The prairie detective

Front matter

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Chapter I. The Buffalo Hunter

As late as 1859 the vast prairies of Western Kansas, Colorado, Nebraska, and Wyoming furnished employment for hundreds of hardy men who gained their livelihood by the use of rifle and trap.

Millions of buffaloes grazed upon the nutritious grasses; herds of antelopes, graceful and fleet of foot, dotted the soft undulations ; great numbers of coyotes or prairie wolves, slinking from sight by day, and howling dismally by night, lived upon the carcasses of the sick and wounded animals which, falling exhausted from their places in the ranks, were left behind by their companions to die ; myriads of smaller animals, whose skins were marketable, helped to attract the hunters.

But the main feature of Western life at that period was buffalo hunting. There was an eager demand for all the peltries that could be taken, and the sport of hunting the huge prairie monarchs, made the profession thoroughly enjoyable to those wild and venturesome spirits of the frontier.

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The greater part of them were men who smiled at danger, and scorned the peril to which they were frequently exposed, for peril there was, on every hand.

The Indians, naturally enough, perhaps, were inclined to resent this wholesale intrusion on what they considered their domains, and wherever there was an opportunity to slaughter their white enemies they took advantage of it with an eagerness which established their intentions, if it did not add to their reputation for humane acts and thoughts.

But this was not the worst form of danger which existed. The country was full of renegade white men, who sometimes lived with the Indians, and aided them in open warfare against the whites, and sometimes acted clear of either faction, committing depredations on each, and existing as a kind of guerilla force, to harass and rob everybody they could find who had anything worth stealing. Some of them ran in couples, some in numbers of three or four. There was one regularly organized band. It was the terror of the country.

For months, sometimes, “The Bloodsuckers” would not be heard from, and people would begin to hope that they had been drawn away to some other section by promises of richer spoils.

But just as this hope would almost seem to have become a certainty, the band of assassins and robbers would turn up in some entirely unexpected quarter, and perform terrible feats of blood.

They seemed to have no settled field of labor, and, in fact, never committed two crimes consecutively in the same region. Their plan was as simple as it was fearful.

One night they would make a sudden descent

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upon some camp of hunters, murder them all in cold blood, and then ride off like the wind, helping themselves to such of the stores as they chose.

Then they would take a long march across the country by circuitous routes which would not lead them into sections where they would be likely to be met and known. In a month or two, after traveling almost incessantly toward some given point, “The Bloodsuckers” would dash down with whoops and yells upon some defenseless settlement, slaying and uobbing.

It may be readily imagined that such a condition of affairs kept the whole country in a fever.

No part of the West seemed free from these awful atrocities, and no hunter was sure from day to day that his cabin would not be burned before another dawn, and his loved ones murdered in cold blood before his eyes.

The marauders, who thus inspired fear and hatred, were as mysterious as they were sanguinary. No one knew whence they came, whither they went, nor who they were. Many expeditions had started upon their trail, but all had ended alike in defeat and discomfiture.

“The Bloodsuckers” never allowed grass to grow under their feet. Having sacked a settlement, they traveled away so rapidly that the swiftest pursuers were soon left behind.

One party alone succeeded in overtaking them. In the battle which ensued every man was killed save one. He was left for dead upon the field, but revived afterward, and took a great oath of revenge. His name was Ryan, and he was commonly called “Posey,” though why I am at a loss to understand.

We shall see more of Posey Ryan presently.

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The most mysterious personage in the outlaw band was its leader.

Many and varied were the attempts to discover his identity, hut they failed, each one in succession. Numbers of people had seen him, but his name, origin, and former vocation remained enshrouded in darkness.

Everybody in the West knew of him, and he was generally spoken of as Persimmon Bill. The prefix was earned, I believe, once when the redoubtable chief was seen to eat half a peck of the fruit indicated. His real patronymic, however, was known only to himself. But whatever it might have been, no man on the border was so well known, or so thoroughly feared, at the time at which I write. He was virtually king of the whole region from the Missouri River to the Rocky mountains, and he kept up his sway with extreme success.

Old F ort Hayes, situated in the far western part of what is now the State of Kansas, a few miles south of the Smoky River, was formerly one of the principal points where the hunters gathered each autumn to remain until the following spring. The fort itself, built of native limestone, has long since been transformed into sheep-pens by a farmer, who now owns the land.

The hunters were absent, generally, all the summer, and only returned to the fort when the snow began to fly. Their families usually remained at all times under the protection of the government post, sometimes not seeing their male relatives for months together. In the heated season this life was dull and devoid of pleasure. But as the chill air of winter approached, numbers of traders from the East began

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to arrive, and when the last hunter had come in from his long summer of labor, the place was full of life.

Each winter was a round of merry-making, from one day to another, and the traders, dealing liberally with the hunters, kept business in that state only described by the occidental phrase “booming.”

When the sun again grew warm, and the snow began to melt away, the peltry buyers started for their liomes, and the hunters began again to clean their weapons, put their traps in order, and prepare for another campaign.

Thus the order of affairs went on with almost uninterrupted sway for three or four years. Fort Hays was large and strong enough to easily resist any attacks from the Indians or marauders, and so life there was not troubled by the fears which rendered existence at other frontier posts miserable.

It was about the middle of April, 1859. The ice had floated out of the streams, the snow was melting in the hollows, and the warm days were approaching.

Everything about the settlement was in a stir, which foretold the coming evacuation.

Saddle-bags were filled with ammunition, revolvers, bright from recent scrubbing, lay in their holsters, and traps, with long shining teeth, hung upon the cabin walls, lending rude ornamentation. Old horses were exchanged for fresh ones; kegs of whisky and sides of bacon, bags of flour, and packages of pepper — everything needful for a long journey, out of the reach of stores, was purchased.

The single street was full of life and energy.

In one of the cabins at the outskirts of the town, an aged man sat upon a flour-barrel, cleaning an old fashioned Mississippi rifle. His hair, which was long and gray, hung upon his shoulders. He was of

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spare build, but well shaped, and his face was full of kindly purpose and gentle thought.

A smile that was half mischievous, half pleased, was upon his lips, as he spoke, without lifting his eyes from his work :

“And so, Esther, you did not like the stranger who paid you such marked attention?”

The girl he addressed was the taller of the two who stood arm in arm before him. But for the difference in their height it would have been difficult to tell them one from the other.

Therefore, having noted the point of dissimilarity between them, a description of one will serve in all essential details for both. Face, round and plump ; nose straight, and a trifle prominent; lips cherryhued, and curving up slightly at the ends; teeth even, large, and white ; eyes black, full, and twinkling merrily beneath long and drooping lashes ; brows heavy and gracefully arched; forehead broad and rather round, shaded by a crest of hair which was so black that when the sun fell upon it one was sure to note a curious blue sheen which at times seemed to form a kind of halo about the head. The bright color of health lent another beauty to the face, while the neck, smooth and round, was just a trifle haughty in its erect firmness.

Thus far my descriptive pen has moved with bold and sweeping strokes upon its mission; but as it passes down over the plump shoulders, stopping for an instant to note the curves of gently swelling bust or supple waist, all unconfined by artificial process, as it wanders over full and graceful hips and passes onward over limbs that taper in the fullness of symmetrical outline, it hesitates, moves an instant in helpless indecision, and stops, baffled.

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The quill has refused its work. Well and good. There are beauties which no pen can portray, no tongue describe. And with this vague hint at the surpassing loveliness of “Doc” Harper’s daughters, I must retire from the unequal contest, and leave the poet’s domain for the broad fields of the historian.

As her father ceased speaking, Esther’s brows contracted, and out of her eyes darted a flash which told the passion of her nature — a fire that burned deep and strong, either to cheer with warmth or consume with its fierce flames.

“Like him?” she exclaimed, her handsome lip curling with scorn ; “like him? I would as soon have liked a rattlesnake.”

“But why this great aversion? Surely he was good looking enough.”

“Yes, he was a handsome fellow, ordinarily; but did you never see him without his hat?”

“Not that I remember. What was the peculiarity exhibited then?”

“A livid scar upon his forehead; a sinister glance in his eyes. When the light, unobstructed, falls upon his face, it loses its only charms. You have seen him thus, have you not, Marian?” continued Esther, turning to her sister.

“Yes, often.”

“And one night when he was here I perceived some object, as I thought, protruding from the upper part of his boot-leg. You remember his elegant, cavalry boots?”

“Distinctly, but what was this object?”

“That is what I asked him. He laughed in that uneasy way of his, passed his hand down, caught hold of the article firmly, and drew it forth. It was a bowie-knife, and the largest one I ever saw. The

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great blade was stained where clotted blood had been.”

Esther shuddered at the thought.

“A bad man,” said her father, laughing. “Carries his knife in his boot! Anything else?”

“Yes, that was not all. When he saw that I had detected the murderous weapon, he seemed to be taken with a strange whim. In fact, he was ever a moody creature. At one time he would be gay, lighthearted, and happy ; then for a week at a time he would exhibit a spirit of unflagging ugliness. At those times he was silent, ill-tempered, and depressed. Well, this time I am telling you about, his mood seemed to be a reckless one. He said :

“ ‘Having discovered one of my weapons, you may as well see the rest.’

“With that he pulled from the back of his neck another knife, the mate of the first. It also was spotted and stained. Then from his belt, where they had hung concealed under his loose coat, he drew two heavy revolvers. From his left boot-leg there came a third. All these weapons he placed on the floor in a row, and then regarded them with an odd expression I could not understand. In fact, what in the world a man could want with all that armament is beyond my comprehension.”

Esther’s father had stopped rubbing his rifle, and sat looking at his daughter with a strange and questioning glance.

The old man’s suspicions were awakened.

“Well,” he said, “what next?”

“I asked him what could be the necessity of going about like a walking gun-shop.

“Suddenly he riveted his eyes upon my face with

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that peculiar, searching look which he casts on any body he suspects.

“He seemed to be attempting to read my very soul. Then the stern lines relaxed, and the old reckless smile came back — the smile that always makes a cold chill creep over me when I see it.

“ ‘Those/ he said, ‘are the best friends I have on earth . 9

“If the sentence had come from the lips of any other person I should have laughed. But his expression, as he spoke, was so profoundly earnest, that an unknown dread began to take possession of me.”

“ ‘But surely you never used them?’ I asked.

“He thought a moment in silence. A red flush stole over his cheeks, and his yellow eyes changed to the deepest black. There was every indication of great mental excitement about his appearance, when he turned suddenly upon me, and with vehement gestures, spoke something like this :

“ ‘Esther, do you know what it is to be hunted from one year’s end to another? Can you realize the awful misery of one whose life is sought from day to day by a thousand of his fellow-men? Is it possible for you to understand the eternal, unending agony of a man who, sleeping or waking, sees in every shadow a hidden enemy, and in every bush an assassin? Do you know what it is to start from troubled slumber, with great beads of cold perspiration standing at every pore, and every sense strained to its highest pitch, in the wild, mysterious thought that you are watched, hunted, discovered? I do — great Heaven! Ido!’

“All in a moment I saw everything that had made him moody, silent, and sometimes ugly. I felt sorry for him, and told him so ; whereupon he burst into

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his old reckless laugh, and declared that he was literally afraid of nothing. He said he had been in many close places, and that many attempts had been made upon his life, but that he had been amply revenged upon his pursuers. Upon the stock of one of his revolvers were thirty-four nicks, cut in the wood. Each of those, he declared, stood for a life he had taken. I had never liked the man very well, in spite of his many attentions, but when he told me this, my blood froze with horror. If I had barely tolerated him before, I loathed him then. But in spite of that feeling there was a certain fascination about him which seemed to magnetize me. It was the same sensation you feel when looking at some hideous reptile. Resist the inclination as I might, I could not forbear to exclaim :

“‘Who are you, who thus acknowledge nearly two-score of murders?’

“He made a motion as if to answer at once. He said:

“ ‘My name is Can you keep a secret, Esther?’

“ ‘I can, but I will not promise,’ was my response.

“Again he was silent for a time, apparently trying to settle in his mind whether to make me his confidante or not. Finally he turned, and said :

“ ‘I cannot, then, tell you who I am, although I am convinced that you would not betray me. If I wish to live I must be unknown, and therefore you will not blame me for concealing my identity.’

“From the way in which he spoke, from his uneasy manner and extraordinary measures of selfprotection, I began to more than suspect him. Soon he fell to talking of other subjects, and at length, as if actuated by one of those sudden impulses which seem to guide his whole life, he took both my hands

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in his, glanced quickly into my eyes, and exclaimed :

“ ‘I love you, Esther Harper. Will you be my wife?’ ”

Old “Doc” Harper and his daughter, Marian, were intensely interested in the narrative by this time. On the father’s face the last traces of the bantering smile had faded out, and now his eyes snapped with indignation.

“The scoundrel!” he exclaimed, involuntarily, clenching his fist. “How dare he? Why, child, what did you say?”

“For a moment I was speechless with amazement. The surprise was as complete as it was disagreeable, and I never realized until that instant how thoroughly I detested that man. I had presence of mind enough to snatch away my hands, and then almost unconsciously, I began to talk. The words came unbidden, and I was entirely without knowledge of what I was saying. I abused him, called him a murderer, assassin, robber, and everything that was vile. Through all this he sat looking me in the eye, and smiling — yes, actually smiling. My fiery words pleased his fancy. At last, as a farewell shot, and not knowing why I did it— for I was moved by some unknown influence — I charged him with being no other than the chief of the Bloodsuckers, Persimmon Bill!”

“Well! well!” exclaimed Harper, eagerly, as his daughter paused for breath, “what ensued?”

“I cannot aptly describe it. I will not pollute my tongue with the full details. Suffice it to say that he sprang to his feet, turned pale as death at the mention of that name, and cursed, and raved, and blasphemed, because I had found him out. He begged me not to expose him, and threatened my

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life in the same breath. I would not promise, and I warned him that if he made an attempt to harm me, many people were within ear-shot, who would be amply revenged. That brought him to terms, and he requested me again and again not to make his real name and character known until he should have left town. I promised, partly because I felt sure he would escape even if I gave the alarm, and partly because— scoundrel, robber, murderer though he is — I admired him for his courage and audacity. Gaining this point, he still pressed his suit upon me. That, however, was too much, and I checked him instantly. Then he flew again into one of his reckless passions, and became violent. As he went out through the door, in obedience to my sternest command, he swore ”

“Well, what did he swear?” asked her father, now thoroughly aroused and angry.

“He swore that if I did not wed him peaceably he would charge down upon the post, carry me off, and compel me to be his wife. But, then, dear father, I am sure it was only braggadocia. Bold and daring as he is, he will hardly venture upon such a course as that,” and Esther laughed uneasily.

“Gal, ye are mistaken. Ye don't know Persimmon Bill,” said a voice from the door- way.

All three turned eagerly toward the spot whence the sounds proceeded. Two men stood there, leaning upon their rifles, and gazing quietly upon the excited family scene.

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Chapter II. Sycamore Dan

In order to give a clear understanding of the condition of affairs, and explain the presence of the two strangers, it will be necessary to go back a little in my story, and ask my readers to accompany me as far as the national capital at Washington.

The morning train from New York had just arrived, upon a windy day in midwinter. Among the hundred or more passengers was one with whom we shall deal extensively before this narrative reaches its final chapter.

There was nothing in particular about him to arrest attention, but if you had watched him closely you could scarcely have failed to see that he was not in any respect an ordinary man. His soft felt hat, with its broad brim, was pulled well over his forehead, so as to conceal the restless workings of his watchful gray eyes, which were the most noticeable features about him. They never seemed altogether quiet, but roamed from point to point, taking in all that was going on about him. There was a singular fact connected with this strange faculty, and that was the facility which the gray eyes possessed to take in every point about anything they fell upon in a single fraction of an instant. One sweeping look up the street, and our friend knew every face, every form, every sign, and every building in his range of vision. It was the comprehensive genius of sight, trained and drilled into perfection.

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But we must not stop with his eyes. The face was rather pale, and the mustache which curled upon his lip was yellow as amber. His nose was longer than the average, and not quite straight. The shape of his face rather oval than round, although neither of these terms is an exact description. It was rather longer, even, than the commonly accepted oval.

His figure was not heavy. The shoulders were set broader than the medium, but they were square, and thrown well back. However, if his body was not broad, it was thick. From the breastbone through to his spine, the distance was more than usually great. He was tall, too. So tall that he seemed slim — which he was not — and reminded one of a graceful reed swaying in the breeze. His movements were quick, bold, graceful, indicating agility and an active system.

Take him all in all, he was a man to hold your attention when you had once fixed it upon him.

On the morning alluded to he walked down Pennsylvania avenue, carrying a small traveling-bag in his hand. At the lower end of the avenue he turned suddenly in through an open door-way, and ascended the stairs. Arrived at the second floor, his eyes fell upon a door which had a ground-glass panel let into it. Painted upon this semi-transparent background were the words:

0 O

1 SECRET SERVICE. |

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Turning the knob, he pushed the door open a,nd walked briskly into the room. A clerk, sitting behind a heavy French walnut desk of rich design, was the only person in the apartment. He looked up

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as the stranger entered, and waited for him to introduce himself.

“Is Ryerson in?” asked the new arrival, in clear, incisive tones.

The clerk, startled out of his lethargy by the assurance of a person who had the temerity to speak of his chief by his surname and in that familiar tone, forgot to yawn before he replied :

“Yes, sir. Shall I give him your name?”

“That’s what you’re here for, I reckon,” responded the stranger, without changing a muscle of his face. “Here’s the card.”

The clerk did not stop to reflect that life was a bore, as government clerks are wont to do, but took the bit of pasteboard between his fingers, and walked away through an open door which led to an inner apartment.

“I wonder who he can be?” thought he. “Perhaps he’s a duke, or a foreign minister of some kind. ‘Ryerson,’ to be sure! Well, he’s a cool one, anyhow. Let’s see — what’s his name?” and the government employee cast his eyes over the card which he held in his hand. There, in bold letters, was the name:

Dan Burdette, New York.

The clerk made no verbal comment, but gave vent to a long, low whistle of surprise.

“Show him in at once!” exclaimed the chief; and the subordinate lost no time in obeying the command.

“So that’s Dan Burdette, eh?” he muttered, as the stranger passed out of sight. “Well, I never saw him before, although I’ve heard enough about him. So that’s the greatest thief-taker in America — the

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boss detective. Blessed if he doesn’t look it, too! Thunder ! what eyes he’s got ! But I wonder what he is doing in Washington?”

The clerk was not destined to find out. But you and I, being privileged characters upon this occasion, may take a peep inside the little room, and without being observed, may listen to the conversation.

The apartment contained a sofa, two or three easychairs, an elegant desk, a table, and a polished sideboard.

The walls were hung with pictures, and. the carpet was thick and soft to the touch. A genial fire glowed upon the hearth.

Behind the desk sat an elderly man in spectacles.

As Burdett entered, this person rose and, came forward to meet him.

“Halloa, Dan!” he exclaimed, heartily, grasping his visitor’s hand with a cordial grip. “Glad to see you.”

“Received your telegram last night,” responded Burdette, in his customary unruffled way. “Packed my valise at once, caught the midnight train, and here I am.”

“Prompt as ever, I see. Well, sit down and make yourself at home. Take off that coat.”

The garment was soon hanging across the back of a chair, and its owner, planted in another luxurious piece of upholstery, had his feet upon the table.”

“Now, Ryerson,” he said, when he had settled himself calmly, and was contemplating a speck of dust upon one of his boots, “what’s in the wind? I reckon you are on the track of a good thing, else you wouldn’t have sent in such a confounded hurry for me. Let’s hear it, whatever it may be.”

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“Good thing! I should say it was. But before we talk business, let’s refresh the inner man.”

The chief went over to the sideboard, and took down a bottle bearing the legend “Old Stag.”

Together with this he produced two glasses, which he placed on the table between himself and his guest.

A box of cigars soon followed.

“Business before pleasure,” said Burdette, with a smile, tossing off a draught of the decoction. “So here goes, old man.”

After a moment of meditation, as the smoke curled up from their cigars, they were ready for business.

“Well, Dan, I am going to set you on a scent that it will be a pleasure to you to follow. I am going to give you a ‘plant’ you have wanted for some time — and one which will furnish you an opportunity to wipe out an old score.”

“All right,” responded the detective, with an unmoved face; “what is it?”

“I have found traces of Bill Creighton!”

“What!” k

The polished boots came down from the table like lightning, and Dan Burdette, quicker than a flash, was on his feet, all aglow with excitement. The color came into his cheeks, his wonderful eyes flashed fire, and his slender fingers closed mechanically, like the teeth of a trap.

“I thought that would stir you up a bit,” observed the chief, with a self-satisfied smile.

“Stir me up? Of course it does. Why, I would rather catch Bill Creighton than do almost anything that is pleasant. He is sharp enough, though. Why, it is fully four years since we have heard from him.”

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“Yes, and I have traced nearly all his movements during that time.”

“Well, let’s hear about it.”

“All right. You remember the last time you took . him for counterfeiting out in Illinois?”

“Remember it? I should think I did. And I am not likely to stop remembering it just yet. Eight stabs, four pistol balls, and a broken shoulder. What! A man doesn’t forget that kind of thing very easily. I captured him, he was convicted, sent to Joliet, and finally escaped. Rewards were offered for his recapture by four States, two cities, and one private individual, making a pleasant little sum to take in.”

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“Yes. The total foots up to $62,000 Well, as I was about to say, Creighton was joined by several of his counterfeiting gang, and went West. Since then he has killed a great many men, and is still making things very lively. He is known as Persimmon Bill, and he commands the best organized and most desperate party of outlaws on this continent/ ’

“The duse! Is that Bill Creighton?”

And Dan Burdette whistled in surprise.

“It is he, and no mistake. Do you still hanker for the honor of taking him?”

“Did you ever know me to weaken?”

“No, Dan. I can’t say that I did.”

“Well, then, why ask such a question? I shall start West to-morrow. Where was he last heard from?”

“On the western border of Kansas. But he is a migratory being, and you can’t count on him as sticking in one locality.”

“That’s all right.

“ When I go after him, he is bound to come, sooner or later. Besides, I want to get even for that terrible dose he gave me last time we met.”

“What assistance do you want?”

“None.”

“But you don’t think of going alone, surely.”

“Don’t I? Now I do — just that.”

“Well, I suppose it is useless to dissuade you. But I am afraid.”

“Oh, don’t you worry about me. I have done more difficult things than this, and I shall not weaken now.”