The next morning the party crossed the bridge, and rode to the workmen’s quarters, on the Mullan Wagon Road, where, calling a halt, they stopped all night. Accidents will happen in the best regulated families, and in a winter scout in the wilds of Montana, casualties must be expected as a matter of course. The best mountaineer is the man who most quickly and effectually repairs damages, or finds a substitute for the missing article. While driving the ponies into camp, one of them put his foot into a hole and broke his leg. As there was no chance to attend to him, he was at once shot. Another cayuse, by a similar accident, stripped all the skin off his hind legs, from the hough down. He was turned loose to await the return of the expedition.
At daylight, the troop were in their saddles, and pushing as rapidly as possible for the village. On arriving within six miles of the place, the command halted on the bank of a small creek, till after dark, to avoid being seen on the road. As soon as night threw her mantle over the scene, they continued their journey, till within two hundred yards of Hell Gate, and there, dismounting, they tied their horses.
Their scout had gone ahead to reconnoitre, and, returning to the rendezvous, he informed the captain of the exact position of affairs. Coming through the town on a tight run, they mistook the houses; but, discovering their error, they soon returned, and surrounding Skinner’s saloon, the owner, who was standing at the door, was ordered to throw up his hands. His woman (Nelly) did not appear to be pleased at the command, and observed that they must have learned that from the Bannack stage folks.
Skinner was taken and bound immediately. Some of the men went for Aleck Carter, who was in Miller’s, the next house. Dan. Harding opened the door, and seeing Carter, said, “Aleck, is that you?” to which the Road Agent promptly replied “yes.” The men leveled their pieces at him, and the leader, going over to the lounge on which he was lying, rather drunk, took his pistol from him and bound him, before he was thoroughly aroused. When he came to himself, he said, “this is tight papers, ain’t it, boys?” He then asked for a smoke, which being given to him, he inquired for the news. On hearing of the hanging of the blood-stained miscreants whose doom has been recorded in these pages, he said, “all right; not an innocent man hung yet.”
He was marched down, under guard, to Higgins’ store, where he and Skinner were tried, the examination lasting about three hours. Skinner’s woman came down, bent on interference in his behalf. The lady was sent home with a guard, who found Johnny Cooper lying wounded in the house. He had been shot in three places, by Carter, whom he had accused of stealing his pistol. He was, of course, instantly secured.
Some of the guard happening to remark that Johnny seemed to be suffering “pretty bad,” the lady expressed a conviction, with much force and directness, that “by ——, there were two outside suffering a —— sight worse;” (meaning Skinner and Aleck Carter.)
Cooper was one of the lieutenants of the gang. He was a splendid horseman, and a man named President, who was present at his apprehension, knew him well on the “other side.” He had murdered a man, and being arrested, was on his way to the court, when he suddenly broke from his captors, leaped with a bound on to a horse standing ready, and was off like a bird. Though at least one hundred shots were sent after him, he escaped uninjured, and got clear away.
While Aleck Carter was on trial, he confessed that the two mules of which Nicholas Tbalt was in charge, when shot by Ives, were at Irwin’s Ranch, at Big Hole, and that he, Irwin and Ives had brought them there. It will be remembered that, besides robbing the coach, Aleck was accessory both before and after the fact of Tbalt’s murder. This was proved. That he was a principal in its perpetration is more than likely. He denied all participation in the murder, but confessed, generally speaking, much in the same style as others had done.
Skinner also refused to confess any of his crimes. “Dead men tell no tales” was his verdict, when planning the murder of Magruder, and he it was, who ingratiated himself into the favor of Page, Romaine and others, and prompted them to the deed, so that Magruder thought his murderers were his friends, and went on his last journey without suspicion. He said he could have saved him, if he had liked; but he added that he “would have seen him in —— first.” He wouldn’t leave himself open to the vengeance of the band. He was a hardened, merciless and brutal fiend.
The same night a detachment of eight men went in pursuit of Bob Zachary, and coming up to Barney O’Keefe’s, that gentleman appeared in the uniform of a Georgia major, minus the spurs and shirt collar, and plus a flannel blouse. He mistook the party for Road Agents, and appeared to think his time had come. He ejaculated, with visible horror, “Don’t shoot, gentlemen; I’m Barney O’Keefe.” It is useless to say that no harm was done to the “Baron,” as he is called. There are worse men living in all countries than Barney, who is a good soul in his own way, and hospitable in his nature. Finding that Bob Zachary was inside, one of the party entered, and, as he sat up in bed, threw himself upon him, and pushed him backwards. He had a pistol and a knife. He was taken to Hell Gate shortly after his capture. The fate of his friends was made known to him, and vouched for by a repetition of the signs, grips, pass-words, etc. On seeing this, he turned pale; but he never made any confession of guilt. He was the one of the stage robbers who actually took the money from Southmayde. Like all the rest, he repeated the pass-word of the gang, “I am innocent.”