The squadron rode to Big Hole, the first day, and, while on the road, detached a patrole to Clarke’s Ranch, in pursuit of Steve Marshland, who was wounded in the breast, when attacking Forbes’ train. His feet had been badly frozen, and flight was impossible. Leaving the horses behind, one of the party (No. 84) went in to arrest him, after knocking four times without answer, and discovered him in company with a dog, the two being the sole tenants of the Ranch.
When the Vigilanter entered, he found all quite dark; but taking a wisp of dried grass, he groped his way to the fire-place, and kindled a light with a match. The blaze revealed Steve Marshland in bed. “Hands up, if you please,” was the salute of his captor; and a pointed suggestion from one of Col. Colt’s pacification agents, caused an instant compliance with this demand. Seeing that he was sick, he was asked what was the matter, and replied that he had the chills. This novel “winter sickness” not being accepted as a sufficient excuse, a further interrogatory elicited the fact that he had frozen his feet. “No. 84” removed two double-barrelled shot-guns, a yager and another rifle, from beside the bed, and asked him where he froze them. He said he was prospecting at the head of Rattlesnake. “Did you raise the ‘color?’” said his interrogator. “No,” replied Marshland, “I could not get to the bed-rock, for water.” The party commenced cooking supper, and invited him to eat with them. He took a cup of coffee, and was quite merry. After supper, he was informed by the leader of the nature of the charge against him; viz: the robbery of Forbes’ train. He denied having any wound, and slapped his breast, saying that it was “as sound as a dollar.” Being asked if he had any objection to being examined, he said he had not; but the moment his shirt was lifted, the fatal mark of guilt was visible, in the shape of a recent bullet wound.
The prisoner was told that the evidence was complete, and that he must die. He then confessed, begging them to spare his life. He had matches and tobacco in every pocket of his clothes. A pole was stuck into the ground, and leaned over the corral; a box was placed for him to stand on, and, all being ready, he once more begged them to save him, saying “have mercy on me for my youth.” He died almost instantly.
His feet being frozen and partially mortified, the scent attracted the wolves, and the party had to watch both him and the horses. He was buried close by. The patrole then started to overtake the main body, and coming up with them about four miles above Evans’ Ranch, they reported the execution of Marshland. They had been absent only one night, leaving the command in the morning, and rejoining them the next day.
Up to this time, the scouting party had met no one, but marched in double-file, at the rate of from sixty to seventy miles per day. They kept double watch over the horses when camped, and lit no fires, being fearful of attracting notice, and of thus defeating the object of their journey. The men were divided into four messes, with a cook to each, and every party carried its own “grub,” (the universal mountain word for “food.”) Each man had a revolver, and some sported two. A shot-gun or a rifle was also part of the equipment. The captain rode foremost. A spy was dispatched to reconnoitre the town, and to meet the party at Cottonwood Creek. He performed his part satisfactorily.
When within about seventeen miles of Cottonwood, at Smith’s Ranch, on Deer Lodge Creek, a halt was made about four P. M. After dark, they started, and with perfect quiet and caution, rode to within a short distance of the town. They found that the robbers were gone; but, surrounding Bill Bunton’s saloon and dwelling house, they proceeded to business. Bill was in his house, but he refused to open the door. The three men detailed for his arrest said they wanted to see him. For a long time he refused. At last, he told a man named Yank, and a young boy, who was stopping with him, to open the door. The men made him light a candle, before they would enter. This being done, Bunton’s captors rushed in, and told him that he was their prisoner. He asked them for what, and was told to come along, and that he would find out.
A Vigilanter of small stature, but of great courage fastened upon him. He found, however, that he had caught a Tartar, so another man “piled on,” (Montanice,) and soon, his arms were fast tied behind him. A guard was detailed to escort him down to Pete Martin’s house, the rest being sent for to assist in taking Tex out of the saloon.
A similar scene occurred here, when the robber came out. He was instantly seized, pinioned, and taken down to keep company with his friend, Bill Bunton.
Pete Martin was frightened out of a years’ growth, when the Vigilanters surrounded his house. He was playing cards with some friends, and for a long time refused to come out; but finding that, as he said, “he wasn’t charged with nothing,” he ascertained what was wanted, and then returned to finish his game. As the exigencies of the times had rendered a little hanging necessary in that neighborhood, he felt small concern about the fate of Bunton and Tex, who were of a dangerous religion.
The party slept and breakfasted at the house. In the morning, a stranger who was conversing with Bunton, to whom he was unknown, informed the Vigilantes that the culprit had said that “he would ‘get’ one of the —— yet.” On being searched, a Derringer was found in his vest pocket. As he had been carefully overhauled the night before, it was evident that some sympathizer had furnished him with the weapon. He refused to confess anything, even his complicity in the robbery of the coach, where he played “pigeon.” Red had testified that he shared the money. He also denied killing Jack Thomas’ cattle; but Red had confessed that he himself was the butcher, and that he had been hired by Bunton, who called him a coward, when he spoke about the skins lying round the house, as being likely to be identified.