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A Mob at Las Vegas Want Rudabaugh—The Kid in Jail at Santa Fe—Attempt to Escape—The Kid on Trial at Mesilla for Murder—Sentenced to Hang—Confined at Lincoln
ON THE MORNING of December 27th, I had fresh irons placed on the Kid, Rudabaugh, and Wilson. Michael Cosgrove, Esq., mail contractor, being well acquainted in Santa Fe, I induced him to accompany me there with the prisoners. I therefore released two of my guards, and started with Cosgrove, Stewart, and Mason.
After breakfast we went to the jail for our prisoners. They turned out the Kid and Wilson to us, who were handcuffed together. We demanded Rudabaugh. They refused to yield him up, saying he had escaped from that jail, and they wanted him for murder. I told them that our right to the prisoner ranked theirs, as I was a deputy United States marshal and had arrested Rudabaugh for an offense against laws of the United States, that I knew nothing of any other offense or arrest, that he was my prisoner, I was responsible for him, and intended to have him. Stew-art drew his affidavit on them, and they, at last, turned Rudabaugh out to us.
We had been on the train with our three prisoners but a few minutes when we noticed that a good many Mexicans, scattered through the crowd, were armed with rifles and revolvers and seemed considerably excited. Stewart and I concluded their object was to take Rudabaugh off the train. I asked Stewart if we should make a fight for it; he said we would, of course. I said, "Let's make a good one." We felt sure they intended to mob him, or we might have given him up. Besides, he acknowledged that he was afraid of them, and we were pledged to protect him and take him to Santa Fe.
Stewart guarded one door of the car, and I the other. These armed ruffians crowded about the car, but none of them made a formal demand for Rudabaugh, or stated their business. Deputy Sheriff Romero, brother to the sheriff who had so distinguished himself when I brought Webb to him at Hay's ranch, headed a mob of five, who approached the platform where I was standing, flourishing their revolvers. One of the mob said: —"Let's go right in and take him out of there," and they pushed this deputy up on the platform, crowding after him. I merely requested them, in my mildest tones, to get down, and they slid to the ground like a covey of hardback turtles off the banks of the Pecos. They did not seem at all frightened, but modest and bashful-like.
Rudabaugh was excited. The Kid and Wilson seemed unconcerned. I told them not to be uneasy, that we were going to make a fight if they tried to enter the car, and if the fight came off, I would arm them all, and let them take a hand. The Kid's eyes glistened, as he said: —"All right, Pat. All I want is a six-shooter. There is no danger, though. Those fellows won't fight." The mob were weakening and all they wanted was for some one to coax them to desist, so it would not look so much like a square backdown. Some influential Mexicans reasoned a little with them and they subsided. We were detained by them about three-quarters of an hour. I understood, afterwards, that they had presented their guns to the engineer and threatened him if he moved the train. One of the railroad officials threatened them with the law for detaining the UnitedStates mail. At last Deputy United States Marshal Mollay mounted the cab and pulled the train out.
I had telegraphed to Deputy United States Marshal Charles Conklin, and found him at the Santa Fe depot, waiting for us. I turned the prisoners over to him, on the 2yth day of December, 1880, and he placed them in the Santa Fe jail. Whilst there they made an attempt to escape by digging a hole through the adobe walls, hiding the dirt under their bedding. This attempt was frustrated through the vigilance of officials.
Rudabaugh was tried and convicted for robbing the United States mail, but no sentence was passed. On demand of territorial authorities he was taken to San Miguel County, tried for the murder of the jailer, convicted, and sentenced to be hung. He took an appeal and now languishes in the Las Vegas jail awaiting a new trial. (He has since escaped.)
Billy Wilson has been twice arraigned for passing counterfeit money, first at Mesilla and then at Santa Fe; but has not, as yet, had a trial. Should he clear himself on this charge, he is in jeopardy for complicity in the murder of Carlyle.
Deputy United States Marshal Tony Neis took the Kid and Wilson from Santa Fe to Mesilla, where the Kid was first tried, at the March, 1881, term of the District Court, for the murder of Roberts at the Mescalero Apache Indian agency, in March, 1878. Judge Bristol assigned Judge Ira E. Leonard, of Lincoln, to defend him. He was acquitted. He was again tried, at the same term, for the murder of Sheriff William Brady, at Lincoln, on the 1st day of April, 1878, and sentenced to be hung on the 13th day of May, 1881, at Lincoln, the county seat of Lincoln County. He was brought from Mesilla by Deputy Marshal Robert Olinger and Deputy Sheriff David Woods, ofDona Ana County, and turned over to me by them at Fort Stanton, nine miles west of Lincoln, April 21, 1881. Lincoln County has never had a jail, until the last few weeks, that would hold a cripple. The county had just purchased the large two-story building, formerly the mercantile house of Murphy & Dolan, for the use of the county as a public building, but no jail had been constructed; hence I was obliged to place a guard over the Kid. I selected Deputy Sheriff J. W. Bell, and Deputy Marshal Robert Olinger, for this duty, and assigned them a guard room in the second story of the county building, separate and apart from other prisoners. This room was at the north-east corner of the building, and one had to pass from a hall, through another large room, to gain the only door to it. There were two windows—one on the north, opening to the street, and the other on the east, opening into a large yard, which ran east a hundred yards, or more, and projected into the street twelve or fourteen feet past the north, or front, walls of the building. At the projecting corner of the yard, next the house on the north-west, was a gate; a path running from this gate along the east end of the building to the rear, or south wall, where was a smaller gate opening into a corral, in the rear of the house. Passing through this corral to the south-west corner of the building, we come to a door leading to a small hall and broad staircase, which was the only, then, means of access to the second story of the building. Facing the north, we ascend five or six steps, reach a square landing, turn to the right, facing the east, and ascend twelve or fourteen steps, reaching the hall which extends through the building from north to south. Turning to the right, we find two doors, one on each side of the hall. The one to the right leads into a room in the south-west corner of the building, where were kept surplus arms. Turning to the left, fromthe head of the staircase we find two other doors, one on each side of the hall, and still another at the north end, which opens on a porch, facing the street on the north. The door on the left, or west side of the hall, led to a room appropriated to the confinement of prisoners, over whom I kept a guard. The door on the right, or east side of the hall, opened into a large room, occupied by me as an office, passing through which, another door opens into the north-east apartment, which I assigned to the guard, in which to confine the Kid. The necessity of this description will soon be understood by the reader, whether the description is lucid or not.
During the few days the Kid remained in confinement, I had several conversations with him. He appeared to have a plausible excuse for each and every crime charged against him, except, perhaps, the killing of Carlyle. I said to him one day: "Billy, I pass no judgment as to whether your sentence is just for the killing of Brady, but, had you been acquitted on that charge, you would, most surely, have been hung for the murder of Jimmy Carlyle, and I would have pronounced that sentence just. That was the most detestable crime ever charged against you." He seemed abashed and dejected, and only remarked: "There's more about that than people know of." In our conversations, he would sometimes seem on the point of opening his heart, either in confession of justification, but it always ended in an unspoken intimation that it would all be of no avail, as no one would give him credence, and he scorned to beg for sympathy. He expressed no enmity towards me for having been the instrument through which he was brought to justice, but evinced respect and confidence in me, acknowledging that I had only done my duty, without malice, and had treated him with marked leniency and kindness.
As to his guards, he placed confidence in Deputy Sheriff Bell, and appeared to have taken a liking to him. Bell was in no manner connected with the Lincoln County War, and had no animosity or grudge against the Kid. The natural abhorrence of an honest man towards a well-known violator of the law was intensified in Bell's case, by the murder of Carlyle, who was a friend of his; but never, by word or action, did he betray his prejudice, if it existed. As to Deputy Marshal Olinger, the case was altogether different. They had met, opposed in arms, frequently during the past years of anarchy. Bob. Beckwith was a bosom friend of Olinger's—the Kid had killed him. The Kid charged that Olinger had killed friends of his. There existed a reciprocal hatred between these two, and neither attempted to disguise or conceal his antipathy for the other.