Crittenden press. [volume] (Marion, Ky.) 1879-1907, 1902-06-19
THE MURDER
AT CHISHOLM.

Clarence Neale. of Boston. though
a young man Of considerable expert
ence and courage, was half sorry that
he had come into the New Country.
He didn't know till he was well be
yond Chickasha that as yet there was
practically no law and but very lit
tie government in the towns which
were just then in that state of transl-
tion which was beginning to change
the Indian cornfelds into modern,
civilized "cities." From the train
window he had wondered at the little
clusters of rain-soaked tents, the
rough, bearded and booted boomers,
the blanketed Indians, like brown
ghosts standing motionless in the
shadows, and, in spite of his head
strong determination to become &
westerner, in his heart he longed for
Back Bay and the antique poise Of
dear old Boston.
a lot of things conspired to annoy
him. All the way from Chickasha
the men before, behind and beside
him talked Of Bert Casey, his gang,
the murders they had done, how they
killed Sheriff Smith, how the depu-
ties had finally rounded up the out
laws and how, before they could get
him behind the prison bars, Casey
himself, ten times murderer, horse
thief and highwayman, had escaped.
"Wen, sir" said a rough-looking
man opposite Neale, Il played chuck
luck with that teller Casey two days
fore him an his gang done the sher-
i'll, an by cracky, he was as innocent
lookin' a kid almost as that dude sit
tin acrost the aisle"
Dressed as he was in a suit of cor
duroys, with leggins and quite a rak-
ish style of cap, Neale didn't under
stand why everybody picked him out
for a tenderfoot.
"They tell me, said another, chat
Bert Casey married. He amt moth
in but a kid, but Hank Rollins says
he's as nice little woman as they is
in the territory, one o them gintle,
motherly little critters Jest like q
young turkey hen only delicater."
1t was dark when Neale got off the
train at Chisholm and into the mud
spattered, rickety bus. The rain
had ceased, but the roads were deep
with mud and water, and the wheels
churned and groaned for ten minutes
before they stopped at the ''Roose-
welt house." two-story frame build
ing, the first and finest of the new
town.
Being quite hungry, the Bostonian
was beginning to enjoy his rude sup
per when he suddenly became aware
of two sinister eyes watching him
through the closed windows at his
elbow. He dropped his knife and
fork and everybody laughed at him,
neither his appetite nor his self-es-
TEEN being reinforced by the assur-
ance that sit was only an Indian rub
boring" Disguised by the coarse
surroundings and nervous in spite of
himself, Neale stole off to his room
about eight o'clock and tried to read.
Then he examined his pistols, barred
the door and went TO bed.
The frame box, of which his room
was the second-story front, was as
resinous as a guitar. He could hear
the dishwashers mumbling in the
kitchen, the rambling talk in the of
fee downstairs sounded distinct and
harsh, the building creaked when
booted cowboy walked across the
plank sidewalk in front and even the
footballs Of mOccasined Indians.
prowling about, set his teeth on edge
Later he heard the bus Laundering
oward the hotel, the pounding Of
muddy boots, the scratching of the
zen as some new guest registered and
more frequent and more rasping than !