Chapter 8

New Mexico Territory, January, 1894

I had enjoyed my visit to Santa Fe very much, but I had not had a chance to talk to Jake Jakobs, he was out of town on business. I did not stay in Santa Fe long—the cold got to me.

Two weeks after I had first broached the subject of providing guards to the railroad, I got an unequivocal "NO!" I figured that I would let them stew in their own juice for a while before mentioning it again.

Meanwhile, I returned to my old habit of riding around the country from saloon to saloon looking for leads to profitable adventures. Once in a while, things would slow down enough that I would take a job as a temporary, fill-in cow poke. I didn't really like the job, but it paid expenses and kept me from having to tap my reserves. My goal was to get rich, not get rich quick. I could wait, but I was adamant that I would not touch my bank savings once I had put the money there.

I even, on occasion, gave in and played poker as a professional, but my heart really wasn't in it. Playing poker to live took the fun out for me, and, if I couldn't have fun playing poker, it was too much work! Therefore, I was happy to see the return of the Mexican bandits.

I wondered if something had happened in Mexico. Mexican banditry used to be kind of seasonal, but now you could see it almost any time. Maybe it was a symptom of the changing climate. If the water down there was drying up, the men would be forced to steal to eat since farming would no longer pay. Whatever it was, here they came!

The trains had cut into the stagecoach business pretty bad, so there were fewer coaches to rob. In a way, that made it easier for the bandits because it reduced the number of possible victims to an easily predictable number and pattern. If you knew where the stagecoaches had to be, they were easier to find.

That explains why I was out hunting bandits on this particular road. The locality was far enough away from the railroad that it needed stagecoach service, but there were enough people around that stagecoach service would still be profitable. The combination was sure to attract bandits, and there they were! I took out my binoculars, surveyed the scene, and decided on a plan of action.

The five bandits had been able to stop the coach, but had been clumsy or inexperienced enough to let the passengers and crew have time to react. The result was a rather indecisive gun battle. The two sides were out of good pistol range, so shooting from both sides was with sporadic rifle fire; the guard's shotgun was effectively useless. The bandits appeared to be gearing up for a charge against the sole defending rifle, expecting to get close enough to overpower the defenders before they could take adequate measures. I saw that if I did not act soon, some innocents were sure to be hurt.

I held a short debate with myself on the relative merits of a horseback charge against the dismounted bandits versus staying back and sniping with my rifle. Since it is always so difficult to shoot accurately from a running horse, I chose to snipe. I pulled my rifle and jumped behind a large rock for protection and to steady my aim. I began to fire as soon as I was in position. This distracted the bandits enough that the driver was able to race off (smart man!), leaving us to settle the question.

I was close enough and steady enough that I severely wounded one of the bandits with my first shot. However, the wind was gusty and that made a bullet's trajectory somewhat chancy, even at seventy-five yards. The only recourse the bandits really had was to charge me on foot, firing as fast as they could. I was well protected behind my rock, so the bandits would have to be very lucky to hit me while running. I continued to shoot and got two more before my rifle was empty. I dropped the rifle and drew my lower pistol (the one strapped to my thigh). I am very accurate with a pistol, so that I had no trouble dropping the remaining two bandits with my five shots, as they had gotten very close by now. I reloaded and went out to check on the results of my victory.

All four of the near bandits were dead by now, and the other was nearly dead, with a lung-shot. A .44-40 does not leave much of the lungs for the body to work with, so I knew that he would be dead within the next quarter of an hour. I waited him out.

As a reward for my efforts in saving the stagecoach and passengers, I looted the bandits of their valuables and left them for the animals to dine on. I took their horses into town to sell, along with their tack and guns. I managed to net a little less than $200, which I though of as an entirely adequate reward. As usual, I also got a few free drinks for telling the story in the saloons that night.

My patrols of the neighborhood over the next week did not produce any more bandits, so I decided to move on. I thought, "What the Hell, I'll give Arizona a try."

There was no marker where I crossed the border, not even a jackrabbit to greet me. Late the next day, I saw signs of Indians with their small sheep herds. I knew then that I was truly into Arizona. There was no town around, so I made an uncomfortable dry camp and slept, undisturbed, through the night. My horse had not cared for the camp, either, as she had become accustomed to a stall, full manger, and plenty of water. Oh, well, we all must rough it, sometimes.

Toward midday, I spied an interesting sight in the distance. There was a great cloud of dust, so I rode to the top of a hill and took out my binoculars to try to determine what was going on and if I should interfere. What I saw was a group of men racing along driving a herd of horses and behind them was another group apparently trying to overtake the first group. I thought I saw the two groups shooting at each other. I could not determine any more, so I had no idea who was in the right. Therefore, I thought that discretion was called for and I quietly rode away from the fray.

That evening in a saloon, I related the story of the chase and was told that there was a lot of horse stealing going on around there, but there were no details on this particular event. I never did find out any more about it. I did resolve to be cautious when approaching a group of men herding horses, since I did not want to be shot out of hand. Not much else was going on, so I decided to return to NMT where I felt more comfortable.

I reached NMT within a week and breathed easier being back "home." I resolved not to leave again without a pressing reason.

A few days later, I fell in with a short wagon train of large freight wagons. They were protected by a troop of cavalry from the nearby fort. I rode with them for a few miles, but realized that I would not get any action by being with such a large, well armed, and well trained group. I bid them adios and went on my way.

On that same day, on a different trail, I met two freight wagons with a single guard. I thought this was a more likely bandit target so I asked to ride along for a while. They acted glad to see me, and a free guard was welcome. We rode along for a while until we came to a stream we had to ford. The stream bed was very rocky, so we had to stop while we worked first one, then the other, wagon across.

We were hit by bandits while the second wagon was just entering the stream. The driver of the first wagon was shot and badly wounded in the first fusillade from the bandits; he slumped to the wagon bed beneath the seat and we saw no more of him. The fire toward us slightly wounded the regular guard, but both of us were able to escape to the other side of the wagon. We drew our carbines and rushed to the relative safety of the wagon bed; there was barely room for us, but we found some. Meanwhile, the driver dropped beneath his seat and pulled out his carbine. It was now three against six, and we had an advantage: we were protected by the sturdy walls of the wagon.

The bandits had been listening to too many stories of Indian attacks. Instead of dismounting and shooting at us from a steady position, they chose to ride round and round us while wildly firing at us with their pistols. There was no way they were going to hit us, except by the greatest luck, so we concentrated on staying protected and firing back with measured shots. The bandits tactics were hindered by them having to ride through the stream for about two hundred degrees of their circle around the wagon. The stream bed was so rocky that they had to pay attention to their path through the water. To do so, they had to slow down and take their eyes off us in order to guide their horses. That was our best chance to fire! We dropped four of the bandits in only a few minutes of fighting and the other two rode off as fast as their tired, but frightened, horses could carry them.

When we were certain that we were safe, the guard and I made sure the four downed bandits were dead while our driver checked on the other driver. His wound was painful, but not life-threatening if we could get him to treatment pretty soon. The town ahead of us was less that two hours away, if we hurried, so we decided to go there.

The regular guard was also a relief driver, so he drove the first wagon while our driver drove his own. I had them start out to town while I stripped valuables from the dead bandits and brought their horses. It only took me a few minutes to catch up to the wagons.