GEORGE IVES
George Ives, whose name is already familiarized to the readers of this
history, by the prominent part he acted in the robberies of the coach,
and the contemplated attack upon Hauser and the writer, was at the time
regarded as the most formidable robber of the band with which he was
connected. The boldness of his acts, and his bolder enunciation of them,
left no doubt in the public mind as to his guilt. But the people were
not yet ripe for action; and, while Ives and his comrades in crime were
yet free to prosecute their plans for murder and robbery, the miners and
traders were content, if let alone, to pursue their several occupations.
The condition of society was terrible. Not a day passed unmarked by
crimes of greater or lesser enormity. The crisis was seemingly as
distant as ever. Men hesitated to pass between the towns on the gulch
after nightfall, nor even in mid-day did they dare to carry upon their
persons any larger amounts in gold dust than were necessary for current
purposes. If a miner happened to leave the town to visit a neighboring
claim, he was fortunate to escape robbery on the way. And if the amount
he had was small, he was told that he would be killed unless he brought
more the next time. Often wayfarers were shot at, sometimes killed, and
sometimes wounded.
During this period, it was a custom with George Ives, when in need of
money, to mount his horse, and, pistol in hand, ride into a store or
saloon, toss his buckskin purse upon the counter, and request the
proprietor or clerk to put one or more ounces of gold dust in it “as a
loan.” The man thus addressed dare not refuse. Often, while the person
was weighing the levy, the daring shoplifter would amuse himself by
firing his revolver at the lamps and such other articles of furniture as
would make a crash. This was frequently done for amusement. It became so
common that it attracted little or no attention, and people submitted to
it, under the conviction that there was no remedy.
Anton M. Holter, owner of a train of wagons, while on the route from
Salt Lake City to Virginia City with a large party of emigrants, was
overtaken by a fierce mountain snowstorm, during the last days of
November, on Black Tail Deer Creek. Fearing that the road would be
blocked, he and a Mr. Evanson pushed on as rapidly as possible to the
Pas-sam-a-ri, crossing the stream with their teams with great
difficulty, the water reaching midway up the sides of the wagon-boxes.
Once over, they made a camp near by, to await the abatement of the
storm. A Mr. Hughes who had been travelling in company with them, came
up with his wagon at a late hour in the evening to the cabin at the
crossing, at the door of which he was met by “Dutch John,” its only
occupant. John, at his request, went in search of Evanson, who came and
assisted in getting the horses and wagons across the river. The night
was half spent before the object was accomplished. During all this time,
John, in pursuance of Plummer’s general instructions for obtaining
information, plied Evanson with questions about Holter’s property and
ready means in gold,—possessing himself of all the information that an
unsuspicious man would be likely to communicate.
A few days later, Holter moved on with his train to Ramshorn Creek, and
after making camp, went to Virginia City with two yokes of oxen for
sale. On his way he passed Ives and Carter, who, he observed, eyed him
suspiciously. Failing to sell his cattle, he left on his return to camp
the next day, intending to spend the night at Mr. Norris’s ranche. He
had gone well down into the valley, and it was nearly sundown, when he
saw Ives, accompanied by one Irving, approaching on horseback. Holter
did not know Ives, and had no real fear of an attack; but with that
instinctive feeling which regards every stranger with suspicion in a
country infested with robbers, he immediately drew and examined his
pistol. It was so badly rusted that he could not make it revolve. He
replaced it, and, remembering that he had no money, felt equally
satisfied to escape or to hazard an adventure. Ives and Irving rode up
in front of him, and Ives, impudently, as Holter thought, inquired,
“Where are you going?”
“Down to Norris’s place,” replied Holter. “Do you know where he lives?”
“Yes, I know well enough,” answered the highwayman, and drawing closer
to him he asked, “Have you got any money?”
Holter drew back in surprise, but answered immediately, “No, I’m dead
broke.”
“Well, we’ll see about that,” said Ives, drawing and cocking his
revolver.
“You can see for yourself,” said Holter, drawing forth a memorandum
book.
“Hand it over here,” said Ives, reaching and taking it. He then
proceeded to examine it with some care, but finding nothing in it, with
an expression of disgust he threw it away. Turning to Holter, and
levelling his pistol full upon him, he continued,
“You’ve got money, and I know it. Hand it over, or I’ll shoot you.”
“You’re surely mistaken,” replied Holter. “I left what I had at the
camp, and had to borrow ten dollars in town.”
“I tell you, you have got money,” was the savage rejoinder. “Turn your
pockets inside out—and be quick about it, too.”
Holter complied, and found a few greenbacks, which, as they were not in
use, he had forgotten.
“Hand ’em over here,” said Ives, and cramming them hurriedly into his
pocket, he said,
“Now, turn your cattle out of the road, and don’t follow our tracks; and
when you come this way again, bring more money with you.”
As Holter turned his cattle to obey, he glanced furtively over his
shoulder, and saw Ives in the very act of firing at him. Dodging
instinctively, the ball passed through his hat, ploughing a furrow down
to the scalp, which it grazed, through his heavy hair. Stunned by the
shot, Holter staggered and almost fell, just as Ives aimed and pulled
the trigger again. Fortunately, the cap snapped; and Holter, now
sufficiently recovered, started on a run, and took refuge in an old
beaver-dam. Ives followed him closely for another shot, but a teamster
with a load of poles at this moment appeared upon the road, which
circumstance deterred Ives from firing, and probably saved Holter’s
life.
During this same season, a man who had been whipped for larceny at
Nevada, under some modification of his punishment, agreed to disclose
certain transactions of the robbers. Ives heard of it, and watching his
opportunity, met the poor fellow on the road between Virginia City and
Dempsey’s. Riding up to him, he deliberately fired at him with his gun
charged with buckshot. From some cause the shot failed of effect. Ives
immediately drew his revolver, and while loading him with oaths and
execrations, shot him through the head. The man fell dead from his
horse, which Ives took by the bridle and led off to the hills. This
cold-blooded murder was committed in open day on the most populous
thoroughfare in the country, in plain view of two ranches, and while
several teams were in sight. Travellers who arrived at the spot half an
hour after its occurrence, aided by the neighboring ranchemen, paid the
last sad offices to the still warm but lifeless body. Ives sought
concealment in the wakiup of George Hilderman, where he remained until
satisfied that no public action would be taken to avenge the crime.
He then again sallied forth to watch for fresh opportunities for plunder
and bloodshed. His name had become the terror of the country. No man
felt safe with such a monster at large, and yet no one was ready to
initiate a plan for his destruction. His malevolence was only equalled
by his audacity,—and this was, if possible, surpassed by his gasconade.
The dark features of his character were unrelieved by a single generous
or manly quality. Avarice, and a natural thirst for bloody adventures,
controlled his life.
About this time, a young German, by the name of Nicholas Tiebalt, who
was in the employ of Messrs. Burtchy and Clark, sold to them a fine span
of mules which were in charge of the herders at Dempsey’s ranche. They
had advanced the money for the purchase, and sent Tiebalt after the
mules. As several days elapsed without his return, they concluded that
he had swindled them out of the money, and left the country with the
mules; a conclusion all the more regretted by them, from the fact that
he had won their confidence by his fidelity and sobriety.
Nine days after Tiebalt had left Nevada, Mr. William Palmer, while
hunting in the Pas-sam-a-ri Valley, shot a grouse, and on going to the
place where it fell, found it, dead, upon the frozen corpse of Tiebalt.
He immediately went to the wakiup occupied by John Franck—better known
as “Long John”—and George Hilderman, a quarter of a mile below, to
obtain their assistance in lifting the body into the wagon.
“I will take the body to town,” said he, “and see if it cannot be
identified.”
“We’ll have nothing to do with it,” said Long John. “Dead bodies are
common enough in this country. They, kill people every day in Virginia
City, and nobody speaks of it, nobody cares. Why should we trouble
ourselves who this man is, after he’s dead?”
Shocked at this brutality, Palmer returned to the corpse, which he
contrived to place in his wagon, and drove on to Nevada. The body was
exposed for half a day in the wagon, and was visited by hundreds of
people from Nevada, Virginia City, and the other towns in the gulch.
In reply to the question, “How did you find it?” Palmer answered,
“It was providential. The Almighty pointed the way, or it would never
have been found. I had my gun in my hand, and was looking carefully
about for game, when a grouse rose suddenly at my approach. I had little
thought of killing it when I fired, as the shot was a chance one. The
bird flew some distance before it fell, but seeing that I had wounded
it, I ran as rapidly as I could, and went directly to it, and found it
on the breast of the murdered man. The body was lying in a clump of
heavy sage brush, completely concealed,—away from the road, where no one
would ever have gone except by chance,—and but for the fact that it was
frozen hard, would long before this time have been devoured by the
coyotes.”
The body of Tiebalt bore the marks of a small lariat about the throat,
which had been used to drag him, while still living, to the place of
concealment. The hands were filled with fragments of sage brush, torn
off in the agony of that terrible process; and the bullet wound over the
left eye showed how the murder had been accomplished.
These appalling witnesses to the cruelty and fiendishness of the
perpetrator of this bloody deed roused the indignation of the people to
a fearful pitch. They went to work to avenge the crime with an alacrity
sharpened by the consciousness of that long and criminal neglect on
their part, but for which it might have been averted. They felt
themselves to be, in some degree, participants in the diabolical
tragedy. In the presence of that dead body the reaction commenced, which
knew no abatement until the country was entirely freed of its
bloodthirsty persecutors. That same evening, twenty-five citizens of
Nevada subscribed an obligation of mutual support and protection,
mounted their horses, and, under the leadership of a competent man, at
ten o’clock started in pursuit of the murderer. Obtaining an accession
of one good man on their route, and avoiding Dempsey’s by a hill trail,
they rode six miles beyond it to a cabin, and with the aid of its
proprietor found their way to the point of destination. At an early hour
in the morning, they crossed Wisconsin Creek, breaking through the
frozen surface, and emerging from it with clothing perfectly rigid from
frost and wet. A mile beyond this they were ordered to alight and stand
by their horses until daybreak. An hour or more passed, when they
remounted and rode quietly on, until in sight of Long John’s wakiup. A
dog was heard to bark; and in anticipation of the alarm it might
occasion, they dashed forward at full speed, surrounding the wakiup,
each man halting with his gun bearing upon it. Jumping from his horse,
the leader discovered eight or ten men wrapped in their blankets,
sleeping in front of the entrance. Raising his voice, he exclaimed,
“The first man that rises will get a quart of buckshot in him before he
can say ‘Jack Robinson.’”
It was too dark to distinguish the sleepers. With half of his company at
his back, the leader strode on to the entrance. Peering into the
darkness, he asked,
“Is Long John here?”
“I’m here,” responded a voice, instantly recognized to be that of the
person addressed. “What do you want?”
“I want you,” was the rejoinder. “Come out here.”
“Well,” said John, “I guess I know what you want me for.”
“Probably,” replied the leader. “But hurry up. We’ve no time to lose.”
“One moment. I’ll be with you as soon as I can get on my moccasins,”
said John.
“Be quick about it,” shouted the leader.
Long John was taken in charge by the company, and as soon as it was
light enough to enable them to see distinctly, the leader, with four
men, escorted him to the spot where Tiebalt was found. The remainder of
the company kept guard over the men found sleeping near the wakiup. When
they arrived upon the ground, the leader said to him,
“Long John, we have arrested you for the murder of Nicholas Tiebalt. We
believe you to be guilty, and have brought you up here to the spot where
his body was found to hear what you have to say.”
Palmer, who was one of the company, then proceeded to explain all the
circumstances connected with the discovery, the position of the body,
and the conversation he held with Long John when he applied to him for
assistance.
“Boys,” said John, in a serious tone, “I did not do it. As God shall
judge me, I did not.”
One man, more excited than the rest, now began handling his pistol,
saying to John, meanwhile,
“Long John, you had better prepare for another world.” What more he
might have said, or what done, it is easy to conceive, had he not been
interrupted by the leader, who, stepping forward, remarked,
“This won’t do. If there is anything to be done, let us all be
together.”
Long John was then taken aside by three of the company, who sat down in
the faint morning light to examine him. Just as they were seated, they
saw through the haze at no great distance, “Black Bess,” the mule which
Tiebalt rode from Nevada when he started for Dempsey’s. She seemed to be
there at this opportune moment as a dumb witness to the assassination of
her master. Pointing to the animal, one of the men inquired,
“John, whose mule is that?”
“That’s the mule that Tiebalt rode down here,” he answered.
“John,” was the reply, “you know whose mule that is. Things look dark
for you. You had better be thinking of your condition now.”
“I am innocent,” murmured John.
The mule was caught and led up to him. “Where are the other two mules?”
was the next inquiry.
“I do not know,” he replied.
“John,” said his interrogator, “you had better be looking forward to
another world. You are ‘played out’ in this one, sure.”
“I did not commit that crime,” was his reply, “and if you’ll give me a
chance, I’ll clear myself.”
The leader now said to him, “John, you can never do it, for you knew of
a man lying dead here, close to your home, for nine days, and never
reported his murder. You deserve hanging for that alone. Why didn’t you
come and tell the people of Virginia City?”
“I was afraid,” said John. “It would have been as much as my life was
worth to have done it. I dared not.”
“Afraid? Of whom?” inquired the leader.
“I was afraid of the men around here,” he answered.
“What men? Who are they?” persisted the leader.
“I dare not tell who they are,” said John, in a frightened tone:
“there’s one of them around here.”
“But you must tell, if you would save yourself. Where is the one you
speak of?”
“There’s one at the wakiup,—the one that killed Nick Tiebalt.”
“Who is he? What’s his name?”
“George Ives,” said John, after a moment’s hesitation.
“Is he down at the wakiup?”
“Yes. I left him there when I came out.”
“Men,” said the leader, addressing them, “stay here and keep watch over
John, while I go down and arrest Ives.”
Selecting from the number at the wakiup a person answering the
description of Ives, he asked his name, which was very promptly given.
“I want you,” said the leader.
“What do you want me for?” inquired Ives.
“To go to Virginia City,” rejoined the leader.
“All right,” said Ives: “I expect I’ll have to go.” He was immediately
taken in charge by the guard.
“Old Tex” was standing near by at the time, and the leader turning to
him, said,
“I believe we shall want you, too.” The ruffian made an impudent reply,
to which the leader simply rejoined,
“You must consider yourself under arrest,”—words whose fearful import he
understood too well to disobey.
The other men now emerged from their blankets. They were Alex Carter,
Bob Zachary, Whiskey Bill, and Johnny Cooper, and two inoffensive
persons who had fallen in with them the evening before, and craved
permission to pass the night under their protection. Fortunately, these
confiding persons had no money, and escaped assassination; but when told
of the character of their entertainers, one of them, pointing to Carter,
remarked,
“There’s one good man, anyhow. I knew him on the other side of the
mountains, where he was a packer, and there was no better man on the
Pacific slope.”
Just at this moment, the leader saw some movement which indicated to him
that a rescue of the three prisoners would be attempted by their
comrades, and in a loud tone of command, said,
“Every man take his gun and keep it.”
Five men were ordered to search the wakiup, and the others, meanwhile,
to keep off intruders. The searchers soon came out with seven dragoon
and navy revolvers, nine shotguns, and thirteen rifles, as the fruit of
their spoil. Among other weapons was the pistol taken from Leroy
Southmayd at the time of the coach robbery described in a previous
chapter. Having completed the search and broken up the nest of the
marauders, the scouting party started with their prisoners on the return
to Nevada. At Dempsey’s they found George Hilderman, who, after offering
various excuses, consented, under the mild persuasion of a revolver, to
accompany them. The prisoners were disarmed but not bound, nor prevented
from riding at pleasure among their captors. A stranger, on seeing or
joining with the cavalcade while in motion, would never have supposed
that it was an escort with four murderers in charge; nor, from the
merry, jovial conversation and song singing of the company, as it rode
gayly and rapidly onward, have distinguished the accusers from the
accused. Whenever the subject of his offence was mentioned, Ives
asserted his innocence, and declared that he would be only too happy to
have an opportunity to prove it. With a fair trial by civil authority in
Virginia City, he had no fear of the result; but as he once had the
misfortune to kill a favorite dog in Nevada, he felt that he would have
the prejudices of the people against him if put upon trial there. This
idea was elaborated, because if adopted, Plummer, being sheriff, would
have the selection of the men from whom the jury would be impanelled.
Ives affected great amiability and a ready compliance with every order
and request made by his captors. One subject suggested another, and many
of the rough and pleasant phases of mountain life passed in review,
until that of racing, and the comparative speed of their horses, was
introduced. On this theme Ives was specially eloquent, and being mounted
on his own pony, which had some local popularity as a racer, he ventured
finally to propose a trial of speed with several of the guard, and even
challenged them to race with him. After one or two short scrub races, in
which he suffered himself to be beaten, the spirit of the race-course
seemed suddenly to animate the company, and, one after another, all were
soon engaged in the exciting sport. It increased in interest and
excitement for several miles, and until within a short distance of
Daly’s ranche. At this point, Ives’s horse, which had been kept under
before, was now pressed to his utmost speed; and when the party were
least prepared for it, they saw him not only as the winner in the race,
but leading the cavalcade, and bearing his master away at a fearfully
rapid rate over the level stretch towards Daly’s. Instantly, every horse
was urged into the pursuit. On rode the desperado, and on followed the
now broken column of scouts, two of whom pressed him so closely that he
could not stop long enough at the ranche to exchange his pony for his
favorite horse, which, by order of some of his friends who had pushed on
from the wakiup in advance of the scouts, had been saddled and was
standing ready for his use. His pursuers, more fortunate, found a fresh
horse and mule standing there, which had come down from Virginia City.
These they mounted, and resuming the pursuit, when three miles away from
the main road near the Bivans Gulch mountains, they saw the hotly
pressed fugitive jump from his exhausted pony, and take refuge among the
rocks of an adjacent ravine. Quicker than it can be told, they alighted,
and, fresher on foot than the jaded steeds, they were soon standing on
the edge of the sheltering hollow. Ives was nowhere visible. Certain
that he was near, Burtchy and Jack Wilson plunged into the ravine, and
commenced a separate search among the rocks. It was of brief duration,
for Burtchy soon discovered him, crouching behind a large bowlder, and
directed him to come out and surrender himself.
Ives laughingly obeyed, and in a wheedling manner was approaching
Burtchy, who was separated from his comrade, evidently with the purpose
of wresting his gun from him. Burtchy understood the movement, and with
his eye still coursing the barrel, now but a few feet from the heart it
would have been emptied into in a moment more, he said,
“That is far enough, Mr. Ives. Now stand fast, or I shall spill your
precious life-blood very quick.”
Wilson, who had been searching in a different direction, now came up and
aided in securing the prisoner, with whom they soon rejoined the rest of
the company. The two hours which had elapsed between the escape and
recapture, were pregnant with wisdom for the almost disheartened scouts.
“Let us raise a pole and hang him at once,” said one of them, as the
captors rode up with their prisoner.
Several voices raised in approval of this recommendation, were at once
silenced by a very decided negative from the remainder of the company.
Ives, meantime, commenced chatting gayly with the crowd, and treated
them to a “drink all round.” The cavalcade, formed in a hollow square,
with their prisoner in the centre, then rode quietly on to Nevada,
arriving soon after sunset.