Rube Burrow, king of outlaws, and his band of train robbers

by George W. Agee

June 1, 1889.

Mr. Sthrel:

I just Received your catalogue of wigs and will order Wig and Bird. Pleas ship one set of Bird, 4 or 5 inches and one Wig, Cullor of goods light Red, slieghtley Grey, and croped hair. Ship goods to Sulligent (express office, ship at once) Lamar county Ala, too W. W. Cain.

P. S.—Please find Five Dollars inclosed. eye Hav no sample of Hair.

Rube had written for the catalogue and for the wig in the name of W. W. Cain. The former letter was written from Jewell post-office, and as the name “Sulligent” was not plainly written, the shipper sent the parcel containing the wig and beard by mail to Jewell, Ala.

Meantime Jim Cash had made several inquiries for the catalogue to Cain’s address before it arrived. On the arrival of the parcel containing the wig and whiskers, the wrapper being torn the contents were exposed. Naturally great curiosity was excited as to the ownership of these queer looking articles. The rumor soon gained currency that Jim Cash had been inquiring for mail for W. W. Cain. The postmaster recalled having delivered him the catalogue, and this parcel was supposed to be his property. Cash was told that the contents had been examined, and that the postmaster declared he intended to arrest the party who called for the parcel.

When this information was imparted to him by Cash, Rube became greatly enraged. He swore he would go to the post-office in person, get the mail, and kill Graves. Accordingly he left the home of his brother-in-law, Cash, about daylight on the 7th of July for Jewell, Ala., distant about six miles. Rube was known to Moses Graves, who kept the post-office in connection with a country store, and who was a quiet and inoffensive citizen.

Rube arrived at Jewell early, but the full-orbed day was not a fit time for the execution of the dark deed upon which he was bent. He lurked about the outskirts of the quiet little village until the shades of night had begun to fall, and creeping, with the stealthy step of the assassin, towards the post-office, he entered. Moses Graves, the postmaster, and Rube, companions and playmates in their boyhood, stood face to face, and exchanging a silent recognition, Rube said: “Have you any mail for W. W. Cain?”

“Yes,” answered Graves, “but I can not deliver it to you.”

Instantly Rube drew his heavy revolver and fired, the ball entering the stomach and piercing him through and through.