RUBE BURROW MEETS BLOODY END IN ALABAMA STREET GUNFIGHT
The man once hailed as the Robin Hood of Alabama, the most notorious train robber to terrorize the rails of the Old West, has finally met his violent end. Reuben Houston “Rube” Burrow, a 34-year-old outlaw who plagued the Southern railroad system for nearly four years, was shot dead this morning in a dramatic confrontation with a fearless merchant in the town of Linden, Alabama.
The deadly exchange occurred just after dawn, part of a desperate escape attempt that saw Burrow blast his way out of the Lamar County jail where he had been held in chains since his capture less than twenty-four hours prior. Eyewitnesses describe a scene of chaotic gunfire, with Burrow wounding his jailers and taking a hostage before being riddled with bullets after he attempted to retrieve the possessions he valued above all else: his cherished .38-40 Marlin rifle and a purse of $175.
According to accounts, Burrow’s journey to his bloody end began with a simple act of kindness. After his capture on October 7, the outlaw was temporarily detained in Moringo County before being moved. But while in custody, he feigned hunger, requesting his personal bag, which he claimed carried ginger snaps.
Instead, the bag contained a fully loaded revolver, a weapon that escaped the jailers’ notice.
“I will never understand the foolishness of lawmen,” commented a Pinkerton detective on the scene today. “The man was a professional outlaw and a murderer, and they let him keep a gun within arm’s reach. It was a tragedy bound to happen.”
Emerging from the jail with his . 45 Colt in one hand and a hostage in the other, Burrow secured his escape. But reports indicate he was consumed by greed and pride, determined not to leave without his prized rifle.
The weapon, which he treasured above all else, was in the possession of local merchant Jefferson Davis Carter, who had assisted in the previous day’s arrest.
Burrow confronted Carter at his storefront, threatening him with the same chilling phrase he has reportedly used time and time again: “Give me my rifle and my money, or I’ll blow your head off.”
But Carter, a man of tenacity and cool nerve, was not swayed. He withdrew his own weapon, a . 32 caliber Smith & Wesson, and unleashed a barrage that would bring down the infamous bandit.
Both men fired wildly, but Carter’s bullet found its mark. The fourth shot struck Burrow in the upper abdomen, piercing his portal, a fatal wound.
The outlaw fell to the ground and died within moments. Though witnesses say a man with him, a black man named Jesse H. Hildreth, also fired shots, none found their mark.
The violent saga of Rube Burrow, a man who escalated from a struggling farmer to one of the most hunted men in the American South, has closed with a hail of bullets.
Research into Burrow’s life suggests a deep and complex tragedy. Born into a normal family in Lamar County, Alabama in 1855, he was one of ten children. His father, Allan, worked as a farmer and even a teacher, while his mother, known locally as “Dame Burrow,” was believed by some to be a witch and a faith healer.
Locals whispered that she could heal warts, tumors and even cancer, and her oral craft was a thing of both fear and wonder. Burrow’s childhood was marked by normalcy, but a significant event that pushed him from the straight and narrow: the death of his first wife, Virginia, from the ravages of yellow fever.
The fever, a common yet deadly plague of the era, decimated families. In the early 1880s, it took the life of his wife and likely one or more of his young children, leaving the man to care for surviving toddlers. His second marriage also ended in ashes following a crop failure and a wife who could not stand his illegal ways.
With farm failures and tragic losses, a heartbroken and downtrodden Burrow found his path into the wild.
The law first became aware of Burrow in December 1886 when he, along with his brother Jim and fellow outlaws Nat Thornton, and Henderson Bramy, robbed the Fort Worth and Denver train in Bellville, Texas. This was the first of a series of heists that would make the Burrow name a death sentence to the railroad corporate men and a salve to the public image of the disenfranchised.
He was a relentless robber, robbing multiple passenger trains in Texas, including a clever method of holding up a train while it was stalled on a trestle in Tarant County, preventing any passengers from escaping. In the winter of 1887, he moved to Arkansas, robbing a train in Genanoa, Arkansas, and making off with a sizable amount of money, all while being pursued by Pinkerton detectives who doggedly tracked him for years. His exploits, mixed with a folk hero persona, had the public believing he only stole from the rich and never the poor.
For many locals, he was an honest cowpoke who had simply been pushed too far by life’s curveballs.
But the purity of his outlawry obscured a violent turn. The murder of Postmaster Moses Graves, a former schoolmate, in the summer of 1889, over a mishandled mail package containing a disguise, turned public opinion and forced him into a corner. As the tides turned, he gained support from the common man in his hideouts but lost the romanticized view.
It was this cold-blooded killing that ignited one of the most sweeping manhunts in American history. He and his peer, Leonard Brock, went on the hargle, constantly pursued. Describing a life in the bushes, sometimes posed as cotton pickers, always on the brink of capture, and often living off the land, Burrow became the definition of a man on the edge.
Despite the epithet “Robin Hood,” the law and the public now also remember him as a cold-blooded killer. The recent history of his final months paints a chilling portrait. After a robbery near Buckatuna and in a Florida panhandle, he survived on the most primitive terms, sleeping in hollow logs and eating land.
Surviving by twisting his identity and jumping rail cars, Burrow seemed unbreakable, avoiding a squad of Pinkerton’s best efforts.
His final attempted robbery, a solo effort on an express train in Phaeton or Flow Maiden, Alabama, was a desperate but but flagging success, netting just $156. This lack of fortune prompted the last move that led him to Linden, and to death.
Burrow’s body is scheduled to be shipped back to Lamar County for burial in Fellowship Cemetery, where his father and mother will likely join him in the coming years. In a morbidly cruel twist, when the coffin arrived via a train, instead of receiving a ceremonious burial, the wooden casket was unceremoniously thrown to the platform and broke open, exposing his remains to the ghastly gawd of his own parents.
Now that he has finally been destroyed, local law officers and Pinkerton agents can rest easier in their beds. The legacy of Rube Burrow, however, remains a complicated stain on the Old West. He was a man who was known for taking care to robe farmers and will his gaikers in many locales, while still willing to 𝓀𝒾𝓁𝓁 anyone who got in his way, like the young Mr.
Mark Hughes, a passenger who tried to be a hero during a robbery, and Moses graves.
Was he a good man gone bad? Or was he a thief and killer from the start? It is likely that the names born in the shadows of that gossip will choose their own story.
For the citizens of Linden, they will always tell the story of the morning the gentleman, Davis Carter, faced down the outlaw and won. “I gave him exactly what he asked for,” a calm Carter told reporter this afternoon. “He demanded to have his rifle, and I gave him the lead.”
With Burrow laid to rest, it is left to the romantics and the record rooms of the Pinkerton agency to decide the legend. It may be no farewell, because in the annals of Westernatry, few men have had a more dramatic, or a more chord end.
