From Bismarck to Bozeman--The Trail Growing Warmer--Duncan Buys a
Pony--A Long Stage Ride.
The distance from Bismarck to Miles City is about three hundred miles,
and as Manning left the former place early in the evening, he secured a
couch in the comfortable sleeping car, and shortly afterward retired to
rest. It seemed almost incredible the giant strides which had been made
in a few years in the process of civilization in our western country.
But yesterday the ground which our operative was now traveling in
comfort, was overrun by the Indian and the wild beasts of the forest,
and to-day along his entire route were rising up substantial towns and
villages, bringing in their wake the enlightening influences of
education and morality. The railroad, that mighty agent of
civilization, is rapidly forging a chain of communication between the
two great oceans, and travel in the western wilds, formerly fraught with
hardships and dangers unspeakable, is now performed with rapidity,
comfort and safety. In the morning the train stopped at Little Missouri,
where the passengers were refreshed with breakfast, then on again past
Sentinel Butte, they left the boundaries of Dakota and entered the great
territory of Montana. On again like the rush of the wind, until about
five o'clock in the afternoon, they arrived at Miles City, where the
train was to remain nearly two hours, before continuing their journey.
Miles City was another striking illustration of the wonderful growth of
American towns. Less than a year ago, a barren waste marked the spot
where now was growing a thriving city. The railroad, as in other
localities, had played an important part in awakening this uninhabited
region to life and activity. The trackless, boundless prairie had been
reclaimed, and was now a flourishing city, full of bustle and vigor.
Making his way to a neat and comfortable hotel, which bore the rather
euphonious title of St. Cloud, Manning partook of a substantial meal and
then set about his investigations. He soon found news of the object of
his inquiries. From the proprietor of the St. Cloud, he learned that
Duncan had remained here two days, and upon the register he saw the now
well-known signature of Tom Moore of Chicago. He had informed the
inn-keeper of his intention of going to Bozeman, a town lying to the
north of the Crow Reservation.
Manning resolved, therefore, to press right on, and he returned to the
railroad station, where the train was still waiting. Purchasing a ticket
for Billings, he started again on his way, and at nearly midnight he
arrived at his destination, where he secured quarters for the night.
Billings was, at this time, the terminal point of the Northern Pacific
railroad, and as the detective sought the open air on the following
morning, he was amazed at the scenes that were presented to his view.
The place was literally swarming with people. Prospectors, land-buyers,
traders, merchants, and a miscellaneous army of railroad men were
everywhere. No time had been afforded in which to build suitable
structures for housing the ever-increasing population, and the town
presented the appearance of a huge encampment; nearly one-half of the
city being composed of canvas tents. In the hotels, on the corners of
the streets, and in the places of business, the universal topic of
conversation was the phenomenal growth of the city, and the grand
prospects which the future had in store for this embryotic western
metropolis. Along the railroad, a perfect army of workmen were
assembled, awaiting their orders for the day. Graders, tie-men,
track-layers and construction corps, were already on the spot, and they
too seemed imbued with the same spirit of enthusiasm which filled their
more wealthy and ambitious neighbors in the city. As may readily be
imagined, crime and immorality followed hand in hand with the march of
improvement. The gambler and the harlot plied their vocations in the
full light of day, and as yet unrebuked by the ruling powers of a
community, too newly located to assume the dignity of enacting laws.
The detective made his way through the streets, mentally noting these
things, while his efforts were directed to finding some trace of Thomas
Duncan. He made a systematic tour of the hotels, or more properly
speaking, the boarding-houses with which the town was filled, and after
numerous disappointments, was at last successful in learning something
definite of the movements of his man. At a hotel called the "Windsor,"
he found the unmistakable signature he was looking for, and was
convinced that Tom Moore of Chicago had preceded him but a few days.
Exhibiting his talismanic photograph to the proprietor, he was informed
that Duncan had been there some ten days before, and after remaining a
day or two, had gone over to the military cantonments, some four or five
miles distant, where a detachment of United States soldiers were
quartered.
Procuring a horse, Manning started for the cantonment, where he was
kindly received by Major Bell, the officer in charge, who informed him
that Duncan had been there some days before, and that he had remained
about the camp for several days, playing cards with the soldiers and
enjoying himself generally. During his stay he had purchased a pony from
a Crow Indian, and while he was at the cantonment he rode into Billings
and bought a Sharp's repeating rifle, after which he had mounted his
horse and rode off in the direction of Fort Custer. He had remained away
several days when he again returned to the cantonment, and after
remaining there one night, he had started on horseback for Bozeman and
Helena.
This was authentic and gratifying intelligence. Manning had received not
only reliable information as to the movements of Duncan, but the
distance between them had been materially lessened by the fugitive's
long detention at the cantonment. The burglar was now but a few days
ahead of him, and if nothing transpired to delay him, he would soon
overtake the man, who, from all indications, was entirely unsuspicious
of the fact that a detective was upon his track who had followed his
trail as closely and as unerringly as the Indian follows the track of
the beast through forest and stream. As an additional means of
identification, Manning secured a full description of the horse
purchased by Duncan, and with this increased fund of information,
Manning returned to Billings. On the following morning, seated beside
the driver on the top of the stage-coach, and behind four dashing bay
horses, Manning rattled out of the pushing little town of Billings on
his way to Bozeman.
He now indulged in high hopes of soon overhauling Duncan, and all along
their way, whenever the stage stopped to change horses, he was gratified
to receive the information that the man and the pony which he described
had passed over the same route a few days in advance of him.
The road from Billings to Bozeman led them part of the distance along
the Yellowstone river, and through a country wild and picturesque in the
extreme. Sometimes winding around the sides of a huge mountain, from
which they obtained a magnificent view of the rugged and beautiful
scenery below, and again descending to the valleys, they swept along
between the mountains which towered aloft on either hand, their rugged
sides forming a marked contrast with the emerald-hued verdure skirting
their base. Occasional ranches presented the evidences of cultivation
and profitable stock-raising. Broad fields and luxuriant pastures were
spread before the view, and hundreds of sleek cattle were scattered over
the country, either sleeping quietly in the sun or browsing upon the
rich, tender herbage which abounds. At these ranches the horses were
frequently changed, and the mail was delivered, much to the
gratification of these hardy pioneers, who were otherwise shut out from
the busy actions of the world beyond them.
The country through which they passed was exceedingly rich in an
agricultural point of view, the resources of which cannot be
overestimated, and the atmosphere was dry and pure. Inhaling the
invigorating air as they rode along, Manning suffered none of the
discomforts which are naturally consequent upon a journey by stage of
more than one hundred and fifty miles. At noon, they stopped at a ranch
station, and here they were regaled with a repast which would have
tickled the palate of an epicure. Broiled trout from a mountain stream
near by, roast fowl and a variety of dishes, made up a feast well worthy
of the lusty appetites of the travelers. Here, too, Manning received
tidings of the fleeing burglar. His horse, which was a fine one, and
peculiarly marked, had been noticed particularly by the ranchmen, so
there was no doubt that he was upon the right road to overtake him.
After the dinner, and a good resting spell, they resumed their journey.
Now their road ran along the fertile valley, and again passing through a
sharp defile in the mountains, and finally winding its way along a
narrow ledge of rock, where the slightest turn to left or right, a
single misstep of the sure-footed animals, or an awkward move of their
driver, would have hurled them into an abyss hundreds of feet below,
where instant and horrible death awaited them.
No accident befell them, however, and just as the sun was going down in
a blaze of glory, behind the towering mountains into the west, they
arrived at a ranch for supper and rest.
In the evening the moon came out, illuminating the landscape with a soft
enchanting beauty, as its beams fell upon the tall mountain and the
level plain, lighting up tree and flower, and flashing upon the river
like a myriad of polished gems. As they rode along, song and story
enlivened the journey, and a draught or two from a wicker-covered flask
which the detective carried, soon produced an era of good feeling
between the outside passengers and the burly, good-natured driver.
"Have you ever been bothered with robbers or highwaymen along this
route?" asked Manning of their driver during a lull in the conversation.
"Well, we used to be," answered the fat fellow, with a quiet chuckle, as
he cracked his whip unpleasantly near to the flank of the off leader,
who was lagging a little; "but of late we haven't seen anything of the
kind."
"Ever had any adventure with them yourself?" asked Manning in a coaxing
tone, as he fancied he could see that the old fellow had a story which
he could be induced to relate.
"Yes," he answered, puffing quietly away at a cigar which Manning had
given him. "About a year ago I had a little experience up near
Thompson's place, which we will reach about ten o'clock, if we have no
bad luck."
"Let us hear it, won't you?" asked one of the other passengers, now
becoming interested.
"Well," answered the driver, evidently pleased at finding himself an
object of interest, "wait until we round this spur here, and then we'll
have a tolerable straight road ahead. I don't suppose, though, that
you'll find it very interesting."
In a few moments they passed around the spur of the mountain, and the
whole landscape was lighted up with a blaze of moonlight that flooded
the scene with a radiance beautiful to behold. No living habitation was
within sight, and the rumble of the coach was the only sound that broke
the stillness that brooded over the scene.
The driver settled himself back in his seat, and after a few preparatory
coughs, and a swallow of brandy, to clear his throat, began his
narration.