CAPTURE AND EXECUTION OF BILL HUNTER.
“Round he throws his baleful eyes,
That witness naught but huge destruction and dismay.”--MILTON.
At the time of the execution of Boone Helm and his four confederates in
crime, Bill Hunter, as before narrated, managed to escape his pursuers
and, for a time, to baffle the vengeance of the Vigilantes, by hiding
among the rocks and brush by day, and then seeking food at night among
the scattered settlements in the vicinity of the Gallatin river.
At the time of Barney Hughes’ stampede, the country in the neighborhood
became alive with men, and his whereabouts was discovered. Information
was received at Virginia that he was living as described about twenty
miles above the mouth of the Gallatin. A severe snow storm had driven
him to seek refuge in a cabin, near the place of his concealment, and
here he was overtaken and captured.
A party of four resolute men volunteered for the work, and left
Virginia City with a good prospect of fine weather for the trip before
them. Crossing the Divide between the Stinkingwater and the Madison,
they forded the last named river with some difficulty, the huge cakes
of floating ice striking the horses’ flanks and threatening to carry
them down. Their camping ground was the frozen earth on its banks;
and having built a fire, they laid down to sleep with no shelter but
their blankets. Though the weather was intensely cold, the spirits of
the party never flagged, and they derived not a little amusement from
occurrences which, under other circumstances, would have been regarded
as anything but amusing incidents of travel.
One of the Vigilantes, determined on securing a good share of heat, lay
with his head on the top of a hillock that sloped towards the fire,
and, as a natural consequence, gradually slid down, till he woke with
his feet in the hot embers. His position was changed with marvellous
rapidity, amid the laughter of his comrades.
Another of the party had a pair of mammoth socks, into which he thrust
his feet loosely. As the sleeper began to feel the cold, he kept
pushing his feet into the socks, until he pushed himself out of bed,
and woke half frozen. He glanced, with a comic expression, at the cause
of his misfortunes, and taking a good warm at the fire, in a more
legitimate fashion, he crept back to bed.
Early in the morning, the men rose from their slumbers; renewed their
fire, and while some cooked, others hunted up the stock. Soon all was
prepared, and dispatched with a mountaineers’ appetite; the horses were
saddled and they departed on their mission. The weather had changed
very much for the worse. At about ten o’clock a fierce snow storm,
driven by a furious wind, blew right in their faces; but as the tempest
was a most useful auxiliary towards the success of their enterprise,
they pushed on, hour after hour, and, at 2 P. M., reached the Milk
Ranch, about twenty miles from the place where they expected to find
their game. Here they stayed for supper, and engaged a guide who knew
the country well, and was acquainted with the locality of the robbers’
city of refuge. Being warmed and refreshed, they started at a rapid
pace, which was continued until, at midnight, they drew bridle near a
lone cabin, into which they felt certain that the severity of the storm
had driven the object of their journey.
Having halted and unsaddled, they rapped loudly at the door. When it
was opened, the gentleman who presented himself, took a view of the
party, which, with the guide and a gentleman who had joined them,
numbered six individuals. “Good evening,” was the salutation of the
travellers. Sleep, suspicion, and an uneven temper, probably, jointly
provoked the response, “Don’t know whether it is or not.” However,
at their request, he soon had a fire blazing on the hearth, which
the party thoroughly enjoyed, after their long ride. Before allowing
themselves to be thus, even temporarily, luxurious, they had carefully
inspected the premises and, as the lawyers say, all the appendages and
appurtenances thereunto belonging; when, having found that the only
practicable method of egress was by the door, a couple of them lay
down in such a manner, when they retired to rest, that any one trying
to escape must inevitably wake them. Six shot-guns constituted half a
dozen weighty arguments against forcible attempts at departure, and
the several minor and corroborative persuasions of a revolving class
completed a clear case of “stand off,” under all circumstances.
A sentry was placed to see that nobody adopted the plan of
“evaporation” patented by Santa Claus, that is to say, by ascent of the
chimney. His duty, also was, to keep up a bright fire, and the room
being tenanted to its utmost capacity, all promised an uninterrupted
night’s slumber.
A very cursory inspection of the interior of the premises had satisfied
the Vigilantes that the occupants of the cabin were three in number. Of
these, two were visible; but one remained covered up in bed, and never
stirred till the time of their departure in the morning. The curiosity
of the inmates being roused by the sudden advent of the travellers,
questions as to their names, residences, occupation and intentions
were freely propounded, and were answered with a view to “business”
exclusively. Before turning over to sleep, the party conversationally
descanted on mining, stampeding, prospecting, runs, panning-out, and
all the technical magazine of mining phrases was ransacked with a view
to throwing their hosts off the trail. In this they succeeded. All was
quiet during the night, and until a late hour in the morning. Every one
of the friends of justice had exchanged private signals by Vigilante
telegraph and were satisfied that all was right.
Nothing was said about the real object of their visit, until the horses
were saddled for the apparent purpose of continuing the journey. Two
only went out at a time, and the mute eloquence of the shot-guns in the
corner was as effective in the morning as it had been at midnight.
When all was ready, one of the party asked who was the unknown sleeper
that, at that late hour, had never waked or uncovered his face. The
host said that he did not know; but upon being asked, “when did he come
here?” he informed them that he had come at the beginning of the great
snow storm, and had been there two days.
The man was requested to describe his person and appearance. He
complied at once, and in so doing, he gave a perfect picture of Bill
Hunter.
With arms prepared for instant service, the Vigilantes approached the
bed, and the leader called out, “Bill Hunter!” The occupant of the
bed hastily drew the covering from his face, and wildly asked who was
there. His eyes were greeted with the sight of six well armed men,
whose determined countenances and stern looks told him only too truly
the nature of their errand. Had he been in doubt, however, this matter
would soon have been settled; for the six shot-guns leveled at his
head were answer enough to palsy the arm of grim despair himself. On
being asked if he had any arms, he said, “Yes, I have a revolver;” and
accordingly, he handed it from beneath the bed-clothes, where he had
held it, lying on his breast, ready cocked for use. The old Vigilanter
who made the inquiries, not being very soft or easily caught at a
disadvantage, took the precaution when approaching him, to lay his
hand on his breast, so that, had he been willing, he could have done
nothing; for his weapon was mastered while his hand was covered. He
was, of course, informed that he was a prisoner, upon hearing which he
at once asked to be taken to Virginia City. One of the men gave him to
understand that he would be taken there. He further inquired whether
there was any conveyance for him, and was told that there was a horse
for him to ride.
He rose from his bed, ready dressed for the occasion except his
overcoat and hat, and mounted the horse prepared for him; but upon
preparing to take the rein, his motion was politely negatived, and the
bridle was handed to a horseman who held it as a leading bridle. He
looked suspiciously round, and appeared much perturbed when he saw a
footman following, for he at once guessed that it was his horse that he
was riding, and the incident seemed to be regarded by him in the light
of an omen foreboding a short journey for him. His conscience told him
that what was likely to be the end of his arrest. The real reason why
an evasive answer had been given to the prisoner, when he expressed a
wish to be taken to Virginia City, was that his captors were anxious to
leave the place without exciting suspicion of any intention to execute
Bill Hunter, in the neighborhood.
The escort proceeded on their way homewards, for about two miles, and
halted at the foot of a tree which seemed as if it had been fashioned
by nature for a gallows. A horizontal limb at a convenient height was
there for the rope, and on the trunk was a spur like a belaying pin,
on which to fasten the end. Scraping away about a foot of snow, they
camped, lit a fire and prepared their breakfast. An onlooker would
never have conjectured for a moment, that anything of a serious nature
was likely to occur, and even Hunter seemed to have forgotten his
fears, laughing and chatting gaily with the rest.
After breakfast, a consultation was held as to what should be done with
the Road Agent, and after hearing what was offered by the members of
the scouting party, individually, the leader put the matter to vote.
It was decided by the majority that the prisoner should not go to
Virginia; but that he should be executed then and there. The man who
had given Hunter to understand that he would be taken to Virginia,
voted for the carrying out of this part of the programme; but he was
overruled.
The earnest manner of the Vigilantes, and his own sense of guilt,
overpowered Hunter; he turned deadly pale, and faintingly asked for
water. He knew, without being told that there was no hope for him. A
brief history of his crimes was related to him by one of the men, and
the necessity of the enforcement of the penalty was pointed out to
him. All was too true for denial. He merely requested that his friends
should know nothing of the manner of his death, and stated that he
had no property; but he hoped they would give him a decent burial. He
was told that every reasonable request would be granted; but that the
ground was too hard for them to attempt his interment without proper
implements. They promised that his friends should be made acquainted
with his execution, and that they would see to that. Soon after, he
shook hands with each of the company, and said that he did not blame
them for what they were about to do.
His arms were pinioned at the elbows; the fatal noose was placed round
his neck, and the end of the rope being thrown over the limb, the men
took hold and with a quick, strong pull, ran him up off his feet.
He died almost without a struggle; but, strange to say, he reached
as if for his pistol, and went through the pantomime of cocking and
discharging his revolver six times. This is no effort of fancy. Every
one present saw it, and was equally convinced of the fact. It was a
singular instance of “the ruling passion, strong in death.”
The place of the execution was a lone tree, in full view of the
travellers on the trail, about twenty miles above the mouth of the
Gallatin. The corpse of the malefactor was left hanging from the limb,
and the little knot of horsemen was soon but a speck in the distance.
The purpose of the Barney Hughes stampede had been accomplished. So
secretly had everything been managed that one of their four who started
from Virginia did not know either the real destination of the party,
or the errand of the other three. He was found to be sound on the Road
Agent question; and, instead of being dismissed he rode on as one of
the party.
It seemed as if fate had decreed the death of Bill Hunter. He was a man
of dauntless courage, and would have faced a hundred men to the last,
being a perfect desperado when roused, though ordinarily peaceful in
demeanor. At his capture he was as weak as a child, and had scarcely
strength to ask for what he wanted.
The only remarkable circumstance attending the return journey was the
inconvenience and pain caused by the reflection of the sun’s rays
from the snow. It produced temporary blindness, and was only relieved
by blacking their faces. Riding late at night, one of the horsemen
dismounted, with a view of easing his steed, which was tired with the
long march, and walked some distance by his side. On getting again into
the saddle, he accidentally discharged his gun, which was slung muzzle
down, by his side. The charge passed down the leg of his boot, between
the counter and the lining, lodging an ounce ball and six buckshot, in
the heel. All started at the sudden flash and report. The man himself
believed that his foot was shot to pieces, and they spurred forward
at hot speed, for the next Ranch, where an examination revealed the
above state of facts, much to the consolation of the excited mind of
the owner of the boot. He was wounded only in spirit, and reached home
safely.
One of the Vigilantes “bagged” a relic. He had promised to bring
back a token of having seen Bill Hunter, either dead or alive, and,
accordingly, while talking to him at the fire, he managed to detach a
button from his coat, which he fetched home as he had promised.
Some days after, men who were hauling wood discovered the body, and
determined to give it burial. It was necessary to get the corpse over
a snow drift; so they tied a rope to the heels and essayed to drag
it up; but finding that this was the wrong way of the grain, as they
said, they replaced the noose round the neck, and thus having pulled
him over, they finally consigned to mother earth THE LAST OF HENRY
PLUMMER’S BAND.
Bill Hunter was, we have said the last of the old Road Agent band that
met death at the hands of the Committee. He was executed on the 3d of
February, 1864. There was now no openly organized force of robbers in
the Territory, and the future acts of the Committee were confined to
taking measures for the maintenance of the public tranquility and the
punishment of those guilty of murder, robbery and other high crimes
and misdemeanors against the welfare of the inhabitants of Montana.
On looking back at the dreadful state of society which necessitated the
organization of the Vigilantes, and on reading these pages, many will
learn for the first time the deep debt of gratitude which they owe to
that just and equitable body of self-denying and gallant men. It was a
dreadful and a disgusting duty that devolved upon them; but it was a
duty, and they did it. Far less worthy actions have been rewarded by
the thanks of Congress, and medals glitter on many a bosom, whose owner
won them, lying flat behind a hillock, out of range of the enemy’s
fire. The Vigilantes, for the sake of their country encountered popular
dislike, the envenomed hatred of the bad, and the cold toleration of
some of the unwise good. Their lives they held in their hands. “All’s
well that ends well.” Montana is saved, and they saved it, earning the
blessings of future generations, whether they receive them or not. Our
next chapter will record the execution of the renowned Capt. J. A.
Slade, of whom more good and evil stories have been told than would
make a biography for the seven champions of Christendom, and concerning
whose life and character there have been more contradictory opinions
expressed, than have been uttered for or against any other individual
that has figured in the annals of the Rocky Mountains.