Famous Gunfighters of the Western Frontier. W. B. (Bat) Masterson
of whiskey worth ninety cents was not a bad thing to trade an Indian for a buffalo robe worth ten dollars. Accordingly Luke proceeded to lay in a goodly supply of “Pine Top,” the name by which the whiskey traded to the Indians in exchange for their robes was known.
UNCLE SAM OBJECTS TO HIS BUSINESS
He was not long in building up a lucrative business; nor was it long before the Indian chiefs of the Sioux tribe got on to him. Drunken bands of young bucks were regularly returning to their villages from the direction of the Short rendezvous loaded to the muzzle with “Pine Top,” and, as every drink contained at least two fights and as it usually took about ten drinks to cause an Indian to forget that the Great White Father abode in Washington, the condition of those who had found entertainment at the Short ranch, when they reached their camp, can better be imagined than told.
The Indian agent in charge of this particular branch of the Sioux tribe with whom Short had been dealing soon got busy with Washington. He represented to the Department of the Interior that a band of cutthroat white men, under the leadership of Luke Short, were trading whiskey to his Indians, and that he was powerless to stop it, as the camp of the white men was located just across the reservation line, in the State of Nebraska, which was outside of his jurisdiction. He requested the government to instantly remove the whiskey traders and drive them from the country. Otherwise, said he, an Indian uprising will surely follow. The government, as was to be expected, forthwith instructed the post commander at Omaha to get after the purveyors of the poisonous “Pine Top,” who were charged with causing such havoc among the noble red men of the Sioux reservation.
The military commander at Omaha soon had a company of United States cavalry after Short, and as he had no notice of such a move being made against him, he was soon a prisoner in the hands of the government authorities. He was alone in his little dugout, cooking his dinner, when the soldiers arrived. He was told that he was a prisoner, by order of the government, for having unlawfully traded whiskey to the Indians.
“Is that all, gentlemen?” said Luke, as he invited the officer in command of the soldiers to sit down and have a bite to eat with him.
“There will be no time for eating,” said the officer, “as we must reach Sidney by tomorrow morning, in time to catch the Overland train for Omaha. So get together what things you care to take along, as we will be on our way.”
“I have nothing that I care to take along,” Luke replied, “Except what I have on;” and as that mostly consisted of a pair of Colt’s pistols and a belt of cartridges, the officer soon had them in his custody.
“Where are your partners?” queried the Captain.
“I have no partners,” replied Short. “I’ve been running this ranch by myself.”
But Luke did have a partner, who was at that very time in Sidney procuring provisions and more “Pine Top.”
After everything around the ranch resembling whiskey had been destroyed by order of the officer in command, the trip to Sidney, about seventy-five miles away, was taken up. Luke was put astride a government horse, his feet fastened with a rope underneath the animal’s girth and told to ride in the center of the company of cavalrymen. Sidney was reached in time to catch the Overland train, and Luke was hustled aboard with as little ceremony as possible.
Luke had, by his quiet and diffident manner during the short time he had been prisoner, succeeded in having the officer regard him in the light of a harmless little adventurer, and for this reason did not have him either handcuffed or shackled, after placing him aboard the train for Omaha.
Sidney, Nebraska, was a very small place in those days. The permanent population in all probability did not exceed the one thousand mark. Sidney, following the custom of all small hamlets, however, would turn out when there was anything unusual going on. And the sight of a company of United States soldiers lined up at the railroad station was enough to arouse her curiosity and cause her town-folk to turn out in a body and investigate the cause. Luke Short’s partner was among those who came to see the big show at the depot, and his surprise can well be imagined when he discovered that no less a person than his partner was responsible for the big event. It did not take Luke and his partner long to fix up a code of signals by which they could communicate with each other. Luke could say a few things in Indian language that his partner could understand, and to which he could make comprehensible reply.
SHORT ESCAPED FROM THE SOLDIERS
“Skidoo’ and “Twenty-three” were terms familiar to Short, even in those days. But they were conveyed by the sign language instead of being spoken as now.
Luke made his partner understand that he would soon be back in Sidney, and to have everything in readiness, so that they could skip the country with as little delay as possible, as soon as he showed up. The charge of having unlawfully traded whiskey to the Indians did not seem to concern him in the least. “I can beat that for sure,” he said to himself; “But supposing that agent should take a notion to call a count of heads. What then? I know that there are several young bucks, whom I caught trying to steal my ‘Pine Top,’ who will not be there to answer roll-call, in case one is ordered. I planted those bucks myself, and, outside of my partner, no one knows the location of the cache. While I have no notion of putting in a claim against the government for the work, I must be careful and avoid having it endeavor to show that I really did perform such service.”
These were perhaps the thoughts he was conveying by signals to his partner when he boarded the train at Sidney that was to take him to Omaha.
To state the story briefly, Luke did not tarry long with the soldiers after the train left Sidney. That night found Luke back in town and before the following morning both he and his partner were well on their way to Colorado, driving a big span of mules hitched to a canvas-covered wagon.
This happened in the fall of 1878 and, as Leadville was just then having a big mining boom, Luke headed for Denver.
It must be remembered that in that country in those days there were no settlements of any kind, and by keeping from the line of the railroad, a white person was seldom seen.
A LITTLE AFFAIR IN LEADVILLE
Luke and his partner arrived in Denver in due course of time, and drove to one of the city horse corrals, where next day they disposed of their outfit at a good price. Luke’s partner returned to his home in Austin, Texas, where his family connections were both wealthy and prominent. Luke went to Leadville, where everything was then on the boom. Here he began to associate with a class of people far different in manner, taste and dress from those he had been accustomed to. He was thrown in the society of rich mine buyers, as well as mining promoters. He got acquainted with gamblers and the keepers of the mining camp “honkatonks.”
The whole thing was a new life to him, and he took to it like a duck to water. It was the first place where he saw the game of faro dealt, and he was fascinated. He was not long in camp before he was talked about. He ran foul of a bad man with a gun one day in one of the camp’s prominent gambling houses, and the bad man, who had a record of having killed someone somewhere, attempted to take some sort of liberty with one of Luke’s bets and, when the later politely requested the bad man to keep his hands off, the bad man became very angry and made some rude remarks. The dealer was frightened half out of his wits. He looked to see Short shot full of holes before anyone could raise a hand to prevent it. The dealer, of course didn’t have Luke’s number. He knew the other fellow, but had yet to become acquainted with the late vendor of “Pine Top” up Nebraska way.
“Gentlemen,” said the dealer, in his most suave manner, “I will make the amount of the bet good, rather than have a quarrel.”
“You will not make anything good to me,” said Short. “That is my bet, and I will not permit anyone to take it.”
“You insignificant little shrimp,” growled the bad man, at the same time reaching for his cannister. “I will shoot your hand off, if you dare to put it on that bet.”
But he didn’t. Nor did he get his pistol out of his hip pocket. For, quicker than a flash, Luke had jammed his