"R. W. McNail, the notorious horse-thief, burglar, mail and train robber makes things lively for a small posse who attempted his capture a few days since, at one of his camps in one of the many deep and almost inaccessible canyons in the Mogollon mountains. It appears that Pete Jacoby, of Winslow, who has recently been making a hunt for the hiding place of McNail, the wily and desperate road agent, finally succeeded in locating his camp about forty miles south of Winslow. Jacoby immediately returned and reported the fact of his discovery to the local authorities, and proposed that if a purse and posse could be raised, he would go out and bring McNail in. Within twenty-four hours the citizens of Winslow, headed by Col. J. H. Breed, raised a purse of $1,000 and a posse of three men who, in command and under the guidance of Jacoby started for the stronghold of the daring outlaw.
"They arrived in the vicinity of his camp late in the afternoon, and found him located in a deep, narrow and precipitous, canyon to which there were but two approaches, one from the east and the other from the west. After making a cautious reconnaissance, the posse, instead of dividing up and advancing from both sides upon McNail's cabin, they approached, in a body, very stealthily from the east, and when they were nearing the rendezvous of the noted robber, one of the posse happened to look across to the opposite side of the canyon, and lo! and behold, well up among the rocks on the opposite side, stood McNail, with his Winchester in hand, quietly watch ing their movements. When he saw that he had been discovered, he sprang behind a large rock; the posse quickly imitating his movement, when the ball opened. After a duel, which lasted for an hour or more, the posse concluded to make a flank movement, and come in on McNail from the opposite side. They accordingly worked their way to the head of the canyon, and made a detour which consumed considerable time. Finally they again approached the cabin from the west side, only to find that the bird had flown.
"McNail left his regrets at his inability to remain and extend them further hospitality. We give below his written apology, which is all of the cunning highwayman, the posse took back to Winslow, with the exception that one of them had a bullet hole through the crown of his hat, the bullet leaving a red streak across the top of his scalp.
"Dear Friends I hope you will not be insulted at the reception I gave you, for you see that it was my birthday, and I thought I would celebrate it with a pyrotechnical exhibition on a small scale. I have so few visitors here, that I am glad to have some one come around, no matter what his business is, I am always ready to welcome him by firing a few shots from my Winchester as a salute. Some people do not admire this style of greeting but they cannot see a joke. I hope you, my cunning friends, will appreciate it at its full value.
People say the train has been robbed. That is terrible. Who robbed it? I do hope and trust that you, gentlemen, will do all in your power to capture the guilty parties. Run them to their rendezvous, give them no quarter. Such depredations should be stopped at once. With best wishes, I remain yours, till Clear Creek runs dry. R. W. McNail.
"P.S. You, gentlemen, owe me a box of 44-calibre cartridge.
I am perfection at robbing a store;
I have a stake left me by Wells Fargo,
And before long I will have more.
"On trains I have made a good haul
Stages are things I hate
My losses are always small,
My profits exceedingly great.
"I will say a few words for my friends,
You see I have quite a few;
And although we are at dagger's ends,
I would like to say, "How d'ye do."
"There are McKinney and Larsen,
Who say that robbers have no honor.
I think in a test of manhood,
They'd have to stand back in a corner.
"There are my friends, the Schusters,
For whom I carry so much lead;
In the future, to kill this young rooster,
They will have to shoot at his head.
To me that sounds like fun.
'Tis strange he'd thus try to kill me,
The red-headed son-of-a-gun.
"He handles a six-shooter neat,
And hits a rabbit every pop;
But should he and I happen to meet,
We'll have an old-fashioned Arkansaw pop.
"My friends, I will have to leave you;
My war horse is sniffing the breeze;
I wish I could stay here to see you
Make yourselves at home, if you please.
"I will not say very much more,
My space is growing so small
You're always welcome to my share.
What's that? "Much obliged." Not at all.
"Yours in luck,
"R. W. McNail. [sic]"
"Since the above was in type we have learned from undoubted authority that McNeil stopped for a short time at Thos. V. Keams' place. George Ulgard, who is working for Mr. Keams, knows McNeil well, and there can be no mistake. He was riding a brown horse and had a sorrel stallion as a pack animal. Was traveling by easy stages, and appeared unconcerned as to arrest. Employed a Navajo Indian to pilot him across the reservation in a northerly direction." St. Johns Herald, May 16, 1889 (3:1)
Utah, in September. While making his getaway, he shot a man in the leg. Ten days later, lawmen arrested McNeil for the saloon robbery and shooting. He claimed his name was Edward K. Fisher, one of his many aliases. When the authorities took his possessions, he asked them to take special care of his mouth organ. Joe Nay was arrested later the same day.
"The sheriff suspected the pair might be the train robbers and planted a detective in the cell next to them who overheard them discussing the holdup. Also, Ed Chapman, a visitor in town from Cortez, Colorado, recognized the robbers and alerted the police. Realizing the evidence against them, the two confessed.
"September 25, 1889, Joseph B. Nay and McNeil (still going by Edward Fisher) were sentenced. According to the Utah Enquirer's September 17 edition, Joe told the court he was sorry he had got into trouble and promised to do better. McNeil, still true to his nature, "smiled as he took his seat, and readily assisted the officers in fastening the chains on his ankles." McNeil was twenty-two years old and faced seven years for train robbery,
two years for assault with a deadly weapon, and eight years for robbery.
"While serving his term at the Utah penitentiary at Sugar House, McNeil decided to turn h his life around. He studied hydraulic engineering and, after his release in 1899, became very successful in the field.
"According to Jim Bob Tinsley's book, The Hash Knife Brand, the 'rhyming robber' developed a conscience about his Arizona robberies. In the 1920s, he contacted a friend in Navajo County (formerly part of Apache County) and asked if the Schusters were 'still made at him.' Assured the incident was practically forgotten, McNeil visited Adolph Schuster in Holbrook. He introduced himself only as a former resident and Schuster never realized who his visitor really was.
"Several years later, in 1928, McNeil again visited Schuster who had moved to Los Angeles. This time, he revealed his true identity and the two told stories of the past.
"McNeil apparently settled down to lead a normal, law abiding life, and little more is known of him. But an old newspaper clipping in the Arizona Department of Library and Archives hints tantalizingly at McNeil's origins. It is undated and does not carry a byline or even the name of the newspaper: 'Robert W. McNeil, who served a term in the Utah state prison under the name of Ed K. Fisher... is to lead the fight of relatives to break the $1,000,000 will of the late Neil McNeil of Boston.... McNeil declares the estate of his father, Sector McNeil, was mismanaged by Neil McNeil and the will of the latter should be broken.'
"So, maybe just maybe McNeil's tales of a wealthy Boston family and a college education were true. Why he chose the life of a western bandit still remains a mystery. Perhaps he simply craved the adventure, the challenge, or the thrill. Probably no one will ever know.
"Nor will we ever know if McNeil, the educated and respected businessman, ever again played the mouth harp, clog danced, wrote a poem, or missed the high desert country of northern Arizona where he was the Outlaw Poet, Arizona's answer to Frank and Jesse James. (excerpt from "Arizona's Outlaw Poet," Janet W. Farnsworth, True West, October 1995)
2 Lazy 2 (Anyone know where they went?)
Rattlesnake Jack's