These men were bound by an oath to be true to each other, and were required to perform such services as came within the defined meaning of their separate positions in the band. The penalty of disobedience was death. If any of them, under any circumstances, divulged any of the secrets or guilty purposes of the band, he was to be followed and shot down at sight. The same doom was prescribed for any outsiders who attempted an exposure of their criminal designs, or arrested any of them for the commission of crime. Their great object was declared to be plunder, in all cases, without taking life if possible; but if murder was necessary, it was to be committed. Their password was “Innocent.” Their neckties were fastened with a sailor’s knot, and they wore mustaches and chin whiskers. He was himself a member of the band, but not a murderer.
Among other disclosures, “Red” attributed his hapless condition to Bill Hunter, at whose instigation, years before, he had entered upon a career of infamy. He hoped the committee would not spare him. He gave the particulars of the robberies of the coaches, and the names of all engaged in this as well as many other crimes.
After listening to this frightful narrative, and making such memoranda as they might need for future operations, the little party of Vigilantes carefully reconsidered the vote they had taken, and decided that the two culprits should be executed immediately. In the course of the narrative, “Red” had fully implicated Brown. In the Indian campaign in Minnesota in 1862, Brown was a scout for Gen. William R. Marshall (brother-in-law of the writer), who regarded him as not a notoriously bad man, but as one who had little moral principle or force of character, and who was easily influenced by his associates.
Less than a quarter of a mile distant, in rear of Lorrain’s, on a beautiful curve of the Pas-sam-a-ri, stood several majestic cottonwoods, by far the finest trees in all that region. Two, which stood side by side, were selected as the scaffolds. It was a dim starlit night, and a lantern was necessary to complete the preparations for the execution. The cold blast from the immediate mountains howled fearfully as the little procession tramped through the snow, with their prisoners in charge, to the fatal spot. The night was not darker than the gloom which had settled upon the minds and hearts of these condemned wretches. “Red,” however, was perfectly collected. Not a sigh escaped him, nor a tear dimmed his eyes. Brown was all excitement. He begged piteously for mercy, and prayed for his Indian wife and family. They were in Minnesota. “Red,” more affected by the terror and moans of his comrade than his own hapless condition, said to him in a sad but firm tone,
“Brown, if you had thought of this three years ago, you wouldn’t be here now, or give the boys this trouble.”
A few branches were clipped from a lower limb of each of the trees, and the ropes suspended. Two stools brought from the ranche, by being placed one upon the other, served the purpose of a drop. A Vigilante, while adjusting the noose to the neck of Brown, stumbled, and both he and Brown fell together into the snow. Recovering himself, he said, by way of apology,
“We must do better than that, Brown.”
It was a chance remark, proceeding from a motive which it failed to express; better interpreted by those who heard it, than I fear it will be by my readers.
When all was ready, Brown, with the petition upon his lips, “God Almighty save my soul,” was launched from the platform, and died without a struggle.
“Red” witnessed the scene unmoved. When his turn came, and he stood upon the frail trestle, he looked calmly around upon his executioners.