A Man Called Holt

The following is a guest piece by Jim King, Grenada, Mississippi. . .

"I Got As Good A Chance As You"

Holt Collier was born in Jefferson County, Mississippi, in 1848; he lived there only a short while, however, before he eventually moved to Washington County, Mississippi, when he was only a small boy. At the age of twelve, Holt was sent to school in Bardstown, Kentucky. All the boys were expected to attend school, but Holt's love of hunting caused him to "play hookey" while the others studied. He often hid his gun in the spring house, returned for it later and slipped away to the fields and forest to hunt instead of going to the school room.

When the Civil War began, Holt was living at Plum Ridge Plantation, south of the present-day city of Greenville, Mississippi. Howell Hinds, later Colonel Hinds, and his son, Tom, were making ready to join the Confederate forces. When Holt Collier, then only fourteen years of age, learned of their preparations for departing, he asked to go with them. To Holt's great disappointment, however, Mr. Hinds and Tom agreed that the boy was too young to enter the army. "I begged like a dog, but they stuck to it, 'You are too young,'" Holt relates.

At the riverfront of Greenville, seven steamboats were waiting to transport the volunteers from the surrounding country to Memphis, Tennessee; from there they were to be sent to training camps. During the afternoon Colonel Hinds and his son left for Greenville, preparing to join the men already gathered on the river bank. Night came; the dense forest and the cypress brakes between Plum Ridge and the little town of Greenville became very dark. Through this darkness, the young boy made his way toward the river and its flotilla of steamboats. Arriving at the village, he loitered at the store of a Jewish merchant, Mr. Rose, and at a propitious moment, he slipped aboard the steamship "Vernon," climbing up the back of the boat to the kitchen where he hid himself. While Holt was in hiding, a man entered the kitchen and beckoned him to come near. Holt won the man's sympathy and aid in carrying out his plan to follow Hinds to the army. "He hid me during the trip and told me when to get off at Memphis," Holt tells. Leaving the shelter of the "Cookhouse," he climbed up the high banks at the Memphis landing to find Colonel Hinds standing with a group of officers, among whom were Confederate General Nathan Bedford Forrest and General John C. Breckenridge. "Colonel Hinds looked at me and took off his hat and smoothed his hair back with his hand and said, 'Thomas, if we both go to the devil that boy will have to go along, where I said, 'I got as good a chance as you.' It seemed to me that all the soldiers in the world were there." No more was said of Holt's youth and he went into training at Camp Boone in Tennessee.

"Because of my being an expert with a gun and a horse and my knowledge of the woods, General Forrest talked with Captain Evans to whose company I had been assigned when we left Camp Boone, about my enlisting as a soldier. They asked permission of Colonel Hinds and he called me to him and told me to choose for myself. I said, 'I will go with Captain Evans' cavalry. I loved horses and felt at home in the saddle. I was in General Ross' Brigade, Colonel Dudley Jones Regiment and Captain Perry Evans Co. 9th Texas Regulars."

"I did not see Colonel Hinds again until we met on the battlefield of Shiloh, Tennessee. He said, 'Holt, I have worried a heap about you.' I said, 'Yes sir, I got as good a chance as you. The soldiers were falling thick and fast, but I was never hit once. Confederate General Albert Sidney Johnston (left), in command of the Confederate troops was riding a big white horse when a bullet struck him in the thigh, severing an artery. I was only a few yards away at the time. Six soldiers carried him to the shade of a tree where he died in a short while. We retreated to Corinth, Mississippi, (to protect an important connection with the Trans-Mississippi Division) and Capt. Evans Company was detailed for scout duty along the Mississippi River up near Greenville. We did a heap of good too; saved our folks property and ran the Unions out. During that time I did a great deal of scout duty. The whole country was a wilderness and if our boys got lost I could always find the way out. I had been raised in this part of the country and had hunted in the woods all my life."

During the four years conflict, Holt served with the Texas Cowboys, Ross' Brigade and was under Colonel Dudley Jones at the close of the struggle. "When the war was over we went to Vicksburg (Mississippi) and were mustered out under General Kirby Smith of Texas." After the surrender, he returned to Washington County with Colonel Hinds and his son Tom.

When the Carpetbagger regime was in full swing, Holt was involved in serious trouble connected with the killing of a Yankee soldier. The trouble arose over a difficulty between the soldier and Colonel Hinds. During the dispute, the Colonel, though a much older man, knocked the youngster down several time, each time following the aggression of the younger man. Finally the thoroughly angered young man drew a knife on his unarmed opponent, but a bystander prevented his using it. Such conduct, especially when the aggressor was a much younger man, was considered an insult and Holt regarded it as such. Holt was arrested on suspicion of murder. "At that time the country was under military rule and I had to go to Vicksburg for trial. Colonel Percy and Colonel Hinds went with me to Vicksburg for the trial. Colonel Percy told them if they put me in jail he wanted a cot put beside mine for he was going to jail with me," but the persistent efforts of Colonel W. A. Percy, paid off and Holt was released.

About that time Holt began to achieve distinction as a hunter. He killed bear all over the county, some of which were killed where Greenville homes and public buildings now stand. After the tragic death of Colonel Hinds, Holt traveled for some time with a racehorse stable and later worked on the racehorse farm of Captain James Brown near Fort Worth, Texas. There he met Frank James, brother of the celebrated Jesse James. Thence he traveled into old Mexico and later hunted "little bear" in Alaska. Seeing the world did not wean Holt from his old home in the Mississippi Delta and after a few years of wandering, he returned to Greenville.

Having killed 2212 bear, after which he says, "I just quit counting," Holt and his famous pack of dogs, which he had trained, were known by hunters and sportsmen, not only in the Mississippi Delta but in other states. When the great bear hunt for President Theodore Roosevelt (right) was planned, it was quite natural that Mr. John M. Parker of Louisiana chose Holt to select the hunting grounds and lead the chase.

"One day Major Helm came to me," says Holt, "and said: 'If you can get things ready in a month and not let anybody know what you're doing, President Roosevelt will go hunting with us.' I got things ready; found a beautiful camping' place. I was boss of the hunt. Along came the President with a carload of guards, but he left all but one of 'em in the car. Anyway he was safer with me than with all the policemen in Washington. The President was a pleasant man; when he was talking he'd stop every little while to ask other people's opinion. Sometimes he asked my opinion about something, and he talked to me about as much as he did to anybody else; he had a thousand questions to ask. We sat on a log to talk and in ten minutes, thirty-five people were sitting on the log. It was going to be a ten day hunt, but the President was impatient. 'I must see a live bear the first day,' he said. I told him he would if I had to tie one and bring it to him. Mr. Footed made fun of me. The President looked doubtful, but Mr. Percy and Major Helm said I could do it."

Holt tells that he got on the trail of a bear fairly early next morning. In following the dogs, he left the party far behind; at noon or shortly after, the bear headed for the lake where the chase had started. The rest of the party were to meet him there. "We got to the lake," he continued, "and the bear went right into the water. The party had returned to camp. I followed the bear into the lake with my Texas rope on my arm. I slicked up the rope with the blue mud from the bottom. I had one dog in the water with me; he tangled with the bear and they went under. I kicked the bear and he stuck his head up. While he was shaking the water from his eyes, I dropped the rope over his head, moved back about ten feet or so, and tied it to a tree. The bear was old, but he was fat; he had gray hair on his paws and head, and he had two big black teeth. That bear killed several fine dogs for me.

"I went to camp and brought 'em down to see the bear. I had tied it but wouldn't take it to the President like I'd said I would. When they all got there the President ran into the water, and I said to him, with my head down, 'Don't shoot him while he's tied.' Everybody tried to get him to do it but he couldn't. Some of the other gentlemen wanted to shoot the bear, but I knew the dogs would rush in and get killed before the bear died, so I told 'em if they gave me fifteen hundred dollars for the dogs they could have the bear. They didn't want him after that.

The President had seen his bear and everybody was getting ready to go back to camp. One of my best friends, Mr. John Parker, came up to me and said, 'Holt, I want that bear; how can I get him? I told him to follow me and I'd show him. He followed me into the water. I teased the bear out to the end of his rope and put my hand on his back; he couldn't get at me, but everybody thought I was crazy. I told Mr. Parker to take the knife out of my belt and stick the bear. I put my finger over his heart, where I wanted him to stab him.

When the knife went in, the bear jumped. Mr. Parker nearly pushed me on top of the bear, trying to get out of the lake and left me to pull the knife out of the bear he had stabbed.

Back in camp that night the President told me I was the best guide and hunter he'd ever seen. Mr. Foot didn't laugh at that either."

Holt Collier had made good his word. Before the day ended the President had seen his "live bear." Upon his return to Washington Mr. Roosevelt sent to Holt a rifle duplicating the one he had used on the hunt, and which Holt had so admired.

The incident was picked up by the media and publicized across the nation. Cartoonist Clifford Berry man published a cartoon in the Washington Star showing Roosevelt, rifle in hand, with his back turned on a sweet little bear. Public response to the president’s self-restraint was overwhelmingly favorable.

Morris Micah, who later founded the Ideal Toy Company, saw the cartoon and asked his wife Rose to design and sew a toy bear. They displayed the toy bear in the window of their small Brooklyn, New York shop with a label: “Teddy Bear.” The original bear was purchased, others were produced, and America’s favorite toy, the Teddy Bear, was born. The original teddy bear, saved by President Roosevelt’s grandchildren, is now displayed at the Smithsonian.

Thus the story and phenomenon that contributed to popular culture by helping to create the Teddy Bear.

That in and of itself was not enough as Holt Collier (left) was not only an ex-Confederate soldier, bear hunter, and sportsman but a man of color born as a slave in Mississippi in 1848. Collier served again as Roosevelt's tracker during a Louisiana bear hunt of 1907. Holt Collier National Wildlife Refuge in Mississippi is named in Collier's honor. He died in 1936 and is buried in Greenville, Mississippi.

Oddz & Nodz

It doesn't get much better than this; a day when bike tires sing and the wind seems always at your back. Could have stayed on the trail all day. As I lay under the big sycamore at the half way point of my daily ride, had some thoughts:

I was chewing gum, as I always do when biking, and I remembered from my research on World War II how Germans thought it so odd that American GIs chewed gum. Chew, chew, chew . . . morning, noon and night . . . 24/7. I'm sure that those who chewed with verve and their mouths agape must have looked to the Gerries like stupid bovines nervously chewing their cud. Come to think of it, to this day I do not recall ever seeing a German chewing gum.

And lip stick. When the first U. S. service women arrived during the occupation, German men were revolted by the heavy use of garish red lipstick. One man compared their faces to the south ends of north-bound baboons. The only women in Germany who fudged and used heavy make-up prior to that were French street walkers and home-grown uglies.

And jazz. Propaganda aside, the Germans, both then and now, love American jazz. As Germany teetered on the brink in the last days of the war, there were plenty of black musicians still running around and performing. During the Battle of Berlin, witnesses commented that on one side of the street one could hear Russian music mingled with the screams of German women as they were raped; on the other side of the street came the sounds of jazz and laughter as German men and women had one last fling. Sex in dentists' chairs was all the rage back then.

Could it get any worse? Continuing the thread of Wednesday in which researchers now think that obesity can be caught, like a flu bug: Firefighters in Lansing, Michigan, had to cut a hole in the side of a house and use a forklift to extricate a 900-pound man from his second-floor bedroom. The man had not left his home since 2003. Rescue workers used the forklift to raise a platform up to the hole. They then covered the 33-year-old man with a tarp to shield him from onlookers and slid the platform onto a flatbed truck for a trip to the hospital. Poor fellow. Bad enough all around. But to have a tarp thrown over you and be driven away on a flatbed truck! Must be how a beached whale feels. Surely this is one of those greater circles of hell that Dante wrote of. BTW--Judging by the size of several gawkers in the background a forklift might also be in their future unless they plug the pie holes pretty quick.

After reading Deb's Mason-Dixon Wild West Blog yesterday morning I have to agree: What a crazy ending for the Russell Crowe movie, 3:10 to Yuma. Unlike she, I won't give away the ending; but it is pretty crazy. Nevertheless, after a slow start, the movie picked up steam and never once did I consider walking out or going to sleep. Go see it!

_______________________________________________________________

Debbie Daily

I am not an artist, but did that stop me from playing one? The "Come to the Table" fundraiser for the Mulvane Art Museum at Washburn University is tonight. Local artists were asked to contribute a table as a work of art and the entries are just outstanding. My bud, Cheryl Logan, asked if I would contribute something, so I did; a kid's table. It's cute, and not too embarrassing. I asked my friend Carol Ann last night if she would bid on it if no one else did. "Oh someone already has!" she responded, relieved to be off the hook. "I'd buy it," she continued, "but Amy's house is so small and I just don't know where I'd put it in my house." These limitations, however, did not stop her from placing a bid on another table that she really wants.

So much is going on this weekend and week I don't know where to start. The "Bald Eagle Rendezvous" is going on in nearby Lecompton, Tom's hometown on the Kaw. Mountain men, plainsmen, Indians, camp traders, musicians--all manner of period participants come together to make this a great event. See lecomptonkansas.com for more details.

We have tours to Fort Leavenworth and the Salt Creek Valley on Saturday and Sunday.

Monday, our friend, Tom Perry (left), arrives from Virginia. He's speaking here in Topeka that night, in Kansas City on Tuesday night, and in St. Louis on Wednesday. Tom is the most knowledgeable historian alive on the subject of our hometown boy, General J. E. B. Stuart. He is also responsible for keeping Patrick County, Virginia, on the map with his website, freestateofpatrick.com. Can't wait to see him and gossip about all the home folks!

_______________________________________________________________

Cartoon of the Day

Toasts

Just read something on AOL that makes me feel a bit better about myself this morning: Fat bellies may be the result of a virus. Yes, that is the current thought of the medical world this morning. It is now theorized that a gross gut may be something you can catch, similar to a flu bug. Thus, instead of beating myself up each day for being a hungry hog with the will of a gnat, I can blow off this lard in my lap as nothing worse than something I caught and couldn't help in the first place. Makes me feel better. Whether this new theory is right or wrong, here's a toast to feel-good medicine!

Deb and I took in a matinee yesterday and saw 3:10 To Yuma with Russell Crowe. My jury is still out. On a scale of ten, not sure where to rate it. Will need to sit and stew on it for a few days to sort it all out. Can say right off: The Dolby Sound is awesome and no way can one experience this on VHS. More than once in that dark theater I was trying to dodge hot lead as it seemingly whizzed just inches around my head. Skoal to Sound Around!

"How did you get started in history? What tripped your wire? What turned your crank?" That is a question I have been asked numerous times and it is a question I have asked numerous times of other historians. I'm always amazed by the responses I get when I offer this poser since the answers almost always are simple.

For my friend and award-winning author, Wiley Sword, it was his grandma carefully placing a family heirloom in his hands and relating the story behind it. As a child, Paul Andrew Hutton (a familiar talking head on the History Channel) stared for hours at the old Anheuser-Busch print of "Custer's Last Fight." Though gory and graphic, the image is also riveting and romantic and Hutton has since become one of the leading experts on Custer and the Indian Wars. The Englishman, Joseph Rosa, became hopelessly smitten as a child by the old movie, The Plainsman. As a result, Rosa is far and away the top authority on James Butler "Wild Bill" Hickok. Another friend of mine, the Pulitzer Prize-nominee (and future winner, I hope), Fred Chiaventone, saw the movie They Died With Their Boots On as a boy and when he grew up and retired from the military he set to work on his passion, an historical novel of Custer's Last Stand. Much like Chiaventone, watching that old film as a child, starring the dashing Errol Flynn as Custer and the luscious Olivia DeHaviland as Libbie, was a life-altering experience for me as well; and like Hutton, I too stared in horror and fascination by the hour at that magnificent print of the Last Stand.

What really lit my historical fuse, I suppose, was an old man I had seen once or twice as a kid in Kansas. He was curled up like a cocoon in a baby's crib that was pushed against the wall and out of the way. Someone whispered that the man was 105 years old and had fought in the "Silver War." Even then, I imagined this pitiful shrunken mummy as he must have once been, strong, tall and clad in Union blue. For the first time in my young life I began thinking about the War Between the States.

When Paul Fees was a boy, his widowed mother had taken him to the Alamo. There, at the height of the Davy Crockett mania ignited by Fess Parker's TV portrayal of same, the child saw Crockett's blood stained vest. The "blood" was actually rust caused by metal staples, but young Paul didn't know it and he carried away that powerful image for the rest of his life. Paul grew up to become a fine historical writer and former head of the Mother-of-All-Historical Museums, the Buffalo Bill Center in Cody, Wyoming.

Except for Wiley Sword's experience and my own with the old man, every other example was based on a fallacy. Early in Rosa's research he discovered that the only similarities between his favorite movie and the real Hickok was the name "Wild Bill" and perhaps his fatal last hand of aces and eights. Same with our movie, They Died With Their Boots On and the painting of the Last Stand. But this was not important to any of us. As children, our dim little bulbs for the first time knew fire and these movies, paintings, heirlooms, and mummies were the sparks that started the blaze. Long ago, each and every one of us discovered the truth; but this did not dissuade us in the least. We're still excited about history and if bold and blatant lies are what led us to our love, so be it. At worst, they were lovely, seductive lies.

So, here's a toast to history, real and otherwise! Long may you live and burn in our hearts!

_______________________________________________________________

Cartoon of the Day

Pea Brain

With a bit of luck Deb and I will go see 3:10 To Yuma today, tonight or tomorrow. Have heard really high praise for the film. And when anyone mentions this movie and Tombstone in the same breath, that's good enough for me. Russell Crowe is one of my favorite modern actors and certainly a versatile fellow he--ship captain, gladiator, boxer, mathematician, now a cowboy--he seemingly excels in any role thrown at him.

For some reason, I have split pea soup on the brain. Must be the subtle hint of autumn in the air. Not so much the temperature today (high 80's), but the slant of the sun in the trees. Believe I will pick up a bag or two today and brew some pease porridge hot tonight.

One evening while my first wife and I were camped along the Elkhorn River in northern Nebraska, I was making a pot of split pea soup over an open fire. The odor must have been irresistible for soon a neighbor walked up and started small talk. I offered him a bowl of soup and he quickly accepted. I then poured him a whisky on the rocks and he gratefully accepted that too. This fellow, about my age, was an itinerant photographer. He traveled throughout the West taking portraits at schools, churches, and clubs. His specialty was baby pictures. The man was extremely happy with his job and very proud of his work. In fact, after the second whisky he rushed back to his tent and toted over a large album of his best baby photos.

Looking through the album, I was stunned by the quality of this man's work . . . stunned, that is, not by the high quality of his work, but stunned at how terrible the photos were. They were atrocities. This poor man who smiled lovingly as each page turned and who took such pleasure at showing me the album seemed to have a God-given gift for highlighting the flaws and imperfections in each of his tiny subjects–-red spots, rashes, pointed heads, lazy eyes, bad teeth, crooked smiles–-all seemed to be accentuated in this man's photos. I did not see one child that could be called cute or cuddly; indeed, most were ugly and grotesque in the extreme. Many photographers, I've heard, snap three or four shots and pick the best. This unlucky man must have drilled a dozen and picked the worst. He was a good, decent guy who loved what he did, but I am absolutely certain that as of this writing he has drifted to another line of work.

(photos: top, gnat wing; bottom, chigger)

_______________________________________________________________

Cartoon of the Day

This & That

Ken Spurgeon and crew came up from Wichita yesterday morning to reshoot some of my talkin' noggin spots for the film on the Lawrence Massacre. Ken and the camera man decided that the lighting on our patio suited to a T and the quiet Sunday morning in a quiet neighborhood assured a quality audio. Lights . . . camera . . . action . . . roll 'em. All went merry as a church bell until somewhere in the distance a dog barked . . . and barked and barked. Shortly, the neighbors fired up not one, but two, lawn mowers. Then, somewhere close by, a chain saw added its voice to the chorus. When it began to sprinkle, we just wrapped it up outdoors and moved Hollywood into the house. So, by my count, that will be four different locales for my head shots in the film, making this movin' mug the most traveled "expert" in the film.

The night following the theft of the tires from our car, thieves returned and stole the other two! Probably the same dirty rats.

Comfort Zones. . . . When I lived in Boston there was an M.I.T. (Massachusetts Institute of Technology) professor whose three-month summer vacations were spent bumming and slumming the mean streets and alleys of downtown Beantown, including the sordid "Combat Zone" (a sleazy porno-steamo-kinko neon section of sneaks and cheats, tricks and treats). Brilliant as he undoubtedly was, and accustomed as he must have been to the society of high places, this chap's comfort zone was in low places. In this latter slot this man could truly be at ease . . . and be himself. No more pretense. No more stress and strain. No more smiling when he didn't mean it. No more going along to get along. Hate to say it, but sounds a bit like me, though not to that degree. The professor and me are not alone.

Cody, Hickok and the whole wild west wrecking crew went on periodic R&R's to the seedier sides of KC, Omaha, Dodge, Hays, Leavenworth, North Topeka, and other "sporting" resorts safely removed from the war zone, yet they always--always--returned to the wilderness when the time came. When Wild Bill was lured east by Cody to "perform" before the foot lamps of Schenectady, Poughkeepsie, Rochester, West Chester, East Chester, Horse Chester, and other such crazy places, it wasn't long before this miserable man, this plainsman out of his element, returned to his wild west comfort zone. And even Cody, hustling huckster that he became, was not happy internally with his new found acclaim in the big cities. With every chance that came, Buffalo Bill returned again and again to the wilderness. . . . he came back to his comfort zone where he could inwardly be at peace.

I think all of us have a spiritual oasis . . . a comfort zone. Some of us may not want to admit it. But we all know it when we reach it . . . and we are at peace.

_______________________________________________________________

Photo of the Day

From Montana to Mountain Dew

The following is a guest piece by David A. Norris of Wilmington, North Carolina. . . .

THE ADVENTUROUS LIFE OF DANIEL KANIPE

A Famous North Carolina "Revenuer" Was a Survivor
of the Battle of the Little Big Horn

A lot of moonshiners in western North Carolina at the turn of the 20th century were caught because of a Daniel Kanipe, a “revenuer” who survived the Battle of the Little Big Horn on June 25, 1876.

Daniel Alexander Kanipe was born near the mountain town of Marion, North Carolina, in 1853. His father packed up the family to go to California during the Gold Rush. But, their wagon broke down before they got out of the mountains, and they returned home.

Young Daniel finally got out West by way of Lincolnton, North Carolina, where he enlisted in the U. S. Army on August 7, 1872. Kanipe was assigned to the 7th U. S. Cavalry. His first few months in the army were spent in North Carolina, where part of the regiment was stationed during Reconstruction. On March 15, 1873, Kanipe's company boarded a train in Charlotte for a month-long journey to Yankton, Dakota Territory.

During the campaign against the Sioux in 1876, a detachment of 600 men, under Lt.-col. George A. Custer, was ordered to block a possible escape route of the Sioux. As we all know, Custer instead decided on a headlong attack on the Indian forces, which included as many as 2500 warriors.

On June 25, 1876, Custer approached the Indian camp near Montana’s Little Big Horn River. He divided his forces, and personally took a detachment of five companies straight toward the enemy. Among them was Kanipe's Company C.

Kanipe was riding with Sgt. August Finckle, when Finckle shouted that his horse was giving out, and dropped behind. Just then, Capt. Tom Custer needed a messenger to relay an order to Major Benteen’s detachment. Custer had planned to send Finckle. Because Finckle’s horse was worn out, Kanipe was ordered to leave the company and deliver the message.

As Kanipe (right) rode away on his horse "Yankee Mike", the last words he heard from George A. Custer were: "Boys, hold your horses, there are plenty of them down there for us all."

Custer wanted Benteen to send more ammunition from the pack train. Kanipe’s message read, "If packs get loose, don't stop to fix them, cut them off. Come quick. Big Indian camp." When Kanipe arrived at the pack train, the tremendous roar of gunfire coming from Custer’s direction showed that something had gone terribly wrong. Kanipe joined the detachment under Major Marcus Reno, which faced Sioux attacks but held out until the Indians began to withdraw around dusk the next day.

Kanipe and another soldier sent out with a message were the only troopers who rode out with Custer and survived. Kanipe became an important witness of the Battle of the Little Big Horn. He and his observations appear in many books about the battle.

In 1877, at Fort Totten, Dakota Territory, Kanipe married Annie Wycoff Bobo, the widow of Sergeant Edwin Bobo, who died at the Little Big Horn. Kanipe acquired two stepsons with his marriage. The couple later had several more children of their own. Kanipe soon left the cavalry and returned with his new family back east to Marion.


Kanipe’s Career in the Wild East

Perhaps farming seemed too dull for the former frontier cavalryman. Kanipe became a "deputy collector" for the U. S. Revenue Service; in other words, a "revenuer."

On a July 1909 raid, Kanipe and another agent left Murphy, NC and destroyed two large stills. The men at the second still fired at the federal agents, but missed. Leaving the still, Kanipe was confronted by an armed man. Kanipe coolly told him he was under arrest and asked for his gun. After giving up his gun, the suspect fled down the mountain and escaped.

The man who had survived the Battle of the Little Big Horn told a newspaper about that raid, saying "there are some rough people in that section" and that it was "the hardest trip he ever made."

Another of Kanipe's cases involved a cleverly hidden still. Searching for a suspected still in a certain area, he found nothing except an innocent-looking house. It turned out that the still was hidden in the loft of that house, using its chimney to draw away the smoke from the furnace without arousing suspicion. Water, fuel, and meal were hauled up into the loft through a trap door. The "slop" (leftover liquid from distillation) passed through an underground drain to a pit some distance from the house. The revenuers bashed out the gable end of the attic and chucked out the still, but never caught the owners.

In September 1909, Kanipe and several agents raided a still near Tryon, NC. One moonshiner in a nearby watchtower fired a warning shot, and "the man in charge of the still fled and has been fleeing since." Riding back to Tryon, Kanipe was sitting in the back of their carriage when an angry moonshiner let loose a shotgun blast. The shotgun was fired from too long a distance to seriously hurt Kanipe. He was able to make light of the incident and show off the holes in his coat.

When the United States entered World War I in 1917, the 64-year-old Kanipe offered his services as a cavalry drillmaster. The army did not accept his offer, but Kanipe served as the captain of a state militia company.

Kanipe gladly told stories of his cavalry days and moonshine raids to newspapers over the years. He lived in Marion until his death on July 18, 1926, fifty years after Capt. Tom Custer sent him away from certain death and into the pages of history.