CHAPTER XXVI.
WIGHT’S COMPLICITY FULLY ESTABLISHED—THE STORY THAT THE CRIMINALS TOLD—A HORRIBLE RECITAL OF COLD-BLOODED MURDER BY WITHERILL—WIGHT GOES TO THE PENITENTIARY FOR SEVEN YEARS AND WITHERILL FOR LIFE—THE FORMER ENGAGES IN SEVERAL ESCAPADES AND WINDS UP WITH A MYSTERIOUS LETTER TO GEN. COOK, OF RECENT DATE—A COCK-AND-BULL STORY OF A HIDDEN FORTUNE.
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:
Penitentiary, Cañon City,
December 21. 1881.
Hon. David Cook, Denver, Colorado:
Dear General—My attention was lately attracted to an article in a Denver paper, wherein you expressed a knowledge of the fact that George Witherill, who is here serving a life sentence, used to drive a stage in Utah. Three years ago the writer became somewhat acquainted with a man in Kansas City, who related to him the following story, in which the said George Witherill plays a most prominent part, and every word of which I have good and sufficient reasons for believing as true. In the winter of the year 1870 this man, by name Edward Neal, was stock tender for the stage company at Corrinne, Utah. One day a man came to the stable and took an extra team and a Concord wagon for the purpose of going up to meet the coach, which he did some miles above Brigham City. At that moment he was joined by another man, a passenger on the coach, and they two immediately arrested three other men, who were also passengers, taking them from the coach and calling for their baggage. The prisoners did not claim it, and the coach drove on around by Brigham City for the purpose of leaving the mail there, allowing the two detectives (for such the two parties first referred to claimed to be) with their prisoners to reach Corrinne before the coach. The captives were then taken to a lonely cabin and tortured, with the result that they confessed to being road agents on their way to the states, with the proceeds of more than a dozen stage robberies; further, that all the money was on the coach. Meantime the coach, arriving at Corrinne, drove to the express office and unloaded everything except a rough box, an old trunk and a gunny sack, all of which the driver of the coach knew belonged to the three men who had been taken from the coach beyond Brigham City. He then drove to the stable, and while Neal was unhitching the coach team he hitched up the team that the detectives had used, loaded the above articles into the Concord wagon, took a shovel and left the stable, driving out over the old pontoon bridge. This occurred at about 6 p. m. The driver did not return to the stable until about 9 o’clock, having been absent about three hours. Just as he was leaving the stable, however, to go home, one of the detectives came and wanted the baggage belonging to the three men who had been taken from the coach that day, saying that there was more than one hundred thousand in money in the outfit, besides considerable jewelry, and that he would “whack up” with the driver if he would get it. This the driver refused to do, having safely secured and hid the plunder. Snow falling that night obliterated all traces of the wagon track, and the detectives never found the stuff. Being afraid of these men, the driver left Corrinne immediately, believing that the so-called detectives were only sharpers, and would do him bodily harm if he did not divulge the hiding place of the treasure. His opinion of the detectives was probably correct, as they also left Corrinne a day or two afterwards, having made no report at all to the stage company. The driver came to Colorado, and the next Neal heard of him was that he was arrested for murder, tried, found guilty and sentenced to the Cañon City penitentiary for life. The driver’s name was Witherill, and he is the only man living who knows where that money is. Witherill probably went on the ranch in Colorado for the purpose of keeping out of sight. I feel quite confident that this George Witherill here is the man. He, of course, keeps all this a profound secret; but you, general, can surely persuade him to tell you where the stuff is. It can not be buried more than five miles from Corrinne, as Neal said that the horses were cool when he brought them back to the barn. Now, can’t you promise to help him to get out of here, or something of the sort, and persuade him to tell us where to find the treasure? After he has given the necessary information, let him go to the devil, for all I care. Please let none of the officers here know anything about all this, as they would only make a botch of it, I am sure. Whatever you may want to say to me in regard to the matter, publish it as a “personal” in the Denver Tribune, addressed to “No. 5720, C. C.” That paper is accessible to me here, and I shall be sure to see what you say. This goes from here on the quiet, so no one will see it but yourself. I have the honor to be, yours most respectfully,
NO. 5720, C. C.
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.