LEROY SOUTHMAYD
Early in the afternoon of a cold day late in November, 1863, Leroy
Southmayd, Captain Moore, and a discharged driver known as “Billy,” took
passage in Oliver’s coach at Virginia City, for Bannack. A ruffian
equally well known by the cognomens of “Old Tex” and “Jim Crow” stood
near, watching the departing vehicle. As Moore’s eyes alighted upon him,
he said to Southmayd,
“I am sorry to see that rascal watching us; he belongs to the gang. It
bodes us no good.”
“Oh,” replied Southmayd, laughing, “I think there’s no danger. Robbery
has ‘played out.’ These fellows are beginning to understand that the
people will hold them accountable for their villainies.”
Little more was said about it, the conversation turning to more
congenial topics. About three o’clock, the coach, which had made slow
progress, drove up in front of Lorrain’s, eleven miles from town. While
Tom Caldwell, the driver, was changing horses, George Ives and Steve
Marshland rode up, dismounted, and asked if they could procure a change
of horses. Having ascertained that they could not do so, they ordered
feed for those they had been riding, Ives in the meantime carefully
avoiding Southmayd. The company fell into a desultory conversation,
which Ives abruptly terminated by remarking that he had heard from Old
Tex.
“He is,” said he, “at Cold Spring ranch. I must hasten on and overtake
him.”
The coach soon departed, and Ives and Marshland immediately ordered
their horses, and riding rapidly, passed it a short distance below
Lorrain’s.
Cold Spring ranch was eight miles farther on the stage route. That Old
Tex, who was watching the coach when it left Virginia City, should be
there, awaiting the arrival of these two ruffians, occasioned our
passengers great uneasiness. They knew almost intuitively that a robbery
was in contemplation. When the coach arrived at Cold Spring, the first
objects which met their gaze on alighting from it, were the three
ruffians Ives, Marshland, and Old Tex in close conversation.
After a few moments’ detention, Caldwell drove on to Point of Rocks,
where the passengers remained until morning. Leaving at an early hour,
they proceeded to Stone’s ranche, and during their brief stay there,
Ives, who had been joined by Bob Zachary and William Graves, known as
“Whiskey Bill,” made a detour, and passed the coach unperceived. The
three gentlemanly solicitors of the road trotted slowly on towards
Bannack. They were in complete disguise, each one incased in a blanket
of green and blue. “Whiskey Bill” wore a silk hat, at that time,
perhaps, the only one in the Territory. His sleeves were rolled above
the elbows, and his face concealed behind a black silk handkerchief,
through the eyelets in which his ferret eyes shone like a couple of
stars, in partial eclipse. The gray horse he bestrode was enveloped in a
blanket so completely that only his head, legs, and tail were visible.
The horses of his associates were similarly overspread. Ives was masked
in a piece of gray blanket, and Zachary with a remnant of hickory
shirting. No one, unsuspicious of their presence, however familiar with
their persons, would have recognized them.
The coach horses moved forward at their usual rapid rate, bringing the
passengers in sight of the horsemen a little before eleven o’clock.
Their attention was first attracted by the peculiar costume, and the gun
which each man held firmly across his saddle-bow. As they approached
them more nearly, Southmayd observed to Caldwell, the driver,—
“They’re queer-looking beings, Tom, anyhow.”
“They’re road agents, Leroy, you may depend upon it,” replied Caldwell.
“Well,” said Southmayd, “I believe they are, but we can’t help ourselves
now.”
As he said this, the leaders were nearly up with the horsemen. They
rapidly wheeled their horses, and presented their guns,—Graves taking in
range the head of Caldwell; Ives, that of Southmayd; and Zachary
alternately aiming at Moore and Billy.
“Halt!” commanded Ives; “throw up your hands,” and on the instant the
arms of every man in the coach were raised.
“Get down, all of you,” he added.
All but Southmayd jumped to the ground. He lingered, with the hope that
an opportunity might offer to fire upon them.
“Get down,” repeated Ives, adding a sententious epithet to the command.
Still hesitating to comply, Ives glanced his eye along his gun-barrel as
if to shoot, and in that subdued tone always expressive of desperation,
once more issued the command.
Southmayd withstood it no longer, but while making a deliberate descent
threw open his coat, thinking that an opportunity might offer for him to
use his revolver. Ives, perceiving his object, levelled his gun, and
hissed out, in words terribly distinct,
“If you do that again, I’ll kill you!”
The passengers stood with upraised hands by the roadside, under cover of
the guns of the robbers. Addressing Zachary, Ives said,
“Get down and look after those fellows.”
This was an unwelcome task for Zachary. Villain as he was, Southmayd
says that while he was engaged in searching his person, he quivered like
an aspen. Throwing Southmayd’s pistol and money on the ground, he was
about to renew the search, when Billy, tired of the position, dropped
his hands.
“Up with your hands again,” roared Ives with an oath, at the same time
bringing the terrible muzzles to bear upon the person of the frightened
driver. Billy, who felt that it was no time to bandy proprieties, threw
them up with more speed than pleasure, realizing that the buckshot were
safer in the barrels than in his luckless carcass.
Zachary now commenced searching Moore, and, taking from his pocket a
sack, inquired,
“Is this all you have?”
“All I have in the world,” replied Moore.
Zachary threw it on the heap and came to Billy.
“Give me your pistol,” said he. Billy placed the weapon in his hands.
“Is it loaded?” inquired Ives.
“No,” replied Billy.
“Give it to him again,” said Ives to Zachary. “We don’t want any empty
weapons.”
“My God!” exclaimed Caldwell, as Zachary next approached him. “What do
you want of me? I have nothing.”
“Let him alone,” said Ives; and addressing Caldwell, he inquired, “Is
there anything in the mail we want?”
“I don’t think there is,” answered Tom.
Zachary mounted the box, and commenced an examination, but found
nothing. Caldwell scanned the villain narrowly, for the purpose, if
possible, of recognizing him.
“Don’t you do that, if you want to live,” said Ives, rattling his gun
into dangerous range.
“Well then,” said Tom impudently, “may I look at you?”
The robber nodded a ready assent, as much as to say, “Find me out, if
you can.”
The search over, Zachary picked up his gun, and stepped back.
“Get up and skedaddle,” said Ives to the plundered group. The horses had
grown restive while the robbery was progressing, but Tom had restrained
them.
“Drive slowly, Tom,” said Southmayd to Caldwell in an undertone, as he
ascended the box. “I want to reconnoitre a little,” and turned his face
to the robbers.
“Drive on,” shouted Ives.
Southmayd still continued looking at the robbers as the coach departed,
which Ives observing, the villain raised his gun, and yelled,
“If you don’t turn around and mind your business, I’ll shoot the top of
your head off.”
The three robbers then stood together, watching the coach until it was
lost to their view.
“By George!” said Leroy, laughing, “I looked down into those gun-barrels
so long that I thought I fairly saw the buckshot leap from their
imprisonment. It would have afforded me pleasure to squander the bullets
in my pistol on the scoundrel.”
Southmayd lost four hundred dollars in gold, and Captain Moore one
hundred dollars in treasury notes. As was usual, quite a large number of
people were awaiting the arrival of the coach, when it drove up to the
express-office at Bannack. Inquiries were immediately made as to the
cause of its detention so much later than common.
“Was the coach robbed to-day?” inquired Plummer of Southmayd, as he
jumped from the box.
“It was,” replied Leroy, taking him by the arm, and by his confidential
manner signifying that he was about to impart to him, as sheriff, all he
knew about it. Just at this moment, Dr. Bissell, the miners’ judge at
Virginia City, gave Southmayd a slight nudge, and catching his eye,
winked significantly for him to step aside.
“Be careful, Leroy,—very careful what you say to that man.”
Leroy gave an appreciative nod, and rejoined Plummer.
“So you have been robbed,” said the latter. “I’m not surprised,—and I
think I can tell you who were the robbers.”
“Who were they?” eagerly asked Southmayd.
“George Ives was one of them,” said Plummer.
“Yes,” responded Southmayd, “and the others were ‘Whiskey Bill’ and Bob
Zachary; and I’ll live to see them hanged before three weeks.”
Southmayd did not know that Plummer’s accusation was made for the
purpose of detecting his knowledge of the robbers. Bissell, who had
overheard Southmayd’s revelation to Plummer, said to him soon after,
“Leroy, your life isn’t worth a cent.”
George Crisman, who was standing by, added,
“They’ll kill you sure.”
Business detained Southmayd in Bannack the succeeding three days. During
that time he never met Plummer, who left him immediately after they held
the conversation above narrated.
Two days afterwards, while on his way to Virginia City, Caldwell, the
driver, met with “Whiskey Bill” at the Cold Spring ranche.
“Did you hear of the robbery, Bill, on my trip out?” he inquired.
“Sure, I did, Tom,” replied Bill. “Do you know any of the fellows who
committed it?”
“Not I,” replied Caldwell, “and I wouldn’t for the world. If I did, and
told of them, I shouldn’t live long.”
“That’s so, Tom,” rejoined Graves. “You wouldn’t live twenty-four hours.
It’s always best to be ignorant in matters of that kind. I’ve had
experience, and I know. I’ll just tell you, by way of illustration,
about my being robbed in California. One night as my partner and I were
riding along, two fellows rode up and told us to throw up our hands. We
did so, and they took from us two thousand dollars in coin. I said to
’em, ‘Boys, it’s pretty rough to take all we’ve got.’ They said so it
was, and gave us back forty dollars. A week afterwards I saw ’em dealing
faro. One of ’em saw me looking at him, and arose and came up to me, and
said in a whisper, ‘Ain’t you one of the men that was robbed the other
night?’ ‘Not at all,’ says I, for I thought if I said ‘yes’ he would
find a way to put me out of the way. ‘Oh, well,’ says he, ‘honor bright!
I want you to own up. I know you’re the man. Now, I’m going to give you
four thousand dollars, just for keeping your mouth shut.’ And he kept
his promise. So you see, Tom, that I saved my life, and got four
thousand dollars for keeping still.”
Tom wished somebody would treat him so, but when telling the story, said
that he “lacked confidence in human nature, especially where the road
agents were concerned.” He even ventured the assertion that he “did not
believe Graves’ story, anyway.”
Ives went to Virginia City the day following the robbery. While
intoxicated at one of the fancy establishments, he boasted openly of
having made Tom Caldwell throw up his hands, and that he intended to do
it again. Talking of the robbery with one of the drivers, he said,
“I am the Bamboo chief that committed that robbery.”
“Don’t you believe Caldwell knows it?” inquired the driver.
“Certainly he knows it,” replied Ives. “He recognized me at once.”
As Ives and the driver were riding side by side into Virginia City, on
their return from Nevada, the driver saw Caldwell approaching. He
motioned him to keep away. Caldwell turned and went away, and was
afterwards told that Ives knew he had recognized him in the robbery, and
would probably kill him on sight. The driver, who expected that Ives
would shoot at Caldwell, had his revolver in readiness to shoot him at
the time alluded to, in case Ives manifested such a design.
Meantime, Southmayd, having finished his business at Bannack, was ready
to return to Virginia City by the next coach. His friends were
importunate for him to remain. On the day he was to leave, Buck Stinson
and Ned Ray, on being told of it at the express-office, avowed their
intention of accompanying him. The agent then searched for Southmayd,
and said to him,
“For God’s sake, Leroy, don’t go. These fellows mean to kill you.”
“I’ve got to go,” replied Southmayd; “and if you’ll get me a
double-barrelled shotgun, I’ll take my chances.” The agent complied with
this request, and the coach left Bannack with Southmayd, Stinson, Ray,
and a lad of sixteen years for passengers, and Tom Caldwell the driver.
The coach was an open hack. Southmayd sat on the driver’s seat with
Caldwell, and the boy took the back seat, and facing him were Stinson
and Ray on the middle seat. Southmayd said to the boy on starting,
“If we have any trouble, do you shoot, or I’ll shoot you.”
“You may be sure I’ll do it, too, Southmayd,” said the boy. “I’m not
afraid of them.”
Southmayd kept watch of the two robbers. The drive through the day was
undisturbed, until the coach reached the crossing of the Stinking Water.
In the three persons standing in front of the station, Southmayd
recognized Bob Zachary, Bill Graves, and another noted rough known as
Alex Carter. Stinson shouted, addressing them as road agents. Each was
fully armed with gun, pistol, and knife. Southmayd whispered to
Caldwell,
“Tom, I guess they’ve got us.”
“That’s so,” replied Caldwell.
Caldwell drove on to Cold Spring station followed by the three roughs on
horseback, who soon came up. This was the supper station. Two of the
robbers left their guns at the door. Carter’s was strung upon his back.
They entered the house in a boisterous manner, with Zachary, feigning
drunkenness, in their lead.
“I’d like,” said that ruffian with brutal emphasis and gesture, “to see
the man who don’t like Stone.” The banter was made for the purpose of
exciting a quarrel. “Just show me the man that don’t like him, or let
any man here just say he don’t like him, if he wants a healthy fight on
his hands,” blustered the villain.
No one replied. Seemingly every one present entertained a high opinion
of Mr. Stone. Failing to rouse a quarrel, he ordered “drinks all round,”
bought a bottle of whiskey, and preserved the swagger and braggadocio of
a drunken ruffian through supper time.
After supper, and while preparing to leave, Southmayd said privately to
Caldwell,
“Tom, I see through it all. You must take Stinson on the seat with you.
I’ll sit behind and watch him, and the boy can watch Ray.”
When ready to start, and this arrangement was made known to Buck
Stinson, he did not relish it, and said,
“I don’t want to ride up there.”
“Well, you will,” replied Southmayd sternly, pointing to the seat.
“This is pretty rough, isn’t it?” said Stinson with an oath, as he
mounted to the seat.
The three mounted ruffians, Zachary, Graves, and Carter, started on in
advance of the coach. Southmayd and the boy sat with their guns across
their knees, watching the motions of their suspected companions. It was
near nightfall. Less than half a mile distant from the station, the
robbers, who had been riding at an even pace, suddenly wheeled, and gave
the command to halt, simultaneously with which, Southmayd levelled his
gun upon Carter, and Caldwell and the boy theirs on the other two.
Carter, stammering with alarm, made out to say, “We only want you to
take a drink.”
The bottle was passed around, Southmayd and Caldwell barely touching it
to their lips. Handing it to the boy, Southmayd gave him an admonitory
touch with his foot,—comprehending which, he did not drink. As Carter
had not drunk from the bottle, Southmayd feared that the liquor had been
poisoned. Returning the bottle, the roughs who received it inquired
politely if they did not want any more. The three then wheeled their
horses, exclaiming,
“We’re off to Pete Daly’s,” and, clapping spurs to their horses, they
were soon out of sight.
The coach went on six miles, passed Daly’s ranche, and drew up at
Lorrain’s. From this ranche to Virginia City, the road for most of the
distance is rough, narrow, and lies through the cañon of Alder Gulch.
Nature never formed a fitter stretch of country for successful robbery.
Of this our passengers were fully aware, and, anticipating that the
designs of the robbers must culminate on this part of the route,
Southmayd took Caldwell aside to consult as to the proper course to
pursue.
“It’s a rough night’s work, Tom,” said Southmayd, “but the worst is to
come. If they attack us in the cañon, there is no possible chance for
escape.”
“They’ll do it, sure,” replied Caldwell. “It’s only driving into their
hands to attempt to go on to-night. Let’s leave the coach here and take
to the brush. We may then avoid them; or if we meet, it will be where
the chances are equal.”
Buck Stinson, who had been on the watch for some new arrangement,
overheard this conversation. Anxious as he was that the robbery and
murder should take place, he knew that if the men escaped, as they
assuredly would by the means contemplated, they would bring the whole
community of Virginia City on the track of himself and his fellow
ruffians. This must be avoided, even though they were frustrated in
their design. So he stepped forward, and said to Southmayd and Caldwell
in his blandest manner,
“Gentlemen, I pledge you my word, my honor, and my life, that you will
not be attacked between this place and Virginia City.”
“If you mean that,” replied Southmayd, “we will go on; but if we are
attacked, we will certainly make it hot for some of you.”
Soon after the horses started, Stinson commenced singing in a very loud
voice, and continued to do so without intermission until nearly
exhausted. Then, at his request, Ray took up the chorus and kept it up
until their arrival in Virginia City. This was a signal to the robbers
to keep away. Had the singing ceased, the attack would have been made.
Ray called on Southmayd the next day, and warned him, as he valued his
life, to mention the names of none of those among the ruffians whom he
had recognized, as the ones who robbed him while on his way to Bannack.