By western author Nick Brumby

“When the tumbleweed wagons come callin’, all the killers ‘n’ thieves ‘n’ other scum turned pale and went a runnin’ with their tail ‘tween their legs.”

— Quote from upcoming Sheriff Sol Redding western

IT WAS ONE of the most dangerous jobs on offer in the Old West – collecting the roughest, toughest murderers, rapists, rustlers and other criminals and sending them back to civilisation to face justice.

And there was only one vehicle fit to do the job – the humble tumbleweed wagon.

A tumbleweed wagon was a jail on wheels used by US Deputy Marshals to take prisoners to a more permanent jail or prison. They were called ‘tumbleweed wagons’ because, just like a tumbleweed, they seemed to wander aimlessly across the territory picking up bad guys.

However their journey was anything but aimless. Many small-town jails weren’t secure enough to hold a hardened criminal for long. Those US Deputy Marshals were out there for one reason and one reason only – to clean up the worst of the West.

Tumbleweed wagons were popular in the 1870s and 1880s before railroads were criss-crossing the states and territories of the time. In the Indian Territory (in what later became Oklahoma), U.S. Deputy Marshals would take a wagon (or even a caravan of cage wagons) and go from town to town picking up prisoners and hauling them back to Fort Smith for trial before ‘Hanging’ Judge Isaac Parker.

Each wagon trip might take two or three months to collect enough prisoners. When the first wagon was filled, another was leased, with a team, for a second load. Usually when three wagons were full they travelled back to the Fort Smith prison to unload the prisoners.

Each caravan would also have a chuckwagon and cook, a remuda for the deputies and teamsters for the other wagons. They created quite a spectacle as they passed through settlements. Crowds formed to watch the parade make its way through town. Locals would gather along the street to get a look at the prisoners. They cheered, booed and hissed at any prisoner who reacted.

Manning the tumbleweed wagons was an extremely dangerous mission. Out of some 200 deputies who guarded tumbleweed wagon caravans, sixty-seven died in the line of duty.

When a US Deputy Marshal delivered his prisoners to the caravan, he signed on as an additional guard, just in case. These lawmen had to deal with some of the worst criminals alive and had to be every bit as rough and tough as the outlaws they transported. These prisoners included robbers, rapists, whiskey peddlers, rustlers and murderers. Crimes also included mail robbery, counterfeiting and forgery, embezzlement; piracy on the high seas, engaging in the African slave trade, counterfeiting and forgery, perjury, and stealing federal property.

The deputies had to be fast on the trigger and capable of handling the worst. One of the most famous US Deputy Marshals of the day was the immortal Bass Reeves.

They worked hard for their money. In 1875, a U.S. Marshal’s salary was $90 a month, while Deputies only received 6 cents per mile. Upon delivery they also received $2 for each summons or prisoner delivered.

Guards took no chances with their captives. Prisoners would be chained to the floor of the wagon by day as they rolled along. When they made camp at night, the most dangerous captives would be chained to a tree or one of the wagon wheels to prevent escape or further mayhem.

Outlaws numbers were described as “thick as deer flies in August“ and the wagons were quickly filled on each expedition. The unusually high numbers of criminals needing transportation from the Indian territory required unusual methods. The US Deputy Marshals carried “John Doe“ arrest warrants, meaning the name and place of arrest on the document was empty and could be filled in when a suspect was arrested.

While the era of the tumbleweed wagon has long passed, the memory of the lengths to which the long arm of the law would go to deliver justice, and the sacrifices made by the lawmen to keep the West safe, will live forever.

About Nick Brumby

I like a good story. And of all stories, I love westerns the most.

As a kid, I spent far too many afternoons re-watching Clint Eastwood spaghetti westerns, picking up ‘Shane’ for just one more read, or saddling up beside Ben Cartwright when ‘Bonanza’ was on TV each afternoon.

I’m a former journalist and I love horses, dogs, and the occasional bourbon whiskey. I live with my wife, daughter and our ever-slumbering hound in a 1800’s-era gold mining town – our house is right on top of the last working gold mine in the area. There may not be much gold left, but there’s history wherever you look.

I hope you enjoy my westerns as much as I enjoyed writing them!

Happy trails,

Nick