Fort Worth, March 10th, '77.
Dear ——
The boys will soon be ready. As soon as the roads dries up, and the streams runs down, we will drive. We expect to take in a good bunch of cattle. You may look out. There will be lots of bellering after the drive. Remember it's business. The rainge is good, I learn, between Sidney and Dedwood. We may go to pasture somewheres in that region. You will hear of it. Tell Sam to come to Honey Grove, Texas, before the drive seson comes. There's money in the stock. As ever,
Jesse J.
There is a mystery connected with the Union Pacific Railroad robbery which, for more than three years, has remained impenetrable and will, doubtless, continue so to the end of time. The particulars of this daring outrage, gathered principally from newspaper reports at the time, are as follows:
On the 10th day of September, 1877, a party of nine men, well armed and mounted, rode to a point on the Union Pacific R. R. near Ogallala, the capital of Keith county, in the extreme western part of Nebraska. They made no special effort to deceive the people of the town, as the purpose of their visit was never mentioned. On the day following the encampment, one of the party, afterwards known to be Jim Berry, a former resident of the State, went into Ogallala and purchased four large red handkerchiefs and a gallon of whiskey. That night the camp presented a hilarious scene and the wild orgies were continued such an unusually long time that the citizens began to make remarks respecting the character of the nine strange men. Three days afterward the camp was abandoned, none of the citizens knowing which direction the party had taken, so that suspicion was directed against the object of the singular visitors.
On the 18th following, the mysterious nine suddenly appeared at a small station called Big Springs, fifteen miles west of Ogallala, where the engines of the Union Pacific railroad almost invariably stop for water. The express train was due from the west at eight o'clock, P. M., and the party disposed themselves, directly after dark, in favorable positions for the work in hand. Promptly upon time the train came thundering up to the station and the engine stopped under the water tank. As the fireman was about to mount the tender for the purpose of directing the water spout, two men wearing red handkerchiefs for masks rushed up toward the engine. For some reason the engineer had a presentiment that some trouble was brewing, so seizing his pistol he stepped to the side of the cab and peered into the darkness. It was too late; the fire through the open furnace door reflected his actions distinctly and in a moment the engineer realized that he was looking down into the fatal depths of four navy revolvers and he and the fireman were forced to surrender and keep quiet.
At the same time the two robbers took possession of the engine, two others, with the same mask of red handkerchiefs, boarded the express car, while the other five commenced discharging their pistols in order to intimidate the passengers. The express messenger made an effort at resistance, but he was struck a desperate blow on the head with a pistol and then forced to deliver up the keys to the Wells, Fargo & Co.'s safe. The contents of the safe in gold, silver and currency amounted to $60,000, besides 300,000 ounces of silver in bars, the latter consigned to the Treasury at Washington. The robbers could not handle the heavy silver bars, so they were compelled to be satisfied with the other contents of the safe and about $2,000 which they took from the passengers. They then permitted the train to go on its way, and having divided their plunder they loaded the coin on three pack-mules and made off with it.