Three Years on the Plains
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Edmund B. Tuttle >> Three Years on the Plains
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Here the utmost caution and strategy were necessary to recover this
horse they had secreted, and find out what road the rogues took with
the thoroughbred animal. But it was done. The detective came back to
Cheyenne with his escort and left it there. Then, on one of Wells,
Fargo & Co.'s fast coaches, he embarked for Denver City. A heavy
snow-storm set in and impeded the way. Thus the thief had nine days the
start.
From Denver he made the best of his way--after being detained five days
by the storm--for Sheridan, in Kansas, which was reached in five more
days' time,--the trip being made usually by railroad in forty-eight
hours. At Sheridan the cars were blockaded with snow, and quite a
number of gentlemen were snow-bound, among them the members of Congress
from New Mexico and Kansas. The detective proposed to these honorable
gents the pleasure of a tramp as far as Fort Hays, only one hundred and
thirty-five miles! All agreed, and the party set out, though the snow
was very deep.
The expedition proved to be one of much interest; but the pursuit of
the thief being the main object before us, we find the detective
arrived at Fort Harker, Kansas, and in communication with a gentleman
named Stone, who had seen the famous pacer, and had tried to buy him of
the supposed owner; and from him the detective learned that the horse
was near at hand, only twenty miles farther east, at a place called
"Saline," on a small river, in Kansas. From this place the thief
intended to convey the horse to Aurora, Illinois (his native town), to
match him there with another, and thus to obtain a large sum of money
for his thieving wickedness.
Arrived in Saline, Mr. Hunter lost no time in putting himself in
communication with the sheriff there, who seemed to Mr. Hunter not to
be entirely reliable; indeed, from a careful survey of faces of the
loungers in the bar-room of the one-horse town of border settlers, the
sheriff appeared to be hand-in-glove with the thief, so he concluded
that his only chance of any help in the matter could come from the
landlord and the telegraph operator,--the latter having sent messages
from the rogue to Aurora, while detained there by the depth of snow.
But no time was to be lost, and a desperate effort must be made.
Mr. Hunter went into the bar-room with the sheriff, after breakfast,
and a crowd was sitting around the stove. The rogue was sent for with a
message that "a gentleman wished to speak with him." He came into the
room presently, picking his teeth, and putting on an assumed air of
indifference; he looked at the detective with a coolness quite
refreshing, as he stepped up to the bar and called for cigars, saying,
"Gentlemen, who'll have a smoke? I don't see any _gentleman_ here that
I know, besides myself."
"How are you, Ned?" said Mr. Hunter. "You don't know me?"
"Gentlemen," replied he, "on my honor, before God, I never saw this man
before in my life! This is a put-up game of a man named Stone, to bilk
me out of my fast horse; and (putting his hand on his six-shooter in
his belt) no man shall get this horse, which I bought, or me either,
alive."
The detective with great presence of mind assured him that his game was
up; that the first motion he made of resistance he was a dead man! Then
drawing a pair of manacles from his pocket, he soon clasped them on his
prisoner's wrists, and relieved the rogue of his pistols, handing them
over to the barkeeper for safety. He was taken to his room to pick up
his traps, until the horse could be saddled up to return.
By this time a reaction had taken place among the crowd, who seemed to
sympathize with the thief, and some exclaimed against taking him, and
for all they knew, he might be innocent. Here was a new danger not
expected. If these fifteen or twenty hard-looking customers should take
it into their heads to vote the man guiltless, there was an end to
justice, and the detective might find himself suspended from the
nearest cottonwood limb of a tree, dangling like Mohammed's coffin,
between heaven and earth! But as good luck would have it, the irons
pressed tightly and painfully on the wrists of the captive, and he
cried from his room, "Hunter! oh, Hunter! come and loose these cursed
irons,--they're killing me!"
"Now, gentlemen," said Hunter, "you see whether he knows me or not." To
the prisoner he said, "I'll loosen them if you'll tell all about it."
He came in and said, "Yes, I stole the horse; I'm a thief, and that man
is a detective of the government from Cheyenne."
Of course, here all danger should end, and my story cease. But the
truth is, something new turned up very often to embarrass the journey
back to Cheyenne. After leaving Fort Harker, a new dodge was attempted,
but different from the one that Paddy essayed when he greased the
horse's mouth to save the oats. Leaving the culprit in irons at Fort
Harker, the detective proceeded on to Fort Ellsworth, Kansas, from
which place he started in the morning with his horse, in high hopes of
reaching Cheyenne in a few days.
But alas for the vanity of human hopes and expectations! Having ridden
about fifteen miles, the horse came to a sudden pause, and acted like
one afflicted with spring-halt. Stopping at a ranch near by, after a
careful examination, it was found that some precious villains had tied
some silk cords on his legs underneath the fetlocks, thoroughly
crippling him, so he could hardly move a limb. They hoped to lame the
horse till he could be stolen again! But it was not successful. This
journey of seventeen hundred miles cost the sum of six hundred dollars.
But the horses were valued at fifteen hundred dollars, and it was right
to put a stop, if possible, to the crime so common in the West of
stealing horses, and one which subjects the culprit to a ball in his
body, if needful to recapture stolen stock, and all say it is just and
right, as a man's horse there may, in some cases, be "his life."
But the fellow while in limbo sawed off the chain and ball from his leg
and escaped. He, moreover, had the impudence to write a saucy letter to
Mr. Hunter, telling him "that the caged bird had flown, and the
probability of their never meeting again!"
The rascal had been a soldier in the army, deserting several times, and
re-enlisting under a new name each time, at different posts in the
western country.
HANGING HORSE-THIEVES.
It seems awful when we hear of the "Vigilance committees" in new
countries. They are a body of men combining together, in a secret
society, to rid the community of vile men, who rob, steal, and commit
murder, just as easy as lying, and all for a few dollars. I say it
seems awful to hear of their sentencing individuals to be hung by the
neck to the telegraph-poles, often with only a single hour's notice,
without a trial by jury. But it is done in new towns such as Julesburg
was, where people would not be safe without some such action.
California began it, and other places found it necessary.
At Cheyenne, when it was full of these horse-thieves and gamblers, I
was called upon to bury "a gentleman" (as he was called), who had died
suddenly, they said, at the "Beauvais House." I went down from the fort
in February, and as the day was pleasant, crowds of young men were
gathered in front of the house, and the street was full of carriages.
It seems the dead man was the proprietor of the hotel, and it did not
bear a very good reputation. Harris had formerly a partner named
Martin, with whom he had a quarrel one evening, and Harris ordered his
former partner to leave,--shutting the door upon him. Then Martin
turned and shot three balls through the panel of the door, one of which
hit Harris, and of which he died in about twelve hours. This produced a
great excitement, and called out the crowd at the funeral. The person
in charge asked me to step out on the balcony and address the people in
the street. But I declined, and said I would speak to the young men, as
I felt it my duty to do, in the parlor and hall. I remarked to them
"that the deceased was past our praise or blame. But it was my duty to
warn them at this time, when no man's life was safe, to think of the
shortness and uncertainty of human life! Here, away from good examples
you once had at home, you are in much danger. You and I think that we
will die on a sick-bed, with dear friends around us; but you nor I will
die just when or where we expect to. Some of you _have learned to say
your prayers at your mother's knee_, but you forget, or are ashamed to
do so now. Oh, be warned, my friends, to seek Christ and his favor, and
He will take care of you, etc."
I could see many faces intent on what I had to say, and among them was
a little dwarf belonging to the house, as an errand-boy. He covered up
his face with his hands, sitting upon a low stool, and perhaps his mind
wandered back to the humble cottage where he was born, and a mother's
smile was his best beacon of goodness: he had not forgotten! For when I
came back from the graveyard, he said, "Parson, I thought a good deal
about what you said, indeed I did, _and it's true, every word of it,
you bet_!"
Martin was tried by a court, and got clear. But he was fool enough to
go round the saloons right away, boasting that he would serve out
several more before breakfast. Then the vigilantes got hold of him that
night, and hung him to the telegraph-poles near Cheyenne, till he was
dead.
Sam Dugan was in our military prison at Fort Russell, for the crime of
stealing horses. He was released upon a writ of _habeas corpus_ from
Colorado and taken to Denver, where members of the vigilance committee
took him from jail outside the city in an express-wagon, and fastening
a rope around his neck, and throwing it over a limb of a large
cottonwood-tree, they hung him up; leaving the body suspended for
twenty-four hours.
He confessed to have stolen many horses, and to have murdered at least
six men in his life on the plains.
Most of these hardened villains die as brave men; but Dugan they said
whined like a child. He was really afraid to die, because of his great
wickedness.
AN INDIAN FIGHT AT SWEETWATER MINES.
On the morning of the 4th May, 1870, there was a desperate fight with
two companies of the 2d United States Cavalry, under Major D. S. Gordon
and Lieutenant C. B. Stambaugh, a god-child of General Sherman. The
Indians had committed some outrages, in return for which a party of
miners killed a chief named Black Bear, his squaw, and eleven other
Indians, Arapahoes.
When the principal chief of the Arapahoes heard of the fate of Black
Bear and his party, he was very angry, and called together three
hundred warriors (the tribe only numbering about fifteen hundred
souls), and marched for Atlantic City, as it is called (a small town in
the Wind River valley). Two companies of cavalry camped near the place
just before the Arapahoe warriors appeared. A young man named Bennett
saw them first, as he was driving his mules from the pasture. The
Indians at once surrounded him and marched for the town, to kill him in
sight of the village, where the troops were, but not known to the
Indians. Bennett soon saw they were taking him towards a gulch close by
the village where Gordon and Stambaugh were camped.
On coming up to the top of the hill, the camp was in full view, and
only a few hundred yards away.
Bennett shouted at once for help, and, putting out as hard as he could,
soon got into camp safe and sound. The sight of the military astonished
the Indians so that they did not try to recapture Bennett, but made
good time in every direction to escape. The soldiers were just getting
up for "_reveille_," when the guard saw Bennett coming with the
Indians, they driving and whipping him with their bows. The shout rang
out, "Indians! Indians!" and at once they opened fire, officers and
soldiers tumbling out of their beds. Some had on their drawers
only,--some in one stocking, and many without boots,--all seized their
arms, and rushing to the picket lines, unhitched their horses, jumped
on with no time to saddle, and without hats galloped over the hills in
pursuit of the flying Indians. Learning that some cattle were run off
near the town, some of the soldiers galloped through the streets and
hallooing "Indians!"--a cry the most terrible of all alarms along the
border,--soon brought every man to his feet, and gun in hand, rush out
to meet the foe. Soon these half-naked warriors had cleared the hills
of the red men, and strolling home as the sun rose over the bluffs,
when a horseman came into Major Gordon's camp with the news that
"Miner's Delight" camp was attacked, and the teams of Mr. Fleming, who
was hauling hay for the government. Major Gordon taking Lieutenant
Stambaugh, Sergeant Brown, and nine privates (all the soldiers in the
camp), and leaving orders for the rest to follow as fast as they came
in, they set off for the hay-field, distant about eight miles. There
they saw none, as the Indians had left, but striking their trail, went
on as fast as possible. A storm had been gathering all the morning, and
soon as they had gone six miles, it burst upon them with terrible fury,
completely covering up all traces of the enemy. The major thinking it
useless to follow further, set out to return to the post; but he had
not gone far before he encountered a lot of about sixty Indians. The
snow and sleet was so blinding at the time, that he did not see them
until he came close upon them. A charge at once was ordered, and the
troops dashed forward, scattering the Indians in every direction.
Unfortunately, however, in the attack Lieutenant Stambaugh received a
ball from an Indian's pistol, and Sergeant Brown had his jaw broken by
another shot. Lieutenant S----, though wounded, was held on to his
horse by Major Gordon, until surrounded by an immense crowd of
desperate warriors, when Gordon told Stambaugh, "For God's sake, hold
on to the mane of your horse, as I have to shoot!"
Lieutenant S---- fell off soon after, valiantly fighting. He was shot
through the head sideways,--from the throat up through his
brain,--through the chest, arms, and hands. He was brave to a fault,
and the Indians probably took him for a "brave" white chief of high
rank.
Seeing these two men fall from their horses, and that few soldiers were
there, the Indians rallied and charged them furiously. A severe fight
followed over the body of Stambaugh, the savages trying to capture and
scalp it, and the soldiers defending it nobly. Six Indians were killed
and two soldiers wounded. Soon the Indians retreated, leaving their
wounded and dead with the soldiers. The fight lasted about two hours.
All then became quiet, and Major Gordon descended the ridge,--a strong
position,--and carrying the body of Stambaugh a piece, hid it away in
some bushes. Expecting the Indians would attack him on the way, he set
out for camp, the Indians having gone that way. He saw no more of them,
however. Late at night with his men he reached Atlantic City, they
having eaten nothing since the day before.
Strange it was, the reinforcements he had ordered did not reach him,
and none knew where they were. Of course all the miners there were
greatly excited; the events of the day were talked over, rockets thrown
up, and fires kept burning on the hills as beacons for a guide to the
soldiers still out; but before daylight they all came in, after having
lost their way in the storm while searching for Major Gordon and his
party.
Early next morning, Lieutenant Dinwiddie took a strong detachment of
troops and twenty citizens and went out to the scene of battle, and
taking up the body of young Stambaugh, marched slowly back on their sad
journey with the noble brave fellow to the camp, which should know him
no more!
INDIAN ATTACK ON THE STAGE-COACH GOING TO DENVER--REV. MR. FULLER'S
ACCOUNT OF TWO ATTEMPTS UPON HIS LIFE.
The following letter tells its own story. Moreover, it is a truthful
narrative, and shows to the young that a Christian man is a bold man to
meet danger, knowing that God helps us, while we use all proper means
of safety to help ourselves.
PITTSBURG, May 30th, 1870.
REV. E. B. TUTTLE, Cheyenne, Wyoming Ter.
REV. AND DEAR SIR,--I will try to give you a brief account of my
adventure with the Indians, in answer to your request. It was on
the 1st day of June, 1867, the same year that the Right Reverend
Bishop Tuttle went out to his jurisdiction (whom I met a few days
after the adventure at the North Platte Station). The scene of the
adventure was Fairview Station, which was a deserted ranch about
ten miles east of "Fort Wicked," or Godfrey's ranch. The station
house had been burned, and the high adobe walls with an open front
entrance, facing the road, were left standing. About half-past two
P.M. we stopped at "Godfrey's" for a change of horses and
refreshments. I was the only passenger, and as we started on, the
company consisted of the driver, myself inside the coach, and two
horsemen, "stock leaders" (employed by the stage company to transfer
stock from one point to another), four in all. Unsuspectingly, we
went straight into the Indian's trap. It was about four P.M. I sat
on the front seat with my back to the driver, the windows being
down. The first thing that caught my attention was the discharge of
a number of rifles, some of the balls crashing through the sides of
the coach.
The Indians were well armed with rifles, bows and arrows, and were
all mounted. Instantly I seized my revolver (a small six-shooter),
and made ready to defend myself. I saw the two horsemen wheel their
horses and start back towards "Godfrey's" Station. They were just a
little behind the coach. The driver also yelled at his horses and
gave them a short turn, for the same purpose, no doubt. While we
were turning round, a tall Indian rode up close to the coach-window
and looked in, and as he did so I looked out; our faces met only
about six feet apart. He had a rifle in one hand; I saw him drop
his rein and grasp his gun with both hands. I heard the click of
the trigger. I could easily have shot him, having my revolver in my
hand, but I did not,--why I do not know. It was well that I did
not, as it proved. I dropped under the coach-window to avoid his
fire, if possible. He fired and rode on quickly ahead, his shot
being delivered either at the driver or myself, I know not which.
The horses and coach were now turned about and faced towards
"Godfrey's," and were running as only thoroughly frightened horses
will run. They were large, powerful animals, four in number. The
Indians had meantime divided themselves into two bodies. (There
were about thirty of them in all, of the Cheyenne tribe. I will
shortly state how they were numbered.) One party starting in
pursuit of the horsemen, and the other remaining with the coach to
take it.
The situation was most critical. I soon saw that the horses did not
keep the road, but turned out of it towards the Platte River (the
river and the road run parallel about half a mile apart, as you
probably know), and I knew that the _driver was not guiding them_!
Putting my revolver in my side-pocket, I opened the door and,
taking hold of the railing above, looked first to see if the driver
was indeed gone. He was not there! I did not turn back; to stay
inside was sure death. If there was any chance of escape, it was
from the outside. I sprang out to the driver's seat above, but
judge of my dismay to find the _reins on the ground_! I intended to
get control of them. I knew not what to do, but had an idea at
first of jumping to the ground to get the reins. While standing
there thinking how to manage to get the reins, I was the only mark
for the Indians, and was fired at a number of times. Such was the
situation, standing alone on the coach-box,--the Indians before and
behind endeavoring to shoot me and to stop the coach,--and yet I
escaped. I have yet the coat, with a bullet-hole in the sleeve,
which I had on. My escape was in this wise: I saw that the reins
might be reached from the headstalls of the wheel-horses. I
therefore sprang down on to the tongue of the coach to get them,
but just then the horses had reached a slough about two rods wide
and as many feet deep, with a sharp bank on either side. They did
not stop, but plunged into and across it. I fell fortunately over
the nigh horse's back, just clearing the wheels. The horses and
coach went on and I was left in the slough. That fall to me at the
time appeared sure death. I expected to be killed instantly. But,
sooner than I can tell it, I was upon my feet upon the bank, my
revolver in my hand, determined not to be taken alive; for well
enough I knew what that would end in. To my astonishment, the
Indians did not stop to give me a shot even; being under a full
run, they barely glanced at me as they passed in pursuit of the
coach. I saw the reason of this. I was on foot, and between me and
"Godfrey's" was another body of Indians. They were all mounted and
armed; I could not run away; I was in a vice apparently.
I looked towards the river, and observing some islands in it, my
plan was instantly formed. If I could only reach the river, I would
swim out and get behind one of the islands. And the river being
high and turbid, with a quicksand bottom, I did not believe they
would venture to come after me. (I had learned to swim when a boy,
and that now was my means of salvation.) I started for the river as
soon as the last Indian had passed me, "double quick," but as I
started, I glanced towards the west, and, to my dismay, saw the
other party coming back at a distance of four or five hundred rods
from me, and I had at least two hundred rods to make to reach the
river. They had got through with their chase of the two men. They
had killed one of them and also his horse (I buried his body the
next day). The other man being mounted on a trained racer, as I
afterwards learned, managed by hard running to escape and reach the
station.
At a certain angle bearing back towards "Godfrey's," I started for
the river, and the Indians turned to run in between me and the
river. But providence interposed again. Within one minute from the
time of my fall, the Indians stopped the coach, shooting one of the
horses to do it; and this drew the attention of the other party
away from me to the coach, being drawn (I suppose) by motives of
plunder on seeing the coach stopped. I have since learned that they
do not divide the plunder in any civilized way, but what an Indian
gets his hands on is his. But for this circumstance, they must have
got between me and the river. Finding that I had actually gained
the river-bank, I determined not to go in at once, but the rather
to get as far away as possible, while the Indians were engaged in
plundering the coach, knowing it would take them some minutes to do
that. I had no hope of running away, but slipping off my boots, I
began a rapid walk up the river-bank, all the while glancing back
at the Indians, expecting momentarily that they would start for me.
Thus I got nearly a mile away, when I noticed two men in the road,
a little ahead of me. I stopped as soon as I saw them, feeling sure
that they were Indians who had been sent to that point to prevent
my escape. As I stopped, they made signs for me to come to them;
but this I took to be a decoy, under a pretense of friendship, to
get me away from the river. Instantly divesting myself of my outer
clothing, I plunged in, seeing them start for me as I did so, at a
full run. There were no islands there, and to get away, I must make
the other side. The water was very cold, the current strong, and I
soon became chilled. I found my strength going fast, and gave up my
last hope of escape. I would have gone under but for another
interposition of Providence. I drifted on to a _sand bar_, and
stopping there, I expected to die. I did not wait long. In a brief
time the two men had reached the river-bank opposite me, and judge
of my joy, dear sir, to see the uniform of United States cavalry
soldiers!
They had been sent out (from Fort Morgan) two days previous to
search for some deserters. They happened to come upon the ground
just then, else I should not be writing you this account to-day.
They saw the whole affray from the outset, but did not dare to
attack. They counted the Indians and said there were about thirty
of them. Now, when I started for the river, after the fall, they
agreed to assist me if they could. Fortunately I did not go in
immediately on reaching the river, but went towards them without
knowing of their presence. When I went into the river finally, they
understood that I mistook them for Indians, and made a dash to save
me. God bless them! In doing that they put themselves in danger. I
saw this and spoke of it, but they said they intended to give the
"red devils" to understand thus that they were supported by others.
Their strategy had precisely that effect. I looked towards the
Indians, and they were making off in the other direction towards
"the bluffs," as fast as they could go. We went safely back to
"Godfrey's," one of the soldiers kindly giving me his horse to
ride. I wish it were in my power to reward in some substantial way
these noble young men. After saluting me from the river-bank, I
swam and waded back to the shore. It was with difficulty that I
could stand when I reached it. My coat was stained with patches of
blood. The soldiers at first were sure that I was wounded, but
strange to say, I was not hurt. The blood was from the driver, and
got upon my coat from the coach-box.
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