ROBBING A BUCKSKIN COACH.

When the coach drew up, Reynolds stepped out and commanded the driver, Abe Williamson, and Billy McClelland, the superintendent of the stage line, who occupied the seat with the driver, to throw up their hands, one of his men stepping in front of the horses at the same time. Their hands went up promptly, and after being disarmed by another of the gang, Reynolds ordered them to get down, at the same time demanding their money. Williamson resented the idea of his having any money, saying that it was the first time in all his travels that a stage driver had ever been accused of having any of the long and needful green about his person. But his talk didn’t go with the bandits, and after searching him carefully they found fifteen cents, which they took. Williamson’s eyes scowled hatred, and as will be learned later, he finally took an awful revenge for the outrage. They “shook down” McClellan with much better results, securing $400 in money and a valuable chronometer balance gold watch. They then turned their attention to the express trunk, there being no passengers on this trip. Halliman secured an axe to break it open, when McClellan offered him the key. Reynolds refused the key, venturing the opinion that they could soon get into it without the key. Breaking it open they took out $6,000 worth of gold dust and $2,000 worth of gold amalgam that John W. Smith was sending to the East, it being the first taken from the Orphan Boy mine, as well as the first run from the stamp mill erected in Mosquito gulch. Capt. Reynolds then ordered Halliman to cut open the mail bags, passing him his dirk for the purpose. They tore open the letters, taking what money they contained, which was considerable, as nearly all the letters contained ten and twenty-dollar bills, which the miners were sending back to their friends in the East. The haul amounted to $10,000 in all, a much smaller sum than the coach usually carried out.

After having secured all the valuables, Capt. Reynolds ordered his men to destroy the coach, saying that he wanted to damage the United States government as much as possible. His men at once went to work to chopping the spokes out of the wheels. They ate the dinner prepared by Mrs. McLaughlin, and Capt. Reynolds then announced his determination to go on to the Michigan ranch and secure the stage stock which were kept there. Before leaving, he said to McClellan and the other captives, that if they attempted to follow the bandits they would be killed, and that the best thing they could do would be to remain quietly at the ranch for a day or two, adding that they were only the advance guard of 1,500 Texas rangers who were raiding up the park, saying also that 2,500 more Confederate troops were on their way north and had probably reached Denver by that time.

CHAPTER II.

They then rode away, leaving the settlers dumbfounded by the news. There had long been rumors of such a raid, and there being neither telegraph nor railroad, they had no means of verifying the reports. McClellan at once announced his determination to alarm the mining camps of their danger, and although his friends endeavored to dissuade him from his hazardous trip, he mounted a mule and followed the robbers. He rode through Hamilton, Tarryall and Fairplay, spreading the news and warning out citizens and miners, arriving in due time at Buckskin. From there he sent runners to California Gulch and other camps. McClellan himself stayed in the saddle almost night and day for over a week, and in that time had the whole country aroused. His energy and determined fearlessness probably saved many lives and thousands of dollars worth of property.

Active measures were now taken for the capture of the guerrillas. Armed bodies of miners and ranchmen started on their trail. Col. Chivington sent troops from Denver to guard coaches and to assist in the capture. Gen. Cook, at that time chief of government detectives for the department of Colorado, accompanied the troops, and was soon on the trail of the marauders. The news that a band of armed guerrillas was scouring the country was dispatched by courier to Central City, and all the camps in that vicinity were notified. Even south of the divide, at Pueblo and Cañon, companies were organized, and it was but a question of a few days at least when the band would be wiped out. Indeed, if there had been 4,000 of them as Reynolds had reported, instead of a little band of nine, they would have been gobbled up in short order.

Reaching the Michigan house the guerrillas took the stage horses and robbed the men who kept the station. Going on they passed the Kenosha house, stopping at various ranches and taking whatever they wanted, and robbing everybody they met. Passing Parmelee’s and Haight’s, they camped near the deserted St. Louis house, and at daybreak moved on to the Omaha house for breakfast. Besides refusing to pay for their meal, they robbed all the travelers camped around the station except an Irishman hauling freight to Georgia gulch. He gave them the pass word and grips of the Knights of the Golden Circle, and was allowed to go on unmolested. While here they found out that large bodies of citizens were in pursuit, and they decided to move off the main road; so after leaving the Omaha house they turned off and went up Deer creek to the range. Just after they had gotten off the road into the timber a posse of twenty-two mounted men passed up the road toward the Omaha house. After awhile they saw another party evidently following their trail. Capt. Reynolds took a spyglass, and finding that there were but eighteen of them decided to fight. He strung his men out in single file in order to make a plain trail, and after going about a mile, doubled back and ambushed his men at the side of the trail. Fortunately for the pursuing party, they turned back before they were in gunshot of the guerrillas. Whether they scented danger, or were tired of following what they thought was a cold trail, is not known, but it was probably the latter, as the Reynolds gang was not molested that day nor the next, although with the aid of his glass Reynolds saw scouting parties scouring the mountains in every direction. He saw that they were likely to be captured and resolved to scatter the band in order to escape, hoping to be able to rendezvous away down near the Greenhorn.

Capt. Reynolds decided that it would be prudent to conceal the greater portion of their spoils until the excitement had died down somewhat. Calling his brother, John, they passed up the little creek that ran by their camp until they reached its head. Elk creek also heads near there. They found a prospect hole which they thought would answer their purpose. Capt. Reynolds took from his saddle-bags $40,000 in currency and three cans full of gold dust, about $63,000 in all, leaving one large can of gold dust and considerable currency to be divided among the band before separating. They wrapped the currency up in a piece of silk oil cloth and put it and the cans back in the hole about the length of a man’s body. Returning to the camp, Capt. Reynolds told his men that there were no pursuers in sight, and announced his determination to disperse the band temporarily, as he believed there was no chance of escape if they remained together. He described the place of rendezvous mentioned, and told them that it would be safe to move on down to a grove of large trees on Geneva gulch, a short distance below, and camp for dinner, as there was no one in sight. They went on down and camped, and turned their horses loose to graze while dinner was being gotten.

THE ATTACK ON THE ROBBERS’ CAMP.

Two of the men were getting dinner, and the others were gathered around Capt. Reynolds, who was busily dividing the remaining money and gold dust among them, when suddenly a dozen guns cracked from behind some large rocks about 220 yards from the outlaws’ camp. Owen Singletary fell dead, and Capt. Reynolds, who was at that moment dipping gold dust from a can with a spoon, was wounded in the arm. The outlaws at once broke for the brush, a few even leaving their horses.

The attacking party, which consisted of twelve or fifteen men from Gold Run under the leadership of Jack Sparks, had crawled around the mountain unobserved until they reached the rocks, and then fired a volley into the robber band. When the robbers took to the brush, they went down to their camp and secured several horses, the can of gold dust, the amalgam that was taken from the coach at McLaughlin’s, Billy McClellan’s watch, and a lot of arms, etc. It was coming on night, and after searching the gulches for a while in vain, they cut off Singletary’s head, which they took to Fairplay as a trophy of the fight. This was July 31, 1864.

The next day Halliman was captured at the Nineteen-mile ranch, and they kept picking up the guerrillas one or two at a time until the Thirty-nine-mile ranch was reached. John Reynolds and Jake Stowe, who were traveling together, were pursued clear across the Arkansas river, but they finally escaped, although Stowe was severely wounded.

The remainder of the party were brought from Fairplay to Denver under a heavy guard and placed in jail. They were given a sham trial, and as it could not be proven that they had taken life they were sentenced to imprisonment for life, although a great many of the citizens thought they richly deserved hanging. While the party were in jail in Denver, Gen. Cook had a long talk with Jim Reynolds, the captain, and tried to find out from him what disposition had been made of all the money and valuables the robbers were known to have captured, knowing that they must have concealed it somewhere, since they had but little when captured. Reynolds refused to tell, saying that it was “safe enough,” and afterwards adding they had “sent it home.”

CHAPTER III.

About the first week in September the Third Colorado cavalry, commanded by Col. Chivington, was ordered out against the Indians. Capt. Cree, of Company A, was directed to take the six prisoners from the county jail to Fort Lyon for “safe keeping,” and to shoot every one of them if “they made any attempt to escape.” The prisoners knew that they would be shot if the soldiers could find the slightest pretext for so doing. The troop was composed of citizens of Denver and vicinity, some of whom had suffered from the depredations of the gang. One man they particularly feared was Sergt. Abe Williamson, who, it will be remembered, drove the coach which they robbed at McLaughlin’s. As they left the jail, Jim Reynolds called out to Gen. Cook, who stood near watching the procession start, “Good-bye, Dave; this is the end of us.” He did not know how soon his prediction was to be fulfilled.

The first night out they camped eight miles from Denver, on Cherry creek. The prisoners were given an opportunity to escape, but they knew better than to try it. The next day the troops moved on to Russelville, where they camped for the night. Again the prisoners were given a chance to escape, but were afraid to try it.

The next morning they were turned over to a new guard, under command of Sergt. Williamson. They were marched about five miles from camp, and halted near an abandoned log cabin. Williamson now told the prisoners that they were to be shot; that they had violated not only the civil but the military law, and that he had orders for their execution. Capt. Reynolds pleaded with him to spare their lives, reminding him of the time when the robbers had him in their power and left him unharmed. Williamson’s only reply was the brutal retort that they “had better use what little time they still had on earth to make their peace with their Maker.” They were then blindfolded, the soldiers stepped back ten paces, and Sergt. Williamson gave the order, “Make ready!” “Ready!” “Aim!” “Fire!” The sight of six unarmed, blindfolded, manacled prisoners being stood up in a row to be shot down like dogs unnerved the soldiers, and at the command to fire they raised their pieces and fired over the prisoners, so that but one man was killed, Capt. Reynolds, and he was at the head of the line opposite Williamson. Williamson remarked that they were “mighty poor shots,” and ordered them to reload. Then several of the men flatly announced that they would not be parties to any such cold-blooded murder, and threw down their guns, while two or three fired over their heads again at the second fire, but Williamson killed his second man. Seeing that he had to do all the killing himself, Williamson began cursing the cowardice of his men, and taking a gun from one of them, shot his third man. At this juncture, one of his men spoke up and said he would help Williamson finish the sickening job. Suiting the action to the word, he raised his gun and fired, and the fourth man fell dead. Then he weakened, and Williamson was obliged to finish the other two with his revolver. The irons were then removed from the prisoners, and their bodies were left on the prairie to be devoured by the coyotes. Williamson and his men rejoined their command and proceeded on to Fort Lyon, with Williamson evidently rejoicing in the consciousness of duty well done.

Several hours afterward one of the prisoners, John Andrews, recovered consciousness. Although shot through the breast, he managed to crawl to the cabin and dress his wound as best he could. He found a quantity of dried buffalo meat, left there by the former occupants, upon which he managed to subsist for several days, crawling to a spring near by for water. About a week later, Andrews, who had recovered wonderfully, hailed a horseman who was passing, and asked him to carry a note to a friend in the suburbs of Denver. The stranger agreed to do this, and Andrews eagerly awaited the coming of his friend, taking the precaution, however, to secrete himself near the cabin for fear the stranger might betray him. On the third day a covered wagon drove up to the cabin, and he was delighted to hear the voice of his friend calling him. His friend, who was J. N. Cochran, concealed him in the wagon, and taking him home, secured medical attendance, and by careful nursing soon had him restored to health and his wounds entirely healed. While staying with Cochran, Andrews related to him the history of the guerrilla band as it is given here, with the exception of the story of the buried treasure, which neither he nor any of the other members of the band, except Jim and John Reynolds, knew anything about.

EXECUTION OF THE ROBBERS.

When he had fully recovered, Andrews decided to make an effort to find John Reynolds and Stowe, who, he thought, had probably gone south to Santa Fe. Cochran gave him a horse, and leaving Denver under cover of darkness, he rode southward. Reaching Santa Fe, he soon found Reynolds and Stowe, and the three survivors decided to go up on the Cimarron, where they had cached a lot of silver and other plunder taken from the Mexican wagon train on the way out from Texas. Their horses giving out, they attacked a Mexican ranch to get fresh ones. During the fight Stowe was killed, but Reynolds and Andrews succeeded in getting a couple of fresh horses and making their escape. They rode on to the Cimarron, and found the stuff they had hidden, and then started back over the old trail for Texas. The second day out, they were overtaken by a posse of Mexicans from the ranch where they had stolen the horses, and after a running fight of two or three miles, Andrews was killed. Reynolds escaped down the dry bed of a small arroyo, and finally succeeded in eluding his pursuers. Returning to Santa Fe, he changed his name to Will Wallace, and lived there and in small towns in that vicinity for several years, making a living as a gambler. Tiring of the monotony of this kind of a life, Reynolds formed a partnership with another desperado by the name of Albert Brown, and again started out in the holdup business. They soon made that country too hot to hold them, and in October, 1871, they started toward Denver.

When near the Mexican town of Taos, they attempted to steal fresh horses from a ranch one night, and Reynolds was mortally wounded by two Mexicans, who were guarding the corral. Brown killed both of them, and throwing Reynolds across his horse, carried him for several miles. At length he found an abandoned dugout near a little stream. Leaving his wounded comrade there, he set out to conceal their horses after having made Reynolds as comfortable as possible. He found a little valley where there was plenty of grass and water, about two miles up the cañon. Leaving his horses there, he hastened back to the dugout, where he found Reynolds in a dying condition, and the conversation related in the first chapter of this story took place.

Reynold’s Map. Star shows location of treasure.

Brown pushed on northward to Pueblo, intending to push his way along the Arkansas on up into the park, but found that the snow was already too deep. Returning to Pueblo, he pushed on to Denver. He stayed there all winter, selling his horses and living upon the proceeds. When spring came he was broke, but had by chance made the acquaintance of J. N. Cochran, who had befriended John Andrews, one of the gang, years before. Finding that Cochran already knew a great deal about the gang, and needing some one who had money enough to prosecute the search, he decided to take Cochran into his confidence. Cochran was an old ’58 pioneer, and had been all over the region where the treasure was hidden, and knowing that Brown, who had never been in Colorado before, could not possibly have made so accurate a map of the locality himself, agreed to fit out an outfit to search for the treasure. They took the map drawn by Reynolds while dying, and followed the directions very carefully, going into the park by the stage road over Kenosha hill, then following the road down the South Platte to Geneva gulch, a small stream flowing into the Platte. Pursuing their way up the gulch, they were surprised at the absence of timber, except young groves of “quaking asp,” which had apparently grown up within a few years. They soon found that a terrible forest fire had swept over the entire region only a short time after the outlaws were captured, destroying all landmarks so far as timber was concerned.

They searched for several days, finding an old white hat, supposed to be Singletary’s, near where they supposed the battle to have taken place, and above there some distance a swamp, in which the bones of a horse were found, but they could not find any signs of a cave. Running out of provisions they returned to Denver, and after outfitting once more returned to the search, this time going in by way of Hepburn’s ranch. They found the skeleton of a man, minus the head (which is preserved in a jar of alcohol at Fairplay), supposed to be the remains of Owen Singletary. They searched carefully over all the territory shown on the map, but failed to find the treasure cave. Cochran finally gave up the search, and he and Brown returned again to Denver.

Brown afterward induced two other men to go with him on a third expedition, which proved as fruitless as the other two trips. On their return, Brown and his companions, one of whom was named Bevens and the other an unknown man, held up the coach near Morrison and secured about $3,000. Brown loafed around Denver until his money was all gone, when he stole a team of mules from a man in West Denver, and skipped out, but was captured with the mules in Jefferson county by Marshal Hopkins. Brown was brought to Denver and put in jail, while Gen. Cook was serving his second term as sheriff. When Sheriff Willoughby took charge in 1873, Brown slipped away from the jailer and concealed himself until he had an opportunity to escape. He went to Cheyenne, and from there to Laramie City, where he was killed in a drunken row.

Gen. Cook secured Brown’s map, and a full account of the outlaw’s career substantially as given here, and although he has had many opportunities to sell it to parties who wished to hunt for the treasure, he declined all of them, preferring rather to wait for the publication of this work. There is no question but that the treasure is still hidden in the mountain, and, although the topography of the country has been changed somewhat in the last thirty-three years by forest fires, floods and snow-slides, some one may yet be fortunate enough to find it.

CAPTURE OF THE ALLISON GANG.

CHAPTER IV.

Frank A. Hyatt, of Alamosa, Colo., assistant superintendent of the Rocky Mountain Detective Association for the district embracing Arizona, New Mexico and southern Colorado, has a greater string of captures of criminals and desperadoes to his credit than any other officer in that section. He served three years as city marshal of Alamosa, when that town was accounted one of the toughest places in the Southwest, and has been for twenty years deputy sheriff of Conejos county, Colorado. The people of that section have learned to appreciate his worth, and when desperate criminals are to be taken Frank Hyatt is the first man called upon. Plain, modest and unassuming, Mr. Hyatt does not pose as a man-killer, although he has more than once taken his life in his hands in desperate encounters with criminals, and has been compelled to take human life to save his own. His rule has been to capture his men by strategy, leaving the law to deal justice to them, rather than to kill them in trying to make arrests. He is still deputy sheriff of Conejos county, and his name is as much of a terror to evil-doers as of old, although he does not employ as much of his time in hunting bad men as he did in the early ’80’s. In fact, the bad men have learned to shun his section pretty carefully.

Mr. Hyatt is engaged in the manufacture and sale of a patent handcuff, the best thing of the kind made, of which he is also the inventor. It is known as the “Dead Cinch,” and once it is snapped on a prisoner he can not escape. Give him the key and he can not unlock it; still his hands have more freedom than with the old-style handcuff. One hand can be loosened to allow the prisoner to feed himself, while the other is held fast in its grip. It is almost indispensable to officers, who have charge of desperadoes, or even of the insane, as hundreds of sheriffs, policemen and other officers scattered over Colorado, New Mexico, Arizona and Utah can attest.

“DEAD CINCH” HAND CUFFS.

One of Mr. Hyatt’s greatest exploits was the capture of the Allison gang of stage robbers in 1881, shortly after he became a member of the association. This gang was composed of Charles Allison, Lewis Perkins and Henry Watts. Allison was a Nevada horse thief, who had escaped from Sheriff Mat. Kyle, of Virginia City, while that officer was conveying him to the state penitentiary at Carson City, after his conviction and sentence for ten years, in 1878, by jumping from the train. He made his escape and came to Colorado. In some way he ingratiated himself into the good opinion of Sheriff Joe Smith, of Conejos county, and was made a deputy sheriff. For a time he performed the duties of his position very satisfactorily, but he finally drifted into the holdup business, while still a deputy sheriff, with Perkins and Watts as his partners.

Alamosa, in the spring of 1881, was the terminus of the Denver and Rio Grande railroad, and stages ran from there in nearly every direction. This afforded a fruitful field for the robbers and in less than a month they had robbed five coaches, securing plunder worth several thousand dollars. Emboldened by their successes, they decided to operate on a larger scale, and riding into Chama, N. M., they terrorized the inhabitants by firing off their revolvers. When most of the inhabitants had sought places of safety, they went through the stores at their leisure, taking all the money they could find and what other stuff they wanted. A few days later they repeated the experiment at Pagosa Springs, Colo., and were again successful.

By this time the people were thoroughly aroused. Gov. Pitkin offered $1,000 reward for the capture of Allison, and $250 each for the other two, and the stage company offered an additional $250, which last, we may remark parenthetically, was never paid. Notwithstanding the heavy rewards offered, no one seemed to care about hunting up the outlaws. They were known to be well armed and equipped, and it was thought that as they would in all probability be lynched if caught, they would not surrender, preferring rather to die fighting. Judge Hayt, now chief justice of the state supreme court, was at that time district attorney for the twelfth district, with headquarters at Alamosa. He sent for Hyatt and asked him if he would not go after the robbers if he would issue a warrant. He replied that while everybody thought they couldn’t be taken, and that he was only a young and inexperienced officer, he would do his best.

Hayt issued the warrant, and Hyatt secured the services of Hank Dorris, an old ranchman, on whom he could rely; Miles Blaine, an Alamosa saloon keeper, and Cy. Afton, a painter, and at once started after the gang. It was soon learned that they had gone almost due south from Chama, and Hyatt divined immediately that they had gone to Albuquerque, N. M. Putting his men on the train, they all rode to Española, the end of the road, and from there they went by stage on to Santa Fe, and then took the train for Albuquerque. Hyatt felt sure that the robbers would cross the Rio Grande at that point, so he put his men to guarding the bridge, while he inquired about town to learn whether they had already passed through or not. He could find no traces of them, so he concluded that they had not yet reached the city. After waiting all day and all night, Hyatt decided to leave his men there, and go back up the road himself to Bernalillo, eighteen miles above, to look for them there.

Hyatt got off the train at Bernalillo and went into a restaurant to get breakfast, and while he was eating who should walk in but the very men he was after! They set their three Winchesters by the door, and as they seated themselves at the table Allison drew his two revolvers from his belt and laid them on his lap.

It was a trying moment. Allison had been slightly acquainted with Hyatt, while they were both serving as deputy sheriffs of Conejos county, and had the detective given a sign of recognition would have shot him dead before he could reach a gun. Hyatt’s face remained as immovable as that of the Sphinx. He simply looked up, said “Good morning, gentlemen,” and went on nonchalantly eating his breakfast.

His conduct disarmed the suspicions of the men, and when he had finished his meal he walked out as unconcernedly as if there were no stage robbers within a thousand miles. He went to the depot, where he could watch their movements, and when they had come out and rode off southward sent a dispatch to his assistants at Albuquerque to meet them on their way, and telling them that he would follow on horseback. Then he went to looking for a horse. There was none to be had. Finally an old Mexican drove in with two fine horses hitched to a wagon. After some parley, he agreed to furnish a horse and go with Hyatt for $100. They set out and followed the robbers, keeping within sight of them, until they stopped about two miles from Albuquerque.

Meanwhile they had seen no signs of Dorris, Blaine and Afton, who should have met them before this. Hyatt and the Mexican cut across toward town and found their men just saddling up to start, having only just then received the telegram. The robbers had camped within sight of town, and Hyatt thought they might be decoyed into town and taken without bloodshed. He knew that somebody would be killed if they attempted to capture them in their camp.

At this juncture, Jeff Grant, a liveryman, volunteered to go out to the robbers’ camp and try to bring them in. He got on a bareback horse, and pretended to be looking for horses that had strayed off. He went up to the camp, inquiring about horses, and finally struck up a conversation with them. Allison told him they were on their way to Lincoln county, N. M., Grant fell in with the idea at once, and told Allison that he wanted to go down there himself about the 19th of June (this was Saturday, the 17th), and would like to have them wait and go with him. They claimed they were short of funds, but Grant told them that he owned a livery stable, and that it should not cost them anything to stay over a couple of days and rest up. He added that the reason he wanted them to go with him was that he was going to take down a string of race horses and quite a sum of money to back them with, and as the country was infested with thieves and desperadoes, he did not like to go alone.

Arrest of the Allison Gang at Albuquerque by Marshal Hyatt.

This decided the robbers. Here was a good chance to rest up their jaded animals at some one else’s expense, and also a prospect of some very good picking afterward. Of course, they would wait and go along with him if that was the case.

Pretty soon Hyatt and his men saw the four men come riding into town. They hastily concealed themselves in the barn, Hyatt climbing into the hay mow, and the others getting back in the mangers. They had but a minute to wait. The men rode into the barn, dismounted, and Grant led the horses back.

The three men stood close together. “Throw up your hands!” commanded Hyatt. They hesitated a moment, but when they caught the gleam of a Winchester only a few feet from their heads, three pairs of hands shot up instanter. They were disarmed and put in chains in a few moments, and telegrams were sent out announcing their capture.

Some of the local authorities were disposed to interfere in the case, and to avoid any trouble in getting a requisition, Hyatt agreed to turn over the $500 reward offered by Gov. Shelton of New Mexico to them. It was a cowardly holdup, but Hyatt couldn’t well help himself, as the big end of the reward was offered by Gov. Pitkin, and he had to get the prisoners to Colorado in order to get it.

They were allowed to depart with their prisoners, and in due time reached Alamosa without further incident. They placed them in jail, and Hyatt, almost worn out with loss of sleep, went home and went to bed. In a few minutes he was awakened by a messenger from Mayor Broadwell saying that a mob was being formed to take the prisoners from the jail and lynch them. Hyatt at once gathered a crowd of his friends, among whom were Judge Hayt, Mayor Broadwell, Hon. Alva Adams, now governor of Colorado, and a number of others, and took the prisoners from the jail, put them in a caboose with an engine attached, which the mob had provided to take them outside of town before stringing them up, and signalled to the engineer to pull out, with an angry mob of several hundred following.

They escaped from the mob, and the next day the three prisoners were placed behind the bars of the Arapahoe county jail at Denver. Gov. Pitkin promptly paid Mr. Hyatt the $1,500 reward, and gave him $50 out of his own pocket.

When the excitement had partially subsided the three men were taken back to Conejos, the county seat, tried, convicted, and sentenced to the pen for thirty-seven years each.

Perkins was pardoned out after having served eight years, and is now running a big saloon and gambling hall at Trinidad, and is supposed to be worth at least $25,000. Allison was pardoned after having served ten years, and is now tending bar in a Butte City, Mont., saloon under an assumed name. Watts, the third member of the gang, was pardoned out at the same time Allison was let out, and afterward joined a band of train robbers and was killed in Arizona about two years ago.

A COWBOY’S SAD FATE.

CHAPTER V.

Johnny Van Pelt, a cowboy, who used to make his headquarters at Alamosa, was as reckless a lad as ever punched cattle in southern Colorado, a region particularly known for its tough characters, and while there was nothing exceptionally bad in his make-up, his recklessness and his desire to help a friend out of trouble cost him his life, and very nearly resulted in the death of two brave officers.

William Morgan, an old acquaintance of Van Pelt’s, was in jail in Buena Vista, charged with the murder of his father-in-law. He managed to get word to Van Pelt in some way that he was in jail, asking him to assist him in escaping. Van Pelt at once quit work, and getting a couple of saddle horses, he helped Morgan to break jail, and the precious pair rode southward, intending to go to Old Mexico. They traveled on down the valley until they reached Hank Dorris’ ranch, fourteen miles above Alamosa. Dorris had known Van Pelt, and their idea in stopping there was to borrow some money. He was not at home, and they staid around two or three days waiting for his return, sending word by one of his friends that they were there waiting to see him. Shortly after their arrival at the ranch, Marshal Frank Hyatt, of Alamosa, received a telegram from Sheriff J. J. Salla, of Buena Vista, offering $50 reward for the capture of Morgan and Van Pelt. He kept a close look-out for a day or two, when he happened to run across his old friend, Dorris, of whom he made inquiries as to whether any one answering their description had been seen up the valley. Dorris was surprised to learn that Van Pelt was a fugitive from justice, and telling Marshal Hyatt that he had just received word from his ranch that they were there waiting for him, volunteered to go out and help the officer get them. Dorris was sitting on his horse and Marshal Hyatt was just going after his own animal when Van Pelt rode up and tied his horse in front of the postoffice. He spoke pleasantly to the two officers, and when he had tied his horse, stepped up and shook hands with the marshal. As he did so the marshal said, “Johnny, I guess I will have to hold you awhile.” Van Pelt jumped back, and drawing a revolver from each overcoat pocket leveled them at the marshal’s breast.

Although the desperado had the drop on him, the brave officer never flinched. He dared not attempt to draw a gun, so he decided to talk Van Pelt out of shooting. Looking him straight in the eye, he said: “Don’t shoot, Johnny; you haven’t done anything to shoot me for.” Van Pelt, his eyes still glaring with savage hate, evidently decided not to add cold-blooded murder to his crimes, but keeping the officer covered, commenced backing away to where his horse was tied. Just then Dorris, who had slipped off his horse while the parley was going on, grabbed Van Pelt from behind. The desperado jerked loose from Dorris, and, whirling around, fired at him, the ball cutting through his coat and vest and cutting a cigar in his vest pocket in two, but doing no serious damage. He then turned and fired at Marshal Hyatt, who had torn his overcoat open and gotten his own gun by this time. Then began a three-cornered battle—Van Pelt retreating toward his horse, and firing as he went, with the two officers following closely, and keeping up a fusillade of bullets.

When Van Pelt reached the telegraph pole where his horse was tied, he took shelter behind it, and commenced to untie his horse with his left hand, while he kept shooting with his right. Just as he got his horse untied, Hyatt and Dorris both fired, and both shots took effect, one entering the breast and the other smashing his thigh. He dropped his remaining gun, let go his horse, and still holding to the pole, sank slowly to the earth, saying “I’m killed.” In twenty minutes he was dead.

Leaving the coroner to take charge of Van Pelt, Hyatt and Dorris hurriedly mounted their horses and started for the latter’s ranch to secure Morgan. Arriving at the ranch, they found Morgan busy getting supper, having unbuckled his belt containing his revolvers and thrown it on a lounge. At Hyatt’s command, he put up his hands with alacrity. It was but the work of a few minutes to tie him securely, and Marshal Hyatt was soon on his way back to Alamosa with the fugitive.

Killing of Van Pelt on the Streets of Alamosa by Officers Hyatt and Dorris.

But little else remains to be told. The verdict of the coroner’s jury was that the officers had killed Van Pelt while in the discharge of their duty. Thomas O’Connor, a shoemaker, who stuck his head out of the shop door when the shooting began, was struck in the cheek by a glancing bullet, but was not seriously injured. Morgan, the man who caused all the trouble, was taken up to Buena Vista, tried for the murder of his father-in-law, convicted, and sentenced to the penitentiary for eight years. People generally thought he should have been hung, as he was the cause of at least three deaths. After her husband’s murder, his mother-in-law died of grief, and Van Pelt, as has been related, was killed while trying to help the murderer escape.

DENVER’S LAST LEGAL HANGING.

CHAPTER VI.

The murder of Street Car Driver Joseph C. Whitnah by the two negroes, Green and Withers, is noted not only for the cold-blooded nature of the crime, but for the swift retribution which followed.

Whitnah was shot dead by Andy Green, a negro tough, on the night of May 19, 1886, in the boot of his car, at the Gallup turn-table at Alameda avenue, on Broadway street, in Denver. Green and an accomplice named John Withers, generally known as “Kansas” by his associates, were bent on robbery. Denver did not then have her splendid system of cable and electric cars, but the old-fashioned horse cars in a measure filled their place. These cars carried no conductor, the passenger simply depositing his fare in a little box in the front of the car in sight of the driver, who also carried a box containing change for the accommodation of such passengers as might not have the requisite nickel. Sometimes the driver would have as much as $20 or $25 in his possession—scarcely enough to tempt the average highwayman.

About 10 o’clock on the night of the murder, several parties living in the vicinity of the turn-table heard a shot, then a scream, and then another shot. A number of men ran to the scene of the shooting, but Whitnah, the driver, was dead when they reached him. One or two of them had seen a man running from the scene immediately after the shooting, but whether he was white or black they could not tell.

The police soon arrived, but not a single clue to the perpetrators of the dastardly crime could be obtained. What made the case all the more difficult was the total absence of any apparent motive for the crime. The money box had not been touched, and the young man, who was popular and well liked by every one, was not known to have an enemy in the world. Another thing which greatly complicated the case, was the number of robberies and holdups that occurred the same night, and the officers vainly tried to connect this crime with some of the others.

Killing of Street Car Driver Whitnah by Green and Withers.

Since there was apparently no attempt at robbery, many people believed that there was a woman in the case, and Sheriff Cramer and his deputies went so far as to assert they had positive evidence that the crime had been committed by one of the men who was first on the scene, a blacksmith by the name of F. O. Peterson. He was held by the coroner’s jury for several days—long enough for the actual murderers to have escaped had they chosen to do so—but was finally discharged, there being not a particle of evidence against him.

Gen. Cook had taken a great deal of interest in the case from the start. Whitnah had formerly been employed by him on his ranch near Denver, and as he was an honest, industrious and inoffensive young man, Gen. Cook was very anxious to have his murderer caught and punished. Although not connected with either the sheriff’s office or the police department at the time, Gen. Cook had gone quietly to work making inquiries on his own account, having confidence in the old adage, “Murder will out.” He soon learned that a negro named Larry Foutz who hung out at a very disreputable Larimer street saloon, had been dropping a hint or two to his associates that he could tell a whole lot about the mysterious murder if he chose, and at once had him brought to the office of the Rocky Mountain Detective Association. Foutz did not deny having knowledge of the crime, but wanted to be assured by Gov. Eaton personally that he would receive the $500 reward which had been offered for the arrest of the murderer in case he gave information that would lead to the arrest of the guilty parties. Gen. Cook at once took him to the governor, who gave him the assurance asked for, and Foutz immediately put Gen. Cook into possession of the principal facts in the case, and enabled him to arrest the murderers within a very few minutes.

Foutz’s story was to the effect that he had talked to Green that evening at the saloon, and that Green had proposed that Foutz and “Kansas” Withers should go out with him and rob a street car driver. Foutz seemed to consider the proposition very favorably, but got very drunk before they got ready to start and was left behind. He talked to Green the day after the killing, and Green told him that the reason they killed Whitnah was that he did not throw up his hands when commanded, as he was turning his car. Green fired a shot to scare him, and he gave a couple of loud screams. Green then stepped closer and shot him through the body, and he immediately fell back dead. Withers was to have secured the money box, but when the shooting occurred he ran like a deer. Green heard a man coming and he followed Withers.

Gen. Cook lost no time in arresting the two men. He went to Chief of Police Hogle and found that Green, who had been arrested and fined for carrying concealed weapons a few days before, was still on the chain gang in North Denver. The patrol wagon was secured, and in less than an hour Green was in jail. Withers was carrying a hod on a new building going up on Arapahoe street. He was at once taken into custody, and confessed his share in the crime before the jail was reached. His confession did not differ materially from the story already related by Foutz, except that he insisted that he was not a party to the killing, having told Green that he would not go along if there was to be any shooting.

Green was much more reticent and could not be induced to talk for a long time. Being told that Withers had already confessed he at length decided to tell his side of the case. He had nothing new to tell as the detectives already knew he was the man who had committed the cruel murder. He denied that he had gone out there with any intention of killing the driver, but simply fired the first shot to scare him, and as the ball was afterward found lodged in the top of the car, his story was undoubtedly true. He said that Whitnah’s screams scared him, and he made another step or two towards him and then fired to kill him, as he said, “To stop his d——d racket.” He then ran after Withers. They then went to their homes and went to bed, and had it not been for Foutz’s talk might never have been suspicioned of the crime.