Volume 17 , Issue 33

Rise & Fall of the Dalton Gang

We all know there was a streak of Younger blood in the Dalton veins, and that the Youngers had achieved a great deal of outlaw notoriety. But did you know that Louis and Adeline Dalton's family of boys and girls also bore the blood and breeding of many generations of honest, industrious people?

Even today it is not unusual that a family should produce one black sheep, or even two, for that matter. But what fluke of circumstance caused four of Louis Dalton's sons to turn outlaw? Was it an unfair or unkind act of some representative of the organized society they seemed to hate so bitterly? Was it an inherent, criminal instinct, the animal later, a heritage, perhaps from the Younger strain?

Louis Dalton was a Kentuckian and had served in the Mexican War. In 1850 he removed from Kentucky to Jackson County, Missouri, where he later married Adeline Younger, the charming daughter of a prominent farmer and a cousin of the Younger brothers, whose notoriety rivaled that of the James boys. Louis Dalton and his wife settled in a modest home and led the lives of people who were worthy of better sons. In 1860, Dalton removed his little family to a farm near Coffeyville, Kansas, where the younger children were born and where all grew up.

It was in 1884, that Louis and Adeline's eldest son, Frank, went to old Indian Territory and was commissioned as a deputy Untied States Marshal, with headquarters in Fort Smith. He became widely known as a brave and trustworthy officer. His young brother Bob, fascinated by the wild life of the territory, came to visit Frank and was with him in 1885 when Frank was slain in a gunfight with horse thieves. This was young Bob's baptism of fire and it was said that he fought like a veteran, making his escape from the thieves after a will chase during which lead fell about him like rain.

Another Dalton son, Bill, drifted to Montana, then on to California where he established himself among substantial people and entered politics. Bill had barely lived in the Montana long enough to qualify as a citizen when he was elected to the State legislature.

The other Dalton boys had developed a wanderlust, and the little farm home in Kansas could no longer hold Gratton and Bob. Young Emmett was also fretting to be out seeing the world, but his father induced him tons tay. Gratton had gone to California, but he returned home when Frank was killed. Going to Indian Territory, following the urge to be on the go and to find excitement, he accepted an appointment as a deputy United States Marshal. For a few months he made a very good officer and his bravery would have distinguished him if it had not been for that peculiar streak of deviltry that, at time, seemed to dominate his better nature.

Although Bob could not have been more than nineteen or twenty, he was soon appointed a deputy United States marshal, with duties in the federal courts t Wichita, Kansas, and at Fort Smith, Arkansas. Later he served as chief of police for the Osage Indian Nation.

Young Emmett was staying at home, although he was impatient to be enjoying the thrilling experiences his brothers wrote about. Early in 1889, Louis Dalton died. His grief-stricken widow, unable to remain on the little Kansas farm, with its haunting memories, induced her children, Emmett, two older son and two daughters, to join her in trying for a claim in the Oklahoma run. They were successful and established themselves on a fertile farm near Kingfisher. Her eldest sons, who were not to share in the notoriety of their younger brothers, married and located on nearby farms. Her daughters also married well and, with sheer force of character and integrity, they lived honorably through the period when it seemed their younger brothers would disgrace them.

Emmett soon left home and joined Gratton and Bob in Indian Territory. Emmett's outlaw career was to be short, but very eventful. Emmett Dalton was fearless and he loved excitement, but he lacked the bloodthirsty bravado of the successful bandit. Perhaps he had inherited too much of the substantial quality and character of his father and mother.

Although Bob and Gratton were officers, they had been engaging in number of minor deprecations against the property rights of settlers and, shortly after Emmett joined them, the three stole a herd of horses and drove them to Kansas, where they sold them. With the proceeds Gratton and Emmett left for California and Bob returned to the territory, feeling sure that he was not suspected as a horse thief.

It was early in 1891, an unsuccessful attempt was made to rob a Southern Pacific express train at Tulare, California. The express messenger surprised the bandits with a fusillade of shots that defeated the robbery. In the melee of wild shooting, the fireman was killed. The Dalton brothers were accused of the murder and attempted robbery and Gratton was captured. It was at that time that Bill attempted to use his political influence to get Gratton out of this trouble but the situation threatened to compromise his position and he was forced to abandon his efforts, although it was possible that he assisted his brothers in a quiet way.

Gratton was tried and convicted, but he succeeded in escaping as he was being transferred from the county jail to the state prison. Emmett, who had remained in California, hoping to aid his brother, joined Gratton and they returned to Oklahoma. The Southern Pacific offered a standing reward of six thousand dollars for their capture and they were being sought by officers everywhere. Particularly were their old haunts in Oklahoma being watched.

Young, impulsive and fired by the success of their California escape, the two joined their brother Bob who had already made plans to form an outlaw band and who had recruited Bill Doolin, Dick Broadwell, Bill Powers and Black Faced Cahrlie Bryant. Bill Doolin had worked as a cowpuncher for Oscar Halsell for some time and he left the Halsell ranch but a short time before, determined to become an outlaw. Broadway and Powers were also ex-cowpunchers, and Black Faced Charlie Bryant was a peculiar character who had drifted in from no one knew where and who had very little toe ay about his past. Somehow, somewhere, his face had got dangerously near an exploding gun and he had received powder burns that had left splotches of burned black powder beneath his skin. This accounted for his being called Black Faced Charlie. They had made plans for a series of wholesale robberies that would surpass anything ever attempted by any of Oklahoma's earlier bandits. After numerous insignificant depredations, you Bob developed a plan that he hoped would establish the Daltons as super-bandits.

As they laid the groundwork for their daring exploits, the outlaws combed the territory for the best riding stock they could find. Soon after the organization of their band, the Dalton gang made a raid on a colony of Missourians who had settled near Orlando on Beaver Creek. Eight or ten horses were stolen, and the bandits made a dash back toward Indian Territory. A posse was quickly organized that followed the horse thieves to a point near Twin Mounds in the Territory. The trail growing warmer, the posse divided to search the dense timber along the ban of a creek. Two members of the posse, William Thompson and W. T. Starmer, a cousin of George G. STarmer, later one of E. D. Nix's deputies, were ambushed by the outlaws who hid behind a pile of driftwood. The postmen dropped to the ground quickly and attempted to conceal themselves behind stumps while they poured a deadly fire in the direction from which the bandits' shots had come, but the outlaws were too well sheltered to suffer damage, and within a few minutes Starmer lay fatally wounded while Thompson made his get-away. Then starter's body was examined it was found that he had been hit by three bullets so well aimed that anyone would have killed him. His own Winchester was empty, indicating that he had fought to the last cartridge.

After a brief rest the Daltons set out westward, seeking a place of greater security for the undisturbed development of their next immediate plans.

Red Rack, Oklahoma, was a little Indian trading station built upon the rolling red clay prairies in the Cherokee sTrip, and so isolated that even today the State highways do not touch it and the Santa Fe trains hoot disdainfully as they whiz by. The depot was situated about a mile from the town, and it was here the bandits could work quickly without fear of interference by the officers of the little community.

It was nine o'clock on the night of 1 June 1892, the Dalton gang rode into a deep washout near the railroad and near the Red Rock station. Leaving their horses concealed there, they waited in the shadows for the arrival of the southbound Santa Fe passenger train. AS the small wood burning engine labored into the station and came to a stop, a blanketed Indian with a squaw and two papooses alighted. The telegraph operator ran to the engine to give the engineer his orders, when Black Faced Charlie Bryant and Dick Broadwell dashed past him and leaped into the cab of the locomotive.

An armed guard sat on a pile of wood on the tender eating a sandwich. The surprise attack so demoralized him that he gave a hysterical jerk at his gun, causing sticks of wood to roll beneath him and he sprawled across the coupling into the cab of the engine at the feet of the two bandits who quickly disarmed him. The express messenger and his guard had just been congratulating themselves that there were no shipments to be put off the train at Red Rock, and they went on placidly with a game of checkers. When the command came for them to reach for the sky, the checkerboard fell from their trembling knees and the checkers rolled all about the car. They were looking into the guns of Bill Doolin and Gratton Dalton.

Back in the passenger coaches, Bob and Emmett Dalton and Bill Powers were herding the frightened passengers out onto the station platform. With he express messenger and his guard disarmed and bound, Gratton and Doolin looked about for the large safe that was supposed to contain several thousand dollars in currency. There had been a slip somewhere, for they only found a small box-like safe with a chain attached to one of the handles. They dragged this to the door and threw it out on the platform. After quickly relieving the messenger of his keys they opened the flimsy door of the little iron box and found a single pack containing two or three hundred dollars in currency.

While Bob, Emmett and Powers were forcing the passengers to give up their valuables, Black Faced Charlie left Broadwell in the engine to hold his prisoners there while he ran back to assist the others. In passing the station window, he saw the frightened face of the operator in the dim lamp light as his nervous hands trembled on the telegraph keys. Assuming that the operator was sending out news of the robbery, Bryant sent a bullet crashing through the window, and with a moan the slender boy inside slumped from his chair. The telegraph instruments clicked frantically for him to complete his message.

Within fifteen minutes the terrified passengers were herded back into the cars and the train was on its way. The disappointed bandits slunk away with but a part of the booty they had hoped for.

There were great official stirs, rewards were offered by the express and railroad companies and desperate attempts were made to finally wipe out the Daltons, who were becoming a menace to Oklahoma's march of progress, but the outlaws disappeared as if they were spirit creatures who had no material bodies to conceal and all searches were fruitless.

Within a short time, Black Faced Charlie appeared at a cowboy dance near Hennessey, Oklahoma, and before the evening was over he had started an altercation with a cowman from the western part of the Cherokee Strip and was considerably worsted in the affair, receiving a wound that sent him to bed under a doctor's care.

Deputy United States Marshal Ed Short heard of the affair and went to Hennessey seeking Bryant. He located him easily in the home where his wounds were being treated and, entering his bedroom, he was able to overpower and handcuff the outlaw before he could get to his gun which was concealed beneath his pillow.

The next morning after Bryant's capture Deputy Short arranged to take him to Wichita, Kansas. On this trip, Short's lack of caution, or perhaps it was his over confidence, cost him his life. The prisoner was handcuffed with his hands in front instead of behind him, and when the train arrived he was placed in the express car. After a short time, Short handed the outlaw's six-shooter to the express messenger and asked him to guard his prisoner, saying that he wanted to go back into the passenger coach to see a friend. The messenger casually place the six-shooter in a pigeonhole above his desk and wen about his work. The outlaw watched his opportunity, and as he saw the messenger intent in his work he slipped up behind him and grabbed the six-shooter with his hand cuffed hands, covering the messenger, he was backing toward the sliding door of the car where he expected to make his escape when Deputy Short re-entered. Bryant whirled quickly, facing Short, his manacled hands aiming the gun clumsily as he blazed away at the deputy. Short staggered, seriously wounded, drawing his gun as quickly as possible. The express messenger ducked behind a stack of freight. Before the duel between these two men of undaunted nerve had ended both six-shooters were empty and the two combatants lay in pools of their own blood, dying. The train was then drawing into the station of Waukomis, Oklahoma, and the deputy and the outlaw were taken from the splintered express car and laid upon the platform. Conductor Collins kneeled beside the dying officer ... "Ed, is there anything I can do for you?" Short tried to force a grin as he answered feebly, "I hope ... I got that snake he sure got me ... take off ... by boots ... Colin ... and send word toy mother."

A short distance away lay the outlaw who but a few moments ago had had life and vitality in such measure that he had regarded death as that strange, intangible thing to be considered as being far in the future. A few brief minutes later, he lay gasping, his life blood gurgling from many open wounds.

A young man walked to his side and stooped to speak to him, "Aren't you Charlie Bryant?" The outlaw nodded his head weakly as he recognized the young man as a boyhood friend. Bryant then made that strange request that seldom come from the lips of dying gunmen, "I can't die with my boots on ... won't you " the young friend stooped and tenderly removed his boots and promised to frame a respectable story to be sent to the desperado's mother.

Ed Short's untimely death was but another lesson to the territorial officers, proving to them that they must not under any circumstances give an outlaw prisoner a chance for escape.

The rest of the Dalton gang had apparently dropped out of existence. Several weeks passed without the officers' receiving the slightest clue as to their whereabouts. Then in the latter part of July they appeared over in the Cherokee country near the Arkansas line where they perpetrated one of the most daring train robberies that had ever been attempted. They knew that a considerable shipment of money was being made on a Missouri, Kansas and Texas passenger train on this particular day. They also knew that the train was being heavily guarded by a force, augmented by Indian police. In spite of the discouraging prospect for success the Daltons lay in wit for the train near a little station called Adair. As the train came to a stop, the bandits attempted to capture the guards, who poured a heavy fire upon the robbers. With undaunted nerve the robbery of the mail express car and the passengers proceeded during one of the hottest gun battles that ever took place upon such an occasion. The Dalton gang succeeded in carrying away all of the valuables and money and several of the indian police and passengers were wounded. A physician who lived in Adair was killed. It was never learned whether or not any of the bandits were wounded. If so, they were carried away and nursed to recovery by their companions.

Again the Daltons dropped out of sight and the officers and their posses were unable to find a trace of them. Now and then they would hear of some small depredation of which the Daltons were vaguely suspected. Encouraged by their successful robberies and escapades, young Bob Dalton's mad ambition was fired with a desire to commit a robbery sod bring and so sensational that the entire country would be shocked, and that would establish the Dalton gang as more to be feared than the James boys or the Youngers had ever been.

Having been reared near Coffeyville, Kansas, the Dalton boys knew the little town, its inhabitants and their habits intimately. Young Bob decided that Coffeyville should be the scene of his 'coup d theatre." He had boasted to his impetuous followers that he would lead them to glorious accomplishments greater than America had ever known. They would rob two banks in the same two simultaneously. That would eclipse anything the James or Youngers had ever done.

He visualized himself as a romantic hero and he developed a super-ego and an unreasonable confidence that was to lead him to his destruction. Bob felt that this net stroke must be the one that would establish his band's fortunes so soundly that they would be able to retire for a considerable time. Bob and Gratton had been recognized in the Adair robbery, and the indignation of the territorial officers and citizenship was seething. Sooner or later the Daltons would be captured. They realized this and laid their plans to get out of the country.

It was on the morning of 4 October 1892, the Dalton gang comprised of Bob, Gratton and Emmett Dalton, Bill Doolin, Dick Broadwell and Bill Powers rode out from their Indian Territory hiding place in the direction of the Kansas line. Their six-shooters and rifles were oiled and loaded to capacity. Their cartridge belts and pockets were filled with ammunition, and as their horses fox-trotted over the vague trail the men rode in a huddled group, discussing their plans in hushed tones. Doily rode beside young Bob, serving as a sort of first lieutenant and offering such suggestions and warnings as an older man could give to daring And rash youth.

Late in the afternoon they crossed the Kansas line and, riding a few miles farther, they stopped and camped for the night. They built their fire in a secluded spot and held their consultations in whispers as if afraid the rocks and trees might over hear and frustrate their plot.

Several cigarettes after dusk they spread their blankets and retired for the night, all but young Emmett falling into sound sleep. The boy was nervous ... this affair didn't seem to him to be quite right. Perhaps he was developing more of a conscience than he would have admitted to the others. IN the middle of the night he threw his blanket aside and walked nervously about the little camp. His nerves were on edge. Bob stirred in his blanket and called, "That you, Emmett? You had better be sleeping."

The boy sat down on his rude bed and waited for his brother to go back to sleep. he then dragged his blanket over hear Bob's sleeping form and lay down. His brother's peaceful snoring seemed to reassure him. He soon drifted away into sound slumber. Before daylight the bandits arose and prepared a light breakfast. The Bitter, black coffee warmed them and stimulated their spirits for the task was before them. At about seven o'clock they rode out of the camp toward Coffeyville, expecting to arrive there soon after the banks had had opened and before there were many people on the streets. It was one of those invigorating fall days that seemed sharpen the mind and to exhilarate the body to an eagerness to attack whatever experiences the day may bring forth. There had been a light frost or two, and the ground beneath the trees was covered with brown and pink and gold leaves. The short grass beside the trail was beginning to turn brown and the earth was moist enough that the horses raised very little dust.

During the night Doolin's horse had wrenched a foot in some manner and was limping painfully. As they passed a small ranch, it was Bob Dalton's suggestion that Doolin fall back and try to rustle a new mount fro himself, for it was imperative that the bandits be able to make a rapid departure following their robbery. Doily turned away from the trail and the others rode on toward Coffeyville.

Doily replied, "I'll be there not more'n fifteen or twenty minutes behind you boys. I just seen a chestnut sorrel geldin' in a field outside the timber there that looks like he might step. It won't take me long to toss a rope over him."

Many ole timers had said that Bill Doolin tried to persuade Bob Dalton that he was biting off more than he could chew. Did Bill Doolin loiter behind because he preferred not to have a and in the Coffeyville affair? Anyone familiar with the indomitable courage of the man would have known that his reluctance was not due to fear. Perhaps he used better judgment than Bob Dalton was capable of exercising.

As the horses trotted along Bob Dalton adjusted a heavy false mustache and goatee to his smooth face, and handed a false beard to Emmett to conceal his features. Gratton's face was covered by a long, shaggy growth of beard, while Dick Broadwell and Bill Powers wore no disguises of any kind since they were unknown in Coffeyville.

As the riders drew near the town's borders they halted in the road to wait a few moments for Doolin. Young Emmett Dalton was sent riding back to the top of a hill to see if Doolin was following. He rode back to the group, reporting that he could see nothing of the other man. Bob Dalton was impatient and after a very short wait he touched his horse with the spurs, saying, "We can't waste any more time waiting' for him. This has got to be done quick. Come on."

Shortly after nine o'clock the firemen rode at a slow trot into the principal street of the town, the three Daltons abreast and Broadwell and Powers following. As it was an ordinary sight for cattlemen to be riding in and out of Coffeyville during this period, the bandits attracted no unusual attention. They were mounted on their best horses and their heavy Mexican saddles were decorated with the spangles and carvings that cow men in that period so vainly affe ted. On the sides of their saddles hung large hair covered pockets, each carrying several six-shooters. Behind the saddles, their slickers were compactly rolled. Their Winchester rifles were concealed beneath their coats. To the causal observer they seemed to be unarmed. Their brand brimmed hats were drawn well down over their faces, and they looked neither to the right nor to the left as they approached the town square. Here they turned to the right and rode half a block, disappearing into an alley where they tied their horses. After some moments they walked out upon the principal business street of Coffeyville. A few teams hitched to farm wagons stood at the hitching rails up and down the street and here and there were cow ponies standing as if they were anchored by the loose bridle reins that touched the ground. A housewife, basket on her arm, bustled out of a door of a meat market and brushed Emmett slightly, disarranging his false beard.

They proceeded down the street passing farmers and citizens. One merchant, looking a little more closely than the other passers-by, saw at a glance than the men were disguised and he immediately suspected that they were bank robbers. He concealed himself in a doorway and watched until three of them, Gratton Dalton, Powers and Broadwell, entered the Condon Bank. At about the same moment, Bob and Emmett went into the First National Bank. Walking furtively past the Condon Bank, the merchant saw Gratton Dalton pointing a gun at the cashier's head. The frightened man ran down the street for about half a block, then began shouting that the banks were being robbed. Another citizen had followed the Daltons into the Condon Bank and witnessed the holdup but, as he tried to leave, he was ordered to hold up his hands and he remained where he was.

The cry, "The banks are being robbed!" flew from door to door, up and down the streets, until the whole town was alarmed, and men came running with six-shooters, Winchesters and shot guns. Within an incredibly short time a fusillade of shots was being fired through the windows and doors of the two banks at the bandits. Through this fiery battle, the Daltons, by their sheer coolness and daring, seemed about to justify their boast that they would eclipse the exploits of the James boys and the Youngers. With bullets, crashing window glass and splintering wood lying about them, they went calmly about receiving the money that was being handed out to them by the frightened bank employees. Packages of currency and stacks of coin were thrown quickly into the bags they had brought for the purpose, and within three minutes the Daltons were ready to make their exit into the street, but they reckoned without the alertness and bravery of the Coffeyville citizens who were massed in the street and ready for battle.

As Bob and Emmett would have left the First National Bank they were met by a hail of bullets and the crash of falling glass. They turned back and made their way through a rear door into the alley, fighting viciously as they ran.

Gratton, Broadwell and Powers were having their own troubles by this time. Powers had been hit and blood was using in a stream from his right sleeve. AS they came to the door, Powers carried his six-shooters in his left hand and was still as calm as any man could have been. These three decided to fight their way out of the front door and through the crowd of citizens. AS they reached the sidewalk Powers was hit again and he fell, gasping his last breath. A moment later Gratton Dalton fell to his knees fatally wounded by a bullet from eh gun of City Marshal Charles T. Connelly. With eh figure of the City Marshal dancing before his blazing eyes, Gratton Dalton raised his pistol and fired the shot that killed Connelly. Two citizens, Lucius M. Baldwin and George B. Cubine, rushed to aid Connelly, and Broadwell felled the two them, killing them instantly. Broadway made a dash through the alley for his horse, followed by a half dozen citizens. He had mounted and was putting the spurs to his horse when a full charge of buckshot and a bullet from a Winchester struck him at about the same time. With he blood gushing from his mouth and with one arm shattered, he clung to his horse and dashed out and over the road by which the bandits had entered the town. A mile or so away his dead body was found by the roadside, the horse sanding beside it.

As Bob and Emmett attempted to escape by the back door of the First National Bank, a citizen named Charles Brown rushed toward them and Bob drilled him squarely between the eyes. A moment later as they were about to reach their horses, Emmett heard a groan behind him and saw Bob fall into the alley's muck. Emmett quickly mounted his horse and rode back to where his brother Bob lay dying. He reached down and took hold of Bob's hand and tried to raise him to the horse behind. While he was trying to rescue his brother, Emmett Dalton was struck in the back by a heavy charge from a shot gun at close range. He released the dying man's hand, reeled in the saddle and fell to the ground.

Within fifteen minutes from the time they entered the banks, four of the outlaws were dead, and a fifth, Emmett Dalton, had been captured, with on bullet through his right arm, another through his hip and a sprinkling of buckshot in his back.

The bodies of the four dead bandits were taken to the jail where they remained until the mother of the Daltons arrived, accompanied by their two older brothers. Emmett was taken to a hospital and when he had recovered sufficiently was removed to the jail at Independence, Kansas. When quit was restored, it was found that the robbers had taken eleven thousand dollars from the First National Bank and twenty thousand from the Condon Bank. All of this money was returned to the banks with the exception of a twenty dollar bill which was never found.

The Coffeyville raid was as disastrous to the Dalton gang as the Northfields raid had been to the Youngers many years before. It was the end of the Dalton gang i the southwest, but it was not the end of the reign of the outlaws. Bill Doolin who, but for a queer turn of fate, might have died an inglorious death with the Daltons, was destined to become one of the most vicious outlaws Oklahoma was ever to know.

Doily had succeeded in stealing the thoroughbred horse and he had proceeded on toward Coffeyville. As he drew near enough to see the smoke from the chimneys of the Kansas town and to see the sunlight glinting from the roofs, some peculiar intuition caused him to linger and watch as if he were waiting for something, a vague something that he could not have described. Presently, he saw a horseman racing toward him in cloud of dust. The man draw up as he approached Doolin and so great was his excitement that his words were almost incoherent. He told the tragedy that had happened in the streets of Coffeyville and Doolin learned the fate of his companions.

Realizing that there was nothing he could do the cowboy bandit responded quickly to the instinct for self preservation. He knew that his connection with the Dalton gang was suspected and even known to some people, and he did not know how soon a posse might be on his trail. Perhaps the Coffeyvill folks would believe that all of the gang had been wiped out and would make no search, perhaps they would not. He could afford to take no chances.

Within twenty-four hours the entire country would be rose and an intensive search would begin for all the men who were known to have had the slightest connection with the Dalton band. Miles away on the bank of the Cimarron was a haven of safety, but between Doolin and that haven were many obstacles. The outlaw had been fortunate in find so fit a mount for the grueling ride that was before him. As soon as the frightened informer from Coffeyville had disappeared down the dusty road, Doolin wheeled his steed and dashed away toward the Kansas- Indian Territory line.

That much of the ride must be made in daylight and he must dash on until darkness fell to shield his first breathing spell. Never once was it necessary to let the spirited thoroughbred feel the steel of his spurs. Tis sort of horse would run until he dropped in his tracks. Once or twice Doolin reined up to let his horse wet its lips in a muddy stream. The animal's neck, flanks and hips were covered with salty foam, and it strides grew tumbling and uncertain before dusk finally fell. After a rest of two hours Doolin pressed on for the rest of the night.

As daylight broke he found refuge in a deep ravine and behind a great pile of driftwood. The horse was led about a half mile beyond the man's hiding place and hobbled, where he was left to graze during the day. Doily made his way stealthily back to his blankets and slept as only an exhausted man could sleep, until darkness fell again. That night Doolin crossed the territory like a flying wraith, flitting by rich and farm like a ghostly rider saddled soon the wind, reeling off mile after mile until he reached the old rendezvous of the gang, a cow ranch on the Cimarron, twenty-five miles west of Tulsa. Doily had plans, and they were to be brought into effect while he rested there.
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