country, his equipages comprising anything from a two-wheeled buck-board
to a fine coach and even down to our rambling Concord stages. He was a
reckless horseman and driver.

After the close of the war an English syndicate claiming to own a large
tract of land in southeastern New Mexico called the Rebosca redunda. He
came to see Mr. Maxwell and instituted a trade with him. Trading him the
"Rebosca Redunda" for his "Beaubien Grant," thereby swindling Mr.
Maxwell out of his fortune. After Mr. Maxwell moved to this place he
found he had bought a bad title and instituted a lawsuit in ejectment,
but was unsuccessful and died a poor man.

Once during the month of October in the year of 1864, while en route to
Kansas City from the old Mexican capitol, I stopped at Maxwell's ranch
for lunch.

Mr. Maxwell came out to where I was busy with the coach and told me he
wanted me to carry a little package of money to Kansas City for him and
deliver it to the Wells-Fargo Express Company to express to St. Louis.

I told him I would take it, but I said, "How much do you want me to
take?" He told me he wanted me to take $52,000. I told him the company
would not like for me to put it in the safe unless it was expressed, but
he said he didn't want to express it. "All right," I said, "unless we
are held up and robbed I will deliver the money to Wells-Fargo Express
Company." "Now," I said, "in what shape is the money?" He pointed to an
old black satchel sitting on a chair and said, "There is the wallet." I
told him to wait until I went into dinner with the passengers, then for
him to go out there and take the satchel and put it in the front boot,
then pull a mail sack or two up over it and on top of that throw my