tates Agent for the Pottawatomie
Indians. These two men shot Thomas W. Barber. It is hard to find an
explanation of their act, unless it were that they came to Lawrence to
shoot down Abolitionists as they would have shot wolves on the prairie.
They had no provocation. They rode apart from their companions to
intercept the Barbers, and called on them to halt. Thomas W. Barber was
unarmed, and gave mild and truthful answers to their questions. After
the shooting the brothers started to ride away, when the murdered man
said, "That fellow hit me;" began to sway in his saddle, was supported
for a little time by his brother, then fell to the ground dead. His
horse also had been shot, and died the same night. Familiar as Kansas
had become with cruel and devilish deeds, there were circumstances
connected with this act that made it exceptionally a blood-curdling
horror. Thomas W. Barber was a somewhat notable farmer, and had married
a young wife, that loved her husband with a love so passionate that she
was sometimes rallied about it by her sister-in-law. It had been with
misgivings and forebodings she had consented for Barber to go to
Lawrence. The news of her husband's death had been kept from her; they
dared not tell her. A young man was sent to bring her into the city,
whither her husband's body had been already carried, and he blurted out,
"Thomas Barber is killed!" and she shrieked, "O, my husband! my
husband! Have they killed my husband?" It has been said that so frantic
were her struggles, that it was with main force they had to hold her in
the carriage which conveyed her into the city. Much has been written of
the pathetic and voiceless woe of this wretched and sorrow-stricken
woman, but we will spare the reader the recital.

This question, however, we did often ask ourselves: "What had we done
that we should be made to suffer thus?"

But now there was peace, and Sheriff Jones, breathing out curses against
the Governor who had balked him of his anticipated revenge, disbanded
his army and went back to his post-office at Westport. It was past the
middle of December, but some lingered on their way, robbing and
stealing. The cold grew intense. A driving snow came down from the
North. It was one of the coldest winters Kansas had ever known, and
there fell one of the deepest snows. And now, winding through the deep
snow, benumbed with cold, and all unprovided with clothing suitable for
such inclement weather, the rear guard