The Adobe Wall Raid; Reason for Description; A Day and a Night of Terror—Some Hitherto Unknown Heroes, Etc.

Before setting down in detail the series of events that comprise what is called the ‘Adobe Wall’ raid, I wish to put forth my reason for undertaking the task of making known to the public an event that will long be remembered, not only by those who took part in the occurrence, but, also, by many of the early settlers of the then Far West. So many accounts of the above mentioned raid have been written that it is impossible for the seeker after the truth in the matter to discover what he is looking for, that I deem it proper to narrate the story of the raid as it was told me by one of the most prominent members of the little band who so heroically defended themselves from the murderous assault of the Indian marauders. So much has, also, been written in the past, that sets the real West before the unenlightened in a manner that is misleading, that I think it fitting to give credit to whom credit is due wherever it is due. The ordinary writer from the East is not in a position to narrate the occurrences of the West, because he has no immediate knowledge of events, and, moreover, when he undertakes to set them before the public after receiving them from another, his, narrative will lack the ring of truth because he does not know the environments and the atmosphere of the events he is trying to describe. True, the rank and file of readers may not know the difference, but for those who know the facts of the case, the effort to portray the history of the West by writers who have gleaned their knowledge by hear-say, is pitiful and puerile.In regard to the narrative of the “Adobe Wall” raid, I shall state again, before proceeding farther, that my authority for the facts to be mentioned hereafter was a member of the fighting squad. I have had the honor of the acquaintance of several of the individuals who took part in the defense of the place, and have had the story related by them, and in its entirety, they all agreed on the most salient features of the narrative, and being men of integrity, their word is sufficient guarantee for the truth of what I write about the matter. The story I tell was related by Jimmie Langton. If the reader wishes any corroboration of my tale, he may refer to R. M. Wright, Charlie Rath, or James Langton, whose addresses I shall append to the end of this article.

The “Adobe Walls” ranch was situated about one hundred miles west of the north line of the Indian Territory, and about thirty-five miles south of what was then called No-Man’s-Land, on a little creek, about a mile and a half north of the South Canadian River, in what is now called Hutchinson County, Texas. The settlement consisted of one sod building, a saloon, and a blacksmith shop. The sod building was used as a store and in it occurred the chief events of this narrative. The saloon was owned by a man who went by the name of Jim Hanrahan, and the blacksmith shop was operated by Andrew Johnson, who now resides in Dodge City, Kansas.

The store, or what was then called the “Dobe Walls,” was owned by R. M. Wright, Chas. Rath, and James Langton, better known as Jimmie, and who performed the duties of book-keeper for the firm. As I said above, I am indebted to Jimmie for the facts of the story as he was the only one of the partners present in the store at the time of the raid, the others being in Dodge City.

Those who took part in the fight numbered, at most, about fifteen, not fifty or sixty, as some writers have it. In the saloon at the time there were five or six, but their part in the fray was only a minor one, as the Indians did not have any particular purpose in making an attack on that place. In the store were Jimmie Langton, Andy Johnson, Billy Tyler, Miller Scott, A. J. Chappell, Bat Masterson, Mr. and Mrs. Olds, who did the cooking for the ranch, and six or seven other freighters or travellers who happened to be there at the time.

Of the Indians who took part in the raid, I shall enumerate them by tribes, with their chiefs.

Big Bow led the Comanches on the occasion. Quanah Parker was not present, as he was too young to be a participant in the capacity of chief.

The Kiowas took part in the raid under the leadership of Lone Wolf. This gentleman now resides in Hobart, Okla., and has become so much converted to the white man’s mode of life that he wears a celluloid collar and a derby hat.

The Cheyennes, who played no small part in the expedition, were led by Red Moon, Chief Mininic, and Gray Beard. Chief Mininic also played the role of Medicine Man, and claimed that his medicine was so strong that the bullets of the white man’s gun could not injure him. However, when his horse was shot from under him, he explained the matter by saying that the bullet struck a part of his horse’s anatomy where there was no paint.

Besides the above mentioned tribes, there were the Arpahoes, who, however, did not have a hand in the fight. True, they had come for the purpose of exterminating the white man from the buffalo-hunting grounds, but when they had arrived at the scene of action, the Comanches informed them that they were not to take part in the annihilation of the pale-faces, but requested them to remain in the distance and see how they, the Comanches and their other friends, would put an end to the intruders on their sacred plains. I believe it was not the mere quest of glory that induced the Comanches to forbid the Arpahoes taking a hand in the extermination of the common foe, but rather the knowledge that there were several hundred high power buffalo guns and an abundant supply of ammunition that would be part of the spoils of war when they wiped out the obnoxious white man, and they did not care to have too many on hand when the dividend was to be declared. That they would surely secure such a prize, they had no doubt, but whether they did or not remains to be seen.

The list of the white men killed on the occasion of the raid is comprised of only about half a dozen, and nearly all of them were killed before the raid took place. There were the Scheidler brothers who were slain and mutilated at some distance from the ranch. They had gone off to seek new pasture for the cattle, as that around the ranch house was completely destroyed, both by being eaten off and then being tramped out of the ground by the stock. According to the usual Indian custom, they were also scalped. There was also a Mexican “bull-whacker” who happened to be camping near the Scheidler brothers, and he met the same fate as they, and a negro. The only other death among the white folks, was that of Mr. Olds, who met his end in a very peculiar manner, as will be shown later on in the narrative.

On the morning of June 27th, 1874, the Indians made their descent upon the “Adobe Walls” ranch. There had been rumors of Indian outbreaks in other parts of the country, but those present at the ranch on the occasion had not the remotest idea that there was an Indian within the neighborhood of fifty miles. As they did not come with the blare of trumpets to announce their arrival, the little party at the ranch did not know that death and destruction was prowling in the neighborhood until the early hours of the dawn, on the morning of the 27th of June. That was the hour the Redskin preferred in making his calls upon his white neighbors, especially if the visit was to be one of a warlike nature, and they were on the war-path on this occasion. There is a good deal of philosophy in the Indian’s reason for preferring the early hours of the dawn for his first attack. It gives him an opportunity to steal upon his enemy unawares. He made it his business to hide his approach so that his white foe would fall asleep in apparent security, and then with one fell swoop, rush in upon him and deal death and disaster before the unsuspecting victims could become alive to the dangers of the moment until it was too late. On this occasion, they followed their usual custom and crept silently on the sleeping inhabitants of the little hamlet. The first warning that the sleeping white men had, originated in the screams of the negro who was being done to death at the door of the ranch house. The night was hot, and for the sake of fresh air and whatever coolness he could find, he spent the night in a wagon box at the door of the ranch. Were it not for the coolness and calmness of Miller Scott, the whole party would have suffered the fate of the negro. As soon as he heard the first scream of the unfortunate black, he immediately divined that the Indians were upon them. Without a moment’s delay, he seized his gun and through the open door of the ranch poured out such a deadly fusilade of shot that the invaders were compelled to flee. The shouts of the Indians and the roar of the buffalo gun pouring out its relentless fire, soon turned the little peaceful hamlet into a den of confusion. How many there were in the attacking party at that moment he did not know, and apparently did not care, for he was determined to defend himself against all odds or die in the attempt to do so. Apparently the Indians had enough of the entertainment offered on that occasion as they withdrew in a hurried fashion to the protection of the timbers and the hills. Nor was Miller Scott the only one that took a part in giving their unwelcome guests a vigorous welcome, but the others who played their parts were rather slow in getting into action. They had just awakened from a sound sleep and it took some time for them to realize their predicament, but when they did, there was no further delay, but they set out to aid Scott in repelling the attack as vigorously as possible. When the Indians had retreated nursing their discomfiture and several wounds, the first attack was repulsed.

The object the Indians had in view was to get possession of the stock of goods and fire-arms that were in the store. Mr. Langton says that he had more than one hundred buffalo guns, and about eleven thousand rounds of ammunition. Besides these desirable commodities, there were on the outside several horses, mules, and oxen, that attracted the attention of the Indians. There was also the additional reason that they wanted to exterminate the buffalo hunters who had been killing off the game in large quantities, shipping the hides East, and leaving the bulk of the carcasses on the ground to become the food of coyotes, wolves and buzzards. They had laid their plans well, and as far as they could see, they were sure to produce a successful issue, but they had no means of knowing that a negro teamster would offer such strenuous objections to shuffling off the mortal coil that he would arouse the whole neighborhood in the loudness of his protestations. That the ranch people would be in a position to offer any vigorous resistance, they did not dream. They knew they had that little band of pale faces surrounded, and there remained only the formality of killing them with the usual amount of ferocity, take their goods and return to their camping grounds and plot another raid. For the ranch folks, there was nothing to do but fight like grim death. One thing favored the little band in the ante-chamber to eternity. The walls of the building were about three feet thick and were impervious to the bullets from such guns as the Indians then had. It was, moreover, impossible to set fire to the building from a distance, as the invaders tried that procedure later on and failed. As far as guns and fire were concerned they were as safe as if they were defended by the Rock of Gibraltar.

Nor were things inside the adobe building very inviting. They all realized that it was no holiday affair. In fact, most of them had just about come to the conclusion that they were about to assist at their own funeral with the flowers and music lacking. Nor could one blame them for feeling that things had a very hopeless appearance. There they were, a mere handful, surrounded by hundreds of hostile Indians in war dress, ready to swoop down upon them at any time, without the least chance of assistance from outside sources. If anything were to be done, it had to be done by themselves, or perish in the attempt. It was certainly critical enough to try the stoutest heart. I have no doubt that, at the first charge, there were not half a dozen of them that were fully aware of what was occurring around them, and whatever they did, they performed on the spur of the moment because they saw others doing it. Some of them became so excitedly helpless that they were unaccountable for what they did, and it was providential that they did not do anything imprudent. Others became nauseated and freely parted with the contents of their stomachs. Mr. Langton confesses that he himself became so overcome with the realization of the horror of the situation that he too parted with his supper of the night before and the only reason why he did not lose his breakfast was that he had not had time to eat it when the first attack was made. He recovered his composure hurriedly, as the exigences of the situation were such that one could readily forget a little inconvenience when one’s life was at stake. After the first display of nervousness had passed he did his duty like a man, and played a very important part in the defense of the ranch. It is not to be imagined that the Indians had not put up some kind of a fight. The fact of the matter is that they did considerable shooting in their own behalf, and that they failed to accomplish anything in the way of killing the white folks was due to the fact that they were rather hurried in their movements. How many of the Indians were killed in this first encounter, it is not possible to say, but the sight of several empty saddles, and several lifeless bodies on the ground around the ranch bore testimony to the fact that the bullets from the buffalo guns had done some execution. Stationed at the one window of the store, stood Miller Scott spiting out death and demoralization from the mouth of his buffalo gun upon the savages as they madly careered around the place on their wiry ponies. Crack, crack, as fast as he could push home the charge, went the gun, and another warrior was sent to join his forefathers in the Happy Hunting Grounds. As soon as one gun became too hot to handle, another was put in his hands to carry on the defense. Mr. Langton personally saw to it that he was amply provided with ammunition and guns to perform his duty. Nor were the other members of the party idle all the while. They punched holes in the sides of the building and through the opening did what execution their opportunity afforded them.

It was an appaling situation for a dozen people to be over a hundred miles from civilization, surrounded by five or six hundred, yelling, whooping, devil-daring redskins thirsting for their blood. There they rode, painted in all manner of colors, cavorting like demons around them, roaring defiance, and threatening at every moment to break through the zone of fire and burst in upon them in overwhelming numbers and put them to death mercilessly. It was well for them that they did not lose their nerve completely, as the situation was one to try the stoutest heart. It was well for them that Miller Scott rose to the importance of the occasion and dealt out such a rain of death dealing bullets as to appal the intrepid Indians. Outside roared and ranged the howling mob and inside things were not any too assuring. Poor Mrs. Olds fainted. She was the only woman in the hamlet. Kind hands poured water on her face until she revived. When she recovered her senses, the realization of the predicament in which they all were, and particularly the awful fate that awaited her, if they were overcome, so overpowered her that she tried to commit suicide. She set up a series of yells and screeches in her fright, that the Indians outside must have thought they were killing one another to save themselves from butchery. Strong hands prevented her from doing violence to herself, but there was no way to prevent her screeching, and the only thing to do was to give her freedom to screech until she became exhausted.

In the meantime, the Indians, feeling that their attack was somewhat of a failure withdrew to the shelter of the hills. According to the words of an old timer, the first assault upon the place was not a howling success. But the little party in the ranch knew that they would return, and they made what preparations they could to entertain them on their arrival. They did not seem to be in any particular hurry about making the second attack, as in the distance could be seen Indians riding in pairs, scurrying back and forth on their war ponies, dragging the dead and wounded between them. All of the rider that was visible was an arm and a leg. They made a dash on each side of a fallen victim, and seizing him by the hair, dragged him to a place of safety, either for the attention of the Medicine Man, or for burial. Whenever an opportunity presented itself to the little band of whites to take a shot at them, they did so, and in this manner, if they did not do much damage, they, at least, hastened their movements to a considerable degree.

The little party within the ranch was delighted with the success of the first repulse. None of them had been injured, and beyond the first nervousness, or nausea, suffered nothing. They realized to its fulness the necessity of meeting the marauders when they returned. Every man saw to it that enough weapons were within reach for immediate use, besides having near at hand a dish of cartridges for rapid reloading when the fight was at its zenith. With anxiety and nervousness they awaited the second attack. They did not have long to wait. In less than an hour after the first repulse, they saw them breaking over the hills and descending upon them in dense array. On they came chanting their war songs, or raising their raucous voices in wild war whoops in the weirdest manner possible. For some reason or other, they seemed to halt at some distance from the ranch. Out of their midst rode a chief, who swept on his way chanting wildly, dragging a dry buffalo hide by the tail. Apparently he was trying to incite them on to glory by performing a deed of valor. It may have been that they were a trifle bashful about exposing themselves to the galling fire of the little band entrenched behind the walls. Whatever the reason of their delay, it had no effect upon the lone rider who advanced fearlessly up to the very door of the ranch, gesticulating in a wild manner. He threw the hide upon the ground, and with a spring from his pony landed upon it and began a weird chant to incite his followers to follow his example. To show his contempt for those within, he seized an empty barrel that happened to be standing near and threw it with full force against the door of the building. Just as he let fly the missile, a bullet from Miller Scott’s rifle tore its way through his chest. He gave a leap into the air and with a wild shriek fell dead upon the buffalo hide. When his followers saw their chief fall, their enmity was aroused and on they came in one wild charge. Bullets spat upon them as they came, emptying many a saddle in their wild charge. Pit, pit, the bullets sank into the three foot walls of the ranch, and boom, boom responded the buffalo guns in a roar that was interrupted only for such time as it took to send another charge home, and then they boomed again. Indians were falling thick and fast, dead and dying, men and horses were tumbling about on the open plain in a confused mass. Pitilessly the little band poured out the rain of bullets, until no living being could stand the galling fire. The Indians retreated sullenly before their deadly aim, to the shelter of the hills, once more.The little incident of throwing the empty barrel against the door, called to the attention of the defenders of the ranch the necessity of barricading it. In the excitement of the first charge they entirely overlooked that important matter, and it was only the foolhardiness of the Indian chief that called the matter to their minds. As soon as they saw how much they were exposed to danger through their oversight, willing hands began to pile sacks of corn and other commodities against the door until there must have been a ton of material stacked up against it. Apparently it was the intention of the chief to break in through the door, and had he succeeded, his followers would have completed the work begun by him. Happily for them, Miller Scott’s bullet cut short his career, and probably saved them all from death.

The death of the chief had rather a chilling effect upon the rest of the invaders. Instead of continuing the rush upon the place, they withdrew to a rather safe distance, and contented themselves with doing some long range shooting. The firing became desultory. The Indians had withdrawn for about a mile, and though the buffalo guns would carry that far, it was practically impossible to do any accurate shooting at such a distance. The only chance of doing any execution was possible when any of the Indians gathered in any prominent locality. Then a bullet from a buffalo gun would sing around them, and they would seek safety in the shelter of the hills. Another motive that impelled the besieged to save their ammunition was that they did not know how long they would have to entertain their unwelcome visitors, and it was necessary to keep that thought in mind.

The Indians seemed to have re-organized again, and once more set out to make their third attack on the resolute little band. It was galling to their pride to think that a mere handful of pale-faces were able to withstand their onslaughts so successfully. Besides, it was rather disconcerting to have the principal object of their invasion frustrated just when success seemed to perch upon their banners. The killing of the few inhabitants of the ranch was not so important as securing the arms and ammunition they knew was stored up behind the “Adobe Walls.” It was doubly galling to the Comanches to think that they had invited the Arpahoes to remain out of the fight to witness the extermination of the hated pale-face, and now they would have to suffer the humiliation of defeat where they expected to return laden with the spoils of victory. On they flew the third time, urging their little ponies to topmost speed, more maniacal than ever in their wild shouts and gestures. Around the little ranch they rode in a fusilade of shots as they passed and repassed, but all to no purpose. Their ranks were thinning through the unflinching fire of the besieged. When a buffalo gun boomed, it was a signal for an Indian to throw up his hands with a screech and fall dead or wounded from the back of his flying steed. The nearer they approached the ranch, the hotter became the fire, until it was impossible to draw sufficiently near to do any damage. They fully realized that their shooting had been in vain. They experienced no diminuation in the rapid fire of the little band within those three-foot walls. They felt that it was useless to attempt to take the place by assault, and consequently they withdrew beyond the range of the guns of the besieged, beaten. Three times seemed to satisfy their efforts for pillage and murder. They hovered around at some distance as they did not wish to abandon their dead and wounded. There was no Red Cross Society there to attend to that matter for them, nor was there any flag of truce hoisted to denote a cessation of hostilities. As far as the besieged were concerned, they took good aim and shot to kill whenever an enemy came within range.

Several times during the day they had attempted to recover the body of the chief lying before the door of the ranch, but all their efforts proved futile. They finally gave the matter up for a time, acting as though they thought the whites were using him for a bait to lure them on to destruction. They did not intend, however, to leave him there, for, during the night that followed, under the cover of darkness, they succeeded in removing the body from where it lay. Apparently one of them sneaked up during the night and fastened a rope around it, hitched the other end to a pony and dragged the body off to their encampment. He did not do this without attracting the attention of those within. Anxious ears were listening for every move outside, and when they heard the body begin to drag along the ground, they knew that someone was near, and they immediately poured out a volley upon the rescuer. If they did not hit him, they at least compelled him to hasten his footsteps on his way. They afterwards came to the conclusion that the rescuing party got away successfully as there was no sign of his dead body encumbering the plain the next morning.

As may be imagined, there was no sleep during the night that followed the day of the battle. What the Indians could not do during the light of the day, they might attempt at night, and this thought kept every man alive to the exigencies of the desperate situation. Every man did sentry duty all night long, not on the outside, as that would have been suicidal, but within the walls. When not pacing back and forth across the floor, they strained their ears listening at the openings in the walls for any noise that would indicate the approach of the foe. Light they had none, as they did not dare to so much as burn a match. It was maddening to have to spend the weary hours waiting for they knew not what. They tried to be brave, but it was a difficult matter to do so at such a critical time. There was not a one of them that was not willing to die in defense of the ranch, but the uncertainty of the situation was more galling than the attack itself. Hour followed hour, each one seemed an age, and yet there was no sign of another assault. Wearily, anxiously they waited, each moment dreading what the next might bring.

Morning dawned at last and the little band breathed easier. They felt that there was more than an even chance while daylight lasted. The condition of the place was deplorable. With weary haggard looks they gazed at each other in the pale morning light and tried to smile encouragement to each other but it was a wan effort. The excitement of the previous day, and the anxiety of the night just passed, was plainly visible on their countenances. But one thing remained, they were undaunted and ready to face their foe again if necessary. The sanitary condition of the place resembled the Black Hole of Calcutta in a lesser degree. True, they had food in abundance, but their water supply was exhausted. Fortunately for them, there was a supply of canned goods in the store. Some of these they cut open, and drained off the liquid to quench their thirst. It was not entirely, satisfying as water, but it tided them over a difficulty.

In the meantime the silence from their enemies continued to cause them considerable uneasiness. They could not imagine what new kind of deviltry they were planning to effect the purpose of the raid. They awaited another attack, but apparently it was either being delayed purposely, or the Indians had decided to forego any further attempt on the place. Which of the two it was, they did not know. Finally, when their anxiety became unendurable, Mr. Olds, the husband of the good lady who had stirred up so much excitement in the early part of the fray, volunteered to make a reconnoitre. For this purpose he built a temporary ladder. When the rude implement was constructed, he ascended to the roof of the building. Then he proceeded to make an opening in the sod roof, through which he might make a survey of the country in the neighborhood. To guard against any attack from nearby, he took a rifle up with him for safety. He looked out through the opening he had so laboriously made, and reported that there was not an Indian in sight. All were overjoyed at this bit of information. Then Mr. Olds began to descend. In some way or other, his gun caught in one of the rounds of the ladder and was discharged when he was about half way down. With a lurch from the ladder he fell heavily to the floor. Whether from the force of the blow as he fell on his head to the hardened earth, or whether it was the bullet that struck him, his brains were scattered round about in gruesome fashion. It was a very unfortunate occurance, and it cast a gloom over the whole party. Mrs. Olds was heartbroken over the sudden and untimely death of her husband. Needless to say, the other members of the heroic little band offered her what consolation their rough ways would permit. As she had just experienced the fidelity of the manhood around about her, she was much comforted, but it was hard to bear the burden of her loss with the evidence of the accident before her.

When the first duties to the afflicted had been accomplished, others thought of the feasibility of making a more extended reconnoitre from the outside of the ranch. There was also another reason for wishing to breathe again the pure air of the plains. Their water supply needed replenishing, as they were all suffering in some degree from the want of it. With anxious hearts, they removed the barricading sacks from the door and prepared for what might come. Andrew Johnson proposed that some one should go for water, and offered to make the journey himself. To this they all agreed. He took a bucket and as he stepped out, he took a good look around for any possible redskin that might be lurking in hiding. Seeing nothing to indicate the presence of the foe in the neighborhood, he set out for the creek. His companions covered his journey all the way with their buffalo guns, so that if any Indian put in an appearance, they would have either driven him to flight, or adorned the landscape with his remains. Happily for all, no foe appeared and Mr. Johnson made the journey without molestation. When he returned, he was greeted by his friends in misfortune, with all manner of expressions of gratitude. As there was no indication the presence of the foe, they did not barricade the door again.

The next move was to send out scouts to discover, if possible, whether there was any further danger of attack. Needless to say, they did not wander far afield, as, just then, it was a wise proceeding to be in close proximity to the base of supplies and protection. Those who did not go on the scouting tour, performed the humane task of burying Mr. Olds, and those who had been killed outside the ranch house. With what tenderness their natures possessed they laid away the mortal remains of their companion not far from the spot where they had spent such a heart-rending day and night. As for burying the Indians that lay around them on the plain, they left that part of the duty to the coyotes and the buzzards. At least, I have never heard of any burial service being read over them, on that occasion. Such a method of procedure was common enough in those days, as it seemed to be the usual way in which the enemy regarded the disposal of the remains of his victims. They could not be charged with neglect of duty, as, of all the white men that I have heard of being scalped, murdered, and mutilated in any part of the West, I do not know of one case where the Indian ever took the time and trouble to bury them. There is more truth than poetry in the remark of Gen. Sherman, that “War is Hell,” and the little skirmish had a strong resemblance to a section of the infernal regions while it lasted.

The above is the general outline of the fight as it occurred. As I have said in the beginning, my authority for the truth of what I have said was one of the leading men of the battle, if there were any leading men in that terrific struggle where every man stood up to the fight like a ‘man.’ I have read several accounts of the affray from sources that are unreliable. As a proof of what I say in that regard, though the article purport to be written by some one who had a hand in the affray, it is apparent that they did not write them personally, but left it to some scribe to put down some of the salient features, passing over some of the most important events of the struggle. How would it be possible for a writer who had a share in the battle to forget the important part played by Miller Scott? You say it would be impossible, yet I have seen accounts of the battle in which he is not even mentioned. How could he forget the tragic death of Mr. Olds? However, some writers fail to mention it. How about the killing of the negro in the wagon? And some of them narrate the story in an entirely different manner. I fear that the imagination of many a writer has filled up with fancy when facts of the most thrilling kind were at hand. I know that a writer, in narrating a hair-raising episode under the pressure of excitement is liable to overlook some important feature, nevertheless, for the sake of accuracy and truth, he should revise what he has written and correct the error when discovered if he knows it.

To satisfy the curiosity of the reader in regard to the origin of the Adobe Walls, and how it happened that there were buffalo hunters in that neighborhood in preference to any other locality, I shall append an explanation as well as mention many of the old-timers who followed that occupation.

In regard to the origin of the Adobe Walls, of which some writers appear to know nothing, I shall narrate the story as told me by those who know. The original walls were built of brick dobe made out of clay and grass, and were sun-dried before being set into place. Under the ordinary care, these walls would have lasted one hundred years or more. These walls were built by the Mexicans before the country was granted its freedom, and long before it entered the union. There was a chain of such structures built across the country to be utilized as trading posts, as well as for fortifications. This chain of little forts extended from the Wichita Mountains down through Texas to Mexico. The reason of their being located so far northward was due to the fact that there were mines in operation in the Wichita range long before the country gained its freedom, and these forts served as protection to the freighters who were engaged in transferring the ore down to Old Mexico. When Texas gained her independence, all these forts and supply stations were abandoned, and in course of time were rubbed and horned down by the countless buffalo that ranged at will over the territory. Then the country became almost a waste, the home of the buffalo, the cougar, and the other wild beasts that grew in number unmolested by man.

About thirty-five years ago I became acquainted with two Mexicans named Romero. They told me that they had freighted ore from the Wichita mountains to old Mexico, and that if I would go with them they would show me where they got it. As I did not know anything about mining I declined the kind offer. Today there are hundreds of men exploring these mountains in search of the precious metal, and if ever they come upon the site of the Mexican mines, their fortune is assured.

In regard to the presence of the buffalo hunters near the Adobe Walls, I am compelled to say that they were there, more by necessity than by choice. The trail passed by the Adobe Walls and offered an opportunity for the hunters to ship their hides into Dodge City, the only trading post within the radius of over a hundred miles. They were compelled to pitch their camp where they could find water for their stock as well as for themselves. For this reason they located themselves at the head of Wolf Creek, in what is now Ochiltree county, Texas. Others located their outfits in the breaks of Clear Creek, on the south line of No-Man’s Land, and a few more were established in the hills on the north side of the South Canadian river, and west of the Adobe Walls. They could not possibly camp on the flats on account of the scarcity of water. There extended there a strip of territory thirty-three miles wide where there was no water except after a prolonged wet-spell, which seldom occurred. Regarding the other conveniences, such as fuel and other things, they had little difficulty, as the buffalo chips supplied the demands in abundance.

As an aftermath of the raid, when the various hunting outfits received word of it, they assembled on Clear Creek for mutual protection, as they did not know when they might receive a visit from the same band who would not be in any friendly mood after the defeat at the Adobe Walls. When they had all assembled, they began to discuss the matter from all angles, and came to the conclusion that the most prudent thing for them to do just then was to move into Dodge City until things became more settled. Having decided what to do, they lost no time in putting the plan into execution. They gathered up their belongings and set out on their hundred mile drive fully alive to the danger of the situation. They crossed Beaver Creek, and slowly trudged along their way over the divide to the Cimmaron River. It was a rather difficult journey, and when they crossed the Cimmaron they went into camp to give their stock a chance to rest up and enjoy a breathing spell themselves. When the stock had been turned loose to graze, they spread out their bedding to give it a sun-bath. Some of the boys went down to the river to have a swim, and others went off in search of game. They wanted a change of diet as they had been munching buffalo meat three times a day for some time past and the regularity with which it came became monotonous. George Ray and Jim Lane remained at the camp to look after whatever needed attention, and prepare the wagons for the next day’s journey. Everything was going along peacefully when Lane happened to look up and he saw an Indian coming out of the mouth of a canyon not more than a hundred yards away. He spoke to George, and they both grabbed their rifles and opened fire. As they were seen by the Indian first, before they had a chance to shoot, there was nothing visible of him but one arm and one leg, for he fell over to the opposite side of his pony and put him on the dead run. The two of them fired three shots each before he could get out of sight into the canyon. They told me afterwards that they did not think that their shooting had any more effect than to speed the Indian on his way.

At the sound of the shooting, the boys who were absent, lost no time in returning to camp. However, they did not lose the object of their hunting expedition as they brought back a fine antelope. When the matter had been discussed, they felt somewhat uneasy, but as no other Indian appeared in the neighborhood, they did not become unduly alarmed. They spent what remaining time they had before making their departure in cutting up their meat and curing it for future use. They were soon on their way again. They crossed the river, and pulled through the sand hills out on the Adobe Walls trail. Their journey led them across Crooked Creek, then over the divide. On their way they met General Nelson A. Miles at Mulberry. He was leading his troops to the assistance of those men who were at the Adobe Walls, but that was hardly necessary then, as the disturbance caused by the raid had in a great measure subsided. The buffalo hunters pursued their journey to Dodge City, where they waited until matters began to adjust themselves. Some of them then returned to the range, while others went to freighting, some to Fort Supply, others to Fort Ellis, or Mobeetie, Tex.

There were no cow ranches in that territory at the time of the raid, nor for some years afterwards. For the information of the reader, and also to let the old-timers know that they have not been forgotten, I shall give here the names of several of them. I knew the most of them personally and followed their interesting careers with pleasure.Nelson Cary and Jim Lane, after freighting a few trips, built the first house where Beaver City now stands. They went into the mercantile business and remained at it for years with considerable success.

Jack and Bill Combs, George Ray, and Johnny Loughead continued freighting for some time after the Adobe Wall raid. They remained at this occupation until they built what was known as the wild-horse corral, on Crooked Creek, north of the County Seat of Meade County, Kansas. This they maintained for some years and then went back to the old life of hunting and freighting.

Bob and Jim Cader settled down on Pladuro Creek and established a small cow ranch. By close attention to business and industry, they became wealthy.

Ben Jackson, another old-timer, hunter and plainsman, settled on Wolf Creek, about five miles from its source, and went into the business of raising cattle.

I could mention many others, and I knew nearly the whole of them, who were engaged in the business of hunting and freighting in the early days, but their numbers, by no stretch of the imagination, would ever reach two-hundred as some of the narrators of early days would have it.

I shall close this article by giving the present location of some of the principal actors in the drama of the “Adobe Walls.”

James Langton, Salt Lake City, Utah.
Charlie Rath,
A. J. Chappell, El Reno, Oklahoma,
R. M. Wright, Dodge City, Kansas,
Miller Scott, Santa Fe, New Mexico.

I trust that my readers will see from the internal evidence of the narrative just given, that it rings true, and when reading other so-called accounts of the “Adobe Wall” raid, will be able to sift the truth from the fiction which such writings portray.