Nicholas Tbalt was brought into Nevada on a wagon, after being missing for ten days. William Herren came to Virginia and informed Tom Baume, who at once went down to where the body lay. The head had been pierced by a ball, which had entered just over the left eye. On searching the clothes of the victim, he found in his pocket a knife which he had lent him in Washington Gulch, Colorado, two years before, in presence of J. X. Beidler and William Clark.
The marks of a small lariat were on the dead man’s wrists and neck. He had been dragged through the brush, while living, after being shot, and when found lay on his face, his right arm bent across his chest and his left grasping the willows above him.
William Palmer was coming across the Stinkingwater Valley, near the scene of the murder, ahead of his wagon, with his shot-gun on his shoulder. A grouse rose in front of him, and he fired. The bird dropped dead on the body of Tbalt. On finding the grouse on the body, he went down to the wakiup, about a quarter of a mile below the scene of the murder, and seeing Long John and George Hilderman there, he told them that there was the body of a dead man below, and asked them if they would help him to put the corpse into his wagon, and that he would take it to town, and see if it could be identified. They said “No; that is nothing. They kill people in Virginia every day, and there’s nothing said about it, and we want to have nothing to do with it.”
The man lay for half a day exposed in the wagon, after being brought up to Nevada. Elk Morse, William Clark and Tom Baume got a coffin made for him; took him up to the burying ground above Nevada; interred him decently, and, at the foot of the grave, a crotched stick was placed, which is, we believe still standing.
The indignation of the people was excited by the spectacle. The same afternoon, three or four of the citizens raised twenty-five men, and left Nevada at 10 P. M. The party subscribed an obligation before starting, binding them to mutual support, etc., and then travelled on, with silence and speed, towards the valley of the Stinkingwater. Calling at a Ranch on their way, they obtained an accession to their numbers, in the person of the man who eventually brought Ives to bay, after he had escaped from the guard who had him in charge. Several men were averse to taking him with them, not believing him to be a fit man for such an errand; but they were greatly mistaken, for he was both honest and reliable, as they afterwards found.
Avoiding the travelled road, the troop rode round by the bluff, so as to keep clear of Dempsey’s Ranch. About six miles further on, they called at a cabin and got a guide, to pilot them to the rendezvous.
At about half-past three in the morning, they crossed Wisconsin Creek, at a point some seven miles below Dempsey’s, and found that it was frozen, but that the ice was not strong enough to carry the weight of man and horse, and they went through one after another, at different points, some of the riders having to get down, in order to help their horses, emerging half drowned on the other side, and continuing their journey, cased in a suit of frozen clothes, which, as one of them observed, “Stuck to them like death to a dead nigger.” Even the irrepressible Tom Baume was obliged to take a sharp nip on his “quid,” and to summon all his fortitude to his aid to face the cold of his ice-bound “rig.”
The leader called a halt about a mile further on, saying, “Every one light from his horse, hold him by the bridle, and make no noise till day break.” Thus they stood motionless for an hour and a half. At the first peep of day the word was given, “Boys, mount your horses, and not a word pass, until we are in sight of the wakiup.” They had not travelled far when a dog barked. Instantly they put spurs to their horses, and breaking to the right and left, formed the “surround,” every man reining up with his shot-gun bearing on the wakiup. The leader jumped from his horse, and seeing eight or ten men sleeping on the ground in front of the structure, all wrapped up in blankets, sang out, “The first man that raises will get a quart of buckshot in him, before he can say Jack Robinson.” It was too dark to see who they were, so he went on to the wakiup, leaving his horse in charge of one of the party, half of whom had dismounted and the others held the horses. “Is Long John here?” he asked. “Yes,” said that longitudinal individual. “Come out here; I want you.” “Well,” said he, “I guess I know what you want me for.” “Probably you do; but hurry up; we have got no time to lose.” “Well,” said John, “Wait till I get my moccasins on, won’t you?” “Be quick about it then,” observed his captor. Immediately after he came out of the wakiup, and they waited about half an hour before it was light enough to see distinctly. The captain took four of his men and Long John, and walked to the place where the murder had been committed, leaving the remainder of the troop in charge of the other men. They went up to the spot, and there Long John was charged with the murder. Palmer showed the position in which the body was found. He said, “I did not do it, boys.” He was told that his blood would be held answerable for that of Nicholas Tbalt; for that, if he had not killed him, he knew well who had done it, and had refused to help to put his body into a wagon. “Long John,” said one of the men, handling his pistol as he spoke, “You had better prepare for another world.” The leader stepped between and said, “This won’t do; if there is anything to be done, let us all be together.” Long John was taken aside by three of the men, and sat down. They looked up, and there, in the faint light—about a quarter of a mile off—stood Black Bess, the mule bought by X. Beidler in Washington Gulch. Pointing to the animal, they said, “John, whose mule is that?” “That’s the mule that Nick rode down here,” he answered. “You know whose mule that is, John. Things look dark. You had better be thinking of something else now.” The mule was sent for, and brought before him, and he was asked where the other two mules were. He said he did not know. He was told that he had better look out for another world, for that he was played out in this. He said, “I did not commit that crime. If you give me a chance, I’ll clear myself.” “John,” said the leader, “You never can do it; for you knew of a man lying dead for nine days, close to your house, and never reported his murder; and you deserve hanging for that. Why didn’t you come to Virginia and tell the people?” He replied that he was afraid and dared not do it. “Afraid of what?” asked the captain. “Afraid of the men round here.” “Who are they?” “I dare not tell who they are. There’s one of them round here.” “Where?” “There’s one of them here at the wakiup, that killed Nick.” “Who is he?” “George Ives.” “Is he down at the wakiup?” “Yes.” “You men stand here and keep watch over John, and I’ll go down.” Saying this he walked to the camp.
On arriving at the wakiup, he paused, and picking out the man answering to the description of George Ives, he asked him, “Is your name George Ives?” “Yes,” said that worthy. “I want you,” was the laconic reply. “What do you want me for?” was the natural query. “To go to Virginia City,” was the direct but unpleasing rejoinder. “All right,” said George, “I expect I have to go.” He was at once given in charge of the guard.
So innocent were some of the troop, that they had adopted the “Perfect gentleman” hypothesis, and laid down their arms in anger, at the arrest of this murderous villain. A little experience prevented any similar exhibition of such a weakness, in the future.