Photographs were taken and sent to Georgetown for identification, and they were recognized at once; but to make doubly sure, George Chapman, Mr. Kettle’s clerk, went to Pueblo to see him personally, and he at once identified him.
When Chapman met Schamle he broke down and acknowledged the crime. He said that he quarreled with Thedie about skinning a beef; that Thedie knocked him down; that he got up and ran, and passing a pistol—which he said was borrowed to shoot some chickens—he seized it, turned and fired, and continued his flight, not knowing whether he had killed him or not. This is his story, while the fact is he murdered Thedie for his money.
CHAPTER XLVI.
SCHAMLE’S RETURN TO GEORGETOWN—THE VIGILANTES ORGANIZED AND AT WORK—THE MURDERER TAKEN FROM HIS CELL AND LEFT HANGING IN A HOG PEN—THE LYNCHING DONE UP IN RHYME.
On the 12th of the same month Schamle was taken to Georgetown by Sheriffs Ellis and Easley. It had been discussed on the streets and elsewhere that he was a proper subject for lynch law, but no demonstrations of that nature were made upon his arrival.
On the following day his shackles were removed in the presence of a large but not appreciative crowd. Their remarks on this occasion evinced no particular affection for him, and must have suggested to him the propriety of making arrangements for a trip to a warmer climate than Colorado. On the same day he was taken before J. P. DeMattos, justice of the peace, but waived examination and was committed to jail.
That was all right so far, but the public mind was somewhat agitated over the matter, and did not deem the Clear Creek county jail sufficiently secure for the safe keeping of such a wretch as Schamle. The report of the Sedalia rape case had also reached Georgetown, and this did not raise him any in the estimation of the people. An ominous murmur buzzed around on the streets. For one night he was permitted to slumber undisturbed, if the blessings of repose could lull such a brute, and for a few short hours render him insensible to the misery he had wrought.
On Saturday morning, the 15th, between 3 and 4 o’clock, a number of masked men kicked open the door of the room in which Mr. Sanders, the jailer, and A. W. Brownell were sleeping, and covered them with the light of a dark lantern and three pistols, at the same time requesting them, in a manner that showed they were not to be trifled with to hold up their hands and make no noise.