Detectives, as a rule, are devoid of superstition. They have sufficient offer of assistance from mediums and fortune tellers, and of other persons who profess to read the future, but they find that they do better, as a rule, when they depend solely upon the material facts which form their staple. They rely generally upon their own eyes and ears and shrewdness of mind to accomplish their work. As a rule, in fact, they are disbelievers in all that is supernatural or that comes from so-called second sight. But occasionally they see occurrences which they consider strange, to say the least. Gen. Cook does not call to mind any story in which clairvoyance or spiritualism has played any important part in the capture of a criminal, but he relates a reminiscence concerning the death of a fellow detective and member of the Rocky Mountain Detective Association, which is so very, very strange as to deserve a place in this record, especially as the circumstances are thoroughly authenticated. The story, regardless of this feature, is sufficiently thrilling to justify its publication here, but when this is added, the interest is increased tenfold. Indeed, there are few occurrences related in history which combine to such an extent the thrilling elements of official life with the mysterious features of the spiritual realm.

The story deals with Alex Ramsey and his wife, and is located at Hayes City, Kan., the time being the fall of 1875. Ramsey was at that time a man about thirty-three years of age, and was as fine a specimen of manhood as is met with in a day’s journey. He was a thoroughly western man in all things—in manners, frankness and courage, as well as in stature. He was ever a hail fellow, genial with his friends, liberal to a fault, and as brave as a lion when duty called him to action. He was a good detective, excelling especially in his dealings with desperate characters. He had, a few years before the date of this story, married a confiding, impressionable little woman down in the Missouri valley, who loved him with all the strength of a woman’s nature. She depended upon him implicitly, believed in his prowess in all matters, and really worshiped him. Soon after their marriage they removed to Hayes City, near the Colorado line and then the terminus of the Kansas Pacific railroad—a live, bustling town, full of life and abounding in the rough characters who accompany the building of railroads in the West.

Ramsey had not long been in Hayes when his courage as well as his many manly qualities came to be known to the people of the place, as he frequently had occasion to aid in handling the violent spirits who congregated there. Hence it came about that when the people of that place came to want an executive officer in whom they could trust, they selected Ramsey. Gen. Cook, as chief of the Rocky Mountain Detective Agency, heard of this man, and in 1871 invited him to become a member of his association. The offer was accepted, and Ramsey became one of the most active of the officers of the organization, always conducting himself so as to win the approbation and maintain the confidence of his chief. Ramsey had served one term as sheriff of his county, and in the summer of 1875 was reëlected, virtually without opposition. Being in Denver soon after the reëlection, he told Gen. Cook that he was the first sheriff who had ever lived to be elected to a second term in Hayes City, his three predecessors having been killed before the expiration of their respective terms of office. “I have gone through one siege,” he said, “and I am going to try it again. The chances are that I shall be killed, but I will take the chances.”

It was in October following his visit to Denver that Mr. Ramsey was called upon to go in pursuit of a couple of horse thieves. A character well known on the frontier in those days as “Dutch Pete,” and known by no other name, accompanied by a pal whose name is not known at all, one night made a raid upon a band of horses belonging to a man living in Colorado, and stampeded thirty-five head of them. When the owner awoke the next morning he found his animals gone, and was able to ascertain that the thieves had taken their booty in the direction of Smoky Hill or the Republican river. His first impulse, as he afterwards explained, was to pursue them himself, but remembering the skill and courage of Ramsey in running down such characters, he changed his mind, and went to Hayes City and put the case in his hands.

Mr. Ramsey cheerfully took charge of the matter, securing Frank Shepherd, a friend in whom he had confidence, as an assistant in the work before him, and kissing his wife an affectionate farewell, he rode off in company with Shepherd, going towards Smoky Hill with the intention of cutting off the retreat of the thieves. The two officers started off thoroughly armed and well mounted. Their horses galloped away in spirit, as if anxious to lessen the distance between the officers and their game.

Mrs. Ramsey watched the horsemen as long as she could see them, gazing even into the blank horizon after they had disappeared as if to feast her eyes as long as possible upon the manly form of her husband, so full of life and hardy manhood. She had been used to having him placed in positions of danger, and so great was her confidence in her husband’s superiority over other people in courage and coolness, that she had come to have but little fear for his personal welfare when out on an expedition like this upon which he was now starting. But, some how, she seemed to feel an unusual desire on this occasion to have Mr. Ramsey not go, although she did not say so to him, for she knew that he would attend to his duty in spite of any forebodings of hers, which he would consider foolish, womanish fear. But she gazed longer and earnestly after him, and at last when she knew that he had gone for good, had turned to go in the house, exclaiming, “Oh, pshaw! this is foolish. I know he will come back. He always does, doesn’t he?”

She thus dismissed the matter from her mind as completely as she could, and went about her household duties, making herself as busy as possible during the day and as far into the night as she could find anything to do. As a consequence of this over exertion Mrs. Ramsey slept soundly upon going to bed. Everybody about the house had retired either before or at the time that she did, and all were by midnight busy with their dreams. They were, however, at this hour startled into a thorough state of wakefulness by a scream which rent the air, and which came from the direction of the room of Mrs. Ramsey.

The entire household was astir in a moment, and all rushed pell-mell into Mrs. Ramsey’s apartments. They found her out of bed in her night clothes, and her two children, one of them a mere baby, clinging to her. She was talking in an incoherent manner at the top of her voice and the children, thoroughly frightened at their mother’s manner, were crying loudly. The inmates of the house succeeded in a few moments in quieting the woman down, and at last procured an explanation from her. “Such a horrid—horrid dream!” she exclaimed. “Oh, I know it’s true! I saw it—just as plain as day—plainer than I see you—just as real and terrible as if I had been there. I just know that Alex is dead. I didn’t want him to go. I tried to the last to see him. I never in my life so longed to beg him not to go. I wish I had. I believe he would have stayed with me. But poor, poor fellow, I shall never see him again, except in death.”

CHAPTER LXIV.

Mrs. Ramsey, after this raving narrative, became more quiet and told the people standing about her that she had dreamed that she had seen Mr. Ramsey and Mr. Shepherd come upon the horse thieves and attack them; that the thieves had started to flee on their horses; that the officers had followed and fired upon them, the thieves returning the fire. Three men had fallen almost simultaneously from their horses, two of them being the fugitives and the third her husband, who had been fatally shot. Her dream had continued so as to take her out to search for her husband with the hope of meeting him upon his return. Instead of meeting him alive and well she had encountered a covered wagon, which she described, bringing in his dead body, seeing which she had screamed so loud as to awaken herself and others asleep near her.

This was the dream as Mrs. Ramsey told it. It had been so real to her and the occurrences so tangible that she felt that a tragedy such as she had described had occurred, and refused to be comforted by the argument that it was foolish to pay any heed to a dream. Such she agreed was usually the case, but in this instance she felt that she had really been present at the killing of her husband. The conviction seemed to take complete possession of her. No reasoning would shake her belief that she had been a real witness to a tragedy which had resulted in her beloved husband’s death.

Mrs. Ramsey refused to again attempt to sleep or even to retire again that night. The only comfort which she seemed to receive was in the assurance that as soon as day should break she should be driven out in the direction which her husband had taken. “I know I shall meet that covered wagon,” she said, “I just know it, but I want to go, anyhow, and to know the worst.”

According to promise she was allowed to start out from Hayes at a very early hour the succeeding morning, a friend accompanying her in a carriage. They had driven out a distance of fourteen miles without meeting any one, when there began to dawn a ray of hope that the dreadful vision of the dream would prove to have been merely a hallucination, caused by the imperfect action of the brain while asleep. But the poor woman looked eagerly forward for the purpose of getting the first view of that which she most dreaded to see.

Long as it was in coming, the wagon came in sight all too soon. Rising up over the summit of an elevation in the plains and looking down the descending grade she saw slowly coming towards her and her companion a covered wagon drawn by two horses. Throwing up her hands so as to cover her eyes she exclaimed with all the force of positive conviction:

“My God! there’s the wagon.”

She could not have been more positive if she had seen the vehicle only the day before. After this sight she refused to be comforted and only urged her driver to increase his speed, sobbing as if heart-broken as they pushed on.

The woman’s dream had been more than a dream. It had been a real vision. There had been no deception. The vehicle was just as she had described it and in it lay the lifeless body of her husband, just as his wife had said would be found to be the case.

Very strange all this is, to be sure, and yet true to the letter. Let who can explain it.

Inquiry revealed the fact that the shooting had occurred just as it had appeared to Mrs. Ramsey and just as she described it to half a dozen witnesses before leaving Hayes City. The officers had come upon the thieves in the afternoon of the first day out, thirty-five miles from Hayes, just as they were concluding their dinners and preparing to continue their journey. They had mounted when they discovered the officers riding down upon them. The thieves knew Ramsey, and their first thought was to escape from him at all hazards. They accordingly put spurs to their horses which they rode, leaving the others which they had stolen behind. The officers spurred up their horses also, and were soon chasing the thieves across the plains. The two parties were not less than sixty yards apart when Ramsey said to Shepherd, after having summoned the fugitives to halt:

“Well, I don’t see that there is anything to do but to bring them down. You take the one on your side and I’ll take the fellow on my side.”

Mrs. Ramsey’s vision of her husband’s murder, and also the killing of a pair of horse thieves.

This speech had hardly been spoken when the two thieves turned in their saddles with pistols presented. It was plain to be seen that there must be a deadly duel then and there.

“Won’t you surrender?” shouted Ramsey.

“Never!” was the reply.

“Then we will kill you.”

“Fire away.”

“Give it to ’em.” Thus to Shepherd.

There were four pistol shots coming so close together as to sound like a volley.

One of the thieves, the one at whom Ramsey had shot, reeled and tumbled from his horse dead. The other reeled but did not fall, and Shepherd spurred on after him, not noticing that Ramsey did not follow. After galloping a short distance the second man fell from his saddle mortally wounded.

Turning then for the first time, Shepherd, who was unhurt, discovered that Ramsey had been knocked from his horse. He had been shot through and through, the ball passing near his heart. There was a ranch a few miles distant and Shepherd determined to make an effort to get his friend to it and to leave the thieves where they had fallen. “Dutch Pete” proved to be the man at whom Ramsey had directed his aim. He it was who had shot Ramsey. But Ramsey’s shot had gone straight home, passing through Pete’s heart. The other thief was also mortally wounded, and soon died. Their bodies were covered with stones and left where they had fallen. The stolen horses were gathered together and returned to their owner.

As for Ramsey, he was taken to the ranch referred to and given every possible attention. But after lingering on in great pain he died at 12 o’clock of the night succeeding the shooting—at the exact hour at which Mrs. Ramsey had had her startling and strange dream.

The body was then placed in the ranchman’s covered wagon, and the cortege started for Hayes City, meeting Mrs. Ramsey on the road.

It is useless to attempt to further describe the anguish of the poor woman. She refused to be comforted after her husband’s death, and two weeks after his funeral she was a raving maniac. Four months afterwards her unhappy spirit deserted the flesh and she joined her husband in the world beyond this.

A MEXICAN BANDIT.

CHAPTER LXV.

Candado Costello, a nephew of the famous murderer, Espinoza, although the blood of the ancient Castilian nobility flowed through his veins, was a bad, bad Mexican.

And, although we have neither the space nor the inclination to moralize at any length, it might be well to remark, for the benefit of the boys who feast upon blood-and-thunder novels of the yellow-back variety, that bad men invariably come to grief. For a time they may rob and kill and plunder, and swagger around saloons on the proceeds of their crimes, terrorizing peaceable and defenseless people, yet sooner or later justice will overtake them, and they must pay the penalty of their crimes. This is the inexorable law of fate, and though they may be able for a time to evade its penalties, they are only enjoying a respite—their days are numbered, and the number is never large. But to return to our subject.

Costillo was a murderer as well as a thief, there being no less than four cold-blooded murders that have been directly traced to his blood-stained hand. But the particular case which we wish to relate here, is that of the killing of a wealthy Mexican cattleman near Bernallilo, N. M., in 1886, for which he was brought to justice by two members of the Rocky Mountain Detective Association—Frank A. Hyatt, and Walter O. Malley, of Walsenburg.

Costillo, with his brother Juan and a number of other relatives and friends, made their homes in the almost inaccessible Huerfano cañon, about twelve miles north of Walsenburg, Colo. From this stronghold they sallied forth on many a raid after cattle and horses, which they generally managed to escape back into the cañon with in safety. In the raid on Romero’s ranch, he and his brother secured a fine bunch of cattle and were driving them toward home, when they were overtaken near Española by Romero and his son. They turned and fired upon their pursuers, and the elder Romero fell dead. The son escaped back home and tried to persuade their neighbors and friends to organize a posse and follow his father’s murderers, but they were all afraid to follow the desperado.

Mrs. Romero offered a reward of $5,000 for the capture of Candado Costillo, Juan having escaped to old Mexico. Gov. Shelton offered $500, and an uncle of Mrs. Romero $100 more. All these rewards did not tempt the local officials to capture him, and the sheriff of Huerfano county, for some reason or other, did not make any effort to apprehend the criminal.

Finally, Senator Barilla, of Walsenburg, a friend of Romero, the murdered man, wrote to Dr. Gale, of Alamosa, asking him to interest Frank Hyatt in the case, as he knew of no one else that would undertake the difficult job.

Hyatt commenced work on the case about the 1st of May, 1887. He went up to Walsenburg and had a consultation with O’Malley as to the best means of securing their man. O’Malley said that it would be almost useless to attempt to take the murderer at his home, but added that Costillo was subpœnæd as a witness in a civil case that was to be called up for trial in about a month, and that would be the best time to effect his capture. So they agreed to wait, and Hyatt returned to Alamosa.

On the 2d of June he received a message from O’Malley, saying: “Man O. K. Come at once.” He went to Walsenburg that evening, and the next morning, O’Malley came to his room at the hotel with the information that Costillo was then in the court room. They both went over to the court house, and Hyatt stepped into the office of Treasurer Nolan to wait while O’Malley hunted up Costillo. When O’Malley entered the room with Costillo, Hyatt was pretending to read a paper, and paid no attention to them until O’Malley introduced the Mexican, who stepped forward, with his right hand extended, to shake hands. Hyatt seized the Mexican’s right hand with his own left, and held it as in a vice, at the same time leveling his revolver with his right. Realizing that he had been neatly trapped, Costillo did not make a struggle, and O’Malley quickly slipped the first pair of “dead cinch” handcuffs ever placed on a murderer’s wrists on the prisoner.

Hyatt and O’Malley, with their prisoner, hurried out of town toward La Veta, to take the train for Santa Fe. At La Veta they were overtaken by a deputy sheriff and a posse, with a writ of habeas corpus for Costillo, and a warrant for the arrest of Hyatt, on a charge of kidnapping. This necessitated a return to Walsenburg, but as soon as the case could be called up, Hyatt was discharged, and allowed to proceed with his prisoner, whom he landed safely at Santa Fe.

Gov. Sheldon promptly paid the $500 reward offered by him, as did the uncle of Mrs. Romero, but the widow declined to pay the $5,000 she had offered, or any part of it, and Hyatt finally decided to let her go. Costillo was found guilty and sentenced to eight years in the territorial penitentiary.

Costillo was a model prisoner and in consequence a large portion of his sentence was deducted for good behavior. This was due not to any good qualities of the brute nor to a desire to reform, but was simply a cunning design to obtain freedom that he might the sooner wreak the vengeance his blood-thirsty appetite desired. He was afraid to attack the plucky officer who had sent him over the road, so he contented himself with the murder of inoffensive travelers, by his own confession in a letter to a friend, having killed no less than four white men after his release.

The crime for which he was finally shot to death was the murder of two Swede miners at Red Hill pass, in South park, in 1891. He, with a younger Mexican, killed the Swedes while they were camped at night, and dragged their bodies away from the road so that they were not found for several days. Finally they were discovered, and the sheriff of Park county, with two deputies, started after the Mexicans, who they learned had gone to Costillo’s old retreat in the Huerfano cañon. They seem to have killed the two miners simply for revenge, as neither of them had any money or other property sufficient to tempt the cupidity of even a Mexican.

When the sheriff had them surrounded in their cabin the young Mexican surrendered, but old Costillo refused to give up, and stood the officers off for two or three days. Finally he made a desperate dash for liberty and was shot all to pieces by the officers, and no one mourned his loss. It is doubtful if he was even given decent burial, as his neighbors, who were nearly all Mexicans, despised him so thoroughly that they would have nothing to do with him.

The young Mexican was convicted of murder and sentenced to the penitentiary for life, and is now probably serving out his time.

CONCLUSION.

Just a word with the reader in finishing this book. Not by way of apology or explanation, but as a general adieu. Certainly we feel that the stories as here given explain themselves, and we believe that the reader, will agree with the writer, after perusing the volume from beginning to end, that he has gotten the worth of his money. Hence no apology is necessary. It is true that the cases here related have not been drawn out as is the custom with some detectives who write books, but this neglect, if such it may be termed, has been intentional. It is not believed that the western reader has time to pore over small details, or that he cares to know of every step of the detectives, whose personal conduct outside of their real accomplishments in the line in which they may be operating is of no consequence to any one but themselves. Hence this book has not dealt with all the little operations of the detectives who figure in its pages. Its aim has been to present the material and important facts, and to picture the criminal as well as the officer.

The criminal of the Far West is a man who displays himself most thoroughly in times of emergency. It is when he comes face to face with the officer that he is desperate and difficult to deal with. He will always fight, and the officer who hunts him down may in four cases out of five count upon having to take his man at the muzzle of his revolver. It is this fact which makes the western narrative of more thrilling interest than that of the more conservative eastern localities. It is also this fact which increases the danger and hardship of a detective’s life in the West. The detective of the Rocky mountains, and of the plains which stretch out to the great rivers in the middle of the continent, must be a man possessed not alone of a keen capacity for hunting down criminals, but must have the courage to face such criminal when taken, and to risk his life in hand-to-hand combat when his man is come upon. But it would seem unnecessary to dwell upon this fact for the benefit of the reader of this volume. It speaks for itself. There is hardly a story of the number told which does not bear out this assertion. There are very few captures here reported which have not been made by officers who risked their own lives in making them. There are some cases in which men made such resistance as to require that they be shot down in their tracks, and in some cases it has been the sad duty to chronicle the killing of efficient and faithful officers by these desperadoes. As a class, however, Gen. Cook’s men have proved quite capable of taking care of themselves, while his own escape from the desperado’s bullet, during his thirty-five years of active detective life on the border, has been little less than marvelous. It can be accounted for only upon the ground that he is shrewd enough to detect many difficulties before they arise, courageous enough to meet them promptly when they do come, and cool and skillful enough to give them better than they send when the emergency arises. It thus happens that he is alive and prosperous, after serving thirty-five years of detective life on the border, when nearly all of his old-time companions are dead. He has also trained his men so thoroughly that they have learned to protect themselves.

But the record here presented is not merely one of daring and adventure. It is one of hardships and great personal sacrifice as well. It will appear in many of the stories told that the events related occurred at a time when there were no railroads in the country. Gen. Cook and his officers have, since the time when he first settled in Colorado, traversed almost the entire barren plains and Rocky mountains from Northern Dakota to Southwestern Texas, climbing precipices, stage-coaching, horseback riding and walking; sleeping out for several nights in succession, subsisting for days on the scantiest supply of food, and often going from sixty to seventy-two hours without sleep; facing the worst of storms, and, indeed, enduring all the privations of frontier life, where there are few people, fewer accommodations and much that is trying upon mind and body. Any one of the trips, such as those recorded of Gen. Cook in the Britt and Hilligoss or Clodfelter and Johnson story, would be sufficient to use up an ordinary individual, and many would be entirely unable to endure it. Yet Gen. Cook has put in thirty-five years in just such service, ever mindful of the public welfare and forgetful of his own comfort and quiet; ever anxious to bring the guilty to punishment and to free the country of the human vultures who prey upon it, regardless of his own private well-being, and in many cases without hope of reward or appreciation. That he has in his day done a grand service for the people of the state in making it a place disagreeable and dangerous to evil-doers is a truth which many appreciate. His services have ever been at the command of the people among whom he lives, and the stories here told—only a portion of those which might be related—best attest that when he has acted he has done so in a way to make the work count.