Chapter 4

We had traveled about five miles out of Branson when the first possibility showed up. Four men rode their horses close to Mary, and every man tipped his hat. One said, "Ma'am, I must warn you that this here road ain't safe, especially for a woman riding alone. Are you sure you need to be out here all by yourself. I must recommend that you return to Branson for your own safety."

"Thank you, Sir, but I must make this trip today. My husband was shot along this road, and I am on my way to see him. As you can see, I have three Henry rifles here beside me, and I am a deadly shot with them. I do appreciate your concern, but I am quite confident that I will be able to take care of myself."

"Well, if you are sure about what you want to do, we certainly cannot stop you. Please accept our condolences about your husband. We must be going, now, but please be careful and alert. Good day to you, Ma'am."

The four men rode off, and Mary said to me, "John, I do not know what it was, but there was something about that man that just did not seem right to me. What do you think?"

"I agree, Mary, but I cannot put my finger on what it was about him and those others. Maybe it was just a friendly concern for your welfare, but I cannot help doubting it."

Neither one of us said any more, but I was even more careful to keep an eye out the rear of the wagon, just in case trouble showed up from behind us. Suddenly, four different men rode up from the front of the wagon and four came from the back. I wished that I had a shotgun, but I would just have to make do with what I had.

I warned Mary of the four men behind us just as one of the men coming toward her in the front drew his gun. Mary shouted, "LOOK OUT!" and swung the mules toward the right side of the road. I thought that I was prepared, but the sudden motion did throw me off my seat. By the time I recovered, the four men approaching from the rear had almost caught us and were drawing their guns. They were too close for my rifle to be of much use, so I dropped it onto the bedding and drew my revolver from the right holster and transferred it to my right hand.

I had hardly done that when I heard Mary fire her first shot, and mine was not long behind hers. The man I shot was trying to climb into the wagon from the rear from his stopped horse. I now had a very stable firing platform, so I had no trouble shooting the next man to try to enter from the rear. I heard no more shots from up front, and I was worried. "MARY, ARE YOU OKAY?" There was no word in reply, and I was now really worried. I whirled around just in time to see a man come at me with a bloody knife in his hand. He was so close that I could not miss, and I sent him to his reward with no delay.

The appearance of the man coming in from the front made it certain that Mary was in trouble, so I dropped my attempt to guard the rear of the wagon and turned my attention to the front. I did not dare run to the front, but it was close enough that I was at the front edge of the canvas cover in only moments. That was when I saw what I most feared: Mary was lying in the bottom of the driver's box with blood gushing everywhere. Her throat had been cut from ear to ear, and I could see that she was dead with no more inspection. I am afraid that I went berserk at that moment!

My memories of the next few minutes are somewhat disjointed, but I do remember the high points. One man was in the process of climbing to the driver's box, and I do remember shooting him in the shoulder. A shot into the shoulder at that range is not necessarily fatal, but it does make a total mess of the bone and flesh anywhere close to where the bullet enters. He fell back to the ground and lay there on his back. I ignored him as I looked to the other men around me.

There were two men left at the front of the wagon at that point, but I do not remember just how I accomplished my next feat. The next thing that I knew, I was holding my bowie knife in my left hand as I stood on the ground watching a man's guts ooze out of his belly from a long knife slash. Another man was near him and had a bullet hole in his gut down low near his bladder.

There were still two men at the rear of the wagon, and I could see one of them. I put a bullet toward his head, but I missed him. The next thing that I knew was that I was crawling out from under the wagon bed and driving my knife up into the balls of a man who was standing nearby. I think that he was looking around the wagon trying to see where I had disappeared to.

The last man was still on his horse, and he was trying to get a shot at me with his revolver. I ignored his efforts and calmly put a bullet through his belly button. He fell from his horse, and his pistol discharged as he fell. He missed everything, and I ignored him.

Anyway, I came to my senses about then and looked around. I had four dead men to my credit and four seriously wounded men who would not survive the day—I would see to that!

All of the horses were in good condition, so I used one and a rope to drag the four bodies off the road and out of the way. The four wounded men had their hands and feet tied so that they could not escape. I then dragged each one into the woods far enough so that they could not hear what was said at the wagon. I made a few arrangements at the wagon and dragged one of the wounded men back and tied him to a rear wheel so that he was standing in an upright position.

I told him what was about to happen to him whether he talked or not. On the other hand, I knew that he was going to talk. I cut away his pants so that he was naked except for his shirt and his boots. I had spread his legs so that I had full access to his balls and his cock. I built a small fire and lay his Bowie knife so that the blade would get very hot. I did not want it so hot that it would cause third-degree burns, because that would kill the nerves and the pain would stop.

I asked a few questions and got the expected shit for answers. By this time, the knife blade was hot. I wrapped my hand in a rag so that I would not be burned and laid the flat of the blade against his scrotum. Ah, I got the expected howl of pain. I was ready to start. I will not bore you with the details of what I did to make this cretin talk, but I did get a lot of information from him. His groin area was a mess by the time I cut his gut open enough so that he died.

The other three men had the same thing done to them, and I learned a little more, but not much. Once they were all dead, I dragged their bodies back into the woods after looting all eight of them. I tied their horses to the rear of the wagon and drove as fast as was safe back to Branson.

I drove directly to the undertaker and paid for a decent burial for Mary. I also ordered a stone marker for her grave. The legend on the marker was simple: "Here lies Mary Wilson, beloved wife of John Wilson. May she rest in peace." I did not stay around for the burial, I could not make myself do that. I did leave word with the undertaker that I would be back in a month or so to check up on the grave, and I better find everything just as I had paid for it. The look I gave him let him know what he could expect if he screwed up.

I now had the information I wanted. The men who attacked us were members of a "guerilla" gang known as Harlow's Raiders. They had an encampment about 10 miles north of Branson at Jordan's Falls. Yes, those first four men who had met Mary had been scouts for Harlow's Raiders and reported that she was alone and ripe for plucking. There had been 47 men in the gang, but now there were only 41, counting "Major Jeff Harlow." He was self-appointed and the Confederate Army did not know that he existed.

Before I left Branson, I bought a pack mule, food, and a Sharps rifle. I knew that with a little work, I could make that rifle deadly accurate at up to 500 yards, and that was all I expected to need. By the way, I now wore four Starr DAs. The gunsmith who had sold me the rifle had also directed me to a place where I could have the clear space to sight it in at 500 yards. I left Branson two days later.