The Osage, a hilly, timbered section of northeastern Oklahoma, came into the national limelight following the Civil War. The government purchased it from the Cherokee Indians and herded the remnants of the once-proud Osage tribe onto the reservation. In that region anything can, and has, happened.
In July, 1883, Karl Fentwick, (sometimes spelled Fentwek), a New Yorker, came west for his health and settled his family at the northwest corner of the Osage Reservation. A few weeks later, he celebrated the birthday of his small daughter, Katie, with a feast and much merrymaking, and presented her with a valuable gold chain and locket of antique workmanship.
After dinner, Katie went to play in the woods - - and never returned. The alarmed father organized a search party, which combed the area for hours, but little Katie couldn't be found. That night a severe storm hit, uprooting trees and sending streams from their banks. The next morning, unable to uncover any trace of his child, Fentwick gave up, believing she had been drowned.
In December, George Bitters, a mail carrier, set out from Sedan, Kansas, for the town of Peru in the Osage Nation. His horse was found in the timber, the saddle and bridle missing.
The following Spring, Elmer Johnson went hunting in the hills and disappeared. His rifle was found with the stock broken. His hat lay nearby, covered with blood.
In September, 1885, a party of hunters came upon the skeletons of two horses and a weatherbeaten wagon that had been abandoned for at least a year. It contained the possessions of two men but no trace of their bodies could be discerned.
On February 12, 1886, Oscar Beach went hunting along the northern border of the reservation and vanished as mysteriously as the others. A tense gloom, shot through with anger and suspicion, settled over the country. Even the Indians feared and distrusted one another. United States Marshals were unable to solve the mystery.
A railroad being built across Kansas was extended south into the Osage. It was necessary to cut through a wild promontory called Cascade Hill. For this job, the company shipped in a gang of Italian laborers under the supervision of a powerfully built Irishman named Pat Durfee, who always wore a gold chain about his neck.
The first night in camp some of the crew complained that there had been a prowler in their tents. Pat Durfee laughed at their faces. But the molestations continued and Durfee decided to sit up alone and trap the strange visitor. About midnight, he dozed. Suddenly, he was awakened by something tugging at the chain around his neck. A shadowy figure dashed away in the moonlight.
Durfee whipped up his rifle and fired. The marauder fell in the brush, thrashing about and screaming like a wounded animal. Durfee approached for another shot. Before he could fire, a huge man garbed in leather and skins leaped to his feet. The man seized him with one hand, and knocked Durfee unconscious with the club he wielded in the other. When the Irishman came to, his gold chain was missing.
Quickly, he organized a posse and, with three Indians as guides, set out in pursuit. Blood spots on the ground showed that Durfee had wounded his attacker, apparently in the right leg. They followed the trail all night and the next day. Late in the evening they entered a ravine in a wild, broken section of hills so chocked with undergrowth it was almost impenetrable. The trail ended at the mouth of a cave.
Without warning, their quarry launched an attack, hurling heavy stones with such unerring aim that the posse suffered three casualties before it could retreat. Durfee fired until his rifle was empty without hitting the animal-like being.
As he attempted to reload, the figure leaped from the rocks and charged him, its screams echoing through the hills. Using his rifle as a club, Durfee struggled with his foe until some of his Italian hands drew knives and rushed to support him.
The fierce struggle finally ended when the monster collapsed on its wounded leg and lay shrieking in diabolical rage. A knife, plunged into the heart, ended his wild cries.
The Indian guides took one look at the man-animal's face and fled. The Italian laborers shuddered and Durfee gasped as they gazed down at the most horrible features they had ever seen. The wild man's face was burned black and seamed with scars. The nose had been broken and had grown back horribly twisted. Where the upper lip had been torn away, broken teeth jutted like fangs. Shaggy hair was matted about his head and jaws. Around his wrists were heavy steel bands. From one still dangled a link of chain.
Inside the cave another ghastly sight met their eyes. On a shelf of rock sat an array of SIXTEEN GRINNING SKULLS. There was a crude fireplace, some cooking utensils, and a grass bed. Hanging from pegs driven in the wall were George Bitters' saddle and bridle and empty mail pouch, the clothing of Elmer Johnson, the gun of Oscar Beach, and many other items from anonymous and forgotten victims.
Stuffed in a crevice with several other pieces of jewelry were little Katie Fentwick's locket and the gold chain Pat Durfee had worn about his neck.
They identified the killer as Tangdhangtanke (the panther), a Delaware half-blood who had been placed in irons for tribal crimes. He had escaped years before, and was thought to have died from exposure. He lies buried in the ravine where he was captured and slain.
(Source: "Osage Terror" by Glenn Shirley, TRUE WEST magazine, December 1962 (Vol. 10 No. 2 #54 pp. 51, 56. Reprinted from TEXAS RANGERS, December, 1955.)
