Captain McDonald, returning from the Fitzsimmons-Maher contest, via Fort Worth, had got as far as Bellvue in the adjoining county when he was met by a telegram, containing the news of what had happened that morning at Wichita Falls. He immediately wired the authorities at the Falls to have horses in readiness for himself and men.
The Rangers reached the city about two in the afternoon and mounting the horses, already waiting, dashed away in the direction the robbers had taken. With him, Captain Bill had Rangers McCauley, Harwell, Sullivan, Queen, and McClure—the tried, picked men whom Lewis and Crawford had been most anxious to avoid. The horses were picked, too, for speed and endurance and went at a wild headlong gait—almost too headlong for safety. A small creek that had become a bed of mud lay across the road and Captain Bill's horse, stumbling on the brink, sent him head first into the soft mixture, which literally daubed him from head to foot before he could get on his feet. His men thought for a moment that he was killed, but he rose spluttering and swearing, wholly unhurt, though fearfully disfigured, and with no time to remove his disguise. Instantly mounting, he galloped on, a sight to behold, the others respectfully restraining any tendency to mirth.
Presently they met the local posse coming back. The posse had given up the chase, but was able to furnish information. Captain Bill and his Rangers learned where the robbers had disappeared, and pressed on in that direction, the posse following.
It was now getting toward evening and would soon be dusk. It was desirable to make an end of matters by daylight, if possible, and the Rangers wasted no time. They picked their way rapidly into the thick undergrowth of the bottoms, and suddenly in a bend of the river discovered the Clydesdale horses tied close to the bank. Their riders were believed to be close by, and the Rangers expected to be fired upon at any moment. Without waiting for any such reception they charged in the direction of the horses, with no other result than that Ranger Sullivan broke a stirrup, fell, and with a fractured rib, retired from action.
Lewis and Crawford had abandoned the horses, and their trail led down the river bank. The Rangers also left their horses at this point, for it was hard going. McDonald now took Queen and Harwell, one on either side of him, their guns in readiness while he gave his attention to the trail. The light was getting very dim where they were, but Captain Bill is a natural trailer and followed the tracks without difficulty. Here and there they found stray articles which the men had dropped in their flight. Finally the tracks led to the river where it was evident the bandits had crossed.
It was February and the water was very cold. Captain Bill had not yet recovered from the terrible bullet wounds received in the fight with Matthews, two months before, and was bent and debilitated, but he did not falter. With Queen and Harwell he plunged in and waded the icy water, chin deep, to the other side. Twice more the trail led to the river and crossed, and twice more McDonald and his men waded that bitter current, holding their fire-arms above their heads, their bodies literally numb with cold. It was a severe experience, but as Captain Bill said afterwards, it removed a good deal of his mud.
McDonald now made up his mind that the robbers would be likely to cross a road that had been cut through the bottoms, and head toward the Territory, which they were evidently trying to reach, believing the Rangers would not follow them across the line. He called to one of his men—Ranger McClure, who appeared just then, a little distance away—to get all the force he could and guard that road, while he, McDonald, with Queen and Harwell, would continue to beat the brush and search carefully through the bottoms. At that moment Lewis and Crawford were near enough to hear this order, and the realization that it was Bill McDonald and his Rangers who were on the trail gave them a sudden and more severe chill than the icy water they had waded.
They had been heading for the Territory, as McDonald suspected, but decided to change their course toward a creek that ran parallel with the river. On their way to it they were obliged to cross an open field, and though by this time it was night—between nine and ten o'clock—a full moon had risen and they were discovered by the men guarding the road, and fired upon. They returned the fire as they ran, but no damage was done on either side. Meantime, McDonald and his two companions, nearly perishing with wet and cold, having come upon a house in their search, had stopped to try for a cup of hot coffee. At the sound of the shots they rushed out. A horse was hitched at the door and Captain Bill leaped into the saddle and hurried in the direction of the alarm. As he approached, he saw in the moonlight a crowd—the local posse—gathered on the little hill overlooking the wheatfield where the robbers had crossed. The Ranger Captain fully expected to find the captured or dead bandits in that crowd, and called out as he came up:
"Boys, where are they? Where are the robbers?"
They pointed in the direction of some brush about a quarter of a mile away.