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 Talking with William 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 February, 2008: Cisco was a friend of mine

In present day Medicine Lodge, there's a stockade built out of logs, that serves as a museum and centerpiece for the Peace Treaty. Many people don't know that at one time, there was a similar stockade built in the Gyp Hills. It was at the junction of the Santa Fe trail and the trail going to Colorado. The stage coaches would stop there for supplies, and sometimes an entire wagon train would stop there on its way to the gold rush in Santa Fe. This particular stockade had a saloon along with the general store, livery stable, and the soldiers quarters. The stockade is long gone, but the stories remain.

One hot windy afternoon in August in the 1880's, the Hank Clinton gang rode into Pratt. They had been planning to rob the bank of Pratt, and the windy weather was part of Hank's plan. That hot south wind was blowing sand and dust in people's eyes, blowing away men's hats and blowing women's skirts up. Two of the gang members stayed out front of the bank to keep the horses ready for the escape and watch out for the sheriff and his men. Hank and his two best men went in the front door, pulled their guns and told the teller to open the safe. The teller's eyes got wide as he stuck his hands up. "Open the safe!" Hank Clinton yelled. The teller nervously went to the safe and gave the big handle a turn, and the big door swung open. The two gang members grabbed a money bag and began filling it while Hank kept his gun pointed at the teller and looked for the sheriff to be coming in the back way. But the sheriff never came in. The men pulled the draw strings on the bag, and the three of them made their way to the door. Hank opened the door, looked out, and there was no sign of the sheriff anywhere. The three men ran out and got on their horses, and the five men rode on out of town. There was not a shot fired. Hank thought to himself, there was so much wind and dust blowing that nobody noticed that they just robbed the bank. The gang rode on out towards their hideout in the Gyp Hills.

Meanwhile, the sheriff rode his horse through the dust and inside the stockade. He pulled his horse up in front of the saloon and tied up the reins. Inside, he looked around, and saw some Mexican banditos drinking whiskey at a table. He went to the bartender and said, "I heard that somebody's been in here drinkin' and shootin' up the place."

"It's those banditos," the bartender said, nodding in the direction of the Mexicans. "They got here yesterday and started drinking and shot a few holes in the ceiling. They ain't been shootin' today but they's drinkin' real heavy."

The sheriff walked over to the Mexicans. "Mind if I set down here with ya?" One of the Mexicans was very fat, and kept looking at the other as if he wanted to get approval. The other was tall and slim but had a distinct whiskey scent.

"Are you the law man?" the tall slim Mexican said with a heavy accent. "That's okay 'cause I'm a law man too. You just set down here with us. Francisco Carillo Romero a sus órdenes. This is my assistant, Pancho. I call him 'el gordo'," Cisco said as his pointed to the other Mexican.

Pancho got mad when Cisco called him 'el gordo'. "Cisco, I've told you a million times not to call me that."

"Órale, mi amigo, ese vato no habla español y no entiende nada. Piensa que tonto es nombre de un indio." Pancho broke out laughing, and the sheriff had no idea what Cisco just said.

"I had a report that you guys were shootin' up the bar. We can't have that. You keep your guns in the holster," the sheriff said to Cisco with stern look.

"No, comandante, we no cause trouble. We here for the good whiskey," Cisco answered back.

"If I catch you shootin' off those guns, you're going straight to the hoosgow," the sheriff said, trying to use a a little Spanish lingo.

"No, comandante, no quiero estar encarcelado," Cisco replied. He paused and added, "y, pa educarte, la palabra es juzgado" Then he switched to English. "We just want to catch the criminals."

The sheriff got up from the table and went back to the bar to get a drink. It was too late in the day to ride back to Medicine Lodge, so he asked the bartender if there were any hotel rooms available. "No," the bartender replied, "We ain't got no hotel rooms. Everybody just sleeps on the hay in the stable. Maybe there's an empty bed in the soldier's quarters, since you're the sheriff and all that." After the sheriff finished his drink, he walked over to the soldier's quarters and found a bunk. At ten o'clock, the guards shut the big gates to the stockade and pulled a big log through the huge iron latches to bolt the gates shut.

Ben, one of the guards on the parapet over the big gates, felt a rock hit his head. He looked out and saw the Hank Clinton gang on their horses, at the front of the doors. Ben recognized them because he was friends with Hank and sometimes loaned them horses even though he was a soldier.

"Let us in. We need something to drink," Hank Clinton said in a loud whisper.

"Hank, I can't do that. The sheriff's here and he's been looking for you ever since you robbed that bank back in Coats last year. You're walking right into his hands."

"Damn," Hank thought to himself. "I better do something smart. I got the sheriff inside there. Maybe he's asleep and I could sneak up on him. Naw, I don't want them callin' me a murderer. I just rob banks. I'll just go rob the sheriff. That's what I'll do--I'll rob the sheriff." He thought a little bit, and then gave his men orders to barricade the gates to the stockade after he got inside, so that nobody could come out of the stockade.

"Ben, let me inside," he whispered loudly. Just then a rope dropped down from the parapet. Hank grabbed the rope, and climbed up to the top of the parapet. The gang members found a bunch of whiskey kegs, an old wagon and some logs, and barricaded the gates from the outside. Inside, Hank quietly made his way down from the parapet and went towards the soldier's quarters. He looked in a window to see a group of soldiers playing cards while the flame of the candles made their silhouettes dance on the walls. In the next window he could see some men sleeping in the bunks, and the candle light was just light enough to make out the sheriff's hat and gun belt hanging over the bedpost. Down at the end of the bunk hall he could see a door, so he made his way to the door around the outside of the building. He turned the doorknob very slowly, and very slowly pulled the door open. The sheriff snored loudly. Slowly and quietly, Hank made his way to the sheriff's bunk. He lifted the hat and gun belt off the bedpost, turned and made his way back to the door. Slowly, quietly, he pulled the door shut and made his way towards the parapet. Just then, Cisco and Pancho came walking out of the saloon.

"Hey, that looks like the sheriff's hat! What're you doing?" Cisco yelled. Cisco pulled his gun and fired a shot at Hank but missed. Hank started running to the parapet, climbed the ladder, and slid back down the rope to the outside. The gunshot woke the sheriff up, and he pulled his boots on but couldn't find his hat and gun belt. He ran outside yelling.

"Damn you, Cisco, I told you not to be shootin' the place up!"

"That man had your hat, comandante! I thought he was a thief!" Cisco answered.

The sheriff ran over to a horse and mounted up, and yelled to open the gates. The guards pulled the big log back through the huge iron latches, and pulled the gates in, to see the big barricade. There was no way the sheriff was going to get through that barricade until the soldiers moved all the lumber and kegs out.

Cisco walked up and took a drink from his quart of whiskey, then broke out laughing. "Hey comandante, I think you have it backwards. You're supposed to have the outlaws pinned down in their hideout, not you pinned down in the fort! Pancho, get my stuff." He looked at the sheriff and said, "Here's adventure, here's romance," and turned and ran into the saloon.

"Damn you, Cisco," the sheriff said. He waited for a few soldiers who were moving the wagon out of the way, then stuck his heels in the horse's flanks and jumped over what was left of the barricade. Outside, he pulled up on the reins, looking for a sign of the Clinton gang. Then Cisco and Pancho rode up from around the side of the fort. "How'd you do that?"

"Do what?" Cisco looked in amazement at the sheriff.

"He never do a dam thing," Pancho answered the sheriff's question.

"There's no gate on the back of the stockade. How'd you get your horses out of the stockade?" the sheriff looked bewildered.

"We go this way!" Cisco yelled as he spurred his horse off into the night. Pancho did the same.

"I ain't even got a gun!" the sheriff yelled as he followed Cisco and Pancho into the night. There was just enough moonlight to make out the horses and the riders with sombreros. The hooves of the horses gave away their location, and it sounded like a full gallop. After a few minutes, the sheriff yanked on the reins. He couldn't hear the hooves of the horses or see any sombreros in the moonlight. His horse needed to catch its wind, so he held up. In a few minutes, he realized he couldn't catch them. It was too dark to track the hoof marks in the dust, and he didn't have his gun anyway. Reluctantly he turned his horse around and made his way back to the stockade.

After ten or fifteen minutes to make his way back to the stockade, the sheriff couldn't believe his eyes. In the faint moonlight, he saw the Clinton gang tied up to a flagpole. Cisco was on his horse, eating salted peanuts from a tin can, and Pancho was drinking from a wine bottle.

"How'd you do that?" the sheriff said in amazement.

"He never do a dam thing," Pancho said. "He lazy," switching to Spanish, "es flojo, toma el wiskey".

"Hey, no talk like that to me, gordo," Cisco said. The sheriff could somehow sense that the two Mexicans were good friends, just talking that way in some kind of sarcastic humor. Anyway, the important thing was that the Clinton gang was captured. The sheriff went through their saddlebags and found his Colt .45 and his hat. He also found the money bag with the words "Bank of Pratt" in large letters.

"Now you're going to the hoosgow," the sheriff said. "Thanks, Cisco. Thanks, Pancho."

"That's juzgado, comandante," Cisco said. Cisco and Pancho turned their horses to the south and rode off. The sheriff could hear them saying something in Spanish. "Eh, Pancho, creo que el wiskey de los estados unidos no está tan bueno como lo de mejico. Vamos a regresar a mejico para tomar el wiskey bueno. Y tu necesitas perder libres, mi amigo," Pancho hit Cisco with his sombrero as they disappeared into the night.

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