[RKW worked up seven different Jones families as indicated below.]
There were 7 Jones listed in the February, 1870, census of Cowley County. There was only one with the initials S. D.
The Bolton township census of 1873 listed, David D. Jones, age 30 and unmarried; George Jones, age 22 and his wife lElizabeth aged 25; T. J. Jones, age 27 and his wife Alvina aged 35. In 1876 D. D. Jones is listed with a wife named Louisa, age 23. In 1880 D. D. Jones, age 37, and his wife S. L., age 37.
Mrs. Bennett Rinehart, of Arkansas City, wrote the following which was published in the Arkansas City Traveler. “David Jones, father of Hosea Jones of Route 1, had staked a claim near Hackney. When the survey began, it was evident a road would divide his claim into two parts, each part of which would be needed by the neighbor on either side to complete his claim. Jones pulled up stakes and crossed the river west of present Arkansas City onto land not yet settled in West Bolton. When the surveying party reached his new claim, Jones was told that he was the first white settler to stake a claim west of the Arkansas River in Bolton Township. Charles Baird (Note - This must have been Thomas Baird who staked his claim July 26, 1871. RKW) then staked an adjoining claim, now occupied by Walter Baird.”
COURIER, JULY 17, 1873. Lewis Jones, who was confined at this place for the past 5 or 6 months for the killing of M. Donnelly, at a picnic near the double-beech, in July last, was released last Monday on giving bonds in the sum of $5,000, for his appearance at the September term of the Criminal Court. His sister, Mrs. Susan Turner, is surety. Kentucky paper.
It will be remembered that this is the same Lewis Jones who shot and killed Frank Bilaland at the Lagonda House last winter and who by some defect in the law could not be punished here.
COURIER, SEPTEMBER 25, 1873. Murder Will Out. INCENDIARY. Miss Jones, of South Haven, has been arrested for attempting to burn the school house, and making threats that she would burn the whole town. She is comparatively young and considered handsome. The cause of the disturbance originated from the young woman being excluded from the school house during an entertainment on account of her character. The school house was fired, but the flames were extinguished before much damage was done.
Since writing the above we learn that Miss Jones was not arrested, but had eluded the officers. In investigating this matter another deed was brought to light which, for the past six months, has been a mystery. Last fall Mrs. Jones, the mother of Miss Mattie Jones (whom some of our citizens will remember arrived at this place in the fall of 1872, and stopped at the City Hotel for several days, and being unable to pay for her stage fare, left her trunk for security.), died very mysteriously, and the facts have leaked out as follows.
Mrs. Jones and Mattie, becoming tired of Mr. Jones, who had separated from his wife once and then returned, laid a plan by which they should rid themselves of him by poisoning the eatables which he would partake of on his return from Wichita, where he had gone after freight. Before the return of Mr. Jones, however, Mrs. Jones became delirious from the effects of ague, and in her delirium called to her son for some coffee. The young man, aged about 14 years, had overheard the plans of the women but in the absence of the boy's sister, who was then working at the hotel in South Haven, he gave his mother the coffee, thinking she had not poisoned it, or she would not have called for it. Shortly after taking the coffee, the old woman died. Mr. Jones returned at noon the next day; but when the neighbors set his dinner before him, his son told him what he had overheard and warned him not to eat. This caused some suspicion, but nothing was said of the matter until the school house was fired and the general character of Mattie Jones brought before the public, when it was exposed by one party who had received the whole story from Mr. Jones and his son. Traveler.
COURIER, AUGUST 10, 1876. A Boy Shot and Killed. While at Salt City yesterday, we learned the particulars of a sad affair that occurred there last Friday evening. Frank Jones, a modern highwayman, whose name has been connected with several outrages along the border for some years, deliberately shot and killed Joseph Lheurxe (Loury), a boy fourteen years of age, on the streets of Salt City, last Friday evening. Mr. Lheurxe, accompanied by his son, had been at the blacksmith shop, when the boy started across to the dry goods store, passing in front of the drug store on his way.
Just as he had reached the middle of the street, Jones called out from a window above: "Halt! Halt!" repeating it three times. The boy, of course, not knowing to whom he was calling, walked on, whereupon Jones fired on him, the ball passing through the left lung and ranging down, lodging near his right side. The boy fell to the ground and was carried home and on Sunday morning expired. The gun used was a rifle of very large bore and carried a terrible ball. It was kept in the upstairs room over the store, and was always loaded. The room was used, it is said, and generally considered by the people of the neighborhood, as a saloon. Several parties were in the room when the firing was done, and conflicting reports necessarily followed. The funeral of the boy took place Monday. Jones was arrested and taken before Justice Lett, Monday, and bound over to appear Wednesday for examination. Whether the shooting was done wilfully or accidentally, it is terrible, and Jones should be placed where such "accidents" will not occur again.
COURIER, AUGUST 24, 1876. FRANK JONES, the man who shot Joseph Lheureux, at Salt City, and who was to have had a prelimary examination last Wednesday, before John J. Letts, Esq., was released without an investigation. Sumner Press.
The following is a list of Marriage Licenses issued by Probate Judge Gans, during the month of January, 1876.
D. D. Jones and S. S. Trimble.
TRAVELER, AUGUST 9, 1876. Last Friday night, just as Dr. Kellogg was closing his drug store, a courier arrived from Salt City, about eight miles from this city, with the report that Frank Jones (formerly of this place) had shot a man while under the influence of liquor, and requested the doctor to lose no time in repairing to the scene, as he was sent for him. The doctor left immediately, and from him we obtained the following particulars.
It seems that Frank Jones and Dr. Paxton were sitting in the upper room of the latter's drug store at that place, when the former carelessly picked up a gun lying near, under the supposition that it was unloaded. The doctor advised him to lay it down--saying that a gun was a dangerous thing with neither lock, stock, nor barrel, and that he would prefer the weapon was not so handled while he was in the room. Frank then swung the gun around, carelessly remarking that he would "snap it out of the window," and suiting his action to his words, pulled the trigger with the muzzle pointing outward and downward. The the surprise of both parties in the room, the gun proved to be loaded, and as the fatal bullet sped on its course, it struck a young boy of some sixteen years standing outside--entering just below a left rib, and passing entirely through his body and right lung, also injuring his left lung. The unfortunate lad was sell cared for, but he was past human aid, and at 7 o'clock Sunday morning his spirit took its flight to that "bourne from whence no traveler e'er returns."
Frank remained by the victim of his carelessness from the time of the shooting until life was extinct. The affair is generally regarded as purely accidental, so far as we can learn, and we are further informed that the report of Jones being intoxicated was erroneous. The rumor that the shooting was the result of a drunken row caused some little excitement on our streets for awhile, as Jones' former career at this place is well known; but all are now glad that it was the result of carelessness and not of drunkenness.
TRAVELER, SEPTEMBER 6, 1876. RANCH RED FORK, INDIAN TERRITORY.
August 25, 1876. As it is cool enough this morning to keep the flies quiet, I will write you a few lines. At 2 o'clock p.m., yesterday, the thermometer registered 115, but a cool wind from the northwest this morning has brought the temperature down to 68.
Agent Miles, with his two amiable daughters, stopped with me last night. The Agent reports all quiet about the Agency. Two squaws were killed and two soldiers badly injured by lightning during a severe storm that passed over that section last Sunday night.
He reports that the Cheyennes and Arrapahoes are thinking of selling off part of their ponies and engaging in cattle raising.
Mr. Miles was on his way to Leavenworth after his wife, who has been there for some months.
The cattle drive is over. Quite a number of ponies have been driven past here this summer from Texas for Kansas and Colordo. The road is lined with freighters.
The other day a freighter mistook Messrs. Jackson and Smith, of Wichita, for Indians; and thinking his time had come, unhitched his horses and struck off over the prairie, leaving his wagon load of freight standing unguarded. The two men ran after him, calling out for him to stop; but the harder they yelled, the faster he ran. It was the poor fellow's first trip, and probably will be his last to this part of the country.
D. W. JONES.
TRAVELER, DECEMBER 13, 1876. Another Murder in the Territory.
RED FORK RANCH, INDIAN TERRITORY, December 1, 1876.
On the morning of the 29th of November, I received word through a Mr. Harris, who was in charge of a bull train resting near this place, that there had been an old man killed on Turkey creek, some ten miles above my ranch, and that he thought the body was secreted in the brush along the stream.
In company with Mr. Harris, I started out to investigate. Riding up Turkey creek until we found the trail of the wagon, to which it was supposed the old man belonged, we took the back trail, as the party had come from Medicine Lodge, on the Dodge trail, and traveled south. We followed it some two miles, when, riding up on a high mound, we discovered in the bottom about 30 head of ponies quietly grazing, which filled the description (Harris thought) of the stock belonging to the supposed murdered man. Upon following the wagon trail to the crossing of the creek, we found the camping ground of the party, and the feathers of a turkey, which Mr. Harris had learned they had killed.
Everything as discovered confirmed the suspicion that there was wrong somewhere. We commenced search, but seeing a band of Indians along the stream below us (and not knowing but they might be "friendly Osages" who would beg tobacco of us), we rounded up the ponies that were scattered over the bottom, and started for the ranch.
After we had traveled about four miles, we saw two Indians coming behind us at full speed, and I rode back to meet them. When they came near, I saw they were Sac and Fox Indians. To the inquiry as to what they wanted, they replied in broken English: "See white man, dead—squaw find him," etc. Leaving Harris to take the stock to the ranch, I turned back with the two Indians, who said they would guide me to the dead white man.
Just as we descended into the bottom, after a ride of four miles, the sun was setting. A cold wind from the northwest blew in our faces, and the tall waving grass made spectres of the long shadows that fell across our path as we sped along. Turning a bend in the stream, we passed down a steep bank into the timber, and I found myself in the midst of the Indian camp, where everything was in confusion. At a word from one of my guides, they all uttered something which was unintelligible to me, but quiet was restored. My guide, dismounting, signalled me to do the same, saying, "Come." Then on foot I followed the Indian, who went stooping and dodging through the brush some four hundred yards, when he halted, and pointing ahead, said, "See;" and in the growing darkness I beheld the body of a dead man.
Upon approaching the body, I found it to be that of a man about fifty years of age. He was lying upon his back, his right arm across his breast, and his left arm thrown out; had been shot with a shot gun, the charge entering the left side of the face, and many of them coming out on the right side around the ear. The left pocket in his pants was wrong side out, showing that he had been searched.
Returning to my pony, I mounted and rode to my ranch, where I was told that some soldiers had arrived that evening on their way to investigate the matter, and were camped in the sand hills. They had got word at the Agency of the murder.
Yesterday morning four soldiers came to the ranch, with Ben Clark as guide, and together we rode to the scene of the murder, finding the body as I had left it the evening before. A young man the soldiers had brought from Cheyenne with them identified the corpse as an old man who had employed him to help him through to Texas with some ponies; that the old man was the owner of the stock I had taken the day before; could not tell the man's name. The body was searched, but nothing could be found to throw any light on identity. Some wild animal had eaten away part of the flesh from the face of the corpse. A grave was dug, and the old man buried from sight—no friend or kindred near to shed a tear over his remains. An ash tree at his head marks his last resting place.
The soldiers took charge of the stock, and started for Reno this morning. The cause of the murder is not yet fully known, but the murderer is thought to be a young man in the old man's employ, who has fled south, and of whom they are in hot pursuit. The murder was committed on the night of November 24th, and the body had lain five days. When more light is obtained upon the deed, I will write again.
D. W. JONES.
TRAVELER, JANUARY 17, 1877. How One A. Jones Beat His Boarding Mistress. "Boarders Wanted." The above sign hung out at an uptown fashionable looking house some few months ago, and was quietly commented on by the passerby whether or no one on moderate means could board at such an austere looking place. But never mind the house, it is the occupants and he that did occupy the widow's best room that attention is called to just now.
He was a very elegant gentleman, a New Yorker, could converse upon all the favorite topics of the day, wore a No. 5 boot and an equally sized glove. His name out of respect to the widow, is called Adolphus Jones. Six months had he eaten and drank and slept in this house, knowing well that the widow's only income was from her boarders. At first he paid promptly, and was one of the shining lights in Kansas City's society, occasionally entertaining men of high standing, was looked upon in a business way. As a retired capitalist, he would saunter from the door step every pleasant morning, drawing on his dainty kids, smoking his Havana with an airy grace, and so irreproachably respectable, that the widow trusted him, as widows always have and always will.
Time flew on, and he was sorely embarrassed with his little financial affair, grew more delinquent, until he excused himself to the lenient widow, on the plea that he was going to New York, and sweetly promised her a draft from Gotham, and meanwhile, my dearest Madame, I will leave my trunk as security, and the perfumed conglomeration of Vanity Fair took his little grip sack and departed. Poor widow waited one month and no news from Adolphus; two months and Christmas come followed by New Year's, and no word from A. J. Her wrath could stand it no longer. She sent for a Main street locksmith and opened the trunk. She found 12 volumes of patent office reports, one pair of old boots, a pack of well worn cards, and two shirts whose bosoms were as faultless as the human breast they had once covered. The locksmith took the boots for his pay; Brown, the junk man, got the books, and the shirts go to the poor. The widow has taken in the sign and gone to Clay county to visit.
The curtain falls over this sad picture. Adolphus is in all probability not far away, comfortable enhoused under the immediate care of some unsuspected widow with an easy conscience, keeping up an appearance, with the adage of, "Present a fair outside to the world." Kansas City Times.
The above described "gentleman" will be remembered by the people of this place, as "Jones, the sheep man," who vacated his boarding place without leaving the usual recompense.
TRAVELER, NOVEMBER 13, 1878. DIED. At the residence of Perry Woodyard, Nov. 7th, 1878, Stephen Jones. Aged 55 years.
TRAVELER, MARCH 29, 1882. Dan W. Jones, a former resident of this city, and now one of the few Caldwell police left over from the killing jamborees, spent Sunday last in our burg and of course paid the TRAVELER a pleasant call.
AN INTERESTING ACCOUNT ON EDITORIAL PAGE OF SEPTEMBER 17, 1884, ISSUE OF A MAN IN WELLINGTON WHO WENT AROUND TOWN SHOOTING AT PEOPLE. FRANK JONES WAS HIS NAME. HE SHOT A CHILD, WHO HAD TO HAVE AN ARM AMPUTATED, AND WILLIAM GAINES, STREET COMMISSIONER. HE FIRED ON THE HOUSE OF HIS BROTHER, SYLVESTER JONES, WHO HAD FLED BEFORE HE GOT THERE. A JURY THE WEEK BEFORE DID NOT FEEL AUTHORIZED TO DECLARE FRANK JONES INSANE...JONES WAS OUT TO GET ALL OF THEM! ARTICLE CONCLUDED: “Public opinion seems to be divided as to his insanity. He is either insane or an incarnate fiend. He is now lodged in jail, and great fears are entertained that he will be lynched.”
Traveler, September 24, 1884.Frank Jones, who created such a sensation in Wellington recently by evincing a desire to shoot everybody, has quited down. The citizens hung him to a plank on Monday of last week.