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Sam Sixkiller: Cherokee Frontier Lawman
It was a warm September evening in 1886 when the citizens of Muskogee gathered in the center of town to enjoy a concert given by the Muskogee Amateur Italienne Musical Society. Horses and wagons lined the streets. The performers tuned their instruments and greeted crowd members anxious to express their support. Excited children chased one another around, and families jockeyed for the best positions in front of a crude bandstand. Women huddled together discussing their day and comforting fussy infants who were unsettled by the flurry of activity.
Before the event officially began, the sound of rapid gunfire echoed off the buildings that framed the main thoroughfare. The gunshots grew louder, and suddenly a pair of horsemen appeared riding pell-mell toward the congregation. People scattered. Running for cover, families disappeared into businesses and homes. The cries of astonishment and fear from the unassuming townspeople had no effect on the two riders. Black Hoyt, a half-blood Cherokee with whom Captain Sixkiller had previous dealings, and a white man named Jess Nicholson gouged their boot spurs into the sides of their mounts and charged down the street, shooting their weapons at anything that moved.
The out-of-control men were drunk and enjoying the chaos their wild behavior caused among the startled townspeople. Captain Sixkiller and the police officers that worked with him, including Charles LeFlore, rushed onto the scene brandishing their own guns. The captain shouted at Black and Nicholson to stop, but the men were not inclined to do so. After a few moments of waiting for the two rowdies to do as they were told, the Muskogee police force managed to corner the riders. LeFlore ordered them to throw their pistols down, and Captain Sixkiller informed them they were under arrest. Neither of the men complied.
A tense hush filled the air as Hoyt and Nicholson considered their options. The captain studied the belligerent looks on their darkly flushed features. “Give us your guns now,” he demanded, “before someone gets hurt.” Hoyt shifted in his saddle and rubbed off the sweat standing on his chin with his right shoulder. His arm was missing from the elbow down, and his shirtsleeve was pinned over the remaining portion of the limb. Hoyt had lost his arm in June 1886 after he was shot by an unknown assailant while at Fort Gibson, Oklahoma Territory. The bullet fractured the lower third of the appendage, and amputation was his only chance of recovery. Black and his father, Milo, objected at first, but after conferring with a second doctor, realized there was no other option. The younger Hoyt recovered quickly from the chloroform and, as soon as he could, left the post doctor’s office to avoid any further attempts on his life. With Milo’s help he learned how to ride and shoot holding the reins of his horse and pistol in the same hand.
Black smiled a nervous smile and shifted his glance back and forth from Charles LeFlore to Captain Sixkiller. The captain wore a serious, determined expression. Hoyt screwed up all his drunken courage and nodded. “Go to hell!” he barked at the lawmen.It wasn’t the first time Stubbs had been accused of stealing the pistol from Rushing. Although Stubbs denied taking the gun, the men continued to come around and harass him for the item. They refused to accept the storeowner’s claim that he knew nothing of it. Rushing finally told him he intended to get seventeen dollars for the weapon before he left or there would be “hell to pay.”
To learn more about the courageous lawman Sam Sixkiller read
Sam Sixkiller: Cherokee Frontier Lawman
