The Lynching of Woodruff and Seminole at Golden.

As the main body of men left the scene of the lynching, they fired a farewell shot from their pistols, and as their number was variously estimated at from one hundred to a hundred and fifty, it made quite a volley.

After viewing the hanged men, the coroner ordered the sheriff to cut them down, which was done, and D. P. Maynard having been sent for and arriving with his express wagon, the corpses were taken up and conveyed to an unoccupied storeroom on Ford street. Here they were placed under the care of two watchers, and about 9 o’clock in the morning were conveyed to the court house, where, an hour later, the jury impaneled by the coroner held the inquest, and brought in a verdict to the effect that Seminole and Woodruff “came to their death upon the 28th day of December, 1879, being taken from the jail and custody of the said jailer of said county by force and violence, between the hours of 12 and 1 o’clock a. m., and hanged by the neck by parties unknown to this jury, and with felonious intent.”

After the tragedy the undertaker laid the bodies out in plain pine boxes, painted black on the outside, and, untying their hands, crossed them in front. Woodruff was dressed in a dark check shirt, duck overall and cotton stockings, without shoes. His eyes were half open, and his mouth, with its lips slightly apart, disclosed his regular teeth beneath. During his confinement in Golden he had not shaved, and a rough growth of beard covered his cheeks and chin. His forehead was covered with blood that dripped from the wounds on the top of his head, caused by the necessary rapping given with the pistol butt when taking him out of his cell.

Seminole wore a checkered vest and a dark sack coat over his undershirt. Dark pantaloons, brown mixed stockings and Indian moccasins completed the balance of his attire. His mouth and eyes were firmly closed, and from either corner of the shut lips a streak of blood ran down upon his neck, while watery matter oozed slightly from his left eye. His face was considerably swollen, and decomposition soon set in. The knots on both nooses had slipped around to the front, immediately beneath the chin, and had cut somewhat into the flesh of both men. The back of Woodruff’s neck was badly cut and much swollen, and blood marked the courses on both necks followed by the rope. In order to accommodate Woodruff’s body, a box six feet seven inches long was necessary, and six feet one inch for Seminole.

Monday afternoon, succeeding the day of the lynching, no answer having been received from relatives, both Seminole and Woodruff were buried in the Golden cemetery.

And thus Samuel Woodruff and Joseph Seminole pass out of the world’s daily history, and another terrible example is recorded to give terror to all evil-doers.

Recording the tragedy as above related, the Tribune of December 30 said:

“In wandering through the town of Golden yesterday, and conversing with business men of all grades of social and intellectual standing, the reporter failed to find one solitary person who condemned this recent lynching. On every side the popular verdict seemed to be that the hanging was not only well merited, but a positive gain to the county, saving it at least five or six thousand dollars. In plumply asking the question from thirteen representative men, the Tribune commissioner met with the unvarying response: ‘It was the best thing possible, and we are all glad of it.’”

A DUNKARD DISGRACED.

CHAPTER XXI.

Mr. Joseph Arnold, known to his friends and the community at large as “Joe,” has for many years past been one of the most trusted of Gen. Cook’s assistant detectives. To him have been entrusted many of the cases which required the closest attention to detail, and a capacity to pick up clues which others less shrewd and less familiar with the small traits of human nature would have allowed to go unnoticed. He is a typical detective. He is one of the best men on a cold trail in the whole country, and is as plausible as a courtier when it is necessary to be plausible. At other times he is quite disposed to be taciturn, and he never gives anything away.

One of Joe’s best pieces of detective work was done in the year 1878, and it illustrates his shrewdness about as well as any story which can be told of him. This consisted in the working up of the case of Christian J. Schuttler, as big a pious fraud as ever dawned upon Denver. Schuttler had for many years lived in Johnson county, Iowa, twelve miles from Iowa City. He was a man of over fifty years of age, the head of a family consisting of a wife and twelve children. He was a member of the Amish Society, a branch of the Dunkard faith, and was a leader among them. Indeed, he was at the head of the society in Johnson county, if not in the entire state of Iowa. He was the financial agent and manager of his society, attending to all the business of his people with the outside world for the entire community. The society in Iowa was prosperous, because industrious and frugal, and Schuttler, as their agent, had almost unlimited credit. He was trusted everywhere as a man of extreme probity and honor; probably because he wore a long beard, as the Amish people never shave; had a meek look in his eyes, spoke in a low tone, wore hooks and eyes instead of buttons, and carried other external signs which made him appear a man whom the world should trust; but most probably because he had the confidence of his own people, and because they backed him as a body in his financial and other operations. At any rate, he was trusted implicitly, and this fact led to his falling into Joe Arnold’s hands.

As general business agent for his organization, Schuttler often made business visits to Chicago. What his general conduct there was on these occasions is not known in detail, but it is supposed to have generally been very loose, though he was not suspected by those who trusted him until after the occurrences which are about to be related.

Schuttler made one of these visits to Chicago in the early part of 1878, and during that visit disappeared mysteriously from the sight of his friends and acquaintances. He had gone to Chicago for the purpose of selling for his society thirteen carloads of fine beef cattle, which had been prepared for the market by his Dunkard friends. Before leaving, as was afterwards ascertained, he had borrowed $4,000 in currency from the Johnson County Bank, of which Mr. John Conden was cashier, and also various small sums from other persons. He had been gone several days before any uneasiness began to be felt; but when at last, after some two or three weeks of waiting, nothing was heard of him, his friends began to grow uneasy, and took the initiatory steps towards making a search for him, if alive, and for his body, if dead. Letters were written to Chicago, but only elicited the fact that he had arrived there with his cattle, and had sold them and gotten the money for them. The cashier of a bank remembered seeing Schuttler in his bank, where he had gone out with a draft for $10,000. This was the last trace which had been found. Search was made everywhere in Chicago, but no one could be found who could throw any light upon the mystery, which deepened every day. Advertisements were put in the papers. Friends became uneasy for the man’s personal safety; creditors grew anxious for other reasons; his family was terribly distressed for their own welfare, as well as for that of the father and husband. But no good tidings were received with which to appease the general uneasiness.

Hardly any one believed that Schuttler had disappeared of his own accord. As has been said, he was trusted by all and suspected by none. It was believed that he had been robbed for his money, and the suspicion that he had also been murdered gradually took possession of the public mind.

At last a heavy reward was offered for the finding of the man, dead or alive, and for any clue which would aid in clearing up the terrible mystery and bringing to justice those who were believed to have been responsible for his disappearance.

At the special request of those interested, Pinkerton’s Detective Agency was employed on the case by those interested, and instructed to spare neither money nor pains in their work. They published descriptions in the papers, searched Chicago from one end to the other, and even went so far as to have the Chicago river dragged for the body. They set their men in every direction to work, but failed utterly to find any trace of the missing man, or to offer any theory which would explain his disappearance. Schuttler’s friends were quite despairing.

But there was still reason for hope, if they had only known, which will appear in the next chapter.

CHAPTER XXII.

One day several weeks after the man’s disappearance, and when the Pinkertons had almost ceased their search the Johnson county people received a telegram from the Rocky Mountain Detective Association, asking them for a complete description of Schuttler, and asking what should be done in case there was reasonable hope of finding Schuttler. A reply was sent, requesting that every effort be made, and saying that a reward of $500 would be paid for the discovery of the man and his return to Iowa.

Joe Arnold had read the description of Schuttler in the Chicago papers. Mr. O. A. Whittemore was then a justice of the peace in Denver. One day Mr. Arnold was in Justice Whittemore’s office attending to some business when he noticed a rather peculiar looking couple come in and ask to be married. The man gave the name of Christian Schottler and the woman that of Mary Spohr. The detective scanned the pair carefully, and at last came to the conclusion that he had somewhere read a description of the man and that he was “wanted.” After thinking over the matter in his own mind he concluded that Christian Schottler, who was getting married to Mary Spohr, was no other than Christian J. Schuttler, late of Johnson county, Iowa, who was supposed to have been murdered for his money and who was being mourned by his wife and twelve children as dead. That he had made many changes in his appearance was quite evident. His long hair and beard had been cut, and the Quaker-like garb had given place to a far more fly costume. But the features of the man were those which had been described in the Chicago paper, and the name given here was very similar to that which the Iowa man had borne. Mr. Arnold was quite convinced that Schuttler, instead of being the truly good creature which had been described, was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, who had stolen the $10,000 in money and deserted his family and foresworn his creed for the purpose of living with the woman whom he had seen become his wife.

Mr. Arnold was careful, of course, to avoid divulging his suspicions to these people or to create any uneasiness in their minds.

He went to Gen. Cook and told him what he had witnessed and imparted his surmise to the chief. Cook then went with him to see the man and to pass his opinion upon him. He coincided with Arnold in his view of the case, and it was after this conference that the telegram referred to above was sent to Iowa.

In accordance with the instructions from Iowa, the detectives decided to keep a close watch upon the movements of the pair. This work was entrusted almost entirely to Mr. Arnold. He seldom allowed the man and woman to get out of his sight, though he was careful to remain unknown to them. He discovered that they spent the greater portion of their time in the retired portions of the city, and found that they had entered into negotiations some few days after their arrival here for a saloon on Wazee street, where it was supposed they believed they could go into business and earn a livelihood, as well as enjoy their illicit love, without being detected. They resided during the time in a little grout cottage on Fifteenth street, near Welton, considered then a long way out of town.

One day, much to his satisfaction, Mr. Arnold traced Schottler to a photograph gallery, and found that he had had some pictures of himself made. What motive he could have had for this step is not known, but it is presumed that he desired to preserve a record of his early appearance in his new garb, which, though that of ordinary life with other men, was strange to him. Whatever the freak that led him to seek the photographer, it proved quite a serious matter for him, and helped, if it did no more, to hasten the arrest. Of course Arnold procured one of these pictures. He sent it post haste to the home of Schuttler, where, although the clerical look was removed, it was recognized as being the photograph of Schuttler. The detectives were then requested to see that Schuttler did not make his escape and to arrest him in case he should attempt to leave town. The telegram was from Mr. Conden, the cashier of the bank which had lent Schuttler $4,000, and he announced his determination to come out and see the man.

In the meantime Arnold had found that the man and woman told different stories about themselves, as to where they were from, one of them stating that they had just arrived from Illinois and the other that they came from Wisconsin. They appeared to be nervous and watchful, and every movement strengthened the suspicion entertained of them by the detectives. The woman at last disappeared, and it was learned that she had gone to Chicago, taking a considerable sum of money with her.

When Conden arrived the man was alone. He was taken to a place where he could obtain a good look at him without being himself seen by Schuttler. He at once pronounced Schottler to be no other than Schuttler, and requested that he be arrested forthwith.

The arrest followed soon afterwards, and was made by Gen. Cook. When Schuttler was apprehended he denied that he had been guilty of any crime, and told the officer that he must be mistaken. He made no objection other than to declare his innocence and to swear that his name was Scholtz instead of Schuttler. In reply to these remarks Cook only told him that if he would go with him to his office the matter could very soon be settled; that there was a man there who would probably recognize him, and that if he did not there would be no harm done, and he could go. To this proposition Schuttler assented, and went with Cook. Conden was awaiting the arrival of the two men at the officer’s rooms, and when Schuttler arrived there was a mutual recognition.

“My God!” exclaimed Schuttler.

With this he thrust his hand into his pocket and brought out an ordinary pocket knife with which he made an effort to cut his throat, and in this he doubtless would have succeeded had he not been interfered with by Cook and Arnold. He then acknowledged everything, and said it was useless to make any attempt to conceal his crime. He would, he said, willingly go back home and make any reparation for his offense that was in his power. He now talked profusely, and claimed that then for the first time, though he had been “missing” for nearly two months, he had realized the wrong which he had done. He protested that he had been drugged and stupefied in Chicago and led astray by the woman to whom he had been married here.

It may be remarked in passing that it was afterwards learned that the woman had been a member of the demi monde and that Schuttler had been acquainted with her for several years before his little escapade. It seems, further, that he had deliberately planned an elopement with her before leaving home, and that he had as deliberately borrowed money and procured the sale of the cattle with the intention of defrauding the community which had trusted him with such implicity. The woman had played her part merely for the purpose of getting money from the fellow, and had succeeded to such an extent that when he was captured only $4,000 of the original $10,000 was found upon his person. She had gone away, doubtless, to never return. Be that as it may, she has never since been heard from in Colorado. She had undoubtedly played Schuttler for an old fool; and going on the principle that an old fool is the worst fool of all, had undertaken to beat him badly, and had succeeded admirably—tearing the man, as such women are most capable of doing, from his exalted position in his community and from his family, and causing him ever afterwards to be looked upon as a thief, a bigamist, and, worse than all, a silly dupe.

To return to the story. Arnold assisted in taking Schuttler back to Iowa, where he was taken in hand by the authorities. The people of Schuttler’s faith, who are generally very honest, were greatly chagrined at his disgrace, and through their intercession he was saved from a term in the penitentiary. They agreed to settle all his debts, and a compromise was effected upon this basis. The man’s wife was the only person who professed to believe his story of the manner in which he had been led astray. There was a reconciliation in the family, with whom Schuttler soon afterwards removed to Nebraska, where he is probably still living.

The reward offered was paid promptly to Arnold, and he received much praise for the splendid manner in which he had conducted the case, and especially for the shrewdness he had displayed in the beginning. It is safe to say that among the people of Johnson county, Iowa, the Rocky Mountain Detective Association will forever be considered as superior to Mr. Pinkerton’s agency. There are many other localities which feel the same way on the subject.

THE WALL MURDER MYSTERY.

CHAPTER XXIV.

Dry creek is the name of a small and unimportant tributary of Cherry creek, which, like a great many other streams in this vicinity, contains but little water, except during the spring and summer months. It is, however, skirted in places by growths of underbrush and cottonwoods and willows. It heads in Douglas county, near the Divide, and runs for twenty miles in a northeasterly direction, until it joins Cherry creek some fifteen miles above Denver. The region is one for the possession of which ten years ago no one but a few sheep-herders disputed with the prairie dog and plains rattlesnake. Lonely and barren as was the country, it has had its tragedies, and Dry creek tells one of the most thrilling tales of cold-blooded murder which is recorded in this calendar.

Some few years previous to 1871, a quiet and reticent man came to the place and bought a small herd of sheep. He gave the name of S. K. Wall. Occasionally, when business called, he rode into Denver; but he never remained for any length of time. Unlike many men of his calling, and those of the kindred vocation of cattle-grazing, he never staid over to have “a good time with the boys.” He did not buy whiskey with his money, but after paying for his necessities, he would visit the book stores and lay in a supply of reading matter. This he would carry with him to his home up the creek. There he lived, in an unpretentious dugout tent, the life of a hermit, doing his own cooking and tending his own sheep. He had built his hut in a willow copse, near the bed of the creek; and, owing perhaps as much to his retiring manners as to his frugal mode of life, the supposition prevailed in the neighborhood that he had a great deal of money stored away in the place of his abode. His herd had also increased rapidly in numbers and now counted four hundred head of as well-kept sheep as were to be found in the neighborhood. The prize was one likely to excite the envy of those disposed to avariciousness.

Among Mr. Wall’s neighbors in those days were Mr. J. S. McCool, who now resides on the Platte a few miles below Denver, and Mr. LeFevre. Employed by Mr. LeFevre was a young man named George H. Witherill, while Mr. McCool gave work to one E. E. Wight, commonly then known in the neighborhood as Jack Wight. These two employés became the murderers of Wall, whose sheep and supposed hidden treasure of gold they longed to possess.

Witherill was the younger of the two men, being at that time twenty-three years of age, while Wight was about twenty-seven. Both were doubtless bad enough, but to Wight seems to belong the credit of planning the deviltry. He also appears to have found in Witherill not only a willing accomplice but a pliant tool. Wight had come into Colorado the year before from Iowa, and Witherill had recently arrived from the northwest. He was a native of New York, and had gradually drifted westward until he reached Utah and Dakota. For a while he was engaged as a stage driver from Corrinne, Utah, on the Fort Benton route. Afterwards he drifted back to Laramie City, Wyo., and from Laramie came to Denver. The education which he had received as a stage driver in the then almost savage region in which he operated was not calculated to make a refined creature of him.

Witherill and Wight soon became acquainted and were not long in deciding to appropriate Wall’s property which had aroused their cupidity. From the time they first discovered themselves to be of common mind upon this point, they talked over the project continually when they met. Both of them were herders, but for different men, and they frequently contrived to bring their herds together for the purpose of discussing this subject between themselves. They also managed to get days off, when they would stroll about and discuss the matter. They also met at night and debated the fine points, going so far at times as to walk over to Wall’s place and survey the premises. The horrible nature of the crime of murder seems to have never entered their minds. The only point which presented itself was the feasibility of their scheme. They were not anxious to kill, but they wanted Wall’s property, and after discussing various other plans for getting Wall out of the way, decided, as dead men tell no tales, to murder him in cold blood and take the sheep and whatever valuables might be found.

These plans had begun to take root as early as the middle of the summer, but they did not mature until September. The 17th day of that month in the year 1871 fell on Sunday—as bright and quiet a day as Colorado was ever blessed with. The two men had taken the day off for the purpose of putting their long-cherished project into execution, agreeing upon a place of meeting and a plan of proceeding. They came together about 2 o’clock in the afternoon, and about 3 came upon Wall lying quietly upon a peaceful hillside in the shade of a bluff, watching the lazy sheep as they gnawed their Sunday meals out of the tufted grass on the sloping plains below—certainly a picture of peace and quiet. There was nothing there to suggest murder, but on the contrary all was suggestive of brotherly love. The scene was one to call out the warmth and fellow feeling in human nature.

But the two scoundrels had gone to the place on murder bent, and they did not propose to be deterred from their purpose by a Sunday scene or a sparkle of bright sunshine. They went up to Wall, who did not suspect but that they meant to pay him a friendly call, with smiles on their faces, and began a friendly conversation. Even while they talked they were preparing for the murder which they had come to commit, and when the doomed man turned his head, one of the ruffians—which one will probably never be definitely known—pulled his gun, and, leveling at the poor man’s back, fired, the ball striking him in the neck.

Comprehending for the first time the real intention of the men, Wall instinctively took to his heels to save his life, and started towards his dugout tent: He flew down the hill as if carried on the air, the two men pursuing almost as fast. It was a race for life—a curious interruption of the mild Sunday scene which spread out before them under the bright light of the autumn skies. Even as Wall ran, the blood spurted in torrents from the ugly wound in his neck, marking the path he trod so plainly that he might have been tracked by means of it, had not the pursuers been so close as to need no guide to the course the man had taken. One of them had come on horseback to the place, and he left his animal standing while he should pursue his murderous task. They followed closely in the footsteps of Wall, whose path led over a rugged hillside, down a steep bluff, and into the bed of Dry creek below. He ran so rapidly at first that the shots which his bloody-handed pursuers sent after him were of no avail in bringing him to a halt. It is not believed that either one of the bloody bullets except the first hit the mark, and it began to look as if the poor man would make good his escape. He was evidently bent upon getting to his cabin, where once arrived he had fire arms stored with which he would be amply able to protect himself even against double odds. The murderers apprehended his intentions, and bent every energy to cut off the retreat. Finding that the leaden missiles failed to accomplish their purpose, they quit shooting and doubled their pace.

As they increased their speed, Wall evidently slackened his. The run was a long one, and he was losing a great deal of blood. He had, however, reached the bed of the gulch, and was nearing his home, when his foot struck a boulder, and he fell prone on the creek bottom, the murderers sweeping up behind him like bloodhounds in pursuit of a fugitive slave.

“Good!” exclaimed one of them, as they saw their prey fall so nearly within their grasp.

“I guess the d——d scoundrel’s done for,” replied the other, as they slackened their pace to draw a long breath and be prepared for a final struggle.

But a moment more served to change this last-expressed opinion. Wall was greatly weakened by the loss of blood and the fatigue of the race, but he managed to scramble to his feet once more, and to stagger onward in a zigzag run up the creek bottom. The assassins had come up to within twenty steps of him, and could easily be heard.

“Stop there, d——n you, or we will fill you full of lead,” one of them shouted to him. “No more of this foolishness; you may as well surrender on the spot.”

Realizing that further flight was hopeless; that his strength was gone and that he was unarmed, and feeling perhaps that he might save his life, Wall halted, and Witherill and Wight came up.

As they approached Wall he turned towards them and demanded an explanation of their strange conduct.

“What does it mean?” he demanded to know.

“Mean? It means that you are having too good a time of it—that you are making too much money for a d——d old snoozer who knows no better how to use it and enjoy it than you do. We want it. We want your sheep, your money, every thing you’ve got, d——n you!”

The poor fellow was rapidly sinking under the loss of blood. He replied faintly: “Take everything, but spare my life. I don’t want to die. I have done nothing to deserve death. I will give you everything freely. All I ask is that I be permitted to live.”

Witherill and Wight were now standing very close to him, and one of them had raised the breech of a heavy rifle over Wall’s head. “Spare your life! What sort of a game are you giving us? Spare nothing! A fine idea to let you live and as soon as your d——d old head is cured up to go blabbing it to Dave Cook and every other officer and detective in the state. What d’you take us for? A charitable society? Guess, old man, you’re a little off, ain’t you? It’s dead men that tell no tales to detectives, old fellow; we puts our trust in no others.”

In vain did the poor quivering man plead for his life. In vain were his promises of secrecy. Even while bending upon his knees and while he lifted his quivering hand to swear that he would deliver every article of his possession to his murderers if they would only permit him to live, even while thus imploring, the heavy rifle held above his head came crashing down, another shot being fired at the same time. A thundering, deafening noise, a lightning pain followed by the darkness of death, and all was over. Wall fell to the ground with his skull broken in and expired a moment afterwards.

The body was buried beneath a pile of rocks where it had fallen and the murderers prepared to take possession of the property which they had secured by their Sunday’s work.

They had hoped to procure money through the murder of Wall, as well as to get possession of his sheep. They shared the popular opinion that he had many dollars in gold and silver and greenbacks laid away in his hut. Hence they first searched the dead man’s person, taking his watch and pocket book, the latter containing some small change and a certificate of deposit in the bank then kept in Denver by Mr. Warren Hussey, and after securing these articles of value, though of treacherous and tell-tale character, they hid the still warm body of this victim away and proceeded to search Wall’s dugout. Here, contrary to expectations, they found nothing of value to them, and went out in some disgust to take possession of the sheep, which had been so suddenly left by their master, and which were still grazing on the quiet hillside almost in sight of the spot which had seen the culmination of the tragedy which had begun in their midst.

A day or two afterwards people living in the neighborhood discovered Witherill in charge of Wall’s sheep and also that Wall himself had disappeared. In reply to inquiries Witherill stated that he had bought the sheep from Wall, and exhibited a bill of sale for them, saying at the same time that Wall had left Colorado. There was some little suspicion aroused at first, because Witherill had never been known to have any sufficient amount of money to procure so large a herd as Wall’s. It soon, also, became known that Witherill was wearing a watch which Wall had owned and which he had told some one that he would not part with for three times its value.

Killing of Wall by Wight and Witherill in Douglas County, in 1871.

After this Witherill was regarded with suspicion by his neighbors, and some of them came to Denver and laid the matter before Gen. Cook, who was at that time sheriff of Arapahoe county as well as chief of the Rocky Mountain Detective Association. As the crime, if one had been committed, was outside of his jurisdiction as sheriff, having been committed in another county, Gen. Cook referred the complaints to the sheriff of Douglas county. He, however, determined to keep his eyes open for developments and to lend whatever aid he could to the apprehension of the criminal or criminals, if indeed the foul play suspected had been committed.

CHAPTER XXV.

Gen. Cook did not have to wait long. It is a true saying that murder will out. It can not hide its bloody footprints, especially when there are shrewd detectives on the track. Reports of Witherill’s suspicious movements came in frequently. An important item to the detective was the fact which he learned that Witherill had come to the city soon after he took possession of the sheep with the certificate of deposit at Hussey’s bank and presented it to be cashed. This was an important link, and it was greatly strengthened by the fact that the clerk at the bank had declared that the indorsement of Wall’s name on the certificate was not in Wall’s handwriting, and had returned the paper to Witherill, who had said that Wall had gone to Laramie City, Wyo., and that he would send him the certificate and get a reindorsement. Cook was now well on the qui vive. In about two weeks, the time necessary to send the paper to Laramie and get it returned, Witherill had returned to the bank with the certificate, the first indorsement erased and the name written in a different hand. But the clerk failed to recognize the signature as Wall’s, and acting under Cook’s instructions, retained the certificate.

Up to this time Witherill does not seem to have dreamed that any one suspected him of any crime, and as for Wight, no one did suspect him. They had been disappointed in getting so little money from Wall, and determined, while they had their hands in, to add to their wealth by getting more sheep together. Hence they made another raid, and this affair seems to have been the hair that broke the camel’s back; which at last so thoroughly confirmed former suspicions that a thorough search was decided upon. Mr. J. K. Doolittle, who is well known in Denver, and who is now a prosperous merchant in Pueblo, had a large herd of sheep, which he kept up the creek some miles from Witherill’s herd. One day it was discovered that about six hundred of his herd had disappeared, and investigation developed the fact that they had been merged into Witherill’s flock. George Hopkins, Esq., at that time city marshal of Denver, went out to attend to the restoration of the sheep to their owner, and to arrest Witherill on the charge of stealing the sheep. He had no difficulty in identifying the sheep, but he found Witherill prepared with the papers to demonstrate his own “innocence.” He showed a bill of sale from Wall for them, as well as the other sheep. But he was brought into Denver to straighten matters up. He agreed to restore all of Doolittle’s stock, and to pay whatever expenses Mr. Doolittle had incurred in procuring his property.

While Witherill was in Denver, however, he was seen by John L. Hayman, whose name appeared on the bill of sale transferring the sheep from Wall to Witherill, who recognized him as the man who had signed Wall’s name, and who had claimed to be Wall. Here was a clear case of forgery.

Witherill on this occasion got out of the town before Chief Cook had learned of these developments; but when he obtained the information he decided that Witherill should again be arrested and a thorough investigation made to ascertain whether Wall had not been murdered. Witherill had certainly proved himself a thief and a forger, and there were many circumstances which went to show that he had also been guilty of taking the life of a fellow being.

While Cook was making his preparations for the capture of Witherill, Wight first began to figure before the public as an accomplice of Witherill’s in his crime. Knowing that he had so far not been suspected, as he had constantly pushed Witherill forward and himself remained in the background, he came to Denver the next day after Witherill had left, on Tuesday, a little more than three weeks after the murder, and had the temerity to go to the officers and advise them to arrest Witherill, saying that he believed him to be guilty of Wall’s murder. He thus partially gained the confidence of the detectives, and learned enough to convince him that the apprehension of Witherill was decided upon. Knowing that when Witherill was once taken he would reveal the part that Wight had taken in the tragedy, he returned to Dry creek that afternoon and warned Witherill of their danger, and they prepared for flight that night.

Detectives Smith and Benton had been selected by Chief Cook to go out and arrest Witherill. They left Denver on Wednesday morning, October 12, in search of their man. When they reached the point at which they supposed they would find Witherill, they found only a report that he was not to be found. The officers were not long in discovering that not only Witherill, but that Wight also had fled, and that they had carried off several valuable horses belonging to persons residing in the vicinity.

Finding both Witherill and Wight gone, the officers determined to devote a little time to ascertaining, if possible, the extent of the crime committed by the fugitives, and, acting under their chief’s instructions to search for confirmation of his suspicion of the murder of Wall, they began their investigations. Going up Dry creek towards the missing man’s cabin, they were not long in making the dread discovery which proved a complete confirmation of the worst theories. As they walked along the dry bed of the creek, their attention was attracted to a bunch of wolves standing around a pile of stones on the hillside, not far from the gulch. They seemed to be pawing at the stubborn rocks and sniffing the air as if in search of something to eat, evidently satisfied that the object of their search was not far away.

The men determined to investigate that spot. The animals were frightened away by a pistol shot fired into their midst, and the officers walked up to the place which they had just quitted.

Lying on the bare stones and protruding from an opening was the fleshless arm of a human being, showing traces of the teeth of the wolves, shreds of clothing being scattered about the place. The stones being speedily removed, the rapidly decaying body of the murdered man was brought to light. It was covered with bruises and blood, but was still recognizable. Here was the horrible suspicion confirmed. There was no longer any doubt that Wall had been murdered by Witherill, and the flight of Wight made his complicity more than probable.

The body being properly disposed of, the officers set themselves to work to find whatever clue they could to the course the murderers had taken in their flight. It was ascertained that Witherill had some friends at Colorado City, in El Paso county, the old state capital, and it was believed that the two men would go in that direction. The officers sent information to this effect to Chief Cook, and started in that direction in search of the men.

But Chief Cook had learned more of the movements of the fugitives, even while remaining at home, than his officers who were on the ground knew. He had ascertained, in that mysterious way which has ever made his name a terror to evil-doers, that the men had turned their faces towards the rising sun and were making their way across the plains towards “the states.” Even while his officers were still out, he had laid plans to entrap the murderers and to secure their arrest by sending dispatches to all points on the plains where there was any chance of their stopping. Among other places to which he sent these descriptions was Sidney, Neb., and he had the satisfaction a very few days afterwards of receiving from Deputy Sheriff H. H. Tigart, of that place, a telegram, saying, “We’ve got your man Witherill. What shall we do with him? Wight gone on to North Platte.” In reply, Cook instructed the officer to hold Witherill, and he and Smith, who had returned by this time, were off on the next morning’s train for Sidney. This was on the Friday succeeding the flight of the two. Saturday night carried them to Sidney, where they learned the facts of the capture.

If all the facts in the flight of these two hardened men from the pursuit of justice could be known they would make as thrilling a story as ever had its foundation on our barren prairies. Compelled to steal horses, guns and provisions, with three hundred miles of what was then a desert lying before them, no friendly shelter offering, with the probability of encountering savage tribes of Indians at any time; with the knowledge that when they should seek shelter in the habitable part of the world towards which they were making their way, they would do so at the risk of their lives—with these thoughts confronting them as to the hardships before them and the officers following their trail from behind, they were certainly between two fires. Let us hope, too, for the sake of humanity that there still lingered in their minds some degree of remorse for the foul deed they had committed—that occasionally, when left to themselves on the boundless plains, with naught between them and the heavens, there occasionally flitted through their minds some degree of bitterness of feeling, some questioning of conscience as to the bloody and unprovoked deed they had committed.

Their flight seems to have been an alternation of mad rides and of skulking hides. We find them, according to their own accounts, putting in the day lying quiet or seeking their way over the roadless plains where they were certain to encounter no one, and during the night riding madly forward towards the eastern horizon, where was the only ray of hope, small as it was, that shone for them.

The fifth day out they ran into a large herd of buffalo, while riding over the prairie. They decided to relieve the tedium that surrounded their almost blank existence by having a little sport with the bison and at the same time capture some fresh meat. They shot into the herd, taking aim at a particularly large old bull, and wounding him so badly that when the others of his herd ran off he was unable to keep pace with them and was left behind. Wight and Witherill put spurs to their horses, rushing across the open plain with the speed of the wind and firing at the wounded and faltering animal as they went, very much, indeed, as they had pursued poor Wall when they sought to take his life as they now sought to take that of the crippled bison who ran before them. He at first seemed destined to evade them, as their human victim had done, but, like Wall, had at last faltered and so slowed up as to permit himself to be overtaken.

In their impetuosity, they had rushed upon the animal until they could almost touch him with the muzzles of their fire arms. Wight had reigned his horse up by the side of the animal, which had come to bay, and was preparing to shoot, when Witherill came up behind and landed a bullet from his weapon in the back of the bull. The animal roared with pain, and snorting and shooting fire out of his eyes, made a desperate plunge at the horse and rider by his side. Wight pulled up his horse hastily, but not soon enough to avoid the blow. The bison’s horn struck him on the shin and, short and dull-pointed as it was, cut its way to the bone, ripping open the flesh of the calf of the leg all the way to the knee, and tearing the sinews out, making a very ugly and painful wound. The blood spurted out so as to almost blind the brute, which did not, however, cease its attack. Wight managed to spur up his horse, the animal having been protected from the bull’s horn by its rider’s leg, and he and his “brave” partner, although they had had courage enough to shoot down a defenseless man, found themselves unable to stand before this specimen of brutal anger and rode off as rapidly as they could, leaving the field to the wounded buffalo.