*
Recruiting for Bloody Work—The Desperate Fight in Lincoln—The Kid Trapped—The Burning of McSween's Residence—Fearful Holocaust—Pluck to the Last—Death of McSween—The Kid Fights His Way through Twenty Assailants from the Burning Building—Escape
DURING ALL THIS TIME Sheriff Peppin was not idle, but could do little towards restoring peace in the distracted country. In selecting his deputies, he had chosen some brave and reliable business men, upon whom he could depend. Among these was Marion Turner, of the firm of Turner and Jones, merchants at Roswell. Turner had been for years, off and on, in the employ of Chisum, by whom he was trusted, and who valued his services highly. He had been a staunch adherent of Chisum at the commencement of his struggle and up to May, 1878, when he seceded, for what he probably deemed sufficient cause, and became his old employer's bitterest enemy. Turner had control of the sheriff's operations in the valley of the Rio Pecos, and soon raised a posse of between thirty and forty men, composed principally of cattle-owners and cow boys, few of whom knew the taste of fear.
Turner's headquarters were at Roswell, where the posse was encamped. The Kid with fourteen men visited Chisum's ranch, five miles from Roswell, early in July. Turner with his force went there with the intention of ousting him from his stronghold. He found this impracticable, as the houses were built with a view to defense against Indians, and a band of fourteen determined men could hold it against an army—barring artillery. Consequently Turner relinquished his attempt on the ranch, but kept spies constantly on the alert.
One morning Turner received information that the Kid had left his quarters and started up the Pecos towards Fort Sumner. He had several warrants against the Kid for murder, and he now swore to either arrest him, kill him, or die in the attempt. With his full force he took the trail. After riding some twenty miles he pronounced this movement of the Kid's to be a blind, and turning west, he left the trail and took a short, straight-out to Lincoln. The result proved his sound judgment, as the Kid and band were there, safely barricaded in the elegant and spacious residence of McSween, prepared to stand a siege and defend their position to the last. Sheriff Peppin with a few recruits joined Turner at the "Big House," as it was called, of Murphy and Dolan, a short distance from McSween's. Turner, however, was the ruling genius of the enterprise. For three days spasmodic firing was kept up from both sides, but no harm was done.
On the morning of July 19th, 1878, Turner expressed his intention of going to the house of McSween and demanding the surrender of the Kid and others against whom he held warrants. This project was denounced as foolhardy, and it was predicted that he would be shot down before he got within speaking distance. Nothing daunted, he persisted in his design and called for volunteers to accompany him. His partner, John A. Jones, than whom a braver man never lived in New Mexico, at once proffered to attend him, and his example was followed by eight or ten others.
The advancing party saw the port-holes which pierced the sides of the building, and, to their surprise, they were allowed to walk up to the walls and ensconce themselves between these openings without being hailed, or receiving a hint that their presence was suspected by those within. The explanation of this circumstance was that the besieged were at that moment holding a council of war in a room in the rear, where the whole garrison was assembled. The result of this discussion was, the Kid had sworn that he would never be taken alive; his ruling spirit had swayed the more timid, and it was resolved to drive off the assailants, or die at their posts. McSween appeared to be inert, expressing no opinion, or desire. As they returned to their posts, they were astonished to find the front yard occupied by their foes. The Kid hailed the intruders, when Turner promptly notified him that he held warrants for the arrest of Wm. H. Bonney, and others of his companions, amongst them Alex A. McSween.
The Kid replied: —"We, too, have warrants for you and all your gang, which we will serve on you, hot, from the muzzles of our guns." In short, the Kid and all his confederates refused to make terms, and Turner retired in safety. Not so, however, his attendants. Their position, once gained, they did not propose to relinquish. And now the fight commenced in earnest.
At this juncture, Lieut. Col. Dudley, of the Ninth Cavalry, arrived from Fort Stanton, nine miles distant, with one company of infantry and one of artillery. Planting his cannon in a depression of the road, between the belligerent parties, he proclaimed that he would turn his guns loose on the first of the two who fired over the heads of his command. Yet the fight went on, and the big guns were silent.
Turner was confident, and said he would have the Kid out of there if he had to burn the house over his head.
The Kid, on his part, was sanguine—he said he could stand the besiegers off, and was as gay as if he were at a wedding. Both knew that the struggle must be a bloody one, and neither anticipated an easy victory.
"Now closed is the gin, and the prey within,
By the rood of Lanercost!
But he that would win the war-wolfs skin,
May rue him of his boast."
Turner's men took possession of all the surrounding buildings, from which and the McSween mansion desultory firing was kept up. Doors, windows, and other woodwork, were slivered by flying bullets, and earth flew from adobe walls. This fusillade from the besiegers was aimed to cover the operations of those allies within the yard, who were laboring to fire the building—working kindlings under door and window sills and wherever wood-work was exposed. A portion of the Kid's party had gained the roof, and from behind the parapets, harassed the foe. Turner sent a dozen men to the hills which overlook the plaza, and their heavy, long-range guns soon dislodged them. A magnificent piano in one of the front rooms was hit several times by these marksmen in the hill-tops, and at each stroke sent forth discordant sounds. This circumstance elicited from a Lamy, N. M., correspondent of the N. Y. Sun, the following:
"During the fight Mrs. McSween encouraged her wild garrison by playing inspiring airs on her piano, and singing rousing battle songs, until the besieging party, getting the range of the piano from the sound, shot it to pieces with their heavy rifles."
The truth is Mrs. McSween and three lady friends, left the house before the fight commenced. It is also true that she requested permission to return for some purpose, the firing ceased—she went bravely in—returned almost immediately, and the firing was resumed.
About noon the flames burst forth from the front doors and windows, and the fate of the building was sealed. All efforts of the inmates to extinguish them were fruitless, and the assailants shouted their joy. Soon the whole front of the house was deserted by its defenders, and Jack Long having procured a little coal oil, less than a gallon, made his way into a room not yet on fire, carefully saturated the furniture with the oil, fired it, and made his escape. This "little dab" of coal oil got the Lamy correspondent off again: "On the third day of the skirmish Turner had the house fired by throwing buckets full of blazing coal oil into it and over it." Doesn't it seem that "blazing buckets full of coal oil" would be disagreeable to handle? An adobe building burns very slowly, and this was a large one, containing eleven rooms. Yet the flames were slowly and surely driving the inmates back. The besiegers called on them to surrender every few minutes. The only reply was curses and defiance.
And now, as night sets in the defenders have but one room, a kitchen at the back of the house, that is tenable, and this would furnish shelter but a short time. The question of surrender was discussed and vetoed by the Kid with [s]corn. Bloody, half naked, begrimed with smoke and dust, his reckless spirit was untamed. Fiercely he threw himself in the doorway, the only means of escape, and swore that he would brain and drag back into the burning building the first that made a motion to pass that door. "Hold," said he, "until the fire breaks through upon us, then all as one man, break through this door, take the underbrush on the Rio Bonito, and from there to the hills. We'll have an even chance with them in the bottom." This ipse dixit settled it. The Rio Bonito was not more than fifty yards from the back of the house.
And now one affrighted Mexican, unheeding the Kid's threat, precipitated the bloody finale. He called out to stop shooting and they would surrender. A blow from the Kid's revolver, and the presumptuous fellow lay bruised and senseless on the floor. The Kid had not time to execute all his threat. So soon as the Mexican's voice was heard on the outside, the firing ceased. Robert W. Beckwith, a cattle owner of Seven Rivers, with John Jones passed round the corner of the main building in full view of the kitchen doorway. No sooner did Beckwith appear than a shot from the house inflicted a wound on his hand. He saw the Kid and McSween in the door, and shouting "McSween! McSween," opened fire on them. The Kid shot but once, and Beckwith fell dead, the ball entering near the eye. The Kid called to "come on," and leaping over Beckwith's prostrate body, pistol in hand, he fought his way through a score of enemies, step by step he fought, until reaching the brink of the river he plunged across, and was hid from sight by weeds and brush. He was followed by all his band who had life and strength to flee, and several of those left a bloody trail behind. McSween less fortunate than the Kid, fell dead in the yard, refusing to surrender or to flee. He was pierced with nine bullets. Tom O. Foliard, the new recruit, was the last one who left the yard, and showed his pluck by stopping to pick up a friend, Morris. Discovering that he was dead, he dropped him, and amidst a shower of lead made his escape unharmed.
It was now ten o'clock at night. The fight for the present, was ended, the building was in ashes, there were seven mutilated corpses lying about, and several on both sides nursed desperate wounds.
Turner's party lost but one man killed, besides Beck-with. The Kid's party had killed McSween, Harvey Morris, and three Mexicans. Turner's party numbered about forty men, and the Kid's nineteen, aside from McSween.