History That Doesn't Suck - 86: Gunslingers & Outlaws (pt 1): The Second Industrial Revolution, Sam Bass & Billy the Kid

Episode Date: March 15, 2021

“I am going to hell anyhow.” This is the story of the rise of Western outlaws and gunslingers. From transportation of goods and people, to mining and even the cattle industry, a Second Industrial Revolution has overtaken the United States. Economic and political disruption are everywhere … but the law isn’t. And that’s the perfect cocktail for a golden age of outlaws.  Sam Bass is robbing the Union Pacific. Henry—sorry, he doesn’t go by his legal name these days—Billy or “Kid,” is throwing down in a power struggle in the New Mexico Territory’s Lincoln County. Neither man will be long for this world.  ____ Connect with us on HTDSpodcast.com and go deep into episode bibliographies and book recommendations join discussions in our Facebook community get news and discounts from The HTDS Gazette  come see a live show get HTDS merch or become an HTDS premium member for bonus episodes and other perks. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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Find us at ancienthistoryfangirl.com or wherever you get your podcasts. Welcome to History That Doesn't Suck. I'm your professor, Greg Jackson, and as in the classroom, my goal here is to make rigorously researched history come to life as your storyteller. Each episode is the result of laborious research with no agenda other than making the past come to life as you learn. If you'd like to help support this work, receive ad-free episodes, bonus content, and other exclusive perks, I invite you to join the HTDS membership program. Sign up for a 7-day free trial today at htdspodcast.com slash membership or click the link in the episode notes.

Language Advisory As a result of quoting from historical sources, this episode contains a higher-than-usual usage of the strongest language we permit on HTDS before censoring. Particularly, the full phrase SOB is used several times, among other things. I guess outlaws use offensive language. Shocker, I know. Given that frequency, however, today, listener discretion is advised. It's about 10 o'clock at night, September 18th, 1877, no more than five miles north of Colorado's northeastern corner in Big Springs, Nebraska.

Of course, the name is a bit deceiving. With nothing more than two homes, a railroad section house, a station, and a supporting water tank, there's nothing big about this settlement. It's just a quiet little Union Pacific station along the Transcontinental Railroad. The only sign of life here right now is a UP agent and telegraph operator named George Barnhart, who's waiting up for the next express train due at 10.48 p.m. Not that the train will be stopping, but George needs to be on hand in case any mail is tossed at the station as it passes through. So, the UP man waits, killing the time by reading with the aid of a kerosene light. George isn't alarmed when he hears someone enter his office.

He figures it's a UP section hand. I mean, who else could it be? But the sounds of two sets of boots and drawn six-shooters quickly grab his attention. Raising his head, George looks into the eyes of two faces covered by red bandanas. Hands up! One of the two masked bandits barks. George reaches for the sky, and with those four revolvers trained on his head,

he follows the duo's orders to disable the telegraph and put out a red signal light that'll instruct the express train to stop. With George secured, and possibly one other UP employee, depending on the source, our two unnamed robbers join their fellow four masked bandits and lay in wait on or by the station platform. The eastbound train's headlight slowly grows bigger while its billowing smoke dances in the bright moonlight.

As the train approaches, the engineer sees the red signal light and brings the express train to a halt. Perfect. The masked marauders emerge and order the fireman, whose job it is to keep the coals burning in the engine's firebox, and the engineer out of the locomotives cab. Warning shots quickly convince the duo to accept their fate as captives. Whether now or later, sources aren't clear.

Some of the bandana wearing brigands also douse the engine's firebox with water. Yeah, these are smart crooks. That'll keep the train immobilized for the time being. A dutiful conductor now steps off the train and onto the station's platform. The gang greets them with their customary salutation. Throw up your hands! The conductor is added to the growing ranks of the captive Union Pacific employees.

Meanwhile, two of the bandits, Sam Bass and Jack Davis, have made their way to the train's express car. Laden with valuables, they know the car is locked and that the well-armed Wells Fargo & Company messenger inside it will only open the door if he hears the correct secret knock. So naturally, they've brought someone who knows it. Their first captive, station agent George Barnhart. Gun to his head, George knocks on the door accordingly. Hmm, the messenger, Charlie Miller, still has his doubts. He yells through the door to ask what George wants.

Looking down Sam and Jack's muzzles, the terrified station agent answers per the bandit's instructions. I have some freight for you. Charlie only cracks the door open, but that's all the robbers need to force their way in. Throw up your props, Sam orders as two other bandits join him and Jack. Now numbering four, the team quickly disarms Charlie and opens his little way safe. 458 bucks. Meh, nice start. But they want their captured messenger to provide the combo for the real deal. The train's through safe. Charlie responds,

Gentlemen, I give you my word of honor. I don't know it. You may kill me if you want to, but I tell you honestly, I don't know it. Jack thinks it's a bluff. Liar, he shouts and curses while roughly shoving the barrel of his six-shooter inside Charlie's mouth. Charlie tastes blood as the cold metal cuts into soft tissue.

According to some accounts, he loses a few teeth. According to others, Jack savagely and repeatedly pistol whips the Wells Fargo employee. Whichever happens, it only ends when the Brigands come to understand that Charlie genuinely can't open the through safe. The story's details differ here, too, but in one version, Charlie manages to produce papers explaining that the safe was set when he departed San Francisco, California,

and can't be opened until the train reaches Omaha, Nebraska. Jack and Sam, both illiterate, pass the papers to their better-educated criminal colleague, Joel Collins. Psh, ah! Joel exclaims as he reads, This man can no more open the safe than we can. Let him alone. Frustrated, Sam finds an axe and swings wildly at the safe.

No use. There will be no getting at the $200,000 inside. The four bandana-covered men look over the express car. There has to be something else here worth taking. They see several silver bullion bricks, but those are far too heavy for a quick getaway. They're just ready to give up when three wooden boxes catches a bandit's eye.

Either Sam or Jack picks up a box. Hmm, not so heavy. The thief then smashes it on the ground. Coins spill from the splintered box. Each one is a freshly minted, solid gold $20 double eagle. Looking at the fortune by his feet, Sam happily announces, boys, that's good enough for us. But that isn't entirely true. Once they have the coin-filled boxes under guard on the station platform, Sam and three others dash into a passenger car and hold up all the able-bodied men, relieving them of pocketbooks, watches, and the like. Hold up your hands, every son of a bitch, and keep still. We want your money. They refuse, however, to rob a one-armed man or any of the ladies on board.

It's exactly this sort of criminal code that will contribute to Sam's legend as a chivalrous outlaw. The gang would love to get into the sleeping cars and others, one of which is the private car of Central Pacific President Leland Stanford. But these are all locked shut. And now they can hear a freight train approaching. Time to go. The six bandana-masked men take their coins, dash to their horses, mount, and ride off into the night. They've got over $1,000 in cash, a few gold pocket watches, but that's all chump change compared to their double eagles.

Those gold coins add up to $60,000, a veritable fortune for the era. The Big Springs robbery will go down in history as both the first and greatest train heist the Union Pacific will ever suffer. But not all the Black Hills Bandits, as they're known, will live long enough to really enjoy their take. One in particular might have, if you weren't so drawn to robbing stagecoaches, trains, and banks.

Then again, people don't often write songs about those who live quiet lives, and songs will be sung of the 5'8", thin-bearded, 26-year-old, and romanticized bandit, Sam Bass. Welcome to History That Doesn't Suck. I'm your professor, Greg Jackson, and I'd like to tell you a story. We might be done building the Transcontinental Railroad, but we're not done with the West. It's time to meet some of its legendary gunslinging outlaws. To that end, I'll start by setting up their world, and odd as it may seem, that means talking about the American West's industrialization. That'll only take a spell, though.

Then we'll be ready to hear the tales of some of America's most notorious outlaws. So today, we'll follow train robber Sam Bass back to Texas, then head to the New Mexico Territory, where we'll meet a young gun known as Billy the Kid. Bullets are going to be flying in this one, but let's get started with a word or two on the Second Industrial Revolution. Here we go. I know, industrialization and the wild west might feel a bit odd together. The word industrialization typically conjures an image of factories and busy cities.

And that doesn't exactly jive with the thought of cowboys on the open range or gunslingers. That said, without industrialization, the American West would neither have the concentration of wealth that bandits like our new associate Sam Bass steal, nor the very steam-powered trains from which they sometimes do the stealing. In particular, there are three aspects through which we can really see industrialization dramatically altering the American West. First is transportation. Through that modern marvel, we just spent three episodes spreading across the continent.

The railroad. Second is mining. And finally, livestock. Let me break these down for you. First, let's talk about the railroad. As crucial as the transcontinental railroad was in connecting the Pacific and Atlantic coasts, that was only the beginning. Only a little over a decade later, in the 1880s, the Iron Horse is running on over

100,000 miles of track in the United States. Though lower than the nation's 20th century peak, that's already more rail than the nation will use in the early 21st century. The 1880s also see greater connectivity between these railroads as gauges continue to standardize and modern time zones come into existence. Railroad companies find that the practice of each town setting their clock to noon by the sun makes communication difficult, so they split the nation into four time zones, and the idea sticks. Soon, all Americans are setting their clocks in alignment with the railroads. This strong and still-growing network of railroads means goods can be shipped just

about anywhere, and that leads late 19th century Americans to start buying all sorts of products through mail orders. It's amazing, particularly if you have Montgomery Ward's catalog. Even in some of the remotest of places, someone can thumb through this wishbook, as it's often called, select any of its hundreds of items, jewels, farm equipment, you name it, then simply place an order to have it delivered by mail. Richard Sears and Alva Roebuck's firm, Sears Roebuck & Company, isn't far behind Montgomery Ward on entering the catalog mail order game either. Though not everyone appreciates these new shipping conveniences.

As rail provides for the movement of mass-produced goods to now reachable mass markets, it's disrupting local businesses, like general stores and wagon-drawn freighting, that is, the bulk transportation of goods. Basically, the railroad is rocking the late 19th century's economy in ways not altogether different from how the internet will rock the economy of the late 20th and early 21st. But it isn't just goods moving so easily. The railroad is moving people, too. This means that going west no longer requires braving dysentery on the Oregon Trail.

Meanwhile, the 1862 Homestead Act has made the West all the more enticing. Per this law, a hopeful farmer can legally acquire 160 acres of land through nothing more than a $10 fee and five years of sweat equity. Homesteading isn't an easy life, and not all will succeed, but as long as the individual or family lives on the plot for five years and makes quote-unquote improvements, defined as building structures, creating a farm, etc., it's theirs. Yes, even as industrialization is changing the American landscape, we can still see the old Thomas Jefferson notion that a virtuous nation should be populated by small-time independent

farmers. All American citizens may homestead. That includes African Americans, Hispanic Americans, and single women. None of these latter groups do so in large numbers, but all of them do homestead. The homesteading law is also open to immigrants, and it attracts many poor Europeans with few prospects back home. In these ways, the act is a remarkable equalizer. On the other hand, it excludes Chinese immigrants because they cannot naturalize as U.S. citizens per the 1882 Chinese Exclusion Act. And if we reflect on the Indian Wars episodes again, I trust you can understand why indigenous Americans certainly are not fans of homesteading, to put it mildly. So homesteading is a mixed bag on the

whole, but its impact on the West is irrefutable. Homesteaders eventually file 4 million claims, and those who succeed will eventually gain title to some 270 million acres across 30 U.S. states. None of this could have ever happened so quickly or successfully without the same industrial wonder bringing the West's new inhabitants their mail-order goods, the railroad. Okay, enough on transportation. Industrialization is also altering mining in the West. Indeed, things have changed quite a bit since we first heard about the California gold rush in episode 39. This isn't the 1850s anymore. The 1870s sees serious changes, and I'm not just talking about Levi Strauss out in California teaming up with Jacob Davis to introduce denim pants with reinforcing metal rivets that can

stand the rigors of jobs like mining. I mean to say that the lone entrepreneurial prospector panning in a river is disappearing from the landscape. Firms have now acquired most of the claims, and most miners are on their payrolls. Miners are also deeper in the ground. Industrialization brings hydraulic mining, in which powerful jets of water wash away rock and earth to expose gold a solitary miner never would have reached.

It also facilitates deep shaft mining. So whether we're talking about Michigan's iron ore, Nevada's silver, or California's gold, large companies are increasingly behind it. And we have the rise of entire towns devoted to mining. And how do these companies bring their tools in and move their precious metals out? You already know. The railroad. Finally, we come to our third and last point on industrialization's impact on the West.

Livestock. Before the Civil War, millions of longhorn cattle roamed Texas plains. Locals enjoyed their meat, but it was far too expensive to move this cattle up north or back east to sell at a profit. Then the war tanked the East Coast beef supply. The purchase price for cattle skyrocketed to $40 or even $50 a head. Huh. The cattle business just became a nice way to make a tidy fortune. In 1866, horseback cattle herders, called cowboys, played a vital role

in satisfying the eastern state's interest in beef. They endeavored to drive more than 250,000 heads of cattle from Texas to the nearest train terminus for shipment, Sedalia, Missouri. Pushing through harsh weather, disease, as well as conflict with farmers and indigenous groups alike, these cowboys managed to complete the 800-mile trek. An enormous number of cattle die en route, yet the demand for beef has become such that the trip was still very profitable,

and they'll only get more efficient in successive years. Soon, late 19th century cowboys are driving millions of heads of cattle from Texas to railroad stations in Missouri, Kansas, or the Wyoming Territory via the Sedalia, Chisholm, Western and Goodnight Loving Trails. This is the American cowboy's golden age. Yet their lives aren't as glamorous as authors will later romanticize them to be. Cowboys often work hard for low pay. They also come from all

sorts of backgrounds. At least one-fourth of cowboys are Hispanic, indigenous, or black. Some estimates put that number as high as one-third. Perhaps the presence of Hispanic cowboys should be the least surprising considering that Spanish vaqueros kicked off horseback cattle herding in the Americas. Even now, in the late 19th century, some of America's cowboys are Hispanic Texans, called Tejanos, whose roots in the Lone Star State predate the Texas Revolution. Here they are, centuries after the Spanish first came to the Americas, still working as vaqueros. Yet, the United States' exploding economy of the Second Industrial Revolution is changing the life of the cowboy, too. To start, it's hard to sell cattle without establishing ownership. So, Texans begin claiming roaming herds by branding them. But that alone isn't going to do it,

so open ranges give way to enclosed ranches. And how are they enclosed? Well, there's a new product on the market called barbed wire. This steel wire with sharp protrusions is catching on with farmers and ranchers across the nation for several reasons, as articulated in this 1875 newspaper ad. To quote, Farmers, take notice. Leiden's patent barbed wire fence. This quote, farmers, take notice. Leiden's patent-barbed wire fence.

This wire is sure proof against cattle. It is the cheapest and most durable fence made. It takes less posts. It can be put up with one quarter of the labor that would be required on any other fence. And cattle, horses, and mules will not rub against it and break it down. Close quote. But the cattle industry isn't just changing on the cowboy's side. It's changing on the receiving end, too. The invention of the refrigerated train car in the 1870s is giving rise to an incredible interstate meatpacking industry. Cattle depart from their point of origin, say Texas, and head to Chicago, Illinois,

where the Windy City can do the butcher work and dressing, then ship the meat all over the country in these refrigerated train cars. Can you imagine a New Englander eating a steak dressed in Chicago? This is crazy! And all of this growth out west is working out well for Chicago. Or mostly well. It starts the 1870s on a rough note. In 1871, a massive fire swept through this city

of over 300,000, killing 300 and rendering one third of the population homeless and causing about $200 million worth of property damage. Rumor has it that Mrs. O'Leary's cow caused the inferno by kicking over a lamp, but there is zero proof of this. Most that can be said is that the fire likely started in her barn. I'm certainly not minimizing the Great Chicago Fire, but the Windy City rebuilds, and its role in the meatpacking industry is colossal. Further, remember America's Newfound

Love, those mail-order catalogs put out by Montgomery Ward and the Sears Roebuck and Company? Well, both of these rapidly growing titans of American business bring big bucks to Chicago. So the late 19th century may not be so bad for the Windy City after all. This certainly isn't everything worth saying about the Second Industrial Revolution. I could go on about how it's impacting factories and cities and altering so many other industries like lumber and oil. I will get to some of these aspects in future episodes, but for now, we've come to see how industrialization is dramatically altering the American West's settlement, mining, ranching, and more, while causing major economic disruptions and creating an enormous interstate economy with

fortunes worth stealing. So let's see how one of those gunslinging outlaws we met in today's open fits in this rapidly evolving world. This is the story of Sam Bass. Want to learn how you can make smarter decisions with your money? Well, I've got the podcast for you. I'm Sean Piles, and I host NerdWallet's Smart Money Podcast. On our show, we help listeners like you make the most of your finances. I sit down with NerdWallet's team of nerds, personal finance experts in credit cards, banking, investing, and more. We answer your real-world money questions and break down the latest personal finance news.

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to answer your real-world money questions and get insights that can help you make the smartest financial decisions for your life. Listen to NerdWallet's Smart Money Podcast wherever you get your podcasts. From Fort Sumter to the Battle of Gettysburg. From the Emancipation Proclamation to Appomattox Courthouse. From the 13th, 14th, and 15th Amendments to the Compromise of 1877.

From Abraham Lincoln and Ulysses S. Grant and William Tecumseh Sherman. To Jefferson Davis and Robert E. Lee and Stonewall Jackson. The Civil War and Reconstruction was a pivotal era in American history. I'm Rich. And I'm Tracy. And we're the hosts of a podcast that takes a deep dive into that era, when a war was fought to save the Union and to free the slaves. And when the work to rebuild the nation after that war was over turned into a struggle to guarantee liberty and justice for all Americans. Look for The Civil War and Reconstruction wherever you find your podcasts. The Black Hills Bandits split up almost immediately after robbing the Union Pacific Express train at Big Springs, Nebraska,

on September 18, 1877. Each man takes a $10,000 share of the gold coins. They then leave in pairs with various results. Joel Collins and Bill Heffridge fare the worst. Soldiers identified the duo less than a week after the heist. Preferring to die game, as Joel puts it in the moment, he and Bill meet their end with guns drawn. Another pair, Tom Nixon and Jim Berry, quickly split up. Tom, possibly to Canada. Jim to his home in the town, not the country, of Mexico.

Missouri. Feeling safe, Jim foolishly heads to a bank and exchanges $9,000 worth of his coins for cash. Yeah. Dumb. Not inclined to go quietly any more than the last two when authorities show up, he flees through the woods.

Until the buckshot drops him. Jim dies two days later on October 16th, 1877. As for the last two, Jack Davis and Sam Bass, they go to Fort Worth, Texas. Jack then departs for New Orleans. Sam, however, will stay in the Lone Star State. Sam has roots in Texas, or as close as he gets to roots. Let me give you his background. Born in Indiana back in 1851 and orphaned as a teen in 1863, Sam was quick to leave his uncle's care and try to make his way in the world. He worked at a mill in Mississippi in 1869. While there, he also learned how to gamble, enjoy whiskey, and handle a six-shooter.

The following year, Sam made his way to Denton, Texas, where he found employment as a farmhand and teamster. This was honest work, but within a few years, he took to horse racing, and in San Antonio, he met his future fellow bandit, Joel Collins. During this golden age of cattle drives, the duo decided to try their hand at the full cowboy experience. They acquired a few hundred steers and, possibly joined by Jack Davis at this point, drove them north.

It made a tidy sum of $8,000. And I guess you could say it was all downhill from there. Rather than return to Texas and the cowboy life, they set up in the infamous gold mining and gun slinging town of Deadwood in the Dakota Territory's Black Hills and proceeded to fail at freighting and mining. They established a dance hall, said to double as a brothel, quickly blew their small fortune, and formed their gang, the Black Hills Bandits. The group cut their teeth robbing stagecoaches, then went for that Union Pacific

Express train I detailed for you. So Sam has been all over the place and has had his hand in various parts of the American West's growing economy. But if any place is home, or at least familiar turf, it's Texas. Now, Sam lays low upon returning to the state in late 1877, but that doesn't mean the outlaw isn't thinking about his next move. He forms a new gang, and starting in early 1878, they begin robbing stagecoaches and trains in the vicinity of Dallas. Now Sam's really making the Texas Rangers and state agencies look bad. Being known for failing to stop the continued escapades of the now infamous UP train robbery suspect is the last thing this fledgling, barely post-reconstruction Texas government needs right now.

One railroad even opts to engage the services of the famous Chicago-based Pinkerton Detective Agency. There are gunfights and lawmen manage to kill one of Sam's gang, Arkansas Johnson. But otherwise, Sam and his boys always seem to get away. Finally, the law gets the break it needs in the form of Denton County Cattlemen, Jim Murphy. Jim's a friend of Sam and the whole gang, and on that basis, he and his father are charged with aiding and abetting these criminals. But it doesn't have to go down like this. U. Attorney, A.J. Evans, is willing to let Jim and his father off the hook

if Jim will help them catch Sam Bass and his gang. Jim accepts. In June, he joins Sam's dwindling gang, and in mid-July, he finds an opportunity to send a letter to the authorities, alerting them that the gang is headed to a small town about 20 miles north of Austin called Round Rock, where they'll rest their horses before their next crime.

The rangers move as fast as they can while Jim does his best to stall Sam's designs to rob the town's bank. It's about 4 p.m., July 19, 1878. Sam Bass rides leisurely toward Round Rock with his remaining bandits, Frank Jackson, Seaborn, or C.B. Barnes, and Jim Murphy. They're going to buy tobacco and give the town a look over one more time before they return tomorrow to rob the William County Bank. As they approach, though, Jim offers to swing by

the Livingston and May store in the old town and inquire on the whereabouts of any rangers. He breaks off without the gang realizing he really just wants to be clear of any ranger bullets that might come flying at the other three. They dismount, cross the street, and walk into Henry Koppel's store. Deputy Sheriff Maurice Moore is pretty sure he saw a six-shooter tucked under the coat of one of those three. He tells his fellow deputy, A.W. Cage Grimes, and they decide to check it out. The law-enforcing duo follow them inside.

Maurice lingers back, whistling, trying to look casual. Cage, possibly not realizing who they are, approaches with little concern and asks one of the trio if he has a pistol. Wrong move. Yes. Sam answers as he, Frank, and CB draw their six-shooters. Don't, boys. Hold up, boys. The lawman calls out. They won't. The lawman calls out. They won't.

The gang guns cage down. Shot through five or six times, his dead body lands by the store's entrance. Maurice springs into action, exchanging fire with the bandits as they move for the exit. One of his shots blasts the middle and ring finger clean off Sam's right hand. Maurice follows them to the door off Sam's right hand. Maurice follows them to the door, but he's hit too. A bullet cut clean through his upper left lung. But he's only fired five shots, which means his six-shooter still has one bullet left. Weak and faint, the deputy manages to get to the doorway and squeeze off one last shot.

A doctor tends to Maurice Moore's severe wounds as others, alerted by the gunfire, spring into action. Texas Rangers Dick Ware and John Jones, as well as a one-handed station agent, J.F. Tubbs, move down Georgetown Avenue. Bullets fly as 10-year-old David Doc Davis takes cover in a store. Come on! Come on! Frank yells encouragingly to his fellow outlaws. More bullets fly as the gang cuts east down an alley toward their horses. As the bandits reach their steeds, they come within range of Texas Rangers

George Harold and Chris Connor, as well as a stablekeeper, Henry Heisman. Henry's gun fails to discharge, but the Rangers both fire on Frank and Seabee. As Sam catches up with his two henchmen, George orders him to surrender. Instead, Sam raises his six-shooter and fires. But nothing discharges. He's out of bullets.

With no other hope of escape, Sam attempts to mount his horse, but as he does so, George fires. The bullet enters the left side of Sam's back and exits out his stomach. Oh, Lord, Sam yells. Meanwhile, the lawmen pursuing from the street have caught up. Texas Ranger Dick Ware takes careful aim at CB and fires. His shot passes right through the bandit's head, exiting from the right eye. CB Barnes drops dead right then and there. Frank returns fire and incredibly holds off the closing circle of Texas Rangers and others as Sam manages to mount his horse. The surviving two then ride off amid an ongoing barrage of bullets. They ride hard,

as hard as they can, while Frank holds his bleeding out boss up in the saddle. Coming through old round rock, they ride up on 13-year-old Anna Farner, sitting in the fork of a live oak tree in front of her home, innocently swinging her legs. Frank yells to Anna as they fly by. Get in the house, little girl! Get in the house! Frank doesn't want a stray bullet meant for him to hit her. And there it is, the occasional gallant behavior of these outlaws that provides the material for their romanticization later. Anna quickly obeys. The bandits have eluded the law, but that bullet through Sam's middle brings him to a stop. Now I can't tell you exactly what happens. Legend, of course, is that Sam gives Frank his money

and selflessly urges his companion to leave him. Frank, in turn, preferring to stay and fight loyally to the death, only concedes reluctantly. Maybe that's exactly what's happening. All we know for sure is young Frank Jackson leaves at this point and won't be heard of again. Early the next morning, Saturday, July 20th, one or two guides assist Sergeant Charles Neville

and eight rangers in picking up the robber's trail. It's not long before they find Sam laying under a in picking up the robber's trail. It's not long before they find Sam laying under a large tree at the prairie's edge. Charles closes in cautiously, weapon drawn. Sam sees him and his weapon. He ekes out. Don't shoot. I am unarmed and helpless. I'm the man you're looking for. I am Sam Bass. The Rangers take Sam back to Round Rock, where he receives medical attention, but it's hopeless.

The wound is mortal. Major John Jones of the Texas Rangers questions the dying outlaw. Sam owns up to the UP train heist, seven-stage coach robberies, and acknowledges who some of his fellow bandits are, but gives little of note not already known to the UP train heist, seven-stage coach robberies, and acknowledges who some of his fellow bandits are, but gives little of note not already known to the authorities. John implores with Sam to provide intel

on his former conspirators. You have done much wrong in this world. You now have an opportunity to do some good before you die by giving some information. No, Sam says, I won't. The ranger presses, Why won't you? Sam replies, because it is against my profession to blow on my pals. If a man knows anything, he ought to die with it in him. I'm going to hell anyhow.

The next day, Sunday, Sam struggles through excruciating pain. Never once does he let a bit of information slip as the room spins, or as he puts it, the world is bobbing around. He goes unconscious, then convulses. At 3.55 in the afternoon, July 21st, 1878, his 27th birthday no less, the notorious cowboy-turned-outlaw Sam Bass draws his last breath and dies. Though an outlaw who terrified and robbed plenty, not everyone will recall Sam Bass as a villain. Instead, many will remember Sam, who could be generous with his ill-gotten coin, as the Lone Star State's very own Robin Hood, stealing from the rich UP Railroad or other rising industries and giving to the poor.

It's definitely an exaggeration, but let's not get all analytical about the legacy of outlaws just yet. I still need to introduce you to one other legend today. He's another orphan trying to make his way in the industrializing American West. But seeing as he killed his first man just a year back, I think it's best we meet him at that life-defining moment in 1877. with millions of YouTube subscribers comes the MinuteEarth podcast. Every episode of the show dives deep into a science question you might not even know you had. But once you hear the answer, you'll want to share it

with everyone you know. Why do rivers curve? Why did the T-Rex have such tiny arms? And why do so many more kids need glasses now than they used to? Spoiler alert,

it isn't screen time. Our team of scientists digs into the research and breaks it down into a short, entertaining explanation, jam-packed with science facts and terrible puns. Subscribe to MinuteEarth wherever you like to listen. Napoleon Bonaparte rose from obscurity to become the most powerful and significant figure in modern history. Over 200 years after his death, people are still debating

his legacy. He was a man of contradictions, a tyrant and a reformer, a liberator and an oppressor, a revolutionary and a reactionary. His biography reads like a novel, and his influence is almost beyond measure. I'm Everett Rummage, host of the Age of Napoleon podcast, and every month I delve into the turbulent life and times of one of the greatest characters in history, and explore the world that shaped him in all its glory and tragedy. It's a story of great battles and campaigns, political intrigue, and massive social and economic change, but it's also a story about people, populated with remarkable characters. I hope you'll join me as I examine this fascinating era of history.

Find The Age of Napoleon wherever you get your podcasts. It's the evening of August 17th, 1877. We're at a cantina run by George Atkins in Bonita, a civilian town now growing on the south side of Camp Grant in the Arizona Territory. I can't tell you how crowded it is, but there's likely a usual crowd and two individuals are here for certain. One is an Irishman named Francis P. Cahill.

The other is a skinny New York-born 17-year-old who came west with his mother before she died a few years ago. He has blue eyes, sandy hair, and two upper teeth that protrude just a bit. His name at birth was Henry McCarty, but he's been and will be called by a number of names, including William or Billy Bonnie. Given his youth and still younger appearance, he's also gained a very simple nickname, Kid.

Now, Francis has a history of bullying this youth, or Kid, Billy. He likes to throw Billy on the floor and slap him in the face. Francis particularly likes to bully the Kid here in the cantina, where he's got an audience. Now, whether he's been physical with Billy tonight, I can't say, but he is putting the kid down.

At one point, possibly while playing poker, Francis calls him a pimp, and apparently that's Billy's breaking point. He hurls back his own verbal barb. "'Son of a bitch. How much of a struggle happens right now is hard to say. Tomorrow, Francis will only recall that, quote, we took hold of each other.

I did not hit him, I think, close quote. But as they struggle, the far smaller teenage orphan grabs his pistol, thrusts it into his bully's stomach, and gives him lead at point-blank range. After recounting his version of things for subsequent publication in a Tucson newspaper, Francis dies the next day. Billy now finds himself looking at a possible charge for murder.

This wasn't the kid's first scrap with the law. Things started to go south for Billy after his mother died of tuberculosis in September 1874. Well, Henry at this point, but to be consistent in our short sojourn with him, Billy. Though known as a good kid in his adopted hometown of Silver City, New Mexico Territory to that point, he and his even younger brother, Joe, had little by way of parental guidance after her death. I mean, their stepfather, William Antrim, was kind enough, but he was focused on mining, not parenting. Ah, there's that industrial aspect again. Now rudderless, Billy began spending his time with his sticky-fingered friend, George Schaefer, better known as Sombrero Jack. In September 1885, a year after

Billy's mother died, the duo stole some clothes from a Chinese laundry and got caught. Billy escaped custody through a chimney and soon made his way to the neighboring western territory of Arizona. Here, he found work as a ranch hand, but also learned to gamble, ride horses, and expertly handle a gun. He also became fluent in Spanish, possibly indicating some time spent in Mexico. Whether he went south or not, though, his developing penchant for stealing followed him to the Arizona Territory. In early 1877, the kid got nabbed as a horse thief.

And, of course, it's in August of that same year that he has that deadly fight with his bully, Francis. Now, many speculate that a self-defense plea would probably win the day in the charges over Francis' death, but Billy has no inclination to risk it. He decides to hightail it back to the New Mexico Territory. Little does he know that his life will get far messier there. It's now early 1878, and there's a serious conflict cooking in New Mexico Territory's Lincoln County. Interestingly, it gets right to the heart

of the United States' booming meat industry that I told you about earlier. Two factions are fighting for control of the county. On the one hand is Lawrence Murphy. An Irish-born vet of the Union Army, Lawrence has built himself a little cattle empire. Leaning on his wartime relationships, he has contracts to provide beef for the military and Indian reservations. Gotta love those government contracts. Lots of money there. He and his partner

James Dolan are also running a general store that has literally no competition. They greatly enjoy their monopoly. But then a Texan named John Chisholm came to Lincoln County with a sizable herd of his own. Soon, a well-to-do young immigrant from England, John Tunstall, enters the fray as well. Not only does he purchase his own ranch, but he works with the Texan to open a store. Lawrence Murphy and James Dolan are disturbed by this competition, and James in particular means to do something about it. Taking advantage of a legal issue

involving John Tunstall's associate, now accused of embezzlement, Alexander McSween, James gets a judge to issue a writ of attachment to seize some of Alexander's property. Now here's the rub. James and the lawman in his pocket,

Sheriff William Brady, think the accused embezzler and John Tunstall are business partners with many shared assets. They aren't, so you can imagine how pissed off John becomes when the sheriff and his posse start seizing his store and livestock. Tensions escalate, and on February 18, 1878, this posse serving the county's well-connected businessmen kill the Englishmen. This is the beginning of the month's long Lincoln County War. On the one side, we have those loyal to Lawrence Murphy and James Dolan, or the Murphy-Dolan faction. This includes Sheriff William Brady and his men. On the other are ranch hands of the murdered businessman from England, John Tunstall. They call themselves the Regulators and have some deputized legitimacy of their own. Initially, at least. The governor later nicks it. Among them is

a roughly 18-year-old with a checkered past. That's right. It's Billy. He'll get his second taste of taking life in March, when he and other regulators take out three of the Murphy Dolan faction in a shooting known as the Blackwater Massacre. Billy will then get yet another taste when he helps to ambush and kill Sheriff William Brady a few weeks after that. But things really come to a head in July. This is the Battle of Lincoln. It's the afternoon of July 15, 1878. Sheriff George Pepin, who's replaced the now-deceased Sheriff William Brady, rides into the village of Lincoln with about 40 men.

The regulators currently hold the town. Numbering about 60, they've taken defensive positions on and in some of the town's few buildings, including the spacious adobe home of the accused embezzler, Alexander McSween. George and his men stop at the Wortley Hotel. They aim their rifles at Alexander's house and unleash a volley. The regulators respond in kind, and soon, both sides appreciate that they can't advance on the other without suffering serious losses. Firing slows as they accept this stalemate.

Men get picked off in succeeding days. Townsfolk fear leaving their homes. Children are growing hungry. That's when Colonel Nathan Dudley intervenes. I understand if you're thinking, shouldn't the military have already intervened? Let's remember, this is a different world than you and I inhabit in the 21st century. The colonel has orders to let the two sides duke it out. Crazy, I know. Anyhow, he rides in with four officers, nine black cavalrymen, also known as Buffalo soldiers, and 15 white infantrymen. He insists that he's here only to protect the innocents and not take

a side. But that's not how it plays out. The colonel doesn't seem to fear the sheriff's men. They're the law, after all. So he aims his howitzer at regulator-held buildings. The 40 defendants in these structures now scurry out and, amid cracking rifles, flee to the hills. Only 20 or so regulators remain. Intentional or not, the colonel has dramatically altered the battlefield. The sheriff and his men now focus on the McSween home. Inside are women, children, and regulators. A deputy yells to them to come out. He has a warrant for their arrest. Possible embezzler Alexander McSween responds in kind that he has a warrant for their arrest. The deputy tells him to prove it. Regulator Jim French yells back, our warrants are in our guns, you c***-sucking sons of bitches. So suffice it to say,

these regulators aren't ready to give up. The Murphy-Dolan faction takes a new tactic. They'll set the house on fire and smoke them out. The women and children are permitted to leave, though Sue McSween, who's about to see her home go up in flames and knows her husband is at far greater risk, has some choice words for the colonel in the process. By that afternoon, the sheriff's men manage to get the adobe structure burning, and by nightfall, those inside are forced to flee. Billy makes it out. Alexander McSween doesn't.

The Murphy Dolan posse guns down the accused embezzler, right along with his allies, Vincente Romero and Francisco Zamora. For all intents and purposes, this battle ends the Lincoln County War. I mean, with both John Tunstall and Alexander McSween dead, there's just nothing more to fight for, really. The Murphy-Dolan faction,

Monopoly, whatever you want to call it, has won. The regulators representing the challenging party, if faction, Monopoly, whatever you want to call it, has won. The regulators representing the challenging party, if not replacement Monopoly, have lost. President Rutherford B. Hayes appoints Lou Wallace as the New Mexico Territory's new governor in the aftermath. Lou's an interesting guy.

He's a former Civil War commander who'd probably appreciate it if you don't bring up his track record at the Battle of Shiloh. And, total side note, his novel Ben-Hur is about to debut. But, eyes on the prize. He's now governor of the New Mexico Territory, and in an effort to restore peace, he issues pardons for crimes committed related to the Lincoln County War. Well, most crimes. He can't very well waive the ambush and killing of Sheriff William Brady. That means the kid is still on the hook. But it seems Billy wants to go straight. In March 1879, he writes the governor offering to testify against a number of his former foes. Just a month prior, James Dolan, Jesse Evans, and others of the Murphy-Dolan faction met Billy and his crew to talk peace.

They agreed not to testify against each other, but only hours afterward, the Dolan gang drunkenly shot dead, then burnt the remains of Attorney Huston Chapman. Testifying would break the accord, but Billy is willing to do it if the governor will grant him amnesty for his own crimes. The governor agrees. In a secret meeting with the kid, he tells the young outlaw, testify before the grand jury in the trial court and convict the murderer of Chapman, and I will let you go scot-free

with a pardon in your pocket for all your misdeeds. Billy does it. He continues to be held in Lincoln afterward, though with serious latitude as the sheriff knows a pardon is supposed to come. But the agreement is not honored. In tight with the very men against whom Billy just testified, District Attorney William Reinerson will be damned before letting the kids slip through his fingers, and historians are divided on how real the governor's intentions really were. So the DA moves to get a trial going. Feeling betrayed,

Billy takes advantage of his loose incarceration and simply rides off into the night on June 17th, 1879. Damn. Seems that, at this point, the world just won't let the kid quit the outlaw life. It's said that Billy crossed his paths with the notorious outlaw Jesse James that September. We met Jesse as well as his brother Frank back in episode 67 as the pro-Confederate Bushwhackers held up a train, as you may recall. Jesse has a storied career of bank and train robbings by this point and is traveling under an alias when he and the kid allegedly cross paths. But his is a story for next time. Let's see Billy through. In January 1880, Billy ends up killing Joe Grant in a saloon.

Kind of like the situation with Francis, it's a bit of a self-defense scenario and in the gray area. But this just adds to his rap sheet. As the months pass, the hunt for Billy only picks up. This is especially the case starting in November 1880. There's a new sheriff in town, Patrick Garrett. A former buffalo hunter with southern roots who crossed paths with Billy at Fort Sumner two years back, Pat is elected Lincoln County Sheriff with a clear mandate to clean things up.

Billy's never robbed a train or bank. He's really a cattle thief. But at this point, he sure is well-known, and the newspapers are making him into a legend. That elevates him as a prize. Billy continues to seek clemency from the governor, but that's not happening. On December 13th,

Governor Lou Wallace even offers a $500 reward for Billy, whereas one newspaper has just recently dubbed him Billy the Kid. Whatever you prefer to call him, the fact is this new sheriff-elect is out to get him. It's early morning, December 23rd, 1880. Billy the Kid and his companions, Charlie Boudry, Dave Rudabaugh, Tom Pickett, and Billy Wilson, have been on the run for days. They're now holding up in an old one-room rock structure at Stinking Spring.

Just waking, Charlie, wearing a wide-brim hat, walks to the doorway. And that's when the sheriff's posse opens fire. Shot through the stomach, he slumps to the ground. And that's how the group learns that Pat Garrett and his men have found them. Billy the Kid turns to his dying friend. They have murdered you, Charlie, but you can get revenge. Kill some of the sons of bitches before you die. Charlie won't try anything.

He walks out, bleeding, hands in the air. Approaching Pat, he mutters, I wish, I wish, I wish I'm dying. And he is. Charlie drops dead. The gang now grabs a rope attached to one of their horses and starts pulling it toward the stone house. But Pat isn't about to let them get away.

He shoots the horse, which falls dead in the doorway. He then shoots the ropes holding the other horses. The animals flee, leaving the gang trapped in their stone shack. Pat hollers to the now famous outlaw. How you fixed in there? The kid answers with a sense of humor that starts quite a banter. Pretty well, but we have no wood to get breakfast with. Come on out and get some. Be a little sociable.

Can't do it, Pat. Business is too confining. No time to run around. Fact is, Billy's stuck. He and his crew know it. By four that afternoon, as Pat and his posse cook bacon and other grub, a white flag emerges from the stone house. It's over.

Pat has his prisoners. After a few months of further petitioning the governor and attempting to escape, Billy stands trial for the murder of Sheriff William Brady. Unlike every single other man involved in the Lincoln County War, he's found guilty. On April 13th, 1881, he receives formal sentencing. Quote,

The said William Bonney, alias Kid, alias William Antrim, be hanged by the neck until his body be dead. Close quote. Held in Lincoln, facing execution, Billy has nothing to lose. On April 28th, while Sheriff Pat Garrett is out of town in White Oaks collecting taxes, the kid decides to make a break for it. He asks to use the outhouse while Deputy Bob Olinger takes five other prisoners to the Wortley Hotel for dinner.

The lone deputy, James Bell, consents to let Billy relieve himself. Coming back in the building, Billy moves quickly, shackles in awe, right up the stairs. Gets around a corner where the deputy can't see him. Then, taking advantage of his curiously large wrists and small hands, Billy slips off his handcuffs. When the deputy catches up,

Billy hits him over the head with the irons. They struggle, but Billy gets the lawman's gun. Then, as the bloody deputy tries to flee, Billy shoots James Bell dead. Finding a loaded shotgun, Billy works out his escape from the upstairs. As Deputy Bob Olinger runs back from the hotel, Billy hollers down to him, look up, old boy, and see what you get. He looks up, and Billy lets the shot fly, destroying the deputy's head and upper body. No lawman left alive in town, Billy yells down to a witness and old acquaintance, Godfrey Geese.

Geese! Pitch me up that old pickaxe laying there and let me get this chain between my feet broken too with it. Godfrey does so, then saddles up a horse for the kid. Billy breaks the shackles from his feet. The town watches as the now well-armed Esperado comes out warning that he doesn't want to kill anyone but will if they interfere like poor Deputy James Bell who he didn't want to shoot. Billy the kid mounts his claimed horse and with that rides away from the awe-stricken terrified village. Months pass as Sheriff Pat Garrett keeps his ear to the ground for news of Billy.

Come July, he makes a move. He's got the impression, possibly with rumors that Billy's love interest, Paulita Maxwell, is pregnant, that Billy is near Fort Sumner. In mid-July, Pat and a posse of two others, a newcomer unknown to many in the territory, John Poe, and Deputy Tip McKinney, head out. Being an unknown face, Joe is sent into town to ask about Billy the Kid.

It makes people nervous, and that makes Pat think they're onto something. He decides that tonight, July 14th, 1881, they'll pay a visit to Pete Maxwell. As the brother of Billy the Kid's lover, surely he might have some worthwhile information. It's now late on the night of July 14th. Pat and his two accomplices move under the moonlight.

The details are murky at best, but at some point, Pat leaves Joe and Tip outside on the porch as he enters Pete Maxwell's Adobe home and goes into his room. An easy task since doors and windows are open to alleviate the summer heat. Pat wakes Pete and asks if he's seen Billy. No sooner do the two start talking than a shadow of a figure appears in the doorframe. Quien es? Quienes! Seems the Spanish speaker is asking who's out there on the porch.

Coming into Pete's room, the figure then senses a third presence in the dark. He raises the colt in his right hand and starts backing away, now questioning the room. Quienes! Quienes! Pat fires two rounds. The first strikes and kills the man within seconds. Among friends and afraid to shoot someone he cares about,

the shadowy figure was slow to fire for the first and last time in his 21 years of life. Billy the Kid is dead. Sam Bass and Billy the Kid met tragic ends. Considering their start to life as orphans with little support, it's hard not to wonder how things might have gone with better circumstances. Yet neither were they quite the villains the stories make them out to be. Don't get me wrong, both broke the law, plenty, but Billy the Kid didn't come close to his legendary attributed kill count of 21 men.

As for Sam, the first and only time he killed was the day he fled Round Rock. Remember the lawman who asked about his six-shooter in the store? Yeah, that was it. And we saw, if not moments of goodness, at least some sort of coat of honor in them at times. But by that same token, they were not the heroes they get billed as at other times. Sam intrigues me the most. The Ballad of Sam Bass, yeah, that's a thing, makes him a champion of the people. First, I chuckle as it calls his gang's loot from the UP train heist their, quote, hard-earned money, close quote. Yes. It also celebrates Sam as a daring cowboy who shared and, quote, whipped the Texas Rangers and ran the boys in blue, close quote. Yeah, he could

be generous with friends, but Sam was no Robin Hood distributing his gold coins to the poor. Yet he's made into such a hero. The last verse even implies that the Texas Rangers informant, Jim Murphy, is going to hell for betraying him. Check this out. Perhaps he's got to heaven, there's none of us can say. But if I'm right in my surmise, he's gone the other way. Meanwhile, Billy the Kid will be remembered well, too. Not that there's no space for that.

I would call Billy's situation particularly complex, given the Lincoln County War. He also had a good sense of humor, as we saw in his exchange with Pat Garrett, and his many friends in both the white and Hispanic communities of the New Mexico Territory attest to his other good qualities. But the dime novels, other books, then movies, they all come together to make him larger than life.

So why do we exaggerate and make such legends out of these Western outlaws? Well, let's not go too far down that road just yet. We have more of them to meet first. Wyatt Earp, Doc Holliday, Butch Cassidy and Sundance Kid, they and so many others are just waiting to have their stories told. And that's just what we'll do next time. HTDS is supported by premium membership fans. You can join by clicking the link in the episode description. My gratitude to Kind Souls providing additional funding to help us keep going. And a special thanks to our members, whose monthly gift puts them at producer status. Thank you. John Oliveros, John Radlavich, John Schaefer, John Sheff, Jordan Corbett, Joshua Steiner, Justin M. Spriggs, Justin May, Kristen Pratt, Karen Bartholomew, Cassie Koneko, Kim R.,

Kyle Decker, Lawrence Neubauer, Linda Cunningham, Mark Ellis, Matthew Mitchell, Matthew Simmons, Melanie Jan, Nate Seconder, Nick Caffrell, Noah Hoff, Owen Sedlak, Paul Goringer, Randy Guffrey, Reese Humphreys-Wadsworth, Rick Brown, Sarah Trawick, Samuel Lagasa, Sharon Thiesen, Sean Baines, Steve Williams, Creepy Girl, Tisha Black, and Zach Jackson.