A Buffalo Chase by Wight and Witherill, the Murderers—Wight Hooked in the Leg.

The entire herd had stopped on a distant hill, and many of them stood looking back as if they enjoyed the spectacle of the fight, which must have been at least equal to the scene of a Spanish bull fight. But the men were too much put out to further enjoy the sport, and, binding up Wight’s leg as best they could, they found their way as speedily as possible to a ranchman’s home on the Platte. They represented themselves as hunters, and asked to be allowed to remain until Wight should recover from his wound. Here they remained for two days, but gangrene setting in in the wound, they decided to take the chances and seek a point at which medicines and medical aid could be procured. Hence they set off for the settlements along the Union Pacific railroad, coming first to Julesburg, where Witherill stopped with the horses, and where he put Wight on a train and sent him to North Platte, still further down the road, it being Witherill’s intention the next morning to follow with the property.

But Chief Cook’s messages had gotten in ahead of the men, and Deputy Tigart, of Sidney, Neb., having received a description of Witherill, proceeded on the very evening after his arrival to Julesburg, a few miles distant from his home in Sidney, to arrest the fugitive. The officers waited for night to come on, and went after him when he was supposed to be asleep. They found him in a barn, with his arms lying about him. He was at first disposed to resist capture, but discovering that he was well surrounded, he surrendered. The prisoner at first denied that his name was Witherill, and said that he was one William Jackson, but ultimately confessed, and then told of the whereabouts of Wight, who, he declared, was as much to blame as was he (Witherill).

Gen. Cook and Mr. Smith, when they arrived at Sidney, found Witherill safe in hand, and as he had been captured in Colorado territory there was no trouble about him. Wight was known to be in North Platte, Neb., and it was feared that he could not be gotten away without a requisition; hence Gen. Cook placed a hundred dollar bill in Tigart’s hands and told him to go after Wight. That officer boarded the next west-bound train, and the following morning brought him into Sidney with the wounded man, who had been taken without much trouble.

CHAPTER XXVI.

Up to this time Wight’s connection with the affair had been only a matter of surmise, but Witherill talked freely. According to Witherill’s story told at this time, Wight had been the guilty party, and Witherill himself had been as pure and guiltless as if he had never seen Wall. He said on the day of the murder he left Melvin’s, where he had been at work, saddled his horse, and went over to Wall’s camp. Wall had a small tent or cabin built down in the gulch and concealed from view by willows grown thick on each side of it. When he got up to the tent door he found Wall and Wight quarreling. Wall accused Wight of having taken his pocketbook that day, while he was away from home. After further hot words, Wight came out, and taking hold of Witherill’s Henry rifle, asked him if it was loaded. Witherill told him it had a shell in the barrel, at the same time getting off his horse and hitching. Wight sprung the lever, threw the shell out, and loaded the gun. Wall came out and sat down on a rock close to the tent door. Wight set down Witherill’s gun and picked up Wall’s, and quickly raising it fired at Wall, the ball taking effect in the neck. The wounded man dropped, and presently raising again, said: “Wight, you’ve shot me.” Wight then dropped the gun, and taking up Witherill’s rifle, shot Wall again and again in the head and body until he was dead. All this while Witherill stood dumbfounded. He didn’t know what to do. He went to untie his horse to leave, when Wight presented the gun at him and told him not to leave or he would put a hole through him. Wight then went into Wall’s pockets, took out his watch and handed it to Witherill, also a draft. The latter he isn’t certain whether he took from Wall’s or his own pocket. Witherill did not see Wall’s pocketbook at all. After this the two men arranged to sell the sheep and divide the spoils. Wight also proceeded to write out a bill of sale of the sheep, from Wall to Witherill. Before they left, Witherill gave Wight $25 in money, and the latter said he would dispose of the body and clean up the traces around. All this time Wight was as cool and possessed as if it was an every-day job with him. Witherill then rode away and never saw the body again.

Wight refused to talk, simply saying that if there had been any murder committed, Witherill was the guilty man.

The two men were securely ironed and brought to Denver, where they were placed in jail. Two months afterwards they were tried at Evans before Judge E. T. Wells, having obtained a change of venue from Frankstown, then the county seat of Douglas county. Owing to technical defects in the law, both escaped the death at the gallows which they so much deserved. Indeed, as Wight’s complicity was not established by any evidence except the testimony of Witherill, he was allowed to go on a bond of $2,000, on the charge of horse stealing, notwithstanding all were satisfied that he had been as guilty of murder as Witherill, if indeed he had not been the instigator of the whole plot, but he had been shrewd enough to make a tool of his chum and to remain in the background himself. Witherill was sentenced to a life term in the penitentiary. After the trial he made a full confession to Gen. Cook, which, while it is at fault in some details, is doubtless correct in the main, and so interesting throughout that it is here given in detail, as follows:

“Some time during the week previous to the murder, 17th of September last, E. E. Wight came over to where I was, and intimated this murder, and it was arranged between us that I should come over to his house on Sunday, the 17th of September. I went. He was to watch for me and meet me somewhere on the road—if he could see me—near the sheep herder’s grounds. I met him near the sheep herder’s tent. The sheep herder wasn’t at his tent; he was with his sheep back on the bluffs. We went out there and found him. Wight was on foot and I was on horseback. We found him soon after we got on the bluff or table land. I then gave my gun to Wight to shoot him. When we came up we passed the time of day and held a short conversation about various things—nothing pertaining to this. As the sheep herder turned to go away, Wight spoke to him, and Wall turned his head toward us and then Wight fired at him. The man Wall fell instantly; then he got up and ran down into the gulch; Wight followed him and fired at him several times; I judge that he hit him, though I couldn’t say. He stumbled and fell several times while going down the hill. He had on his hat as he was running down hill towards the gulch; the next time I saw him he didn’t have on his hat. I didn’t see the hat any more until I saw it in court at Evans. I followed after Wight—or near to him—down the hill. Wight and I followed along on the bank of the gulch; Wight fired at him whenever opportunity offered. We couldn’t see him all the time, as Wall was running in the bed of the gulch. Wall soon got faint and sat down, from loss of blood; when I saw him sit down I got off my horse and hitched him; Wight and I then went down into the bed of the gulch where Wall was sitting. Wall said as we approached, ‘What have I done?’ We made no reply. Wight then struck him with the barrel of the gun on the left side of the head, I should judge, perhaps, above the ear. One side of his face and his bosom were covered with blood. He fell, and I think the blow from the gun killed him; he died within two or three minutes after being struck. We examined his pockets and took out his pocketbook and watch. The pocketbook contained about twelve dollars in money and a certificate of deposit for three hundred dollars at Warren Hussey’s bank, in Denver.

“Then we left the body lay where it had fallen and covered it up with rocks first and dirt afterward. We then returned to the sheep herder’s tent, and as we went we arranged between us that I should take his sheep and herd them; I was to sell them as soon as possible, and divide the money between us. In order to get a bill of sale for them, he agreed to meet me in Denver the next day and have the bill of sale made out for me. While at the tent we hid his diary, with such papers as it contained, and also his gun, near the tent. We separated there, then, and I returned to Melvin’s and he started towards McCool’s ranch. I think we reached the tent, previous to the murder, about 3 o’clock p. m., and we finally separated a little after 4 o’clock, I should say, though we had no time, as the watch taken from Wall’s pocket had run down. The next morning I came to Denver; I looked around for Wight, but couldn’t find him. Then I went to an office in Feuerstein’s building, adjoining the land office, and asked the lawyer to make me out a bill of sale. He made it out according to my directions. I signed Wall’s name to it. I took the bill of sale and went directly home to Melvin’s. I went the next day over to Wall’s camp, and got the sheep together, and assumed responsibility of their charge. A few days afterwards I came to Denver and advertised the sheep for sale in the Rocky Mountain News. I started back home again that night. I stayed at LeFevre’s ranch that night. I met Wight there; that was the first time I had seen him since we separated on the day of the murder. Wight and I had some conversations about my having advertised the sheep. A week or more elapsed, during which time I was herding the sheep and Wight was building a house for LeFevre. The next time we met was on Sunday, at the camp where I was stopping.

“During this time Doolittle’s sheep were roaming on Big Dry. On the Sunday when we met Wight spoke to me about Doolittle’s sheep. I went early next morning and drove them to where our own were. I stayed with the sheep that day and kept them together. The next day I made an excuse to go down to LeFevre’s camp. I told Wight that I had them together, and about how many I judged there were. I told him I thought there were about six hundred of Doolittle’s. Wight wanted that I should go and get another bill of sale made out; I did not do it. He then took from me the other bill of sale, and between that and our next meeting he changed and altered it so as to cover six hundred and forty head, instead of three hundred and forty, as it was originally made out. I didn’t like it; it was made out badly; it would be easily detected, and I spoke to him about it. We then arranged it between us that I should come to town and get two made out separate, one for three hundred and forty head, and another for four hundred. I went to Mr. Witter’s office in Denver and had both bills made out. Before I started home again I heard that six hundred and fifty head of sheep were missing on Cherry creek. I left word with Loustellot, in Denver, that if any sheep were missing there were some stray ones at the head of Big Dry. I also told Mr. Powers that there were some stray sheep up where I was stopping. I went back home then to McCool’s ranch. Two days afterwards Doolittle, having heard that there were stray sheep there, came out there from Denver. I claimed to him to have seven hundred and forty head of sheep. We corraled them and counted them. They numbered nine hundred and eighty-eight head, and he claimed all over the seven hundred and forty head. Because I told of there being stray sheep up there, Wight got mad. He some time afterward told me that he came to Denver and told Doolittle that all of his sheep were there.

“The next day after Doolittle had been so informed, Hopkins came out and arrested me, charged with stealing sheep. Hopkins brought me into town, and on the next day Hopkins, Doolittle and I went out to the Twelve-mile house, to where the sheep had been driven, and I delivered to him the sheep he claimed. I settled with Doolittle and was discharged. I explained to Doolittle that the sheep claimed by him I had bought from Wall, and that I had a bill of sale, and the officer discharged me because he thought I had not stolen the stock. I was discharged in Denver, and went right back to McCool’s rancho. When I got there Wight was there, and he told me of having had some conversation with Sheriff Cook, and that Cook suspected that I had murdered Wall, and he was about to arrest me. Wight thought we had better leave the country. It was arranged that we were to leave as soon as possible. We went the next day to Mr. Melvin’s, where I was to receive some cows I had traded sheep for. We didn’t get the cows that day, and stayed there that night. Next morning we went back to McCool’s rancho. The day after, Wight came to town with LeFevre’s hired man, and brought his box of clothing with him. I came to Denver via Twelve-mile house, having sent my trunk to town. Wight and I took our box and trunk to the Denver Pacific depot and shipped them to Nebraska City. I shipped my trunk in the name of William Jackson; he shipped in the name of E. E. Fox. After shipping our goods Wight traded a shotgun which he had stolen from Bates, on the rancho, for a Winchester rifle, and we bought some ammunition and a field-glass. I saw Marshal Hopkins coming down the street towards me, and I started down the street away from him, taking a roundabout route to Bailey’s corral, where my horse was. I then rode over to Rood’s gun-shop and got my gun, which had been left for repairs. I then went back to McCool’s rancho. I had been there about an hour when Wight came. He brought a saddle with him, which he said he had stolen from William Wulff. We had intended to have left the country that night, but could not find the horses we intended to steal, and also expected Webster over to buy some cows which I had bargained to him. Next morning Mr. Webster came. I let him have eight cows to sell on commission. They were branded ‘W’ back of the left shoulder. He advanced me $21 on the cows. The remainder he was to send me when I should furnish him my address and the cows had been sold to the best advantage, less his commission. He also cashed an order of his given me by Freeman. I also gave Webster an order for $72 and some cents, which he was to send when collected, with the money received for the cows. Webster informed me that I was accused of murder, and that I had better look out for myself, as Sheriff Cook had written to the sheriff of Douglas county that he had better arrest me. He described the sheriff of Douglas county to me before we parted. Wight and I then left and went down on Plum creek. We got back to McCool’s rancho about dark. We got what things we wanted to take with us, and McCool’s mare. Wight took a horse from William Underwood, and I told him he ought to be ashamed to steal from a one-armed man. He then turned the horse loose, and we started for Denver, passing through about midnight, on our way to Johnson’s island [Henderson’s island], where we expected to get two more horses from McCool. We stopped about six miles from town and rested our horses. At about daylight we again started, arriving at Johnson’s island about 9 o’clock a. m., where we took breakfast. We stayed there in the brush until about the middle of the afternoon, then left our horses and started back on foot towards McCool’s rancho. When we got there we could not find the horses we were in search of. Wight thought we were seen, and about dark we started back, and I stole the black mare. We then started down the Platte and arrived at Evans soon after daylight. We left there, traveling down the Platte, and traded off McCool’s mare at a rancho six miles below old Fort Morgan. A few days after, Wight got hurt while chasing a buffalo. We then had to lay over three days at Moore’s rancho. We left there and went to Julesburg. I bought Wight a ticket and gave him $5, and sent him to North Platte City, and I stayed in Julesburg that night, and was arrested and brought to Sidney the next day, where I was kept until Sheriffs Cook and Smith came for me.”

Wight remained in jail in Denver several months after his partner in crime had been sent to Cañon City, awaiting his trial. While in the Arapahoe jail he made a desperate effort to escape, taking a prominent part in the Griswold emeute, the story of which affair will be found succeeding this chapter. His trial took place at Golden, the prisoner having obtained a change of venue, and resulted in a sentence of seven years at hard labor in the penitentiary. He is still at Cañon City. He might now be a free man, had not his propensity to escape from prison prolonged his term of incarceration. After remaining for two years in the state penitentiary he contrived to get away, and, evading all pursuit, was not overtaken for four years, when he was spotted and captured away down in Maine. He was returned to Colorado and, as stated above, is now serving out the sentence which might have been completed ere this but for his desire to escape.

Even to the present time his old tendency to intrigue has not failed to assert itself. Since his imprisonment began he has made numerous efforts to secure his release and that of Witherill as well. It has been but a short while since Gen. Cook received the following letter, which he is convinced was written by Wight:

It is almost unnecessary to state that Gen. Cook paid no attention whatever to this curious epistle. He did not believe the story told, and even if he had, it would not have influenced him to exert himself in behalf of the two scoundrels who murdered as peaceful a citizen as was Mr. Wall. He believed that both Wight and Witherill were where they belonged, and considered that he did his duty in assisting in putting them there. Subsequent events show that they should have been left there for life, as the next chapter will show.

CHAPTER XXVII.

Among the collection of laws, good, bad and indifferent, passed by the Colorado legislature of 1887, was one which was the indirect cause of the death of at least two innocent men. It was a law that provided that a life sentence in the penitentiary should be construed to mean only sixteen years, i. e., that a criminal who had been sentenced for life should be released after having served sixteen years. There were many ugly rumors out in regard to the intents and objects of the bill, but it finally passed by a small majority. It released from Cañon George R. Witherill, who was set free April 8, 1887, and the crimes he had committed before the next legislature assembled caused that body to repeal the law with great celerity.

When the murderer of the inoffensive sheep herder was released from the prison, he at once came to Denver. While in the penitentiary he had made threats that he would kill Gen. Cook if he ever got out, because, as he said, Cook had on two or three occasions prevented him from securing a pardon. When Gen. Cook heard that Witherill had come back to Denver, he thought that he had come back to carry out his threat, and at once went in search of him. When Witherill heard that Cook was after him, he at once secured the services of a friend who had been a guard at the penitentiary, and started out to find Gen. Cook to square the matter and assure him that he had no intention of carrying out his threats. He learned that Cook was in the Brunswick hotel, and, following his friend in there, threw up his hands the instant he entered the door, begging the general not to shoot him. Cook told him that, knowing his sneaking and desperate character, and the threats he had made, he would be fully justifiable in shooting him down like a dog, but that if he was sincere in his protestations that he wanted to live an honest life, he would let him go, but added that he had better leave Denver to make his attempt.

Acting upon this advice, Witherill left Denver for the mountains, and was not heard of for about a year and a half, and then as the perpetrator of another cold-blooded and atrocious murder, or rather two murders. As previously related, Witherill had gone into the mines, first working at Durango and afterward at Ironton. While at Ironton he formed the acquaintance of a Swede by the name of Marinus Jansen, who owned a splendid four-horse team and a big ore wagon and outfit for hauling ore from the mines. Witherill decided that Jansen would make an easy victim, and so commenced negotiations with him to go to Silverton to haul ore from a mine in which Witherill claimed to have an interest. That was the last ever seen or heard of poor Jansen, and his body lies rotting in some abandoned prospect hole in a lonely mountain side. They had started out early in September, and toward the latter part of the month Witherill drove the outfit into Pueblo, where he disposed of it for $400.

Having now plenty of money to loaf around and live well for a time without work, one would naturally suppose that Witherill would refrain from crime for a time at least, but he appears to have been a maniac on the subject of murder, who could not resist the temptation to kill no more than a hungry man can resist the temptation to eat when tempting viands are set before him. It would have been a good thing for the community had Gen. Cook shot him in Denver before he had time to make his lying explanations. He lost no time in seeking another victim; as before, hunting up a laboring man with some good teams. He hired Chas. R. McCain, and with him left Pueblo at 9 o’clock on the morning of October 25, to go to a point eleven miles west of Cañon City to haul ore. They had two teams, both of which belonged to McCain, who resided in Pueblo. Witherill had represented to McCain that he was the foreman of a heavy shipping mine, and would give the Pueblo man lucrative employment for himself and teams to haul the ore from the mine to the railroad track.

The men proceeded with the teams until night caught them, at Beaver creek crossing, eighteen miles east of Cañon City, and they camped. The point where they camped was not over a quarter of a mile from the house of Mr. Palmer, one of the commissioners of Fremont county. Both evidently lay down in the wagons, McCain never to awaken in this world, and Witherill to keep diabolic watch until his victim was fast asleep. Then he crept, panther-like, to where the unconscious man lay, and sent a rifle bullet crashing through his brain. Fearing, perhaps, that the wound was not of a deadly nature, or because, possibly, the victim in his dying struggles would alarm some one, the fiend grasped an axe and pounded McCain’s head into a mass of broken bone and oozing brain. The closeness of the gun when the shot was fired was such that the bullet passed entirely through McCain’s head and the bottom of the wagon, to still retain enough momentum to flatten itself on a stone. When found, it had bits of bone and the blanket, which McCain had evidently had his head partially covered with, still attached to it.

The fiend then proceeded with devilish cunning to conceal the body of his victim and indications of his crime. The body he carried or dragged into a neighboring ravine and deposited in a ditch. He then covered it with rocks and dirt and effectually, as he thought, hid from the eyes of men the lifeless remains. To destroy the blood spots and other indications of the deed, he covered them with hay and burned it. The bottom of the wagon he rubbed with stones and with hay to efface the dreadful evidences of his crime.

As coolly as if he were upon an ordinary business mission, Witherill took McCain’s money and drove both teams on Saturday morning into Cañon City. He camped just east of the city and then, going boldly into the business part of the town, he wrote a letter addressed to McCain’s wife, in which he personated her husband. He informed her that he had purchased a ranch at Grand Junction, Colo., and had sold his teams. He asked her to sell all her household effects and join him as soon as possible at the location of their new home.

Familiar with her husband’s writing, Mrs. McCain, upon the receipt of the letter, at once knew that it was not indited by him. But that might not have so much alarmed her as the quick intuition of her heart which told her something was dreadfully wrong and strange in this sudden change of plans and unexpected determination to move to the western part of the state and make a new home. She placed the matter before an officer, and at once the conclusion was reached that the life-sentenced murderer of Sheepman Wall had added another to his series of blood-stained deeds.

The alarm was at once sent out and inquiries made. It was learned that Witherill had been at Cañon City on Saturday morning. Shortly after the search began a man was found who knew him and had seen him on the road to Denver with two teams. On Wednesday afternoon, October 31, Deputy Sheriff Force, of Denver, received a telegram, informing him of the mysterious disappearance of McCain and of the anxiety to apprehend Witherill. Late the same night the deputy found Witherill at Goulding’s stables. He was surly in response to questions and said that his name was Simon Cotter. To this Mr. Force responded: “That may be your name now, but it wasn’t Simon Cotter or Simon Says-Thumbs-Up when I saw you in the pen at Cañon.” This knocked the bluff out of the ex-convict and he submitted, to arrest in silence. He refused to say anything about the whereabouts of his associate and went to jail. Upon being searched the sum of $250 was found upon him.

Despite his effort to erase the evidences of the ghastly deed there were found blood stains in the bottom of the wagon. An axe was also found, which had blood stains on the handle. The presence of two pocketbooks, a double set of blankets and other belongings of two men among his effects were also peculiarly suspicious circumstances. Yet with stolid effrontery he maintained that he knew nothing about Chas. McCain, and that he had left him in Cañon alive and well. In interviews with representatives of the press he claimed, in substance, that McCain had business in Cañon and had announced to him his determination to come to Denver and hence to go East. On that account he had obeyed McCain’s request and had driven both the teams to this city, and expected him along. The following morning, however, when informed that the body of McCain had been found, he refused to say anything more.

Sheriff Griffith arrived in Denver on the morning of November 2, and in the afternoon started with his prisoner toward Cañon City. The reports of the determination to lynch the prisoner when he arrived in Cañon City were, however, the cause of deterring the sheriff from going farther than Pueblo. Witherill was incarcerated there a few days, and then again quietly returned to the Arapahoe county jail. It was only when there was no help for it, and when it became impracticable to longer keep him there, that Witherill was at length taken to Cañon. The greatest precautions were taken to convey him there quietly. He was placed in a Rio Grande baggage car, securely manacled, and taken from the train five miles from Cañon City. From that point he was taken to the city in a close carriage and locked in a steel cell. It was believed that so secretly had the transfer been made that no information would leak out. In this the officers were mistaken, for it soon became apparent that every one in Cañon knew that at last the fiend whom they had determined to rid the world of was within their reach.

It was the 3d of December when Witherill was taken to Cañon, and the next morning news was received in Denver that he had been lynched to a telephone pole on Main street, within a stone’s throw of the penitentiary where he had spent fifteen years of his life.

The night of the tragedy was cold, dark and still. It was not until 6 o’clock that the information of Witherill’s arrival was obtained, and the fact was not assured until about midnight. All night the streets were alive with men, and the prospect of a lynching was the only subject of discussion. The terrible details of the McCain murder were discussed, and the spectacle of the grief-stricken wife weeping over her husband’s mangled remains was called to mind as demanding sure and speedy vengeance. Little knots of men assembled on street corners and in doorways recounting the infallible evidences of Witherill’s guilt, each man sitting in judgment upon the ex-convict. All this time the real organized lynchers were secretly and silently at work. Masks were provided for the entire party and every preparation made for the attack. Two of their party knocked at the back door of the jail, and when Sheriff Griffith opened the door sprang upon him and throttled him without making a sound.

Lynching of George R. Witherill at Cañon City.

After the sheriff had been put out of the way, the crowd of masked lynchers filed into the jail and secured the keys to the cells from the sheriff’s son.

The dim light burning in the jail revealed Witherill in his cell, standing upon the defensive. He was ordered to come out, and cried out:

“Come in and take me out.”

He had broken his wooden bedstead to pieces to secure a weapon, and when some of the party stepped forward to take him at his word he used the club with the desperate energy of a doomed man. There is no telling how long Witherill might have held his own against superior numbers had not one of the attacking party drawn a revolver and shot the murderer in the shoulder, knocking him down. He was then quickly overpowered and led out of the cage, with a noose around his neck and his hands secured behind his back.

Surrounded by a solemn but earnest crowd, Witherill was marched down to Main street to a telephone pole, about one hundred yards from the jail. The condemned man was led to this pole and the rope thrown over the cross-bar by a practiced hand, and the end of the rope was grasped by fifty strong and willing hands. The triple murderer was given a minute to confess. This he refused to do, and he was drawn up five or six feet from the ground. After some seconds he was lowered until his feet touched the ground, and he was asked to confess the murders of Wall, Jansen and McCain, and upon his stubborn refusal to comply he was drawn up until his feet cleared the ground by some ten or twelve feet and the rope tied.

Witherill’s helpless body, dangling against the pole in the agony of death by suffocation, was watched by the assembled crowd without a single sign of pity or remorse. When satisfied that life was extinct the crowd quietly dispersed to conceal every evidence of the judgment of Judge Lynch, except the ghastly figure at the end of the rope.

As soon as daylight came, the fact that the anticipated lynching had been successfully accomplished was noised through the town, and hundreds of men, women and children went to the scene to view the terrible but significant sight. Old women and young girls stood in the bright sunlight, and gazed at the murderer’s body swaying slightly in the morning breeze, without a shudder, and if their looks could be relied upon they, too, had given Witherill a mental trial and found him guilty. In all the crowd that viewed the remains of the dead murderer, there were none who could forget the murders of Wall, and of Jansen, and of McCain, long enough to pity the wretch who had in a measure paid the penalty of his many crimes.

A SLICK SCOUNDREL.

CHAPTER XXIII.

One morning in May, 1885, the people of Colorado generally, and of Denver in particular, were very greatly surprised to read the announcement in the papers among the Washington dispatches, that “Hon.” C. P. Judd had been appointed by President Cleveland agent and statistician for the government labor bureau for Colorado and the adjacent territories.

The name of “Hon.” C. P. Judd in connection with democracy in Colorado was totally unknown, and the fact that it was the first appointment made in the state by the new administration, gave it an added importance. Prominent democratic politicians were besieged with inquiries as to the identity of this new democratic star that had so lately burst into such meteoric brilliance; their only reply was: “Don’t know; never heard of him before.” While the politicians were still speculating, a reporter for the Denver Times happened to remember that Gen. D. J. Cook, of the Rocky Mountain Detective Association, knew almost everybody of any importance who had ever lived in Colorado for any length of time, and to the general he went with his inquiry. He was rewarded with what is termed in newspaper parlance, “a bully good story.”

Gen. Cook had known Judd for years. In fact, his acquaintance with the newly made labor agent was so familiar that he had at one time taken a trip to Cañon City with the gentleman, at which time Mr. Judd had taken up his residence there for a period of one year for having appropriated a valuable horse and buggy belonging to a man named Veasey, living in Denver. This was only one of a long list of crimes of which he was guilty. He was a born thief, with a predisposition to horseflesh, and had done time in more than one penal institution for his thieving proclivities. His first exploit in this line, so far as known, consisted in stealing a wagon load of groceries and provisions from a freighter, who was hauling supplies from Topeka, Kan., to Fort Riley, at an early day before railroads were built through that section. The freighter’s horses, which had been turned loose to graze at night, had strayed away, and while he was away hunting them, along came Judd, who lived near. There was no one about and he deemed it too good a chance to lose. Securing a team of his own he hitched to the wagon and drove off. The owner soon returned with his horses, and finding the wagon gone, set out to tracking the thief, whom he overtook after following him fourteen miles. Judd was convicted and sentenced to the state penitentiary at Leavenworth for three years.

After serving his term out, he decided that the boundless West afforded better opportunities for the exercise of his peculiar talents, and accordingly he came to Colorado early in the ’70’s.

When he came to Denver he showed the same fondness for other people’s property. In 1871 he stole a horse and buckboard belonging to A. H. Jones, the liquor man, and in 1872 he stole a bicycle or velocipede from a man whose place of business was on Fifteenth street, next door to where Cella’s restaurant was located. On both of these charges he was cleared by Gen. Sam Browne, who proved to the court that Judd was a kleptomaniac.

In 1873 he was arrested and sent to the county jail for one year (there being no state penitentiary at that time) for stealing a gold watch from a lady in West Denver, at what is known as the Williams house. He served this sentence and was discharged on February 28, 1874. In 1875 he was arrested, tried, convicted and sentenced to the state penitentiary for one year for stealing a horse and buggy and several hundred laths from a man named Veasey, as related above. The last crime he committed before breaking into politics so suddenly and so successfully, was the theft of a horse and buggy, the property of William Dingle, a Denver druggist, on the 14th of October, 1883, while the rig was standing in front of the store of the owner, in the Tabor block. He was seen by several parties to cross Cherry Creek bridge at Larimer street and drive out in the country. The matter was reported to the police, and Detective Mart Watrous was put to work on the case. He went to Judd’s house and charged him with the crime. After denying it for a time, Judd finally confessed and went with Watrous, gathered up the property and turned it over to the detective.

The horse had been turned loose and wandered home. The buggy was found in a piece of woods down the Platte. A valuable lap robe belonging to Mrs. Dingle was found buried with the harness and the whip was found in another place. Judd was taken before Justice Sopris.

While that official was busily engaged in making out the warrant, Judd slipped out of the court room and made his escape. After getting away from Denver, Judd went to Leadville, where he succeeded in identifying himself with some labor organization, soon after starting out on the road as an organizer. He traveled over the state considerably, and through his connection with this organization he was enabled to make the acquaintance of several prominent men, whose endorsements later secured for him the government position.

At the time he was appointed to his position, Gen. D. J. Cook stated, in a published interview, as related above, that he was the same man that had served several terms in prison for larceny.

At the time the interview was published, Hon. C. S. Thomas cut it out and sent it to the commissioner of the labor bureau at Washington. He shortly after received a letter from the commissioner, stating that there was evidently some mistake, that he had consulted with Mr. Judd regarding the matter, and that the latter had stated to him that there was another C. P. Judd—a criminal—in Colorado, and that this fact had frequently caused him much annoyance. Mr. Thomas showed this letter to Gen. Cook, and the latter told him to write again to the commissioner, asking for the appointee’s photograph. This was done, and on the 22d of June the commissioner wrote in reply that Judd had started by a circuitous route for Colorado, and that he would, at some time during his trip, be at Leadville. It was, therefore, impossible for him to secure his photograph. The commissioner further expressed the hope that the Colorado officials would look him up, and see if he really was the criminal and fugitive from justice, or whether his story was true.

Gen. Cook immediately went to work on the case, and in a short time was on the track of his man. Soon after this Judd’s wife came to Denver and stopped at the house of a relative in West Denver. The detectives began to watch her and her correspondence. In a few days she received a postal from Judd, dated Leadville, telling her to come to Alamosa and meet him there. On learning of the receipt of this postal by Mrs. Judd, Gen. Cook went before Judge Sopris and swore out a warrant for his arrest for stealing Dingle’s horse and buggy. This he placed in the hands of Joe Smith, who happened to be in the city at the time, and the latter took the same train with Mrs. Judd for Alamosa.

When Judd came forward to meet his wife, Sheriff Smith stepped up and arrested him. He was not very much disconcerted, and immediately sent his wife to Silverton, where she had a sister living, and without any further proceedings announced his willingness to come to Denver. Upon his arrival in this city he was taken to Gen. Cook’s office, where he made the following statement in writing: