USA > South Dakota > History of South Dakota, Vol. I > Part 70
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murder I will help you hang him. If he is found innocent I will take him back out of this country or leave my lifeless body here; but by the living God, you shall not strangle him without a trial. I appeal to your better natures, to act like men, not like devils thirsting for this man's lifeblood without knowing whether he is guilty or not." Jack's speech quieted down the mob and they yelled, "Bring him out and he shall have a fair trial. Bully for you, little fellow. You are all wool and a yard wide. We'll stand by you." The prisoner was again brought into court and the trial proceeded without further incident. It was close to midnight when the case was given to the jury, and they retired to an old shed to deliberate. The mob had pretty nearly dispersed. A few men stood picket around town. Whiskey and excitement had driven the majority to bed. Just as the gray streaks of dawn were showing in the east a party of horsemen rode up from Dead- wood and went in behind the shed and a moment later rushed out and dashed down the gulch on a dead run and with them went Davis and Carty. The jury had found him not guilty.
McCarty, whom it was claimed was the real murderer, was never brought to the Hills for trial, but was taken to Yankton, where he broke jail the time McCall did, was retaken and held for trial, but I have never been able to learn what disposition was made of him.
Most of the actors in that drama have passed from this world's stage of action. In 1882 I found Jack Davis in a stage coach, dead. He had been to the Hot Springs in search of health, but growing weaker, he started home and died on the Sidney trail.
LAME JOHNNY.
There came to the Hills in the spring of 1876 a young man who wore the handle of Lame Johnny, and as a promoter of diversified indus- tries I think he wore the blue ribbon. He was a civil and topographical engineer; a No. I book- keeper ; pretty fair in music ; was a splendid judge of a horse (no matter who owned it) ; in fact, he could turn his hand to most anything. He was not addicted to any of the smaller vices. Being
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of a retiring disposition, he did not seek company and was hard to get acquainted with, but was a friend to any man if he liked him. Having saved my life once, I cultivated his acquaintance. That was, however, before he changed his business and concluded to open up an office in the woods. There was something mysterious in that young man's make-up that excited my curiosity, so I endeavored to learn something in regard to his antecedents. He had several names, which, how- ever, he informed me did not belong to him. One was John Hurley and another was John Dono- hue, but his true name he never to my knowl- edge divulged. Since his death I have learned that it was Cornelius Donohue. On one occasion, when we were alone and speaking of Philadel- phia, he remarked : "That was my home before coming west." Seeing a chance to draw him out, I inquired of him what he knew of the Quaker City, whereupon he told me the following story : "I was born in Ridge avenue, Philadelphia. When a child I fell from a horse, receiving in- juries which has left me a cripple for life. I was educated at Girard College, and after leaving school drifted to Texas, where I engaged myself to a rich old cattle man who agreed to give me a share in the increase of stock for my services. I worked hard and was doing nicely and had earned about seven hundred head of my own brand when one moonlight night the Comanche Indians made a raid up our way and drove off all my stock. That discouraged me. I went over to see old Caststeel, chief of the Tongaway Indians, and made medicine with him in regard to going down and visiting the Comanches. He listened until I was through talking, studied for a few minutes, and then arose and said : 'My people are few in numbers, but they are brave. We will go with you; but our tribe raids on dark nights. Wait until the moon changes and then come.' The first dark night I struck out, the Indians go- ing along. We made a pretty good haul,-sixty head of horses, which I disposed of and divided the proceeds with the Indians. That trip gave me a taste for adventure and I have been working ever since to get even for the loss of my cattle. When the Black Hills excitement started I drifted
north with the Kansas crowd and settled on Castle creek and tried mining. It proved a fail- ure, but while stopping up there the Sioux made a raid and stole the miners' horses. The boys tried to organize an expedition of sixty men to go down to Red Cloud agency and steal them back, together with as many others as were mixed up with them. Fearing that the government would interfere and cause trouble, the scheme was abandoned. I spoke to one or two of the men and told them I would take a ride down to the agency and see if I could locate any of their stock. If I did I knew just how to proceed to get it back. I went down to Custer City and borrowed a horse of Long Haired Owens and started that night for the agency. I approached Red Cloud from the northwest and when I reached the head of Sow Belly Gulch I went into camp and hid myself and horse until the next night, when I saddled up and proceeded to take an inventory of Old Red Cloud's private herd, consisting of three hundred head of ponies. Just my size, I thought, so I made a reconnoisance to see if the camp was still. Finding conditions favorable to removing the stock to where it could be used to better ad- vantage, I rode over into a small basin or valley where they were feeding. As I was riding along I saw a dark object outlined against the sky upon one of the ridges. Quietly dismounting and securing my horse to a bush, I crawled up the hill to interview whatever might be on top. The Indian ponies, smelling me, began to snort, as they always do upon the approach of a white man. The object I had been watching on top the hill rose up in the air about six feet, for it was an Indian. My heart did not work just right for a few minutes. After the Indian had looked and listened for a while he sat down again and drew the blanket up over his head. I noticed that my heart subsided about the time the Indian did, so I crawled up close enough to shoot. Lying flat upon the ground so I could get the light to fill my sights, I opened up the meeting by throw- ing an ounce of lead into his internal gearing. With a loud 'waugh' he bounded into the air and fell over dead. Served him right, thinks I, for he had no business being out so late. Sure to
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have caught cold if I hadn't come along. Fearing lest the camp should be aroused by the noise of my gun, I ran back, mounted the horse and started the herd due north. If anybody ever did make fast time it was I that night. Whenever I felt my horse growing jaded I would rope a fresh one from the herd and mount him, turning the other into the band. Arriving in the Hills, I cached the main herd on upper French creek just below Calamity Bar, and began distributing them from that point. All summer long it was nip and tuck between myself and the Indians. I would run them in and they would run them back to the agency. Growing tired of the stock business, I hired out to Grashmiller, of the Homestake mine, as book- keeper. I was knocked out of that job by a man whom I had offended by refusing to let him sell my Indian ponies, he to keep all over six dollars apiece. I was getting as high as one hundred twenty dollars per pair, so I refused his generous offer. He remarked at the time he would get even with me. I guess he did. If it were not for his family I would work a buttonhole in his left breast."
At this point a man came in and Johnny quit talking and I could never get him started again. One day I asked him what his true name was. He replied : "It wouldn't do you any good to know and it might, perhaps, do some one harm. I have people whom I respect. A brother-in-law in Philadelphia is now holding one of the best civic positions in the city, and as I don't know what I may get into in this country I don't want any word to go back that would compromise their good names."
Whether Johnny contemplated taking to the road at that time I cannot tell. About the first of March, 1878, he came into my store and wanted to refit his saddle with stirrups and cinches, say- ing that he was growing lonesome and thought of going down to the Whetstone and Cheyenne river agencies and see what kind of stock those Indians had no hand. Perhaps he could make a trade with them. "I want to get started," he said, "for the equinoctial storm will soon be here and I don't want to get caught in a bizzard. I am
taking some partners this time, for it is a new territory to travel over and I expect to have some fighting to do." He selected a man who called himself Tony Pastor, a man named "Brocky," and another who asked permission to go just for the excitement without expecting to share the profits. They started out in great spirits, but had a pretty hard trip of it. They rounded up sixty- eight head of stock and got started by three o'clock one morning, but the Indians, missing their horses, gave chase, and just as the sun was rising the boys could see them coming over a hill not more than a mile behind them. They soon overtook the white men and shooting began from both parties, but the boys kept the herd moving along. Johnny killed one Indian and crippled another. Pastor killed one and Brocky was shot through the arm and wanted to give up, but Johnny would not stand any foolishness. He ordered the visitor to take the lead and gave him a sight to ride for, and told Pastor to keep the ponies running. He next tied Brocky into the saddle and turned his horse into the herd so they would be sure to keep along and not fall into the hands of the Indians. After looking after these details, Johnny formed himself into a rear guard and whenever he came over a hill he would stop and wait until the Indians came in range and then open up his battery, thus giving the boys a chance to get along with the stock. Some of the horses were killed or crippled by the long range guns. After a running fight of many miles, the storm overtook them,-a genuine blizzard. The Indians gave up the chase, but the boys kept trav- eling toward the hills. The air was so full of snow they could not see Bear Butte or Harney Peak and they soon were lost. They had lost or thrown away their clothing in the fight and were freezing. Brocky begged to be shot, and Pastor wanted to comply with his request, but Johnny would not listen to it, but gave the wounded, freezing boy a terrible thrashing with his quirt, thinking in that way to get him mad and so take fresh courage. It was no use. Brocky begged to die. So Johnny stopped the caravan and roped the best horse in the outfit, saddled it and tied it
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to the sage brush and laid Brocky down in the snow beside it, saying : 'Perhaps he will get fright- ened after we are gone and will get up and fol- low us.' By this time the ravines were drifted full and it took hard work to get the floundering horses through them. They finally reached the Cheyenne, at the mouth of Battle River, a place afterwards made famous by Colonel Day and his troops in the Messiah war. There they camped while Johnny rode to the stage station and got clothes and food. Only thirteen head of horses remained to be brought into the hills.
Tony Pastor was hanged on the Denver road a short time after. Brocky was never heard from again, but in 1881 a cowboy brought a white man's skull into Rapid City, which he had found at precisely the place where Johnny said they had left Brocky, so there was nothing left to do but write "Brocky" across that empty forehead and place it upon the mantel piece for ornamental purposes. The boy who went for excitement is still living and is a good and useful citizen. I met him a few years ago and from the general appearance of the man I should swear positively that he found all of the excitement he will ever need, for he still looks frightened.
On the night of June 20, 1879, Johnny held up the down coach in the crossing of the creek that bears his name. He secured a three-dollar watch and some other trifles without value. He was captured and brought back to the Hills in the same coach he had robbed and was taken off and hanged by vigilantes at the same spot where he had robbed it. The old, leaning cottonwood that served as a gibbet still stands and the stream bearing his name furnishes many legends for tenderfeet. Johnny's body was left hanging for several days when Jerome Parrott, the freighter, stopped his train and his men buried it.
THE PASSING OF FLY-SPECKED BILLY.
This enterprising young man was discovered lying in a cabin in Custer City in the fall of 1876, delirious with mountain fever. He had no bed- ding or friends and when the party who found him told me about him I went up and carried him
on my back to my cabin, where I was running a free hospital. After several weeks of careful nursing he recovered and then told me his name and intimated that I had not selected the best ma- terial to bestow charity upon, but seemed to feel grateful and as a slight token of his esteem gave me an order for his horse, saddle and bridle at Harlow's corral. I did not go down town that night, but in the morning found some one had anticipated my coming, and had taken the outfit that night without the ceremony of asking any- one. Billy was very indignant, and said he should borrow a horse as soon as able to travel and bring back a lock of the hair of the fellow who stole his outfit. He soon left me and the next time I heard from him he had put D. K. Snively and party, from Custer, on foot at Fort Reno, by stealing their nine horses, leaving them to walk into the Hills. This occurred in the fall of 1877, and he was not heard of again in Da- kota until the winter of 1881, when he came back to Sturgis and robbed and beat almost to deatlı an old colored woman who had befriended him in the early days at Bismarck. From there he went to Buffalo Gap, where he met Abe Burnes' freight teams enroute to Custer. Asking for something to eat, Burnes fed him and allowed him to follow his train to Custer, where Billy pro- ceeded to fill his carcass with poor whiskey which created in him a desire for blood. Meeting Burnes in a saloon, he grabbed Burnes' pistol from his belt and shot him down in cold blood. He was arrested and ironed and placed for safe keeping under guard in the saloon. The bar tender suggested to Billy that there was likely to be a meeting called and some resolutions passed in regard to the late tragedy. Billy laughed and said he would never die with his boots on, but he was mistaken, for in a few short hours he was being dragged along through the deep snow with a rope around his neck, and although he made a desperate effort to kick his boots off, the trail was so rough and the speed so great for the amount of air left in his lungs, that he finally gave it up and remained passive during the latter part of his journey. By the time the vigilantes reached
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the timber there seemed to be no need of a tree, but as the time-honored custom in the west is to elevate a man where the wolves will not bother him if you are going to leave him out over night, they filed him away on a pine tree for future reference. It was a bitter cold night and next morning when the coroner's jury visited Billy he acted real cool and stiff in his manners. After standing around for a while and looking wise, as all coroner's juries are supposed to do, and wondering how Billy got up that tree, they brought in the following verdict: "We, the jury, find that Fly Specked William, whose true name to the jury is unknown, died from ex- posure." As true a verdict as ever was ren- dered by a Black Hills jury. William was freckled, hence his soubriquet. His true name was James Fowler, and he was hanged Sunday night, February 6, 1881.
A BLOODY GOOD MOUNT.
In the palmy days of the tin excitement at Hill City a party of Englishmen came out to examine the properties that they were interested in. They stopped at Rapid City and selected that place as headquarters from which to operate. One morning after they had rested from their long journey from England they concluded to run over to the mines. The stage having gone, they determined to go over on horseback as it would give them a better chance to enjoy the scenery. A committee of one was appointed to secure the horses and arrange the details of the trip. The committee rushed down the street and, entering the first stable he found, inquired : "'Ave you any bloody good mounts to let?" "What's that?" asked the liveryman in reply. "Heny good mounts, you know ? Saddle 'orses, you know?" "O yes, plenty of them." "Then let ine 'ave five 'ead." The horses were saddled up and while this operation was in per- formance the committee bobbed about the barn like a hen with one chicken. I never remember of seeing another man quite so busy doing nothing. Big Dan Fergerson, the liveryman, sent one of his men out to notify the business men
that there would be a circus held in about ten minutes, up in the grand plaza between the American House and the International Hotel. Everybody stopped business and, to avoid the rush, went early. Upon reaching the pleasure grounds I found four horses standing quietly in a ring and a fifth one dragging a man around the street. This horse was what the cowboys call an outlaw,-a horse which cannot be broken, and in fact had been sold to the liveryman as such. After a good deal of trouble Big Dan got the wild horse into the ring and shouted, "All aboard." The Englishmen came out from the hotel and proceeded to mount. Four of them got on all right, but the committee did not fare so well. It took him some time to get in the neighborhood of his mount. However he finally got into the saddle and seeing the owner holding to the bridle, told him to let go. "Do you think I cannot ride an 'orse? Wy, I used to ride in the gentleman's jockey club, ye know." "O, you did?" said Big Dan. "Well, just go easy with him until you get out of town. The big crowd makes him nervous, as he is high strung." "Just the kind of 'orse I like," said the Englishman. "Very well, there's your mule," said Dan, at the same time releasing his hold on the bridle. In the absence of a band the grand entry was made without music. The horse proceeded to business in the regular way. First he jumped in the air, resembling a bedquilt flapping on a clothes line, and bleating like a Billy goat in distress; then when he had got done flying, coming back to earth and striking it so hard that the rider's teeth sounded like the closing of a steel trap. Now he did not have to do this more than fifteen or twenty times until the Englishman took the hint that the horse wanted him to get off and he began to look for a good place to land. The horse, however, saved him that trouble by dump- ing him over his head and taking chances upon his finding a soft place to light. I can see him yet as he went up in the air, describing an arc, folding himself up in a ball like a cub bear falling out of an acorn tree. He descended quickly to earth. The concussion was great ; you
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might say grand. After the earthquake was over, Big Dan rushed up to him, and enquired : "What was your idea in getting off? I thought you were going with those men?" Anywhere on earth except in Rapid City such questions under the circumstances would have warranted a verdict from the coroner's jury, of "justifiable homicide," but the Englishman did not tumble.
He continued to caress the bruised places on his anatomy as he replied : "Why, 'e ducked is 'ead, don't you know, and 'umped is back, and it was impossible to remain in the seat, don't you know." He turned to his friends and bade them go and see the mines, assuring them he would take their judgment, and the committee hobbled back into the hotel.
CHAPTER LXXXVI
ANECDOTES OF JUDGE KIDDER.
BY HON. C. H. WINSOR.
The case had been tried, and the Judge, com- ing down from the bench, had entered his private room, where he found several members of the bar sitting around in attitudes of relaxation, smoking, thinking, and each, now and then, expressing the thought uppermost in his mind. In an inconse- quent fashion, the talk drifted finally to one sub- ject, which one of the group insisted that he thought ought to be taken up at the next bar meeting. The gray-haired lawyer in the corner, in a reminiscent way, remarked: "Times have changed a good deal since we held the first bar meeting in Lincoln county."
The smart young man, lately admitted, over by the Judge, asked: "Why? Was there any- thing so remarkable about that meeting ?"
The gray-haired lawyer slowly answered : "Well, not what you might call remarkable, but, looking back at it now after more than thirty years, it is what you might call different ; yes, quite different! And to me it is very interest- ing."
"Ah," eagerly assented a new accession to the bar of the state, "tell us something of those times. It must indeed have been different."
"Well, if you care to waste a few minutes in listening, I will tell you about that bar meeting."
A chorus of assent rose from most of those present, but the smart young man got up and yawned, turned toward the door, but finally came back and lingered at the outer edge of the group.
Lighting a fresh cigar and settling himself more comfortably in his chair, the gray-haired lawyer proceeded :
"It was in October of the year 1871 that the first term of the district court of the old territory of Dakota was held at the little village of Canton, in Lincoln county. I had located there some months before, and had managed, in a profes- sional way, to get a sufficient number of people to assert their rights-or to attempt it, at least- so that Judge Kidder, who then lived at Ver- million, concluded to hold a term of the district court at Canton, which was the county seat. He drove across the almost unbroken prairie from Vermillion, some fifty miles, in his carriage, and arrived on the evening of October 8th. The next morning court convened, with three cases on the calendar and three lawyers in attendance. A couple of days sufficed to dispose of all the busi- ness before the court. There had come down from Sioux Falls a man by the name of Mc- Laurie, who desired to be admitted to the bar. In those days we did not have the red tape that is now wound around an admission to the bar. The process was quite simple. A lawyer pro- posed that a committee be appointed to examine the applicant ; the judge would appoint such a committee, and if reported favorably (as they us- ually did) the applicant was sworn in. Mr. Mc- Laurie asked me to move for the appointment of a committee, which I did, and was made chair- man of that committee. There being but three
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members of the bar present, no one was left out and therefore there was no jealousy or pique felt in connection with it. After we had examined the applicant somewhat, I, acting as chairman, made him a little speech telling him that we should recommend his admission, and remember- ing the advice that had been given to me at the time I was admitted, only two or three years be- fore, I added: 'Now, Mr. McLaurie, although you are to be admitted to the bar as a practicing lawyer, you must remember that you are not yet a lawyer; none of us are; to be a lawyer we re- quire constant study, to be always striving by un- divided attention to increase our store of legal knowledge. The fact that you are admitted to the bar will not make you a lawyer.' These words seemed to sink deeply into his heart, and, as you will soon see, were to bear fruit later. After Mr. McLaurie had been sworn in, he came to me and said that he would like to show his appreciation of the honor that had been conferred upon him by giving a supper, and would do so if he only knew of a place where he could give it. After some discussion, it was decided that we should gather in my office, and that Mr. McLaurie be graciously allowed to provide refreshments. The judge, the bar and the officers of the court were included in the invitation. The banquet, as we called it, consisted mainly of crackers and cheese, cove oysters, cigars and plenty of frontier whisky. After a while the guests began to get warmed up, and songs were sung, stories were told, and many drinks were consumed. Judge Kidder presided over the feast, and smiled and joked with all. As the evening drew on toward the wee sma' hours, I proposed that we drink the health of our new made brother in the law, Mr. McLaurie. The Judge smilingly bowed to Mr. McLaurie, and called him by name. Mr. McLaurie, as the 'Ex- hibit A' of the evening, had been drinking with this, that and the other guest, until he was well nigh too full for utterance. He rose unsteadily to his feet, and, placing his hands upon the edge of the table, bowed with great gravity to the judge and to each of the guests ; an instant passed, and, collecting himself with a start, he again bowed to the judge and to each one. Then he
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