Immediately after sentence of death had been passed upon Stinson and Lyons, Dr. Steele returned to his cabin, two miles down the gulch. The result of the trial had furnished him with food for sad reflection,—especially as the duty of passing death sentence had devolved upon him. Other considerations followed in quick succession. He has since, when speaking of it, said that he never indulged in a more melancholy reverie, than while returning home from this trial. The youth of the convicts; their evident fitness, both by culture and manners, for any sphere of active business; the effect that their execution must have upon distant parents and friends,—all these thoughts presented themselves in sad array before his mental vision; when, as he was about entering his cabin, a quick clatter of hoofs roused him and turning to see the cause, he beheld the subjects of his gloomy reflections both mounted upon the Indian pony, approaching at the animal’s swiftest pace. He had hardly time to recover from his surprise, and realize that the object was not a vision, until the animal with its double rider passed him,—and Lyons, nodding familiarly, waved his hand, accompanying the gesture with the parting words,
“Good-bye, Doc.”
The body of the unfortunate Dillingham lay neglected upon a gambling table in a tent near by, until this wretched travesty was completed. Then a wagon was obtained, and, followed by a small procession, it was hurriedly buried. The tears had all been shed for the murderers.
“I cried for Dillingham,” said one, on being told that his wife and daughters had expended their grief upon the wrong persons.
“Oh, you did,” was the reply. “Well thought of. Who will pray for him? Will you do it, judge?”
Judge Bissell responded by kneeling upon the spot and offering up an appropriate prayer, as the body of the unfortunate young man was consigned to its mother-earth.
Soon after the murder of Dillingham, Charley Forbes suddenly disappeared. No one knew what became of him, but it was supposed that he had fallen a victim to the vengeance of his comrades for the course he had taken in securing for himself a separate trial. This supposition was afterwards confirmed by some of the robbers themselves, who stated that in a quarrel with Moore at the Big Hole River, Forbes was killed. Fearing that the friends of the murdered ruffian would retaliate, Moore killed Forbes’s horse at the same time, and burned to ashes the bodies of horse and rider. This fact was known to Plummer only, at the time of its occurrence.
Dillingham was a straightforward, honest young man, and his office as deputy sheriff was given him under the supposition that he would readily affiliate with the roughs. Lyons, Stinson, and Forbes, who were also deputies, supposed him to be as bad as they were.
On my trip east in 1863, the Overland coach in which I had taken passage was detained a night by snow at Hook’s Station in Nebraska. Ascertaining that I was from Bannack, a young man at the station asked me many questions about Hayes Lyons, telling me that he had heard that he narrowly escaped hanging the previous summer. I narrated to him the circumstances attending the murder of Dillingham and the trial.
“He is my brother,” said the young man, and invited me to go with him and see his mother and sister. I learned that Hayes had been well brought up, but was the victim of evil associations. His mother wept while deploring his criminal career, which she ascribed to bad company.