# Looters of the Public Domain/Chapter 8

Chapter VIII
BEING satisfied that Mays would attend to the postponement of our trials, I left Portland immediately for San Francisco, where I called upon Mrs. Watson, and without entering into details, endeavored to obtain her consent to leave the city at once, and to remain under cover until such time as I might advise that everything was all right. She, however, declined to be made a catspaw by any such process, contending that she had done nothing wrong, and that the Government had no grounds upon which to base its indictment against her.
Up to this time Mrs. Watson had no knowledge whatever of the fraudulent character of the six claims in 24-1 which had come into her possession, and, believing, as she did, that her title was clear and the transaction perfectly legitimate, she could not understand why an indictment should have been returned against her. Under the circumstances, I was forced to explain the whole matter to her; how the six supposed original entrymen were purely fictitious persons, and that, as the different tracts had been acquired through fraud, it only remained for the Government to produce evidence to that effect in order to secure convictions. I reminded her of our former conversation relative to Mays and myself having entered into an agreement whereby we were to share equally in the profits of the six claims; how I was to put up the money necessary in getting deeds, amounting to $150 per claim, or a total of $900 for the six. Mays agreeing to meet the expenses incident to pulling out the patents, after which we were to have a final settlement. I also reminded Mrs. Watson of my proposition to her—that she advance the sum of $150 per claim, or $900 altogether, explaining to her that, my finances would not justify further expenditure, and I did not wish to borrow the money, which proposition she had accepted upon condition that all six claims should be deeded to her until such time as Mays and myself saw fit to dispose of them, when she was to receive a one-fourth interest in the net profits.
"Now," said I, "you accepted those six deeds from me and paid over the money in the firm belief that everything was straight and regular, and in so doing assented to a proposition that had been arranged between Mays and myself, and which we had planned for you to accept as a measure of protection to us both. With your assistance, the Government would have a clear case against us, but without being able to use you as a witness, I am advised by Mays that the Government will have no case."
I explained further to Mrs. Watson that in the event of our being convicted, we would lose the money already invested, as the claims would be forfeited and title thereto revert back to the Government.
​"The very thought of losing my money is bad enough," said she, "and now to ask me to leave the country for the sole purpose of protecting your attorney and yourself is more than I care to endure."
I could readily perceive the equities of her contentions, but the position she assumed made it extremely embarrassing all around. She was home with her mother for the Christmas holidays, and anticipated a season of peace and happiness instead of this rude disturbance of her plans. But with me the situation had assumed serious proportions, and something must be done to overcome her scruples in the matter. It was not a pleasant task by any means, but I finally succeeded in gaining her consent to leave the city, although she refused positively to do so until after the Christmas holidays, and no amount of coercion could induce her to do otherwise. I could not shake her determination in this matter, and being convinced that she had already been imposed upon beyond measure, I could not, under the circumstances, ask for any further concessions from her.
Having thus agreed to take her departure, it then became merely a question of locality, it being considered important that she should get far enough away from her present surroundings to throw all possible pursuers off the scent. With that idea in view, it was settled that she should visit points in Southern California, keeping me in constant touch with her movements.
After seeing Mrs. Watson safely off to San Diego, her destination—about December 27th or 28th, 1903—I returned to Portland, where I learned, through Mays, that the cases had been continued. I thereupon went East, during January, 1904, and while in Chicago received a letter from my old partner, McKinley, requesting me to come to La Crosse, Wis., and advising me that a Secret Service man was there, going under the name of Graham, but whose real name, McKinley had learned, was Albert L. Gallagher; that the Government agent was in La Crosse for the purpose of locating Mrs. Watson, which information, McKinley assured me, he had obtained through an employe of the local postoffice. He had also ascertained that there was a letter in the postoffice addressed to Mrs. Emma Porter, which he surmised had been written by some detective for the purpose of trapping Mrs. Watson.
That the reader may properly understand the methods employed by the Government agent in thus addressing the letter in question, I will direct attention to the fact of Mrs. Watson having previously located a homestead claim in Township 11-7 under the name of Emma Porter. The Secret Service Department therefore naturally presumed that Mrs. Watson, while traveling, would assume this cognomen for convenience sake. They were well aware that La Crosse was McKinley's old home, and that he was visiting his relatives at this particular time. They knew also that we were closely identified in fraudulent land transactions, and in constant communication with each other, and that, by making it possible for him to learn about the letter, it would only be a question of time when I became possessed of the same information, and would endeavor to impart it to Mrs. Watson in some way.
Upon receipt of McKinley's letter. I wired him that I would proceed to La Crosse at once, and suited this action by reaching there early the next morning, registering at the Cameron House. A few moments later I was joined by McKinley, and as may be imagined, the subject of Secret Service Agent Gallagher occupied the limelight of our conversation.
After giving me a comprehensive description of the man, whom Horace declared was likewise stopping at the Cameron, he regaled me with a description of the Padlock Holmes methods employed by the Government sleuth in keeping tab on his movements.
His work impressed me more for its "rawness" than anything else, but we both pretended not to see him. The conversation that ensued between Mac and myself for his especial benefit forms one of the most amusing episodes in my experience with Secret Service operatives. Gallagher was evidently congratulating himself on his eminent success. He had trailed the two arch conspirators to their lair, and had caught them in the act of conversing on a subject in which he, also, was deeply interested, so it was plain to a blind man that visions of the early capture of Mrs. Watson flitted past his distorted imagination.
"She will come through on the Canadian Pacific, and will probably stop off at Winnipeg for a day, arriving here tomorrow or next day," I remarked, in earnest tones. "But there is a possibility of her coming by way of Milwaukee," I continued musedly. "In any event, I have engaged quarters for her with Jerry's wife, who will take good care of her while here."
"Do you consider it safe?" inquired McKinley.
"Perfectly so," I replied. "They will never suspect her whereabouts, because she is not known here."
Had Gallagher been sitting in McKinley's lap he could not have brought his ears in closer range to his voice without running the risk of serious consequences. The "rubbering" position he assumed was killing.
"Well," replied Horace, half-dejectedly, "you know how shrewd these Government detectives are—they seem to be endowed with the instincts of a bloodhound in trailing criminals, and scarcely ever fail in getting their man."
It was ludicrous to see Gallagher swell up at this juncture, and it was all McKinley and I could do to keep our faces straight, notwithstanding the seriousness of the situation.
"Never you mind," I answered with an air of confidence; "Emma will be safe with Jerry's wife, and besides, she will be made comfortable, and probably become satisfied to remain here until after the trials."
"All right," said McKinley. "We will let it go at that, and in the meantime I shall keep a sharp lookout for Secret Service men, in case any of them should happen to stop off here."
After telling McKinley (also for Gallagher's benefit) that I intended to go on to Milwaukee and would return some time during the week, we concluded to take a walk. We were satisfied with the result of our conversation, and felt that we ought to give the Government sleuth the benefit of some outdoor exercise. Besides, I had a curiousity to observe his style.
Our tramp covered a period of about two hours, and was greatly enjoyed by McKinley and myself in more ways than one.
The best part of it was in watching the antics of Gallagher in shadowing us. He flitted around like a will-o'-the-wisp, his watery blue eyes taking on a tigerish expression at times, while his brindle locks resembled the disheveled coat of a coyote under the intensity of its owner's eagerness of manner.
The question naturally arises: How did McKinley become possessed of the knowledge that there was a letter in the postoffice addressed to Mrs. Emma Porter? Also, how had he learned of Gallagher's presence and become aware of his correct name?
As to the letter, Gallagher, being a Government officer, had arranged with the postmaster of La Crosse to let McKinley know, in an assumedly accidental way, that such a letter had been in his office for quite awhile, and incidentally to ask Horace if he knew any such person. McKinley, of course, could have but one reply: he was not acquainted; but, to all intents and purposes, the seeds of curiosity were planted in McKinley's breast, so that all the Government officials had to do was to wait patiently for the harvest.
​This same postmaster had unwittingly imparted to a third person full information pertaining to Gallagher's presence, and that he was in La Crosse for the purpose of watching McKinley, with a view of ultimately ascertaining the whereabouts of Mrs. Watson, and getting her within the grasp of the law.
The one with whom the postmaster had thus discussed the confidential relations of the Government, happened to be a close friend of McKinley's, and in consequence the latter was on the ground floor concerning the secret movements to effect the capture of one of our crowd.
The next subject for consideration was the matter of getting hold of the letter addressed to "Emma Porter." I was fully aware that Mrs. Watson, alias Porter, had never entertained any idea of visiting La Crosse, and was satisfied from the first that this was simply a Secret Service trick to trap her in some way. Notwithstanding this fact, however, my curiosity was aroused, and I was determined to secure the letter at whatever cost.
I could not obtain it from the local postoffice, for obvious reasons, so I conceived another plan, which, although rather roundabout in design, eventually terminated with success.
Resolving to take the 2:30 p. m. train for Milwaukee, it became necessary for me to give Gallagher the slip, so McKinley and I proceeded to avail ourselves of another "constitutional," and we had scarcely taken a dozen paces before we realized that our faithful watchdog was in close attendance.
We trudged along leisurely for something like an hour, until a few moments before train time, when, noticing that Gallagher was keeping us under close surveillance about a block away, we stopped in front of a large department store, and began to feast our eyes on the displays in the show-windows. Pointing my finger in the direction of some article as if contemplating a purchase, I told McKinley to keep cases on our man while I made my getaway.
Entering the front door of the establishment and leaving Horace on the outside, I hurried on through to another street, which placed me within about three squares of the depot, and I reached there just as the train was pulling out. Probably Gallagher would be still standing on the corner had he not observed McKinley pass by him alone some ten minutes later, and realized that I had disappeared.
Arriving in Milwaukee, I addressed a letter to the La Crosse postmaster, in close imitation of Mrs. Watson's handwriting, instructing him to forward all mail to Milwaukee, in care of the Republican House. This note was signed "Mrs. Emma Porter" by me.
I then went to Chicago, and after waiting until I felt confident the letter would have time to reach Milwaukee, I wrote a letter to the clerk of the Republican House, similar to the one sent to the postmaster, asking that all mail should be forwarded to Chicago, in care of the Great Northern Hotel.
Securing a lot of commercial stationery from various prominent houses of Chicago, I addressed several letters to myself, care Great Northern Hotel, city, all of which purported to be of a business character.
After waiting until such time as I had reason to believe the "Porter" letter had put in an appearance, I sauntered into the office of the Great Northern Hotel and proceeded to make myself at home. I perceived, immediately upon entering, that my old friend Gallagher was there with bells. His eagle eye had focussed me the moment I entered, and it was as good as a circus to watch his maneuvers. I walked past him unconcernedly and took a seat near by, pretending to read the newspapers.
In a little while I arose and going to the office desk, asked the clerk to please hand me the mail in box "P." This request was complied with, as it is customary in all the leading hotels for the entire contents of a box to be delivered to any guest making inquiry for a certain initial of the alphabet.
With my personal mail in hand, and hoping to learn something further concerning Gallagher, I resumed my seat near him, and appeared to be deeply engrossed in my correspondence.
No sooner had I done this than Gallagher arose, and walking up to the clerk, also requested the letters from box "P." He did not perceive that I was watching him all this time, so I was happy in the thought that he was not suspicious of my intimate acquaintance with his identity.
Like myself, Gallagher hesitated when he came to the envelope addressed to Mrs. Porter, and was no doubt much surprised upon discovering that I had failed to abstract it.
After securing some writing material from a desk in the reading room similar to the envelope inclosing the Porter letter, I started from the hotel, closely followed by the Secret Service man, and thinking to give him another slip in such a way as not to arouse his suspicions, I wheeled about, walked into the hotel again, and entered one of the elevators that was about to ascend. I realized that Gallagher would follow on the next elevator, and in order to circumvent his intentions, I stepped off at the fifth floor, walked briskly through the hallway and caught a descending freight elevator, by which process I soon reached the street, where I found myself once more free from anybody's attention.
Going direct to my hotel, I took one of the Great Northern envelopes. which I had just secured, and addressed it to Mrs. Emma Porter, imitating from memory the handwriting which I had observed upon the original. I then placed a piece of blank paper in the envelope, sealed it up, and returned to the Great Northern.
Glancing cautiously around, I was unable to locate Gallagher anywhere, so concluded that he was either in his room or on a wild-goose chase after me. I then asked the clerk for the mail in box "P," and upon coming across the letter to Mrs. Porter, I took it out, replacing it with the one I had but recently addressed to her.
Going to the writing room, and in fancied security from observation, I proceeded to inspect its contents, which were as follows:
   Mrs. Emma Porter:
   Dear Madam—Please call in person for important letter, which will be handed to you at the office.
   (Signed) Clerk, Great Northern Hotel.
After perusing its contents, I addressed another envelope, copying the handwriting from the original, and after replacing the note and sealing, returned it to box "P," at the same time removing the envelope I had left there but a few moments before.
At this point I found myself virtually "up a stump," but I was not discouraged, and had no intention of being outdone, so returning to Milwaukee, I sent a note to the Great Northern Hotel, in substance as follows:
   Clerk, Great Northern Hotel, Chicago, Ills.
   Dear Sir—It was my intention to visit Chicago, and make your house my headquarters, but I am just in receipt of a wire necessitating my immediate return to the Pacific Coast, hence request that you please forward all mail to Seattle, Wash., care —————— Hotel. Very respectfully,
   (Signed) Mrs. Emma Porter.
Returning to Chicago, I wrote to friends in Seattle, requesting them to be on the lookout for a letter which would reach a certain hotel addressed to Mrs. Emma Porter, and upon its arrival, to secure it and send it to my Chicago address. In reply I was advised that the letter had come to hand, but could not be obtained. I thereupon wired instructions to get the letter at whatever cost, and was later notified that it had been forwarded in accordance with directions.
In due time I received a copy of the Porter letter, accompanied with the explanation that the original could not be secured for any length of time without detection, and hoping that the copy would suffice. It did, as it proved to my entire satisfaction that its contents were in the nature of a decoy for the purpose of locating Mrs. Watson, corroborating what McKinley and myself had suspected all along.
As to my friend Gallagher, alias Graham, the detective, he turned up missing when I arrived in Chicago from Milwaukee the second time, hence the presumption is that he followed the Porter letter on its mission to Seattle. Had it not been for the fact that I met him personally in Chicago at a later date, I should imagine that he was still engaged in keeping a watchful eye on the important missive through the medium of which he expected to make a really sensational capture.
Sam Davis in Sunset Magazine
Have you ever scented the sage-brush  That mantles Nevada's plain?
If not you have lived but half your life,
 And that half lived in vain.
No matter where the place or clime  That your wandering footsteps stray You will sigh if you know of her velvet fields  And their fragrance of leveled hay.
You will loiter a while in other lands,  When something seems to call, And the lure of the sage-brush brings you back.  And holds you within its thrall.
You may tread in the halls of pleasure  Where the lamps of folly shine, 'Mid the sobbing of sensuous music  And the flow of forbidden wine.
But when the revel is over.  And the dancers turn to go, You will long for a draft of the crystal streams  That springs from her peaks of snow.
You will ask for a sight of beetling crags,
 Where the storm king holds his sway,
Where the sinking sun with its brush of gold
 Tells the tale of the dying day.
And when you die you will want a grave.
 Where the Washoe zephyr blows.
With the green of the sage-brush above your head.
 What need to plant the rose?