History of the Arkansas Valley, Colorado, Part 78

Author: O.L. Baskin & Co
Publication date: 1881
Publisher: Chicago : O.L. Baskin & Co.
Number of Pages: 1080

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One of the most noted desperadoes of our early days here was a man known as Charley Dodge, which name was presumably one of many aliases. A fugitive from justice in Wis- consin, with a price of $2,500 offered by the Governor on his head, his career was marked while here by the same bold crimes that drove him out a vagabond, with the marks of Cain upon his brow. He was first known in the summer of 1860, in California Gulch, as a three-card-monte dealer, and, like sportive games, enforcing his will, as his victims "weakened," before the ever-ready six-shooter on the table to his hand. In the winter of 1861-62, he, with one of his "pals," pursued a miner by the name of Noble, who, having made a "raise," was on his way home to the States. He was overtaken, camped in a deserted cabin, fifteen miles below Cañon. The surprise was so sudden and complete, that, although lying on his arms, he had no time for defense, but was bound and taken a few yards away and hung up like a dog, and afterward fastened by a lariat to the horn of a saddle. He was then dragged by the neck a quarter of a mile and thrown into a wash- out made by the rains, and a little brush, stone and dirt thrown over him, but not enough to cover his decaying body. Some thousands of dollars was the prize secured, with which Dodge soon appeared in Pueblo, where soon after he shot a Constable named Taos, who insulted him by asking for a cup of coffee. In March of 1862, having jumped the claim belonging to a man named Fred Lentz, who was temporarily absent, he sold it to another man. Lentz, returning, attempted to regain possession, and, having a difficulty with the occupant, went to Pueblo to lay it before the Claim Club, in the People's Court. On his return, with four of his friends, he met Dodge,

with another desperado, named Berceaw, who claimed as prisoner. Lentz, mistaking the demand, but intending to comply with it, as is believed, took a few steps, after throwing up his hands to show that he had no weapons, when Dodge rode his horse round and shot Lentz five times in the back. As he lay wel- tering in his blood, to show the devilish sang- froid of Dodge, when Lentz's friends, recover- ing from their surprise, raised him up, and he, with death fast glazing his eyes, looking at Dodge, who still lignered, said: " Charlie, I call that taking advantage of a man." Dodge simply remarked: " Think I hurt you much, Fred? Well, die like a man." Which he did in a few minutes, after breathing, with failing utterance, into my ear, the name of his father and post office address, Cedar County, Iowa. Dodge and his accomplice gave them- selves up, if such a farce can be so called, to the People's Court, and stood trial with a couple of six-shooters lying on his lap. When a division of the house was called to decide " guilty " or " not guilty," not one cared to meet certain and sudden death by an affimative. We simply note this to show the efficiency of six-shooter logic and the reign of terror that such a man can induce. When, in 1862, the first Judicial Court was held in Pueblo, Dodge was indicted for all three of the offenses noted above, and summons issued for him. At that time, being in Montgomery, Park Co., no one could be found who cared to risk his life in arresting Dodge, until one Ike Evans, a citizen of Cañon, attempted it. They being on good terms, Dodge did not shoot at first in- stance, but begged permission to step out a moment. He did so, of course, and, mount- ing a horse, fled across the mountains.

The next heard from him was his death at Fort Hall, Washington Territory, of small- pox, being one of the few instances where men of his stamp do not " die in their boots."

JONATHAN LEAPER.

Below the salt works in the lower part of the South Park, in 1862, there lived a man named Leaper, who was the Rinaldo of his time. He, robbed not entirely for the gain, but for the pleasure of the thing. He took *From Canon City Reporter.

& D. Miller

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delight in torturing his victims. For a pe- riod, he was the terror of the mountains. He had a cabin in a lonely gulch on the road leading to Canon City, about ten miles from the salt works. Here he cooked his meals, but spent the most of his time concealed in the rocks above the road. He seldom dis- turbed the travelers going into the mountains, for they were generally broke, but upon those coming out he pounced like a hawk upon a chicken. One day, an old man and woman were driving down the mountain in a buggy, and, from their appearance, Leaper thought they had money. In searching them, he found none, and was so mad that he pulled the bri- dies off the old man's horses and started them running down the hill. Fortunately, they ran until tired out, and then stopped, themselves, without injuring any one. Many men passed him without being robbed becaused they trav- eled in companies. It was the single way- farer he wetched for. At times, he had con- federates, but they were never caught.

This man Leaper was a very powerfully- built man, weighing upward of two hundred pounds, and stood six feet in his stockings. His countenance looked more like a beast's than a human's. He had small, snake-like eyes, set deep in his head, beneath a low forehead, and a thick black beard covered his entire face. He had a grum, beastly voice and a maniac's laugh. He was a man of few words-in fact, he seldom spoke. He was a silent villain, with his mind upon his hellish business.

The summer of 1862 had been a prosper- ous one in California, Georgia and McNulty Gulches, and many a roughly-dressed man hailing from them carried thousands of dol- lars' worth of dust in his pockets. They usu- ally traveled in pairs for protection. If so, Leaper let them alone; but woe to the single pilgrim-he was in the jaws of a tiger if he came by the cabin. It was getting late in the fall, when, just at evening one day, there came a pale-looking man, riding a fine mule, and halted at Leaper's cabin to inquire if he was on the right road to Denver. He was iu- formed that he was not, and that there was no other house within twenty miles; but, if he would dismount, he was welcome to stay during the night, and in the morning Leaper

would take him across the mountain and put him upon the road. The traveler accepted the invitation, unsaddled his mule, picketed him by the roadside, and entered the cabin. The nights were getting cold, and a good fire felt comfortable after the sun had gone down. Leaper piled high the pine logs in the fire- place, and, as they burned and shone out upon the hearth, the traveler felt cheerful, and whiled away the time by relating his expe- rience in prospecting. Injudiciously, he boasted that he had $1,000 in nuggets he had washed from the earth that season, little thinking he was setting a trap to lose his own life.

This was about the last chance of the sea- son for Leaper. A long winter would soon set in, and there would be nobody to rob. Men seldom traveled the mountains in the winter in those days, and it was necessary the robber should be prepared to den up like a grizzly bear for another spring. When morn- ing came, the traveler saddled his mule and Leaper his horse, and they started across the mountain to find the road to Denver. After traveling some distance, they dismounted in a gulch, when Leaper seized his victim by the throat and demanded his money and his pistol. He then ordered him back in his saddle, and, taking a long lariat, lashed his feet firmly be- neath the mule's belly, and his hands behind him. This done, the fiend pulled the bridle from the animal's head and turned him loose; at the same time, put spur to his own horse and rode rapidly away.

The grass was fine in the mountains at this time, and the mule paid more attention to this than he did to the prisoner upon his back. Mild words, unaccompanied by rein or cud- gel, had no influence on the long-eared hybrid. He ate and drank until filled, then lay down for the night. He, however, lay upon his belly and knees, and indicated by his position that he would do the best he could for his un- fortunate bed-fellow. When morning came, the beast arose, and determined to leave for other fields. Over rocks and through tangled woods he went, often nearly tearing to pieces his rider, until he halted at a rippling stream to take a drink. At this moment, the rider heard the sound of an ax. He hallooed

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loudly for help. In a moment, his call was answered, and a man dressed in a red shirt and buckskin breeches came in sight with an ax upon his shoulder. As he approached, the mule became alarmed at his appearance and started off on a brisk trot, but not until the axman had got near enough to learn from the rider his sad condition.

The woodman now laid down his ax and started in pursuit. For hours he followed the mule and its lone rider in vain. At times, he would almost lay his hands upon the creature, when, peculiar to a mule, with a snort, he would bound away with increased speed. Night was now fast approaching, and darkness would end the pursuit. The case was getting desperate. The pursuer had a pistol in his belt. He availed himself of the best oppor- tunity he could get, and sent a bullet whiz- zing through the animal's head. A moment, and the rider was released, but too much ex- hausted to travel. A fire was kindled, and the two strangers, who had met by chance in this unusual way, camped for the night among the rocks, with wolves all around them. In the morning, they succeeded in reaching a cabin a few miles away. After resting a few days, and partly regaining the use of his limbs, which were nearly paralyzed, the man of fate departed for Denver. Here he made known the robbery, and described the robber so minutely that he was easily traced as the mys- terious occupant of the lone cabin at the foot of " Warder's Hill," as it was called by the pilgrims of that day.

Col. Farnham, a United States Marshal, and a practical miner at Buckskin, was sent to ferret out and capture the robber. The Colonel will be remembered by all old settlers of Colorado as a sharp detective in the early days, and as a man of nerve. He soon learned that there was a probability of there being a band of robbers in this cabin, instead of one. To make himself familiar with the situation, he disguised himself as a tramp. With a blanket and a coffee-pot strapped upon his back, he halted at the cabin and begged for something to eat. Here he found three men in the act of dividing some plunder, but, in- stead of giving him food, they robbed him of his blanket and a silver watch and told him

to move on. The Colonel had a trusty revol- ver, which he carried in his boot, and which was not found by the villains. As he left the door, to more effectually deceive them as to his errand, he feigned to cry for the treatment he had received, when the burly chief and proprietor gave him a kick. This was a dear kick for the beast who gave it, as the sequel will show. Farnham went a short distance away and concealed himself in a cleft of the rocks to watch his game. He was but a short time there when two of the men came out, saddled their-horses and started on the road toward Canon City. Waiting until they had got well away, the detective wandered back to the cabin and knocked at the door. The man within, who was Leaper, sang out, "Come in." As the door opened, Farnham was confronted by the robber, with pistol in hand, who de- manded:

" What do you want here, you d-d old beggar? I'll kill you if you don't go away."

'Give me but a crust of bread-I am stary- ing," said Farnham.

When the robber, probably thinking it the easiest way to get rid of his unwelcome visitor, stooped down to pick up a piece of bread that had been thrown upon the ground, Farnham snatched the pistol from his boot, and, with one blow, felled him to the ground. He then disarmed him, drew a pair of handcuffs from his boot -- where he always carried such trin- kets when on duty-clapped them upon his hands and ordered him to arise. Losing no time, he walked him to the salt works, there. procured a wagon, and conveyed his prisoner to the jail at Denver.

He was confined in the prison-the only one in the Territory at the time-on Larimer street, near Fourteenth, but, before the meet- ing of the court that was to try him, the only witness that could convict him -- the man of the dismal ride-died from the effect of his injuries. Nothing could be done now but to dismiss him.

Gen. Sam Browne was then the Prosecuting Attorney for Colorado, and, knowing there was no chance to convict, and to save the Government unnecessary expense, he entered a nolle prosequi and directed the prisoner turned loose. But Leaper would not turn

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loose worth a cent. He said he was going to " board in this hotel or burn it down." To turn him out in the usual way was danger- ous. It was easier watching the tiger inside than out. On the other hand, it cost $1 a day to feed him, notwithstanding he took his meat raw, like a beast, and ate more in a day than a dog would in two. This was becoming mo- notonous to the jailer, who had to pay the bills. Just at dark one evening, he put up a job to rid himself of his pest. Stationing Detective Farnham on the outside of the prison, near a side door that led into Four- teenth street, with instructions to fire his pistol in the air as the prisoner should emerge, to exhilarate his motions, the jailer entered the prison and informed his boarder that a party of miners had come from the mountains, and, inside of an hour, were going to hang him. The story took with the boarder, and he asked to be let out that he might run. The side door was opened and out he jumped, and, as he started down the hill toward Blake street, the detective fired one! two !! three !!! shots, and, ere the echoes had died away, the villain was jumping like a running horse. Just at this particular time, the city was under mar- tial law, and the streets were patrolled both day and night by Col. John Wanless' provost guard. Two of these guardians were cross- ing the bridge on Holladay street, when . they spied a man running down the hill from the bastile at the top of his speed, and heard the shots fired apparently at him. They cried, " Halt !" but he had no time to halt until a volley of shots were sent after him, filling his hide too full for comfort. In less than twenty minutes, he was brought back to the prison, badly wounded, and had to be fed until he re- covered. He afterward went to Montana, and was there hung for a little indiscretion in robbing an Indian agent and not afterward dividing with him.

Two desperadoes, who stole nine horses from the Frazier settlement in 1867, and crossed Raton Range, near Trinidad, being the first place they came on to any traveled road, were pursued by Thomas Virden, I. W. Chatfield, James McClure, Dan Mclaughlin and Henry Phelps, who could only track them by day, though the thieves kept going night

and day, until below Fort Union, where three of the party, with a guide, came upon them while sleeping in camp, on Sapavenaro Creek, thirty miles southwest from the fort. The thieves each had two revolvers, which, as soon as surprised, they commenced shooting, and emptied every chamber before being overpow- ered. They killed the horse of the guide, and wounded him through his chest, from which he recovered, which was better fate than the thieves met with. The stock was recovered, too.

The first homicide committed in the county was by Henry Dyer (afterward of the firm of Clarke & Dyer, auctioneers, in Denver), near Oil Creek, about three miles below town. The victim was a German, whom Dyer claimed to have killed in self-defense, the man at the time following him with a knife. His plea was allowed, and he was discharged.

In December, 1861, Burdett and Coy were camped, hunting, near Willow Springs, on the road to St. Charles. An old gentleman by the name of Wales, with wife and two small children, en route to California, wish- ing to remain in some of the mountain parks for winter, were told by a Mexican at Cañon that he knew of a beautiful valley-now known as Mace's Hole-where there was tall, wild blue grass, and game in great abund- ance, which, being pictured to suit the ideas of old gentleman, he engaged the Mexican to pilot him to it. When at the next little stream south of Willow Springs, the Mexican said the teams, under charge of another old gentleman by the name of Wright, could go a route around, which he pointed out, while they could go across over the mountain and get game. Taking the old gentleman to a place yet called Deep Canon, and to a spring at the foot of a big flat rock, where they would naturally drink, and as was supposed, by tracks on the hillside, that the old man did lay down to drink while the Mexican kept on the side hill, and that, in cocking his gun, the old gentleman looked up, when the Mexi- can shot him in the left breast, entering above the heart, which, not killing him, he finished the work of death by beating him with his yager, or old South Carolina musket. Then, rifling the body and taking his overcoat

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and gun, he went directly to the appointed camp and reported that they had killed an elk, and that the old man had stayed to take care of it until they could come with the team. Mrs. Wales was suspicions that all was not right, from his having both guns, and made an excuse for the Mexican to go in search of water, which he was only too glad for a chance to do. As soon as out of sight, she sent for the men of the camp on Willow Springs, and related her fears. William Burdett took up the gun, and discovered hair caught in the belt swivel, at near the muzzle end. Showing it, and asking Mrs. Wales if she could recognize her husband's hair, she at once fainted.

This confirmed their suspicions, and Bur- dett and Coy at once started in pursuit, and found Philip Hayes, now of Canon, and party, encamped on the South Fork of the St. Charles, near Pete Dotsou's, and found tle Mexican had been there, and, getting into trouble, made an attempt on the life of Mr. Hayes, and hurriedly went on to the Green- horn. At 10 P. M., Burdett and Coy pressed on to Zan Hicklan's ranch, and found the Mexican had come there, and, upon retiring, had left word to be called at 1 A. M. Mr. Boggs was there, and interpreted for them, when they identified and aroused the murderer. He at first held to the elk story, afterward said that Mrs. Wales gave the gun to him, and then that Mr. Wales owed him, and let him have the gun. All being satisfied, they started back, with the Mexican walking be- tween them. When part way between the South and North Forks of the creek, he threw up his hat and the overcoat of Wales he had on, and frightened Coy's mule and ran, so that it threw him (Coy) off. At this, Burdett slipped off his pony, and, after twice order. ing him to stop without effect, sent a ball on its fatal course, stopping him instantly, fifty yards away. Coy planted the Mexican, heels upward, in a prairie dog hole. The second day afterward, they found the body of poor Mr. Wales, in the gulch. The grief-stricken widow and children were taken back to Cañon, and tenderly provided for by the citizens. She finally went to Denver, where she mar- ried a stage-driver, who moved to Utah.

The record of capital crimes in this county, considering the length of time since set- tled, is very small, unless the killing of a Park County horse-thief on Currant Creek, while attempting to escape from custody, may be considered such, and the lynching, in Canon City, of the two Mexicans who murdered their benefactor, a Mr. Newman. in 1876, in the most treacherous manner, may be considered another. He came with a large band of horses, from California or Ore gon, via Utah, and the Gunnison route, speud- ing the winter among the Utes,'on the Uncom- pahgre, unharmed. He kept his stock on ar- riving in the vicinity of Three Mile Spring, and gave employment to these Mexicans, who, knowing he had money, and that the range was getting short, told him if he would go with them that they would show him, near the head of the Huerfano, a long park, be- tween foot-hills and the mountains, that only required fencing across the ends, to furnish grazing for his herd, should it increase many fold. He at once hired them, and prepared a liberal outfit for the journey. The second night out, they camped at Frink's Spring, about six miles from Rosita, and at midnight, without the least warning, while he was asleep, dashed his brains out with a rock. They rifled his pockets, buried him lightly near some wash brush in the willows, and re- mained in camp until morning, when one went with the team to his friends near Badito, and the other, with most of the money --- several hundred dollars-returned to his Mex- ican acquaintances, near Florence, only about ten miles from where they started, and com- menced a lavish expenditure of it. Only three days after, some stock men riding near the spring, noticed a death-like smell, and, looking about, noticed, near the creek, by the wil- lows, where the high water debris had been disturbed. It was the work of but a few minutes to learn that a human body was there. The news spread rapidly, and, through the efficiency of the officers, clew after clew was obtained until the crime was traced directly to the Mexicans, and the direction in which they each went. In a few days, they were lodged in jail in Canon City, each accusing the other of committing the terrible deed. By

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their confessions, the citizens knew to a cer- tainty the Mexicans were the assassins, and determined to strike terror to the proverbial disregard of the race for human life, and ac- cordingly, in the night, about a hundred peo- ple took them from the Sheriff, and in the morning one was found hanging to a cotton- wood tree on the south side, and the other to a little stable down the ditch. There was not a murmur in the whole country over the ter- rible yet summary way of disposing of the brutal wretches.

Joseph T. Musser, who owned the C. C. I. Co. Mine at Coal Creek in an early day, and used to freight coal to Denver in a cart and with oxen, selling it readily at $40 per ton, and who received several first premiums of silver medals at Colorado Territorial Fairs on Canon Coal, was murdered, January 23, 1877, by a man by the name of Hayes, over some slight misunderstanding between them. Hayes was tried, convicted, and sentenced to the penitentiary for life, and is serving his sentence.

CAÑONS AND CAVES OF FREMONT COUNTY-THE AW- FUL CHASM-WONDERS OF THE GRAND CAÑON OF THE ARKANSAS.

We will not attempt a description of this " grandeur made most fearfully grand " -- this " nature made terribly and awfully sublime." In fact, it is more than any pen can describe or pencil portray. When looking upon it, you are so overwhelmed with wonder and terrible admiration that you can only utter exclama- tions of amazement.

Of the hundreds of attempted descriptions of this terrific chasm, there is none that can equal that given by Maj. Pangborn, in the "Rocky Mountain Tourist " of 1878. The Major comes as near doing justice to the sub- ject as can be done with the pen, for no one can give it full and ample justice, and the words are not in the lexicon to exaggerate a description of it.

We have used the scissors freely in extract- ing from his splendid descriptions of this and other canons and scenery in the vicinity of Cañon City :

" Leaving the hotel immediately following an early breakfast, next morning, a drive of

twelve miles brings us to the Grand Canon of the Arkansas. Disappointment is bitter and feelings of resentment almost beyond con- trol, as nowhere can the eye discover the canon. In the immediate foreground, the piñon growth is rank and dense; just beyond, great, bleak ridges of bare, cold rock contrast strongly with the profusion of foliage hiding everything beneath from sight, while away in the dim distance the snow-crowned peaks of the Continental Divide are outlined sharp and clear against the solid blue of the morning sky. Though grand beyond anything we have seen in amazing extent of vision, the mind is so wrapped up in the anticipation of full realization of the gloom and vastness and solemn grandeur of the Grand Cañon as to resent almost angrily the apparent absence. A half-dozen steps from the clump of piñon trees where the horses have been fastened, and all thoughts of resentment, of disappoint- ment and chagrin, vanish, and a very cry of absolute terror escapes us. At our very feet is the canon-another step would hurl us into eternity. Shuddering, we peer down the awful slopes; fascinated, we steal a little nearer, to circumvent a very mountain that has rolled into the chasm, and at last the eye reaches down the sharp incline 3,000 feet to the bed of the river, the impetuous Arkansas, forty to sixty feet in width, yet to us a mere rib- bon of molten silver. Though surging madly against its rocky sides, leaping wildly over gigantic masses of rock and hoarsely murmur- ing against its prison bars, we see not nor do we hear aught of its fury. The solemn still- ness of death pervades the scene-the waters, as we see them, are as if polished, and as stationary as the mighty walls that look down upon them from such fearful height. Fairly awed intoa bravado as reckless as it is strange to us, we crawl out upon tottering ledges to peer into sheer depths of untold ruggedness; we grasp with death-like clutch some overhang- ing limb and swing out upon a promontory, beside which the apex of the highest cathedral spire in the world would be as a sapling in height. We crawl where at home we would hardly dare look with telescope, and, in the mad excitement of the hour, tread, with per- fect abandon, brinks, the bare thought of

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History of the Arkansas Valley, Colorado, Part 78

Author: O.L. Baskin & Co Publication date: 1881 Publisher: Chicago : O.L. Baskin & Co. Number of Pages: 1080

Author: O.L. Baskin & Co
Publication date: 1881
Publisher: Chicago : O.L. Baskin & Co.
Number of Pages: 1080