Wild West Podcast
Welcome to the Wild West podcast, where fact and legend merge. We present the true accounts of individuals who settled in towns built out of hunger for money, regulated by fast guns, who walked on both sides of the law, patrolling, investing in, and regulating the brothels, saloons, and gambling houses. These are stories of the men who made the history of the Old West come alive - bringing with them the birth of legends, brought to order by a six-gun and laid to rest with their boots on. Join us as we take you back in history to the legends of the Wild West.
Wild West Podcast
Tales of Treachery and Trust on the Trail
What happens when the past comes alive around a crackling campfire, and tales of the Wild West blur the lines between legend and reality? As we journey through the trails of the 19th-century cattle drives, you'll find yourself in the company of cowboys as they navigate treacherous paths from South Texas to Sawlog Creek. The tranquility of their rugged lifestyle is shattered with the arrival of Bob Shaw—a mysterious rider with news that can change everything. Join us as we explore the challenges and timeless camaraderie of life on the trail, where every stranger could be a friend or a foe.
Bob Shaw's haunting story of vigilante justice unfolds under the starlit sky, where an innocent man named Callahan met a tragic fate. His gripping tale of mistaken identity and moral dilemmas paints a vivid picture of justice gone wrong in the Wild West. Listen as Shaw's words weave a tapestry of tension and uncertainty, evoking the harsh reality of frontier justice that lingers like ghostly whispers in the evening air. This is history at its most raw and riveting—a narrative where the past casts long shadows over the present.
In the heart of Dodge City, the pulse of the frontier beats strongest. Our journey crescendos at the Lone Star Dance Hall with a showdown between Texas Dick and Bob Shaw, each step echoing the unpredictability of the era's raw danger. Amid the anticipation of payday and a well-deserved break, the search for Texas Dick adds an element of suspense and intrigue. As tensions escalate, we invite you to experience the gritty reality of the American West and to join us on an adventure rich with history, drama, and the spirit of the untamed frontier.
Expert advice on breeding, marketing & technology for livestock breeders & ranchers.
Listen on: Apple Podcasts Spotify
Just as I shall select my horse when I am about to go see the elephant or become oafish in my campsite when I propose to take a rest, so shall I have the right to choose my resting place when I am about to depart from life. With early fall past, the skies had been low and gray. These past few days we had been driving our herd along the western trail from south Texas, taking us two months until we arrived at Sawlog Creek. We were very glad to reach the end of our journey. There's a military road here leading in the direction of Fort Larned. Just southwest of our temporary camp is Dodge City. Saw Log Creek is a sacred place that transcends everyday concerns, casting them into a timelessness of a creek and its surrounding trees. About our feet are only the brown remains of fallen leaves. Our feet are only the browned remains of fallen leaves. The nearby creek bed has created a shelter of growth over time into a batched oasis of trees among the flat plains, a perfect resting place with plenty of water.
Speaker 1:After a long ride on the trail, when the cattle turned loose to range over the flat plains, it was my job to make circuit around the range twice a day. Rebel Jack, who rode with me was to turn the cattle back that were inclined to wander beyond the bounds. The country was full of game, so we carried our guns and had a great deal of sport, mixed with rough living and hard riding. The autumn days waned toward the inevitable colder weather ahead, each nightfall coming sooner than the one before. We were late in the season and most of the cattle drives had come to the end, and with any luck we could find a buyer for the herd. The trail boss, quincy, wanted to graze cattle on the land for a few days before we took the herd into Dodge. Jim Quincy, along with Texas Jack, had gone ahead into Dodge to find some buyers. On the afternoon we saw a rider approach our camp.
Speaker 1:It was Saturday evening, november 3rd 1877, when a lonesome rider approached our camp. We'd been in the area for about a week. Bentley had just come up from the creek to help me tend the horses also spotted a rider. Hey, bentley, I shouted. Would you stop barking at a knot and bring me my gun belt? I see a rider coming and I can't tell if he's friendly. I see him too. He's riding a pacing horse, bentley shouted. Bentley picked up his pace, retrieved my gun belt from the chuck wagon and stood next to me when the rider entered our camp. I watched the rider dismount his horse. He seemed eager to have a conversation with our trail boss. He approached our chuck wagon holding the reins with one hand, while his other kept close proximity to his holstered revolver. Howdy boys, can anyone here tell me who's in charge of this outfit? He asked.
Speaker 1:Each man in camp had come in for evening dinner and watched cautiously as the man took the liberty to tie his horse to a string line made between two trees. My name's Bob Shaw and I'm looking for a man by the name of Dick Moore. He's known around these parts as Texas Dick. He said what business do you have with Texas Dick? I asked. Well, he's a good friend of mine. Last summer Moore and I drove a herd of cattle from San Antonio up this way. Bob Shaw looked down, paused a second and kicked the ground. Some of my friends in town said he had a herd of cattle out this direction, so I thought I'd pay him a visit. Well, he's not here, I said. But you're welcome to stay for dinner.
Speaker 1:We have made up a good pot of beans and Joe over there shot a deer this morning. Why don't you grab up a plate and settle in for a meal and campfire chat? We all moved in the direction of the chuck wagon. Bob Shaw moved his way to the front before our bean master lowered the swinging leg attached to the chuck box. The box held ten plates, cups, spoons, knives and forks. Bob and the rest of the boys helped themselves to the eating utensils, filled their plates and settled in around the campfire. Each man was hungry and it took some time to strike up a conversation. I watched Shaw with interest as he continued to look up. He took a few glances at a large overhanging branch, the same tree branch of the oak tree where I rested. Shaw broke the silence of the men eaten. You men picked a very peculiar place to make your fire, said Bob.
Speaker 1:I was a bit troubled by Shaw's boldness about our camp. In my mind he was just a blatherskite. He first took the liberty to tie off his horse and now he was making comments about the layout of our campsite. I suspect he might just be trying to slum guzzle us. I set my half-filled tin plate of a meal on a nearby rock which held the fire pit in place. I didn't want my eating to interfere with what Shaw had to say. I sent him a harsh look and waited for him to speak. Well, I hope you don't take offense by my comment about your camp layout, said Shaw. I just want to point out that an innocent man was lynched on the very branch overhanging your head. Shaw pointed upward to a thick oak branch. Yep, he was hanged by mistake.
Speaker 1:The men sitting around the campfire froze with curiosity. I could tell they wanted to know more about Shaw's story. The excitement of knowing Shaw's story about the hanging wired the boys like they were on a fast horse hanging onto its manes. I, on the other hand, felt like my brain was on fast forward and there was no off switch. I noticed each breath Shaw took, the moisture from his lungs rising like thick plumes with each exhale. Go on, I said, tell your story. Shaw stuffed his mouth with a spoonful of beans and muffled out the words. It was back a few years when I first told this story.
Speaker 1:The story, well circulated in Dodge, happened in early April 1876. A gang of horse thieves one going by the name of John Cole, stole eight horses. This thievery happened about 300 miles from here, over at Wellington. Bob paused, reached over to his tin cup, took a large gulp and continued. After the gang of thieves seized some prized horses from some local settlers in Sumner County, they rode hard to Dodge City to dispose of the booty. Before reaching Dodge the gang split up. Cole and another man took to Oferley, sold their stock, split the profits and then separated, each taking a different route. Cole went north and ended up here at Sawlog Creek.
Speaker 1:Bob hesitated, looked around the campsite and took in another large spoonful of his meal. It was here at Saw Log Creek. A man by the name of Callahan was encamped. Callahan, a minister's son, was engaged in picking up buffalo bones and hauling them to the railroad where he commanded a fair price. Being a frontiersman's camp and notably open to everyone, cole took advantage and rested in the shade near this here creek explained Bob. What John Cole did not know while he rested under the shade near this here creek explained Bob. What John Cole did not know while he rested under the shade of this here tree is that a body of vigilantes had followed a hot trail into Dodge City. Callahan, on the other hand, by his good nature, had accepted the company of a horse thief in his camp. Bob looked over to the evening blaze of the fire, spit shook his head.
Speaker 1:While the fire sizzled, the vigilantes recovered some of the stolen horses and dodged. They asked for the buyer who sold them the horses. The buyer said it was a man from Overly. The vigilantes burned their horses and rode hard to the small village of Overly. They met with the man who had sold the horses and dodged. The man in Overly told the vigilantes there were two men who had sold him the horses and one of them rode in the direction of Sawlog Creek. It didn't take long for the vigilantes to overtake this place. At Sawlog Bob stood up and pointed in the direction where the riders must have entered the camp.
Speaker 1:The vigilantes dismounted and surrounded the bone pickers' camp and found Callahan alone. Callahan, scared out of his wits at gunpoint, informed the vigilantes that Cole had gone down to the creek to catch some fish. Bob snickered under his breath and shook his head with delight. In no time the vigilantes spotted the young outlaw. Cole came up the bank with a fishing pole to declare his prize catch a fish when the vigilantes overcame Cole. These vigilantes hid behind the trees laying in an ambush as they easily overtook Cole. The surprise was so great it caused Cole to drop his mess of fish, cole was taken back to the bone pickers camp. Along the way he kept repeating himself, asking his captors what did I do? Someone tell me what did I do? Bob paused, looked around the campfire as if to check to see if he had our interest. None of his captors said a word until they reached the bone pickers camp. It must have been pretty clear to Cole how his day was going to end.
Speaker 1:The vigilantes who'd remained at camp made ready two hanging nooses struck over the branch of this here. Oak tree. Shaw gave a pause and a deep breath, pointed up to the tree branch hanging over my head, sighed and continued on with his story, with Callahan continuing to claim his innocence and Cole asking someone to tell him what he'd done. The hangman thought both Cole and Callahan were lying. Callahan, already bound, his hands roped together behind him, was gagged, hooded and placed on a horse. Bob jumped up suddenly and threw his hands behind him as if he were bound, going to the hangman's noose. Then he took a minor squat, looking at each of us in the eyes. I could see the devil's glow in his eyes, almost to enjoyment, as he continued his story. Cole, I was told, did not go easy. He kicked and cussed at his captors until one of them hit him over the head with the back end of a Navy Colt revolver. It didn't take long for the hangman to dress Cole up for the occasion, to place him on a horse next to Callahan Noose and all Suddenly, the boss man on his horse made up his mind.
Speaker 1:He tipped his hat to the two hangmen who stood next to their horses. The two hangmen, anxiously waiting for their two borrowed mounts to be relieved of temporary riders, eagerly slapped the rear end of both horses. Bob jumped up from where he was squatting and began imitating the noose around his neck, playing out the role of a dangling man. Cole must have come due about that time, for he shouted fiercely, so fiercely that his screams could be heard across the valley until the noose silenced him. The last sound heard was the moaning of that old oak branch above our heads. Then, dead silence. The branch creaked once more under the sway of each man. The bodies dangled with their toes pointed straight downward, very slowly revolving. Each man was dead as a stone. The boss man rode over, reached out with a rifle and poked at each body. When he touched coal he oscillated slightly, then kicked once more. This must have scared the boss man, because he snappishly ordered his men to ride out the bone pickers camp. All at once, the vigilantes yelped a war cry, riding out on the plains, leaving the two men swaying in the dust.
Speaker 1:All of us sat in silence. Each man's face could be seen in the glow of the fire. All silent, all still. The story of an innocent man being hung was hard to take in. My mind was sent reeling, unable to comprehend or process the images of how ruthless men became when packed together like starving wolves. Men became when packed together like starving wolves.
Speaker 1:Bentley, who sat next to me, shook his head in disgust and looked over to Bob Shaw, who seemed to be highfalutin by his story. I'll be higgly-piggly, bentley exclaimed Did they bring those men to justice? Bentley asked. Bob stood up. Nope, it was just a bag of nails. Not enough money for the Ford County Sheriff to travel the distance, replied Bob. After a few letters were sent between the governor and Sheriff Bassett, the governor refused to supply the funds needed to bring cause to justice. Boys, I'd best be going, said Bob. He held his empty plate in front of him, throwing the remaining coffee from his tin cup into the fire. He turned and walked in the direction of the chuck wagon, untied his horse mounted and with one kick, rode off into the dark of night. After the last sound of hooves could be heard in the distance, bentley pulled over beside me.
Speaker 1:The rest of the drovers left the campfire to attend to their bedding. You think he's an honest man? Bentley asked. No, I do not. I replied. I think we need to fork a house into Dodge tomorrow morning and find Texas Dick. I agree, bentley said. Do you think we need to go now, before? This is a catawampus? I do, I replied. But we have a responsibility for the herd, so we'll just hope the Texas Dick returns with our trail boss tomorrow. Besides, he's probably in the middle of some scamper juice getting ready to do a little perrouting. Yeah, I guess you're right, said Bentley. He'd be mad as hell if we interrupted him painting his nose while he was enjoying the elephant.
Speaker 1:The next morning sun rose over the smoldering remains of our campfire. The camp grease belly was hard at frying bacon and bacon biscuits in the Dutch oven. The smell of breakfast brought each man and camp to foot. Some left for the trees, others stretched. I pulled my bed saddle and blanket from the ground, making ready for the cattle drive into town. Some of the boys came in from night watch others to eat breakfast and a few went to the creek to bathe.
Speaker 1:It did not take long for us to clear out our camp and saddle our horses. Everyone was intent on ending the drive, getting paid and taking in some of the festivities Dodge City had to offer. While we were saddling up, one of the boys noticed a buggy coming up the trail. As the buggy came nearer we saw that there were two occupants in the rig beside the driver. When the buggy drew up we saw our boss. Our boss was with a buyer and his companion, but there was no sign of Texas Dick. Our boss man Quincy stepped out of the rig, dragged out his saddle from under the seat and invited the buyer and his companion to breakfast. The buyer declined and said that he and his partner needed to attend to another herd just south of where we were camped.
Speaker 1:It did not take Bentley long to bust in on a conversation. Like some old leaky mouth. He told our boss man Quincy about the man named Shaw who rode into our camp. The boss man motioned me over. He told me to take a few of the boys into town and check on Texas Dick. He gave us each $20 gold piece. He said we would get the rest. When we drove the cattle into the stockyards, the boss man told the four of us not to take long, for the cattle were to be shipped from the railroad tomorrow afternoon.
Speaker 1:It was about mid-morning when Bentley, honeymoon and I rode into Dodge. As we rode through the south side of town, honeymoon pointed out a hitched horse in front of the Lone Star Saloon. Hey, is that their Texas Dicks horse over there, asked Honeymoon. The boys and I decided to circle around town to a vacant lot within a block of the rear of the dance hall. Honeymoon was left to hold the horses. Then Bentley and I took off our belts and hung them on the pommels of our saddles. We secreted our six shooters inside the waistbands of our trousers.
Speaker 1:The Lone Star Dance Hall was at the beginning of its day, with a few revelers. When we entered the place, when we crossed the threshold, we saw Bob Shaw at the bar taking in some scamper juice. I could see from a distance that Shaw had on him a pair of barking irons. The Lone Star had just opened and the boisterous cattlemen started to spin freely. It did not take long for the dance hall to become crowded. A steady stream of drovers entered the door as some drovers took to the bar, while others picked out a lady dancer and went to dancing. The piano player banged out lively tunes as the dance hall girls flirted and giggled with the cowboys. The girls danced playfully, pulling away frequently from groping hands.
Speaker 1:The start of a drinking day by noon was nothing if not typical of most saloons, especially in the Lone Star Dance Hall. Bob Shaw started spending his money as well as drinking freely and at the end of a quadrille gave vent to his self-inflicted hilarity in an old-fashioned Comanche yell. I could see the situation was becoming like hair in the butter when the bartender took Shaw to task. The bartender must have recognized Shaw's bad intentions. Shaw raised his shot glass and yelled out we have a four-flusher in this room and I'm about to call him out. The bartender, a brute of a man, leaned over the bar and called out to Shaw, who yelled out a second time hey you cowboy, keep the nose down, shouted the bartender. If you're looking to crawl somebody's hump this afternoon, this ain't the place to do it. Shaw responded to the bartender by telling the bartender to shut his big bazoo and shoved off his black-eyed Susan pointing it directly at the bartender's head. The bartender scampered out the door. I could hear him in the distance yelling for the marshal.
Speaker 1:I looked over on the dance floor and saw Texas Dick trying to make a mash on a red-headed girl. So I decided to get a wiggle on the situation and joined in on the set. I moved out on the dance floor and picked out a redheaded freckled girl. I took one big square dance swing with my new freckled friend and pulled up next to Texas Dick. I told him he should take care for a man by the name of Shaw may be on the shoot.
Speaker 1:At the conclusion of the dance, bob Shaw grabbed Texas Dick by his shoulder from behind, yanked him away from the red-headed girl. The music stopped. All who stood close to the situation froze. I reached inside my shirt and placed my hand on my barking iron. I could see the fires of fury and hatred smoldering in Shaw's small, narrowed eyes. I could tell by his posture he was hatred smoldering in Shaw's small, narrowed eyes. I could tell by his posture he was weighing the pros and cons of the various and creative means available to him to extract his revenge. You might be a big man in Texas, you four-flusher of a thieving bastard, shaw shouted. But the name Texas Dick don't mean shit to me, or Kansas. I watched as the whites in Shaw's eyes turned a pure black and as his iris glowered teal. Texas Dick reached out his left arm, motioning me to pull back. I could see the symbols, lines and dots formed in Shaw's iris. The figure in Shaw's eyes was Texas Dick. Shaw's eyes widened. Final glance into Shaw's furious eyes confirmed a possible outcome Shaw was going to kill Texas Dick.
Speaker 1:When Ed Masterson entered the door he saw Shaw pull his barking iron and a hog's head of blood in his eye, ready to relieve Texas Dick of his existence. The jig is up. Texas Dick yelled Shaw. I'm going to send your flannel mouth into a world where hard cases like you can meet the devil. Ed Masterson stepped up in the direction of Ed Shaw and Texas Dick Give me the gun, shaw. Ed said You're drunk. You don't really want to do this. He added, walking toward Shaw as he spoke this son of a bitch stole $40 from me. He's a thieving card cheat and he's going to pay for it, shaw said. Masterson's reply to the resistance was a solid blow to Shaw's head. Shaw struck the floor like a blacksmith hammer on the back of a crooked horseshoe. Get out of here while you can. Ed told Texas Dick, I don't want any trouble in here today.
Speaker 1:Texas Dick and I moved out of Ed Masterson's way. We started to back out the door when the downed mud seal of a man named Shaw came to and fired his revolver in the direction of Ed Masterson. The bullet spat out of Shaw's barrel. Shaw's first shot hit Masterson in the ribs. The bullet exited out his right shoulder, propelling him backward and onto the floor. The dance hall patrons hit the floor. A second gunshot from Shaw cracked into the air as loud as thunder, hitting Texas Dick in the right groin.
Speaker 1:I had made it to the doorway and was looking in when Shaw managed to get off a third shot hitting me in the left arm. Black filled the edges of my vision and the only thing I could hear was my own heartbeat. I looked over at Ed Masterson shifting his revolver to his left hand. Ed fired back. The first shot hit Shaw in the left arm and the second shot hit his right leg. Ed, bleeding profusely, pulled himself from the floor and dragged Shaw off to jail drag Shaw off to jail.
Speaker 1:After the shooting I was treated by Dr Galland and was held up in the Dodge house recovering from my wound. I'd been under the doctor's orders to rest for five days. I got tired of that stuffy room and decided to venture out onto the boardwalk to get some fresh air. I pulled up by a gentleman who was being entertained by the newspaper he was reading. Looking over the man's shoulder, I read the headlines of the Dodge City Times, the headline for the story, printed in bold Frontier Fun. Included underneath the headline was the subtitle Frank Shaw Tries to Remedy His Grievances with a Revolver and Get Left a Deputy Marshal's Pluck. I asked the man if I could buy his paper from him. When he was done, the man agreed, left the bench and asked nothing of me for the paper. I took the man's place on the bench and, to my limited abilities, began reading the article.
Speaker 1:It seems the editor of the Times may have wanted to extract some humor from the incident, as he poked fun at the gunplay for which I was involved. I, on the other hand, thought differently and was confumbled over the bag of nails printed in the paper. The headline of the article did not even get Bob Shaw's name right. The editor called him Frank Shaw. The article did not hold water on what took place at the Lone Star Saloon. I could not see any humor in this odd stick editor. In my opinion, the editor gave the citizens of Dodge a lick and a promise. The article was a lot of blow compared to the bosh of my aching arm. After reading the article, I wanted more than any man alive to get the hell out of Dodge. So I, frank Buskirk, did just that. I got the hell out of Dodge and departed, stamped in history with the sound of the goose less clean of the facts. That's it for now. We have some thrilling news to share.
Speaker 1:Wild West Podcast is taking your listening experiences up a notch with the launch of exclusive content. For only $3 a month, you'll gain access to premium material packed with in-depth analysis and expert insights into the fascinating history we love to explore. Your support is vital in helping us uncover the real stories of the American West. Join us on this incredible journey. Subscribe today, don't forget. You can catch all our episodes on popular platforms like Apple Podcast, spotify, amazon Music, pandora and at wildwestpodcastbuzzsproutcom Plus. Connect with us on Facebook at facebookcom, slash wildwestpodcast and dive into our YouTube channel. Get ready for an unforgettable adventure as we take you deep into the heart of the Wild West in our upcoming podcast series all about the legendary Wyatt Earp.