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The Hiding Of Black Bill
O Henry
A lank, strong, red-faced man with a Wellington beak and small, fiery eyes tempered by
flaxen lashes, sat on the station platform at Los Pinos swinging his legs to and fro. At
his side sat another man, fat, melancholy, and seedy, who seemed to be his friend. They
had the appearance of men to whom life had appeared as a reversible coat-- seamy on
both sides.
"Ain't seen you in about four years, Ham," said the seedy man. "Which way you been
"Texas," said the red-faced man. "It was too cold in Alaska for me. And I found it warm
in Texas. I'll tell you about one hot spell I went through there.
"One morning I steps off the International at a water-tank and lets it go on without me.
'Twas a ranch country, and fuller of spite-houses than New York City. Only out there
they build 'em twenty miles away so you can't smell what they've got for dinner, instead
of running 'em up two inches from their neighbors' windows.
"There wasn't any roads in sight, so I footed it 'cross country. The grass was shoe-top
deep, and the mesquite timber looked just like a peach orchard. It was so much like a
gentleman's private estate that every minute you expected a kennelful of bulldogs to run
out and bite you. But I must have walked twenty miles before I came in sight of a ranch-
house. It was a little one, about as big as an elevated- railroad station.
"There was a little man in a white shirt and brown overalls and a pink handkerchief
around his neck rolling cigarettes under a tree in front of the door.
"'Greetings,' says I. 'Any refreshment, welcome, emoluments, or even work for a
comparative stranger?'
"'Oh, come in,' says he, in a refined tone. 'Sit down on that stool, please. I didn't hear
your horse coming.'
"'He isn't near enough yet,' says I. 'I walked. I don't want to be a burden, but I wonder if
you have three or four gallons of water handy.'
"'You do look pretty dusty,' says he; 'but our bathing arrangements--'
"'It's a drink I want,' says I. 'Never mind the dust that's on the outside.'
"He gets me a dipper of water out of a red jar hanging up, and then goes on:
"'Do you want work?'
"'For a time,' says I. 'This is a rather quiet section of the country, isn't it?'
"'It is,' says he. 'Sometimes--so I have been told--one sees no human being pass for
weeks at a time. I've been here only a month. I bought the ranch from an old settler who
wanted to move farther west.'
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"'It suits me,' says I. 'Quiet and retirement are good for a man sometimes. And I need a
job. I can tend bar, salt mines, lecture, float stock, do a little middle-weight slugging,
and play the piano.'
"'Can you herd sheep ?' asks the little ranch-man.
"'Do you mean have I heard sheep?' says I.
"'Can you herd 'em--take charge of a flock of 'em ?' says he.
"'Oh,' says I, 'now I understand. You mean chase 'em around and bark at 'em like collie
dogs. Well, I might,' says I. 'I've never exactly done any sheep-herding, but I've often
seen 'em from car windows masticating daisies, and they don't look dangerous.'
"'I'm short a herder,' says the ranchman. 'You never can depend on the Mexicans. I've
only got two flocks. You may take out my bunch of muttons--there are only eight
hundred of 'em--in the morning, if you like. The pay is twelve dollars a month and your
rations furnished. You camp in a tent on the prairie with your sheep. You do your own
cooking, but wood and water are brought to your camp. It's an easy job.'
"'I'm on,' says I. 'I'll take the job even if I have to garland my brow and hold on to a
crook and wear a loose-effect and play on a pipe like the shepherds do in pictures.'
"So the next morning the little ranchman helps me drive the flock of muttons from the
corral to about two miles out and let 'em graze on a little hillside on the prairie. He gives
me a lot of instructions about not letting bunches of them stray off from the herd, and
driving 'em down to a water-hole to drink at noon.
"'I'll bring out your tent and camping outfit and rations in the buckboard before night,'
says he.
"'Fine,' says I. 'And don't forget the rations. Nor the camping outfit. And be sure to bring
the tent. Your name's Zollicoffer, ain't it?"
"'My name,' says he, 'is Henry Ogden.'
"'All right, Mr. Ogden,' says I. 'Mine is Mr. Percival Saint Clair.'
"I herded sheep for five days on the Rancho Chiquito; and then the wool entered my
soul. That getting next to Nature certainly got next to me. I was lonesomer than Crusoe's
goat. I've seen a lot of persons more entertaining as companions than those sheep were.
I'd drive 'em to the corral and pen 'em every evening, and then cook my corn-bread and
mutton and coffee, and lie down in a tent the size of a table-cloth, and listen to the
coyotes and whippoorwills singing around the camp.
"The fifth evening, after I had corralled my costly but uncongenial muttons, I walked
over to the ranch-house and stepped in the door.
"'Mr. Ogden,' says I, 'you and me have got to get sociable. Sheep are all very well to dot
the landscape and furnish eight-dollar cotton suitings for man, but for table-talk and
fireside companions they rank along with five-o'clock teazers. If you've got a deck of
cards, or a parcheesi outfit, or a game of authors, get 'em out, and let's get on a mental
basis. I've got to do something in an intellectual line, if it's only to knock somebody's
brains out.'
"This Henry Ogden was a peculiar kind of ranchman. He wore finger- rings and a big
gold watch and careful neckties. And his face was calm, and his nose-spectacles was
kept very shiny. I saw once, in Muscogee, an outlaw hung for murdering six men, who
was a dead ringer for him. But I knew a preacher in Arkansas that you would have taken
to be his brother. I didn't care much for him either way; what I wanted was some
fellowship and communion with holy saints or lost sinners--anything sheepless would
"'Well, Saint Clair,' says he, laying down the book he was reading, 'I guess it must be
pretty lonesome for you at first. And I don't deny that it's monotonous for me. Are you
sure you corralled your sheep so they won't stray out ?
"'They're shut up as tight as the jury of a millionaire murderer,' says I. 'And I'll be back
with them long before they'll need their trained nurse.'
"So Ogden digs up a deck of cards, and we play casino. After five days and nights of my
sheep-camp it was like a toot on Broadway. When I caught big casino I felt as excited as
if I had made a million in Trinity. And when H. O. loosened up a little and told the story
about the lady in the Pullman car I laughed for five minutes.
"That showed what a comparative thing life is. A man may see so much that he'd be
bored to turn his head to look at a $3,000,000 fire or Joe Weber or the Adriatic Sea. But
let him herd sheep for a spell, and you'll see him splitting his ribs laughing at 'Curfew
Shall Not Ring To-night,' or really enjoying himself playing cards with ladies.
"By-and-by Ogden gets out a decanter of Bourbon, and then there is a total eclipse of
"'Do you remember reading in the papers, about a month ago,' says he, 'about a train
hold-up on the M. K. & T.? The express agent was shot through the shoulder, and about
$15,000 in currency taken. And it's said that only one man did the job.'
"'Seems to me I do,' says I. 'But such things happen so often they don't linger long in the
human Texas mind. Did they overtake, overhaul, seize, or lay hands upon the despoiler?'
"'He escaped,' says Ogden. 'And I was just reading in a paper to-day that the officers
have tracked him down into this part of the country. It seems the bills the robber got
were all the first issue of currency to the Second National Bank of Espinosa City. And
so they've followed the trail where they've been spent, and it leads this way.'
"Ogden pours out some more Bourbon, and shoves me the bottle.
"'I imagine,' says I, after ingurgitating another modicum of the royal boose, 'that it
wouldn't be at all a disingenuous idea for a train robber to run down into this part of the
country to hide for a spell. A sheep-ranch, now,' says I, would be the finest kind of a
place. Who'd ever expect to find such a desperate character among these song- birds and
muttons and wild flowers? And, by the way,' says I, kind of looking H. Ogden over, 'was
there any description mentioned of this single-handed terror? Was his lineaments or
height and thickness or teeth fillings or style of habiliments set forth in print ?'
"'Why, no,' says Ogden; 'they say nobody got a good sight of him because he wore a
mask. But they know it was a train-robber called Black Bill, because he always works
alone and because he dropped a handkerchief in the express-car that had his name on it.'
"'All right,' says I. 'I approve of Black Bill's retreat to the sheep-ranges. I guess they
won't find him.'
"'There's one thousand dollars reward for his capture,' says Ogden.
"'I don't need that kind of money,' says I, looking Mr. Sheepman straight in the eye. 'The
twelve dollars a month you pay me is enough. I need a rest, and I can save up until I get
enough to pay my fare to Texarkana, where my widowed mother lives. If Black Bill,' I
goes on, looking significantly at Ogden, was to have come down this way--say, a month
ago--and bought a little sheep-ranch and--'
"'Stop,' says Ogden, getting out of his chair and looking pretty vicious. 'Do you mean to
"'Nothing,' says I; 'no insinuations. I'm stating a hypodermical case. I say, if Black Bill
had come down here and bought a sheep- ranch and hired me to Little-Boy-Blue 'em and
treated me square and friendly, as you've done, he'd never have anything to fear from
me. A man is a man, regardless of any complications he may have with sheep or railroad
trains. Now you know where I stand.'
"Ogden looks black as camp-coffee for nine seconds, and then he laughs, amused.
"'You'll do, Saint Clair,' says he. 'If I was Black Bill I wouldn't be afraid to trust you.
Let's have a game or two of seven-up to- night. That is, if you don't mind playing with a
"'I've told you,' says I, 'my oral sentiments, and there's no strings to 'em.'
"While I was shuffling after the first hand, I asks Ogden, as if the idea was a kind of a
casualty, where he was from.
"'Oh,' says he, 'from the Mississippi Valley.'
"'That's a nice little place,' says I. 'I've often stopped over there. But didn't you find the
sheets a little damp and the food poor? Now, I hail,' says I, 'from the Pacific Slope. Ever
put up there?'
"'Too draughty,' says Ogden. 'But if you've ever in the Middle West just mention my
name, and you'll get foot-warmers and dripped coffee.'
"'Well,' says I, 'I wasn't exactly fishing for your private telephone number and the middle
name of your aunt that carried off the Cumberland Presbyterian minister. It don't matter.
I just want you to know you are safe in the hands of your shepherd. Now, don't play
hearts on spades, and don't get nervous.'
"'Still harping,' says Ogden, laughing again. 'Don't you suppose that if I was Black Bill
and thought you suspected me, I'd put a Winchester bullet into you and stop my
nervousness, if I had any?'
"'Not any,' says I. 'A man who's got the nerve to hold up a train single-handed wouldn't
do a trick like that. I've knocked about enough to know that them are the kind of men
who put a value on a friend. Not that I can claim being a friend of yours, Mr. Ogden,'
says I, 'being only your sheep-herder; but under more expeditious circumstances we
might have been.'
"'Forget the sheep temporarily, I beg,' says Ogden, 'and cut for deal.'
"About four days afterward, while my muttons was nooning on the water- hole and I
deep in the interstices of making a pot of coffee, up rides softly on the grass a
mysterious person in the garb of the being he wished to represent. He was dressed
somewhere between a Kansas City detective, Buffalo Bill, and the town dog-catcher of
Baton Rouge. His chin and eye wasn't molded on fighting lines, so I knew he was only a
"'Herdin' sheep?' he asks me.
"'Well,' says I, 'to a man of your evident gumptional endowments, I wouldn't have the
nerve to state that I am engaged in decorating old bronzes or oiling bicycle sprockets.'
"'You don't talk or look like a sheep-herder to me,' says he.
"'But you talk like what you look like to me,' says I.
"And then he asks me who I was working for, and I shows him Rancho Chiquito, two
miles away, in the shadow of a low hill, and he tells me he's a deputy sheriff.
"'There's a train-robber called Black Bill supposed to be somewhere in these parts,' says
the scout. 'He's been traced as far as San Antonio, and maybe farther. Have you seen or
heard of any strangers around here during the past month?'
"'I have not,' says I, 'except a report of one over at the Mexican quarters of Loomis'
ranch, on the Frio.'
"'What do you know about him?' asks the deputy.
"'He's three days old,' says I.
"'What kind of a looking man is the man you work for ?' he asks. 'Does old George
Ramey own this place yet? He's run sheep here for the last ten years, but never had no
"'The old man has sold out and gone West,' I tells him. 'Another sheep-fancier bought
him out about a month ago.'
"'What kind of a looking man is he ?' asks the deputy again.
"'Oh,' says I, ' a big, fat kind of a Dutchman with long whiskers and blue specs. I don't
think he knows a sheep from a ground-squirrel. I guess old George soaked him pretty
well on the deal,' says I.
"After indulging himself in a lot more non-communicative information and two-thirds
of my dinner, the deputy rides away.
"That night I mentions the matter to Ogden. "'They're drawing the tendrils of the octopus
around Black Bill,' says I. And then I told him about the deputy sheriff, and how I'd
described him to the deputy, and what the deputy said about the matter.
"'Oh, well,' says Ogden, 'let's don't borrow any of Black Bill's troubles. We've a few of
our own. Get the Bourbon out of the cupboard and we'll drink to his health--unless,' says
he, with his little cackling laugh, 'you're prejudiced against train-robbers.'
"'I'll drink,' says I, 'to any man who's a friend to a friend. And I believe that Black Bill,' I
goes on, 'would be that. So here's to Black Bill, and may he have good luck.'
"And both of us drank.
"About two weeks later comes shearing-time. The sheep had to be driven up to the
ranch, and a lot of frowzy-headed Mexicans would snip the fur off of them with back-
action scissors. So the afternoon before the barbers were to come I hustled my
underdone muttons over the hill, across the dell, down by the winding brook, and up to
the ranch-house, where I penned 'em in a corral and bade 'em my nightly adieus.
"I went from there to the ranch-house. I find H. Ogden, Esquire, lying asleep on his little
cot bed. I guess he had been overcome by anti-insomnia or diswakefulness or some of
the diseases peculiar to the sheep business. His mouth and vest were open, and he
breathed like a second-hand bicycle pump. I looked at him and gave vent to just a few
musings. 'Imperial Caesar,' says I, 'asleep in such a way, might shut his mouth and keep
the wind away.'
A man asleep is certainly a sight to make angels weep. What good is all his brain,
muscle, backing, nerve, influence, and family connections? He's at the mercy of his
enemies, and more so of his friends. And he's about as beautiful as a cab-horse leaning
against the Metropolitan Opera House at 12.30 A.M. dreaming of the plains of Arabia.
Now, a woman asleep you regard as different. No matter how she looks, you know it's
better for all hands for her to be that way.
"Well, I took a drink of Bourbon and one for Ogden, and started in to be comfortable
while he was taking his nap. He had some books on his table on indigenous subjects,
such as Japan and drainage and physical culture--and some tobacco, which seemed more
to the point.
"After I'd smoked a few, and listened to the sartorial breathing of H. O., I happened to
look out the window toward the shearing-pens, where there was a kind of a road coming
up from a kind of a road across a kind of a creek farther away.
"I saw five men riding up to the house. All of 'em carried guns across their saddles, and
among 'em was the deputy that had talked to me at my camp.
"They rode up careful, in open formation, with their guns ready. I set apart with my eye
the one I opinionated to be the boss muck-raker of this law-and-order cavalry.
"'Good-evening, gents,' says I. 'Won't you 'light, and tie your horses?'
"The boss rides up close, and swings his gun over till the opening in it seems to cover
my whole front elevation.
"'Don't you move your hands none,' says he, 'till you and me indulge in a adequate
amount of necessary conversation.'
"'I will not,' says I. 'I am no deaf-mute, and therefore will not have to disobey your
injunctions in replying.'
"'We are on the lookout,' says he, 'for Black Bill, the man that held up the Katy for
$15,000 in May. We are searching the ranches and everybody on 'em. What is your
name, and what do you do on this ranch?'
"'Captain,' says I, 'Percival Saint Clair is my occupation, and my name is sheep-herder.
I've got my flock of veals--no, muttons--penned here to-night. The shearers are coming
to-morrow to give them a hair- cut--with baa-a-rum, I suppose.'
"'Where's the boss of this ranch?' the captain of the gang asks me.
"'Wait just a minute, cap'n,' says I. 'Wasn't there a kind of a reward offered for the
capture of this desperate character you have referred to in your preamble?'
"'There's a thousand dollars reward offered,' says the captain, 'but it's for his capture and
conviction. There don't seem to be no provision made for an informer.'
"'It looks like it might rain in a day or so,' says I, in a tired way, looking up at the
cerulean blue sky.
"'If you know anything about the locality, disposition, or secretiveness of this here Black
Bill,' says he, in a severe dialect, 'you are amiable to the law in not reporting it.'
"'I heard a fence-rider say,' says I, in a desultory kind of voice, 'that a Mexican told a
cowboy named Jake over at Pidgin's store on the Nueces that he heard that Black Bill
had been seen in Matamoras by a sheepman's cousin two weeks ago.'
"'Tell you what I'll do, Tight Mouth,' says the captain, after looking me over for
bargains. 'If you put us on so we can scoop Black Bill, I'll pay you a hundred dollars out
of my own--out of our own--pockets. That's liberal,' says he. 'You ain't entitled to
anything. Now, what do you say?'
"'Cash down now?' I asks.
"The captain has a sort of discussion with his helpmates, and they all produce the
contents of their pockets for analysis. Out of the general results they figured up $102.30
in cash and $31 worth of plug tobacco.
"'Come nearer, capitan meeo,' says I, 'and listen.' He so did.
"'I am mighty poor and low down in the world,' says I. 'I am working for twelve dollars a
month trying to keep a lot of animals together whose only thought seems to be to get
asunder. Although,' says I, 'I regard myself as some better than the State of South
Dakota, it's a come-down to a man who has heretofore regarded sheep only in the form
of chops. I'm pretty far reduced in the world on account of foiled ambitions and rum and
a kind of cocktail they make along the P. R. R. all the way from Scranton to Cincinnati--
dry gin, French vermouth, one squeeze of a lime, and a good dash of orange bitters. If
you're ever up that way, don't fail to let one try you. And, again,' says I, 'I have never yet
went back on a friend. I've stayed by 'em when they had plenty, and when adversity's
overtaken me I've never forsook 'em.
"'But,' I goes on, 'this is not exactly the case of a friend. Twelve dollars a month is only
bowing-acquaintance money. And I do not consider brown beans and corn-bread the
food of friendship. I am a poor man,' says I, 'and I have a widowed mother in Texarkana.
You will find Black Bill,' says I, 'lying asleep in this house on a cot in the room to your
right. He's the man you want, as I know from his words and conversation. He was in a
way a friend,' I explains, 'and if I was the man I once was the entire product of the mines
of Gondola would not have tempted me to betray him. But,' says I, 'every week half of
the beans was wormy, and not nigh enough wood in camp.
"'Better go in careful, gentlemen,' says I. 'He seems impatient at times, and when you
think of his late professional pursuits one would look for abrupt actions if he was come
upon sudden.'
"So the whole posse unmounts and ties their horses, and unlimbers their ammunition
and equipments, and tiptoes into the house. And I follows, like Delilah when she set the
Philip Stein on to Samson.
"The leader of the posse shakes Ogden and wakes him up. And then he jumps up, and
two more of the reward-hunters grab him. Ogden was mighty tough with all his
slimness, and he gives 'em as neat a single- footed tussle against odds as I ever see.
"'What does this mean?' he says, after they had him down.
"'You're scooped in, Mr. Black Bill,' says the captain. 'That's all.'
"'It's an outrage,' says H. Ogden, madder yet.
"'It was,' says the peace-and-good-will man. 'The Katy wasn't bothering you, and there's
a law against monkeying with express packages.'
"And he sits on H. Ogden's stomach and goes through his pockets symptomatically and
"'I'll make you perspire for this,' says Ogden, perspiring some himself. 'I can prove who I
"'So can I,' says the captain, as he draws from H. Ogden's inside coat-pocket a handful of
new bills of the Second National Bank of Espinosa City. 'Your regular engraved
Tuesdays-and-Fridays visiting- card wouldn't have a louder voice in proclaiming your
indemnity than this here currency. You can get up now and prepare to go with us and
expatriate your sins.
"H. Ogden gets up and fixes his necktie. He says no more after they have taken the
money off of him.
"'A well-greased idea,' says the sheriff captain, admiring, 'to slip off down here and buy
a little sheep-ranch where the hand of man is seldom heard. It was the slickest hide-out I
ever see,' says the captain.
"So one of the men goes to the shearing-pen and hunts up the other herder, a Mexican
they call John Sallies, and he saddles Ogden's horse, and the sheriffs all ride tip close
around him with their guns in hand, ready to take their prisoner to town.
"Before starting, Ogden puts the ranch in John Sallies' hands and gives him orders about
the shearing and where to graze the sheep, just as if he intended to be back in a few
days. And a couple of hours afterward one Percival Saint Clair, an ex-sheep-herder of
the Rancho Chiquito, might have been seen, with a hundred and nine dollars--wages and
blood-money--in his pocket, riding south on another horse belonging to said ranch."
The red-faced man paused and listened. The whistle of a coming freight-train sounded
far away among the low hills.
The fat, seedy man at his side sniffed, and shook his frowzy head slowly and
"What is it, Snipy?" asked the other. "Got the blues again?"
"No, I ain't" said the seedy one, sniffing again. "But I don't like your talk. You and me
have been friends, off and on, for fifteen year; and I never yet knew or heard of you
giving anybody up to the law--not no one. And here was a man whose saleratus you had
et and at whose table you had played games of cards--if casino can be so called. And yet
you inform him to the law and take money for it. It never was like you, I say."
"This H. Ogden," resumed the red-faced man, "through a lawyer, proved himself free by
alibis and other legal terminalities, as I so heard afterward. He never suffered no harm.
He did me favors, and I hated to hand him over."
"How about the bills they found in his pocket?" asked the seedy man.
"I put 'em there," said the red-faced man, "while he was asleep, when I saw the posse
riding up. I was Black Bill. Look out, Snipy, here she comes! We'll board her on the
bumpers when she takes water at the tank."
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