Swindled rancher hunts fleecing five

Overcoming the natural fear of making himself a laughingstock, a Panhandle rancher went public on Dec. 18, 1919 with his embarrasing tale of woe. During a business trip to Dallas the previous month, James Franklin Norfleet caught the eye of a con artist on the lookout for an easy “mark.”

Posing as a mule buyer, Reno Hamlin struck up a conversation with the affable stranger and soon learned he was interested in selling his spread in Hale County.

Moments after Hamlin mentioned he had a “friend” who might take the land off Norfleet’s hands, W.B. Spencer strolled by. Briefed by his accomplice on the prospective “pigeon,” Spencer suggested a meeting with his boss due to arrive in Big D the next day.

The appointment was a pretext for steering Norfleet to a chair at the Adolphus, where the confidence crew had planted a wallet in the cushions.

Spencer feigned surprise at the discovery and helped Norfleet locate the owner, who happened to be a hotel guest.

Joe Furey, leader of the silver-tongued sharpies, gratefully accepted the billfold as “J.B. Stetson.” Norfleet declined a hundred-dollar reward but eagerly agreed to accept the proceeds, if any, from a stock transaction the sham speculator offered to make on his behalf. When Furey handed him $800 that afternoon, the trusting Texan was hooked.

Over breakfast the following morning, Furey announced he had the opportunity of a lifetime for Norfleet and Spencer.

By the end of the trading day, the astonished cattleman’s $800 nest egg had hatched into $28,000 – his share of a $68,000 profit on a phantom stock deal.

The celebration was interrupted by the fourth member of the bunco bunch, who showed up masquerading as the secretary of the local stock exchange.

Inasmuch as Norfleet and Spencer were not registered with the exchange, he would have to confiscate the cash until they established the necessary credit.

After the phony secretary departed with their windfall, the bewildered rancher demanded an explanation. Merely a technicality, Furey assured him. All Norfleet had to do to get back his 28 grand was to post a $20,000 bond.

The rancher hopped the next train for the Panhandle and borrowed the money from an obliging banker in Plainview.

Rejoining his companions in Fort Worth, he was sidetracked by Furey’s latest hot tip. Incredibly he fell for an instant replay of the Dallas charade with the fifth and final member of the gang “freezing” $160,000 in the name of the Cow Town stock exchange.

To avoid losing the $20,000, Norfleet sweet-talked his brotherin- law into loaning him $25,000. While the grandprize sucker waited in vain outside a Dallas hotel, Furey and company skipped town with the entire $45,000.

After breaking the bad news to his wife, Norfleet grimly vowed to hunt the swindlers down. “Bring them back alive,” cautioned his spouse. “Any fool can kill.”

The first thing Norfleet did was to swallow his pride and tell his embarrassing story to the Associated Press. Newspapers from coast to coast picked up the wire-service article, which was read by a California businessman the white-collar criminals had approached with the same scam.

He called the cops, who apprehended E.J. Ward and Charles Gerber, the stock exchange secretaries.

Both were sentenced to long stretches in the federal pen, but only Gerber did the time.

His cellmate chose death over incarceration and cut his throat.

Within the year, Hamlin the scout was also in jail. He foolishly returned to the scene of the crime and was picked up by the Fort Worth police.

The more elusive Furey seemed to sense whenever his nemesis was closing in and always managed to give him the slip. A pair of paid-off deputies thwarted the Texan in Los Angeles allowing the ringleader to escape.

Norfleet exposed the crooked lawmen and was instrumental in sending them to San Quentin.

After several more near-misses, the relentless rancher and his grown son Pete cornered Furey in a Florida restaurant. The fugitive dodged the father but ran right into a cocked pistol held by the younger Norfleet. Convicted for his role in the 1919 fleecing, Joe Furey died in prison.

Months went by without a lead on the last con artist still on the loose.

Then Norfleet was notified that a man matching the description of W.B. Spencer had been spotted in Salt Lake City.

Norfleet hurried to Utah to make the positive identification. After indignantly insisting the Texan was mistaken, Spencer shrugged.

“What’s the use? We beat you the first time, but you have beaten us all the other times!”

Justice did not come cheap for Frank Norfleet. He spent five years and $75,000 tracking down the swindlers. And while he never recovered financially, the ordeal clearly did not shorten his life.

The one-man posse died two years past the century mark in 1967.

Last chance for Christmas special! “Depression Desperadoes,”“Murder Most Texan,” “Texas Boomtowns,” “Unforgettable Texans” and “Entertainers” all just $19.95 each. Mail your check to Bartee Haile, P.O. Box 130011, Spring, TX 77393.