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Arrest of John Kelly, young Maxwell’s Murderer, in 1868, by Detective Boswell.
“We’ll show you about that,” responded Boswell. “We came for him and we will take him. Keep your distance!”
As Boswell talked, the two officers leveled their guns at the crowd and ordered them to not make a move. Kelly was told to get in the buggy, but he declared that he was unable to do so. Boswell, still keeping his pistol leveled at the crowd, told his fellow officer to shoot Kelly down on the spot if he did not step into the vehicle immediately. The order had its desired effect. Kelly stepped into the buggy, and the officers drove off, covering the mob with their pistols until well out of their range, leaving them gnashing their teeth and swearing, but in vain.
A fine prospect the officers had before them—very fine, indeed! A wounded man to take care of, and how badly wounded they did not know; a howling mob, headed by the brother of the prisoner, to follow them, and forty miles to the nearest railroad station, through a wild country, to them comparatively unknown. But Boswell is a man who never knew fear, who never shirked a duty, however gloomy the outlook or dangerous the path to be trod. He felt that his safety depended on the celerity of his movements, and he decided to “get up and dust.” His captive complained a great deal at first at the pain occasioned by the jolting of the vehicle; but finding that his groans occasioned no apparent compassion in the breast of his captor, that it certainly did not cause him to slacken his speed, he at last settled down into grim and sullen endurance, and the party drove on, no one saying anything. Boswell’s companion held the reins, Boswell kept his arms in readiness to meet any sudden attack, and the prisoner continually glanced about him for the friends which he felt confident would come to his relief sooner or later.