Life and adventures of Frank and Jesse James, the noted western outlaws

by J. A. Dacus

Mexican brigands are good night travellers. Indeed, their most important movements are made in the night. During the day time, if possible, they take shelter in the chaparral, and remain quiet until the shades of night fall over valley and plain, and then under the starlight they ride—sometimes accomplishing long journeys in a thinly inhabited country without giving the least information of their presence, so secretly do they move.

It was a lovely evening in October. There was no moon, but the stars shone brightly from the cloudless sky. El Paso was unusually quiet that evening. There was not a fandango in progress in the place; the sound of the violin was not heard within its borders. The senoritas sang no vesper hymns. Palacios and his robber band had gone across the river into Texas, and not many young men remained in El Paso. All night, beneath the silent stars, the mongrel band of the bandit chief rode on toward "the settlements" of the hated, as well as dreaded Texans. Before dawn they found shelter in a patch of chaparral in the valley of an affluent of the Rio Pecos. No one had seen them. Thirty miles and more they had ridden in the direction of the fat herds of the Texans. The day passed away, and once more the curtain of night fell, and the Mexican raiders rode in its shadow. By dawn they had reached the vicinity of a well stocked ranche. A convenient shelter was sought and found near a little stream. The raiders were many miles from El Paso now, and the valleys and the hill slopes, and the lower plains were dotted with great herds of cattle. But the rancheros had not yet discovered the presence of the enemy, and rested in fancied security.

An Alarmed "Cow-Boy."

Palacios and his band hovered near the herds all day. Men were sent out to ascertain the number of herdsmen attending the different droves. All this time the horses of the raiders were carefully concealed in a thicket by the bank of the stream. When the evening came on, Palacios was well informed of the locality of all the herds in his immediate neighborhood. Dividing his men into two bands, over one of which he appointed a notorious murderer from Mier, named Jesus Almonte, and assumed command of the other in person. The time appointed for "the stampede" of the herds was ten o'clock at night. At that hour the western herdsmen are almost always sound asleep. Palacios was certain that his presence on the American side of the Rio Grande was not known. He had met no one, and his scouts had reported everything quiet among the herdsmen.

Ten o'clock came. The Mexican robbers, well armed and splendidly mounted, quietly left their covert. Almonte and his band proceeded two and a half or three miles up the stream where a large herd of cattle were corraled. Palacios went down the creek to "stampede" another herd of seven or eight hundred head. The process of "stampeding" is thoroughly understood by the Mexicans. The herdsmen were aroused by the approaching horsemen. But it was too late. The Mexicans were among them, and Almonte's gang killed two of the "cow-boys" at the upper herd, and Palacios' crowd killed one at the lower herd. The "stampede" was complete. The herds were turned toward the Rio Grande, and driven rapidly away. All the remainder of that night, and all the next day, the robbers pressed forward toward their place of concealment and shelter beyond the Rio Grande. As yet, no pursuers had appeared, but Palacios knew well that they were not safe on this side the river. He knew that the avengers were on his track, and he cared not to see the face of a Texan at that time. Coming at night time to the river some distance below El Paso, he crossed over with all his booty, and speedily made himself comfortable among his sympathizing countrymen and countrywomen.

It chanced about that time that Frank and Jesse James rode down toward the Rio Grande to make observations, and enjoy life just beyond the borders of civilization. Being somewhat in the outlaw business themselves, they cared very little for "the borders of civilization," or for that matter, for the interior. While riding, they met one of the sorely disconsolate herdsmen, who told the story which we have related, with many embellishments; for instance, that a band had come out of the south country, killed all the herdsmen in the valley, driven off all the herds, and that he only was left alive to tell of their fate.

To this doleful tale Frank and Jesse James gave good heed, for one of the missing herds had been their property.

The two brothers consulted together as to what could be done under the circumstances. They had been into Mexico on many occasions before, and, although the frightened herdsman had magnified the numbers of the raiders, so that they appeared a mighty host, Frank and Jesse James were not the men to submit tamely to downright robbery. The brothers resolved to pursue the raiders. And so they rode on and on until they came to the Rio Grande.

It was in the early morning. The October sun had not yet appeared above the horizon, but all the eastern sky was refulgent with the coming glories of a lovely day. Frank and Jesse James had ridden far, but their horses were not jaded, and as for themselves, physical endurance is their normal characteristic. They were ready for any desperate adventure, such as they were then engaged in. Only for a moment did they pause when they emerged from the river. Their fire-arms were carefully examined, and then they urged their horses onward. El Paso was silent. The inhabitants had not yet awakened from their slumbers. Palacios and his band, with their stolen herds, had passed on through the village in the direction of the mountains. Their trail through the sand was still fresh. The James Boys rode on. Three miles away they came to the camp. Deeming themselves safe, the Mexican raiders had taken no precautions to guard against surprise. The herds had been corraled, and the bandits, wearied by their long marches, slumbered heavily.