Article By Mike Tower   

Whiskey was not allowed in the Chickasaw Nation before statehood. That's why there was so

durn much of it. Drug stores all over the place sold it in back rooms for medicinal purposes.

Bootleggers made the stuff locally from whatever ingredients were at hand, including rattlesnake heads

and gun powder, and sold it by the jar or the jug. And, there was a regular route, called the "Whiskey

Road" that ran from the breweries of North Texas to Cherokee Town, just east of Pauls Valley, where

the trail dispersed to all sectors of the Indian Nation. Besides all those forms of access, the Santa Fe

Rail Road ran through from both Texas and Kansas, where whiskey was legally sold, and passengers

were free to disembark at whatever depot they wanted. And, as freight or passengers were seldom

inspected, the smuggling of whiskey to rail road towns was an accepted fact of life which translated

into whiskey by the glass or jug being sold over the counter. And, then there were the “Uno joints”

which served "Choc Beer," also known as "Uno Beer," as it was supposed to have less than 1%

alcohol content. However, no one bothered to inspect the content of home made beer, and frequently

the fierce brew had more alcohol content than distilled whiskey.

Now, whiskey in and of itself, is not a bad thing. But, bad whiskey and bad men do not make for

peaceful relations.

A review of the Indian and Pioneer Files will show that there was one man feared more than any

other in the late 1880’s and early 1890’s. That man was ‘Little’ Bill Lewis.

Lewis, who was known to always carry a Winchester, which he used with frightening affect, was

rumored to have killed more than 14 men. Lewis was most dangerous when drinking, and he drank

heavily. Maybe it was his small stature, or perhaps just a quarrelsome disposition, but something was

eating at the man and the longer he lived the more dangerous he became. Charley Strickland, probably

the only friend Bill Lewis had, found this out the hard way.

Charley was the exact opposite of Little Bill in most ways. Physically, Charley, who was a full

blood Indian, was not the average size of the typical Chickasaw; Charley was huge. More than six

feet, large framed, and muscular, Charley, who was a Deputy and later Sheriff of old Pontotoc County

across the Washita River from Pauls Valley, did not fool with miscreants from justice, he just reached

out a huge hand and batted them into submission. Most people just took one look at him and gave up

without a fight, preferring to take their chances with a crabby judge rather than risk life and limb in a

wrestling contest with this bear of a man. Not that Charley liked to use force, because like many large

men, Charley normally possessed an affable nature and generally liked people.

The one mannerism Charley had in common with Little Bill, however, was that he, too, like to

drink, and when he drank, Charley got mean. Charley Strickland’s favorite stunt when drunk was to

demolish whatever pub he happened to be in when he reached the magic moment of drunkeness. He

toss chairs, tables, people, and small cows into or out of windows. Then, he take his six shooter and

start plinking away at lights, mirrors, and dodging citizens.

Since Charley was Sheriff of Pontotoc County, Chickasaw Nation, Indian Territory, he did most of

his drinking in Paul’s Valley, Pickens County, Chickasaw Nation, Indian Territory. Politically it just

wasn’t good practice to injure the people who voted for you. I told you Charley like to drink, I didn’t

say he was stupid. Besides, Paul’s Valley had better booze, it being easier to smuggle such stuff in on

the train, and Paul’s Valley had a more tolerant attitude about drinking, including a section of town

known as Smokey Row. Now some say the little street earned it's name from the numerous, little,

smoke filled dives which seemed to fill the street; while others say the name came from the black

powder gun smoke drifting over the street--which smoke emanating from the numerous weapons being

discharged during the gun fights which raged all hours of the day and night. Regardless, of where the

name came from, the hard drinkers, including Charley Strickland, went there to party.

Because of his huge size, no one could handle Charley Strickland when he was partying down. No

one, that is, except Jim Martin, the Deputy United States Marshal. If J Martin happened to be in town

when Charley started in, why ol’ Jim’d just scoop up his old muzzle loading shot gun, fill it with a

powder charge and a handful of nails, and go find Charley. Once Charley was located, Jim would

stand across the road, and reason with Charley by first demonstrating the violence the old shotgun

could wreck on solid objects by blowing a door off it’s hinges. Then Jim would explain to a quickly

sobering Charley Strickland that he still had one load especially reserved for drunk Indians. Usually,

after such a demonstration, Charley would decide it was time for supper and amble on off for his home

across the river.

One night, however, Charley decided he wasn’t ready to go home and he’d just have Little Bill

Lewis drive him around in a buggy. All we have is Little Bill’s word for what happened next, but it

seems that they drove around for a while, tipping from a jug of rot gut, and Charley decided to get

frisky. Charley supposedly began pointing his Winchester at Little Bill’s head and pretending to pull the

trigger. Little Bill swears he told Charley repeatedly to quit, but that Charley persisted. Charley must

have levered a round into the chamber of the weapon, or Little Bill finally lost his nerve or temper, for

Bill admits he pulled a pistol from his pocket and blew a hole in Charley’s big heart. Bill was seen

several times that night driving that buggy and Charley around and around, but it wasn’t until the next

morning that Bill delivered the corpse to Charley’s relatives. Oweing to the nature of the two men

involved, very little came of the shooting, legal wise.

But, Charley Strickland had another friend--John Walner. Walner was a United States Indian

Policeman and former Deputy United States Marshal who had killed several men in the line of duty.

Now for you to understand, I have to say a word about the Indian Police. The Indian Police were as a

group, some of the toughest, bravest men who ever wore a badge. All were appointed by the United

States Indian Commissioner and were hand picked because of their personal character and bravery.

And, all were publicly charged with..."tracking down evil doers and make themselves a terror to

them"...with standing orders to shoot to kill if the criminal resisted. Tradition has it that the Indian Police

commission was for life, and the members of this elite force behaved like knights of the round table in

that whenever, and wherever, they met law breakers they deal with them. In addition, Walner was one

of those men who just didn’t take any guff off of anyone and who never gave up in a fight. The bad

men of the Valley were afraid of Walner and called him “the bull of the woods,” a recognition that

Walner was king pin when it came to tough and aggressive. And, now Walner, the bull, was angry with

Little Bill.

Walner allegedly told Marshal E. H. Scrivner that the next time Lewis was in Wynnewood, that he,

Walner, was going to kill him for what he’d done to Charley Strickland. Scrivner, of course, told Little

Bill of Walner’s threats.

Bill Lewis may have been a nasty little killer of men, but he was in no sense of the word afraid of

anything that walked, crawled, swam, or flew. Lewis’ shirt tail didn’t hit his back before he was on the

morning train heading south to Wynnewood and a confrontation with John Walner.

Lewis arrived before noon and began cruising the town, looking for Walner, stopping first at each

drug store and fortifying himself with patent whiskey in the back rooms. By the time Lewis started

looking for Walner in earnest and stopped at John W. W. Mitchell’s Dry Goods Store, Little Bill was

packing not only his Winchester but a snootful of bad booze as well.

John Mitchell listened patiently to Little Bill’s tirade against Walner and what a tough man he,

Lewis, was. Then, with more than a little gratitude, Mitchell watched as Lewis strolled across the street

to Dr. Bowen’s drug store. It was then that Mitchell happened to look up and see John Walner, who

had just returned to town, striding down from his hill side home with a Winchester in the crook of his

arm.

As Mitchell watched, Walner spotted Little Bill and cut diagonally across the street, coming to a

stop below the board walk, directly in front of Little Bill. Lewis was standing in front of the door of the

Bowen drug store when Walner casually drawled, “Heard you been looking for me, Bill?”

Lewis did not speak. Instead, he started to bring his Winchester, it’s barrel pointed toward

Walner, up to his shoulder. He never made it.

Walner, in one fluid movement, swung his Winchester in line, and with rifle butt clamped to his side,

while his other hand steaded the barrel, fired.

The heavy slug, with a full charge, fired at a short range, caught Little Bill squarely in the middle of

the chest, lifting his small body clear of the board walk and through the door of the drug store. Bill was

dead before his head hit the hard wood floor.

As Scrivner said, “Walner did what he said he was going to do, and that ended the affair.”

(Source: Indian and Pioneer Files. Pauls Valley Democrat and Daily Ardmorite newspapers.)

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