At the time of which I write, Captain Sam. Sixkiller, a full-blooded Cherokee Indian, was the Chief of the United States Indian Police, and lived at Muskogee. This police force was maintained by the United States Government, and consisted entirely of Indians of good reputation, and it was their duty to patrol the Indian Territory. They were armed and mounted, and were there to protect the law-abiding Indians and other residents and their property, especially from whiskey peddlers, of which there were a great many plying their nefarious trade, selling the Indians cheap whiskey at exorbitant prices, which was strictly prohibited by the Federal laws governing the Indian Territory.
Sixkiller and his force had all authority to arrest any person charged with a crime, on sight or on complaint. So after deciding to arrest Sweeney, I wired from Vinita to Capt. Sixkiller, at Muskogee, requesting him to join me at Vinita for the purpose of arresting this law-breaker, without mentioning Sweeney's name.
In a short time I received an answer from Sixkiller's physician stating that Sixkiller was confined to his bed with a severe attack of fever. Upon receipt of this information, I reported to Luke Sixkiller, a brother of the Chief, who lived at Vinita, and who was a member of the United States Indian police force. I requested Luke to accompany me to where Sweeney was living with his brother-in-law to arrest him. Luke promptly told me that he would not dare arrest Sweeney unless his brother, the Chief, was present. "Why," he said, "this man Sweeney is a terror. He is a wonderful shot with either rifle or pistol, and it will take at least a half-dozen men, well armed, to capture him. He is a desperate man, and so we will have to wait until the Chief gets well enough to come and help capture him."
I had been accompanied to Vinita by one of my assistants, whose name was William H. Bonnell. He was a little fellow, only weighing about one hundred and thirty pounds, inclined to be tall, but slender, had plenty of nerve, and was a remarkably good marksman, always willing and anxious to do his duty, and would take as many chances as any man I ever knew. He had helped me to get the information which led me to the decision of arresting Sweeney, and on hearing that Sixkiller was sick he at once suggested that he and I go to the Little Cabin Creek farm and capture Sweeney ourselves. Our conference took place in the evening, and I told Bonnell that I would sleep over the matter and would decide by morning what should be done.
William H. Bonnell.
For many years one of Detective Furlong's trusted operatives
and noted for his fearlessness.
I had seen Sweeney but once in my life, and that was about a year before in Kansas City, he having been pointed out to me by an officer, but I was satisfied he did not know me, so after carefully considering the matter next morning, I decided that I would take a horse and ride over to the Little Cabin place alone. I felt sure if Sweeney did not know me, or recognize me, that I would be able to bring him into Vinita alone, with less trouble than if I was accompanied by another stranger, knowing, as I did, his treacherous and cowardly disposition. I reasoned that if he saw two strangers approaching his brother-in-law's house he was liable to open fire on us and might kill one or both of us before we could reach him, and that he would be less liable to open fire on a lone man. Bonnell demurred, saying that I would probably get killed going over there alone, but for the reasons above stated, I decided to go alone.
I procured a horse from a livery stable and started. I reached the farm-house about 9:30 o'clock in the morning. I took a course across the open prairie, a distance of about four miles. On the other side of this I came to Little Cabin Creek. There was a heavy growth of timber and thick underbrush on every side. The trail to the farm led directly through the brush timber for about two or three miles. At last I reached a set of bars that served for a gate directly in front of a two-story, frame farm-house, which stood in an open field, and about one hundred feet from the bars. The thick timber and undergrowth shut out a view of the house, and I did not see it until my horse had reached the bars. When I reached there I discovered the house and saw Sweeney sitting on the porch in plain sight, and a Winchester rifle was leaning up against the building near him. I got off my horse, placing the rein over the bar post, let down one of the bars and crawled through. As soon as I had got inside the bars Sweeney commanded me to throw up my hands, and looking up at him I found that he had risen and was holding the Winchester pointed at me. I halted. He said, "Who are you and what do you want?"
I replied, "My name is Foster, and I want to see Mr. John B. Sweeney."