CHAPTER XXIII.

HANDS UP

[Illustration: D. J. Cook

Maj. Gen. C. W. G.]

HANDS UP;

OR,

THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF DETECTIVE LIFE IN THE

MOUNTAINS AND ON THE PLAINS.

_Reminiscences by General D. J. Cook, Chief of the Rocky

Mountain Detective Association._

COMPILED BY JOHN W. COOK.

A CONDENSED CRIMINAL HISTORY OF THE FAR WEST.

DENVER:

THE W. F. ROBINSON PRINTING CO.,

1897.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1897, BY D. J. & J. W.

COOK, In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.

All rights reserved.

CONTENTS.

A Hidden Treasure 13

Capture of the Allison Gang 35

A Cowboy's Sad Fate 43

Denver's Last Legal Hanging 48

The Italian Murderers 57

Musgrove and His Gang 92

The Exchange Bank Robbery 125

The Hayward Murder 131

A Dunkard Disgraced 169

The Wall Murder Mystery 177

A Slick Scoundrel 213

A Bogus Detective's Fate 218

The Leichsenring Robbery 233

A Deal with the Black Hills Road Agents 237

In the Express Business 249

A Farm Hand's Awful Crime 254

A Half-Million-Dollar Robber 274

A Utah Murderer's Capture 283

A Tale of Two Continents 302

Two of a Kind 309

Hanged in a Hog Pen 315

A Tussle with the Habeas Corpus 323

A Desperate Railroad Contractor 333

Dealing with Strikers 346

A Victim of Draw Poker 351

A Horse Thief's Folly 362

Pueblo Vengence 368

The Retribution of Fate 381

A Townful of Thieves 388

Ragsdale Gates 396

Taken by Surprise 400

A Race for Life 406

A Dream of Death 427

A Mexican Bandit 437

Conclusion 440

ILLUSTRATIONS.

Robbing a Buckskin Coach 18

The Attack on the Robbers Camp 24

Execution of the Robbers 29

Reynold's Map, showing location of treasure 32

Dead Cinch Hand Cuffs 36

Arrest of the Allison Gang 40

Killing of Van Pelt by Officers 45

Killing of Street Car Driver Whitnah 50

Hanging of Andrew Green 54

The Italian Murder 59

Finding of the Treasure 71

Arrest of Gallotti 78

Arrest of Ballotti, Campagne and Allessandri 84

Fatal Fight at Golden between Officers and Duggan

and Miles Hill 103

Killing of Ed Franklin at Golden 108

Lynching of Musgrove 116

Lynching of Duggan in Denver 122

Murder of R. B. Hayward 135

Capture of Seminole 143

Arrest of Sam Woodruff 153

Lynching of Woodruff and Seminole 165

Killing of Wall by Wight and Witherill 183

A Buffalo Chase by Wight and Witherill 191

Lynching of Geo. B. Witherill 210

Surprise of Road Agents by Officer Boswell 245

Arrest of Theo. Meyers by Gen'l. Cook 271

Hanging of Theo. Meyers 272

Murder of J. F. Turner by Welcome and Emerson 286

Arrest of Welcome by T. Jeff. Carr 293

Execution of Fred Hopt at Salt Lake 299

Hanging of Robert Schamle 320

Arrest of John Kelly 337

Shooting of John Doen 364

Arrest of Bill White 373

Lynching of White at Pueblo 379

Arrest of Entire Male Population of Carson 393

Arrest of Ed. McGrand 403

Shooting of Officer Wilcox by Clodfelter and Johnson 410

Pursuit and Capture of Clodfelter and Johnson 419

Mrs. Ramsey's Vision of her Husband's Murder 434

GENERAL DAVID J. COOK.

This book consists of a series of reminiscences of Gen. D. J. Cook, chief

of the Rocky Mountain Detective Association, which has been in existence

for the past thirty-five years, during which time Gen. Cook has been

continuously at its head. He organized it in the beginning and has

remained with it from that time until his own name and that of the

association have become almost synonymous terms in the entire Rocky

Mountain country, where both are known and where both are respected and

relied upon implicitly by honest people, and where both are

proportionately feared by evil doers of all classes likely to "have

business" with them. The stories told are all true records, but while

their number is quite considerable they are only a portion of the

thrilling experiences--whether his own or those of officers of his

association--with which his mind is stored. Indeed, if Gen. Cook should

attempt to even furnish a complete narrative of his own adventures, it

would fill a volume much larger than this one, for his has been a life of

excitement and adventure, of exposure and hardships, of heroic deeds and

many narrow escapes. Beginning as the son of an Indiana farmer, Mr. Cook

has by his own unaided exertions, placed himself at the head of the

detective force of the West, and has in many ways made himself prominent

as a useful citizen of a growing region.

David J. Cook was born August 12, 1840, in Laporte county, Ind., being a

son of George Cook, a farmer and land speculator. Receiving a moderate

education, he worked on farms in Indiana, Iowa and Kansas until 1859. His

father settled in Iowa in 1853, on the present site of Laporte, now a

thriving city, but then a howling wilderness. Selling out to good

advantage, the family moved to Jefferson county, Kan., in 1855, settling

on a tract of land north of where the little city of Meriden now stands,

on Rock creek. When the wave of excitement which swept the country on the

discovery of gold at Pike's peak came, it bore him to the Rocky

mountains, where he spent nearly two years in mining in what is now called

Gilpin county, Colorado. Returning to Kansas he bought a farm, but in the

fall of 1861 he went to Rolla, Mo., and engaged in running supply trains.

He was soon afterward transferred to the ordnance department of the Army

of the Frontier, and early in 1863 came again to Colorado and established

the association with which his name has since been connected, and which

has so long been a terror to evil doers and a trusty guardian of the

public safety.

Enlisting in the Colorado cavalry, he was in the spring of 1864 detailed

by the quartermaster of the Denver post as government detective in

Colorado, and served until the abandonment of the post in 1866. He next

served three years as city marshal of Denver, and in the fall of 1869, was

elected sheriff of Arapahoe county. So satisfactory to the people of the

county, of both political parties, was his administration of the sheriff's

office, that at the end of his term he was reëlected without opposition,

and served two years longer. From 1873 he gave his entire attention to the

detective work, holding at the same time the position of deputy United

States marshal until the fall of 1875, when he was again elected sheriff,

and reëlected at the end of two years, his last term expiring in January,

1880. In 1873 he was appointed by Gov. Elbert, and confirmed by the

senate, major general of Colorado militia; was reappointed by Gov. Routt,

and again by Gov. Pitkin, serving four years under each. He has served as

major general for nine years, and has rendered efficient service in

quelling riots throughout the state, as well as in recent Indian troubles.

During the Leadville strike, which occurred in June, 1880, and in which

Mooney was to that city what Dennis Kearney has been to San Francisco,

Gen. Cook was sent by Gov. Pitkin as commander-in-chief of the state

militia, and by his efficiency soon brought the rioters under subjection

to the laws of the state. During what was known as the Chinese riot, which

caused such disgrace to Denver on October 31, 1880, the mayor and sheriff

called on Gen. Cook to quell the riot, after the authorities had failed to

do so. Gen. Cook took charge of the police and twenty-five special

police, nearly all of whom were trusted members of the Rocky Mountain

Detective Association, that he swore into service, and in a short time

brought the rioters under subjection and caused them to disperse, after

arresting the ringleaders and placing them in jail. The resignation of Mr.

Hickey as chief of police caused a vacancy which the leading business men

of Denver thought Gen. Cook the most fitting man to fill. Knowing the

great desire manifested in regard to having an efficient chief of police,

the city council confirmed Gen. Cook in that position.

In addition to the responsible position to which Gen. Cook was then

elevated, he has also acted as deputy United States marshal for the

district of Colorado, to which he was again appointed two years previous.

Gen. Cook is a born detective. When asked one day how he happened to

follow this business, he replied: "It is natural. I can't help it; I like

it." He never received a day's training from any other detective in his

life, and yet from the very beginning he took rank with the best in the

country. He stands to-day alongside of Mr. Pinkerton. Indeed, many of his

exploits have far exceeded those of that justly-renowned officer in

thrilling detail and startling climax. A hundred times in his life Dave

Cook has been placed in positions where another man, under the same

circumstances, less shrewd or less courageous, would have been shot dead

in his tracks or eternally disgraced. But he was ever the right man in the

right place as a detective, and it is owing to this fact that he has

passed thirty-five years of detective and official life on the frontier

without being killed. He possesses the essential qualities of mind and

body necessary to become a successful detective in a degree rarely equaled

in one man. He is both brave and discreet. He is never afraid to strike.

No position appals him. Yet he is cool-headed and cautious and wastes no

blows--ventures into no unnecessary danger, and knows how to reserve his

strength until it is needed most. When the time comes to act he acts with

decision and promptness, always accomplishes his purpose, no difference

what the odds. He is an excellent judge of men. He knows how to select the

best assistants, and he "spots" a criminal nine times out of ten. He

knows when to talk and when to allow others to talk. He will listen half a

day to a string of surmises entirely contrary to his own without

interposing an objection, with the hope of getting a clue, where other men

would spoil everything by airing their own opinions. His memory is

excellent, his patience inexhaustible, his ability to put this and that

together is unexcelled, his perception is sharp, his reasoning is clear,

his courage is undoubted and his judgment is cool under all circumstances.

Add to these faculties the fact that he always deals fairly with the

public; that he never fails to protect his prisoners, and that he is a man

of fine bearing, of splendid figure, a face of iron on which a smile

appears at home, and you will discover the secret of Dave Cook's success

as a detective and as an executive officer on the frontier in the Rocky

Mountains.

It was when Cook was sixteen years of age that he went, with his father,

to Leavenworth. He was a country boy, roughly clad and without experience

in life. His father sent him forward to the hotel to engage rooms. He had

never before had such a duty as this imposed upon him. When he went in

there was no one behind the counter, but the seats outside were filled

with the usual crowd of hotel loafers--young fellows living in the city,

who, seeing a country boy enter, concluded to "guy" him. Finding no one at

the counter, he turned to the crowd and asked for the proprietor. The

loafers were inclined to giggle, and as they pointed out one of their own

crowd as the individual sought, the country boy thought he observed

several sly winks and heard suppressed laughter. Turning to the man whom

he was told was the party sought, he asked:

"Are you the proprietor?"

"I am," he replied, and he and all the rest laughed.

Then it was that Dave's insight into character and his ready ability to

"say things that hurt" came to the surface at the right time.

"I just wanted to know," he replied, "for if you are I shall hunt another

hotel."

The character of the laugh which accompanied the boy's walk to the door

was quite different from that which had prevailed before.

Mr. Cook did his first detective work three years afterwards, and then

discovered his ability in that line. He left Kansas and came to the Rocky

mountains in 1859, accompanied by a brother, their purpose being to seek

their fortunes mining. They were operating in the placer diggings in

Missouri Flat, between Black Hawk and Russell Gulch, and had accumulated

$250 in gold-dust, which they discovered one morning to be missing. Mr.

Cook remembered that a man, against whom no one had suspicions, however,

had been around the camp until recently, but now found that he was gone.

Contrary to the advice of all the "older heads," he decided this to be the

man he wanted, and concluded to follow him. He overtook the fellow near

Golden and made him disgorge, and, besides, pay all the expenses which

Cook had incurred in his pursuit. This man was one of the very few

criminals whom Cook has allowed to escape without placing them in the

hands of the authorities. But in this case the offense was against Cook

himself, and he was his own officer. The law of the miners of that day

inflicted the death penalty for stealing only $5 worth of any article from

a miner. Cook knew what the result would be if he took the man back to

camp, and he allowed the promptings of humanity to prevail and permitted

the fellow to go free, much to the man's relief, who also knew the laws of

the pioneer gold hunters to be more severe than those of the Medes and

Persians.

It was not, however, until Cook returned to Colorado, in 1863, that he

really began his detective career in earnest. He was engaged at first as

an assistant detective for the quartermaster's department in the district

composed of the camps at Denver, Fort Collins, Booneville, on the

Arkansas, and Julesburg. But he soon became chief of the department for

the district, a position which he held for three years, resigning at the

end of that time to be elected city marshal of Denver. During the three

years of his service as government detective he saved the country over

$100,000 worth of property, such as horses, mules, provisions and feed,

which would otherwise have been lost, and was the means of exposing the

tricks of many who were high in authority. His first exploit of note was

the breaking up of a gang of horse thieves, who were plundering both the

army and the citizens, and by both of which parties he was engaged to

perform the service. Being allotted to this special work, he went to Chase

& Healey's gambling hall, on Blake street, then a noted gambling

establishment, and took a table and began to deal Spanish monte between

two then notorious characters, who afterwards met death at the hands of

vigilance committees, called respectively "Goggle-Eyed Ed" and "Smiley,"

whom he suspected of being at the head of the thieves. In less than ten

days he was in possession of their secrets, and was able to "spot" their

assistants, to arrest several aids and to recover some twenty horses,

besides a vast deal of other property, worth in the aggregate $10,000. He

discovered, among other things, that some of the soldiers were in the

habit of selling army horses to a certain saloon-keeper. Ten horses had

disappeared, but they could not be traced. He procured an assistant in the

person of a soldier, who succeeded in negotiating the sale of a horse to

this purchaser for a mere song, and was requested to deliver him at

midnight at the saloon. Stationing himself at a convenient point with a

companion, Cook saw an assistant of the purchaser mounted upon the horse

which the soldier detective had turned over to him, and start off at a

brisk gallop towards the north. Cook and his man followed at a safe

distance behind, through the darkness, over the plains and into the

mountains and out again, down to a secure hiding place on the St. Vrain,

where the rider stopped, after a fifteen hours' gallop, quite unconscious

that he had been pursued. Coming upon him Cook captured the rider and

twelve head of army horses, which were grazing near by. The details of

other captures made at this time are just as thrilling as this, but this

will serve as a specimen, and will help to explain the popularity which

Mr. Cook soon attained as an efficient officer--a popularity which a few

years afterwards elected him to the city marshalship in the face of

vigorous opposition by numerous contestants for the prize.

A strong point with Gen. Cook has ever been his splendid capacity for

organization and controlling men. This faculty makes him one of the most

capable as well as one of the most popular commanders of our militia, and

it has also aided him in making the Rocky Mountain Detective Agency, of

which he was the originator, one of the most efficient of the kind in the

world. It covers Colorado, Kansas, Nebraska, New Mexico, Utah, Texas,

Wyoming, Arizona and California, the entire country north of Mexico and

between the Missouri river and the Pacific, besides having agents in all

the principal cities of the United States, and is perfectly organized,

every detail being understood and superintended by Mr. Cook. Its

operations have been very extensive and its "dead certainty" has made it a

terror to evil-doers. Cook has held his place at its head by the

undisputed right of superiority. As good a detective as the best of his

aides, he is a better commander and organizer than any of them. He is

versatile and quick to see a point, and just as quick in adapting himself

to circumstances. He knows when to smile, when to frown. He can drive

steers, play faro or become a lawyer when circumstances demand.

As an officer, Mr. Cook's career has been quite remarkable. He has almost

continuously since 1866 held some office besides that of superintendent of

detectives, which has placed him in positions of danger. Beginning as city

marshal, he held that place for years, and was afterwards deputy United

States marshal, sheriff of Arapahoe county eight years and also chief of

police. It is doubted whether there is a parallel case in the country,

especially in this far western country, where men are more often desperate

than elsewhere. During his experience he has arrested over three thousand

men, fully fifty of whom have been the most desperate murderers, whom he

has often taken at great disadvantage to himself. Of all these three

thousand he never allowed one to seriously hurt him, not one of them to

get away when taken, and not one to be violently dealt with when in his

hands as an officer. His remarkable success he attributes to the

observance of the following rules which he here prints for the benefit of

young officers:

I. Never hit a prisoner over the head with your pistol, because you may

afterwards want to use your weapon and find it disabled. Criminals often

conceal weapons and sometimes draw one when they are supposed to have been

disarmed.

II. Never attempt to make an arrest without being sure of your authority.

Either have a warrant or satisfy yourself thoroughly that the man whom you

seek to arrest has committed an offense.

III. When you attempt to make an arrest be on your guard. Give your man no

opportunity to draw a pistol. If the man is supposed to be a desperado,

have your pistol in your hand or be ready to draw when you make yourself

known. If he makes no resistance there will be no harm done by your

precaution. My motto has always been "It is better to kill two men than to

allow one to kill you."

IV. After your prisoner is arrested and disarmed treat him as a prisoner

should be treated--as kindly as his conduct will permit. You will find

that if you do not protect your prisoners when they are in your

possession, those whom you afterwards attempt to arrest will resist you

more fiercely, and if they think they will be badly dealt with after

arrest, will be inclined to sell their lives as dearly as possible.

V. Never trust much to the honor of prisoners. Give them no liberties

which might endanger your own safety or afford them an opportunity to

escape. Nine out of ten of them have no honor.

It will not be out of place to remark in closing, that Gen. Cook has never

violated a confidence and never failed to satisfy those by whom he was

engaged--whether private individuals, corporations, the army officials or

the public at large. Gen. Upton, who was the author of "Upton's Tactics,"

was in command in this district while Mr. Cook was chief detective. He

wrote of him on a certain occasion: "Mr. Cook is a reliable and an

experienced detective."

The _Tribune_ said of him when he was a candidate for sheriff in 1875: "He

is admirably adapted to the office to which he has been nominated. This

combination of good politics and exact fitness is the source of a great

deal of satisfaction to all genuine and steadfast republicans. No one

presumes to question D. J. Cook's official fidelity and efficiency. The

common verdict is that he has made the best sheriff Arapahoe county has

ever had. And the people in supporting him in the canvass, and voting for

him at the polls, support him and vote for him for sheriff. He will be

elected to discharge the duties of that office, and for nothing else. And

the people all have the certain assurance that he will discharge those

duties ably, faithfully, promptly and honestly; that he will surely arrest

criminals, and as surely keep them after arrest; that he will effectively

aid in the maintenance of peace and order in the community, and that he

will afford much sure protection to the persons and property of the

citizens."

He was elected sheriff in the contest above referred to, and after the

term of office had expired the _Rocky Mountain News_ summed up the results

of his term of office as follows:

"Money and property worth $80,000 was recovered and transferred to the

lawful owners. The press of the city was often placed under obligations

for valuable and timely information. Four gangs of railroad thieves were

effectively broken up in different parts of the state, and riot prevented

on several occasions. Three of the apprehended criminals were hanged after

transfer to the local authorities: Robert Shamle, in Georgetown, and

Woodruff and Seminole, in Golden. The beginning of the term was marked by

the arrest of the Italian murderers, nine in all, and its close by the

chase and capture of the Hayward murderers. During the four years ending

at noon to-day, Sheriff Cook and his deputies conveyed 121 prisoners to

the penitentiary at Cañon, and lost none by the way. There was no jail

delivery in Arapahoe county, nor was the board of commissioners at any

time asked to offer one cent as reward for the return of fugitives. During

the term three men were killed while resisting arrest, under orders of

Sheriff Cook. They were Doan, at Cheyenne; W. T. McLaughlin, at Garland,

and George Wilson, in Arizona. The sheriff and his force, during the term

under notice, recovered 315 head of stolen cattle and sent seven of the

thieves to Cañon. Also, fifty stolen horses, sending nine of the thieves

to Cañon. Of the cattle mentioned, Arapahoe county lost not a hoof during

the last eighteen months."

Indeed, during his entire career he has received many words of praise from

press and public, and has seldom been criticized for any other than

political reasons or because of personal spite which was the result of

treading upon tender corns in the discharge of official duty.

A HIDDEN TREASURE.

CHAPTER I.

AN INTERESTING BIT OF COLORADO HISTORY NEVER BEFORE PRINTED--THE

REYNOLDS GANG OF REBEL GUERRILLAS LEAVE TEXAS TO INVADE

COLORADO--AFTER A LONG RIDE, WITH MANY EXCITING INCIDENTS, THEY REACH

COLORADO--THEY ROB A BUCKSKIN COACH.

"It's no use, pard; the jig is up, and I'm goin' across the range mighty

shortly." The speaker was John Reynolds--miner, gambler, rebel guerrilla,

stage robber and cut-throat--as reckless a daredevil as ever met his just

deserts in the whole West. The person addressed was his partner in crime,

Albert Brown, a desperado like himself, a man hardened to scenes of

bloodshed and death, yet he brushed a tear from his eye as he turned to

get a drink of water for the dying man.

"If we could only have got to Denver, we'd have been all right," continued

Reynolds. "I've got over $60,000 buried not fifty miles from there in the

mountains, and I could go right to the spot where Jim and me buried it in

1864. But there's no use in me wastin' breath, for I'm to the end of my

rope now, an' I'll tell you just where it is, so that you can go an' get

it after you've planted me deep enough so the coyotes won't dig me up an'

gnaw my bones."

The dying man was sinking rapidly, but he went on: "Jim an' me buried it

the morning before the fight at the grove on Geneva gulch. You go up above

there a little ways and find where one of our horses mired down in a

swamp. On up at the head of the gulch we turned to the right and followed

the mountain around a little farther, an' just above the head of Deer

creek we found an old prospect hole at about timber line. There was

$40,000 in greenbacks, wrapped in silk oil cloth, an' three cans of gold

dust. We filled the mouth of the hole up with stones, an' ten steps below

there stuck a butcher knife into a tree about four feet from the ground

an' broke the handle off, an' left it pointing to the mouth of the hole."

Reynolds fell back exhausted, and asked Brown for a pencil, so that he

could draw him a map. Brown had no pencil, but breaking open a cartridge

he mixed the powder with some water, and as soon as Reynolds had revived a

little he drew a rude map of the locality on the back of an old letter.

Cautioning Brown to remember his directions, he fell back upon his rude

couch, and in a few minutes was dead.

Brown set to work to digging a grave in the dirt floor of the dugout, and

having no tools but a sharp stick, spent two days at the work. He placed

Reynolds' body in the shallow grave, covering it up carefully, then

carried stones and put over it in accordance with his agreement. As soon

as Brown completed his task, he secured his horses and started for Denver.

While he is on his way thither, we will improve the opportunity to relate

the history of the boldest band of robbers, and indeed, the only party of

rebel guerrillas that ever invaded Colorado, of which John Reynolds, whose

death we have just chronicled, was the last surviving member. Before

beginning the recital of our story proper, it might be well to give a

hasty sketch of the conditions prevailing in Colorado at the time our

story opens.

The population of Denver in 1861 was decidedly cosmopolitan. The mining

excitement had attracted hither men of almost every nationality,

profession and occupation on the globe. On the question of secession, then

the theme on every tongue, the people seemed pretty evenly divided. The

Unionists, however, seized upon the opportunity, and enlisting several

companies of militia, were soon masters of the situation. All suspects

were then called up to take the oath of allegiance. Those who refused to

do this were thrown into jail. Among those arrested were two brothers,

James and John Reynolds. They belonged to a large class of men just upon

the borderland of crime, working in the mines, driving bull teams,

steering for gambling houses, in fact, turning their hands to whatever

offered. Jack Robinson, a guard at the jail, was a fitting companion for

them, although he had not fallen under suspicion. One night while he was

on guard, a large party of suspects, known as the McKee party, broke jail

and made their escape, probably through the connivance of Robinson. At any

rate he carried food and supplies to them while they were concealed about

the city, and when they went south to join the rebel army, Robinson went

with them.

Early in 1864, James Reynolds, who was beginning to tire of the restraints

of military life, little irksome as they were among the irregulars under

the Confederate flag in Northern Texas, found himself at the head of a

company of fifty men, among whom were his brother, John, and Jack

Robinson. Then, too, Reynolds had an ambition to be a second Quantrell, to

be a freebooter, going where he pleased and plundering all who were not

strong enough to resist. He believed that with his company he could

imitate Quantrell's famous raid on Lawrence, overrun all Southern Colorado

and burn and sack the city of Denver, where he had been imprisoned. The

majority of his men were Texans, and they did not relish the idea of a

500-mile raid through a hostile country, so that when he got ready to

start, in April, 1864, he found that but twenty-two of his men would stay

with him. Nothing daunted, he resolved to push forward with this small

band, fully believing that he could get plenty of recruits in the mines,

where rebel sympathizers had been plentiful enough a few years before. In

this, as we shall learn later, he was badly disappointed, never securing a

single recruit. His friend, Col. McKee, gave them a pass through to

Belknap, and taking only a few rations they pushed on through the

Confederate lines. Once through the lines they rode swiftly westward

toward the Spanish peaks--grim beacons in an ocean of sand. When they ran

out of food they killed their pack animals, and thus managed to subsist

until they struck the Santa Fe trail.

They encountered a band of hostile Indians, but defeated them without

loss. A little further along the trail they met a wagon train which

Reynolds decided was too strong to be attacked, so he traded a horse for

some provisions. A few miles further up the trail they struck a Mexican

train, which they attacked and captured. Here they made a rich haul,

securing $40,000 in currency, $6,000 in drafts and about $2,000 in coin.

Taking arms, ammunition, provisions and such mules as they wanted, they

proceeded northward, leaving the Mexicans to get along as best they could.

A great deal of dissatisfaction had arisen among the members of the band

on account of Jim Reynolds taking possession of most of the money himself.

A portion of the gang sided in with Reynolds' theory that the captain

should have charge of the surplus funds, since he proposed to arm and

equip recruits as soon as they reached Colorado. Accordingly fourteen of

the party quit the gang and rode back toward Texas.

The little party now consisted of but nine men: James Reynolds, John

Reynolds, Jack Robinson, Tom Knight, Owen Singletary, John Babbitt, Jake

Stowe, John Andrews and Tom Halliman. That night they held a council of

war. It was decided to push on to Pueblo, then up the Arkansas into the

rich placer mining districts of the South park. Here they felt confident

of securing not only much plunder, but enough recruits to swoop down on

Denver. They cached a lot of their heavy plunder, consisting of extra

guns, ammunition and several hundred dollars of silver coin, which was too

heavy to be carried easily. Resting their horses, they moved on toward

Pueblo. Crossing the Arkansas at that place they rode on up the river to

where Cañon City now stands, where they went into camp. A man named

Bradley kept a store where the city now stands, and Reynolds dispatched

several of the gang with plenty of money to purchase clothing, provisions

and whisky. He did not go near Bradley himself, as he feared that

gentleman would recognize him, and Reynolds was not yet ready for trouble.

After having secured their supplies they pushed on to Current creek.

Finding there plenty of grass and water for their horses, they decided to

camp several days for rest and recuperation.

After holding another council they decided it would be better to push on

to California gulch (the present site of Leadville) in small squads so as

not to excite suspicion. After looking over the gulch for a day or two

they decided that the Buckskin and Mosquito camps offered better

opportunities for plunder. Accordingly the band reunited and came back

down the Arkansas, entering South park below Fairplay. They stopped for

the night at Guireaud's ranch, and Capt. Reynolds had a long talk with

Guireaud, with whom he seemed to be acquainted. He wrote several letters

to friends at Fairplay, and the next morning inquired of Guireaud what

time the coach left Buckskin, as he wanted to beat it to McLaughlin's

ranch to mail his letters. They at once set out for the ranch, which is

ten miles from Fairplay. On the road, Capt. Reynolds halted his men and

informed them that he proposed to rob the coach at McLaughlin's. When they

reached the creek below the ranch, they met McLaughlin and Maj. Demere,

and took them prisoners. McLaughlin was riding a very fine horse, and

Capt. Reynolds at once suggested that they swap. McLaughlin demurred, but

got down when Reynolds and several other members of the party drew their

guns. Reaching the ranch the party dismounted and put out a picket.

McLaughlin treated the men to some whisky and ordered his wife to prepare

dinner for the gang.

[Illustration: ROBBING A BUCKSKIN COACH.]

When the coach drew up, Reynolds stepped out and commanded the driver, Abe

Williamson, and Billy McClelland, the superintendent of the stage line,

who occupied the seat with the driver, to throw up their hands, one of his

men stepping in front of the horses at the same time. Their hands went up

promptly, and after being disarmed by another of the gang, Reynolds

ordered them to get down, at the same time demanding their money.

Williamson resented the idea of his having any money, saying that it was

the first time in all his travels that a stage driver had ever been

accused of having any of the long and needful green about his person. But

his talk didn't go with the bandits, and after searching him carefully

they found fifteen cents, which they took. Williamson's eyes scowled

hatred, and as will be learned later, he finally took an awful revenge for

the outrage. They "shook down" McClellan with much better results,

securing $400 in money and a valuable chronometer balance gold watch. They

then turned their attention to the express trunk, there being no

passengers on this trip. Halliman secured an axe to break it open, when

McClellan offered him the key. Reynolds refused the key, venturing the

opinion that they could soon get into it without the key. Breaking it open

they took out $6,000 worth of gold dust and $2,000 worth of gold amalgam

that John W. Smith was sending to the East, it being the first taken from

the Orphan Boy mine, as well as the first run from the stamp mill erected

in Mosquito gulch. Capt. Reynolds then ordered Halliman to cut open the

mail bags, passing him his dirk for the purpose. They tore open the

letters, taking what money they contained, which was considerable, as

nearly all the letters contained ten and twenty-dollar bills, which the

miners were sending back to their friends in the East. The haul amounted

to $10,000 in all, a much smaller sum than the coach usually carried out.

After having secured all the valuables, Capt. Reynolds ordered his men to

destroy the coach, saying that he wanted to damage the United States

government as much as possible. His men at once went to work to chopping

the spokes out of the wheels. They ate the dinner prepared by Mrs.

McLaughlin, and Capt. Reynolds then announced his determination to go on

to the Michigan ranch and secure the stage stock which were kept there.

Before leaving, he said to McClellan and the other captives, that if they

attempted to follow the bandits they would be killed, and that the best

thing they could do would be to remain quietly at the ranch for a day or

two, adding that they were only the advance guard of 1,500 Texas rangers

who were raiding up the park, saying also that 2,500 more Confederate

troops were on their way north and had probably reached Denver by that

time.

CHAPTER II.

THE WHOLE COUNTRY AROUSED--HUNDREDS OF ARMED MEN ON THEIR

TRAIL--REYNOLDS BECOMES ALARMED AND BURIES A LARGE PART OF THEIR

PLUNDER--THE PARTY ATTACKED IN CAMP--SINGLETARY KILLED AND CAPT.

REYNOLDS WOUNDED--THE BAND DISPERSED AND NEARLY ALL CAPTURED--BROUGHT

TO DENVER AND SENTENCED FOR LIFE.

They then rode away, leaving the settlers dumbfounded by the news. There

had long been rumors of such a raid, and there being neither telegraph nor

railroad, they had no means of verifying the reports. McClellan at once

announced his determination to alarm the mining camps of their danger, and

although his friends endeavored to dissuade him from his hazardous trip,

he mounted a mule and followed the robbers. He rode through Hamilton,

Tarryall and Fairplay, spreading the news and warning out citizens and

miners, arriving in due time at Buckskin. From there he sent runners to

California Gulch and other camps. McClellan himself stayed in the saddle

almost night and day for over a week, and in that time had the whole

country aroused. His energy and determined fearlessness probably saved

many lives and thousands of dollars worth of property.

Active measures were now taken for the capture of the guerrillas. Armed

bodies of miners and ranchmen started on their trail. Col. Chivington sent

troops from Denver to guard coaches and to assist in the capture. Gen.

Cook, at that time chief of government detectives for the department of

Colorado, accompanied the troops, and was soon on the trail of the

marauders. The news that a band of armed guerrillas was scouring the

country was dispatched by courier to Central City, and all the camps in

that vicinity were notified. Even south of the divide, at Pueblo and

Cañon, companies were organized, and it was but a question of a few days

at least when the band would be wiped out. Indeed, if there had been

4,000 of them as Reynolds had reported, instead of a little band of nine,

they would have been gobbled up in short order.

Reaching the Michigan house the guerrillas took the stage horses and

robbed the men who kept the station. Going on they passed the Kenosha

house, stopping at various ranches and taking whatever they wanted, and

robbing everybody they met. Passing Parmelee's and Haight's, they camped

near the deserted St. Louis house, and at daybreak moved on to the Omaha

house for breakfast. Besides refusing to pay for their meal, they robbed

all the travelers camped around the station except an Irishman hauling

freight to Georgia gulch. He gave them the pass word and grips of the

Knights of the Golden Circle, and was allowed to go on unmolested. While

here they found out that large bodies of citizens were in pursuit, and

they decided to move off the main road; so after leaving the Omaha house

they turned off and went up Deer creek to the range. Just after they had

gotten off the road into the timber a posse of twenty-two mounted men

passed up the road toward the Omaha house. After awhile they saw another

party evidently following their trail. Capt. Reynolds took a spyglass, and

finding that there were but eighteen of them decided to fight. He strung

his men out in single file in order to make a plain trail, and after going

about a mile, doubled back and ambushed his men at the side of the trail.

Fortunately for the pursuing party, they turned back before they were in

gunshot of the guerrillas. Whether they scented danger, or were tired of

following what they thought was a cold trail, is not known, but it was

probably the latter, as the Reynolds gang was not molested that day nor

the next, although with the aid of his glass Reynolds saw scouting parties

scouring the mountains in every direction. He saw that they were likely to

be captured and resolved to scatter the band in order to escape, hoping to

be able to rendezvous away down near the Greenhorn.

Capt. Reynolds decided that it would be prudent to conceal the greater

portion of their spoils until the excitement had died down somewhat.

Calling his brother, John, they passed up the little creek that ran by

their camp until they reached its head. Elk creek also heads near

there. They found a prospect hole which they thought would answer their

purpose. Capt. Reynolds took from his saddle-bags $40,000 in currency and

three cans full of gold dust, about $63,000 in all, leaving one large can

of gold dust and considerable currency to be divided among the band before

separating. They wrapped the currency up in a piece of silk oil cloth and

put it and the cans back in the hole about the length of a man's body.

Returning to the camp, Capt. Reynolds told his men that there were no

pursuers in sight, and announced his determination to disperse the band

temporarily, as he believed there was no chance of escape if they remained

together. He described the place of rendezvous mentioned, and told them

that it would be safe to move on down to a grove of large trees on Geneva

gulch, a short distance below, and camp for dinner, as there was no one in

sight. They went on down and camped, and turned their horses loose to

graze while dinner was being gotten.

[Illustration: THE ATTACK ON THE ROBBERS' CAMP.]

Two of the men were getting dinner, and the others were gathered around

Capt. Reynolds, who was busily dividing the remaining money and gold dust

among them, when suddenly a dozen guns cracked from behind some large

rocks about 220 yards from the outlaws' camp. Owen Singletary fell dead,

and Capt. Reynolds, who was at that moment dipping gold dust from a can

with a spoon, was wounded in the arm. The outlaws at once broke for the

brush, a few even leaving their horses.

The attacking party, which consisted of twelve or fifteen men from Gold

Run under the leadership of Jack Sparks, had crawled around the mountain

unobserved until they reached the rocks, and then fired a volley into the

robber band. When the robbers took to the brush, they went down to their

camp and secured several horses, the can of gold dust, the amalgam that

was taken from the coach at McLaughlin's, Billy McClellan's watch, and a

lot of arms, etc. It was coming on night, and after searching the gulches

for a while in vain, they cut off Singletary's head, which they took to

Fairplay as a trophy of the fight. This was July 31, 1864.

The next day Halliman was captured at the Nineteen-mile ranch, and they

kept picking up the guerrillas one or two at a time until the

Thirty-nine-mile ranch was reached. John Reynolds and Jake Stowe, who were

traveling together, were pursued clear across the Arkansas river, but they

finally escaped, although Stowe was severely wounded.

The remainder of the party were brought from Fairplay to Denver under a

heavy guard and placed in jail. They were given a sham trial, and as it

could not be proven that they had taken life they were sentenced to

imprisonment for life, although a great many of the citizens thought they

richly deserved hanging. While the party were in jail in Denver, Gen. Cook

had a long talk with Jim Reynolds, the captain, and tried to find out from

him what disposition had been made of all the money and valuables the

robbers were known to have captured, knowing that they must have concealed

it somewhere, since they had but little when captured. Reynolds refused to

tell, saying that it was "safe enough," and afterwards adding they had

"sent it home."

CHAPTER III.

THEY ARE STARTED TO FORT LYON--THEY UNDERSTAND THAT THEY ARE TO BE

KILLED--A BLOODTHIRSTY SERGEANT AND A BUNGLING EXECUTION--LEFT FOR

DEAD, JOHN ANDREWS ESCAPES--THE GANG FINALLY WIPED OUT--UNSUCCESSFUL

SEARCH FOR THE BURIED TREASURE.

About the first week in September the Third Colorado cavalry, commanded by

Col. Chivington, was ordered out against the Indians. Capt. Cree, of

Company A, was directed to take the six prisoners from the county jail to

Fort Lyon for "safe keeping," and to shoot every one of them if "they made

any attempt to escape." The prisoners knew that they would be shot if the

soldiers could find the slightest pretext for so doing. The troop was

composed of citizens of Denver and vicinity, some of whom had suffered

from the depredations of the gang. One man they particularly feared was

Sergt. Abe Williamson, who, it will be remembered, drove the coach which

they robbed at McLaughlin's. As they left the jail, Jim Reynolds called

out to Gen. Cook, who stood near watching the procession start, "Good-bye,

Dave; this is the end of us." He did not know how soon his prediction was

to be fulfilled.

The first night out they camped eight miles from Denver, on Cherry creek.

The prisoners were given an opportunity to escape, but they knew better

than to try it. The next day the troops moved on to Russelville, where

they camped for the night. Again the prisoners were given a chance to

escape, but were afraid to try it.

The next morning they were turned over to a new guard, under command of

Sergt. Williamson. They were marched about five miles from camp, and

halted near an abandoned log cabin. Williamson now told the prisoners that

they were to be shot; that they had violated not only the civil but the

military law, and that he had orders for their execution. Capt. Reynolds

pleaded with him to spare their lives, reminding him of the time when the

robbers had him in their power and left him unharmed. Williamson's only

reply was the brutal retort that they "had better use what little time

they still had on earth to make their peace with their Maker." They were

then blindfolded, the soldiers stepped back ten paces, and Sergt.

Williamson gave the order, "Make ready!" "Ready!" "Aim!" "Fire!" The sight

of six unarmed, blindfolded, manacled prisoners being stood up in a row to

be shot down like dogs unnerved the soldiers, and at the command to fire

they raised their pieces and fired over the prisoners, so that but one man

was killed, Capt. Reynolds, and he was at the head of the line opposite

Williamson. Williamson remarked that they were "mighty poor shots," and

ordered them to reload. Then several of the men flatly announced that they

would not be parties to any such cold-blooded murder, and threw down their

guns, while two or three fired over their heads again at the second fire,

but Williamson killed his second man. Seeing that he had to do all the

killing himself, Williamson began cursing the cowardice of his men, and

taking a gun from one of them, shot his third man. At this juncture, one

of his men spoke up and said he would help Williamson finish the sickening

job. Suiting the action to the word, he raised his gun and fired, and the

fourth man fell dead. Then he weakened, and Williamson was obliged to

finish the other two with his revolver. The irons were then removed from

the prisoners, and their bodies were left on the prairie to be devoured by

the coyotes. Williamson and his men rejoined their command and proceeded

on to Fort Lyon, with Williamson evidently rejoicing in the consciousness

of duty well done.

Several hours afterward one of the prisoners, John Andrews, recovered

consciousness. Although shot through the breast, he managed to crawl to

the cabin and dress his wound as best he could. He found a quantity of

dried buffalo meat, left there by the former occupants, upon which he

managed to subsist for several days, crawling to a spring near by for

water. About a week later, Andrews, who had recovered wonderfully, hailed

a horseman who was passing, and asked him to carry a note to a friend in

the suburbs of Denver. The stranger agreed to do this, and Andrews eagerly

awaited the coming of his friend, taking the precaution, however, to

secrete himself near the cabin for fear the stranger might betray him. On

the third day a covered wagon drove up to the cabin, and he was delighted

to hear the voice of his friend calling him. His friend, who was J. N.

Cochran, concealed him in the wagon, and taking him home, secured medical

attendance, and by careful nursing soon had him restored to health and his

wounds entirely healed. While staying with Cochran, Andrews related to him

the history of the guerrilla band as it is given here, with the exception

of the story of the buried treasure, which neither he nor any of the other

members of the band, except Jim and John Reynolds, knew anything about.

[Illustration: EXECUTION OF THE ROBBERS.]

When he had fully recovered, Andrews decided to make an effort to find

John Reynolds and Stowe, who, he thought, had probably gone south to Santa

Fe. Cochran gave him a horse, and leaving Denver under cover of darkness,

he rode southward. Reaching Santa Fe, he soon found Reynolds and Stowe,

and the three survivors decided to go up on the Cimarron, where they had

cached a lot of silver and other plunder taken from the Mexican wagon

train on the way out from Texas. Their horses giving out, they attacked a

Mexican ranch to get fresh ones. During the fight Stowe was killed, but

Reynolds and Andrews succeeded in getting a couple of fresh horses and

making their escape. They rode on to the Cimarron, and found the stuff

they had hidden, and then started back over the old trail for Texas. The

second day out, they were overtaken by a posse of Mexicans from the ranch

where they had stolen the horses, and after a running fight of two or

three miles, Andrews was killed. Reynolds escaped down the dry bed of a

small arroyo, and finally succeeded in eluding his pursuers. Returning to

Santa Fe, he changed his name to Will Wallace, and lived there and in

small towns in that vicinity for several years, making a living as a

gambler. Tiring of the monotony of this kind of a life, Reynolds formed a

partnership with another desperado by the name of Albert Brown, and again

started out in the holdup business. They soon made that country too hot to

hold them, and in October, 1871, they started toward Denver.

When near the Mexican town of Taos, they attempted to steal fresh horses

from a ranch one night, and Reynolds was mortally wounded by two Mexicans,

who were guarding the corral. Brown killed both of them, and throwing

Reynolds across his horse, carried him for several miles. At length he

found an abandoned dugout near a little stream. Leaving his wounded

comrade there, he set out to conceal their horses after having made

Reynolds as comfortable as possible. He found a little valley where there

was plenty of grass and water, about two miles up the cañon. Leaving his

horses there, he hastened back to the dugout, where he found Reynolds in a

dying condition, and the conversation related in the first chapter of this

story took place.

[Illustration: Reynold's Map. Star shows location of treasure.]

Brown pushed on northward to Pueblo, intending to push his way along the

Arkansas on up into the park, but found that the snow was already too

deep. Returning to Pueblo, he pushed on to Denver. He stayed there all

winter, selling his horses and living upon the proceeds. When spring came

he was broke, but had by chance made the acquaintance of J. N. Cochran,

who had befriended John Andrews, one of the gang, years before. Finding

that Cochran already knew a great deal about the gang, and needing some

one who had money enough to prosecute the search, he decided to take

Cochran into his confidence. Cochran was an old '58 pioneer, and had been

all over the region where the treasure was hidden, and knowing that Brown,

who had never been in Colorado before, could not possibly have made so

accurate a map of the locality himself, agreed to fit out an outfit to

search for the treasure. They took the map drawn by Reynolds while dying,

and followed the directions very carefully, going into the park by the

stage road over Kenosha hill, then following the road down the South

Platte to Geneva gulch, a small stream flowing into the Platte. Pursuing

their way up the gulch, they were surprised at the absence of timber,

except young groves of "quaking asp," which had apparently grown up within

a few years. They soon found that a terrible forest fire had swept over

the entire region only a short time after the outlaws were captured,

destroying all landmarks so far as timber was concerned.

They searched for several days, finding an old white hat, supposed to be

Singletary's, near where they supposed the battle to have taken place, and

above there some distance a swamp, in which the bones of a horse were

found, but they could not find any signs of a cave. Running out of

provisions they returned to Denver, and after outfitting once more

returned to the search, this time going in by way of Hepburn's ranch. They

found the skeleton of a man, minus the head (which is preserved in a jar

of alcohol at Fairplay), supposed to be the remains of Owen Singletary.

They searched carefully over all the territory shown on the map, but

failed to find the treasure cave. Cochran finally gave up the search, and

he and Brown returned again to Denver.

Brown afterward induced two other men to go with him on a third

expedition, which proved as fruitless as the other two trips. On their

return, Brown and his companions, one of whom was named Bevens and the

other an unknown man, held up the coach near Morrison and secured about

$3,000. Brown loafed around Denver until his money was all gone, when he

stole a team of mules from a man in West Denver, and skipped out, but was

captured with the mules in Jefferson county by Marshal Hopkins. Brown was

brought to Denver and put in jail, while Gen. Cook was serving his second

term as sheriff. When Sheriff Willoughby took charge in 1873, Brown

slipped away from the jailer and concealed himself until he had an

opportunity to escape. He went to Cheyenne, and from there to Laramie

City, where he was killed in a drunken row.

Gen. Cook secured Brown's map, and a full account of the outlaw's career

substantially as given here, and although he has had many opportunities to

sell it to parties who wished to hunt for the treasure, he declined all of

them, preferring rather to wait for the publication of this work. There is

no question but that the treasure is still hidden in the mountain, and,

although the topography of the country has been changed somewhat in the

last thirty-three years by forest fires, floods and snow-slides, some one

may yet be fortunate enough to find it.

CAPTURE OF THE ALLISON GANG.

CHAPTER IV.

A BAND OF STAGE ROBBERS IN SOUTHERN COLORADO TERRORIZE THE WHOLE

COUNTRY--THEY EVEN LOOT ENTIRE TOWNS--A BIG REWARD OFFERED--CAPTURED

BY FRANK HYATT, ONE OF THE SHINING LIGHTS OF THE ASSOCIATION, WITHOUT

A SHOT BEING FIRED.

Frank A. Hyatt, of Alamosa, Colo., assistant superintendent of the Rocky

Mountain Detective Association for the district embracing Arizona, New

Mexico and southern Colorado, has a greater string of captures of

criminals and desperadoes to his credit than any other officer in that

section. He served three years as city marshal of Alamosa, when that town

was accounted one of the toughest places in the Southwest, and has been

for twenty years deputy sheriff of Conejos county, Colorado. The people of

that section have learned to appreciate his worth, and when desperate

criminals are to be taken Frank Hyatt is the first man called upon. Plain,

modest and unassuming, Mr. Hyatt does not pose as a man-killer, although

he has more than once taken his life in his hands in desperate encounters

with criminals, and has been compelled to take human life to save his own.

His rule has been to capture his men by strategy, leaving the law to deal

justice to them, rather than to kill them in trying to make arrests. He is

still deputy sheriff of Conejos county, and his name is as much of a

terror to evil-doers as of old, although he does not employ as much of his

time in hunting bad men as he did in the early '80's. In fact, the bad men

have learned to shun his section pretty carefully.

Mr. Hyatt is engaged in the manufacture and sale of a patent handcuff, the

best thing of the kind made, of which he is also the inventor. It is known

as the "Dead Cinch," and once it is snapped on a prisoner he can not

escape. Give him the key and he can not unlock it; still his hands have

more freedom than with the old-style handcuff. One hand can be loosened

to allow the prisoner to feed himself, while the other is held fast in its

grip. It is almost indispensable to officers, who have charge of

desperadoes, or even of the insane, as hundreds of sheriffs, policemen and

other officers scattered over Colorado, New Mexico, Arizona and Utah can

attest.

[Illustration: "DEAD CINCH" HAND CUFFS.]

One of Mr. Hyatt's greatest exploits was the capture of the Allison gang

of stage robbers in 1881, shortly after he became a member of the

association. This gang was composed of Charles Allison, Lewis Perkins and

Henry Watts. Allison was a Nevada horse thief, who had escaped from

Sheriff Mat. Kyle, of Virginia City, while that officer was conveying him

to the state penitentiary at Carson City, after his conviction and

sentence for ten years, in 1878, by jumping from the train. He made his

escape and came to Colorado. In some way he ingratiated himself into the

good opinion of Sheriff Joe Smith, of Conejos county, and was made a

deputy sheriff. For a time he performed the duties of his position very

satisfactorily, but he finally drifted into the holdup business, while

still a deputy sheriff, with Perkins and Watts as his partners.

Alamosa, in the spring of 1881, was the terminus of the Denver and Rio

Grande railroad, and stages ran from there in nearly every direction. This

afforded a fruitful field for the robbers and in less than a month they

had robbed five coaches, securing plunder worth several thousand dollars.

Emboldened by their successes, they decided to operate on a larger scale,

and riding into Chama, N. M., they terrorized the inhabitants by firing

off their revolvers. When most of the inhabitants had sought places of

safety, they went through the stores at their leisure, taking all the

money they could find and what other stuff they wanted. A few days later

they repeated the experiment at Pagosa Springs, Colo., and were again

successful.

By this time the people were thoroughly aroused. Gov. Pitkin offered

$1,000 reward for the capture of Allison, and $250 each for the other two,

and the stage company offered an additional $250, which last, we may

remark parenthetically, was never paid. Notwithstanding the heavy rewards

offered, no one seemed to care about hunting up the outlaws. They were

known to be well armed and equipped, and it was thought that as they would

in all probability be lynched if caught, they would not surrender,

preferring rather to die fighting. Judge Hayt, now chief justice of the

state supreme court, was at that time district attorney for the twelfth

district, with headquarters at Alamosa. He sent for Hyatt and asked him if

he would not go after the robbers if he would issue a warrant. He replied

that while everybody thought they couldn't be taken, and that he was only

a young and inexperienced officer, he would do his best.

Hayt issued the warrant, and Hyatt secured the services of Hank Dorris, an

old ranchman, on whom he could rely; Miles Blaine, an Alamosa saloon

keeper, and Cy. Afton, a painter, and at once started after the gang. It

was soon learned that they had gone almost due south from Chama, and Hyatt

divined immediately that they had gone to Albuquerque, N. M. Putting his

men on the train, they all rode to Española, the end of the road, and from

there they went by stage on to Santa Fe, and then took the train for

Albuquerque. Hyatt felt sure that the robbers would cross the Rio Grande

at that point, so he put his men to guarding the bridge, while he inquired

about town to learn whether they had already passed through or not. He

could find no traces of them, so he concluded that they had not yet

reached the city. After waiting all day and all night, Hyatt decided to

leave his men there, and go back up the road himself to Bernalillo,

eighteen miles above, to look for them there.

Hyatt got off the train at Bernalillo and went into a restaurant to get

breakfast, and while he was eating who should walk in but the very men he

was after! They set their three Winchesters by the door, and as they

seated themselves at the table Allison drew his two revolvers from his

belt and laid them on his lap.

It was a trying moment. Allison had been slightly acquainted with Hyatt,

while they were both serving as deputy sheriffs of Conejos county, and had

the detective given a sign of recognition would have shot him dead before

he could reach a gun. Hyatt's face remained as immovable as that of the

Sphinx. He simply looked up, said "Good morning, gentlemen," and went on

nonchalantly eating his breakfast.

His conduct disarmed the suspicions of the men, and when he had finished

his meal he walked out as unconcernedly as if there were no stage robbers

within a thousand miles. He went to the depot, where he could watch their

movements, and when they had come out and rode off southward sent a

dispatch to his assistants at Albuquerque to meet them on their way, and

telling them that he would follow on horseback. Then he went to looking

for a horse. There was none to be had. Finally an old Mexican drove in

with two fine horses hitched to a wagon. After some parley, he agreed to

furnish a horse and go with Hyatt for $100. They set out and followed the

robbers, keeping within sight of them, until they stopped about two miles

from Albuquerque.

Meanwhile they had seen no signs of Dorris, Blaine and Afton, who should

have met them before this. Hyatt and the Mexican cut across toward town

and found their men just saddling up to start, having only just then

received the telegram. The robbers had camped within sight of town, and

Hyatt thought they might be decoyed into town and taken without bloodshed.

He knew that somebody would be killed if they attempted to capture them in

their camp.

At this juncture, Jeff Grant, a liveryman, volunteered to go out to the

robbers' camp and try to bring them in. He got on a bareback horse, and

pretended to be looking for horses that had strayed off. He went up to the

camp, inquiring about horses, and finally struck up a conversation with

them. Allison told him they were on their way to Lincoln county, N. M.,

Grant fell in with the idea at once, and told Allison that he wanted to

go down there himself about the 19th of June (this was Saturday, the

17th), and would like to have them wait and go with him. They claimed they

were short of funds, but Grant told them that he owned a livery stable,

and that it should not cost them anything to stay over a couple of days

and rest up. He added that the reason he wanted them to go with him was

that he was going to take down a string of race horses and quite a sum of

money to back them with, and as the country was infested with thieves and

desperadoes, he did not like to go alone.

[Illustration: Arrest of the Allison Gang at Albuquerque by Marshal

Hyatt.]

This decided the robbers. Here was a good chance to rest up their jaded

animals at some one else's expense, and also a prospect of some very good

picking afterward. Of course, they would wait and go along with him if

that was the case.

Pretty soon Hyatt and his men saw the four men come riding into town. They

hastily concealed themselves in the barn, Hyatt climbing into the hay mow,

and the others getting back in the mangers. They had but a minute to wait.

The men rode into the barn, dismounted, and Grant led the horses back.

The three men stood close together. "Throw up your hands!" commanded

Hyatt. They hesitated a moment, but when they caught the gleam of a

Winchester only a few feet from their heads, three pairs of hands shot up

instanter. They were disarmed and put in chains in a few moments, and

telegrams were sent out announcing their capture.

Some of the local authorities were disposed to interfere in the case, and

to avoid any trouble in getting a requisition, Hyatt agreed to turn over

the $500 reward offered by Gov. Shelton of New Mexico to them. It was a

cowardly holdup, but Hyatt couldn't well help himself, as the big end of

the reward was offered by Gov. Pitkin, and he had to get the prisoners to

Colorado in order to get it.

They were allowed to depart with their prisoners, and in due time reached

Alamosa without further incident. They placed them in jail, and Hyatt,

almost worn out with loss of sleep, went home and went to bed. In a few

minutes he was awakened by a messenger from Mayor Broadwell saying that a

mob was being formed to take the prisoners from the jail and lynch them.

Hyatt at once gathered a crowd of his friends, among whom were Judge

Hayt, Mayor Broadwell, Hon. Alva Adams, now governor of Colorado, and a

number of others, and took the prisoners from the jail, put them in a

caboose with an engine attached, which the mob had provided to take them

outside of town before stringing them up, and signalled to the engineer to

pull out, with an angry mob of several hundred following.

They escaped from the mob, and the next day the three prisoners were

placed behind the bars of the Arapahoe county jail at Denver. Gov. Pitkin

promptly paid Mr. Hyatt the $1,500 reward, and gave him $50 out of his own

pocket.

When the excitement had partially subsided the three men were taken back

to Conejos, the county seat, tried, convicted, and sentenced to the pen

for thirty-seven years each.

Perkins was pardoned out after having served eight years, and is now

running a big saloon and gambling hall at Trinidad, and is supposed to be

worth at least $25,000. Allison was pardoned after having served ten

years, and is now tending bar in a Butte City, Mont., saloon under an

assumed name. Watts, the third member of the gang, was pardoned out at the

same time Allison was let out, and afterward joined a band of train

robbers and was killed in Arizona about two years ago.

A COWBOY'S SAD FATE.

CHAPTER V.

BOLD, RECKLESS, JOHNNY VAN PELT ASSISTS A FRIEND TO ESCAPE FROM JAIL

AT BUENA VISTA--RIDES BOLDLY INTO ALAMOSA IN DAYLIGHT AND IS KILLED BY

MARSHAL HYATT WHILE RESISTING ARREST.

Johnny Van Pelt, a cowboy, who used to make his headquarters at Alamosa,

was as reckless a lad as ever punched cattle in southern Colorado, a

region particularly known for its tough characters, and while there was

nothing exceptionally bad in his make-up, his recklessness and his desire

to help a friend out of trouble cost him his life, and very nearly

resulted in the death of two brave officers.

William Morgan, an old acquaintance of Van Pelt's, was in jail in Buena

Vista, charged with the murder of his father-in-law. He managed to get

word to Van Pelt in some way that he was in jail, asking him to assist him

in escaping. Van Pelt at once quit work, and getting a couple of saddle

horses, he helped Morgan to break jail, and the precious pair rode

southward, intending to go to Old Mexico. They traveled on down the valley

until they reached Hank Dorris' ranch, fourteen miles above Alamosa.

Dorris had known Van Pelt, and their idea in stopping there was to borrow

some money. He was not at home, and they staid around two or three days

waiting for his return, sending word by one of his friends that they were

there waiting to see him. Shortly after their arrival at the ranch,

Marshal Frank Hyatt, of Alamosa, received a telegram from Sheriff J. J.

Salla, of Buena Vista, offering $50 reward for the capture of Morgan and

Van Pelt. He kept a close look-out for a day or two, when he happened to

run across his old friend, Dorris, of whom he made inquiries as to whether

any one answering their description had been seen up the valley. Dorris

was surprised to learn that Van Pelt was a fugitive from justice, and

telling Marshal Hyatt that he had just received word from his ranch that

they were there waiting for him, volunteered to go out and help the

officer get them. Dorris was sitting on his horse and Marshal Hyatt was

just going after his own animal when Van Pelt rode up and tied his horse

in front of the postoffice. He spoke pleasantly to the two officers, and

when he had tied his horse, stepped up and shook hands with the marshal.

As he did so the marshal said, "Johnny, I guess I will have to hold you

awhile." Van Pelt jumped back, and drawing a revolver from each overcoat

pocket leveled them at the marshal's breast.

Although the desperado had the drop on him, the brave officer never

flinched. He dared not attempt to draw a gun, so he decided to talk Van

Pelt out of shooting. Looking him straight in the eye, he said: "Don't

shoot, Johnny; you haven't done anything to shoot me for." Van Pelt, his

eyes still glaring with savage hate, evidently decided not to add

cold-blooded murder to his crimes, but keeping the officer covered,

commenced backing away to where his horse was tied. Just then Dorris, who

had slipped off his horse while the parley was going on, grabbed Van Pelt

from behind. The desperado jerked loose from Dorris, and, whirling around,

fired at him, the ball cutting through his coat and vest and cutting a

cigar in his vest pocket in two, but doing no serious damage. He then

turned and fired at Marshal Hyatt, who had torn his overcoat open and

gotten his own gun by this time. Then began a three-cornered battle--Van

Pelt retreating toward his horse, and firing as he went, with the two

officers following closely, and keeping up a fusillade of bullets.

When Van Pelt reached the telegraph pole where his horse was tied, he took

shelter behind it, and commenced to untie his horse with his left hand,

while he kept shooting with his right. Just as he got his horse untied,

Hyatt and Dorris both fired, and both shots took effect, one entering the

breast and the other smashing his thigh. He dropped his remaining gun, let

go his horse, and still holding to the pole, sank slowly to the earth,

saying "I'm killed." In twenty minutes he was dead.

Leaving the coroner to take charge of Van Pelt, Hyatt and Dorris hurriedly

mounted their horses and started for the latter's ranch to secure Morgan.

Arriving at the ranch, they found Morgan busy getting supper, having

unbuckled his belt containing his revolvers and thrown it on a lounge. At

Hyatt's command, he put up his hands with alacrity. It was but the work of

a few minutes to tie him securely, and Marshal Hyatt was soon on his way

back to Alamosa with the fugitive.

[Illustration: Killing of Van Pelt on the Streets of Alamosa by Officers

Hyatt and Dorris.]

But little else remains to be told. The verdict of the coroner's jury was

that the officers had killed Van Pelt while in the discharge of their

duty. Thomas O'Connor, a shoemaker, who stuck his head out of the shop

door when the shooting began, was struck in the cheek by a glancing

bullet, but was not seriously injured. Morgan, the man who caused all the

trouble, was taken up to Buena Vista, tried for the murder of his

father-in-law, convicted, and sentenced to the penitentiary for eight

years. People generally thought he should have been hung, as he was the

cause of at least three deaths. After her husband's murder, his

mother-in-law died of grief, and Van Pelt, as has been related, was killed

while trying to help the murderer escape.

DENVER'S LAST LEGAL HANGING.

CHAPTER VI.

TWO DRUNKEN NEGRO HOLDUPS MURDER STREET CAR DRIVER JOE

WHITNAH--OFFICERS ON THE WRONG TRACK--THE MURDERER TALKS TOO MUCH AND

GEN. COOK HEARS OF IT--BOTH MEN SOON IN THE TOILS--GREEN IS HANGED AND

WITHERS GOES TO THE PEN FOR LIFE.

The murder of Street Car Driver Joseph C. Whitnah by the two negroes,

Green and Withers, is noted not only for the cold-blooded nature of the

crime, but for the swift retribution which followed.

Whitnah was shot dead by Andy Green, a negro tough, on the night of May

19, 1886, in the boot of his car, at the Gallup turn-table at Alameda

avenue, on Broadway street, in Denver. Green and an accomplice named John

Withers, generally known as "Kansas" by his associates, were bent on

robbery. Denver did not then have her splendid system of cable and

electric cars, but the old-fashioned horse cars in a measure filled their

place. These cars carried no conductor, the passenger simply depositing

his fare in a little box in the front of the car in sight of the driver,

who also carried a box containing change for the accommodation of such

passengers as might not have the requisite nickel. Sometimes the driver

would have as much as $20 or $25 in his possession--scarcely enough to

tempt the average highwayman.

About 10 o'clock on the night of the murder, several parties living in the

vicinity of the turn-table heard a shot, then a scream, and then another

shot. A number of men ran to the scene of the shooting, but Whitnah, the

driver, was dead when they reached him. One or two of them had seen a man

running from the scene immediately after the shooting, but whether he was

white or black they could not tell.

The police soon arrived, but not a single clue to the perpetrators of

the dastardly crime could be obtained. What made the case all the more

difficult was the total absence of any apparent motive for the crime. The

money box had not been touched, and the young man, who was popular and

well liked by every one, was not known to have an enemy in the world.

Another thing which greatly complicated the case, was the number of

robberies and holdups that occurred the same night, and the officers

vainly tried to connect this crime with some of the others.

[Illustration: Killing of Street Car Driver Whitnah by Green and Withers.]

Since there was apparently no attempt at robbery, many people believed

that there was a woman in the case, and Sheriff Cramer and his deputies

went so far as to assert they had positive evidence that the crime had

been committed by one of the men who was first on the scene, a blacksmith

by the name of F. O. Peterson. He was held by the coroner's jury for

several days--long enough for the actual murderers to have escaped had

they chosen to do so--but was finally discharged, there being not a

particle of evidence against him.

Gen. Cook had taken a great deal of interest in the case from the start.

Whitnah had formerly been employed by him on his ranch near Denver, and as

he was an honest, industrious and inoffensive young man, Gen. Cook was

very anxious to have his murderer caught and punished. Although not

connected with either the sheriff's office or the police department at the

time, Gen. Cook had gone quietly to work making inquiries on his own

account, having confidence in the old adage, "Murder will out." He soon

learned that a negro named Larry Foutz who hung out at a very disreputable

Larimer street saloon, had been dropping a hint or two to his associates

that he could tell a whole lot about the mysterious murder if he chose,

and at once had him brought to the office of the Rocky Mountain Detective

Association. Foutz did not deny having knowledge of the crime, but wanted

to be assured by Gov. Eaton personally that he would receive the $500

reward which had been offered for the arrest of the murderer in case he

gave information that would lead to the arrest of the guilty parties. Gen.

Cook at once took him to the governor, who gave him the assurance asked

for, and Foutz immediately put Gen. Cook into possession of the principal

facts in the case, and enabled him to arrest the murderers within a very

few minutes.

Foutz's story was to the effect that he had talked to Green that evening

at the saloon, and that Green had proposed that Foutz and "Kansas" Withers

should go out with him and rob a street car driver. Foutz seemed to

consider the proposition very favorably, but got very drunk before they

got ready to start and was left behind. He talked to Green the day after

the killing, and Green told him that the reason they killed Whitnah was

that he did not throw up his hands when commanded, as he was turning his

car. Green fired a shot to scare him, and he gave a couple of loud

screams. Green then stepped closer and shot him through the body, and he

immediately fell back dead. Withers was to have secured the money box, but

when the shooting occurred he ran like a deer. Green heard a man coming

and he followed Withers.

Gen. Cook lost no time in arresting the two men. He went to Chief of

Police Hogle and found that Green, who had been arrested and fined for

carrying concealed weapons a few days before, was still on the chain gang

in North Denver. The patrol wagon was secured, and in less than an hour

Green was in jail. Withers was carrying a hod on a new building going up

on Arapahoe street. He was at once taken into custody, and confessed his

share in the crime before the jail was reached. His confession did not

differ materially from the story already related by Foutz, except that he

insisted that he was not a party to the killing, having told Green that he

would not go along if there was to be any shooting.

Green was much more reticent and could not be induced to talk for a long

time. Being told that Withers had already confessed he at length decided

to tell his side of the case. He had nothing new to tell as the detectives

already knew he was the man who had committed the cruel murder. He denied

that he had gone out there with any intention of killing the driver, but

simply fired the first shot to scare him, and as the ball was afterward

found lodged in the top of the car, his story was undoubtedly true. He

said that Whitnah's screams scared him, and he made another step or two

towards him and then fired to kill him, as he said, "To stop his d----d

racket." He then ran after Withers. They then went to their homes and went

to bed, and had it not been for Foutz's talk might never have been

suspicioned of the crime.

[Illustration: Hanging of Andrew Green in the bed of Cherry Creek July 27,

1886.]

A mob of several hundred men and boys was formed the night after their

capture, to break into the jail and hang the two negroes, but lacking

leadership it was soon dispersed by the police.

Public excitement and the danger of lynching induced the calling of a

special grand jury, the indictment of Green and Withers and a speedy

trial. They were tried separately. On the 22d of June the trial of Green

opened. Two days were spent empaneling a jury, and on June 25 he was

convicted of murder in the first degree, and sentenced to be hanged on

July 27. Withers was allowed to plead guilty to murder in the second

degree, and was sentenced to the state penitentiary at Cañon City for

life, where he is now serving his time, having made two or three

ineffectual attempts to secure a pardon.

The efforts of Green's attorneys to secure a new trial were unsuccessful,

and he was executed on the day set by Judge Elliott, July 27. The

scaffold, which was a very simple affair of the "twitch up" variety, was

erected in the bend of Cherry creek, directly east of the Smith chapel,

West Denver, and about midway between Broadway and Colfax Avenue bridges.

The execution was public and free to everybody, and the crowd was

estimated at 15,000. Green stepped upon the low scaffold in an easy,

careless manner, fully conscious of the fact that he was entertaining the

crowd of his life, and deriving no small amount of satisfaction therefrom.

He was permitted by Sheriff Cramer to deliver a long rambling speech, in

the course of which he advised everybody to beware of drink and gambling

halls, which he said had led to his ruin. At the conclusion of his speech

the black cap was adjusted, and at 2:20 Sheriff Cramer cut the rope.

Green's body rose slowly into the air and his limbs twitched convulsively

for several minutes. At the end of twenty-five minutes he was pronounced

dead, and his body was taken down and delivered to the undertakers. The

autopsy disclosed the fact that his neck was not broken.

Thus ended the career of as depraved a wretch as ever existed. According

to the story of his life, written by him for a local paper, his thieving

propensities were early developed, as was his disregard for human life. At

the age of fourteen he had shot his father while the latter was chastising

him for a theft, inflicting a severe wound. After that he had served

sentences in innumerable jails and workhouses for various crimes,

principally stealing. He had also served a five-year term in the Missouri

penitentiary for a burglary committed at Lexington, a little town near

which he was born. The trial and execution of Green scared hundreds of

petty crooks away from Denver, and for a long time afterward the city was

almost entirely free from holdups and burglaries.

THE ITALIAN MURDERS.

CHAPTER VII.

THE ITALIAN MURDERS--THE GREAT DENVER SENSATION OF 1875--FOUR DECAYING

BODIES FOUND AT 2334 LAWRENCE STREET--A HORRIBLE SIGHT--SUSPICION

POINTS TO A BAND OF FELLOW-COUNTRYMEN--GEN. COOK TAKES THE CASE IN

HAND.

One of the most horrible crimes that ever cast a silhouette athwart the

darkened pages of criminal history was revealed to the startled citizens

of Denver on the 21st day of October, 1875, consisting in the discovery of

what afterwards became known throughout the state as the Italian murders.

The revelation of the crime, the obscurity of the victims, the length of

time elapsing between the perpetration and the discovery, the mystery

enveloping the deed with an apparently impregnable mantle, and the swift

following detection and apprehension of the perpetrators, all combine to

form the basis for one of the most interesting narratives ever found in

criminal or detective literature.

For several days prior to the finding of the bodies of the victims, those

residing in the vicinity of No. 2334 Lawrence street had detected the

presence of a stench, faint at first, but daily increasing, leading to a

suspicion that the body of some animal had been permitted to remain there

long after life was extinct. The smell from this supposed carcass becoming

more obnoxious, the investigation which eventually revealed the crime,

that all were surprised to find had been committed, was instituted.

Accompanied by an officer, persons residing in the neighborhood began a

search, and their attention was directed to an unoccupied frame building,

where countless flies swarmed around the windows, causing a suspicion that

within the portals of the house reposed the object sought.

The building contained three rooms, the front and larger one

communicating with those in the rear by a hall, while a rude, unfinished

cellar had been excavated below. The door was unlocked, and pushing it

open, the room was gained, when it became apparent that crime and not

carelessness would be revealed.

Evidences of a sanguinary encounter were but too plainly visible. There

was blood on the floor, and a dozen pools were yet bright and crimson. On

the walls were great splotches of blood, and in the hall leading to the

kitchen the tell-tale imprints of bloody hands seemed to point with grim

and ghastly fingers the way to the crime.

The house was destitute of furniture, but in the middle apartment stood a

scissor-grinding machine, over which had been thrown a torn and soiled

blanket, revealing the occupation of some of the late inmates. Following

along the hall, where a crimson trail proved that some heavy and bleeding

object had been dragged, the kitchen was reached. This room was very

dirty, and contained a broken stove, a wash boiler, a box, a dilapidated

valise and some fragments of food. Here a trap-door was found, and when it

was opened a rush of effluvia nearly overpowered those present. A rickety

stair led to the dark hole beneath. A candle was procured, and its fitful

flame exposed a sight that passes all description.

Under the stairs, in a dark, filthy corner, lay four decaying human

bodies, piled two on two, with all four heads touching the wall. Over them

had been thrown some dirty mattresses and blankets, and on these a

miscellaneous assortment of traps piled on as weights. At the feet of the

bodies lay three large harps, two violins, a scissor-grinding machine, a

hatchet, a hammer and several dirks. The edge of the hatchet was besmeared

with blood, while to the handle still clung a tuft of hair, showing that

the tool had been used in the bloody murder. The dirks were blood-covered

from point to hilt. On the harp-strings and on the violins and also on the

stairs, the life-tide of the victims had left its gory stain, while the

mattresses and blankets were saturated with it.

The clothing, down to the bloody shirts, had been stripped from the bodies

of the victims, while those of the others were slit and rent where the

cruel knives had torn their way to the vitals.

[Illustration: THE ITALIAN MURDER.]

But greater horrors and more ghastly sights than these were there. The

four throats had been cut from ear to ear, and the sickening wounds gaped

wide, like the mouth of some huge fish. The abdomens, the arms and the

hands of the bodies had been cut and mangled, while the blackened faces

scarcely any trace of humanity wore.

The coroner was soon on the scene, and while the undertaker was

transferring the bodies to coffins, a crowd of morbid sightseers

assembled. The news of the discovery spread with marvelous rapidity, and

the throng grew larger and larger, until the streets, the neighboring

yards and even the adjacent housetops were packed with people. Men, women

and children fairly trampled each other in their wild desire to view the

bodies, and the officers were powerless to preserve anything approaching

decorum.

The wildest and most exaggerated stories were circulated. It was evident

to all that a quadruple murder had been committed, but no one knew the

authors of the crime or its inspiration; for while it was known that a

party of Italians had occupied the house, no one could be found who had

seen any one enter or emerge since the preceding Sunday. One body was

identified by a colored shoemaker, who had repaired the shoes still on its

feet, but aside from the fact that one of the victims was an old Italian

called "Uncle Joe," and that the others were three boys, two of whom had

passed as his sons, and the other as his nephew, little could be gleaned

from the excited crowd.

The four bodies were taken away in an express wagon and buried in the

Potter's field. Still the object of the crime and by whom committed were

things wrapped in mystery so profound that it seemed as though the final

day alone would reveal the awful secret.

But all are not gifted with that insight into the ways of crime that comes

only from long experience in hunting it out, and is often so marvelous

that it takes the aspect of instinct. Gen. D. J. Cook, chief of the Rocky

Mountain Association, and then sheriff of Arapahoe county, without

waiting for any offer of reward, took the case in hand even before the

coroner's jury had completed its task. With a shrewdness almost without

parallel he had comprehended a theory of the murders, and had his vigilant

detectives on the track of the murderers.

The inquest developed but few facts, and these strengthened the theory the

keen chief had entertained. Persons were found who identified the remains

as those of Guiseppe Peccora, his two sons, Giovanni and Guiseppe, and a

nephew called Luigi, and the fact was also elicited that Filomeno

Gallotti, Michiele Ballotti and one or more unknown confederates had been

their former associates.

Little was known of the class to which the victims belonged, for by

occupation they were itinerant musicians and scissor-grinders, and were

constantly wandering from place to place. No. 2334 Lawrence street had

been a lounging place for some eight or ten of this class.

Putting this and that together, Gen. Cook formed the theory that the old

man and three boys had been murdered by the visitors for their money,

although many entertained the idea that a free fight had culminated in the

death of the weaker ones, and that the visitors had hastily concealed the

bodies and fled. Suspicion pointed to a gang of Italians headed by

Gallotti, who had occupied a shanty on lower Fifteenth street, and Cook

soon ascertained that some nine or ten made that a stopping place, as

shown by the registry lists of the ward in which the building stood. The

boss of the gang was this Filomeno Gallotti, a man possessing some means,

and the owner of a tin shop at that place. Antonio Dertiro, a good

looking, fair haired boy, claimed to be his apprentice at the munificent

salary of $150 a year, and the wily detective learned that on the Thursday

or Friday preceding the discovery of the bodies this youth had

disappeared. The following day Gallotti also took his departure. It was

learned that he claimed that the boy had stolen some money, and that he

professed to be following him--all of which Gen. Cook pronounced "too

thin." The tools, traps and miscellaneous plunder had disappeared from

the shop, and none of the gang had been seen after Saturday night.

While the coroner's jury was pursuing its investigations, Cook and his men

were at work on their own clues. They had already become thoroughly

convinced that Gallotti and his satellites were responsible for the

murder, and determined to waste no time in waiting upon the verdict of the

inquisition. They set to work to discover the extent of the conspiracy,

which to their minds had resulted in the wholesale murder; to determine

upon the participants in the first place, and in the next to obtain clues

by which they might be hunted down. They had disappeared; that was a point

beyond peradventure. But whither had they gone? This was more important to

those who were anxious that justice should be meted out to the wretches

responsible for the crime, the horrible evidences of which confronted the

community. It had become quite evident that Gallotti had been engaged in

the murder, and Gen. Cook was also convinced that he had had accomplices,

but who they were and what marks of identification they bore were among

the facts which were not known, but which detective skill was expected to

bring to light. There was evidently much work to be done. All were crying

for the apprehension of the criminals--the state, the county, the city,

the people. But no one offered a reward. Calling his associates together,

Gen. Cook spoke briefly to the point, without any flourish of rhetoric or

waste of words. "Boys," he said, "you know there has been a great crime

committed here. The murderers are hardly known; of their whereabouts we

are utterly ignorant. They must be brought to justice, and that is our

work. There is no reward offered, but at this time we will not wait to ask

for pay. Hunt the scoundrels down at any cost, and I will see that your

bills are met. Do your duty." After a brief comparison of notes the men

were off, this one going here and that one there, as Gen. Cook might

direct.

It was not long until the discovery was made that Gallotti had been

assisted in his work of murder by several others--perhaps half a dozen. A

clue found here and another there gradually disclosed to the detectives

the work before them. In prosecuting their investigations they learned

something of the character of Gallotti himself. His history had been one

of thrilling and romantic interest--fitting him especially for the role he

had assumed as leader of the murderous band of this city. Back in Italy he

had been a member of a band of outlaws, which for a score of years had

been the terror of travelers and residents of the district in which it

operated. Stolen from his home as a boy by these banditti, Gallotti grew

up with them, soon became one of them, and gradually advanced in his

accomplishments until he became one of the most renowned of the gang. He

was cold-blooded, cunning, self-possessed and daring when necessary. To

him no man's life was sacred. Murder was regarded only as a part of the

work necessary to secure booty. Gallotti never shirked his "duty" when

assassination was a part of it. Ultimately he was elected chief of the

band of which he had long been virtually leader, but soon afterwards was

compelled to flee the country. He came to America and ultimately landed in

Denver, where he became acquainted with Michiele Ballotti and others of

his nationality, including "Old Joe" and his boys. It was further learned

that the children who called Pecorra "father" and "uncle" were not united

to him by any tie of kindred, but that he was merely an old padrone who

had stolen the boys and was compelling them to work and earn money for

him. He worked himself as a scissor grinder and sent the boys out as

musicians, and compelled them at times to beg for money. When they came

home at the end of the day, with scant earnings, he beat and abused them;

so that they worked hard and brought many a coin to the old man. Pecorra

was supposed by Gallotti to be rich, and adding this point to the

knowledge which he possessed of the outlaw's character, Gen. Cook had no

difficulty in fixing upon him as the leader of the murderous gang.

Another point of more immediate interest was soon brought to light. In

looking about, Gen. Cook learned of numerous purchases that had been made

by Italians. Many such articles as agricultural implements and guns had

been purchased by the men whom he had come to suspect as the murderers. He

was thus led to infer that it was the intention of the murderers to go

into farming somewhere. He concluded that they would not risk their lives

by remaining near Denver. If they had been going East they would not have

bought these articles in Denver. He took the precaution to telegraph to

all the important European seaports to have the men apprehended in case

they should land, spending no small amount of money for cablegrams. But he

was really convinced from the first that the men whom he sought had not

gone across the plains, and that they did not intend to cross them.

Putting this and that together he reached the conclusion in an instant

that the men would make an effort to escape by going south to Mexico. He

also learned that three men, who were described as Italians or Mexicans,

had boarded a south-bound train at Littleton a few days previous. He

concluded that these were the men, or some of the men, that he wanted.

Selecting the late W. Frank Smith and R. Y. Force, as two of the most

efficient of his officers, he started them south in pursuit of the

culprits.

CHAPTER VIII.

PURSUIT OF THE ITALIAN MURDERERS BY THE DETECTIVE ASSOCIATION--SMITH

AND FORCE ON THE TRAIL--THEY BECOME DISCOURAGED AT PUEBLO, BUT ARE

URGED ON BY CHIEF COOK--PART OF THE GAME AT LAST FOUND AT TRINIDAD AND

THREE OF THE MURDERERS ARRESTED--THEY CONFESS THE ENTIRE CRIME AND,

RETURNING TO DENVER, NARROWLY ESCAPE LYNCHING--ARREST OF DEODOTTA AND

"OLD JOE" AT SLOAN'S LAKE, NEAR DENVER, UNDER EXCITING CIRCUMSTANCES.

Meantime the coroner's jury continued its work. A verdict was rendered in

accordance with the facts gleaned concerning the murders as related in the

previous chapter, but beyond these nothing was known. The suspected men

had disappeared, and it was shown that the crime had been committed nearly

a week before it was discovered. Public indignation ran high, and it was

feared that, should the murderers be captured, the enraged people would

not brook the necessary delay incident to the legal trial of the fiends.

This feeling culminated in the firing of the house on Lawrence street a

few nights after the discovery of the crime. The firemen confined their

attention to the preservation of the adjoining buildings, and by one

accord public sentiment allowed the building to be entirely consumed.

The details of the pursuit and capture of the criminals, with the trials

and adventures of the detectives, form a most interesting and thrilling

narrative, and give an insight into the ways adopted by those keen men who

render crime doubly dangerous by making the punishment of the offenders

approximately inevitable.

The manner in which the perilous and responsible duty of tracking the

murderers was performed proves the chief's sagacity in selecting Smith and

Force for the work. For twenty-one days and nights they tracked the

villains. Scarcely sleeping, alike regardless of hot suns, cold rains or

chilling snows, through cañons, over plains, wandering through the slums

and by-ways, these men of iron nerve and tireless constitution pursued

their object until they met with the reward due their skill and

perseverance.

Pursuant to the instructions of Chief Cook the detectives started south on

Saturday morning after the discovery of the crime. At Pueblo they

separated, Force remaining there, while Smith proceeded to Cañon City. The

air was full of rumors, many wild and without foundation, while others

possessed the element of plausibility. It was no easy task to arrive at

anything like a correct opinion by giving credence to any rumor, but after

infinite difficulty a trail was discovered at Pueblo leading toward

Trinidad. This Mr. Smith was averse to taking, and so telegraphed Gen.

Cook, but the latter replied: "Go ahead; the money is mine." Smith and

Force at once joined at Pueblo and hastened to Trinidad. Arriving there

they went to a saloon frequented by Italians, and there found some of the

very men for whom they were searching, namely, Michiele Ballotti,

Silvestro Campagne and Leonardo Allesandri, against whom there were strong

suspicions, who were making music for the saloon loafers with all their

might. After looking on for a moment to make sure of their game, the

officers approached the startled musicians with drawn guns and demanded a

surrender, which was sullenly acceded to. Detective Smith at once asked

Ballotti when he came to Trinidad. Ballotti answered quite coolly to the

effect that he had been there about two weeks, but Silvestro trembled

visibly, and seemed to realize that they were about to get into trouble.

Being confident that these were the men they sought, the detectives took

them in charge and placed them in jail.

Up to the present time it will be borne in mind that there had as yet been

no definite clue obtained as to the identity of the murderers. It is true

that strong suspicion had been aroused, but, after all, suspicion is no

proof. It remained for these three men to "give the whole thing dead

away." When they were taken to jail and searched some of the money taken

from old Pecorra's house was found upon the persons of the men, and when

they were stripped the most convincing proofs of their guilt stared the

officers in the face. The undershirts which they wore were still saturated

with blood--blood which they confessed had flown from the veins of their

victims, the padrone and his little boy slaves.

The fact of the crime being once acknowledged, the men were very free to

talk, and they not only confessed their own crime, but revealed the names

of others engaged with them, and poured into the ears of the detectives

the bloody story of the murder which they had committed a few days before

in Denver. The same stories were afterwards repeated in Denver, and will

be told in their proper place. The names of the murderous band, including

their own, as revealed by this delectable trio, were: Filomeno Gallotti,

Henry Fernandez, John Anatta, Frank Valentine, Michiele Ballotti,

Silvestro Campagne, Leonardo Allesandri, Guiseppe Pinachio and Leonardo

Deodotta, all of them being Italians except Fernandez, who was a Mexican.

They also told a story which confirmed Cook's theory that the band

intended to flee to Mexico, and informed the officers where proof could be

obtained of the facts in the case. They stated that not only agricultural

implements had been secured, but guns and ammunition as well. The party

had intended to select as a hiding place some quite, secluded valley,

where they could make their headquarters, and whence they, as a band of

brigands of the old Italian model, could make their forays upon the

traveling and civilized world. They stated further that Gallotti and some

of his men had fled from Denver, but that they had left confederates in

the persons of Deodotta and old Joe Pinachio, living quietly near Sloan's

lake, who, they said, knew of the whereabouts not only of the implements

and munitions to be sent to Gallotti in Mexico, but also of the place at

which was hidden away the bulk of the money taken from old Pecorra's house

after the murder, as well. These facts were, of course, promptly

telegraphed to Gen. Cook, who acted upon them, as shall be detailed in the

proper place.

Within two hours the prisoners were securely ironed, and the next morning

they commenced the journey that would terminate in the city where they had

committed the terrible crimes, and where the news of their capture was,

even then, creating wild excitement.

By 5 o'clock on the afternoon of their arrival a crowd began to gather at

the depot. The afternoon was dark and lowering, and a fitful fall of snow

chilled the air. But the impatient crowds surged and stamped around in a

vain effort to keep warm, determined to suffer rather than to let the

prisoners arrive without their knowledge. Day was fading to chill and

cheerless night when the train drew up at the platform. A wild rush

ensued, but the police kept a passageway open, and the prisoners were soon

landed in an omnibus that had been secured for the purpose, officers

mounted the top and with Gen. Cook and his assistant detectives inside and

an officer on the step, the omnibus started for the jail. Scarcely had the

wheels revolved, ere the crowd by one great common impulse made a rush for

the vehicle with cries of "a rope!" "a rope!" "hang them!" which were

caught up and repeated until the vast array seemed turned into a mighty

mob bent on avenging the death of the old man and the boys, determined on

a sudden and swift execution of the human birds of prey, and it seemed as

though the officers would be powerless to protect the ironed ingrates who

trembled as they beheld the wrath of the populace. Chief Cook was there,

and his cool and steady eye had watched the pulsations of the throng, and

just as the vehicle was fairly surrounded he drew his revolver and ordered

the leaders of the mob back. Detective Smith was ordered to present his

Winchester, which he did, and the officer on the steps also covered those

nearest him. The crowd fell back and the driver lashed his horses into a

run, ploughing through the crowd. Numbers followed, intent on overtaking

the omnibus and capturing the criminals, while others rushed on to see the

results. The tide swept down Blake street in a wild disordered procession.

The driver was instructed to push the horses, and in a few moments the

prisoners were securely locked in the jail, to their great relief, and to

the disappointment of the crowd that had followed, hoping to see them

dangle from the limb of some tree or suspended from a telegraph pole.

Great satisfaction was felt that these wretches had been secured, and the

public sentiment, which always sooner or later arrives at correct

conclusions, could find no praise too flattering for the able

superintendent and his worthy assistants.

After hearing the news from Trinidad, and especially that which told of

the presence of some of those who had been implicated in the murders near

Denver, Gen. Cook was not idle, but he went to work to make investigations

here. He began by arresting an Italian known as "Old Joe," who lived on

the ranch near Sloane's lake, with Deodotta. Joe was placed in jail for a

day or so. He was a half-crazy creature, and it was believed that he could

be made to tell whatever he might know of the facts in the case. He was

consequently informed by Cook that he must either divulge his secrets or

submit to sudden annihilation. He promised to reveal everything, but when

taken by Gen. Cook out to the place where the treasure was supposed to be

buried, he failed to find the spot, either because of ignorance or

craftiness.

Better success was had with Deodotta. He was also placed under arrest, and

after being told that he must die or tell where the money taken from old

Pecorra's house had been buried, he promised to do all in his power to

find it. He was accordingly taken from the jail one morning before sunrise

and driven out to his house and told to find the treasure, no one

accompanying the detective and his prisoner except the driver of the

express wagon. Arriving at the place, Deodotta made a last effort to

conceal the whereabouts of the money, and when his protestations were

doubted he crossed his breast and prayed with fervor. When Cook swore at

him, he crawled on his knees and cried before him like a sniveling cur.

After digging in one or two places for the money and failing to find it,

Cook leveled his gun at the old sinner's head and said to him:

"Now find that money in just one minute or I'll kill you where you stand."

There was no foolishness now. Quick as thought Deodotta jumped to a spot

where lay a bone and where a weed was standing with the top end stuck in

the ground, and with two or three strokes of the pick, brought the

treasure to light. It consisted of a package of money amounting to $350

which had belonged to the murdered man, and which was picked up and

brought back to town by Gen. Cook, and Deodotta once more lodged in jail.

Thus was a very essential part of the work performed with but little

ostentation and no blow in the newspapers.

[Illustration: Finding of the Treasure stolen from old Joe Pecorra by his

murderers, under direction of Gen. Cook.]

CHAPTER IX.

ON GALLOTTI'S TRACK--A LETTER REVEALS HIS FLIGHT TO MEXICO WITH

FERNANDEZ, ANNATTA AND VALENTINE--DETECTIVE SMITH IN SAN LUIS VALLEY

AS AN OFFICER FOR UNCLE SAM AND A SHEEP BUYER--THE MURDERERS RUN DOWN

AT LAST AND CAPTURED AT THE POINT OF A PISTOL--A FRIEND WHO WAS NOT A

FRIEND--A LONG BUT FRUITFUL CHASE AFTER VALENTINE.

It must not be supposed that Gen. Cook had been devoting his entire

attention to either the men who had been captured at Trinidad or those

taken near Denver. He had now learned enough to know that Gallotti had

been the organizer and head executor of the quadruple murder, and him he

wanted more than any other of the gang of cut-throats. He had been seeking

anxiously for some clue that would reveal the whereabouts of this wretch

and lead to his capture. The most assiduous attention and the most arduous

labor seemed at first likely to prove barren of results. At last one

night, however, Gen. Cook was summoned to a dark side of the street by an

individual, who poured into the general's anxious ear the story of the

flight of the chief of the band and three of his accomplices. This man was

a friend of the Spaniard, Fernandez, and to convince the detective that he

spoke the truth he pulled a letter from his pocket, from Fernandez,

bearing the post mark of Fort Garland, in San Luis park. This letter was

turned over to Gen. Cook, and being read revealed the welcome news that

Gallotti and Fernandez and Anatta were then in San Luis park, making their

way to Mexico by going down the Rio Grande river. The letter told further

that they were traveling by slow stages, that because Gallotti had sent

Valentine back to Denver on horseback to carry certain instructions to

Deodotta and to bring the money deposited near Sloan's lake to him.

This was about as good a thing as Cook wanted. He slept but little that

night, but devoted himself with all the intensity of his nature to

maturing plans for the pursuit and capture of the outlaws. He decided to

put the pursuing expedition in charge of Smith, who should be accompanied

by an Italian who had taken the American name of James Lewis, and who, by

the way, afterwards became the notorious Arizona Bill. This man knew

Gallotti and besides spoke English as well as Italian. He was known to be

faithful and was considered "a happy hit."

The two men were off early the next morning, bound for the southward,

Smith carrying a letter from Cook to Maj. Horace Jewett, who was then in

command at Fort Garland, informing the major of the mission of the

detectives and requesting him to furnish them with whatever facilities

might be required for the prosecution of their work. They were told to

obtain army horses and to dress as soldiers, for Americans other than

"blue-coats" were then scarce in San Luis, and likely to create suspicion.

Armed with these and other instructions from their chief, the men departed

upon their mission, going as far as they could in the cars, the Denver and

Rio Grande railroad then being completed only to Walsenburg. Leaving the

railroad they turned their faces westward, towards San Luis park.

After walking a few miles they secured a team of horses from a ranchman,

with which they expected to continue the journey. The horses unfortunately

were affected with the epizootic, then raging, and proved a source of

inconvenience and annoyance. From one place to another through the San

Luis valley the trail was steadily followed. At Fort Garland, Maj. Jewett

received the officers cordially and entered heartily into the plan

suggested by Gen. Cook, giving Smith and Lewis soldiers' uniforms and a

pair of government mules branded "U. S." Assuming the _role_ of government

officers in search of deserters, the pursuers continued their journey to

Culabra, where it was hoped to intercept the criminals. But in this hope

the officers were disappointed, for upon arriving there it was discovered

that the men sought had gone further southward. But a point was gained in

learning that they were on the trail.

It was ascertained that while in Culabra, the fugitives had stopped at the

house of a Frenchman. The Frenchman was ready to render any assistance in

his power, and to this end informed the detective that the men had gone

on foot about fourteen miles down Culabra creek. By a little sharp

practice it was discovered that the Frenchman was endeavoring to aid the

criminals and had himself lent them horses and accompanied them on the

road towards Taos, N. M.

Detective Smith here suddenly conceived a violent passion for the sheep

business. His suit of blue was changed for a brand new one corresponding

with his newly assumed avocation, and a broad-brimmed hat and a glittering

array of jewelry completed the make-up of as perfect a stock king as ever

proudly paced the soil of New Mexico. A gentleman named Thaw, who had

formerly been a policeman in Denver, and who was now living in San Luis,

was called upon, and the detective's wand also transformed him into a

sheep buyer, and he was at once admitted as a partner in the imaginary

firm. The interpreter, Lewis, was also given a new _role_, or rather a

double character. He was to ride along the road and inquire for his

"partners," describing the other Italians whom they were pursuing, and at

various places he would also claim to be connected with the firm of sheep

purchasers as an assistant. At Sierra de Guadaloupe they passed one night,

and Lewis lost no time in spreading the news that the detective and his

partner were men of means, traveling through the country for the purpose

of buying sheep. The entire population turned out to see them, and by

cautious inquiries they learned that the murderers had undoubtedly gone

toward Taos.

Before daylight the officers were on the road again, and by rapid driving

reached Taos during the afternoon. Repairing to the only hotel in the

place, the detective again "talked sheep," and soon gathered around a good

share of the population, nearly all of whom had sheep to exchange for the

ducats the detective was supposed to possess. Here it was learned that

there were only about thirty-five Americans in the county, the balance of

the population consisting of Mexicans and Pueblo Indians, and all the

officers being Mexicans, which was a point against the detectives. They

kept a vigilant outlook for Lewis, and ere long that individual was

observed approaching, mounted on his mule, wearing a most abject mien.

Turning at once to Thaw, Smith exclaimed in a loud voice: "Here comes that

d----d greaser, looking for his partners." The remark attracted

attention, and as Lewis dismounted the crowd went to the door.

[Illustration: Arrest of Gallotti and one of his pals at Taos, N. M., by

Smith and Arizona Bill.]

Lewis commenced inquiries for his "partners," and as he talked Spanish

fluently, he soon discovered that three men answering the description

given were then in the town. Bidding the interpreter to remain at the

hotel, the detectives at once went to a store kept by two Americans named

Miller and Clothier. Here they ascertained that Filomeno Gallotti had

borrowed a gun, and that he had left five $20 gold pieces to sell.

Being satisfied that they had the criminals almost within their grasp, Mr.

Smith cast about for some plan whereby they could entrap them. To that end

he sent for Thaw and Lewis, and Gallotti was then sought out and brought

to the store under the pretext that Clothier desired to sell more gold for

him. Although a wily and cunning brute, Gallotti suspected nothing, and

almost immediately presented himself in front of the store, where he met

Lewis, who, in a surprised and highly delighted manner, grasped Gallotti

by the hand. That grasp was not one easily to be shaken off, however, for

fingers of iron held the criminal's hand as in a vise of steel. A moment

later Smith came up from behind and seized Gallotti's left hand, as if

also to shake hands, and turning he gazed into the muzzle of a cocked

revolver.

Gallotti realized instantly that he had been entrapped, and that

resistance would be worse than useless, and begged piteously for his life.

He was disarmed and handcuffed, and the leader of the band of murderers

was in the clutch of the law.

But how were the others to be secured? Fate made this easy of

accomplishment, for hardly had the handcuffs clicked around the wrists of

the prisoner than another Italian entered the store. He was promptly

seized, but proved to be a resident of the place. He was badly frightened,

however, and seeing this the detective told him he would be allowed his

freedom provided he would bring Fernandez and Anatta to them. To this

demand he gladly acceded, and soon returned with John Anatta, who was at

once overpowered and placed in irons. [The artist has chosen to group the

capture, and is a little at fault, but not seriously so, as he presents

the scene soon after the taking.]

One other of the men for whom the officers were searching was still

unsecured. By judicious inquiry it was learned that this one was Henry

Fernandez, the Mexican, the knowledge of whose connection with the crime

had led Gen. Cook to infer so correctly that the criminals had gone south.

It was ascertained that he had gone that morning in the direction of Red

river. The Mexican officials of the county insisted upon a requisition

being shown before they would consent to see the officers depart with

their men, but their qualms of conscience were eased by the presentation

of a purse of $100, and the captors and captives were allowed to depart.

The detectives at once gave chase to Fernandez, and reached Red river at

night. Here they discovered the house in which Fernandez was sleeping, and

soon had secured him.

Having three of the fugitives for whom they had been in pursuit, the

detectives pushed on rapidly to Fort Garland, and thence to Pueblo. After

an uneventful journey the railroad was reached, and the second trio of

prisoners were soon en route for Denver.

The fact that the capture had been accomplished was kept comparatively

quiet, the previous lesson having been sufficient for the officers. But a

large crowd was present when they landed at the depot. The manacled

murderers were lifted bodily from the cars and placed in an omnibus. A few

policemen rode on the top, Gen. Cook being inside with Smith and the

prisoners, having joined them down the road. Aside from the presence of

the officers there was nothing in the appearance of the party to attract

attention. The crowd followed the vehicle out of curiosity, manifesting no

especial feeling, probably remembering the prompt rebuff they had met on

the previous occasion.

After Gallotti and his crowd were placed in jail they were seated for a

few moments in a row along the wall, while reporters, officers and others

passed around, eager to scan the faces and to discuss the relative

depravity of the interesting trio.

Thus were eight of the monstrous butchers pursued and captured. But one

other was yet at large, and Superintendent Cook considered his task

incomplete while any of the death-dealing demons were free to enjoy the

fruits of their awful crime. Frank Valentine was the only one of the

number now at liberty. He had returned to Denver, but found his

accomplices locked up, and had wisely taken his departure to return to

Gallotti. Valentine had been a companion and associate of the gang at the

tin-shop, but aside from the fact that he bore the title of "The Miner,"

and that he had come on this mission for the chief murderer, but little

was known concerning him.

Superintendent Cook silently commenced a series of close investigations,

and finally concluded that this man was at least an accessory. That brutal

instinct given vent when the crime was committed was still apparent in

those already secured in the jail, and they seemed anxious that Valentine

should be captured, and from hints let drop by them Cook was enabled to

trace the fellow back towards New Mexico.

All of the members of the detective association had been instructed by the

chief to keep a sharp lookout for him, and one day it was learned that he

was in the vicinity of McCorkle's ranch, in Costilla county. Thomas T.

Bartlett was then sheriff in Costilla county and a member of the detective

association, and he was soon on Valentine's trail. One day the officer

found himself near the ranch about the hour of noon. Feeling hungry and

fatigued, he determined to visit the house and obtain refreshments for the

inner man. While seated at the table a rap was heard on the outer door,

and in obedience to the summons "Come in," who should enter but the very

man for whom the officer was in search. The assassin asked for something

to eat, and while he was dispatching his dinner the detective engaged him

in conversation, and carelessly asked him if he had a pistol. He replied

in the affirmative and handed it over for examination. The officer

informed him that it was a fine pistol--a very fine pistol, and that he

wanted it. Suddenly changing his manner, he added that he also wanted the

owner of the weapon.

The startled Italian gazed alternately into the muzzle of the presented

revolver and the cool eye of the officer, and saw that the man was

terribly in earnest. Realizing that escape was impossible, he surrendered,

and while denying that he took any active part in the assassination, he

admitted that he was a spectator to that horrible slaughter. He was

brought to Denver, where Superintendent Cook met him at the depot, and

soon he was behind the bars of the county jail.

CHAPTER X.

THE ITALIAN MURDERERS TELL THE STORY OF THE CRIME--A SERIES OF

BLOOD-CURDLING NARRATIVES, INTERESTING ACCOUNTS FROM THE MOST

PROMINENT OF THE BUTCHERS--GALLOTTI GIVES HIS VERSION--HOW THE MUSIC

PLAYED WHILE THE THROATS WERE CUT--DRINKING THE BLOOD OF THE VICTIMS.

So prompt had been the retribution overtaking the band that the popular

desire for revenge was in a measure appeased, and all seemed to be

confident that the law would effectually dispose of the bloody crew.

Before showing how the people were disappointed in this, and prior to

relating the means by which these villains escaped the gallows, it would

be interesting to visit the jail and, by conversing separately with the

prisoners, ascertain so far as possible the manner by which the four

victims came to their death. With the exception of Gallotti, they were all

willing to talk of the affair.

The jailer leads the way to his cell. A dark-eyed man with the keen, cool,

deadly look which only a murderer by birth and education could possess,

rises to see who comes as the iron door swings open. He is rather a small

man, but has a well-knit, compact frame, and evidently possesses

considerable muscular activity and strength. His eyes are small and

piercing and have a serpentine look. In this look can be found one of the

reasons why he was able to absolutely control the band, to whom he was

more than king or czar. Possessing some education, with an unbending will,

a heart devoid of pity, a conscience knowing no regret and with those

glittering eyes, transfixing the one who had dared to displease him, he

was just what his ambition desired--the chief of a desperate band of

banditti, whose pastimes were the cutting of throats and whose revels were

in scenes of blood. He would not talk at length, but when it was suggested

to him that "It is said that you were the leading spirit in that affair,"

replied: "I am not. The others did the murder, and now are trying to drag

me into it."

[Illustration: Arrest of Ballotti, Campagne and Allessandri at Trinidad,

by Officers Smith and Force. See page 67.]

So Gallotti will not talk. Let us visit Allessandri and get his story.

This boy (for he is scarcely more than a boy) was the first to make any

statement to the officers, and he can think or talk of nothing but the

crime. He looks up as his cell is entered and readily answers all

questions.

His story as he relates it, with great rapidity and constant

gesticulation, is as follows: "The band consisted of Gallotti, Anatta,

Ballotti, Campagne and a miner. I was forced to join them against my will,

but was powerless to resist Gallotti. The killing commenced Friday,

October 15, at half-past one o'clock p. m. I was playing a harp in the

front room. The old man, called Joe in English, the biggest boy and one or

two others were playing cards in the front room. The cards lay on a box

and the players were seated around in a circle. Ballotti, Campagne and

'the miner' were playing, too. Gallotti, the boss tinker, was standing up

and watching the game. Suddenly Gallotti reached under his coat, drew a

knife, seized the old man by the hair, drew his head back and with one

powerful stroke cut his throat from ear to ear. The blood flew upon the

cards and into the faces of the other players. Not yet content, Gallotti

stabbed the old man in several places and, releasing his hold, he let the

lifeless body fall on the floor. At the same time the others seized the

big boy who was sitting at my side playing the harp, but he made a

desperate resistance and tried to fight them off.

"Seeing that the others were not very successful, Gallotti left old Joe's

body and, grabbing the boy, cut his throat, crying to me, 'Play louder!'

In the struggle they all used knives, and Anatta cut his fingers so badly

that when they ceased bleeding he could not close them.

"I kept on playing the harp, for I did not dare stop, and I was so

frightened that I trembled violently. Once I stopped playing, but Gallotti

shook me and, drawing his knife across my throat, told me he would cut my

d--d head off if I did not play on. So I started up again.

"They let the bodies lay where they had fallen, and some one threw

blankets over them. In about half an hour the other two came into the

yard, carrying their harps. Gallotti watched the front door and Ballotti

stood guard at the rear one. The smaller one came in first, carrying his

violin under his arm. Gallotti seized him and, driving a knife to the hilt

just under his right ear, cut the boy's throat. The little boy who played

the harp came up to the door and, catching a glimpse of the blood,

attempted to retreat, but Silvestro seized him and dragged him into the

house. As Silvestro did not succeed in cutting his throat very quickly,

Anatta went to his aid. But the boy escaped them and ran, bleeding and

crying, into the front room, where Gallotti caught him around the neck

with one hand and, with the boy's head under his arm, cut his throat from

ear to ear.

"I was still playing on the harp, but the sight of dead bodies and the

blood running on the floor made me sick. Filomeno made me lick his knife

and ordered me to drink some of the blood. He scraped up a handful of

blood running from the big boy's throat and drank it, the others doing

likewise, as a pledge of fidelity. They then threw the bodies into the

cellar and commanded me to continue playing, as the music deadened the

noise and would divert any suspicion that might be entertained. Some of

the bodies they dragged and some they carried to the trap-door, where they

threw them into the cellar. Filomeno or some one else then went into the

cellar and secured the money. I don't know how much was obtained, but he

gave Ballotti $140, another $40 and handed me $20.

"After everybody had washed their hands and taken off their bloody shirts,

which were thrown into the cellar, we took four revolvers, locked the

doors and went to the tin-shop on Fifteenth street. About 9 o'clock that

night Filomeno, Deodotta, Ballotti, Valentine, Guiseppe and the

light-haired tinker went back to the house. I did not go, but went to

sleep between two tinkers, who, I think, knew all about the murder, for

Filomeno told them to watch me, and also told me that if I said anything

about the murder, or attempted to run away, he would kill me. That night

Ballotti, Campagne and I walked to Littleton, where we slept near the

depot until a freight train arrived, which we boarded and rode on to

Pueblo.

"I came from Central City about three weeks before the murder, and

Filomeno told me he should kill the old man and the boys. I was afraid to

tell any one, fearing that he would kill me, too, and the gang never

allowed me out of their sight, day or night. Filomeno told us he was going

to Mexico, and would write to us."

As the musician who played the harp as an accompaniment while the

throat-cutting was in progress has talked so plainly, let us visit

Ballotti and, if possible, obtain from him an account of the crime.

Entering the cell, a rather good-looking young man, of a compact frame and

with the dark skin of an Italian, comes forward to greet us. He commences

his story as follows:

"When I came here some months ago, Filomeno Gallotti assisted me in many

ways, and placed his house and his purse at my disposal. He finally told

me that he intended to kill the old man and the boys, and I endeavored to

obtain funds sufficient to go to Cheyenne and get away, but in this I was

unsuccessful, and I told Deodotta, together with another man at Sloan's

lake, what plans had been made. Filomeno told us to go to the house on

Lawrence street and pretend to teach the boys music, and we were thus

engaged for three days prior to the murder. After Filomeno cut the old

man's throat, he gave me a knife and told me to help the others. I did not

wish to kill them, but, fearing Filomeno, I drew the back of the knife

across the big boy's throat, but did not hurt him. When the last two came

Filomeno stood behind the door and, as the little one entered, carrying

his harp, he said, holding up a fancy article he had purchased, 'Look

here. I have bought you something nice to-day,' and just then he seized

the poor boy, pulled him down upon the floor and, putting his knee on his

head, said, in Italian: 'Ah, my boy, I've got you now.' With that he

thrust his knife up to the hilt back of the ear and gashed the throat wide

open. When the other entered, Filomeno, the miner and the tall tinker cut

him all to pieces. He held on to his harp and ran around the room with his

throat cut, the blood pouring from the wounds in a torrent, and Filomeno

pursuing and stabbing him. Finally he succumbed and fell with the harp on

top of him. The old man wore a belt filled with gold, and Filomeno divided

it around. In all, I suppose the belt contained about $1,400."

From this point on the story contained only unimportant details.

Says John Anatta, another of the murderers, when talked to: "I can not

sleep, for 'Old Joe's' spirit haunts my dreams, and when he approaches me

I seem to be cutting his throat. But no sooner have I done so than a brand

new one takes its place, and I awake horrified. It was awful, but I could

not help it, and I did not do any of the cutting. I hit one of the boys on

the head, but the knife bent and cut my hand, and that was all I did."

Let us again visit Gallotti, and after we have told him what the others

say, perhaps he will be induced to give some account of the horrible

butchery in which it is claimed he took such a prominent part. A dark

scowl again greets us, but he is in better humor--just in trim to cut

throats were the occasion propitious.

"Now, see here, Gallotti, the others have told us all about this affair,

and you might as well say something, too."

"Well, you see, I commenced the job at the card table, by catching 'Old

Joe' by the hair and sawing my knife across his throat until he was quite

dead. I helped to kill one of the boys, as the others were making a bad

job of it. I then put up my knife and watched Anatta, Ballotti and

Guiseppe cut the other two. I secured $800 in gold and $377 in currency,

but I gave the most of it to the others. I conceived the idea of the

murder some time ago, and when I broached the subject to the others

individually and at different times, they all were eager to engage in the

scheme. My reason for killing the old man was this: Several years ago I

lived in New Orleans and, being successful in business, my countrymen

often deposited their savings with me. The sum thus entrusted to me

increased until I had about six thousand dollars of other people's money.

Thinking it proper to invest this, I loaned it to a fruit dealer, who

promised to pay a fair rate of interest on the amount advanced.

Subsequently, and as I afterwards learned, by 'Old Joe's' advice, the

fruit dealer decamped with the money. I followed him all over the country,

but finally my means became exhausted and I came to Denver, where I

settled down at my trade. One day I was asked to write a letter for the

man on Lawrence street, and when the address was signed, I learned for the

first time that 'Old Joe' was the one who advised the fruit dealer to

abscond with the six thousand dollars. I kept this to myself, but

continued to watch him, and finally was satisfied that he was the

identical 'Joe' who had been in New Orleans. Then I determined to kill

him, and enlisted the others in the plot. They are as guilty as I, and

deserve as severe a punishment."

This being all Gallotti has to say, we are forced to withdraw.

CHAPTER XI.

TRIALS OF THE ITALIANS--THEY ESCAPE THE GALLOWS THROUGH A TECHNICALITY

OF THE LAW--GALLOTTI, BALLOTTI, CAMPAGNE AND VALENTINE RECEIVE LIFE

SENTENCES AND THE OTHERS GET OFF LIGHTLY.

It would seem from the evidence and their own confessions that this band

would surely be hung. But such a fate was not in store for them. On

Saturday, December 4, 1875, the preliminary examination was had before

Justices Whittemore and Sayer. Gallotti and Ballotti pleaded guilty, and,

together John Anatta, Leonardo Allessandri, Guiseppe Campagne, Leonardo

Deodotta, Frank Valentine, Guiseppe Pinachio and Henry Fernandez, they

were bound over to the district court for trial on the 26th day of the

following January. John Anatta and Allessandri, the young harpist, turned

state's evidence before the grand jury and indictments were returned

against the entire band. On the 30th of January the accused were brought

into court and counsel was assigned them.

February 8 they were arraigned, pleaded not guilty, and their cases were

set for trial during the April term. May 20 Gallotti was before the court

and pleaded guilty. Great excitement was occasioned when it became known

that under a section of the statutes he could not be hung, a life sentence

being the utmost penalty in cases when the accused entered a plea of

guilty. The next day Ballotti was arraigned and endeavored to withdraw his

plea of not guilty. The motion, for reasons not clearly apparent, was

overruled and his case was set for trial on the following day. The

evidence in the trial of Ballotti was simply a repetition of the facts

already known to the reader, and a verdict of murder in the first degree

was rendered.

It was decided that under the law Gallotti could be tried in spite of his

plea. When arraigned Gallotti again entered the plea of guilty, and it was

considered proper to carry his case to the supreme court as a test of the

loose law then in force. The same proceedings were had in the case of

Frank Valentine. Campagne also pleaded guilty, and Anatta and Allessandri

entered special pleas of voluntary manslaughter. Deodotta was acquitted on

the charge of being accessory, and the following sentences were meted out

to the bloodiest band that ever went unhung: Gallotti, Valentine, Campagne

and Ballotti were sentenced for life; Anatta and Allessandri received each

ten years while the others went scot-free.

Gallotti, the leader of the cut-throat band, was pardoned out in 1885,

leaving immediately for his native land, Italy, but, according to reports,

never reaching it, but dying on his journey. Ballotti, the best one of the

lot, died in the prison at Cañon, December 20, 1887. Campagne was pardoned

out June 29, 1888, and Valentine, the other life man, was restored to

liberty by Gov. Waite on August 5, 1895.

MUSGROVE AND HIS GANG.

CHAPTER XII.

THE BAD CHARACTERS BROUGHT TO DENVER BY THE UNION PACIFIC RAILROAD

BUILDING--L. H. MUSGROVE AND HIS GANG--ARREST OF MUSGROVE--ED.

FRANKLIN AND SANFORD DUGGAN COME TO HIS RESCUE--HIGHWAY ROBBERY IN

DENVER.

For a few years previous to 1868 Denver was a paradise of quiet and

repose. The mining excitement, which had attracted so many people to this

region a few years before, had subsided to a great extent. The settlers

were becoming accustomed to a residence in this region. The novelty of the

life in the Far West had died out. There were few mining "booms," if any,

and the "hard cases" which invariably follow in the wake of mining

discoveries of importance had become disgusted with the slow life in this

section, and had folded their tents and quietly departed for more inviting

and, to them, more congenial fields. Of course, the good people had no

fault with this state of affairs. They went on following their customary

avocations, delving steadily for the precious metals, tilling the soil and

building up town and country. In a word, Denver seemed, within a

remarkably short period, to have settled down into the perfect repose, so

far as crime was concerned, of the New England village.

But with the approach of railroads there came a change--a radical and

important change. The building of a new railroad in any section always

introduces a large element of irresponsible and vicious people. In the

West the percentage of this element is larger than in the East. But as the

Union Pacific was the pioneer railroad line built across the plains, and

as the country was new and inviting to men of adventurous spirit, its

construction was probably accompanied by a greater number of arrivals than

that of any other line built since in this region. There were gamblers of

all degrees, sneak thieves, burglars, highwaymen, horse thieves,

murderers, fugitives from justice and amateurs in crime. In many places

along the line of the road it was "quite the thing" to be a bad man, and

honesty and civility were at a serious discount. Yet in places the better

element would ultimately gain the ascendancy. In many cases the contest

was close and often there was doubt as to whether the good or the bad

would triumph. As a rule, however, respectability asserted itself,

although frequently not until much blood had been shed and the most heroic

measures resorted to to rid the various communities affected of these

human pests. There were vigilance committees at Cheyenne, Laramie City and

other places along the line of the Union Pacific, which, after months of

endurance of the most terrible outrages, took the law into their own

hands. The results were numerous warnings to offenders to leave these

places, and many "neck-tie parties" as well, at which no "duly elected"

judge sat for days in weighing the evidence, but where justice was seldom,

as in other courts, blind. The action of these vigilance committees was so

energetic and efficient that many of those of the worst classes were

compelled to get away from the railroad camps, and large numbers of them

poured into the Colorado towns.

Of such were Sanford S. C. Duggan and Edward Franklin, whose tragic fate,

as well as that of L. H. Musgrove, it is the purpose of this and

succeeding chapters to treat.

Musgrove was one of the marked villains of the pioneer days of Colorado,

and as cool a character as it was ever the fortune of a detective or

criminal officer to fall in with. He was a man of large stature, of

shapely physique, piercing eye and steady nerve, who might have stood as

the original for the heavy villain of the best story of a master in

romance literature. He was a man of daring, inured to danger, calm at the

most critical times--a commander whose orders must be obeyed, who planned

with wisdom and who executed with precision and dispatch. He was the

leader of an organized band of horse thieves, highwaymen and murderers,

who infested the western plains, with Denver as general headquarters,

during the years 1867-'68. They made the railroad towns a convenience in

disposing of their booty, but did not spend time in loafing about these

places when there was other and more profitable business to attend to in

other places. Musgrove was a southern man by birth, being a native of

Como Depot, Miss. He had gone to California during the days of the gold

excitement on the coast, and had located in Napa valley. His sympathies

were with the South in the rebellion, and he quarreled with a Napa man

about the merits of the conflict, which quarrel resulted in his coolly

shooting the other party down. He was compelled to leave the place, and

afterwards stopped in Nevada, where he killed two men before being driven

from that then territory. Leaving Nevada, he came to Cheyenne, and from

Cheyenne to Denver. He was at first, after crossing the mountains, engaged

as an Indian trader about old Fort Hallack, until a half-breed Indian had

the temerity, half in sport, one day to call him a liar, when Musgrove

calmly pulled his revolver from his pocket, and, taking deliberate aim,

planted a bullet square in the middle of the Indian's forehead.

This transaction served to put an end to Musgrove's Indian trading, for he

was compelled to leave the Indian region on very short notice. After this

little affair he organized a band of horse thieves, which operated

throughout the entire plains country, and which was one of the most

formidable bands of desperadoes known to frontier history. Musgrove was a

perfect organizer. He had his operators in Colorado, Wyoming, New Mexico,

Texas, Nebraska, Kansas and others of the western states and territories,

and carried on a regular business of stealing and selling stock. They

would drive off entire droves of horses from one section and sell them in

another five hundred miles away, and would steal another drove in the

neighborhood of the late sale and drive it for sale back to the place at

which they had made the previous raid.

Musgrove's band was broken up by degrees. As early as the spring of 1868

Gen. Cook, accompanied by Col. Egbert Johnson and one or two others,

tracked four of them down after a two days' march, and captured them at

the point of Winchester rifles in a cabin near the city. Col. Johnson

proved of invaluable service in this work in tracking the scamps, as he

had had much experience in the mountains. In doing this work he had to

even wade through a lake of water. Later he went to Georgetown after

another of them, and capturing him there brought him to Denver alone.

They were compelled to stay in a hotel at Idaho Springs all night, and

both slept in the same room, Johnson setting his gun by the side of his

bed and telling the desperado that if he made a move during the entire

night he would blow his brains out. The fellow was as quiet as a mouse,

and was afraid to get up when morning came, so thoroughly was he convinced

that Johnson would put his threat into execution.

Musgrove was himself hunted down in Wyoming, and captured and brought to

Denver. He was saucy to the last. Just a few days before his capture he

took shelter in an invulnerable place on the Poudre, and sent a flag of

truce to the pursuing officer, telling him that he could come in and pick

out any stock that he could recognize; that he could have that and no

more. Mr. Haskell, the then United States marshal, was in command of the

pursuing party. He accepted the conditions laid down, as there was no

alternative, and in doing so found the outlaw so barricaded, and his drove

of stolen horses and mules so securely arranged, that he made no effort to

dislodge him.

The arrest was finally affected by a bit of detective strategy, and the

people throughout the entire western country rejoiced when it was

announced.

Among Musgrove's outlaws there was none more daring and heartless than Ed.

Franklin, who had been with his chief in many close places and who really

seemed to cherish a great fondness for Musgrove. They had in their days of

intimacy on the plains sworn eternal fidelity to each other and had taken

a vow, with others of the party, to come at all times to the assistance of

each other in times of danger. Hence, when Musgrove, the chief of the

gang, found himself in the clutches of the law in Denver, he contrived to

notify his followers and to ask their assistance. It was a fact well known

at the time to Gen. Cook that no less than twenty of these scoundrels

responded to the call, which had been sent over the country. He was

confident as to their character and their mission. He knew that they had

come to Denver intending to effect Musgrove's escape. He was confident

that such was their purpose, but he could, of course, make no arrests, as

he would have been without proofs. He could only remain perfectly quiet

and wait for the desperadoes to signalize their presence in some way, as

he well knew they soon would. He was not compelled to wait long to have

his opinion of the men verified and to find occasion for making arrests.

He was at that time not only chief of the Rocky Mountain Detective

Association, but also city marshal of Denver, and as such was the chief of

the police of the city. It may not be out of place to remark that while

Cook was marshal, and by virtue of this position chief of police, Mr.

Frank Smith, who has already been mentioned frequently in this book, was

one of his subordinate officers. Smith was one of Cook's most trusted men.

The two learned to appreciate the striking qualities of manhood and

bravery thus discovered in each other in those trying days, and became so

thoroughly attached to each other that they never separated as long as

Smith lived, which was until 1881.

Ed. Franklin, to whom reference has been made as one of Musgrove's most

trusted lieutenants, responded with alacrity to the call to come to the

rescue of his chief; and without intending to forestall the story so far

as to mar it, it may be stated that the expedition proved fatally

disastrous to him. Franklin was accompanied to Denver by Sanford Duggan.

They were both bullies and desperadoes--not only bold brigandish boys, but

that and villains of a lower order, men who did not hesitate to stoop to

little meannesses when to do so suited their purposes. They came to Denver

with records, and they had been in this city but a very short while before

they began to look about for an opportunity to add to their "laurels."

It does not appear that Duggan had ever been a member of Musgrove's band,

but he had led a career that would have entitled him to hold a place of

distinction in that scoundrel's organization. Coming to Colorado in 1861,

from Fayette county, Pa., when he was only sixteen years of age, he had

lived for seven years in the company of low characters. At the age of

eighteen he picked up a quarrel with a man named Curtis, in Black Hawk,

and shot him down in a cold-blooded and merciless manner. For this offense

he had been imprisoned for a short while, and then allowed to escape.

Leaving Black Hawk after this experience, he came to Denver, where he

became the associate of a prostitute, one Kitty Wells, who sold herself to

obtain money for him to live on. He lived with her but a short while,

when they quarreled one night and he struck her across the head with a

pistol, well nigh killing her. He was then arrested by Gen. Cook while

threatening to kill him. He was jailed, but escaped justice in some way.

We next find him in the Black Hills, near Laramie City, in company with a

man named Al. Howard. Soon there is news of another murder, and Duggan is

arrested on suspicion and taken to Yankton, Dakota, for trial, but the

proof is insufficient to establish his guilt and he is allowed to go to

prey upon the community. He returns to the line of the Union Pacific

extension and to Laramie City, where he for a while acts as city marshal.

Discovering the true character of the man, the good citizens compel him to

resign--not only force him to resign, but give him a set number of hours

in which to get out of town. He takes the hint, and decides upon coming to

Denver.

A few days out from Cheyenne Duggan falls in with Franklin, who has just

passed through an experience which is worth relating, as it goes to show

the character of the man with whom we are soon to deal. He had stolen a

bunch of mules from Fort Saunders, and had succeeded in carrying them

several miles to a place on the plains where the soldiers who were

pursuing came up with him. There were seventeen of them in the pursuing

party. It was no longer sensible for him to continue his flight, as he

would, at best, be completely overtaken in a few miles. Most men, even

desperadoes, would have surrendered without parley to such odds in

numbers, but Franklin's motto was: "Die, but never surrender." He

determined to fight. Dismounting from the animal which he rode, he hastily

scraped a pile of sand up and threw himself behind it. The soldiers came

up and Franklin opened fire. They returned the salute, and for over an

hour the entire seventeen poured their leaden balls in the direction of

the horse thief. He retaliated as fast as he could, and during the entire

hour held the whole party at bay. At last, however, he was struck in the

breast with a ball and was compelled from weakness to cease shooting. He

was taken at last, nearer dead than alive. Being removed to Fort Saunders,

he recovered rapidly, and had no sooner regained his strength than he

made his escape. Once out of prison he soon hears of Musgrove's

predicament and starts to his chief's rescue, where he meets Duggan, and

they journey on together. Of course, they prove congenial spirits.

They do not ride boldly into Denver, but decide to stop near the city on

Clear creek, until night shall come on with its friendly cloak, for

Duggan, it must be remembered, is known to Chief Cook and his police

force.

The night, however, is not far advanced when they make their appearance

upon the streets. That the original intention of the men in coming to

Denver was to liberate Musgrove could not be doubted, but they did not

propose to waste time, and hence determined to earn a few dollars by the

simple "holdup" process in case opportunity should offer. Hence they

sauntered out Blake street in quest of game. The first man they met was

Mr. James Torrence, who was compelled to stand and deliver. They procured

$22 from him and allowed him to pass on, soon afterwards meeting Mr. Alex.

DeLap, who is now a well known and wealthy citizen of the state, who was

halted, and who would have been robbed had he not taken the precaution

before leaving home to divest himself of his valuables.

The thieves soon find themselves on Lawrence street, and discover Hon.

Orson Brooks, then a justice of the peace and police magistrate for

Denver, wending his way homeward. They followed him to a deserted place on

the street, about the site of the Markham house (the old Grand Central

hotel), where he was accosted by them with a polite request to hold up his

hands. Possessing no means of defense and finding a pair of ugly revolvers

staring him in the face, the judge was compelled to stand and allow

himself to be robbed of $135. Judge Brooks had sat in the trial of Duggan

for the assault upon the woman Kittie Wells and recognized him while the

search was in process. He gave some intimation of this fact, and the

knowledge came near costing him his life. In response to a sally from him

came the cheerful proposition from Duggan to Franklin: "Let's plant the

d--d old snoozer--what d'ye say?" Franklin was quite willing, and the

chances are that, had Judge Brooks not been able to laugh off the matter

as he did, his body would have been made the sheath of a keen-pointed and

silent dagger. But he succeeded in convincing the men that he had been

mistaken when he supposed he recognized one of them, and after treating

him to a maximum dose of profanity, they allowed him to depart.

CHAPTER XIII.

FEELING AROUSED BY THE ROBBERY OF JUDGE BROOKS--PURSUIT OF THE

HIGHWAYMEN, DUGGAN AND FRANKLIN--THE DETECTIVES OBTAIN A CLUE--THE

OUTLAWS OVERTAKEN IN GOLDEN--DUGGAN SHOWS FIGHT AND GETS HIS FRIEND,

MILES HILL, KILLED--TERRIBLE ENCOUNTER WITH, AND TRAGIC DEATH OF, ED.

FRANKLIN.

The robbery of Judge Brooks was the event which sealed the fate of both

these desperate characters, and probably indirectly also that of Musgrove.

The event occurred on the night of Friday, November 20, 1868. Judge Brooks

was a prominent and much-esteemed citizen. The whole town was indignant.

There were demands on every hand to have the highwaymen hunted down.

Denver had aroused from stupor to an active appreciation of the state of

affairs. An outrage had been committed, and justice must be done. The

guilty parties must be found and punished. To whom should this work be

entrusted? The public of Denver had already learned to appreciate "Dave"

Cook. He was now town marshal, and had already organized his detective

association. The case was put in his hands. He had one clue. Judge Brooks

remembered that he had on his person before he was robbed a $20 bill,

which had been torn and which he had mended with a piece of official paper

about his office. Mr. Cook naturally concluded that there were not apt to

be two bills so torn and so mended. Hence he went to work to find the man

who should offer to spend this piece of money. He notified not only the

officers of Denver, but those of surrounding towns as well.

The robberies had been committed on Friday. On Sunday a messenger arrived

from Sheriff John Keith, of Jefferson county, saying that the men that

were wanted in Denver were to be found in Golden. It was stated that they

had gone to that place on Saturday; that they had been drinking and

swaggering about the streets, loaded down with revolvers and defying all

the officers of Christendom. It was supposed that they were desperadoes,

but they were not identified until Sunday morning, when the $20 bill was

tendered to some one by Duggan. This fact had no sooner become known to

Sheriff Keith than he dispatched a notification to Marshal Cook. The

messenger arrived late in the afternoon, so that it was dusk before the

marshal and his posse were off for Golden, eighteen miles distant. There

was no Colorado Central railroad between Denver and Golden in those days

to pick people up in one place and set them down in another within half an

hour, as there now is. But there was a splendid dirt road, and over this

the horses flew, their hoofs beating melodiously on the frozen soil, as

Cook and his men marched off towards the foot-hill metropolis in the

pursuit of their business. The pursuing party was composed of the

following named persons: D. J. Cook, W. Frank Smith, D. W. Mays, Eugene

Goff, H. B. Haskell and Andy Allen. They were all mounted well and were

armed very thoroughly.

Golden was reached about 9 o'clock in the evening of Sunday, November 23.

The party stopped in the outskirts of the city for a few minutes, until

Keith could be communicated with. Being found, he informed the Denver

officers where their men were located. Franklin, he said, had been

drinking heavily during the day and had retired to bed early at the

Overland house. Duggan was at that moment at a saloon kept by Dan Hill. It

was resolved to take Duggan first, and the officers, reinforced by Keith,

started in the direction of the saloon indicated. While on their way to

this point they met two men, one of whom said to the other as they passed:

"What do these s--s of b--s of officers want? That's Dave Cook, from

Denver. I left one of my pistols at your saloon." This remark was

overheard by Cook and Keith, and the latter whispered to the Denver

marshal the fact that the speaker, of whom Cook had not had a fair view,

was Duggan. The other man, he also told Cook, was Miles Hill, brother of

the proprietor of the saloon. Immediately the two men were seen to turn

and cross a vacant lot of ground to the rear of Hill's saloon. The

officers stopped for a minute to arrange plans; Cook directing Smith, with

Keith and others of the squad, to proceed to the front of the saloon,

while he, with Goff, would go to the rear. "In case there should be

shooting, boys, do not hit Miles Hill," said Sheriff Keith, and taking up

the sentence, Cook gave an order to his men to be very careful not to hurt

any citizen of Golden.

The officers closed in upon the place with the greatest celerity. Smith

and his force found all dark in front, but Cook and Goff discovered a

small and glaring light near the door of the saloon as they came around

the corner. It was evidently from the burning end of a cigar in a man's

mouth. Soon the door of the saloon opened, shedding a light upon the man

with the cigar in his mouth and revealing in him the fugitive Duggan. A

man came out at the door and proved to be Hill. The friends of Hill assert

that he only brought Duggan's pistol to him, but the officers say, be that

as it may, he seemed to present the pistol at them, intentionally or

accidentally, at which time Duggan fired on Cook and Goff, the ball flying

by them and nipping a bit out of the blue soldier overcoat which Cook

wore. Notwithstand the officers carried cocked revolvers in their hands

and were fearful that they would have trouble, they were considerably

surprised. It was a moment before they collected themselves, and before

they were entirely at themselves another ball came whizzing by them in

dangerous proximity to their vitals. They were not more than ten feet from

the men who held pistols in their hands. There was no time to hesitate or

parley. A moment's delay might mean death to both of them. With that calm

and commanding way, that cool and deliberate manner which has ever

characterized Dave Cook in time of danger and placed him above other men,

he raised his pistol with his left hand--he always holds his pistol in his

left hand when he shoots--and taking aim, fired, telling Goff also to

fire. One man fell to the ground, and the other started away on a full

run, firing a parting salute as he left. The flash of the pistol revealed

the fact that Duggan was the man who was making an effort to escape, and

he was pursued by some of the members of the party. However, the man

jumped a fence, and by so doing found a hiding place in a dense

undergrowth, so that extensive pursuit of him that evening could not be

otherwise than unavailing.

When the officers returned they found that the man who had been shot was

Miles Hill. The ball had entered his left side and ranged downward

through the abdomen and lodged in the opposite side of the man's body. It

was evident that he could not live. He was found lying in the street with

a cocked revolver near him. He demanded plaintively to know why he had

been shot, and when told the circumstances of the case, apparently

recognized the justice of his fate.

[Illustration: Fatal Fight at Golden between Officers Cook and Goff on one

side, and Duggan and Miles Hill on the other.]

Hill seems to have been a thoroughly good fellow, and his kindness of

disposition probably led him to the point of helping Duggan out of a bad

scrape. What representation he had made to Hill was not revealed by him,

and will now, of course, never be known. But that Hill was influenced to

aid the disreputable man into whose company he had been so unfortunate as

to fall can hardly be doubted. He died about twelve hours after the

shooting, and was sincerely mourned by the citizens of Golden, who

permitted their friendly feeling for and acquaintance with the social

qualities of the man, for the time, to influence their judgment of the

killing, and, what a few days afterwards was recognized as a necessary

precaution by the officers in the protection of their own lives and in the

discharge of their duty in attempting to arrest Duggan, was at first

criticised as "haste and negligence." Cook and Goff either had to kill or

be killed. They preferred the former alternative, repulsive as it was to

them.

But there was then little time to linger over the man whose life blood was

oozing gradually out as a consequence of his attempt to defend a criminal

from arrest. There was other work than indulging in vain regrets to be

accomplished. Duggan had escaped, but Franklin was still in town, and his

whereabouts were known. He must be captured at all hazards. To allow him

to escape was not a part of the programme of the officers. They had been

notified by Sheriff Keith that Franklin had taken a room at the Overland

house, then standing where it now does, and thitherward they wended their

way, fully armed, and equipped with a strong pair of handcuffs with which

they proposed to secure Franklin, and thus render his return to Denver

quite beyond question when once he should be in their power.

Mr. Cook's associates in making this arrest were Frank Smith and Mr.

Keith, they volunteering from the entire company to go with him. The hotel

proprietor did not hesitate to inform the officers where Franklin was to

be found, and they were soon in his room after starting in the search.

They did not seek admission by knocking at the door, which was found

unlocked. Although soaked with liquor when he retired, Franklin had left

everything in perfect order for his defense in case he should be set upon

suddenly, showing himself to be a criminal who was used to being hunted,

and who never forgot his caution even when apparently "too far gone to

know anything." His empty pistol scabbard hung on the bed-post, while

underneath his pillow lay a large revolver, loaded, cocked and ready for

use at a moment's warning. The officers stole in with quiet tread, Cook

leading the van, with his fingers on his lips, and the others following as

noiselessly as if treading upon velvet, although the floor was bare. Mr.

Keith carried a candle, and as he came up to the bed with it, so that the

light fell upon Franklin's eyes, he turned over with a groan. He lay

stretched at full length--a man of brawny muscle and splendidly developed

physique. His breast being partially bared, revealed the gunshot wound

which was the memento he carried of his late exploit in standing off

seventeen of Uncle Sam's soldiers near Fort Saunders, and which had yet

scarcely thoroughly healed. As he turned in the bed his eyes opened. At

that moment Mr. Cook laid a heavy hand upon the arm of the man, saying:

"Franklin, we want you."

The fellow was awake in a moment.

"The hell you do!" he exclaimed, showing that he took in the situation at

a glance.

"Yes, come on quietly."

"Quietly, be d--d! Where's my gun? No d--d officer from Denver can arrest

me. I'm not that sort of stuff. You can make up your mind to that."

By this time he was fully aroused. He was standing on his knees, his eyes

flashing fire, and striking sledge-hammer blows at any of the officers who

attempted to lay hands upon him. He would listen to no entreaty, but

answered all appeals with derision. At last Mr. Cook produced the

handcuffs, and made a move towards Franklin with them.

"Oh, it's irons you have, is it?" he exclaimed, as he lunged at the

party. "If that's what you're up to, I have some myself."

[Illustration: Killing of Ed. Franklin at Golden by Officers Cook and

Smith, while resisting arrest.]

And with this speech he turned to his pillow in the act of pulling his

revolver from its hiding-place.

At that moment one of Cook's assistants, considering that Franklin was

preparing to shoot, struck him on the head and knocked him to the other

side of the bed. He was up in a minute and more furious than ever. He had

well-nigh torn his underclothes from his body, and the blood was running

from the fresh wound in his head. He was furious with rage, and snorted

and roared and tore about like a wild animal brought to bay, exclaiming,

"Come on, all of you!" as he rose to his feet. "I suppose you can kill me,

but you can not arrest me. I will not go with you. If you want to shoot,

put it there--there!" And he slapped his hand violently two or three times

upon his heart. The scene was extremely tragic.

Up to this time no one had intended to shoot, and Franklin was told so.

"Damn you, if you don't shoot, I will," he exclaimed again. "I will fight

your whole gang, if you will give me a fair show. I won't be arrested, I

won't go; I'll die first--but I'll die hard. One or two of you will go

with me if I go. Ed. Franklin does not sell out for a song." At this he

made a lunge for a cocked revolver which Cook had laid on a table near by.

But the keen-eyed officers were too quick for him. They had detected the

purpose of the move and were ready. They did not propose to stand up to

allow another professional murderer and desperado to shoot at them. They

were not betting blood on even terms with outlaws. Cook caught his pistol

with his left hand, and even while Franklin was fighting his way to it

like a mad man, sent a ball whizzing through his very heart. Smith's

firing followed so soon as to cause what seemed little different from one

report. With hardly a groan Franklin tumbled over on the blood-stained

bed, a dead and harmless man. He had sowed the wild oats of a reckless and

useless life, and he had reaped the full harvest.

So ended the last of the tragedies of Golden's night of horrors, November

22, 1868.

Of course the entire town had been aroused by this time. It was getting

well along in the night, yet no one seemed to have retired. On the

contrary, everybody appeared to be upon the streets. Hardly any one

understood the cause of the trouble or the crimes that had been committed.

There were reports that a dozen men had been killed, and that a mob had

taken possession of the town. The people flew here and there like mad. It

was, indeed, a wild Sabbath night for Golden--ordinarily then, as now, a

very quiet and orderly town.

Coroner's investigations of both killings, those of Miles Hill and Ed.

Franklin, were ordered, and inquests were held. It was found that a ball

had struck Hill in the left arm, entering his left side and passing

through his abdomen, while two bullets had entered Franklin's breast,

hardly an inch apart, and both passing through the heart. In the case of

Hill, local prejudice was allowed to control the deliberations of the

coroner's jury, the members of which were not in possession of all the

facts in the case, and in the verdict the officers--who, the reader will

bear in mind, were only returning the fire of Duggan--were slightly

censured for "carelessness in the discharge of their duty." The verdict

was signed by George B. Allen, W. M. B. Sarell, J. M. Johnson, Jr., Arthur

C. Harris, P. B. Cheney and J. Pipe, either one of whom would doubtless,

under the same circumstances, have acted just as the officers did--if they

had not depended upon their heels instead of their pistols for protection.

The verdict in the case of Franklin stood as follows:

Territory of Colorado, County of Jefferson, ss:

An inquest, holden in Golden City, Jefferson county, Colorado

territory, on the 22d day of November, A. D. 1868, before J. B. Cass,

a justice of the peace, upon the dead body of Ed. Franklin, alias

Charles Myers, lying at the Overland house, in Golden City, Colorado

territory, dead, by the jurors whose names are hereto subscribed. The

said jurors, upon their oaths, do say that the said Ed. Franklin,

alias Charles Myers, came to his death by the shots of pistols in the

hands of D. J. Cook and Wm. F. Smith, officers, who were trying to

arrest him; and that the deceased was shot because he refused to be

arrested, and the officers shot him in the discharge of their duty, on

the evening of the 22d of November, 1868.

D. C. CRAWFORD.

H. M. HOWELL.

JAMES GOTT.

JOSEPH CASTO.

H. R. KING.

WM. MARTIN.

Thus ended this series of tragedies, so far as Golden was involved. The

officers, before returning to Denver, scoured the town of Golden and the

surrounding country in search of Duggan, but failed to find him. Indeed,

they soon became convinced that he had lost no time in leaving the place,

and as there were then few residences either in the mountains or on the

plains, there was little hope of overtaking him if pursuit should be

decided upon. Consequently Gen. Cook decided to return to Denver with his

men, and to send out information in all directions to his assistants of

the detective association concerning the escape of the desperado, paying

$50 to the landlord of the Overland house before leaving for damages done

to the bed in which Franklin lay. The man who shared Franklin's bed was

found to be a deserter from the army and was turned over to the military

authorities.

CHAPTER XIV.

LYNCHING OF MUSGROVE BY THE DENVER POPULACE--AN ILLEGAL HANGING IN

BROAD DAYLIGHT BY MEN ENTIRELY UNDISGUISED--THE DESPERADO MEETS THEM

BRAVELY, BUT IS OVERCOME AT LAST AND DIES GAME--HE WRITES A PAIR OF

PARTING LETTERS, AND SMOKES A CIGARETTE WHILE THE HANGMAN'S ROPE IS

BEING ADJUSTED.

The night was well advanced when the officers, who had gone to Golden,

returned to Denver. Indeed, the morning was coming on, so that they were

late in reaching their homes. Being well worn with the night's excitement

and fatigue, they slept late on Monday morning. When they came out they

found Denver in a state of general excitement. The story of the resistance

which the officers had met with from the desperadoes in attempting to make

the arrests in Golden had been generally circulated. The people were just

then beginning to appreciate for the first time the real character of the

outlaws who had so recently been in their midst. They had never before

dreamed that these highwaymen would be guilty of outright murder. Their

eyes were opened for the first time. Evidence had accumulated of

Franklin's having been a partner of Musgrove. Even after the bold

robberies of the preceding Friday night, Franklin had had the assurance to

go to the jail where Musgrove was confined and ask for a conference with

that individual. After this interview Musgrove made general announcement

of the fact that his escape was planned for an early day, on such a

perfect scale that it would not be within the power of the authorities to

prevent it. It was also generally understood that there were many other

desperadoes in the city, who, it was believed, had come to Denver for the

purpose of assisting Musgrove to throw off his prison shackles. At any

rate, the town was known to be full of bad characters, and the number was

increasing every day. It was generally agreed that something must be done

to teach these ruffians that Denver was no place for them. The laws were

imperfect; it was difficult to convict witnesses, and the prisons were

mere pens, out of which criminals could escape with small effort. There

was but little for them to fear from the due process of law. Some more

speedy remedy for the evil existing was needed. The community was sick and

must be cured. A limb had been fractured, and amputation was necessary.

Heroic remedies were demanded.

So the people were beginning to talk about noon of Monday, November 23.

Some one suggested that the proper and salutary thing to do would be to

hang Musgrove. The idea was wildfire in a dry prairie. It passed from one

to another, and all the good people declared that Musgrove should be

hanged by the people in the interest of the people--without technical

warrant of law, but for the same purpose as that for which legal

executions are intended, namely, to punish crime and to furnish a warning

to evil-doers wherever found. On general principles Musgrove deserved

hanging. The West is a region which believes in giving every man his

deserts. So Musgrove must hang. This was the verdict of the town.

Up to 3 o'clock there had been no organized meeting, notwithstanding the

talk of lynching had been general, and almost everybody had come to

understand that a tragedy of this kind might be expected at any moment. By

3 the people began to gather on Larimer street. A few minutes later found

them marching by the score, as if by common consent, towards the county

jail, in which Musgrove was confined. There were hundreds in the

procession when the prison was reached. There was no general expression to

denote the intention of the mob, but all understood its purpose. There

were no masks worn or disguises adopted. It was broad daylight. The best

men in the town were in that procession--lawyers, doctors, and probably

ministers, business and professional men. No officer dared stand in the

way of that gathering. It was the people about to do the people's will.

Arrived in front of the jail a halt was called. Some one mounted an

elevation. There was no disorder. "The question before you," rang out the

voice of the speaker, "is, shall Musgrove be taken out of jail?"

There was a unanimous "Yes!"

"The next question is, shall he be hanged when taken out?"

The same unbroken "Yes" was the response.

There were none to object.

The jail was promptly entered. No obstacles were thrown in the way by the

officials. Musgrove had himself been an auditor of the proceedings which

had just been conducted on the outside of his prison house. But he had not

been dumbfounded by the revelations made to him of his approaching fate.

He met the mob with a bold face. "Come on!" he exclaimed, defiantly, "I am

ready for you."

He was found to be armed with a heavy pine knot with which some one had

provided him. This he hurled defiantly in the air. None cared to approach

him while he held this formidable weapon. Hence the stratagem of firing

two or three shots over his head was resorted to. This policy brought the

desperado to terms. Musgrove agreed to surrender peaceably on condition

that he be not shot down. He was consequently taken out of jail.

Once on the street the procession made towards the Larimer street bridge

across Cherry creek. Musgrove was fairly pushed forward by the pressure

from the crowd which followed behind. He walked onward in a sullen and

uncommunicative mood, glancing to one side and then the other as if

looking for assistance. But none came. When he reached the bridge he

apparently lost all hope. He never once asked for mercy or made a single

plea for his life.

[Illustration: Lynching of Musgrove.]

"If you are bent upon murdering me," he said at last, "you will at least

be men enough to permit me to write to my friends and tell them the

shameful story of your conduct towards me." No one objected, and when the

middle of the bridge was reached a halt was called and Musgrove was

furnished with paper and pencil. Bending over the railing of the bridge he

scratched off two brief notes, one to a brother and the other to his wife,

the first being directed to Como Depot, Miss., and the second to Cheyenne.

The poor criminal grasped the pencil with firmness and apparently wrote

without a tremor, notwithstanding he was closely surrounded by armed men

who were soon to be his executioners. He was an illiterate man, and

wrote and spelled badly. Fortunately Gen. Cook preserved verbatim copies

of the letters, which were as follows:

Denver November 23d, 1868

My Dear Brother

I am to be hung to-day on false charges by a mob my children is in

Napa Valley Cal--will you go and get them & take caree of them for me

godd Knows that I am innocent pray for me but I was here when the mob

took me. Brother good by for Ever take care of my pore little children

I remain your unfortunate Brother

good by

L. H. MUSGROVE.

Denver C. T.

My Dear Wife--Before this reaches you I will be no more Mary I am as

you know innocent of the charges made against me I do not know what

they are agoing to hang me for unless it is because I am acquainted

with Ed Franklin--godd will protect you I hope Good by for ever as

ever yours sell what I have and keep it.

L. H. MUSGROVE.

While he was still writing, some of the men had tied Musgrove's legs

together, and a wagon was procured, which he was told to mount. Placing

his hands upon the seat in front, he sprang into the vehicle as nimbly as

a cat, and the driver, who was George Hopkins of the present police force,

was ordered to proceed. The procession then took its way to the west end

of the bridge, reaching which, it passed down the bank of the creek to the

dry and sandy bed of the stream, returning to a place under the middle

span, whence a hangman's rope dangled, with the noose already prepared for

service. Driving up under this cord, Musgrove was told that he could have

an opportunity to make whatever preparation he should see proper for the

end which was approaching.

His only reply was: "Go on with your work."

He was ordered to stand up, and mounted the seat of the wagon, surveying

the crowd with his usual sullen and calm face. The rope was being tied

about his neck, when Capt. Scudder, then a well known and respected

citizen, standing on the bridge above, began to address the crowd upon

the illegality of the proceedings. Musgrove's countenance did not change.

He coolly took a piece of paper from one vest pocket, and fumbled in the

other vest pocket for some tobacco crumbs, which he took out, rolled in

the paper, made a cigarette, turned the ends with care, placed it in his

mouth, requested a match from the driver, struck it, lighted his cigarette

and smoked it with as much composure as a Mexican ranchero sitting in his

plaza on a summer evening, while Capt. Scudder continued his harangue.

This talk was not heeded. The crowd began to jeer, and to cry: "Drive on!"

Some one hallooed to Musgrove and inquired: "Where are the rest of your

gang?"

"I am sure I don't know," came the reply, "unless you are one of them."

Those were among the man's last words. His hat was pulled down over his

eyes. Musgrove threw his cigarette from his mouth, and feeling the wagon

starting, stooped and sprang into the air.

The wagon was moving but slowly from under the man and he came down on the

floor of the wagon bed. With an expression of great disappointment and

disgust he made another determined leap which should almost, beyond

peradventure, land him in the great beyond. The wagon had moved out this

time, and Musgrove threw his entire weight upon the rope. His neck was

broken by the fall, and death ensued instantly. There were a few shrugs of

the shoulder and all was over. The hat which had played the part of a

hangman's cap was removed before the crowd dispersed and the countenance

was found to have changed but little. It was still sullen and devoid of

any expression of fear. Musgrove had died as he had lived--coldly defiant

of the world.

Referring to the matter at the time a local print said: "The people who

assembled were good men, if we have any good men in the city. They were

quiet and orderly, no shouting, no commotion--waiting to see the law

executed upon one who had outraged them. They comprised a large part of

the men of the city, and were not a crowd or a mob, but an assemblage of

the people."

CHAPTER XV.

THE LAST OF THE MUSGROVE GANG--DUGGAN CAPTURED NEAR CHEYENNE AND

RETURNED TO DENVER--HOW GEN. COOK OUTWITTED THE MOB--DUGGAN IS TAKEN

FROM THE SHERIFF AND EXPIATES HIS CRIME FROM A COTTONWOOD LIMB--DYING

THE DEATH OF A COWARD.

Duggan, it will be remembered, had escaped from the officers at Golden,

but he was not allowed to get away. The descriptions which Gen. Cook had

sent out had been received at Fort Russell, near Cheyenne, and the agents

of the Rocky Mountain Detective Association at that point were on the

lookout for him. They did not wait long. He was picked up in company with

a deserter, riding a stolen horse near Natural Fort, sixteen miles from

Cheyenne, making his way eastward.

Chief Cook hearing of the arrest of Duggan, had himself gone to Cheyenne

after the fugitive. He was satisfied from what he knew of the awakened

spirit of the people of Denver that if they should get an opportunity they

would lynch Duggan, but he was determined that such a fate should not

befall the man while in his custody. In fact, it may be mentioned now,

that Gen. Cook has ever made it a point to see that no prisoner should be

taken from his hands by a mob, and none has ever been. He knew that he

would be expected to get in at a certain time, and thought it more than

probable that a mob would be organized by that time, for the purpose of

taking Duggan from the officers and hanging him. To avert this fate Cook

had caused the stage driver to double his speed and to come into Denver

twelve hours ahead of time. It was fortunate that this precaution had been

taken, for the people had already decided to make another example of

Duggan by hanging him. They were terribly excited, and the watchword of

the town was "Let no villain escape." Duggan must follow in the footsteps

of Musgrove.

But Cook took the town by surprise in his early arrival with the culprit.

They were not organized or ready to make a fight for the man, as they had

determined that they would be by the regular stage arrival time. However,

the approach of the coach was discovered, as the Carr house on Fifteenth

street was passed, by some one who cried out: "Here, boys, come; here's

Cook with Duggan; let's take him!" There was a rush from the hotel, but

Gen. Cook ordered the driver to travel for his life. The horses were

whipped into a dead run, which was kept up until the Larimer street prison

was gained. Notwithstanding this great haste a mob of 500 people had

gathered at the jail when it was reached and the driver had almost to plow

through it with his team. The door was reached at last, however, and the

prisoner, trembling like a leaf in a breeze, was pushed into the jail and

turned over to the county authorities.

But that Duggan's life was not safe even now, all understood perfectly. It

was generally believed that he would be lynched. The impression had gotten

out that the jail would be assailed some time during the afternoon, and

the prisoner taken therefrom and executed, and in consequence of the

rumor, about 4 o'clock a crowd of men, women and children lined the

sidewalk along both sides of Larimer street from Fifteenth street, even on

to the bridge, which was occupied by children principally. They held their

position until nearly or quite dark, when thinking that the expected

exhibition had been indefinitely postponed, they retired to their homes.

They were mistaken in their surmises, as it appears.

It became known in some way that Duggan would be removed from the Larimer

street prison to the city jail on Front street some time during the

evening, and the mob had concluded to improve the occasion by taking him

from the officers and executing him. About 6 o'clock he was taken in an

express wagon for the purpose of the proposed transfer. As the wagon left

the west end of the bridge a whistle was sounded and immediately answered

from the direction of the calaboose. Soon after the wagon crossed the

bridge it was surrounded by ninety or a hundred armed men, who demanded a

halt, and the surrender of the prisoner, and he was turned over to them

without a struggle. Having him in possession they retraced their steps

and turned west, to what was then Cherry street, to a point on that street

where there stood two or three cottonwood trees, and under one of which

the procession halted. The express wagon, which had been taken possession

of, was brought to the front, and placed directly under a limb of the

tree. In a moment a rope was thrown over the limb, and in another moment

Duggan was standing in the wagon immediately under the fatal noose. Some

one then told him if he had any remarks to make, to make them, for his

time among the living was short. He commenced by asking them to send for a

Catholic priest. "I killed a man in the mountains, but it was in

self-defense," he said: "I did not kill the man in the Black Hills; 'twas

another fellow that did it." To the question about having assisted in

garroting Squire Brooks, he first said, "I didn't do it. I have never hurt

anybody or stole anything. I have been a bad man, but I am not guilty of

anything deserving of hanging." He frequently asked that a minister should

be sent for. "One called this afternoon, but hadn't time to stay then, but

wanted me to send for him if anything happened."

[Illustration: Lynching of Duggan in Denver--Fight of Photographers for

View of Remains.]

Again he was warned that his moments were numbered, and again asked to

confess, if he had any confession to make. "I killed the man in the

mountains in self-defense and have been tried and acquitted. The man in

the Black Hills was killed by another fellow. I never stole anything from

anybody. I did assist in robbing Squire Brooks, but I was nearly out of

money and had to do it or starve. I only had six or seven dollars, and

could not get any any other way. I had to do it or die. I have been a very

bad man, but have done nothing to be hanged for. Spare my life; any other

punishment. Oh, my poor mother! it will kill her. Don't let it get to her;

send for a Catholic minister."

His confession or remarks were constantly interrupted by his cries. In

fact, in the trying moment he was completely unmanned, crying and sobbing

like a baby, and uttering prayers for mercy from Him whose laws he had

frequently and repeatedly outraged--a spectacle quite different from that

presented by Musgrove. After he had said all that he had to say, the order

was heard, "Drive on," and the wagon which had served as his frail

bulwark between life and eternity, moved from under, and the spirit of

Sanford S. C. Duggan took its flight to the presence of Him who shall

judge us all according to the deeds done in this world. The fall, about

eighteen inches, broke his neck. He was a man six feet two or three inches

in height and weighed 205 pounds. After the body was cut down it was given

in charge of the coroner.

Thus ended the terrible series of tragedies which began with the shooting

of Miles Hill at Golden on the night of the 22d of November. That the

killings were justified no man who has ever lived on the frontier at such

times as those were will deny. In all these affairs Gen. Cook and his

officers were more or less concerned, but at all times doing all in their

power both to bring offenders against the law to justice, and then to see

that the laws were not violated when they were once secured. The lynchings

they would gladly have prevented, but it was useless for them to fly in

the face of an entire community, which had been outraged and which was

aroused, not so much to vengeance as to the necessity of protecting itself

against the rough element of the plains. The pictures drawn are not

pleasant ones, but they are a part of the history of Denver, and have been

given as such without any attempt at exaggeration or undue coloring.

THE EXCHANGE BANK ROBBERY.

CHAPTER XVI.

ROBBERY OF THE EXCHANGE BANK--FOUR THOUSAND DOLLARS STOLEN IN BROAD

DAYLIGHT WITH THE OFFICIALS PRESENT--GEN. COOK GOES TO WORK WITHOUT A

CLUE AND SECURES THE THIEVES AND THE BOOTY IN TWO HOURS.

May 12, 1879, Cole's circus struck its tent in Denver and prepared to give

one of the very creditable performances which generally characterize this

"monster aggregation." The circus had but recently returned to America

from Australia and was passing through the country with considerable

prestige. Being the means of getting large crowds of people together, it

was naturally followed up or accompanied by as depraved a set of sneak

thieves and pickpockets as ever traveled in the shadow of any circus. The

day of the beginning of the series of performances given in this city was

marked by an occurrence which will ever serve to call the date to mind. On

that day a robbery was committed in Denver, which will long be remembered

for the shrewdness with which it was planned, the expediency with which it

was executed, and also for the speedy overtaking of the thieves and the

restoration of the stolen property to its owners. The robbery took place

at the Exchange Bank, then located on the corner of Fifteenth and Blake

streets, about 1 o'clock in the afternoon, while the circus procession was

passing and while the streets in front of the building were thronged with

people, including those engaged in the parade and those who were looking

on as it moved by.

About 1 o'clock the head of the procession began to move up Blake street

from the depot. The cashier of the bank, Mr. J. M. Strickler, was at his

desk. Mr. A. J. Williams, then the vice-president and now the president of

the institution, was in the private office in the rear, and other attachés

of the bank were behind the iron railing. There was a temporary lull in

the task of receiving deposits, and the bank officers, with the exception

of Mr. Strickler, stepped out to the door to see the procession go by.

This left no one behind the counter except Mr. Strickler, who was running

over some deposits that had been made by patrons of the bank, and talking

with a stranger. A few moments later Hon. J. F. Welborn stepped into the

bank and asked Mr. Williams to come out to the front, as he desired to

speak to him a few moments on business. Mr. Williams joined Judge Welborn

at one of the large windows fronting on Blake street, and they stood there

chatting until after the procession had gone by. The other bank officers

returned to their desks, and Mr. Strickler a few minutes later noticed

that a large pile of greenbacks, done up in packages of $500 and upwards,

was missing from the table. Thinking they had been placed in one of the

cash drawers, he asked his assistant, Mr. Rockwell, who replied that he

had not seen the money, and just about that time it began to dawn upon the

officers that their short absence from the counter had cost the

institution nearly $4,000, about that amount of money having been piled

upon the table awaiting deposit.

Gen. Cook was immediately sent for. He found the officers of the bank in a

state of considerable excitement, and all of them thoroughly at sea. The

robbery was to them a terrible mystery. None of them had been out of the

bank at all and Mr. Strickler, the efficient cashier, had remained

continuously in his office. They could not have believed that the bank had

been robbed if they had not had the evidence which their eyes furnished

that the money, which a few minutes before had been there, was missing.

That some one should have come into the building and taken out $4,000 in

money, even at a time when there was a circus around, seemed to them well

nigh incredible. But the fact stared them in the face that the money had

disappeared, and they came to Cook to find it. No one could suggest a

point that would be of assistance, and he began to put questions, with the

hope of getting some clue which would aid him in his apparently almost

hopeless search. The clue was at last obtained. Mr. Strickler remembered

that while the other officials and the employés of the bank had been out

looking at the circus, he had been engaged in conversation with an

individual who had brought in a $100 note to get it changed, and the note

being of doubtful appearance, he had seemed bent upon drawing the cashier

into an animated discussion, which was carried on on the part of the

stranger in an unnecessarily loud and vehement tone of voice.

"That is the man we want to get," said Cook. "He was the steerer for the

thieves."

The detective at once jumped at the conclusion that ordinarily a man would

not go into a bank to get change while a circus was passing. The man's

manner, when further described, confirmed the opinion previously formed,

and he obtained a description of the fellow as speedily as possible, upon

which thread he went to work to run the case down and restore the bank its

stolen funds.

Before starting out, however, he made a survey of the building, for the

purpose of completing his theory of the _modus operandi_ of the robbery

and how many had been engaged in it.

The portion of the building occupied as a bank was composed of two

rooms--a large one, in which the active employés were engaged, and a

smaller one, used as his private office by Mr. Williams. The two

communicated through a partition door, and both had doors opening upon

Fifteenth street.

The rear door on Blake street, leading into the private office, was

usually locked with a spring lock, working from the inside. It could not

be opened without a key, except from the inside. From the private office

there was a door leading into the inner portion of the bank, enclosed with

counters and railings, and another door leading straight to the front

entrance. Gen. Cook concluded that the plan must have been arranged

beforehand, and the theft committed without any delay. The rear door being

open, a person could gain access to the vaults and cash drawers, and by

stooping low would not be visible to any one on the outside of the

counter. It was therefore presumed that while one of the thieves guarded

the rear door for his pal and another talked with the cashier, the third

crawled deftly on his hands and knees and reached up for the money,

sweeping the counter pretty clear, and taking all the currency that was in

sight. The time consumed by the procession in passing was sufficiently

long to enable the thieves to do this without showing their hurry or doing

the work bunglingly.

This work being accomplished, the thief who had taken the money wrapped it

in a red handkerchief and crept to the back door. Seeing his friend clear,

the man with the $100 bill took his departure and all three joined on the

outside, passing hurriedly down Fifteenth street and past the Elephant

corral, as had been noticed by spectators, who did not, of course, know

what had transpired in the bank. At that corral, as was afterwards

learned, a portion of the money was left.

Having a description of one of the men who had been in the robbery, and

being in possession of the course that the robbers had taken, Cook went to

work himself and sent others of his officers out in the search. They had

some hope of finding the thieves through other operations, and some of the

detectives attended the circus for the purpose of getting a clue of this

kind. The fact that a number of smaller robberies were committed during

the forenoon, and, in every instance, in the crowds where the procession

passed, strengthened the theory that there was a well-organized gang at

work, and that they were doing their work under cover of Cole's circus

procession. But a more hopeless task could hardly be imagined. Here was a

bank robbed in broad daylight, with the officers and clerks moving about

the room and keeping a watchful eye on the money deposits. No one who

could recognize them had seen the thieves enter or depart, and no one

connected with the bank could give the officers any but the slightest clue

as to the character or appearance of the bold outlaws. But Cook is not a

man prone to give up the track of a thief because the trail happens to be

cold. According to methods and intuitions of his own he went to work. He

relied mainly upon his great knowledge of the thieves of the country,

believing that if the robbers had been well known and experienced crooks,

as their work showed they were, he would know them or some of them when he

should come upon them.

He accordingly set out to look for his men. Two hours afterwards brought

the welcome information to the bank that two out of the three robbers had

been captured and part of the money recovered. In his search Gen. Cook

visited the American house, and while sauntering about there, Cook's eyes

fell upon a form that was not unknown to the eyes of the detective. A

brief retrospection caused him to remember the man as one Joe Parrish, a

noted thief, whom he had seen ten years before in Chicago. He was observed

to be accompanied by another man, whose face could not be seen at first.

The two moved about suspiciously, and Cook decided upon a closer

investigation of the pair. At last he obtained a full view of Parrish's

partner, and found him to be not only a first-water Italian crook from St.

Louis, but also that his description answered that given by Mr. Strickler

of the man who had called to get a bill changed. These were the men

wanted. Of this fact Gen. Cook was quite certain. He consequently left

them and went in search of his deputy, Mr. Smith. That gentleman joining

his chief, they returned to the American house "for business."

Spotting their men, who did not seem to be laboring under any uneasiness

of apprehension, they decided upon immediate arrest, and came down upon

them like a thousand of brick. Cook walked deliberately up to Parrish, a

genteely dressed young man, with a Jewish cast of countenance, and

announced that he was under the pleasant necessity of placing him under

arrest. Parrish--who subsequently gave his name as F. Wiggins--made no

resistance; did not even raise the slightest objection or remonstrance.

Meanwhile, Smith had approached the other party and placed him under

arrest. This man--who gave his name as I. H. Russell, though it was an

alias--was also neatly dressed and of gentlemanly appearance. He

exclaimed, as Smith laid his hands upon him: "Well, well!" Only this and

nothing more.

As the officers were conveying their prisoners to a coach, however,

preparatory to taking them to jail, Russell turned to Gen. Cook and said:

"Will you be kind enough to tell me what this is all about?"

He also informed Cook that he was a lawyer in good standing, afterwards

stating that he had come to Denver as a commercial traveler, and was

selling jewelry. When Cook asked him where his samples were, he replied

that he was dealing in cheap jewelry and did not carry any samples.

Wiggins never spoke a word from the time of his arrest till he was behind

the bars.

While Smith was looking after the prisoners in the office of the American

house, Cook went up to the room--No. 73--occupied by Wiggins and Russell

and instituted a vigorous search. The prisoners were also carefully

searched, and $800 in all was found upon the two, the bulk of which was

identified as money stolen from the bank. A portion of the money found

upon the prisoners was $100 in five and ten-dollar bills, which was hidden

in the front part of one of Mr. Wiggins' shoes.

Both the prisoners stoutly protested their innocence of the crime charged

against them, but the proof of their guilt was as straight as could

possibly have been desired, and no one entertained any doubt that the

right men had been taken. The job was one of the neatest ever performed by

a detective in any place, and Gen. Cook and his co-worker were praised on

every hand. Starting out at 2 o'clock without a single clue, they had in

two hours found and jailed the robbers and secured a fine roll of money,

if not all or the bulk of it. "With such detectives as these in Denver,"

said one, "thieves will certainly conclude that this is not the place for

them." "They are better than all the iron safes in the country," said

another. Indeed, the detectives were congratulated upon every hand.

But one of the thieves was still missing, with something like $3,000 in

his possession. He proved to be more evasive than the other two had been,

and succeeded in getting out of town. The officers were at first

nonplussed and unable to obtain the slightest clue as to his identity.

They could not turn a wheel. At last they succeeded in getting the man's

name, which was Sam Straddler, otherwise known as "Dayton Sammy," from his

pals, and learned that he was in Cincinnati. Thitherward Cook dispatched

Smith, who arrived just in time to learn that his bird had flown. He had

contrived to get away from the police authorities there and could not be

found.

Parrish and Russell remained in jail for several months, and at last

compromised the matter, so that the bank was out nothing in the end.

It is a fact worth noting that neither Mr. Russell, Mr. Parrish or Mr.

Straddler has been seen in the city since they were turned out of jail.

They don't get along well with Dave Cook, and prefer to be widely

separated from him.

THE HAYWARD MURDER.

CHAPTER XVII.

SEMINOLE AND WOODRUFF, THE MURDERERS, MAKE THEIR FIRST APPEARANCE IN

MIDDLE PARK, WHERE THEY TURN UP AS ROBBERS AND TRICKSTERS--A VISIT TO

LEADVILLE AND GEORGETOWN WITH ACCOMPANYING INCIDENTS--OLD MAN HAYWARD

ENTICED FROM HOME NEAR GOLD HILL AND FOULLY DEALT WITH--THE MURDERERS

COME TO DENVER AND ESCAPE ON STOLEN HORSES--CHIEF COOK ON THEIR

TRACK--A DETECTIVE AT PINE RIDGE AGENCY--THE VICTIM'S BODY FOUND A

MONTH AFTER THE MURDER--A GREAT CRIME AND A PROFOUND MYSTERY.

In all the criminal history of Colorado--in all the register of the

achievements of the Rocky Mountain Detective Association--the ensanguined

pages show no more causeless, unprovoked murder than that of R. B.

Hayward, in September, 1879. The difficulties met and overcome by the

detectives, and the prompt and tragic end of the criminals, lend an

additional interest to the case and make it one of the most famous in the

far West, as it is most assuredly one of the most noted in Colorado in

some of its features. The absence of any material temptation; the

temporary escape of the murderers; the accidental finding of the body of

the victim; the patient search of the officers; the final arrest of the

men hundreds of miles away; the identification and confession; and then

the lynching, so rich in dramatic detail, form a narrative reading more

like a sensational romance than the cold facts of an actual reality.

On the 10th of August, 1879, Gen. D. J. Cook, superintendent of the Rocky

Mountain Detective Association, received a dispatch from Sheriff Besey, of

Grand county, Colo., telling him to keep a sharp lookout for a man looking

very much like a Chinaman, and evidently with some Indian blood in his

veins, who was wanted for the robbery of the house of Mr. Frank Byers, in

Middle park. The robber had secured a watch and a few trinkets of more or

less value, and then, helping himself to a mule, had departed for other

fields. This robbery had occurred on the 8th, and the intricate machinery

of the detectives was put in motion as soon as notified, for Mr. Byers was

a well-known citizen, and presently information began to take shape and

flow through the properly appointed channels to headquarters.

It was found that on the 12th, four days after the Byers robbery, and two

after the detectives had been notified, the robber had appeared in

Georgetown and called upon Dr. William A. Burr, giving his name as Joseph

F. Seminole, and stating that he came from Emerson Kinney, of Hot Sulphur

Springs, who desired the medical gentleman's immediate presence, as Mrs.

Kinney was dangerously ill.

"When you get about six miles out of town on the road to Empire," said the

cool and crafty scoundrel, "stop at the ranch of Mr. Lindstrom and get my

mule, which I left there. It will be much better for you to use my animal

than to ride your own on such a long and hard trip. When you reach the

Summit house, in Berthoud pass, just present this order and the proprietor

will furnish you with a horse and buggy."

The order that was given read as follows:

"Please give to Dr. W. A. Burr, horse and buggy, and charge same to

Emerson Kinney, of Hot Sulphur Springs, on same order as before.

"J. F. SEMINOLE."

When the doctor reached Lindstrom's place he exchanged his horse for the

mule left by Seminole, and continued on his way. At the Summit house the

foregoing order was presented, but the proprietor declined to furnish a

conveyance on the strength of it, saying that he did not know Seminole at

all, but offering a horse and buggy if the doctor would be personally

responsible for it, a proposition which the latter accepted. At last Mr.

Kinney's ranch was reached, and to his utter stupefaction the doctor found

that his expected patient was not only never in better health, but had not

the slightest idea of being sick. Breathing vengeance deep and dire, the

good-hearted but exasperated doctor started on his return, and when

Lindstrom's was again reached, he was greeted with the intelligence that

Seminole had been there and secured his horse, and to this day that

animal has never been seen, or even heard of.

Thus far the detectives got, and then were balked. To them it was but a

case of robbery--they never dreamed how soon it was to develop into a

ghastly murder. Somewhat piqued at their non-success, although the crime

was comparatively but a paltry one, they continued their efforts, and

after a while traced Seminole to Leadville, where, on the 7th of

September, he, in company with a man known as Tom Johnson, whose correct

name proved to be Samuel Woodruff, hired two horses for the avowed purpose

of merely taking a little ride. While skirmishing around, they noticed a

Mr. Aldrich draw two hundred dollars from a bank, and learned that he was

going immediately to Georgetown. They followed behind him, and when six

miles from his destination rode up to him, drew their pistols and called

upon him to halt and deliver. Aldrich, however, was not of that kind, and

jerked his own weapon and turned loose, though, unfortunately, not hitting

either of the two scoundrels, who turned and fled precipitately. When he

arrived in Georgetown, he promptly notified the sheriff of Clear Creek

county, and that official immediately struck the trail and followed it up

without the loss of a moment. So rapidly did he gain on the fleeing

desperadoes that they dismounted from their horses, turned the animals

loose and made their escape in the brush. The animals were returned to

their owners and the sheriff abandoned the pursuit of the men.

The rascals continued on foot until September 10. They reached the place

of Mr. Anderson, and hired him to drive them to Denver. They stated that

they had no money, but an uncle of theirs kept a livery stable in Denver,

and he would pay for all the trouble. While on the trip Anderson noticed

that his passengers did have money, and remarked that they had better pay

the toll charges at least, as he was not willing to spend cash right out

of his pocket and trust them besides. But they refused, and then Anderson

said he would go no further; but upon being confronted by two cocked

pistols, he changed his mind and drove on. About a mile further two wagons

were seen coming from the direction of Denver and going in that of

Georgetown, and when almost within hailing distance Messrs. Seminole and

Johnson jumped out and took to the brush, evidently fearing that Anderson

would call for assistance. Relieved of his undesirable passengers,

Anderson joined the other wagons, and in their company returned to

Georgetown.

That same afternoon, about half-past four, this pair of precious

scoundrels came to the house of R. B. Hayward, near Big Hill, Jefferson

county, and engaged him to gear up and take them to a cattle camp they

said they were hunting, supposed to be near A. Rooney's place, near Green

mountain, just outside of Hogback. They passed the Mt. Vernon toll-gate at

about half-past six that evening, and from here the fate of Mr. Hayward

was an unfathomed mystery until his body was found.

Of course Mr. Hayward's people became uneasy on account of his failure to

return the evening after he left, and when he did not come the next day

Mrs. Hayward took steps to inform the Jefferson county authorities of the

circumstances under which her husband had gone away from home, and of his

prolonged absence. They made thorough search, but failed to discover

anything, either concerning Mr. Hayward's whereabouts, as to what

disposition had been made of his team, or where the men were who had gone

away with him.

On the 16th of September, C. P. Hoyt, of the Rocky Mountain Detective

Association, reported the facts of the mysterious absence of Mr. Hayward

to Superintendent Cook, and gave the description of the two men last seen

with the missing man.

In the meantime, on September 11, the same two men (though the fact of the

murder was not then known) went to Brown & Marr, of the 'bus barn, on

Arapahoe street, Denver, and hired two bay mares and a top-rig buggy,

paying four dollars in advance. This was about 2 o'clock in the afternoon,

and they said they merely wanted to take a little spin around town and

would return at a certain specified hour. As this time had long been

passed, Brown & Marr placed the matter in the hands of the detective

association late in the evening of the 11th, and they telegraphed all over

a description of the missing rig. About 11 o'clock on the morning of the

12th, Superintendent Cook received a message from the town of Loveland, in

Larimer county, stating that two men had abandoned a buggy answering the

description of the missing one, and had mounted the mares and ridden

off. An officer was immediately dispatched to the scene, and sure enough

it was the identical vehicle taken from the Denver stable.

[Illustration: Murder of R. B. Hayward on the Denver and Golden road in

1879.]

As it was now ascertained that the thieves had gone north, Superintendent

Cook notified Assistant Superintendent Carr, at Cheyenne, to be on the

lookout, and on the 14th of the month Gen. Cook received information from

him that two men, answering the description of the two who had hired the

horses and buggy, had remained all night in the vicinity of a ranch near

La Porte, Larimer county. The men represented to the owner of the ranch

that they belonged to a cattle outfit, and that the cattle were down in

the bottoms near at hand, while the wagon containing the camping outfit

was far to the rear. They were obliged to be with their cattle, they said,

and would like to borrow a couple of buffalo robes until morning. The

kind-hearted ranchman acceded to their request, and never again beheld his

robes, nor in the morning could he find any signs or traces of cattle.

On the 22d of the same month, a gentleman named Leech, while riding from

Laramie City to Cheyenne, on horseback, met two men mounted on bay mares,

with folded buffalo robes as saddles, at the crossing of the Union Pacific

railroad, four miles east of Sherman station. They stopped him, asked him

what time it was, and where he lived, and as they had a hard look about

them, he assured them he lived about two hundred yards from there, on the

other side of a little butte, though the truth of the matter was, there

wasn't a house within four miles of the spot. When Mr. Leech reached

Cheyenne he met Detective Carr, and mentioned this meeting near Sherman,

and when the officer gave a description of the missing horses and thieves,

Mr. Leech recognized it immediately.

Carr then went diligently to work, and after a while ascertained that on

the 23d two men, riding bay mares, with no saddles, but buffalo robes in

lieu thereof, had come to the ranch of Nick Janise, near Sidney bridge, on

the North Platte. This information was forwarded to Gen. Cook, and Mr.

Leech, having come down to Denver on business, was interviewed at his

hotel by Detective Joe Arnold, as a representative of Chief Cook, who had,

as did also Gen. Cook, shrewd suspicions that the murderers of Hayward

and the horse thieves were the same parties. He showed Mr. Leech a

description of the men who had engaged Mr. Hayward to drive them to the

cattle ranch, and that gentleman immediately recognized them, being

especially sure because of the white bone-handled knife and the revolvers

carried by the suspicious-looking strangers.

The result of this interview was that Detective W. W. Ayres, of the Rocky

Mountain Association, was sent in pursuit of the men, starting from Denver

on the 4th of October. By this time the Hayward murder had become state

talk, as the mystery was still unsolved and as the cold-blooded nature of

the affair had also become generally known. Currency was also given to the

fact that he had left an intelligent wife and two bright daughters just

budding into womanhood, to watch and wait for the return of the husband

and father who would never return.

There remained hardly any trace of doubt that Mr. Hayward had been

murdered by the two men with whom he had started out. This suspicion was

greatly strengthened by learning the late history of the two men who had

gone with him, which history has been given in the beginning of this

story.

Mrs. Hayward was for a while almost frantic with grief at the loss of her

husband, but she soon rallied with the genuine pluck which is the

characteristic of most western women, and determined to do what she might

to avenge his death. She offered a reward of $200 for the capture of the

murderers. This offer was followed by one from Jefferson county, agreeing

to pay $500 for their capture, and soon Gov. Pitkin proclaimed a reward on

the part of the state of $1,000 for their apprehension, making $1,700 the

aggregate sum offered for the fugitives.

As related above, Gen. Cook had already formed the theory, though he kept

it to himself, that the two men who had stolen the horses were the Hayward

murderers, and he decided to have them followed to "the jumping-off place"

if necessary, or get them. He had already formed a pretty definite theory

as to the destination of the two men. He had learned, among numerous other

facts which he had gathered together, that Seminole was a half-breed Sioux

Indian, and that he belonged at Pine Ridge agency, Dakota, where he had a

family, going there by the name of J. S. Leuischammesse. As has already

been seen, the men who stole the horses had turned their attention in that

direction, and thitherward Cook directed Mr. Ayres, never informing him,

however, that he had any suspicion that they were guilty of any crime

greater than that of horse stealing, wisely concluding that if Seminole's

fellow Indians knew that he was charged with murder and likely to be

hanged, they would not permit the detective to bring him away, and

believing that the best way of keeping this fact from them was to impart

it to no one. On the other hand, they would perhaps even assist the

detective in getting him for horse stealing.

Mr. Ayres had a long and arduous journey before him, as he could look

forward to at least a thousand miles of stage-coaching and horseback

riding in the north, with winter coming on, and with many hardships to

endure in a land of savages. But he started out undaunted by the prospect,

and the result shows how faithfully he worked and how successfully he

wrought.

While he is making his way across the almost pathless plains of Wyoming

and Dakota, it is necessary to stop for a moment to relate to the reader

the fact of the discovery of the body of Mr. Hayward. It was found on the

7th of October, three days after Ayres had left the city, and almost a

month after Mr. Hayward had left home, in an old culvert on the Golden

road, five miles from Denver. The body bore no testimony as to the manner

or cause of death. It was greatly decayed, but still was not beyond

identification, and the coroner's jury brought in the verdict that death

was caused in all probability by dislocation of the neck at the hand of a

party or parties unknown. No wound or mark of violence could be found

anywhere on the body, and the theories were that either the murderers had

broken his neck with some dull instrument or else had poisoned him.

CHAPTER XVIII.

CHASING THE HAYWARD MURDERERS--DETECTIVE AYRES' ADVENTUROUS TOUR INTO

THE INDIAN COUNTRY--SEMINOLE AS HE APPEARED WHEN CAPTURED AT PINE

RIDGE AGENCY--A BRIEF BUT FIERCE STRUGGLE--AID OF THE INDIAN

POLICE--THE PRISONER ESCAPES FROM A TRAIN AND IS RECAPTURED--MRS.

HAYWARD'S IDENTIFICATION OF HER HUSBAND'S BETRAYER.

In the meantime Detective Ayres had gone to Cheyenne, taken horse there

and ridden to Horse creek; from there to Big Horse creek, thence to Hawk

Springs and into old Red Cloud agency, on the Platte. Here he got

information of the men he was after, and without loss of time pushed on to

Running Water; from there to Camp Robinson, thence to Camp Sheridan, and

then into Pine Ridge agency. The Indian agent, Mr. V. T. McGillycuddy

proffered all assistance, and Joseph Seminole was soon under arrest. Not

without considerable trouble, however, as shall appear.

Mr. Ayres had taken letters to the agent and the military, and had been

assured that he should have every assistance, as the Rocky Mountain

Detective Agency was well known and highly respected in that far-away

section.

Not only the officers and the soldiers, but the Indian police as well,

were anxious and willing to assist in running Seminole down. They

recognized the description as soon as it was given them, and told the

officer from the far-away region that they would find him forthwith, and

volunteered to lead him to his place of abode. Ayres told them all he knew

of the crimes charged against Seminole, the worst being that of

horse-thieving, and assured them that he was wanted on no more serious

charge than that of showing his undue love for horseflesh. They professed

great indignation that their nation should have been disgraced by the

stealing of a single horse, and avowed that he should be sent back

forthwith to answer for the offense. They seemed to dislike the fellow

any way; possibly because he was a half-breed, but most likely for the

reason that he was better educated than the rest of them, and held himself

in a manner aloof from them. At any rate, they were quite willing to take

the officer to him, saying that Seminole should not only be arrested, but

that they would see that the officer should get away with him in good

shape.

This was as good a thing as Mr. Ayres wanted, and when he was well rested,

the Indians, true to their promise, led him to the wigwam of the culprit.

It may not have been a picture of peace and plenty which Seminole

presented, but he certainly seemed to be quite contented, surrounded as he

was by his squaw and papooses, who prattled about in the dirt, while he

sat enjoying the bliss of a long-stemmed pipe. The surroundings were rude

and coarse, but the half Indian appeared to be perfectly at home and at

ease.

But the officer of the law can not stand back on account of any qualms of

conscience or foolish sentiment when there are arrests to be made. His is

not the part of preserving domestic felicity.

When broken in upon, the murderer did not show any signs of fear, and when

introduced to Mr. Ayres as an officer from Colorado in search of him, he

manifested no disposition to make resistance. It may be that he asked

rather impetuously to know the charge against him, but Ayres' answer that

it was that of horse stealing reassured him, and he submitted quietly, and

walked out of his wigwam stolidly, though with apparent willingness.

The officer was led to believe that he had accomplished a big job with but

little effort and was mentally congratulating himself accordingly. But all

was not accomplished. There was much yet to be done. He felt that he had a

wide and wild stretch of country to cover in getting home, and the idea of

going through an Indian region alone, in charge of a half Indian, was not

a cheerful one. Not by any means.

When Seminole was once out of his house the detective undertook to

handcuff him. But the fellow had had time for a little self-introspection

and meditation. The Hayward murder undoubtedly came into his mind, and he

began to feel that, whatever the charge upon which he was to be brought

back to Denver, he would be in danger of being discovered as the murderer,

and he began to show fight at the sight of the handcuffs. He would not

agree to have them put on, and when the officer attempted to force them

on, struck at him. He was a strong man and able to get the best of the

officer had he been unaided. But the Indian police came nobly to Ayres'

rescue, and they laid Mr. Seminole low in very short order, and while he

was prone upon the ground and kicking and scratching, the irons were

adjusted. The scene was as wild a one in the interest of justice as ever

fell to the lot of man to witness.

The capture was now completed, and one of the murderers of "old man"

Hayward was in the hands of an officer of the law, though on a different

charge and far away from the scene of the tragedy or the bounds of

civilization.

The officer found that on September 29, Seminole had sold his stolen bay

mare to an Indian chief named Woman's Dress, giving a bill of sale, and

signing thereto the name of Joseph Leuischammesse, which, upon being

compared upon arrival at Denver with the writing of the order to the

proprietor of the Summit house, proved that it was written by the same

hand, the letters being formed identically alike. The other man, Tom

Johnson, as he is still called, was not there.

With an armed escort of Sioux Indians, Ayres started back with his

prisoner. He parted with his escort at Camp Robinson, and at Pine Bluffs

boarded a freight train, and took up quarters in the caboose.

About 3 o'clock of the next morning after taking passage on the freight,

Mr. Ayres found himself minus the prisoner to capture whom he had risked

so much and undergone so many hardships. He had allowed the man to be out

of his sight for a moment, and that moment had been embraced by the fellow

to regain his liberty. The train was rattling along at more than ordinary

freight train speed, so that Mr. Ayres did not dream of the handcuffed

man's jumping from the train. But Seminole was a man who dared anything,

and he boldly plunged out of the caboose into the darkness, and was

once more free. Mr. Ayres' efforts to refind his man proved utterly

futile, and nothing was left to him but to notify his chief.

[Illustration: Capture of Seminole at Pine Ridge Indian Agency, Dakota, by

Detective Ayres.]

A great deal had been gained, but now everything seemed lost. By this time

Cook had become entirely convinced that Seminole, or Leuischammesse, was

one of the murderers of Hayward, and for that reason he determined to

leave no stone unturned to recover his man. Consequently the matter was

again placed in the hands of Assistant Superintendent Carr, and through

the aid of the telegraph but a very few hours had elapsed when there were

no less than fifteen cowboys scouring the plains under the leadership of

Cattle Detective Cowles in the neighborhood of the point at which the

escape was made, and in nine hours from the time of the escape the

recapture had been effected.

What could better serve to show the complete system upon which the Rocky

Mountain Detective Association is organized?

Without further incident of note, the wily rascal was brought to Denver

and taken to the county jail. He had become moody and cross, and was

generally pronounced a rough customer by those with whom he came in

contact. He would not talk at first at all. It was evident to Gen.

Cook--who had kept his suspicion concerning the connection of Seminole

with the Hayward murder to himself, even up to that time--that the fellow

was living in dread of having his identity discovered. But Cook preserved

a discreet silence. Mr. Ayres did not yet know the importance of the

arrest which he had made.

As soon as the fellow was securely locked in, Gen. Cook sent for Mrs.

Hayward, the widow of the murdered man, who was brought to Denver by

Detective Hoyt of Golden. Taking her to the jail building, he had seven or

eight prisoners, including Seminole, and all of them corresponding in some

respects in appearance with him, placed in a row in a room.

Into this room Mrs. Hayward was guided, having been told what was expected

of her, namely, that she should have an opportunity to identify the

probable murderer of her husband. She was told to walk along the line in

which Seminole stood as stolid as a block of stone, and find among the

array, if she could, the guilty party. She passed rapidly down the line,

looking at one man at a time, without stopping to hesitate, until she came

to Seminole, when, getting a full view of him, she threw up her hands and

exclaimed:

"My God! that's the man. Take him away from me!"

The identification was positive, and was a death blow to the half breed's

hopes. Besides this, he was identified by Brown & Marr, by Dr. Burr, and

others, so that no doubt as to his identity could by any possibility be

entertained. Seeing that he was in for it, Seminole made a full

confession.

CHAPTER XIX.

SEMINOLE'S CONFESSION--HE FURNISHES GEN. COOK WITH A VALUABLE CLUE AS

TO WOODRUFF'S WHEREABOUTS--DETECTIVES HAWLEY AND AYRES ON THE

TRAIL--THE WRONG MAN, BUT A CRIMINAL ALL THE SAME, TAKEN AFTER MUCH

HARDSHIP--AGAIN ON WOODRUFF'S TRAIL--HE IS TRACKED TO THE MISSOURI

VALLEY BY MR. HAWLEY AND TAKEN AT THE MUZZLE OF A SHOT-GUN--THE

CRIMINAL IS RETURNED TO DENVER AND THOROUGHLY IDENTIFIED.

While Seminole was in jail here, Detective Cook determined to obtain from

him some information which would lead to the apprehension of Woodruff, of

whom all trace had now been lost. He accordingly sent a detective to the

jail in response to Seminole's request for a lawyer, and who, while

professing to be a legal adviser, obtained from Seminole all he knew of

his companion in crime and the particulars of the murder. He stated that

while riding with Mr. Hayward they rode behind, the old man in front,

driving; that Johnson suddenly clutched Hayward about the throat and

choked him to death, while he, Seminole, took the lines and handled the

horses; that the breakage of the neck was occasioned when they heaved the

body out of the wagon when about to shove him under the little bridge

where it was found; that at half-past ten the same night, they drove the

wagon and mules into Denver and put up at the Western barn; that in the

morning they took the outfit around to Paul & Strickler's, on Fifteenth

street, and tried to have it sold at auction, but learning that the sale

would not take place until afternoon, they went back to the barn, and

finally sold it to a Leadville teamster for $190, Woodruff giving the bill

of sale and signing the name Thomas Logan to it; that they then went to

Brown & Marr's and hired the buggy and mares, and followed exactly the

route as traced, and that at Sidney bridge they separated, Woodruff going

to the right, in the direction of the Niobrara river, while he kept

straight on to the Pine Ridge agency, where he was captured.

As to his companion, Seminole said his right name was Woodruff, though he

had been known only as Tom Johnson in Colorado. He knew that Woodruff was

a stonecutter by trade, and that he had been pardoned out of the Wyoming

penitentiary after serving three years for killing a man named John

Friehl, with whose wife Woodruff had been too intimate. The fellow gave a

complete description of Woodruff, and seemed decidedly reckless as to

whether his companion in crime should be caught or not. He made his

confession in a cold-blooded manner, and gave no reason for the murder of

Hayward, except that they wanted his team, and thought it would be best to

have the owner conveniently hidden away while they were carrying forward

their operations in Denver and getting out of the country.

Gen. Cook concluded that the best place to look for Woodruff was the place

at which he had last been seen by Seminole, and consequently sent

detectives to the Niobrara region. This time Mr. Ayres, who had captured

Seminole, was sent out, and was accompanied by Mr. C. A. Hawley, who,

being one of the most courageous as well as one of the shrewdest members

of the association, was selected for this task, because it was believed

that there would be some lively work in arresting Woodruff, who was known

to be desperate as well as cunning.

"But you must get him, Hawley," said Cook to his deputy when he left. "I

trust the work to you, and expect you to do it up in good shape."

"If he is to be had, you can depend on me," said Hawley. "I am ready for

him and go to find him."

The two detectives made the trip to Niobrara with all possible haste. When

they arrived there they began to look around for their man. One day when

they came close upon an individual who answered the general description of

Woodruff, that individual, finding that he was closely watched by the

officers, and suspecting them to be officers, jumped on his horse and rode

off at a lively gait. Inquiry revealed the fact that this man was known as

Tom Johnson. They felt convinced that he was the man that they wanted, and

they went after him with all possible haste. A wild chase he led them,

too, over the uninhabited country of western Nebraska. Knowing the lay of

the land better than the officers did, he was able to evade them for a

long time, and at the end of a week of as hard work as often falls to the

lot of detectives, they overtook and captured him.

After taking the fellow, they had doubts as to whether he was the man they

were seeking; but concluded that a man who would act as suspiciously as he

had been acting must be guilty of some crime, and whether it was that of

the murder of the Colorado ranchman, or some other, mattered little to

them. Hence they determined to bag him and to bring him to Denver, which

determination they put into execution, landing here with him near the

middle of November. The fellow proved not to be Woodruff, but it was soon

ascertained that he was a fugitive from justice from Omaha, where he had

been guilty of horse stealing; and it may be remarked in passing, that he

was sent to that city and tried, and that he had to serve out a

seven-years' sentence in the penitentiary of Nebraska. Thus the officers

only brought down the wrong game when they fired, though they did not

waste their ammunition. Shakespeare tells us that conscience makes cowards

of us all. Johnson's conscience certainly put him behind the bars at

Lincoln City.

This episode did not delay matters a great deal. Gen. Cook had been on the

_qui vive_ while his officers were out, and had learned that Woodruff had

relatives living either in Iowa or eastern Nebraska, and he had come to

the conclusion that the fugitive murderer would most likely fly to them

for protection and to escape detection. The sequel will prove that in this

case, as in most others where he forms a theory as to the conduct of

fugitive criminals, he was right. Hence he decided to send Hawley to look

up Woodruff's relatives, with the hope of also finding Woodruff. He had

heard that they resided in the country before Hawley started, and

suggested to him that it would be a good idea for him to play the _role_

of a granger, in case it would serve his purpose. It was also decided to

make the most of the capture of Johnson, the story of which was published

in the newspapers in such a way as to lead to the inference that Johnson

was the man wanted, the belief being that Woodruff would see the papers,

and seeing this article, would conclude that the officers had been

outwitted and taken the wrong man, he would become careless, and hence be

all the more easily come up with.

While the people were reading the story of Johnson's capture, the next

morning after his arrival from Niobrara, believing that the murderer had

really been overtaken, Hawley was preparing to start upon a second

excursion in search of that individual. He again started out to find his

man. This time he did find him, "and no foolin'," either.

There was one important point to be gained in making the search. No one

knew definitely where Woodruff's relatives lived, though they were known

to be residents of the vicinity of Council Bluffs or Omaha.

Going first to Omaha, and then crossing the Missouri to Council Bluffs,

the detective took a train on the Chicago, Burlington and Quincy railroad

and went down the road about fifty miles, keeping his eyes and ears widely

open in the hope of getting the slightest trace of the party he was after;

and then, disgusted, returned to Council Bluffs and went to his hotel.

From a man whom he met there he learned that James W. Woodruff, known to a

brother of Sam, lived at Big Grove, thirty miles distant.

Disguising himself as a granger, he got a pony and a letter from Mr.

Phelps, of the Ogden hotel, to his foreman, Walter Farwell, on his stock

ranch, near the house of the Woodruffs, and started off. The stock ranch

was about twenty-eight and a half miles from Council Bluffs, and here

Hawley hired out as a corn-husker, and went to work. James Woodruff's

place was about a mile and a half further on.

Hawley passed under the name of Charles Albert, and after working one day

at corn-husking, prevailed upon the foreman to send him out, the following

morning, looking for lost stock. It must be mentioned that while husking

corn, the detective was incidentally told by Mr. Farwell of the late

arrival of a brother of James Woodruff, said to be direct from the Black

Hills, and with a $9,000 bank account in Deadwood. He had been home but

ten days, and Hawley shrewdly suspected that this brother was the Samuel

he was after. So in the course of his rambles about after lost stock, he

stopped at the Woodruff farm, and learned that they had moved into the

town of Big Grove. The officer thereupon circled and rode into the little

village from the east, and spotted the Woodruff house, returning

immediately thereafter to Phelps' stock place.

After unsaddling his pony and getting something to eat, he started for

Council Bluffs, leaving at about 11 in the morning and arriving at about 4

in the afternoon. Here, on the 25th of November, he swore out a warrant

for the arrest of Samuel Woodruff, before Justice Baird, and securing the

services of Constable Theodore Guittar, they took a two-seated buggy, and

at 10 that night started for the stock farm again, getting there about 3

o'clock in the morning, and seeking the barn for rest. But two hours later

they were rudely awakened by an attendant, who didn't "sabe" the presence

of two rough-looking tramps.

After feeding their horses and obtaining breakfast, they drove down to Big

Grove, and leaving their team concealed in the bushes on the outskirts,

walked into the town. They noticed their man at work near the Woodruff

house, but as soon as he saw the two strangers he stopped his labors and

went within. The officers then walked on down to the store of a Mr.

Freeman, and while Hawley talked about the chances of getting work on the

railroad, his companion went out and borrowed a double-barreled shot gun.

The detective discharged both barrels out of the back door, and then

carefully loaded the weapon with a handful of buckshot in each barrel,

stating to Guittar that it meant "death to either himself or Woodruff," in

case of an escape or failure to capture. A little later James Woodruff,

the brother, came driving down the street, and hitched his team a short

distance from Freeman's store; and, coming up to the latter place, began a

series of questioning and re-questioning, evidently endeavoring to pump

the disguised detective; however, with little success.

Perhaps an hour was consumed in this manner, and then he left, and a few

minutes later Hawley saw the two Woodruffs coming down the street

together. James carried an axe and Sam a revolver.

The detective pulled back the hammers of his shot gun, and watched the men

through the window.

As they neared the store, Hawley stepped out, apparently closely examining

something about the locks of his weapon, and when the brothers reached the

store, the officer brought the gun to his shoulder and said:

"Sam Woodruff, throw up your hands; I want you."

Quick as a flash the desperado's fist sought his revolver. But the cool,

quiet tones of the officer, "Pull that pistol one inch, and I'll blow

daylight through you," caused him to let go his grip and throw up his

hands above his head.

Constable Guittar then applied the handcuffs and shackles, and disarmed

the man, and he was immediately marched down the street a little way,

while a boy was sent after the officers' team. The brother, James,

attempted a few demonstrations, but Hawley's revolver, cocked and held in

position, quieted his ardor.

Five minutes later, and the officers and their prisoner were driving

towards Council Bluffs at full speed, and as soon as identified by Justice

Baird and turned over to Hawley, he was taken to Omaha and there lodged in

jail.

Hawley, being out of funds, now telegraphed Sheriff Cook for money, and

though instantly forwarded, through some red-tapeism of the telegraph

company he was delayed until too late to catch the train of that day. On

the next, however, the detective and his prisoner left, reaching Cheyenne

on the 29th at 1 o'clock in the afternoon. Before starting, the officer

telegraphed Sheriff Gregg at Fremont, and Sheriff Con. Groner of North

Platte, to meet him for the purpose of identification of his prisoner.

This these officers did, and fully identified the man as Samuel Woodruff.

At North Platte, in addition to the sheriff, Martin Oberst, night clerk of

the Railroad hotel, recognized him as having stopped at the house two or

three weeks before, when he signed his correct name. At Cheyenne he was

further identified by the sheriff, and T. Jeff Carr of the detective

association, and upon arrival in Denver, the next day, Mr. Hunter, who was

in the city on business, recognized him as having stopped at his ranch on

the Niobrara river, on or about the 18th of September.

When brought to the sheriff's office, Woodruff refused to say anything,

though on the journey he had denied all knowledge of the murder. He was

driven over to the jail, and his co-partner in crime, Joseph Seminole,

brought into his presence.

[Illustration: Arrest of Sam Woodruff at Big Grove, Iowa, by Detective

Hawley.]

"Hello, Clarke," was Woodruff's exclamation, "what are you doing here?"

To this Seminole merely shrugged his shoulders.

"I used to know that man as Clarke when we were together in the

penitentiary at Laramie City," Woodruff added, explanatorily, to the

officers.

And with this these two scoundrels were locked up in separate cells. One

thing worthy of note was that Seminole's description of the revolver

carried by Woodruff tallied exactly with the weapon which Woodruff wore

when arrested.

Much of the above is taken from the Denver _Tribune_, as told its reporter

by the detectives. At this stage of the proceedings the _Tribune_ was led

to remark: "To the Rocky Mountain Detective Agency a great deal of credit

is deservedly due for the able and persistent manner in which this matter

has been worked up, and this final capture had added increased lustre to

the reputation already borne by this excellent organization. To D. J.

Cook, C. A. Hawley, W. W. Ayres, Joe Arnold, T. J. Carr and C. P. Hoyt,

the officers who have worked up the affair, special honor is due. They

have been untiring in their efforts, and unsparing in their expenditures,

and now have the pleasure of seeing total success crown their labors.

Officers Cook and Arnold have secured the wagon that belonged to the

murdered man from a Mr. Todd, in Douglas country, and will soon have the

mules."

On the 3d of December, three days after Woodruff's arrival in the city,

Mrs. Hayward and her two daughters, Minnie and Cora, aged then thirteen

and fifteen, respectively, arrived in the city, accompanied by Detective

Hoyt, of Golden, and proceeded to the jail to identify the prisoner. When

all was ready, Woodruff was brought from his cell into the parlor of the

jail. Mrs. Hayward sat upon the sofa facing the door, Cora on her left and

Minnie on the right. Sheriff Cook stood at the head of the sofa, and the

other officials near the windows and the door. As Woodruff entered the

room, he shot one glance out of his dark eyes at the visitor on the sofa,

and then dropped them, never again raising them during the remainder of

the interview except once, and then to reply to a question. His

nervousness was quite apparent, the trembling and twitching of his hands

being very perceptible.

A moment's silence, after he had taken his seat, and then Mrs. Hayward

said:

"Minnie, is that the man?"

"Yes," was the positive and quick reply of the little girl, never raising

her eyes from the close scrutiny with which she had regarded the prisoner

from his entrance.

"You are sure he is the man," continued Mrs. Hayward, and the answer was

as quick and as positive as before.

The other daughter, Cora, now spoke. "I know that is the man," she said,

and the mother, turning to Sheriff Cook, said slowly: "Yes, that is the

man--there is no mistake."

At this moment Joseph Seminole was brought into the room. "And there is

the other," said Mrs. Hayward--the two daughters agreeing in like words.

Then Gen. Cook asked Woodruff if he desired to ask any questions to test

the visitors' belief, and received the reply, "My lawyer will do my

talking."

There was no longer any room for doubt. The two scoundrels who had killed

an innocent man and who had led the officers such a chase as few criminals

before or since their time ever did, had been overtaken by the Rocky

Mountain Detective Association. It had been a long but a successful chase.

They had been taken and securely locked in the Arapahoe county jail, where

they had been fully identified and where they awaited orders from the

Jefferson county authorities.

CHAPTER XX.

STIRRING CLOSE OF THE HAYWARD STORY--SEMINOLE AND WOODRUFF TAKEN TO

GOLDEN AND LODGED IN JAIL--VISIT OF THE GRANGER VIGILANTES, WHO

CELEBRATE CHRISTMAS BY HANGING THE MURDERERS OF THEIR LATE

NEIGHBOR--DYING STATEMENTS OF THE TWO MEN--TRAGIC END OF A TRAGIC

STORY.

The last chapter of this somewhat remarkable story at last opens. It is,

if anything, the most thrilling of the series, as it relates the tragic

end of the two men who have figured in these pages to considerable length,

and with whom we began when we left Middle park in August of 1879. It is

now December 28 of the same year, and the story is drawing to its close.

Over three months have elapsed since Mr. Hayward, the quiet citizen and

loving father and husband, was killed by these villains, but his

neighbors, who knew him and appreciated his worth, had not forgotten the

horror of the crime, nor allowed the passing days to carry with them their

desire to avenge the great wrong that had been committed.

The scene is now laid at Golden. Gen. Cook, for the Rocky Mountain

Detective Association, had taken the murderers to Golden, that being the

county seat of Jefferson county, on the 9th of December, and hearing that

there was a likelihood of an effort being made to lynch the scamps, took

precautions to prevent such a result. It had long been his boast that no

prisoner had ever been taken from his hands and lynched, and he did not

propose to have his creditable reputation blackened now. He was fully

prepared to meet any attempt upon the lives of the men that might be made,

and appreciating the sort of man they were dealing with, the Jefferson

vigilantes wisely decided to await "a more convenient season" for the

putting into execution of any designs they might have. The prisoners

feared lynching, and trembled when Cook and his party left them after they

had been identified and placed in jail. Woodruff said: "I fear those old

farmers who were Hayward's neighbors. They are a great deal more

determined and bitter than miners."

His fears were well founded. The dreadful hour came shortly after midnight

on the cool, crisp Sunday morning of Christmas week of '79.

A few minutes before 12 o'clock Saturday night the late habitues of

saloons and billiard halls, as well as others who happened to be awake at

that hour, noticed the riding along the principal street of numerous

horsemen, who came from apparently all directions and in little squads of

two, three, half a dozen or so. They noticed that these silent horsemen

all rode toward the jail, and all seemed to be intent on some urgent

business. Then, remembering the oft-repeated murmurs of lynching made

against the imprisoned murderers of poor old Hayward, a number of citizens

followed in the wake of the strangers, who made at the jail a cavalcade of

at least a hundred men, armed to the teeth and grimly seated upon their

horses, not even talking or whispering among themselves.

A consultation between the chief and his lieutenants took place upon the

steps leading to the first floor above the basement of the court house,

and a few minutes later, without noise or confusion, a large circle of

guards was spread around the jail and some two or three hundred yards

distant from it. These grim sentinels were but a few paces apart, and some

were mounted and some on foot. Every member of this avenging band wore a

mask, or a handkerchief across the face, or had his features blackened

with burnt cork, so that recognition was absolutely impossible. No one was

permitted to pass this cordon of guards, no matter what the excuse. One

man climbed a telegraph pole and the telephone wire from the jail was cut,

and thus all communication to and from the building was ended. Then the

horses were ridden to a vacant lot opposite and tied, while the riders

dismounted and closed in upon the jail. There was no noise or confusion.

Everything had been carefully planned, and every man had a certain

position and a certain duty assigned, and he silently took the one and

performed the other.

There were in the building, aside from the prisoners in the cells, Under

Sheriff Joseph Boyd, who was asleep with his family in a rear room, and

an extra watchman, Edgar Cox, who was lying upon a bench in the sheriff's

office. Hearing the sound of feet on the frozen earth outside, Cox rose to

a sitting position and looked up at the windows, the curtains of which

were raised. At each window he saw, to his stupefaction, two or three men,

who had rifles in their hands. Their gleaming barrels pointed directly at

him, and a stern voice simply said:

"Don't move, or you'll get hurt."

Under the circumstances Cox did not move, but sat gazing at the deadly

weapons which so steadily and unrelentingly covered him, while he could

hear the heavy tramp of men marching in at the front door and filing down

the inside stairs to the basement.

This same tramp, tramp of many feet, foretelling something unusual,

reached the ears of Under Sheriff Boyd, who was in bed, and he suddenly

awoke with the feeling that there was trouble ahead. Hastily pulling on

his clothes he rushed out of his room, and saw the two rooms from which

the two doors open into the jail part, teeming with masked and armed men,

who apparently paid no attention to him whatever. As he passed the

"feeding" door--so termed because through this the prisoners' meals are

taken in to them--he noticed that the outer wooden door was splintered and

the lock broken off. Pushing his way through to the front room, he mounted

to the third step of the stairs leading to the first floor, and raising

his voice, said:

"Gentlemen, listen to me one moment. You are, or I take you to be,

law-abiding and law-loving citizens, and yet you are now engaged in

unlawful proceedings. I beg of you to cease, and not in your indignation

or passionate feelings take the law into your own hands. Rest assured

justice will be obtained, even though it take a little longer."

At this juncture three men at the foot of the stairs pulled their

revolvers and covered the speaker, while one said:

"Hands up, sir--we know our business."

To which Boyd replied:

"I'll not hold up my hands. I know you have not come here to harm me," and

recommenced his expostulation and entreaty to the men in front of him.

In the meantime, a number of the vigilantes had attacked the iron-grated

door with sledge hammers and crowbars. Every blow told, and sinewy and

muscular arms sent the heavy instruments to the points where they would do

the most good.

The under sheriff still continued his address to the men, and finally the

leader, a tall, well-built man, ordered three of his fellows to take Boyd

into custody and remove him. They instantly complied and the officer was

taken into the inner room, where he still continued his protestations. The

blows fell thick and fast upon the great strong lock and at last with a

crash it gave way and the door swung open, and those terrible, determined

men swarmed within.

Previous to all this the prisoners were sound asleep in their cells, save

one, Joseph Murphy, in for petty larceny and who was out of his cell,

being on duty in keeping up the fire and such other little chores as might

be necessary.

As the assault began upon the bolts of the iron door, Woodruff awoke with

a start, and sprang to the grating of his cell, where he glared in

tremulous anxiety upon the bars that were trembling beneath the rain of

blows. Seminole, too, awoke about the same time, and began a low moaning

in his terrible fear, though he did not arise from his bed, but as the

door at last gave way, and the crowd rushed in, he gave vent to a cry

which is described as being more like the shriek of some wild animal than

any other noise.

Without loss of time the vigilantes attacked the padlocks on cells

fourteen and twelve, the former being Woodruff's and the latter

Seminole's. Noticing the liberty of Murphy, and supposing that he might

attempt to escape in the confusion, the leader of these midnight

dispensers of justice went to Boyd, who was still under guard, and told

him he had better lock up such prisoners as might be loose.

"Will you pledge your word of honor for yourself and men that you will not

touch the keys if I get them?" asked the faithful official.

"Yes," was the brief but evidently earnest reply.

Calling the watchman, Cox, and accompanied still by his masked guard, Boyd

went to the vault and began to work the combination that opened it.

Before giving the last twist, however, he turned to his silent captors,

and said:

"You have heard the pledge given by your captain, or chief, or whatever

you call him, in relation to the keys; have I your words of honor also?"

They bowed a grim assent, and a moment later the bolt shot back and the

iron door turned on its hinges. Taking the keys the official entered the

jail and locked Murphy up. As he passed the cells containing two burglars,

they begged to be released, fearing lest the vigilantes would also make an

example of them. Boyd assured them that they would not be harmed, or at

least he would do all in his power to protect them.

In the meantime cold chisels had cut into the cell padlocks, and sledge

hammers completed the job. Woodruff was on his feet and showed fight, but

his visitors were determined men, and the cold-blooded murderer was soon

rendered docile, a few raps with the butt of a revolver being administered

on the top of his head. He was carried out and laid upon his stomach on

the floor, his face resting upon his left side, while skillful and willing

hands bound his wrists together behind his back. As he was being taken

from his cell he made but one remark:

"Gentlemen, you are mistaken. I am innocent of this crime."

When the tying was completed he was lifted up to a sitting posture and

asked for the captain, referring to Boyd, and that officer immediately

came forward.

Laying hand upon the shoulder of the prisoner, Boyd said:

"Well, Woodruff, what can I do for you?"

Woodruff raised his dark eyes to the kindly face above him, and with a low

voice, inexpressibly sad and full of feeling, said:

"Captain, write to my wife--and to my brother, and tell them all about

this, will you? Don't forget it. Write to (and a name was given which the

officer forgets) and tell him to avenge my death--he'll do it."

"Gentlemen," he said, turning to his captors, "this is not the last of

this."

Then Boyd said: "Is that all I can do for you, Sam?"

"Yes," said the prisoner, "all--all."

During all this time the men had been hammering away at Seminole's cell,

and as Woodruff finished speaking, the door was opened and a number of men

sprang within. Seminole was lying upon his face moaning fearfully in his

terror. He was quickly picked up and carried out, and his hands bound

behind him in like manner to Woodruff's.

Without further hesitation or delay and in perfect silence the prisoners,

the manacles on their ankles clanking a dismal dead march, were taken out

through the front door of the basement and taken in the direction of the

Golden and South Platte railroad, three or four hundred yards distant.

Woodruff refused to walk, and was half carried and half pushed, but

Seminole did what he could in the way of locomotion, and in a few minutes

the men were on the railroad bridge that crosses Kinney creek.

The bridge is a timber one, having three spans, supported on spiles

resting on wooden foundations. A rope three-eighths of an inch in diameter

was produced, which was supposed to be long enough to hang both men, but

being found too short, a delay occurred while a new one, an inch in

diameter, was obtained. Woodruff was stationed on the end nearest Denver,

and Seminole just five sleepers further away. With nooses about their

necks, the other ends of the ropes being fastened to the projecting ends

of the timbers (notches being cut to prevent any slipping), the men stood.

"Sam Woodruff, do you wish to say anything?" was the grim question of the

masked leader.

The man addressed looked around upon the crowd in silence a few moments,

and then, without further preface, said:

"Gentleman, you are hanging an innocent man, but I trust God will forgive

you, as I do. May I say my prayers?"

Assent being given, the doomed man knelt and silently prayed to the

Almighty. When he had finished he arose to his feet and, looking once more

upon his captors, said:

"I have one last request to make. Permit me to jump off the bridge; don't

push me to my death."

But his request was not granted, and a few moments later a dozen hands

pushed him off the edge--off the edge into eternity.

When Seminole was asked if he had anything to say, he choked a moment and

then, in a clear, distinct voice, said:

"Gentlemen, I have but little to say, and I address myself to those among

you who may be erring ones. Beware of the first bad step. The after ones

are not to be feared; it is the beginnings. But for my first evil break I

would not be standing here to-night with this rope about my neck and death

staring me in the face. In relation to this murder, gentlemen, we two are

the guilty ones. We committed the crime. I have no excuse to offer,

nothing to say."

And then, raising his head toward heaven, his lips moving tremulously, he

broke out with, "O, God Almighty, have mercy on my sinful soul; and as

Thou hast shown Thy love and tenderness in times past to weak and guilty

ones, show such to me now. Guard, oh, I pray Thee, my mother and brothers,

and let not them follow in my footsteps or take my sinful path. Forgive me

my transgressions, O God, and"--his voice broke slightly--"take me to

Thee, sinful though I am." And then, in simple but beautiful and eloquent

terms, he prayed for the well-being and salvation of his captors and

executioners.

During this prayer the vigilantes stood around, with hats removed and

heads bowed, in reverential listening. It was a sombre, impressive

picture. The moonlight shining cold and clear upon the scene; the fated

man, with eyes turned towards the zenith, one foot upon the iron rail of

the track, the other upon the tie to which was attached the rope that

drooped from his neck; the swinging, twitching body of his companion in

crime dangling in awful solitude below; the congregated men with uncovered

and bent heads, and their faces hid beneath grim masks; the polished

barrels of rifles and guns gleaming in the moonbeams, and the grave-like

silence alone broken by the earnest, feeling words of the speaker--a

picture never to be forgotten. And when at last the lips were closed and

the fatal push was given, even the stern executioners of inexorable law

felt a tremor run through their stalwart, muscular limbs.

Seminole died instantly, his neck being broken in the fall, but swinging

past the spiles the skin on the knuckles of his right hand was rubbed off.

Woodruff died hard, his struggles for breath being distinctly heard, and

his limbs twitching convulsively.

The work was done, and the vigilantes slowly retraced their steps to their

horses, and without a word mounted to their saddles, while the two bodies

hanging beneath the bridge twisted and twirled, and finally rested

motionless, stirred only now and then by a passing breeze that played

fitfully with their fast stiffening forms.

During the confusion in securing the prisoners in the jail, Mr. Boyd

managed to get to the telephone and attempted to communicate with the

town. But in vain. Then he sent Cox, the watchman, off to alarm Sheriff

Belcher, but ere the messenger had proceeded a dozen yards he was stopped

and returned to the building. The sheriff was asleep at his home when,

about 1 o'clock he was awakened by his brother-in-law, Archer DeFrance,

who told him that something was going on at the jail, and a few moments

later a black watchman named Baker, who had been especially instructed in

view of such an emergency, came in with the alarm also. A few minutes

later and the sheriff was hastening at the top of his speed towards the

jail on the hill. But he was too late. The murderers of R. B. Hayward had

gone to their final account, and the vigilantes, with the exception of a

guard on the ridge near the bodies, had disappeared as quietly and

mysteriously as they had come. Then the sheriff went for the coroner, Dr.

Joseph W. Anderson, and without loss of time that officer arrived upon the

ground. While he was examining the bodies the coroner was hailed by the

vigilantes with:

"What are you doing?"

"Examining into your devilish work."

"Are they dead?"

"Yes; deader than hell."

"All right. Hayward is avenged. Good night." And the sentinel horsemen

rode off with a parting wave of their hands.

[Illustration: The Lynching of Woodruff and Seminole at Golden.]

As the main body of men left the scene of the lynching, they fired a

farewell shot from their pistols, and as their number was variously

estimated at from one hundred to a hundred and fifty, it made quite a

volley.

After viewing the hanged men, the coroner ordered the sheriff to cut them

down, which was done, and D. P. Maynard having been sent for and arriving

with his express wagon, the corpses were taken up and conveyed to an

unoccupied storeroom on Ford street. Here they were placed under the care

of two watchers, and about 9 o'clock in the morning were conveyed to the

court house, where, an hour later, the jury impaneled by the coroner held

the inquest, and brought in a verdict to the effect that Seminole and

Woodruff "came to their death upon the 28th day of December, 1879, being

taken from the jail and custody of the said jailer of said county by force

and violence, between the hours of 12 and 1 o'clock a. m., and hanged by

the neck by parties unknown to this jury, and with felonious intent."

After the tragedy the undertaker laid the bodies out in plain pine boxes,

painted black on the outside, and, untying their hands, crossed them in

front. Woodruff was dressed in a dark check shirt, duck overall and cotton

stockings, without shoes. His eyes were half open, and his mouth, with its

lips slightly apart, disclosed his regular teeth beneath. During his

confinement in Golden he had not shaved, and a rough growth of beard

covered his cheeks and chin. His forehead was covered with blood that

dripped from the wounds on the top of his head, caused by the necessary

rapping given with the pistol butt when taking him out of his cell.

Seminole wore a checkered vest and a dark sack coat over his undershirt.

Dark pantaloons, brown mixed stockings and Indian moccasins completed the

balance of his attire. His mouth and eyes were firmly closed, and from

either corner of the shut lips a streak of blood ran down upon his neck,

while watery matter oozed slightly from his left eye. His face was

considerably swollen, and decomposition soon set in. The knots on both

nooses had slipped around to the front, immediately beneath the chin, and

had cut somewhat into the flesh of both men. The back of Woodruff's neck

was badly cut and much swollen, and blood marked the courses on both

necks followed by the rope. In order to accommodate Woodruff's body, a box

six feet seven inches long was necessary, and six feet one inch for

Seminole.

Monday afternoon, succeeding the day of the lynching, no answer having

been received from relatives, both Seminole and Woodruff were buried in

the Golden cemetery.

And thus Samuel Woodruff and Joseph Seminole pass out of the world's daily

history, and another terrible example is recorded to give terror to all

evil-doers.

Recording the tragedy as above related, the _Tribune_ of December 30 said:

"In wandering through the town of Golden yesterday, and conversing with

business men of all grades of social and intellectual standing, the

reporter failed to find one solitary person who condemned this recent

lynching. On every side the popular verdict seemed to be that the hanging

was not only well merited, but a positive gain to the county, saving it at

least five or six thousand dollars. In plumply asking the question from

thirteen representative men, the _Tribune_ commissioner met with the

unvarying response: 'It was the best thing possible, and we are all glad

of it.'"

A DUNKARD DISGRACED.

CHAPTER XXI.

THE LEADER OF THE AMISH SOCIETY OF IOWA DISAPPEARS AND IS MOURNED AS

DEAD--HE LEAVES HIS HOME HEAVILY IN DEBT, BUT CARRIES THE CONFIDENCE

OF ALL--WHEN LAST SEEN HE HAS TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS ON HIS

PERSON--PINKERTON'S DETECTIVE AGENCY EMPLOYED TO NO AVAIL--ONE HOPE

STILL LEFT.

Mr. Joseph Arnold, known to his friends and the community at large as

"Joe," has for many years past been one of the most trusted of Gen. Cook's

assistant detectives. To him have been entrusted many of the cases which

required the closest attention to detail, and a capacity to pick up clues

which others less shrewd and less familiar with the small traits of human

nature would have allowed to go unnoticed. He is a typical detective. He

is one of the best men on a cold trail in the whole country, and is as

plausible as a courtier when it is necessary to be plausible. At other

times he is quite disposed to be taciturn, and he never gives anything

away.

One of Joe's best pieces of detective work was done in the year 1878, and

it illustrates his shrewdness about as well as any story which can be told

of him. This consisted in the working up of the case of Christian J.

Schuttler, as big a pious fraud as ever dawned upon Denver. Schuttler had

for many years lived in Johnson county, Iowa, twelve miles from Iowa City.

He was a man of over fifty years of age, the head of a family consisting

of a wife and twelve children. He was a member of the Amish Society, a

branch of the Dunkard faith, and was a leader among them. Indeed, he was

at the head of the society in Johnson county, if not in the entire state

of Iowa. He was the financial agent and manager of his society, attending

to all the business of his people with the outside world for the entire

community. The society in Iowa was prosperous, because industrious and

frugal, and Schuttler, as their agent, had almost unlimited credit. He

was trusted everywhere as a man of extreme probity and honor; probably

because he wore a long beard, as the Amish people never shave; had a meek

look in his eyes, spoke in a low tone, wore hooks and eyes instead of

buttons, and carried other external signs which made him appear a man whom

the world should trust; but most probably because he had the confidence of

his own people, and because they backed him as a body in his financial and

other operations. At any rate, he was trusted implicitly, and this fact

led to his falling into Joe Arnold's hands.

As general business agent for his organization, Schuttler often made

business visits to Chicago. What his general conduct there was on these

occasions is not known in detail, but it is supposed to have generally

been very loose, though he was not suspected by those who trusted him

until after the occurrences which are about to be related.

Schuttler made one of these visits to Chicago in the early part of 1878,

and during that visit disappeared mysteriously from the sight of his

friends and acquaintances. He had gone to Chicago for the purpose of

selling for his society thirteen carloads of fine beef cattle, which had

been prepared for the market by his Dunkard friends. Before leaving, as

was afterwards ascertained, he had borrowed $4,000 in currency from the

Johnson County Bank, of which Mr. John Conden was cashier, and also

various small sums from other persons. He had been gone several days

before any uneasiness began to be felt; but when at last, after some two

or three weeks of waiting, nothing was heard of him, his friends began to

grow uneasy, and took the initiatory steps towards making a search for

him, if alive, and for his body, if dead. Letters were written to Chicago,

but only elicited the fact that he had arrived there with his cattle, and

had sold them and gotten the money for them. The cashier of a bank

remembered seeing Schuttler in his bank, where he had gone out with a

draft for $10,000. This was the last trace which had been found. Search

was made everywhere in Chicago, but no one could be found who could throw

any light upon the mystery, which deepened every day. Advertisements were

put in the papers. Friends became uneasy for the man's personal safety;

creditors grew anxious for other reasons; his family was terribly

distressed for their own welfare, as well as for that of the father and

husband. But no good tidings were received with which to appease the

general uneasiness.

Hardly any one believed that Schuttler had disappeared of his own accord.

As has been said, he was trusted by all and suspected by none. It was

believed that he had been robbed for his money, and the suspicion that he

had also been murdered gradually took possession of the public mind.

At last a heavy reward was offered for the finding of the man, dead or

alive, and for any clue which would aid in clearing up the terrible

mystery and bringing to justice those who were believed to have been

responsible for his disappearance.

At the special request of those interested, Pinkerton's Detective Agency

was employed on the case by those interested, and instructed to spare

neither money nor pains in their work. They published descriptions in the

papers, searched Chicago from one end to the other, and even went so far

as to have the Chicago river dragged for the body. They set their men in

every direction to work, but failed utterly to find any trace of the

missing man, or to offer any theory which would explain his disappearance.

Schuttler's friends were quite despairing.

But there was still reason for hope, if they had only known, which will

appear in the next chapter.

CHAPTER XXII.

DETECTIVE ARNOLD "SMELLS A MICE"--HE WITNESSES A PECULIAR WEDDING IN A

JUSTICE'S OFFICE IN DENVER, AND CONCLUDES THAT THE BRIDEGROOM IS NO

OTHER THAN MR. SCHUTTLER, OF IOWA--A VERY SMALL CLUE LEADS TO BIG

RESULTS--A CASE OF CONFIDENCE, THEFT AND BIGAMY BROUGHT TO

LIGHT--SCHUTTLER, BEING ARRESTED, OWNS UP AND GOES BACK TO IOWA, WHERE

HE IS WELCOMED TO THE BOSOM OF HIS FAMILY.

One day several weeks after the man's disappearance, and when the

Pinkertons had almost ceased their search the Johnson county people

received a telegram from the Rocky Mountain Detective Association, asking

them for a complete description of Schuttler, and asking what should be

done in case there was reasonable hope of finding Schuttler. A reply was

sent, requesting that every effort be made, and saying that a reward of

$500 would be paid for the discovery of the man and his return to Iowa.

Joe Arnold had read the description of Schuttler in the Chicago papers.

Mr. O. A. Whittemore was then a justice of the peace in Denver. One day

Mr. Arnold was in Justice Whittemore's office attending to some business

when he noticed a rather peculiar looking couple come in and ask to be

married. The man gave the name of Christian Schottler and the woman that

of Mary Spohr. The detective scanned the pair carefully, and at last came

to the conclusion that he had somewhere read a description of the man and

that he was "wanted." After thinking over the matter in his own mind he

concluded that Christian Schottler, who was getting married to Mary Spohr,

was no other than Christian J. Schuttler, late of Johnson county, Iowa,

who was supposed to have been murdered for his money and who was being

mourned by his wife and twelve children as dead. That he had made many

changes in his appearance was quite evident. His long hair and beard had

been cut, and the Quaker-like garb had given place to a far more fly

costume. But the features of the man were those which had been described

in the Chicago paper, and the name given here was very similar to that

which the Iowa man had borne. Mr. Arnold was quite convinced that

Schuttler, instead of being the truly good creature which had been

described, was a wolf in sheep's clothing, who had stolen the $10,000 in

money and deserted his family and foresworn his creed for the purpose of

living with the woman whom he had seen become his wife.

Mr. Arnold was careful, of course, to avoid divulging his suspicions to

these people or to create any uneasiness in their minds.

He went to Gen. Cook and told him what he had witnessed and imparted his

surmise to the chief. Cook then went with him to see the man and to pass

his opinion upon him. He coincided with Arnold in his view of the case,

and it was after this conference that the telegram referred to above was

sent to Iowa.

In accordance with the instructions from Iowa, the detectives decided to

keep a close watch upon the movements of the pair. This work was entrusted

almost entirely to Mr. Arnold. He seldom allowed the man and woman to get

out of his sight, though he was careful to remain unknown to them. He

discovered that they spent the greater portion of their time in the

retired portions of the city, and found that they had entered into

negotiations some few days after their arrival here for a saloon on Wazee

street, where it was supposed they believed they could go into business

and earn a livelihood, as well as enjoy their illicit love, without being

detected. They resided during the time in a little grout cottage on

Fifteenth street, near Welton, considered then a long way out of town.

One day, much to his satisfaction, Mr. Arnold traced Schottler to a

photograph gallery, and found that he had had some pictures of himself

made. What motive he could have had for this step is not known, but it is

presumed that he desired to preserve a record of his early appearance in

his new garb, which, though that of ordinary life with other men, was

strange to him. Whatever the freak that led him to seek the photographer,

it proved quite a serious matter for him, and helped, if it did no more,

to hasten the arrest. Of course Arnold procured one of these pictures. He

sent it post haste to the home of Schuttler, where, although the clerical

look was removed, it was recognized as being the photograph of Schuttler.

The detectives were then requested to see that Schuttler did not make his

escape and to arrest him in case he should attempt to leave town. The

telegram was from Mr. Conden, the cashier of the bank which had lent

Schuttler $4,000, and he announced his determination to come out and see

the man.

In the meantime Arnold had found that the man and woman told different

stories about themselves, as to where they were from, one of them stating

that they had just arrived from Illinois and the other that they came from

Wisconsin. They appeared to be nervous and watchful, and every movement

strengthened the suspicion entertained of them by the detectives. The

woman at last disappeared, and it was learned that she had gone to

Chicago, taking a considerable sum of money with her.

When Conden arrived the man was alone. He was taken to a place where he

could obtain a good look at him without being himself seen by Schuttler.

He at once pronounced Schottler to be no other than Schuttler, and

requested that he be arrested forthwith.

The arrest followed soon afterwards, and was made by Gen. Cook. When

Schuttler was apprehended he denied that he had been guilty of any crime,

and told the officer that he must be mistaken. He made no objection other

than to declare his innocence and to swear that his name was Scholtz

instead of Schuttler. In reply to these remarks Cook only told him that if

he would go with him to his office the matter could very soon be settled;

that there was a man there who would probably recognize him, and that if

he did not there would be no harm done, and he could go. To this

proposition Schuttler assented, and went with Cook. Conden was awaiting

the arrival of the two men at the officer's rooms, and when Schuttler

arrived there was a mutual recognition.

"My God!" exclaimed Schuttler.

With this he thrust his hand into his pocket and brought out an ordinary

pocket knife with which he made an effort to cut his throat, and in this

he doubtless would have succeeded had he not been interfered with by Cook

and Arnold. He then acknowledged everything, and said it was useless to

make any attempt to conceal his crime. He would, he said, willingly go

back home and make any reparation for his offense that was in his power.

He now talked profusely, and claimed that then for the first time, though

he had been "missing" for nearly two months, he had realized the wrong

which he had done. He protested that he had been drugged and stupefied in

Chicago and led astray by the woman to whom he had been married here.

It may be remarked in passing that it was afterwards learned that the

woman had been a member of the _demi monde_ and that Schuttler had been

acquainted with her for several years before his little escapade. It

seems, further, that he had deliberately planned an elopement with her

before leaving home, and that he had as deliberately borrowed money and

procured the sale of the cattle with the intention of defrauding the

community which had trusted him with such implicity. The woman had played

her part merely for the purpose of getting money from the fellow, and had

succeeded to such an extent that when he was captured only $4,000 of the

original $10,000 was found upon his person. She had gone away, doubtless,

to never return. Be that as it may, she has never since been heard from in

Colorado. She had undoubtedly played Schuttler for an old fool; and going

on the principle that an old fool is the worst fool of all, had undertaken

to beat him badly, and had succeeded admirably--tearing the man, as such

women are most capable of doing, from his exalted position in his

community and from his family, and causing him ever afterwards to be

looked upon as a thief, a bigamist, and, worse than all, a silly dupe.

To return to the story. Arnold assisted in taking Schuttler back to Iowa,

where he was taken in hand by the authorities. The people of Schuttler's

faith, who are generally very honest, were greatly chagrined at his

disgrace, and through their intercession he was saved from a term in the

penitentiary. They agreed to settle all his debts, and a compromise was

effected upon this basis. The man's wife was the only person who professed

to believe his story of the manner in which he had been led astray. There

was a reconciliation in the family, with whom Schuttler soon afterwards

removed to Nebraska, where he is probably still living.

The reward offered was paid promptly to Arnold, and he received much

praise for the splendid manner in which he had conducted the case, and

especially for the shrewdness he had displayed in the beginning. It is

safe to say that among the people of Johnson county, Iowa, the Rocky

Mountain Detective Association will forever be considered as superior to

Mr. Pinkerton's agency. There are many other localities which feel the

same way on the subject.

THE WALL MURDER MYSTERY.

CHAPTER XXIV.

A FOUL MURDER ON DRY CREEK, IN DOUGLAS COUNTY--A QUIET SUNDAY

DESECRATED BY A PAIR OF ASSASSINS--L. K. WALL KILLED BY E. E. WIGHT

AND G. H. WITHERILL FOR HIS POSSESSIONS--HE IS SET UPON WHILE HERDING

HIS SHEEP AND SHOT BY SUPPOSED FRIENDS--A DESPERATE RUN FOR LIFE ENDS

IN DEATH AT THE HANDS OF SHAMELESS RUFFIANS--THE MURDER REMAINS A

MYSTERY FOR WEEKS--THE ROCKY MOUNTAIN DETECTIVES AT WORK.

Dry creek is the name of a small and unimportant tributary of Cherry

creek, which, like a great many other streams in this vicinity, contains

but little water, except during the spring and summer months. It is,

however, skirted in places by growths of underbrush and cottonwoods and

willows. It heads in Douglas county, near the Divide, and runs for twenty

miles in a northeasterly direction, until it joins Cherry creek some

fifteen miles above Denver. The region is one for the possession of which

ten years ago no one but a few sheep-herders disputed with the prairie dog

and plains rattlesnake. Lonely and barren as was the country, it has had

its tragedies, and Dry creek tells one of the most thrilling tales of

cold-blooded murder which is recorded in this calendar.

Some few years previous to 1871, a quiet and reticent man came to the

place and bought a small herd of sheep. He gave the name of S. K. Wall.

Occasionally, when business called, he rode into Denver; but he never

remained for any length of time. Unlike many men of his calling, and those

of the kindred vocation of cattle-grazing, he never staid over to have "a

good time with the boys." He did not buy whiskey with his money, but after

paying for his necessities, he would visit the book stores and lay in a

supply of reading matter. This he would carry with him to his home up the

creek. There he lived, in an unpretentious dugout tent, the life of a

hermit, doing his own cooking and tending his own sheep. He had built his

hut in a willow copse, near the bed of the creek; and, owing perhaps as

much to his retiring manners as to his frugal mode of life, the

supposition prevailed in the neighborhood that he had a great deal of

money stored away in the place of his abode. His herd had also increased

rapidly in numbers and now counted four hundred head of as well-kept sheep

as were to be found in the neighborhood. The prize was one likely to

excite the envy of those disposed to avariciousness.

Among Mr. Wall's neighbors in those days were Mr. J. S. McCool, who now

resides on the Platte a few miles below Denver, and Mr. LeFevre. Employed

by Mr. LeFevre was a young man named George H. Witherill, while Mr. McCool

gave work to one E. E. Wight, commonly then known in the neighborhood as

Jack Wight. These two employés became the murderers of Wall, whose sheep

and supposed hidden treasure of gold they longed to possess.

Witherill was the younger of the two men, being at that time twenty-three

years of age, while Wight was about twenty-seven. Both were doubtless bad

enough, but to Wight seems to belong the credit of planning the deviltry.

He also appears to have found in Witherill not only a willing accomplice

but a pliant tool. Wight had come into Colorado the year before from Iowa,

and Witherill had recently arrived from the northwest. He was a native of

New York, and had gradually drifted westward until he reached Utah and

Dakota. For a while he was engaged as a stage driver from Corrinne, Utah,

on the Fort Benton route. Afterwards he drifted back to Laramie City,

Wyo., and from Laramie came to Denver. The education which he had received

as a stage driver in the then almost savage region in which he operated

was not calculated to make a refined creature of him.

Witherill and Wight soon became acquainted and were not long in deciding

to appropriate Wall's property which had aroused their cupidity. From the

time they first discovered themselves to be of common mind upon this

point, they talked over the project continually when they met. Both of

them were herders, but for different men, and they frequently contrived

to bring their herds together for the purpose of discussing this subject

between themselves. They also managed to get days off, when they would

stroll about and discuss the matter. They also met at night and debated

the fine points, going so far at times as to walk over to Wall's place and

survey the premises. The horrible nature of the crime of murder seems to

have never entered their minds. The only point which presented itself was

the feasibility of their scheme. They were not anxious to kill, but they

wanted Wall's property, and after discussing various other plans for

getting Wall out of the way, decided, as dead men tell no tales, to murder

him in cold blood and take the sheep and whatever valuables might be

found.

These plans had begun to take root as early as the middle of the summer,

but they did not mature until September. The 17th day of that month in the

year 1871 fell on Sunday--as bright and quiet a day as Colorado was ever

blessed with. The two men had taken the day off for the purpose of putting

their long-cherished project into execution, agreeing upon a place of

meeting and a plan of proceeding. They came together about 2 o'clock in

the afternoon, and about 3 came upon Wall lying quietly upon a peaceful

hillside in the shade of a bluff, watching the lazy sheep as they gnawed

their Sunday meals out of the tufted grass on the sloping plains

below--certainly a picture of peace and quiet. There was nothing there to

suggest murder, but on the contrary all was suggestive of brotherly love.

The scene was one to call out the warmth and fellow feeling in human

nature.

But the two scoundrels had gone to the place on murder bent, and they did

not propose to be deterred from their purpose by a Sunday scene or a

sparkle of bright sunshine. They went up to Wall, who did not suspect but

that they meant to pay him a friendly call, with smiles on their faces,

and began a friendly conversation. Even while they talked they were

preparing for the murder which they had come to commit, and when the

doomed man turned his head, one of the ruffians--which one will probably

never be definitely known--pulled his gun, and, leveling at the poor

man's back, fired, the ball striking him in the neck.

Comprehending for the first time the real intention of the men, Wall

instinctively took to his heels to save his life, and started towards his

dugout tent: He flew down the hill as if carried on the air, the two men

pursuing almost as fast. It was a race for life--a curious interruption of

the mild Sunday scene which spread out before them under the bright light

of the autumn skies. Even as Wall ran, the blood spurted in torrents from

the ugly wound in his neck, marking the path he trod so plainly that he

might have been tracked by means of it, had not the pursuers been so close

as to need no guide to the course the man had taken. One of them had come

on horseback to the place, and he left his animal standing while he should

pursue his murderous task. They followed closely in the footsteps of Wall,

whose path led over a rugged hillside, down a steep bluff, and into the

bed of Dry creek below. He ran so rapidly at first that the shots which

his bloody-handed pursuers sent after him were of no avail in bringing him

to a halt. It is not believed that either one of the bloody bullets except

the first hit the mark, and it began to look as if the poor man would make

good his escape. He was evidently bent upon getting to his cabin, where

once arrived he had fire arms stored with which he would be amply able to

protect himself even against double odds. The murderers apprehended his

intentions, and bent every energy to cut off the retreat. Finding that the

leaden missiles failed to accomplish their purpose, they quit shooting and

doubled their pace.

As they increased their speed, Wall evidently slackened his. The run was a

long one, and he was losing a great deal of blood. He had, however,

reached the bed of the gulch, and was nearing his home, when his foot

struck a boulder, and he fell prone on the creek bottom, the murderers

sweeping up behind him like bloodhounds in pursuit of a fugitive slave.

"Good!" exclaimed one of them, as they saw their prey fall so nearly

within their grasp.

"I guess the d----d scoundrel's done for," replied the other, as they

slackened their pace to draw a long breath and be prepared for a final

struggle.

But a moment more served to change this last-expressed opinion. Wall was

greatly weakened by the loss of blood and the fatigue of the race, but he

managed to scramble to his feet once more, and to stagger onward in a

zigzag run up the creek bottom. The assassins had come up to within twenty

steps of him, and could easily be heard.

"Stop there, d----n you, or we will fill you full of lead," one of them

shouted to him. "No more of this foolishness; you may as well surrender on

the spot."

Realizing that further flight was hopeless; that his strength was gone and

that he was unarmed, and feeling perhaps that he might save his life, Wall

halted, and Witherill and Wight came up.

As they approached Wall he turned towards them and demanded an explanation

of their strange conduct.

"What does it mean?" he demanded to know.

"Mean? It means that you are having too good a time of it--that you are

making too much money for a d----d old snoozer who knows no better how to

use it and enjoy it than you do. We want it. We want your sheep, your

money, every thing you've got, d----n you!"

The poor fellow was rapidly sinking under the loss of blood. He replied

faintly: "Take everything, but spare my life. I don't want to die. I have

done nothing to deserve death. I will give you everything freely. All I

ask is that I be permitted to live."

Witherill and Wight were now standing very close to him, and one of them

had raised the breech of a heavy rifle over Wall's head. "Spare your life!

What sort of a game are you giving us? Spare nothing! A fine idea to let

you live and as soon as your d----d old head is cured up to go blabbing it

to Dave Cook and every other officer and detective in the state. What

d'you take us for? A charitable society? Guess, old man, you're a little

off, ain't you? It's dead men that tell no tales to detectives, old

fellow; we puts our trust in no others."

In vain did the poor quivering man plead for his life. In vain were his

promises of secrecy. Even while bending upon his knees and while he lifted

his quivering hand to swear that he would deliver every article of his

possession to his murderers if they would only permit him to live, even

while thus imploring, the heavy rifle held above his head came crashing

down, another shot being fired at the same time. A thundering, deafening

noise, a lightning pain followed by the darkness of death, and all was

over. Wall fell to the ground with his skull broken in and expired a

moment afterwards.

The body was buried beneath a pile of rocks where it had fallen and the

murderers prepared to take possession of the property which they had

secured by their Sunday's work.

They had hoped to procure money through the murder of Wall, as well as to

get possession of his sheep. They shared the popular opinion that he had

many dollars in gold and silver and greenbacks laid away in his hut. Hence

they first searched the dead man's person, taking his watch and pocket

book, the latter containing some small change and a certificate of deposit

in the bank then kept in Denver by Mr. Warren Hussey, and after securing

these articles of value, though of treacherous and tell-tale character,

they hid the still warm body of this victim away and proceeded to search

Wall's dugout. Here, contrary to expectations, they found nothing of value

to them, and went out in some disgust to take possession of the sheep,

which had been so suddenly left by their master, and which were still

grazing on the quiet hillside almost in sight of the spot which had seen

the culmination of the tragedy which had begun in their midst.

A day or two afterwards people living in the neighborhood discovered

Witherill in charge of Wall's sheep and also that Wall himself had

disappeared. In reply to inquiries Witherill stated that he had bought the

sheep from Wall, and exhibited a bill of sale for them, saying at the same

time that Wall had left Colorado. There was some little suspicion aroused

at first, because Witherill had never been known to have any sufficient

amount of money to procure so large a herd as Wall's. It soon, also,

became known that Witherill was wearing a watch which Wall had owned

and which he had told some one that he would not part with for three times

its value.

[Illustration: Killing of Wall by Wight and Witherill in Douglas County,

in 1871.]

After this Witherill was regarded with suspicion by his neighbors, and

some of them came to Denver and laid the matter before Gen. Cook, who was

at that time sheriff of Arapahoe county as well as chief of the Rocky

Mountain Detective Association. As the crime, if one had been committed,

was outside of his jurisdiction as sheriff, having been committed in

another county, Gen. Cook referred the complaints to the sheriff of

Douglas county. He, however, determined to keep his eyes open for

developments and to lend whatever aid he could to the apprehension of the

criminal or criminals, if indeed the foul play suspected had been

committed.

CHAPTER XXV.

THE MYSTERY UNRAVELING--A BANK CERTIFICATE LEADS TO IMPORTANT

RESULTS--DARING DEED OF WIGHT TO OBTAIN INFORMATION AS TO THE PLANS OF

THE DETECTIVES--FLIGHT OF THE MURDERERS ON STOLEN STOCK--A WEARY RIDE

ACROSS THE PLAINS--THE ASSASSINS CHASE A WOUNDED BUFFALO, WHO TURNS

UPON WITHERILL AND SENDS HIM FORTH A CRIPPLE FOR LIFE, WHICH

CIRCUMSTANCE CAUSES THE CAPTURE OF THE CRIMINALS.

Gen. Cook did not have to wait long. It is a true saying that murder will

out. It can not hide its bloody footprints, especially when there are

shrewd detectives on the track. Reports of Witherill's suspicious

movements came in frequently. An important item to the detective was the

fact which he learned that Witherill had come to the city soon after he

took possession of the sheep with the certificate of deposit at Hussey's

bank and presented it to be cashed. This was an important link, and it was

greatly strengthened by the fact that the clerk at the bank had declared

that the indorsement of Wall's name on the certificate was not in Wall's

handwriting, and had returned the paper to Witherill, who had said that

Wall had gone to Laramie City, Wyo., and that he would send him the

certificate and get a reindorsement. Cook was now well on the _qui vive_.

In about two weeks, the time necessary to send the paper to Laramie and

get it returned, Witherill had returned to the bank with the certificate,

the first indorsement erased and the name written in a different hand. But

the clerk failed to recognize the signature as Wall's, and acting under

Cook's instructions, retained the certificate.

Up to this time Witherill does not seem to have dreamed that any one

suspected him of any crime, and as for Wight, no one did suspect him. They

had been disappointed in getting so little money from Wall, and

determined, while they had their hands in, to add to their wealth by

getting more sheep together. Hence they made another raid, and this

affair seems to have been the hair that broke the camel's back; which at

last so thoroughly confirmed former suspicions that a thorough search was

decided upon. Mr. J. K. Doolittle, who is well known in Denver, and who is

now a prosperous merchant in Pueblo, had a large herd of sheep, which he

kept up the creek some miles from Witherill's herd. One day it was

discovered that about six hundred of his herd had disappeared, and

investigation developed the fact that they had been merged into

Witherill's flock. George Hopkins, Esq., at that time city marshal of

Denver, went out to attend to the restoration of the sheep to their owner,

and to arrest Witherill on the charge of stealing the sheep. He had no

difficulty in identifying the sheep, but he found Witherill prepared with

the papers to demonstrate his own "innocence." He showed a bill of sale

from Wall for them, as well as the other sheep. But he was brought into

Denver to straighten matters up. He agreed to restore all of Doolittle's

stock, and to pay whatever expenses Mr. Doolittle had incurred in

procuring his property.

While Witherill was in Denver, however, he was seen by John L. Hayman,

whose name appeared on the bill of sale transferring the sheep from Wall

to Witherill, who recognized him as the man who had signed Wall's name,

and who had claimed to be Wall. Here was a clear case of forgery.

Witherill on this occasion got out of the town before Chief Cook had

learned of these developments; but when he obtained the information he

decided that Witherill should again be arrested and a thorough

investigation made to ascertain whether Wall had not been murdered.

Witherill had certainly proved himself a thief and a forger, and there

were many circumstances which went to show that he had also been guilty of

taking the life of a fellow being.

While Cook was making his preparations for the capture of Witherill, Wight

first began to figure before the public as an accomplice of Witherill's in

his crime. Knowing that he had so far not been suspected, as he had

constantly pushed Witherill forward and himself remained in the

background, he came to Denver the next day after Witherill had left, on

Tuesday, a little more than three weeks after the murder, and had the

temerity to go to the officers and advise them to arrest Witherill, saying

that he believed him to be guilty of Wall's murder. He thus partially

gained the confidence of the detectives, and learned enough to convince

him that the apprehension of Witherill was decided upon. Knowing that when

Witherill was once taken he would reveal the part that Wight had taken in

the tragedy, he returned to Dry creek that afternoon and warned Witherill

of their danger, and they prepared for flight that night.

Detectives Smith and Benton had been selected by Chief Cook to go out and

arrest Witherill. They left Denver on Wednesday morning, October 12, in

search of their man. When they reached the point at which they supposed

they would find Witherill, they found only a report that he was not to be

found. The officers were not long in discovering that not only Witherill,

but that Wight also had fled, and that they had carried off several

valuable horses belonging to persons residing in the vicinity.

Finding both Witherill and Wight gone, the officers determined to devote a

little time to ascertaining, if possible, the extent of the crime

committed by the fugitives, and, acting under their chief's instructions

to search for confirmation of his suspicion of the murder of Wall, they

began their investigations. Going up Dry creek towards the missing man's

cabin, they were not long in making the dread discovery which proved a

complete confirmation of the worst theories. As they walked along the dry

bed of the creek, their attention was attracted to a bunch of wolves

standing around a pile of stones on the hillside, not far from the gulch.

They seemed to be pawing at the stubborn rocks and sniffing the air as if

in search of something to eat, evidently satisfied that the object of

their search was not far away.

The men determined to investigate that spot. The animals were frightened

away by a pistol shot fired into their midst, and the officers walked up

to the place which they had just quitted.

Lying on the bare stones and protruding from an opening was the fleshless

arm of a human being, showing traces of the teeth of the wolves, shreds of

clothing being scattered about the place. The stones being speedily

removed, the rapidly decaying body of the murdered man was brought to

light. It was covered with bruises and blood, but was still recognizable.

Here was the horrible suspicion confirmed. There was no longer any doubt

that Wall had been murdered by Witherill, and the flight of Wight made his

complicity more than probable.

The body being properly disposed of, the officers set themselves to work

to find whatever clue they could to the course the murderers had taken in

their flight. It was ascertained that Witherill had some friends at

Colorado City, in El Paso county, the old state capital, and it was

believed that the two men would go in that direction. The officers sent

information to this effect to Chief Cook, and started in that direction in

search of the men.

But Chief Cook had learned more of the movements of the fugitives, even

while remaining at home, than his officers who were on the ground knew. He

had ascertained, in that mysterious way which has ever made his name a

terror to evil-doers, that the men had turned their faces towards the

rising sun and were making their way across the plains towards "the

states." Even while his officers were still out, he had laid plans to

entrap the murderers and to secure their arrest by sending dispatches to

all points on the plains where there was any chance of their stopping.

Among other places to which he sent these descriptions was Sidney, Neb.,

and he had the satisfaction a very few days afterwards of receiving from

Deputy Sheriff H. H. Tigart, of that place, a telegram, saying, "We've got

your man Witherill. What shall we do with him? Wight gone on to North

Platte." In reply, Cook instructed the officer to hold Witherill, and he

and Smith, who had returned by this time, were off on the next morning's

train for Sidney. This was on the Friday succeeding the flight of the two.

Saturday night carried them to Sidney, where they learned the facts of the

capture.

If all the facts in the flight of these two hardened men from the pursuit

of justice could be known they would make as thrilling a story as ever had

its foundation on our barren prairies. Compelled to steal horses, guns and

provisions, with three hundred miles of what was then a desert lying

before them, no friendly shelter offering, with the probability of

encountering savage tribes of Indians at any time; with the knowledge that

when they should seek shelter in the habitable part of the world towards

which they were making their way, they would do so at the risk of their

lives--with these thoughts confronting them as to the hardships before

them and the officers following their trail from behind, they were

certainly between two fires. Let us hope, too, for the sake of humanity

that there still lingered in their minds some degree of remorse for the

foul deed they had committed--that occasionally, when left to themselves

on the boundless plains, with naught between them and the heavens, there

occasionally flitted through their minds some degree of bitterness of

feeling, some questioning of conscience as to the bloody and unprovoked

deed they had committed.

Their flight seems to have been an alternation of mad rides and of

skulking hides. We find them, according to their own accounts, putting in

the day lying quiet or seeking their way over the roadless plains where

they were certain to encounter no one, and during the night riding madly

forward towards the eastern horizon, where was the only ray of hope, small

as it was, that shone for them.

The fifth day out they ran into a large herd of buffalo, while riding over

the prairie. They decided to relieve the tedium that surrounded their

almost blank existence by having a little sport with the bison and at the

same time capture some fresh meat. They shot into the herd, taking aim at

a particularly large old bull, and wounding him so badly that when the

others of his herd ran off he was unable to keep pace with them and was

left behind. Wight and Witherill put spurs to their horses, rushing across

the open plain with the speed of the wind and firing at the wounded and

faltering animal as they went, very much, indeed, as they had pursued poor

Wall when they sought to take his life as they now sought to take that of

the crippled bison who ran before them. He at first seemed destined to

evade them, as their human victim had done, but, like Wall, had at last

faltered and so slowed up as to permit himself to be overtaken.

In their impetuosity, they had rushed upon the animal until they could

almost touch him with the muzzles of their fire arms. Wight had reigned

his horse up by the side of the animal, which had come to bay, and was

preparing to shoot, when Witherill came up behind and landed a bullet from

his weapon in the back of the bull. The animal roared with pain, and

snorting and shooting fire out of his eyes, made a desperate plunge at the

horse and rider by his side. Wight pulled up his horse hastily, but not

soon enough to avoid the blow. The bison's horn struck him on the shin

and, short and dull-pointed as it was, cut its way to the bone, ripping

open the flesh of the calf of the leg all the way to the knee, and tearing

the sinews out, making a very ugly and painful wound. The blood spurted

out so as to almost blind the brute, which did not, however, cease its

attack. Wight managed to spur up his horse, the animal having been

protected from the bull's horn by its rider's leg, and he and his "brave"

partner, although they had had courage enough to shoot down a defenseless

man, found themselves unable to stand before this specimen of brutal anger

and rode off as rapidly as they could, leaving the field to the wounded

buffalo.

[Illustration: A Buffalo Chase by Wight and Witherill, the

Murderers--Wight Hooked in the Leg.]

The entire herd had stopped on a distant hill, and many of them stood

looking back as if they enjoyed the spectacle of the fight, which must

have been at least equal to the scene of a Spanish bull fight. But the men

were too much put out to further enjoy the sport, and, binding up Wight's

leg as best they could, they found their way as speedily as possible to a

ranchman's home on the Platte. They represented themselves as hunters, and

asked to be allowed to remain until Wight should recover from his wound.

Here they remained for two days, but gangrene setting in in the wound,

they decided to take the chances and seek a point at which medicines and

medical aid could be procured. Hence they set off for the settlements

along the Union Pacific railroad, coming first to Julesburg, where

Witherill stopped with the horses, and where he put Wight on a train and

sent him to North Platte, still further down the road, it being

Witherill's intention the next morning to follow with the property.

But Chief Cook's messages had gotten in ahead of the men, and Deputy

Tigart, of Sidney, Neb., having received a description of Witherill,

proceeded on the very evening after his arrival to Julesburg, a few miles

distant from his home in Sidney, to arrest the fugitive. The officers

waited for night to come on, and went after him when he was supposed to be

asleep. They found him in a barn, with his arms lying about him. He was

at first disposed to resist capture, but discovering that he was well

surrounded, he surrendered. The prisoner at first denied that his name was

Witherill, and said that he was one William Jackson, but ultimately

confessed, and then told of the whereabouts of Wight, who, he declared,

was as much to blame as was he (Witherill).

Gen. Cook and Mr. Smith, when they arrived at Sidney, found Witherill safe

in hand, and as he had been captured in Colorado territory there was no

trouble about him. Wight was known to be in North Platte, Neb., and it was

feared that he could not be gotten away without a requisition; hence Gen.

Cook placed a hundred dollar bill in Tigart's hands and told him to go

after Wight. That officer boarded the next west-bound train, and the

following morning brought him into Sidney with the wounded man, who had

been taken without much trouble.

CHAPTER XXVI.

WIGHT'S COMPLICITY FULLY ESTABLISHED--THE STORY THAT THE CRIMINALS

TOLD--A HORRIBLE RECITAL OF COLD-BLOODED MURDER BY WITHERILL--WIGHT

GOES TO THE PENITENTIARY FOR SEVEN YEARS AND WITHERILL FOR LIFE--THE

FORMER ENGAGES IN SEVERAL ESCAPADES AND WINDS UP WITH A MYSTERIOUS

LETTER TO GEN. COOK, OF RECENT DATE--A COCK-AND-BULL STORY OF A HIDDEN

FORTUNE.

Up to this time Wight's connection with the affair had been only a matter

of surmise, but Witherill talked freely. According to Witherill's story

told at this time, Wight had been the guilty party, and Witherill himself

had been as pure and guiltless as if he had never seen Wall. He said on

the day of the murder he left Melvin's, where he had been at work, saddled

his horse, and went over to Wall's camp. Wall had a small tent or cabin

built down in the gulch and concealed from view by willows grown thick on

each side of it. When he got up to the tent door he found Wall and Wight

quarreling. Wall accused Wight of having taken his pocketbook that day,

while he was away from home. After further hot words, Wight came out, and

taking hold of Witherill's Henry rifle, asked him if it was loaded.

Witherill told him it had a shell in the barrel, at the same time getting

off his horse and hitching. Wight sprung the lever, threw the shell out,

and loaded the gun. Wall came out and sat down on a rock close to the tent

door. Wight set down Witherill's gun and picked up Wall's, and quickly

raising it fired at Wall, the ball taking effect in the neck. The wounded

man dropped, and presently raising again, said: "Wight, you've shot me."

Wight then dropped the gun, and taking up Witherill's rifle, shot Wall

again and again in the head and body until he was dead. All this while

Witherill stood dumbfounded. He didn't know what to do. He went to untie

his horse to leave, when Wight presented the gun at him and told him not

to leave or he would put a hole through him. Wight then went into Wall's

pockets, took out his watch and handed it to Witherill, also a draft. The

latter he isn't certain whether he took from Wall's or his own pocket.

Witherill did not see Wall's pocketbook at all. After this the two men

arranged to sell the sheep and divide the spoils. Wight also proceeded to

write out a bill of sale of the sheep, from Wall to Witherill. Before they

left, Witherill gave Wight $25 in money, and the latter said he would

dispose of the body and clean up the traces around. All this time Wight

was as cool and possessed as if it was an every-day job with him.

Witherill then rode away and never saw the body again.

Wight refused to talk, simply saying that if there had been any murder

committed, Witherill was the guilty man.

The two men were securely ironed and brought to Denver, where they were

placed in jail. Two months afterwards they were tried at Evans before

Judge E. T. Wells, having obtained a change of venue from Frankstown, then

the county seat of Douglas county. Owing to technical defects in the law,

both escaped the death at the gallows which they so much deserved. Indeed,

as Wight's complicity was not established by any evidence except the

testimony of Witherill, he was allowed to go on a bond of $2,000, on the

charge of horse stealing, notwithstanding all were satisfied that he had

been as guilty of murder as Witherill, if indeed he had not been the

instigator of the whole plot, but he had been shrewd enough to make a tool

of his chum and to remain in the background himself. Witherill was

sentenced to a life term in the penitentiary. After the trial he made a

full confession to Gen. Cook, which, while it is at fault in some details,

is doubtless correct in the main, and so interesting throughout that it is

here given in detail, as follows:

"Some time during the week previous to the murder, 17th of September last,

E. E. Wight came over to where I was, and intimated this murder, and it

was arranged between us that I should come over to his house on Sunday,

the 17th of September. I went. He was to watch for me and meet me

somewhere on the road--if he could see me--near the sheep herder's

grounds. I met him near the sheep herder's tent. The sheep herder wasn't

at his tent; he was with his sheep back on the bluffs. We went out there

and found him. Wight was on foot and I was on horseback. We found him soon

after we got on the bluff or table land. I then gave my gun to Wight to

shoot him. When we came up we passed the time of day and held a short

conversation about various things--nothing pertaining to this. As the

sheep herder turned to go away, Wight spoke to him, and Wall turned his

head toward us and then Wight fired at him. The man Wall fell instantly;

then he got up and ran down into the gulch; Wight followed him and fired

at him several times; I judge that he hit him, though I couldn't say. He

stumbled and fell several times while going down the hill. He had on his

hat as he was running down hill towards the gulch; the next time I saw him

he didn't have on his hat. I didn't see the hat any more until I saw it in

court at Evans. I followed after Wight--or near to him--down the hill.

Wight and I followed along on the bank of the gulch; Wight fired at him

whenever opportunity offered. We couldn't see him all the time, as Wall

was running in the bed of the gulch. Wall soon got faint and sat down,

from loss of blood; when I saw him sit down I got off my horse and hitched

him; Wight and I then went down into the bed of the gulch where Wall was

sitting. Wall said as we approached, 'What have I done?' We made no reply.

Wight then struck him with the barrel of the gun on the left side of the

head, I should judge, perhaps, above the ear. One side of his face and his

bosom were covered with blood. He fell, and I think the blow from the gun

killed him; he died within two or three minutes after being struck. We

examined his pockets and took out his pocketbook and watch. The pocketbook

contained about twelve dollars in money and a certificate of deposit for

three hundred dollars at Warren Hussey's bank, in Denver.

"Then we left the body lay where it had fallen and covered it up with

rocks first and dirt afterward. We then returned to the sheep herder's

tent, and as we went we arranged between us that I should take his sheep

and herd them; I was to sell them as soon as possible, and divide the

money between us. In order to get a bill of sale for them, he agreed to

meet me in Denver the next day and have the bill of sale made out for me.

While at the tent we hid his diary, with such papers as it contained, and

also his gun, near the tent. We separated there, then, and I returned to

Melvin's and he started towards McCool's ranch. I think we reached the

tent, previous to the murder, about 3 o'clock p. m., and we finally

separated a little after 4 o'clock, I should say, though we had no time,

as the watch taken from Wall's pocket had run down. The next morning I

came to Denver; I looked around for Wight, but couldn't find him. Then I

went to an office in Feuerstein's building, adjoining the land office, and

asked the lawyer to make me out a bill of sale. He made it out according

to my directions. I signed Wall's name to it. I took the bill of sale and

went directly home to Melvin's. I went the next day over to Wall's camp,

and got the sheep together, and assumed responsibility of their charge. A

few days afterwards I came to Denver and advertised the sheep for sale in

the _Rocky Mountain News_. I started back home again that night. I stayed

at LeFevre's ranch that night. I met Wight there; that was the first time

I had seen him since we separated on the day of the murder. Wight and I

had some conversations about my having advertised the sheep. A week or

more elapsed, during which time I was herding the sheep and Wight was

building a house for LeFevre. The next time we met was on Sunday, at the

camp where I was stopping.

"During this time Doolittle's sheep were roaming on Big Dry. On the Sunday

when we met Wight spoke to me about Doolittle's sheep. I went early next

morning and drove them to where our own were. I stayed with the sheep that

day and kept them together. The next day I made an excuse to go down to

LeFevre's camp. I told Wight that I had them together, and about how many

I judged there were. I told him I thought there were about six hundred of

Doolittle's. Wight wanted that I should go and get another bill of sale

made out; I did not do it. He then took from me the other bill of sale,

and between that and our next meeting he changed and altered it so as to

cover six hundred and forty head, instead of three hundred and forty, as

it was originally made out. I didn't like it; it was made out badly; it

would be easily detected, and I spoke to him about it. We then arranged it

between us that I should come to town and get two made out separate, one

for three hundred and forty head, and another for four hundred. I went to

Mr. Witter's office in Denver and had both bills made out. Before I

started home again I heard that six hundred and fifty head of sheep were

missing on Cherry creek. I left word with Loustellot, in Denver, that if

any sheep were missing there were some stray ones at the head of Big Dry.

I also told Mr. Powers that there were some stray sheep up where I was

stopping. I went back home then to McCool's ranch. Two days afterwards

Doolittle, having heard that there were stray sheep there, came out there

from Denver. I claimed to him to have seven hundred and forty head of

sheep. We corraled them and counted them. They numbered nine hundred and

eighty-eight head, and he claimed all over the seven hundred and forty

head. Because I told of there being stray sheep up there, Wight got mad.

He some time afterward told me that he came to Denver and told Doolittle

that all of his sheep were there.

"The next day after Doolittle had been so informed, Hopkins came out and

arrested me, charged with stealing sheep. Hopkins brought me into town,

and on the next day Hopkins, Doolittle and I went out to the Twelve-mile

house, to where the sheep had been driven, and I delivered to him the

sheep he claimed. I settled with Doolittle and was discharged. I explained

to Doolittle that the sheep claimed by him I had bought from Wall, and

that I had a bill of sale, and the officer discharged me because he

thought I had not stolen the stock. I was discharged in Denver, and went

right back to McCool's rancho. When I got there Wight was there, and he

told me of having had some conversation with Sheriff Cook, and that Cook

suspected that I had murdered Wall, and he was about to arrest me. Wight

thought we had better leave the country. It was arranged that we were to

leave as soon as possible. We went the next day to Mr. Melvin's, where I

was to receive some cows I had traded sheep for. We didn't get the cows

that day, and stayed there that night. Next morning we went back to

McCool's rancho. The day after, Wight came to town with LeFevre's hired

man, and brought his box of clothing with him. I came to Denver via

Twelve-mile house, having sent my trunk to town. Wight and I took our box

and trunk to the Denver Pacific depot and shipped them to Nebraska City.

I shipped my trunk in the name of William Jackson; he shipped in the name

of E. E. Fox. After shipping our goods Wight traded a shotgun which he had

stolen from Bates, on the rancho, for a Winchester rifle, and we bought

some ammunition and a field-glass. I saw Marshal Hopkins coming down the

street towards me, and I started down the street away from him, taking a

roundabout route to Bailey's corral, where my horse was. I then rode over

to Rood's gun-shop and got my gun, which had been left for repairs. I then

went back to McCool's rancho. I had been there about an hour when Wight

came. He brought a saddle with him, which he said he had stolen from

William Wulff. We had intended to have left the country that night, but

could not find the horses we intended to steal, and also expected Webster

over to buy some cows which I had bargained to him. Next morning Mr.

Webster came. I let him have eight cows to sell on commission. They were

branded 'W' back of the left shoulder. He advanced me $21 on the cows. The

remainder he was to send me when I should furnish him my address and the

cows had been sold to the best advantage, less his commission. He also

cashed an order of his given me by Freeman. I also gave Webster an order

for $72 and some cents, which he was to send when collected, with the

money received for the cows. Webster informed me that I was accused of

murder, and that I had better look out for myself, as Sheriff Cook had

written to the sheriff of Douglas county that he had better arrest me. He

described the sheriff of Douglas county to me before we parted. Wight and

I then left and went down on Plum creek. We got back to McCool's rancho

about dark. We got what things we wanted to take with us, and McCool's

mare. Wight took a horse from William Underwood, and I told him he ought

to be ashamed to steal from a one-armed man. He then turned the horse

loose, and we started for Denver, passing through about midnight, on our

way to Johnson's island [Henderson's island], where we expected to get two

more horses from McCool. We stopped about six miles from town and rested

our horses. At about daylight we again started, arriving at Johnson's

island about 9 o'clock a. m., where we took breakfast. We stayed there in

the brush until about the middle of the afternoon, then left our horses

and started back on foot towards McCool's rancho. When we got there we

could not find the horses we were in search of. Wight thought we were

seen, and about dark we started back, and I stole the black mare. We then

started down the Platte and arrived at Evans soon after daylight. We left

there, traveling down the Platte, and traded off McCool's mare at a rancho

six miles below old Fort Morgan. A few days after, Wight got hurt while

chasing a buffalo. We then had to lay over three days at Moore's rancho.

We left there and went to Julesburg. I bought Wight a ticket and gave him

$5, and sent him to North Platte City, and I stayed in Julesburg that

night, and was arrested and brought to Sidney the next day, where I was

kept until Sheriffs Cook and Smith came for me."

Wight remained in jail in Denver several months after his partner in crime

had been sent to Cañon City, awaiting his trial. While in the Arapahoe

jail he made a desperate effort to escape, taking a prominent part in the

Griswold _emeute_, the story of which affair will be found succeeding this

chapter. His trial took place at Golden, the prisoner having obtained a

change of venue, and resulted in a sentence of seven years at hard labor

in the penitentiary. He is still at Cañon City. He might now be a free

man, had not his propensity to escape from prison prolonged his term of

incarceration. After remaining for two years in the state penitentiary he

contrived to get away, and, evading all pursuit, was not overtaken for

four years, when he was spotted and captured away down in Maine. He was

returned to Colorado and, as stated above, is now serving out the sentence

which might have been completed ere this but for his desire to escape.

Even to the present time his old tendency to intrigue has not failed to

assert itself. Since his imprisonment began he has made numerous efforts

to secure his release and that of Witherill as well. It has been but a

short while since Gen. Cook received the following letter, which he is

convinced was written by Wight:

Penitentiary, Cañon City,

December 21. 1881.

Hon. David Cook, Denver, Colorado:

Dear General--My attention was lately attracted to an article in a

Denver paper, wherein you expressed a knowledge of the fact that

George Witherill, who is here serving a life sentence, used to drive a

stage in Utah. Three years ago the writer became somewhat acquainted

with a man in Kansas City, who related to him the following story, in

which the said George Witherill plays a most prominent part, and every

word of which I have good and sufficient reasons for believing as

true. In the winter of the year 1870 this man, by name Edward Neal,

was stock tender for the stage company at Corrinne, Utah. One day a

man came to the stable and took an extra team and a Concord wagon for

the purpose of going up to meet the coach, which he did some miles

above Brigham City. At that moment he was joined by another man, a

passenger on the coach, and they two immediately arrested three other

men, who were also passengers, taking them from the coach and calling

for their baggage. The prisoners did not claim it, and the coach drove

on around by Brigham City for the purpose of leaving the mail there,

allowing the two detectives (for such the two parties first referred

to claimed to be) with their prisoners to reach Corrinne before the

coach. The captives were then taken to a lonely cabin and tortured,

with the result that they confessed to being road agents on their way

to the states, with the proceeds of more than a dozen stage robberies;

further, that all the money was on the coach. Meantime the coach,

arriving at Corrinne, drove to the express office and unloaded

everything except a rough box, an old trunk and a gunny sack, all of

which the driver of the coach knew belonged to the three men who had

been taken from the coach beyond Brigham City. He then drove to the

stable, and while Neal was unhitching the coach team he hitched up the

team that the detectives had used, loaded the above articles into the

Concord wagon, took a shovel and left the stable, driving out over the

old pontoon bridge. This occurred at about 6 p. m. The driver did not

return to the stable until about 9 o'clock, having been absent about

three hours. Just as he was leaving the stable, however, to go home,

one of the detectives came and wanted the baggage belonging to the

three men who had been taken from the coach that day, saying that

there was more than one hundred thousand in money in the outfit,

besides considerable jewelry, and that he would "whack up" with the

driver if he would get it. This the driver refused to do, having

safely secured and hid the plunder. Snow falling that night

obliterated all traces of the wagon track, and the detectives never

found the stuff. Being afraid of these men, the driver left Corrinne

immediately, believing that the so-called detectives were only

sharpers, and would do him bodily harm if he did not divulge the

hiding place of the treasure. His opinion of the detectives was

probably correct, as they also left Corrinne a day or two afterwards,

having made no report at all to the stage company. The driver came to

Colorado, and the next Neal heard of him was that he was arrested for

murder, tried, found guilty and sentenced to the Cañon City

penitentiary for life. The driver's name was Witherill, and he is the

only man living who knows where that money is. Witherill probably went

on the ranch in Colorado for the purpose of keeping out of sight. I

feel quite confident that this George Witherill here is the man. He,

of course, keeps all this a profound secret; but you, general, can

surely persuade him to tell you where the stuff is. It can not be

buried more than five miles from Corrinne, as Neal said that the

horses were cool when he brought them back to the barn. Now, can't you

promise to help him to get out of here, or something of the sort, and

persuade him to tell us where to find the treasure? After he has given

the necessary information, let him go to the devil, for all I care.

Please let none of the officers here know anything about all this, as

they would only make a botch of it, I am sure. Whatever you may want

to say to me in regard to the matter, publish it as a "personal" in

the Denver _Tribune_, addressed to "No. 5720, C. C." That paper is

accessible to me here, and I shall be sure to see what you say. This

goes from here on the quiet, so no one will see it but yourself. I

have the honor to be, yours most respectfully,

NO. 5720, C. C.

It is almost unnecessary to state that Gen. Cook paid no attention

whatever to this curious epistle. He did not believe the story told, and

even if he had, it would not have influenced him to exert himself in

behalf of the two scoundrels who murdered as peaceful a citizen as was Mr.

Wall. He believed that both Wight and Witherill were where they belonged,

and considered that he did his duty in assisting in putting them there.

Subsequent events show that they should have been left there for life, as

the next chapter will show.

CHAPTER XXVII.

A FOOL LEGISLATURE RELEASES WITHERILL AND HE RECOMMENCES HIS CAREER OF

CRIME--A SWEDE MURDERED FOR HIS TEAM NEAR SILVERTON AND HIS BODY NEVER

FOUND--HE FINDS ANOTHER VICTIM--CHAS. R. M'CAIN HIRED TO HAUL ORE, AND

MURDERED BY WITHERILL--CAPTURED IN DENVER--THE OUTRAGED PEOPLE OF

CANON CITY LYNCH THE VILLAIN.

Among the collection of laws, good, bad and indifferent, passed by the

Colorado legislature of 1887, was one which was the indirect cause of the

death of at least two innocent men. It was a law that provided that a life

sentence in the penitentiary should be construed to mean only sixteen

years, i. e., that a criminal who had been sentenced for life should be

released after having served sixteen years. There were many ugly rumors

out in regard to the intents and objects of the bill, but it finally

passed by a small majority. It released from Cañon George R. Witherill,

who was set free April 8, 1887, and the crimes he had committed before the

next legislature assembled caused that body to repeal the law with great

celerity.

When the murderer of the inoffensive sheep herder was released from the

prison, he at once came to Denver. While in the penitentiary he had made

threats that he would kill Gen. Cook if he ever got out, because, as he

said, Cook had on two or three occasions prevented him from securing a

pardon. When Gen. Cook heard that Witherill had come back to Denver, he

thought that he had come back to carry out his threat, and at once went in

search of him. When Witherill heard that Cook was after him, he at once

secured the services of a friend who had been a guard at the penitentiary,

and started out to find Gen. Cook to square the matter and assure him that

he had no intention of carrying out his threats. He learned that Cook was

in the Brunswick hotel, and, following his friend in there, threw up his

hands the instant he entered the door, begging the general not to shoot

him. Cook told him that, knowing his sneaking and desperate character,

and the threats he had made, he would be fully justifiable in shooting him

down like a dog, but that if he was sincere in his protestations that he

wanted to live an honest life, he would let him go, but added that he had

better leave Denver to make his attempt.

Acting upon this advice, Witherill left Denver for the mountains, and was

not heard of for about a year and a half, and then as the perpetrator of

another cold-blooded and atrocious murder, or rather two murders. As

previously related, Witherill had gone into the mines, first working at

Durango and afterward at Ironton. While at Ironton he formed the

acquaintance of a Swede by the name of Marinus Jansen, who owned a

splendid four-horse team and a big ore wagon and outfit for hauling ore

from the mines. Witherill decided that Jansen would make an easy victim,

and so commenced negotiations with him to go to Silverton to haul ore from

a mine in which Witherill claimed to have an interest. That was the last

ever seen or heard of poor Jansen, and his body lies rotting in some

abandoned prospect hole in a lonely mountain side. They had started out

early in September, and toward the latter part of the month Witherill

drove the outfit into Pueblo, where he disposed of it for $400.

Having now plenty of money to loaf around and live well for a time without

work, one would naturally suppose that Witherill would refrain from crime

for a time at least, but he appears to have been a maniac on the subject

of murder, who could not resist the temptation to kill no more than a

hungry man can resist the temptation to eat when tempting viands are set

before him. It would have been a good thing for the community had Gen.

Cook shot him in Denver before he had time to make his lying explanations.

He lost no time in seeking another victim; as before, hunting up a

laboring man with some good teams. He hired Chas. R. McCain, and with him

left Pueblo at 9 o'clock on the morning of October 25, to go to a point

eleven miles west of Cañon City to haul ore. They had two teams, both of

which belonged to McCain, who resided in Pueblo. Witherill had represented

to McCain that he was the foreman of a heavy shipping mine, and would give

the Pueblo man lucrative employment for himself and teams to haul the ore

from the mine to the railroad track.

The men proceeded with the teams until night caught them, at Beaver creek

crossing, eighteen miles east of Cañon City, and they camped. The point

where they camped was not over a quarter of a mile from the house of Mr.

Palmer, one of the commissioners of Fremont county. Both evidently lay

down in the wagons, McCain never to awaken in this world, and Witherill to

keep diabolic watch until his victim was fast asleep. Then he crept,

panther-like, to where the unconscious man lay, and sent a rifle bullet

crashing through his brain. Fearing, perhaps, that the wound was not of a

deadly nature, or because, possibly, the victim in his dying struggles

would alarm some one, the fiend grasped an axe and pounded McCain's head

into a mass of broken bone and oozing brain. The closeness of the gun when

the shot was fired was such that the bullet passed entirely through

McCain's head and the bottom of the wagon, to still retain enough momentum

to flatten itself on a stone. When found, it had bits of bone and the

blanket, which McCain had evidently had his head partially covered with,

still attached to it.

The fiend then proceeded with devilish cunning to conceal the body of his

victim and indications of his crime. The body he carried or dragged into a

neighboring ravine and deposited in a ditch. He then covered it with rocks

and dirt and effectually, as he thought, hid from the eyes of men the

lifeless remains. To destroy the blood spots and other indications of the

deed, he covered them with hay and burned it. The bottom of the wagon he

rubbed with stones and with hay to efface the dreadful evidences of his

crime.

As coolly as if he were upon an ordinary business mission, Witherill took

McCain's money and drove both teams on Saturday morning into Cañon City.

He camped just east of the city and then, going boldly into the business

part of the town, he wrote a letter addressed to McCain's wife, in which

he personated her husband. He informed her that he had purchased a ranch

at Grand Junction, Colo., and had sold his teams. He asked her to sell all

her household effects and join him as soon as possible at the location of

their new home.

Familiar with her husband's writing, Mrs. McCain, upon the receipt of the

letter, at once knew that it was not indited by him. But that might not

have so much alarmed her as the quick intuition of her heart which told

her something was dreadfully wrong and strange in this sudden change of

plans and unexpected determination to move to the western part of the

state and make a new home. She placed the matter before an officer, and at

once the conclusion was reached that the life-sentenced murderer of

Sheepman Wall had added another to his series of blood-stained deeds.

The alarm was at once sent out and inquiries made. It was learned that

Witherill had been at Cañon City on Saturday morning. Shortly after the

search began a man was found who knew him and had seen him on the road to

Denver with two teams. On Wednesday afternoon, October 31, Deputy Sheriff

Force, of Denver, received a telegram, informing him of the mysterious

disappearance of McCain and of the anxiety to apprehend Witherill. Late

the same night the deputy found Witherill at Goulding's stables. He was

surly in response to questions and said that his name was Simon Cotter. To

this Mr. Force responded: "That may be your name now, but it wasn't Simon

Cotter or Simon Says-Thumbs-Up when I saw you in the pen at Cañon." This

knocked the bluff out of the ex-convict and he submitted, to arrest in

silence. He refused to say anything about the whereabouts of his associate

and went to jail. Upon being searched the sum of $250 was found upon him.

Despite his effort to erase the evidences of the ghastly deed there were

found blood stains in the bottom of the wagon. An axe was also found,

which had blood stains on the handle. The presence of two pocketbooks, a

double set of blankets and other belongings of two men among his effects

were also peculiarly suspicious circumstances. Yet with stolid effrontery

he maintained that he knew nothing about Chas. McCain, and that he had

left him in Cañon alive and well. In interviews with representatives of

the press he claimed, in substance, that McCain had business in Cañon and

had announced to him his determination to come to Denver and hence to go

East. On that account he had obeyed McCain's request and had driven both

the teams to this city, and expected him along. The following morning,

however, when informed that the body of McCain had been found, he refused

to say anything more.

Sheriff Griffith arrived in Denver on the morning of November 2, and in

the afternoon started with his prisoner toward Cañon City. The reports of

the determination to lynch the prisoner when he arrived in Cañon City

were, however, the cause of deterring the sheriff from going farther than

Pueblo. Witherill was incarcerated there a few days, and then again

quietly returned to the Arapahoe county jail. It was only when there was

no help for it, and when it became impracticable to longer keep him there,

that Witherill was at length taken to Cañon. The greatest precautions were

taken to convey him there quietly. He was placed in a Rio Grande baggage

car, securely manacled, and taken from the train five miles from Cañon

City. From that point he was taken to the city in a close carriage and

locked in a steel cell. It was believed that so secretly had the transfer

been made that no information would leak out. In this the officers were

mistaken, for it soon became apparent that every one in Cañon knew that at

last the fiend whom they had determined to rid the world of was within

their reach.

It was the 3d of December when Witherill was taken to Cañon, and the next

morning news was received in Denver that he had been lynched to a

telephone pole on Main street, within a stone's throw of the penitentiary

where he had spent fifteen years of his life.

The night of the tragedy was cold, dark and still. It was not until 6

o'clock that the information of Witherill's arrival was obtained, and the

fact was not assured until about midnight. All night the streets were

alive with men, and the prospect of a lynching was the only subject of

discussion. The terrible details of the McCain murder were discussed, and

the spectacle of the grief-stricken wife weeping over her husband's

mangled remains was called to mind as demanding sure and speedy vengeance.

Little knots of men assembled on street corners and in doorways recounting

the infallible evidences of Witherill's guilt, each man sitting in

judgment upon the ex-convict. All this time the real organized lynchers

were secretly and silently at work. Masks were provided for the entire

party and every preparation made for the attack. Two of their party

knocked at the back door of the jail, and when Sheriff Griffith opened the

door sprang upon him and throttled him without making a sound.

[Illustration: Lynching of George R. Witherill at Cañon City.]

After the sheriff had been put out of the way, the crowd of masked

lynchers filed into the jail and secured the keys to the cells from the

sheriff's son.

The dim light burning in the jail revealed Witherill in his cell, standing

upon the defensive. He was ordered to come out, and cried out:

"Come in and take me out."

He had broken his wooden bedstead to pieces to secure a weapon, and when

some of the party stepped forward to take him at his word he used the club

with the desperate energy of a doomed man. There is no telling how long

Witherill might have held his own against superior numbers had not one of

the attacking party drawn a revolver and shot the murderer in the

shoulder, knocking him down. He was then quickly overpowered and led out

of the cage, with a noose around his neck and his hands secured behind his

back.

Surrounded by a solemn but earnest crowd, Witherill was marched down to

Main street to a telephone pole, about one hundred yards from the jail.

The condemned man was led to this pole and the rope thrown over the

cross-bar by a practiced hand, and the end of the rope was grasped by

fifty strong and willing hands. The triple murderer was given a minute to

confess. This he refused to do, and he was drawn up five or six feet from

the ground. After some seconds he was lowered until his feet touched the

ground, and he was asked to confess the murders of Wall, Jansen and

McCain, and upon his stubborn refusal to comply he was drawn up until his

feet cleared the ground by some ten or twelve feet and the rope tied.

Witherill's helpless body, dangling against the pole in the agony of death

by suffocation, was watched by the assembled crowd without a single sign

of pity or remorse. When satisfied that life was extinct the crowd quietly

dispersed to conceal every evidence of the judgment of Judge Lynch,

except the ghastly figure at the end of the rope.

As soon as daylight came, the fact that the anticipated lynching had been

successfully accomplished was noised through the town, and hundreds of

men, women and children went to the scene to view the terrible but

significant sight. Old women and young girls stood in the bright sunlight,

and gazed at the murderer's body swaying slightly in the morning breeze,

without a shudder, and if their looks could be relied upon they, too, had

given Witherill a mental trial and found him guilty. In all the crowd that

viewed the remains of the dead murderer, there were none who could forget

the murders of Wall, and of Jansen, and of McCain, long enough to pity the

wretch who had in a measure paid the penalty of his many crimes.

A SLICK SCOUNDREL.

CHAPTER XXIII.

C. P. JUDD, THIEF AND JAILBIRD, PULLS THE WOOL OVER THE EYES OF THE

FIRST CLEVELAND ADMINISTRATION AND GETS A SOFT BERTH IN THE LABOR

DEPARTMENT--GEN. COOK EXPOSES THE RASCAL, AND HE LOSES HIS PLACE AT

THE PIE COUNTER--SHOWS HOW EASY IT IS TO FOOL SOME PEOPLE.

One morning in May, 1885, the people of Colorado generally, and of Denver

in particular, were very greatly surprised to read the announcement in the

papers among the Washington dispatches, that "Hon." C. P. Judd had been

appointed by President Cleveland agent and statistician for the government

labor bureau for Colorado and the adjacent territories.

The name of "Hon." C. P. Judd in connection with democracy in Colorado was

totally unknown, and the fact that it was the first appointment made in

the state by the new administration, gave it an added importance.

Prominent democratic politicians were besieged with inquiries as to the

identity of this new democratic star that had so lately burst into such

meteoric brilliance; their only reply was: "Don't know; never heard of him

before." While the politicians were still speculating, a reporter for the

Denver _Times_ happened to remember that Gen. D. J. Cook, of the Rocky

Mountain Detective Association, knew almost everybody of any importance

who had ever lived in Colorado for any length of time, and to the general

he went with his inquiry. He was rewarded with what is termed in newspaper

parlance, "a bully good story."

Gen. Cook had known Judd for years. In fact, his acquaintance with the

newly made labor agent was so familiar that he had at one time taken a

trip to Cañon City with the gentleman, at which time Mr. Judd had taken up

his residence there for a period of one year for having appropriated a

valuable horse and buggy belonging to a man named Veasey, living in

Denver. This was only one of a long list of crimes of which he was

guilty. He was a born thief, with a predisposition to horseflesh, and had

done time in more than one penal institution for his thieving

proclivities. His first exploit in this line, so far as known, consisted

in stealing a wagon load of groceries and provisions from a freighter, who

was hauling supplies from Topeka, Kan., to Fort Riley, at an early day

before railroads were built through that section. The freighter's horses,

which had been turned loose to graze at night, had strayed away, and while

he was away hunting them, along came Judd, who lived near. There was no

one about and he deemed it too good a chance to lose. Securing a team of

his own he hitched to the wagon and drove off. The owner soon returned

with his horses, and finding the wagon gone, set out to tracking the

thief, whom he overtook after following him fourteen miles. Judd was

convicted and sentenced to the state penitentiary at Leavenworth for three

years.

After serving his term out, he decided that the boundless West afforded

better opportunities for the exercise of his peculiar talents, and

accordingly he came to Colorado early in the '70's.

When he came to Denver he showed the same fondness for other people's

property. In 1871 he stole a horse and buckboard belonging to A. H. Jones,

the liquor man, and in 1872 he stole a bicycle or velocipede from a man

whose place of business was on Fifteenth street, next door to where

Cella's restaurant was located. On both of these charges he was cleared by

Gen. Sam Browne, who proved to the court that Judd was a kleptomaniac.

In 1873 he was arrested and sent to the county jail for one year (there

being no state penitentiary at that time) for stealing a gold watch from a

lady in West Denver, at what is known as the Williams house. He served

this sentence and was discharged on February 28, 1874. In 1875 he was

arrested, tried, convicted and sentenced to the state penitentiary for one

year for stealing a horse and buggy and several hundred laths from a man

named Veasey, as related above. The last crime he committed before

breaking into politics so suddenly and so successfully, was the theft of

a horse and buggy, the property of William Dingle, a Denver druggist, on

the 14th of October, 1883, while the rig was standing in front of the

store of the owner, in the Tabor block. He was seen by several parties to

cross Cherry Creek bridge at Larimer street and drive out in the country.

The matter was reported to the police, and Detective Mart Watrous was put

to work on the case. He went to Judd's house and charged him with the

crime. After denying it for a time, Judd finally confessed and went with

Watrous, gathered up the property and turned it over to the detective.

The horse had been turned loose and wandered home. The buggy was found in

a piece of woods down the Platte. A valuable lap robe belonging to Mrs.

Dingle was found buried with the harness and the whip was found in another

place. Judd was taken before Justice Sopris.

While that official was busily engaged in making out the warrant, Judd

slipped out of the court room and made his escape. After getting away from

Denver, Judd went to Leadville, where he succeeded in identifying himself

with some labor organization, soon after starting out on the road as an

organizer. He traveled over the state considerably, and through his

connection with this organization he was enabled to make the acquaintance

of several prominent men, whose endorsements later secured for him the

government position.

At the time he was appointed to his position, Gen. D. J. Cook stated, in a

published interview, as related above, that he was the same man that had

served several terms in prison for larceny.

At the time the interview was published, Hon. C. S. Thomas cut it out and

sent it to the commissioner of the labor bureau at Washington. He shortly

after received a letter from the commissioner, stating that there was

evidently some mistake, that he had consulted with Mr. Judd regarding the

matter, and that the latter had stated to him that there was another C. P.

Judd--a criminal--in Colorado, and that this fact had frequently caused

him much annoyance. Mr. Thomas showed this letter to Gen. Cook, and the

latter told him to write again to the commissioner, asking for the

appointee's photograph. This was done, and on the 22d of June the

commissioner wrote in reply that Judd had started by a circuitous route

for Colorado, and that he would, at some time during his trip, be at

Leadville. It was, therefore, impossible for him to secure his photograph.

The commissioner further expressed the hope that the Colorado officials

would look him up, and see if he really was the criminal and fugitive from

justice, or whether his story was true.

Gen. Cook immediately went to work on the case, and in a short time was on

the track of his man. Soon after this Judd's wife came to Denver and

stopped at the house of a relative in West Denver. The detectives began to

watch her and her correspondence. In a few days she received a postal from

Judd, dated Leadville, telling her to come to Alamosa and meet him there.

On learning of the receipt of this postal by Mrs. Judd, Gen. Cook went

before Judge Sopris and swore out a warrant for his arrest for stealing

Dingle's horse and buggy. This he placed in the hands of Joe Smith, who

happened to be in the city at the time, and the latter took the same train

with Mrs. Judd for Alamosa.

When Judd came forward to meet his wife, Sheriff Smith stepped up and

arrested him. He was not very much disconcerted, and immediately sent his

wife to Silverton, where she had a sister living, and without any further

proceedings announced his willingness to come to Denver. Upon his arrival

in this city he was taken to Gen. Cook's office, where he made the

following statement in writing:

"Denver, Colo., August 12, 1885.

"This is to bear witness that, whereas, the undersigned was appointed

by Secretary L. Q. C. Lamar, a special agent of the bureau of labor on

the 16th day of May, A. D. 1885, and was thereafter represented by

certain members of the democratic party in the state of Colorado as

the identical C. P. Judd who had served a term in the penitentiary at

Leavenworth, Kan., in the county jail of Arapahoe county in the state

of Colorado, and in the penitentiary at Cañon City in said state; and,

whereas, in an interview with a reporter of the Denver _Times_ with D.

J. Cook, superintendent of the Rocky Mountain Detective Agency, Gen.

Cook made the above charges and statements concerning the

undersigned, which interview was published shortly after said

appointment, and a copy thereof forwarded by C. S. Thomas to the

interior department, at Washington; therefore, I hereby declare that

the above statements and charges are correct, and that I am the

identical C. P. Judd referred to in said interview and in said

charges.

"C. P. JUDD."

Of course after this Judd lost no time in resigning the position, and Mr.

Dingle agreed to drop the prosecution if Judd would leave the state never

to return. This he readily agreed to, and he seems to have faithfully kept

his word.

Judd originally came from Illinois, where his family was well known and

respected. He was a large, good looking man, a fluent and persuasive

talker, and a man whose opinions changed as rapidly as a kaleidoscope.

Early in the campaign he published a card claiming to be the first man in

the United States to suggest the name of Grover Cleveland for president.

Subsequently he made several speeches for Blaine, presumably for a cash

consideration. After he found that Cleveland had been successful, he at

once became a good democrat once more, and at once set out to secure

endorsements for the position which he was afterward lucky enough to

secure. As a matter of course, he gave Denver a wide berth, but he was

fortunate enough to secure the influence of several prominent democrats in

other parts of the state, among whom were Dr. J. J. Crooke and Hon. George

Goldthwaite, of Leadville, who had both written letters to the interior

department endorsing Judd in the strongest terms, besides this, the Hon.

Harley B. Morse, of Central City, had gone to the department in person to

recommend the rascal, whose suave manners and glib tongue had deceived him

thoroughly. After Judd's exposure and consequent downfall, he decided that

the West was too swift for him, and he was last heard from in Iowa, where

he was supposed to belong to a gang of counterfeiters.

At all events, Colorado was well rid of a scoundrel who would have brought

disgrace upon her fair name, had it not been for Gen. Cook's wide

acquaintance and perfect recollection of men and events, and his untiring

efforts to bring criminals of whatever age or station to justice.

A BOGUS DETECTIVE'S FATE.