Part 2

All night long we plied our trade of amateur detectives-- No stone was left unturned-- We worked the "dives", faro banks--brothels, saloons and questionable resorts, but without avail-- The deserters had been seen but everybody seemed mum and blind or deaf and dumb-- They had been paid off for several months--had scattered it--their money--liberally and had left the town-- Nobody knew where-- At one _gilded dive_ "Green", becoming bold and watching his chance, assuming the detective role with some slight show of experience and with a most startling blase air said to the bespangled proprietress--"Didn't you have a place at one time in Jacksboro"? "Yes"!-- "Well, then, you must remember Brown, here", pointing a finger at me-- "Oh, yes!" was the reply-- "I remember him well, and that he came often and I have often wondered what became of him"-- Anger came to the front at this joke--but it had to be choked back--the instructions had been given-- No frowns or even scowls or anything but a _positive order_ would have disturbed the imperturbable musketeer Corporal--the d'Artagnan of our adventure at this point. The writer was married and had left his wife and child in the howling gale at Fort R----; and had never seen this "Jezabel"-- His outraged dignity sustained a distinct shock-- The Corporal was mildly rebuked later and it was passed by as part of the duality of character which Mackenzie had forced me to assume if success was to be assured-- Nothing was accomplished by our night's work-- At day break, sending the Corporal back to the bivouac of the command, it was ordered to meet me in town at once-- Just as we were deliberating what the next move was to be--Sergt. Miles Varily of Troop "E" with a mounted detachment rode into town-- He had been to Huntsville, Texas, where he had conveyed Satanta and Big Tree, the Ki-o-wa Indian Chiefs--who had been in confinement at Fort R---- under sentence since July 6--to the State Penitentiary where they were to be confined for life for the massacre of Henry Warren's teamsters on Salt Creek Prairie-- Varily had met and talked with the deserters on the Bear Creek Road to Cleburne-- He said they were all well armed--and had declared that they would not be taken alive-- This--he gave as his reason for not arresting them with his small force-- He knew all of them and had identified them as men of Troop "B"-- They were in a two-mule freighter's wagon, with a low canvas top drawn down tight for concealment-- It was driven by a medium sized, but stocky built--civilian-- At last there seemed to be a definite clue-- They were evidently heading for Cleburne and Waxahatchie-- I must overtake and capture them before they reached Cleburne--which was 45 miles distant, an all day ride-- There was no time to lose--placing Charlton in the road--and the other Corporal with his men on both sides fanned out or deployed for a mile or more, and combing all of the ranches and small settlements, the writer pushed and directed the search all of the way without any further developments-- Occasionally the detachments were signalled in to the road-- Cleburne was reached at dark after a terribly hard ride, the storm still continuing, with a lull in the wind but growing colder-- Securing the services of the Deputy Sheriff--we made a thorough search up to one o'clock but with no results.

A Sleepless Night--The Gettysburg "Johnny"

At 3 o'clock A. M. having sent the Corporal to bed and placed the men in bivouac in the edge of the town, the writer, having secured a small map of Texas, was seated in front of a log fire diligently studying the situation-- The deserters must surely be somewhere in the near vicinity-- They were certainly not in Cleburne-- Where had they disappeared to after leaving Weatherford? Many roads and trails led out of Cleburne--some towards the railroads-- No mistake must be made-- A sudden inspiration seized me-- I woke up the Corporal-- "Corporal, find me a two seated carriage or conveyance of some kind with driver--'rake' the town--and get it here as soon as possible; rout out the detachment--and report yourself mounted to me at the same time"-- "Never mind the expense"! In about 30 minutes Charlton was there with a closely curtained-in two-seated carriage, carry-all, or Texas "hack", with two mules, and a _one-legged driver_; also the entire detachment mounted-- Amazement was on the faces of all-- What was the play?-- What was the game being "pulled off" by the "Old Man"? "Corporal Charlton, take your carbine and pistol and get in the front seat with the driver"--and turning to the other Corporal--(Jones)--"You will take our two led horses--and follow this 'hack'--never losing touch with it--but always remaining as much as possible out of sight--about a mile or two in the rear--concealing yourself as much as possible by the timber-- Keep your eyes on this 'hack'--_one flash_ of my handkerchief and you will drop further back out of sight if it is open country; two flashes, and you are to come up with your detachment and our led horses at a run--remember, and always keep out of sight as much as possible"-- We moved out on the Hillsboro road--inquiries were made all along but with no satisfactory results-- We scoured the settlements, ranches and side trails but without avail-- We had had a description given us, however, of a certain two-horse team--with a number of men in it, which partially filled the bill-- Feeling perfectly sure that they were breaking for the railroad, either at Corsicana or Waxahatchie--yet it was feared that we were on the wrong road-- The driver of our conveyance, or "dug out", it seemed, had been a confederate soldier, and had lost a leg at Gettysburg in the desperate charge of Longstreet's Corps on July 2--upon the "Round Tops" and the "Peach Orchard"-- He had belonged to the Fifth Texas, Robertson's "Texas Brigade", Hood's Division, and strange to record had confronted the First Brigade--First Division, Fifth Corps, in which the writer had served on that fateful day, and in that death-strewn spot. He immediately _recognised an old enemy_, became extremely voluble, and insisted upon fighting the battle "o'er again", with many a story and reminiscence of his many campaigns, until, at length, he, not having been let into the secret of our plans, was so inclined to put in his time telling stories that we were in great danger of losing the object of an entire night's hard work-- He even wanted to stop his mules to emphasize his points, when much to the "Johnny's" chagrin and to the intense amusement of Charlton, my d'Artagnan Musketeer, the "lines" "by order", were turned over to the latter, while the writer having no whip--prodded the mules along with a sharp stick--_Time_--and then _Time_--was our one objective-- We were not so sure of our direction-- It was getting late--and with our delays we were still some miles from Hillsboro-- All was working well in our plans; the detachment was out of sight well to the rear--

We emerged from the cover of the timber upon a "hog wallow" prairie--and from this high, rolling hill or divide, when descending to the valley of a small creek, saw ahead--two miles or more--a small train of wagons in the hollow, moving to head this small "branch"-- Talk about the thumping of one's heart!! Some intuition told me that my deserters were there; my pulse quickened perceptibly, and I almost shouted to the "Jehu"--who had been allowed to resume the "lines" but was slacking up--to "keep busy,"--and to gather his animals for a rallying burst of magnificent speed-- Now the train was seen to split--some going around--while _one low canvas-topped two-horse wagon_ kept on the road for the "branch"-- Then I saw a number of men--6 _or_ 8--get out and try to wade across the stream. _They were the deserters!_ of this I now felt sure-- I said nothing--but sharply touched the Corporal's elbow, jumped from the "hack" and running back a few yards gave the handkerchief signal "two flashes"-- The _detachment was in full view_ on the high ground silhouetted against the sky. The Corporal had closed up too much while we were in the timber, and when emerging--exposed himself to the view of the men in the valley as I had feared-- They had seen him, and scenting danger made a wild break-- The detachment came forward with our led horses at a gallop--but the deserters, having crossed the stream and scattered, were now heading for the fringe of timber, chaparral and brush which either skirted, or was near, the creek--

The Capture

Once mounted I shouted for one Corporal to head off the main wagon train on the road--and detain it and _hold it at all hazards_ until my return. Taking Charlton we dashed for the stream. My powerful horse bogged;--Dismounting in water up to my waist, by careful management he was soon out on dry land. Charlton led-- "Get after them now, Corporal--Open fire! Shoot over their heads and close to them, but not to kill"-- Finely mounted--and one of the crack shots in the regiment, with carbine advanced, he was in his element and "swung out" at a gallop for the men who were trying to gain the bushes or chaparral in the distance-- He was an absolutely true type of the handsome, graceful soldier and rider, with the close seat and the American or cow-boy stirrup, and the resourceful, masterful, trained cavalryman of the days closely following the Civil War-- Bang! Crack!! Crack!!! went his carbine-- As I followed him I could see the dirt and dust sprayed over the fleeing deserters-- As the shots whistled and struck about them, they instantly dropped to the ground for safety--and lay there until some men, whom I had recalled from the detachment, had followed me and gathered them up as prisoners-- None were to be shot unless they resisted. I gained the road to the brow of a hill overlooking the country. After securing five with no resistance, and being told by them that there were two more--a little darkey near by shouted--"Oh, golly Massa, dere dey go ober de hill, way yonder"-- At least two miles away they could be seen running, fairly flying. The Corporal and writer dashed after them, and after a long ride and a diligent search in the bushes, together with a few warning shots--we secured them. With these men and the driver of their team we returned to the train-- I had not fully trusted the other Corporal, on account of his seeming indifference, and he had somewhat hampered my plans and movements--so I felt anxious as to whether my orders to hold the train fast had been obeyed. He had, however, stopped the train and held the wagon master, and the whole "outfit" at the point of his carbine, as in a vise.

The wagon master was a cool and determined fellow with cold, grey eyes, and a pugnacious nose and chin; he and his teamsters were well armed, their guns showing conspicuously in their holsters--or open belt scabbards-- He had been threatening the Corporal, and now, seeing no insignia of rank on my citizen's clothes, he began to threaten me with criminal prosecution as soon as he reached Hillsboro for illegally holding up his train-- Visions of Mackenzie's instructions relating to a "violation of the Civil Laws", began to loom up large before my eyes. He saw my hesitation and becoming abusive began to be more insistent for the release of himself and men-- Sizing up the situation at a glance, the bluff was made-- "Look here, my man! We have found a wagon in your train filled with deserters from the United States Army-- I am an officer of the Army--and if you don't stop your abuse I will put you in irons and take you along to the Civil authorities and turn you over on a charge of assisting them to escape"-- That quieted him-- "Are these all of the teamsters in your train? Produce every man who was with you when it was first sighted, or I will order my men to search it before you can go! Never mind your threats! _We are out for deserters_". He replied: "These are two men who joined my train a few days ago; they are citizens-- I know nothing about them-- They can tell their own story." The two men stepped forward in citizen's clothes unarmed and with no "set up" or the slightest appearance or sign of the soldier about them. The larger and older, told with a strong Irish brogue a very straight story; how they had "been working" their way along; had sought the train for "shelter"--had "not been in the country very long", etc. The other was a mere boy. I was about to let them go with the train, none of the detachment or the deserters whom I had already secured being able to recognize or identify them, when my attention was suddenly attracted to the older man's face-- It showed distinctly that a heavy beard _had but recently been shaved off_--and this as winter was coming on-- I gave no signs, however, of having made this discovery, but said: "You teamsters can go--but I shall hold these men-- If they are not deserters, they can easily clear themselves, and will be released". As I watched the older man's face, I saw him change color, but he maintained his nerve--replying that he would "prosecute me for false arrest and imprisonment," probably taking his cue from the wagon master--who, after more bluster and more threats of what he would do, disappeared in the distance and we never saw or heard of him again. It was a chance on the bluff-- Loading the nine men thus accumulated into the old man's wagon, upon reaching Hillsboro, a few miles away, and securing the services of Deputy Sheriff, H. A. Macomber, we and the prisoners were given a good meal at the house of the jailer, J. A. Purnell, the first any had had since leaving Fort R---- and shortly after dark, the jailer leading with a lantern, the prisoners closely guarded, and the three citizens (?) loudly protesting in Chimmie Fadden's vernacular: "Wot 'tell"!--and then adding: "What's the use"! etc., the astounded ranchers of H---- saw this strange procession proceeding to the county jail to give them protection from the howling, icy gale--still blowing-- All jails in Texas were then made of huge, square-hewn, green logs--built up solid, and the outside thickly studded with sharp nails-- Upon the outside a flight of rickety steps led up to a door heavily padlocked and barred. We entered by file, a sort of chamber or loft, about 12 or 14 feet square. In the centre of the floor was a large trap door with a ring in it-- This trap being lifted a ladder was lowered down to the ground floor inside, and the prisoners were ordered to descend into this ground cell in which was but one small grated window, high up--for air only. The ladder then being drawn up and the trap door secured, they were supposed to be safe, as it was eight or ten feet from the floor of the cell to the floor of the loft-- In this Hillsboro jail, however, the ladders had been broken and had disappeared, so that the deserters had to be let down by hand, the little short old wagoner coming last-- It was most amusing to hear this well paid old scoundrel's squeals and whining, and his piteous appeals for mercy as he hung dangling in mid-air through the "Man hole" before dropping him the four or five feet to the ground. He kicked, squirmed and wriggled in his agony of fright; he moaned, groaned--grunted and sighed; begged, implored and prayed--in the most ridiculous manner-- All the time the deserters below him, realizing how fortunate they were in being sheltered from the icy blast of the "Norther" now howling around the corners of the old log jail, were mocking--"_booing_" and sarcastically commenting on the little man's lack of sand--grit and courage-- Having heard much and seen little of these Texas jails, except the outside, and at a distance, my curiosity was aroused to more closely examine one-- The jailer tried to persuade me not to take the risk-- But after assuring him that I had nothing to fear from these men in going down among them as I knew every one--and handing him my pistols--he lowered me down--passing the lantern down after me. After carefully examining this uninteresting hole very carefully, however, I felt that my curiosity had been amply satisfied--and cheering up the "old man" much to the amusement of the prisoners, all of whom seemed to be contented with their blankets and a comparatively warm shelter from the storm--telling one of the men to give me a "leg up"-- I was pulled up by the jailer--all of the prisoners assisting and bidding me a most cheerful "good-night". The next morning after "turning out" the deserters and filling them with a hot breakfast at the jailer's where Charlton and the rest of the detachment with myself had spent the night, they opened up with a long and very strange story-- Peters, the spokesman for the deserters, declared that two detectives (?) or, as they called themselves--"_constables_"--had followed them from near Weatherford, on the Bear Creek road, and arrested them. Instead of being armed as Sergeant Varily had informed the writer, they (the deserters) had parted with all of their carbines before reaching W---- for a good round sum. The pseudo detectives, therefore, found it a comparatively easy matter, with their double barrel shot guns to persuade the unarmed soldiers to "throw up their hands"-- They had even started to turn back to Weatherford, when at the suggestion of one of their number negotiations were opened by which they were released by the fake constables--but, at the sacrifice of all the "greenbacks" the entire party possessed-- After this compulsory squeeze, the detectives (?) and their plucked friends parted company. The writer resolved, upon his return, to investigate this matter and if the deserter's story proved true--and they had all corroborated Peters' statement--to secure the arrest and indictment of these Border Sharks.

The march back was cold and bitter-- We were more than 100 miles from Fort R---- No handcuffs or irons could be obtained--and it was decided not to "rope them"-- Thick ice was in all the streams-- Calling Peters, the most intelligent of the prisoners, to me, the writer laid down the law: "Peters, I am going to march you to Fort R---- and I want no trouble; tell the men they shall be well fed and they shall have shelter whenever it is possible to obtain it-- Corporal Charlton will be placed in direct charge of you--'fall in'--the men in the middle of the road in column of twos"-- Then turning to the men--so that all could hear me--I added: "You men must keep the middle of the road and obey all orders issued through Corporal C---- by me, without any question or discussion; Any movement by you to bolt the trail, or to escape into the chaparral will only result in your being shot down-- You can talk and smoke and have freedom of movement--but you know both of us well enough to understand that there will be no trifling"-- At 11 a. m. we started and camped at the Widow Jewell's ranch, 15 miles from Hillsboro-- Placing the men in an open corn crib--assigning each a sleeping place and posting a man at the log door--he was ordered to "shoot the first man who left that position without authority from me". This was said loudly in the hearing of every man, and he was then asked if he understood it.

For the first time we now ascertained from the prisoners why they had so mysteriously disappeared from the map after leaving Weatherford and after being seen and talked to by Sergt. Varily on the Bear Creek Road--and why we got no trace of them the next night in Cleburne. It seems that just before reaching the town, upon the advice of the wily driver of their get-away wagon--they had turned off the Bear Creek Road and following a blind trail to the right had reached the little settlement of Buchanan--and bivouacking there that night--had come into the Cleburne-Hillsboro road again the next morning--shortly before I sighted them at the small creek or "branch" near H. During all of that miserable night while we were searching the slums and dives of Cleburne, they were at a comfortable, blazing bivouac fire not more than three or four miles away, debating the probabilities of their being followed.