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Having served in Kentucky with Quantrell, Jim Younger and Frank James were well known through that state, and it being known that the previous bank robberies in Missouri were charged to ex-guerrillas, similar conclusions were at once drawn by the Louisville sleuths who were put on the case. Jim and John were at home at Lee’s Summit.
Hatty was in her seat before her father was at the table, and a pleased smile crossed her face as she saw that Marcus had been using the clothes brush, and combing his straight black hair off his high forehead. The dinner hour was always a pleasant time at Mrs. Lee’s, for then all the family were together, and some interesting conversation was sure to take place.
When I feel tempted to be out of patience with her, I have only to remember that it was for me and my little baby she came here, and that for us she wearied herself until her health gave way.” “Mother,” said Hatty, in a whisper, “was I that little sickly baby that Aunt Barbara was so patient with?” “Yes, my darling,” was Mrs. Lee’s reply.
J. J. Platt, forbade my attempting to do anything in the premises, but Jim’s body was taken in charge in my behalf by Chief of Police O’Connor, and borne to Lee’s Summit, Mo., our old Jackson county home, where it was laid to rest. The pallbearers were G. W. Wigginton, O. H. Lewis, H. H. McDowell, Sim Whitsett, William Gregg and William Lewis, all old neighbors or comrades during the war.
This was eleven months after I had left Missouri and while I was 1,500 miles away, yet this hideous charge was brought to the attention of Chief Justice Start, of Minnesota, in 1896 by a Minneapolis newspaper. John N. Edwards wrote: “Lee’s surrender at Appomattox found Cole Younger at Los Angeles, trying the best he could to earn a livelihood and live at peace with all the world.
The beginning of my trouble with Jesse came in 1872, when George W. Shepherd returned to Lee’s Summit after serving a term in prison in Kentucky for the bank robbery at Russellville in 1868. Jesse had told me that Shepherd was gunning for me, and accordingly one night, when Shepherd came late to the home of Silas Hudspeth, where I was, I was prepared for trouble, as in fact, I always was anyway.
Lee’s head, and she drew her eyebrows together with an expression of pain; but she only said, quietly—“I must have a pair of slippers for you to wear in the house, Marcus, and then you can take off your shoes, when you come in, as your father does.” “O that will be first-rate,” said Marcus, with delight. “I should like dog’s-heads for the pattern; won’t you begin them to-day, Mother?”
We then rented the Bass farm on Lake Providence, in Carroll parish, where I stayed until 1867, when chills and fever drove me north to Missouri. When the bank at Russellville, Ky., was robbed, which has been laid to us, I was with my uncle, Jeff Younger, in St. Clair county, and Jim and Bob were at home here in Lee’s Summit.
My father owned slaves and his children were reared in ease, though the border did not then abound in what would now be called luxury. The railroads had not reached Jackson county, and wild game was plentiful on my father’s farm on Big Creek near Lee’s Summit. I cannot remember when I did not know how to shoot. I hunted wild geese when I could not have dragged a pair of them home unaided.
General Lee left the island at six o’clock in the evening. April 11. The President sent a message, together with Consul Lee’s report, to the Congress, and Senator Chandler thus analysed it: First: A graphic and powerful description of the horrible condition of affairs in Cuba.
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