The Adventure of Walker's
Ranch
B. E. Bengston, Funk, Nebraska.
About seven miles south of Axtell,
Kearney county, Nebraska, are the tumble-down buildings of
Walker's Ranch. The decaying structures are all that is left
of one of the interesting landmarks of the early days. The
walls are gray from exposure to sun and rain and probably
have never known paint in any form. For many years the ranch
has undergone but slight changes and if any of the old
timers who once frequented the place should again chance
thither he would no doubt find much that would remind him of
olden times. There is the same house, a low frame affair,
the same stable and various other buildings with a wide
street between them running nearly northeast and
southwest.
David B. Ball, the present owner, has in
one way or another been connected with the place ever since
the beginning. In 1870 Ball held a contract to carry the U.
S. mail from an adobe town on the Platte River to the
Republican Valley. Carrying the mail about a year he
surrendered his contract and it was let to Charles Walker
who put up buildings and established a station near the west
side of Kearney county. This location has ever since been
known as Walker's Ranch.
In the beginning of the year 1873 Walker
became ill and went to Omaha for treatment. Instead of
recovering his health he became worse and died in the latter
part of February. A few days afterwards when it became known
that Walker had died a man by the name at Smith with a
companion nicknamed Polly arrived at the ranch. They put up
a building and established themselves claiming they had
bought Walker's relinquishment. This they had not done. They
had come with the avowed purpose of "jumping the claim" and
stealing the property.
How two such statements in sense
diametrically opposed to each other could be reconciled. we
at this time cannot comprehend. But this is beside the
story: the standard of conduct in the "wild and wooly West"
was different from that in the more conventional east. With
Indians still at large on the prairies, the occasional visit
of the James gang of train and bank robbers, the individual
road agent, the cattle rustler and the horse thief this
portion at the prairie was still within the bounds of the
wild west. To this the old graveyard south of Lowell, where
those who "died with their boots on" in Valley City on the
Platte, is sufficient evidence.
After Smith's advent the place became the
rendezvous of border ruffians and toughs of all degrees.
Gambling, the curse of the world, was the pastime most
indulged in, and one night during a drunken brawl
pandemonium turned itself loose; bowie knives and revolvers
suddenly flashed over the card table. Shots rang out,
deafening within the four walls, and curses filled the air.
When the disturbance ended and the noise had quieted down it
was found that Polly lay on the floor dead, struck down, by
a bullet from Smith's gun, Fagan and others had received
wounds from pistol bullets or knives, but none other was
killed.
The next day a number of freighters who
had stopped at the ranch drove into Lowell, the county seat
at Kearney county, with the news of the killing. The deputy
sheriff, on getting the particulars of the crime, organized
a posse for the purpose at bringing the murderers in. It was
evident that he expected to get a fight out of it as he took
with him two surgeons and four or five other men. There was
deep snow on the ground, the air was crisp and the wagon
wheels creaked in their tracks as the posse drove out and
disappeared over the sandhills to the south. They. were
"armed to the teeth' and no one in Lowell doubted their
ability to bring their man in dead or alive.
Shortly, after their departure David B.
Ball arrived in town. He had recently been appointed deputy
U. S. marshal, and as soon as he had been enlightened in the
matter he swore out a warrant for the arrest of Smith and
his partner at the card table for interfering with the U. S.
mail. Armed with this and accompanied by only one man, T. S.
Butler of Riverton, he took the trail after the deputy
sheriff. Coming to a point about eight miles northeast of
the ranch he met the posse. They were coming back for
reenforcements not being willing to attack the place they
had been told was now prepared for a siege. Furthermore,
Smith had sent word that he would not be taken alive.
Ball urged the posse to return, saying
that their man would certainly make an attempt to escape in
the night. No amount of urging however was at any avail and
the sheriff said, "Ball, I'll turn this job over to you."
"I'll take it," instantly replied Ball, "and I appoint you
and your posse my deputies.''
"Oh, that will never do," was the reply.
"If we go it will be as a separate posse."
"Very well," said Ball, "but I need your
help and if you come with me I'll guarantee to bring you
through with whole skins." He then made known his plan and
when they heard it they declared it a capital plan and that
it would succeed.
|
When the team started again they both
traveled in the same direction - southwest towards Walker's
Ranch.
Ball's plan was to get in from the south
ahead of the others. To do this he left the trail and
struck-out across the prairie in a westerly direction,
leaving the others to follow about a half mile behind. A few
miles to the west he struck the "Franklin Trail" which
crossed the mail trail in a hollow south of Walker's Ranch.
Here Ball turned and drove into the station from the
south.
As soon as he pulled up he jumped out in
an unconcerned manner and began unhitching his horses as if
he intended to stay over night. Smith saw him and sent his
partner out to reconnoiter. Ball engaged him in
conversation, inquiring about everyday matters, such as feed
for his horses, accommodation for himself and companion,
etc.
Smith knew Ball well. He also knew that he
was deputy U. S. marshal, but he did not expect trouble from
him. His crime was murder and he was looking for the county
authorities.
Smith's partner, evidently satisfied that
they had nothing to fear from Ball and his man, went into
the house and in a short time came back accompanied by
Smith. Meanwhile, Ball had numerous errands out to his
buggy, getting halters, straps, robes and other articles.
But this was merely subterfuge. He was carefully noting how
near the deputy sheriff and his posse were. They had left
the trail a short distance south of the ranch and being
behind the buildings, Smith had not seen them. As they drove
in between two of the houses of the ranch, Smith turned in
surprise and Ball, who had edged up to him suddenly, grasped
his arms from behind and held on for "dear life," as he
afterwards said. Butler, at the same time, covered Smith's
companion with his rifle.
The sheriff's posse on seeing Butler with
his gun up sprang forward to his side and also leveled their
guns at the trembling follow, who was too much surprised and
frightened to move out of the spot.
Ball on the other hand was having a
desperate struggle with his man. "Butler! Butler!" he
called. "Come here and put the handcuffs on this follow. I
can't hold him much longer!" To put handcuffs on that
desperate struggling man who knew it meant his life to be
captured was no easy matter. The handcuffs were in the
inside pocket of Ball's coat and it was a hard matter to get
them out, so close and hard did he hold his prisoner.
After a while when the three men had
pranced around in the snow had gotten their clothing more or
less torn the handcuffs were produced and clasped on the
kicking, snarling and biting man who was now more a wild
beast than a human being.
The sun was nearly down and after having
had supper, Ball detailed a guard to stay at the ranch for
the purpose of looking after the interest of Walker's widow.
He then started with his prisoners for Lowell, where,
arriving late at night, he had them locked up.
The facilities for keeping prisoners not
being the best at that time, in Lowell, Smith broke jail and
has never been heard at since. The other man was brought to
trial, but the case against him not being very good he got
off with a sentence of three years in the penitentiary.
A Small Historic Spot in Hamilton
County
B. E. Bengston, Funk, Nebraska
For a small spot, sections 9, 10, 15
and 16 in Bluffs precinct, Hamilton county, may well, as
historic ground, claim a brief notice. The descent of the
table-land and over the bluffs into the Platte River valley
is here short and the river is only a little more than a
mile away.
This side of the valley consists of a
bench of fertile land terminating at an ancient river bank
about eight feet high, and the bottom which is flat and
sandy, during seasons of heavy rainfall or when the river is
high contains numerous ponds and bayous of stagnant
water.
From the highest bluff, which is about 125
foot above the river, the view is grand. A wide expanse of
level land, reaching the bluffs on the other side stretches
out to the east and west until it meets the horizon. In this
direction lies the river. Like a broad band of silver it
divides and subdivides and again unites as it embraces the
numerous islands that lie as gems in its course. Beyond the
river a scintillating gleam of reflected sunlight from a
window reveals the location of a farmhouse. A railroad train
is moving like at snake across the plain. It is the Union
Pacific express, and the distance makes its movements seem
slow. Even this catches the sun's rays and flashes of light
are tremblingly shot from its sides as it rocks on the
rails. On this side of the river an automobile darts out
from beyond a grove, swings around a hill and disappears as
quickly as it came. A farmer is seen driving a five-horse
team drawing a gang-plow, and the song of a mowing machine
is heard on the hillside. All this betokens life and action,
bustle and toil. But it is a life covering death; and action
that supersedes inaction; the past sleeps here; traces of a
time that has sped and a race that has gone, while now only
faintly discernible, can still be found. Following the
ancient river bank across sections 8 and 10 are the tracks
of the freighting trail which is here about one hundred
|