounter with Foliard and Pickett, the party on the other side had seen The Kid and the rest of the gang, had fired on them and killed Rudabaugh’s horse, which, however, ran twelve miles with him, to Wilcox’s ranch, before he tired. Soon as Mason and his party fired, these four ran like a bunch of wild Nueces steers. They were completely surprised and demoralized. As soon as The Kid and companions disappeared, Mason came round the building just as Foliard was returning, reeling in his saddle. After we had laid him down inside, he begged me to kill him, said if I was a friend of his I would put him out of his misery. I told him I was no friend to men of his kind who sought to murder me because I tried to do my duty, and that I did not shoot up my friends as he was shot. Just then Mason entered the room again. He changed his tone at once and cried, “Don’t shoot any more, for God’s sake, I’m already killed.” Perhaps he guessed that if he called on Mason to put him out of his misery, he would comply with his request. Mason told him again to “take his medicine.” He replied, “It’s the best medicine I ever took.” He also asked Mason to tell McKinney to write to his grandmother in Texas, and inform her of his death. Once he exclaimed, “O! my God, is it possible I must die?” I said to him, just before he died, “Tom, your time is short.” He answered, “The sooner the better: I will be out of pain.” He censured no one, but told who were there with him. He died in
about three quarters of an hour after he was shot.
Pickett was unhurt, but was nearly scared to death. He went howling over the prairie, yelling bloody murder, and was lost until the next night. He ran his horse down and then took it on foot, reached Wilcox’s ranch about dark the next night, and hid in a haystack. He had run his horse full twenty-five miles in a northeast direction, before he gave out, and then walked twelve or fifteen miles to the ranch. Here he remained, crouching in fear and trembling in the haystack, until he saw his companions ride in from the hill.
The gang, now reduced to five, remained at Wilcox’s that night. They were depressed and disheartened. After a long consultation, they concluded to send some one to Fort Sumner the following morning to spy out the lay of the land. They relieved guard through the night to prevent surprise and sent Wilcox’s partner, Mr. Brazil, to the plaza the next day. They had suspected Wilcox and Brazil of treachery, when they were so effectually surprised at the hospital building, but had been entirely reassured by them since their return.
* * *
Brazil came to me at Fort Sumner on the morning of December 20th. He described the condition of the crestfallen band and told me they had sent him in to take items and report to them. I told him to return and tell them that I was at Sumner with only Mason and three Mexicans, that I was considerably scared up and wanted to go back to Roswell, but feared to leave the plaza. Brazil did not return until the following day. When he was ready to start, I told him if he found the gang at the ranch when he arrived there, to remain. If they had left, or did leave, after his arrival, to come and report to me; that, if he did not come to me sooner, I would start for the ranch at two o’clock in the morning; and, that, if I did not meet him on the road, I would feel sure they were at the ranch.
Outlaws and Peace Officers Page 17