The only travelers on the road were two horsemen. The older of the two, riding a big dun gelding, was Dave Allison, a man in his late forties with prematurely graying hair. His partner, younger by 20 years and sitting on a nice bay gelding, was Tom Allred. Both men wore white shirts and dark vests. Each had a revolver on his hip and a carbine in their saddle scabbard. One might mistaken them for father and son ranchers. They weren’t.

Pretty quick, Hayes hit a high trail that headed towards Chinati Peak. I figured he was planning to get lost in that broken canyon country north of the peak. He made quite a race of it but my old dun gelding was desert raised and we held our own. Just about the time we were going to catch up to him, Devil pulled his horse to a sliding stop and spun uphill, off the trail. As he did, I snapped a shot at him with my carbine and knocked him out of the saddle.

So much has been written in the wild west magazines about the Kitchens Gang I figured you might be interested to hear the real story from one who had a minor hand in the whole thing.  You see, I was just out of high school and my folks put me to managing my uncle’s livery stable; the only one in our little town.

He pulled the old ranch truck with the stock trailer holding his buckskin gelding over to the side of the county road, not far from where all the squad cars were sitting. With his spur rowels jingling softly, he walked up to a young highway patrolman and asked what was going on...