CAUGHT A TARTAR.

Western Star, Issue 2253, 4 November 1898, Page 5

CAUGHT A TARTAR.

A MEXICAN BANDIT STORY. There are Californians living to-day, and not old men either, who recall having mat the notorious outlaw, Juan Muriata, while there is not a schoolboy between San Diego and the Oregon line who has not a story, more or less mythical, to tell of the blooithirsty Mexican bandit. The scene of Juan or Goaquin Muriata's exploits was in southern (California, where there were people of bis own race who regarded him as an idol, and who were ever ready to warn him and to shield him when the officers of the law were on his track.

There was nothing in the character or appearance of this swarthy, redhauded wretch to excito admiration. The best of us have " a sneaking sympalhy'' with Rob !oy MacGregor, Robin Hood, Dick Turpiu, and outlaws ot that stamp who are credited with daring, and who are popularly supposed to have pluudered the rich to help the poor. But Juan Muriata was as devoid of nobility of character as the mountain wolves with whom he was often forced to fiud lefuge. Ho robbed to satisfy a savage craviug for plunder, and murdered to quench an innate thirst for blood.

Rewards were offered for the destruction or capture of this man, but with kindred spirits among the Mexicans and Americans, leady to aid aud warn him, he long set the authorities at defiance, and at times he cleverly turned the tables on his pursuers, while ouce at least be showed magnanimity. Jake Williams had been a burly Bowery boy, aud a ward politician, and a rounder in New York city before he went west to seek his fortune. He was not long on the Pacific coast before he had established a reputation as " a terror" iu a bar-room fight, but as lists were too slow and primitive a method of combat, Jake Williams, with a ready adaptability.fell in with the methods of his associates and soon developed unusual skill in the use of the pistol.

" We don't want no man for sheriff of Kern county that won't pledge himself to clean out Juan Muriata ;" this is what the people of the lower San Joaquin valley said on the eve ot one of their nominating conventions. Jake Williams was not modest ; he had brought with him from his native city an intense yearning for office and a firm belief that there was no office in the gift of the people that he could not fill with profit to himself, if not credit to his constituents. " If I'm 'lected sher-eef of Kern county," said Jake to the delegates whom he was treating before ths convention met, " I'll run the office for nixy if inside o' two months I don't fotch the head o' this Muriata into this bar in -a bag and thump it onto the floor !"

Whether it was Mr. Williams' forceful manner and the free use of oaths, his liberal dispensation of whisky, or the belief that he was the right man for the place that influenced the convention we c»nnot pretend to say, hut certain it is he was unanimously nominated and overwhelmingly elected to the position he so much desired.

Jake Williams certainly had physical courage. He banked on the fact that he was a freeboru American citizen, and that the man he had sworn to bag was " a greaser," so that he was not lacking in the essential confidence when one moruiug he mounted his horse and rode south toward the Cajon pass, where the deputies whom he had enlisted for the hunt were to rendi zvous. A few miles south of. Keru river Sheriff Williams was joined by a horseman, who came over from the direction of the Sierra to the east. This man, though superbly mounted, was dressed in the black flowing gown of a missionary priest. His smooth-shaven face was balf-coiicealed by a broad-brimmed slouched sombrero, and from his neck hung a rosary of silver beads terminating in a golden crucifix. " Heaven bless thee, my sou !" was the salutation of the priest, as he brought his horse alongside the sheriff's and turned in the same direction. " You'll have to chin English to me," said Jake Williams. " I don't go much on greaser lingo, and I wouldn't if I could." " Tbero is much to be learned in English,'' said the priest, with a quiet bow and speaking with a pleasing accent. "Do you ride for the Cajon pass ?" " That's where I'm bound," said the sheriff. " Ah, that is also my destination. You sit your horse like a soldier, and no doubt belong to the garrison at Los Angeles F " " Naw ! I'm the sheriff o' Kern couuty," said Jake. " Sheriff Williams ? "' " Yea, that's my name. How do you like it ? " " I like the name and the man," said the priest, pleasantly. " I have heard of you as a brave American, and I shall be pleased, il jou precede me in trying the aguardiente, to drink to your good health and prosperity." The padre, without checking his horse, produced a bottle of native brandy from his saddlebags and handed it to the sheriff, who took a long, gurgling drink, wiped his thick red beard on the back of his big freckled hand.and at once felt more amiable. The priest went through the motion of drinking and then resumed the conversation. The sheriff's tongue limbered up, and he told bis compauiou that he was on his way to find Juan Muriata and bring his head down to Keru in a bag. " Did you ever see the outlaw ? " asked the priest. '♦No; but I've had him described so often that I fuel as if I could tell him by his track or by bis shadder," said Jake. " They tell me he is brave," said the priest. " Brave, nawthin," rejoined Mr. Williams. " He can skeer wimmiu and chillen, but 1 guess he'd kinder crawl and hunt his hole ef he was invited to look into the bore of a sixshooter with an American eugineerin' it from behind."

Cajoil's pass was a long day's ride from Keru, so the sheriff did not object when, at noon, his companion suggested a rest for an hour, during which they could eat some lunch, "sample" the aguardiente again and let the horses feed.

The animals were staked in a charming grove by a beautiful spring a short distance from the trail. After lunch md another drink, both ol which the priest provided, Jake Williams began to boist again, aud he poured out the vials of bis wrath aud contempt on the bandit end all Mexicans. 1 * I am a Mexican, and yiu must not talk so before tne,"' said the priest, firmly. " I'll talk as I please," shouted Jake, who fell quite safe in the pr< sence of this man of God. " No, senor, as I please," said the priest, and as he said it the hands that hud been under his long black coat flew out, and Mr. Williams found two pistols pointed at his breast. " Sheriff Williams, drop your belts, empty your pockets, aud do not touch a pistol, or I tire ! Come, no delay, man ! Ah, that shows your good sense. Now, step back aud stand against that tree. That's it.'' » Who in blazes are you ?> asked the sheriff, as he tottered back in obedience to the command of the other. Instantly the black cassock fell away from the sinewy form ot the priest, and taking up the rope that had girdled bis waist, he said with a sneer : " I am Juan Muriata, at your service !"

" And what are you a-going to do with me ?' asked Jake Williams, wheu he could get his breath, " I am going to send you back to Kern with your head in a bag. Resist, and I'll put the head aud body iu separate parcels," said the bandit Sheriff Williams did not resist; indeed, he was iu uo condition to do auythinphat required coolness and reason. That night, while still the bars of Keruville were doing a thriving business, two horses halted before the principal saloon, and a man called in, " Here's your sheriff !" and then galloped away. Men rushed out with lanterns. They found a man seated on a horse with his arms bound behind him and a bag tied over his head, and to the bag was pinned a bit of paper on which were pencilled the words : "With Senor Muriata's compliments. Senors, you had better try another sheriff !" And as Jake Williams " lit out " the very next day, the people of Kern were forced to act on the outlaw's suggestion.