Packing him up behind me, we returned to our camp in safety.
This was the McDowell who less than three months later betrayed one of our camps to the militia in Independence and brought down upon us a midwinter raid.
Todd had his camp at Red Grenshaw’s, Cunningham was on the Little Blue, and mine was near Martin O. Jones’ farm, eight miles south of Independence.
Todd’s spirit of adventure, with my hope to avenge my father’s murder, combined in a Christmas adventure which has been misrepresented by other writers.
Todd said he knew some of the band who had killed father were in Kansas City, and Christmas day six of us went in to look them up.
Leaving Zach Traber with our horses just beyond the outposts, the rest of us hunted them until it must have been nearly midnight. We were in a saloon on Main street. I had called for a cigar, and glancing around, saw that we had been recognized by a trooper who had been playing cards. He reached for his pistol, but he never pulled it.
I do not know how many were killed that night. They chased us well out of town and there was a fight at the picket post on the Independence road.
Col. Penick, in command at Independence, hearing of the Kansas City adventure, put a price of $1,000 on my head and other figures on those of my comrades.
It was to get this blood money that six weeks later, Feb. 9, the militia drove my mother out of her house and made her burn it before their eyes.
The day after they burned my mother out of her home they made another trial for the $1,000 reward, and this time they had a better prospect of success, for they had with them the traitor, McDowell, whom I had carried out on my horse in the fight at New Santa Fe a few weeks before. McDowell said he wanted to go home to see his wife and assure her he was all right, but he did not go near her. Instead he hurried into Independence and that evening the militia came out, eighty strong, to take us prisoners. Even they did not trust McDowell, for he, closely guarded, was kept in front.
Forty of them had come within twenty yards of us on the south when my horse warned me, and I called out: “Is that you Todd?”
“Don’t mind us; we’re friends,” came the answer, but I saw they were not, and the lieutenant in command fell at the first fire. The boys swarmed out of the dug-outs, and the fighting was hot.