Thirty-One Years on the Plains and in the Mountains, Or, the Last Voice from the Plains: An Authentic Record of a Life Time of Hunting, Trapping, Scouting and Indian Fighting in the Far WestDrannan, William F.
History
Thirty-One Years on the Plains and in the Mountains, Or, the Last Voice from the Plains: An Authentic Record of a Life Time of Hunting, Trapping, Scouting and Indian Fighting in the Far West
Drannan, William F.
Frontier and pioneer life -- West (U.S.); Indians of North America -- Wars
I made him take the road ahead of me, and we started on our way
for Jacksonville. After we had gone some two miles in the
direction of Canyonville an old gentleman and his son overhauled
us with a wagon, and I had the old man put the handcuffs on him,
after which I allowed him to get into the wagon with the other two
men and ride to Canyonville. When I put him in the little lock-up
which they had there for such occasions and went and hunted up the
constable and asked him to look after Barton until I would return.
I could get no satisfaction from him, so I went to a merchant in
town and related the whole circumstance to him and asked him to
keep a watch or tell me of some one whom I could hire to look
after him that I could rely upon. He assured me that he would look
after a man, put him there to watch and then we would be sure that
he would be safe. I then mounted my horse and was off for Buckley,
who I found without difficulty, arrested him, and started on my
way back to Canyonville.
He came so near admitting the crime that I was sure I had the two
guilty men. I got back with my prisoner just in time to take the
stage for Jacksonville. Leaving my horse at the livery stable, I
instructed the liveryman to send him at once to Jacksonville and I
would pay all charges. I handcuffed both prisoners and had them
shackled together, put them in the stage and started to
Jacksonville with them. I wired the sheriff that I had both of the
guilty parties and would be at Jacksonville on the stage, which
was due about six o'clock the next morning.
The sheriff and his deputies met us that morning at the edge of
town. It had been noised around that I would be in and they were
somewhat afraid of a mob, but we succeeded in getting to the jail
all safe, and not until then had I the faintest idea that I had
stepped beyond my official duty in arresting those men without a
warrant and bringing them into another county.
These were the first white prisoners that I had ever had any
experience with. I had taken so many Indian prisoners that never
required any red tape, I naturally supposed that the same rule
would be applicable in this case, but I got away with it just the
same. That afternoon we took the young man off to himself, and
when he was questioned by the district attorney and a certain
doctor, whose name has slipped my memory, he admitted the whole
affair, and told us just where to go to find McMahon's body. When
he told us this the doctor drew a diagram of the ground. Buckley
said we would find a tree a certain distance from the cabin that
had been blown out by the roots, and in that hole we would find
the body covered up with brush and chips thrown on top of the
brush. After giving this valuable information we at once started
out to hunt for the body.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account