[Illustration: _W.J. McDonald_]

 CAPTAIN BILL McDONALD
 TEXAS RANGER

 _A Story of Frontier Reform_

 BY
 ALBERT BIGELOW PAINE

 Author of "Th: Nast--His Period and
 His Pictures," etc., etc.

 With Introductory Letter by Theodore Roosevelt

 "No man in the wrong can stand up
 against a fellow that's in the right
 and keeps on a-comin'."

 Bill McDonald's Creed.

 SPECIAL SUBSCRIPTION EDITION
 Made by J.J. Little & Ives Co.
 New York, 1909

 Copyright, 1909, by
 WILLIAM J. McDONALD

 To

 EDWARD M. HOUSE

 WITHOUT WHOSE ENDURING
 FRIENDSHIP, WISE COUNSEL
 AND ACTIVE INTEREST THIS
 BOOK WOULD NEVER HAVE
 BEEN WRITTEN

CONTENTS

                                                                 Page

  Foreword: A letter from Theodore Roosevelt                      11

  I.--Introducing "Captain Bill"                                  13

  II.--An Old-Time Mississippi Childhood

  The kind of education for a young Ranger. Presence of
  mind early manifested                                           16

  III.--Emigration and Adventure

  A boy at the head of a household. Meeting the "Devil
  and his wife." An early reform                                  21

  IV.--The Making of a Texan

  Reconstruction and "treason." "Dave" Culberson to the
  rescue. Education, marriage and politics                        26

  V.--The Beginning of Reform

  Subduing a bad man. First official appointment. A
  deputy who did things. "Bill" McDonald and "Jim" Hogg           33

  VI.--Into the Wilderness

  A New Business in a New Land. A "Sand-lapper" shows
  his "sand"                                                      43

  VII.--Commercial Ventures and Adventures

  Bill McDonald's method of collecting a bill; and his method
  of handling bad men                                             48

  VIII.--Reforming the Wilderness

  The kind of men to be reformed. Early reforms in Quanah.
  Bad men meet their match                                        55

  IX.--Getting Even with the Brooken Gang

  The Brooken Gang don't wait for callers. One hundred
  and twenty-seven years' sentence for an outlaw                  65

  X.--New Tactics in No-Man's Land

  A man with a buck-board. Holding up a bad gang single-handed    69

  XI.--Redeeming No-Man's Land

  Bill McDonald and Lon Burson gather in the bad men.
  "No man in the wrong can stand up against a fellow that's
  in the right and keeps on a-comin'"                             78

  XII.--Some of the Difficulties of Reform

  "Frontier" law and practice. Caught in a Norther in
  No-Man's Land                                                   87

  XIII.--Captain Bill as a Tree-Man

  The lost drove of Lazarus. A pilgrim on a "paint-hoss."
  A new way of getting information in the "Strip"                 95

  XIV.--The Day for "Deliveries"

  The tree-man turns officer, and single-handed wipes out a
  bad gang                                                       106

  XV.--Cleaning Up the Strip

  Deputy Bill gets "stood off," but makes good. Bill Cook
  and "Skeeter," "A hell of a court to plead guilty in!"         115

  XVI.--Texas Ranger Service and Its Origin

  The massacre of Fort Parker; Cynthia Ann Parker's capture.
  Rangers and what they are for. Their characteristics
  and their requirements                                         126

  XVII.--Captain of Company B, Ranger Force

  Capture of Dan and Bob Campbell. Recommendations for
  a Ranger Captain. Governor "Jim" Hogg appoints his old
  friend on the strength of them                                 136

  XVIII.--An Exciting Indian Campaign

  First service as Ranger Captain. Biggest Indian scare on
  record                                                         145

  XIX.--A Bit of Farming and Politics

  Captain Bill and his goats. The "car-shed" convention          149

  XX.--Taming the Pan-handle

  The difference between cowboys and "bad men." How
  Captain Bill made cow-stealing unpopular                       154

  XXI.--The Battle with Matthews

  What happened to a man who had decided to kill Bill
  McDonald                                                       165

  XXII.--What Happened to Beckham

  An outlaw raid and a Ranger battle. Joe Beckham ends
  his career                                                     176

  XXIII.--A Medal for Speed

  Captain Bill outruns a criminal and wins a gold medal          179

  XXIV.--Captain Bill in Mexico

  Mexican thieves try to hold up Captain Bill and get a surprise.
  Mexican police make the same attempt with the
  same result. President Diaz tries to enlist him                182

  XXV.--A New Style in the Pan-handle

  Charles A. Culberson pays a tribute to Ranger marksmanship.
  Captain Bill in a "plug" hat                                   189

  XXVI.--Preventing a Prize-Fight

  The Fitzsimmons-Maher fight that didn't come off at El
  Paso, and why. Captain Bill "takes up" for a Chinaman          194

  XXVII.--The Wichita Falls Bank Robbery and Murder

  Kid Lewis and his gang take advantage of the absence of
  the Rangers. They make a bad calculation and come
  to grief. Good examples of Bill McDonald's single-handed
  work, and nerve                                                199

  XXVIII.--Captain Bill as a Peace-maker

  He attends certain strikes and riots alone with satisfactory
  results. Goes to Thurber and disperses a mob                   214

  XXIX.--The Buzzard's Water-Hole Gang

  The Murder Society of San Saba and what happened to it
  after the Rangers arrived                                      221

  XXX.--Quieting a Texas Feud

  The Reece-Townsend trouble, and how the factions were
  once dismissed by Captain Bill McDonald                        243

  XXXI.--The Trans-Cedar Mystery

  The lynching of the Humphreys and what happened to the
  lynchers                                                       250

  XXXII.--Other Mobs and Riots

  Rangers at Orange and at Port Arthur. Five against four
  hundred                                                        260

  XXXIII.--Other Work in East Texas

  Districts which even a Ranger finds hopeless. The Touchstone
  murder. The confession of Ab Angle                             265

  XXXIV.--A Wolf-Hunt with the President

  Captain Bill sees the President through Texas and accompanies
  him on the "best time of his life." Quanah Parker
  tells stories to the hunters                                   273

  XXXV.--The Conditt Murder Mystery

  A terrible crime at Edna, Texas. Monk Gibson's arrest
  and escape. The greatest man-hunt in history.                  290

  XXXVI.--The Death of Rhoda McDonald

  The end of a noble woman's life. Her letter of good-by         304

  XXXVII.--The Conditt Mystery Solved

  Captain Bill as a "sleuth." The tell-tale handprint. A
  Ranger captain's theories established                          308

  XXXVIII.--The Brownsville Episode: An Event of National
  Importance

  The Twenty-fifth Infantry's midnight raid                      315

  XXXIX.--Captain Bill on the Scene

  The situation at Brownsville. Rangers McDonald and
  McCauley defy the U.S. army. Captain Bill holds a
  court of inquiry                                               323

  XL.--What Finally Happened at Brownsville

  How State officials failed to support the men who quieted
  disorder and located crime                                     341

  XLI.--The Battle on the Rio Grande

  Assassination of Judge Stanley Welch. A Rio Grande
  election. Captain Bill ordered to the scene. An ambush;
  a surprise, and an inquest. Captain Bill's last battle.        357

  XLII.--The End of Rangering and a New Appointment

  State Revenue Agent of Texas. The "Full Rendition"
  Bill enforced. A great battle for Tax Reform, and a bloodless
  triumph                                                        373

  XLIII.--Conclusion

  Captain Bill McDonald of Texas--what he has been and
  what he is to-day                                              388

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

                                                                 Page

 Portrait of Capt. Bill McDonald                         _Frontispiece_

 Facsimile of Letter from Theodore Roosevelt                      11

 Introducing Reform in the Wilderness                             46

 Beginning a Campaign in No-man's Land                            75

 The Capture of Dan and Bob Campbell                             138

 The Battle with Matthews at Quanah                              173

 Quelling a Lynching Mob at Wichita Falls                        211

 In Camp with Theodore Roosevelt                                 283

 Captain Bill's Last Battle                                      367

[Illustration: THEODORE ROOSEVELT'S LETTER TO CAPTAIN McDONALD

 THE WHITE HOUSE
 WASHINGTON

 December 19, 1908.

 My dear Captain:

I am glad you are to publish your memorials. I shall always look back
with pleasure to our wolf hunt in Oklahoma. Yours has been a most
interesting life. You are one of the few men now living who served
in that warfare against crime and on behalf of order, which has well
nigh passed away with the old frontier conditions which called it
into being. For a number of years you were deputy sheriff, or deputy
marshal, or representative of the cattle men's association employed by
them to put a stop to cattle stealing and robbery under arms, and you
served for twenty years in that unique body, the Texas Rangers. It is a
career which henceforth it will be difficult to parallel.

 With all good wishes, believe me,

 Sincerely yours,

 Theodore Roosevelt

 Captain W.J. McDonald,
 New Amsterdam Hotel,
 New York, N.Y.]

FOREWORD

_A Letter from Theodore Roosevelt to Captain McDonald_

 The White House,
 Washington.

 December 19, 1908.

MY DEAR CAPTAIN: I am glad you are to publish your memorials. I shall
always look back with pleasure to our wolf-hunt in Oklahoma. Yours has
been a most interesting life. You are one of the few men now living who
served in that warfare against crime and on behalf of order, which has
well-nigh passed away with the old frontier conditions which called it
into being. For a number of years you were deputy sheriff, or deputy
marshal, or representative of the cattlemen's associations, employed by
them to put a stop to cattle stealing and robbery under arms, and you
served for twenty years in that unique body, the Texas Rangers. It is a
career which henceforth it will be difficult to parallel.

 With all good wishes, believe me,

 Sincerely yours,

 THEODORE ROOSEVELT.

CAPTAIN BILL McDONALD, TEXAS RANGER

Introducing "Captain Bill"

Captain Bill McDonald is a name that in Texas and the districts lying
adjacent thereto makes the pulse of a good citizen, and the feet of an
outlaw, move quicker. Its owner is a man of fifty-six, drawn out long
and lean like a buckskin thong, with the endurance and constitution of
the same.

In repose, Captain Bill is mild of manner; his speech is a gentle
vernacular, his eyes are like the summer sky. I have never seen him in
action, but I am told that then his voice becomes sharp and imperative,
that his eyes turn into points of gray which pierce the offender
through.

Two other features bespeak this man's character and career: his ears
and his nose--the former, alert and extended--the ears of the wild
creature, the hunter; the latter of that stately Roman architecture
which goes with conquest, because it signifies courage, resolution and
the peerless gift of command.

His nerves are of that quiet and steady sort which belong to a
tombstone and he does not disturb them with tobacco or stimulants of
any kind--not even with tea and coffee. In explanation, he once said:

"Well, you see, sometimes I have to be about two-fifths of a second
quicker than the other fellow, and a little quiver, then, might be
fatal."

Incidentally, it may be added that Captain Bill--they love to call him
that in Texas--is ranked as the best all-round rapid-fire marksman in
the State, and for the "other fellow" to begin shooting is believed to
be equivalent to suicide. Add to these various attributes a heart in
which tenderness, strict honesty and an overwhelming regard for duty
prevail, and you have in full, Captain William Jesse McDonald, formerly
Deputy Sheriff, Deputy U.S. Marshal and Ranger Captain, now State
Revenue Agent of Texas.

It is the story of this man that we shall undertake to tell. During
his twenty-five years or more of service in the field, he reduced
those once lawless districts known as the Pan-handle, No-man's Land,
and, incidentally, Texas at large to a condition of such proper
behavior that nowhere in this country is life and property safer than
in the very localities where only a few years ago the cow-thief and
the train-robber reigned supreme. Their species have become scarce
and "hard to catch" there now, and the skittish officials who used
to shield them have been trained to "stand hitched." The story of a
reform like that is worth the telling, for it is the unwritten history
of a territory so vast that if moved to the Atlantic seaboard it
would extend from New York to Chicago, from Lake Erie to the Gulf of
Mexico--its area equal to that of France and England combined, with
Wales, Belgium, the Netherlands and Switzerland thrown in, for good
measure. Furthermore, it is the story of a man who, in making that
history, faced death almost daily, often under those supreme conditions
when the slightest hesitancy--the twitch of a muscle or the bat of an
eyelid--a "little quiver," as he put it--would have been fatal; it is
the story of a man who time and again charged into the last retreat
of armed and desperate murderers and brought them out hand-cuffed,
the living ones, of course; it is the story of a man who, according
to Major Blocksom, in his report of the Brownsville troubles in 1906,
would "Charge hell with a bucket of water." In a word, it is the story
of a man who has done things, who is still doing them, and whose kind
is passing away forever.

II

An Old Time Mississippi Childhood

THE KIND OF AN EDUCATION FOR A YOUNG RANGER. PRESENCE OF MIND EARLY
MANIFESTED

In those days when the Mississippi planter was only something less
than a feudal baron, with slaves and wide domain and vested rights;
with horses, hounds and the long chase after fox and good red deer;
with horn and flagon and high home wassail in the hall--in those days
was born William Jesse McDonald, September 28th, 1852. His father,
Enoch McDonald, was the planter of the feudal type--fearless, fond of
the chase, the owner of wide acres and half a hundred slaves--while
his grandfather, of the clan McDonald on its native heath, was a step
nearer in the backward line to some old laird who led his men in
roistering hunt or bloody fray amid the green hills and in dim glens of
Scotland.

That was good blood, and from his mother, who was a Durham--Eunice
Durham--the little chap that was one day to be a leader on his own
account, inherited as a clear a strain. The feudal hall in Mississippi,
however, was a big old plantation house, built of hewn logs and riven
boards, with woods and cotton-fields on every hand; with cabins for the
slaves and outbuildings of every sort. That was in Kemper County, over
near the Alabama line, with DeKalb, the county-seat, about twenty miles
away.

It was a peculiar childhood that little "Bill Jess" McDonald had. It
was full of such things as the home-coming of the hunters with a deer
or a fox--sometimes (and these were grand occasions) even with a bear.
Then there were wonderful ball-games played by the Bogue Chita and
Mucklilutia Indians; exciting shooting-matches and horse races; long
fishing and swimming days with companions black and white, and the ever
recurring chase, with the blood-hounds, of some runaway slave. There
was not much book-schooling in a semi-barbaric childhood such as that.
There was a school-house, of course, which was used for a church and
gatherings of any sort, and sometimes the children had lessons there.
But the Kemper County teaching of that day was mainly to ride well,
to shoot at sight, and to act quickly in the face of danger. That was
the proper education for the boy who was one day to make the Texas
Pan-handle and No-man's land his hunting ground, with men for his
quarry.

Presence of mind he had as a gift, and it was early manifested. There
was a lake not far away where fishing and swimming went on almost
continuously during the summer days, and sometimes the small swimmers
would muddy the water near the shore and then catch the fish in their
hands. They were doing this one day when Bill Jess was heard to
announce excitedly:

"I've got him, boys! I've got him! You can't beat mine!" at the same
instant swinging his catch high for them to see.

That was a correct statement. They couldn't beat his catch and
they didn't want to. What they wanted to do was to get out of his
neighborhood without any unnecessary delay, for the thing he held up
to view was an immense deadly moccasin, grasped with both hands by
the neck, the rest of it curling instantly around the lower arm. His
hold was so tight and so near its head that the snake could not bite
him, but the problem was to turn it loose. His friends were all ashore
and at a safe distance. He did not lose his head, however, but wading
ashore himself he invited them one after another to unwind that snake.
Nobody cared for the job and he told them in turn and collectively what
he thought of them. Then he offered the honor to a little slave boy on
attractive terms.

"Alec," he said, "ef you-all don't come an' unwind this heah snake,
I'll beat you-all to death an' cut off yo' ears an' skin you alive and
give yo' carcass to the buzzards."

Those were the days when a little slave-boy could not resist an earnest
entreaty of that sort from the son of the household, and Jim came
forward, his face gray with gratitude, and taking hold gingerly he
unwound a yard or so of water-moccasin from Bill Jess, who, with the
last coil, flung his prize to the ground, where it was quickly killed,
it being well-nigh choked to death already.

But even the great gift of presence of mind will sometimes balk at
unfamiliar dangers. It was about this time that the Civil War broke
out, and Enoch McDonald enlisted a company to defend the Southern
cause. The little boy left behind was heart-broken. His father was his
hero, and when by and by the news came that the soldiers were encamped
at Meridian--a railway station about fifty miles distant--the lad made
up his mind to join them. He set out alone afoot and being used to
finding his way in unfamiliar places he made the journey with no great
difficulty, eating and sleeping where opportunity afforded. He arrived
at Meridian one morning, and began to look over the ground and to make
a few inquiries as to his father's headquarters. There was a busy
place, where a lot of supplies were being unloaded from what appeared
to be little houses on wheels. They were freight cars, but Bill Jess
didn't know it. He had never seen a railroad before, and he followed
along the track with increasing interest till he reached the engine,
which he thought must be the most wonderful and beautiful thing ever
created. Then suddenly it let off steam, the bell rang and the air
was split by a screaming whistle. It was too sudden and too strange
for his gift to work. The son of all the McDonald's and of a gallant
soldier set out for the horizon, never pausing until halted by the
sentry of his father's camp.

He was permitted to enter, and was directed to the drill ground, where
his father, who had been promoted for bravery to the rank of Major,
was superintending certain maneuvers. The little boy in his eagerness
ran directly into the midst of things, and Major McDonald, suddenly
seeing him, was startled into the conclusion that some dire calamity
had befallen his family and only Bill Jess had escaped to tell the
tale. Half sliding, half falling he dropped from his horse to learn the
truth. Then gratefully he lifted the lad up behind him and continued
the drill. Eunice McDonald was only a day or two behind Bill Jess, for
her instinct told her where the boy had gone. They remained a few days
in camp and then bade their soldier good-bye. They never saw him again,
for he was killed at the battle of Corinth, October 3d, 1862, charging
a breastworks at the head of his regiment, his face to the enemy, as a
soldier should die.[1] The boy, Bill Jess, ten years old, went after
his father's effects, which included two horses, both wounded. These
he brought home, but his soldier father had been buried on the field,
where he fell.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: Col. Rogers of Texas was killed in the same charge; Major
McDonald and Col. Rogers fell side by side, within a few feet of the
works.]

Emigration and Adventure

A BOY AT THE HEAD OF A HOUSEHOLD. MEETING "THE DEVIL AND HIS WIFE." AN
EARLY REFORM

The boy of ten was now the head of the household. He had his mother and
sister, and most of the negroes still remained; but he was the "man
of the house" and was mature before his time. Except in the matter of
strength, he was a man's equal--he could do whatever a man could do.
Already he was a crack shot, and at the age of twelve he hunted deer,
and killed them, alone. Long before, even during his father's first
absence, he had followed runaway slaves with the blood-hounds and
without other assistance had captured them and marched them back to the
plantation. It was not a child's work, and we may not approve of it
to-day, but we must confess that it constituted a special training for
the part he was to play in after years.

The war ended at last, and with it the McDonald fortune. Slaves and
cotton were gone. Only a remnant of land, then worthless, remained.
Eunice McDonald, widowed, with two children--her home left desolate by
the ravages of war--knew not which way to turn. A bachelor brother with
his face set Texasward offered to make a home for her in the new land.
She accepted the offer, and in 1866 they reached east Texas and settled
in Rusk County, near Henderson, the county-seat. Here the brother and
sister made an effort to retrieve their broken fortunes, with moderate
success. All the family worked hard, and young McDonald, now in his
fifteenth year and really a man in achievements, did a man's part on
the farm, attending school a portion of the year. His uncle permitted
him to earn some money for himself by cutting wood and hauling it to
the village, and a part of this money he laid away. Such leisure as
he had, he spent in following the hounds, and presently, even as a
boy, became famous for his marksmanship. Coon hunting was perhaps his
favorite diversion, and frequently with his dogs he threaded the dark
woods all night, alone.

But he had not as yet achieved that perfect fearlessness which
distinguished him in later years, and there is still another instance
recorded where his presence of mind failed to work. This latter is a
curious circumstance, indeed, and should be investigated, perhaps, by
the Society of Psychical Research.

He had been out on one of his long night tramps and was very tired next
evening when his work was done. Coming in, he threw himself down on a
lounge in the hallway and was soon sound asleep. By and by his mother
came along and wakened him.

"It's bed-time, Bill Jess," she said.

He got up, walked out toward the gate, and she supposed he was awake.
When he really awoke, he was a mile from there, leaning on the gate of
one Jasper Smith, the father of two young ladies whom Bill Jess was in
the habit of visiting. Realizing where he was, and what might happen to
him if discovered just there, he set out for home down the wide public
road, when suddenly a little way ahead he saw two objects perched on
the top of the rail fence. At first he thought they were two men, and
was not disturbed; then all at once they had left the top of that fence
and in the wink of an eye, lit in the road directly in front of him.

"It was the devil and his wife," McDonald declared. "They had horns and
tails, exactly like all the pictures of the devil I ever saw. Of course
it might have been the devil and his brother; anyway they belonged to
that family. I got by those things. I didn't debate a minute, but went
home as fast as my legs could carry me, emptying my pockets as I ran,
which I had always heard the darkeys say would keep off witches. There
was a short way home by the graveyard, but I didn't take it. I kept
to the big road, and when I did get home, I didn't wait to go around
to the door, but went right in the open window where my mother was.
She said that I had imagined everything, but I hadn't. There was no
imagination about it."

Curiously enough, soon after this happened a little flock of
school-children passing near the same rail fence in daylight, saw
something that scared them so badly that some of them fainted. But by
this time Bill Jess had gathered himself, and taking his gun he loaded
it heavily and went devil hunting. However, without success.

In spite of this slight lapse, young McDonald probably considered
himself a man, now. We have seen that he was already calling on the
young ladies, and in the locality where he lived an ability to drink
whiskey was regarded as another manly achievement. There was a small
still-house located not far from his home, and he got into the habit
of visiting it and of tasting the output. One day he tasted too much
and did not return either in good season or condition. When his mother
prepared to administer punishment, he pulled away from her and stated
that he would not take a whipping. But Eunice McDonald was not one
to condone such rebellion. She put away the rod and bided her time.
One night when Bill Jess was fast asleep she wrapped and pinned
him securely in a sheet and laid on such a thrashing as gave him a
permanent distaste both for liquor and disobedience.

At another time it was attentions paid to a young lady that got him
into difficulties. The young lady was the sister of his school teacher,
and the latter did not approve of anything resembling attachment
between the two. One day the young wooer wrote a letter in school,
and passing it down the line it unluckily fell under the eye of the
teacher, who captured and read it, forthwith.

"I'll settle with you at recess, sir," he said, nailing Bill Jess to
the seat with his eye.

Bill Jess didn't care to have him settle. He was willing to let the
account run right along, and to knock off the interest. He decided not
to wait. The teacher had his back to the board, working out something
hard, when Bill Jess went away. He didn't rush wildly. He didn't even
run--not exactly--but he lost no time, tip-toeing out of there. Neither
did he go home. He'd gone home once in disgrace, and he remembered what
had happened. Eunice McDonald's combination of sheet and horse-whip
offered no fresh inducements in that direction. He walked twenty miles
to a saw-mill and got a job. Then, by and by, everything blew over;
everybody was sorry, and he returned home to forgiveness and safety. A
cyclone hit the school-house for some reason or other about this time
and demolished it, Bill Jess being raked out of the debris undamaged in
any particular. Perhaps this was vindication.

IV

The Making of a Texan

RECONSTRUCTION AND "TREASON." "DAVE" CULBERSON TO THE RESCUE.
EDUCATION, MARRIAGE AND POLITICS

But though still a boy in years, being not more than sixteen, his
youth really came to an end now. It was the period of Reconstruction
in the South--a time of obnoxious enforcements on the one hand, and
rebellious bitterness on the other, with general lawlessness in the
back settlements. The military dominated the towns and there were
continuous misunderstandings between the still resentful conquered and
the aggressive and sometimes insolent conquerors. Young McDonald, with
the memory of his hero father, shot dead while leading his regiment
against these men in blue, was in no frame of mind to submit to any
indignity, real or fancied, at their hands. It happened just at this
time that one Colonel Greene, a relative of the McDonalds, was murdered
by negroes, who, being arrested, confessed the killing, stating that
they had mistaken Greene for a mule-buyer supposed to have a large
sum of money. The men were lodged in jail, but it was believed that
under the "carpet-bag" military law then prevailing they would escape
punishment. In later years, young McDonald was to become one of the
most strenuous defenders of official procedure--one of the bitterest
opponents of lynch-law the State of Texas has ever known; but he was
hot-blooded in 'sixty-eight, and the situation was not one to develop
moral principles. When, therefore, a mob formed and took the negroes
out of jail and hanged them, there is no record of Bill Jesse having
distinguished himself in their defense as he certainly would have done
in later years. Indeed, it is likely that if he did not help pull a
rope that night it was only because the rope was fully occupied with
other willing hands.

Of course the military descended on Henderson and set in to discipline
it for this concerted lawlessness. The townspeople as a whole, and the
relatives of Colonel Greene in particular, resented this occupation.
Charley Greene, a brother of the murdered man, in company with Bill
Jess, presently got into trouble with some soldiers who were deporting
themselves in a manner considered offensive, and the result was a
running fight with the military in the lead. The soldiers made for
their quarters in the court-house. It would have been proper to
leave them alone, then--to retire flushed with victory, as the books
say, and satisfied. But Greene could not rest. He persuaded Bill
Jess to stay with him, and they rode up and down in front of the
court-house, occasionally taking a shot at the windows, to punctuate
their challenge to warfare. Finally Greene decided that they could
charge the court-house and capture it. He primed himself with liquor
for the onset, and refused to heed his companion's advice to abandon
the campaign. The two ascended the court-house stairs, at last, with
pistols cocked. Greene had one in each hand and, with them, shoved open
the double doors at the head of the stairs. That was another mistake.
The soldiers were "laying for him" just inside, and in an instant
later his arms were pinioned, and he was a prisoner. The doors swung
to, then, and Bill Jess stood outside, wondering whether he ought to
charge to the rescue, wait there and be captured, or retire in good
order. With that gift of logic and rare presence of mind which would
one day make him famous, he decided to get out of there. He had a plan
for organizing a rescue party, and did in fact get a crowd together,
but in the meantime, under cover of rain and darkness, the soldiers
had taken their prisoner from Henderson and he was well on the way to
Jefferson, where there was a stockade. No attempt was made at the time
to arrest young McDonald, though soldiers frequently loitered about his
home premises, and with these he had many collisions, usually coming
off victorious. He was strong, wiry and fearless, and he had then, as
always, that piercing eye and a manner of going straight at things
without flutter or hesitation.

Still, he was laying up trouble for himself, for Greene's
court-martial was coming off, and Bill Jess, who went over to see if
he could be of any assistance, was promptly arrested while nosing
about the stockade, and landed with his relative on the inside. This
was a serious matter. The boy realized that it was, as soon as the
gates closed behind him. He realized it still more forcibly when a few
days later he and Greene were led into the court-house for military
trial, and he took a look at the men who were to prosecute him for
aiding in the crime of treason. Nor was he reassured when one of the
lawyers present announced that he would "defend that boy's case."
For there was nothing inspiring about this champion's appearance.
Nothing about him except his generosity seemed worth while. He wore
ill-fitting home-spun clothes, smoked a common clay pipe and his long
hair straggled down over his forehead. His shirt collar was carelessly
unbuttoned, and his trousers, too short for him, revealed common
home-knit yarn socks. Moreover, his eyes were half-closed and he had
a general air of sleepy indifference which did not disappear until it
came his turn to take part in the proceedings. Then suddenly the sleepy
eyes became alive, the shaggy hair was tossed back, the clay pipe was
laid on the table, and Dave Culberson, afterward known as an eminent
lawyer and statesman, arose and made such a plea in behalf of the boy
whose father had died at Corinth, and whose mother and sister relied
on him to-day for protection, that only one verdict remained in the
minds of his hearers when he closed. Bill Jess was acquitted, but his
relative, Charley Greene, was less fortunate. He remained in a Northern
prison several years before he was finally released. Dave Culberson
afterward represented his district in Congress, and the boy he defended
eventually served the son, Charles A. Culberson--then Governor--now, in
1909, United States Senator from Texas.

It is likely that this bit of experience with hot-headed lawlessness,
and the result thereof, proved of immense value to young McDonald. From
that time forward we find him a peace-maker, a queller of disturbances,
a separator of combatants, even at great personal risk. He had never
been a seeker after trouble and he seemed now to develop a natural
talent for preserving the peace. Wherever guns are drawn, and they were
drawn pretty frequently and upon small provocation in that day and
locality, he stepped in without hesitation and the would-be slayers
were disarmed by what seemed a veritable sleight-of-hand. In 1871, when
he was nineteen years old, he decided to follow a commercial life,
and with the money saved from the sale of the wood he had cut and
hauled, he took a course in Soule's Commercial College, at New Orleans,
graduating in 1872. Penmanship came easy to him, and upon his return
to Henderson he taught a writing class. Within the year he was able
to establish a small store in connection with the ferry at Brown's
Bluff on the Sabine River, between Henderson and Longview. Here, with
his ferry assistant he kept bachelor's hall, not the most congenial
existence, perhaps, for one with his natural leaning toward female
society. At all events, he gave it up, by and by, and after a brief
sojourn in Longview established himself in Wood County, at Mineola,
then a newly established and busy railway terminus. This was in 1875,
and his venture was a success. Soon he was considered the leading
grocer of the town.

It was during this period that McDonald made the acquaintance of
James S. Hogg, who in later life, as Governor of Texas, was to confer
his most useful official appointment--that of Ranger Captain, thus
enabling him to do much of the work which has identified his name
with the State's constructive history. Hogg, then a young man, was
Justice of the Peace at the county-seat, Quitman, a few miles distant
from Mineola, and was also conducting a paper there. He bought his
groceries of McDonald, and the account ran along in a go-as-you-please
sort of a way. They were good friends, and courted together, and it
was through Hogg that young McDonald met Miss Rhoda Isabel Carter,
a young woman with fine nerve and force of character--just the girl
for a Texas regulator's wife. And such, in due season, she was to
become, for he married her in January, 1876. His friendship for Hogg
continued for some time after that, but came to a sudden end, one day,
when Hogg, who had been elected County Attorney, with characteristic
conscientiousness prosecuted McDonald and others for carrying concealed
weapons--McDonald's possession of such a weapon having been revealed
through his aiding in the capture of a gang of boisterous disturbers of
the peace. McDonald rose and defended his own case, declaring he had
quit business to do his duty as a good citizen, and that he would stay
in jail the balance of his days before he would pay a fine.

With his usual frank fearlessness he said some hard things to Hogg
in the presence of the court, and though discharged, the two were
estranged for a considerable period. Then a truce was patched up,
but only for a time. Both were sharply interested in politics and
on opposing sides in the congressional convention. They were near
coming to blows over their differences, and were only separated by the
intervention of friends. It is not pleasant to record this of these two
worthy men, but after all they were only human beings, and young, and
then the sequel makes it still further worth while.

V

The Beginning of Reform

SUBDUING A BAD MAN. FIRST OFFICIAL APPOINTMENT. A DEPUTY WHO DID
THINGS. "BILL" MCDONALD AND "JIM" HOGG

But now came Bill McDonald's first official appointment and service.
Living just outside of Mineola was a man named Golden, alias George
Gordon, of hard character, and the owner of several bulldogs, similarly
endowed. Man and dogs became a menace to travel in that neighborhood,
as they lived near a public road and were allowed at large. The man was
particularly quarrelsome and ugly and was said to have killed several
more or less inoffensive persons. He always carried arms--the customary
pistol, and a bowie knife--the latter worn in a scabbard "down his
back." He was an expert at throwing this weapon, and altogether a
terror to the community. Bill McDonald would naturally resent the
domination of a man like Gordon, and when one day the latter came to
town with one of his unruly bulldogs, and the dog set upon and injured
McDonald's prized pointer, there was trouble, active and immediate.
McDonald's reputation as a good man to let alone was already
established at Mineola. He was known as a capable marksman--fearless,
resolute and very sudden. When, therefore, he produced a six-shooter
for the avowed purpose of killing the bulldog, its master, who,
like every bully by trade, was a coward at heart, interceded humbly
for the dog's life, promising to take the animal home and leave him
there. McDonald agreed to the arrangement, but for the benefit of the
community at large he promptly applied to Sheriff Pete Dowell for
a commission as deputy, in order that in future he might restrain
officially the obnoxious Gordon and others of his kind. The commission
was promptly conferred, and thus Bill Jess McDonald, quietly and
without any special manifest, stepped into the ranks of Texas official
regulators, where, in one capacity or another, he was to serve so long
and well.

But, however quiet his enlistment, his service was to be of another
sort. Those were not quiet days, and the officer who set out to enforce
the law was apt to become a busy person. Gordon very soon appeared
again in Mineola, and after investing in a good deal of bad whisky,
went on the war-path, flourishing a six-shooter and giving out the
information that nobody could arrest him. He was in the very midst of a
militant harangue when Deputy McDonald suddenly appeared on the scene,
and before Gordon could gather himself, he was, by some magic "twist
of the wrist," disarmed, arrested and on the way to the calaboose. He
demurred and resisted, but slept that night behind lock and bars. Next
morning he refused breakfast and demanded release. Deputy McDonald left
him in a mixed condition of reflection and profanity, returning at noon
to find him sober, subdued and hungry. Upon promise of good behavior
for the future, he was taken before a justice, where he pled guilty
and paid a fine. Then he took his place as the first example of a long
line of wonderful cures set down to Captain Bill McDonald's credit,
to-day; for he gave little trouble after that and remained mostly in
retirement, to be set upon, at last, by his own dogs, who inflicted
terrible wounds. His death soon afterward was thought to be the result
of this attack.

But the Gordon experience was mild enough, after all, compared with
the many which followed, and is only set down because it marks the
beginning of a career. Indeed, an episode of larger proportions was
already under way. In the timber lying adjacent to Mineola, some three
hundred tie-cutters were encamped, supplying cross-ties for the I. &
G.N. road. They were a drinking, lawless lot, and on Saturday nights
the Mineola streets were filled with riot and disorder. The city
marshal, George Reeves, and Deputy McDonald had on several occasions
made arrests and such enforcement of the law had been regarded by the
tie-gang as an affront to all. They sent word to the officers, at last,
that they would be on hand in full force, on the following Saturday,
and that the calaboose might as well go out of commission, so far as
they were concerned.

Saturday night came, and according to promise the tie-cutters were on
the street, numerous and noisy. McDonald and Reeves were among them,
keeping a general lookout for trouble, not always together. The saloons
were full, presently, and the men getting constantly more noisy and
quarrelsome. Seeing a commotion at the rear of a cheap hotel where a
number of the men had gathered, McDonald went over there, and found
Reeves surrounded. Without hesitation he shoved a way through, with his
pistol, until he stood by Reeves's side. Reeves had arrested a man, and
a general riot was imminent. The prisoner was very drunk and disorderly
and demanding that he be allowed to go to his room before accompanying
the officer. Of course the whole intention was to precipitate a general
fight, during which the officers were to be pummeled and battered to a
jelly. Catching the drift of matters, McDonald said:

"All right, take him to his room, if he's got one. I'll take care of
this crowd."

There was something in the business-like confidence of that statement
which impressed the crowd. And then he had such a handy way of holding
a six-shooter. Nobody quite wanted to die first, and Reeves started for
the back entrance of the hotel with his man. As they entered the door
the fellow reeled against the casing and fell to the ground. Then a
general stampede started, for it was called out that Reeves had struck
him. McDonald said:

"Stop you fellers! The fool fell down. I'll shoot the first man that
interferes!"

That was another discouraging statement from a man who had a habit of
keeping his word. It seemed to the crowd that an officer like that
didn't play fair. He didn't argue at all. Somebody was likely to get
hurt, if they didn't get that gun away from him. Movements to this end
were started here and there, but they didn't get near enough to the
chief actor to be effective. Finally when Reeves and his prisoner set
out for the calaboose, the crowd moved in that direction, timing their
steps to a chorus of threats and profanity. Reeves and McDonald made
no reply until they arrived at the lockup; then, the disturbers being
there handy, the officers began gathering them in, a dozen at a time.
It was a genuine surprise-party for the tie-men. They were too much
astonished for any concerted movement, and when invited at the points
of those guns to step inside and make themselves at home, they did not
have the bad taste to refuse.

"Step in, gentlemen; always room for one more," might have been
the form of the invitation, but it wasn't. It was a Bill McDonald
invitation and it was full of compliments and promises that burnt holes
wherever they hit anything. The calaboose was full in a brief time and
a box-car on a nearby switch was used as an annex. By the time it was
full, there were no more disturbers. The outer edges had melted away.
The woods were full of them. The turbulent tie-men of Texas were sober
and sensible by Monday morning and allowed to go, under promise of good
behavior, and upon payment of adequate fines.

Mineola suddenly became a moral town. Amusements of the old sort
languished. Drunk or sober, it was humiliating to flourish a gun, only
to be suddenly disarmed and marched to the calaboose by a man who acted
as if he thought he was gun-proof. It was hard to understand--it was
supernatural. It was better to go to the next town to nourish the gun.

But by this time Deputy Bill Jess was not satisfied with the quiet
life. He had found his proper vocation--that of active enforcement of
the law--and he was moved to pursue it in remoter places. A certain
desperate outlaw, a white man by the name of Jim Bean, had committed
crimes in Smith County, whence he had escaped to Kansas. There he had
killed a city marshal and returned once more to Smith County, which
adjoins Wood on the south. The officers of Smith County had surprised
Jim Bean and his brother Ed, at a small station where they had gone to
rob some freight cars, but the two men had handled their revolvers so
desperately that they had been allowed to escape, and pursuit of them
had been abandoned.

This was the kind of game that Deputy Bill always enjoyed hunting.
It was worth while. He made frequent still-hunts along the Sabine
River, the dividing line between Wood and Smith, hoping to locate his
quarry on the side of his jurisdiction. Perhaps the men knew of these
excursions and remained safely, as they believed, on the other side.
At last, however, the temptation to cross the line became too strong
for a hunter like Bill Jess. The impulse of the Ranger was already upon
him. He crossed the Sabine River into Smith, with his Winchester on his
saddle, and became an official poacher. The river bottom was overgrown
in places with tall cane-brake, and he had reason to believe that the
Beans were hiding, and storing their loot, in the dense growth. He had
heard a rumor, too, that a certain family of swamp-dwellers (negroes)
were in league with the men, and, reflecting on the matter, he
concluded to visit this house, both for the purpose of investigation,
and to borrow a shot-gun, which he thought might be more useful, in a
man-chase through a thick cane-brake swamp, than his rifle. Arriving at
the suspected house, he told in his mildest manner a tale of a wounded
deer not far away, and borrowed a shot-gun, as well as the information
that the men and dogs of the place were in the brakes. He now began a
careful still-hunt for his game, and presently came full upon Jim Bean,
who was on a horse, with a shot-gun, guarding some stolen hogs. Bean
was a great burly creature, more animal than man, from having lived and
slept so long in the woods and brakes. He had been shot at many times,
and had been desperately wounded, but such was his natural vitality,
and so hardened was he by exposure that it seemed impossible to kill
him.

Before Bean could move, now, Deputy McDonald had him covered and
commanded him to get off his horse or he would shoot him dead. Bean
obeyed and McDonald threw his own leg over his saddle and slid to the
ground, still covering Bean with his gun. Suddenly Bean made a dash for
a large tree, turning to shoot just as he reached this cover. McDonald
was too quick, however, and let go with two loads of buckshot, which
struck Bean in several places, knocking him down. He then made off in
the direction of a slough, toward thick hiding. The shot-gun was a
muzzle loader and before McDonald could get it charged again he heard
somebody coming through the brush. It was Ed Bean and some negroes. He
was ready for them by the time they came in sight, and throwing his gun
to position he commanded them to halt. Instead of doing so they turned
and disappeared in the direction from which they had come. McDonald
now mounted his horse and started in pursuit of the wounded Jim Bean.
He found where he had crossed the slough, and presently came to the
desperado's gun, which had been thrown away in his hurry. Blood-stains
made the trail easy to follow. Soon a powder-horn and then a pair of
boots lay in the path of flight. McDonald followed six miles to a cabin
occupied by negroes. Bean was not in the cabin, but barefoot prints
led into the woods. The man-hunter followed them and finally overtook
their owner. It was not Bean. The officer had been tricked--Bean had
escaped while his pursuer had been following this false lead. It was
dark, now, and further search was hopeless. Next morning the outlaws
had vanished from the country. They never returned and were heard of no
more until some time after, when news came from Wise County that both
the Bean brothers had been killed, resisting arrest.

While this episode did not turn out altogether successfully, inasmuch
as the game got away, it had a better result in that it effected a
complete reconciliation between McDonald and his old, and what was to
be his lifetime friend, James S. Hogg. Certain jealous officials were
bent upon making trouble for the young deputy for overstepping his
authority by working outside of his own county, and especially for
shooting a man in attempting an illegal arrest. McDonald held that
the conditions justified his act, and was going to make his fight on
that ground. But it never came to a fight, for when the matter was
brought to the notice of the grand jury, Hogg, by this time District
Attorney, went before that body, and regardless of the old animosity
between McDonald and himself, and of the fact that they were not yet on
speaking terms, declared that if the jury found an indictment against
the deputy for so worthy an undertaking as that which, irregular
or not, had resulted in ridding the country of a gang of outlaws,
he would _nolle pros_ the case--in other words, he would refuse to
prosecute.

When McDonald heard of this, he went to his old friend at once.

"Jim," he said, "you're a gentleman, and I know I want to act right.
Let's not be enemies any more." And they never were.

Ten years later, Jim Hogg, as Governor of Texas, would make it possible
for Bill McDonald to bring down criminals in any county of that mighty
State. But this is further along in our story.

VI

Into the Wilderness

A NEW BUSINESS IN A NEW LAND. A "SAND-LAPPER" SHOWS HIS SAND

Hard times came on in Mineola. Railroad building was at an end; crops
failed; men who had bought goods on long credit could not pay. "Bill"
McDonald, as he was now usually called, had been one to carry long
lines of credit for his customers, and he was hurt accordingly. He gave
up business, at last, and in 1883 invested in cattle whatever remained
to him, and set his steps further westward where there was free grass.
He headed toward Wichita County, which was almost an unknown land in
that day, driving his cattle before him, his young wife at his side,
both eager to begin a new life in a new land.

To drive cattle across the wild Texas prairies, twenty-five years ago,
was an experience worth while. There were no fences, no boundaries and
few roads. Settlers were far between. The climate in any season was
likely to be mild; the air was pure and stimulating; society, such as
it was, had not many conventions.

Yet, few and fundamental as were the conditions, they were of a sort to
develop sudden situations, and one had to be ready to face them fairly
and firmly or write himself down as unfit for the wild free life of the
range. The grass was free, but there were always those who wanted to
form a trust of its vast areas and make trespassers of the smaller men.
McDonald had scarcely located his herd and pitched his tent when two of
these magnates notified him that he had better move. It was a bluff, of
course, and the man who had been deputy sheriff for half a dozen years
and purified a bad community was the wrong man to use it on. He asked
in that quiet way of his, to let him have a look at their titles, and
when they could not produce them, he added that he thought he'd stay
where he was. They began to tell him of some of the things that were
likely to happen if he did that, but he did not seem impressed by the
information. He repeated that he would stay where he was, and that
anyone who did not wish to be in his neighborhood had his permission to
move on, to other free grass. Perhaps they looked him over a bit more
carefully, then, and noticed the peculiarity of his nose and of his
eyes, and the handy and casual way he had of picking off the heads of
rattlesnakes and such things, with a six-shooter, while he talked. At
all events they did not refer to the matter again and even cultivated
his friendship. In a neighborhood where cattle thieves were beginning
to be troublesome a man like that would be handy to have around. They
were to have an example presently of his willingness and ability to
defend the rights of ownership--a small example, but convincing.

It was no easy matter to keep a herd intact in those days. In a land
of free grass, where the cost of cattle was chiefly the expense
of herding, it was not likely that the moral title to the cattle
themselves would be very highly regarded, especially where brands had
been obliterated, or where a few strays mingled with a larger herd.
The outlaw pure and simple was bad enough, but to the newcomer with a
small bunch of "cows" (cattle, regardless of gender), the vast roaming
herd, guarded by a veritable army of punchers whose respect for any
law was small enough, was an even greater menace. McDonald knew of
these conditions, and when, soon after his arrival, some of his cattle
strayed away, he set out to inspect the surrounding herds. After riding
some distance he came upon a large drove, evidently on its way to
market. It was about noon and the men were "rounding-in" for dinner.
McDonald started to address a herder, when the man turned abruptly and
started off. McDonald immediately began looking through the cattle,
whereupon the herder wheeled.

"What do you want in there?" he asked roughly.

"I was looking for hobbled horses," was the easy reply. The puncher
made some surly comment and rode away.

McDonald, presently satisfied that his stray cattle were not with that
portion of the drove, continued his search further along and came up
with the "chuck-wagon" where dinner was being prepared. Cow-men are
hospitable and the foreman invited him to dismount and join them. He
did so, and a little later the surly puncher came in, giving the camp
guest anything but a friendly look. In the course of the meal the
visitor was asked where he was from.

"Mineola," he said, "Wood County." The surly herder spoke up.

"These d--d sand-lappers (east-Texans) are getting too thick out here."

McDonald set down his coffee.

"The d--d skunks and prairie dogs are already too thick," he said.

An instant later the puncher had out his pistol, but the sand-lapper
was still quicker. The puncher was covered before he could bring his
weapon to bear. McDonald said:

"Turn it loose! Drop it!"

[Illustration: INTRODUCING REFORM IN THE WILDERNESS.

"He was disarmed with amazing suddenness."]

The herder still clutched the weapon which he was afraid to raise. The
sand-lapper stepped nearer to him, and with a sudden movement rapped
him smartly on the head with the heavy barrel of his six-shooter. It
was a thing that as a deputy he had done often, and it was always
effective. The puncher dropped his gun. One of his comrades sprang to
his assistance, but was covered and disarmed with amazing suddenness.
The foreman interfered, now, and the beginner of the disturbance was
led away to a brook to have his head bathed and bandaged; whereupon the
sand-lapper quietly finished his dinner, thanked his host, continued
the search for his missing stock, and when he had found them, set
out for home. Meeting a group of punchers among which was his surly
friend with a now bandaged head, he expected further trouble. Nothing
happened. The sand-lapper and his missing cows had the right of way.

VII

Commercial Ventures and Adventures

BILL MCDONALD'S METHOD OF COLLECTING A BILL; AND HIS METHOD OF HANDLING
BAD MEN

The inclination to commercial enterprise still survived. At the end of
a year McDonald sold his cattle and invested in the lumber business at
Wichita Falls--another railway terminus, dropped down in the prairie,
with a population of about two thousand, at that time. A little later
he established a branch business at Harrold when the railway reached
that point. Two big lumber yards were already established at Wichita
Falls, and the competition was strenuous. It was a brief experience for
McDonald, for he presently yearned for the freer life of the range,
and soon abandoned commerce, once more, for cattle--this time for
good. Yet the experience was not without valuable return, inasmuch as
it established for him in Wichita Falls, quickly and permanently, a
reputation of a useful kind in a country where law and order are likely
to be of an elemental, go-as-you-please sort. It happened in this wise:

There was a merchant in Baylor County, Texas, to whom Lumberman
McDonald sold a good bill, on time. The account ran along, until one
day the county judge of Baylor, one Melvin, dropped in and stated
that he had called to settle the amount for his neighbor. He gave his
own check for it and McDonald supposed the matter had ended. A few
days later the bank returned Melvin's check as worthless. Evidently
the quiet unobtrusive life which Bill Jess had been living as a lumber
merchant had given the impression that he was an inoffensive person who
would pocket a loss rather than make trouble, especially with a county
judge, who added to his official prestige the reputation of being a
very bad man from "far up Bitter Creek." However, this impression was
a mistake. McDonald ascertained that his customer had really sent the
money by Melvin, to pay his bill, and considered what he ought to do.
Morally, perhaps legally, he could have demanded payment a second time,
on the ground that the said customer, being acquainted with Melvin,
should have selected a more reliable messenger. But that was not the
Bill McDonald way. What he did was to write to Melvin, demanding an
explanation; adding in pretty positive terms that he expected immediate
settlement. No reply came and a second and a third letter followed,
each getting more definite as to phrase. Then one day Melvin and
certain henchmen from Baylor appeared on the streets of Wichita Falls.
McDonald who had heard of their arrival, suddenly confronted Melvin and
delivered himself in whatever terms and emphasis as he had on hand at
the moment. Melvin withdrew, gathered his clans and laid for McDonald
in a saloon where the latter had to pass. Though previously warned of
the ambush, McDonald did pass, with the result that next morning Melvin
settled his bill in full, paid for a glass door that he had broken,
and a fine and costs amounting to sixty-five dollars, for carrying
concealed weapons. What really happened to Melvin is best told in Bill
Jess's own testimony when that same morning he had, himself, been
summoned to answer a charge for carrying concealed weapons, disturbing
the peace, and for assault--said action being the result of Melvin's
judicial pull. Arriving at the court-room the prosecuting attorney
asked McDonald if he had a lawyer.

"No," he said, "I don't need anybody to defend me for knocking that
scoundrel over. I'll attend to my own case, whatever is necessary."

The attorney then stated the charge to the court. Bill Jess waited
until he was through and then asked permission to speak.

"Your honor," he said, rising, "I'm a busy man with no time to be
fooling around this way with men who give bogus checks and steal
horses and such like, but if your honor will spare about a minute I'll
tell the court what happened." He then gave a history of the lumber
transaction, and added the sequel, as follows:

"When I wrote him as strong a letter as I could frame up, and as would
go through the mail, he came down with a crowd of what he thought was
fighting men, and I met him and tried like a gentleman to persuade him
to settle up and to convince him what a dad-blamed rascal he was; which
he pled guilty to, and didn't deny. Then he gathers his feeble bunch
of fighters together, arms them up with six-shooters and corrals them
in Bill Holly's saloon, that I had to pass, going home. I met Johnny
Hammond who tried to persuade me not to take that street--said those
fellows were up there and I'd better go in some other direction. I
said I wasn't in the habit of going out of my way for such cattle, and
proceeded on up the street. When I got in front of Bill Holly's, Melvin
and his warriors stepped out. Melvin wanted an explanation of my former
remarks, and I gave it to him and added some more which I would not
like to mention in the presence of the court. Then he pulled out a big
white-handled forty-five six-shooter, but being a little slow with it,
I grabbed it by the barrel and hit him with my fist two or three times,
which kind of jarred him loose from his gun. Then I gave him a rap on
the head with it and knocked him through Bill Holly's glass-front door,
into the saloon. His pals pulled their guns, but I covered them with
the one I took away from Melvin and they nearly broke the furniture to
pieces getting out of there. I didn't see any more of any of them until
next morning. Then I looked up the bunch and got a check in full, with
interest, from Melvin, and made him pay Bill Holly five dollars for
his glass door. So far as carrying a gun is concerned, I had one, and
I got another from this fellow here who had pulled it on me. I took
it away from him and hit him with it, and I have the same here in my
possession now, to turn over to the Court."

Bill Jess reached down somewhere and drawing forth the big white
handled six-shooter, laid it down in front of the court. Then suddenly
turning upon Melvin who was present, he looked him straight through.

"Melvin, is not all I have told the Court true?" he demanded.

Melvin found himself unable to tell anything but the truth, just then.

"Yes, sir," he said, quite meekly.

McDonald was discharged and Melvin paid a fine as before noted.
Following this incident came another which solidified Bill
McDonald's reputation for nerve, in Wichita Falls. Bill Holly, the
aforementioned--whose name in another part of the State had been Buck
Holly, which he forgot when he left East Texas, after getting into a
mix-up, during which the other man died--one day absorbed an overdose
of his own stock-in-trade and set forth to shoot up the town. He went
afoot and let go at things generally, emptying the streets and bringing
business to a standstill. The city marshal was organizing a posse to
take him, and summoned McDonald, when McDonald said:

"Give me the key to the calaboose, and the' won't be no need of a
posse."

He took the key in one hand and a six-shooter in the other; marched up
to where Holly was practicing on front-doors and hardware signs; struck
the gun close up under the nose of the disturber, and with his quick
magic, disarmed him and set out with him for the lockup. Holly begged
and pleaded and was finally locked in a room in the hotel. He broke a
window before morning and promptly paid for it by McDonald's request.
He made a fairly quiet citizen during the remainder of McDonald's stay
in Wichita Falls.

Removing to Hardeman County was the only thing that saved Bill
McDonald from being drafted into official service where he was. Law
abiding citizens with his gifts are scarce enough anywhere, and
they were needed in the cattle districts of Texas. There was not
much law in those parts, none at all outside of the towns. In the
countries bordering on Indian Territory and up through the Pan-handle
a man had to "stand pat" whatever his hand, and hold his own by
strength of arm and quickness of trigger. Cow thieves and cut-throats
abounded. Officials often worked in accord with them, or were afraid
to prosecute. The man who would neither co-operate with outlaws nor
condone their offences was already on the ground and would presently be
in the field. It was a wide field and a fruitful one and the harvest
was ripe for the gathering.

Hardeman County was a tough locality in the early eighties. It had
lately been organized, and the settlers were cow-men, cowboys and
gamblers--lawless enough, themselves--and another element, which
pretended to be these things, but in reality consisted of outlaws,
pure and simple. The latter lived chiefly off of the herds, driving
off horses and cattle and hiding them in remote and inaccessible
places. Often cattle were butchered; their hides, which were marked
with brand and ear-marks were destroyed to avoid identification, and
the meat was sold. Men who did these things were known well enough,
but went unapprehended for the reasons named. In certain sections of
the Territory itself and in No-man's Land (a piece of disputed ground
lying to the north of the Pan-handle, now a part of Oklahoma) matters
were even worse. In these places there was hardly a semblance of law.
Certainly the need of active reform--of an official crusader, without
fear and above reproach--was both wide and vociferous.

VIII

Reforming the Wilderness

THE KIND OF MEN TO BE REFORMED. EARLY REFORMS IN QUANAH. BAD MEN MEET
THEIR MATCH

It was in 1885 that Bill McDonald disposed of his lumber interests in
Wichita Falls and at Harrold, reinvested in cattle and set out once
more for the still farther west. He had filed on some school-land
on Wanderer's Creek in Hardeman County, about four miles from where
the town of Quanah now stands, and in the heart of what was then the
wilderness. Somewhat previous to this, McDonald, whose reputation as
a man of nerve had traveled to Harrold, was one night called upon by
Ranger Lieutenant Sam Platt to assist in handling a gang of outlaws,
known as the Brooken Band, that infested the neighborhood. The Brookens
had ridden into Harrold and were running things in pretty much their
own way. Platt and McDonald promptly bore down upon them and a running
fight ensued as the Brookens retreated. About one hundred shots were
fired altogether, but it was dark and the range was too great for
accuracy. Nothing was accomplished, but the event marked the beginning
of a warfare between Bill McDonald and a band of cut-throats, the end
of which would be history. It was soon after this first skirmish that
McDonald sold out his lumber business and set out for his Hardeman
County ranch. As on his former migration he drove his cattle to the new
land, and after the first hard day's drive, camped at nightfall in a
pleasant spot where grass was plentiful and water handy. It seemed a
good place, and man and beast gladly halted for food and rest.

But next morning there was trouble. When preparations for an early
start were under headway, it was suddenly discovered that four of the
best horses and a fine Newfoundland dog were missing. Investigation
of the surrounding country was made, and two of the horses were found
astray, evidently having broken loose from their captors. It was
further discovered that the Brooken Band had a rendezvous in what was
known as the Cedar-brakes, a stretch of rough country, densely covered
with scrubby cedar, located about twelve miles to the south westward.
McDonald naturally felt that it was again his "move" in the Brooken
game, but it did not seem expedient to stop the journey with the herd
and undertake the move, just then, so biding his time he pushed on, to
his land on Wanderer's Creek, where he established his ranch, fenced
his property, built a habitation for himself and the wife who was
always ready to follow him into the wilderness; then he rode over to
Margaret, at that time the county-seat, and asked Sheriff Jim Alley--a
good man with his hands over full--to appoint him deputy that he might
begin the work which clearly must be done in that country before
it could become a proper habitation for law abiding citizens. The
commission was readily granted, and from that appointment dates "that
tired feeling" which the bad men of Texas began to have when they heard
the sound of Bill McDonald's name.

Another word as to the kind of men with which an officer in those days
had to deal. They were not ordinary malefactors, but choice selections
from the world at large. "What was your name before you came to Texas?"
was a common inquiry in those earlier days, and it was often added
that a man could go to Texas when he couldn't go anywhere else. It was
such a big State, with so many remote fastnesses, so many easy escapes
across the borders. It was the natural last resort of men who could
not live elsewhere with safety or profit. There is a story of a man
arrested in Texas in those days for some misdemeanor, who was advised
by his lawyer to leave the State without delay.

"But where shall I go?" asked the troubled offender, "I'm in _Texas,
now_."

They were the men who had borne other names before they came to Texas
and who were "in Texas, now," because they could not live elsewhere and
keep off of the scaffold, that Bill McDonald undertook to exterminate.
He was willing to undertake the task single handed, if necessary, and
in reality did much of his work in that manner, as we shall see.

With his commission in his pocket Bill Jess was not long in getting
down to his favorite employment, that of man-hunting. He began quietly,
for he wanted to identify some of the men nearer at hand who were in
one way and another connected with the Cedar-brakes gang. Bill Brooken,
a notorious outlaw, was the head of the band, and his brother Bood was
one of its chief members. The Brookens were wanted not only for cattle
stealing, but for train-robbing and murder, as well. A certain Bull
Turner was one of their victims. Turner was said to have been one of
the Brooken gang at an earlier time, but had abandoned that way of life
and made an effort to become a decent citizen. The gang believed he had
given information, and somewhat later when he was driving across the
country with a prominent stockman--a Hebrew named Lazarus--the Brookens
and half a dozen of their followers suddenly dashed out of a roadside
concealment and began firing. Turner was instantly killed, and Lazarus
fell over the dash-board in a wild effort to get behind something.
The frightened horses, one of them wounded in the foot, ran madly all
the way to town with Lazarus still clinging to the whiffletrees. He
received no injury, but acquired a scare which was permanent.

With the assistance of Sheriff Alley--also short a horse, through
the industries of the Brooken gang--and one Pat Wolforth, who was
acquainted with certain of the silent partners of the outlaws and stood
ready to give information, several arrests were made, presently, and
trouble filled the air.

Threatening letters now began to come to the new deputy, warning
him against further procedure--promising him death and torture of
many varieties if he did not suspend operations. Such letters always
stimulated Bill McDonald to renewed enterprise. He redoubled his
efforts and brought in offenders of various kinds almost daily.
Cattle stealers began to migrate to other counties. Their friends and
beneficiaries grew nervous.

Meantime, the railroad had reached Hardeman and the town of
Quanah--named for Chief Quanah Parker, son of the historic Cynthia
Ann Parker--had sprung up. It was the typical tough place and certain
bad men still at large came there to proclaim vengeance and to "lay"
for the men who were making them trouble. Among these disturbers was
one John Davidson of Wilbarger County, on the borders of which the
Cedar-brakes gang was located. Davidson was reputed to have killed
several men and was believed to be an accessory of the Brooken Band,
but was thus far not positively identified, and remained unapprehended.
He did not hesitate, however, to boast of his always being armed and
ready for men like Bill McDonald, and especially for Pat Wolforth who
was getting good friends and neighbors into trouble.

Davidson appeared presently on the streets of Quanah, flourishing his
fire-arms and making his boasts. McDonald suddenly arrived on the
scene, and without any parley whatever stepped quickly up to Davidson
and disarmed him so suddenly that the terror of Wilbarger stood dazed,
and did not recover himself until he was half way to the office of
justice, where he paid a fine. It was an unusual proceeding. It was
unprecedented. The customary thing was a noisy warfare of words,
followed by a general shooting, with the bad man in possession when the
smoke had cleared away. This new method was prosaic. Davidson couldn't
understand it at all. He tried it again the next week, with the same
result. He kept on trying it, and each time settled for his amusement
with a fine. Why he did not kill somebody he couldn't understand. He
never seemed to get in action before Bill McDonald had his gun and
was marching him to the "Captain's Office." Finally he got himself
appointed Deputy Sheriff of Wilbarger and came triumphantly to Quanah,
with his commission, which he believed would entitle him to carry
arms. Met suddenly, as usual, by McDonald and promptly disarmed, he
flourished his commission.

"That's all right, Bill McDonald, but I'm fixed for you this time. Give
me back that gun."

McDonald said:

"Your commission won't do you much good up here. If Sheriff Barker
wants to appoint a man that throws in with thieves, all right. But in
Hardeman County we don't have to recognize him."

There was never such a stubborn man, Davidson decided, as that fool
deputy, Bill McDonald. He decided to wait until McDonald should be
absent, and then have it out with Wolforth. When the time came,
Davidson brought a gang along with him and they followed Wolforth about
with pestering remarks, until their victim suddenly grew tired of the
annoyance, and opened fire. This was unexpected and the gang retired
for reorganization. Then some rangers, quartered at Quanah, appeared
on the scene, and Wolforth was put under arrest. He was taken before a
justice, who fixed his bond at a thousand dollars, which he was unable
to raise, because of the dread in which Davidson and his crowd were
held. It was just about this moment that Deputy McDonald returned, and
the Rangers delivered Wolforth into his hands.

"What's the matter, Pat?" McDonald asked.

His co-worker explained how he had fired on the Davidson gang, though
without damage to anybody.

"And they put you under a thousand dollar bond for it?" commented
Deputy Bill.

"Yes."

"Well, they ought to have made it a good deal heavier for your not
being a better shot. Never mind, I'll fill your bond all right," and
this McDonald did, immediately.

The Davidson crowd was still in town, and far from satisfied. Davidson
felt that he had support enough now to tackle even that hard-headed
McDonald, and he enlisted a big butcher named Williams to stir up the
mess. The gang armed themselves with long butcher knives from Williams'
shop and started out to hunt up their victim. They located him in a
saloon where troubles of various kinds were likely to originate and the
presence of an officer was desirable. Big Bill Williams, the butcher,
entered first and coming near to McDonald, slightly bumped against him.
Not wishing trouble, McDonald walked away, followed by Williams who
bumped against him again. Deputy Bill then walked to the other side of
the room, which was unoccupied, and when Williams and his crowd started
to follow, he warned them not to come any closer. At this a number of
cow-men who were present saw the trouble and stepped in, and Williams
and his crowd worked toward the door. Outside, the disturbers gave vent
to their animosity for McDonald in violent language and opprobrious
names. Suddenly McDonald himself stepped out among them and seeing a
piece of scantling about four feet long lying by the door, he seized
it and as Williams started toward him he gave the big butcher a lick
across the face with it that flattened his features and put a habitual
crook in his nose. The crowd thought Williams was killed and his
supporters began to get out of the way of the scantling. But McDonald
dropped it and had out his guns in a moment.

"Halt!" he said, "every one of you. Hold up there!" Then to the Rangers
who at that moment appeared on the scene, "Search those men for
weapons."

Search was made and the long butcher knives, intended for McDonald,
came to light. A knife of the same kind was found on Williams.

"Now get a doctor quick," commanded McDonald, "that fellow looks like
he's pretty badly hurt."

A doctor was found and Williams was removed. McDonald's wife, then
stopping at a nearby hotel, had been an interested, not to say
excited, spectator of the proceedings, and now called down a few words
of encouragement and approval. Somewhat later, word was brought to
Deputy Bill that what was left of the Davidson and Williams crowd had
collected in Tip McDowell's saloon, where a brother of Williams tended
bar, and these were declaring war to the death. McDonald promptly
went down there and entered, with a revolver in each hand. The crowd
of would-be assassins, about a dozen or so, took one look and made a
break for the back window, climbing over chairs, counters and billiard
tables--some of them almost tearing the bar down in an effort to get
behind it. Deputy Bill held enough of them with the persuasion of his
two six-shooters to give them some useful information in the matter of
running a town like Quanah and the surrounding country, as long as he
was in office.

"You thieves that have been trying to run over this country, and
stealing cattle and shooting the town up," he said, "from now on
are going to stop it. And you fellows like Bill Williams that are
selling stolen beef, are going to stop that, too. If any one of you
sells a pound of beef hereafter without showing me the hide and the
brand-marks, you'll go behind the bars and I'll put you there."

There was something about the tone of that brief address that made it
sink in, and from that time forward when beef was brought to Quanah the
hide came with it, and they would wake up Deputy Bill McDonald to show
it to him as early as three o'clock in the morning.

As for Davidson, he now became an officer of the law, in reality.
Satisfied, no doubt, that the Cedar-brakes gang was doomed, he came
to McDonald and offered to guide him to the den of the Brookens if
McDonald would cause to be dismissed certain indictments which had been
lodged against him. McDonald consulted Sheriff Barker of Wilbarger and
the arrangement was made. Davidson then ascertained when his former
business associates would be at their headquarters in the brakes, and
the raid was planned accordingly.

IX

Getting even with the Brooken Gang

THE BROOKENS DON'T WAIT FOR CALLERS. ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-SEVEN YEARS
SENTENCE FOR AN OUTLAW

The brakes of the Big Wichita made an ideal cover for outlaws engaged
in the industry of stealing cattle and horses. There were plenty of
grass and water there and the ground was so densely covered with
scrub cedar as to afford any number of hiding places. Moreover, there
were deep gulches and canyons that made travel dangerous to those not
familiar with the region. The place was remote and not often molested.

Everything being arranged, the raiders set out--Sheriff Barker of
Wilbarger, in charge--the party including two Rangers from Quanah. On
drawing near the locality, Barker proposed that all but two men should
halt, several hundred yards from the stronghold--a dug-out occupied
by the gang when at home. To this, Deputy Bill strenuously objected.
He wanted to charge forthwith, believing always in a surprise attack.
Barker, however, being in his own county, was in command and was for
more gradual tactics. He added that McDonald's big white hat would
attract attention before they could get near enough to charge. Two men
were therefore sent to reconnoiter and report. The rest lay in hiding.
Presently peering through the trees they saw two other men ride up to
the dug-out and go in. Deputy Bill was all excitement.

"There they are now," he said, "let's get down there and get them."

Again he was overruled. In a few minutes a number of men issued from
the dug-out, mounted horses and rode away. The first two had been
scouts, and had given warning. At the same moment Barker's two men came
running back with the information that the Brookens were getting away.

"Of course they're getting away," said McDonald. "Do you suppose they
are going to wait and hold an afternoon tea when we arrive?"

Accompanied by one of the Rangers, he started in pursuit of the
outlaws, but it was impossible to follow far in that dense unfamiliar
place. Returning to the dug-out they were rejoiced to find Sheriff
Alley's horse, so something was accomplished, though the expedition as
a whole had failed, through over-caution.

McDonald now resolved to hunt on his own hook. As deputy sheriff,
he was restricted to his own county, but this handicap was speedily
removed, through Ranger Captain S.A. McMurray, who had him appointed
by Governor L.S. Ross as special ranger, with sheriff's rights in any
county in the State.

His authority was to be still further extended, very soon. One day he
received a letter from Captain George A. Knight of Dallas, Texas, U.S.
Marshal of the Northern District of Texas, asking him to come to Dallas
and be made U.S. Deputy Marshal, with authority to operate in Southern
Indian Territory and No-man's land, where a man like him was sorely
needed. McDonald went down without delay and reported at Knight's
office.

"I have heard about you and your work up in Hardeman," said Captain
Knight, "and I want you for a deputy. But first tell me what are your
politics?"

McDonald did not hesitate. Knight was a Republican.

"Captain Knight," he said, "I am the damndest, hell-roaringest,
allfiredest Democrat you ever saw. If politics has anything to do with
this appointment I'd just as well go back."

"Well," said Knight, "you're pretty emphatic, but I guess you'll do.
Your kind of politics seem to suit your job pretty well."

It was only a little while after this that Bill McDonald was also
made Deputy U.S. Marshal of the southern district of Kansas, which
enabled him to work in the remaining portion of the Territory, and now,
with his four offices--two Deputy U.S. Marshalships, Deputy Sheriff
of Hardeman County, and that of Special Ranger--he was qualified to
undertake at any time any sort of a man-hunt in any territory likely
to invite his services. He went after the Brooken gang forthwith, but
this time they did not wait for him. His fame was already in their ears.

He followed them like a hound on the trail. He never recovered his two
horses and his Newfoundland dog, but he broke up the gang, utterly. He
brought in Bood Brooken at last and got him sentenced for five years.
Bill Brooken himself escaped to Mexico, was captured there, brought
back and sentenced for one hundred and twenty-seven years. He has a
good deal of that time still to serve.

The life work of the boy who long ago had begun it by hunting slaves
in the swamps of Mississippi was well started, now; his name as a
thief-catcher was beginning to be known, and honored, and feared.
Yet his more active days--his more valuable days to the community at
large--still lay all ahead, and of these we shall undertake to tell.

X

New Tactics in No-man's Land

A MAN WITH A BUCK-BOARD. HOLDING UP A BAD GANG SINGLE-HANDED

Something which resembled a sense of security began to manifest itself
in Hardeman and the surrounding counties. There were still cattle
thieves--plenty of them--but with their rendezvous in the immediate
neighborhood broken up, their work became less deliberate. They
harbored now further away--in the remoter places of the Pan-handle, in
the Cherokee Strip and in the fastnesses of No-man's Land. From these
strong-holds they made their raids, which though more sporadic and less
devastating were still a vast nuisance, particularly along the border
counties, where the outlaws could run over at night, raid a herd none
too well guarded, and have the stolen cattle hidden in some gully or
canyon or brake in their own lawless land by morning.

No-man's Land was a favorite retreat for cattle thieves. It was that
strip of public land which was set down on the map as a part of Indian
Territory, but really belonged to nobody at all. Different ones of the
surrounding States claimed it, and the outlaws owned it, by possession
and force of arms. There was no law there and few law abiding citizens.
What there were, were hard to find, and they didn't want officers to
stop with them for fear of the enmity of the thieves, who were so
greatly in the majority. It was a fine, sightly land--with good grass
and plenty of water--level land, some of it, though there was rough
country there too--with good places for outlaws to hide. Here they
built their dug-outs or cabins, established their households and herded
their stolen stock. Some of the cattle they butchered, peddling the
meat in Kansas or the Pan-handle. Some of the beef they had the nerve
and assurance to drive to market--even to ship--openly, to Kansas City
or Chicago.

It was necessary that No-man's Land should be reclaimed, and it
was partly for this purpose that U.S. Marshal George A. Knight had
commissioned Bill McDonald his deputy. Thus far all statutory law had
been disregarded in No-man's Land--all officers had been defied. When,
as had happened now and then, an officer had made his way into that
wilderness, he either lost his life, or had his revolver and whisky
and tobacco taken away from him and was booted back across the border.
It had been demonstrated that Bill McDonald had a convincing way with
his words and movements, and that he had a nose for locating cow
thieves. Furthermore, it was believed that he would not be likely to
submit to any liberties taken with his six-shooter and tobacco, or to
indignities of any sort. So, when the Brookens and other established
"dealers of the range" had been evicted from Hardeman and adjoining
counties, it fell to Bill McDonald to begin the No-man's Land crusade.

He was working over in the Pan-handle in 1887 when he learned of a
horse that had been stolen somewhere below, and he set out in pursuit
of the thief. Such trail as he could find led straight for No-man's
Land and he knew that he was bound at last for that lawless locality
where U.S. deputy marshals were favorite victims.

He was alone, but this fact did not disturb him. He had always
preferred to hunt in that way. There was less chance of frightening
the game. When he reached Hutchinson County, which is in the second
tier from the north Texas line, he stopped at Turkey Track Ranch and
borrowed a buck-board in which to bring home his catch. It was still
seventy-five miles to the No-man's Land line, but buck-boards were few
in the Pan-handle in those days and this was likely to be the last
chance to get one. It is possible that Turkey Track Ranch said good-by
to that buck-board when he drove away, for while they had heard of Bill
McDonald, they also knew of the usual fate of the U.S. deputy marshals
who, with or without a buck-board, set out on an invasion of No-man's
Land.

It was a long lonesome drive across Hutchinson and Hansford Counties,
and up through No-man's Land, to the waters of Beaver Creek. The trail
was not very difficult here, for the thief probably did not expect to
be followed--certainly not farther than the border line, and had made
little effort to cover his track. It was toward the end of the second
or third day, at last, that the trail became very fresh, and the man
in the buck-board came to a halt and set out on foot to locate his
game. As silently and cautiously as an Indian he crept through the
brush until he reached a place where peering through he located, some
distance away on the river bank, a camp consisting of four men and the
same number of horses. His man had found comrades, that was evident,
and it was likely they would join in his defense. McDonald lay in the
brush, watching them, as long as it was light and then crept closer,
trying to identify the horse he was after, and which of the men had him
in charge. He had no intention of beginning operations that night, for
he had long since made up his mind that the proper time for a surprise
attack is in the early morning. Men have not gathered themselves,
then, and have not been awake long enough to be fearless, and quick of
thought and action. His purpose now was to know his ground exactly, so
that with daylight he could act with a clear understanding.

He was obliged to wait until daylight before he could be sure of his
ground; then, awake and watching, he saw the different men go to look
after their horses. He located a bay horse that answered to the
description of the stolen animal, and identified the man who had him
in charge. He crept back to his buck-board now, got in and drove up
leisurely to the outlaw camp, looking as inoffensive and guileless as
any other fly with a horse and buck-board, driving straight into the
spider's den.

"Good-morning, boys," he said pleasantly, "you-all look mighty
comfortable with that fire going. I lost my way and laid out last
night. Mebbe you-all can tell me something about the trails around
here. There don't seem to be none that I can find."

They invited him cordially to get down and warm himself and said they
would show him the trail. McDonald stepped out and walked over to the
fire, still talking about the country and the weather, working over
close to the man he wanted. The deputy wore a short overcoat, and he
had a pair of hand-cuffs in the left side-pocket. He got just in front
of his man at last and reached out his right hand as if to shake hands
with him. Instinctively the man extended his own right hand and at
that instant McDonald's left with the open hand-cuffs was out like a
flash--there was a quick snap, a sudden movement--a slight-of-hand
movement it was--then another quick snap and the horse thief, dazed and
half stupefied stood gazing down at the manacles on his wrists, while
Bill McDonald, a gun in each hand, quietly regarded the other three
members of the camp.

The captive was first to break the silence.

"Boys," he said, "what does this mean?"

One of the men turned to McDonald.

"Yes," he said, "what does this mean? Who are _you_ and what are you
going to do with that man?"

"I'm Deputy U.S. Marshal McDonald, of Texas," was the cheerful reply,
"and I'm going to take this man with me and put him in jail."

"What for?"

"For stealing that bay horse out there."

The outlaw advanced a step.

"And you'll just about play hell doing it!" he said.

"All right, I am ready to start the game right now," said McDonald.

The men whispered a little among themselves. Their saddles were off to
one side and their Winchesters lay across them, all there together.
They wore six-shooters also, but they realized who their man was, now,
and they were careful to make no movement toward them. Presently one of
the men said:

"You say you are going to put that fellow in jail?"

"That's what I'm going to do."

"Well, now let's see about that."

The men were starting in as if to make an argument. One of the party
began working a little in the direction of the guns. The idea was to
distract the officer's attention for a moment and get the drop
on him. It was a good game, but it failed to work in this instance.
McDonald brought his guns exactly to bear on the men in front of him.

[Illustration: BEGINNING A CAMPAIGN IN NO-MAN'S LAND.

"Three pairs of hands went up."]

"Throw up your hands!" he commanded, "every one of you quick! Throw
them up, you scoundrels!"

Three pairs of hands went up. That command from Bill McDonald has
almost never been disobeyed. Perhaps it is the tone of the voice
that makes it convincing. Perhaps it is the curious look in those
needle-pointed eyes of his; perhaps it is something more than
these--something psychologically imperative. Whatever it is, it has
filled the air of Texas with hands, from Red River to the Rio Grande.

"Now, face the other way!" was the next command.

The men faced about, their hands still high above their heads. With
one six-shooter still on them, McDonald went up behind each man and
disarmed him, sticking the revolvers in his own belt. Then he went
over and took the cartridges out of the Winchesters. He now marched
his men to where the horses were hitched, secured the stolen one and
tied him to the buck-board. Then he ordered his prisoner to get in and
proceeded to shackle him to the slats of the vehicle. The other three
men, meantime, were kept in a group, a rod or so ahead in the direction
of Texas.

"Now, march for Texas, you devils!" McDonald said, when he was seated
beside his prisoner. The procession started, the men complaining that
they had done nothing, and that he had no right to take them back, even
if he were authorized to take the other man.

Deputy Bill said:

"You fellows have been in the habit over here of resisting and killing
officers, or driving them out, and doing as you please. I just want
to show you how easy it is to take your kind. Come, move right along
there, now. I don't know what you've done, but you probably stole all
those horses back yonder."

The men now began to beg for their horses, complaining that the
animals left behind would stay there and starve. McDonald really had
no intention of taking them all the way back with him. He had no
warrants for them, and besides he did not care to march and camp with
that number unless necessary. His purpose was to get them far enough
away so that they would not be likely to try to overtake him and catch
him asleep when he should halt for the night. He made no concessions
however, until they were well along toward the Texas line. Then he said:

"Now, if you fellows think you can behave yourselves and want to go
back and tend to your horses, I may let you go back on that account.
But you can make up your minds, and you can tell your friends about it,
that I'm not afraid of any of you, and I'm going to clear you dam'd
thieves out of this country. I'm going to show you that there's one man
you won't kill nor run out. Now, will you do what I tell you?"

The men protested that they were good citizens, and that if he would
let them off they would undertake missionary work in the cause of law
and order. He let them go, then, and handed back their unloaded arms,
promising them another fate, if he ever caught them in mischief. He
watched them disappear behind the first rise; then, whipping up, he
made the best time he could for Turkey Track Ranch, where he rested
a day, delivered the borrowed buck-board, taking his prisoner next
morning to jail.

XI

Redeeming No-man's Land

BILL MCDONALD AND LON BURSON GATHER IN THE BAD MEN. "NO MAN IN THE
WRONG CAN STAND UP AGAINST A FELLOW THAT'S IN THE RIGHT AND KEEPS ON
A-COMIN'"

It was natural that other work in No-man's Land should follow this
first experiment. It having been demonstrated that Bill McDonald could
go into that infested place and not only come out alive, but bring back
his man, other and more extensive contracts were laid out for him.
There were several bad gangs there to be broken up before legitimate
settlers could live there, and it was decided that McDonald was the man
for the job.

McDonald on his part was ready for the undertaking, it being of a sort
which he found always most congenial. Deciding that it was a good thing
to have a reliable partner in the handling of a gang, he selected for
his associate another deputy marshal--one Lon Burson of Henrietta--a
quiet athletic fellow with plenty of grit and endurance.

"I could always rely upon Lon," McDonald said, in speaking of that
period, long after; "I believed I knew just what he would do, every
time, and he never failed me." It may be added that Burson on his part
had complete faith in McDonald, and that their ideas of conducting a
campaign were in exact accord.

They began on what was thought to be one of the worst gangs, a band
of nine who had established on Beaver Creek a general headquarters
from which they conducted a miscellaneous business in crime--stealing
cattle and horses, robbing trains and shooting down bank officials when
occasion offered, frequently crossing over into adjoining States for
that purpose.

McDonald had laid out the plan of attack, which was to arrive on the
scene at his favorite early hour--daybreak--and then to do no parleying
or long distance firing, but to charge at once and storm the works. His
theory was--and is to-day--that the criminal cannot stand up against
the man who is not afraid of him and does not hesitate.

"If you wilt or falter he will kill you," he has often said, "but if
you go straight at him and never give him time to get to cover, or to
think, he will weaken ninety-nine times in a hundred. No man in the
wrong can stand up against a fellow that's in the right and keeps on
a-comin'. I made up my mind to that long ago, and I've never made a
mistake yet."

Here in homely vernacular is expressed a mighty truth. Crime is always
coward and cannot stand against the conviction of right. Error cannot
survive in the face of truth that does not falter and "keeps on
a-comin'."

McDonald and Burson proceeded in the saddle to Higgins, in Lipscomb
County--a station on the Santa Fe Bail road, and their last base of
supplies. Here they chartered a big three-seated hack in which to bring
back their prisoners, should their raid prove successful. They put
their own horses to this vehicle, loaded their saddles in behind and
continued their journey.

It was toward evening when they arrived in the neighborhood of the
outlaw den and camped in a secluded place, to wait for morning. The
house stood in the edge of the prairie, near Beaver Creek and was easy
of access. It was made of logs and seemed to be a deserted ranch place,
probably built by some adventurous person who had long since departed
for a locality where there was more law, even if less grass.

One of the band--an early riser--had just gone out to round up the
horses when the two deputies, mounted, made their approach, next
morning. He discovered them when they were about four hundred yards
away and made for the house, McDonald and Burson following at full
speed. The outlaw was a little in advance, and his eight companions
were out in front with their Winchesters when the officers bore down on
them.

"Go round the house, Lon, and come in from behind. I'll 'tend to them
on this side," said McDonald as they dashed up.

This maneuver was immediately put into action and in less than a
minute later the deputies were on the spot, their game between them. In
another instant both deputies had slid from their horses and were in
the midst of the confused, half awake outlaws.

"Drop them guns! Drop 'em, and put up your hands!" commanded
McDonald--his own gun and Burson's leveled.

There was not even an attempt at resistance. The bandits were simply
dazed, overwhelmed by the suddenness and vigor of the onslaught.
Heretofore, attacks--always made by a posse--had begun with scouting
and skirmish and ended with a running fight, usually at long range.
The plan of two mere deputies coming straight upon them and demanding
sudden and complete surrender was wholly new. As before remarked, there
was something about it terribly convincing--almost supernatural.

McDonald kept the men covered, now, while Burson secured their weapons.
Then, hand-cuffed and shackled, they were marched to the big hack,
crowded into it and driven fifty miles to Higgins; thence by rail to
the United States Commissioner at Wichita Falls.

McDonald, as usual, was sociable enough with his prisoners, once
secure, and delivered to them his customary homily, as they drove along.

"I just want to show you fellows, up here, how easy it is to take
you," he said affably. "You-all have got the notion that you can run
this country your own way, and that there ain't any officers that can
come up here and make you behave. Now, you-all are mightily mistaken.
I'm going to put every one of you fellows in jail and a lot more like
you. You know well enough it ain't right to act like you-all have been
doing--driving off other men's cattle and robbing trains and shooting
men that you had the drop on. You might know you'd get into trouble.
The United States has made laws against such business as that, and them
laws cover this country the same as anywhere else and every one of your
kind up in here is going to find it out."

The gang was landed safely in Wichita Falls. Some of them were
eventually convicted; the rest either became better citizens or sought
quieter territory for their industries. The cleaning up of No-man's
Land had begun.

The work of active reform was not allowed to languish. News of the
first successful raid traveled quickly, and State Senator Temple
Houston--son of Governor Sam Houston--notified McDonald that the
Sheriff of Hansford County was in need of assistance to cope with a bad
gang which had a rendezvous just across the border from Hansford, in
No-man's Land. These bandits had been carrying on the usual business of
horse and cattle stealing, and general highway robbery. Unlike some of
the officials, the sheriff of Hansford, though not noted for reckless
bravery, was in no way in league with the thieves and desired only
their extermination. His jurisdiction, however, extended no farther
than the Texas line, and thus far no State or federal officer had
rendered any assistance. As a result, the band, becoming very bold, had
pitched their camp just over the line, and had defied arrest, declaring
they would shoot the first man that stepped across.

When Bill McDonald got the word from Senator Houston, he immediately
sent over for Lon Burson and then proceeded to Canadian, Hemhill
County, where Houston lived. Here they learned more fully what work
was cut out for them, and presently continued their journey over into
Hansford, where, from the sheriff, they secured the names of the
offenders, as far as possible, and a partial list of their misdeeds.
Complaints were now filed against six men, the usual commodious hack
was secured; also, a light buggy for possible side excursions, and
McDonald and Burson, accompanied by the sheriff as a guide, drove
through the gray of early morning, to the line which divided Hansford
County from No-man's Land.

Arriving at the border, the sheriff pointed out where the robber den--a
log building--was located, not more than eight hundred yards beyond.
Then he said he would wait there until they got back.

"Come right along with us," said McDonald, "we need you to identify the
men."

But the officer said. "No," that the men knew him, and it might alarm
them if they saw him coming. Besides, he had no authority over there.

"Never mind that," urged McDonald, "I'll risk the consequences, and
I'll make you one of a deputy's posse, which fixes your authority all
right."

But the sheriff still said "No," that he didn't care for any more
authority than he had--that anything new in that line might make him
proud. He said he thought he would enjoy sitting there in the hack
where he would have a good view of what happened to them when they
tackled that outfit.

McDonald and Burson, therefore, set out in the light buggy, driving
leisurely across the intervening space. Arriving near the log-house,
they discovered that five men were up, and sitting sleepily on the
ground in front of their cabin, their Winchesters leaning against the
wall behind them. Evidently they did not look for any attack, and even
when they saw the approaching buggy, their wits were not sufficiently
collected to suspect that these might be officers; nor could they
realize that any two men in a buggy would drive over to attempt their
capture. In another instant they were covered.

"Get up from there and throw up your hands!" was the word of greeting
they received. "And don't try to touch them guns. The first man that
tries it I'll kill him."

The five men rose--it was polite to do so--also, they refrained from
offering any discourtesy in the matter of the guns. McDonald now called
the roll of the names he wanted, and curious as it may seem, each man
answered to his name. One man of the six wanted, being missing, the
officers proceeded to hand-cuff and shackle the five captured men,
and marched them back to the hack, where the sheriff of Hansford was
waiting.

Of course the sheriff didn't believe it was true. He had had such
dreams before and thought he would wake up, presently, at home, in bed.
When he convinced himself at last that he was not asleep, he offered
to aid in the search for the sixth man. He was well acquainted with
the Territory trails, and McDonald decided to send Burson to Hansford
with the hack-load and to proceed with the buggy and the sheriff after
Number Six of the gang who, it appeared, had a place of his own some
twenty miles away.

Number Six was out looking after his cattle--about thirty in
number--the result of industry--when McDonald and the sheriff of
Hansford arrived, and not expecting official guests, was unprepared.
He had, in fact, "no more gun than a rabbit," as Deputy Bill said
afterward, and his capture was child's play. That night the gang
complete set out for Wichita Falls, to be tried later in the United
States Court at Dallas.

Raids followed each other rapidly. One gang of cattle thieves after
another was gathered in, and took up the march for Dallas and trial.
Outlawing in No-man's Land became an unpopular occupation. Men of more
legitimate enterprise began to wonder if the time was not coming, by
and by, when they could do business on or within the borders of that
territory without the protection of a company of soldiers. The fame of
Bill McDonald was on every man's tongue, and those who had not seen
him, especially the outlaws still at large, usually conceived him to
be a very terrible person: large, bushy, heavy of voice and fierce of
mien. Yet he was just the opposite of all these things. He was slender,
quiet, blue-eyed, and gentle of voice--only, he had that gift of
command--that look, and that manner of speech with law-breakers which
they did not disobey. The time came presently in No-man's Land when his
name alone and a rumor that he was coming was sufficient to cause a
gang to contemplate emigration. Perhaps they believed he bore a charmed
life, and it was useless to resist him. If so, they were hardly to be
blamed for such a conviction.

XII

Some of the Difficulties of Reform

"FRONTIER" LAW AND PRACTICE. CAUGHT IN A NORTHER IN NO-MAN'S LAND

It is neither necessary nor possible to give a full history of all the
raids that during the brief period of little more than a year broke up
organized lawlessness in that stray corner of the nation and redeemed
an abandoned land. The general plan was the same in all. The early
morning hour; the hack and the Winchester; the surprise attack, and
the pleasant drive home with the guests duly hand-cuffed and shackled;
these were features common to each episode. Though conducted against
desperate men, it was a bloodless warfare. Nobody was killed--scarcely
a gun was fired. Bill McDonald's career was not to be always like that.
There was to be shooting enough and blood-letting too, but the No-man's
Land campaign was peculiar in the absence of these customary attributes
of border warfare.

Yet there are one or two aspects of the happenings of that period which
may not be overlooked here. As before suggested, the administrators of
the law were not always to be relied upon. Some of them were actually
in league with the law-breakers; others were honest enough, but afraid
of them. But there was still another sort, who being both honest and
courageous lacked information. Sometimes this resulted in curious
complications which were annoying and discouraging to an officer.
Often, the results were rather humorous in their nature. The following
is an illustration of frontier jurisprudence.

McDonald had heard of a cow thief in No-man's Land who was working
on his own hook--a sporadic case, as one might say--and went over to
arrest him. He descended upon him in an unexpected moment, and though
the outlaw strenuously protested that it being Sunday the law of arrest
did not hold good, Deputy Bill conveyed him across the border and down
into Roberts County where the cattle had been stolen and where there
was a justice of the peace--it being hardly worth while to take a
single prisoner to Wichita Falls. McDonald's idea was that the justice
would have authority to bind his prisoner over until such time as the
grand jury of that district should meet and indict him in regular form.

Now, Roberts County was a wild desolate place in those days. There was
no town anywhere about, and few people. There had been no previous call
for administration of the law of any sort, and up to that time no case
had come before this justice of the peace. On the arrival of McDonald
with his prisoner, his honor convened court with a sort of a helpless
look. His office was merely a title, so far as he was concerned, and
the wide realm of the law was to him an unexplored country. He had a
copy of the "Revised Statutes," however, which he now took down and
examined, perhaps for the first time. With McDonald's help he found
the section which related to cattle stealing, and the penalty. Regular
procedure, with indictments and trial by jury were as nothing to him.
He only knew that he had been elected to his office, and that his duty
was to administer the law as laid down. He read the law as pointed out,
and assumed a judicial severity.

"You own up that you stole them cattle?" he said to the prisoner.

The prisoner nodded.

"Then as justice of the peace of this county I hereby send you to the
penitentiary for ten years."

McDonald gasped.

"Judge," he said, "I don't believe that's quite regular."

"Why; ain't that the law?"

"Well, yes, but you see he's entitled to trial, an' mebbe it would be
just as well to bind him over under a good heavy bond, and if he can't
raise it send him to jail over in Canadian until the grand jury meets.
Of course I only mention that as being the usual way of doing things."

The justice looked a little disappointed.

"Why, yes, of course, if you want it that way," he said, "but the man's
guilty and I thought you'd like to put the thing through as quick and
easy as possible, and save expense. Oh, well, any way to suit you.
I'll make his bond heavy enough, anyway." He paused to think, perhaps
trying to imagine a sum large enough for a man who had plead guilty
to the heinous crime of cattle stealing. "I'll put him under a heavy
bond--a _good heavy bond_--I'll make it three hundred dollars!"

It will be seen that an official who was given to inspirations such as
these could become a trial, even with the best intentions in the world;
and there were others who added arrogance to their ignorance, and
connivance at crime. Nor were the raids into No-man's Land altogether
pleasure excursions even though Deputies Bill McDonald and Lon Burson,
with their headlong tactics and general disregard of death, had things
pretty much their own way when it came to the final show-down. There
were long wearying journeys in a trailless land and long night vigils
when bone and muscle and nerve were racked and the whole body cried
out for sleep. The onset might be swift and reckless, once begun, but
the preparation for that moment was cautious and slow and often beset
with difficulties. The few dwellers in No-man's Land really desirous
of getting rid of the outlaws, were afraid to reveal their anxiety, to
give anything resembling information, or even to offer shelter to the
officers. They knew that to manifest any interest on the side of law
and order would incur the enmity of the gangs and bring down reprisal
swift and bloody. McDonald and Burson realized this, and, however
severe the conditions of weather and weariness, faced them, rather than
impose any risk upon men whose only offense was to dwell among very bad
neighbors.

At one time the deputies were after a gang of five men, wanted for
murder and theft, and were driving from Higgins into No-man's Land,
with hack and team, their saddles loaded in behind, as usual. It
was late in the year, now, and suddenly in the swift Texas fashion
a norther came down, with piercing wind and fine driving snow. If
the reader has never seen a Texas norther, or a Dakota blizzard, he
will hardly understand their predicament. The wind leaps up in a wild
gale almost in an instant; the air from being balmy takes on a sudden
bitterness that wrings the body and numbs the heart and pinches the
very soul. Then the snow comes, fine and blinding--sharp and hard as
glass. No living being was ever created that could survive long in the
face of a storm like that. Cattle know when a norther is coming and
find shelter in canyons, or gather into thick bunches in the open,
their heads to the center. Birds speed away to the south, ahead of it,
or find shelter in hollows and crannies until the demon has passed by.
A storm like that always means death. The Texas norther and the Dakota
blizzard have strewn the prairies with bones.

McDonald and Burson in the face of such a tempest tried to press on,
hoping to find a shelter of some sort--anything that would break the
terrible wind. But everywhere was only the wide prairie, level as the
sea and lost now in the swirling drift. Night was coming on rapidly,
and unless a place for camp was found soon, their case would be
hopeless, indeed. It seemed to them that they had drifted for hours,
battling against the norther--though it probably was less than one
hour--when they came upon some stacks of prairie hay, which indicated
the habitation of men. Without seeking further, they made for the
shelter of the stacks, burrowed themselves and their horses into them,
allowing the latter to feed liberally from the hay. There they remained
all night and until the afternoon of the next day, the men without
food. The storm abated then, and the officers undiscouraged, pressed
on, reaching the outlaw camp late in the afternoon, instead of at their
favorite morning hour.

The surprise was quite as complete, however, for the last thing that
those bandits expected was that two officers should suddenly appear
out of that white devastation to take them to jail. They were too much
astonished to attempt resistance and were on their way to Wichita Falls
that night, following the road which earlier in the year so many of
their kind had taken.

Indeed it was this capture at the end of 1888 that marked about the
close of the heaviest work in that particular section. The year's
crusade had demonstrated that No-man's Land was not big enough to
hold a band of cow thieves and two deputies like Bill McDonald and
Lon Burson at the same time. It was no encouragement to a band of
hard-working outlaws, just as they had got their plant established and
things well under way to be suddenly pounced down upon and put out
of business by two men who had no regard for the customary rules of
fighting, but just rushed right in with a lot of impertinent orders and
an assortment of hand-cuffs and always had a big hack ready to start at
a moment's notice for Wichita Falls.

"What is the use?" one of the freebooters is said to have complained,
"A fellow no more than gets started when these dam' fools come in and
upset everything."

What _was_ the use? Such of the No-man's Land fraternity as still
remained unhung and out of jail set out for other fields of labor. Some
of them located in the more barren districts of New Mexico and Arizona.
Some of them settled in the further places of what was then known as
the Cherokee Strip, where they joined with congenial spirits in that
territory, and pretending to be engaged in agriculture--for they were
in a more settled country--Indian country--continued their old business
at the new stand. These we shall meet again presently, for if they had
said good-by to Bill McDonald, he had not said good-by to them. It
would require new tactics to deal with the new conditions--to identify
the outlaw in the pretended agriculturist, and to get evidence for his
conviction. It would require the development of another talent in Bill
McDonald's make-up, and that talent was ready for cultivation, as we
shall see.

XIII

Captain Bill as a Tree-man

THE LOST DROVE OF LAZARUS. A PILGRIM ON A "PAINT HOSS". A NEW WAY OF
GETTING INFORMATION IN THE "STRIP"

Meanwhile, the ranch on Wanderer's Creek had suffered. Compelled to be
absent most of the time, McDonald was unable to give his herd personal
protection, and now and again bunches of his cattle were driven off
by outlaws from across the border. His brave wife, facing the problem
of the wilderness with only a few hired helpers, did her best, but
was not always able to prevent these raids. The thieves would seem to
have taken especial delight in watching for the times when Deputy Bill
was absent and then descending on his herds, mainly for the booty, no
doubt, but also by way of retaliation. It was a dangerous thing for
them to do, and though they were certain to pay for it in the end; the
double temptation of profit and revenge was not to be resisted.

But while the ranch did not prosper, its owner was in no immediate
danger of bankruptcy. With his success in breaking up the gangs in
Hardeman and adjoining counties, and in No-man's Land, McDonald's fame
had grown amazingly. As a thief-taker he was regarded as a past-master.
That an outlaw could neither intimidate nor elude him, and that when he
was feeling well he could whip any number of them single-handed, before
breakfast, was the current belief. The Cattle-men's Association--a
combination of law abiding ranchmen, one of the strongest organizations
ever known--invited his special attention to their herds and
contributed a monthly acknowledgement of one hundred and fifty dollars,
which with his numerous fees made his income an ample one--often as
large as five hundred dollars a month--sometimes double this amount.

Among the members of the association was Sam Lazarus, who was with Bull
Turner when he was shot by the Brookens, and who came into town on the
whiffletrees, undamaged, but a good deal shaken up as to nerves. Soon
after McDonald's arrangement with the cattlemen, Lazarus was sending a
herd of perhaps a thousand head into Kansas, driving them across the
Territory. Pat Wolforth, whose name may also be recalled in connection
with the Brookens, was in charge of this herd, and when just beyond the
Territory line, in a very lonely district, met with misfortune. One
evening near nightfall the cattle suddenly became frightened, doubtless
through some device of the outlaws, and Wolforth and his men found it
impossible to control them. A general stampede followed and Lazarus's
cattle were scattered over the prairies and through the fastnesses of
the Strip--a prey to the spoilers lying in wait on every hand. It was
a heavy disaster and there seemed little hope of much in the way of
recovery. The spring round-up might gather in a few stragglers, but for
the most part the herds of Lazarus were believed to be beyond all hope
of restoration.

Bill McDonald took no such view of the situation. With Pat Wolforth
he immediately visited the scene of the stampede, and began looking
for cattle with the "Diamond-tail" brand, such being the symbol of
the Lazarus herd. It was a ticklish undertaking. Some of the cattle
had been butchered, and these of course were lost. Others had been
absorbed by the herds of men who though not regularly engaged in cow
stealing were in nowise particular as to whose cows they got and
welcomed anything that browsed unguarded on the range. Still others had
been collected in "pockets"--small gullies or canyons--where they were
retired from general circulation, guarded, as a rule, by one or two
ostensible cowboys.

McDonald began by prevailing upon the honest ranchmen in that section
to join at once in a general round-up by which means a great number of
cattle could be collected and distributed to their rightful owners.
The result was fairly satisfactory and a good many of Lazarus's cattle
were recovered, though not always without disputes and a display of
fire-arms, especially where the brands had been grown over by the long
winter-coat of hair. Such cases were settled first and tried afterward.
In other words, McDonald and Wolforth possessed themselves of the
cattle and then at their leisure "picked the brand," which is the range
idiom for picking the hair from around the brand with a pocket-knife,
so the brand may be seen. If the brand proved to be other than that of
the Lazarus herd, the cattle were turned over to their true owners.
When the round-up was over the cow-hunters took up the search in other
directions.

It mattered little to McDonald and Wolforth where they found the
Diamond-tail brand--they took the cattle, peaceably if possible,
forcibly if necessary. They conducted the campaign with an enthusiasm
and vigor which did not invite argument. Large herds they searched
without ceremony and if any cattle of their brand were found, they were
"cut out" with few formalities and with scant courtesy. When they came
upon bunches of the Diamond-tail brand in secluded places, they did not
pause to present any credentials except their Winchesters which they
carried always ready for instant action, and set out at once with the
cattle; also, sometimes, with the astonished cowboys as well. It was
a sudden and energetic procedure and resulted in the recovery of the
greater number of the lost drove of Lazarus.

It resulted further in a definite plan by Bill McDonald for the
discouragement of cattle stealing in the Territory, and for the
capture of the most actively engaged in that industry. As set down
in a foregoing chapter, the outlaws in the Cherokee Strip were not
likely to be congregated in a single rendezvous, as had been the case
in No-man's Land, but were scattered as individual squatters through
neighborhoods more or less friendly to their business, or at least not
bold enough openly to oppose it. Indeed, the back country was very
sparsely settled, and the Indians and half-breed whites and negroes
were not especially interested in law and order, even where they were
not directly concerned in opposing these things. Along the rivers--the
Cimmaron, the Canadian, the Washita and the North Fork of the Red
River, the country was rugged, and the hiding places for plunder were
good. The prairies were nice and level with fine land and plentiful
grass. White men had no legal right of residence there, except where
they were intermarried with the Indians, and those who acquired
citizenship in this manner were not likely to be any more desirable
than those others whose occupation was itself an infringement on the
law.

"Did they raise anything there, Bill?" McDonald was asked in discussing
the conditions, long afterward.

"Just raised hell!" the old Ranger answered drily.

Nearly all, however, made a pretense of agricultural employments; for
after all, the country, unlike No-man's Land, was really under a
regular form of government; legitimate settlement was considerable, and
there was a semblance, at least, of law and order. Also, there were
towns of considerable size, and railroads--the latter affording liberal
returns now and then when some train was waited upon in a lonely place
and the express messengers, mail agents and passengers were invited at
the point of six-shooters to contribute to a highway development fund.
The writer of these chapters was himself a resident of Kansas during
this earlier period, and he recalls now what an uninteresting month it
was when an M.K. & T. or Santa Fe or Rock Island train did not come up
out of the Territory with passengers telegraphing home for money and
the express and mail cars full of bullet holes.

Bill McDonald decided to break up this sort of thing, and set about
it in a way suggested by his own peculiar genius. It was necessary
first to identify the men who were really concerned in these various
employments, for in a country where all were "settlers," even if
unofficial ones, it was not worth while working at hap-hazard
and bothering men whose only offense might be that of squatting.
Investigation must be conducted openly and yet in a way to avoid
suspicion. His gentle manner and seemingly inoffensive personality
suited him for just such an undertaking, and he prepared and "made up"
carefully for the part.

Returning to Quanah and Wanderer's Creek, he bought a "paint horse"
(a spotted pony); an old tenderfoot saddle, such as a plainsman would
never use, and a book with pretty pictures of fruit in it--a regular
nurseryman's plate-book--the kind of a book fruit-tree salesmen always
carry. Then dressed as unlike an officer, or a cow-man, or a Texan
as possible, with these properties he set out--to all appearances
a genial, garrulous, easy-going tree-man, inviting orders and
confidences--willing to sit around all day and whittle and swap knives
and yarns, and to express any kind of interest or sympathy necessary
to encourage a man to tell his business ventures and those of his
neighbors.

It was a pleasant excursion, enough. No fruit-tree man had been through
that section before--none ever had dared, or perhaps thought it worth
while, to go. McDonald's excursion proved that profit awaited the
seller of trees who should first make that wilderness his territory.
He had expected not much in the way of sales, for he did not imagine
that men engaged in driving off and slaughtering other men's cattle,
and in waylaying trains and robbing banks would have any special taste
for horticulture. This was an error of judgment. Most of these bad
men had been fairly good boys at home at some time in the past, and
the sight of those luminous plates presenting fruit of extravagant
size and coloring, made their mouths fairly water at the thought of
its cultivation by the doorway of their own dug-outs or sod houses
or log cabins. They turned the pages lovingly, and lingered over
the wonderful plums and pears and peaches, and as they turned they
talked and somehow almost without realizing it they told a great
many things about themselves and neighbors which no well-trained and
properly constructed outlaw should tell, even to a sympathetic and
simple-hearted fruit-tree man who wrote down the orders and listened
and chuckled at some of the yarns, while he encouraged further
confidences.

He would drift around presently to his customer's former place of
residence, and to the reason for his leaving. It was easy enough for an
alert tree-man to detect a lack of complete frankness in the replies,
especially if the reason had "something about a cow or horse" in it,
that being the usual first admission that the isolation of the Strip
had been found congenial for other reasons than those connected with
its soil and climate. The tree-man did not hesitate to give a generous
return for any such confidences, inventing on the spot some of his
own for the purpose. The number and character of crimes he confessed
to having been accused of in the States would be worth recording in
this history if they could be remembered now. But, alas, like other
gay bubbles, they were blown only to charm for the moment, and once
vanished cannot be recalled. The tree-man would then fall to abusing
laws in general and the men who enforced them, and end by declaring