Tulsa Jack: The Shadowed Legend of the Doolin-Dalton Gang
In the rugged tapestry of the American Old West, where legends were forged in lead and dust, many names burned brightly, etched into history with tales of daring and defiance. Jesse James, Billy the Kid, Butch Cassidy – their notoriety precedes them. Yet, for every blazing star, there were countless others who moved in their orbit, their stories no less perilous, though often cast in deeper shadow. One such figure was William "Tulsa Jack" Blake, a man whose life was a brutal testament to the unforgiving frontier of late 19th-century Indian Territory, a loyal, taciturn, and deadly member of the notorious Doolin-Dalton gang.
Born in the humble confines of Arkansas in 1859, William Blake’s early life offered little hint of the violent path he would eventually tread. Like many young men seeking fortune and freedom, he drifted west, eventually landing in the sprawling, lawless expanse of Indian Territory – a land then largely ungoverned by federal authority, a haven for cattle rustlers, whiskey peddlers, and those eager to escape the constraints of settled society. It was here, amidst the burgeoning settlements and the vast, untamed prairies, that Blake earned his infamous moniker: "Tulsa Jack." The name wasn’t a mark of prestige but a geographical tag, identifying him with the rough-and-tumble environs around the nascent town of Tulsa, where he first began his descent into a life of crime, primarily through horse theft and petty robbery.
Blake was not, by most accounts, a man given to grand pronouncements or flamboyant displays. Contemporary descriptions often paint him as quiet, almost reserved, a man of few words but swift, decisive action when needed. This reserved demeanor, however, masked a formidable capacity for violence and an unwavering loyalty that would define his most notorious years. He was a survivor, hardened by the harsh realities of the frontier, and possessed a quiet courage that made him a valuable, if unsettling, ally.
His path truly converged with destiny – or perhaps, damnation – when he crossed paths with Bill Doolin. Doolin, a former member of the Dalton gang who had narrowly escaped the fateful Coffeyville raid in 1892 that decimated the brothers, was keen to form his own outfit. He sought men of grit and proven mettle, and in Tulsa Jack, he found a perfect fit. Blake, along with other seasoned outlaws like George "Bitter Creek" Newcomb, Charlie Pierce, and Little Bill Raidler, formed the nucleus of what would become one of the most feared and elusive gangs of the era: the Doolin-Dalton gang, sometimes simply known as the Doolin Gang.
This new gang was a spectral presence, striking with brutal efficiency before melting back into the vastness of the territory. Their modus operandi was simple: hit hard, hit fast, and leave no witnesses if possible. They specialized in train and bank robberies, preying on the very symbols of the encroaching civilization that sought to tame their wild domain. Tulsa Jack, with his cool head and deadly aim, was often at the forefront of these audacious raids.
One of the gang’s most infamous exploits, and one in which Tulsa Jack played a significant role, was the Adair train robbery on July 14, 1893. As the Missouri-Kansas-Texas passenger train chugged through the darkness near Adair, Indian Territory, it was ambushed by the Doolin-Dalton gang. The gang had taken positions on a small hill overlooking the tracks, waiting for the perfect moment. What followed was a symphony of chaos. Shots rang out, forcing the train to a halt. The express car was quickly breached, and the safe was blown open with dynamite.
However, this robbery was notable for its unexpected turn. A posse, including local lawmen and a contingent of the notorious "Cherokee Strip Riders," was already on board, having been alerted to potential trouble. A fierce gunfight erupted in the dark, turning the train car into a deadly crossfire. Accounts vary, but at least two lawmen were killed, and several others wounded. Despite the heavy resistance, the Doolin-Dalton gang managed to escape with a significant haul, disappearing into the night, leaving behind a scene of carnage and a stark message: they were a force to be reckoned with. Tulsa Jack, a silent sentinel amidst the gunfire, had once again proven his worth under extreme pressure.
The gang’s audacity only grew, drawing the relentless gaze of federal marshals. Men like Heck Thomas, Chris Madsen, and the legendary Bill Tilghman – the "Three Guardsmen" – dedicated their lives to bringing these outlaws to justice. The hunt was relentless, a deadly game of cat and mouse played out across the rugged landscape of Oklahoma.
The climax of this pursuit, and a pivotal moment in Tulsa Jack’s story, occurred on September 1, 1893, in the small, unsuspecting town of Ingalls, Oklahoma Territory. Ingalls had become a semi-regular hideout for the Doolin-Dalton gang, a place where they felt relatively secure, thanks to a network of sympathizers and their own reputation for ruthlessness. However, the Three Guardsmen, armed with intelligence and an unshakeable resolve, had tracked them there.
The ensuing shootout was one of the most brutal and legendary confrontations in Old West history. The marshals, carefully orchestrating their approach, planned to surprise the gang. But the element of surprise was lost. A marshal’s horse neighed, alerting the outlaws. The town exploded into a maelstrom of gunfire. George "Bitter Creek" Newcomb, Bill Doolin, Charlie Pierce, and Tulsa Jack were all present.
"The air crackled with lead," one historical account might describe it, "as federal marshals and outlaws emptied their guns in a desperate fight for survival." The shootout was a testament to the sheer firepower and deadly skill on both sides. Three deputy marshals – Lafe Shadley, Dick Speed, and Tom Hueston – were killed in the initial volley, a devastating blow to law enforcement. The gang, despite being outnumbered, fought with a ferocity born of desperation.
Tulsa Jack, in his characteristic understated manner, was a vital component of the gang’s defense. He was seen firing steadily, providing cover for his comrades, and maneuvering through the chaos. Though wounded in the leg, he managed to make a harrowing escape along with Doolin and Newcomb, riding hard out of Ingalls, leaving behind a town scarred by bullet holes and the grim reality of fallen lawmen. The Ingalls shootout cemented the Doolin-Dalton gang’s reputation as virtually unstoppable, but it also intensified the resolve of the marshals. The stakes had never been higher.
Life on the run, however, was a punishing existence. The initial thrill of outlawry began to curdle under the constant pressure. Each robbery brought more lawmen, each escape more desperate. The gang’s numbers slowly dwindled. George "Bitter Creek" Newcomb and Charley Pierce were betrayed and killed in May 1895 by the McMahons, father and son, who sought the bounty on their heads. Little Bill Raidler was captured by Bill Tilghman after a fierce gunfight in September 1895. Bill Doolin himself was eventually captured by Tilghman in January 1896, only to escape briefly before being killed by Heck Thomas in August 1896.
The twilight of the Doolin-Dalton gang meant that Tulsa Jack, ever the survivor, found himself increasingly isolated, a relic of a dying era. The vast, lawless frontier that had once protected him was shrinking, hemmed in by telegraph lines, railway tracks, and the relentless march of federal authority. The bounties on the heads of the remaining outlaws were substantial, turning every stranger into a potential betrayer.
His luck, like that of his comrades, was destined to run out. The man who had been a quiet shadow throughout his criminal career would meet his end in a similarly understated, yet decisive, manner. The long arm of the law finally closed its grip on William "Tulsa Jack" Blake on April 20, 1897, near Perry, Oklahoma. It was Deputy Marshal William "Bill" Tilghman, one of the legendary Three Guardsmen, who delivered the grim finality.
Tilghman, known for his relentless tracking and uncanny ability to outthink his prey, had been hot on Blake’s trail for weeks. He located Blake near a small creek, possibly having been tipped off by an informant, or perhaps simply through sheer, dogged detective work. The confrontation was swift and without ceremony. Tilghman, ever the professional, surprised Blake. Accounts suggest that Blake, though armed, hesitated or was caught off guard. A single shot from Tilghman’s rifle ended the life of Tulsa Jack, a bullet delivered with grim finality, closing a chapter on one of the last vestiges of the Doolin-Dalton gang. He was 37 years old.
William "Tulsa Jack" Blake’s death marked another nail in the coffin of the organized outlaw gangs of the Old West. He was not as charismatic as Jesse James, nor as strategically brilliant as Butch Cassidy, but his story is no less integral to understanding the brutal realities of the frontier. He was a product of his environment, a man who chose a path of violence and paid the ultimate price.
His legacy is not one of romanticized heroism, but rather a stark reminder of a vanished age – an era when loyalty among outlaws was paramount, when courage was often indistinguishable from recklessness, and when the line between civilization and savagery was thin and constantly shifting. Tulsa Jack, the quiet, deadly member of the Doolin-Dalton gang, remains a shadowed legend, a minor chord in the grand, violent symphony of the American Old West, his life and death a testament to the relentless pursuit of justice that ultimately tamed the wild heart of a nation.
