DUTCH JOHN (WAGNER.)
“Give me a horse! Bind up my wounds!”--RICHARD III.
The tidings of Ives’ execution and the deep and awe-striking news of
the organization of the Vigilantes in the camps on Alder Gulch, flew
like wildfire, exciting wherever they were received, the most dread
apprehension in the minds of those whose consciences told them that
their capture and their doom were convertible terms.
Among these men was Dutch John (Wagner.) His share in the robbery of
the train, and his wound from the pistol of Lank Forbes, pressed upon
his memory. By a physical reminder, he was prevented from forgetting,
even in his sleep, that danger lurked in every valley, and waited his
coming on every path and track by which he now trusted to escape from
the scene of his crimes. Plummer advised him to leave the Territory
at once, but he offered him no means of locomotion. This, however,
was of small consequence to Wagner. He knew how to obtain a remount.
Taking his saddle on his back, he started for the Ranch of Barret &
Shineberger, on Horse Prairie where he knew there was a splendid gray
horse--the finest in the country. The possession was the trouble--the
title was quite immaterial. A friend seeing him start from Bannack with
the saddle, sent word to the owners of the gallant gray, who searched
for him without delay, taking care to avoid the willows for fear of a
shot. One of them, after climbing a hill, discovered the robber sitting
among the underwood. The place was surrounded and the capture was made
secure.
Short shrift was he allowed. His story was disbelieved, and his captors
went for his personal outfit, if not for his purse. They lectured him
in the severest terms on the depravity which alone rendered horse
stealing possible, and then started him off down the road, minus his
saddle and pistol, but plus an old mule and blanket.
With these locomotive treasures, Dutch John left Horse Prairie, and
took the Salt Lake road. He was accompanied by an Indian of the Bannack
tribe, armed with bow, quiver and knife. Ben. Peabody was the first who
espied them. He was going to Salt Lake City with a cayuse pack-train,
for goods, and saw the Road Agent and his aboriginal companion at Dry
Creek Canyon Ranch, since used by Oliver & Co., as a station on the
road to the metropolis of the Latter Day Saints.
About two miles below this place, he met Neil Howie, who was coming
from the same City of Waters, along with three wagons laden with
groceries and flour. A long consultation was the consequence, and a
promise was given that the aid of the train men would be given to
secure the fugitive from justice. The same pledge was obtained from
Neil’s own party, and from the owner of a big train further down.
Shortly after, Dutch John and the Indian hove in sight; but this did
not mend matters, for the parties “weakened” at once, and left Neil
cursing their timidity, but determined that he should not escape.
Wagner rode up and asked for some tobacco. He was told that they had
none to spare, but that there was a big train (Vivion’s) down below,
and that he might get some there. During the conversation he looked
suspicious and uneasy; but at last went on, parting amicably from them,
and attended by his copper colored satellite, whose stolid features
betrayed no sign of emotion. Neil felt “bad” but determined that his
man should not escape thus easily, he mounted his pony and galloped
after him, resolved to seek for help at the big train. He soon came up
with the pair, and Neil fancied that Wagner gave some directions to
the Indian, for he put his hand to his quiver, as if to see that all
was right for action. Dutch John held his rifle ready and looked very
suspiciously at Neil. The Indian kept behind, prepared for business.
After the usual salutations of the road, Neil told John that he wanted
to borrow a shoeing hammer to prepare his stock for crossing the
Divide, and thereupon he noticed a sudden, joyful expansion in the eyes
of Dutch John, and, with a friendly salute they parted company.
It was ticklish work for Neil to ride with his back to Wagner, right
under the muzzle of his rifle, but the brave fellow went along as if he
suspected nothing, and never drew rein till he came to the train. The
owner--who had often lectured, in strong language, on the proper way
to deal with (ABSENT) Road Agents--backed square down, notwithstanding
all the arguments of Neil, some of which were of a nature to bring out
any concealed courage that his friend possessed. Wagner rode up, and
glancing quickly and sharply at the two conversing, asked for tobacco,
and received for reply--not the coveted weed--but an inquiry as to
whether he had any money; which not being the case, he was informed
that there was none for him. Neil immediately told the trader to let
the man have what he wanted, on his credit. Wagner appeared deeply
grateful for this act of kindness, and having received the article, set
forward on his journey. Neil made one more solemn appeal not to “let a
murderer and Road Agent escape;” but the train-owner said nothing.
In an instant he determined to arrest the robber at all risks, single
handed. He called out, “Hallo, Cap; hold on a minute.” Wagner wheeled
his horse half round, and Neil fixing his eyes upon him, walked
straight towards him, with empty hands. His trusty revolver hung at
his belt; however, and those who have seen the machine-like regularity
and instantaneous motion with which Howie draws and cocks a revolver,
as well as the rapidity and accuracy of his shooting, well know that
few men, if any, have odds against him in an encounter with fire-arms.
Still not one man in a thousand would, at a range of thirty yards, walk
up to a renowned desperado, sitting quietly with a loaded rifle in his
hand, and well knowing the errand of his pursuer. Yet this gallant
fellow never faltered. At twenty yards their eyes met, and the gleam
of anger, hate and desperation that shot from those of Dutch John,
spoke volumes. He also slewed round his rifle, with the barrel in his
left hand, and his right on the small of the stock. Howie looked him
straight down, and, as Wagner made the motion with his rifle, his
hand mechanically sought his belt. No further demonstration being
made, he continued his progress, which he had never checked, till he
arrived within a few steps of the Dutchman, and there read perplexity,
hesitation, anger and despair in his fiery glances. Those resolved and
unwavering grey eyes seemed to fascinate Wagner. Five paces separated
them, and the twitchery of Wagner’s muscles showed that it was touch
and go, sink or swim. Four!--three!--two!--one! Fire flashes from
John’s eyes. He is awake at last; but it is too late. Neil has passed
the butt of his rifle, and in tones quiet but carrying authority with
them, he broke the silence with the order. “Give me your gun and get
off your mule.” A start and a shudder ran through Wagner’s frame, like
an electric shock. He complied, however, and expressed his willingness
to go with Neil, both then and several times afterwards, adding that he
need fear nothing from him.
Let it not be imagined that this man was any ordinary felon, or one
easy to capture. He stood upwards of six feet high; was well and most
powerfully built, being immensely strong, active, and both coolly and
ferociously brave. His swarthy visage, determined looking jaw and high
cheek-bones were topped off with a pair of dark eyes, whose deadly
glare few could face without shrinking. Added to this, he knew his
fate if he were caught. He traveled with a rifle in his hand, a heart
of stone, a will of iron, and the frame of a Hercules. It might also
be said, with a rope round his neck. For cool daring and self-reliant
courage, the single handed capture of Dutch John, by Neil Howie, has
always appeared to our judgment as the most remarkable action of this
campaign against crime. Had he met him and taken him alone, it would
have been a most heroic venture of life for the public good; but to see
scores of able-bodied and well armed men refusing even to assist in
the deed, and then--single handed--to perform the service from which
they shrank from bodily fear of the consequences, was an action at once
noble and self-denying in the highest sense. Physical courage we share
with the brutes; moral courage is the stature of manhood.
The prisoner being brought to the camp-fire, was told of the nature
of the charge against him, and informed that if he were the man, a
bullet wound would be found on his shoulder. On removing his shirt, the
fatal mark was there. He attempted to account for it by saying, that
when sleeping in camp his clothes caught fire, and his pistol went off
accidentally; but neither did the direction of the wound justify such
an assumption, nor was the cause alleged received as other than proof
of attempted deceit, and, consequently, of guilt. The pistol could not
have been discharged by the fire, without the wearer being fatally
burned, long before the explosion took place, as was proved by actual
experiment at the fire, by putting a cap on a stick, and holding it
right in the blaze.
The ocular demonstration of the prisoner’s guilt afforded by the
discovery of the bullet wound, was conclusive. Neil left him in charge,
at the big train, and rode back to see who would help him to escort the
prisoner to Bannack. Volunteering was out of fashion just then, and
there was no draft. Neil started back and brought his prisoner to Dry
Creek, where there were fifty or sixty men; but still no one seemed
to care to have anything to do with it. The fear of the roughs was so
strong that every one seemed to consider it an almost certain sacrifice
of life to be caught with one of their number in charge.
One of Neil Howie’s friends came to him and told him that he knew
just the very man he wanted, and that he was camped with a train near
at hand. This was good news, for he had made up his mind to go with
his prisoner alone. John Fetherstun at once volunteered to accompany
him, Road Agents, horse thieves and roughs in general to the contrary
notwithstanding. The two brave men here formed that strong personal
attachment that has ever since united them in a community of sentiment,
hardship, danger and mutual devotion.
The prisoner, who continually protested his innocence of any crime,
and his resolution to give them no trouble, seemed quite resigned, and
rode with them unfettered and unrestrained, to all appearance. He was
frequently fifty yards ahead of them; but they were better mounted than
he was, and carried both pistols and shot-guns, while he was unarmed.
His amiable manners won upon them, and they could not but feel a sort
of attachment to him--villain and murderer though they knew him to
be. The following incidents, however, put a finale to this dangerous
sympathy, and brought them back to stern reality.
The weather being intensely cold, the party halted every ten or
fifteen miles, lit a fire, and thawed out. On one of these occasions,
Fetherstun, who usually held the horses while Neil raised a blaze, in
order to make things more comfortable, stepped back about ten paces and
set down the guns. He had no sooner returned than Wagner “made a break”
for them, and but for the rapid pursuit of Howie and Fetherstun--whose
line of march cut him off from the coveted artillery--it is likely
that this chapter would never have been written, and that the two
friends would have met a bloody death at the hands of Dutch John.
One night, as they were sleeping in the open air, at Red Rock, fatigue
so overcame the watcher that he snored, in token of having transferred
the duties of his position to
Watchful stars that sentinel the skies.
This suited Wagner exactly. Thinking that the man off guard was surely
wrapt in slumber, he raised up and took a survey of the position, his
dark eyes flashing with a stern joy. As he made the first decisive
movement towards the accomplishment of his object, Neil, who sleeps
with an eye open at such times, but who, on this particular occasion,
had both his visual organs on duty--suddenly looked up. The light faded
from Wagner’s eyes, and uttering some trite remark about the cold, he
lay down again. After a lapse of about an hour or two, he thought that,
at last, all was right, and again, but even more demonstratively, he
rose. Neil sat up, and said quietly, “John, if you do that again, I’ll
kill you.” A glance of despair deepened the gloom on his swarthy brow,
and, with profuse and incoherent apologies, he again lay down to rest.
On another occasion, they saw the smoke of a camp-fire, in close
proximity to the road, and Wagner, who noticed it even sooner than his
guards, at once thought that it must be the expected rescuers. He sang
and whistled loudly, as long as they were within hearing, and then
became sad, silent and downcast.
“Fortune favors the brave,” and they arrived without interruption, at
Horse Prairie. Neil Howie rode on to Bannack to reconnoitre--promising
to be back, if there was any danger, in an hour or so. After waiting
for two hours, Fetherstun resumed his journey and brought in his man,
whom he took to his hotel. Neil met Plummer and told him of the capture
of Wagner. The Sheriff (?) demanded the prisoner; but Neil refused to
give him up. He soon found out that he would be backed by the “powers
behind the throne.” There were no Vigilantes organized in Bannack at
that time; but four of the Committee, good men and true, were, even
then, in the saddle, on their road from Virginia, with full powers to
act in the matter. Neil knew very well that a guard under the orders of
Plummer, and composed of Buck Stinson, Ned Ray and their fellows, would
not be likely to shoot at a prisoner escaping.
Dutch John proposed to Fetherstun that they should take a walk, which
they did. Fetherstun did not know Bannack; but they sauntered down to
Durand’s saloon. After a few minutes had elapsed, Neil came in, and
told Fetherstun to keep a close watch on Wagner, stating that he would
be back in a few minutes. The two sat down and played a couple of games
at “seven-up.” Buck Stinson and Ned Ray came in and shook hands with
the prisoner. Four or five more also walked up, and one of them went
through that ceremony very warmly, looking very sharply at Fetherstun.
After taking a drink, he wheeled round, and, saying that he was on a
drunk, stepped out of doors. This raised Fetherstun’s suspicions, which
were apparently confirmed when he came in after a few minutes, with a
party of nine. The whole crowd numbered fifteen. Fetherstun made sure
that they were Road Agents; for one of them stepped up to John and
said, “You are my prisoner.” John looked at his quondam jailor, and
laughed. Fetherstun understood him to mean “You had me once, and now
I have you.” He stepped into the corner and drew his revolver, fully
expecting death, but determined to put as much daylight through them
as the size of his lead would allow. He permitted them to take away
the prisoner, seeing that resistance was absurd, and went off to his
hotel, where he found four or five men, and being told, in answer to
his question, that Neil had not been there, he said, “Gentlemen, I
don’t know whom I am addressing; but if you’re the right kind of men,
I want you to follow me; I am afraid the Road Agents have killed Neil
Howie; for he left me half an hour ago, to be back in five minutes.”
They all jumped up, and Fetherstun saw that they were the genuine
article. He was taking his shot-gun, when a man put his head in at the
door and told him not to be uneasy. The rest seemed satisfied. He asked
if he could go too, and was answered “no.” He said he would go, anyhow,
and started down street, gun in hand. He could not see the man, but
walking on, he came to a cabin and descried Dutch John, surrounded by a
group of some twenty men. He knocked, but was refused admittance. The
party did not know him. It was a mutual mistake. Each thought the other
belonged to the class “Road Agent.” Fetherstun said Wagner was his
prisoner, and that he must have him. They said it was all right; they
only wanted to question him. The same mistake occurred with regard to
Neil Howie, whom Fetherstun found shortly after, being aided by one of
the new captors. He was as hot as calf love at the news, but, like it,
he soon cooled, when he saw things in the right light.
The men at once gave up the prisoner to Neil and Fetherstun, who
marched him back to the hotel, and, afterwards, to a cabin. Seven or
eight parties gathered and questioned him as to all that he knew,
exhorting him to confess. He promised to do so, over and over again;
but he was merely trying to deceive them and to gain time. The leader
in the movement took up a book, observing that he had heard enough
and would not be fooled any more. The remainder went on with their
interrogations; but at last ceased in despair of eliciting anything
like truth, from John.
The literary gentleman closed the book, and approaching Wagner, told
him that he was notoriously a highwayman and a murderer, and that he
must be hanged; but that if he had any wish as to the precise time for
his execution he might as well name it, as it would be granted if at
all reasonable. John walked up and down for a while, and then burst
into tears, and, lamenting his hard lot, agreed to make his confession,
evidently hoping that it might be held to be of sufficient importance
to induce them to spare his life. He then gave a long statement,
corroborating Red’s confession in all important particulars; but he
avoided inculpating himself to the last moment, when he confessed his
share in the robbery of the train by himself and Steve Marshland. This
ended the examination for the night.
It was at this time that the Vigilance Committee was formed in Bannack.
A public meeting had been held in Peabody’s to discuss the question,
and the contemplated organization was evidently looked upon with favor.
The most energetic citizen, however, rather threw cold water on the
proposition. Seeing Ned Hay and Stinson there present, he wisely
thought that that was no place for making such a movement, and held
himself in reserve for an opportunity to make an effort, at a fitting
time and place, which offered itself in the evening.
At midnight he had lain down to rest, when he was awakened from sleep
by a summons to get up, for that men had come from Virginia to see
him. He put on his clothes hastily, and found that four trustworthy
individuals had arrived, bearing a communication from the Vigilantes
of Virginia, which, on inspection, evidently took for granted the fact
of their organization, and also assumed that they would be subordinate
to the central authority. This latter question was put to the small
number of the faithful, and, by a little management, was carried with
considerable unanimity of feeling. It was rather a nice point; for the
letter contained an order for the execution of Plummer, Stinson and
Ray--the first as captain, and the others as members of the Road Agent
Band. Four men had comprised those first enrolled as Vigilantes at
Bannack.
It was resolved to spend the following day in enlisting members, though
no great progress was made after all.
Towards night, the people, generally, became aware that Wagner was a
prisoner and a Road Agent. No one would let him into his house. Neil
Howie and Fetherstun took him to an empty cabin on Yankee Flat.