When Kansas was young

GIFT OF
JANE K.SATHER

WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY

KBW YORK • BOSTON • CHICAGO • DALLAS
ATLANTA • SAN FRANCISCO

MACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED

LONDON • BOMBAY • CALCUTTA
MELBOURNE

THE MACMILLAN CO. OP CANADA, LTD.

TORONTO

WHEN
KANSAS WAS YOUNG

BY

T. A. McNEAL

gotft

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1922

Att rights reserved

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

COPYRIGHT, 1922,
BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.

Set up and electrotyped. Published September, 1922,

h

u

Press of

J. J. Little & Ives Company
New York, U. S. A.

*•

w

FOREWORD

The stories contained in this book have been written
at odd times and published in the Daily Capital of
Topeka, Kansas. They were continued because the
readers of the Capital seemed to enjoy them and asked
for more. I received a good many requests that they
be put into book form and through the kindness of The
Macmillan Company this has been done. The stories
present, I think, some pictures of frontier life and
frontier characters not found in any other book. I
hope the readers of the book will enjoy reading the
stories as much as I have enjoyed writing them. If
they do I will be more than satisfied.

540659

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAQB

I. THE EARLIEST DAYS:

The Largest Indian Council . 1

A Frontier Court 4

When Slaves Were Hunted in Kansas 7

II. HAPPENINGS IN THE SEVENTIES:

A Frontier Foot Race 11

Recollections of a Frontier Sheriff 16

The Looting of a County 20

The Old-Time Deestrict School 24

The Downfall of Pomeroy 29

When Newton Was the Wickeedst Town .... 37

An International Episode 39

The Looting of Harper County 45

The Legislature of 1874 49

The Fight at Adobe Watts 53

The Kansas Runnymede 57

The Comanche Steal 61

The Legislature of 1875 65

A Whisky Murder 73

Circumstantial Evidence 76

The First Paper in Barber County 80

The Wonderful Mirage 83

The Last Indian Raid in Kansas 86

The Hilhnan Case 89

III. PlCTUHESQUE FIGURES:

A Frontier Surveyor 93

Frontier Barbers 96

"Windy Smith" and "Tiger JacV 99

Bad Men — Real and Imitations 103

vii

viii CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAQB

A Border Justice 106

A Frontier Attorney 109

Didn't Recollect the President Ill

Some Limbs of the Law 114

"The Pilgrim Bard" 119

Phrenology under Difficulties 124

The Pioneer Preacher 129

An Early-Day Murder and Man Hunt .... 133

A Partisan Tombstone 136

The Gambler Who Tempted Fate 138

Pete and Ben 142

IV. EVENTS IN THE EIGHTIES:

A Fake Election 145

When an Indian Agency Came Near Being Wiped

Out 149

The Justice of the Border 153

The Great Winter Kill 159

The Organization of Wichita County 163

A Tragedy of the Frontier 170

Draw Poker on the Border 177

Cimarron vs. Ingalls 180

A Steer Was the Ante 186

When Hell Was in Session at Caldwell .... 189

Campaigning on the Frontier 193

The Tribulations of Early-Day Editors .... 197

V. STRIKING PERSONALITIES:

Jerry Simpson 200

Dynamite Dave 205

Two Frontier Doctors 210

Carrie Nation 214

The Discomfited Hypnotist 218

The Story of a Bank Wrecker 221

Dennis T. Flynn 227

A Populist Judge 231

The Stinger Stung 235

Boston Corbett 242

CONTENTS

A Perfect Defense ........... 246

Captain Painter, Detective ... ;. .... 249

VI. KANSAS GROWING UP:

The Coming Back of Denver Boggs ..... 254

When Bill Backslid ......... r. 258

The Rise and Fall of Grant Gillette ..... 261

Convicted under His Own Lcuw ....... 265

The Last Redd of the Daltons ....... 270

Chester I. Long ....... r. ... 276

Governor Allen's Maiden Speech ...... 281

WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

THE EARLIER DAYS

The Largest Indian Council

MEDICINE LODGE, which has earned a place in
Kansas history, is located at the confluence of
the Medicine River and Elm Creek in the
county of Barber.

Few, if any, towns in the state have more sightly
locations, and in the early days its natural beauty was
accentuated by the fact that in order to reach it one
had to travel across many miles of treeless prairie. My
first sight of it was after a three days* tiresome ride
in a freight wagon when, coming to the crest of a rise
some three miles to the northeast, I saw the frontier
village, at that distance, apparently almost surrounded
by thick groves of cottonwood and elm trees, while here
and there through rifts in the wooded fringe could be
seen the swift flowing waters of the converging streams
gleaming in the sunlight like ribbons of silver flecked
with gold.

The Medicine River derived its name from its sup-
posed healing qualities and the thick grove at the
junction of the two streams furnished a favorite camp-
ing place for the Indians who met there on stated oc-
casions, and under the guidance of their medicine men,

1

2 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

performed their savage rites and cleansed their systems
with copious draughts of the sacred waters.

Medicine Lodge, long before the advent of the white
man, was the center of the favorite hunting ground of
the red men. No other part of Kansas is so plentifully
supplied with swift running streams, with sweeter
native grasses, or such perfect natural shelter as Bar-
ber County. The Medicine River, flowing from the
northwest corner to the southeast, furnishes fully fifty
miles of living water, just sufficiently saline to make it
as desirable stock water as there is in the world. In
addition, there are the swift flowing streams, most of
them tributary to the Medicine, Turkey Creek, Elm
Creek, Spring Creek and Antelope, Cottonwood, Big
Mule and Little Mule, Bear Creek, Elk Creek, Hack-
berry and Bitter Creek, with several others whose names
just now escape my memory.

The names of these streams indicate the variety of
game that lured the Indian hunter and furnished meat
for his wikiup. It is no wonder that he was loth to
give up the hunting ground which had been the favorite
of his ancestors, as well as his- own.

When after a long period of savage warfare the
Government induced the head men of the leading prairie
tribes to meet in a peace council and arrange terms of
permanent peace between the white men and the red,
by sort of common consent the location where Medicine
Lodge now stands was chosen for the place of meeting.
That was not only the greatest gathering of Indians
and white men in the history of the United States in
point of numbers, but the permanent results were the
most important. Never since then, 1868, has there
been a war between the great tribes represented at that
peace council and the white men. The Indians who
gave their word there kept the faith and buried the war
tomahawk, never to dig it up again. It would be well

THE EARLIER DAYS 3

indeed for the world if so-called Christian white men
had as high a sense of honor as these untutored savages.

Of course no accurate count was taken of the number
of tribesmen who attended that conference, but con-
servative judges who were present estimated the number
at not less than 15,000.

In command of the United States forces, who
guarded the commissioners, was General Sherman, and
with him were some of the most experienced Indian
fighters in the old army. Governor Crawford left his
comfortable seat at the new state capital to attend the
conference, and it was to his keen observation and
knowledge of Indian character that the peace commis-
sioners and the small body of United States troops
were probably indebted for their lives. There were
restless spirits among the Indians who had little faith
in the word of the white men. This was not remarkable,
for the history of the dealings of the white men with the
Indians had been marred by bad faith and outrageous
swindles perpetrated upon the red men. The restless
spirits among the tribesmen persuaded their fellow
savages that this was simply another scheme of the
pale faces to take away from them their favorite hunt-
ing grounds, to force them on to cramped reservations
and there to let them die. They said that by a sur-
prise attack they could overcome the white men and
the pale-faced soldiers and massacre the entire outfit.

It was a rather dark afternoon, with a drizzling
rain. Conditions were favorable for a surprise attack.
Crawford saw certain signs among the Indians which
aroused his suspicions, which he communicated to Gen-
eral Sherman, who at once drew up his troops in hollow
square with a number of cannon pointed toward the
savages, who were camped on the hills overlooking the
river and grove.

He also sent word that the chiefs who were suspected

4 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

of causing the trouble must come into the white camp
to be held as hostages. That ended all plans for a
massacre. The council lasted several days. A general
agreement was reached and the treaty was duly signed
by the United States commissioners and the leading
chiefs of the great Indian tribes, the Arapahoes, Co-
manches and Kiowas. The beautiful hunting grounds,
the clear, swift flowing streams, the sheltering groves,
all passed from the possession of the red men to the
white, and within four years afterward the little town
of Medicine Lodge had its beginning.

A Frontier Court

When the ninth judicial district of Kansas was
formed it covered a territory larger than any one of
more than half the states in the American Union. Ex-
tending from Chase County southward to the Indian
Territory and westward to the Colorado line, it was
quite possible to travel in a straight line for 300 miles,
all the distance being within the boundaries of this
judicial district.

The first judge of the district was the celebrated
Col. Sam Wood, of Chase County, who was succeeded
by William R. Brown, also of Chase County. Sam
Wood looked the part of a frontier judge, but Brown
was a typical New Englander in appearance and
speech. Shortsightedness compelled him to wear
glasses, and added to the dignity and solemnity of his
appearance. A full reddish beard reached half way
to his waist, and tossed about in the loyal winds which
loved it well.

It fell to Judge Brown to hold the first term of
court in the newly organized county of Barber. Court
house there was none, although the thieves who or-
ganized the county had incurred sufficient debt, osten-

THE EARLIER DAYS 5

sibly fer that purpose, to have built a fine temple of
justice. The opening term was held, I think, in a
schoolhouse which had just been completed. The
sheriff was a unique character by the name of Reuben
Lake. With great dignity and solemnity the new judge
directed the sheriff to open court. Reuben had some-
where learned the usual formula for opening court,
and varied it with some observations of his own. In
stentorian voice he announced to the assembled crowd:

"Hear ye, hear ye; the honorable district court for
Barber County is now in session. All you blanks blank
sons of blank who have business in this court will lay
off your guns and come to the front, and all you blank,
blank sons of blank who have no business in this court
will lay off your guns and keep quiet.'*

Just what the solemn and dignified judge thought of
the manner in which the court was opened is not stated.
The dean of the early Barber County bar was Captain
Byron P. Ayers. Captain Ayers was born in Ohio,
educated for a teacher, but studied law and wandered
westward until he reached the territory of Kansas. He
took some interest in territorial politics and was elected
chief clerk of the territorial council back in the fifties.
When the war came he was made captain of one of the
Kansas companies, fought with Lyon at Wilson's
Creek, with Blunt at Prairie Grove, and in the other
battles of the West. With a wide acquaintance among
the leading men of the new state and a creditable rec-
ord as a soldier, his prospects were bright, but John
Barleycorn got a strangle hold on him and made his
life a failure. He seemed to me to be a man who had
been more than ordinarily gifted by nature and with
really great possibilities, but who had entirely given
up the fight. When knocked down in the first round
he lacked the energy, determination, and courage to
get up and fight again. To the hour of his death, how-

6 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

ever, he retained a certain marked dignity of bearing
and distinction of presence which would have caused
him to attract attention in any assembly. His con-
versation was remarkably free from inaccuracies of
expression, his literary taste was excellent, and even
when fairly well "tanked up" he was never guilty of
vulgarity or maudlin silliness. He was, in fact, rather
more dignified and precise when full than when sober.

His regular habitation was in the little hamlet called
Sun City, but having been elected county attorney, an
office which paid, as I recall, $500 a year in "scrip,"
worth at that time from fifteen to twenty cents on the
dollar, he was a frequent visitor at the Lodge, and
when there slept in the hayloft of the livery stable. It
must not be supposed, however, that this was any dis-
grace. In fact, nearly everybody who did not happen
to have homes of their own slept in the livery stable.

One morning, following an evening and night of
unusual potations, Cap awoke with that feeling that
comes "the morning after." His eyes were bloodshot,
and millet straw and millet seed were plentifully mingled
with his hair and long auburn beard. Altogether he
was a picture of disconsolateness and disgust. He sat
up and turning to a fellow lodger he said in a mourn-
ful, almost sepulchral voice: "Ten thousand years
hence, when we both are dead and damned, our ghosts
will sit on the dark Plutonian shore and read the record
of our misspent lives by the red glare of hell."

Speaking of Captain Ayers brings to mind another
remarkable character, who came to the Lodge later.
He always signed his name Dr. G. W. Ayers. He was a
horse doctor, possessed of a most remarkable vocabu-
lary, and a facility for original and striking expres-
sions such as I have never seen equaled. I think that
Doc and truth had never met, or at least had never
formed a speaking acquaintance. There were times

THE EARLIER DAYS 7

when I considered him one of the most spontaneous
and delightful old liars I ever met. Back in 1874,
several years before I reached Barber County, there
was a saloon row in the frontier drink emporium, in
the course of which Captain Byron P. Ayers was
slightly wounded.

Doc Ayers came to the Lodge during the early
eighties, but one day, forgetting that I knew when he
arrived, he entertained me with an account of the old
saloon row.

"I was the only doctor in the town," he said. "They
sent for me. I found when I got there that a bullet
had plowed across Cap Ayers' midriff and let his
bowels out. It occurred to me, when I looked him over,
that he had more bowels than he needed and so I cut
off a couple of feet of intestines, put the rest back and
sewed him up."

This most marvelous surgical operation performed
by a horse doctor, he assured me, caused Captain
Ayers little inconvenience.

For many years the body of Capt. Byron P. Ayers
has lain in what I presume is an unmarked and uncared
for grave. As I think of his wasted talent I am re-
minded of Whittier's

"Of all sad words of tongue or pen
The saddest are these : 'It might have been !' "

When Slaves Were Hunted m Kansas

The first volume of Kansas reports of the supreme
court also contains the reports of the territorial court
of the last year of Kansas territory. In this as in
all the Kansas reports there are a good many human
interest stories, among them one relating to the last

8 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

days of slavery when Kansas was the battle ground
and the nation was rapidly drifting into the maelstrom
of war.

On January 2, 1859, a slave named Peter Fisher
escaped from Kentucky and for some reason, instead
of taking the short cut to Canada and freedom seems
to have headed westward and landed in Kansas ter-
ritory. Here he fell in with a friend, one Lewis L.
Weld, of Leavenworth County, who took him into his
employment.

The owners of Fisher were two minors, John O.
Hutchison and Anna Belle Hutchison, whose alleged
guardian, somehow getting track of Peter, followed
him into the territory.

If he supposed, however, that it would be very easy
to get the fugitive and carry him back to bondage
from a United States territory, he was disillusioned.
Judging from the indictment found by the territorial
grand jury things were lively when he found his negro.
The indictment reads as follows: "Lewis Weld with
force of arms to wit : with a club, knife, pistol and
other hurtful weapons did aid the said Peter to escape,"
etc.

It is entirely probable also that Peter himself took
a hand with some of the "other hurtful weapons,"
quite probably with a hoe, fork, corn cutter, and such
other farm implements as were "convenient and ef-
fective."

Lewis Weld was promptly arrested under the Fugi-
tive Slave Act and as promptly indicted by the grand
jury, made up no doubt of Southern sympathizers
from the bordering state of Missouri. Weld's attor-
neys filed a motion to quash the indictment and the
motion came on to be heard before Chief Justice Pettit
of the territorial court. Weld's attorneys urged eleven
objections to the indictment, the first being that the

THE EARLIER DAYS 9

party who made the arrest had no authority to do so
under the provisions of the Fugitive Slave Law. Judge
Pettit sustained this objection as well as five others,
though one wonders, if the first objection was well
taken, why the need of any others. The language of
the opinion indicates the difficulties under which the
courts of that early period labored. Judge Pettit
says: This opinion has been hastily written in the
midst of turmoil and confusion; in the absence of a
library to consult and without time to correct or pay
much attention to legal diction; but I am confident
that in its main features it will stand the test of the
most searching and rigid legal and judicial criticism.'*
So far as I know, the judge's confidence in the sound-
ness of his opinion was never shaken by the adverse
decision of a higher court and Weld does not seem to
have been again arrested. What became of the fugi-
tive, Fisher, I do not know, but it is safe to assume
that he never again was reduced to slavery.

Pettit was a man of ability and considerable dis-
tinction. He was born at Sa'cket Harbor, June 24,
1807, was admitted to the bar in 1831 and engaged in
the practice of the law at Lafayette, in the then new
state of Indiana. He served three terms in Congress
and a short time as senator from the state of Indiana
and was appointed chief justice of the territory of
Kansas in 1859, by President Buchanan, serving in
that capacity until Kansas was admitted to the Union.
While in the course of the opinion above referred to,
he very frankly expresses his sympathy for the insti-
tution of slavery and especially his commendation of
the Fugitive Slave Law, his pride in his opinion as a
lawyer was stronger than his prejudice against the
man who would aid an escaping slave. After the ter-
ritorial court gave place to the state courts, Judge
Pettit moved back to Indiana, still firm in the Demo-

10 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

cratic faith and probably at heart a sympathizer with
the South, as he was selected as a delegate to the
Democratic convention of 1864, which made the famous
platform declaration that the war was a failure, and
demanding a compromise with the Confederacy, a dec-
laration by the way which kept the Democratic party
out of power nationally for more than a quarter of a
century.

In 1870 Judge Pettit was elected to the supreme
court in Indiana where he served until 1876. He died
at Lafayette, June 17, 1877, within one week of his
seventieth birthday.

HAPPENINGS IN THE SEVENTIES

A Frontier Foot Race

BARBER COUNTY was unique in that it was
fairly well timbered, while east and north of it
was a treeless prairie. For several years after
the first settlement, a considerable part of the male in-
habitants of the county made a living for themselves
and families by hauling cedar posts to Wichita and
Hutchinson. The posts were gathered out of the can-
yons of Barber and Comanche Counties. In addition to
the cedar, there were found along the numerous streams
very considerable groves of cottonwood, elm, hack-
berry, and walnut. As most of the timber grew on
government land, that is on land the government held in
trust for the Osage Indians, no one had a legal right to
cut and haul away any of it, but in these days by com-
mon consent certain laws were respected and others
were not. While the settlers in Barber considered it
entirely legitimate to cut and haul timber from the
government land either to sell it or use it for fuel, they
drew the line to a considerable extent on outsiders.

It was not uncommon for some Barberite, who had
secured an appointment as deputy United States mar-
shal, to arrest some impecunious woodhauler from
Harper, Pratt, or Kingman County, make him give up
his load and in some cases what money he might hap-
pen to have on his person, under threat that if he
refused to come across he would be dragged before a
United States court and jailed and fined. It is only

11

12 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

fair to say that not many men would engage in this
sort of a blackmailing scheme, but a few unprincipled
scoundrels did make some revenue in that way. One
day a party of Harper men drove over into Barber
and loaded their wagons with firewood cut from gov-
ernment land. Among them was a boy of perhaps
fifteen by the name of Kittleman. The woodhaulers
made the mistake of driving through the town of Medi-
cine Lodge with their loads. The sheriff and his
deputy, who were not very busy that day, arrested the
Harper men, compelled them to unload, and, with some
admonitions about the seriousness of cutting and re-
moving timber from public lands, permitted them to
proceed homeward with empty wagons, sadder and
also decidedly madder men than they were before.
Their despoilers regarded it a good joke on the Harper
men, and also an easy way of securing firewood, for
they immediately appropriated the loads which had
been gathered with much labor and perspiration by
the men from Harper.

Young Kittleman treasured the memory of that
transaction and determined that some time he would
get even with Medicine Lodge. He was a wonderfully
active boy and as he grew developed a passion for ath-
letic sports, especially foot racing. When he was
perhaps seventeen or eighteen his attention was called
to a prize that was offered by the county fair associa-
tion of Sumner County, for the man or boy who could
run 100 yards in the shortest time, and young Kittle-
man determined to try for the prize. The purse was
large enough to attract a professional foot racer who
beat the Harper lad, but he made such a phenomenal
showing for an untrained racer that he attracted the
attention of a professional foot racer and trainer, who
proposed to undertake his training with the idea of
becoming his manager afterward. Under the careful

HAPPENINGS IN THE SEVENTIES 13

instruction of this trainer, Kittleman within a couple
of years developed into the swiftest short distance run-
ner in the United States and probably in the world.
As his fame spread, however, there still lingered in his
mind the humiliation of having been wronged on that
wood deal years before. While he was running races
from the Atlantic to the Pacific, he was figuring be-
times on a plan to get even.

In the railroadless frontier town there was not much
to do and time often hung heavy on the hands of the
resident sports. They necessarily had to depend on
their own resources for amusement. Pony races were
a favorite form of diversion, but local foot races were
a close second. Young men and some who were not
so young, who thought they could run, would go out
on the prairie, take off boots and socks, and run bare-
foot. Small wagers of from $1 to $5 were made to
increase the interest. One day a lean sinewy young
man came in on the overland stage and announced that
he was looking for a location for a sheep ranch. A
local foot race was on and to pass away the time the
prospective sheep rancher strolled out with the crowd.
He seemed quite a good deal interested; said that he
had always taken great interest in athletics and espe-
cially foot racing; in fact had at one time been a
professional foot racer himself and still kept his racing
shoes and tights as mementoes of his former triumphs.
The local racers immediately began to coax him to
give an exhibition of his ability; most of them had
never seen a professional foot racer in action. The
young man, who said his name was Calder, at first was
reluctant; said that he had given up all that sort of
thing when he made up his mind to settle down on a
ranch, but finally agreed, just to be a good fellow, that
he would give an exhibition of his prowess. His run-
ning was a revelation to the Medicine Lodgers. He

14 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

could run so much faster than the swiftest of them,
that they almost seemed to be standing still. Then,
too, when dressed in his scanty racing costume he
seemed to them like a perfect specimen of a runner.
One of his stunts was to beat a horse running 100
yards. He would run fifty yards, turn at a post set
in the ground, and then back to the starting point.
Where he had the advantage of the horse was in the
quicker start and the ability to turn at the post before
the horse could either stop or turn.

The admiration and confidence in Calder grew apace
among the Medicine Lodgers. They were satisfied
that he was a world beater; in fact he assured them
that he was probably the swiftest man on foot in the
world. True, he didn't seem to be making any par-
ticular effort to find a sheep ranch, but they did not
think of that until afterward. Finally a local sport
asked Calder if he knew M. K. Kittleman. He said
that he had never heard of him. He was told that
Kittleman claimed to be a great runner and had made
the Harper people believe that he was about the fastest
man who ever came down the pike. Calder smiled
knowingly; said that he had seen local runners who
got that fool idea in their heads until they ran up
against some person like himself who could really run,
and then they discovered that they couldn't deliver the
goods. There was some old time rivalry between Medi-
cine Lodge and Harper and here was chance to take
the railroad town down a few notches. Word was
sent to the Harper people that if they thought their
man Kittleman was a runner, to bring him over to the
Lodge where there was a man who would trim him.
Kittleman was willing, suspiciously, joyously willing,
as was recalled afterward. A purse was made up by
Medicine Lodgers of $100 with the privilege of bet-
ting all they cared to on the side.

The race was to start with the shot of a revolver,

HAPPENINGS IN THE SEVENTIES 15

the distance 100 yards. When Kittleman stripped
for the contest there was a look of surprise on the
faces of a good many Medicine Lodge sports. At
that time Kittleman was the finest specimen of physical
manhood I have ever seen. He stood nearly six feet
and was magnificently proportioned. Without an
ounce of surplus flesh and apparently no over develop-
ment, his muscles rippled under his skin, which was
white as marble and soft as satin. For the first time
the backers of Calder discovered that in point of
physical development their supposed champion was no
match for the Harper lad. But they had seen him
run and had confidence. Besides, had he not assured
them that he was the fastest runner in the United
States and that he would make that man Kittleman
look like a tortoise? So they cheerfully bet their sub-
stance, which Kittleman and his backers eagerly
covered and hungered for more. At the crack of the
pistol Kittleman seemed to shoot through the air like
an arrow from a bow. At the first bound he covered
at least twenty-five feet and the Medicine Lodge sports
knew that their money was gone. Calder was beaten
about ten yards and at that Kittleman seemed to make
little effort.

When the stake money was handed over to the victor
Calder burst into tears; said that he had bet every
dollar he had in the world on himself and that now he
was dead broke among comparative strangers. His
plea touched the hearts of the cowboys who immedi-
ately took up a collection for his benefit and, though
they had been losers themselves, turned over to him
$25 or $30, sufficient to pay his way back to his friends.
The next day the Medicine Lodgers learned that Kit-
tleman and Calder were having a very pleasant time
together in Harper, as they divided their winnings,
according to previous arrangement.

"I think may be," remarked Kittleman afterward,

16 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

"that I am even with those Medicine Lodge

fellows for that load of wood."

Recollections of a Frontier Sheriff

No one would suppose from looking at the rugged
form and face of the present mayor of the city of
Wellington, that he has lived long enough to have been
a peace officer and terror to evil doers along the border
almost half a century ago, but the fact is that away
back in the seventies Joe Thralls had already estab-
lished a reputation as a hunter of criminals that was
known all along the border. Cool, tireless, fearless,
and yet never reckless, he had a record of generally
getting the men he went after, no matter how desperate
they were, or how great the difficulties in the way of
the man-hunter. In the storehouse of his memory there
are many interesting stories and some of them he has
been induced to tell.

"I guess," said the ex-sheriff, in a reminiscent way, "that
the year 1874 was about the worst year that Sumner County
ever experienced. First, there was the drouth that cooked
almost everything, and then came the grasshoppers and
cleaned up what little was left. On top of all this trouble,
came the news that the Indians were about to go on the
warpath. There were some killings, too. Pat Hennesy
and some other white men were killed that summer down
on the old Chisholm trail, where the town of Hennesy is
located, and John D. Miles, the agent at Darlington, had
warned the settlers that an outbreak was threatened and
that the settlers along the Kansas border had better pre-
pare for the worst.

"At two o'clock in the morning of July 6, a little sawed-
off freighter by the name of Fletcher rode into Wellington
yelling 'Indians' at every jump of his horse and appealing
for men and arms to defend Caldwell against the antici-

HAPPENINGS IN THE SEVENTIES 17

pated attack. In answer to this appeal, twenty-one citizens
of Wellington armed themselves, saddled their horses, and
set out for Caldwell. The Indian scare had driven most
of the horse thieves operating down in the Territory into
Caldwell. They were worse than the Indians and when
we found a bunch of them eating breakfast at Caldwell
it made us want to turn the Indian hunt into a horse-thief
capturing expedition. So bold had these thieves become
that one of them told one of Vail and Williamson's men
who were waiting to start their stage line in the territory,
that the stage company's mules, which had been stolen a
few weeks before, were now on Polecat Creek, south of
Caldwell, and asked him what the stage company was
going to do about it. Soon after breakfast scouts came
in from the south and reported that there were no Indians
within several miles of the border. J. C. Hopkins and his
brother were at that time running the Pond Creek ranch,
twenty-five miles south of Caldwell, where they had a store
and about 600 head of cattle.

"They had been in Caldwell several days on account of
the Indian scare and after hearing this report from the
scouts they decided to go back to the ranch. They started
out alone and within an hour eight well known toughs and
thieves were following them. We believed that it was the
intention of these thieves to kill the Hopkins brothers, run
off their stock, loot the store, and then charge the crime
up to the Indians. A party of us decided to follow them.
The party was made up of Bill Hackney, Jim Stipp, John
Kirk, A. W. Shearman, C. S. Broadbent, Capt. L. K.
Myers, W. E. and J. M. Thralls.

"After a brisk ride we caught up with the thieves, who
were riding a short distance behind the two Hopkins
brothers. When we rode up they stopped and were ap-
parently holding a conference, but they followed on after
our party. We had caught up with the Hopkins brothers,
who were mighty glad to see us, for they had also guessed
that the purpose of the thieves was to murder them.

"On arriving at Polecat ranch, we stopped to let our
horses feed on the grass for an hour or two. We had noth-
ing to eat ourselves. The thieves came up and stopped,

18 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

also. One of our party carried a three-band Sharp's needle
gun and a belt full of cartridges. A gun of that kind was
a very valuable asset in those days, although dangerous at
both ends when fired. The thieves coveted this gun so
much that they were willing at one time to measure
strength with our party to get it. They even demanded it,
and finally said that if we didn't give it up, they would
take it just the same. Everybody was ready on our side
for them to open the ball, when Bill Hackney, who then
was in his prime, opened up on the thieves in characteristic
Hackney style. I have heard Bill cuss a good many times,
but never heard him do as artistic a job as he did that day.
The rest of us were no mollycoddles, but Bill's language
almost made us shudder. In substance, Bill spoke as

follows: 'If you sons of want that gun, come

and get it, but I want to say that if one of you makes a
move in that direction, there will be a lot of dead horse
thieves left here on the ground for buzzard feed/

"Bill's defiance had its effect. The thieves looked Bill
and the rest of the party over and decided that the job
was too dangerous. Had the fight commenced we might
have lost some of our party, but that whole bunch of thieves
would almost certainly have died, which would have saved
a lynching party the trouble of hanging two of them a few
days after that on Slate Creek.

"The first murder that was committed in Wellington,"
continued the mayor, "was in May, 1872. It resulted in
a lynching and as a rather singular coincidence the man
lynched was named Lynch; also it may be said in passing
that Lynch was lynched for the murder of a man he did
not kill. True, he probably deserved hanging on general
principles, but he was not guilty of that particular crime.

"Two hunters, named Smith and Blanchard, known as
'Red Shirt,' on account of the fiery red shirt he wore, came
to town and were painting it red, drinking and gambling.
During the day they met Lynch, a gambler and all-round
tough, who owned a race horse and went swaggering
around with a pair of revolvers belted on as part of his
dress.

"The four continued drinking, gambling, and quarreling

HAPPENINGS IN THE SEVENTIES 19

all afternoon and evening, and about nine o'clock Smith
and Lynch drew their guns, but were prevented from
shooting at the time, and both left the saloon, each swear-
ing he would get the other. Lynch, with his gun in his
hand, went out at the north front door and turned east,
stopping a few feet east of the door, where he was in the
shadow and could watch the front door of the saloon. He
had been there only a few minutes when Smith stepped
to the front door. Lynch, without warning, fired at him
from a distance of not more than ten feet. The ball struck
the outside door casing, plowed through the soft pine for
about eight inches and struck Smith in the breast, going
through his outside clothing and lodging against his under-
shirt. Lynch, no doubt, supposing that he had killed his
man, ran across the public square in a northwesterly direc-
tion, firing two more shots as he ran. He was evidently
carrying both his guns cocked and pointed downward, and
must have unconsciously pulled the triggers in his excite-
ment. As a result, he put a bullet through each of his
feet. When Smith was hit he jumped back inside the
saloon exclaiming, 'I am shot,' but finding that he was not
hurt much, he jerked out his gun and ran out of the south
rear door of the saloon, looking for Lynch. He saw a man
standing just east and in line with the saloon and, suppos-
ing it was Lynch, fired, killing a man by the name of
Maxwell, who lived on the Chickaskia River, not far from
Drury.

"Maxwell had come to town on an errand of mercy and
charity, to solicit aid for two of his unfortunate neighbors
and their families who had had the misfortune to lose
everything they had in the way of buildings, furniture, and
feed in a terrible prairie fire. When Smith saw the mistake
he had made, he determined to fasten the crime on Lynch,
and with the aid of his pal 'Red Shirt,' he succeeded in
making the people believe that Maxwell had been killed
by Lynch. Maxwell was a good man, popular with his
neighbors, and his murder aroused great indignation. Next
day his neighbors began arriving in town. By midnight
there were more than a hundred of them. Meantime Smith
and Blanchard, 'Red Shirt,' having succeeded in throwing

20 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

the blame for the killing on Lynch, decided that they would
get out of town while the getting was good. The settlers,
neighbors of the dead man, while perhaps not doubting
that it was Lynch who fired the fatal shot, felt that in a
way the other two were partly responsible for the murder
and insisted that they should be arrested. A posse started
after them, followed them for thirty or forty miles, and
then lost their trail. Lynch had been arrested and kept in
concealment by the officers, but early Sunday morning the
^earchers discovered where he was hidden and he was taken
in charge by the vigilance committee. Lynch realized that
death was near and sent for a lawyer to make his will.
D. N. Caldwell, then a young man out of law school, de-
clined the job. He said that he was young and inexperi-
enced and it would be better to get an old lawyer to do the
job. So Judge Riggs was sent for, drew the last will and
testament of the condemned man, who bequeathed all of
his property to a sister living in another state. With the
preliminaries disposed of at the command of the leader, the
mob of one hundred men or more marched quietly to where
Lynch was being held, placed him on his own horse and
with a double row of guards on either side he was taken
down to the timber on Slate Creek, where a rope was placed
about his neck and fastened to a limb, and then his horse
was led away. Although the real murderer was not hanged,
the execution had a salutary effect on evil doers for years
afterward. Still it can hardly be said that justice has been
satisfied, for the man who did murder Maxwell still lives.

"The body of Lynch was buried in the Potters' Field at
the old cemetery and for many years those passing along
the road were shown a low lying mound marking the grave
where rested the body of the first man hung for murder in
Sumner County."

The Looting of a County

If ever there was a municipal organization conceived
in sin and brought forth in iniquity it was the organi-
zation of Barber County. During the early seventies

HAPPENINGS IN THE SEVENTIES 21

it occurred to a number of enterprising thieves that
the organization of counties in central and western
Kansas offered an inviting field for exploitation at
comparatively little risk to the exploiters. There were
practically no permanent residents in that part of the
state at that time and consequently few who had a
personal interest in preventing the robbery consum-
mated under forms of law.

The statute governing the organization of new
counties required at that time at least 600 bona fide
inhabitants within the territory to be organized. In
1872 there were probably not more than 100 bona fide
inhabitants in the territory included within the boun-
daries of the proposed county, but that fact presented
no impediment to the predatory gang which had per-
fected its plan of loot. A census taker was appointed
who was void of either conscience or fear of future
punishment, and from convenient hotel registers he
copied the requisite number of names, swore that they
were bona fide residents within the territory of the pro-
posed county, and the preliminaries were arranged with
an ease and speed which would have excited the envy
of a professional highwayman.

There were some honest men even then living in the
territory which now composes the county of Barber,
but as I have intimated, they had no vested interest in
the country. They were the possessors of herds of
cattle of varying size, grazing on the native grasses,
but they did not expect to remain permanently in that
country. Unfortunately most men are so constituted
that they do not become deeply concerned about graft
unless that graft touches them in some way. So the
conditions were particularly favorable for the high-
binders who figured out a scheme of organizing coun-
ties, loading them with bonds, selling the bonds to sup-
posed innocent purchasers, pocketing the proceeds and,

22 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

when the harvest of loot had been gathered, folding
their tents like the Arab and silently stealing away.

The first meeting of the new board of county com-
missioners, so far as the records show, was held in
Medicine Lodge on July 7, 1873. These commissioners
were not the master spirits in the conspiracy, but they
were willing servants and showed the industry of the
busy bee, which flits from flower to flower gathering
honey as it flits. About the first business of impor-
tance transacted was to issue $25,000 in county war-
rants to one C. C. Beemis, in consideration of which
he was supposed to build a court house. It, of course,
showed great confidence in the integrity of Mr. Beemis
to issue to him the entire contract price before he had
furnished a brick, a board, or a nail that was to go
into the building, but the confidence seemed to have
been misplaced, as Mr. Beemis did not even commence
the erection of the court house. His failure, however,
did not interfere with the friendly relations or confi-
dence of the board of commissioners, who made no
effort to compel him to fulfill his contract or return
the warrants which had been issued. In fact the com-
missioners acted on the theory that if at first you don't
succeed try, try again, and next time proposed to
vote bonds to build a court house to the extent of
$40,000. By that time some of the residents of the
county, although temporary, objected to the issuance
of more bonds or warrants to build a court house, in
view of the fact that $25,000 had already been stolen,
and they rallied enough votes to defeat the bonds.
This, however, did not dash or discourage the com-
missioners, who issued the warrants anyhow, and then
through an act of the Legislature put through by the
leader of the gang, the first legislative member from
Barber, they issued funding bonds to cover the debt.
Still no court house was built. Not a brick was laid

HAPPENINGS IN THE SEVENTIES 23

or a single foundation stone. The busy board had also
issued some forty or fifty thousand dollars in warrants
to build bridges and, considering the number of streams
there are in the county, I have no doubt they were
astonished at their own moderation.

The bridges were not built, but then they might have
stolen more. At the instance of members of the gang
a railroad corporation called the Nebraska, Kansas &
Southwestern was organized. Not only in the lan-
guage of a former member of the Kansas Legislature
did this road "not terminate at either end" but it had
no existence except on paper. Yet the looters man-
aged to put over an alleged bond election by which the
new county voted $100,000 ten per cent bonds to this
mythical corporation and then, in violation of the spirit
if not the letter of the law under which the road was
supposed to be built before the bonds were issued, the
board of commissioners issued and sold the bonds with-
out there being a single mile of road constructed. The
bonds passed into the hands of an English capitalist, a
member of the British Parliament. Afterward the tax-
payers of Barber resisted payment of the bonds, and
carried the litigation through the courts up to the su-
preme court, but they lost in the end and are to-day
paying the principal and interest of that utterly fraud-
ulent obligation.

Finally, the shameless stealings of the looters roused
the fury of the settlers, who were coming to look on
the county, with its clear streams, its beautiful valleys,
its sweet hills and groves and canyons as their perma-
nent abiding place. So they formed their vigilance
committee, with the avowed and laudable purpose of
hanging the thieves. They did round up a part of the
gang, but made the fatal error of permitting them to
talk. The spokesman for the gang offered to restore
the loot already taken and to leave the county forever.

24 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

They did leave the county, but took with them the
county warrant books and county seal, and from the
safe retreat of Hutchinson they proceeded to issue new
evidence of indebtedness against the sorely plundered*
municipality. Of course, it is unnecessary to say that
they never restored any of the plunder they had gar-
nered under forms of law. A member of the vigilance
committee was heard afterwards to remark, "If we
hadn't been a passel of dam fools we would a-hung
them blank-blank sons-of-blank first and then listened
to what they had to say afterwards."

The Old-Time Deestrict School

"When I was a boy going to a country school," said
an old timer, "we had what was known far and wide as
about the toughest district school in the state. There
were six big boys, ranging from sixteen to twenty or
twenty-one years old. Most of them were great, husky
fellows and one or two would weigh fully 175 pounds."
These young fellows bullied the rest of the school, espe-
cially the little boys, and in school did just about as
they pleased. They boasted that they would whip any
teacher who undertook to make them mind his rules
and it may be said they were ready and anxious to
make good the threat. They usually intimidated the
teacher and ran the school according to their own
notion. Two teachers had undertaken to control them
and were beaten up and run out of school as a conse-
quence. The fame of our school extended until it was
difficult to get any teacher.

One fall day there appeared in the neighborhood a
rather small, although trimly built young man, who
said that he was an applicant for the job of teaching
school. The leading director looked him over and then
said :

HAPPENINGS IN THE SEVENTIES 25

"I guess, young man, that you never have heard
much about this school or you wouldn't hanker after
the job. There are at least six boys in our school
bigger than you and any one of them, I think, could
handle you in a fight, unless you are a much better
man than you look to be. The boys are tarnal mean,
and I would be glad to see a teacher who could trim
them as they deserve, but you haven't the heft to
handle the job and get away with it. Last winter the
teacher lasted just two weeks. Then them pesky
youngsters took him out and ducked him in the pond
and told him to hit the road away from the school-
house and keep goin', which he did. Winter before
last we got a big fellow to teach the school, who had
something of a reputation as a fighter. He did a
great deal of talkin' about how he would bring the
boys to time, but when it came to the test the boys
combined and beat him up and whipped him till he
had to go to bed for a week. He quit right then. He
would weigh fifty pounds more than you and if he
couldn't handle the job I don't see no chance for you."

The young man listened quietly and replied mildly
that he didn't think he would have any serious trouble
with these young men ; that he always got along pretty
well with young folks, especially with boys, and that
he would like to have a chance to see what he could do.

"Well," said the old farmer-director, "I will call
the board together and present your application. If
the other two are willin' I will give you a trial, because
it's gettin' to be nearly impossible to get a teacher,
but I give you fair warnin' that I don't think you will
last more than a week, unless you give in and let them
fellers run the school."

Well, the directors finally concluded that they would
give the slim young teacher a chance to try his hand,
not that they had any faith in his ability to control

26 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

the school, but the law required that there should be
a school and there were no other applicants.

On the first day of school all the big six were on
hand. There was Bill Stevens, who was a leader of
the gang, twenty years old, and would weigh fully
175 pounds and there was no surplus flesh. Jack
Williams was his second, nearly as big as Bill and just
as mean. Then there was Tom Walker, nineteen years
old, weighed about 160 pounds; Elias Tompkins, about
the same age and weight ; Lige Sangers, eighteen years
old, weighed abo,ut 150 pounds, and Tobe Elder, the
youngest and also one of the meanest in the gang. He
was only seventeen years old but he was as big and
husky as the average young man when twenty years old.

They slouched into school with Bill Stevens in the
lead and sat down with their hats on. The young
slender, mild-looking teacher called the school to order
and then in a gentle voice said, "All the pupils will
take off their hats, please.'*

As the members of the gang did not remove their
hats, the teacher turning to Bill Stevens said, still
speaking in his easy mild tone of voice with no trace
of excitement or irritation :

"Perhaps you young gentlemen did not understand
my request. I always make it a rule in my school to
have all the pupils remove their hats."

"Yes," said Bill insolently, "we heard you all right,
but we ain't accustomed to removin' our hats, we are
somewhat afraid we will ketch cold in the haid."

"There is no danger, I think, of your catchi'ng cold
in the head in this house, at any rate I guess we will
have to risk it. I will have to ask you again to remove
your hats."

All the answer he got was a sneering laugh from the
six. Not one of them made any move toward removing
his hat. Then a most surprising thing happened. The

HAPPENINGS IN THE SEVENTIES 27

slender young teacher, with a swiftness that was as-
tounding, kicked Bill's hat from his head and then
with a lightning blow hit the big bully fair on the
point of the chin, knocking him senseless to the floor.
The fight was on. Jack Williams came on with a
bellow of rage and the others joined the rush toward
the teacher. With surprising agility he avoided the
onslaught and so maneuvered that Jack was separated
from his fellows. Jack was trying to clinch, but while
he had been in many a rough and tumble fight he knew
little about guarding his face, and a smashing blow at
the butt of the ear sent him to join his leader in dream-
land. The other four were already sensing the fact
that this was an entirely different sort of a teacher
from any they had ever had any experience with here-
tofore, but the fight was not out of them yet.

"Close in on him," yelled Tom Walker and all the
four tried to get in together. As they came on the
slender teacher deftly tripped the leader to the floor,
piled two others on top of him and smashed the face
of the fourth with a blow that brought the blood pour-
ing from his nose. Then as fast as the young fellows
tried to get up he smashed them, tripped them, and
mauled them until bloody and discomfited they were
ready to quit. By this time Bill Stevens was recover-
ing consciousness. He slowly staggered to his feet when
he was floored with a left to his face and a terrific jolt
on his solar plexus with the right, which not only put
him down and out, but left him writhing in agony. In
a few minutes the fight was over. The slender teacher
was -breathing a little more quickly than under ordi-
nary conditions, but there was not a mark of the con-
flict on his person and his voice showed no indication
of excitement.

"Take your seats, young gentlemen," he said quietly
and they did. "Remove your hats/' The hats went

28 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

off. "There is the basin which I brought to school
this morning and there is the water. William Stevens,
if you feel able to walk, go and wash your face and
hands and then return to your seat quietly." Bill
staggered to the water pail and proceeded dizzily with
his ablutions. He was followed in regular order by
the other members of the gang. And then a most
crestfallen and battered six waited for further orders.

"Young gentlemen," said the teacher, "this has been
an interesting and I may say enjoyable occasion. Dur-
ing my six years as trainer in boxing, wrestling, and
general athletics, I never have experienced a more ex-
hilarating five minutes, but I must say that while you
have the making of fairly good boxers, that is, some
of you have, you are very deficient in knowledge of the
manly art. During the winter I expect to give you
some instruction in the art of self-defense, but only on
one condition and that is that you learn to be good
sports. The really good sport is always a gentleman.
He will not strike a foul blow or take advantage of a
weaker opponent. You young men have not been good
sports. You have joined your forces and whipped
teachers who were no more than a match for any one
of you and have gloried in bullying the school. Now I
wish to have an understanding. Have you had enough?
If not we will settle this right now, but I promise you
in advance that when I finish with you, you will not be
able to attend school for several days. What do you
say?"

Bill Stevens spoke for the gang. His words came
from between badly puffed lips, as he gazed at the
teacher from eyes that were fast closing. "You're a
he man, all right, though you don't look it. Whatever
you say goes with this gang."

That term of school worked a complete reformation
on the bullies. They were diligent in attendance and

HAPPENINGS IN THE SEVENTIES 29

most of them made good progress. Bill Stevens after-
ward went to college and became a leading business
man in the city in which he located. In after life he
often said : "That was the most painful and most prof-
itable five minutes I ever spent in my life."

The Downfall of Pomeroy

In the legislative session of 1873 the senatorial elec-
tion so overshadowed every other issue that little if
anything is remembered of what was accomplished in
the way of general legislation. The great question to
be decided was the election or defeat of Samuel C.
Pomeroy for the United States Senate.

Pomeroy had served twelve years as senator and
had a powerful political following, but he had also
powerful and adroit opposition. It was less than eight
years after the close of the Civil War and the veterans
of that great conflict, still young and virile men, con-
trolled the political and also, for the most part, all
other enterprises of the state. Pomeroy was, as men
went then, considered rather an old man, although only
fifty-seven years of age, and still a man of powerful
physique. During the noted dry year of 1860 he had
been very active in securing aid for the Kansas set-
tlers, especially corn, on account of which he was
dubbed "Seed Corn Pomeroy," a play on the initials
of his name.

In that early day Kansas was divided politically
into factions and they warred with each other with a
bitterness unknown in these modern times. The oppo-
nents of Pomeroy accused him of corruption and im-
morality, while his friends and ardent supporters in-
sisted that he was a paragon of virtue and an incor-
ruptible patriot. The opposition was led by perhaps

30 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

the most adroit politician in Kansas at that time,
Major Ben F. Simpson, who numbered among his lieu-
tenants such men as W. A. Johnson, senator from
Anderson County; Colonel John P. St. John, after-
wards governor, and three times candidate for presi-
dent on the Prohibition ticket; Colonel Tom Moon-
light, of Leavenworth, still the idol of the men who had
followed him through his campaigns and battles;
Colonel A. M. York, of Montgomery; Colonel Ely, of
Linn, and Captain George R. Peck, then a brilliant
and rising young lawyer. Among other men of promi-
nence in that legislature were Colonel Marsh Murdock,
General Blair, N. C. McFarland, afterwards commis-
sioner of the general land office, and Rev. I. S. Kallock,
whose sincerity and morality were sometimes ques-
tioned, but whose singular eloquence was always con-
ceded. Pomeroy's campaign manager was Albert H.
Horton, afterward himself a candidate for senator and
for many years chief justice of the supreme court.

While the fight was bitter, the supporters of Pome-
roy, counting perhaps on the divisions among the op-
position, seemed reasonably confident of success, but
were not taking any chances if they knew it. There
were numerous stories floating about of attempts to
bribe the supporters of other candidates and finally
a trap was laid for the senator, planned by Ben Simp-
son, which resulted in the complete overthrow of Pome-
roy, his retirement in disgrace from public life, and a
narrow escape from a felon's cell. In pursuance of
this plan, Colonel York called on Pomeroy at his room
in the old Tefft House, located where the National now
is, in the dead hour of the night and there bargained
with him to sell his vote at the coming joint conven-
tion of the Senate and House, then only two days off,
in consideration of the payment of $8,000, to be paid
$2,000 down, $5,000 the next day and $1,000 after

HAPPENINGS IN THE SEVENTIES 31

the vote was cast. In accordance with this agreement,
the story goes, Pomeroy paid over the $7,000.

On January 29, 1873, the two houses met in joint
convention. Old timers say that there was certain
tenseness in the atmosphere, a foreboding of the com-
ing storm. When the convention was called to order,
Colonel York advanced to the front and laid on the
table two packages of money which he claimed he had
received from Pomeroy and with dramatic earnestness
gave in detail to the convention his deal with the
senator. That speech would have been lost to the world
if it had not been for a young and brilliant reporter,
afterwards one of the most successful lawyers in Kan-
sas or the West — Colonel W. H. Rossington, who was
reporting for the old Commonwealth. York had no
written speech. Rossington recognized the news value
of the same to his story of the sensational event, and
sitting down at his desk wrote the following remarkable
speech as that delivered by the senator from Mont-
gomery :

"Before I place in nomination the name of any man, I
have a short explanation to make, and as it concerns all
present and is of great importance to the state of Kansas,
present and future, I desire the close attention of the mem-
bers of the convention to what I have to say. Two weeks
ago to-day I came to Topeka an avowed and earnest anti-
Pomeroy man. I thought that in his defeat lay the regen-
eration of the state and party and I cheerfully and enthusi-
astically allied myself with the anti-Pomeroy element in the
legislature. Grave charges had been made against Senator
Pomeroy in connection with a certain letter to W. W. Ross.
These charges had assumed a serious form in a meeting of
the anti-Pomeroy caucus a few evenings ago when a man
by the name of Clark exhibited $2,000 in twenty $100 bills,
declaring that he had received the same from Pomeroy for
signing a confession to the effect that he had forged the
letter (to Ross) and the signature. I have no evidence as

32 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

to the truth of these charges, but Mr. Pomeroy's name being
associated with so many rumors of the same nature might
give the report credence.

"When I came here I had been waited on by friends of
Mr. Pomeroy who plied me with arguments in favor of his
preeminent fitness for the position and protestations of his
innocence of the charges brought against him. I was asked
several times to have an interview with Mr. Pomeroy and
finally consented, provided this interview could take place
in the presence of a third party. Mr. Pomeroy assented
to the presence of one or any number of my friends. Ac-
cordingly on Friday last I waited on Mr. Pomeroy and
there, in the presence of Captain Peck and two others, we
had a brief conversation. I put to him direct the question:
'Did you or did you not write the letter signed with your
name and directed to W. W. Ross having reference to cer-
tain profits on Indian goods?' In reply he handed me the
affidavits of J. B. Stewart and one signed by several citi-
zens of Lawrence and asked me to read them and then say
whether I thought he was the author of the letter. 'Mr.
Pomeroy, you have not said whether you wrote that Ross
letter/ I then said further to him: 'Mr. Pomeroy, you are
either the most infamous scoundrel that ever trod the earth
or the worst defamed man that ever stepped on Kansas soil.'
Here the interview ended and, as I supposed, ended all rela-
tions between myself and Mr. Pomeroy, but a day or two
afterward I was importuned to accord Mr. Pomeroy a pri-
vate interview. At the time it had become apparent that
illicit and criminal means had been employed to secure Mr.
Pomeroy's election and it became us as far as it lay in our
power to circumvent them. I consulted with tried and
trusted friends, Messrs. Simpson, Wilson, Johnson, and
others as to the course I should pursue and upon their ad-
vice I acted. I visited Mr. Pomeroy's room in the dark and
secret recess of the Tefft House on Monday night and at
that interview my vote was bargained for for a considera-
tion of $8,000: $2,000 of which was paid that evening,
$5,000 the next afternoon and a promise of the additional
$1,000 when my vote had been cast in his favor.

"I now, in the presence of this honorable body hand over

HAPPENINGS IN THE SEVENTIES 33

the amount of $7,000 as I received it and ask that it be
counted by the secretary. I ask that the money be used to
defray the expenses of investigating and prosecuting S. C.
Pomeroy for bribery and corruption.

"I know that there are many present who may feel dis-
posed to impugn my motives in this matter and decry the
manner of my unearthing the deep and damning rascality,
which has eaten like a plague spot into the fair name of
this glorious young state. I am conscious that, standing
here as I do a self-convicted bribe taker, I take upon my-
self vicariously the odium that has made the name of Kan-
sas and Kansas politics a hissing and a byword throughout
the land. I do not undertake the defense of my act any
further than it may convey with it its own justification.
From every part of the state comes the demand thunder-
toned and unanimous from the masses, whose will has so
long been disregarded and oversloughed by the corrupt use
of money by individuals and corporations, that we make a
final and irrevocable end of corruptionists. In this matter
I have had the unpleasant and unenviable sensation of
handling pitch which defileth, but my feelings were second-
ary to the common weal. In fact they were not taken into
account. In a solemn exigency and forlorn hope of this
kind I consider it a man's highest duty, in however ques-
tionable guise his service comes, to man the breach and if
such a course needs its atoning victim I would gladly offer
myself a sacrifice. I promised in consideration of $8,000
in hand paid to vote for Samuel C. Pomeroy and I now re-
deem that pledge by voting for him to serve a term in the
penitentiary not to exceed twenty years.

"Mr. President and gentlemen, this is no new thing in
the history of Kansas politics, I am pained to say. In
every senatorial election has the same thing been repeated
to our discomfiture and discredit, the will of the people as
expressed at the ballot box has been defeated with money at
this husting. This dishonored and dishonorable official ap-
proaches me, gentlemen, with confidence in his ability to
buy men's souls ; to prostitute their sacred honor. I have a
name I am proud to say, that up to this time, with those
who know me, has been free from reproach. Though a

34 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

young man I have striven to lead a reputable life and to be
an exemplary member of society as far as my limited in-
fluence extends in deed as well as in thought. I have an
aged mother who has been spared to bless me with her love.
I have a wife and little ones to whom I hope to bequeath
a name, no matter how obscure, they may have no reason to
blush to hear pronounced; yet this corrupt old man comes
to me and makes a bargain for my soul ; makes me a propo-
sition which if accepted in the faith and spirit in which it is
offered, will make my children go through life with hung
down heads and burning cheeks at every mention of the
name of him who begot them. Earth has no infamy more
damnable than corruption, no criminal more to be execrated
than he who would corrupt the representatives of the people
to further his private interests. I demand, gentlemen, that
the actions of Samuel C. Pomeroy be thoroughly examined
and that the corruption money which lies on the table be the
instrument of retribution in prosecuting that investigation.
I further demand that the members of this body give to-day
such an expression of their sentiments in this matter that
the regeneration of this glorious young commonwealth may
be proclaimed throughout the land, so that Kansas may
stand erect and free among the states of the union, pure
among the purest and honored throughout the world.

"The statements I have made, gentlemen, are but partial
and incomplete. The hour or two that I passed in that
den of infamy in the Tefft House let in upon my mind such
a flood of enlightenment as to the detestable practices of the
Kansas politicians that I have no word to express the depth
of degradation a once pure republican government has
reached. The disclosures there made to me implicate some
of the most prominent and respectable men in Kansas. I
learned from Mr. Pomeroy that his spies and emissaries
were working in our caucuses to sell us out. These disclo-
sures I will not now make; they are sufficient to satisfy me
that the most conscienceless, infamous betrayer of the trust
reposed in him by the people of his state is Samuel C.
Pomeroy. As to the truth of what I have stated, I stand in
the presence of this august and honorable body of repre-
sentatives of the sovereign people and before the Almighty

HAPPENINGS IN THE SEVENTIES 35

ruler of the universe I solemnly declare that every word
I have spoken is God's truth and nothing but the truth."

The immediate effect of this speech was like a solar
plexus blow to the supporters of Pomeroy. Some of
his supporters rallied feebly to his defense but they
could not reorganize his disrupted forces and amid in-
tense excitement John J. Ingalls was elected to the
United States Senate.

Afterward a committee was appointed by the United
States Senate to investigate the conduct of Pomeroy,
with a view to expelling him from that body if the
charges were found to be true. The special committee
appointed to make the investigation was composed of
Senators Frelinghuysen, Buckingham, Alcorn, Vickers
and Allen G. Thurman. Pomeroy did not deny giving
the money to Senator York, but claimed that he had
given it to him to be turned over to a man by the name
of Page who intended to start a national bank in Inde-
pendence, and to whom Pomeroy had agreed to make a
temporary loan. That a business transaction of this
character should have been consummated at the hour
of midnight or later, less than forty-eight hours before
the vote on senator was to be taken, must have struck
the members of the special committee as decidedly
peculiar if true, but after taking a good deal of testi-
mony the committee brought in a sort of Scotch verdict
of guilty but not proven. Senator Thurman brought
in a minority report in which he said that the testi-
mony convinced him that the charges against Pomeroy
were true. No doubt the fact that Pomeroy had been
defeated for reelection and his term would end in a
few weeks influenced the members of the committee.

Pomeroy retired disgraced and broken. He lived,
however, for eighteen years, during which time he saw
the rise of his successor to a place of great prominence

36 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

in the Senate, only finally to be swept out of office and
out of power by the rise of a new political party in
Kansas. About the time that Pomeroy, an old and
feeble man, was on his deathbed, John J. Ingalls, the
most brilliant representative ever sent to either house
of Congress from Kansas, was watching his political
sun set never to rise again.

Senator York, the instrument of Pomeroy's undoing,
whether he meant it or not, correctly indicated the
effect on him personally of his act. His political ca-
reer ended with that session of the Legislature. Many
of the great newspapers condemned him even while
admitting the need to expose political corruption. His
motives were impugned and his act characterized as
one of treachery. There is, however, little doubt that
his course was influenced by a real desire to serve his
state and nation. For a good many years he lived
quietly in the little city of Independence, the law part-
ner of Lyman U. Humphrey, afterward governor of
the state. Tragedy seemed to be connected with the
York family. A brother of the senator was one of the
victims of the noted family of murderers, the Benders,
about whose final fate there has always clung an air of
uncertainty and mystery.

If there was any need at this time for argument in
favor of the election of United States senators by
direct vote of the people it can be found by digging
back into history of almost any of the old time elec-
tions of senators by the Legislature. Some of those
elections were untainted by fraud or even the suspicion
of corruption, but many of them were smirched by deals
which placed an ineffaceable stain on the name of our
state and at that, our senatorial elections were per-
haps as clean as those of the average state in the
Union.

HAPPENINGS IN THE SEVENTIES 37

When Newton Was the Wickedest Town

It is difficult for one who knows only the Newton of
to-day or the Newton of many years past, to believe
that there ever was a time when it was called the
"wickedest town in Kansas,'* which, I may say in pass-
ing, was going some, for Kansas in the past has had
some towns that in a competitive examination for
wickedness would have given hell a neck and neck race.
In the year 1871 the Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe
road was extended west as far as Newton and, for that
brief summer, it became the terminus of the Texas
cattle trail. During the season some 40,000 head of
cattle were driven up from the great plains of Texas
and shipped on to the Kansas City and Chicago mar-
kets from the then frontier town.

For that season the pace in Newton was fast and
furious. The town was full of saloons and dance
houses and possibly never had a more reckless and des-
perate element gathered in any town than filled these
places of iniquity that hot and hectic season.

A vivid description of the Texas cattle herder is
found in the Topeka Commonwealth of August 15,
1871. It is worth reproducing:

"The Texas cattle herder is a character, the like of which
can be found nowhere else on earth. Of course he is un-
learned and illiterate, with but few wants and meager am-
bition. His diet is principally navy plug and whisky and
the occupation dearest to his heart is gambling. His dress
consists of a flannel shirt with a handkerchief encircling his
neck, butternut pants and a pair of long boots, in which are
always the legs of his pants. His head is covered by a som-
brero, which is a Mexican hat with a low crown and a brim
of enormous dimensions. He generally wears a revolver
on each side of his person, which he will use with as little
hesitation on a man as on a wild animal. Such a character

38 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

is dangerous and desperate and each one has generally
'killed his man.' It was men of this class that composed
the guerrilla bands like Quantrell's. There are good and
honorable men among them, but the runaway boys and men
who find it too hot for them even in Texas, join the cattle
herders and constitute a large portion of them. They
drink, swear, and fight, and life with them is a round of
boisterous gayety and indulgence in sensual pleasures."

It was these wild, reckless men who thronged the
dance halls of Newton in that summer of 1871 and
furnished the material and setting for this story of
tragedy and murder. Arthur Delaney, known as Mike
McCluskie, was in the employ of the railroad com-
pany— a daring, fearless man, quiet, neither appar-
ently seeking nor avoiding a fight, but handy with a gun
and deadly in his aim. A few days before the fatal
ninth of August, 1871, McCluskie had had an alterca-
tion with a desperate gambler and gunman from Texas
by the name of Baylor. McCluskie was the quicker of
the two on the draw and Baylor died with his boots
on. His Texas pals vowed revenge. The news was
carried to McCluskie that his life was in peril and that
the Texans, led by Hugh Anderson, intended to mur-
der him if he went to the Tuttle dance hall. With a
reckless disregard of danger, McCluskie walked into
the dance hall and engaged in conversation with one
of the gang that had determined on his murder. An-
derson, the leader, drew his gun and with an oath shot
McCluskie through the neck. As he fell, mortally
wounded, McCluskie drew his own gun and, half rising
from tbe floor, pulled the trigger. The cartridge failed
to explode, but the dying man, with two more bullets
in his body, pulled the trigger again with all his dying
strength, and this time wounded but did not kill the
Texan. The other Texans opened fire on the dying
man. Suddenly, a frail youth, in the last stages of

HAPPENINGS IN THE SEVENTIES 39

consumption, a friend of McCluskie, with the fighting
name of Riley, appeared on the scene, shut the door
of the dance hall, as the story goes, to prevent egress,
and then coolly went into action. His gun barked
once, twice, thrice, and yet again and again, and at
each crash and red spurt of flame a Texan went down,
until six men had fallen dead or wounded. By some
strange freak of fate, this man who, apparently think-
ing that death was very near in any event, and who
seemed weary of life and ready to throw it away in
revenging his dead friend, was unharmed.

It was the greatest killing that Newton ever had and
about the last. The better element of the new town,
shocked by the tragedy, determined that the dance halls
must go.

The next spring the railroad moved south to the
town of Wichita. Newton settled down to an orderly
and rather humdrum existence. The days of the cattle
trail, the Texas herders, the dance halls, with their
wild orgies, the bloody battles, the men weltering in
their blood, all became a sort of ghastly memory.
Few, perhaps none, of the men and women who lived
in Newton in those wild days, are still alive, but the
temporary sojourner in the town, as he strolls about
between trains, may have pointed out to him the place
where the dance hall stood and where the midnight
battle was waged when Newton was young and had
the unenviable reputation of being the wickedest town
in Kansas.

An International Episode

During the year 1871 or '72 a Scotchman named
George Grant, born near Aberdeen, came to Kansas
and made a deal with the Union Pacific, then known
as the Kansas Pacific, railroad by which he acquired

40 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

title to a large amount of railroad land in Ellis County,
variously estimated at from 100,000 to 500,000 acres.
Just how much land he did get is uncertain but it was
a large tract and bought on most favorable terms so
far as Grant was concerned, who was evidently pos-
sessed of a good deal of Scotch thrift and canniness in
driving a bargain. The railroad company had re-
ceived a vast land grant from the Government and the
managers were anxious to have the country settled as
soon as possible so as to make business for the road.
George Grant bought the land at the rate of fifty cents
per acre and did not even have to pay cash down at
that. His agreement was to bring out a large colony
of high grade Englishmen with money, who would
settle on the land and stock it with blooded cattle,
horses, and sheep.

The bargain having been closed, the enterprising
advertising agent of the railroad proclaimed to the
world that a vast tract of land had been sold to a
British nobleman, Sir George Grant, knighted by the
queen, a man of almost boundless wealth, who had de-
cided to establish on the fertile prairies of Kansas an
estate like those of the landed gentry of "Merry Eng-
land."

As a matter of fact, the Scotchman had never been
dowered with a title in the old world. He was a silk
merchant who had been reasonably prosperous in trade
and who saw a speculation in the Kansas land. The
title, however, was a good advertisement. Kansas had
had no genuine titled noblemen among her citizenship,
and while the early Kansas man paid little deference to
titles, he rather liked to say that an English lord was
so enamored that he left his ancestral halls to settle
out in western Kansas. The title also helped about
getting the English squires, who do dote on titles,
interested, and so it came about that Sir George man-

HAPPENINGS IN THE SEVENTIES 41

aged to create quite an interest among these British
sires who were looking for locations for their sons.
Also, it may be said that the Scotchman managed to
do very well in the real estate business, selling the land,
for which he had promised to pay the railroad com-
pany fifty cents per acre, to the Englishmen for as
high as $15 per acre in some cases. He also built him
an English villa, which was, in turn, press agented,
and named the town he organized Victoria, in honor
of the British queen.

In order to satisfy the religious proclivities of the
colonists, he built a church which was duly dedicated
by Bishop Vail of blessed memory. He also brought
considerable blooded stock and several thousand sheep
to graze upon the succulent grasses. For a time the
plan worked with remarkable success. At one time
there were two thousand Britishers in Sir George's
colony, according to estimates of the truthful re-
porters. Maybe there were not so many, but there
was a respectable number. Most of them were a fail-
ure as pioneers, so far as developing the country was
concerned, but they had a really delightful time, hunt-
ing wolves and jack rabbits, riding to the chase dressed
in typical English fashion, with their high topped
boots and ridiculous little caps, and at evening gather-
ing in the saloon run by one Tommy Drum, where they
"stayed themselves with flagons," imbibed large quan-
tities of "Scotch and soda" and with large volume of
sound if not with melody, sang English songs. One
of the favorites of these was a poetical description of
a shipwreck, each stanza ending with the sad refrain
"The ship went down with the fair young bride a
thousand miles from shore."

It was while in a lachrymose state of mind, the result
of frequent irrigation, that one of the young English
"remittance" men became so wrought up over the

42 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

tragedy which happened to the "fair young bride" that
he hurled a bottle through the large pier glass, which
was Tommy Drum's delight and pride and which, when
Fort Hays was an important military post, had often
reflected the images of Generals Sherman, Sheridan,
Custer and Phil Kearney, as they lined up in front of
the bar and took their "regulars" of whisky straight,
or perhaps with a dash of lemon to modify the rough-
ness of the drink. The breaking of the glass caused
Drum to run about in circles shouting "By the bolt !"
"By the bolt !" which was his nearest approach to pro-
fanity. Nobody knew just what the expression meant,
but it served to relieve Tommy's surcharged feelings
when ordinary language did not fill the bill and for that
matter it was more harmless and fully as sensible as
any form of profanity.

It was at the thirst parlor of Tommy Drum, where
occurred the international episode about which this
story is written.

It was the evening of the Glorious Fourth of July
and a number of the British scions and Americans
had gathered and indulged in numerous potations, until
they had reached the state where they were ready for
argument, tears, or battle, when one of the Americans
happened to remember that it was the natal day of
our republic. Filled with highballs and patriotism, he
proposed that they should sing "The Star-Spangled
Banner."

The subjects of the queen objected. They didn't
deem it fitting for Englishmen to sing the national air
of this "blarsted republic." The only national song
they would sing, they declared, was "God Save the
Queen." For a time the Americans argued the matter
in a bibulous sort of way, but the argument soon be-
came heated. It was considered an international ques-
tion and as the Britishers continued obdurate the

HAPPENINGS IN THE SEVENTIES 43

Americans felt that it was up to them to uphold the
honor of their country.

So the ruction commenced and waxed fast and furi-
ous. The Britishers put up a game fight and left their
marks on the countenances of their foes, but they were
outnumbered. Now and then a well-directed blow from
an American fist or chair or heavy bottle wielded with
vigor put a subject of the queen out of the fight and
then the battle became more one sided than before. A
good deal of the saloon furniture was broken up and
nearly every countenance, both British and American,
bore marks of the conflict before it was ended by the
American forces throwing the last of the Englishmen
into the cellar.

The victors were standing guard over the stairway
leading down to the basement when the late Judge Jim
Reeder appeared upon the scene and asked what all
the row was about.

The leader of the Americans, who was carrying a
beautiful black eye and a somewhat damaged nose as
souvenirs of the conflict, stated the case. "Thesh
here Britishers," he said thickly, " 'fuse to shing 'Star-
Spangled Banner,' an' thish is the glorish Fourth July
— insis' on shingin' that dam British song 'God Shave
th' Queen' — wouldn't stan* for it. Been a hell of a
fight, but can't no Britisher inshult Star-Spangled
Banner.' "

Judge Reeder asked for a chance to talk with the
imprisoned Englishmen, but found them standing
firmly, though battered, by their national anthem.

"Gentlemen," he said, "there should be peace between
the mother country and ours. I have a proposition to
make. Let the Americans sing the 'Star-Spangled Ban-
ner' and the Englishmen join in. After that we will
permit the Englishmen to sing 'God Save the Queen.*
Giving you loyal Americans the right to sing first is

44 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

an acknowledgment on their part that our glorious
republic takes the precedence and then as a matter of
courtesy they can be permitted to sing their national
air."

At first the Americans were not disposed to yield.
They insisted that they had whipped the blamed British
and, as the leader of the Americans expressed it, "To
the vic'or b'longs th' spoils." On the other hand, the
British though temporarily overpowered were still
game and unwilling to yield anything to their foes.

After much argument Judge Reeder induced both
sides to agree to his suggestion. The badly battered
Englishmen were permitted to come up out of the
cellar. A drink was taken by all and the Americans
were told to go on with their singing.

The leader started out bravely in a somewhat ragged
voice : "O shay c'n you shee, by zhee dawn's er'y light."
Here his recollection failed him and a comrade whose
lip had been cut open during the festivities suggested
disgustedly that "any fool ought to know better'n to
shing 'Star-Spangled Banner' to the tune of 'John
Brown's Body Lies a Mouldering in zhe Grave.' '

"Maybe," said the leader with bibulous gravity and
indignation, "if you know so much 'bout shingin' you
c'n shing this yourself."

The other American tried it but fell down on the
second line. A number of others tried it but all failed
either because they didn't know the words or the tune
and most of them knew neither one.

They finally all gave it up and Judge Reeder said:
"Well, gentlemen, you have had a fair chance to uphold
the honor of our country in song and failed. It is no
more than fair that the Englishmen have their chance.
Proceed, gentlemen, to sing your national air, 'God
Save the Queen.' "

The leader of the defeated party smiled as well as

HAPPENINGS IN THE SEVENTIES 45

his battered lips would permit and started in on the
British anthem. He started, that was all. At the end
of the first line his memory completely failed him and
besides he was off the tune. Other loyal subjects of
the Queen had no better success and finally gave it up.

Satisfied at last, the late antagonists then lined up
at the bar, imbibed a drink by way of reconciliation,
chipped in to pay for the furniture destroyed, and
parted with mutual assurances that they had spent a
most enjoyable evening.

Sir George Grant died in 1878, at the premature age
of fifty-six, and was buried close by the church he had
built. Hot winds and crop failures discouraged the
colonists and they faded away. Their places were
taken by a colony of subjects of the late Czar of
Russia who have lived and prospered and grown rich
where the followers of Sir George failed. Near the
little church by which lies the body of Sir George
Grant, has been erected one of the largest and most
magnificent churches west of the Missouri River, paid
for out of the earnings of these erstwhile Russian peas-
ants who came to this country, poor in purse, but en-
dowed with the industry, patience, and endurance nec-
essary to make successful pioneers.

The Looting of Harper County

In the spring of 1873 a trio of scoundrels met in
Baxter Springs for the purpose of organizing a con-
spiracy to plunder, that would be free from the ordi-
nary risks incurred by the common thief, highwayman,
or burglar and at the same time yield a greater finan-
cial reward. The conspirators were a couple of shyster
lawyers of small practice and shady reputation, named
W. H. Horner and A. W. Rucker and a thug and des-

46 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

perado by the name of William Boyd, who had been
elected to the office of mayor by the lawless element
that at that particular time was in control of the
town. Boyd was a coarse, brutal murderer and gam-
bler, who had killed the city marshal in cold blood a
short time before, but had managed to get clear on
the plea of self-defense. He was known as a crooked
gambler and lived in open adultery with a negro mis-
tress, but seems to have held the leadership and back-
ing of the tough element, while the reputable citizens
of the town were terrorized, held either by fear of per-
sonal violence if they opposed Boyd, or by the dread
that they would be ruined in a business way if they
did not cater to the lawless element. It was, no doubt,
the crooked brain of Horner that planned the iniquity
the three were to put on foot, but Boyd probably fur-
nished the funds necessary to carry it out.

The plan was the fraudulent organization of Harper
County. Horner was not particular about the loca-
tion of the robbery, but Harper happened to furnish
the most convenient territory. He assured the other
conspirators that the plan was not only feasible but
entirely safe and certain. All they had to do was to
get up a petition alleging that there were at least 600
bona fide inhabitants in the county to be organized,
have a census taken showing the names of such inhab-
itants, and present the same to the governor. Every
thing would be regular on its face. The governor
would issue his proclamation setting forth that a peti-
tion and census duly verified according to law had
been presented and certain persons had been duly
selected for county officers.

It was easy to gather up a gang of loafers from the
Baxter Springs saloons and the party made up of con-
spirators and bums traveled westward. One of the
loafers who was induced to join the party and repre-

HAPPENINGS IN THE SEVENTIES 47

sent the "bona fide" inhabitants, afterward told the
story. He said that after they had traveled westward
for several days Horner announced that they had
reached Harper County. "And now," said Horner,
"we will proceed to organize this county." The papers
were already drawn up. The petition with 600 signa-
tures, copied from Baxter Springs hotel registers, was
ready to forward to the governor. Everything pro-
ceeded as merrily as a marriage feast, or perhaps a
better simile would be the feasts of buzzards gathered
about the carrion. The looters held an election in
which not only Horner, Rucker and Boyd were duly
elected to office but each of the loafers was given of-
ficial honors. Horner was selected as representative
of the county and in the regular session of 1874, al-
though living at Baxter Springs, he brazenly appeared
as representative from Harper County, was duly sworn
in and served through the session.

The organization worked out as Horner had pre-
dicted. The petition with its forged signatures was
presented to the governor, the proclamation was duly
issued, and on August 20, 1873, Harper County was
declared duly organized. Then the real purpose of
the conspirators was put into execution and reaping
of the harvest of loot began. Twenty-five thousand
dollars in bonds were voted to build a court house and
$15,000 funding bonds were issued. I believe the Leg-
islature legalized the issue and then Horner gaily pro-
ceeded to unload the bonds on the "innocent pur-
chaser." It is said that the $40,000 in bonds were
sold for $30,000, and with his loot in his possession
Horner went back to Baxter Springs to settle with his
fellow conspirators. He undertook to give them the
double cross, but Boyd had set detectives on his track
when he went to St. Louis to sell the bonds, and knew
the price for which they had been sold.

48 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

The story is that Horner took out of his pockets
$15,000 cash, divided it into three parts and declared
that he had been obliged to dispose of the bonds at a
heavy discount and had as a matter of fact only re-
ceived $15,000. At this point Boyd drew his gun,
thrust it in the face of Horner, and after loading him
with all the opprobrious and vile epithets he had in
stock, told him that unless he came across with the
other $15,000 he would kill him. Horner had every
reason to believe that Boyd would not hesitate to do
what he said and rapidly dug up the other $15,000
saying that his talk about $15,000 was just a joke.
Boyd soon after left the town, but Horner and Rucker
did not even have the grace to go away where their
villainy would not be known. Rucker blossomed out
as a loan shark, loaning money at from three to ten
per cent per month. Horner's seat in the Legislature
was declared vacant and the organization of Harper
County a fraud, after all the damage had been done,
but none of the thieves were punished for their crimes.
The bar-room loafers who had been used by the con-
spirators complained considerably when they learned
that Horner, Boyd, and Rucker had pulled down $10,-
000 apiece, but that availed them nothing.

The astonishing thing to me, after all, is that the
thieves were satisfied with stealing $40,000. When
they contemplated what was done in the adjoining
county of Barber, they probably concluded that they
were pikers. It would have been as easy to steal $100,-
000 as $40,000. Also, it is difficult to understand how
the courts in these fraudulent bond cases could hold
that the buyers were innocent purchasers. The very
fact that the St. Louis parties who purchased these
bonds paid only $30,000 for them was prima facie
evidence that they knew the bonds were fraudulent.
It is also very difficult to believe that the governor did

HAPPENINGS IN THE SEVENTIES 49

not know when he consented to the organization that
the whole thing was a gross fraud, a monstrous
iniquity.

The Legislature of 1874

The Legislature of 1874 met while the country was
still in the grip of the panic of 1873. Hard times, as
usual, had their political reaction and Kansas was
being washed by the waves of reform. While the ma-
jority of the Legislature was nominally Republican,
the reformers held the balance of power at least in the
lower house and the men who talked loudest against
the "money power" and harangued the longest against
the burdens of taxation, gathered the biggest audiences
and received the most applause. There was even threat
of a new party, but the Republicans managed to keep
control and elect the officers.

There was trouble, too, in the state house. The
state treasurer, Hayes, was accused of misappropria-
tion of public funds and was impeached and forced to
resign. Hayes was an old man, probably incompetent
to perform the duties of state treasurer, but was not
a scoundrel. All this, however, added to the general
dissatisfaction on account of hard times and in that
sort of an atmosphere the Legislature convened. Cap-
tain McEachron, of Cloud County, was elected speaker
and Captain Alex R. Banks, chief clerk of the house.

As a measure of economy the reform members op-
posed the election of a chaplain, saying that the cost
of each prayer amounted to the price of fifteen bushels
of corn. It was proposed to save that amount by
inviting local ministers to pray for nothing, or to have
such members of the house as had at divers and sundry
times undertaken to preach, do the praying for the
house. As the local ministers did not show any enthu-

50 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

siasm about donating their services to intercede with
the Lord on behalf of the Legislature at nothing per,
it was proposed by some members that the chief clerk
be required to read the Lord's Prayer, at the opening
of each day's session. This proposal, however, was
promptly voted down and the house was left without
any one to offer up a short and snappy petition to the
Throne of Grace.

Captain Henry King was at the time editor of the
Commonwealth, and I might say in passing, that few
if any of the great dailies of the country had abler
editors. He made the incident of the chaplaincy the
subject of an editorial which I think deserves a place
among the literary and humorous gems of Kansas
writers.

"The Kansas House of Representatives/' said the edi-
torial, "is without a chaplain and is naturally in a very bad
way about it. We have never tried being a representative,
but if we did we should feel the need of a chaplain to
pray for us.

"Reform, which seems to emulate the gaunt, bone-picking
parsimony of the ridiculous silhouette, has now done its
worst by depriving the scrimped and perquisiteless legis-
lators of their necessary rations of grace.

"They can do without postage stamps; they might eke
out a hardtack and herring existence by giving up their
passes and cutting off their mileage, but it is the refinement
of cruelty to stop their prayers. When the Legislature
assembled and organized the first and most important duty
of the House (the Senate being provided with one) was to
select a chaplain. It has been customary to avoid the
appearance of sectarian partiality by inviting the clergy
of the city to alternate in making a prayer, for which the
state paid the very moderate figure of $3 per invocation.
Some reformer moved that the House do without prayers
this year of reform, unless they could be made gratuitously,
for each prayer cost about fifteen bushels of corn.

HAPPENINGS IN THE SEVENTIES 51

"Now a man, we hold, can pray for himself gratuitously
and in that prayer he can include the whole world if he
wants to, but it is something different to pray against the
current, so to speak, in behalf of the Legislature. Mr.
Silas Wegg very properly charged Mr. Boffin extra for
'dropping into poetry/ owing to the wear and tear on his
finer feelings thus induced. On the same principle a clergy-
man should be paid for the lacerations of his faith, conse-
quent on praying for a Legislature. It is not, therefore,
to be wondered at that no clergyman felt it incumbent on
himself to pray for the Legislature. The device of calling
on such members of the Legislature as had formerly done
clergical work proved a failure, as it deserved. To ask a
man to aid in making the laws and pray for divine aid in
their fabrication was as if a blacksmith should be asked to
forge a bar of iron and blow the bellows at the same time.
The dual function of the legislator and the parson can not,
as there are many precedents to prove, subsist in a single
individual simultaneously.

"The last resort of these poor statute makers, left
prayerless, was to call on the clerk to read every morning
from his desk the Lord's Prayer. This was a very thin
illusion of sanctity to be sure, but like Mercutio's wound
it might serve. We need not, we hope, assure the members
of the House who promptly, and we think unadvisedly,
voted down the proposition, that there are very many ex-
cellent things in the Lord's Prayer, and it is free from the
unpleasant personalities that sometimes slip into impromptu
invocations. It asks for the coming of the heavenly king-
dom on earth and prostrates the devout utterer before the
will of a merciful Providence. It asks for all a portion
of the daily bread that sustains nature and the bread of
life which strengthens and stimulates the spirit. It asks
that our debts be forgiven as we forgive our debtors and
contains the essence of all prayers, the continual cry of
the truly devout and penitent spirit in the words that
should dwell ever upon the lips of every man, whether
lawmaker or law observer: 'Lead us not into temptation
but deliver us from evil.'

"Now, why should not the chief clerk repeat this prayer

52 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

in default of some one to offer up a scientific $3 devotional
exercise? If the general worldliness appearance of that
young gentleman were sacrificed, with his secular and se-
ductive mutton-chop whiskers, and his presence brought up
to the proper clerical standard by the addition of a white
choker and shad belly coat, his resonant, clerical voice
modulated to the devotional monotone, we cannot see why
the most graceless legislator might not exclaim with
Hamlet, 'Sweet Banks, in thy orisons be all my sins re-
membered.'

"But the lower house is without a chaplain or even the
shadows of the substance, which we have shown might be
produced by getting the chief clerk up in clerical mas-
querade. It is not only a cruel deprivation to the members,
but will, we are afraid, have its influence upon the laws."

This same Legislature seriously considered a bill to
reduce the salary of the governor from $3,000, as it
was at that time, to $2,000; also to reduce the salary
of the secretary of state to $1,800, the salary of the
state auditor to $1,500; the salary of the attorney
general to $1,200; the salary of the state superintend-
ent to $1,500; the salary of the judges of the district
courts to $2,000, and the salary of the warden of the
penitentiary to $1,500.

The Commonwealth vigorously opposed this bill and
no doubt did much to kill it. Instead of reducing the
salaries as indicated, the Commonwealth declared that
the governor should receive a salary of $5,000; that
the secretary of state and state auditor should receive
$3,000 each ; the attorney general $4,000 and the state
treasurer $10,000 per annum. At the close of the
session the editor of the Commonwealth roasted the
Legislature to a deep rich brown, declaring that it had
accomplished nothing worth while, that the men who
had yelled loudest for economy and reform had really
done nothing, and had not seriously tried to do any-

HAPPENINGS IN THE SEVENTIES 53

thing, but had been "grandstanding" to gain popular
favor and applause. But if the Legislature was a
calamity, it was the forerunner of worse to come.
Within three or four months after the adjournment
clouds of locusts that darkened the sun came flying
from the west and devoured every green thing from
the sage brush lands of Colorado to the turgid flood
of the Missouri. And Kansas, taking a melancholy
pride in adversity, advertised herself to the world as
the native habitation of the grasshopper and, even
when prosperity had returned to her borders and her
bins were bursting with the fruit of her golden har-
vests, painted the hopper rampant upon her banners.

The Fight at Adobe Watts

Among the treasured collections of Dodge City there
used to be a magnificent war bonnet with its trailing
plume of eagle feathers and other accouterments of an
Indian chief. Why the Historical Society has not
secured these historic relics I do not know, nor do I
know where they are at this time. They were memen-
toes of one of the most thrilling and desperate fights
that marked the losing struggle of the red men to hold
their hunting grounds against the aggressive and ruth-
less incroachment of the Anglo-Saxon. In the Pan-
handle of Texas, 175 miles southwest of Dodge City,
there had been built, while that was still a part of
Mexico's domain, a rude fort of sun-dried brick, called
adobe. Just who built the fort is not definitely re-
corded, but in any event after Texas attained her in-
dependence and perhaps before that time, the old fort
was permitted to fall into a state of decay, and it
only figures in this story because it marked the loca-
tion of the historic battle in which a little band of

54 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

Kansas buffalo hunters fought through a long hot June
day against an overwhelming force of the bravest
warriors of the plains.

The year 1874 was the year of the greatest slaugh-
ter of the buffalo. To speak of the killing of buf-
falo as a hunt, was a misnomer. It was simply a wan-
ton destruction of these poor beasts which covered the
prairies with their countless multitudes. The Pan-
handle of Texas was that year the favorite hunting or
killing ground and a company of Kansas hunters num-
bering, according to the various accounts still extant,
from fourteen to twenty-eight, had gone down there
that spring of 1874 to have a part in the slaughter.
The wild Indians of the Comanche, Kiowa, and Apache
tribes resented this invasion of their favorite hunting
grounds and with considerable reason, for they knew
that at the rate the white men were slaughtering the
buffalo the vast herds would soon be extinct. The
Indian never killed buffalo for the mere sport of kill-
ing; that was characteristic of the white and sup-
posedly civilized and Christianized white man. The
Indian killed to supply his needs for food and furs as
he had done for generations, but there had been no
diminution of the great herds and would not have been
until yet if the white hunters had not come. In all
the history of the world there has never been a more
cruel, wasteful, and needless slaughter of animals than
that which in the short space of three years practically
exterminated the buffalo.

So it is not remarkable that when the white hunters
came down to the Panhandle country and established a
trading post and began the wholesale slaughter, the
Indian warriors were filled with anger and a desire for
vengeance. Among the Comanches was a medicine man
who had acquired great influence over the men of the
tribe. His power was not confined, it seemed, to his

HAPPENINGS IN THE SEVENTIES 55

own tribe. He was regarded as a mighty medicine man
by the Kiowas, Arapahoes, and Apaches. He made
these warriors believe that by the use of a certain kind
of war paint and by his occult powers he could render
them invisible to the eyes of the white men and immune
to the bullets from their guns. It would, therefore,
be an easy task to surprise this band of hunters and
kill them without the loss of any Indians. When the
attack was made and the Indians were mowed down
by the deadly fire of the white hunters, protected by
the thick walls of their adobe houses, the minds of the
Indians must have been disabused of the belief in the
powers of Minimic, the medicine man, but still they
fought with a reckless daring which excited the admira-
tion of their foes.

It is hard for a Kansas man to acknowledge that
whisky and a saloon ever served a good purpose, but
it must be said that if it had not been for the thirst
of the hunters which kept them in the saloon which had
been organized for temporary purposes by one Jack
Hanahan, and the giving way of one of the supports
which held up the roof of the frontier thirst parlor,
the Indian surprise would in all probability have been
complete; the hunters, post trader, and drink dis-
penser would all have been massacred and the reputa-
tion of Minimic, the medicine man, would have been
sustained. The night was far spent and the final round
of drinks in Hanahan's saloon was about to be called
for, when it was discovered that the center post sup-
porting the dirt-covered roof was giving way and all
hands set in to prevent the impending catastrophe.
It was considerable of a job and by the time a new
support had been placed and a couple of men sent up
on the roof to shovel off some of the dirt and relieve
the pressure on the support, the early dawn was gild-
ing the far reaches of the prairie.

56 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

The Indians were slipping up through the tall grass
in the dawn to the attack, when in the early light they
were discovered by the men on the roof. The alarm
was given and the Indians, seeing that they had been
discovered, rushed with a blood-curdling yell to the
onslaught. Careless or indifferent to danger, some of
the hunters were sleeping out in the open and three
of them were killed before they could get into the
shelter of the thick-walled houses. Those who did get
inside, however, were reasonably well protected, the
walls were arrow and bullet proof and they had been
provided with loopholes, through which the men could
shoot with comparative safety. At the head of the
oncoming warriors rode the half-breed Comanche chief
Quanna, and with him rode the proud and gallant sub-
chief, the younger Stone Calf, nephew of the old chief
Stone Calf. On his head he wore his great war bonnet,
with its plume of eagle feathers reaching almost to
his ankles. His body fantastically painted, his wrists
and ankles ornamented with circlets of silver or copper,
he was as proud and valiant a warrior as ever rode
to battle, a born leader of savage men.

Among the hunters in the adobe house were some of
the best marksmen of the plains. They barred the
door with sacks of flour from the post store, and this
precaution saved their lives. The Indians rode up
recklessly and, whirling their horses, backed them vio-
lently against the door. If it had not been for the
flour barricade, the weight of the horses would have
broken down the door. Inside were the hunters with
their huge buffalo guns. They held their fire until the
onrushing savages were within thirty yards, and then
through the loopholes poured a murderous volley,
which piled the ground with Indian dead. The In-
dians retreated before the hail of death, but came on
again and again. The medicine man, Minimic, rode

HAPPENINGS IN THE SEVENTIES 57

about among the braves on a pony which he had be-
daubed with paint to make it immune to the hunters'
bullets, and exposed himself recklessly until his pony
was shot down under him. The young chief, with mag-
nificent daring, rode alone through the deadly zone of
fire right up to one of the port holes, through which
he thrust a revolver and emptied it into the room
where the hunters were. A bullet laid him low, des-
perately, perhaps mortally, wounded, but still uncon-
quered he put his pistol to his head and blew out his
brains.

All day long the battle raged and even then the
Indians did not cease their attack entirely. Quanna,
the half-breed chief, fell, desperately wounded, but it
was only when reinforcements came for the beleaguered
men that the warriors sullenly drew off, leaving the
ground about the adobe house covered with their dead.
Of the Kansas hunters four were killed and one or two
others were wounded. The number of Indians who
participated in the attack was variously estimated at
from 500 to 900. Probably both estimates were ex-
aggerated, but there is no doubt the hunters were out-
numbered fifteen or twenty to one. In no fight on the
plains was greater coolness or daring displayed, either
in attack or defense, than was shown at the fight of
the adobe walls on that hot summer day of 1874.

The Kansas Rwnnyjnede

About forty-five years ago an enterprising English-
man who had located in Kansas, evolved a new scheme
in high, not to say, frenzied finance. Ned Turnley was
an original thinker by nature and his native tendency
was accentuated by the Kansas atmosphere and asso-
ciations.

He knew a good deal about the wayward sons of

58 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

British sires who had managed to accumulate money,
which the young men desired principally to scatter
abroad. The English sires had a good many anxious
moments on account of these sons. The young fellows
were hard riders, hard drinkers, and dead game sports,
but when it came to matters of business they dis-
played a remarkable indifference and positive reluc-
tance to do anything that savored of toil.

One of the ambitions of an English squire is to be
known as a country gentleman, the proprietor of broad
acres, from which he can garner a comfortable income
while he is regarded with a degree of deference by his
tenants. Ned Turnley went to these rich English
squires with a proposition.

"Out on the great wide and fertile plains of the
central part of the United States," said Turnley,
"there is the opportunity to develop these sons of
yours and build up a rich English colony which will be
an honor to the British empire and a credit to your
family." He was a bully good conversationalist, was
Ned Turnley, and he knew how to appeal to these rich
Englishmen. He painted a word picture of a sunset
land with a soil as rich as any in the tight little isle,
where title might be obtained to many square leagues,
on which would graze vast herds of cattle and which,
turned up by the plow and sown with grain, would yield
unlimited harvests. What these sons of theirs needed,
he urged, was to take a course in farming and stock
raising under an able and experienced instructor.
They were dowered with good blood, as he assured
their fathers, and by that assurance he appealed pow-
erfully to the vanity of the sires. All the young men
needed was the opportunity to settle down and learn
the ways of the broad prairies and the business of
cattle raising. His proposition was to take these
young bloods to Kansas and train them for the sum of

HAPPENINGS IN THE SEVENTIES 59

£500 each, paid in hand. Of course the English sires
would have to take care of the young bloods' expenses
while the schooling was going on. The fact that Turn-
ley was able to put such a plan across and actually
secured one hundred of these wild young Englishmen
for his colony, marked him as a financial genius and
one of the greatest confidence men of his time.

In order to get the consent of the young bloods to
come to the West, it was necessary to tell a different
story. To them Turnley pictured a land which was
the paradise of the hunter and his hounds. He told
of the vast stretches of prairie, unvexed by the plow
and unhampered by settlers, where wolves and antelope
were plenty and the great jack rabbit furnished better
sport than the English hare. To them there was no
talk of tilling the soil or watching over the lowing
herds. His story appealed mightily to these young
Englishmen. They were fully as anxious to come as
their fathers were to have them come and so with his
colony of one hundred, and in his pockets a quarter of
a million of good English bank notes, Turnley began
his unique experiment. The locality selected was the
beautiful valley of the Chicaskia, fifty miles southwest
of Wichita and on the border of Harper County, Kan-
sas. Here he founded the town of Runnymede, in honor
of the historic spot so dear to Englishmen, where the
stout barons wrested the charter of British freedom
from a reluctant king.

For a good many months the young Englishmen
found the sport fully up to expectations. The best
kennels of England were drawn upon to furnish deep-
voiced hounds and blooded chargers were imported for
the mounts. Joyously and recklessly the sons of proud
English sires rode to the chase. A large hotel was
erected at the new town of Runnymede to accommodate
them and here night after night they held high car-

60 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

nival and pledged each other's health in sparkling
champagne or good, old foaming English ale.

Horse races, cock fights, and sparring matches were
the order of the day and night. There was some pre-
tense of farming, but that was done by proxy. The
young Englishmen were too busy having a good time to
do any real work.

It must be said for them that they were good sports,
too. Someone arranged a bout with a local prize
fighter of Wichita named Paddy Shea. He took on
one of the young Englishmen who was a willing soul,
but no match for the prize fighter in the fistic art.
Paddy knocked the Englishman out and it was several
minutes before he awoke from his dream. When he
came out of his trance and learned how Paddy had
done it he was so pleased that he insisted on present-
ing the fighter with a handsome present, just to show
that he "was a good sport, don't you know."

On one occasion there was a horse race at the new
town of Harper and the English made a winning of
$1,500. They immediately took possession of the lead-
ing booze dispensary, helped themselves to everything
drinkable there was about the place and insisted on
everybody in town partaking of their hospitality. By
morning there was nothing weaker than sulphuric acid
left in the drug store. The revelers presented the
$1,500 won on the race to the proprietor of the booze
emporium and departed joyously, ready for further
adventure.

After a time the fathers back in England began to
grow weary of sending remittances. Probably also
they received some reports of what was actually going
on and sent for their sons to come home. So the glory
of the Kansas Runnymede waned and the Turnley
colony became a memory.

Twenty years ago or such a matter a railroad, the

HAPPENINGS IN THE SEVENTIES 61

Kansas City, Mexico & Orient, was built through the
old town of Runnymede and where there had been
revelry by night and also by day, there was established
a new and quiet village. It still bears the historic
name of Runnymede, but of the colony of hard-riding
and hard-drinking young Englishmen there remain no
reminders except a single grave where lies buried one
of the men who came so blithely to Kansas nearly half
a century ago and broke the silence of the prairies
with the baying of their hounds and huntsman horns.

The Comanche Steal

One day in the summer of 1872 two or three buffalo
hunters were riding through the favorite grazing
grounds of the then countless herds of bison in south-
western Kansas when they came upon a camp of five
men. Three of the men were A. J. Mowery and James
Duncan, of Doniphan County, and Alexander Mills,
of Topeka; the other two were residents of Hutchin-
son, probably C. C. Beemis and Major Bowlus, but of
that I am not certain. The five were busily engaged in
working out a plan for the organization and subsequent
looting of Comanche County. They had their plans
about completed, but needed a county attorney and
proposed to one of the buffalo hunters, J. S. Cox, that
he take the position. Cox was not a lawyer, but they
assured him that a total lack of legal knowledge was
not an objection but rather an advantage. To have
a county attorney who was a lawyer in the organization
they were forming might be embarrassing. Cox seems
to have fallen in with the proposition in that free and
easy way of buffalo hunters, not regarding it seri-
ously. The quintet then unfolded to him their plan,
which was really charmingly simple. It was to or-

62 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

ganize the county, send Mowery to the Legislature to
secure the passage of a law authorizing Comanche
County to issue bonds for the building of a court house,
building bridges and $20,000 or $30,000 for the pay-
ment of general expenses. The second part of the in-
teresting program was the organization of school dis-
tricts and the voting of almost unlimited school bonds.
The new county attorney listened in amazement. He
knew that within the 900 square miles of territory they
proposed to include in the county, there was hardly a
single bona fide inhabitant and not a dollar's worth of
taxable property, except some roving herds of cattle
which could easily be driven out of the reach of the
assessor. He was curious to know who would buy the
bonds issued by such a brazenly fraudulent organi-
zation and was told that in Topeka there was just as
good a market for a fraudulent bond as a genuine,
the only difference being the price.

So, with no one to molest or make them afraid, the
band of thieves matured their plans and put them into
execution. From St. Joe hotel registers, supplied pre-
sumably by Mowery, the names of residents were gath-
ered. A census taker was appointed, one A. Upde-
graff, the son of an honest father and mother who had
fallen among evil companions and who was persuaded
to become the handy tool of thieves, although he prob-
ably received but little share of the plunder. Within
the brief period of ten days or less Updegraff, accord-
ing to the record, rode or walked several hundred miles
over trackless prairies of Comanche County, gath-
ered the names of 600 bona fide inhabitants, solemnly
swore to the correctness of the list, and forwarded his
report to the governor's office at Topeka, and on Octo-
ber 28, 1873, the proclamation was issued declaring the
county duly organized.

Election day was drawing near and according to

HAPPENINGS IN THE SEVENTIES 63

program Andrew Mowery was selected by the five to
represent the county in the lower house of the Legis-
lature. It was an easy and inexpensive election. Two
hundred and forty names were copied from the con-
venient St. Joe hotel register and voted for Mowery.
Certificates of election were forwarded to the secretary
of state and at the opening of the legislative session in
January, 1874, Mowery appeared with his credentials
and was sworn in as a member of the law-making body.
Everything moved with the smoothness of well oiled ma-
chinery. The fraudulent commissioners were author-
ized to issue bonds for various purposes and did issue
$29,000 to C. C. Beemis to build a court house. Getting
court house bonds was Beemis' specialty. It will be re-
called by those who have read the section, "The Loot-
ing of a County," that the Barber county commis-
sioners issued at different periods to this same Beemis
some $65,000 in warrants, afterwards funded into
bonds, to build a court house. In addition to the court
house bonds the county commissioners issued $23,000
bridge bonds and $20,000 bonds to pay general ex-
penses, in all $72,000. Then came the second part of
the program, the organization of school districts and
the issuing of bonds. This opened an inviting and ex-
tensive field, but it was through the school bond steal
that the looters came to grief. School district No. 1
was organized about the county seat, in which there
was one cabin, named in honor of the then secretary of
state, Smallwood, who was also one of the board desig-
nated by law to care for and invest the school funds of
the state. District No. 1 issued bonds to the extent
of $2,000 and Representative Mowery came with the
bonds to Topeka and offered them for sale to the per-
manent school fund. With the approval of Secretary
Smallwood and the superintendent of public instruc-
tion, a gentleman by the name of McCarty, Mowery

64? WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

sold the bonds for $1,750 and either pocketed the
money himself or divided his loot with his confederates.
It was planned to load the school fund with at least
$40,000 more but happily the attorney general inter-
fered with the arrangement. The secretary of state
and state superintendent attempted to clear their
skirts, but if they were not positively dishonest they
certainly were criminally negligent of their duty.

Having apparently concluded that they had gathered
about all the harvest of loot there was to gather, the
organizers of Comanche abandoned it to the buffalo
and the coyote, and in 1876 Mowery, who had gone back
to Doniphan County, somehow persuaded his neighbors
to send him to the Legislature from that county, al-
though the record of his villainy had become generally
known. The Legislature of 1876 expelled him and at
the instance of the attorney general he was arrested,
charged with having forged the school bonds he had
sold to the state. When notified that he was to be ar-
rested he fled the state, but was apprehended over in
Missouri and brought back for trial. For want of posi-
tive evidence of the forgery, the county attorney of
Shawnee County dismissed the suit and Mowery went
free.

It is a shameful fact that not one of the thieves en-
gaged in the fraudulent organization of Barber, Co-
manche and other counties was ever punished by law for
his crime. If a citizen buys a horse in perfect good
faith and afterwards finds that it was stolen he must
restore it to the owner when the latter proves his title.
The fact that he was an innocent purchaser does not
save him from loss, but although it was common knowl-
edge that the region in which Comanche County was
located was in 1872, 1873, and 1874 an uninhabited
wilderness, the purchasers of the fraudulent bonds were
not required to beware of their purchase. The courts

HAPPENINGS IN THE SEVENTIES 65

protected them, saddled the burden of the utterly
fraudulent obligations on subsequent settlers, who had
no part in their making, and then failed to mete out
any punishment to the thieves. No wonder the man
who is serving a term of years in the penitentiary for
stealing a calf or a few dollars, cannot see the justice
of a law which punishes him with great severity, while
thieves who boldly plundered through fraudulent bond
deals to the extent of hundreds of thousands of dollars
are permitted to go scot free and even pose as honor-
able citizens.

Most of the plunderers who operated in Barber and
Comanche Counties have gone to their final rewards.
The last time I saw the census taker of the fraudulent
organization of Comanche he was suffering from a
severe bullet wound received in an impromptu duel on
the streets of Dodge City with the celebrated Bat Mas-
terson, the other party to the shooting. He revived
from that to die later from smallpox and was laid
away by the gamblers and demimonde of that then
wild frontier town. The others, who were much more
guilty than Al Updegraff, have gone, I do not know
where, but if there is an old-fashioned orthodox hell
they are probably meditating on their past sins as they
roast in the sulphurous habitations of the damned.

The Legislature of 1875

An examination of the files of the old Common-
wealth during the legislative session of 1875 is cal-
culated to take the conceit out of the modern legisla-
tive reporter. Not only were the legislative re-
ports in the Commonwealth of that date more full
and enlightening than the legislative reports in
any paper I know of at the present time, but they were

66 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

put up in better literary style and had in them more
of the human interest. Possibly the session of 1875
was no more interesting than many other sessions of
that early day, but it happened that the Legislature
contained a good many men who had considerable to
do with shaping Kansas history and several of them
afterward rose to prominence.

The speaker of the House was Ed Funston, big of
body and with a sonorous voice which gave him the
name of "Fog Horn Funston." He afterward served
with distinction for eleven years in the lower house of
Congress and had the added distinction of being the
father of General Fred Funston. The chief clerk of
the House was Captain Henry Booth, formerly of the
United States regular army and afterward for many
years receiver of the United States land office at
Lamed. Among the members were Dudley C. Haskell,
of Lawrence, gigantic in stature, brilliant in intellect.
As a member of Congress he rose rapidly to distinction
until cut off by premature death. Had he lived, he
would have ranked as one of the great men of the
nation. There was also Jim Legate, cynical, crafty and
resourceful, dowered by nature with a great brain but
unfortunately with a lack of moral perception which
ruined his usefulness and blighted his career. There
was Billie Buchan, then young, ambitious and daring,
who never realized his ambition to go to Congress but
who was able to make and unmake a good many men.
Sam Benedict, of Wilson County, tall, spare, hampered
by ill health a good deal of the time, which tended
to spoil his temper, possessed of rare good sense and
unimpeachable integrity, a graduate of Williams Col-
lege, and a man of wide reading and fine literary taste,
never seemed to care particularly for either political
honors or leadership, but was a most valuable member
of the Legislature, because he hated anything that

HAPPENINGS IN THE SEVENTIES 67

smelled of graft and had no patience with extravagance
or what seemed to him foolish legislation. There also
was P. P. Elder, then a Republican, afterward a leader
of Greenbackism and Populism, forceful and careless
in his use of language, and generally known as the
most artistic swearer among the public men of the
state. Also there came to the Legislature from Ford
that unique frontiersman, Bob Wright, of Dodge.

In the Senate there was the scholarly jurist, Solon
O. Thatcher, and the later chief justice of the supreme
court, Albert H. Horton. Sam R. Peters came from
Marion to the Senate, but afterward moved to Newton
and, after serving for two terms as judge of the old
Ninth judicial district, which took in about all of the
southwest quarter of Kansas, was elected to Congress,
where he remained for eight years, refusing a re-
nomination in 1890, which showed his rare political
judgment, for it was in that year that the wave of
Populism swept over the state and submerged all but
two of the Republican candidates for Congress. Wil-
liam Alfred Peffer came as a senator from Montgomery.
At that time a strict party man and ardent advocate
of high protection, he probably had no premonition
of the political revolution which fifteen years later was
to separate him from the party of his young man-
hood and land him in the United States Senate, as a
member of which body he was to become one of the
most talked about and most generally cartooned men
in the nation.

At the beginning of the session the Commonwealth
speaks of the Legislature as an exceptionally fine body
of men, but at the close sadly admits that blamed
little of real worth had been accomplished, which may
be said of most legislatures. The year 1874 had been
one of widespread disaster to Kansas. The swarms of
grasshoppers had devoured practically every green

68 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

thing. In the west half of the state drouth had burned
up what little the hoppers had left and the principal
topic before the Legislature was how to get aid for
the sufferers. There was a general disposition to call
on the general government for assistance, but among
a number state pride revolted at the idea of going
abroad to ask for alms. It was proposed to issue state
bonds to secure the necessary money for the purchase
of seed wheat and necessary supplies to tide the settlers
over until another crop could be raised, but the lawyers
in the body were raising constitutional objections
which so irked the mind of Bob Wright, of Dodge, that
he introduced the following resolution:

"Resolved: That 100,000 copies of the constitution be
printed in pamphlet form for distribution among the desti-
tute people of western Kansas to enable them to get
through the winter and to furnish seed wheat for planting;
and in order that all persons may be provided it is ordered
that 25,000 of these pamphlets be printed in Irish, 25,000
in German and 50,000 in English, and in order that no
expenditure may be made for expressage and freight on
the same, each member is expected to carry home in his
carpet sack the quota belonging to his county."

In spite of the fact that the Legislature contained
so many men of ability and experience, there was the
same tendency to hasty and careless legislation noted
in every legislative body. For example, there was
House Bill 21, to prevent the spread of certain con-
tagious diseases among horses, mules, and asses, the
first section of which read as follows:

"Sec. 1 : That it shall be unlawful for the owner of any
horse, mule, or ass affected by the diseases known as nasal
gleet, glanders or button-farcey, and any person so offend-
ing, shall be guilty of a misdemeanor and shall upon con-
viction be punished by a fine of not less than fifty dollars
nor more than five hundred dollars and in default of pay-

HAPPENINGS IN THE SEVENTIES 69

ment shall be imprisoned for any period not exceeding
twelve months, or by both such fine and imprisonment at
the discretion of the court."

Passing over the question as to whether the bill
meant that the owner of the horses, mules, and asses
or the beasts themselves were affected by all of these
diseases, the language leaves one in complete ignorance
as to what said owner is guilty of, whether of owning
the animals or having the disease, and yet the bill with
this identical language had passed through the hands
of the committee on agriculture and been recommended
for passage.

Chan Brown, afterward for many years clerk of
the supreme court, represented Marshall County. He
was interested in the propagating of fish in the state
and introduced a bill requiring owners of dams to
construct chutes or fish ladders over the same. His
bill met with little encouragement. Future Congress-
man Haskell insisted that the fish in Kansas were too
big and lubberly to climb ladders over dams and Sam
Benedict said that the only kind of fish there were in
the state were buffalo fish and catfish, neither of which
could get up one of the fish chutes and wouldn't be
worth anything if they did, as "no white man would
eat one of them." Sam was always more or less dys-
peptic, which accounted for his taste.

The most picturesque character in the Legislature of
1875 was Representative Carter from Sumner. Carter
was a Democrat. How he happened to be elected is
not disclosed, but it may be accounted for on the theory
that Sumner, which at that time was a frontier county,
had a good many Texas cattle men among its citizens
who were Democrats of the old southern type who
wouldn't vote for a Republican under any considera-
tion and, furthermore, most of the frontier citizens
were not greatly interested in politics and didn't care

70 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

a hoot who went to the Legislature. In the files of
the Commonwealth under the title, "The Leader of
Democracy," may be found a word picture of the
Sumner County statesman, which ranks almost with
the classical description of "Chang" by John J. Ingalls
in his famous sketch, "Catfish Aristocracy."

"Imagine," says the Commonwealth reporter, "a tall,
angular, loose- jointed, shuffling-gaited specimen from
the banks of the Wabash, or the mountains of Ten-
nessee. The inequality of outline in this physical con-
formation suggests the idea that the various features
which go to make up the physiological unit called
Carter once belonged to as many different men, from
whom they were violently torn from time to time and
at length thrown together with a contemptuous dis-
regard of order, propriety, and the fundamental princi-
ples of architecture. Surmounting this structure is a
head calculated to arrest the attention of the most
observant. Narrow at the base — proof sufficient of
austere virtue — it gradually contracts as it ascends
to a tiny bulb, resembling a poke berry, but called
the organ of veneration, forming the apex. Carter's
facial aspect is among the marvels of physiognomy.
Over the scarred and wrinkled surface the rank vegeta-
tion of his beard throws a melancholy shade. Bushy
eyebrows stand sentinel over opaque and bulbous orbs,
above which mounts the 'dome of thought' to the height
of perhaps an inch and a quarter."

The statesman from Sumner had one pet bill on
which he expected his legislative fame to stand. It
was an act to protect horses, mules, and cattle from
being poisoned by the castor bean. Section 1 of this
bill read as follows : "Any person or persons growing
or cultivating castor beans in the state of Kansas
shall inclose or cause the same to be inclosed with a
lawful fence." He watched his measure anxiously as

HAPPENINGS IN THE SEVENTIES 71

it slid back on the calendar until the very last days
of the session were at hand and with no prospect of
its passage. Then the house leaders, Legate, Bill
Buchan, and Dudley Haskell came to his rescue. They
assured him that they had become convinced his bill
had great merit and that they would see that it got
before the committee of the whole house for considera-
tion. Carter was pleased. He assured them that he
would not like to go back to his people without having
done something to curb the deadly ravages of the castor
bean and would appreciate their help.

Before final adjournment Jim Legate solemnly arose
and moved that the house resolve itself into committee
of the whole for the consideration of house bill 224,
the castor bean bill, and suggested that it would be
only fitting that the gentleman from Sumner should be
called to the chair. Carter was elated and taking the
gavel rapped loudly for order, announcing that the
house was now in committee of the whole for the con-
sideration of house bill 224.

The first motion was made by Bill Buchan, the
member from Wyandotte, that the word Kansas be
stricken out and Arkansaw substituted therefor. The
chairman looked puzzled and said it seemed to him
"that-ar motion" was out of order. Buchan, however,
insisted with such earnestness on his motion that the
chairman put it to the house. It received a loud and
unanimous vote in the affirmative and when the nays
were called for the vote was equally unanimous. The
chairman was in doubt, but said it sort of seemed to
him that the ayes had it.

Jim Legate then arose and gravely moved to amend
the second line by substituting the word oil for beans,
so that the section would read "Any person or persons
growing or cultivating castor oil," etc. This amend-
ment also carried by the same overwhelming1 vote.

72 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

Then with towering stature and deep bass voice
arose Dudley Haskell and said : "Mr. Chairman : The
section as amended lacks harmony and felicity of ex-
pression. I move the following substitute for the entire
section: 'Section 1. Any person or persons using
castor oil in the state of Kansas shall be inclosed with
a lawful fence.' '

The house, lobby and galleries howled and rocked
with unholy mirth. It was dawning on the statesman
from Sumner that a job had been set up on him and
he was stirred with righteous anger. He ordered the
sergeant-at-arms to preserve order and clear the lobby
and raged ineffectively when he saw his authority and
orders set at naught.

At this point Buchan arose, his face apparently
covered with gloom and said that he was grieved to
see a worthy measure treated with levity and riotous
disorder unbecoming the dignity of the house. He
thought, however, that the phraseology of the bill
should be changed somewhat and moved that section 5,
the final section, be amended to read: "Section 5.
This oil shall be in force and take effect from and after
its use once by the chair," and with a wild and joyous
whoop the bill, so changed and amended, was recom-
mended for passage.

In the years that have fled since then all the principal
actors in the legislature of 1875 have passed on.
Billie Buchan, Funston, Haskell, Legate, Elder,
Horton, Peters, Benedict, Bob Wright, Henry Booth,
Peffer and Thatcher have joined the silent majority,
the unnumbered multitude of the dead.

HAPPENINGS IN THE SEVENTIES 73

A Whisky Murder

Medicine Lodge never acquired the reputation of
being a wild and woolly town in the sense that that
name attached to Dodge City, or Wichita in its early
days, or Newton or Abilene when they were the end
of the Texas cattle drive, or Caldwell or Hunnewell
in the days of their pristine glory. Before the rail-
road reached Medicine Lodge, the day of the cattle
drive was passed, and while a bad man occasionally
sojourned there for a night, or maybe a week, there
was no congregation of killers. Medicine Lodge never
had a dance hall such as flourished in each of the other
towns, when they were the objectives of the vast herds
driven over the long trail from the vast plains of
Texas on their way to the markets of the North and
East.

Still there were some tragedies, and this story re-
lates to one which I think had something to do with
the fact that in the election of 1880 this frontier
county gave a majority for the prohibitory amend-
ment to our state constitution. While there was not
so much of it sold as in some of the towns, the quality
of the whisky sold in Medicine Lodge was as bad as the
worst. I have known men who were ordinarily quiet and
peaceable when sober, after imbibing a few drinks of
the beverage, to go stark mad for the time being and
become more dangerous than Bengal tigers. I know
a most reputable man, kindly, law-abiding and in every
way a model citizen for many years past, who con-
fesses that he shudders when he thinks of how near
he came to being a murderer when crazed by a few
drinks of border drug store whisky. But that is an-
other story.

One May day in 1879 a country boy, perhaps nine-
teen or twenty years of age, rode into town. John

74 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

Garten had not been known as a "bad man." He was
just an ordinary, gawky, green country boy, who had
reached the age when he probably thought it would
be smart to show off and also an indication of manly
quality to fill his hide with drink. It was probably
this ambition, rather than any confirmed appetite for
liquor, that caused him to take on several drinks.
Probably at that, nothing serious would have hap-
pened if he had not been filled with another ambition,
and that was to carry a gun and acquire the ability
to draw and shoot like one of those gun fighters he had
heard about.

It was along toward evening of the long beautiful
day in the latter part of May, that young Garten
mounted his horse, probably at the suggestion of the
town marshal and rode out of town, emitting a few
"whoops" as he rode. A few miles west of the Lodge,
at a crossing of one of the little tributaries of the
Medicine, he overtook two women, a mother and her
daughter. They stepped to the side of the road to
let him pass. He rode past them a few rods and then
with a drunken howl pulled his pistol from its holster
and fired two shots in the direction of the women.
With a cry of anguish the younger woman, Mrs. Stead-
man, fell mortally wounded. It is quite probable that
young Garten did not know that he had hit either
woman, for he rode on without further looking back-
ward, stopped at the ranch where he had been work-
ing, unsaddled his horse and made no effort to escape.
He expressed great surprise when a few hours after-
ward the tall, gaunt frontier sheriff rode up to the
ranch house and said quietly, "John, I want you for
murder."

Garten protested that he had just intended to give
the women a scare and didn't suppose he had hit either
one of them, and quite probably he was telling the

HAPPENINGS IN THE SEVENTIES 75

truth. The murder aroused a storm of indignation
when young Garten was brought into town. An in-
offensive, popular young woman had been shot down
without any provocation and there was talk of the law
of the border. There were mutterings of vengeance
and knots of men gathered and conversed in low earnest
tones, more dangerous than any loud threats or
bluster. A few hours afterward the big lank, weather-
beaten sheriff with the prisoner in charge, rode away
through the moonless night to the northward and put
Garten for safe keeping in the Rice County jail to
await his trial. In those days there were only two
terms of court in Barber County and before the time
for Garten's trial he escaped from jail and, it was
believed, fled to the mountains of New Mexico.

The father of the murdered woman was a lean,
powerful man by the name of Champion, a typical
frontiersman. I think he had come originally from
the mountains of Kentucky or Tennessee and if so was
born to believe in the doctrine of the blood avenger.
Sparing of speech and stern of face, Champion made
little demonstration of his grief, though it was under-
stood that he possessed a quiet and deep affection
for his children. When the news came that Garten
had broken jail, Champion said nothing, but those
who were in his confidence knew that he had gone to
New Mexico. For almost a year nothing was heard
from him, but there was a persistent rumor that he
was playing the part of the avenger of blood; that
he had gone on a relentless, tireless man hunt for the
slayer of his first born. Finally he returned. He said
nothing for publication, but there was the look on his
face of a man who had accomplished his task and
fulfilled the old law, the 'law still of the mountains,
an eye for an eye, a life for a life.

No one outside of Champion and his few confidants

76 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

knew what had been the result of that long year's hunt
through the mountains and over the burning desert
sands, but Garten was never found by the authorities
or returned for trial. Those who knew the boy never
believed that he was a willful and deliberate murderer.
His crime was the direct result of the villainous liquor
that was sold in the frontier town. At the next elec-
tion the question was up to amend the constitution so
as to make the sale of whisky as a beverage forever
unlawful. The rough bearded men riding the range,
with ample time to meditate as they rode, considered
the case of the boy Garten, the murdered woman, the
lean-faced, stern, unsmiling, close-lipped frontiersman
on his lonely vigils in the mountains, searching with in-
domitable will and marvelous patience for the man he
meant to kilL They considered and voted for pro-
hibition.

Circumstantial Evidence

During the seventies in western Kansas, horse steal-
ing was regarded as a much more serious crime than
just ordinary murder. Of course the killing of a human
being, according to the recognized code of the border,
should be done according to certain well recognized
rules of fairness, such for example, as that both the
shooter and shootee should be "heeled" and that neither
one should try to perforate his opponent when his back
was turned. There were certain exceptions to this
general rule as, for example, when either party an-
nounced to the other that he intended to shoot him on
sight, the presumption would be that both would have
their "weapons" handy on all occasions and if they
failed to do so they must take the consequences. In
that case if a man wasn't "heeled" it was clearly his own
fault, the presumption being that he was, and that the

HAPPENINGS IN THE SEVENTIES 77

only safe way for the other man was to commence
shooting as soon as his adversary came in sight. Even
after courts had been established for several years,
although the cases of homicide were quite numerous the
number of legal convictions was decidedly small.

But in the case of a horse thief — well, that was dif-
ferent. The horse was about the only means of con-
veyance and in the cattle business it was absolutely
essential. It was necessary, too, to let the horses run
on the range unguarded, and the cattleman reasoned
that unless the men who lusted for the possession of
good horses were restrained by the fear of prompt and
violent death, no man would be sure when he turned
his horses out at night that he would be able to gather
any of them in the morning. In the short and sum-
mary disposal of men suspected of purloining horse-
flesh, the well established rule of the courts that a man
accused of a crime is presumed to be innocent until
proven guilty, was reversed and the accused man was
presumed to be guilty unless he could pretty clearly
establish his innocence. Even at that, it is probable
that considerably more than half of the men hanged
in those early years as horse thieves, were guilty as
charged.

It was on a pleasant day in the summer of 1876 that
J. B. Boswell, a reputable citizen of Russell, Kansas,
started to ride over into Nebraska. He was alone and
unarmed and rode on untroubled by premonitions of
impending trouble. He rode into the town of Creede,
Nebraska, when he was suddenly arrested, charged with
being a horse thief. He was taken before the mayor
of the town, which was already incorporated, and there
subjected to a rigid examination. He was told that
there had been some horses stolen and that every
stranger was under suspicion, but they would give him
a chance to prove himself innocent. He talked as per-

78 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

suasively as he knew how, but the examiners seemed
skeptical. After a while they informed him that they
had already hung one horse thief, who before being
swung off had stated that there was a Kansas man
implicated with him, and Boswell unfortunately was
the only Kansas man they had rounded up so far. The
presumption was therefore against him. It did not
seem to avail him anything to assure them earnestly
and vehemently that he had never seen this horse thief,
did not know him either by sight or name and that
he was peacefully going about his regular business
down in Kansas when the horses were stolen. The im-
promptu court reasoned that it had the dying state-
ment of the horse thief that there was a Kansas man
mixed up with him and — that being the case — it was up
to Boswell either to produce the Kansas man who was
guilty or to admit that the presumption of his own
guilt was strong.

In spite of. his protests and argument that it was
absurd to convict him on the strength of the state-
ment of a horse thief about to die, that some Kansas
man was his confederate, they cast him into jail and
that evening about nine o'clock some twenty-five men
called for him and took him out of town a mile or two
where there was either a convenient tree or possibly
a telegraph pole. He afterward confessed that he
begged piteously for his life, but in case his captors
did not see fit to grant that, he asked to be hung from
the railroad bridge over the nearby draw. He urged
that it would be preferable to be hanged from the
bridge because the fall would undoubtedly break his
neck and save him the torture of slow strangulation.
"For God's sake, men," he implored, "hang me decent,"
which, notwithstanding its violation of the strict rules
of grammar, would seem to be an entirely reasonable
request. But one of the party bent on swinging him

HAPPENINGS IN THE SEVENTIES 79

objected to this concession to his feeling, saying that
"strangulation was good enough for a damned Jay-
hawker."

However, a majority of the party thought that it
would only be fair to give Boswell two or three minutes
to pray if he wanted it. To this Boswell replied that
he didn't see that it would do him any particular good
to pray, and anyway he was not in practice, but that
he would appreciate it if they would allow him to make
a will. This request was granted and he drew up a
brief statement of how he wanted his property disposed
of, asked a couple of members to witness it, and then
stated that he was ready. Something about his state-
ments and manner seemed to impress the leader of the
party and raised a doubt in his mind about Boswell's
guilt. Turning to the rest of the men, he said, "It's
up to you to say whether we swing this feller or not.
Take a vote on it and if you vote that he is to swing,
he swings." It seemed that Boswell had also made
an impression on some of the others and after some
argument they voted, not to turn him loose, but to
give him forty-eight more hours to prove that he was
innocent and not the man referred to by the dead
horse thief. Then they took him back to jail. What
changed their minds Boswell did not know, but greatly
to his relief, after keeping him in jail a couple of
days they let him go. They did not apologize or even
tell him that they had decided he was not the man they
wanted, but as they let him go free he did not care to
stand on little matters of etiquette. What he prin-
cipally wanted was to get back to Kansas as soon as
possible.

When once more safe among his neighbors, he re-
lated his experience and said with a sigh, as he wiped
the sweat which beaded his forehead as he recalled his
experience, "I sure had a hell of a time." And even

80 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

the local minister who listened to the recital admitted
that BoswelPs statement was moderate and not really
tinged with profanity.

The First Paper m Barber County

In the early part of the year 1878 a man by the
name of Cochran concluded that there was a field for
a newspaper in the frontier town of Medicine Lodge.
He purchased a Washington hand press from McElroy
of the Humboldt Union, together with a couple of
racks, a few cases, a well worn font of long primer
type and another font of brevier, a few job fonts for
advertising purposes, moved the outfit to Medicine
and commenced the publication of the Barber County
Mail. Possibly Cochran concluded that it didn't make
much difference what kind of a paper was published in
that kind of a town, or possibly he didn't know how
to keep the worn type clean and a decent "impression"
on the Washington hand press, but whatever the reason,
the fact was that the paper was generally unreadable.
Cochran was a man of fair ability with a rather catchy
style of writing, but a good many of his local and
editorial observations were lost because it was impos-
sible to read what he had printed. Whether it was the
poor print of the paper or the flirtatious disposition
of the editor that caused him to become unpopular, I
am unable to say, but the fact was that before his
first year in the town had expired a number of residents
gathered together and decided that he must depart
thence in haste and with a promise never to return.

It .was also decided that there must be meted out to
him punishment commensurate with his offending, and
on a decidedly cool night in the month of February,
1879, the regulators took the editor from his humble

HAPPENINGS IN THE SEVENTIES 81

office, stripped him of his clothing and then admin-
istered a punishment which I think was entirely unique
and unprecedented in the treatment of editors. There
was no tar in the town and not a feather bed to be
opened, but an enterprising settler had brought in a
sorghum molasses mill the year before and as sorghum
generally grew well there, had manufactured a crop
into thick, ropy molasses. Owing to the cold weather
the molasses was thicker and ropier than usual. The
regulators secured a gallon of this, mixed it well with
sandburs, which grew with great luxuriance in the
sandy bottom of the Medicine, and administered this
mixture liberally to the nude person of the editor. I
do not need to tell my readers who are familiar with
the nature of the sandbur, that it is an unpleasant
vegetable to have attached to one's person. Clothed
with this unwelcome covering of sandburs and sweet-
ness, Cochrane was elevated upon a cedar rail and
carried about on the shoulders of the self-appointed
regulators. He privately acknowledged afterward that
while this was an elevation and distinction such as no
other editor perhaps had ever received, he would per-
sonally rather have remained a private and humble
citizen on foot. After carrying the shivering and
besmeared editor about to their hearts' content, occa-
sionally adding to his general discomfort by bouncing
him up and down on the rough and splintered corner of
the rail, the regulators told him that he must leave
town within twenty-four hours, and never show his face
or form there again.

There were other citizens of the town, among them
a brother of mine, who, while not particularly enamored
with Cochran or his style of journalism, felt that his
morals would at least average up with those of his
persecutors. They also organized, armed themselves
with such weapons as were convenient, and told the

82 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

editor that he could remain as long as he wished and
they would be responsible for his safety. Cochran ex-
pressed his appreciation of their kindness, but con-
fessed to them that the atmosphere of the town did
not seem salubrious or congenial to him and if they
would arrange to purchase his paper and outfit he
would seek other climes where it was not the habit
to decorate editors with sandburs and sorghum mo-
lasses. His proposition was accepted by my brother
and his brother-in-law, E. W. Iliif ; the Barber County
Mail slept the sleep that knows no waking and a new
paper, the Medicine Lodge Cresset, was born.

The name Cresset was the selection of Iliif, who
looked the typical frontiersman, but was really a lover
of good literature and an especial admirer of Milton.
Readers of "Paradise Lost" will recall the vivid descrip-
tion of Satan's palace which was lighted by "cressets."
This appealed to IlifFs poetic fancy and so the name,
Medicine Lodge Cresset. The name called for a good
deal of explanation. Half the exchanges persisted for
years in calling it the Crescent, apparently laboring
under the impression that some followers of the Sultan
had migrated to Kansas and gone into the newspaper
business. There was also some considerable curiosity
among the readers of the paper, who had never read
the blind poet's great creation. "What's the meanin'
of this here name Cresset?" asked a rough, weather-
beaten cowboy, who ambled one day into the office. The
origin of the name was carefully explained to him. He
mused over it for a time, then looked at the rather
meager and not very handsome paper, and exclaimed:
"Damned fittin' name I would say. This here is a hell
of a paper, isn't it?"

HAPPENINGS IN THE SEVENTIES 83

The Wonderful Mirage

The following thrilling story of adventure and hair-
raising experience is related by Judge William R.
Smith, of the Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe railroad.
Judge Smith modestly insists that the story is not for
publication, but I can not permit so interesting and
verified a narrative to be lost to the reading world.
I therefore violate his confidence and give you the story
as he related it to me:

"The spring of '79 will always be memorable for the
devastating cyclones which started in Texas and moved
north through the Indian Territory into western Kansas.
Not one alone terrified the early settlers who were making
their homes on the frontier, but a succession of tornadoes
moved over the country at that time, leaving destruction
and death in their wake; a second and third gleaning what
was left of the scanty possessions of the already impover-
ished people.

"On May 29, of that year, a cyclone of unheard-of
violence traveled over the Indian Territory on its way to
Kansas. Dirty Mud, a chief of the Snake Indians, had
four of his wives swept from his side while they were
engaged in the domestic duty of preparing the intestines
of a dog for their husband's dinner. Dirty Mud was,
however, somewhat consoled after this sad bereavement
by the fact that he had three wives left, who, fortunately,
were chopping wood two miles distant from the path of the
storm. This consolation, however, was brief, for with an
inhuman mania for destruction, this same cyclone, after
moving forty miles north, hesitated on its deadly journey,
and returning the next day, carried the three remaining
wives of Dirty Mud off the face of the earth, and they
were seen no more. Waiting for two days to be assured
that none of his wives would descend, Dirty Mud married
again, but not until he had dug a cyclone cellar fourteen
feet deep under his cabin, into which, at the first appear-
ance of a dark cloud, he let down his second batch of wives
to a place of safety, with a rope.

84 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

"What I have related so far is not recorded from per-
sonal observation. I come now, however, to an experience
in which I played a thrilling and dangerous part. It re-
lates to the same cyclone which so greatly disrupted the
domestic relations of the Snake Indian chief and brought
profound sorrow into a family happily united. I was
making a business journey on horse-back from Sheridan
Lake to Water Valley, two towns situated about five miles
over the Kansas line in Colorado. In the southwest were
gathering clouds, accompanied by gusts of wind which
greatly agitated the sagebrush and cactus, filling the air
with red dust. As the wind grew stronger, a cloud blacker
than ink approached the earth, and to my great terror as-
sumed a funnel-shaped form, leaving no doubt that a
deadly cyclone was close at hand. My horse, now spurred
to a gallop, his ears laid back, and trembling like a leaf,
swept past hundreds of jack rabbits, which were running
at full speed in their efforts to escape. Giving a backward
glance, I saw the funnel-shaped monster whirling in its
course, tearing up all vegetation in its path and digging
a trench two feet deep in the dry sand. It had a rotary
motion, which in the brief time I had to calculate, I es-
timated at 300,000 revolutions a minute. On its closer
approach, my horse became violently excited. Leaping
over a boulder, he looked back, increased his speed, and
snorting with fright, threw spray from both his nostrils
to a distance of ten feet. There was no escape. The
horrible monster would swallow us in an instant more. I
held my breath. At that moment the whirling cyclone
sent a stone against the horse's ribs, at which he reared
on his hind legs, made a violent plunge sidewise and threw
me, stunned and bleeding to the ground. This saved my
life and that of the horse.

"I was thrown twenty feet from the path of the cyclone
and escaped with no serious injuries. The horse did not
fare so well. The edge of the whirling cloud, propelled
with irresistible force, and revolving like a buzz-saw, struck
the animal a glancing blow and passed on with terrific ve-
locity to the north. On arising to my feet I approached the
horse, which stood perfectly still in a dazed condition, par-

HAPPENINGS IN THE SEVENTIES 85

alyzed with fright. On examination I found that every hair
on his body had been pulled out by the roots, until his skin
had the appearance of a Mexican dog. Science has not yet
accounted for the eccentric freaks of a cyclone after it gets
a fair start. The horse then began to shake like a man
with the ague, swaying from side to side. Cold sweat
streamed from his body, and so violent were the vibrations
of his head that every tooth in his mouth rattled to the
ground, some of them flying off to a distance of twenty
feet. He did not long survive this attack. Surrounded
with succulent grass reaching to his knees, the poor animal
starved to death in less than a week. After his death it
was discovered that by some unknown chemical action the
horse's hide had been completely tanned and was soft and
pliable enough for the manufacture of the finest shoes.

"Looking in the distance to note the movements of the
cyclone, I was astonished to see several houses and a
church on the border of a lake, on the banks of which were
many trees, some of them ten feet in diameter and a hun-
dred feet high. Knowing the arid condition of the country,
I saw at once that the unusual manifestation was a mirage.
At the same instant the cyclone attacked the town, the lake,
and the trees with tremendous force. It started with
lightning speed and moved swifter than a rush telegram
over a down-hill wire. It looked more vicious than when
it passed me and struck the horse. Quicker than I can tell
it, the funnel-shaped cloud of ferocious blackness struck
the edge of the lake. Trees of the size described appeared
to be twisted out by the roots, with the facility with which
a dentist pulls a tooth. Their huge trunks disappeared,
ground to a pulp in an instant. After the trees were dis-
posed of, with one gulp the cyclone swallowed all the water
in the lake, leaving its bed dry and sandy as a brick yard.
Its tentacles were next thrown around the church steeple,
carrying it away without disturbing the rest of the build-
ing. When the devastation was complete, it stopped in
its course as if hesitating before seeking new food for
its voracious maw. This pause in its progress led me to
think that the unsubstantial impediment to the devastating
work of the cyclone, which the mirage had interposed, had

86 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

been disappointing, inasmuch as no physical force could
dissipate or destroy this optical illusion. I was forced to
smile at the futile attack of the vicious cyclone on the
imaginary village, with its lake and trees, which disap-
peared like a vision when the black monster whirled over
the place where it seemed to have a site and fixed location.
No sooner had the cyclone moved on, however, than the
houses reappeared, the trees resumed their former places
and the lake was as calm and peaceful as before.

"I have never heard of another instance where a mirage
was seen to come into collision with a cyclone. Inasmuch
as there were no witnesses who can attest the truth of what
I saw, I have been careful to avoid exaggeration, as should
be done in all cases where personal experiences of a
startling nature are detailed, in the absence of others who
may vouch for their accuracy."

The Last Indian Raid m Kansas

On Tuesday, September 17, 1878, a horseman rode
down the valley of the Medicine, his horse covered with
foaming sweat. He carried the news that there had
been an Indian massacre on the Salt Fork of the
Cimarron River, in the southwest part of Comanche
County, in which two persons had been killed outright,
a baby mortally and two other persons seriously
wounded. The attack, according to the report brought
by the horseman, had been made at Sheets' cattle camp
near the state line by a party of Cheyennes under the
command of a daring young Cheyenne chief, called Dull
Knife. The Northern Cheyennes had been moved from
their northern hunting grounds against their will.
They cbafed under the restrictions of the agency and
the young warriors plotted to go back to the land
where they were born and where they and their fathers
had hunted for many generations. There has been an
impression that the entire tribe of Northern Cheyennes

HAPPENINGS IN THE SEVENTIES 87

were engaged in this raid. The fact is that not more
perhaps than a hundred of the young warriors fol-
lowed Dull Knife in his journey north.

From the Sheets* ranch the horseman reported that
the Indians had traveled on to the Payne ranch. Payne
was afterward president of the Comanche pool and was
killed by bank robbers at Medicine Lodge in the spring
of 1883. The rider went on to say that Payne had
been shot in the neck, Mrs. Payne had been shot in
the thigh, and their baby had been shot through the
breast. Tom Murray, a cattle herder, had been caught
out alone and, true to his race and name, he had died
fighting. It may not be out of place here to publish
the following brief but touching tribute to the lone
Irish herder, written by Captain Byron P. Ayers, of
whom I have made former mention, which was published
subsequently in the Barber County Mail: "In your
paper last week you told that Tom Murray was dead.
The boys who knew him have asked me to say something
about him and have you print it. I do not know what
to say, except that he was a good man, always sober,
told the truth, loved children, and revered women. He
died fighting bravely to the last."

I have always considered that as fine and compre-
hensive a tribute as I have ever read. A few hours
after the report of the massacres reached Medicine
Lodge, forty or fifty determined, well armed men were
mounted and on the way to intercept the savages.
They were not trained soldiers, but I question if a
nervier set of fighters ever rode out to battle. I have
some personal pride in the expedition because a brother
of mine rode with them, a young and stalwart man,
quiet, cool, never given to boasting, never reckless, but
who, had he been given command of a forlorn hope,
would, I am certain, have ridden to the death as coolly
as rode the troopers of the "Six Hundred" at the fatal

88 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

charge of Balaclava. His body lies in an Oklahoma
burying ground, and I trust I may be excused for in-
serting this tribute to his memory.

Some forty miles south of Dodge City the Barber
County scouts joined a force of United States regulars
and the combined force succeeded in intercepting Dull
Knife and his band. They, in fact, practically sur-
rounded the Indians in a canyon in what is now Clark
County. The regulars and scouts together consider-
ably outnumbered the Indians and might have either
captured them or exterminated them. The scouts,
however, had put themselves under command of the
United States regular officer in command of the troops
and he refused to attack. They asked to be per-
mitted to attack, trying to convince the officer in com-
mand that while an attack might mean the loss of a
few men they certainly could stop the further progress
of the Indians. The officer refused, threw out pickets,
and ordered that no attack be made until the next
morning. Under cover of darkness the wily savages
slipped away, and when the morning came the regu-
lars and scouts found they were guarding an empty
canyon. The scouts were humiliated and disgusted
and always regarded the regular officer in command of
the troops as a coward, who was responsible for the
trail of blood and fire afterward made by Dull Knife
and his band before they were finally captured.

They had entered at the southwest corner of what
is now Comanche County and crossing the state came
out of it on the north line of Decatur County. The
number of persons murdered by them in Kansas was
variously estimated at from seventy-five to one hun-
dred. The failure of the regulars to stop them before
they had done any considerable amount of damage
called forth this editorial reference from the Medicine
Lodge editor in his paper of October 17, 1878 :

HAPPENINGS IN THE SEVENTIES 89

"Poor Lo has outgeneraled the U. S. troops and
Dull Knife has shown himself entitled to a name among
the great warriors of the red braves."

The band was finally captured in Nebraska. Some
of them were killed before the capture and Dull Knife
and a number of other warriors were put in jail. My
recollection is that none of these were finally executed
for their crimes. It is not at all improbable that even
yet there is preserved in some Cheyenne teepee a scalp
lock or two gathered on that the last Indian raid
through Kansas.

For several years after, the border was troubled
with a fear of another outbreak and during the ad-
ministration of Governor St. John a border patrol was
established, an organization something after the
fashion of the Texas rangers. A few well armed and
well mounted men rode the southern line of Kansas
from the Cowley County border to the Colorado line,
but there was no other Indian chief with the daring
and organizing ability of Dull Knife to lead the young
braves on another expedition of pillage and massacre.

The Hillman Case

It was in the last days of March, 1879, when I
reached Medicine Lodge after a long, windy and weari-
some trip from Wichita in a freight wagon. I had not
been notified that there had been a change of owner-
ship in the frontier newspaper, and I may say in pass-
ing that when I started west I had no idea that I was
to be a newspaper man. In fact I had never up to
that time been inside a newspaper office or seen a
type.

When I entered the Cresset office on that windy
March day, Iliff was seated at a pine table. In front

90 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

of him lay his "45" revolver, fully loaded. He filled
my imagination of what "Jim Bludso" of the "Arizona
Kicker" ought to look like. His hair, black and coarse
as that of an Indian, fell down over his collar. His
eyes, black and flashing, looked out from under beetling
brows with hairs stiff and wiry and as long as the
ordinary mustache. His dress was in keeping with his
appearance. Around his neck was a red bandana hand-
kerchief. His dark gray woolen shirt, flaring open
slightly at the throat, revealed in part the muscular
neck and hirsute breast. He wore the leather "chaps"
common to the cow men of that day and his pants,
stuffed in his boots, were held in place by a belt well
filled with loaded cartridges. A woven rawhide quirt
hung from his left wrist. The heels of his boots were
ornamented with savage-looking spurs. He was booted
and spurred and ready to ride. But he was not just
then thinking of the range. He was engaged in writ-
ing a most vigorous editorial, as I recall, on the Hill-
man case.

A couple of weeks before that time there had been
a tragedy up on Spring Creek, fourteen miles north-
west of Medicine Lodge, and a country justice, George
Washington Paddock, acting as coroner, had held in-
quest over the supposedly dead body of John W. Hill-
man. Hillman, a farm laborer of Douglas County,
had, at the instance of one Levy Baldwin, taken out
life insurance in various companies to the extent of
$25,000 in the aggregate. No cash had been paid, as
I now recall, for the initial premiums on the policies.
Notes, I think, indorsed by Levy Baldwin had been
accepted by the agents. That a man in Hillman's
financial circumstances should take out so much in-
surance on his life, was to say the least, remarkable,
for in those days the farm laborer was not paid large
wages and the annual premiums on that amount of in-

HAPPENINGS IN THE SEVENTIES 91

surance would equal the probable earnings of a man
like Hillman.

A man by the name of Brown reported the killing
of Hillman. He said that in drawing a gun out of the
wagon it was accidentally discharged, the bullet strik-
ing Hillman behind the ear and passing through his
brain. The verdict of the coroner's jury was based on
these supposed facts. The body was buried at Medicine
Lodge. I think his wife did not come to the funeral,
and altogether there seemed to be a rather remarkable
indifference displayed on the part of his relatives and
friends. Ten days afterward a representative of one
of the insurance companies arrived at Medicine Lodge
and had the body exhumed and shipped to Lawrence for
identification. Then commenced one of the most cele-
brated cases in the history of life insurance.

The claim of the insurance companies was that the
whole thing was a conspiracy concocted by Baldwin
and Hillman to defraud the insurance companies out of
$25,000. They declared that a victim by the name of
Walters had been employed by Baldwin and Hillman
to accompany Hillman and Brown down to Barber
County, where Walters was to be murdered and his
body buried for that of Hillman, while Hillman, of
course, was to disappear. Some months after the kill-
ing Brown made a confession, in which he declared that
his first statement to the coroner's jury was false;
that, as a matter of fact, Walters had been murdered
by Hillman at the camp, after which Hillman had dis-
appeared and Walters' body had been buried in his
place.

The attorneys for Mrs. Hillman produced several
reputable witnesses in Medicine Lodge, who declared
that Hillman had visited the Lodge several weeks before
the killing, and was detained there during a storm which
lasted several days. These witnesses declared that the

92 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

man who visited the Lodge on the prior occasion and
the man who was shot were one and the same. Know-
ing these men well, I can not doubt their honesty,
and it is hard to believe that they were mistaken.
Pictures of the missing man, Walters, and of Hillman
did not show any marked resemblance between the two.
On the other hand, the circumstances were exceedingly
suspicious, the taking out of a $25,000 life insurance
by a common laborer, the burial of the body in an
unmarked grave, with apparently no intention of re-
moving it to his home at Lawrence, the giving of notes
instead of cash for the payment of the first premiums
on the policies, the confession of Brown, all tended to
make a strong prima facie case for the insurance com-
panies.

For a quarter of a century the case dragged its way
through the courts, up to the supreme court of the
United States and back again and again to the supreme
court. Some of the ablest lawyers not only of Kansas,
but of other states were engaged on one side or the
other. Finally the case got into state politics, when
Webb McNall, insurance commissioner under Governor
Leedy, ordered the New York Life to pay the Hill-
man policy or get out of the state. The cases were
finally compromised, the companies concluding that it
was better to pay what they considered a wrongful
claim than to fight the matter longer. If Hillman was
not killed, he was never heard from again ; if the man
who was killed was not Walters then there was another
remarkable disappearance. I have little doubt that
taking out the policies of insurance was part of a con-
spiracy to defraud the insurance companies, but I have
thought there was a failure of the plan, at least so far
as Hillman was concerned, and that he was really
killed at the lonesome camp on Spring Creek.

PICTURESQUE FIGURES

A Frontier Surveyor

WHEN I arrived at Medicine Lodge I found the
principal surveyor a hunchback by the name
of George Wise. Wise was the owner of a
surveyor's tripod, transit, surveyor's chain, and a
diminutive donkey. When Wise and his surveyor's
outfit were loaded on the back of the donkey the top
of his cowboy hat hardly rose above the points of the
donkey's ears. Whether Wise knew anything worth
mentioning about the science of surveying is a question,
but he was in some ways the most accommodating sur-
veyor who ever sighted over a transit.

He was frequently employed by cattlemen who took
up claims with the idea of controlling as much running
water as possible. Wise operated on the theory that
the business of surveying was not to try to find the
government corners and establish lines in accordance
therewith, but to establish corners and lines that would
suit the wishes and convenience of the party who em-
ployed him to do the surveying. It was said to be
quite customary with him when he had unloaded his
tripod and transit from the back of the donkey to
ask in his high-pitched, thin voice, "Well, where the

do you want these corners located?" I was

talking with a resident of Barber County only a few
days ago and was told that corner stones can still be
found down there which have, apparently, been located
without any reference to the government survey. I

94 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

have no doubt they were located by Wise, the hunch-
back.

Like many men suffering from a permanent affliction
that causes a physical deformity, Wise was a man of
irascible temper, easily irritated and petulant. He
always affected the cowboy dress and carried with
pride a number "44" revolver, a huge gun which seemed
larger on account of the diminutive stature of the man
who carried it. When Wise could get a crowd to listen
to him, he liked to talk of his prowess and achieve-
ments.

One day he commenced a narrative of which he was
particularly proud. When he commenced there was
quite a large and apparently deeply interested audi-
ence, but he had only got fairly started when the
hearers commenced to drop out, just casually, as
though they had lost interest or happened to think
of something somewhere else. Wise was so deeply in-
terested in his own narration that he didn't note the
gradual thinning out of the crowd until, happening
to turn his head, he observed that there was only
one man left, a stranger who had just come in to look
at the country and was sitting in the drug store where
Wise was telling his story and in the corner where
he could not well get away. It probably had not oc-
curred to him to go away, as he had not been let in
on the job that was being put on the peppery little
hunchback and was listening to the story with polite
and apparently interested attention. When Wise saw
that the crowd had deliberately walked out on him it
filled him with rage. To the astonishment and possibly
somewhat to the alarm of the polite stranger the hunch-
back suddenly pulled his gun out of its holster and,
pointing it at the lone auditor, his shrill voice shaking
with anger, he yelled: "Don't you move, damn you.
You're goin' to listen till I get through."

PICTURESQUE FIGURES 95

It is hardly necessary to remark that the stranger
did.

Wise was at this time a middle-aged man but had
never married. There came as a cook in one of the
frontier restaurants a robust female who for some
inscrutable reason began to "cotton" to the hunch-
back surveyor. She must have impressed him with her
heft as she was not a damsel fair to look upon. She
was built, however, in a way to rival the behemoth of
Holy Writ. The courtship was short and ardent and
when the knot was tied, apparently both were supremely
satisfied. A more strangely assorted couple was
perhaps never seen. The bride stood, I should say,
about six feet in her stocking feet and would weigh
around two hundred and twenty-five, while the groom
stood about five feet and would weigh perhaps a
hundred net. When they walked out together she
towered above her diminutive spouse like one of the
Ringling elephants above his keeper. Before the honey-
moon was ended, however, the town jokers began de-
liberately to fan the flame of jealousy in the heart of
the hunchback. One after another came to him with
tales of cowboys who were trying to make love to his
wife. The tale bearers told him that these men were
sore on him because he had "cut them out" and that
they were trying now to alienate the affections of his
matrimonial partner. They told him that while the
fact that he was able to win this fair maid away from
all these other suitors showed that he was some ladies'
man, there was no telling what devilment these dis-
appointed men would try to put into her head when
he wasn't watching. The trouble makers succeeded
even better than they had hoped, and watched the green
eyed monster take possession of the hunchback sur-
veyor with unholy joy. A time came, however, when
there was a possibility that the joke might result in

96 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

a tragedy. A dance was being held in the restaurant,
which had been cleared of tables and counters for that
purpose, and the frontier fiddler was droning out his
invariable opening call to the "sets" formed for the
quadrille, "Jine hands and circle to the left" when a
weazened figure, his eyes blazing with wrath and his
gun in hand, came raging down the center of the
room. It was "Humpy Wise." One of his supposed
rivals had invited Mrs. Wise to dance. Wise pro-
posed to stop proceedings. There was to be no "On
with the dance, let joy be unconfined" so far as he was
concerned, and incidentally it may be remarked that
proceedings did stop for the time being. As one of
the cowboys remarked, "The durned little crook-
backed son-of-a-gun might let that gun go off. You
can't always tell."

Frontier Barbers

When I arrived in Medicine Lodge, after a long,
wearisome, and dusty trip on a freight wagon, I needed
the ministrations of a barber. I asked if the town
supported a tonsorial artist, and was told if I meant
by those words to describe a party who shaved people
and cut their hair, and the like, that the town did.
They said I would find the town barber at the livery
stable. I assumed that they meant that, during a
temporary lull in the rush of business, he was loafing
about the livery stable, but that was a mistake. I
went to the stable and saw a man of vigorous frame
acting as chamber maid for a number of raucous-
voiced mules and partially civilized bronchos. I in-
quired if he had seen the town barber.

"You are looking at him right now," he replied, as
he leaned the fork up against the side of the stable
and rubbed his hands on his overalls.

PICTURESQUE FIGURES 97

"Where is your shop ?"

"Right in there, stranger," pointing to a small room
boarded off at one corner of the stable.

There were two ordinary chairs in the room and I
sat down on one of them. The barber mixed up a half
pint or so of lather in an ancient-appearing cup, took
a razor from a shelf and stropped it on his bootleg,
drew up a chair behind the one on which I was sitting,
put one foot up on this chair and bent my head back
over his knee until my neck described a parabola and
my Adam's apple jutted up into the air like a lowly
mound. The barber distributed lather over my
countenance with lavish and indiscriminate brush. I
inadvertently started to open my mouth to protest and
received a spoonful or such a matter. My recollection
is, however, that, barring the fact that it was mixed
with mule hair after the manner in which hair is mixed
with lime in making mortar, it was not different either
in taste or consistency from other lather I have sampled
during the fleeting years.

By the time the job of amputating my whiskers was
finished, I felt that I probably had permanent curva-
ture of the spine, but youth is resilient; my head
snapped back into place and there was no subsequent
ill effect. After the whisker amputation was completed,
the barber wiped my countenance with a sponge which
smelled as if it had been used in completing the toilet
of the mules; anointed my jaws with Mustang liniment
and informed me that my bill was fifteen cents. I had
been accustomed to ten cents for a shave and, in-
fluenced by the place and service, was inclined to kick
and neigh, but came across. The barber informed me
that there was really nothing in the barber business
in that town, and that he had about decided to quit.
He left shortly afterward.

In a few weeks a man came to town, saying that he

98 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

had heard Medicine Lodge needed a barber shop and
he thought there might be an opening. The valor of
ignorance is remarkable. I have often wondered since
that the inhabitants of a frontier town like Medicine
Lodge, where they were supposed to shoot on slight
provocation, permitted that man to practice on their
faces and get away alive. He had no barber chair,
but employed a local carpenter to make him one. If
the carpenter had ever seen a barber chair, there was
nothing about his handiwork to indicate it. The chair
was entirely rigid. When the victim was once seated,
there was no chance for him to shift his position to
mitigate the agony. This second alleged barber was
an earnest soul. I will say for him that he took his
work more seriously than almost any man I ever knew.
He had a curious habit when shaving you of running
out his tongue as some men do who find writing a most
laborious and serious matter.

This habit of his had one thing to recommend it. I
used to become so much interested in watching his lin-
gual contortions that I forgot the torture of the razor.
I had never supposed before that the human tongue
could express by silent movement the varied emotions
of the man to whom it belonged. When the razor was
operating in proximity to the jugular, the barber's
tongue seemed to contract to about the size and ap-
pearance of a carpenter's red keel pencil. It would
quiver and sometimes perform a rapid spiral motion.
This indicated mental excitement and apprehension.
When, however, the razor was pulling steadily up and
down the cheek, the barber's tongue would drape itself
languidly and peacefully over his lower lip.

The only explanation I can see for that barber's im-
munity from assassination at the hands of some muti-
lated customer was his earnestness and effort to please.
One day a customer by the name of Van Slyke endured

PICTURESQUE FIGURES 99

the amputation of his beard with remarkable patience
for half or three-quarters of an hour. By that time
the barber had gotten over all of Van's face except his
upper lip. "Would you like to have your upper lip
shaved?" he asked.

"No," patiently replied Van Slyke. "For awhile
after I got into the chair I thought I would just let
you pull out all the whiskers and save me from any
further expense for shaving, but I have changed my
mind. I am going to save what are left just to show
these guys around here that I can raise hair on my
face if I want to."

"Windy Smith19 and "Tiger Jack"

There is something about the frontier that seems to
attract to it more varied and peculiar kinds of individ-
uals than can be found elsewhere. These peculiar types
were interesting to me and may be to such as take
the time and trouble to read this series of stories of
early western Kansas life and times.

Among the peculiar individuals who attracted my
attention was one known as "Windy Smith." Smith's
job was to transport the mail twice a week from
Medicine Lodge to a couple of postoffices which had
been established in southwest Barber and southeast
Comanche Counties for the benefit of the ranchmen
who pastured their cattle in that locality. The mail
was carried on a somewhat ancient and discouraged
appearing, sway-backed, dun-colored mule. The mule
was the property of "Windy Smith," but probably
was somewhat encumbered by a chattel mortgage.

As I was young and unmarried, I frequently stayed
in the newspaper office evenings and after Smith had
delivered the mail and cared for his mule, he got in the

100 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

habit of coming to the office to loaf. On about the first
of these occasions he told me that he was from Virginia
and owned, as I recall, a quarter section of land there.
He found me, as he supposed, an interested listener.
He did not often find that kind of listeners. The men
who knew him were apt to find some excuse to go some-
where else when he commenced to talk, but I listened
well and it warmed the cockles of his heart. The next
time he came to the office his land holdings had in-
creased to a section. I did not call attention to the
discrepancy. He probably thought I had forgotten
what he had told me the last time, or maybe he had for-
gotten himself. I was still a good listener and that
fact won me favor in his eyes. At the next evening
session I noted that he had increased his acreage to
two sections, but still I seemed interested and credulous.
As a matter of fact, I was becoming interested. I was
curious to know just how far his imagination would
expand.

From that time on the imaginary holdings of
"Windy Smith" increased faster than Falstaff s "men
in buckram." In a couple of weeks he assured me un-
blushingly that he was the owner of 20,000 acres of
Virginia land and in a month his possessions amounted
to more than 40,000 acres. After an hour of this sort
of pipe dreaming he would go away to seek repose in
the hay loft of the stable that sheltered his sway-
backed dun mule, and the next morning would ride out
of town on his long and lonesome journey across the al-
most uninhabited cattle ranges. I never had the heart
either to call attention to his differences of statement
or to express a doubt as to their accuracy. These lies
were really his only recreation. They did no harm so
far as I could discover. While he was telling them
the old mail carrier lived in imagination surrounded
by fabulous wealth, the master of vast possessions. Of

PICTURESQUE FIGURES 101

course after it was over he had to get down to the
sordid realities of life — a bed in a hay mow, a salary
of perhaps $40 per month out of which had to be paid
the keep of the sway-backed dun mule — but for a little
while he was a Croesus in his mind, and as an appar-
ently credulous and interested listener I contributed
to his temporary happiness.

In the Medicine valley some three or four miles south
of Medicine Lodge lived John Sparks, commonly known
as "Tiger Jack." The fact was that Sparks was one
of the most harmless of men, but, like "Windy Smith,"
gifted with a marvelous imagination. I think living
in comparative solitude, as the early settlers did, was
calculated to develop the imagination. "Tiger Jack's"
imagination did not run to vast possessions, but to
personal prowess and daring. It seemed to me that a
great many of these peculiar characters drifted into
my office and unloaded on me the product of their
imaginations. Sparks used up several hours of my
time in this way. He told me that when the buffalo
were plentiful he was by all odds the most skilled and
successful hunter that there was on the plains. I asked
him if he had ever been in any close places while hunt-
ing. He assured me that he had. He said his closest
call was one day when he got caught in a vast herd
of stampeded buffalo. He was riding a small pony and
saw that he was liable to be run over and trampled to
death. Or if he kept up with the herd he saw that the
buffalo were heading for a high bluff and that if he and
his pony were forced over it was sure death. But his
presence of mind did not desert him. He jumped from
the back of his pony on to the back of the nearest
buffalo and from the back of that buffalo on to the
back of another and then on to another until he finally
reached the outer edge of the herd, traveling a mile or
so on the backs of buffalo.

102 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

I asked him how he got the name of "Tiger Jack"
and he proceeded to unfold a marvelous story of an
adventure in Colorado. He informed me confidentially
that it was owing to his efforts that Colorado was pre-
vented from going out of the Union. The fact that
Colorado was not admitted to the Union until eleven
years after the War of the Rebellion seemed to have
escaped his memory. After his heroic stand for loyalty
he had learned that a white woman was held in cap-
tivity by a band of Indians and, feeling that the Union
was saved so far as Colorado was concerned, he im-
mediately set out like a knight of old to rescue the
captive lady.

"I found the Indian village where the woman was,"
said Sparks, "and taking the bridle rein in my teeth
and a revolver in each hand, I rode right in, grabbed
the woman and put her up on the saddle in front of
me and rode away. That was where I got the title of
'Tiger Jack/ ' I submit that a man who could lift a
woman up on his saddle while carrying a revolver in
each hand, and with his bridle rein in his teeth, would
be entitled to be called "Tiger Jack."

It was a peculiarity of "Tiger Jack's" stories that,
while they nearly all led right up to the very edge of
slaughter, I do not recall that he ever claimed to have
killed anybody. Generally his presence was sufficient
to strike terror to the hearts of his opponents, and so
he was saved from the necessity of killing anyone. I
think the fact was that Sparks, who was really, as I
have said, a harmless and inoffensive man, did not want
to imagine that he had really killed anybody, but did
want, like a good many timid men, to create the im-
pression that he was a man of great daring and
prowess. For a good while after making his acquaint-
ance I regarded him as quite an interesting liar, but
when he began to repeat on me, telling me the same lies

PICTURESQUE FIGURES 103

over and over again, they grew monotonous, stale, and
unprofitable.

Bad Men — Real and Imitations

There has been a great deal written about the "bad
men" of the frontier, but not a great deal about their
harmless imitators. The real "bad man" of the frontier
was siii generis. He had certain marked character-
istics. He was generally quiet even when in liquor and
there was a reason for this, for after all the real "bad
man" was not a fair fighter. When he made up his
mind to kill, it was not his purpose to notify the victim
of his intention. He was not of the rattlesnake type
which gave warning when about to strike, but, like
the copperhead or deadly adder, he struck swiftly and
with deadly certainty; yet, with a certain cunning, he
generally managed to make it seem that he killed in
self-defense.

It is true that there were noisy cowboys who, when
filled with the craze-producing hell broth that passed
for whisky in the frontier towns, would go on a ram-
page and howl and shoot, but generally that kind of a
man did not aim to kill anybody in particular; he
was just firing his gun for the purpose of creating a
general panic and any spectator who happened to be
in range was likely to get hurt, not because the drunken
cowboy wanted to hurt him, but because he was un-
fortunate enough to get in the way of a flying bullet.

There were also a few men who were in no sense dan-
gerous, but who possessed a curious egotism that made
them want to create the impression that they were
really desperate characters. They made no impression
on those who were acquainted with them, but a stranger
listening to one of them for the first time was likely
to get the impression that he was listening to a real

104 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

man, whose weapon was fairly covered with notches,
recording the number of victims of his deadly aim.
Among this class the man who most impressed himself
on my memory was "Uncle Bill Carl," who had a claim,
which he called his ranch, on the Medicine.

"Uncle Bill" was really a kindly soul, as harmless as
a setter pup, but dowered by nature with a voice like
the roaring of many waters. So far as I can recall he
never even carried a gun, which after all was an evi-
dence of wisdom, for had he foolishly gone armed with
his mouth going off at random some man would almost
certainly have called his bluff and killed him. As a
romancer "Uncle Bill" had few equals, especially when
he was more or less illuminated. It was under such a
condition of partial inebriety that he was wont to make
his announcement, especially if a tenderfoot happened
to be present.

"I'm Buckskin Bill from the Rocky Mountains," he
would roar in a voice which made the rafters shake.
"When I was in my prime and started on the warpath
grizzly bears hunted their holes in terror and women
called in the children playin' among the muskeet, sayin'
'Come in here to your mother, Buckskin Bill is comin*
down the mountain with blood in his eye.' But Buck-
skin Bill from the Rocky Mountains never harmed
wimmen er children. When I went on the war path it
was as an avenger of blood. 'Dead Eye Dick' and
Slade, the chief of the bandits, knowed Buckskin Bill,
and when they heard me comin* they fled fur shelter
to the deepest recesses of the mountains.

"I hev whipped twice my weight of mountain lions
and strangled a wild cat with each hand when they was
both a-clawin' me. I could shoot so fast that five
bullets out of my gun would hit a man after I ceased
firin'. With the bridle rein in my teeth and a gun in
each hand, I hev rode into a band of a thousand mur-

PICTURESQUE FIGURES 105

derin' Apaches and rescued a weepin' female from her
bloodthirsty captors.'*

Having delivered himself of this historical informa-
tion in a deep roaring voice, he would wind up with a
song about

"Hairlip Sal from Bitter Creek,

She wore a number nine ;
She kicked the hat off a Texas galoot
To the tune of 'Auld Lang Syne.' "

Occasionally "Uncle Bill" made a pilgrimage to
Wichita, which was then a decidedly wide-open town.
One of the thirst parlors of the frontier metropolis
was kept by a German of uncertain temper, which was
not improved by the fact that occasionally the rounders
made a concerted raid on his free lunch counter and
went away without buying even so much as a glass of
beer. "Uncle Bill" happened in at one of the times
when the Dutchman had an accumulation of grievances.
There was what was called a reform administration just
elected, which not only insisted on boosting the saloon
license fifty per cent, but also passed a midnight clos-
ing ordinance and instructed the police to order the
saloonkeepers to have less noise about their places of
business.

Just before "Uncle Bill" blew in, the Dutchman had
been called on to pay his increased license ; the boys had
eaten all his cheese, wienerwurst, and other refresh-
ments on his free lunch counter and then insolently
directed him to lay in a new supply before they re-
turned. The policeman on that beat had just in-
formed him that there was complaint that there was
too much noise around the place. Taken altogether, he
was in no amiable frame of mind. As "Uncle Bill" lined
up with the crowd in front of the bar he roared out,
"I'm Buckskin Bill from the Rocky Mountains. I kin

106 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

whip twice my weight in mountain lions and hev
strangled two wild cats at one time, one with each
hand when both was clawin' at my frame. Whoop !"

It was just about the last straw. The Dutchman
sized "Uncle Bill" up correctly and therefore was not
impressed or afraid.

"I dond care veder you vas Puckskin Bill or Sheep-
skin Bill, I vont haf you makin' all this noise my saloon
in and bringin' der bolice here preddy quick all of a
sudden mit. I trow you oud mit here," and, suiting the
action to the word, he grasped "Buckskin Bill from the
Rocky Mountains" by the collar and slack of his pants
and heaved him out of the door. "Uncle Bill" was just
gathering himself up from the sidewalk when a friend
who knew him came by.

"What's the trouble, 'Uncle Bill?' "

"Why, that Dutchman throwed me out."

"What!" exclaimed the friend in feigned surprise,
"You don't mean to say that a Dutch saloonkeeper
threw Buckskin Bill from the Rocky Mountains out of
the saloon and still lives?"

"Hush, son, hush!" replied Bill, as he brushed the
dirt from his clothes in an uncertain manner, 'D'you
suppose that Buckskin Bill from the Rocky Mountains,
the terror of Wild Cat Gulch, is goin' to disgrace him-
self fightin' with a Limburger-eatin* Dutch-
man?"

A Border Justice

When the town of Medicine Lodge had achieved a
population of two hundred and fifty, some of the enter-
prising citizens decided that it ought to be incorporated.
They argued that it would give more dignity and tone
to the town if it had a regular city government, with
a mayor and a city marshal wearing his star. The

PICTURESQUE FIGURES 107

required petition was circulated and signed by a ma-
jority of the electors of the village, duly presented to
the board of county commissioners, the proper publica-
tion made and Medicine Lodge became a city of the
third class. Among the earliest selections for the
office of police judge was L. D. Hess, who had come
to the frontier town to start a grocery store.

Hess was a man who wasted fewer words in express-
ing his ideas than almost any man I ever knew. He
was also the most deliberate man, with the exception of
the late Judge J. D. McFarland, that I ever met.
During an acquaintance of several years I never saw
him show any indications of excitement or haste.
Whether the town was stirred by the advent of a cow-
boy filled with "hell's delight," riding full tilt through
the street, scattering shots and howling profanity as
he rode, or by a western zephyr cavorting across the
townsite filling the air with dust and shingles and awn-
ings ripped from their moorings, Judge Hess main-
tained the same imperturbable calm and moved about
his appointed tasks with the same grave delibera-
tion.

One day the Judge was proceeding along the street
with his slow, but even stride, carrying a ladder, his
head thrust between the rungs and the ladder resting
on his ample shoulders, for it may be noted here that
notwithstanding his peacefulness of disposition, in these
days the Judge was a powerful man. He never quar-
reled or "fussed" with any man. Apparently his temper
was never ruffled. He just went along attending strictly
to his own business in his slow, easy, quiet way like
a man who was at peace with himself and all man-
kind. On this particular day a cowboy from one
of the territory cattle ranges happened to be in town
on a vacation. He had already imbibed several drinks
of the far-reaching liquor that was dispensed at that

108 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

date and was filled with booze and happiness. As the
Judge passed him carrying the ladder a delightful idea
worked its way into the brain of the cowboy. He
suddenly caught the end of the ladder and swung it
violently around. The Judge caught unawares spun
around rapidly, but managed to keep his feet under
him. Those of us who knew him were compelled to say
that we had never seen him move with such alacrity.
His countenance, however, remained calm and un-
ruffled as a duck pond unstirred by the wind.

As soon as he fully recovered his equilibrium he
lifted the ladder from his shoulders, set it up carefully
against the side of the building, moved the base back
a trifle so that there would be no danger of its toppling
over, stepped back and looked at the ladder to see that
it was standing to suit him, and then turned his gaze
slowly toward the cowboy, who was viewing the situa-
tion with great delight.

Then there was a surprise for the man from the
range. The Judge moved deliberately over toward the
cowboy and suddenly his powerful right arm straight-
ened. His fist caught the cowboy fairly under the
chin and almost lifted him clear of the ground. The
cowboy lit out near the middle of the street and
for some moments subsequent proceedings did not in-
terest him.

On the countenance of the Judge there was no in-
dication of either excitement, anger, or triumph.
Calmly he took the ladder from the wall, adjusted
it to his shoulders with his head between the rungs,
and slowly wended his way toward his store, where
he also kept his office as police judge. There, without
the slightest indication of nervousness, he opened his
docket and made an entry of case of the "City of
Medicine Lodge vs. L. D. Hess ; charge, disturbing the
peace by fighting; defendant fined $2 and costs; fine

PICTURESQUE FIGURES 109

and costs paid by defendant; case closed." With
justice fully satisfied and the law vindicated, Judge
Hess went with unruffled calm about his business. But
other cowboys did not try to have fun with him.

A Frontier Attorney

Among the first attorneys to settle in Medicine
Lodge was a young Irishman, in after years known
all over Kansas as Mike Sutton. At the age of fifteen
Mike had entered the army, spent two years as a sol-
dier, and when peace came determined to get an edu-
cation and study law.

In the early seventies, perhaps 1873 or 1874, he
landed in Medicine Lodge and proclaimed himself a
lawyer. Business for a lawyer was decidedly scarce
and the picking slim. Mike was, however, single and
care-free and not disposed to worry over his financial
condition. To save laundry bills he washed his single
shirt in the clear, soft waters of Elm Creek and rested
under the shade of the plum bushes while the gar-
ment dried in the sun. On one occasion the driver
of the buckboard, which carried the government mail
between Medicine Lodge and Hutchinson, saw a shirt
draped over a bush near the crossing and was about to
appropriate it, when Mike, concealed in the bushes,
yelled at him. "Hi, there, let that shirt alone. You
have two shirts that I know of. What do you want
to rob a man for who only has one? This is no Garden
of Eden where a man can run naked like Adam did
before he climbed that apple tree!"

Mike formed a partnership with another indigent
young lawyer by the name of Whitelaw, who for some
inscrutable reason had gotten the notion in his head
that there was room for another lawyer in the frontier

110 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

town. Somehow the firm got a case that had to be tried
at Hutchinson. As the time of trial approached Mike,
for the first time since his settlement in the town, ap-
peared to be somewhat worried. "Jim," said he to his
partner, "one of us has got to go to Hutchinson and
try that case. I really haven't clothes fitting to ap-
pear in court, but you have a pair of overalls, nearly
new, and a shirt that you haven't been wearing more
than six months. You also have a pair of socks and
your toes are not sticking out of your shoes. You
will have to go and show the court that this firm has
some style and dignity."

In 1876 or 1877 Mike decided that the prospects for
law business in Medicine Lodge were not encouraging
and moved to the wild and woolly town of Dodge, then
the end of the great Texas cattle trail and there he
lived until his death about a year ago. He built up
a lucrative practice, became recognized as one of the
most successful and resourceful lawyers in the state of
Kansas, and died possessed of a comfortable fortune.

A story is told of the resourcefulness of Mike Sut-
ton in the trial of a law suit. A witness was on the
stand whose testimony, unless it could be discounted
in some way, would probably knock the bottom out of
Mike's case. It looked as if he was up against it when
suddenly the thought occurred to him to introduce as
a witness an expert on prevarication.

"Buffalo Jones," the well known hunter and town
builder, was sitting in the room where the case was
being tried. "Buffalo Jones will take the stand," said
Mike. The case was in justice court.

"Buffalo" had not anticipated being called into the
case, but he promptly came forward and was sworn.

"State your name and place of residence," said Mike.

"My name is C. J. Jones. I live in Garden City,
Kan."

PICTURESQUE FIGURES 111

"How long have you lived in western Kansas?"

"Thirty years."

"From your experience and observation of men in
this western country are you able to tell from the
expression of countenance, the manner of speech, and
the actions of a man whether or not he is a liar?"

"I am," calmly answered Jones.

"You are something of a liar yourself, are you not,
Mr. Jones?"

"I am," again calmly answered Jones.

"Have you carefully observed the countenance, the
manner of speech, and the actions of the witness who
just left the stand?"

"I have."

"Will you state to the court as an expert on pre-
varication whether or not this witness is a liar?"

"My judgment as an expert on truth and prevari-
cation is that he is a liar."

"Take the witness," said Mike triumphantly.

It was in vain that the attorney on the other side
protested to the justice of the peace that this was
an unheard-of proceeding, that the books nowhere gave
any authority for introducing an expert on prevarica-
tion and that Jones had not in any event qualified
himself to testify as an expert. The justice knew that
Mike Sutton understood his business and decided as
follows: "It is the opinion of this court that Mike
would introduce no incompetent testimony."

Didn't Recollect the President

Back in the seventies there lived in the state of New
York a widow possessed of considerable wealth and
a son named Stanley, who caused a lot of worry
and gray hairs to his fond mother, for Stanley was
decidedly inclined to wander into the primrose-lined

112 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

paths of sin. He looked on the wine when it was red.
He also looked on and sampled practically everything
else that had a kick to it and as a result the boy
was fairly well lit up most of the time.

It occurred to Mrs. Parsons, Stanley's mother, that
if she could get her boy far away from the giddy
throng and lure of the city, he would reform and be-
come a credit to his name and family. She had heard
of the great free ranges of the west, where cattle fed
on the sweet native grasses and fattened without any
expense worth mentioning. It occurred to her that if
her wayward boy could be induced to go out there where
he would be widely separated from his old-time com-
panions and kept busy looking after his grazing herd
and communing with nature, he would forget his ac-
quired thirst and likewise accumulate wealth, because
the widow was inclined to be thrifty as well as anxious
for the moral welfare of her son. "Stan" fell in with
the idea readily enough, because there was in his blood
a certain longing for adventure, and then, when out
of reach of his mother, he would be freed from her
chidings.

So one day in the later seventies he landed at Medi-
cine Lodge with enough money to buy a moderate sized
herd of cattle and secured a range a few miles west
of the frontier town. If Stan was separated from his
old cronies, he had hardly more than landed in the
cattle country until he began to associate himself with
new ones, who, when the opportunity offered, could
hit a fairly rapid pace themselves, and it may be re-
marked in passing that Stan was generally well to the
front of the procession.

What his fond mother did not know was that while
the bounding west, that part included in the great cat-
tle ranges, did not boast of the ornate saloons where
the devotees of Bacchus were wont to gather and per-

PICTURESQUE FIGURES 113

form their libations, it was supplied with a brand of
liquor of far-reaching and intensive power. Men who
tarried with it long and often were apt to acquire a
new variety of delirium tremens, under the influence
of which their diseased imaginations not only beheld
ordinary reptiles but prehistoric monsters — ichthyo-
sauruses, dynastidans, pterodactyls, and mournful
whangdoodles from the mountains of Hepsidam. Stan
Parsons imbibed large quantities of the fluid commonly
known in that section as "Hell's Delight," and was
"stewed" most of the time. When the general quietude
of the railroadless town of Medicine Lodge palled on
him he would go to Hutchinson, where he would remain
for days or even weeks in a condition of partial or total
inebriation, his cattle meanwhile looking out for
themselves. It is hardly necessary to say that his herd
did not increase and multiply.

In the fall of 1879 Rutherford B. Hayes, then presi-
dent of the United States, decided to make an official
tour of the country. The journey planned was the
most extensive ever taken by a president up to that
time. Accompanied by one or two members of his
cabinet, his wife, Lucy, who some people were mean
enough to say was the real president of the republic
during Rutherford's term of office, General Sherman,
and other notables, the presidential party crossed the
continent, visited several of the Pacific coast cities and
on the return trip passed through Kansas. This was
the first time that a president had visited the Sun-
flower state while in office and there was great interest
in his journey. At that time there were many thou-
sands of the men who had followed Sherman to the
sea living in Kansas and they were especially elated
at the prospect of meeting their old commander ; in fact
Sherman received a more enthusiastic welcome, so far
as Kansas was concerned, than the president.

114 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

Arrangements were made for a number of stops in
the state, one of them at Hutchinson. In his day
Rutherford B. Hayes was the most expert handshaker
among public men. He had a way of reaching out and
getting hold of the other fellow's hand and doing the
shaking himself. This was done as a matter of self-
protection, for if a public man at a general reception
were to permit his hand to be gripped by a few thou-
sand muscular and earnest sons of toil he would have
little more use for that hand for weeks afterward.
Hayes not only always took the initiative in the pub-
lic handshaking, but he had the manner of a man who
was grasping the hand of an old friend whom he had
not seen for years. When the presidential train
stopped at Hutchinson, Hayes took his place on the
platform and the crowd formed in single file to pass
and shake his hand or rather to let their hands be
shaken.

It happened that just at that time Stan Parsons
was making one of his visits to the town on the
Cowskin, and, noting the gathering crowd, went down
to the depot with a somewhat hazy idea of finding out
what it was all about. Once in the crowd he staggered
into line and finally came to the President. Hayes, with
his ingratiating, friendly smile and manner reached out,
grasped Stan's hand, and shook it heartily. Stan
paused, regarded Hayes from head to foot with drunken
gravity, scratched his head in a vain endeavor to recol-
lect, and finally said: "By G stranger, you seem

to have the advantage of me. Seems to me that I ought
to know your face, but damned if I can remember your
name at all."

Some Limbs of the Law

I do not know whether it was the case with all fron-
tier towns, but certainly in the early days of Medicine

PICTURESQUE FIGURES 115

Lodge the legal profession was not taken seriously.
There were no barriers to admission to the bar. The
less a man knew the more readily he was admitted.
If there was a suspicion that the applicant did know
something about law, there might be some little curi-
osity on the part of the committee appointed to ex-
amine him as to his qualifications, to find out what
he did know, but where it was entirely evident that the
man applying for admission neither knew anything
about law nor even suspected anything about it, the
task of the examining committee was easy. The ex-
amination consisted of just one question: "Are you
ready and willing to set *em up?"

With this simple formality disposed of, the com-
mittee on examination returned into court and re-
ported that they had examined the applicant and found
him well qualified for admission to the bar; he had al-
ready been admitted to one bar to their personal knowl-
edge and had shown reasonable familiarity with the
procedure there. Then the applicant held up his right
hand, swore to support the Constitution of the United
States and the Constitution of the state of Kansas and
became, so far as the record was concerned, a full-
fledged member of the legal profession. A good many
men for one reason and another have an ambition to
be called lawyers and to create the impression among
those who do not know them well, that they are fa-
miliar with the intricacies and technicalities of court
procedure. So it came about that a good many men
were admitted to the bar in that frontier town who
neither knew anything about law or court practice then,
nor afterward. Now there were some really able lawyers
out there even in the early days. It might be supposed
that they would have objected to the admission of these
entirely unqualified men, but their viewpoint was this:
Ninety per cent, of these persons would never dare to

116 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

display their ignorance by coming into court, and the
other ten per cent, who might have the nerve to un-
dertake to practice would probably get so tangled up
that they would be compelled to get a real lawyer to
help them out and therefore these ignoramuses would
really create business for attorneys who had some
knowledge and skill.

Once in a while a man who knew practically no law
would hang out his sign, and even undertake to practice
in J. P. courts. He would also get an appointment
as notary public, and gather in a few dollars from
taking acknowledgments and other notary work.

One of these was H. Davis. Just how he man-
aged to exist was something of a mystery, as he was
never known, as I recollect, to do any work outside
of his profession, and mighty little inside of it. True,
he was frequently, I might say generally, financially
embarrassed, but as this had become his normal con-
dition, it did not seem to worry him any, although I
recall one exception to this general rule. Davis had
his laundry work done by a tall, angular lady from
south Missouri or northern Arkansas, by the name of
Mrs. Upperman. Mrs. Upperman was a female of
vitriolic temper, and given at times to intemperate
speech. The one sweet solace of her simple life was
a cob pipe with an extra long stem. This pipe was a
barometer, indicating with reasonable certainty when
there was domestic calm or storm in the Upperman
household. If Mrs. Upperman was feeling at peace
with the world and her family, the smoke curled easily
from the pipe and was emitted in regular puffs from
her mouth and blown into graceful rings in the sur-
rounding atmosphere; but if there was a storm brew-
ing, the draft on the pipe was increased until the to-
bacco burned a living coal and the smoke was emitted
from her mouth in a cloud that nearly obscured the

PICTURESQUE FIGURES 117

surrounding landscape. At such times her spouse, who
like the lily of the field, generally toiled not and neither
did he spin, being content to live on his wife's bounty,
took warning from the signs he had learned to un-
derstand, and hunted for more peaceful localities until
the domestic storm had blown over. Davis' washing
was not large. His financial circumstances tended to
limit his wardrobe, but at that it cost a few cents to
have a shirt and collar washed and ironed once a
week, and for several weeks, with one excuse and an-
other, he had put off the payment of his wash bill.

The time came when the patience of Mrs. Upper-
man was exhausted. She did not carry a large stock
of patience at any time and then other things had just
at that time made drafts on what little she had. She
made up her mind that lawyer Davis would pay her
that $1.50 he owed her or she would know the rea-
son why. She was also in a frame of mind, as she
said, to "take it out of his worthless hide" if he didn't
come across. Her residence was down in the bottom
and on a bright and cheerful morning she started on
her quest for Davis. Her faithful pipe was drawing
well and as she proceeded toward the place where the
alleged lawyer had his office, a stream of smoke rolled
back over her shoulder like the smoke from the engine
of a heavy freight train on the upgrade.

Davis saw her first and scented danger. He made
a somewhat undignified retreat to what he called his
office, a room in the only two-story building in the
town, and locked and barricaded the door a minute or
so before Mrs. Upperman reached there. The super-
heated remarks of the wash lady poured through the
keyhole, but elicited no reply in kind from Davis. She
gave him an extended and vivid description of the vari-
ous things she intended to do to him and also painted
a word picture of how he would look after she got

118 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

through with him. To make the matter worse, much
worse in fact, Davis knew that she had a deep and
earnest purpose to carry her threats into execution.
He resorted at first to blandishments calculated to ap-
peal to female vanity, but was informed through the
keyhole that he needn't try any "soft soapin*, honey
fuglin' business" with her. The only way he could
square himself was to dig up $1.50. There was noth-
ing left but unconditional surrender. The impecunious
notary public assured her that if she would let him
out he would dig up the money, and it may be re-
marked in passing that she stayed with him until he did.
At that time the late Samuel R. Peters was judge
of the district in which Barber County was included.
To reach there he had to travel on a buckboard nearly
a hundred miles and once for some reason he failed to
arrive at the time designated by statute for the
opening of the term. He had sent a letter requesting
that some one be elected judge pro tern, until he could
get there. The leader of the Medicine Lodge bar sol-
emnly arose on the regular opening day of court and
moved that Hon. Harve Davis be elected judge pro tern.
The proposal was hailed with joy by those present and
Davis was duly elected. He was flattered by the honor
conferred, but after taking the seat usually occupied
by the judge, was at a loss how to proceed. The lead-
ing lawyer again rose and gravely said : "I move that
this court do now adjourn." The judge pro tern, did
not know much about court procedure but it ran
through his mind that a motion to adjourn was always
in order. "It is moved that this court do now adjourn.
Is there a second to that motion?" asked the court.
There was. "It is moved and seconded that this court
do now adjourn. All in favor of that motion signify
the same by saying aye." There was a loud chorus of
ayes. "All opposed will signify the same by saying

PICTURESQUE FIGURES 119

no. The ayes seem to have it and the court stands
adjourned."

Another individual admitted to the bar under the free
and easy method I have mentioned was "Red," per-
haps better known as "Skunk" Conner. Conner, a
large, beefy individual who had a small herd of cattle
down on the Medicine, was accustomed to add to his
income by trapping skunks, which were quite plentiful.
As a result of his devotion to the chase, when the wind
was right a person with reasonably keen olfactories
could detect his presence when he was still afar off.
Some of his critics insisted that the reason he was
so successful in trapping skunks was because they took
him for a member of their tribe, and just naturally
followed him, charmed by his smell, even as the animals
of mythology followed Orpheus, charmed by the silver
notes of his flute.

Conner decided that he wanted to be admitted to
the bar. There was difficulty in getting a committee
to examine him, a number of members of the bar in-
sisting that, even if "Skunk" agreed to set 'em up, the
smell of him would spoil the taste of the "licker." He
was, however, admitted, and while, so far as I know,
he never undertook to conduct a case himself, he did
become involved in litigation with some of his neighbor
ranchmen and was defeated at the trial of the case.
Here was his chance to show his knowledge of the law.
"Well," he said to his attorney, "this isn't goin' to
stop here. We will just get our witnesses together and
go to the supreme court."

"The Pilgrim Bard"

Among the unique characters who settled in Barber
County in the early seventies was Orange Scott Cum-

120 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

mins, better known as the "Pilgrim Bard." He was
born in the state of Ohio, but at the early age of two
years, took his parents by their hands and moved
west to the then wilderness of Iowa. Indians were
plentiful and young redskins were often his playmates.
When he grew to manhood he was possessed of a swar-
thy complexion and jet black hair, which he permitted
to grow long. In appearance he looked enough like
an Indian to be mistaken for a member of the tribe.
Indeed the story was at one time circulated that the
Indians had taken a fancy to the Cummins child and
exchanged one of their own children for it, a story
so highly improbable that it was not worth consider-
ing. When I first met the frontier poet he was en-
gaged in the business of transporting the bones of the
deceased buffalo to Wichita, then the greatest bone
market in the world. He was addressing his mules
in language that, at least prior to the late war, would
not have been permissible in an Epworth League meet-
ing, and while his style of profanity was strikingly ar-
tistic, I did not know until afterward that I was listen-
ing to the heartfelt expressions of a poetic soul.

His cabin, or cottonwood shanty, was located on
the banks of a clear running and beautiful little stream
which bore the unromantic cognomen of "Mule Creek."
He named his place the "Last Chance," because it was
the last chance for pilgrims heading for the still fur-
ther west to get a meal under a roof, for at this time
beyond lay the untamed wilderness, stretching away to
the slopes of the Rocky Mountains.

His poems were suggested by environment, by cli-
matic conditions, by the incidents of border life. In
my opinion some of them rank up with some of the best
productions of James Whitcomb Riley. Here, for ex-
ample, is his "Ode to the March Wind":

PICTURESQUE FIGURES 121

When the old house keeps a rockin*

Like as if 'twas goin' to fall;
And the pebbles keep a knockin' —
Knockin' 'gainst the fragile wall,
Sets a feller thinkin'

Of fell goblin, wraith or fiend,
Fancy into fancy linkin'

Yet 'tis nothin' but the wind;
Roar, roar, rattle door,
Through each cranny in the floor,
Through each crack and crevice small,
Where a chigger scarce could crawl
Every seam 'tis sure to find
O beshrew the bleak March wind.

All day long to feed the critters,

I have tried my level best ;
Tears my fodder into fritters,

Splits the endgate of my vest;
Almost sets a feller cussin'

Yet too well I understand,
If I ope' my mouth a fussin'

'Twould soon fill with dust and sand;
Shriek, shriek, creak, creak —
Seven long days in a week;
Though my language seems unkind,
Devil take the bleak March wind.

While hauling bones to Wichita he camped one day
on Smoots Creek in a blinding sand storm which
prompted him to write the following:

"O bury me not in the land of sand"

The words came low from a granger man

As he wearily sat down on the beam of his plow,

His face was wan and his heart beat low.

Battered and blowed for three years past
By the raging wind and sandy blast,
Until now he felt that the end was nigh,
So he shut up his fists and gave up to die.

122 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

"I could not sleep," the granger said,
"Where the wind and sand sweep o'er my head;
O grant the request of a worn out man
And bury me not in the land of sand."

"I had ever hoped to be lowly laid,
When my time had come, 'neath the paw-paw shade
Where the loving hands of my own wife's kin
Would dig a grave that wouldn't cave in."

His faltering voice was failing fast ;
It seemed each breath would be his last,
His eyes had well nigh ceased to wink,
When a passing freighter gave him a drink.

Then he sprang to his feet with a sudden start,
Unhitched from the plow and hooked onto the cart,
His red headed women and children climb in
And away they go to his own wife's kin.

As he seized the whip in bony hand,
"Farewell," said he, "to the land of sand;
Farewell to the grave — I was just on its brink.
May God bless the freighter who gave me the drink."

In a more cheerful vein was his poem "When it
Rains."

I can hear the frogs a-croakin'

While it rains,
Tranquilly their hides are soakin*

While it rains;

And the beetle and the skeeter
Singin' hymns to common meter,
Ever sounds the chorus sweeter

While it rains.

I can see the small boy wadin*

While it rains,
Every muddy pool invadin'

While it rains;

PICTURESQUE FIGURES 123

And the bosom of his breeches
To the muddy water reaches —
Then his ma a lesson teaches
While it rains.

Hark! amid the thunder's rumblin*

While it rains,
Hear the chronic kicker grumblin'

While it rains.

Three days since his creak uncivil
Told of drouth's impending evil,
Now the mud just beats the devil

While it rains.

Solves the great financial trouble

Glorious rain,
Bursts full many a bogus bubble —

Glorious rain,

Keeps the dread hot winds from blowin*
Keeps the monster crops a-growin'
Keeps the farmer's hopes a-glowin*

Bless the rain.

Scott Cummins never held office so far as I know, but
once. It is said that before landing in Barber County,
he stopped for a little while at the then just beginning
village of Wellington. There was a vacancy in the
office of justice of the peace and the lawyers finally
persuaded the poet to take the job. One of the first
cases to be brought before Squire Cummins was filed
by D. N. Caldwell. Caldwell was sick and J. M.
Hoover attended to the case for him. On the other
side were John G. Tucker and Mike Sutton, both now
dead. The attorneys filed various motions which Cum-
mins didn't understand and argued and wrangled for
hours. Cummins at that time was keeping a hotel.
When the dinner bell rang the wearied and disgusted
justice announced that the court would adjourn until

124 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

1 :30. Then straightening up he said, "Now that the
court has adjourned I want to tell you d — n lawyers
what I think of you. I told you to start with that
I didn't have sense enough to be justice of the peace,
but every one of you promised to help me. You have
helped me, haven't you? Yes, you have helped me like
h — 1." When 1 :30 came the justice didn't appear in
the court room. After waiting an hour the lawyers
sent a messenger after him. He sent back by the mes-
senger this answer: "Tell them damned lawyers that I
have resigned and say for them to go to hell."

Phrenology under Difficulties

Harking back through the mists of years it seems
as if the humor of the frontier was somewhat crude
and inconsiderate of the persons toward whom it was
directed, but it must be acknowledged that it was
characterized by a large degree of originality and spon-
taneity. The frontiersman delighted in practical jokes
and was decidedly careless about the effect on the nerves
of the victim. The tenderfoot was hailed with joy, not
because the seasoned and "hard-boiled" frontiersmen
were anxious to welcome the stranger within their gates
and show him honor, but because of the probability that
he would furnish material for the particular kind of
amusement in which they delighted and thus add to the
joy of their existence.

It was along in the middle seventies when phrenology
was more of a vogue than it is at present, that an itin-
erant lecturer strayed out as far as Dodge City and
let it be known that he would give a more or less illus-
trated lecture on the science of phrenology and demon-
strate his ability to tell the character and adaptability
of the people in his audience by examining their cranial

PICTURESQUE FIGURES 125

development. Almost as soon as they had given him
the look over it occurred to the crowd gathered for
refreshments in the Long Branch saloon, that a kindly
Providence had delivered into their hands a man who,
if properly handled, would for an hour or two afford
joyous relief from the tedium of their existence. It
was immediately decided to have a committee wait on
the "professor" and not only invite but urge him to
give an exhibition of his knowledge in the "Red Light'*
dance hall that evening.

The committee assured him that the town had long
been waiting for a man of his profession to come and
enlighten the public. They said that there were a lot
of long-haired sons of mavericks about whom the peo-
ple of Dodge were in doubt. There was a sort of
general impression that maybe these persons were
horse thieves, or if they were not already horse thieves,
they might be heading that way and they wanted a man
who understood phrenology to tell them, so that they
would know what to do. They said that if these sus-
pected parties were really horse thieves, or would nat-
urally take to that business, it would save a lot of
trouble and property just to hang them now, rather
than let them go ahead and do a lot of damage and
compel reputable citizens to quit their regular work
of selling booze, dealing faro, roulette and the like
and go out and hunt them up and hang them, and
maybe get some good men shot up in the course of
the festivities.

The "professor" demurred against this radical kind
of performance, saying that of course he would not like
to be responsible for getting some man hung who really
hadn't up to that time committed any crime but might
perhaps have some natural tendencies in that direc-
tion. The committee only became the more insistent.
They said that they had been waiting for him for a

126 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

good while. They declared that his fame had pre-
ceded him and that the whole town had been putting
off doing anything radical until he came; they had
understood, they said, that he was heading that way.
Furthermore, they informed him that now that he was
there he simply couldn't dodge the responsibility. They
intended to have him feel a lot of heads and tell just
what was in them and if he didn't do it there were
three or four men who had got a good deal worked
up and anxious who might take a shot at him. The
leader of the committee, Bat Masterson, said that of
course the committee would do what they could to
protect him, but they simply couldn't answer for his
safety if he refused to give his lecture. On the other
hand, they promised that if he would lecture they would
not only see that he had a full house but that he could
proceed without interruption, or if there was any in-
terruption and gun play they would protect him. It
was a serious alternative, but on the whole it seemed
to the "professor" that it might be safer to go ahead
and give his lecture than to incur the hostility of the
town by refusing to give it.

It is hardly necessary to say that the "professor"
was greeted by a full house. There were a number of
rather disquieting features about the meeting. For
example, the hip of every man supported a six-shooter.
He was conducted to the platform usually occupied by
the orchestra which furnished the music for the dances.
Bat Masterson presided and called the assembly to or-
der. He told the crowd that he was going to intro-
duce to them "Professor ," who probably had more

knowledge of the science of phrenology than any other
man in the United States, and who could tell as soon
as he laid his hands on the head of a man all about his
disposition, what he was good for, what kind of a
man his great-grandfather was ; whether he was a cat-

PICTURESQUE FIGURES 127

tie rustler or an honest man ; whether he would bluff on
a single pair or lay down a full hand with queens at
the top; whether he was concealing the fact that he
had a Mexican wife down on the trail — in short, could
read the man just like an open book.

It was the purpose of the meeting, said Bat, to call
out some of the leading citizens to test out the knowl-
edge of the phrenologist, and after that to have him
tell about some men they had been wanting to know
about, "and," said Bat, as he drew his gun and twirled
it idly on his finger, "any son-of-a-sea-cook who under-
takes to shoot out the lights while the 'professor' is
speaking will get his."

The "professor" was perspiring freely as he rose to
commence his lecture. It was reasonably clear to him
that no matter what he might say he was liable to
make a mistake that might be fatal. He dwelt as long
as possible on his introduction, told the crowd what he
knew, and considerable that he didn't know about the
science of phrenology, until there were signs of uneasi-
ness and one long-haired man arose to say that it was
about time this guy was getting down to cases. He
said so far as he knew there wasn't a man in the crowd
who had ever seen this feller whose picture the "pro-
fessor" was showin', with his head divided up and num-
bered with figures, and there was a lot of doubt about
whether there was such a feller. What they wanted
was to turn this "professor" loose on a man every-
body knowed and see what he made out of him and
they didn't propose to have any stalling or polly-
foxing about it either.

Bat ordered the long-haired citizen to sit down until
it was his turn to play and then announced that the
"professor" was ready to examine the head of a well-
known citizen. As a matter of fact the professor was
not ready, but he did not dare to say so and indicated

128 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

that if any gentleman was willing to submit himself he
would undertake to read his bumps. Immediately a
well-known gunman, "Mysterious Dave," I think,
stepped forward and took his seat on the platform.
The professor had a hunch that his subject was a dan-
gerous character and the perspiration increased.

"This gentleman," he commenced in a rather uncer-
tain voice, "has large perceptive faculties."

"Cheese it, stranger," said Dave, as he rose from
the chair and drew his gun. "I didn't come here to
be insulted by no damn tenderfoot. I haven't none of
them things you mention and never did."

At this Bat Masterson drew his gun and ordered
Mysterious Dave to sit down and have his head felt,
saying that the professor could say just what he
pleased and if there was to be any gun play he, Bat,
would take a hand.

Immediately the crowd began to take sides ; part with
the chairman and part with "Mysterious Dave." When
a few words had passed, one of the supporters of the
latter commenced to shoot. Masterson answered
promptly with his gun and in an incredibly short time
all the lights were shot out and the room was in dark-
ness except for the flash of the guns. Bat Masterson
managed to convey the information to the "professor"
that there was a rear exit and he had perhaps better
make his get-away while he, Bat, held back the crowd.
The "professor" needed no second invitation. It was
a moderately dark night, but he found the railroad
track and headed eastward. He was a weary but withal
thankful man when he reached the first station this side
of Dodge and lay down under the lee of the friendly
station house, to wait for the first train he could board
that would carry him back toward civilization and
safety.

PICTURESQUE FIGURES 129

The Pioneer Preacher

The other day in running over some old newspaper
files I noted the assignment of Methodist preachers for
the Lamed district, back in 1879. Among the num-
ber was Rev. J. A. Mattern, assigned to Medicine
Lodge. Mattern really started the Methodist church
in Medicine Lodge. True, there were a few Methodists
among the early settlers and occasionally a Meth-
odist preacher would wander out that way and hold
services in the old frontier schoolhouse, but to Mattern
must be given the credit for building the first church
and getting the flock together as a permanent con-
gregation. Mattern was not gifted with eloquent dic-
tion nor was his mental equipment great. It may be
said to his credit, however, that he did not pretend
that he possessed either. He was just an humble la-
borer in the vineyard, ready to go anywhere he was
sent and to perform without complaint any drudgery
that might be imposed upon him.

His ambition was to build a church in the frontier
town. There were not many Methodists there and what
few there were, were not possessed of much wealth,
but that fact did not discourage Mattern. He made
arrangements with a man by the name of Hartzell
to burn a kiln of brick to be used in making the walls
of the church, and in the making of these brick he made
a full hand and more. Day after day he shoveled the
mud into the machine which ground the clay and
moulded the brick, and then with an eager industry he
helped to pile the moulded brick into the kiln. At
night he helped to keep up the fires until at last the
brick was burned. Then he toiled in loading the brick
into wagons and hauling them to the site for the future
meeting house. When it came to building the church
Mattern was the most industrious and efficient man on

130 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

the job, so far as tending the masons was concerned.
All day long he carried the hod with no thought of
financial recompense and on Sunday conducted the
regular services, morning and evening. His sermons
were not models of either thought or diction, but the
genuine earnestness and conscientiousness of the man
won him many friends among the hardy men of the
frontier. At last after months of the hardest kind
of grueling toil the ambition of the humble preacher
was realized. The church was completed and for the
first time Medicine Lodge boasted of a house of wor-
ship— and the church was made of brick.

Rev. Bernard Kelly, better known as "Barney Kelly,"
came down from Wichita to conduct the dedication
services and also to collect the money necessary to lift
the debt incurred in erecting the building. At that
time, forty years ago, Barney was in his prime, be-
tween forty and fifty years of age. He was as vigorous
as a well-fed two-year-old colt and as full of sap as
a sugar maple tree in the spring. As a collector of
pledges at a dedication he had few equals and no
superiors. He seemed to exercise a sort of hypnotic
influence on men who were natural tightwads, and un-
der the spell of his vigorous appeal they would obli-
gate themselves to an extent which astonished their
neighbors and which probably caused them some regret
after they had come out from under the influence which
induced them to make the promise.

On the day of the dedication the new church was
crowded to the doors, and Reverend Barney was at
his best. I think I never saw a man perspire so
freely or with more effect. Those who are acquainted
with this well known divine know that a distinguishing
feature of his countenance is a nose of Grecian archi-
tecture and rather remarkable length. As he warmed
to his work he left the pulpit proper and paced back

PICTURESQUE FIGURES 131

and forth just behind the altar rail. The perspira-
tion trickled from the end of his olfactory organ like
sugar water dripping from the spile in a fresh tapped
maple tree and splashed on the heads of those who
had been crowded into the front row. A baldheaded
man or two who happened to be crowded up against
the outer edge of the altar rail, protested mildly
against the involuntary baptism, but for the most part
the audience was so interested in the fervent appeal that
they paid no attention to the gentle shower of perspira-
tion and felt, no doubt, that they were simply sitting,
as it were, under "the drippings of the sanctuary.'*

At that time I was young and single and not affili-
ated with the Methodist church or any other, but had
been attracted to the service, perhaps largely through
curiosity. Rev. Barney Kelly did not know me, but
some one had pointed me out to him as the editor of
the town paper. I had taken a seat pretty well back
beside one of the young matrons of the town, who
was accompanied by an active and interesting child
about two years old. The baby thought I looked
friendly and climbing up on my lap was busily engaged
in examining my neck-tie of somewhat loud and inhar-
monious pattern.

Pledges were commencing to come thick and fast
when it suddenly occurred to Elder Kelly that there
was no secretary to make a record of them. Looking
over the crowd, he said: "Here, we must have a sec-
retary. I see brother McNeal, the young editor of
your local paper, sitting back there. Here, brother
McNeal, just put your child over on its mother's lap
and come forward and take down these subscriptions."

In a frontier town and neighborhood everybody
knows everybody else and all of them knew me. In-
stantly that house of worship was filled with unholy
mirth, the loud and coarse laughter of the rude men

132 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

from the range, mingling with the shrill cachinations
of the female part of the audience. Personally I did
not join in the hilarity and neither did the mother of
the baby, but we two formed the entire minority. Bar-
ney saw that he had made a mistake but was not
dashed in the least, only remarking that if brother
McNeal was not married he ought to be and then
returned to the work in hand : "Who is the next brother
who wants to have the privilege of subscribing $50?"

During the years which have come and gone since
that day, the Rev. Barney Kelly has told this story
frequently and with great enjoyment, but I have ob-
served that in later years he is getting his dates mixed.
The last time I heard him tell the story he said that
on that occasion he met the town marshal, Jerry
Simpson, who introduced himself and said: "I suppose
you are brother Kelly who has come down to dedicate
our church?"

Barney said that he was much impressed with the
appearance of Jerry and told the Republican politi-
cians when Jerry was nominated for Congress that he
was a dangerous opponent and that unless they put up
a great campaign he would be elected. The fact was,
however, that Jerry did not come to the county for
three years after the church was dedicated and was
not appointed town marshal for ten years after the
dedication, and furthermore Jerry was a well known
heretic both in politics and religion who didn't care a
hoot whether there was any church.

In reading over this story I observe that the Rev.
Mr. Mattern seems to have sort of faded out of it, but
that really was characteristic of the man. He was
ready any time to efface himself, glad of the oppor-
tunity to be just an humble gleaner in the vineyard.
I have often wondered what has become of him.

PICTURESQUE FIGURES 133

An Early-Day Murder and Man Hunt

In the spring of 1878, George W. Bowyer, a farmer
and stockman, of Sumner County, accompanied by his
wife, her sister, and a Texan who just then went by
the name of Charlie Lee, started for Texas to bujr
a herd of cattle. At Coles City, Texas, Bowyer pur-
chased 350 head of cattle and headed north for his
Sumner County pasture with the party made up as
it was when they left Kansas. Bowyer did not know
that his herder was an ex-convict, who had served
at least one term in the Texas penitentiary. If he
had, he perhaps would not have employed him and he
might have saved his own life. However, in those
days it was not the custom to inquire closely into
the past lives of men, especially when employing herd-
ers for the Texas trail.

Lee seems to have been a hardened criminal with
no sense of shame. Mrs. Bowyer complained to her
husband of Lee's conduct, especially as it related to
the other woman. The only effect of this on Lee was
to excite his enmity toward Mrs. Bowyer and elicit
the threat that he intended to get even. He also con-
fided to the other herder that when they reached a
certain point in the territory, he, Lee, intended to
kill Bowyer, take possession of the herd of cattle, drive
them back to Texas, sell them, and appropriate the
money. The threat was communicated to Bowyer, who,
when they reached the place in the territory mentioned
by Lee, faced the desperado and demanded that he
disarm or leave camp. If Bowyer had been entirely
conversant with the habits of desperadoes, he would
not have made the demand except at the point of a
gun. The lack of this precaution cost him his life.
The ex-convict was a trifle quicker on the draw and
a better shot than Bowyer, who fell dead in the arms

134 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

of his wife, a bullet through his brain. Not satisfied
with this, Lee fired two more shots into the dead body.

Other campers located near by heard the shooting,
came to the camp of the Bowyers, and helped the deso-
lated wife to bury her dead by the side of the trail,
while Lee, with almost incomparable insolence and
bravado, took charge of the herd of the man he had
murdered, in spite of the protests of the widow. Ar-
riving at Pond Creek, Lee seems to have changed his
mind, abandoned the herd and rode on to Kansas, still
brazenly indifferent about the crime he had committed
until the news was conveyed to him that an impromptu
vigilance committee of Bowyer's neighbors were pre-
paring to hang him. Hearing this, Lee fled.

Then commenced one of the most prolonged and
remarkable man hunts in the history of the frontier.
Joe Thralls was then a young man of Herculean build,
with a wide knowledge of the western country and of
frontier character. He made no pretensions of being
a great detective, and was not given to spectacular
methods, but he possessed what is known as bulldog
tenacity and courage. He set out with one purpose
in mind and that was to find the desperado, Lee, and
bring him to justice. Time and the difficulties in the
way did not daunt or trouble him. It might be a year ;
it might be two before he would run the murderer to
earth, but he had no doubt whatever that he would
get him in the end.

For nine months the big, quiet young frontiersman
kept on the trail of the murderer. He traced him
through the Flint hills and nearly captured him in the
neighborhood of Independence, but Lee managed to slip
out of the trap and into the hills of southern Mis-
souri. Thralls chased him out of there, back into Kan-
sas; across the plains into Colorado; through the
mountains and desert lands down into New Mexico ;

PICTURESQUE FIGURES 135

across the border into old Mexico. Back the fugitive
turned and again crossed the border, this time into
Texas, with Thralls still following with dogged per-
sistence. Sometimes for a little while he would lose
the trail for a day or two, only to find it again and
hunt the fugitive from one hiding-place to another.
The Texan managed to reach the cattle camps of
the Panhandle of Texas, then an ideal hiding-place for
men of his stripe. In a cattle camp he supposed that
he was securely hidden, but somehow the young deputy
marshal located him. It meant a ride of hundreds of
miles through an almost trackless wilderness and alone.
It was a journey beset with danger, but there was no
hesitation. There was a certain fascination in the
business of keeping order along the border. It was a
life crowded full of adventure and danger. The man
hunter never knew what odds he might have to meet
or at what moment he might be looking in the muzzle
of a gun held by some one of the men he was hunting;
men who had no regard for human life, who would kill
him with as little compunction as they would kill a dog.
Men of the type of Thralls, however, did not hesitate
on account of the hardships or dangers. They seemed
rather to welcome them. The life would have been per-
haps unbearably lonesome if it had not been full of
danger. I suppose it was this feeling that impelled
Joe Thralls to ride thousands of miles through almost
trackless mountains and over burning deserts on the
trail of a man who he knew would kill him without
hesitation or warning if he believed he could do it
and escape.

Just how Joe Thralls escaped he does not know, but
somehow he did and just ten months after the Sum-
ner County ranchman, Bowyer, had fallen dead in the
arms of his wife, the big deputy marshal walked into
a cow camp near the Panhandle border, covered Lee

136 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

with his gun, quietly told him he was his prisoner, put
the irons upon him, and started back on the long ride
to Sumner County, Kansas. Lee was sent to Fort
Smith for trial and managed somehow to get off with
a sentence of ten years for second degree murder. In
the course of three or four years he was pardoned
out. Of his further history I have no record. He prob-
ably either managed to break into some other peniten-
tiary or get himself killed in some frontier brawl.

There was a curious aftermath of this tragedy of
the trail. The body of Bowyer was buried temporarily
on the north bank of the Red River. Several months
afterward his widow made arrangements to have the
body taken up and moved to the home burying ground
in Sumner County. When the body was exhumed it
was found, to the astonishment of those who dug it up,
to be in an almost complete state of petrifaction and
weighed about seven hundred pounds.

A Partisan Tombstone

In these days when party ties are so loosened that
it is next to impossible to find a man who does not
scratch his ticket, it is hard to realize the rigid par-
tisanship of only a third of a century ago. In those
old days, the man who scratched his ticket was re-
garded as a political heretic and traitor to his party.
All the party bosses had to do was to see that the
ticket was fixed up to their liking and the rank and
file could be depended upon to vote it straight.

Among the hardy and estimable men who settled
in Barber County on the edge of Harper County back
in the late seventies or early eighties were Nathaniel
Grigsby and his son, Elias Grigsby. The names indi-
cate the Puritan strain in the Grigsby blood. If they

PICTURESQUE FIGURES 137

had lived in the days of Cromwell they would have been
followers of that remarkable man, who organized an
army of religious fanatics, the most dauntless fighters
who ever followed a leader in battle. Born in 1811,
when the Civil War broke out Nathaniel Grigsby, al-
though even then well beyond the military age,
promptly joined the colors and together with his son or
sons, fought through the war, rising to the rank of
second lieutenant. Nathaniel Grigsby was a man of
positive convictions, religiously and politically.

He was a Republican without variableness or shadow
of turning. To his mind, politically speaking, the Re-
publican party was summum bonum, while the Demo-
cratic party was malum in se. Whatever there was of
good in the political acts of the past third of a cen-
tury, he attributed to the Republican party, and what-
ever there was of evil to the malign influence of the
Democratic organization. With most men political ac-
tivity stops with the grave, but old Nathaniel Grigsby,
as the weight of years bowed his back and the frosts of
time silvered his hair, knowing that his years were
nearly numbered, devised a plan by which his political
opinions might be transmitted to coming generations,
carved in imperishable granite, to be read long after
his mortal body had returned to the earth from which
it came and his spirit had joined the immortals. He
carefully prepared the inscription for his tombstone
and exacted the promise that it should be graven on
the shaft which marked his grave.

In the quiet graveyard near the little town of Attica
lies the body of Nathaniel Grigsby and on the head-
stone the curious observer may read these words :

"N. Grigsby, 2d Liu't Co. G, 10th Indiana Volunteers.
Died April 16, 18QO. Age 78 years, 6 months and 5 days."

"Through this inscription I wish to enter my dying
protest against what is called the Democratic party. I
have watched it closely since the days of Jackson and

138 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

know that all the misfortunes of our nation have come to
it through this so-called party of treason."

Below this inscription is added a postscript which
says, "This inscription is placed here by the request
of the deceased."

Hardly had the clods fallen on the coffin of old Na-
thaniel Grigsby before the state of Kansas was shaken
by a political upheaval which for the time being de-
stroyed the Democratic party in the state as an organi-
zation and reduced the Republican party to a minority
in Kansas, the stronghold of its power. If the disem-
bodied spirit of the old veteran was able to view the
things of earth from another world he must have
viewed with astonishment the political revolution which
swept over the state of his adoption and observed the
strange political bedfellows resulting. Had he lived
a quarter of a century longer he would have witnessed
the passing of the old political order, the loosening of
party bonds, and the framing of party platforms so
nearly alike in all essentials that with the changing of
heads and a few stock phrases, one might have been
substituted for the other and each supported with equal
enthusiasm. Perhaps the old soldier would have
changed with the times, and if so a different inscription
would have been carved upon his granite monument.

As it is, I doubt that a search of all the graveyards
from Maine to California would reveal so unique and
peculiar an epitaph.

The Gambler Who Tempted Fate

There are still old-timers living who remember Bob
Louden, the gambler, who operated in most of the fron-
tier towns back in the early seventies. They speak
of him as a king among his class. Handsome, mag-

PICTURESQUE FIGURES 139

nificently proportioned, reckless, and vain, he was the
sort of man who appealed to women of sentimental
turn of mind: the kind of man for whom some foolish
girl would sacrifice her honor and endure abuse in or-
der that she might enjoy his capricious and temporary
favor. The gambler of the Bob Louden type was never
constant in his attachments. His liaisons were
prompted by passion and caprice and when another
woman attracted his attention and suited his fancy, he
cast off the former companion with no more compunc-
tion than he would have in discarding a worn out
garment.

With the women of his class it was often different.
Very often one of them would shower upon the reck-
less and dissolute companion a love and devotion which
were tragic and pitiful. She would endure for him all
kinds of abuse ; slave for him, turn over to him the reve-
nues of her sin and only ask in return the poor privi-
lege of basking in his smiles and his occasional com-
panionship. Sometimes, however, the gambler pre-
sumed too much on his power over the woman and her
dog-like devotion. When she became convinced that
he had cast her off, she was likely to become filled with
a fierce jealousy that would stop at no crime in order
to satisfy her desire for vengeance.

According to the opinions of those who knew her, one
of the most striking appearing women of the under
world in the city of Cincinnati during the year 1870
or 1871 was one known by the name of Carrie Baxter.
Quite likely that was not her real name, but it was the
one by which she was known. Tall, voluptuous and
dowered with almost classic features, she walked a queen
among the women of her class. Bob Louden, the gam-
bler, was attracted by her beauty, her tigerish grace,
and her ability. She was equally attracted by him.
Together they journeyed to the new city of Omaha,

140 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

where Bob plied his trade in the frontier gambling
places and his companion became the most skillful shop-
lifter who had ever operated in the then frontier, now
the great middle West.

What caused the break between them is not known,
or at any rate was not generally told. Perhaps he
grew tired of her as he had grown tired of many
others. Possibly there came to her mind the possi-
bility of reformation and restoration to a place in
society such as her natural ability and beauty fitted her
to fill. At any rate they separated. She went to
Denver, where she got a place as saleswoman in a dry
goods store and afterward became a delivery clerk in
the postoffice.

The monotony, however, palled on her. She began
to long for the bright lights and excitement of the
old life she had forsaken, and quit her job, but not
to become merely an inmate of some gilded palace of
sin. Her idea was to lead a more profitable and
independent career as a confidence woman, setting her
net to catch the foolish fish among the human kind.

How she happened to land in Hays City, I do not
know, perhaps because at that time it was the loca-
tion of one of the important army posts and because
for one reason and another there had been attracted
there a good many men in search of adventure, some
of them reckless, degenerate sons of rich sires, some
merely young fools who had money but were lacking
in brains and judgment.

The ex-shoplifter and once leader of the Cincinnati
demimonde played her part well. She was no common
street walker painted and bedizened, parading her
charms and soliciting patronage from the passing
stranger. She was, on the contrary, a woman of strik-
ing appearance who carried herself with reserve and
dignity and in that frontier town where no inquiries

PICTURESQUE FIGURES 141

were made concerning past records or antecedents,
she seems to have been admitted into the best society.

The hotel proprietor gave a ball, to which were in-
vited the elite of the town: the officers from the mili-
tary post, dressed in the ornate, striking uniforms
worn by army officers of that time; the rich adven-
turers, some of them the sons of titled Englishmen;
and the rest of the upper crust of frontier society. To
this ball was also invited the ex-shoplifter and former
leader of the underworld of Cincinnati. Sailing under
another name, regal in her grace and animal beauty, she
was the most striking figure among the company gath-
ered in the parlors of the frontier hostelry.

Social lines were not closely drawn and there was
no surprise manifested because some well known gam-
blers were also among the guests. Of these no one
was more striking than the tall, handsome gambler,
Bob Louden. His former paramour, it seemed, had not
known that he was in Hays City; possibly he did not
know until he came to the ball that she was there. If
he had been wise enough to make no demonstration,
there would have been no tragedy, but he had been
imbibing rather freely for him, not an altogether com-
mon thing, for like most professional gamblers he did
not usually drink to excess. He may also have con-
cluded that it would be a satisfaction to humiliate
publicly this woman who had been his one-time partner
in crime and also his willing slave. He sought her out.
Her face paled, but she did not quail, for she was a
creature of magnificent control. Then Bob Louden
made the fatal mistake of flouting her in public and
with insulting language calling attention to her former
relations and her shame. Suddenly her hand slipped
into the pocket of her dress, where she carried a small
derringer. There was a blinding flash, a loud report,
and Bob Louden, the gambler, fell dead with a bullet

142 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

through his heart. There was a trial of some kind
at which the woman was promptly acquitted, for ac-
cording to the code of the border, she was justified.
According to border justice the gambler had brought
this on himself and had to take the consequence. He
had no business to interrupt the festivities of the occa-
sion by calling up old relationships and insulting the
woman who, to say the least, was no worse than he.
So they buried Bob Louden and let the woman go.

It was perhaps a year after the trial that two men
were standing on one of the streets of Atchison when
a tall, well-groomed woman passed them. "What a
striking looking woman," exclaimed one of the men.

"By she looks like a goddess and moves like a

queen."

"I might also add," said the other man dryly, "that
she shoots as straight as she stands. That is the woman
who put a bullet through the heart of Bob Louden, the
gambler and gunman, at the Hays City society ball."

Pete and Ben

The business of the cattle ranges developed a class
of nomads, carefree, reckless, taking little or no
thought for the morrow. The range had certain un-
written rules of hospitality that made it permissible
for an entire stranger to stop at any cattle camp at
mealtime, unsaddle his horse and either "hobble" it or
"lariat" it on the prairie or even give it a feed of corn
if it needed it, and then, without question or objection,
"sit in" and help himself to "grub." All the nomad
needed in way of an outfit was a horse, saddle and sad-
dle blankets, a bridle, quirt and lariat rope. Money
was not necessary, as he did not expect to pay for
what he got in the way of food or lodging, but if he

PICTURESQUE FIGURES 143

wanted a job he could generally get it as a line rider.

Typical of this class were two brothers, Pete and
Ben Lampton. Sometimes they worked ; generally they
did not, but there was never any indication of worry
over their financial condition. Pete, the elder, was
a companionable sort of hobo, a most cheerful liar,
never at a loss for conversation, void of conscience
as a coyote, and with the gall of a lightning-rod ped-
dler. Ben was of duller mentality, and followed the
plans originated by Pete instead of doing his own
thinking. In 1874 there was an Indian scare along the
border. There generally was, for that matter. In
fact, the cattle men saw to it that if there were no
genuine Indian scare, one was manufactured, in order
to discourage the immigration of grangers to spoil the
free range.

In 1874 there seemed to be some actual danger of
an outbreak and a militia company was organized at
Medicine Lodge to protect the border. It was a com-
pany of mounted scouts, each one of whom was sup-
posed to furnish his own horse and bedding, the state
furnishing the arms and food, with an understanding
that the members of the company would be compen-
sated for outfits furnished. Among those who joined
was Pete Lampton; not that he was concerned about
protecting the border, but it meant free grub for a
time and possibly some adventure.

At the time the company was organized, the days
were reasonably warm, but the nights were often un-
comfortably cool. Another member of the company
was one M. Palmer, who resided near the head waters
of Bitter Creek and who had been a soldier in the
Civil War. Palmer was not abundantly supplied with
bedding and when it came time to camp for the night,
he called out, asking who wanted to bunk with him. "I
am your huckleberry," answered Pete Lampton.

144 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

Palmer spread down such bedding as he had while
Pete stood by, a rather indifferent onlooker. "Well,"
said Palmer, "where are your blankets?"

"Blankets?" said Pete; "I haven't any blankets. If
I had blankets of my own, why the hell do you suppose
I would want to sleep with you?"

Once when the Lampton brothers happened to have
cash and were camping in the grove at the edge of town,
Pete bought a dozen eggs at the store kept by one D. E.
Sheldon, for twenty-five cents. In the course of an
hour or two he came back and gravely handed Sheldon
$2.25. Asked for an explanation, he said, "all them
eggs had chickens in 'em and my understanding is that
spring chickens are worth $2.50 a dozen. I ain't aimin'
to take no advantage of you, Sheldon, and here is
the chicken price."

EVENTS IN THE EIGHTIES

A Fake Election

THE inhabitants of a frontier town 100 miles re-
moved from a railroad, were necessarily deprived
of the ordinary opportunities for entertainment
and as a result compelled to rely on their own resources.
This developed an originality that I have never seen
equaled in any old settled community. The individual
who proposed some new practical joke always found
an abundance of enthusiastic assistants to carry it
into effect and if the joke panned out as anticipated,
the originator was regarded as a public benefactor.
Among the earliest settlers in the Elm Creek val-
ley was Jacob Frazier, a Missourian by birth, who for
some inscrutable reason had been induced to migrate
from the land of his nativity, to the then almost un-
inhabited frontier. Jake was possessed neither of any
"book laming," nor of a capacity to have acquired
any considerable amount if he had had the opportu-
nity. Politically he was a Democrat, without variable-
ness or shadow of turning, and did not believe in mix-
ing either his whisky or his politics. True, Jake did
not manifest much interest in politics except to vote
on election day. He did not trouble himself about po-
litical issues, in fact would not have recognized a po-
litical issue if he had met it in the middle of the
road ; all he asked was to be handed a Democratic bal-
lot and the privilege of depositing it in the box.

145

146 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

It was when St. John was still the leader of the
Republican political machine in Kansas, the valiant and
most noted apostle of the then new doctrine of con-
stitutional prohibition, that Jake Frazier for some rea-
son failed for once to get to the election and cast his
vote. This omission was the more remarkable because
for once Jake had more than a mere inherited interest
in the election. The Democratic party was opposed
to prohibition and that stand met with his entire and
enthusiastic approval. The attempt of St. John and
the Republican party to deprive a man of his "licker,"
he regarded as a most diabolical attack on his inalien-
able rights, and the mere mention of it caused him
to fairly boil with indignation, the boiling being ma-
terially hastened by several drinks. But for some rea-
son on that fall day Jake failed to appear and cast
his vote. The following day he came to town and,
being asked why he had failed to come and vote, ex-
pressed his regret earnestly and profanely, "Specially
as he wanted to vote agin this here damn prohibitioner
law."

"Well, it was too bad," said his interviewer, "that
you couldn't get in yesterday, but it's all right anyway,
as we are going to have another election to-day and
you can vote just the same."

Jake was surprised but delighted, and wanted to
know where the election was being held. He was di-
rected to the livery stable, where he found what they
told him was the election board and a couple of clerks,
also a cigar box to receive the ballots. A number of
citizens came in and deposited their ballots, several of
them being challenged on one ground and another,
which challenges caused considerable bickering and
threats of violence on the part of the challenged. Jake
wanted to know where he could get a Democratic bal-
lot and was furnished with an unused ballot of the

EVENTS IN THE EIGHTIES 147

previous day; that was before the day of the Aus-
tralian ballot.

He came up and offered his vote to one of the judges,
a man whom he had known for jears, and was sur-
prised to be asked to state his name, age, where he
was born, what was his wife's name, age, and color of
her hair; if his mother-in-law was still living and if
so where and why ; if he kept any dogs and what church
if any he belonged to. As the questions were asked
with the greatest gravity Jake's indignation grew in
volume. He called the attention of the election judge
to the fact that he had been personally acquainted
with him for years and knew all about him "without
askin' all these damn fool questions."

Finally the election judges seemed to be satisfied in
regard to his qualifications and were about to receive
his ballot when one of the framers of the play stepped
up and declared that he challenged the vote. "On what
ground?" asked the judge sternly. "On the ground
that he is an alien. He confesses that he was born in
Missouri and hasn't shown any naturalization papers."
The judges gravely consulted together for a few mo-
ments and then the spokesman asked, "Mr. Frazier,
have you any naturalization papers?"

"Naturalization papers?" yelled Jake. "What's
them? Never heerd of such a thing. I kin prove that
I was borned in Pike County, Missouri, but I hain't
got no papers to prove it here. But you know well
enough that I hev been votin' for more than forty years
and you've seen me vote more times than you hev fin-
gers and toes."

"Can't help what you have done in the past, Mr.
Frazier," said the relentless election judge, "law is law.
The law is plain that a Missourian must be naturalized
before he can vote in Kansas."

The old man went away crying with rage and mor-

148 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

tification. He met an old acquaintance and said:
"What do you think them damn prohibitioner Repub-
licans did?" The friend didn't know. "Well, sir, they
channeled my vote, that's what they did, yes, sir, stood
right there and channeled my vote because they said
I was ailin' and must have naturalization papers be-
cause I was born in Missouri. I've been votin' the Dem-
ocratic ticket for more than forty years and this is the
first time my vote was ever channeled."

The hearer expressed deep sympathy and indigna-
tion; said that it was an infernal plot to cheat him
out of his political rights and that he didn't propose
to stand for it. He would see whether an old citizen
like Jake Frazier could be cheated out of his rights
that way. Then the indignant defender of political
rights proceeded to organize a mob. He gathered fol-
lowers fast. Some were armed, some were not, but
all expressed themselves as determined to avenge the
wrong done an old citizen, just because he was a Demo-
crat and an anti-prohibitionist.

The mob selected a spokesman who, at the head of
the eager throng, went to the livery stable and de-
manded the reason for refusing the vote of an old and
well known resident. The election judges protested
that they had no feeling against Frazier, but according
to his own statement he was born in Missouri and
could not show that he had ever been naturalized. The
champion of Frazier furiously denounced this decision
and calling on a lawyer, who was with the party, had
him cite decisions of the supreme court holding that
Congress by an enabling act had naturalized all Mis-
sourians who had taken up their residence in other
states. After a long and heated argument the judges
declared that while they were not entirely satisfied,
if Jake would swear in his vote his ballot would be
received. A long and involved oath was then admin-

EVENTS IN THE EIGHTIES 149

istered, the vote duly deposited, and Jake departed for
home in triumph, declaring that no durned prohibi-
tioner Republican could channel his vote and get away
with it.

In such manner was the tedium of life on the border
relieved and the joy of life enhanced.

When an Indian Agency Came Near Being Wiped Out

The fall of the year 1880 was as mild and beautiful
as Kansas falls generally are. There was a wonderful
fascination in the wide open spaces of the range coun-
try, and as a couple of Medicine Lodge ranchmen were
going down into the Canadian country to hunt for
horses I accepted an invitation to ride with them. I
have said that there was a wonderful fascination in
the wide open spaces, and there was, but when a man
who is soft and unaccustomed to riding sits twelve
hours in a saddle on the back of a horse, trotting
most of the time, the novelty and charm mostly wear
off, also the rider has a disinclination to sit down for
several days afterward. But once started on a ride of
that kind, there was no rest for the tenderfoot. After
that twelve-hour ride and a few hours' rest on the buf-
falo grass we were up at daylight for another day's
ride, and continued for a week. Our objective was
Darlington, where the Indian agency was located and
from there we followed up the North Canadian to
Camp Supply. It is possible that, if we had known
what was going on at the agency, the horse hunt might
have been postponed and this story would never have
been written.

During the administration of General Grant as presi-
dent, he conceived the idea of putting the Indian agen-
cies in charge of the Quakers, actuated no doubt by

150 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

the story of William Penn and his dealings with the
red men. President Hayes continued the policy of
Grant to a considerable extent and that accounted for
the fact that Miles was in charge of the agency at
Darlington in the fall of 1880. At that time this
agency had charge of the Cheyennes who had been
moved down from their northern home, the Arapahoes,
and some of the Kiowas. Three years before a dis-
satisfied band of the Cheyennes under the leadership
of Chief Dull Knife, had left the reservation and, trav-
eling northward through Kansas, had left a trail
marked by burnings and massacre. Dull Knife and
most of his followers had been captured, but there was
still a dissatisfied element among the Cheyennes, who
wanted to start on another raid toward the old hunting
grounds.

It was the custom in those days to distribute the
government allowance of beeves to the Indians on a
certain day of the week, Monday, as I recall. The
Indians were divided into bands and to each band
was allotted so many beeves. The beeves were turned
out on the prairie and the Indians ran them down and
killed them Indian fashion and carried the meat to
their camps. Agent Miles had made an order that each
band must send its representatives and get its beef al-
lotment on the regular issue day, or, failing to do that,
the band would get no beef that week. Some two weeks
before we arrived at Darlington some of the bands had
failed to send their representatives on the regular issue
day and when they appeared the next day and wanted
their allotment of beef Agent Miles refused to give
it to them. They left the agency sullen and vengeful.
Agent Miles had at the time a fine driving team and
buggy and it was his custom, in the beautiful evenings
of the early fall, to drive out along the government
road that ran along beside the Canadian River. That

EVENTS IN THE EIGHTIES 151

evening he drove out as usual, accompanied by his
wife. When four or five miles from the agency two
young Indian bucks stepped out into the road, stopped
him, and told him that unless he changed his order
about the beef issue they would kill him. As there
was little doubt they would have put the threat into
execution, there was nothing for the agent to do but
yield. The next day the bands which had been refused
their allotment came in and got it, but the day fol-
lowing Miles sent a number of his Indian police out to
arrest the leaders of these recalcitrant bands and bring
them to the agency. The young warriors stood off
the police and refused to be arrested, but told the
police to tell the agent they would be at the agency
the following day.

The following day they came all right, but they
came six hundred strong, all armed with Winchesters
which had been furnished by the Government. They
were nearly all young men, the flower of the Cheyenne
tribe, as fearless and desperate fighters as there were
among the tribes of the plains. It was their intention
to clean up the agency and massacre the agent and
all the other whites who were there. They dragged
Miles out of the agency building and probably would
have started the killing if it had not been for the cool-
ness and courage of an Indian chief. Little Chief had
himself been at one time known as a "bad Indian."
He was one of the Indians sent by the Government to
the Dry Tortugas, where he had been kept for several
years. The experience had completely cured him of
any desire to make war on the whites and from the
time he was returned to the reservation, he was a con-
sistent advocate of peace with the white man and the
education and industrial development of his people.
He finally was converted to Christianity, joined the
Presbyterian Church, and became a ruling elder in that

152 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

denomination. At the time on that fall day when a
massacre seemed certain, Little Chief pushed his way
into the crowd of infuriated warriors and began to talk
to them.

"You can kill the agent and all the whites there are
here," he said. "Maybe you can kill all the soldiers
there are at the fort over there." (There was a small
garrison of about one company stationed at Fort Reno
at the time.) "But that will do you no good. I have
been across the white man's country and I know that
the white men are as many as the leaves of the forest.
You have a few guns ; they have many thousand. If
you kill the agent and these white men you will all be
hung. You will not be shot as brave warriors are shot,
but you will be hung like dogs. I, Little Chief, know
this and you know that I have never told you lies."

Perhaps some of the more reckless and daring would
have ignored the advice of Little Chief, but he had
made an impression on the leaders and after all it was
the mob-spirit that dominated. A mob will not act
without leadership. The situation was saved and a
bloody massacre was averted. Another man who prob-
ably also helped to avert the catastrophe was George
Bent, the halfbreed son of the noted trader, who built
Bent's fort on the upper Arkansas in Colorado. There
was not much to be said for Bent, if reports were
true, but on that day he stood against the Indians,
who were bent on murder, and he had considerable
influence with them.

It was about a week after this near massacre when
we rode up the valley of the Canadian, accompanied
by the celebrated scout, Jack Stillwell, who when a boy
of sixteen had undertaken the desperate enterprise of
crawling through the camp of armed warriors led by
Roman Nose and getting aid for Forsythe and his little
band of scouts and soldiers surrounded on Beecher's

EVENTS IN THE EIGHTIES 153

Island and threatened with annihilation. As he rode
with us in those warm September days, Jack Stillwell
was a fine specimen of physical manhood and about the
most interesting traveling companion I ever knew. Al-
most all his life had been spent among the various wild
Indian tribes. He knew their sign language and could
understand them and make himself understood with
ease. There was none of the braggart or swaggering
"bad man" in his manner or speech, but he had a rich
fund of experience which held and interested me as
nothing else had done since I stole away to read the
blood-curdling tales narrated in Beedle's dime novels.
It was a good many years afterward before I saw
him again. By that time he had become fat and
short of breath and looked little like the trim, hard-
muscled, and handsome scout that he was in the fall
of 1880. He was elected as the first police judge
of the new town of El Reno and made a reputation as
a fearless official who insisted that laws should be
obeyed and order maintained.

The Justice of the Border

The first bank in Medicine Lodge was established
by a man by the name of Hickman. The story was
that he purchased a safe on time and borrowed money,
giving the safe as security, to get his banking capital.
Even on that narrow foundation the bank gathered
up a good deal of business and might have succeeded
if the proprietor had not branched out and undertaken
to carry too great a load. As it was the Hickman
bank failed, to the sorrow of some of the trusting
depositors, for that was in the days before guaranteed
deposit laws were thought of or there was any state
supervision of banks. After the failure of the Hick-

154 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

man bank the Medicine Valley bank was organized, with
Wylie Payne as president, and George Geppert as
cashier.

Payne was also president of the great Comanche cat-
tle pool which ranged its herds over full 1,200 square
miles, all inclosed with barb wire fence, an appropri-
ation of public land, of course, without any warrant
of law. Wylie Payne was a striking character. Born
in poverty, he had won his way to what was then con-
sidered wealth. His brand was on 3,000 head of cattle,
range count, worth then $100,000. A man of keen eye,
square jaw, and indomitable energy, he was a dominant
figure in any organization with which he was affiliated.
He was a hard rider, hard swearer, not hot tempered,
but a fearless fighter when the occasion seemed to re-
quire it. He was a man who neither sought nor avoided
quarrels, but would rather fight than yield when his
will was opposed. There were men on the range who
disliked him, but none who questioned his integrity
or his courage. So it was that Wylie Payne was a
tower of strength to the new bank, which shortly num-
bered its patrons and depositors from the Panhandle
of Texas to the Arkansas and from the Medicine River
to the Colorado line.

On a morning in early May in 1883, a half hun-
dred cowmen waited impatiently in the livery barn
in Medicine Lodge, their horses saddled ready for the
"round up" which had been called that day to take
place on Antelope Flat. A steady drizzling rain was
falling from the clouds which hung low and heavy over
the valley of the Medicine. The rough weather-beaten
men were waiting for the "clearing up" and that was
the reason why their horses were still saddled in the
barn at nine o'clock that morning when the Medi-
cine Valley bank opened. They were so busy watching
the weather that they did not notice four men ride in

EVENTS IN THE EIGHTIES 155

from the west and dismount beside the bank. The
leader of the four was Henry Brown, a lean, sinewy
man, with thin, cruel lips, and cold gray eyes, to
which mercy was a stranger. At one time he had been
a member of the gang led by that human tiger, that
white Apache, Billie the Kid, who before he had reached
his majority was credited with twenty cold-blooded
murders and who slew more from an inhuman lust for
blood than for the gain that might come from his
robberies. When the Kid was slain and his gang
broken up, Henry Brown drifted eastward.

Caldwell was then a wild cattle town, which had
been the scene of numerous killings. The mayor and
the city marshal had both been shot dead on the prin-
cipal street of the town and drunken cowboys rode
boastfully into the business houses, to the serious detri-
ment of the furniture and interruption of business.
The "killers" seemed to have the city fathers "buf-
faloed" and the demand was insistent that a police
force be organized that would give reasonable protec-
tion to citizens. Somehow the word had come to Cald-
well that Henry Brown was the man for the job of
city marshal and he was hired. It is fair to say that
he did restore order. An expert with the revolver, his
favorite weapon was a sawed-off Winchester. Some
men from the range undertook to shoot up the town.
Brown killed them as coolly and with as little com-
punction as he would have shot a stray dog.

It was not to be supposed, however, that a man
of the character and temperament of Henry Brown
would be content to remain as city marshal of a
town like Caldwell. He had heard that the Medicine
Valley bank was bulging with money and he organized
for a raid. With him was his assistant city marshal,
big Ben Wheeler, a giant in stature with a weak and
sensual face, not a leader but a fitting follower of a

156 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

man like Henry Brown. The other two were Billie
Smith and John Wesley from the T-5 range, on the
Eagle Chief. Brown, Wheeler, and Wesley entered the
bank while Billie Smith was left outside to hold the
horses. Wheeler faced the cashier's window with drawn
revolver, Wesley stepped in front of the little window
at the side of the president's desk, while Brown stepped
back into the president's room to cover the assistant
cashier and guard the door of the bank from outside
interference. With the command of "Hands up!" the
cashier promptly put up his hands, but Wylie Payne
had never put up his hands at the command of any man.
It was instinctive with him to fight. He reached for-
ward to get his revolver, which lay in the open drawer
of his desk. Just then two heavy revolvers barked in
unison. With a groan the cashier staggered back shot
through the heart and Payne dropped from his chair
shot through the spine.

A revolver fired with intent to kill seems to have a
different sound than when fired in sport. When the
sound of shots in the bank rang out, the inhabitants
of the little cattle town seemed to know instinctively
that murder was being done. The little red-headed city
marshal, who had never had his baptism of fire, ran
up the street with gun in hand and promptly en-
gaged in a duel with Smith, who was holding the
horses. Unfortunately his courage was better than his
aim, and Smith was unharmed. On the other hand,
Smith's aim was diverted by the plunging of the horses,
to which fact the red-headed city marshal probably
owed his life. Wheeler, always a coward at heart,
heard the shooting outside and panic stricken, dropped
his gun and the sack he had brought with which to
carry away the currency and coin, and dashed out of
the bank. Brown and Wesley followed and all four
mounted their horses and dashed out of town, with half
a hundred mounted men in hot pursuit.

EVENTS IN THE EIGHTIES 157

To the southwest of Medicine Lodge is a range of
low lying hills. In the prehistoric past the erosion of
waters had worn great pockets in the sides of these
hills as if scooped out by a titanic shovel. It was
toward these hills that Brown and his companions
turned desperately for safety and, perhaps two miles
from town, rode into one of these pockets in the hills.
The rain was falling steadily, and dripping over the
canyon's side when the robbers took refuge. The wa-
ter was cold and rose steadily until it reached almost
to the knees of the desperate men and their horses.
It took the courage out of them and after a few hours
Henry Brown appeared at the mouth of the canyon
with a handkerchief tied on the end of his gun barrel
as a token of surrender. The sun was sliding down
the western sky when the four men, two of them
shackled together with the single pair of shackles pos-
sessed by the sheriff and the other two handcuffed
with his only pair of handcuffs, were placed in the little
cottonwood shanty which passed as a jail. That after-
noon and evening knots of excited men could be seen
talking together, not loudly, but with a quietness that
made the conversations the more ominous.

"We will give you $1,000 if you will save our lives
till daylight," said Henry Brown to the county attor-
ney who had gone to the jail to get the statements
of the men.

"It is my duty to protect you from mob violence if
I can," replied the county attorney, "but it is not in
my power to save your lives till morning. You had
better make whatever preparations you can for death."

And then the men facing their doom told this re-
markable story to the county attorney. They said
that the bank robbery was a frame-up to save the cash-
ier, who was short $10,000; that Wylie Payne was not
expected to be in town as he had arranged to ship some
beef cattle on that day; that when they found him

158 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

in the bank they concluded that they had been double
crossed and when Payne reached for his gun Wesley
shot him and then Wheeler had shot the cashier. That
evening Payne died in great agony, game to the last
and apparently only concerned because his act of going
for his gun had caused the death of the cashier.

When the word spread abroad that Payne was dead,
the excitement became more intense. A man who had
been in California in the days of the Vigilantes and
had some experience in the tying of the hangman's
noose, was practicing on some pliable ropes. At about
ten o'clock the crowd moved silently through the dark-
ness toward the wooden jail. They were met by the
sheriff and his deputies with the question what was
wanted. "The four men inside" was the terse reply.
Then there was a brief fusillade participated in by the
sheriff and his deputies and the men in the crowd, but
the observer might have noticed that the flashes from
the guns were upward and not horizontal. The sheriff
and his deputies were overcome and two brawny range-
men threw their shoulders against the jail door and
burst it inward.

There was a surprise for the crowd. The men had
somehow gotten rid of the handcuffs and shackles and
burst out into the crowd. Henry Brown, lean and
lithe as a panther, slipped through the hands that
grabbed at him and started to run down the hill. A
quiet farmer standing at the corner with a sawed-off
shotgun loaded with buckshot, emptied both barrels
into Brown as he passed him and the leader of the four
with a groan fell dead. Wheeler, severely wounded
with an arm dangling by his side, ran with the fleet-
ness inspired by deadly fear, but was captured within
300 yards. Smith and Wesley were captured within a
few feet of the jail door.

Down in the bottom near the town grew an elm with

EVENTS IN THE EIGHTIES 159

a long strong limb branching out from the trunk per-
haps fifteen feet from the ground, and under this the
three were ranged.

"Is there any statement any of you gents would like
to make before you swing?" asked the leader of the
mob.

Wheeler, his great bulk shaking with mortal fear,
his face wet with cold sweat, a coward at heart, begged
piteously for his life: "Oh, men," he moaned, "spare
my life. There's other fellers mixed up in this and I
will tell everything if you will only spare my life."

Wesley managed to whisper that he had a mother in
Texas and not to let her know. Smith, who had done
none of the killing, was the only one to show nerve.
"What's the use?" he said sullenly but firmly. "You
intend to hang us anyway, so pull when you are ready."

"Pull, boys," quietly directed the leader. There was
the rasping sound of the ropes drawn across the rough
bark of the limb. There was the spasmodic twitching
of the limbs of the doomed men, and three bodies
swayed slightly in the night wind.

Perhaps there never was a more orderly lynching.
The next morning the coroner, determined that no
forms of the law should be overlooked, summoned a jury
who solemnly viewed the remains and rendered a verdict
that they had come to their death at the hands of
persons unknown to the jury. The bodies were buried
in the little frontier graveyard. I have been told that
all of them were dug up and no doubt for many years
the skeletons have been used for demonstration pur-
poses by classes in anatomy.

The Great Wmter Kill

The winter of 1885-86 brought ruin to the greater
part of the men who depended on free range in west

160 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

and southwest Kansas, eastern Colorado, the Cherokee
strip, western Indian territory and the Panhandle of
Texas. Up till then there had been no great winter
kill ; the price of cattle had steadily risen and the
profits had been exceedingly satisfactory. The result
had been to crowd more and more cattle on the range,
so that there was an increasing shortage of winter
pasture. In the early days of the range it was cus-
tomary for the owner to keep his herds on a part of
the range during the summer and early fall months
and leave part of the range to grow up to buffalo and
other native grasses. On a good winter range the
buffalo grass, unpastured during the summer, would
grow up several inches in height and bearing a generous
crop of seed. Unless there were unusual fall rains this
grass would cure like perfect hay, but there was always
a bit of green near the root of the grass. It made a
perfect balanced ration and cattle turned in on this
winter pasture would actually fatten during the winter
months. But as the number of cattle increased they
encroached more and more on the winter range until
there was practically none left and cattle were forced
to winter on the same range over which they had grazed
during the summer and fall.

The weather remained fine during the fall of 1885.
The range was crowded, but cattle men were hoping
that there might be an open winter. During the last
days of December or possibly the early days of Janu-
ary there came a sudden change. A cold rain turned
to sleet until the ground was covered with ice, and over
this fell a sheet of snow. The weather turned bitterly
cold. There was no available food for the poor brutes
that wandered over the range, for in those days the
oil cake which has since then saved the lives of hundreds
of thousands of range cattle had not been invented.

Generally in southwest Kansas severe cold weather

EVENTS IN THE EIGHTIES 161

did not last more than a few days, but that winter
there was no respite. Days grew into weeks with the
coat of ice and snow unmelted. At first the weaker
cattle succumbed ; the stronger wandered restlessly and
ceaselessly hunting for food that could not be found;
staggering with increasing weakness, crazed with hun-
ger, emaciated to an almost unbelievable degree, the
poor creatures wandered on until they could endure no
longer. The A. T. & S. F. fenced its right-of-way
through western Kansas. The herds to the north
drifted south before the wind until they reached this
wire fence and there they left their carcasses, already
so poor in flesh as hardly to tempt the coyotes although
they, too, were on the verge of starvation.

It is no exaggeration to say that it would have been
possible during the early summer of 1886 to walk from
Kingsley to the Colorado line along the right-of-way
of the A. T. & S. F. without touching foot to the
ground. Every step would have been taken on the dead
carcasses of cattle. Fully eighty per cent of all the
cattle in Barber and other southwest Kansas counties,
the western part of what was then the Cherokee strip,
and Indian territory and the Panhandle of Texas, died
during that terrible winter and what were left alive
were so enfeebled that they never recovered and might
almost as well have died.

In the town of Medicine Lodge was a Jew by the
name of Simon Lebrecht, who bought hides, and during
the summer of 1886 reaped a rich harvest. Some idea
of the tremendous loss may be obtained when I say that
this one Hebrew hide buyer bought forty thousand hides
during that spring and summer. Of course there were
other hide buyers in all the other towns and it is safe
to say that not more than one animal out of three was
ever skinned.

As a sample of the losses I might mention that of

162 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

Captain Perry Ewing and Hon. Tom Potter, of Pea-
body, who during the fall of 1885 had driven up from
Texas a herd of some 3,300 young steers, and turned
them on the range on Driftwood, in the neighborhood
where the flourishing town of Alva is now located. The
following spring they rounded up eighty enfeebled liv-
ing skeletons. Captain Ewing had been a soldier in
the Confederate army. After the war he gathered
enough together to buy a small herd of cattle which
he turned loose on the range in the Medicine valley.
For years he had roughed it, his herd gradually in-
creasing until it numbered several hundred head. These
he had sold and put the entire proceeds into the Texas
steers. The spring found him broke and compelled to
make a new start in Arizona.

Some fine stock breeders happened in the border
town of Caldwell and were talking of the prices they
had paid for certain blooded animals. One of them had
purchased a Shorthorn for which he had paid $5,000.
Another had paid even a higher price for a White-
face. Sitting nearby was a rough, weatherbeaten man,
who listened for some time and finally said:

"Beggin' yo* pahdon, gentlemen, I must say, sah,
that yo' are pikers, sah. Yo' talk about yo' Short-
ho'ns and Whitefaces that cost five and six thousand
dollahs. If yo' gentlemen will walk down heah to the
state line a half mile, I will show you an animal that
cost me thirty thousand dollahs."

They were interested and declared that they would
be glad to walk a half mile or more to see such a valu-
able animal. Without the shadow of a smile the man
from the range led the way down to the wire fence
on the border. On the other side of the fence stood
a runty, narrow-hammed Texas steer that would weigh
in flesh perhaps 1,000 pounds, but at that time would
hardly have tipped the scales at 500. The fine stock

EVENTS IN THE EIGHTIES 163

breeders looked disgusted, but the man from the range
remarked with a weary sigh, "I paid $30,000, gentle-
men, fo' a herd of cattle last yeah, and that is the
herd."

Seldom, if ever, has there been a disaster so com-
plete and overwhelming as that which overtook the
men of the range during that fateful winter. They
had been dubbed cattle barons and rather prided them-
selves on the appellation. They were generally hard
riders and free spenders; ready to go on each others'
paper for any amount and generally with no security
except the personal honor of the men they favored.
A brief six months saw many of them reduced from
affluence to penury, but it must also be said that as
a rule they were good losers. Without wasting time
in useless lamentations, they started to hunt for new
pastures and commenced another battle with nature
and the elements to recoup their losses and build again
their shattered fortunes.

The Organization of Wichita Coiwty

One day during his second term as governor, John
A. Martin unbosomed himself to a reporter concern-
ing a matter which was the greatest cause of worry
that he had to encounter during his administration.
It so happened that a great part of the counties in
the western third of the state were organized during
his two terms as governor, and in nearly every one
there was strife and bloodshed connected with the loca-
tion of the county seat. Governor Martin, himself a
thoroughly honest man, was astonished and grieved to
find that men in whose integrity he had had the fullest
confidence, when once mixed up with a county-seat con-
test, seemed to forget about every moral principle and

164 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

lend themselves to almost every form of lawlessness and
crime in order to win.

"What is the use of it all?" said the governor, sadly.
"Finally the courts will settle the matter of which
towns are entitled to the county seats, and all this
violence and bloodshed will avail nothing."

As one travels over western Kansas now, or in the
years that have passed since the fierce county-seat wars
ended, if he is told the story of those bloody conflicts,
he wonders what it was all about. There is nothing
that he can see about one of these little prairie towns
that would excite the cupidity of men, to say nothing
of tempting them to engage in the bloody forays that
marked the history of the frontier. One had to live
in those times to have some adequate understanding
of the situation. During the middle eighties a great
tide of immigration swept over western Kansas. With-
in two years the population of the western third of
Kansas increased a quarter of a million. The U. S.
land offices were crowded almost day and night with
applicants wishing to file on homesteads. Land office
attorneys were swamped with business and making
money far in excess of their fondest dreams of a year
or two before. County-seat boomers figured that within
a few months after becoming the seat of county gov-
ernment their town would rival in size and business the
best county-seat towns in eastern Kansas or in the older
states.

Suppose, then, that the county seat founders laid
out the town on a section of land which at govern-
ment price cost perhaps $800, and the cost of plotting
it into streets, alleys, and lots. Counting eight lots
to the acre, there would be 120 lots in the town site,
and judging by the prices asked and received in pros-
perous county seat towns in the East, $100 per lot
on the average would be a conservative estimate. That

EVENTS IN THE EIGHTIES 165

would mean that the town site which perhaps cost the
founders all told three or four thousand dollars, would
sell within a few months for more than half a million.
Was there ever a get-rich-quick scheme which equaled
it on paper? In the days when the Belgian hare craze
swept over the country, an expert in figures could esti-
mate that from a single pair of rabbits their progeny
would in ten or fifteen years mount away up into the
millions and make the fortunate investor a multi-
millionaire. But then there were some risks in the
rabbit business and it would at best take several years
to realize the fortune, but the founders of the county
seat figured that once they had captured the prize of
the county capital the rest was sure and easy. They
would simply clean up at the ratio of more than a
hundred to one within the brief space of six months or
a year.

Of course they could not look into the future when
drouth and hot winds would drive out the homesteaders,
when all their hopes would fade and the towns would
shrivel almost to nothing. Not sensing the future they
fought ruthlessly and unscrupulously. They blackened
their souls with crime and stained their hands with
blood. The county of Wichita was organized in 1886
and almost immediately two towns became rivals for
the county seat. Leoti was supposed to be located in
the geographical center of the county and the rival
town of Coronado was established three miles east of
the center. The census enumerator was a Coronado
man, but when his report was finally handed in to
Governor Martin there seemed to be so much uncer-
tainty about it that he decided to send a special com-
missioner out to get at the real sentiment of the citizens
for the benefit of the governor. Samuel Gerow, of
Atchison, was selected for that unpleasant job and ap-
parently he performed his work honestly and fearlessly,

166 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

although at times threatened with bodily harm by the
rival factions when one side or the other concluded
that he was giving the other the better of the count.

The legislature of 1887 amended the law providing
for the organization of counties and the location of
county seats requiring a registration of the legal
voters prior to the election. Under this new law the
county seat election was called for March 10, 1887.
If the framers of the law supposed that this would
do away with county seat troubles they were mistaken.
It merely shifted the contest from the final election
to the registration and the conflict raged with as much
bitterness as before.

In the case of Leoti and Coronado the culmination
came on a bright, mild Sunday afternoon, February
27, 1887, when in the main street of Coronado was en-
acted one of the bloodiest tragedies in all the wild his-
tory of the border. Each town supported a newspaper,
both, of course, intensely partisan, and no doubt unfair,
so that it is hard to get the real truth of what hap-
pened on that fatal day. In examining the files of the
rival newspapers I find the following account in the
Coronado Herald of June 16, 1887:

"During the time one Gerow was taking the wishes of
the voters of this county in regard to the temporary county
seat, certain parties in Leoti sent to Wallace to secure the
services of one Charles Coulter and his six-shooter, both
too well known in western Kansas to the sorrow of many
good people. Coulter came and for the promise of $750
undertook the job of making Leoti the county seat. His
first appearance was at the polls north of Coronado with
about 150 imported toughs to receive $4 per day. Coronado
voters dared not go near the polls. Again on the day of
registration he, with his companion, Rains, stood at the polls
with guns and dictated who should register and who should
not. Coronado men left the place of registration to avoid
bloodshed. During the time they were at the polls the

EVENTS IN THE EIGHTIES 167

unarmed Coronadoites were covered with rifles in the hands
of Coulter's friends, stationed in the town of Leoti. Later
that day Coulter and Rains held up two Coronado men with
guns and killed a valuable horse belonging to them.

"Up to this time not a single Coronado man had ex-
posed a weapon, or lost his temper. On Sunday morning,
February 27, while the people of this town were at church,
William Rains and A. R. Johnson came to Coronado from
Leoti and asked a druggist here for a bottle of beer.
They were informed that there was not any beer in town.
Not seeing anybody on the street they remarked that 'it
would be a good time to round up the d — n town/ They
returned to Leoti and recruited their forces with Charles
Coulter, Frank Jenness, A. N. Boorey, Emmet Denning,
George Watkins, and a case of beer. When they arrived at
Coronado they proceeded to make everybody they met drink
with them and tried to make a sick man get out of bed
and dance at the muzzles of pistols. Later Coulter com-
menced to knock men down with his pistol, while Frank
Jenness would single out men to cover with his pistol. But
such sport was too timid for drunken desperadoes, so Coul-
ter opened the ball by shooting Charles Loomis twice, while
Rains shot him (Loomis) in the arm. Up to this time not
a single weapon was drawn by a Coronado man, but after
these three shots were fired by Coulter and Rains, it seemed
for thirty seconds from pistol reports, that every man in
and near the crowd was shooting. When the smoke cleared
away the old maxim was verified: 'Death loves a shining
mark,' and in Coulter and Rains it certainly had struck
two daisies."

An entirely different account is that published in
the Leoti Standard the week following the tragedy. It
runs as follows:

"On Sunday morning the town of Coronado was the scene
of one of the most cowardly and dastardly crimes ever
perpetrated in any community that had any pretense of
being civilized, it being the shooting from the back of
seven of our best and most respected citizens. The vie-

168 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

tims were Charles Coulter, instantly killed; Wm. Rains,
instantly killed; George Watkins, fatally wounded; Frank
Jenness, shot six times; A. R. Johnson, wounded three
times; A. N. Boorey, shot three times; Emmet Denning,
leg broken by shot.

"The bitter fight caused by the county seat fight, and
the way Leoti has beaten her opponent by might of right,
and right of might, is well known. Coronado had been
satisfied until Sunday to carry on the fight by trickery,
fraud, lies, and forgery, and in this way had managed to
make the town and people despised by all who had the
slightest insight into the matter. A note was placed in Mr.
Coulter's hands on Sunday, inviting him over that after-
noon and telling him to bring a friend or two with him and
have a good time. It had been customary to visit back
and forth, so in the afternoon the crowd of seven went
over. They arrived there about two o'clock, and after a
couple of hours of pleasant chatting with their friends and
acquaintances, they all got in the buggy and started off. As
they drove by the bank building Frank Lilly, standing in
front of the bank, applied some foul name to Mr. Rains, at
the same time making a motion as if to draw a gun. Rains
sprang from the buggy and said that Lilly would have to
fight for that. Lilly replied that he had no gun, where-
upon Rains handed his gun to one of the party in the buggy
and offered to fight with his fists. Lilly refused and Rains
took his revolver and returned it to his pocket. Meantime
Coulter, Denning, and Johnson had gotten out of the buggy.
Charles and 'Red' Loomis, and John Knapp were standing
near the bank at the time. As Rains put up his gun he
remarked that he could easily whip Lilly. Lilly retaliated
by calling him a liar, at which Rains drew his revolver
and struck him over the head, mashing his hat, but not
knocking him down. The men in ambush, who were await-
ing the signal, now opened a volley of some sixty or seventy-
five guns on the unsuspecting crowd (from Leoti). Every
man was shot; shot from the back* The four men on the
ground were brought down and of the three in the buggy,
Watkins and Jenness fell out. The horses were shot and
started to run away, with Boorey still in the buggy.

EVENTS IN THE EIGHTIES 169

"After falling from the buggy Jenness got on his feet
and started toward Leoti on a run. A number of shots were
fired at him, five taking effect. The men of Coronado now
ran out and commenced shooting at closer range, and after
Coulter and Rains both were dead, put the muzzles of their
guns against them and fired."

The account goes on to say that when a party from
Leoti went over to Coronado to get the bodies they
found them lying in the street uncared for. Fourteen
bullet holes were found in the body of Coulter, and
eleven in the body of Rains. Afterwards complaints
were sworn out against a number of Coronado citizens,
who were arrested and taken to Garden City and Dodge
for safe keeping. For some reason the case against
them was never prosecuted. As one reads the ac-
counts quoted he can understand the reason why. It is
perfectly evident that neither account is a fair state-
ment of the facts. That Coulter could employ 150
toughs to carry a county seat election and pay the ex-
penses out of a paltry $750, is of course absurd. It is
also entirely evident that the men of Coronado were not
the long-suffering, patient citizens pictured by the
Herald, and neither were Coulter and Rains, and the
others of the seven who went to Coronado on the fatal
Sunday the estimable peaceful citizens pictured by the
Leoti Standard.

No doubt they went to Coronado in a spirit of brava-
do, and no doubt on the other hand the citizens of
Coronado expected to kill them when they came. Leoti
won in the county seat contest, as it undoubtedly was
entitled to do, and Coronado faded from the map.
The Herald, after a little more than a year of troubled
existence, suspended, and barring the fact that there
is a whistling station on the Missouri Pacific called
Coronado, the town is but a memory. Leoti survives, a
town of some 400 people, peaceful and reasonably

170 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

prosperous. Possibly the name of Leoti, too, would
have faded from the memory of men had it not been
that ten years after the tragedy a man from that
town, of striking appearance and remarkable curvature
of the lower limbs, breezed into state politics, secured
the nomination for state treasurer, and became the
adviser and manager of the political faction at that
time led by J. Ralph Burton. Had Burton followed
the advice of his faithful friend from the wind-swept
county of Wichita, he might perhaps still be a member
of the highest legislative body in the world.

A Tragedy of the Frontier

The traveler through southwestern Kansas who
crosses the county of Stevens and notes the orderli-
ness of its thriving little county seat and the general
peacefulness of the dwellers on its level prairie lands,
can hardly believe that here was enacted one of the
bloodiest dramas of the frontier. The census report
for 1918 gives the following brief but comprehensive
summary of Stevens County: "Organized in 1886, area
464,754 acres ; population, 3,331 ; assessed valuation,
$1,162,733; miles of railroad, main track, 31.20;
county seat, Hugoton, population 553." No doubt the
present census will show an increase in the population
of both the county and the county seat, for south-
west Kansas is slowly coming into its own.

The early history of Stevens County centers largely
around one of the most remarkable men who ever
figured in Kansas history — Colonel Sam Wood. Born
near Mount Gilead, Ohio, in 1825, in the county ad-
joining that in which I first saw the light, Sam Wood
was in his young manhood a contemporary with my
father and a worker with him for the cause of aboli-

EVENTS IN THE EIGHTIES 171

tion. Of Quaker parentage, he showed few of the
peaceful characteristics of the members of that sect
and from his earliest manhood until he met his death
at the hand of his assassin, he was generally engaged
in heated controversy, often in physical encounter, and
was seemingly fascinated by the excitement and danger
of conflict. It is not my purpose to analyze the char-
acter of this remarkable man. Admired by his friends
and bitterly hated by his enemies, lauded by some as
a statesman, humanitarian, and self-sacrificing re-
former, denounced by others as an unprincipled charla-
tan and unmitigated scoundrel, his panegyrists and
critics agreed upon one point, and that was that he
was a man of remarkable mentality and great physical
courage.

Possessed of ready wit and unusual faculty for sar-
casm and repartee, in a rough and tumble debate he
had no superiors and few if any equals. Apparently
impervious to either insult or ridicule, he had the power
to drive an opponent to a frenzy of exasperation while
himself remaining cool and placid as a morning in
June. Such a man can always command a following,
and while he never rose to the position of a great
leader, he made himself felt in every movement with
which he was associated and every cause he espoused.

The organization of very few of the western Kansas
counties will bear the light of honest scrutiny. The
history of their beginning is in most cases a sordid
chapter of chicanery and graft, where men with a
previous record for honesty and fair dealing seemed
to throw aside every principle of probity and civic
righteousness and assisted in the writing of a bloody
chapter of lawlessness and dishonor. The organiza-
tion of new counties and the establishment of county
seats was a new industry in the eighties, which promised
fabulous rewards for the founders. In nearly every

172 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

case there were rival aspirants for the seat of county
government and in order to win, the partisans of each
were generally willing either to take part in or at
least to wink at the commission of nearly every crime
from petty larceny to wholesale murder. Perjury was
excused as a necessity and ballot box stuffing was re-
garded as an entirely justifiable and commendable ex-
hibition of local patriotism.

The men who were responsible for the bill forming
the county of Stevens were the organizers of the first
county seat, Hugoton, but it was not to have a clear
field. Five or six miles north was located the town
of Woodsdale, with Colonel Sam Wood as its master
spirit. Some miles south of Hugoton was located the
town of Vorhees and the fertile brain of Sam Wood
devised a scheme by which the forces of Woodsdale and
Vorhees might be united against Hugoton. There was
no railroad in the newly organized county, but a pro-
posal was made to build two lines east and west through
Vorhees, leaving Hugoton in a pocket without hope
of a railroad, for it was also proposed to vote the
limit of county bonds to aid the two projected lines.
Failing to get a railroad, it was figured that Hugoton
would certainly lose the county seat and Woodsdale
would become the seat of government.

It is hardly worth while to discuss the rights and
wrongs of the bitter controversy which followed.
Probably there wasn't much right on either side. Each
town had a newspaper and looking back over the old
files one is filled with a certain degree of admiration
for the nerve of the men who edited them. No space
was wasted in journalistic courtesies and if one were
to believe the statements of the rival editors, both
towns were inhabited entirely by liars, scoundrels, and
thieves, the description of whose infamy taxed the limit
of the editorial vocabulary. Each town imported a
gunman of unsavory reputation to uphold the majesty

EVENTS IN THE EIGHTIES 173

of the law. Hugoton brought in a Kentuckian by the
name of Sam Robinson, who had already made a record
for himself as a six shooter artist in Pratt and Barber
Counties and who was probably about as cold blooded
a murderer as ever drew a gun. He was made city
marshal of the new town of Hugoton. Woodsdale
selected as guardian of the law one Ed Short, who, I
believe, had achieved some reputation in and around
Dodge City in an earlier day.

South of Stevens County lies a strip of country at
that time known as "No Man's Land," now Beaver
County, Oklahoma, but then supposed to be without the
jurisdiction of either the state of Texas or the United
States. Here was the setting for the bloody drama
on which the curtain was to be rung down four years
later.

A meeting was being held in the town of Vorhees, a
joint debate on the proposition to vote bonds for the
two-line railroad project. Colonel Sam Wood was to
have been the principal speaker for the bonds, but for
some reason could not be present. A deputy sheriff,
James Geraud, undertook to read the Colonel's written
speech, but was knocked senseless by a blow from the
pistol of Sam Robinson, who from that time on dom-
inated and broke up the meeting. A warrant was sworn
out before a Woodsdale justice of the peace for the
arrest of Robinson, charged with assault with intent to
kill. Ed Short, the Woodsdale city marshal, rode to
Hugoton to serve the warrant. He saw Robinson sit-
ting in front of his alleged drug store and decided to
shoot first and serve the warrant afterward. His aim
was bad and Robinson, unharmed, got his gun and re-
turned the fire. A posse of Hugoton men gathered at
once and chased Short back to Woodsdale after a
running fight, in which a good deal of ammunition was
wasted, but no one injured.

A few days afterward, July 25, 1888, Robinson,

174 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

Chamberlain, and Cyrus Cook and wife, of Hugoton,
went to No Man's Land to gather plums. Ed Short
and "Bill" Housely, of Woodsdale, started after them
with the intent of arresting Robinson. They found
him in a claim house, his horse, a celebrated racer,
stabled in a half dugout nearby. Robinson succeeded
in mounting his horse and escaped. Short sent back to
Woodsdale for reinforcements and the sheriff of the
county, Cross, organized a posse composed of himself,
Theodosius Eaton, Herbert Tonny, Bob Hubbard and
Rolla Wilcox, and started for No Man's Land. They
passed through the town of Vorhees, where lived a
young attorney, Jesse Dunn. They invited him to join
them. He was willing, but had no saddle for his horse
and it was too long a ride to take bareback. Jesse
Dunn afterward became a member of the supreme court
of Oklahoma instead of a victim of the Hay Meadow
massacre. What trivial things often change the entire
current of a man's life!

Sheriff Cross rode on to the claim house where
Robinson had been, found him gone, and turned to
ride home. Three miles below the Kansas line, they
camped for the night, with a party of men who had
gone down there to cut and gather hay. Without ap-
prehension of danger they lay down to sleep by the
stacks of new mown hay, when a Hugoton posse led
by Robinson surrounded them. They woke to face the
guns of their captors and standing in line disarmed and
helpless they were shot to death, all of them with one
exception falling before the gun of Sam Robinson.
Young Tonny managed by a quick shift of position just
as the gun aimed at his breast was fired, to receive the
bullet in his shoulder instead of through his vitals. He
fell and feigned death so well that his would-be execu-
tioners left him weltering in his blood, supposing him
dead. Cross, Hubbard, Eaton, and Wilcox were dead.

EVENTS IN THE EIGHTIES 175

After Robinson and his crowd had departed Tonny,
desperately wounded as he was, managed to get on a
horse and rode north until he reached friends and
surgical aid.

Nearly two years later, at the end of one of the
most sensational trials in the history of the country,
six Hugoton men, Cyrus E. Cook, O. J. Cook, J. B.
Chamberlain, Cyrus Freese, J. J. Jackson and Jack
Lawrence were convicted of the murder of Cross and
the others. Colonel Sam Wood had been most active
in the prosecution and on the Fourth of July, 1890,
made the closing argument for the Government, speak-
ing for eight hours. Sentence of death was passed on
the six Hugoton men and the date of their execution
set for the following December. Through the influence
of the two Kansas senators, Ingalls and Plumb, a stay
of execution was granted, the case was appealed to
the supreme court of the United States, and a new trial
granted. The case never again came to trial. Sam
Robinson, who had done nearly all of the killing, had
been convicted of train robbery in Colorado, where he
had gone after the Hay Meadow massacre, and was safe
in the Colorado penitentiary when the trial was being
held at Paris, Texas.

But the last act of the bloody drama had not been
played. Judge Theodosius Botkin, Sam Wood's enemy,
had been impeached by the lower house of the Kansas
Legislature, but acquitted by the Senate, and returned
to his district more bitter than ever against the man
most responsible for his impeachment. A charge of
bribery was filed in Botkin's court against Wood and
on June 23, 1891, in company with his wife he drove to
Houghton to face the charge. It was reported that a
little boy playing in the street of the frontier town was
\ieard to tell his companions, "They are going to kill old
Sam Wood to-day." The court was being held in a

176 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

church. About the time Wood and his wife approached
court was adjourned, the judge left the church and
stepped across the street. Colonel Wood got out of his
buggy and started to enter the church, when a Hugoton
man, Jim Brennan, drew his gun and shot Wood in the
back. The colonel turned to run out of the church
when Brennan shot him twice more, the last shot
through the brain, and Wood fell dying at the feet
of his wife, who, standing over the body of her hus-
band, pointed dramatically at Judge Botkin, and in
the language of Nathan, the prophet, to King David
said: "Thou art the man." Brennan, with his smok-
ing pistol in hand, refused to surrender to the sheriff
of Stevens County, but gave himself up to the sheriff
of Morton County. He was arraigned, charged with
murder. The Populist attorney general of Kansas,
J. N. Ives, went to Hugoton to assist in the prosecu-
tion. Judge T. B. Wall, of Wichita, was selected to
preside at the trial, but it was found impossible to
secure a jury to try the case in Stevens County and
Brennan was released on bail.

Hard times came to Stevens County; the tide of im-
migration rolled back. Most of the homesteaders
abandoned the country. The towns of Woodsdale and
Vorhees faded away entirely and Hugoton at one time
was reduced to eleven weather-beaten houses. Sam
Robinson was in the Colorado penitentiary and Ed
Short was killed in Oklahoma by a desperado he had
taken prisoner. The silence of desolation ruled where
men had striven and fought and died and gained noth-
ing from the bloody sacrifice and ruthless struggle.
Twenty years later a requisition was issued for the
arrest of Jim Brennan, the slayer of Colonel Sam Wood.
Brennan had located at the town of Getabo, Okla.
The extradition was resisted on the ground of former
jeopardy and Brennan went free.

EVENTS IN THE EIGHTIES 177

In the years since then a new prosperity has come
to the southwest. The abandoned homesteads are again
being cultivated and Hugoton is taking on a new
growth. In all the wide expanse of United States
territory there is no more peaceable and law-abiding
community than Stevens County, in which was played
to a finish one of the bloodiest dramas in frontier
history.

Draw Poker on the Border

The gambling instinct is almost universal among the
children of men. Camouflage the game in the form of
a church raffle and the supposed children of light will
squander their substance with as much interest and
zeal as the children of darkness display when they
gather about the faro table or the roulette wheel.
Possibly among no class of men was the gambling spirit
more rife than among the cattlemen and cowboys of
the range. The big cattlemen played them clear up to
the roof, while the range riders wagered with even
greater recklessness whatever they might happen to
have in their pockets, and after that was gone, they
would get whatever they could raise on their other
earthly possessions.

It was no uncommon thing for a cowboy to work
faithfully for six months on the range, enduring with-
out complaint all kinds of privations and dangers ;
then with his six months' pay burning his pocket, he
would hunt for the first game he could find, and be-
fore morning would walk out dead broke, but cheerful,
borrow enough from some friend or loan shark to
get back to the range, and begin again the job of rid-
ing the lines. As I have said, the passion for gambling
was not confined to any class or condition. Two of the
men who most earnestly loved the great American game

178 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

of draw poker were Major Andrew Drumm and Colonel
Gus Johnson.

Andy Drumm was a first-class business man, one of
the most successful cattlemen operating between the
Arkansas River and the Rio Grande. He died a few
weeks ago at the ripe age of ninety-one, worth $2,-
000,000. With Andy Drumm, the game was merely
a pastime. He was counted one of the most expert
poker players among the men of the range, but he did
not sit in for purposes of gain, and was only a trifle
less joyous perhaps as a loser than as a winner.

Colonel Gus Johnson, head of the great Eagle Chief
pool, and manager of the great herds carrying the T5
brand, 100,000 or more, was a different type of man
from Major Drumm, and not so good a loser.

"Gus Johnson has the impression," said Major
Drumm to me one day, "that he can play poker. Not
long ago he and I were in Kansas City, and he bantered
me for a little game of 'draw/ I was sort of hungry
for a game myself. During that pleasant evening I
trimmed him for $1,000. He wasn't satisfied. He is
really one of the most difficult men to satisfy I ever
saw. He insisted on playing the next night. When
we parted I had separated him from a roll of $1,500.
I remarked that it had been a pleasant evening, but
he didn't seem to regard it that way, and indulged in
language which made the leaves on the palms in the
hotel parlor wither and curl at the edges. He wanted
revenge, and I was pleased to give him the opportunity
to get it. The next evening I trimmed him again to
the tune of $2,500. It wasn't what I would call a warm
night at all, but I have seldom seen a man perspire
more freely. I wouldn't say at that, that he was sat-
isfied, but he was convinced ; but, do you know, I think
that man still entertains the delusion that he can play
poker." And Major Drumm chuckled with pure de-
light at the recollection.

EVENTS IN THE EIGHTIES 179

Among the inveterate gamblers of the Medicine coun-
try was one Nathan Priest, who had a few hundred cat-
tle ranging on Elm Creek. Nate was not a skillful
manipulator of the pasteboards, but had the reputation
of being willing to take advantage of a crooked deal
if he had the opportunity. The town poker players
regarded him as an easy mark, and when he made a
sale of beeves they rejoiced at the prospect of the
harvest.

As a sample of the manner in which he was plucked,
one night his opponent dealt him a hand composed of
three queens and two other cards. All the other players
dropped out except Priest and the dealer. Suddenly
the dealer complained that a bug had got in his eye.
He appeared to be in great pain. All the other men
except Priest gathered about him, full of sympathy
and apparently deeply concerned in getting the bug out
of his eye. Nobody was paying the slightest attention
to the cards on the table except Priest, who was busily
engaged in pawing over the discard in search of the
other queen. It took him some time to find her, but he
did at last. Then the hunt for the bug in the dealer's
eye was rewarded. He expressed great relief and took
up the hand he had laid on the table.

Priest began to raise. The dealer saw the raise
until they reached $600. It had been ascertained that
this was the amount of available cash Priest had in
the bank at that particular time, and so the dealer
"called" him. It is hardly necessary to say that the
dealer held four kings. It dawned on Priest too late
what was the meaning of that bug in the eye. His
check had already been taken to the bank and cashed
by a confederate of the dealer.

One more poker story comes to mind. "Circle Pete"
was a family man and reasonably kind to his wife and
children, and a fair provider, but possessed of an un-
governable passion for the game of poker. On one oc-

180 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

casion, those were the days before the telephone, Pete's
wife sent a messenger in the person of one of the chil-
dren to look him up. It was after midnight, and she
wanted him to come home. The boy found his de-
linquent parent where his mother had supposed he was
located, and was met at the door of the room by a side
partner of Pete's who, owing to lack of funds, had re-
tired from the game earlier in the evening. "Tell your
ma, son," said the side partner, "that your pa lost
his shirt on a full hand a few minutes ago, but as soon
as he can borrer another he will mosey home. Tell her
not to worry none. Pete won't play no more to-
night."

Cimarron vs. Ingalls

One of the last of the county-seat wars was that of
Cimarron vs. Ingalls. The stories of the different
county-seat wars that marked the history of the devel-
opment of western Kansas, differed each from the
other, but there was one point of resemblance common
to them all. All of them were distinguished by a disre-
gard of honor and a willingness on the part of both
parties to the contest to violate about every civil and
moral law in order to win. The county-seat war in
Gray County did not differ in that respect from the
others, but it had wider ramifications and elements of
almost romance that distinguished it from all the rest.

The central figure in the drama, mostly tragedy but
which contained certain elements of comedy, was A. T.
Soule, of Rochester, New York, reputed to be worth
$10,000,000, accumulated from the sale of Hop Bitters
to a credulous public. Why Soule came to Kansas is
somewhat hard to understand. He had, if reports
were true, more money than he could spend in the pur-
chase of mere creature comforts. He did not need to

EVENTS IN THE EIGHTIES 181

build western towns or to endure the hardships, dangers,
and vicissitudes of life on the wind-swept plains of
western Kansas. It may be that there was the lure
of adventure drawing him on, or it may be that he
thought he saw in the far-flung prairie landscape where
the sun rose and set without a tree to cast a shadow
either in the morning or at eve, the setting for an
empire of which he would be the builder. At any rate
he came and as a result of his coming there was strife
and bloodshed, the memories of which last among the
older inhabitants even till now.

For a man who had succeeded in building up a great
fortune in a business venture in the East, A. T. Soule's
projected enterprises in Kansas were singularly unsuc-
cessful. He built a great irrigating ditch in western
Kansas, which did not irrigate, although he did succeed
in floating many hundreds of thousands of dollars of
bonds, which gilded promises to pay may yet, no doubt,
be found in the vaults of disappointed eastern pur-
chasers. He built a college near the town of Dodge
which I think never had any students, or if it did has
long since been abandoned as an institution of learn-
ing. He built a railroad seventy miles or so to the
southwest, but abandoned it. A few years ago the A. T.
& S. F. built a branch line over the old Soule right-of-
way to the southwest corner of the state. It is now
one of the most prosperous branches of that great
system. His plan to locate the county seat and build
a great town on the banks of the Arkansas River finally
came to naught; the town he organized still lingers,
but has less than a hundred inhabitants, and the county
seat has long since gone to its rival.

The county of Gray was organized in 1887 and the
temporary county seat was at the town of Cimarron.
The first county-seat election was called for October
31. Something of the story of the contest may be

182 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

gathered from the records of the supreme court, be-
fore which body came the representatives of the two
towns, one side asking for the removal of the county
seat records from Cimarron to Ingalls and the other
trying to prevent it, on the ground that the latter town
had won only by the most glaring frauds and shame-
less bribery. The story told in the supreme court re-
port is a decided instance of the pot calling the kettle
black. The charges made by each contestant against
the other were not seriously disputed and they are
worth reading, if for no other purpose, to show that, so
far as Kansas at least is concerned, the people are not
getting worse, even if they are not making great moral
strides forward. Here is the story told by the Ingalls
faction about the Cimarronians :

Prior to the election there existed in one of the
voting precincts known as Ford precinct, a secret or-
ganization called the Equalization Society, composed
of seventy-two members whose sole object, as shown by
their constitution and by-laws, was to sell their votes
solidly to the town which would pay the highest price,
the money derived from the sale to be divided equally
among the members, who were bound by oath to vote
solidly for the town to which the sale was made. For
violation of this oath the penalty was death. Just
prior to the election, the record goes on to say, one
T. H. Reeves, a leading Cimarron manager, made a
bargain with this organization by the terms of which
the Equalization Society was to receive $10,000 and
in return cast the solid vote of the membership for
Cimarron. To bind the bargain on the part of Cimar-
ron a bond signed by fifteen of the most prominent
citizens of Cimarron was given binding them to the
payment of the $10,000. The seventy- two votes were
duly cast by the members of the society, but when a
committee went to Cimarron to get the ten thousand

EVENTS IN THE EIGHTIES 183

they were told to go to hell, as the town had their
votes and the bond was a forgery anyhow, which out-
come brings to mind old Chester Thomas' definition of
an honest man, who, he said was one who would stay
bought.

The majority of the supreme court, holding no doubt
that one side was as badly tinctured with fraud as the
other, and as Ingalls seemed to have succeeded in get-
ting more votes in the ballot box than Cimarron, gave
that town the decision. However, Judge Albert Hor-
ton, then chief justice, rendered a dissenting opinion
in which he removed the hide of the Hop Bitters vendor
in the following thorough and altogether workmanlike
manner.

"A. T. Soule, a man worth from $8,000,000 to $10,000,-
000, and living in New York, became interested in Ingalls,
whether for his mere pleasure or his pecuniary profit it is
difficult to say. He attempted to make Ingalls, a new and
very small place, the county seat. He supposed that with
his immense wealth he could locate the county seat wher-
ever he willed. The principal contesting towns for the
county seat up to within a few weeks before the election
were Ingalls, Cimarron, and Montezuma. During the cam-
paign prior to the election Soule and his agents were prodi-
gal with their corrupt funds, with which to bribe votes
for Ingalls. His checks for that purpose for $100, $500
and other sums were disbursed throughout the county. He
said, 'If any man will tell me how to buy the county seat
I will freely pay it.' He proposed to build a railroad
to Montezuma and got that town to withdraw as a con-
testant for the county seat. He and his agents imported
to the county before and on election day a crowd of toughs
and killers."

Finally, urged the chief justice, if the petition of
the Ingalls crowd was granted it would encourage
"Soule and other conscienceless scoundrels" to engage

184 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

in other and like schemes of lawlessness and corruption.

In most of the county-seat wars the fighting, that is
the real killing, commenced before, at, or immediately
after, the alleged election, but in the case of Gray
County the bloody finale was postponed for more than
a year. There was a growing disposition to depend
more on courts to settle the controversies and rather
less on guns in the hands of hired killers. So the
tragedy was delayed while motions for rehearings were
filed and argued. In this case, Cimarron had the ad-
vantage of possession ; the docket of the supreme court
was crowded with more business than the three judges
could dispose of promptly, and Cimarron was taking
advantage of this delay. Meantime, the IngaHs crowd
had captured most of the county offices, among them
the coveted office of sheriff, and the bolder spirits de-
cided that it was time to quit fooling with their rival
and take the law in their own hands.

On a mild January day in 1889, a wagon, with ten
or twelve men armed and concealed in the bottom of
the wagon bed, drove into Cimarron and halted in
front of the courthouse. The men got out of the
wagon and, while part of them stood guard at the
front, the others swarmed up the stairway and, pulling
their guns on the county clerk, A. T. Riley, ordered
him to throw up his hands, while they took possession
of the county records. The news that the Ingalls crowd
was raiding the town spread quickly through the little
frontier village, and the Cimarronians rallied for the
battle. Who fired the first shot is a matter of dis-
pute. The men of Cimarron claim that the shooting
was commenced by the Ingalls crowd, which is entirely
probable, as they were there for the purpose of in-
timidating the inhabitants of Cimarron and getting
away with the records before an effective defense could
be organized. The conflict was short but bloody.

EVENTS IN THE EIGHTIES 185

J. W. English, a leading citizen of Cimarron, fell dead
at the first fire, and Ed Fairhurst and Jack Bliss, two
other Cimarron men, were mortally wounded. Asa
Harrington, another Cimarronian, suffered the loss of
a thumb, while another citizen on taking off his hat
after the fray was over, discovered that a bullet had
passed through the crown and clipped a lock of his
hair which was still inside the hat. The owner of the
head covering frankly confessed that if his durned hair
hadn't been standing up it wouldn't have been shot off
that way.

The Ingalls crowd, led by a brother of Bat Master-
son, did not escape without casualties. Brooks, of
Dodge City, was mortally wounded, and Neal Brown,
G. W. Bolls, and C. Reicheldeffer were severely wounded.
Meantime the county records were piled into the wagon
and gotten out of town by the Ingalls partisans, but
three or four of the attacking party were captured by
the Cimarron men. It is a somewhat remarkable fact
that they were not killed by the enraged men of Cimar-
ron when they had them in their power, instead of be-
ing surrendered to the sheriff who was an Ingalls
partisan, and who immediately turned them loose. A
company of militia under the command of General
Murray Myers, of Wichita, was hurried to the scene.
Order was restored and the last of the really bloody
county-seat wars of western Kansas was ended.

It was the news of the county-seat contest in Gray
that called forth the following literary output in the
New York Tribune:

"The news that another county-seat war has broken out
in Kansas has found its way to New York by telegraph.
Kansas is again in the saddle. Once more a four-mule
team is attached to one of the court houses and it is going
across the prairie on a fast trot.

"The existence of the western Kansas court house is

186 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

at best transitory and uncertain. The golden morning sun-
light floods it in Pottawatomie City, but its lengthening
evening shadow falls across the streets of Little Paradise
Valley. One day the stray swine of Occidental City seek
its hospitable shade, the next some predatory calf in Big
Stranger bunts open the back door and eats a deed and two
mortgages while the register is taking a nap. To-day we
mark it in Grand Junction with a new front door painted
yellow, and the gable end blown off by the last tornado, but
to-night a band of determined men will come from Rattle
Snake Crossing and haul it away with a yoke of oxen, with
the mayor and city council of Rattle Snake pushing on the
end of the court house. The Kansas court house is the
'Wandering Jew' among public institutions."

The people of western Kansas long ago learned that
the mere fact that it was the county seat did not build
a town and that the advantages derived did not com-
pensate for the lives lost and the honor sacrificed in
the desperate struggle for a prize much coveted but, as
subsequent events proved, often of little value. For
many years one of the county-seat towns of south-
western Kansas could boast only of fifteen inhabitants ;
two others did not have more than seventy^five in-
habitants each, and the best block of lots in the town
would not have sold for enough to have paid the funeral
expenses of the men whose lives were sacrificed in the
early-day conflict.

A Steer Was the Ante

I do not wish to create the impression that the late
Major Andy Drumm was entirely addicted to the game
of draw poker, for, as a matter of fact, he was a very
competent and keen business man, possibly the best
judge of cattle among the men of the range; a man
who rarely made a mistake in his judgment of men and

EVENTS IN THE EIGHTIES 187

who was a close observer of markets and industrial
conditions. This was the reason why when he died his
estate totaled $2,000,000 in first class securities, cattle,
and real estate. Neither was he a mere money maker.
The ambition of his life was the creation of a home
where friendless boys would have a chance to get an
education, be taught habits of industry and thrift, and
turned out into the world well equipped and useful
citizens.

His love of the game of poker was a mere pastime.
He liked the excitement and adventure of it and it
may be said in passing that the size or character of
the stakes never daunted him.

After the Major had established his commission
house at Kansas City, in the early eighties, there came
one day a Texan who also loved the game rather better
than he did choice food, and when the business of the
day was closed he suggested to Major Drumm that he
would like to "sit in" but that he was somewhat ham-
pered in the way of cash.

"That need not stand in the way of a pleasant eve-
ning," remarked the Major, "you have plenty of cattle.
Suppose we make the ante a steer and two steers to
'come in.' "

The novelty of the proposition appealed to the
Texan and the game started. Major Drumm dealt
the cards ; the man from Texas theoretically put a
steer on the table as his ante. Drumm came in with
two steers, having been dealt a pair of tens and had
the luck to fill on the draw, while the Texan caught a
bob-tailed snag and passed out.

On the third round it was proposed to make it a
jack pot. Three deals were made before either could
open the pot, when the Texan drew a pair of jacks and
opened with a fine breeding bull, which counted the
same as six steers. Major Drumm promptly covered

188 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

this with five steers and a two-year-old heifer and then
went the Texan twelve cows better.

The Texan drew more cards, "saw" the twelve cows
and raised the Major fifty steers, twenty two-year-old
heifers, four bulls and twenty-five yearling heifers.
Drumm carefully scanned his hand and then placed on
the table, six fine blooded Alderney cows, five imported
Durham bulls, 100-grass-fed two-year-old steers, fifty
prime to medium Colorado half-breed steers, with a
side bet of a Normandy gelding to cover the bar bill.

The Texan "called" with an even 250 straight
Kansas wintered Texas half-breed steers, ten Scotch
polled cattle, fourteen Texas mustang ponies and the
deed to a tract of land in the Panhandle of Texas.

When the cards were laid upon the table Major
Drumm had three aces and the Texas gentleman had
three jacks. As the result of the game, Drumm
theoretically placed in his hip pocket 750 steers, a large
number of blooded bulls, a considerable herd of one and
two-year-old heifers and cows of high and low degree,
ten mustangs and a ranch in the Panhandle of Texas.

While cattle were low in price at that time as com-
pared with present prices, it is probable the money
value of the stakes in that remarkable game was not
less than $40,000. It was not a piker game. This
game was not only unique in the matter of the stakes
played for, but it illustrated the character of the men
who engaged in the cattle business at that time.
Probably no men were freer spenders or, according to
the standard of time, better sports. The losing of
$40,000 or $50,000 worth of cattle, horses and other
livestock, with a ranch thrown in, all in an evening
session at poker, did not dampen the spirits of the
Texas rancher, and neither would it have brought any
sadness to Major Drumm if he had been the loser.
But it was some game.

EVENTS IN THE EIGHTIES 189

When Hett Was in Session at Caldwell

In the issue of December 17, 1881, of the Wichita
Beacon, then a weekly paper, is found this brief but
comprehensive editorial statement:

"As we go to press hell is again in session at Caldwell."

Just then Caldwell was the wildest town on the
Kansas border. It had had something of a reputation
for several years but at that time other wild and
woolly towns were showing indications of tameness and
comparative austerity, and as one star differeth from
another star in glory, so border towns differed from
each other in their wildness and "wooliness," and just
then Caldwell led all the rest.

The prohibitory amendment to the Kansas constitu-
tion had been adopted the year before and the first
prohibitory law was in operation. But a few towns
saw fit to ignore the law and among them was Cald-
well. Its business men labored under the delusion that
saloons and dance houses were necessary to the pros-
perity of the town and as a result they ran wide open,
with the full consent and approval of the city author-
ities. The few inhabitants of the town, who did not
favor this open violation of the law, were regarded as
troublesome and unreasonable cranks if they voiced
their sentiments, which few of them did. Even the
preachers, for the most part, found something else to
preach about and made little, if any, mention of the
lawlessness and iniquity immediately at hand.

At the time this somewhat startling statement ap-
peared in the Wichita Beacon, the mayor of Caldwell
was a big, blue-eyed, handsome Irishman by the name
of Mike Meagher. Mike had been the city marshal of
Wichita in the days when that town was the terminus
of the Texas cattle drive, and during the course of his

190 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

administration had killed a desperado by the name of
Powell. Unfortunately for Meagher, Powell had a
cousin, a Missourian, who probably had been a bush-
whacker during the Civil War, and to whom murder
was a pastime. Jim Talbott was a typical "bad man."
To him human life meant nothing. Mercy would have
been regarded by him as a display of effeminate weak-
ness, and to "get even" with one who had incurred his
enmity was the height of his ambition.

When word came that his cousin, Powell, had been
killed, Jim Talbott is said to have registered a vow
that he would "get" the man who killed him. It was
a year or two after the killing, as the story goes,
when "Billie the Kid" was making his spectacular and
bloody record in New Mexico, that he one day met Mike
Meagher. They were taking a drink together when
"Billie the Kid," leaning on the bar, looked at Mike
Meagher with an evil, mirthless smile and said: "I
understand that Jim Talbott says he intends to kill
you on sight." Possibly Mike did not at the time
take the warning very seriously, for like most of the
men who were city marshals and sheriffs in those
troublous times, he was inclined to be a fatalist, who
had the impression that, somehow or other, he bore a
charmed life.

He had moved from Wichita to Caldwell when the
"Windy Wonder" ceased to be a cattle town, and be-
cause he was the type of man he was, was elected mayor
of the town. A few months before his death, I met
Meagher. He seemed at that time as carefree as a
boy; a big, good-natured Irishman, who had not
thought of a rendezvous with death.

It had been nearly six years since the gunman Powell
had died as he tried to "draw" on the street in Wichita,
but Jim Talbott, the bushwhacker, had not forgotten.
I might say here that while he was known on the border

EVENTS IN THE EIGHTIES 191

as Talbott, his real name was Sherman. Why he saw
fit to change it I do not know. He had gathered his
gang and notified each of them of his purpose, which
was to kill Mike Meagher. All of them were desperate
gunmen. Tom Love, Billy Mankin, alias Comanche Bill ;
Bob Munson, Dick Eddleman, Jim Martin, Doug Hill,
Bob Bigtree, and Tom Delaney. On a black December
day they met in Caldwell and laid their plans. They
were to start trouble in one of the dance halls. They
knew that Meagher would take a hand in quieting the
disturbance, and in the course of the fight they intended
to kill him. The night before the killing there was an
Uncle Tom's Cabin show in town, which Talbott and
his gang attended in force. They interrupted the per-
formance with oaths and obscenity until finally the
editor of the Caldwell Post, Tell Walton, protested and
asked Talbott to refrain from his foul remarks. For
this, Talbott cursed the editor, and told him that he
would get him next day. All the plans evidently were
not completed yet, and the editor's life was spared.

The next night trouble started in earnest. Talbott
and his gang were starting out to "shoot up the town."
George Speer, proprietor of the "Red Light" saloon
and dance hall, perhaps as tough a place as ever
flourished on the border, had joined the gang, for he,
too, had his grievance against Mike Meagher. Speer's
brother had murdered a man in cold blood a few
months before and Meagher had insisted that the mur-
derer should be arrested. It seemed to George like an
unseemly thing to make so much fuss about so trifling
a thing as murder. The city marshal seemed to have
a hunch and was not on the street when the shooting
commenced, but at daybreak Meagher hunted him up
and told him to arrest the men who were shooting in
the street. The marshal found a part of the gang
armed with Winchester rifles and revolvers and Tal-

192 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

bott with a needle gun. He disarmed one of the men,
Tom Love, and started with him for the city jail when
the other conspirators interfered and rescued the ar-
rested man. The marshal called on the mayor for as-
sistance, which was what the gang wanted. They
could easily have killed the marshal, but he was not the
one they were after. They knew that Mike Meagher
would come to the rescue. The city marshal soon
sensed the plot and begged Meagher to seek safety,
but to a man of Meagher5 s temper and reputation to
run from danger would be worse than death and Tal-
bott knew it. So the great street fight commenced.
The gang and Meagher, and a few daring enough to
come to his aid, sought protection behind buildings
which, in the course of the battle, were riddled with
balls. Talbott, his mind concentrated on just one
object, the death of Meagher, slipped round a building
for a flank attack. Meagher, generally wary, was
caught off his guard and as he stepped from behind a
building Talbott shot him through the breast and
Meagher fell mortally wounded.

Meantime the big sheriff, Joe Thralls, had been
notified and with a posse of twenty men was on his
way to the border; but Talbott's vengeance had been
satisfied. The man he had sworn to kill was dead by
his hand and, gathering his gang, he started to get out
of town before the sheriff arrived. It was a bit of
retributive justice that the dance hall proprietor who
opened the shooting in the streets, was shot through
the heart as he started to mount his horse and ride
out of town with the rest of the gang. The others
impressed horses from a livery stable, but one horse
was disabled as the gang started to flee and, with two
of their number mounted double, the murderers fled to
the southward. A few miles south of the border they
came across a couple of freighters' camps and after

EVENTS IN THE EIGHTIES 193

helping themselves to such provisions as they could
carry and part of the horses, they rode on to the
ranch of W. E. Campbell, where they helped them-
selves to fresh horses. Campbell, who was a man of
hasty temper, was irritated by the theft of his horses
and joined enthusiastically in the pursuit which was be-
ing conducted by the frontier sheriff. A few miles
further south the murderers took refuge in a rocky
canyon and there for several hours kept up a fight
against the sheriff and his posse, one of whom Camp-
bell, the rancher, was severely wounded. It was known
afterward that some of the Talbott gang were wounded
but managed to escape and somewhere in the fastnesses
of the mountains far to the southwest, they finally
eluded their captors entirely.

It was more than twenty years afterward that Jim
Talbott was finally apprehended and brought back to
Kansas for trial for the murder of Mike Meagher. But
the witnesses were scattered or dead. Perhaps, too,
there was a feeling that as Caldwell had seen fit to
defy the law and protect lawbreakers it might be just
as well to let bygones be bygones. Whatever the reason
may have been, Talbott was never convicted and Mike
Meagher lies in his grave unavenged. The days of
the saloon and dance hall in Caldwell have long since
passed and for years there has been no more orderly
community in the great state of Kansas, and men
wonder now that there ever was a time when they
thought that saloons and dance halls were aids to
prosperity.

Campaigning on the Frontier.

Among the early representatives from Kansas was
Judge R. William Brown, who at one time repre-
sented in Congress about twohthirds of the entire

194 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

area of Kansas. He was also the first judge to hold
court in the frontier county of Barber. Judge Brown
was a graduate of an eastern college, well educated and
well read in the law, but he never succeeded in adapt-
ing himself to the environment of the frontier. It was
that perhaps which restricted his service in Congress
to a single term. He was short-sighted and had to
wear glasses, which on the frontier was a handicap.
For some reason the average frontiersman looked on
a man who wore glasses as affected, perhaps effeminate
or inclined to be a dude. In addition to wearing glasses
the judge was a preternaturally solemn man. If Judge
Brown ever smiled I never happened to be present when
he gave indication of mirth, and my acquaintance ex-
tended over several years. Another thing which marked
the judge was his luxuriant crop of whiskers which in
times of calm covered his breast as with an auburn
mantle and at other times were tossed by the playful
Kansas winds.

During the later eighties the Republican state cen-
tral committee gave me my first assignments as a cam-
paign speaker. I was billed to fill a number of ap-
pointments on the kerosene circuit in company with
Judge Brown. I collected a number of more or less
mouldy chestnuts with which to enliven the otherwise
barren wastes of my speech. Judge Brown, ex- judge
and ex-congressman, was supposed to do the heavy work
of the campaign. I as a young man was going along
as a sort of filler. In deference to his greater age and
experience and accumulated political honors, he was
to make the last speech, while I made the opener.

As I told the stories I had collected and committed
to memory, the judge sat in front of me regarding
me with profound gravity and, I thought at times,
with tolerant sadness. When I got through he would
come forward after the introduction by the chairman

EVENTS IN THE EIGHTIES 195

and discuss the tariff at length, without a story, or
glint of humor. It was really an able presentation of
the tariff question, but unfortunately most of the audi-
ence didn't care a whoop about the tariff and perhaps
failed to appreciate the judge's masterly effort.

After we had filled perhaps a half dozen appoint-
ments I was somewhat surprised when the judge pro-
posed to reverse the order of the speaking, indicating
that he didn't consider it quite fair that I should al-
ways have to take the opening when the audience maybe
was just gathering and hardly settled in their seats.
I told the judge that I appreciated his generosity, but
really thought he ought to close the meeting, but if he
insisted I would do the best I could. At the next
meeting place the judge informed the chairman that
he would open with a short speech and I would close.

To my astonishment he started in on my stories and
repeated one after another until he had exhausted my
supply. He told them as his own and with a funereal
sadness that I have never seen equaled. As he told
them they seemed to be profoundly pathetic and al-
most moved the audience to tears. They did not fit
anything in his speech but it was a knockout for me.
I simply couldn't readjust myself to the situation.
When he got through I excused myself, saying that
I wasn't feeling well and at any rate after the masterly
and exhaustive speech of Judge Brown I felt there was
little to add. So far as I was concerned, the statement
that the address was exhaustive was no figure of speech.
I felt decidely exhausted. I don't know how it was with
the audience. The judge made no apology or explana-
tion and I asked for none.

At the next stop, however, the judge was to fill the
date alone and I was ordered to go on to another little
frontier town. The railroad station was a full half
mile from the town at which Judge Brown was to

196 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

speak and the local committee had evidently decided
that there ought to be some sort of reception. One
Republican in the town was found who could blow a
fife and another had in some way become possessed of
a large bass drum. These two constituted the recep-
tion committee. When the judge alighted from the
train the reception committee formed a procession:
the man with the fife in front, the judge in the center,
and the man with the bass drum bringing up the
rear.

The fifer struck up in shrill and piercing measure
the air of "Yankee Doodle" and the man with the
bass drum, in the rear, beat furiously on his instru-
ment. I never saw a man expend more energy on a
drum in my life, and there came to me the story of
Artemus Ward, who said that he once knew a man who
hadn't a tooth in his head and yet he could play the
bass drum as well as any man he ever saw. As the
train moved off across the prairie, I watched the novel
procession moving toward the town — the fifer throw-
ing his whole soul as it were into the old but inspiring
air, the bass drummer beating furiously on the re-
sounding drum, and Judge Brown walking gravely be-
tween the two, his whiskers tossed by the Kansas wind,
calling to mind the lines of Whittier telling of the
flag incident of old Barbara Frietchie:

"All day long it rose and fell
On the loyal winds that loved it well."

And so the judge's whiskers rose and fell on the
Kansas winds that loved them well.

From there on our ways parted in that campaign.
I do not know whether the judge inflicted those stories
of mine on any more audiences or not, but I always
cherished a feeling that he put one over on me.

EVENTS IN THE EIGHTIES 197

The Tribulations of Early-Day Editors

I have had occasion heretofore to mention an early-
day Kansas editorial writer who was gifted with bril-
liant talents but who wasted them with reckless
prodigality. It has been a good many years since I
have heard of Jim Chatham. I do not even know
whether he is alive or dead. He was instinctively a
bohemian, unstable and dissipated, but with so many
likable traits of character that his acquaintances were
disposed to forgive his shortcomings, which were many
and inexcusable. If he had been stable and industrious
he might have ranked as one of the foremost wits of
the editorial profession. If he had devoted himself to
short story writing I think he might possibly have
rivaled O. Henry.

In the late seventies and early eighties he was editor
of the Short Creek, afterward Galena Daily Repub-
lican. In one of the issues of November, 1880, under
the title "Terrible Female Craze for Editorial Gore,"
he says:

"What this community needs just now is a society for
the prevention of cruelty to men, especially writin' men,
otherwise editors. There is entirely too much blood on the
moon and the air is getting too fragrant of the smoke of
battle. There are too many bloodthirsty women on the war-
path and unless some steps are taken pretty soon to secure
a cessation of hostilities, there is liable to be a number of
vacant editorial chairs.

"For three days a woman in a violent rage has been
promenading the streets of this town, looking for the man
who writes up articles for the Republican. We are con-
fident she is armed or she would not be so bloodthirsty, but
whether she carries a pistol or a cowhide we have not been
able to ascertain. She doesn't know him when she sees
him and, thanks to a generous public, no one will point him
out. She boils over at every street corner and the object

198 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

of her search hasn't eaten a hearty meal for three days,
and besides his hair is rapidly turning gray. One woman
has brought suit against the paper for libel and wants three
thousand dollars to patch up her wounded reputation.
We don't care for that, however. She has only to call
and the money will be paid without a grumble, but the
cowhide and that pistol or perhaps a loaded cane, is what
is causing a good deal of uneasiness. We want to resign in
favor of a solid, cast-iron man with a Bogardus kicker
attached to each heel.

"It was only yesterday afternoon that a stout, ruddy-
faced lady suddenly entered the sanctum and inquired
for the editor. That individual made no reply, but dis-
appeared through the scuttle hole into the garret as sud-
denly as though taken up by a cyclone. In his hasty en-
deavor to reach the farthest corner of the garret, he fell
through the plastering and hung down into the police court
room, suspended between the ceiling and the floor by the
well worn and unsafe seat of his unmentionables. When
he was relieved from that ludicrous predicament the ma-
tronly woman, who proved to be a lady friend from the
country, came forward and said her 'old man' had sent us
a few apples to eat during the long winter evenings.

"The man who does the collecting has had both his eyes
blacked by irate females, simply because he is an attache
of the Republican and the carrier boys all carry welts
across their spinal columns as large as a ship's hawser.

"One typo hasn't been out of the office for three days
and he begins to think it is about time to break his fast.
The other one, who is more intrepid, has had two ribs
broken and his nose rests on the side of his face like a
maiden's head on a Sunday shirt front after evening
services.

"The young man who wheels offal from a Main Street
butcher shop was mistaken for the editor of the Miner, yes-
terday morning, by an enraged female, who hit him in the
eye with a rotten potato.

"A four-tined clerk in an Empire City livery stable was
yesterday morning chased three blocks and kicked every
jump, by a frenzied female who mistook him for the editor
of the Joplin News.

EVENTS IN THE EIGHTIES 199

"The 'old man' of the west end of the Herald has been
hiding out in the brush for three days. His nose has been
battered into the shape of a Texas cow horn, and the finger-
nail marks on his body, where his shirt front used to rest,
give that part of his person the appearance of a map of
the Short Creek mining district. He wears more beef steak
on his left eye than he has eaten for six months. He says
that he has had enough of this blarsted country and intends
returning to England, where women are amenable to the
law.

"The local editor of the Herald has been in bed nearly
a week and his head is as hairless as the other side of a
tomb stone. How the proprietor of the Miner has suf-
fered we are not prepared to say, but from the tone of the
following, which appears in yesterday's Herald, we judge
that he is out of town:

' 'Yesterday a well dressed and respectable looking
woman stepped into Halyard's hardware store and pur-
chased half a dozen cartridges, with which she quietly
proceeded to fill the chambers of her revolver. When asked
why she carried the weapon, she replied that it would soon
be made public if a certain party came in on the Gulf
train.'

"We have telegraphed every station agent along the Gulf
road to advise him to go on to China.

"We no longer have a free press. It has been muz-
zled, and that, too, by women, who seem determined not
only to rule, but to ruin also."

STRIKING PERSONALITIES

Jerry Simpson

AMONG the unique and remarkable characters
brought to public notice and notoriety by the
political upheaval of thirty years ago, no one
attained to greater fame or secured wider celebrity than
"Sockless" Jerry Simpson, of "Maidson Lodge,'* as
the facetious newspaper reporters dubbed him. Jerry
was born in the province of New Brunswick in 1842, of
Scotch ancestry. His father migrated to the United
States when Jerry was a very little boy and settled in
the state of Michigan. Although of an alert mind
and possessed of a real hunger for knowledge, Jerry's
educational opportunities were exceedingly limited. He
was illiterate so far as the branches taught in the
schools were concerned, but a voracious reader and,
endowed with a remarkable memory, he managed to
store his mind with more than an ordinary equipment
of really good literature, so that he was entitled to be
called a well-read man. At the outbreak of the Civil
War he enlisted, but served only a few months until
discharged for disability. After the close of the war
he became a sailor on the great lakes, and gradually
rose to the position of captain on a lake freighter, a
position which requires a large degree of resourceful-
ness and courage. During a fearful storm his ship
was driven ashore near Ludington and it was largely
owing to the masterful courage and coolness of Jerry
Simpson that the lives of all the crew were saved.

200

STRIKING PERSONALITIES 201

During the seventies he decided to come to Kansas
and settled in Jackson County, where he engaged in
farming and stock raising with some success, but con-
cluded that there were better opportunities in the free-
range country and came to Barber County along in
'83 or '84. It was an unfortunate time to get into
the cattle business. He had hardly got fairly started
when the terrible winter of '85-86 came on and nearly
wiped his herd off the face of the earth. His cows
died faster than he could skin them and spring found
him nearly broke. He had come to the county with
some $10,000.

In 1886 the Union Labor party was organized and
the old-time Greenbackers, of whom Jerry was one,
promptly joined it. Jerry had already demonstrated
some ability as speaker in country lyceums and the
like, and his party in Barber County selected him as
its candidate for the Legislature. I happened to have
the honor of running against him and while I defeated
him it was not a victory to blow about.

Two years later he was again a candidate and as
that happened to be the year when Kansas rolled up
a Republican majority of 82,000, Jerry was buried
under the general landslide. There were those who pre-
dicted that he would never come back again, but they
had no vision of the future. Eighteen eighty-nine was
the greatest corn year of all Kansas history, but the
price went down until corn sold at ten cents per bushel
or less and was burned for fuel all over Kansas. A
few years before the people of the state had plunged
into debt with a recklessness seldom if ever equaled and
now pay day had come and ten-cent corn and forty-
cent wheat to pay with. It is not very remarkable
that the people saw red, and talked of the altar of
Mammon, the great red dragon, and the "crime of 73."
The words of the agitator fell on fertile ground. The

202 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

Farmers' Alliance spread like a fire on the dry prairie
driven by the high wind. Too late the Republican
leaders became alarmed and decided that the way to
retain power was to get up a platform about as radical
as anything suggested by the Alliance and then release
the candidate from all party allegiance and authorize
him to pay no attention to the party caucus. The con-
cessions only caused derision and jeers on the part of
the Alliance men and it was in this frame of mind
that Alliance delegates met in the spring of 1890 to
nominate a candidate for Congress. Jerry Simpson
went to the convention as a delegate, but his name had
not been mentioned as a probable candidate. S. M.
Scott, of McPherson, the author of a pamphlet on
the sub-treasury, was the man to be nominated, but
Scott could not get it into his mind that it was possible
to overcome the majority of 14,000 rolled up by the
Republicans only two years before and pushed the
proffered honor aside. Jerry Simpson had been called
on to make a speech and caught the crowd. With
Scott out of it, the delegates turned to the ex-sailor
and nominated him. They builded better than they
knew. Under the conditions then prevailing Jerry
Simpson was an ideal candidate. He was a good talker,
possessed of a ready wit, and with an instinctive and
correct appraisement of the value of publicity. A
correspondent of the Wichita Eagle accused him of
wearing no socks. Jerry did not attempt to deny the
charge and charged in turn that his opponent, Colonel
J. R. Hallowell, wore silk hose. He wove this skillfully
into his speeches and roused unbounded enthusiasm by
the turn. He confessed his poverty and his audience,
carried away with the zeal of crusaders, threw the few
dollars they had in their pockets on to the platform to
help pay the campaign expenses of their candidate.
Jerry was a good storyteller. His stories were not

STRIKING PERSONALITIES 203

new, but an old story well told is often as effective as a
brand new one. He covered the Republican platform,
adopted at Dodge City, with ridicule and amid howls of
delight told the following story: A Jew and an Irish-
man were crossing a stream in a boat when it occurred
to the Irishman that he would convert the Jew. He
demanded that the descendant of Abraham renounce
his faith and acknowledge the divinity of Christ and
the Virgin Mary. The Jew refused, whereupon the
Irishman threw him out into the water. He came up
choking and sputtering and tried to climb back into
the boat, but the Irishman refused to let him in unless
he would confess and give up his "dombed hathenism."
The Jew still refusing, the Irishman shoved him under
again and held him there until he was almost drowned.
At last he let him come to the surface gasping and
almost speechless. When he was able to talk, seeing
no evidence of mercy on the part of the Hibernian he
said that he would renounce and confess. "Oim glad
to hear that," said the Irishman, "but Oim av the
opinion that if iver yez git to land ye dombed sheeney,
yez will take it back so Oim goin' to drown yez now
and save yure immortal soul." The application was
that the Republican party should be killed while it was
in a repentant frame of mind.

The result of the election was a surprise even to the
most sanguine of Jerry's supporters. A Republican
majority of 14,000 was succeeded by a Populist major-
ity of more than 8,000 and Jerry Simpson suddenly
found himself one of the most talked of men in the
United States. To his credit let it be said that he did
not lose his head. In Congress he rapidly acquired
polish and was recognized as the leader of his party.
His political views broadened; his crudities of speech
were mostly abandoned. He held his own in the rough
and tumble debates in the lower house and gained favor

204 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

with the then speaker of the house, Tom Reed, of
Maine. In 1892 he was re-elected, but the Populist
party had already passed the crest and was on the
decline. His majority of more than 8,000 was reduced
to less than 2,000 and two years later was wiped out
entirely, when Chester I. Long defeated him by a com-
fortable majority. In 1896 the free silver issue swept
over Kansas and Jerry was elected for the third time,
but with the subsidence of that he was defeated and
retired from public life. It may be said for him that
while he was an original Greenbacker he never was at
heart in favor of free and unlimited coinage of silver
at the ratio of sixteen to one. Naturally possessed of
a keen and logical mind he saw the fallacy of the ar-
gument in favor of a fixed ratio between the two metals,
but believed in the Greenback theory that there should
be no intrinsic value in money.

Jerry was naturally a radical both in politics and
religion. Before he became especially interested in
politics he was known to his acquaintances as a "free
thinker" or infidel. He had accumulated a number of
books defending his views, such as Thomas Paine's
"Age of Reason," Huxley, and Ingersoll. He loaned
them to a family by the name of Jesse to read, but
shortly afterward most of the Jesses were converted
by an evangelist and decided that the first thing they
ought to do was to make a bonfire of Jerry Simpson's
books, which they did. Robert Jesse became imbued
with the belief that the Almighty had made him immune
to hurt from guns and to prove his faith offered any
man $100 who would take a shot at him. His neighbors
refused to take him at his word and had him incar-
cerated in the hospital for the insane. In his lake
experience Jerry Simpson had learned to be a very fair
rough and tumble fighter, although never inclined to
quarrel. A burly blacksmith by the name of Corson

STRIKING PERSONALITIES 205

became offended at a remark made by Jerry and an-
nounced that he intended to whip him and give him a
plenty while he was at it. He attacked Jerry without
warning, but got the surprise of his life. In less than
a minute it was Corson who was whipped, while Jerry
had not suffered so much as a scratch. Afterward
Corson became one of Jerry's greatest admirers and
staunchest political supporters.

It has been a good many years now since Jerry Simp-
son's body was laid to rest. As the years speed on
there is a growing kindliness that honors his memory.
He was a man of more than ordinary native ability;
a character such as could be produced only in a coun-
try of free speech and the open door of opportunity.

Dynamite Dave

A great many people in Kansas and Oklahoma, and
for that matter a great many people outside of these
two states, have read the remarkable stories which
originated in the brain of Dave Leahy. It has been a
good many years now since the sympathy of thousands
of people was wrought up by the story of a fair-haired
child who was so unfortunate as to fall into a bored
well out in western Kansas. The mother of the child
missed it and began a frantic search, when her atten-
tion was attracted to a plaintive cry coming from out
of the ground. Then she discovered that her child
had fallen down into this bored well. Its body fitted
the hole pretty close, which prevented it from slipping
down to the bottom. The story went on to state that
the neighbors were called in and then began the des-
perate effort to rescue the child. The men worked by
relays day and night, digging down about the pipe.
Eastern papers got hold of the story and wired for

206 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

particulars. Dave Leahy discovered that he had
opened a literary mine, so to speak. It was a valuable
space filler and he continued the story. As the frantic
rescuers got near the unfortunate little one he per-
mitted it to slip down a few feet, so prolonging the
agony and incidentally gathering more financial re-
ward. The child was, according to Dave, finally res-
cued, little the worse for its thrilling experience.

When John L. Waller was consul to Madagascar he
got in bad with the French Government on account of
certain timber concessions. He was arrested and
brought to France, where he was for a considerable
time imprisoned. This suggested to Dave Leahy the
story of some Frenchman, whom he reported captured
by Oklahoma negroes in revenge for the treatment ac-
corded John L. Waller, a man of their race, by the
French Government. The story was that this French-
man was held in a cave in eastern Oklahoma. The
story crossed the ocean and came to the notice of the
French Government, which through its department of
state took the matter up with our department of state.
Our Government knew nothing about the matter, but at
the urgent request of the French Government sent a
special agent to Oklahoma to investigate. No French-
man had been kidnapped. There was no organization
of negroes and no cave in the locality described in the
story. After considerable diplomatic correspondence
the French Government was satisfied that no citizen
of France had been outraged.

Dave's full name is David Demosthenes Leahy, but
a Caldwell jeweler who did not know much about
Demosthenes, insisted on dubbing him "Dynamite
Dave" and the title stuck. Dave's first location in
Kansas was in the town of Caldwell, then one of the
wildest towns of the border. He used to tell the story
that he got his first job as a grocery clerk and slept

STRIKING PERSONALITIES 207

in the store. He made his bed in the front window
and when he woke up in the morning and looked out
there were three dead men lying in the street and on the
sidewalk.

Afterward he went into the newspaper business and
established a reputation as a writer. It was in the
spring of 1887 that Dave located in Barber County in
the town of Kiowa. A corporation had been organized
which leased the Kiowa Herald, the paper which had
been started by Dennis T. Flynn. Dave was employed
as editor and manager. He was at that time a ran-
tankerous Democrat and insisted that he should be
permitted to run a Democratic paper. His strong
Democratic proclivities may be judged from the fol-
lowing notice which appeared in a Republican con-
temporary under date of June 14, 1887:

"D. D. Leahy is the proud father of a big bouncing
boy born to his wife on Wednesday last at Caldwell.
'Dynamite' feels stuck up, of course, but we venture the
son doesn't, anyway he won't we know when he learns
that his dad has named him Cleveland Thurman. It may
be, however, that Mrs. Leahy will have something to say
about that and thus save the baby."

Dave's style of writing at that time in controversy
with a rival editor was to treat him as "Our Loathed
Contemporary." I quote the following references to
another Barber County editor: "That unmitigated
scoundrel and professional blackleg, the bilious nonde-
script that runs the " In another issue he un-
burdens himself about the same editor whom, I think, to
that time he had never seen, as "The non compos mentis
journalist; this flagrant blatherskite; this audacious
poltroon; this cantankerous jackass; this lunatic at
large ; this brainless, chicken-eating dude." In another
issue he refers to the same loathed contemporary as a

208 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

"Brachylurous, besulcanus amphibious boralapus."
That I think held the loathed contemporary for a while
as he had no idea what Dave meant and Dave not being
certain about it either, they just let it go at that.

At that time one Andrew Jackson Jones was county
attorney. After his election Jones and his partner
entered into a pleasant and profitable arrangement by
which they dissolved partnership, although still having
an office together. The word was given out that those
charged with violations of law, especially the prohibi-
tory law, would find it to their advantage to consult
the former partner of the county attorney. Under this
arrangement the former partner collected a monthly
fee of $25 from each of the jointists in the county and
divided with the county attorney. While at that time
Dave was violently opposed to the prohibitory law he
decided that the county attorney, whom he had never
seen, was not playing fair with the Kiowa jointists.
Under date of June 14 I quote from a column editorial
roasting Jones to a deep rich brown, the following:
"Mr. Jones, the county attorney, came down from
Medicine Lodge on Monday night last under cover of
the midnight darkness to pounce upon some unsuspect-
ing poor wretch that might perchance be dispensing
the prohibited fluid in violation of law." Mr. Jones
had in fact gone down to see if the "poor wretches"
who "might perchance be dispensing the prohibited
fluid" were all coming across properly.

Some reader of the Journal came the next day to
see Dave and told him that Jones had the reputation
of being a very "bad man from Kentucky" and that in
all probability he would be looking for the editor with
a gun. A few days after that a man wearing long and
flowing whiskers entered the office.

"My name is Jones, the county attorney. I have
observed, Mr. Leahy, that you are getting out a real

STRIKING PERSONALITIES 209

true blue Democratic paper. I want to congratulate
you, as a loyal and life long Democrat, sir, from
Kaintucky. What we need in this country, sir, are
editors who will preach the true Democracy, sir. I
want to subscribe for twenty-five copies of your paper,
sir. Here are the names and I want to pay for them
now." Whereupon Jones pulled out a roll of bills and
paid for twenty-five subscriptions for a year in ad-
vance.

As a result of this unexpected visit I find in the
issue of July 31, 1887, the following local mention:

"County Attorney Jones was a caller at our sanctum
yesterday and notwithstanding the fact that a little misun-
derstanding has existed recently between him and the Her-
ald, nevertheless he showed no signs of belligerency."

It is only fair to state, however, that the county
attorney did not succeed in entirely squaring himself
with "Dynamite Dave" as was indicated by the follow-
ing notice in the issue of August 4, 1887, which read
as follows:

"We expect to prove that the operation of a certain
statute law has been suspended for a stipulated sum per
month, and not only that, but we expect to prove that it
is possible for horse thieves and other high-handed vil-
lains to escape the penalty of the law for sums of money
ranging from $250 up to $1,000, according to the ability
of the criminals, their pals and friends to pay."

If the first notice called for twenty-five paid up sub-
scriptions from County Attorney Jones that one ought
to have called for at least fifty.

Those who know Dave now may be surprised to learn
that he once aspired to dramatic honors. He was a
member of the Kiowa Home Dramatic Club which put
on the stage the play, "Capitolia, or the Hidden

210 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

Hand." Dave took the part of the heavy villain, Black
Donald. After the rendition of the play the following
brief account of his effort appeared in the Herald:
"The heavy demoralized, knock-down and drag-out
villain of the play was D. D. Leahy, who owing to a
serious cold which he tried to drown in brandy and
water, could not perform the part so well as if his
physical condition had been enjoying its usual boom."
This is not up to his usual literary style at that time,
which might indicate that he and his cold were still
partially submerged at the time it was written.

His stay in Barber County covered a period of only
six months, but as a Barber County man remarked,
he managed to raise considerable hell for the time he
was there.

During the past few years Dave has been content
to follow the uneventful and monotonous life of an
office holder. I might also say that since his short and
stormy sojourn in Barber he has changed his views
about everything except religion. He is no longer a
Democrat. He is an ardent Prohibitionist and an
advocate of woman suffrage. In religion he is still a
believer in the infallibility of the Pope and a devoted
adherent of the Catholic Church.

Two Frontier Doctors

Along in the middle eighties two physicians settled
in the town of Medicine Lodge. One of them, Doctor
Meinke, I think was born on foreign soil and talked
with a rather pronounced foreign accent. Doctor
Dunn was American born. Neither of them was noted
in his line, but they had one trait in common : they were
investigators and genuinely interested in their pro-
fession.

STRIKING PERSONALITIES 211

Doctor Meinke was a good-natured, likable sort of
man, who made friends readily and soon began to
gather up his share of what practice there was in the
little frontier town, but it may be said in passing that
it was a healthy country and then the inhabitants were
accustomed to staying out doors the most of the time,
which tended to cut down the business of the doctors.
In the course of a minor operation, perhaps treating
a carbuncle, Doctor Meinke unfortunately received a
scratch on the hand which became infected. He failed
to give it the prompt attention he should have done,
and at any rate the value of antiseptics was not so well
known then as now. The infection spread rapidly until
there was a well developed case of blood poisoning,
which did not yield to such remedies as were at hand.
Within two days the case was beyond control, at least
beyond control of the physicians whose services could
be obtained, and Meinke with a cheerful courage I have
rarely seen equaled, took to his bed and prepared to die.

Apparently without any fear of death, he was deeply
interested in the progress of the poison that was
spreading through his veins and arteries, and calling
for his thermometer, he calmly took his own tempera-
ture and with fevered fingers took his racing pulse and
noted both on a pad, together with comments on his
feelings. When he grew too weak to take his own pulse
and temperature he had the attending physician do it
for him and take down his statements as to his feelings,
such as, "Feel that I am going pretty fast, rising tem-
perature, mouth dry, constriction of muscles of throat,
sight seems to be growing dim, fear that I may become
delirious — not suffering a great deal of pain." With
trembling hand he would sign the record and then rest
awhile, then call for a stimulant, and again insist that
a record be made of the progress of the malady. With-
out a murmur of complaint, his failing powers and

212 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

faculties centered on the one desire to make a record
of the experience of a dying man, he held to his purpose
until his voice failed, the pencil fell from his nerveless
fingers, and Meinke was dead. So far as I know, this
remarkable record was not preserved. Quite possibly
it would be of no particular benefit to science if it were,
but it always struck me as a unique, courageous, and
rather pleasant way to die.

The experience of Doctor Dunn was different but
almost as interesting. At that time stockmen were
troubled a great deal with the loco weed. This weed,
whose botanical name I believe is "Astragalus hornii,"
grows abundantly on some of the ranges in southwest
Kansas. Both cattle and horses learn to like it and
when once addicted to the loco habit it is almost as
difficult to cure them as it is to wean the confirmed
opium eater from his drug. The effect of the weed
on the animal is peculiar. It seems to produce a kind
of insanity. A locoed horse becomes entirely un-
manageable. A cow or steer which gets to be a con-
firmed loco eater loses its appetite for nourishing food ;
its hair becomes rough and the eye has the wild look
of dementia. Under the influence of the weed the
animal seems to lose all sense of proportion. It will
imagine that a rope lying on the ground or a small
stick is a huge log and will at first refuse to cross it,
but if forced to do so will vault high in the air. While
cattle may not die as a result of eating the weed, they
will not thrive and for practical purposes might as
well be dead.

Dr. Dunn became greatly interested in this weed and
decided to make some experiments. He procured a
number of the plants and boiled them until he had ex-
tracted the juices which formed a sort of thick liquor,
of about the consistency of Orleans molasses. The
doctor, it must be said, had his nerve with him. He did

STRIKING PERSONALITIES 213

not experiment on his mother-in-law or his wife or his
dog, but drank the decoction himself. I was much in-
terested in the results and regret that I did not at the
time make a careful record of them. He told me that
at first it did not seem to have much if any effect, but
after a time he began to have peculiar sensations. The
first sensation, as I now recall, was a burning in his
stomach and a racking headache. Then things began
to look queer to him. He said that he could understand
the feeling of a locoed horse. He lost the sense of
proportion. The gypsum hills began to look like lofty
mountains and an ordinary cow pony looked larger
than an Asiatic elephant. Everything had a distorted,
unreal appearance and he felt that he must hold his
grip on himself or go mad. After a time the feeling
began to wear off and he felt a reaction and great
weakness. After a few hours all bad effects seemed to
have disappeared and he returned to his normal con-
dition. Just what he had in mind in making this rash
experiment I do not know, unless he hoped to discover
some antidote for the weed. I never heard that he did
this, or even that he carried his experiments any
further.

"I can't say," he remarked to me privately, "that I
would care to experiment any more, but I have dis-
covered one compensation that might come from being
locoed. You know that there isn't much practice
around here for a doctor and the fees are light and not
many of them. Well while I was under the influence of
the loco syrup I took out a dollar bill and bless me if
it didn't look like twenty dollars. My philosophy is
that it is not so much what you have as what you think
you have that counts, and if I could multiply my in-
come by ten, in my mind, by eating loco it might be
worth while."

214 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

Carrie Nation

It was in the later eighties when the Rev. David
Nation came to Medicine Lodge as pastor of the Chris-
tian church in the little western town. I may say,
advisedly, that David accompanied his wife, Carrie, for
at no time during their matrimonial career did David
attain to a higher rank than second lieutenant in that
household. Carrie, whatever her virtues and whatever
her faults, and she had both in a marked degree, was
always militant, always dominant, always in evidence.
If she was not placed at the head of whatever proces-
sion she happened to be in, she organized another
procession. I have often watched her and David with
interest on their way to church, Carrie marching like
a drum major some feet in advance, David bringing up
the rear a trifle humped of shoulder and perhaps a bit
uncertain of step. "Onward, Christian Soldiers" ap-
pealed to her martial nature. Her not unshapely nose
tilted at a belligerent angle and when she was engaged,
figuratively or actually, in storming the battlements of
sin as she understood them, her eyes lit up with the j oy
of battle and her cheeks flamed with the excitement of
conflict. She was possessed of the courage of a
crusader and the zeal of a bigot, with a frankness that
was delightful when it was not embarrassing.

When her husband, David, took his place in the
pulpit, Carrie occupied a pew well to the front and
entered into the devotions with a whole-hearted earnest-
ness that imparted itself to the rest of the congrega-
tion. In the singing her voice rose above all the others
in vibrant and triumphant peans of thanksgiving and
praise, for with Carrie Nation religion was no mere
matter of form. Others might have doubts; she had
none. Prayer might be with other professors of re-
ligion largely lip service, but with her it was direct

STRIKING PERSONALITIES 215

communication with the Most High and she was as
certain as the Hebrew prophets that she received direct
revelations and direction from Jehovah on His throne.
Withal, however, she was rather practical in her re-
ligion. She wearied of droning commonplaces and
longed for the stirring call of the bugle and the gleam-
ing banners of the army of the Lord. When David's
sermons grew prosy, which was not unusual, Carrie
would listen for a few minutes in impatience and then
announce in a voice of finality and authority, "That
is enough for to-day, David," and it was, for David at
least had the wisdom to know where he should get off,
when it was pointed out to him in that way.

To those who did not know her well, Carrie seemed
astonishingly abrupt at times. Once the late Al Green,
formerly well known newspaper writer and for many
years traveling correspondent for the Kansas City
Journal, visited Medicine Lodge for the express pur-
pose of seeing and interviewing Carrie Nation. She
did not know he was coming and had never seen him.
He was directed to her residence and found her stand-
ing at the gate. He introduced himself saying, "My
name is Green." Carrie did not ask what his business
was or why he wanted to see her, but as her first salu-
tation asked: "Are you a Christian ?" The suddenness
and unexpectedness of it rather knocked him. off his
mental balance, but he landed on his feet and replied:
"For the purpose of this occasion Mrs. Nation we will
assume that I am."

The whisky joint was her special aversion and long
before she became famous she was a thorn in the flesh
of the officers who failed to do their duty under the
law and fearlessly tackled the joint keepers themselves
when she had the opportunity. Joints flourished to
some extent in the town of Medicine Lodge, but in the
border town of Kiowa, they were openly encouraged

216 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

and protected by the city authorities and apparently
regarded with approval by a majority of the citizens.
Carrie Nation declared that the Lord appeared to her
in a dream or vision and told her that it was her duty
to go to Kiowa and break up these dens of iniquity.
So Carrie went.

Apparently, the Lord had not suggested the utility
of the hatchet at that time, as Carrie went to Kiowa
armed as David when he went forth to put the fixings
on the giant, Goliath, except that Carrie had no sling.
She had, however, an apronful of stones of convenient
size and roughness, and with these she marched into the
leading booze dispensary and immediately went into
action. Probably her aim was not very accurate, for
she threw overhand and wildly, after the manner of
women, but then the bar extended from one end of the
room almost to the other, and a rock heaved in that
general direction was bound to hit something. It was
immaterial whether it struck what Carrie aimed at or
a bottle or mirror at the other end of the building, the
wreck and destruction was just as great. The city
marshal ran in to quell the disturbance, and what
Carrie said to him was indeed a plenty, for with her
other gifts and accomplishments she had an extensive
and virile vocabulary. She was not arrested for this
first raid, as I recall, and her purpose was strengthened
to go forth alone, if need be, to storm the battlements
of sin.

Whether it was the result of another revelation or
the suggestion of a friend, or the prompting of a
practical mind I do not know, but probably it occurred
to her that she could do more execution with a hatchet
than with stones, and furthermore a hatchet would be
easier to conceal. Her next raid was in the city of
Wichita, where there were gilded saloons in those days
protected by the police, in consideration of which they

STRIKING PERSONALITIES 217

contributed a good many thousand dollars every month
to the city treasury. Carrie made her debut as a
smasher in the "Windy City" on the Arkansas, by
breaking a large mirror and a number of bottles and
other glassware in the largest saloon. She was ar-
rested and thrown into the city jail, but as soon as she
could get out went on her way smashing as she went.
It was some time before she visited Topeka and
wrecked a joint there. She was again arrested and
thrown into jail, but her work was having an effect on
the public mind.

It so happened that at one time Carrie Nation and
a little woman by the name of Blanche Boise were both
in jail charged with disturbing the peace because they
had broken windows and otherwise damaged places
where booze was unlawfully sold, while joint keepers
were plying their unlawful business unmolested by the
officers of the law. There is a certain love of fair play
in the mind of the average American, and this revolted
at the transparent injustice of punishing a couple of
weak women, while joint keepers were permitted to sell
their poison contrary to law and go unmolested.

I have often heard it said that Carrie Nation was
simply a seeker after notoriety. I want to say that the
charge was not true. It is quite possible that after her
fame became world-wide and the name of Carrie Nation
was known all 'round the globe, she grew to enjoy the
limelight and publicity, but from the very beginning
she was actuated by an honest and courageous purpose.
She was a fanatic, mistaken, I think, in her methods of
operation, but, spurred on by the zeal of a martyr, she
would have gone smiling to the stake and lifted up her
voice in triumphant song as she stood amid the flames.

I have said that she was a woman of pronounced
faults and pronounced virtues, but her good qualities
far outweighed her faults. She was generous to a

218 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

fault, and always ready to help the needy and afflicted.
She would have smashed a joint until it was an utter
wreck, but if the next day she had found the joint
keeper in want or sickness, she would have nursed him
back to health and given of her substance to feed him
and his family. How much Carrie Nation had to do
with stirring up the prohibition sentiment in the coun-
try, which grew in volume, until it swept the nation,
cannot, of course, be determined, but that her unique
methods and personality and her indomitable courage
and energy had an effect on public sentiment, there can
be no question.

The Discomfited Hypnotist

Along in the middle eighties Medicine Lodge grew
ambitious to have a hotel that would be a credit to the
town. The railroad was building in and the expecta-
tion was that there would be a boom. A stock com-
pany was organized and a three-story brick hotel was
erected that was regarded with pride by the inhabit-
ants. Among the landlords that ran the hotel during
the next few years was one Mortimer Strong, commonly
known as Mort Strong. Mort's idea about running a
hotel was not to let the guest take any more money
away than could be helped. If he had more mazuma
than was necessary to pay for his food and lodging, if
he had any sporting tendency, and most travelers in
that part of Kansas at that time did have more or less
sporting tendencies, he was inveigled into a game of
draw poker, and as the game was put up against him,
his skin was removed with deftness, but not necessarily
with dispatch. It was not always to the interest of
the hotel to separate the guest from his coin at the
first sitting. That sort of abrupt procedure was liable
to discourage the guest and arouse suspicions in his

STRIKING PERSONALITIES 219

mind ; besides, if the sessions about the card table could
be prolonged for two or three evenings, the hotel bill
increased in proportion. Mort was not the kind of a
person to conceal from his right hand what his left
hand was doing. Suffice it to say that the stranger
within the gates who stopped at the Grand Hotel rarely
got away until he had been skinned in a workmanlike
and thorough manner.

Mort Strong was a versatile soul who enjoyed a
practical joke almost as well as he enjoyed putting
up a hand in a poker game. I might say here that
Mortimer also ran a hotel in Medicine before the Grand
was built. I am not entirely positive whether the in-
cident about to be related occurred in the old hotel or
the new, but think it was in the new. The Kansas City
Star at that time had a descendant of Abraham as its
subscription solicitor in southwest Kansas and in the
course of his travels the young Jew landed at Medicine
Lodge.

He was unfamiliar with the ways of the border and
full of conversation. It was not long until Mort
Strong and the loafers who congregated about the hotel
discovered that here was a most promising subject for
contribution to their joy of life. He happened to
remark that he was interested in the subject of hypno-
tism and had studied and practiced it to a considerable
extent. Immediately the crowd was interested. Some
of them scoffed at the possibility that the Star repre-
sentative was able to hypnotize anybody, but others
warmly championed him. The controversy even grew
personal and bitter, but it was finally proposed to settle
the question by having the Israelite try his powers on
a subject. He was willing, but said of course he wasn't
a regular professional and maybe couldn't put the
subject under the influence of the hypnotic spell, but he
was willing to try. The subject was found in the son

220 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

of the hotel keeper, Mort Strong. Frank Strong was
a man grown, a large stalwart man. He expressed
doubt about the ability of any Jew to put him to sleep
but was willing to let him try.

Before the experiment commenced young Strong put
something in his mouth which when chewed gently and
mingled with saliva would create a sort of lather. The
Jew commenced to make passes at young Strong and
talk to him in a commanding and at the same time
soothing tone of voice: "You vas goin' to schleep now.
Go to schleep. Go to schleep!"

The effect was satisfactory beyond the hypnotist's
most sanguine expectations. Young Strong's eyes
closed. He fell back on the couch and seemed to be
wrapped in profound slumber. The Jew was delighted.
"You see, gentlemens, he vas schleepin' shust like a
leedle babe," he said. Just then something happened
that he had not counted on. Young Strong began to
foam at the mouth. The elder Strong at once became
apprehensive. "What's the matter with him, young
feller?" he yelled at the frightened Jew. "Get him
from under this hypnotic spell of yours and get him
out of it d — n quick or there will be something doing,
believe me."

The Jew began frantically to make passes at the
apparently unconscious man and call on him to "vake
up," but the more he worked the more young Strong
foamed at the mouth. The fury of Mort Strong grew
apace. He was restrained from making a bodily attack
on the amateur hypnotist only by the combined effort
of several of the loafers, who begged of him not to kill
the Jew because nobody else around there would have
any idea how the young man could be brought out of
the trance. Meantime the consternation of the Jew
increased. Great drops of sweat stood out on his fore-
head, as he called pleadingly but with no effect for

STRIKING PERSONALITIES 221

young Strong to "vake up." Apparently the condition
of the sleeping man was growing worse. His breathing
became labored and the foam from his mouth flecked his
lips and ran from the corners of his mouth.

It was well along in the evening, near bed time when
the experiment was undertaken; by midnight the ex-
citement had reached fever heat. Mort Strong was
heaping imprecations on the young Israelite and de-
claring that unless his boy was brought out of the
trance he would kill the man who had put him under
the spell. Finally he declared that he wouldn't stand
it any longer and swearing vengeance rushed out of the
room.

"Mort has gone for his gun !" one of the loafers, who
had exerted himself to save the Jew from assault at the
hands of the grief-crazed father, whispered to the Jew.
"If you are here when he comes back I can't save you.
You had better make your getaway now. Head south
for Kiowa. I will try to keep him from following you.
There is a train leaves Kiowa early in the morning.
It's not quite twenty miles from here. If you hit the
grit fast enough you ought to be able to make it before
that train pulls out."

It seemed to the Jew to be good advice. He grabbed
his hat and coat and faded rapidly into the night head-
ing for Kiowa twenty miles away. It was a sore-footed
and wearied man who limped into the Kiowa depot at
an early hour the next morning, but he was reasonably
happy, for he hadn't been followed and he had caught
the train.

The Story of a Bank Wrecker

About the year 1868 or 1869 there came to the new
state of Kansas a young man possessed, according to
his own statement, of $4,000, coupled with marvelous

222 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

nerve, unbounded ambition, and unhandicapped in his
dreams of exploitation by scruples suggested by a
tender conscience. J. S. Danford, the young man in
question, located in the new town of El Dorado, and
founded the Walnut Valley Times, taking in Col. Bent
Murdock as a partner and afterward selling out his
interest to the latter.

The banking business offered a more inviting field
for a man of the tastes and ambitious of Danford than
a newspaper in a small town, so he blossomed out as a
banker. Fortune smiled on him. His bank paid enor-
mous dividends. He was a man of pleasing address,
pleasing manners, and constantly increasing popular-
ity. He took a hand in politics and was the valued
adviser of senatorial candidates. At one time he en-
joyed the reputation of being the most popular banker
in the state. From El Dorado he moved to Osage City,
then enjoying a boom on account of the discovery of
coal. Senator Plumb was one of the principal stock-
holders in the new venture, and men of lesser note were
glad to hold blocks of the bank's capitalization. The
game seemed easy and Danford began to establish
banks at various points. Carbondale was a small side
issue. Larger banks were established at the border
towns of Caldwell, Hunnewell, and Arkansas City.
With accumulating prosperity, acquaintance, and
power, Danford became a lavish spender. Wine,
women, and song called for extensive expenditures and
the stock market made drains on his revenues.

It was about 1880, or 1881 that his banks began to
get in bad repute. At that time there was no state
banking department and the bank wrecker had easy
sailing. Still Danford was not ready to scuttle and
leave. He was trying, like the skillful vaudeville artist
who keeps a half dozen balls in the air at the same time,
to keep his several banks running until he could unload

STRIKING PERSONALITIES 223

them on somebody else, as he had done in some cases
already, or, failing in that, get the assets in shape so
that he could realize on them and make his getaway
in safety.

He gathered up a bunch of his best appearing securi-
ties and went to St. Louis, with the intention of se-
curing a loan of currency to tide him over, but failed
and decided that there must be a receivership. On his
way home he secured the services of Captain Joe
Waters, still a leading attorney, orator, and poet at the
ripe age of eighty-three, John Martin, afterward
United States senator, now dead, and Ellis Lewis, lead-
ing attorney of Osage City. In a conference which
lasted until midnight it was agreed that Major Calvin
Hood, of Emporia, should be selected as receiver and
that Captain Waters should go with Danford to Osage
City, Carbondale, and on to Wellington for the purpose
of making the settlement.

To the last Danford played his game magnificently.
He was no piker. He hired a special train to take him
and his attorneys on their journey. At Wellington
Danford and Captain Waters stopped at the Phillips
House, the best hotel in the town, and there Captain
Waters confesses that he began to realize the serious-
ness of the situation and that he was along rather as
a rear guard than as legal advisor. It may be that
Danford himself did not realize until he got there, just
what he had to face. So far his luck had never for-
saken him. He had always been able to make men be-
lieve in him. He was a born confidence man, and artist
of superior ability. He, too, had plenty of sporting
blood in his veins. It may be that even if he had known
that the rough, weatherbeaten men of the cattle ranges
who had deposited in his banks, were ready now to mob
him, he would still have dared to face them and take
the chance of mastering them by his cool assurance

224 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

and plausible promises. At any rate, once in the
danger zone he displayed a coolness probably never
excelled and which excited a degree of admiration even
among the men who had gathered to hang him. Captain
Waters, although there was no reason why the deposi-
tors should desire his execution, confesses that he was
filled with greater fear and trepidation than Danford
displayed even when death seemed to be staring him
in the face and his earthly pilgrimage apparently
limited to a few brief and fleeting minutes.

The cowboys whose money had gone into the Cald-
well "Drovers Bank" were gathering at the Phillips
House in increasing numbers. The guns they were
carrying were in evidence on every hip, but as Captain
Waters says, the most ominous thing was the number
of long, supple lariats the men were carrying, when
there was not a steer to be roped within twenty miles.
These men from the range found Danford and inter-
viewed him. They were hot, angry, threatening. Dan-
ford was cool as an Arctic icicle. One cowboy com-
plained that he had lost all his hard-earned wages in
the bank, $1,800 in all. Danford coolly tossed him a
$20 gold piece, with the remark that that would supply
his immediate wants. The depositors from the range
demanded that Danford go to Caldwell and settle up
with them, and although he must have known that it
was like placing his head in the lion's mouth or his neck
in the lariat noose, Danford agreed to go. They pro-
posed to haul him from Wellington to Caldwell in a
wagon, but with magnificent nerve he proposed to
charter a train and take all of the party down at his
expense, and in this state he rode into the border town.

Along with him went two more of his attorneys,
Judge Campbell, of Wichita, known in those days as
"Tiger Bill," and J. W. Haughey. The presence of
the lawyers seemed to irk the crowd of men, who were

STRIKING PERSONALITIES 225

bent on either getting their money or hanging Danf ord.
The lawyers might, in some way, interfere with the
proceedings. They were told that the space of ten
minutes would be given them to get out of town and
that there was a freight going north within that time.

"You are prodigal of time, gentlemen," said "Tiger
Bill," "unless my estimate of the distance to the depot
is at fault. I will return to you five of the golden
minutes you have so generously donated in which to
make our exodus."

Danford, the bank wrecker, faced the mob without
legal counsel, but with magnificent courage. Looking
the leaders of the angry mob square in their eyes, he
told them, with as much apparent confidence as if he
had been telling the truth.

"Gentlemen, I have plenty of assets to pay every
dollar of my indebtedness. If the assets of these banks
are insufficient, I shall have recourse to my private for-
tune to pay you in full. If that is insufficient, I will give
my body to be divided between you to square the debt."

At this point a lean-visaged and squeaky-voiced man
from the range, who was standing well back in the
crowd, piped up eagerly: "I speak for a part of his

gall."

But for once his assurance had failed. He had not
satisfied the crowd, which seemed to be growing rather
more clamorous for his life. Yet his self-possession
did not forsake him for a moment. A local preacher
came forward and offered to pray for the man he sup-
posed was doomed to die, but Danford would have none
of it. "If you can make a prayer that will influence
that mob not to hang me, make it damned quick, but
otherwise don't waste your prayer. If I am to hang,
I will settle with the Almighty my own way."

Danford stepped back into the bank and then there
came to his rescue his wife, a woman of queenly pres-

226 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

ence and remarkable ability. As cool as her husband,
she saved the life of the man who did not deserve her
love or confidence. Standing quietly before the an-
gered crowd, she immediately picked the leader and
addressed herself to him.

"You are a brave man and a man of sense," she said,
"otherwise you would not be a leader of men."

It was a center shot. It appealed strongly to the
vanity of the leader in the only way he could have been
appealed to. If she had called him a good man or even
an honest man, it would not have touched him, but to
be called a leader of men — that was the highest compli-
ment that could be paid to a man of the range. She
continued :

"What good will it do you to hang my husband?
If you let him live he will pay you, but if you hang
him you make me a widow, but get nothing for your-
selves."

The leader hesitated and she knew she had won, and
her husband would not die that night.

"Let me go in and talk with him, boys," said the
leader. "Maybe we can make him dig up the money,
and that is all we want."

He went into the bank. Danford was smoking as
coolly as if the mob outside was a pleasant serenading
party instead of men bent on taking his life.

"What have you to offer, Danford?" asked the
leader. "The boys are getting a trifle impatient."

"So I perceive," said Danford, as he blew a ring of
smoke in the air. "Well, here is a list of my assets. I
will collect them and turn them over to you, but if you
hang me you won't get a damned cent."

Nerve and a woman's tact and judgment of men had
won. The mob, at the suggestion of the leader, dis-
persed. Danford went on his way a free man — and
the depositors lost their money.

STRIKING PERSONALITIES 227

I am indebted to Captain Waters, Danford's attor-
ney, for the following summing up of his subsequent
career and character:

"His career since then has been a pilgrimage of bank
looting in Chicago, Kentucky, Oregon, and other precincts
not heard from. He was a born Apache. His methods
were his own. He took no one into his confidence. If
living, he still practices his unconquered bluff, and if dead,
the celestial bank examiner will need to be on the eternal
watch to prevent him from escaping from hell, climbing
up to heaven the back way, and inducing the saints in the
choir to exchange their golden crowns for stock which he
would propose to organize in the New Jerusalem.

"He only lacked a biographer to make him a classic. He
convulsed the state for a while and rose to a prominent
place in the ranks of frenzied finance ; yet, it is remarkable,
after the lapse of only thirty-nine years, how few recol-
lect the incidents of his magnificent rise or the marvelous
nerve of his spectacular fall."

Demiis T. Flywn

About the middle of June, 1884, a young Irishman
who had been an office boy in the law office of Grover
Cleveland, in Buffalo, and while there had picked up
some knowledge of law, and who had somewhere learned
something of the printers' trade, landed in Barber
County, bringing with him a Washington hand press
and a few fonts of type. It was Dennis T. Flynn,
breezy and self-confident and acting on the principle
that the world was his oyster and all that was necessary
for him to do was to open it.

The Santa Fe was getting ready to extend its lines
into the Panhandle of Texas, but there was reason to
believe that the extension would be halted at the state
line, where a town would be built to accommodate the

228 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

cattle men who ranged their herds on the Cherokee
strip and the lands to the south. Back in the early
seventies a little trading post had been established some
eighteen miles south of Medicine Lodge and about
three miles from the state line, named Kiowa. In the
year 1884 it was no larger than ten years before.
There were a few log and cottonwood shanties, one of
them occupied as a general supply store. There was
also a drug store, with all that that implied in south-
west Kansas and a rambling log building used as a
hotel. The proprietress of this hostelry was Mrs. Ada
Chatham, who had married a brilliant but dissipated
newspaper writer, Jim Chatham, who neglected and
finally compelled his wife to shift for herself and child.
It may be said to her credit that she not only made a
success financially of the hotel business in the little
frontier hamlet, but retained the respect of every
cowboy and cattleman who patronized the log hotel.
Her customers came from all over the range from the
Arkansas River on the north to the Red River on the
south, rough, bronzed men, but men who had a chival-
rous regard for a woman who was possessed of virtue
and tact, and Mrs. Chatham was endowed with both.

When Dennis Flynn landed in old Kiowa the only
place available for a newspaper office and printshop
was a cottonwood shanty. One needs to have seen a
cottonwood shanty that had stood the strenuous Kan-
sas weather for six or seven or maybe ten years, to
appreciate what this building was like. It used to be
told of a Medicine Lodge carpenter who was a man of
great deliberation, that on one occasion he got hold
of a cottonwood plank to be used for flooring, and
while he was considering how he would put it down the
board warped round him and held him fast until an-
other carpenter came to his rescue and sawed him out.
It was also claimed that when a corpse was laid on a

STRIKING PERSONALITIES 229

green cottonwood plank and placed tenderly out in the
Kansas sunlight, in two hours the plank would wrap
itself round the body of the dead and serve the double
purpose of a coffin and a winding sheet.

The building in which Dennis Flynn set up his print-
shop had been, as I have said, exposed to the weather
for several years. The door had warped itself loose
from the hinges, the window casing had warped away
from the sash, and the weather boarding had pulled
the nails that fastened it to the studding. It was neces-
sary occasionally for the editor and compositor to lay
down his rule and shoo the cows out of the shop when
they wandered in, impelled by bovine curiosity. The
wind, blowing freely through the cracks between the
weather boards, mingled sand, dust, tumble weeds, and
prairie fuel with the type in the cases, and caused the
editor to exclaim in bitterness of spirit that life was
just one damn thing after another.

On June 26, 1884, under these discouraging condi-
tions, the future congressman got out the first issue of
the Kiowa Herald and announced the editorial policy
as follows: "The Herald chooses to be recognized as
an independent paper devoted to no particular political
or religious party." Three weeks afterward the Herald
placed the names of Elaine and Logan at the head of
its editorial column. The railroad missed the old town
by three miles and the town of New Kiowa was born.
The Herald was moved to the new town and in one of
the first issues afterward I find this significant local
item: "Mrs. Ada Chatham has opened a hotel. It is
easy to guess who will get the trade.'* It was evident
that the susceptible heart of the Irish editor was
enmeshed and not very long afterward Mrs. Ada
Chatham became Mrs. Dennis T. Flynn.

Perhaps it is not out of place here to leave Dennis
for a little space and speak of a matter of interest in

230 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

connection with the widow Chatham, now many years
Mrs. Dennis Flynn. By her first marriage she had a
daughter, dark eyed and black haired as a gypsy maid.
There was a strain of Indian blood in the Chathams
which showed in little Dorothy, better known as Dot.
Years later, when her stepfather became distinguished,
Dot became a Washington belle.

In 1889 the fortunes of Dennis Flynn had fallen to
a rather low ebb. Investments in the new town had not
proved as profitable as was expected, and Dennis was
having an uphill pull. President Harrison had issued
his proclamation opening old Oklahoma to settlement
and fixing the day for the opening. It was known that
the temporary capital of the new territory would be
located at Guthrie, a town yet to be built. The sug-
gestion was made to Dennis Flynn that he should go
to Washington, see Congressman Peters of the Seventh
Kansas district and get the appointment as postmaster
for the new town. He fell in with the idea, but offered
the objection that it was a long way to walk to Wash-
ington and he had not the price of a railroad ticket.
A friend offered to lend him the money. Dennis went
to Washington, came back with the appointment, and
went to Guthrie at the opening as postmaster. There
was no building and no facilities for handling the mail,
which poured in by the carload. A tent was erected,
a force of clerks organized, and the mail was sorted on
the ground. It is remarkable that this community of
full 10,000 people, brought together from all parts of
the United States, made up of all nationalities and
speaking all kinds of languages, was so efficiently
served that there was almost no complaint about the
postoffice. That was the beginning of the career of
Dennis Flynn in Oklahoma. Two years afterward he
decided that he would like to be a delegate to Congress.
He was still poor and another Kansas friend financed

STRIKING PERSONALITIES 231

his campaign. The loan was paid back in monthly
installments out of his salary after his election.

As a delegate in Congress, Dennis Flynn attracted
more attention and wielded more influence than any
other delegate in that body. He developed a taking
style of speaking that went especially well with the
settlers in the new territory. When the Cherokee
strip was opened, the land had to be paid for by the
settlers. The argument for this was that the Govern-
ment had to buy the land from the Indians. Flynn
introduced and had passed the "Free Homes" bill,
which relieved the settlers from their payments and
gave them their homes on the same terms as home-
steaders in other parts of the United States.

With the bringing in of the state of Oklahoma, in-
cluding all of the old Indian Territory, the state became
hopelessly Democratic and Dennis went out of politics.
But he had developed into as successful a business man
as he was a politician and to-day he is rated as a
millionaire. Tempora mutantur. There was a time
when I paid him $5 for an advertisement and he
acknowledged to me that the coloring and designs on
that bill looked far more beautiful to him than any of
the paintings by the old masters.

A Populist Judge

When the Farmers' Alliance movement swept over
Kansas the leaders determined that it was necessary to
get control of the courts, and for that purpose Alliance
conventions were held in most of the judicial districts
to nominate candidates. The convention to nominate
a candidate for judge for the district composed of the
counties of Harper and Barber was held at the town
of Attica. A tent had to be provided, for the reason

232 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

that there was no building in the little town with
sufficient capacity to accommodate half the crowd.

Mrs. Mary Elizabeth Lease was the woman orator of
the day. She was then in her prime and heyday of her
popularity. I say without hesitation that of all the
women speakers I have ever listened to, Mrs. Lease led
all the rest in oratorical power. I will go further and
say that I have never heard a man who could so sway
an audience. She was a woman of striking presence,
tall, not exactly handsome, but attractive in appear-
ance. Nature endowed her with a voice of wonderful
volume and carrying power. If you had not known
that it was a woman speaking you would not have
guessed it from her voice, which was a deep baritone,
and yet sweet and clear as the notes of a deep-toned
bell. She was giving her impassioned advice to the
assembled Alliance delegates to raise less corn and more
hell, and before she had finished ninety per cent of her
auditors were ready to follow her advice. If she had
suggested that they proceed to hang the nearest banker,
I think the rope would have been furnished and, with
some fanatical leader to direct, they would have pro-
ceeded to elevate the unfortunate money leaner into
the atmosphere. As a curtain-raiser on that occasion
"Iron Jaw Brown" also made the welkin ring for about
three-quarters of an hour. Never to my knowledge
having seen a "welkin" I am a bit hazy about what is
required to make one ring, but I am confident that if
there were any welkins around in that vicinity on that
occasion they must have rung when "Iron Jaw" turned
himself loose.

The Alliance was rather short on lawyers at that
time; in fact I think the rules of the order precluded
the admission of anyone to membership who made the
practice of the law his profession or business. It was
not considered necessary, however, to have a lawyer

STRIKING PERSONALITIES 233

for judge. What they wanted was a man who would
sit on the bench and deal out justice without regard to
established precedents or the technicalities of the law.

One of the things that Mrs. Lease sought to impress
upon the minds of her hearers was that farm mortgages
ought to be summarily wiped out. They were, as she
dramatically explained, the chains that had been forged
by the money power to bind the limbs of the toiling
masses.

Living on his claim near Attica, was a blond little
man with long and flowing whiskers, by the name of
George Washington McKay. It was claimed that at
some time in the past he had attended a course of law
lectures in Chicago, but if he had most of the knowledge
of law he may have acquired had evaporated and his
last name might have been fittingly changed to Neces-
sity because he knew no law. Who suggested to him
that he ought to be a candidate for judicial honors I
do not know. I do not think more than half a dozen
of the delegates to the convention had ever heard of
him, but his name was sprung on the convention at the
psychological moment, and I may say in passing that
those were the times when psychological moments
counted. So George W. McKay was nominated for
the important office of judge of the district court and
triumphantly elected. While at the time of his election
he was utterly ignorant of court procedure and hardly
possessed of even a smattering knowledge of law, it
should be said for George W. McKay that he was very
far from being a fool. During the eight years he sat
upon the bench he acquired a fair knowledge of law and
in all cases where his political prejudices did not inter-
fere with his judgment, he came to be a fairly good
judge.

I have spoken of him as a little man, in that he was
short in stature. Nature had been generous with him

234 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

in the matter of body, but parsimonious in the matter
of legs. In other words he had a body long enough for
a tall man and legs rather too abbreviated for even a
short man. He always wore when on the bench a long
frock coat, which accentuated the length of his body
and the shortness of his lower limbs. In those days
the walks of Medicine Lodge were in bad repair. They
were board walks, not well laid in the first place and
badly warped by the fierce suns of southern Kansas.
At the first term of court after Judge McKay's elec-
tion, a Medicine Lodger was seen out with his hammer
busily engaged in driving down the nails in the sidewalk
that led to the courthouse. Asked why this sudden
exhibition of industry and desire for municipal im-
provement, he said: "Well, I just saw the new judge,
and said to myself, if these here nails are left stickin'
up along this sidewalk they will sure play thunder with
the seat of his pants. As a loyal citizen I have respect
for the court, and so seein' that nobody else will do it, I
just decided that I would hammer them down."

For a time after he went on the bench the new judge
seemed to go on the theory that the supreme court of
the state was not entitled to any particular considera-
tion and that he was not subject to its jurisdiction, but
after being jolted once or twice he abandoned that idea.
During the time he was on the bench he adhered strictly
to only one of the theories on which he was elected.
He insisted that there should be no personal judgments
left over after the sale of land under mortgage fore-
closure. He would refuse to confirm the sale unless the
sale of the land satisfied the mortgage. Theoretically
there seemed to be considerable justice in this, but in
practice it worked out mostly to the advantage of the
sheriff, who received commissions on the amount for
which the land sold at sheriff's sale. In Barber County
it happened that the sheriff during the time when

STRIKING PERSONALITIES 235

mortgage foreclosures were most abundant was a Re-
publican, who profited to the extent of several hundred
dollars by the ruling of the Populist judge.

During McKay's term of office the boundaries of his
district were changed and the counties of Kingman and
Pratt added. With experience he became more con-
servative, less radical, and also a much better lawyer.
His integrity, so far as I know, was never questioned
and during the later years of his service on the bench
there was little complaint about his rulings or the man-
ner in which he conducted the business of the court.

The Stmger Stung

One day in the later eighties a man of decidedly
bucolic appearance walked into one of the fashionable
New York hotels and registered as Benjamin Ashley,
of Abilene, Kansas. He wore ill-fitting, ready-made
garments such as were in that day sold in frontier
towns. His head was covered with the broad-brimmed
white hat characteristic of the cattle country, and his
face and hands were tanned and seamed by the winds
of the prairie. He was apparently unused to city
ways but seemed to be well supplied with cash. He
notified the hotel clerk that he was in New York to have
his eyes doctored and that later he intended to go to
London where he could obtain the services of some
distinguished oculist he had read about. He gave out
the information that he had a big ranch out in Kansas
and a lot of cattle, and had been mostly raised in the
saddle. He also looked the part. His lower limbs had
the parenthetical curve acquired by long sitting astride
a horse and his walk was the gait of the typical cow
man.

He had some peculiar habits. One was to get up

236 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

every morning at what to New Yorkers seemed an
unearthly hour and take a ride on horseback. On
these rides he used his well-worn rawhide bridle and
Mexican saddle. Most of the rest of the day, except
when he went ostensibly to call on his physician, he
loafed about the hotel, picking up such acquaintances
as he could after the free and friendly habit of the
West. He was a reasonably free spender and not
averse at all to standing treat, but so far as he was
personally concerned he did not indulge to any con-
siderable extent in "high balls" or any form of spirit-
uous liquor, contenting himself almost always with a
lemonade or vichy.

One day the hotel clerk observed the mild mannered
man from the West strolling through the hotel lobby
in company with a young man whose face was well
known to the regular promenaders on Broadway. This
young man was always faultlessly dressed, clean
shaven, of prominent features and good manners. He
had a keen, glittering eye and peculiarly thin, tightly
compressed lips. With his new-found friend, the weak-
eyed and guileless child of the prairies, this young man
sat for some time in the bar room of the hotel. It was
noticed, too, that at the urgent invitation of the thin-
lipped young man Mr. Ashley forsook his usual ab-
stemious habits and partook rather freely of cham-
pagne— at the expense of the young man.

When the well-dressed New Yorker had departed, the
hotel clerk called the Westerner and asked, "Mr.
Ashley, how long since you have been in New York?"

"Near eight year," replied Ashley, "never was here
afore that and ain't never been here since till now."

"Do you know the man who just left you?"

"Yes, met him two nights ago at the Madison Square
Garden. I couldn't buy a seat and he offered me one
of his; said his friend hadn't come and he would be
glad to accommodate a stranger, so him and me sat

STRIKING PERSONALITIES 237

there together, talkin' and watchin5 the sights. He
seems to be a mighty nice sort of a feller."

"I have no doubt of that," said the clerk, with an
air of superior wisdom and hardly suppressed sarcasm.
"That young man is 'Hungry Joe,' one of the most
noted confidence men in America!"

"You don't say so?" drawled the Westerner. "Well,
I'll be doggoned! Who'd a thought it? Why he is
about the most friendly feller I have met in this man's
town. Offered to show me 'round and set up the fizz
water and put himself out of the way to make things
pleasant for me. You must surely be mistaken about
him bein' one of these here confidence men."

Then Mr. Ashley strolled away, looking thoughtful.
That evening after dinner "Hungry Joe" called for
Mr. Ashley. As they came through the office the weak-
eyed man from Kansas took from an inside pocket a
large wallet from which he extracted about $500 in
bills and deposited the wallet with the rest of its con-
tents with the hotel. "Hungry Joe" watched the pro-
ceeding with passive face but gleaming eye, and the two
went away together. "Another sucker to be taken in,"
mused the hotel clerk as he looked after the pair. It
was nearly morning when Mr. Ashley returned to the
hotel; just in time, in fact, to take his usual early
morning ride. When he returned he drew another $200
and started out again.

"I have warned you, Mr. Ashley," said the wise clerk
from behind his immaculate shirt front and gleaming
diamond. "It is your own fault if 'Hungry Joe' trims
you."

It was a little after midnight when the ranchman
returned and deposited $300 with the clerk, remarking
that these New Yorkers might be stiff on bunco, but
they were a little behind the times on draw poker.

"Out in my country," he said with a swagger, "two
deuces and a bowie will open a jack pot every time."

238 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

For several days after this Mr. Ashley passed the
time in comparative seclusion and quiet. Then he
yielded again to the seductions of the well dressed
young man with the thin lips. In a day or two he drew
$1,000 from the hotel safe and seemed annoyed when
the clerk again reminded him that he had warned him.

"No game ever fazed me yet," he said doggedly. "A
man who kin hold his end up with them Kansas cowmen
isn't goin' to be bested by any of these here durned
broadcloth fellers in New York."

"It's no use," mused the clerk after Ashley had gone.
"You are wasting your breath trying to save these
country rubes. Might as well let them be skinned first
as last."

The next day Ashley came back for another thou-
sand and later for $850 more.

"It's no use, no use," sighed the clerk. "There is
one born every minute."

That afternoon the weak-eyed Westerner went for a
ride with "Hungry Joe." His face had been sad all
morning, but it was noticed on his return that he seemed
somewhat brighter.

In the evening "Hungry Joe" and two of his well-
known fellow confidence men spent several hours with
Mr. Ashley, whose weak eyes made it necessary that he
keep his broad hat pulled well down over his forehead.
When the three men went away a close observer might
have noticed the .shadow of a smile playing about the
mouth of Mr. Ashley. Straight from the table where
they had had the long conference, the three men went
to the telegraph office and sent the following message:

Postmaster, Abilene, Kansas:

Do you know Benjamin Ashley, cattle raiser? Tele-
graph full particulars at my expense.

R. DICKSON,
Brower House, New York.

STRIKING PERSONALITIES 239

When the reply came it evidently was in all respects
satisfactory, and within two days Mr. Ashley received
a visit from the three confidence men and a lawyer.
The head porter of the hotel was called up into the
room after the visitors had been there an hour or more
and requested to append his signature to a certain
document as a witness. This done, a large sum of
money was paid over to Mr. Ashley by "Hungry Joe"
and the weak-eyed, mild-mannered Westerner deposited
$14,000 cold cash with the hotel clerk, to whom he
explained that he had sold a half interest in his Kansas
ranch to his new found friend, who wished to retire from
city life.

A couple of days later Mr. Ashley took passage for
Liverpool on one of the passenger liners and was "seen
off" by his New York friends in the most approved
style. They toasted him in "yellow label" and even
presented him with a basket of flowers. The crude
Westerner was almost overcome by the attention and
told them he would soon return and have more good
times with them.

It was just eleven days after this sailing that a tall,
slender, pale-faced gentleman entered the hotel, ac-
companied by numerous steamer trunks, steamer chairs,
and other impedimenta of ocean travel. He signed the
register "Benjamin Ashley, London, England," in a
handwriting that was rather strikingly similar to that
of the Mr. Ashley who had sailed eleven days before.
The clerk who had been bending over the register looked
at the tall, slender, well groomed stranger in amaze-
ment which was increased as he noted that his speech,
like that of the other Ashley, had a sort of American-
ized English accent. In a sort of daze he assigned
him a room and that evening saw to it that the full
name and address of Benjamin Ashley was published
among the list of arrivals from abroad.

As he expected, the first caller in the morning was

240 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

"Hungry Joe," who sent up his card with the request
to see Mr. Ashley. The word was brought back that
Mr. Ashley would see him in the drawing room. When
the tall, slender pale Englishman entered the drawing
room, "Hungry Joe" was seated in a large arm chair.
He merely glanced at the stranger and then looked
away. Mr. Ashley, seeing no one else in the room, ad-
vanced to where "Hungry Joe" was sitting and courte-
ously asked: "Were you wanting to see me, sir? I am
Mr. Ashley."

"Eh?" queried the confidence man with a startled
look. "You are not Mr. Benjamin Ashley?"

"Precisely," answered the Englishman.

"Not of Kansas?"

"Yes, of Abilene, Kansas. How can I serve you?"

The thin lips of the confidence man went white. He
surveyed the tall Englishman in a dazed fashion for a
few moments and then asked:

"Do you own a large cattle ranch thirty-five miles
south of Abilene?"

"I believe so. Why do you ask?"

"Been to Europe to have your eyes doctored?"

"Yes. I have been abroad four months; but, my
young friend, these questions are rather odd, don't you
know. Please explain yourself."

"Odd," almost shouted the thin lipped confidence
man. "Well I should think they are. If you are
Benjamin Ashley, and if you do own that ranch, the
cleverest man in the country has given me a deal, that's
all. Why it isn't two weeks since I and two friends

bought a half interest in that ranch and by the

man who sold us stopped at this same hotel."

Mr. Ashley seemed to be astonished at this informa-
tion and called the clerk, who gave a careful description
of the other Mr. Ashley. "Hungry Joe" told how he
had won some $3,250 at cards from this pretended

STRIKING PERSONALITIES 241

Ashley, who said he was on his way to Europe to have
his eyes treated. He had represented himself as the
owner of the Ashley ranch and at his request the con-
fidence man had telegraphed the postmaster at Abilene,
who had replied, giving detailed description of the
ranch and estimating its value at fully $50,000 and
had added that Mr. Ashley had gone abroad for medi-
cal treatment. The other Ashley had represented that
he wanted to make certain expenditures in Europe but
on account of his losses at cards he could not do it
unless he could sell an interest in his Kansas ranch. He
had produced deeds to establish his title, which had
satisfied even the lawyers, and "Hungry Joe" and his
pals, thinking here was a chance to get at least $25,000
worth of property for $14,000, had raised the money
among them.

"Really," observed the Englishman, "I am sorry for
you. You have undoubtedly been swindled. I will not
have the slightest trouble in establishing my identity
and ownership. As to your friend, the bogus Mr.
Ashley, he is probably one of my cowboys, Henry
Barnes by name. The description certainly fits him.
He came to the ranch about fourteen months ago and
asked for work. Now I remember, he wasn't like the
other boys. He may have been hiding for some crime
for all I know; on the plains we do not inquire much
into such matters. He did his work all right and
seemed rather more refined than the others, though he
tried to conceal it. I heard once or twice from my
men that he played a very cold hand at poker."

"He does," said "Hungry Joe" mournfully.

"He was an expert penman, now that I come to think
of it," continued Mr. Ashley, "and did some of that
kind of work for me. He was there when I came away."

"And this is the cuss — damn him," burst in the de-
frauded confidence man, "who got off to Europe with

242 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

my money. What's worse he went away full of my
champagne and smelling my basket of flowers. That
man is a d — d swindler; that's what he is."

Boston Corbett

Some time before the Civil War there migrated from
England to America a short, stocky youth who was
destined to play a part in one of the world's great
tragedies. John Corbett was a descendant of the
"Roundheads," as the men were called who made up the
army of Cromwell, the most remarkable body of fight-
ing men that ever followed a leader to battle. Filled
with a religious fanaticism which dispelled fear, they
went to conflict chanting the psalms of David as their
battle songs; and welcoming death as a passport to
Paradise, they dashed themselves upon and broke to
pieces the bravest and best drilled battalions of Europe.
They fought without excitement, boasting, or jubila-
tion, but with a firm confidence that the God of battles
marched with them and made them invincible by the
power of His might.

Fanaticism is a full brother of madness and in the
blood of many of these followers of Cromwell there was
the taint of insanity. The young "Roundhead" at-
tended a religious revival in the city of Boston shortly
after landing in America and became a convert imbued
with all the religious fervor of his forebears. In honor
of the locality where he felt he had received salvation
he changed his name from John to Boston and from
that time on was known as Boston Corbett.

When the War of the Rebellion broke out he enlisted
in a Massachusetts regiment and throughout his service
showed the stoical intrepidity, the indifference to dan-
ger and death which had characterized his ancestors,

STRIKING PERSONALITIES 243

who, chanting their psalms and calling on the name of
the Lord of Hosts, carried consternation and defeat to
the royalist armies.

On one occasion Boston Corbett was sent out with a
scouting party, which was surrounded by Mosby's
guerrillas. All of the scouts surrendered except
Corbett, who took refuge in a dry well and stood off
Mosby's command until his ammunition was exhausted.
When he ceased firing, the rebels, supposing that he
was either killed or desperately wounded, peeped over
the rim of the well and discovered him sitting calmly
at the bottom, munching hardtack as unconcerned as
if there were no war. When captured he was sent to
Andersonville, where he spent ten months in that prison
hell.

On most of the soldiers during the war, religion sat
lightly, but with the fanatical descendant of the
"Roundhead," war only deepened his fanaticism and
religious fervor. He was a regular attendant and par-
ticipant in the prayer meetings held by some of the
men in his regiment and it was the Voice of Sergeant
Corbett which sounded the most fervent petitions to
the Throne of Grace.

When the immortal Lincoln was stricken down by
the bullet of the half -mad actor, Corbett was among
the soldiers sent in pursuit of the assassin. He re-
garded himself as an avenger of blood, one selected
by the Almighty to rid the world of the murderer of
the president.

Speaking of it years afterward, Corbett said:
"During the intervals between our different skirmishes,
I attended a prayer meeting one night and the leader
said, 'Brother Corbett, lead us in prayer.' I prayed,
'O Lord, lay not innocent blood to our charge, but bring
the guilty speedily to punishment.' Afterward, when
the assassin lay at my feet a wounded man, I saw that

244 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

a bullet had taken effect an inch back of the ear, and
I remembered that Mr. Lincoln was shot in about the
same part of the head. I exclaimed, 'What a God we
have!'"

The shooting of Wilkes Booth by Boston Corbett
was contrary to orders and he was court martialed for
disobedience, but no punishment was inflicted, so far
as the record shows.

It was some years after the war that Boston Corbett
came to Kansas and filed on a homestead in Cloud
County. It was a neglected eighty acres he acquired,
and nature had not really fitted him for a farmer.
Here in the solitude of the prairie he began to brood
over things. He imagined that the friends of J. Wilkes
Booth were plotting against his life. He was possessed
of a revolver, and stories are told of his marvelous skill
in the use of the weapon. Lying prone on his back he
would shoot hawks circling high in the air above him, or
riding at full speed on the only animal he possessed, a
pony, he would shoot fleeing rabbits, rarely missing a
shot.

Some of the young people used to meet near his
place on Sundays to play ball. He regarded this as a
desecration of the Lord's day and proceeded to break
up the game by command, as he asserted, of Jehovah.
Complaint was made by the players and Boston was
arrested. The trial was to be held in the office of a
local justice of the peace. Corbett came in on the day
appointed, watched the proceedings with gloomy
countenance for a time, and then, drawing his revolver,
commanded that the sons of Belial, constituting the
court and jury, should disperse. They did — and that
right speedily. The justice of the peace, a large and
fleshy man, hid behind a stairway while jurymen, wit-
nesses, and town loafers vied with each other for pos-
session of the door and windows, as places of exit.
Having scattered the forces of iniquity in the name of

STRIKING PERSONALITIES 245

the Lord, Corbett mounted his pony and returned un-
disturbed to his lonesome shanty on the claim.

It was in the year 1887 that the member from Cloud
County in an impassioned speech nominated the slayer
of J. Wilkes Booth for the position of assistant door-
keeper of the lower house.

Those were the days when ex-soldiers of the Civil
War still dominated the politics of Kansas and Boston
Corbett was selected as assistant doorkeeper without
opposition — although one member who knew Boston
was heard to remark that the legislature would be in
luck if Corbett didn't get a notion in his head that he
was called by the Lord to kill off a few lawmakers
before the session ended. For several weeks after his
election Boston attended to the not very onerous duties
of doorkeeper for the west gallery of the house. He
was a peculiar, if not striking figure. His hair hung
down to his shoulders and was parted in the middle.
He was not averse to answering questions, but his face
was never lighted by a smile.

Probably the session would have passed without any
striking incident so far as he was concerned, if he had
not become interested in the Salvation Army, which
was just then especially active. The methods of these
religionists appealed to the militant soul of the
"Roundhead."

Night after night he marched with the devoted band
which, with sound of drum and horn and clashing
cymbal, with strident song and vociferous prayer,
assailed the battlements of sin and invoked the aid and
blessing of the Most High. The religious fervor that
stirred the blood and brain of Boston Corbett led him
to the conclusion that a number of legislators should be
summarily removed from the places they occupied and
that the legislative hall should be emptied, even as
Christ drove the money changers from the Temple in
Jerusalem.

246 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

It was a sight calculated to arouse the members from
the drowsy dullness that had settled over the routine
proceedings, when the little man was seen one morning
standing at the front of the gallery in the house, his
trusty gun in hand and his eyes blazing with the light
of fanatical insanity. The sergeant-at-arms sent up
an assistant to urge him to put away his gun, but
Corbett made him beat a hasty retreat. The sergeant-
at-arms then went up in person and retired with speed,
if not with grace of movement, as he fell down the
gallery stair.

Finally a number of police and deputy sheriffs were
called in. Boston was overpowered, taken before the
probate judge and there adjudged insane. Senator
Charles Curtis, at that time county attorney, con-
ducted the examination concerning his sanity. A few
months afterward the slayer of Booth managed to get
away from the hospital guard, mounted a horse he
found near the asylum grounds and fled. A few miles
from Topeka he left the horse with a note requesting
that it be returned to its owner. Almost a third of a
century has passed since then and, while there have been
rumors that he had been seen here and there, no definite
word has ever come from Boston Corbett since that
spring day when he fled away.

Probably he has long since died, pursued to the last,
no doubt, by the fancy that his enemies were pursuing
him and seeking revenge for the killing of the slayer of
America's greatest president.

A Perfect Defense

A good many old timers will remember Johnny Potts,
of the T-5 range. Johnny seemed to hanker for a
reputation as a bad man and tried to earn it and live

STRIKING PERSONALITIES 247

up to it. Quite possibly he wasn't really as bad as he
thought he was, but it may be said for him that he
wasn't merely a bluffer as some cowboys who posed as
bad men were. It may have been native courage or it
may have been mostly vanity that made him show
physical courage, but the fact was that he was really
a dangerous man when his temper was roused and es-
pecially when he had a drink or two under his belt. He
was possessed of a mean and surly disposition and was
one of the cases, fortunately not very numerous among
cattle herders, who delighted in trying to convince
tenderfeet that he was worse than he really was.

By long practice he acquired considerable skill in
handling the revolver and while he could not draw and
shoot with the lightning rapidity acquired by men like
Billie the Kid, or Wild Bill or Wyatt Earp, he could
draw his gun quicker than most men, even among
those who called themselves expert gunmen. It pleased
him, when in a crowd, to draw his gun suddenly and
fire it rapidly either into the air or down into the
ground. In one respect he differed from a good many
men who liked to shoot holes in the atmosphere. Most
of them liked to make noises with their mouths. They
would ride through the streets shooting in the air and
yelling like wild Comanches. That was simply their
way of grand-standing. Most of them were really
harmless and only hurt other people by accident. They
did not really intend to kill.

With Johnny Potts it was different. He did no
yelling. There was no expression of enjoyment on his
face. He was a sullen, silent man, and seemed to want
to impress the crowd with his lack of vocal expression.
I have seen him empty his gun in the ground with no
apparent purpose except to create the impression that
he would just as leave shoot a man as shoot the ground
if he had any sort of pretext for doing it.

248 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

Webster, who also worked on the T-5 range, was of
a different type. Johnny Potts was uneducated, coarse
in his limited speech, and with no grace of manner or
address. Webster, on the other hand, was a man of
considerable polish and had a fair education. He was
a man of considerable reading, and capable of appear-
ing in almost any kind of society. While Johnny Potto
was rather undersized and not prepossessing in appear-
ance, Webster was, as cowboys went, a sort of Beau
Brummel, who liked to cast off the unlovely garments
of the range and appear in civilized raiment, not the
garish, loud sort some cowboys and tin horn gamblers
delight in, but really tasty clothes, for Webster had
taste in dress as well as in speech. It was perhaps
natural that these two men, so different in manners and
speech, should not love each other, and it was also
almost inevitable that sooner or later there would be a
quarrel to the death.

Just what the quarrel was about I do not now recall
if I ever knew. The story was told me by another. It
came at breakfast time, I think, at headquarters camp.
Both men reached for their guns apparently at the
same instant. They were standing by the trough used
both for watering the camp horses and for the pre-
prandial ablutions of the men. Johnny Potts was the
fraction of a second quicker on the draw, which seemed
rather strange, for Webster was known as the cooler
and quicker man. They were within a few feet of each
other when the impromptu duel commenced. There was
no chance to miss at that distance, even if they had
been less skilled than they were, but the hammer of
Potts' gun came harmlessly down on an empty or
defective cartridge and the next instant he fell dead as
the bullet of Webster's gun tore its way through his
heart.

It was many years afterward, when I happened to be

STRIKING PERSONALITIES 249

talking of old times with the veteran ex-foreman of
the Drum range, Jack Crewdson, and mentioned the
fatal battle between John Potts and Webster. I re-
marked that both men showed a lot of nerve, for there
was every probability that both of them would die,
shooting at that distance and both being quick on the
draw and expert shots, and I also remarked on the luck
of Webster.

"It wasn't luck," said the veteran cow man slowly.
"Potts' gun had been fixed. That was why Webster
was slow on the draw. But you see it made a perfect
defense in case he had been arrested, taken to Fort
Smith, and tried for murder!"

Captain Pamter, Detective

A good many people in Kansas knew Captain Bob
Painter, of Meade, as lawyer, journalist, department
commander of the G. A. R., ranchman, and member of
the legislature, but perhaps only a few know that he
has a record as a detective that would do credit to a
Burns or a Pinkerton. I am indebted for the material
out of which this story is constructed to my old-time
friend, Will H. Lininger, formerly of Topeka, now
residing in Chicago, and holding the important position
of assistant manager of the Springfield Fire & Marine
Insurance Company. I might also say that the facts
on which the story is founded were not published by
Captain Bob Painter and only told by him on solicita-
tion.

More than a third of a century ago the First Na-
tional Bank of Cincinnati, Ohio, one day consigned to
the United States Express Company a package con-
taining $10,000 in currency to be delivered to a bank
in Van Wert, Ohio. At Greenville, Ohio, the package

250 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

had to be transferred to another line of railroad. A
quiet, inoffensive workingman, encumbered with a wife
and family drawing a monthly stipend of some forty
dollars per month, out of which munificent sum he had
to support his family and pay for the feed of his horse,
hauled the express packages from the car to the local
office of the express company and from the express com-
pany's office to the other depot. On this particular day
this humble citizen noticed this package and seeing that
it was from a national bank, drew the conclusion that it
probably contained currency. In the hurry of trans-
ferring freight and express the package was left in pos-
session of the express messenger and carried on past the
station. The humble citizen discovered that the pack-
age was not in his wagon and wired the messenger, who
found it and returned it by the next passing express
train.

Perhaps it was when the transfer man saw it the
second time that the temptation came to him, and when
you think it over it is not greatly to be wondered at
that a man trying to support a family and a horse on
an income of $40 a month should be tempted when a
package of money is left in his care. So it came about
that the humble transfer man carefully undid the
package, abstracted the $10,000 in currency and re-
placed it with blank paper; then he delivered the
package to the local express office, where it was locked
in the safe and the next morning delivered by the same
transfer man to the express agent at Van Wert and
thence to the bank to which it was directed. When the
Van Wert bank opened the package and found the
currency gone the Pinkerton detective agency was
called in to discover the thief. The Cincinnati bank
brought suit against the United States Express Com-
pany and secured judgment. This put it up to the
express company to find the party who had tampered

STRIKING PERSONALITIES 251

with the package or stand to lose all of the $10,000.
Suspicion rested on the express messenger who carried
the package past the station where it should have been
transferred, and the agent of the express company at
Circleville. Somewhat strangely the detectives did not
seem to suspect the humble citizen who drove the one-
horse transfer wagon, of being the guilty man.

The express agent was arrested, tried, and acquitted,
but afterward dismissed, and the humble transfer man,
who was the leading witness at the trial, was appointed
local agent for the express company which he had
robbed. But a guilty conscience made him uneasy.
The currency was in bills of large denominations for
the most part and the thief was afraid to spend it
and no doubt afraid to keep it in his possession. After
a few months he threw up his job and with his family
moved to Nebraska and from there to Meade County,
Kansas. He tried the real estate business with in-
different success for a time, then gave it up and moved
to a little town up in the northern part of the county
and started a small general store. And still he was
afraid apparently to use the money he had taken from
the express package back in Ohio. He lived modestly,
was known as a quiet, unassuming man, and popular
with his frontier neighbors.

Notwithstanding the fact that he had the money from
the rifled express package in his possession, he bor-
rowed money at the extortionate rates of interest
charged in that new country, still, no doubt, filled with
the fear that if he were to begin showing those large
bills he would be suspected. And he had reason for
his fear. The express company had failed to find the
thief, but had not forgotten. The detectives were still
tirelessly hunting for the criminal and while they did
not believe that the quiet transfer man was the thief,
they did suspect that he had some knowledge of the

252 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

real criminal. So it came about that Captain Bob
Painter was employed to help unravel the mystery.
Captain Bob had had considerable experience with
criminals and for some reason had a hunch that the
quiet storekeeper was the guilty man and that the
currency was secreted somewhere about his premises.
He cultivated the acquaintance of the storekeeper and
finally proposed a business partnership with him to deal
in equities in land.

In the eighties there was a great land and town boom
in western Kansas. A flood of immigrants, a quarter
of a million strong, took possession of the government
lands clear out to the Colorado line. Loan agents came
with the tide and practically all the lands were mort-
gaged. Then came the reaction, the crop failures and
drouths, and the discouraged homesteaders forsook their
lands and left them to be taken by the mortgage com-
panies. The result was that most of the mortgage
companies that loaned money in western Kansas went
broke, unable to carry the load of defaulted mortgages,
the payment of which they had guaranteed to the
eastern purchasers.

Captain Bob's proposition to the storekeeper was to
get hold of the equities in these mortgaged lands and
sell them subject to the mortgages. Of course, the
equities could be bought for a song, and it didn't need
to be much of a song at that. Each of the partners
was to put up $200 cash on a certain day, to be used
in paying for equities which the captain was to try to
dispose of in the East. Just what there was about the
kind of money the storekeeper put up for his share that
convinced Captain Bob of his guilt I do not know,
possibly the size of the bills or the name of the national
bank that had issued them, but in any event he wired
the general manager of the express company that he
had the thief located and to come and get him.

STRIKING PERSONALITIES 253

When they went out to make the arrest the man
vehemently denied all knowledge of the crime, but on
searching him they found a leather pocket book in his
coat in which there were two $100 bills. A search of
the house revealed nothing until Captain Bob insisted
on investigating a stand which he found had a hollow
leg, in which was concealed over $6,000 in bills. Fifty-
two of these were $100 bills, the rest were bills of
smaller denominations. Confronted with the evidence
of his guilt the man broke down, confessed his guilt,
and went back to Ohio to serve his sentence in the
penitentiary. When the confession was made the man
expressed his satisfaction. He had for years been
carrying a load of fear and remorse. The money had
done him no good, because he was afraid to spend it.
It was apparently the one crime of his life and he had
bitterly regretted it. A remarkable part of the story
is that somehow the knowledge of their father's crime
was kept from his children. They were given to un-
derstand that he had been called away on some kind
of business that kept him from home a long time. He
was a model prisoner, served his sentence, and returned
to his family to lead thereafter a law-abiding and quiet
life.

KANSAS GROWING UP

The Coming Back of Denver Boggs

I DO not know just when the elder Boggs, yielding
to the lure of the West, loaded his young wife and
possibly a child or two into a wagon and trekked
across the far reaches of gently rolling prairie land
that lay between the Missouri River and the foothills
of the Rockies. At any rate it was before the present
capital of the great state of Colorado had been laid
out in that great cup in the mountains and men were
sluicing the sands of Cherry Creek for gold.

Here on the site of the future city, the Boggs family
located and here a year or so afterward a boy was
born, the first white baby born on the townsite. In
honor of the event his parents named him Denver.

The man born amid the glory and grandeur of the
mountains does not often stray to the plains and for
that reason it was somewhat remarkable that when
Denver Boggs had reached years of maturity he came
back and settled in Kansas. I first met him in the
Medicine country, a mild, good natured, quiet man,
who had managed to accumulate a wife and numerous
children and very little else. He and his wife were
uncomplaining souls and seemed to be reasonably cheer-
ful, although there must have been times when there
was little on the table and no reserve in the larder.

Denver had managed somehow to acquire a fair edu-
cation. His speech was unusually accurate and un-
seasoned with profanity, which I may say in passing

254

KANSAS GROWING UP 255

was somewhat rare among the men of that locality at
that time. I do not think he drank or used tobacco and
so far as speech and general conduct were concerned he
was really a model citizen. He worked at such jobs
as offered, sometimes riding the range and sometimes
working about the little frontier town, doing odd jobs.
Occasionally he canvassed for subscribers for the local
paper after it was started and sometimes furnished
a column of country correspondence, for he had some
facility as a writer.

The only criticism I ever heard of him was that he
lacked force and ambition. He seemed to have a fair
equipment of brains, but apparently was content to live
a hand-to-mouth existence, letting the morrow take care
of itself.

It was, therefore, with some surprise that along in
the later nineties I heard that Denver Boggs had blos-
somed out as a cattleman and according to report was
succeeding. It was in the time when there was a great
boom in the cattle business, especially in the business
of raising cattle on the range. The long depression in
prices of beef cattle was succeeded by a brisk demand
and constantly rising prices. Money to invest in cattle
was easy to obtain. Commission firms seemed willing
to stake almost any man who was ready to promise
them big dividends on their investment. As a result of
this condition there was witnessed the astounding and
most spectacular career of Grant Gillette, known for a
time as the "cowboy cattle king." Starting with no
capital, in an amazingly short while he had managed to
borrow more than $2,000,000 and had herds scattered
from the Red River in Texas to the Nebraska line.
At one time he traveled about accompanied by his
famous cowboy band, numbering perhaps twenty-five
or thirty musicians who did nothing but furnish en-
tertainment and advertise their employer.

256 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

But the rise and fall of Grant Gillette is enough ma-
terial for another story.

Denver Boggs was not so spectacular, but something
had stirred his ambition; opportunity was at his door
and he mounted and rode. Most men and women like
to live up to their reputation. With seeming pros-
perity, Denver Boggs and family were no longer con-
tent with the old simplicity of dress and economy of
household management. There was a temptation to live
beyond his means and to it Denver yielded. He sold
the cattle or part of them which were mortgaged to
secure his indebtedness. Perhaps if he had frankly
stated the case to his creditors, he might have made
arrangements to pay out when he could, but he made
the fatal mistake of concealment until he could see no
way out and the doors of the penitentiary opening
before him. Then he fled. It was a good many months
before any news came from the fugitive.

He made his way to Cuba ; then across the gulf to
Mexico. All the time his conscience was goading him
and he was weighed down by an almost intolerable
burden of homesickness and longing to get back and
have it all over with. Denver Boggs was not a criminal
at heart ; he was in fact a kindly man who had yielded
to temptation and was paying a fearful penalty. The
day came when he could stand the strain no longer and
crossing the bridge which separates El Paso from the
old Mexican town of Juarez, he hunted up the Texas
sheriff and told him that he was wanted up in Kansas
and had come in to surrender. The sheriff was some-
what surprised and after looking through all of his lists
of men wanted could find no mention of a man by the
name or fitting the description of Denver Boggs. But
the man was insistent and so the sheriff to accommodate
him wired the Kansas authorities that he had a man
there who insisted that he had committed a crime and

KANSAS GROWING UP 257

wanted to go to the penitentiary. The Kansas sheriff
wired that the story of the wanderer was true; and
so without guard and gladly, Denver came back to
Kansas and surrendered himself to the officers of the
law. All he asked was to have the matter over with
as soon as possible so that he might begin serving
his sentence, with the hope when he had paid the penalty
he might be given a chance to reinstate himself in the
opinion of his old neighbors.

The court heard the story and declaring that in his
opinion Denver had already been punished sufficiently
for his fault, gave him the lowest sentence permissible
under the law, one year in the penitentiary. That was
in the days before the indeterminate sentence or the
power of the judge to grant a parole. In the peni-
tentiary he was a model prisoner and was given all
the good time possible on a sentence of that duration.
At the end of the eleventh month Denver Boggs stepped
forth a free man.

During his wanderings he had traveled through the
then territory of Arizona and perhaps by reason of
the environment of his boyhood, was something of a
mineralogist. As he traveled he observed and marked
the location of rich copper deposits. When he had fin-
ished his term in the penitentiary he went back to
Arizona and found that the properties he had noted
were still open to entry. He located a number of
claims and then got in touch with some men of means
who were looking for mining investments.

Denver Boggs was not a success as a cattle man but
he was a pleasing conversationalist and persuaded these
capitalists to send their hired experts to look at his
claims.

As a result he sold them an interest for $125,000
cash.

Let it be said to his credit that one of his first acts

258 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

was to square up with his creditors, who had long
before marked off the Boggs cattle account as uncol-
lectible.

It has been a good many years since I last heard
from Denver Boggs. I have always regarded his case
as a remarkable instance of a man coming back out of
the depths and beginning his real success in life after
serving a term in the penitentiary. I hope that suc-
cess has followed him, because, notwithstanding his one
grave mistake, he was a good man.

When Bitt Backslid

Among the cowboys who ranged from Dodge City to
the Panhandle of Texas was one whose baptismal name
as I recall was William Patrick Hogan. But on ac-
count of an adventure he had had with a prairie rat-
tler, which, according to William and his contempo-
raries, would have resulted in his premature demise if
it had not been for the prompt administration of
snakebite remedy in copious quantities, he was generally
known on the range as "Rattlesnake Bill."

If the modern descriptive adjective, "hard boiled,"
had been invented at that time, it would have fitted
"Rattlesnake Bill" to a dot. When he was "lit up,"
as the slangful phrase had it, he was something of a
holy terror, and even when sober was not particularly
averse to trouble, either with gun or fist or quirt, al-
though it should be said to his credit that he never
craved the reputation of being a "gunman." His natu-
ral inclination, after the manner of his race, was to
settle arguments with the two hands furnished by na-
ture, and if he had lived in the land and time of his
forebears he would have been a leader with the black-
thorn and engaged joyously in breaking the heads of

KANSAS GROWING UP 259

his opponents. It must be confessed here that religion
did not have much of a foothold on the range. A
preacher was likely to be looked upon by the herders
as rather an effeminate individual, who might do all
right to talk to women's aid societies, but who lacked
the virility admired by the men who rode through the
silent watches of the night, or at breakneck speed
through the storm with the stampeded herd, risking
death every moment. It was, therefore, an amazing
thing when "Rattlesnake Bill" happened to come under
the spell of a traveling evangelist and became a humble
suppliant at the mercy seat.

And it should be said for Bill that he took his
religion seriously. He felt that he ought to do some-
thing to make up for the years he had wasted in the
service of Satan while ambling down the broad road
which led to destruction. It occurred to him that he
might and should become a living example of the power
of grace, and show to the unregenerate cowboys that
he could demonstrate the long suffering patience of
the Nazarene.

The other herders were, therefore, considerably sur-
prised when they learned that "Rattlesnake Bill" had
not only got religion, but that on a certain evening he
proposed to make a talk to his unregenerate fellow
cowpunchers and show them that he had so completely
changed that they could heap upon him any indignity
without causing anger or resentment on his part. The
herders discussed the matter among themselves with
varying opinions. Some of them said that they be-
lieved Bill was really in earnest, while others con-
tended that he must have been eating loco and had bats
in his garret as a result. It was generally conceded,
however, that it would be a good idea to go and hear
what Bill had to say and likewise to give him a tryout.
So it happened that there was a rather large and in-

260 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

terested crowd present on the evening when the new
convert proposed to give an exhibition of the genuine-
ness of his conversion.

His opening statement was somewhat crude but easily
understood. In substance he said : "You range riders
and mule skinners hev knowed me for several years.
You all know that I never took no stock in no kind of
religion and if there was any kind of general ornery-
ness that I hain't indulged in I can't call it to mind,
and at that I ain't no worse than a lot of you geezers.
What I'm aimin* at is to show you birds that a man
who is genuinely converted can stand the gaff and not
let his temper rise. Now I propose to demonstrate to
you unregenerate cusses that you can heap any sort
of insults and abuse on me and I won't resent it. Go
to it."

They took him at his word. Some of them, indeed,
had come prepared to make it interesting for Bill if he
really meant it. "Arkansas Pete," who had suffered at
the hands of "Rattlesnake Bill" in a fistic argument,
saw an. opportunity to play even and landed a kick on
Bill's person that almost made his teeth rattle. For
an instant there was a dangerous expression on Bill's
countenance, but he made no attempt to resent the
indignity. "Texas Sam" took from his cheek a well-
chewed quid of longgreen tobacco and snapped it
against the bronzed cheek of the amateur evangelist
and demonstrator of Christian forbearance. "Sour
Dough Jake," the cook, who had been the butt of a good
many jibes from Bill in his unregenerate days, plastered
his head with a batch of spoiled dough, and "Bitter
Creek Slim" tried him out with a vigorous application
of the quirt on an unprotected part of his person.
"Rattlesnake Bill" winced a trifle under the punishment,
but made no complaint and gave no indication of anger.
It was at this point that Ike Timberlake, from the

KANSAS GROWING UP 261

Brazos country, commonly known on the ranges as
"Alkali Ike," took from his side pocket a turkey egg in
an advanced state of decomposition and, with well-
directed aim, hurled it at Bill's head. The new convert
was just opening his mouth to assure the audience he
was unmoved by their treatment, when the wild turkey
egg of advanced age and powerful vintage hit him fair
and square in the face. It broke with a loud sound
and a considerable part of the contents of the shell
went between his teeth. He gagged, spat out the putrid
egg with great promptness and considerable violence,
wiped the loud smelling mess from his countenance, and
then made the following announcement, as he shed his
coat preparatory to going into action : "Gents, I don't
intend to give up permanently this here Christian life,
but there will be an adjournment for fifteen minutes
of this here exhibition of long-sufferin* meekness and
patience while I whip the low-down, measly, sheep-
stealin' son of a coyote who throwed that turkey egg."
Those who witnessed the fight declared that "Rattle-
snake Bill" was never in better form, and when the bat-
tle ended, "Alkali Ike" was a wreck, while "Arkansas
Pete," "Texas Sam," "Sour Dough Jake" and "Bitter
Creek Slim" had fled from the wrath to come.

The Rise and Fall of Grant Gillette

About thirty years ago a young telegraph operator
out in Marion County was accused of putting up a job
to defraud the railroad company, which seems so simple
in its conception that one marvels that it should have
worked, even for a limited period. The scheme was to
put a few bushels of grain in a freight car, bill it out
as a full car and collect from the railroad company
on the basis of the full car-load.

262 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

Naturally, as might be supposed, the young man got
into trouble and left that section of the country for a
year or two. He seems to have been able to satisfy the
railroad company in some way, however, and was never
prosecuted.

It was a year or two after that, that this same
young man sought the job of deputy sheriff in Dickin-
son County. The emoluments of this office at that
time amounted to some fifty dollars per month. He
did not get the job.

Possibly the necessity for making a living suggested
to him that there ought to be some shorter road to
fortune than working as an underling at the modest
stipend of fifty per month. At any rate, there seemed
to be a change come over the spirit of his dreams. He
evidently decided that the world was his oyster and
he proposed to open it.

The young man was Grant Gillette, of Woodbine,
who within the next four or five years furnished the
most spectacular example of frenzied finance ever seen
in the Middle West.

Within these few brief years this young man, still
under thirty years of age, with little business experi-
ence and only local acquaintance, bought herds of cat-
tle from Texas to the Canadian line, and from the
Pacific coast to the Missouri River, all on borrowed
money, advanced by experienced bankers and commis-
sion men, and even by the great leader of the packing
industry, Philip D. Armour.

When the crash finally came his indebtedness had
mounted to the dizzy height of $2,000,000, or some-
where in that neighborhood. The men who had ad-
vanced the money were holding chattel mortgages on
herds, as they supposed, aggregating 60,000 cattle,
of all grades from long horned Texans, to the highest
grade Herefords. His methods were bizarre and, it

KANSAS GROWING UP 263

would have seemed, not calculated to appeal to a care-
ful, hard-headed business man, but the astonishing fact
was that somehow he did appeal to them, so that they
advanced large sums of money on his unsupported
promise and even seemed eager to do it. On one occa-
sion he stepped into a commission house in St. Joseph
and nonchalantly asked the broker to cash his check
for $10,000, saying that he would have a few car-
loads of cattle on the market within a week and would
then settle. The commission house promptly cashed
the check which they were still holding after the crash
came.

Possibly there was an element of greed in the case,
for Gillette promised his backers large profits on their
investments. It is probable also that his breezy con-
fidence impressed these men, for in the heyday of his
career Grant Gillette was the personification of con-
fidence in his own ability. True, there was much of the
grand stand in his methods. He hired and uniformed
a large band, known all over the country as Gillette's
cowboy band. This band he carried about on special
trains to cattle conventions and other gatherings. He
rejoiced in the title of the cattle king of Kansas. His
shirt front and fingers were decorated with large and
glittering diamonds and he had a peculiar habit of
carrying a handful of diamonds in his pocket which
he would carelessly jingle in his hand when engaged
in conversation.

He cherished political ambitions and was talked of
as a candidate for the Legislature and even Congress.

The crash came in 1898 when some bank or commis-
sion house began to get uneasy about its paper, and
then it developed that Gillette's creditors did not know
within $1,000,000 how much money had been advanced
to the young Napoleon of finance.

On November 27, 1898, the following telegram was

264 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

received at Woodbine, "Will leave today for Spain.
Cable me at Cadiz, how are my wife and baby." How-
ever, he was not sailing for Spain but was heading
for old Mexico.

It was three years afterward that a Kansan re-
turning from Mexico brought the news that he had met
Grant Gillette in the city of Chihuahua, where he was
living in a state of poverty. His baby had died. His
wife had been taken down with the smallpox and Grant
himself had nearly died from accidental poisoning. He
had been running a dairy, but had lost that when sick-
ness came on, and was then earning a somewhat precari-
ous living by making and selling shirtwaists to the Mexi-
can maidens. However, Gillette was not the kind of
a man to get discouraged by fickle fortune. Five years
after he had disappeared, leaving his creditors to gather
up what they could, he returned to the United States.

He called some of his creditors and informed them
that he had procured a large interest in a valuable
mine and wanted them to take stock in the same to
the extent at least of his obligations to them, and per-
haps some more to finance the proposition. How many
of them took stock I do not know, but at any rate all
talk of prosecution of the erstwhile cattle king was
dropped and my last word concerning his whereabouts
was that he was living quietly near Fostoria, Ohio,
was accumulating land, and was on the road to for-
tune.

Having seen and having tried to study the character
of Grant Gillette, I have often wondered how he was
able to go as far as he did. I have often wondered
how a man like .him could so impress a man like P. D.
Armour, who had the reputation of being an excellent
judge of human nature, that he would back the specu-
lations of the young adventurer to the extent of thou-
sands of dollars.

KANSAS GROWING UP 265

Possibly the explanation may be that of the western
man who loved to sit in a poker game, who declared
that a bob-tailed flush was just as good as the real
thing if you only had the nerve to bet it high enough,
and at the same time look as if you really held the
cards.

Convicted under His Own Law

One of the members of the first Oklahoma territorial
legislature was Ira N. Terrill, who had gone into the
new territory with the first spectacular run and driven
his stake in a choice quarter section of virgin Okla-
homa land. If it had not been for the fact that an-
other man also decided that he wanted this particular
quarter section of land this story would never have
been written, with its intermingling of comedy and
tragedy. As a legislator Terrill determined to leave
his impress on the laws of the new territory and future
commonwealth. He introduced and successfully urged
for passage a law providing for capital punishment by
hanging for first degree murder, treason, and possibly
some other offenses.

The session had not much more than adjourned,
however, when the quarrel between Terrill and the man
who was contesting his right to the claim, culminated
in a shooting. Perhaps Terrill took the advantage;
perhaps he was simply the better marksman, or maybe
he got his gun out first. Anyway, the other man was
dead and Ira N. Terrill was arrested charged with mur-
der. It seemed a queer irony of fate that he was the first
man charged with murder and tried under the provisions
of the bill he had introduced and caused to become a
law. He was convicted of murder in the second degree
on September 26, 1892, and as the territory of Okla-
homa had no penitentiary, he was sent to the Kansas

266 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

penitentiary under an arrangement made with the Kan-
sas governor and warden, by which the state was paid
so much per prisoner by the territory.

Terrill had made some study of law before his con-
viction and was a zealous student of jurisprudence dur-
ing the period of his incarceration. Acting as his own
lawyer, he brought a habeas corpus proceeding in the
supreme court of Kansas, demanding his release on
the ground that the court which convicted him in
Payne County, Oklahoma, was without jurisdiction,
because the term of court had lapsed by the failure of
the judge to put in an appearance within the time
fixed by statute. The supreme court held that he was
right in his contention, granted the writ, and ordered
him released from the penitentiary, but did not dis-
charge him entirely. He was ordered to be delivered
to the sheriff of Payne County for such further pro-
ceedings as the prosecuting officer of that county might
desire. The result was a new indictment, a new trial,
and another conviction, but this time for first degree
manslaughter. He was then sentenced to twelve years
in the penitentiary and again lodged in the Kansas
penitentiary.

Again Terrill applied for a writ of habeas corpus on
the ground that the killing for which he had been tried
and convicted had taken place on a government reserva-
tion (the shooting occurred in Guthrie on the govern-
ment acre reserved for the United States land office).
The supreme court this time ruled against Terrill, hold-
ing that the question as to where the killing had taken
place was one of fact and if an error of jurisdiction
had occurred it could only be taken advantage of on
appeal.

Having failed on this Terrill proceeded on a new
theory, that no authority existed for holding in Kan-
sas a man whose liberty was restrained by an Oklahoma

KANSAS GROWING UP 267

court and that there was no law in Kansas which justi-
fied or attempted to justify such detention. Acting
on this theory, all the time he was in the penitentiary
he was in a state of chronic insurrection, refusing to
work and even resisting the officer when that gentleman
undertook to compel him to toil.

In the early part of 1903 he again succeeded in get-
ting the attention of the supreme court with another
application for a writ of habeas corpus, based on the
ground above stated. The court refused to grant the
writ on the ground that the state of Kansas by per-
mitting the warden of the penitentiary to enter into
this contract with the territory of Oklahoma to care
for the convicts had recognized the validity of the
contract although it was not authorized by any act
of the legislature. Two members of the court dis-
sented from this decision. This ended the incursions
of Terrill into the courts and he sullenly served out
the rest of his term.

At the time of his third application for a writ of
habeas corpus, I had written a story about him in
which I stated that he was the first victim of his own
law and that he had been convicted of murder in the
first degree and sentenced to be hanged. This was a
mistake on my part, but was innocently made and then
it furnished the material for a better human interest
story.

A short time after he had obtained his liberty I was
surprised to receive a visit from the noted ex-convict,
who had somehow obtained a paper containing the story
I had written. He had this with him and proceeded
without much preliminary statement to inform me that
I had libeled him and that his reputation and feelings
were lacerated to the extent that it would require
$10,000 to heal the wounds. In support of his demand,
he called attention to the fact that he had not been

268 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

convicted of first degree murder or sentenced to be
hanged.

I countered first by deploring the fact that I lacked
something like $9,998.50 of having the $10,000 about
my person, then proceeded to argue that, granting
what he said to be true about the convictions in court,
he really had no ground for complaint; that having
been twice sentenced to imprisonment, once for life and
once for twelve years, the sum total was really worse
than only being sentenced to hang once. I argued with
considerable earnestness that to be sentenced to serve
at hard labor in the penitentiary after a man was dead
was a punishment more to be dreaded than the brief
inconvenience of hanging, which would be over with in
less than sixty seconds. I also urged that to have been
sentenced to be hung gave him a prominence he never
could achieve by mere confinement in the penitentiary.
Not many men have been sentenced to be hung and
escaped, but millions of men have spent more or less
of their lives in penitentiaries.

I must say, however, he did not seem to be much
impressed with my argument and insisted that it was
either a financial settlement or a suit for libel. He
also included Senator Capper in his suit and made the
same demand on him, but Mr. Capper mildly but rather
firmly declined to dig up and the suit was brought. As
this was the only time that any one ever considered
it worth while to make me a defendant in a $10,000
libel suit I was somewhat puffed up about it and in-
terested in the outcome.

The case came on to be heard before the late Judge
A. W. Dana. The defendants were represented by ex-
Lieutenant Governor Troutman, while Ira N. Terrill
was his own lawyer. When the jury had been duly im-
paneled and sworn, there commenced perhaps the most
peculiar trial ever seen in a Kansas court.

KANSAS GROWING UP 269

Terrill acted in a double capacity of lawyer and
witness and with meticulous care maintained the dis-
tinction between attorney and client and attorney and
witness. He announced to the court in an apparently
wholly impersonal way: "Ira N. Terrill will now be
sworn."

"Mr. Terrill will take the witness stand."

He then gravely asked, "Please state your name, age,
and residence to the court and jury."

Having asked the question, he stepped up on the
little platform, seated himself in the witness chair, and
proceeded to answer the questions. He then stepped
down and, again assuming the role of attorney, asked,
"Are you the plaintiff in this case?" then took the wit-
ness chair and answered the question.

"Have you, Mr. Terrill, in your possession a copy

of the Farmers9 Mail and Breeze of date owned

by one of these defendants and edited by the other?"

Again seating himself as a witness he answered, "I
have."

Then assuming again the position of attorney for the
plaintiff he announced, "We now wish to introduce this
paper containing the libelous article, in evidence and
mark it 'Exhibit A.' "

This proceeded through the trial of the case, the
prosecutor alternating between the witness stand and
the floor. The judge with great dignity and self-
restraint preserved decorum in the court, although one
fat juryman, in his efforts at self-repression, showed
evidences of pain and indications of apoplexy.

I may say in conclusion that the jury very kindly
refused to find for the plaintiff, which relieved both
Mr. Capper and the writer from financial loss and as
Terrill had filed, as I recall, a poverty affidavit when he
started the suit and as his only witness was himself
it was inexpensive, if fruitless, legal action.

270 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

What has become of this picturesque and peculiar
character I do not know. For a few years after his
release from the penitentiary I heard occasionally of
his bringing suits for damages against various officials
in Oklahoma and Kansas, but think they all ended about
as did the one described. So far as I know, however,
he holds the record for at least two things: he is the
only man in the United States convicted of a capital
offense under a criminal statute of which he was the
author and also the only man who, while in the peni-
tentiary, acting as his own lawyer, brought three
habeas corpus proceedings before the supreme court of
a state.

The Last Raid of the Daltons

One day in the late summer of the year 1907 I was
taking a plain and not very satisfactory meal in a
Topeka restaurant when there came in and sat down at
the table with me a tall, well built, and rather strikingly
handsome man. His face had that peculiar pallor that
comes from long confinement within prison walls and
I noticed that he seemed to have little use of one of
his arms. A well known Topeka physician accompanied
him and introduced him as Emmett Dalton, the only
survivor of one of the bloodiest bandit battles that ever
took place on the Kansas border.

For fifteen years Emmett Dalton had been an in-
mate of the Kansas penitentiary under sentence of
death, for in those days Kansas had a peculiar law
under which a man might be convicted of murder in
the first degree, in which case it became the duty of
the judge presiding at the trial to sentence him to be
hanged by the neck until dead, but with the proviso
that the sentence of death should not be carried into
effect until after the condemned had been confined for

KANSAS GROWING UP 271

one year in the Kansas penitentiary and then only on
order of the governor. As no governor cared to take
the responsibility of ordering a wholesale execution, the
number of men convicted of first degree murder in-
creased until at one time there were about one hundred
in the Kansas penitentiary, with sentence of death hang-
ing over them awaiting the order for their execution.

Of these the one who excited the greatest interest
among the visitors to the penitentiary and the most
striking figure among the more than one thousand con-
victs (for at that time Kansas was taking care of con-
victs from the territory of Oklahoma), was the young
man Emmett Dalton.

Among the boldest of the deputy United States
marshals who preserved a semblance of order and law
in the wild land known as the Indian Territory during
the latter half of the last century was Bob Dalton.
Fearless to the point of recklessness, deadly in his aim,
and quicker to draw than most gunmen, he possessed
to a very considerable extent the confidence of the
department of justice at Washington, until it was dis-
covered that he was selling protection to outlaws.
Confronted with the evidence, he excused his action by
claiming that the Government owed him a considerable
sum for his services as deputy marshal, which he had
not been able to get on account of the red tape con-
nected with Government dealings, and he was just get-
ting even. He was not punished further than being dis-
missed from the service. His deals with the outlaws
showed the criminal bent of his mind and shortly after
he determined to cut loose from all restraints of law and
become a leader of a bandit band.

It must be said for Bob Dalton that he had the
qualities of leadership which made him a most dan-
gerous outlaw. Nature had dowered him with a more
than ordinarily keen, though crooked brain. His fol-

272 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

lowers feared but also loved him, for he was generous
as well as bold. They were ready to follow him into
any danger even against their better judgment, and
die with him if that was to be the fortune of the fight.
For some months after the organization of his band
he had uninterrupted success. There were train rob-
beries as bold and spectacular as were ever undertaken
by the James and Younger gangs, and the name of
Dalton became notorious in the annals of border out-
lawry.

One mild October day — October 4, 1892, to be exact
— Bob Dalton gathered his band together and outlined
his plans for a raid on the banks of the town of Coffey-
ville. With him were his two younger brothers, Grattin
and Emmett, then a boy of barely nineteen, Bill Powers,
and Dick Broadwell. Broadwell was the son of Major
Broadwell, whose cattle ranged in the Medicine country.
I had seen the boy Dick often. He had always seemed
to me to be a rather overgrown, awkward, good-natured
youth, not naturally a tough, but of that impression-
able nature which would be influenced and greatly at-
tracted by a man like Bob Dalton. So, with visions of
adventure and riches easily obtained, young Broadwell
had joined the gang and afterward, as this story will
show, paid for his folly with his life.

To his companions Bob Dalton told of the large ac-
cumulation of cash in the Coffeyville banks, the Condon
and the First National. They were to ride boldly into
town. Two of them, Bob and Emmett Dalton, were to
hold up the First National, while Grat Dalton, Bill
Powers, and Dick Broadwell were to loot the Condon
bank. Some of the members of the gang objected.
They said that Coffeyville was a town in which many
men were accustomed to carry arms. The Daltons,
too, had lived in Coffeyville and were known to many
Coffeyville people. The risk seemed too great. The

KANSAS GROWING UP 273

bandit leader listened to the objections and then told
them that he had determined on the raid. He was
going to pull off a bank robbery more sensational than
any the James boys or the Youngers had undertaken
and would carry away a bigger loot. If any of them
did not dare to go with him it was because he was a
coward. That settled it. His was the dominating
mind and none of them would acknowledge to Bob Dai-
ton that they were cowards. To Emmett, the boy, his
brother Bob was a demigod. He had been the hero
of his boyhood and was still his hero, whom he was
willing to follow anywhere and for whom he was willing,
if necessary, to die.

A few minutes after the opening of the banks on
October 5, Grat Dalton, Bill Powers, and Dick Broad-
well dismounted in front of the Condon bank and en-
tered. A moment afterward the cashier and his as-
sistant were facing the revolvers of the bandits. The
cashier was ordered to open the safe, but replied that
it was a time lock and he could not open it. "How soon
will it be open?" asked Grat Dalton. "In ten minutes,"
answered the cashier. "We will wait," coolly announced
Dalton.

That ten minutes was a fateful period of time.
Had the bandits been content to have taken what cash
there was in sight, they might have escaped, but during
the wait the citizens became aware of what was going
on. Resolute men began to get their guns and the
battle opened. It was short but bloody. When it
ended the city marshal, Connelly, and three other
citizens, L. M. Baldwin, C. J. Brown and Thomas G.
Ayers, and four of the bandits, Bob Dalton, Grattin
Dalton, Bill Powers, and Dick Broadwell were either
dead or dying and Emmett Dalton, his shoulder shat-
tered by a Winchester bullet and his back torn by a
load of buckshot, was supposed to be mortally wounded.

274 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

Bob Dalton, cool and desperate to the last and deadly
in his aim, was responsible for the death of most of
the citizens.

In an alley afterward known as "bloody alley" the
bandits went to death as they were attempting to
escape. Emmett might have escaped with the wound
in his shoulder but his love for his brother and boy-
hood hero was stronger than his love of life, so he
turned back amid a hail of bullets to try to rescue
Bob. With one arm disabled he tried to raise the dy-
ing bandit from the ground. "It is no use. I am done
for. Save yourself if you can," gasped the leader,
and Emmett reluctantly mounted to ride away when
he received a charge of shot in his back and fell from
his horse, as it was supposed mortally wounded.

Ninety-nine men out of a hundred would not have
survived the wounds inflicted on Emmett Dalton, but
he was not an ordinary man. The doctor who looked
him over and dressed his wounds pronounced him the
finest specimen of physical manhood he had ever seen,
but at that gave no hope of his recovery. There was
talk among the indignant citizens of lynching the boy,
but the majority did not favor the idea of hanging
a man who was supposed to be dying. So Emmett
Dalton lived. For weeks he hovered between life and
death. It was just touch and go whether he lived or
died, but his magnificent strength triumphed. When
he was convalescent he was taken before the court, plead
guilty, and was sentenced to be hanged under the pro-
visions of the peculiar Kansas law.

Wardens generally had little complaint of his con-
duct as a prisoner. He learned the trade of a tailor and
became something of an expert. But the desperate
wounds he had received never entirely healed, and after
a time began to grow worse instead of better, until
finally the prison physician declared that there must
either be an operation or Dalton would lose his arm.

KANSAS GROWING UP 275

Governor Hoch, acting on the recommendation of
the prison doctor, granted the ex-bandit a parole for
four months in order that he might go where he could
have proper surgical treatment. He had come to
Topeka for that purpose and it was then I met him.
Whatever may have been in the heart of the man, he
was outwardly frank and attractive. He perhaps did
not have great educational advantages, but he talked
well and frankly. He insisted that he had killed no
one that terrible day in Coffeyville, but made no com-
plaint about his conviction. "I was guilty," he said
frankly, "because I was with the crowd that planned
the crime and murdered the citizens. I was with the
gang because I loved my brother Bob. Whatever he
may have been, however much of a criminal, he was good
to me and I loved him. I might have gotten away, I
think, but I could not bear the thought of leaving him
there weltering in his blood, and so I rode back and
tried to save him. It seemed to me that the air was
full of bullets and I cannot understand how I escaped
with my life. I guess it was a good thing that I was
shot and sent to prison, for I have learned a lesson^ and
that is that crime does not pay. My family are not
all criminals. I have brothers who are law-abiding and
successful business men, and the law that I and my
other brothers were violating protects the lives and
property of these law-abiding brothers of mine. I
want to get a pardon and go out a free man to show
the world that I can make good."

Emmett's mother, a sweet-faced, white-haired old
lady of three score and ten, had during all the years her
youngest born was in prison, worked unceasingly for
his release. His conduct during the time of his parole
helped and at the end of it Governor Hoch granted
him a full and unconditional pardon, incurring by his
act a good deal of criticism, especially from the people
of Coifeyville, many of whom still had a vivid recollec-

276 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

tion of the tragedy of the fifteen years before. Per-
sonally I have never blamed the governor. Had I been
in his place I think I would have pardoned the ex-
bandit, for I believed in his avowal that he intended
to make good.

A short time after his release Dalton married the
widow of a bank robber who was killed by an officer
who was attempting his arrest. Not long after he
undertook a reproduction of the crimes of the Daltons
for moving picture purposes. He offered as an excuse
for this that it would furnish an object lesson to warn
young men against engaging in crime, but the general
sentiment was that it was an attempt to capitalize his
crimes and make of himself a movie hero.

Then came rumors of disgraceful domestic brawls,
of dissipation and disreputable episodes. How much
truth there was in these rumors I cannot say. They
may have been very much exaggerated, for it is true
now as always that the way of the transgressor is hard
and the man who has spent years within prison walls
as a convict, walks ever after in the shadow of his
crime with suspicion dogging his footsteps.

Chester I. Long

Along in the middle eighties a young man, who had
finished his law course, largely under the tutelage of
George R. Peck, hung out his shingle in Medicine
Lodge. In his youth he was a teacher of elocution, but
had long since lived that down. His library at first,
as I recall, consisted of a copy of the revised statutes
of 1868, two volumes of Blackstone, and a few other
textbooks, while the rest of the space in the book-
case was mostly taken up with agricultural reports
and other light literature. Chester I. Long was a good

KANSAS GROWING UP 277

student and hard worker and soon began to get his
share of such law business as there was in a frontier
town like Medicine Lodge. This story, however, has
to do with his political rather than his business career.

His first serious attempt to break into politics was
in the year 1889. Senator F. C. Price had resigned his
place in the state Senate to take the judgeship of the
newly created judicial district. The senatorial district
consisted of the counties of Harper, Barber, Comanche,
Clark, and Meade. There were three candidates to fill
the vacancy caused by the resignation of Senator
Price, George Finch, of Harper, Chester I. Long, of
Medicine Lodge, and George Willis Emerson, banker?
novelist and promoter, of Meade.

Finch had opposition in his own county but had
enough delegates to control the county convention and
selected the delegates to the senatorial convention.
He made the mistake of naming his leading opponents
as members of his delegation to the Coldwater conven-
tion. They intended to stay with him only so long
as there was no danger that he would be nominated,
which I may remark in passing is not a good kind of
delegate to have, so far as the candidate is concerned.
None of the three candidates had enough votes to nom-
inate, but after a considerable amount of balloting
enough of the supporters of Emerson were ready to
leave him and go to Finch to nominate him, provided
all of his own delegates would stand hitched. Immedi-
ately a part of the Harper delegates forsook their
own candidate, voted for Long and nominated him.

A year later the nomination would have been an
empty honor, for the Populist wave swept the district,
but the wave had not started to roll yet when the elec-
tion to fill the vacancy was held and Mr. Long was
triumphantly elected. In that way he became a mem-
ber of the hold-over Republican Senate which tried the

278 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

impeachment case of Judge Theodocius Botkin, who
had been impeached by the Populist house elected in
1890. The triumphant election of Jerry Simpson in
1890 had a tendency to discourage Republicans in
that district who had ambitions to go to Congress, so
that when it became known that Senator Long was
willing to offer himself a living sacrifice in 1892, he had
no particular trouble in getting the nomination. He
made a strenuous campaign, and apparently a reason-
ably effective one, as he managed to reduce the Populist
majority of more than 8,000 in 1890, to less than 3,000
in 1892.

Long was a tireless worker and developed into an
effective campaign speaker, but some of the arts of the
politician he never learned. Cordial to those with
whom he was acquainted, he never really developed that
peculiar ability to mingle with the promiscuous crowd
and appear to be nearly tickled to death to see and
shake hands with people he had never met before.
He tried to do it, but somehow or other there were a
lot of the people he shook hands with who never seemed
to be satisfied that he meant it. He was a man who
never used tobacco or intoxicating liquor in any form
at that time and I think has never acquired the habit
since. Some of his supporters during his first cam-
paign made him believe that passing the cigars was
necessary and he fell for it. He knew nothing what-
ever about a cigar. All looked alike to him. Simon
Lebrecht, the Hebrew merchant, of Medicine Lodge,
had somewhere gotten hold of a large quantity of cigars,
I think possibly at auction. In those days I used to
smoke and tried one of these cigars. That satisfied
me fully. I never had either desire or curiosity to try
another.

I do not know who helped put up that job on Chester
I. Long, who was persuaded to believe that these

KANSAS GROWING UP 279

Lebrecht cigars were really a choice article and bought
several boxes for campaign purposes. Campaign cigars
at best are bad, but these were the limit. They might
have been made useful in curing young boys who had
an ambition to learn to smoke. If one of them had
not killed the boy he would have resolved with little
"Robert Reed," of old school reader fame, never again
to touch the filthy weed. In the first crowd the con-
gressional candidate handed round his box of cigars.
They were taken readily and lighted. The smokers
were hardened frontiersmen in large part, inured to
hardships and accustomed to the odor of the corrals,
but when forty or fifty of those cigars began to burn
more or less freely, those men began to cast on each
other looks of suspicion. One of them intimated to his
neighbor that it was all right, of course, to kill the
pesky varmints that came prowling round the place,
but a man ought at least hang his clothes out in the
air for a few hours before coming into a crowd that
way. When the real cause of the trouble was de-
termined a friend of the candidate called him to one
side and said: "Of course, Mr. Long, we old regulars
who vote our tickets straight are goin5 to stay with
you. We are willin* to make even greater sacrifices for
the Grand Old Party than this, but there are a lot
of independent voters in this district who went off and
voted the Pop ticket two years ago. If they are
handled right they will come back this year and vote
with us, but if you go to distributin' them cigars regu-
lar there is simply no hope. The impression is likely
to get out that you are tryin' to poison your con-
stituents."

In 1894 Chester was renominated and the tide of
Populism had so far waned that he was elected. He
was renominated again in 1896, but the free silver
sentiment was so powerful that year in Kansas that

280 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

Jerry Simpson defeated him by something over 3,000
majority, although Long made a thorough and strong
campaign in opposition to the silver theory. That
ended the free silver issue and the Populist party went
out of business as a party. Mr. Long was elected in
1898, 1900 and 1902 by comfortable majorities, but
was elected to the United States Senate by the legisla-
ture of 1903 and therefore did not serve his fourth term
in the lower house. In the United States Senate Ches-
ter I. Long was counted a "standpatter" while the senti-
ment of Kansas was tending more and more strongly
toward a more radical brand of politics. It was this
popular tendency that caused his defeat for renomina-
tion and swept Joseph L. Bristow into a seat among
the mighty.

I have heard men attribute Long's defeat to his lack
of ability as a "mixer." All that is necessary to re-
fute that theory is to gaze for a few brief moments on
the attenuated and also elongated form of Joe Bristow.
In comparison with Joe Bristow an icicle seems like con-
centrated sunshine or a modern heater in action. I have
my doubts, anyway, about the efficacy of the made-to-
order smile and the glad hand in politics in Kansas.
The Kansas voter is peculiar in that he is liable to con-
clude that the candidate who is particularly effusive
in his handshaking and verbal glucose, is trying to put
something over on the sovereign squatter who does the
voting. Mr. Long was defeated not because the voters
of Kansas doubted his ability or his integrity, but be-
cause a majority of them did not believe that he at that
time represented their political views. Bristow was
nominated and elected because the majority believed
he did represent their views.

KANSAS GROWING UP 281

Governor Allen's Maiden Speech

In Hillsdale County, Michigan, lives an old farmer,
Ben E. Kies, who in the days when the Farmers'
Alliance was the dominant power in Kansas, was a
prime mover and trusted adviser of the organization.
Kies was a shoe merchant in Medicine Lodge, the
trusted friend and admirer of Jerry Simpson, and more
than any other man responsible for Jerry's entry into
politics. It was he who induced the "sockless states-
man" to become a candidate for the legislature and
afterward at the Kinsley convention waved aside the
proffered honor of a nomination to Congress and
urged instead the nomination of Jerry Simpson. He
afterward quit the business of selling shoes, started the
publication of the Wichita Commoner, beating William
J. Bryan to the name by several years, and as pub-
lisher for the few hectic years while the Populist party
was a potent force in politics, his paper wielded per-
haps the greatest influence of any publication of that
political faith. All this is preparatory to the state-
ment that it was Ben E. Kies, the old Michigan
farmer, who first brought the now celebrated Governor
of Kansas before an audience, hostile to the last de-
gree and under circumstances most painful and em-
barrassing to the boy orator, who, with most unpropi-
tious environment and with exceedingly serious handi-
caps, by the exercise of ready wit and resourcefulness
saved himself from disastrous consequences, if he did
not score an oratorical triumph.

Henry J. Allen was not cradled in luxury. He
worked during his young manhood as a barber in the
city of Topeka to earn money enough to pay his way
through college and after he had finished his college
experience got a job as reporter on the Salina Repub-

282 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

lican, then owned and edited by J. L. Bristow, after-
ward United States senator. In October, 1891, the
Farmers' Alliance had reached and passed the zenith
of its influence and power. The evidences of dissolu-
tion were already discernible to the closely observing,
but like a great flywheel which continues to revolve for
a good while after the force which put it in motion
has abated, the Alliance was still, to the superficial ob-
server, a powerful organization. It was in this mild
October of 1891 that some five hundred delegates met
in Salina in the annual Alliance convention. Major
J. K. Hudson was then the militant proprietor of the
Topeka Daily Capital and fighting the Alliance and
Populism with his usual uncompromising vigor. He
called a young reporter, L. L. Kiene, and told him to
go to Salina and get a report of the Alliance conven-
tion.

"They don't like me or my paper," said the major,
"but I want you to find out what they do and report
the meeting as accurately as possible."

Kiene went to Salina and there entered into a sort
of offensive and defensive alliance with young Allen,
the object being somehow or other to get the proceed-
ings of that secret convention. The first day the task
was easy, for the two reporters found a disgruntled
delegate who was sore on the Alliance and ready to give
away its deliberations. The reports published in the
Capital and Republican caused great excitement among
the delegates who were still loyal, but they could not
tell whether they were being betrayed by a traitor in
their own camp or a spy who had managed somehow
to get into the building. On the second or third day
of the convention the disgruntled delegate went home
and that shut off the reporters' source of news. The
next day they managed to bribe the janitor of the
building to leave a side door unlocked during the noon

KANSAS GROWING UP 283

hour, and through this they slipped in, and then up
to the dark attic, where they concealed themselves near
a ventilator shaft that connected the assembly room
with the upper room. The attic was unfloored, dark
as a dungeon, and covered with a tin roof which con-
centrated the heat rays from the Kansas sun. October
in Kansas is often decidedly like summer and with the
sun beating down on the tin roof the temperature rose
nearly to the boiling point. Neither of these reporters
had reached the degree of fatness they have acquired
since, but at that they were a couple of most uncom-
fortable young men. Pretty soon they heard the tramp
of the delegates filing into the hall, and then the
rapping of the chairman's gavel as he called the as-
sembly to order.

The president of the Alliance was Captain Frank
McGrath, of Beloit. He had been one of the most
celebrated and efficient of the frontier sheriffs who made
a marvelous record for daring and efficiency. Frank
McGrath was a born hunter of criminals. Fearless
and untiring, and with an almost uncanny knowledge
of the habits of the bad men who infested the border,
he rarely, if ever, failed to get a man when he started
after him. He was often in positions of great danger,
but never hesitated to take the chance and seemed to
bear a charmed life. McGrath was instinctively against
mob law, which fact had a bearing on the results
told in this story. Hardly had the president rapped,
for order and the delegates become quiet when he
announced that there must be either spies or a traitor
in the building and the first business would be to ap-
point a committee of three to search the building.
"On that committee," said the president, "I will ap-
point brother B. F. Kies and two others," mentioning
them. "They will proceed at once to make a thorough
search and find the culprit."

284 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

Although the temperature in the attic was well up
toward a hundred, the two reporters experienced some-
thing of a chill when they heard that announcement.
They decided'that it would be best for them to separate
as far as possible, lie flat between the joists and trust
to the darkness of the unlighted attic for escape. The
future governor took one corner of the attic and Kiene
the other. The committee headed by Ben Kies came
clumping up the attic stairs. Tramping carefully but
with determination from one joist to another, they
lighted matches to dissipate the gloom. Allen was
lying low in one corner, with nothing to support him
but the frail laths that held the plastering, trusting
to luck and a kindly Providence.

It was Kies who discovered him and announced his
discovery with triumphant voice.

"You may as well get up and come along with us,"
commanded Kies.

The future governor announced with as steady tones
as he could command that he was perfectly willing to
go. He felt, however, that his wishes in the matter
would cut little figure, which conclusion was confirmed
by the firm grasp the committeemen took on various
parts of his person and the forcible way in which they
hustled him toward the attic stair. When he was
brought before the assembled delegates there was a
moment's hush and then a general yell, "Kill the spy!
Kill the spy! He is one of Joe Hudson's hirelings.
Kill him!"

There was a rush toward the stage and it would have
gone hard with the young reporter if it had not been
that McGrath was chairman. As I have said, he was
instinctively opposed to mob law and he was able to
control that assembly.

"Be quiet, brothers," he said, "we will hear what
this young man has to say." Then, turning to the

KANSAS GROWING UP 285

dust-begrimed, cobweb-covered and freely perspiring re-
porter, he said: "Young man, why were you in that
attic and what have you to say for yourself?"

It was Henry Allen's maiden effort as a speaker be-
fore a large crowd, but he rose to the occasion. As
he stood there he was not a presentable figure, dirty,
sweaty, and generally disheveled, but that may have
helped him. He probably was not in a mirthful frame
of mind, but he managed to face the crowd with the
semblance of a grin and said: "Gentlemen of the
Alliance, you don't know how much it pains me to ap-
pear before you in this condition."

In those days the average Alliance man was disposed
to take matters very seriously. They had visions of
the "Great Red Dragon," the "Altar of Mammon,"
and the "Seven Great Conspiracies," but there were
men in that audience who had a saving sense of humor
and the opening statement of the young reporter sort
of caught them, and when he followed with the further
statement, "I assure you, gentlemen, that this recep-
tion is wholly unexpected. I hardly supposed that I
would be greeted with so much enthusiasm," several
of the delegates laughed aloud.

"I admit, gentlemen," continued Allen, "that I was
in the attic, and if you want further evidence the gen-
tlemen composing this committee who have so insistently
escorted me to this platform, will testify to the fact,
but I am not there now. However, I have heard one
charge made against me which I most emphatically
deny ; it is that I am one of Joe Hudson's men. I never
worked for Joe Hudson in my life and don't know what
he looks like. I am a reporter on the Salina Republican
and will confess that I was in the attic to get a report
of your meeting."

At this point a number of delegates started another
movement toward the platform but were checked by the

286 WHEN KANSAS WAS YOUNG

chairman, and Henry, with renewed confidence, seeing
that President McGrath did not intend to permit per-
sonal violence, proceeded with his remarks.

"When I went into the attic I did so simply in the
line of duty. It was my business to get the news and
you gentlemen guard your proceedings with so much
care that I was driven to this as a last resort. I ad-
mit that it was not the right thing to do, but I am
only a poor reporter and my bread and butter depend
on my ability to get the news. I am sorry this oc-
curred and assure you that it will never happen again."

His ready wit, resourcefulness, and apparent frank-
ness of statement won him some friends even in that
hostile audience and there was some scattering ap-
plause when he closed. Then President McGrath de-
manded that he give up his notes.

"I have no notes," said the reporter.

"Who was with you?" asked McGrath.

It was at this point that Kiene, listening at the ven-
tilator shaft, felt the hot and cold flashes chase each
other up and down his spine, but to his relief the future
governor lied promptly and calmly like a gentleman.
It was then that Kiene realized the force of the little
Sunday-school girl's definition of a lie when she said,
"A lie is an abomination in the sight of the Lord and
a very pleasant help in time of trouble."

In answer to the question Allen promptly and with
an expression of almost cherubic innocence said, "There
was no one."

Kiene breathed easier.

"Is there any other reporter in the house to your
knowledge?" asked McGrath.

"No, sir."

"Will you promise never to attempt anything of this
kind again?"

"Yes, sir."

KANSAS GROWING UP 287

Then the young reporter was taken before the county
attorney and an effort was made to find a law under
which he could be prosecuted, but as there was no such
law, he was released.

The convention passed some red hot resolutions de-
nouncing Allen personally and the paper which em-
ployed him. Allen somewhat surprised the chairman
of the committee on resolutions by asking for a copy
of the resolution for publication.

Freed, as they supposed, from spying ears and eyes,
the delegates proceeded with their secret conference
while Kiene, sweating, but happy in the attic, took
notes of the deliberations and furnished a full report
both to the Capital and the Salina Republican.

During the nearly twenty-nine years which have
elapsed since that hot October day, the young re-
porter has acquired nation-wide fame as an orator and
as the chief executive of the great state in which he
was born, but never did his natural facility as a speaker
stand him so much in hand as when he was dragged
before that convention of wrathful delegates, the ma-
jority of whom would just then have watched him
hang, if not with positive satisfaction, at least with a
feeling that justice had been in a measure satisfied.

UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY
BERKELEY

Return to desk from which borrowed.
This book is DUE on the last date stamped below.

I

14May5lC£
9Ma/5lL'

18]un'53Hlt»

171962

<lECCf"JUL27l98

LD 21-95m-ll,'50(2877sl6)476

YB 20350

UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY