CHAPTER XIV.

LYNCHING OF MUSGROVE BY THE DENVER POPULACE—AN ILLEGAL HANGING IN BROAD DAYLIGHT BY MEN ENTIRELY UNDISGUISED—THE DESPERADO MEETS THEM BRAVELY, BUT IS OVERCOME AT LAST AND DIES GAME—HE WRITES A PAIR OF PARTING LETTERS, AND SMOKES A CIGARETTE WHILE THE HANGMAN’S ROPE IS BEING ADJUSTED.

The night was well advanced when the officers, who had gone to Golden, returned to Denver. Indeed, the morning was coming on, so that they were late in reaching their homes. Being well worn with the night’s excitement and fatigue, they slept late on Monday morning. When they came out they found Denver in a state of general excitement. The story of the resistance which the officers had met with from the desperadoes in attempting to make the arrests in Golden had been generally circulated. The people were just then beginning to appreciate for the first time the real character of the outlaws who had so recently been in their midst. They had never before dreamed that these highwaymen would be guilty of outright murder. Their eyes were opened for the first time. Evidence had accumulated of Franklin’s having been a partner of Musgrove. Even after the bold robberies of the preceding Friday night, Franklin had had the assurance to go to the jail where Musgrove was confined and ask for a conference with that individual. After this interview Musgrove made general announcement of the fact that his escape was planned for an early day, on such a perfect scale that it would not be within the power of the authorities to prevent it. It was also generally understood that there were many other desperadoes in the city, who, it was believed, had come to Denver for the purpose of assisting Musgrove to throw off his prison shackles. At any rate, the town was known to be full of bad characters, and the number was increasing every day. It was generally agreed that something must be done to teach these ruffians that Denver was no place for them. The laws were imperfect; it was difficult to convict witnesses, and the prisons were mere pens, out of which criminals could escape with small effort. There was but little for them to fear from the due process of law. Some more speedy remedy for the evil existing was needed. The community was sick and must be cured. A limb had been fractured, and amputation was necessary. Heroic remedies were demanded.

So the people were beginning to talk about noon of Monday, November 23. Some one suggested that the proper and salutary thing to do would be to hang Musgrove. The idea was wildfire in a dry prairie. It passed from one to another, and all the good people declared that Musgrove should be hanged by the people in the interest of the people—without technical warrant of law, but for the same purpose as that for which legal executions are intended, namely, to punish crime and to furnish a warning to evil-doers wherever found. On general principles Musgrove deserved hanging. The West is a region which believes in giving every man his deserts. So Musgrove must hang. This was the verdict of the town.

Up to 3 o’clock there had been no organized meeting, notwithstanding the talk of lynching had been general, and almost everybody had come to understand that a tragedy of this kind might be expected at any moment. By 3 the people began to gather on Larimer street. A few minutes later found them marching by the score, as if by common consent, towards the county jail, in which Musgrove was confined. There were hundreds in the procession when the prison was reached. There was no general expression to denote the intention of the mob, but all understood its purpose. There were no masks worn or disguises adopted. It was broad daylight. The best men in the town were in that procession—lawyers, doctors, and probably ministers, business and professional men. No officer dared stand in the way of that gathering. It was the people about to do the people’s will.

Arrived in front of the jail a halt was called. Some one mounted an elevation. There was no disorder. “The question before you,” rang out the voice of the speaker, “is, shall Musgrove be taken out of jail?”

There was a unanimous “Yes!”

“The next question is, shall he be hanged when taken out?”

The same unbroken “Yes” was the response.

There were none to object.

The jail was promptly entered. No obstacles were thrown in the way by the officials. Musgrove had himself been an auditor of the proceedings which had just been conducted on the outside of his prison house. But he had not been dumbfounded by the revelations made to him of his approaching fate. He met the mob with a bold face. “Come on!” he exclaimed, defiantly, “I am ready for you.”

He was found to be armed with a heavy pine knot with which some one had provided him. This he hurled defiantly in the air. None cared to approach him while he held this formidable weapon. Hence the stratagem of firing two or three shots over his head was resorted to. This policy brought the desperado to terms. Musgrove agreed to surrender peaceably on condition that he be not shot down. He was consequently taken out of jail.

Once on the street the procession made towards the Larimer street bridge across Cherry creek. Musgrove was fairly pushed forward by the pressure from the crowd which followed behind. He walked onward in a sullen and uncommunicative mood, glancing to one side and then the other as if looking for assistance. But none came. When he reached the bridge he apparently lost all hope. He never once asked for mercy or made a single plea for his life.

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Lynching of Musgrove.

“If you are bent upon murdering me,” he said at last, “you will at least be men enough to permit me to write to my friends and tell them the shameful story of your conduct towards me.” No one objected, and when the middle of the bridge was reached a halt was called and Musgrove was furnished with paper and pencil. Bending over the railing of the bridge he scratched off two brief notes, one to a brother and the other to his wife, the first being directed to Como Depot, Miss., and the second to Cheyenne. The poor criminal grasped the pencil with firmness and apparently wrote without a tremor, notwithstanding he was closely surrounded by armed men who were soon to be his executioners. He was an illiterate man, and wrote and spelled badly. Fortunately Gen. Cook preserved verbatim copies of the letters, which were as follows:

Denver November 23d, 1868

My Dear Brother

I am to be hung to-day on false charges by a mob my children is in Napa Valley Cal—will you go and get them & take caree of them for me godd Knows that I am innocent pray for me but I was here when the mob took me. Brother good by for Ever take care of my pore little children I remain your unfortunate Brother

good by
L. H. MUSGROVE.
Denver C. T.

My Dear Wife—Before this reaches you I will be no more Mary I am as you know innocent of the charges made against me I do not know what they are agoing to hang me for unless it is because I am acquainted with Ed Franklin—godd will protect you I hope Good by for ever as ever yours sell what I have and keep it.

L. H. MUSGROVE.

While he was still writing, some of the men had tied Musgrove’s legs together, and a wagon was procured, which he was told to mount. Placing his hands upon the seat in front, he sprang into the vehicle as nimbly as a cat, and the driver, who was George Hopkins of the present police force, was ordered to proceed. The procession then took its way to the west end of the bridge, reaching which, it passed down the bank of the creek to the dry and sandy bed of the stream, returning to a place under the middle span, whence a hangman’s rope dangled, with the noose already prepared for service. Driving up under this cord, Musgrove was told that he could have an opportunity to make whatever preparation he should see proper for the end which was approaching.

His only reply was: “Go on with your work.”

He was ordered to stand up, and mounted the seat of the wagon, surveying the crowd with his usual sullen and calm face. The rope was being tied about his neck, when Capt. Scudder, then a well known and respected citizen, standing on the bridge above, began to address the crowd upon the illegality of the proceedings. Musgrove’s countenance did not change. He coolly took a piece of paper from one vest pocket, and fumbled in the other vest pocket for some tobacco crumbs, which he took out, rolled in the paper, made a cigarette, turned the ends with care, placed it in his mouth, requested a match from the driver, struck it, lighted his cigarette and smoked it with as much composure as a Mexican ranchero sitting in his plaza on a summer evening, while Capt. Scudder continued his harangue.

This talk was not heeded. The crowd began to jeer, and to cry: “Drive on!” Some one hallooed to Musgrove and inquired: “Where are the rest of your gang?”

“I am sure I don’t know,” came the reply, “unless you are one of them.”

Those were among the man’s last words. His hat was pulled down over his eyes. Musgrove threw his cigarette from his mouth, and feeling the wagon starting, stooped and sprang into the air.

The wagon was moving but slowly from under the man and he came down on the floor of the wagon bed. With an expression of great disappointment and disgust he made another determined leap which should almost, beyond peradventure, land him in the great beyond. The wagon had moved out this time, and Musgrove threw his entire weight upon the rope. His neck was broken by the fall, and death ensued instantly. There were a few shrugs of the shoulder and all was over. The hat which had played the part of a hangman’s cap was removed before the crowd dispersed and the countenance was found to have changed but little. It was still sullen and devoid of any expression of fear. Musgrove had died as he had lived—coldly defiant of the world.

Referring to the matter at the time a local print said: “The people who assembled were good men, if we have any good men in the city. They were quiet and orderly, no shouting, no commotion—waiting to see the law executed upon one who had outraged them. They comprised a large part of the men of the city, and were not a crowd or a mob, but an assemblage of the people.”