Descendents of Floyd & Grace Lytle

Ken Thompson's Unofficial Medicine Lodge Website

This page is devoted to stories about things that happened in the Gyp Hills. Some of them may be true and some of them may not be true. You be the judge. Table of Contents There ain't no gold in them Gyp Hills The Early Dwellings at the Medicine River Read this story first to understand the story about the Cavalry. The Cavalry comes to town The Great Blizzard of '71 Medicine Lodge needs Buffalo Bill! The Day Muck-Muck Got His Wish Deacon Jim How Willie the Cripple Got His Nickname The Chestnut Mare Every chance I get, I'll publish a new Tall Tales of the Gyp Hills story, so check back often. From March, 2004: Talking to William

The year was 1876. It was a hot dry day in August as the stranger rode into town. He saw the saloon sign halfway down the main street of town and headed that way. Down at the end of the street he could make out what looked to be a hanging tree and a body dangling from a rope. Out of curiosity the stranger rode his horse down to the tree for a closer look. Sure enough, a man had been hanged, but the stranger could see blood running down the front of the man's shirt. He got off his horse, walked over and took a closer look. There was a bullet hole. The stranger knew that the man was shot last night. He got back on his horse and rode back to the saloon.

As the stranger tied up his horse to the hitching rail, he heard a couple of cowboys come out of the swinging doors of the saloon. "There was six of 'em and I got off a dozen rounds before my rifle jammed," one of them said. The other bragged, "I'm sure it was my bullet that got him but the sheriff says it was his bullet that put him down."

The stranger walked through the swinging doors and up to the bar. A few tables were surrounded by poker players deep in concentration and a few other tables were surrounded by men drinking and talking about a shootout. "What'll it be, stranger?" the bartender asked.

"I'll have a shot of whiskey. Looks like you folks had a hangin'." The room got quiet. As the bartender poured, a deep voice from a table in the corner spoke up. "That Clinton gang tried to rob the bank, but ole Nort Williams saw 'em coming out on his farm. He sent his boy in here to tip us off. We got a bunch of men up on the roofs and waited until they had the money in their hands and let 'er rip. I shot the leader, ole Hank Clinton. Shot 'em dead."

The stranger picked up his shot glass and looked in the direction where he heard that deep voice. He saw two men sitting at a table. One was very well dressed and well armed. The other had a star pinned on his vest. The stranger walked over to that table and sat down. "You shot 'em dead and then hung 'em? Who are you?"

"I'm the sheriff around these parts, stranger," the man with the star on his vest answered. "Yeah, I shot 'em dead and hung 'em. We don't put up with no crap in Medicine Lodge."

"Look, I'm a doctor, and you should have treated his wounds even if he was a bank robber."

"Well, doc, welcome to Medicine Lodge, but we don't put up with no bank robbers here. We done good too. The gang got away but we got ole Hank Clinton. He won't be robbin' our bank no more. Ole Nort Williams' boy knows those canyons and where the river was shallow and he tipped us off a good half hour before they got to town. I told ole Nelly at the bank to just give 'em the money and we'll take care of the rest. Bill Parkers and Dean Stanton got up on the roof of the general store and got some good shots at 'em but just couldn't get 'em all. But we got Hank Clinton!"

"When was the robbery?" the doctor asked.

"Last night about sundown."

"And when was the hangin'?"

"Ten o'clock this morning!" the sheriff answered.

"You mean you let that man lay there all night long with a bullet in his chest and then hanged him!"

"He was Hank Clinton! Damn you, doc, if you're gonna talk like that you just git yourself out of this town!" the sheriff said. The doctor heard the snap on the holster pop loose as the sheriff put his hand over his gun.

"Hey, I don't want any trouble. I just need a drink and I'll be moving on."

"Where you headed, doc?" the sheriff said with a half smile as he put both hands on the table.

"Ain't you heard the news? Colorado just became a state. I'm headed west. I figure there's a lot of miners out there who need a little medical help. And it's mighty pretty out there."

"There ain't nothin' prettier than them there Gyp Hills," one of the poker players spoke up.

"Yeah, I was up on that ridge about a mile east of town and it did look mighty pretty out here. What'd you say the name was here?"

"Medicine Lodge. Named after the river with medicine in it. The indians thought there was medicine in the water. But we done killed all them, 'cepting for one," the poker player said with a cruel laugh. His smile needed more teeth.

"Well, I better be getting on my way. What's it like out west? Pretty dry? Lots of these hills?" the doctor asked.

"Follow main street south and you'll see a wagon trail going west out through the hills," the poker player told him.

"Nah, you better take the trail up to Ft Dodge and that'll git you on the Santa Fe Trail and take you to Bent's Fort in Colorado. When you get about 10 miles into the hills, look for a big cedar tree that got split by lightning. Take the trail going northwest," the sheriff explained, waving his hands and pointing northwest.

"Mighty obliged, sheriff. And I don't think I got your name, sir?" the doctor said to the well dressed man. "You can just call me Pat," the man answered. The doctor could see a U.S. Marshall's star under the man's coat. The doctor nodded and got up and dug a silver dollar out of his pocket and tossed it on the table next to his shot glass. "Mighty obliged," the doctor said nodding to all the men as he walked through the swinging doors of the saloon.

As the doctor rode west he judged it was about midday. That sun was hot and there was a strong wind from the south, but it was mighty pretty. He saw a row of trees wandering off like a snake across the lowlands and figured it must be the medicine river. The wagon ruts led right up to the riverbank, into the sand and into the water. The water was such a deep murky red he couldn't see the bottom but he could see the wagon ruts coming up out of the water on the other side. His horse waded on into the water and it felt cool. It wasn't much more than two feet deep out in the middle. The horse stopped and took a drink and then made its way across to the other side.

That poker player was right, it was pretty out here. The trail led across some flat lands for maybe a mile and then into the canyons. The red dirt was powdery on the trail but hard caked in other places. White rocks, made of some chalky looking material, jutted out of the soil here and there. Sometimes small bits of the white chalk would be laying on the trail. The land had a strange look--the red soil with green grass and green cedar trees. The hills seemed to be small mountains, flat on top. The soil was packed hard in many places, so that as the softer soil gave way, the hard soil formed ridges, making canyon walls that were straight up and down. The flat topped mountains were covered with green prairie grass and a few trees, but the sides looked like tree roots made of the red soil with white chalk. The wagon trail wound its way between the flat topped mountains and through a few of the red canyons. On the sides of the red canyons, the doctor could see snake holes going into the dirt. He stopped and made sure his six-shooter was loaded and ready.

As the sun sank in the west the doctor figured he'd gone about 10 miles. He judged he'd have about an hour of daylight left. He started looking at the canyons for a good place to camp--protection from the wind and cold but no snakes. A jackrabbit jumped out from a behind a cedar tree. The doctor quickly reached for his gun and fired. "Man, am I lucky to get supper that easy," he thought to himself. He got off his horse and gathered up his supper. He got back on his horse and got back on the trail. As the trail rounded the next hill, he saw something up ahead. It was a big cedar tree with a huge branch broke down over the trail and a brown burned area. On the right side he could see the trail going off to the northwest. Then the doctor got a whiff of a campfire and smoke. "Great, I'll have some company for supper tonight," he thought.

The smoke was coming out of the south, so he turned his horse that way and followed the smoke. A few yards ahead he saw a campfire burning. Then he heard a click as the hammer of a six-shooter was cocked. He stopped and looked around. "Hello? Anybody here?".

"Git off yer horse and throw your weapons down!" a weak voice came out of a bunch of cedar trees. The doctor did as he was told and said, "I'm friendly. I'm just traveling through. I don't want any trouble," he said as he raised his hands in the air.

"Who are ya?"

"I'm a doctor on my way to Colorado."

"A doctor? Man, this lucky streak just won't stop!" the weak voice said. The doctor walked in the direction of the campfire and could see a horse tied up to a tree, and some saddle bags opened up on the ground. He heard a branch break in the cedar tree, and a man stepped out, but fell on the ground. He was bleeding from his leg. He looked very young, almost like a boy. He wore a bowlers derby and had a red kerchief tied around his neck. His hair was long and dirty and it looked like he hadn't had a bath for months.

The doctor ran up and said, "What happened? You've been shot!" the doctor could tell right away what the problem was. "Are you part of the Clinton gang?"

"Shut yer mouth up and don't ask no questions," the man raised up a six shooter and aimed. "If you'ren a doctor you can patch up my leg but don't ask no questions or there'll be two of us with bullets in our legs!"

The doctor tore the man's jeans back and took a good look at the bullet hole. "I need to get my black bag out of my saddle bag. Now don't move and I'll treat your wound. Put your gun down, I'm friendly," the doctor said as he backed off and pointed to his horse.

"Okay but no funny stuff," the man said, gasping a little bit but holding the gun steady.

The doctor went to his horse and got his black bag. "What's your name?" he said as he walked back to the man.

"You can call me William. No more questions!"

"You're part of that Clinton gang, aren't ya?"

"No, I ain't no two bit member of no two bit Clinton gang. Them's a bunch of losers anyway."

The doctor treated the wound. William winced a little bit as the doctor stuck his prongs into the wound and pulled out a .45 caliber bullet. It wasn't a deep wound and the doctor said, "You should recover okay. It didn't go very deep. You're damn lucky, kid." The doctor finished treating the wound and helped the young man over to the campfire. The young man leaned up against a log as the doctor wrapped his coat around him.

"I got some supper," the doctor said. "You like rabbit meat? That's what's for supper." The doctor went to work preparing the rabbit to be cooked and stuck it on a stick over the campfire. He reached in his saddle bags and pulled out a canvas bag full of beans. He measured out a bowl of beans, poured in some water, and hung the bowl over the campfire.

Half an hour later it was dark. The rabbit was cooked and ready to eat. The doctor cut some meat off and put it in a bowl with some flour so the grease would make some gravy. "You want some?" he said. William nodded and the doctor took another bowl, put some meat in it and took it to William. William ate it in two bites like he hadn't had anything to eat for a few days. "You want some more?" the doctor said as he cut more meat off the rabbit and put it in the bowl. The doctor had had plenty so he just gave the rest to William. William ate every single scrap of the meat and the rest of the beans and fell asleep. The doctor threw some more logs on the campfire, got out his blankets, put the horse up for the night, and laid down and went to sleep.

The warmth of the sun made the doctor's nose twitch as he woke up. It was chilly and the birds were chirping loudly as they dove into the ground to catch worms. William was still sound asleep. The doctor got up and looked at the campfire that was about to go out. He thought he saw some dead branches on the cedar trees so he walked that way. On the other side of the cedar trees he saw a small pond about fifty feet down the slope. He took the branches back to the fire and got it going again. Then he reached in his saddle bag and pulled out a coffee pot and another canvas bag. He walked on down to the pond and dipped the coffee pot in it, then went back and measured out some coffee grounds from the canvas bag, and started the pot of coffee. He started another bowl of beans cooking over the fire and took the other dishes down to the pond to clean them out.

As he walked by William's horse, he realized that the saddle was left on the horse all night. He reached down to unstrap it, and saw some rips in the leather. He could tell where someone shot at William. The bullet hit a rivet, then glanced off and hit William's leg. If it wasn't for that rivet, that bullet could have made William crippled. The doctor put the saddle on the ground and patted the horse. Then he went on down to the pond to clean the dishes. When he came back, William was wide awake and had his gun pointed at the doctor.

"You been snoopin' 'round my stuff, doc?" William asked.

"Here, have some coffee. Here's some beans for breakfast. You can put your gun down," the doctor said. William laid his gun down and took a deep swig of coffee, then coughed a few times. The doctor handed him a bowl of beans and William swallowed most of it without chewing. The doctor sat down and ate too.

"So how'd this all happen? Who shot you?" the doctor asked in between mouths of beans.

"Don't ask no questions. I'm mighty obliged to ya fer patchin' me up. I'll be on my way here pretty quick," William answered.

"Where are you headed?" the doctor asked.

"I said don't ask no questions."

After the beans and coffee were all gone, William winced but got up on his feet. He could walk, but with a limp. He got his horse saddled up and got his stuff together. "Doc, thanks fer patchin' me up," William said as he reached in his saddle bag. He pulled out a handful of shiny silver dollars and handed them to the doctor. He winced again as he lifted his left leg up to the stirrup and lifted his right leg up over the saddle. He swatted his horse with the reins and his horse started walking west.

"Hey, where are you going? You better take it easy on that wound! You better stay here with me for a few days until you get healed up!" the doctor yelled but William rode off into the Gyp Hills.

Two weeks later the doctor rode his horse into Bent's Fort in Colorado. There was lots of activity and the doctor sure was glad to see other people. It was good to see Old Glory flying over the entrance to the fort. A few cavalry men were stationed at the entrance. Out to the north several foot soldiers were lined up in formation as the sergeant barked out his commands. There were cavalry men riding in and out of the fort and all over the place. But the doctor didn't go into the fort. He headed his horse on down the dusty street, past the post office, the saloon, the hotel, the general store, to the livery stable. He took his horse in and told the stableman to give his horse a good rubdown. Then he took his saddle bags and checked into the hotel. It felt good to take a hot bath after two weeks in western Kansas. Downstairs in the dining room, he had a good home cooked meal that tasted so much better than beans and rabbit meat.

It was dark out, and the doctor felt like a game of poker. He walked on down to the saloon and opened the swinging doors. As he walked up to the bar, the bartender said, "What'll it be, stranger?"

"I'll have a shot of whiskey." After the bartender poured the whiskey into the shot glass, the doctor heard a familiar voice. He turned around and looked, and it was that well dressed man that he saw in Medicine Lodge. He picked up his drink and started towards that table where the well dressed man was playing poker with some other men. "Let's see, I remember your face but can't remember your name," the doctor said.

"Hey, I remember you. You were in Medicine Lodge a couple of weeks ago," the well dressed man said. "That was the day I shot Billy the Kid. He got away but I thought he'd die out there in the Gyp Hills. I heard he made it to Santa Fe. Oh, by the way, my name's Pat Garrett."

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