“It’s a grand success, Bill. We never made a false stroke.”
A heavy snowstorm now set in. The assassins occupied the remainder of the night in destroying and removing the evidences of their guilt. The bodies of their victims were wrapped in blankets, conveyed to the summit of an adjacent ridge, and cast over a precipice into a cañon eight hundred feet deep, where it was supposed they would be speedily devoured by wolves. The camp equipage, saddles, straps, blankets, guns, pistols, everything not retained for immediate convenience, were burned, and all the iron scraps carefully collected, put into a sack, and cast over the precipice. All the while these guilty deeds were in progress, the storm was increasing. When the morning dawned, not a vestige of the ghastly tragedy was visible. The camp was carpeted to the depth of two feet with snow, and the tempest still raged. The murderers congratulated each other upon their success. No remorseful sensations disturbed their relish for a hearty breakfast. No contrite emotions affected the greedy delight with which each miscreant received his share of the blood-bought treasure. No dread lest the eye of the All-seeing, who alone had witnessed their dark and damning atrocity, should betray them, mingled with the promises they made to themselves of pleasures and pursuits that this ill-gotten gain would buy in the world where they were going. One solitary fear haunted them,—that concerning their escape from the country.
When this all-absorbing subject was mentioned, they saw and felt the necessity of avoiding Lewiston; their presence there would excite suspicion. Howard advised that they should go to a ford of the Clearwater, fifty miles above Lewiston, and cross over and make a hurried journey to Puget Sound. There they could take passage on a steamer to San Francisco or to British Columbia, as after events might dictate. This counsel was adopted. Mounting their horses, they made a last scrutinizing survey of the scene of their hellish tragedy, now covered with snow, and plunged down the western slope of the mountains, amid the rocks and cañons of Northern Idaho. The expression of Howard, as he reined his horse away from the bloody theatre, may be received as an indication of the sentiments by which all were animated.
“No one,” said he, “will ever discover from anything here the performance in which we have been engaged. If we are only true to each other, boys, all is safe.”
The animals, with the exception of one horse and seven mules, were abandoned, but accustomed to follow the tinkle of the bell still suspended to the neck of the horse, the herd soon appeared straggling along the trail behind the company. The heartless wretches, thinking to frighten the animals away, at first shot them one by one as they came within rifle distance. Finding that the others continued to follow, they finally drove the entire herd, seventy or more in number, into a cañon near the trail, and mercilessly slaughtered all the animals composing it.
Avoiding Elk City by a circuitous route, the party, after several days’ travel, arrived at the ford of the Clearwater. Two broad channels of the river at this crossing encircled a large island. A mountain torrent at its best, the river was swollen by recent rains, and its current running with frightful velocity. Page, who was perfectly familiar with the ford, dashed in, and was followed by Lowry. They were obliged to swim their mules before reaching the island, and had still a deeper channel to cross beyond. Romaine and Howard, who had witnessed the passage from the bank, were afraid to risk it. A long parley ensued, which finally terminated in the return of Page and Lowry, and an abandonment of the ford. A single day’s rations was all the food the company now possessed. None could be obtained for several days, except at Lewiston, the mention whereof brought their crime before the ruffians with terrible distinctness. But there was no alternative. Risk of detection, while a chance presented for escape, was preferable to physical suffering, from which there was none. They encountered the risk. Near Lewiston they fell in with a rancheman, to whom they committed their animals, with instructions to keep them until their return, and, concealing their faces with mufflers, entered the town at a late hour of the evening.
With the design of stealing a boat, and making a night trip down Snake River, to some point accessible to the Portland steamboats, they proceeded at once to the river bank fronting the town. Piling their baggage into the first boat they came to, they pushed out into the stream. The wind was blowing fearfully, and the maddened river rolled a miniature sea. They had proceeded but a few rods when a sudden lurch of the boat satisfied them that the voyage was impracticable, and they returned to shore.
Their only alternative now was to secure a passage that night in the coach for Walla Walla, or remain in Lewiston at the risk of being recognized the next day. It was a dark, blustering night. Hill Beachy, whose invariable custom it was to retire from the office at nine o’clock, from some inexplicable cause became oblivious of the hour, and was seated by the stove, glancing over the columns of a much-worn paper. His clerk stood at the desk, preparing the way-bill for the coach, which left an hour later for Walla Walla. The street door was locked. Suddenly the silence without was broken by the heavy tramp of approaching footsteps. A muffled face peered through the window. Beachy’s attention was arrested by a hesitating triple knock upon the door, which seemed to him at the time ominous of wrong. Catching up the lamp, he hurried to the door, on opening which a tall, well-proportioned man, in closely buttoned overcoat, with only his eyes and the upper portion of his nose visible, entered, and with a nervous, agitated step, by a strangely indirect, circular movement, advanced to the desk where the clerk was standing.
Addressing the clerk in a subdued tone, he said, “I want four tickets for Walla Walla.”
“We issue no tickets,” replied the clerk, “but will enter your names on the way-bill. What names?” he inquired.