The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1892-08-02
MARY SIMPSON.

character, and among them few exam
pies stand out brilliantly and are known
to every frontiers1nan who has grown
up with the country. Thei ames have
become household words, and deeds
are recounted around happy household
fires in handsome farm and ci : homes
on the spots where, in the old times, the
Indian, cowboy and scout roamed at
will.
One of the most notable heroines in
prairie lore was Mary Simpson, the wife
of pioneer, who lived in the southwest
portion of Nebraska along early in the
seventies. She was the captor of Sire
land" noted desperate who had terror
lied the whole Platte valley. For months
he was heard of here, there, everywhere,
robbing, burning, pillaging, and the
sparsely scattered settlers were alarmed.
In vain did they try to protect them
selves-he was ever ready to attack the
weakest side of their little guards. AT
last the strain became too severe. A
little baby left alone in a settlers home
was found dead and the trace of Ireland
was on the deed. The action touched
the quick heart of the settlers and a
posse was at once formed to ride down
the brute. They formed vast circle
and gradually closed in. On the second
day Mr.. Simpson and his wife, who
were alone at the right Of the line, were
surprised by big bearded man spring
ing out of clump of bushes. Simpson
was some distance away and his wife
was leading his horse.
Without waiting for her husband she
sprang to the saddle and raced after the
stranger. He was being overtaken when
on plunging through small bunch of
trees he came suddenly on a member of
the hunting party. A sweep of his huge
fist sent the man out Of the saddle and
Ireland was in the seat and away.
Mrs. Simpson was by this time not far
behind and was lashing her steed to the
utmost Of its power to overtake the
criminal. Ireland saw her, and turning,
fired at the woman. She returned the
shot from revolver in the saddlebags
and then prepared for surer method of
warfare. She was an expert with the
lasso and the long rawhide rope of her
husband hung at the saddle bow.
Loosening it, she coiled it carefully,
and, racing as her horse was, swung it
around her head. Ireland did not see it.,
and it whirled away in graceful curves
and settled down steadily, surely and
firmly over his bare head. With jerk
1t came taut as Mrs. Simpson pulled her
horse back on his launches. Ireland
was jerked from the saddle and dragged
for dozen rods over the grass before
his captor felt willing to give him per-
mission to rise. He did not rise. He
was dead, and Mrs. Simpson. was the
heroine of the hour. Theree was no
judge, jury or inquest. The settlement
was glad to have him gone.
Another bright star of the cattle trail
was Anna Kimball, who saved the life
of Colonel M. T. Rankin, one of south
east Texas richest cattlemen. The
herd was making its slow way north
ward and was in the southern part of
Kansas when Miss Kimball, the daugh-
ter of rancher of that section, rode for
oOLuo ulSbtuC0 nAOuS5olAO oiAO e~aAAAAAeDAS'
Suddenly there was one of those sudden
outbreaks which no man can give cause
for or explain-a stampede. Startled
by the crack of a whip or the breaking
of twig, the huge herd starts into mo-
ton, following a few leaders and rushing
pellmell over hill and vale until. at last,
wearied out, the animals are brought to a
stop by sheer exhaustion after many have
been trampled to death. Miss Kimball
saw out on the prairie the owner of the
herd, Colonel Rankin, who was walking
about for little exercise. She also saw
that with the great circle the herd was
making he would be in direct line of the
oncoming tide of flesh and horns.
With o quick decision that would
have done credit to the general of an
army, she plunged the spur into her
pony and dashed into the very jaws of
danger. It was race between her and
the herd. The cattle were coming at a
breakneck speed and with a blind fury
that nothing could avert. It was SIM
ply question of which should reach
the beWildered ranchman first