Chapter XI: Preface (11)

A short time after the receipt of the last anonymous letter, one of his oil tanks, which at the time contained about four or five hundred barrels of crude oil, was emptied one night, between dark and daylight, by some person who had gone to the tank and opened what was known as the lower faucet. This faucet, two inches in diameter, entered the tank about one-half foot above the bottom of the tank, and was placed there so that by opening it the salt water could be drawn out of the tank. All oil wells in that particular locality, which had to be pumped, produced a percentage of salt water, this water coming up with the oil. Salt water being heavier than the oil, immediately settled to the bottom of the tank, and for that reason, as the tank would become nearly filled to its top, it was the duty of the pumpers to open this salt water faucet and let the salt water escape from the bottom of the tank, in order to make room for more oil above.

On the night that this tank was emptied in the manner above described, there was about three feet of snow on the ground. The weather was cold, and the snow had drifted around the tank so that it was about four feet deep above the faucet in question. I will state here that the constant drawing off of the salt water had thoroughly saturated the ground for a space of two or three feet square under the faucet, and for this reason, the ground was soft and a little muddy. The saturated earth would not freeze in cold weather on account of the large quantities of salt which had become impregnated with the dirt. At the time this tank was emptied by means of the opening of the faucet, the oil, which was very inflammable, ran down into a ravine, which was thickly dotted with oil wells and tanks for a mile or more. But, fortunately, the flowing oil did not happen to reach any of the fires that were under the boilers of the pumping stations. If it had, it would have instantly burned everything within reach along the side of the ravine, thereby destroying hundreds of thousands of dollars' worth of property and in all probability many lives.

Mr. Ackert called upon me the morning after the occurrence above related and told me of what had occurred, stating at the same time, that he had no idea who was dastardly enough to perpetrate this malicious act. He knew of no enemy on earth and was more than anxious that I investigate the matter and locate the party, or parties guilty of the crime. He also told me of having received and retained the anonymous letters before mentioned. I instructed him to bring the letters to me at once, which he did. I noticed that the letters were written on the same brand of paper and in a legible and penmanlike manner and evidently by the same hand and pen. By the end of the third day of my investigation I had learned of the dismissal of Henry Book, and the difficulties he had had with Supt. Sullivan. I had also learned that his brother, George Book, was a good scholar, had been a country school teacher some years before in his native county, which was Crawford County, Pa. I had also found out that he was considered an extra good penman, and during my investigation was informed that there had been other loots of oil well tools and other valuable property on the Ackert and adjacent leases.

I decided to locate the writer of the anonymous letters. Being familiar with the manner of operating oil wells, I donned the suit of an oil driller, which usually consists of overalls. These overalls become spattered over with sand pumpings, giving the wearer the general appearance of a bill-poster. The weather was very cold, the thermometer standing below zero the night that I left Oil City to visit the Ackert Lease and the pumping houses where I knew George Book would be on duty until midnight.

That evening, preparatory to my departure, I visited a meat market kept by a Mr. Steele, on Center Street, where I purchased five cents' worth of liver, telling Mr. Steele that I wanted it for a pet cat that stayed around my office. I dressed myself in heavy, warm clothing, which I wore under the overalls before described. Taking a small slice of the liver, I placed it in the hollow of my right hand. I then placed another piece of the liver on top of the same hand and tightly bandaged the hand with a piece of white muslin. The liver placed on my hand as described, soiled the tightly drawn bandage, which gave the hand the appearance of being very swollen and inflamed. I then improvised a sling around my neck by tying two handkerchiefs together so that I could place my right hand in the sling at the proper time. I started from Oil City, unidentified by reason of my costume, at about 7:00 o'clock in the evening, arriving at the Ackert Lease a few minutes after nine. I went direct to the engine house in which George Book was employed, found him sitting alone there in a large easy chair, in front of the boiler, which was being fired with natural gas and well lighted by the same, was warm and neatly kept. Book was reading a novel when I entered, and as the engine house was located but a few feet off the main road from Oil City to the town of Plummer, it was not an unusual thing for oil well men to stop at the engine house, while passing that way for the purpose of getting warm or getting a drink. So Book was not at all surprised when I appeared at that hour of the evening. I asked his permission to stand by the boiler to get warm. He replied that it was cold, and that he would be glad of my company. He eyed me closely for a while and finally said, "Where do you work?" I replied that I had been working on the Foster Farm, which was about fifteen miles southwest of Oil City and on the Allegheny River. He then remarked, "How did you get hurt?" as he noticed that I was carrying my right hand in a sling. I replied, "You have been kind in allowing me to get warm in your engine house, and you look to me like you would not get a fellow into trouble by giving him away, and I will tell you all about it." I began by saying, "You see, I am a driller and I was working under a superintendent. We had trouble over a girl and he had a gun. He shot me through the hand." I pulled my hand out of the sling and he exclaimed, "Gracious! You have an awful hand there and you should have medical attention at once." To which I replied, "I am going to have it attended to when I reach Petroleum Center. You should see the other fellow. I shot him, but I don't know whether he is dead or not, as I left immediately and have walked the entire distance, only stopping long enough to get a cup of coffee at the eating-house in the depot at Oil City." He said, "You must be hungry." His sympathy was now fully aroused and he was really a good-hearted fellow. I then said to him, "I have some friends at Petroleum Center who will keep me under cover and get me a doctor, but what is worrying me most now is that I cannot write with my left hand, and my folks live at Ft. Erie, Canada, which is just across the Niagara River opposite Buffalo, N. Y. I have been saving my money and sending it to my people at Fort Erie, and they have it deposited in a bank at Buffalo to my credit. I have a few hundred dollars there and if I could only write a letter to-night, and mail it on the early train to-morrow morning it would reach Fort Erie to-morrow night. My friends could then send me all the money that I need, which I would receive the day after to-morrow at Petroleum." To this he replied, "I am a pretty good penman, and would be glad to write the letter for you." On saying this, he excused himself and went to his house, which was close by, and returned in a few minutes with letter paper, envelopes, and a nice big lunch for two and a pot of hot coffee. We ate the lunch, and I had some cigars in my pocket. Then he started to write the letter at my dictation. In dictating the letter I used as many of the words as I could intelligently get in which had been used in the anonymous letters, the contents of which I had familiarized myself with. This letter of mine was not necessarily very long, as I discovered that he was using the same quality of paper upon which the anonymous letters were written. I also noticed before he had written three lines, that it was the same handwriting, and that he was using the same ink, and no doubt, the same pen, that he had used in writing the anonymous letters. He addressed the envelope, sealed and stamped it. I thanked him and departed for Petroleum Center, apparently, but in reality for Oil City, where I arrived about six o'clock in the morning.

During the forenoon I submitted my dictated letter, together with the anonymous letters, to an expert who was connected with the First National Bank of Oil City. He unhesitatingly stated that the letters were all written by the same person. I then went back in the afternoon to the Lease, knowing as I did that George, whom I had met the night before, would be off duty and probably in bed. I carefully shoveled the snow from around the faucet of the tank, and when I got down to the ground, I found two very distinct tracks of a No. 8 boot. The boots had been recently half-soled, the shoemaker who had made the repairs having placed three nails in a row across the center of the half-soles. This was his trade-mark. I soon located the shoemaker who had done this work. He remembered having repaired the boots for Henry Book a couple of days before the emptying of the tank.

I then returned to Oil City, procured a warrant for the arrest of the Book brothers, and that night about eleven o'clock I arrived at the Ackert Lease, where I found George on duty, as he had been the night before, and I found Henry in bed at George's house. On this occasion I was accompanied by two of my officers. We drove out in a sleigh. After making the arrest, we searched the house which was a one-story building with an attic. In the attic we found wagon loads of loot, from the Ackert Lease and adjacent leases, that was afterwards identified by the owners, as having been stolen from time to time, as before mentioned.

The Book brothers in due time, had a preliminary hearing and were committed to the County Jail in default of bail.

In the meantime Henry Book had confessed to having emptied the oil tank and George admitted the writing of the anonymous letters. About a week before their trial was to take place, there was a general jail delivery at Franklin, Pa., effected one very stormy night. There were fifteen or more prisoners who escaped. The Book brothers were among them. They boarded a north bound freight on the A. & G. W. R. R. which is now known as the "Erie." When at a point about twenty miles north of Franklin this freight train collided with another train. In the wreck Henry Book was killed instantly and George was so badly hurt that he died the following day. Thus ended the Ackert case.

I consumed in all not to exceed six days in connection with this case, unassisted except upon the night of the arrests, when I was accompanied by two of my officers, whose names were George W. Frye and Max Fulton.

CHARLIE DALTON, OUTLAW.

SPECTACULAR ARREST OF THIS MUCH-WANTED MAN ON A CROWDED ST. LOUIS STREET CAR

The arrest, in St. Louis, on the evening of March 12, 1888, of the notorious Charlie Dalton, was accomplished in a rather unique, yet sensational manner. Dalton had been "scouting" for a couple of years, with a large reward offered by the state of Texas and the Missouri Pacific Railway hanging over his head. Almost every sheriff, police officer and detective in the country had his description and were looking for him. The charge was murder, and the crime was committed during the 1886 strike on the Gould properties. On the afternoon of April 3, 1886, a freight train pulled out of Fort Worth, Texas, for New Orleans, Louisiana. Besides the regular crew, the train carried a number of guards in charge of Jim Courtwright, a noted western officer, who had formerly been Chief of Police, Sheriff and Deputy United States Marshal at Fort Worth.

As the train neared the Fort Worth and New Orleans crossing, it was fired on by a gang of outlaws and cut-throats, headed by Dalton, who were in ambush behind a pile of ties on the Missouri Pacific right-of-way. Two of the guards were killed outright and several wounded. The crime created a great sensation throughout the entire country, because of its dastardliness.

The St. Louis Globe-Democrat of April 13, 1886, editorially referred to it as the "Fort Worth Massacre."

Dalton and some of his gang were indicted by the Grand Jury, but when the officers began a hunt for them they had disappeared. Circulars announcing the amount of the reward and giving a description of the men wanted, were scattered almost broadcast over the United States, Canada and Mexico.

I received one of them, studied it carefully and got into communication with the officers at Fort Worth. I had never seen Dalton, but I had seen his brother, Geary, who was connected with the track department of the Missouri Pacific Railroad, in St. Louis, where he lived. I noticed a resemblance in the photo I had of Charlie to that of his brother, and had instructed my operatives to keep a sharp lookout for Charlie, as I had learned that his mother was then residing in Carondelet. In the latter part of February, 1888, one of my operatives reported that he had learned from a reliable source that the much-wanted man had been seen at his mother's home in Carondelet. Whereupon, I took measures to have the premises watched. I later learned that he had been making a practice of visiting the Standard Theatre nightly.

On learning this, I arranged with the Chief of Police of St. Louis to detail a couple of his men to visit the Standard Theatre nightly, where I should have one of my men, who knew Dalton, on hand, so that he might point him out to the officers, and they were to arrest him. These arrangements were all completed on the afternoon of March 12, 1888.

At about six o'clock that evening I left my office for home. I then lived at 2723 Walnut Street, and I walked to the corner of Eighth and Market Streets, where I boarded a horse-car for home. The car proceeded west and when we got to the corner of 10th and Market Streets, two good sized, rough-looking young men ran to the rear end of the car and swung themselves onto the platform, one of them lighting heavily on my right foot and hurting me very much. His partner followed him and stood on the lower step. This man, who had tramped on my foot, offered no apology for his rudeness, and, in fact, paid no attention to me or the injury he had done, but instead remarked to his partner that people ought to get out of the way when they saw a person wanting to catch a car. His partner said, "Charlie, we can't stay out at Geary's but a few minutes, as you know I have got tickets for the Standard tonight and we must get there early to get good seats."

"We won't stay out there only long enough to say goodbye, as we leave town in the morning," replied Charlie.

While they were talking I took a good look at the man addressed as Charlie, and from the conversation, and from the resemblance he had to his brother, I concluded that the man thus addressed was Charlie Dalton. I knew who Geary was, and I saw the resemblance that "Charlie" bore to him. I also knew that the car would necessarily have to pass what was then known as the Mounted Police Station, located between 27th and 28th Streets, on Market Street, and before reaching Geary's house, and I decided that when we got in front of the station I would arrest Mr. Dalton and lock him up there. He was standing directly in front of me on the platform and had me crowded up against the rear dashboard. He was a burly fellow, considerably taller than I was, and would weigh one hundred and seventy-five pounds. Having become satisfied that I had made no mistake in his identity, I waited until we had arrived in front of the police station, when I seized him by the coat collar with my left hand, pulled the bell-cord, and after the car had slowed up I sprang to the ground, taking Dalton with me, but as he struck the street, he facing the car, he fell on his back, and I, still holding onto his coat collar, reached for his pistol, which I was sure I would find, and I was not disappointed, for there it was in the waist band of his trousers, and proved to be a 41 Colts. Dalton then made an attempt to rise, but I took all of the fight out of him by giving him a blow over the head with his own weapon.

"What is this for?" he asked.

"Your name is Charlie Dalton and you are under arrest for murder," I replied.

"My name is Charlie Dalton, all right, by G-d, partner," he exclaimed.

I then took him by the collar and assisted him to his feet. I took the prisoner over to the police station and had him locked up, and later wired the Fort Worth authorities that I had arrested Charlie Dalton, and he was being held by the police of St. Louis, subject to their orders. In due time I received a reply from the Chief of Police of Fort Worth, requesting me to bring Dalton to that city, providing he would go without waiting for requisition papers. Dalton, having already informed me that he would go to Texas without requisition papers, I left with him for Ft. Worth the following evening. On our arrival there the prisoner was lodged in jail, and remained there a number of months without bond.

Between the date of the crime and the arrest of the cutthroat a number of witnesses against him had died. Others had left the state, and the result was that when his trial was called the state was unable to produce its evidence and the defendant was finally released from custody.

While it is true that I was anxious to apprehend this outlaw for the Texas authorities, and had just finished making preparations to do so should he visit the Standard Theatre that night, because of his known desperate character, and the further fact that he was accompanied by a big, husky pal, I doubt that I would have attempted his arrest single-handed, had it not been for the incidents enumerated. I know I would not have recognized him on this crowded car had not his rudeness attracted my attention especially to him. The remarks of his pal settled the question of his identity in my mind, and the pain in my foot and his insolence aroused my ire. The arrest followed, and it has a moral--"People should be careful as to whose toes they trample on."

CONSPIRATORS HANDED A LEMON.

SENSATIONAL ENDING OF AN ATTEMPT TO BRIBE ONE OF FURLONG'S OPERATIVES IN THE NOTED MILES WILL CASE. HOW THE CONSPIRACY WAS EXPOSED.

In the latter part of the '90s, Stephen B. Miles, a wealthy resident of Nebraska, died, leaving an estate consisting of lands in Nebraska and Kansas, bank stocks and bonds, and other property valued at several millions of dollars. He was survived by a wife, from whom he had been divorced, two sons, Joseph H. and Samuel, and a daughter, a number of nieces and nephews and several grand-children. One of the sons, Joseph H., was a prominent banker and business man of Falls City, Nebraska, and also had large interests in other towns in that state. He had been a telegraph operator in his younger days, and was highly esteemed by all who knew him, not only as a good citizen, but a wide-awake, clean business man.

The other son, Samuel, was about forty years of age, and resided with his family on one of his father's ranches over the Nebraska line in Kansas. He had been rather wild in his younger days and had caused his father much trouble because of his dissolute habits.

Shortly after the death of the elder Miles, a will was found in an old suit case, the provisions of which made Joseph H. Miles executor and trustee of the estate, and the chief beneficiary, Samuel being left, besides some money, a life interest in the ranch on which he and his family were living. At the death of him and his wife the ranch was to be deeded to Samuel's children. The will also plainly provided that Samuel could not either entail or dispose of the land.

The provisions of the will were very unsatisfactory, of course, to Samuel Miles, and, at the suggestion of his counsel, he began court proceedings to prevent the probating of it, and, not succeeding in this, later brought suit to have the will set aside.

In 1900 I had in my employ an operative by the name of D. F. Harbaugh. This man had become well known and had obtained considerable newspaper notoriety in and about Kansas City through cases he had worked on under my instructions. One day Harbaugh was approached in Kansas City by one of the lawyers employed to break the will, and asked if he (Harbaugh) could find a man whose former reputation had been good, who would go on the witness stand and testify to having drawn up and witnessed a will made by the elder Miles, while on one of his numerous trips to St. Louis during his life time. During the talk the lawyer told Harbaugh all about the conspiracy that had been formed to break the will--by "finding" a later will, and gave the names of all connected with the scheme. One of these men was a prominent lawyer in Falls City, Nebraska, another a man of great prominence at Omaha, and who had a big political pull throughout the state, while another was in good standing at the bar in St. Louis at that time. Harbaugh was further told that he would be paid a fee of $10,000 for his part when the will was broken, and as a further compensation the lawyer would send him to the Paris Exposition and back, paying all expenses up to the sum of $5,000. Harbaugh agreed to give the lawyer an answer in a few days, and left that evening for St. Louis.

The next morning Harbaugh told me all about the proposition that had been made to him, and asked for my opinion as to the best thing to do. I at once said, "There seems to be but two things to do in this case. One is, for you to completely ignore the proposition, as there can be no doubt as to the rascality of all the parties who are in any way connected with the scheme. The other, and in my opinion, the right thing to do, is for us to try and locate this man Joseph H. Miles, and appraise him of the conspiracy that is being worked up by these lawyers and his own brother against him. For, if we keep quiet and ignore the matter, they will, in all probability secure a man who will accept the proposition and we would be parties to this conspiracy for not having exposed it."

"Well," replied Harbaugh, "you are the boss, and it is up to you. I have told you all I know about the matter. I told this lawyer that his proposition was very important, and coming to me suddenly I would need a few days to think the matter over, and it would require at least a few days to select the right kind of a man--one that could be trusted. He approved of this and expects an answer from me in a week or ten days."

I at once undertook to locate Joseph H. Miles, and succeeded in twelve hours. I found that he lived at Falls City, Nebraska, that he was president of the First National Bank of that place, had a bank in another Nebraska city, and had a large interest in a bank in York, Pa., that he was a respectable citizen and prominent business man, and very well known. After locating him I wrote him a letter, which read about as follows:

Mr. Joseph H. Miles, Falls City, Nebraska.

Dear Sir:

If you are the son of the late Stephen B. Miles, and have a brother
by the name of Samuel Miles, and a number of nephews and nieces who
reside in Kansas and Nebraska, I have important information for
you, and will impart it personally if you will come to St. Louis.

I would suggest that you bring your lawyer, as I believe my
information important enough to justify you in so doing.

On receipt of this I wish that you would telegraph me, stating when
you will leave Falls City, and at what time you will arrive at St.
Louis. On arriving at St. Louis, go to the Planters Hotel, look at
the register where you will find my name, and you can then come
direct to my room, where I will be waiting for you and your
attorney.

I am using a fictitious name, for reasons that I will explain to
you when I see you.

Yours very truly

On receipt of the above letter Mr. Miles wired me promptly that he would leave Falls City the same evening and would arrive at St. Louis the following morning, via the Burlington Route, and would carry out instructions as per my letter.

I went to the Planters Hotel that evening, registered under the name I had given Mr. Miles, and was assigned to a room on the fourth floor.

The next morning about eight o'clock, Mr. Joseph H. Miles, accompanied by his lawyers, Ex-Judge Gillespie of Falls City, and Ex-Judge Martin, of the same place, and the latter's son who was a stenographer. I admitted them, and Mr. Miles stated his name, and asked if I was Mr. Foster, to which I replied in the affirmative. He introduced the other gentlemen and after they were seated I began my story by saying:

"Gentlemen, my name is Thomas Furlong, and I used the name of Foster in writing to Mr. Miles, because my name and business are known to a great many people in Nebraska, and a party connected with what I know to be a conspiracy against Mr. Miles, resides, and is an old citizen of Falls City, and would probably know my name if he heard it, and I did not know but what he might be connected with or know people connected with the telegraph office, and would thus learn that I had communicated with Mr. Miles, so I deemed it advisable not to use my own name. Now, gentlemen, before I give you the information that I have promised I wish that you would call on any of the general managers of any of the railroads that enter St. Louis, or the president of any bank in the city whom you may know, and ask him as to my character and standing."

Mr. Miles asked, "Does Mr. William Nickolson know you?"

I replied that Mr. Nickolson knew me very well. Mr. Miles said, "Mr. Nickolson is my correspondent here and has charge of more than a million dollars of our estate."

We walked over to Mr. Nickolson's bank and Mr. Miles entered the private office, leaving me standing in the corridor outside. As he entered the office he left the door open. Mr. Nickolson arose and greeted him, and at the same time spoke to me. After the greeting, Mr. Miles said to Mr. Nickolson, "I see that you know Mr. Furlong."

"Yes," replied Mr. Nickolson, "I have known Tom for years, and he is welcome to anything I have."

Mr. Miles said, "Mr. Furlong told me that you knew him and insisted on me coming down here and asking you about his standing in St. Louis."

After a little further conversation Mr. Miles shook hands with Mr. Nickolson and we returned to my room at the Planters, where Judges Martin and Gillespie and the stenographer were awaiting us. I then related in detail the story that I had recently heard from Harbaugh. After I had completed the narrative, all of which was taken in shorthand by the stenographer, the younger Mr. Martin, Harbaugh was sent for and he verified the statements I had made to the gentlemen. The conference then adjourned, the luncheon hour having arrived. All parties again assembled in my room at the Planters at two o'clock, when Judge Martin said, "We have been considering this statement of yours, Mr. Furlong. We have known for some time that these lawyers you have named have been trying to make trouble, but did not know until you told us today just what they intended to do, and now I want to say that Mr. Miles and myself appreciate what you have done in this matter so far, and we are anxious for your opinion as to what you think is the best way to proceed."

To which I replied, "I believe the best way to proceed would be for Harbaugh to go to the lawyer in Kansas City and tell him that he would accept his proposition, and that he would secure a man who could be relied on, and who would assume that he had written the will for the elder Mr. Miles. I would then select a man that I could trust and turn him over to Harbaugh. Harbaugh would take him to Kansas City and put him under the guidance of the lawyer. After these conspirators had thoroughly posted and instructed this man, whom they will expect to deliberately commit perjury, they will probably have his deposition taken in St. Louis. He will take the stand and be able to answer all questions put to him until asked if he wrote the will. When he is asked this question, being under oath, of course, he will tell the truth. In this way we will be able to prove the enormity of the crime and the cool audacity of the parties connected with it."

I turned to Mr. Miles and said, "That is my opinion, but if you do not approve of it and prefer to employ some one else to handle this case for you, you, of course, are at liberty to do so. I felt that it was my duty to advise you of this conspiracy and the manner in which I had received my information."

Judge Martin said, "Mr. Furlong, we want you to handle this case for us," and Mr. Miles nodded his head and said, "Yes, I want you to handle this case for me, and to handle it in your own way, and I will pay you your regular charge, allow you the expenses incurred, and pay you extra for your service." I told Mr. Miles that I did not expect anything of that sort, as I did not believe in rewards and never worked for them. He insisted, however, on paying me extra for my services, which he did, and I divided it equally with Harbaugh.

I instructed Harbaugh to go to Kansas City and get in touch with the crooked lawyer, which he did. I selected a man whom I knew well and believed to be honest. I instructed him as to what I wanted him to do, and in due time he was introduced to the Kansas City lawyer, by Harbaugh. The lawyer began instructing him and gave him a minute description of the deceased Stephen B. Miles, whom, of course, this man had never seen. He posted him as to a room in the old St. James Hotel that had been occupied by Stephen B. Miles in one of his trips to St. Louis. This was the place where the fake will was supposed to have been written. The lawyer was pleased with the man I had sent and feasted and dined him on several occasions when he was in Kansas City rehearsing the part he was to play in the conspiracy.

In the meantime Harbaugh had grown to be the apple of the crooked lawyer's eye, and from the good treatment he received from this creature Harbaugh had begun to admire him for his liberality.

At last a day was set for the taking of the deposition of the man who was supposed to have written the will. Due notice was served on the respective parties interested, and at the appointed time our man appeared at the office of the St. Louis attorney, and the taking of his deposition began. After being duly sworn, the St. Louis representative of the conspirators began to examine the witness in the usual way, asking a few preliminary questions, and at last reached the question, "Did you know Stephen B. Miles, deceased, and did you not write this will for him?" indicating a paper he had in his hand.

The witness said, "I have known a number of men by the name of Miles. Allow me to describe one of them and if his description suits I will be able to answer your question."

I had previously requested Mr. Miles' attorneys to let the St. Louis lawyer do all the questioning and examining, and not to object to any question that he might put to the witness, unless it was entirely out of reason. Therefore, they merely sat still, carefully noting everything and objecting to nothing.

Of course, the conspirators were anxious to get a strong deposition from the witness, and, therefore, he was permitted to describe the man Miles, for whom he was supposed to have written the will. The St. Louis attorney kept nodding approval to his fine description of the dead man. When he had fully described Mr. Stephen B. Miles to the satisfaction of the conspirators, he took the purported will and examined it carefully, saying, "The handwriting on that document looks like my handwriting, but (in a loud, clear voice) I did not write this or any other will for Mr. Stephen B. Miles, or any other person. I have never met the man Stephen B. Miles, nor the man that I have just described. I was instructed to give the description that I have given here by these lawyers (pointing to the St. Louis and Kansas City lawyers, who were both present) and I was expected by them to testify that I had written this will, and I was promised five thousand dollars if I would."

The reader can easily imagine the consternation that reigned among the conspirators at this testimony from the one they trusted would be their star witness. Our man left the stand and the further taking of testimony was discontinued, it is needless to add.

Mr. Miles and his attorneys believed that these conspirators had ceased their efforts for a time, but later on they produced another man whom they claimed had written the second will for Stephen B. Miles. He was a young man, also a lawyer, and had at one time lived in St. Louis for a short time, married there, and had gone to Old Mexico. He was discovered in Mexico by the Kansas City outfit and induced to come back to Chicago, Illinois, where his deposition was taken. He claimed to have written the will for an old man in St. Louis, but he was either afraid to describe him or could not do so, therefore his testimony was worthless.

The conspirators continued to try to break the original will until it was finally pronounced legal and valid by the Supreme Court of Nebraska, and Joseph H. Miles' rights were thoroughly and legally established.

During this litigation, however, two of the parties in the conspiracy died, and the others were not prosecuted for complicity, although their actions had put Joseph H. Miles to considerable trouble and expense. They had made several indirect propositions to Mr. Miles looking to a compromise, but he promptly repelled all of them.

Harbaugh's connection with my service has long since been severed, and he is now in the employ of Mr. Joseph H. Miles as manager of his large stock range in Nebraska, not far from Falls City, where the writer is informed he is doing well.

THE BIG SOUTHWEST STRIKE.

HOW THE BLOWS WHICH CAUSED THE DEATH KNELL OF THE KNIGHTS OF LABOR WERE ADMINISTERED.--STIRRING SCENES AND INCIDENTS CONNECTED WITH THE BIG STRIKE OF 1886.

If you have an ambition to lead a strenuous life, young man, and feel that excitement would serve as a tonic for your nervous system, and you want to gratify your ambition and secure the tonic in greater than homeopathic doses, both at the same time, just get yourself appointed chief special agent of a big railroad during a general strike. I am "dopeing" you right, for I have been "on the job" on several occasions during a strike, consequently know what I am writing about. The most strenuous thirty days of my long career, however, were the thirty days in 1886, when the whole southwestern system of Gould roads were tied up, and there was nothing doing in the traffic line. While there had been differences between the shopmen and the company for some time, these differences were considered trivial, and neither side had expected that they would result in a strike, consequently neither the men nor the company were prepared for the struggle when it began--at ten o'clock on the morning of the 4th of March. The shopmen, as well as many other employes of the Gould roads, including engineers, firemen and trainmen, were nearly all members of the Knights of Labor. Organizers and professional labor agitators had been busy all along the line for months, coaxing and coercing the men into the order. Martin Irons had been selected as chairman of the grievance committee, and while in Texas attending a meeting of the committee, called the strike, without consulting the national officers of the organization, a violation of one of the order's most stringent rules. He afterwards admitted that he would not have called the strike had he been sober.

Chairman of the Knights of Labor strike committee on the Gould System in 1886.]

Irons was a little weazen-faced Scotch-Irishman, with a past--as most of these professional labor agitators have. At the time of the strike he was on the payroll as a machinist of the Pacific Company at Sedalia, where he was living with what is now-a-days called an affinity, he having deserted his wife and several children in Ray County years before. He was thoroughly unreliable, a drunkard, and was hated by most of his followers. There were two redeeming things about him, however. A good voice was one of them. He could have earned a large salary as a train-caller or a barker for a tent show, and he was a good actor. Notwithstanding his repulsive appearance, and the fact that the shopmen did not like him, he could sway them as he pleased, if granted the privilege of addressing them--fill them with either tears or indignation, as best suited the occasion. He never made a speech in his life, though, during which he did not pay his respects to me and my men, and tell how we were shadowing and hounding him day and night. He did this to create sympathy. As a matter of fact, there never was a time when any of Gould's c-a-p-i-t-a-l-i-s-t-i-c b-l-o-o-d h-o-u-n-d-s, to use his own favorite expression, were ever on his trail. He was always regarded by my men and myself as a harmless demagogue, and not capable of doing anything that would cause us much trouble. In fact, the only thing he ever did in which he did not leave a trail behind him as wide as a railroad right-of-way, was the wire-tapping job he supervised during the strike, which will be referred to later.

As stated previously, the strike was called at ten o'clock on the morning of March 4, 1886. The sound of the big whistle, the blowing of which was the signal for the men to quit work, had hardly died away before the main yards of the company at St. Louis, which were just west of the old Twelfth St. station, were filled with a mob of at least ten thousand Knights of Labor and sympathizers. The company's shops at Chouteau and 29th Streets were also at once taken possession of by the strikers and their friends. Notwithstanding the fact that many of the employes of the company were loyal, and did not want to leave their jobs, these demonstrations caused them to do so. A call was sent in to police headquarters by General Superintendent Kerrigan, who was in charge of the operation of the Missouri Pacific and Iron Mountain roads, in the absence of Vice-President and General Manager Hoxie, who was detained at his home on account of illness, asking for police protection for the company's loyal employes and property. Maj. Lawrence Harrigan, then chief of police, responded to this call by detailing Sergt. Jack Campbell, who was afterwards chief of police, and eighteen men for duty on the company's property. The reader can easily imagine the predicament in which this little handful of officers found themselves in attempting to handle a mob of at least ten thousand. On orders from Mr. Kerrigan, I secured three engines and crews, and we began to make up a train. At this sign of activity the mob became frantic. Two of the engines were soon derailed and disabled. I then placed my force of special officers, which consisted of but a few men, on the remaining engine, and attempted to continue the switching of cars in order to get out a train of perishable goods, but we could not make any headway, as the mob pulled the pins, threw switches, derailed cars and otherwise interfered with the work. After a couple of hours had been thus consumed, I suggested to Mr. Kerrigan that we had furnished enough entertainment for the mob for one day, and told him I was going to take the engine to the round house to keep it from being disabled. "Do you think you can succeed in doing it, Tom?" asked Mr. Kerrigan. "I will do my best," I replied. "For goodness sake, do it, then, and when you get through come to my office as I want to consult with you."

The engine, which had been abandoned by the engineer and fireman, was standing just east of 12th St., a portion of it being under the viaduct which spanned that thoroughfare. The viaduct was lined with spectators and strikers and their sympathizers, many of the latter being armed with paving stones, links, pins, etc. As I climbed aboard the cab some miscreant hurled a paving stone at me. It came within a few inches of landing on my head. It is needless to state that if it had struck me I would not be writing this story. David R. Francis, at that time Mayor of St. Louis, was viewing the situation from the viaduct, and witnessed the attempt on my life. Turning to Robert S. McDonald, former Circuit Attorney, and a well-known lawyer, the Mayor exclaimed, "That man Furlong will get killed by that mob." After the incident, I espied the engineer standing in the crowd. I called to him in a loud voice, "Come here and let us take this engine to the roundhouse." On hearing this a mighty shout went up from the mob, and there was much rejoicing and clapping of hands, they thinking they had achieved a great victory--just what I wanted them to think. The engineer climbed on the engine and we made the trip to the roundhouse without molestation.

After the engine had been safely placed in its stall, I went at once to the office of General Superintendent Kerrigan. After thoroughly discussing the situation which confronted us, I suggested that he call on Judge Portis, at that time General Attorney of the Missouri Pacific, and insist on him preparing a legal notice to be served on the Mayor and Police Board and sheriff of St. Louis, setting forth that the company was being hindered in the operation of its property within the City and County of St. Louis, and State of Missouri, by a mob; that the company had many hundred thousand dollars' worth of perishable property in its cars in the yards in St. Louis, and also had plenty of competent and loyal employes who were willing and anxious to do the work of switching the cars and running the trains, but were prevented from doing so by said mob. Therefore, the company, after the serving of this notice, intended to hold the said city and county and state liable for all damages sustained by the company by reason of said mob's interference, as aforesaid. Mr. Kerrigan, acting on this suggestion, immediately called in Judge Portis, C. G. Warner, general auditor, W. H. Newman, the general freight traffic manager, and some other officers of the road, and had me repeat the suggestion to them, which I did. The attorney did not take kindly to the proposition at first, but at the demand of Mr. Kerrigan the notices were prepared, and later served on the officials named.

The receiving of these notices by the officials awakened them to their responsibilities. That evening a meeting of the Police Board was called by President Blair, and at its close an order was issued to Chief of Police Harrigan, instructing him to don his uniform early the next morning and lead every available man in the department to the Missouri Pacific yards, where he was to so station his men that none but loyal employes could enter the yards. The board's orders were carried out, the chief causing a line of men to be formed around the yards before the strikers had entered upon the property of the company.

At the head of a force of twenty-eight men, including a full train crew, conductor, engineer, fireman and three brakemen, I made up a train of ten cars and started west with them. We were not molested until we arrived at the Compton Avenue crossing. At this point a number of strikers under the leadership of a notorious agitator named Geary, were seen on the track. Each striker carried a small American flag, which they stuck up in the middle of the track at the crossing, and then every one began signalling us to stop, shouting to us that "we did not dare run over an American flag."

I want to state right here, that no man in this country has a greater respect for Old Glory than I have. I put in four years, one month and eight days defending it on one occasion, and thus helped to make it what it is today, and it made me feel pretty bad to see it put to the use it was on this occasion, and it is the only time in my life that I failed to pay the flag the respect due it. To make the story shorter, we paid no attention to the flags, and would have run over the mob had they not skeedaddled out of the way of that train.

At the city limits, Sergt. Campbell, who had been riding on the engine with me, left the train, and we continued on our journey westward. Sitting on the running board on either side of the engine I had two men, Billy Bonnell and Mike Gibbons, each armed with a shot gun. On the deadwood, or cowcatcher, in front of the engine, I had two other men, Jim McCane and W. K. Moir, each armed with revolvers, and each carrying a clawbar. We had expected to find some spiked switches, and these clawbars were to be used in pulling the spikes. The balance of my guards, all armed, were placed in the caboose and on top of the box cars. No trouble was encountered until we neared Pacific. We pulled into the town slowly, with all brakes set, so there would be no slack in the train, thus making it impossible for any one to dodge in between the cars and pull the pins, thus uncoupling the cars. We knew a lot of strikers had gone out to Pacific over the Frisco that morning, and expected trouble on arriving at that town. We were not disappointed. The first switch encountered had been turned for the side tracks and spiked, as had every other switch leading from the main line. My men who were armed with clawbars soon pulled the spikes and reset the switches and we slowly creeped into the town. The strikers were holding a meeting in an old brick house on the first road east of Pacific, but on hearing our train coming the meeting was broken up and the men ran to a sand bin located just east of the depot and took refuge behind it. As our train pulled by this sand bin at least 100 shots were fired at the train. Strange to say, not one of my men was hurt, but the cab and caboose and some of the cars were badly splintered by the bullets. After pulling by the sand bin the mob ran after the train, and one of the leaders, named Davis, picked up a drawbar and rushed to the front of the caboose, which he was enabled to do as we were running so slowly, and attempted to throw the draw bar under the front wheels of the caboose, for the purpose of derailing it. He would probably have succeeded had not Marshall F. McDonald, the noted St. Louis attorney, who had volunteered to act as one of my guards, saw what the man was attempting to do. The lawyer was so enraged at Davis' audacity that he picked up a coupling pin, which was lying on the platform of the caboose, and hit the striker over the head with it. It is needless to add that we had no more trouble with Davis that day, as he went down for the count, as the sporting writer would put it.

When we were fired upon by the mob entrenched behind the sand bin, I had hard work to control my men, they wanting to return the fire. I had previously told them not to fire a shot without my orders, but in the event I was compelled to order them to fire, I had instructed them to shoot to kill. After the first volley, and there being no return fire, the strikers concluded the guards were afraid to shoot, and immediately set about to uncouple the train. In this they were foiled, as they could not pull the pins. They then tried to climb to the top of the cars for the purpose of disarming the guards and throwing them from the train. In this they were again foiled, for the guards, using their weapons for clubs, beat them off. As soon as a striker's head appeared at the top of the ladder he received a blow over it that caused him to either fall to the ground or scamper back down the ladder. Many of them were badly injured, either from the fall or the blow from the weapon in the hands of the guards. One of the mob singled me out and kept peppering away at me with a revolver. One of my men, Mike Gibbons, from his seat on the running board of the engine, and who was armed with a shotgun, wanted to "get" this man, but I would not let him do it. The fight was fast and furious, however, and lasted until our train had passed through the town.