Wild West Podcast

Tales and Terrors of the Old West: Mike Bailey's Pursuit of Justice and a Hair-Raising Dance Hall Showdown

July 11, 2021 Michael King
Wild West Podcast
Tales and Terrors of the Old West: Mike Bailey's Pursuit of Justice and a Hair-Raising Dance Hall Showdown
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Tantalizing tales of the Old West await you! We've got a chilling yarn about a frontier town shooting, an adventure-filled journey to Dodge City, and a violent encounter in a dance hall. This episode takes you on a journey back in time, recounting stories of courage, friendship, lawlessness, and the brutal realities of frontier life.

Our first narrative tells the story of a senseless killing and the daring pursuit of justice that follows. Listen as we recount the captivating tale of Mike Bailey, shot in cold blood by McCluskey, and the thrilling showdown at Tuttle's Dance Hall. Then, saddle up as we take you along the buffalo-filled trail to Dodge City, a lawless frontier town teeming with larger-than-life characters, including the quick-drawing and lethal Billy Brooks. Hold on tight as we end with a nail-biting encounter in a dance hall, where bullets fly and lives hang in balance. Get ready for a wild ride through the untamed West, where danger lurks at every corner and only the brave survive!

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Speaker 1:

My name is Emmanuel Dubbs. In the spring of 1871 my wife and I joined a movers outfit in a covered wagon we traveled with a pair of mules, small tent and camping equipment On our way through Kansas. We grew short on funds and I found myself in need of work. On August 20 we decided to pull into a frontier town of Newton. We had heard the Atchison-Depeke and Santa Fe Railroad had reached the area and I could get work grading track. When we entered the town of Newton we found her citizens wild with excitement, a new panorama of life being unrolled before us. Curious, I pulled my wagon up to the front of the general store. A man dashed past her wagon and yelled out he's in the store. My wife and I glanced over to the area from which the ruckus appeared to come. As the man disappeared into the general store, another man seen from the boardwalk in front of the store motioned to those loitering about to move his way. With each motion of his waving hand he shouted into the street everyone, come see the gunfighter, he's in here.

Speaker 1:

My wife did not want to stay long. She, being disturbed by the disorder and the idle chatter of the forming crowd, only wanted to stay long enough to buy a few supplies. On the other hand, I pointed out to her that this event would be an adventure. A story was about to unfold and I wanted to learn more about this place and its people. I handed over the reins to my wife, climbed down from the wagon, crossed over the dust-covered street, stepped up to the boardwalk and entered the store.

Speaker 1:

At the service counter a few men gathered around conversing about a shooting. I poked my head between two of the men who I took to be drovers. The clerk came from behind the counter. Did any of you know the gunman? Asked the clerk. I did, said one of the drovers who stepped out forward with the crowd. I rode with Billy Garrett just this month on a cattle drive here to Newton. The drover pulled his hat up above his brow, leaned forward out of the shadows into a stray sunbeam coming in the doorway and pointed to a blood-soaked bandage on his nose. My name is Wilkerson, he said Billy Garrett.

Speaker 1:

My friends informed us on the night previous to our arrival a little trouble had arisen in a saloon, a gambling hall called the Red Front Saloon. The room became quiet and saw him as Wilkerson hobbled closer to the crowd. You see, my frill friend, mike Bailey, was shot and killed for no sound reason by that no-account McCluskey, said Wilkerson. The two men's displeasure with one another developed into a fistfight, with Bailey being shoved outside the saloon and into the street At that no-account McCluskey followed, drawing his pistol. He fired two lead balls at Bailey, hitting him with the second shot in the chest. All of the men and women in the store stood in silence. Wilkerson's last comment throbbed with emotion as he left the significance soak in. The. Onlookers watched Wilkerson stumble over to the darkest corner of the room, leading a crush to the wall. He grimaced as he lowered himself into a chair. I'm a Texan, he boasted and proud of it. Wilkerson sneered once more, leaned forward and stared directly into the crowd as he tried to intercept the glances of wandering eyes. All of us Texans erode with. Mike Bailey vowed revenge against that coward McCluskey. Wilkerson paused, reclining, breaking loose the wooden joints of his chair, billy Garrett.

Speaker 1:

My gun-fighting friend Henry Kearns and I went to Tuttle's Dance Hall last night to settle the score. He sat next to his friend Jim Martin. We went over to the bar, ordered some drinks and turned our backs to the bartender to watch McCluskey from a distance. Wilkerson in noticeable pain from his wounds, paused and continued his story in a grim tone. When we entered the saloon, I spotted a man and he was standing in front of me. He was standing in front of me and he was standing in front of me and he was standing in front of me. I was standing in front of him as he stood and stood and he was standing in front of me sitting up on the ground. When we entered the saloon, I spotted a boy by the name of James Riley standing in a shadowy corner. Riley, an eighteen-year-old known to be McCluskey's shadow, glared at me. To test the boy's will, I placed my right hand over the shoulder handle of my colt. Riley smirked at me, flipped his duster back, exposing both of his guns, nodding his fingers behind the harms of his chair.

Speaker 1:

To everyone's surprise, out of nowhere appeared a man by the name of Hugh Anderson, yelling in the direction of McCluskey. You are a cowardly son of a gun. I'll blow the top of your head off, screamed Hugh. Wilkerson's next words turned his face shiny with bliss. This disturbance caused Jim Martin, sitting next to McCluskey, to jump out of his chair. Martin now stood between McCluskey and Anderson. Hugh pushed Anderson's side, drew his revolver, discharging one cartridge into McCluskey's neck. Mccluskey tumbled to the ground as the barrel of Anderson's cocked weapon moved squarely in line with Jim Martin's head. Martin froze as the hammer from Anderson's pistol clicked on a misfired round. A somber, breathless calm hung over the room as the company of listeners was fully absorbed by Wilkerson's story. You could hear a treacherous throb in Wilkerson's voice. The room went silent with Anderson's misfire. Anderson and Martin stood in the center of the room. Mccluskey rolled over the ground holding his neck, gasping out a groan. When two more bullets from Hugh Anderson's pistol splattered into McCluskey's back, a large sigh of discontent sounded over the room.

Speaker 1:

As Wilkerson continued the story, I looked again in the direction of James Riley, partially hidden in a pallous smoke. Riley, with both six guns pulled, fired off several rounds in my direction. The first of Riley's rounds caught Hugh Anderson's right leg. The second bullet hit me in the side of my nose. The force of the rounds swung me in the direction of Billy Garrett. I noticed Garrett through my blood-filmed eyes and managed to get off one round before two more of Riley's shots hit Garrett in the shoulder and chest. Bullying my revolver from my holster, I shot in the direction of Riley, who had moved to the center of the room. Riley took careful aim at Jim Martin and shot him in the neck. Riley let off three more rounds in our direction, one of them hitting me in the leg, the second one struck Henry Kearns and the third caught a bystander by the name of Patrick Lee in the stomach, a Santa Fe railroad breakman.

Speaker 1:

Wilkerson took a short break from his story and took in a deep breath. I was lying on the floor when I witnessed Jim Martin opening the door, holding his neck and stumbling out of the saloon With both of his colds empty and his enemies on the floor bleeding, injured or dying. James Riley simply walked away from the saloon, stepped up over Jim lying in the street and left. I glanced into Wilkerson's eyes From where I was standing. I could see the facial expressions of a spent man, tired and weary. Wilkerson reached for his crutch and pulled himself up from the chair. The small crowd, now quiet, opened a lane for him to pass. One gentleman in the crowd whispered a no good man like that should not be in this town. Wilkerson, without purchasing any groceries, did not look back and hobbled out of the door. The crowd inside the store moved to the window, catching the last glimpse of Wilkerson crossing the dusty street and entering the saloon. Well, what'll it be, mister? Asked the clerk standing next to me. I glanced at the clerk and said nothing. My wife and I just arrived and was curious about the disturbance. She insisted we not stay long. We were just leaving town. The bell in the door rang twice, once leaving and closing. Before I boarded my wagon headed for Hutchison to grade track for the Santa Fe Railroad Company Sometime in the month of June 1872, the head contractor, mr Wiley another gentleman whose name I have forgotten and I traveled up the rail line from Old Fort Larnet over the Dry Edge Trail.

Speaker 1:

As we traveled south along the trail, the sun shone down on us from the fiery east. It was a glorious morning, not a cloud obscured the lovely blue sky and huge dew drops adorned the short stems of buffalo grass. We had a magnificent view of the prairies. Mr Wiley, our companion and I may have regarded ourselves as the only living beings. We considered ourselves the masters of the entire world. Besides our team Harnessed Wagon, my mule and nothing but the spacious green plain lay before us, coming off off the trail, at a high point about two miles above where Fort Dodge stood, a beautiful panorama and stunning sight of the Arkansas Valley radiated before us.

Speaker 1:

The valley opened up to our view, the infinite expanse of buffalo grass and the beautiful dark blue, sun-soaked sky could be seen in all directions. Our surroundings, as simple as they were, seemed sublime. The island dotted Arkansas River could be seen winding through this green valley of luxurious native grass. The stream, at this time of year, on an average, could be a half mile wide, filled with water from bank to bank, with beautiful groves of cottonwoods on the islands and along its banks. Having traveled all day without seeing a tree, this was a refreshing sight indeed.

Speaker 1:

And what made it still more interesting to me was the numerous herds of buffalo we had come upon, the feeding ground of large buffalo herd located at some distance from the stream where they quenched their thirst. When left undisturbed, the buffalo, frequently grazed for days in the same vicinity, moved once each day, usually at evening, towards the water. At this time of day it was a picturesque sight to see them. The low hills on the horizon overshadowing the valley wore a haze of blue. From a distance I could see the buffalo bands being led by their chief and the whole of the herd by a leader, a large old bull. On the outside of the herds stood the flankers, the cows and calves in the middle of the herd. All moved slowly to the river. Many of the buffalo in the valley before us formed lines of greater or fewer numbers. Their heads were down so low that the long matted beard brushed on the ground. They seemed satisfied that the sentinels were doing their duty and any sign of danger would be quickly noted and signaled to the herd. The herd fed continuously on the nutritious grass, others lying down unaware of danger, and, if the truth must be told, there was no great threat to them. But they did not know it. Neither did I, but I thought there was, to one of them at least.

Speaker 1:

I was riding a mule I named Marie, armed with an old cap and ball revolver. Marie heaved a deep sigh when I pulled the girth tight, trotting cheerfully beside Mr Wiley's rumbling wagon. Hey, mr Wiley, I hailed the man riding in a carriage. Why don't you hold up a little and I will soon prepare some buffalo meat for supper. Mr Wiley, with a nod, consented to wait. I got out my old cap and ball and put the spur to my festive mule and sailed down toward the herd. I singled out a fat cow as my mule forged up by the side of her. I pulled the trigger and presto, behold the change. I think every one of the charges in that old six-shooter exploded at once. My mule Marie bore a right chase and I took a header to the left. When I recovered consciousness, mr Wiley tried to raise me up into a sitting position. I lost my buffalo, I lost my religion, I lost my six-shooter and I thought I had lost my mule, but upon looking around I found her grazing contentedly about 200 yards away, as innocently Well as innocent as a mule.

Speaker 1:

We made camp that night five miles up the valley from Fort Dodge. The next day, when Mr Wiley's outfit arrived, we put up a supply house to supply the men who would soon follow. The new supply house was to store the provisions of feed or grain for the teams. We constructed the house in sections, everything having been prepared beforehand. This was the first house ever put up in what soon afterward became acknowledged as Dodge City, kansas. This most noted of all Southwestern towns, noted for scenes and conditions and characters that now no longer exist and read like an Arabian night's romance. I made this town my headquarters for two years in my hunting expedition south into no Man's Land.

Speaker 1:

The name of Dodge City, kansas, known far and wide for its reputation, grew almost in a night into a tent city. Every man a lawman unto himself. At the approach of night, the dance halls, saloons and gambling halls all blazed with the light of activity. Dodge City, kansas, became a boom town for making money. Gambling was carried on extensively and the saloons were full. Mostly everyone in the town seemed bent on wantonness and indulgence, except for the good citizen. It only took a few days to start a graveyard named Boat Hill. The sharp report of the six-shooter became a nightly occurrence and the usual morning question among its citizens how many were killed last night?

Speaker 1:

Among the many lawless characters who in the beginning drifted into town was Billy Brooks. Brooks was a shabby character sporting a narrow mustache with long rounded face trimmed out with a van dyke goatee. Brooks roamed about the town in a dark cloth coat. He brandished two revolvers well in sight of those he chose to intimidate. He wore a tall circular crown black hat supported by a colorless linen shirt. This slip-shod dress gave the appearance to everyone who regarded him as dangerous.

Speaker 1:

In November of 1872, billy Brooks was elected Dodge City's first unofficial marshal. He was unofficial because the town was not incorporated. He swaggered about town with two Colton Navy revolvers. In a few weeks, he'd established a reputation as a killer. He was magnificently quick with a gun. He carried two, one on each hip as did nearly everyone else, and in the flash of an eye he could draw one in each hand in fire. In less than a month, he had either murdered or injured 15 men.

Speaker 1:

I did not witness any of these shootings, as I was then, and for six years thereafter, engaged in buffalo hunting, my camp at this time being on Bluff Creek, 25 miles from Dodge City, south of the Arkansas, saving the horns, pumps, hides, etc. I will, though, relate just one event I personally witnessed out of the many in the early history of this town, which will give a sound conception of the general custom-ness of that previously mentioned killer, billy Brooks. Late one evening I pulled into town with two loads of buffalo meat. This was in the winter of 1872. After putting up our teams and eating supper, I passed over the tracks on the north side of town into George Hoover's store. I was to make arrangements to dispose of my meat and buy supplies so we could get off early next morning when arriving, I noticed the quiet streets, darker than normal, not like the many occasions before where ruffians were about the town, casting well-lit shadows in the streets, celebrating with echoing yells and pistol shots in the air.

Speaker 1:

I approached the general store, noting lamp-like limbering through the window on the other side of the door. The door was not locked and the bell chimed over me as I entered the poorly lit store. When entering, a man's voice from the dark end of the store yelled out to me close the door, lock it behind you, get down. I immediately stooped down, quickly dove behind the counter, finding the store clerk sitting on the floor hiding behind a stack of flower sacks. What is all this commotion, I asked. Why are the streets vacant and dark? I found the proprietor badly frightened and wanting to close up. The clerk explained Four men appeared in town to get even with a man by the name of Billy Brooks.

Speaker 1:

Why Billy Brooks, I asked? A few days ago Billy Brooks killed a man named Barry in a gunfight over a card game dispute, the proprietor said. I looked over to the dark corner of the room where I could see a faint light outlining the bleak face of a frightened man. The voice of the clerk shook as he clamored out of the darkness and stood upright before me. The four men causing the scare were Barry's brothers, said the clerk. They told many of the bar owners they came to dodge for the express purpose of killing Brooks and in order to get up steam they had been filling up on bad whiskey. Just before you arrived they started shooting out lights and smashing mirrors in the business part of town. Number of muffled gunshots echoed through the walls. Interrupting the clerk's story, we heard a woman scream for help in the adjoining Zimmerman's gun and ammunition store. I ran out and started for the door of the gun store where the shooting was going on. Just before I got to the entrance there were a half dozen shots through the door from the inside. I quickly concluded that I stood in an unhealthy place and went back into Hoover's store where I had been trading.

Speaker 1:

After a little time had passed, I saw four men come out of Zimmerman's. They walked across Front Street to the railroad tracks and crossed over to the south side of town. The south side of the tracks was where there was a dance hall. The dance hall was going full blast, as this was the nightly resort of such personalities as Billy Brooks and Lude Women Stepping outside and into the street. I could see the four brothers going in the direction of the dance hall.

Speaker 1:

Having by this time become intently interested in the conduct of these four men, knowing that their purpose was evil, meaning danger to some person or persons, I followed them at a short distance to find out what their purpose was and prevent mischief if possible. Just as I crossed over the railway tracks, an old comrade in Buffalo Hunter, by the name of Fred's singer, overtook me. Fred informed me that the four brothers were after Billy Brooks. Fred and I entered the door of the dance hall together and Fred shouted a warning to Billy Brooks. The four brothers fired several shots back at us, which we returned.

Speaker 1:

Then from the door of the dance hall came a fuselage of shots from the revolvers of the hands of Brooks, who stood in bold relief in the light of the door. That had appeared to me as if a whole company of men had fired at the same time. And when the smoke cleared away, two of the four brothers were dead and the other two mortally wounded. Billy Brooks escaped, as usual, with only a slight wound in the shoulder. One girl in the room was seriously wounded by a stray shot. Afterward I learned that the men who made the attack were from Hayes City. The citizens of Dodge City gave Fred's singer an eye on out. They decided not to investigate the situation. The residents were so upset at the four brothers for shooting out lights and smashing mirrors in the Bistance District. They at last got what the people thought that they deserved. Anyway, there was no inquiry, of which fact I was well pleased because of the unintentional mix-up I had in it myself.

Frontier Town Shooting and Outlaw Encounter
Adventure in Dodge City
Violent Encounter at Dance Hall