Pony Tale

It sounds like a lark - sneaking into the enemy’s camp at night and spiriting away their horses without getting caught - and then sleeping with one eye open, in case your adversary comes to steal them back. On the Ohio frontier, though, horse snatching was a deadly serious cat and mouse game.

The rich hunting grounds framed by the lush East Fork, Paint Creek and Rocky Fork valleys provided the ideal backdrop for Native American encampments organized around the quest for sustenance and shelter. Ordinarily, these were relatively peaceful places. However, one gathering of Shawnee warriors in March 1792 was not so innocent. This Shawnee camp (west of Rocky Fork State Park) was assembled after returning from a horse stealing mission amid the pioneer settlements in Mason County, Kentucky.

A party of 36 frontiersmen, led by the legendary hero Simon Kenton, was dispatched to recover the precious horses. The experienced frontier scouts tracked the equally skilled Indian marauders across the Ohio River. However, miserable March weather got the best of several of Kenton's party, and they turned back, leaving Kenton with just two dozen men to face an unknown number of Indians.

As they approached within a few miles of the Shawnee camp, Kenton sensed that he was significantly outnumbered, and ordered his men to stay hidden until they could pounce under cover of darkness. Kenton’s offensive strategy was to divide into three groups; disperse to the right, left and center of the Indian camp; and attack simultaneously on Kenton’s signal using the code word “Boone.” Before the plan could be executed, though, one of the less seasoned woodsmen was startled by an Indian who rose from his bedroll to stir the campfire, and he impulsively fired his gun. Chaos ensued as more shots rang out, and Kenton's shouts of “Boone” were echoed by the Indians, who were also well acquainted with the iconic frontiersman.

At first, Kenton hoped to take advantage of the general confusion, assuming that the Indians would panic and hastily retreat across the stream behind their camp. Instead, the Shawnee warriors held their ground and raised their war clubs, killing one of Kenton’s party. After a several minutes of furious fighting, Kenton ordered his men to retreat into the moonless, drizzling night. The Indians pursued them through the woods until daybreak. All of the Kentuckians escaped except for Alexander McIntyre, who was taken prisoner and returned to the camp.

The failure of Kenton’s plan was due, in part, to the lack of one crucial piece of intelligence – that the Indians were led by the brave and brilliant Shawnee chief, Tecumseh, who alone could exercise the authority and enforce the discipline necessary to withstand a sneak attack. Although Tecumseh’s leadership was undeniably effective during the attack, he also experienced a failure of sorts the following day. The Indians who were assigned to guard the prisoner, Alexander McIntyre, flaunted Tecumseh’s rule against cruelty to prisoners. When Tecumseh was away from the camp, the guards killed McIntyre while he was tied up and helpless.

After all the drama of this frontier face-off, it’s difficult to pick a clear winner. Although he was outnumbered, Kenton managed to inflict more casualties on the Shawnee. Tecumseh prevented the frontiersmen from stealing back the horses, although it cost 14 human lives, along with a number of the horses that ran off in the skirmish.

Cold Case

Too often, misunderstandings on the frontier resulted in needless tragedies. The life and death of the Shawnee chief Waw-wil-a-way is a prime example. Unlike many of his contemporaries, including Tecumseh, Waw-wil-a-way viewed the settlers as his allies, and he welcomed the pioneers to live peacefully alongside him, his wife and two sons on Hardin Creek (near Paint Creek State Park).

Still, many of the newcomers mistrusted any native American, and rumors of an Indian uprising spread like wildfire in the late 1790s and early 1800s. The tension escalated when the scalped corpse of an influential officer in the state militia, Captain Herrod, was discovered near his doorstep. Nervous settlers were quick to assume that Indians were responsible for the killing. In truth, it was more likely that a white rival of Herrod’s had done the deed, hoping to take Herrod’s place in the militia.

In 1803, as the controversy over the unsolved murder smoldered, Waw-wil-a-way set out on foot for a 15-mile trek to a trading post for supplies. On the way, he encountered his neighbor, David Wolfe, and two companions, Williams and Ferguson, on horseback. Waw-wil-a-way extended a cordial greeting, but the exchange quickly became uncomfortable. Wolfe dismounted from his horse and asked Waw-wil-a-way pointedly if the Indians had declared war on their white neighbors. Waw-wil-a-way insisted that the Indians considered the settlers to be their brothers, and that relations remained friendly. Next, Wolfe asked the chief if he was aware that Indians had killed Captain Herrod. Taken aback at the news and the accusation, Waw-wil-a-way replied honestly that perhaps too much whiskey may have resulted in a quarrel, or that a white man may have had reason to kill Herrod.

Seemingly satisfied, Wolfe returned to his companions and waved goodbye. As Waw-wil-a-way turned to leave, Wolfe raised his rifle and shot him through the back. Stunned and bleeding, Waw-wil-a-way spun around and took aim at Wolfe with his own rifle. Wolfe dodged the bullet, but Waw-wil-a-way managed to fire another shot squarely at Williams, toppling him dead from his horse.

With his strength fading, Waw-wil-a-way lunged forward with his scalping knife, and sunk it into Wolfe’s thigh. Wolfe retaliated with a thrust of his own knife into Waw-wil-a-way’s chest. Ferguson stepped into the tussle to assist Wolfe. Incredibly, despite two mortal wounds, Waw-wil-a-way rose up, grabbed Wolfe’s rifle, and cracked Ferguson’s skull with the butt end.

Without a word, Waw-wil-a-way stumbled away from the bloody scene, and plunged face first into a field of wildflowers, where he breathed his last. Wolfe knew that, according to Shawnee tradition, Waw-wil-a-way’s sons were obliged to seek revenge for their father’s death. Wolfe fled the Paint Creek valley hoping to avoid them.

After he was safely hidden away, Wolfe sent a representative to talk to the bereaved brothers and persuade them to spare his life in exchange for a horse, bridle, saddle and rifle for each of them. Like their father, Waw-wil-a-way’s sons were big hearted and trusting. They agreed to Wolfe’s proposal, and a public gathering was arranged for the trade and pardon.

Hundreds of Shawnees and curious settlers trekked to the Shawnee village at Old Town (west of present day Chillicothe) for the ceremony. The sons of Waw-wil-a-way gave a moving speech, calling on the Great Spirit to symbolically accept the blood and life of Wolfe in exchange for their beloved father. Then, they took Wolfe by the hand, called him “brother,” and smoked the peace pipe with him as a tearful audience looked on.

With regard to the murder of Captain Herrod, the killer was never identified and justice was never served. In the heartbreaking face-off between Waw-wil-a-way and David Wolfe, however, the final outcome was a rare and shining example of mercy and forgiveness on the often brutal and unforgiving frontier.

Man versus Beast

In 1807, a plague of sorts scampered across southern Ohio. It was a squirrel stampede that stretched for miles, with furry gray heads bobbing and fluffy tails waving over every inch of ground, undeterred by any obstacle. The squirrels ran up and over pioneer houses, slogged through streams, paddled across lakes, and plowed through farm fields without yielding. Along the way, they devoured the corn crop, leaving famine in their wake.

The squirrel herd continued at its feverish pace until it reached the banks of the Ohio River. As squirrel after squirrel plopped in the water, many were carried away by the current, while others survived by scrambling over the backs of the squirrels that had plunged in ahead of them.

The cause of the strange migration was mysterious, but its effect was unquestionably devastating. Hundreds of settlers who had grown dependent on the corn they raised went hungry that winter. The problem was so severe and widespread that the Ohio General Assembly enacted a law requiring that each taxpayer submit between 10 and 100 squirrel scalps, along with their county taxes.

It appeared that “man” might win this face-off, but nature intervened. The “Act to Encourage the Killing of Squirrels” was repealed and the furry little outlaws were pardoned the following year, after the harsh winter curbed their population.

Sober Saga

“Be it resolved, that the ladies of Greenfield are determined to suppress the liquor traffic in their midst. We demand your liquors, and give you fifteen minutes to comply with our request, or abide the consequences. July 10, 1865.”

Their ladylike words barely concealed their outrage at the state of affairs in Greenfield. Following the tragic death of an innocent passerby who caught a stray bullet flying through the air during a whiskey-soaked brawl at Newbeck’s Saloon, the ladies of Greenfield (near Paint Creek State Park) decided it was time to rescue the upstanding character of their hometown.

True to their word, a procession of indignant women marched into the saloon, and demanded that the proprietor surrender the liquor. When their request was denied, the ladies unleashed a furious assault on the drinking establishment. They produced hatchets, axes and mallets from behind their petticoats and began to demolish the building and its contents. As they smashed the crocks and barrels, liquor splashed into the street and flowed down the gutters. Emboldened by their victory, the ladies marched on to two other local saloons and three drug stores that sold intoxicating concoctions, and insisted that the owners hand over the alcohol. Each one refused, so the angry mob seized the liquor and dumped it.

An exasperated drug store owner insisted that the ladies be arrested, and pressed criminal charges against them. A sympathetic grand jury found no criminal wrongdoing, and the merchant was forced to settle for damages.

In 1873, the ladies of neighboring Hillsboro (near Rocky Fork State Park) started their own temperance campaign, but they employed a different tactic. Rather than threats and axes, the Hillsboro crusaders tried hymns and prayers to persuade the saloon owners and patrons to change their ways. Some of the customers simply ignored the ladies, but one trio of young men ran red-faced from the bar when they recognized their mother, sister and future mother-in-law among the singing activists.

Eventually, the sober serenades deterred customers, and one angry saloon owner retaliated with a law suit for trespass and damages. After a year long legal battle, the saloon owner received a nominal award of $5, but the moral victory belonged to the ladies of Hillsboro.

Two Faces of Robert McKimie

By all accounts, Robert McKimie was a lively, charming boy whose tousled red hair suited his warm and carefree disposition. Growing up in and around the Highland County town of Rainsboro (near Rocky Fork State Park) under the watchful eye of his aunt, Robert was known amongst the adults for his kindness and friendliness, and popular with his friends for instigating fun and boyhood mischief. He loved exploring the landscape of his childhood, from the sun dappled banks of Rocky Fork to the dark and mysterious Seven Caves.

In 1869, at the tender age of 14, Robert packed up his few possessions and set out for Columbus to join the army, where he was assigned to a cavalry unit in Texas. Two years later, Robert sent his aunt a generous gift of $50 tucked inside a letter explaining that he had left the army and joined a prosperous cattle raising business in Kansas. He promised to return to Rainsboro to settle down after building his fortune.

True to his word, Robert returned home in September 1877 with enough cash to buy a home, start a dry goods business, and court the town’s heartthrob, Clara Ferguson. Robert and Clara married, and started a promising new life together. Robert enjoyed instant success as a merchant and a local celebrity. He delighted in showing off his wealth and entertaining customers and neighbors late into the night with colorful stories of his travels in the American West.

Robert’s love for the limelight proved to be his undoing. His neighbors were so impressed with Robert that they shared his larger-than-life tales with relatives and friends beyond Ohio’s borders. Eventually, the amusing anecdotes found more skeptical, faraway audiences who were immune from Robert’s charms. One astute listener shared his hunch that the rich and famous redhead from Rainsboro had been living a double life as the infamous outlaw known as “Little Reddy” in Texas. The legendary sheriff of Deadwood South Dakota, Seth Bullock, took the tip and rode herd to Ohio to test the theory of Little Reddy’s alias.

Bullock’s investigation uncovered an astounding story. The criminal Bullock was pursuing was an army deserter who started his life of violent crime by stealing a horse and shooting down its rider. He was caught and sent to the Utah penitentiary for the murder, but escaped after a year by brutally assaulting a guard with an iron bar. Next, he joined Sam Bass and his newly organized gang of stagecoach robbers. He nearly botched their first hold-up by impulsively shooting the stagecoach driver before they caught up to the coach. He was such a cold-hearted loose cannon that the gang kicked him out. He continued to plunder and terrorize travelers through the Black Hills for several months until he, and his ill-gotten gains, disappeared.

Bullock quickly concluded that Robert McKimie was indeed Little Reddy, and tossed him in the county jail in January 1878 for robbery and murder. Robert’s adoring wife and loyal friends protested, but Robert wasn’t worried. When Highland County Sheriff Newell left town and left his father in charge of the jail for the night, Robert seized the opportunity to make a bold escape. As the old man approached his cell, Robert sprang at him and flew out the door, but not before the elder Newell could fire his pistol at the fleeing felon, and shoot clean through the third finger of Robert’s right hand. 

For weeks, Robert hid out in the barns, haylofts and homes of his friends, staying just one step ahead of the lawmen. He dyed his hair black, sported a false moustache, and hopped a train for Virginia. Clara joined him on the lam, and together they slipped further away, from North Carolina to Georgia, and finally to Bermuda. They lived there in luxury for several months until their money was all spent, and Robert was arrested for an unpaid hotel bill. After about six weeks, Robert was released from the Nassau jail and sent to New York to make amends and earn the money for Clara’s ticket home.

While Clara stewed alone in Bermuda, Robert resumed his old habits. He stripped an elderly man of his life savings to rescue Clara from Nassau, and schemed in secret as they made their way home to Ohio. Back in Highland County, Robert assembled a gang of his faithful friends, and convinced them to join him on a crime spree. They held up banks, looted stores, broke into homes, and resorted to torture, if need be, to persuade terrified residents to surrender their hidden stashes of cash and valuables. Fear and fury spread through Rainsboro, nearby communities, and neighboring counties as the robberies and assaults continued.

Now that Robert had shown his hometown his true colors, he could no longer hide in plain sight. He returned to his boyhood haunt, the Seven Caves, and chose a remote spot (still known as McKimie’s Cave) to serve as his hideout. Robert’s partners in crime were not as skilled at evading capture, however. A well-known detective from Springfield, John T. Norris, tracked down Robert’s accomplices one by one and tossed them in jail. The men refused to cooperate with Norris’ investigation, so Norris interrogated their wives, hoping to tweak a conscience. While Norris listened to the confession of a nervous spouse who was feeling guilty about enjoying her neighbor’s stolen silver, smoke was seen rising suspiciously from the chimney of her vacant home.

Robert had brazenly assumed he could enjoy a soft bed and hot meal in his friends’ empty cabin without being detected, but vigilant neighbors raised the alert that the outlaw could be hiding out there. A posse of more than 100 angry citizens, robbery victims and law enforcement officers swarmed the cabin and demanded that Robert surrender. True to form, Robert managed to hold the crowd at bay and nearly slip away with a hostage, until sharpshooters grazed his face and chest. Back in the Highland County jail awaiting trial, Robert plotted yet another escape, but was foiled. He was convicted of a string of robberies, and served out his entire 14 year sentence in the Ohio State Penitentiary in Columbus.

After his release from prison, Robert headed back to the Black Hills. From there, the facts about Robert’s later life grow hazy. Among Robert’s contemporaries in Rainsboro, many were relieved that his reign of terror had ended for good, while others grew nostalgic for the romance of the genuine Wild West desperado in their midst. Rumors persisted that the mysterious two-faced man changed his identity once again, reformed his wicked ways, and led a comfortable and respectable life as a wealthy businessman and Sunday school teacher in the West. A local legend claimed that he left behind a stash of loot in McKimie’s Cave, which has never been found.

The face-off between good and evil in a single soul made a lasting impact on an entire community. Whether the real Robert McKimie was the charming boy and kind old man that some befriended, or the daring bandit that others despised, he was truly the colorful main character in one of the most bizarre chapters in southwest Ohio history.

- Jean Backs, Editor

References

Ayres, Elsie Johnson, The Hills of Highland, H.F. Skinner & Son, 1971
Howe, Henry, Howe’s Historical Collection of Ohio, The Laning Printing Co., 1896
Morgan, Violet, Folklore of Highland County, The Greenfield Printing & Pub. Co., 1946
Scott, Daniel, A History of the Early Settlement of Highland County Ohio, The Hillsboro Gazette, 1890