the most reputable people of the place, who that same evening met
with them in the postoffice, in "secret session," to devise plans for
Podgett's arrest before he had an opportunity to revisit his cabin. It
was conceded that he would come to town first with the hunting party
that he had gone out with, which would return in three or four days
at farthest, and it was resolved to secure him the moment he made his
appearance. To this duty they appointed the now worthy Jack and one
Bart Kennedy.
On the afternoon of the fourth day after the meeting, Podgett rode
unsuspiciously into town with his companions, and the instant he
alighted from his mule found himself locked in Jack's vise-like
embrace, who with others had been anxiously watching for his coming.
He was at once secured in a little log building, and carefully guarded
by two plucky Irish miners who had volunteered their services, for by
this time all the law-abiding element of Whooping Hollow had become
acquainted with the sickening discoveries at the wretch's cabin.
Podgett thus safely under bolt and bar, a committee was sent over to
Sandy Bar to interview his Mexican wife or mistress, whose people lived
somewhere in the mountains near there, as it was learned that she had
gone home. They found her with her father, a widower, who could speak
nothing but Spanish, nor could she speak English at all. But Isaacher
Noe, one of the party, understood and conversed in the language like a
native; so no interpreter was necessary.
The girl was very young, very pretty, but apparently too youthful
for either wife or mother. From her some startling disclosures were
elicited. She had witnessed a number of murders at the cabin, but had
been afraid to say a word, because Podgett swore that he would kill her
if she did. But when he dashed her baby's brains out in the most cruel
and atrocious manner, right before her eyes, less than two months ago,
she made up her mind that she would expose his bloody life as soon as
she could find a safe opportunity. She had run away from him the night
he went off hunting, and came to her father's, declaring that she would
die before she would go back and consort again with such a monster.
When the committee returned to Whooping Hollow, and had submitted their
report, threats were freely and openly made by the exasperated miners
that they would take Podgett out of the improvised jail and hang him
at once. But better counsel prevailed, and it was finally agreed upon
at an open-air meeting held that afternoon that he should have a fair
trial, as had always been customary in dealing with criminals since
the establishment of the camp. The prisoner would be allowed to select
a jury of twelve men himself--but it must be composed of the most
reputable citizens only; a judge should be elected by the crowd, he to
appoint some one competent to prosecute, and another to defend.
As soon as the preliminaries were agreed to by the now excited
mob, George Burton's general outfitting store was selected for the
court-room, and the trial set for eight o'clock the same evening.
In that community no such thing as the law's delay was brooked; the
citizens of Whooping Hollow believing in swift, stern justice on all
occasions.
Long before the hour appointed for the trial the crowd began to
collect, and by half-past seven the little room selected was packed
to its utmost capacity. On the outside of the building, compelled to
remain in the street, was an indignant, determined mob, numbering
more than three times as many as were inside, surging backward and
forward, making night hideous with their yells, blasphemous remarks of
impatience, and muttered threats of "getting even with him," "having
his heart's blood," etc. Both outside and inside of that rough log
building was gathered as motley and as hard-looking a crowd as ever
got together in the mountains anywhere. It was a strange admixture of
ignorance, manhood, vice, virtue, and villainy. Some of the truest
men that ever lived stood there; and some were there, too, as deeply
dyed in crime, if the truth were known about them, as Podgett himself.
Miners, merchants, gamblers and Mexicans were mixed up promiscuously;
but their determined faces and show of revolvers spoke more eloquently
than language, that "there wasn't going to be any fooling in the
matter."
The dingy-looking room improvised for the purpose of the court was
lighted by half a dozen tallow candles, which shed a dim, sallow
haziness over the piles of bacon, picks, shovels, canned fruits, and
other miners' goods stored there, and upon the hard-visaged men who
had assembled there to mete out that justice which they believed had
been already too long delayed. The red flames of a blazing fire, made
of dry pine-knots, nearly as combustible as powder, occasionally shot
up the throat of the huge chimney built diagonally across one corner
of the room, whenever a fresh armful was thrown on by the two boys
appointed to that office for the time being. When the flames had
exhausted themselves, and only the embers glowed on the black hearth,
a glimmering and a confused mist seemed to diffuse itself over the
brindled crowd, while the fitful rays of the unsnuffed candles threw
weird shadows on the whitewashed walls like ghosts, as if the spirits
of the murderer's victims had come to be phantom witnesses of his agony
and despair.
Old Sam Bartlett, as usual, was chosen judge without a dissenting
voice. A pile of bacon, packed in gunny-sacks and elevated four or
five feet above the floor, on which Bartlett, with his legs dangling
over the side, sat, constituted the official bench. The jury, composed
of the best men in town, sat on the right of the judge, on boxes,
nail-kegs, sacks, or anything that came handy. Ike Podgett, the
miserable man for whom all this strange proceeding was instituted,
crouching on the dirt-begrimed floor between his two determined guards,
rivets his eyes on the resolute men before him, distracted alternately
by hope and despair; for he now feels the enormity of his guilt, and
knows in his cowardly heart that he deserves death right there, without
the least show of mercy.
Tom Bradford was appointed to prosecute the case, and a young
man--Enoch Green, who had been graduated from the law school of Yale
two or three years before--was appointed to defend Podgett. In a few
pithy sentences Judge Bartlett explained the object of the gathering,
and reviewed the terrible crimes that had been traced to the accused's
den in the lonely cañon. He pointed to the ghastly remains and charred
fragments of human skeletons piled upon a rude table in front of the
jury, which he told them, in wonderfully impressive language, had
been dug up, in his own presence, inside of Podgett's cabin and found
among the rocks in the vicinity of the accursed place. The indignant
old man grew almost eloquent in his recitation of the prisoner's
damnable deeds, and a deathlike stillness pervaded the crowd as the
words fell hot and earnestly from his lips, only broken now and then
by the convulsive click of a revolver as the excited feelings of some
pugnacious individual intensified under the judge's burning remarks.
But for his admonition of their promise to give the miserable wretch
Podgett a trial, in all probability the proceedings would have been
ended before Bartlett closed his remarks.
Tom Bradford, in his argument as the legally constituted prosecutor,
merely reiterated in a measure what the judge had so forcibly
expressed, but he scathed Podgett in a fearful manner, working up a
more exasperated feeling, if that were possible, than existed before;
and when he had finished his address he called his witnesses.
The Doctor was first to testify; but he confined his evidence to
the character of the charred bones, settling beyond the question of
possibility that they were human.
Willow Gulch Jack then appeared, and upon him all eyes were
concentrated as he related to the jury the simple story. He described
accurately, with a dead coal taken from the fireplace, on the top of
a cracker-box, the location of the cabin, its surroundings, and the
position in which the several bodies were found, particularly that of
Jemuel Knaggs, a piece of whose blue shirt and curious collar-button
he exhibited, the latter being recognized by nearly every man present.
He made a graphic if not artistic sketch with his rude pencil, and
its effect upon the jury and spectators was manifested by expressions
addressed to Podgett more emphatic than elegant.
Issachar Noe was the next and last witness called for the prosecution.
He related in an impressive and convincing manner, as chairman of the
committee, the interview with the young wife or mistress of Podgett,
which was received by his listeners with that faith in its accuracy
comparable to the high character of the man.
Then young Green, the counsel appointed for the defense, though he
had not a single particle of evidence to offer, and convinced of the
deep villainy of his brutal and inhuman client, felt it incumbent to
make an appeal in his behalf. This he did so eloquently, and built
up hypotheses so rapidly, that some of the rougher element, afraid
that his efforts might be effectual, became rather demonstrative, and
crowded around him in a somewhat threatening manner. They were quieted,
however, by a few positive words from old Tom. It was rather a decided
but not particularly pleasant compliment to the youth's forensic
ability!
When the defense had closed its wonderfully ingenious argument, the
judge made another of his significant addresses in his charge to the
jury, and a little after midnight he submitted the case to them.
An awful silence prevailed for a few moments while the twelve men put
their heads together and consulted in a low tone without leaving their
seats. Presently they all rose, and their spokesman, turning to the
judge, uttered only one word: "GUILTY."
[Illustration: "WITH PODGETT BETWEEN THEM."]
Then, at a sign from stern old Sam, who immediately came down from his
pile of bacon, the two determined-faced miners, with Podgett between
them almost paralyzed with fear, walked out into the night, followed
by the crowd, who fired off their pistols, and made the very hills
tremble with their demoniacal yells.
The early morning sun, as its rays entered the narrow valley, shone
upon the lifeless body of Podgett, where, suspended by the neck from
the limb of a huge oak tree on the main street of Whooping Hollow, it
slowly oscillated at the sport of the warm south breeze.
[Illustration]
THE WOOING OF AH-KEY-NES-TOU.
[Illustration: MANDAN CHIEF.]
At a period late in the twenties, the Mandans, one of the most
intelligent tribes of Indians on the continent, were almost swept out
of existence by the smallpox. The story comes down to us in the form of
a tradition among other savages, but it is nevertheless true, as there
are a few old trappers yet living who remember all the particulars of
the event.
The Mandans resided in the vicinity of the mouth of the Yellowstone,
where their villages were permanent for untold centuries, and at the
time of the visitation of the fell disease which nearly annihilated
them they comprised about three thousand families.
Shortly after sunrise, one morning in June, 1828, a young white man was
reclining idly on one of the grassy knolls overlooking the village,
the great river, and the vast prairie stretching westwardly from its
bank. He was intently watching certain movements in the town, where
the warriors were preparing for a grand hunt. In the distance, the
buffalo could be seen grazing in immense herds, whose presence was
the cause of the commotion among the Indians. Soon he saw hundreds of
warriors, armed with bows, their quivers filled with arrows, emerge
from the shadow of their lodges, and in a long line ride out toward
the unsuspecting animals so peacefully feeding. The old men and squaws
alone remained in the village, and they were gathered in anxious
groups, applauding the husbands, sons and lovers as they went proudly
forth to battle for that subsistence which was their only dependence
when the snows of winter filled the now sunny valley.
A few moments after the warriors had disappeared in the purple morning
mist of the prairies, a bevy of lightly dressed dusky maidens, in
all their savage beauty, wandered toward the sandy margin of the
Yellowstone to indulge in their favorite amusement of swimming in its
clear sparkling tide,--for that stream in summer, like a great brook,
ripples and babbles over the rounded quartz pebbles which compose its
bed, with as rhythmical a flow as the tiniest rivulet in the recesses
of the mountains.
[Illustration]
It was this group of Indian maidens that now attracted the gaze of the
young stranger; one among them particularly, not yet seventeen, but
more beautiful than the others, walked like some society queen on the
beach at Newport. In a few moments she purposely separated herself from
the rest and directed her steps toward the mound on which the young
man was lying. He smiled when he saw her evident intention, and a flush
of pride swept over his bronzed cheeks as he came down to the base of
the elevation to await her approach.
The young girl thus seeking the intruder was the affianced bride of
"In-ne-cose" (The Iron Horn), principal chief of the Mandans--old
enough to be her grandfather. She, the handsome Indian maiden, was
known as "Ah-key-nes-tou" (The Red Rose), and was the pride of the
Mandan nation.
The young man, who had with impatience waited for her coming all
the morning, was of course an American; an incipient doctor who had
enlisted in the service of the great Fur Company a year before, whose
agency was at the junction of the Missouri and Yellowstone rivers,
near the Mandan village. He had imagined himself in love many times
in St. Louis, where was his home, but was now satisfied that he had
really never felt the tender passion until he saw Ah-key-nes-tou at
the general store one day, some months before the story of their fate
commences.
When he discovered that the beautiful girl was destined to be the fifth
wife of the old chief In-ne-cose--a cross, ugly Indian, and moreover
not a full-blooded Mandan--he took pity on her, loved her more than
ever, and resolved to win her for himself. Ah-key-nes-tou had often
admitted to the "White Medicine," as the band of Mandans called the
youthful doctor, that she had a decided predilection for him; that she
could never love the old chief; but as her father had been paid for her
by the present of two horses, she felt bound to the bargain according
to Indian usage.
The doctor in a dozen interviews had told Ah-key-nes-tou of his deep
love; that he was willing to leave his home forever for her sake,
and, marrying her, would become an adopted son of the tribe. But poor
"Ah-key," as her white admirer always called her, considered herself
in honor bound to become the wife of In-ne-cose; consequently both the
youth and the maiden were perfectly miserable.
In a few moments the doctor and Ah-key met at the foot of the mound,
where, without speaking, they seated themselves on the grass with which
the ground was covered. After looking at her silently for some time, he
took the maiden's hand and said:
"It is a long time since Ah-key has come to her white lover. I have
been very sad; the sun shone brightly, but I could not see its
brightness, for you were far away. I learn that In-ne-cose intends soon
to take you for his fifth wife. I want but one; you are that one; my
lodge is empty--I cannot live without you."
The Indian maiden trembled for a moment, then answered:
"Ah-key-nes-tou's heart is small, but it is very red. My father has
given me to the great chief. Two lovers have come to me; my heart can
hold but one. I see in it the face of my young White Medicine only;
but a river as wide as the Missouri parts us. In-ne-cose has given two
horses for me; my father has spoken; I must be the fifth wife of the
great chief. What can I do?"
The idea of Ah-key-nes-tou becoming the bride of any other than
himself, made the young doctor almost wild, and he would have given
vent to some very emphatic language had not the girl at that instant
said to him: "There is a snake in the grass that the pale-face does not
see," and she pointed with her tapering index-finger to a spot not far
off, where the weeds and sunflower-stalks seemed to move by some other
power than the wind. It was In-ne-cose himself, who had stealthily
followed and was watching Ah-key-nes-tou. "You must go to the village
and eat with my people to-day," continued the trembling maiden, as she
looked imploringly toward her lover.
[Illustration: MANDAN CANOE.]
The doctor was now satisfied they had a dangerous spy upon their
actions, and grinding his teeth, hastened to obey her injunction at
once. He dared not kiss Ah-key now, but they exchanged glances,--a
language that is understood by all who love, whether white, black,
or red; and as she walked away he shouldered his heavy rifle and
ascended the knoll again, where he stood erect for a few minutes so
that the whole village might see him. Remaining where he stood until
Ah-key-nes-tou had rejoined the group of her friends on the beach,
where they were preparing for their bath, the doctor descended, and
moved quietly toward the nearest group of lodges.
First, he made a visit to that of a subordinate chief who was friendly
to both Ah-key-nes-tou and himself, looking with decided favor on his
efforts to win the girl. Then he went to the lodge of Ah-key-nes-tou's
father. He was received very kindly, invited to breakfast, and when
that was disposed of, the pipe was passed around, an evidence of the
warm feeling the Indian entertained for his white guest. After some
time devoted to the fragrant fumes of the "kin-ne-ke-nick," the doctor
opened up the subject always nearest his heart--his desire to marry
the old savage's daughter. The father of the girl freely admitted that
he should be highly honored by such an alliance, but that his word had
been pledged to the "Iron Horn," and as presents had been accepted from
him, the matter must be considered as settled; that the tribe would
never condone any deceit on his part--he could not break his word.
[Illustration: MANDAN VILLAGE.]
The doctor agreed with his honorable host, that the difficulties were
great, according to the Indian code of honor; nevertheless, he believed
that the thing could be so arranged that it would be acceptable to
all concerned. He then informed the old man that a steamboat (or
"fire-ship," as the savages called it,) would arrive at the village
that evening. On it were his trunk, tent, and all his belongings; he
proposed to take up his abode with the tribe. To this, War Eagle, the
father of Ah-key-nes-tou, cordially gave his approval; suggesting that
the mound from which the villagers had first seen him that morning
would be a suitable place to establish his lodge.
Just before sunset the guns of the steamboat were heard in the
village as she rounded a sharp point near her proposed landing-place.
Immediately the entire population, men, women and children, flocked
to the beach to see the wonderful canoe that moved without oars. They
regarded it as a monster, gazing upon it with fear and trembling every
time it came up the river.
Early the next morning, with the assistance of some of his Mandan
friends the doctor landed his traps and erected his tent on the spot
designated by War Eagle. His equipments consisted of a neat camp bed,
rich blankets, arms, ammunition, and a medicine chest, together with
hundreds of little trinkets pleasing to the taste of the Indians of
both sexes.
The enthusiastic young doctor had hardly gotten his things in shipshape
before a messenger from In-ne-cose arrived, demanding his presence
at the council lodge. He obeyed the summons from the head chief, of
course, but he could not divine why he had been sent for so suddenly,
just as he had fixed himself comfortably in his new home. Reaching the
lodge where the chiefs and head men were assembled, he found there
also many women and children of the tribe, evidently expectant of some
serious matter to be discussed.
In-ne-cose sat in the center of his counselors, on a magnificently
embroidered buffalo robe, smoking his great pipe trimmed with
eagle-feathers, as stoical as an Egyptian mummy, excepting that around
his mouth there played a smile of devilish import.
Standing near her father, who had also been summoned to the council,
was Ah-key-nes-tou, dusky and beautiful in her savage grace, with a
look of pride on her countenance; for was it not certain that she was
to be the subject for discussion by the suddenly assembled warriors?
Wrapped around the shoulders of the stern In-ne-cose was a curiously
wrought Mexican blanket, the sight of which, as the doctor's eyes fell
upon it, caused his whole frame to tremble. He turned pale, and his
entire aspect was that of fear and deep solicitude; but not a word did
he utter.
As soon as those who were called to the council had seated themselves,
In-ne-cose rose and said:
"A pale-faced medicine-man has fixed his lodge by those of the Mandans.
We have plenty of ground here; there are great herds of buffalo roaming
over the prairie, which the Great Spirit has sent to furnish food for
his people; the rich young warrior with a white skin is welcome to his
share of these. His heart is red, and he is the friend of the Mandans.
But he is alone; he has no squaw to cook his meat or saddle his horse;
no one to make his bed of the soft skins of the buffalo; no one to
shape the moccasins for his feet; he has no wife to bring home the game
that he kills. He cannot get a slave to do all these things, for we are
at peace with every nation; there is no war. He must therefore take a
wife from among the young women of the Mandans; there are many. He can
buy two wives, for he is rich; let him choose when In-ne-cose takes
Ah-key-nes-tou. I have said."
The doctor immediately arose from his place, full of indignation and
disgust at the old chief's cunning. Familiar with the language of the
tribe, he addressed the assembled warriors in their own tongue. All
eyes were riveted on him, for the majority of those present, and many
who were absent, were in perfect accord with him in his honorable
efforts to win Ah-key-nes-tou from the "Iron Horn," whom they feared
but did not respect.
"In-ne-cose is a dog!" boldly began the doctor. The chiefs gazed upon
him with wonderment, but without betraying any emotion. "The Great
Spirit is angry," continued the orator. "In-ne-cose is a vulture
among eagles, and would carry off the prettiest eaglet. But the
Great Spirit says that it shall not be so. Before the sun goes down
seven times more, In-ne-cose will be dead! He will take with him to
the happy hunting-grounds many Mandan warriors; many young women
and children--perhaps Ah-key-nes-tou;" and the young man was deeply
affected. He merely added the chief's own words, "I have said," then
sat down.
In a few moments, when his feelings had partially regained their normal
state, he rose again to explain to the now bewildered and wondering
warriors and women what he meant by the awful prophecy he had just
uttered. He told them that on the passage of the steamboat up the
river, only two days before she had landed at their village, a Mexican
merchant on board had died of a frightful disease, the smallpox! He
explained how terribly contagious it was to those who were not guarded
against it by a great medicine operation performed by the white man.
That the merchant who had died of the disease possessed a blanket, upon
which he had breathed his last. In-ne-cose had stolen that blanket off
the boat, and had it now wrapped around him. He told them that every
Indian who went near him, who touched that blanket, or even breathed
the same air where he sat, would die unless with his medicine he could
save them. The doctor continued:
"The Great Spirit is very angry. Darkness is coming over the lodges of
the Mandans. In less than one moon, perhaps, not a lodge will be full.
You love Ah-key-nes-tou; let her go to the lodge of the pale-faced
Medicine Man, and he will go to that of the 'Iron Horn'--but I fear it
is too late."