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Louie B. Sefrit was awoken early morning on the 3rd of July 1902.

‘Tracy’s been spotted heading towards Bothell. Governor McBride increased the bounty on him.’ The voice said.

‘An extra $2,500, on top of Oregon’s $3,000, dead or alive. Cudihee is headed out there, told us to hurry.’ the voice continued.

Sefrit rose from the bench he had been resting on, he was on reporting assignment for the Times, and had been woken up by his colleague Karl Anderson.

It was pouring outside, the two reporters stood inside the posse’s headquarters and looked out at the summer showers as the sun began to rise.

‘There’s only a few ways in or out of Bothell, a wagon rode and railroads crisscrossing.’ Said Cudihee, walking up behind the two reporters, clasping their shoulders with triumphant might.

The reporters went with separate wagons with various members of the posse. When they arrived at Bothell, Cudihee exited his wagon and positioned himself in front of the modest sized group.

‘There will be one man guarding each road in and out of Bothell. I will be interviewing the security guard who spotted Tracy. The rest of you will split up and canvas the area.’

‘You’ll be wishing you had this if you run into Tracy.’ said Deputy Jack Williams as he handed a revolver to each reporter.

Without response, posse members began to disperse and assign themselves roles of guard or search party member. Sefrit joined a small group who’s responsibility it was to follow the railroad into Bothell. Cudihee knew that Tracy stuck closely to the railroads, and it was a safe bet that he would remain close to them. The wagon road and railroad would occasionally cross, then separate, only to cross again. At the second crossing, the men spotted two sets of cabins.

‘That’s where I’d be if it were raining all night like this.’ Sefrit said to Deputy Charles Raymond.

They both stopped to examine the cabins through the rain, looking at the weeds surrounding the building, it appeared slightly flattened, as though it were recently disturbed.

‘Are these footprints?’ Sefrit bent down pointing to uneven sloppy depressions in the mud that trailed into beat down grass.

Raymond gave a loud whistle and signaled for the others who has heard to join him.

Three men, stepped through the barbed wire and started for the cabin. Anderson had regrouped with his counterpart. Both of them moved forward with Raymond.

‘I think Tracy is in that yard.’ Raymond said.

‘In the house or by those trees and stumps?’ Sefrit pointed. The stumps were a wicked, charred, black color, as many trees and stumps are in the Puget Sound area. They were unassuming and out of the way, to the side and slightly behind the cabins. The three stopped walking towards the cabins and examined the stumps. Raymond crouched slightly and pointed to a slight depression surrounding one of the stumps.

‘That’s exactly where I believe he is.’ Raymond said moving forward, putting his hand on Anderson to direct him in the same direction.

They all moved forward, collectively.

‘He’s not here!’ The posse called from the cabins, The three looked over at that posse briefly to acknowledge. When they turned their attention back to the stumps, they saw Tracy rising from a crouched position, rifle drawn spurting flashes of smoke in their direction. Anderson was grazed in the face, falling to the ground. An eruption of gunfire happened instantaneously. Raymond fired several rounds before being hit in the chest and left arm dying instantly, his lifeless tumbled onto Anderson who was crawling away, hole in his face, still bleeding immensely.

The posse from the cabin began firing and rushing over towards their fallen. Tracy fired again several times, this time at Deputy Jack Williams. Williams drew his rifle to fire, and turned slightly to avoid incoming fire. The move saved his life, Tracy’s shell had his the stock and barrel of his weapon, causing it to shatter in his hands, sending shrapnel into his chest and wrists. He fell instantly from his injuries, but recovered later.

During the commotion with Williams Sefrit fired several shots hitting the tree stump. Tracy trained his rifle on Sefrit and fired once, he grazed his shoulder. Realizing he had no cover Sefrit fell unnaturally and remained laying in the brush. He laid there breathing heavily, he could peek through the individual blades of grass and could make out Tracy, his rifle was still pointed squarely at Sefrit. The reporter held his breath, afraid that any movement would result in another round for him. He laid there, breathless, listening to the intense screams of the wounded and the even louder silence of those who couldn’t scream anymore.

Sefrit saw Tracy slightly raise up from behind the stump fire two more shots in the direction of the cabins as he retreated backwards into a drainage ditch. Sefrit could hear Tracy’s feet sloshing through small puddles as he began to ran after being out of sight.

Tracy came bolting out from the brush onto a wagon road, less than 100 feet away was a teenage boy riding a horse, Tracy flagged him down.

‘I need your horse, son!’ The boy looked at him.

‘Listen, I’m a deputy with Sheriff Cudihee, I’m hot on the trail of Tracy!’

‘You’ve found him?’ The boy said.

‘That’s right, and he’ll get away soon if I don’t get this horse to chase him!’ Tracy exclaimed. Surprisingly, this worked and he was able to commandeer this young man’s horse. Tracy bolted on the horse, leading credence to his story of being hot on his own trail. He knew that he couldn’t stay on the road for long, nor on a horse, as he’d be easier to spot. He came to the first barn he could find and greeted a farmer named Louis Johnson.

‘Hello, I’m Tracy.’ He introduced himself. The man smiled at Tracy.

‘Hi Tracy, what can I do for you?’ He said placing his hands on his hips. This man clearly didn’t recognize him, Tracy treated him well, knowing full well he could simply take whatever he wanted from the farmer at gunpoint.

‘I was hoping I could tie my horse to your wagon and you could take me into town. I’ve been riding for days.’ Tracy lied.

The farmer obliged, and even provided Tracy with some food. Tracy sat covered by the wagon, beginning to dry, finally being out of the rain. While they rode into the city slowly, the two chatted non-stop. Tracy asked the farmer all about life on his farm and Tracy entertained the farmer with stories of his travels, leaving out the crime sprees. As dusk approached the two entered the city, they started to pass a restaurant. Several members of the posse he previously encountered were eating there, and he subtlety recoiled his body to hide behind Johnson.

‘Here’s a place to get some food.’ He exclaimed.

‘No.’ Tracy said, revealing his weapon and pointing it at Johnson’s back.

‘I understand. There’s been no need for that so far, there’s no need for it now.’ Johnson said, remaining calm.

‘What are you wanted for?’ He asked. Tracy was flabbergasted that Johnson had no clue about him. He began to tell him a tale about wrongful imprisonment, how his partner had betrayed him, and how he never intended to hurt anymore, offering to pay Johnson once he had more money. Of course, this rendition was altered immensely and reflected only fragments of the truth. This went on for an hour while Johnson strolled the wagon through the city, attentively listening and questioning Tracy. He wasn’t afraid of Tracy, he had no judgments against him, he just wanted to get home alive. They had made it to Fremont and tied the coach to the fence of Mrs. Van Horn (now at 5011 Phinney Avenue NW). Tracy walked the stairs with the farmer in between him and the door, Tracy had the rifle put into Johnson’s side. Johnson knocked loudly on the door.

‘ow!’ Johnson adjusted after being jabbed by the gun.

‘Sorry.’

the door swung open, Mrs. Van Horn looked at the farmer then disregarded him and turned to Tracy.

‘What do you want?’ She demanded.

‘Food and clothes, madam.’

‘I suppose I don’t have a choice.’ She commented

‘That you do not.’

They all walked into the house. There was a man standing there, Tracy pointed his rifle at him.

‘That’s Butterfield, he’s here visiting someone who’s recovering from a horse injury, he won’t cause any problems.’ she informed.

‘Then he won’t mind trading me for dry clothes.’ Tracy assumed and they traded clothes. Johnson and Butterfield began chatting nervously. Tracy followed Van Horn into the kitchen.

‘I’ve never held up a lady before. I don’t want to tie you up, I’d like to remain gentlemanly. Will you say nothing of my being here if I leave you untied?’

‘Tonight I won’t, but in the morning I will.’

‘I’ll be far enough away by then.’ Tracy answered.

‘I haven’t had a meal like this in three years.’ Tracy lied.

He proceeded to remain entertaining, telling Mrs. Van Horn about his yachting trip, his prison escapes, and about Merrill. This regaling was abruptly halted when there was a knock at the door. Tracy rose to his feet clutching his rifle. Butterfield also got up, hands extended towards Tracy to calm him down.

‘I’ll answer it.’ He volunteered.

‘If you tell that Sheriff anything, it will mean death of everyone in this room.’ Tracy reminded him.

Butterfield cracked the front door open, and with a sigh of relief turned to Mrs. Van Horn.

‘It’s the delivery boy!’ She quickly approached the door.

‘Tracy.’ she whispered. The boy looked confused.

‘Tracy.’ She muttered again.

‘Madam!’ Tracy shouted from the table.

‘and just get some whiskey! And be quick!’ She shouted loud enough to be heard by Tracy.

The boy sprinted away from the house and unlashed the horse. He rushed to find the Sheriff’s station. There he found Cudihee, late at work. He quickly told the sheriff what he’d heard.

‘You go wake the deputies, and tell him every man and boy who can carry a weapon to head over there.’ Cudihee commanded, grabbing his rifle.

Cudihee rushed over to Mrs. Van Horn’s home, sprinting, then stopping to catch his breath in intervals.

Finally, he arrived and lay in wait across the street rifle drawn on the door. Here he would wait for the posse and his deputies to surround the house. He had chased stubborn outlaws before, and was prepared to ending his run in a gunfight. He positioned himself to get a clear shot at whoever exited the door.

‘Thank you again, for such a delightful meal!’ Tracy said rising from his chair. ‘Mr. Butterfield, Louis, you’ll have to come with me, just until I’m away from here. I won’t harm anyone.’ The two walked on either side of Tracy as they left, stepping down the stairs and along the path.

Cudihee spotted the three and trained his rifle on them, following them as they walked down the trail. The Sheriff of King County was almost certain which one of the three were Tracy. He wanted to wait until they got in the wagon, then he’d begin to move in on the group. Before this could happen, two dark figures appeared, one remained at ten yards with what appeared to be a rifle drawn on the group, while the other approached with a revolver. The figures were that of Police Officer Breece and Game Warden Rawley, followed by a third posse member and insurance salesman J. I knight.

‘Throw down that gun, Tracy!’

The desperado wheeled and fired a point blank shot into Breece who was dead before his body hit the ground. Tracy fired two more shots in succession, striking Rawley once. Knight fired several shots, hitting only Rawley, ultimately leading to his death. Cudihee watched from a distance in horror as Tracy gunned down more people. Tracy began to dash through the fence and into the woods. Cudihee fired several rounds, hitting only trees.

Tracy had once again, escaped another deathtrap that had been set for him, and had killed over ten people in less than three months. Now, Cudihee was more determined than ever to capture or kill Harry Tracy.

Notes: This is a rendition of the events surrounding true historical facts. Please keep in mind that sights, sounds, dialogue, etc may not be an exactly historically accurate. While the author(s) do their best to depict this story as historically accurate as possible, there are some additions for entertainment value and readability.

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