CHAPTER LIII.

As a rule officers of the law are careful of the lives and general safety of their prisoners, often taking great risk upon themselves to protect the unfortunates who may chance to fall into their hands. Yet they are occasionally compelled to resort to violence to protect themselves or to prevent the escape of criminals from their custody. Sometimes the officer brings his man down, and occasionally death is the result.

A man giving the name of John Doen became a victim to a fate of this kind in Cheyenne, in the summer of 1876. Doen was a deserter from the army, who had for several years been engaged in herding cattle on the plains, and he had accumulated some cattle of his own. He appears to have been naturally predisposed to rascality, and one night he happened along by the premises of Rufus Clark, residing near Denver, and seeing a good looking horse, he laid his hands upon him and rode him off. Mr. Clark brought the information of the disappearance of the animal to Detective Cook, and asked him to bring the skill of his association to bear in returning the animal to him. He was able to give no clue, either as to the appearance of the thief, or the route he had taken. After brief investigation of the matter, Gen. Cook decided in his own mind that the horse and the thief had gone in the direction of Cheyenne, and he determined to notify his assistant superintendent at that place, Mr. T. Jeff Carr, to be on the lookout for the pair. There was not a long waiting. Carr received the notification at 9 o’clock in the morning, and at 10 the same forenoon the thief rode into town with the animal, as Carr learned by a visit to the livery stable kept by a Mr. Jeffrey. Doen had put the horse up at the stable, and had stated that he meant to have him sold at auction that afternoon. The animal answered the description which Cook had sent, to perfection, and Carr determined to lose no time in taking possession of him and in getting the thief. Hence he procured the services of an assistant detective. Mr. Clark Devoe, also of the Rocky Mountain Association, and they laid a plan to capture the thief at the same time that they should take the horse. This was to lure Doen to the stable, and this project was accomplished by getting the liveryman to send for Doen and tell him that there was a man who wanted to buy his horse immediately, and that it would be well for him to repair to the stable and put the animal up for sale.

Shooting of John Doen, in Cheyenne, by Detective Carr and Devoe.

The plan worked. Doen soon put in an appearance. He found Carr and Devoe awaiting his arrival. The animal was accordingly put up, and a mock auction was gone through with. The horse was knocked down to Carr, and he requested a bill of sale, which was made out and signed by Doen, giving a description of the horse. Having procured this, Carr said:

“I think the description you have just given me corresponds exactly with the one I received this morning of a horse stolen from Denver.”

Doen seemed confused, and his confusion increased as Carr read the description from Denver, and his attempted explanations were a series of contradictions. Noticing the fellow’s embarrassment, Devoe stepped up, and, laying his hand upon Doen’s shoulder, said:

“I guess this thing has gone about far enough. You are in possession of a stolen horse, and I think you are the thief. I arrest you.”

Doen made no resistance and said nothing. He seemed inclined to make the best of a bad job, and the officers began to congratulate themselves that they had disposed of a disagreeable duty with but little trouble. They started off to the city jail with their man, and were proceeding leisurely along Eddy street, the prisoner being some eight or ten feet in advance of them. Having gained so much upon the detectives, the fellow started to run, and broke out suddenly for liberty. The officers started in pursuit, crying to the man to stop or be shot. But he paid no heed to their warning. Two shots were then fired into the air to frighten him into a surrender, but they had no more effect than the volley of words. Doen only ran the faster, and was gaining upon his pursuers all the time. It became apparent that he was in a fair way to make an effectual escape, and the officers increased their speed. Still the thief kept in advance. When he reached a point back of Recreation hall he placed his hands upon a high board fence and began to clamber over. When he reached the top of the fence he drew a pistol and leveled it at the officers. “Shoot him,” said Carr to Devoe. The officer sent a bullet whizzing through the air just as the fugitive fired. When the smoke cleared away Doen had disappeared from the fence. He was supposed to have continued his flight, and the officers had begun to fear that they had lost their prize. But in this supposition they were mistaken. When they came up to the fence they heard moans on the opposite side, and glancing over saw their prisoner lying on the ground, and the blood running from his wounds. He still held his pistol firmly, and showed more disposition to fight than ever.

“Throw away your pistol,” said Carr to him.

“I won’t,” was the reply. “I will fight to the last.”

“Throw that pistol down, I tell you,” again Carr commanded, as he drew a bead on the fellow’s forehead. “Will you put it down now?”

The thief relinquished the weapon reluctantly.

While Carr was examining the wounds, Devoe came up, and not noticing the pistol as it lay on the ground, stepped upon it and caused it to explode, creating a report which startled both prisoner and detectives but did no other damage.

Doen was taken to the jail and his wounds examined. They were at first pronounced not necessarily mortal, but a closer examination revealed the fact that the bullet had entered the small of the back and passed into the abdomen, causing internal hemorrhage, which resulted in death about ten hours after the shooting.

Before he died, Doen stated that he was a native of Pennsylvania, and that his real name was Edward W. Myers. He made no confession, however, and continued to the last to tell conflicting stories about the affair. He was a desperate man, and would undoubtedly have killed the officers if he could have done so. The Cheyenne Sun the next morning said:

“The unanimous sentiment of the community, so far as we are able to learn, is that Officer Devoe was perfectly justifiable, under the circumstances, and that he didn’t shoot the fellow a minute too soon. Nine out of ten men would not have exhibited half the leniency that these officers did on that occasion. This arrest is one more of the many evidences of the efficiency of the Rocky Mountain Detective Association. Within ninety minutes after receiving Sheriff Cook’s letter the criminal was in the county jail. Doen is said to be a deserter from the regular army, and he has visited Cheyenne several times before, and always as a dealer in horse flesh. That he belongs to a regularly organized band of horse thieves there is little doubt.”

PUEBLO VENGEANCE.

CHAPTER LIV.

Bill White’s career in Colorado was brief. It was cut short by an accident which he could not control. Bill made his advent in Denver in the spring of 1872, and he might have been here yet if he had behaved himself properly, and to the fact that he did not deport himself well is the origin of the pictures herewith presented due, and if used as a pair of chromos might be called, and not inaptly, “Before and After Taking.” He came from Chicago to Denver, but was originally from Montreal and was a well known Canada crook.

A great many of the Denver people were away from home when White made his advent into our society. They were attending a jollification at Pueblo which followed the completion of the Denver and Rio Grande road to that point. Many of the officers were absent, and White conceived it an excellent opportunity to get in his work. He had come to Denver from Canada, and was accompanied by a Kansas City man named Larnigan, who was known throughout the Missouri valley as “Handsome” Larnigan. They put up at the Broadwell house, a hotel kept in what is now known simply as the Broadwell block, on Larimer street, back of the Tabor block, and there began to ply their game. White’s role was that, of the invalid. He put plasters and liver pads all over him, and affected the Camille cough. He was a man of good appearance, and never had the least difficulty in winning the good will of people with whom he came in contact. Hence it was that when it came to be known that, on the night when so many were absent at Pueblo on pleasure, a boarder at the hotel had been robbed of a very fine watch valued at $700 and $300 in currency, no one suspected White, until Gen. D. J. Cook, of the Rocky Mountain Detective Agency, was consulted, and had spotted him and Larnigan as the thieves.

When the case was put in Cook’s hands he went to work without a clue, but in less than a day had satisfied himself that the guilt lay with these men. He accordingly proceeded to arrest the pair and to lock them up. But they had observed the attention that the detective was paying to their movements, and had “unloaded” when they were taken. The crime could not be proved against them, although Gen. Cook was satisfied of their guilt, and he was compelled to let them go. He, however, warned them that they must get out of town. “I know you are crooks,” he said to them, “and although I have failed now, it is only a matter of time when I shall get you if you stay here. So you had better skip.” They were liberated after this warning. White concluded to take Gen. Cook’s advice and to leave town, but Larnigan remained behind.

White went from Denver to Pueblo, and was not long in justifying Gen. Cook’s prophesy that he would get into trouble. Arriving in Pueblo, White took rooms at the National, the best hotel of the place, and was soon as familiar with the people there as he had been with those in Denver. He was a man of slight stature, and he played the invalid dodge there just as he had done in Denver. He put himself on good terms with the ladies, many of whom about the hotel had been anxious to do whatever they could do for “the poor fellow.” He was invited to the rooms of individuals in the hotel, and in fact was the pet of the house. Mr. White was thought to be anything else besides a thief. He had told the good people that his father had been a minister of the gospel in Canada, and he carried a gilt-edged Bible, the parting gift of his dear mother, he said.

When out with the boys, however, White was a very different sort of fellow. He was one of them. He appeared to be of a very affectionate and confiding disposition, but the most striking peculiarity about the young man was that he always appeared to be thoroughly and completely drunk. We say appeared to be, for with all our inquiries, we have yet to find the first one who actually saw him take a drink. Be this as it may, to the outsider the young man went to bed drunk at night, and got up drunk in the morning. He staggered at 9 o’clock. He clung to the telegraph pole at 10 o’clock. He rolled in the gutter at 12, and would be carted off to his room, blubbering meanwhile to those who towed along his worthless carcass, and telling how much he loved them. After the Pueblo robbery it was suspected that the young man had been “playing it on the boys.” It was then believed that he was not as drunk as he had pretended to be.

One morning it was discovered that during the previous night several rooms in the hotel had been entered and robbed of sums of money ranging all the way from five cents to $300, and of numerous watches and other valuable articles. It was ascertained that at about 2 o’clock the night previous some audacious thief had entered a bedroom containing two beds, in which reposed Gen. R. M. Stevenson, B. C. Leonard, one of the proprietors of the hotel, George Schick, and another man sleeping with Stevenson, whose name is unknown. In accordance with the usual custom, the door of the room had been left unlocked, and the burglar had an easy job, going through the sleepers in detail. Schick upon retiring had placed his clothes under the pillow. In his pocket ticked a gold repeater of exquisite workmanship, worth, with the chain, at least $300, while in the fob pocket of his pantaloons were two $100 bills. When he awoke in the morning he found his clothes precisely as he had placed them, not disturbed in the least, but his watch and money were gone. His exclamation of surprise awoke the others, and they commenced searching with varying results. Leonard found himself out a five-cent nickel and a few pool checks. Gen. Stevenson missed between four and five dollars in currency, while his room mate bewailed the loss of $15. Messrs. John and Cal. Peabody, who occupied a room over Jordan’s store, in the Conley block, were the next victims. The door of their room was locked, with the key inside, but the cracksmen turned this by means of nippers and walked in. Cal’s pocketbook, containing $142 in cash, was soon rifled, and a watch and chain, belonging to John Peabody, of no great value, taken. The pocketbook was found on the street corner in the morning, with nothing inside but a few papers. The room adjoining Mr. Peabody’s was occupied by Mrs. Snyder, a milliner, and the thief was ungallant enough to enter this and rob the slumbering lady of her gold watch and chain, valued at $125. Mr. George Perkins, a furniture dealer, was also visited and robbed of a watch and $300 in money.

Of course, the town was in an uproar, for Pueblo was not then so pretentious a place as it now is, and it did not take so long for news to travel all over the city. Officers were put to work. In a few hours the fact was developed that White, the popular invalid, was nowhere to be found. Zach Allen—who has since been killed, poor fellow!—was then sheriff of Pueblo county, and he became convinced that White had been guilty of the robbery. When he let a few words drop to that effect the announcement was met with loud protestations on the part of the ladies. They pooh-poohed the idea. Yet evidence accumulated to fasten the guilt upon White, and Allen determined to arrest him. But where to find him? That was the important question. He was not in Pueblo; that was certain. Mr. Allen decided to send the following telegram:

CHAPTER LV.

The telegram quoted at the close of the last chapter was “nuts” for Cook. He knew his man. Taking W. A. Smith—then an honored member and assistant superintendent of the association—with him, they started out in their search. They learned at the depot that a freight train had come in from Pueblo an hour before, and that it carried a passenger bearing the description of White. They had from the first kept close track of Larnigan, and knew his haunts. They knew further that White was most likely to join his pal immediately upon his arrival in Denver, and they started forthwith to search for them both at a joint ten-pin alley and saloon on Holladay street kept by one Green, which Larnigan was known to frequent. Thither they went, and throwing open the door to the establishment suddenly, they walked in. Sure enough, there stood their men before them. The room contained some half a dozen other men, but these two were nearest the door, and they were engaged in earnest conversation when the officers entered. White was standing with his back to the door which Larnigan was facing. Before the latter had had time to notify his pal of the entrance of the officers, which he had observed, Cook had stepped rapidly forward and laid a heavy hand upon the shoulder of White, pulling him around so as to face him.

As may be imagined, a scene followed. Everybody was astonished, and all in the room rushed forward to the assistance of White. The officers had stirred up a hornet’s nest. All was buzz and bustle.

“What is wanted?” demanded White.

“You.”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“Guess you are mistaken; I am not your man.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“Where’s your warrant?”

Arrest of Bill White in a crowded saloon in Denver, by Detectives Cook and Smith.

Just then Larnigan jumped forward and thrust his hand into White’s pocket, where it was to be naturally supposed White carried a pistol.

“Draw on him!” said Cook to Smith.

Promptly as clockwork out came Bill Smith’s revolver. “Shall I shoot the s—— of a b——?” he asked.

“Yes, shoot him dead if he makes a move.”

Cook himself wore a tight-lacing military jacket at that time over his pistol pocket and was delayed in getting out his own gun. The crowd was disposed to take advantage of this state of affairs and to assist White and Larnigan out of their awkward predicament. The barkeeper started for his pistol which was lying on a convenient shelf, and the crowd rushed forward for the purpose of cutting off the retreat of the officers with their prisoner. Dave Cook’s blood was thoroughly aroused at this spectacle, and Bill Smith stood with teeth set as if to defy the entire gang. Still holding his prisoner with his right hand, Dave tore his coat open with his left, sending his military buttons flying with a bound in all directions. In an instant the barkeeper was covered by Dave, who still held on to his prisoner with his right hand. The crowd was still in an instant.

“Throw up your hands!” commanded Gen. Cook. “Every one of you!”

When Dave Cook gives a command under such circumstances as these, those who hear it obey it. A dozen hands flew instantaneously into the air. The victory was complete. The capture was made.

“Now search him,” he said to Smith, while he himself held his pistol over the thoroughly awed crowd. The first pocket into which Smith thrust his hand yielded up a paid of burglar’s nippers and five stolen watches.

“Do you want to see our warrant now?” demanded Cook.

“No,” replied White quite demurely, “I guess you’ve got proof enough. But,” he added, “don’t take me to Pueblo; they’ll hang me sure.”

With this the officers marched out of the saloon with their prisoner, and he was soon securely locked up in jail and all the stolen property recovered in less than an hour’s time after the first information of the Pueblo burglaries was received.

The next morning Gen. Cook started to Pueblo with his prisoner, who was greatly frightened at the idea of going back to face the wrath of those whose confidence he had so grossly abused.

“They’ll hang me; they’ll hang me. I know they will.” Thus he pleaded.

“Well,” replied Cook, “you’ll doubtless deserve it. Didn’t I tell you if you didn’t get out of this country, and keep out, I would overtake you? Haven’t I been as good as my word? There is nothing left for you but to go back and stand trial. I’ll protect you while you are in my keeping. Of that you may rest assured.”

Engaged in such conversation as this they journeyed on down the narrow gauge—then the baby road, indeed—to Pueblo. They met only a slight demonstration there, and officer and prisoner were encouraged to believe that all apprehensions of violence had been unfounded. White was turned over to the jailer and was locked up. No unusual demonstrations were made, and after remaining at the prison for a little while and observing that all was quiet, Gen. Cook withdrew.

The next day the preliminary examination of the prisoner took place before Justice Hart, and resulted in his being bound over, on seven separate indictments, for burglary, larceny, etc., in the sum of $8,500, to appear for trial. He was remanded back to jail.

Gen. Cook was detained as a witness, and was thus compelled to remain over two nights in Pueblo.

The evening of the second night he spent with several friends, including Sheriff Allen.

He was absent from his hotel until about 12 o’clock, and was just returning to it in company with Allen, when the somewhat notorious “Hoodoo” Brown rushed up, with the exclamation:

“There’s hell to pay at the jail!”

Gathering an idea of the situation in an instant, Cook and Allen were off for the jail. That institution was half a mile distant, but they ran every step of the way, and rushed in just in time to find one of the guards at the jail untying the other.

“Just got loose,” he muttered. “They came in, about twenty of ’em, with guns and pistols, overpowered us, took us completely by surprise, tied us here, got the keys, marched into White’s room. There was one big man in the crowd. He looked seven feet high. Why, he just went up to White—White’s a little fellow, you know—and he seemed to be moaning and crying, and he just picked him right up—he had gone to bed—and said: ‘Come to me arms, me baby,’ and carried him out, his bare feet dangling down to the big man’s knees. Oh, it was awful, sir. I guess they hung him.”

Recovering himself somewhat, the speaker explained briefly all he knew about the transaction. He said that his name was Redfield, and that he was the jailer, and that he was sleeping in the jail, having retired about 10 o’clock p. m. He was awakened by the assistant jailer, A. W. Briggs, who told him there was a mob outside. Redfield went to the door and asked, “Who’s there?” when a voice replied, “Zach Allen, the sheriff; let us in.” Not doubting but that the voice he had heard was Mr. Allen’s, and supposing that he had a prisoner, Mr. Redfield turned the key of the door and opened it, when a number of men rushed in dressed in calico and masked, and in a moment the jail was in possession of the mob. Their first act was to bind Redfield and his assistant, hand and foot; leaving them gagged and helpless on the floor. One of the men stooped over and hissed in the ear of Briggs:

“Lie still and you shan’t be hurt, but give the alarm and I’ll blow your brains out!”

After leaving Redfield and Briggs, the mob started for White’s cell, the key of which they seemed to find without any trouble. They walked White out with his shackles on. When the miserable man reached the front entrance, and fully comprehended the terrible fate soon to be visited upon him, he turned around and desired time to pray, but this request was sternly denied. He was picked up by one of the party and taken out in the darkness, the stern avengers closed around him in a solid mass, the word “forward” was given, and that was the last ever seen of White alive.

The officers listened to this narrative with impatience, and when it had been finished, asked to know the way the mob had gone. The man pointed in the direction of a telegraph pole a hundred yards away, and Cook and Allen started towards it.

The sight which met their gaze is described in the full-page cut accompanying this chapter. The gentleman who hangs limp from the telegraph pole, with his bare toes reaching for terra firma, is the late Mr. White. The vigilantes have done their work and have departed. They are nowhere to be seen. White is gone beyond the hope of recovery, and nothing is left but to cut him down and bury him.

But White was not unaccompanied to his last resting place. His jail guard, Briggs, followed close upon his heels. He had lived to confirm Mr. Redfield’s story of the jail delivery, as above related. He was subject to heart disease. The excitement had been too much for him, and the next morning he fell to the floor a corpse.

So there were two burials in Pueblo the next day, and people said of one death, “It was deserved;” of the other, “It was an accident; poor fellow!” Such, in brief, were the public funeral orations passed upon the two. There was a sigh for one. There was no sigh for the other. So passes the world away. It is the fortune of the detective to see death as well as life sharply contrasted at times.

When Cook returned to Denver he found that Larnigan had disappeared. He had received the news from Pueblo. He took the hint and left, and has never since been seen in Colorado.

Lynching of White at Pueblo.

THE RETRIBUTION OF FATE.

CHAPTER LVI.

The murder of August Gallinger, alias “Cheap John,” created a sensation in Denver in the latter part of the year 1866, which for a long while engaged the public attention. Mr. Gallinger kept a small store on the corner of Twelfth and Blake streets, and lived alone over the store in a small room. He had been a member of the Third Colorado regiment, enlisted for a hundred days, and had taken part in the Sand Creek fight. He was quite popular, and although a street peddler, he did a thriving business. He lived in plain style, and was supposed by some to be a miser. This impression it was which led to his murder.

The assault occurred on the night of December 15, 1866. Gen. Cook had been elected city marshal of Denver for the first time a few months previous. On the night of the occurrence he was passing across the Blake street bridge from Denver to West Denver, accompanied by another officer. They were walking leisurely along, when they heard something fall, creating a loud noise. Cook immediately formed the conclusion that something wrong had happened, and he and his companion started in the direction of the point from which the noise had come, and it appeared to be in John’s house. There was no one below, hence the officers rushed up stairs. It was about 9 o’clock in the evening, and as there were no artificial lights in the house, they found the place quite dark. As they went up the front steps they thought they heard some one descending the rear steps, but as they at that time did not know what had happened, they passed on into John’s room, and did not pursue the party who was leaving the house.

Reaching Mr. Gallinger’s room, their ears were greeted by moans from a man sitting on a lounge. Gen. Cook went up to where the man—who proved to be Gallinger—sat and assisted him to his feet, demanding to know what had occurred and how it had all come about. He found Gallinger covered with blood, and when the officer pulled him up the poor fellow clutched the lappel of Cook’s coat with his bloody hands. The blood was flowing from a deep wound four inches long in the head. When questioned, John replied in German, and was evidently demented. But it did not require any speech to explain that murder had been attempted. The wound was of a nature that precluded the possibility of suicide; and, besides, the instrument with which it had been inflicted was nowhere to be seen. It was evident from the appearance of the wound that it had been made with a hatchet, the murderer coming upon the victim while sitting, and striking with the edge of the tool. Dr. F. J. Bancroft was summoned. Upon examination he found that the skull had been seriously fractured, and pronounced the wound necessarily fatal. It may as well be stated here, as elsewhere, that the doctor’s prediction was verified, and that the old man died a week afterwards. He was never conscious after the night of the assault, and hence could throw no light whatever upon the affair.

Leaving the wounded man in care of others, Gen. Cook immediately began a search for the murderer. He found the tracks of a man leading out from the rear of the building, and made an exact measurement of them. He also found a woman who stated that she had seen a man go out of the building at the rear at about the time of the attack, but she had not been able to get a good look at him on account of the darkness, and thought she would be unable to recognize him.

Here was a dilemma. A crime had been committed only a few minutes before, but the criminal seemed to have escaped as effectually as if he had had a month’s start of the officers. But Cook is not the man to lose time in hesitation. He spent the night in searching for some clue which would lead to the detection of the villain, whoever he might be.

He learned enough during the night to decide him in a determination to raid a house which stood near by. This house was occupied by several persons, all of them of loose character. Among others who occupied it was a worthless individual named George Corman, who was the “solid man” of another inmate of the dwelling, a low prostitute called Mrs. Foster. The fellow did not work for a living, but depended upon the earnings of this woman for support. He was known to be none to good to steal, and it was believed that he would commit murder if there was hope of reward. Cook knew enough about this man to lead him to believe that the chances were good for his being the murderer of Cheap John. He decided to investigate, at any rate. Accordingly, in company with H. B. Haskell, then a special officer in Denver, he repaired to the Corman residence early in the morning succeeding the murderous assault. He found the front of the building occupied by Corman and his woman, while in the rear premises resided a Mrs. Mary Kerwin with her family.

The officers decided to investigate while the inmates of the house were still asleep. They entered the yard by a back entrance, and as they came up to the door found a hatchet lying upon the ground thoroughly besmeared with blood. Here was certainly a pointer—the first important one found—and it bid fair to lead to speedy results. The officers felt that they had made a big discovery, and without further ado walked into the house, where they met Mrs. Kerwin, of whom they demanded to know the name of the owner of the hatchet. Her reply was that it was the property of Corman.

Corman and the Foster woman were next approached. They did not deny the ownership of the hatchet.

“Where did this blood come from?” demanded Cook.

The woman became the spokesman. “I killed a chicken last night,” she said, “and cut its head off with the hatchet.”

“Chicken! chicken!” replied Cook. “Chickens are worth a dollar and a half apiece in this country now, and I know you can’t afford chickens. Sowbelly is good enough for you.”

The woman replied that she put on style occasionally herself.

When Cook asked where the feathers were she declared that they had been thrown into the privy vault, while the bones had been burned in the stove.

A close search of the vault and of the ashes in the stove failed to reveal any trace of the remains of the alleged chicken. Here were other strong pointers. The arrest of Corman was decided upon. There seemed to be a pretty fair case against him already developed, and Mr. Cook had confidence in finding a great deal more testimony. Consequently he took Corman into custody and locked him up.

George Hopkins was at that time an officer in Denver, and he was called upon to aid in working up the case. He was sent to see Mrs. Kerwin and to ascertain, if possible, whether she did not know more about it than had so far been developed. Gen. Cook, himself, believed that she could tell the entire story if she would. In this case, as in most others, he hit the nail square on the head. The woman knew a great deal, and Hopkins was able to prevail upon her to tell her story. Her revelation was startling enough.

Mrs. Kerwin’s sleeping apartments adjoined those of Corman and Mrs. Foster, and there was only a thin board partition between the two rooms, there being many cracks in the boards. On the night of the assault she had heard Corman come in. She had already retired, and was supposed by him and the Foster woman to be asleep, though she was not. He had appeared to be considerably flurried, and had said to Mrs. Foster:

“Well, I hit the d——d old Jew, and I hit him hard, but I did not get anything—not a cent. The officers came so quick that I couldn’t move a wheel, and had to run like the devil to get away.”

As may be supposed, this disclosure had aroused the curiosity of the listening woman. She was now wide awake, and was determined to hear all that was to be said. She put her ear to an open crack, and then heard the man tell his woman how he had come upon the Jew and struck him with his hatchet. This he had no sooner done than John clutched him, the blood spurting out of his fresh wound and covering his shirt. The garment, he said, was then bloody. An examination by the two, which Mrs. Kerwin witnessed, confirmed his statement. It was then decided between them that the tell-tale garment must be disposed of. Corman accordingly took the shirt off, and they stowed it away in a cooking vessel which they found in the room, which Corman took to the back yard and buried, returning and going to bed.

The officers having this story in their possession, began to look for the hidden shirt. A snow had fallen in the early morning after it had been buried, and they were compelled to look over almost the entire yard for it before uncovering it, but they at last came upon the hidden article. It was found snugly buried some eight inches below the surface, and when brought out it was discovered to be pretty well bespattered with the crimson fluid.

Thus the case was worked up by Gen. Cook. He had not rested until he had probed the mystery to its foundation. It would seem that there could have hardly been the least chance for Corman to escape the gallows. Strange as it may appear to the reader, he not only was not hanged, but he was allowed to go scot free.

There was then but one term of the district court held each year in Denver, and it came in January. The trial of Corman came on in January, 1867. The crime was then fresh in the minds of the people, and the proceedings were watched with very great interest. The jurors who sat in the case were H. M. Goodrich, W. S. Peabody, Eli Daugherty, R. S. Permar, Edward Bates, L. M. Sprague, C. M. Birdsall, Watson Holyer, W. S. Hurd, W. H. Levain, Robert Tait and Dwight S. Thompson. The people were represented by Hon. V. D. Markham, then prosecuting attorney, while Messrs. M. Benedict, G. W. Chamberlain and —— Bostwick appeared for the defense. The case was ably presented on both sides, the defense relying principally upon impeaching the testimony of Mrs. Kerwin, who was the most important witness for the prosecution. They succeeded in making such, an impression upon the mind of one of the jurors as to cause him to hold out for acquittal against the other eleven, who favored a verdict of murder in the first degree, the penalty for which would have been hanging. The obstinacy of this one man resulted in the bringing in a report of disagreement by the jury. The case was thus continued until the next term of court. By the time this term convened Mrs. Kerwin had died, and Mr. Haskell had left the city, and their testimony could not be obtained. Hence the case was dismissed, and the murderer of Cheap John became a free man in 1868.

When Corman was turned out of jail he found Denver a very disagreeable place of residence, as everybody believed him guilty of murder. He went to Georgetown, where he soon became known as one of the worst sots of the town, earning a scanty living by scrubbing out barrooms. Even his woman deserted him.

Gen. Cook saw him in Georgetown in 1874, and asked why he did not tell all about the murder of Cheap John.

“If I should do so,” he replied, “they couldn’t prove it on me.”

Poor fellow! he met with a worse fate than death on the scaffold. There was in those days an unused tunnel in the side of a mountain near Georgetown, extending in about a hundred feet. The people of the town were startled one quiet afternoon by a report of an explosion coming from the direction of this tunnel, which seemed to them to be loud enough for the bursting loose of a volcano. Almost the whole city was shocked.

The temporary bewilderment having subsided, an investigating committee was organized to explore the tunnel. They went in with lights, and soon discovered to their dismay that there was fresh flesh sticking to some of the rocks of the wall. Other pieces of flesh, and some clothing and fragments of bones were found scattered about. There was enough of the clothes left to identify them as those of old Corman. He had gone into the tunnel—for what purpose no one will probably ever know—and had found a five-pound can of nitro-glycerine lying on the ground, and had evidently picked it up to examine it, and, finding that it was nothing that he wanted, had thrown it down, creating the explosion which had shocked the town, and which tore his carcass into shreds.

People said it was Fate that did it. Who knows?

And this is the end of the story which began eight or nine years before, with Gen. Cook’s hearing a strange noise while crossing the Cherry creek bridge. Strange, isn’t it, how all these scoundrels meet their just deserts? There are other laws than those which the courts deal with, and superior to them. One of these prescribes punishment for the murderer. It always comes sooner or later.

A TOWNFUL OF THIEVES.

CHAPTER LVII.

The month of January, 1877, was devoted by the Rocky Mountain Detective Association to the ferreting out of a gang of thieves who made their headquarters at Kit Carson, on the Kansas Pacific railroad in this state, and who earned a living by stealing from the railroad cars.

The case was one of prolonged and bold stealing, in which a large number of the citizens around Carson took a high hand. They carried on with great success a scheme for the robbery of the Kansas Pacific Railroad Company and those who entrusted their freights to the care of this corporation. Carson is situated about a hundred and fifty miles from Denver, and was then the point at which the Arkansas Valley branch of this road left the main stem. It is also at the foot of a heavy grade, and was then used as a place for leaving cars. On account of the grade, it was often the case that the most heavily laden of the cars were laid over there. The plan with the rascals who carried out this scheme was to help themselves to a portion of whatever articles they might find themselves in need of.

The watchman, whose name was Frank E. Williamson, it seems took part in these plunderings, and was well paid for his trouble. They did not confine themselves to merely laying in groceries, dry goods, etc., but actually broke into the live-stock cars and secured good prizes in the shape of horses and mules. At first but little notice was taken of these depredations, as they were, for a time, on a very small scale, but the losses being continually reported, aroused a suspicion in the minds of the officials of the road that the goods were more than one man could comfortably get away with, and hence they reasonably concluded that a gang was engaged in the business. The reports constantly coming in, it was by some means ascertained that Carson was the point at which they were taken, and accordingly the matter was placed in the hands of Gen. D. J. Cook, the superintendent of the Rocky Mountain Detective Association. Not, however, until the railroad company had made an effort to make one of its own detectives useful.

Having convinced themselves that the goods which shippers complained of finding missing were being stolen at Carson, the company sent one of their “fly” men to the place to work up the case, that evidence might be obtained and the parties arrested. After spending a few days about Carson, he decided to take some action, thinking that he had sufficient facts to justify arrests. He accordingly went before the magistrate of the place, whose name was Pat Shanley, and who was also proprietor of the hotel there. The warrant being sworn out against a few men, Shanley told the detective that he would take him around and introduce him to the constable, whose name was Worth Keene, and who was also proprietor of a saloon, intimating that it might be a good opportunity to kill two birds with one stone by getting a drink at the same time the paper was handed over to the constable. The drink was taken, and the two enjoyed a laugh at the expense of the fellows who were so soon to be in the hands of the minions of the law. But the detective probably did not see the sly wink which passed from the justice when he handed over the warrant, or if he did, did not understand its import. He must have thought it rather strange, however, when after going out Constable Keene did not return, and the men whom he knew to be offenders against the law began to disappear. It may be that he was given a hint of the intention of the citizens of the place, which was to lynch him that evening.

Whether his suspicions were aroused or not, when the train came along bound for Kansas City, the detective quietly stepped aboard and was seen no more in those parts. He departed with but little more information than he had possessed when he went in, and convinced that the ways of the people of Carson were peculiar, quite peculiar, and past finding out.

It was then that the case was placed in the hands of Gen. Cook to have it worked up. The job was a delicate one. There were but about twenty-five people, women and children included, residing at Carson, so that a man who should go there would be open to immediate inspection, and if he should go as a detective, the chances were that he would be found out before he could find out anything. Yet Cook decided to chance it. He concluded to send a man down to the place, who should stop there for awhile and play the role of a deserter from the army. Alex MacLean, at present a resident of Denver, was commissioned to perform this delicate task. All went well with him for awhile—almost to the end, in fact. He got along quite swimmingly for many days. His story was accepted, and as he displayed a considerable sum of money and used it freely, he was made at home with the boys.

At last, however, the thieves began to suspect MacLean and made a strong endeavor to catch him. One of them prevailed upon MacLean to sleep with him one night, and during the night undertook to draw him out, telling him that there was a splendid opportunity there for a detective, and entering at some length into the scheme of robbery which had been carried on at the place. MacLean listened with eagerness, though he did not, by words at least, betray himself. He, however, agreed with his friend that they could make a great deal of money together by exposing the thieving, and that the man should show MacLean, the next morning, where the goods were hidden. This was done according to programme.

It now became apparent to the thieves that MacLean was a detective, and they arranged their plans to put him out of the way, in other words, to quietly kill him on the following night. This programme would most likely have been carried into effect had the thieves not been so indiscreet as to whisper their intentions to some one, who dropped the information far down the Kansas Pacific, beyond Carson, to a party who telegraphed Gen. Cook the peril that his man was in. With this Cook decided to recall MacLean and ordered him home that very day, and thus were the plans of the murder frustrated.

A previous train the same day brought in Williamson, the watchman, who, concluding that he had been found out or soon would be, was preparing to skip the country, and came in with his baggage checked for Montana. Being informed through MacLean that Williamson was on the train and that he probably knew a great deal, Cook proceeded to the depot in Denver, met the train and quietly took Williamson into custody. He at first made an effort to bluff the officers, but failing in this, agreed to make a full confession on the condition that he should be released from custody. The officers agreed to this proposition, especially as they had already taken precautions to prevent his capture being known or telegraphed to his friends at Carson. Being placed in a close carriage he was driven to a place of safety and then told the entire story of the thievery to the detective.

It appeared from this story that the entire town of Kit Carson, with the exception of two men who were too old for action, had been engaged in the thievery, which he said had been going on for nearly two years, beginning by small stealings and increasing them as time went on until some big holes were made in the shipments which passed through. Shanley, the justice of the peace, was the head of the gang, and he accumulated quite a fortune in carrying on the work. His hotel was supplied from the proceeds of his robbery. He purchased herds of cattle, and before he was discovered had stolen sufficient stock to start a line of teams between Carson and Del Norte, thus procuring a market for the stealings of the gang in the San Juan country, and hauling them away at the expense of others. Keene, the constable, was also a leader in the gang. With the magistrate and the constable, the state’s only officers in the district, and the coöperation of the railroad watchman, the stealing was made easy. It was now, alas, about to be brought to an end forever.

It was on the 1st of February, 1877, that Williamson was arrested and that MacLean arrived at home. Gen. Cook decided that the gang must be taken without delay, and as soon as MacLean arrived and he heard his story, he decided upon a coup d’etat. Procuring a special train, he organized an expedition under the leadership of Assistant Frank Smith, and sent them down to make the arrest of the parties implicated. The party consisted of Smith, MacLean, Major Sam Logan, John Copeland, Tom Chandler, and Tom Porter.

The special left Denver in the evening and ran leisurely down the track, timing itself so as to reach Carson about daylight. All worked well, and the train drew up a few hundred feet west of the station just as the gray dawn was beginning to make itself visible on the eastern knolls of the plains. But little time was lost in preliminaries. Most of the men belonged at the hotel, and it was determined to surprise them first. The officers crept cautiously behind a protecting house, and finding that a majority of the rogues were already out of bed and standing in front of the hotel, marched boldly out before their startled gaze, and with arms presented and ready for instant use, commanded the scoundrels to hold up their hands.

It was all over in a minute. Nothing was left for them to do but to throw their hands into the air and quietly surrender.

This party being in the possession of the officers, the few others scattered in various directions were soon taken, there being eight in all, namely: William Kelly, Worth Keene, Mike Fitzpatrick, William Tally, Thomas Rasbaugh, J. Ratliff, C. W. Lindsley (Texas Bill), and Pat Shanley. A hurried search was made in the vicinity and large quantities of stolen goods were found hidden from Kit Carson down the railroad for four miles, as well as two miles east, on the Big Sandy, and some on Horse creek, north of Kit Carson. Nearly all the articles were buried in the ground. Among the miscellaneous assortment of articles stolen were hats, caps, laces, silks, groceries, boots, ladies’ shoes, raisins, feather beds, beef, beef tongues, apple butter, bacon, ham, tea, coffee, lard, a quantity of coal, tobacco, powder and butter. The goods were mostly taken from the original packages, and where they were not so filched most of the marks were erased, except in the case of the butter.