Anniversary of the Butterfield Overland Mail Route
This picture was taken at Fitzgerald's Station during the celebration a few years ago when the route was officially signed. Upper right is the sign used to mark the trail that can be driven from St. Louis through Arkansas.

One-hundred-fifty years ago John Butterfield climbed aboard a spiffy, newly constructed stage coach in Tipton, Missouri and raised his whip. The leather tip cracked in the cold, crisp air, the team of horses snorted and galloped off into history. The mail had been loaded from a train out of St. Louis and would travel 2800 miles to San Francisco in 24 hours, beating the contracted time by one hour. The route would run until the Civil War broke out, carrying the United States mail.

The most difficult passage would be that from Strickler, Arkansas to Van Buren, through the rough Boston Mountains. There mules and a mud wagon were used, rather than the stage that left Tipton. Until five years ago, that Boston Mountain section had been lost. And then I received a telephone call from a member of the Northwest Arkansas Regional Planning Commission asking if I would be interested in locating that portion of the trail. I was, and my husband, who does a lot of my research, eagerly helped out.

We began by locating a set of books written by Roscoe and Margaret Conkling, who had researched and followed the trail by automobile in 1933. These books were difficult to find, but finally our terrific librarian located a set and had them sent to our local library.

There we found a lot of information, and at last what we were looking for. A reproduction of the report sent back to the Butterfield Company by an agent hired to ride the route and keep mileage and trail stop information for the length of the route. What we needed was the mileage from Strickler through the mountains and the location of each stop. Then we set out in search of the old trail. We talked to a lot of folks who had information, but none of it fit the description we had. Once, we thought we'd found it, but too many bits of information were incorrect. Then one evening the phone rang and a man said he knew someone who lived on the old trail, whose father had known the route. He had agreed to see us.

That's how we met James Cooksey, the man who would eventually lead a group of Heritage Trail members along the route, pointing out watering spots and signs of the old trail alongside the rough and unpaved road we traveled. The route met all the specifications of the Butterfield report, the mileage only off by tenths where the road we traveled moved away from the original. At one point we all climbed a slight incline and stood in the middle of the historical old road. We could see the ruts disappearing into the woods. Being there was like traveling back in time. Like hearing the drumbeat of the mules' hooves, the rattle of the wagon wheels, the crack of the driver's whip. Along the way we stopped to look at broken down bridges that had once crossed over washes, most built of huge trees felled on the spot. It was clear we had found what was lost. What a thrill to have been a part of such an effort.

This year, to celebrate the sesquecentennial, the Heritage Trail members sponsored a stage coach run through Benton and Washington Counties of Arkansas, using a stagecoach restored from the era. Known as the Journey Stagecoach, this model served southern Arizona until it was retired in the early 1900s. This celebration run began in Springfield, Missouri with horseback riders alongside. It stopped at Pea Ridge Battlefield for festivities, then followed nearly all the original trail save the portion that ran under Lake Fayetteville. Along the way the four horses in the team will be exchanged for four mules to be historically accurate.

The route in that area follows Old Wire Road, a road already there when the stage made its first run. Butterfield only had roads built where there were none, being smart enough to use established military and Indian routes where he could. Sunday the stagecoach will stop at Fitzgerald's Station, one of the original stops for the mail route. It will not follow the road through the Bostons which we scoped out several years ago, but rather will end its journey in Fayetteville.

I'm proud to have been a part of locating this old route, which even today proves too rough for many travelers to follow. But we drove over it, and we did it several times in our quest to make sure we had the right road. To have been a part of this historical project thoroughly satisfies the historian and the writer in me.

Jacob Yoes, U.S. Marshal
Recently, residents of Fort Smith, Arkansas learned that city had been chosen as the site of the new U.S. Marshal Museum. There's been a lot written about U.S. Marshals, most of it fictionalized, some of it downright lies, the rest contains a modicum of truth.

Let me say right off the bat, that anytime we write about history, no matter how much research, checking and double checking we do, there's apt to be some errors in the reporting. Family stories contain handed down tales which are often like gossip, they change with each telling. Records have been destroyed and can't be restored. The Van Buren Court House, which resided in Fort Smith's sister city, burned in the 1800s, so if we're looking at information recorded prior to the date of the fire, we're mostly out of luck.

The book, Hell on the Border, which was written by "no acknowledged writer," is said to have been the forerunner of the greatest western novel supposedly ever written, True Grit, though many of us might disagree. This book is about Judge Isaac Parker and the U.S. Marshals under his command who kept law and order in the wild border town of Fort Smith before the turn of the 20th century.

Jacob Yoes was one of the best known of Parker's Marshals. According to his son John, Jacob did not want his name in any way connected with the book, which may say a lot for its credibility. John helped compile the material for the book, or so family legend says, and Jacob's picture was in the front of the first edition. The picture was removed from later editions. I have a copy of that photo. I am currently working on an article about the new museum and the history of the U.S. Marshal service in Arkansas, so will naturally hold a lot back in this blog. If you want to know the rest, then I'll announce the places that article will be published at a later date in this space.

This story is about Jacob Yoes the man, the entrepreneur and the marshal. He was a handsome man, better known as Black Jake. His father Conrad was living in Arkansas as early as the 1829 Arkansas sheriff's census, about as early as the white settlers were allowed into Northwest Arkansas, which up to that time was a part of Indian Territory. Lovely County, under the control of Peter Lovely, Indian Agent, was broken up into today's counties in 1828, and white settlers officially poured into that part of the Springfield Plateau of Arkansas. Jacob's father, Reverend Yoes, served his church for 40 years and was married to Kissiah Bloyed, the daughter of another early country resident, Eli Bloyed.

Jacob was born in 1839 in West Fork. Family legend tells that he left home at the age of 17 with $2 in his pocket, his clothes and this advice from his father, "Pay all your debts, be truthful, be honest."
For all of his life, Jacob had the reputation of having done all that. After he married Mary Ann Reed, there was some talk about a mistress, but in those days, as today, that wasn't too unusual. That she was "negro," the common term used in those days, was also not that unusual. That it was kept a secret is not surprising.

Before enlisting in Company D, First Arkansas Cavalry of the U.S. Army in 1862, Jacob worked in the lead mines in Granby, Missouri. He served three years, three months and three days on detached duty for the Federals. Detached duty, as I've come to understand it from copious reading, meant he had his own little bunch of men under his command who spent their time chasing after bushwhackers and other little bunches of men formed in the same way on the Confederate side. He had his job cut out for him, as Arkansas, though having seceded from the Union, contained just about as many Federalists or Yankees as it did Confederates or Rebs. The only Civil War battle he has credit for having fought in was the Battle at Prairie Grove.

During his service he was shot in the right hip, the left hip and the left leg by a posse of Confederate soldiers. He was finally captured and taken to Van Buren. In August of 1863 he was exchanged, and in 1864 refused a 1st Lieutenant's commission and was discharged. It is recorded that he killed 50 bushwhackers, but he never bragged about it.

By 1870 he was on his way to becoming the merchant price when he bought his first country store near Winslow, about 25 miles south of Fayetteville. Around that time he was also elected Washington County Sheriff. He would go on to serve in the legislature. Eventually he owned stores all along the Frisco Railroad between Fayetteville and Fort Smith. He also owned a flour mill and had controlling interest in a canning factory, as well as several hotels. Pretty good for a man who left home with $2. Oh, he did inherit $33 from his father when the good reverend passed away.

In May of 1889 he was appointed U.S. Marshal of the West District of Arkansas with 200 deputies under his command Two of those were his sons George Allen and John Wesley. Eight men were appointed as U.S. Marshals during Judge Parker's reign. Jake was appointed by President Harrison January 29, 1893. It was customary for the marshal to remain involved only in paperwork and keeping track of where all his deputies were and who they were chasing. However, it is said Jake was directly involved in capturing members of the Dalton Gang when they robbed the Coffeyville, Kansas bank in 1892. It is thought he was serving as a deputy at that time, but since deputies were often sworn in "on the run" and most of the time not officially recorded, we may never know. Jacob Yoes died February 6, 1906, and is buried in the National Cemetery at Fort Smith.

Though the book, Hell On The Border is out of print, it can still be found in some used book stores, and is well worth a read for its history of a wild and woolly early Arkansas.

Fayetteville, Arkansas, the Wild, Wild West

Some of you may have doubts about the "westernness" of Arkansas. Here are a few things to consider.

Fayetteville, Arkansas was settled following the removal of the Cherokee and Osage west to the Indian Territory, sometimes called Indian Nations. This left the small settlement on the border of no-man's land, a place where outlaws could hide out without fear of reprisals. Indian law enforcement officers could not arrest white men for acts committed in Arkansas or elsewhere for that matter.

In 1829 the first crude log courthouse was built and Lewis Evans was elected as the first sheriff. Evans also took the first census in Washington County and later led the first gold rush wagon train from Arkansas to California, mapping out what would become known as the Cherokee Trail.

Law enforcement did not come easy to this wild new settlement. A young man by the name of Stewart Case visited Fayetteville from Pennsylvania in 1838 and wrote, "This county and town in particular has become one of the most lawless and uncivilized places in all creation. There is men here from Mexico, men from Iowa Territory and men from Texas.

"Shooting, stabbing, knocking down and dragging out appear to be the order of the day . . ."

By this time L.C. Pleasants had taken over the duties of sheriff of the county, and there was a new brick courthouse to replace the crude log structure.

From all reports things didn't get much better in the years to follow. During the Civil War a law of sorts was enforced by the Militia. This so called "military justice" was often referred to as criminal, and resembled guerrilla warfare. During that period three different sheriffs served the county.

Down south in Fort Smith, at least 200 U.S. Marshals served Judge Parker's court during the late 1800s. In 21 years 65 marshals were killed in the line of duty. In a period of three years 22 deputy marshals were killed attempting to cover a vast area of 70,000 square miles in the infamous Indian Territory.

If it was dangerous being an outlaw during those wild and woolly days, it was even more life-threatening to carry out the duties of a lawman. Despite the extreme danger these men put themselves in, they too had their detractors. During that era the Arkansas Democrat Newspaper said, "The deputy marshals of the Western Arkansas district are too quick on the trigger. There are entirely too many persons murdered in making arrests."

U.S. Marshal Dan Maples of Bentonville, a family man with several children, was sent into Indian Territory to investigate whiskey peddling in 1887. He allegedly was unlucky enough to encounter the notorious Ned Christie and some friends. (See Ned Christie's story in earlier blogs). At any rate, he spotted men hiding in dark shadows and shouted for them to halt. It was dark and someone shot him dead.

In West Fork during this time a terrible state of affairs existed. A rather weak U.S. Marshal called out 36 good men to help him serve a legal process. All the men who served in that posse became victims of outlaws and dastards. Their stock was slaughtered, their homes fired upon and family members made the victims of assassins.

In 1879 Fayetteville City Marshal Patton and Deputy Sheriff J. Mount were both gunned down, one right on the square. A year after the killings a West Fork man charged a deputy marshal with the killing, saying the deputy offered two fine mules to anyone who would kill Patton.

As late as the turn of the century it was common for young men to go to a chivaree or play-party with a pearl handled pistol tucked in their waistbands for protection.

In 1882 the Police Gazette featured a story titled, "Arkansas' Reign of Terror."

Until September, 1913, a scaffold stood in public view in Fayetteville. From it were hung 18 people. The last was Omer Davis, executed September 11 for the murder of Nellie Moneyhun of Springdale.

Some rather unusual punishments were thought up for crimes, of course there was the bread and water edict for prisoners, which was fairly common. In the early 1900s, an African-American man, then referred to as Negro, was fined $10 for using disrespectful language and a white man was fined $1 for hitting him in the head with a rock. The next year the killers of Fred L. Bussey were found guilty of malicious intent to harm his (Bussey's) dog. The judge ruled that the penalty was more severe than that for manslaughter. The defendants had claimed they aimed at the dog.

Records reveal riots, massacres, midnight bushwhackings, murders plotted by family members, racist attacks, and on and on. The Wild, Wild West? Certainly sounds like it. It appears the town could give Deadwood a run for its money.

Because of its location on the Mason/Dixon Line and bordering the wilds of Indian Territory, Arkansas has had its share of famous outlaws. And as a result, there were also plenty of lawmen to chase after them. Outlaws soon learned to flee into Indian Territory because Indian courts and law officers could not prosecute white law breakers. It made the territory a perfect hideout. Indian outlaws were protected there as well, for the Territory government was reluctant to extradite Indians to Arkansas where all-white juries didn't tend to be impartial to them.

Because of the tendency toward frontier justice in Arkansas, Indian Territory soon became a refuge for such outlaws and bank robbers as Pretty Boy Floyd and Henry Starr. The tradition of vigilante justice continued in the state into the 1920s. Horse thieves were caught and justly punished by such groups as the Anti-Horse Thief Association. The Ku Klux Klan was thanked in public by the Washington County Sheriff for help in law enforcement. As late as 1923 the Committee of Twelve at Harrison drove striking railroad workers from the town and hung one striker who resisted them.

Thus, outlaws like the bandit queen Belle Starr and her common-law husband Sam Starr, the James and Younger brothers and plenty of others took up residence in Arkansas because it was close to Indian Territory where they could hide out.

Henry Starr wasn't quite as well known as his uncle Sam, but he cut a wide swath throughout the state beginning at the age of 19 in 1893 when he and his gang robbed the People's Bank in Bentonville, Arkansas. As it turned out, they didn't do real well, considering that almost all the residents were packing side arms and immediately began to fire on the lookouts, who in turn shot back. This made it a bit nerve wracking for Henry and his buddies Frank Cheney and Link Cumplin, who were inside attempting to gather up silver and gold and currency. They did manage to grab a cashier to carry out some of their loot, several hundred dollars in silver, and one of the outlaws carried out $11,000 in gold and currency. The shoved a few customers and employees ahead of them as shields, but once in the open, the wild gunfire caused quite a bit of confusion.

Terrified, the captives ran off in all directions, that is all except the cashier, who had a gun pressed into his back. This wouldn't help much, though, for as they scuttled past the door of the Bentonville Sun newspaper, a brave girl named Maggie Wood pulled open the door, grabbed the cashier and dragged him and his bag of loot inside, then slammed the door and bolted it.

Left with only $11,000, the outlaws made for their horses. One was shot but not killed, and they rode off, headed for, you guessed it, Indian Territory, not that many miles to the west. Sheriff Galbraith put together a posse, but it was of little use, for none of the men wanted to pursue the outlaws close enough to get shot, and so the gang soon disappeared into the wilds. There they divided their loot and rode their separate ways. They would never ride together again. Most would meet a violent death.

But Henry Starr would ride the outlaw trail off and on for twenty eight years. During the times he was out of prison, he tried to lead a lawful life. Part-Cherokee, Henry was self-educated, good looking and had a great personality. He could lead the life of a white man or a Cherokee, but chose Cherokee most of the time. He remained haunted by the experience in Bentonville, and feared being caught outside Oklahoma Territory. Addicted to gambling, he often needed money, though.

Then he made the mistake of returning to Arkansas. At the age of 47, he decided to rob the People's National Bank in Harrison. This time he arrived by automobile and meant to leave the same way. But he found himself the target of a lone, courageous man who grabbed a hidden weapon and shot Starr dead. As it turned out he was right to have feared returning to Arkansas.

Nathaniel Reed, alias Texas Jack, appears to have ridden off, as is often his way. Sometimes he remains hidden for a year, but this time it will only be a few days until I can climb back on the horse, so to speak. Meanwhile here's a link for you to check out. There will be a post soon to finish Texas Jack's tale.

Continuing with the story of Nathaniel Reed, soon to become known as Texas Jack:
By April of 1891 six of the gang robbed a bank on the border of Texas after the leader of the gang had made a deal with a bank cashier to divide the money into equal packages and to keep a share for himself. This went so well that they went on to Brownsville and in June of that year took $36,000. The bank reported a loss of $86,000 and a certain "well-to-do" cashier was said to have moved to Boston.

It was after that bank robbery that Nate Reed took on the outlaw moniker of Texas Jack. Not to be confused with the earlier Texas Jack who performed with Buffalo Bill Cody and Wild Bill Hickock in their Wild West Shows. That "Jack's" real name was J.R. Omohondro.

After the gang's success in Brownsville, they decided they could safely ride in the daylight. What gave them this notion, no one knows, as they were getting more well known with each job they pulled. Nine days later, their choice proved their stupidity when a posse of 17 Texas Rangers charged them. The ensuing battle lasted five hours. Texas Jack took two hits in the left leg, one of the gang was killed and some horses were lost. At last darkness fell and covered the gang's escape. Using a hound dog tracker the rangers caught up the next night.

This gang proved to be pretty tough, and fought the rangers to a standstill, killing the unfortunate hound tracker and five of the horses before giving the rangers the slip. Texas Jack and his gang of four were left one horse short. The next time the rangers caught up, the rangers raised a white flag and offered to talk with Texas Jack. He managed to talk the captain into standing down his men while the two of them negotiated. This decision proved to be a major mistake, for when the rangers finally got tired of waiting for the negotiation to end and went to see what was up, they found their captain and another ranger tied up and their horses gone.

By sunup the next day the gang had crossed the Red River into Indian Territory and were put up by George Shaw on Walnut Creek. They rested there for five days then lit out for Shawnee Nation.

This is where Texas Jack could easily have ridden to his own death, for in August he and Ike Rogers headed out for Kansas to meet the Doolins and the Daltons. On the way they ran across a large army of Oklahoma Tenderfeet who had with them a copy of the Dallas Daily News showing headlines about the Dalton and Texas Jack gang's recent activities. Texas Jack passed himself off as a U.S. Marshal out of Purcell, Indian Territory, said he was in pursuit of Texas Jack and that his pal Rogers was from Kansas hunting down the Daltons and Bill Doolin. This got them both out of what could've been a real sticky situation, and they road on unmolested.

Some records indicate that this happened in 1892, not 1891. Sherman Teal, a barber in Wellington, Kansas, told this story, "When I Shaved the Dalton Outlaws." His story goes that around October, 1892, five or six men rode into town after dark. The barber thought they were a threshing crew, so thought nothing of it when they had a few drinks, then decided they all needed a shave.

He shaved each man in turn, while the others guarded all the doors to the building that included a pool hall, malt shop and the barber shop. The barber started talking about the notice in that morning's paper about the Dalton Boys being shot to death in New Mexico. One of the men grew very angry, and staring straight at the barber, covered the bottom half of his face with one hand and said, "My XXX from my hand up is Bob Dalton, and when they get the Dalton Boys, I want you to write me and tell me all about it. See?"

The barber began to suspect that he had just shaved the most dreaded bunch of outlaws in the country at that time, and the one still in the chair was Bob Dalton. By the time it came Texas Jack's turn to be shaved, the barber was so nervous he could hardly function. Texas Jack was a homely man and hard to shave. The barber shook so bad, he smeared lather in Jack's mouth, nose, ears and eyes.

He later learned that the men, who carried large revolvers concealed under their overalls and jumpers, were indeed Bob Dalton, Grat Dalton, Bill Bradwell, and Texas Jack. Three weeks later the Dalton Gang were gunned down while attempting to rob two banks at once in Coffeyville, Kansas. Those killed were Bob, Grat and Emmett Dalton, Bill Doolin, Dick Broadwell, and Bill Powers. Richard L. Broadwell, also known as Texas Jack was said to have been killed in the Coffeyville, Kansas bank robbery attempts.

But wait! Nathaniel Reed was well known in Sumner County, Kansas. The barber would've recognized him and would've identified him as Nathaniel Reed, not as Texas Jack. Anyway, Nate Reed's Texas Jack turned up alive and well with the gang in January while they were robbing a stage coach near San Antonio, Texas. When spring of 1893 arrived, Texas Jack went back to Indian Territory. Once again, he had decided to quit living the life of an outlaw. Jim Dyer, the leader of the gang at the time, refused to let him retire and insisted he join Henry Starr, Frank Chaney and Kid Wilson, who were planning to rob the bank in Bentonville, Arkansas. Jack refused to be a part of that robbery and said he was going to buy a farm in Arkansas. Whether he did or not, the Bentonville Bank was robbed in June of 1893.

Next month: Texas Jack continues his lawless life and faces the hanging judge in Ft. Smith.

Merry Christmas and a very Happy New Year.
In 2008 look for posts here on more legendary Arkansas characters, their lives and adventures.