When they had somewhat recovered from their wounds, Mrs. Samuels returned to her old home, in Clay county, while the boys paid her occasional visits as opportunity offered, but generally keeping themselves well hidden in the fastnesses of Jackson county. In the latter part of 1866, Jesse James was attacked with a severe type of malarial fever, which the exposure he had to endure so intensified that he determined to secretly visit his mother and place himself under her immediate care. The record which he had made during the war rendered him amenable to the vengeance of a large number of the residents of Clay and adjoining counties, who had suffered by his desperate acts. Consequently, Jesse knew that eternal vigilance was necessary, but hoped to so conceal his presence at the Samuels' homestead that no one would suspect his location or condition. But in this he was deceived, for only a few days had elapsed after his arrival at home when, by some means unknown to the writer, it was discovered that Jesse had taken up at least a temporary residence with his mother.
It was a bitter cold night in the month of February, 1867, that a band of six persons, each of whom had a special grievance to revenge, knocked at the door of Dr. Samuels' residence and demanded immediate admittance. Jesse was in a bed up stairs, but he was the first to hear and understand the peremptory challenge, as it were, of the men outside. Hastily drawing on his pantaloons and boots, he grabbed his two heavy pistols and looked out of the window where, by the light refracted by the snow, he saw six horses and only a single man. He knew then that the house was surrounded and all chance of escape lay in a bloody fight. He silently descended to the first floor, where Dr. Samuels was rattling the door and explaining to those awaiting admittance that the lock was out of repair so that the key would not work readily. This was a ruse, however, to secure time for Jesse who, Dr. Samuels hoped, would be able to escape through a back window. Locating the voice of one of the men who was threatening to break in the door, Jesse fired through the panel and a stifled groan told him that his aim had been perfect. On hearing the shot, the other five rushed to the front of the house. Jesse threw the door partly open and the light from the snow made the men outside easy targets for his unerring aim, while he was so hidden by the door and darkness within that the attacking party could not fire with the least accuracy. In half the time it has taken the reader to even scan this report three of the six men were lying dead in the snow and two others were desperately wounded, while the other fled in mortal terror.
Suffering, as he was, from a very high fever, Jesse lost no time in mounting his horse, and with a hurried good-bye, he again rode into the wilderness, leaving his mother and her family with the dead and wounded. It was a ghastly scene, there upon the white-shrouded ground, one man dead on the doorstep, two others stiff and frozen in their own blood which crimsoned the yard, while the groans from the wounded made the place more hideous. Dr. Samuels notified his nearest neighbor as soon as possible and with the assistance he secured, the two wounded men were taken into the house and cared for, while a lonely vigil over the dead was kept until morning. A large crowd collected at the homestead on the following day and removed the bodies, while more than fifty well mounted citizens went in pursuit of the youthful desperado, but after a week's fruitless search they returned to their homes and quiet again brooded over the distressed neighborhood.
PLUNDERING A KENTUCKY BANK.
The bloody record of the James Boys had been almost forgotten, for they had not been seen in Clay county for many months and no specially reckless deeds had been committed to bring back a remembrance of them; when, suddenly, the town of Russellville, Kentucky, was thrown into a greater excitement than it had ever before experienced. The James Boys had paid the place a visit and left a souvenir of their desperate valor. On the 30th of March, 1868, Jesse James, accompanied by four comrades, George Shepherd, Oll. Shepherd, Cole Younger and Jim White, dashed into the town like a hurricane, yelling and firing their pistols until every one was frightened from the streets. They then rode to the bank where four of them dismounted and entered, with drawn revolvers, so intimidating the cashier that he opened the safe to Jesse James, while Cole Younger gathered the money that was lying upon the counter. The amount appropriated by the bandits was $14,000, which they threw into a sack and then leisurely departed. Everything connected with the robbery showed thorough system and a management which could be attributed to none other than the fierce Missouri free-booters.
When the excitement and surprise had somewhat subsided the sheriff summoned twenty deputies and started in pursuit. The chase continued through Kentucky and western Tennessee. Telegrams were sent in every direction with the hope of intercepting the robbers, who, finding themselves close pressed, scattered, as was their custom, and all, save George Shepherd, eluded pursuit and gained the marshes and dense coverts of Arkansas, where it was impossible to trail them. Shepherd was captured two weeks after the robbery in a small drug store in Tennessee and taken back to Logan county, where he was convicted and sentenced to the penitentiary for a term of three years.
Oliver Shepherd, a brother of George, who was also connected with the bank robbery, was afterward found in Jackson county, Missouri, and a requisition being first obtained, a dozen men attempted his arrest. But Oll., as he was called, was made of that sterner composition which would not brook a curtailment of his liberty, and he threw defiance at the officers of the law. Then began a battle of extermination. The officers had armed themselves with carbines because they knew that to come in range of the old guerrilla's pistols would be death to many of them. The hero of a hundred desperate conflicts felt that his time had come, so, bracing himself against a large tree, he stood and received the fire of his slayers at a range of nearly two hundred and fifty yards. His pistols were useless, although he fired every shot, fourteen rounds, at the officers, who, from behind trees, shot seven terrible slugs into his body before he fell; even then, like Spartacus, he struck out towards his foes in the last throes of death.