THE DEER LODGE AND HELL GATE SCOUT--CAPTURE AND EXECUTION OF STEPHEN
MARSHLAND, BILL BUNTON, CYRUS SKINNER, ALECK CARTER, JOHNNY COOPER,
GEORGE SHEARS, ROBERT ZACHARY AND WILLIAM GRAVES, (WHISKEY BILL.)
“He dies and makes no sign;
So bad a death argues a monstrous life.”--SHAK.
The operations of the Vigilantes were, at this time, especially,
planned with a judgment, and executed with a vigor that never has
been surpassed by any body, deliberative or executive. On the 15th
of January, 1864, a party of twenty-one men left Nevada, under the
command of a citizen whose name and actions remind us of lightning. He
was prompt, brave, irresistible, (so wisely did he lay his plans,) and
struck where least expected.
The squadron rode to Big Hole, the first day, and, while on the road,
detached a patrole to Clarke’s Ranch, in pursuit of Steve Marshland,
who was wounded in the breast, when attacking Forbes’ train. His feet
had been badly frozen, and flight was impossible. Leaving the horses
behind, one of the party (No. 84) went in to arrest him, after knocking
four times without answer, and discovered him in company with a dog,
the two being the sole tenants of the Ranch.
When the Vigilanter entered, he found all quite dark; but taking a
wisp of dried grass, he groped his way to the fire-place, and kindled
a light with a match. The blaze revealed Steve Marshland in bed.
“Hands up, if you please,” was the salute of his captor; and a pointed
suggestion from one of Col. Colt’s pacification agents, caused an
instant compliance with this demand. Seeing that he was sick, he was
asked what was the matter, and replied that he had the chills. This
novel “winter sickness” not being accepted as a sufficient excuse, a
further interrogatory elicited the fact that he had frozen his feet.
“No. 84” removed two double-barrelled shot-guns, a yager and another
rifle, from beside the bed, and asked him where he froze them. He said
he was prospecting at the head of Rattlesnake. “Did you raise the
‘color?’” said his interrogator. “No,” replied Marshland, “I could not
get to the bed-rock, for water.” The party commenced cooking supper,
and invited him to eat with them. He took a cup of coffee, and was
quite merry. After supper, he was informed by the leader of the nature
of the charge against him; viz: the robbery of Forbes’ train. He denied
having any wound, and slapped his breast, saying that it was “as sound
as a dollar.” Being asked if he had any objection to being examined, he
said he had not; but the moment his shirt was lifted, the fatal mark of
guilt was visible, in the shape of a recent bullet wound.
The prisoner was told that the evidence was complete, and that he must
die. He then confessed, begging them to spare his life. He had matches
and tobacco in every pocket of his clothes. A pole was stuck into the
ground, and leaned over the corral; a box was placed for him to stand
on, and, all being ready, he once more begged them to save him, saying
“have mercy on me for my youth.” He died almost instantly.
His feet being frozen and partially mortified, the scent attracted the
wolves, and the party had to watch both him and the horses. He was
buried close by. The patrole then started to overtake the main body,
and coming up with them about four miles above Evans’ Ranch, they
reported the execution of Marshland. They had been absent only one
night, leaving the command in the morning, and rejoining them the next
day.
Up to this time, the scouting party had met no one, but marched in
double-file, at the rate of from sixty to seventy miles per day. They
kept double watch over the horses when camped, and lit no fires, being
fearful of attracting notice, and of thus defeating the object of their
journey. The men were divided into four messes, with a cook to each,
and every party carried its own “grub,” (the universal mountain word
for “food.”) Each man had a revolver, and some sported two. A shot-gun
or a rifle was also part of the equipment. The captain rode foremost. A
spy was dispatched to reconnoitre the town, and to meet the party at
Cottonwood Creek. He performed his part satisfactorily.
When within about seventeen miles of Cottonwood, at Smith’s Ranch, on
Deer Lodge Creek, a halt was made about four P. M. After dark, they
started, and with perfect quiet and caution, rode to within a short
distance of the town. They found that the robbers were gone; but,
surrounding Bill Bunton’s saloon and dwelling house, they proceeded
to business. Bill was in his house, but he refused to open the door.
The three men detailed for his arrest said they wanted to see him.
For a long time he refused. At last, he told a man named Yank, and a
young boy, who was stopping with him, to open the door. The men made
him light a candle, before they would enter. This being done, Bunton’s
captors rushed in, and told him that he was their prisoner. He asked
them for what, and was told to come along, and that he would find out.
A Vigilanter of small stature, but of great courage fastened upon him.
He found, however, that he had caught a Tartar, so another man “piled
on,” (Montanice,) and soon, his arms were fast tied behind him. A guard
was detailed to escort him down to Pete Martin’s house, the rest being
sent for to assist in taking Tex out of the saloon.
A similar scene occurred here, when the robber came out. He was
instantly seized, pinioned, and taken down to keep company with his
friend, Bill Bunton.
Pete Martin was frightened out of a years’ growth, when the Vigilanters
surrounded his house. He was playing cards with some friends, and for
a long time refused to come out; but finding that, as he said, “he
wasn’t charged with nothing,” he ascertained what was wanted, and
then returned to finish his game. As the exigencies of the times had
rendered a little hanging necessary in that neighborhood, he felt small
concern about the fate of Bunton and Tex, who were of a dangerous
religion.
The party slept and breakfasted at the house. In the morning, a
stranger who was conversing with Bunton, to whom he was unknown,
informed the Vigilantes that the culprit had said that “he would ‘get’
one of the ---- yet.” On being searched, a Derringer was found in his
vest pocket. As he had been carefully overhauled the night before, it
was evident that some sympathizer had furnished him with the weapon.
He refused to confess anything, even his complicity in the robbery of
the coach, where he played “pigeon.” Red had testified that he shared
the money. He also denied killing Jack Thomas’ cattle; but Red had
confessed that he himself was the butcher, and that he had been hired
by Bunton, who called him a coward, when he spoke about the skins lying
round the house, as being likely to be identified.
There being no possible doubt of his criminality, the vote on his case
was taken with the uplifted hand, and resulted in a unanimous verdict
of guilty.
The captain then told him that he was to be hanged, and that if he had
any business to attend to, he had better get some one to do it. He gave
his gold watch to his partner, Cooke, and his other property to pay his
debts. He had won his interest in the saloon some fourteen days before,
by gambling it from its owner.
Tex was taken to another house, and was separately tried. After a
patient investigation, the robber was cleared--the evidence not being
sufficient to convict him. Had the Vigilantes held him in custody,
for a time, Tex would have experienced a difficulty in his breathing,
that would have proved quickly fatal; for testimony in abundance was
afterward obtained, proving conclusively that he was a highwayman and
common thief. He made all sail for Kootenai, and there boasted that he
would shoot any Vigilanter he could set eyes on.
About two hundred and fifty feet to the left-front of Pete Martin’s
house, at the gate of Louis Demorest’s corral, there were two upright
posts, and a cross-beam, which looked quite natural, and appeared as if
they had been made for Bunton.
The prisoner was taken out, and put up on a board supported by two
boxes. He was very particular about the exact situation of the knot,
and asked if he could not jump off, himself. Being told that he could,
if he wished, he said that he didn’t care for hanging, any more than
he did for taking a drink of water; but he should like to have his
neck broken. He seemed quite satisfied when his request was granted.
He continued to deny his guilt to the very last moment of his life,
repeating the pass-word of the gang “I am innocent.” Two men were
stationed at the board--one at each end--and, all being ready, he was
asked if he had anything to say, or any request to make. He said, “No;
all I want is a mountain three hundred feet high, to jump off.” He said
he would give the time--“one,” “two,” “three.” At the word “ready,”
the men stationed at the plank prepared to pull it from under him,
if he should fail to jump; but he gave the signal, as he promised,
and adding, “here goes it,” he leaped into the embrace of death. The
cessation of muscular contraction was almost instantaneous, and his
death was accompanied by scarcely a perceptible struggle.
The corral keepers’ wife insisted, in terms more energetic than polite,
that her husband should get the poles cut down. With this request he
was forced to comply, as soon as the corpse of the Road Agent was
removed for burial.
The parties knew that the robbers were to be found at Hell Gate, which
was so named, because it was the road which the Indians took when
on the war-path, and intent on scalping and other pleasant little
amusements, in the line of ravishing, plundering, fire-raising, etc.,
for the exhibition of which genteel proclivities, the Eastern folks
recommend a national donation of blankets and supplies, to keep the
thing up. As independent and well educated robbers, however sedulously
reared to the business, from childhood, it must be admitted that, in
case anything is lacking, they at once proceed to supply the deficiency
from the pilgrims’ trains, and from settlers’ homesteads. If the
Indians were left to the Vigilantes of Montana, they would contract to
change their habits, at small cost; but an agency is too fat a thing
for pet employees, and, consequently a treaty is entered into, the only
substantial adjunct of which is the quantity of presents which the
Indians believe they have frightened out of the white men. Probably, in
a century or so, they will see that our view is correct.
On their road from Cottonwood to Hell Gate, the troop was accompanied
by Jemmy Allen, towards whose Ranch they were directing their steps.
The weather was anything but pleasant for travelling, the quantity of
snow making it laborious work for the Vigilantes, and the cold was very
hard to endure, without shelter. At the crossing of Deer Lodge Creek,
the ice gave way, and broke through with the party. It was pitch dark
at the time, and much difficulty was experienced in getting out both
men and horses. One cavalier was nearly drowned; but a lariet being put
round the horses’ neck, it was safely dragged out. The rider scrambled
to the bank, somehow or other--memory furnishes the result only, not
the detail--and jumping on to the “animal,” he rode, on a keen run, to
the Ranch, which was some four or five miles ahead.
The remainder of the cavalcade travelled on more leisurely, arriving
there about 11 P. M., and having recruited a little, they wrapped
themselves in blankets and slumber without delay.
Next morning, in company with Charley Eaton, who was acquainted with
the country and with the folks around Hell Gate, they started for that
locality, and after riding fifteen or sixteen miles through snow,
varying in depth from two to three feet, they camped for the night. The
horses being used to foraging, pawed for their food.
The next morning the party crossed the bridge, and rode to the
workmen’s quarters, on the Mullan Wagon Road, where, calling a halt,
they stopped all night. Accidents will happen in the best regulated
families, and in a winter scout in the wilds of Montana, casualties
must be expected as a matter of course. The best mountaineer is the man
who most quickly and effectually repairs damages, or finds a substitute
for the missing article. While driving the ponies into camp, one of
them put his foot into a hole and broke his leg. As there was no chance
to attend to him, he was at once shot. Another cayuse, by a similar
accident, stripped all the skin off his hind legs, from the hough down.
He was turned loose to await the return of the expedition.
At daylight, the troop were in their saddles, and pushing as rapidly as
possible for the village. On arriving within six miles of the place,
the command halted on the bank of a small creek, till after dark, to
avoid being seen on the road. As soon as night threw her mantle over
the scene, they continued their journey, till within two hundred yards
of Hell Gate, and there, dismounting, they tied their horses.
Their scout had gone ahead to reconnoitre, and, returning to the
rendezvous, he informed the captain of the exact position of affairs.
Coming through the town on a tight run, they mistook the houses; but,
discovering their error, they soon returned, and surrounding Skinner’s
saloon, the owner, who was standing at the door, was ordered to throw
up his hands. His woman (Nelly) did not appear to be pleased at the
command, and observed that they must have learned that from the Bannack
stage folks.
Skinner was taken and bound immediately. Some of the men went for Aleck
Carter, who was in Miller’s, the next house. Dan. Harding opened the
door, and seeing Carter, said, “Aleck, is that you?” to which the Road
Agent promptly replied “yes.” The men leveled their pieces at him, and
the leader, going over to the lounge on which he was lying, rather
drunk, took his pistol from him and bound him, before he was thoroughly
aroused. When he came to himself, he said, “this is tight papers, ain’t
it, boys?” He then asked for a smoke, which being given to him, he
inquired for the news. On hearing of the hanging of the blood-stained
miscreants whose doom has been recorded in these pages, he said, “all
right; not an innocent man hung yet.”
He was marched down, under guard, to Higgins’ store, where he and
Skinner were tried, the examination lasting about three hours.
Skinner’s woman came down, bent on interference in his behalf. The lady
was sent home with a guard, who found Johnny Cooper lying wounded in
the house. He had been shot in three places, by Carter, whom he had
accused of stealing his pistol. He was, of course, instantly secured.
Some of the guard happening to remark that Johnny seemed to be
suffering “pretty bad,” the lady expressed a conviction, with much
force and directness, that “by ----, there were two outside suffering a
---- sight worse;” (meaning Skinner and Aleck Carter.)
Cooper was one of the lieutenants of the gang. He was a splendid
horseman, and a man named President, who was present at his
apprehension, knew him well on the “other side.” He had murdered a man,
and being arrested, was on his way to the court, when he suddenly broke
from his captors, leaped with a bound on to a horse standing ready, and
was off like a bird. Though at least one hundred shots were sent after
him, he escaped uninjured, and got clear away.
While Aleck Carter was on trial, he confessed that the two mules of
which Nicholas Tbalt was in charge, when shot by Ives, were at Irwin’s
Ranch, at Big Hole, and that he, Irwin and Ives had brought them
there. It will be remembered that, besides robbing the coach, Aleck
was accessory both before and after the fact of Tbalt’s murder. This
was proved. That he was a principal in its perpetration is more than
likely. He denied all participation in the murder, but confessed,
generally speaking, much in the same style as others had done.
Skinner also refused to confess any of his crimes. “Dead men tell no
tales” was his verdict, when planning the murder of Magruder, and
he it was, who ingratiated himself into the favor of Page, Romaine
and others, and prompted them to the deed, so that Magruder thought
his murderers were his friends, and went on his last journey without
suspicion. He said he could have saved him, if he had liked; but he
added that he “would have seen him in ---- first.” He wouldn’t leave
himself open to the vengeance of the band. He was a hardened, merciless
and brutal fiend.
The same night a detachment of eight men went in pursuit of Bob
Zachary, and coming up to Barney O’Keefe’s, that gentleman appeared
in the uniform of a Georgia major, minus the spurs and shirt collar,
and plus a flannel blouse. He mistook the party for Road Agents, and
appeared to think his time had come. He ejaculated, with visible
horror, “Don’t shoot, gentlemen; I’m Barney O’Keefe.” It is useless to
say that no harm was done to the “Baron,” as he is called. There are
worse men living in all countries than Barney, who is a good soul in
his own way, and hospitable in his nature. Finding that Bob Zachary
was inside, one of the party entered, and, as he sat up in bed, threw
himself upon him, and pushed him backwards. He had a pistol and a
knife. He was taken to Hell Gate shortly after his capture. The fate
of his friends was made known to him, and vouched for by a repetition
of the signs, grips, pass-words, etc. On seeing this, he turned pale;
but he never made any confession of guilt. He was the one of the stage
robbers who actually took the money from Southmayde. Like all the rest,
he repeated the pass-word of the gang, “I am innocent.”
On the road back the guard had wormed out of Barney that a stranger was
stopping at Van Dorn’s, in the Bitter Root valley. “No. 84,” who was
leading the party who captured Shears, asked, “Does Van live here?”
“Yes,” said the man himself. “Is George Shears in your house?” asked
84. “Yes,” said Van. “Where is he?” “In the next room.” “Any objection
to our going in?” The man replied by opening the door of the room,
on which George became visible, knife in hand. He gave himself up
quietly, and seemed so utterly indifferent to death, that he perfectly
astonished his captors. Taking a walk with 84, he pointed out to him
the stolen horses in the corral, and confessed his guilt, as a man
would speak of the weather. He said, “I knew I should have to go up,
some time; but I thought I could run another season.” When informed
of his doom, he appeared perfectly satisfied. On being taken into the
barn, where a rope was thrown over a beam, he was asked to walk up a
ladder, to save trouble about procuring a drop. He at once complied,
addressing his captors in the following unique phraseology: “Gentlemen,
I am not used to this business, never having been hung before. Shall
I jump off or slide off?” Being told to jump off, he said “all right;
good-bye,” and leaped into the air, with as much sang froid as if
bathing.
The drop was long and the rope tender. It slowly untwisted, and Shears
hung, finally, by a single strand. George’s parting question was, for a
long time, a by-word among the Vigilantes.
A company of three, headed by the “old man,” started off to Fort
Owen, in the Bitter Root Valley, in pursuit of Whiskey Bill, (Bill
Graves, the coach robber.) This worthy was armed and on the look out
for his captors; but, it seems, he had become partially snow-blind by
long gazing. At all events, he did not see the party with sufficient
distinctness to ascertain who they were, until the “old man” jumped
from his horses and covered him with his revolver. He gave up, though
he had repeatedly sworn that he would shoot any ---- Vigilanter who
would come his way. His guilt was notorious throughout all the country,
and his capture was merely a preliminary to his execution. The men
took him away from the Fort, in deference to the prejudices of the
Indians, who would have felt no desire to live near where a man had
been hanged. Graves made no confession. He was what is called in the
mountains a “bull-head,” and was a sulky, dangerous savage. Being tied
up to a limb, the difficulty was to make a “drop;” but the ingenuity
of the leader was equal to the emergency. One of the men mounted
his horse; Graves was lifted up behind him, and, all being ready,
“Good-bye, Bill,” said the front horseman, driving his huge rowels into
the horse’s flanks, as he spoke. The animal made a plunging bound of
twelve feet, and Bill Graves swept from his seat by the fatal noose and
lariet, swung lifeless. His neck was broken by the shock.
The different parties rendezvoused at Hell Gate, and a company of
eight men were dispatched to the Pen de’Oreille reserve, to get Johnny
Cooper’s horses, six or seven in number. They were poor in condition
and were nearly all sold to pay the debts which the Road Agent had
incurred in the country round about the village. The remainder were
brought to Nevada. It seems that Aleck Carter and Cooper were about to
start for Kootenai, on the previous day, and that their journey was
prevented only by their quarrel about the pistol, which Cooper charged
Aleck with stealing, and which resulted in the wounding of Cooper,
the delay of their journey, and, in fact, in their execution. A pack
animal, laden with their baggage and provisions, carried $130 worth
of goods. These were taken for the use of the expedition; but on a
representation made by Higgins that he had supplied them to Carter to
get rid of him, but that he had received nothing for them, they were
paid for, on the spot by the Vigilantes.
There had been a reign of terror in Hell Gate. The robbers did as they
pleased, took what they chose. A Colt’s revolver was the instrument
ever ready to enforce the transfer. Brown, a Frenchman, living in the
neighborhood, stated to the Vigilantes, that he was glad to see them,
for that the robbers used to ride his stock whenever they pleased, and
that they always retained possession of such steeds as they especially
fancied.
Cooper had determined to marry his daughter, a pretty half-breed girl,
and then, after getting all that he could lay hands on, he intended to
turn the old man adrift. He used to go to his intended father-in-law,
and inform him that he wanted another of those pretty pocket pieces,
($20 gold pieces,) and he always obtained what he asked; for death
would have been the instant penalty of refusal. Other parties had
supplied Cooper and Carter with money, pistols and whatever else they
asked, for the same potent and unanswerable reasons. Any demand for
payment was met by a threat to shoot the creditor.
At the conclusion of the trials of Carter and Skinner, a vote was
taken by stepping to the opposite sides of the room; but the verdict
of guilty, and a judgment of death to the culprits, were unanimously
rendered.
Cooper was tried separately, and interrogated by Mr. President
concerning his conduct on the “other side.” He denied the whole
thing; but this gentleman’s testimony, the confession of Red, and the
witness of the inhabitants rendered a conviction and sentence of death
inevitable.
Carter and Skinner were taken to Higgins’ corral and executed by
torchlight, shortly after midnight. Two poles were planted, leaning
over the corral fence; to these the ropes were tied, and store-boxes
served for “drops.”
On the road to the gallows, Cyrus Skinner broke suddenly from the
guard, and ran off, shouting, “shoot! shoot!” His captors were too old
hands to be thus baffled. They instantly secured him. He again tried
the trick, when on the box; but he was quickly put up and held there
till the rope was adjusted. This being finished, he was informed that
he could jump whenever he pleased. Aleck seemed ashamed of Skinner’s
attempt to escape, which the latter explained by saying that he “was
not born to be hanged”--a trifling error.
While on the stand, one of the men asked Carter to confess his share
in the murder of the Dutchman; but he burst forth with a volley of
oaths, saying, “If I had my hands free, you ----, I’d make you take
that back.” As Skinner was talking by his side, Aleck was ordered to
keep quiet. “Well then, let’s have a smoke,” said he. His request being
granted, he became more pacific in demeanor. The criminals faces being
covered with handkerchiefs, they were launched into eternity, with
the pass-word of the gang on their lips, “I am innocent.” Both died
easily and at once. The people had, of their own accord, made all the
preparations for their burial.
Immediately after the execution, the parties were detailed and
dispatched after Zachary, Graves and Shears. The death of the last two
has been recorded.
The squad that arrested Zachary returned between seven and eight
o’clock, that morning. He was at once tried, found guilty, and
sentenced to death. By his direction, a letter was written to his
mother, in which he warned his brothers and sisters to avoid drinking
whiskey, card playing and bad company, which, he said, had brought him
to the gallows. Zachary once laid in wait for Pete Daly, and snapped
two caps at him; but, fortunately, the weapon would not go off.
Being brought to the same spot as that on which Skinner and Carter were
hanged, he commenced praying to God to forgive the Vigilantes for what
they were doing, for it was a pretty good way to clear the country of
Road Agents. He died at once, without any apparent fear or pain.
Johnny Cooper was hauled down on a sleigh, by hand, owing to his leg
being wounded, and was placed on the same box that Skinner had stood
upon. He asked for his pipe, saying he wanted a good smoke, and he
enjoyed it very much. A letter had been written to his parents, in York
State. Cooper dodged the noose for a time, but being told to keep his
head straight, he submitted. He died without a struggle.
During the trial of the men, the people had made Cooper’s coffin,
and dug his grave, Zachary was buried by the Vigilantes. The other
malefactor, the citizens knew better, and hated worse.
Skinner left all his property to Higgins, the store-keeper, from whom
he had received all his stock, on credit. Aleck had nothing but his
horse, his accoutrements and his appointments.
Their dread mission of retribution being accomplished, the captain
ordered everything to be made ready for their long homeward march, and
in due time they arrived at Cottonwood, where they found that X had
settled everything relating to Bunton’s affairs. At Big Hole, they made
search for Irwin; but he had fled, and has never been taken. Tired and
worn, the command reached Nevada, and received the congratulations
and thanks of all good men. Like Joshua’s army, though they had been
rewarded with success, yet often in that journey over their cold and
trackless waste, the setting sun had seen them
“Faint, yet pursuing.”