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The Bedside Book of Bad Girls: Outlaw Women of the Midwest
Tom King followed five, spirited, fast-moving horses into a dense line of trees seven miles outside the town of Fredonia, Kansas. It was a stifling hot, August day in 1894. The ground the criminal’s horse’s hooves pounded into was cracked and dry. Sweat foamed around the animal’s neck and hind quarters. Low hanging branches on brown, thirsty trees slapped at them as they passed by. King, dressed in worn trousers, chaps, flannel shirt, a large brimmed hat, and a tan duster, skillfully maneuvered his ride around limbs that had fallen and lay about on the path they raced along.
King and his roan were directly beside the five horses as they broke through the other side of the copse of trees. His horse leapt over a cluster of large boulders standing between the rider and the open prairie. Tom leaned back in the saddle as his horse jumped to let the wind strip off his coat. In that moment Tom and the horse were in mid-air, and the coat trailed behind him like leather wings.
From a crude camp in the far distance, Fredonia Sheriff H.S. McCleary watched Tom and his mount keep pace with the horses. The lawman cast a glance at the deputies standing on either side of him. Their eyes were fixed on King. If not for the fact that the authorities were there to arrest King for horse stealing, they might have felt compelled to congratulate him on his equestrian skills. They had apprehended King’s partner, Ed Bullock, at the thieve’s camp, placed a gag around his mouth, and handcuffed him to the back of a wagon. The ground around the vehicle was strewn with provisions that had once been packed inside the wagon. One of the items was a large trunk. The sheriff and his men had been searching for something, and the hunt appeared to have concluded with the trunk. The lock on it had been busted; the trunk was opened, and an assortment of stolen jewelry, resting on a long tray, gleamed in the sunlight.
Bullock tugged at the handcuffs in a desperate attempt to break free. He wanted to warn King about what was waiting for him. King led the ill-gotten horses into the camp, realizing too late the law had found him. The sheriff leveled his gun at the outlaw, and King slowly dismounted. He surrendered his weapon without having to be asked. The sheriff took a few steps toward King, studying his face as he walked. The sun and wind had darkened King’s complexion, and at first glance he appeared to be a mixed-blood Cherokee Indian. Sheriff McCleary asked him how old he was, and King told him his age was twenty-five. The sheriff scrutinized King’s face then told him to remove his hat. In that moment it was clear that the notorious Tom King was really the woman named Flora Mundis. Her lashes and small features gave her away.
