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COOL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Cops Hard Nosed Folks Both Good & Bad Leadership of the highest kind This great Nation & Its People

Roosevelt Pursues the Boat Thieves

Theodore Roosevelt was particularly fond of retelling the story of his pursuit and capture of the boat thieves in the badlands. He put the story on paper in his 1888 book Ranch Life and the Hunting Trail.

In early spring of 1886, just as the ice was beginning to break up on the Little Missouri River, three thieves cut Roosevelt’s boat from its mooring at the Elkhorn Ranch and took it downriver. Roosevelt, out of personal pride and duty as a Billings County Deputy Sheriff, chased after them with his ranch hands Bill Sewall and Wilmot Dow.

As you read the story, imagine the thrill of the entire event for Roosevelt. A spring flood is no trivial matter, and navigating a river jammed with ice and powerful currents is treacherous work. The weather was viciously cold.

The men he was chasing were armed and dangerous. How might you have reacted to the theft of a replaceable boat when capturing the thieves was so time-consuming and dangerous? The story begins with the ice breaking up on the Little Missouri River at the Elkhorn Ranch in March, 1886:Ice jam on the Little Missouri River

“It moved slowly, its front forming a high, crumbling wall, and creaming over like an immense breaker on the seashore; we could hear the dull roaring and crunching as it ploughed down the river-bed long before it came in sight round the bend above us.

The ice kept piling and tossing up in the middle, and not only heaped itself above the level of the banks, but also in many places spread out on each side beyond them, grinding against the cottonwood-trees in front of the ranch veranda….”

“At night the snowy, glittering masses, tossed up and heaped into fantastic forms, shone like crystal in the moonlight; but they soon lost their beauty, becoming fouled and blackened, and at the same time melted and settled down until it was possible to clamber out across the slippery hummocks.”

“We had brought out a clinker-built boat especially to ferry ourselves over the river when it was high, and were keeping our ponies on the opposite side….

This boat had already proved very useful and now came in handier than ever, as without it we could take no care of our horses.

We kept it on the bank, tied to a tree, and every day would carry it or slide it across the hither ice bank, usually with not a little tumbling and scrambling on our part, lower it gently into the swift current, pole it across to the ice on the farther bank, and then drag it over that…”

On the other side, Roosevelt discovered evidence of mountain lions hunting deer among the bluffs. He followed the trail, but, after losing the trail, he headed back, determined to hunt the mountain lions the next day.

“But we never carried out our intentions, for next morning one of my men, who was out before breakfast, came back to the house with the startling news that our boat was gone – stolen, for he brought with him the end of the rope with which it had been tied, evidently cut off with a sharp knife; and also a red woollen mitten with a leather palm, which he had picked up on the ice. ”

“We had no doubt as to who had stolen it; for whoever had done so had certainly gone down the river in it, and the only other thing in the shape of a boat on the Little Missouri was a small flat-bottomed scow in the possession of three hard characters who lived in a shack, or hut, some twenty miles above us, and whom we had shrewdly suspected for some time of wishing to get out of the country, as certain of the cattlemen had begun openly to threaten to lynch them.

They belonged to a class that always holds sway during the raw youth of a frontier community, and the putting down of which is the first step toward decent government….”

“The three men we suspected had long been accused – justly or unjustly – of being implicated both in cattle-killing and in that worst of frontier crimes, horse-stealing; it was only by an accident that they had escaped the clutches of the vigilantes the preceding fall.

Their leader was a well-built fellow named Finnigan, who had long red hair reaching to his shoulders, and always wore a broad hat and a fringed buckskin shirt.

He was rather a hard case, and had been chief actor in a number of shooting scrapes. The other two were a half-breed, a stout, muscular man, and an old German, whose viciousness was of the weak and shiftless type….We had little doubt that it was they who had taken our boat…”

“Accordingly we at once set to work in our turn to build a flat-bottomed scow wherein to follow them….In any wild country where the power of law is little felt or heeded, and where every one has to rely upon himself for protection, men soon get to feel that it is in the highest degree unwise to submit to any wrong…no matter what cost of risk or trouble.

To submit tamely and meekly to theft or to any other injury is to invite almost certain repetition of the offense, in a place where self-reliant hardihood and the ability to hold one’s own under all circumstances rank as the first of virtues.”

“Two of my cowboys, Sewall and Dow…set to work with a will, and, as by good luck there were plenty of boards, in two or three days they had turned out a first-class flat-bottom, which was roomy, drew very little water, and was dry as a bone; and though, of course, not a handy craft, was easily enough managed in going downstream. Into this we packed flour, coffee, and bacon enough to last us a fortnight or so, plenty of warm bedding, and the mess-kit; and early one cold March morning slid it into the icy current, took our seats, and shoved off down the river.”

Roosevelt had also brought along a copy of Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina, and a camera to document the capture.
“There could have been no better men for a trip of this kind than my two companions, Sewall and Dow. They were tough, hardy, resolute fellows, quick as cats, strong as bears, and able to travel like bull moose.”

“For three days, the three men navigated the icy, winding river among the colorful clay buttes hoping to take the thieves captive without a fight. A shootout was a concern, for Roosevelt noted that “the extraordinary formation of the Bad Lands, with the ground cut up into cullies, serried walls, and battlemented hilltops, makes it the country of all others for hiding-places and ambuscades.”

However, Roosevelt was certain that the thieves would not suspect that he was in pursuit, for they had stolen virtually the only boat on the river. Roosevelt, Sewall, and Dow battled against the elements, too, enduring temperatures down to zero degrees Fahrenheit. Along the way, they “passed a group of tepees,” the “deserted winter camp of some Gros-ventre Indians, which some of my men had visited a few months previously on a trading expedition.”

Through numbing cold, they continued their pursuit.

“Finally our watchfulness was rewarded, for in the middle of the afternoon of this, the third day we had been gone, as we came around a bend, we saw in front of us the lost boat, together with a scow, moored against the bank, while from among the bushes some little way back the smoke of a camp-fire curled up through the frosty air. We had come on the camp of the thieves.

As I glanced at the faces of my two followers I was struck by the grim, eager look in their eyes. Our overcoats were off in a second, and after exchanging a few muttered words, the boat was hastily and silently shoved toward the bank.

As soon as it touched the shore ice I leaped out and ran up behind a clump of bushes, so as to cover the landing of the other, who had to make the boat fast. For a moment we felt a thrill of keen excitement and our veins tingled as we crept cautiously toward the fire, for it seemed likely that there would be a brush…”

“The men we were after knew they had taken with them the only craft there was on the river, and so felt perfectly secure; accordingly , we took them absolutely by surprise.

The only one in camp was the German, whose weapons were on the ground, and who, of course, gave up at once, his two companions being off hunting. We made him safe, delegating one of our number to look after him particularly and see that he made no noise, and then sat down and waited for the others.

The camp was under the lee of a cut bank, behind which we crouched, and, after waiting an hour or over, the men we were after came in. We heard them a long way off and made ready, watching them for some minutes as they walked toward us, their rifles on their shoulders and the sunlight glinting on the steel barrels.

When they were within twenty yards or so we straightened up from behind the bank, covering them with our cocked rifles, while I shouted to them to hold up their hands – an order that in such a case, in the West, a man is not apt to disregard if he thinks the giver is in earnest.

The half-breed obeyed at once, his knees trembling for a second, his eyes fairly wolfish; then, as I walked up within a few paces, covering the centre of his chest so as to avoid overshooting, and repeating the command, he saw that he had no show, and, with an oath, let his rifle drop and held his hands up beside his head.”

Roosevelt kept watch over the captives as Sewall and Dow chopped firewood. “I kept guard over the three prisoners, who were huddled into a sullen group some twenty yards off, just the right distance for the buckshot in the double-barrel.”

Unable to tie up their captives, for doing so meant, “in all likelihood, freezing both hands and feet off during the night,” the captives were made to remove their boots, “as it was a cactus country, in which a man could travel barefoot only at the risk of almost certainly laming himself for life.”
“By this time they were pretty well cowed, as they found out very quickly that they would be well treated so long as they remained quiet, but would receive some rough handling if they attempted any disturbance.”

“Next morning we started downstream, having a well-laden flotilla, for the men we had caught had a good deal of plunder in their boots, including some saddles….

Finnigan, who was the ringleader, and the man I was especially after, I kept by my side in our boat, the other two being put in their own scow, heavily laden and rather leaky, and with only one paddle.

We kept them just in front of us, a few yards distant, the river being so broad that we knew…any attempt to escape to be perfectly hopeless.”

Upon reaching an impassable ice jam in the river, Roosevelt, Sewall, and Dow debated how to proceed. Unwilling to abandon their supplies, they chose to wait for the icy river began to flow again.

Theodore Roosevelt Guards Boat Thieves
“I kept guard over the three prisoners, who were huddled into a sullen group some twenty yards off, just the right distance for the buckshot in the double-barrel.”

Harvard College Library Theodore Roosevelt Collection

“The next eight days were as irksome and monotonous as any I ever spent: there is very little amusement in combining the functions of a sheriff with those of an arctic explorer. The weather kept as cold as ever.”

“We had to be additionally cautious on account of being in the Indian country, having worked down past Killdeer Mountains, where some of my cowboys had run across a band of Sioux – said to be Tetons – the year before.

 

Very probably the Indians would not have harmed us anyhow, but as we were hampered by the prisoners, we preferred not meeting them; nor did we, though we saw plenty of fresh signs, and found, to our sorrow, that they had just made a grand hunt all down the river, and had killed or driven off almost every head of game in the country through which we were passing.”

 

“…If the time was tedious to us, it must have seemed never-ending to our prisoners, who had nothing to do but to lie still and read, or chew the bitter cud of their reflections…. They had quite a stock of books, some of a rather unexpected kind. Dime novels and the inevitable ‘History of the James Brothers’… As for me, I had brought with me ‘Anna Karénina,’ and my surroundings were quite grey enough to harmonize well with Tolstoï.”

Low on supplies by the time they reached the C Diamond ranch, Roosevelt, Sewall and Dow decided to split up; Sewall and Dow would continue downriver and Roosevelt would march the prisoners overland to Dickinson.

Before Sewall and Dow proceeded downriver, Roosevelt borrowed a pony and rode to the nearest ranch, where he hired the settler to drive his prairie schooner with “two bronco mares.” The settler “could hardly understand why I took so much bother with the thieves instead of hanging them offhand.” Roosevelt “soon found the safest plan was to put the prisoners in the wagon and myself walk behind with the inevitable Winchester.”

“Accordingly I trudged steadily the whole time behind the wagon through the ankle-deep mud. It was a gloomy walk. Hour after hour went by always the same, while I plodded along through the dreary landscape – hunger, cold, and fatigue struggling with a sense of dogged, weary resolution….”

 

“So, after thirty-six hours’ sleeplessness, I was most heartily glad when we at last jolted into the long, straggling main street of Dickinson, and I was able to give my unwilling companions into the hands of the sheriff. Under the laws of Dakota I received my fees as a deputy sheriff for making the three arrests, and also mileage for the three hundred odd miles gone over – a total of some fifty dollars.”

That Roosevelt went to such lengths to bring these three criminals to justice was uncommon in his time and place. Such magnanimity was not overlooked by the captives. Writing to Roosevelt from prison some time later, Mike Finnigan closed a letter, “P.S. Should you stop over at Bismarck this fall make a call to the Prison. I should be glad to meet you.”

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Hard Nosed Folks Both Good & Bad

Burma? Yeah let me see now, uh Malaria, Cobras and some pissed off Japs with guns. Uh I’ll pass!

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Hard Nosed Folks Both Good & Bad

A Broadway Guy: the Second Life of Bat Masterson By Eric Rossborough

When Bat Masterson and his brother Ed heard of a job building a railroad grade in the summer of 1872, they took it. They had been out on the Kansas plains, skinning buffalo. The hides were pulled off, to be turned into coats, blankets, and most importantly, belts for the factories that were growing in Eastern cities.

The meat was left to rot. The air was full of flies, the stink of rotting carcasses, and the unyielding sun. The air boomed with the sound of rifles. This was the last push before the buffalo were wiped out entirely. A whole economy was built around it.

In a few years the buffalo would be gone, replaced by a sea of bones which in turn were picked up and shipped east to be ground into fertilizer.

Raymond Ritter hired Bat and Ed to build the grade, which was to run from Fort Dodge to Buffalo City. Ritter set the boys to work and left to get the money. He would be back, he said.

He wouldn’t. Empty handed, Bat and Ed, joined by their brother Jim, took another job with a buffalo hunting crew and headed back out onto the plains, this time in winter, to a world of howling blizzards and bitter cold.

In January of 1873, Jim and Ed went back to their folks’ farm in Sedgewick, but Bat hung out. Buffalo City, recently rechristened Dodge City, was a cluster of tents, but he was attracted by the gambling and the nightlife.

Bat Masterson during his period as Sheriff of Ford County. Photo courtesy of Boot Hill Museum, Dodge City, KS.

It was at this point that Bat heard from a friend that Raymond Ritter would be coming back through town, eastbound, over the new railroad tracks.

When the train showed up, Bat got on board and walked slowly through each car. Raymond Ritter was shocked to see Bat Masterson, and more shocked still to see the barrel of a revolver pointed at his face. Ritter howled that he was being robbed as Bat hauled him out on the platform, but that didn’t help him any. None of the gathering crowd interfered.

“I’m only collecting what you owe me, and everybody here knows that. You ran out on me and Ed, but now you’re going to pay up.”

He got his money. In true Western fashion, Bat Masterson led everybody to a saloon on Front Street and put up for drinks. He was nineteen years old.

The buffalo gone, the economic focus of the newly named Dodge City would change, in the in the fast-changing resource exploitation economy of the frontier, to cattle. In 1877, Bat was elected Sheriff.

He and his buddy Wyatt Earp practiced a novel form of 19th century policing: buffaloing. Instead of shooting the drunken cowboys who flooded the town in summer, they would knock them in the head with their revolvers and throw them in the clink to dry out. In the context of the time this represented enlightened, community-based policing.

“Bat always had an air about him, a blend of cockiness and charisma that seemed to charm just about everyone he met, and a style that seemed to invite good times,” wrote a historian.

He repeatedly demonstrated utter fearlessness. He had no problem facing down entire mobs by himself. There are numerous accounts of him traveling hundreds of miles to help friends in trouble. But being a sheriff was a form of supplemental income for him. What he really liked was gambling.

Working on the side as security and as a dealer at various saloons and gambling joints, this got him on the wrong side of some community boosters, who considered Bat and his friends an element that had to be eliminated in the name of progress. He lost the next election by a few votes. Bat took the side of the gambling contingent with glee. This led to Bat’s first foray into journalism, his own self-created newspaper, The Vox Populi.

Written solely to influence the outcome of the 1884 elections in Dodge City, The Vox Populi is an entertaining screed of Latinate words and personal insults. “Ford County does not want the scum and filth of other communities for county attorney, such is Burns the Republican candidate.” And, “E. D. Swan would be a nice man to have charge of the poor widows and orphans of Ford County, after turning his aged and decrepit father out on to the streets to die of starvation.”

Bat’s slate of endorsed candidates won, and he folded The Vox Populi after one issue. The Dodge City Globe noted that while “The news and statements it contains seem to be of a somewhat personal nature…. The editor is very promising; if he survives the first week of his literary venture there is no telling what he may accomplish in the journalistic field.” Bat Masterson would not return to journalism for another twenty years, but the seed had been planted.

Bat Masterson worked as a faro dealer in places like the Long Branch Saloon in Dodge City. Photo courtesy of Boot Hill Museum, Dodge City, KS.

By 1884, Bat had assumed an itinerant life, working a gambling circuit that includedin part: Dodge; Las Vegas, New Mexico; Denver; and Kansas City. He dressed nice. “W. B. Masterson is well-known in this city.

He is a handsome man, and one who pleases the ladies,” wrote one newspaper. Affable and good-humored, in 1885 Bat was voted most popular man in Dodge over the 4th of July and given a gold-headed cane and a watch.

Meanwhile, he dove headfirst into what would be the consuming passion of the rest of his life: boxing. Bat did not like other sports. Baseball, he wrote, was “almost as weird as football.”

He didn’t even seem to have much interest in that most preponderant Western sport, horse racing. He worked as a referee, promoter, and manager, notably wading into the ring in 1893 in Denver and punching the opposing boxer in the face when a melee broke out.

At this time boxing was a barely legal endeavor. Boxers fought dozens of rounds bare-knuckled. Gore was common. Bat, predictably, was in the middle of “The Great Fistic Carnival” of 1896; he was hired by the Pinkertons to provide security.

Scheduled for El Paso, pressure from religious leaders who wanted to ban boxing forced the match out of Texas and across the river into Mexico. No dice. Mexican Rurales lined the south shore of the Rio Grande to make sure this did not happen. New Mexico was out, too; Congress rushed through a measure prohibiting boxing in any U.S. territory.

Bat always seemed to find himself fighting a rearguard action against people who wanted to purify the world. The match ended up being held on an island in the middle of the Rio Grande River, while Texas Rangers and Mexican troops lined the respective shores in order to watch.

When Bat fell out with another boxing promoter over a business deal and Bat resolved the issue by beating the guy with a cane in the middle of a Denver street, it was kind of time to leave. It was at this point he was contacted by the Lewis brothers.

The John L. Sullivan-Jake Kilrain boxing match at Richburg, Miss., July 1889. Masterson served as timekeeper and bodyguard for Kilrain at this fight, the last bare-knuckles heavyweight championship held. Bat Masterson did not miss a major boxing match in the U.S. for decades. Courtesy Library of Congress 2002706358.

A loyal friend and voluminous correspondent, two of the people Bat had stayed in touch with were journalists Alfred Henry Lewis and his brother William.

They were impressed by Bat’s stories and fearlessness, and when they worked their way up the newspaper ladder from dusty Western towns to New York City, they dropped their friend a line. Why didn’t he just move to New York? They could hook him up with a job.

The man who had lived fifty years of rootless existence was about to find a home. How often does this happen? Are people frequently born into a situation when they would be better off in another? Bat and his wife Emma headed east. Sure, the first day in town he was arrested for carrying a revolver, but that only added to the patina surrounding a genuine denizen of the Wild West.

The Lewis brothers started Bat out on boxing, but they eventually let him write whatever he wanted. The New York Morning Telegraph focused on sports, scandals, and pictures of pretty girls.

They had no political position other than they were against reformers. For Bat Masterson, it was a perfect fit. Bat’s three times a week column was eventually titled, “Masterson’s Views on Timely Topics,” and included commentary on boxing and anything else Bat Masterson wanted to pontificate on.

Bat Masterson on the streets of New York. Courtesy Library of Congress 2014687046

Bat Masterson showed an uncanny ability to adapt. He went from frontiersmen to product and producer of the media age almost seamlessly. A reporter asked Bat if he missed the excitement of the Wild West. Bat said, “I am a Broadway guy now.”

He went from being a rootless Westerner who had no fixed address other than hotels for years to being a provincial New Yorker who didn’t even leave his own neighborhood. He wrote, “Over on the West Side somewhere there is a place called Greenwich Village. I can’t tell where or how it got the name, but it’s there nevertheless.”

“Bat had no literary style but he had plenty of moxie,” said Damon Runyon. He proved a generous mentor to an upcoming generation of prominent journalists, including Runyon, Louella Parsons, Heywood Broun, and Stuart Lake.

Inspired by Bat’s stories, Lake went on to write a signal biography of Wyatt Earp. Runyon went on to greater literary fame when his short story, “The Idyll of Miss Sarah Brown,” was turned into the play Guys and Dolls, which featured a man based on Bat as the main character.

It must have been startling to go from the guerilla warfare, hard labor, heat, and dust of the Kansas plains to eating in fancy restaurants every night.

Bat moved to Times Square during a period of change. Theatres were being built in the neighborhood. Colorful characters and famous people abounded. Bat counted as his companions not just journalists and boxers but celebrities such as songwriter George M. Cohan and John McGraw, manager of the New York baseball Giants.

Actually maybe it wasn’t all that different of a life. Bat had always been surrounded by colorful characters. But now he was doing it in a nicer setting. And the stage from which he held forth was Shanley’s.

The restaurant extended along Broadway from Forty-third to Forty-fourth, right off Times Square. One historian noted that Shanley’s greatest attraction was not its food, but the fact that it was “The favorite loafing place of the celebrated Bat Masterson. Every night the old-time gun fighter, resembling nothing so much as a huge spider, presided over a big steak in a corner of Shanley’s grill, holding a crowd spellbound with tales which were about as wild and wooly as the West he was describing.”

Scrupulously honest, gamblers considered him “square.” In his later life he spent a lot of time, effort, and ink trying to keep boxing honest. When Bat heard a fix was on in one fight, he cornered the boxer in a hotel lobby. How much was he taking to lay down?

“$7,500,” the flustered fighter responded.

That blew that fix. Bat Masterson had a way of making people back down. People frequently commented on his eyes. Wyatt Earp wrote that Bat’s “wide, round eyes expressed the alert pugnaciousness of a blooded bull-terrier…. They were well-nigh unendurable in conflict.”

When Alfred Henry Lewis was doing research on the New York underworld, he got Bat to accompany him into Hell’s Kitchen. Nothing happened. The West Side toughs knew all about Bat Masterson, apparently. They wanted no part of him, even if he looked at that point like a balding, overweight, middle-aged man.

Bat Masterson, shortly before his passing, in his office with movie star William S. Hart. Photo courtesy of Boot Hill Museum, Dodge City, KS.

He went out West once again, to a boxing match, and on the way east the train stopped in Dodge. Bat and his friends got out on the platform for a few minutes and ate in a Harvey restaurant, but that was it.

Unlike friends of his such as Earp, who spent the summers in the California desert at a mining claim, Bat was content to eat in restaurants every night. He wrote a series of profiles of Western gunfighters he had known, at William Lewis’ behest, but he would never write about himself.

On a trip to Hot Springs, Arkansas, itself a gambling center, Bat declined the offer of a horseback ride. The man who had once ridden a horse to death in pursuit of outlaws had had quite enough of that.

He showed no interest in the sort of outdoor activities that might appeal to someone who had grown up on the frontier. Bat Masterson had become a man of creature comforts. Bat’s adaptability allowed he and Emma to live comfortably in a five-room apartment.

This was notable. Many of his frontier contemporaries had trouble adapting once their bodies wore out. Wyatt Earp ended his life in near-penury and left his wife with nothing.

Buffalo Bill Cody called his Nebraska ranch “Scout’s Rest.” The idea was that the broken-down Westerners who Cody had spent his youth around would have someplace to go, and not a few of them took him up on his offers of help. Buffalo Bill provided jobs and money for his contemporaries, but Bat Masterson needed no help.

Bat Masterson died at his desk on October 25, 1921. He was 67 years old. He had just completed what would be his last column. A couple weeks before his passing he had been visited by William S. Hart, the great Western movie star of the era. “I play the hero that Bat Masterson inspired,” Hart said. “More than any other man I have ever met I admire and respect him.”

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