Fifty Years a Detective: 35 Real Detective Stories

by Thomas Furlong

Early on the morning of Nov. 23rd, I received a message from Mr. Clark, stating that he had just learned from Adams that the passenger train on the Lexington Branch was to be held up and robbed that night, at a point nine miles north of Sedalia, and instructing me to take immediate steps to protect the train and prevent the robbery. Mr. Clark placed W. W. Kay, his special agent, at my disposal, and, on consulting the official time card of the Missouri Pacific road, I found that in order to protect the Lexington Branch train against the contemplated robbery, I must leave St. Louis at 8:45 that morning, so that I might board the endangered train at Independence Junction, Missouri, that evening, as that train was due to leave Kansas City on its east bound trip before the one I was obliged to take from St. Louis arrived at Kansas City. I found that if both trains were on time I would have three minutes at Independence to make connections, and I succeeded by hustling—to use a western expression. I only had time to catch the train from St. Louis, and barely time to get word to my assistant superintendent, J. S. Manning, who accompanied Kay and myself to Independence, where we boarded the threatened train.

I told the conductor in charge of the train of the instructions I had received from General Superintendent Clark, and instructed him that when the train was flagged and stopped not to pay any attention to the parties who attempted to stop the train, but to devote his whole time to keeping his passengers quiet and to keep them in their seats in the cars, and to see that none of them raised a window and put their heads out. I then went over to the engineer and told him what was liable to happen, and told him that when we arrived at a certain curve, at which the information indicated we were to be flagged, and he saw the signal, which would be a red light shown across the track, he should stop the train immediately, and by all means he must not run beyond the danger signal. I told him that after he had stopped the train he and his fireman could squat down on what is known as the hearth of the engine, in front of the boiler, where they would both be entirely safe, and could not be reached by bullets fired from the ground, as the sides of the cab, up as far as the window sills, were steel, and by stooping down below the level of the window sills both of them would be perfectly safe from any shots that might be fired. The engineer and fireman understood my instructions perfectly, but I noticed that the engineer, who was a big, husky, middle-aged man, acted as though he was an arrant coward.

When we arrived at the first station north of the curve, which was about two miles, I placed Mr. Manning on the front platform of the express and baggage car immediately behind the engine. He was armed with a .44 Colts. Detective Frank Barnett, of the Missouri Pacific, with headquarters at Ossowattomie, Kansas, and whose home was at Sedalia, and who had joined my party at Independence, was placed on the rear end of the express car, armed with a repeating Winchester shot gun. I boarded the engine and took a seat on the engine box. I placed Mr. Kay on the fireman's box on the opposite side of the engine. The fireman gave Kay his cap to wear and I had the engineer's cap on, so that any person on the ground, it being after dark, would naturally suppose that I was the engineer and Kay the fireman. The real engineer and fireman stood on the hearth in front of the boilerhead. They could attend to their duties standing where they were as well as though they were seated on their respective boxes. We proceeded south from the last station in this order.

When we reached the curve, I being on the inside of the curve, saw the signal first. It proved afterwards to be a white lantern with a red handkerchief tied over it, which gave it the appearance of a real danger signal. It was swung back and forth across the track, vigorously. I called the engineer's attention to it, while we were at least two hundred yards away.

We were running then at a speed of about thirty miles an hour. I told the engineer to slow up, get his train under control and by all means to be sure and come to a full stop before passing the signal. There was a slight grade to the curve, and although he shut off his steam, he did not apply the air-brakes, so that the train slackened its speed but very little. I saw that we were bound to pass the signal, and again commanded him to stop the train, but he seemed to be bent on passing that signal. It appeared that he was too frightened to think of the air-brakes at all. Whereupon, I threw on the reverse lever myself, or "plugged the engine" as the engineer would say, which caused the wheels to slip, although they did not hold to the rails or stop the speed of the train but slowly.

Meanwhile the party who was swinging the signal light stood in the middle of the track until the train was almost on top of him; in fact, I thought he was going to be run down, but he did manage to leap from the track just in time to save himself. He jumped to the left hand side, which was the opposite side of the engine to where I was stationed. When we passed him we were running at least fifteen miles an hour, and he immediately opened fire on the engine with what we afterwards learned to be a .45 Colts revolver. He riddled the upper part of the cab with bullets. The moment the firing began I sprang from my side of the engine to the gang way on the opposite side. It did not take me an instant to get to that position. The gang way was just passing the fellow who was doing the shooting and I had time then to take but one shot at him. I knew that I hit him, for I saw him fall into the ditch. About the time the shooting began, another would-be robber was discovered on the right-of-way. He also began firing at the officers, sending a couple of shots at Manning, who was on the front end of the express car, and both of which only missed Manning's head by a margin of a few inches.

On account of the grade the train did not come to a full stop until we had passed the place where the signal had been shown, probably a distance of fifteen hundred feet or three train lengths. I had instructed Messrs. Kay and Manning and Barnett that if any shooting occurred to open fire on any person they might see on the ground, knowing as I did that they would obey orders. I had also told the conductor to be sure and see that none of the passengers or his crew got on the ground, and for this reason we dare not leave the train until it came to a full stop. After we came to a stop Kay, Manning and myself got off of the train and started to the place where we expected to find the dead or wounded man whom I had shot and had seen fall into the ditch. After we had left the train the engineer began backing up, and nearly ran over us as the train was backing faster than we could either walk or run.

At Lexington, Missouri, the train had picked up an extra coach, containing about twenty passengers, members of a local theatrical troupe bound for Sedalia to give a performance there. They were what theatrical people would call "barn stormers." Every one of them had a popgun of some sort with them, and they began shooting out of the car windows. When we reached the spot where I had seen the robber fall we found that he had disappeared. There had been a light fall of snow, probably two inches, on the day preceding the holdup, and the tracks of this man were plainly visible, and there was also a streak of blood about two inches in width, which led across the track from the east to the west to a road running north and south. The wounded man had taken this road, which led to Sedalia. While we were trying to find the trail we saw another man attempting to get through a barbed wire fence, which was on the right-of-way of the railroad on the east. His clothing became fastened in the wire. He struggled, however, to extricate himself, and finally succeeded, just at the time that Manning and I reached the place where the other man had fallen. We saw him as he was getting through the fence, and he started to run in an easterly direction through a large newly plowed field. To make matters worse the ground was covered with snow.

Discovering that our wounded man was gone, and spying the other one running across the field, we gave pursuit. Manning succeeded in jumping over the fence, but I thought I could get through where the robber had, believing that he had sprung the wires and it would be easy, but I also got caught on the barbs and it was only with difficulty that I finally released myself. By this time Manning had got quite a lead, but soon, however, after getting away from that fence, I overtook him, and so it was a neck and neck race between us for at least 150 yards. After leading us a merry chase for that distance, the robber fell, and we, having gained on him, were close to him when he fell, and we sprung upon and disarmed him. His hands and face were covered with blood. He lay on the ground moaning, and we believed that he was badly wounded. There was every possibility of his being seriously hurt, because several shots had been fired at him by Manning and myself during our chase across the field. The "barn stormers" had taken the matter as a general jubilee, and had begun firing at friend and foe alike. They all had shooting irons of some sort and threw open their windows and began firing as soon as we began to pursue the robber. Even the express messenger, who knew that Manning and myself were running across that field, opened fire with a Winchester rifle from his car. Just before the robber fell, a bullet, which had evidently been fired by the express messenger, struck the handle of the revolver that Mr. Manning was carrying in his right hand, splintering the handle and nearly paralyzing his hand and arm with the concussion. If the bullet had hit Manning's hand it would have ruined it forever.

Just as Manning and myself had grabbed and disarmed the fallen man, Detective Barnett reached us, and jerking the handkerchief, which had been used as a mask, from the would-be robber's face, exclaimed, "Why, hello, Jim." We all knew then that we had captured West, whom we had known to be in the conspiracy. "Is that you, Frank?" exclaimed West, after which he feigned unconsciousness. West was at that time in the employ of the Missouri Pacific, with a run out of Sedalia, where he had resided for a number of years. He had been at one time superintendent of a Sunday school, and stood well in the estimation of the business men of that town. He also had a reputation among persons who knew him better than the church people, as being a fairly good poker player, and exceedingly fond of the game.