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 lawlessness 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 tin-horn 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 flat-bottomed 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.
III
Broncos and Bears
Hunting lost broncos was one of the commonest and most irksome of Roosevelt’s ranch duties. On one occasion, when three horses under his charge had been running loose for a couple of months and had become as wild as deer through their stolen liberty, he had to follow at full speed for fifteen miles, until by exhausting them, he was able to get them under control and headed toward a corral.
At other times he and his men were not so lucky. Two horses had been missing from the ranch for nearly eighteen months. They were seen by his men and pursued but the horses of the pursuers became exhausted and broken before they caught up with the runaways.
On another occasion a horse that had been on the Roosevelt ranch nine months developed a case of homesickness, went off one night and traveled two hundred miles back to its former roaming grounds, swimming the Yellowstone to achieve its goal.
When Roosevelt was attending one of the recent national political conventions, up came George Meyer, one of his former ranchmen, with this tale of Roosevelt’s roundup days on the Little Missouri:
“When the Colonel gets into a mix-up like he is in at this convention the picture comes to me of the time when he and I started to get two calves across the river. I singled out the meekest looking, grabbed it up in my arms, held it while I managed to get on my horse, and started to cross the river. Half way across I turned to see how ‘the boss’ was getting along.
“He had roped his calf and was dragging it toward the river. The calf, bleating and bouncing, swung round under the horse’s tail. This set the bronco on a rampage. The river bank was high, but over it he bucked. I saw ‘the boss’ clutching the reins with one hand and the calf rope with the other. The sudden tautness of the rope as the horse plunged into the water hurled the calf into the air, landing him beside ‘the boss.’ Through the water the horse plunged, and back of bronco and rider floundered the calf. It arrived on the other shore half strangled and half drowned, but it was still bleating and bouncing as ‘the boss’ hauled it to the pen.”