The succeeding night was spent at Fort Wallace waiting for the return stage, and Cook was compelled to stay up with his prisoners all night to guard them. The next day he started back with his men, riding with them in a stage coach, or freight coach, almost as dark as a dungeon even in the day. Cook had now been out for four nights and was naturally exhausted. He sat on the floor of the vehicle, his feet resting against the opposite side, while the two prisoners reversed his position, their feet resting against the same wall which supported his body. They were thus sitting when the officer dropped off to sleep after night came on. While thus situated Cook felt his pistol slowly crawling out of the scabbard by his side. He was awake in an instant, and, slapping his hand upon the weapon, found it half way out, one of the thieves having pulled it out with his feet. Mr. Cook demanded a light from the driver after this pleasant episode, which the driver at first declining to furnish, he told him that he could either give him a candle or carry two dead bodies to Denver, as he would most assuredly kill the two fellows if they were given another opportunity to bother him. The light was furnished.
Cook now set the two men in one end of the vehicle and took a seat himself in the other, telling them that he always slept with one eye open, and that if they even touched him again, he would blow them through. They didn’t touch him after this. They afterwards confessed that if they had gotten Cook’s pistol they meant either to kill him with it or make him set them free. He had a derringer besides the revolver, however, and would probably have been equal to the emergency if they had gotten his revolver. Still he did not care to risk himself in their power, and hence did not go to sleep again.
The scoundrels were as quiet as mice the rest of the way, and the journey to Denver was devoid of further incident, except that soon after the little matter referred to one of the thieves had complained that his handcuff hurt him. Thinking the fellow had been fooling with it in trying to get it off. Cook reached over and simply tightened it for him.
The officer arrived home on the fifth day out. He was, of course, almost worn out and nearly frozen. Turning the prisoners over to the jailer he went to bed and slept seventeen hours. When he awoke he found the man whose handcuffs he had so kindly tightened suffering great agony, and discovered then that George Hopkins, who was then jailer, had tried in vain to wake him to get the handcuff keys, but had failed utterly, so dead asleep had Cook been. He was sorry, but he couldn’t cry, as he had only, though unintentionally, punished a man who would have killed him if he had gotten an opportunity.
Britt and Hilligoss were afterwards tried and sentenced to three years’ imprisonment each, but both escaped after serving a year, and neither has ever been heard of since. The stock were returned to their owner, who, it may be inferred, was quite rejoiced at the success of the officer.
This, take it all in all, was a remarkable exploit—remarkable in the odds against Cook when the men were captured, in the persistence of the pursuit, and in its many details. It has, for these reasons, been chosen to suggest the frontispiece picture of this volume.
HANGED IN A HOG PEN.