A little way out of Northfield we met a farmer and borrowed one of his
horses for Pitts to ride. We passed Dundas on the run, before the news of
the robbery had reached there, and at Millersburg, too, we were in advance
of the news, but at Shieldsville we were behind it. Here a squad of men,
who, we afterwards learned, were from Faribault, had left their guns
outside a house. We did not permit them to get their weapons until we had
watered our horses and got a fresh start. They overtook us about four
miles west of Shieldsville, and shots were exchanged without effect on
either side. A spent bullet did hit me on the “crazy bone,” and as I was
leading Bob’s horse it caused a little excitement for a minute, but that
was all.
We were in a strange country. On the prairie our maps were all right, but
when we got into the big woods and among the lakes we were practically
lost.
There were a thousand men on our trail, and watching for us at fords and
bridges where it was thought we would be apt to go.
That night it started to rain, and we wore out our horses. Friday we
moved toward Waterville, and Friday night we camped between Elysian and
German lake. Saturday morning we left our horses and started through on
foot, hiding that day on an island in a swamp. That night we tramped all
night and we spent Sunday about four miles south of Marysburg. Meantime
our pursuers were watching for horsemen, not finding our abandoned horses,
it seems, until Monday or Tuesday.
Bob’s shattered elbow was requiring frequent attention, and that night we
made only nine miles, and Monday, Monday night and Tuesday we spent in a
deserted farm-house close to Mankato. That day a man named Dunning
discovered us and we took him prisoner. Some of the boys wanted to kill
him, on the theory that “dead men tell no tales,” while others urged
binding him and leaving him in the woods. Finally we administered to him
an oath not to betray our whereabouts until we had time to make our
escape, and he agreed not to. No sooner, however, was he released than he
made posthaste into Mankato to announce our presence, and in a few minutes
another posse was looking for us.
Suspecting, however, that he would do so, we were soon on the move, and
that night we evaded the guard at the Blue Earth river bridge, and about
midnight made our way through Mankato. The whistle on the oil mill blew,
and we feared that it was a signal that had been agreed upon to alarm the
town in case we were observed, but we were not molested.
Howard and Woods, who had favored killing Dunning, and who felt we were
losing valuable time because of Bob’s wound, left us that night and went
west. As we afterward learned, this was an advantage to us as well as to
them, for they stole two horses soon after leaving us, and the posse
followed the trail of these horses, not knowing that our party had been
divided.
Accordingly, we were not pursued, having kept on a course toward Madelia
to a farm where I knew there were some good horses, once in possession of
which we could get along faster.
We had been living on scant rations, corn, watermelon and other vegetables
principally, but in spite of this Bob’s arm was mending somewhat. He had
to sleep with it pillowed on my breast, Jim being also crippled with a
wound in his shoulder, and we could not get much sleep. The wound in my
thigh was troubling me and I had to walk with a cane I cut in the brush.
One place we got a chicken and cooked it, only to be interrupted before we
could have our feast, having to make a quick dash for cover.
At every stopping place we left marks of blood from our wounds, and could
have been easily trailed had not the pursuers been led in the track of our
recent companions.
It seems from what I have read since, however, that I had myself left with
my landlord at Madelia, Col. Vought, of the Flanders house, a damaging
suggestion which proved the ultimate undoing of our party. I had talked
with him about a bridge between two lakes near there, and accordingly when
it became known that the robbers had passed Mankato Vought thought of this
bridge, and it was guarded by him and others for two nights. When they
abandoned the guard, however, he admonished a Norwegian boy named Oscar
Suborn to keep close watch there for us, and Thursday morning, Sept. 21,
just two weeks after the robbery, Oscar saw us, and fled into town with
the alarm. A party of forty was soon out in search for us, headed by
Capt. W. W. Murphy, Col. Vought and Sheriff Glispin. They came up with us
as we were fording a small slough, and unable to ford it with their
horses, they were delayed somewhat by having to go around it. But they
soon after got close enough so that one of them broke my walking stick
with a shot. We were in sight of our long-sought horses when they cut us
off from the animals, and our last hope was gone. We were at bay on the
open prairie, surrounded by a picket line of forty men, some of whom would
fight. Not prepared to stand for our last fight against such odds on the
open field, we fell back into the Watonwan river bottoms and took refuge
in some bushes.
We were prepared to wait as long as they would, but they were not of the
waiting kind. At least some of them were not, and soon we heard the
captain, who, we afterward learned, was W. W. Murphy, calling for
volunteers to go in with him and rout us out. Six stepped to the front,
Sheriff Glispin, Col. T. L. Vought, B. M. Rice, G. A. Bradford, C. A.
Pomeroy and S. J. Severson.
Forming in line four paces apart, he ordered them to advance rapidly and
concentrate the fire of the whole line the instant the robbers were
discovered.
Meanwhile we were planning, too.
“Pitts,” I said, “if you want to go out and surrender, go on.”
“I’ll not go,” he replied, game to the last. “I can die as well as you
can.”
“Make for the horses,” I said. “Every man for himself. There is no use
stopping to pick up a comrade here, for we can’t get him through the line.
Just charge them and make it if we can.”