Chapter 10
Chapter 10 of Captain Bill MacDonald, Texas Ranger, A Story of Frontier Reform. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Captain Bill MacDonald, Texas Ranger, A Story of Frontier Reform, by Albert Bigelow Payne. Chapter 10. New Tactics in No Man's Land. Something which resembled a sense of security began to manifest itself in Hardiman 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 Panhandle, in the Cherokee Strip, and in the fastnesses of no-man's land. From these strongholds 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 goalie or canyon or break 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 that was set down on the map as 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 dugouts or cabins, established their households, and herded their stolen stock. Some of the cattle they butchered, peddling the meat in Kansas or the panhandle. 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 whiskey 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 Brookins and other established dealers of the range had been evicted from Hardiman and adjoining counties, it fell to Bill McDonald to begin the no-man's-land crusade.
He was working over in the Panhandle 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 favored 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 buckboard in which to bring home his catch. It was still 75 miles to the No Man's Land line, but buckboards were few in the panhandle in those days,
and this was likely to be the last chance to get one. It is possible that Turkey Track Ranch said goodbye to that buckboard 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 buckboard,
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 borderline, 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 buckboard 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 riverbank, 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. MacDonald 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 buckboard now, got in and drove up leisurely to the outlaw camp, looking as inoffensive and guileless as any other fly with a horse and buckboard,
driving straight into the spider's den. Good morning, boys, he said pleasantly. Y'all look mighty comfortable with that fire going. I lost my way and laid out last night. Maybe y'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 closer to the man he wanted. The deputy wore a short overcoat, and he had a pair of handcuffs 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 handcuffs 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'm ready to start the game right now, said MacDonald. 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're 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. MacDonald brought his guns exactly to bear on the men in front of him. 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 in the tone of 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,
MacDonald 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 buckboard.
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.
MacDonald really had no intention of taking them all the way back with him. He had no warns for them, and besides, he did not care to march in 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 fellas 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 gonna clear your damn thieves out of this country. I'm gonna show you that there's one man you won't kill and they'll 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 buckboard, taking his prisoner next morning to jail. End of chapter 10 Read by Sean Hatfield, Riverside, California, January 18, 2022
