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The notorious leader of the infamous
“Black Jack’s” gang of train robbers and murderer’s,
Tom Ketchum, now lies in the hospital of the
penitentiary at Santa Fe, N.M., seriously wounded as
the result of an encounter with officers of the law.
Tom held up a train single-handed and in the sequel
to this was wounded and captured. It was the
Colorado Southern express that Tom held up. The
place selected was near Folsom, on the northeast
corner of New Mexico. One night as the express was
puffing laboriously up grade the engineer saw a
light ahead giving the signal to stop. When the
train slowed down Tom Ketchum jumped into the cab
and, carelessly swinging a 45 Colt near the
engineer’s nose, told him to obey all orders during
the next few minutes. This, Tom said, would save
heartaches in the engineers home and the intrusion
of an undertaker in the family circle. Then he
jumped off and tried to uncouple the engine, which
was made impossible by the steep grade. Failing in
this, Tom walked back to the Wells-Fargo express car
and, thumping the door with the butt of his Colt,
demanded admittance. The messenger opened the door
and poked the muzzle of a Winchester out into the
dark and pulled the trigger. That put an end to the
hold-up that night. Just how badly Tom was shot is
not known, but he was wounded in a subsequent battle
with United States Marshal Foraker’s (?) posse and
he will not say how much damage the messenger did.
As he declared the hold-up off, it is probably he
was severely injured. The express pulled on and Tom
jumped hi bronco and sought safety in the mountains.
The attempted robbery was soon known to the
officials and three days later Marshal Foraker’s men
were hunting for Tom in the uplands. They finally
his the trail and followed it back into the very
heart of the mountains. Here they lost it and, while
discussing the best move, a report of a rifle split
he air and one of the deputies fell out of his
saddle. This was sufficient evidence of Tom’s
presence in the vicinity, but not his exact
whereabouts, as Tom used smokeless cartridges.
Another shot was heard and another deputy went to
the ground. At this rate every man in the posse
would be cut down without a ghost of a chance of
getting shot. The deputies, therefore, separated,
and began to scout the brush. A glint of sunshine
playing on the blue steel barrels of a Winchester
discussed Tom Ketchum’s position behind a big
boulder surrounded by brushwood. Then the day’s
proceedings began. The deputies shot at the glint of
sunshine playing along blue steel. Tom shot at the
deputies. The deputies dodged behind trees and rocks
and shot wildly. Tom stayed where he was and made
bull-eyes. If Tom hadn’t shoved his right arm a
little too high in taking aim he would have brought
down a full mess of deputies. As it was a slug of
lead as big as your finger tore through Tom’s
shooting member, and it took a few minutes to change
his Winchester over to his left arm. In those short
minutes the deputies closed in on Tom and captured
him. He was in a bad shape. His right arm was
terribly broken and torn and he was already
suffering from loss of blood. But he was game. He
offered to take his left arm and begin the
performance all over again, which proposition was
respectfully declined. The next day when he was able
to be moved Tom was strapped to his bronco and taken
to a train, ultimately landing in the penitentiary
hospital at Santa Fe. Of “Black Jack’s” gang of
thieves and cutthroats Tom Ketchum was the leader.
He was 35 years old and in Texas, his native state,
he is known as the new Jesse James. He stands 5 feet
10 inches in his stocking feet and is built on the
graceful lines of a tiger. He is as void of
conscience as the Winchester he carried. He would
rather shoot a man than eat; if the man be an
officer of the law it was more fun to kill him than
go to a dance. One of his boyhood pastimes was to
hide in some convenient place on the ranch and shoot
Mexican herdsmen. When a lad he was summoned as a
witness in a lawsuit, and not knowing what the
summons meant, and not caring to take any chances,
shot and killed the officer. After this he found it
convenient to change his residence, so he rode up
into New Mexico and Arizona. Here he soon became a
terror to everybody in general and railroad and
express companies in particular. He admits in a
roundabout way that since 1886 he and his gang have
stolen from post-offices, trains, stages and
wayfarers $200,000 and killed 200 men. |
