Thus the awful day approached, and the murderer’s fate drew nearer and nearer to him. At last the day before that set for the execution arrived. Meyers proved equal to every emergency. During his stay in jail he maintained a stolid indifference as to his fate. He chatted pleasantly with all who came to visit him in his unfortunate condition, and rested soundly and ate his meals regularly. Beyond this he amused himself as best he could reading and smoking. Throughout the day preceding the hanging he did not change in his demeanor. No burden appeared to rest upon his soul. He passively regretted the deed, when reminded of its great enormity, but it seemed to him that it would be the passport to a better world, which he expected soon to reach. He calmly smoked a cigar and read his German prayer book. Now and then he would speak to a few persons who were allowed to approach his cell. He conversed freely on the circumstances attending the crime, and then referring to the close approach of death, said: “I have made my peace with my Maker, and I die happy in the Catholic faith, feeling that I will soon be in heaven.” Being questioned as to whether he did not feel the pangs of remorse, he said: “Oh, yes, a little; but then there is no use crying over spilt milk—the thing is to be, and it can’t be helped. I’ve made up my mind to it, and am satisfied.” To a visitor who was moved to tears, he said: “Don’t feel bad about it, it can not be helped; I have no fear of the gallows; there is a better world ahead, and I think I’ll reach it.” To Sheriff Cook he said: “I will go to the gallows as you want me to; there’s no use, though, getting a wagon, for I would just as leave walk as ride.”
During the evening previous to the execution, Meyers made a confession to Gen. Cook which supplied many details theretofore lacking to make the story complete. He stated that he had been born in Baden, Germany, in 1845; that he had come to America with his mother and two sisters in 1859; going to the war in 1861, and arriving in Pueblo, Colo., in 1867. As to the events which occurred on the night of the murder and those preceding and following, he said:
“On Sunday, the 6th of August, Bonacina went to Denver after Mrs. Newton, and she came back that evening. As he went to town he asked me to lend him $25, telling me he would return it when he returned. I loaned him the $25. When he asked me for the money he inquired if I had plenty of ammunition for the shotgun, rifle and revolver. I told him I had some ammunition, and to suit himself about getting more. He brought back some caps, and, I think, powder. Before he went to town he loaded his rifle with some buckshot I had, and, I think, his revolver, also, with the same. He said he expected the neighbors would come around some night and burn the stacks, and he would shoot the first s—— of a b—— that came near there after dark. When Mrs. Newton came back from Denver, she told Bonacina that she would give a suit of clothes worth $100 to the one who would kill the first man who came and attempted to burn the grain. She asked Bonacina at the same time if he knew where her derringer was, and he said it was in the trunk. I did not like to stay there any longer, as he was a man who swore, and I did not like his ways. A couple of days before this we had a quarrel over his treatment of horses, while loading grain, but no blows were passed. Between 8 and 9 o’clock on Thursday night, August 10, Bonacina told me to go out to the stacks, or the men might come while we were there in the house. We quit playing cards, and I went out there. In about fifteen minutes he came out to where I was. We made our beds under the stacks then, and I asked him for the $25 I had let him have on the preceding Sunday; also told him I did not want to work for him any longer. He asked my reasons for leaving, but I told him I did not want to tell him. He then told me he didn’t want me to leave until the grain was threshed and other work done. About an hour after we went to the stacks I told him again I wanted the money, as I desired to leave the next day. Bonacina said: ‘You d——d lousy s—— of a b——, I won’t pay it, but I’ll pay you now.’ At the same time he reached over towards his weapon, the rifle lying by his side and his revolver under his head. I then drew my pistol, which was lying by my side loose, and shot him, or shot at him, and he fell back saying something I could not understand. I then shot at him again with my revolver; did not shoot the shotgun, which was under my head. Bonacina was about six feet from me when I shot. I am not positive where either bullet hit him. I was excited, and shot the second time because I thought he was not dead. I did not know what I was doing.
“I took my shotgun and went to the house, and called Mrs. Newton by the name of Belle. I went there with the determination of killing her, as I was afraid she would give the alarm, and cause my capture before I could get away. She was at the window at first, and upon my calling came outside the door. I told her, ‘they were around,’ meaning the men who had attempted to burn the stack. She asked: ‘Where are they?’ I said: ‘They are around, and George (Bonacina) is running after them.’ My shotgun was cocked and at a make-ready position. I was about fifteen feet from her at the time. I pulled the trigger and fired, and she said ‘Oh!’ and went back into the house. I then went to the barn, back of the house, and remained there about ten minutes, doing nothing, but very much frightened. Afterwards I walked back to the front window of the house, and heard Mrs. Newton walking inside. I could see her moving in there as there was a light in the room. Then I went back to the stack and rolled Bonacina up in the buffalo robes and threw his rifle into the straw. I think the rifle was full cocked, but can not positively state. I then moved my bed to a diagonal position against his, and took sheaves of oats and covered his body. Then I went to bed and slept only a little that night. After daybreak I heard what I thought was a wagon passing, and at the same time I saw Mrs. Newton come out of the house. She walked to the bridge before she cried to the man to stop. He did not stop. She kept on, and looked towards the stack, and went towards Lyman’s. When she got away I went down into the brush and went up to the top of the hill. I did not know what I was doing. I remained there a short time, when I saw Lyman coming towards the place with a span of horses and no wagon. He went first into the barn, and then to the stacks, hitched up Mrs. Newton’s wagon and drove back home. I then went back to Mrs. Newton’s house, got something to eat, and took a bottle of whisky. Then I went down into a field the other side of Lyman’s to get a horse, and got the horse, took him to the house, saddled him and started south. This was about 9 o’clock. I had a shotgun, a revolver, some whisky and a loaf of bread. I struck the road and went over the Divide.
“I was so excited I did not know what I was doing. I thought at first I would go to Cañon City and then into the mountains. On second thought I concluded to go to Pueblo. Had no thought of being captured, but if anybody had attempted to take me prisoner I should have fought. I traveled the day I left the ranch to a point about two miles south of Sloan’s mill; the next day I continued the journey and got to Woodbury’s, when I was captured that night. While at the foot of the Divide I sold the horse to Mr. Wilson for $75, and continued to Woodbury’s afoot. If I had retained my senses and not drunk any liquor, I wouldn’t have been captured so easily.”
This confession of the condemned man was delivered in a straightforward and plain manner. During its delivery Meyers lighted fresh cigars occasionally and assumed a pleasing expression, now and then interlarding the recital with quiet and dry jokes. Soon afterwards Judge Harrison, of his counsel, was admitted, and the prisoner gave way, the only time at which he manifested any great concern. This interview was truly affecting, and was the occasion of a copious shedding of tears. Meyers spoke feelingly, even pathetically, of his aged mother and his noble sisters, and handed the judge a lock of hair which he desired should be enclosed to them, accompanying a message of love to all.
The next morning, a little before the fatal hour, Sheriff Cook, accompanied by the officers under him, and one or two friends, stepped to the door of the prisoner’s cell. He arose from his mattress, extended his hand, and assured him that he felt comfortable and resigned.
Sheriff Cook then spoke as follows:
“Mr. Meyers, by the law, the painful duty of carrying into execution the sentence of the court passed upon you is imposed upon me. That sentence is in the following document, which I will read.”
The sheriff then read the death warrant to the doomed man.