CHAPTER XII.
THE BAD CHARACTERS BROUGHT TO DENVER BY THE UNION PACIFIC RAILROAD BUILDING—L. H. MUSGROVE AND HIS GANG—ARREST OF MUSGROVE—ED. FRANKLIN AND SANFORD DUGGAN COME TO HIS RESCUE—HIGHWAY ROBBERY IN DENVER.
For a few years previous to 1868 Denver was a paradise of quiet and repose. The mining excitement, which had attracted so many people to this region a few years before, had subsided to a great extent. The settlers were becoming accustomed to a residence in this region. The novelty of the life in the Far West had died out. There were few mining “booms,” if any, and the “hard cases” which invariably follow in the wake of mining discoveries of importance had become disgusted with the slow life in this section, and had folded their tents and quietly departed for more inviting and, to them, more congenial fields. Of course, the good people had no fault with this state of affairs. They went on following their customary avocations, delving steadily for the precious metals, tilling the soil and building up town and country. In a word, Denver seemed, within a remarkably short period, to have settled down into the perfect repose, so far as crime was concerned, of the New England village.
But with the approach of railroads there came a change—a radical and important change. The building of a new railroad in any section always introduces a large element of irresponsible and vicious people. In the West the percentage of this element is larger than in the East. But as the Union Pacific was the pioneer railroad line built across the plains, and as the country was new and inviting to men of adventurous spirit, its construction was probably accompanied by a greater number of arrivals than that of any other line built since in this region. There were gamblers of all degrees, sneak thieves, burglars, highwaymen, horse thieves, murderers, fugitives from justice and amateurs in crime. In many places along the line of the road it was “quite the thing” to be a bad man, and honesty and civility were at a serious discount. Yet in places the better element would ultimately gain the ascendancy. In many cases the contest was close and often there was doubt as to whether the good or the bad would triumph. As a rule, however, respectability asserted itself, although frequently not until much blood had been shed and the most heroic measures resorted to to rid the various communities affected of these human pests. There were vigilance committees at Cheyenne, Laramie City and other places along the line of the Union Pacific, which, after months of endurance of the most terrible outrages, took the law into their own hands. The results were numerous warnings to offenders to leave these places, and many “neck-tie parties” as well, at which no “duly elected” judge sat for days in weighing the evidence, but where justice was seldom, as in other courts, blind. The action of these vigilance committees was so energetic and efficient that many of those of the worst classes were compelled to get away from the railroad camps, and large numbers of them poured into the Colorado towns.
Of such were Sanford S. C. Duggan and Edward Franklin, whose tragic fate, as well as that of L. H. Musgrove, it is the purpose of this and succeeding chapters to treat.
Musgrove was one of the marked villains of the pioneer days of Colorado, and as cool a character as it was ever the fortune of a detective or criminal officer to fall in with. He was a man of large stature, of shapely physique, piercing eye and steady nerve, who might have stood as the original for the heavy villain of the best story of a master in romance literature. He was a man of daring, inured to danger, calm at the most critical times—a commander whose orders must be obeyed, who planned with wisdom and who executed with precision and dispatch. He was the leader of an organized band of horse thieves, highwaymen and murderers, who infested the western plains, with Denver as general headquarters, during the years 1867-’68. They made the railroad towns a convenience in disposing of their booty, but did not spend time in loafing about these places when there was other and more profitable business to attend to in other places. Musgrove was a southern man by birth, being a native of Como Depot, Miss. He had gone to California during the days of the gold excitement on the coast, and had located in Napa valley. His sympathies were with the South in the rebellion, and he quarreled with a Napa man about the merits of the conflict, which quarrel resulted in his coolly shooting the other party down. He was compelled to leave the place, and afterwards stopped in Nevada, where he killed two men before being driven from that then territory. Leaving Nevada, he came to Cheyenne, and from Cheyenne to Denver. He was at first, after crossing the mountains, engaged as an Indian trader about old Fort Hallack, until a half-breed Indian had the temerity, half in sport, one day to call him a liar, when Musgrove calmly pulled his revolver from his pocket, and, taking deliberate aim, planted a bullet square in the middle of the Indian’s forehead.
This transaction served to put an end to Musgrove’s Indian trading, for he was compelled to leave the Indian region on very short notice. After this little affair he organized a band of horse thieves, which operated throughout the entire plains country, and which was one of the most formidable bands of desperadoes known to frontier history. Musgrove was a perfect organizer. He had his operators in Colorado, Wyoming, New Mexico, Texas, Nebraska, Kansas and others of the western states and territories, and carried on a regular business of stealing and selling stock. They would drive off entire droves of horses from one section and sell them in another five hundred miles away, and would steal another drove in the neighborhood of the late sale and drive it for sale back to the place at which they had made the previous raid.
Musgrove’s band was broken up by degrees. As early as the spring of 1868 Gen. Cook, accompanied by Col. Egbert Johnson and one or two others, tracked four of them down after a two days’ march, and captured them at the point of Winchester rifles in a cabin near the city. Col. Johnson proved of invaluable service in this work in tracking the scamps, as he had had much experience in the mountains. In doing this work he had to even wade through a lake of water. Later he went to Georgetown after another of them, and capturing him there brought him to Denver alone. They were compelled to stay in a hotel at Idaho Springs all night, and both slept in the same room, Johnson setting his gun by the side of his bed and telling the desperado that if he made a move during the entire night he would blow his brains out. The fellow was as quiet as a mouse, and was afraid to get up when morning came, so thoroughly was he convinced that Johnson would put his threat into execution.
Musgrove was himself hunted down in Wyoming, and captured and brought to Denver. He was saucy to the last. Just a few days before his capture he took shelter in an invulnerable place on the Poudre, and sent a flag of truce to the pursuing officer, telling him that he could come in and pick out any stock that he could recognize; that he could have that and no more. Mr. Haskell, the then United States marshal, was in command of the pursuing party. He accepted the conditions laid down, as there was no alternative, and in doing so found the outlaw so barricaded, and his drove of stolen horses and mules so securely arranged, that he made no effort to dislodge him.
The arrest was finally affected by a bit of detective strategy, and the people throughout the entire western country rejoiced when it was announced.
Among Musgrove’s outlaws there was none more daring and heartless than Ed. Franklin, who had been with his chief in many close places and who really seemed to cherish a great fondness for Musgrove. They had in their days of intimacy on the plains sworn eternal fidelity to each other and had taken a vow, with others of the party, to come at all times to the assistance of each other in times of danger. Hence, when Musgrove, the chief of the gang, found himself in the clutches of the law in Denver, he contrived to notify his followers and to ask their assistance. It was a fact well known at the time to Gen. Cook that no less than twenty of these scoundrels responded to the call, which had been sent over the country. He was confident as to their character and their mission. He knew that they had come to Denver intending to effect Musgrove’s escape. He was confident that such was their purpose, but he could, of course, make no arrests, as he would have been without proofs. He could only remain perfectly quiet and wait for the desperadoes to signalize their presence in some way, as he well knew they soon would. He was not compelled to wait long to have his opinion of the men verified and to find occasion for making arrests. He was at that time not only chief of the Rocky Mountain Detective Association, but also city marshal of Denver, and as such was the chief of the police of the city. It may not be out of place to remark that while Cook was marshal, and by virtue of this position chief of police, Mr. Frank Smith, who has already been mentioned frequently in this book, was one of his subordinate officers. Smith was one of Cook’s most trusted men. The two learned to appreciate the striking qualities of manhood and bravery thus discovered in each other in those trying days, and became so thoroughly attached to each other that they never separated as long as Smith lived, which was until 1881.
Ed. Franklin, to whom reference has been made as one of Musgrove’s most trusted lieutenants, responded with alacrity to the call to come to the rescue of his chief; and without intending to forestall the story so far as to mar it, it may be stated that the expedition proved fatally disastrous to him. Franklin was accompanied to Denver by Sanford Duggan. They were both bullies and desperadoes—not only bold brigandish boys, but that and villains of a lower order, men who did not hesitate to stoop to little meannesses when to do so suited their purposes. They came to Denver with records, and they had been in this city but a very short while before they began to look about for an opportunity to add to their “laurels.”
It does not appear that Duggan had ever been a member of Musgrove’s band, but he had led a career that would have entitled him to hold a place of distinction in that scoundrel’s organization. Coming to Colorado in 1861, from Fayette county, Pa., when he was only sixteen years of age, he had lived for seven years in the company of low characters. At the age of eighteen he picked up a quarrel with a man named Curtis, in Black Hawk, and shot him down in a cold-blooded and merciless manner. For this offense he had been imprisoned for a short while, and then allowed to escape. Leaving Black Hawk after this experience, he came to Denver, where he became the associate of a prostitute, one Kitty Wells, who sold herself to obtain money for him to live on. He lived with her but a short while, when they quarreled one night and he struck her across the head with a pistol, well nigh killing her. He was then arrested by Gen. Cook while threatening to kill him. He was jailed, but escaped justice in some way. We next find him in the Black Hills, near Laramie City, in company with a man named Al. Howard. Soon there is news of another murder, and Duggan is arrested on suspicion and taken to Yankton, Dakota, for trial, but the proof is insufficient to establish his guilt and he is allowed to go to prey upon the community. He returns to the line of the Union Pacific extension and to Laramie City, where he for a while acts as city marshal. Discovering the true character of the man, the good citizens compel him to resign—not only force him to resign, but give him a set number of hours in which to get out of town. He takes the hint, and decides upon coming to Denver.
A few days out from Cheyenne Duggan falls in with Franklin, who has just passed through an experience which is worth relating, as it goes to show the character of the man with whom we are soon to deal. He had stolen a bunch of mules from Fort Saunders, and had succeeded in carrying them several miles to a place on the plains where the soldiers who were pursuing came up with him. There were seventeen of them in the pursuing party. It was no longer sensible for him to continue his flight, as he would, at best, be completely overtaken in a few miles. Most men, even desperadoes, would have surrendered without parley to such odds in numbers, but Franklin’s motto was: “Die, but never surrender.” He determined to fight. Dismounting from the animal which he rode, he hastily scraped a pile of sand up and threw himself behind it. The soldiers came up and Franklin opened fire. They returned the salute, and for over an hour the entire seventeen poured their leaden balls in the direction of the horse thief. He retaliated as fast as he could, and during the entire hour held the whole party at bay. At last, however, he was struck in the breast with a ball and was compelled from weakness to cease shooting. He was taken at last, nearer dead than alive. Being removed to Fort Saunders, he recovered rapidly, and had no sooner regained his strength than he made his escape. Once out of prison he soon hears of Musgrove’s predicament and starts to his chief’s rescue, where he meets Duggan, and they journey on together. Of course, they prove congenial spirits.
They do not ride boldly into Denver, but decide to stop near the city on Clear creek, until night shall come on with its friendly cloak, for Duggan, it must be remembered, is known to Chief Cook and his police force.
The night, however, is not far advanced when they make their appearance upon the streets. That the original intention of the men in coming to Denver was to liberate Musgrove could not be doubted, but they did not propose to waste time, and hence determined to earn a few dollars by the simple “holdup” process in case opportunity should offer. Hence they sauntered out Blake street in quest of game. The first man they met was Mr. James Torrence, who was compelled to stand and deliver. They procured $22 from him and allowed him to pass on, soon afterwards meeting Mr. Alex. DeLap, who is now a well known and wealthy citizen of the state, who was halted, and who would have been robbed had he not taken the precaution before leaving home to divest himself of his valuables.
The thieves soon find themselves on Lawrence street, and discover Hon. Orson Brooks, then a justice of the peace and police magistrate for Denver, wending his way homeward. They followed him to a deserted place on the street, about the site of the Markham house (the old Grand Central hotel), where he was accosted by them with a polite request to hold up his hands. Possessing no means of defense and finding a pair of ugly revolvers staring him in the face, the judge was compelled to stand and allow himself to be robbed of $135. Judge Brooks had sat in the trial of Duggan for the assault upon the woman Kittie Wells and recognized him while the search was in process. He gave some intimation of this fact, and the knowledge came near costing him his life. In response to a sally from him came the cheerful proposition from Duggan to Franklin: “Let’s plant the d—d old snoozer—what d’ye say?” Franklin was quite willing, and the chances are that, had Judge Brooks not been able to laugh off the matter as he did, his body would have been made the sheath of a keen-pointed and silent dagger. But he succeeded in convincing the men that he had been mistaken when he supposed he recognized one of them, and after treating him to a maximum dose of profanity, they allowed him to depart.