There was now left nothing to do but to arrest the two men who had betrayed and murdered O’Neal, and for this denouement preparations were now made. While working up the O’Neal case, Griswold had taken a fancy to a woman living with her husband on Clear creek, a quiet and peaceable man, and the two becoming attached to each other, he had driven the husband away and remained with the wife, filling the role of husband himself. Griswold lived with this woman at her former husband’s home, and seemed to feel no delicacy whatever concerning the fine points of the situation.
Two days elapsed before Gen. Cook had succeeded in obtaining the clues set forth in the preceding chapter, and while it was feared that the murderers might make their escape, the fact was not lost sight of that the offense charged was a heinous one, and Cook felt that a great injustice might be done in arresting the men as long as there was any doubt as to their guilt. Hence the delay in taking the culprits into hand.
Detectives Frank Smith and Charley McCune were selected to make the arrest of the precious pair, and were ordered to Clear Creek valley for that purpose. They went first to the residence of Patrick, and found to their regret that they had come too late. That worthy had folded his tent and stolen away, leaving home and friends behind, evidently fearing apprehension.
The officers proceeded with caution to Griswold’s home, fearing detection from a distance, and in case of detection a decidedly warm welcome. But they at last succeeded in getting to his house, and upon making inquiry for him, found that he had just gone out—out where no one knew.
The officers began now to feel that they had happened in a day after the feast, and sadly turned their horses’ heads towards the city, disappointed and dejected that they had had such bad luck as they felt that they had had. But there was nothing left but a return to the city, with their report; so at least they felt, as they quitted the house where Griswold had so recently been. Yet there was still reason for hope of at least partial success, and they very soon came to realize that all was not lost.
Shortly after leaving Griswold’s late place of abode, the officers discovered a mounted man moving in advance of them, and across a field. They spurred up, and were not long in discovering that this man was no other than Griswold. The officers had come prepared to deceive him. They were dressed as cow-boys—wore large sombrero hats, tucked their breeches legs into their boot-tops, and carried whips in their hands, which they twirled about and cracked as cow-boys do. Taking a different road from that which Griswold was pursuing, the two men contrived to ride around and come up so as to cut him off without creating suspicion. They had no hope of finding him unarmed, and hence were desirous of avoiding a fight if possible. Their disguise was so excellent that it served to save them from this necessity. They rode very close to Griswold before he took any notice of them, and were less than thirty feet distant when Griswold recognized Smith’s face, with which he was familiar.
The murderer showed his colors in a moment. Appreciating that the two “cow-boys” were officers come to arrest him, he was prepared to defend himself. He sought his gun with great celerity, and was raising it to fire, when he found himself staring along the barrels of as pretty a pair of weapons as were ever presented.
“Put that gun down, Griswold,” commanded Frank Smith. “Put it down, or you die.”
The gun dropped.
“Now, hands up!”