John Payne - "Tales from the Arabic Volume 3"

Roy Rockwood - "Through Space to Mars"

I. T. Thurston - "The Bishop's Shadow"

ARNOLD BENNETT - "LITERARY TASTE"

The Second William Penn

W >> William H. Ryus >> The Second William Penn




Slipping upon the miners engaged in their work of depredation, the
marshall pulled his gun on them, and marched, them to the city lockup.
The next morning a few of the miners got together and were going to
release the miners in the lockup. Then the mayor ordered the fire bells
rung and sent runners out over the city calling the people together.
Among the people who came to the "consultation" were many miners. The
marshal let the men out of the "cooler," and took their names, then the
mayor made a speech to the citizens and got their sentiments. He asked
the citizens as a community if it would not be better to let the
Chinamen alone and let them work their property, than to drive them out
and destroy their dam. He wanted the opinion of the people. He wanted to
know how many of the citizens were willing to let the Chinamen alone and
let them continue to operate their property.

The citizens who wanted the Chinamen let alone were about ten to one of
the miners.

The mayor now called on two or three prominent speakers of the city to
make a talk before the people who told why they believed the Chinamen
should be left alone, then the mayor called on a representative of the
miners to tell the people why they should want to ruin the Chinamen's
work. None of the miners would reply.

That night the Council passed an ordinance prohibiting, under severe
pains and penalties, the willful destruction of property, and
consequently the Chinamen were left to pursue their work. The dam proved
an immense benefit to the city and surrounding country, and other people
began mining their lots, and using the water that had collected during
the night and saving it over, several mines were supplied with water.

I was in a hurry to settle up with Mr. Dillon at this time and get
started back to the States, going by the way of Salt Lake City in
company with two men who were going through with an ambulance. I
remained in Salt Lake City two weeks when the roof on the Great Mormon
Temple as about three-fourths finished. At the time I was there, the
temple was about four feet above the ground and workmen had been
continuously at work for seven years. Up to that time, I was the only
Gentile who had ever explored the underground workings of the temple. I
went from Salt Lake to Denver.

I had calculated to preempt a hundred and sixty acres of land in or
about Denver, and stopped over there for a few days. At that time I
could have taken 160 acres where the Union Depot now stands about the
center of the city of Denver. However, like many another boy, I took a
sudden notion to go home and see Mother first, and before I took
possession of this valuable "dirt," I pulled out on the first coach
going toward Kansas City. Stage fare cost me nothing because I rode with
Barnum-Vickeroy & Veil.

When we got to Booneville, where I used to live with Colonel A.G. Boone,
when I drove the stage on the Denver line, the old Colonel insisted that
I stay with him. He said he had 2,500 head of sheep, half of which with
all the increase, would be mine, if I would stay and take care of them
five years. I told him that I had planned to homestead a 160 acres up
near Denver and that as soon as I had had my visit with my mother I
wanted to go to Denver, and could not take up his proposition.

At that time Colonel Boone talked a great deal about the Indians. He
told me they were being shamefully treated; that the soldiers were
making war on them, etc., and said that it was his opinion that if the
Government would put a guard around the white people and keep them from
shooting the Indians, there would be no more Indian troubles.

He told me that the conductors along the Long Route between Fort Lyon
and Fort Larned, were having no end of trouble. He told me that several
tribes had asked him about me, and said they seemed curious to know
whether or not I would ever return.

After we left Colonel Boone's place, going toward Independence, we met
several tribes, some of whom knew me just as soon as they "got their
eyes on me," but I did not understand their language, and their
interpreter told me that they wanted to know if I was coming back on the
route. Several spoke about Colonel Leavenworth and Satanta and asked for
news concerning the Little White Chief, for that was the way they loved
to remember their little boy friend.

There was something like 45 or 50 Indians in this gang, and the driver
was anxious to get rid of them, for he was not only afraid of them,
because of the trouble they had been having with the Long Route
conductors, but they wanted to be "driving on" getting nearer their
destination. I told the driver to let me manage the Indians and we would
"pull through" all right.

I told the Indians to sit down around us and I would get some coffee for
them and a very small lunch. The conductors never had anything hardly,
and gave the Indians nothing but abuse. I managed to get together from
the conductor's mess, a small lunch, which they ate, and I invited them
to go with us to our next stopping place, fifteen miles distant, and eat
with us properly.

On our way to the next stopping place, however, these Indians were
joined by other small bands which kept collecting. When we camped for
lunch and to let our mules go out to eat, the Indians let their ponies
graze, also. As provisions were scarce, we had a very slim meal, but
were all good humored over it.

When the coach was ready to resume its journey, I shook hands with every
one of the Indians and told them I was going to the States and wanted
that they come to see us there. There were eight other passengers,
besides myself, on the coach, who laughingly said that they had crossed
the plains several times and had never witnessed such a scene between
white man and Indian, only when they traveled with me.

There were five conductors. Four conductors were on the road all the
time and one resting all the time. In other words, while one conductor
rested one week, the other four worked until the time came for him to
rest and the other work. We usually rested either in Kansas City
or Santa Fe.

Before leaving this chapter, I desire to tell my readers what brought
Mr. Service into the limelight again. About twenty-five years after he
killed the Mexican, he sold out his ranch and cattle and took the money
he had on hands, which amounted to something like $43,000.00, and
deposited it in the Denver National Bank of Denver, Colorado, and went
to Springer, New Mexico, in the locality of where he had killed the
Mexican. He went to the sheriff and asked him if he had ever heard of
the man, Service, wanted in that country for the murder of the rich
Mexican. The sheriff told him that he "guessed" that the murder had
occurred before his day, but that he had heard of it, and it must date
some thirty years back.

Mr. Service asked the sheriff if the murderer had ever been back there
to stand trial, and whether or not the reward that had been offered at
the time of the murder was still good? "No," the sheriff said, "I do not
think the reward would be any good." The sheriff went on to tell Mr.
Service that he had been told by persons who claimed to have knowledge
of the matter, that Service had served his country well to have killed
the Mexican.

"Mr. Sheriff," said Mr. Service, "I am the man who killed that Mexican."
The sheriff looked him over and said, "that can't be, you are too old a
man for that." Mr. Service had whiskers 12 inches long and perfectly
gray. His features were so transformed that his old partner did not
recognize him. Mr. Service told the sheriff that nevertheless, he was
the man, and that the reward had been offered for.

Mr. Service told the sheriff that he wanted to "give up" and gave him
$200 and asked him to hire a good lawyer for him because he was
unacquainted in the section, and I want you to take out a warrant
against me. I want to be legally acquitted of crime and be a "free man
once more."

After talking to the sheriff, he went to see his old partner, who did
not recognize him. He told him that he had more of the worldly goods
than the ranch was worth, but would like to have a settlement, and
invoice his own belongings, as well as the property his partner had
gotten together since their separation, and said they would strike a
balance and have a settlement. The old partner, whose name I have
forgotten, said, "no, I won't do it," he said, "you took the money from
the house when you left, and I had to pay Maxwell for his race horse."
"Very true," said Mr. Service, "you have had use of the farm these long
years, and would that compensate you for what you have paid out?" But,
he added, "the hay on the place has brought you about $2,000 a year, and
I think it is best for us to have a settlement." The partner would hear
to no settlement being arrived at, saying that he should have what was
there. "Well," said Service, "we will pass receipts." Each took a
receipt from the other, shook hands and bade the other good-bye. Mr.
Service was a broad-minded, liberal fellow, and had fully intended to
resume the partnership with his partner and share and share alike in his
money earned while he was away from the ranch. "By-the-bye, I will let
you look over this small book," said Mr. Service as he handed his bank
book showing the balance due him at the National Bank of Denver. "Why,"
said the partner, "you have $43,000 in this book to your credit." "Yes,
sir," said Mr. Service, "had we invoiced our goods together, half this
amount would have been yours together with other moneys I have in other
banks." That talk completed the settlement and while the partner was
completely crestfallen, Service shaved and became a white man and free
citizen of the States.



CHAPTER XXII.

Daugherty, a Silk and Linen Drummer, Contracts to Build a Cellar.

At Fort Zara I met another old friend. Bill Daugherty was there keeping
the station. Nothing would do him but I should stay over there a week or
so. Daugherty was a natural born Irishman who had "kissed the Blarney
stone," full of wit and humor. He went to the coach and took my "grip
sack" off and took it to the house, and said I had to stay. I liked that
first rate, but I did hate to lose the time.

Daugherty came to Kansas in 1862, drumming for a house that sold fine
linens, laces and silks, and had never done anything but sell silks,
etc. He was sitting in a kind of a tavern one morning and chanced to see
an advertisement in the paper that struck his "funny side." A gentleman
living at the corner of Fifth and Shawnee Streets in Leavenworth,
Kansas, had advertised for a contractor to build him a cellar, and the
advertisement said that none "but experienced contractors need apply."
The drummer, Bill Daugherty, decided he would call upon the gentleman
who wanted "an experienced contractor." When he arrived at the place
specified in the advertisement he found it to be a large general
merchandise store. Daugherty introduced himself to the proprietor of the
place and told him that he was an experienced contractor. "And," said
Daugherty, "I see you are in a hurry for the cellar, sure and I am the
laddie that can build that cellar quicker than a bat can wink its eye.
I'm from auld Ireland, and conthracting is me pusiness." The merchant
told him that he wanted the cellar built right away, and showed him the
ground he wanted it built on--which adjoined his business house on the
corner. Daugherty asked the merchant how much time he would allow him to
build the cellar in, and the merchant told him not longer than eight or
ten days. "Well," said Bill, "I will do it in less time."

"Now, sir, you furnish me the tools, shovels, picks, wheelbarrows, and
running plank to the number I want, and I will go to work on your
cellar, Friday, if you will give me $100." The merchant said he could
not afford to give more than $80 for the job and that he would have to
take $20 in trade. "Alright, py golly," Bill answered, "I will take the
job that way, providing you put it in writing." The contract was drawn
up and said that the cellar was to be commenced on at 7 o'clock Saturday
morning. The merchant was to furnish all tools or pay for the tools
Daugherty bought up to a certain given number. Friday night Daugherty
had all his tools on the "job" and made everything ready to commence
work Saturday morning. Bright and early Saturday morning Bill was there
and he had two wagons from the saloon on the ground also.

Thursday evening when he first made the agreement to build the cellar,
he went to the saloon and told the "Bys" to come to Fifth and Shawnee
Streets Saturday, that he was going to give a "B," and it was to be the
best time, and the liveliest time, and the finest "B" they ever saw. He
told the boys at the saloon all about his contract with the merchant,
and as they were mostly Irish, they quickly agreed to help out with
the plan.

Bill Daugherty had the saloon man send down four bartenders, and he had
a keg of beer placed at equal distances apart with mugs and glasses and
the bartenders to draw the beer, and the fun commenced. Before seven
o'clock more than fifty men were on the job. The alley behind the store
building was five feet under grade and he put running plank on the
ground from the front of the ground running into the alley, and put four
wheel-barrows on them and a set of men shoveling. The work progressed
nicely with the Irishmen working and drinking and singing. Bill
Daugherty was in his glory and the old merchant was "feel-n' blue." Bill
kept encouraging his workmen telling them that some "great big doin's
was a-comin' off along about eaten' time." The restaurant man came with
a fine dinner and furnished everything in the eating line but the
coffee, and the saloon man was there with the "drinks."

At one o'clock they all started to work and at 4 o'clock that afternoon
they had completed the cellar, and the engineer had inspected it, and
passed his judgment that it was a "good job." Daugherty went in the
store to get "paid off," he was feeling pretty good.

He told the merchant that he wanted a nice vest for himself, a pair of
shoes, and a shirt and hat. Then, he told the merchant that he wanted to
see a fine paisley shawl, one that "you would like to see your wife
wear." The merchant showed him an $8 shawl, but it did not please the
fancy of old Bill Daugherty. "Show me a shawl that you would be pleased
to see your wife wear, one that you would be proud to see her wear to
church, that old shawl is not genteel." This time the merchant took down
a $16 shawl and after close examination, and the assurance that it was
the best one he had in the house, Daugherty accepted the shawl. "Now,"
said Daugherty, "I want my cash." The merchant counted out the balance
of the money to him, and said he would wrap the shawl for the
"contractor." The merchant began to wrap the shawl up for Bill and Bill
told him that "that won't do, a lady wouldn't have a fine shawl wrapped
up like that, let me ahold of the strings and fine papers." Daugherty
called for tissue paper, he wrapped his purchase up neatly and then
called for ribbon with which to tie it. He wanted green and red ribbons.
After encasing the article in the tissue paper bound around with
ribbons, he put a piece of wrapping paper about it, and left the store,
and its room full of amused spectators.

Bill went from the store straight to the home of the old merchant and
told the wife of the merchant that he was "frash from auld Ireland, and
that he had one shawl left, from his large stock, that he would sell her
real cheaply. He commenced to talk to the lady, and all the time he was
talking he was unwinding the papers from around the shawl. She looked at
him in amazement, and he told her that he had sold out a large
collection of fine shawls that he had brought from Paris, and that her
husband had seen this shawl and greatly admired it, and that he had said
to him in the presence of several other men, that he would like to see
his wife wear a shawl like it." She told him that the shawl must be
very choice.

At last the wrappers were all off the shawl, and he threw it about her
shoulders and told her to look in the glass. He slapped his hands
together, saying, "beautiful, beautiful--real Parisian." On talked the
talkative Bill, until at last he saw he had won the lady to his view of
thinking that she was a real Parisian figure with the shawl gracefully
draped about her shoulders, and she asked him what he would take for it.

He told her that she could have it for just $65. and before she could
catch her breath, he wheeled her about where she could see her profile
in the glass, and told her to "just look at the reflection, could
anything be handsomer?" He told her that it was the last one he had, and
was cheap at the price, that her husband had said so, and that he said
he would like to see her wear it.

She paid the money for it and he departed. He met one of his cronies
down the street and told him about the transaction. "Now," said he, "you
go down and tell him that he had better come over to the saloon and
treat, and I will have the other boys over there hidden in the back
room, and we will all get a glass and

"All go down to Rowser, to Rowser, to Rowser, We'll all go down to
Rowser and get a drink of beer."

Well, the merchant "fell to" and the treats cost him in round figures
the sum of $11.00. When Daugherty left to catch his stage out from there
to Fort Zara, he was still treating the crowd, and getting pretty
full, himself.

After the affair at Leavenworth, Bill Daugherty came to Kansas City on
the boat, and asked the stage company if they needed a man to care for
some of their stations. Mr. Barnum employed Bill and he went to Fort
Zara, out among the Indians, where Bill's tongue helped him to get along
very nicely with them.

When he chanced to allude to Fort Leavenworth, he always told the story
of his "contracting" at Leavenworth on the corner of Fifth and Shawnee
Streets. Out there at Fort Zara, Bill enjoyed himself as only Irishmen
can, but his stumbling block was Captain Conkey, who was the biggest
crank on earth, "take it from me," for he and I had a little "set-to."
Daugherty always sent his "red, white and blue regards to the old
merchant" by whosoever went to Leavenworth.



CHAPTER XXIII.

Captain Conkey.

Captain Conkey was a "jackass" to make a long story short. He had a
company of soldiers at Fort Zara for the purpose of escorting the mail
from one station to another. Once on my way East with a coach full of
passengers, a snow storm began to rage, at about four o'clock in the
afternoon, soon after I had left Fort Larned. It snowed so hard that at
8 o'clock we couldn't tell where the road was, and the passengers took
it time and about with me running along the road in front of the coach
to find the road.

We got to Fort Zara at ten o'clock that night, the orderly sergeant came
after the mail about 500 yards from the soldiers' camp. I told the
sergeant that I wanted an escort at nine o'clock in the morning. He gave
Captain Conkey my orders and the Captain told him to go back and arrest
me and put me in chains. The First Lieutenant told the Captain that I
would be there in the morning; that they had no place to sleep me, so
the Captain let me alone that night, but the next morning he sent his
orderly after me. When the orderly came to the station, he said to me,
"that old fool of a captain sent me down here to arrest you." I asked
him what he wanted with me. The orderly told me that he was to arrest me
for ordering an escort. I told the orderly to "fire away," I would go
over and see the old "mossback."

Their quarters was a little dugout in the side of the hill along the
river bank. They had a gunny sack for the door, and I went into the
first room, which was used for a kitchen, and the cook told me to go to
the next room, it had a gunny sack door, too, the First and Second
Lieutenants were in there. They told me to go on to the next room that
the Captain's headquarters was in the other room. I had my mittens and
overcoat on, and he said, "you pull off your hat, you insolent puppy,
and salute me." I replied to the Captain's kind words of greeting that,
"I will not salute you, but excuse me, I should have had manners enough
to have removed my hat." He told me that he "would put the irons" on me.
I answered him that I did not think he would do such an unmanly thing,
at least right then. This exasperated the haughty Captain, and he
hollowed for the First Lieutenant to come and put me in irons. I asked
him what he was there for, and he told me that it was "none of my
business." I then got pretty middling hot myself, and I told him that if
he did not know his business, that it was "up to me" to "put you next,"
or words to that extent. I told him that he was there for the purpose of
furnishing escorts for the United States mail and that it was I, and not
he, in command there, then, by virtue with the position I held with the
Government, and I told him that I now ordered him to be placed under
arrest. I called on the Lieutenant to place the irons on him. I told him
that I would take him to Leavenworth, and the Lieutenant, delighted by
the change of program, said, "alright."

Captain Conkey then told me that he would furnish the escort, and I told
him to do so, then, and I would leave him here, that I had no room on
the coach for such a "donkey" as he was, but that I would tell the
commanding officer at Fort Leavenworth that we needed a captain for the
company here, in order to save time and trouble for the other conductors
of the road. I told him that he had not only taken up time, but that he
had made a perfect "donkey" of himself, and of the men who had favored
him with this position.

Captain Conkey asked me if the Indians were bad again. I told him that
it did not matter whether they were bad or not, I wanted an escort. I
got my escort of fifteen soldiers at last and after getting the teams
hitched, off we started, the soldiers in advance to break the roads.
That is, as a matter of fact, all the use we had for them. We could
travel very well when they had ridden ahead and broke the snow so we
could follow the trail.

Daugherty built him a new station across the creek from where Conkey was
camped, on Walnut Creek. He put up corals for the mules and built a
fort-like building for his home. About the time he had finished his
buildings, some white hunters had killed some Indians, and trouble began
between the white race and the Indian tribes.

One day at about ten o'clock in the forenoon, Mr. Daugherty went up on
the top of his house with his field glasses to inspect the surrounding
country. He noticed that Indian smokes were all around, and the Indians
seemed to be coming toward them all the time.

He hastened down from the roof and called the orderly from Captain
Conkey's company to him and told him that unless the Captain moved to
his fort within an hour and a half that they would all be killed by the
Indians. There had been bad blood between Conkey and Bill Daugherty for
quite a while, and when Daugherty sent the orderly to Conkey with the
warning of the coming Indians, Captain Conkey got mad and told the
orderly to go over and arrest Daugherty for disturbing his peace. Just
as the soldiers coming to arrest him stepped on the bridge, Bill
Daugherty halted them. He said, "if you come another foot, I will fire
on you." You go back and tell Conkey, the fool, that if he don't get you
men to this side inside of half an hour, you will all be "gonners." If
you want the protection of my fort, come over and you will have the same
protection as I have, otherwise, you will go up in smoke, holy, or
otherwise. Daugherty then took his gun and went to the Captain, and
saluting him, said: "The Indians are coming, 1,000 strong, and unless
you get your wagons, etc., out of here, and at once, you will be
scalped." Captain Conkey then decided that for the benefit of his
health, he had better decamp to the other side for protection. He just
barely escaped when the Indians swooped down on his camp ground. Then
Daugherty took his gun and went to the bridge and laid the gun down and
walked over it toward the Indians, motioning to them that he came in
peace, and for them to come and get something to eat. Daugherty took
four of the Indians to his fort and gave them some bacon, coffee and
other provisions, and took two other men from the fort with him with
axes, to chop wood for a fire, and they cooked a meal and with the
Indians the four white persons and Bill Daugherty sat down to "meat."
Bill Daugherty showed the Indian chiefs over his fort, explained the
working of his guns and cannons. He had 40 port holes in the houses and
shelves under each one on which to rest a gun. After giving them a large
box of smoking tobacco, he told them they could go on back to their camp
and that he would keep the soldiers peaceable if he would keep his
braves peaceable. Captain Conkey told Daugherty that he believed he
would go down and see the chief, and Bill answered him, to "go if you
d--ed please, and you want to lose your scalp, for they will surely not
put up with your palaver." Conkey concluded that he had better remain in
the home of his enemy than risk his precious scalp at the camp of
the Indians.

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