Democratic Sentinel, Volume 20, Number 22, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 5 June 1896 — A BROKEN FRIENDSHIP. [ARTICLE]

A BROKEN FRIENDSHIP.

It Was Terminated by a Bullet in a Frontier Town, It was in the early days of a town In Southwestern Kansas. The deadly “45’ : was the most respected law of the place, and daily and nightly, In the halfdozen saloons which the embryo city supported, were congregated aa rough a set of men as could be found In any town of the size west of the Mississippi, spending their time in gambling and carousing. Monarch of all the roughs was Ed Prather. He had eight notches in the handle of his trusty 45, signifying that by his hand eight human beings had been sent to their long home. Prather’s bosom friend was Billy Welle. He, too, was a “bad man,” in the Western acceptance of the term. Damon and Pythias were not more fraternal than these two desperadoes. When one was seen the other was always near. If one got into trouble, the other was always on hand to assist him. The tragic end of this friendship came one summer morning. Prather had just successfully “stood off” a sheriff and his posse, and the crowd of roughs was congregated in his saloon, congratulating him, drinking to his health, and celebrating the occasion by filling themselves up with what Is known In Western vernacular as “forty rod,” preparatory to terrorizing the town. Suddenly Prather drew his revolver from the scabbard, and saying, "Boys, watch me put a hole through Billy’s hat’” fired. There was a yell of agony and Wells fell to the floor wounded to the death. “My God, have I killed him?” were Prather’s first words. Then, throwing down his revolver, he sprang to the side of the wounded man, just as the last quiver come over the prostrate form, and the soul went to render its last account. For the urst time in years a solitary tear coursed down over the hardened features of the men whose hands were newly stained with the blood of a fel-low-creature, but ashamed of this momentary evidence of emotion, he hastily brushed away the tear and, turning to the bar, called “Drinks for the crowd,” and the carousal went on. Thus was one more chapter added to the history of frontier life.