Sheriff Samuel Jones set out in the evening of November 26, 1855, to arrest Jacob Branson for the threats he’d made on Harrison Buckley’s life. He went armed with a warrant from justice of the peace Hugh Cameron and a posse to help execute it. That posse included Buckley and Josiah Hargis, both of whom the free state mob had threatened. Alice Nichols speculates that they saw the light of their burning homes in the distance, bright fruits of free state wrath. The precise timeline remains murky to me, but they must have passed quite near. Hargis lived on a claim directly adjoining Coleman’s, just as Jacob Branson did. William McKinney puts the burning of Buckley’s home around dawn on the 27th, which would make it after the posse came and went, but McKinney also testified that Franklin Coleman’s home burned on the night of the 26th. The posse could very well have seen that.
The posse rode through the night, coming to Branson’s cabin around two or three in the morning. None of the three men told what happened when they met Branson in their depositions, but Branson had plenty to say about it to the Howard Committee. He finished up his day with a meeting at the site of Dow’s murder where he and other free state men questioned witnesses, then went home and retired around seven.
My wife woke me up. I do not know how long I had been asleep, but thought it was but a short time. I found that a good many persons were coming towards my house, and by the time I was fairly awake I heard a rap at the door. I asked who was there? and the answer was, “Friends.” Before I could tell them to come in, the door was burst open, and the room was filled with persons. I had got out, and was sitting on the side of the bed, with nothing on but my shirt.
Presumably Branson means a nightshirt. Hopefully a long one. One of the “friends” who called so kindly
asked me if my name was Branson, and I said it was. He then drew his pistol, cocked it, and presented it to my breast and said, “You are my prisoner, and if you move I will blow through you. Don’t you move.”
Samuel Jones had gone the better part of a year without aiming a gun at a free state man and threatening to kill him. He must have thought it about time he got a second turn. Branson proceeded to resist arrest by the most devilish stratagem:
I went to stoop to get my pants, and he stopped me two or three times, saying, “Don’t you move, or I will blow through you.” I heard others cock their guns, and I saw them present them to me all around me, except at the back of my bed, where they could not get.
We should not automatically take Branson at his word about this whole affair, but Jones did essentially the same thing at Bloomington back in March. It seems entirely in character for him to repeat the performance. Eventually, however, Jones and his posse relented. I imagine they didn’t entirely relish the thought of having Branson riding painfully or walking draftily around in the November night in a state of dishabille.