During the latter part of October, 1877, Judge Foster, a judge in one of the districts of the United States courts in Kansas, was spending a few days in Colorado, enjoying the delightful autumn weather of this climate, when there came a sudden call upon him to go home to hear proceedings in an important railroad suit, in which the Kansas Pacific company was interested. It was a case demanding almost immediate attention, and distance must be annihilated in some way. The Kansas Pacific railroad was the connecting link between Denver and the point at which the judge’s presence was wanted. He had hardly expressed his desire one evening to be in Lawrence, Kan., the next morning in time to open court, when an engine with a sleeping car attached was announced to be at his disposal. A few moments later and Judge Foster had seated himself in the car and the engineer was told to fly.

Just as the car wheels were beginning to revolve, an encited individual rushed unnoticed through the dark and caught the car as the rear end passed by him. Swinging himself from the ground to the seat of the rear platform he became a fellow traveler with Judge Foster on his lightning express, they being the only passengers. There was considerable difference between the two men, in social position, in official rank and all that makes man well-to-do and respected in the world. The man who had joined the judge was a thief, a bigamist, a strolling fiddler and now a fugitive from justice. A queer combination—the same fast train hurrying one individual off that he might mete out justice and another that he might evade justice.

The train rushed out of Denver into the prairie land beyond, and pushed on through the darkness towards the east at the rate of fifty miles an hour. Judge Foster lay back in his cosy apartments and went to sleep. His fellow passenger clung desperately to his hard board seat in the rear and busied himself in holding his place, while the train bounced junkety junk over the rail couplings. The subject of his revery as he sat thus confined to his seat must have been a medley of women, of dance hall music, of police officers, of a lovely little home with wife and child down in the silvery San Juan, of a voyage and illicit courtship on the ocean, of wandering along the banks of foreign streams talking of home in the Rocky mountains, while still he was far away in the Faderland. Whatever the reverie may have been, it was suddenly interrupted after it had had full sway for some five hours, by a heavy hand falling upon the shoulder of the fugitive.

“Who are you?” was demanded.

“My name is Bernheim.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I am going east.”

“How did you get on?”

“I jumped on.”

“With whose permission?”

“With my own.”

“Then you will have to get off.”

“All right.”

This is a portion of a conversation which our fugitive had with the brakeman of the little train. The party was nearing Wallace, Kan., where it was desired to stop, and the brakeman had come out to be at his post of service when the whistle of the locomotive should warn him that it was time to apply the brake. The shrill cry was heard just as the conversation was concluded, and the trainman turned to do his duty. In a few seconds the train had stopped perfectly still and the brakeman turned to the unwelcome passenger to renew his command to move off. But the fellow had anticipated him and had jumped off as the train slackened and had disappeared. He thus bade adieu to Judge Foster and his fast train, the latter having been of all the service to him that it was possible to be, as he had cleared the limits of Colorado and felt that he had given the officers a slip which one scamp in ten thousand does not have the opportunity to give.

We, too, dismiss the judge and his whirling car and also for the present the fugitive from justice and take him up at another time of life. We still for the present stick to the Kansas Pacific road, however.

In the fall of 1876, a year previous to the occurrence above described, on an eastern-bound train, two Germans, a man and a woman, became acquainted. At first the acquaintance was commonplace, made up of formal courtesies, but when upon comparing notes the two travelers found that each was bound for the same country, Germany, and that that was the native land of each of them, and when later they became passengers on the same vessel across the ocean, the acquaintance assumed something of a romantic nature. To make it brief, they landed in the old world affianced. The lady’s name was Miss Maggie Harencourt, of Denver, a cousin of Mr. Jacob Schuler, of the same place, and she was visiting Germany for her health. The man’s name, as given the lady, was Sally Bernheim, a native of Dusseldorff, Germany, and as he represented to Miss Harencourt, a merchant from Lake City, Colo., on his way to visit the scenes of his boyhood.

In Germany they saw much of each other, Bernheim urging the lady to become his wife, and she repeatedly refusing on account of her health. When he returned to America, which he did in the following spring, he obtained from his sweetheart a promise to marry him on her return to this country. She at the same time informed him of a legacy to which she had recently come into possession, the amount of which she did not disclose, but it was supposed to be something handsome.

A correspondence was opened between the two, which was kept up with regularity and fervor on both sides. The lady had proposed that the marriage take place upon her arrival in New York, Bernheim to go to that point from Colorado to meet her. Pleading the unnecessary expense and the demands of his business, the lover succeeded in gaining the consent of his fiancee to a marriage in Denver, to be consummated whenever Bernheim should learn from her of her arrival in the city. Miss Harencourt arrived October 20, 1877, and registered at the American house, and notified her waiting true love at Lake City of the fact of her presence. She remained at the hotel three days and then repaired to the residence of her cousin, Mr. Schuler, whom she told of her expected early marriage.

A few nights later the Denver and Rio Grande train from the south brought among its passengers Mr. Sally Bernheim, of Lake City, who took a room at the American. The next day he called upon his promised bride, and their meeting was most affectionate. A speedy marriage was urged by Bernheim and consented to by the lady.

In the course of the forenoon they took a walk about the city, and the confiding Miss Maggie told Bernheim that she had nine new $100 bills, with which she hoped to endow him, a small portion of the legacy to which she had lately come into possession. With a natural and becoming solicitude the groom expectant urged the impropriety of her carrying so large a sum of money with her, and suggested that she entrust the funds to him, and that he would deposit the money in the Exchange Bank in her name and subject to her check. A thankful consent was given, and leaving the lady at her house, Bernheim went to the bank and deposited the $900—in his own name.

That afternoon at 3 o’clock the pair called at the residence of Rev. J. G. Leist, of the German Methodist church, and the twain were made one flesh. They, now Mr. and Mrs. Sally Bernheim, repaired at once to Brunell’s boarding house, then a fashionable place, on Fourteenth street, where the best the house afforded was extended to them, and Sunday was passed in the delectability of the honeymoon. Monday forenoon a man giving his name as H. A. Thompson, who was introduced to Mrs. Bernheim by the husband as a friend from Garland, called on them at Brunell’s, the bearer of a letter from Bernheim’s partner at Lake City, which stated the necessity of purchasing a bill of groceries at Kansas City. The letter was written in a business-like manner and shown to the bride, who was forced to admit the necessity of a brief separation from her husband, for, of course, the expense and trouble of her accompanying him was not to be thought of. It was decided then that Bernheim was to go East to purchase goods.

For some reason this plan was not acted upon, or rather a new phase in the affair changed the course of the plot, as will be seen. The following day Mr. and Mrs. Bernheim repaired to Dr. Buckingham’s office, the lady requiring medical attention. While there a man entered the office, and walking to Bernheim, said loudly:

“How is wife number two?”

Receiving no reply he turned to the horrified bride and asked:

“Are you this man’s wife?”

She replied, greatly agitated, “I am, sir.”

“Why,” said the stranger, “you are not; and this man, if he has married you, is a bigamist, and has a wife and child in this very state. I am a sheriff from his home and have come to arrest him.”

Imagine the feelings of the poor woman, her dream of happiness thus rudely brought to a close. But where was the man who had wronged her? While the stranger and the woman had been talking, Bernheim had slipped out of the room and could not be found. The stranger rushed in pursuit, but had no sooner passed out of the office than the husband returned, saying he had simply hidden. He admitted to the weeping woman the truthfulness of the charge. He was married, but was carried into the terrible wrong he had done by his passionate love for her. Now, nothing remained for him but to fly. He left the heart-broken woman swooning in the office and started by the rear entrance to the building for the depot. This was about 3 o’clock in the afternoon.

Dr. Buckingham was informed by the woman of the wretchedness of her condition, and that worthy gentleman hastened at once to the office of the Rocky Mountain Detective Association, where he laid the matter before Chief Cook, bringing that officer and also Sheriff Abe Ellis, of Pueblo, who was in the office, to the room where Mrs. Bernheim was waiting their coming. In broken sentences the woman told them her story. Sheriff Ellis at once recognized from her description of her husband a somewhat noted character of Southern Colorado, named Charles Blume, a fiddler who had furnished music for social parties and dance houses in Garland, Lake City, Las Animas and other towns for the past three or four years. He had married a young woman at Las Animas in 1875, who with their baby was living in Lake City.

The detectives undertook to find Bernheim, or Blume, if possible, although the outlook seemed very gloomy. No one could be found who had seen the rascal since he had disappeared from Dr. Buckingham’s office, and there was no trace to be had of him. The next day the man Thompson, who had brought the letter to Bernheim, was arrested at the American house. He denied all knowledge of the affair, except that he bore a letter from Lake City to Denver for Bernheim. But when, upon searching him, a telegram, written to be sent Bernheim at Wallace, was found in his pocket, he confessed that he knew something was wrong, and that he had come to Denver in answer to a telegram from Bernheim, and had received from that worthy the letter he represented as having brought from Lake City. He said, furthermore, that his name was H. A. Morris, and that he took a fictitious name at Bernheim’s instigation, as he knew that party had done. Thompson was locked up.

The next morning, November 1, Deputy Smith, at the instigation of Chief Cook, took the east-bound express on the Kansas Pacific in pursuit of Bernheim, or Blume, it being very evident from the dispatch found on Thompson that he was somewhere on that road. At noon of the same day a telegram was received from Deputy Smith to the effect that Bernheim had stolen a ride on the special car carrying Judge Foster to Wallace, and instructing the officers to head the man off by telegraph. The wires were at once clicking, sending word to the agents of the detective association at Junction City, Topeka, Leavenworth and Kansas City, and that night about 9 o’clock word came over the wire from Sheriff D. R. Kiehl, at Junction City:

“Your man Bernheim is under arrest.”

He was brought back without difficulty, and had to serve out an eight year’s sentence in the penitentiary at Cañon City. At last accounts his first wife was still living in Lake City, and the second was still in Denver. Morris was discharged from custody.

TWO OF A KIND.

CHAPTER XLIII.

Back in the early days, two of the most noted desperadoes and horse thieves of the Rocky mountain region were George Britt and William Hilligoss, who, like many others, did not come to grief until Gen. Cook got on their track. They had been guilty of many crimes, but no one ever succeeded in overtaking them until Dave Cook was elected city marshal of Denver, and made it his duty to track them down, which he did, almost unaided, and brought them to town in four days after their crime.

When Cook was elected marshal of Denver for the first time, in 1866, he printed a notice, saying that he would agree to find stolen stock when notified twenty-four hours after its disappearance, and that if he did not find it, he would pay for it himself, after such notification. One day in December, 1867, a well-known ranchman named McIntyre came to the city and put up at McNassar’s corral, which then stood on the present site of the American House. The next morning the horses had disappeared, and Mr. McIntyre was quite in despair. The animals were very fine ones, and the loss would have been very severe upon him. He had little hope of recovering them, as up to that time the thief who had been able to once get away with stock had generally made good his escape.

However, Cook undertook to find the stock, telling Mr. McIntyre to be of good cheer, as the chances were that he would yet secure his property for him. In looking about, he discovered that Britt and Hilligoss, whom he had already spotted, had disappeared. He at once came to the conclusion that they were the guilty parties. This “pointer” once obtained, he soon added one clue to another, until he was quite thoroughly convinced that his men had gone north. Selecting as an assistant a deputy marshal named Rhodes, he started in pursuit on horseback.

The weather was freezing cold, but the officers traveled forward, notwithstanding this disagreeable circumstance, stopping only to make inquiries for the fugitives and to get their meals. The trail was struck at the Platte bridge and followed by the officers to Boulder, where it was lost.

Two days and nights were spent in the effort of the officers to run their game down, but apparently to no avail. On the third day Gen. Cook returned to Denver, having left Rhodes in Boulder. He had scarcely arrived, and had had no time for rest or recreation, when he received news from Capt. J. W. Barron, of Bijou Basin, a member of the detective association, telling him that two men answering the description which he had sent out of Britt and Hilligoss had passed there acting very strangely. Barron’s message stated that the men had applied for something to eat. They had stated that they were traveling to Denver, but after getting a short distance from Bijou had turned, circumventing the settlements and going towards Kansas.

“They are my men,” said Cook, “and I’ll go for them forthwith.”

He had not yet rested since his long ride to the north, but he was off on the next stage, which soon left for the East.

In those days there was no Kansas Pacific railroad to the East, and all the travel was done on coaches—not a very pleasant mode of traveling in cold weather, or when there were Indians about. This was a time when the plains abounded in Indians, and when it was necessary to keep a guard on the outside of the coach to protect passengers from the Sioux and Cheyennes and Arapahoes. It was also very cold weather, and frost-bitten feet and hands and ears were quite the fashion with the travelers of the time. But Mr. Cook started out undaunted. Stopping at Bijou Basin and other points only long enough to get information of the progress of the horse thieves, he pushed on with speed. At Cheyenne Wells he received information which made it quite certain to him that he was on the right track, and he exchanged his ordinary clothing for a stage driver’s outfit, so as to avoid detection. After crossing the Kansas line he heard of the fellows more frequently, and while sitting with the driver he espied two men just west of Pond creek, near Fort Wallace, whom he believed to be the men he sought. They had hired out as laborers, and were carrying picks and shovels, with which to begin operations. They were near the road, and as Cook drove closer to them, he established their identity beyond a doubt, so that he instructed the driver to stop after passing them a few feet, and get down and pretend that something had broken about the gearing. The driver did as instructed. Cook also dismounted and walked carelessly about, while the driver swore at the inate meanness of the stage gear.

CHAPTER XLIV.

Hilligoss and Britt were evidently taken entirely unaware. The two thieves had stopped and gone to work, and did not suspect the shabby looking stranger who was now standing with his back towards them only ten paces away, until he turned upon them with cocked pistol in his left hand and as usual, presented with an aim which they saw would be fatal, and commanded in clear and distinct tones:

“Hands up!”

They hesitated a minute.

Cook drew a finer bead.

“It’s no use,” said Britt; “he’s got us, d—n it!” and up their hands went.

Thus were two desperadoes, either one of whom was considered a match for any two ordinary men, taken by Gen. Cook. He even compelled them to disarm themselves by unbuckling their pistol belts and letting their pistols drop to the ground. Then he threw a pair of handcuffs to Britt and told him to put them on.

“I can’t,” Britt replied.

“Put it on or I’ll put a hole through you as big as a bay window.”

The fellow snapped the irons on. Both men were served in this way. Both horses were also recovered.

The succeeding night was spent at Fort Wallace waiting for the return stage, and Cook was compelled to stay up with his prisoners all night to guard them. The next day he started back with his men, riding with them in a stage coach, or freight coach, almost as dark as a dungeon even in the day. Cook had now been out for four nights and was naturally exhausted. He sat on the floor of the vehicle, his feet resting against the opposite side, while the two prisoners reversed his position, their feet resting against the same wall which supported his body. They were thus sitting when the officer dropped off to sleep after night came on. While thus situated Cook felt his pistol slowly crawling out of the scabbard by his side. He was awake in an instant, and, slapping his hand upon the weapon, found it half way out, one of the thieves having pulled it out with his feet. Mr. Cook demanded a light from the driver after this pleasant episode, which the driver at first declining to furnish, he told him that he could either give him a candle or carry two dead bodies to Denver, as he would most assuredly kill the two fellows if they were given another opportunity to bother him. The light was furnished.

Cook now set the two men in one end of the vehicle and took a seat himself in the other, telling them that he always slept with one eye open, and that if they even touched him again, he would blow them through. They didn’t touch him after this. They afterwards confessed that if they had gotten Cook’s pistol they meant either to kill him with it or make him set them free. He had a derringer besides the revolver, however, and would probably have been equal to the emergency if they had gotten his revolver. Still he did not care to risk himself in their power, and hence did not go to sleep again.

The scoundrels were as quiet as mice the rest of the way, and the journey to Denver was devoid of further incident, except that soon after the little matter referred to one of the thieves had complained that his handcuff hurt him. Thinking the fellow had been fooling with it in trying to get it off. Cook reached over and simply tightened it for him.

The officer arrived home on the fifth day out. He was, of course, almost worn out and nearly frozen. Turning the prisoners over to the jailer he went to bed and slept seventeen hours. When he awoke he found the man whose handcuffs he had so kindly tightened suffering great agony, and discovered then that George Hopkins, who was then jailer, had tried in vain to wake him to get the handcuff keys, but had failed utterly, so dead asleep had Cook been. He was sorry, but he couldn’t cry, as he had only, though unintentionally, punished a man who would have killed him if he had gotten an opportunity.

Britt and Hilligoss were afterwards tried and sentenced to three years’ imprisonment each, but both escaped after serving a year, and neither has ever been heard of since. The stock were returned to their owner, who, it may be inferred, was quite rejoiced at the success of the officer.

This, take it all in all, was a remarkable exploit—remarkable in the odds against Cook when the men were captured, in the persistence of the pursuit, and in its many details. It has, for these reasons, been chosen to suggest the frontispiece picture of this volume.

HANGED IN A HOG PEN.

CHAPTER XLV.

“Sedalia can not have Schamle. His goose is cooked. Found him hanging over a pig-stye this morning. Saltpetre can’t save him. Biggest show of the season.”

Such was a telegram received from Georgetown by Gen. Cook, on Saturday, the 15th day of December, 1877. Robert Schamle was a brute of a tramp who murdered an inoffensive man in Georgetown a few weeks previous to his lynching, and who was charged with having committed a rape in Sedalia, Mo., before coming to Colorado. He claimed to be the grandson of Schamyl, the Circassian warrior, who made a big name in his guerrilla warfare upon Russia in the early part of the present century. But the probabilities are that he lied in this matter, and he is believed to have been a native of Switzerland. Whatever his nationality or lineage, he disgraced it.

The murder was committed on the 13th day of October in the year mentioned, the name of the murdered man being Henry Thedie. Thedie was a respectable German butcher employed at G. E. Kettle’s slaughter house, about two miles below Georgetown, near which place he resided with his family, consisting of a wife and three small children. The evidence obtained at the coroner’s inquest conclusively proved that Schamle was the murderer, and that the crime was one of the most diabolical and cold-blooded outrages that ever stained the annals of a civilized country. The murdered man was known to have had about $80 on his person immediately prior to his death, and the possession of the money appears to have been the only motive for the perpetration of the hellish act.

Schamle was employed as a helper at the slaughter house at the time, borrowed a pistol at Harvat & Aicher’s slaughter house on the afternoon of October 12, and although the shooting was heard, and Schamle seen to flourish a pistol at 5 o’clock that evening, and immediately afterwards leave the place, the result of his bloody work was not known until the following morning, thus giving him a start of over half a day. There was no evidence of a struggle having taken place, or of any ill feeling having existed between the parties, and the position of Thedie’s body showed plainly that he had been deliberately shot and almost instantly killed.

The officers of the law started in pursuit of the wretch as soon as the crime was made known, but nothing definite as to the direction he had taken was discovered at that time. It was suggested in the Georgetown Miner that if The Rocky Mountain Detective Association should be employed it would probably result in his capture, but no steps were taken in that direction by the proper authorities. Two weeks later, Mr. G. E. Kettle employed that association, giving a description of Schamle, and promising a reward in case of his arrest. This step, as usual, had the desired effect. The fellow was traced by Gen. Cook’s force from Georgetown to Denver, from this place to a point on the divide, from there to Pueblo, and from Pueblo to West Las Animas, where he was arrested December 6, by Pat Desmond, a deputy of Abe Ellis, at that time sheriff of Pueblo county, and a member of the detective association.

The case was well worked up by Ellis, who was, during his life, one of the most efficient of Gen. Cook’s aids. In this case he had employed a colored man to track the murderer down, and he proved quite a capable detective. Gen. Cook had informed Mr. Ellis that Schamle was coming in that direction, and by some means Ellis became aware of the fact that the negro man had in days gone by been associated with the murderer and knew him. His sub-detective was stationed about the cattle yards at Pueblo, as that was considered the place at which Schamle would most probably turn up. The inference proved to be a correct one, and the watch had no difficulty in spotting the fellow, who came to the place and remained a day or two. While there he was very non-committal, but did not seem to carry any great weight upon his mind, as a murderer would be supposed to do. For this reason the negro had his doubts about his being the guilty man; and while he was hesitating about furnishing his information, Schamle swung into a freight train and took his departure, stealing a ride to West Las Animas.

Finding his man gone, Mr. Ellis sent his deputy in hot pursuit. Being overtaken, the fellow sullenly surrendered to Mr. Desmond and accompanied him back to Pueblo. He said but little on his way to Pueblo, but when told in Pueblo that a Georgetown man was coming down to identify him, he remarked:

“I wonder if they’ll hang me if they get me there,” and immediately relapsed into silence.

To Sheriff Ellis he denied ever having been in Northern Colorado.

Photographs were taken and sent to Georgetown for identification, and they were recognized at once; but to make doubly sure, George Chapman, Mr. Kettle’s clerk, went to Pueblo to see him personally, and he at once identified him.

When Chapman met Schamle he broke down and acknowledged the crime. He said that he quarreled with Thedie about skinning a beef; that Thedie knocked him down; that he got up and ran, and passing a pistol—which he said was borrowed to shoot some chickens—he seized it, turned and fired, and continued his flight, not knowing whether he had killed him or not. This is his story, while the fact is he murdered Thedie for his money.

CHAPTER XLVI.

On the 12th of the same month Schamle was taken to Georgetown by Sheriffs Ellis and Easley. It had been discussed on the streets and elsewhere that he was a proper subject for lynch law, but no demonstrations of that nature were made upon his arrival.

On the following day his shackles were removed in the presence of a large but not appreciative crowd. Their remarks on this occasion evinced no particular affection for him, and must have suggested to him the propriety of making arrangements for a trip to a warmer climate than Colorado. On the same day he was taken before J. P. DeMattos, justice of the peace, but waived examination and was committed to jail.

That was all right so far, but the public mind was somewhat agitated over the matter, and did not deem the Clear Creek county jail sufficiently secure for the safe keeping of such a wretch as Schamle. The report of the Sedalia rape case had also reached Georgetown, and this did not raise him any in the estimation of the people. An ominous murmur buzzed around on the streets. For one night he was permitted to slumber undisturbed, if the blessings of repose could lull such a brute, and for a few short hours render him insensible to the misery he had wrought.

On Saturday morning, the 15th, between 3 and 4 o’clock, a number of masked men kicked open the door of the room in which Mr. Sanders, the jailer, and A. W. Brownell were sleeping, and covered them with the light of a dark lantern and three pistols, at the same time requesting them, in a manner that showed they were not to be trifled with to hold up their hands and make no noise.

Hanging of Robert Schamle in a Georgetown Hog Pen, by a Mob.

Both were thus awakened from a sound slumber, and they instinctively obeyed orders, well knowing that resistance was in vain. The vigilantes then searched for the keys to the cells, and at length found them between the bed and the mattress where the jailer was sleeping. They then left the room, leaving two men to guard the door, and took Schamle from his cell, some time after which the keys were thrown on the bed where the men were lying, and the lynchers left.

Here there is a missing link in Schamle’s history. It is not known to the general public whether he made any unbecoming demonstrations, or protested his innocence, or said his prayers, the only record being that left with the body by a local poet, who half lets us into the secret in the following lines:

THE LAY OF THE VIGILANTES.
Not a bark was heard, not a warning note,
As we o’er to the calaboose hurried;
Not a Thomas cat cleared his melodious throat
Where our hero in slumber lay buried.

We entered his cell at the dead of night,
The bolt with the jail keys turning,
The moon’s pale crescent had sank out of sight,
And never a lamp was burning.

No useless stogas encased his feet;
And we saw, as we carefully bound him,
That he stood like a coward, dreading to meet
The shades of the victims around him.

Few and short were the prayers he said—
He did not have time to say long ones—
But he steadfastly gazed at the frame o’er his head
And grieved that the posts were such strong ones.

We thought, as we hoisted him up from the ground
And made the rope fast to a corner.
That the cool morning zephyrs would whisper around
A corse without ever a mourner.

Lightly they’ll talk of the deed that is done,
And wonder, “Who was it that hung him?”
Though little they’ll grieve to see him hang on
The beam where the “vigilance” swung him.

As soon as our cheerful task was done,
Ere the light of the morning was firing
The peaks that glow in the rays of the sun,
We prudently spoke of retiring.

Sternly and gladly we looked on him there
As we thought of his deeds dark and evil;
We heaved not a sigh and breathed not a prayer,
But we left him alone with the Devil.

This, to be sure, is slightly mysterious, and perhaps not entirely reliable. At any rate, the body of the murderer was found when the sun rose, hanging by the neck to the frame of a dilapidated building, a few hundred feet from the jail, which is used as a pig pen. As soon as the deed became generally known, a large crowd of both sexes collected at the spot to gaze upon the ghastly spectacle. His toilet had evidently been hastily and carelessly made, but possibly he was not to blame for this. He was minus his hat, coat and vest, and in spite of the predictions that are usually applied to his ilk, he did not die with his boots on.

Between 8 and 9 o’clock a brief inquest was held over the remains, and a verdict in accordance with the facts was returned. The body was then cut down and laid on the end of a large cask which served as a sleeping apartment for pigs. When it fell down the head was gashed by the rocks. The body remained where it was placed until 11 o’clock a. m., and during that time was viewed by hundreds of people who were constantly arriving and leaving, and among all that crowd there was not one pitying eye, or a single expression of sorrow or sympathy.

The action of the vigilantes was universally applauded in Georgetown; in fact, they were regarded as public benefactors.

A local paper said: “His capture is another demonstration of the effectiveness of The Rocky Mountain Detective Association, and of its great usefulness in bringing criminals to justice.”

A TUSSLE WITH THE HABEAS CORPUS.

CHAPTER XLVII.

During the month of October, 1877, Gen. Cook received a postal card containing the following:

The card was filed in the book devoted to such literature in the office of the Detective Association. No trace of the man was obtained, however, until in January, 1878, when another postal card from the Pennsylvania detectives stated that they had heard that the man was in Cheyenne and that $500 reward would be paid for his capture. This turned out to be a false report, but early in March Gen. Cook learned through a member of the Rocky Mountain Detective Association at Little Rock that the man had been seen there, and had only left a few days previous, on a rumor that the marshal of that place was about to arrest him, and that it was believed that he had gone to Colorado, most likely to Leadville.

The next clue bringing the game nearer home was the arrival in Denver, early in May, of a modest looking little woman, who registered at the Wentworth house, standing where now the St. James stands, as Mrs. G. M. Curtis, of Marysville, Cal. Soon afterwards Mrs. Curtis left the Wentworth and went to the Inter-Ocean, where she registered under the same name. The next day, Thursday, a man registering as G. M. Curtis put in an appearance, and claimed to be the husband of the woman. He registered from Marysville. Cal., also, and she acted as if his arrival had been anticipated. After his coming he was seen frequently in company with gamblers and sporting men. Gen. Cook, of the detective association, was then sheriff. He caught a passing glimpse of him Saturday afternoon, and at once hurried to the office to look up the description of Foulk. It answered perfectly, and having found the man, the next thing to do was to capture him. To accomplish this, the first officer retired from the field and Deputy Sheriffs Frank Smith and Arnold were detailed to work up the capture. They shadowed the man all day for two or three days and until 6 o’clock of the evening of the 26th, when, being satisfied that he was the party they were after, the two repaired to the Inter-Ocean and waited for Curtis to come in to supper. His wife happened to pass through the office, and seemed to have her suspicions aroused by seeing the two men present. She walked up to the clerk and remarked in a tone loud enough to be heard by the officers, “that she would go out and meet her husband, as he seemed to be late.”

Thinking that she was trying to mislead them, the officers followed her.

Mr. Smith then motioned to Mr. Arnold to come (meanwhile keeping an eye on Mrs. F.), and said: “Get my horse; she may be going off to get into her carriage.” Arnold did as requested, and overtook Smith several squares from the hotel. He then concluded to get back to the hotel as fast as he could, for he believed this to be a game put up on them to follow madame and allow the husband to get away. Arnold went back to the Inter-Ocean as fast as possible, it being understood that if he should find Foulk there, he should arrest him at once. Smith was to stay with the woman. Meanwhile Detective Smith closely watched Mrs. Foulk, who had entered Mr. Ballin’s store, on Larimer street.

Detective Arnold had scarcely time to go back to the hotel when Mr. Smith looked around and saw Arnold coming toward him with Foulk under arrest. He had been “nabbed” with the assistance of Officer Hudson, and the two came marching up the street with their prisoner between them—each having hold of an arm.

When Arnold entered the Inter-Ocean he saw Foulk standing in the hotel office. As soon as the officer entered, Foulk seated himself on a chair. Arnold walked up as though he intended passing Foulk, and, turning suddenly, grabbed his right arm firmly. Hudson came to his assistance, and seized the other arm, giving Foulk no chance to use his revolver.

Foulk sang out in a rage, “What do you want?”

Arnold replied: “You know something about the Bloodworth murder committed in Leadville?” [This was a ruse to throw Foulk off his guard and to get him away from the hotel quietly as possible.]

Foulk said: “I know nothing about Bloodworth.”

Mr. Arnold: “You do; and you must go with us.”

Foulk walked along quietly, thinking there was some blunder in the job, and that he could easily prove his innocence of the charge.

When Foulk was searched at the jail a large self-cocking revolver was found upon him. He was here told, in response to a question from himself as to what he had been arrested for, the facts in the case, but he denied everything, saying his name was Curtis and not Foulk, and that he was from California instead of Pennsylvania. Considerable money was found upon his person.

The prisoner was then taken to the county jail and examined. There was found in an inside vest pocket $933.55. He was searched again the same night, closely, and there were found carefully sewed up in the lining of his vest two $500 bills in one place and four $100 bills in another place, making the total amount he had on his person $2,383.55, for which amount Sheriff D. J. Cook, of Arapahoe county, gave Foulk a receipt, $5 being handed the prisoner for spending money. On the following morning Foulk’s wife visited him in prison, bringing with her W. D. Carlisle, a Denver lawyer. They held a conversation for some time, and going to the sheriff’s office demanded the money taken from the prisoner. Sheriff Cook flatly refused to hand it over until it was ascertained whether it justly belonged to Foulk. The prisoner’s wife and attorney left the office, and immediately entered suit against the sheriff for the sum taken from Foulk, adding $1,000 for damages.

Although Curtis continued to protest his innocence, there was no doubt left that he was the man wanted.

It is presumed that after leaving Little Rock the fellow came straight through and went to Leadville. It is known that he stopped at Fairplay, at the Bergh house, as the proprietor of that hotel, who was in the city just previous to the time of the arrest, seeing his name and that of his wife registered at the Inter-Ocean, sent up his card, but was told that they were not in. Curtis came to Denver evidently from Leadville. He was there through a portion of March, April and May. He was a part owner in a gambling house there, and the memorandum book showed the receipts of the house for each night in the month. The receipts aggregated $1,500 per month for the first two, and nearly that sum up to the 21st of May.

After his arrest it leaked out that his departure from Leadville was caused by the remark of his brother-in-law, a man named Creek, who was a partner in the gambling house, and who is now wanted for murder in Arkansas. It seems the two fell out over the management of the house, and Creek is said to have remarked in a crowd that he “could send Foulk back to Pennsylvania for firing a house.”

After his arrest here, a sporting man who seemed to have known him in Leadville, volunteered to go up there and settle up his business, which was still in operation.

Curtis was a very powerful built man, cool as a cucumber, and is said to have been left severely alone by the thumpers and roughs at Leadville, because of his determined manner and his threat openly expressed to kill any man who interfered with him. His wife showed great distress upon hearing of his arrest, and cried and sobbed at a great rate.

The Pennsylvania authorities being advised of the arrest, dispatched William McKeever, of Harrisburg, as a special officer to take him to that state. The officer arrived here with a requisition, and was soon on his way home with the prisoner, accompanied by Detective Smith. The officers gave it out that they expected to start on a Monday, but fearing a habeas corpus proceeding, left on Sunday, driving to a station with the prisoner a few miles out from the city.

CHAPTER XLVIII.