CHAPTER 2
Roosevelt in the Bad Lands

HELL ROARING BILL JONES," a citizen of the forlorn little cattle town of Medora, possessed four distinctions: He was sheriff of the county, he was a gun fighter, he was a handy man with his fists, and he became a friend of Theodore Roosevelt, who had now acquired the two cattle ranches, the Chimney Butte and the Elkhorn.

There was an election in town.  A fight was threatened.  Roosevelt, fresh from his own political battles in the New York Assembly, heard out on his ranch that one of the parties would import section hands from nearby railroad stations to throw their weight into the conflict.  Instantly the place of election became the only spot in the world for him.

The news had been late in reaching him, and when he rode into Medora the election was well under way.  Roosevelt inquired if there had been any disorder.

"Disorder, hell!" said a bystander.  "Bill Jones just stood there with one hand on his gun and with the other pointing over toward the new jail whenever any man who didn't have the right to vote came near the polls.  The only one of them who tried to vote Bill knocked down! Lord! the way that man fell!"

"Well!" Bill ejaculated, "if he hadn't fell I'd have walked around behind him to see what was propping him up!"

It was with men like these, in surroundings like these, that young Roosevelt had elected to learn to the full extent the lesson of democracy.

Before his Western trip Roosevelt had already had his manhood and his spirit of brotherhood tested in the hard waged battles of New York political life.  Now was to come a test infinitely greater.  The former member of the New York Assembly, the man who had occupied a high place in New York social life, who in his earlier days was noted for his well tailored figure and his eyeglasses, had turned his back on all this.  He told his folks that he was going West to "rough it" and to mix with mankind, and both of these he did to the utmost.

LIFE ON THE RANCH

The place he chose for his home ranch was one of the worst of the undeveloped sections of the country.  The ranch lay on both sides of the Little Missouri River.  In front of the ranch house itself was a long veranda, and in front of that a line of cottonwood trees that shaded it.  The bluffs rose from the river valley; stables, sheds and other buildings were near.  A circular horse corral lay not far from the house.  In winter wolves and lynxes traveled up the river on the ice, directly in front of the ranch house.

Life at the ranch house was of the most primitive nature.  Though they had a couple of cows and some chickens, which supplied them with milk and eggs, they lived for the most part on canned fare.

At the roundups and during his long rides over the range, and on many hunting trips, Roosevelt had his favorite horse as companion  Manitou.  This horse was so fond of him that it used to come up of its own accord to the ranch house and put its head into the door to beg for bread and sugar.

When it was not a question of roundup or herding cattle, or driving them to new grazing lands, the men at the ranch house broke in horses, mended their saddles and practised with the rope.  Hunting trips broke into regular ranch life.  The primitive little sitting room of the Elkhorn Ranch was adorned with buffalo robes and bearskins of Roosevelt's own killing; and in winter there was always to be found good reading and a cheery fire.

A MAN AMONG MEN

Roosevelt brushed elbows in Medora with newly arrived hunters from the plains and mountains, clad in buckskin shirts and fur caps greasy and unkempt, yet strong and resolute men.  Then there were teamsters, in slouch hats and great cowhide boots; stage drivers with faces like leather; Indians wrapped in blankets; cowboys galloping through the streets.  These men had all come to town to obtain relief from the monotony of their occupations or from long periods of peril and hardship, and the only entertainment that awaited them were "flaunting saloons and gawdy hells of all kinds," to borrow Roosevelt's own description.  Among them moved the "bad men," professional thieves and man killers, who owed their lives to their ability to draw their weapons before other men could draw theirs.

Roosevelt was deeply interested in these unusual characters and scenes.  Indeed, it was to drink in this frank, selfreliant spirit that he had come West.  He met these men on their own ground, fearlessly.  They saw that, in spite of his eyeglasses, he was a man after their own kind.  Often he found himself in places of danger and saw men killed beside him in drunken brawls, yet there was something about him that made bad men pause before they challenged him.

Among Roosevelt's cowboys was a Pueblo Indian who was a bad lot, a Sioux who was faithful and a mulatto who was one of his best men.  The men would carry the "brand" of their ranch even in their own nicknames.  Thus it would be said that "Bar Y" Harry had married the "Seven Open A" girl.

It was when he was thrown into contact day after day with the men of his own ranch that the most severe test of Roosevelt as a "good fellow" came.

He came through his initiation into ranch life the idol of his men, though they never got to the stage where they would neglect a chance to poke sly fun at him.  He relates how once, when on a wood chopping expedition, he overheard someone ask Dow, a ranchman bred in the Maine woods, what the total cut had been.  Dow, unconscious that he was within hearing, said:

"Well, Bill cut down fifty three, I cut forty nine and the boss he beavered seventeen."

The force of the jest, Roosevelt explains, lies not in the small number of trees his ax felled, but in the comparison of his chopping with the gnawing of the beaver.

At another time Roosevelt, struggling desperately to mount an unwilling horse, heard behind him a cowboy remark to the effect that he would find it hard to qualify for the job of "bronco buster."

Roosevelt enjoyed these jokes as much as those who made them.  The West was a bad place for a coward or a shirker, and the man who permitted himself to be bullied and made a butt was in for an uncomfortable existence.  On the other hand, the man who did his work and gave and took jests in the spirit in which they were intended quickly made lasting friends.

One of the stories "Bill" Sewall tells of Roosevelt's ranch life is this:

"Once on the cattle ranch in North Dakota during a roundup, his horse reared, threw him and then fell on top of him.  The spill broke Theodore's shoulder blade.  But he was afraid the cowpunchers might think he was a quitter.  So he stayed out on the roundup for three days, suffering the intensest pain all the while, but never saying a word about it to anyone."

The men usually carried revolvers, and now and then an ill temper or an excess of drinking led to a shooting affray.  Roosevelt was witness to or had first hand knowledge of several of these.  In his book "Ranch Life and the Hunting Trail" he tells how a desperado, a man from Arkansas, had a quarrel with two Irish desperadoes who were partners.  For several days the three lurked about the streets of the town, each trying to get the drop on the other.  Finally one of the Irishmen crept up behind the Arkansan as he was walking into a gambling hall and shot him in the back.  Mortally wounded, the man fell; yet, with the dauntless spirit found in so many of this class, he twisted around as he dropped and shot his slayer dead.  Knowing that he had but a few minutes more to live and expecting that his other foe would run up on hearing the shooting, he dragged himself on his arms out into the street and waited.  The second partner came up at once, to be slain instantly by a bullet from the revolver of the wounded man.  The victor of this gruesome combat lived just twenty minutes after his victory.

On another occasion, Welshy, a saloon keeper, and a man named Hay had been at odds for some time.  One day Hay entered Welshy's saloon out of temper and became very abusive.  Suddenly Welshy took out his revolver and fired at Hay.  The saloon keeper almost fainted with surprise when Hay, after staggering slightly, shook himself, stretched out his hand and gave back to his would be slayer the ball.  It had glanced along his breast bone, gone into the body and come out at the point of the shoulder, then dropped down the sleeve into his hand.  Roosevelt thought the story worthy of the pen of a Wister or a Bret Harte, but the editor of "The Bad Lands Cowboy" mentioned the event merely as an "unfortunate occurrence between two of our most esteemed fellow citizens."

On still another occasion a Scotchman and a Minnesota man, both with "shooting" records, had a furious quarrel, and later the Scotchman mounted his horse, with rifle in hand, and rode to the door of the American's mud ranch, breathing threats of slaughter.  The latter, however, was not caught napping.  From behind a corner of his building he instantly shot down his foolish assailant.

Soon afterward there was a cowboy ball held in the place.  Whether or not this was in celebration of the victory is not stated, but a historic fact in connection with the ball is that Roosevelt was selected to open the dancing with the wife of the victor of the shooting affair.  The husband himself danced opposite, instructing Roosevelt in the steps of the lanciers.

Sometimes Roosevelt found himself involved in situations that required both a cool head and a sense of humor.  When he entered a strange place it always took him a day or two to live down the fact that he wore spectacles, and he found it a justifiable policy to ignore remarks about "four eyes" until it became apparent to him that his keeping still was being mistaken for cowardice, on which occasion he went at the aggressor hammer and tongs.

An amusing happening in which he was a central figure occurred when he was out on a search for a lost horse.  He stopped for the night at a little cow town, but was informed by the owner of the only hotel that the only accommodation left was a room containing two double beds, and that three men were already occupying these beds.  Roosevelt accepted the offer of the vacant half bed and turned in.

Two hours later a lantern flashed in his face and he awoke to find himself staring into the muzzle of a revolver.  Two men bent over him.  "It ain't him!" said one, and the next moment his bedfellow was covered by their guns, and one of them said, persuasively: "Now, Bill, don't make a fuss, but come along quiet."

"I'm not thinking of making a fuss," said Bill.

"That's right," was the answer, "we don't want to hurt you; we just want you to come along.  You know why."

Bill dressed himself and went with them.  "I wonder why they took Bill?" Roosevelt asked naively.

"Well," drawled one of his neighbors, "I guess they wanted him."

Roosevelt heard later that Bill had held up a Northern Pacific train and by shooting at the conductor's feet, made him dance.  Bill was more a joker than a train robber, but the holding up of the train had delayed the mails, and the United States Marshal had sent for him.

ROOSEVELT MEETS BAD INDIANS

A peril Roosevelt faced arose from his proximity to bad Indians.  In roaming through the uninhabited country surrounding his ranch there was constant danger of meeting bands of young bucks.  These redskins were generally insolent and reckless, and if they met a white man when the chances of their detection and punishment were slight they would take away his horse and rifle, if not his life.

One morning Roosevelt had set out on a solitary trip to the country beyond his ranch.  He was near the middle of a plateau when a small band of Indians suddenly rode over the edge in front of him.  The minute they saw him, out came their guns.  Full tilt they dashed at him, whooping and brandishing their weapons in typical Indian style.  Roosevelt reined up and dismounted.  His horse, Manitou, stood steady as a rock.  When the Indians were a hundred yards off, Roosevelt threw his rifle over Manitou's back and drew a bead on the foremost redskin.  Instantly the party scattered, doubled back on their tracks and bent over alongside their horses to shield themselves from Roosevelt's gun.  Out of rifle range, they held a consultation, and then one came forward alone, dropping his rifle and waving a blanket over his head.  When he was within fifty yards he yelled out: "How! Me good Indian." Roosevelt returned the "How," and assured him that he was delighted to know that he was a good Indian, but that he would not be permitted to come closer.  The other Indians came closer, but Roosevelt's rifle covered them.  After an outburst of profanity, they galloped away in an opposite direction from Roosevelt's route.  Later in the day Roosevelt met two trappers, who told him that his assailants were young Sioux bucks, who had robbed them of two horses.

In his account of this episode, Roosevelt takes care to point out that there is another side to the Indian character, as indeed all America has found out since the gallantry of our Indian brothers in the world war.  He illustrates this by telling how, while spending the night in a small cow ranch on the Beaver, he lay in his bunk listening to the conversation of two cowboys.  They were speaking of Indians, and mentioned a jury that had acquitted a horse thief of the charge of stealing stock from a neighboring tribe, though the thief himself had openly admitted its truth.  One of these cowboys suddenly remarked that he had once met an Indian who was a pretty good fellow, and he proceeded to tell the story.

'A small party of Indians had passed the winter near the ranch at which he was employed.  The chief had two particularly fine horses.  These so excited the cowboy's cupidity that one night he drove them off and hid them in a safe place.  The chief looked for them high and low, but without success.  Soon afterward one of the cowboy's own horses strayed.  When spring came the Indians went away, but three days afterward the chief returned, bringing with him the strayed horse, which he had happened to run across.  "I couldn't stand that," said the narrator, "so I just told him I reckoned I knew where his own lost horses were, and I saddled up my bronco and piloted him to them."

Still another story is cited by Roosevelt in denial of the saying, "The only good Indian is a dead Indian." Once, on visiting a neighboring ranch, he found waiting there three well behaved and self respecting Sioux.  The woman on the ranch told him that a white man had come along and tried to run off with their horses.  Running out, they had caught him, retaken their horses, deprived him of his guns and released him.

"I don't see why they let him go," exclaimed Roosevelt's hostess.  "I don't believe in stealing Indians' horses any more than white folks' so I told them they could go along and hang him  I'd never cheep."

When, many years later, Roosevelt became President, his knowledge of the condition of the Indians led him to become their stanch champion.  There was then an enormous amount of fraud practised by white men in obtaining possession of Indian lands.  Roosevelt used his executive power to protect Indian rights and appointed as Indian Commissioner Francis E.  Leupp, one of the best friends the Indians ever had.

POLICE WORK ON THE PLAINS

There was much horse stealing and cattle killing in this part of the country while Roosevelt was a resident of it.  Under the direction of the big cattle owners, vigilantes were organized to rid the territory of the "rustlers" the cowboys' name for horse and cattle thieves.

Roosevelt admitted the need of these stringent methods, but his own way of fighting lawless ness was to accept the office of deputy sheriff for his locality.

It was while filling this office that Roosevelt first made the acquaintance of Seth Bullock, who later became one of his warmest friends and greatest admirers, and who served as marshal of South Dakota under Roosevelt when the latter became President.

Roosevelt first met Seth when the latter was sheriff in the Black Hills district.  A horse thief Seth wanted escaped into Roosevelt's territory and was captured by him, a matter that led Seth to give some attention to the young cub of a deputy two or three hundred miles north of him.

Later, Bill Jones, Ferris and Roosevelt went down to Deadwood on business.  At the little town of Spearfish they met Seth.  The trip had been a hard one, and the three travelers were dusty and unkempt.  Seth's reception of them at first was decidedly stand offish, but when their identity became known he unbent.  "You see," he explained to the future President, "by your looks I thought you were some kind of a tinhorn gambling outfit, and that I might have to keep an eye on you!"

Roosevelt's reputation as an upholder of the law was further enhanced by his arrest of the three desperadoes from whom his neighborhood had suffered.  The vigilantes had almost cleared the country of scoundrels, but there remained three men who had long been suspected of cattle killing and horse stealing.  One was a half breed, another was an old German of the shiftless type, while the leader was a strapping fellow named Finnigan, with a crop of red hair reaching to his shoulders.  These men, finding the neighborhood becoming too hot for them, were anxious to quit that section of the country.  Roosevelt possessed a clinker built boat that had been used to ferry his men across the river.

 One day one of the men brought back to the house news that the boat had been stolen.  The end of the rope had been cut off with a sharp knife.  Near the stream lay a red woolen mitten with a leather palm.  These three desperadoes were at once suspected.  Undoubtedly they knew that to travel on horseback in the direction they wanted to go was almost impossible and that the river offered them the best avenue of escape.  They must also have reasoned that by taking Roosevelt's boat they would possess the only one on the river and that, therefore, they could not be pursued.

They reckoned without Roosevelt's fighting spirit, however.  With the aid of two of his cowboys, Sewall and Dow, who, coming from Maine woods, were therefore skilled in woodcraft and in the use of the ax, paddle and rifle, they turned out in two or three days a first class flatbottomed scow.  This was loaded with supplies, and early one morning Roosevelt, Sewall and Dow started down the river in chase of the thieves.  On the third day of their pursuit, as they came around a bend, they saw the lost boat moored against a bank.  Some yards from the shore a campfire smoke arose.  The pursuers shoved their scow into the bank and approached the camp.

They found the German sitting by the campfire with his weapons on the ground.  His two companions were off hunting.  When the two thieves returned they walked into three cocked rifles.  Roosevelt shouted to them to hold up their hands.  The half breed obeyed at once.  Finnigan hesitated, but as Roosevelt walked a few paces toward him, covering his chest with his rifle, the man, with an oath, let his own rifle drop and threw his hands high above his head.

Then came the hardest and most irksome part of the task getting the prisoners safely to jail.  After many monotonous days and nights, in which it was necessary to keep a close guard on the prisoners and at the same time navigate the river, they came to a cow camp.  There Roosevelt learned that at a ranch fifteen miles off he could hire a large prairie schooner and two tough broncos for the transportation of his prisoners to Dickinson, the nearest town.  This was done.  Sewall and Dow went back to the boats.  Roosevelt put the prisoners in the wagon along with an old settler, who drove the horses while he walked behind, ankle deep in mud, with his Winchester over his shoulder.  After thirty six hours of sleeplessness the wagon jolted into the main street of Dickinson, where Roosevelt delivered his prisoners into the hands of the sheriff, and received, under the laws of Dakota, his fees as a deputy sheriff, amounting to some fifty dollars.