HANDS UP

HANDS UP;

OR,

THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF DETECTIVE LIFE IN THE
MOUNTAINS AND ON THE PLAINS.

Reminiscences by General D. J. Cook, Chief of the Rocky
Mountain Detective Association.

Compiled by John W. Cook.

A Condensed Criminal History of the Far West.

DENVER:
THE W. F. ROBINSON PRINTING CO.,
1897.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1897,
BY D. J. & J. W. COOK,
In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.

All rights reserved.

CONTENTS.

ILLUSTRATIONS.

GENERAL DAVID J. COOK.

This book consists of a series of reminiscences of Gen. D. J. Cook, chief of the Rocky Mountain Detective Association, which has been in existence for the past thirty-five years, during which time Gen. Cook has been continuously at its head. He organized it in the beginning and has remained with it from that time until his own name and that of the association have become almost synonymous terms in the entire Rocky Mountain country, where both are known and where both are respected and relied upon implicitly by honest people, and where both are proportionately feared by evil doers of all classes likely to “have business” with them. The stories told are all true records, but while their number is quite considerable they are only a portion of the thrilling experiences—whether his own or those of officers of his association—with which his mind is stored. Indeed, if Gen. Cook should attempt to even furnish a complete narrative of his own adventures, it would fill a volume much larger than this one, for his has been a life of excitement and adventure, of exposure and hardships, of heroic deeds and many narrow escapes. Beginning as the son of an Indiana farmer, Mr. Cook has by his own unaided exertions, placed himself at the head of the detective force of the West, and has in many ways made himself prominent as a useful citizen of a growing region.

David J. Cook was born August 12, 1840, in Laporte county, Ind., being a son of George Cook, a farmer and land speculator. Receiving a moderate education, he worked on farms in Indiana, Iowa and Kansas until 1859. His father settled in Iowa in 1853, on the present site of Laporte, now a thriving city, but then a howling wilderness. Selling out to good advantage, the family moved to Jefferson county, Kan., in 1855, settling on a tract of land north of where the little city of Meriden now stands, on Rock creek. When the wave of excitement which swept the country on the discovery of gold at Pike’s peak came, it bore him to the Rocky mountains, where he spent nearly two years in mining in what is now called Gilpin county, Colorado. Returning to Kansas he bought a farm, but in the fall of 1861 he went to Rolla, Mo., and engaged in running supply trains.

He was soon afterward transferred to the ordnance department of the Army of the Frontier, and early in 1863 came again to Colorado and established the association with which his name has since been connected, and which has so long been a terror to evil doers and a trusty guardian of the public safety.

Enlisting in the Colorado cavalry, he was in the spring of 1864 detailed by the quartermaster of the Denver post as government detective in Colorado, and served until the abandonment of the post in 1866. He next served three years as city marshal of Denver, and in the fall of 1869, was elected sheriff of Arapahoe county. So satisfactory to the people of the county, of both political parties, was his administration of the sheriff’s office, that at the end of his term he was reëlected without opposition, and served two years longer. From 1873 he gave his entire attention to the detective work, holding at the same time the position of deputy United States marshal until the fall of 1875, when he was again elected sheriff, and reëlected at the end of two years, his last term expiring in January, 1880. In 1873 he was appointed by Gov. Elbert, and confirmed by the senate, major general of Colorado militia; was reappointed by Gov. Routt, and again by Gov. Pitkin, serving four years under each. He has served as major general for nine years, and has rendered efficient service in quelling riots throughout the state, as well as in recent Indian troubles. During the Leadville strike, which occurred in June, 1880, and in which Mooney was to that city what Dennis Kearney has been to San Francisco, Gen. Cook was sent by Gov. Pitkin as commander-in-chief of the state militia, and by his efficiency soon brought the rioters under subjection to the laws of the state. During what was known as the Chinese riot, which caused such disgrace to Denver on October 31, 1880, the mayor and sheriff called on Gen. Cook to quell the riot, after the authorities had failed to do so. Gen. Cook took charge of the police and twenty-five special police, nearly all of whom were trusted members of the Rocky Mountain Detective Association, that he swore into service, and in a short time brought the rioters under subjection and caused them to disperse, after arresting the ringleaders and placing them in jail. The resignation of Mr. Hickey as chief of police caused a vacancy which the leading business men of Denver thought Gen. Cook the most fitting man to fill. Knowing the great desire manifested in regard to having an efficient chief of police, the city council confirmed Gen. Cook in that position.

In addition to the responsible position to which Gen. Cook was then elevated, he has also acted as deputy United States marshal for the district of Colorado, to which he was again appointed two years previous.

Gen. Cook is a born detective. When asked one day how he happened to follow this business, he replied: “It is natural. I can’t help it; I like it.” He never received a day’s training from any other detective in his life, and yet from the very beginning he took rank with the best in the country. He stands to-day alongside of Mr. Pinkerton. Indeed, many of his exploits have far exceeded those of that justly-renowned officer in thrilling detail and startling climax. A hundred times in his life Dave Cook has been placed in positions where another man, under the same circumstances, less shrewd or less courageous, would have been shot dead in his tracks or eternally disgraced. But he was ever the right man in the right place as a detective, and it is owing to this fact that he has passed thirty-five years of detective and official life on the frontier without being killed. He possesses the essential qualities of mind and body necessary to become a successful detective in a degree rarely equaled in one man. He is both brave and discreet. He is never afraid to strike. No position appals him. Yet he is cool-headed and cautious and wastes no blows—ventures into no unnecessary danger, and knows how to reserve his strength until it is needed most. When the time comes to act he acts with decision and promptness, always accomplishes his purpose, no difference what the odds. He is an excellent judge of men. He knows how to select the best assistants, and he “spots” a criminal nine times out of ten. He knows when to talk and when to allow others to talk. He will listen half a day to a string of surmises entirely contrary to his own without interposing an objection, with the hope of getting a clue, where other men would spoil everything by airing their own opinions. His memory is excellent, his patience inexhaustible, his ability to put this and that together is unexcelled, his perception is sharp, his reasoning is clear, his courage is undoubted and his judgment is cool under all circumstances. Add to these faculties the fact that he always deals fairly with the public; that he never fails to protect his prisoners, and that he is a man of fine bearing, of splendid figure, a face of iron on which a smile appears at home, and you will discover the secret of Dave Cook’s success as a detective and as an executive officer on the frontier in the Rocky Mountains.

It was when Cook was sixteen years of age that he went, with his father, to Leavenworth. He was a country boy, roughly clad and without experience in life. His father sent him forward to the hotel to engage rooms. He had never before had such a duty as this imposed upon him. When he went in there was no one behind the counter, but the seats outside were filled with the usual crowd of hotel loafers—young fellows living in the city, who, seeing a country boy enter, concluded to “guy” him. Finding no one at the counter, he turned to the crowd and asked for the proprietor. The loafers were inclined to giggle, and as they pointed out one of their own crowd as the individual sought, the country boy thought he observed several sly winks and heard suppressed laughter. Turning to the man whom he was told was the party sought, he asked:

“Are you the proprietor?”

“I am,” he replied, and he and all the rest laughed.

Then it was that Dave’s insight into character and his ready ability to “say things that hurt” came to the surface at the right time.

“I just wanted to know,” he replied, “for if you are I shall hunt another hotel.”

The character of the laugh which accompanied the boy’s walk to the door was quite different from that which had prevailed before.

Mr. Cook did his first detective work three years afterwards, and then discovered his ability in that line. He left Kansas and came to the Rocky mountains in 1859, accompanied by a brother, their purpose being to seek their fortunes mining. They were operating in the placer diggings in Missouri Flat, between Black Hawk and Russell Gulch, and had accumulated $250 in gold-dust, which they discovered one morning to be missing. Mr. Cook remembered that a man, against whom no one had suspicions, however, had been around the camp until recently, but now found that he was gone. Contrary to the advice of all the “older heads,” he decided this to be the man he wanted, and concluded to follow him. He overtook the fellow near Golden and made him disgorge, and, besides, pay all the expenses which Cook had incurred in his pursuit. This man was one of the very few criminals whom Cook has allowed to escape without placing them in the hands of the authorities. But in this case the offense was against Cook himself, and he was his own officer. The law of the miners of that day inflicted the death penalty for stealing only $5 worth of any article from a miner. Cook knew what the result would be if he took the man back to camp, and he allowed the promptings of humanity to prevail and permitted the fellow to go free, much to the man’s relief, who also knew the laws of the pioneer gold hunters to be more severe than those of the Medes and Persians.

It was not, however, until Cook returned to Colorado, in 1863, that he really began his detective career in earnest. He was engaged at first as an assistant detective for the quartermaster’s department in the district composed of the camps at Denver, Fort Collins, Booneville, on the Arkansas, and Julesburg. But he soon became chief of the department for the district, a position which he held for three years, resigning at the end of that time to be elected city marshal of Denver. During the three years of his service as government detective he saved the country over $100,000 worth of property, such as horses, mules, provisions and feed, which would otherwise have been lost, and was the means of exposing the tricks of many who were high in authority. His first exploit of note was the breaking up of a gang of horse thieves, who were plundering both the army and the citizens, and by both of which parties he was engaged to perform the service. Being allotted to this special work, he went to Chase & Healey’s gambling hall, on Blake street, then a noted gambling establishment, and took a table and began to deal Spanish monte between two then notorious characters, who afterwards met death at the hands of vigilance committees, called respectively “Goggle-Eyed Ed” and “Smiley,” whom he suspected of being at the head of the thieves. In less than ten days he was in possession of their secrets, and was able to “spot” their assistants, to arrest several aids and to recover some twenty horses, besides a vast deal of other property, worth in the aggregate $10,000. He discovered, among other things, that some of the soldiers were in the habit of selling army horses to a certain saloon-keeper. Ten horses had disappeared, but they could not be traced. He procured an assistant in the person of a soldier, who succeeded in negotiating the sale of a horse to this purchaser for a mere song, and was requested to deliver him at midnight at the saloon. Stationing himself at a convenient point with a companion, Cook saw an assistant of the purchaser mounted upon the horse which the soldier detective had turned over to him, and start off at a brisk gallop towards the north. Cook and his man followed at a safe distance behind, through the darkness, over the plains and into the mountains and out again, down to a secure hiding place on the St. Vrain, where the rider stopped, after a fifteen hours’ gallop, quite unconscious that he had been pursued. Coming upon him Cook captured the rider and twelve head of army horses, which were grazing near by. The details of other captures made at this time are just as thrilling as this, but this will serve as a specimen, and will help to explain the popularity which Mr. Cook soon attained as an efficient officer—a popularity which a few years afterwards elected him to the city marshalship in the face of vigorous opposition by numerous contestants for the prize.

A strong point with Gen. Cook has ever been his splendid capacity for organization and controlling men. This faculty makes him one of the most capable as well as one of the most popular commanders of our militia, and it has also aided him in making the Rocky Mountain Detective Agency, of which he was the originator, one of the most efficient of the kind in the world. It covers Colorado, Kansas, Nebraska, New Mexico, Utah, Texas, Wyoming, Arizona and California, the entire country north of Mexico and between the Missouri river and the Pacific, besides having agents in all the principal cities of the United States, and is perfectly organized, every detail being understood and superintended by Mr. Cook. Its operations have been very extensive and its “dead certainty” has made it a terror to evil-doers. Cook has held his place at its head by the undisputed right of superiority. As good a detective as the best of his aides, he is a better commander and organizer than any of them. He is versatile and quick to see a point, and just as quick in adapting himself to circumstances. He knows when to smile, when to frown. He can drive steers, play faro or become a lawyer when circumstances demand.

As an officer, Mr. Cook’s career has been quite remarkable. He has almost continuously since 1866 held some office besides that of superintendent of detectives, which has placed him in positions of danger. Beginning as city marshal, he held that place for years, and was afterwards deputy United States marshal, sheriff of Arapahoe county eight years and also chief of police. It is doubted whether there is a parallel case in the country, especially in this far western country, where men are more often desperate than elsewhere. During his experience he has arrested over three thousand men, fully fifty of whom have been the most desperate murderers, whom he has often taken at great disadvantage to himself. Of all these three thousand he never allowed one to seriously hurt him, not one of them to get away when taken, and not one to be violently dealt with when in his hands as an officer. His remarkable success he attributes to the observance of the following rules which he here prints for the benefit of young officers:

I. Never hit a prisoner over the head with your pistol, because you may afterwards want to use your weapon and find it disabled. Criminals often conceal weapons and sometimes draw one when they are supposed to have been disarmed.

II. Never attempt to make an arrest without being sure of your authority. Either have a warrant or satisfy yourself thoroughly that the man whom you seek to arrest has committed an offense.

III. When you attempt to make an arrest be on your guard. Give your man no opportunity to draw a pistol. If the man is supposed to be a desperado, have your pistol in your hand or be ready to draw when you make yourself known. If he makes no resistance there will be no harm done by your precaution. My motto has always been “It is better to kill two men than to allow one to kill you.”

IV. After your prisoner is arrested and disarmed treat him as a prisoner should be treated—as kindly as his conduct will permit. You will find that if you do not protect your prisoners when they are in your possession, those whom you afterwards attempt to arrest will resist you more fiercely, and if they think they will be badly dealt with after arrest, will be inclined to sell their lives as dearly as possible.

V. Never trust much to the honor of prisoners. Give them no liberties which might endanger your own safety or afford them an opportunity to escape. Nine out of ten of them have no honor.

It will not be out of place to remark in closing, that Gen. Cook has never violated a confidence and never failed to satisfy those by whom he was engaged—whether private individuals, corporations, the army officials or the public at large. Gen. Upton, who was the author of “Upton’s Tactics,” was in command in this district while Mr. Cook was chief detective. He wrote of him on a certain occasion: “Mr. Cook is a reliable and an experienced detective.”

The Tribune said of him when he was a candidate for sheriff in 1875: “He is admirably adapted to the office to which he has been nominated. This combination of good politics and exact fitness is the source of a great deal of satisfaction to all genuine and steadfast republicans. No one presumes to question D. J. Cook’s official fidelity and efficiency. The common verdict is that he has made the best sheriff Arapahoe county has ever had. And the people in supporting him in the canvass, and voting for him at the polls, support him and vote for him for sheriff. He will be elected to discharge the duties of that office, and for nothing else. And the people all have the certain assurance that he will discharge those duties ably, faithfully, promptly and honestly; that he will surely arrest criminals, and as surely keep them after arrest; that he will effectively aid in the maintenance of peace and order in the community, and that he will afford much sure protection to the persons and property of the citizens.”

He was elected sheriff in the contest above referred to, and after the term of office had expired the Rocky Mountain News summed up the results of his term of office as follows:

“Money and property worth $80,000 was recovered and transferred to the lawful owners. The press of the city was often placed under obligations for valuable and timely information. Four gangs of railroad thieves were effectively broken up in different parts of the state, and riot prevented on several occasions. Three of the apprehended criminals were hanged after transfer to the local authorities: Robert Shamle, in Georgetown, and Woodruff and Seminole, in Golden. The beginning of the term was marked by the arrest of the Italian murderers, nine in all, and its close by the chase and capture of the Hayward murderers. During the four years ending at noon to-day, Sheriff Cook and his deputies conveyed 121 prisoners to the penitentiary at Cañon, and lost none by the way. There was no jail delivery in Arapahoe county, nor was the board of commissioners at any time asked to offer one cent as reward for the return of fugitives. During the term three men were killed while resisting arrest, under orders of Sheriff Cook. They were Doan, at Cheyenne; W. T. McLaughlin, at Garland, and George Wilson, in Arizona. The sheriff and his force, during the term under notice, recovered 315 head of stolen cattle and sent seven of the thieves to Cañon. Also, fifty stolen horses, sending nine of the thieves to Cañon. Of the cattle mentioned, Arapahoe county lost not a hoof during the last eighteen months.”

Indeed, during his entire career he has received many words of praise from press and public, and has seldom been criticized for any other than political reasons or because of personal spite which was the result of treading upon tender corns in the discharge of official duty.

A HIDDEN TREASURE.

CHAPTER I.

AN INTERESTING BIT OF COLORADO HISTORY NEVER BEFORE PRINTED—THE REYNOLDS GANG OF REBEL GUERRILLAS LEAVE TEXAS TO INVADE COLORADO—AFTER A LONG RIDE, WITH MANY EXCITING INCIDENTS, THEY REACH COLORADO—THEY ROB A BUCKSKIN COACH.

“It’s no use, pard; the jig is up, and I’m goin’ across the range mighty shortly.” The speaker was John Reynolds—miner, gambler, rebel guerrilla, stage robber and cut-throat—as reckless a daredevil as ever met his just deserts in the whole West. The person addressed was his partner in crime, Albert Brown, a desperado like himself, a man hardened to scenes of bloodshed and death, yet he brushed a tear from his eye as he turned to get a drink of water for the dying man.

“If we could only have got to Denver, we’d have been all right,” continued Reynolds. “I’ve got over $60,000 buried not fifty miles from there in the mountains, and I could go right to the spot where Jim and me buried it in 1864. But there’s no use in me wastin’ breath, for I’m to the end of my rope now, an’ I’ll tell you just where it is, so that you can go an’ get it after you’ve planted me deep enough so the coyotes won’t dig me up an’ gnaw my bones.”

The dying man was sinking rapidly, but he went on: “Jim an’ me buried it the morning before the fight at the grove on Geneva gulch. You go up above there a little ways and find where one of our horses mired down in a swamp. On up at the head of the gulch we turned to the right and followed the mountain around a little farther, an’ just above the head of Deer creek we found an old prospect hole at about timber line. There was $40,000 in greenbacks, wrapped in silk oil cloth, an’ three cans of gold dust. We filled the mouth of the hole up with stones, an’ ten steps below there stuck a butcher knife into a tree about four feet from the ground an’ broke the handle off, an’ left it pointing to the mouth of the hole.”

Reynolds fell back exhausted, and asked Brown for a pencil, so that he could draw him a map. Brown had no pencil, but breaking open a cartridge he mixed the powder with some water, and as soon as Reynolds had revived a little he drew a rude map of the locality on the back of an old letter. Cautioning Brown to remember his directions, he fell back upon his rude couch, and in a few minutes was dead.

Brown set to work to digging a grave in the dirt floor of the dugout, and having no tools but a sharp stick, spent two days at the work. He placed Reynolds’ body in the shallow grave, covering it up carefully, then carried stones and put over it in accordance with his agreement. As soon as Brown completed his task, he secured his horses and started for Denver. While he is on his way thither, we will improve the opportunity to relate the history of the boldest band of robbers, and indeed, the only party of rebel guerrillas that ever invaded Colorado, of which John Reynolds, whose death we have just chronicled, was the last surviving member. Before beginning the recital of our story proper, it might be well to give a hasty sketch of the conditions prevailing in Colorado at the time our story opens.

The population of Denver in 1861 was decidedly cosmopolitan. The mining excitement had attracted hither men of almost every nationality, profession and occupation on the globe. On the question of secession, then the theme on every tongue, the people seemed pretty evenly divided. The Unionists, however, seized upon the opportunity, and enlisting several companies of militia, were soon masters of the situation. All suspects were then called up to take the oath of allegiance. Those who refused to do this were thrown into jail. Among those arrested were two brothers, James and John Reynolds. They belonged to a large class of men just upon the borderland of crime, working in the mines, driving bull teams, steering for gambling houses, in fact, turning their hands to whatever offered. Jack Robinson, a guard at the jail, was a fitting companion for them, although he had not fallen under suspicion. One night while he was on guard, a large party of suspects, known as the McKee party, broke jail and made their escape, probably through the connivance of Robinson. At any rate he carried food and supplies to them while they were concealed about the city, and when they went south to join the rebel army, Robinson went with them.

Early in 1864, James Reynolds, who was beginning to tire of the restraints of military life, little irksome as they were among the irregulars under the Confederate flag in Northern Texas, found himself at the head of a company of fifty men, among whom were his brother, John, and Jack Robinson. Then, too, Reynolds had an ambition to be a second Quantrell, to be a freebooter, going where he pleased and plundering all who were not strong enough to resist. He believed that with his company he could imitate Quantrell’s famous raid on Lawrence, overrun all Southern Colorado and burn and sack the city of Denver, where he had been imprisoned. The majority of his men were Texans, and they did not relish the idea of a 500-mile raid through a hostile country, so that when he got ready to start, in April, 1864, he found that but twenty-two of his men would stay with him. Nothing daunted, he resolved to push forward with this small band, fully believing that he could get plenty of recruits in the mines, where rebel sympathizers had been plentiful enough a few years before. In this, as we shall learn later, he was badly disappointed, never securing a single recruit. His friend, Col. McKee, gave them a pass through to Belknap, and taking only a few rations they pushed on through the Confederate lines. Once through the lines they rode swiftly westward toward the Spanish peaks—grim beacons in an ocean of sand. When they ran out of food they killed their pack animals, and thus managed to subsist until they struck the Santa Fe trail.

They encountered a band of hostile Indians, but defeated them without loss. A little further along the trail they met a wagon train which Reynolds decided was too strong to be attacked, so he traded a horse for some provisions. A few miles further up the trail they struck a Mexican train, which they attacked and captured. Here they made a rich haul, securing $40,000 in currency, $6,000 in drafts and about $2,000 in coin. Taking arms, ammunition, provisions and such mules as they wanted, they proceeded northward, leaving the Mexicans to get along as best they could. A great deal of dissatisfaction had arisen among the members of the band on account of Jim Reynolds taking possession of most of the money himself. A portion of the gang sided in with Reynolds’ theory that the captain should have charge of the surplus funds, since he proposed to arm and equip recruits as soon as they reached Colorado. Accordingly fourteen of the party quit the gang and rode back toward Texas.

The little party now consisted of but nine men: James Reynolds, John Reynolds, Jack Robinson, Tom Knight, Owen Singletary, John Babbitt, Jake Stowe, John Andrews and Tom Halliman. That night they held a council of war. It was decided to push on to Pueblo, then up the Arkansas into the rich placer mining districts of the South park. Here they felt confident of securing not only much plunder, but enough recruits to swoop down on Denver. They cached a lot of their heavy plunder, consisting of extra guns, ammunition and several hundred dollars of silver coin, which was too heavy to be carried easily. Resting their horses, they moved on toward Pueblo. Crossing the Arkansas at that place they rode on up the river to where Cañon City now stands, where they went into camp. A man named Bradley kept a store where the city now stands, and Reynolds dispatched several of the gang with plenty of money to purchase clothing, provisions and whisky. He did not go near Bradley himself, as he feared that gentleman would recognize him, and Reynolds was not yet ready for trouble. After having secured their supplies they pushed on to Current creek. Finding there plenty of grass and water for their horses, they decided to camp several days for rest and recuperation.

After holding another council they decided it would be better to push on to California gulch (the present site of Leadville) in small squads so as not to excite suspicion. After looking over the gulch for a day or two they decided that the Buckskin and Mosquito camps offered better opportunities for plunder. Accordingly the band reunited and came back down the Arkansas, entering South park below Fairplay. They stopped for the night at Guireaud’s ranch, and Capt. Reynolds had a long talk with Guireaud, with whom he seemed to be acquainted. He wrote several letters to friends at Fairplay, and the next morning inquired of Guireaud what time the coach left Buckskin, as he wanted to beat it to McLaughlin’s ranch to mail his letters. They at once set out for the ranch, which is ten miles from Fairplay. On the road, Capt. Reynolds halted his men and informed them that he proposed to rob the coach at McLaughlin’s. When they reached the creek below the ranch, they met McLaughlin and Maj. Demere, and took them prisoners. McLaughlin was riding a very fine horse, and Capt. Reynolds at once suggested that they swap. McLaughlin demurred, but got down when Reynolds and several other members of the party drew their guns. Reaching the ranch the party dismounted and put out a picket. McLaughlin treated the men to some whisky and ordered his wife to prepare dinner for the gang.

[Larger Image]

ROBBING A BUCKSKIN COACH.

When the coach drew up, Reynolds stepped out and commanded the driver, Abe Williamson, and Billy McClelland, the superintendent of the stage line, who occupied the seat with the driver, to throw up their hands, one of his men stepping in front of the horses at the same time. Their hands went up promptly, and after being disarmed by another of the gang, Reynolds ordered them to get down, at the same time demanding their money. Williamson resented the idea of his having any money, saying that it was the first time in all his travels that a stage driver had ever been accused of having any of the long and needful green about his person. But his talk didn’t go with the bandits, and after searching him carefully they found fifteen cents, which they took. Williamson’s eyes scowled hatred, and as will be learned later, he finally took an awful revenge for the outrage. They “shook down” McClellan with much better results, securing $400 in money and a valuable chronometer balance gold watch. They then turned their attention to the express trunk, there being no passengers on this trip. Halliman secured an axe to break it open, when McClellan offered him the key. Reynolds refused the key, venturing the opinion that they could soon get into it without the key. Breaking it open they took out $6,000 worth of gold dust and $2,000 worth of gold amalgam that John W. Smith was sending to the East, it being the first taken from the Orphan Boy mine, as well as the first run from the stamp mill erected in Mosquito gulch. Capt. Reynolds then ordered Halliman to cut open the mail bags, passing him his dirk for the purpose. They tore open the letters, taking what money they contained, which was considerable, as nearly all the letters contained ten and twenty-dollar bills, which the miners were sending back to their friends in the East. The haul amounted to $10,000 in all, a much smaller sum than the coach usually carried out.

After having secured all the valuables, Capt. Reynolds ordered his men to destroy the coach, saying that he wanted to damage the United States government as much as possible. His men at once went to work to chopping the spokes out of the wheels. They ate the dinner prepared by Mrs. McLaughlin, and Capt. Reynolds then announced his determination to go on to the Michigan ranch and secure the stage stock which were kept there. Before leaving, he said to McClellan and the other captives, that if they attempted to follow the bandits they would be killed, and that the best thing they could do would be to remain quietly at the ranch for a day or two, adding that they were only the advance guard of 1,500 Texas rangers who were raiding up the park, saying also that 2,500 more Confederate troops were on their way north and had probably reached Denver by that time.

CHAPTER II.

THE WHOLE COUNTRY AROUSED—HUNDREDS OF ARMED MEN ON THEIR TRAIL—REYNOLDS BECOMES ALARMED AND BURIES A LARGE PART OF THEIR PLUNDER—THE PARTY ATTACKED IN CAMP—SINGLETARY KILLED AND CAPT. REYNOLDS WOUNDED—THE BAND DISPERSED AND NEARLY ALL CAPTURED—BROUGHT TO DENVER AND SENTENCED FOR LIFE.

They then rode away, leaving the settlers dumbfounded by the news. There had long been rumors of such a raid, and there being neither telegraph nor railroad, they had no means of verifying the reports. McClellan at once announced his determination to alarm the mining camps of their danger, and although his friends endeavored to dissuade him from his hazardous trip, he mounted a mule and followed the robbers. He rode through Hamilton, Tarryall and Fairplay, spreading the news and warning out citizens and miners, arriving in due time at Buckskin. From there he sent runners to California Gulch and other camps. McClellan himself stayed in the saddle almost night and day for over a week, and in that time had the whole country aroused. His energy and determined fearlessness probably saved many lives and thousands of dollars worth of property.

Active measures were now taken for the capture of the guerrillas. Armed bodies of miners and ranchmen started on their trail. Col. Chivington sent troops from Denver to guard coaches and to assist in the capture. Gen. Cook, at that time chief of government detectives for the department of Colorado, accompanied the troops, and was soon on the trail of the marauders. The news that a band of armed guerrillas was scouring the country was dispatched by courier to Central City, and all the camps in that vicinity were notified. Even south of the divide, at Pueblo and Cañon, companies were organized, and it was but a question of a few days at least when the band would be wiped out. Indeed, if there had been 4,000 of them as Reynolds had reported, instead of a little band of nine, they would have been gobbled up in short order.

Reaching the Michigan house the guerrillas took the stage horses and robbed the men who kept the station. Going on they passed the Kenosha house, stopping at various ranches and taking whatever they wanted, and robbing everybody they met. Passing Parmelee’s and Haight’s, they camped near the deserted St. Louis house, and at daybreak moved on to the Omaha house for breakfast. Besides refusing to pay for their meal, they robbed all the travelers camped around the station except an Irishman hauling freight to Georgia gulch. He gave them the pass word and grips of the Knights of the Golden Circle, and was allowed to go on unmolested. While here they found out that large bodies of citizens were in pursuit, and they decided to move off the main road; so after leaving the Omaha house they turned off and went up Deer creek to the range. Just after they had gotten off the road into the timber a posse of twenty-two mounted men passed up the road toward the Omaha house. After awhile they saw another party evidently following their trail. Capt. Reynolds took a spyglass, and finding that there were but eighteen of them decided to fight. He strung his men out in single file in order to make a plain trail, and after going about a mile, doubled back and ambushed his men at the side of the trail. Fortunately for the pursuing party, they turned back before they were in gunshot of the guerrillas. Whether they scented danger, or were tired of following what they thought was a cold trail, is not known, but it was probably the latter, as the Reynolds gang was not molested that day nor the next, although with the aid of his glass Reynolds saw scouting parties scouring the mountains in every direction. He saw that they were likely to be captured and resolved to scatter the band in order to escape, hoping to be able to rendezvous away down near the Greenhorn.

Capt. Reynolds decided that it would be prudent to conceal the greater portion of their spoils until the excitement had died down somewhat. Calling his brother, John, they passed up the little creek that ran by their camp until they reached its head. Elk creek also heads near there. They found a prospect hole which they thought would answer their purpose. Capt. Reynolds took from his saddle-bags $40,000 in currency and three cans full of gold dust, about $63,000 in all, leaving one large can of gold dust and considerable currency to be divided among the band before separating. They wrapped the currency up in a piece of silk oil cloth and put it and the cans back in the hole about the length of a man’s body. Returning to the camp, Capt. Reynolds told his men that there were no pursuers in sight, and announced his determination to disperse the band temporarily, as he believed there was no chance of escape if they remained together. He described the place of rendezvous mentioned, and told them that it would be safe to move on down to a grove of large trees on Geneva gulch, a short distance below, and camp for dinner, as there was no one in sight. They went on down and camped, and turned their horses loose to graze while dinner was being gotten.

[Larger Image]

THE ATTACK ON THE ROBBERS’ CAMP.

Two of the men were getting dinner, and the others were gathered around Capt. Reynolds, who was busily dividing the remaining money and gold dust among them, when suddenly a dozen guns cracked from behind some large rocks about 220 yards from the outlaws’ camp. Owen Singletary fell dead, and Capt. Reynolds, who was at that moment dipping gold dust from a can with a spoon, was wounded in the arm. The outlaws at once broke for the brush, a few even leaving their horses.

The attacking party, which consisted of twelve or fifteen men from Gold Run under the leadership of Jack Sparks, had crawled around the mountain unobserved until they reached the rocks, and then fired a volley into the robber band. When the robbers took to the brush, they went down to their camp and secured several horses, the can of gold dust, the amalgam that was taken from the coach at McLaughlin’s, Billy McClellan’s watch, and a lot of arms, etc. It was coming on night, and after searching the gulches for a while in vain, they cut off Singletary’s head, which they took to Fairplay as a trophy of the fight. This was July 31, 1864.

The next day Halliman was captured at the Nineteen-mile ranch, and they kept picking up the guerrillas one or two at a time until the Thirty-nine-mile ranch was reached. John Reynolds and Jake Stowe, who were traveling together, were pursued clear across the Arkansas river, but they finally escaped, although Stowe was severely wounded.

The remainder of the party were brought from Fairplay to Denver under a heavy guard and placed in jail. They were given a sham trial, and as it could not be proven that they had taken life they were sentenced to imprisonment for life, although a great many of the citizens thought they richly deserved hanging. While the party were in jail in Denver, Gen. Cook had a long talk with Jim Reynolds, the captain, and tried to find out from him what disposition had been made of all the money and valuables the robbers were known to have captured, knowing that they must have concealed it somewhere, since they had but little when captured. Reynolds refused to tell, saying that it was “safe enough,” and afterwards adding they had “sent it home.”

CHAPTER III.

THEY ARE STARTED TO FORT LYON—THEY UNDERSTAND THAT THEY ARE TO BE KILLED—A BLOODTHIRSTY SERGEANT AND A BUNGLING EXECUTION—LEFT FOR DEAD, JOHN ANDREWS ESCAPES—THE GANG FINALLY WIPED OUT—UNSUCCESSFUL SEARCH FOR THE BURIED TREASURE.

About the first week in September the Third Colorado cavalry, commanded by Col. Chivington, was ordered out against the Indians. Capt. Cree, of Company A, was directed to take the six prisoners from the county jail to Fort Lyon for “safe keeping,” and to shoot every one of them if “they made any attempt to escape.” The prisoners knew that they would be shot if the soldiers could find the slightest pretext for so doing. The troop was composed of citizens of Denver and vicinity, some of whom had suffered from the depredations of the gang. One man they particularly feared was Sergt. Abe Williamson, who, it will be remembered, drove the coach which they robbed at McLaughlin’s. As they left the jail, Jim Reynolds called out to Gen. Cook, who stood near watching the procession start, “Good-bye, Dave; this is the end of us.” He did not know how soon his prediction was to be fulfilled.

The first night out they camped eight miles from Denver, on Cherry creek. The prisoners were given an opportunity to escape, but they knew better than to try it. The next day the troops moved on to Russelville, where they camped for the night. Again the prisoners were given a chance to escape, but were afraid to try it.

The next morning they were turned over to a new guard, under command of Sergt. Williamson. They were marched about five miles from camp, and halted near an abandoned log cabin. Williamson now told the prisoners that they were to be shot; that they had violated not only the civil but the military law, and that he had orders for their execution. Capt. Reynolds pleaded with him to spare their lives, reminding him of the time when the robbers had him in their power and left him unharmed. Williamson’s only reply was the brutal retort that they “had better use what little time they still had on earth to make their peace with their Maker.” They were then blindfolded, the soldiers stepped back ten paces, and Sergt. Williamson gave the order, “Make ready!” “Ready!” “Aim!” “Fire!” The sight of six unarmed, blindfolded, manacled prisoners being stood up in a row to be shot down like dogs unnerved the soldiers, and at the command to fire they raised their pieces and fired over the prisoners, so that but one man was killed, Capt. Reynolds, and he was at the head of the line opposite Williamson. Williamson remarked that they were “mighty poor shots,” and ordered them to reload. Then several of the men flatly announced that they would not be parties to any such cold-blooded murder, and threw down their guns, while two or three fired over their heads again at the second fire, but Williamson killed his second man. Seeing that he had to do all the killing himself, Williamson began cursing the cowardice of his men, and taking a gun from one of them, shot his third man. At this juncture, one of his men spoke up and said he would help Williamson finish the sickening job. Suiting the action to the word, he raised his gun and fired, and the fourth man fell dead. Then he weakened, and Williamson was obliged to finish the other two with his revolver. The irons were then removed from the prisoners, and their bodies were left on the prairie to be devoured by the coyotes. Williamson and his men rejoined their command and proceeded on to Fort Lyon, with Williamson evidently rejoicing in the consciousness of duty well done.

Several hours afterward one of the prisoners, John Andrews, recovered consciousness. Although shot through the breast, he managed to crawl to the cabin and dress his wound as best he could. He found a quantity of dried buffalo meat, left there by the former occupants, upon which he managed to subsist for several days, crawling to a spring near by for water. About a week later, Andrews, who had recovered wonderfully, hailed a horseman who was passing, and asked him to carry a note to a friend in the suburbs of Denver. The stranger agreed to do this, and Andrews eagerly awaited the coming of his friend, taking the precaution, however, to secrete himself near the cabin for fear the stranger might betray him. On the third day a covered wagon drove up to the cabin, and he was delighted to hear the voice of his friend calling him. His friend, who was J. N. Cochran, concealed him in the wagon, and taking him home, secured medical attendance, and by careful nursing soon had him restored to health and his wounds entirely healed. While staying with Cochran, Andrews related to him the history of the guerrilla band as it is given here, with the exception of the story of the buried treasure, which neither he nor any of the other members of the band, except Jim and John Reynolds, knew anything about.

[Larger Image]

EXECUTION OF THE ROBBERS.

When he had fully recovered, Andrews decided to make an effort to find John Reynolds and Stowe, who, he thought, had probably gone south to Santa Fe. Cochran gave him a horse, and leaving Denver under cover of darkness, he rode southward. Reaching Santa Fe, he soon found Reynolds and Stowe, and the three survivors decided to go up on the Cimarron, where they had cached a lot of silver and other plunder taken from the Mexican wagon train on the way out from Texas. Their horses giving out, they attacked a Mexican ranch to get fresh ones. During the fight Stowe was killed, but Reynolds and Andrews succeeded in getting a couple of fresh horses and making their escape. They rode on to the Cimarron, and found the stuff they had hidden, and then started back over the old trail for Texas. The second day out, they were overtaken by a posse of Mexicans from the ranch where they had stolen the horses, and after a running fight of two or three miles, Andrews was killed. Reynolds escaped down the dry bed of a small arroyo, and finally succeeded in eluding his pursuers. Returning to Santa Fe, he changed his name to Will Wallace, and lived there and in small towns in that vicinity for several years, making a living as a gambler. Tiring of the monotony of this kind of a life, Reynolds formed a partnership with another desperado by the name of Albert Brown, and again started out in the holdup business. They soon made that country too hot to hold them, and in October, 1871, they started toward Denver.

When near the Mexican town of Taos, they attempted to steal fresh horses from a ranch one night, and Reynolds was mortally wounded by two Mexicans, who were guarding the corral. Brown killed both of them, and throwing Reynolds across his horse, carried him for several miles. At length he found an abandoned dugout near a little stream. Leaving his wounded comrade there, he set out to conceal their horses after having made Reynolds as comfortable as possible. He found a little valley where there was plenty of grass and water, about two miles up the cañon. Leaving his horses there, he hastened back to the dugout, where he found Reynolds in a dying condition, and the conversation related in the first chapter of this story took place.

Reynold’s Map. Star shows location of treasure.

Brown pushed on northward to Pueblo, intending to push his way along the Arkansas on up into the park, but found that the snow was already too deep. Returning to Pueblo, he pushed on to Denver. He stayed there all winter, selling his horses and living upon the proceeds. When spring came he was broke, but had by chance made the acquaintance of J. N. Cochran, who had befriended John Andrews, one of the gang, years before. Finding that Cochran already knew a great deal about the gang, and needing some one who had money enough to prosecute the search, he decided to take Cochran into his confidence. Cochran was an old ’58 pioneer, and had been all over the region where the treasure was hidden, and knowing that Brown, who had never been in Colorado before, could not possibly have made so accurate a map of the locality himself, agreed to fit out an outfit to search for the treasure. They took the map drawn by Reynolds while dying, and followed the directions very carefully, going into the park by the stage road over Kenosha hill, then following the road down the South Platte to Geneva gulch, a small stream flowing into the Platte. Pursuing their way up the gulch, they were surprised at the absence of timber, except young groves of “quaking asp,” which had apparently grown up within a few years. They soon found that a terrible forest fire had swept over the entire region only a short time after the outlaws were captured, destroying all landmarks so far as timber was concerned.

They searched for several days, finding an old white hat, supposed to be Singletary’s, near where they supposed the battle to have taken place, and above there some distance a swamp, in which the bones of a horse were found, but they could not find any signs of a cave. Running out of provisions they returned to Denver, and after outfitting once more returned to the search, this time going in by way of Hepburn’s ranch. They found the skeleton of a man, minus the head (which is preserved in a jar of alcohol at Fairplay), supposed to be the remains of Owen Singletary. They searched carefully over all the territory shown on the map, but failed to find the treasure cave. Cochran finally gave up the search, and he and Brown returned again to Denver.

Brown afterward induced two other men to go with him on a third expedition, which proved as fruitless as the other two trips. On their return, Brown and his companions, one of whom was named Bevens and the other an unknown man, held up the coach near Morrison and secured about $3,000. Brown loafed around Denver until his money was all gone, when he stole a team of mules from a man in West Denver, and skipped out, but was captured with the mules in Jefferson county by Marshal Hopkins. Brown was brought to Denver and put in jail, while Gen. Cook was serving his second term as sheriff. When Sheriff Willoughby took charge in 1873, Brown slipped away from the jailer and concealed himself until he had an opportunity to escape. He went to Cheyenne, and from there to Laramie City, where he was killed in a drunken row.

Gen. Cook secured Brown’s map, and a full account of the outlaw’s career substantially as given here, and although he has had many opportunities to sell it to parties who wished to hunt for the treasure, he declined all of them, preferring rather to wait for the publication of this work. There is no question but that the treasure is still hidden in the mountain, and, although the topography of the country has been changed somewhat in the last thirty-three years by forest fires, floods and snow-slides, some one may yet be fortunate enough to find it.

CAPTURE OF THE ALLISON GANG.

CHAPTER IV.

A BAND OF STAGE ROBBERS IN SOUTHERN COLORADO TERRORIZE THE WHOLE COUNTRY—THEY EVEN LOOT ENTIRE TOWNS—A BIG REWARD OFFERED—CAPTURED BY FRANK HYATT, ONE OF THE SHINING LIGHTS OF THE ASSOCIATION, WITHOUT A SHOT BEING FIRED.

Frank A. Hyatt, of Alamosa, Colo., assistant superintendent of the Rocky Mountain Detective Association for the district embracing Arizona, New Mexico and southern Colorado, has a greater string of captures of criminals and desperadoes to his credit than any other officer in that section. He served three years as city marshal of Alamosa, when that town was accounted one of the toughest places in the Southwest, and has been for twenty years deputy sheriff of Conejos county, Colorado. The people of that section have learned to appreciate his worth, and when desperate criminals are to be taken Frank Hyatt is the first man called upon. Plain, modest and unassuming, Mr. Hyatt does not pose as a man-killer, although he has more than once taken his life in his hands in desperate encounters with criminals, and has been compelled to take human life to save his own. His rule has been to capture his men by strategy, leaving the law to deal justice to them, rather than to kill them in trying to make arrests. He is still deputy sheriff of Conejos county, and his name is as much of a terror to evil-doers as of old, although he does not employ as much of his time in hunting bad men as he did in the early ’80’s. In fact, the bad men have learned to shun his section pretty carefully.

Mr. Hyatt is engaged in the manufacture and sale of a patent handcuff, the best thing of the kind made, of which he is also the inventor. It is known as the “Dead Cinch,” and once it is snapped on a prisoner he can not escape. Give him the key and he can not unlock it; still his hands have more freedom than with the old-style handcuff. One hand can be loosened to allow the prisoner to feed himself, while the other is held fast in its grip. It is almost indispensable to officers, who have charge of desperadoes, or even of the insane, as hundreds of sheriffs, policemen and other officers scattered over Colorado, New Mexico, Arizona and Utah can attest.

“DEAD CINCH” HAND CUFFS.

One of Mr. Hyatt’s greatest exploits was the capture of the Allison gang of stage robbers in 1881, shortly after he became a member of the association. This gang was composed of Charles Allison, Lewis Perkins and Henry Watts. Allison was a Nevada horse thief, who had escaped from Sheriff Mat. Kyle, of Virginia City, while that officer was conveying him to the state penitentiary at Carson City, after his conviction and sentence for ten years, in 1878, by jumping from the train. He made his escape and came to Colorado. In some way he ingratiated himself into the good opinion of Sheriff Joe Smith, of Conejos county, and was made a deputy sheriff. For a time he performed the duties of his position very satisfactorily, but he finally drifted into the holdup business, while still a deputy sheriff, with Perkins and Watts as his partners.

Alamosa, in the spring of 1881, was the terminus of the Denver and Rio Grande railroad, and stages ran from there in nearly every direction. This afforded a fruitful field for the robbers and in less than a month they had robbed five coaches, securing plunder worth several thousand dollars. Emboldened by their successes, they decided to operate on a larger scale, and riding into Chama, N. M., they terrorized the inhabitants by firing off their revolvers. When most of the inhabitants had sought places of safety, they went through the stores at their leisure, taking all the money they could find and what other stuff they wanted. A few days later they repeated the experiment at Pagosa Springs, Colo., and were again successful.

By this time the people were thoroughly aroused. Gov. Pitkin offered $1,000 reward for the capture of Allison, and $250 each for the other two, and the stage company offered an additional $250, which last, we may remark parenthetically, was never paid. Notwithstanding the heavy rewards offered, no one seemed to care about hunting up the outlaws. They were known to be well armed and equipped, and it was thought that as they would in all probability be lynched if caught, they would not surrender, preferring rather to die fighting. Judge Hayt, now chief justice of the state supreme court, was at that time district attorney for the twelfth district, with headquarters at Alamosa. He sent for Hyatt and asked him if he would not go after the robbers if he would issue a warrant. He replied that while everybody thought they couldn’t be taken, and that he was only a young and inexperienced officer, he would do his best.

Hayt issued the warrant, and Hyatt secured the services of Hank Dorris, an old ranchman, on whom he could rely; Miles Blaine, an Alamosa saloon keeper, and Cy. Afton, a painter, and at once started after the gang. It was soon learned that they had gone almost due south from Chama, and Hyatt divined immediately that they had gone to Albuquerque, N. M. Putting his men on the train, they all rode to Española, the end of the road, and from there they went by stage on to Santa Fe, and then took the train for Albuquerque. Hyatt felt sure that the robbers would cross the Rio Grande at that point, so he put his men to guarding the bridge, while he inquired about town to learn whether they had already passed through or not. He could find no traces of them, so he concluded that they had not yet reached the city. After waiting all day and all night, Hyatt decided to leave his men there, and go back up the road himself to Bernalillo, eighteen miles above, to look for them there.

Hyatt got off the train at Bernalillo and went into a restaurant to get breakfast, and while he was eating who should walk in but the very men he was after! They set their three Winchesters by the door, and as they seated themselves at the table Allison drew his two revolvers from his belt and laid them on his lap.

It was a trying moment. Allison had been slightly acquainted with Hyatt, while they were both serving as deputy sheriffs of Conejos county, and had the detective given a sign of recognition would have shot him dead before he could reach a gun. Hyatt’s face remained as immovable as that of the Sphinx. He simply looked up, said “Good morning, gentlemen,” and went on nonchalantly eating his breakfast.

His conduct disarmed the suspicions of the men, and when he had finished his meal he walked out as unconcernedly as if there were no stage robbers within a thousand miles. He went to the depot, where he could watch their movements, and when they had come out and rode off southward sent a dispatch to his assistants at Albuquerque to meet them on their way, and telling them that he would follow on horseback. Then he went to looking for a horse. There was none to be had. Finally an old Mexican drove in with two fine horses hitched to a wagon. After some parley, he agreed to furnish a horse and go with Hyatt for $100. They set out and followed the robbers, keeping within sight of them, until they stopped about two miles from Albuquerque.

Meanwhile they had seen no signs of Dorris, Blaine and Afton, who should have met them before this. Hyatt and the Mexican cut across toward town and found their men just saddling up to start, having only just then received the telegram. The robbers had camped within sight of town, and Hyatt thought they might be decoyed into town and taken without bloodshed. He knew that somebody would be killed if they attempted to capture them in their camp.

At this juncture, Jeff Grant, a liveryman, volunteered to go out to the robbers’ camp and try to bring them in. He got on a bareback horse, and pretended to be looking for horses that had strayed off. He went up to the camp, inquiring about horses, and finally struck up a conversation with them. Allison told him they were on their way to Lincoln county, N. M., Grant fell in with the idea at once, and told Allison that he wanted to go down there himself about the 19th of June (this was Saturday, the 17th), and would like to have them wait and go with him. They claimed they were short of funds, but Grant told them that he owned a livery stable, and that it should not cost them anything to stay over a couple of days and rest up. He added that the reason he wanted them to go with him was that he was going to take down a string of race horses and quite a sum of money to back them with, and as the country was infested with thieves and desperadoes, he did not like to go alone.

[Larger Image]

Arrest of the Allison Gang at Albuquerque by Marshal Hyatt.

This decided the robbers. Here was a good chance to rest up their jaded animals at some one else’s expense, and also a prospect of some very good picking afterward. Of course, they would wait and go along with him if that was the case.

Pretty soon Hyatt and his men saw the four men come riding into town. They hastily concealed themselves in the barn, Hyatt climbing into the hay mow, and the others getting back in the mangers. They had but a minute to wait. The men rode into the barn, dismounted, and Grant led the horses back.

The three men stood close together. “Throw up your hands!” commanded Hyatt. They hesitated a moment, but when they caught the gleam of a Winchester only a few feet from their heads, three pairs of hands shot up instanter. They were disarmed and put in chains in a few moments, and telegrams were sent out announcing their capture.

Some of the local authorities were disposed to interfere in the case, and to avoid any trouble in getting a requisition, Hyatt agreed to turn over the $500 reward offered by Gov. Shelton of New Mexico to them. It was a cowardly holdup, but Hyatt couldn’t well help himself, as the big end of the reward was offered by Gov. Pitkin, and he had to get the prisoners to Colorado in order to get it.

They were allowed to depart with their prisoners, and in due time reached Alamosa without further incident. They placed them in jail, and Hyatt, almost worn out with loss of sleep, went home and went to bed. In a few minutes he was awakened by a messenger from Mayor Broadwell saying that a mob was being formed to take the prisoners from the jail and lynch them. Hyatt at once gathered a crowd of his friends, among whom were Judge Hayt, Mayor Broadwell, Hon. Alva Adams, now governor of Colorado, and a number of others, and took the prisoners from the jail, put them in a caboose with an engine attached, which the mob had provided to take them outside of town before stringing them up, and signalled to the engineer to pull out, with an angry mob of several hundred following.

They escaped from the mob, and the next day the three prisoners were placed behind the bars of the Arapahoe county jail at Denver. Gov. Pitkin promptly paid Mr. Hyatt the $1,500 reward, and gave him $50 out of his own pocket.

When the excitement had partially subsided the three men were taken back to Conejos, the county seat, tried, convicted, and sentenced to the pen for thirty-seven years each.

Perkins was pardoned out after having served eight years, and is now running a big saloon and gambling hall at Trinidad, and is supposed to be worth at least $25,000. Allison was pardoned after having served ten years, and is now tending bar in a Butte City, Mont., saloon under an assumed name. Watts, the third member of the gang, was pardoned out at the same time Allison was let out, and afterward joined a band of train robbers and was killed in Arizona about two years ago.

A COWBOY’S SAD FATE.

CHAPTER V.

BOLD, RECKLESS, JOHNNY VAN PELT ASSISTS A FRIEND TO ESCAPE FROM JAIL AT BUENA VISTA—RIDES BOLDLY INTO ALAMOSA IN DAYLIGHT AND IS KILLED BY MARSHAL HYATT WHILE RESISTING ARREST.

Johnny Van Pelt, a cowboy, who used to make his headquarters at Alamosa, was as reckless a lad as ever punched cattle in southern Colorado, a region particularly known for its tough characters, and while there was nothing exceptionally bad in his make-up, his recklessness and his desire to help a friend out of trouble cost him his life, and very nearly resulted in the death of two brave officers.

William Morgan, an old acquaintance of Van Pelt’s, was in jail in Buena Vista, charged with the murder of his father-in-law. He managed to get word to Van Pelt in some way that he was in jail, asking him to assist him in escaping. Van Pelt at once quit work, and getting a couple of saddle horses, he helped Morgan to break jail, and the precious pair rode southward, intending to go to Old Mexico. They traveled on down the valley until they reached Hank Dorris’ ranch, fourteen miles above Alamosa. Dorris had known Van Pelt, and their idea in stopping there was to borrow some money. He was not at home, and they staid around two or three days waiting for his return, sending word by one of his friends that they were there waiting to see him. Shortly after their arrival at the ranch, Marshal Frank Hyatt, of Alamosa, received a telegram from Sheriff J. J. Salla, of Buena Vista, offering $50 reward for the capture of Morgan and Van Pelt. He kept a close look-out for a day or two, when he happened to run across his old friend, Dorris, of whom he made inquiries as to whether any one answering their description had been seen up the valley. Dorris was surprised to learn that Van Pelt was a fugitive from justice, and telling Marshal Hyatt that he had just received word from his ranch that they were there waiting for him, volunteered to go out and help the officer get them. Dorris was sitting on his horse and Marshal Hyatt was just going after his own animal when Van Pelt rode up and tied his horse in front of the postoffice. He spoke pleasantly to the two officers, and when he had tied his horse, stepped up and shook hands with the marshal. As he did so the marshal said, “Johnny, I guess I will have to hold you awhile.” Van Pelt jumped back, and drawing a revolver from each overcoat pocket leveled them at the marshal’s breast.

Although the desperado had the drop on him, the brave officer never flinched. He dared not attempt to draw a gun, so he decided to talk Van Pelt out of shooting. Looking him straight in the eye, he said: “Don’t shoot, Johnny; you haven’t done anything to shoot me for.” Van Pelt, his eyes still glaring with savage hate, evidently decided not to add cold-blooded murder to his crimes, but keeping the officer covered, commenced backing away to where his horse was tied. Just then Dorris, who had slipped off his horse while the parley was going on, grabbed Van Pelt from behind. The desperado jerked loose from Dorris, and, whirling around, fired at him, the ball cutting through his coat and vest and cutting a cigar in his vest pocket in two, but doing no serious damage. He then turned and fired at Marshal Hyatt, who had torn his overcoat open and gotten his own gun by this time. Then began a three-cornered battle—Van Pelt retreating toward his horse, and firing as he went, with the two officers following closely, and keeping up a fusillade of bullets.

When Van Pelt reached the telegraph pole where his horse was tied, he took shelter behind it, and commenced to untie his horse with his left hand, while he kept shooting with his right. Just as he got his horse untied, Hyatt and Dorris both fired, and both shots took effect, one entering the breast and the other smashing his thigh. He dropped his remaining gun, let go his horse, and still holding to the pole, sank slowly to the earth, saying “I’m killed.” In twenty minutes he was dead.

Leaving the coroner to take charge of Van Pelt, Hyatt and Dorris hurriedly mounted their horses and started for the latter’s ranch to secure Morgan. Arriving at the ranch, they found Morgan busy getting supper, having unbuckled his belt containing his revolvers and thrown it on a lounge. At Hyatt’s command, he put up his hands with alacrity. It was but the work of a few minutes to tie him securely, and Marshal Hyatt was soon on his way back to Alamosa with the fugitive.

[Larger Image]

Killing of Van Pelt on the Streets of Alamosa by Officers Hyatt and Dorris.

But little else remains to be told. The verdict of the coroner’s jury was that the officers had killed Van Pelt while in the discharge of their duty. Thomas O’Connor, a shoemaker, who stuck his head out of the shop door when the shooting began, was struck in the cheek by a glancing bullet, but was not seriously injured. Morgan, the man who caused all the trouble, was taken up to Buena Vista, tried for the murder of his father-in-law, convicted, and sentenced to the penitentiary for eight years. People generally thought he should have been hung, as he was the cause of at least three deaths. After her husband’s murder, his mother-in-law died of grief, and Van Pelt, as has been related, was killed while trying to help the murderer escape.

DENVER’S LAST LEGAL HANGING.

CHAPTER VI.

TWO DRUNKEN NEGRO HOLDUPS MURDER STREET CAR DRIVER JOE WHITNAH—OFFICERS ON THE WRONG TRACK—THE MURDERER TALKS TOO MUCH AND GEN. COOK HEARS OF IT—BOTH MEN SOON IN THE TOILS—GREEN IS HANGED AND WITHERS GOES TO THE PEN FOR LIFE.

The murder of Street Car Driver Joseph C. Whitnah by the two negroes, Green and Withers, is noted not only for the cold-blooded nature of the crime, but for the swift retribution which followed.

Whitnah was shot dead by Andy Green, a negro tough, on the night of May 19, 1886, in the boot of his car, at the Gallup turn-table at Alameda avenue, on Broadway street, in Denver. Green and an accomplice named John Withers, generally known as “Kansas” by his associates, were bent on robbery. Denver did not then have her splendid system of cable and electric cars, but the old-fashioned horse cars in a measure filled their place. These cars carried no conductor, the passenger simply depositing his fare in a little box in the front of the car in sight of the driver, who also carried a box containing change for the accommodation of such passengers as might not have the requisite nickel. Sometimes the driver would have as much as $20 or $25 in his possession—scarcely enough to tempt the average highwayman.

About 10 o’clock on the night of the murder, several parties living in the vicinity of the turn-table heard a shot, then a scream, and then another shot. A number of men ran to the scene of the shooting, but Whitnah, the driver, was dead when they reached him. One or two of them had seen a man running from the scene immediately after the shooting, but whether he was white or black they could not tell.

The police soon arrived, but not a single clue to the perpetrators of the dastardly crime could be obtained. What made the case all the more difficult was the total absence of any apparent motive for the crime. The money box had not been touched, and the young man, who was popular and well liked by every one, was not known to have an enemy in the world. Another thing which greatly complicated the case, was the number of robberies and holdups that occurred the same night, and the officers vainly tried to connect this crime with some of the others.

[Larger Image]

Killing of Street Car Driver Whitnah by Green and Withers.

Since there was apparently no attempt at robbery, many people believed that there was a woman in the case, and Sheriff Cramer and his deputies went so far as to assert they had positive evidence that the crime had been committed by one of the men who was first on the scene, a blacksmith by the name of F. O. Peterson. He was held by the coroner’s jury for several days—long enough for the actual murderers to have escaped had they chosen to do so—but was finally discharged, there being not a particle of evidence against him.

Gen. Cook had taken a great deal of interest in the case from the start. Whitnah had formerly been employed by him on his ranch near Denver, and as he was an honest, industrious and inoffensive young man, Gen. Cook was very anxious to have his murderer caught and punished. Although not connected with either the sheriff’s office or the police department at the time, Gen. Cook had gone quietly to work making inquiries on his own account, having confidence in the old adage, “Murder will out.” He soon learned that a negro named Larry Foutz who hung out at a very disreputable Larimer street saloon, had been dropping a hint or two to his associates that he could tell a whole lot about the mysterious murder if he chose, and at once had him brought to the office of the Rocky Mountain Detective Association. Foutz did not deny having knowledge of the crime, but wanted to be assured by Gov. Eaton personally that he would receive the $500 reward which had been offered for the arrest of the murderer in case he gave information that would lead to the arrest of the guilty parties. Gen. Cook at once took him to the governor, who gave him the assurance asked for, and Foutz immediately put Gen. Cook into possession of the principal facts in the case, and enabled him to arrest the murderers within a very few minutes.

Foutz’s story was to the effect that he had talked to Green that evening at the saloon, and that Green had proposed that Foutz and “Kansas” Withers should go out with him and rob a street car driver. Foutz seemed to consider the proposition very favorably, but got very drunk before they got ready to start and was left behind. He talked to Green the day after the killing, and Green told him that the reason they killed Whitnah was that he did not throw up his hands when commanded, as he was turning his car. Green fired a shot to scare him, and he gave a couple of loud screams. Green then stepped closer and shot him through the body, and he immediately fell back dead. Withers was to have secured the money box, but when the shooting occurred he ran like a deer. Green heard a man coming and he followed Withers.

Gen. Cook lost no time in arresting the two men. He went to Chief of Police Hogle and found that Green, who had been arrested and fined for carrying concealed weapons a few days before, was still on the chain gang in North Denver. The patrol wagon was secured, and in less than an hour Green was in jail. Withers was carrying a hod on a new building going up on Arapahoe street. He was at once taken into custody, and confessed his share in the crime before the jail was reached. His confession did not differ materially from the story already related by Foutz, except that he insisted that he was not a party to the killing, having told Green that he would not go along if there was to be any shooting.

Green was much more reticent and could not be induced to talk for a long time. Being told that Withers had already confessed he at length decided to tell his side of the case. He had nothing new to tell as the detectives already knew he was the man who had committed the cruel murder. He denied that he had gone out there with any intention of killing the driver, but simply fired the first shot to scare him, and as the ball was afterward found lodged in the top of the car, his story was undoubtedly true. He said that Whitnah’s screams scared him, and he made another step or two towards him and then fired to kill him, as he said, “To stop his d——d racket.” He then ran after Withers. They then went to their homes and went to bed, and had it not been for Foutz’s talk might never have been suspicioned of the crime.

[Larger Image]

Hanging of Andrew Green in the bed of Cherry Creek July 27, 1886.

A mob of several hundred men and boys was formed the night after their capture, to break into the jail and hang the two negroes, but lacking leadership it was soon dispersed by the police.

Public excitement and the danger of lynching induced the calling of a special grand jury, the indictment of Green and Withers and a speedy trial. They were tried separately. On the 22d of June the trial of Green opened. Two days were spent empaneling a jury, and on June 25 he was convicted of murder in the first degree, and sentenced to be hanged on July 27. Withers was allowed to plead guilty to murder in the second degree, and was sentenced to the state penitentiary at Cañon City for life, where he is now serving his time, having made two or three ineffectual attempts to secure a pardon.

The efforts of Green’s attorneys to secure a new trial were unsuccessful, and he was executed on the day set by Judge Elliott, July 27. The scaffold, which was a very simple affair of the “twitch up” variety, was erected in the bend of Cherry creek, directly east of the Smith chapel, West Denver, and about midway between Broadway and Colfax Avenue bridges. The execution was public and free to everybody, and the crowd was estimated at 15,000. Green stepped upon the low scaffold in an easy, careless manner, fully conscious of the fact that he was entertaining the crowd of his life, and deriving no small amount of satisfaction therefrom. He was permitted by Sheriff Cramer to deliver a long rambling speech, in the course of which he advised everybody to beware of drink and gambling halls, which he said had led to his ruin. At the conclusion of his speech the black cap was adjusted, and at 2:20 Sheriff Cramer cut the rope. Green’s body rose slowly into the air and his limbs twitched convulsively for several minutes. At the end of twenty-five minutes he was pronounced dead, and his body was taken down and delivered to the undertakers. The autopsy disclosed the fact that his neck was not broken.

Thus ended the career of as depraved a wretch as ever existed. According to the story of his life, written by him for a local paper, his thieving propensities were early developed, as was his disregard for human life. At the age of fourteen he had shot his father while the latter was chastising him for a theft, inflicting a severe wound. After that he had served sentences in innumerable jails and workhouses for various crimes, principally stealing. He had also served a five-year term in the Missouri penitentiary for a burglary committed at Lexington, a little town near which he was born. The trial and execution of Green scared hundreds of petty crooks away from Denver, and for a long time afterward the city was almost entirely free from holdups and burglaries.

THE ITALIAN MURDERS.

CHAPTER VII.

THE ITALIAN MURDERS—THE GREAT DENVER SENSATION OF 1875—FOUR DECAYING BODIES FOUND AT 2334 LAWRENCE STREET—A HORRIBLE SIGHT—SUSPICION POINTS TO A BAND OF FELLOW-COUNTRYMEN—GEN. COOK TAKES THE CASE IN HAND.

One of the most horrible crimes that ever cast a silhouette athwart the darkened pages of criminal history was revealed to the startled citizens of Denver on the 21st day of October, 1875, consisting in the discovery of what afterwards became known throughout the state as the Italian murders. The revelation of the crime, the obscurity of the victims, the length of time elapsing between the perpetration and the discovery, the mystery enveloping the deed with an apparently impregnable mantle, and the swift following detection and apprehension of the perpetrators, all combine to form the basis for one of the most interesting narratives ever found in criminal or detective literature.

For several days prior to the finding of the bodies of the victims, those residing in the vicinity of No. 2334 Lawrence street had detected the presence of a stench, faint at first, but daily increasing, leading to a suspicion that the body of some animal had been permitted to remain there long after life was extinct. The smell from this supposed carcass becoming more obnoxious, the investigation which eventually revealed the crime, that all were surprised to find had been committed, was instituted.

Accompanied by an officer, persons residing in the neighborhood began a search, and their attention was directed to an unoccupied frame building, where countless flies swarmed around the windows, causing a suspicion that within the portals of the house reposed the object sought.

The building contained three rooms, the front and larger one communicating with those in the rear by a hall, while a rude, unfinished cellar had been excavated below. The door was unlocked, and pushing it open, the room was gained, when it became apparent that crime and not carelessness would be revealed.

Evidences of a sanguinary encounter were but too plainly visible. There was blood on the floor, and a dozen pools were yet bright and crimson. On the walls were great splotches of blood, and in the hall leading to the kitchen the tell-tale imprints of bloody hands seemed to point with grim and ghastly fingers the way to the crime.

The house was destitute of furniture, but in the middle apartment stood a scissor-grinding machine, over which had been thrown a torn and soiled blanket, revealing the occupation of some of the late inmates. Following along the hall, where a crimson trail proved that some heavy and bleeding object had been dragged, the kitchen was reached. This room was very dirty, and contained a broken stove, a wash boiler, a box, a dilapidated valise and some fragments of food. Here a trap-door was found, and when it was opened a rush of effluvia nearly overpowered those present. A rickety stair led to the dark hole beneath. A candle was procured, and its fitful flame exposed a sight that passes all description.

Under the stairs, in a dark, filthy corner, lay four decaying human bodies, piled two on two, with all four heads touching the wall. Over them had been thrown some dirty mattresses and blankets, and on these a miscellaneous assortment of traps piled on as weights. At the feet of the bodies lay three large harps, two violins, a scissor-grinding machine, a hatchet, a hammer and several dirks. The edge of the hatchet was besmeared with blood, while to the handle still clung a tuft of hair, showing that the tool had been used in the bloody murder. The dirks were blood-covered from point to hilt. On the harp-strings and on the violins and also on the stairs, the life-tide of the victims had left its gory stain, while the mattresses and blankets were saturated with it.

The clothing, down to the bloody shirts, had been stripped from the bodies of the victims, while those of the others were slit and rent where the cruel knives had torn their way to the vitals.

[Larger Image]

THE ITALIAN MURDER.

But greater horrors and more ghastly sights than these were there. The four throats had been cut from ear to ear, and the sickening wounds gaped wide, like the mouth of some huge fish. The abdomens, the arms and the hands of the bodies had been cut and mangled, while the blackened faces scarcely any trace of humanity wore.

The coroner was soon on the scene, and while the undertaker was transferring the bodies to coffins, a crowd of morbid sightseers assembled. The news of the discovery spread with marvelous rapidity, and the throng grew larger and larger, until the streets, the neighboring yards and even the adjacent housetops were packed with people. Men, women and children fairly trampled each other in their wild desire to view the bodies, and the officers were powerless to preserve anything approaching decorum.

The wildest and most exaggerated stories were circulated. It was evident to all that a quadruple murder had been committed, but no one knew the authors of the crime or its inspiration; for while it was known that a party of Italians had occupied the house, no one could be found who had seen any one enter or emerge since the preceding Sunday. One body was identified by a colored shoemaker, who had repaired the shoes still on its feet, but aside from the fact that one of the victims was an old Italian called “Uncle Joe,” and that the others were three boys, two of whom had passed as his sons, and the other as his nephew, little could be gleaned from the excited crowd.

The four bodies were taken away in an express wagon and buried in the Potter’s field. Still the object of the crime and by whom committed were things wrapped in mystery so profound that it seemed as though the final day alone would reveal the awful secret.

But all are not gifted with that insight into the ways of crime that comes only from long experience in hunting it out, and is often so marvelous that it takes the aspect of instinct. Gen. D. J. Cook, chief of the Rocky Mountain Association, and then sheriff of Arapahoe county, without waiting for any offer of reward, took the case in hand even before the coroner’s jury had completed its task. With a shrewdness almost without parallel he had comprehended a theory of the murders, and had his vigilant detectives on the track of the murderers.

The inquest developed but few facts, and these strengthened the theory the keen chief had entertained. Persons were found who identified the remains as those of Guiseppe Peccora, his two sons, Giovanni and Guiseppe, and a nephew called Luigi, and the fact was also elicited that Filomeno Gallotti, Michiele Ballotti and one or more unknown confederates had been their former associates.

Little was known of the class to which the victims belonged, for by occupation they were itinerant musicians and scissor-grinders, and were constantly wandering from place to place. No. 2334 Lawrence street had been a lounging place for some eight or ten of this class.

Putting this and that together, Gen. Cook formed the theory that the old man and three boys had been murdered by the visitors for their money, although many entertained the idea that a free fight had culminated in the death of the weaker ones, and that the visitors had hastily concealed the bodies and fled. Suspicion pointed to a gang of Italians headed by Gallotti, who had occupied a shanty on lower Fifteenth street, and Cook soon ascertained that some nine or ten made that a stopping place, as shown by the registry lists of the ward in which the building stood. The boss of the gang was this Filomeno Gallotti, a man possessing some means, and the owner of a tin shop at that place. Antonio Dertiro, a good looking, fair haired boy, claimed to be his apprentice at the munificent salary of $150 a year, and the wily detective learned that on the Thursday or Friday preceding the discovery of the bodies this youth had disappeared. The following day Gallotti also took his departure. It was learned that he claimed that the boy had stolen some money, and that he professed to be following him—all of which Gen. Cook pronounced “too thin.” The tools, traps and miscellaneous plunder had disappeared from the shop, and none of the gang had been seen after Saturday night.

While the coroner’s jury was pursuing its investigations, Cook and his men were at work on their own clues. They had already become thoroughly convinced that Gallotti and his satellites were responsible for the murder, and determined to waste no time in waiting upon the verdict of the inquisition. They set to work to discover the extent of the conspiracy, which to their minds had resulted in the wholesale murder; to determine upon the participants in the first place, and in the next to obtain clues by which they might be hunted down. They had disappeared; that was a point beyond peradventure. But whither had they gone? This was more important to those who were anxious that justice should be meted out to the wretches responsible for the crime, the horrible evidences of which confronted the community. It had become quite evident that Gallotti had been engaged in the murder, and Gen. Cook was also convinced that he had had accomplices, but who they were and what marks of identification they bore were among the facts which were not known, but which detective skill was expected to bring to light. There was evidently much work to be done. All were crying for the apprehension of the criminals—the state, the county, the city, the people. But no one offered a reward. Calling his associates together, Gen. Cook spoke briefly to the point, without any flourish of rhetoric or waste of words. “Boys,” he said, “you know there has been a great crime committed here. The murderers are hardly known; of their whereabouts we are utterly ignorant. They must be brought to justice, and that is our work. There is no reward offered, but at this time we will not wait to ask for pay. Hunt the scoundrels down at any cost, and I will see that your bills are met. Do your duty.” After a brief comparison of notes the men were off, this one going here and that one there, as Gen. Cook might direct.

It was not long until the discovery was made that Gallotti had been assisted in his work of murder by several others—perhaps half a dozen. A clue found here and another there gradually disclosed to the detectives the work before them. In prosecuting their investigations they learned something of the character of Gallotti himself. His history had been one of thrilling and romantic interest—fitting him especially for the role he had assumed as leader of the murderous band of this city. Back in Italy he had been a member of a band of outlaws, which for a score of years had been the terror of travelers and residents of the district in which it operated. Stolen from his home as a boy by these banditti, Gallotti grew up with them, soon became one of them, and gradually advanced in his accomplishments until he became one of the most renowned of the gang. He was cold-blooded, cunning, self-possessed and daring when necessary. To him no man’s life was sacred. Murder was regarded only as a part of the work necessary to secure booty. Gallotti never shirked his “duty” when assassination was a part of it. Ultimately he was elected chief of the band of which he had long been virtually leader, but soon afterwards was compelled to flee the country. He came to America and ultimately landed in Denver, where he became acquainted with Michiele Ballotti and others of his nationality, including “Old Joe” and his boys. It was further learned that the children who called Pecorra “father” and “uncle” were not united to him by any tie of kindred, but that he was merely an old padrone who had stolen the boys and was compelling them to work and earn money for him. He worked himself as a scissor grinder and sent the boys out as musicians, and compelled them at times to beg for money. When they came home at the end of the day, with scant earnings, he beat and abused them; so that they worked hard and brought many a coin to the old man. Pecorra was supposed by Gallotti to be rich, and adding this point to the knowledge which he possessed of the outlaw’s character, Gen. Cook had no difficulty in fixing upon him as the leader of the murderous gang.

Another point of more immediate interest was soon brought to light. In looking about, Gen. Cook learned of numerous purchases that had been made by Italians. Many such articles as agricultural implements and guns had been purchased by the men whom he had come to suspect as the murderers. He was thus led to infer that it was the intention of the murderers to go into farming somewhere. He concluded that they would not risk their lives by remaining near Denver. If they had been going East they would not have bought these articles in Denver. He took the precaution to telegraph to all the important European seaports to have the men apprehended in case they should land, spending no small amount of money for cablegrams. But he was really convinced from the first that the men whom he sought had not gone across the plains, and that they did not intend to cross them. Putting this and that together he reached the conclusion in an instant that the men would make an effort to escape by going south to Mexico. He also learned that three men, who were described as Italians or Mexicans, had boarded a south-bound train at Littleton a few days previous. He concluded that these were the men, or some of the men, that he wanted. Selecting the late W. Frank Smith and R. Y. Force, as two of the most efficient of his officers, he started them south in pursuit of the culprits.

CHAPTER VIII.

PURSUIT OF THE ITALIAN MURDERERS BY THE DETECTIVE ASSOCIATION—SMITH AND FORCE ON THE TRAIL—THEY BECOME DISCOURAGED AT PUEBLO, BUT ARE URGED ON BY CHIEF COOK—PART OF THE GAME AT LAST FOUND AT TRINIDAD AND THREE OF THE MURDERERS ARRESTED—THEY CONFESS THE ENTIRE CRIME AND, RETURNING TO DENVER, NARROWLY ESCAPE LYNCHING—ARREST OF DEODOTTA AND “OLD JOE” AT SLOAN’S LAKE, NEAR DENVER, UNDER EXCITING CIRCUMSTANCES.

Meantime the coroner’s jury continued its work. A verdict was rendered in accordance with the facts gleaned concerning the murders as related in the previous chapter, but beyond these nothing was known. The suspected men had disappeared, and it was shown that the crime had been committed nearly a week before it was discovered. Public indignation ran high, and it was feared that, should the murderers be captured, the enraged people would not brook the necessary delay incident to the legal trial of the fiends. This feeling culminated in the firing of the house on Lawrence street a few nights after the discovery of the crime. The firemen confined their attention to the preservation of the adjoining buildings, and by one accord public sentiment allowed the building to be entirely consumed.

The details of the pursuit and capture of the criminals, with the trials and adventures of the detectives, form a most interesting and thrilling narrative, and give an insight into the ways adopted by those keen men who render crime doubly dangerous by making the punishment of the offenders approximately inevitable.

The manner in which the perilous and responsible duty of tracking the murderers was performed proves the chief’s sagacity in selecting Smith and Force for the work. For twenty-one days and nights they tracked the villains. Scarcely sleeping, alike regardless of hot suns, cold rains or chilling snows, through cañons, over plains, wandering through the slums and by-ways, these men of iron nerve and tireless constitution pursued their object until they met with the reward due their skill and perseverance.

Pursuant to the instructions of Chief Cook the detectives started south on Saturday morning after the discovery of the crime. At Pueblo they separated, Force remaining there, while Smith proceeded to Cañon City. The air was full of rumors, many wild and without foundation, while others possessed the element of plausibility. It was no easy task to arrive at anything like a correct opinion by giving credence to any rumor, but after infinite difficulty a trail was discovered at Pueblo leading toward Trinidad. This Mr. Smith was averse to taking, and so telegraphed Gen. Cook, but the latter replied: “Go ahead; the money is mine.” Smith and Force at once joined at Pueblo and hastened to Trinidad. Arriving there they went to a saloon frequented by Italians, and there found some of the very men for whom they were searching, namely, Michiele Ballotti, Silvestro Campagne and Leonardo Allesandri, against whom there were strong suspicions, who were making music for the saloon loafers with all their might. After looking on for a moment to make sure of their game, the officers approached the startled musicians with drawn guns and demanded a surrender, which was sullenly acceded to. Detective Smith at once asked Ballotti when he came to Trinidad. Ballotti answered quite coolly to the effect that he had been there about two weeks, but Silvestro trembled visibly, and seemed to realize that they were about to get into trouble. Being confident that these were the men they sought, the detectives took them in charge and placed them in jail.

Up to the present time it will be borne in mind that there had as yet been no definite clue obtained as to the identity of the murderers. It is true that strong suspicion had been aroused, but, after all, suspicion is no proof. It remained for these three men to “give the whole thing dead away.” When they were taken to jail and searched some of the money taken from old Pecorra’s house was found upon the persons of the men, and when they were stripped the most convincing proofs of their guilt stared the officers in the face. The undershirts which they wore were still saturated with blood—blood which they confessed had flown from the veins of their victims, the padrone and his little boy slaves.

The fact of the crime being once acknowledged, the men were very free to talk, and they not only confessed their own crime, but revealed the names of others engaged with them, and poured into the ears of the detectives the bloody story of the murder which they had committed a few days before in Denver. The same stories were afterwards repeated in Denver, and will be told in their proper place. The names of the murderous band, including their own, as revealed by this delectable trio, were: Filomeno Gallotti, Henry Fernandez, John Anatta, Frank Valentine, Michiele Ballotti, Silvestro Campagne, Leonardo Allesandri, Guiseppe Pinachio and Leonardo Deodotta, all of them being Italians except Fernandez, who was a Mexican.

They also told a story which confirmed Cook’s theory that the band intended to flee to Mexico, and informed the officers where proof could be obtained of the facts in the case. They stated that not only agricultural implements had been secured, but guns and ammunition as well. The party had intended to select as a hiding place some quite, secluded valley, where they could make their headquarters, and whence they, as a band of brigands of the old Italian model, could make their forays upon the traveling and civilized world. They stated further that Gallotti and some of his men had fled from Denver, but that they had left confederates in the persons of Deodotta and old Joe Pinachio, living quietly near Sloan’s lake, who, they said, knew of the whereabouts not only of the implements and munitions to be sent to Gallotti in Mexico, but also of the place at which was hidden away the bulk of the money taken from old Pecorra’s house after the murder, as well. These facts were, of course, promptly telegraphed to Gen. Cook, who acted upon them, as shall be detailed in the proper place.

Within two hours the prisoners were securely ironed, and the next morning they commenced the journey that would terminate in the city where they had committed the terrible crimes, and where the news of their capture was, even then, creating wild excitement.

By 5 o’clock on the afternoon of their arrival a crowd began to gather at the depot. The afternoon was dark and lowering, and a fitful fall of snow chilled the air. But the impatient crowds surged and stamped around in a vain effort to keep warm, determined to suffer rather than to let the prisoners arrive without their knowledge. Day was fading to chill and cheerless night when the train drew up at the platform. A wild rush ensued, but the police kept a passageway open, and the prisoners were soon landed in an omnibus that had been secured for the purpose, officers mounted the top and with Gen. Cook and his assistant detectives inside and an officer on the step, the omnibus started for the jail. Scarcely had the wheels revolved, ere the crowd by one great common impulse made a rush for the vehicle with cries of “a rope!” “a rope!” “hang them!” which were caught up and repeated until the vast array seemed turned into a mighty mob bent on avenging the death of the old man and the boys, determined on a sudden and swift execution of the human birds of prey, and it seemed as though the officers would be powerless to protect the ironed ingrates who trembled as they beheld the wrath of the populace. Chief Cook was there, and his cool and steady eye had watched the pulsations of the throng, and just as the vehicle was fairly surrounded he drew his revolver and ordered the leaders of the mob back. Detective Smith was ordered to present his Winchester, which he did, and the officer on the steps also covered those nearest him. The crowd fell back and the driver lashed his horses into a run, ploughing through the crowd. Numbers followed, intent on overtaking the omnibus and capturing the criminals, while others rushed on to see the results. The tide swept down Blake street in a wild disordered procession. The driver was instructed to push the horses, and in a few moments the prisoners were securely locked in the jail, to their great relief, and to the disappointment of the crowd that had followed, hoping to see them dangle from the limb of some tree or suspended from a telegraph pole.

Great satisfaction was felt that these wretches had been secured, and the public sentiment, which always sooner or later arrives at correct conclusions, could find no praise too flattering for the able superintendent and his worthy assistants.

After hearing the news from Trinidad, and especially that which told of the presence of some of those who had been implicated in the murders near Denver, Gen. Cook was not idle, but he went to work to make investigations here. He began by arresting an Italian known as “Old Joe,” who lived on the ranch near Sloane’s lake, with Deodotta. Joe was placed in jail for a day or so. He was a half-crazy creature, and it was believed that he could be made to tell whatever he might know of the facts in the case. He was consequently informed by Cook that he must either divulge his secrets or submit to sudden annihilation. He promised to reveal everything, but when taken by Gen. Cook out to the place where the treasure was supposed to be buried, he failed to find the spot, either because of ignorance or craftiness.

Better success was had with Deodotta. He was also placed under arrest, and after being told that he must die or tell where the money taken from old Pecorra’s house had been buried, he promised to do all in his power to find it. He was accordingly taken from the jail one morning before sunrise and driven out to his house and told to find the treasure, no one accompanying the detective and his prisoner except the driver of the express wagon. Arriving at the place, Deodotta made a last effort to conceal the whereabouts of the money, and when his protestations were doubted he crossed his breast and prayed with fervor. When Cook swore at him, he crawled on his knees and cried before him like a sniveling cur. After digging in one or two places for the money and failing to find it, Cook leveled his gun at the old sinner’s head and said to him:

“Now find that money in just one minute or I’ll kill you where you stand.”

There was no foolishness now. Quick as thought Deodotta jumped to a spot where lay a bone and where a weed was standing with the top end stuck in the ground, and with two or three strokes of the pick, brought the treasure to light. It consisted of a package of money amounting to $350 which had belonged to the murdered man, and which was picked up and brought back to town by Gen. Cook, and Deodotta once more lodged in jail. Thus was a very essential part of the work performed with but little ostentation and no blow in the newspapers.

[Larger Image]

Finding of the Treasure stolen from old Joe Pecorra by his murderers, under direction of Gen. Cook.

CHAPTER IX.

ON GALLOTTI’S TRACK—A LETTER REVEALS HIS FLIGHT TO MEXICO WITH FERNANDEZ, ANNATTA AND VALENTINE—DETECTIVE SMITH IN SAN LUIS VALLEY AS AN OFFICER FOR UNCLE SAM AND A SHEEP BUYER—THE MURDERERS RUN DOWN AT LAST AND CAPTURED AT THE POINT OF A PISTOL—A FRIEND WHO WAS NOT A FRIEND—A LONG BUT FRUITFUL CHASE AFTER VALENTINE.

It must not be supposed that Gen. Cook had been devoting his entire attention to either the men who had been captured at Trinidad or those taken near Denver. He had now learned enough to know that Gallotti had been the organizer and head executor of the quadruple murder, and him he wanted more than any other of the gang of cut-throats. He had been seeking anxiously for some clue that would reveal the whereabouts of this wretch and lead to his capture. The most assiduous attention and the most arduous labor seemed at first likely to prove barren of results. At last one night, however, Gen. Cook was summoned to a dark side of the street by an individual, who poured into the general’s anxious ear the story of the flight of the chief of the band and three of his accomplices. This man was a friend of the Spaniard, Fernandez, and to convince the detective that he spoke the truth he pulled a letter from his pocket, from Fernandez, bearing the post mark of Fort Garland, in San Luis park. This letter was turned over to Gen. Cook, and being read revealed the welcome news that Gallotti and Fernandez and Anatta were then in San Luis park, making their way to Mexico by going down the Rio Grande river. The letter told further that they were traveling by slow stages, that because Gallotti had sent Valentine back to Denver on horseback to carry certain instructions to Deodotta and to bring the money deposited near Sloan’s lake to him.

This was about as good a thing as Cook wanted. He slept but little that night, but devoted himself with all the intensity of his nature to maturing plans for the pursuit and capture of the outlaws. He decided to put the pursuing expedition in charge of Smith, who should be accompanied by an Italian who had taken the American name of James Lewis, and who, by the way, afterwards became the notorious Arizona Bill. This man knew Gallotti and besides spoke English as well as Italian. He was known to be faithful and was considered “a happy hit.”

The two men were off early the next morning, bound for the southward, Smith carrying a letter from Cook to Maj. Horace Jewett, who was then in command at Fort Garland, informing the major of the mission of the detectives and requesting him to furnish them with whatever facilities might be required for the prosecution of their work. They were told to obtain army horses and to dress as soldiers, for Americans other than “blue-coats” were then scarce in San Luis, and likely to create suspicion. Armed with these and other instructions from their chief, the men departed upon their mission, going as far as they could in the cars, the Denver and Rio Grande railroad then being completed only to Walsenburg. Leaving the railroad they turned their faces westward, towards San Luis park.

After walking a few miles they secured a team of horses from a ranchman, with which they expected to continue the journey. The horses unfortunately were affected with the epizootic, then raging, and proved a source of inconvenience and annoyance. From one place to another through the San Luis valley the trail was steadily followed. At Fort Garland, Maj. Jewett received the officers cordially and entered heartily into the plan suggested by Gen. Cook, giving Smith and Lewis soldiers’ uniforms and a pair of government mules branded “U. S.” Assuming the role of government officers in search of deserters, the pursuers continued their journey to Culabra, where it was hoped to intercept the criminals. But in this hope the officers were disappointed, for upon arriving there it was discovered that the men sought had gone further southward. But a point was gained in learning that they were on the trail.

It was ascertained that while in Culabra, the fugitives had stopped at the house of a Frenchman. The Frenchman was ready to render any assistance in his power, and to this end informed the detective that the men had gone on foot about fourteen miles down Culabra creek. By a little sharp practice it was discovered that the Frenchman was endeavoring to aid the criminals and had himself lent them horses and accompanied them on the road towards Taos, N. M.

Detective Smith here suddenly conceived a violent passion for the sheep business. His suit of blue was changed for a brand new one corresponding with his newly assumed avocation, and a broad-brimmed hat and a glittering array of jewelry completed the make-up of as perfect a stock king as ever proudly paced the soil of New Mexico. A gentleman named Thaw, who had formerly been a policeman in Denver, and who was now living in San Luis, was called upon, and the detective’s wand also transformed him into a sheep buyer, and he was at once admitted as a partner in the imaginary firm. The interpreter, Lewis, was also given a new role, or rather a double character. He was to ride along the road and inquire for his “partners,” describing the other Italians whom they were pursuing, and at various places he would also claim to be connected with the firm of sheep purchasers as an assistant. At Sierra de Guadaloupe they passed one night, and Lewis lost no time in spreading the news that the detective and his partner were men of means, traveling through the country for the purpose of buying sheep. The entire population turned out to see them, and by cautious inquiries they learned that the murderers had undoubtedly gone toward Taos.

Before daylight the officers were on the road again, and by rapid driving reached Taos during the afternoon. Repairing to the only hotel in the place, the detective again “talked sheep,” and soon gathered around a good share of the population, nearly all of whom had sheep to exchange for the ducats the detective was supposed to possess. Here it was learned that there were only about thirty-five Americans in the county, the balance of the population consisting of Mexicans and Pueblo Indians, and all the officers being Mexicans, which was a point against the detectives. They kept a vigilant outlook for Lewis, and ere long that individual was observed approaching, mounted on his mule, wearing a most abject mien. Turning at once to Thaw, Smith exclaimed in a loud voice: “Here comes that d——d greaser, looking for his partners.” The remark attracted attention, and as Lewis dismounted the crowd went to the door.

[Larger Image]

Arrest of Gallotti and one of his pals at Taos, N. M., by Smith and Arizona Bill.

Lewis commenced inquiries for his “partners,” and as he talked Spanish fluently, he soon discovered that three men answering the description given were then in the town. Bidding the interpreter to remain at the hotel, the detectives at once went to a store kept by two Americans named Miller and Clothier. Here they ascertained that Filomeno Gallotti had borrowed a gun, and that he had left five $20 gold pieces to sell.

Being satisfied that they had the criminals almost within their grasp, Mr. Smith cast about for some plan whereby they could entrap them. To that end he sent for Thaw and Lewis, and Gallotti was then sought out and brought to the store under the pretext that Clothier desired to sell more gold for him. Although a wily and cunning brute, Gallotti suspected nothing, and almost immediately presented himself in front of the store, where he met Lewis, who, in a surprised and highly delighted manner, grasped Gallotti by the hand. That grasp was not one easily to be shaken off, however, for fingers of iron held the criminal’s hand as in a vise of steel. A moment later Smith came up from behind and seized Gallotti’s left hand, as if also to shake hands, and turning he gazed into the muzzle of a cocked revolver.

Gallotti realized instantly that he had been entrapped, and that resistance would be worse than useless, and begged piteously for his life. He was disarmed and handcuffed, and the leader of the band of murderers was in the clutch of the law.

But how were the others to be secured? Fate made this easy of accomplishment, for hardly had the handcuffs clicked around the wrists of the prisoner than another Italian entered the store. He was promptly seized, but proved to be a resident of the place. He was badly frightened, however, and seeing this the detective told him he would be allowed his freedom provided he would bring Fernandez and Anatta to them. To this demand he gladly acceded, and soon returned with John Anatta, who was at once overpowered and placed in irons. [The artist has chosen to group the capture, and is a little at fault, but not seriously so, as he presents the scene soon after the taking.]

One other of the men for whom the officers were searching was still unsecured. By judicious inquiry it was learned that this one was Henry Fernandez, the Mexican, the knowledge of whose connection with the crime had led Gen. Cook to infer so correctly that the criminals had gone south. It was ascertained that he had gone that morning in the direction of Red river. The Mexican officials of the county insisted upon a requisition being shown before they would consent to see the officers depart with their men, but their qualms of conscience were eased by the presentation of a purse of $100, and the captors and captives were allowed to depart. The detectives at once gave chase to Fernandez, and reached Red river at night. Here they discovered the house in which Fernandez was sleeping, and soon had secured him.

Having three of the fugitives for whom they had been in pursuit, the detectives pushed on rapidly to Fort Garland, and thence to Pueblo. After an uneventful journey the railroad was reached, and the second trio of prisoners were soon en route for Denver.

The fact that the capture had been accomplished was kept comparatively quiet, the previous lesson having been sufficient for the officers. But a large crowd was present when they landed at the depot. The manacled murderers were lifted bodily from the cars and placed in an omnibus. A few policemen rode on the top, Gen. Cook being inside with Smith and the prisoners, having joined them down the road. Aside from the presence of the officers there was nothing in the appearance of the party to attract attention. The crowd followed the vehicle out of curiosity, manifesting no especial feeling, probably remembering the prompt rebuff they had met on the previous occasion.

After Gallotti and his crowd were placed in jail they were seated for a few moments in a row along the wall, while reporters, officers and others passed around, eager to scan the faces and to discuss the relative depravity of the interesting trio.

Thus were eight of the monstrous butchers pursued and captured. But one other was yet at large, and Superintendent Cook considered his task incomplete while any of the death-dealing demons were free to enjoy the fruits of their awful crime. Frank Valentine was the only one of the number now at liberty. He had returned to Denver, but found his accomplices locked up, and had wisely taken his departure to return to Gallotti. Valentine had been a companion and associate of the gang at the tin-shop, but aside from the fact that he bore the title of “The Miner,” and that he had come on this mission for the chief murderer, but little was known concerning him.

Superintendent Cook silently commenced a series of close investigations, and finally concluded that this man was at least an accessory. That brutal instinct given vent when the crime was committed was still apparent in those already secured in the jail, and they seemed anxious that Valentine should be captured, and from hints let drop by them Cook was enabled to trace the fellow back towards New Mexico.

All of the members of the detective association had been instructed by the chief to keep a sharp lookout for him, and one day it was learned that he was in the vicinity of McCorkle’s ranch, in Costilla county. Thomas T. Bartlett was then sheriff in Costilla county and a member of the detective association, and he was soon on Valentine’s trail. One day the officer found himself near the ranch about the hour of noon. Feeling hungry and fatigued, he determined to visit the house and obtain refreshments for the inner man. While seated at the table a rap was heard on the outer door, and in obedience to the summons “Come in,” who should enter but the very man for whom the officer was in search. The assassin asked for something to eat, and while he was dispatching his dinner the detective engaged him in conversation, and carelessly asked him if he had a pistol. He replied in the affirmative and handed it over for examination. The officer informed him that it was a fine pistol—a very fine pistol, and that he wanted it. Suddenly changing his manner, he added that he also wanted the owner of the weapon.

The startled Italian gazed alternately into the muzzle of the presented revolver and the cool eye of the officer, and saw that the man was terribly in earnest. Realizing that escape was impossible, he surrendered, and while denying that he took any active part in the assassination, he admitted that he was a spectator to that horrible slaughter. He was brought to Denver, where Superintendent Cook met him at the depot, and soon he was behind the bars of the county jail.

CHAPTER X.

THE ITALIAN MURDERERS TELL THE STORY OF THE CRIME—A SERIES OF BLOOD-CURDLING NARRATIVES, INTERESTING ACCOUNTS FROM THE MOST PROMINENT OF THE BUTCHERS—GALLOTTI GIVES HIS VERSION—HOW THE MUSIC PLAYED WHILE THE THROATS WERE CUT—DRINKING THE BLOOD OF THE VICTIMS.

So prompt had been the retribution overtaking the band that the popular desire for revenge was in a measure appeased, and all seemed to be confident that the law would effectually dispose of the bloody crew. Before showing how the people were disappointed in this, and prior to relating the means by which these villains escaped the gallows, it would be interesting to visit the jail and, by conversing separately with the prisoners, ascertain so far as possible the manner by which the four victims came to their death. With the exception of Gallotti, they were all willing to talk of the affair.

The jailer leads the way to his cell. A dark-eyed man with the keen, cool, deadly look which only a murderer by birth and education could possess, rises to see who comes as the iron door swings open. He is rather a small man, but has a well-knit, compact frame, and evidently possesses considerable muscular activity and strength. His eyes are small and piercing and have a serpentine look. In this look can be found one of the reasons why he was able to absolutely control the band, to whom he was more than king or czar. Possessing some education, with an unbending will, a heart devoid of pity, a conscience knowing no regret and with those glittering eyes, transfixing the one who had dared to displease him, he was just what his ambition desired—the chief of a desperate band of banditti, whose pastimes were the cutting of throats and whose revels were in scenes of blood. He would not talk at length, but when it was suggested to him that “It is said that you were the leading spirit in that affair,” replied: “I am not. The others did the murder, and now are trying to drag me into it.”

[Larger Image]

Arrest of Ballotti, Campagne and Allessandri at Trinidad, by Officers Smith and Force.
See [page 67].

So Gallotti will not talk. Let us visit Allessandri and get his story. This boy (for he is scarcely more than a boy) was the first to make any statement to the officers, and he can think or talk of nothing but the crime. He looks up as his cell is entered and readily answers all questions.

His story as he relates it, with great rapidity and constant gesticulation, is as follows: “The band consisted of Gallotti, Anatta, Ballotti, Campagne and a miner. I was forced to join them against my will, but was powerless to resist Gallotti. The killing commenced Friday, October 15, at half-past one o’clock p. m. I was playing a harp in the front room. The old man, called Joe in English, the biggest boy and one or two others were playing cards in the front room. The cards lay on a box and the players were seated around in a circle. Ballotti, Campagne and ‘the miner’ were playing, too. Gallotti, the boss tinker, was standing up and watching the game. Suddenly Gallotti reached under his coat, drew a knife, seized the old man by the hair, drew his head back and with one powerful stroke cut his throat from ear to ear. The blood flew upon the cards and into the faces of the other players. Not yet content, Gallotti stabbed the old man in several places and, releasing his hold, he let the lifeless body fall on the floor. At the same time the others seized the big boy who was sitting at my side playing the harp, but he made a desperate resistance and tried to fight them off.

“Seeing that the others were not very successful, Gallotti left old Joe’s body and, grabbing the boy, cut his throat, crying to me, ‘Play louder!’ In the struggle they all used knives, and Anatta cut his fingers so badly that when they ceased bleeding he could not close them.

“I kept on playing the harp, for I did not dare stop, and I was so frightened that I trembled violently. Once I stopped playing, but Gallotti shook me and, drawing his knife across my throat, told me he would cut my d—d head off if I did not play on. So I started up again.

“They let the bodies lay where they had fallen, and some one threw blankets over them. In about half an hour the other two came into the yard, carrying their harps. Gallotti watched the front door and Ballotti stood guard at the rear one. The smaller one came in first, carrying his violin under his arm. Gallotti seized him and, driving a knife to the hilt just under his right ear, cut the boy’s throat. The little boy who played the harp came up to the door and, catching a glimpse of the blood, attempted to retreat, but Silvestro seized him and dragged him into the house. As Silvestro did not succeed in cutting his throat very quickly, Anatta went to his aid. But the boy escaped them and ran, bleeding and crying, into the front room, where Gallotti caught him around the neck with one hand and, with the boy’s head under his arm, cut his throat from ear to ear.

“I was still playing on the harp, but the sight of dead bodies and the blood running on the floor made me sick. Filomeno made me lick his knife and ordered me to drink some of the blood. He scraped up a handful of blood running from the big boy’s throat and drank it, the others doing likewise, as a pledge of fidelity. They then threw the bodies into the cellar and commanded me to continue playing, as the music deadened the noise and would divert any suspicion that might be entertained. Some of the bodies they dragged and some they carried to the trap-door, where they threw them into the cellar. Filomeno or some one else then went into the cellar and secured the money. I don’t know how much was obtained, but he gave Ballotti $140, another $40 and handed me $20.

“After everybody had washed their hands and taken off their bloody shirts, which were thrown into the cellar, we took four revolvers, locked the doors and went to the tin-shop on Fifteenth street. About 9 o’clock that night Filomeno, Deodotta, Ballotti, Valentine, Guiseppe and the light-haired tinker went back to the house. I did not go, but went to sleep between two tinkers, who, I think, knew all about the murder, for Filomeno told them to watch me, and also told me that if I said anything about the murder, or attempted to run away, he would kill me. That night Ballotti, Campagne and I walked to Littleton, where we slept near the depot until a freight train arrived, which we boarded and rode on to Pueblo.

“I came from Central City about three weeks before the murder, and Filomeno told me he should kill the old man and the boys. I was afraid to tell any one, fearing that he would kill me, too, and the gang never allowed me out of their sight, day or night. Filomeno told us he was going to Mexico, and would write to us.”

As the musician who played the harp as an accompaniment while the throat-cutting was in progress has talked so plainly, let us visit Ballotti and, if possible, obtain from him an account of the crime. Entering the cell, a rather good-looking young man, of a compact frame and with the dark skin of an Italian, comes forward to greet us. He commences his story as follows:

“When I came here some months ago, Filomeno Gallotti assisted me in many ways, and placed his house and his purse at my disposal. He finally told me that he intended to kill the old man and the boys, and I endeavored to obtain funds sufficient to go to Cheyenne and get away, but in this I was unsuccessful, and I told Deodotta, together with another man at Sloan’s lake, what plans had been made. Filomeno told us to go to the house on Lawrence street and pretend to teach the boys music, and we were thus engaged for three days prior to the murder. After Filomeno cut the old man’s throat, he gave me a knife and told me to help the others. I did not wish to kill them, but, fearing Filomeno, I drew the back of the knife across the big boy’s throat, but did not hurt him. When the last two came Filomeno stood behind the door and, as the little one entered, carrying his harp, he said, holding up a fancy article he had purchased, ‘Look here. I have bought you something nice to-day,’ and just then he seized the poor boy, pulled him down upon the floor and, putting his knee on his head, said, in Italian: ‘Ah, my boy, I’ve got you now.’ With that he thrust his knife up to the hilt back of the ear and gashed the throat wide open. When the other entered, Filomeno, the miner and the tall tinker cut him all to pieces. He held on to his harp and ran around the room with his throat cut, the blood pouring from the wounds in a torrent, and Filomeno pursuing and stabbing him. Finally he succumbed and fell with the harp on top of him. The old man wore a belt filled with gold, and Filomeno divided it around. In all, I suppose the belt contained about $1,400.”

From this point on the story contained only unimportant details.

Says John Anatta, another of the murderers, when talked to: “I can not sleep, for ‘Old Joe’s’ spirit haunts my dreams, and when he approaches me I seem to be cutting his throat. But no sooner have I done so than a brand new one takes its place, and I awake horrified. It was awful, but I could not help it, and I did not do any of the cutting. I hit one of the boys on the head, but the knife bent and cut my hand, and that was all I did.”

Let us again visit Gallotti, and after we have told him what the others say, perhaps he will be induced to give some account of the horrible butchery in which it is claimed he took such a prominent part. A dark scowl again greets us, but he is in better humor—just in trim to cut throats were the occasion propitious.

“Now, see here, Gallotti, the others have told us all about this affair, and you might as well say something, too.”

“Well, you see, I commenced the job at the card table, by catching ‘Old Joe’ by the hair and sawing my knife across his throat until he was quite dead. I helped to kill one of the boys, as the others were making a bad job of it. I then put up my knife and watched Anatta, Ballotti and Guiseppe cut the other two. I secured $800 in gold and $377 in currency, but I gave the most of it to the others. I conceived the idea of the murder some time ago, and when I broached the subject to the others individually and at different times, they all were eager to engage in the scheme. My reason for killing the old man was this: Several years ago I lived in New Orleans and, being successful in business, my countrymen often deposited their savings with me. The sum thus entrusted to me increased until I had about six thousand dollars of other people’s money. Thinking it proper to invest this, I loaned it to a fruit dealer, who promised to pay a fair rate of interest on the amount advanced. Subsequently, and as I afterwards learned, by ‘Old Joe’s’ advice, the fruit dealer decamped with the money. I followed him all over the country, but finally my means became exhausted and I came to Denver, where I settled down at my trade. One day I was asked to write a letter for the man on Lawrence street, and when the address was signed, I learned for the first time that ‘Old Joe’ was the one who advised the fruit dealer to abscond with the six thousand dollars. I kept this to myself, but continued to watch him, and finally was satisfied that he was the identical ‘Joe’ who had been in New Orleans. Then I determined to kill him, and enlisted the others in the plot. They are as guilty as I, and deserve as severe a punishment.”

This being all Gallotti has to say, we are forced to withdraw.

CHAPTER XI.

TRIALS OF THE ITALIANS—THEY ESCAPE THE GALLOWS THROUGH A TECHNICALITY OF THE LAW—GALLOTTI, BALLOTTI, CAMPAGNE AND VALENTINE RECEIVE LIFE SENTENCES AND THE OTHERS GET OFF LIGHTLY.

It would seem from the evidence and their own confessions that this band would surely be hung. But such a fate was not in store for them. On Saturday, December 4, 1875, the preliminary examination was had before Justices Whittemore and Sayer. Gallotti and Ballotti pleaded guilty, and, together John Anatta, Leonardo Allessandri, Guiseppe Campagne, Leonardo Deodotta, Frank Valentine, Guiseppe Pinachio and Henry Fernandez, they were bound over to the district court for trial on the 26th day of the following January. John Anatta and Allessandri, the young harpist, turned state’s evidence before the grand jury and indictments were returned against the entire band. On the 30th of January the accused were brought into court and counsel was assigned them.

February 8 they were arraigned, pleaded not guilty, and their cases were set for trial during the April term. May 20 Gallotti was before the court and pleaded guilty. Great excitement was occasioned when it became known that under a section of the statutes he could not be hung, a life sentence being the utmost penalty in cases when the accused entered a plea of guilty. The next day Ballotti was arraigned and endeavored to withdraw his plea of not guilty. The motion, for reasons not clearly apparent, was overruled and his case was set for trial on the following day. The evidence in the trial of Ballotti was simply a repetition of the facts already known to the reader, and a verdict of murder in the first degree was rendered.

It was decided that under the law Gallotti could be tried in spite of his plea. When arraigned Gallotti again entered the plea of guilty, and it was considered proper to carry his case to the supreme court as a test of the loose law then in force. The same proceedings were had in the case of Frank Valentine. Campagne also pleaded guilty, and Anatta and Allessandri entered special pleas of voluntary manslaughter. Deodotta was acquitted on the charge of being accessory, and the following sentences were meted out to the bloodiest band that ever went unhung: Gallotti, Valentine, Campagne and Ballotti were sentenced for life; Anatta and Allessandri received each ten years while the others went scot-free.

Gallotti, the leader of the cut-throat band, was pardoned out in 1885, leaving immediately for his native land, Italy, but, according to reports, never reaching it, but dying on his journey. Ballotti, the best one of the lot, died in the prison at Cañon, December 20, 1887. Campagne was pardoned out June 29, 1888, and Valentine, the other life man, was restored to liberty by Gov. Waite on August 5, 1895.