Arkansas Heroes and Outlaws Legends & Truths

A TRUE HERO IN FT. SMITH HISTORY

2012-02-01T07:00:00.000-08:00

Those of us who live in andaround Ft. Smith, Arkansas, often find it difficult to believe how raw the fortonce was. Situated at the confluence of the Arkansas and Poteau rivers, thelocation that would become a most important frontier fort, was first establishedas an outpost in 1817 when Major William Bradford and his command of 64 men putashore on the rock landing below the bluff at Belle Point. One of Bradford'sduties was to prevent the Indian Tribes from continuing hostilities with eachother.

Due to the remote location, themen were pretty much on their own. They were to erect a post on the Arkansasnear the point where the Osage boundary struck the river. The first few rude shelters built there byMajor Stephen Long of the Topographical Engineers, before Bradford's arrival,were designated as Camp Smith in honor of General Thomas Smith, commander ofthe 9th Military Dept. with headquarters at Belle Fontaine. On hearing thatBradford was on his way, Long left his plans for the first fort along with asmall detail of men and went on his exploratory way.

What makes Bradford my"hero" here goes back a ways, to 1808 when hostilities first beganbetween the native Osage tribe and the foreign Cherokees. A delegation ofCherokee chiefs from east Tennessee had visited then President Thomas Jeffersonand asked that he allow members of their tribe to live as hunters and emigrateto the lands west of the Mississippi River. At this time the Osage claimed allthe land west of the Mississippi between the Missouri and Arkansas Rivers. Sothis move could cause a war between those tribes. Yet, on January 9, 1809President Jefferson authorized the requested move. Within a few years a fewthousand Cherokees had settled on the Arkansas and White Rivers in Arkansas, agood thirty years prior to the Trail of Tears that would herd thousands ofCherokee out of their homelands and into Indian Territory to the west ofArkansas.

An imaginary boundary, drawn byUnited States Commissioners, did little to keep the warring Indians apart.Constant friction caused killings, the stealing of horses and plenty ofaggressive behavior. The Treaty of Hiwassee of July 8, 1817 added morefriction. It would give the Cherokees as much land in Arkansas as they hadrelinquished in the Appalachian region. By then around 2,000 Cherokees lived insettlements on the Arkansas. By 1819, 3,500 to 6,000 lived there.

So then arrived Major Bradfordand his company of Rifles to establish Fort Smith at Belle Point. Bradford hadbeen ordered to do everything possible to keep peace between the hostiletribes. Immediately he called a meeting of the leaders of the Shawnee,Delaware, Chickasaw and the Choctaw bands that had sided with the Cherokees.Bradford also counseled the Quapaws and the Cherokees to live in peace. Butthese weren't all the hostiles Bradford was forced to deal with. Trouble-makingnon-Indians came into the territory and added their violent behavior to themix. In addition frontier families squatted on Indian lands.

Faced with non-existent communicationwith Washington---it took up to three months or more for a message to reachWashington---decisions were all up to Bradford. As Indian wars flamed, he couldonly rely on his small company of blue and gray-clad Rifles and two six-poundcannons to handle the situations. Besides this, he had to keep a work detail toplant corn and tend to a garrison vegetable garden. Because Congress haddecided to be more frugal in army spanding, most all of his supplies had tocome from the soil. Hunting details also brought in wild game killed near thefort. To add to his problems were diseases known as the ague and bilious fever.During the summer of 1819, 100 Cherokees succumbed.

While Bradford was away a few Osageleaders, led by Bad Tempered Buffalo and some 400 braves threatened the fort.Left in charge Lt. Scott threatened them with the two cannons and managed tohold down the uprising. By the time Bradford returned it was rumored that over1500 Osage warriors had amassed on the White River to take over the Cherokees'land. Bradford sent word this would not be tolerated. Then in a bold move, hewarned the chiefs that if they shed one single drop of a white man's blood, hewould exterminate their nations. He saidhe would not write Washington for advice, but would report that there was not aCherokee or Osage alive on his side of the Mississippi.

Bradford continued to worktirelessly to maintain and uneasy peace between the two hostile tribes. He wasfinally relieved of duty on February 26, 1822. At the end of his tour of dutynot one of his men had been killed by an Indian, and as far as was recorded notone of his men had so much as fired a shot at an Indian.

A new era began at Fort Smithwith the arrival of Colonel Matthew Arbuckle who was convinced that the timewas ripe to bring the Cherokees and the Osages together and restore peace onthe Arkansas frontier. This could and did take a long while.

Information gathered from TheFort Smith Story by Edwin P. Hicks available at the Fort Smith NationalHistoric Site.

SOME HANGINGS COMMUTED

2012-01-25T07:00:00.000-08:00

Mason Holcomb was scheduled tohang on the gallows at Fort Smith on April 17, 1885. A native of Kentucky, hehad migrated to Missouri after being mustered out of the Union Army. He marrieda woman known only as Miss Bridgeman, and took her to Arkansas where they livedfor a while near Jasper in Newton County. From there he moved to FranklinCounty near Ozark, then migrated into Indian Territory. For seven months priorto the killing that would hand him a hanging sentence, he lived on the CanadianRiver near McAlester.

Later, folks claimed it was thedevil in whiskey that brought about the killing, and it would seem so. ForMason and his friend Siegel Fisher were working in the hay fields and on July23, the two became intoxicated. Late one evening they started home and on theway Mason killed Fisher. Who knows why? He claimed it was a fight Fisherstarted that escalated into the killing.There was no witness to the deed, andleaving the body out in the open, Mason fled to his native state of Kentucky.In 1884 he was arrested by a brother of the man he had murdered and taken toFort Smith for trial. We have no idea what happened to his wife, or if they had children together.

He pled not guilty, saying thatFisher had a pistol and he pulled it, so the killing was in self defense. Thetrial lasted over a week. Because Fisher was shot in the back and there was noevidence of a struggle in the grassy area where the body was found, the juryreturned with a guilty verdict.

Several outlaws received"guilty" verdicts, over a period of those few days prior to April 17,1885, and they were commuted to life. Among them was a white man who livedunder the name of Blue Duck.

I can see Larry McMurtry, pagingthrough those old records and running across that fascinating name, filing itaway somewhere in his writer's mind and pulling it out when he began to createhis characters for Lonesome Dove. Until running across this information myself,I never imagined that McMurtry might have used an actual name, yet it'ssomething all we writers do.

Gallows at Fort Smith, busy as usual

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FIRST MAN TO HANG ON THE FT. SMITH GALLOWS

2012-01-18T07:00:00.000-08:00

Spotlighting some of the more famous cases tried in the court at Ft. Smith, one that stands out is the first hanging on the gallows.

His crime was vicious and cold blooded and recalled for many years by people who lived in Van Buren and Ft. Smith.

John Childers, a half-blood Cherokee was charged with killing a peddler named Rayburn Wedding. Childers was the son of John Childers, a white man and KatyVann, his Cherokee wife. He was born May 3, 1848 on Cowskin Creek. This was located in the Cherokee Nation, later to become Oklahoma.

On October 14, 1870, the young man would commit a crime that eventually led him to the newly constructed gallows outside Judge Parker’s Court in Fort Smith, Arkansas. His crime wasn’t much of a surprise to anyone who knew him. Childers had a wicked past. He belonged to an organization composed of Indians and whites, whose main object on this earth was to murder and plunder. They were a close knit bunch, and so whatever one of them did, the others stood behind him.

Deputy Marshal Vennoy, a native of Kansas, had run-ins with Childers on several occasionas. He had admitted to killing a man over in Kansas to get even for some imagined wrong doing. So on this particular day, he spied a very fine black horse that he knew he had to have the moment he saw it. No matter that it belonged to someone else. Namely, a fellow by the name of Rayburn Wedding, a peddler who made his living traveling through the Indian Territory trading flour and bacon for hides and farm products.

Accustomed to getting what he wanted, one way or another, Childers told Rayburn he’d make him a trade for his fine black horse, but Rayburn wasn’t interested. Not willing to take no for an answer, Childers dropped back a ways and and then rode up on the unsuspecting trader. He dismounted, tied his horse to the peddlers wagon and climbed up in the seat beside him. After chatting until they reached Caney Creek, he drew a knife and cut the peddler’s throat from ear to ear. He dumped the body in the water, saddled the black and left his own horse there, riding proudly away on his new acquisition.

Childers was captured and scheduled to be taken to Kansas, but he dreaded that, so he escaped his irons. He was again arrested and then conveyed to Van Buren. He was held to await the action of the Grand Jury. No court was in session. Judge Caldwell then the Federal Judge, adjourned court in December, 1870. Court was reconvened at Fort Smith the following month with William Story as Judge. Judge Isaac Parker had not yet been sent to Ft. Smith.

Determined to escape justice, Childers and six other prisoners broke out and took to the woods. He might never have been recaptured had it not have been for a woman of whom he was enamored. The woman saw her chance to make some money, lured Childers into her arms, then eagerly took the $10 reward she’d been promised to aid in his capture. Deputy Marshals Vennoy and Joe Peevy easily dragged him from her arms and led him back to jail.

The beginning of the second week of the first term of Federal court ever held in Fort Smith, the Grand Jury returned eleven true bills of indictment, naming sixteen persons charged with various crims. John Childers was at the foot of the list. He was arraigned on Thursday, May 18 of 1871. The trial lasted from Novemeber 6 until the 18th before he was judged to be guilty of murder. He was kept confined in the garrison dungeon until May 19, 1873 when he was sentenced to be hanged. On August 15, the gallows, still smelling of fresh cut lumber, served it’s first duty and saw Childers hung from the neck until dead.

For 23 years the gallows took the lives of 88 more criminals, all sentenced to be hanged by a man who would become known as The Hanging Judge, Isaac Parker.

Facts for this story taken from the book, Hell on the Border

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HELL ON THE BORDER II

2012-01-11T07:00:00.000-08:00

Upper photo is Van Buren in the early 1900s. Lower photo is Garrison Avenue in Fort Smith in 1870

In 1859, killing an Indian in the wild territory of Western Arkansas was generally believed to be justified. It was unusual for someone who committed this deed to be charged. People thought it best to acquit or worse, not even bring such a killer to trial. Think of the old saying, “The only good Indian is a dead Indian.”

Considering the facts of John Raper’s case, even his arrest would surprise a lot of people. Nevertheless, he had a jury trial and was found guilty of killing John Rogers, a Cherokee.

Raper lived and worked on his farm in Arkansas not far from the Indian Territory line. One afternoon, his young son went to visit a friendly Cherokee family in the Indian Nation. That night he was attacked by several Indians and brutally murdered.. It would be the next morning before Raper heard of the killing. He was also told that John Rogers was the one who murdered his son.

Raper hurried to the spot and found the terribly mutilated remains of the boy. While kneeling beside the body, deep in grief, the Cherokee John Rogers rode by whooping, howling and hollering. He then reined in his horse, dismounted and headed for a nearby house. Upon spotting this man who he believed had slain his beloved son, Raper raised his rifle and shot him dead.

A quick jury trial held at the Van Buren courthouse December 1, 1859, resulted in a conviction of Raper. Eight days later, the judge sentenced him to hang and set a date of April 27, 1860 for his execution. People were incensed. A large number of leading citizens in Van Buren, including the judge who had held the trial, signed a petition. It was forwarded to President James Buchanan along with information telling exactly what had happened that led up to Raper killing John Rogers.

The president commutted Raper’s sentence to life imprisonment at Little Rock. The following year Raper, and all other prisoners held in Little Rock, was released by the Confederate soldiers. It is thought that he entered the southern army and was killed in battle.

Plenty of men were hanged on the scaffold at Van Buren. Judge Isaac Parker, the man who would gain a reputation as the “hanging” judge wouldn’t arrive in Fort Smith until 1875.

The term Hell on the Border was originally coined by outlaws of the Southwest. The jail quarters at Fort Smith were horrendous. As many as 200 prisoners at a time were kept in two inadequate basement rooms beneath the old stone barracks which was used for the court. Young, old, sick and well, hardened criminals and first offenders, all were crammed into these rooms together. In 1886 money was appropriated to build a three-story brick structure. The building was completed in 1889 and it adjoined the court building on the south.

The permanent gallows at Fort Smith was the site of many a hanging. One of the most infamous was Cherokee Bill. More about him in a future blog.

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GENTLEMEN KIMES BOYS

2012-01-04T07:00:00.000-08:00

The Kimes boys including George, Matthew and Roy were known farand wide for their "outside the law" ways. Country Western Singer and composer Royal Kimes once told me something about his ancestors who rode the outlaw trail in Arkansas.

While some people are reluctant to open up the family closet and reveal a few skeletons, Royal is eager to talk about his distant kin. "George and Matthew Kimes once shot it out with the Sallisaw sheriff, killed him and got away. They were famous outlaws and very smart. They were men that wouldn't bend to the government and laws of the day." He goes on to call them flamboyant, and adds, "If I was born back then I might've done the same. I don't believe in compromise. I don't believe in giving up half of something to get something else."

He paused, then went on. "They had a mean streak in 'em, but Uncle Roy was anawesome guy who'd do anything for you if he liked you. If he didn't,well…" A shrug finished the thought. "They were men and women livingin tough times taking on tough ways. The Great Depression made them that way.But they respected lawmen and to a certain degree the law respected them."

Arkansas bred some other locally famous Great Depression outlaws, men of this breed who saw no other recourse except breaking the law to feed their families. After January 16, 1920, when the Volstead Act was enacted making the entire country "dry," the accepted money making crop soon became moon-shining. This occupation often turned these successful businessmen into outlaws in the eyes of the sheriff and his deputies. But it was a moneymaking proposition on both sides. The law would arrest them, lay on a big fine and break up their stills. Within a week or two, the boys were back in business with a new still in a new location. After a while, the law would raid them once more, smash the stills, drag them to court and the endless circle would continue.

The Kimes Boys, Matt and George, actually began their crime sprees west of Arkansas in Oklahoma during this time. And bank robbing was in fashion during the Roaring Twenties. But they weren't alone, for it was the age of bootleggers, corrupt politicians and gangsters. Even cops and professional men like doctors and lawyers were corrupt. Morals were at an all time low all over America. In the Ozarks where poverty ran rampant, many young men turned into outlaws.

Automobiles and machine guns made it possible to hit a bank, speed away, gunning down anyone who got in the way. It is written that the Kimes boys' outlaw days began when they were young and they stole candy from a little country store in Arkansas. It is told that Matthew was seven and George a bit older. Worse, the matter was settled by harried parents who offer the kindly storekeeper a case of eggs, to which he gave each of the boys a package of gum.

According to Michael Koch, author of The Kimes Gang, available on Kindle, the boys were brought up to become outlaws. Their father ran a still, their mother grew corn. George shoveled mash and peddled white lightning for his dad. The boys went to school at the old "88" school and to church at Kenner Chapel near Rudy, Arkansas. They were both baptized by Rev. Ben Pixley.

Obviously, taking to the waters didn't help. The family moved across the border into Oklahoma, where their wild ways continued. In his book Koch doesn't mention Roy Kimes, who obviously came from another branch of this extensive family and remained in Arkansas where this derring-do continued. My Dad, who came to Arkansas from Texas when he was 16, used to tell stories of these outlandish Kimes boys. According to local writer, Dusty Richards, Roy was killed in a pickup truck accident. By 1926 Matthew and George were notorious outlaws in Oklahoma and Arkansas, and they were eventually sent off to prison for their dirty deeds.

Matt died Dec 14, 1945 at the age of 40. George continued his life of crime until he went to prison. He was paroled from McAlester in May of 1957, claiming to be a changed man. He said his wife helped him find religion and that changed his life. After one more scrape with the law for which he was found innocent, he died Jan. 3, 1970 in Carmichael, California. The Kimes family cemetery is located in Van Buren, Arkansas.

It was nothing for local residents to protect these outlaws, from Jesse and Frank James and Belle Starr and her gang in the 1800s to the Kimes boys, Bonnie and Clyde and and Pretty Boy Floyd during the Depression. All would eagerly be hidden out in someone's barn or a cave, or at the least not spoken of out loud when the deputies were around. In return some of the loot, earned by bank and train robberies, or selling moonshine, was shared with locals who kept quiet. That was just the way it was in those days, in the Ozarks of Arkansas.

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HELL ON THE BORDER

2011-12-29T07:00:00.000-08:00

In an earlier post I mentioned the book, Hell on the Border, a History of the Great Court at Fort Smith, Arkansas. The original author is unknown, the present copies were published by Frank L. Van Eaton of Stockton, California in 1953 and later republished by Hell on the Border Publishing Co., Fort Smith, Arkansas, no date.

The existence of this court, and Judge Parker and the U.S. Marshal's Service stationed on the very edge of the Indian Nation, in itself puts the state of Arkansas in the wild west. While folks on the delta raised cotton and lived in plantations and owned slaves, this part of the state existed under the reign of outlaws and the men who hunted them down, equally vicious in their own way. Their actions made for conditions much like those in the far west. Places like Dodge City, Deadwood and Cheyenne had nothing on Fort Smith and the rugged Boston Mountain settlements like Fayetteville.

A newspaperman once wrote, after visiting Fayetteville, that it was an untamed, wild town.

My copy of Hell on the Border, given to me by a treasured friend, does have a photo of Colonel Jacob Yoes,and the cut under the picture says "...the one who cleaned up the last of the Tough Gangs." I've never learned why the later copies of this fabulous historical book do not contain his photo. I only heard that he himself insisted it be removed. The book is very rare.

Perhaps because of the information contained therein, Yoes wanted to be separated from it. The stories are graphic and indicative of the way times were in the old west. Perhaps Jacob wanted his beloved Arkansas to be looked upon with less rancor. But, like the kids say today, "it is what it is." I, for one, do not agree with revisionists who want to leave out what they don't like about history. But of course, we will never know the exact and precise truth of some of the incidents, for even those involved often tell different versions.

The introduction states, "Hell on the Border is an important book...because in its own crude way, it presents details of some of the bloodiest, cruelest crimes ever committed in a new country where even the cruel elements could hardly be so viciously cruel..." An eastern journalist visited Fort Smith and Indian Territory in the hectic days and went home to write, "There is no God West of Fort Smith."

After explaining the famous court, Judge Parker and hangman George Maledon, the author goes on to tell stories of men like E.C. Boudinot, Thomas Boles and an ex-jailer by the name of Berry. Then he's off and running, with in-depth stories of early cases with titles like "His Body Split with an Axe," "Hired to Kill for Ten Dollars," "A Trio of Bad Men," "Spared the Rod and Spoiled the Child." And so the tales continue. About Cherokee Bill, the infamous Buck gang and an intriguing title which I'll need to read, "Romance and Strategy Combined."

The book contains a photo of the second Fort and the wall before it was torn down. It's dated 1842, very early for decent photography, and unusual that this one survived the years.

I sense, in the brittle and yellowing pages, stories that would make great novels. And that sounds like a fine idea.

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THE WILD WEST MEETS THE GENTLE SOUTH

2011-12-16T12:34:00.000-08:00

Charles Wellington Talley, Civil War Soldier

This blog has been static for a while, yet still attracts readers and comments, so I'm going to begin to post here again when I have a story to share about Arkansas and its heritage that combines the wild West and the gentle South.

Near the Western border of our state the Arkansas/Missouri Railroad cuts south through the Boston Mountains, just about the wildest most rugged part of any journey made even today. This is the original route of the Frisco Railroad that first cut through these mountains in 1882. As a visitor, you can ride in an old restored passenger car from Springdale to historic Van Buren,. There the original depot remains and it's been turned into a museum. Inside is the teletype key which my grandfather used to send messages. When riding the train, remnants of the telegraph wires are visible here and there against the background of the soaring bridges of Interstate 540.

In Van Buren there was once a ferry across the Arkansas River to Fort Smith. When the Butterfield stage ran its route south from St. Louis, then west into California, the stage crossed the river on that ferry. Twenty-four days the trip took. Imagine that. A post about the Butterfield can be found on this blog. The background photo seen here is an actual shot I took a few years ago of a portion of the Butterfield route through the Bostons.

Not far to the West of that railroad lay Indian Territory where all the baddest of the outlaws fled after doing their dirty work in Missouri, Kansas and Arkansas. And down in Fort Smith Judge Isaac Parker held power over the oldest law enforcement agency in the United States. The U.S. Marshals Service was commissioned by President George Washington. These tough lawmen were sent into the "Indian Nation," oft times alone, to bring back these outlaws, and 252 marshals and deputies died in the line of duty. Many of the captured bad men were tried and 79 were actually hung. The original gallows was demolished after the final execution July 30, 1896. The gallows there now was built on the original site in 1981-82. The fully restored courtroom and jail remain there today in the Ft. Smith National Historic Site.

An anonymous book called "Hell on the Border" told the story of that jail which, because of its rugged conditions was actually known as Hell on the Border. Arkansas author Charles Portis took his famous book, "True Grit" from the information in that book. Marshal Jacob Yoes was originally pictured in "Hell on the Border," but later editions removed the photo at his request.

Created in 1817 with the goal of settling battles between the Osage and Cherokee Indian tribes, Fort Smith became the home of the federal court in 1872 and the Army lit out. The city became the last fortress of justice west of St. Louis. The coverage area these brave deputies patrolled was approximately 75,000 square miles in a land known as a haven for outlaws seeking to escape that justice.

Arkansas was equally split when secession began, but finally did split from the Union, making the state a bloody battleground between Federal and Confederate forces. The Southern influence in the state is evident in its architecture, food and culture. Thus we are both Southern and Western, which maybe isn't such a bad thing. The manners of the South mix with the cowboy and outlaw demeanor to make for an interesting place to live.

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2008-09-12T12:01:00.000-07:00

Anniversary of the Butterfield Overland Mail Route
This picture was taken at Fitzgerald's Station during the celebration a few years ago when the route was officially signed. Upper right is the sign used to mark the trail that can be driven from St. Louis through Arkansas.

One-hundred-fifty years ago John Butterfield climbed aboard a spiffy, newly constructed stage coach in Tipton, Missouri and raised his whip. The leather tip cracked in the cold, crisp air, the team of horses snorted and galloped off into history. The mail had been loaded from a train out of St. Louis and would travel 2800 miles to San Francisco in 24 hours, beating the contracted time by one hour. The route would run until the Civil War broke out, carrying the United States mail.

The most difficult passage would be that from Strickler, Arkansas to Van Buren, through the rough Boston Mountains. There mules and a mud wagon were used, rather than the stage that left Tipton. Until five years ago, that Boston Mountain section had been lost. And then I received a telephone call from a member of the Northwest Arkansas Regional Planning Commission asking if I would be interested in locating that portion of the trail. I was, and my husband, who does a lot of my research, eagerly helped out.

We began by locating a set of books written by Roscoe and Margaret Conkling, who had researched and followed the trail by automobile in 1933. These books were difficult to find, but finally our terrific librarian located a set and had them sent to our local library.

There we found a lot of information, and at last what we were looking for. A reproduction of the report sent back to the Butterfield Company by an agent hired to ride the route and keep mileage and trail stop information for the length of the route. What we needed was the mileage from Strickler through the mountains and the location of each stop. Then we set out in search of the old trail. We talked to a lot of folks who had information, but none of it fit the description we had. Once, we thought we'd found it, but too many bits of information were incorrect. Then one evening the phone rang and a man said he knew someone who lived on the old trail, whose father had known the route. He had agreed to see us.

That's how we met James Cooksey, the man who would eventually lead a group of Heritage Trail members along the route, pointing out watering spots and signs of the old trail alongside the rough and unpaved road we traveled. The route met all the specifications of the Butterfield report, the mileage only off by tenths where the road we traveled moved away from the original. At one point we all climbed a slight incline and stood in the middle of the historical old road. We could see the ruts disappearing into the woods. Being there was like traveling back in time. Like hearing the drumbeat of the mules' hooves, the rattle of the wagon wheels, the crack of the driver's whip. Along the way we stopped to look at broken down bridges that had once crossed over washes, most built of huge trees felled on the spot. It was clear we had found what was lost. What a thrill to have been a part of such an effort.

This year, to celebrate the sesquecentennial, the Heritage Trail members sponsored a stage coach run through Benton and Washington Counties of Arkansas, using a stagecoach restored from the era. Known as the Journey Stagecoach, this model served southern Arizona until it was retired in the early 1900s. This celebration run began in Springfield, Missouri with horseback riders alongside. It stopped at Pea Ridge Battlefield for festivities, then followed nearly all the original trail save the portion that ran under Lake Fayetteville. Along the way the four horses in the team will be exchanged for four mules to be historically accurate.

The route in that area follows Old Wire Road, a road already there when the stage made its first run. Butterfield only had roads built where there were none, being smart enough to use established military and Indian routes where he could. Sunday the stagecoach will stop at Fitzgerald's Station, one of the original stops for the mail route. It will not follow the road through the Bostons which we scoped out several years ago, but rather will end its journey in Fayetteville.

I'm proud to have been a part of locating this old route, which even today proves too rough for many travelers to follow. But we drove over it, and we did it several times in our quest to make sure we had the right road. To have been a part of this historical project thoroughly satisfies the historian and the writer in me.

2008-04-14T11:58:00.000-07:00

Jacob Yoes, U.S. Marshal
Recently, residents of Fort Smith, Arkansas learned that city had been chosen as the site of the new U.S. Marshal Museum. There's been a lot written about U.S. Marshals, most of it fictionalized, some of it downright lies, the rest contains a modicum of truth.

Let me say right off the bat, that anytime we write about history, no matter how much research, checking and double checking we do, there's apt to be some errors in the reporting. Family stories contain handed down tales which are often like gossip, they change with each telling. Records have been destroyed and can't be restored. The Van Buren Court House, which resided in Fort Smith's sister city, burned in the 1800s, so if we're looking at information recorded prior to the date of the fire, we're mostly out of luck.

The book, Hell on the Border, which was written by "no acknowledged writer," is said to have been the forerunner of the greatest western novel supposedly ever written, True Grit, though many of us might disagree. This book is about Judge Isaac Parker and the U.S. Marshals under his command who kept law and order in the wild border town of Fort Smith before the turn of the 20th century.

Jacob Yoes was one of the best known of Parker's Marshals. According to his son John, Jacob did not want his name in any way connected with the book, which may say a lot for its credibility. John helped compile the material for the book, or so family legend says, and Jacob's picture was in the front of the first edition. The picture was removed from later editions. I have a copy of that photo. I am currently working on an article about the new museum and the history of the U.S. Marshal service in Arkansas, so will naturally hold a lot back in this blog. If you want to know the rest, then I'll announce the places that article will be published at a later date in this space.

This story is about Jacob Yoes the man, the entrepreneur and the marshal. He was a handsome man, better known as Black Jake. His father Conrad was living in Arkansas as early as the 1829 Arkansas sheriff's census, about as early as the white settlers were allowed into Northwest Arkansas, which up to that time was a part of Indian Territory. Lovely County, under the control of Peter Lovely, Indian Agent, was broken up into today's counties in 1828, and white settlers officially poured into that part of the Springfield Plateau of Arkansas. Jacob's father, Reverend Yoes, served his church for 40 years and was married to Kissiah Bloyed, the daughter of another early country resident, Eli Bloyed.

Jacob was born in 1839 in West Fork. Family legend tells that he left home at the age of 17 with $2 in his pocket, his clothes and this advice from his father, "Pay all your debts, be truthful, be honest."
For all of his life, Jacob had the reputation of having done all that. After he married Mary Ann Reed, there was some talk about a mistress, but in those days, as today, that wasn't too unusual. That she was "negro," the common term used in those days, was also not that unusual. That it was kept a secret is not surprising.

Before enlisting in Company D, First Arkansas Cavalry of the U.S. Army in 1862, Jacob worked in the lead mines in Granby, Missouri. He served three years, three months and three days on detached duty for the Federals. Detached duty, as I've come to understand it from copious reading, meant he had his own little bunch of men under his command who spent their time chasing after bushwhackers and other little bunches of men formed in the same way on the Confederate side. He had his job cut out for him, as Arkansas, though having seceded from the Union, contained just about as many Federalists or Yankees as it did Confederates or Rebs. The only Civil War battle he has credit for having fought in was the Battle at Prairie Grove.

During his service he was shot in the right hip, the left hip and the left leg by a posse of Confederate soldiers. He was finally captured and taken to Van Buren. In August of 1863 he was exchanged, and in 1864 refused a 1st Lieutenant's commission and was discharged. It is recorded that he killed 50 bushwhackers, but he never bragged about it.

By 1870 he was on his way to becoming the merchant price when he bought his first country store near Winslow, about 25 miles south of Fayetteville. Around that time he was also elected Washington County Sheriff. He would go on to serve in the legislature. Eventually he owned stores all along the Frisco Railroad between Fayetteville and Fort Smith. He also owned a flour mill and had controlling interest in a canning factory, as well as several hotels. Pretty good for a man who left home with $2. Oh, he did inherit $33 from his father when the good reverend passed away.

In May of 1889 he was appointed U.S. Marshal of the West District of Arkansas with 200 deputies under his command Two of those were his sons George Allen and John Wesley. Eight men were appointed as U.S. Marshals during Judge Parker's reign. Jake was appointed by President Harrison January 29, 1893. It was customary for the marshal to remain involved only in paperwork and keeping track of where all his deputies were and who they were chasing. However, it is said Jake was directly involved in capturing members of the Dalton Gang when they robbed the Coffeyville, Kansas bank in 1892. It is thought he was serving as a deputy at that time, but since deputies were often sworn in "on the run" and most of the time not officially recorded, we may never know. Jacob Yoes died February 6, 1906, and is buried in the National Cemetery at Fort Smith.

Though the book, Hell On The Border is out of print, it can still be found in some used book stores, and is well worth a read for its history of a wild and woolly early Arkansas.

2008-03-17T13:36:00.000-07:00

Fayetteville, Arkansas, the Wild, Wild West

Some of you may have doubts about the "westernness" of Arkansas. Here are a few things to consider.

Fayetteville, Arkansas was settled following the removal of the Cherokee and Osage west to the Indian Territory, sometimes called Indian Nations. This left the small settlement on the border of no-man's land, a place where outlaws could hide out without fear of reprisals. Indian law enforcement officers could not arrest white men for acts committed in Arkansas or elsewhere for that matter.

In 1829 the first crude log courthouse was built and Lewis Evans was elected as the first sheriff. Evans also took the first census in Washington County and later led the first gold rush wagon train from Arkansas to California, mapping out what would become known as the Cherokee Trail.

Law enforcement did not come easy to this wild new settlement. A young man by the name of Stewart Case visited Fayetteville from Pennsylvania in 1838 and wrote, "This county and town in particular has become one of the most lawless and uncivilized places in all creation. There is men here from Mexico, men from Iowa Territory and men from Texas.

"Shooting, stabbing, knocking down and dragging out appear to be the order of the day . . ."

By this time L.C. Pleasants had taken over the duties of sheriff of the county, and there was a new brick courthouse to replace the crude log structure.

From all reports things didn't get much better in the years to follow. During the Civil War a law of sorts was enforced by the Militia. This so called "military justice" was often referred to as criminal, and resembled guerrilla warfare. During that period three different sheriffs served the county.

Down south in Fort Smith, at least 200 U.S. Marshals served Judge Parker's court during the late 1800s. In 21 years 65 marshals were killed in the line of duty. In a period of three years 22 deputy marshals were killed attempting to cover a vast area of 70,000 square miles in the infamous Indian Territory.

If it was dangerous being an outlaw during those wild and woolly days, it was even more life-threatening to carry out the duties of a lawman. Despite the extreme danger these men put themselves in, they too had their detractors. During that era the Arkansas Democrat Newspaper said, "The deputy marshals of the Western Arkansas district are too quick on the trigger. There are entirely too many persons murdered in making arrests."

U.S. Marshal Dan Maples of Bentonville, a family man with several children, was sent into Indian Territory to investigate whiskey peddling in 1887. He allegedly was unlucky enough to encounter the notorious Ned Christie and some friends. (See Ned Christie's story in earlier blogs). At any rate, he spotted men hiding in dark shadows and shouted for them to halt. It was dark and someone shot him dead.

In West Fork during this time a terrible state of affairs existed. A rather weak U.S. Marshal called out 36 good men to help him serve a legal process. All the men who served in that posse became victims of outlaws and dastards. Their stock was slaughtered, their homes fired upon and family members made the victims of assassins.

In 1879 Fayetteville City Marshal Patton and Deputy Sheriff J. Mount were both gunned down, one right on the square. A year after the killings a West Fork man charged a deputy marshal with the killing, saying the deputy offered two fine mules to anyone who would kill Patton.

As late as the turn of the century it was common for young men to go to a chivaree or play-party with a pearl handled pistol tucked in their waistbands for protection.

In 1882 the Police Gazette featured a story titled, "Arkansas' Reign of Terror."

Until September, 1913, a scaffold stood in public view in Fayetteville. From it were hung 18 people. The last was Omer Davis, executed September 11 for the murder of Nellie Moneyhun of Springdale.

Some rather unusual punishments were thought up for crimes, of course there was the bread and water edict for prisoners, which was fairly common. In the early 1900s, an African-American man, then referred to as Negro, was fined $10 for using disrespectful language and a white man was fined $1 for hitting him in the head with a rock. The next year the killers of Fred L. Bussey were found guilty of malicious intent to harm his (Bussey's) dog. The judge ruled that the penalty was more severe than that for manslaughter. The defendants had claimed they aimed at the dog.

Records reveal riots, massacres, midnight bushwhackings, murders plotted by family members, racist attacks, and on and on. The Wild, Wild West? Certainly sounds like it. It appears the town could give Deadwood a run for its money.

2008-03-05T13:54:00.000-08:00

Because of its location on the Mason/Dixon Line and bordering the wilds of Indian Territory, Arkansas has had its share of famous outlaws. And as a result, there were also plenty of lawmen to chase after them. Outlaws soon learned to flee into Indian Territory because Indian courts and law officers could not prosecute white law breakers. It made the territory a perfect hideout. Indian outlaws were protected there as well, for the Territory government was reluctant to extradite Indians to Arkansas where all-white juries didn't tend to be impartial to them.

Because of the tendency toward frontier justice in Arkansas, Indian Territory soon became a refuge for such outlaws and bank robbers as Pretty Boy Floyd and Henry Starr. The tradition of vigilante justice continued in the state into the 1920s. Horse thieves were caught and justly punished by such groups as the Anti-Horse Thief Association. The Ku Klux Klan was thanked in public by the Washington County Sheriff for help in law enforcement. As late as 1923 the Committee of Twelve at Harrison drove striking railroad workers from the town and hung one striker who resisted them.

Thus, outlaws like the bandit queen Belle Starr and her common-law husband Sam Starr, the James and Younger brothers and plenty of others took up residence in Arkansas because it was close to Indian Territory where they could hide out.

Henry Starr wasn't quite as well known as his uncle Sam, but he cut a wide swath throughout the state beginning at the age of 19 in 1893 when he and his gang robbed the People's Bank in Bentonville, Arkansas. As it turned out, they didn't do real well, considering that almost all the residents were packing side arms and immediately began to fire on the lookouts, who in turn shot back. This made it a bit nerve wracking for Henry and his buddies Frank Cheney and Link Cumplin, who were inside attempting to gather up silver and gold and currency. They did manage to grab a cashier to carry out some of their loot, several hundred dollars in silver, and one of the outlaws carried out $11,000 in gold and currency. The shoved a few customers and employees ahead of them as shields, but once in the open, the wild gunfire caused quite a bit of confusion.

Terrified, the captives ran off in all directions, that is all except the cashier, who had a gun pressed into his back. This wouldn't help much, though, for as they scuttled past the door of the Bentonville Sun newspaper, a brave girl named Maggie Wood pulled open the door, grabbed the cashier and dragged him and his bag of loot inside, then slammed the door and bolted it.

Left with only $11,000, the outlaws made for their horses. One was shot but not killed, and they rode off, headed for, you guessed it, Indian Territory, not that many miles to the west. Sheriff Galbraith put together a posse, but it was of little use, for none of the men wanted to pursue the outlaws close enough to get shot, and so the gang soon disappeared into the wilds. There they divided their loot and rode their separate ways. They would never ride together again. Most would meet a violent death.

But Henry Starr would ride the outlaw trail off and on for twenty eight years. During the times he was out of prison, he tried to lead a lawful life. Part-Cherokee, Henry was self-educated, good looking and had a great personality. He could lead the life of a white man or a Cherokee, but chose Cherokee most of the time. He remained haunted by the experience in Bentonville, and feared being caught outside Oklahoma Territory. Addicted to gambling, he often needed money, though.

Then he made the mistake of returning to Arkansas. At the age of 47, he decided to rob the People's National Bank in Harrison. This time he arrived by automobile and meant to leave the same way. But he found himself the target of a lone, courageous man who grabbed a hidden weapon and shot Starr dead. As it turned out he was right to have feared returning to Arkansas.

2008-02-08T14:10:00.000-08:00

Nathaniel Reed, alias Texas Jack, appears to have ridden off, as is often his way. Sometimes he remains hidden for a year, but this time it will only be a few days until I can climb back on the horse, so to speak. Meanwhile here's a link for you to check out. There will be a post soon to finish Texas Jack's tale.

2008-01-03T13:31:00.000-08:00

Continuing with the story of Nathaniel Reed, soon to become known as Texas Jack:
By April of 1891 six of the gang robbed a bank on the border of Texas after the leader of the gang had made a deal with a bank cashier to divide the money into equal packages and to keep a share for himself. This went so well that they went on to Brownsville and in June of that year took $36,000. The bank reported a loss of $86,000 and a certain "well-to-do" cashier was said to have moved to Boston.

It was after that bank robbery that Nate Reed took on the outlaw moniker of Texas Jack. Not to be confused with the earlier Texas Jack who performed with Buffalo Bill Cody and Wild Bill Hickock in their Wild West Shows. That "Jack's" real name was J.R. Omohondro.

After the gang's success in Brownsville, they decided they could safely ride in the daylight. What gave them this notion, no one knows, as they were getting more well known with each job they pulled. Nine days later, their choice proved their stupidity when a posse of 17 Texas Rangers charged them. The ensuing battle lasted five hours. Texas Jack took two hits in the left leg, one of the gang was killed and some horses were lost. At last darkness fell and covered the gang's escape. Using a hound dog tracker the rangers caught up the next night.

This gang proved to be pretty tough, and fought the rangers to a standstill, killing the unfortunate hound tracker and five of the horses before giving the rangers the slip. Texas Jack and his gang of four were left one horse short. The next time the rangers caught up, the rangers raised a white flag and offered to talk with Texas Jack. He managed to talk the captain into standing down his men while the two of them negotiated. This decision proved to be a major mistake, for when the rangers finally got tired of waiting for the negotiation to end and went to see what was up, they found their captain and another ranger tied up and their horses gone.

By sunup the next day the gang had crossed the Red River into Indian Territory and were put up by George Shaw on Walnut Creek. They rested there for five days then lit out for Shawnee Nation.

This is where Texas Jack could easily have ridden to his own death, for in August he and Ike Rogers headed out for Kansas to meet the Doolins and the Daltons. On the way they ran across a large army of Oklahoma Tenderfeet who had with them a copy of the Dallas Daily News showing headlines about the Dalton and Texas Jack gang's recent activities. Texas Jack passed himself off as a U.S. Marshal out of Purcell, Indian Territory, said he was in pursuit of Texas Jack and that his pal Rogers was from Kansas hunting down the Daltons and Bill Doolin. This got them both out of what could've been a real sticky situation, and they road on unmolested.

Some records indicate that this happened in 1892, not 1891. Sherman Teal, a barber in Wellington, Kansas, told this story, "When I Shaved the Dalton Outlaws." His story goes that around October, 1892, five or six men rode into town after dark. The barber thought they were a threshing crew, so thought nothing of it when they had a few drinks, then decided they all needed a shave.

He shaved each man in turn, while the others guarded all the doors to the building that included a pool hall, malt shop and the barber shop. The barber started talking about the notice in that morning's paper about the Dalton Boys being shot to death in New Mexico. One of the men grew very angry, and staring straight at the barber, covered the bottom half of his face with one hand and said, "My XXX from my hand up is Bob Dalton, and when they get the Dalton Boys, I want you to write me and tell me all about it. See?"

The barber began to suspect that he had just shaved the most dreaded bunch of outlaws in the country at that time, and the one still in the chair was Bob Dalton. By the time it came Texas Jack's turn to be shaved, the barber was so nervous he could hardly function. Texas Jack was a homely man and hard to shave. The barber shook so bad, he smeared lather in Jack's mouth, nose, ears and eyes.

He later learned that the men, who carried large revolvers concealed under their overalls and jumpers, were indeed Bob Dalton, Grat Dalton, Bill Bradwell, and Texas Jack. Three weeks later the Dalton Gang were gunned down while attempting to rob two banks at once in Coffeyville, Kansas. Those killed were Bob, Grat and Emmett Dalton, Bill Doolin, Dick Broadwell, and Bill Powers. Richard L. Broadwell, also known as Texas Jack was said to have been killed in the Coffeyville, Kansas bank robbery attempts.

But wait! Nathaniel Reed was well known in Sumner County, Kansas. The barber would've recognized him and would've identified him as Nathaniel Reed, not as Texas Jack. Anyway, Nate Reed's Texas Jack turned up alive and well with the gang in January while they were robbing a stage coach near San Antonio, Texas. When spring of 1893 arrived, Texas Jack went back to Indian Territory. Once again, he had decided to quit living the life of an outlaw. Jim Dyer, the leader of the gang at the time, refused to let him retire and insisted he join Henry Starr, Frank Chaney and Kid Wilson, who were planning to rob the bank in Bentonville, Arkansas. Jack refused to be a part of that robbery and said he was going to buy a farm in Arkansas. Whether he did or not, the Bentonville Bank was robbed in June of 1893.

Next month: Texas Jack continues his lawless life and faces the hanging judge in Ft. Smith.

2007-12-13T13:16:00.000-08:00

Merry Christmas and a very Happy New Year.
In 2008 look for posts here on more legendary Arkansas characters, their lives and adventures.

2007-12-01T14:50:00.000-08:00

This is the story of an Arkansas outlaw known as Texas Jack

His name was Nathaniel Reed, but in his autobiography, The Life Of Texas Jack - Eight Years a Criminal - 41 Years Trusting in God, he readily admitted that he was the notorious Texas Jack, who for eight years rode the outlaw trail. Nate wasn’t born bad, he sort of fell into the life by being in the wrong places at the wrong times. Like many youngsters born in the Civil War years in Arkansas, he had a rough childhood. Both Yankees and Confederates rode roughshod over the state, stealing food, killing animals, raping women.

His father died two years after Nate was born, a casualty of that bloody conflict. His mother remarried William Cochran and had several more children. Nate had one full-blood brother, William Elijah. His step-father was said to have been kind to him until after Nate’s mother died and he remarried a woman with thirteen children. Then he turned cruel, so at the age of thirteen, a miserable Nate left home, stayed with his aunt a while, then with his grandmother for four years.

Soon after Nate turned eighteen, he went back to Missouri to be with his brother William. Nate was about to make a decision that would send him on the outlaw path. He was working on a farm where he heard lots of tales about the buffaloes, wonderful adventures and great opportunities in the far west. Not yet twenty years old, he took off for the west and in the spring of 1883 found himself roughing it out on the prairie near Pueblo, Colorado where he worked on a horse ranch drawing $40 a month. Unhappy with that job, he quit and caught a train to Colorado Springs.

Finally he ended up in Cheyenne, Wyoming, where he got a job driving a ten-mule-team military freight wagon. He was to drive three hundred miles to deliver supplies to Fort Arnold. The Indians caused a lot of trouble, and the soldiers had several skirmishes with them. It took six weeks to make the round trip back to Cheyenne. Nate didn't want anymore of that, and drew his pay.

Over the next year, he worked in a coal mine in Rock Springs, Idaho making $3.65 a day, but left after he got into a squabble with a Chinaman who called him a vile name. Nate hit him over the head with a lump of coal. That upset the Chinese workers so badly that Nate feared for his life. His employers hid him out until dark, provided him with a disguise and put him on the train for Denver. His adventures were bringing him ever closer to beginning his outlaw life.

He worked on a cattle ranch until the spring of 1884, then backed out of a deal where he would have to join a Mexican gang and steal some horses, and went to Texas where he helped drive a herd of cattle into Oklahoma. Sometime in 1885 Nate was finally led astray. He was working for the Flying “V” Ranch near El Reno, Oklahoma. Thirteen of the ranch hands were picked to leave camp and go on a roundup. Nate was one of them. They took two days rations, but after the food ran out they were still riding away from camp and no cattle were being rounded up.

On the evening of the fourth day the crew was lined up at gunpoint, given ammunition and assigned their duties in a planned robbery of the Santa Fe Express. So, according to Nate, he was forced into his outlaw ways and had little choice.

His job was to stand on the rear platform of the last coach, kick on the door, shoot and yell. He claims that only the safe was robbed and all the passengers were allowed to keep their valuables. Back at the camp, he was given his share: $6,480.00. That was a lot of money, so he was terrified at having committed such a large crime. He quit his job, a guilty conscience chasing him to a small out-of-the way place called Corbin, Kansas. He deposited $6,000 in the bank at nearby Caldwell.

Corbin would provide a brief respite for this outlaw. He married, went into the livery business and made friends. He appeared to have shrugged off his past.

Then, in July of 1886, a man rode into the livery stable. He was on his way to Wichita to see if he could help Tom Colley who had been arrested in connection with the Santa Fe Express robbery. He threatened to turn states evidence if he didn’t get out on bond. Nate soon learned that Colley hadn’t made bond. The man would name all the participants. Terrified, he left his young wife weeping and rode away. But he missed her so badly, that three months later he sneaked back into town to gather her up and they relocated to another state. There is no more record of her or a child she supposedly had.

Nate only escaped the outlaw life until 1888 when a messenger found him and gave him an ultimatum. Join a gang of outlaws or be snitched on and go to jail for the Santa Fe Express robbery. The gang was short of men because some of them had been killed. Reluctantly he joined them hoping to later escape their clutches. That was not to be and the gang began committing robberies all over the west. A stage in Colorado, and a train near Phoenix. Then Nate went to Tennessee for the winter. By spring he was in Dallas, Texas, then rejoined the gang in Michigan where they managed to stay out of sight for about a year. But this would not last.

Next Month: Texas Jack gets his name and builds his reputation.

2007-07-19T12:07:00.001-07:00

Running down the Cherokee outlaw Ned Christie was no easy matter

No doubt, one of the most colorful outlaws to ride the wild trails of Northwest Arkansas and the Indian Territory to the west was Ned Christie. But he wasn’t always an outlaw. He was a Cherokee patriot, an influential member of the bicameral Cherokee National Council against the removal of Cherokees to the Indian Nations. Christie worked hard to prevent the United States from gobbling up the last of the Cherokee’s land.
The day Christie became an outlaw began innocently enough for all concerned. U.S. Marshal Dan Maples bid his worried wife goodbye and set off with four men to capture Bill Pigeon, who was wanted for murder but was said to be a strong medicine man and not at all dangerous. For this reason Dan’s teen-age son Sam would be allowed to accompany his father.
Ned Christie rose early that morning, his mind on the council meeting to be held in the capital city of the Cherokee Nation, Tahlequah. Talikwa to the Cherokee. People would attend from all over the Nation to air complaints and listen to what the council had decided about some important issues regarding the plans of the United States had for the nation. A meeting of the bicameral Cherokee National Council was comparative to a session of the United States Congress, just not as large.
Something Ned Christie despised about the fate his people had met was the lumping together of the Cherokee, Nation, the Creek Nation, the Chickasaw Nation, the Choctaw Nation and the Seminole Nation. And calling them Indian Territory. But the threat on this day was that the United States planned to take over the Indian Territory and make it a state, the same as Arkansas or Texas.
Arriving a day early in Tahlequah, Ned joined a friend to have a few drinks under the shade of a tree outside town. Meanwhile, Dan Maples arrived in town and began asking about Bill Pigeon. He then went to the same place Ned had procured his whiskey to get himself a drink. Ned soon fell asleep from imbibing too much whiskey and fell asleep under a tree. His friend staggered off toward town.
Some time later, as Marshal Dan Maples rode across a creek, a man stepped from the trees, pointed a gun and shot him twice, killing him dead.
It didn’t take long to blame Ned Christie, who had been lying alone in those same woods sleeping off too many drinks.
According to many history experts, Ned Christie was framed by a group of Cherokees who wanted to join the United States and thought Christie was a rabble rouser. They decided things would go much better for their cause if they saw him blamed for killing U.S. Marshal Dan Maples. When news of the killing reached Fort Smith, Judge Isaac Parker sent out five men to capture that murdering Ned Christie and bring him back dead or alive.
As it turned out this was a feat not easily accomplished. For five years deputy marshals pursued Christie. Time after time they’d think him cornered, and while shooting up his hideout, the man would escape. Famous lawman Heck Thomas once got a shot off that wounded Christie in the face, and sent two bullets into Arch Christie’s chest. With the help of his wife Gatey, Ned and their son escaped the law once again. During that battle Ned Christie killed his first man, and that weighed on him terribly. With the help of friends, the family hid out in a cave where the two wounded men were doctored by Old Wolf. It was then that Christie vowed to never speak a word of white man’s tongue again.
After two years of unsuccessfully pursuing Ned Christie, well known Northwest Arkansas entrepreneur and head deputy marshal Jacob Yoes was asked by Judge Parker to chose a replacement for Heck Thomas and send him out once more to hunt for the murdering Cherokee outlaw Ned Christie.
Meanwhile, Christie wasn’t lying around idle. His home had been burned to the ground by pursuing lawmen and he and his friends began to rebuild, this time adding double walls of logs all the way around. In the end, what they built was a fort, and it was christened Ned Christie’s Fort. Old Wolf burned his medicines to put up a protective circle and the family moved in. Near the front door were Ned Christie’s guns, cleaned, oiled and loaded.
On that same day, Dave Rusk, the marshal chosen to go after Christie, and his seven deputies gathered. All were well mounted and heavily armed. They also took with them a wagon loaded with ammunition, food and other stores. Rusk attacked the Christie Fort with all he had and a long battle ensued. In the end, Rusk limped away with the survivors, yelling into the air filled with acrid black powder smoke. “I’ll be back, damn you, I’ll be back.”
And sure enough, at the end of four years of freedom for Ned Christie, Judge Parker sent Rusk back once more to bring that thieving dirty Cherokee Outlaw in, dead or alive. But once again, the marshals failed when the dynamite they tried to use on the fort lost its fuses and refused to explode. The posse had no more stomach for continuing the long gun battle with Christie and deserted. So the dream Rusk had of doing something the famous Heck Thomas couldn’t do, and thus becoming famous, died.
Next month, the conclusion of the battle to bring in Ned Christie and a photo taken in Fayetteville of the posse and Christie.
Read more stories from real interviews

2007-06-05T14:10:00.000-07:00

Mankins and the Civil War

After Pete Mankins’ initial run-in with Yankee soldiers, this man of resolution, raised a company of volunteers to fight for the Confederacy. Using his own money from his fortune earned after he returned with a nest egg from the California gold fields, Pete outfitted 64 of the volunteers himself at a cost of $500. Many of these men had been comrades in arms in Captain H.W. Fincher’s old militia outfit in the 1840s.

Mankins made C. Catil 1st Lieutenant, Peter Van Hoose 2nd Lieutenant, George Ballard 3rd Lieutenant, George Van Hoose Ordinance Sergeant and Pete himself would of course be the Captain of the White River Hundred, a name he came up with. Actually, there were ten messes of eight men each in the company, and they included men such as his brother Wat, Adam, Ben and Jordan Carter, John and Jim Shumate, John Lewis, William Schumate and Alfred Fine.

The complete roll of Mankins’ Company is listed in the February, 1976 Flashback, available at the Fayetteville Public Library in the Genealogical Section.

Many stories are told about Mankins and his devotion to the Confederacy, yet he only remained with the White River Hundred for a short time. He soon decided he could be of more help to his beloved Confederacy in other ways and turned over command of the company to W.H. Brooks, a Confederate colonel. The equipment Mankins bought for the company went to outfit another company organized under Captain George Van Hoose.

A conflicting story is told, however, as to why Pete gave up fighting. One concerns his daughter, who died at the age of 15. It is said that at the time of her death he was so devastated that he vowed to leave the company and return home, never to fight again. However, this story has no basis in fact, and is probably just a romantic notion developed by those who actually had no first-hand knowledge. It is said in his younger days he killed a bear single handedly with only a knife as a weapon, but these stories are told of many “larger than life” heroes of that day. Look at the tall tales that evolve around Daniel Boone. And who is left today to say whether they are true or not?

Prior to the war, Pete Mankins was said to be the wealthiest man in Washington County, but the Civil War changed all that. However, he remained a prominent figure in the community around Sulphur City, originally known as Mankins.

Years after the war Captain George Van Hoose wrote of that conflict: “Until the war between the states came up we scarcely ever saw anything that made our hair stand on end, but when we joined McCulloch’s and Price’s army, and was brought face to face with a foe who knew how to shoot straight as well as we Arkansas hunters, and were not careful how they handled their guns, it made the old fellow wish sometimes that he had stayed in Kentucky at first, or had stayed with dear brother (Jake) in the Pike’s Peak gold mines, where Leadville stands now, where we were hunting gold when the war began to brew and we, like a fool, let go and came back to these old White River hills to get in with the friends and kinfolks of childhood.”

George became a prisoner of war on Johnson’s Island during those difficult times.

There is probably further information relating to what happened to tarnish the early popularity of folk hero Pete Mankins. Or perhaps heroes went out of style for a while during the post-war years, considering many fought on the losing side. However, Mankins reputation seems to have faded after the Civil War. That conflict changed many things in the county and the state. Fortunes made were lost, homes built were burned, families treasured were scattered or killed by bushwhackers. Perhaps he simply grew older and wiser and stopped being such a daredevil.

Next Month: Ned Christie, Cherokee Outlaw

2007-05-15T13:46:00.000-07:00

Financially fortified by his gold strike valued at $4,000, Mankins arrived at his home in the Ozarks determined to become richer. He began a prosperous trading in cattle and hogs, driving herds from Colorado to Chicago. During the troubles in Utah known as the Mormon War, in 1857, he sold $34,000 worth of cattle to U.S. agents supplying the army. He also trailed herds from Texas to Westport (Kansas City.) He drove hogs to market overland to Louisiana boat landings, then floated them down the Mississippi to New Orleans. Though often unpleasant, smelly and noisy, these drives were very rewarding. Pete frequently returned home and emptied empty pouches of glittering gold coins onto the family table.

By 1861, however, Pete was engaged in another highly profitable occupation. He would drive the herds north, sell them, buy negroes cheap and bring them south to sell to plantation owners, making both out and back trips extremely rewarding. Thus did our hero become a slave trader. In those days, the occupation was not frowned upon by most southerners. Sadly, it was just another way to make a living. Soon the Civil War would change this way of life.

Hildy Crawford wrote in her story of Elizabeth VanHoose Marion and the Van Hooses of Hazel Valley and Fayetteville, Against the Living Forest, about one such trip Pete made. It has been authenticated.

Pete learned upon returning from one of his northern trips that the Federals (US troops) had occupied Fayetteville, and he decided to move the slaves into Texas. On an early morning, he and Bill Roberts, a kinsman who accompanied him, moved out on horseback, the slaves on foot. They made good time reaching the Arkansas River near the mouth of Frog Bayou.

It was brutally cold and ice floated on the river. While Mankins arranged for a flatboat to carry them across the river, the slaves huddled around a small fire. After loading the supplies and slaves the men swung the boat into the current. Pete noticed a bundle of supplies left lying on the bank. Finally he convinced a reluctant Roberts to turn back, and they made their way toward shore in the heavily laden flatboat. A company of Union troops burst out of the bushes and opened fire.

Grabbing his gun Pete began to fire, shouting at Roberts to shove off. Pete was an accurate shot and soon dropped several of the soldiers, at which time they lit out. With Roberts pleading that they take off while the getting was good, Pete insisted they go back for the supplies. When they did, they were again attacked by soldiers, and Roberts fell to his belly to return fire. With bullets zinging all around, Pete dropped his rifle onto the boat deck, dived into the icy water, put his shoulder under the edge of the heavily laden flatboat and swimming mightily shoved it out into the middle of the river out of harms’ way. When it came to rest on the opposite shore it carried a dead horse, a dreadfully frightened horse, six scared slaves and a dead Roberts.

Mankins wasn’t finished yet. He rose up, soaked in freezing water, tossed his long hair off his face and proceeded to fire at the Yankees, driving them back once again. Then, picking up Roberts dead body, he tossed it over the back of the remaining horse and led it and the slaves to safety in the woods.

From that day on Pete Mankins made the Civil War his own personal battle. He would go on to found the White River Hundred.

Next time: The war years and beyond.

2007-04-05T13:18:00.000-07:00

See three previous entries for this story of a true Arkansas Folk Hero
In 1833, when Peter Mankins was 63 years of age, he accompanied his son, Peter Mankins, Jr., who was born in Floyd County, Kentucky, after 1809, to Arkansas. They settled along the Middle Fork of the White River in Washington County.

Young Peter was destined to become an Arkansas folk hero of some great stature. Known as Pete, Mankins owned a prosperous farm in the valley adjacent to one owned by Johnson Crawford. Between these two farms flowed the Sulphur Springs branch that emptied into the Middle Fork. At one time the settlement was known as Mankins.

Pete married Narcissus Mills-Mankins, the daughter of Isaac and Rachel Mills of Indiana. She is buried at Reese Cemetery (died 1863) along with their 15-year-old daughter Millie (sometimes spelled Milley) who passed away in 1861, and Esther Hanna, Pete’s second wife, who died in 1900. In the listing of graves located at Reese, compiled by McConnell, Peter Jr., is not found.

Pete gained his folklore reputation long before the Civil War, when he became a part of the Evans train that headed for California and the gold fields in April of 1849. The train was a joint financial effort of both white and Cherokee businessmen who wanted to go west, strike it rich and bring their gold back to Arkansas for the benefit of all. These brave souls made up a wagon train of about 40 wagons, most pulled by oxen. They not only set out for the gold fields, they also blazed a new trail that would later be used to drive cattle to the beef hungry western settlers. It became known as the Cherokee Trail.

This trail, its origin and route has been authenticated by Dr. Jack E. Fletcher of Sequim, Washington, who has done extensive research on the trail and written a book on it as well as documenting its history in Overland Trail (Vol. 13, No.2.) While it utilized parts of the Santa Fe and the Oregon and California Trails, much of it was blazed by these courageous men and women.

Pete Mankins served as lieutenant, along with Thomas Tyner, under Lewis Evans, the first sheriff of Washington County, Arkansas, and captain of the wagon train. A late snowfall dusted the shoulders of all who left out on that April morning, winding out of Fayetteville into the Prairie Grove Valley, the wagons stretching for miles through the lush grass, belly-deep on the oxen and horses.

There was no newspaper in Fayetteville to cover that momentous occasion, but J. H. VanHoose celebrated the 36th anniversary of their leaving by writing a story for the Fayetteville Weekly Democrat dated April 15, 1885. He wrote from his memory of the trip, for he went along. He mentioned others who did so as well, among them Judge Hiram Davis, Ed and Herman Freyschlag and their two unmarried sisters (later named as Barbara and Hermina,) and John VanHoose, who at the age of 57 walked all the way to Feather River, California, being on the road nearly six months. Oddly, the three men who died during the trip were all named Nathan. The three Nathans: Thorp was buried near where Denver City would rise, Cosby died at the journey’s end and Lewis died soon after. Everyone else lived to return to their homes in Arkansas. The two Freyschlag sisters decided to remain in California and did not return.

Pete Mankins was true to his word, though he was forced to remain in California after John VanHoose and Porter Dickerson returned to Arkansas. Mankins had earned his first sizeable fortune in the gold fields only to see it lost when spring floods washed out his dam in the Sacramento River bed. unlike many who came home with nothing to show for their efforts. Eventually he returned with $4,000, including one nugget so big it brought him $416. He chose to bring that particular nugget home with him when he returned by boat through the Isthmus of Panama, traveling to New Orleans and making his way overland back into the Ozarks.

Next Month: What Mankins did with his wealth

2007-03-02T13:22:00.000-08:00

Nothing is recorded or known of what Peter Mankins did in those intervening years, until at the age of 33 he married Rachel Bracken Lewis, widow of Zachariah Lewis and the mother of three children. Peter and Rachel were married on September 23, 1803 in Orange County, North Carolina. The couple would have eleven children. The first three sons, John B., William and Walter, were born in Orange County, North Carolina.
The family, along with the Walter Mankins family moved in 1809 to Floyd County, Kentucky.
There Rachel bore three more sons, Peter, Jr., Henry, Samuel, and five daughters; Edith, Rachel, Millie, Sarah and Elizabeth. With fourteen children to feed, clothe and discipline, the Mankins must have been a hard working couple. While they lived in Kentucky Peter was a backwoodsman, farmer and hunter.
He would take his produce and hides by canoe to sell at Louisville. He also operated a distillery,
not unusual in those days. Peter was a member of the Primitive Baptist Church and twice stood
for the draft in the war of 1812. He was known far and wide for his strength, courage and
endurance.
The confusion of land claims in early Kentucky caused many folks to move on and settle where
they could homestead land that would be their own. Once Peter journeyed to the newly opened
country of Illinois to look around, then went back to Kentucky. Finally, in the year of 1833, when
he was 63 years old, he followed his son Peter Jr., into Washington County, Arkansas where they settled on the Middle Fork of the White River. No further mention is made of Rachel in the
Mankins family records we found, and she is not buried at Reese Cemetery with her husband and other family members, so we can surmise that she died in Kentucky before Peter Sr., came to Arkansas. There he lived for the remainder of his life, leaving behind wonderful folk tales that
have been passed down from generation to generation.
It is said that he once whipped the legendary Mike Fink in a rough and tumble fight on a river
boat at Louisville, Kentucky.
At the age of 91 he was help captive for three days by the Union Army. This occurred prior to the battle of Pea Ridge and he was questioned on the location of the Confederate troops. He is
reputed to have said to his worried family when released, “They would never have got anything
out of me anyway.”
He lived through the Revolutionary War, the War of 1812, the Mexican War and the Civil War.
Peter worked hard all his life, even after he came to Arkansas, and he had a reputation of never
shirking his chores or duties. Though he’d never had a decayed tooth in his life, he finally had
five extracted when he was 106 because they came loose. He chewed tobacco and all his life was
said to have used, “bitters, good whiskey and yellow root” as a tonic. Though he tended to
become forgetful in later life, he remained alert and got around with the help of a cane. Even
when he passed away, he was only ill for two days. He took a chill and passed away in bed in his
home with Peter Jr., at his side.
Peter is buried at Reese Cemetery beneath one of the coffin-shaped vaults found in only a few
cemeteries in the area. Six tall cedars shade his resting place. Chiseled on top of the flat stone,
nearly covered over in moss, is inscribed: In Memory of Peter Mankins, Died December 30,
1881, age 111 years, 3 months.

2007-02-07T14:11:00.000-08:00

It's been an exciting couple of days. Monday I received my book cover art for approval, and today I received my release date. My book, Fly With The Mourning Dove will be released April 9, 2007. Not only is the cover gorgeous, it is exactly what I requested. I am so pleased. It's been a long dry spell. This story of a six-year-old girl who travels to a remote New Mexico homestead with her mother and father (who has TB and has been advised to move to the high country) is so close to my heart. And I think it's one everyone will enjoy from young readers to old.
Edna is today 92 years old. (she will celebrate her 93rd birthday in July) and the release of this book prior to that is a wonderful gift to her. She led such an exciting life in New Mexico when many well-known artists first discovered the small town of Taos, and Long John Dunn was beginning an empire along the narrow-gauge railroad that ran south from Colorado, along the Rio Grande and on to Santa Fe. She attended a ball at the Sage Brush Inn, built by Mabel Dodge and her Tewa husband Tony Lujan, and the stories she told me are exciting and give the reader a rare look into the life of Anglos who settled in New Mexico during the 1920s.
Though her father was given 640 acres of homestead land, along with a handful of other WW I veterans, I have been unable to find any information on this beyond what she told me. Sadly, so many things are lost to the past when history is revised by usually well meaning people.
I look forward to returning to New Mexico to promote the book in April.

2007-02-02T14:20:00.000-08:00

Here's a story about a young man who would grow up to become a notorious notable in the Ozarks. This is, of course, creative nonfiction.

Peter Mankins. Born September 19, 1770, near Annapolis, Maryland. Died December 30,
1881, Middle Fork Valley, Washington County, Arkansas. We begin our tale when Peter was just
a boy.
There’s excitement all over town. General George Washington and his army are on their
way to meet Cornwallis at Yorktown, and they will march right through Alexandria.
Distracted by that bit of news, Peter lifted steaming loaves of bread from the blistering
heat of the ovens. They smelled so good he ached to break off a chunk to eat, but dared not. Old
George would flail him for that, for sure.
Why Poppa thought to apprentice him to a baker, he couldn’t figure. But here he was, only
a kid learning to make bread. Old George called him scrawny, and that bothered him some, but
he’d grow. Somehow, he had to get Old George to let him go out on the street and watch
Washington’s army..
You never could tell what Old George was thinking, but he barked a lot even as he
kneaded dough to make the best bread in the whole town. Peter didn’t want to be a baker, he
wanted to be an adventurer and see the world. But Poppa said he needed a trade, and so, here he was slaving and not learning much except how to cut wood to keep the fires going. One good
thing, the bread sure smelled good baking.
He stood beside the wooden table where Old George kneaded dough into loaves. “I want
to go,” he told the old man, twisting his floury hands behind him and trying to appear calm when
he could hardly stand still.
Old George, whose grizzled features were so hairy Peter could scarcely make out his
squinty eyes and tight lips, tilted his head downward so Peter knew he was looking right at him.
“Why ever for, boy? You’ve got bread to tend to and wood to cut. No time for such nonsense. Git
out to that woodpile and go to work.”
In the distance, he heard drums beating, trumpets blaring, the sounds of hundreds of feet
thumping on the cobblestones. His eleven-year-old heart thudded. Old George turned back to his bread-making, loading loaves onto huge wooden paddles to slide into the ovens.
With the man’s back turned, Peter grabbed his chance and ran, shoving his way through
shouting crowds gathered along the street. Though he was small, he finally pushed into the front
row, just in time to spot the band, all dressed in red, and behind them, mounted on his prancing
white horse, General George Washington, followed by his troops. What a great life that would
be. Riding into battle, rifle primed and ready. Peter remained entranced until the very last soldier marched out of sight, then he turned and headed back toward the bakery, skipping along, kicking at rocks and pretending he was going off to war.
At the front of the store, he stopped to watch a group of ducks waddling across the road.
He lunged forward, grabbed one by both legs. It let out a terrific squawk. As he swung it around
to launch it into the air to see if it could fly, Old George stepped out the front door onto the walk.
“Peter. Peter Mankin, you little devil. Git yourself over here this minute.”
Gulping, Peter abandoned his experiment and obeyed the old man. Poppa would have him
do no less. Old George grabbed his bony arm and squeezed so hard Peter yelped. He continued to yelp all the way through the bakery. The old man dragged him out the back door and tossed him onto a pile of fire wood. Before Peter could scramble to his feet, Old George laid into him with a length of rope. Over and over he swung the thick weapon, cutting into Peter’s back, buttocks and legs. And him clawing and kicking but unable to escape the fiery lashes for the scattering chunks of wood.
Finally the old man stopped, his breathing harsh. “Now, maybe that’ll teach you to mind
me when I tell you something. Get yourself on your feet and take up that ax. I want to see this
woodpile grow.”
Sobbing, Peter waited until the old man went back inside. Oh, he’d take up the ax all
right, but not to cut wood. He was supposed to be learning to become a baker not a woodsman.
And he sure never wished to be whipped. He’d show Old George; he’d show Poppa and
Momma, he’d show everyone.
Dragging the ax along behind him, back and legs stinging and throbbing from the
beating, Peter limped out of the yard, down the street and away from town, off into the unknown where he remained until 1803. He never told where he’d been or what he’d done in those intervening years, but when he strolled back into recorded history at the age of 33, he continued to do the exciting and unexpected right up until his death.
More on Peter and how his son and namesake became an Arkansas Folk Hero.

2006-12-07T13:36:00.000-08:00

Find my first monthly historical article, Shadows of the Past, about the Ozarks in the magazine, Life In The Ozarks , January issue. To subscribe check out their website www.lifeintheozarks.com
This in addition to the weekly historical article I write in the White River Valley News published weekly in Elkins, Arkansas.

Two of my books reflect my love of Ozark history. Wandering In the Shadows of Time: An Ozarks Odyssey and Springdale: The Courage of Shiloh, both available at Amazon.com, Barnes & Noble.com and can be ordered from any bookstore.

I'm staying busy as the holidays approach. Recently finished editing galleys of my new book, also a historical, but about New Mexico and living on a homestead there just after the end of WW One. Its title is Fly With The Mourning Dove, and it will soon be available.

Have a Merry Christmas and the best New Year ever.

2006-11-17T12:36:00.000-08:00

A few weeks ago I attended the Women Writing the West Conference in Colorado Springs. We drove from Arkansas, over 800 miles, my husband and I because that's the way we prefer to travel. We talked some about when I had lived in Colorado Springs and Manitou Springs for two glorious summers when I was young, probably six and seven. At five I attended grade school in Mountainburg, Arkansas. Being born in a log cabin deep in the hills of the Ozarks, we had moved to "town" to live with my great-grandparents so I could start school. At the age of five, after my mother wrangled a long while with the teachers and superintendent, I was allowed to start first grade. She didn't know what else to do with me because I was into everything, reading, writing, reciting made up stories in front of whoever would listen. There was the man with the hole in his head, who lived in town and owned the local drugstore. The hole was actually a large bald spot on the top of his otherwise quite hairy head. That I made up such names and went on to tell stories about these folks is what convinced my mother I needed to be in school.
Leaving Mountainburg, Arkansas in 1941 after I had finished first grade, we followed my Dad as he worked in construction. That occupation prompted the two lovely summers in Colorado. Aha, I did get around to it.
Now, in the car with my husband, a lifetime later, I would return for the first time to the playground of my youth. The Garden of the Gods and Pikes Peak and the clear, icy streams of snowmelt where my brother and I often played on hot summer days.
Would I recognize where we had parked our silver airstream in Colorado Springs? Would the Garden of the Gods still be open to playing, laughing children? Could I find the cabin in which we lived the following summer on the side of a mountain in Manitou. The cabin where I knocked myself silly on the porch rail running to escape a sudden hailstorm?
Yes to some, no to others. Nothing made me happier than to see that children are indeed still allowed to play and picnic in the Garden of the Gods. We went there twice, once on the bus tour arranged by the conference doers, and again when we took a room in old Colorado City after the conference. We remained another two days while I revisited my childhood. We rode the cog railway toward the summit of Pikes Peak and ate in old Colorado City. And did indeed find there where campers still camp, the site where our airstream once sheltered us, where one day my father tried to even up our little home and ended dropping the tongue to the ground and dumping a pot of beans my mother had cooking on the stove. What a mess. And how we all laughed over the years retelling that story. Did my mother laugh that day? I'm not sure.
Thank you to all who organized this great conference in my brief childhood home. I enjoyed the conference and all the wonderful women and men who make up this organization.
My writing is mostly about the past, so I tend to enjoy things that remind me of my own past. This was indeed a wonderful peek into that so long ago time, while offering me the comradeship of women who write of a time and place so important to our country.
See you back here soon.
Velda