Chapter VII: Commercial Ventures and Adventures

BILL MCDONALD'S METHOD OF COLLECTING A BILL; AND HIS METHOD OF HANDLING BAD MEN

The inclination to commercial enterprise still survived. At the end of a year McDonald sold his cattle and invested in the lumber business at Wichita Falls--another railway terminus, dropped down in the prairie, with a population of about two thousand, at that time. A little later he established a branch business at Harrold when the railway reached that point. Two big lumber yards were already established at Wichita Falls, and the competition was strenuous. It was a brief experience for McDonald, for he presently yearned for the freer life of the range, and soon abandoned commerce, once more, for cattle--this time for good. Yet the experience was not without valuable return, inasmuch as it established for him in Wichita Falls, quickly and permanently, a reputation of a useful kind in a country where law and order are likely to be of an elemental, go-as-you-please sort. It happened in this wise:

There was a merchant in Baylor County, Texas, to whom Lumberman McDonald sold a good bill, on time. The account ran along, until one day the county judge of Baylor, one Melvin, dropped in and stated that he had called to settle the amount for his neighbor. He gave his own check for it and McDonald supposed the matter had ended. A few days later the bank returned Melvin's check as worthless. Evidently the quiet unobtrusive life which Bill Jess had been living as a lumber merchant had given the impression that he was an inoffensive person who would pocket a loss rather than make trouble, especially with a county judge, who added to his official prestige the reputation of being a very bad man from "far up Bitter Creek." However, this impression was a mistake. McDonald ascertained that his customer had really sent the money by Melvin, to pay his bill, and considered what he ought to do. Morally, perhaps legally, he could have demanded payment a second time, on the ground that the said customer, being acquainted with Melvin, should have selected a more reliable messenger. But that was not the Bill McDonald way. What he did was to write to Melvin, demanding an explanation; adding in pretty positive terms that he expected immediate settlement. No reply came and a second and a third letter followed, each getting more definite as to phrase. Then one day Melvin and certain henchmen from Baylor appeared on the streets of Wichita Falls. McDonald who had heard of their arrival, suddenly confronted Melvin and delivered himself in whatever terms and emphasis as he had on hand at the moment. Melvin withdrew, gathered his clans and laid for McDonald in a saloon where the latter had to pass. Though previously warned of the ambush, McDonald did pass, with the result that next morning Melvin settled his bill in full, paid for a glass door that he had broken, and a fine and costs amounting to sixty-five dollars, for carrying concealed weapons. What really happened to Melvin is best told in Bill Jess's own testimony when that same morning he had, himself, been summoned to answer a charge for carrying concealed weapons, disturbing the peace, and for assault--said action being the result of Melvin's judicial pull. Arriving at the court-room the prosecuting attorney asked McDonald if he had a lawyer.

"No," he said, "I don't need anybody to defend me for knocking that scoundrel over. I'll attend to my own case, whatever is necessary."

The attorney then stated the charge to the court. Bill Jess waited until he was through and then asked permission to speak.

"Your honor," he said, rising, "I'm a busy man with no time to be fooling around this way with men who give bogus checks and steal horses and such like, but if your honor will spare about a minute I'll tell the court what happened." He then gave a history of the lumber transaction, and added the sequel, as follows:

"When I wrote him as strong a letter as I could frame up, and as would go through the mail, he came down with a crowd of what he thought was fighting men, and I met him and tried like a gentleman to persuade him to settle up and to convince him what a dad-blamed rascal he was; which he pled guilty to, and didn't deny. Then he gathers his feeble bunch of fighters together, arms them up with six-shooters and corrals them in Bill Holly's saloon, that I had to pass, going home. I met Johnny Hammond who tried to persuade me not to take that street--said those fellows were up there and I'd better go in some other direction. I said I wasn't in the habit of going out of my way for such cattle, and proceeded on up the street. When I got in front of Bill Holly's, Melvin and his warriors stepped out. Melvin wanted an explanation of my former remarks, and I gave it to him and added some more which I would not like to mention in the presence of the court. Then he pulled out a big white-handled forty-five six-shooter, but being a little slow with it, I grabbed it by the barrel and hit him with my fist two or three times, which kind of jarred him loose from his gun. Then I gave him a rap on the head with it and knocked him through Bill Holly's glass-front door, into the saloon. His pals pulled their guns, but I covered them with the one I took away from Melvin and they nearly broke the furniture to pieces getting out of there. I didn't see any more of any of them until next morning. Then I looked up the bunch and got a check in full, with interest, from Melvin, and made him pay Bill Holly five dollars for his glass door. So far as carrying a gun is concerned, I had one, and I got another from this fellow here who had pulled it on me. I took it away from him and hit him with it, and I have the same here in my possession now, to turn over to the Court."

Bill Jess reached down somewhere and drawing forth the big white handled six-shooter, laid it down in front of the court. Then suddenly turning upon Melvin who was present, he looked him straight through.

"Melvin, is not all I have told the Court true?" he demanded.

Melvin found himself unable to tell anything but the truth, just then.

"Yes, sir," he said, quite meekly.

McDonald was discharged and Melvin paid a fine as before noted. Following this incident came another which solidified Bill McDonald's reputation for nerve, in Wichita Falls. Bill Holly, the aforementioned--whose name in another part of the State had been Buck Holly, which he forgot when he left East Texas, after getting into a mix-up, during which the other man died--one day absorbed an overdose of his own stock-in-trade and set forth to shoot up the town. He went afoot and let go at things generally, emptying the streets and bringing business to a standstill. The city marshal was organizing a posse to take him, and summoned McDonald, when McDonald said:

"Give me the key to the calaboose, and the' won't be no need of a posse."

He took the key in one hand and a six-shooter in the other; marched up to where Holly was practicing on front-doors and hardware signs; struck the gun close up under the nose of the disturber, and with his quick magic, disarmed him and set out with him for the lockup. Holly begged and pleaded and was finally locked in a room in the hotel. He broke a window before morning and promptly paid for it by McDonald's request. He made a fairly quiet citizen during the remainder of McDonald's stay in Wichita Falls.

Removing to Hardeman County was the only thing that saved Bill McDonald from being drafted into official service where he was. Law abiding citizens with his gifts are scarce enough anywhere, and they were needed in the cattle districts of Texas. There was not much law in those parts, none at all outside of the towns. In the countries bordering on Indian Territory and up through the Pan-handle a man had to "stand pat" whatever his hand, and hold his own by strength of arm and quickness of trigger. Cow thieves and cut-throats abounded. Officials often worked in accord with them, or were afraid to prosecute. The man who would neither co-operate with outlaws nor condone their offences was already on the ground and would presently be in the field. It was a wide field and a fruitful one and the harvest was ripe for the gathering.

Hardeman County was a tough locality in the early eighties. It had lately been organized, and the settlers were cow-men, cowboys and gamblers--lawless enough, themselves--and another element, which pretended to be these things, but in reality consisted of outlaws, pure and simple. The latter lived chiefly off of the herds, driving off horses and cattle and hiding them in remote and inaccessible places. Often cattle were butchered; their hides, which were marked with brand and ear-marks were destroyed to avoid identification, and the meat was sold. Men who did these things were known well enough, but went unapprehended for the reasons named. In certain sections of the Territory itself and in No-man's Land (a piece of disputed ground lying to the north of the Pan-handle, now a part of Oklahoma) matters were even worse. In these places there was hardly a semblance of law. Certainly the need of active reform--of an official crusader, without fear and above reproach--was both wide and vociferous.