Arrest of the entire male population of Carson, by officers from Denver.

When these men were removed from Carson to West Las Animas, the county seat of Bent county, in which the stealing was conducted, there were but two men left at the station to take care of the horde of women and children who cried after them as they moved away in their shackles.

One more arrest made in Denver completes the list. While the posse was down the road Col. C. W. Fisher, division superintendent, telegraphed to Gen. Cook to arrest a brakeman named Adam Ehls, for complicity with the gang. He was discovered late in the evening at 520 Arapahoe street, in full dress for an engineers’ ball. But the appearance of Detective Arnold convinced him that a change of programme was unavoidable, and that Turner hall must dispense with his presence. When informed that Col. Fisher had ordered his arrest, he seemed to perfectly comprehend the whole affair. The officer accompanied him to his own house, where were found a trunk and valise containing a large quantity of fancy goods, ladies’ shoes, silver plated pistols, and several boxes of cheap jewelry. Forty pocket knives had been placed on sale at Tierney’s hardware store, but were recovered several days before.

Thus was this well organized and extensive gang of thieves brought to justice in a way so effective that the road never since had a trouble of this kind of half so extensive a scale to deal with.

The association received, as it certainly deserved, the warmest thanks from the railroad company, as well as liberal pay for their services.

At the preliminary examination of this band of thieves, which was held at West Las Animas soon after their capture, several of the men were released upon bail, in sums ranging between $1,000 and $5,000 bail each. Shanley’s bail was fixed at $5,000, Keene’s at $2,500, and Ehl’s at $1,000. Three of the men were sent to the penitentiary for long terms, and the other four escaped upon technicalities. Shanley, Keene and Ehls forfeited their bonds and disappeared from the state, never having been seen in Colorado since.

The town of Kit Carson was broken up by the raid, and is now little more than a water tank on the Kansas Pacific.

RAGSDALE GATES.

CHAPTER LVIII.

Ragsdale Gates was a “bad” man. He hailed from Mississippi, and came away from that state under circumstances which did not speak well for his character. He left his country for his country’s good and to save his own neck, which was in jeopardy. Mr. Gates was one of those numerous southern “gentlemen” who drink too freely, and who, when in liquor, are apt to do many rash acts, which, when they are once sober, they are sorry for. Mr. Gates had lived for many years prior to 1879 at Friar’s Point, where he killed three white men while drinking. He is also said to have been a famous “nigger hunter” in the Mississippi swamps, and had been a leader of one of the famous Kuklux clans back in the days succeeding the close of the war. He had the reputation of having laid several colored men to rest. But it was not an act of this kind that got him into trouble. It was the killing of a fellow white man, under circumstances peculiarly aggravated. He was arrested and escaped jail.

Having gotten out of prison. Gates left Mississippi, and it was some time before his whereabouts became known to any one. In some way the Friar’s Point officers obtained an ink-ling that the fugitive had come to Colorado. They did not know to what point he had come, or, indeed, whether he was in the state at all, but merely surmised that he was. Being desirous that Gates should be apprehended, they wrote to Gen. Cook, chief of the Rocky Mountain Detective Association, of their surmises, and offered a reward of $500 for the capture of the man, sending a description of him. The matter was turned over to Mr. William Wise. Mr. Wise was then, and had been for years previous, one of the leading members of the detective association, and one of the most astute and discreet detectives in the state.

Mr. Wise took the case in hand and worked it up with his customary energy and caution. He was not long in learning that a man giving the name of J. J. Reed, and answering to the description of Gates, was figuring in the southern part of the state. He learned of him at Silver Cliff, and learned that the man had been accused of horse stealing, not for any innate love of horse flesh, but merely that he might gain time in his movements. Mr. Wise opened a correspondence with persons at Silver Cliff after learning of the presence of Gates at that point, and had the fellow arrested. Hearing that his man had been taken and locked up, Mr. Wise prepared to start for Silver Cliff. He had not gotten away from Denver when he learned to his surprise and regret that Mr. Gates had taken his departure before the officer’s arrival. He had again broken jail.

Mr. Wise did not, however, cease his pursuit of the criminal. “Billy” is not the man to let up easily when he once gets well started. He was determined that Gates should be taken. He accordingly kept on the lookout. He learned that after getting out of the prison at Silver Cliff, the man had stolen a horse to escape on. He tracked him to Dodge City, Kan. But the restless southerner did not remain long at any point, and joining a cattle drive from that point to Dakota, was soon off for the far north, going now by the name of Warren. He was tracked across the plains by Wise, all the way to Camp Robinson, where he was heard of in a drunken row, as usual, which ended up in his seriously injuring a man. He was again thrown into prison, and again escaped, the military being unable to cope with him.

Gates then escaped to Wyoming, where he again got into a fight and shot a man. This fracas resulted in the re-arrest of the fellow, and of his being taken to Sidney, Neb., where Wise heard of him, and where he determined to go after him with a requisition. He had, however, not started, when he heard that his man had again stolen away. The information of the escape was soon, however, followed by that of his recapture, and after hearing this, Billy was soon off for Sidney, determined this time to lose no time, that he might be sure of coming upon his man before he should have another opportunity to get away.

Accordingly Mr. Wise went down to Sidney. He found his prize this time, and had no difficulty in getting him away, starting immediately for Denver. On the way from Sidney the man’s propensity to escape asserted itself, but it was not given an opportunity to develop fully, and was in fact nipped in the bud at a very aggravating moment. Gates remonstrated while on the train with the officer for exposing him as a prisoner, and requested the officer to allow him to cover up his hands with a robe, saying that he was a gentleman, and pleading that his pride was wounded in the exhibition which he was compelled to make of himself. Mr. Wise at last consented to give the man an opportunity to hide his shame and his hands, and threw the robe over the latter.

Billy sat by the side of his prisoner and appeared to be looking through the floor, when, in fact, his full gaze was directed through the corner of his eye towards the prisoner. Soon he saw the robe lying across Gates’ folded arms begin to move. He sat as stolid as a block while the fellow worked at his hand cuffs for half an hour. At last he saw the two hands separate, and watched the fellow quietly lay the irons under him on the seat. He had succeeded in getting the irons off. His scheme was to replace his hands under the covering until the right moment should come, when he would take the cuffs from his seat, strike the officer over the head with them, grab his pistol, jump from the car and be a free man.

That moment never came. The irons were hardly laid down when Mr. Ragsdale Gates found the muzzle of Billy Wise’s big pistol thrust half way up into his ear. All was over with him. The officer had played with him as a cat with a mouse. He promised if the officer would allow him to live, he would make no further effort to get away while in the custody of Mr. Wise. The promise was kept, and Gates was soon landed in Denver.

Mr. Wise took Gates from Denver to St. Louis, where he met a sheriff from Friar’s Point, turned the prisoner over to him, received his reward, and returned home after receiving a warm compliment for both himself and the Rocky Mountain Detective Association, from the officer.

Gates being taken back to Mississippi was confined for nearly a year awaiting trial. He escaped from jail again on the 25th of June, 1880, and was still at last accounts at liberty. It is safe to say, however, that he will keep away from Colorado in his wanderings.

TAKEN BY SURPRISE.

CHAPTER LIX.

Some time in the spring of 1878, Ed. McGrand, the murderer, and the subject of this sketch, came up over the trail from Texas as a herder or employé of Bosler Brothers, of Sidney, Neb. (who for several years had the contract of supplying several Indian agencies, from Red Cloud agency, near Sidney, to the agencies up the Missouri river, with beef cattle). They were driving a herd of cattle to some of the Indian agencies on the upper Missouri, and McGrand had just returned from the trip and was at or around Bosler Brothers’ range, near Sidney bridge, across the North Platte river, about fifty miles north of Sidney.

One D. J. McCann also had a cattle range near there, and it seems McGrand had some ill-feeling or prejudice toward McCann, Bruce Powers, and the outfit in general, over some trivial matter.

On June 25, 1878, McGrand came to McCann’s camp, near Platte bridge, feeling very hostile, and with the intention of killing McCann and probably some of his men, being well armed and under the influence of “bug juice.” He attempted to shoot and kill McCann, and would have done so but for the intervention of McCann’s men and friends. Among the friends of McCann who had interceded for him, to prevent McGrand’s murdering him without cause, and had spoken in favor of McCann, was the victim, John Wright, a young man of twenty or twenty-one years of age, though a mere boy in stature and looks—a quiet, inoffensive cowboy, who had done nothing more than any one naturally would do to persuade McGrand not to insist on murdering McCann and others.

As soon as the row had apparently quieted down, this boy mounted his pony and rode away, crossing to the other side of the river unarmed, and with no weapons of any kind about him, doubtless not dreaming of danger. But he was followed by McGrand still with murder in his heart. McGrand was mounted on a good horse, which did not belong to him and which he stole to escape on, and armed with a Sharp’s carbine and two Colt’s large size army revolvers. Thus prepared he followed Wright and overtook him soon after he had crossed the river, and shot him two or three times in the head, killing him instantly, and undoubtedly without any cause, only that he was a friend of McCann’s outfit.

After murdering the boy, McGrand immediately disappeared, going up the North Platte river, and was not heard of until his arrest on June 30, 1878, at a freighter’s camp, at Sloan’s lake, near Cheyenne, Wyo., by T. Jeff Carr, agent of the Rocky Mountain Detective Association at Cheyenne.

Immediately after the murder the authorities at Sidney offered a reward for the arrest of the murderer, and also sent out descriptions all over the country, but through some oversight had failed to notify Carr of the murder, and it was by accident and a streak of luck that he heard of the murder in time to head off the murderer, who was making south and was ready to start. In a few hours he would have been out of reach and danger, when arrested.

It was about June 29, 1878, when a teamster, driving a team in a mule freight train coming from Fort Laramie to Cheyenne, which had gone into camp near Cheyenne, on the banks of Sloan’s lake, came to Carr and stated “that a suspicious acting, bad looking man on horseback, well armed with gun and revolvers, had joined their outfit near Fort Laramie, on the North Platte, and had traveled and camped with them all the way; that the man acted as though he had committed some serious crime and was afraid of capture. He kept out of the way quietly when strangers came around, always keeping his horse, gun and arms alongside of him; slept with gun and revolvers at his head, and would awake at night and grab them.” He described the man as tall, with the left eye out, and when in camp near town he would be, the teamster said, always at camp “on guard” apparently, and had said to him that if any one came to take him, “he would not be taken, as he would be hung.”

Carr did not know of such a man’s being wanted, but thought something was wrong or he would not act so, and at once set to work to find out if a crime had been committed lately by a man answering this description, and on Sunday, June 30, 1878, he met a cattleman from Sidney, on arrival of the train from the east, and asked him if he knew of a tall, one-eyed man being wanted at Sidney, or around his part of the country. The cattleman replied that such a looking man, named Ed. McGrand, had murdered a boy at Platte bridge some two weeks before, and a reward was offered for him, and was surprised that Carr had not been notified. He said, also, that McGrand was a desperate man, and advised Carr to go well prepared, and be careful about taking him, as he was a dangerous man to fool with, “and would surely show fight.” Carr immediately telegraphed to Sidney, asking the sheriff for particulars, and at once received answer that Ed. McGrand, a tall, one-eyed man, was “badly wanted for murder, and if around Cheyenne, to get him at all hazards.”

Carr at once called to his aid Deputies W. C. Lykins and E. H. Ingalls. He detailed Lykins on horseback with a rifle to approach the camp on the lake from the northeast, while he and Ingalls in a buggy would approach the lake from southwest, as though all were out for a “Sunday ride,” and carelessly approach McGrand’s camp and take him unawares. On arriving near the lake and camp, they saw our “solitary guard” standing alone near his horse, against a wagon tongue, his gun leaned against the wagon wheel and his revolvers in his belt around him. They gradually and in an apparently careless manner rode nearer the camp, not apparently noticing him or the camp, until they were in speaking distance. Carr then carelessly engaged McGrand in conversation about the teams, expressing a desire to buy some of them and to know where the boss was, etc., still driving nearer until close to McGrand, when Carr jumped out of his buggy, grasping the murderer’s two hands or wrists, immediately followed by Deputy Ingalls, who took his revolvers out of his belt, Deputy Lykins all the time covering him with his gun.

Arrest of Ed. McGrand, near Cheyenne.

Thus McGrand was taken completely by surprise by means of the strategy used, and no one hurt. Otherwise, he would undoubtedly have given the officers a warm reception. After he was taken he gritted his teeth and cursed himself for being such a fool as never to suspect they were officers, and told them if he had suspected they were after him, they could not have taken him, as he could have and would have killed all of them and got away on his horse. “He was the maddest and worst fooled man you ever saw,” says Carr. He said he killed the boy, “but whisky done it,” and “he knew he would be hung,” etc.

McGrand was then taken by Sheriff Carr and placed in the county jail at Cheyenne, until the next day, July 1, when he was taken to Sidney, and on December 16, 1878, he was indicted by the grand jury for murder in the first degree, and on the 17th he was arraigned and placed on trial at Sidney for his life, and through some technicality of law, he saved his neck and was allowed to plead guilty of murder in the second degree, and was sentenced to imprisonment for life in the state penitentiary at Lincoln, Neb., and is now serving out his time.

McGrand’s history is not known any more than that general report says he had to skip from Texas for murder committed there, and that he was a murderous and desperate man, and thought nothing of killing. He was then about forty or forty-five years of age; six feet tall; slender build; blind in the left eye; spare, thin, long face, high cheek bones, and a very muscular man; a typical Texas cowboy, with white slouch hat, etc.

A RACE FOR LIFE.

CHAPTER LX.

It was on Saturday, during the last days of February, 1875, that the then deputy United States marshal and Deputy Sheriff Charley Wilcox, of Arapahoe county, was shot down, and it was then believed fatally injured, at Island station, while making an effort to arrest one John W. Johnson on the charge of an improper use of the mails. The affair was, take it all in all, one of the most thrilling of the kind which ever happened in this vicinity, and created intense excitement at the time—a time, by the way, when excitements were rare in Denver.

The facts leading up to the tragedy are these: For a long time a “confidence” game had been carried on by principals, who had their headquarters in or about Denver. As early as August, 1874, the fact became known to the postoffice department that the mails were being freely used by these swindlers and knaves to accomplish their purposes, and at once steps were taken to bring them to justice. Several months afterwards sufficient evidence was obtained to satisfy any ordinary mind of the guilt of a certain party, but not to render conviction by a jury a certainty. Consequently a plan was arranged to capture the fellow with sufficient evidence on his person to admit of no “reasonable doubt.”

The game practiced by the villains was to send circulars to different parties living in this and adjoining territories, and even in the states, agreeing to furnish a good watch on the receipt of three dollars, or to deliver the same C. O. D. by express. Stones, sawdust and other worthless articles were wrapped up very carefully in paper and sent to those who were so foolish as thus to be caught. The extent of the swindling thus carried on is not known, as hundreds would feel too “cheap” to acknowledge that they had been duped in such a ridiculous manner.

This man Johnson, who made his headquarters at Island Station, was spotted as the individual who was responsible for the swindle, through the exertions of the Denver postoffice officials and the Rocky Mountain detectives, and Deputy Sheriff Wilcox was sent to arrest him, being first deputized as a United States marshal, as the offense was one against the national government.

Wilcox reached the station before the arrival of the mail on that day, and waited the arrival of Johnson in the postoffice. When he came in he was accompanied by another man, by the name of Ike Clodfelter.

As soon as Johnson had received a registered letter, sent to trap him, he was arrested by the deputy sheriff. Upon being commanded to hand over whatever weapons he might have about him, Johnson promptly turned over a pistol to the officer, who naturally supposed the man to be disarmed after this, and permitted him, in accordance with a request which he had made, to go to the door to give some directions about having his horse cared for.

The man was no sooner in the door than he sprang out like a pursued deer, and was off with the wind. He drew another revolver from his bootleg as he passed out, and was prepared to defend himself. The officer gave chase, attempting to draw his revolver. As he did this, the weapon fell, but rather than lose time, he pushed on, not having yet discovered that Johnson had drawn a second time, and believing that it would be one unarmed man against another when he should come up with his man, as he thought he would be able to do. Hence he concluded to waste no time, but to push forward in pursuit of his game. The result shows that he counted without his host, and that he did not half appreciate the cunning and the desperation of the man, or men, with whom he was dealing.

Johnson struck out at full speed, and was followed by the officer at a dead run. Finding that he was gained upon constantly, Johnson cocked his pistol as he ran, and, without stopping, threw it back over his shoulder with the barrel pointing towards the pursuer, sending a streak of smoke and fire and lead after him as he flew over the ground. The ball went sizzing by Wilcox’s head, but left him unharmed.

Wilcox was, of course, slightly astonished to find the man whom he considered unarmed firing at him, but did not stop at discovering this odds against himself. On the contrary, his pluck was fully aroused, and he determined to have his man whatever the cost, now that he had been fired upon by him, and he pushed on with more speed than before. Of course, if Johnson had known that Wilcox had dropped his pistol, he could have turned upon and defied him, and the officer shrewdly counted upon his man’s ignorance of this fact to aid and save him. The fellow continued to fire over his shoulder, but as he took no aim—did not even see the object which he wished to strike—there was no danger except from accident. Five shots were discharged in rapid succession, the balls passing uncomfortably near, but none of them striking the officer.

Not dreaming that Johnson carried anything more than a five-shooter, the officer now pushed forward with still greater speed, supposing that he had his man safe. Here he learned a second lesson as to the character of the man with whom he had to deal. The fellow had reserved one load. The deputy was allowed to approach within a foot or two, when the gun was suddenly thrust back so close as to allow the muzzle to almost touch Wilcox, when to that gentleman’s great amazement, “bang” it went again.

He felt the hard lead crashing through the flesh of his thigh and saw the blood spurt out, but he grappled with his man, determined to get him now or die in the effort. Wilcox then feeling that he was safe, collared Johnson, who struck him a violent blow over the head with the empty revolver, which indented but did not fracture the skull. The officer began to push his man as best he could towards the house, calling out for Postmaster Fowler to come and assist him. Fowler started out, but Clodfelter, who was standing by, drew a revolver, and told him to “git” or he would shoot him. Fowler preferred the former alternative, and left Wilcox to his fate. By this time Johnson had begun to call on his confederate to shoot Wilcox, which Clodfelter refused to do, especially as Wilcox told him he did not believe he was coward enough to shoot an unarmed officer while trying to do his duty. Wilcox had yet to learn that this base villain was more than simply a friend of Johnson’s.

Shooting of Officer Wilcox by Clodfelter and Johnson, near Denver, in 1875.

Upon being repeatedly urged to shoot, Clodfelter finally gave his revolver to Johnson, with the remark:

“Shoot the s—n of a b—h yourself.”

The instant Wilcox saw the weapon in Johnson’s hand he so wrenched the fellow’s arm that the weapon was useless, and Johnson immediately called on his confederate to take it back and shoot. This Clodfelter refused to do, but as the bitter, angry words:

“G—d d—n you! don’t you remember what I did for you once?”

Were uttered, Clodfelter reached for the pistol, and Wilcox for the first time realized that he had to deal with a confederate as well as the principal. Feeling that he would probably be shot, the thought occurred to Wilcox to at least so “mark” Johnson that he could not escape. He was engaged in a tremendous struggle to throw Johnson, intending to stamp his head with his boot, when Clodfelter stepped about four feet off and fired. Instantly Wilcox dropped, and the two villains mounted their horses, which Clodfelter had brought close by, and made off.

Wilcox was discovered to have been shot by Johnson in the thigh, the ball entering the groin and passing out half way down to the knee, while Clodfelter had planted his lead in the poor fellow’s back.

Sheriff Willoughby, Postmaster Cheaver, Assistant Postmaster Maj. Lander, Dr. Charles Denison, and Gen. Cook, of the Rocky Mountain Detective Agency, were summoned to the scene as quickly as possible. They found Wilcox in a precarious condition and likely to die at any moment. They decided to take him to Denver where he could have good care and the best of medical aid.

CHAPTER LXI.

While the valiant officer is lying at the point of death, there are other scenes enacting elsewhere. Johnson and Clodfelter are off for their lives, and the officials are hunting them down with all the avidity and keenness of scent of bloodhounds. The community was greatly enraged, and excitement was intense in Denver, as well as in other portions of the state. There were loud cries for vengeance, and the demand was made on all hands that the would-be murderers should be hunted down. On account of their well known skill, the Rocky Mountain Detective Association were called upon to take the matter in hand. They were ready to respond to this call, as they have always been ready to respond to any call made upon them.

Saturday, the day of the killing, was spent in looking after the wounded man, but Sunday the detectives put in in preparation for the work that was before them. They began the ball by offering $250 for the apprehension of the desperadoes, and by sending out circulars informing the country at large of what had been done, and describing the culprits.

On Tuesday night, a Mr. Wakeman, who lived then on Spring creek, about twenty-one miles from Denver, saw one of the posters and immediately remembered that the parties described therein had been at his place and were inquiring the way to Pueblo without passing through Colorado Springs.

This was clue enough, and immediately Gen. D. J. Cook, accompanied by Frank Smith, took the trail of the fleeing scoundrels.

Additional rewards had now been offered by the state, the county and the postal service, swelling the aggregate to $1,700, affording in itself a temptation to the utmost endeavor.

The pursuit was one of the most memorable ever recorded in the history of detective work. The officers left Denver on Tuesday morning, taking the Denver and Rio Grande train. As they traveled down the road they inquired at every station in regard to the men. At Larkspur they met a men who said that the fugitives had taken supper at 6 o’clock the evening before at the house of Mr. Thompson, only a short distance away. At Kelly’s Switch the officers received a note from a Mr. Waterbury, stating that the men who stopped at Wakeman’s were the ones they were after, and that they had gone south. No other word was received by telegram or in any other way by these diligent men until after the men were seen to enter Pueblo. Thompson, at whose house the fugitives had taken supper the night before, directed them by the Templeton Pass road, which comes into the southern road along the Fountaine at Stubb’s, which is twelve miles below Colorado Springs.

At the Springs the officers found Mr. Rickerman, a miller, whom they engaged to go over to the Fountaine road and follow it down, while they would go to Stubb’s on the train, procure horses, and travel up the road to meet him, thus cutting off the pursued. At Stubb’s they could not procure horses, and while deliberating over the matter Rickerman rode in. He had learned that the fleeing men had crossed the Fountaine two miles above Stubb’s about 9:30 o’clock that morning. As no horses could be procured. Cook and Smith footed it to Fountaine, five miles, while Rickerman went on ahead on horseback.

By this time night had come on, and a severe March snowstorm, accompanied by strong winds and occasional sleet, was setting in. Still no horses were to be procured, and the prospect for progress was exceedingly gloomy for the officers. They not only seemed in a fair way not to be able to procure means of pursuing the men, but there was a chance of being compelled to remain out all night without adequate protection from the storm. Just as the outlook seemed the darkest a ray of hope broke upon the scene.

A second Colorado Springs party of five, well mounted on the very best livery horses, and armed with carbines and pistols, and headed by a deputy sheriff, rode up. Cook and Smith had no doubt that they would be able to make terms with these men, and thus be able to proceed with their work. Consequently they made a proposition to the leader of this party to leave two of his men at the place at which they were then stopping, and to let Cook and Smith have two of the horses, agreeing to divide the reward in case the criminals should be overtaken and captured. This proposition caused the Colorado Springs officers to hold a consultation, which resulted in a decision on their part to reject it.

“We can get the men as well as you can,” said the leader. “We have their description. None of our men want to stay here, and we will not make the arrangement you suggest. We will pursue the men ourselves, and will not give up our horses. Your are out of luck, boys. Hope you will do better next time.”

This was a crusher. Another hope was blasted.

But Cook and Smith kept their own counsel and did not lose temper. They took supper at the same place with the Colorado Springs officers.

After supper the party of six, Rickerman having joined them, had their horses prepared for the go, and had mounted, when the leader approached Cook thus:

“Say, old fellow, which way do you think they went?”

It was Cook’s time now to get in his lick.

“Gives us two horses and I will tell you; without the horses I don’t know a d—d thing.”

“All right,” replied the leader, laughingly, “we’ll get ’em,” with which the well mounted party rode off, going in the direction of Cañon City, much to the delight of the Denver men, who, though still afoot, had a great advantage in their experience of years and in the knowledge which they possessed. They determined to press forward, notwithstanding the snow was falling at a blinding rate and night had well set in.

Cook and Smith prevailed upon a ranchman to take them to Mason’s ranch, six miles below, in an express wagon. Here they ascertained that the two men had passed between 3 and 4 o’clock in the afternoon. Cook and Smith then went over to the railroad station and endeavored to persuade three men, by an offer of $30, to take them to Pueblo on a hand-car. This the railroad men refused to do, as it was against orders to put a hand-car on the track at night.

“If you don’t put it on we will,” said Cook to the boss. “We must have it.”

“That would make no difference; we can not disobey orders.”

“You can’t, eh?” said Dave, as he pulled his revolver around so as to show it to the astonished Mike. “Now we’ve got to have the car; we’re officers and must have it. If you don’t give it to us we shall have to take it, and compel some of your men to go along with us.”

This was an argument of more force than had yet been used, and resulted in the boss’s agreeing to take the officers to a point seven miles below, which would be only fourteen from Pueblo, where he was sure transportation could be obtained.

In the face of the most disagreeable snow storm of the season the indomitable detectives, aided by three of the section men, propelled the car, the officers and men alternately working the lever and holding brooms to sweep the snow from the rails so as to allow the car to move. So they worked their way along for several miles until they reached Mr. John Irvine’s ranch. There they hired a wagon and team for $20, and with that went into Pueblo, where they arrived at 3 o’clock on Thursday morning. As may be imagined, they were pretty well used up. They had put in about as hard a night as ever falls to the lot of mortals, walking at times, as they had to do, through slush and snow; riding on rough wagons, working the lever of the hand-car, and all the time going through the dark and facing the wind and sleet. Besides this, they had been compelled to bulldoze everybody, ranchmen and railroad men. A hard night it had been. No wonder that when they got into Pueblo they were well nigh exhausted. Their clothes were wet through and hung limp on their limbs like clothes on a pole.

There were but a few hours left till morning, and the officers decided, after stationing two guards at the bridge over the Arkansas, between Pueblo and South Pueblo, to get a little rest. They, accordingly, after instructing the guards as to what to do in case Clodfelter and Johnson should come up, as they were confidently expected to do, repaired to a hotel, where they stretched themselves out upon cots before the fire with their clothes still unremoved, with the hope of drying their garments while they should rest their weary bodies.

CHAPTER LXII.

Rising about 6 o’clock in the morning, the officers started to engage horses, but had much difficulty. Finally they secured two, one of them a very fine animal. They then went back to the hotel, and started up the Fountaine to strike the trail of Clodfelter and Johnson. Cook had a Colt’s forty-four calibre pistol, with only six loads, and a Henry rifle, borrowed at Pueblo. Smith was armed only with a Colt’s breech-loading pistol.

They had proceeded about two hundred yards from the hotel when they heard a shout, and looking back saw one of their guards—Officer Bilby—on the hotel steps, waving his hat. The officers glanced over the town and saw the two men they sought riding through. Instantly they let their horses out, and endeavored to cut off their exit across the bridge. In this they were not successful. Then both rode up behind a building and then into the street, down which the men were riding, about a hundred yards behind them. The men had discovered they were being pursued, and had thrown away their blankets, drawn their revolvers, and put spurs to their horses.

As Cook and Smith rode into the street, Cook called upon the men to halt, but the demand was not heeded.

“If you don’t halt, you are dead men.” But in vain. The scoundrels pushed on with all the greater vim. Their horses were flying over the ground, and the officers were following with the speed of the wind.

“Let them have one just to scare them,” said Dave to Frank, and the two officers sent two shots into the air. These had no effect. The horsemen rode on without noticing the shots. There were a few people in the street at this early hour, early and cold as it was, but they all scampered indoors when the bullets began to whiz in the air. The horsemen rode on regardless of surroundings. The pursued pair now swung around in a circle and came up on the mesa near the bridge above the officers, and riding abreast and as fast as their horses would carry them. Cook stopped his horse, cocked his gun, threw it to his shoulder, and drew a bead, while both men were riding side by side, sixty yards from him. They saw the action, and realizing their imminent danger, started to drop behind their horses just as the detective’s finger touched the trigger of his Henry rifle.

The long and hard chase seemed about to be finished, as it was almost certain that Cook, being a dead shot, would either kill or seriously wound both of his men. His bead is perfect. The finger goes to the trigger; there is a quick, nervous pull—down goes the hammer and—“clack” goes the gun. It is a misfire, and the two men ride triumphantly on into the plains.

The real chase is only begun, for over the plains fly the swift steeds, pursuers and pursued. There are few parallel cases on record. For a distance of thirteen miles across the open country the two detectives chased the two criminals. At times the escape of the culprits seemed inevitable; at times their death or capture seemed certain.

After the effort above described to shoot the criminals, Smith at once seized his revolver and poured six shots after them. One of these shots just grazed Johnson’s leg, cutting through the cuticle. As they rode through the town, Cook left word for Sheriff Ellis to follow with a posse of men.

Across the country the chase continued, and up a small hill. Both pursuers threw away overcoat, gloves, scarf and pistol scabbards. Cook carried the gun, while Smith, having the fleetest horse, would ride ahead, stop, get off the horse, and be ready to take the gun and fire while Cook held the reins, or to hold the reins while Cook should fire.

But time and again the gun refused to go off. Finally, Cook turned over his revolver to Smith and tried to fix the gun, while on the run. He endeavored to take it to pieces, but failed. He pulled one cartridge, and while putting in another it stuck fast. By main strength it was finally forced into the gun. Just before this Cook’s horse, while attempting to jump a high sage brush, landed with his hind feet in a prairie dog hole, and he was thrown forward on the pommel of his saddle and was painfully hurt. After the cartridge had been forced home the officers rode up within range and gave two shots, both missing the mark. They again went after the men, who now left the road and turned into the prairie, and slightly towards Cañon City, moving over the country, jumping over the tall sagebrush and plunging into embankments of snow, over which the sun, which had now risen, gleamed as on the crest of ocean waves, almost blinding men and beast, but yet failing to take the edge off the March air, which was bitter cold.

Thus the chase went on until both parties gave evident signs of weakening. The fugitives had ridden their horses hard, and they were visibly weakening. The poor animals could not be whipped out of a trot. The officers came up to within sixty yards, and Cook being so near, shouted to them:

“See here, boys, this thing has gone about far enough. Your horses are broken down. We are well heeled, and if you don’t stop we’ll kill you. You may count on it.”

But the precious pair paid no heed to this warning, and went on as rapidly as their weary nags could carry them. Two more shots were sent after them.

A few feet further on, the fugitives were seen to slacken their pace, and one of them to reel in his saddle and fall off his horse into the snow. This was Clodfelter, and he said to Johnson, as he stopped:

“We must surrender. It’s no use. I’m shot.”

He tried to brace himself with his right hand, but that had been disabled by a bullet which had struck the palm of the hand and plowed through it and up the fellow’s arm, breaking his pistol into smithereens. It was then that the officers, discovered that they had “winged” one of their men. They had at first supposed that the men had determined to stop and make an even fight of it for their lives and liberty, but they now began to appreciate that they were preparing for a surrender, especially as Johnson also threw himself out of his saddle and threw his hands into the air, tossing his pistol away from him.

Pursuit and capture of Clodfelter and Johnson near Pueblo, by Officers Cook and Smith.

The officers dismounted and walked up to within twenty feet of the men. Johnson was standing with his hands up, and Clodfelter lay on the ground by the side of his horse, which was blowing so loud that he could have been heard a distance of two hundred yards, as were all the others, in fact. There was a momentary silence, when Cook, addressing Johnson, said:

“You surrender, do you?”

“We do,” was the reply.

“Have you got another pistol?”

“I have just thrown it away.”

“But have you another one? You don’t come any Wilcox business on us. I will have you searched, and if another weapon is found upon you I will kill you where you stand. Do you understand?”

Slowly Johnson put his hand into an inside pocket and pulled out a revolver with his thumb and forefinger, and threw it upon the ground at his feet.

Clodfelter replied to questions that he had been so badly wounded as to be unable to get his pistol, which was in his pocket. Cook then covered the men with his gun while Smith searched them. Clodfelter was found to be quite seriously wounded, and faint from the loss of blood. He fainted away when the search was completed, and did not recover until a liberal supply of fresh snow had been dashed into his face.

The two men were then mounted upon their horses, and the party of four, officers and prisoners, started into Pueblo.

Looking far off towards the city, they saw a string of horsemen coming towards them, numbering apparently about twenty, and some of them five miles away. These were Sheriff Ellis and his posse, coming to the rescue of the two officers. The first of them had been encountered about half a mile from the scene of the capture, and soon after the sheriff himself was met. Mr. Ellis had started out gallantly at the head of his party. But it must be remembered that the hour was early. The sheriff was a man of regular habits. He had started out very soon after getting his breakfast. He had ridden along for ten miles far in advance of the remainder of his party. He was fast gaining on Cook and Smith, and might eventually have passed them in the chase and have been the first to come up with the flyers. But he was compelled to stop to see other and slower members of his party pass him one by one, and to hear their jeers and hoots. In brief, the same circumstance which prevented the proverbial dog from catching the proverbial rabbit, stepped in to prevent Sheriff Ellis from overtaking the fugitive criminals. Poor fellow! no one enjoyed the joke more than he did. He was a good soul, and loved his fun and his fellow mortals too.

Almost the entire town of Pueblo met the party upon its return, and a cavalcade of fully two hundred men rode into town with them. Johnson was full of bravado, and swore that he and his “pard” would never have been captured had Clodfelter not been shot. As for Clodfelter, he sang another tune entirely. He professed to deeply regret his part in the affair, and time and time again said: “I’m sorry; I only hope they will not hang me.” The tears would start and roll down his face when any one spoke of Charley Wilcox and his wounds, and he often asserted: “I had no enmity to Wilcox; I did it under excitement.” Indeed, he seemed anything but a desperado, and was evidently deeply sensible of the grievous wrong he committed, and suffered as much as any one.

Once on the train after leaving Pueblo, the two men told the story of their flight after the shooting of Wilcox, at Island Station, immediately after which they mounted their horses and rode to Brantner’s. Johnson remained on his horse, while Clodfelter went in and obtained a pair of blankets, and a cap and a coat for Johnson. Clodfelter told Brantner that they had got into trouble, but did not tell him the whole story. They then rode directly to Richard Morris’ ranch, on the Platte, and about a mile from Brantner’s, and inquired for Morris. Not finding him in, they rode on to Jackson farm, about two miles and a half from Morris’, up the Platte, and from there they went to Sopris’ old ranch, at the junction of the Platte and Clear creek.

Here they endeavored to obtain pistols, and then bullets and powder and shot, but did not succeed. They did obtain food. Their course was then straight for the mountains, intending to strike them south of Golden. They reached the foothills about sunrise Sunday morning, about eight miles, as they think, above Platte cañon. They spent most of the day in the mountains, but late in the afternoon came out, went to a ranch about three miles below and obtained feed for the horses and provisions for themselves. They then struck south, and a little before sundown crossed the Platte about a mile below the cañon, intending to strike the southern road. They traveled until about 12 o’clock that night, and after tying their horses laid down on the prairie and slept until morning. They were then on Willow (South Plum) creek, about a mile above Wakeman’s. About 7 o’clock Monday morning they rode to Wakeman’s and got coffee. From there they made south, in a direct line for the foothills, and struck the road running south to Colorado Springs about 3 o’clock in the afternoon. They followed the road for an hour, and then stopped at a house and got supper. They continued along the road, passing Monument and other stations. About 4 o’clock in the morning (Tuesday) they passed through Colorado Springs, and took the road south. Soon they became bewildered, and were uncertain about being on the right road. They descried a ranch and went to a hay-stack and fed their ponies, and discovered the railroad. This assured them, and crossing over to the west side of the track they continued their journey south, crossing the Fountaine about five miles below the ranch, and afterwards crossed back. About twelve miles from Colorado Springs they obtained a dinner and oats for their horses. As they pursued their southerly course, the snow began to fall and impede them. When about one mile from Pueblo, they put up at a ranch for the night, about 10 o’clock in the evening. About 7 o’clock in the morning (Wednesday) they started for Pueblo, and rode down one of the principal streets, when they were discovered. Not until they were close to the bridge did they imagine they were pursued, and then only from the peculiar action of two men on foot and two others on horseback.

Both men denied that Johnson said, “You know what I did for you once.” They declared all that was said was, “You know what I’ve done,” meaning the shooting at Wilcox, and hence requesting Clodfelter to help him out of the scrape.

There was great interest in the prisoners and their successful pursuers at all stations along the road, and especially at Colorado Springs, whose pursuing party had “marched up the hill and then marched down again;” or, in other words, had slept out all night after leaving Cook and Smith at Fountaine, and returned the next day to Colorado Springs, hungry, fatigued, sleepy, almost frozen and without their booty. Colorado Springs really enjoyed the chagrin of its light brigade, and gave Cook and his party a royal reception on their return through that place as the train halted at the depot.

There was another reception in Denver. The officers came in the third day after starting out, and brought their game with them. There was talk of lynching when the party arrived. Continually after it was announced that Johnson and Clodfelter had been captured and would arrive on the evening train, the probability of a “hanging bee” was discussed on the street and in every store. The sentiment of the community was, however, strongly against Judge Lynch, and certain incentives to the gathering of a mob were generally and severely denounced. Still curiosity and excitement among a certain class had reached such a pitch that measures were taken to prevent and thwart any action of the kind.

About the time of the arrival of the train, men and boys could be seen wending their way towards the Larimer and Fifteenth street crossings, and also to the depot, as rumor had named each place for the transfer of the prisoners to carriages. The largest crowd collected at the depot, where the train did unload its burden. It is said that there were those in the crowd who openly carried ropes for halters.

As soon as the train arrived at the depot the prisoners were transferred to a ’bus, their persons being protected by a sufficient number of good men to overawe any crowd who did not care to receive cold lead. The ’bus was occupied by two travelers, Gen. Cook and Frank Smith, of the Rocky Mountain Detective Association, by Johnson and Clodfelter, and Sheriff Ellis, of Pueblo county. On top of the ’bus rode Sheriff Willoughby and aides. In the rear was a mounted policeman. As the ’bus moved up the street it was surrounded by a number of wagons and carriages, filled with people anxious to get a sight at the noted criminals, while still others followed on horseback.

On arrival at the jail, about three or four hundred persons were found collected at the entrance, who seemed indisposed to give back for the horses to pass. As soon as the ’bus came to a standstill, however, the crowd were parted by Sheriff Willoughby and his deputies, who arrived on the ’bus, and by still others at the jail. This passage was guarded by these men with drawn revolvers, and if any effort had been made to take the prisoners from the officers of the law, it would have resulted in terrible execution on the crowd. In the presence of such a display of armed men no disorder was observed, and in safety the prisoners were lodged in Arapahoe County jail.

From the time the procession of carriages left the depot until the prisoners were landed in the jail, hundreds of eyes peered from houses, stores and business blocks upon the unusual spectacle, and pedestrians paused in their walk to gaze upon the vehicle containing the men about whom so much had been written and said.

During this hurried trip through the city the prisoners were evidently uneasy and fearful of being lynched. When landed in jail and the doors were closed against the crowd, upon a remark being made to Clodfelter that he was safe, he replied:

“Yes, but the worst is to come hereafter.”

Previous to being put in a cell, the shackles, which were riveted to their ankles, were cut off, and then the men were placed in confinement.

They were soon afterwards tried in Denver, but as Wilcox’s wound did not prove fatal, they were only sent to the penitentiary for three and a half years each. They are both at liberty now, and their whereabouts has been lost sight of. Mr. Wilcox is still a resident of Denver, and now a member of the police force, and Gen. Cook carries a scar on his wrist which was caused by a slight wound created in attempting to remove the cartridge from his gun during the pursuit of the men.

The case was so thoroughly worked up by the detectives, and a clue once obtained was followed with such skill, perseverance and pluck, that the praise of the entire state was justly awarded them. The press was full of commendation, but we shall let one example speak for all. The Pueblo Chieftain said the day after the capture:

“Detectives D. J. Cook and Frank Smith have won fresh laurels for themselves by the excellent manner in which they have managed this case. Notwithstanding the fact that even the elements were arrayed against them, they have managed to follow up and arrest these scoundrels in a manner highly creditable to themselves and the association to which they belong.”

A DREAM OF DEATH.

CHAPTER LXIII.