Chapter 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.

"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.