did. He insisted on me going back with him, but I told him that I was

going to get hell before I returned. He left me and returned home."

"Why, he wasn't sick at all, he was just afraid of me," said Watts. "He was afraid to meet me, for he knew if I saw him I would kill him. I stood off Steele and seventeen of his men, all armed, in Brookville once. Those fellows are all afraid of me. So you came down here to get me yourself? Well, you haven't any papers for my arrest, have you?"

"No," I said, "I haven't any papers. I have nothing but you."

"Suppose I object to going any farther with you," he remarked.

"In that case," I replied, "I would simply have to have you locked up and wait until the papers arrive. They are all made out, therefore you can raise all the objections you like. I am a deputy sheriff, and I could have locked you up in Illinois, but I did not know what that red-headed fellow and your other associates in Shawneetown would do, and not wanting to be bothered with them, I decided to just bring you right along."

Watts then said, "You saw that fellow with the red hair, did you?"

"Yes," I answered.

"Where did you see him?"

"At the time I pointed my gun at your head he peered in at the door leading into the back room, but when he saw the condition of things, he ducked back into the rear room," I told him.

"Oh!" Watts said, "he is a coward. If I ever get my eyes on him I'll kill him on sight." Continuing, Watts said, "Did you notice when you told me to throw up my hands, that I hesitated for a second?"

I said, "Yes, I did."

"Do you know what I thought of when I hesitated?" he asked.

"No, I don't," I answered.

"Why, I thought of just jumping forward and taking that gun away from you."

I said, "Why didn't you do it?" looking him straight in the eye.

He replied, with an oath, "I thought you'd shoot."

"I guess you were right about that," I answered.

He stopped talking for a few minutes and then began to cry. He became almost hysterical. We were riding in the smoking car when this conversation occurred and his sobbing and crying attracted the attention of the passengers in the car, and it was really pitiful to see a strong, athletic looking young man like Watts sob and cry like a child. He finally ceased and said, "Well, I am glad you got me. I have never had an hour's peace or rest since that night at Catholicsburg, Kentucky."

"Why," I said, "What happened at Catholicsburg?"

He answered, "Oliver Beach shot my father, James Watts, in our boat at Catholicsburg, and he and Brooks put the body into the Ohio River. He killed him with my gun. I knew they were going to do it, but I did not take any part in the killing. Now, I am going to tell you all about myself and my companions since I left Brookville."

I told him that while I would be interested in hearing what he had to say, it would be used against him at his trial at Brookville, and that I would, therefore, prefer that he would not tell me anything about his crimes until we got back to Brookville, and then if he felt like talking and making a confession, he could do so to the prosecuting attorney, and the authorities there; that my part in the matter would end upon my delivering him to the officers, and I would rather that he defer talking until we arrived in that city. However, he insisted on telling me about the numerous crimes that he and his associates had committed while going down the Ohio River, about his capture at Paducah, Kentucky; his conviction, his pardon and the conviction and pardon of two members of his gang from the penitentiary.

He was especially proud of one piece of work done by the gang while making their home in a house-boat anchored on the Illinois side of the river opposite Paducah. Watts, Beach and Alston rowed across the river to the Kentucky side in a four-oared skiff. It was cold and freezing. They were looking for plunder and spied a large egg-shaped coal stove in the office of a coal company on the levee. This stove had been filled with coal and was red hot, and the fire had been banked for the night with ashes, and the "gentlemen" before named, broke open the door of the coal office, procured a wide, strong plank, run it under the red-hot stove and took it to their house-boat, where they installed it without permitting the fire to go out. So that they thus succeeded in stealing and getting away with a red-hot stove, which was a verification of the old saying that "there was nothing too hot or too heavy for them."

In due time we arrived at Brookville, where he insisted on making a full confession, which he did, in the presence of Prosecuting Attorney Reed, Sheriff W. P. Steele and myself. This confession, which was voluntarily made and sworn to before the clerk of the court, witnessed and attested by Mr. Reed, Steele and myself, is as follows:

CONFESSION OF J. W. WATTS.

Left Brookville, June 20, 1874, for Parkers Landing. Got a boat there and went down the river. My father, James Watts, traded a gun for the boat. We built a shanty on the boat as we proceeded down the river. The names of the parties on that boat were: Charles Beach, Oliver Brooks, James Watts, J. W. Watts, Sarah M. Watts and Myrta Watts. There was no difficulty on the boat until we arrived at a point near Ironton, Ohio. We got a woman by the name of Fanny Rose on board the boat, and from there down to Maysville there seemed to be some trouble between Oliver Brooks and James Watts, my father, about Fanny Rose, the girl above named. My father had been talking of turning state's evidence, and on Sunday, the 6th of September, 1874, he took an axe and cut a hole in the bottom of the boat. I remonstrated with him and he was going to strike me with the axe. The water began filling the boat, which necessitated our landing. On the night of the 6th of September, 1874, Oliver Brooks shot James Watts, killing him almost instantly, for threatening to turn state's evidence, concerning what had been stolen during our trip down the river, by the male portion of the gang on the boat. James Watts stole nothing himself. He only lived a few minutes after Brooks shot him. I was on another boat about sixty yards above the one James Watts was on. I knew that Oliver Brooks was going to shoot my father, and it made me very nervous. It made me sick and I laid down. I got up and started down to tell my father, when I heard a gun shot, but having an idea of what had occurred I was very much frightened, and was very weak through fear, and did not go into the shanty on the boat, where James Watts and Oliver Brooks were. During this Sunday afternoon Oliver Brooks and James Watts had some difficulty, and Brooks told us all, except James Watts, that he would shoot James Watts. Alston told Brooks that he would get my father to play a game of cards by a window, in order that Brooks could slip around and shoot him from the bank of the river through the window, and he did shoot him.

I am here to tell the whole truth, and want to keep nothing back. My father stole nothing, but he did help conceal what the rest of us stole.

After he was shot, and when I came up, either Brooks and Beach, or Brooks and Alston, were gathering up stones on the bank and carrying them into the shanty on the boat where my father was lying, and I suppose they were taking them in to tie around his neck to sink him in the river, from what they said before the deed was committed. After they got everything fixed up, I heard them putting my father into a skiff and rowing out into the river and I heard them throwing him overboard. They used sixty or eighty feet of half-inch rope to tie the stones to him, judging from the amount that was gone from the boat. Alston told me he had just dealt the cards and turned trump. The old man passed, and he (Alston) turned it down. My father said he would make it hearts, but turned and looked towards the window from where the shot came and then fell. Alston caught him to keep him from falling so hard. This is what Alston told me. After they took my father out into the river and threw him in, Oliver Brooks said he felt just as well as he did before he committed the deed and better, too. After this there was no more conversation about it in my presence as I would not listen to them, nor permit them to talk to me about it. I did not go into the room where he was killed, for five or six weeks. It was my rifle that he shot him with and it was the best rifle I ever saw or used, but after Brooks used it to shoot my father, I never shot out of it, or looked into the muzzle of it, but what I saw blood, or thought I saw blood in it. Other persons saw blood in the muzzle of the gun after shooting it. I showed it to them without giving them any other information. There was an understanding and mutual agreement between us that we were never to say anything about the killing of James Watts. We pushed the boat off that evening, after my father had been killed and thrown into the river and went on down stream following our usual avocation of stealing, etc., and we did not stop permanently until we got to Paducah, Kentucky. At Paducah, all the males in our party were arrested on the Illinois side by Marshal Geary of Paducah, Frank Farland, Wood Morrow and Bill Green, on a charge of grand larceny, committed at Buddsville, Ky. We were tried, convicted and sent to the penitentiary at Frankfort, Ky. I got three years, Oliver Brooks got two years and nine months, Pete Alston got one year and six months and Charlie Beach got three years. Brooks got pardoned through his wife on the 14th of May, or June, 1875, and I got pardoned on the 7th of July, 1875, and M. P. Alston on the 10th of August, 1875.

Brooks and his wife got Beach pardoned. Brooks' wife, as I understood it, had illicit relations with the son of the Governor of Kentucky, and through the influence of the son on his father, Beach was pardoned. My wife got Governor King to write to Governor Leslis, then acting Governor of Kentucky, and through his intercession I was pardoned. After Brooks was pardoned out he stayed until Beach and I got out. As soon as I got out I started for or back to Paducah, Ky., and left Brooks and Beach in Frankfort. I left there on the 7th day of July, 1875, and have never seen any of them since. Alston, a short time after he got out of the penitentiary, went down the Kentucky river, broke into a store, and got shot in the back. He was sent back to the penitentiary for five years, and is there at the present time. Up to the time I left Brookville I was in the habit of going out with a gang composed of Dan Miller, Frank Watts, John Johnson, Frank Loader, Oliver Brooks, John Lyons, and his father, and Charlie Beach. Frank Watts and myself went through Eshelman's grocery store at Dowlingville, and at other places, I cannot now remember.

I make this confession of my own free will and without the expectation of any reward or through any fear. I make it because this thing has been lying on my mind like a lead weight, and I concluded I would tell the whole thing just as it occurred. My wife and I had a conversation at one time in regard to the affair and we thought of going to the officers and telling all about it, but for some reason we did not do it. This was when we were in Paducah.

Made, signed and sworn to in the presence of Thomas Furlong, detective for the Allegheny Valley Railroad Company, Wm. P. Steele, deputy sheriff of Jefferson County, Pennsylvania, and John W. Reed, Attorney-at-law, August 22, 1876.

Watts made the above statement with a view to shielding himself as much as possible. He, himself, killed his father, and Mrs. Brooks so testified. She said it was not only Wess Watts' gun that killed old man Watts, but the gun was in the hands of Wess Watts.

I, having been subpoenaed as a witness for the state against Wess Watts, arrived at Brookville on the morning set for his trial. The whole forenoon was consumed in selecting a jury. When the last juror had been selected it was about twelve o'clock, and the court took a recess until one p. m. At that time, his Honor, Judge Sterritt, stated that the prisoner, Wess Watts, should be brought into court, when the testimony for the prosecution would begin. I went to the hotel, ate my dinner and had returned to the sheriff's office in the courthouse a few minutes before one o'clock. While sitting there talking to Sheriff Steele an old man entered the office, whom the sheriff familiarly greeted, calling him Uncle John, in the following manner:

"Hello, Uncle John. I haven't seen you for a long time. How've you been?"

Uncle John replied, "Quite well, but I'm getting old. Mammy wanted to get some things in the store and we drove in this morning from Beechwoods. I've been reading in my paper about Wess Watts and it says that he is to be put on trial today. You know, Bill, I knew old Bill Watts, Wess' father, before Wess was born. I've been reading all about the boy and his gang and he surely must be a very bad and desperate man. While I'm here in town, I'd like to get a look at him."

To this Sheriff Steele replied, "Court will convene at one o'clock, which will be only a few minutes now, and I've been ordered by the Judge to bring Wess into court at that time. If you will go up and sit in the courtroom, Uncle John, you will have a good chance to see him when I take him in."

Uncle John was a man more than seventy years of age, was a good citizen and had lived in the backwoods in Jefferson county all his life. He knew everybody in the county. His home was on a small farm about eighteen miles from Brookville. He was a strong, hale man for his age, and had a full, heavy, white beard. He was an inveterate tobacco chewer and a typical backwoods farmer.

At the close of his conversation with the sheriff, Uncle John walked to the door leading into the hall, but, just before reaching the door, he suddenly turned and said, "Bill, I see in the paper that Wess Watts was captured down in Egypt by one man, and that man brought him back here all alone. The paper said that man would be at the trial here today. I'd like very much to see him, too."

The sheriff (pointing to me) said, "Uncle John, here's the man who captured Wess Watts and brought him back here."

Whereupon, Uncle John quietly walked across the room to where I was sitting, keeping his eye upon me all the time, till within a few feet of me, when he said, "Young man, I wish you would stand up, I want to look at you."

I stood up, and the old man walked about half way around me, eyeing me from head to foot. He then turned without saying a word and started for the door. Before leaving, he said, stroking his long beard with his left hand and pointing his right at me, "Bill, by jove, it didn't take much of a man, either."

Then he left the room.

Court convened at one o'clock and everything appeared to be ready for the beginning of the trial. The courtroom was packed with spectators as the Watts trial had aroused a great deal of interest, and people were attracted from local and neighboring counties to see the prisoner and witness his trial. The sheriff did not appear with his prisoner, however, and the judge sent an officer to notify him that the Court was waiting. In a few minutes the sheriff appeared, with the officer, but without the prisoner. He approached the judge's stand and informed him that he had been unable to induce the prisoner to leave his cell, and Watts had said he would kill any person who attempted to take him into court.

The jail was an old-fashioned stone jail, and the doors leading into the cells were only about two and one-half feet wide and four feet high, therefore, a person above four feet in height was obliged to stoop on entering or leaving the cell. They had old-fashioned wooden bedsteads in each cell, and Watts had torn his bedstead to pieces that morning and had taken off one of its legs, which was about three feet long and four inches square, and of heavy hardwood. He was a powerfully strong man, and had declared his intention of massacring any person attempting to enter his cell. He defied the sheriff or any of his officers to enter. After Judge Sterritt had listened to the sheriff's report, he summoned me to his chair and said, "Mr. Furlong, you arrested this man in Illinois and brought him to Brookville. Now I deputize you to go to the jail and bring Wess Watts, the prisoner, to this bar, as soon as possible."

I left the court with the sheriff and went to the jail, in the rear of the courthouse, and direct to the door of Watts' cell, where I found him standing in the center of his cell armed with the big club. I tried to persuade him to leave his cell, and accompany me to the courtroom, but in vain. He was obstinate and declared he would kill me or any one else who tried to enter that cell. I found that persuasion was unavailing and called the sheriff to one side, out of ear shot, and said, "How long will it take you to heat a few gallons of water to a boil?"

The sheriff said he thought there was a lot of boiling water in the jail kitchen, as it was just after dinner. We went to the jail kitchen where we found a large amount of hot water on hand. We secured a tin wash boiler and put about five gallons of boiling water into it. I also obtained a large tin dipper with a long handle. We carried the boiler of water to the door of Watt's cell. I also armed a big, burly deputy sheriff named Clover Smith, with an axe handle, and as Smith was left-handed I placed him at the right hand side of the cell door, while I placed the boiler of hot water on the left side. I then dipped up a dipper full of boiling water (about two quarts) and with the long handle I could reach any part of the cell with the hot water. I threw the first dipper full at Watts, which struck his breast and upper part of his body. As he was lightly clad, and the water struck him squarely, he yelled like a mad lion. I threw two more dippers of scalding water at him in quick succession, each time the water striking him fairly, and after I had thrown the third dipper, he made a lightning-like spring for the open door. As he was obliged to stoop so low that his head almost touched his knees, Smith, whom I had instructed, struck him with the axe handle, on the head, felling him to the floor, unconscious. Thereupon, the sheriff, Smith and myself picked him up and carried him into the courtroom and laid him on a table before the Judge's stand. There were a number of doctors present who applied restoratives and brought him to his senses in a few minutes.

He was scalded slightly in spots on his neck and body, but otherwise uninjured, except a good sized bump on the back of his head where Smith had struck him.

He showed no further signs of obstinacy and was perfectly easy to control and handle thereafter until he was landed safely in the state prison at Allegheny. He pleaded guilty of having made a criminal assault on a school girl of about sixteen years of age. She was returning to her home from school between 4 and 5 o'clock in the evening, her home being on a mountain on the outskirts of Brookville. Watts met her in a lonely spot on the road and committed a violent and criminal assault. The girl knew him by sight. He left her by the wayside in an unconscious condition, from which she partly recovered and managed to reach her home a few hours later. She told her parents what had happened and that Wess Watts was her assailant. Whereupon, the father immediately saddled a horse and rode rapidly to the sheriff's office, and informed that officer of the crime.

William P. Steele was sheriff at the time, and immediately summoned a posse of seventeen men. These men hastily armed themselves with rifles, shotguns, and pistols and, headed by the sheriff, went to the home of the Watts', and surrounded the house, which stood on a country road in the outskirts of Brookville. After the house had been surrounded the sheriff and one of his men went to the front door where they rapped for admission. The door was opened by Wess' mother. The sheriff addressed her as follows: "Mrs. Watts, I have a warrant for Wess' arrest. I am satisfied that he is here, and your house is surrounded. He had better give himself up, peaceably, at once."

Mrs. Watts was about to reply, but before she had time to do so, the large bony hand of her son Wess was ruthlessly placed upon her shoulder and she was pulled back into the house, he taking her place in the doorway. He had a belt about his waist in which could be seen two Colts navy revolvers. He also had a Colts navy in each hand, and as he stepped into the doorway he said, "Mother, you need not lie to shield me. I will take care of myself."

And turning around he addressed the sheriff thus: "Bill, I counted your men as they surrounded the house. There are eighteen of you, and I want to say to you that I have got twenty-four shots right here (referring to the four six-shooters he was carrying). I know all of you fellows and, Bill, you know as well as your men know, that I never miss a mark that I shoot at. Now, I am going to leave this place at once and I will not bother Brookville again, unless you or any of your men attempt to stop me. If you do I will kill every man of you and will still have shots left." Whereupon he extended his hands in front of him so as to brush Sheriff Steele and his assistant to one side, and suddenly sprang forward, ran to the gate in front of the house and then across the road to where there was a high rail fence. He placed one hand on the top rail and vaulted over the fence and disappeared into a patch of laurel brush and timber.

In the meantime the sheriff and his posse, or at least a portion of them who were in sight of Watts, quietly stood and watched the proceedings without raising a gun, or attempting to do so. It was after this escape that Wess and his father, Brooks and the others made their notorious voyage down the Ohio river to Paducah.

In conclusion, I will add that on the morning that I arrested Watts at Shawneetown, I had not the remotest idea of either arresting or attempting to arrest him, as I was alone and in a strange state and had no papers authorizing me to make the arrest, as Sheriff Steele had retained the papers when he became ill at St. Louis. I knew that Watts had never seen me, therefore, he could not possibly know me or my business; but, then the terrible reputation he bore in Pennsylvania would preclude the possibility of almost any sane man attempting to arrest him without what might be considered proper assistance. Knowing that he did not know me, and having an irresistible desire to see this terrible criminal, as I had heard him called, I ventured into his shop merely to get a look at him, believing that I could give him a plausible excuse for my early visit; but when I saw him and that he was entirely unarmed, and he did not really look to be as desperate, or even as powerful a man as he had been described to be to me, I, being armed, instantly concluded I could never expect a more favorable opportunity to arrest him than right then and there, and, as a matter of fact, I found myself carrying out this resolution really before the resolution had been fully formed in my mind. I saw before me the man who was much wanted by the Pennsylvania authorities and believed I could get him then and there, which I did.

SOLVING A TRUNK MYSTERY.

A VERY SLENDER CLUE FASTENS A ROBBERY UPON A BOSOM FRIEND OF THE VICTIM--THE LOOT RECOVERED.

Early in 1872, while I was Chief of Police of Oil City, Pennsylvania, I was sitting in my office in the City Hall one morning, talking to Col. E. A. Kelley, who was at that time City Comptroller. His office adjoined mine. The colonel was a jolly, good-natured gentleman, middle-aged, very portly, scholarly, and of military bearing. He was a graduate of Annapolis Naval Academy, and had spent a portion of his early life in the United States navy. He had traveled a great deal, and was generally well-informed. He had formed a great liking to me, and took an interest in the police department, and especially in the detection of criminals and the capture of them, and loved to talk with me during our leisure moments relative to that portion of my duties as chief of the department.

We were thus engaged in a pleasant conversation, when two young men, who were probably from twenty-five to twenty-eight years of age, entered the office and inquired of the Colonel for the Chief of Police. Colonel Kelley pointed to me saying, "There is the Chief," and arose to leave the office. I knew that there was no cause for his leaving at the moment, so asked him to remain, feeling that he would be interested in the young men's business with me.

The spokesman of the two said to me that his name was William Brewer, and that he was the superintendent of an oil company which was operating a large number of oil wells on the Blood farm, which was located on Oil Creek, Venango County, Pennsylvania, and about six miles north of Oil City. He stated that his home was in the state of Ohio, near Cleveland, where he had bought a small farm for a home for his parents, who were getting old, and who were now living on this farm. He said that he was earning a fairly good salary, and that he had been saving his money so as to make the annual payment on the farm, as he had made the purchase on the installment plan. His next annual payment of seven hundred dollars, including the interest, would be due in about a week from that date. He had been laying his money away in a trunk, which he kept in his room in the boarding-house. He stated that he had nine hundred dollars in bank notes, which he kept in a large, leather wallet, and which he placed in this trunk. He said that he kept the trunk locked, and on that morning he had occasion to unlock his trunk to take out some clothing, and to his dismay discovered that the wallet and its contents were missing. In answer to my question, he stated that he had found the trunk locked, and apparently intact. I believe I only asked him the one question. He did all the talking, clearly and distinctly, had a good face, and his general manner impressed me very much.

His companion, who looked near enough like him to be a brother, which in fact, I at first judged him to be, had nothing to say. After listening attentively to his story, I was silent for a few moments, and finally asked him how long it would take him to go to his boarding-house and bring his trunk to my office, in exactly the same condition in which he had found it. He replied that as the roads were quite bad he thought he could have the trunk in my office in about four hours. I then explained to him that as his boarding-house was outside of my jurisdiction as Chief of Police, that I really would have no right to go there, but that I would be glad to aid him to the best of my ability; to which he replied that he would bring the trunk to my office as requested, and thanked me for my trouble.

The boys then left the office, and I noticed that they had a horse and buggy, in which they departed. While this conversation was going on between myself and Brewer, Col. Kelley was sitting with his arms folded, intently interested, but silent. When they had gone I returned to my office, and sat down, where the colonel was waiting for me. After I had seated myself and lighted a cigar the colonel said to me, "Tom, why did you ask those boys to bring that trunk here to your office?" I unhesitatingly replied, "Colonel, I don't know." Right here I want to assure the reader that my reply was absolutely the truth. I really had no idea at the time that I asked the young fellow to bring his trunk to my office why I did so, other than that I had seen, while in the company of other Chiefs of Police and detectives, that they, as a rule, invariably cast as much mystery as possible about their work when dealing with people outside of their departments. Neither did I feel at liberty to admit to these young men that I felt incapable of solving the mystery surrounding the disappearance of the money. All of which I explained to the colonel. He laughingly shook his head and said, "Tom, you are a detective, sure enough. You are not candid in this explanation that you have given to me, but I beg your pardon, as it is really presumptuous on my part to ask you such questions. However, I will just wait and watch the outcome, which I believe will be all right." I tried to answer the colonel that I had been candid with him, but it was in vain.

In due time, during the afternoon of the same day, the boys returned to my office, carrying the trunk between them. Col. Kelley was on hand, as he had evidently been watching for them and had seen them as they entered my office. I asked him to be seated, and said to Brewer, "I wish that you would place that trunk in this room in as near the same position as it was in your room at the boarding-house."

Brewer said, "Our room is square and nearly the shape of this office, but not so large. There are two windows in the west side of our room. They are about five feet apart." And he placed the trunk against the wall of the office between two windows, which were farther apart than the windows in his room. After he had placed the trunk, I said to him, "Now, I want you to approach the trunk just as you did this morning, when you missed your money, unlock the trunk, and go through the same motions that you did until you discovered the loss."

He approached the trunk, got down on his right knee, unstrapped the trunk, produced a key, unlocked it, turned the lid back against the wall, then removed the tray which covered the portion of the trunk below the lid. This trunk was a cheap one, covered with an imitation of leather, and was comparatively new. The trunk and tray were lined with a delicate blue paper. The tint was of such a color that it would easily soil. The tray had sides and ends which were perhaps two inches deep, and slid down into the lower half of the trunk from the lid, where it rested upon two cleats at either end. It fitted the trunk snugly. There were two straps of light colored tape, which were about an inch wide and were fastened with carpet tacks to the center of each end of the tray. These tapes acted as handles by which the tray could be lifted from the trunk. Brewer had to work for some time to get the tray up out of the trunk, for the reason that one of the tape straps had evidently been recently jerked from its fastenings. As stated before, these tapes had been fastened to the tray by means of four large-sized carpet tacks. When the one strap had been jerked off the tack remained firm in the tray, but the heads of the tacks had been pulled off. This left a sharp point on one of the tacks, which projected from the wood about one-sixteenth of an inch, and like a needle point.

While Brewer was trying to remove the tray I was kneeling down at one end of the trunk and noticed the sharp point on the tack. I also noticed the mark of a thumb, which had been greasy and dirty, and which had been pressed over the tack as the light paper plainly showed.

Meanwhile, the young man whom I supposed was the brother, was standing at the other end of the trunk opposite me, when I happened to look up just as he turned around towards me, with his hands by his side. I noticed that the thumb on his right hand, which was calloused and dirty, had been cut diagonally across, leaving the cut about three-quarters of an inch long, and about a thirty-second of an inch deep. The cut was fresh and was beginning to gape open, although not deep enough to bring blood. The hands of all men employed around oil wells become more or less saturated with oil, and are rough and calloused. Generally they present a dirty and greasy appearance. As the fellow turned and I got a glimpse of the cut in the thumb, I rose from beside the trunk, faced him, and instantly seized his right hand. I carefully examined the cut, then looked at the imprint on the end of the tray, and pointing to the stain, said to him in a sharp, commanding tone, "Where is this man's money?"

He began to cry, and said, "If you will let me go I will get the money."

I asked him where the money was, and he said, "I hid it yesterday under the carpet in the hall at the boarding-house."

Meanwhile, Brewer had turned ashy pale, and burst into tears, exclaiming, "My God, Chief, I am sorry to learn that he, above all other men, has taken my money. He knew all about it. He was the only person who knew that I kept the money where I did. We have been raised together. He was my schoolmate and is now my room-mate. His father and mother live in Ohio and are our nearest neighbors. It would kill them to know that Jim would do a thing like this. His name is Jim Davis."

I said to Davis, "Will you go with Brewer and get that money and turn it over to him, intact?" He promised that he would do so, but he said, "Chief, I cannot get the money from its hiding place unobserved until after the people in the house have gone to bed, tonight."

"That will be all right," said Brewer, "I know Jim will do as he promises. Now, Chief, if you will not arrest him I will gladly pay you anything that you may charge me, but please do not arrest him. I could not appear against him in court, for if I did so it would kill his mother, and probably my mother too."

I replied that I would make no charges for my services, and if he was satisfied it did not matter to me. I said, "You may take charge of him, and if he does not turn the money over to you at once, I will take the matter up and have him punished according to law."

The boys left with the trunk, and the next day Brewer called upon me and told me that Davis had turned all the money over to him, and had then attempted to commit suicide. He had gone to a near-by drug store and purchased a quantity of poison with suicidal intent. Suspecting that Davis had contemplated ending his life, Brewer had detailed a trusted and mutual friend to watch him, unknown to Davis, and who seized him and took the poison away from him before he could use it.

Davis and Brewer were friends afterwards and became inseparable, as they had been before that time. If the parents of either of them ever heard of the occurrence I am not aware of it.

After the boys had left, Col. Kelley, who had taken in the entire proceedings in silence, came to me with moisture in his eyes, and said, "Chief, you are a brick."

THE GLENCOE TRAIN ROBBERY.

ARREST AND CONVICTION OF BILLY LOWE AND GEORGE EBBERLING.--A PIECE OF QUICK WORK.

Glencoe is a small station on the Missouri Pacific Railway, twenty-nine miles west of the city of St. Louis. An east bound train which carried both mail and passengers was boarded on the night of February 21, 1910, by two men, who climbed on the front end of what is known by railroad men as the blind baggage, next to the tender of the engine. These men were unobserved until the train had passed Glencoe station, when they climbed over the top of the tank to the engine and covered the engineer and fireman with drawn revolvers. They were both masked with handkerchiefs tied over the lower portion of their faces, which entirely concealed their features below the eyes. They wore slouch hats and were described by the engineer and fireman and other members of the train crew who saw them--one as a short, stout built man with very black hair; the other as a tall, square-shouldered fellow with light-brown hair, and apparently younger than his stout partner. The stout man was described as having handled and carried his revolver in his left hand, while his right hand was bandaged and appeared to have been injured. He also was reported as having acted as chief and to have given all orders, and to have handled the locomotive as though he was as perfectly familiar with the work as an experienced locomotive engineer. These men compelled the engineer to bring the train to a full stop. They then made the engineer and fireman accompany them back to the rear end of the last mail car, when the engineer was forced to disconnect the two mail cars from the rest of the train. Then the engineer and fireman were marched back to the engine, and after all four men had again entered the cab, the short man took charge of the engine, and pulled the express and two mail cars to a point about three miles east of where the rest of the train had been left with the crew. They stopped at this point on the main track and began rifling the sealed mail pouches in one of the mail cars, continuing this for several minutes, cutting open the sealed pouches and taking therefrom all the registered mail. They finally concluded that they were consuming too much time, as trains were liable to approach from the east. They, therefore, seized a number of large mail pouches filled with registered mail, and, after instructing the engineer and fireman to back the engine to Glencoe and take up the rest of the train again, the men left the railroad on foot, each of them being loaded down with the registered mail pouches, which they had taken from the car. They hid these mail bags in a stack of corn-shucks in a cornfield near the bank of the Meramec River. They had previously stolen a skiff, or rowboat, which they had hidden in a clump of bushes on the bank of the river near the cornfield. They took this rowboat and made their way down the Meramec River a few miles, where they left the boat and made their way overland back to St. Louis.

On the morning of February 22, I happened to be in New York City and upon picking up a morning paper I read the account of the train robbery and the description that had been given by the train crew of the robbers. I immediately telegraphed to the manager of my office in St. Louis to go and tell Mr. Dixon, of St. Louis, Postoffice Inspector in charge of the district of Missouri, that I knew who the train robbers were, and where they could be found, and that I would be in St. Louis the following Saturday and that I would get the guilty men and turn them over to him or to his assistants in case he, Mr. Dixon, and his force had not succeeded in locating and arresting the guilty men before I returned to St. Louis.

On my return the following Saturday I found Mr. Dixon awaiting me. I told him that I was satisfied, from the description of the robbers, that Billy Lowe was the leader in the Glencoe Train Robbery. I told about having arrested Lowe eleven years before for having taken part, with others, in the Leads Junction Train Robbery, which had occurred on the Missouri Pacific Railroad just east and south of Kansas City. He with the others had held up the train and had blown the express car to pieces with dynamite. I also told him that I had finally succeeded in obtaining from Lowe a complete confession as to the part he had taken in the Leads Robbery, and also the names of his associates in the crime.

Some of his other companions were also arrested at the time. Lowe took the witness stand and by his testimony fully substantiated the confession that he had made to me in the presence of John Hayes, who was then Chief of Police of Kansas City, Missouri, and D. F. Harbaugh, one of my men at that time. Lowe afterwards reiterated this confession to the prosecuting attorney of Kansas City. The prosecutor's name I do not now remember.

Lowe having taken the witness stand and having promised the Chief of Police and Prosecuting Attorney and myself that he would thereafter lead an honest life, the prosecuting attorney annulled the proceedings against him and after the trial of his associates Lowe was dismissed. He was a thorough railroad man. He came to St. Louis and obtained employment as a switchman in the yards of the Iron Mountain Railroad, where he met and formed the acquaintance of one George Ebberling, also a switchman. He and Ebberling became fast friends and continued to work for the Iron Mountain for several years, when they left the company's service and went to St. Paul, Minnesota, where they obtained employment in the train service of the Great Northern Railway Company, and finally worked their way to Spokane, Washington.

In the meantime I kept track of them, believing that it would be only a question of time until Lowe would become a train robber again. During the years of 1908 and 1909 a number of trains were held up and robbed in the vicinity of Spokane, and I, knowing that Lowe was there, wrote the officers of the Great Northern Company that I believed that I knew who the guilty parties were and where they could be found. But these officers apparently did not deem the information I had sent them worth answering, as I did not hear from them.

I knew that both Billy Lowe and Ebberling were in St. Louis prior to the Glencoe Train Robbery. They had returned early in January and I immediately had placed a shadow on their movements, and when I read the description of the men who had robbed the train at Glencoe I at once became satisfied that Lowe was the man who had handled the engine. He had visited my office the day preceding the Glencoe affair, and his right hand was bandaged by reason of boils that he had on his wrist just above the hand; and then the description in the New York papers was almost a perfect description of Lowe, and also the description of the tall man given in the paper was that of Ebberling.

As soon as they arrived in St. Louis, Lowe had rented an office room on the upper floor of the Granite Building, on the southwest corner of 4th and Market streets. Lowe furnished his office and had a number of maps and charts of mining lands in Alaska, and offered mining stocks for sale in that country. Ebberling left St. Louis immediately after the Glencoe robbery.

A day or so after the robbery, a country merchant, who resides in a small town near Kansas City, furnished the postoffice inspector with a clue which afterwards proved that I was right in suspecting Lowe and Ebberling of the crime. This merchant owed a St. Louis wholesale house a bill in the neighborhood of $100.00. He had, on the day before the robbery, remitted the amount by registered letter, keeping a memorandum of the size, series and numbers of the bills. When he first heard of the robbery, and knowing that his package was probably a part of the loot, the merchant sent a copy of the memorandum to the postoffice inspector. The inspector had several hundred copies of the memorandum printed and forwarded to the officials of the banks within a radius of five hundred miles of St. Louis. Within twenty-four hours after the distribution of these circulars, one of the bills, a ten-dollar gold certificate, was presented at the receiving teller's window of a Hot Springs National Bank, by one of its lady depositors--the keeper of a rooming house in that city. On being questioned as to where she had obtained the bill, the lady told the teller one of her roomers, Mr. George Ebberling, had given it to her in exchange for a week's room rent.

In the meantime, I having learned that Ebberling had gone to Hot Springs and his address there, notified Inspector Dixon, who immediately sent one of his assistants to Ebberling's lodging place, where he secured an adjoining room to enable him to keep a closer watch on the suspected mail robber. The teller of the bank reported the finding of the bill to Inspector Dixon promptly, and we immediately planned the arrest of Lowe.

The following morning accompanied by two of Mr. Dixon's postoffice inspectors, James Smith, Chief of Detectives of St. Louis, and two of his men, and my Assistant Superintendent, J. S. Manning, I went to Lowe's office in the Granite Building, having previously been advised by Mr. Manning that the man under suspicion was in his office. I pointed Lowe out to the city officers, who arrested him promptly. He was locked up and after his arrest, Mr. Dixon telegraphed his inspector at Hot Springs to arrest Ebberling immediately and bring him to St. Louis. After Ebberling had been arrested at Hot Springs, when he was asked how he got possession of the ten-dollar note, before mentioned, he confessed that he had gotten it from Billy Lowe and made a further and full confession as to how he and Lowe had robbed the train at Glencoe.

Lowe did not make a confession, nor did he make any admission as to his connection with the robbery; on the contrary, he strenuously denied everything.

In his confession, Ebberling stated that Jimmy Lowe, a younger brother of Billy's, knew all about the robbery, and would have taken part in it but for the fact that he became intoxicated on the evening the robbery was scheduled to take place and could not make the trip. Ebberling also stated that James Lowe had visited the cache in South St. Louis where the guns and masks had been hidden, and brought them to St. Louis and delivered them to Billy Lowe at his mother's house.

The amount of money secured from the rifled mail pouches, according to Ebberling, was between six and seven hundred dollars, but the pouches which had been "stashed" in the cornfield by the robbers, and afterwards recovered by the officers, contained a great deal more than this amount.

Ebberling and Lowe were tried in the April term of the Federal Court at St. Louis and were convicted--Lowe being sentenced to forty-three years at Leavenworth, United States Penitentiary, and a fine of $3,000.00, or the equivalent of two years in prison. Ebberling was sentenced to eighteen years in Leavenworth Prison, and fined $3,000.00. Jimmy Lowe, who had laid in jail for months and had taken the witness stand for the Government, was released and is now leading an honest life, so far as I know.

After arriving at the penitentiary Ebberling made a further confession in which he stated that he and W. W. Lowe had held up and robbed eleven trains at different points on the Great Northern and the Northern Pacific Railway lines in the vicinity of Spokane, during 1908 and 1909, and in this statement he described so accurately the places at which he and Lowe had hidden certain property they had secured in these robberies that the United States authorities went to the places designated and recovered the property. Lowe and Ebberling have since been indicted for these robberies, proving conclusively that I was right when I wrote the officers of the roads named that I believed I knew who the parties were who had been holding up and robbing their trains.

The Great Northern and the Northern Pacific had offered rewards for the arrest and conviction of the parties who had committed these depredations, which aggregate, I understand, $20,000.00; but, as I have always strictly adhered to a rule that I formed early in my career, never to work for or receive rewards that might be offered for the arrest and conviction of any person, I did not claim the rewards offered by the two railroads. My reason for not accepting rewards is fully explained in another portion of this book.

RUNNING DOWN THE REVOLUTIONISTS.

DIFFICULT PIECE OF DETECTIVE WORK PERFORMED FOR THE MEXICAN GOVERNMENT--SENSATIONAL SCENES ATTENDING THE ARREST OF THE LEADERS.

Early in the Twentieth Century a movement, which had for its object the overthrow of the Diaz government in Mexico, crystalized. The revolutionists went about this work very quietly at the beginning, but later became more bold, and finally the majority of the leaders in the movement were driven from that country. Headquarters were first established at Laredo, across the border, but afterwards at El Paso and at Tombstone, Arizona.

As this was a violation of the neutrality laws, at the instance of the Mexican government the El Paso and Tombstone junta were broken up, and its officers disappeared. Within a few months the Mexican government learned that the revolutionists had again gotten together, and were once more flooding that country with inflammable literature. I was employed in 1907 by Enrique C. Creel, at that time Governor of Chihuahua, to locate the new headquarters of the junta, and find out what was going on. I soon went to work on the case, and found that the new headquarters of the revolutionists had been established in St. Louis, in the 900 block on North Channing avenue. Ricardo Flores Magon was the president, Antonio I. Villerreal, Vice-President, and Labardo Rivera, Secretary, of the junta. I also learned that Ricardo Flores Magon was editing and publishing a scurrilous and inflammatory paper in St. Louis under a fictitious name. The paper was supposed to be published monthly, and was called the Mexican Regeneracion. Magon's staff consisted of his brother, Enrique Flores Magon, Antonio I. Villerreal, Labrado Rivera, and a number of lesser lights, among them Munwell Lo Pez, Manuel Sarabia, Tomaso Sarabia, and a number of women, two of whom were sisters of Villerreal.

Villerreal's father, who was a very old man, sold newspapers on the streets of St. Louis for a living. Villerreal's sisters were named Andrea, the elder, and Teresa, the younger.

Antonio de P. Araujo used the following aliases, German Riesco, Alberto M. Ricaurte, Joaquin P. Calvo, Luis F. Carlo, and A. G. Hermandez. Tomaso S. Labrado was a protege, a sort of a "man Friday" for Antonio de P. Araujo. Araujo made his headquarters at Austin, Texas, for quite a while, but finally established his permanent abode at McAlester, Oklahoma, and was a live wire.

Villerreal's sisters lived in a basement with their old father for a while. Their place of residence was East Convent street, St. Louis. It was the basement of a rickety old tenement house, and besides themselves and their father, there was a woman who represented herself to be the aunt of Ricardo Flores Magon, and gave her name as LoPaz. I never heard of her claiming any relationship with Enrique Flores Magon, who was Ricardo Flores Magon's brother. The old mother of Juan Sarabia, and the wife and two children of Labrado Rivera, also lived in the same place. Juan Sarabia was the cousin of Manuel and Tomaso Sarabia, who were brothers. The entire furnishings of this hovel could have been moved in two good wheel barrow loads. The whole outfit was very poor and lived in what appeared to be abject poverty and filth. None of the members of the junta were in any way connected with the first families of Mexico.

To write up the characteristics, ideas, habits and the practices of the members of the St. Louis junta, I have material enough to cover reams of foolscap, much of which would be uninteresting to the American people. I will, therefore, confine myself to the final locating of Magon, Villerreal and Labrado Rivera, the originators and the ringleaders of the conspiracy, their arrest in Los Angeles and their extradition to Tombstone, Arizona, after they had been in jail for nearly two years, during which time they exhausted all legal resources in attempting to avoid extradition to Arizona, where they stood charged with having violated the United States neutrality laws. A large sum of money was raised and contributed by sympathizing Mexicans who resided in and about Los Angeles, as well as by the different labor organizations, to assist them in their defense. The laboring classes in California and throughout the United States sympathized with these so-called revolutionists, Magon and his party, as much as though they had been respectable, honest working people. If the Magons, or any of his followers, mentioned heretofore, ever did a noble or patriotic act in their lives, either in the United States or Mexico, I have never succeeded in learning of the fact, and from the information I obtained I am satisfied that none of them ever attempted to earn a living by honest labor.

I succeeded in locating Magon, Villerreal and Rivera in a cabin in the western part of Los Angeles, where they were entire strangers and their real identity was known to but two people in the city. Magon had made it a rule to never trust his fellow countrymen, or any one else. Many Mexicans in Los Angeles knew Magon was in or near the city, and knew him as the leader of the Mexican rebellion, but did not know him personally, nor would he permit them to know him.

There was a man there by the name of Modeska Diaz, who knew Magon and his party was in the city and visited him in his sanctum, always between midnight and daylight. Magon used this man's name, Modeska Diaz, as the editor of his paper in Los Angeles. There was also a married woman, a Mexican, fairly good looking, thirty-eight or forty years of age, light complexioned and an admirer of Ricardo Flores Magon, and this admiration was reciprocated. She visited him occasionally, always at late hours. She and the man Diaz were the only persons in Los Angeles who were aware of Magon's place of abode. They were also the only people in Los Angeles who knew him personally.

After I had succeeded in locating the cabin where these men were living, I was fortunate in securing rooms just across the street and from my window was able to watch everything that went on in the retreat of the Magon party. I kept them under surveillance, day and night, for a month before making the arrests. They left in the day time and did all their work at night, beginning as soon as it got dark and keeping up their work until daylight.

I soon discovered that Villerreal was absent. He had been arrested by the United States authorities the year before at El Paso, Texas, and placed in jail, where he remained for months, and was finally put in charge of a deputy United States marshal, who started to escort him across the line, as an undesirable citizen, but en route he obtained permission from his guard to enter a telegraph office at El Paso, claiming that he wished to notify his sisters, by telegraph, that he was being deported. He left the officer standing at the front door of the telegraph office and passed through the place and escaped by the rear door, and thereby established a great reputation for himself among the lower classes of his fellow countrymen. The newspapers made a great sensation of the affair, and referred to it as a hair-breadth and miraculous escape from the United States authorities. The facts are, that his escape was from one deputy United States marshal, a half-breed Mexican, who was almost immediately after Villerreal's escape dismissed from the service. It was afterwards rumored around El Paso that the deputy had been bribed. For this reason I decided not to arrest the others until Villerreal appeared on the scene. I felt sure that it would be only a question of time when he would join his master, Magon, in Los Angeles, as it would be necessary for him to make his report to Magon on the progress in the mission that had been assigned to him in Arizona.

Finally, on the night of August 22nd, about midnight, Villerreal was seen to enter the cabin. Satisfying myself as to his identity, I decided to arrest them the following day, August 23rd.

We had discovered that the inmates of the cabin used large coal-oil lamps, and, as I expected Magon and his companions would resist arrest, there was a chance that the lamps might be upset and explode. This would set fire to the place, and thereby destroy papers and documentary proofs, and for this reason I decided to make the arrests in daylight.

At five o'clock on the evening of the 23rd, we surrounded the cabin. I had with me two Los Angeles police officers and two of my own men. We found Villerreal and Magon asleep, and Rivera sitting in a chair, also in slumberland, although he was supposed to be on guard at the back door. Our appearance had been so quietly arranged that the parties were completely taken by surprise and did not have time to reach their arms. They fought hard, however, and continued to struggle all the way from the cabin to the jail, a distance of at least three miles. A wagon happened to pass the place at the time and I pressed it into service, and it kept us busy to keep the prisoners in the wagon, as they struggled and fought the entire distance, and kept up a continual squawking, which reminded one of a flock of wild geese. None of them spoke English, and the only things they could say were that they were being kidnapped and the words "help" and "Liberales."

It was just the time in the evening when people were leaving their places of work and going home, and the streets were thronged with people. We had to go north on Spring street, the principal street of the city. By reason of the continual uproar created by the prisoners it proved to be the most sensational arrest that had ever been made in Los Angeles up to that time.

We landed them safely in the city prison, and without any one sustaining serious injury, except a few teeth knocked out, bruised faces and black eyes. To my great surprise Villerreal, who had been so much lauded for his undaunted courage, was the easiest one of the party to subdue, and seemed to possess the least courage of anyone in the party.

A remarkable feature of this affair was that this party of agitators appealed to the sympathy of the working element. The laboring classes, nearly to a man, were in sympathy with them. I know that none of them had ever been connected with the working man's interests, nor were they laboring men themselves. They were simply agitators and people who were always trying to obtain something for nothing.

Guiterrez de Lara posed as a Mexican novel writer, and claimed to have been admitted to the bar as a lawyer in Mexico, and fled from there, going to Los Angeles, California, where he sought refuge. He obtained a meal ticket by marrying the proprietress of a lodging house, who was an American old enough to be his mother. He was not known to be connected with the revolutionary movement in Mexico, and was entirely unknown to the Magon faction until he broke into the limelight after Magon and his party had been arrested. De Lara was tall, inclined to be slender, had long, black, wavy hair, which he kept carefully parted in the middle, had some education, spoke no English, and was a typical agitator, and opposed to all law, order or government. However, he was not suspected by the people of Los Angeles as having either moral or physical courage.

Manuel Sarabia, one of their number, was a printer by trade. He had gone to Chicago during the printers' strike and took a position with M. A. Donahue, Hammond, Ind. He was a "scab" printer for one whole winter. I had him under surveillance all the time. Magon and the others all knew he was a strike breaker, as he had been in communication with them from time to time.

Rivera, after leaving his wife and children, started west to join Magon. He worked his way from Kansas City by stealing rides on freight trains, and in the same way from there to Denver, Colorado. Here he stayed around the Union depot, playing porter until the regular porters drove him away. He next made his way to Leadville and worked there, also as a "scab" porter. He was continuously on the lookout for detectives, and imagined that every person who looked at him was one, when, as a matter of fact, we knew his whereabouts continuously from the time he left St. Louis until he joined Magon in Los Angeles. In fact, it was by following him that we finally located Magon's place of abode.

Munwell LoPaz was commissioned by Magon as general organizer for the so-called revolutionary army. He went from St. Louis to San Antonio, Texas, where he commenced organizing volunteers for the "army," and had considerable success, until he received orders to go to Monterey, Mexico, for the same purpose. On receiving these orders he secured the services of Tomaso Labrada, and left him in charge of his affairs in San Antonio, while he went to Monterey.

One of our operatives, who was shadowing him, informed me of LoPaz's movements. I was in San Antonio at the time. I arrived in Monterey twelve hours after LoPaz reached there, and the following day I succeeded in capturing him at the postoffice in Monterey. I turned him over to the authorities, and some credentials and other papers found on him caused the authorities to send him immediately to the City of Mexico.

During the four years that I was employed by the Mexican Government to look after the Magon faction, I came in contact with a number of the leading officers of that government, among them President Diaz, Vice-President Corral, and Ambassador to the United States, Enrique C. Creel, and his successor, Senor De La Barra. I found them all gentlemen, good business men, honest, high-minded, and, I believe, thoroughly loyal to the people of Mexico. I found that the people of Mexico seemed to have great confidence in and respect for President Diaz. All the officials were very popular with the exception of Vice-President Corral. He was the most unpopular officer connected with the Mexican government, and I have no doubt that the dislike the people of Mexico bore for him was a great factor in creating the disfavor that finally caused the overthrow of Diaz's administration.

Ricardo Flores Magon was a man of brain, well mannered, inclined to be courteous, and educated and undoubtedly intended for a leader of men, but he was unscrupulous and irresponsible, and was an anarchist at heart.

Enrique Flores Magon, his younger brother, was educated, with a disposition and manners similar to those of his brother, inclined to be timid, verging on cowardice.

Lebrada Rivera was forty years of age, small of stature, light weight, and from his appearance might have been mistaken for a Japanese. He was well educated in Spanish and was at one time connected with the university or school at San Luis Potosi. It was claimed by some of his friends that he had been a professor of this school, but, by his appearance and subsequent actions he was more like a janitor or assistant janitor.

Villerreal was about the medium height, well built and rather good looking, about thirty-odd years of age, had some education, and took great care of a luxurious head of black, kinky hair, and a pretentious mustache, which were, in my opinion, his most valuable assets.

Juan Sarabia was between thirty and thirty-five years of age, and fairly well educated, was quite an orator, thoroughly disloyal to his country and a violent agitator, although he possessed more courage than any of his associates.

Munwell LoPaz, Manuel Sarabia and Tomaso Sarabia, represented themselves as important factors in the revolutionary movement. They pretended to hold official positions of great importance in the junta, when, as a matter of fact, the importance of their positions in the junta would compare favorably with that of a bellboy in a first-class hotel to that of the manager, who was Magon.

Magon, Villerreal and Rivera were finally extradited to Tombstone, Arizona, where they were tried in the United States court, convicted and sentenced to the Arizona state prison at Yuma for a term of eighteen months each for having violated the United States neutrality laws, by having organized an armed body of revolutionists at Douglas, Ariz., from where this expedition was sent to the Cannanea copper mines, in Mexico, about thirty miles from the south border of Arizona, with the intention of exterminating all Americans and other foreigners who were employed in and about the Cannanea mines.

Fortunately for the foreigners around these mines, the Arizona rangers, who were then an active body, pursued this mob of revolutionists, but did not overtake them, until they had reached there and began what might have been a massacre, but for the timely appearance of the Arizona rangers. They put the so-called revolutionists, but who should have been called bandits, to flight, capturing a few of the participants. It should be remembered that the Magons, Villerreal and Rivera, while not taking an active part in this raid, guided their adherents from a long, and what they considered a safe, distance.

In my judgment the penalty for the violation of the neutrality laws of the United States are not as severe as they should be.

Just as soon as these men had served their time out and were released (within two months) they had reorganized and started the rebellion in Mexico, that finally resulted in the overthrow of President Diaz's administration. However, this was not accomplished by Magon or his followers. It was accomplished by parties who were enemies of the Magon faction. They quietly organized and stepped in at the opportune time to reap the benefit of the turmoil, disruption and dissension that had been created by the Magon faction. This faction was headed by Madero, who had financial means and a somewhat better class of followers than Magon.

Madero's victory over the federal army was a comparatively easy one, as the government army had become completely honey-combed with disloyalty. When President Diaz became aware of existing conditions there was nothing left for him to do but leave his country to save his life.

It is to be hoped that the newly formed administration of Madero will bring peace and prosperity to the people of Mexico. However, at the present time, the writer has some doubts as to the fulfillment of this hope.

While the arrest and capture of Ricardo Flores Magon and his associates at Los Angeles, California, on the 23rd of August, 1907, may not interest the American reader very much, I want to say that by reason of the shrewdness of Ricardo Magon and the secrecy that he engendered into his followers, the fact that none of them spoke English, and each and every one of them had many aliases, and did all of their important corresponding in various systems of cipher, and the further fact that the Magon brothers continually kept their Mexican followers from getting to know them personally, and from the secret methods employed by them on all occasions, I consider the final location and capture of these parties, under all of the foregoing circumstances, the most difficult, as well as one of the most important, cases I have ever handled.

As a matter of course, after these people had been arrested and had had various hearings in the courts of Los Angeles while they were fighting extradition to Arizona, the officers of this country, as well as of Mexico, had the opportunity of becoming acquainted with their faces and their methods, and, therefore, before they were extradited from Los Angeles, many of the police officers and others in that city and all along the Mexican border would tell people all about Magon and his followers, and have been known to say that they knew all about them and their methods; that their capture had been a very easy proposition, and that had I not succeeded in capturing them just when I did that they were about to have made the capture themselves, when as a matter of fact these officers did not have the slightest idea as to the whereabouts of this party, nor were any of these people known to any of the officers on either side of the line, nor their methods, until after the capture and the subsequent development in the courts.

A DALLAS MURDER AVENGED.

PROMPT ARREST AND CONVICTION OF THE MURDERER AND SUICIDE OF THE INSTIGATOR OF THE CRIME WHILE AWAITING TRIAL.

Early in the '90s, I received a telegram from James Arnold, Chief of Police of Dallas, Texas, and Ben Cabel, County Sheriff of Dallas, requesting me to come to Dallas immediately for consultation in a murder case. Knowing both gentlemen well, having done business with them before, I answered that I would start for Dallas the following day, which I did.

I arrived in Dallas late on Wednesday evening. I found Chief Arnold and Sheriff Cabel waiting for me at the depot. We went to my hotel immediately where we could have a quiet conference. For obvious reasons I will not give the true names of the principals connected with this dastardly crime, but will state the actual facts which led to the arrest and conviction of the murderer, and to the suicide of the real principal.

The Chief and Sheriff told me the nature of the case for which I had been summoned. They said that on Sunday night, preceding, a prominent citizen of Dallas (whom I will call Temple) had boarded a heavily loaded electric car, downtown, in front of one of the principal churches, for his home. The car had at least forty or fifty passengers, most of whom were returning home from the evening services, which Temple had attended. Temple lived on the outer edge of the city in the better residence portion. When the car reached his home he got off and started towards his front gate. There were a number of shade trees in front of his home; the street at this point was well lighted by arc lights, one of which was suspended above the point where he had left the car. As he stepped from the street to the edge of the side-walk, a colored man, who had been concealed behind a shade tree, sprang out and was seen by a number of passengers who were on the rear end of the car to strike Temple a powerful blow on the head with something like a baseball bat. After striking the blow, the negro dropped his weapon and his hat, and fled into an alley, disappearing in the darkness. The people who had witnessed the assault, hastened to Temple, who lay unconscious on the sidewalk, picked him up and carried him into his house. Doctors were summoned, and found that Temple's head had been split from the crown to the level of the eyes. He was still breathing, but only lived a few moments, never regaining consciousness. The Chief and Sheriff were sent for and found that the weapon was a piece of 11/2-inch gas pipe, near four feet long. The blow was so powerful that it bent the pipe, midway, to almost an L-shape. They also found the hat, which the murderer dropped, to be a new, cheap, broad-brimmed, black hat and was of unusually large size. It was too large for any ordinary sized head and indicated to me that it was probably too large for the man who had worn it, and for that reason had fallen off with the first violent move the wearer had made. The witnesses to the crime had all had a plain view of the slayer, and described him as a young negro, very black, about five feet eight inches tall, well built, and apparently well dressed. They all agreed that he had the features of a white man, thin lips, straight nose and regular features. In fact, a number believed him to be a white man who had blackened his face.

During our conference I learned that Temple had a brother, who was a prominent physician, and who lived in Springfield, Illinois. He had been sent for by his sister-in-law, arriving in Dallas on Tuesday. The doctor was anxious to have his brother's assassin brought to justice, if possible, and had asked them to recommend a detective to him for that purpose, so they had wired me to come on to Dallas. It was midnight by this time, and I was tired. After making an appointment with Sheriff Cabel to accompany him to the scene of the murder the next morning, I retired.

Next morning Chief Arnold, Sheriff Cabel and I went over the ground. I examined the hat and the piece of pipe, which the murderer had used, and I noticed that this pipe was new and had been cut from the end of a long joint. It was evident to me that it had been cut to the proper length so that he (the assassin) could conceal it in carrying it to the place of the murder. I then began my investigations.

There was a large colony of negroes in Dallas, as in other Texas towns, but no one seemed to know a colored man who had a white man's features. All the witnesses agreed that they had never seen any one who looked like the murderer before. It was, of course, necessary for me to discover the motive for the murder, since in all crimes of this character there is a motive.

I found that Mr. Temple had been superintendent of a Sunday School. He was also in the wholesale lumber business, and was associated with two parties in the business. One of them I will call Smith and the other Perry. When the partnership had been formed they agreed to take out a ten thousand dollar life insurance policy on each other's life, and to carry these policies on the company funds. I learned that Temple had incurred the enmity of a number of citizens; among them was a brother-in-law, who at one time had been heard to threaten his life. Temple had had some litigation with a saw-mill proprietor who lived in east Texas. This litigation involved about fifty thousand dollars, and had been in court for several years. Finally a decision had been rendered in favor of Temple, a short time prior to his murder. The saw-mill proprietor of east Texas had the reputation of being a good citizen, honorable and reliable in business, but had killed two or more people, for which he had been exonerated by the courts. From the above the reader can understand that I had already discovered what might prove to be several "motives" for the crime.

At noon on the second day after my arrival at Dallas, I had eaten my dinner and walked out of the Grand Windsor Hotel, where I was stopping, to the corner in front of the hotel, where I stopped for a moment, as I was undecided whether to go up or down the street first, there being people in both directions whom I wished to see. It was raining. There was a fine-looking young woman coming across the street towards me. As she approached I noticed that she was a colored girl, but about as white as myself. Her hair was kinky and of a deep reddish color. Her eyes were large and blue. She was tall, well dressed, but had large brown freckles about the size of a little finger nail. Her carriage was graceful, and were it not for the freckles and kinky hair she would have been called a beauty. Her graceful movements attracted my attention, and as I looked at her a hand was laid on my shoulder. On looking around I beheld Doctor Temple. He said in an undertone, "What do you think of her?"

I said, "She is a freak of nature."

He answered, "Yes, she is a freak of nature. I noticed her yesterday in that building where my brother had his office. She appeared to be having an earnest conversation with the janitor." After a few other remarks the doctor left me and I concluded to go and see a party that I thought could give me some information. I could not get that colored girl out of my mind, and before I had gone a block I decided that I would go and find out who she was, and what her business was with the janitor of the building where the lumberman had had his office. I knew that Sheriff Cabel would know who this girl was, as he knew every one in Dallas. I turned around and went back to the court house, where I found the sheriff and said, "Sheriff, I saw a colored girl near the hotel a short time ago (here I described her) and I would like to know who she is and something about her."

The sheriff said, "That girl is known as Liza Johnson. You know Emma Johnson. She's the daughter of an old colored woman who lived for many years with Emma Johnson. Her mother died when she was a child and Emma raised her like her own daughter. She's a good girl and Emma thinks a great deal of her; Emma can tell you all about her, and I will take you over to Emma's if you want me to." This he did.

We called on Miss Johnson, and the sheriff introduced me, and told her I was a friend of his, asking her to treat me accordingly, to which she assented.

I said, "I want to know something about your maid, Liza. I understand that she has been seen in an office building over on Commerce St. and I am anxious to learn what business took her to that building."

She replied, "Why, I don't really know, but I reckon I can find out. About a month ago the negroes here in Dallas had a picnic and Liza went to that picnic. She met a young negro there and he brought her home. I saw him, and he was good looking, well dressed, and appeared to be fairly well educated. He was black as ink though, but had good features, like those of a white man. He had thin lips, small mouth and a straight nose. If he had been a white man he'd have been good looking." This was an exact description of the slayer of Mr. Temple. Continuing, she said, "He came here from some place down in the state. He is a stranger here and don't mix with the other colored people. He's acting as a sort of body-servant to his master, who has an office in that building on Commerce St."

I then asked, "What is his name?"

She replied, "His first name is John, and his last name is the same as his master's. I can't recall it."

"Was his master's name Perry?" I asked.

"Yes," she answered, "That's it, John Perry. But John is not in town now. He left town last Monday. He came over and saw Liza, and told her he was going to San Antonio to attend the races there this week. He writes her every day, though, and she got a letter from him this morning."

I asked her if she could let me see the letter without Liza's knowledge. She said, "Oh, yes, I'll send Liza over to the drug store on an errand and I can get it then before she returns."

She sent Liza to the drug store, and got the letter and gave it to me. It was in the envelope and had been mailed the day before at San An--the balance of the word not appearing, because the mailing stamp had not touched the paper. I believe it to be San Antonio, since he was supposed to be there.

Upon receiving this information I asked Miss Johnson to treat my visit in confidence, which she promised to do. I then located a plumbing shop where I found the proprietor and his brother, about eighteen years of age, who at once recognized the piece of pipe, which he said he had cut from a large joint for a negro the Friday before the murder. He described the negro fully as Miss Johnson and others had done, and said he could identify him any place on sight. I immediately arranged with the elder plumber for his brother to accompany me to San Antonio at my expense, with the understanding that I was to pay him for his time. The boy put on his best clothes and we left Dallas that night for San Antonio, arriving there next morning. We went to the Menger Hotel, and while at breakfast the hotel clerk brought me a telegram from Sheriff Cabel, of Dallas, reading as follows:

"Go to San Angelo, Texas, at once."

Before leaving Dallas I had arranged with the sheriff and Miss Johnson to examine all letters received by Liza. On the morning of my arrival at San Antonio Liza received a letter from the San Angelo postoffice with the postmark plainly stamped upon it. I took the first train for San Angelo, which left that evening. We arrived at San Angelo next morning, Sunday.

San Angelo was, at the time, a small cattle shipping town, and within an hour after our arrival I learned that the negro, John Perry, had left San Angelo on Saturday evening, with a ticket to Lampasas, Texas. I also learned that I could not leave for Lampasas until Sunday evening, as there was only one daily train each day. Sunday evening we left for Lampasas, where we arrived about 8:00 a. m. Monday morning. Lampasas was the county seat and it was court week. The town was filled to overflowing by reason of the court. The depot was about one-half mile from the postoffice in the center of the city. Getting off the train the boy and myself walked over to the hotel, and as we neared the postoffice we noticed a large crowd around it evidently waiting for mail. The boy from Dallas called my attention to a colored man, who was wearing a light Fedora hat, with a blue serge suit, and was well dressed. He stood away from the crowd near the postoffice, evidently waiting for mail. The boy pointed to him and said, "That's the nigger that I sold that piece of pipe to."

We were in front of the store when he recognized John Perry, whom it proved to be. I told the boy to stay right there until I had captured the negro. He could then quietly follow us to the jail unobserved. I went over near the place where the negro stood and concluded that I would wait until he had received mail, which he was evidently expecting. In a few moments the negroes formed a line to the window where they received their mail. In a short time John reached the window and received a letter. He left the line and walked around the corner of the building, opened the letter and took from it a couple of bank notes, hastily placed them in his vest pocket and proceeded to read the letter, which was written in lead pencil. Meanwhile, I had gotten within reach of him without being noticed by him or any one else, when I suddenly threw a 41-calibre Colt revolver into his face, commanding him to throw up his hands. To my surprise he suddenly plunged his hand inside the waist of his trousers and attempted to draw a nine-inch barrel, 45-calibre Colts, concealed under his vest. Before he could draw it I seized his hand and his revolver and commanded him in forcible tone to desist. The moment I leveled my revolver on him the crowd's attention was attracted. One of them, who was standing very close, was about six feet tall, and really the thinnest looking individual I had ever seen. He wore a hat with a very wide brim, making him look much thinner. He promptly threw a 45 Colt on both of us, and with a voice as shrill as a wild goose, yelled, "Heah, heah, I am the sheriff of this county and I command peace."

To which I replied, "Mr. Sheriff, take hold of this negro. I'm an officer from Dallas and have arrested him for murdering a white man there."

The sheriff grabbed one side and I the other, and we started for the jail, nearby. The crowd hearing that I had arrested him for the murder of a white man, talked of lynching, but the sheriff, whom they knew and respected, told them that the prisoner should be dealt with by law, and that he intended to protect him. We took him to jail, where I searched him. I took from him the letter which he had just received, and which he tried to tear in pieces. I also took the two bank notes which he had received in the letter. They proved to be two treasury notes. I placed the fragments of the letter together, which had been mailed from Dallas and which read about as follows:

"I enclose you one hundred dollars, on receipt of which you must go quietly and at once to the City of Mexico. I will join you there. Detectives are on to us, and you must not let them catch you. It would be fatal." (Signed) John Perry.

I took everything of a metallic nature from him, and had the sheriff lock him up in a cell, as I knew he would be compelled to remain in Lampasas for twenty-four hours, until we could get a train for Dallas.

By the time he was searched and locked up it was nearly the dinner hour, and I instructed the sheriff to feed the prisoner, but not to allow him a knife or any article with which he could do himself bodily harm. I explained to him that it was very important that I get the prisoner back to Dallas safely, as we wanted to get a statement from him as to why he had killed Temple.

I had just gone into the dining room to get something to eat, when a deputy sheriff rushed into the room and called my name, to which I answered. He said excitedly, "Come to the jail at once. That nigger of yours has cut his damned head nearly off."

The hotel was just opposite the jail and it took only a short time to get there. I found the jailor, on discovering what the prisoner had done, had pulled him out of the cell into the corridor, where he was lying on the iron floor, with his throat cut almost from ear to ear. In the cutting he had not severed the jugular vein, but had cut the wind pipe. It was a tremendous gash. He could breathe fairly well, and could speak, but with difficulty.

Meanwhile the sheriff had summoned an old doctor, who arrived at the jail shortly. He looked at the prisoner and said, "Why, that nigger will die. I can't do a thing for him," and he positively refused to do anything. I pleaded with him to sew up the wound and save the life, as it was of great importance to the people of Dallas. It was all in vain. We finally succeeded in getting a young doctor of the town, who came and tenderly dressed the wound, and stated that with proper care the negro would live. I assisted the doctor all that I could, and stayed there with him from that time until we left Lampasas the next morning. I had my meals brought to the jail to me.

About the middle of the afternoon, after the wound was dressed, Perry began to feel better, and I presume, by reason of my kind treatment of him he told me that his young master, John Perry, had induced him to come to Dallas for the purpose of killing his partner, Mr. Temple; that he (his master) had paid his expenses and had been liberal in furnishing him with spending money, also that he was to give him five hundred dollars after he had killed Temple. He said he did not want to do it, and tried to get out of it after he had reached Dallas, but his master threatened to kill him unless he did so. He said he killed Temple because he feared his master would kill him. He said that on the Sunday night previous to the murder he was about to pounce upon another man of Temple's congregation. This man resembled Temple so much that he was about to kill him for Temple, and would have done so but for the fact that his master was in hiding across the street and rushed out and prevented his making a mistake. He also confessed that he had received a telegram on the day that he had left San Angelo, telling him to go to Lampasas and call at the post-office for a letter, which was the letter mentioned above.

Whereupon, I wrote a telegram to Sheriff Cabel, which read as follows: "Negro has cut his throat and is dying. Give this message to the newspapers and have them get out an extra at once, without fail. Will wire you explanation two hours later."

I sent this message to the telegraph office by the plumber boy.

After I had decided to leave Dallas to arrest Perry, I wired a code message to one of my operatives, D. F. Harbaugh, to come to Dallas on the first train and call for a letter of instructions that I left for him at my hotel. This letter was to the effect that he should carefully shadow the white man, John Perry, as soon as he arrived at Dallas, and keep him under continuous surveillance until further orders.

Harbaugh arrived at Dallas on Saturday and began shadowing Perry according to instructions. As soon as Cabel received my first message he called up the newspapers and they got out an extra at once. The white John Perry got one of the first extras. He read the account of the colored man having killed himself, and at once left his office and started for his lodgings, about a mile away. On his way he stopped at every saloon en route (they numbered thirteen in all) and took a large drink at each place. By the time he reached home he had taken at least thirteen drinks.

Two hours after sending the first message, I sent Sheriff Cabel a second one, which read as follows:

"Negro doing well; will recover. Leave here on morning train for Dallas. Treat this confidentially and meet me at Temple tomorrow morning. Arrest John Perry on charge of complicity in Temple murder. Have full confession of negro which justifies this action."

Sheriff Cabel did as directed, and met me at Temple the following morning, where we had to change cars for Dallas. We arrived in Dallas about 8:00 P. M. Tuesday, and during the long journey from Lampasas to Dallas the jolting of the cars, etc., caused the negro's wound to become inflamed, and he was suffering greatly when we reached Dallas. The sheriff had telegraphed ahead for a physician to await us at the jail. The negro was placed on a cot in the corridor where the doctor could redress his wound. While the doctor was so engaged the master, John Perry, who was a prisoner in one of the cells on the upper floor of the jail, could plainly see all that was going on below. He recognized the negro and immediately attempted to kill himself by butting his head against the steel bars of his cell. The sheriff and his assistants and myself were attracted by the actions of the white man, and at once rushed to the cell. Here we found that the white prisoner had almost beaten out his brains against the bars of his cell. Medical aid was called and a guard placed inside the cell with him to prevent any further personal violence.

The following day the papers were full of what had occurred, and owing to the high standing of Perry, the jail was flooded with sympathizers, among whom were many leading citizens. Telegrams from all parts of the state, from influential people, poured in, tendering the prisoner all sorts of aid, financially and otherwise. An able counsel volunteered to defend him, and society ladies began to send him luncheons and delicacies of all kinds.

The prisoner had offered as an excuse for trying to commit suicide that he felt so humiliated by being charged with murdering his partner. He declared that he was innocent and that he would be exonerated in court; which I have no doubt he would, as the main proof against him was the testimony of a negro, which does not usually go very far in court in the south when it cannot be strongly corroborated.

The colored prisoner continued to improve, and the white man seemed to get along nicely for about five days, when a young society woman sent him a luncheon, in which was a cut glass plate containing delicacies. While he was eating this lunch, and the guard was at the far end of the cell Perry suddenly struck the plate on the steel floor of the cell, breaking it into pieces. He picked up a large, triangular-shaped piece of glass, with edges as sharp as a razor, and plunged it into his throat, at the same time giving the piece of glass a twist, which severed the jugular vein, causing his death in a few minutes. Thus ended the existence of the white John Perry.

The colored man pleaded guilty at his trial, and was sentenced to the state prison for life, where, I presume, he is at the present time.

I omitted to state that after I had searched the colored John Perry at Lampasas, and had instructed the sheriff and jailor not to allow him to have a knife or anything of the kind with his meal, Perry had called the jailor and told him that he had gotten a sliver in his finger, and asked the jailor to lend him his knife to remove the sliver. The old jailor, having evidently forgotten my instructions, gave the prisoner his pocket knife, through the bars. As he stepped back from the bars Perry opened the knife and cut his throat before the jailor could get into the cell to prevent it. The skin on that darky's neck was as thick as ordinary sole leather and very tough. I held him while the doctor sewed up the wound, which was a hard job, but performed very nicely.

I arrived in Dallas on Wednesday night, made the foregoing investigation, located and arrested Perry, caused the arrest of the white John Perry, left Dallas and returned to St. Louis, arriving there on Friday evening of the following week, after having traveled nearly four thousand miles, which I believe to be the quickest time ever made in working up a case and capturing the guilty parties in a crime of this magnitude.

I can say that I have never doubted but that it was a case of remorse that caused the white John Perry to commit suicide, and not humiliation.

THE TOUGHEST OF TOUGH TOWNS.

EAST ST. LOUIS IN THE EARLY EIGHTY'S--HOW I HELPED TO REFORM THE MUNICIPALITY--A SPECTACULAR RAID ON "SURE THING" GAMES AND "BIG MITT" JOINTS.

Dodge City, Kansas, and Corinne, Utah, have places in history for being tough towns in their infancy, but take it from me, Mr. Reader, that neither of these much-advertised burgs, in their palmiest days, were "in the running" for toughness with East St. Louis during the early '80s. The average St. Louisan, in those days, was entirely different in his make-up from the denizens of the cities further west, especially if he was in politics, his nature being more bloodthirsty than the bandit, or tough cowboy or buffalo skinner, who made the first named towns famous. It was a different sort of crookedness in East St. Louis. The little municipality was in the hands of crooks of the lowest degree. There was no crime to which they would not resort to gain a point of advantage over a rival. In other words, any crime was regarded as conventional, just so the man who committed it got the "mazuma." The principal city offices were held by gamblers and "sure-thing" men. The city councilmen were nearly all saloon or dive keepers, while the police department was recognized as the grandest collection of thugs, crooks and "strong-armers" that had ever been assembled together within the borders of one town. The fact that these alleged minions of the law were recognized as suspicious characters by the officers of other cities, and were shadowed whenever found out of their own bailiwick seemed to be regarded as a good point in their favor by those responsible for their being--the mayor and Board of Aldermen. Any crook, big or little, if he had the price for protection, could ply his chosen profession on the main streets of the town without molestation on the part of those sworn to enforce the law. A "peterman" (safe blower) was held in higher esteem over there in those days than a priest, a "porch-climber" regarded as an artist, and the monte and confidence men placed in the same class as are college professors and clergymen in other cities, while the men who received the bribes were all looked upon as good fellows and smart, wide-awake business men.

Neither were the merchants and tradesmen all straight in those days. It has been said of some of them that they would refuse to take money in exchange for their wares when there was any suspicion in their minds that the money had been earned honestly. Crooks of all classes congregated there, because they knew they were safe from arrest. If they were broke on their arrival, after being chased out of another town, they knew there would be no trouble in getting some dive-keeper or proprietor of a fence to "go to the front" for them at police headquarters and square things so they could "go to work." It was everyday talk that aldermen had "big mitt" men and "strong-armers" out working on percentage.

As in all such places, gambling flourished--that is, gambling of the crooked kind. The whirr of the roulette ball and the rattle of the dice in the "bird cage" could be heard on the street, when not drowned out by the voices of the cappers for "the old army game" (chuck-a-luck) or the paddle wheels or sweat board. Nobody had a chance to win, however, except the operators of the games, as they were all crooked.

Many of the merchants openly displayed in their shop windows the tools and devices used by the various "professions." The bully could buy brass knucks with which to knock the block off of his adversary; the hold-up man a sand bag to stun his victim, while he helped himself to his valuables; the card sharper could buy his "strippers" "bug" or "harness," while the safe blower could find any sort of "jimmy" or any quantity of "soup" he desired, or had the money to pay for. Then there were "fences" where a thief might dispose of anything of value he might "find" on his excursions to the neighboring towns, which were not infrequent. The return of one of these marauding parties from a tour was always followed by an orgy, at which wine flowed freely, and the ill-gotten money tossed about with a lavish hand.

East St. Louis was then a wide-open town, with the accent on the words "wide" and "open."

Finally the good people of the town awoke to their responsibilities, as they always do in cases of this kind. Headed by an ex-mayor, John B. Bowman, editor of a newspaper, a fight was begun on the crooked officials. And it was a fight, a bitter one. A number of aldermen who had been under suspicion of being partially responsible for the bad state of affairs, were beaten for re-election, and an attempt was made to get possession of the city funds in the city treasury, which was in the hands of Thos. J. Canty, gang city clerk, who had usurped the office of treasurer. After much delay, he having resorted to the courts to prevent his being ousted, he was finally ordered to turn over the funds to the treasurer on the morning of May 21, 1884. The night before the date set for the transfer, the vault in the City Hall, in which Canty claimed to have kept the funds, was robbed, an entrance having been effected by digging a hole through the brick wall which enclosed the safe.

A few months before the robbery, Mike Coleman, alias Charlie Clark, a noted "peterman" of that city, had come down to St. Louis from Jefferson City, where he had been doing time for a safe-blowing job in Monroe County, Missouri. I had known Coleman for years and had been instrumental in "settling" him on more than one occasion. He called upon me at my office, which, at that time, was in the Allen Building, Broadway and Market Streets. "I am through with crime, Mr. Furlong," he said, "and I have secured a good job with the Hamilton-Brown Shoe Company as a cutter, at a salary which will permit me to take care of my wife and child, and I want to know if you will allow me to live in St. Louis--that is, not tip me off to the St. Louis police, none of whom know me."

I told him I was truly glad to hear of his reformation, and that I would not tell any one of his presence here as long as he continued to work and behave himself. He seemed pleased to hear this, and told me he would not only live straight in the future, but would "put me next" to any one he knew to be crooked should they attempt to do any work in St. Louis. He further voluntarily promised that he would report to me at my office every Saturday afternoon. I then introduced him to my chief clerk, Edward Dawson, and told him to report to Mr. Dawson in case I did not happen to be in the office when he called.

We shook hands and he took his departure. He reported to the office every Saturday promptly for about three months, at which time I was called south on a train robbery case, and was absent from St. Louis for several weeks. During my absence an epidemic of safe robberies occurred in St. Louis. As many as three "boxes" were opened in a single night. One night the "petermen" would operate in north or south St. Louis, the next night they would be down in the business district, or out in the west end. The work of the gang caused a panic at police headquarters. Chief Harrigan had his men working night and day, and the detective force was augmented by patrolmen in plain clothes, but still the bursting of "boxes" continued nightly. During my absence from the city I was enabled to get the St. Louis papers once in a while. These papers were full of the accounts of the robberies. From the description in the papers of the way the work had been done, I was satisfied that Coleman was either doing the work or directing it. Nearly all of the places robbed had been entered from above. I knew this skylight stunt was one of Coleman's specialties. He never broke a door or forced a window to get to a box. His method was to reach a fire escape and make his way to the roof of a building. He would then descend to the floor on which the safe was located, and after detecting and fixing a side or back door, through which the "get-away" was to be made in case of an interruption on the part of a watchman or officer on the beat, would go to work.

I returned to St. Louis one night, and in discussing the robberies with Mr. Dawson, I learned that Coleman had not reported at the office during my absence. The next morning I called on the foreman of the Hamilton-Brown Shoe Company, by whom Coleman had been employed, and who was the only man in St. Louis besides Dawson and myself who knew the ex-convict's record. The foreman told me that Mike had left his position about a month before, without making any explanation. He had simply drawn his week's wages and had failed to show up again. On learning these facts, I was more than ever convinced that Coleman had gone wrong again. I was very busy in my office that day looking after matters that had accumulated during my absence, and did not leave for home until after 5:30 P. M. On my way to the car I passed a doorway, in which was standing a man whom I recognized as Pat Lawler, the best detective on the city force, and with whom I was on very friendly terms. On approaching Lawler I found him to be asleep. After I had awakened him he told me he and his partner and several other men in the department had been on continuous duty for over 36 hours, trying to get a "line" on the men who were "blowing up the town" as he expressed it. He then told me that the men in the department were still at sea, having no clue as to who was doing the work. "I am going to bed and get some rest, at any rate," said Lawler, "and I do not care what 'the big finger' (Chief of Police) says about it."

I then told Lawler I believed I knew who was doing the work, or at least directing it, and told him that if he and his partner would meet me at Twelfth and Olive Streets at 5:30 the next morning I would help them find the man I suspected. After telling me that he and his partner would be at the rendezvous at the appointed time, Lawler and I parted company.

Coleman, under the alias of Charlie Clark, was living at that time on the second floor of a house fronting on Biddle Street, between Ninth and Tenth Streets. The entrance to this flat was made from the alley in the rear. I knew Coleman's wife, or the woman he claimed to be his wife. She had formerly been the wife of Tom Gosling, a noted crook, who was at that time in the Missouri penitentiary, doing a ten year stretch. Her first name was Annie, and she had a son about 6 or 7 years of age.

Lawler and his partner were at the corner of Twelfth and Olive Streets promptly at 5:30 the next morning, according to appointment. I then told them all about Coleman, and we proceeded to the latter's flat. On reaching the head of the stairway, I knocked at the door. Mrs. Coleman, garbed only in a night robe, came to the door and opened it a few inches. I stuck my foot in the door to keep her from closing it.

"I want to see Charlie," I explained to her.

"He is not here, Mr. Furlong," she replied, after recognizing me and permitting us to enter. "I do not know where he is," she continued. She then told me that Charlie had gone to drinking and had quit his job about a week before, and she did not know where he was or what he was doing. I knew she was not telling me the truth, as Charlie had quit his job at least a month previous, and did not drink at all. In fact, he never had been known to drink to excess. While we were talking I noticed a large-sized picture of Coleman hanging on the wall. This I told the officers to take, and commanded her to dress.

"What are you going to do, Mr. Furlong?" she asked.

"I am going to take you down to police headquarters for lying to me," I replied.

Both she and her boy began to cry and make a scene, but she finally began dressing. While this was going on I heard a slight noise in the front room.

"Who is in there?" I asked, jumping to the door.

"A couple of friends of Charlie's from Hannibal," she replied.

Lawler and I entered this room and found a couple of men in bed. After placing them under arrest we recognized them as a couple of crooks, both of whom were heavily armed. Under the bed was a gunny sack, which, on investigation, we found to contain a safe-blowing outfit, including a sectional jimmy, a pair of "come-a-longs" (tool used to pull the knob or "ears" off of a safe), a new hammer and other tools. These men had evidently returned to the room late and being tired threw the sack under the bed and went to sleep.

Just as we were about to take our departure from the room with the prisoners a mail carrier arrived with a letter for Mrs. Clark. I took charge of the letter and saw it had been mailed at Springfield, Mo. I handed it to Mrs. Clark and she opened it and read its contents. The letter was from her husband, and stated he was in Springfield, and for her to answer it at once as he was only going to remain in Springfield a couple of days, and he wanted to hear from her before leaving there. We then took our prisoners, including Mrs. Clark, to the Four Courts. Some small pictures of Clark were taken from the large one we had found in his home, and Chief of Detectives Burke, armed with one of these pictures, left at once for Springfield to try and effect his capture. In this Burke was successful, as Clark appeared at the post-office to get his mail and was recognized and placed under arrest. Clark was brought back to St. Louis. He would not talk to the St. Louis officers, although the latter used every art known to them to make the prisoner "cough up." Clark told Chief of Police Harrigan he knew nothing that would do them any good, but that he had some information that was very valuable for me, and asked that I be called. At that time the relations between the chief and myself were some strained, to express it mildly, but the Chief finally sent for me. "This thief has some information for you," said Harrigan to me on my arrival at his office. "I do not believe he is much of a thief, either, as I know all the good ones," continued the chief. After shaking hands with Clark he told me the city officers could not connect him with any of the jobs pulled off here, as he had nothing to do with them, but declined to talk further in the presence of the chief, we being in the latter's office at the time. As Harrigan did not seem inclined to let me interview Clark privately I left, and returned to my office.

Later in the day Clark employed a lawyer, and sent him to me to tell me that if I would get him across the river he would tell me all about that job, meaning the looting of the City Hall vault. I referred Clark's lawyer to Prosecuting Attorney Holder of St. Clair County, Illinois, and later the latter made a demand on the St. Louis police for the possession of Clark. The St. Louis officers, thinking that they might secure at least a part of the reward which had been offered for the apprehension of the men who committed the East St. Louis crime, took Clark over the river, where he was locked up. I then called on him and he told me all about the vault robbery.

According to his story, which was later verified by his two assistants, Clark was employed to do the job by Thos. A. Canty, acting city treasurer, to hide an alleged shortage in Canty's accounts. The latter was, it was claimed $60,000 short, having lost the money at poker. The money had to be turned over the next day, and Canty could not do it, because he could not raise that amount. Clark had been introduced to Canty by Patrick Eagan, who was at that time running a saloon in East St. Louis, and was one of the city's aldermen. Eagan was regarded as a friend of crooks of the higher class, such as confidence men, safe blowers and "big mitt" men. Coleman claimed he was told by Canty that ten thousand dollars would be left on the top of the safe, which was the amount he was to receive for doing the work. Coleman was also introduced to Lieutenant Duffy, acting night chief of police of the East St. Louis department, who was to act as lookout while the work was being done. The ten thousand dollars was to be divided equally between Duffy, Eagan and Coleman. A few days before the time set for doing the job Canty became ill and was taken to Hot Springs. This did not interfere with the plans, however, D. J. Canty, according to the testimony, taking his brother's place in making the final arrangements for the entering of the vault. Coleman did the real work, assisted by Eagan, while Duffy, in full uniform, stood guard on the outside. A box, in which was supposed to be $10,000, was found on top of the safe, as had been promised by Canty. This box was taken by the three men to Duffy's home and its contents poured out on the kitchen table, but instead of $10,000 there was only $3,000. This money was divided equally among the three men, after which all went downtown again. It was then about 2:30 A. M. Duffy, not wishing to carry so much money around with him, placed his part in the safe of a saloonkeeper friend, who was also an alderman. The lieutenant in his testimony at the trial of the Cantys, two years afterwards, declared that his $1,000 decreased to $700 during the night. In other words, some one had touched the roll for $300.

I told Prosecuting Attorney Holder and the Citizens' Committee about Coleman's confession, and was employed to secure corroborating evidence, which was done. Eagan and Duffy were arrested, convicted and sentenced to five years each in the penitentiary. They appealed the case, but at the next term of court withdrew their appeals, after a conference with Prosecuting Attorney Holder, and entered pleas of guilty, and received two years each. The Canty brothers were arrested, but notwithstanding the fact that Coleman, Duffy and Eagan testified for the state, and there was much corroborating evidence, the jury failed to agree, standing seven for conviction to five for acquittal. At the time it was alleged that money had been expended very freely to clear the brothers.

Coleman was not prosecuted. He left the city for the west, and the next I heard of him he was conducting a saloon on Geary Street, San Francisco. Later he and Henry Schultz, another noted peterman, formed an alliance and opened a half dozen "boxes" in the country surrounding the Golden Gate metropolis. They were finally settled for one of their jobs by Capt. Leas, of Frisco. Later Coleman was released, but was soon afterwards killed at Houston, Texas, while attempting to rob a bank. He was acting as lookout, while his pals were at work on the vault. The first explosion attracted the attention of the police, who opened fire on Coleman and his death was instantaneous; thus his long career of crime ended.

Chief of Detectives Burke, of the St. Louis Police Department, afterwards claimed the reward for capturing the vault robbers, and I believe secured a part of the money, but he was really not entitled to a cent, as he had done none of the real work on the case.

The next sensation in East St. Louis was the assassination of Ex-Mayor John B. Bowman, which occurred about 6:30 o'clock on the evening of November 20, 1885. The assassin did his work well. It can be described in a sentence--a shot was fired, and the corpse of the leader of the reformers was found lying near the gate leading to his residence, alone with the secret. I was employed by the son of the dead man to try and unravel the mystery, being given complete charge of the case. I had known Bowman for years, and was acquainted with his past life, which had been a very turbulent one. He had always been a fighter, one of the kind who never knew when they were whipped. He settled in East St. Louis in the latter part of the '60s, and acquired a large amount of property. He was one of the few men who recognized the fact that East St. Louis would later become a great industrial center. Because of his large interests he took an active part in municipal affairs, which, of course, brought him in contact with the politicians. Bowman knew all about politics, even what is called the "practical" side of the game, but he was a poor diplomat--one of the kind of men who always called a spade a spade, consequently he was often in trouble with those who opposed him or his plans. He was often deserted by men whom he had practically made politically, because of his radical views on some question at issue. This was the beginning of a bitter war on the person so offending, by Bowman. He never forgave a man who had deserted him or his cause.

On taking charge of the case the day after the diabolical crime had been committed, I was not surprised to learn that several of the dead man's enemies were busy preparing alibis. Another thing that impressed me as a little peculiar was that the police department was making no effort to find the perpetrator of the crime. After considerable hard work by both myself and my men, I succeeded in finding a couple of parties who claimed that they had seen the fatal shot fired. They were Christian A. Schmidt and William Banks. These men were returning from the country, where they had been to secure some tobacco which had been stolen from a freight car and hidden in a hay stack. As they neared the Bowman home they saw a flash from across the street, and saw Bowman fall. They recognized George W. Voice, a member of the police force, as the man who did the shooting. Later some more evidence was obtained, which, it was thought, would corroborate the statements of Schmidt and Banks. This corroborative evidence implicated another police officer named Patrick O'Neil. Voice was arrested at once and taken to Belleville and locked up. Later O'Neil called on Voice at the jail, and he, too, was placed behind the bars, he having been indicted as an accessory that day. These arrests caused a great sensation, not only in St. Clair County, but on the other side of the river as well.

At the preliminary hearing of Voice, Schmidt and Banks went on the stand and told their story in a straightforward manner, and the defendant was returned to jail without bail. The friends of the prisoners then began harrassing the state's witnesses. The cases against the men were continued from time to time until April 3, 1887, when the prosecuting attorney dismissed the charges against the accused because he could not obtain service upon the state's witnesses, they having left the county because of the threats made against them.

The outcome of the case caused great rejoicing among the crooks and plug-uglies in East St. Louis, and they began again to show their hands.

The Wabash Railroad, at that time one of the Missouri Pacific properties, had rather large interests over on the east side of the river. It was a nightly occurrence for our cars to be broken open and looted. It was no trouble for us to locate the thief, or thieves, who did the work, but it was another thing to have them arrested by the officers who were receiving pay for protecting them. My activity in trying to cause the arrest and conviction of these car robbers, and in the other cases mentioned, earned for me the ill will of the police department. While they never attempted to harm me, the police would pick up my men and lock them up on trumped up charges, convict them in the police court, which was of the "kangaroo" type, and put them to work on the streets with a ball and chain attached to prevent them from +running away+. After the police over there had turned a few tricks of this kind, I decided to put a stop to it by "reforming" the police department. To do this I had to shut off the source of revenue from which the officials were being corrupted, for I knew, even at that date in life, that it took bribe money to create such a condition of affairs. The men higher up, in this case, were the proprietors of the gambling houses. They were paying $1,000 per week for protection. This was a nice little "bit" to be split up by a few aldermen and city officials and the heads of the police department.

I called on Prosecuting Attorney Holder at Belleville, and asked his co-operation in bringing about a change in the state of affairs. I was not very well acquainted with Mr. Holder at that time, but I knew he was honest and a man who would do his duty. After I had entered his office and introduced myself, a dialogue something like this, as I remember it, took place:

"Do you know that the gamblers of East St. Louis are putting up $1,000 per week for protection?" I asked.

"I have heard they were putting up money," he replied, "but I have no real evidence as to how much."

"Are you and the sheriff getting your part of it?" I continued.

The question had hardly left my lips before I saw the prosecuting attorney was beginning to make arrangements to throw me out of his office. Before he had time to begin the work, however, I explained that I was joking, and we both had a good laugh. Getting down to business again, Mr. Holder told me that he would "go after the gamblers with hammer and tongs" if he had the evidence.

"I will get you that evidence, and pay the expenses out of my own pocket," I replied.

The prosecuting attorney then assured me that the sheriff could be relied upon to do his part. I already knew this, for I had investigated both men's character before I had decided to make the move that I had. The sheriff was called upon, and he, too, promised to aid me in every manner possible. After asking both officials to keep the matter a secret until I had worked out the plans fully, I returned to St. Louis.

I sent a number of my men across the river, and it did not take long to get all the evidence needed. After arranging this evidence, I took it to Prosecuting Attorney Holder and secured the necessary warrants. Sheriff Ropiequet was called over to St. Louis and plans for raiding the houses simultaneously were made. I secured and paid for out of my own pocket an engine and two coaches from the Cairo Short Line Railway, and had them in readiness to take my men and the people we were to arrest from East St. Louis to the county seat at Belleville, after the raid. While there were over thirty open gambling establishments in East St. Louis, I knew I could not raid all of them at one time, so I decided to raid the four largest, the ones whose owners were the most active in bringing about the crooked state of affairs. On the afternoon preceding the raid, I sent four trusted men, all armed, over the big bridge, with instructions to separate on the other side, one going to each of the four houses to be raided. These men were instructed to stay in the houses until the raids were made, to prevent the gamblers from locking their vaults and thus hiding their tools and other evidence. I then hired a big moving van, in which I placed eighteen of my men. Sheriff Ropiequet and I occupied the seat, I doing the driving. We had a number of fishing poles in the wagon to give the outfit the appearance of a fishing party. On reaching the other side I divided the men into four squads, placing a captain in charge of each. The squad I was to lead stayed in the wagon. After giving the other squads time to reach their houses I drove the van to Colonel Claude Cave's famous resort. I handed the lines to the sheriff and ran up the stairs, followed by my men. We gained an entrance without any trouble and found the games running in full blast. The gamblers were taken completely by surprise, but submitted quietly to arrest. The spectators and players were not molested, but many of them became panic-stricken when it dawned upon them that a raid was being made, and sought to make their escape by jumping from the windows to the alley in the rear of the building, many of them actually making their escape in that manner. The gambling paraphernalia was taken down to the wagon, while the gamblers and their employes were marched to the waiting train. The wagon was then driven to the other houses, which had been raided at the same time by the other squads of my men, and the gambling tools found there hauled to the train. In making the raid every kind of gambling device known to the profession was captured, including faro boxes and layouts, dice, roulette wheels, sweat boards, keno balls and cards, and something like four bushels of poker and faro chips. All of this stuff was burned on the public square in Belleville after the conviction of the gamblers. Most of the men arrested pleaded guilty, and those who did not were convicted and the county was made some $22,000 richer by the fines.

The raid created a great sensation in East St. Louis. It was the biggest stunt of the kind that had ever been pulled off over there, and I received much praise from the law-loving people of the city for doing the job. As I had anticipated, it ended open bribery in East St. Louis, and later to the ousting of the crooked officials, for at the next election the good people triumphed and succeeded in electing men who would do their duty.

The new Mayor was Col. M. M. Stevens, and as he had the co-operation of an honest Board of Aldermen, it did not take him long to finish the cleaning of the police department I had begun. My men were then enabled to go about their work of arresting car thieves without being interfered with by the police.

If my memory serves me right, Mayor Stevens served six or seven terms, and did much to make East St. Louis the city it is today. But this work was not accomplished without much hard labor on his part and on the part of those who assisted him, for the gamblers and crooks did not give up without a struggle. Mayor Stevens, however, made it as law-abiding a place during his administration as any other city in the country of its size.

No man deserves more credit for the ending of gang rule in East St. Louis at that time, however, than does J. W. Kirk, editor of the Signal. This paper fearlessly exposed all of the gang's methods, and to this fact was really due the awakening of the public conscience over there.

THE ROHAN EXPRESS ROBBERY.

THE THIEVES ARE TAKEN AFTER A FOUR MONTHS CHASE, AND ALL PLEAD GUILTY--THE MESSENGER DUPED.

The Rohan Pacific Express robbery occurred near Rohan, Indiana, on what was then a part of the Wabash Railroad. The Pacific Express Company had one of their cars attached to the Wabash train, which was running between Detroit, Michigan, and Indianapolis, Indiana. It left Detroit in the evening and should have arrived at Indianapolis at about two o'clock the following morning.

One night in October, 1883, the train stopped at Rohan, a small, local station, and the train was boarded by two men. They entered by the front door of the express car, and overpowered Bert Lumas, the express messenger, stuffing a large roll, consisting of two handkerchiefs, into his mouth. After tying another handkerchief around his face, and then tying his hands behind his back, he was leashed with a rope to the express company's safe. They took the keys to the safe from the messenger, after overpowering him, and looted the safe of its contents. There were, besides much jewelry and other valuables, about $4,100.00 in the safe. They left the car at a point between Rohan and Peru, Indiana.

When the train halted at Peru station the expressman rapped on the car door, and receiving no reply, he and others forced entrance into the car door, where they found Lumas lying on his back with his arms and shoulders tied to the safe, and unconscious. They found indications of a struggle. There were three or four bullet holes in the side and roof of the car, the shots evidently having been fired from within. They discovered the safe open and the contents gone. Medical aid was summoned, and the doctor, after considerable trouble, succeeded in restoring Lumas to consciousness. He bore no marks of violence other than what he had suffered from the gag that had been forced into his mouth. This gag had almost cost him his life, as the ball was so large that it had prevented him from breathing hardly at all. When restored to consciousness he stated that as the train was leaving Rohan he was busy writing out his report, and while thus engaged he was pounced upon by two powerful men who were wearing masks. They felled him to the floor, gagged him and bound him as he had been found, and took his keys and robbed the safe. While they were doing this he became unconscious from the effect of the gag. He said that they had taken his pistol, which was lying on a table in front of him, and fired two or more shots at him, but none of the shots took effect. I was Chief Special Agent for the Wabash Railroad, which was a part of the Gould System. The case was reported to me by wire the following morning. I went to Rohan at once, and was unable to obtain any information. It seemed that the robbers had not been seen by any one in or near Rohan. They had probably been in hiding and boarded the train unobserved, just as it was leaving the station. I then went to Detroit, where I saw and interviewed Lumas, the express messenger. Lumas was a young man about twenty-six years of age, fine looking, about six feet tall, and weighed about one hundred and eighty pounds. He was born and raised in Vermont. He had an older brother, who was a passenger conductor on the main line of the Wabash Railroad, who had been in the service of the company for many years, and afterwards remained in the service about thirty years, or until his death. They had a widowed mother, who resided in Vermont. Bert, the messenger, had always lived with his mother until he took service with the Pacific Express. His standing with that company was first-class.

While I was making my investigation at Detroit, I met Mr. Brazee, superintendent for the Pacific Express Company of the Wabash division, with headquarters at Decatur, Illinois. Mr. Brazee told me of Lumas' good standing with the company, and spoke of him in the highest terms. I told Mr. Brazee that I was inclined to believe that Lumas might have been connected with the robbery. He vigorously discredited the idea. "Why," he said, "Lumas, you should remember, was almost dead when he was found in his car at Peru. The robbers, doubtless, tried to kill him, and would have succeeded had it not been for the timely assistance rendered by the doctors, and, of course, if he had been connected with the robbery in any way the robbers would not have tried to kill him."

I knew Mr. Brazee personally, and I knew him to be a kind-hearted man and a thorough gentleman, and I appreciated very much the stand he had taken for one of his subordinates. I interviewed Mr. Fuller, the general superintendent of the Pacific Express Company, and all the other officers who would have been likely to know anything about Lumas. They all spoke of him in the highest terms, and of his brother they spoke equally as well. I did not know that Lumas was connected with the robbery in any way, and they speaking of him in such high terms, I did not deem it advisable for me to inform the express authorities that I believed the express messenger was implicated, so I decided to put a shadow on Lumas' movements on each end of his route. I placed two of my operatives on the work; one at Indianapolis, and one at Detroit. The operative at Detroit was told to take up Lumas when he left his train at Detroit, and not to lose sight of him until he left on his train for Indianapolis. The operative at Indianapolis was likewise instructed; thus Lumas was kept under observation at each end of the road. This was kept up continually for about four months. The operative at Detroit had discovered that Lumas was drinking heavily while in that city, and that he was a habitual frequenter of saloons and places of ill repute. Our operative at Indianapolis reported that Lumas, while there, would leave his train and go direct to his rooming house, retire almost immediately and remain there until time to leave for Detroit. I explained this to myself in this way: He needed the sleep and rest after his carousing in Detroit. My operative secured a room adjoining the room occupied by Lumas at Indianapolis, and the other one in Detroit was just as fortunate, and in a short time my Detroit man made the acquaintance of Lumas, became his chum, and was with him almost continually in Detroit, and in that way became acquainted with most of Lumas' friends.

At this time there was a private detective in Detroit, whose name was Pat O'Neal. O'Neal was a widower and lived with a widow sister who kept a rooming house, and Lumas and my operative both roomed with this widow. O'Neal did not know either of them personally, but doubtless learned from his sister that Lumas was employed by some express company, and that my operative was, as he represented himself, connected with some advertising concern of the east. There was also a noted thief known as Jim O'Neal, who was no relation to Pat O'Neal, but one being a thief and the other a detective, they knew each other.

One night, while my man in company with Lumas was sitting at a table in a beer garden in Detroit, they were approached by a man about medium size and plainly dressed. He appeared to be about forty years of age, five foot eight inches tall, and weighed about 145 or 150 pounds. He was light complexioned, sandy haired and smooth shaven. He evidently knew Lumas well, for he sat down at their table, and after they had had several drinks they engaged in a conversation in an undertone, evidently not intended for the operative's ears. However, the operative managed to hear a good deal of what was said. The stranger was evidently trying to convince Lumas that everything would be all right. Lumas was heard to say, "I have not been treated right, and this is why I have been drinking so much of late." The other man was heard to caution him about drinking so much, and to keep quiet, telling him that "everything would be all right later on." After hearing this conversation, my operative located the intruder and found that his name was Denny Downer, a barkeeper at a prominent saloon on Griswold Street, Detroit.

While the above conversation was going on between Lumas and Downer, Jim O'Neal, the thief, was seated at a table very close to our party, with some of his friends. O'Neal knew Lumas to be an express messenger, and knew that he lived at the house of Pat O'Neal's sister, and hearing a part of the conversation he concluded that possibly Lumas was implicated in the robbery of his car, and when he met his namesake, Pat, the private detective, he told the conversation he had overheard between Lumas and Downer, whom Jim O'Neal did not know.

On the evening of the following day I received a report telling me of the happening, and on the next day I received a report from the operative, telling me that he had located the intruder and learned what his name was. On receipt of this report I at once decided that Denny Downer, whom I had known for years as a thief, was undoubtedly one of the parties who had participated in the Rohan robbery. I had known Downer in Pittsburg, Pennsylvania. In fact, I was in criminal court in Pittsburg on one occasion when Downer was convicted of burglary, and received a sentence of five years. I knew his criminal record. The description I had received tallied perfectly with that of Denny Downer, of Pittsburg memory, therefore I felt sure of my man.

I decided to go to Indianapolis and take with me all of the daily reports received from my two operatives. I notified Mr. Brazee of my intention, and requested him to accompany me to Indianapolis, telling him that I expected important developments there. He wired that he would join me at Decatur, Illinois, and go with me to Indianapolis. On arrival there we secured adjoining rooms at the Spencer House, which is just across the street from the Union Station, Indianapolis. We arrived there in the evening, and Lumas' train was to arrive at two o'clock the next morning. I instructed my operative at Indianapolis to be at the Union Station when Lumas' train arrived and to bring him from his car over to my room just as soon as he arrived. I had had one of my operatives meet him at his train several times before and take him to see different parties for the purpose of identifying them as one of the express robbers, but Lumas, on each of these occasions, failed to identify them, and he had always declared that he could not identify any person, nor give any accurate description of the men who had attacked him in his car at Rohan. I never expected him to identify any one, but he had been told by the express company to go with me or any of my men any time that we might need him for the purpose of identification, so I knew the operative would have no trouble in getting him to come to the hotel.

On this particular morning I learned from the dispatcher that Lumas' train would arrive on time, and I prepared my room for his reception. I set a table in the middle of the room and spread the daily reports of my two operatives over the top of this table. They filled it completely. I told the operative to tell Lumas that he had a party that he wanted him to see, in my room.

Mr. Brazee was occupying a room next to and opening into mine, and I arranged to leave the door partly open, and he was to sit alongside of the door in such a manner that he could hear everything that was said. He considered the whole thing would be a failure, as he firmly believed in Lumas' innocence, as did all the other officers of the express company.

The train arrived, and the operative got Lumas, who grumbled a little about going to a room at that hour of the morning, but nevertheless he came over. The operative rapped at my door, and I bade him enter. I was sitting at the table containing the reports when he opened the door and came in accompanied by Lumas. I asked Lumas to be seated, and told the operative to retire to the hall until I might need him.

I began by saying, "Lumas, I want to call your attention to these reports that are spread out on this table. They are the daily reports of my operatives who have shadowed you and those associated with you, for the past four months. These reports set forth everything you have done in those four months, and every one you have associated with. I can tell you how many cigars you have smoked, how many drinks you have taken, whom you have talked with, and what you talked about. I find that your mother is a fine old lady and stands high in the community where she resides, in Vermont. I find that you have respectable connections, and that you were well raised. I know all about your brother and his high standing on the Wabash Road, and that your character heretofore has been good. Also that the officers of the Pacific Express Company have had the highest regard for you and your integrity, and for these reasons I have taken it upon myself to give you the opportunity of telling the whole truth about this express robbery, but I want you to understand distinctly that if you do not tell the truth, if you say one word that is not the truth, I shall stop you and turn you over to the officers of the law. But, if you do tell the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, I will do all that I can to secure the extension of leniency to you for your part in the crime. I can also say that if you tell the whole truth, that Mr. Brazee and the other officers will be as lenient with you as the law will allow. So now I want you to answer my questions truthfully or not at all. Now, sir, I want you to tell me how much money you received from the proceeds of that robbery."

He said, unhesitatingly, "Mr. Furlong, I only received ten dollars."

Long before I asked this question I could see moisture in Lumas' eyes, and he finally began to cry. When he stated that he had received but ten dollars, I said to him, "Now, Lumas, wait a moment until I call in Mr. Brazee, who is your friend."

Mr. Brazee had heard every word, and I went to the door and asked him to come into my room. As he entered I also noticed moisture in his eyes. I asked Mr. Brazee to write down what Lumas said, and he complied.

"Lumas," I said, "who were the two men who robbed your car?"

He replied, "Denny Downer and a friend of his whom he called Little Al. I never did know his real name." Lumas went on and stated that he had met Denny Downer in a saloon in Detroit and that Downer had evidently known that he was an express messenger; that as he had gotten well acquainted with him and had got to drinking considerable, Downer had induced him to let him know when he would be carrying a large sum of money, or what they called a "big run," and that Downer had explained that he would have a party with him and would board his car at an out-of-the-way station and bind him, without injuring him, and shoot a few bullets through the side of the car so as to make it appear that he had made a fight, and that they would divide the spoils and nobody would even suspect him (Lumas) by reason of his good standing with the company. He finally agreed to enter the plot, and learned that there was to be a safe containing a sum of money, nearly four thousand one hundred dollars, and some other valuables, on the day of the robbery, shipped over on his train. This might not be considered a big prize, but it was above the average. He notified Downer, and he and Little Al took a train from Detroit and reached Rohan a little ahead of his train. After the robbery, and he had returned to Detroit, Downer sent him a letter containing ten dollars, with the understanding that he would give him more later on, but that he had never received any more. He had become sorry that he had gone into the plot, and had begun drinking. He further stated that he was now positive they had tried to kill him by strangling him with the gag.

Mr. Brazee and the express company officials were all surprised at Lumas' confession. I turned Lumas over to my operative, and took the first train for Detroit, where I arrested Denny Downer. On being arrested Downer acknowledged his connection with the robbery, and told me that Little Al was Al Perry of Boston, Mass., a noted porch climber and thief.

I lodged Downer and Perry in the county jail at Wabash, Indiana, where in the course of time both were put on trial, pleaded guilty, and were sentenced to six years in the penitentiary at Michigan City, Indiana.

Their sentences were made lighter by reason of their having pleaded guilty. Lumas also pleaded guilty and was used as a witness before the Grand Jury against Downer and Perry, and it having developed that Lumas, who was much younger than the other two, being inexperienced in crime, was persuaded by them to do this thing, sentence on him was suspended.

After the robbery the express company offered a reward for the arrest and conviction of each of the robbers, and after they had been arrested and convicted Pat O'Neal, the private detective, filed a claim against the express company to recover the reward. He had nothing whatever to do with the obtaining of the information which led to the arrest and conviction of these two men, and, therefore, his claim for the reward was nothing more than an attempt to obtain money under false pretense.

ARREST OF LAWRENCE POYNEER.

A CROOKED YARDMASTER'S CRIME--BOLD ATTEMPT TO THROW HIS CAPTOR OVERBOARD FROM A STEAMER.--HIS CONVICTION, SENTENCE AND A LATER ESCAPADE.

Lawrence Poyneer was a young man about twenty-eight years of age in 1881. He was a railroad man and was employed as yardmaster by the Texas & Pacific Railroad Company at New Orleans, La., where he had performed the duties of his position in a satisfactory manner for about two years. He finally went crooked and formed a conspiracy with the proprietor of a cotton pickery in New Orleans to defraud his employers. There are a large number of cotton pickeries in that city. Their business is to buy up damaged cotton, such as has been through a fire and has been water-soaked, or otherwise damaged. They pick this cotton over very carefully, eliminating the parts that have been damaged by fire, or some like cause, and sell the salvage for a good price. In other words, these cotton pickeries conduct a business similar to that of junk dealers in other cities.

Poyneer ran a car load of cotton into one of these pickeries and sold it much below its market value. It was promptly unloaded by the pickery men, who destroyed the marks on the bales. The empty car was located after some time and trouble, by me, but it took a long time to locate the cotton.

After I had ascertained what had become of the cotton and who had bought it, I set about to find Poyneer, who had stolen it. I learned that he had left the service of the company of his own accord, about three weeks after the cotton in question was missed. I tracked him from New Orleans to Palmyra, New York, where his parents resided. In Palmyra I succeeded in obtaining a good photograph and a good description of him. He was almost a giant in stature, being nearly six feet, six inches in height, splendidly built, weighed two hundred twenty-five pounds, and wore a number eight shoe. He was a fine looking fellow and an expert railroad train service man.

From Palmyra I traced him to Buffalo, New York, from there to St. Paul, Minn., from St. Paul I traced him to Portland, Oregon, and from Portland to Wallah-Wallah, Washington. From Wallah-Wallah back to Ladales, Washington, which is about midway between Portland and Wallah-Wallah, and on the Columbia River. Here I found him in the service of the Northern Pacific Railroad Co., engaged in painting box cars. I obtained the necessary requisition papers from the Governors of Louisiana and Oregon, and arrested him at Ladales, took him to Portland (the head of navigation on the Willamette River), where I took passage for myself and prisoner on the steamship Columbia for San Francisco.

There was no one on the steamer, not even the officers, who knew that Poyneer was a prisoner. He had promised me that he would go with me quietly and I did not place him in irons. I could not have hand-cuffed him with any ordinary hand-cuffs for the reason of the enormous size of his wrists.

After we had left Astoria and were out several miles on the Pacific, we were taking a walk for exercise on the upper deck, and when we were nearing the stern end of the vessel, and there were no other passengers, or even any sailors, Poyneer suddenly seized me by the neck and body and attempted to throw me over the rail into the sea. I grabbed him tightly around his neck and under one of his arms so tightly that he could not shake me off. I lustily called for help and one of the cabin boys heard me, gave the alarm, and the captain and officer on the lookout in front of the vessel came rushing to my assistance. When he heard them coming, he let go and tried, in vain, to make it appear that he had been joking. I explained the situation to the captain, who promptly placed Poyneer in irons and placed him below in what is called the brig in a ship, where he remained until we arrived in San Francisco. There I had him taken to the city jail, where I kept him for two or three days until I had gotten thoroughly rested. I borrowed a set of irons from Chief of Police Crowley, placed these irons on Poyneer, and took him on board a Southern Pacific Railroad train, and in due time lodged him safely in the Old Parish Prison in New Orleans.

He was tried, convicted and sentenced to four years in prison in Baton Rouge, where he served his term out. After this I lost track of him until about ten years ago, just before the Olive Street Cable was changed to an Electric Street Car Line, in St. Louis. I boarded a grip car on Olive Street one morning, and to my surprise, I recognized Lawrence Poyneer, acting as gripman on the car I had boarded. Poyneer recognized me on sight, but he did not speak and seemed to be very much confused. I left the car near the turning point. Later I was informed that "Jones" had left his grip car at the foot of Olive Street that morning. "Jones" was the name that Poyneer had given when he had secured the position from the company as gripman about three weeks prior to my having recognized him. He left St. Louis and has not been heard from since, to my knowledge.

TICKET FORGERS RUN DOWN.

ARREST OF LOUIS RICE AND TOM LANDS AFTER A LONG CHASE--THE FORGERS ACQUIRED ALMOST A FORTUNE.

During the early '80s the officials of the passenger department of several Western trunk lines made the discovery that they had been defrauded out of thousands of dollars by the means of forged railroad tickets. These tickets had been distributed or put on the market by ticket scalpers, who then thrived in all the large cities.

These tickets were gotten up on what appeared to be regular paper and in regular form, with the exception of the serial and form numbers, which were necessarily duplicated. The tickets read from Boston, New York, Chicago, Philadelphia and other prominent points on the east to the principal points on the Pacific Coast in the west. The forms were pronounced perfect and the signature of the various railroad officials were imitated admirably on them.

The discovery of the forgeries were first made by one of the assistants of C. G. Warner, general auditor of the Missouri Pacific Railroad at St. Louis. The assistant auditor discovered the forgeries, he having noticed the numbers on the tickets were irregular.

At this time I was Chief Special Agent for the Missouri Pacific, and the case was placed in my hands for investigation, by General Auditor Warner.

After a lot of tedious work, the details of which would not interest the reader, I, with the help of some of my assistants, learned that Rice and Lands were railroad ticket scalpers and had offices in several cities in the middle west, from which they had supplied other scalpers with large quantities of these forged tickets. I also learned that Rice and Lands had established a private printing office in a small town in western Illinois, in which the counterfeit tickets were printed; the forms of which had been arranged by Rice, who had been a chief clerk for a number of years for a General Passenger and Ticket Agent of one of the large railroad systems of the West, and was, therefore, thoroughly conversant with the details of all of the ticket business.

Lands was a crooked lawyer, who had married into an eminently respectable family of the State of Indiana. Rice was a single man, but was engaged to a young lady, whose family was of considerable prominence. He was also of a good family and had always borne an excellent reputation, and was considered a bright, affable young business man.

After learning all of these facts and reporting them to the proper officials of the Missouri Pacific System, I was instructed to locate and arrest Rice and Lands, charging them with having made and issued the counterfeit railroad tickets. I had but little trouble in locating Lands, but, as I considered Rice the principal, knowing that he was the man who had gotten up the forms of the counterfeit tickets, I decided to quietly place Lands under surveillance, by one of my operatives, and then took up the search for Rice, as I desired to arrest him first, being very sure that I could apprehend Lands any time that I wanted to do so.

I traced Rice from Kansas City to Denver, Salt Lake City, San Francisco to Portland, Oregon, but lost trace of him there, and after consuming several days with no results, I decided to return to St. Louis, and to visit the town in Iowa where Rice's betrothed resided with her parents, which I did.

After spending several days near the home of this young lady, I was finally rewarded by learning the alias that Rice had assumed, and his whereabouts at that time, and I immediately, as the traveling men say, "doubled back" to the Pacific Coast, boarding a steamship at San Francisco for Victoria, B. C., and from there went overland to a camp in the Kassiar Mountains, British Columbia, which is about 357 miles from Victoria.

On arriving there I learned that Rice had left but a few days before my arrival, and that he had undoubtedly passed me on my way to Kassiar. He had left word with friends there that he was going back to Portland, Oregon. He had been prospecting in the mountains for gold and had been unsuccessful, and had exhausted his funds, so he had concluded to go back to Portland and seek employment there.

I, therefore, returned to Victoria and boarded a vessel for Seattle and from there I went to Portland, where I succeeded in locating Rice. He was working as a day laborer in a bed-spring factory. He was clad in a suit of greasy overalls, when I found him, needed a haircut and a shave, and did not in any way resemble the dapper and stylishly dressed Louis Rice, whose photograph I had in my possession.

I brought Rice back to St. Louis, and while en route he made a full confession to me as to his and Lands' connection with the counterfeit tickets. He told me about the printing office and gave me the names of various scalpers throughout the country who were engaged with them in handling the bogus tickets.

On arriving in St. Louis I secured a lodging house for Rice in the suburbs of the city, placed him there, by his consent, in charge of one of my operatives. I did this so that the scalpers who were in collusion with the fraudulent scheme would not become aware of his capture until I would have time to arrange for indictments and arrest all the parties connected with the fraud. I also wanted to arrest and bring Lands to St. Louis before he had learned his partner was in custody, and proceeded to Indiana and took him in charge. His relatives, who were well-known and influential, immediately applied for a writ of habeas corpus, which prevented me from removing Lands from the state until permitted to do so by due process of law.

The judge before whom this writ of habeas corpus was returnable was a lifelong personal friend of the family of Lands' wife, and the judge, therefore, released Lands from custody on the grounds that forged railroad tickets had no intrinsic value.

This was the first and only prisoner that I have ever had released by such a procedure. However, Lands was sick at the time of his arrest, and lingered along for a few months after his release, and died, which was the ending of his part of the crime.

In due time Rice's trial was called in St. Louis, and the judge before whom the case was tried decided the same in this case as had the judge in Indiana on the Lands case; and, therefore, the ticket forgers went unpunished.

The state laws in nearly every state in the Union have since been revised so as to make the forgery of railroad tickets a felony, with the same penalty attached as that of forging any other document or valuable paper.

The farcical termination of the case also caused the passage of laws which have put the ticket scalpers out of business in almost the entire country. Prior to that time, every city of any size was infested with numerous ticket scalping offices. The men engaged in the business were usually of the unscrupulous kind, and their crookedness caused the railroads no little amount of trouble.

In working up this case and apprehending Lands and Rice, I personally traveled, in all, about eighteen thousand four hundred miles, and consumed nearly six months' time, did a lot of hard work and incurred considerable expense.

I will say here that the attorneys of the legal department for the Missouri Pacific Railroad Company were fully advised as to all the facts connected with this case and they advised that the parties be located and apprehended: and the work involved in the location and arrest of Rice and Lands was as good as any work ever done by any one in a similar case. Under the laws then existing the cases of Rice and Lands could not be reached.

After Rice's final release he went to the state of Iowa, where he engaged in the insurance business. He was successful and finally married the young lady he was engaged to, and when last heard of by the writer, was a prosperous general insurance agent, raising a nice family and respected in the community in which he lived.

CONVICTION OF JOHN COLLINS.

HOW THE CLUES, WHICH LEAD TO THE ARREST OF THE YOUNG MAN FOR HIS FATHER'S MURDER, WERE OBTAINED--KANSAS' MOST SENSATIONAL MURDER CASE.

No crime committed in the West in recent years was surrounded with more mystery than was the murder of J. S. Collins, which occurred in Topeka, Kansas, in the spring of 1898. Mr. Collins was slain while asleep beside his wife in their home. The weapon used was a shotgun, and one or two of the shot struck the shoulder of the wife, making slight, though painful wounds.

The murdered man had been a prominent insurance and real estate man of the Kansas capitol, where he had lived for many years, and was well and favorably known to the citizens of that city, as well as throughout the entire state; in fact, he was considered one of the state's most prominent citizens. At the time of his murder he was about fifty-five years of age, had a wife, one daughter and a son, John.

The Collins' occupied a comfortable home in Topeka. John, the only son, was a student at the State University at Lawrence, Kansas, where he was being prepared for the ministry. He had been a student at Lawrence for two or three years before his father's murder. He boarded at the school and occasionally visited his home in Topeka, usually on Sundays and holidays. The Collins home, which was one of the best on one of the capitol's most prominent residential thoroughfares, was disturbed early one morning by the discharge of a gun in the sleeping room occupied by Mr. Collins and his wife, which was situated on the ground floor. Mr. Collins had been shot and died instantly, and his wife, as stated above, received one or two grains of coarse shot in her shoulder. Other occupants of the house that morning were Miss Collins, a young lady about eighteen years of age, and John Collins, Jr. Both of them occupied rooms on the second floor of the house. There was also a servant girl in the house. It was in the early part of the summer and the windows were all screened with wire. John, apparently aroused by the shot which killed his father, dressed himself hastily and aroused the nearest neighbors. It was at an early hour in the morning, but after daylight.

The police were sent for, and on their arrival ascertained that the doors of the house were all intact and carefully locked; but a window screen in the rear of the house on the second floor was found to have been cut, leaving a hole large enough for the passage of a human body. This window was immediately above a one-story addition to the main building in the rear. After the police authorities had finished their investigation of the premises they arrived at the conclusion that the murderer must have entered the house by means of a key, and after having shot Mr. Collins escaped, going up the main stairs from the lower hall to the second floor and then gone to the hall at the end of which they found the window before described, had cut the wire screen and jumped out of the window onto the roof of the one-story addition, and then to the ground, a distance of about ten or twelve feet, and in that way made his escape.

The murder created a great sensation by reason of Mr. Collins' high standing in the community. A number of the more influential citizens of Topeka who were friends of his, formed a committee for the purpose of locating the murderer and causing him, or them, to be brought to justice. These gentlemen wired me at St. Louis, asking me to come to Topeka to investigate the case. I went to Topeka at once, arriving there, if I remember aright, the third day after the murder had been committed. I reported to the gentleman who was chairman of the committee, and at once began my investigation, by examining the premises at which the murder had been committed. I interviewed the widow, who, by the way, was Mr. Collins' second wife, her step-daughter and step-son, John Collins. Mrs. Collins was a woman between thirty-six and forty years of age, of the brunette type, rather above the medium height and inclined to be slender. She was very attractive and considered a good-looking woman, intelligent and refined.

Miss Collins was also above the medium height, nice-looking, well educated and intelligent.

John Collins had just passed his twenty-first birthday, was about five feet, eight or nine inches tall, light brown hair, fair complexioned, well built, pleasing in manner and a very fine looking young man.

After I had consumed about four days in my investigation, I became satisfied in my own mind that the murder had been committed by some person who belonged in the house, and that the house had not been entered by an outsider. I had discovered that Mr. Collins had been killed with his own shotgun, a high priced firearm, which he always kept in a leather case, and usually placed on the upper shelf of a clothes closet in his bedroom. This closet was unusually large and extended from the floor to the ceiling. The ceiling being very high, an ordinary sized man could not reach the shelf where the gun was kept without the aid of a step-ladder, or possibly it could have been reached by a tall person while standing on a high table.

Mr. Collins had not used his gun for months before the murder, and it had always been his custom after using the weapon to clean it thoroughly, take it apart and pack it in the case. It was, therefore, necessary for the murderer to take this gun case from the shelf, put it together and load it with the ammunition, which was also kept on the high shelf. All of this could not have been accomplished by any outside person without having been discovered by some one of the inmates of the house.

I also learned that John Collins had left his lodgings at Lawrence on the evening preceding the murder, going to Topeka and directly to his home, where, he claimed, he retired for the night at an early hour. He also claimed that he remained there until aroused by the shot that killed his father. I also learned that the young man had formed the acquaintance of a very estimable and wealthy young lady at Lawrence, with whom he had become infatuated. He had paid much attention to her for months, and finally she had informed him that her mother had decided to purchase or lease a cottage at Long Branch, in which to spend the summer months. I surmised that when he learned that she intended to accompany her mother to Long Branch for the summer, young Collins decided that his sweetheart was liable to meet some of the many fortune hunters who frequent the resort during the summer months, thus endangering his chances of winning her, so he had made up his mind that he would arrange, if possible, to spend the season at Long Branch too, so that he might guard the affections of his good-looking, or I might truthfully say, beautiful young lady friend.

The elder Mr. Collins had been considered to be more wealthy than he really was at the time of his death. He had met with financial reverses, and really had but little more than his home in Topeka when he was murdered, but he was carrying thirty thousand dollars insurance on his life, ten thousand to his wife and ten thousand to each of his children.

Having secured the above information I sent one of my operatives, J. S. Manning, to Lawrence, Kansas, with instructions to quietly ascertain all that he could as to the habits of the young man Collins and his associates. Mr. Manning's investigation there developed that young Collins had been spending considerable money in buying flowers, carriage hire and entertainments. He had no means of defraying these expenses other than twenty-five dollars a month allowed him by his father for that purpose. Mr. Manning also learned that there were a couple of colored hack drivers in Lawrence, who had been patronized by the younger Collins. Upon receipt of this information from Mr. Manning, I sent D. F. Harbaugh, who was then in my employ, to Lawrence. Mr. Harbaugh had lived in Lawrence, Kansas, for a number of years before he entered my service. He had been in the livery business there, and had been a hack driver. He was personally acquainted with the colored drivers before mentioned, but these men did not know that he was in the secret service work. For this reason Mr. Harbaugh found it easy to find out everything that the hack drivers knew about John Collins. After renewing their acquaintance Harbaugh learned from them that Collins had approached them and entered into a verbal contract to kill his father for a certain sum of money, part of which he had paid at the time the agreement was made, he agreeing to pay the balance after the murder had been committed.

They told Harbaugh that they had no intention of attempting to murder Mr. Collins, but had promised John they would do so to work him for what money they could get out of him, knowing, as they did, that he dare not expose them when they failed to carry out their agreement. The murder was to have been committed on or before a certain date. The date passed and Mr. Collins still lived, whereupon, John became anxious and expostulated with the colored drivers. They told him that they were entitled to more money than what he had agreed to pay them, and he gave them an additional one hundred dollars, as well as a gold watch his father had presented to him on his twenty-first birthday. This money young Collins had secured by borrowing from his friends and through drafts he had drawn on his father, as we afterwards learned. There was then another date set for the murder to be committed by the hack drivers. When that day arrived and passed young Collins again remonstrated with the drivers for not having carried out their agreement, and they coolly informed him that they had concluded that if his father had to be killed that he had better do the killing himself, that they positively would not commit the crime, and that they had never intended to do so. Learning this, young Collins became desperate and left Lawrence and went to Topeka, as before stated, and without doubt killed his father with his own gun.

When this evidence was obtained I reported it to the gentlemen who had employed me, and they then decided to hand my report over to the prosecuting attorney at Lawrence. At the request of the prosecuting attorney the county commissioners at Topeka employed me to complete the evidence, so that Collins might be arrested and prosecuted for the murder of his father.

John Collins was immediately arrested, placed in jail without bond, and in due time the case came to trial. The trial caused a great deal of interest in the community, by reason of the fact that the elder Mr. Collins was so well known, and the killing had been done in such a mysterious manner. The trial attracted great attention throughout the entire country. All of the leading western papers had special reporters present, and all the sensational features were "played up" (as newspaper men call it) as they developed. The court room was crowded, and many noted lawyers were also in attendance to watch the legal battle, which at times waxed very warm, as all the counsel on both sides were very able men. Prosecuting Attorney Jetmore was at his best, making one of the greatest fights I ever saw to get his evidence before the jury. Among the spectators during almost the entire trial was the late Justice Brewer, of the United States Supreme Court at Washington, who was visiting his daughter, who was the wife of the prosecuting attorney, Mr. Jetmore, in Topeka at the time the trial was on. At the close of the case Mr. Justice Brewer complimented me very highly for my work in solving the mystery.

During the trial a great many people got the idea that I had been employed by the insurance companies, believing that the companies were trying to avoid payment of the thirty thousand dollars insurance, by proving that the son had killed his father. This opinion was erroneous. The people who employed me in this case were citizens of Topeka and lodge friends of the murdered man, and were in no way connected with the insurance companies interested in the case, and were merely acting as good and law abiding citizens, and just as soon as I had satisfied them that John Collins was the murderer, they immediately turned the evidence, as far as had been obtained, over to the proper state authorities.

The trial lasted more than a week. Collins was defended by two of the most prominent attorneys at that bar. They labored earnestly and to the best of their ability to clear him, but he was found guilty of murder and sent to the state prison to await the governor's action in fixing the date of his execution; but, in as much as it has always been the custom in Kansas for the governor to never fix the date for execution of a person found guilty of murder, the prisoners are usually kept in the prison, and a sentence of death in Kansas usually means a life term in the penitentiary.

There has been an effort made by friends of young Collins and the family to obtain a pardon for him, but up to this writing I understand it has been unavailing.

I will say here that the colored hack drivers, before mentioned, from Lawrence, took the witness stand for the state against John Collins, and produced the watch that he had given them, which had been presented to him by the elder Mr. Collins upon the anniversary of John's 21st birthday. This watch, with the testimony of the colored hack drivers, in which they detailed the contract they had made with the younger Collins, all of which was corroborated by circumstances that were not, or could not be, contradicted, led to the conviction of the son for the murder of his father.

FRED ERFERT'S FALL FROM GRACE.

A TRUSTED EMPLOYEE OF A JEWELRY FIRM ROBS HIS BENEFACTOR--QUICK CAPTURE OF THE THIEF AND RECOVERY OF THE LOOT.

The arrest of Fred Erfert, who had been a trusted clerk in the jewelry house of John Bolland & Company, of St. Louis, occurred in the latter part of 1892.

Erfert had been employed by the company since his boyhood. At the time of his arrest he was about twenty-two or three years of age, and had become a trusted employe, and carried the keys of the establishment. He was the first man to open the store in the morning, and the last man out at night, closing and locking the store himself.

The firm was rated among the first establishments of the kind in the city, and was doing a large business. A large quantity of valuable goods were mysteriously disappearing and could not be accounted for, and finally the manager, Mr. Clarence White, called at my office one afternoon, and stated the facts in the case as he knew them. He stated, further, that Mr. Bolland had requested him to come and see me and tell me of the state of affairs, and ask me to take the matter under advisement, and that Mr. Bolland would call on me the following day for a conference, which he did.

Mr. Bolland stated to me that they had been missing goods from time to time for the past two years or more and that these losses had grown to alarming proportions. In an effort to clear up the mystery he had secured the services of another local private detective agency, at a considerable expense, but who apparently had not been able to fasten the numerous thefts on any person. He further stated that the losses seemed to be increasing, and that he would like to have me make an investigation and apprehend the guilty party, or parties, if possible. He said that in view of the amount of money he had already spent in attempting to locate the thief he did not feel as though he was justified in spending much more money, but he wanted me to make an investigation and see what I could do. He stated that he had also consulted the Police Department of the city, but they had failed to apprehend the thief. Mr. Bolland instructed me to proceed at once, saying that he did not believe that they had any one in their employ who was dishonest or disloyal, to which I answered, "It is evident to me, Mr. Bolland, that you believe all of your employes to be honest and faithful, or you, of course, would not have them in your employ." Mr. Bolland replied, "You need not spend any time in looking after Clarence White, Fred Erfert or (laughingly) myself, but you may use your own judgment as to the other employes, although I want you to understand that I have the utmost confidence in all of them."

A short time before this interview took place, the Bolland company had purchased a large stock of jewelry at Sixth and Locust Streets, at a bankrupt sale. On purchasing this stock the Bolland Company sorted out the most desirable parts, which they removed to their own store, and then culled out from the stock in the main store, stuff that was growing stale, and placed it with the bankrupt stock. They then started to auction off the surplus stock. They placed Erfert in charge of this auction store, with a number of clerks and a professional auctioneer. This auction was running full blast at the time of my interview with Mr. Bolland.

Mr. Bolland stated to me that goods were also being missed from the auction store, as well as from their regular store. So the following day I instructed one of my operatives to carefully observe all that he could about the auction store, from the time the store opened in the morning until it was closed at night, which the operative did. After he had spent the first day at the auction store the operative reported to me that he had noticed a number of what appeared to him to be irregularities, especially on the part of Erfert, the manager of the place. He reported that on the evening of his first day on the job he had seen Erfert and the other clerks leave the store. Erfert, being the last man out, locked the door, put the key in his pocket, and the whole party walked to the corner of 6th and Olive Streets, where they separated, taking different cars presumably for their homes. He said that Erfert, however, did not take a car, but walked west a block on Olive Street to 7th Street, then north on 7th Street to Locust Street, and east on Locust Street to the side entrance of the auction store, where he unlocked the door, entered the store and immediately returned to the sidewalk carrying a couple of large and heavy packages, which were fastened with shawl-straps. He then went back by the same route to 6th and Locust, where he boarded a car and carried these two heavy packages, one in each hand, to his home in South St. Louis, where he resided with his widowed mother and his sister. He entered the dwelling with these packages.

On learning this, I told the operative to carry out my instructions on the previous day, telling him that in case Erfert doubled back on that evening after closing the store, and repeated the actions of the previous evening, that after he had emerged from the store the second time, as he had the night before, the operative should then approach him and say to him that I was in my office in the Chemical Building and wanted to see him at once, and to bring him up without delay. I remained in the office that evening, so as to be on hand in case Erfert repeated his actions of the previous evening, and that is what he did.

It was in the winter time and dark about 5:30 p. m., when Erfert closed and locked the store and left the other employes, apparently starting for home. He accompanied the others, as he had the night before, to 6th and Olive, then left them, they going home and he making a circuitous route, the same as the night before, and went back to the store, letting himself in, and emerging almost immediately again, carrying two heavy packages, heavier than those he had taken the night previous, and fastened with the shawl-straps. After he had locked the door and had picked up the packages, which seemed very heavy, my operative approached him unobserved, and touched him on the shoulder, saying, "Mr. Furlong is at his office in the Chemical Building and wants you to come over and see him at once."

Erfert replied, "What does he want to see me for?"

The operative said, "I do not know. He will explain that when he sees you."

Erfert replied, "I am in a hurry and haven't time. I'm late anyway, and will call and see him tomorrow."

The operative said, "You can either go with me right now and see Mr. Furlong, or I will call the policeman (pointing to a policeman who happened to be standing diagonally across the street from where they were) and have him take you to police headquarters, and probably Mr. Furlong will go there and see you. Now it is up to you. If I take you to police headquarters your name and picture will appear in the papers in the morning and you will probably get a lot of undesirable notoriety."

"I don't want any notoriety," replied Erfert, "but I can't understand what Mr. Furlong wants to see me for tonight. However, I will go with you, but I will put these packages in the store."

The operative said, "No, take these packages with you. What is in them?"

Erfert replied, "I have two fine clocks that were sent over to my store by mistake and are too expensive to sell at auction, and I intend to take them back to the main store, where they belong."

"Well," said the operative, "you take them up to Mr. Furlong's office, and after you have seen him he will probably allow you to take them to the main store."

The operative brought Erfert to my office, packages and all. I had known Erfert since his boyhood, and on his entering the office I took him into my private office.

Here I will say that on the second day I had put another operative to work on this case, unknown to the first operative, who had been shadowing the first operative and had witnessed everything that had occurred, and had reached the office a few minutes ahead of the first operative and Erfert, so that I was fully aware of all that had occurred.

When we were seated in my private room, I said to Erfert, "Fred, what have you in those two packages?"

He answered, "They are two clocks, which were sent over to the auction store by mistake. They are expensive clocks and I will not sell them at auction, and intended to take them home tonight and return them to the main store in the morning, before I opened the auction store."

"What other stock have you on your person which was sent over to the auction store by mistake?" I asked.

He replied, "I have only a few stick pins, and a few other small articles of jewelry."

I said, "Put them on my desk."

He did so, and the articles that he had concealed in his pockets, according to the prices marked on them, amounted in all to nearly four hundred dollars. There were gold rings, stick pins, and other small pieces of good jewelry. Thinking that possibly he had not emptied his pocket, I inspected them myself. I found a memorandum book, in which he had kept an accurate account of all articles that had been taken from the jewelry company, the cost price of each article to the company, and the price he had received for a large lot of articles that had already been disposed of. This book was written in cipher. I also found a key to a safe deposit vault that he had in some safe deposit company.

I then informed him that thousands of dollars' worth of stuff had been stolen from his employers, that he had been practically raised by them, having been in their service nearly all his life, and that the company had always treated him well and justly; all of which he admitted, and that now, as he had been caught red-handed, I thought that it was his duty, and to his interest, to tell the whole truth as to what he had taken, and do all in his power to return as much of the property as possible.

At this time my office was on the fourteenth floor of the Chemical Building. My private office fronted on Olive Street, and Erfert made a sudden lunge for the window and attempted to jump out. I prevented him from doing this, and after talking to him for a few moments, he admitted that he had been stealing from the company for the past two years. Recently he had been assisted by another of the employes. His grandfather was conducting a jewelry and novelty store in South St. Louis, and nearly all the stock in this store had been stolen by himself and his confederate from the Bolland establishment. He also stated that he had a quantity of the stolen property concealed in the attic of his mother's house, where he lived, and agreed that he would go with one of my men at once and deliver all the stolen goods that he could to me, and he faithfully kept his word. At the conclusion of his statement, I sent a messenger to Mr. Bolland, telling him that I wished him to come to my office at once, as I had succeeded in capturing the culprit. (It should be remembered that the above all took place on the second day that I was working on the case).

Mr. Bolland arrived at my office about ten o'clock, accompanied by his wife and Clarence White. I met them in the front office.

Mr. Bolland said, "The messenger told me that you had captured the party who has been robbing us."

I said, "Yes, that is why I sent for you."

"Whom have you caught?" he asked.

I replied, "Fred Erfert is the principal party."

Mrs. Bolland and White simultaneously exclaimed, "Why you have surely made a mistake."

Mr. Bolland said, "I told you not to bother with Erfert; that I believed he was all right."

At this juncture White (using a slang phrase) "butted in," and said, "Why, Furlong, you have got your foot in it sure. Erfert surely had nothing to do with these thefts, and you have made a great mistake by even accusing him. He has been practically raised by Mr. Bolland and in his service for many years, and we've always had implicit confidence in his honesty."

I replied, "Yes, I understand all of that; but Mr. Bolland employed me to apprehend the party, or parties, who were robbing him, which I have done. Erfert knows that he is guilty and he has fully admitted his guilt, and I am satisfied from the evidence that I have found on his person that he told the truth when he said he was guilty. I, of course, realize Mr. Bolland's disappointment in finding that Erfert was the guilty person, but I cannot help his feelings. I have simply done my duty in the matter, and now it remains with Mr. Bolland as to what shall be done with Erfert."

"Where is Erfert?" Mr. Bolland asked.

I pointed to my private office and said, "He is there and waiting to see you. He has promised me that he will tell you what he has already told my assistant and myself, and that he would at once return a considerable quantity of the stolen property to you, which I have advised him to do."

I then conducted them to the private room where Erfert reiterated the statement that he had made to me. He admitted everything. Then I, with some of my assistants, immediately procured a hack and went with Erfert to his mother's house, where we found about two hack loads of stolen goods, consisting of clocks, silver plate, fine umbrellas, and various articles of bric-a-brac, all valuable stuff.

I had these goods hauled direct to the Bolland store. We then visited the store of the grandfather, in South St. Louis and recovered about four hack loads of goods from there. By the time we had hauled the last load away from there it was nearly daylight.

While this loot was being removed from Erfert's house, by Erfert himself and two of my assistants, I was standing outside guarding the hack into which the goods were being placed. A police officer came along. He knew me and was somewhat surprised to see me at that time of night in that locality, and asked me, in a friendly manner, what I was doing there. I told him that there had been some stuff stolen from a jewelry store, and that it had been taken to this house, and I thought it advisable to remove the goods after night so as not to attract the attention of the neighborhood, as I felt sure that the women of the family were not aware of the fact that the property which had been placed in their house had been stolen.

The policeman later reported having met me and what I had told him, to his captain at the Soulard Street Station, and, of course, this report reached the Chief of Police Harrigan, the following morning. Whereupon, the chief became exasperated and ordered the policeman suspended immediately, assigning the reason for so doing the fact that the officer had not arrested the hack-driver and myself. He also suspended one or two of the officers connected with the station who were on duty that night.

The next morning, about ten o'clock, a city detective called on me at my office and said to me, "I have been sent down by the chief to see you. The chief understands that you arrested a young fellow by the name of Erfert last night, and that you recovered a lot of stolen property. Is this report true?"

"Part of the report seems to be true, while the larger part is not true," I replied. "You know, and the chief should know, that I have no legal right to make arrests, and therefore, I have made no arrest, nor have I caused any to be made within the city of St. Louis, but I did recover a large quantity of stolen goods last night and early this morning. I have delivered them to the owner."

"Where is Erfert now?" he asked.

I replied, "I do not know where Erfert is at the present time. Why do you want to know this?"

"Because the chief instructed me to come down here and get him, and bring him to headquarters at once," he said.

"Have you any charges against him at headquarters?" I asked.

"I don't know," he replied. "All I know is that the chief sent me down here to get him and bring him to headquarters."

I said, "I do not know whether there will be any charges preferred against Erfert or not. His employer seems inclined to sympathize with him and more especially with his family. I do not believe that he cares to have him prosecuted for these thefts. I expect Erfert to call at my office some time during the forenoon, and I am looking for Mr. Bolland here at any moment. When Erfert comes I will tell him that the chief wants to see him."

The detective said, "No, you need not do that. I will wait here and when he comes I will take him up with me."

I turned to him and said slowly, "If Erfert calls at this office while you are here, and if you have a warrant for his arrest, charging him with any crime, you may take him to headquarters; but, unless you have a warrant, I will not permit you to take him out of this office. I think, perhaps, you had better go and communicate this to the chief."

This city detective and myself had been friends for a number of years prior to this occurrence, and I must say that I did not like the idea of him coming to my office and attempting to have me admit to him that I had violated the law by having unlawfully detained a citizen, thereby laying myself liable to prosecution. However, not having violated the law, I felt perfectly safe. I knew that the chief was over-anxious to make me trouble as he had made others in my line of business in the past.

The detective left my office and went to report to his chief. In the meantime Mr. Bolland came to my office and I told him of the visit of the city detective and what had been said. Mr. Bolland said that he did not care to prosecute Erfert; in fact, preferred not to do so, but, as the police had the right to prosecute the case, he was really undecided as to what was the best course to pursue.

I advised Mr. Bolland to quietly take Erfert up to police headquarters and tell the chief what he had said to me, as it occurred to me in all probability the chief would insist on having Erfert prosecuted.

Mr. Bolland accompanied Erfert to police headquarters, where the chief and the detective who had called at my office took charge of him and put him through a series of questions, which were principally concerning what Furlong had done. They tried to make him say that Furlong had arrested him and forced him to make a confession of the thefts, and Erfert afterwards told me that they never did ask him whether or not he was guilty of having robbed his employer. They bent their efforts to try and make a criminal case against me, and had gone so far as to prepare a statement, which they urged Erfert to sign, declaiming that I had violated the law, instead of Erfert, by having arrested him and then forcing him to make the statement admitting his guilt, all of which would have been a violation of the law on my part. Erfert refused to sign this statement on the ground that it was untrue. I will state right here that the foregoing is a sample of how criminal cases were handled at police headquarters about that time. However, all these efforts were in vain, as Erfert truthfully replied to every one of their questions. He told them that I had explained to him in the beginning of our interview that I had no legal right to arrest him, and that I had advised him that it was optional with him whether or not he returned the stolen goods, but that if he did not stay with me and help me that it would be my duty to turn him over to the police, and he then would be written up in the newspapers and would get a lot of undesirable notoriety that he wished to avoid.

The chief became very much exasperated with Erfert's statement, by which he could make no case against me. However, he later made a complaint himself against me, charging me with running a private detective agency without a license from the Police Board. He had a warrant issued for my arrest. I waived a hearing, and in due time my trial was called before Judge Murphy. I was placed on the witness stand and asked if I was engaged in the detective business in St. Louis. I replied that I was. I was then asked if I had a license from the Board of Police Commissioners. I answered that I had not and had never applied for one. I was then asked by what authority I was conducting my business. I stated that I was conducting my business by the authority of a charter from the State of Missouri. I was asked to produce the Articles of Incorporation. I did, and after the Judge had carefully read them and had examined my charter, he dismissed the case and assessed the cost of court on the complainant.

The Chief of Police insisted on a prosecution in the Erfert case. Erfert was out on bond, and in due time appeared in court, pleaded guilty and received a minimum sentence, which, if I remember correctly was two years in the penitentiary. I understand that he was a model prisoner and was released under the two-third rule.

The stolen property that had been recovered amounted to several thousand dollars. I have learned that since Erfert was released from prison he has been leading an exemplary life and is respected in the neighborhood where he resides. His confederate was a mere boy and was not prosecuted, it being understood that he had simply been a tool for Erfert, and he had not been concerned in many of the numerous thefts.

BATTLE WITH WOULD-BE BANDITS.

HOLD-UP OF A MISSOURI PACIFIC TRAIN FRUSTRATED--JAMES WEST, ENGINEER, AND ELI STUBBLEFIELD, EX-CONDUCTOR, CAUGHT WITH THE GOODS ON THEM.

With the assistance of Joseph S. Manning, of my St. Louis office, and three special agents regularly in the employ of the Missouri Pacific Railroad, I prevented the holding up of a passenger train on the Lexington Branch near Sedalia, on the night of November 29, 1898. This was only done after quite a revolver battle between my posse and the robbers, resulting in the wounding of one of the latter.

A few days before the attempted train robbery occurred, Horace G. Clark, then General Superintendent of the Missouri Pacific, with headquarters at St. Louis, summoned me to his office. On arriving there Mr. Clark told me that a former employee of the company, who resided at Sedalia, had just informed him that a plot had been formed by six railroad men, including himself, James West and Eli Stubblefield, to hold up and rob one of the company's trains at some point near Sedalia, Missouri. The exact date and point had not been definitely fixed, but the informant was to furnish a team and conveyance with which to take the would-be train robbers to the point at which the holdup was to be made, and after they had succeeded in robbing the train he was to take them back to the city of Sedalia. He further informed Mr. Clark that when the date and point of attack had been settled on he would at once advise him, as he, the informant, had only agreed to furnish the conveyance and assist in the robbery so that he might have the guilty parties caught and handed over to the officers of the law.

I listened to the foregoing statement and called Mr. Clark's attention to the fact that I never placed much credence in the information given by any man who would deliberately enter into a scheme of this kind with his former comrades.

Mr. Clark replied that he had known his informant, who was an ex-engineer named Adams, as a faithful employee of the road for a number of years, and he was in good standing with the company. Adams had met with a serious accident, having lost one of his arms while in the company's service, and since the accident he had engaged in a legitimate business in which he had succeeded and had accumulated considerable property within a few years. I had known Mr. Clark for a number of years, and had done considerable business with him while I was chief special agent for the Missouri Pacific road, with which company he also held an official position. It was on account of our close friendship that Mr. Clark had sent for me, for at this time I had severed my connection with the Missouri Pacific road and was conducting a secret service company in St. Louis.

Mr. Clark said to me, "Furlong, just as soon as the time and place for this holdup has been fixed I will notify you and I want you to take measures to prevent that train from being robbed, and catch the guilty parties."

Early on the morning of Nov. 23rd, I received a message from Mr. Clark, stating that he had just learned from Adams that the passenger train on the Lexington Branch was to be held up and robbed that night, at a point nine miles north of Sedalia, and instructing me to take immediate steps to protect the train and prevent the robbery. Mr. Clark placed W. W. Kay, his special agent, at my disposal, and, on consulting the official time card of the Missouri Pacific road, I found that in order to protect the Lexington Branch train against the contemplated robbery, I must leave St. Louis at 8:45 that morning, so that I might board the endangered train at Independence Junction, Missouri, that evening, as that train was due to leave Kansas City on its east bound trip before the one I was obliged to take from St. Louis arrived at Kansas City. I found that if both trains were on time I would have three minutes at Independence to make connections, and I succeeded by hustling--to use a western expression. I only had time to catch the train from St. Louis, and barely time to get word to my assistant superintendent, J. S. Manning, who accompanied Kay and myself to Independence, where we boarded the threatened train.

I told the conductor in charge of the train of the instructions I had received from General Superintendent Clark, and instructed him that when the train was flagged and stopped not to pay any attention to the parties who attempted to stop the train, but to devote his whole time to keeping his passengers quiet and to keep them in their seats in the cars, and to see that none of them raised a window and put their heads out. I then went over to the engineer and told him what was liable to happen, and told him that when we arrived at a certain curve, at which the information indicated we were to be flagged, and he saw the signal, which would be a red light shown across the track, he should stop the train immediately, and by all means he must not run beyond the danger signal. I told him that after he had stopped the train he and his fireman could squat down on what is known as the hearth of the engine, in front of the boiler, where they would both be entirely safe, and could not be reached by bullets fired from the ground, as the sides of the cab, up as far as the window sills, were steel, and by stooping down below the level of the window sills both of them would be perfectly safe from any shots that might be fired. The engineer and fireman understood my instructions perfectly, but I noticed that the engineer, who was a big, husky, middle-aged man, acted as though he was an arrant coward.

When we arrived at the first station north of the curve, which was about two miles, I placed Mr. Manning on the front platform of the express and baggage car immediately behind the engine. He was armed with a .44 Colts. Detective Frank Barnett, of the Missouri Pacific, with headquarters at Ossowattomie, Kansas, and whose home was at Sedalia, and who had joined my party at Independence, was placed on the rear end of the express car, armed with a repeating Winchester shot gun. I boarded the engine and took a seat on the engine box. I placed Mr. Kay on the fireman's box on the opposite side of the engine. The fireman gave Kay his cap to wear and I had the engineer's cap on, so that any person on the ground, it being after dark, would naturally suppose that I was the engineer and Kay the fireman. The real engineer and fireman stood on the hearth in front of the boilerhead. They could attend to their duties standing where they were as well as though they were seated on their respective boxes. We proceeded south from the last station in this order.

When we reached the curve, I being on the inside of the curve, saw the signal first. It proved afterwards to be a white lantern with a red handkerchief tied over it, which gave it the appearance of a real danger signal. It was swung back and forth across the track, vigorously. I called the engineer's attention to it, while we were at least two hundred yards away.

We were running then at a speed of about thirty miles an hour. I told the engineer to slow up, get his train under control and by all means to be sure and come to a full stop before passing the signal. There was a slight grade to the curve, and although he shut off his steam, he did not apply the air-brakes, so that the train slackened its speed but very little. I saw that we were bound to pass the signal, and again commanded him to stop the train, but he seemed to be bent on passing that signal. It appeared that he was too frightened to think of the air-brakes at all. Whereupon, I threw on the reverse lever myself, or "plugged the engine" as the engineer would say, which caused the wheels to slip, although they did not hold to the rails or stop the speed of the train but slowly.

Meanwhile the party who was swinging the signal light stood in the middle of the track until the train was almost on top of him; in fact, I thought he was going to be run down, but he did manage to leap from the track just in time to save himself. He jumped to the left hand side, which was the opposite side of the engine to where I was stationed. When we passed him we were running at least fifteen miles an hour, and he immediately opened fire on the engine with what we afterwards learned to be a .45 Colts revolver. He riddled the upper part of the cab with bullets. The moment the firing began I sprang from my side of the engine to the gang way on the opposite side. It did not take me an instant to get to that position. The gang way was just passing the fellow who was doing the shooting and I had time then to take but one shot at him. I knew that I hit him, for I saw him fall into the ditch. About the time the shooting began, another would-be robber was discovered on the right-of-way. He also began firing at the officers, sending a couple of shots at Manning, who was on the front end of the express car, and both of which only missed Manning's head by a margin of a few inches.

On account of the grade the train did not come to a full stop until we had passed the place where the signal had been shown, probably a distance of fifteen hundred feet or three train lengths. I had instructed Messrs. Kay and Manning and Barnett that if any shooting occurred to open fire on any person they might see on the ground, knowing as I did that they would obey orders. I had also told the conductor to be sure and see that none of the passengers or his crew got on the ground, and for this reason we dare not leave the train until it came to a full stop. After we came to a stop Kay, Manning and myself got off of the train and started to the place where we expected to find the dead or wounded man whom I had shot and had seen fall into the ditch. After we had left the train the engineer began backing up, and nearly ran over us as the train was backing faster than we could either walk or run.

At Lexington, Missouri, the train had picked up an extra coach, containing about twenty passengers, members of a local theatrical troupe bound for Sedalia to give a performance there. They were what theatrical people would call "barn stormers." Every one of them had a popgun of some sort with them, and they began shooting out of the car windows. When we reached the spot where I had seen the robber fall we found that he had disappeared. There had been a light fall of snow, probably two inches, on the day preceding the holdup, and the tracks of this man were plainly visible, and there was also a streak of blood about two inches in width, which led across the track from the east to the west to a road running north and south. The wounded man had taken this road, which led to Sedalia. While we were trying to find the trail we saw another man attempting to get through a barbed wire fence, which was on the right-of-way of the railroad on the east. His clothing became fastened in the wire. He struggled, however, to extricate himself, and finally succeeded, just at the time that Manning and I reached the place where the other man had fallen. We saw him as he was getting through the fence, and he started to run in an easterly direction through a large newly plowed field. To make matters worse the ground was covered with snow.

Discovering that our wounded man was gone, and spying the other one running across the field, we gave pursuit. Manning succeeded in jumping over the fence, but I thought I could get through where the robber had, believing that he had sprung the wires and it would be easy, but I also got caught on the barbs and it was only with difficulty that I finally released myself. By this time Manning had got quite a lead, but soon, however, after getting away from that fence, I overtook him, and so it was a neck and neck race between us for at least 150 yards. After leading us a merry chase for that distance, the robber fell, and we, having gained on him, were close to him when he fell, and we sprung upon and disarmed him. His hands and face were covered with blood. He lay on the ground moaning, and we believed that he was badly wounded. There was every possibility of his being seriously hurt, because several shots had been fired at him by Manning and myself during our chase across the field. The "barn stormers" had taken the matter as a general jubilee, and had begun firing at friend and foe alike. They all had shooting irons of some sort and threw open their windows and began firing as soon as we began to pursue the robber. Even the express messenger, who knew that Manning and myself were running across that field, opened fire with a Winchester rifle from his car. Just before the robber fell, a bullet, which had evidently been fired by the express messenger, struck the handle of the revolver that Mr. Manning was carrying in his right hand, splintering the handle and nearly paralyzing his hand and arm with the concussion. If the bullet had hit Manning's hand it would have ruined it forever.

Just as Manning and myself had grabbed and disarmed the fallen man, Detective Barnett reached us, and jerking the handkerchief, which had been used as a mask, from the would-be robber's face, exclaimed, "Why, hello, Jim." We all knew then that we had captured West, whom we had known to be in the conspiracy. "Is that you, Frank?" exclaimed West, after which he feigned unconsciousness. West was at that time in the employ of the Missouri Pacific, with a run out of Sedalia, where he had resided for a number of years. He had been at one time superintendent of a Sunday school, and stood well in the estimation of the business men of that town. He also had a reputation among persons who knew him better than the church people, as being a fairly good poker player, and exceedingly fond of the game.

Manning, Barnett and myself were finally joined by the conductor and members of the train crew, and we succeeded in carrying West back to the train. He appeared to be unable to walk, so we had to carry him. We laid him down in the express car, examined him for wounds and found that he had not been shot, but he had severed some small blood vessels on his wrist while struggling to get through the fence and had smeared his face and clothing with blood from these wounds. He shammed being drunk, but he was not at all under the influence of liquor.

Thinking that the wounded man could be found later, and not wishing to delay the train any longer, we boarded the train and were soon in Sedalia. I was personally acquainted with Eli Stubblefield, and being pretty sure he was the man I had wounded, when we arrived in Sedalia I sent Manning and Detective John Jackson, of the Sedalia police department, out to watch his brother's house, where he made his home, in the hopes that they could intercept and arrest him. Frank Barnett and myself secured an engine at Sedalia and returned to the scene of the attempted hold-up. Picking up the trail of the wounded man, from his tracks and the blood in the snow, we followed it out to the main road and on towards Sedalia. We came to a house occupied by a negro family, which stood near the road. There the negroes told us that just after they had heard the shooting a tall slender man, about middle aged, had stopped in front of their house, coming from the north, and was going south, and yelled to the occupants, stating that he had been hurt and would give them ten dollars if they would hitch up and drive him to Sedalia. They told him that they could not get a horse at that time of night. He departed for Sedalia holding his right arm, and leaving a trail of blood along his tracks. Satisfying ourselves that Stubblefield was sure to show up at Sedalia, Barnett and myself abandoned the hunt, returned to our engine and were again soon in Sedalia. We were right in believing Stubblefield would soon show up in Sedalia, for about two or three hours later the wounded man, who sure enough proved to be Eli Stubblefield, turned up in Sedalia and near his home, where he was captured by Manning and the Sedalia police officer, who were waiting for him, according to my instructions. He was taken to the county jail, where West had been incarcerated, and physicians called to dress his wound. It was then learned that I had shot him in the right arm, the ball entering and breaking the bones at the elbow. The wound soon healed, but Stubblefield never had the use of the arm again, it always hanging limp at his side.

Early the next morning West was released on a bond signed by a couple of prominent and wealthy Sedalia business men, but later in the day, on learning all the facts in the case, the bondsmen surrendered him to the sheriff and he was again locked up, where he remained until his trial.

Adams, the informant, stated to me the following morning, that at the last moment the other four who had promised to join in the robbery, had weakened, using his expression, and therefore Stubblefield and West were the only two he had to take out, and that after the firing had commenced he did not wait for them, but hastily drove his rig back to Sedalia.

In due time both Stubblefield and West were tried and convicted of the attempted holdup, and sent to the penitentiary, if my recollection serves me right, for ten years each. They have served their time out, and, I believe, are at large at the present time.

We found two six-shooters in the possession of West, and also two revolvers in the possession of Stubblefield. Stubblefield was well known as a freight train conductor, and was in the service of the Missouri, Kansas & Texas Railroad Company, popularly known as the "Katy." West had always been an engineer and had been in charge of a freight engine on the Missouri Pacific for a number of years. The others who had promised to participate in the train robbery were all ex-employees of some railroad with the exception of one, who was a butcher. I withhold the names of the other four, as they did not appear on the ground nor participate in the robbery, and were not arrested or tried in connection with the crime.

I will state here for the benefit of the reader that Adams, the informant, had been in the employ of the Missouri Pacific Railroad Company for a number of years as a locomotive engineer, had a good record with the company and stood well in the community where he resided, as a sober, reliable and intelligent man, and a good citizen. While oiling around his engine one day at a station the throttle began leaking, thereby admitting steam to the cylinders, which caused the engine to move suddenly while his arm was extended through the spokes of the drive-wheels. The sudden movement of the engine tore his arm from the shoulder and thus terminated his career as a locomotive engineer. The railroad company settled with Adams for the loss of his arm without a suit, paying him quite a sum of money. It was with this money that he began business in Sedalia as a money lender. West and Stubblefield were among his clients, each owing him quite a sum. It was while talking with them about their indebtedness to him that West and Stubblefield first approached the subject of robbing the train to Adams. "We will have plenty of money to pay you all that we owe you in a few days," said one of them to Adams, and then they asked him to join them in pulling off the job, which he agreed to do for the reason before stated.

THE GREAT PITTSBURG STRIKE.

THRILLING SCENES DURING THE RIOTS--ATTACK ON THE STATE MILITIA--SENSATIONAL ARREST OF ONE OF THE RIOT LEADERS.

In July, 1877, during the railroad strike on the Pennsylvania Railroad, at Pittsburg, Pa., a riot was in progress on Sunday, the 21st, which had started on the day previous. The rioters were led by the loosest characters in and about Pittsburg. A great many of them were rolling-mill employes and miners from mines and mills adjacent to Pittsburg, who were in sympathy with the railway employes, who had gone out upon a strike on all the lines operated by the Pennsylvania Company. All of these lines were tied up. Not a car or locomotive had been moved for several days prior to the breaking out of the riot. The police force of Pittsburg was disorganized, many of them being in sympathy with the strikers. The railroad company's officers then applied to the sheriff of Allegheny County. The sheriff being unable to cope with the rioters or to protect the company's property, called up Gov. Harttranft, then governor of Pennsylvania. The state militia of Pennsylvania was ordered to Pittsburg and placed under the command of Gen. Nagley. Many of the militia were in sympathy with the strikers and laid down their arms and joined the rioters, whereupon the Governor ordered re-enforcements from Philadelphia. The re-enforcements consisted of two regiments, the first and second regiments of state militia. They arrived in Pittsburg on Saturday afternoon, July 20, from Philadelphia, and were in charge of Brig. Gen. Brinton. These men left the passenger coaches at Union Station at Pittsburg, and were marched north to the railroad yards, which were full of freight and passenger cars, up to 28th Street. At 28th Street there was a mob from eight to ten thousand men, armed with guns, pistols and clubs, who closed in on the Philadelphia troops, opening fire upon them and disarming a number of them with their overwhelming force. These troops displayed great coolness and nerve under the circumstances, but the numbers were so overwhelming against them that they were forced to take refuge in the Pennsylvania Railroad Company's roundhouse at 28th Street. Here they held the position until a late hour Saturday night. In the meantime the rioters had found a number of carloads of crude petroleum oil, which were on a side track north of the company's roundhouse, where the soldiers had taken refuge. The roundhouse being on a lower spot of ground than the main grade of the yards, the track where these cars were standing formed a down grade, running directly into the roundhouse. The mob released the brakes on two of the cars filled with oil, there being a number among them who knew just how to operate the cars and switches. These cars were turned loose down the grade, were set on fire, and ran into the roundhouse, where the oil exploded, thereby setting fire to the roundhouse, and the troops who had taken refuge there were compelled to flee for their lives, although they retreated in fairly good order. Their line of retreat was through a portion of Pittsburg then known as Pipe Town. The troops were assaulted from windows and roofs of houses with bricks, guns and pistols. Many of them were maimed and wounded. Thus they found their way to the Sharpsburg Bridge, which crossed the Allegheny River north of Pittsburg. The remainder of the Philadelphia troops formed a camp on the hills just outside of Sharpsburg, on Sunday morning, where they remained until a sufficient number of re-enforcements had assembled in Pittsburg to control the situation, when the Philadelphians were again ordered back to Pittsburg. Here they remained with the other troops until the trouble was over. In the meantime, on Saturday night, after the annihilation of the Philadelphia troops, the rioters went through the business portion of Pittsburg, breaking into hardware stores, pawnshops and in fact any other establishment they were liable to find firearms or ammunition. A reign of terror existed in Pittsburg from the fatal Saturday until late Sunday evening. During the forenoon of Sunday the rioters turned their attention to the other cars in the railroad yards. The writer saw men and women breaking into cars, and in many instances saw them leaving the yards; some instances they would have a bolt of silk, fine laces, or other fine dress goods in their arms, with possibly a ham or side of bacon on top. They, being heavily laden with this loot, would attempt to climb the abrupt bluffs which bordered the railroad yards on the east side, would lose their foothold on the steep bluffs and come tumbling down, and women and men, bacon and silk, would be found in a heap at the bottom.

About ten o'clock on Sunday morning the mob found a carload of tinware in the yards, and about the same time they also discovered two carloads of liquor nearby. They at once captured all of the tin cups and other vessels that would hold liquor from the carload of tinware. They also dumped out the barrels of liquor on the ground, turned the head up and used coupling links to knock the head out of the barrels. They then helped themselves to the liquor with the tin vessels which they had taken from the carload. The liquor consisted of brandy, whiskey and other strong liquors. Having been engaged in rioting the night before, probably not having stopped long enough to get any breakfast, they drank this liquor like thirsty people, and were soon overcome with the effects of it. In a short space of time the more violent of the mob fell by the wayside, stupefied with the overdose of liquor. The citizens learning of the general drunk, got together all sorts of wagons, carts, and other vehicles that could be found and commenced to gather up these drunken people, who were utterly helpless, and conveyed them to the jail and lock-ups. These places were filled with them in a short time. In fact, this was the first and only time in which the excessive use of strong drink was instrumental in quieting one of the most desperate and destructive riots ever engaged in in Pittsburg, or any other city.

At about eleven o'clock on Sunday morning, a man by the name of James Boyd, who hailed from Mansfield, Pa., which is a small place about seven miles from Pittsburg, at which place his father kept a hotel, or what was called in those days, a tavern (James Boyd had been in Pittsburg a short time prior to the time of the railroad strike, working as a barkeeper for Charlie DuChon, whose place of business was directly across from the Union Station at Pittsburg), with a number of others was seen by the writer to roll a barrel of refined petroleum oil into the waiting room of the Union Station. There he turned the barrel up on end and knocked out the head, then turned the barrel down again, letting the oil run all over the floor of the waiting room. He then took a handful of waste that he had secured from one of the engines, set fire to it and threw it into the oil on the floor, which ignited instantly, enveloping the entire inside of the Union Station in flames. The writer witnessed this, and the direction taken by Mr. Boyd. That evening Boyd, with others, set fire to a large grain elevator, which was situated just south of the Union Station at that time. The roundhouse and general offices of what was known as the Pan Handle Railroad were also burned in the same manner. All this occurred on Sunday and before the carloads of tinware and liquor had been discovered and the general drunk had occurred.

Boyd left Pittsburg Sunday evening, after the citizens had summoned courage and had begun to gather up the drunken rioters, as before mentioned. He hurried to Mansfield to his father's house. The writer quietly followed him to Mansfield, and after locating him at that place returned to Pittsburg. After things had quieted down, and martial law was being rigidly enforced, the following Wednesday I went to a livery stable where I hired a pair of horses and a light spring wagon, with top and side curtains, which would readily be taken for a country man's huckster wagon, with a seat in front, and also a seat in the middle of the wagon. The side curtains were drawn down. I called upon Sol. Colson, who was a roundsman, or what is now called a sergeant of police. He was big, strong and courageous. I told him that I had Boyd located, and proposed to go down to Mansfield and arrest him on a charge of arson, as I had witnessed his actions on the Sunday previous. I will say here that at that time I was special agent for the Allegheny Valley Railroad, which is now a part of the Pennsylvania System, as it was at that time, but operated separately from the other Pennsylvania Lines. I also told Colson that many of the parties who had taken part in the riots belong in and around Mansfield (which is now known as Carnegie) and that they would, doubtless, be making their headquarters at the Boyd hotel. Whereupon Colson said that he would be glad to go with me to assist in the arrest, but that we ought to have another man with us, and he suggested a policeman by the name of John Moran. We found Moran. Both Colson and Moran were dressed in citizens' clothes. We placed Moran on the rear seat of the vehicle, Colson occupying the front seat with me, and I did the driving. It was raining when we left Pittsburg, it being about eleven o'clock on Wednesday. We drove down to Mansfield, a distance of seven miles, and located on the bank of a creek.

In going from Pittsburg to Mansfield the ground is rolling and hilly, and near Mansfield we came to the top of a hill, which is at least a mile long and quite a steep grade from the top of this hill all the way into Mansfield. The road being fairly straight, we could see a large crowd of men assembled in front of and near the Boyd tavern. As we neared the crowd I recognized many whom I had seen rioting in Pittsburg on the Saturday and Sunday before. They were apparently prolonging the spree that they had begun in that city, whooping, hollering, wrestling and fighting. They were a motley crowd, and in fact what might be called a dangerous looking crowd. We drove up to within a hundred feet of the front of the Boyd tavern. Right here I want to say that Moran, the patrolman we had brought with us, was not occupying the rear seat in the wagon. He had been on duty continuously since the beginning of the trouble, and was without doubt much fatigued. When we had gotten almost to Mansfield I heard a thud in the rear of the wagon. Turning around I noticed that Moran had gotten down from the seat he had been occupying and was lying on the bottom of the wagon. Colson thought that he was exhausted and had fallen from the seat. I went to arouse him, and to my surprise found a pint bottle which had been filled with whiskey. Moran had this bottle of whiskey with him and had doubtlessly drank copiously of the contents. He was dead drunk, but on account of our close proximity to Mansfield at the time of this discovery, it was too late for either Colson or myself to change our plans, so we drove up to the place before mentioned, and leaving Colson, after turning the team around and facing them towards Pittsburg, I went into the Boyd tavern to reconnoiter. In the barroom I found men standing at the bar three and four deep, and trying to elbow up to get drinks. Old man Boyd (Jim's father), Jim himself and two other barkeepers, sleeves rolled up and perspiring--you will remember this was in July--were serving cheap whiskey as rapidly as possible. I elbowed my way up to one corner of the bar where Jim Boyd was working. I caught his eye and said to him in an undertone that I had a friend in my wagon just outside in front of the house, who had been suddenly stricken with the cramp colic, and asked him if he would kindly fix me up a good big drink of brandy and Jamaica ginger, and that I would appreciate it very much if he would. I handed him a two dollar note, telling him to keep the change. He placed the two dollar note in his white vest pocket and good naturedly said, "I will fix something warm and bring it out right away." He fixed up a drink, and in the meantime I went back to the wagon, and as the curtains were all buttoned down, of course Moran was out of sight. Returning to the wagon I hurriedly told Colson that when this man came out with the drink I would be busily engaged fixing the harness and I would tell him (Boyd) that the sick friend was in the wagon. When Boyd came out I told him to hand the drink to Colson. Colson told him our friend was in the bottom of the wagon, whereupon Boyd raised himself up on the front wheel to see the sufferer. Colson caught him by the collar, and I boosted him by the heels into the wagon at the same time. Colson released his hold on the reins and I had hard work to grab the front end of the wagon, but somehow managed to land on the front seat. Colson had dragged Boyd into the wagon box and was holding him down on top of Moran, who was still soundly sleeping. Colson had fallen into the wagon with Boyd and he let the reins go down between the horses. By the time I got on the wagon the horses were running away at full speed towards Pittsburg right through the crowd that was standing around the tavern.

In the meantime, the drunken rioters on the outside, thinking the team was running away, started in pursuit. It was all the way uphill, therefore I had but very little trouble slowing the team down to a natural pace, as they soon became winded.

As the team started old man Boyd and some of the soberer spectators had noticed Boyd being pulled into the wagon, and immediately procured horses and started in pursuit. Our team being winded on account of the steep grade, the men on horseback were gaining on us rapidly. All this time Colson was holding Boyd down on top of Moran, and Boyd was making a desperate fight. He was a wiry young fellow, although no match for Colson. However, it was just about all Colson could do to keep him in the wagon. The writer had to do the driving and look after the team, and was not prepared to engage with the pursuers, who were armed with pistols and guns, but fortunately, by the time we had reached the grade, half a mile up the hill, one of those terrible Pennsylvania thunder showers burst forth with wind and rain, and it struck us fair in the face; in fact, with such force that our horses stopped and would hardly go against the storm. Of course, when this storm struck us it also struck our pursuers, compelling them to go back. The result was that we arrived in Pittsburg in due time with our prisoner and lodged him in jail.

Moran had never once become cognizant of what had happened, and was still in oblivion when Colson and I delivered him to his wife in Pittsburg.

Colson was Moran's superior in rank, but in view of the fact that Moran had always been faithful, and was overcome by fatigue through overwork during the several days and nights preceding the occurrence just related, did not prefer charges against him. Moran sobered up and did many years of good service on the police force afterwards.

This, I think, was one of the most exciting arrests I ever participated in. Boyd was tried in the courts of Pittsburg in due time, and was sentenced to the penitentiary for fourteen years.

The Pennsylvania Railroad Company brought suit against the county of Allegheny and the city of Pittsburg for damages to their property sustained during the riots in Pittsburg. This case was later tried in Beaver County, Pa., and the railroad company was awarded a judgment against the county of Allegheny and the city of Pittsburg for $2,000,000 damages.

The railroad company, needing ready cash at the time, sold this judgment of two million dollars to a syndicate, which consisted of Wm. H. Thaw, of Pittsburg, and nine other representative men of Pittsburg for $1,600,000 ready cash. The city of Pittsburg and county of Allegheny then issued bonds for the two million dollar judgment. These bonds were to mature in twenty years, with legal interest payable annually, so that the purchaser of these bonds made four hundred thousand dollars net on the purchase, as well as the interest on the bonds, all of which has long since been payed by the tax payers of the county of Allegheny and the city of Pittsburg.

MURDER OF CONDUCTOR FRAZIER.

A TERRIER BEATS A PACK OF BLOOD HOUNDS ON A MAN TRAIL--ARREST AND CONVICTION OF A PAIR OF REALLY BAD TEXANS FOR THE CRIME.

In 1885 an attempt was made by two masked men to hold up a passenger train on the International & Great Northern Railroad, at a point south of Overton, Texas. It was in the month of February and about midnight, and the weather was quite cold, and the ground covered with about two inches of snow and sleet in the vicinity of Overton. The train, bound south from Longview to Galveston and San Antonio on that night, was in charge of Conductor Frazier.

When this train was about to pull out of the small station of Overton, the colored porter, whose duty it was to see that no tramps or other intruders boarded the train when leaving stations, noticed two men climb upon what is known as the blind end of the baggage car, from the north side, and the opposite side of the train from the station. The porter, upon seeing the men, boarded the baggage car at its rear end, and, as the baggage cars of that period all had doors at each end, he entered the car by the rear door and opened the front door from the inside, he having a key. The train had not got fully under headway as yet. He peered out and ordered the tramps, as he supposed them to be, to get off the train; whereupon the men, who were on the front platform of the car turned upon him, each of them holding two large Colt revolvers. He then noticed that they were wearing masks, and it is needless to say that he was frightened. Slamming the door shut, he fastened it and rushed back into the car where he met Conductor Frazier, and informed him that there were two tramps on the front end of the baggage car, whom he had ordered off, but that they had refused to leave and had pointed guns at him. He did not tell the conductor that the men were wearing masks. The conductor, believing them to be merely tramps who had gotten onto the car for the purpose of stealing a ride, and the night being very cold for that section of the country, he concluded that he would go and bring these men into the smoking car, carry them to the next station and there put them off. They would be more comfortable in the smoking car than out on the front platform. He went to the front end of the car, accompanied by a brakeman by the name of Powers. Frazier opened the front door, and the men on the outside immediately opened fire on him. He fell forward dead, and his body rolled off the train into the ditch. They now caught sight of Powers, the brakeman, who was behind the conductor, but as soon as the firing commenced he (Powers) turned to run back into the coaches. They shot him in the body, wounding him seriously. The affair was promptly reported by telegram to the Vice-President and General Manager, Mr. Hoxie, whose headquarters were in St. Louis, Mo.

On receipt of this report Mr. Hoxie notified me at once, instructing me to proceed upon the first train to Overton, and investigate the case. I left St. Louis early the morning following the hold-up, arriving at Overton eighteen hours later. Here I learned, in addition to the facts before mentioned, that there was a north bound passenger train from Galveston that night. There was a water tank about three miles south of Overton. This north bound train was to meet and pass Conductor Frazier's train at the water tank, and the masked men, who later proved to be John Knight and John Price, intended to steal a ride on the south bound train to the water tank, and there to board the north bound train from Galveston, hold it up and rob it between the water tank and Overton, but owing to the fact that they had been discovered on the south bound train as it was pulling out of Overton, and that they had shot and killed Conductor Frazier and wounded Powers, they left the train, and, taking a circuitous route, made their way back to their homes in the little town of Overton. Owing to the coating of snow on the ground they were easily traced to Overton. Of course, when they reached the main street their tracks were lost among the numerous other tracks there. Having learned all this I concluded that these men were residents of Overton and not tramps. I therefore went on with my investigation, which consumed about two days of my time.

In the meantime, as soon as it became known that Conductor Frazier had been murdered, a special train was sent from Marshall, Texas, to Overton with a pack of bloodhounds, which were owned and kept by the Texas and Pacific Railroad Company, and were in charge of a man by the name of Mundon, who accompanied the dogs everywhere they went. Mundon had a posse of several men with him, and at Overton their numbers were augmented by the citizens of that place.

The dogs were taken to the spot where the masked men had left the train, which was about a mile and one-half south of Overton. Here the dogs went upon the tracks and followed them, in a circuitous route, to Overton, where the dogs became more or less confused by the large number of tracks they found on the street. However, there was one old dog in the pack called Lee. Lee finally scented a track in the street, began bellowing, and continued until he arrived at a high picket fence which surrounded the home of John Price. The dogs were being followed by a large crowd, and when the dogs arrived at the fence, which was too high for them to jump over, old Lee kept up his howling until Mundon silenced him. The dogs were then taken back to the spot at which Lee had scented the first track that led him to the home of Price, where, after a lot of barking and capering on the part of the dogs, old Lee scented another track which he followed to the house of John Knight.

Knight and Price were brothers-in-law, and both of them were among the crowd who were following the dogs, and by reason of their presence the crowd burst into jeers and laughter when the dogs led them to the houses mentioned. Again the dogs were taken away and put on other tracks, which led out into the country.

While this was being done and the dogs were being followed over the country by nearly every man and boy in Overton, I was quietly making the investigations, the result of which I have told before. I really feared that the dogs were liable to locate some poor unfortunate, but innocent person, who would be more than likely to be subjected by the mob to violent treatment. So I went to Palestine, which is a division and headquarters of the International and Great Northern Railroad. Palestine is about forty miles south of Overton. Here I found the colored porter, who was a light and rather handsome mulatto. He wore short sideburns and a mustache, of which he took great care. He had previously stated that he would be able to pick out the men whom he had seen board the train at Overton, and who had killed Frazier, on sight, providing they were wearing the same clothing that they had worn on the night of the tragedy.

Meanwhile, I had telegraphed to St. Louis for Mike McCabe, one of my men, and McCabe had arrived at Palestine on the same train that I was on. I took the porter, whose name was Davis, to a colored barbershop in Palestine where I had the barber shave off his sideburns and elegant mustache, to which Davis protested vigorously. I then had Davis don the suit of a common field hand and a soft hat such as are usually worn by colored field hands in that section. After I had gotten Davis shaved and decked up in his new outfit, the change in his appearance was so great that I am satisfied his own mother would not have recognized him.

I then placed him in charge of my man McCabe, who was unknown in that part of the country. I instructed McCabe to take the first train the following morning for Palestine to the water tank before mentioned, near Overton, and there Davis and himself were to leave the train and walk from there into Overton, and there to go around the town and look carefully over every person that came in contact with them. In case Davis could recognize one or both of them he was to quietly inform McCabe and McCabe was to report to me at once. This program was carried out.

In the meantime, I had arrived at Overton before McCabe and Davis and watched and waited for developments from them.

A short time after McCabe and Davis arrived they were passing a blacksmith shop when Davis, the colored man, noticed and recognized John Price, who was in the blacksmith shop, had on an apron and was shoeing a horse at the time. Davis instantly recognized him as one of the men, from the opposite side of the street. It was then near noon, and the bloodhounds and the mob following them were seen coming down the hill into town, evidently for their dinner. Davis caught sight of and recognized John Knight among the front rank of the mob following the dogs. This fact McCabe promptly communicated to me. I then instructed McCabe to send Davis back to Palestine and to instruct him to await there for further orders from me.

Powers, the wounded brakeman, had been taken to the railroad hospital at Ft. Worth, Texas, where he was supposed to be lingering between life and death from the wounds he had received. I had been informed that Powers could also identify the men who had assailed him. As Davis had identified Knight and Price, and his identification of them being corroborated by strong circumstances, I concluded to arrest Price and Knight and immediately take them to Ft. Worth, so that Powers might have an opportunity of seeing them. I therefore telegraphed from Overton to Major Jos. Merron, general Superintendent of the International & Great Northern Railroad, and located at Palestine. We had a cipher code. I requested Maj. Merron to send a special engine with a coach to Overton that night and to arrive at about eleven o'clock, which would be after the citizens had retired. I also asked him to send my man McCabe to me with this special train. Maj. Merron replied that he would comply with my request and that he would come himself and bring another man with him if I desired. I asked him whom he proposed to bring. He wired back that he would bring Chris. Rogers, who at that time was city marshal of Palestine, a position he had held for a number of years, and he was a terror to the evil doers of the community, having killed no less than seven or eight men during his term of office. I wired the Major "O. K.," requesting him to instruct his engineer to approach the station at Overton quietly and without ringing his bell or blowing his whistle. The train arrived at eleven o'clock, bearing Maj. Merron, Chris. Rogers and McCabe. I met them and we at once went to the house of John Knight, where I rapped for admission. My knock was answered by John Knight himself, whom we quickly seized. Cautioning him to keep quiet, which he did, we then proceeded to the house of his brother-in-law, Price. Here we expected to have some trouble as Price bore a very bad reputation, he having been mixed up in a number of shooting scrapes, and was considered by the people of Overton "the bad man of the community." Arriving at the Price house I sent McCabe, who, by the way, was not a very large man, but thoroughly game, to the back of the house, while Rogers and myself went to the front door, rapped for admission, and were promptly answered by a man's voice from within, asking who was there and what was wanted. I stated that we were officers of the law and had a warrant for his arrest. I omitted to say that I had obtained warrants for both Price and Knight, charging them with the murder of Conductor Frazier. Price replied that if we were officers we might call in the morning, after he had his breakfast, and that if he felt like going with us he would do so, but that if he did not feel like going he would probably not go.

Price lived in a small, one-story cottage or shanty, and at one end of the sleeping room there was a large fire place, in which there was a large fire burning, which heated and at the same time illuminated the room. This fire place was built up against the outside of the house, and there was a crack extending along the chimney probably one-half inch wide. By looking through this crack, and by the light of the fire, a good view was to be had of the interior of the sleeping room. The bed was standing directly in front of the fire place and facing it. Over the head of the bed was a shelf extending along the partition, and upon this shelf Price kept a Winchester rifle within his reach as he was lying in bed.

When Price made the above reply, I left Rogers at the door and went to the crack near the chimney, where I got a view of the inside of the room, as above described. I saw Price sitting up in bed with his Winchester in his hand, and while he was still talking I went back to the door and hurriedly told Rogers of conditions on the inside. Whereupon Rogers said, "Price, your house is surrounded and you had better put that Winchester you have in your hands back on the shelf. Come to this door and open it at once or let your wife and babies come out before we set fire to the place and burn you out. You have been bluffing the people of Overton, but you cannot bluff us. We are officers and if you come to the door and surrender we will protect you. If you do not we will get you, if we have to burn you out." His wife pleaded with him to open the door, which he did. We took our prisoners to the special car and immediately started for Fort Worth, arriving there late that evening. We went to the railroad hospital, where I arranged with the surgeon in charge to have Powers brought out of his room, which was small, and placed in a larger room. We then had a party of probably twenty-five or thirty railroad men, and other men who lived near the hospital, file into the room and form a semicircle around Powers' cot. He was placed so that by merely turning his head he could have a good view of the people who were lined up in single file, forming the circle before described. Knight was standing in the circle near one end of the line and Price was stationed in the line about midway between the center and the other end of the line. Their dress and general appearance was very similar to many of the others present. After everything was arranged the doctor in charge told Powers to look over the line and see if he could recognize any persons there. Powers at once pointed his finger at Price and said, "That is one of the men who was on that train." He then turned his head and looked along the line, and without hesitation pointed to Knight, saying, "There's the other."

We then took Knight and Price to Tyler, Texas, where they were both locked up in default of bail, to await their trials on the charge of murder. The Knights were an old respected family of Russ County, Texas, and Price had married John Knight's sister a few years before the occurrence heretofore related.

Col. Spivey, a prominent criminal attorney, was employed by the defense. The railroad company employed Capt. Jas. Hogg and his law partner, John M. Duncan, to assist in the prosecution.

In due time the day of the trial arrived, Circuit Judge McCord presiding. The defendants demanded separate trials. Col. Spivey proposed to try Knight first for the reason that it was generally understood that Knight being the younger man of the two had been influenced by his brother-in-law, Price, and also that he had always borne a good reputation prior to that time. Knight's trial lasted about two days, when the jury returned a verdict of guilty of manslaughter. His punishment was fixed at ten years in state prison. His counsel immediately served notice that he would apply for a new trial, and also asked the continuance of Price's trial until the next term of court. The continuance motion was granted and Price was released on bail.

While the question of Price's bond was being arranged by the lawyer and the court, I, in company with Master of Transportation, Wm. Boyd, left the court room and walked out into the grounds in front of the courthouse, where we stood conversing for a few moments relative to the result of the Knight case. I had noticed a rather singular looking young man who had been apparently following me almost continuously during the trial. He was a good sized man, probably thirty years of age, in his shirt sleeves, and was wearing an extra wide-brimmed Texas hat, no collar, and had the appearance of being slightly under the influence of liquor, all through the trial. He promptly followed Boyd and myself from the court house into the grounds, and appeared to be trying to hear our conversation. I noticed him so often that I had become accustomed to looking for him myself. I did not know him. He looked to me as if he were looking for trouble.

After standing within a few feet of where Boyd and myself were talking he approached us and said, in rather a gruff manner, "Furlong, I know you, and I want to tell you all dat you will never convict John Price, and I am mighty glad he is going out on a bond."

I replied to him that it did not make any difference to me whether Price was ever convicted or not; that I had only done my duty in causing his arrest and having him prosecuted; that the matter was now in the hands of the court and that whatever the court saw fit to do with Mr. Price would be satisfactory to me.

He then said, "I was afraid that Price would have to stay in jail until the next term of court. Now that he is going to be let out on bail I intend to kill him before that time comes. He shot my brother some time ago, in a very cowardly manner and without any cause. My brother will die from the effects of the wound before long and I intend to kill him."

I said to him, "If I were in your place I do not believe I would talk about what you intend to do, as you are liable to get into trouble."

"Well," he said, "I am just telling you this, and I don't propose to talk any more about it. I just want you all to know how I feel in the matter."

As a matter of fact I felt greatly relieved when this man told me what he did, as I had feared that he contemplated making trouble for me. As he concluded his remarks he extended his hand to me, and as he was departing said, "Watch out now, and remember what I have told you." About four or five weeks later Price came out of his house. It was early in the morning, and he was standing on a platform, that extended from the rear of his house, washing his face. This platform stood about three feet above the surface of the ground, and a man who was under the platform crawled from his concealment and with a gun shot Price through the head. He fell dead where he stood. A party was arrested for the shooting but there was no conviction, and up to the present time no one has been convicted for the shooting of Price.

After the arrest of Knight and Price, I returned to St. Louis, Mo., where I reported in person to Mr. H. M. Hoxie, Vice-President and General Manager of the Gould System. When I entered Mr. Hoxie's office to make my report of the Knight and Price affair, the Hon. John C. Brown, then General Solicitor of the Gould Railway System, was in his office, and he remained there by invitation to listen to my report of the case. At the conclusion of my report Mr. Hoxie turned to Ex-Governor Brown and said, "Governor, this is a remarkable case, and the only case that I know of where a terrier had beaten a pack of blood hounds on a man-trail."

I, being Irish, presumed that I was the terrier referred to by Mr. Hoxie, in his joking, but complimentary manner.

All this occurred while I was Chief Special Agent for the Gould Railway system.

FIGHT WITH A MANIAC.

DESPERATE ENCOUNTER WITH A GIANT BLACKSMITH, WHO HAD SUDDENLY LOST HIS MIND AND BECOME VIOLENT.

Mr. Hoffman, I believe his first name was John, was a blacksmith, and about thirty years old, six feet in height and weighed over two hundred pounds. He was a powerfully built man, quiet in demeanor and good natured. He was employed in the blacksmith shop of Trax & Cramer, which was the largest establishment of its kind in or about Oil City, Pennsylvania. They employed a large number of mechanics and their helpers.

It was a very warm morning in July and the men were hard at work at the shop, when suddenly the big man, Hoffman, attracted the attention of his companions by his actions. He was known to them as a sober man, and his sudden and strange conduct was a great surprise to all around him. He became violent without any apparent provocation, and all in a moment. He began throwing things, hammers, tongs, and large sized pieces of iron and steel, in fact anything he could get hold of, through the shop. His fellow workmen were unable to get to him. He began foaming at the mouth and making a noise like the muttering of thunder in the distance. In short, he had evidently become violently insane within a few moments.

The City Hall was situated on the opposite side of the street, and but a short distance north of the blacksmith shop. The messenger from the shop was sent, posthaste, for police assistance. I was the only officer there when the messenger arrived, and being the only one, I responded to the call.

On reaching the shop I found Hoffman occupying the building alone. He was standing near the center of the shop with a sledge hammer in one hand and a large piece of steel in the other, and apparently ready to attack any person that might appear within his range. The other occupants were all in the street and outside the door and out of his reach. A large crowd of passers-by had been attracted by the excitement, and were blocking the sidewalk in front of and near the place.

On taking in the situation, as above described, I concluded that the only thing that could be done was to seize and overcome Hoffman as soon as possible, so as to prevent him from injuring himself or others. The question then arose as to how this giant could be overcome and subdued without injury to any one. The bystanders were all anxious to see him captured, but there was none present that appeared willing to assist.

I noticed at once that Hoffman was watching the crowd and that his attention was in that direction, so I went around to the rear door and approached him from behind, being unobserved by him. I seized him around the waist and threw him down on the floor, but as he was like a rubber ball and strong as a lion, and perspiring as though he had been sprinkled with a hose, he soon squirmed himself out of my grasp and sprang to his feet. I again grabbed him by the legs and threw him to the floor. Although I was strong and a pretty good wrestler, I found it easy enough to throw Hoffman to the floor, but it was impossible to keep him there, he being so strong and active. He had scarcely any clothing on, and by reason of this and his perspiring so freely, he was as slippery as an eel, and I could not keep my hold on him.

After I had thrown him down several times, which required every ounce of strength that I possessed, I found myself becoming exhausted, and finally in desperation I summoned all my strength and power and succeeded again in throwing him down, and this time I was fortunate enough to secure what the wrestlers would call the strangle hold, or neck grip, on him, thereby succeeding in shutting off his wind. I then yelled to the bystanders to help me, and finally a couple of them did.

With their assistance I succeeded in holding him down until another bystander brought a coil of clothesline from a grocery store, which was directly across the street. I took the clothesline while the citizens, who had volunteered to assist me, were holding him, and commenced to wind it around his legs from his feet to his body, and then his arms, fastening them so that he could not move. I then procured a wheelbarrow, patrol wagons not being known then, and placed him in it and wheeled him from the shop to the lock-up, where he was examined and pronounced violently insane. In due time he was placed in a straight-jacket and taken in safety to the county institution for the insane at Sugar Creek, Pennsylvania, where he died in a few months without having recovered his mind.

This, I believe, was the most desperate and dangerous position I was ever called upon to face during my whole life.

The reader should remember that the blacksmith was almost a Hercules in stature and strength, and being insane his strength really had no bounds.

DECOYING A BAD MAN.

BARNEY SWEENEY "FALLS" FOR A BIT OF STRATEGY, AFTER KILLING HIS PAL IN A FAKE HOLD-UP DOWN IN INDIAN TERRITORY.

The old Indian Territory, now the eastern portion of the State of Oklahoma, was the scene, or stage, of many daring hold-ups and brutal murders, during the early days, but no crime committed there was surrounded with more mystery than the one of which I am going to relate the particulars.

On the night of September 13th, 1882, as a north-bound M. K. & T. passenger train was being moved out onto the main line from a siding about a mile north of Vinita, two men climbed onto the front platform of the smoker. "Chick" Warner, the conductor, espied them and opened the door. Before a word had been spoken, one of the men shot the conductor in the cheek with a small caliber revolver, making a painful and dangerous wound. The man who is said to have done the shooting, was then shot and instantly killed by his companion, his lifeless body falling across the platform of the car. The man who did the killing stepped from the train and walked back to Vinita station, where he reported to the station agent, who also represented the express company, that the train had been held up by the famous James brothers and Ed Miller. He named others who had often been mentioned as members of the notorious James gang. He stated that this gang had been camping in the woods, or brush, on Little Cabin Creek, about four miles to the north and east of the scene of the alleged hold-up. He had known them all personally before coming to the territory, having been born and raised in Clay County, Missouri, near the former home of the James boys. He also said that he was a cousin of the Jameses. When the gang went into camp on Little Cabin Creek, it was near to a farm where his sister lived, and where he was staying. They met him and had told him that they intended to hold up and rob, not only that train, but other trains on the "Katy," and invited him to join them. He also told the express agent that he was an expert marksman with a revolver and rifle, and that he had been practicing shooting with his gang, and had beaten them all shooting at a target, and that he agreed to aid them in holding up the train near Vinita for the purpose of causing their arrest and punishment later on.

I was Chief Special Agent of the Gould System at that time, and the M. K. & T. was one of its leased properties. Col. Eddy, the General Manager, wired me to go to Vinita at once and investigate the affair, and instructing me further to prosecute all parties connected with the crime. I arrived in Vinita the next day. I had no difficulty in establishing the identity of the man who had done the killing. His name was John B. (or Barney) Sweeney, formerly a resident of Clay County, Missouri, and whose reputation was all bad.

I ascertained that during the afternoon preceding the affair Sweeney had been at Vinita, and while standing on the platform of the railroad station he, with others, had seen the special train bearing General Manager Eddy pass, south bound. The telegraph operator, of course, knew it was Col. Eddy's train and that the Colonel was aboard, and had conveyed the news to the spectators.

I learned that the man who had been killed was an unknown young man who had appeared at Vinita but a few days before the trouble had occurred. He succeeded in making the acquaintance of a brother-in-law of Sweeney's, who lived on a farm near the alleged camping place of the James gang on Little Cabin Creek, and with whom Sweeney was making his home. This brother-in-law needed help to work his corn field and employed the young man to go to work for him as a farm hand. The young man, who appeared to be a Swede, or Norwegian, and spoke but poor English, accompanied this man, whose name, I think, was Powell, to his home and there met Sweeney for the first time. I also learned that the latter had afterwards induced this unknown farm hand to accompany him and assist him in this attempted hold-up near Vinita. Sweeney had furnished the unknown with a little, light calibre, toy pistol, which was afterwards picked up near the scene of the killing. Sweeney was a man about five feet seven inches tall, stout, stocky built, and about twenty-eight or thirty years of age, dark complexioned, dark small eyes, a luxurious head of black hair, a rather pretentious, long, dark mustache, and weighed about one hundred and seventy to eighty pounds. He was very quick and active in his motions, was a great braggart, and whenever occasion presented itself, never failed to tell people of his great marksmanship and how fearless he was. He was raised near Missouri City, Clay County, Missouri, where his father owned a farm in what was known as the Missouri River bottom. He had a sister, a young woman, who kept house for the father, his mother having died prior to the occurrence of which I write.

Sweeney's father bore the reputation of being an honest, hard-working man, while his son had the reputation in Clay County of being a suspected horse thief, a notorious liar, absolutely unreliable and a treacherous coward. He had been arrested and tried for the murder of a reputable farmer of the neighborhood, who was shot and killed one evening while sitting on the porch of his home with his infant baby in his arms. The shot was fired from behind a thick hedge, from the opposite side of the road, and from a distance of perhaps seventy-five feet from where the farmer was sitting. Sweeney was seen going towards the farmer's house a short time before the shooting had occurred. He had also been seen returning to his home from the same direction some time after the shooting. He was carrying a rifle. He was arrested and tried for the murder of the man, and it was proved at the trial that he had once threatened the life of the murdered farmer, who lived but a short distance from his father's place, but he was acquitted, there being no direct evidence of his guilt. However, a great many people of Clay County believed then, as they do up to the present day, that "Barney" Sweeney, as he was familiarly called, had been the murderer of the farmer.

A short time after this, by reason of his unpopularity, he left that part of Clay County and went to live with his sister on Little Cabin Creek. Knowing the facts about Sweeney's bad reputation, and after hearing the story he had told about the affair at Vinita, I concluded to place him under arrest, charging him with having shot and seriously wounded Conductor Warner, as well as having murdered the man who he claimed was Ed Miller, or Wilson, thinking, as I did, that I would surely be able to find out who this unknown man was. I knew that it was not Ed Miller, because I knew that he was dead, having been killed while attempting to rob a bank in a little town in Minnesota. I also knew that at this time the James boys were not in or about the Indian Territory. Frank James was living peaceably, as a good citizen, in Tennessee. Jesse, his brother, was also supposed to be somewhere in that vicinity. I knew where Dick Little, another member of the outfit, was making his home, and thus knew that Sweeney was deliberately falsifying all the way through. To use stronger language, he was a deliberate liar.

At the time of which I write, Captain Sam. Sixkiller, a full-blooded Cherokee Indian, was the Chief of the United States Indian Police, and lived at Muskogee. This police force was maintained by the United States Government, and consisted entirely of Indians of good reputation, and it was their duty to patrol the Indian Territory. They were armed and mounted, and were there to protect the law-abiding Indians and other residents and their property, especially from whiskey peddlers, of which there were a great many plying their nefarious trade, selling the Indians cheap whiskey at exorbitant prices, which was strictly prohibited by the Federal laws governing the Indian Territory.

Sixkiller and his force had all authority to arrest any person charged with a crime, on sight or on complaint. So after deciding to arrest Sweeney, I wired from Vinita to Capt. Sixkiller, at Muskogee, requesting him to join me at Vinita for the purpose of arresting this law-breaker, without mentioning Sweeney's name.

In a short time I received an answer from Sixkiller's physician stating that Sixkiller was confined to his bed with a severe attack of fever. Upon receipt of this information, I reported to Luke Sixkiller, a brother of the Chief, who lived at Vinita, and who was a member of the United States Indian police force. I requested Luke to accompany me to where Sweeney was living with his brother-in-law to arrest him. Luke promptly told me that he would not dare arrest Sweeney unless his brother, the Chief, was present. "Why," he said, "this man Sweeney is a terror. He is a wonderful shot with either rifle or pistol, and it will take at least a half-dozen men, well armed, to capture him. He is a desperate man, and so we will have to wait until the Chief gets well enough to come and help capture him."

I had been accompanied to Vinita by one of my assistants, whose name was William H. Bonnell. He was a little fellow, only weighing about one hundred and thirty pounds, inclined to be tall, but slender, had plenty of nerve, and was a remarkably good marksman, always willing and anxious to do his duty, and would take as many chances as any man I ever knew. He had helped me to get the information which led me to the decision of arresting Sweeney, and on hearing that Sixkiller was sick he at once suggested that he and I go to the Little Cabin Creek farm and capture Sweeney ourselves. Our conference took place in the evening, and I told Bonnell that I would sleep over the matter and would decide by morning what should be done.

I had seen Sweeney but once in my life, and that was about a year before in Kansas City, he having been pointed out to me by an officer, but I was satisfied he did not know me, so after carefully considering the matter next morning, I decided that I would take a horse and ride over to the Little Cabin place alone. I felt sure if Sweeney did not know me, or recognize me, that I would be able to bring him into Vinita alone, with less trouble than if I was accompanied by another stranger, knowing, as I did, his treacherous and cowardly disposition. I reasoned that if he saw two strangers approaching his brother-in-law's house he was liable to open fire on us and might kill one or both of us before we could reach him, and that he would be less liable to open fire on a lone man. Bonnell demurred, saying that I would probably get killed going over there alone, but for the reasons above stated, I decided to go alone.

I procured a horse from a livery stable and started. I reached the farm-house about 9:30 o'clock in the morning. I took a course across the open prairie, a distance of about four miles. On the other side of this I came to Little Cabin Creek. There was a heavy growth of timber and thick underbrush on every side. The trail to the farm led directly through the brush timber for about two or three miles. At last I reached a set of bars that served for a gate directly in front of a two-story, frame farm-house, which stood in an open field, and about one hundred feet from the bars. The thick timber and undergrowth shut out a view of the house, and I did not see it until my horse had reached the bars. When I reached there I discovered the house and saw Sweeney sitting on the porch in plain sight, and a Winchester rifle was leaning up against the building near him. I got off my horse, placing the rein over the bar post, let down one of the bars and crawled through. As soon as I had got inside the bars Sweeney commanded me to throw up my hands, and looking up at him I found that he had risen and was holding the Winchester pointed at me. I halted. He said, "Who are you and what do you want?"

I replied, "My name is Foster, and I want to see Mr. John B. Sweeney."

"I am John B. Sweeney," he said, "What do you want with me?"

I answered him by saying, "I beg your pardon, Mr. Sweeney, but is that gun loaded that you have pointed at me?"

He laughed and replied, "What the h--l do you think I would be doing with this gun if it were not loaded?"

"Well," I said, "if that gun is loaded I wish you would turn the muzzle of it in some other direction. That horse that I have down there is one that I borrowed from the livery man at Vinita to ride over here on, and if that gun would accidentally go off it might scare the horse and cause him to break loose or maybe hurt me. If the horse got away I would have a lot of trouble catching him, and if I did not catch him the livery man would make trouble for me. Furthermore, I did not come over here anyway to get shot. If I had expected there would be any shooting I wouldn't have come."

"What did you come here for?" asked Sweeney.

I said, "Col. Eddy, General Manager of the M. K. & T. road, went south last night, passing Vinita on his special train (said this, knowing that Sweeney had been standing on the platform when the Colonel's train had passed) and he wired me from Eufaula, in a cipher, to come out here and see John B. Sweeney and ask him to come over to Vinita and meet him on his return north to Parsons. He said in the message that he expected to arrive at Vinita about eleven-thirty today, and that he wanted to have a private talk with you to arrange with him for your services in assisting in the capture of the parties implicated in the holdup that occurred at Vinita a few days before. If you are Mr. Sweeney, and will accompany me back to Vinita we will just about have time, by starting soon, to reach there before Col. Eddy's train arrives. The Colonel does not want the people at Vinita to know that you have met him, as he has been led to understand that the people of that town do not like you, so he will run his train onto the siding about a quarter of a mile from Vinita, and we can leave our horses at the livery stable and walk to the side track, each of us taking different directions, and the people will know nothing about your having met the Colonel."

Sweeney replied, "I know them fellows at Vinita are all afraid of me, and if Col. Eddy will give me a job and pay me enough I will get those train robbers for him. I will go with you."

He called his brother-in-law and said, "Go and put the saddle on Baldy." Baldy was his horse. He turned to me and said, "Come up and take a seat here on the porch while I go up and get ready to go with you."

He took his rifle and went upstairs. I took the seat he had previously occupied on the porch, to await his coming. I asked his sister to please give me a drink of water. I was terribly thirsty, caused, no doubt, by looking into the barrel of that Winchester. I had only been seated a few moments when Sweeney appeared in the doorway carrying in his left hand his nine-inch .45 six-shooter, Colts, and in his shirt sleeves. He had left the Winchester in the house. He said to me in a commanding voice, "You have found the way out here, and now you can get on your horse and lead the way back."

While he was speaking the brother-in-law brought the horse around, Sweeney mounted it and I let down the bars. He motioned me to lead the way, which I did. He rode up close behind me, carrying his gun in his left hand, and continuously telling about how he had practiced shooting with the James gang while they had been camping near his home, and that he had beaten them. He also pointed out a clump of bushes in which he said the gang had camped during the several days that they had been in that neighborhood. After we had left the covered ground and come out onto the prairie I told Sweeney that I occupied the corner room in the hotel at Vinita the night before. I said, "I have not settled my bill and my grip is still in the room, and I think we had better ride to the livery stable and leave our horses, and you had better go to my room direct, and I will go from the stable to the telegraph office and find out from the operator where Col. Eddy's special train is and at what time it will arrive at Vinita. I am getting hungry and if I find that we have time to get something to eat before the special arrives, I will order something. I will come direct to the room and tell you what I have learned."

We separated, Sweeney going to the hotel and I, apparently, going to the telegraph office, which was in the opposite direction to that taken by Sweeney. I did not stop at the telegraph office, but went around back of it, placing some buildings between Sweeney and myself. I crossed the street at a point west of the depot and went around to the rear of the hotel, where there was a flight of stairs leading from the back yard to the second floor of the hotel from the outside. I ascended these stairs and went to my room, where I found the door standing about half way open and could see, through a crack between the door and the jamb Sweeney lying down on my bed with his hat, boots and spurs on. He was taking things easy. I entered noiselessly, holding a small, double-barrel, Remington derringer that I had taken from my pocket as I entered the room. I was whistling, and suddenly thrust the derringer into Mr. Sweeney's mouth, breaking two of his upper teeth loose. I told him to throw up his hands, and he was not long in obeying. With my left hand I unbuckled his belt and removed it from him. It contained the holster in which he had placed the nine-inch Colts.

Bonnell had noticed us when we arrived, and when we separated and as I crossed the street going to the hotel I gave him a signal to follow me. He entered the room just as I had disarmed Sweeney. I told him to put handcuffs on the prisoner and to take him to the calaboose and lock him up. I had Sweeney's meals sent to the lock-up.

When the next train arrived there, who should be on it but Capt. Sam Sixkiller, who had left his sick bed and come up to Vinita to assist me in making the arrest. He told me, on his arrival, that it would not do to take Sweeney through Muskogee, as the railroad men there were aroused and would undoubtedly attempt violence, for they had all come to the conclusion that Sweeney was a fraud and was the man who shot Conductor Warner. Warner was very popular among the employes of the road. So we boarded the north-bound train and brought Sweeney to St. Louis, transferring there to the Iron Mountain for Little Rock, Arkansas. Here we changed cars for the Fort Smith and Little Rock Road, and thus reached Fort Smith, Arkansas, in safety with our prisoner and without any interference from the railroad men.

Sweeney never uttered a word from the time I disarmed him until we had boarded the train for St. Louis and were probably twenty miles north of Vinita. We were in the smoking car, Capt. Sixkiller and the prisoner ahead and I in a seat just behind them, when finally Sweeney turned his head around towards me and said, "Mr. Foster, I wish you would please show me that gun you stuck into my mouth."

I took the cartridges out of the gun and handed it to him. It was not more than five inches in length and of .41 calibre. He examined it critically, and without turning his head handed it back to me over his shoulder, saying in a disgusted manner, "H--l, I thought that gun was a foot long."

We lodged him in jail at Fort Smith in due time. He was indicted and finally tried, but, because I was never able to find out who the unknown farmhand was that he had killed and the motive for the crime, he was acquitted. However, he had lain in jail for nearly a year, and on his release he returned at once to Clay County, Missouri, and wrote a letter to A. A. Talmage, then General Manager of the Missouri Pacific, demanding that Mr. Talmage send him ten thousand dollars immediately, and threatening that if he did not that he would blow up the bridge on the Wabash Railroad and destroy property in general, and in any event he would kill Furlong on sight. He sent this letter through the United States mail. Mr. Talmage gave the letter to me, and I at once made a complaint to the United States commissioner, got a warrant for Sweeney's arrest and went to his father's farm near Missouri City, Clay County, accompanied by a deputy sheriff, whose name I don't remember, but who was a brave and splendid officer. Sweeney was at home. It was after night and he had gone to bed. We rapped for admission and the door was opened by his father, to whom we stated that we were officers and had a warrant for the arrest of his son, "Barney." The latter was in bed upstairs, but heard us when we rapped for admission and had come to the head of the stairs with a shot-gun in his hand. He said, "I am here and I will kill any man who attempts to come up those stairs."

In an instant, and before I had time to think, the deputy sheriff, who had been standing beside me, sprang up the stairs. I followed him as quickly as possible, but before I had reached the top the officer had clinched with "Barney" and had thrown him to the floor. I picked up the gun that Sweeney had let fall, and in less time than it takes to tell it we had captured Mr. Sweeney without a shot being fired, so I feel safe in saying that he was an arrant coward as well as an inexcusable liar.

I took him to St. Louis, where he was tried and convicted for having sent the threatening letter through the mail. He was sentenced to either three or four years in the penitentiary. He served his time and again returned to his father's home at Missouri City. A short time later he held up and tried to rob a Wabash passenger train at Missouri City. In this attempt he was shot through the ankle by a telegraph operator. He tried to escape by running, but was captured by the train crew and the company's telegraph operator at that city. He was tried for this offense and sent to the penitentiary for fourteen years, and I had lost track of him until he recently turned up in St. Louis as a witness against the New York Life Insurance Company, in the famous Kimmel case. He claimed to have visited the wilds of Oregon with Kimmel, a man named Johnson and another party to search for some hidden treasure. A portion of the treasure was found. A row over its division resulted and Johnson shot and killed Kimmel. Sweeney avenged Kimmel's death by killing Johnson on the spot. Both of the dead men were buried near where they fell. On reading Sweeney's story in the papers, which was almost a repetition of the story of the fake hold-up down in the territory, as related to the express officials and myself, I will admit I really sympathized with the attorney who had gone to the trouble and expense of getting Sweeney here, knowing, as I did, that he was absolutely untruthful and unreliable.

I do not believe that I ever ran into as fun-loving a bunch of railroaders as the one which attended Sweeney's trial. Ft. Smith was crowded, as was usually the case when court was in session. At that time there was only one "leading" hotel in town. It was a three-story, old-fashioned structure, the top story of which was one large room, or hall. Social functions, such as balls and other gatherings, were usually held in this hall. When the railroad men arrived--there were about fifteen of them, including "Chick" Warner, Ed Smith, W. B. Maxwell, "Lute" Welch and Tom Hall, all passenger conductors on the Katy--all of the regular rooms had been taken. The proprietor, in order to take care of the boys as best he could, turned this large room, or hall, into a dormitory, placing therein several different kinds of beds and cots for them to sleep on. A large round table and a few rickety old chairs constituted the balance of the furnishings of the room. There was not much doing in the amusement line after dark in Ft. Smith in those days, so the railroaders retired to their rooms early--but not to sleep. The first seven or eight up the stairs, and there was always a race to see who would get upstairs first, would assemble themselves around the table and soon be busy playing a game of--well, there is no need of me naming it, as everybody knows the name of the game that usually interests the average railroad man most. I will add, however, that there was no "limit." By and by, those who were lucky enough to have to "sit out" would get sleepy and roll into their bed or cot, but they did not have a chance to get to sleep, the "I'll pass" or "I'll raise you" of the players keeping them awake until the game would break up, which was usually about the time the sun commenced to shine in at the windows in the early morning. The players would then retire and soon be snoring to beat the band. "Chick" Warner being a big, deep-chested man, had all his competitors skinned a mile at this snoring game. As soon as he hit the bed his snoring machinery would get in motion. Then the real fun would begin. The balance of the gang would throw pillows, or shoes, or any old thing they could find at his head to wake him up. These efforts would not always be successful, however, and the snore would either increase in tone or volume.

At the breakfast table one morning, after there had been an unusually long "sitting" the gang decided to get even with "Chick" Warner, who was still in bed, by holding an old-fashioned Irish wake at his bedside. Charlie Walters, an express company route agent, who was an artist of no mean ability, procured a piece of chalk and in less time than it takes to tell it, had transformed the head of the bed into a monument with very appropriate inscriptions thereon. Some lumber was secured and a fence arranged around the bed, on which were placed a lot of empty beer bottles. A candle was placed in the neck of each bottle, and after these were lighted and the windows darkened, the bunch arranged themselves around the "bier" and commenced a weird chant. The noise made by the bunch attracted the attention of most of the people in the town, and the big room was soon filled. News of what was going on soon reached the court room and Judge Parker adjourned court and he and his officers and the lawyers and jurors rushed to the hotel to witness the fun-making. After an exceedingly loud and boisterous outburst of "grief" on the part of the "mourners" Warner awoke. It did not take him long to break up that "wake," as he at once began raising a rough house by throwing everything he could get hold of at his tormentors. The affair was the talk of the town for some time to come, and is to this day referred to when two or three of the gang happen to get together.

On the Sunday following, the citizens of the town, to show their appreciation of the bunch as good fellows, decided to give them a carriage ride and show them the places of interest. Judge Parker, in his private conveyance, was to lead the procession. As none of the vehicles had been decorated, as some of the railroaders thought they should be, they decided to do some decorating on their own hook. An empty beer keg was procured and with a rope it was anchored to the rear axle of the Judge's conveyance. As the Judge's abstemious habits were known to all the citizens of the town, the sight of the beer keg under his buggy created a great deal of amusement on the part of the citizens when they saw it as the carriage was drawn through the streets. The Judge did not discover the trick that had been played on him until after the ride was over, but he seemed to enjoy the joke as much as did the jokers.

TRAGIC DEATH OF BILL CASEY.

INCIDENTS ENCOUNTERED WHILE WORKING ON A CASE IN THE OIL REGIONS--CAPTURE OF A COUPLE OF CLEVER SNEAKS AND SAFE ROBBERS.

In 1872, a year after I had been elected Chief of Police of Oil City, Pa. (and, by the way, I had the distinction of being the first Chief of Police of that town), the safe in the store of Henry Fair, in South Oil City, was robbed late on a Saturday night. This safe contained a number of bonds, some cash and other valuable papers. The robbery was not discovered until the following Monday morning by Mr. Fair himself, who was the only person connected with the establishment who had the combination of the safe. Mr. Fair found the safe locked, as usual, and upon opening it found the bonds and cash missing from the safe. I was immediately notified of the robbery, and upon examining the premises found that no burglary had been committed. The safe and windows and doors of the store were all found to be intact on Monday morning. I also learned that the cash and bonds which were missed on Monday morning were known to have been in the safe as late as ten o'clock upon the Saturday evening previous. I further learned that at that hour quite a large crowd of people were in the store, all of whom were supposed to be customers, and at the close of my investigation there was no doubt in my mind but that the safe had been rifled of its contents by the sneak method. During the business hours prior to ten o'clock Saturday evening, the safe had not been locked and the door was left standing partially opened, so that clerks and others connected with the store might have easy access to it during the busy hours of the day to get change, to look at accounts, and other purposes, so it became apparent to me that there were probably at least two persons connected with the robbery, and that one of them had attracted the attention of the clerk nearest to the safe, while his partner quietly slipped behind the counter and to the safe and took the cash and missing papers unobserved. It was also apparent to me that this must have been done almost immediately before the store was closed for the night, as the cash box and some of the missing bonds had been out of the safe on the manager's desk until a short time before they were placed in the safe by Mr. Fair himself at about ten o'clock. Upon further investigation I learned that two young men had visited the store about ten o'clock Saturday evening. One of them purchased a package of smoking tobacco, while the other consumed considerable time in trying to select a pair of shoes, which, by the way, he did not purchase. One of these young men was known as "Butch" DeWitt, then about nineteen years of age, the other was William Heilman, twenty-one years of age. The parents of these young men were respectable, hard-working people and both resided in Oil City. The boys both bore bad reputations, but up to that time were not considered thieves. Upon learning that they were at the store at a late hour Saturday night, I concluded that I would locate and interview them, but upon further inquiry I learned that they had not been seen since the Saturday night in question, and evidently had left town. I also learned that "Butch" DeWitt had a sweetheart, whose name was Hattie Bates, who was a professional dancer and was supposed to be at the time an employe of Ben Hogan, proprietor of a large dance hall at Petrolia, Butler County, Pa.

For the information of the reader, I will say that Ben Hogan was a prize fighter of note and a sporting character generally. He at one time fought the celebrated Tom Allen for the heavyweight championship of the world, near St. Louis. The fight was a draw and created a lot of bad blood between the two factions interested. Some time after Hogan's fight with Tom Allen he retired from the prize ring and became an evangelist, making his headquarters at Chicago, and up to a few years ago, the last heard of him, the writer has been informed had been very successful in his missionary work. Prior to the time Hogan established himself at Petrolia he had been engaged in the dance hall business at Tidicute, Warren County, Pa., which is also an oil town on the banks of the Allegheny River. While engaged in that business a party of roughs, who were looking for trouble, visited his place and started a disturbance in the dance hall, which resulted in one of the parties being killed and two or three of his companions being severely injured. Hogan was arrested charged with murder. Upon hearing of this trouble, and knowing as I did the character of the parties who created the disturbance, and that Hogan was entirely justified in protecting his premises against the violence of this gang, who had gone to his place in search of trouble, I assisted Hogan's attorneys by informing them as to the character and standing of the parties who created the trouble. Hogan was acquitted and ever afterwards was very grateful and friendly towards me, and when I learned that "Butch" DeWitt's sweetheart was employed at Hogan's dance hall, I hastened to Petrolia, thinking that DeWitt might visit his sweetheart there. Petrolia was about sixty miles south of Oil City and I arrived there on the afternoon of Wednesday, after the robbery before mentioned. This was my first visit to Petrolia, which was a big oil town or more like a mining camp, located in a valley on a tributary of the Allegheny River, and the town consisted of one main street with buildings on both sides of the street running up and down the valley, all very close together and all frame. It consisted chiefly of boarding houses, saloons, dance halls and gambling houses. On my arrival at Petrolia I started up this street. I had had a description of Hogan's dance hall, which he had built a short time prior to my going there, and it was described as one of the largest buildings in town, and when I arrived in front of what I considered the largest building there I inquired for Hogan's place. The man from whom I made this inquiry pointed out the building, which I had selected as Hogan's, which was directly across the street from where I was standing, and told me that that was Hogan's dance hall. There were two buildings standing along side of each other, and as they were almost identically the same in size and appearance, and being anxious to make no mistake, I inquired again, and the man pointed out the building to my left, so I understood, as Hogan's, whereupon I crossed the street and entered the front door of the building, which was standing open. This was about four o'clock in the afternoon. I mention this fact for the reason that everything is usually very quiet about these dance halls until later in the evening, as places of this kind do all of their business at night. There was a screen, as there usually is, in front of bar-rooms, to shield the gaze of the passers-by on the sidewalk. As I entered the house supposed to be Hogan's, and went around the screen to my left, I found a bar standing right back of the screen and behind the bar was a large young man with blonde hair, rather fine looking, standing about six feet, one inch, in height, and weighing in the neighborhood of two hundred pounds, and about thirty years old. This man was the then notorious "Bill" Casey, who was also a heavy weight prize fighter, and the proprietor of this dance hall. I knew Casey upon sight, and he also recognized me. When I went around the screen I found myself face to face with him as he was leaning over with his elbows on the bar talking to one of his employes. He straightened up, looked at me for an instant, and exclaimed, "Why, hello, Chief. What in the world are you doing down here?" at the same time extending his right hand. I shook hands with him and said, "I just happened to be passing through Petrolia on a little matter of business, and while on the opposite side of the street met a friend who told me that this was your place and that I would be likely to find you here at this time, so I just stepped in to pay my respects and shake hands with you." To which he replied, "I am mighty glad you did. You say that you are down here on a matter of business. You know that I am pretty well posted among the class of people that you are generally looking for, and if there is anything I can do for you I shall be glad to do so." I thanked him for his offer and told him that there might be some way in which he could assist me a little later on. He then said, "You know Kittie, don't you?" (Kittie was his wife), I said, "Yes, I remember her." "Wait a minute and I will call her," and he called to the rear part of the house for Kittie. When she appeared he said to her, "Kittie, you remember Mr. Furlong, don't you? He's Chief of Police at Oil City, and I want you to shake hands with him." Kittie came to where we were standing (in the meantime Bill had come behind the bar alongside of me) and good-naturedly said, "Oh, yes, I shall never forget Mr. Furlong." She then continued, "Mr. Furlong, Bill and I often speak of you. You did the best thing that ever happened that time that you arrested Bill in Oil City and he has often told me that he would always remember you with the kindest of feelings for the reason that you did not kill him at the time he was arrested. The manner in which he acted and the manner in which he abused your man Fry, if you had not appeared upon the scene as you did at that time he would have killed Fry and would probably have been hung. You know he was drinking at the time and was acting very badly, as he always did when he drank. He has never touched a drop of any kind of intoxicating liquor since that time, and it has made a man of him, and I give you credit for what you did. Bill has often said that you had a perfect right to kill him under the circumstances and has always felt very grateful." As she finished I said in reply, "Well, I am very glad that you and Bill feel as you do, and I appreciate your good will very much, although I regretted at the time what occurred, but knew that there was nothing else to do but what I did, and I am more than glad of the good results."

In this connection I will say that just prior to my arrest of "Bill" Casey at Oil City, which was more than a year prior to the time of the foregoing interview, Casey and his wife had a quarrel and had separated. Mrs. Casey (or Kittie), as he called her, came to Oil City and was boarding with a woman named Mrs. Brown, who had sixteen or eighteen other female boarders. Casey, at this time, was living at Petroleum Center, in the oil country, and had heard that his wife was boarding with Madam Brown. He came to Oil City in search of her and visited Madam Brown's house one afternoon about two o'clock. Madam Brown's house was situated in Oil City in what is known as the "Red Light District" and was a large and well furnished establishment, in fact the finest of its kind in the oil regions of Pennsylvania at that time. It so happened that I was passing Madam Brown's house, when I heard a tremendous uproar in the house; women were screaming and shouting for help, and it was a general tumult. Some person I met on the street said to me, "You had better go into Madam Brown's house. Officer Fry has just gone in there and it seems as though he is in trouble," whereupon I hastened into the place, and in one of the parlors on my right as I went in I could hear Officer Fry calling for help. I ran into the parlor, where I found several women, all screaming at the top of their voices, and "Bill" Casey standing at one side of a large square, old fashioned piano, from which he had twisted one of the legs. He held this piano leg in his hand similar to the way in which a ball player holds his bat, and had Officer Fry backed up into a corner alongside of the piano and was about to bring the piano leg down upon the officer's head. Fry had his revolver in his hand, but was unable to raise it, as Casey had him covered with the leg of the piano. Casey was standing with his back to the door from which I entered, and, upon taking in the situation, I pulled my revolver from my pocket and struck Casey over the head with it just above the right ear, which cut an ugly gash and caused him to fall to the floor. I had dealt him a heavy blow, which took him completely by surprise, and before he could rally and arise from the floor he was seized by Fry and myself and subdued only after a vigorous rough-and-tumble fight. He was locked up, but owing to the fact that his wife had been found by him in this disreputable place, and that he was under the influence of liquor, the committing magistrate fined him $200.00 and costs, with the agreement, on his part, that he was to leave town immediately, upon the payment of the fine and costs, which he did, and further agreeing that he would never again appear in Oil City, or any place else under the influence of liquor. That promise he always kept until the day of his death.

With the above explanation I feel that it is unnecessary for me to say to the reader that I did not enter "Bill" Casey's place voluntarily. I had not the slightest idea "Bill" Casey was there. The last time I had seen him was at Oil City on the day of his arrest, and he had said to me before leaving that he would get even with me if it took him the balance of his life, so the reader can imagine my predicament better than I can describe it, when I first found myself in the presence of "Bill" Casey and in his own place. It would have taken a good sized rope to have dragged me into that place had I known that Casey was its proprietor, but on confronting him I could think of no better way than to act boldly and act as though I had voluntarily come in to call and pay my respects, which worked admirably.

After ascertaining the friendly feeling of Casey and his wife towards me, I told them that I wanted to locate "Butch" DeWitt, who was a friend of Hattie Bates, who, I understood, was living next door with Ben Hogan. Mrs. Casey said to me, "I know Mrs. Hogan, and we are warm friends. I will go over and see her about this and see whether she knows anything about the whereabouts of DeWitt or not." She did so, and in a few minutes returned with Mrs. Hogan, who said to me, "'Butch' DeWitt and a young thief by the name of Heilman were here the night before last. DeWitt, you know, is a sweetheart of the Bates girl, who lives with me. DeWitt and Heilman had some money and left here yesterday morning at two o'clock for New Brighton, Pa., where they have a job of some kind that they expect to do, and intend to return here in a couple of days from New Brighton."

I took the first train from Petrolia to Pittsburg, and then from Pittsburg to New Brighton, Pa., where I arrived the following morning early. At New Brighton I learned that the night before my arrival the safe in a factory had been blown open by burglars and a quantity of money stolen. At New Brighton I received a good description of Heilman and DeWitt, and traced them down the railroad to Rochester, Pa., to a hotel. Upon entering this hotel I found that they had registered under fictitious names and were still in their rooms at the hotel. I went to their room, forced an entrance, and found DeWitt and Heilman there. I arrested them and took them to Oil City, and in the meantime Heilman made a clean breast of the robbery. He told me that while he was examining the shoes before mentioned, DeWitt sneaked around behind the counter and took from the safe, which was unlocked, the money and bonds that were missing. They took the currency with them and secreted the bonds and other things stolen by them from the safe in a tin lard can, which they had buried on a farm south of South Oil City, known as the Faren Farm. They accompanied me to the place and we recovered the can and its contents. These boys were convicted and sent to prison.

The prize fighter "Bill Casey" continued as proprietor of the dance hall and saloon at Petrolia, where he did a profitable business, and where he had many friends among the drillers and tool dressers who were employed at the oil wells in the district which surrounded Petrolia. He was noted for being big-hearted, sociable and clever while sober, and it will be remembered he had quit drinking after his arrest at Oil City. He had accumulated a small fortune, and upon the Christmas Eve following my interview with him, as before related, he and his wife left Petrolia for the purpose of visiting his parents, who were living at the time at Lockport, N. Y. They boarded what is known as a mixed train, northbound, on the Allegheny Valley Railroad, bound for Buffalo. This train consisted of a number of freight cars, some of which were loaded with crude oil, a baggage car and two passenger coaches, which were at the rear of the train. The passenger coaches were crowded to their utmost capacity with passengers, as there were many people leaving the oil country to spend the holidays in other regions. As the train was rounding a very sharp curve near Scrubgrass a front axletree broke on one of the freight cars, which precipitated the entire train, behind the breakdown, over a high bank into the Allegheny River, which was at the time at high water mark. The crude oil ignited, by reason of the wreck, and set fire to everything. The oil spread out over the water, and, as crude oil burns just as fiercely upon water as it does upon land, the whole river was afire in a very short time from bank to bank, and the fire was carried down stream by the current at the rate of four or five miles an hour. Many of the passengers were drowned, or injured and burned to death by the flames, as it should be remembered that the oil cars were ahead of the passenger coaches, and as the train was running upstream the flames immediately enveloped small portions of the passenger coaches which remained above the surface of the water. Casey managed to escape from the wreck, and, being a very powerful man, took his wife with him and reached the bank in safety with the exception of a few burns. There was a crippled newsboy employed upon the train, and in the wreck he had managed to get a portion of his body through one of the windows which was upturned and out of the water, while his lower limbs were fastened in the wreck, and he was about to be engulfed in a body of floating burning oil, which was rapidly approaching him, when Casey spied him. Casey immediately left his wife standing on the bank and rushed to the assistance of the newsboy, and while tugging away trying to extricate the boy from the wreck Casey was engulfed by the burning oil and lost his life, and thus died in the act of performing a humane and heroic deed.

SUBDUING A NOTORIOUS BULLY.

ONE OF MY EARLY EXPERIENCES WHILE CHIEF OF POLICE OF OIL CITY--HOW A BAD MAN, WITH A LONG RECORD, WAS TAKEN TO JAIL.

The notorious Tom Daly of Buffalo, New York, was arrested at Oil City, Pa., early in the summer of 1872. Daly had been regarded in and around the city of Buffalo for years, prior to his arrest at Oil City, as a desperate and bad character. He had a police record almost as long as the state statutes. He was a fighter and associated and lived with the most vile and vicious characters to be found in the city. He was never known to work at any legitimate trade or business. He did pretend to gamble. He drank at times to excess, and was known to the police as a strong-arm, or hold-up, man, and was considered by the police a hard and bad man to arrest--a task which they were frequently called upon to perform. But as bad as his general reputation was, he had what was called a political pull in the slums district, in which he resided. He had a following of his own class because he was more aggressive and more physically powerful than his associates and followers, and not for the reason of any superior intellect on his part.

A couple of days before his arrest at Oil City, complaint was lodged against Daly and some of his associates by a man in Buffalo, who charged them with having held him up and robbed him, by force, of a sum of money. The man also stated that Daly and his confederates had brutally beaten him, the marks of which he bore plainly. Two police officers were instructed to arrest Daly and bring him to headquarters. As all the officers who were located in and about the precinct in which Daly made his home knew him personally, the two officers who were detailed to make his arrest easily located him. When they approached him and told him that they had been instructed to arrest him he smilingly inquired on what charge, at the same time, as the officers were standing within his reach, he promptly struck first one and then the other terrific blows with his clenched fist, knocking both of them down. He then ran into a brothel, or dive, in front of which he had encountered the police officers. He, of course, disappeared and escaped being arrested.

The part of the city was known, at that time, as Rock Street, or the Five Points, and was the worst and lowest district of not only the city of Buffalo, but probably as bad, if not worse, than any other in the country. It consisted principally of low dance halls and drinking places which were patronized almost entirely by the lower grade of sailors and canal boat men. As this district was bounded on the east by the Erie Canal and on the west by the Buffalo Creek, which is the lake harbor of Buffalo, it was consequently a peninsula, narrow, and frequented by the class before mentioned.

After his escapade with the police, Daly, on the same night, made his escape from Buffalo and went direct to Oil City, Pa., where he had some friends and acquaintances. He arrived at Oil City the next day about noon, where he met parties whom he knew and from whom he heard about the prowess of a valuable bulldog, owned by a respectable citizen named Ziegenheim, and who was connected with a meat market on Center Street. This man Daly was about thirty-five years of age, was over six feet in height and weighed at least two hundred pounds. He had an athletic build, was dark complexioned and somewhat marked by the after effects of small-pox. He had rather small dark eyes and the most villainous expression I think that I have ever seen. He was considered an expert boxer and was known to be a powerful man--at least by the two police officers whom he had knocked down and escaped from in Buffalo. I had heard of Daly and knew of his record, but I had never seen him until I was called upon to arrest him in Oil City, and I did not know who he was at that time.

When Daly had learned from the friends he had met in Oil City of the valuable fighting bulldog before mentioned, he at once went to the meat market, where he found Mr. Ziegenheim, and tried to purchase the dog from him for the purpose of using him as a fighting dog. Ziegenheim informed Daly, in a polite but firm manner, that his dog was not for sale, as it was a pet of his wife and children, and that he would not part with the dog under any consideration, and especially not for the purpose Daly proposed to use him. Daly became angry and assaulted Ziegenheim, who was fully as large a man as Daly, but was a gentleman, and not a fighter. Ziegenheim immediately sought refuge behind a large, round table, known as a meat block, which is used in all meat markets to cut meat on. It was probably about four feet in diameter, and by keeping on the opposite side Ziegenheim was out of Daly's reach. Daly picked up a large cleaver, which he was holding in a threatening manner. At this juncture I entered the shop, having been summoned by Mr. Steele, Ziegenheim's employer, who had run from the meat market to my office, which was just around the corner in the same block, and told me, in a very excited manner, that there was a big man trying to kill Ziegenheim in the shop.

At the time that Steele came into my office I was talking with the Mayor, William M. Williams, and when Steele apprised me of Mr. Ziegenheim's danger I sprang to my feet and was about to leave for the meat market when the Mayor said to me, "Tom, you had better take a club or a gun with you. Steele has said Ziegenheim's assailant is a big, strong fellow." I hastily grabbed up a mace, or club, which was hanging on a rack near where I was standing, and hastened to the shop, where I found Daly standing in front of the meat block before described, with his back to the door. He was holding a cleaver, as I said before, and facing Ziegenheim, who was at the opposite side of the block. I approached him from the rear without being noticed by him, and placed my left hand upon the right collar of his coat as though I meant it, at the same time commanding him to drop the cleaver. Whereupon he immediately turned his head and looked down upon me with a very disdainful and defiant expression. I saw in his eyes the most vile expression that I have ever seen. I instantly realized that I was in for trouble. He was wearing a stiff derby hat set back fairly well on his head, and it seemed to be tight fitting. Upon noticing the expression on his countenance I instantly struck him as hard a blow as I could with the mace, which I held in my right hand, at the same time tightening my grip on his coat collar and vest. However, before I struck him he made a desperate backward lunge, evidently intending to get clear of me so that he might get far enough away from me to strike me with his fists. But, by reason of the strong hold I had on him I had drawn myself up close to him, and in his lunge he was so much heavier and larger than I that he carried me back with him, probably a distance of four or five feet. It was while he, or rather we, were making this lunge, that I struck him. My mace caught him, or more truthfully speaking, his hat, just above his forehead. It forced his hat, which was a stiff one, as stated, and drove it down over his forehead to his eyebrows. The hat was tight and the lining was leather, and with the force of the blow the lining cut the skin clear across the top of his forehead, and as the hat was forced down the skin peeled down over his forehead, and of course, the blood spurted over both of us. He fell to his knees with the force of the blow, but immediately tried to rise, when I hit him a second time, which felled him to the ground. I was still holding on to his collar, and when he fell I started for my office, dragging him behind me. He was upon his back and therefore helpless so long as I kept him moving. He regained consciousness when he had gone about a hundred feet and began pleading with me to let him up, which I did, with the understanding that he was to accompany me peaceably. This he agreed to and did.

It being at the time of the day when the streets were crowded with people, an immense crowd was attracted by the excitement, and a great many comments were heard, many of them condemning my action as brutal and uncalled for. There was both a morning and an evening paper published in Oil City at that time. The evening paper got out an extra, which censured me severely, and was entirely in accord with the previous comments made by many of the crowd. They were, by the way, entirely ignorant of the facts which led me to act as I had found it necessary.

The crowd filled the Mayor's office to overflowing, and among those present were a few friends and former associates of Daly's, who succeeded in getting one of the citizens, a saloon proprietor and considered a good citizen and fairly well off, to come forward and intercede with the Mayor, who at that time, in accordance with the laws of Pennsylvania, was a committing magistrate. Daly's friends told the Mayor that they would pay his fine and the costs and would see that he left town within the hour, if he (the mayor) would let Daly go upon the payment of the fine and costs for his having assaulted Zeigenheim.

The Mayor assented and fined him one hundred dollars and costs, three dollars and fifty cents, making a total of one hundred and three dollars and fifty cents. The citizens before mentioned paid this fine and Daly left town immediately thereafter. He gave an alias to the Mayor, and his friends did not betray him, and for this reason the Mayor or myself did not know who he was until after he had departed.

Mr. St. John, who was the editor of the evening paper, and who had so unmercifully roasted me, had always, prior to this occurrence, acted in a friendly manner towards me. The write-up that he had given me that evening, therefore, hurt my feelings beyond description.

A Mr. Bishop, who was the editor and proprietor of the morning paper, had come from Buffalo, where he was born and raised, to Oil City, and he at once took it upon himself to investigate, through correspondents in Buffalo, by wire, what and who this man Daly was. The result of which was that he devoted the entire first page of his paper, on the following morning, to Daly's complete history, setting forth his police record, his vocation and his desperate character, as well as the full particulars and details of his most recent encounter with the two Buffalo police officers, his escape from Buffalo and his subsequent arrest by me at Oil City. The article wound up with the most complimentary comments that I have ever received, considerable space being devoted to the fact of my having succeeded in subduing and arresting Daly unassisted by any one. This article caused a majority of those who had so loudly denounced my actions of the previous evening to apologize for their hasty conclusions. Mr. St. John, of the evening paper, was among the first to approach me with an apology for his publication of the evening before.

If I had known that it was the notorious Tom Daly I had been called upon to arrest I don't believe that I could have been pulled into that meat market with a large rope attached to my neck; but I was fully convinced that prompt and decisive action was required on my part the instant that I saw that vicious, and I might say, hideous expression on Daly's face.

The result of this arrest had more to do with securing me the confidence and respect of the law-abiding citizens of Oil City than any other one arrest that I had ever made, and I had made many of them.

A RUSE THAT WORKED.

HOW EVIDENCE TO CONVICT AN ANONYMOUS LETTER WRITER WAS OBTAINED.--TRAGIC DEATH OF TWO BROTHERS AFTER THEIR ARREST AND AFTER BREAKING JAIL.

Early in the 1870s, Sam Ackert called at my office one cold winter morning in the month of February. I was then Chief of Police of Oil City, Pa. Mr. Ackert was known to me as the owner of a large oil lease, on what was known as the Towles Farm, on the Plummer Road, about eight miles north, and a little east of Oil City, and in Venango County. Mr. Ackert was considered at that time, one of the largest oil operators in that district. He was operating twelve or fifteen oil wells, all of which were producing large quantities of oil. Some were being pumped, while others were flowing wells. My recollection is that one of these flowing wells was producing four hundred barrels per day. Crude oil was selling at that time for about eight dollars per barrel at the well. Ackert employed quite a large number of men to attend to the wells and look after his interests in general. Some of these men were employed as engineers, which were commonly known in the oil country as pumpers. Two of these engineers, or pumpers, were required to operate each well, each man usually working from 12:00 noon until 12:00 midnight. These watches were morning and noon watches, and men so employed usually lived adjacent to the well upon which they were employed.

Mr. Ackert had a superintendent who had charge of the employes and who lived on the lease. His name was Joseph Sullivan. He also had two engineers whose names were George and Henry Book. George Book was a young man, married and lived in a cottage on the lease. His brother Henry was single and lived with George. George was the eldest. They were both employed on the same well as pumpers. George was on the noon watch each day and was considered a very good engineer. He was sober, competent and attentive to his business; while his brother Henry had also been considered competent and energetic, but not as reliable as George. He had been found asleep while on duty by Supt. Sullivan, on various occasions, for which he was reprimanded and finally discharged from the service.

Some months after Henry's dismissal, Mr. Ackert received an anonymous letter through the mail. This letter threatened dire destruction to his property by fire, or other methods unless he (Ackert) would discharge Sullivan, his superintendent. This letter was followed by three other threatening letters, also anonymous, which were received at intervals of four or five days by Ackert. Sullivan being a very competent and reliable man of good character, Mr. Ackert at first did not pay any attention to the threatening letters, but laid them away in his desk.

A short time after the receipt of the last anonymous letter, one of his oil tanks, which at the time contained about four or five hundred barrels of crude oil, was emptied one night, between dark and daylight, by some person who had gone to the tank and opened what was known as the lower faucet. This faucet, two inches in diameter, entered the tank about one-half foot above the bottom of the tank, and was placed there so that by opening it the salt water could be drawn out of the tank. All oil wells in that particular locality, which had to be pumped, produced a percentage of salt water, this water coming up with the oil. Salt water being heavier than the oil, immediately settled to the bottom of the tank, and for that reason, as the tank would become nearly filled to its top, it was the duty of the pumpers to open this salt water faucet and let the salt water escape from the bottom of the tank, in order to make room for more oil above.

On the night that this tank was emptied in the manner above described, there was about three feet of snow on the ground. The weather was cold, and the snow had drifted around the tank so that it was about four feet deep above the faucet in question. I will state here that the constant drawing off of the salt water had thoroughly saturated the ground for a space of two or three feet square under the faucet, and for this reason, the ground was soft and a little muddy. The saturated earth would not freeze in cold weather on account of the large quantities of salt which had become impregnated with the dirt. At the time this tank was emptied by means of the opening of the faucet, the oil, which was very inflammable, ran down into a ravine, which was thickly dotted with oil wells and tanks for a mile or more. But, fortunately, the flowing oil did not happen to reach any of the fires that were under the boilers of the pumping stations. If it had, it would have instantly burned everything within reach along the side of the ravine, thereby destroying hundreds of thousands of dollars' worth of property and in all probability many lives.

Mr. Ackert called upon me the morning after the occurrence above related and told me of what had occurred, stating at the same time, that he had no idea who was dastardly enough to perpetrate this malicious act. He knew of no enemy on earth and was more than anxious that I investigate the matter and locate the party, or parties guilty of the crime. He also told me of having received and retained the anonymous letters before mentioned. I instructed him to bring the letters to me at once, which he